2 comments/ 27027 views/ 18 favorites Lost in the Light By: Belderiever So much had happened. So much has changed. It's hard to find your way back to where you once were when you've been caught in the dark for so long. Your instinct takes over and almost all of who you are is pushed aside so that your primal nature can guide you out into the light. You do things you would never have done. The problem is not in finding one's way out of the darkness, but finding one's way back to yourself - to find that part of you that was pushed aside for the sake of survival. Riyarra stared blankly at the trees and bushes of the tall forest that passed by as these thoughts preoccupied her. Sunlight drifted in between the leaves and brought out the colors of the world. It had been three days since their escape from the clutches of the Zecarin, yet she was still brooding and trying to reconcile that terrible time. The joy of being free again was short lived. Her future was now before her and she couldn't shake off the horrors of her imprisonment. Her eyes drifted to her hands as they lay folded in her lap, and the brown slave's dress that covered her, but left her legs bare at the thighs. She was Eltharian, a Light Elf. Her pale skin was gaining more color now that she was in the sun again. Her long blonde hair picked up in the occasional breeze, and her emerald eyes were wide to the world around her. She rode passenger atop a strider, a large subterranean lizard twice the size of a horse. They were fast mounts, capable of great bursts of speed, but they weren't endurance runners. There was no need for them to run anyway; they weren't being pursued. So the trip home had become a long leisurely stroll through the woods. Surrounding her on both sides were the two large muscular arms of her escort and protector. The man she came to call Mule. He was holding onto the reigns of the mount and guiding the animal when needed. Dressed in a black leather vest that showed off his powerful arms, he sat behind her in the saddle. His presence was just as restricting as his current embrace. Whenever she looked at him the memories of the times they shared came to mind. The cruelty he committed on her at the order of their captives, the vicious killings he perpetrated, the forced lovemaking. Yet despite his see-sawing loyalties, he had remained true to his word and they were now free, but it was a hard earned freedom. "Mule?" She said, her voice suddenly breaking the hours of long silence between them since morning. That was how their travels had gone. He kept his distance until she wanted to talk and never intruded otherwise. It was a comforting change from his smug bravado during their escape. She still needed time to sort her thoughts, especially about him, and heal her mind from the torture of her capture. "Princess?" Mule replied. The tone in his voice was... professional, she decided. It reminded her of the way servants and body guards would address her when she was younger, distant and respectful. Never getting too close, and never being far away. That too was a subtle change in him. "If my brother promised me as your prize, why did you never... take me, unless ordered to?" She was referring to the times the Zecarins forced him to humiliate her. It was something that troubled her because she needed to know his intentions. The humiliation stung at the time, but she had weathered it. "Hmm." Mule responded. It was his typical way of letting her know he understood her question, but didn't have an answer yet. Sometimes he would think for a long time before answering. Sometimes he never answered. This particular question she had been saving until she was ready to talk about it, she needed to be ready to handle the answer. "Making love with a princess is hardly different from mating with a high lady or peasant. A body is just as warm and inviting as any other in the bed. Some are more shapely, some are more womanly, some have more talents... A princess's value isn't in bedding her, despite what most common men might think. That, in fact, can ruin her value. A princess's value is in her honor, and it must remain intact." "You believe I have that?" His words had touched her. It was more caring than she had expected. The rough exterior of this seasoned warrior had somewhat melted in the last few days. It was yet another side to this mysterious man that she didn't know was there. Her own doubts, however, didn't agree with his words. "Yes." Mule responded quickly. "You did what you had to do to survive. A soldier has the luxury of dieing. A peasant has the luxury of selling herself. But a Princess must survive, and be a symbol for her people." "I was a soldier." "You were a princess first. And if your brother has his way, your people will need you as their princess more than ever." Riyarra digested his words. It was medicine she needed to hear. Her emotions were plagued, but her mind had never faltered during her capture and torture; they never broke her. And slowly she was beginning to see that – despite all she suffered, she had indeed beaten them and endured. She placed a hand on his arm. "Thank you." She said and resumed her brooding. Riyarra took in a deep, calming breath and let the smells of the forest fill her nostrils. It put her mind and heart at ease as the troubling question was finally laid to rest. It gave her strength. The strength she needed to ask the next troubling question. "Am I now your captive?" she asked in a teasing manner. A bit of her humor returned to her after Mule's kind words. Mule snorted. "Then what is it you plan to do with me?" She leaned back and her head rested on her bodyguard's shoulder. Her cheek nuzzled against his chest and she smelled the musky scent the rugged man gave off. But her subtle teasing wasn't being received. As she stared at his bare, corded arm she thought about all he had just said, and she realized her error. She was reverting to those instincts of survival again. "I'm sorry." She said formally and straightened her posture in the saddle. "You don't need to apologize, but I accept it none the less." Mule said comfortingly. He had been coaching her into finding her way back to her old self. "It will take some time to get over all we've been through." Riyarra nodded in agreement. She preoccupied herself with the scenery and resumed her posture. It was a long quiet ride after that. "Do humans find Eltharians attractive?" Her question was earnest. "Now I see." Mule said, as her inquiry finally came to its true purpose. It would seem that Riyarra had some insecurities about his past reluctance to take her when ordered to by their captors. He paused and cleared his throat. "Stories are passed around our taverns and hearths of rich and powerful Lords and Knights bewitched by Eltharian beauty. They gave up wealth, property, and duty to pursue the dream that ruined them." "Why did it ruin them?" She sounded sad. "Who knows for sure. Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it didn't ruin them, maybe they found the love they chased after. But in the stories, they're usually never heard from again." "Are disruptors capable of loving like that? Or do they take it away in your training?" Her tone had grown slightly cold. Her own experiences gave her the answer she didn't want to accept; Mule was a disruptor, a kind of elite mercenary, and capable of cold cruelty. Something as pure as love was likely beyond him now. "We can imitate it very well." He said after careful thought. Riyarra looked up to the trees and hid the tears that started to collect in her eyes. She cried for Mule. It was a terrible price to pay for so much power. Riyarra scowled. That thought didn't sit right with her. Her intuition told her not to believe him. Maybe she just didn't want to believe him. An ache formed in her chest, and she brought a hand to her breast and felt her heartbeat. He had done so much for her that showed that, even to some small extent, he cared about her well being. That was enough to ease her concern, she could work with that. Perhaps she could return to him the feelings he lost. Maybe she could do more... Her head leaned backwards onto the chest of the brave man that had saved her and sighed deeply. Her heart and mind were still a chaos of emotions and paranoia. She tilted her head to one side and pressed her long elfin ear to his chest. His heart beat strongly through the flesh and fabric. She listened to it, and took strength from her savior. Her hand went to his chest, and it felt his pulse more directly. She felt comfortable against him. Her fingers went to his cheek, and felt the rough whiskers that had grown from his chin. If he could teach her to find herself again, she would try to teach him to love again. Propriety had its place, but out here in the wild, she could be free for a bit longer. He seemed to sense her feelings, and his dark brown eyes drifted down to meet her stark emerald ones. He held her gaze and didn't flinch, as her fingers stroked his cheek. Her mind raced of how to broach it with him. She wanted to feel passion with him again, like they did in the slave quarters of Zecair. She wanted to see for herself if it had all been just an act. "Make me feel loved." Riyarra commanded, in her best Queen voice. There was no doubt, no indecision, no lust, no need - just warm desire. Her lips went straight for his before he could respond, and they kissed deeply. Her eyes closed, and she let herself go in the passion of that moment. True to elven agility, Riyarra picked herself up and repositioned herself to face him without breaking their kiss. There she melted into his arms and moaned softly into his kiss. The strider trotted along despite the reigns being dropped as Mule's strong hands came to rest around her. His arms held her tightly and pressed her into him. Riyarra's short stature made her the perfect height to fit snuggly under his arms. She placed her hands on his chest and sought out the buttons of his vest, undoing them slowly one by one. Mule's fingers entwined in her long golden hair and combed through it again and again, much to her sighing pleasure. There was no urgency in their actions, they were completely alone, and there was no burning lust needing to be quenched. This was her test for him, she needed to see how he would yield. With the last button undone the leather vest parted, and her hands were free to roam over his chest. They curled through his chest hair and grazed lightly over the tightening muscles of his stomach. One stray finger even went to the patch of hair that started at his navel and disappearing below his waistline. She traced that pathway in a teasing fashion. The moment she touched the fabric of his pants, Mule pulled away from her lips. For a split second she thought he meant to resist her until his lips returned to her cheek and kissed a line to her ear. Riyarra tilted her head to allow him in and sighed softly. Her fingers continued to trace his waistline and play with the short hairs of his stomach. His lips went for her neck, in the soft spot behind the jaw, and tenderly kissed her skin down to her shoulder. A lover looking to excite her would have gone for her ear, as Mule had done in the past, but this time he went for a different target, and she loved it. He wasn't looking for a quick pairing, he was in it for her enjoyment as well as his. His hand moved the single thick strap of cloth that held up her dress, and moved it off her shoulder. He held her arm as his lips continued their slow tantalization of the nerves along her shoulder. Riyarra let out a short gasp of joy. Her eyes opened and regarded the exposed neck and chest of her lover, and it called to her. This time, their pairing would be different. She would show him how strong she could be. Her face nuzzled into him, and her delicate lips nipped at the scruffy skin of his neck. Gently, but forcibly her hands pushed him away. There was a brief moment of confusion she felt in him as his muscles tensed. But as her lips traveled down his now exposed neck and chest, he submitted to her will. Princess she may be, but she was no stranger to the desires of a man. Even before her time in Zecair, she remembered the innocent love of her youth and the lovers she shared it with. Her lips went to one of his nipples, and her tongue tantalizingly circled it. Mule gasped sharply. Her exploring hands traversed his corded body and came to rest on his waistline again. Her fingers dexterously undid his belt in one flick, and parted the sides to his pants. His manhood came free with no encouraging, and her fingers gingerly stroked the length of his hardening flesh. Riyarra leaned back and looked up to Mule. Their eyes met and she bit her lip with a seductively impish grin. Those stark green eyes bewitched him in an instant and he leaned down to kiss her passionately. She broke away a moment later, and placed a finger on his lips to remind him who was in command. That finger traced his lips amid the growing beard on his chin. He kissed that finger as it passed time and time again, wishing he could do more. Those eyes ensnared him again and didn't let him leave. She wanted him to watch her. She leaned back and brought her legs up to wrap around his waist, as her free hand slid the strap of her dress off. It fell, but the top of the simple outfit caught on her ample bosom. Her eyes glanced down suggestively to her chest before meeting his gaze again. Mule took his cue and leaned down to her. But as he got close to her, she leaned back further until she was resting on the back of their mount with the saddle-blanket behind her. Her hand still stroked his throbbing shaft, keeping him slightly distracted. She took his hand and brought it to her lips. She kissed the back of his hand and each finger before pulling it to rest above her head. By extension the rest of him was made to follow, and he leaned down to hover over her. She looked up into his eyes with a searching gaze. But as he went to kiss her she stopped him once more with a finger to his lips. ."This is not a reward," she whispered. Her voice was soft, but firm in her resolution. "I do not repay my debts with my body." The next words suddenly caught in her throat. "I... I want this. I want you." There was a brief pause as she let that settle. Her hands came to rest around his neck. "For as long as it will last." There were no misunderstandings after that. He went for her neck again, and kissed softly over her skin. Her hands wound through his curly hair as she sighed in contentment. When he came to her chest, she arched upwards towards him in anticipation of what was to come. His hands pulled the remains of her dress down, freeing her snared breasts which came up with a bounce. Her chest heaved as she breathed in deeply, huskily, waiting for what was next. Mule did not disappoint, his tongue circled the areola of one erect nipple slowly at first, then lavished it with the warm wetness of his tongue. Riyarra drew in a sharp breath and let out a long, deep moan. Her hands took big fistfuls of his hair again and again, as her hips started to press against him. Mule's hard member had been waiting patiently against the soft fur her bush. When she started to press her hips up against him, his hard manhood rubbed her wet folds and spread them ever so slightly. A strong hand came up to grasp her free breast that swayed from the rocking motion of their mount. His firm fingers caressed it, and rolled the pointed nipple between them. This elven beauty, despite being cultured at court, was still a woman. And her lover's direct, talented ministrations had her squirming and panting. Her hips bucked against that long hard shaft; they remembered how good it felt inside her. "Please..." she begged, her voice moaning in carnal frustration. Her hands pulled Mule's face up to hers, and she kissed him passionately. It hadn't taken very long once she felt him grind against her womanhood, the swaying action of their mount's steps added a pleasurable undulation to it. That throbbing shaft of flesh had made itself slick from rubbing up and down her waiting folds, and the resulting friction had driven her into an immediate frenzy. She kissed Mule feverishly to show him how badly she wanted him. He broke away from her, his breath heavy and hot on her cheek and ear. Mule moved his hips away and the head of his erect cock pressed against the opening to her pussy. Riyarra braced herself for what was to come and held onto him firmly as he slowly pushed forward. The slick shaft slid in slowly, parting her folds and stretching her from his immense girth. She whimpered. The mix of pleasure and pain from being penetrated by someone so much larger than the typical Eltharian made her breath catch in her throat and her body tense up. Her arms clung to him tightly. Mule kissed her ears and ran the tip of his tongue down the elongated tips; it was an erogenous zone that sent shivers down her spine and distracted her from the discomfort below. Slowly she got used to his size and her tensed muscles relaxed. She found his neck and locked her lips on his taught muscles. Mule slowly rocked back and forth, grinding his hard cock inside her. It was a pleasurable motion that gave her time to adjust to him while electrifying her nerves and sending waves of pleasure throughout her body. The slow sensual gyrations picked up that fevered passion where it left off. "Yes..." she whimpered, feeling him stir her inside. "Please..." she panted, as her eyes closed and she let herself go to the pleasurable waves that ran through her body. Her arms barely held onto him as her mind was washed away in sensations of love and pleasure. Now that she could let herself go and be free in the moment, she was truly caught in the throes of passion. Her hips started to buck and meet his slow deliberate thrusts with force – she was ready for more. Mule was all too ready to oblige her. His back arched up, and his hands came to rest under her lower back as he lifted her waist up gently. She was now under his power, and he controlled their movements as he started to thrust into her. Powerful corded muscles worked in unison keeping his elven beauty supported, while pumping his rigid cock into her. He kept his motions forceful, coming all the way out before penetrating her completely. Yet he maintained an even pace, and did not let the frantic throes of his lover dictate his speed – he wanted this to last, and he wanted her to enjoy every second of it. "yeSS!!" Riyarra squealed, as she succumbed to his talents. Every muscle in her body tensed suddenly and a wave of intense spasms ripped through her body. Both hands dug their nails into Mule's chest, and raked his flesh. The muscles of her vagina suddenly constricted around his rigid shaft, causing her feel each forceful thrust even more and adding fuel to her powerful orgasm. "Oh! Mule!" she panted. Her lover lowered her waist back onto the saddle blanket. He seemed finished, yet remained hard inside her. Her eyes fluttered open when she felt his warm mouth on her breast, kissing a path to a pert nipple. He held it between his teeth, and flicked the tip of his tongue over it. Riyarra purred pleasantly as the afterglow mixed with his tonguing attention. "Don't stop." She breathed. "Please, don't stop. I want to feel you..." she was going to say more, but a quick thrust by her lover cut the words short. "As you command, your highness," he replied coyly, "roll over.." he breathed into her ear. Reluctantly, Riyarra disentangled from him and lay down on her stomach. Mule positioned his slick member at her waiting pussy and slowly slid back inside her warm wet mound to the sound of his lady's whimper. As the lizard tromped over bush and log, Mule used the undulating motion to do his work for him. With each step his hard cock rose up to meet his lover's wet sex, and back again. It set the pace for Riyarra's pleasant moans. Until two firm hands came around her and cupped her breasts from underneath her. She lifted herself up into his embrace, and was rewarded as those massaging fingers found her nipples and rolled them gently in unison. Lost in the Light Ch. 02 The rope held her hands tightly behind her. In order to move her they hadn't bound her legs, but to keep her from knowing her way they had blindfolded her. She had been dumped into another of their makeshift holding cells. The air was cold and stale; it was a closet or most likely a cellar of some kind. Despite their knowledge and expertise at interrogations, prisoner security was found lacking. For any other person this would have sufficed as a cell, but not for a Zecairin elf. They had locked her in - she remembered hearing a key turn, so for now she needed to wait. Slowly she inched her way along the back wall until she came to a wooden cask -- this was definitely a cellar. Her indignation at such a sloppy imprisonment was overshadowed by her laughter at their incompetence. She settled for just shaking her head in disappointment in the darkness. Even so, this barrel would suffice as a lean-to for a short nap. If only they had left her clothed, she would be comfortable enough to sleep soundly. It was a long time before she heard the key enter into the keyhole. She pretended not to notice until the door creaked open. Then she played the terrified role and shied away, trying to scoot into a corner away from the person that entered. This underling was in for a surprise, she laughed to herself. That was until a rough hand grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head forward. "Time for some punishment, devil woman." He grunted. Something thick, warm and heavy thumped her in the face. It took a moment to realize it was another piece of man meat pressing against her face. This one was half erect, and even then it startled her to realize how big it would be if she got him excited enough. Finally she had found a human of decent proportions, and she suddenly found herself yearning for the deep tickle all those short stubby men had been building in her for days. That thought had made her a little wet, and she shifted uncomfortable onto her knees. As he thrust it against her cheeks and lips, she was torn between obliging and seeing, or knocking the dolt out senseless and proceeding with her escape plan. She considered that this might have been their goal all along -- to frustrate her with ineffectual men, and then present her with salvation once she had had enough. It she was right, it was a cunning control method. "Uhh, yeah, suck that." He growled. It surprised her to find that while she was deliberating over this choice, she had gone ahead and taken his hardening cock deep into her mouth. Instinct and desire had taken over without her consent. Its thick firm feeling as it glided between her lips sent shivers down her spine. She dared to let her tongue caress it and feel all the veins that started to bulge as he grew more excited. She opened her mouth wide and took all of it inside until the head poked the back of her throat. She clamped her lips down and slowly slid the length of him out of her mouth. Each bump and contour of his manhood could be felt on her lip, and he felt gloriously endowed. She even let a soft pleasant moan vibrate through her lips as she felt his length leave her. "Ohhh yess" he hissed, equally enjoying this. She repeated the technique, and this time pressed her tongue to the underside of his shaft as she slid him out. Long, slow, deliberate motions had made him rock hard in no time. But her slow, savoring tactics had made him impatient. He grabbed her head with his rough hands and started thrusting his hard cock into her mouth. She couldn't savor the feeling of his meat this way. Once again she was denied her share of the pleasure, and she whimpered in a complaining fashion into his cock. "Suck it harder, devil bitch." He grunted, and jammed that hard meat against the back of her throat. Any other female probably would have gagged with such rough treatment, but the violent lifestyle of a soldier carried over into their sexual urges. She had given and received her fair share of rough sex, so she was used to it. But this was the last straw, she wanted his hard cock, but she wanted it on her terms. Slowly, with each thrust into her mouth, she slid her bound hands from behind her back to under her kneeling legs. She rocked as he thrust to mask her movements until she had her hands in front of her. A devilish smirk played out in her mind as she thought of a test for this male's perception. She slid her hands up to cup his balls and massaged them gently. Her other hand went to grasp around the base of his shaft to act as a buffer from the rough mouth fucking. "Ooohhh yeah.." he moaned, pleased by her new ministrations. He was so distracted by getting off that the fool didn't even register that she had freed her hands to an extent. He had failed her test, and was now hers to play with. On one particularly forceful thrust, she used the inertia to fall backwards. Her hands dropped to his feet and she yanked them out from under him. His legs flailed out, and had she not leaned backwards she'd have caught them in the face. Any cry of surprise was knocked out of him as he landed hard on his ass and back. Deep gasps were all he could manage until his breath returned. But she was on him before he could recover, straddling his midsection with her naked legs. Anytime he tried to move she squeezed his ribs painfully with her thighs until he whimpered into submission. Her hands practically ripped the shirt up over his head until the tangled mess of cloth kept his arms bound and his face muffled. There... just how she liked them, big, stupid, and helpless beneath her. As he squirmed she raked her nails down his chest, slowly and sharply. It seemed to confuse him, the mix of pleasure and pain, and that was just what she wanted. Her hot breath found one of his nipples amid a hairy chest and she bit it painfully until a small prickle of blood welled up. Long, slow, sensual licks of her tongue cleaned it off and made the small little bud stand at attention. She moved down until his rock hard shaft was pressed against her wet folds, and she rocked slowly back and forth on him. That stopped his squirming enough for her to take her time undoing her bound hands with her teeth. She undulated and gyrated atop him, making that throbbing piece of meat between her legs rub her in all the right places. As her hands finally came free she accented it with a forceful grind against his cock. It made both of them groan in unison. Slowly, with a dramatic flare, she pulled the blindfold off her head. Her eyes slowly opened and she saw for the first time the prey between her legs. He was a brute of a human, with a thick and stocky build, corded muscles and a thick neck. Half his head was covered by the garment she had pulled over him, but she could tell by its general shape it wasn't meant for higher reasoning. Her fingers caressed his cheek softly at first, then she dug her nails in as they migrated to his neck. "Be a good boy." She whispered into his ear as she bit his earlobe. Her nails dug in lightly to the exposed sides of his windpipe to accentuate her order. The entire time her hips had rubbed her wet pussy all over his rigid shaft until it was well coated in her juices. She raised her hips and teased the tip of his cock with the entrance of her warm pussy. She held the throbbing head in place, teasing them both by rotating her hips around it. "Are you going to be a good boy?" She breathed huskily. Her fingernails found his windpipe again and applied just enough pressure to be uncomfortable. He nodded. "Say, 'Yes, Mistress'". She commanded, and applied more pressure. "Yes, Mistress." He grunted. She eased the tip of his cock a little further inside her. It sent a wave of tingles up her body and made her moan loudly. "Do not move." She commanded with a husky growl. "Yes, Mistress." He replied. She cooed at his obedience and thrust herself down onto his hard shaft. It made them both groan in pleasure as the tension she created was finally appeased. She had played long enough. She needed this, and didn't have the patience to wait any longer. As her hips bucked up and down on his long hard shaft, she planted her hands on his chest for balance. Each thrust brought moans and whimpers from the both of them as her tight cunt was filled completely by his thick cock. But that wasn't enough, she wanted all of him inside her. The Zecairin elf was small compared to her captive, never the less when she sat upright and pressed all of his thick shaft deep inside her, it glided in effortlessly until it reached the deep itch she needed scratched. There she held herself as her breath caught in her throat and a minor tremor coursed through her body and legs. It made her toes tingle and her nipples ache for attention. She pulled one of her voluptuous breasts up to her mouth until she could lavish her erect nipple with her tongue. Her fingers pulled and rolled the other nipple, eliciting whimpers and pants of ecstasy -- it wouldn't be long now. Her tension had been building for so long that this would be a quick release. To help her on her way, she started massaging her breasts as she grinded against his hard manhood. Her lips alternated between her own nipples as the excitement built inside her to a climax. Then, just as she was about to crest, she felt him spasm suddenly and jerk up inside her. Warm seed flooded her pussy as he came with a grunt, and she felt each spurt of it shoot deep inside her. That was the final push she needed, and her breath caught in her throat as the massive wave of pleasure shot through her body. Her legs trembled, and her back arched backwards until her head came to rest on his shins. Her scream of passion slowly leaked out as muffled squeaks, milked out of her body as her hands cupped her breasts and squeezed them. His hot cum still came in small spurts inside her, and each one caused another quake through her body and another small squeal to escape. Once it subsided it left both of them in a thick afterglow. Her lover was writhing under her and moaning contently, his brain fogged with the pleasure of their joined release. She, however, had played long enough. Taught stomach muscles pulled her gracefully up to a sitting position, and then to a hovering position as her hands migrated up his hairy chest. The came to rest on his cheeks, and held his lips as she licked them tantalizingly. "Good boys are rewarded." She cooed. She saw the faint curve of a smile form on his lips before she lifted his head up and slammed it back down on the hard floor. He managed half a grunt before he was knocked unconscious. Slowly, begrudgingly, she lifted herself off of that wonderful hard cock. She moaned loudly as she savored the feeling of it sliding slowly out of her until it was free. Then with a sigh of disappointment, got to her feet and stretched. "The only reason you'll awake with a headache, little boy is because the gods graced you with that wonderful thing." She purred as she stretched. "Your short sighted brethren, however, will not be so lucky." Quietly, she opened the door a crack. Sure enough, she was in a storage closet of a wine cellar. Walls lined with large casks pointed her way to a stairwell at the other side of the room. On the other side of the door, a slim metal key still stuck out from the keyhole. She shook her head in disappointment as she exited the cellar, and locked her not too bright, unconscious captive inside the room. The key then disappeared into the dark corners of the room, skidding across the stone floor. Daylight flowed down the staircase, and at its top was a half opened oak door. It was her only avenue of escape so she took it carefully, and stealthily. On the other side was another storage room, she could smell spices and the reek of pickled vegetables. There was also no one inside. "No guards?" she scowled as she thought to herself, "sloppy work." Then she heard the muffled voices from the other side of the wall. They weren't completely stupid after all. And as she looked around this storage room, she realized that there was only one door and one way out as well. However, the light came in through a large window to her left -- large enough for an elf to squeeze out of, but not the slumbering brute she left below. Silently, cautiously, she stepped into the light. The feeling she had of being completely naked was due to being so visible and exposed in the bright light of the surface, and not due to her actually being completely naked. Her eyes couldn't seem to adjust to it completely, but she only needed to tolerate it long enough to get through that window. Nimbly she crawled atop a cask that reek of vinegar and parted the shutters on the outside of the window slowly. "How long is he going to take?" She was startled to hear a man's voice, as the door to the other room suddenly opened. She couldn't afford stealth anymore, and vaulted through the window. She landed on the other side, and pressed herself up against the stone wall to hide her profile from anyone that might look out the window. The man just walked past to the stairs to stomp loudly down them. "So sloppy," she grunted quietly to herself in disbelief. If she had known escape would be this easy, she'd have tried it long ago. However, their interrogation methods were too much fun, and she hadn't made up her mind that she wanted to leave yet. Around her was a long outer wall that seemed to encompass this place. There was no one atop it walking patrol, but the wall itself was made out of smooth plaster -- there was nothing to hold onto to climb it. Above her, the roof to this building was, however, within reach. And with a running start she could clear the distance to the ledge of the wall above. Silently she stood up and hid behind the storm shutter. Through its slats she could see partially into the storage room and saw no one was inside. Without wasting a second more she planted a foot onto the window sill and launched herself backwards in the air. The roof overhang immediately came within reach, and with a firm grip she swung herself up over on top. The coast was clear atop the roof, and she landed so silently, sprawled on her hands and feet, that she smirked with pride. People of the surface relied so much on sight, that they hadn't trained their ears to the same proficiency. She started to believe that if she just stayed out of sight, she could make all kinds of noise and not be discovered. That was a dangerous thought; and she scolded herself for getting sloppy. There must be a hidden danger here, some reason these novices were so easy to elude, some reason her escape had so far gone unnoticed and bloodless. The shingles she crouched on were ceramic and cemented in place. The roof itself was slanted up to a crest, and then back down on the other side. Slowly she crawled to its peak and looked out over the compound before her. It was a beautiful site for a prison camp. Gardens and finely manicured walkways joined the simple, sprawled buildings. About two dozen simple houses and halls were arranged in a concentric square pattern leading from a central courtyard to the outer wall. Far off into the distance she could see a main gate in the middle of a section of wall. Something moist landed on her shoulder and it startled her. Water started dripping from the sky above and it made her uncomfortably nervous. It made little patter sounds on the shingles and grew in volume as it became heavier. Soon a chorus of the small sounds echoed all over this compound as the water struck the roofs of the other buildings. It was hard for her to make out other sounds over the roar of the rain. She had heard of this phenomenon, but never spent enough time on the surface to witness it. She couldn't have asked for a better cover. It was so noisy it would mask any sound she made. Yet, it still made her uneasy. They couldn't hear her, but she couldn't hear them either. Someone could sneak up on her, drowned out by the sound of the rain. The soft tap of a metal tip on her shoulder just confirmed that fear. "Congratulations, you passed the first step." The man said as she whirled around startled to face a spear point aimed at her throat. "I was most impressed with that display of agility. However, I am dismayed that it took you this long to escape." She didn't respond, but backed away from that spear tip. Standing over her was a man of immense physical stature. He was short for human, but each inch of his body was finely chiseled muscle and sinew. His legs were covered by a long black skirt parted in the middle, and his chest covered in a blue vest. If his power wasn't impressive enough, the silence with which he moved alarmed her more. Had she not been distracted by the rain and the scenery below, she might have detected him. "I am Mero." He introduced himself, and brought the spear to rest on his shoulder. His face was groomed, and his head shaved. "I am an Elite. You will find me much different from the Acolytes." "I don't understand." She admitted, and didn't move an inch. Yet her arms and legs were poised to leap into action should this man Mero make a move. "I am the next challenge on your path to freedom." He explained. His non-chalantness irked her. It was if this was a game to him. She swept her leg out suddenly, to take him off his feet, but he hopped out of the way. It wasn't surprising, so she used the moment to flip up to her feet. She stood crouched, and poised to move as she awaited his reaction. Mero just stood there with his spear still resting over his shoulder. "I have never fought a naked female Zek before." He admitted and scratched his head in confusion. "I am unsure how etiquette would suggest I entreat with you." He started to circle her in an uninterested fashion. "Would you be offended if I paused to offer you clothing? Would you be insulted if I didn't?" he pondered rhetorically. In his moment of contemplation, she seized the distraction and bolted for the opposite side of the roof. The next building was within leaping distance and she made it effortlessly. However, Mero landed right beside her with just as much grace. "It is very rude to leave when your host is speaking." He commented smugly. She darted off again, this time determined to put sizable distance between Mero and herself. Building after building came and went, and each time she landed she raced for the next one. As the rain continued, she couldn't hear his movements, but she could feel the wind his bulk made leaping after her as he kept pace. Mero was certainly more persistent than those fools below, but she wasn't certain he was formidable yet. He was playing with her instead of stopping her with force. For as long as he insisted on playing this game, she would continue to exploit it, until he slipped up. As her feet landed on the next rooftop and she felt that tell tale rush of air following her, she reversed her momentum and threw a backhanded fist at his head. Mero shifted his weapon to his off hand, and blocked her strike bare fisted. Her leg swept for his foot once again to throw him off balance, but it too was easily dodged. Since Mero didn't seem interested in retaliating, she took this opportunity to engage fully in hand to hand combat. She wasn't without some skill and she struck at his head and stomach with quick punches, but each one fell just a hair short as he stepped back. Her feet followed up with fierce strikes at his temples or knees, attempting to debilitate her opponent, but they too couldn't make contact. She probed his defenses, letting her mood settle into full combat. They danced the soldier's dance on this rooftop, she led and he followed. Strike after strike came, but despite her efforts she couldn't hit him. There was too much distraction here; the sunlight was too bright and it hurt her sensitive eyes, the rain was too loud and kept her from focusing completely on her opponent, plus it got in her eyes from time to time. Her mind was even a little foggy still from the fun she had below. This was a fight she couldn't win. Lost in the Light Ch. 02 "You haven't even introduced yourself." Mero called out as he ducked a wild haymaker swing. It caused her to step back with her fists poised to strike again. She looked at him oddly as she stood panting from the exertion. She glared at him as she backed away, utterly frustrated. She lowered her fists and stood up poised and defiant. Her chest heaved up and down, her bare breasts rising and falling, slick with rain and her nipples hard from the chill air. Her wet hair hung in faded blue clumps to her shoulders. Water even dribbled down her long ears to irritate her ear canals, causing her to shake her head violently from time to time. Despite all those inconveniences, what bothered her most was the look on Mero's face. There she stood naked before him - wet, aroused, and panting from their exchange -- she should be a very enticing vision to any male. But this Mero character looked at her with un-lusting eyes... and that pissed her off. She walked up to him until her face was within a few inches, and glared angrily with her hands on her hips. He didn't move, just met her gaze with a smug expression. "I am The Mischievous." She said calmly...right before thrusting her knee into his crotch and making very solid contact. The elusive Mero crumpled to the rooftop in agony, his spear clattered to the shingles. "I'm surprised." She admitted as he groaned. "I apologize, I wasn't expecting there to be anything of value there." Something moved in the distance, and she saw their rooftop dance had attracted spectators below. More soldiers carrying spears and looking just as imposing as Mero were looking up at her from the courtyard beyond. Luckily there was no one within range, but the moment she saw them leap right up onto the roofs and make their way speedily towards her, she knew her escape opportunity was quickly disappearing. "I'm not done here yet." She said as she looked over her shoulder at the wall that was just within jumping distance. "Time for some payback." Mero had gotten to his feet, still struggling to overcome the pain in his loins. But The Mischievous had already disappeared below. By the time night fell, the intruder hadn't been recaptured. The alarm was still in effect but no sign had been seen of her. This news distressed the priest as he knelt in prayer before the altar of his chapel. Pews lined the hall behind him all the way to a set of large double doors. He was an elderly man, with long grey hair streaked back with oils, and a wrinkled face with hollow cheeks. His nose was long and hawk like, to match his shrewd gaze whenever he opened his eyes. His robe was plain and light brown with just a rope belt to keep it secure. He was the spiritual leader of this place, and so knelt in privacy in this chapel while he prayed. To The Mischievous he looked to be the best place to start for information. She fell off the rafters above with grace and floated down to the ground aided by a little magic she knew. Her feet landed quietly and she walked with a silent sashay to her hips; she was enjoying stalking this prey, old men easily fell for her charms. In the time she was in hiding she had gotten her hands on some snug pants and one of those elite vests. It covered her chest well enough, but left nothing to the imagination the way she wore it open in the front. She had even captured a kitchen knife as long as her forearm, and carried it tucked behind her arm. "I knew you would come, child" The priest said aloud. The Mischievous froze in her tracks. "I know you are there behind me, hmm, and I know you are armed. You want answers? Simply come and ask, but do not take me for a fool. Hmmph!" He said, but didn't turn around. He kept to his prayers as The Mischievous silently circled around to face him. "Very well." She said as she came to squat before the old man. "Who are you?" "I am the Father. I am in charge here." He stated sternly. "What is this place?" "A Monastery." He scoffed at her. "But we also train special soldiers here." "What kind of soldiers?" she humored him. "The same kind that snuck into your Zek stronghold and freed you." He snapped at her. That surprised her. The Mischievous was distracted as her mind went back to that moment in the Majestic's cells. She had thought he was just another slave come to collect her, but when this human undid her shackles he put some kind of vest on her and said a word. She woke up in a room on the surface -- here -- and had been held for interrogation ever since. "Freed me??" She laughed. "You call that pathetic attempt at imprisonment, freedom?" "You liked it didn't you?" He shot back, perturbed. "Hmph, you could have left at any time you wanted, but you Zeks let your sick lusts control you. You just couldn't leave until you... scratched that itch?" The Mischievous took a step back, horrified. "You can read minds!?" "Faugh!" the old man grunted disgusted. "No. Why would I want to see inside your depraved mind?" He gave her a sideways, disgusted look, before it melted a bit into begrudged acceptance. "You're predictable child. That's just the truth of it. But there is hope for you. You can be unpredictable when you want to. Maybe that's what he saw in you." "Who?" "The one that sent you here." The Father grumbled. "Not too bright though." He sighed. "We don't take prisoners child. We take students." The Mischievous crossed her arms over her partially exposed chest. One blue dyed eyebrow arched in a mix of confusion and intrigue. "Why would I want to be one of your soldiers?" "Same reason all the others do." He scoffed. "Power." But she wasn't convinced. "But those kind of people never survive the training. Along the way you have to find a truth to it before you meet your end. That's the only advice I'm ever going to give."The Mischievous still wasn't satisfied, and she let it show on her face. "There are worse things in this world than monsters that eat children. There are people powerful enough to ruin it for all of us." He looked up at her with a dark look - a dangerous look. For the first time she felt she was seeing the real "Father". But he wouldn't say any more, he just glared at her. "Your special soldiers kill those people, don't they?" "You aren't so dumb after all," He muttered, and snorted. The Mischievous looked down to the floor with a scowl, her brain was running at high speed digesting all of this and trying to figure out why they sent one of their men to Zecair. These kind of soldiers weren't soldiers at all, they were just plain assassins. "So you train assassins?" She pried. "Fugh." The old man griped. "Assassins are murderers for hire. Sinful lot, those types. We... we are soldiers of God. We start wars between nations, or we end them. Depends on who's in favor. We're called Disruptors." "Who was the target in Zecair?" She pressed. But the old man didn't answer. "What if I don't want to be a... Disruptor." "We don't take prisoners. Only students." He repeated, as if to answer her question. The Mischievous walked up to stand before him and brought the knife up to her side "Who's to stop me from slitting your throat?" She dared him, and brought the blade to within inches of his face. "Trust this girl." He gave her a stern look. "No one leaves here alive that I don't give permission to. The boys you played with outside are just trainees. The real danger here is me" He reached up, grabbed her knife with his bare hand, and with a quick flick of his wrist snapped the blade off the handle. The Mischievous reeled back, taken by surprise by the strength of this old geezer. She didn't notice him move until the sharp pain of all five inches of sharp steel pierced her thigh and split her thigh bone. She didn't scream. Her Zecairin training gave her that. But she did crumple to the ground clutching her leg. Her whole body trembled from the pain, her hands could barely hold her leg and pinch off the blood as it flowed. "Use your magic girl." The Father sternly said as he stood up. "You'll need that leg for your training tomorrow." He left her there alone in the chapel and opened the doors to the rain outside. The old man left into the night. Had he looked back he would have seen the bloody knife blade meant for his back fall short and clatter to the stone floor. It had taken all her strength to pull the damn thing out, she didn't have any left to clear the distance with the throw. There she stayed for the night, alone with her pain and her humiliation. Alone to consider what the morning would bring. Lost in the Light Ch. 03 Riyarra The woods had thinned along their journey. Instead of a tightly packed forest of pine and maple, scrawny firs and oaks stood tall like spears thrust at the sky. It made Mule uncomfortable. He had stopped talking, and kept looking from treetop to treetop. It was just as well, Riyarra had been brooding silently to herself since their last passionate pairing. She was taking the quiet of their journey to search her soul. No matter how many miles they put between themselves and Zecair, that terrible place still haunted her. Shadows in every corner, smiles were more of a threat than a welcome; it was a place of constant worry and danger. The peace of this forest didn't bring her any comfort. Secretly, she thought nothing ever would. A soft whistle broke the silence, and the lizard jerked suddenly to one side. Riyarra was immediately tossed free and let out a short scream of alarm. Mule held on to the rein and went down with the strider as it twisted and jerked, trying to dislodge something embedded in the back of its neck. One thickly clawed paw came at him and Mule was forced to jump away before getting mauled. He didn't have a chance to investigate the cause of the lizard's violent thrashing as another soft whistle sounded. Mule jerked his head to one side suddenly in anticipation of the arrow that flew past his ear. "Get cover!" He shouted Riyarra, and turned to run. More arrows zinged almost silently through the trees after him. The elven princess rolled along the ground under a fallen log. It wasn't enough to cover her completely, but kept her head and chest safe. She watched the lizard thrash helplessly. She couldn't ease its pain or help it without risking her safety. As it rolled onto its side, she saw the wooden shaft that protruded from the creature's shoulder and recognized it. Anger twisted inside her like a rope, and she darted out from under her cover. "COME OUT AND FACE ME! I HAVE THAT RIGHT!" She shouted to the trees in Eltharian, her native language. The arrows whizzed by her face and cut a red line across her cheek. The challenge had been refused. She had been born a princess, but a soldier was what she had made of herself. The direction the shot came from was easy to tell from the grazing. Riyarra put a tree between herself and her attacker - a move that would cause them to relocate. She climbed the tree quickly and silently. Her fingers and toes dug into the crevices between the bark and, skillful as a spider, she was up to its top branches in seconds. She closed her eyes and focused her will on the use of magic. Slowly her skin turned shades of mottled grey and brown with splotches of leafy green. It was magic camouflage, and would last only so long as she remained still. This was the arena of the Eltharian military, and the trees were where they trained. She clung to the thinning trunk, and ever so slowly peered around its edge so her camouflage could follow. Motionless, expressionless, she watched the leaves and branches for any movement and was soon rewarded. Something lower on the trees moved from one perch to another. Her quarry moved close enough to see; Riyarra made out the leafy brown and green camouflage uniform on her own people. The knotted rope in her stomach suddenly burst, and her cheeks turned flush with a violent anger. This betrayal was worse than her brothers. His was due to madness; theirs was due to loyalty to that madness. She could almost make out their face, when suddenly they looked up at her with a start. She realized that her anger had broken her concentration, and now she was perfectly visible amid the trees. Her opponent drew back an arrow, and Riyarra dropped through the branches before it struck. She knew where he was now, and she didn't care how many stinging arrows dug into her legs and arms as she swung from branch to branch towards him. Eltharians were peerless acrobats in the trees, and so was their princess. Riyarra closed the distance between them in a few swinging vaults. Each one was a brief moment of vulnerability where her opponent embedded a few more shafts into her. Despite his skill, he couldn't land a serious hit and knock her from the branches before she swung out of view only yards away. Panic beaded down his chin in the form of sweat. The Eltharian archer jerked his bow from left to right, trying to catch sight of her and loose another shot. She had gotten too close too soon, and he hadn't prepared for that. Something grabbed his neck, and he saw a pair of small feminine feet lock together in front of his face before they jerked him backwards off his perch. Down to the ground he fell, screaming with surprise. The jolt of hitting the ground forced all the air out of his lungs and sent stars before his eyes. They blotted out the vision of angry death that fell through the leaves after him with a pair of arrow shafts clutched in each of her palms. He did, however, feel them when they pierced his stomach. "WHY?!" Riyarra snarled at him. Her teeth bared inches from his face. "C-contaminated." He wheezed, despite the pain. "You're... contaminated..." he panted. Riyarra sank away. The bloodthirsty anger was subdued as she processed what this meant. "If you...return," He continued, drawing in deep gasps of breath, his hands trembling as they reached for the arrows sticking from his gut, "you'll infect us... all..." Riyarra shuddered in revulsion at this; despite her many small wounds she couldn't process this final blow. That knot of anger returned deep inside her. She tried to fight it back, her sorrow for her people's decision fought against it, but she could only take so much. She pulled a knife from his own belt and ended his suffering with a strike to the heart. Riyarra threw her head back and screamed to the heavens. Once the rage subsided she looked down at the body below as if seeing it for the first time. Terror and revulsion now churned in her stomach where anger once resided. "Oh elders... what have I done?" she cried softly and touched the man's cheek. She shouldn't be capable of this... this bloodlust. Her fingers gently closed his eyes. Softly, hands red with blood held his cheeks to her own face, and she whispered a quiet prayer for the soldier's spirit. Something suddenly smelled intoxicating, and that warm flush that had come with her anger suddenly returned to her cheeks. The smell came from her fingers, so she licked them in experimentation. The taste of blood sent her body into warm shivers and she couldn't help but sink her lips on the source below her. Soft moans fought their way out amid the slurping of the dead elf's spilled essence. Then like a shock to her system she jerked away and screamed in horrified denial - she was drinking his blood. Frantically she wiped the blood off her fingers onto the body. She needed to get it off. She needed to get away from it. Whatever it was, it was driving her mad. Riyarra ran through the forest towards the one person that could help her. Riyarra could easily follow the trail Mule made through the brush. There were arrows scattered here and there along with broken twigs and trampled saplings. Her wounds were still bleeding; she only had time to take the arrows out least they get snagged on something. She found him not far off -- Mule, and the archer. The elf girl sniper had an obvious wound, her face was ruined by a rock, but Mule didn't seem injured. Her soldier's instincts told her there was something more here than what appeared. She took cover with her back to a tree and just listened, her eyes scanned the treetops that she could see. Nothing stirred that shouldn't be stirring. If there was a third archer, they already had the shot they needed, yet no shot came. Cautiously she approached the two on the ground. Mule wasn't breathing and a panic started to grow in her stomach. Her fingers touched his neck and felt no pulse. There wasn't a sizable wound, only small cuts, and yet something acrid tingled her nose ever so slightly. Riyarra leaned down to a significant cut on his arm, and breathed normally -- the acrid smell was coming from his wound, and also from the arrow clutched in his hand. The tips had been poisoned. Her hand rested on the human's forehead, it was cold and growing colder. Riyarra sank to her knees as her heart fell with her -- Mule was gone. She would cry for him, and honor his memory and the help he had given her, but not now. Riyarra pulled the servant's dress from her body and laid it over the man's face. Quickly she set about stripping the archer of her clothes and gear; she found the petite girl was just a size smaller than herself. Snug enough to wear, but uncomfortable in a real fight. It would have to do. Dressed as one of them now, she pulled the tattered dress over the corpse and completed the ruse, and her transformation. Princess Riyarra and Mule had died here, slain by an unknown attacker. Only a soldier left here alive to report the deed done. She set to climbing a tall oak, careful to keep an eye to the branches above for onlookers or spies. The stolen outfit stretched against the larger curves of her hips and chest, she was a bit malnourished from her imprisonment, and therefore slimmer than usual, yet even so the garb was uncomfortable to move in. In time, however, it would wear to fit, just like the last uniform she wore. Once she was perched high above, with the wilderness floor far below, her legs and arms remembered their training and she leapt high and far into the leaves. She would find the squad sent out to kill her, and then she would get her own answers. Below her, the guardian that had kept her safe, in his own way, was left behind. **** "This is where I left them." Riyarra said under the cowl of her hood. Only her bright green eyes pierced out from underneath it; she had pulled the mask up to cover her mouth and nose. "Commander!" an Eltharian boy in soldier's garb came running up to the four of them. Riyarra was escorted on both sides by armed soldiers. Her hands had been tied behind her, and the soldier's swords were a quick thrust away from her back. She was their prisoner. "Look, Harpais!" the boy said with alarm and brought forth a large golden feather. The commander glanced at it briefly before returning to meet his prisoner's icy stare. They all wore the same vest and pants uniform. It left their arms bare, but that could be covered by the cloak and hood. The captain didn't wear his cloak. He let his dark brown hair, bound tightly in a braided ponytail, swing free behind him. "Keep looking" The Eltharian male commanded the boy who bowed and left to examine the surroundings. The officer was of medium build with a well toned body. His shirt was sleeveless and exposed the chiseled arms that perpetually rested at his hips on the hilts of two twin swords. His body was dark for an Eltharian; he held some forest blood in him. And his garments looked more suited to a mercenary than a soldier of the royal guard. "Where did they take the human I wonder? And to what purpose?" he said as he rubbed the brown chin stubble he sprouted. He glanced to each of the soldiers briefly. "Hold her." Both men immediately seized Riyarra's sides and held her still as she struggled. The commander pulled off her hood and mask roughly. He grabbed the top of her hair firmly and jerked her head to one side. There he scrutinized her pale skin -- it was perfect, without blemishes, without scars, pure... "Your mark is gone." He commented quizzically. "I have fulfilled my duty." She growled at him. "By the rite of Yvarna, I have earned my honor." She nearly spat at him. "The rite can be reapplied." The commander countered. "I do not doubt that we have two corpses here. One is an Eltharian girl. One is an Eltharian boy wearing our uniform. Assuming he is Daeli, does not necessarily imply you are Eymara, and not this corpse here." The commander kicked at the torso that only a few hours ago had appendages, skin, and a face. He stared at Riyarra's face as he held her head twisted to one side uncomfortably. "I am no fool. And this seems all too convenient, for gutter scum like you." He let go of her head roughly and turned away. "Then how do you explain my mark." She seethed at him. "Yvarna marks us on the face, so our sins are known. Mine is gone. I have regained my honor by completing the duty commanded of me." Her voice carried with it the righteous indignation of Heaven's Fury. She could feel the trembling hands of her guards quivering against her -- they believed her, and they feared their own marks for defying the rite. Riyarra wasn't without her means of escape. She ripped her arms free of their grasp in one swift movement and released a spell that had been building in her mind to singe off the ropes around her wrists. It stung her as well but her hands snapped free in an instant, and she whirled to face her captors. In their eyes she saw uncertainty and obsequiousness. They weren't going to deny her -- not when they still had marks of their own as clear as day on their faces. They backed away without a fight. "I will be watching you Eymara, if I sense any traitorous intent I will have you looking like our brethren here before the day is done." The commander said softly with his back to her. "Scout, report." He commanded to the boy. The youth with the feather walked into sight from behind a tree. His voice cracked a little but soon found its rhythm."T-there was another body here... Man-sized. Also three others on light feet. The man didn't walk away, but he disappeared along with the Harpais. He wasn't carried out; the light tracks didn't grow heavier." "He was flown out." The commander concluded. "We have an elder Harpai to deal with. I want that human found, or his remains, enough to confirm his death." The commander nodded to the scout and the boy turned and started making arm signs to someone far up in the trees. "You two, take up hidden positions in case one of these beasts returns to finish what they left of our kin." "And me?" Riyarra asked as she rubbed her wrists and replaced her hood and mask over her face. The commander approached her slowly, his hands resting comfortably on the twin blades in his belt. "If you are who you say you are, consider this..." he breathed softly at her. "I like you. You earned your rite, and left the scum to die and to be eaten... a fitting end. Unfortunately, we needed to confirm their identities. So that makes my job rather difficult." "Hmph." Riyarra snorted. "Find the human. If that wasn't the princess I killed, he will tell us otherwise." "I never told you who we were after..." the Commander breathed as his leather gloves creaked around the handles of his blades. "My mark would only disappear for one reason -- service to our King." Riyarra breathed back at him in a dangerous game of bluff. "If it wasn't Princess Riyarra... then it was this human. Either way, I have saved our kingdom from a terrible danger." She never let her eyes leave his. Regardless of the movement on those blade hilts, the moment she glanced down at them she knew he would end her. "And just because you don't tell us who we're after, doesn't mean we don't know it. The camp gossips at night." She said with a scoff and with that she turned around and left him standing. "Where are you going?" The Commander said. "To camp. I've done my part for the day, and I'm tired. You can handle one measly human." She shot back as she kept walking. She heard him stop following her a few paces back, her bluff wasn't called and her part had played itself out. Now she just needed to make it out of sight before she was shot in the back. "Scout!" The commander called out. The boy soon appeared from the trees. "Escort her to the camp; make sure she goes straight to her tent." The boy nodded and ran to catch up to Riyarra. Riyarra left them in the distance. Her heart had been pounding all that time as the nervousness of being found out loomed closer each second. Now that she had won, all that tension suddenly came off her shoulders. She staggered in her step. "M-My lady?" the boy timidly asked. "Are you alright?" "Lady?" She shot back at him, remembering her new persona. "Sir!" the boy quickly corrected himself. "Call me Eymara." She panted, as her head swam and threatened to faint. "It's this way." He said meekly and took her hand. She froze in spot at the touch and shot him a dangerous look. The boy recoiled sharply and pointed in the direction they were supposed to head. "I-it moved this morning." He explained. "Of course it did." She grumbled. Scouting camps never stayed in one location for long -- they would be discovered easily. Mobility was the key, and that required scouts to relay to all troops of a change in location. It was a scout that had found her in the trees earlier this day and held her until the captain arrived. Captain or commander... she wasn't even sure he held a real rank commanding a squad of Yvarna's. It was just as much a punishment as wearing those marks. The walk to camp was long and quiet, Riyarra stayed within a quick reach of the scout. Judging by his size she may need to protect him from the dangers of the wild. Or worse, end his life if he figured out who she was. However there was something oddly familiar about him that stuck in her mind -- he reminded her of someone she knew from a long time ago. As they walked she tried to place it. There was only one Eltharian she could think of that had such a small stature. But he was just a little boy when she last saw him. "Gayne..," she whispered. The boy stopped in his tracks. "Sir?" He said confused. It was then she saw his mark. The Yvarna was placed on his forehead. He tried to cover it with his blonde bangs, but it was still noticeable. Riyarra's heart sank when she saw what they had done to this boy. He had been her father's court minstrel. The boy was the heir to Ulesia's talents. His mother had mastered five instruments and taught music history at the university. Gayne was her only son. While still a child he had master the flute and the lap harp. Her father made the young boy his personal musician for family dinners. Gayne was practically her younger brother the way her father doted on him. The memories of him playing for her when she was a young girl rushed to her then. He was half her age and yet she felt a warm familiar love of the young boy who kept her heart afloat with such beautiful songs on his reed flute. Riyarra clutched her chest as the pain of that tarnished memory hit her. There was a reason Gayne should be here, he could identify her to the others. The pain in her chest was remorse and dread of what she would have to do if he realized her for who she was. Gayne came to her side and took her arm in his. "It's this way," He said and guided her. "That battle must have been horrible for you to be so weak, Sir." He had learned a few new tricks since she was a young girl -- flattery and lying. After a few steps she broke his hold, defiantly and walked behind him the rest of the way. Their camp was just as she had imagined - simple, functional, and nearly deserted. A few stewards worked about preparing equipment and skinning game for the evening's meal. There were even a few guards watching the goings on of the stewards, and neither of the two males cared that Riyarra and Gayne had returned. Gayne lead her to her tent. Where she entered without a word and promptly collapsed. "Sir?" Gayne asked through the canvas flap. Riyarra struggled to her feet once more, and poked her head out to glare at the young man. "You've grown bolder boy." She condescended to him, as she followed her new role. "Come by my tent later this eve, I hear you play a good flute. Play for me, and I'll teach you a few things about spell weaving." Gayne's face twisted in a mixed expression of surprise, fear, and joy. If she guessed right, he had been thrust into the life of a scout without formal training, only because he could recognize her. No one here cared for his musical talents. The chance to play was probably a missed luxury for him. And the chance to learn magic was something he probably wanted more than anything now -- to be stronger in his new life. Lost in the Light Ch. 03 She couldn't look at him anymore, it was evoking unpleasant feelings. She simply closed the flap in his face and collapsed onto her bedroll, and went to sleep... The sun was starting to set when there was a noise outside her tent and the flap opened. Riyarra stirred only slightly, but under the folds of her cloak she had stealthily put her fingers on her knife. "My lady?" Gayne's voice whispered. He entered and crouched over her cautiously. When she didn't stir, he reached out to wake her. Riyarra sprung in that instant, grabbing his hand with one arm and jamming the butt of her knife into the boy's trachea. The blade was aimed towards her wrist, but she struck him with enough force that he wheeled backwards onto his rump and choked for air. "First lesson," she whispered and placed her hand over his mouth to muffle his coughs. "Never approach a sleeping target. Kill it. Strike it. But never assume it's harmless." She met his confused and bewilder gaze and waited until her words sunk into his brain. When he calmed and nodded his understanding she let go of his mouth, and let him up. "Close the flap." She commanded. Gayne got up, pulled the flap shut and tied off the ends. Riyarra put the knife away and straightened the mat she had disheveled in her attack. Her mind was racing with what to do with this boy, she didn't know if she could trust him, but she desperately wanted to confide in him. She wanted to reveal herself so badly and she wanted him to side with her. A soft flute melody came from the corner of her tent when, as instructed, Gayne had brought his reed flute and started to play for her. It was a gentle song, and very calming. Riyarra shed her cloak and boots, then sat quietly and listened in the shadows of her tent. She lifted a knee to her chest and rested her chin on it. It wasn't a song she had heard before, so she closed her eyes and let the melody wash over her and soothe the troubles of the last day. Despite the tranquil moment something in her just couldn't relax as she used to. Gayne's presence was a welcomed treat, but she found herself yearning to get closer to him. Perhaps it was the familiarity, or the lustful last few weeks, that made her constantly on edge. She caught him stealing glances at her out of the corner of her eye. This was getting dangerous; she couldn't risk him recognizing her. "I'm going to sleep." She announced quietly. Gayne stopped playing. "I liked that song. It took me away from this hell for a brief moment. If you played that while I tried to sleep, I think I could sleep soundly for once." "Um, Sir?" Gayne's expression was confused. He understood her request, but she could see the gears turning behind those eyes trying to determine her meaning. Damn. She gave him reason to wonder. She had hoped he would just do as he was told. But the boy she knew had a mind of his own, and he wasn't too dull. Sending him away like this would make him wonder more of why she had asked him here. "I lost a... comrade today." She said finally. Gayne's gaze shifted to the floor out of respect. "I'm sure his death was hard for you." Gayne finally said. Ah, that was it. Eymara was close to Daeli, she wasn't grieving properly. "I need someone to keep me company tonight." She finally said in the growing darkness. "That man was... monstrous. The way he killed Daeli will probably give me nightmares tonight. I need you to keep me from killing someone in my sleep." She said with an icy tone. She didn't know anything about Eymara, but neither did Gayne apparently other than that Daeli and her were close. If she played it rough and callous, and ordered the boy around, he wouldn't have too much to ponder. "I think I understand now," Gayne said and started to play another song. Riyarra's heart leapt in place when she heard it. She knew this one; it was one of her favorites. But it also brought tears to her eyes. Riyarra crawled under the blanket of her bed mat and bunched up her cloak for a pillow. Gayne didn't seem to mind as he played the song that soon grew slow and somber, almost sad-like. But to Riyarra it was sad, because it was one of her favorite memories now faced with the harsh reality of what had become of them both. She felt her eyes starting to water, and she needed to stop it. She rose from the mat and crawled over to the flutist. Gayne ignored her until she was too close not to notice and when his eyes opened from his playing she had a good hold on his shirt as she dragged him back to the mat on top of her. There she took his face with her hands and kissed him deeply on the lips. She needed the distraction, and he needed to stop playing that damn song. Her fingers stroked his head and ran through his hair, as she tried to calm the pounding heart in his chest. Gayne was nervous; he apparently hadn't kissed very many girls. Riyarra reached over and pulled the blanket over the two of them, and by then Gayne had relaxed a little. The warmth between them grew under the covers and he became more at ease with her advances. His hands caressed her cheeks timidly, then her arms, then her hair. But they never strayed any farther. This one would need permission first for that. In the back of her mind, she smiled devilishly at her perfect distraction -- Riyarra, the princess, would never do this with a common boy. She pulled his shirt over his head, and ran her fingers down his back. He was warm, and his back had started to take on some muscle from the hard life out here. Gayne was growing into a fine man. Riyarra felt a sudden flush come to her cheeks as she realized how attracted she really was towards him. Perhaps, if he had stayed at the castle, and she never left to search for her brother... just maybe... Riyarra pushed him away suddenly, embarrassed and sadden at where her thoughts were going. That future would never happen now. "I'm sorry!" Gayne blurted out and started to look for his shirt. Riyarra snapped out of her depression streak and realized the uncomfortable and embarrassing position she had just put him into. Gently she put a hand on his as it reached for his shirt. She carried his hand and his gaze to her breast and let him feel her. His fingers trembled as they caressed her soft mound eagerly, knowing now the touch and feel of a woman's secret. She placed his other had at the bottom of her shirt and slid it underneath. There she let go and left him to figure out the rest. Gayne was a quick learner; he lifted up her shirt and pulled it over her head. As her arms came up and the garment pulled free, her breasts fell into his view. He stared bewildered at her body, from stomach to face his eyes drank her in. She was a woman now and not a warrior. Her muscles were toned, but still subdued by the feminine curves of her hips, stomach, chest and shoulders. Her golden hair fell behind her in curls and her green eyes bewitched him even in the darkness of their tent. "My lady is beautiful..." Gayne gasped. Riyarra moved closer, coming within mere inches of his chest and leaned her lips into his neck. Softly she kissed the tender skin and trailed her lips down to his broad shoulder. Gayne shivered as the excitement and nervousness combined into one euphoric feeling that ran down his spine. He mirrored her lead, bringing his lips to her neck and kissing her softly. His hands even ventured back up to her breasts, where he cupped each one and rubbed them softly at first. Riyarra let out a sigh of pleasure as he kissed down her shoulder. Her fingers found his back again and draped up and down his bare skin. He pushed forward, taking her back down to the mat. Then his lips grew bolder and traveled down her neck and chest to her breasts. There he suckled a nipple like a babe, pulling and licking at it as if he expected something to happen. Riyarra was too enflamed with desire to complain. What he lacked in finesse he made up for in intensity. She moaned. Gayne took it as a sign and moved to the other nipple, ravaging it like he did its mate. Riyarra could take no more. She fought at her belt strap and pushed her trousers off. Gayne followed her lead and did likewise; his hard throbbing member sprang free to spank her on the thigh. Riyarra stifled her giggle, and grabbed both halves of his small butt to pull him into her. She didn't need any preparation, the moment his lips found neck she was ready for him. With simultaneous gasps, he entered her. His hard member slid effortlessly into her wet pussy. Riyarra moaned into his neck and held him tightly as he started to slowly slide in and out of her awaiting womanhood. Gayne was breathing heavy from the excitement, and he let himself fall into a constant rhythm of fluid motion. Riyarra let her erotic gasps escape with each thrust; she was enjoying this, but wanted him to enjoy it so much more. Suddenly his lips sought out hers hungrily. Want, desire, joy, happiness all fueled the passion in their kiss. For this moment they were not soldiers, not prisoners marked for their sins, not hunted and running, there were no cares of the world that could intrude on that kiss. Riyarra broke free in a gasp of joy. Her lover immediately went to her exposed neck and lavished his lips over the sensitive curvature of her jaw. She arched her back into his kiss, thrusting her chest up to steal his attention away from her neck. Gayne could take directions, and trailed his lips down to her arched chest where he kissed her erect nipples. His tongue licked at them one after the other, before sucking them into his mouth wantonly. One arm wrapped under her arched back to steady her while the other braced him against the floor as his tempo suddenly turned feverish. She felt his cock twitched suddenly inside her. Gayne pulled away arching his back as a loud moan of pleasure erupted from his lips. His pulsating member erupted inside her. She felt his warm cum against the walls of her womb, and that sensation pushed her over her peak. Her breath caught in her throat as the spasms of intense passion flooded her body. Together they came until Gayne collapsed on top of her, spent. His chest heaved in gasps of exertion and pleasure. Riyarra pulled his head to her sweaty chest and cradled it under her chin. Gayne's talented hands roamed over the curves of her sweaty chest and stomach, exciting forgotten nerves and sending tingles through her already aroused body. She purred contently against him and he sighed contently in response. There they lay, happy for this one brief respite from the world. It allowed them to drift off into content sleep until the morning. The soft glow of predawn slowly took away the darkness of their tent. Riyarra looked at her lover's face. This gentle boy turned warrior named Gayne. She lifted a hand to his cheek and caressed it softly as he slept. They lay facing one another, and she took the moment to remember the beautifully pleasant days of their youth. She remembered the gardens, where he would hold recitals among the flowers. It was a beautiful place to sit and be surrounded by peace and harmonious song. She remembered the games they played as kids, but not like it was with her brothers. They liked to play rough, but she wasn't allowed to play rough with Gayne, he was like a delicate flower back then. Carefully she lifted the hair from his forehead, and the mark of Yvarna glared at her. It made her stomach wrench up and all the murderous, vile thoughts she fought to repress suddenly came to the surface. Yvarna was a curse. It was placed on those who committed grievous crimes against the Eltharian people. No mere bar squabble, or petty theft of property earned an Yvarna. It required approval from the Crown, and the Crown was usually reluctant to place it due to its severity and unforgiving nature. Murderers, traitors, or similarly corrupted Eltharians received the Yvarna. The mark was a forced conscience; if they strayed from the path of virtue it burned them down to their soul. If they did not recant their action, it killed them. Only an act of great piety or heroism removed the Yvarna and broke the curse. It was very rare; most prisoners lived out the rest of their lives still with the mark. Looking at this mark on poor Gayne's forehead broke her heart. Riyarra closed her eyes and gave the tears leave to run down her cheeks. The mark had taken her gentle, innocent friend and turned him into a harden warrior. He had been taught how to scout, how to fight, and how to kill. She wondered if he had killed yet, and found herself silently praying that his soul hadn't yet been tarnished with that. Even if the man survived the punishment, he would never be able to play such sweet songs as he did before. They had taken his innocence from him, and made him a thing of war. Riyarra opened her red angry eyes to find him gently looking back at her. Her expression confused and startled him and he looked away. "I'm sorry, Sir." He breathed and meant to turn away before she held his head and kissed him softly on the lips. "Gayne" she breathed softly as their lips parted. She settled back in to gaze at his beautiful face. Her fingers caressed his cheeks and jaw softly. His confusion was pushed aside as he smiled appreciatively, but behind his eyes she could see him thinking and trying to rationalize this situation. There it was. She saw it. That glimmer of recognition in those soft blue eyes. She smiled at him. His gaze started to search her, her ears, her eyes, her nose and cheeks. It was if he had known them but didn't know it until now. She hoped he would know her, she wanted him to so badly, but she knew that would compromise her secret. Riyarra was sure she could trust him, but a vicious voice in the back of her mind was afraid of the opposite outcome. She cringed and forced that thought back into the depths of her being. "My lady?" he whispered when she turned her gaze away for that moment. His hand touched her cheek and she looked back up to his face with love in her eyes now. No, she would never harm her friend, her lover, her reason now to continue on the path Mule had set her on and to free her people from her brother's wickedness. For Gayne. She wouldn't respond, but she leaned into his touch and welcomed it. Her eyes closed and she felt the hands of a musician feel the notes of her skin as it caressed her jaw, neck, and shoulder. It lifted and she opened her eyes to look at him again. Contentment, she could stay like this with him forever if the world would let them. His fingers touched her ear, and gently caressed the elongated ridge in a sensual manner. His touch was true to his profession and she made a musical sound as a high pitched gasp escaped her lips despite herself. The forefinger stroked the underside of her ear and she sighed deeply as a warm tingling sensation flooded her nerves. Her lips curved slightly into a coy grin when the feeling subsided. "So, you can play a woman like an instrument, can you?" she teased him. She remembered she used to tease him a lot when they were growing up. He was more of a younger brother to her than her real family. The boys were off learning how to govern and be diplomatic, when she and Gayne were left to their gardens and their songs. Her comment made him pause, and she regretted it. That glimmer of recognition had grown, and his eyes looked worried as he searched her again. But those eyes suddenly turned cold, and it made Riyarra's heart shudder. "Eymara, never teased me like that. She thought musicians were a waste." Gayne tried to explain with a cold voice. He was withdrawing from their lover's moment and steeling himself for the confrontation building. "Who are you my lady? You are not Eymara..." Riyarra closed her eyes and felt the pain of carelessness. The dreadful moment she had hoped to avoid was now here. "My lady may have killed Eymara, and you may kill me." He said sternly. "But I have mastered many animal calls, and my impression of the Harpai's shriek will have the entire camp upon you before my heart stops." Riyarra looked hurt as he finished. "Gayne," she nearly sobbed as she touched his cheek. He recoiled. "I would never hurt you. I have never hurt you." She needed to gamble now, but couldn't come out to say it. She met his gaze and held his searching light blue eyes with her fiercely calm green ones. "My lad..." he started before the missing piece finally fell into place. "Y-your g-grace?" he stammered. "Ry?" he almost cried as recognition and grief wrenched his heart and voice at the same time. Riyarra quietly kissed him. "Yes, love?" she whispered into his ear and held him as his shoulders shuddered with the barely contained sobs. Their reunion had come, and it was more painful for him than she had hoped. Her mind quickly shifted gears from the pleasant joy to the tactical analysis of what could have happened during her absence to make Gayne this way. What orders did he have, would he kill her? Would he turn her in? Why did they give him the Yvarna? How would it react? "You have to run." He muffled into her shoulder and hair, as his voice regained its composure. "Run far from here, far from us, far from me," She held him tightly at that moment when she understood his meaning. He had indeed been ordered to recapture her, if not kill her outright. By admitting this to her he had broken his duty. Her heart steeled at that moment and all joy left her. The warrioress reemerged, and the princess fell back into the shadows of her soul. "I knew in my heart you hadn't betrayed us to the Zecairin, but that was our charge. They, they needed me to recognize you...recognize your body. To prove that you were dead. I refused, and they cursed me. Now... I have no choice." He whispered painfully, anger flushed to his cheeks, and his jaw locked. "You have to run, now!" "I will," she whispered. "But not now. Hold me for a little longer, love." She whispered and held his head to her chest. He resisted at first, fighting an internal struggle, before finally wrapping his arms around her body and holding her close. For that moment they had finally joined soul to soul, identity and identity -- the princess and the minstrel, the warrior and the scout, the hunter and the prey. "I love you Ry," he breathed into her warm skin, his voice oddly calm. Resignation to their fate, and that this would be their last meeting, had finally settled into them both. "I love you too, Gayne." She kissed him on the forehead. Unknowingly on the mark of the Yvarna his bangs tried to cover. It was hot to the touch and almost singed her lips. Horror flooder her face when she realized what that had meant. She held a hand to his cheek and it was cold and clammy. The curse was killing him. Gayne stifled a whimper as the pain grew. The mark would burn him from the inside out and create a fever from which there was no cure but one - one final cure. Riyarra held him tight as his temperature quickly rose. His skin was uncomfortably hot and growing until it would burn her. "R.ry.." he panted. "Shhh love. I'm here. I won't let you go." She stifled the pain in her voice and forced herself to sooth him. Slowly she rocked his body soothingly, trying to give some measure of comfort to her dying friend. "Ry," he managed to blurt out. His temperature was almost scalding her now, but she refused to let him go. He had made his choice, he choose to protect their secret, to protect their love and the memories of their past. Gayne had refused to let that be corrupted by the curse of the Yvarna, even if that meant betraying his king. She would never let him go for that. "D-do it Ry. I want you to do it." He wheezed. But before she could respond, the final exhale of breath came, and Gayne went limp. He was gone. Riyarra held him to her, and allowed the tears to fall. There she sat and cried her pain out. The princess returned, and the warrior stood by solemnly. It could not deny the sacrifice this brave soldier had made in the name of his loyalty. But when it felt she had grieved enough, it placed a gentle hand on The Princess and they changed places without a word. Her sobbing eased, and she laid the body down to the ground reverently. She placed a hand on his chest and closed her eyes to concentrate on the spell. Lost in the Light Ch. 03 A magic glow enshrouded his body. Riyarra felt connected to him then in a way physical touch could never accomplish. But she wouldn't let herself be tempted. This would not be the end of Gayne, she decided defiantly. There was a power greater than her ability that could bring him back. But all she could do for now was to preserve the soul. The same soul that was now visible in the soft pale blue glow around the body. She pulled it into her being, and held onto him tighter than any lover's embrace. When the ritual was done, the glow was gone, and Riyarra felt him inside her mind. There he slept in her consciousness until she could find a way to repay his sacrifice. The Warrior and The Princess leaned down as one over the corpse of Gayne and placed one final farewell kiss. "Until we meet again," she whispered with the bitter tears threatening to overtake her again. So she fought them back, but this was the single greatest pain she had faced thus far, and it brought with it all the other terrible sacrifices, embarrassing tortures, and suffering she had felt at the hands of her brother's agents. Her hands clenched into fists until the nails bit into her palms. Her shoulders shuddered silently in rage and despair and it threatened to boil to the surface. Tears were shed, but they held no sorrow or grief, only anger. She needed to get away, she needed to run! Both The Warrior and The Princess understood this and they willed her to get up and move. But something else made her stay; something else pulled her into the other direction. The internal conflict broke free of her disciplined restrain. Riyarra threw back her head and screamed. The torment of her soul erupted into the air. Birds everywhere panicked and took flight. Small animals bounded from branch to branch and along roots and grass fleeing the monster suddenly released. The Eltharians froze in their routine and watched the exodus all around them. They had never heard such a wail and seen such a gut wrenching effect. Fear immobilized them and made the color run from their cheeks. They had the same instincts of the animals fleeing the area, but their reason told them not to follow their lead. Instead each face looked to the source and the tent where the wail had come from. A soldier came running to investigate, his thin curved swords were already in his hands. All the elves held their breath and watched and waited. He threw open the flap of green canvas just as an arrowhead exploded out the back of his skull. The unspoken alarm spread in that same moment; Eltharians scrambled to gather their weapons to deal with the attacker. But three more had already fallen to the storm of arrows leaving that tent. A hornblower was taken out by a shot to his throat in mid puff, blood gurgling out of the wound as his powerful lungs released their charge. Two stewards preparing the roast were shot in the chest and collapsed. They clutched the shafts out of fear and tried to pull them free. Something invisible sapped their strength and made their faces turn cold and eventually very still. Up above the camp in the trees, three sentries loosed their own shots at the tent. Their arrows pierced the fabric everywhere a person could hide. Their adversary jumped free at the last second and they filled him with arrows before he hit the ground. Five shots protruded from his naked body, and a fatal one in the neck left him very still. The deadly attack was over and the few that survived the onslaught cowered in their safety, unsure if this was truly the end. One of the sentries climbed down and silently padded over to the arrow riddled corpse with his knife and sword drawn. Like a hunter cat testing a prone animal he made swift progress across the camp but circled the body in case it moved. He kicked the bow away with his boot, and for good measure, he loped off the head with one clean stroke of his sword. "He's dead!" The sentry shouted. He sheathed his weapons into their leather homes on his belt, and too soon. A blur of bare skin and blonde hair appeared from the air beside him - he caught but a glimpse before something hit him. What he saw next made no sense, it was his own body twirling through the air as the ground rose up to meet him, and then he thought it was funny it was way over there. The morbid conclusion never reached his dying brain cells. The remaining two sentries drew quick shots at the ghost that suddenly decapitated their comrade and then vanished. Their shots passed through empty air. This was their true enemy they realized too late, and she was more skilled at magic and tactics than they were. In a few bloody moments this ghost killed every Eltharian in the camp except these two and the cowering steward under the large fallen tree trunk below them. These two shared the same tree, but perched on opposite branches of the thick old oak. Below them the bodies lay still and the cook fires still crackled. The camp was eerily quiet now with no sign of the ghost. "Look for movement. She might pick up a bow." One shouted to the other as he scanned the bodies of the fallen. His partner was trembling in his perch; the vibrations could be felt through the trunk of the tree. "Shut it! You'll draw attention!" the timid archer hissed back. The first one wanted to argue but stifled it, he couldn't argue with the logic of silence. They moved their aim slowly, sweeping their bows back and forth over the carnage. Below them the steward sobbed fearfully. Long, dreadful moments passed with no activity. It was all the trembling soldier could stand. "She must be gone! She would have killed us or her by now." He hissed. "I'm climbing down!" he shouldered his bow and started to descend. Slowly and cautiously at first, but as nothing came at him he grew quicker and more anxious until his feet touched the ground. His partner watched him below with his arrow trained on him to catch anything that might appear nearby. Once on the ground, the Eltharian soldier ducked under the fallen, moss covered oak. "Shh!" he hushed the crying steward. She was a pack master; he remembered she was quick in setting up tents and tackle, and good at organizing their gear. She had a thing for numbers and could tell anyone where anything was at a given moment. But she was also the biggest coward in the whole troupe, and often prone to crying. "Shh!" he repeated. "Or I'll cut you myself to silence you!" he hissed viciously. The girl clamped both hands over her mouth to muffle the panicked sobs of growing hysteria. Frustrated, he turned his bow to the calm, quiet campsite. Nothing stirred, nothing moved. Whatever it was seemed to be gone. He approached each body and checked for survivors, those that weren't slain outright, died of survivable wounds. He pulled an arrow shaft out of a steward and sniffed it -- faintly acrid. The bow had been discarded, when the decoy was tossed from the tent. So there was no more fear of poison arrows. But she still had whatever she used to kill the scout. "She's gone!" he called up to the branch. But his partner wouldn't respond he just sat there with his bow trained on him. "Come on down! If she wanted to kill us she would have." he called again. His face crumpled up in confusion as to why they wouldn't move. "Damn you, stop being a coward and get down here! The captain will be back soon and we need to get this place secure!" His partner didn't respond, but he could see him shake his head slowly 'No' at him. Frustrated he lifted his hand up in an obscene gesture and went back over to the hiding steward. "Come out of there!" He commanded. She shook her head 'No'. "I'm tired of everyone telling me no!" he growled, and pointed his sword at her. "Get out now!" A crash in the trees above snapped his attention skyward as a body came falling down towards him. He covered his head at the last moment, as his partner's corpse landed a few feet from him. The steward screamed. Once he realized the danger he drew his blade and stepped out from under the tree and kept his eyes skyward. Two arrows came down from above and ended him through the heart. The young girl kept her eyes closed when she heard him gasp in pain and fall. She didn't want to see anymore. She didn't want to hear anymore. She just wanted it all to be over. She wanted to be back in Elthair, safe and secure from these awful missions. She wanted to scream and to run, but her legs just wouldn't move. She cursed her cowardly heart; it had paralyzed her when she needed to be able to move. But as her mind tried to fight off the fear, it told her that she was the last one alive... because she was still, and quiet. She believed it. Long slender legs touched down on the leaves in front of her hiding spot. A cold chill ran down her spin and she could suddenly feel her toes again. Her body had made up its mind to run. And she wanted to very badly before those toned, womanly legs turned around. Soft drops of blood fell from the person hidden by the top of her trunk. The servant girl knew that if she moved now they would see her, and she would die just like all the rest. She held her breath. This monster wouldn't hear her. They would go away. Then she could run. The person crouched down. And she found herself staring at two fierce green eyes that locked in on her. She screamed into her hands as the paralysis lifted and she knew she was as good as dead. "Come out." The lady said only three feet away. She held a hunter's long knife thick with blood in her hands. The command registered in her brain and she found her body complying against her will. She crawled out on her hands and knees, but looked up to the naked woman before she dared to stand. "Rise." She commanded. And so the servant did. Their eyes met, and she immediately shied away. Her eyelids closed shut to block out the face of the monster that had attacked her troupe. She sobbed and wailed, hysteria had taken over, and there was nothing more to do but to let it out. She cried. Hands touched her face but she wouldn't move. It wasn't until arms wrapped around her body and pulled her head down to the woman's chest in a loving embrace that she let the sobs out. She wasn't being attacked, she was being consoled. Gentle hands stroked the back of her head and held her tightly as she let the fear and horror run its course. "Shhh." The woman said. "I will not harm you." It whispered soothingly into her ear. Despite herself, a part of her believed this monster's words, and her hands timidly released their clenched white knuckles and held the naked woman in return. She cried out of fear, and terror, but also out of loss for the so many dead. Then she cried out of shame, for being the only one alive, and then out of joy for being the only one alive. During all the time that her hysteria ran itself dry this murderous woman held her tenderly. Her hands soothingly caressed that back of her brown haired head as her mother did when she was a child. They were sad caresses, subtle and calming, but tender to the touch. "Don't look anymore," the woman said. "Close your eyes. Wait until help arrives." She did as she was told, scrunching her eyes shut tightly as the woman broke off their embrace slowly. "Cowardice is not a sin." She said softly a few feet away. "What in the hells...?" A raspy, out of breath voice said as it approached the camp. It was her captain's, and she opened her eyes with jubilation at being saved. But it was cut off as the monster stood between him and her. Suddenly she didn't look so monstrous. She was still naked, however. "REPORT!" He barked angrily as he surveyed the carnage of their camp. Suddenly the steward found her voice had abandoned her at his sharp reprisal. She opened her mouth to speak but the words choked in her throat and wouldn't come out. "I killed them," The woman said plainly. "I knew you weren't Eymara," He sneered and leveled his weapon to strike. The woman had something hidden in her hand, her long blonde hair covered it and her back as she circled the captain back and forth. "Tell me, whore, who did you sell your people out to? Was it the Zecairin? Humans? I should just execute the both of you." She didn't answer. Her green eyes were as cold as glass and they never left the captain. "Any last words, bitch?" He said as he reared back to strike. "Before this is over, you will call me... My Queen." She sneered at him, and put her blade up between them in a defensive stance. Her body leaned back as her muscles fell into their old routines. Her words and her stance suddenly gave the captain doubt. "I'll admit, you are formidable to have killed so many, but these were prisoner slaves and barely out of training." He said more calmly as he fell into his own attack stance. "I know," she said coldly. "One of them was a dear to me." "You killed your friend?" he said suddenly horrified and distracted. But then dawning comprehension came to him. "You're more corrupted than they reported, Riyarra." "I am not corrupted." Riyarra said defiantly, as her knuckles tightened around the hilt of her knife. "I was betrayed by my own brother. I loved Gayne! It was the mark that killed him." Tears of bitter anger started to well up in her eyes. Her lips snarled viciously at the painful memory. The visions of Gayne dying in her arms and that of this captain overlapped each other in her mind. Something vicious deep inside her rose to the surface again, and this time she didn't fight to restrain it. "You...," The servant girl finally found her voice. "You're Princess Riyarra?" she fell to her knees at understanding of what she and her troupe was out here to do. "No..." "She is no longer our princess!" The captain shouted. "I will hear it from your lips before you pass on into oblivion," Riyarra snarled as she took a step forward. "MY QUEEN!" She shouted as she lunged. The captain moved to riposte the strike with his sword, but at the last step right before their blades met Riyarra kicked up a stone at his face. The captain was forced to duck out of the way as their blades collided. His evasion put him off balance, and the impact knocked him off his feet to the ground. Riyarra was on top of him in that instant. Her knife missed the mark and embedded into the dirt just as her opponent rolled away in time. His sword flung out in maneuver that cut a red line across her naked side. She roared viciously in response and cut out wickedly with that long knife. It caught his rolling ankle and cut through leather, cloth, skin and tendon in one clean strike. The captain screamed and kept rolling away. He got to his feet, but his wounded ankle was useless. He was lamed, and the fight was all but concluded now. Riyarra circled him, ignoring her own wound as the blood ran down her side and leg to the ground. "You would murder your own princess at an order?" she growled. "You deserve an Yvarna of your own." She sliced at his chest, but the captain still had some fight left in him and brushed it aside with his weapon. His sword had more reach, but her knife was quicker. She was quicker. Her head was held high despite her revealing appearance, and she looked down on this faltering man with those eyes. "My...Queen." She repeated, and thrust with her knife. The Captain reacted with a side-step and a struck outward with his sword. His ankle caved in at the last moment and his blow lost momentum. Riyarra's tightly clenched fist backhanded the clumsy soldier across the face and sent him reeling. He clutched his cheek and wiped the small cut on his face. Something in her fist glinted in the light and he stared at it. She saw him looking and opened her palm... a broken off arrowhead fell to the ground. He stumbled backwards and fell to his haunches. The poison was already taking effect as the ground rolled and swam around him, even though he sat still. His eyes searched around wildly, as if he couldn't focus on what was right in front of him. Riyarra fell on top of him and drove her knee into his ribcage. "SAY IT!" she commanded and twisted his ribs excruciatingly. The captain gasped and groaned, but fell back to the ground. "m-my...que.." he gurgled out before his mouth overflowed with saliva foam. His body jerked once suddenly then grew very still. "My queen..." the servant girl repeated horrified. She now understood who the woman was that was rising to her feet before her. Princess Riyarra, branded traitor, convicted and sentenced to death. The gossip and rumors were horrifyingly true. The woman smiled at her. "Go," Riyarra said. "Take what you can carry -- food, arms, supplies. And make for the fort Henescia to the southwest. It should be four days on foot if you hurry." She placed a hand on the girls shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "Leave all this behind." They gathered their things without another word. The elf girl watched her queen dress for combat and arm herself to the teeth. She was curious who her queen planned on fighting, but she knew the answer already -- the proof was strewn around this small spanse of forest. She didn't say goodbye or thank you, but she knew she was being watched as she left and she hoped it wasn't to put and arrow in her back. Riyarra watched to make sure she took the right supplies. This one was good at her job, and knew exactly what to take. The intensity of the moment was wearing off, and Riyarra found herself calmly at peace now. That tranquility unsettled her terribly; she shouldn't feel so calm when she had caused so much carnage. She paused by the blonde head of her love. Reverently she cut a short lock of hair from his head and tucked it into her bosom. "This is just a shell now." She told herself and walked away in silence. The aftermath of all her actions followed her and settled into her conscience. Doubt suddenly made its way to the surface and she held her arms tightly as she walked. She wished Mule was here with her, somehow his strength radiated into those around him. She would never have done what she had just done if he hadn't shown her the path to resistance. Her thoughts lingered too much on the dead human. She paused in her tracks and orientated herself by the sun above. She should deliver a message to this monastery Mule mentioned. It was the least she could do for his sacrifice. Riyarra changed her course and continued on. "Ry?" "I'm here love," * * * * * * * Mule Mule ran hard. The arrows sang through the trees after him and cut nicks into his skin and clothes. Each one was a well placed shot, but Mule's reflexes were extraordinarily fast. He was closing hard on the sniper; he couldn't distinguish them from the trees, only follow the line that the arrows traveled. If he got close enough he could force them to move and reveal themselves. The moment came sooner than later, and Mule saw movement. This archer wasn't going to let him get too close. This one was smart -- if they couldn't hit a charging human, than they didn't want to be anywhere near that human. That was bad for Mule; if his adversary got away, he'd have to dodge more arrows to get close again. He would quickly wear down against that kind of fight. There! He spotter a bow taking aim. Mule kicked up a rock as he ran and snatched it out of the air. The moment his fingers wrapped around it, he spun on his heels in a complete circle and hurled it up through the leaves. It was gone in an instant. A second later a sickening crunch echoed through the branches and a bright spray of red disturbed the peaceful sea of green and brown clearly marking his intended target. Mule slowed down and caught his breath as he came upon the body. His cheeks scrunched up in distaste as he recognized the uniform as Eltharian. Their situation had just gotten more complicated. The archer's face wasn't recognizable anymore, but he could tell she was young by Eltharian standards. With his foot he rolled the corpse over and found that she wore a glove on her right hand -- her bow hand, yet her left hand was bare. Mule pulled the quiver off and smelled the arrow heads. Odorless. But as he turned one of them in the light, the metal tip gave off a crystalline sheen. He didn't need to look to the numerous cuts on his person to know he had been poisoned by those many wounds. Lost in the Light Ch. 04 The quiet walk did nothing for her mood. If ever there was a path of no return she was on one of the worst ones. Defying her brother was one act of rebellion, but waging open war on his soldiers and murdering her own people was unspeakably criminal. How could she usurp his rule with her own if hers actions were just as bloody? Riyarra, the exiled princess, the dishonored brigade captain, the escaped Zecairin slave, no longer felt fit to lead her people. Doubt was a terrible thing. They had done something to her, the Zecairins. She was never this violent and bloodthirsty before. Even as a soldier, she would always disarm, sometimes literally, before she killed. What had changed? Her perspective? Her beliefs? Did having experienced their violent ways and their perverted lusts awaken buried desires? Or was it chemical; some spice in the food or water perhaps that awoke the most carnal desires? A twig snapped behind her and she didn't seem to notice. Her walk in the woods had been a solitary one since she left the camp. She wore the splotchy green and brown camouflage of the Eltharian Leaf Knights, and was heavily armed with both bow and blades strapped everywhere to her person. Her deliberate stride almost dared anything in these woods to harass her. But there were dangerous creatures other than Eltharian elves that walked these woods. Few of which would do so openly and carelessly, just as she was. She listened and could just barely make out the quiet footsteps behind her. Deliberate, cautious, purposeful -- they were neither threatening nor fearful. Her follower was intent to follow her and nothing else. Her hand tightened around the bow slung across her shoulder. A few more paces and she sprung on them. In an instant Riyarra had her bow knocked, drawn, and aimed at the girl. Her movements were so quick and quiet the elf lady following her didn't realize she was targeted until Riyarra was almost upon her. "Wait, please!" She pleaded, suddenly surprised. She threw her hands up and bowed her head. "Please don't shoot, My Queen." It was the pack master that Riyarra had let go free from the camp. The servant girl had gone against her instruction and followed her. Riyarra lowered her aim. "Speak," She said softly. "But speak quietly. There are things that live here that we would be wise not to wake." The girl nodded and took a calm steadying breath. Her hands went to her chest as if to muffle her pounding heart. "Walk with me." Riyarra said and allowed the girl to step in line as she set the pace. "I cannot go to the fort. They would wonder why I, of all, survived," The girl said quietly. "I would have to tell them the truth, and I would rather die in your service or by your side than far away unable to keep your secrets." Riyarra gave her a sideways look from under the shadow of her cowl. It was almost a smile despite her foul mood. "I thank you for that," Riyarra said softly. "But I walk a doubtful path now; such sentiments may just be a foolish dream." The pack girl paused to push her brown braid of hair off her shoulder and to get a better grip on the pack strapped to her shoulders. "Is something the matter?" she asked her queen. "What I did was unspeakable." Riyarra breathed almost too quietly to hear. They walked in silence for a long time before it was the girl who spoke first. "But necessary," the girl said. "I was a bookkeeper once. But one day I came across a secret in the lineage of my lover, it was in his family heralds. I kept it secret, because I never knew evil in the eyes of Eltharians. I didn't think anything would come of it. But my meddling cleared the way for someone to follow in my footsteps. And when he found out, he blackmailed my lover for riches to buy his silence. My lover murdered him, and placed the blame on me out of revenge. I was put before the Inquisitor and my soul bared and read out loud before him. Every impure thought was made public at that hearing. My punishment was an Yvarna that forbade me from keeping secrets." "I see. It was careless of me then to send you to Henescia." Riyarra replied. "I apologize." "I have seen more evil in Eltharians since I was given this mark," the girl replied. "Elthair is not as pure as the Elders have made us believe. How many Yvarna did you kill yesterday? That was but one squad of many. Many who have been damned and decided to be unfit to live among the rest unless they prove themselves." "I never knew." Riyarra said. Her voice clearly carried with it the guilt she felt. "That so many were banished from our home. So many were made to die so that our noble knights wouldn't have to." The guilt suddenly turned to anger and her voice cracked. "My Queen," the girl said softly, she reached out and put a steadying hand on Riyarra's arm. "I am glad you killed them. For some of them it was justice, for the rest if was a mercy." Riyarra looked at her companion again, this time questioning her motives. "Is that truly the worst thing you have done?" She eyed her suspiciously now. Part of her wanted to trust this girl, and confide into her all she had been through. But she seemed too... convenient right now. "No, I have done worse since being marked," She sighed. "Please take care my Queen, I cannot lie to you or this mark will kill me. But I beg you to be gentle in your questions. I'm ashamed of much I have done." Riyarra smiled slightly, she knew how that felt. "If I embarrass you, I will return the favor, there are worse things I have done. Especially while in the hands of the Zecairins." "My queen!" the girl gasped. "I thought those just rumors!" "Rumors?" She asked. Her pointed ears reflexively straightened. "No," Riyarra shook her head angrily. "I was captured, enslaved, and eventually freed. But during that time... I was being escorted to safety when your squad attacked." She decided to change the topic. "I see." The girl whispered. "Who bought your freedom?" Riyarra grew quiet in thought. Some of the details of the whole ordeal had escaped her; she had just followed Mule's lead. "I wasn't freed under Zecairin honor law," She finally replied. "I still belong to Mule." "The... human?" "Aye, I came to know him as Mule. It was the name they gave him." She said sadly. Suddenly grief gripped her and she clutched her hand over her heart as she went slowly to one knee. "My queen? Are you all right?" the girl said with uncertainty in her voice. It was a curious and worrisome thing for her to see the strong warrior woman that had just decimated her squad so effortlessly and so brutally, to suddenly fall ill with guilt and grief. She wasn't sure how to react. So she stood by the woman's side and waited. To Riyarra however, it was a joyous, long awaited feeling. Her emotions had been put aside for so long that she feared they wouldn't return. What ever they had done to her, it wasn't completed. "I haven't grieved for him yet," Riyarra said sadly. Her eyes turned a puffy red as the tears threaten to come. With a deep, steadying breath she forced a calm over her feelings. "He was killed." The bookkeeper again put a steadying hand on Riyarra and offered the girl her other hand to stand up. "So have many Eltharians this day. We should grieve them properly tonight, and light their way into the light. I'll attend your grace, if you wish." "Thank you... My apologies, I never heard your name. What are you called?" "Lysia." Lysia said. She looked into her queen's eyes and saw the return of that strength she glimpsed during the carnage. Underneath the turbulent aftermath of emotions, there was still that same warrior woman, that same noble spirit that she had pledged her new loyalty to. But there was an uncertain chaos that was assaulting it. "Thank you for your kindness, Lysia." Riyarra said formally and placed a hand to the girl's cheek in greeting. With a reaffirming breath, she turned away and together they continued in silence. It wasn't until well into mid day that Lysia finally broke the tranquility. "If this human is dead, why do you still belong to him?" She asked in earnest curiosity. "If I understand Zecairin law correctly, his property goes first to his killer in combat. If they are dead as well, then his property goes to his family or his heir. I haven't read the law, but this is what I saw happen in my time there." Riyarra concluded. She paused to reflect a moment. "I guess that means I belong to his successor in his house, before we left." Lysia didn't respond, but she fidgeted to expel her discomfort at such a notion. "Will the Zecairins be after you?" She asked. Riyarra understood now where she was going. "Only if they knew who I really was." Riyarra whispered under her breath. "Exiled or not." "Do you intend to wage war against His Grace?" Lysia asked the uncomfortable question to which Riyarra did not respond. "For now, I will just live." Riyarra finally replied. She paused in her steps and looked to the horizon. It was a fitting moment to make such a statement as they both stood on the crest of a hillside where the ground fell away sharply below and no trees grew. They paused to pay homage to the sunset and the end of the day. Standing side by side the two women stood and looked to the land as the last orange rays turned to purple and then to dark blue over the horizon as dusk fell. Riyarra turned to look at Lysia. Their eyes met in a sorrowful understanding, and the queen to be nodded. Softly at first, Riyarra's voice started to sing a soft hymn of prayer for the dead. The words came naturally as they had been spoken many times before. Her soft soprano melody carried into the trees, and was soon accompanied by the deeper contralto voice of Lysia. Together they sang as the darkness of night surrounded them. The swallowed grief of today's terrible events finally came out and carried out on their voices into the night air. An hour passed and they finished the hymn and their song concluded. "There," Riyarra said. Her voice choked with residual sorrow. "We'll camp." The rest of the night they worked in silence setting up a single tent under the branches of a willow. The drooping leaves and branches fell all the way to the ground, and created a natural curtain for them to hide behind. They ate preserved jerky and dried biscuits quietly. Riyarra was constantly looking up as she listened to the sounds around them. Lysia understood its purpose, and kept quiet. The air suddenly grew very cold, and most of the noises around them stopped. Riyarra's picked up the cloth wrapping strips that held their meal and handed one to her companion. She tied hers around her face to cover her breath and motioned for Lysia to do the same. When she finished, Riyarra took the bookkeeper's hand and started to draw symbols in her palm with her finger. "Wraiths." She wrote "Breath stealers." Quietly she packed up the rest of their provisions, and crouched over Lysia. Gentle hands guided the girl down onto the grass, and a firm hand instructed her to stay there as she pulled the girl's cloak over her as a blanket. Riyarra moved in beside her and pulled her own cloak over the both of them. They shared their body heat in the unnatural cold air, and the princess held onto the girl's hand and continued to spell out instructions. "Safe." She wrote. "Can't see us, only our breath. Don't take off mask. Sleep." Lysia was nervous and shaking under the cloaks, but she followed her instructions. It wasn't until Riyarra laid her head on the girls shoulder and held her close for warmth that she started to relax. She felt her queen's hand caress her cheek once. It was reassurance. She wasn't used to being out alone like this, but her Queen seemed to be. Lysia couldn't help but start to drift off as the exhaustion finally made itself apparent. Her anxiety and fear wanted to keep her awake, but the rest of her was fastly falling asleep despite it. Riyarra's soft, soothing caresses of the girl's neck could feel her pulse as it started to slow and calm. The sleep spell she used was quick to act. Lysia would need it tonight. Her hand slid down over the girl's waist and settled in for her own sleep. There was no one here to put her out with magic; she would have to do it the old fashioned way. It had been a horrible day. And her mind wanted to replay all of the events that had happened. But she did the same thing she had done every night of every horrible day of the past unknown number of months. She dreamed of him. Her savior. * * * * The warm sun woke her as she lay napping on a wicker woven lounge chair. This was one of the springs in Elthair, ringed out in flattened natural stone. It had been outfitted for a private picnic for too. As she groggily sat up she could smell the leftover wine still in the bottom of the glasses on a table for two. The faint spicy smell of the sliced ham and cooked onions soon followed. She had forgotten how long it had been since her last decent meal that wasn't gruel or pack rations. A thin orange silk summer dress tried to follow the shape of her body as she moved but it did an unseemly job of revealing her bosom so she pulled it back into place. The warmth of the sun was hot on perspiring skin, and the silk threatened to stick to her skin. The water of the spring was too inviting after such a long nap in the sun. But there was someone already in it. With his arms stretched over the rim of the spring and his attention focused on the sun above. It was Him. His wet brown hair was unmistakable as he bathed with his back to her. Like a prowling cat she stepped closer, trying to sneak up on him. Her savior. The only man she allowed in this inner sanctum of hers. Her bare feet made no sound as they padded across the stone and grass to the water's edge. She knelt behind him and ran her fingers through those short curly locks. He tilted his head back to look at her but she covered his eyes with her hands. "Am I your Queen?" She asked softly. "Will you serve me and only me? You aren't Eltharian, but will you pledge yourself to me and let me rule you?" she kissed him softly again. "I command you to keep your eyes closed." She whispered into his ear. The orange silk dress glided off her body and fell to the stone ground. As she entered the steaming water her body glided down his as she straddled his form. Her hands ran over his hardened muscles and hairy body. Eltharians didn't grow hair on their chests and arms, so she allowed herself a novel delight to curl her fingers through it. She had his full attention when she finally settled into his lap and felt the aroused flesh between his legs pressing against her thighs. She breathed him in deeply. His sweaty man smell soaked her senses and brought an excited flush to her cheeks. A soft lute melody floated through the air, and she looked up from her human companion to the song. She could almost make out the shadow of the player in the trees beyond. It was an intoxicating song that disappeared every so often. She wanted to hear more of it. It had consumed her senses and taken away heat of the moment with her human. A faint voice called out to her. "Ry!" it called. She left her obedient human and rose from the spring. The water trickled off her skin and as the wind caressed her it cooled her naked skin from the hot waters. The music was louder now, and she could see the player as he leaned against a silveroak trunk. He was handsome for Eltharian, his high cheekbones and pointed chin almost feminized his face. Straight pale hair cut to the chin, covered half his face. A deep light blue vest covered only his chest, leaving his chiseled arms free to play. A short fwasir draped from his waist to his thighs and hung longer on the left side. It was a pale green color that complimented the blue of the vest and reminded her of the sea. He lifted a leg to rest one foot against the trunk of the tree, and the fwasir fabric parted to drape over the sides. Unlike a woman's skirt the fabric was intentionally heavy so it never blew in the wind or it would expose an Eltharian man's secret. "Do you play for me, my musician?" She asked as she stood boldly before him. "I play for all the ladies." He smirked. "But I have something special for you." He smiled softly; his lips barely rose as his eyes closed to focus. His fingers went to work on the strings of the long thin lute. He played her a slow melody at first, its tone soft and sensual with long flowing chords. Riyarra knelt before him and sat demurely with both legs tucked to one side underneath her. The music grew more intense and picked up its rhythm very quickly. Sharp chords built up the excitement more and more, and as they did the musician moved with the music he played. His fingers were a blur striking chord after chord with an almost impatient precision. Each note strummed out perfectly after the one before it. Riyarra felt her heart race with the music, and her hand went to her bosom to feel the pounding of heart. Her cheeks and ears grew pink with a flush and her fingers stroked the sensual areas. Her breaths grew shorter and heavier to mimic the frantic excitement of the lute. Her gaze stayed focused on his fingers as they worked in a blur of motion. She wanted those fingers to touch her, to caress her, to play her just as proficiently as the lute. The more he played the less she noticed the melody and the more she fixated on that single flap of pale green fabric that hid the instrument she could play for him. Then the music stopped, suddenly and abruptly. She stood up on her knees and reached for his thighs, and that fabric that blocked her way. But strong delicate hands grabbed her and denied her the pleasure. "This isn't you, my lady." The musician said. "This isn't my Queen." She looked up at him with a deep flush and panting lips, her eyes almost begging him to let her in. "There is something inside you that shouldn't be there. You must deny it. You must control it. What ever you do, do not feed it." The aroused flush in her cheeks turned to anger - deep bitter anger. "Who are you to deny me? I am your Queen!" She said and struck him across the face. The minstrel fell to the ground and made no move to get up. She rolled him over with her foot and gasped. Pale blue and lifeless, Gayne's eyes saw nothing and said nothing. * * * * Riyarra awoke startled and sweating. Buried under two cloaks and sharing the body heat of her follower in the warm pre dawn air had made her uncomfortably hot. She pulled off one of the cloaks and pushed the other down. It gave some relief, and so she curled back up against Lysia. The Eltharian pack master was still sleeping soundly. Riyarra closed her eyes and tried to return to her dream. Deep relaxing breaths and a creative imagination wasn't enough to send her back. She grew anxious as the hot flush in her cheeks was obviously not from being warm. Despite her efforts she couldn't fall back to sleep and her arousal from the intense dream wasn't going away on its own. Her hand strayed to her chest and started to lightly brush a nipple through the fabric. It was slow and delicate at first, barely noticeable, as her thumb rubbed back and forth over that specific spot. It felt very pleasurable, more so than it should. Her companion breathed deeply next to her, oblivious of everything. With Lysia asleep there was no need for embarrassment, and as long as she was careful, there was no reason she couldn't alleviate her urges without waking her companion. But as she thought of the meek girl she found herself staring at the ample chest that heaved slowly up and down as the sleeping elf breathed. Fingers explored the waistline of her trousers until they found an easy way past the buckled belt into the hot, stifled condition of her womanhood. Her fingers cupped her slightly furred mound, and rubbed the whole of it slowly and firmly. It caused a deep gasp followed by profound sigh in the princess loud enough to wake most sleepers. Gently she let just a finger play lazily with her erect clitoris. It protruded from her petals, beginning for attention. Her hand sated some of her desire and so Riyarra let it work as she relaxed and enjoyed the sensations. The more it played however the less effect it had on her, and she rubbed faster or more firmly to try and maintain that pleasure. But eventually it all turned to frustration as the desire only seemed to build to the point that it was all she thought about. She needed more. Lost in the Light Ch. 04 Her thumb and forefinger pinched a nipple through the fabric. Riyarra let out a muffled moan of ecstasy as she mimicked the motions between her legs and tried to bring herself to a climax. Faster and faster they worked and her pants grew too loud and frantic to be subtle. That too eventually lost its effect and she was left worked up to a frenzy with no release. A madness came over her then as she tore her clothes off as quickly as possible. Riyarra straddled her sleeping companion and lifted the girl's arms and her shirt up over her head. Repositioning to face away, she slid off Lysia's skirt and started to pull her boots off in wanton urgency. Lysia started to stir. Hungrily and without regard, the princess dove her lips in between the girl's thighs tasted her dark fur and lips. Lysia whimpered in the deep grogginess of spell induced sleep but was responding to her princess's licks and kisses. The taste and the smell of this elf's pussy excited her more and fueled her fervor. As the girl's whimpers and moans signaled her waking, Riyarra repositioned her legs to pin the girl's arms down and to hover her waist over Lysia's head. The motion didn't interrupt her attention to Lysia's wet lips. The girl was quick to excitement and Riyarra's lips were already glistening with her juices. One hand delicately parted the pink elven lips as another slid a finger into her tight hole. Lysia shouted in a mix of pleasure and startled pain. "Lick me!" Riyarra growled huskily. "Do as I do, I command you!" she ordered as her tongue reached out and caressed the girl's inner lips, circled the entrance to her womanhood, and stopped over her clitoris to lavish a few lashes of the tongue. Lysia repressed her response and cried. "No!" she whimpered. "please stop. I cannot do this." The elf girl started to cry. Her cries didn't fall on deaf ears; Riyarra was once again denied her pleasure. She rolled off the sobbing Lysia and grabbed a short blade from her vest. Before Lysia could roll away and compose herself, her queen was upon her again. Strong arms grabbed her and forced her back down, as strong thighs pinned her arms and squatted above her face. With an animalistic growl the princess placed the blade tip to her cheek. "Do this now, or I'll mark you worse than you are!" Riyarra snarled at her. Lysia could only obey. Her cries turned to pitiful sobs as she kissed and weakly licked at her Queen's womanhood. Her efforts had no skill, no tenderness, no purpose -- they were just blind obedience as she tried to choke back the pain and embarrassment. "Do it properly!" Riyarra growled and pressed the sharp tip into her cheek until it drew a small bead of blood. RY! His voice echoed painfully in her head. Riyarra dropped the knife, aghast. For the first moment she realized fully what she was doing and gazed upon the terrified and horrified girl. This wasn't her. This wasn't what she would do. She moved off her and tenderly lifted the girl up and pulled one of the cloaks around her. "Oh Lysia..." she said with heartfelt sorrow as she wrapped her arms around the crying girl in a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry. There is something wrong with me." There was nothing more she could say. She wanted to prostrate herself before the friend she had just wounded terribly and attacked so mercilessly. To bow at her feet and beg forgiveness, but her mind was fighting itself at the moment. The girl's pride, ego, and self esteem had just been shattered. It was all she could think to do was hold and comfort her. The mental battle ended with her emotions overpowering the unruly lust within her. She cried for her friend with her face pressed to the girls back. Lysia's sobs dwindled away and she placed a reassuring hand on her queen's arm. Their hands met and they held each other's for strength, forgiveness, and reassurance. But the words to reconcile this uncomfortable situation were far from coming. "You are corrupted." Lysia said softly to finally name the malady. "No," Riyarra protested. "I still have the heart of an Eltharian. This... is different. Some drug, or spell, that makes the darkest carnal urges irresistible. I want it out of me, I want it cured." "Why... me?" Lysia asked uncomfortably. "Why not... a male?" The question was odd and Riyarra didn't have an immediate answer. "There are none around." Riyarra finally said uncomfortably, with a slight chuckle. "I didn't know women can... do that." Lysia commented. "If there were men around, would you take them in such a manner?" The question stung her; Riyarra shook her head violently against the girl's back. "I..." Riyarra paused to consider her answer. "I wouldn't want to." "I see, so it makes you?" "Yes. I'm so sorry" Riyarra sighed, embarrassed and apologetic. Lysia squeezed her arm affectionately. "Do Zecairin women do that with each other?" Lysia asked. "Yes," Riyarra sighed. "And they did it to me as well. They call it Sapphic love." "I understand now." Lysia said. "And I... forgive you, my Queen." Lysia pulled one of Riyarra's hands to her lips and kissed it. "I will help you fight it. But please don't command me like that. We should go." Riyarra nodded and released her. They dressed and packed in silence. Riyarra led the way out from under the willow tree. Her soldier's pace was hard for Lysia to keep up with through the morning. Every hour or so Riyarra would stop and get their bearings while Lysia caught up. The trees were dense, and quiet. Animal sounds could be heard in the distance, but no so much as a squirrel was nearby. It made Riyarra nervous. "Well lookee here fellas!" A man shouted from atop a strider lizard a few yards away. The two Eltharian women froze to find speaker. Lysia gripped her pack tightly to run but Riyarra took a firm hold of her arm to keep her still. He was Zecairin and in full scale armor -- one of their scouts. A giant bow rested across his lap with equally large arrows in a quiver strapped to his saddle. If they had run, Riyarra had no doubt that archer could have picked them off or run them down on his mount. "We got us some Elth wenches! HoooPA!!!" "HooooPPA!!!" Came the return call from the woods around them. And even more came after the first barrage of calls. Slowly, one by one, more Zecairin troops appeared and surrounded the two women. "Fifteen so far," Riyarra whispered. "By calm, be quiet, be sensible." She advised the girl. Two dark skinned Zecairins in mail on juvenile striders the size of horses circled them with long forked spears in their hands. "Drop that bow Elth, and all them shiny, pointy things, or well make skewers outta ya!" The loud mouthed archer called as he approached slowly. Riyarra did as instructed and dropped her weapons to the ground with composure. Her companion followed her lead and slid the pack off her shoulders to the ground. "You with the pack! Stick them arms up to the sky!" Lysia did as the boisterous strider rider instructed. "And you, Stand on yer toes!" He pointed one end of his bow at Riyarra. She obliged with the slightest bit of effort. "Now both of ya, spin around in a circle!" he snickered at them. The other soldiers laughed and hooted. Riyarra looked to the girl and nodded reassuringly. There was fear in Lysia's face, but so long as Riyarra maintained her lead, it kept Lysia from panicking and acting rashly. The two Eltharian women twirled on their feet. Riyarra maintained more catlike grace and stealth than her awkward friend. "Wooo wee! We got us some pretty little things, don't we fellas?" the archer leered at Riyarra and waggled his eyebrows at her every time she came around again to glare at him. "Enough!" shouted a female voice. The speaker pushed her way through the circle of spectators. "Shut that windbag of yours! There could be more Elth scouts in the area, are you looking for an all out fight?!" she was practically screaming at them. The soldiers exchanged silent glances. "Yeah!!" The loud-mouthed archer cheered. "Bring them Elths on, we'll stick em in more ways than one!" He hollered and made vulgar thrusting motions with his hips atop his mount. The other men snickered and cheered. "Besides, ain't nobody around for klicks, we ran our sweeps already. " "Shut it!" She commanded. "Kill them here. Kill them now. We don't need to be made." The men booed her. "Shut it, the lot of you!" she screamed. One of the strider riders came up with his lance angled low. He snagged the bottom hem of Lysia shirt as she stretched high to the clouds. Slowly his spear pushed the cloth up, exposing her pale smooth skin. The men whistled and leered at the spectacle. The shirt snagged at her breasts, but the spear wielder handled his weapon with incredible dexterity. With the sharp spear tip he pushed it up over one breast, then the other, and the soldiers whistled shamelessly at the sight of her bare chest. The Eltharian girl raised her gaze and stared at the sky. Riyarra never let her eyes leave the loud archer as his gaze went from her to the spear show. "Look at what I found," the spear wielder said. His diction was much more sophisticated than the sloppy speech of the archer. He wore the same uniform of dark scale shirt and helm, making his appearance indistinguishable from the other soldiers. Only his weapon and his mount spoke of his status and ability among the group. Riyarra scanned the faces of the foot soldiers and realized they were all low birth Zecairins. The woman and the archer were the only ones with the tell-tale arrogance of Zecairin nobility here. They were the ones in charge -- one more than should be. The spear wielder rested the tip of his weapon right between the girl's breasts and slightly left of the sternum -- right on her heart. "Such a shame, we could have had so much fun," he sighed with a smirk. The girl opened her eyes and stared at him with tearful streaks coming down her cheeks. "Don't worry Pretty, it'll only hurt at first." The soldiers laughed. Every pair of eyes was eagerly waiting on the plunge of that tip. "The Killer will send his regards if you harm her," Riyarra spoke loudly so everyone heard, as she stopped dancing for them and stared down the soldier. All eyes went immediately to her. The spear wielder raised his spear immediately and looked at Riyarra befuddled. The mirth in this group suddenly vanished. "What?" The loud mouthed archer said. Riyarra saw the woman Zecairin push her way back into earshot of the group. Riyarra got a good look at her this time. She wore head to toe matte black leather with twin half swords at each hip. She was a shadow lurker - a soldier that murdered more than killed. "I don't repeat myself to males," Riyarra kept her eyes on that woman as she spoke. It was obvious there was a battle for control going on between these two. And she was going to use that to her advantage. "Speak, Elth. How do you know that name?" The woman's pale yellow eyes were just as dead serious as the others. "Because I belong to him," Riyarra said proudly. "And she belongs to me, but I must share with my lord and master from time to time." "Faugh! Impossible. These Elths are just spies that got a juicy bit of gossip from some slack-jawed merchant!" The mounted archer yelled. "I could describe him to you," She said. "But I'm sure only the Mistress here would be interested in the parts I could describe." She added in a sultry tone. A deep flush suddenly came to the pack girl's ears. Riyarra tried hard to suppress the sudden urge to chuckle. Lysia was too naive to be out here in the wild. "I was there when he became a General," The woman said with a cautious tone as she approached Riyarra. She made a show of drawing both weapons one by one from their sheaths and twirled them in her hands. "So let me make this clear Elth. I will know if you are lying. If you are lying about being his property, you will die. But not before telling me how you came to know his name. And then, only after I've made a bloody mess of your entrails for the scavengers to eat." She stopped within striking distance of her prisoner and waited. "Shall I describe the veins on his large, throbbing cock as it twirled inside me? Have you seen those?" She chided her back. The lady had to shift her feet uncomfortably, her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly. Was that anger? Or interest? Lysia's breath caught in her throat and she stifled a cough. "Faugh, this Elth wench could describe any of our cocks and we'd never know the difference." The archer grumbled loudly. "I think she'd know the warts on yours." The third rider, the one that had kept his distance from the spectacle thus far, chirped in. The look the archer gave him killed the mirth in his joke. The mood here had changed so dramatically. Riyarra never suspected the power she wielded with just a name. "Except that my master's cock isn't Zecairin...." Riyarra whispered softly enough that only the Zecairin lady could hear it. "eeep!" The pack girl squeaked despite herself. Her embarrassment was obvious by the trembling in her outstretched arms and the bright flush in her cheeks and ears. Riyarra was rewarded with the look of disbelief and recognition in her captor's eyes. But that quickly changed, she saw her tighten her grips on her swords. "How did the general die?" The lady asked loudly, to purposely change the subject. Riyarra suddenly had a sneaking suspicion that not many Zecairins knew that The Killer was human. That would make sense -- a political cover up to prevent embarrassment, while still being able to use the legend to inspire troops. If she misspoke, and let that secret out, property or not, she would be dead along with the rest of this troop. There was probably an oath of secrecy about to be enacted here, and she could see some sign of it in this woman's eyes -- a dreadful fear of the inevitable. Riyarra looked her dead in the eyes. She knew whom she was talking about. "His gorget was crushed in by my master's bare hands." She said evenly. "He slowly choked on his own blood as he tried to free himself." The lady's eyes were suddenly sizing her up. She had passed the test, but now a new one was forming. "Where is he now?" She asked, and sheathed her weapons. Riyarra had won their lives, but this next trap could cost them their freedom. If they learned Mule was dead, or thought they had escaped, they would enslave them again. "I will only speak with you privately about that," Riyarra said. "I wouldn't want a slack-jawed merchant to find out." She gave the loudmouthed strider rider a sneer. "You will be my guests then," The lady said with certainty. "If I like your answers, you may go as you please. If not... you'll be their guests." She turned and nodded to the smaller riders. "Take them to camp and secure them. The rest of you have a patrol to finish. We'll have answers tonight." She paused in front of the frightened, blushing Eltharian girl that still had her arms in the air and her shirt up. "Stop showing off," she grumbled. Lysia lowered her hands and her shirt. The riders came by and scooped them both up onto their saddles. The three striders sped off through the trees. Riyarra kept nervously scanning the tree line, part of her wanted history to repeat itself so soon. She wanted another pair of Eltharian tree archers to take this lot out. But that would mean they had been tracking her as well, and she didn't want to kill more of her people. She took comfort that both her and this girl had been spared for the moment. Perhaps she could even use this troop to her advantage, maybe even get some information out of them as to why they are so far out of their territory. Perhaps... With night came the rest of the troop. Soldiers arrived in groups and reported no findings to the large, loud mouthed, Rider. He seemed disappointed with each peaceful report. They almost seemed to be looking for something. "Come," The woman's voice said behind her. Riyarra glanced over her shoulder to find the Zecairin woman cutting the bonds at her hands free. "We will speak." She led Riyarra away from the cookfire the soldiers had just started and the camp altogether. They walked through trees and up a hillside. This woman knew where she was going, but it escaped Riyarra. Halfway up the hillside, a cropping of large boulders sheltered a large natural pond from sight. The water was fed from a stream coming down the hill, collected by the boulders, and then released as it overflowed and cascaded over one of the rocks in a tiny waterfall. "I need a bath," The woman sighed. "There are so many stinking males, phagh.' She spat to the ground and started to unbuckle her belt. "Join me, and we'll talk." Riyarra had to hide a sly smile. She recognized another Zecairin attempt at interrogation through seduction. She pulled off her cloak and cowl, and started to unbutton her vest. A bath sounded nice to her actually, she needed to wash the feeling of blood off her conscience. The boots came off, and then the knives strapped to her calves. As she tossed the vest to the ground, the clink of the hidden small blades on the inside made her glance up to her hostess. The Zecairin lady shook her head and sighed in annoyance that her "captive" was still armed. Her dark fingers finished untying the leather laces that ran diagonally across her jerkin. The heavy leather shirt quickly fell off her shoulders. Her dark grey skin was now bare to the chill evening air. Riyarra drank in her captor's form. Her body was exceptionally fit, toned, and lean. Her hair was naturally silver and cut short to the scalp. This woman wasn't given to the excesses of most Zecairin women -- she was a soldier at heart, and her body reflected that spirit. With practiced grace, she stood on one leg as she pulled the other free of the black leather leggings and boot. She entered the pool and went straight to the opposite side. The cool water came up to her waist, and as she sat down on the rock it came up to right under her arms. Resting her arms out onto the back of the rock, she fixed Riyarra with a scrutinizing eye as she watched her pull free of her own pants and toss them aside. There was no fear or inhibition, they were both soldiers that weren't bothered by nudity or exposing themselves to their enemy. "Why are you here?" The Zecairin asked bluntly. "The Killer sent me to find a human settlement, a monastery not far from here." Riyarra replied frankly. She stepped into the water, but found it too cool for her liking. "May I?" She asked and placed her hand over the water. Her captor gave her an unsure look before nodding slightly. A warm red glow flowed from her palm into the water, and the temperature rose dramatically. Steam floated from the water's surface in little wisps. With a profound sigh, she sank into its soothing depths and let the burden of yesterday wash away. She knew the game her captor was playing, it had been tried many times before - comfort first, then seduction, then domination. Riyarra would play her own hand at this. The elven princess sank under the water. She let the warmth of the spring soak into her being before she slowly rose to the surface. With her head tilted back, and her long blond hair coming up behind her, she let the water run off her in streaks and dribbles off her face, shoulders, arms and breasts. She ran her hands slowly over her face to push the rest of the water away. The evening air was getting colder, and it made her nipples suddenly contract to stiff, erect buds. She made no notice of it, but she was sure her captor could see them as she sank back against the rock opposite her. "I remember you now," She started off slowly. "You were one of the slaves at the trial." "Yes," Riyarra said firmly and rested her arms up on the ground outside of the spring, giving her hostess a clear view of her upper body. "That was a different time." Lost in the Light Ch. 04 "I see you've come far." The lady said and made no secret of admiring Riyarra's body. "I have farther to go," She stared intensely at the woman across from her, and didn't hide her glances as she drank in the lithe dark skinned woman. "There are many Eltharian patrols in the area," she said offhanded. "Are they after someone?" "Me," Riyarra said. "I have no loyalties to them now. The Killer has plans for me. And so long as I serve him well, he gives me all I could desire." "What is at this Monastery?" She pried as she lifted a leg to her chest and started to rub the wear from her legs in long sensual strokes. "That is what I am to find out," Riyarra stated. She tilted her head back, exposing the curves of her neck and shoulders as she stretched them from side to side. "What about the girl?" "She was part of a patrol I slaughtered. I left her alive to pry for information," It was a twisted truth, but it suited her needs. "She thinks I rescued her." "We found them," The lady confirmed her story. She was staring long at Riyarra as if trying to make up her mind. "Drink with me then - To fallen foes." She reached over to her pile of leather clothes and fished out thin black container. "Be careful it is potent." She said as she handed her the flask. "What are you called?" Riyarra said as she accepted the gift. The cap unscrewed easily enough, but when she pulled it free, the pungent smell of grain alcohol assaulted her nose. "I am nameless," The woman almost growled. "They men here call me The Cat, but I haven't earned a true name yet. I haven't found one I could take. Even The Cat isn't really mine." Riyarra took a sip, letting the liquid touch her lips and no more, before passing the flask back. It did little for her but numb her lips instantly. The Cat however, seemed to take to it like a good wine. "What is he like? Your master?" The Cat asked as she scratched at her other leg. "The humans we cross paths with are nothing to be desired - weak, feebleminded, or worse... brutal, lustful savages." Riyarra closed her eyes and let loose a long content purr. "That good?" The Cat said and raised an eyebrow. Riyarra only smiled and leaned her head back as she let the memories of their many joinings come to the front. She could almost feel his lips as they traversed the curve of her ears. Her own slender fingers carefully played with those same curves, trying to recreate the memory. With each slow sensual stroke of the elongated skin and cartilage a sigh came to accompany it. Ever so slightly her lips parted to let the deep heavy breaths of her growing excitement come and go. Those loving fingers traversed her neck and she pretended they were his lips. Her back arched up into them, wanting more, and exposing her chest in invitation. Soon enough they followed her invitation and circled her ample breasts until they came to the bright pink areola. There they played for some time, giving soft strokes of the skin and ignoring the nipple. She moaned and purred deeply. This was no act or show; she was in the moment reliving the pleasure in her mind. Both hands cupped her breasts and massaged them in her palms. Her fingertips gently stroked over each hard nipple eliciting a shiver of delight in the pale elf. From there they parted, one set of fingers disappearing under the water and another returning to the sensitive skin under her jaw. The moment she touched the tuft of blond hair between her legs and the warm mound underneath the water her eyes opened slowly. The Cat had watched every inch of her display, and it had its desired effect of awakening her repressed cravings. When their eyes met, Riyarra pulled herself up and forward, floating towards her captor through the water. She straddled her dark legs under the water and let her fingers run over the short silver hair to the back of The Cat's head. "He did something no one else ever had," Riyarra breathed into her ear before letting her lips take it slightly into her mouth. The Cat fought back the sudden urges that rushed to her cheeks; she wouldn't be the one to give in, not yet. Even as a cascade of cold tingles ran from her head to her feet she sat perfectly still. Riyarra let her lips migrate to the other side of her head and up the left ear. "Would you like me to share it with you? I know the spell to share memories. I can let you feel him inside you too." The Cat let loose a deep guttural groan. It was a dirty ploy that she hadn't expected. She knew Eltharians soldiers were all magic users, but she didn't expect this one to weld such power and yet still be so servile. This human must have an incredible power to have tamed such a creature. "Do you want to see?" She breathed into The Cat's ear. "Do you want to... feel it?" "Yess!" she groaned and grabbed a handful of blond hair as she let loose a long sigh of anticipation. Riyarra placed both palms on the sides of The Cat's temples, and pressed her forehead to hers. The Cat could feel something pressing into her, but it wasn't from any one place on her body. "Relax." Riyarra cooed at her. "Calm your mind, and let me in." The Cat fought back the carnal urges plaguing her here and now. It was a hard thing to do after getting so worked up from the Elth's display earlier. Her own wet lips below were aching for some attention, but she wanted this special gift. She wanted to know this legendary creature that could defeat the feared Unkillable and tame such a succulent sorceress as this Eltharian. The Cat felt something pressing into her again. This time she relaxed against it and let it push her. It entered her, in a way she couldn't describe. Her sight started to fade; the forest and the pool disappeared into blackness. Even the sounds of the woods and the warmth of the pool disappeared. There was nothing but blackness. Then suddenly there was cold hard stone. Followed by a sensation between her thighs. Her pussy was being licked. At first it was startling and disorientating as the sensations seemed too real to be real. But she ignored the panic feeling and focused on what was going on. The Cat was in a cell, naked, on her back, and there was someone between her legs holding them apart. He was firm but gentle, and his tongue was lavishing her burning wet pussy with the most electrifying of touches. She couldn't believe how intense it felt. Each slow deliberate flick of that wet muscle on her labia was a quenching wave of pleasure that causing ripples of cold shivers down her spine. Not even her best lovers had felt like this. It was all the Eltharian bragged it would be. She ran her fingers through the man's curly brown hair and tried to look at his face, but the light was too dim to make out the features of his face. His tongue entered her, and started to thrust in and out of her burning pussy as she thrusted up to meet it. "yess! Moreee!" She screamed in passion. "Give me your cock! I want it!" she screamed. The man between her legs obliged and crawled on top of her. His hard member was thicker than anything she had taken before, and suddenly fear and panic gripped her. But it felt too good pressing against her throbbing lips to ignore. Even as it slowly stretched her to the brink, she screamed for more. Inch by inch he entered her slowly. Her breath caught in her throat, waiting for it all. But it didn't stop until it reached the back of her womb, and she was filled completely. There she writhed in place with this hard thick man meat inside her. It took some getting used to, but soon enough she found herself bucking her hips up for more. He was all too eager to serve and started to slowly pull out until just the bulbous head of his cock pushed her wet lips apart. Then he pushed back inside and filled her completely. The Cat was laying on her back in the grass, writhing in pleasure. Her screams were loud enough to wake the whole woods, and no doubt would soon bring males from below wondering what kind of screams they were. Riyarra had to work fast. The memory she implanted in the Zecairin's mind would end and the spell would break, returning her to the present. She had managed to slowly cloth herself, but her own breath was hard and labored as her body experienced the same memories as The Cat. It took an incredible amount of focus to keep her mind compartmentalized into two realities. Even as she pulled the boots over her feet, she could feel The Killer's cock inside her, and it felt almost too good to ignore. Somehow she managed to push it aside and finished dressing and arming herself. She laid a knife on the ground next to The Cat; she was ready for the next step in her plan. She sat on her legs next to The Cat's moaning head. Just like before she placed her hands on the woman's temples and touched her forehead. Her next feat would impress even the Master Sorcerers from her home, and she had The Alluring to thank for showing her how. With her hostess preoccupied reliving Riyarra's first encounter with Mule, she dove into the Zecairin's own memories. They shared consciousness again, and luckily The Cat was too awash with euphoric pleasure to notice the subtle change. Riyarra had relived this memory a few times herself to know how much time she had left -- not long at all. The Cat's consciousness came at her like a fast flowing river, and she had only partial seconds to glimpse everything as it sped by for anything of importance. When she started seeing bits of her training she turned around and went with the flow to the present. There was something she saw that she wanted to revisit. A scout was reporting Eltharian movement. There was a large force -- larger than the one hunting her -- that was camped not far from a human settlement. There were dug in well and had built fortifications. This troop wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon, and it was waiting for something... Then she was seeing the camp itself from the distance. They left quickly not to be discovered. And then she saw it - The Monastery. The Eltharians had an interest in that place. Riyarra memorized the ride back to the Zecairin camp and recognized the mountain range in the distance. She had an idea where the Monastery was, and it was quite a ways away. The Zecairins were spying on the humans and the Eltharians, wondering what actions either small army would take. Riyarra suddenly felt a tingle in the back of her head. Time was up. She quickly and effortlessly pulled her mind out of The Cat. The climax was already building in her body from that small tingle and flowing down her spine exciting all the nerves along the way. When it reached between her legs, the spell would be over. She fought back the chain reaction of pleasure and pressed her palms to the lady's head and touched foreheads one last time. This time it was their joining in the slave chamber she shared. Once it had overlapped the last one, she pulled her consciousness out of The Cat. This would buy her more time. She flew back down the hillside. Her legs moved as quickly as possible despite their trembling. She stopped suddenly when she saw movement in the shadows below and immediately swung up into the trees above. One tactic that always seemed to work on Zecairin foot soldiers -- they never checked the trees for some reason. High up in its branches she hugged the trunk tightly as the waves of pleasure started to erupt from between her legs. She bit her lip to keep from moaning, and watched as best she could as a lonely scout hurried up the hillside following the trail The Cat and Riyarra had made earlier. Once he was out of earshot she made it the rest of the way to the camp through the trees. Her coordination was off slightly and she made a lot of noise in the beginning jumping from branch to branch. Her leg muscles were still spasming from her partially suppressed orgasm and interfering with her movements. But once she was close enough to the camp she took her time to move more quietly. She found Lysia sitting on a log with her hands tied. The soldiers weren't giving her much regard other than the occasional glance. Her plan changed; there was an opportunity here for more than an escape. But once again she'd have to play a part. Lysia would be a problem, the Yvarna made it impossible for her to lie. Riyarra approached the area casually. The soldiers gave her an unsure regard when they saw her walking around free. It wasn't until she started undoing the bonds on Lysia's hands that they stood up and put their hands on their weapons. "I think you boys need some relaxation," Riyarra said to them. "I'm sorry you'll have to play along." She whispered in Lysia's ear. "If you can suffer through this, we'll be alright." "My pet here needs something I just can't give her. But I think you boys can." She said with an impish grin their way. Riyarra slid a hand under the girl's shirt and started caressing one her breasts. The exhibition didn't go unrewarded, they let go of their weapons and looked to each other. She upped the ante by running her tongue slowly up Lysia's ear. It gave the girl shivers and brought that innocent blush to her cheeks and ears. Riyarra let go of her and approached the closest male. "I have some business with the windbag," she sighed. "Cat's orders." She wrinkled her nose in disgust, but placed her hands on the male's chest. "I'd much rather be here, giving you a hand with her. Or with other things..." she grabbed his crotch firmly and squeezed. The male groaned in pain and went limp. Riyarra caught him and held him up as he tried to put on a strong face. Two of the others in this mob of five males gripped their weapons. "But should you harm her in any way. ANY way. I won't kill you... I'll cut off your cocks and feed them to you. After I smash your balls between a pair of rocks." She released her grip on the poor male. "Enjoy her, but be nice and gentle boys. Maybe once I'm done with the windbag I'll come back to play." She sank her teeth into his ear hungrily. It wasn't enough to break the skin, but it definitely gave him a confusing sensation of pain and pleasure. With her performance played out, she left them to their fun. The windbag's tent was unmistakable as it was the only one. The Cat apparently didn't sleep with the troops. Riyarra pulled back the flap and entered to find a surprised half naked, large Zecairin male with one good eye about to take a swing from a waterskin. His eye darted to the flap, and he said nothing. Riyarra tied the flap shut. "Come to see the warts on my cock?" He grunted. From the waist up he wore nothing but his scars. The most prominent was the gash from cheek to forehead that left him missing an eye. His hair was black and cut as short as Cat's. He was heavily muscled, and it seemed an odd mix of natural talent for an archer. "What do you want pale bitch?" "Where did your earlier hospitality go?" Riyarra cooed at him. "I don't take another male's property." He spat. "I don't need a general coming to cut off my cock." "I only ask that you listen then." She said and sat down on the ground across from him. "The Eltharians are out here looking for something. Do you know what?" The soldier gave her an icy glare but didn't respond. "I thought it was me. Or at least the one scout patrol I killed was looking for me." She pretended not to notice the flinch of recognition in his eye. "I may belong to The Killer, but I am not a blood traitor. I owe the king no loyalties, but I will defend against anyone they send after me. But if there are other troops, I do not want to be involved against those that are not my enemies." "I am no blood traitor either." He said. "I will not give you any information. And especially not any of my cock, bitch." That avenue didn't work. "There is something at that Monastery that has my Master, and the king of Elthair interested. My master has not yet been replaced, so he still serves Zecair, and I still serve him. Why would you think helping me would mean you are betraying your kin?" The male put down his wineskin and crossed his arms in a defiant posture. "I've already taken all the information Cat knew from her." Riyarra crossed her arms and mimicked his posture. "You aren't as easily tempted by pleasure as she is. You're a soldier, just as I am. You understand these men and their needs; you have their respect and their loyalty. It's not incorrect to see you leading them someday." "Stop right there bitch." He replied. This one wasn't falling for any of her ploys. "The Cat will die by her failings and no other way." He added in a low voice. Riyarra suppressed a smile. Now she understood him. He wasn't going to betray The Cat; he was going to see her fail on purpose -- thereby ascending the ranks naturally and unquestionably. There was nothing more for her to do, this male had scruples and was already well positioned. She wondered if his earlier performance was a facade. "You will ride with us, under Cat's supervision." He stated matter-of-factly. "If you truly serve your master, you will give us information on Eltharian troops. You'll point out leaders on the battlefield for more decisive victories. And when we're done with our sweep, then we'll pay this little monastery a visit. But only if Cat orders it." There were subtleties in his speech she didn't miss. He was playing along; he just wasn't stupid enough to be obvious about it. Good for him. "The Killer, a general of Zecair, is very interested in this human monastery." She started speaking out loud. "He seems to think there is some secret that Zecair needs from those humans. Something the Eltharians, who are camped right outside their doorsteps, are also interested in. Let's hope they will wait for us." She watched his expressions intently, but he didn't move. "Get out." He stated plainly. "If you want a piece of cock, bitch, there's plenty out there." Riyarra smirked, she had him. They understood one another now. She rose to her feet and exited the tent. The flap fell shut after her and the male inside didn't seem to stir after that. He was a cold, calculating one, she would need to watch him more closely and not be duped by his performances. She chuckled at the thought he was probably thinking the same thing now. The camp had all but settled in for the night. Sentries were posted at its perimeter, and those not on duty were already asleep. The ones stirring were the muffled moans coming from the fire pit where she left Lysia. She almost dreaded returning there; she asked a lot of the pack master that she might not be able to do. But the more natural her reactions were the less they would suspect them. It was also part of her plan, but she felt guilty using her friend in such a way. But this was a war for survival. The cookfire illuminated the orgy clearly. It would have disturbed her to see such a thing before, but now that she had tasted the delinquency of Zecair, it was almost normal. Lysia was riding one of the soldiers; her naked body was bouncing up and down on his member with abandon. She faced away from him as another soldier held her head and thrusted his cock into her mouth. A third was crouched on the ground, sucking her breasts while he stroked his own cock. A sudden twinge of anger flared in her cheeks. She imagined cutting them all off and watching their owners bleed to death from missing male organs. It almost seemed as appealing as joining in the sex orgy. She could take some of the attention off of Lysia and make it more tolerable for her. The carnal desires were asserting themselves again and the memories she had shared with The Cat didn't seem to have staved them off long enough. Joining them might do the trick however. She was sure she could wear these males out. Tomorrow they might be sore and awkward enough to have little accidents on their searches. She liked this plan. Riyarra shed her clothes as she approached. The Zecairins noticed her but seemed too engulfed in their activities. She knelt before the male stroking his cock and took it eagerly into her mouth. It was no different than the many others she had played with and he was rather short in stature so his entire member fit inside. Riyarra wrapped her tongue around its length as she pulled him back out. The male immediately stopped his harsh groping and watched this blonde Eltharian beauty suck him past her lips. The exquisite sensation made his eyes loll back in his head immediately. Firm gentle fingers cupped his balls and massaged them as she bobbed up and down on his shaft, her wet lips sliding easily along the hard meat. His cock slipped out of her mouth with a wet plop so she licked the underside and circled her tongue around the head. Her efforts were rewarded with a moan of appreciation and pleasure. Lost in the Light Ch. 05 Author's note: The juicy bites are a long time coming in this one. Think of it as excessive foreplay. * The Mischevious The dawn began with the clack-clack of sparring warriors. The elite guards were warming up with hard fought duel matches. Mock spears, swords, short blades, even a knife -- all rang out loudly amid grunts of exertion and drops of sweat. Eight of them in all: six men sat and watched while two fought their hearts out and never pulled a strike unless it was to the head. They wore only cloth shorts that came to their knees. The morning dew moistened their skin and made sweat all the more prominent. They saw her coming and paused in their routine. All eyes watched her sultry, playful gait as she walked boldly right towards them. She mimicked the brown shorts they wore, but covered her front in a tightly fitting strap of blue cloth that held her bosom squished to her chest. One of the men snorted derisively and shook his head. Even her shoulder length blue hair had been tied behind her head. "Looks like the deadly rat has come to play boys," he scoffed. Of all the men there, he was the only one that looked like a hardened combatant. A pale scar ran down the side of his face from his eyebrow to his chin; his square jaw and pronounced jowls were always locked in a menacing grimace. "She's not a bad work out." Mero commented and stood up from his sitting position with a lazy stretch. "But is she a good work out?" Another of the guards snickered. He was the only one that held a mock spear. He also looked to be the youngest with a baby soft face, clean shaven, and bright blue eyes. The bawdy reference wasn't missed and a few other voices chuckled at that. "Care to find out?" Mero jibed back. "Aye, I'll take first licks." The young man smirked and took a step back to get in a few practice strikes with his long spear. "Any wager?" One of the others commented in a low voice. He had twin sticks like Mero's tucked under his arms and sprouted a full red beard, but a bald head. "Two strikes and she's down," one of the swordsmen snorted "No, I've actually danced with her before..." Mero said thoughtfully. "She's good, but not that good. I say eight." "I'll take it." The betting swordsman said. They all parted ways as she came up to them. Mero bunched his sticks together and tossed them to The Mischevious. She caught them together but didn't take them apart -- a single arched eyebrow voiced her question. You'll need them this time. But you'll have to earn your own." He snorted and took a step back. Half the group shrugged off the newcomer and left the courtyard -- they were done with their training for the morning. Four guards stayed to watch the fight and all four sets of eyes never left the Zecarin elf as she took measure of the sticks with a few practice swings. "I hear your race likes to drink blood," The blue eyed man taunted her. "Come for a taste?" The Mischevious looked at her sticks then at her opponent. "Bleed for me, and we'll find out." She retorted with a coy grin. Her opponent stopped his practice bouncing and laughed. "I don't know, I mean she's so sma..." He started to say before she came at him suddenly. The words ended as he brought up his spear to parry her strike, but it wasn't the sticks that connected but her foot to his arm as she swung her leg out at the last second into a roundhouse kick. Although she scored a hit, it was woefully underpowered and she practically bounced off his chiseled bicep. It wasn't the reaction she had hoped for, and the moment of confusion gave him time to circle around her and put some distance between them. "Nice." He applauded her and took a step back to reflect. "But we're not initiates..." His voice dropped low, and so did his stance to favor his back leg. He took a short breath, stared her down with those wolfish blue eyes, and then unleashed a flurry of impossibly fast strikes with his wooden spear tip. She blocked and parried one after the other and was forced to retreat as the kept coming straight for her face. Each strike made her grunt with exertion to match his speed, and she drew in a sharp hiss of breath as she prepared for the next. But suddenly as she moved to step back again he struck low for her solid footing. The Mischevious flipped backwards to avoid the strike that would have taken her feet out from under her. Halfway through her acrobatic ploy, the spearman threw his shoulder into her backside and slammed her to the ground. As the Zecarin elf collided with the earth, her opponent roared as he spun on one foot and flung his spear out wide for an overhead, extended swipe. Mero closed his eyes in a grimace of pain when he saw the beginning footwork -- he knew what was next. The wooden weapon came down with a loud thwack, and splintered in half over the woman's back. The Mischevious screamed in surprised agony, and rolled away. She tried to stand but the muscles wouldn't work properly anymore. She got to her knees before collapsing to the ground with a face full of dirt as her trembling hands clutched her back. "That was twelve," The swordsman snorted. Mero just covered his mouth and shook his head in masked amusement. "What?!" The spearman moaned. "Strike of the Pack counts as one!" "You named it?" The bearded man scrunched his face up in disgust. All four had turned their backs to the beaten elf to argue over the match. Only Mero gave her the occasional glance as she rolled around sluggishly on the ground in intense pain, unable to decide which side eased the agony. The blow hadn't broken her back; she was lucky...or tough. "And the Full Moon Fang!" The spearman continued, "If Razj can have his Panzkit-rit. I can name mine too." "The Panzkit-rit is hundreds of years old, and is more than just a technique or maneuver," Mero cut in coldly. "It's a weapon in of itself, regardless of what tool you use it with, Wolfe." "Fine! We both lost the wager." Wolfe grunted, as the exertion started to catch up with him, his breaths came heavier and heavier. He looked back to the Zecarin on the ground. "The Zek has some ability, I'll admit. Enough to be a spear, but she plays around too much." "Bleugh!" The swordsman wretched, made a face, and turned away to dismiss them all. The bearded man just shrugged and meant to follow before he was plowed into by Wolfe who had been shoved out of the way. Twin wooden blades clacked together where his neck would have been had Mero not shoved him. All of the elites staggered back and now gave her their full attention. The Mischevious was up and turned on Mero with a roar and unleashed a vicious flurry of stabs and slashes. It was all he could do to dodge and get out of the way -- she had gotten in too close for him to be effective, and she stayed close as he tried to distance her. Every time he tried to grab her arms, or block her wrists with his hands and grapple, she pulled the strike short and scored a nasty hit with the stick on his forearms. "Oh shit, you pissed her off," The bearded soldier mused. But it fell on deaf ears as their eyes were locked onto the one-sided fight as she continued venting her rage on Mero's forearms. Each strike he had to take caused more and more of a pained wince in his expression. It was obvious he didn't have the hand to hand training to fend her off with just his bare arms. "Mero!" Wolfe shouted and tossed him what remained of his spear. Before he could catch it, The Mischievous cut it in half mid-air with a scissored strike. "You're fucked!" He called out instead. Mero didn't respond. His eyes were fully dilated in the grey morning sun as the adrenaline from fending off such ferocity flooded his brain. His Zecarin playmate had become a completely different combatant -- and person. Her irises had turned scarlet red, and her jaw locked into a perpetual toothy growl. As his stamina waned from her onslaught, hers never seemed to end. As the pain and bruises mounted he caught the opportunity to retreat and ran hard. The Zecarin chased him down across the courtyard. "Let's play this game again." He grunted and vaulted off a stack of food crates near a building, up onto the low rooftop above. His footing never missed and he kept running along the roof's crest towards the next nearest one. He felt the thud through his feet of his pursuer landing on the structure, but didn't look back to check. The next building came up and it was very far away. But the speed Mero had built up was enough to carry him across the open air and into a rolling tumble that almost sent him off the short far edge. With no time to loose he reversed course and charged towards the leaping Zecarin as she flew after him. The two collided in mid-air and crashed nine feet to the ground. The man managed to secure her arms in mirrored arm-locks and her body with a full leg grapple from behind. There he sat with his prisoner and winced as his battered muscles locked up the struggling woman tight. The other elites came over to watch the results of this match -- and take out the crazed Zecarin if need be. "Fuck! Look at her face!" Wolfe said aghast. "What the hell is wrong with her?" The seducing visage of the grey skinned woman was now a snarling, slobbering, animal that tried to bite anything that got too close. "Calm the fuck down or we'll crack your head open!" The swordsman shouted and aimed the butt of his weapon at her forehead. The Mischevious hissed and roared at him like an animal. "Any fucking time now!" Mero grunted through gritted teeth. His face was beet red from the strain and the veins in his forehead were protruding up from the skin. "Knock the bitch out gods damn it!" he shouted. As the swordsman reared back to crack her on the temple, she slammed her head back at the last moment and cracked Mero in the forehead instead with the back of her head. He went limp immediately. "Shit!" Wolfe shouted and backed up just as she leapt at the swordsman with her bare hands and teeth barred. He swung at her head with the blade end of the weapon and missed. Her nails raked his face and her teeth sunk into his shoulder. "FUCK!" he shouted and spun around in a panic. The Zecarin still clung to him trying to bite a hole through his shoulder. He roared against the pain as he rammed her against the building wall, again and again, slamming her head against the stones. When her hold started to loosen he flung her off him to the grass below. His shoulder was a bloody mess, but she hadn't managed to sever any meat. The Mischevious wobbled to her feet, panting heavily. "Get your steel. If she gets me, kill her." Wolfe snarled as he leveled the splintered spear. It was less than half the length it once was, but his hands choked up on it, and he knew just how to make up the difference. The other two ran off in separate directions. "Here, kitty kitty kitty..." Wolfe taunted her. The Mischevious paused to pick up her sticks. Her movements were getting more and more sluggish. "Oh? You think we're still sparring now?" He sneered. There was a questioning glance in her face -- the snarling seemed to come and go. Fresh blood flowed down the side of her neck coming from some unseen wound on the back of her head. "Fuck..." she muttered and lumbered toward him before collapsing to one knee. Wolfe kept his distance. "me..." she muttered again and got up. The fierce red of her eyes was gone. But that sinister snarl kept coming and going amid labored breaths. On the third step she lost it and collapsed to the ground on her side. A shaking hand went to her head and came away covered in blood. Wolfe finally lowered his weapon, but didn't come to her aid. "Wise choice, lad." A gruff, grizzled old voice said behind him. Wolfe turned, startled, and immediately went down to his knees before The Father. The old man came to the panting girl and touched her neck near the throat. Her eyes didn't seem to see him, and so she didn't seem to care. His hands searched through her head and examined her scalp. The bright red blood showed brightly against the silver roots of her blue hair. From somewhere in his grey robes he produced a powder packet and sprinkled the contents into the wound. There was a sizzle and a small wisp of smoke. The incoherent moaning and ramblings of the girl died off with a sigh. Her rapidly panting chest stopped instantly. Wolfe thought he had killed her with that poison, until he saw the slightest movement in her from shallow breathing. Long, slow breaths said she was still alive. The father caressed her head once softly. "I was too rough. I see now." He said with a hint of remorse, as he caressed her head absentmindedly. The bleeding had stopped -- the wound had been chemically clotted. "Lad, carry her to my study." The Father said. "Call on Siles to tend to your fallen brothers first then ask him to come to my study with his medicines." He stood and turned, folding his hands behind his body. His fierce, disgruntled, dark expression finally returned. "Then get back to your training," he snarled. "You never wound your prey. That was your folly. Come to me this evening for penance." "Y-yes Father." Wolfe replied reverently. He hefted the elf girl up in his arms being careful of her head, and followed The Father. His comrades returned just to see them walking away, but when they approached, Wolfe nodded them back towards the still unconscious Mero. The walk was silent and uncomfortable. Wolfe's mind was racing with all kinds of questions to ask The Father, but his embarrassment kept him quiet. ***** The Father's study was simply a small room with a humble bed and three long tables up against the walls scattered with books. The old man sometimes spent entire days and nights here reading this bit of literature or that ancient bit of parchment. A solitary bay window of frosted glass took up the far wall above the single cot. "Put her there," The Father said. "Send for Siles, clean yourself, and change into your initiate robes." The Father commanded. Wolfe balked at that last instruction, and was about to protest, but when he saw the old man pause he hurried out the door. The Father locked the door with a latch and sat at one of the tables. A cold cup of tea still awaited him from this morning. He picked it up with both hand and drank deeply. Bitter tea was made even more so from the cold, and yet he drank it all. A small stoneware teapot held more and he refilled it once and finished that cup as well. His dark brooding gaze settled on the Zecarin girl and he watched her with a far off look in his eyes. The moments disappeared in his thoughts until there was a soft knock at the door that broke him from them. The Father rose and unlatched the door. A short rotund man entered and bowed reverently to him. Unlike the servant's solid blue monk robes, this man's maroon robe was hoodless and seamed down the middle. One side folded over the other and belted in the middle, but the man's enormous girth kept the halves of the robes from meeting. He wore a plain cotton undershirt and shorts to cover the exposed areas. "Lock the door Siles." The Father commanded as he returned to his chair to brood, and the man did so behind him. "You did not bring your herbs." He declared. "I could not bring all of them, Holy Father," The man protested with a coddling tone in his voice, "I need to see the patient first. Ahh," He breathed and walked over to the sleeping girl. Thick, stubby fingers parted her hair and he examined the wound on her head. Then he placed a meaty hand on her chest, felt her labored breaths and then her heartbeat. "I heard there had been a bit of a ruckus." He commented during the examination. With a fat stubby thumb he peeled back an eyelid and examined her eyes. They were rolled back, and she was in a dazed state. "I heard she had devil eyes of blood, but I see none of that." "I have." The Father muttered. "Oh good," Siles commented with an eerie glee. He lifted up her bare arms and examined them, followed by her legs. "Some slight scarring on the upper thigh here." He noted. "I made that wound two nights ago." The Father muttered. "Reeaaally?" Siles said with glee. "The muscles seemed to have healed nicely, and so quickly!" "She uses magic to heal." The Father grunted, and poured another cup of tea. Siles' joyous expression melted to a fat lipped pout. The physician removed her shoes and examined her feet, but found nothing interesting. Then he placed her hands above her head and pulled her blue top off over them. The Father did not object as she was stripped. Siles caressed her breasts and gave special attention to the nipples. His face leaned in to observe the hardening buds and the gooseflesh reaction in the skin. His mouth opened as his breathing grew heavy with concentration and the exertion of leaning over. "All in all, she seems to be very healthy. Mind the nasty crack on the head, and the clotting medicine has knocked her out cold, but her nerves respond and she should recover. What caused this berserk rage I heard about? Hmm?" Silas finally diagnosed. "I see no poison entry points, nothing we grow here could have caused it. What could it be perhaps?" He said with a sly grin. "You know damn well." The Father sneered. "Its gods damned distilled demon blood. They weren't supposed to make that." The old man clenched his fists and stared down the fat friar. Silas was all grins, but no sign of surprise in his face. "I had wondered what they wanted it for." He cooed gleefully. "I thank them for showing us this little secret. Now if we can just persuade her to share its recipe and distillation." "No..." The Father let the words grind out of his throat and fixed Silas with his dark brooding stare. "Ah, yes. I meant purely for medicinal study. I cannot help her if I do not know its formula." The man quickly recovered. "I know damned well what you want to do with it Siles." The Father barked. "Do not presume to play innocent with me." "Yes, I apologize." The man sighed reverently and bowed his head. "Forgive me, I am just so overrun with scientific glee I forgot myself. I only want to make our soldiers stronger. We have so few..." "This girl lost all sense of self preservation," The Father sneered at him and leaned forward to stare Silas in his face. "What good are disruptors that do not come back? Hmm? If they leave their bodies behind as evidence, with their blood full of an elixir that could be harvested and studied? The world would go mad." "It seems the Zecarins are already doing that." Silas replied cold faced. "Faugh!" The Father spat. "Only because we sold it to them!" he snapped under his breath. "Now there are Eltharians outside our walls staring at us from afar. If they learn of this we'll have an army on top of us, and we'll be dust. Centuries of hard work will vanish." "They wanted the Zecarins chaotic and savage," Siles argued as he sat in reflection. "We have provided that." "I have provided that," The Father snapped back. "The King of Elthair wanted his sibling's meddling stopped, and I saw an opportunity. Already we've seen fewer and fewer patrols on their borders; something has happened recently. Liam must have succeeded. This... This wasn't supposed to make them stronger." "He has never failed." Siles agreed with a sigh. "But he is too valuable to use recklessly." The Father gave him a dangerous look. "We should learn as much as we can from her." Siles changed the subject quickly. "We can learn what side effects there are, and how to cure them or exploit them. If the Elths ask, we say we just now stumbled upon this elixir with her." "I think we learned a big damn important one today - don't piss them off." The Father snorted. Then his angry gaze melted almost instantly, and he looked more the grieving grandfather. "I can teach her some techniques; I should have done that to begin with." He sighed. "I should have realized exactly why Liam sent her here to begin with. He sees things so much farther ahead than I can." Lost in the Light Ch. 05 "I will take some blood and test some recipes on it." Siles nodded and opened a pocket in the front of his robe. From inside he pulled a long thin glass vial, with a very thin knife inside it. The herbalist placed the blade tip in a candle flame on The Father's desk, and left it to heat up. Stubby fingers picked up one of the elf's hands and rolled her wrist over until it was facing up. One of his fingers sprouted a metal sheath over a fingernail that was polished sharp, he pricked one of her veins in the wrist with it and the blood flowed immediately. It collected into the vial he held to her skin and once full, he retrieved the thin knife in the same hand and pressed the hot metal to the wound, searing the vein shut. The burnt smell made The Father snort. The fat man left without another word, and left The Father to his thinking. Long moments later, there was another knock at the door. The Father rose and opened it to allow Wolfe to enter. He looked humbled in his dark blue robe, and also looked like just another acolyte. The Father gave him no regard but walked over to the bed with the sleeping Zecarin girl. "I misunderstood why she was sent here," The Father admitted gruffly. "She may become a student if she wishes; I admit she has some talents, but there is a sickness in her that we must deal with first, and that was why she was sent here." Wolfe nodded in understanding. "There are two very important tasks I am going to give you so listen closely," The Father snorted before his stern, raspy voice continued on. "You will assist Siles in his work with this woman. Whatever he needs, go and get it for him. You'll be allowed out of the Monastery for this reason only." Wolfe bowed his head in appreciation, but the Father just raised one dismissive hand. "Don't thank me yet. The reason I want you to do this, is so you can report to me on Siles. He is doing dangerous work, and he may not tell me all that he should. I need you to report what he neglects to." The Father looked over his shoulder for a moment to regard the man with sharp blue eyes. "You haven't finished your trials of temptation either. That is why I need you for this second task." Wolfe looked to the Zecarin girl and for the first time saw her as a woman, especially with her bared chest, and a confused and disgusted look came to his face. "When you are not assisting Siles, you will be looking after her," The Father instructed in a stern voice. He paused to stroke the wrinkled skin of his chin. "Do not let her near any more acolytes. Do whatever it takes to keep her calm." He looked as if he was going to say more, but didn't. "Father, will I be allowed to continue my training?" Wolfe asked solemnly. He took the task before him to heart, but wondered where it would lead him. "You have moved on to another lesson," The Father replied with a gruff snort. "Combat training is only one important skill. I will teach you about subtlety now; you are to be her confidant. Earn her trust, and report from her as you will from Siles. Get her to show you what she won't show the rest of us." "I feel that she shouldn't know of this," Wolfe said quietly as he started to understand, "and neither should Siles." "He can know what she tells you; he'll need to, but not that I also know. Keep nothing from me, but don't let him know that. Go now, set her up in one of the chapel rooms, and take care of your charge." Wolfe bowed to the old man, picked up Zecarin girl and left. ***** By the time she finally started to stir, Wolfe had dozed off sitting at the desk with his head down in his arms. At first it was the sharp short breaths that broke the silence, then it was the tossing, until finally he lifted his head and rubbed the sleep from his face. The afternoon sun was still coming in from the window, but its color had turned from bright yellow to soft orange -- evening was approaching. He stared blankly at his charge and saw her head move side to side as she grew restless. Wolfe on the other hand had only just revived from a nap but it felt like hours of sleep had just refreshed him, and thus his brain was a little foggy. Such peace and quiet was a thing of the past for him since rising up the ranks, but this revisit to the life of the acolytes had been a mixed blessing -- he finally got a good solid nap in. These quarters were cramped, with barely space between the walls for the worn oak bed with mattress, dark brown desk, and foot trunk that made up what was a guest's quarters. He replaced a basket with a stuffed towel and clay pitcher of water back away from the edge of the desk to the center to keep them from falling off accidentally. Wolfe hadn't seen this kind of modest comfort since elevating to the Huanguard under The Father. Comfort was cast off for the power that came from The Father's hard lessons. He was stronger, more alert, and more tolerant of the elements than he had been as an acolyte. Razj called it "becoming wild again." But the one thing he missed, was the deep, deep sleep that an elite never felt again -- for they were always vigilant. Razj even claimed to never sleep anymore; he just meditated to rest his mind, as he put it. The adjustment and the sacrifices were hard, but he went to it without complaint. His charge had opened her eyes. She was looking around with a blinking, confused expression. It was to be expected from the knocking about her head had received the day before. Wolfe simply sat and watched quietly, his bright blue eyes staring at her like the oddity she was -- a dark grey skinned elf in a monastery full of men, and a female to boot. Female... he thought about the problems that would cause, if they hadn't already happened. The acolytes and stewards were just simple men, here to cater to the elites that were trained; they still had the hungers of men. Rumor was she was just an intruder caught sneaking about; the stewards had been keeping her prisoner. But The Father's reaction to her yesterday... and this mention of training her meant there was more here than he was told. The scowl eased away -- if she was to be trained, then the stewards would have to cater to her too. That was a recipe for mischief. She caught him staring and startled. "Iz mou wayn?" She asked and propped herself up. "I don't speak Zek." He stated plainly, and leaned one arm against the desk to prop up his head. Truthfully, he understood her inquiry, 'Who are you?' Languages weren't his strong point, but he knew enough for simple conversations, and they were required for training. Wolfe tried his best to come across non-threatening, considering the thrashing she had given Mero. But it must have been the look in his eyes that just unnerved her, because she was cowering from him. "Where am I?" she asked, as she clutched the blue robe she wore and looked at it with uncertainty. "You're in one of the rooms near our Chapel; it's where first year initiates stay when they are in study..." He saw the utter look of confusion in her face and stopped. It was as if she recognized the words he was saying, but they made no sense to her. "Do you know why you are here?" Slowly she shook her head no. "Do you remember your name?" She looked away and started to think, but the longer she took the greater the look of anguish on her face as if the concept was scaring her to tears. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly. Her blue streaked hair fell forward as she rested her chin against her knees. "No..." she whimpered as her face contorted like a child about to cry. "It will come to you," Wolfe said gently. "Give it time, and it will come to you. You hit your head hard, and cut it open. It will take some time, but it will come." He said softly. There was a certain cold, sternness amid the gentle reassurance in his voice -- like he had seen this before. Or perhaps he just wanted her to believe him. She nodded her head in understanding but couldn't help hold back the tears. One hand reached up and felt the bump and gash in her scalp. It gave her some measure of comfort to confirm what he had said. "I'm scared, I don't know this place." She said, and pulled the blanket over her up to her chin. "Who are you?" "Call me Wolfe." He said softly, and looked away so as not to stare too much. He knew his stare was intimidating; he used it to unnerve people, he had planned to use it on her until this development. "You're safe. You're resting in this room because you hurt your head in a training session. You can stay here as long as you like until your memory starts to come back." She nodded her understanding. "Would you like me to go and give you some privacy? Or would you like me to stay and keep you company?" She thought about it for a bit. "Stay." She said. "Talk to me?" "Sure, are you hungry?" Wolfe asked. He turned around and pulled a basket from the desk and opened up the towel that covered up some bread and fruit. He had intended to eat it himself if she didn't wake up. He handed her an apple and replaced the basket on the desk. She looked at it and rolled it around in her hands. "What is this?" She asked. Wolfe clenched his jaw to keep it from falling off. If this was an act, she was being clever about it. "Umm, that's an apple. It's a fruit. You bite into it just like it is." He made a motion of bringing it to his mouth and biting into an invisible apple. She mimicked him, and took a small bite, chewed it for a bit, and swallowed. "I suppose you don't have apples in your home." "It tastes weird." She complained, but continued eating. Wolfe placed the basket of food on the bed beside her, and motioned simply for her to have her pick. She was content with the apple for now, but when he handed her the water pitcher, she cast it aside and drank deeply from the clay rim. Water dribbled down the sides of her mouth and onto her robe. "Not so fast, take your time." Wolfe reached over to take control of the pitcher, but she immediately cowered away from him. "No! I won't tell you!" She shouted. He froze in his track and gently eased back into his chair. Her reaction startled even herself and she looked at the pitcher suspiciously. "I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from." "Torture..." Wolfe stated with a sigh. "Plain as day, you've been scarred. Interrogation can never be forgotten. No matter how hard you hit your head." That uncertain fear returned to her face, and she sat hugging the pitcher. "I want to go home." She mumbled. "Please, let me go home." "I will take you home. I promise." A cold chill ran down his spine, this conversation was taking a wrong turn, he suddenly felt like her captor. "Once your head is better and you can remember..." "NOOO!" She screeched and flung the pitcher at his head. He caught it easily before it even left her hand. Some water sloshed out and all over the bed, but he was able to get the rest away from her and place it on the desk. She kicked at him and swung with her fists. But it was the frantic thrashing of a desperate person. Wolfe avoided grabbing her wrists as he deflected each blow with his arms; he wanted to, but didn't want to make the situation worse. Until he saw it, that malicious gleam in her eye... and the beginning of a snarl creep up her lip. It was the same as when she went berserk. "Easy! I'm not going to hurt you." Wolfe yelled over her screeching. He caught one of her arms but purposely let the other wail on him as she saw fit -- he needed to do this lightly and not overwhelm her. A quick jerk of her arm and he caught her body and held her tightly. His powerful arm wrapped around her body and held her head firmly to his chest. She couldn't get away, he was too strong. Her free hand could beat on him as much as she wanted, but until she showed signs of remembering how to fight all she could do scratch and bruise. It was her teeth he was worried about, as the image of Lawson's chewed shoulder came to mind. "Easy... I'm not your enemy. I'm here to help." He said calmly. She still fought him, but it was a losing battle as her tantrum eventually ran out of energy. Once she stopped struggling, he let go of his lock on her neck and wrist and started stroking her head soothingly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." Wolfe said. She stayed leaning against him, her head against his chest. "Would you like me to go now?" A trembling hand released its death grip on his bicep and wound behind his neck to grab her other hand behind him. "Stay..." she whispered, as her arms made a bar to hold him. He was almost as much a prisoner of hers as she of him now. "I'm sorry. Bits of images come and go. They're not really images, but... feelings. I remember feeling... like I was a prisoner." "You were a soldier, of some sort. I don't know. You didn't really tell us much. But you knew how to fight." Wolfe started. It was uncomfortable for him, having her hold onto him like this. He didn't much care for Zeks, but he was also fighting some of his own urges at the same time. Perhaps that was why The Father picked him - he needed someone that wasn't going to abuse her... like the stewards probably did. Now it all made some sense. This situation was becoming more complicated by the moment. He couldn't tell her what he knew - it might make her see him as the enemy. He couldn't lie to her either, because that would ruin the trust he was supposed to build the moment her memory came back. His brooding was interrupted by the feeling of her fingers playing with the back of his neck. It caused a mixed signal to his brain, but eventually the cold shivers won over. "You grew quiet." She said, but didn't look up. "I'm sorry. I feel comfortable like this. Do you mind?" "Um... No. Not if it makes you feel better." Wolfe replied after clearing his throat. "Can you tell me about these images and feelings, perhaps talking about them helps." "I... it hurts too much to think right now." She sighed. "I just want to rest here for a bit, I like this." Her fingers had moved up to curl through his hair. Short as it was, she still managed to get small lengths of his brown hair to twirl around her finger. "I, I should go," Wolfe started and slowly untangled himself. "You should eat and take some time to yourself. I will be back soon and we can talk more." Before she could protest he had her arms back in her own lap and had retrieved the food basket. "Please, enjoy. You need to get your energy back." "I'm sorry." She admitted and looked down, chastised. "I don't know why I did that. I didn't mean to make you leave." Wolfe had stood up and winced as the pain of guilt stabbed his brain. "I have other duties to attend, and as soon as I get them completed, I can come back and spend the rest of the evening with you. If you would like me to." He tried to sound genuine, but something about this just felt all wrong. "Would you like me to get anything else while I'm out?" The elf looked to her basket and rummaged out two hot rolls and smelled them. "Some more of these? The smell makes my mouth water." She smiled. Wolfe nodded with a grin and left, closing the door behind him. He was halfway down the hallway before he let loose a profound sigh, and ran his fingers through his hair violently as if to set it on fire through friction. "Something the matter my son?" Mero said with a coy look on his face as he approached. He was wearing the same acolyte robe as Wolfe, and had even pulled the hood over his head to mask most of his identity. Wolfe's eyes grew two sizes too big and grabbed him by the arm to drag him along. Mero made as if to protest but Wolfe's silent glare was a well known expression among the elites. Despite his boisterous nature, the few moments the young man kept silent warranted utter seriousness -- and everyone understood this about him. When Wolfe was quiet, something terrible was about to happen. When he had put enough distance between them and the hallway, Wolfe stopped and checked for eavesdroppers. He looked like he was ready to slug Mero in the face, but instead smacked his own cheeks a few times. "She's trying to make my head explode!" He hissed in a hushed voice. "She may just be faking, but I think she's lost her memory. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Woo a blank slate?" "No enemy has an impenetrable shield." Mero quoted and pressed his palms together in religious significance. "The clever show you a fake chink, the fearful keep the right one hidden, the wise show it clearly but never let you get close to it." "I know," Wolfe took a deep breath. "She's just too damn good at manipulation. If she wasn't a Zek, I'd be breaking my vows right now." "Yoooou never took that... particular... vow." Mero slowly corrected him. Wolfe's jaw dropped, as he realized his error, and the trouble he was in. "You took the vow of diligence, the vow of sanctity...sure. But the vow of temptation doesn't come until much later. So long as you don't actively pursue pleasure of the flesh, you aren't breaking any vows if it pursues you. You lucky rotten bastard." "Ohhhh! That's why he asked!" Wolfe's tone had completely changed as some grand revelation occurred that escaped Mero. He turned towards the grand chapel and dragged Mero by the arm. "I missed my lessons, and I need to let off some steam". "Sorry, my son." Mero argued in his mock pious voice. "Siles sent me to fetch you." Wolfe growled, loudly. "Wow. That was pretty impressive. Can you grow fur too?" The young man stopped and threw his hands up in frustration. "Clear your mind my friend. It is too soon in this play for the Hero to be so vexed." Mero patted him on the shoulder. "Just let us know when it gets to the steamy parts, yes? Well, only those of us that are allowed to watch or listen in on the steamy parts. Hmm, that would make a good stealth training exercise... peeping in on you." Mero waggled his eyebrows. "I can't believe you!" Wolfe muttered. "Is everyone in on this?" "Only your dearest friends - those that enjoy watching you writhe around in embarrassment." Mero grinned. "The rest... ehh, they'd rather the Zek was dead and the body dumped in the woods. I think Lawson is part of that camp." "Wonderful, they'll be staring daggers at my back." "Pish! You think too lowly of us. Now the wretches, they might be a bit envious. I mean you did steal away their Deadly Rat. Hmm..." Mero suddenly turned rather serious. "I wonder if they'll try something now that they know she's been caught." Wolfe looked down both hallways to make sure it was still empty. "Are we allowed to kill stewards?" He asked in complete honesty. "Of course!" Mero said taken aback. "Why do you think The Father saves them from the gallows and brings them here?" "I thought he was being merciful, actually." Wolfe said. There was a mixture of glee and horror in his eyes. "That man truly scares me sometimes." "You don't know the half of it." Mero winked. "But off with you now my son, don't keep the Master of Lard waiting." Wolfe shook his head and left. As he crossed the doorway he turned and gave Mero a salute. His mentor did know just how to cheer him up. Mero straightened his hood and followed at his leisure. The Chapel was empty this late in the evening. As soon as he watched Wolfe leave out of the main doors he took a seat on one of the pews and knelt with his hands together in prayer. Not long after the meditative silence was interrupted by the soft shuffling of old feet. The Father never seemed to use any doors, he just seemed to appear, Mero remarked in his head. The Father made his way down the same pew and came to sit next to his student. "Speaking of wretches," The Father said. "Someone is stealing potatoes." "Potatoes?" Mero faked being shocked. "Of all the nerve." "They're making booze, and selling it when they go to market." The Father ignored his pupil's mocking attitude. Lost in the Light Ch. 05 "Some Friars make wine, we make spirits." Mero argued. "But what are they doing with the profits?" "Numerous... sinful... activities." The Father said bitterly. "I see." Mero's mirth disappeared. "I'll take care of it. Should it look accidental?" "They'll just set up shop again." The Father mulled the problem around for a moment, his withered jaw moved back and forth as if he was grinding teeth he still had. "Make it look like the Deadly Rat did it." The Father snorted. "If she's telling Wolfe the truth, we need to know. I also want to see how she handles herself defending against retaliation." "I'll take care of it tonight. Any worth saving?" "None." The Father muttered. "Monks getting their jollies at whorehouses is bad for business." "Hmmm. What do Monks, a whorehouse, and a Zek have in common?" Mero mused. "What?" The Father griped. "I'll let you know when I figure out the punch line." Mero said with a sly look in his eye. The Father leaned back, crossed his arms, and raised both his bushy white eyebrows in surprise. "Oh? This should be good." He grumbled. Mero merely bowed respectfully and made his way out of the Chapel. ***** Nightfall came, and a soft knock interrupted her staring out the window. The dark skinned elf didn't respond; she just sat in the darkness. But when the door creaked open and candlelight flooded the room she brought a hand up to protect her eyes from the light. "Who is there?" she demanded. "It's me. It's Wolfe." Wolfe said as he entered. "How are you feeling?" he sat the candle down on the table along with a tray with some tiny lidded pots and a teapot on it. "I made you something." "What is it?" She asked and came to sit on the bed in front of him. She certainly didn't mind the cramped conditions, nor shy away from him. "Tea." Wolfe replied. "There is a bit of a ritual to it that one of the other monks taught me, I would like to try it for you. It's a blessing for when two people meet for the first time. It is supposed to make their fates prosperous. Also, our herbalist said you should drink this particular tea because it should help your memory." "Will it hurt?" She asked in earnest. "Wha-at? No, its just tea, you drink it." Wolfe balked. "No, I mean the ritual. I remember that some rituals were painful." She said. "You do?" "I don't remember much, but the word ritual, to me, brings feelings of violence and blood, and the suffering of others." "Yeesh. It's not that kind of ritual." Wolfe brought the tray down to the bedside next to her. "Just sit back and watch. The ritual is just in the preparing of the tea, that's all, then you take a drink, then I take a drink." She scooted back on the bed to make room. Wolfe started by taking the lid off of the white ceramic container marked with green tick marks in a sunburst. His movement was very evenly paced and deliberate, there was no hurry in his actions, but neither was their undue waiting. From the container he took a small sprig of green needles and picked off each green spine. These fell neatly into the large cup and once the sprig was clean it was placed reverently on the tray. The lid was replaced on this small clay pot and another was pulled free from a similar container marked with pink swirls. From it small flower blossoms were picked up one by one and dropped into the cup. Once done, the lid was replaced and the two containers were moved to the side. There was a large pot at the back of the tray from which wisps of steam escaped through the gaps in the lid. Hot water was slowly poured from it into the cup with the blossoms and sprigs. The petals swirled around and floated up, but the sprig trimmings stayed at the bottom. Wolfe stopped and let the brew swirl around for a moment. His eyes were focused on it with utmost attention, and he made no eye contact with his charge. The Zecarin was more interested in him than the swirling cup; her eyes never left his face in the dim light. Wolfe picked up a tiny tapered copper rod the size of a finger and, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, gingerly used it to mash up the sprig trimmings at the bottom of the brew. The water quickly turned a muddy green. He mashed, and pressed, and scraped the bottom of the cup until the green color turned a muted yellow. That was the sign he was looking for; he stopped and replaced the copper rod where he had picked it up. Next came the sprig twig from earlier, this he used to stir the entire mixture violently. The beautiful tiny petals that had floated about were mashed against the walls of the cup and turned to pulp. Then they finally floated down to the bottom with the rest, but the water cleared almost instantly, and took on an amber hue. Finished, Wolfe slowly scraped the twig against the side of the cup, ensuring most of the tea stayed inside. With both hands he picked up the cup and presented it to the elf girl. "Drink in good health," Wolfe chanted, "and may your days be filled with prosperity." He waited patiently until she finally reached up and took the cup in her hands. "Sip from the top, the pulp at the bottom is unpleasant, but it won't hurt you." And she did, drinking deeply as she stared at him. This time he met her eyes, but in them she saw only quiet observance. But even in candlelight they were fierce and piercing. His face was where she had to look to read him, the relaxed but firm jaw, the expressionless lips, if this had been a trap he had no fear of it going wrong. The liquid was pleasantly warm, and it soothed her throat as it flowed down, bringing with it a hint of mint that tingled afterward. When she had finished she handed him the cup back almost as reverently. He took it graciously and took the same long sip from the top that she had. When he had finished, however, he placed it on the tray and moved the whole thing over to the desk. The basket from earlier was still there and it was completely empty. "I'm glad to see you ate well." He commented and folded the towel back up. "I forgot your rolls, I'm sorry. I'll bring twice as many for breakfast tomorrow." "Just no apples, I don't like them." She muttered. "Their insides are hard, and the seeds too." "You don't eat that part," Wolfe chuckled lightly, "just the outside, the good part." He picked up the tea cup and carefully poured the top liquid back into the water pot. The mush at the bottom he scraped out with the copper bar into a wad on the tray. With the cup now empty, he transferred the liquid back into the cup and handed it to her. "Here, finish the rest of this, it should help." "Suddenly, I don't trust this." She scowled at the cup. "For some reason I trust you, but this feels like you're trying to poison me. One of those image feelings again..." "I can understand that," Wolfe sighed and sat in the chair across from her. He noticed a faint blush in her cheeks, which, in order to show in her dark skin in this dim light, wasn't really so faint at all. Concerned, he pressed a hand to her forehead, and then he felt her cheek. "Hmm, you seem a little hot. How do your eyes feel?" "Fine," She said a bit evasively. "But my cheeks are very warm." "Let me know if you feel worse," Wolfe said. "If you hadn't noticed, you're not human like the rest of us. It may be this simple medicine might affect you differently. But our healer said it shouldn't." "You sound like you don't trust what he gave you." She replied and stared coldly at the cup. There was a tone in her voice, distant, guarded, it was a curious change from her anxiety earlier. "I trust he believes that what he gave you will do what he said it would," Wolfe crossed his arms and regarded her. The blush had spread to the tips of her elongated ears as they poked through the curtain of white and blue hair that fell around her head. "I'm very hot," she sighed. "Do you have anything lighter to wear than this heavy thing?" "No," Wolfe shrugged. "How is your memory? Any more bits and pieces come to you while I was gone?" "Maybe I don't want to remember," The Mischevious said softly. "I have so many bad feelings, the pitcher earlier triggered something... the tea now... Its like bad things happened to me once. I don't think I want to know what they were." Wolfe locked his jaw and looked away at the window in thought. He'd seen his share of war and battle and the scars that men carry with them afterwards. He'd seen what torture does to those that survive it, and he even sometimes wished he hadn't seen any of it at all. This was becoming a hard game to play. The Father wanted information out of her, but Wolfe wondered if they should just let a sleeping demon lie. His broodings had caused a silence. It was the ruffling of her robe as she pulled it over her head that brought him out of it. Wolfe fought back the urge to enforce modesty on her; this was her room after all. Before he could figure out how to respond to it, she had it off and tossed to the floor. There she sat in her bed with the blanket over her legs, and her upper body bare to the night air. Nudity didn't seem to bother her, so Wolfe decided he would play along. "I should retire, you could use some rest," Wolfe picked up the tray and turned to leave. She caught one of his arms and held on. "Please stay, with me, here." She offered. She didn't look at him however, and he could only stare at the top of her head. The dark brown spot in her hair that was the dried blood from her wound held his attention. Guilt suddenly washed over him. There was no reason he should feel like this about her, if she had come to train she should have been prepared. It wasn't his fault, why should he have to nurse her like this. This wasn't fair of The Father, and suddenly he resented this assignment. "Please?" she asked again "I'm just a little... unnerved. You're the only thing I know is real right now. I'm afraid that if I go to sleep I might not remember you or this, or worse I might think I'm somewhere else." Wolfe sighed. "I suppose it can't be helped, I'll stay tonight." He sat the tray back down. "But I will be getting up very early, so don't be alarmed if you wake up and I'm gone." "I understand," she said and finally looked up at him. Since she wasn't bothered with nudity, he took a gamble and pulled his own robe off over his head. His elf charge moved over on the small bed up against the wall and made room for him. Not so much as a faint gasp of surprise at his nakedness from her, and that eased his nervousness. Even though they were of a same height, he was easily twice her size in muscle. The bed creaked loudly when he lay down next to her. Wolfe blew out the candle and set it on the floor, then scooted it under the bed. There in the darkness he laid down next to this Zecarin woman -- a deadly creature lurking behind the innocence of amnesia. Suddenly the fear of her remembering everything while he slept crept up his spine. He really shouldn't be here, and if he didn't leave he wouldn't get much sleep. Her small frame curled up next to him and her head lay gently on his chest. She was so comfortable there he just couldn't leave now. Her heat pressed against him felt good too, her skin was smooth and warm, and her fingers started to absently caress his chest as she tried to fall asleep. In a fight, he could hold his own. But in this type of battle, he admitted to himself, he was at her mercy. Ruse or not, if he didn't play along it would make things unsettling, and quite possibly rouse her anger again. Keeping her comfortable and placated was the best option to keeping that rage and unnatural fighting ability inside her locked up. Sometimes he wondered if he had just forgotten how to be a normal person and enjoy simple things like companionship... 'Only a soldier can survive war', one of his teachers once said. 'But after the war a soldier cannot survive'. Suddenly a great weight felt like it flew off of his shoulders. He understood now, this was indeed more training. He needed to learn to let go... to turn off the combat readiness and resume normal tasks. With that thought he closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep. ***** His morning routine had changed completely because of his ward. His studies and practice lessons had been suspended. Instead, he was taking her to see the scholars and the teachers here at the Monastery. There was one that spoke Zecarin who was very interested in having a "good conversation" as he put it. Wolfe knew his Zek wasn't up to par, but he listened in nonetheless. What words in her language he didn't know he deciphered through the course of their conversation. She was very forthcoming with any information she did know about her home, but for the most part the teacher just asked her about civil things. Once or twice he caught vile glances from some of the stewards that passed them in the halls. This was the first time she was walking freely and boldly among them; he had to be on guard for anything from the stewards. Mero's words from yesterday came to mind, and he secretly thought of breaking one or two necks to teach the others not to glare. They paid a visit to Siles' room after lunch, and he gave her a physical examination. Her scalp was healing, as were the bruises on her skin from her fight. She didn't seem to mind it in the least. But when she drank more of the herbal tea Siles had given her, Wolfe saw a growing agitation in her face. Her brow scowled, and he saw in the afternoon sunlight the immediate deep flush that came to her skin. Siles noticed it too, but he seemed to have expected it. He pretended not to notice even, but Wolfe noticed the slight twinge of the cheek that was a contained smirk that came once her skin reddened. Dinner was served in her room, and he made sure to bring extra rolls. She scarfed them down with glee, and ate the meat and potatoes begrudgingly afterwards. They spent the evenings talking, and she shared more of the images that came to her of her home. She would describe the buildings in great detail to him, as if it was the first time she was seeing them. When they finished their talk, Wolfe went to leave, but she convinced him to stay again with her as she slept. In the morning he awoke first and left to the chapel to speak with The Father, and then off to fulfill his duties. The next few days repeated their routines. On the fourth day since her accident, she spied the other Huanguard training in the courtyard and watched them with mixed emotions - eager anticipation and fear. Despite his own yearnings to get back into some physical workouts, he knew the danger of getting her worked up. For now, it would be best to keep her away from any fighting until she regained knowledge of herself and control over whatever was lurking underneath. Siles examined her once a day and asked how she was feeling. Her mood improved day by day, but not her memories. The herbalist didn't seem too concerned about it, but he always drew a small amount of blood from her for testing. Wolfe found that odd, and so did The Father when he reported it. "Let's start her training." The Father said at long last. "Elves live longer than us, they may take longer to heal as well... and we can't wait that long. Be ready for anything. We're going to speed the process along." "Yes, Father." Wolfe replied grimly. But inside, a dark glee rose up in his being at getting a sparring partner that would accelerate his own training tenfold -- if she didn't kill him. **** The evening hours were his alone. No annoying stewards or snooping elites bothered him after dark. He was free to work without interruption. Siles' mood also changed once the last of his visitors left for the day. The pretentious smile vanished and a sarcastic one replaced it. His fat stumpy legs lacked the grace of the athletic men that worked here. His steps could never be muffled as he just waddled across his apothecary with loud thumps to a back store room. Shelves with jars took over one room with barrels of seed and dirt on the floor beneath them. The opposite wall, from waist high to overhead was a massive glass window that showed the growing black of night taking over. Underneath, hanging from pots were plants of all shapes and sizes -- some ferns, some flowers, some massive vine systems. Siles watched the night sky unfold with a bit of serene regard. Then with a deep breath he turned and moved a bronze gargoyle sideways along a shelf with a click. The whole section of wall suddenly became detached, and the large man was able to pull it open like a door. A pale magenta glow bathed the greenhouse and Siles' face as he entered. Inside a body hung from chains in the ceiling, her bare flesh bathed in the pinkish glow coming from matching symbols on the ceiling and walls. They were binding wards, to keep the demon within docile and weak. "Now..." Siles began as he closed the secret door behind him. "Where did we leave off? Oh yes..." He reached up and untied the moist gag around her face. The dirty rag dropped to the ground with a wet plop. Weakly her eyes opened - red venomous eyes amid dark skin and blue-white hair. Those pupils were fully dilated and regarded him with blank curiosity. "Are you real?" She breathed faintly. Siles reached up and pinched one of her nipples. She gasped sharply, and her eyes fluttered as a mix of pain and pleasure flooded her brain. "Does that feel real?" He chuckled. "Here, drink this. It's the last bit of medicine for you." He lifted a small cup to her lips. Inside a thick, dark red syrup poured out and dribbled into her mouth. She lapped it up hungrily. He smiled and brushed her hair back out of her face. Her long ears marked her as an elf, with the same face, build, and attitude as the Zecarin guest Wolfe was looking after. The same one that was supplying him with the blood to make the medicine he had just given her. "I had strange dreams again, Master. Dreams that were not my own." She whispered. "They were yours, my pet. I just hadn't collected them all yet. These are the last now." He smiled and brushed her cheek. The touch of her skin made her eyes flutter again and her breath come in short gasps. When they subsided, her head hung limply and she stared at the floor. "Can I go now master? I am very hungry." She begged. "Soon pet, I have more questions for you. Let us see if this potion has helped your memory. Do you remember your name?" "I," she started to say weakly. "I am The Mischevious to my people. Most just call me Zek." "Tell me of your people, and this elixir you drink." "It happens at birth, and only if you're from a noble house." She started. "I don't know much else about it. Except that the common folk, those that don't take it, seem more weak and docile." "You only take it at birth? Are you certain?" "Yes master. Only once. I don't know why." "Interesting," Siles started to walk around his captured devil. She was truly a marvelous thing to him. Feminine, exotic, and powerful -- were it not for the wards. "How do you feel, my pet?" He smiled as he paused behind her. Her lower back muscles were tensing and releasing, an odd habit for someone chained. Her skin was even starting to glisten slightly with sweat. That was odd, Zecarin were heartier towards hot climates, and it was cool in here. "I feel hot," she sighed, "and I itch... between my legs." Her candid and uncensored remarks could be believed. The circle of wards repressed the demon blood inside her. It was what caused her weak and delirious condition. "This magic I used to create this barrier. It is a blood seal of the strongest kind, and it is containing the demon inside you." Siles reached up and grabbed a handful of her hair and let the strands pull gently through his fingers. "You see, I know quite a bit about the summoning sciences and demon binding. Medicines, poisons, herbs... they're more like a hobby. Subjugating the strong willed spirits of the other realms is my true passion and calling. Did you know there is a rare white flower that when you smell its fragrance it sends you to hell temporarily? There you can see, touch and feel the demons... and if you survive, once your body eliminates the pollen from your blood, you return to the field of flowers from where you sniffed it, only to breath in more. Quite chilling... and beautiful. Lost in the Light Ch. 06 Mule How long had it been since he had been brought here? All sense of time came and went like the clouds that cluttered his mind and the ones that flew overhead in the sky. It was the drug -- the byproduct of a distilled bean resin that killed almost instantly, but assuredly. Knick a finger with a tainted knife, and if you cut off the arm soon enough you can save the victim. But once it entered the chest, it stopped the heart, the lungs, and all other organs instantly. There was no cure that was quick enough. He focused his mind on simple facts to try and stay awake. But he had learned a secret -- a self induced torpor. The poison decomposed in water, even the water in blood. If one could stop the heart quickly enough, and for long enough, the poison would grow inert before it could do any damage. However, waking up from torpor would be just as damaging, sometimes permanently. If one survived, the decomposed poison was also a powerful hypnotic drug. The master mystic that he learned this technique from took a month before he was back to his feet. It was a year before the master was ready to attempt it again. No other students that had attempted this had awakened again. No one had ever done what he had done. No one had ever beaten the poison. He wobbled his limp head to one side and looked at his left arm. He could lift it. He could close the fist. But it was the only part of his body that he could move that well. His eyes worked, but it was always blindingly bright out, except at night. In the morning, once his captors left, he exercised his limbs and muscles to regain mobility. By noon, with the sun overhead and it being too bright to see, he covered his eyes with one of the tattered blankets around the nest and napped. In the evening, when they returned, they used him for recreation before all falling asleep. They were Harpies, a dying breed of half men, half birds. They were the result of a mating between an elder Harpai and a large raptor. It was a crude necessity for a race banished and hunted by civilized peoples for their cannibalistic tendencies. Harpais and Harpies ate the dead -- just like scavenger birds. Their mother was a Harpai, a pureblood. She was ageless, immortal and powerful, but capable of being killed, just like her kin. There was no telling how old she was, or just how strong. But she was the one that saw him for a plaything, and so long as she was in control, he was safe. Their nest was a cleverly constructed net of rope and rough hewn boards, probably salvaged or stolen from farmsteads in the area. It wasn't without accommodations; there were pilfered blankets, pillows, straw beds and a few trinkets that caught the Harpies' eyes. Her daughters were a curious duo, constantly poking and clawing at his limp limbs -- playing their game of "does he feel that?" As of yet, they hadn't bitten anything of his off. Their mother amused herself with his manhood; every night she tried to arouse his flesh, but just like the rest of him, there were mixed results and little reflex. He thought back to the last time he had encountered either Harpies or Harpais; he knew it had been a long time, but the memories just couldn't make their way through his muddled brain. Nothing much did. At times it caused him fits of panic -- usually sparked when he couldn't remember the last day, or how long he had been there. Every time they arrived at the nest it was a startling discovery to see these winged sirens alighting in the air for a moment before landing gently in the quite nest. First their mother arrived, with her golden and white feathered wings folding gracefully around her form like a strapless gown. Followed by her children, their mottled brown and black feathers hanging relaxed down their backs like cloak - they cared little for grace and even less for modesty. Their naked bodies barely seemed nubile by human standards, but by harpy standards their under endowed forms probably served for better flight. He couldn't remember facts as he once did. Unlike their mother who was almost completely human-like, from the waist down her children had spindly, feather covered legs ending in raptor feet. Their faces had a slight animalistic-avian quality. Their hair was straight and thick, almost quill-like. Their faces were round and flat, more human than animal, but when they flashed their sharp teeth it gave them a terrifying countenance, even when they didn't mean it to. Not wanting to risk staring he rolled his head to one side and took his normal blank-stare position out towards the east. "Hungry?" She spoke softly and came to nestle herself next to his head. She laid on her side, and one wing unfurled under her slightly to expose a heavy breast. He nodded his head honestly -- he hadn't eaten all day, and the drug in his system impeded any protest. "Eat then." She said and with firm arms pulled his weak head to her waiting nipple. His lips latched instinctively and he sucked. Something about her made it difficult to resist anything she told him to do. The Harpai woman held her breath and let it escape slowly over the long pleasurable moments of his suckling. Her head slowly leaned back as her eyes fluttered shut. Her mother's milk flowed, and he drank it deeply without letting a dribble escape. For days she had nursed him back to health in this manner. He was too weak to hunt, and even too muddled in the head to eat what they brought him. It wasn't all too unpleasant for her either; in fact it made her want him all that much more. Their nest was more blissful with him here, he was warm at nights and her daughters would soon know the pleasure she knew, and eventually have offspring of their own. Their family would grow large enough to defend their home once again. She was content, despite the alluring waves of pleasure from his feeding. When she finally opened her eyes again, Yuma was nestled between his legs and staring at the limp flesh there. She had taught them what it was for, but sometimes their curiosity got the better of them. They had been sternly warned not to hurt him or bite him, and if they behaved themselves she would give them a treat. "Harla, come preen your sister." Her voice caught suddenly in her throat from a surge of pleasure coming from her breast -- he had bitten a bit too hard. Harla, who had his hand in hers and was inspecting it over and over dropped it and crawled over to her sister who sat between his legs. "Yuma, you too." Yuma looked up from moving his limp thick meat back and forth to Harla and sat up straight. Harla came to sit in Yuma's lap, wrapping her legs around her sister's bare waist, and their hands intertwined for a moment. They kissed softly, affectionately, as their hands started to explore each other's face and neck. Where they found a smudge of dirt, or an uneven tuft of hair, they licked and cleaned the other. Yuma pushed Harla's brown hair straight back, and in that moment their bodies were identical -- they were twins. But upon release, it sprang forward with a coarse spikiness of quills her sister's smooth black hair lacked. Yuma giggled. "Stop it." Harla warned and nipped playfully at her sister's ear. Yuma squealed as her sister's sharp teeth drew a drop of blood. But Harla flicked her tongue over the bite and collected the crimson drop, and her sister's wrath was abated. "You've got grease all over your neck." Harla scowled and proceeded to lick it clean. It was Yuma's favorite spot to have cleaned. She always tilted her head way back and held her breath throughout it. "You're a messy eater." Harla said between long, licking strokes up her sister's neck. "Can't help it." Yuma purred. "I like the juicy parts." "You'll get fat." Harla chided and pinched her sister's side. Yuma moaned a complaint. Finished with her sister's neck, Harla glanced back at her mother's blissful, oblivious face as she nursed the human. "She seems to like that a whole lot." "Mmmhmm." Yuma mumbled as she leaned in to lick clean her sister's chin and neck. Harla sighed delightedly as her skin responded to the attention. Preening wasn't so much a chore now that they were older. In fact it had grown more and more enjoyable in the last year or so. At first their mother said they were becoming women, but didn't explain it any more than that. Then, a few months back, their mother had started to teach them about taking a mate. It wasn't so interesting before when mother took men to their nest, but now that this man was here Harla couldn't stop staring at him -- he was a curiosity. Especially since her mother forbade them both from eating him. It didn't help that he looked tasty too. A new sensation tingled across her chest, up her neck, and turned into a soft mew from her throat. She turned back to find Yuma preening her breasts. She wanted to protest and scold her for being silly, but for some reason when Yuma's tongue came out again and touched its wet, rough tip across her erect little nub, it sent shivers down her back and her breath escape in a delightful moan. "It feels good right?" Yuma teased and licked the other one. Harla threw her head back, but stopped whatever sound was about to come out at her throat. "Good like how momma likes it?" "Oh yes!" Harla hissed quietly, trying not to get them in trouble. Their mother would ignore them for a while during feeding. They had tried to rouse her from it a before before, but she wouldn't have them interrupting. "More please." She gasped and muffled her squeals against her sister's head as another wet lick electrified her nipples. Her hands instinctively came to cradle Yuma's head to her chest, and she started to nuzzle her. "I'm next, don't forget." Yuma cooed in a quiet voice and teasingly started to lavish her sister's other breast. It was surprisingly pleasurable to the young Harpy to feel what their mother must have felt each night when she fed the human. No wonder she seemed to enter a trance and didn't want to be disturbed. "Ow! Not so hard!" Yuma growled, as Harla was starting to knead her sister's scalp, and her claws had scratched. It startled her out of her daydreaming, and she recoiled her hands. "I'm sorry!" she whispered, and attempted to preen the cuts she had made. Yuma was being inconsolable and instead guided Harla's lips to her own chest. Without another word Harla apologized by sending Yuma into short pleasurable spasms, exciting all the same nerves in her pert young breasts. Her tongue swirled around each nipple and she marveled how they grew long and hard. She touched one with her fingers and felt its firmness between them. Touching them was just as enjoyable as preening, by Yuma's soft mewing. Yuma mirrored her curiosity and together they explored each other's sensitivity. She liked it best when something stroked her budding nipples, but Yuma preferred to be pinched. "I've seen her do this too," Harla whispered and slid her hand between Yuma's thighs. She found her sister warm and wet between her legs. Yuma's breath caught in her throat when Harla touched the outer lips of her maidenhood. "More," she breathed. "It feels good." But the more Harla stroked her sister's wet lower lips, the heavier and louder her breathing grew. So Harla kissed her, and muffled the heavy mewing caused by her touch. Her fingers were getting wet, and one slippery, stubby claw accidentally slid up inside Yuma's cunt. The harpy suddenly went rigid, her wings stretched out, and she grabbed both Harla's shoulders for support. "Careful, don't pull it out," Yuma whimpered, "it feels so good, but it hurts if you scratch. Move it slowly." Harla nodded and slowly moved her finger around inside. Yuma threw her arms around her sister and licked her ear and neck in an attempt to muffle a squeal of passion. "Keep going." She instructed, and Harla obliged. Apparently Harla had discovered something better than preening. Yuma's breathing grew heavier and she lost all focus or concentration. Her hips even started to move against her sister, causing a slight thrusting deep inside her. It wasn't long before something happened and Yuma whimpered and started to shake. "I'm sorry, did I scratch?" Harla said apologetic and eased her hand out. Her sister let out a long pleasurable moan against Harla's neck and planted soft kisses under her chin. "Noo..." Yuma panted, "It was really good. I've never felt that good before." She sighed and wrapped her arms around Harla's head. Her fingers caressed her sister's short brown hair and the stubby claws at the tips of her fingers combed it out. She had no words to express the experience, all she could do was caress Harla and sigh contently against her skin. "My turn?" Harla whispered and licked a tuft of disheveled black hair back into place on her sister's head. "I need a moment, that... that wore me out." Yuma sighed. "Oh, it's getting dark too." She sighed again and looked out at the setting sun. "That's not fair." Harla complained. Her sister kissed her affectionately. "Tomorrow night, once momma starts feeding." Yuma promised and disentangled herself from her sister. She crawled around the nest until she found her usually sleeping spot and curled up. A thick woolen blanket crumbled up on the sides conformed to her small body. One black feathered wing tucked up against her back, and the other draped over her like a blanket as Yuma settled in for the night. Harla was left flushed and flustered, and she wasn't having it, not before sleeping. So instead she crawled up against this man's long thick leg and inspected his manhood more closely. It seemed to be very important to their mother, she had explained to both of them what it was for, and not to hurt it. But she didn't quite understand it all. It was so limp and squishy, there was almost nothing appealing about it. Except for its smell. The young harpy noticed that it had an alluring odor. Now that she was closer, it was starting to affect her more. She smelled him, and let it tingle her nose. Subconsciously her mouth hung open to breathe. It made her flustered feeling all the worse. Curiosity got the better of her and she gave it a quick preening lick. It had a curious taste. Not one that made her mouth water and inclined her to bite it, but rather she suddenly found herself preening him more. His scent and his flavor were very intoxicating. Her long tongue travel up its length to the tip, and she tasted a small drop of moisture from it. It was salty and sweet and she suddenly found herself wanting more. But when she tried again, stroking his thick flesh with her tongue, no more came out. Curious, she squeezed it with her fingers as she moved them up its length, like squeezing grease from meat, and delightfully discovered another bead of moisture forming at the tip. Her mouth engulfed the head and she sucked, trying to get as much of the nectar out as she could. "Carefully, dear." Her mother said softly. Harla jerked up suddenly and the thick appendage came out of her mouth with a wet pop. Her mother smiled knowingly at her abashed look. The human's head lay on a cotton stuffed pillow, asleep, and she was lazily stroking her fingers over his chest. "Keep going," her mother encouraged with a smile. "Just be gentle. Especially with those lower parts." Harla nodded sheepishly and looked down to the limp flesh in her hands, and the sack of skin hanging from it. Somehow it seemed longer now, and was more spongy than flaccid. She continued to stroke it with her fingers. Her lips suckled the tip, and found to her amazement that it was responding to her touch. Their mother crawled across the nest to settle in against the man's stomach and chest, she watched with a slight blush to her cheeks as her daughter caressed and coaxed the man's thick member. She had hoped to have the pleasure herself this evening, but her curious and impulsive daughter had beaten her to it. She took a moment to reposition herself to make her wings comfortable, by allowing them to fall gently down her backside as her daughters did, rather than pull them around her front. It left her bare and naked as they were, there was no more need for modesty now. "It won't come out," Harla protested. "Patience dear, it will take some doing." She smiled, as she leaned in to observe, to coach, and possibly to partake. "He is not awake. It comes much quicker when he is, but our guest is not well, and needs his rest. So we will have to make due and be patient." As she watched her daughter continue lavishing this man's cock with her long skinny tongue, her own hands drifted down her body in soft caress. It had been too long since she had felt another's touch. She suspected the hot flush from the feeding was responsible, but watching Harla's youthful curiosity explore this man was making her very excited. "It's getting very hard, momma," Harla marveled at the thick throbbing meat between her fingers. It had grown to more than twice its length and width. "Shh, not so loud dear, you might wake your sister. And then we would have to share." Her mother giggled a bit impishly. "We're not eating him, so what are we sharing?" "This..." she said and gave the taunting erection a soft stroke. "Only one of us can enjoy it at a time." Harla nodded in understanding. Her exploration with her sister explained how one had to give and one had to receive, but with her mother now -- there wasn't enough of him to go around. Harla was confused. "Ohhh," she whispered. Her lips kissed the tip and she sucked the head into her mouth. "Keep doing that, so it stays nice and hard," her mother said and lifted herself up to move closer to Harla. Her hands touched her daughter's arm and trailed over her shoulder, down her back in a soothing caress. "Don't stop until I tell you," she instructed and let her fingers dance over the smooth skin of her progeny. "We need to get you ready for it first." Harla sighed contently at her mother's calming touch, but when those fingers draped around her ribs to her breast and started to tease and pull at her nipple, she moaned despite herself. Dutifully, she did as instructed and continued to lick the man's thick flesh. It felt so good she wanted to just lay her head down and enjoy it, but she heeded her mother's words as a warm tingle grew between her legs. Her dutifulness was not unrewarded, as if sensing her daughter's distress, the Harpai mother trailed her other hand over the firm round cheeks of Harla's posterior and gave them a deep sensual rub. Deft fingers knew where to touch and where to massage to make it pleasing to the young woman. On one such caress, a slender finger slid in between them and touched her waiting moist maidenhood. It was no accident, as two fingers spread her cheeks apart and started to massage her wet mound with knowing directness. Unlike her sister's inexperienced touch, her mother's was much more electrifying. Harla let out a soft squeal of pleasure and reactively lifted her rump into the air and spread her legs further apart. It was an instinctual response that made her mother smile. Her mother's expert fingers kneaded and massaged her maidenly breast and its sensitive peak just as thoroughly as their companions parted her young vagina and pressed inside. They were gentle as they entered, but forceful, it was exactly what she needed to start lubricating. Around and around those fingers twirled and writhed inside her warm cavern until she was dripping onto the padded floorboards of their nest. Harla could not believe how good it felt. It was too distracting, and she couldn't stay focused on the task her mother gave her. "There, this will do, love." Her mother's soothing voice cooed against her ear. "Rise" she gently commanded, and Harla obeyed. Following her mother's guiding hands she came to sit atop the man's waist. She looked down to find his firm manhood between her thighs pressing against her drenched mound. "Rub yourself against him dear, slowly, but firmly. Make his flesh wet like yours." Her mother said and placed her hands on Harla's hips to guide her motion. The harpy girl did as she was told; she started to rock forward, grinding against his meat. It felt so good feeling him there that a moan escaped. Lost in the Light Ch. 06 "When you feel yourself ready, you will press him inside just like my fingers were." Her mother leaned in and kissed Harla's neck, her tongue licked the supple skin of her cheek and jaw line. It gave Harla a shudder. "It may be painful at first, so go slowly." Harla did as instructed. With both hands she positioned the man's hard cock towards her waiting maidenhood and guided the head inside. He was big, very big, and it spread her lips painfully apart. But she found that by being patient, they adjusted, and the moisture from her sex was making it easier and easier to fit more and more of him inside. Each inch she managed to envelope caused a shudder of excitement and pleasure throughout her body. Her mother's loving embrace kept Harla upright and focused, and her preening tongue on Harla's sensitive skin helped distract her from the pain of penetration. Something amazing happened. With a wet plop, something resisting him gave way and the rest of his immense length and girth was easily swallowed up by her pussy. Harla went rigid; she threw her head back as the scream of pleasure caught in her throat and wouldn't release, and her wings started to stretch and flutter about. She sat there shaking and twitching as the new sensations flooded her being. It was her mother's calm caresses that brought her back to the moment and she remembered the man underneath her. Instinct took over and she started to move and rock in place. His hard member slid effortlessly in and out of her drenched womanhood now moistened with her maiden's blood. Despite her best efforts, Harla could not restrain her excitement anymore; lost to the throws of passions she started to squeal increasingly loudly with each grinding gyration. Her hips rose and fell as she pulled herself off of him only to let gravity bury his hot member deep inside her wanting flesh. Yuma lifted her head up at the ruckus and blinked half-asleep eyes at her sibling. It took a moment for what they were doing to register in her mind, and then another long deliberation to decide if it was worth crawling out of her warm nestled spot to investigate. Curiosity won over sleepiness and she crawled over to them. Their mother was lavishing Harla's young breasts with her lips and tongue, alternating from one to the other. While one hand caressed Harla's back and the other fingered and caressed their joining sexes. It didn't take long for Yuma to form a basic comprehension of what they were doing, she knew the look of sheer pleasure all over her sister's face, and it was only reasonable that she was getting a more thorough education than the two of them conducted on their own. Witnessing this moment of carnal love between her family members made her want seconds; Yuma attended her sister in her moment of passion and started to lick down her neck and shoulder, allowing her tongue to come to rest on a bouncing nipple. Its own motion caused it to rub itself against her lips, before she swallowed it into her mouth and sucked. Their mother smirked slightly at Yuma's boldness and welcomed her into their midst with a caressing touch. Yuma's hands roamed over her sister's body caressing softly down her back with one, and cupping her pert little breast with the other. It was the last push her sister needed. The young harpy's body suddenly started to shake and spasm as she leaned forward to plant both hands on the man's chest. Tremors flowed down her back and her wings expressed her uncontrollable release with a flutter of excitement. Soft, loving caresses welcomed her back from the peak of her passion as she sat hunched over and panting. Slowly she lifted herself off; gingerly and begrudgingly releasing the man's swollen member from the depths of her womanhood. It came free with a wet slap as it fell heavily against his abdomen. The older Harpai pulled a panting Harla against her into a soothing embrace and wrapped her wings around her child. "Well done my dear," she smiled and kissed her forehead. "Now Yuma, it's your turn." Yuma gave the man's engorged meat a questionable glance. It glistened in the dusk light with her sister's juices with a bit of red mixed in. It was incredibly huge compared to the small clawed digit she had had inside her earlier. She touched it. Lifted it up and felt its firmness. Her fingers came away sticky, and so she brought them to her nose and sniffed. The scent tingled in her brain and sent a small electrifying shudder down her spine. Somehow it took away her reluctance as her womanhood yearned for another feast. Following in her sister's footsteps she straddled the man's throbbing flesh and pressed it to her waiting sex. It was too big to enter her, but she pressed anyways. If Harla could do it, so could she. Slowly, it spread her lips apart; slick juices from it moistened her inner folds and made her vagina more receptive to its massive size. Slowly it eased into her, spreading her walls far apart. She winced in pain at first, but as she held it there and waited, the pain slowly went away and she proceeded with burying it deeper inside. Unlike the smaller, previous intruder, this human's girth was filling her completely and sending new sensations of pleasure through her body. It was slow going, but with each push a squeal of delight from her lips signaling another inch gained. With one last forceful push, the last of it was swallowed up by her ravenous sex. Yuma sat atop this man and made a deep, guttural, purring sound as she sat there simply enjoying the feel of him inside her. Her hips started to move on their own, her eyes fluttered shut in concentration, but she stopped and let focus and purpose return. She was determined to maintain control over this. This was her turn now. Her sister had hers, now she was going to explore more of this experience. Nimble fingers slid down her chest and belly, her eyes opened to find her mother giving her a loving kiss on the lips. With a soft moan she parted her lips to allow the tongue that caressed them to enter. Her mother taught her the pleasure of deep kissing, and for the moment it distracted her from her movements. Soft caresses flowed down her body to her burning wet sex and turned into deft caresses by a single finger. Her mother's expert touches knew where to go. That tantalizing finger found something new that the girls hadn't discovered earlier that sent jolts of pleasure through her. It caressed a small bulb of flesh at the top of her sex and focused on it. Each flick and light pass made her trembled with anticipation for more. It didn't take long for Yuma to lose her control and let her body to take over. Her mother's attentions helped to overrule her restraint. It happened much quicker this time with the stimulation her clitoris was receiving. Her body locked up suddenly just like it did earlier, right before it was wracked with pleasurable spasms that left her breathless. Yuma lost all sense of balance this time and fell forward, lightheaded and gasping for air. When her senses cleared she was safely in her mother's bosom surrounded by her cloak of golden and white feathers. She was being moved she could tell, but her senses didn't care where, they were still busy basking in the afterglow of the orgasm. Her mother laid her down gently next to her sleeping sibling. Yuma instinctively curled up against her sister. Harla mewed slightly and repositioned to cuddle up for warmth. The night air was growing chill, and together their shared body heat amplified the warm fuzzy feeling drowning their already tired minds. The Harpai woman kissed both her daughters goodnight on their heads and whispered "Well done" to them. Left alone with the night sky and her captive male that had just satisfied both her progeny, there was only one thing on her mind. With a long pleasurable stretch her large golden wings spread high and wide into the air above. High up in their tree where their nest was, the air cooled off much quicker when the sun set. Her breath formed small wisps in the air before her face. Taking her rightful place atop him, she found his sex still hard and warm to the touch. It took little effort to envelope him deep inside her pussy, and she did so with a pleasing gasp. She took a moment to enjoy his hot meat deep within her, and the smile it brought to her face. The last few nights of making due with only his body heat for sleeping were now over. He had finally recovered enough to be enjoyed they way she had intended. Leaning forward, her heavy breasts pillowed against his chest and spilled out in all directions. Her lips found one of his ears and she whispered softly to him as he laid their unconscious. "Give me your seed." She begged. "Give me more children, please." She bit his earlobe until blood wet her lips. Then with a soft flick of her tongue, gathered the droplet that formed on his skin. Her fingers played with the skin of his neck and caressed a cheek. The cold air was intensifying her senses; she placed her face in his chest and breathed in deeply of his scent. The crispness of the air made it all the more intoxicating. With the night hers alone now, she settled into a more subdued pace -- lifting her hips up slowly and letting them fall back down to meet him. Her wings fell around them, forming an insulating blanket that also hid her undulating movements atop his cock. She nestled her head under his chin, and with a soft whimper settled into a slow rhythm of gyration in her hips. It was all she had hoped for. He was handsome, strong, and endowed enough to satisfy three harpies in one night. She wondered what he was feeling right now, if he was satisfied with her and her daughters. Perhaps he would stay and join their family, giving her new children and perhaps her daughters as well. If his progeny inherited any of his traits her clan would grow strong. Such delicious thoughts brought an unexpected end to their lovemaking with sharp bolts of orgasmic pleasure throughout her body. Her hands instinctively cupped her large breasts and kneaded them as tremor after tremor coursed through her body. It satisfied her hunger greatly, but the small detail that he had not yet cum bothered her. The pleasure wasn't enough; she wanted him to release his hot seed inside her. Her hips moved again, sliding her wet, filled womanhood up and down his glistening cock. She couldn't rest now, not when she was so close, not after all they had given him. Surely he couldn't last much longer. The fuzzy afterglow of her orgasm was quickly making her sleepy. It was natural for Harpai's to fall asleep after sex, but problematic when they weren't ready to. And she wasn't done with him yet. Despite her strong will, her mind eventually succumbed to the warm, sedating, fuzzy thoughts this man's thick cock elicited from her. With a long sigh, she resigned herself to sleep atop him and her wings pulled in close to cover them both. Her hands rested on his chest and caressed the curves of his musculature. The rhythmic thump-thump of his strong heart against her ear was lulling her to sleep. It felt so good having him there, still buried deep within her, his warm body keeping her pleasantly cozy in the night air. She was asleep before she realized he hadn't released his seed yet. A sharp pain in her throat woke her instantly. The first thing she noticed was that the sun hadn't risen yet. The next was that her human had taken a firm, painful grasp on her windpipe. She couldn't scream but he wasn't applying any more pressure than needed to keep her immobilized. "Silence, if you want to live." His scratchy, dehydrated voice whispered into her ear. "Do not call out to your daughters and do not move. Or all of you will die." He instructed. "Tap your hand twice on my chest if you understand." She did. "We will speak," he said. His voice was softer now, but still scratchy. His words were slow, but carefully chosen, and he had to pause every now and then to regain his breath. Despite his seemingly invalid condition, the strength in his grasp was undeniable. He could kill her easily, but she could also rip out his heart in a second if he hesitated even slightly. But with her daughters asleep and unaware she could not risk it. "I will give you a choice," he started off. "I will squeeze your neck, blood will not reach your brain and you will pass out. Then I will kill all three of you and make my escape." He paused to let that sink in. "Or I squeeze until you pass out, and I make my escape while you all sleep peacefully. If you try to hunt me when you wake, I will kill you before you get close." He paused again to regain his breath. "Take your pick." "Please let us live, I choose the last." She said nervously. Her body relaxed, awaiting the forced slumber. But it was the small drops of moisture on his chest that gave him pause. She was afraid, and was crying silently. "Any child that we would conceive would have killed you," he said regretfully. "Either in the womb, during the birthing, or once they could feed. I understand your pain, but I am not the answer. Seek it in someone else." "Thank you," she whispered. A sudden surge of relief at his hopeful comments -- they would live! He squeezed suddenly, and his strength surprised her. She felt the blood rush to her head and it startled her how efficiently it muddled her wits and senses. He was strong, and not to be crossed -- one more endearing trait in this human. She did not resist, it was the bargain they struck. She accepted her fate and put her trust in his word. His grip released suddenly and the blood drained. The world spun for a moment but her senses cleared. "Help me to the ground." He growled. "If you would live, help me, I have information to trade that will keep you alive." Slowly she rose off of him, and she did not argue. Harla and Yuma were covered in rough, woolen blankets; only tufts of hair marked their partially exposed heads. But the soft rise and fall of that mass of fabric told that they were sleeping peacefully. She was happy for that. The man sat up. It was obvious he was still very weak. But there was enough strength in him to have done what he threatened to do while they slept. He looked at her expectantly, and it was a long moment before she realized she was starring and turned away. He was too damn intoxicating, it was tearing her up inside to just let him go. His body had regained some of its pallor, his chest was already sweaty from the exertion of moving. There was even the lingering smell of their sexual joining that made her hungry for his manhood again. "What is it?" he asked. She forced herself to look away, and crawled quietly over to the edge of their nest nearest the tree. From under a straw mat, she pulled a very long length of rope bundled up. The knot binding it came loose by her deft fingers, and it spilled into a pile on the floor. Its entire length was glistening with some kind of sap. "Before my girls could fly, this is how they got down." She explained and tossed the rope over the edge. "Climb," she motioned. "I will catch you if you fall. It will take us both down if that happens, but we won't die." He nodded and crawled to the very edge. His strong hand grabbed the rope and found it very tacky and gummy. Without hesitation he flung his limp body over and held on tight. The sap helped increase traction, but he could feel his grip slowly sliding down its length. It was possible to simple hold on and wait for gravity to lower him along its gummy length, but that would take hours. Instead he wrapped his limbs around it as best as possible and released his grip enough to slide down a short distance. His strong hand served as a brake to slow his descent and he made remarkable progress down the rope without any problems despite the grogginess. But the rope ended a dozen feet shy of the ground. The Harpai floated lightly down on a branch beside him. She sat there perched like a predator, as if she was watching prey dangle before her, caught in some trap. He did not like the look she was giving him, but did not respond to it either. She didn't need to know the extent of his abilities, and that if she fought him there was little he could do at the moment. So he remained calm and they stared and sized up the others intentions. "Would you have kept your word?" She asked. "Would you have killed us all?" "Not unless you attacked me." He replied. "Why let us go? We are monsters to humans." She scowled. A menacing grimace was starting to show on her lips. "To many, yes," he agreed. "But what does that make me, if I don't think of you as monsters?" he asked in all sincerity. It was at that moment, the elder Harpai's regal nature showed itself. Her aggressive posture disappeared. She rose and her wings folded around her body like a gown as she stood up tall and poised on the branch. "Worthy," She said as she looked down at him dismissively. "You can fall now, and not die. What information do you have?" The human didn't answer at first. He simply stayed in place, twirling on the end of that rope staring her straight in the eyes. "I will reward you with half of it for your help thus far," he said. "There are Zecarin patrols in this forest. If they find you they will enslave you and your daughters. If you're lucky..." The mention of that dark name made her smug mood disappear. She looked around half expecting the dark skinned land crawlers to swarm on her that moment and slap her in iron manacles. She leapt at him suddenly then, her aim was precise and both hands grabbed his. It knocked him off that rope and she floated him down to the ground with a few thrusts of her wings. His weak legs buckled under his weight and he fell to the ground. Seemingly by mistake, she fell atop him. But her strong fingers dug into his shoulder, ruining the deception of an accident. With him at her mercy she leaned in close to his face. A brief lick of the lips exposed meticulously maintained rows of tiny jagged pearly white teeth, meant for tearing flesh. "My name is Eola," she gasped at him seductively, as she leaned in to let her heavy chest smush up against him. "Are you sure you won't stay?" "My name is Liam," he replied in kind. "If I do, you will all die. There are Eltharians in this forest as well. They are after me." That name elicited a worse reaction than Zecarins. She jerked up looking to each tree for movement. "Noo.." she whined, fearfully distressed. "no... no... noo.." she started to cry with growing panic. "Eola," Liam said and calmly grabbed one of her hands forcefully. "Take your daughters, and fly as far as you can before the sun rises. Head west, to the coast." His tone hinted at a natural authority that came from experience. "Leave everything behind." Eola was on her feet searching the treetops as far up as she could see. Then her gaze searched the bushes below for hidden dangers as if an unreasonable paranoia had bewitched her mind. Liam clumsily got to his feet. "Go, now." He commanded. "And you will be safe. Delay at all, or draw any attention to yourself and they may find you." Without another thought she was gone into the air, flying high up to her nest above. It was the last he saw of her in the pre-dawn light. Liam managed to stand. It was a wobbly start, but feeling was returning the more he used his muscles. One foot forward started the long trudge through the rough underbrush. Any hidden dangers knew better than to bother a naked man unafraid of the wilds. * Author's note: As always, criticisms and comments are always appreciated. All characters are of the age of consent... for their species. Lost in the Light Ch. 07 Riyarra lay atop a green grassy hill surrounded by wildflowers and warm sunshine. The rich blue sky soared overhead, populated with scattered white clouds. A heavy wind came and went, scattering her long blonde hair into the air. This field was peaceful. Off in the distance tall evergreens grew all around her secluded meadow. She knew this was a dream. With a deep breath she took in the honeysuckle, daffodils, daisies, and baby snapdragons. It filled her body and calmed all the anxiety that had been building. Her eyes opened reluctantly and she stared at the deep blue sky overhead. Slowly, Riyarra sat up, and the long sleeves of her white summer dress flapped against her as the wind suddenly picked up again. "Mule?" She asked. Beside her sat her human companion with his head resting under his folded arms. His black leather vest was open and his bare chest exposed to the richness of the sun. "Hmm?" he mumbled, but his eyes remained closed and his face tranquil. "I need your guidance," She pleaded a bit reluctantly. "There is something wrong with me, I think. I act without thinking. I say things that I later regret. And the things I've done..." she paused and hid her face in her hands. "The things I've done... are horrible." She finally let out in a whisper. "Did something happen to me? Have I gone mad?" "You do what you must to survive." Mule's gruff voice replied without so much as a twitch. "That's not the whole story," a melodious voice said behind her and came to sit down casually beside her, opposite Mule. His face was very fair for an Eltharian male, and his pale yellow mane whipped about in the air. She knew him, but couldn't recall his name. "Dear one, you are indeed troubled." He offered his hand. She wouldn't take it; for some reason she was suddenly afraid of him, as if there was something very terrible about this male that she couldn't remember. "It's all right, I understand." He smiled and retracted his offer. "Do you remember the first time you met him?" He asked and smiled at her warmly like a father to a child, but then his eyes went to the human on her other side and turned serious. "We were..." Riyarra started to say, "In a cage. We were captives." "What did they do to you?" "I don't want to think about it, not right now." She shied away from him, and for some reason her eyes started to tear up. Riyarra rubbed away the wetness and looked at her hands in anxious confusion. "Why am I crying?" "It's because you have separated some memories from yourself for the time being. You did this so you could enjoy this moment. They are not pleasant memories." He answered for her. It was so clear to her that it had to be true. "Yes, that is what I did." She smiled as it made sense. "That is why you cannot remember me. My love." He admitted. Those words made her turn on him suddenly, as if her mind was just about to remember it all, but something held them back. Her face contorted in a mixed array of repressed emotions - love, joy, fear, and grief. "Riyarra, dear, you are meditating." He explained and pulled a knee against his turquoise shirt, it made his skewed-cut skirt bunch up at the waist, dangerously close to exposing more than just his bare leg, "You divided your mind so you could replenish your will. It's alright, I did not mean to intrude. I reside in the part of you that is away, but I can go wherever you go. And I sensed that you needed help. Help he cannot offer, because he is but a memory." Riyarra turned to look at Mule. Certainly, he was just as she remembered him. But she realized that she never really got to know the man, and wasn't able to put together a personality for him. Riyarra closed her eyes, and the human faded away. "I am afraid to remember you," She said as her tone turned serious and calm, but she did not return to looking at him. "Then don't. I'll still be here when you are done." He chuckled lightheartedly. "Would you like to go for a walk? Or should we just lay here and enjoy the breeze?" Riyarra pulled her legs up to her chest, and her white skirt fell demurely from the top of her knees and bunched at her waist. She didn't take long to think on it before she started to teeter towards him and let herself fall into his lap. The Eltharian placed his hand on her forehead and started to stroke her hair and head soothingly. It elicited a soft sigh of contentment from his princess. "I will help channel your memories," he spoke softly, as if she was asleep. "I can call only the ones you need." Riyarra closed her eyes and folded her hands over her stomach and let out a long contented sigh. "You first met Mule in a cage..." he started. "A Zecarin woman gave you something, a poultice of pink liquid, three drops." Riyarra touched a finger to her lips and caressed her bottom lip with the tip, as if remembering the taste. "Yes," she agreed. "It set me afire from inside. It was so tired, and so sore from the beatings." "It was a poison that could have killed you." He said and gently stroked her cheek. "Mule saved you, he quenched your inner fire the way only a man can. But in doing so, he created this curse in you." "Do you know what it was?" "No, but I know it is what caused the change." "How do I stop it?" "I do not know," He said regretfully with a sigh. He leaned in to look at her as she stared off at the clouds. His straight yellow hair fell in a curtain around her head giving her shade. "You can fight it," he smiled. "But that too, has its cost." "It must be sated, with blood or with lust," she quoted someone having said. Riyarra scowled. "Why do I suddenly remember that?" "I allowed it," he smiled. "I want to give you peace from yourself, but you need to be whole to answer this question. "Then I will be whole." She said with authority. And before he could protest the entire hillside disappeared... Riyarra opened her eyes and stared at the bare ground floor of her tent. She was sitting on her legs with her hands in her lap. As all the memories she had pushed aside suddenly came back, she maintained her posture and digested them all. Yet there was one reluctant memory waiting at the end of the line. Even after all others had remerged, it still lingered in the back of her being. She called to it, and it came reluctantly, but obediently. As it merged with her, her stern visage melted, her lips trembled, and she shed a tear for it. "Gayne," she whispered in sadness. With a brisk deep breath and a forceful exhale, she expelled all the conflicting tension and steadied her being. She could beat this! Lysia stirred under her blankets. A groaning moan heralded the waking of the party's new quartermaster. She had impressed the Zecarins with her ability to organize, ration, and keep a mental log of where anything was at any given moment – even the riders' soiled laundry – so the Zecarins had given her status. They now had their own private tent when they camped. A scout patrol this large made camp for two days while alternating groups made their sweeps; one stayed to guard the site and rest while the other was out. The two Eltharian elves had today to rest because tomorrow they pulled camp. Riyarra stretched her back and gave her neck a thorough massage. She wanted Lysia to be awake, but wasn't going to deny the girl the rest she needed. Since they were no longer prisoners, they had duties to perform. Today was Lysia's day of rest. Riyarra was given the task of instructing the Zecarin troops in how to track an Eltharian scout – her. There was a twinge of resentment for having to give up military secrets in order to keep up their cover. With a piece of string she tied her long hair into a ponytail and tucked it into the back of her shirt. She stood up and stretched her legs. Opening the tent flap, she strode out into the morning sun in just her tanned leather pants and beige shirt. No boots, no cloak, no sword. She fell back into the old training routine of morning exercises. Finding a visible, but out of the way area next to her tent, she began to stretch. By performing a series of poses, and flowing very slowly from one to another, she loosened stiff muscles and tight ligaments. It always brought onlookers, some out of curiosity, some out of suspicion, and some out of perversion. All stood and watched as she moved gracefully, sometimes with only one foot on the ground, and always maintaining her balance. To the more astute Zecarin soldiers, they also noticed she didn't make a sound when a foot moved to step on a leaf or twig, or patch of grass. At the conclusion of her routine she let out a long exhale. "How many this time?" She asked the gathered onlookers. Five Zecarins stepped forward in various manners of dress, with one only half dressed. The others dispersed to see to their own chores, or to enjoy some quiet time in their tent after that alluring display of her flexibility. "Right. Begin!" Without a sound she ran to the nearest tree, leapt, placed one foot on a withered knob, and vaulted up to the nearest branch. All eyes followed her as she climbed, in leaps and bounds, up to the top of the tree in a matter of seconds. "Is she part squirrel?" one of the soldiers joked, and some laughed in response. "Wait, where'd she go?" "You blinked, idiot. Too busy making jokes." The half naked Zecarin said as he turned to follow something unseen moving high above. "She's over there now." All other eyes tried to follow where he was looking, but once they had lost her they couldn't recapture a visual tracking on the pale-skinned elf. High up in the treetop canopy she stood poised delicately on a flexing pine top. The world spread out before her in all directions. Riyarra wanted to grasp this moment of peace, but there was a purpose to this. She scanned the geography all around her. The Zecair territory spread to the south - the Alcabalhain mountain range, with the Zecarin capital nesting underneath it, was a ghost in the distance. To the north and northwest spread the wilds of the neutral territories – wild areas that buffered Zecair and Elthair, populated by a handful of frontier lands held by savage humans. To the east, past the open plains of the Lidark River was the human kingdom. It changed names after every uprising or revolt, or conquering by its enemy across the great sea. These events occurred every couple of hundred years – humans were a warmongering lot. She was now solidly within Zecair territory; they had been traveling in the opposite direction she and Mule had gone after leaving Zecair. The Lidark disappeared into the trees when it came east – this was what separated Zecair from the neutral territories. Somewhere, deep in the woods right beyond the river was this monastery Mule was taking her to. It couldn't be seen easily from this distance; either it was obscured by trees, or something else. But it had to be in that direction, it wouldn't be safe for a human settlement to be much farther into the wilds of those territories. Riyarra paused in her search and look down to the base of the tree she was in. Far, far below, the ground still stood undisturbed. She would wait a bit longer before returning to the camp and repeating this exercise. It was one thing to train them to track an Eltharian they had, but more importantly she needed to know if they could find one they lost. Lysia stirred awake. Soft strokes on her cheek brought a smile to her face. But as her eyes opened and she saw a grey-blue skinned Zecarin stroking her cheek, the illusion of comfort disappeared. Timidly, she pulled the blanket up to her neck and tried to smile appreciatively at him. She had seen him around, but had not been asked to entertain this one. He was one of the strider riders, more refined and graceful than most of the brutish soldiers here. There was a glint of devious intelligence in the way he looked at her. She suspected that his visitation here meant he had needs just the same. "Good morning kitten." He said with a silky voice. Lysia smiled bashfully, but didn't move. His soft fingers ventured up her cheek to her long ear, and traced the upper ridge to the tip. Lysia's eyes fluttered for a moment as she struggled against the goose bumps that ran over her skin. "You see, we are not so different," he chuckled. Propped up on one elbow, his eyes roamed over the features of her face, and his fingers soon followed. They paused when they came to her Yvarna, the cursed mark on the side of her neck. "Will you indulge me? I wish to know what this is, it seems important." He said softly. His voice was so gentle, she could hardly tell him no. Even as her voice started to speak without her consent, the fact he was asking about something so personal and embarrassing was enough to break the spell his touch was having over her. "It is called the Yvarna, it is a curse." She said. "Does it hurt?" he asked as his fingers stroked it softly. The side of her neck, halfway between shoulder and jaw was usually sensitive in Eltharian women, but this mark dulled the skin around it. "It feels nothing," she said. "It isn't made with needle and ink, but with magic." "Really?" his fingers flowed down her shoulder and traced the ridgeline of her collar bone. "To receive a magical curse, you must have done something very wrong in the eyes of your leaders. I wonder if we would view your deed the same way." his hidden meaning was an almost hypnotic suggestion. "I.. I..." she started to say, but the words caught in her throat. "I betrayed my lover." "Oh? You sly minx you." he laughed lightheartedly. "It is not such a terrible crime amongst us, so long as you profit from it, and harm no others. Oh, but I see this is uncomfortable for you, so I will pry no further. I merely wanted to engage in an exchange of... pleasantries." He trailed the word off his silken tongue as his fingers found their way back up to her ear to massage the backside of it. Lysia's mouth parted with a faint sudden inhale of breath. He certainly knew his way around a woman's body. "I have a patrol to run, but I would like to exchange more pleasantries later tonight, in a very casual and civilized manner... Would you like that?" The way he played with her ear made it difficult to focus on his words. Lysia found herself nodding in agreement despite herself. Disappointingly, those expert fingers stopped, and he rose and left her tent without another word, leaving behind a flushed and embarrassed Lysia. She threw on a beige colored shirt that was growing tattered with travel, along with a pair of tanned lizard skin leggings one of the riders had handed down to her when her dress was caught on a bush and torn beyond repair. She spent the rest of the day in seclusion in her tent. Lysia left only to get meals from the cookfire, and returned promptly to her tent without interacting with the Zecarins. They didn't mind her avoiding them. Ever since The Cat had made her a part of this troop, she had also effectively made her off limits to any recreational activity. According to The Cat it negatively affected morale and performance. Lysia had no argument against that; it gave her some semblance to normality despite being a member of the enemy's scout party. Lysia stirred the half eaten bowl of stew wistfully. Her life had certainly taken an odd turn, and just when it seemed to be mellowing out, she was dragged back into the crucible again. Somehow it all seemed too unfair to be real, but she tried not to brood on that too much. Riyarra would save her. Her queen would fix this. Ever since they met on that bloody fateful day she had felt there was finally hope for herself. The strength she had seen in Riyarra was inspiring to say the least, but she was also compassionate and fair, cunning and flexible in her reasoning. It was a rare combination to find in an Eltharian nowadays, she thought. All those she had met lacked one or the other qualities, usually embracing some form of zealotry. The king had swept the people up in his crusade to purify the nation's spirit. Anyone found lacking was severely disciplined, or worse... Lysia's hand drifted to the mark on her neck to echo her thoughts. Touching it sapped her strength of will and all the troubles came rushing to her mind again. She collapsed backwards in a cloud of her long brown hair onto the bedroll. When faced with depressing thoughts she did the one thing that usually helped. She napped. Riyarra was once again standing proud and tall in her secret meadow. The wind picked up her free-flowing blond hair and tossed it about around her. Dressed in the stitched leather uniform of the Leaf Knights, she stood alone to take in the scenery around her... She opened her eyes and scanned the treetops around her. The wind picked up and the pine top she hugged her body to swayed gently in the breeze. This was her element; the chaotic storm of feelings inside her were finally being suppressed and beaten into submission. Her eyes relaxed and the details in the far distance expanded to become clearer. The mountainous hillside that rose high to the north was covered in pines, but there was movement within. The tree swayed again in the breeze, and Riyarra moved with it. It took a moment for her eyes to refocus on the distance, but she could pick out something humanoid at the tree line near the top. It disappeared into the brush, but in time she saw more in the distant pines. She picked one tree in particular that was bustling with activity and let her eyes drink it in. Eltharian farsight took time to perform, but a well trained soldier could see details at impossibly far distances. These details came slowly as her pupils dilated. She saw a man. A man dressed in colors that blended with the forest. Familiar colors... Eltharian colors... Riyarra held her breath as she strained to see his face. If she was right, his head would be covered by a cloak, and she saw that it was. But her proof needed to be definitive – she needed to see his face, she needed to be absolutely sure. But he had moved out of range before she made it out. Something else caught her attention that she hadn't noticed before. What she thought was a motionless rock at the base of the tree seemed to have a certain hunched figure. It was too dissimilar to be a rock or flora. She focused on it and the faint, unmistakable glint of highly reflective eyes – Eltharian eyes engaged in farsight – stared back at her. Riyarra fought to stay perfectly still. She hadn't covered her head; her blond hair would be a dead giveaway if he was looking at her – and as far as she could tell at this distance, he was. A nervous lump crept into her stomach; she couldn't take cover and risk drawing attention to herself. If he hadn't seen her yet, he would if she dared to move. From the curtain of his mottled grey cloak a hand appeared, and it gestured at her. She read the signals, and the nervous knot in her stomach grew worse. Camp. Safe. Come. The hand disappeared and he remained still as a rock again. Riyarra blinked her eyes and slowly let them readjust to short range vision. Her breath returned, led by a nervous chuckle. Careless! Reckless! - she had forgotten procedure that had been grilled into her for years. Apparently her time in Zecair and out here in the wilds had quickly taken all that training away. Yet that wasn't the problem that made her uneasy. Her loyalties had turned fluid since her escape from Zecair, her people wanted her dead and her blood-enemy was the only one giving her safe refuge. But this Eltharian scout, if he was indeed a member of a Leaf Knight platoon, might be her best chance of getting information. No doubt if they knew who she was, they would not be friendly about it. That was just the beginning of her problems. The Zecarin patrol she was with would not like the feeling of having Eltharians so close to their border, especially if it was a platoon in such numbers. If she wanted to go pay them a visit, clandestine or not, it would make many of the Zecarins suspect her true loyalties. They might not let her go without a fight if they knew what was at stake. Lost in the Light Ch. 07 Then there was Lysia. Riyarra could leave now and make a straight line for the Eltharians, hopefully avoiding any of her new allies on the way. But Lysia would have to pay the price for her absence. Taking the bookkeeper with her would slow her down considerably and make them both easy targets for the Zecarins. She couldn't do that to her. Logic told her to go for it, but she was having enough trouble sleeping at night as it was, she wasn't going to continue down that dark path anymore. Riyarra closed her eyes and let her decision settle into her soul. She wasn't going to abandon Lysia. Somehow she was going to have to come up with a reason that would throw the Zecarins off her trail. Her loyalties would need to become fluid once more. The answers wouldn't come right away. She needed to return to the camp and check on Lysia. Hopefully by then she could come up with a reason to convince The Cat to let her go for four or five days. Cautiously she descended her tree. The forest floor had never been as welcoming as that moment. There was finally something she could do besides simply survive. The flutter in her stomach turned to excitement and anticipation; this was her chance to find out what had happened since her captivity. The walk back was quiet and uneventful. Her trainees seemed to have given up trying to find her, and when she made it back they were all lounging around smoking some rolled up dried leaves. They paid her no notice, and she couldn't have counted herself luckier – that particular leaf would addle their brains. She paused before the shirtless one that seemed half decent at tracking, who was sharpening his spear head. "Is The Cat out?" she asked casually. "Yep, Wart-ass has the command." He mumbled with a smirk. Riyarra scowled, but perhaps this was for the better. She had never learned his true name, but the loud-mouthed Zecarin rider owned more wart-based nicknames than she thought possible. "Got it." She muttered and wandered the camp until she found him tending to his mount. The young strider lizard was feasting on meat scraps while its master wiped it down with a wet cloth. She stopped short of him and waited. She wasn't sure how to address him; they had never gotten along. His massively muscled, and very battle scarred back always made her uneasy – she wouldn't want to meet him in battle. "Yes, Elth?" he said calmly. It seemed he would be receptive to this; his mood was always hard for her to determine. "My mission compels me to leave your hospitality," She started. Her long walk had resulted in honesty being the best course of action – flavored with a little fabrication based on her cover story. "Yes, this monastery you spoke of." He repeated calmly. Riyarra had the sneaking suspicion that it was The Cat that made him so irritable. His calm tone of voice led Riyarra to believe that this could actually be settled peacefully. She didn't continue, her words needed to be chosen carefully, but it wasn't easy for them to come. "How far away is it?" "Two days." She replied. "Armed patrols?" "None that I could see," Riyarra answered, letting her brisk demeanor melt a little. If Wart-Ass was going to be civil, she would be too. 'Sure, let them think it's a patch of humans'. She thought with a smirk to herself. "Awhile back, we spoke of loyalty." He said. "The Cat will fail by her actions, and hers alone. But that will be a long time in coming. She doesn't take risks. The routes we have been running are well within our borders. This job is...easy." "I see." "No you don't," he growled. "Threats to our sovereignty should be squashed. These humans are too close to our borders and should be wiped out like troublesome insects. "Now, I see more clearly." She offered. "Do you? Can you Elth?" He grumbled. An uncomfortably awkward silence came between them, as it often did when her attempts to disarm him with her charm were quickly and immediately shot down. "Enough to be mindful of what my limits are," She said "You are learning," he scoffed. "But unwelcome just the same. I don't want you around here." Riyarra stared at the tense muscles on his back, she could resolve all her problems if she chose the next few words correctly. "North of here, three days by foot, is a mountain range. I saw a meeting on the hillside between some humans, and what I suspect were Eltharian scouts. Their camouflage cloaks hid their features, but it was the same type I am familiar with." The Zecarin rider stopped grooming his mount and turned his head, his one good eye scrutinized her. "I want nothing to do with the Eltharians, just the humans. But I thought you might find that information useful. What you do with it is your own choice." He turned around and crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down with that piercing eye. Riyarra didn't budge under his scrutiny. The silent air between them grew heavy. "You are no blood-traitor." He summed up after a long thought. "So you are not our ally. For whatever reason your people hunt you, pray they find you before we do. Leave. Now, and take your slave with you." Riyarra bowed her head respectfully and broke their eye contact. With a grunt he picked up his rag, soaked it again in the bucket by his feet, and resumed wiping the dry skin of his mount. Riyarra left quickly. She couldn't have asked for a more fortuitous exchange. The more she played over all the conversations she had had with this group, the more it fell on The Cat's shoulders – she had given her permission to go as she pleased. Wart-Ass was simply following orders. A derisive scoff escaped from her brooding thoughts as she returned to her tent with a scowl – Wart-Ass was right, The Cat was a failure away from death. The flap to their tent was easily pushed away, and inside she found Lysia still huddled in her bedroll. The girl looked up with a blank expression to see who it was and when she realized it was Riyarra she sat up respectfully. Her queen placed a quieting finger to her lips and made hand signals to the girl, hoping she had at least been trained in them by the Yvarna captain. Pack. Pulling Camp. Now. The girl nodded, and to Riyarra's relief started pulling their things together. She did so with surprising efficiency and silence. It gave Riyarra some much needed hope about the girl's chances. While Lysia packed, Riyarra found her boots and leather vest and started to suit up her own gear. The fabric strained to retain her womanly proportions; it gave her a twinge of guilt to remember this outfit had not been made for her, but the Eltharian girl Mule had killed. Lysia had noticed her change in demeanor and had paused to look up for instruction. Riyarra was lost in thought trying to remember the girl's name – the one she had impersonated among the Yvarna. "Eymara..." Lysia responded to what she thought was her Queen's distress. To her relief, Riyarra smiled warmly and nodded. "For Eymara," Riyarra whispered solemnly, "and for Gayne." Lysia's ears perked up at that name, but decided to ask later as she resumed stuffing the last little bits into her backpack. Hunched over, she waited patiently until her Queen was ready to go. Fearlessly Riyarra tossed the tent flap open and strode out into the camp. A few half-baked Zecarins looked up at the flurry of motion but stared blankly – one even snickered. But it was when Lysia emerged with a pack full of gear that something didn't seem right. "Going for a walk," Riyarra announced. "Who wants to keep our tent warm till we get back?" The shirtless, spear-sharpening tracker stood up and looked down the length of his weapon. The spearhead was cut down the middle, giving it two pronged capabilities to catch things. The way he was eyeing its edge made Lysia cower behind her Queen. "Seems like a long walk," He observed with an arched eyebrow. His shaved head and smooth features were not as intimidating as Wart-Ass, but his attitude made it appear that he knew which end of that spear did the business. "Crossing the border to raid a human town for sport and information," she flashed him a wicked smile. "I'd invite you along, but there are Eltharians up on the hill near it. Wart-Ass may want you to give them a little surprise midnight visit." "Is that why you were up in the tree all morning?" He smiled sweetly and leaned his weapon back over his shoulder. "I had thought you had fallen asleep, but when you came back down you seemed.... bothered." "I was," Riyarra said with a scowl, not letting his revelation unnerve her. "Humans and Eltharians shouldn't be doing business together this close to Zecarin borders." "Then you wouldn't mind a little Zek help, I think I'll tag along." He smirked at her. Riyarra tossed her hair back with a hand and sized him up as if she was considering it. In truth, her mind was scrambling for a more convincing excuse to keep him from following. She could dispatch him easily, and the rest of the lounging soldiers, but it was Wart-Ass she didn't want to contend with and the returning patrols that would be after them. It seemed they weren't getting out of here so easily. Her hand twitched nervously but didn't move for her blade. He saw it. "No you aren't," Came Wart-Ass's authoritative voice. "The pale bitches are leaving for good and that's that. If we see them again, they're dead first and fucked second." "HoooPA!" came a half-hearted cry from one of the stoned soldiers. The spear-wielder grumbled and threw his weapon over both shoulders before ducking into their now empty tent to fume in silence. Riyarra nodded to Lysia and the two of them set out without further incident. Now, all they had to do was avoid any returning patrols. It was after they were a long way out of earshot that Lysia finally asked what was itching at her. "Did you know Gayne?" she said. "Yes, I grew up with him." Riyarra answered plainly. She didn't want to speak of it, but Lysia's curiosity was innocent enough. However, the soldier in her returned and she gave Lysia the hand signal for silence. They didn't want to be surprised again by Zecarin scouts. The remaining daylight was spent in a quiet northbound trek. Lysia seemed to be enjoying the activity; she was quickly responsive to Riyarra's silent instructions and kept pace despite not having formal military conditioning. Even when the sun had set and Riyarra continued to press on, Lysia didn't complain even with the heavy pack on her shoulders. She did need to stop frequently to readjust the straps, and once to retie her hair that had pulled free and was bothering her face. Her Queen didn't seem to mind, and even smiled encouragingly when Lysia needed to take a break. Something good had happened that had put Riyarra into better spirits and it was catching. They came to a wide river – a tributary of the Lidark. Its slow moving waters were deep enough to take small barges and crafts, but otherwise couldn't be crossed easily. Riyarra stopped and looked up and downstream, she stood there lost in thought as Lysia caught her breath. "Do you need help with that?" Riyarra offered her hand to take Lysia's pack. "N-no." the girls smiled appreciatively, and hefted it securely onto her shoulders. "I can cross here, but you couldn't." Riyarra started to explain her thoughts out loud. "We shouldn't swim it in the dark, but..." "I can swim it, and we shouldn't lose time with the Zecarins behind us." Lysia cut in. "but my pack shouldn't get wet, the blankets and bandages aren't any use wet." "Right, we'll camp once we cross." Riyarra nodded and wadded right into the water. "Let's use that log to float the pack over." She uprooted a half-buried log at the riverbank and pulled it out into the water. Lysia unshouldered her pack and tied it across the top of the driftwood. Together they ferried it across as they swam, and made it to the opposite bank easily. Lysia's cheeks had taken on a deep flush from the exertion, but aside from being soaked she was fit and ready to continue. She untied her sack from the log and pulled it to dry land to set it down – it made it with little dampness. Riyarra smoothed her water-heavy hair back over her head to keep it from dripping in her face, and started to search around. "Over here," Riyarra pointed to a huge fallen tree and the massive root ball that pulled up a wall of dirt. It made for perfect cover from eyes back across the river. Lysia admired the redwood as she dragged her pack over. She sat it down under the trunk and checked the contents for dampness. Riyarra set about collecting fallen branches and set them in a pile away from the tree in the river rocks. With an effortless use of magic the logs sparked ablaze and cast a warm glow over the two soaked Eltharians. Satisfied with her campfire, she crouched down in front of it to dry out and warm up. "Umm, your grace?" Lysia said as she came to sit down next to her. "We need to wash these properly." She pulled her own shirt off over her head and her heavy chest spilled free. Taking care, she laid it out next to the fire on the sandy ground while she unlaced her small boots. The cool night air mixed with the water on her skin caused a wave of goose bumps and she shivered. Undeterred, she yanked her soggy leather boots off with a grunt and fell backwards. Riyarra caught her before she hit the ground and chuckled. Despite the request, Riyarra stayed in her clothes and returned to starring blankly at the fire. Its orange light reflected an eerie glow in those emerald eyes as her thoughts drifted to the days events. "Riyarra," Lysia repeated in a sterner tone of voice. She stood looming over Riyarra with her hands on her naked hips. It snapped her queen out of her thoughts and she looked up with a "hmm?" "Out of those clothes," Lysia instructed. "First, you've been wearing them for days on end now. Secondly, they stink of Zecarin. Thirdly, getting them wet made the first and second reasons all that much worse." Riyarra looked down at her vest and shirt. She pulled it up to her nose and gave it a sniff. She stunk. The vest came off in a flash, and the shirt followed button by button. The cold air gave her a chill, so she covered her chest with her arms to hold in the body heat. Lysia was down at her queen's boots unlacing them as Riyarra was too distracted to continue. She pulled them off, one after the other, and then went about unfastening Riyarra's leather pants. They didn't come off without a fight, as the water made them stick to her skin. Naked, wet, and cold, Riyarra huddled over the fire to warm herself. "The blanket is in the pack, I'll be back once I get these scrubbed." Lysia said and placed a hand on Riyarra's shoulder. Her queen's sudden distracted nature was giving her pause, but she knew it wasn't her place to question. Riyarra patted her hand and went back to enjoying the fire. Lysia gathered up their clothes and headed to the river. The charm of the dancing flames finally broke and Riyarra stirred. She grabbed her hair and squeezed the water out into a puddle on the ground. With a flip of her head, the wet mass flung back over her shoulder. She rose and went to the sack and dug out the rolled up blanket. It smelled of spun cotton, and finally her senses returned to the present and she could tell how badly she reeked. But there were other scents as well on the air, natural ones – animals were nearby. Tossing the blanket to the ground she made for the river. There she found Lysia scrubbing their clothes on river rocks. "You're right, I need to wash." She grumbled and dove into the river for a night swim. Lysia watched her blonde head resurface here and there as a pale spot amid the black surface while she herself rinsed and scrubbed in the water. Satisfied their clothes were mostly stench free, she tucked them under both arms and walked back up riverbank to their hidden camp. Had she Riyarra's training, she would have noticed the set of pale yellow eyes watching her and the black animal form they were attached to silhouetted against the crescent moon above. Taking care to spread them out evenly, she set their clothes out to dry. When she found their blanket still rolled up she huffed and sat down to undo its binding. The string came free and she fluffed it out once before slinging it around herself as she sat down. Like a living mound of linen she scooted closer to the fire until it baked her and the blanket nicely. A contented sigh came from the depths of the pile of cotton that completely covered the elf girl inside. She wasn't alone for long as Riyarra soon joined her by the fire. Invigorated by the brisk swim, the warrior woman was content to sit out bare skinned in the night air. "I take it we only have one of those." She smiled at the huddled girl underneath the blanket. "Yes. You lose." Came Lysia's reply from inside. Riyarra let out a joyous laugh. It was something Lysia hadn't heard before and it warmed her inside more than the blanket or fire could. She poked her head out and smiled mischievously. "If you ask nicely, I'll share." "Ah, ransom demands. That's unusually mercenary of you." Riyarra smiled back while she combed out her wet hair with her fingers. "You owe me after that mess." Lysia grumbled. Riyarra paused and nodded sincerely. "You're right, I do. That was terrible situation." She combed her hair over her face as she worked some of the tangles out. It was also to hide the scowl of anger so Lysia wouldn't think it was her Riyarra was upset with. She must have lingered there in silence for some time, because a warm arm and a curtain of warm blanket came around her shoulder. It startled Riyarra out of her brooding and she tossed her wet hair back to keep it out of the way as her outward arm pulled her half of the blanket around them. Lysia snuggled in close and leaned her head on her queen's toned and athletic shoulders. "You mentioned you knew Gayne?" Lysia started as she stared off at the enchanting fire. "I'll understand if you don't want to talk about it...that was also a messy situation." "Mmm," Riyarra agreed and leaned her head down to nuzzle against her friend and compatriot. "I loved him." She just came out and said it. "I grew up with him. We played as children. He was studying to be a court bard; he was already a fine player. He was best with the flute, and he carried one everywhere, but he was also half decent at the harp and the drum." She paused to let out a fond smile at the memory. "But then he started studying at the university and we lost touch. On occasion, he'd come visit my brothers and I during the spring festivals. He'd play for us, while I beat my brothers at swords. But I think they really just let me win..." "He was part of your family." Lysia said and pulled her part of the blanket up to her face. "I'm sorry. He was a good friend of mine, and I wasn't sure if you had a hand in... what happened." She wanted to continue but she felt the unease in Riyarra and stopped speaking. It was a long, uncomfortable moment before Riyarra answered. A long shadowed tail swished lazily in the tree overhead. "He figured out who I was, and the Yvarna killed him because he refused to reveal me." Riyarra said. Gentle comforting arms wrapped around her waist from under their blanket and held her. Despite the surge of emotions, Riyarra refused to let them out - for more reasons than one. "I held him until he passed, and it drove me violently insane." "I'm so sorry." Was all Lysia could say, and held her friend tightly. "There's more you should hear..." Riyarra started but took a moment to regain her composure. "While I was a prisoner, the Zecarins gave me something that clouds my judgment. I'm more violent than normal and more... lustful. I doubt I would have done what I did... to the Yvarna, and to you otherwise." Lost in the Light Ch. 07 "Is that why you attacked me under the willow tree?" "In part," Riyarra acknowledged. "If I don't sate these desires they take control." Lysia sighed. "Well, since you just had a meal of Zecarins, how long till I'll need to sleep with a knife?" Riyarra was stunned with the starkness of Lysia's comment. But it was painfully true. "I'm not sure," came her answer. "I've been separating my mind through meditation, and it seems to be helping." "Good, because I'm comfy, and I don't want to have to fend you off." Lysia smirked and poked her friend in the ribs. Riyarra let out a surprised yelp. "Churr, churr, churr." Came a throaty, bestial chuckle from the fallen tree above. Both Eltharians shot startled glances up at the shadowy animal slinking silently across the trunk's length above them. Riyarra put a firm hand on Lysia to keep her still. "Pardon, my intrusssion." It said in a whispery, masculine speech. "But I could not help it. When I see two deliccccious looking ladies alone in the dark, I cannot help but... inquirrrre." It said in a soothing voice. The creature came to a stop on a thick branch on the opposite side of their fire. Its piercing yellow, feline eyes stared at them casually through the red glow, but its own body was still black as shadow. Riyarra shot a quick glance to her two short blades lying near the pack. "Thou will not need thossse," it cooed at her – almost whining. "Have I bared my fangs at thee?" it asked calmly and gave them both a disturbingly toothy grin. Bright fangs crowned the smile that bounced in the shadowy background as it chuckled. "Churr, churr, churr." It leapt down to a lower branch, finally coming into the light where they could get a look at it. It had a long, red furred snout dotted with black spots and whiskers. Two muscular forelimbs seemed dually inclined to run on all fours as well as grasp objects, but it was content to cross one over the other as it lounged in the branch. A patch of white fur separated the pointed ears that topped its head, with similar tufts of white fur growing out of each ear. Its hind legs were very sleek and athletic - this creature could easily cover great distances very quickly, as well as leap to high heights. Thick black stripes ran vertically down its red back with blotchy black spots along its side and tail. But it was the expressive tail that swished and darted to and fro at the creature's whim that seemed to hypnotize the two elven girls as they watched it move. "Is it unfair to ask two visitors to our lands to share their night fire as toll for safe passsssage?" It inquired, and settled that quiet cool yellow-eyed stare on them both. "It is a fair toll," Riyarra nodded and motioned to her dying fire. She crawled out from under the blanket, giving Lysia room to move to her pack, and away from the creature. Riyarra picked up a few more fallen branches and tossed them onto the fire and breathed more life into it. "Please join us." She formally invited as the logs started to sizzle and pop. The creature leapt the final distance to the fire and lay down in a regal poise with its front arms crossed before it. "I was attracted by the ssssmell." It said and cocked its head to one side as it looked up at Riyarra. Those eerily intelligent eyes felt like they were piercing her soul. A low guttural, vibrating sound came from the back of its throat. It sounded like a large purring cat, but that thought was very unsettling to Riyarra, who had never seen such a creature. "Does it still linger?" Riyarra asked and sniffed her arm suspiciously. "Yesss," it swished its tail back and forth. "Humanss... call it estrus." Riyarra's mouth dropped. "I'm not!" Riyarra started to say, shocked. "I can't be..." The creature just sat and watched as she paced around the fire fuming. Just when she looked like she was going to throw her head back and scream she sank to her knees before the fire, closed her eyes, and took long steadying breaths. The flush in her cheeks, brought on by the sudden irritation of the creatures claim, slowly faded, and her smooth pale complexion returned. "Mr. Wolf," Lysia asked. The creature opened its eyes lazily and gave her a sideways glance. "Do you know what's wrong with Riyarra?" "Wrong?" He asked. "All our females experrrrience this when it is their time." He said indignantly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." Lysia replied, abashed. "Eltharians don't experience this." "Oh?" His ears lifted, and he turned his head to regard her. "That must cause all sorts of embarrasssssing confusion. How do thy males tell when thou are... in the mood?" He lifted a hand to his muzzle and licked the pawed hand before smoothing the patch of white fur on his head. "We should intrrroduce..." he said as he rose to his feet and padded on all fours slowly towards Lysia. "I am called Grelwuf." He said and leaned his snout in towards Lysia's face. The elf girl instinctively withdrew, and Grelwuf paused. "I am Lysia," she replied sheepishly. "My people intrrroduce with a smell," Grelwuf spoke soothing words. "thy scent is as unique as thy name. It is only polite, to allow thyself to be grrrreeted..." Lysia nodded and closed her eyes tightly. The creature leaned his snout in against the side of her face until his whiskers tickled her chin and she fought not to giggle and twitch. His canine nostrils took two deep whiffs from her neck. She could feel his hot breath on her neck as his maw opened to allow the smell to settle in his nose. But when that long coarse tongue came out and licked the length of her ear, she couldn't help but a let loose a squeal of erogenous excitement. "Thou hast have a fine smell, my dearrr." Grelwuf whispered against her neck, "and thou dost taste... delightful. It is a pleassssure, to acquaint thee, Lysia of Elthair." Lysia was flushed and embarrassed, befuddled by what to do next. She stared deeply into his entrancing yellow eyes, not realizing the power they held over her. Grelwuf turned away and padded over to Riyarra to sit on his haunches next to her. The hypnotic spell broke when he averted his gaze, Lysia blinked a few times before touching her enamored ear as if testing what she had just experienced was real. "I am shaman to my people, I have the dreamsight." Grelwuf explained. "It bewitches the unguarded mind." He waited patiently for Riyarra to regain her composure from his embarrassing accusation. When she did open her eyes, she looked straight into Grelwuf's. His head hung down ever so slightly and his eyes stared straight up into hers. "I'm not familiar with your people; I'm not sure how to be polite." She said at last. "Churr, churr..." Grelwuf's head bobbed slightly as he chuckled. "We are called Furrel, and we are old." Grelwuf turned away as if stung and sat across the fire from the two of them. "I will tell thee a storrry, as sleep comes to thee. I will keep watch." "The world is now ruled by the two great races – Zecair and Elthair." Grelwuf settled down, and crossed his front limbs. His voice rang out clear and melodious in the night air. And his trailing growl as he spoke seemed to disappear. "Once all were one, but the Gods in the sky decided all should be different, and thus they were. Came did the Dragons, the Cutharins, the Megals, the Harpais, the Merfolk, the Titans, the Furrel, and many others lost to war and time." Lysia had prepared their bedroll and settled in under the blanket with a big yawn. Riyarra kept a stern gaze upon their visitor; apparently she would keep watch as well. "The Eltharians and Zecarins took an immediately dislike to each other, and war became their favorite greeting. The Eltharians called to the dragons for help, and thus did the Zecarins slay them all out of jealousy. In return, the Zecarins called out to the Harpais for help, and so the Eltharians plucked them from the sky. As one race after another disappeared from their war, those that remained learned to stay neutral, and thus were forgotten." Riyarra's head bobbed from her growing weariness and the tranquil, soothing melody of Grelwuf's voice. She glanced once to sleeping Lysia and moved over to the girl to share her bedroll. Lysia barely protested as she rolled over to make room and fell right back asleep. As she slid in beside her, Riyarra snaked an arm under the girl's head, and felt two hands take a hold of hers for comfort. Unable to resist it anymore, Riyarra settled in and looked expectantly up at Grelwuf. "Then came Man, who carved his own kingdom out of the wastelands left by the Zecarins and Eltharians." Grelwuf continued. "So amazed were the other races with the impudence and tenacity with which this stubborn Man survived that they stepped back and watched. And so Man grew tall indeed. Tall enough and strong enough did he grow that he pushed the warring Brothers aside. Zecair and Elthair finally saw the loss they had caused, and drew lines for a truce. But gone are the Dragons and their magnificent wings, gone are the Mountain Giants and their great strides, gone are the talking trees and their ageless wisdom, gone forever. But Man paid a heavy price; the two great races wait patiently for his last days, and all breaths wait to see what will come thereafter." Grelwuf opened his eyes to find Riyarra still watching him thoughtfully. "Not the history lesson I was taught," She whispered quietly so as not to disturb sleeping Lysia. Grelwuf tilted his head quizzically to one side as he regarded her. We were all one race once... came Mule's voice in her memories. She rubbed the image from her mind, like dust in her eye. "Besides, I have seen enough humans to know they are as prolific as ever." "Compared..." Grelwuf began. "To when?" he answered after a dramatic pause to let his point sink in. "Thou thinks the same was not said of the other races now long gone? When too few are left, races try to mingle and share. Half-breeds born, are neither of their parents." Grelwuf's ears suddenly perked up and his head lifted to listen. Riyarra heard it too – footsteps on the other side of the river. With an abrupt puff of his breath, Grelwuf blew out the faint embers and bounded back up the tree to the exposed roots to look over the edge. Riyarra quietly reached for her swords and pulled them close. She kept perfectly still and listened. And when Grelwuf finally descended the tree, Riyarra could hear no other sounds but the forest around them. Whatever, or whoever it was had moved on. "Two Zecarin scouts have taken opposite dirrrections following the river," he said. "They do not like water..." he froze in speech and movement when he saw Riyarra clutching her weapons. The uncomfortable silence made her look to her blades and respectfully place them back next to the pack. Grelwuf then padded a few steps closer until his snout was inches from her face. He smelled like juniper to Riyarra, which was not nearly as beastly as she expected. His muzzle turned to her side and she heard the short inhale of air near her ear as he breathed in her scent. And just like what happened to Lysia she felt his coarse tongue expertly caress the ridge of her ear all the way to the tip. Suddenly her skin grew very cold and a brisk, tingling shiver of excited nerves ran over her whole body. It was an amazingly sensual sensation. Something took over her at that moment and she pressed her cheek to his cheek, slid her face up to his ear and bit it lightly. "It is a pleasure, to acquaint thee, Grelwuf of the Furrel." She breathed hotly into his ear. A low grumbling sound came from the beast as he withdrew and turned around to lie down beside her. "It is mine, as well, Riyarra of Elthair." "How did you know my name?" she asked politely. But deep down she fear she would suddenly need her blades. "I foresaw thine arrival in the dreamscape." Grelwuf whispered softly. "The sweet smell wafting up on the wind this night could only come from thou. It is an unnatural aroma. There is something that vexes thy mind and body. And thy friend spoke it earlier." "I don't understand, what is the dreamscape? I haven't heard of this magic." "It is where dreamers go." Grelwuf whispered. "We can wander, we can visit thy dreams, and take many forms." Riyarra grew silent as she thought on this. "What else did you see about me?" "churr, churr, churr..." Grelwuf chortled lightly. "A polite shaman does not share thus. It is... unsacred." "Mmhmm." Riyarra tried to keep the sneaking suspicion growing in her gut from coming out. The events of the last few days, along with her own struggles with self and sanity made this revelation of dream walkers a bit too convenient. "Have you visited my dreams?" "It is how I knew thee would come," Grelwuf explained. "I know of this monastery thou dost seek. Thy mind seeks answers, yess, but thou should rest. Answers will still be here in the morning." "What of you?" "We are nocturnal." Grelwuf raised his snout and sniffed the air. Whatever caught his attention, he did not concern himself with. "I understand thine reluctance. Should I allow harm to come to thee, thy people would blame the Furrel, and assume we have sided with thy enemy. I will give my life, before I endanger my people." His answer changed her unsettled suspicion into shameful guilt. Whether it was true or not, he believed in his view of history. There was a real danger of appearing to aide one side in their delicate truce; the only race tolerated by both sides was Mankind because they struck blows to both sides. The more Riyarra thought about it, she realized that none of the other races had formal relationships with Elthair. She had never wondered why until now. For all her suspicions, this creature, this Furrel, had not made any threatening postures towards her. Riyarra had to remember she was no longer in Zecair, and mistrust was not a constantly needed shield here. Enemies here were more obvious; if Grelwuf had wanted to kill them, he had plenty of opportunity while she was bathing, or when the Zecarin scouts came to the river. Riyarra made up her mind to trust him, and promptly settled in to sleep. Lysia's warmth was an alluring comfort as she wrapped her arm around her friend and snuggled in close. Lysia smelled of pine and river water and those smells were another welcoming comfort to Riyarra. She felt finally home at last... Mule stood tall on top of the grassy meadow. The wind blew his open black vest wide against his bare, chiseled chest. Thick white clouds passed by overhead and he seemed content to watch them float by. His hands rested on his hips with his thumbs hooked into the belt loops of the tanned leather leggings he wore. Riyarra walked up behind him. As she approached the wind picked up and blew her hair about her face. "Thank you," She said to his back. "I've come to say goodbye. I never got the chance to thank you formally. I know I thanked you while we were together, but I feel it wasn't enough. I don't know why you did it, or what plans you had, but I wanted to say thank you, and goodbye." Mule didn't respond. He couldn't. He wasn't real. This was in her dream. A soft harp played in the distance; Riyarra caught a glimpse of Gayne sitting in the shade of a maple tree playing a small lap harp. He wore the same summer silk shirt and fwasir skirt outfit he had in previous dreams. When she turned back, Mule was gone. She was alone again on the hillside. "Therrre is a price, to thine choiccce," Came a familiar bestial voice. Riyarra turned around and found a savage tribal man wearing the skin of a red wolf like a cloak. His dark brown body was bare, and he walked with a gnarled oak staff that dangled tied feathers from the top. He approached with a grunt at climbing the hill, and glanced around the peaceful area. "This will not last." He growled, and set his deep yellow eyes on hers. "You shouldn't be here." She started to argue but found her lucidity disappearing the longer he looked at her. "Mm...what choice?" "He saved thy life." The man said. "Choose to deny the demon within, and it will kill thee. The price must be paid." He said no more, and left the hill and the meadow. A gentle touch turned her from the confusion of his presence, and she found Gayne welcoming her with open arms. Riyarra settled her head in against his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso. "Hold me," she whispered onto his silk covered chest. "For now..." Daybreak brought with it an overcast sky. The Eltharian girls found themselves alone by the river. Their guest had disappeared in the evening. Lysia sat up and started to dress, but Riyarra stared up at the grey sky. She didn't want to bother her queen's wandering thoughts, but when she had finished dressing all that was left to pack was the bedroll and blanket which Riyarra occupied. "Your grace?" She asked demurely. "The day requires your presence." Lysia said in a formal tone. "Mhmm." Riyarra replied with a singular arched eyebrow and a smirk of mirth. "Ask it to reschedule, I'll be out falconing." In a flash she was up and dressed before Lysia could tie up the bedroll and stuff it and the blanket into their pack. "I have a good feeling about today. Our troubles should ease some." Clothed and packed, they removed the last signs of their presence and continued their northward trek. Riyarra finally revealed the previous day's discovery to the girl. "What I know of the Leaf Knights is that they are only used in force, and do not run scout patrols. Their abilities are the envy of all, and are never revealed without cause." Lysia commented as Riyarra set the pace for their hike through the woods. She didn't reply to the girl's statement, but just gave her a knowing smile. Riyarra had been a Leaf Knight. They patrolled and they scouted – they were just never caught at it. The rest of the day came and went as one grey, overcast hour under the pines turned into another. The sun was hard to locate at times, as patches of dark clouds mingled with the rest. A cold wind picked up in the early evening and foretold of the storm that would soon be upon them. "Shall we find shelter?" Lysia said. Riyarra's abrupt hand signal for silence ended the question. The wind picked up again, there was a smell on it she didn't recognize, but Riyarra did. With slow, calm gestures Riyarra pointed to a dense patch of ferns under a fallen trunk. Lysia didn't need any more coaching and she quickly ducked under it and hid as best she could. She kept Riyarra in sight. Her queen slowly drew her swords from her sides and crept silently forward. Whatever it was, it was at ground level; Riyarra's attention was at the trees and brush. She watched Riyarra's slow catlike stalking with trepidation as she expected something to jump out at any time. A rustle in the bush made her skin crawl as Riyarra froze mid-strep. A black boar poked its head out and sniffed the air in their direction. Its long tusked snout snuffled the ground for a bit before it ambled forward. It was over a dozen feet away, and seemed more interested in what it smelled on the ground than the Eltharian elf standing in plain sight with one foot in the air. Riyarra jumped at it and the beast bolted. "Keep going! I'll find you!" Riyarra shouted as she gave chase. The two disappeared around a giant redwood before Lysia could protest. "By myself?!" She shouted, but no response came. Fear hit her suddenly along with the realization she was alone in the wilds with no means to defend herself. Her protector had gone off on a sudden urge to hunt and left her behind. "Young lady, we need to have a talk about responsibility when you get back." Lysia huffed and stood up. She searched for the closest suitable fallen branch and fashioned a crude walking stick light enough to swing with one hand. Riyarra and the boar were gone, and rather than try to find them she heeded her queen's command and continued in the direction they had been traveling. If there were Eltharians out here, they would find her before she found them. Lost in the Light Ch. 08 Wolfe was used to the stares - that leery vigilance towards strangers. Hornsdale was not so far into its successful and raider free year to have grown lax in their suspicion of visitors. As he looked around, he met the scrutinizing gaze of someone that carried himself like a soldier; he gave them a courteous nod. It was immediately returned, and the silent, unspoken brotherhood of men that had defended their homes from the barbaric wilds welcomed a visitor amongst them. It wasn't because of the spear leaning on his shoulder, the beaten travel leathers he wore, or his guarded charge - a robed girl with eyes wilder than a marsh hare on midnight mushrooms; it was because he gave them respect. And no one that did not understand what they fought for and sacrificed for, would know to do that. Out here in the wild lands, far out of the reach of the king's short arms, villages had to fend for themselves. The market street was full of traders from other villages as well as local town-shed farmers conducting business. Herbs, pitch and tar, livestock, and the occasional handcrafted ware all traded hands to the clinking of copper and silver coins. Wolfe paused and surveyed the busy town square for a moment – there were watchmen walking amongst the crowd with long staffs ready to break up disputes or capture thieves. They watched Wolfe, sizing up his travel attire of rough, leather patched trousers, heavy boots, and dense leather vest, as much as Wolfe measured them in their cotton tunic uniforms – a soft material that was flexible but offered little protection. These men were just the eyes and ears, the heavy hitters of the town guard could not be seen. Wolfe took a second look at some of the locals that lingered their gaze on him too long – heavy, corded muscles, sharp eyes. There they were; the townspeople were the town guards. The buildings surrounding the square were stone founded, pine framed, and plaster walled. They had lasted long enough for a bit of mold to grow on the founding stones, and the plaster to turn mottled from rains. However none of them were very tall at a modest three stories at most, a sign Wolfe knew to mean the original builders didn't expect them to last long. "Problems?" His companion asked and nudged him in the ribs, breaking him out of his daydream. "They've got a good wall." He said without turning to look at her. "Let's sign in." The marketplace inn would be expensive, but the more prosperous traders would be staying there. It was the best place to learn names and goings on. The Father had given him a small treasury for this trip – plenty enough to live and eat like kings for a week, but just barely enough to buy a handful of secrets from tight lips. Wolfe spied the inn in the distance above the heads of the traders. The building itself blending in with all the other's around it, only the sign hanging outside depicting a stein and a bed marked it for what it was. They made their way there. The Innkeeper was a rotund, bald man with a pleasantly cherubic face and the beginnings of a winter beard. He balked at first when he noticed the two of them enter – something about the spear and the serious look made him unsettled. Yet the moment Wolfe mentioned wanting a room, he thrust a foaming stein into Wolfe's hands and patted him on the back. "And for the lady?" The host grinned as he clapped his hands together expectantly. His cheerfulness withstood her wide-eyed glare and the wicked grin that curled the ruby lips on her porcelain face. Wolfe handed her his stein. "She'll enjoy this, I'm on duty." He offered as way of explanation. The Innkeeper blinked a couple times, but didn't let his welcoming smile fade. Yet the combination made the later seem disingenuous. "And if I may, what business brings you to Hornsdale, and to my fine establishment?" He looked sideways from one to the other. Wolfe noticed a watchman in the corner of the lobby stand up as he watched them. "We're traders from the Brotherhood of Tranquil Clarity, the monastery to the east." Wolfe relaxed his spear hand, and nudged his companion covertly. "When someone offers you a beer, you drink it. It's rude not to. It means you mistrust their hospitality." He whispered to her, but loud enough so that the innkeeper also heard as means of an explanation. "Oh!" She exclaimed and drank deeply from the stein. Her white throat bobbed up and down as the foamy liquid poured down her throat. Both men couldn't help but stare transfixed as she finished the whole drink at once. "Ahhhh!" she exclaimed, but suddenly pressed her gloved hand to her chest as it suddenly didn't sit well. "Mainlander?" The Innkeeper asked as he blinked his eyes at Wolf with that same dualistically disarming, and yet suspicious grin on his face. Wolfe rolled his eyes back and forth, in a manner of agreeing. "Acolyte." He muttered, and then cleared his throat to get back to business. "The Brothers have harvest goods for sale we're here to take vouchers on, and to purchase general goods." "Brr-AAACK!" his companion let loose a frothy belch. Both men looked at her incredulously. Some of the patrons farther inside suddenly took an interest in what was going on at the entryway. Merchants looked up from their ledgers and coin counting to stare, while locals enjoying a brew smirked and lifted their steins in salute. "I didn't know it would do that to me!" she protested. "'Sposed to sip it." Wolfe grumbled. "It doesn't matter. What's the rate tonight?" "Forty silver each." The Innkeeper said, maintaining that now irritating grin. Wolfe had to stop the surge of emotion that compelled him to hit the man. Forty silver coins could rent an entire wayside for a year. It was an exuberant amount to charge – either this innkeeper didn't want them here, or Hornsdale was enjoying too much prosperity. Wolfe tilted his neck to one side to pop the vertebrae as he considered it – beginning the fine art of haggling by showing his discomfort. "Our rates are going to have to go up on this trip." He sighed as he pondered. From under his shirt he pulled out a neck pouch and pulled out two gold coins. The Innkeeper blinked before he suddenly looked away. "I hope Hornsdale can afford us because of this, I'd hate for their market to suffer. The Brothers are not profit mongers, but even we must eat." He saw the watchman scratch his neck nervously and start to eye the innkeeper's back. "I did not realize the Brothers were so fortuitous at farming." The Innkeeper replied as he eyed the coins suspiciously. "Perhaps you are charging too much for mere potatoes." The watchman was now staring at Wolfe. The stakes were getting higher - their cover story was now in questions. But Wolfe only smirked and chuckled ever so demurely. "Right..." Wolfe humored him, and dropped one of the coins back into then bag. "I need to remind myself I'm here to buy for thirty to forty men," Wolfe dropped the other into the bag, and pulled out a copper coin. "Here's for your trouble, and the beer." He set it casually on the counter, and turned to leave. "There are other inns, and shady folk tend not to bother us. In fact I would think, being as concerned for your guests as you are, you would want some extra security around here. Professionals... the kind that don't drink while they're on duty, and smart enough to tell a bad deal from a good one." Some of the bar patrons started to look at their cups suspiciously, especially the watchman with the half finished stein in his hands, a few settled up and started to rise to leave. "Five silver each!" The Innkeeper blurted out. "A discount for your vigilant eyes, mind they stay off my guests and on their guests. I'll even break open one of my reserve barrels, Folkmor Amber, I think. Perhaps some of my patrons might need private guard escorts as well, to help make up for my unfortunate prices." He blurted out, causing all around to stop in their tracks. Wolfe looked around to each man in the room and stared them in the face for a few moments. Fear... fear was everywhere in their eyes. There was something unspoken here, but it wasn't Wolfe and his companion they were afraid of. It was still a high price, but Wolfe could live with that considering the busy day. He looked to the watchman, the only one in this room that could possibly be on his side. A slight nod from him told him it was a fair deal. Wolfe didn't want to get too entangled with the authority here anyways. "Three silvers a night, for one room, no meals, and any more patrons that happen to come your way while we're here are also under my protective gaze." It was a shrewd move, but it made the watchman chuckle to himself. "Right this way Sir, and Madam," The Innkeeper said as he turned around and led them down the back hall to the lower rooms. Deep down Wolfe felt bad for manipulating the man out of a fair rate for an honest exchange, but the Innkeeper had tried to gouge them from the beginning. The reputation they had just started today would eventually reach the ears of the more criminal elements in town, and that might make their task more difficult – and therefore a longer stay. The Father had sent him here to investigate whatever cartel that had thought to spread its hands into the Monastery's business. Mero had dealt with the misbehaving monks running a bootleg liquor business. But the assassination attempt on The Mischievous out of retaliation made it a whole different matter. Wolfe hadn't known The Father to show much emotion other than contempt, or the occasional fatherly concern behind patronizing eyes, but this business had made him very irritable. It was almost as if he took it personally. Wolfe was suddenly thankful to be far away from the Monastery. Their room was modest at best, but he hadn't specified quality during their bout of bargaining. It had a bed, He handed the innkeeper ten silvers from his pouch as means of a peace offering, and asked him if any other Brothers had stayed here before. "On occasion I have seen a monk wearing robes like hers, but they never stayed here. I did not know the Brothers now had Sisters. I thought that would cause... problems." He added smugly. "The Father frowns on such actions." Wolfe reflexively replied as he glanced her way. "A man that can take in murderers and thieves and turn them pious and religious is not one to be crossed." "No, I would suppose not. Will that be all Sir?" The innkeeper glanced down, slightly chastened. "Thank you." Wolfe replied and slowly closed the door. He listened to the Innkeepers footsteps as they diminished down the hallway. "Leave your pack," He grunted to the lady, as he took his cloak off so he could get to the backpack underneath it. He leaned his spear up against the door to barricade the entrance. When he turned around, she was still fumbling with the hasp of her cloak. He grabbed her firmly by the jaw and looked into her blue, dilated eyes one after the other. "He spiked your beer." He grumbled. "It'll wear off." She pulled the cloak off and let a mess of red curls fall around her neck and shoulders. Wolfe tried not to notice and resumed helping the pack off her shoulders. He didn't think to say more until she stared at him. "It... shouldn't affect your... trick, should it?" She pulled the gloves from her hands and looked at the smooth white skin over them. "I can't feel my fingertips." She giggled. "Wonderful," he grumbled as he finished getting her gear off. He grabbed her arms and felt up their length until he found the bulge of hidden steel up her sleeves. "Right, let's leave these too, and go find something to eat." He said as she reached up her sleeves and pulled out two long knives. "Should we be leaving those?" She questioned as she complied. "Explaining a bar brawl to the watchmen is easier than a spear in the throat, or a knife in the crotch in your case." "You people are so weird." She giggled. "I like it... we don't have to worry about them being armed do we?" "Let us hope not." The evening's tour of the town hadn't turned up any leads. Wolfe asked around about his Brothers but the local provisioner, the general stores, even clothiers that sold some robes had not done any business with them. But all had seen them around town. The frustration was getting to him, as well as his companion's constant need for supervision lest she get them into trouble. She was especially good at sticking her nose into the business of lecherous men staring at her. In a moment of temper and weakness, he retired them both to the Inn and went to the tavern and ordered a beer. "And this time no special seasoning," he whispered low to the Innkeeper, and smiled knowingly. The man scurried off respectively to the kitchen, and came back a moment later with a frothy stein. Wolfe sat in the corner with his back to the walls and watched the patrons as he sipped his beverage. The cool, thick headed, slightly bitter taste was a heartwarming comfort. Some of the faces he saw were familiar from the afternoon. They nodded to him respectively when their gazes met, and he lifted his stein in salute. Only a handful of people were still up this late, a couple of pairings were talking at tables, and a few solo drinkers. But there was nothing that seemed to need his attention. A few hours passed and the rest of his beer turned warm before he took another sip. Peace. That was what was unsettling him he concluded, and he stared into what remained of his beer as the revelation came. His time in the Brotherhood had been long enough for the world to change; and he no longer fit in it. For someone that lived blood and violence since he was old enough to pick up a weapon, peace was eating at his resolve and making him irritated. He had already broken his word, and was drinking when he needed a clear head. At that moment he remembered that The Father told him some lessons he would need to learn on his own – lessons on awareness of self. How to live without the constant guard and need to challenge every face was his next test. "A weapon must learn to live with its sheath." He surmised to himself and gulped the rest of the beverage. It was time to check on her. A soft knock on the door came unanswered. Wolfe growled and tried the knob, but something barred the door. With a deep exhale he stilled his own breath and placed an ear to the door. There were no sounds of a person inside, only the gentle breeze of an open window. He knew it; she had left when he told her not to. This one had a problem with temptation, he grumbled to himself. Wolfe ran out the front, accidentally spooking the patrons still sitting and chatting, some of which immediately settled up their tabs... All heads turned to regard the fire haired beauty that walked inside the establishment with boldness in her step. A hushed silence greeted her, leaving only the musicians playing on center stage to be heard. A dancing woman in shear silk remnants with long raven hair and brown skin accented the music with twin metal discs she clinked together in her hands as she danced to the beat. The newcomer wore a midnight blue robe with her arms at her sides and a look of naïve bewilderment. It created more mystery about her that kept the stares lingering, as the patrons – already entertaining women of the evening at tables and booths tucked against the walls– waited with baited breath for some revelation about her. She sought out one man in particular, one of the door Jacks, a burly man with thick arms meant for ejecting the disorderly. She approached him fearlessly, and when their gazes met he smirked. "What kind of work were you eluding to earlier today?" She asked innocently and tilted her head up ever so slightly to look up at him down her nose. "The kind someone wearing that wouldn't be allowed to do." He grunted with a smug look. "Talk to the boss, through there." He nodded to a doorway behind a beaded curtain. She wasted no more time with this one and walked through the opening. By now the musicians had stopped playing, realizing another form of entertainment was taking place. Even their dancer had disappeared from the stage. The clients - men of varied walks of life with only their large purses in common – started whispering wagers across the room amid burst of chuckles. When the beaded curtain finally flew open, silence fell. A woman of poise and stature strode out gracefully. She wore a beaded red and black corset with sheer sleeves that started right below the shoulders and ended in hand wraps with a string loop on one finger each. Spiders and webs decorated those sleeves and mimicked the beaded spiders that adorned her scarlet dress that fell straight to the floor. A black pearl choker with a single large amethyst wrapped around her neck. The gemstone matched the single purple plume that strutted from her hair woven into a bun. She radiated authority in both her gaze and her pressed palms, and all eyes gave her their respect as she took center stage. "Gentlemen," she said in a demur tone weighted with a foreign accent. "We have a rarity tonight for your pleasure. This is a once in a lifetime experience." Her words were slowly spoken and each one weighted with husky seduction. "A flower of great purity has come to learn of carnal sin. In order to further her pious journey she must learn of the evil that plagues a man. A teacher is needed. One that can show this delicate beauty what dark desires tempt a man..." She lifted one delicate arm gracefully and motioned all heads to behold the red haired lady in blue as she walked submissively to stand just before center stage. "A bargain has been struck," The Mistress announced. "For tonight only, under our watchful eye and protection she will allow herself to learn under your tutelage." The lust in the air was palpable. "We will start the bidding at one gold head..." Wolfe had lost her. There was no sign of a trail he could detect and very few businesses were open this late to entertain her. Against his better judgment he even asked one of the night watchmen if they had seen, or even detained her, but then hadn't. As he bid a good evening to this last watchmen he turned and looked up to the sky, it was a half moon and cloudy. Not enough light to keep looking much longer once the street lanterns were blown out. "Beg a pardon, sir," The watchmen said. Wolfe turned back around, the man looked a bit embarrassed as he looked to his feet and leaned on his staff. "I'm not sure what your order thinks on these things, and it's hard to think it because she's a woman after all, but there is a place that entertains men at night. It's relatively new. A wealthy lady from foreign lands moved in and set up a tavern of sorts. Only they serve more than spirits..." Wolfe stared blank faced as the man went on, not cutting in until he had heard it all. "Well, it's just a possibility that she was lured in somehow. If it was against her will, we'll have the lot tossed out of town, but so far they've kept it clean and paid their taxes so we leave them be. Anyways, I'm rambling... it was just a thought. Good luck to you." "Wait," Wolfe interjected. "Have you ever heard of other Brothers, men of my order wearing blue robes, going there?" "Eh, maybe once or twice. But it was just rumored." The night watchman rubbed his mustache and turned to go about his way. "Thank you, I'll take a look." "Don't cause trouble, call us instead. But I doubt she's there." The man waved him by and went on his patrol. "She's there..." Wolfe growled once he was out of earshot. "Well it seems that gentleman was not enough to sate this eager girl." The Mistress announced as she returned from the upper floor. "She is still eager to learn more. Freshly bathed, and still unsoiled, the Flower awaits her Master." She spanned the crowd, meeting the gaze of all the patrons gathered. The Madam lifted a graceful arm, and all heads turned to the red haired, pale skinned vision of beauty that gently strode forth. Dressed in an ivory silk robe with pink petals embroidered into the fabric, low cut in the back to show off the porcelain skin between her shoulder blades, but high in the front to retain feminine mystery, the woman turned her head to the side and lowered herself in a demur bow before the mistress. She stood with her hands together before her under the large sleeves that hid them. It was a custom of the Mistress's foreign lands, but this Sister performed it beautifully. Her wet scarlet hair was wrapped around her head in a bun like the Mistress's, exposing the unblemished skin of her neck. The perfumed scent of lilacs wafted around her, adding to the alluring nature. The Mistress certainly knew how to dress her merchandise as evident by the sudden anxious shifting of the men waiting to bid. Lost in the Light Ch. 08 "Since I have taken personal interest to properly care and dress our Pure Flower, let us start the bidding at three gold heads. A price that is still lower than our last winning bid..." It didn't take long for the bidding to escalate. The Madam was a master of her audience. When the battle of coins was over, the Madam was paid. A servant girl collected the coins on a tray from a plump man in fine golden silks. He stood, downed the last of his cup, and bid parting to the two ladies he was entertaining on each side. A man of tastes and elegance, he offered his prize his arm in a kind fashion and led her up the stairs. She was shaking by the time they reached the top and had left the boisterous tavern below behind them. "Don't be nervous, my dear." He said in a deep, grandiose voice. His was a voice of authority – volumous, projecting, and commandeering of attention. "Unlike some of these barbarous curs, I am a man of refinement and good upbringing. No doubt you have noticed the accent." He said as he drew out the 'c' into a hiss. She could only listen to him speak as he took her down the dimly lit upper hallway to the rooms beyond. "I am called Gravado, it is a title and not a name. You will use it, it is only customary. In Gmovisce, a man is not a man until he has taken a title for himself. Otherwise he is but a servant of god, and the state. A man does not know his worth until he takes his destiny unto his own hands and achieves his life. For it is writ in the scriptures." Gravado prattled on, engaged in the sound of his own voice, and not caring to let his companion chime in on the conversation. She steered him to the room assigned to her by the Madam, and escorted her charge to the pillowed bed. Without warning, but with a playful push, she made the bulky man capsize over. Distraught with her boldness, and aflutter at suddenly finding himself staring at the ceiling, his once commanding voice dared to utter something of a squeak at a loss for something to say. "My lord is very... accomplished." She said and traced her fingers across the girth of his belly. This made Gravado turn a deep flush, and his brow scowled almost in anger. He looked as if he was about to bellow his disapproval. But that furious look on his face cowed her immediately and she slunk to his feet. "Mercy, my lord." She pleaded in a hurt voice. "This unskilled servant is only doing what she was told. I am a miserable wretch that has never known the touch of man." She started to sob. Gravado managed to wiggle himself up despite his large bulk, but could not speak as he was flabbergasted at this turn of events. "Be at peace, sweetling." He said soothingly and ran his stubby fingers through her hair. "Ignorance is no sin." She looked up at him, with red puffy eyes and fresh tears running down her cheeks. "A lesser man would take advantage of such an innocent girl. But you, sweetling, you only need the proper instruction." He soothed her. "Will you teach me, my lord?" she begged him and hugged his stocky leg to her chest. Her ample breasts parted around the meaty appendage and the crumpled shoulder of her gown fell down her arm, exposing her porcelain skin down to the breast. "I am a most, enthusiastic, and most vigorous, teacher." He chuckled deeply, and bid her rise by lifting her chin up. "Stand. Let me get a look at you, sweetling." She did as she was told. Her robe half hung off her body, and she covered her exposed skin with her arms but didn't move to reposition her clothing. "Place your hands at your sides." He commanded, and she obeyed. Gravado wiped a bit of premature sweat from his brow, his loud breathing quickened with his growing excitement. As she breathed in, the robe started to fall, bit by bit at first, held in place by her hands on her hips ay last conflicted attempt at modesty. When it finally fell, she drew breath in sharply, her knees started to shake under her. But Gravado, only sighed audibly in appreciation. "You are the most beautiful blossom in this savage garden. It is a miracle of God's will that such beauty could exist amidst such barbarism." He sighed. It was intended at a compliment, but the comparative insult was not missed. "What...what is my lord's desire?" she asked meekly, and placed a hand to her cheek in embarrassment. "Oh, my dear flower, I would take you from this place, and give you a proper home in my garden." Gravado said as he touched her skin, delicately, his fingers traced the curve of her hips, up her side, and cupped the underside of a firm breast. She whimpered, with the barest hit of restrained pleasure in his touch. "But such a flower must first be trained in the duties of a concubine. Kneel before me my sweetling." She did as she was commanded. "Take care to undo my clothing," he ordered, and she began. At first her fingers fumbled at the sash wrapped many times around his belly. But once she worked the knot free, she slowly slid the fabric apart and pulled it free. His golden robe parted, and his sun darkened skin appeared. She gasped as she beheld his manhood as it sprouted between his thick thighs directly towards her. She blushed. It was dark, like he was, moistly hairless, like him, and short and fat, just like him. "This is a husband's swelling," she breathed in amazement. "Touch it," he commanded. "Pet it. Stroke it. And then kiss it tenderly." She did as he instructed. Daring to touch it at first, but then wrapped her petite fingers around his impressive girth. It twitched in response to her touch, and she gasped in surprise. She looked up to find her lord lost in pleasure with his eyes close. "Does my touch please you, my lord?" She said and began to stroke it slowly with her fingers. He moaned in approval and nodded. Instinct took over and she massaged its length. Slowly she felt it grow in her hands; pulsing and throbbing angrily at her until it took both hands to wrap around its girth. Remembering her instructions, she leaned in and kissed it. Tenderly at first, with soft pecks, but he did not seem impressed. She let her lips linger a bit more, traveling its length with her tender kisses. "Ohhh, my sweetling," he moan pleasurably. "That is very good. Now, caress it with your tongue." He instructed. She did as commanded, giving it long sensual licks. Gravado's eyes rolled back into his head and he almost collapsed backwards. Intuition guided her fingers to his hairless scrotum, and gingerly she massaged his balls. His cock twitched angrily at her, but its owner contradicted it with a loud sigh of appreciation. "I am ready Sweetling, come to me." He commanded and lay backwards onto the bed properly. She rose bashfully, and climbed into bed next to him. "What am I to do, my lord?" she blushed deeply. "Sit atop me, let our most holy and secret parts touch and become one, as God intended." He feverishly said as his hands ravaged her small form, caressing all her curves from her hips to her chin. She did as instructed straddling the large man, and sitting atop his eager cock until it touched her fire colored bush. She was not expecting the sensation that washed over her from the contact, and she let loose a surprised gasp. Her hips started to move of their own, as she ground her wet mound against his stout member. Gravado's roaming hands found her pert, white breasts and started to massage them. Waves of pleasure overcame her timidness and lent her new courage to her task. Something instinctual took over and she angled her hips until his girth parted her wet lips. It felt so good somehow, but he was too big for her. It hurt at the beginning and she yelped. "My precious flower. My Sweetling." Gravado moaned as he slowly entered her. It was almost all she could take as pain became too much. Something wasn't quit right, there was some resistance to the rest of him, and she badly wanted it to enter her completely. Sensing her difficulty, he placed to thick hands on her hips and thrust up violently, penetrating her hymen. She shrieked suddenly, and collapsed forward onto him, shaking. "You are now a woman, my Sweetling." He reassured her, and stroked her back and head. "The pain will go, and the pleasure shall return, give it a moment." He kissed her cheeks and soothed as she wept. But true to his words the pleasure of having him completely inside her took over, and she started to move her hips against him. Her whimpers of pain, turned to whimpers of pleasure, and eventually she sat back up to enjoy as much depth of his member as she could. Gravado seemed to having a fit of sorts, but she was too enraptured with this breath taking experience to have noticed. Suddenly his meaty manhood convulsed inside her and something warm and wet erupted within, coating the inside of her womanhood. It panicked her, breaking the spell of passion. Until his kind, reassuring hand touched her cheek and he looked up at her with a content, sated, and utterly enraptured look in his face. "That, my sweetling, is the reward for a task well completed – a man's seed to pollinate your sweet flower." He coed. "Come, lay with me until the sun rises." Flustered, red cheeked, and breathing heavily she begrudgingly did as ordered. Even though her body wanted more, this was all he could provide for now. When his deep breathing turned to snores, she disentangled herself, rose from the bed, robed herself quietly, and left her charge to his rest. The Madam was awaiting her patiently on the other side of the door... Wolfe rapped on the alleyway door once more, and pressed his ear to the wood. He knew this was the place – there were voices inside, and a few musicians. The rhythm of the muffle speech was uncoordinated and boisterous, indicative of heavy drinking and carousing. She was here. He knocked louder. It creaked open slowly and a large man in a sleeveless tunic answered. He stared down at Wolfe, and Wolfe up at him. "New in town, heard this was the place to be at night." Wolfe growled. "Trader. made my business, now I want to celebrate." He gave them man a bit of a feral snarl, to make it seem he was a bit uncivilized. "Don't worry mate, guardsman gave me the run down. I'll behave." "Sorry, we're full up." The door Jack replied. "I've got coin," Wolfe lifted up his purse and jingled the coins. The door jack took one look behind him before slinging the door bolt out of the way and opening the door. "Thanks, mate." Wolfe replied in his lackadaisical speech and patted the man's bulging arm. "I'm not your mate Skinner, just watch your manners here." The Jack replied and secured the door. Wolfe found an unoccupied table not too far from the stage, some businessmen he thought he recognized occupied the one next to him, but they were more interested in the serving girl and her revealing, low cut gown to pay him mind. He ran his hands over his black hair and leaned back to wait and take in the surroundings. This certainly seemed like her place. Sin, temptation, easy marks - they were all here. But so far he hadn't spotted her. Either she wasn't here in this room or worse she had changed her looks again. Working with a magic user was something new that he needed to learn how to deal with. Part of him dreaded the hassle this was becoming, but part of him welcomed the experience he would learn. The more he processed the situation, the more he wanted to see what she could do – if she was hiding form him in plain sight, he dared her to try and escape now. Then he caught her scent – she was certainly here. If he was going to test her, then he needed to disappear and watch. Besides, he had his own mission to get back to. Wolfe rose and tracked down the door Jack in the back he had made acquaintances with. "Friend," Wolfe said as he approached in an unassuming way. "I hear there's a right proper lass that runs this place. I was wondering if you kerd introduce me. I may have some items she'd be interested in procuring." And he left it at that. The man uncrossed his burly arms, smiled, and quickly grabbed Wolfe by the neck in one meaty hand. "I thought you had coin to spend. We're not buying." He said with a smile. "Can't we do both?" Mule grunted out as he grabbed the man's arms. Slowly the burly man lifted Wolfe up into the air with one arm. "I'm nae talking skins, although a nice bit of smooth leather wouldn't be out of the question, I'm talking something a bit more... discreet. Something... lucrative." He made a point of fumbling with the big words. "I'm listening," the door Jack lowered him but kept a tight grip on Wolfe's neck as he started to pull him towards the door. "Certain distillations of unnatural essences..." Wolfe managed to gasp out. "Merle," Came a woman's voice in a heavy foreign accent. Both men looked over to see the Mistress standing before them in her regal beauty. With a single raised hand from her, Wolfe was released and Merle went back to watching the patrons. The Mistress walked to her beaded curtain, pulled it aside with one graceful movement, and motioned for Wolfe to enter. "Right, thanks that." Wolfe said respectfully and followed. He was going in deep now. If he hadn't been thrown out into the street at mentioning contraband substances, then this group certainly had a dangerous side. A single candle illuminated the Mistress's lair sitting alone on a center table. The room held very little furniture, just the table, a desk of sorts near the far wall with all sorts of legers and parchments. Wolfe glanced at a writing style he was not familiar with. But more importantly a spiral staircase in the back that wrapped around a pole – he hadn't seen one before. His guide let the beads fall into place behind her noisily and proceeded to the stairs. "Take every second step." She instructed and proceeded to do just that. Wolfe followed her lead and they rose to the second floor and into a dark, tight hallway – a secret passageway. As they proceeded down it, his sharp hearing could just barely make out the faint sounds of passion on the other side of the wall. This corridor shared walls with all the upper rooms, and he could tell this establishment was having a very busy evening. Wolfe almost thought he spotted hidden door handles along the wall every six to seven paces. She led him to a solid oak door and opened it. He followed her into a bedroom of sorts, only this one was more personal to her foreign tastes. "Welcome to my Lair," She said with a hint of amusement. "Said the spider to the fly," Wolfe replied, maintaining his rough dialect. "Right. I know a trap when I see one. So we can cut to the chase, darling. And if I get my throat cut... well, we'll hope that doesn't happen." "You are very sharp for such a simple trader in rare substances," She mused and glided over the floorboards to land gracefully on an arm couch, her dress floated down to cover her respectfully, leaving Wolfe to stare with this fierce blue eyes. If she was dangerous, she certainly wasn't capable of doing him harm directly... Wolfe took a moment to look around, and confirmed that they were indeed alone. "...but then a trader in rare substances cannot be a real fool, they would not survive." "I hear many things, as a Spider," She smiled and played with a ruby earring. "What are you looking for, I wonder? Is it a woman to keep you company? This we have..." She rose slowly and moved to a cabinet against the wall, and opened a crystal decanter holding a tan liquid. "Are you looking for Brothers of Blue?" she mused as she poured a glass. "This too, I have heard." She poured a second glass. "Are you looking for a Sister of Red?" she turned around with a demure smile and handed him one of the glasses. "All of these things I can provide." She leaned in close and brought her glass to her maroon lips and drank, all the while keeping her eyes locked on his. Those dark eyes seemed to drink his will away as she stared. It wasn't her foreign allure, or the relative ambiance, or the quiet seclusion they now shared that was suddenly making the blood rush to his head - it was the danger she was giving off. She seemed harmless, and was very beautiful, but he could almost smell the death she radiated. He liked danger, he suddenly came to realize. Wolfe took a sip of the drink as he considered his reply, it wasn't a prudent move, but it was the boldness of it that was exciting him – he would play her game. "What's the price," he said dropping all pretenses – and the country accent. Wolfe finished the rest in a gulp. The Madam arched an eyebrow in skepticism. "A fair exchange," she said with a smile as she took his empty glass. "For which would you like to first open negotiations for." She said as she came to sit on the edge of her bed. It was simple, flat and very wide with red satin sheets. Her hands caressed their soft texture beside her as she ever so slightly leaned back and looked up at him. The spider was inviting him further into her web. Wolfe forced down the surging chaotic urges swelling inside him and focused on the mission at hand. "The Blue Brothers," he said seriously. "Information for information then," she replied, almost sounding disappointed. "Ask," he almost growled. "Is The Father still leading your monastery?" She replied coyly. Wolfe's skin crawled and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck from her implication. "I assume from your silence that he still is, and that you know nothing of a threat to his person." "He would be a hard target to threaten," was all Wolfe could respond with. "Despite his age he is still very strong." "Indeed. Since you know nothing, I change my request," she said. "What led you here, in search for your Blue Brothers?" "Some of our brothers were caught selling contraband goods. They fought back, and were killed in the process." Wolfe played her game. "Yes, I heard it was a Zecairin agent." She replied and ran one foot up her stocking covered shin slowly. "They are terrible demons, how unfortunate for those men." "You don't sound concerned with their fate," Wolfe gathered. "No," she said with a smile. "They were someone else's pawns. They are of no consequence to me. But I will miss their business. Do you employ many Zecairins in your monastery?" She asked amused. Something in her tone, something challenging, and they way she smiled hinted that she did not believe that report. "Just one," Wolfe said in all seriousness – it was mostly true. He watched her search his gaze, reading him to see if it was a lie, and her smile slowly disappeared when she read it true. Her whole demeanor changed, she became more guarded for a moment and sat up straighter. He realized he had just given her valuable information she did not already know, or refused to believe. Now it was his turn. "Why were the Blue Brothers here?" he asked as he crossed his arms over his chest. "As you said, they wished to trade in unusual substances." She waved a hand dismissively and looked away. One hand went to her choker and started to stroke the amethyst that crowned it. "They sold their goods, acquired some rare reagents, chemicals, and similar substances. Then they indulged themselves with what remained of their coin." Wolfe stroked the scruff on his chin and digested her words. When a brief silence grew between them, and he found her looking to the floor bored, he realized their transaction was at an end. "Was my information sufficient in exchange?" he hoped to conclude this swiftly. The longer he stayed in her presence the more unsettled he felt. "Do you still wish to know about your Sister of Red Hair?" she said as she looked up at him with a mischievous sparkle to her eye. "Or can I help find what rare and profitable indulgences a messenger of the Monastery would care to enjoy?" She leaned forward and stood up slowly before him. Wolfe almost retreated a step from her forward posturing. Lost in the Light Ch. 08 "I know I'm going to regret asking, it's her own neck anyways, but what do you know of my companion, and what is it going to cost me?" He grumbled. The Mistress slowly walked around him, and trailed a soft touch over his crossed arms. As she circled him she sized his worth in flesh, and ran her hands down the inside of his thighs to grasp his hidden 'weapon'. But his resolve didn't falter and he stood disinterested. She turned away and walked past him to the door and turned to glance over her shoulder at him. With a slender finger she beckoned him to follow. Wolfe was reluctant to oblige. "Your Sister of Red does not belong with you, she is too foolish. Too headstrong. If she stays in your Monastery she would only die or wilt. You are using her for your cover, yes? She should be set free." She led him back down the hallway and stopped before one of the occupied rooms. On the other side of the door could be heard the faint grunts of men in passion. She turned on him then and pressed him against the wall, her compressed bosom rested on his chest and her hands started to stroke his muscled arms. "I am well trained in the arts of love," She breathed into his ear; the intoxicating smell of some foreign spice was invading his senses and driving those suppressed urges forward. She stroked a sharp nail down his cheek. "I could teach this beautiful flower so much. And I have always wanted a wolf for a pet. There are very fierce, very powerful, but also very loyal..." She pulled his head down to her and kissed him deeply. There was a tang of flavor to her lips he did not detect at first, but when he did it was too late. His focus seemed to cloud and he found himself submitting to her caresses. Wolfe had just been drugged. She ran her fingers down the inside of his trousers until she found what she wanted and pulled it free. His man flesh was already aroused and growing firmer from her touch as she stroked it. "You savage men are very forward, you take what you want. Show me that fierceness. Take me here, now! And I will give you your Red Flower." She turned and pressed her backside to him, taking his hands and placing them on her breasts. Wolf's muddled resolve broke, and he squeezed them firmly as his lips ravaged her exposed neck. The Mistress gasped in delight and slid the secret handle to the hidden door aside revealing a glass window to the room beyond. Wolf glanced up to see a carnal sight beyond what he was used too. A group of men stood surrounding a lady on her knees with pale skin and red flowing hair. Their cocks jutted out at attention as she took turns stroking and sucking their members into her mouth. When they were ready, she laid back and spread her legs wide. The more assertive took the honors of penetrating her red flower with his shaft, there was a shudder of pain, and her maidenhood flowed out around his shaft as he thrust in and out of her. Discontent with only him, she reached out and took the closest cocks and started to stroke them. A fourth positioned himself behind her head and lowered his throbbing member into her moaning lips to which she eagerly sucked him in. "I have never seen such an appetite." The mistress moaned, as Wolfe's lips found an ear and bit it. "I have watched them in secret..." she managed to get out between pleasing moans as his hands freed a breast and his lips found the nipple. "She exhausts every one of them as they take her..." His teeth pulled at her large dark nipples. "She is bewitching...ahh! Here, she could separate every lonely man from his coin. I have seen her play the innocent, and the worldly, and now the slatternly..." she moaned as his hands parted her dress and found her bush wet and waiting. He slid two fingers deep inside, spreading her lips wide despite her whimpers of discomfort. "Stay with me... I need you, I need her..." she panted and pulled his head up to her lips for another passionate kiss. That same tangy taste electrified his senses, and he breathed in her scent sharply. The Mistress turned her back to him, pressing herself up against the glass. She pulled her dress up to expose her bare backside and her waiting sex to him. Wolfe took his cue and slid his bulging cock between her legs to her waiting, hairless pussy. It was a new experience for him to take a shaved woman, and he did so with enthusiastic thrusts and grunts as he buried his hard member deep inside her. Inside the room, unaware of their audience, the men abided their time with lustful expressions. Each took turns savoring the Red Flowers many talents. One pulled her on top of him while his cock was still inside, as another slowly buried his cock into her asshole. This pale rose gasped only briefly as she savored the feel of both men inside her. Another presented his bouncing cock to her lips and she took him eagerly. Even though his companion was content with only her slender fingers stroking him, she pulled him beside the first and took them both into her mouth one at a time, and sometimes together. Wolfe was too enraptured to care; he was caught in the trap of lust of this exquisite foreign delicacy. "Swear yourself to me," she begged between powerful thrusts inside her, "Belong to me. Serve me. Love me," she pleaded. "I swear..." Wolfe growled amidst his grunting as he feverishly pounded his throbbing manhood into her, their skin slapping against each others, one hand at her waist tried to pull her deeper onto him as the other fondled one of her breasts and the dark pointed nipple at its crest... ***** Siles fastened his robe around his portly girth and fastened the belt. "What a disappointment you are, my dear." He said amidst sweaty pants and gasps. His hardened cock was starting to grow limp now, its enthusiasm spent upon the bare black backside of his Zecairin prisoner. The Mischievous hung limply from her chains. Her skin slick with sweat and cum. Her lungs barely drew in enough breath as the fever ravaged her senseless. Siles lifted her head without regard for her comfort and peeled back her fluttering eyelids with a stubby thumb to stair into her vacant pupils. What he saw disappointed him. "Another failure." He sighed and let her head drop limply. "En-flairus-gratus-enst!" his voice boomed unnaturally in the dark room as green flame suddenly engulfed the catatonic prisoner. The flames licked her skin and cooked the flesh. She barely managed a scream as it consumed her. Silas closed the secret door shutting off the secret room from the rest of his workshop. The unnatural heat on the other side disintegrated the body into ash and dust leaving behind a disembodied wail of pain muffled by the thick metal door. Without another thought, he went work gathering bottles and boxes from his supply shelf. One particular bottle gave him pause and a scowl as he found its contents nearly empty but for a dried bit of brown crust. Without another thought he left his study and workshop and sought the nearest steward walking the hall, lighting the sconces. He grabbed the man's arm and gave him such a start he almost crumpled in fear. But when they saw who they each addressed, their demeanor grew more casual. "Where are the She-Devil and her dog?" he demanded in an unkind tone. "Out on Father's business." The man cringed as he gave report, almost expecting to be struck. "Inform me the moment she returns," Siles scowled and stormed back to his workshop. **** The Red Flower screamed amidst her pile of flesh. Her patrons mistook it for passion, and took it as a sign of accomplishment as they thrust and stroked their manhoods in and on her hoping to release their pleasure during her climax. The Spider Mistress barely heard the wail through the double thick glass and watched with mixed emotion the erotic scene. But to her alarm, she watched the pale flower turn grey, and then black as she spasmed in what The Mistress realized to be pain and not pleasure. Her body thrashed, dislodging one of her lovers amidst his protest. He was about to complain before she let loose another unearthly wail – this one notable of agony as she grabbed her head and tried to curl away The Mistress lost immediate interest in her own pleasure and pressed her face against the glass. What she saw solicited a guttural profanity in her native language. She watched the pale red flower turn charcoal skinned a sprout the elongated ears of the elves. The Zecairin she had been warned off was right here in front of her. Fear took over and she ripped a slender metal spike from her hair and immediately turned on Wolfe in fury. He only had a moment to see it coming, before it plunged into his neck, but caught her wrist halting its decent into his flesh by half. But the damage had been done, and he spouted blood out of his mouth as he slumped to the ground. The shocked men scrambled to pull away from the black demon before them. Their naked legs and arms tripped over one another to get away. Her wail ended as suddenly as it started and she looked up with a hateful glare. "Fucking Humans!" She screamed and thrust one hand up at the nearest dumbfounded man. Something unseen hurtled him into the glass mirror on the far wall, but instead of bouncing off the wall he was thrown through it and into the hallway beyond and into the pair on the other side. The Mischievous rose in a fury and snapped a naked man's neck with her bare hands. She grabbed another as he backpedaled on his butt and shrieked for mercy right before she drove her thumbs into his eyes. Something sizzled out of his nose, ears, and mouth as his body suddenly spasmed uncontrollably. The horror beset on them snapped one man to action and he moved to smash a chair over the black demon's head but she caught his arm and threw him over her shoulder and onto his back. Her foot drove into his exposed manhood, and her heel ground his balls against the floor despite his screams. The last man had managed to get the door open and free before the demon made for him. Shaking with rage and blind agony, The Mischievous stalked towards the shattered glass window. A man she recognized as Wolfe sat clutching his neck, desperately trying to stop the blood that gushed from a small wound, but most of it he coughed up himself from the inside. Wolfe glanced up, asking... begging with silent words for help. His salvation was not in her furious red eyes he saw, but his own horrible end. As he waited between painful choking breaths for it to come, it didn't, and she walked on to stalk the halls. He heard more screams from down the halls and below after she disappeared into the darkness. Men and women were fleeing for their lives but dying just the same. At his feet a dead Spider lay squashed, her neck broken from the body hurled through the window at her. Wolfe couldn't feel his feet. So he tried to stand but failed. The floor was too slick with blood. And the cold started to creep up his limps and into his chest. Foolishly he tried again, his instinct was not to submit to his apparent fate but to somehow seek help... somehow he had to stop her from killing more... somehow he had too... Wolfe saw her eyes one last time. That red hateful glare found him barely conscious, and bored into him as his eyelids grew heavy and finally closed. Something hot burned into his neck, and he managed to gurgle out a scream. Blood splattered The Mischievous's face in thanks for the magic she poured into his would. Her ruby tongue delicately licked as much of it off as she could reach. The rest she gathered with a finger and suckled it into her lips. Wolfe blinked unsteadily, his pale blue eyes tried to make sense of the person before him. His wits were still muddled, but with each blink more and more of the world started to make sense. "Magic has a price..." she growled at him, those demonic red eyes still burning their hatred at him. "You belong to me now, Human." She snarled. "I own you. And you will serve my will." She took his neck with one hand and sank her lips around his healing wound with the other. Wolfe had no strength to fight her, but he tried, and was rewarded with a fist against his temple after she had drank her fill. Her saw her throat bob, as she swallowed half her mouthful of blood. The rest she forced into his own mouth as she pressed his lips to hers and them closed a hand over his mouth until he was forced to swallow the rest. "This rite binds you to me now, Man." She said. "Do not betray me. Do not disobey me. Do no-" she started to say before Wolfe sucker punched her in the gut, and finished her off with an elbow to the temple. The Zecairin demoness crumpled to the ground before she could finish the sentence. "No one binds me, bitch," he growled and rolled her unconscious body off him. "Nastier bog witches have tried. You Zecairins gloat too much doing it." He panted and rubbed his neck. "make that today's lesson..." ***** The Mischievous found herself back in their room at the Inn. Her head hurt and she was naked, but was otherwise whole. Slowly she rolled over to see an unkind face watching her from a chair against the wall – spear in hand. "Wolfe?" She whispered pathetically, and tried to rub the grogginess from her head. When she saw it was indeed him she moved to embrace him, but his spear tip suddenly found her neck and she shied away. Her hateful wrath was gone, abated or hidden. Wolfe was not taking chances with her. "Shield this room in silence," he growled the command. The Mischievous pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged them to her, pulling the covers up to her shoulders. She seemed to stare at nothing for a moment before looking back to him. "Done," She said and buried her face into her knees. "How..." she started, her voice muffled by the blanket. "How many died?" "A lot," Wolfe said coldly. "If I hadn't seen your wrath before, and faced it, I would have put you down right then." He grumbled. "But that would not have brought them back, and finding a dead Zecairin would have made the rest of my work impossible. If we play this right we can still get our answers." The Mischievous pulled at a bit of her hair, its pale blond color upset her, and with a touch she turned it blue with her magic. For all her bravado and coyness, this situation had shamed her into a meek thing. Wolfe saw that, and understood that whatever mystery affected her last night was serious and very dire. Whatever had happened, it was a secret she was keeping from him, and that needed to end now. "Talk to me." He demanded. The Mischievous denied him and hid in her blanket. "I gave you my trust," Wolfe started. "even after I had once faced this dark side of you that tried to kill me." He rested his spear against his shoulder and took a deep breath. "I know that I am young compared to you, and maybe a bit naïve with my trust. I also know that you've been pretending around me to gain my trust because you were alone and scared. But you could have run off, and I would have tracked you through the wilds. Instead you stayed and helped our mission. So there is something here you still need. Any other man would have killed you and blundered the rest out on his own. But I'm different. I'm still here after all your secrets, and all your killing. You said you trusted me once, and that you knew that I was real. If that was true, you should trust me now." The Mischievous took her scolding with a scowl and lifted her head up to look at him in defiance. He saw in her eyes that have his words struck true, but the rest were wrong – because she was still hiding something that would vindicate her and explain all this. Despite her lies, her face was easy enough to read. "Anyways," He roughed up his hair with a begrudging groan. "You weren't the only one that screwed up. We both gave in to our temptations." The uncomfortable silence returned between them. With a deep calming sigh he finally worked up the courage to say what needed to be said. "Thank you. For saving my life, I owe you one." But The Mischievous didn't seem to be moved out of her shell. "I'll give you some time. I'll be outside when you're ready." "Did you find out any information?" She asked in an argumentive tone as he started to rise to leave. "Not much, only that they traded forbidden and rare substances there." He said. "The Spider seemed to be very afraid of you, and she wondered if The Father was still alive." "Then you screwed up worse than I did!" she scolded. "They were buying alchemical ingredients, and selling something very dangerous... Demon Blood. She's afraid of me because my people use the stuff to make us stronger, and more... unpredictable. Someone in the Monastery is making it, and The Father doesn't know about it. If he did..." Wolfe looked at her incredulously as he digested it all. "You human men like to talk a lot after sex, and the stupid ones like to brag about their riches and their power, and all the dangerous things they do." She said as if way of explaining her information. "Alright, you win. I screwed up worse. I kissed a spider." He grumbled with a betraying smile. He thought about all she said and digested it quickly. "If this little potion business is so big, then they stand to loose a lot if it's shut down. But I don't see how they could possibly kill The Father to prevent him from doing so." He stated rhetorically. "My people's entire supply of Demon's Blood comes from your monastery." She glared at him with dead seriousness. "ALL of Zecair would march on your Monastery if The Father shut down production of Demon's Blood." "Fuck." Wolfe cursed and grabbed his temples. "Fuck, and more fuck." The Mischievous couldn't help but smile despite the grave news. "Then we need to make sure he doesn't find out," She suggested. Wolfe looked at her incredulously. "We have to," Wolfe wanted to argue, but he wasn't so naïve as to not see the insurmountable problem that would fall on them if they did. His head slumped back against the wall defeated and he stared off at nothing as he tried to wrap his head around it all. "The liquor run was just a mask," he concluded. And then he scowled deeply. "Isn't Demon's Blood made from an actual demon's blood?" he pondered. "That's one of the main ingredients I know of," she admitted. "Wouldn't it take a lot to supply any entire nation? How long has this been going on?" "I was given some when I was a child," She answered. "Some fifty years ago, and I wasn't the first generation." "That would take a lake of demon's blood." He threw his hands up in disbelief. "I haven't seen or heard of any demons still alive! Where's it all coming from." "Or it would take one really old, really powerful demon, that's had their blood harvested for years..." The Mischievous concluded. "The Monastery could hide one such demon." This news was even more unsettling to Wolfe. "FUCK!" Wolfe shouted. "What's more, if this operation is as big as all that. Then they are smarter than we think." The Mischievous said glumly. "They will know we destroyed the Spider's Den, they'll assume that we know, or the Den would still be standing if we didn't. They'll come after us." "Fuck!" Wolfe dropped his head to his knees. "I really screwed up. We're both proper fucked now." The Mischievous let him be at that and leaned back against the wall, propped up on her pillows. Wolfe let out an uncharacteristic whimper as he tried to think through their predicament. Suddenly something came to him that he overlooked. "Forgive me," he said. "What of your problem? When you lost control like that, it wasn't just the demon's blood, was it... something worse that set it off. You told me about your dreams, and Silas. Was that part of it?" "The demon's anger comes out when we don't sate it, or when we're grievously wounded – that's the point of it." She started to say and turned to look at him. She had been crying silently to herself just then, her eyes were red and puffy but she was trying to hide it. "I was in the middle of sating it when it emerged." Lost in the Light Ch. 09 Stumbling, half-dragging, half-walking, naked and caked in mud and dried blood, Liam arrived at the front gates. There he stood patiently clutching a broken forearm against his chest. He stared vacantly at the doors until they slowly opened and two men dressed in the formal uniform of the Huanguard peeked out to see what he wanted. Liam meet their gaze, and the two men immediately fled back inside. "My lord!" Screamed a steward as he stormed into the chapel and ran Silas down. The fat monk looked as if he was about to garrote the man with the bell pull he was trying to replace. But his scowl melted when he heard the steward's message. "The man hasn't moved, he's simply standing there!" The gate guardsman informed The Father as they walked hurriedly to the front gate. Despite his hutched posture, the old man could move fast when he wanted. "Fetching me was wise. He would have killed you both if you hadn't." The Father grumbled. "He looked like he was about to!" the man protested. "I've never felt something like that before, one look and a chill went down my spine. There's no reason I should be afraid of a naked, half dead man!" he complained. "He did it on purpose," The Father chortled. "Liam can make you afraid." The guardsman wanted to ask more, but they had arrived at the gate. His partner grabbed the ring to the gate door and after the first guard followed suit to the left door, they pulled in unison and the wooden gate swung opened. The Father didn't wait for it to open all the way and squeezed through the opening. Liam was collapsed on the ground before it. The Father approached cautiously, and leaned down to touch the man's neck. There was a pulse and he was breathing, but there was something odd here. He looked him over; there were no visible wounds and no trail of blood. Poison? There were very few things that could lay Liam low. The Father turned him over and started to check his body. He looked at the fingers and nails, the eyes, the mouth, and they all seemed normal. But there was a scratch on his arm that had healed, but the skin was puffy around the wound. His old mind had seen many men die, most often by his own actions. The Father recognized death in its many forms. Liam's affliction was unique -- a healthy body, yet dying inside. It could only be a poison that kills quickly but had been thwarted somehow. It had slowed down many of his internal organs, but had missed the heart. Considering the nature of Liam's last assignment, The Father had a good guess whom had done this. "Bring porridge. With milk and honey." The Father said loudly. "And carry him to the sweat box." One guardsman saluted and ran off to the kitchens. The other picked up the prone man's body and carried him inside. As he passed The Father, the old man relieved the guardsman of a knife in his belt and fell into pace beside the body. "He won't know where he is, and he may try to kill you." The Father said as a way of explaining. They carried the body through the training yard, and around the side of one of the apartment houses. An unremarkable crate with a large door in it leaned against the side of the building. More of the Huanguard had come to see what the excitement was about. Many of them knew Liam, and were dumbfounded at his state of being. A steward spoon-fed him porridge from a bowl. "One of us has been poisoned," The Father said aloud as he supervised the treatment. "This is the price of carelessness. This is why I train you so harshly. Our enemies are capable of more devious methods to kill us than a simple stab to the gut. With just a scratch a well crafted poison can kill the heartiest." He lectured. "For those that know our strength, it's their only weapon against us." He looked to the gazes of his students. "This is why I am so unforgiving. Your enemies will be less patient than I am." He paused as that lesson sank in. "In Liam's case, the poison was supposed to kill him outright, but he kept it at bay somehow. It's still in his body keeping him weak. He'll have to sweat it out, and even then he may not be the same afterwards." They fed him into the box and locked the door after him. "Under no circumstances open this box." The Father commanded sternly. "Send his meals through the opening in the bottom of the door, but never open it or he'll kill you. If he pleads with you... summon me immediately." The Huanguard, uniformed and trainees alike nodded in understanding. "Back to your duties!" The Father snarled at them, and the men scattered. The old man folded his hands behind his back and started to walk the grounds in thought. Silas met him in the courtyard as he paced. "You are not needed," The Father growled and ran a hand through his white hair. It never made a difference, there was not enough substance left to the whispy strands to go anywhere but where gravity dictated. "I assumed," Silas nodded in agreement. "you would have sent for me if so. But I was curious as to what this means. Liam? Poisoned? It looks like the Elthairin King is trying to remove witnesses." "The Elthairin King is an idiot." The Father grumbled. "But if he butchers his own people to remove dissention, it stands to reason he would use such crude means to eliminate those that helped him achieve his crown." Silas offered. "You have a point, Silas. That baffoon has no idea who he is fucking with." The Father's dark mood was only getting worse with Silas's words. "We gave him a throne, we can take it away." "Indeed," Silas dared to smile wickedly. * * * * Stumbling, half -dragged, half --walked, naked and caked in dried sweat and dirt, a delirious Riyarra was pulled through the camp by the two scouts that had found her. A lady Elthairin scout with twin tattoos of vines wrapping up her bare, muscled arms parted the curious onlookers with an icy glare. Her companion had a less than enthusiastic, almost embarrassed look about his lean features. The two of them made a point not to look at their captive as they presented her before a tall oak. Riyarra instinctually fell to her knees and waited there. There they waited, and discouraged the curious, as an old figure in a green robe made of leaves slowly descended by means of an uncoiling vine. He landed gracefully and the vine retracted back up to the heights above. "Thank you my friend," he said lovingly and touched the tree's bark for a moment, and again with his forehead. He was old, very old for an Elthairin. Shallow cheekbones, sunken eyes, wisps of silver hair defiantly clung to his scalp, and yet despite his obvious age his demeanor was youthful and vigorous. He took one long at the bedraggled Riyarra and shook his head. "Oh no, this is embarrassing." He gasped and put a hand over his mouth in mock shock. "Where are your clothes my child?" he asked sincerely and leaned close to her. Those elves that had come to observe were warned off by the fierce glares of the two that had brought the captive before the old elf. "I must have left them behind," Riyarra admitted woozily. Instinctually she held her arms across her chest in an attempt to cover up and pulled her legs together. "Oh my," The old man said regrettably. "That is unfortunate. Why are you so dirty, my child?" He squatted down before her, and rubbed her head affectionately. "you've been playing in the dirt it looks like." He smiled at her in a fatherly voice. "I'm," Riyarra started to say, but then scowled and looked around as if unsure of where she was, or if this was even real. "Gayne? Are you here Gayne?" she called out. "I'm dreaming again. I'm having that dream again." She muttered sleepily. For the first time, she looked up at the old elf and met his gaze, but she couldn't figure out who he was. "Who are you?" she asked casually. High above the odd spectacle, from inside her tree tent, Lysia poked her head out and looked to see what the commotion below was. When she spied Riyarra, she drew in a sharp breath, and she was about to scream a greeting before a silent hand rushed over her mouth. Valel poked his head out next to hers. "Remember your training," he reminded her in a quiet, kind voice. She replied with a bashful and embarrassed smile. Valel removed his hand, and Lysia thanked him by touching her forehead to his. She leapt from the tent edge gracefully and plummeted to the ground, The wind whipped her long ponytail behind her, but the rest of her body remained firm and agile. At the last moment, right before she would hit the ground, her decent suddenly slowed and she touched down silently. Magic, it seemed, she had a talent for. But Lysia knew it was more because of Valel's patient teachings that she had finally been transformed into the person she had always wished to be -- useful and capable. Her bare feet padded silently over the ground, and her leather leggings made no sound as she walked. Not magic, but careful training and a good tailor. Her green vest was a bit out of place from the fall, and she repositioned it to better hold in her troublesome bosom. She was built for the city, and the athleticism of the wild hadn't yet finished sculpting all the parts of her body. Lysia came to stand next to one of the scouts, Amel -- a boy just a bit younger than her, but one of the first to welcome her into their fold. "Iala and Yyolun found your friend," he smirked at her. "I can see that," she nudged him in the ribs. Amel was the closest thing she had to a friend here. Socializing was practically forbidden here -- the leaf knights didn't spend their off time chatting, but working and resting. It had been difficult for her to restrain her curiosity, she wanted to know so much about them and their order, but she had resigned herself to letting her imagination fill in their stories. Valel, her Master and partner, who instructed her in the skills a leaf knight would need, was the son of the Cleric Twenyl, and who came from a long an ancient lineage of leaf knights. The last part she imagined. Iala, his former partner, the tall foreboding female with the twin tattoos on her arms, was a walking army. She was harshest when it came to camp discipline, and was peerless and utterly unforgiving in combat. The only time Lysia had witness Iala show compassion was her first night here. But deep down Lysia knew the lady's stern, fierce exterior was due to her unyielding love and protection for this group -- for they were her family now. And, if Lysia's imagination was true, they were the only family Iala had left as her once noble heritage was brutal slaughtered in a Zecairin attack. Despite her imagination, Iala had the regal composure of one of Elthair's ruling families -- when she was scornfully criticism an errant knight. Fryak and Frell were twin brothers from the countryside, remarkable archers, but mischief makers. The were the exact opposite to Captain Iala. Slightly older than Valel they had been the more recent recruits before Lysia. But they kept mostly to themselves. They would prented to nap and pull their blond bangs over their eyes when they did, but were secretly waiting for you to walk by before they grabbed your legs suddenly. When they first pulled that trick on Lysia, she had shrieked so loudly, they had to move camp immediately. The need for silence was her harshest lesson. But despite all their strict training, the leaf knights were forgiving and patient, and for that she was very grateful. Amel, was friendly, and liked to pick on her during her training lessons. But his criticism was meant to help as well as motivate her. They rest of his identity was a mystery. As were the others in the camp, whose names she hadn't learned yet. There had not been time with her constant training and practice to get to know them. The group was in danger so long as her skills were so far below theirs, she needed to work constantly to keep from embarrassing herself. Amel was the only one she left a mystery, he was more fun that way if she could keep changing why he picked on her so much. "She reeks," grumbled Amel. "shssh, you." One of the twins muttered, and nodded towards the cleric. Old Twenyl was looking directly at her. Lysia bowed apologetically, and touched her forehead with her fingers -- their silent sign for apology, and vigilance. But took a moment to elbow Amel hard in the ribs -- he refused to give her the pleasure of a pained grunt. The cleric turned his attention back to Riyarra, who stared blankly at the ground. "Yes, this is our long lost runaway princess." He concluded after long last. "However..." and he let loose a long profound sigh. "She has been corrupted." The mood around them grew dire. The emotions were sullen, depressed, sorrowful, and pitying. Hardened eyes could only look on; Lysia knew this was a death sentence. "There is an old ritual that could purify her," Twenyl mused thoughtfully and massage his scalp as if to regrow his lost hair. "If I knew what possesses her it could work. There is an old spring in the mountains, it can purify most taints... " he trailed off that sentence as he looked up to the sky to think for a moment. "Wise Master," Lysia spoke softly and pushed her way past. "I know what it is." Twenyl looked to her and smiled. "I thought as much, tell us Lysia." He stood up slowly and stretched his back. "Please set my old heart at ease." "Before we parted, she told me the Zecairins made her drink something when she was a prisoner. A red liquid. It makes her crave bloodshed and... lovemaking. She has been fighting it. But the longer she resists, the worse she becomes." Twenyl's eyes closed slowly and his whole person sank as if he had just learned his mother had died. He stumbled for a moment, uncharacteristic for his agile self, and collapsed onto his hind end - defeated. Iala was almost afraid for him and moved to help him up, but the old cleric waved her away. "I do not know how, but she has been infected by a demon's blood," The cleric gasped and dared to touch Riyarra's face. "There is only one cure..." Twenyl pulled his hand back and sobbed. "Oh my child, I am so sorry" "You're not Gayne." Riyarra scowled at him, uncomprehending her situation. "She is very dangerous like this," The cleric announced grimly as he wiped away the tears. "She can go berserk and may not know friend from foe. We should bid her farewell first, but..." "I'm a good girl," Riyarra said with a bit of a feverish smile. "I'll be quite." She tried to rise, but firm hands on her shoulders held her down. Riyarra looked up at them accusingly. "Is this how you treat your queen?!" she said indignantly. Call me Your Queen! Those words haunted Lysia, and the horror was clear in her face. Those words were said when a naked, blood covered Riyarra butchered Lysia's old squad of Yvarna. Many Elthairins died brutally at the hands of their runaway princess. She moved swiftly to pull Iala's hands away. The noble lady scowled, knowing this girl wasn't strong enough to do so, but she relented -- she knew Lysia meant well and decided to trust the girl. "My Queen!" Lysia said quietly and came to sit in front of Riyarra. "You're sick. We want to help. Do you remember me?" "Lysia!" Riyarra sighed and put her hands around the girl's neck. "I missed you. I do feel sick. Have you seen Gayne?" "Gayne," Lysia's heart sank. "He died, my Queen. He died protecting you." She touched her forehead to Riyarra's, the naked girl's skin was burning up. "He did, my poor Gayne." Riyarra bemoaned. "But I took him in..." she was about to say more. But the sight of a curious Twenyl made her shy away. "Are you going to put the mark on me too Cleric?" Twenyl balked and rose to his feet. "No, my child!" he defended himself. "We will take care of you." He reached down and patted her shoulder. With a deep, steadying breath he looked to the sky for answers and let his mind wander a bit. Lysia tried her best to brush some of the dirt from her queen's face, but a bath was what the girl needed. "There is a place we should take her." He said after a long thought. "The mountain spring is our best hope. It is very old, but I cannot say for sure if it will cure her completely. It may well be corrupted itself and that would be a great loss." He paused and glanced to Iala, she was one of the older knights, as well as their Captain, and she nodded approval. Iala was a rationalist; she knew the costs sometimes did not justify the results. But she was also the most devoted to Elthairin tradition and the most outspoken against the new direction the King was leading the Elthairin people. Twenyl turned to his son, Valel, who had joined them. He too understood what was at risk and nodded his silent assent. This troupe of Leaf Knights had been searching for the lost princess -- not to return her to Elthair, but in the hopes she could rally the dissenters against her brother and dethrone him. It was a dangerous line they walked between treason and patriotism, and some decisions needed the understanding and consent of those that believed in the cause. With the rest of the elders' consent, Twenyl looked to each knight and asked them with his gaze. Each one nodded in agreement -- even the more youthful members that may not completely grasp all the complications of the question. "I will escort her," Lysia spoke up. "I have traveled with her this far. And I would cause less trouble for everyone if I was not here." Iala shot Valel an accusing glare, to which he shook his head in bemused denial, and the lady smiled demurely and shook her head likewise. "Not a single one of us was born with our skills. We all had to learn them." Iala said sternly. "You are no burden to us. Not if it is your heart to become one of us." "I will take her. Alone." Twenyl overruled her. "This ordeal will be very painful for our princess. It would not do for her subjects to see her so tormented. They would loose faith. What I am about to ask of her will burn her soul as it purges the corruption within her. It may succeed, but leave her and empty shell. Like any cure, the results depend on the will of the diseased." Iala didn't object. She had learned not to argue with Twenyl when the old one made bold statements like that. "There is another reason." He admitted at long last. "If the demon claims her, her body will need to be destroyed. I cannot ask anyone but myself to be responsible for that." "Besides," his loving, fatherly tone ceased. "We have another mission. The human Monastery... You have orders." He reminded them. "We'll await your return, unless a Zek patrol makes contact. Then we move in." Iala repeated to all. "Only if their connection is clear." Twenyl reminded her. Iala understood and turned to see to the preparations of the troops. The group dispersed, all except Lysia. Valel waited patiently out of earshot for the two girl's reunion to run its course. He had come to appreciate Lysia's ordeal as well as Riyarra's. When he had found her -- captured by Zecairins and being savagely beaten and raped -- he expected the girl's spirit to fade from her body, or her mind to break into madness. But she was strong. She never spoke of it afterwards. It was almost as if she had survived such treatment already. That particular secret, Valel respected, and gave her space. "I should clean her up first. She needs some clothes." Lysia offered and stood up. "No my child," Twenyl argued. "Can you think of why?" "She smells very... strong!" she wanted to say horrible. "Precisely...?" The cleric prompted her. Lysia thought about it for a moment. "Anyone following that scent would wonder why it ended here." She sighed, defeated. "That is why I will take her alone." The cleric said as he helped pull Riyarra to her feet. "I want you stay here, and watch. And to kill what ever is following her." He said gravely. It was rare for the Cleric to be so cruel. But he had his reasons. He knew more than she did, and Lysia accepted this. They would stay and be the trap. Lost in the Light Ch. 09 They gave the princess a cloak, and fed her some bread and berries before Twenyl lead her off into the woods. Lysia watched her leave. For one moment, Riyarra looked back and met her gaze. Lysia saw the doom in her eyes, the grim acceptance of one's fate. It was a surprisingly lucid moment for the feverish Riyarra. Lysia prayed it was not their last goodbye. Bu the look Riyarra gave her... The princess knew more of what her ailment was than Lysia did. She had to have hope. Despite their horrible first encounter, if it had not been for the princess she would not be where she was now. She couldn't say goodbye like this. Lysia turned her back and didn't watch them disappear. She had her archery to practice. When night started to fall Valel found her still up shooting her bow away off from camp. He climbed a tree for a better view. His silent handholds and agile footwork did not disturb the restful tree from slumbering. The sounds of her arrows whizzing through the air were the only sounds out of place here in the dark wilds. But it could not be helped as she was not skilled enough yet to make her shots silent. She was his charge, his apprentice, but at times he felt she needed to learn things on her own without his tutelage. Coping with the past was tonight's lesson. When she first started to sneak away to practice, he had followed, just as he did this night. He was angry at first -- she had broken camp discipline, but that changed when he saw what she was doing. Lysia would find a large black rock, scratch a vaguely Elven face to it with another stone, and proceed to ricochet arrow heads off its forehead. It was this effigy she created each night that silenced his scolding. She had survived her abuse by harboring a darkness in her heart, and this was its release. Such a thing was not unacceptable, but Valel knew from experience that it would only bring her more sorrow in the end. So he kept an eye on her each time she ran off, and observed her skill improve night after night. If she needed revenge to push on, it was not his place to deny it to her, but merely to offer other paths when they could be offered. Tink!... Tink!...whoosh... Tink!... whoosh... The soft melody of strike and miss was almost calming. Valel closed his eyes and remembered his days practicing. They were in a better equipped range than this secluded section of wilderness, and accompanied by the melodies of his fellow initiates as they practiced as well. The melody stopped, and Valel opened his eyes. Lysia walked the range and collected her shots. She knew were each one landed and it took very little time. Finished, she looked to her target, staring down its battered features. With a swift kick she sent the rock tumbling noisily across the ground. Valel scowled. Next she erected a wooded body out of a fallen log, and gave it a head and limbs. Its eyes she made out of small rocks, and the ears out of twigs. Then, with careful aiming, she set to dismembering it with her shots. First to the arms at the shoulders -- it took a few tries to knock them off. Valel smiled at her imaginative design to precision shooting. Next, the legs at the knees -- both good shots, she made easily. Then came the eyes, she blinded it with subsequent shots. Then the ears were shot off... and at last the rest of the quiver was emptied into its groin. Valel scowled again, but he understood this was her pain. He tried to think of what to say, how to encourage her to let go of her rage; in the wrong circumstances it could be used against her, and put her life and those of her companions at risk. As her Master, he had that responsibility. But as her savior, and having seen the atrocities her captors were committing with her flesh, he could not deny her this. He pitied her. Fate was cruel enough to mark her as Yvarna for such trivial a crime, but to abandon her to the wild to be devoured by beasts... Only to survive and be discovered by their troop. Fate was indeed cruel. The Leaf Knights would not tolerate a Yvarna amongst them. No matter her heart, or her dedication to the task, she was a blemish on their pride and their honor. The Yvarna were criminals, only... Valel closed his eyes and burned the thought from his mind. Only a cleric could bestow the mark of a Yvarna, and its curse. But even they could not remove it, that was the duty of the cursed. It was very, very rare for a Yvarna to earn freedom from such a mark. They usually died trying to free themselves, or lived out their nature lives accursed. A great pity filled Valel's heart. This poor girl was doomed to die soon. They would soon strike their target, and Lysia's abilities were not enough to save her. The others would abandon her on the battlefield because of her mark, and Valel would be forced to die protecting her or to abandon his post and leave her to her fate. Fate, was not stingy with its cruelty he mused to himself. Lysia drew her knife and proceeded to eviscerate the poor target dummy. Chunks of rotten bark flew to the ground with each wicked slash after wicked slash. Soon the forcefulness of her strikes took their toll and she grunted in exertion with each one. She was using her hate as a tool, channeling it into each swing. A shot whizzed past her, and the dummy's head exploded. Valel didn't move, but quietly replaced his bow over his shoulder. Lysia whirled around and was about to throw her knife in his direction, but when their eyes met she crumpled to the ground and sobbed. He had seen her pain. Of all the Leaf Knights, he was the last she wanted to see her like this. She wanted to be the perfect student for him. "Why?!" she hissed. "Why did you save me?" she whispered to the night air. "I am nothing!" she almost cried out. Her good sense had not left her so completely as to shout the words, although she burned to scream them out. "If you had just left me... you could have found her sooner! You could have saved her!" she accused him. Valel dismounted and approached her. His visage was blank, and stoic. She expected him as her Master to be furious with her outburst. Or as the gentleman she knew he was, to be apologetic and sorrowful. But instead he was cold... she never wanted him cold. Not to her. She dropped her shoulders and wept. A compassionate hand touched her shoulder, but he did not speak until she had calmed down. "Leave here," He advised. "Tonight. Take what you can, and leave us. Run. Run far away from this pain. Or take what skills you have already learned and hunt the woods for your demons. But leave here tonight." "Why are you sending me away?" she cried at him. She was no warrior. Lysia had only been pretending to be strong. When it came down to conflict, she always wilted. "I..." she was about to admit to something but couldn't find the words. "I care for you. You've done so much for me. Why are you sending me away?" Valel's heart sank. Her own words were dooming her sooner than he wished. "Please forgive me," He said in sorrow, and slid his knife into her ribs down to the hilt. Lysia whimpered once, and grew still. His blade had been true and merciful. Gingerly, he laid her down on the ground and kissed her forehead. Valel closed her eyes, folded her arms over her chest, and whispered a silent prayer over her. When he rose, Iala was watching him with her stern arms crossed over her chest. She nodded in silent acknowledgement, and turned to leave. Valel tried to take a step to follow her, but his own feelings fought him. The cold façade finally broke. The moment Iala was out of sight, Valel dropped to the prone form and threw his cloak over his hand as it covered the wound. The bright flash of magic from underneath was muffled by the fabric. Without loosing a beat, he thrust his hand over her mouth to muffle the sharp gasp of breath as that fleeting life was suddenly recaptured and flared up. Lysia's gaze shot wide and she screamed into his hand. He clenched her teeth painfully in his grip to silence her, and affixed her fearful, accusing eyes with a fierce, angry glare. Slowly he pulled his hand out from under the fabric and put a finger to her lips to quiet her. "Run, or die." He ordered her, and he lifted himself off her. Lysia stood conflicted. Angry, bewildered, cowering, she gathered her bow and arrows and fought back the sobs, but eventually they came. Valel watched her icily, his gaze fixed on her back as it trudged into the darkness beyond, and she was gone. In time, he prayed she would understand, but he knew better. When Valel pulled back the flap to his tent, he found Iala had reclaimed her space as his partner. She looked up from her meditation with a sorrowful expression on her face. "That was a great kindness. And a terrible burden," she whispered. "I would have gladly joined you to guide her home. But soon-" "I know," Valel cut her off. "If we had found Princess Riyarra sooner, she wouldn't have had to go through that, and we would have found hope." "You do not believe your father will succeed?" Iala asked, but she knew the answer. "He will, but not at purifying her. You and I have seen corruption, and it never ends well." Valel sat and crossed his legs similar to Iala's meditative posture. "Riyarra is lost. Our cause is dust. Our only course of action is to avenge ourselves on those that put that monster on the throne." "I will stay and pray to the spirits with you. Together we can ease her passage." She reached up to touch his cheek, but he recoiled form it. "No," He said coldly. "I want to keep this anger. I will not grieve for her, or be sad. Not until I lay dying surrounded by the corpses of our enemies." Iala dared to scowl at him, he was being unusually emotional. She looked to her hands for the answer. "Did you care for her?" She asked calmly. Valel did not respond. "Then I will ask the Great Sprit to forgive her when I see him, and you will meet each other again." She dared to smile at him. Valel relented and nodded his approval. "We wait for my father, and then we strike..." Valel said and began his meditation. Despite his age, Twenyl could traverse the rocky hillside as if he were younger and they were old friends. Not once did he loose his footing, or his grip on the rock sides to steady his pace. The sickly Riyarra on the other hand, struggled with each step. Often, the old cleric would sit and wait for her to catch up and just smile approvingly when she would look at him bewildered as to how he could manage such a trek. Her senses came and went, as did her stamina. At times she would be infused with an endless vigor and scaled the mountainside at a determined paced. At other times she lumbered along, half awake as the fever muddled her mind. At those times Twenyl resounded himself to guiding her by his arm. That made their trip more difficult. Two people had a harder time fitting between a pine and a rock crack, than one slender elf. I won't be long now. He realized. Her aggression had left her at the base of the mountain, her constant flirtations and propositions ended half-way up the base. When she stopped trying to sate it, he knew the battle was over, and now it was going to burn her out. But luck was still with them, it wasn't much farther to the spring. What gnawed at his resolve was maintaining the hope that this would work, when so many others failed. Twenyl placed a hand at the opening to the cave. He could smell the crisp clean air of the sacred waters inside. As before, he waited patiently for his princess to catch up. And when she did he took her arm in his, and guided the stumbling lady down through the cavern entrance. He could have eased her assent at any number of moments during their trip, she would have had more strength to face what was about to come. But he weighed that option with his role in her purification, and decided that he would need his strength more. If they failed, the beast would take over her, and he would need all his might to slay her immediately before she killed him. It was not an easy decision. "We are here," he said calmly, and brushed a sweaty mass of hair from her face. "How are you feeling, my child? You will be well soon." Riyarra grunted an unintelligent whine. "It is not long now." He said sadly. He took her by the shoulders and pulled the cloak tighter around her body for warmth. Despite her fever, the chill of the mountain air could rob her of precious strength. They left the light of sun behind them, and so Twenyl summoned up a glowing wisp to guide their path down the cave. It floated through the air and cast its pale blue-white light over the rock walls. Riyarra seemed enraptured by it, and would follow it on her own, Twenyl had only to guide it. Their path wound deep into the mountain; at times they had to crouch and crawl to get through the openings in the rock. But once this section was passed, the tunnel opened up into a large cavern with a crystalline pool in its center. The water only came up to their knees. But Twenyl could feel the natural energies and the power that resided in this place. He had been here once before, to witness its splendor and to meditate on its beauty. This was the first time he sought to use its power. Deep in his heart he regretted that he would be defiling this sacred place with the evil that infected his princess. But along with that fear was the hope that it would work, he had never felt such ambient power before, and he prayed it was up to the task. Twenyl stepped in first. Showing that it was cool and refreshing he offered his hand to Riyarra. But something gave her pause. "Come on my dear, this will make you feel better," he enticed her. "It is very relaxing, and will take away that fever." There was nervousness to his voice that she noticed. Twenyl wasn't a very convincing liar. She resisted, and growled at him. When he pulled her hand, she moved to bite his arm. The old man recoiled and looked hurt. "My Queen," he begged. Those words seemed to snap some semblance of recognition in her fleeting mind. "Please come. It will only tingle for a little while." Riyarra stood up straight and looked down at the hunched man in stubborn determination. Her cloak fell off her shoulders, exposing her sweaty bare skin to the crisp air. She took a brave step into the pool. The water started to fizzle and bubble around her flesh, a good sign to the worrisome Cleric. She took another step forward. And another. And another... Twenyl waded deeper in until the water came up to his waist soaking the green leaves of his robes, all the while trailing his hand behind him for her to take as she tried to follow. It was clear the bubbling reaction of the water to her presence was starting to cause her some discomfort. But she was past fear and pain now. It was with an almost vacant determination that she waded the rest of the way. When she finally reached him, she let out a whimpe from the pain and collapsed into his arms. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she closed them. Gingerly, he lifted her up into the water until she was floating on her back. The spring water effervesced around her, those dribbles of water that clung to her bare chest evaporated immediately and left a terrible sulfur smell behind. "O' Great Spirit, of light and life. Take this child into your caring embrace and chase from her the sickness that steals her life. Give her your gift, and rejoice in the gifts she will give to others." He gave a customary prayer, his voice never wavered despite the harrowing task before him. Riyarra whimpered from the irritation of the water. Without another word, he put a hand on her chest and plunged her in completely. There he held her as the water started to boil and bubble violently around her. At first she accepted it. But quickly the pain grew too much and she started to struggle. With an unnatural strength Twenyl held firm, his eyes closed in grim concentration, and his brow furrowed in a pained look. Riyarra fought back, she kicked, she clawed, she grabbed his throat and squeezed. But the old cleric held firm. The water raged around them, and he was forced to close his mouth to keep from breathing in the noxious vapors. The water level started to lower from the violent reaction, and Twenyl had to keep pushing her lower and lower to keep her submerged. This fight raged on for endless moments. The only progress he could fathom was when he had her pinned to the bottom of the pool, and yet still the water continued to boil off leaving less and less behind. Twenyl's old skin was turning a bright pink from the heat coming off of her, and his last hairs had long since burned off his scalp in the acrid, noxious air. Ry! Came Gayne's voice in the darkness heard only to her. My Love, do not fight it. Let it take you. My love, trust in me. Riyarra opened her eyes under the water, and it burned them. In that glimmering moment between life and death she accepted his words and stopped struggling. The pain was unbearable, it burned her down into her the deepest corners of her soul. But somehow his voice had made it all wash away in that brief moment. Her vision cleared, and in the water's surface she could see Gayne's face. He looked as she remembered him when he died, and not as he appeared in her dreams -- older and more handsome. Let me go my love. He beseeched her. It is because I am here that you will survive this. Allow me to serve my queen one last time and show my love for you. Let me take this evil with me! Let me take this pain, and fight my love! Fight for your people! Fight for me! And LIVE! Gayne's face disappeared as the water's surface boiled away and revealed the smoky air of the cavern. Before she could draw in a sharp breath of life giving air, Twenyl's hand clasped over her mouth. She looked to him amid tear-filled eyes and saw his own face scrunched closed against the noxious air. Slowly a soft breeze started to swirl around them, dispersing the vile air and bring in a dry, crisp feeling to her skin. The air flowed around Twenyl, whose red face was struggling to hold his breath while summoning the air sprites to clear the air. When he could take no more he gasped suddenly and about collapsed backward. His hand came away, and Riyarra gasped sharply as well. Cold, crisp, wonderful air filled her lungs and for a few difficult moments she coughed up foul smelling breath. Twenyl crawled away from her among the puddles that remained of the once tranquil pool. His strength was leaving him rapidly, and his breaths were short and labored until finally he collapse not far away. Riyarra curled up on her side and hugged her knees to her chest. A great burden had been lifted from her soul, and finally she felt whole and clear headed. But it came at a terrible price. She could no longer feel Gayne's spirit within her. I wanted to take you home. She prayed silently to the vacant spirit. I wanted to have you with me forever my love. But I understand now. An artist's soul needs life. I was dooming you for the sake of my own selfishness. Riyarra lifted herself up and sat with her knees pulled to her chest. "Goodbye my love," She said to the open air. "Great Spirit receive your beloved child Gayne, and forgive him his sins." "I felt.." Twenyl gasped as he struggled to roll over on his back. "A spirit leave your body... I thought it was you... I thought...we failed." He struggled to catch his breath. Twenyl opened his eyes and stared at the scintillating colors that danced over the cavern's ceiling. "Oh, so pretty..." he bemoaned in awe. But something seemed out of place about them. There was nothing in this cavern that should give off such a light. Fearfully, Twenyl lifted his head to look upon his princess. He was unprepared for the humbling sight before him. From Riyarra's back, four gossamer wings stroked the air lazily. They gave off a magical, scintillating light or blues, greens, pinks, and purples as they were made of the natural magic essences. Riyarra seemed not to notice them as she stared off into the darkness of the cavern. A clump of wet blonde hair fell into her eyes and she finally moved to part it from her face. Lost in the Light Ch. 09 "Oohh..." the old man gasped and struggled to crawl to her. "Ohhh.. my queen." He almost sobbed in joy. "We did it." He breathed, and dared to touch one. His trembling hands made contact and felt the slick, tingling membrane of her wing. Slowly he stroked them make sure they were real. Riyarra closed her eyes, and allowed this. She could feel his touch. With each stroke of her wing, her back twitched involuntarily. "Ohh.. oh my," he wheezed. "I've.. never.. Oh my." He hadn't expected this revelation. "And why should you, Cleric?" Riyarra asked, slightly annoyed. "You are not my husband." Prudence and decorum suddenly hit the old man like a stick to a head. He slammed his eyes shut and turned away from her. "My a-p-pologies! Your grace! My queen! I beg your forgiveness!" he stammered, and scampered over the pool's edge to find her cloak. It was difficult for him to find with his eyes closed, but he dared not risk looking upon the forbidden. Riyarra rose and strode after him gracefully with the poise of a ruler, her vibrant wings stretching in the open air. Twenyl found her cloak and unsurely rose to his feet. But before he could turn around, Riyarra embraced him form behind, wrapping her arms around his chest, and resting her head on his hunched shoulder. Twenyl stiffened when he felt her warm body pressed against his. It was not appropriate. "I know no words to adequately express my gratitude, Cleric, Thank you." She said, and reached over his should to take the cloak from his hands. Twenyl's indignation abated with her words. She released him, stepped back, and touched his shoulder. "you may open your eyes now." Twenyl did as he was bidden, and slowly turned to regard her. The multi-colored lights that danced over the walls and ceiling were gone as well as her wings. Only an Elven lady stood before him dressed in the green cloak of the Leaf Knights. "May I know your name, Cleric?" She asked politely. "Twenyl, my Queen." He replied still unsure of how to act. "Twenyl," Riyarra began, "would you be so kind as to escort me from this place?" The old man nodded vigorously and guided her back out. Unlike their trip in, he had to check behind him constantly to make sure she was following as she made not a sound. He was delightfully surprised to find her keeping pace, and giving him a curious glance when he checked on her. When they reached the opening, Riyarra turned to him. "I am sure you have questions," She started in all seriousness as she paused to allow the cool mountain air to wash over her. Riyarra even indulged herself a moment to fling her wet hair side to side to dry it some. "But before I answer them, I have a request." Twenyl could only nod humbly. "My brother cannot stay on the throne, his madness will destroy our people. I do not wish for war, but I will not turn away from it. I need a Royal Cleric, someone I can trust to help handle certain delicate matters of the royal lineage. Seeing as you have already seen me naked, it would make sense to appoint you..." Old Twenyl blushed in embarrassment. "I would be honored," He gasped. "Done," Riyarra snapped, smiled wryly, and started her trek down. "Ask your questions, Royal Cleric Twenyl." The trip down was most enlightening for old Twenyl. He had traveled far and seen many things in his centuries of life, but it was always as a servant to the Crown and the army. He had never been to court, or much less seen the royal family before. His arrogance, and sure-selfness had been humbled by this new opportunity to learn of things that had existed right under his nose. He attempted to be delicate with his questions -- what had happened in Zecair, how she escaped, who Gayne was -- but if he had been indelicate, she didn't show it. This was certainly not the same girl that stumbled up the mountain. "On one of my first nights there," She began the tale of her infection. "My captor forced a mixture down my throat that infected me. It made me burn for a man's love so fiercely it would have killed me. Luckily, my fellow prisoner relieved me." She spoke of this so frankly that Twenyl didn't know which was more shocking -- the story, or her candid manor. "His name was Liam, and he was a human. But in Zecair he was given the name Mule." "A human? In Zecair?!" Twenyl found that part hard to believe. "That is very peculiar." "Wait a bit," Riyarra smirked. "There is more..." she regaled the tale of their imprisonment, and how he had intended all along to be captured because she was his target. But more confusing was that he was the one responsible for alerting the Zecair patrols to her secret meeting with one of their other patrols. Apparently, he had been hired to make her "disappear" in Zecair, but had had second thoughts... or decided to redefine what disappear in Zecair meant. "This is most peculiar, are you sure it wasn't a cloaking magic of some sort? Humans cannot survive in Zecair. And he seems to be weaving a web of intrigue unlike any I've noticed in humans." Twenyl protested. "I cannot say for certain. I questioned it many times. But he never lost his illusion." was all she could offer. She continued her tale, and how she encountered the Yvarna, and the Zecairin patrol... "And this last tale, is a secret not to be repeated." She said and gave the Cleric a serious look. Twenyl was at a loss to what secret could be so dire compared to the horrors she had already admitted to. "I so swear," Twenyl responded. He was no stranger to keeping secrets, all that was required was a verbal oath, and certain magics could be used to guarantee the secret. "I came a across a curious creature called a Furrel. He claimed to be an elder race. He was very powerful in magic, but also very... savage in nature. Have you ever heard of them?" "I cannot say I have," Twenyl's brow furrowed, and he looked most vexed. "Here? In these woods? And to think I never sensed such a creature." "I imagine that is part of their power." Riyarra consoled him as they rocky terrain melted away into grassy hills and brush. They found their way to the path through the woods they had taken previously. "They are very bestial. He said he had the Dreamseer gift -- he could visit a person's dreams. He helped me fight off the infection, but I do not know his true goals." She stated matter-of-factly. Their walk through the woods quieted after that. Riyarra seemed to drift off into thought. "I don't remember much after he took me in. The hunger was becoming too strong, and shortly after I was presented to you at your camp." "That explains the strong animal smell." Twenyl wrinkled his nose up. Riyarra paused to look at him questionably. Twenyl caught himself and looked ashamed. "That was rude of me, my apologies, my queen." "This is going to take some getting used to," she smiled affectionately at him as way of forgiveness. "Very true," he sighed. "I should visit his monastery, and tell them Liam is dead." She said. "Monastery?" Twenyl froze in his tracks. "Did he tell you he came from a human Monastery? Here, in these woods?" The look on his face told her there was a piece to the puzzle the Leaf Knights had already discovered. "Oh my." The crunch of footfalls in the brush made both elves snapped their attention to it. A dark shadow boldly strode forth from the path in front of them. Magic had masked his presence, and the spell was fading now that he had chosen to reveal himself. Riyarra's jaw clenched shut, and her hands tightened into fists. "Tell us old man," A Zecairin scout called out as he swished his longsword through the air. "We've heard so much already, please continue. Tell us about this Monastery." He was clad in charcoal colored leathers, and wore a grey cloth mask to hide his face. But there was no denying who he was. Riyarra took a step back and put a protective hand before Twenyl. The old man, shamed by her gesture, shouldered past her. "No, you will not have her, fiend." He snarled. He raised his hands, and a gust of wind slammed into the Zecairin man sending him spiraling backwards. An arrow from noise in the brush struck Twenyl in the shoulder. The old man crumpled into Riyarra's waiting hands. "I am sorry..." he grumbled, and gritted past the pain. "I exhausted too much of my strength in the cave. I should have felt their presence." The archer appeared from the shadows where the original sound came. He too, had always been there, but couldn't be seen by way of his magic. Unlike the first his face was clear, and he looked down on them with a cold superior glare. "Quiet you, or the next one I put in your neck." The archer warned. To add emphasis to his words, he grabbed the arrow shaft and ripped it out. Twenyl grunted but bore it well. Despite his age, he was no feeble old man. Being a Cleric to the Leaf Knights also meant he was no stranger to war and pain. The archer was robbed of his delight in the man's agony. "We don't need him," His companion called out, almost joyous. "She's the one we want." He was dusting himself off as he returned. His mask had been blown off and revealed his comely appearance and congenial smile. "That was almost fun old man, I'd ask you to do it again, but I don't trust you to be that gentle next time." He chuckled, and picked up his sword. Riyarra eyed the steel warily. If she could get it away from him, they could fight their way free. But as it was, there was no way out of this situation. She had magic she could use, but they were skilled magic users as well. No doubt it wouldn't be an easy battle. And with Twenyl injured and weak, if she risked combat he wouldn't be able to help, or worse might become injured himself. No, they needed to plead their way out of this. "We surrender!" She proclaimed. "Please spare him, and I will tell you everything you want to know." "You'll tell us anyways," The archer replied, icily. Her tactic wasn't working, time for something new. "You should have posted patrols!" She turned on Twenyl angrily. The old Cleric shrunk away, taken aback. "The camp is not far, you could have easily spared a few knights." "We've heard that one before too," The swordsman muttered. "We're not someone's lost lackeys. Beg all you want. Try to cow us by saying your friends are near. It doesn't matter. You're... lives... are... ours. Besides we have friends of our own. Somewhere..." he looked around unsure of himself. "I am property of the General Killer of Zecair," Riyarra stated boldly. It had worked before... "Never heard of him, look this is getting tiresome," The swordsman sighed and nodded to the archer, who drew another arrow. "Please," Riyarra said in sincerity and bowed low to the ground. "You are right, please forgive me. I will do anything you ask, just please spare him." She begged. "I have seen what Zecairins do to their captives. He is one of our Clerics, we need his wisdom to pass on to our children." "Alright," The swordsman said and knelt before Twenyl. "I promise I won't kill him until I hear all he has to say about this Monastery. However, I'm sure he's trying to regain his strength as we speak. So if I have to put a knife or two into him to quiet him down a bit. It's his own fault." To make his threat certain he pulled a knife out from the back of his belt and showed it to Twenyl. "And what of your friend?" She looked to the archer pleadingly. "Sharp, aren't you?" The archer smirked and kept his aim on Twenyl's head. "I make no promises," the swordsman shrugged and prodded Twenyl in the kneecap with his knife. "There's a Monastery not far to the west from us where a religious order of humans live." Twenyl began calmly. "but it's a ruse. It is actually a training school for skilled soldiers. And they are very, very strong." "That's it?" The swordsman asked. "I am part of a patrol of leaf knights," Twenyl said. The two scouts shifted uncomfortably. They didn't like Leaf Knights. "There are twenty-three of us, myself included, and her grace included. We have been watching these humans to determine their secrets. What we've seen leads me to believe they could defeat our group, and have soldiers to spare for yours." The swordsman sniggered, but took Twenyl's words to heart and rubbed his chin in thought. It was clear this was starting to unsettle him. Twenyl continued. "A religious order apart from society is not odd, but to have such skilled warriors is. They're too far from their borders to be part of the human King's army. There is more about them that is odd. Two weeks ago, we spotted a Zecairin woman amongst them, training with them." Both scouts exchanged glances. "Interesting," The swordsman said. He looked at his knife and then looked at the old man's body as if deciding were to stick it. "What would your Leaf Knights do, now that you know our people are there?" Twenyl's brow scrunched up in thought. "Tell me the truth. No fibbing now." "Nothing good for us would come from an alliance between Humans and Zecairins," He answered. "Perhaps not, but that did not answer my question." He took a firm grip on his knife. "Destroy it!" Twenyl blurted out. The swordsman laughed, and ran a hand over his slicked back brown hair. "I know leaf knights are a tough bunch, but by your own estimations, you'd die trying to take that Monastery. But then, perhaps you are that foolish." He smiled at Twenyl, but the serious look on the old elf's face told him he was being honest. And that drained the mirth from the Zecairin's face. He pointed the knife at Riyarra. Twenyl was about to protest, but his voice caught in his throat when the Zecairin put a calming hand on the old man's knee. "I heard you say one of them rescued you from Zecair." "His name was Mule," Riyarra took her turn. "He killed The Unkillable, and took the name Killer before the High Patriarch." Both of these Zecairins did not like the sound of that. They looked long and hard at each other. The swordsman jovial nature was rapidly disappearing. "How did you..." The swordsman started to blurt out, but stopped himself and rubbed his temples with one hand. Riyarra's intimate knowledge of their political structure lent credentials to her story, and he needed time to mentally process that. "That's too crazy to be made up," The archer growled and lowered his bow. "What the hell is going on back there. They must have their heads up a rhonox's ass! Let's take these two and head Ba*...AHHH!!" An arrow skidded off the top of his head, cutting a deep gash across his scalp and spraying blood into the air. The archer crumpled to the ground clutching his head. The swordsman spun around to find a shaking Elthairin girl fumbling to nock another arrow. But when Riyarra leapt for his sword his attention refocused on her. Her reflexes were sharp, she had picked the right moment to try to disarm him, but his were just as sharp and he threw his fist into her face just in the nick of time. Instead of following through with his knife, he leapt backwards and disappeared into the shadows of the trees -- his magic cloaking spell hiding him from their sight. "After him!" Riyarra commanded. But Lysia's legs crumpled out from under her and she sank to the ground shaking. She sat there holding herself, trying to still the tremors of fear that wracked her. Riyarra didn't give the girl another look and leapt up to give chase, but it was Twenyl's firm grip on her arm that stopped her. Just one stilled look from him told her to reconsider her actions, and she relented. Riyarra picked up the archer's dropped weapon and relieved him of his quiver. He didn't protest and came free of it easily. She almost felt sorry for the man as he clutched the ruin of his head and tried to stop the bleeding. She helped Twenyl to his feet and together they walked to their trembling savior. A calming hand from Riyarra was all it took to still the girl's convulsions. Lysia met her gaze, but there was a torrent of emotions swelling up within her that suddenly burst free and she clung to her queen's leg and sobbed. "I'm so sorry!" she pleaded. "I just couldn't..." she apologized. Riyarra gave Twenyl a knowing look, and the old man shook his head sadly. "That shouldn't have been her responsibility," he sighed. "No," Riyarra agreed, and stroked the girl's head affectionately. "It is all right Lysia, we're safe. He won't be back. He most likely has news to tell his Captain." She said with certainty." Eventually the shaken girl calmed, and she uneasily rose to her feet. Riyarra kept her hand on her shoulder and tried to meet Lysia's gaze, but the girl wasn't having it. "Pick up your bow," Riyarra commanded in a gentle voice, and Lysia did so. Riyarra reached out to Twenyl's wounded shoulder. "Forgive me. I have not done this in a long time." The Cleric turned away humbled and ashamed that his queen was using her powers to heal his wound. It took some effort on her part to mend the flesh as it seemed she too was still recovering. "What are you doing here Lysia?" "I came to find you," Lysia managed to say, finding her voice. "I was sent away," she admitted ashamed. Twenyl's brow furrowed. "That's not right, unless..." and realization hit him. "Oh dear... that fool... We need to hurry. I am afraid my mate is being a pessimist again." He sighed. Riyarra gave one cursory glace over her shoulder at the prone Zecairin archer, but found his body had already disappeared. "A truce!" She called out. Her voice boomed through the trees. "Leave us be, and we shall not hunt you!" Whether they heard her or not, they were never seen again. "Fine!" came a disembodied reply. Riyarra couldn't help but smile, while Twenyl scowled in disbelief. This pair was unlike most Zecairins she had encountered, she was grateful they were not eager to turn their blades on their captives. "They are just as worried about this Monastery as we are. We better beat them there." Riyarra concluded. "This way then," Twenyl set off at a brisk run. Riyarra was surprised at how fast the old man was. Lysia saved her Queen the embarrassment of being left behind, by being the one bringing up the rear... The camp was all but ready to move out when they heard a heavy panting echoing through the trees and growing louder. Each Leaf Knight exchanged a cold look with each other, but it was Iala that had the answer with a disgruntled scowl. She fixed Valel with a disapproving look and wouldn't relent, to which he only turned his face away coldly. She didn't notice Twenyl walk up on her casually. "What is the meaning of this?" He demanded coolly. Iala uncrossed her arms and turned around to face him, knowing that voice well enough to be unafraid to face it. She stared down the angry Cleric. But when a cloaked woman appeared behind him, dragging a panting Lysia along on her shoulder, her steely gaze shattered and she stared dumbfounded. The entire camp of Leaf Knights seemed to staggered backwards in disbelief in unison. Riyarra kept the hood over her head and stared at the Captain from under its shadow. She gently helped Lysia collapse onto the ground from exhaustion, which she was all too happy to do, before returning her gaze to the Knight Captain. Iala couldn't make sense of it. Purification never worked. It had to be a ruse. Riyarra lifted her hood down, and met the gaze of each elf gathered one by one. "You doubt your eyes," She said calmly. "I do not blame you. I should not be alive. But what I did not tell you when you brought me here we last we spoke, was that I was carrying the soul of my beloved inside me. I wanted to return him home, as is our custom for those slain on the battlefield. I used my power to pull his essence into me. Those of you highly trained in the magics of our order recognize that ability." She gave Iala a questioning stare, and the fierce woman's posture slowly relented. She digested the meaning of it all, and each moment she grew more distressed and glum. "He alone, helped me bear the pain of the purification and sacrificed himself for me. I never asked him to." She let her words sink in. Lost in the Light Ch. 10 Wolfe lit the candles to the chapel altar and sat back in reflection. This was his task for the next week while he meditated on his failings. To Wolfe it wasn't much different from being thrown in the hole back home – alone to think about your actions, no one to talk to, nothing else to do but sit and think. He smoothed the folds of his robe and adjusted the sandals on his feet – it was going to be awhile before he would be allowed to leave, so he needed to get comfortable. Pressing his fingers together and resting them in his lap, he began his meditation. The events of his time in Hornsdale came to mind, the actions he took, the inactions he made, and their foreseeable outcome. Per The Father's instruction, he changed what he could and didn't do in his mind, and tried to foresee an alternate result. "Stupid Zek, should have killed her when I had the chance." He sighed. Something hard stung his back, right between his shoulder blades. It was a deadly shot, and he could feel his back muscles reflexively tensing up painfully, and his arms going numb. The Father growled his disapproval from behind him. Wolfe didn't even know he was there. "My apologies Father, I didn't mean it. That was childish of me." He immediately spouted out despite the agonizing pain brought on from one whip snap. Another caught him behind the ear, and he crumpled to the ground clutching his head, his voice caught mid-scream from the searing pain. It was all he could do to lock himself up and ride it out. If he wailed, he'd be struck again. If he tried to move, he'd be struck again. It had been a long time since he had experienced The Father's fury, but he knew the rules. "Reflect." The Father commanded in a gruff voice. Wolfe eventually gathered himself up, turned to face The Father, and bowed apologetically. He was surprised to find there was no lash in the Father's hand; the old man was using his fingertips to snap out pain and punishment. The Father was truly a terror when he was crossed. Wolfe spun around and immediately resumed his meditation. The Father opened a book and began to read quietly to himself while standing vigil over his student. **** The Mischievous didn't like Silas's needles. It wasn't the pain, it was the fact he always had to draw blood from a different place on her body, and delighted in finding a vein that gushed out more than the last one. The delight he took in exploring the more detailed elements of her physiology were disturbing, even for a Zecairin. It was all to find a cure for her, he would tell her. But secretly she knew better – Silas was no more a healer, than she was a pious Sister. "That should do just fine my dear. How are the nightmares?" he asked. "Better," she sighed and rubbed the spot just above her left breast where he had just drawn blood. Silas poured the blood he had extracted from the tubule into a glass jar. Fifteen similar pricks had to fill that small jar. Fifteen bruises, and fifteen moments where she was tempted to jab him in the eye for it. "I don't dream of myself anymore. I dream of a different place, where there are more people like me. I am a soldier in my dream and I go on long walks through caves, and through the forest. Is this what I used to be? Was I a soldier?" Silas only smiled. She found his smiles creepy; the way only one side of his face seemed to work when he did it, and how he made a point of squinting his eyes together to make it seem more genuine. But he didn't respond immediately this time, but seemed more engrossed with the sample he had just collected, and cleaning his used tools with grain alcohol. "Can I go now?" she asked. "I have lessons." Silas waved her away. He was unusually quiet today. Something had changed here, in all the monastery in fact. She had detected a different mood in the faces of the acolytes as well as the normally stoic Huanguard. It was as if she was no longer the oddest thing here, but she hadn't heard of anything new taking her place. Perhaps it was some news from a distant town. Wolfe had covered their tracks in Hornsdale. The guardsmen questioned them, but the few eyewitnesses that had survived claimed a wild Zecairin had gone on a murder spree. She doubted that was the source of the uneasy atmosphere, however. The Mischievous was so lost in thought she almost bumped into a giant of a man as he walked down the corridor towards Silas's laboratory. Rasj was a ghost in the Monastery; she knew who he was by his reputation and description but this was the first time she had seen him. He towered over her by a good two feet. His enormous red-skinned chest was a brick wall that blocked her view. Unlike the other monks here, Rasj was the only one that carried himself with the arrogance of a man that actually speaks to a god. She didn't recognize the style of his garb, a golden sash crossed his chest, and his leggings were a type of skirt in two parts, a left and right that folded over the other and made of heavy material. His arms were thicker than some trees, and she found herself wishing she could swing from them naked. "You are the Zecairin," He stated, and folded those giant meat trunks across his chest. The Mischievous bit her tongue lest she lick her lips involuntarily. "When you meet god on the battlefield, will you bow before him? Or will you slay him, knowing him to be false?" The question broke her trance and she pondered it for a moment. "I..." she started to say, but reconsidered her answer. "Would ask him if he fancied dark women." she finally said with a smile. Rasj let loose a hearty laugh. "If such a god existed, what would he need with your flesh? He could enslave your whole race and make concubines of all your females." Rasj retorted, and shook his head in disappointment. "I did not say I would give him my body, I would merely ask him if he fancied dark women." "And if he didn't?" Rasj's humor had ended, and he was now scowling. The act of which told her it was time to end this conversation and find somewhere safe in a hurry. "Well, in that case. I would ask him if he fancied dark men instead." She replied and slipped past the giant in his moment of disbelief. Her answers were not the sort of philosophical debate she knew the grandmaster of combat, the leader of the Huanguard, the warrior-monk Rasj was looking for. But to engage him fully, she would have to reveal more about herself to this unknown entity than she felt was safe. Playing the dumb card was safe enough for now. As delicious as he was to look at, everything else about him was all wrong. She had had enough of dangerous men. As gifted as she was in magic, she was still only a trickster. She had trained her abilities in speed, stealth, and seeding discord, not in skill at arms. And she had been beaten by Rasj's students enough times in the training yard to know she wouldn't last in a real fight against any of them. Not even against Wolfe. The Mischievous made her way outside into the courtyard and took the long way around the back of the main chapel. It gave her time to think, but it also gave her an opportunity to see if she was being watched. Again, she was disappointed to find these humans had lost interest in her. Even as strong as these Huanguard were, they were still fools by Zecairin standards. She found them dupable, entirely too trusting of their senses, and too quick to judge. She would wreak such havoc on them... but not yet. She had another agenda. She was after Silas's secrets. And she wanted these nightmares to end. Whatever the sorcerer had done to her, she would undo it, and then she would make him regret it - one red hot stick of metal up his ass at a time. The Monastery was full of criminal recruits forced into the ranks of acolytes – the Huanguard potentials - and the stewards – the servants to be used as fodder for the acolytes. Silas's laboratory would obviously be guarded against theft and intrusion from such types. New recruits would be too tempted to steal his secrets if they knew what he was. But humans had no magical ability; they needed to strike a bargain with the spirit world to gain some measure of power. That was the difference between a sorcerer like Silas, and a magic-user such as herself. Her abilities were limited to her understanding of the natural forces and how to influence them; his were limited to how much favor he had curried with his sponsor. Considering the unforgiving atmosphere of this place, his laboratory was most likely lethally trapped with guardian spirits. Trespassers were most likely disposed of; the monks didn't seem too alarmed when she had picked off a few stewards after her escape. It seemed that it wasn't uncommon for monks to suddenly go missing without a reason. Her wanderings had brought her to the gardens behind the main chapel, and the back of Silas's study. She walked the crop rows with purpose, but in truth had none. She looked to the crop yields, and inspected the leaves. The other stewards paid her no mind, and were likewise looking for rot, insect damage, or poor growth. Her true goal lay behind her – the window to Silas's laboratory. Unfortunately there was no high vantage point she could use to spy, or concealing structure to hide behind. So she lay down on the ground, and pressed one long, dark ear to the soft earth. There was an old trick used to eavesdrop on others in the deep caverns of Zecair, it had grown out of practice because almost nothing of importance was said without first erecting a barrier against such intrusion. However out here in the surface lands, there was too much activity, too much surface noise, too much naïveté. She focused on the ground to the exclusion of all other sounds until she heard only the rustle of the nearby monks as their feet shuffled along. The sounds grew to encompass every footstep on the campus. Her focus moved to the foundation stones of the building, and then the glass pane. There... an echo, a muffled murmur in the cacophony of footsteps, wheelbarrows, and thumps of the training elite in the courtyard. She focused on those muffled words, and tried to drown out all the louder sounds. She could just barely make out Silas's voice... "...he's too dense." The sorcerer commented in argument. "Tobias?" Came Rasj's rebuke. "That one will do as well." Silas commented with a tone of finality. "We only need three, but we might as well get rid of the fat." "I will see it done. What of Wolfe?" Rasj's voice was muffled worse than the sorcerer's. He was almost out of range for this trick – possibly near the door listening for eavesdroppers. The Mischievous prided herself on not being that obvious. "Unknown. But we should not chance it. Any not already ours will rally to him when The Father passes. And as for Liam... wait, I sense something..." The Mischievous sat upright and began to fondle a carrot leaf as if looking for something. Her ears were ringing with the jolt back into normal hearing, and it started to give her a horrible headache. Such was the price for breaking off extended sensory perception. But she couldn't risk it – sorcerers were bad news even by Zecairin standards. Her safety lasted only so long as Silas thought she was harmless, an amnesiac, and disinterested in his workings. She threw her hood over her head to stave off some of the deafening sounds and blinding sunlight as she made her way back the way she had come. To the curious she feigned a queasy stomach, and they bought the lie easily. It was a half truth - she was feeling queasy, but it was the fear of being caught by that bastard that made her stomach turn. Her footsteps took her back inside to the library, a quite place, a safe place. She found her next target right where she expected him. Shamus was one of Silas's lackey stewards. A spineless coward and a lover of children, he had been spared the chopping block and conscripted by The Father many years ago. Shamus was a bookish man who hoped to take over running the library when Sebastian retired. One part sycophant and one part snake in the grass. One always punched first, and made sure it was Shamus secondly with him. "Shamus?" she asked as she came up behind him. True to his nature he jumped in surprise. When he saw who it was he didn't seem sure he wanted to stay and listen. The Mischievous pulled back her hood and glanced over her shoulder to the two other stewards in the library. One was too involved in searching the stacks for something important, and the other was struggling to dust the upper levels on a ladder that was too short to accomplish the task. It wasn't a big room, but if she spoke too loudly they would overhear. Shamus gave her a curious look, and then followed her gaze to the other two. "It is only Gram, and Benedrick." He scowled. "What do you want?" "I... I need your help," she said, and gave him a pitiful look. "I accidentally dropped something in Silas's study. I don't want to go back because this big man named Rasj is in there, and I don't want Silas to know I have it. Can you help me?" Shamus gave her a dubious look. She glanced over her shoulder again at the other men and leaned in to him. Shamus initially took a step back but found himself up against the bookcase. The Mischievous looked at her hands and made herself seem afraid of him. "I brought something back with me from town. It's something called opium, I'm supposed to smoke it. They said it would make the evenings pass quicker. If you help me..." she glanced up at him from under her blue bangs. "I could share... in your quarters if you like." Shamus quickly looked worried about the other two monks, but neither had stirred "Tell me where you left it and I'll collect it when I deliver his supper later," Shamus smiled sincerely. The Mischievous leaned it to his shoulder, and cupped his cock through his robes at the same time. "I'm not an idiot," she breathed into his ear and slightly rubbed her hand up and down the growing bulge in his robes. "Just tell me how I can get in and out, and I'll make it worth your while." She stopped stroking his cock to replace her hood. She pulled it down until it covered her whole face, and when she brought it back up her appearance had changed. Shamus drew in a sharp breath and shuddered as he stared at the nubile young human girl giving him a doe-eyed plea for help. "Who knows, I might even let you see the rest of me looking like this if you help." "You're evil," he sneered and tried to back away again. She put a hand to her face and giggled like a little girl at him. His manhood was sticking straight out from his robes. There was no way he could hide that now. "I am," she breathed seductively and pulled up the side of her robe to reveal two youthful, pale skinned legs without a speck of hair on them. "Help me, and I'll help you. We can keep this just between you and me." She lowered her robe and shook her head vigorously until her normal appearance returned. Shamus covered his growing hard on and sneered angrily at her. "You'll pay for this," he stuttered. Embarrassed, he worked his way through the bookcases to the storage closet and closed the door behind him. The Mischievous glanced around the room to see Benedrick and Gram really could care less what was going on. She quietly followed him in. "go away!" he blurted out a bit too loudly. "I'm sorry," she tittered. "Here let me... apologize." She smiled and pressed him against the wall. "Go away!" he almost yelled before she took a firm hold of his manhood through the robe. The squeak he gave cut off the next phrase he was about to utter. The Mischievous knelt before his protruding problem and wrapped both hands around his member. He tried to fight her off, but when she changed into the face of the young girl from earlier, he couldn't help but stare. "It's alright, milord. I like doing this." She smiled knowingly. "I scratch your back, you scratch mine. And because I like scratching your back, I might do it again later..." she cooed and lifted his robe. He whimpered helplessly as his enraged cock sprang out to stare at her. "Oh, my!" she breathed, adopting the squeal of a young girl to match her disguise. "My lord's is so big!" she exclaimed. "I have only heard of these in the naughty stories my father forbids me to read." She took it in both hands and gazed upon his cock in wonderment. "My I touch it my lord?" she asked, adopting her character role. She could see the indecision, and conflict in his expression. She could see how badly he wanted her right then, but something was holding him back. It was time to go in for the kill... "I don't know what I should do with it," she said nervously. "I am not as experienced as some of the older women in the taverns my father takes home. Can you teach me?" she pouted at him pleadingly. Shamus abruptly grabbed her head, but instead of pushing her away, he thrust his engorged member deep into the back of her throat. He was above average as humans went, but she still needed to feign discomfort, and even threw in a compulsory gag for show as he fucked her mouth. It was certainly working. Shamus was grunting and his thrusts grew more frantic. The Mischievous could tell he wouldn't be long, part of her was glad, and part wished she could take it one step further, but she had an agenda. She moaned, and groaned as his cock fucked her lips, and whimpered whenever the tip hit the back of her throat. She looked up at him with those uncertain, dole-full eyes that sought to please and held his gaze while he had his way with her mouth. The poor man had to have been pent up for quite some time by the way he desperately and frantically slid his throbbing wet cock between her lips. The Mischievous grew disappointed she wouldn't need half her arsenal of tricks to work his favor. A pity really, she hadn't had an opportunity to toy with these lesser humans in a long time and she wanted to have some real fun. She could feel him peaking as his member throbbed against the back of her throat. So it was time spring the trap and get what she wanted from this pitiful man. She started to whimper pitifully at him, hoping to push him over, and was almost immediately rewarded. He lurched forward and started to twitch as his cock spurted his thick, salty seed down her throat. She pretended to struggle with it – choking, gagging, spitting some of it up – but eventually swallowed the bulk of it. There was a lot of it, she remarked, he had indeed been pent up for too long. Shamus disengaged and sagged backwards to lean against the storage shelves. He was panting heavily, and almost looked ready to topple over. The Mischievous stood up and wiped remnants of his cum from her lips with a finger, her normal form returned. She caught his gaze as she licked her messy finger clean, moaning deliciously at him. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" she smiled and rubbed his arm affectionately. "Just tell me when Silas will be out of his room for a good long while, and I'll handle the rest. If I get caught, I get caught, and you're blameless." "Ohhh, you're a devil." Shamus muttered, but not entirely as an insult as a half smirk crawled up the side of his face. "...fine. After mid-day supper he usually walks the grounds." "If this works, I'll come visit tomorrow night." She winked at him as she opened the door and left. "Think about what you want me to do... or look like..." she whispered as she closed the door behind him. Safely on the other side she exhaled exasperated and annoyed - disappointed in these men again. Benedrick looked up from his book in curiosity, but when he saw her face he quickly buried his nose back in between its pages. To his relief, the interloper left and he was left to his peace. Not long after the closet door opened again and a red faced Shamus slunk out in an embarrassed fashion. Benedrick quickly closed the book, and carried it with him as he left in a hurry. Whatever was going on, he wanted to be far away from it. Lost in the Light Ch. 10 **** Wolfe struggle to keep the full bowl of porridge from spilling on the tray as he walked across the yard to the hot box. His legs were still half asleep from his meditation, but it was the bruised muscles in his back from The Father's punishments that made his stride awkward and unbalanced. Feeding Liam was the duty of a steward, but Wolfe had offered to be helpful. He needed to speak to the man; if anyone could give him advice about Zecairins, it would be Liam. He was still lost in thought when he arrived at the hotbox. It was a simple crate converted into a cage of sorts with a door on the front complete with lock. The gaps in the wooden slats allowed for air flow, and there was an opening for food in the bottom of the door. But something was missing. What was keeping it down? If this was supposed to be a prison, why wouldn't the occupant merely stand up? Then he caught a glimpse of metal behind it, iron stakes that nailed it to the building's framing timbers. "Liam?" He said quietly. There was a person inside without a doubt, but all he could see was a shadow. But the heavy breathing and the smell of sweaty, unwashed man made it clear he was still alive. "Liam!" Wolfe said again. "you smell like Zek..." came the voice inside the box. The voice was weary, and ended its sentence with a deep exhale that invited more words to follow, but none came. Wolfe reflexively sniffed his robes and wrinkled his nose. "Can you talk?" Wolfe asked. He hadn't been expressly forbidden from talking to Liam, but he was certain it wasn't allowed. "I mean... do you need to rest?" "yes... no..." came the weary reply. "how was she? the Zek..." "I'm training the present you left us; The Father wants her to be a Huanguard." "good for her... good for you...she won't make it..." "What? Why?" Wolfe scowled as he slid the tray under the door. He heard Liam move to collect it and start to slowly slurp the meal without using the spoon. "Rasj..." Liam said as way of explaining. Wolfe nodded as if he understood, but in truth didn't. He wanted to press it, but he thought he should let the man eat first. "Why do they have you locked in?" Wolfe noticed the iron padlock. "Are you dangerous?" "yes..." "How?" "I am a disruptor... " Liam finished and slid the empty bowl back under the door. Wolfe scratched his head in annoyance; this was almost as bad as trying to get straight answers out of The Mischievous. "I was poisoned... Never let your guard down... Not even for a woman." "Are you contagious? Do you have what The Mischievous has?" "No." Liam laughed, a weakly pathetic laugh that ended in a coughing fit. "Do you know what's wrong with The Mischievous?" Wolfe pushed for more answers, and glanced across the courtyard to see the Zecairin in her afternoon training lessons with Master Jacob. He also saw Silas beginning his early afternoon walk. "yes... so does The Father... so does Silas... so does Rasj..." "They all know? Why won't they cure her? Is there a cure?" Liam grew silent. Wolfe expected Liam's usually slow to come, whimsical answers but this was an actual silent response. Or had the man passed out? He took a step closer and put his hand on the cage. "Death cures all." Liam said at last. Wolfe's mood soured and he couldn't accept that answer right away. "There's no other way but to kill the infected?" "Them... or Her...." Wolfe didn't understand that. "Kill them? Silas and the others?" Wolfe scowled and glanced across the yard. He couldn't see Silas. Which could be a good thing or a very bad thing. "no..." Liam wheezed. "Kill the infected... or kill the source..." Now Wolfe understood. He reinterpreted Liam's answers – they were not necessarily cryptic but they were purposely brief. The man was barely lucid after all. "Liam, who is 'Her'" he asked, almost afraid to get the answer. "The Mother..." Liam breathed. "the source..." The Demon... Wolfe figured it out. "Wait, you said The Father knew," Wolfe leaned in and whispered his next words in secrecy. "Does he know about Zecair? About Demons Blood?" "I told him..." Liam said. Wolfe scratched his head vigorously. If The Father knew already, how fucked were they? Was he going to shut off the supply? Was Zecair going to march to war against them to reestablish supply? "Ohh," Wolfe said as understanding finally came; all the pieces were falling into place. Liam had sent the Mischievous here by some magical means – no doubt Silas's doing. The Mischievous was a message to The Father, she was the evidence of how things were in Zecair. There was no denying physical proof. She was never meant to be a Huanguard – her role was done. But why was The Father having him train her? To test the Huanguard on the Zecairin's new abilities? Was she a practice test for the war that was about to come? Wolfe dared to think. The Mischievous was being used in more ways than one – The Father was gaining tactical knowledge on their fighting ability, and Silas was doing... something to her with his sorcery. Wolf's uneasy feeling kept getting worse and his mood turned from sour to cold and dark. Once they learned all they needed, they'd kill her. As young as he was, Wolfe was not naïve; his eyes had been fully opened long ago to the harsh reality of life. "how do you know? The Mischievous was it?" "Yes, she trusts me." Wolfe said. But hearing himself say it, he knew it was absurd sounding. "For Zecairins, love and trust are the same thing..." "Fuck..." Wolfe muttered and rubbed his head again. Liam couldn't help but chuckle lightly, but couldn't manage not to cough. "I mean, I thought if I told The Father what we found he would put a stop to the demon's blood, and then Zecair would come knocking on our door wanting more. I was worried for nothing." "you were worried for the wrong reasons..." Liam shuffled closer to the corner of his cage. "you've seen her angry? imagine a whole nation like that..." "Oh, fuck me. They'd be unstoppable!" "and?" Liam coached the younger Huanguard. "And... they're insatiable. They'd want to fuck or kill the rest of the world." "we made them unstable..." Liam concluded. Wolfe grew silent. He now understood why The Mischievous had her good moments and her bad moments. It wasn't her fault really, but he knew that already. Only now he knew the why. He sat and digested all that he had just learned. When he wasn't panicking, his mind was rather sharp, but it was nearing the edge of catastrophe and he desperately tried to hang on a bit longer. "So if we kill the source, it cures them all? Instantly?" "yes... but that is not something a human can do." "What? Why?" "we cannot use magic..." "But Silas-" "is a sorcerer. their powers come from demons... we need elven magic. more than The Mischievous can use. We need an elf of royal bloodlines..." "Elven magic?" Wolfe suddenly realized something too absurd to be true. "Is that why The Father is having me train her? To make her a Huanguard? So she can kill The Mother?" Liam chuckled darkly. A water skin skidded out from under the cage. "i'm thirsty..." Liam said, and another water skin came out beside it. Wolfe obliged and picked them both up as he left to go refill them at the well. It gave him time to think about all they had talked about, and how much further he wanted to take this. It really wasn't his fight after all. He had already faced one enraged Zecairin – twice- and he didn't want to face another, and definitely not an army. This was the first time Wolfe felt out of his league, out of his depth. Magic, demons, elves – they were all so foreign to him. In his younger years as a hunter's son in the borderlands he had seen some of the mysteries of the wild, but out there they were surmountable. One learned to avoid them usually, or how to combat them if not. He had seen his share of mystical creatures, and fought off a dozen bog witches. But it was never war... What Liam was suggesting, and what the Huanguard were about to get themselves involved in, would lead to war one way or another as Wolfe saw it. By the time he had finished filling the first skin, Silas had joined him unannounced at the well. Wolfe almost spooked when he noticed the fat monk. "Deep in thought?" The sorcerer asked cheerily. "Aye, I have a lot to contemplate." Wolfe said offhanded and continued to fill the second water skin from the pail. "I'm starting to regret taking on this duty of being her teacher." "Ahhh," Silas said as if understanding Wolfe's dilemma. "Zecairins are precarious devils. They are tricksters more than anything. But once you learn to see through their deceptions, they are little more than you or I." He made grand sweeping gestures as he spoke, suggesting dark elves were little more than a nuisance to the man. "Tell me, what really happened in Honsdale? The Father refuses to speak about it, he is most prickly..." Wolfe stared at the man for the first time, sizing up his cherubic smile, his double chins, and the fearlessness with which he carried himself. Fat men were something Wolfe had never known before coming closer to civilization. On the frontier, men had to work hard to survive. Any of the Huanguard could make this blob of lard cower in combat... so why did he carry himself as if he owned this Monastery? Silas's deceptive harmlessness made Wolfe uncomfortable, he needed to pick his side, and his words, carefully. He took a long calming breath as he gathered his thoughts to speak. Silas put his back to the main Chapel and leaned in conspiratorially. "The Mischievous lost control, and a lot of people died, and I failed to stop her," Wolfe admitted. He didn't see any harm in telling the fat man that much. "What's worse she tried to put a binding-spell on me. I clubbed her in the head before she finished it. But the hard thing is, I would have killed her for trying if I didn't know it really wasn't her fault. Sometimes I think just putting her out of her misery is the best choice." He locked the pail winch and gathered up his water skins. "What of the cabal you were sent to investigate?" Silas said. "The best lead I found she butchered in one of her blind rages before I could get any answers." Wolfe grumbled. "Getting answers was never my strong point, and having that rabid she-snake along for the ride makes it impossible. Wait..." he said as something dawned on him. "Did you really want answers? Or just to make an example of whomever stuck their nose in our business?" Silas smiled and turned around. "Answers would have been nice," Silas said and turned away disappointed. "Have you spoken with Master Rasj today?" "No I've been in penance with The Father." Wolfe grumbled. "I'll send him your way," Silas said and left him to his task. Wolfe hurried to the hot box and slid the water skins under the door. He heard Liam take one and immediately drain half of its contents. "Rasj wants to speak to me," Wolfe said in a hushed tone. "What does that mean?" Liam didn't immediately answer. "Silas spoke to me and told me so." A sudden chill crawled over his skin, and Wolfe rubbed his arms. Something dark just happened that he didn't want to know about. "Rasj will ask you what side you are on." Liam began, his voice sounding somewhat more refreshed. "When you meet god on the battlefield, will you bow before him, or will you kill him knowing him to be false?" Wolfe tried to think of an answer, but found it hard to answer. "Rasj thinks he is close to attaining god-hood. All he has to do is kill The Father. His question is his way of determining who will be a threat to him after he does it." "Does The Father know?" "The Father knows everything... but sometimes he chooses not to act upon it. He cannot asses your potential unless he allows you to make the choice." "What should I do?" "Do you love The Mischievous?" Liam asked. Wolfe couldn't answer. "If you did, you would take her far from here, and enjoy your time together until they catch you and kill you. Stay, and you'll both die." "Can't you help? You're Liam! No one here is as strong as you!" Wolfe protested. "I made a mistake, two mistakes," Liam admitted. "The first was in breaking one of our oaths. I disobeyed the Father. I spared my target, and took pity on her. I thought I could give her a better life. The moment The Father gets me to confess that, he'll kill me. The second mistake was I got cocky. I was nicked by a poisoned elvish arrow. I thought little of my opponent and assumed they wouldn't be so equipped. Even with a nick, it should have killed me. It stops the heart, but instead it weakened mine. I'm not as strong as I used to be." "What can I do?" "Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of your opponent's fate." Liam quoted. "What?" "Think about it, when you make love to her tonight." Liam chuckled. "You should go, spend too much time here and you'll draw attention. If we're both still alive tomorrow, come talk to me then." Wolfe gathered his tray and left without another word. This day was turning worse by the minute. This wasn't what he signed up for. This was more than he could handle. But did he have the strength to just leave? **** Once safely back inside their room, The Mischievous threw her practice weapons to the room floor and dropped to her knees. She hugged her knees to her chest and fell the rest of the way down onto her side. It took time for her magic to heal all the bruises and fractured bones the Masters had given her. She gritted her teeth through it all. This was a normal and part of her daily routine. Their methods were cruel and harsh, but effective – they reminded her a bit of home. Her skill was improving, but she still had a long way to go to match their caliber. She didn't bother changing out of her sweaty, blood-splattered training clothes. And once she felt well enough to stand, she went to the door of her room and looked down the hallway. No one was near. She leapt up to the rafters in the ceiling and, keeping to the shadows, leapt hand over foot, rafter to rafter, down the distance of the hallway in silence. It was a tight space to maneuver in, but she managed it flawlessly. Her training had made her acutely aware of her own balance and standing as well as better in her sword work. It was worth the price she paid in pain and bruises. The journey from the barracks hall to the main chapel, and eventually to Silas's laboratory was surprisingly uneventful. For all their bluster, these Huanguard could be utter fools at times. The Mischievous found the door closed, but unguarded – as was the usual. She paused here and tried to sense out any magical forces at work on the other side. It wasn't a skill she had been trained in, but she hoped it worked the same way as eavesdropping from afar. She couldn't feel anything on the other side – and that worried her. A Sorcerer should have magical protections. Or she just wasn't using her magic right... With no other option, she glanced once down the hall to make sure it was clear, before dropping down and testing the door. It opened easily, and she slid inside before closing it behind her. The room was much like she remembered it. There was little of value in here to anyone who wasn't Silas it seemed. But her dreams were too real for there not to be something here. She searched the room cautiously. Work tables with alchemical ingredients, glass jars, and grinding stones took up the center floor. The walls were lined with shelves, books covered one wall, and pots with different plants growing in them covered the other. Touch nothing. Her fear was telling her. Even if it wasn't trapped, there was no telling what some of these ingredients could do, knowing Silas. Despite his duties as a healer, he was a sorcerer after all. The Mischievous scanned the walls. They were normal stone brick like the bulk of the building structure, with wooden rafters above and a shingled roof. Here on the farthest side of the main chapel, the roof slanted away from the inner wall towards the outer wall and the gardens outside. This was where he was standing earlier today, she thought as she recognized the patch of carrots outside the window. The sun was slowly setting past the outer wall. She didn't have much time left. She focused her attention to where the floorboards and the stone wall met. If there was a secret door there would be signs of disturbance in them. Sure enough she found an area with a tiny gap where the two met. Where the gap began and ended was just the right length for a door to swing open. She stood before it and stared long and hard at the bookshelves that adorned them. It puzzled her how this part of a wall could be a secret door with so many books in front of it. Silas would need to take them all down and put them all back up every time he opened the door. The Mischievous ran her fingers through her hair and silently scolded herself. Humans do things differently, she reminded herself. Doors don't roll out of the way, like in Zecair, they swing open on a hinge. She searched the side of the wall where one edge of the door might be and found a similar tiny gap running vertically up the wall. Her fingers wanted to touch that stone and feel its contours for something out of the ordinary – a switch perhaps, a hidden handle, something. Touch nothing, her fear reminded her. There was only one trick left. The Zecairin elf focused her magic into the air in that tiny gap and made it expand. There was a build up of pressure on the other side, and slowly the entire section of wall swung open. She smirked. This was almost too easy. But what she saw on the other side explained her success. As the door swung open a glyph written on its backside came into view. She watched the lines flare to life with magic power, and she had only a second to dash inside before bright purple light shot out of it at the same spot she occupied a moment earlier. Simple, crude, and foolish. She reflected. His defenses were designed to kill human men that went snooping. Too simplistic to be a threat to her, or any serious thieves that came prepared to deal with a sorcerer's treasure. But as the light basked the small hidden room, and illuminated the chained prisoner inside. The Mischievous realized this was a different sort of secret place – not one to keep people out of, but to keep someone in. She stared in bewilderment at the limp, naked Zecairin girl that hung from her chain bonds, but deep down this was what she had been afraid to find - Her doppelganger. Before her was a perfect copy of her likeness, from the short blue hair, to the mole on her butt. The captive was too weak to regard the visitor as the vacant expression in her eyes didn't seem to care. The Mischievous went down to a knee before her and lifted the girl's face up to meet her own. They stared deep into one another's eyes, each searching to see if this was another horrible dream or if it was real. The Mischievous ran her hand over the copy's forehead and found her very feverish. She touched her forehead to the girl's and whispered softly to her. "How long do you have?" "Get me out of here, and I'll make it." The doppelganger wheezed. The Mischievous looked to the girl's bonds, and found the manacles fused. This cage wasn't meant to release a prisoner once it had one. "Don't disturb the sigils." She panted. "It's how he accelerates it. It's how he knows when the time comes." "This will hurt." She consoled the captive as she took a handcuff in both hands. "Do it." The doppelganger growled. Magic flowed into the metal bond until it heated it. The iron glowed red hot, and seared the skin and flesh of the girl's wrists. Despite the pain she didn't utter a complaint. It took some time, but eventually the metal became soft enough for The Mischievous to pull it about like half-melted butter. Her own hands were immune from the searing heat so long as they channeled the magic power. She continued her work on the next manacle, and then the ones at her feet. When the last finally parted, The ragged girl finally gave a soft whimper and collapsed into her savior's hands. Lost in the Light Ch. 10 "Don't step..." she started to say before her consciousness waned. The Mischievous gave her a moment to recover, and shifted her onto a shoulder. "Don't step over the lines." She warned again. Despite her urgency to free this copy of herself, The Mischievous had not forgotten about the symbol on the floor. It haunted her dreams as much as that fat blob of slime did. The Mischievous managed to swing the girl up into her arms and then out into the study before swinging the door back shut. Free of the prison, she set the captive down and started tending her wounds with her magic. Her fever was a different matter all together, and a certain obligation she owed a certain scoundrel suddenly seemed rather convenient to have at the moment. But that wouldn't matter if she couldn't get them out of here without being detected. Back the way she had come was not an option. They'd be spotted easily in the corridors, and she couldn't drag her along the rafters. The window... Outside, the gardeners had left for the day, off performing their evening tasks before taking their supper in the eating hall. The Mischievous looked at the window casing, there didn't seem to be any presence of magic, or tiny sigils waiting to fry any intruder or escapees. This whole ordeal was becoming disappointingly simple. Out the window she shoved her charge, and followed after her onto the soft grass outside. The grounds were clear, but she would have to cross the main courtyard to get back to their room. Time was precious, so she shouldered her weakened self and helped her walk along the outer wall to the edge of the building. Just as she had expected a couple Huanguard were patrolling the outer wall straight ahead, but were focused on what was outside rather than what was inside. There was a steady stream of stewards, but few enough of them. She wished she could just shoot them or something and make a run for it, but the Huanguard would notice the bodies before she made it halfway across. And she didn't have anything to shoot them with. Any use of magic would be too noisy. Her focus on the problem seemed to wane a bit. Suddenly she didn't feel herself, as if she was watching her own body standing against a wall being indecisive about what to do, and desperately needing a good cock or two. A good Wolfe cock would be nice... She shook her head, and rubbed her temples. Her doppelganger did just the same in perfect synchrony. It was a shorter run to the outer wall from here across the garden. But she couldn't scale it with her, and she wasn't going to leave her behind now. Besides, the more she thought about Wolfe's cock, the more she suddenly wanted a twin sister. The Mischievous let go of the girl's hand and tried to push all thoughts she suspected weren't truly her own out of her head. It took a moment for the lusting to fade away, and her mind to clear up. If they went around the back of the main chapel, they should be clear. It was a longer route, but there was nothing along that route but the latrines. There were no patrols or reasons for stewards to be around there that she knew off – unless they needed the latrines, and she could handle them in that case. "I have a plan, but I need your help for it to work." She knelt down to the collapsed doppelganger. "I'm going to carry you on my back around the backside. But this bond between us is making it hard to tell what thoughts are mine." "I thought I was going crazy there for a moment. Glad it wasn't just me. If we think about Wolfe, and about rushing home to meet him. I think the urges will behave long enough to get us there." The Other Mischievous said. "Right. Wolfe cock for dinner. Let's go get some." She grinned and hoisted the girl up onto her back. She carried her around the gardens, around the main chapel and the library. They made good progress, and The Mischievous's disposition was almost turning giddy with all the fun thoughts running around her head now that she had a twin. But that fear still lurked deep in her stomach, and slowly it overpowered her thoughts about Wolfe and turned them into thoughts about Silas. He would certainly notice his missing treasure. And he would most likely know who did it. There was only one obvious choice among all the residents of the Monastery. But the question is would he defy The Father to reclaim his secret possession, or would he take matters into his own hands? "I don't like where this is going." Her companion whispered as they skirted around the empty latrines. "Silas will take swift revenge. We should leave, for good... after we say goodbye to Wolfe." She threw in conciliatorialy. "We tried that once, remember?" The Mischievous said to her twin. "We may be stronger now than before, but we're still no match for the Huanguard." "There are two of us now, remember? I just need a quick snack first... and a bite... and maybe something to eat as well." The Mischievous was grinning ear to ear as they rounded around the barracks to the side door. She missed having fun. And having a copy of herself would only make things more fun from here on out. But she had to take care of her twin first. If her dreams had been true all along, then Silas had already half starved the girl to see what demon's blood does to a Zecairin when it is denied. If she wasn't bloodmad yet... "You!" Shamus shouted half in surprise and half in alarm. The Mischievous had been distracted and hadn't noticed him until she had almost run him down. "I came looking for you... what?" He started to say angrily until he realized he was looking at two Zecairin women with the same face. The Mischievous snorted and pushed a very violent image of sinking her teeth into the man's neck and savoring his screams of agony out of revenge for spoiling her daydream. But what she had thought was just a fleeting fancy manifested into reality when her copy leapt off her back with a snarl and sank her teeth into the man's neck as she tackled him to the ground. Blood sprayed out of the corners of the girl's mouth as Shamus's cries of panic were immediately silence by a crushed windpipe. The man squirmed and tried to fight back, striking a few blows to the girl's temples. But she clawed his hands to the ground and held him still as she ripped out his throat and drank deeply of his blood as it gushed out in rivers. The Mischievous stood cold faced and watched, disappointed. And a little jealous... Her twin wallowed in the carnage, writhing her naked body back and forth upon the gory scene as she licked her fingers clean of blood. Waves of perverse pleasure washed over her and she threw her head back to gasp erotically as an orgasm washed over her. It lasted a good long moment, all the while The Mischievous let her have her fill and kept a look out around the corner for any more surprises. "That was sooo good lover..." her twin breathed hotly on poor Shamus's cheek. "Pity you only have the one in you, I would gladly let you earn another." She cooed as she took the dead man's hand's and caressed her swaying body with it until they came to squeeze her breasts. The Mischievous grabbed a handful of blue hair and yanked the blood covered, naked Other Mischievous up. She slammed her against the wall, pinning her in place with her own body. Half, snarling, half cooing in delight the blood naked clone didn't protest, but grabbed her calmer self and kissed her deeply with blood smeared lips. Their hands grabbed and fondled each other frantically, each one trying to gain a moment of dominance over the other by finding that one spot that desperately needed a scratch at just that moment. But it was the swift knee to the gut that brought the crazed Mischievous to the ground gasping. And it was the elbow to the back of the head that dropped her to the ground and made her go limp. "I know, I'm sorry, I hate it when they do that to me too. It ruins a perfect mood." She apologized, and gathered up her limp self. "And I'm glad you're feeling better. But you just made a mess of things." She grumbled and carried her the rest of the way around the building and in the side door. Most of the Huanguard and stewards that resided in this section of the barracks were still out with duties. The Mischievous had a clear path to her room. Once inside, she unceremoniously dumped her cargo onto the bed. As much as she regretted having to do this, she went back out and closed the door behind her. She had a mess to clean up, but she couldn't drag her doppelganger around while she did it. "Poor, stupid Shamus" She muttered as she gathered up the body. If he had only waited in his room like she asked. Suddenly an idea came to mind, one that could possibly through Silas off her trail. But it hinged on him not having returned to his study yet. Shamus was a skinny man, and thankfully light enough she could carry his limp body on her back. She backtracked as fast as she could without being seen. By the time she reached the still open window to Silas's workshop, her legs were killing her. But so far it looked as if the fat man hadn't returned yet. With some difficulty she managed to shove the body inside and crawl in herself. Using the same trick as before she opened the secret door, this time being well out of line of sight of the trapped glyph. Taking some pride in her work she arranged the body inside the room and stripped him naked. She was sure Silas would have some dark magic to determine what had happened to the man, and then her ruse would be undone. But then again, the precautions he took to protect his secret were almost... lazy. It seemed obvious to her now as she looked at the crime scene, that Shamus had somehow found the door, opened it without getting blasted, and thought he would have some fun with the chained up Zecairin. She got in a good love bite, regained some of her strength and made her escape... with his clothes. All in a day's work. She smiled to herself and quickly exited the room again. **** He shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. Wolfe stared dumbfounded at the brazenness with which his roommate displayed, for anyone who walked in to see, her naked backside as she napped. His hand instinctively went to his head to grab his face and slide ever so slowly down it in an exasperated gesture. Was there no end to her mischief? He grumbled. But, given her name, he realized that was a stupid question. He ran his hand through his dark hair and sighed. "Oy, wake up." He said loudly and kicked the bed. The naked elf moaned and stirred a bit. "Time for dinner. I wanted to make sure you ate after that beating Jacob gave you." "Mmmm," she moaned again and rolled over to stretch. As her back arched upwards, her pert breasts stood at attention, and her toes curled upward. Wolfe saw for the first time the bloody mess smeared all over her front. "What did you do?" he growled angrily, and crossed his arms over his chest. The Mischievous's eyes opened slowly and she drank him in lustfully. "I had a snack," she pouted and licked her fingers clean. "You weren't here to help me scratch an itch." "Who was it?" Wolfe demanded and gave her a stern glare. But when their eyes met, and he saw that the irises of her eyes were still dark red, his body shifted ever so slightly to one side and prepared to throw her through a wall or two. Weapons were not normally permitted in the barracks, and Wolfe suddenly realized that was a stupid rule when bunking with a Zek. "Some steward..." she dismissed him and continued cleaning her fingers. "As if you haven't killed one or two." "They deserved it. This is different, it wasn't because I couldn't control myself." He leaned away from her. But she jumped up onto her hands and knees on top of the bed and crawled closer. Wolfe didn't dare move. He never took his eyes off that manic, red eyed glare of hers. The Mischievous breathed in deeply. "You smell." She grumbled, disappointed. "Of fear." she licked her lips clean and flashed a menacing grin. Wolfe swallowed, this situation was turning bad quickly. He couldn't remember if she could be pacified with sex when her eyes were red, usually he had to knock her out first. The first time took some doing, the second had nearly killed him and only after he got in a lucky shot, this time however...he doubted this time would be successful. He should run for the door. "If something's in your way... kill it. If you want something... take it. If someone tries to hurt you... teach them the meaning of the word. You humans lie to yourselves. You have too many useless rules that you break when holding too them becomes inconvenient." She sat up and arched her shoulders back, running her hands up her sides until they came to rest over her breasts in mock modesty that had the exact opposite effect. She had her tricks. "That's what separates us from the animals." Wolfe needed to keep her talking. "Says the wolf." She laughed. "You're so young! You have no idea what this world is really about." A subconscious snarl curled up Wolfe's lip. "I know enough of what this world is about. Enough to hate it. Enough to want to change it." He uncrossed his arms, tilted his neck to one side until the vertebrae popped, and leveled his cold blue eyes on her. The mirth slowly ebbed from her face. "I know that you aren't going to leave this place alive. Not because of me, but because you were never meant to. The only reason you're breathing now..." Wolfe subtly balled his hands into fists, but he saw that his words were reaching the person inside the demon. "...is because I got in a lucky shot, and it threw off their plans. Someone stronger than you wants to watch you run through a maze before they eat you. To them, you're nothing more than a mouse." That cognizant sparkle started to dull. Her eyes drifted elsewhere, and The Mischievous seemed to be lost in her own daydream for a moment. Wolfe took a wary step backwards to put some ground between them. The Mischievous stood up off the bed suddenly and Wolfe reflexively brought a hand up to block whatever she was about to throw at him... but didn't. The Mischievous gave him a condescending look, but ignored him as she shouldered past him to the footlocker and retrieved a spare robe from within. "Did you think I would hurt you?" She gave him a tsk. The malicious glare in her eyes said otherwise. She put her back to him as she pulled the robe over her body. Fully clothed, she took a seat in the only chair and crossed her arms over her chest as she stared out the window. Wolfe's confusion was only surpassed by his reluctant guilt for thinking the worst of her. When she finally met his gaze again, it was with that evil red glare that burned into his soul. "Aside from our first scuffle, have I ever hurt you? Have I ever betrayed your trust?" The words stung him more than he expected. The lesson Liam taught him about Zecairin elves and how they bonded gave more meaning to her simple statement. His own feelings towards her were... complicated. But this silly little drama that was unfolding between them was greatly overshadowed by what else he had learned from Liam. "You need to run away from here." He said at last under his breath. Wolfe didn't know why he was whispering. Perhaps it was because his own loyalties had been shaken; perhaps it was because the words seemed to be coming out of him without his permission. Whatever the reason, it made that hateful glare of hers melt but for a moment. As he digested her words he realized the malice she radiated under the effect of the demons blood wasn't aimed at him in particular, but came out uncontrolled. A great weight lifted with that revelation and he finally relaxed. Somehow, she was in control of her condition. Was there hope for her? The Mischievous tilted her head to one side as she regarded his change in demeanor. "Run?! You have no idea what he put me through. I told you only part of it..." she trailed off. Her bottom lips started to quiver, there was an internal struggle suddenly boiling to the surface. Wolfe calmly sat down on the edge of the bed. Whatever their fate was going to be after today, they needed to sort this out now or be in each other's way later. "I know you haven't told me everything. I know you have been lying this whole time as you search for answers." Wolfe crossed his hands before his chin and looked her dead in the eyes. "In the beginning I didn't trust you. I gambled that I could handle whatever you threw at me. But I was wrong, so very wrong. You scare me bad. I'm afraid of what you become when this takes you over. I'm scared... because my only choice is to kill you, and I don't want that." "Why don't you?" she scowled. Her nose was starting to involuntarily twitch. "This is your home. I'm your prisoner, your trainee, your responsibility." "That's a fucked rabbit, that is." Wolfe blurted out. His calm demeanor sudden broke and a yokel accent the Mischievous hadn't heard before took over. It almost made her lip twitch into a smile. "No one here comes here because they want to," he muttered. "Even me..." he took a long deep breath and tried to regain his composure. "But I tried to make a life of it. The shit I've learned since you came into my life knocked all that on its arse. This place needs to be burned to the ground... I don't know what he did to you. But I know it was horrible. I know what he did was real, and I know you remember every second of it." "Hornsdale happened because of him." The Mischievous breathed out despite herself. "Those humans died because he... he hurt me." the pain in her voice finally came out, and carried with it Hell's Wrath. Wolfe looked up from his chin startled. The Mischievous stared him down with that infernal fury. "Why did you let me live?" Wolfe deliberated. Her head leaned back against the wall and she regarded him with a contemptuous look – somehow he wasn't measuring up to whatever she was grading him by. Damaged... that's what she was. Underneath that silky smooth charcoal skin, those ruby lips, that exotic blue hair, and that pretense of affection and camaraderie was a mangled, scarred, tortured animal whose only bridge to sanity was an infernal quest for retribution. That Wolfe understood, more than he wished he did. Something in him long buried came out - the part of him he specifically came here to bury. It was the part of him that had abandoned the laws of mankind for something more savage, and natural. "I thought it fair to return the trust you put in me." He finally said. Damn, he cursed silently to himself. He shouldn't have used that word. He had just wanted to say that from the beginning to try and win her over, but there was a price to it. But the more he listened to her carry on, the more he realized he needed to be with her. Huanguard be damned, if they were harboring a sorcerer that was creating unstoppable monsters out of the Zeks, the whole world was fucked. It would take an alliance of all the other nations to destroy the blood-frenzied Zecairins, and such an alliance would never work. The door to the room opened, and The Mischievous looked at him from the hallway. This Zecairin was still in her training clothes, blood splattered and dirty. Even her skin was glistening from the sweat of exertion. Without another word she entered and closed the door behind her, locking it. Wolfe sat up straight and put his hands on his knees in a posture of authority, as he regarded her with a scowl. He glanced once to the Zecairin sitting in the chair across from him to make sure. No, this one was certainly real, there was no way that much emotional turmoil could be faked. But the one walking his way smelled real – blood, sweat, anxiety, lust... it was all there to the trained nose. "Hmm," He said and looked back to the robed Mischievous. Magic was something that continued to amaze him, but he hadn't the brain to wrap around how it worked, so he accepted much on dumb faith. Even so, he wasn't sure that's what this was. Lost in the Light Ch. 11 Tamain opened his eyes. At his side, curled up against him slept his new beloved, Lysia. It was pity, more than anything, that first drew him to her. She was a weak, meek creature that needed his help as she was now wrapped up in a dangerous web spread all over the neutral lands. If he didn't take her under his protection, she wouldn't last much longer -- even among her own people. As odd as it sounded to him, it was what made him so affectionate towards her. He fancied the idea of having a lady to protect. He brushed the stray hair from her face as she slept. Among Zecairins there are no meek women. Zecair wastes little; if one is not capable of ruling, then they are ruled or they are dead. The Rulers are haughty, powerful, unapproachable, and treacherous. The ruled are sycophantic, obsequious, and secretly scheming of becoming a Ruler -- equally treacherous. Tamain wanted a lover he didn't constantly need to be suspicious of. That ruled out Zecairin women. Human women were nice, but they lacked Zecairin stamina and they became very contrary once a month. It was a biological aspect he had never quite wrapped his head around. There were other races he had bedded... Cutharins, Ergosts, even a cute little Chibbit half his size. But most of them shunned him after their foray was over. Zecairins were not tolerated for long. He had never thought he'd find what he was looking for in an Elthairin -- the butchers of his people. Such warm thoughts settled his senses and he closed his eyes to resume his sleep. But the splash of water snapped them wide awake again. It was quickly followed by the wet sloshing of booted foot falls -- a single pair. Lysia still slept soundly next to him; he could rouse her, but the only escape route was past whoever was intruding on their secret cavern. Tamain could not put her in harm's way, not until he had trained her properly to defend herself. If he engaged this intruder, she would be left defenseless. If he tried to flee with her, she would be at equal risk. His only option was to hide. Subtly, he called the elements together and created a dome of ice to hide them. It was thin, any thicker and his next trick wouldn't work. The ice started to turn a purplish hue to mimic the crystals that grew in this secret cavern. A slight adjustment to the ice crystals, and he made his view through it one-way. With the camouflage complete, he waited and watched the distorted image refracted through the ice shell. Silently he cursed himself for being careless, he should have set a trap or two, or at the very least an alarm ward at the water tunnel leading to the cavern to give them more time to prepare. Lysia shivered in her sleep from the growing cold. Tamain wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer. The ice dropped the temperature inside the dome, a critical flaw that could undo his effort if their intruder was smart. A person strode into view from around the large central crystal, and Tamain's blood chilled to his bones. An Elthairin Leaf Knight with sword in hand cautiously investigated the area. When the Elthairin turned to face their direction, Tamain silently cursed under his breath when he saw the telltale glow of heat vision magic coming from the elf's eyes. It was unnecessary in this cavern illuminated by the natural glow of the crystals, but it was the obvious choice of an Elthairin Leaf Knight tracking someone. A certain runaway trainee perhaps... "I see you Zek," Valel's voice said coldly in the darkness and he locked his stare right at Tamain. Tamain dispelled the camouflage and gently roused Lysia. He sat up and stood as she wiped the sleep from her face and tried to make sense of her surroundings. "Valel?" She asked sleepily and stood up. Tamain pulled her behind him and put himself between her and this Elthairin Knight, Valel. "Release her," Valel commanded and pointed his sword level with Tamain's neck. "Not to you," Tamain said evenly, but made no move. Surprise would be his weapon, and he would wait until the last possible moment to ensure its success. "Valel!" Lysia blurted out and shouldered past Tamain. "Stop this!" She spread her hands out to block him from Tamain. The Zecairin wasn't sure how to take this change of roles. But she looked just as beautiful from behind as she did from the front. Her long brown hair flowed straight down her back, free of its braid and slightly disheveled from their love-making. The pale pink light basked her naked skin and revealed every delicate curve and every dimple. He wanted to take her right now, right in front Valel. But now was not the time for such thoughts, and Tamain quickly pushed them aside. "Whatever you have done to her, undo it Zek." Valel said coldly. "Did it ever occur to you that when you threw me out there was only one place for me to go?" Lysia scolded him. Tamain was as shocked as Valel at her boldness. "I am not with you anymore. Not your order, not your people. I'm tired of my own people trying to kill me because I'm in the way! I haven't done anything wrong!!!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her voice echoed and reverberated off the walls. Both men were equally taken aback. Lysia was crying scared tears; she had never let her anger out like that before. But she stood her ground firmly. Valel lowered his sword. "The two of you...?" Valel asked, trying to be delicate. "Do you know what he plans for you?" "Freedom. Freedom is all he offered me." Lysia gritted through her teeth. Tamain relaxed. Valel returned his sword to its sheath, and ran a gloved hand over his face to wipe away the dripping water from his swim He took a moment to process her words. Lysia had reached him, but it was still a hard concept for him to swallow. "Leave, Valel." "I need to know more," Valel said and rested his hands on the hilts of his weapons. "If I am to entrust the second most precious woman in my life to him, I need to be able to trust him." "No you don't." Lysia argued. "You only need to trust me. This is my choice." Valel crossed his arms over his chest in defiance but started to take a step back as he reluctantly accepted her request. "Would you help me understand this then? Or is my ignorance my penance for my greatest sin?" Valel countered trying to be friendly. "Get out Valel." Lysia growled. "No, wait." Tamain interjected at last. He had been content to let this play out and see just how much fire his little mouse had to stand up to this Leaf Knight. But there was an opportunity here he couldn't let slip. "He has his reasons, and something good can come of this." Lysia turned to glare at Tamain, but he threw his hands up defensively. "Hear me out. If you trust me." Lysia covered her exposed chest with her hands and stepped back reluctantly. "Valel," Tamain started, "I am Tamain, of the Discarded." He paused to let that sink in, but Valel apparently hadn't a clue what he was talking about. "I suspect you would know what that means if you bothered to interrogate the Zecairins you encounter before you murder them. Not all of us are your enemy. But I will explain..." Valel didn't move, but merely listened stoically, almost casually. He showed no annoyance, aggression, or sympathy. Tamain coughed to clear his throat and collect his own thoughts. "Lysia is not here against her will, she can leave whenever she wants. I thought I would make her the offer of a new home, as it seems she is out of sorts with her previous one. And... negotiations ensued." Tamain looked to Lysia to see if his clever phrase entertained her at all, but the girl had returned to her cold, hardened state and locked herself away mentally. All of his hard work thawing her out had been undone by this Knight's mere presence. Tamain sighed in exasperation -- Elthairins had their own personality quirks as well it seemed. "The Discarded," Tamain began, and stood before Valel with his hands grasped behind his back and his feet firmly planted. He was naked, but it seemed to make Valel more uncomfortable than it did Tamain. "...are exiles - Children of Zecair that have been banished because the red elixir they are given as a child did not take hold. If it did, I would be under the same 'corruption' your beloved Queen recently cured herself of." Tamain walked over to his trousers and proceeded to clothe his lower extremities. Hopefully, some modesty on his part would help Valel loosen up. "Please extend my heartfelt congratulations to your queen. She is the only elf I have heard of that has beaten the curse." Tamain said with a smile, as he buckled on his trousers. Valel gave Lysia an aggravated look, but still remained silent. "Oh, very well." Tamain complained and approached the Leaf Knight casually. "If it will make you feel better, you may strike me for stealing her away from you. Although I doubt she views it that way." Valel looked as if he was about to take the Zecairin up on his offer, but the frankness of it all, and how he had cut right to the source gave Valel pause. But there was a sudden tremble of fear in Lysia that told Tamain it best not to tempt that tiger. "No? Hmm," Tamain said before he could swing. "Then let me say this. We could be allies." He paused to let that settle in. "But not until this blood feud ends. Not settled. Ended." Valel gave the Zecairin a curious look. Tamain had finally said something that intrigued him. "You will need allies if you are to win back your Queen's throne. More if your kin hope to survive the hell that is coming from Zecair. It is time you started to think... unconventionally. We, my comrades and I, can no sooner lower our guard than you can. But it must start somewhere, and with someone making the first move. So let this be it." He offered Valel his hand, and the overconfident smirk on his face turned dark and serious. "This I extend to you, and you alone, Valel. Each of your kin will have to grasp it of their own accord when they have earned it. Take my hand and I swear neither myself nor any under my command will harm you nor hinder your path. It will remain offered until you grasp it, or until you give me a reason to rescind my offer." Valel took Tamain's hand without another thought. Lysia broke from her sulking and looked up, shocked. Tamain hadn't expected such a sudden acceptance either. "The world I knew was turned on its edge when we recovered Princess Riyarra, and her friend Lysia." Valel said solemnly. "The laws of our people and the oath I have taken no longer serve the needs of my Queen, and I cannot look to those principles for guidance. I have already started to think unconventionally. I will speak to my Queen of your proposed alliance, and see if she will hear what you have to offer." "It is a start," Tamain smiled, genuinely pleased, and shook his hand. Valel took his leave immediately and without another thought or look to them, returning by diving back down through the cavern's pond. He left Tamain stunned, and looking at his palm in disbelief. Lysia came to lean on his shoulder and looked down at his hand to try and see what he was looking at. "Do you always have this power over people?" She asked, and rubbed her cheek against his broad shoulder affectionately. "I could not have become the leader of the Discarded without it. Do I look like the type that would lead through tyranny?" He said and tilted his head down to nuzzle against hers. "What have I gotten myself into now, my little mouse?" he asked accusingly. Lysia pulled his face to hers and kissed him lovingly on the lips. "Why Valel?" she asked, searching his gaze for an answer while slowly dragging her hands up his arms to drape around his neck. "Because what he did to you is eating him alive." Tamain said sadly and caressed her cheek. "Could you not feel his pain? He took my hand because he hoped it would earn your forgiveness." Lysia looked away sadly. It wasn't something she wanted to talk about right now. Tamain took her chin and guided it back gently so he could look into her eyes. "You are no stranger to pain and suffering, why look away now?" She couldn't answer him. The question caught her off guard, and she didn't have an answer -- or didn't like the one she came up with. Tamain searched her countenance for understanding, but she tried to pull away. "My talent is not in magic, or swordplay, not even in charming beautiful women," Tamain said softly when she finally met his gaze. "It is in reading people, and listening to the words they do not say. With my magic I can hear everything that is uttered as it is carried on the wind. But sometimes what we say is not how we truly feel, and I have come to understand the difference. That is how I have kept The Discarded alive in this terrible place." "What am I not saying right now?" Lysia dared him with a hint of mischief in her eyes. "That you want me to take you to bed," he smiled and stroked her cheek lovingly. "so that I won't see the pain in your heart, and the wrath and mistrust you are desperately trying to hold back." Lysia's pretense fell away just as her forehead fell onto his chest. She wanted to sob out her pain, but it wouldn't listen to her, it never listened to her. She always had to bottle it up inside because there was nowhere else to put it. Tamain wrapped her in his arms and held her tightly. "I, I don't know what to do with you," Lysia said oddly sober. "You confuse me, and clear my head at the same time." "Shall I entertain your previous inclination while you deliberate?" He said with a hint of mirth. Lysia had forgotten that he could also be so pompous. "My lord has my permission," She replied, uncertain to what he was referring, as her wits had already been dizzied by the turn of events this morning. Tamain lifted her up into his arms, and carried her back to their fur bed. He laid her down gently and kissed her cheek, her neck, her collarbone, and further... This was a lovers kiss; soft, slow, sensual and arousing. His fingers drifted over her skin, following the curves of her shoulders, her sides, her hips and thighs. Lysia moaned softly from his soothing touch. Her body moved and responded to his touch; stretching and arching into his lips, trying to force his path onto more sensitive and pleasurable areas, but he would have none of it. Tamain thwarted her and maintained his teasing course of paying homage to the softer parts of her body. Even the ticklish areas had been well subdued by his sensual kisses. As his tongue playfully licked the backside of her knee, and his teeth nibbled a tendon she cooed softly. All her suspicions and tensions had once again been expertly disarmed by her dark-skinned lover. Tamain came to a slow stop between her legs, and eased himself down between them. His lips traversed her smooth belly until they reached the small patch of brown hair below. His mouth nuzzled her wet womanhood before gliding those skilled lips up her inner thigh. Lysia arched her hips up to meet his lips, wanting him to devour more of her flesh despite herself. All restraint and wariness had been discarded and she wanted more of him on her skin. Her hands found his head and her fingers wound through his hair in response to her growing excitement. It was the sign he was waiting for; Tamain looked from his ministrations to her - her cheeks flush and red as she moaned softly, and her chest heaving from her excited breathing. She was ready for him. All she had come to know of Zecairin intimacy was shallow in comparison to the depths to which his tongue reached as it parted her labia and caressed her wet folds. Lysia's body rose up to meet his tongue, her breath caught in her throat, her eyes rolled back with a flutter as her lover brought to her a new experience. As that wonderfully articulate tongue danced and caressed her exposed clitoris she squeaked despite herself. The more he manipulated that sensitive bud, the more she writhed underneath him. When finally she broke and gasped for breath, he eased back to soft caresses of her labia and allowed her to catch her breath lest she black out from trying to savor all of this new experience. From the frantic rhythm of her breathing he could tell she wouldn't last much longer, so he gave her a moment to taper off as he kissed and suckled her lips into his mouth. When she was ready, he resumed caressing circles around her bud with the tip of his tongue. His warm hands caressed her stomach and chest, and gave only momentary distractions to the building excitement within her. Lysia peaked - instinctively grabbed handfuls of his hair, and clenched her thighs against his cheeks as her body trembled with the release of pleasure. It lasted for a good long moment before her muscles relaxed, and she cooed appreciatively as her body started to involuntarily go limp. "Oh my shadowcat..." she tried to speak. "I've never..." she panted. Tamain crawled atop her and kissed her panting lips to silence her. She reached for his hard cock, and wrapped her fingers around it before he pulled her hand away. He kissed her fingers and her wrist. "Another time, my lovely mouse." He smiled, before sucking one of her fingers into his mouth and biting it playfully. "I would stay here forever with you, but there are more wonders I would show you first. Starting with the rest of my world... The Discarded. Let us bathe first, then I will take you to meet them. Lend your voice to theirs so we can decide how to better assist your queen." He played with the hair around her ear, and casually caressed the tip of it. Lysia could hardly deny him anything at this point in time. * * * * Valel found his Queen standing still in a new robe surveying the scenery below the side of their mountain. She seemed especially interested in the small human compound not far from the foot of it. Like typical human encampments, the tree line had been cut back, and visibility was clear on all four sides of the structure. Four long walls surrounded a generously sparse interior with a half dozen smaller buildings and one larger main building. She had found a near perfect vantage point leaning against a fallen log. Had a walker-by not noticed the bright blond hair above the bark edge, they would have missed her completely. Valel wasn't sure whether to remind her of the need for stealth, or trust she had done it on purpose. She heard him approach and glanced slowly back over her shoulder. Valel waited respectfully for a moment, until she nodded to him to approach. As he grew closer he saw the shimmer of the illusion she had erected before her -- a camouflage to disguise her presence to those viewing from below but not from behind. His judgment had been premature, and he scolded himself for it. His Queen was more formidable than he first assessed. Valel came to stand beside her, but maintained a respectful step away. Riyarra approached casually, came to stand before him, and leaned into him, pulling his arms around her waist as she leaned the back of her head against his shoulder. Valel was barely taller than her, and her ear was uncomfortably close to his mouth. Her casualness aside, even had it been any other woman he would have flustered at this and maintained his distance. Valel wasn't sure he was allowed to tell her no, however. Not as a knight, not as a subject, not as a male. "Your father has suggested I take a prince-consort," Riyarra spoke softly. There was no flirtation in her voice, but a troubled thoughtfulness. "I dismissed him for a brief time so that I could collect my thoughts. I am sure your mother would recommend you before another, Lord Valel. But I am not so sure." She folded her hands over his and held them over her stomach. She kept her gaze on the Monastery below and let the mountain breeze blow over them. "What are your thoughts? Please speak honestly." Valel considered her posturing for a moment, as this was most confusing to him and very distracting. Lost in the Light Ch. 11 "More important matters should concern you." Valel offered politely. "Please share your feelings with me as well. I would appreciate their counsel." "More important matters should concern you." He repeated with condescension and derision in his voice. "Has Iala caused a rift between the two of you?" "Rifts will heal in time." He muttered. "Had I been lost to my corruption, what would you have done differently, as Knight Commander?" "I would have taken you back to Elthair in hopes that another Cleric may try to purify you." "And if we were arrested by my brother? Or worse, attacked on sight?" "I would have defended you to my dying breath." Riyarra relaxed against him and nestled her cheek against his. "I see what Lysia saw in you," Valel did not tense up at her words, somehow he knew this was not a courtship. "Could I call you friend?" "I would be honored." "And should I desire to call you more?" Valel did not answer right away. He was starting to see the thoughtful, strategic side to his Queen now. The words she spoke before and her actions now had erased all preconceptions of her abilities. If this was a test, as uncomfortable a question as it was, he trusted that there was no wrong answer. "As a Lord and a man, I would be honored. As a knight, I would be disappointed." He finally said, but without any judgment in his voice. Riyarra chuckled. "I need knights now. I've had enough of men for a time." Riyarra smiled and squeezed his hands affectionately. "Friend Valel, I need a counselor - someone that is not your mother, nor your father, and who is not afraid to stand up to either of them. There are a few Knights I believe could perform this task, and I would ask you for a suggestion. As my friend, I cannot choose you for this task." She gave his hand another squeeze. Valel relaxed, relieved. Deep down he did not want that responsibility right now. His family was already at odds with each other over recent events. "I would recommend Brylen. He is rough, experienced, but also idealistic to a fault and not afraid to voice a dissent. However, he can accept orders he does not agree with." "Done." Riyarra said and disengaged from him. "Did you find her?" "Yes," Valel said excitedly. Riyarra turned, and arched an eyebrow at the sudden burst. She looked at him and could almost see the smile he was trying to withhold. A breeze picked up and tossed her long hair behind her as she held her hands before her demurely. Acting like a queen was a new challenge for her as well, she had to present herself as more than a Knight, and more than a woman. "But that issue is a bit more complicated, and requires some unconventional thinking." Valel prompted, setting the stage for the boulder he was about to drop. Tamain's choice of words had stuck with him so profoundly it made sense to reiterate them. Riyarra smirked and arched an inquisitive eyebrow. This less rigid side of Valel was much more attractive. But she had to push those thoughts aside. "Lysia has defected to a rogue group of Zecairins called The Discarded." Riyarra's good mood soured, and her jaw locked up tight. She would have thought this a joke, if she did not know Valel better. "When I found her, I met their leader, Tamain." Valel reported, but paused as his Queen turned away to continue gazing at her monastery. The distortion that was their camouflage started to move and grow until Valel felt it surround them both. Of course, he chided himself, these are not words to be spoken carelessly. He mentally kicked himself again. "He has proposed an alliance." "Has he?" Riyarra was genuinely shocked. "He has also seduced Lysia, but I can vouch that she is with him willingly. If one considers what his kind were doing to her when I found her, for her to trust him is quite the accomplishment." Riyarra took a moment to digest that. "That is very true." She finally admitted. "Then this Tamain has suddenly become very interesting. Please continue." "The Discarded are exiled Zecairin nobility that failed at being corrupted. Tamain seems to be their leader. I do not know how many there are. But he expressed his congratulations at your besting the curse, and offered his assistance as an ally. He seems an honorable man, fearless, but also very intelligent and crafty. If this was a trap, it is not for us." "You suspect he wants something else?" "He offered me his hand in friendship, but said that others would have to earn it." "Hmm, an interesting leader." Riyarra mused. "What did Lysia think?" "She was as just as surprised as I was that he offered it to me. I felt she expected us to attack each other." "Perhaps she was just a lure then? And I was his real goal? As exiles, I would imagine revenge against other Zecairins to be his likely goal. What do you think?" "He seems far too idealistic. I imagine he is like us in a certain way -- trying to find a place to belong." Riyarra slowly looked up to him and mulled over his words. "That is surprisingly optimistic for a Knight." She commented, giving Valel a measure of praise. "As a Knight, I would say use him before he uses us. As a friend, I would explore a much more long term relationship." Riyarra rolled her eyes. "That sounds more like the male talking." She turned back to her monastery. "Let your eyes sink into the Longsight, and watch as they train." She said and pointed. "These men are incredibly skilled. Their total number is more than three to one more than us, but only a few are as skilled as those there are. See how they strive for quickness of the blow over power. Every strike is at a vital area, if the blow did not slay outright, it would disable immediately. They train to take their opponent down with minimal effort -- I have never seen humans think that way about combat before." Valel scowled as he watched from a great distance. "This bothers me." He finally said. "The mystery of corruption has led us here." Riyarra said and folded her arms over her chest sternly. "There is an answer to be found in this place, but if it is not given freely I doubt we could take it without suffering for it." "And if we lose too many, the answer will do us no good." Valel concluded. "I owe them a message of condolences, for their man Liam. He was my rescuer, and my friend." Riyarra said uncertainly. "That could create an opportunity to discover our answers on a friendly basis. But if it does not..." her brow scowled. "The Discarded?" Valel offered. "Would suffer for my miscalculation just as much as we would." Riyarra grumbled. "We do not know The Discarded's numbers or their abilities." Something suddenly dawned on her. "Could they be those two fools we met on the road back? They were not corrupted... Of course! How else would this Tamain know I was purified?" she rubbed her temples as a ladylike expression of exasperation. "I have already met him. That one is a fool. He would be useless here! They are not that skilled." "The Tamain I met, was." Valel corrected her. "He only pretends to be a fool. That is his trap waiting to spring." Riyarra thought all this over. It was a dangerous territory they were about to cross into. "What would Iala think?" "She would follow your orders, but she would be the first to stick a blade through him if he insulted you." "Good. Take her with you, and make contact. I'm willing to hear him out." * * * * "Another one?" Came a familiar grumble of disapproval and a Zecairin came out from behind a tree. Tamain didn't spook, apparently he had known he was there, but Lysia squealed briefly in surprise. They had been walking along silently for some time and she had been lulled unawares. She looked up to the speaker and saw a face she thought she recognized, but he was the quicker. "That's the bitch that shot me!" he growled, but his bow remained still at his side and he did not draw. "-I- shot at you once," Tamain rolled his eyes. "-Everyone- shoots at you... and misses. Thanks to that deflection magic I taught you." The archer ground his teeth, but reconsidered his words when Tamain started to grin smugly. "Why her?" his voice seemed to have a perpetual growl quality to it, even when there were no emotional undercurrents to his words. "Fate?" Tamain shrugged. "Do I need a reason?" something about their familiarity to each other bothered the archer. When he figured it out, he slapped his own forehead and dragged his palm across his face. "You are a slut Tamain." The archer gritted out, and turned away to leave. "Lysia, may I present my man Rollis. He is one of my trusted associates." Lysia gave Tamain a disapproving look. His smooth introduction did not overlook the circumstances of their first encounter. "We would not have seriously harmed you when we first met. Nothing your healers could not cure anyways, and we would never take a lady against her will." "No, that we would never do." Rollis growled out. "Even in war, 'atrocity' has a meaning to us." He pulled his cloak tightly around his hunched shoulders; it slimmed his profile and hid the short bow he tucked under an arm. "That is what separates us from the animals. But the animals are growing in number." He fell into step with Tamain and Lysia as Tamain led the way. "The Discarded are very similar to your companions," Tamain explained to Lysia when she caught up. "And for remarkably similar reasons -- we are not as extreme, nor as fanatic, as our kin from our homeland." Escorted by her two darkly clad guardians, Lysia was led through the trees and bushes, around a hill to a rocky alcove protected by the lee of two giant boulders smashed together. The air was growing cold this morning, and there was dampness in the air that foretold rain was coming. But it was more than that, as the fog suddenly poured out from the ground and the air around them. It engulfed them until they could not see two feet away. Rollis led the way forward by putting a hand on the boulder and pushing through. He disappeared as if it did not exist. "There is a barrier," Tamain explained. "A solid illusion." He took her hand and placed it on the boulder. It was solid, but it did not feel exactly like stone either. "Push." He instructed, and she did. Lysia found herself on the other side and inside a bear cave. The ground flowed downward steeply, worn out of the earth and stone from a small brook she hadn't noticed before. She turned behind her to see Tamain following through. The fog started to clear away and she could see the familiar trees they had left behind. "An Elthairin, Tam? Are you serious?" Came a disapproving female's voice. "Is that why you stole my dress? You are such a pervert." Lysia spun around, embarrassed and a bit shocked to be staring at a Zecairin woman with long black hair, a charcoal leather vest with matching pants, and her disapproving hands resting on her disapprovingly curvy hips. Her sexuality was obvious, as her posture seemed more to make Tamain jealous than to truly scold Lysia. Even her vest was buttoned only halfway, giving a generous view of her cleavage. Lysia blushed and looked away. She noticed the others gathering to meet the newcomer. There were five more shadow elves, men and women all in dark cloth or leather, with simple weapons -- swords and bows --, and each one had a cloth mask that was down to show their faces. The darkness of their complexion was different, showing more of the natural grayish tones of the Zecairin skin color. Their hair color varied -- black, auburn, brownish -- but none of the stand-outish hues to which she had grown accustomed. They also wore no jewelry or tattoos, as these were simple people. It soon became clear to her that they must purposely choose to look more plain, most likely so as not to be confused for their kin. "These are my friends, my family-at-arms." Tamain said and placed a reassuring hand on Lysia's shoulder. "We are the soldiers of The Discarded. There are others, but they cannot fight. So they are somewhere safe. We are all you have to worry about." "Should I worry?" Lysia challenged him. "No. Not at all." "She's clever," the woman said, and approached Lysia. "Well, well." She said as she looked the girl up and down. "Our first Elthairin Discarded!" She put her arm around Lysia's shoulder and led her down to the others. "My name is Corella," She whispered in her ear "I only bite if you want me too." "All bluster," Rollis growled as he came to sit by the cook fire and inspect the morning stew, "She's a cocktease and she knows it." There were a few hearty laughs, and one impish giggle from another woman. "My name is Lysia," Lysia said politely, and took a deep steadying breath. This group was not nearly as intimidating as the patrol that had captured her and Riyarra, or as vicious as the two that had attacked her. Even so, she fought back the fear that was making her legs tremble ever so slightly. Corella must have picked up on that as she gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "If any of them give you trouble, just tweak their ears." Corella whispered and stepped away politely. "Katral, Ut'van, Faosen" she began pointing out the others. Each one nodded, saluted, winked, as their name was called. "Pemmy..." Pemmy, a hawkish girl with large blue eyes blew her a kiss "and Gerick." "Have a seat," Ut'van patted a rock next to him. He had the soldier's look to him with a chiseled jaw and close cut black hair. "Stew?" he offered casually. "Come, tell us your story." He had this brotherly tone in his voice that disarmed her, and against her better judgment she was sitting beside him and spooning vegetable stew into a wooden bowl. It looked very plain. "That's my mate, Katral," Katral nodded her head and folded her arms over her chest with a scowl. She had a very athletic body, and her sternness reminded her of Iala. Lysia wasn't sure what to say, if anything. "I was a packmaster for a group of Leaf Knights. They didn't need me anymore," She half-lied. But it was enough to sate the curious for now. "She's not a half-bad shot, but a bit too innocent to be out here if you ask me." Rollis grumbled as he worked through his stew. Lysia mingled a bit, answering their questions briefly, and asking some of her own. She learned that all of them were exiles from their homes, tossed out as young adults. Their stories all started out the same, they had wandered lost and afraid in this world of light and trees until Tamain had found them. He showed them a kindness that broke through their defenses and fears and brought them home to join the rest of The Discarded. Most of them were fighters with a little magical training, but Tamain and Corella were the ones with real talent as magic-casters. Faosen, a shy, very skinny male that looked barely a year or so into his adult years, had apprenticed himself to Corella. Pemmy was the more free spirited of the group, who watched and listened with the wide eyes of youth. She smiled and laughed, and joked whenever she could. Lysia felt an immediate resentment towards this girl... if only she knew what was out there, her levity would disappear. "Tam, she's damaged." Corella whispered softly out of earshot of the others as she came to stand beside him and look out the opening at the morning forest. "She holds it back with all her might. But there is a darkness in her that wants to tear us apart. Was this a good idea?" Tamain leaned against the rock wall and looked thoughtful. "She's tougher than she looks, and she's a sweet girl that's been given a shit hand." He answered candidly. "Having her with us will complicate things," Corella argued. "It can also make things better. It can grow more trust. For everyone. We need to start healing." "Are you serious about her? Or is she just part of your plan?" Corella took the moment to readjust her leather vest and button it back up the rest of the way. Tamain wasn't even looking anyways. "The Elthairin Princess succeeded. She cured the Demon's Blood. We need to know how." Tamain explained. He looked like he wanted to say more but stopped himself. "The Elthairins are just like us. I met one of their Leaf Knights and I proposed an alliance." "You did what?!" Corella grabbed his arm fiercely, barely able to keep her voice low. "They'll murder us all." She hissed. "Not these. They are renegades following a queen in rebellion. They need allies. They're just like us." Tamain tried to convince her. Corella let go of his arm and walked away. When she looked up, she saw Lysia was looking right at her along with a couple of the others who were wondering what the tiff was about. With a flip of her hair, Corella's scowl melted into a smile and she waved it off. "Just an old lover's quarrel. We're an old story." She deflected it. Lysia caught the twitch of Rollis's upper lip that said otherwise. There was a sudden breeze and the whole troupe grew quiet. Rollis placed a finger over his lips to inform Lysia to stay quiet. "There are a group of slavers at our back door," Tamain said softly. "Pebbles informs me they've caught a pretty pair of harpies." He turned around and joined the group with his arms crossed over his chest in a brooding way. "Three blooded masters, two human mercenaries, one Cutharin slave, and five lesser Zecairins." "Harpies..." Gerick rubbed his chin distastefully. "Hard to justify interfering." "Agreed, they are not always the most civilized." Corella added. "Are we saving them, or the servants?" Faosen said a bit contemptuously. "If we go in, we leave no trace or no survivors." Tamain decided. "Rollis, Lysia and I will see if they are worth the risk, or if they have any supplies worth taking. The rest will form up into scouting pairs and run the usual tracks. I expect we'll be seeing some Leaf Knights in the area soon looking for Lysia. Shadow any you find, but do not provoke them. Run away if they spot you." "Me?" Lysia squeaked. "You shot me..." Rollis nudged her as he stood up and collected his bow. He handed it to her. "Here, I'll be your spotter. Let's see what you can do." Lysia took it reluctantly along with the quiver slung over his shoulder. Tamain summoned the fog again outside the barrier wall, and the three left just as they had come. Tamain was a fast taskmaster and she had to run hard to keep up with the two Zecairin men. Rollis fell back beside her. "Keep your ears sharp at all times. Listen to the sounds in the background, and pick out the ones that don't belong. Also listen for the ones that sound like they belong too much. If we're spotted, you'll only have a moment to get a shot off before receiving one, so make sure you know where to look." He managed to get out despite the heavy run. Lysia nodded and focused her attention on the sounds and not the sights. She understood why; Elthairins focused more on masking their sight than their sound. Half the day had passed by the time Tamain motioned for them to stop. Lysia never thought she could cover so much ground at a dead run. Her lungs were burning, but the rest of her was still good for more. Rollis had a smug look on his face as he approached and put a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Calm your breath, it's too loud." He whispered. "Focus on the sounds, what do you hear?" Lysia tried to do as he instructed, but little presented itself. Tamain signaled in another direction and changed course for it. "Now comes the hard part girl," Rollis growled hurriedly. "we don't dance in the trees like you do. Slink from tree trunk to tree trunk, using the shade as concealment. Tam says you have some good magic ability; use it to make your skin and your clothes turn the color of the wood." "I c-can't!" she protested in bewilderment. "that's too advanced!" "Learn fast!" Rollis growled and followed Tamain through the trees. The two of them blended their outfits to shadows just as he had suggested, and she was quickly losing them. Having no other choice, she followed their movement pattern as best as she could. She paused at every tree to try and make herself blend in, but found she couldn't quite do it. So she kept her attention to the sounds ahead of her and quickly picked out the crackle of a fire and the screams of a woman in pain. Those sounds were coming from the direction they were headed. Lysia continued on. She had lost track of her protectors; they had left her behind or had completely masked their presence. Lost in the Light Ch. 11 Suddenly she felt very alone, and very foolish for coming out here. But when she rounded the next tree, she found herself directly inside the middle of the slavers camp, and she wasn't alone. She heard the rustle of a man getting up. She turned to face him and saw one of the human mercenaries spot her. Lysia froze. Time seemed to stop into one long heart-pounding moment as she watched him draw his crossbow, and the one next to him rolled to grab his own weapon lying not far away. She loosed her first arrow before she realized what had happened. It struck the standing man through the neck, but as he stumbled backwards in surprise he loosed his own shot. She watched it speed towards her head and she threw her hands up instinctively, and dropped the bow. The metal tip scratched across her palm painfully but deflected off into the trees. She didn't know how she ended up on her back, but Lysia found herself staring up at her wounded hand in shock as the blood ran down her arm. It was a superficial cut, but she couldn't believe it -- it should have run through both hands and hit her in the face. Suddenly she remembered the other man and quickly picked herself up. She found him flat on his back with his throat already slit. "Hide." A voice growled from nowhere. It sounded like Rollis. Lysia's previous training came back to her with a wash of adrenaline and the rush of combat. She leapt into the trees and began to bound up the branches without disturbing a leaf. Why move like a Zecairin when she wasn't one? When she found the perfect vantage point high above, she hugged herself to the branch and brought the bow under her ready to rain down shots. These two men were just the guards, the main force was out -- and they would be back. She tried to remember the count from back in the cave... three Zeks, and seven slaves? Her heart was pounding, and she tried desperately to quiet it down. She watched the killed men below and could just barely make out the shape of one of her companions as they dragged one of the bodies towards a wooden cage. Inside she saw the two harpy girls Tamain had mentioned. She hadn't noticed them before. They looked awfully young, she noted. It was her first time seeing a harpy, but she had imagined something more terrifying. They were rumored to be horrible scavengers of the dead. But these two girls looked like young human waifs with wings. As the body was dumped before their cage they attacked the limbs voraciously, tearing into it messily with their teeth. By the way the gore splattered, Lysia could tell those teeth must be very sharp. It was clear they were not waifs. The harpies were removing the evidence of her blunder. Finally her heart started to calm down -- her companions hadn't abandoned her, they were still here, just testing her. She tightened her grip on the bow. It was time for her to make her mark amongst this group. No more fear. No more hiding. She told herself. A breezed picked up and caressed her ear. It was an unusual sensation and she had to resist the urge to scratch at it. Then a voice spoke to her. "Watch and listen." Tamain whispered in a soothing voice. "Wait for my signal. They come." It wasn't long before there was a commotion headed their way. Four Zecairins came into view dragging someone by a rope. The smell of burnt bird wafted up to meet her senses. She focused on their captive and saw a light skinned woman wearing no clothing. Lysia made out the remnants of charred fleshy stubs jutting from her shoulders that perhaps had once been wings. The woman was bound by a thick strong rope around her arms with the other end held by one of the more eccentric looking shadow elves that followed behind. Another Zecairin, this one a female, held the leash to her neck, and pulled her along. The last two stood behind with spears ready to skewer her. Their captive stumbled, and Lysia's draw arm started to tremble in anticipation. The one holding her leash struck the captive with the back of her hand, and the other three tensed. Slowly the captive rose to her feet, and continued forward without any resistance. Lysia quietly raised an arrow and took aim. But another whisper on the wind told her to wait, and listen. When they returned to their campsite and saw the mutilated bodies they cursed and swore. The spear wielders struck the captives inside the cage with the butts of their spears until the cries for mercy finally turned into groans of pain. The older captive had already lost her will to fight, and was made to sit before a tree trunk. She was tied to it, with her arms pulled painfully backwards and tied. The rope at her neck that served as a leash was also wrapped around the trunk. It was in this position that Lysia could see that her belly was very distended -- she was pregnant, and far along. Lysia clenched her teeth, her cheek twitched, and her hand pulled back her arrow quietly. "Not yet..." a firm, but calming voice came to her on the wind. "But soon..." Harpies eat the deceased, Lysia reminded herself. It was a repulsive characteristic that made them free game to any traveler that wanted to rid the world of any that crossed their paths. But as she looked at this creature now, broken, captive and with child, she came to understand that the laws and rules of the world were very broken. Even a creature such as this should be allowed to live in peace somewhere. She heard them arguing below, and made out parts of the discussion. They were all that were left -- the harpy had killed the rest of their party before being captured. But that meant one of them would be reduced to manual labor now that their mercenaries had also met an unfortunate end. None of them would lower themselves to such a status before the others. One of the spear wielders, growing frustrated, approached the mother and prodded her belly with the butt of his spear while spewing some sort of Zecairin insult at her. Lysia spooked when she saw the fetus move inside and as the harpy cried out in pain. Such a reaction unnerved the slaver as well and he prodded it again. The harpy wailed in agony as something prodded back...and started to become very restless inside her. Lysia stared, transfixed. As did the harpy's captors. Was this normal? "On my signal, take the purple-haired male poking her. If they don't surrender, I'll take the green haired male. Keep sight on the woman but don't f..." Tamain's voice reached her up in the branches, but was cut short by the earsplitting shriek of the pregnant harpy. Her belly had split open and something covered in blood and gore was crawling out. The purple-haired spear wielder, taken aback, found his spine again and moved to poke at whatever it was. A small blood-covered hand grabbed the spear, and held on. Lysia saw claws on those tiny digits, and the small wings that started to unfurl were leathery and skinned, not feather. Something was very wrong here. "Shit! NOW~!" Tamain's voice reached her, breaking the spell. Lysia took aim, but the creature had leapt up at the man and tore his throat out without another breath before she could shoot him. It gulped down the morsel of flesh, causing the green-haired male looking on to retch all over the ground. The female Zecairin in black leathers shouted a command, and her sword glowed with magic -- but Lysia ended the rest of it in her throat with a shot through the neck. The last two slavers looked up and upon seeing her assassin in the trees they spooked and turned to run. The unholy offspring screeched and spread its wings, one fleeing male couldn't get away fast enough and had his face clawed off as it descended on him. As he stumbled, it tore out his throat as well and feasted as it had on the first. Lysia could only stare transfixed, with a sudden fear rising within her -- this thing was not a harpy, and she didn't know what it was. Instinct took over and she took aim at it. The last slaver beat her to it and took the opportunity of his companions' demise to strike the creature from behind with his weapon. He ran it through the torso, and held on as it squirmed and struggled, releasing an unholy cacophony of screeches. A shadow moved out of the corner of her eye and Lysia saw Tamain at the mother's side. Another shadow came from behind a tree and made for the creature as it -- to its slayer's surprise and fear -- was crawling its way up the spear shaft towards him. The man panicked and dropped his spear just as the creature pulled itself free, leapt at him, and feasted on his face. Rollis pulled up short, seeing himself too late to assist and slowly backed away. Lysia couldn't move; horror had her in its cold clutches. "Rollis! Cut her free!" Tamain barked, as he had his hands wrist deep in her innards. Whatever he was doing, the harpy was still alive and loudly protesting his manipulation of her wound, but blood loss had reduced her comments to unintelligible drivel. "Stay awake!" he shouted and slapped her with a bloody hand. Rollis had successfully sidestepped the gorging creature and was there with a knife cutting her free. "What the hell is that?" He growled. "Not now!" Tamain hissed. His fingers deftly at work grabbing hold of bleeding flesh and arteries and fusing them back together with short bursts of magic. "Get her flat, I can't see the damage." Rollis did as instructed. "FUCK!" Tamain swore as he felt around inside her. "It got the liver..." he felt around delicately. "but not the spine." He worked as quickly as possible. "Rollis! Free one of the hatchlings, bring her here, tell her she can help her mother. Quickly!" A moment later the cage door was shattered. The young harpy girls had heard everything and didn't need to be asked twice. Both were at their mother's side as Tamain looked up pleadingly to them. They were bruised and bleeding from a few gashes, but mostly looked healthy. "I need some of your blood, to replace what she has lost. But not all of it. You'll be fine." Rollis knew the routine, and had a nice cut in the mother's neck, and one on the girl's wrist. She shrieked at first and grabbed her bleeding wrist. "You'll be next when your sister has helped all she can." The other one nodded in understanding. Tamain took hold of the girl's slit wrist as blood started to flow generously and placed it to her mother's neck after the cut was made. There he held it, using his power to make blood flow orderly from the daughter to the mother without spillage. It was simple enough, but not while also trying to mend rent flesh. He had to keep hold of it while he worked. "What now?" Rollis asked, ready to assist. He had seen Tamain perform medic miracles before. Generic magic healing mended flesh, but not always the way it originally formed. Extensive damage to the body usually could not be healed properly before the subject expired. Tamain knew this, and had developed the healer's art. "Keep that THING away!" Tamain barked. Lysia had come down to join them, seeing the danger less than what it was -- the creature was content to feast on the fallen and ignored them. But what was just as disturbing was it had grown twice its size already. Color started to return to the mother's face, and her eyes started to roll open but her mind was loosely awake. Tamain's own face contorted into a snarling scowl with each bright burst of magic healing from his submerged fingers. Sections of torn flesh mended, blood vessels repaired, the liver healed, but the last challenge was hefty -- little remained of her womb, it had been torn out with her offspring. Her offspring... He looked up to the two daughters. His assistant was growing pale and wobbly. He released her from the transfusion and mended her wrist, and had her sister step in. Tamain himself was growing pallid from the massive exertion of magic. But he had saved worse before... and there was still it to contend with. "Lysia, give your bow to Rollis." Tamain said. His swarthy demeanor was gone, the tone in his voice was ungentle, but fair -- a leader true. She found herself complying despite her fear of now being unarmed. "Rollis, kill it." "Gladly," Rollis had an arrow in its head before he finished the comment. The creature shrieked and took to the sky on its leathery wings. Lysia stared slack-jawed, as did Rollis. The thing was escaping with an arrow through its skull. "What in the hell?!" he grumbled. "Track it!" Tamain shouted. "Bring it down and don't let it feed!" The pair was afoot and after it through the trees. Gone. Harla, the young harpy girl with her wrist to her mother's neck, feeding her her blood, had hoped for a younger brother to play with. But the monster that had come out had hurt Mother, and it should be punished. Yuma would agree, were she not resting on the ground, nearly fainted. Silence grew around them, allowing Tamain some peace to concentrate. "Thank you," the Harpy said. Tamain glanced up to see her conscious, despite his hand still embedded in her gut. He resumed his work. His scowl had diminished, a sign that he was nearly done. "I would advise you to rest, but I need answers. There is only one name I know of to describe a creature like that... ghrim'in shka." A Zecairin word. "Ghrim'in shka..." the harpy repeated with dark humor. "Demon spawn. Yes, that is what it is." she sighed. "You'll live," Tamain announced. "But I am not sure if you will bear children again." He added apologetically. The mother touched the cheek of her daughter lovingly. "I have lived long enough to see the end of my kind," She smiled to Harla, and turned her head to see Yuma resting on the ground beside her. Suddenly overcome with joy and sorrow at the same time she teared up as she stroked Yuma's head affectionately. "Thank you for saving them too." Tamain ignored her, he was just about to closer her up when he found an unusual mass inside. His fingers felt its shape to determine what it was. "Yesss." he hissed in celebration. Grabbing it and repositioning the organ back where it had been torn from, he poured healing energy into the flesh. It reattached, grew a new enclosure, and he withdrew his hand and mended her belly back together. With a huge sigh of satisfaction he released Harla, and collapsed backwards onto his back. "I expect your next child to be named after me," he chuckled. "Wait... don't eat me." The mother placed her hand over her belly and felt the tender flesh. "We only eat the dead," the mother corrected him. "You are truly gifted. Thank you. I will gladly live out my servitude for this blessing." Tamain sat up with a scowl. His color was slowly returning now that the strain was over. "I am not a slaver." He said indignantly. The harpy sat up to return his scowl. Apparently things were not as they seemed with this Zecairin. "I still owe a debt." "Then tell me all you know about Demon Spawn, and I will honor it paid" "As you wish," She said and sat up properly, folding her avian legs under her demurely. A hand reached back to the stubs of her lost wings. Tamain realized his forgetfulness and stood up, but before he could resume her medical treatment her own hands glowed with the yellow hue of magic and touched one after the other. He watched in admiration as boney, skin covered appendages started to sprout from the stumps. It was painful to her, but she held it in as they healed and grew back to their former shape very rapidly. Golden feathers started to sprout by the hundreds. With a final flourish she spread them and stretched the newly formed tendons and muscles. Her hands massaged sore shoulders as she tilted her head and gave him a sultry look when she caught him starring. Tamain felt the sudden rush of blood to his loins. But it was the sharp teeth he spied in her barely parted lips and the hungry look in her eyes that gave him a second thought. She rose to her feet. Her wings furled up under her arms, hugging her torso snugly and forming a strapless dress of feathers that -- to Tamain's dismay - covered her large breasts as well as the rest of her. She walked to him in a brazen, yet ladylike glory. "I am hungry..." she leaned down and whispered in his ear. Whatever spell of seduction she was trying to weave, those words broke it purposely. "Harla, help your sister up. It's time to eat." Tamain looked away as the harpy girls went to their grisly work. Despite his misgivings, it was how they ate, and he reminded himself to be tolerant. Their carrion being Zecairins, he struggled with his conscience. Despite their wickedness, they did not deserve this fate. But then, life was often cruel. He sat with his back to them, letting them eat in peace, and folded his hands in his lap to meditate and stave off the headache he could already feel growing behind his eyes from overuse of magic. The sounds of rending flesh and crunching bone made the task very difficult. Demon spawn... Tamain cursed in his thoughts. They were legends meant to frighten children or the gullible. Yet, she had confirmed his fear, and he had no reason to doubt her. Tamain wasn't going to sleep easy tonight unless he had his answers. If it was true, how did she birth one? A more sinister thought took a hard cold grasp of his spine -- was Demon's Blood made with actual demon's blood? Had a corrupted Zecairin mated with her and that was how it was birthed? Were all future generations of Zecair doomed to become one of those? The world would not survive that! A gentle hand touched his cheek, caressed it, wiped the cold, nervous sweat from his brown, and tantalized an ear until he had been subdued by her touch. It was the best way he had ever been woken from his meditations before. It surprised him that she knew how to do this. "Demon Spawn are the offspring of an Infected, and one who is not. They cannot reproduce by themselves. They are little more than worker drones with all of a demon's strength, but none of its intelligence." She said as she affectionately stroked his head of short dark hair. "The evil that has spread to Zecair is not responsible." She somehow understood his fear, and had first dispelled it before continuing. Tamain opened his eyes and slowly stood up to face her. She was wearing her gown of feathers and a warm smile on her face -- which was remarkably free of blood from their feasting. The color in her cheeks spoke of her newly found health. There was a follow up question he was about to ask, but he realized the sensitive nature of it before it was voiced. "I last took a human to my nest, and bedded him. He was strong, I could smell it in his veins, and I hoped for strong children by him." Her yellow eyes captured his attention and wouldn't let it go. It was the stare of a predator that had locked onto something she wanted. Tamain found himself having a hard time meeting her gaze with so much of her to also look at. "They can only be killed by magic. It is the same for their progenitor. But... this human was somehow different. Something is wrong about it" Another matter suddenly stole Tamain's attention. "Magic?! Lysia!" He whined and grabbed his temples. "My friends won't be able to stop it. I have to find them! They're in danger!" He thrust his hand high above him and summoned a swirling sphere of air above his head. The Harpy took a step back in bewilderment, but licked her lips as that look of desire intensified in her eyes. "Call for me when you find it. My name is Eola." Eola said. "Tamain." He replied as his sphere built up sufficient charge. "Of the Discarded." With a high pitched whoosh of rushing wind he was sucked up into the sky at an alarming speed. She watched his form turn to a small dot in the sky as he flew away. "Tamain," Eola licked her lips. "Of the Discovered..." she cooed to herself and turned to attend to her daughters. * * * * * Lost in the Light Ch. 12 "My lady has grown cold hearted," Valel whispered to Iala in Elthairin as they ran along at a brisk pace behind the others. Rollis led the way with his crudely restrung bow, and Lysia guided him in the direction the creature went. Tamain, however, brought up the rear and was barely able to keep up with them. He was still mentally exhausted from channeling excessive amounts of magic saving the Harpai woman. But his instructions had been understood; if this was a demon spawn, he was their only weapon against it and he needed to be ready. So he lagged behind, and rested his senses. Iala clenched her jaw and did not respond. Valel thought that perhaps it was the embarrassment of earlier, or his own defiance against her, or the fact she was traveling with two Zecairins and a traitor, but she hadn't said a word since their joint venture began. Valel glanced behind him to find Tamain still there. He could tell by his vacant gaze that Tamain was off in daydream land. "Before today, I think. I first noticed it after the princess returned with Father." Valel added. "How do you expect me to accept a declaration of war against our own people?" Iala hissed back at him angrily. Valel had no immediate answer, he had suspected her feelings, but had hoped not to have to have this argument. "How did you expect me to accept the orders to end Lysia's life?" Valel countered calmly. "A Knight follows orders. Even such orders that he does not see the reasoning in. Yet despite my feelings about it, you had a justified reason for it. You did not want her to suffer alone in this land after we were gone." Valel added. Iala almost stopped running when she looked at him in confusion. She had been set up and was just now realizing it. "You will make a fine Captain," She sighed in exasperation. "I concede." "My lady is most gracious." Valel smiled. Tamain glanced up from the back of their heels to regard each of the Elthairin elves in turn. His bloodshot eyes and perpetual scowl were more due to the burning headache than his mood or the consideration he was giving these two and their secret conversation. The group burst through the tree line and into some outlying farmsteads. The squealing of terrified hogs drew their attention and Rollis made a straight line for the disturbance. They closed in, and much to their reluctant delight, they found their winged prey as it took flight from the hog pen it had been feasting in. Iala froze in shock when she saw as there was no denying the legendary horror that it was. The monster had grown. Its leathery wings were massive and twice as long as it was tall. A long barbed tail swished about with half a skewered carcass still attached. Its gangly arms ended in claws longer than most knives. Its head was humanoid but with a slightly elongated maw full of fangs. But it was the skin coloring that showed it for what it was; it was covered in reddish skin, blackened by a splotchy leathery hide. She had secretly hopped this had been a fool's quest, or at best a Zecairin trap. Instead she stood frozen in panic. Rollis shot it out of the air with two arrows through its wings right at the shoulder muscles. It shrieked and plummeted to the ground. "I'm not ready." Tamain instructed, exasperated, his voice weighted with weariness. "Leaf Knights! Use elements on your weapons and keep it down!" Iala was bristled out of her shock at being commanded by a Zecairin, but she could not argue his tactics and Valel was already well ahead of her with two flaming swords at his sides. She drew her own blades, charged them with cold magic, and followed him. But pulled up short when she spotted Lysia joining the fight with her own knife. "No!" Iala commanded. "Support him!" She pointed at Rollis. "If it gets past us, then engage it." She gave as concession. Lysia followed her orders. Valel was upon it a moment later, slicing off bits of wings and limbs. But it had grown, and now matched him in size. Its regenerative ability was quickly regrowing limbs and flesh faster than Valel could cut them off despite the charred wounds. The Elthairin knight was losing the fight as it scored a nasty wound on his forearm, and then followed up by shredding big chunks from his shoulders. His own muscles did not work so well after being rent and severed, and Valel collapsed to his knees. Despite the pain, he set himself to healing just as Iala took over the battle. Truly a master of her art, her body twisted acrobatically through the air to dodge the monster's blows as she scored her own gruesome hits. Bits of the creature flew through the air and splattered the landscape. But for every blob of gore that landed another had regrown in its place before the former had dissolved into an acrid pool of yellow goo. The charred flesh where Valel's blades had scored their hits were regenerating more slowly, but not enough to tip the fight in their favor. An arrow streaked between them to puncture an eye, blinding the creature. Iala was grateful for the support, despite its questionable source, and committed herself completely to the joint task. She worked off of the incapacitation Rollis provided, and severed legs and arms from its blinded side, until the arrow fell away, dissolved by its own blood. Frustrated at a stalemated fight, the creature roared, and from its mouth spewed more of the dark yellow acid. Iala back-flipped out of the way, but not before getting her legs coated in the caustic slime. It burned through her leather leggings and sizzled her skin quickly and she shrieked. In proper riposte, she threw a blade at its head and plugged the spewing mouth with her own steel. It did little but to diffuse the spray to the sides, and Valel had to scramble to avoid getting covered. But the damage had been done, and Iala was now out of the fight. The acid had burned the flesh off her shins and she had to stop to work healing magic on them before she could stand again. An arrow struck it in the cheek, exploded, and half the creature's head disappeared in a red mist. It howled horribly as its flesh quickly reformed, and fled the battle by flying off. "Fuck, that worked?!" Rollis hooted and slapped Lysia's shoulders. "Do it again!" He said as he took aim with another shot. Lysia focused hard and magically packed compressed air into the metal arrowhead. Rollis let the shot fly, but at the last minute the creature dove, and it struck its tail instead of its back. The arrow exploded and half the tail blew off. Unfazed, it hastened its retreat by climbing higher into the sky. "Tamain!?" Rollis howled, hoping for instruction. But he found his leader's body locked rigidly upright and twitching uncontrollably with his head thrown back. Lysia ran to him, but the static magic around him made her pull up short and grab her temples in pain. Whatever he was doing, it was massive, and massively taxing to his body. As she backed away Lysia suddenly wondered what this would do to him when he was finished, as weak as he was. "Stop it before it gets to the town!" Rollis shouted. "If it feeds again it'll only get bigger!" Iala had crudely healed her legs and was working her magic on Valel's rent arms. "Go!" Valel shouted. Iala locked her jaw and stopped his bleeding, and he rewarded her for her efforts by him thrusting his blades into her hands. Hers had been so coated in the monster's blood and ichor that even the one that hadn't been dissolved in its throat wasn't of much better use. A dark shadow fell over them, and Iala looked skyward to find dark clouds had suddenly formed in a concentrated area directly above them. She didn't give it a second thought and the Knight Captain sped after the creature as fast as her feet could carry her. As fast as she was she wasn't gaining on the creature, and the walls of the town were already fast approaching. "Drop it!" She yelled back as it started to dive for the other side of the walls. But no arrows flew overhead. With a grunt, she sheathed her blades and pulled her own short bow out from under her tattered cloak. Her garment along with her quiver had also taken a splash of the monster's acid, but she was able to pull a few quality arrows from it. Two pinpoint shots in quick succession and she had it plummeting to the ground. She winced when it fell on the other side of the town walls to the crash of splintering wood timbers and a plume of dust and debris. The humans could do nothing against something like this but feed it. She rued letting it get that close to them. Iala scanned the wall's length. It was too high to jump over and the stonework looked too slick with mildew and moss to climb. Worse, she couldn't see an opening on this side – she would have to go around. Someone grabbed her from behind, and a terrible rush of wind yanked her off her feet before she could react. She only caught a glimpse of his dark skinned arm, and the swirling air vortex that pulled them up and over the wall before he gave out and they crashed to the ground on the other side. Tamain had somehow carried her over with his magic. The two tumbled across the dirt part along the wall and into the side of a house. Iala stood and staggered uncertainly in the direction of her prey before the stars and white dots faded from view. When she rounded the corner, it wasn't hard to tell where it had fallen from the ruin in front of her. She found it half-buried in a crumbling stone foundation of the nearby house. That entire wall was in danger of collapsing and already there were shouts of alarm from the occupants inside. A quick assessment of the structure and she knew how to bring it down on top of the creature. But not yet. Human soldiers had come to investigate the commotion. They found themselves unprepared and uncertain of how to handle an Elthairin woman demolishing buildings. Their surprise and irritation was premature as a leathery monster broke through the building's damaged side with a shriek. The men that had startled at seeing an Elth, panicked and fled upon seeing the monster emerge. Iala looked up to the sky in exasperation; she was exhausted, wounded, and hoping these black clouds somehow held the key. Black clouds like this usually preceded a storm. It started to rain. The creature was trying to wrench its still buried wings free when Tamain emerged, clinging to the side of a building woozily, panting heavily and trying desperately to stand upright. Iala looked at him pityingly. Her harsh judgment of him had been a terrible injustice. Never again. Came her Queen's harsh instruction. And she couldn't help but snort derisively at her own nearsightedness. They had been right all along – all of them. And she owed them all a great apology. If they survived the day, tomorrow would be all the sweeter now. But she knew that was not going to happen. This monster needed to be stopped, and there was a certain way she would apologize to them and redeem her honor without having to say a word. "Tamain of The Discarded," she called out. Tamain groggily looked up. "Strike it with all your might. I will hold it still for you." And with that she leveled one weapon, flipped the other to a backhanded grip, and charged at it. Severing both the creatures arms at the shoulders before it could turn its attention to her. Without pausing, she threw her shoulder into the foundation's cornerstone and her strength behind it. It broke free, and the wall shuddered. She had only a second to react and get free before half the wall collapsed on top of the creature. The din was horrible, and the dust blinding. "Now! Destroy it!" She shouted and started to retreat from the devastation she knew was about to happen. But nothing happened. She looked over and found the Zecairin half collapsed to the ground with a hand outstretched to the heavens, his body wracking with convulsions as he was focusing his power. Then there was a shriek of terrified horror. Iala looked up to see three human girls huddled in a corner of the upper floor of the house. The floor, and their escape, had collapsed below. The rubble stirred below them, and a grotesque face protruded and eyed the girls hungrily. "Now Zek!" She screamed and bounded over the rubble, skewering the beast in the head with one blade, pinning it, and reaching the girls in one leap, landing gracefully on the structurally unsound floor. It creaked and gave way under her added weight and all four of them slid down the breaking floor boards to the ground below. "Go!" she coughed through the dust and pushed the girls away. It took them a moment to realize what was happening, but they followed instruction. But much to Iala's wonderment and fear as she realized what it was, the hair on all three of their heads was starting to stand on end. Lightning was about to strike. She could taste the charge in the dust choked air. Good. Kill this abomination. She thought relieved. End our misery once and for all. You have my gratitude Zek, my respect, but also my hatred. I am not that noble a lady anymore. Iala closed her eyes and waited for destiny to strike. The monster's tail broke free of the rubble and speared her through the thigh. She screamed. "Damn you Zek!" She wailed as it crawled towards her with a hungry look in its eyes. With her remaining weapon she severed the tail and turned to crawl away. There was a blinding flash of light. Iala braced for the earsplitting boom of thunder. But all she heard were the gasps of surprise of the humans nearby, an eerie silence, the horrible smell of something burnt, then a thunderous roar of celebration. Helping hands pulled her up and free of the rubble. She had hoped it to be Valel, Lysia, or perhaps even the other Zek. But it was the guardsmen in their panic stricken, yet grateful expressions that welcomed her back to a calmer reality. They helped her to her feet, pulled out the creature's spiny tail, and bound her wounds. All this took long painful moments, but her dazed state of mind was blanking out. The rain was starting to cease, and a clearer sky was returning. Valel and Lysia appeared sometime later. Iala had lost track of the time. She was content to collapse on her haunches, seated on the ground as the guardsmen inspected the rubble for traces of the monster. They spoke to her, asked her things, but she stared blankly off into the distance for now. What exactly was that magic he had used? She wondered. She was not widely versed in magic, but she understood the general principles. It seemed as if he was calling a lightning strike – no small feat – but there was no thunderous boom, and a strike that close should have killed her as well. She looked up to where Tamain lay. His body was face down in the dirt, and he was very still. "Help him," She managed to say and gestured to the still Zecairin. Lysia squeaked in surprised and rushed over Tamain. She found him still alive just unconscious with a face full of mud. "Mother," Valel said as he tended to her leg. Iala's blank bewildered stare slowly turned to regard him. "Hmm?" she said. "There was an incident here recently with a Zecairin. We need to get him out of here before they arrest him, or us." Valel said in Elthairin. Iala scowled and looked around. Whereas she and her son were being regarded in a friendly manner, the guardsmen had weapons at the ready and were giving Lysia and the shadow elf she struggled to carry a cautious, almost threatening distance. They wore chain shirts and held metal spears and swords. Iala snorted and shook her head – if they threatened him it would only take one spark and he'd have them all on their backs, she mused. If he was awake that is. "I'll handle it," she sighed and rose to her feet. Some diplomatic conversations later with her arms sternly crossed over her chest along with her fierce scowl and she had negotiated the Zecairin's release into her custody. Service to the town be damned, they were ready to hang him for simply being a shadow elf. But during the course of the conversation she gained some valuable intel – recently a Zecairin masquerading as a brother from Riyarra's Monastery had killed a few people. Her Queen would be eager to hear that. The townsfolk were grateful for the slaying of the creature, but aggravated that it had been steered their direction in the first place. Yet when she regaled the guardsmen of what had happened in the fight outside of town – accented by the nasty looking scars over Valel's arms - they dissuaded the farmers from demanding compensation for the hogs. The magistrate, whose home had been half destroyed, was a different matter. This man was clever and unscrupulous in the face of personal loss, and when he expected to be compensated by the Elthairin crown for the loss of his house, Iala turned a steely gaze on him that made his face turn pale. It was the guard-captain's suggestion to the Magistrate that settled the matter honorably and amicably by declaring the reward to the elves for saving the town equal to the losses incurred during the battle. Many offers were made to host and toast the town's saviors, but the Knight Captain thought it best to escort their "prisoner" to his "dungeon" before he woke. And all were immediately understanding. Three Elthairins and one unconscious Zecairin soon left Hornsdale and were grateful for the company of Rollis who waited patiently well out of sight. Iala found she preferred his grumbling company over the irksome, squabblesome, fawning humans. **** Riyarra was putting her new combat leathers through their rigors when the delegation returned. She was now wearing the same green vest, arm bracers, and leather leggings as the rest of the unit. Those Knights not on duty or not in their tents resting were helping her break them in with a round robin spar session. Each combatant eagerly joined in the fray, but once she landed a critical blow they were tagged out and had to retreat to the ring's edge. Thus far, only a few had managed their own blows. However, because the purpose was to allow Riyarra to regain her skills, she remained in the fight. It was clear from the scowls of frustration and the rubbing of bruised muscles that these handful of Knights were not expecting such a challenge from the princess. They studied her movements as they waited their turn. Some so intently they passed on their opportunities to rejoin. When someone discovered a weakness in her technique, they all exploited it, hammering her hard and pressing the advantage until she worked the kinks out of her movements and became more fluid, or adapted her tactics. Iala and Valel's return had gone unnoticed until Iala broke through the ring. Riyarra and Jayrill paused, they both recognized the Knight Captain with her stern look and crossed arms, and broke off the session. Each of them sat on her knees and placed her hands on her hips, a sign of respect to the Knight Captain and their way of awaiting instruction. Jayrill looked over at the red face, panting Queen with an incredulous look as if she had forgotten something and tried to signal for her to rise. The rest held looks of mixed amusement and shock at her behavior. Apparently the Queen should bow to no one. Even Iala's stern expression was taken aback as she struggled to hide her sudden embarrassment, and her back involuntarily hunched over as if she couldn't decide if she should kneel as well. With the captain's permission. Riyarra signed in their silent hand language. Iala nodded quickly and Riyarra stood. Her heavy breathing was slowly calming down and she gathered up her borrowed swords and sheathed them at her hips. While I am here, I am one of you. She signed. Elsewhere, not. The Knights gave each other a long look. Some did not think it appropriate, some thought it too appropriate – she had earned her position as Leaf Knight after all, and it was not as if they had a crown for her to wear as it was. Lost in the Light Ch. 12 Something caught Riyarra's eye and she pushed past the ring to where Valel was trying to not be noticed. It was then all eyes turned on him and noticed the horrible scars and mangled, crudely healed wounds on his arms. It was the rending of his left shoulder that had left it almost unusable, as muscle that should be there was missing in small chunks. Riyarra's concern betrayed her, and Valel scowled and shook his head signing. Father will heal. She understood, nodded to Brylen to help him find Twenyl, and turned her attention to Iala with a dark look in her eyes. Iala nodded to the hanging tents above, and they both leapt up through the branches to one of them. Inside they could speak freely without breaking the Knight's Code. Riyarra had been reprimanded by both her and Twenyl for her initial transgressions – spoken words outside of camp only. Riyarra took one of the wash buckets and started to clean the sweat from her brow, neck, and arms. "My Queen," Iala began humbly. It wasn't a tone Riyarra was used to, especially from Iala, and it made her pause mid rinse. "I do not know where to begin..." The Knight Captain said, but eventually began to report of their encounter with the Zecairins and Lysia, even admitting to her outburst of aggression against Rollis which Riyarra was not pleased with. Her face turned expressionless, and her eyes cold, but she bid the Captain continue. The story improved, as apparently Tamain had won her respect with his ability, honor, and persuasive reasoning. But it was the tale of the demon spawn that was the most unsettling. And yet, Riyarra was not as surprised as the Captain had expected. Shocked perhaps, but soon it turned to a grim understanding as some unknown piece to the puzzle of her mysterious Monastery fit into place. The report about the rogue Zecairin murdering townsfolk coincided with the one they had spotting sparing with the Elite on a few occasions. Which revealed another problem – a Zecairin was learning to fight as well as those humans. They would be a serious threat to any Leaf Knight should the worst happen. Iala concluded her report with the five of them parting of ways, with Lysia and Rollis carrying Tamain home alone, despite Iala and Valel's offer to escort. "Clearly we have underestimated him, and we have done him a disservice," Riyarra said, amazed. "Rollis-" Iala was about to say before the flap to the tent burst open and a panic stricken Twenyl burst in without announcing himself. He ignored protocol and looked to his wife and his Queen with grave concern in his eyes. Riyarra motioned for him to enter and sit, and the old elf did just that. "Demon Spawn!? From a harpy!?" Twenyl said incredulously. "Demon spawn inherit form and abilities from both. For this Tamain to have destroyed one so utterly... My Queen do not pursue this alliance! We must leave this region at once!" "A Harpai." Iala corrected him. "Had it been born with a mind, her powers would have passed on to it, and we would all be dead." "Merciful Night Hunter!" The cleric exclaimed. "Great Earth Spirit, protect us from this evil." He prayed out loud and clasped his hands over his heart as if the news had shortened his life by a century. "We owe Tamain, and his people." Riyarra declared. "He has his alliance unless you can tell me for certain it is a trap." She waited for Iala to respond, but she only shook her head. Tamain had indeed won her respect. "Before you protest," she held a hand up to Twenyl. "You know the wrath that lives in my heart against his people. I would not suffer their presence solely out of honorable obligation for his selfless deed." Twenyl's protest was swallowed hard, he could not deny that. Iala arched an eyebrow at her husband – she knew Riyarra had escaped Zecair, but she did not know what she had had to endure to achieve that. Apparently Twenyl did; the princess had confided her pain in the Cleric. Riyarra caught her expression, and understood it. "Iala," she said softly, her coolness breaking and the hurt in her voice became apparent. "As a Knight you do not want to know. As an Elthairin you do not want to know. Even as a woman, you do not want to know. I am grateful for your husband's support. He has helped me realize my wounds are deeper that I thought and is helping me heal them." Iala was shocked by this sudden confidence in her. It was touching, but also enraging. Her imagination was not so limited, she had spent many years in the field as it was, and had fought Zecairins and seen the carnage they bring. Her wandering thoughts were interrupted by Twenyl's consoling touch. "Head our Queen's advice. Do not take that journey." He smiled sadly. Iala took a deep calming breath, squared her shoulders, and nodded agreement as she pushed the thoughts from her mind. "I can appreciate Tamain's desire to learn how we cured the curse," Riyarra said thoughtfully. "If he truly is an outsider from their madness, then his heart must ache, just as ours do, to see what our people have become." She looked to both of her advisers, and they nodded their agreement. "He has his alliance regardless of how I feel about his kind." **** In the marshes southeast of Zecair, fireflies floated about in the darkness of night and the chirps of crickets and croaks of frogs sang. A small hamlet had been crudely erected over the bog and shallow waters from rough hewn planks, logs, branches, and rope. The warm moist air clung to his bare chest uncomfortably and Tamain stirred awake. His eyes opened and he took in his surroundings, but he could see nothing in the darkness. He could feel her laying beside to him in the darkness, her hand on his chest, and her cheek pressed against it. She stirred awake just as he did. "Tamain?" Lysia said uncertainly. "My lovely mouse," he groaned and brought a hand to his temples. "I cannot see, where are we?" He felt her sit up, place her hands on his face, and gently hold open an eyelid as she inspected him. "Home," she said. "No it is not so dark. Your eyes have a cloudy white look to them. I'll go get Corella." Tamain chuckled darkly as she got up and left the hut. "The one thing I cannot heal," he sighed. "Let us pray it passes." He struggled to sit up, his whole body ached as if he had fought off a dragon bare handed. But he was whole, and naked. A thin blanket, damp from sweat and the humidity clung uncomfortably to his legs. He pulled it around his waist modestly and sat up to allow his senses to take in his surroundings. It felt like home. Lysia was still with him. They must have won the battle. But what of the Leaf Knights? He hadn't been able to give them his response. Soft footsteps at the doorway announced a visitor. "How did the day go?" He asked, eager to hear news. "Dearest Tamain of the Discarded has won the day," Eola's voice returned. Tamain looked in her direction, surprised obviously, but he did not move out of bed. "I did not think I would see you again," He said calmly. He could not deduce why she would be here. The only possibility was curiosity, or... "I am sorry for your loss." He said. Despite the end results, it was still her child he had killed. "Oh?" She said coyly. "Should I take my revenge upon your flesh?" She said with mock anger. Without warning nails dragged across his chest and drew blood. Tamain winced and brought a hand up to guard against his unseen visitor. Suddenly he realized how foolish that was of him. He was completely defenseless, and something about her demeanor said that no one else knew she was here. He would have to play this more carefully. "Should I expect remuneration? Will you give me a new son?" she stroked his ear with her fingertips. He could hear her kneeling beside him, and he cautiously turned his head to face her even though he could not see her. Gentle hands touched his chest, and her wet tongue licked the blood drawn by her nails from his chest. One lick, and then her touch was gone. "You are very strong, Tamain of the Discarded. Wise, kind, but a dreamer none the less." she chided him. "Seek out the shaman in your dreams if you want answers. But do not seek me, you have sided with the Elthairins." Her words were a mystery to him, but he felt her footsteps leave his room. "Wait, Eola," He said, and she paused. "You have been shunned for so long. Would you at least entertain the idea of a home here? With us? Perhaps not today, but someday soon. There is strength in numbers, strength to protect your daughters and their daughters. You need not disappear to time and memory. There is no need to be alone anymore." There was a pause. She leapt at him. He expected to be scratched again, but instead kissed him. Deeply. Fiercely. Her hands cradled his head and wouldn't let him go. His manflesh responded despite his confusion. He could feel her trembling. Sadness? Happiness? Fear? Damn this blindness... But all too soon it was over, and she left without another word. Leaving behind a stunned Tamain unsure of what to say or do. Lysia returned a moment later with someone that smelled familiarly of musk – Corella. He shifted in his sitting position and adjusted his blanket to cover his erection. "Such modesty. Tam." Corella teased him. He ignored her, still flustered, and allowed her to work at inspecting him. She took hold of his head, and by his estimation was looking into his eyes. "It'll pass," He assured them. "I've overexerted myself before." "It takes its toll over time, Tam," She argued. "Are you hungry?" "Do we have any roast pig?" He joked. "Just a few lizards left, today's fish didn't last long." Lysia said. Tamain smiled at her. She was apparently fitting in nicely. Tamain nodded agreement, and she left to go fetch some, allowing Corella some time to sit with him. "Tam, why is there a large white feather in your bed?" She said curiously, stroking the fresh scratches on his chest with it. "And these?" Tamain wasn't sure what all she knew, but he assumed Rollis had reported most of it. "The mother Harpai paid her respects." He said. "She was both grateful and irate. Blood masters had captured her after all. These were just a polite warning, but I think I won her over in the end." "Was she pretty?" Corella reached down and grabbed his hidden erection, giving it a tormenting squeeze of attention. "When I last saw her she was," He groaned, somewhat yearning, somewhat annoyed. Corella withdrew. Her teasing was poor form at the moment. Tamain might be able to jest away his injury, but there was still the seriousness of it brought on by its uncertain curability. "I am disturbed that she just walked in here without us knowing," She remarked. "She must have followed you." "Secrecy has always been our only defense," Tamain said. "This time we slipped up." Lysia returned a moment later with a few cooked lizards on a spit. Tamain ate what he could and left the rest. Corella ushered Lysia out of his room for a moment. "I'm going to borrow her Tam, so you can get some rest. You'll need it for your big day tomorrow. You have a meeting to plan." Corella reminded him. Tamain's countenance sank. She knew she had hit him hard just when his shoulders needed a relief from their burdens. But this alliance was his idea, and he could not let it slip by because of his condition. "If you need anything..." she trailed off and closed the rickety door to his shack. Corella had known him for a long time, and she knew he would be up all night brooding. But by morning he would have a plan for them for how to deal with the Elthairins. "Thank you for taking care of him," She said and guided Lysia away with her arm around her hip. The two women were wearing lightweight one-piece dresses that ended at the knees. It was the only comfortable thing they could wear in this oppressive humidity. Ever since they had returned with Tamain, Lysia had somehow proven herself to them and the entire village had opened up to her more so than the few she had met at The Hole. There were families here with children and elders. Most of the inhabitants were Zecairins but there were a few Cutharin lizardmen who were most likely former slaves. Lysia had been amazed to see half-naked Zecairin children run by with little more on their bodies than her, but she understood why. At times it was almost hard to breathe in the dense air. She was used to the clearer, crisper mountain air. Word had been spread about her, at first the locals were cautious and curious. Some of the older Zecairins obviously still harbored resentment, and shied away, but the Discarded spoke for her. The militia force she had met in the cave were the ones who identified themselves as The Discarded. However they had all taken non-traditional Zecairin names – yet another thing that established themselves differently from their kin. "Just for tonight," Corella said as she guided her into a different shack. "He's back to being all yours tomorrow." "Do you know what's wrong with him?" Lysia asked, standing in the doorway. The shack was empty but there was a rope strung bed with a stuffed mattress, along with a pillow and blanket. Corella turned back, walked past her inside and sat down on the bed. "Every now and then a magic user bites off more than they can handle when they summon more energy than their body is used to channeling." She said and patted the mattress beside her. "Sometimes we face desperate moments, and it can mean life or death. Tam is smart. He's skilled. But sometimes he's too ready to throw himself into the fire." Corella tossed her hair back and smiled. Lysia got the impression she wasn't just talking about his magic using habits. She realized this woman knew Tamain better than she did. So she sat down, hugged the pillow to her body a bit defensively and listened. "And yet, he usually pulls through and makes things work. That's why we all look up to him for leadership, he's seen more of the rest of the world than we have, and he see ways for how things can work out." Lysia digested all that this woman said for a moment. Corella stepped in and kissed her cheek, but Lysia shied backwards as she lingered a moment. "I thought I should warn you that Tam and I have shared more than just a few arguments." She winked slyly, trailing her fingertips over the Elthairin's ear. Lysia scowled, unsure how to interpret her warning, as playful as it was. "My friend, Queen Riyarra..." Lysia started to say, but found the words too afraid to come out. Her ears started to turn a deep blush that crept down to her cheek. Corella withdrew casually when Lysia couldn't finish her sentence for the distraction. "She escaped from Zecair. Or so I heard. Did you as well?" Corella started, trying to help the words come out that Lysia was struggling with. "No." Lysia smiled and shook her head. "But Riyarra... had some things done to her....So she picked up some... bad habits." She managed to force out. Corella arched an interested eyebrow, but was clearly confused here. "There are things that Zecairins like to do – Zecairin women... That Elthairin women don't do." She managed to explain. Corella slowly nodded in understanding. "I think I understand," She smiled affectionately and patted her thigh. "But don't blame me for trying. You are cute..." she smiled, gave Lysia's knee a squeeze, but withdrew her hand. "And brave. That must have been hard to say. I knew our people had some differences, and that's an important one to know. I'll leave you two alone then." She sighed wistfully and gave her a mocking pout. "For Zecairins, joining is mostly recreational." Corella leaned back against the wall and looked off at the rest of the modest, empty room. "Cutharins take a pride – one male takes a group of mates. But that is also because male children are rare, and the girls outnumber them. Humans tend to mate for life, but they do like to test the waters first. No, Zecairins are... very different it would seem." she sighed a bit. "So tell me, how do Elthairins handle romance?" Lysia blushed a bit, thought for a moment, and replied. "We take lifelong mates. There is even a ceremony to celebrate the union." She began. Corella repositioned herself, laying down on her half of the mattress and propping her head up attentively, eager to learn more. "Usually, it last for our entire lives. But there are times when two hearts can grow apart, especially for the noble families. Usually the couple just moves away from one another for a time, but eventually they reunite after many years." "Why is it different for the noble houses?" Corella asked, intrigued. "Because they live much longer, sometimes for many centuries." Lysia explained. Corella arched an eyebrow. "It's proof of their pure lineage." There was a reverie going on in Lysia's mind that her blank stare told of. Corella let the silence come between them for awhile as she processed what she had learned and how it would affect her old friend and her new friend. "I'm sorry, what was I saying?" Lysia finally said. Corella looked up and caught a glimpse of sadness in her eyes. "Who were you thinking about?" Corella said with a warm smile. She stroked her friend's knee affectionately. She knew the question was a bit intruding, but she felt the need to learn more. For Tam's sake... she told herself. Lysia's lip trembled for a moment. "An old lover," she finally said, her voice struggling to keep its resolve. "He... betrayed me." Her bottom lip suddenly curled up, and she had to bite it to keep it from quivering. "...and I was exiled." Corella gave her a moment, all the while stroking her knee affectionately to remind her that she was there. "Zecairins form bonds a little differently," She said with a coy smile. Trying to distract the girl from her painful memory. "We don't normally limit ourselves to just one pairing. But sometimes, if they're really, really good." She bit her lower lip and let her eyes flutter back inside her head as part of an act to make her point. "Most of us aren't limited to the same sex also." she winked at Lysia. "Mating, the sex part at least, is more for fun. It's not viewed as a treasure to reserve for someone we love. It's more of a test to prove compatibility – if you can't make your mate happy in bed, then they're not right for you because they aren't paying attention to you. That's something you might want to have a talk with Tam about at some time. The first part, I mean." Lysia nodded. They talked all throughout the night. But when the weariness of the day finally set into her muscles, and Lysia started to have trouble keeping her head up despite her candid responses to Corella's question, her hostess gently tucked her into bed with the pillow she hugged closely to her body fluffed back into shape first before sliding it under her head. Lysia was practically asleep already by the time she finished and was snuffing off the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. Corella closed the door quietly and turned her thoughts to more serious matters as she made her rounds around the walkways. Fireflies kept her company in the black air as she walked barefooted over the planked walkways. Hers was the night watch. She wouldn't have been able to sleep anyways. Not with this alliance looming over them. Such a thing had never been done before – Zecair and Elthair were eternal enemies. Had Tamain not come up with the idea himself, she would laugh the fool that suggested it out of town. For Tamain to have suggested it made it ten times as dangerous. He often overreached and stirred too many hornet nests at once, but before the dust was settled and the day won, he was usually proven right. Usually... **** Riyarra stretched out on the tree limb, giving her stiff back some relief. The late afternoon sun peaked through the leaves and she warded it off with a hand to shade her eyes. Then she settled back down against the tree's trunk. She sat perched not far from ground level and watched a brief clearing beyond the tree in front of her. Her people were in position. She had ordered them to keep vigil but this was going to be her mission, and they were not to become involved unless absolutely necessary. Twenyl and Iala both had reservations about her direct involvement, but their protestations were limited to wanting her to have a second nearby. She had proven herself more than capable in the days after her purification, so in her estimation there was little more that having backup would accomplish but add to the chaos if this meeting took a wrong turn. Lost in the Light Ch. 12 She closed her eyes against the bright sunlight. This felt wrong. But her mind could not give her a reason not to proceed other than that they were shadow elves. Her trials within Zecair were still fresh in her memory. As she closed her eyes she could still feel the pain, the humiliation, the violation, and the terror all over again. However there was a vague fugue element to it as if she was witnessing it happen to someone else. But she had done those things, even though she had not wanted too. It was a troubling thought to reconcile her own mind and thoughts with those something else committed while in her body. Whatever presence the Demon Blood drug had placed inside her, it had given her compulsions she would never have had otherwise. This singular aspect is what gave her the strength to reconcile that horrible time. It was what allowed her reason to win out against her anger. It was what also allowed her to appreciate Tamain's position – as a non-corrupted his frustration with his people must be as great as her wrath against them. The new camp was set up by mid morning. The previous night Riyarra had ordered they pack up and relocate so this meeting could take place without giving away their interests. All of the patrols had been issued new orders, and the unit had marched south away from the mountainside and the Monastery. If all went well, she was hoping to allow for a little celebration for her Knights and give them the opportunity to relax and get to know their new comrades in arms. It would be difficult, but she made sure she had met with each Knight in turn before today. She told them what was to come, and read their expressions when they learned of the proposed alliance with rogue Zecairins. Surprise was the most common reaction, followed by uncertainty, disapproval, but acceptance none the less. They all had sharp minds, and could see the tactical advantage to allying themselves to the enemy of their enemy. Valel had aided her efforts by relating the story of his encounter with the demon spawn. Heralding The Discarded's brave tale earned them some respect with her Knights, and some healthy skepticism as to what they truly were. Riyarra had a more crude goal in mind – she needed Tamain's power. If he could slay a demon-spawn he could help assault this monastery. Riyarra ran through certain strategies and tactics for dialogs of what she would say to him. But before long she was no longer entreating Tamain of the Discarded in her mind, but whatever brute of a human ruled that Monastery and who had held Liam's leash. A word came to her thoughts again Disruptor. It was an odd title, but Liam had always been cryptic. Revealing enough to say what he needed to, if only one could translate his code. A pair of figures appeared on the opposite tree line and Riyarra sat up. A hooded figure, most likely a Zecairin elf, walked cautiously behind Lysia. Lysia herself seemed nervous once they entered the small clearing. Riyarra felt something was amiss. It was time to determine what. She leapt down, stretched her legs, and proceeded to meet them midway. Her swords had been left at the base of the tree. She wouldn't be needing them, she had to keep reminding herself. This was simple dialog. Lysia seemed to set at ease when she saw Riyarra approach, but upon seeing her alone started to look to the trees around them. She was clever, Riyarra mused to herself. So Riyarra paused and waved to someone off to her left, and Twenyl also approached from the trees to meet them. The four of them approached each other in the middle, and Riyarra noticed Lysia was leading the Zecairin by his hand on her shoulder. This was odd, and she paused a few feet shorter, out of range of a sword should it suddenly appear. Twenyl caught her hesitation and looked from one to the other. "It's all right," Lysia said. "We didn't come alone, but we didn't come to fight either. In fact, we brought a few barrels of human wine as a gesture of peace." Twenyl arched an eyebrow, leaned forward on his walking stick, and looked to his Queen. Riyarra was still trying to push the paranoia and tension out of her spine. Eventually she managed a few more steps closer to a respectable distance. Twenyl was already there, looking at her patiently. Lysia gently took her charge's hand off her shoulder. "She's here and she brought our Cleric," Lysia said softly. The hooded man nodded and slowly pulled back his hood. Tamain looked forward blankly, his once black eyes were now a milky white. Both Riyarra and Twenyl recognized him as the spell caster that had attacked them on the mountain path, and each had a wary look of annoyance. Twenyl's old face was wearing a frowning mask of outright disapproval. "Ah, the old man," Tamain said softly with a knowing smile as he turned to look in Twenyl's general direction. The wind seemed to pick up randomly around him tousling his short black hair about. Riyarra shifted and folded her arms over her muted green leather vest. Her emerald eyes were fierce and angry, and they bored into this Zecairin. Tamain took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. "Where to begin..." he sighed, and then chuckled softly. "First, I should apologize for my actions on the mountain path. It was not very friendly of me. All I wanted from you was information about the extraordinary thing you have accomplished. Your lives were never in danger. But even so, I found myself in a difficult position. Do I listen to the lessons of my ancestors, and take the information I wanted at sword point, unwilling to trust the enemy of my fore bearers, and their fore bearers? Or do I attempt to break away from the chains of the past and approach you both with an offering of friendship? Would you have accepted it? Could you have broken the chains of mistrust and fear forged throughout the centuries by your own ancestors? No... The fear in Queen's Riyarra's voice when we first threatened you told me you expected the worst from us. And therefore, my decision was unfortunately the right one. I regret our two people have come to treat each other this way. If you will accept my apology, perhaps in time you can also accept my hand in trust and friendship. If I cannot have that, will you at least settle for peace?" Tamain offered his hand out to the air. Riyarra's cold blank stare was unreadable. Lysia had not seen her like this before, and it made her fidget. Twenyl's brow furrowed, but he seemed more interested in how Riyarra would react to this. "I accept your hand in peace," Riyarra said sternly, and she took his hand. "You are... disappointed?" Tamain said inquisitively, as he tilted his head to one side. Riyarra slowly released his hand, and he slowly turned to Twenyl's general direction and offered it to the cleric as well. "I may be temporarily blinded but I am not diminished." He smirked casually. "I was never good with a sword you see, and I am not always a brigand on the roads. One is a distraction, one is a regrettable means to a living." "But you are the demon-slayer?" Riyarra said with certainty. Or was this some fluke? "The lady Knight Iala, deserves as much credit for the deed. It was her skill and bravery that kept the monster occupied and intent on her. Had she not, I would not have been able to strike it down." Tamain did not withdraw his hand when it was not taken. "I was proud to have fought beside her." "Would you again?" Twenyl asked, doubtful on the response. "Would others? Are you not afraid of the problems our joining forces would cause? You speak very hopefully, Sir, but what of your people?" "I am not a tyrant, friend." Tamain said hurtfully as he slowly took back his hand. "I lead through reason, and persuasion. Not by authority. If those that follow me disagree with my choices, I will listen to them, and I will present to them an argument. If that does not convince them, then I must respect their wishes." Tamain paused and looked up to the sky for a moment. "I sought you out, because in many ways you are like us, and I thought we could be of use to each other. At the very least, there is information we both need that the other holds. So shall we at least get that eager exchange underway?" "Information?" Riyarra said, her curiosity piqued. "What are you after?" "Why the secret to your cure, of course." Tamain smiled plainly. "My people need it. They are not themselves. Their minds have been poisoned, and I wish to know how to cure them. If I cannot find some way to return them to sanity they will destroy themselves and most of this world." "What do you offer in trade?" Riyarra said in a more amenable tone. She certainly seemed willing to play the mercenary part. This idea of a formal alliance was too unsettling to grapple with at the moment. Despite her hopes and her need for their military might, her basic emotions took over once she caught sight of his dark skin. He reminded her too strongly of the horrors she'd escaped in Zecair, and she could not shrug them off on her own. "I have heard some things about the men in this Monastery you are so interested in." Tamain said with a growing smirk. It was the cocky expression of a card player about to reveal his winning hand. Riyarra had seen the type many times, and she was almost becoming giddy in anticipation of what gem he was about to reveal. "The demon-spawn came from them. Fate has lead us both to this place for different reasons, but it seems that they are the same. You wish to cripple my people's supply of Demon's Blood, and I wish to find its cure. Both are at this Monastery." Riyarra deliberated a moment. It wasn't quite the trump card she was expecting. "The man that sired the demon-spawn is still alive and is most likely there as well. If he has created more of these creatures, you will need our help in slaying them. We have recently added an expert on all things demon to our ranks." he smiled. "Truly?" Twenyl spoke up, doubt and hope both in the same question. He scratched the thinning white hairs of his head for a moment then continued. "If you can summon him here, and I am allowed to speak with him, then I will take your hand in peace and friendship." His tone was conciliatory, and Tamain picked up on it. Lysia was noticing that whenever they spoke, his head tilted ever so slightly to press his ear closer in their direction. He could not read their body language, but he could listen for it. "I can summon her now if you like, friend. But I must have your hand in peace first." Tamain extended it. "You will find her very upsetting to look at, and I make this demand to reinforce our current truce." Twenyl looked skeptical, but he took Tamain's hand none the less. The shadow elf smiled broadly. "Her name is Eola, and she is of the Harpai people. One of the few elder races still with us. I chanced upon her two days ago, as I am sure you heard." Tamain tilted his head up to the sky and whistled a couple of notes. A figure appeared from the treeline where they had originally come. Slowly, cautiously, she approached in her vibrant yellow dress. Tamain turned around to face her, and Lysia saw that he was all smiles. "You certainly like to test us Tamain," Riyarra almost growled, and it made Lysia jump. She looked to her former friend, their eyes met, and she saw the stern, evaluating gaze of a soldier in them. The princess she had come to know was not there, this was someone new. "For all that I ask of you, and have not yet asked of you. I expect to have to repay in kind." Tamain said in conciliation. "A living Harpai," Twenyl muttered. "She will be ornery, my queen." "Truly?" Tamain asked in genuine disbelief, interrupting their counsel. "I found her very friendly." Eola stopped just behind Tamain. She was nervously shy, and breathing so rapidly Lysia thought she must have run all the way here. But soon it became obvious is was due to her terrified state. "I am here friend Tamain," Eola said erratically. "Have they agreed?" Tamain reached out his hand, took hers, and led her in a gentlemanly fashion to Queen Riyarra. "Queen Riyarra," Tamain said in a deeply serious tone to which the Queen scowled darkly, knowing she was about to be called upon. "I will never threaten you, or your people, save for this once. Should any of your people seek to do Eola harm, I will dedicate the rest of my soon to be short life to destroying you. I may even feed the bodies to her children. I hold her in such high regard that I would destroy my own dreams of peace to see her safe. Has my oath convinced you?" The color from Lysia's face drained. She had never seen Riyarra look so insulted and ready to commit murder. Twenyl was also gripping his walking stick tightly, and his disapproving frown returned. "You have my word that she will not be harmed. I offer her my hand in peace." Riyarra said, uncharacteristically diplomatic for the rage that was obvious in her face. She extended her hand to the Harpai woman. Eola took it daintily, but walked past it to embrace the elven queen in her arms. Twenyl spooked, but Lysia quickly put a calming hand on his shoulder. The old man looked to strike her away, but upon seeing her face and the look of pity in it, he second guessed his actions. Upon returning his attention to his queen, he found the taller Harpai woman sobbing gently into Riyarra's hair. "Thank you, your Grace," Eola said uneasily. As she respectfully retreated to Tamain's side, she stopped to curtsy before Riyarra. Her feather wing dress accompanied the movement easily. "Friend Twenyl," Tamain said boldly. "You now have your walking library of all things ancient, archaic, anthropological, historical, and of course, demonic. I hope you two spend many long nights getting to know one another." Twenyl coughed to reform his composure. "Do keep in mind that she is much, much older than you. So please be gentle." Twenyl twittered. Lysia snickered. Eola blushed. Riyarra turned away. "Friend Twenyl," Riyarra interjected, speaking to Tamain. "is married to Iala." Lysia had to bite her lip to keep from giggling as Tamain's jaw seemed stuck open, and Twenyl seemed to grow a few inches taller as he stood straighter. Riyarra flashed Twenyl a sly grin. "I did not see that coming," Tamain admitted, truly dumbfounded. "I should apologize." "Oh really?" Twenyl huffed. "and why is that?" Tamain's joke had steered them all into an uncomfortable, and possibly deadly situation given Iala's combat ability. "And now I am trapped," Tamain admitted openly, and let out a disparaging sigh. Riyarra cleared her throat. "The answers you seek," She started to say, but the words seemed to be avoiding her, "will disappoint you, and I am sorry the truth is not more hopeful. So this may not be an exchange to your liking." Her stern mood has softened considerably. All her preconceptions, and prejudices were obviously out of place here. Everything Tamain had promised, he had followed through on. He had been polite, courteous, but fair-minded and bold when needed. His oath of protection for the fear-stricken Eola was awfully chivalrous in a way, almost romantic. He was exactly as he claimed to be, and he had Valel and Lysia's support. For the hundredth time since she had first laid eyes on him, she reminded herself that he was different. "Spread throughout this land are pockets rich in naturally pure magical energies. One such place, a mountain spring inside of a cave, had its pure waters consumed in my purification. The rest of the ritual is known to our Cleric." "Those are indeed rare," Tamain's shoulders sank. Riyarra's heart almost went out to him. She knew that if this was truly the only way, there was no way he could cure all of his people. Only a handful could be saved, and only if he found enough pure energies to soak up the corruption. "There is a better way," Eola said, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Slay the queen that spawned them. Any infected by her blood will lose their bloodlust with her death. It is her influence that affects them. It is not in the blood, but through the blood that she whispers to their minds. There is a risk that many will die however. With the loss of her voice, they will regain their minds, but they will remember everything. This will make many victims despair and grieve, some may take their own lives." Her knowledge and insight did not seem to help his mood. But despite the gravity of the situation as it was laid out, he shouldered it. "It seems our paths continue to re-converge on your Monastery," Tamain said in all seriousness. "If the demon queen is not there, someone who knows where she is will be. You will have our assistance in assaulting the Monastery. That is, if they do not cooperate willingly." Tamain said at last. He then went to one knee before Queen Riyarra. Lysia followed his lead, believing herself one of his Discarded. Eola seemed uncertain, so she gracefully excused herself a step backwards and curtsied again. Riyarra gave Twenyl a faint smile. "Rise, friend Tamain." Riyarra said. Her suspicion was not completely put to rest, and yet she helped him up. "For now, let us test this new alliance in uncovering the answers these humans have. Please, invite your people to join us for a meal tomorrow night," Riyarra said at last. "Let us drink, sing, and dance together. To celebrate a unity that has not happened in ages." **** Dusk fell and night brought with it song and laughter. A fire pit had been built in the center of the clearing, and a roaring fire was well ablaze. Three barrels of wine had been stacked together and the first was already half emptied. A deer and a boar had been carved up and spitted near the bonfire with two picky light elves fending off hungry hands until the meat was ready. Riyarra had ordered a half dozen guards to remain on the perimeter and maintain watch. Not to be put out they would be relieved half way through the night so that all could meet their new guests and friends. Ut'van and Faosen were already there. They had been Tamain's escort, and had stayed back while he met with the Queen. Ut'van was more the wary, but was sociable enough to linger around the wine barrels and chat up a few Knights. Introductions were uneasy at first, almost cold, but the wine soon helped. Faosen, Corella's young apprentice magic-user, was listening in on Twenyl and Eola's conversation about demons and corruption. He had always been the curious sort, but polite enough to know he was little more than an observer to their conversation. But on more than one occasion he was caught staring at either of them, and had to straighten himself up. Tamain and Lysia sat on one of the many logs that had been hauled out to encircle the bonfire. "You don't have to sit with me, my mouse. These are your friends, your former comrades, you should go talk to them. I will be fine." Tamain patted her leg. "I doubt they are as friendly to me anymore. Leaving them was one issue, joining your group could almost be seen as treason... but sharing your bed." she whispered that last part. "No, I think it safer for me to sit here." "Does it really bother you what they think?" "Not really," She sighed. "They are not truly my kind. I'm no noble." "You should go find Valel and make amends for the other day." "He has guard duty." "Oh? Later then," He smiled and stared at the bonfire. "I can almost see the light it gives off... It's still blackness, but some of it is less black." Lysia leaned her head against his shoulder. She caught a few stares from the Elthairins, but she ignored them. Riyarra came to join them, she was carrying three wooden cups of wine. "Tamain, I must complain." Riyarra started. "Your man Ut'vek would not let me have three cups. I told him I needed as much to stomach all this, but he made me promise to share with you. The nerve!" Lysia giggled. But the rose in Riyarra's cheeks said she had already had more than three cups. Lysia took the extra wine from Riyarra, and handed one to Tamain. Lost in the Light Ch. 13 For the fifth time that night, her hands drifted to his cock and started to play with it. Wolfe grunted and rolled away from her. He wanted to sleep, and she was insatiable. But the moment he did so, his half asleep mind regretted it, as another pair of hands drifted to his cock and picked up where the others had left off. Groggily he sat up, managed to crawl out of bed from between them, found his robe in the darkness, and pulled it over his head. "trouble sleeping?" one of them said with a hint of mischief in her voice. "...piss." he muttered, lying. "have fun without me." He opened the door before the two twins could protest. Not that they would, they were all too eager to entertain one another. This had been going on for a couple of days, and he was getting too sleep deprived to indulge their desires anymore. What had started out as a slut's wet dream made reality was becoming a curse and souring his mood more than usual. Two Zeks was too many. Two too many, he was coming to realize. Wolfe made his way down the footpaths to the latrines, finished his business, and wander out into the middle of the training yard. The moon was half full but bright, his sleepy eyes could adjust and make out the ground, sand, grass, dirt, stones and all. The air was cold. Dawn would come soon. He slowly raised his arms up, spread his feet, and fell into a bare handed fighting stance. He maintained his form and posture until the weariness of his back and shoulders abated. The cold air made his breath float about in the air. Wolfe shut his eyes and ignored the rest of his senses... A hand tapped him on the shoulder and his body jerked suddenly. Wolfe opened his eyes to a bright morning sun and the chirps of birds. Mero was standing beside him dressed in his training trousers and vest. Wolfe closed them again with a grunt of annoyance. Slowly, Mero circled Wolfe, watching him, looking at him, waiting for something to happen that never did. When he came back to the place he was standing when he first woke him, he struck. Wolfe deflected the punch for his face with his arm and countered with his own open palm strike to Mero's chest. It connected. Mero gasped more in surprise than from the force behind it, countered by grabbing Wolfe's wrist and spun around to throw the man over his shoulder. Wolfe's body went limp, and he soared gracefully over. The instant his feet touched the ground, his whole body curled into action using the momentum to pull Mero over Wolfe's shoulder. Mero landed with a thud and a grunt, but recovered by sweeping his legs around in a circle to knock Wolfe off his. He was too slow, and Wolfe was out of range, poised for another strike just as Mero rose to his feet. Fully awake and aware of each other's readiness, they circled one another, waiting for the right moment to strike. Mero broke first, striking his fist at Wolfe's face. Wolfe threw an arm up and blocked it, following it with a counterstrike at Mero's elbow, but Mero countered. The two men exchanged blows back and forth, each equally matched at dodging, blocking, and counter-striking, and neither landed an effective hit. Mero's traditionally disarming smile was absent from this fight. His countenance was utterly serious, and for the first time since they began Wolfe was wondering why they were fighting. Such sparring sessions were common, as were ambushes. But something about this felt off. "You've gotten better." Mero commented, slightly winded. Wolfe was calm, eerily calm. "But it's not the training. You haven't had any new lessons. Just chores, and practice." Mero changed his stance to a wider step. Wolfe recognized it as one of the weapon styles, but Mero was unarmed. He watched one of Mero's hand go behind him to the small of his back. Wolfe knew then that he was armed. The weapon would come out when he struck, and not before. Wolfe dove forward with his arm thrown back to strike, Mero brought the knife out in one fluid motion meant for Wolfe's neck. The punch was a feint, Wolfe had his weight on the wrong foot when he was within range, and was able to duck under and sweep Mero's knee at the same time. The kick met with little resistance, as Mero turned his body at the last moment to minimize the impact. Wolfe's free hand had caught Mero's blade hand at the wrist, and he snaked the other under Mero's chin until his elbow was under it and he pulled hard, arching the man's body backwards. The danger to this move, was that he was locked into it until Mero passed out from blood loss to the brain, and until the he was at the mercy of Mero's other hand, even if it was mostly out of range. Mero jumped. Flipped his body over, breaking the hold, and dislocating his shoulder in the process. And with his free hand picked up his knife and took a more deadly stance. His intentions were deadly serious, this was not a sparring session. Wolfe backed away uncertainly, but kept his confusion and concerns out of this fight. Mero had started it, and Wolfe would end it. "So what has changed?" Mero asked in all seriousness, expecting an answer. Wolfe reflected for moment. He had gone through some changes ever since she came into his life. "I stopped feeling safe." Wolfe answered. Mero relaxed, put away his weapon, and stood up. "Good." Mero said. He grabbed his lame arm by the bicep, twisted and yanked in one precise movement until there was a loud pop, followed by Mero's grunt of relief. "Are we done here?" Wolfe said irritably. "No. The Father summons you. Come with me." "Shit." Wolfe muttered and reluctantly followed his senior, albeit at a respectful distance now. Master Conner was waiting for them outside The Father's study. He looked none too happy to see Wolfe, but he knocked once on the door before opening it. The three men filed in by rank. Wolfe respectfully closed the door behind him. The room was small and sparse, a long writing table sat in the middle of the room, wooden chests with numerous drawers sat waist high and symmetrically along both walls. There were no chairs, as this room was designed in the old ways of the T'ien Lun monks that first founded the Monastery, and not the Greiggor Kingdom that had later taken over the land. Whatever business The Father did in here, he had put it all away and cleaned the room for whatever ceremony or event that was now about to take place. Three pieces of parchment were placed at three positions on the table opposite The Father. A writing brush and ink stone accompanied them. The Father did not look up at them, but stared blankly at the table lost in thought. Conner took a seat on the floor before the first blank parchment. Mero followed his lead, and Wolfe sat down last. Only once they were seated did The Father look up. "Write for me the T'ien character for Cha." He instructed. Conner and Mero immediately took up the ink stick and began grinding the ink stone in the stone well into a powder. Wolfe followed their lead. When they realized there was no water to mix the powder with, Mero drew his knife, sliced his palm and let the blood drip into the mixing well on the stone. Conner did the same. Wolfe spit into his. Yet The Father did not reprimand him. All three wrote the character flawlessly on their paper. "Write for me the T'ien character for Jhun." The Father instructed. "Place it before Cha." Writing backwards was unusual, but after all three did so, they looked to the writing and realized it spelled something unexpected - Hyan-Gyarr. "Written this way, Char becomes Gyarr, and Jhun becomes Hyan." The Father explained, but all three had already understood this. This was clearly becoming some sort of ceremony to Wolf. He wasn't sure what this was for, or why he was even here sitting next to two Masters, while he was a lowly initiate. "Gyarr. 'Chaos'." The Father read. "Gyarr. 'Person responsible for." "We, the Huangard. Take our namesake from this meaning. What does this word mean to you, Master Connor?" The Father asked. "A person who causes change." Connor answered. "What does this word mean to you Master Mero?" The Father asked. "A man who brings equal calamity and prosperity." Mero said thoughtfully. "What does this word mean to you Initiate Wolfe?" The Father asked. There was no scorn in his voice, and that made Wolfe even more uncomfortable. "A disruptor." Wolfe said plainly. He thought he saw The Father's eyebrow twitch angrily, or maybe it was surprise. "I read it as a person that causes disorder. If I wanted to imply great calamity I would have used a different symbol." "Oh? Such as?" The Father indulged him. "Shen, Fyo, - 'earthquake'" Wolfe said offhand and started to wrack his brain for others but the look in the Father's face told him to immediately stop there. "Wolfe has been chatting with Liam it seems," The Father said sternly as his tranquil brow turned to a dark scowl. "Normally I would kill him for disobeying me, but it seems it has paid off and he has learned something important. We are also known as Disruptors. And that was pretty smart, boy. But reckless. You almost had her killed" "Gotten her killed?" Wolfe said confused. "Yes," The Father said condescendingly. "Without you around to keep her occupied, do you think the rest of us would tolerate a Zek?" The old man snorted derisively. He cleared his throat loudly and looked to the other Masters. "This paper is your writ to take the last trial. You will either succeed or die trying. Your days of training are over." The Father said getting back on track. "Take it with you. Ready yourselves. At noon be at the chapel. Silas will open the catacombs for you. Your trial lies at the bottom. Now go." He bowed his head ever so slightly and stayed there. Both Masters bowed theirs lower, and Wolfe was forced to slide back from the table so that his forehead could touch the floor without first hitting the table. Mero and Connor rose to their feet and. Wolfe stayed behind. "Father, may I ask a question?" He said respectfully and meekly. This honor was not meant for him and he did not know why he was selected. "Wolfe, I'm weary of you disappointing me. This trial is meant to kill you and get you out of my hair. Now go." The Father waved his hand dismissively at the young man. Wolfe bowed again and left without another word. The rest of the morning was a nervous, anxiety filled blur as he walked the grounds in thought. The piece of paper was still clutched in his hand. He was not a Master. He did not have their experience and training. He could fight, but nowhere near as well as a Master. Is there any reason he could see this as anything other than a death sentence? "Why not just kill me?" Wolfe muttered out loud. He froze in his steps and looked around to see if anyone had heard him. None had. No, he was right he realized. This was too expensive a death trap to waste on him. Surely there was another Master ready to take the trial? So why him? Wolfe decided it was The Father's way of giving him one last chance to prove himself. He didn't feel like proving himself anymore. He didn't even want to be a part of this place. But, there was no other choice. Escape was impossible. If he went anywhere near the walls, even if he managed to get over one it would be a dead run for many long minutes to make the tree line outside the Monastery. He would have been run down and killed by one of the Masters on guard duty. Ever since The Mischievous freed her sister from Silas's clutches, the wall guard had double. Damn her. Everything was fine until she showed up. Wolfe sighed the moment he thought it and knew he was wrong. Everything wasn't fine, he was just oblivious to the evil around him. It was because of her that his eyes were now opened to it. He owed her. If he was going to die in a few hours, he should say his goodbyes and tell her to flee. Wolfe found one of The Mischievous still asleep in his bed. He decided not to wake her. But instead changed out of his robes and into his training clothes. She roused from the slight noise he made. After a long happy purr while she stretched, during which she showed off her curvy dark skin and full breasts, Wolfe found himself wanting one last hard fuck from her. But he knew better. He was tired enough as it was. "They're sending me to take the last trial." He said, turning away from her as he pulled on his clothes. She propped herself up on one elbow and ran her fingers down her side and over her hip, trying her best to compel him to cease what he was doing, reverse course of action, and join her. "It's a test only the Masters can take. For some reason they picked me this time. The Father thinks it will kill me and rid him of my inconvenience." The Mischievous sat up and look away as she processed this. Her mind worked in dark, devious, and dastardly ways, and sometimes she uncovered secret intentions that Wolfe missed. But this time her deliberations lasted long enough for him to finish dressing and pull his shoes on. "They need you to become stronger than you are now. They need this now." She finally said, trying to give him hope. "If the Father wanted you dead, you'd be dead. He has no need to hide it. If Silas wanted you dead, you would be. No, you..." she paused when she caught sight of something. She rose to her feet, letting the rough blanket fall to the floor and walked to him. She touched his arm and examined the deep bruises forming down his forearm. "You were already tested, and you passed." She smiled. It was a genuine smile. And it was the first time Wolfe had seen that. She touched his cheek and drew him down for a loving kiss. That too, was a first. Wolfe wanted to throw her against the wall and take her in all kinds of different manners. But the surreality of her tenderness had the effect of a splash of cold water. This was how she showed that she was worried for him. Or worse, actually loved him. "If you're going to leave, do it now. Don't wait for me. If I survive this, I'll be right behind you." he finally mustered the courage to say. "We'll wait until tonight." she said and bid him farewell in Zecairin fashion. Wolfe had to push her away, before she pulled him in. But The Mischievous would not be denied and took his hands from her shoulders and squeezed her breasts with them. "We'll do that, and lots of that, after we're free of here." He said out of breath from her passionate lip-lock. She certainly knew how to get his blood boiling. "Good. Keep that in mind when you fear the worst." She said seriously and turned away from him. "Use that as power to keep you... hard." she said with a knowing glance down at his bulging trousers. "We will have our escape route mapped out when you get back." Wolfe turned and left his quarters in a hurry. He still had plenty of time before noon, but if he stayed in that room any longer with her, he would end up being late. When the appointed time came, he found Silas waiting for him near the stone altar on the dais in the back. Only the alter had moved aside revealing a dark staircase into a cellar. Silas was grinning from ear to ear when he saw Wolfe approach. "The others are ahead of you," The fat sorcerer said. Wolfe shrugged at him. "Does it matter?" He asked. "No," Silas almost laughed. Wolfe didn't understand his meaning. "Do you have any advice?" Wolfe asked as his bravado wavered but for a moment. "No!" Silas did laugh. And Wolfe left him laughing behind him as he made his way down the stairs. Torches at regular intervals lighted his path; all of this had been arranged a head of time it seemed. He shouldered his spear he had picked up from the smithy. Sebastian was more of a tinkerer than a real blacksmith, but he could work metal when he needed to. Wolfe had asked it to be sharpened while his lessons had been suspended and his practices had been hand-to-hand combat only. He tightened the lacing on his leather bracers while he descended into the depths of the catacombs - any sort of fidgeting he could do to take his mind off the macabre surroundings. The hallway had opened up to a central chamber dug out of the earth and reinforced with thick wooden beams. Burial champers were notched out of the walls and all the remains of deceased Brothers remained undisturbed. Despite the creepiness of his surroundings, it was a tranquil place. Not even rats scurried around. The trip down was rather relaxing. The air was dry and heavy with old rot in some places. Wolfe covered his mouth with his hand when he reached heavier pockets of funky air, but it hardly helped. The structured catacombs soon turned into natural cave formations before erupting into an underground citadel of magnificent architecture Wolfe couldn't help but stop and whistle at its impressiveness. Granite columns soared up to the ceiling at regular intervals. Their caps lost to the darkness as the torches' light was greatly diminished in this wide open cavern. Wolfe followed the orange lights that showed him the way and it wasn't long before he heard voices. "...hells is that?!" Conner was exclaiming as he and Mero were looking through a large stone archway in the wall into the next chamber. Inside, a blobulous creature larger than most houses sat calm and still and very alive. It had no face, nor a head of any sort, but it had what could only be called arms in the thinnest stretch of the word. More like tentacles of some sea creature that ended in all manner of grasping claw-like structures. Some resembled fingers, some claws, one looked like a mouth with no nose or eyes, and one... a plumage of cocks. It was alive. The random movement of those appendages was sign enough. But it didn't seem to have a mouth, never mind a head. Both Masters had taken up opposite sides of the doorway and were gazing upon the creature's hideous form with bewilderment. "That, is The Mother," Wolfe said confidently and stopped in the middle of the archway between the two men. "And She is a demon." "The fuck you on about Wolfe?" Connor demanded. "What's a Mother?" "I'm guessing the source of Silas's dark arts." Wolfe said and brought his spear off his shoulder, gave it a twirl, and dropped it into a one-handed charge position. "A fucking demon?!" Conner said in disbelief. "How the hell is that our trial?" "I'm only guessing..." Mero interjected. "That we're to cut off a piece and bring it back for Silas. I don't see that fat cow getting near it. I don't see us killing it, not without a lot of fire, and that would ruin later trials, seeing as it seems to have grown too fat to leave this room it's obviously captive." "Be my guest, I'm only here to die." Wolfe said with a sigh, planted the butt of his spear in the ground, and stared at his reflection in the blade head. The freshly polished head shined the torch light well enough to show him that he hadn't shaved in a few days. "Enough of this," Mero said with a hiss and boldly stepped into the room. "Ho there, Mother!" He said in greeting. The creature didn't seem to notice him, or be able to respond. Mero approached cautiously, but the darkness of the room seemed to have played tricks on their eyesight as the closer he approached the farther away the Mother seemed to still be. Mero stopped, looked back, and upon finding himself alone and out of earshot beckoned the other two men to follow. Conner did immediately, not to be outdone, and Wolfe reluctantly came after. The moment he crossed the threshold a metal portcullis slammed down behind them. "Of course." Wolfe muttered. "What'd you do?" Conner hissed. "I crossed the invisible line," Wolfe said nonchalantly and walked past him with his spear back over his shoulder. "Come along now Master, let us go die bravely." "Fuck you Wolfe," Conner shot back, but followed him none the less. Mero was waiting on them with his arms crossed over his chest irritable. Wolfe put a hand on Conner's shoulder to stop him. Lost in the Light Ch. 13 "Hold," He said and brought his spear up before Mero. Conner had his hand on the curved sword strapped to his back but didn't pull it out... until he saw the fleshy tendril on the ground behind Mero and how it seemed to disappear behind him. He pulled his scimitar with a sharp ring of steel. "How very astute," Mero said with a voice not his own. He started to float up into the air, but it was the tendril attached to the back of his neck that was lifting him off the ground. "This one was not so wise. All too easy in fact." The inhumane voice said with a hint of mirth. Mero's body started to convulse sporadically. His legs started to shrivel and shrink until they were just skin over bone. Then the bones disappeared with a disgusting crunched, and that was when the two men saw something -inside- Mero moving around devouring his insides. Connor looked to be sick, but Wolfe took a deep calming breath and took two quick glances to his left and right. Tendrils were encircling them. "I think we just failed." Wolfe snorted. "Why do you say that?" The monster inside Mero mused, hurt. "I only require two, but I may choose to take three." One of Mero's arms shriveled up, and was sucked up inside his torso. "Fuck you and your 'two', Monster!" Conner shouted and hacked for the first pink fleshy tendril he could reach. It wiggled out of the way with unnatural speed and his blade hit stone floor. He turned around angrily ready to strike something, and found his opponent to be what remained of Mero - a torso, head, and one good arm with a dagger in its hand. The creature used Mero's remains like a puppet and struck at Conner. The man defended himself and the two did battle, clashing steel against steel. Despite its grotesque nature, the monster was using Mero's abilities to its fullest. She even scored a few good hits on Conner's limbs. Connor scored his own mortal wounds, but his opponent was already dead, and the blows did not avail him. Against a dead foe, Connor was no match, and in a moment of fatigue from the intense fighting, the Monster sliced open his throat. Yet before he could cover it, it had seized the opportunity of mortal panic and shoved an agile tendril into the wound. The unholy sounds it made as it devoured him from the inside made Wolfe's stomach turn. Wolfe collapsed to the stone and involuntarily emptied his gut, but having skipped breakfast there was nothing but stomach juice on the floor. The monster hovered Mero's remains directly above him. He didn't look up at first. He didn't want to see it coming, but when it didn't, he braved a look. One of Mero's eyeballs popped out from an escaping tendril and seemed to look at him. "I see you," The Creature said. "Do you now?" Wolfe said with a bit a growing hysteria at the absurdity of his situation. He sat down, crossed his legs, laid his spear against his neck, and readied his grip to take his own head off. "I like the Wolfe cock." It said in the Mischievous' voice. Wolfe gritted his teeth angrily. His face betrayed his resolve, and he broke into sad, half mad sobs. "Don't you want my power Wolfe?" It said dispirited. "To what end?" Wolfe snarled. "To change the leash around my neck from one crazy old man to something I cannot even begin describe?" "For her?" The creature said in The Mischievous' voice. It had finished devouring the rest of Mero's body from within. Just his head remained attached to the end of a swaying tentacle. "Become strong for her? Make her free! Run far away! Live happy! Have many babies." it said sweetly. "Take my power." "Fuck you." He laughed and yanked down hard on the spear. The butt slipped, and instead of taking his head clean off, it sliced through his throat, and he was alive long enough to feel his blood gush from the wound. He was still alive when a tentacle snaked inside and began to work its way down his throat and into his body. Mercifully, that was the last thing he felt. ***** Tamain sat leaning against the remains of a fallen tree trunk in silent reflection. The way he sat with his legs splayed out, his arms folded over his chest and his chin tucked into the high collar of his dark leather vest made it seem that he was napping. So he was left alone. He had been one of the few that had stayed up all night. Corella hadn't bothered him all morning, and Lysia took her cue from her mentor in the ways of the Discarded and also left her dark lover to his thoughts. The Zecairins broke their breakfast with roasted rodent and some wild red berries Pemmi had found. Lysia sat with them, despite being reunited with her people - she was their one Elthairin member. Her pale complexion, short stature and endowed build was out of place amid the tall, dark, and lithe shadow elves. Her former comrades, the fair skinned Elthairin elves, had yet to stir from their tents in the trees. The celebration had gone on until the late hours of the morning, until the wine was all gone and sleep could no longer be put off. Lysia expected it would still be many hours still until the Elthairins stirred. Unless they were roused early by their Captain. "Rollis?" Tamain finally said out loud. "Aye," The archer said in that naturally grating voice of his as he stood. Having finished his portion of the catch he had been restringing his bow with a new Elthairin made line. "A Blooded Mistress was captured last night and tied to a tree. You will find her in that direction." Tamain pointed. Rollis walked a few paces to orientate himself to that direction. "Take care of her." "Aye," Rollis grunted and walked off. He knew what was required. "Whether our new allies approve or not, she and any other of our kin that we encounter are our responsibility, not theirs. The Queen and I need to discuss rules, but she feels this as well as she could have killed this one. No matter what comes hereafter, we will not let them murder more of us. Blooded or not, we capture our kin first unless they give us no other option." His soldiers acknowledged his order with a nod and a smile. Lysia suddenly realized that these Discarded did not often show their true feelings. Last night they smiled, laughed, danced and told stories, but underneath the friendliness was a blade prepared to swing. Of course there would be some problems with openly allying themselves with the Leaf Knights. And Tamain had just laid one such problem to rest. Someone approached. Tamain struggled to his feet. Lysia could tell he was tired. He hadn't slept. Not since he had slain the demon spawn had Tamain even tried to sleep. And Lysia didn't know how to help. She wanted to. There wasn't much else she could do, she wasn't a skilled combatant, or a tracker, or even a magic user despite Corella's patient training. "Tamain," Riyarra called out. "Here," Tamain said and composed himself. Riyarra appeared from around a tree, pushing a branch out of the way so she could pass. She was alone, dressed in uniform, and armed. "Walk with me?" She asked. Her tone was polite, but still cold as steel. Lysia suddenly wanted to hide from her sight. Riyarra gave the girl a casual look, a soft smile, and upon seeing her uneasiness, a friendly wink. "Can you call Eola to join us?" "Eola..." Tamain said to the wind and a soft breeze suddenly picked up and carried his words away. Riyarra nodded and wandered off, Tamain followed. His eyesight was getting better, but... there was something else off with him this morning. Lysia's doubts and self consciousness were eating her up inside. She had changed sides for him, but ever since that horrible day when they found the Demon Spawn he had grown distant. It was making her miserable. Had he used her to set up this meeting and now he was done with her? Once they were out of sight, she sighed, slumped her head in her hand, and wrote random letters in the dirt with her dagger. For a former bookkeeper, it was something to keep her mind off things. "The humans of this Monastery are masters of combat. Your people would be at a disadvantage engaging them." Riyarra said. She pulled her cloak around her shoulders and hid herself underneath it. It wasn't the morning chill air she was guarding against, it was her own uncertainty. Tamain could read that much from her. "Do you still see violence as the only option?" He replied. "Only the most likely," She replied in kind. His intelligence was... pleasant. He knew how to dance around the barbs of an issue without being obviously sycophantic or argumentative. He didn't attack with his disagreements, as Iala and Brylen did. "The spend their days training for a war during a time of uneasy peace between the three kingdoms. Their dealings with people outside their fortress are few. Such a place would make sense if they sent their soldiers off once they graduated - as if they were an academy for combat - but they don't. The trail of Demon's Blood leads to them, but that could be just a rumor. And..." She had another point but couldn't find the words. Tamain knew what it was. "Eola's demon spawn?" He said. Connecting her request to the topic. "It was sired by a human she found half dead in the woods. He was traveling to this place." Riyarra nodded. She walked a few more steps, and then suddenly froze. Tamain saw it in her step, stopped in his tracks, and listened for the disturbance that spooked this Elthairin Knight but heard nothing that came from around them. She turned to face him. There was an uncertain emotion in her posture he could not yet identify due to his blurry eyesight, but he could hear her breath grow heavy. "What was his name?" She finally asked. Her voice was trying to mask the conflicting emotions that got the better of her as they were beaten down by her own reason. Tamain heard a little bit of fear, relief, panic, elation, longing, worry, anger, disbelief... and too many others to identify. She had a connection to this place she hadn't spoken of yet, and Tamain suspected that this human of Eola's might be an unlikely thread that bound them together. "She did not tell me." He said. But no sooner had he said the words, than he heard the soft flap of wings and the tall graceful harpai walked from around a tree to join them. She allowed him a good look - - before folding them around her body. Riyarra turned, composed herself with a breath, and flipped her hair back behind her head. "Eola, what was the name of the man you laid with? The one that sired the demon spawn?" She almost demanded. Her tone caught the Harpai off guard. The bird woman paused uncertainly and looked to Tamain for answers. He couldn't read her expression to help. He nodded to say 'It's okay' silently, but she didn't seem to relax. Eola took a hesitant step back and considered her options. She didn't know why this man's name was important, but the Elthairin Queen's countenance told her she would take it from her lips by force if she had to. "You have my support, my lady," Tamain said. "Please tell her." "I am not so feeble to require the protection of you," Eola almost snapped at him. "I have outlived more Elthairin Queens and Kings than you could remember." Riyarra reached up to her own ear and gave it a painful tweak to which elicited a groan of aggravation. "I'm, sorry. Eola. That was rude to demand it." Riyarra said with a sigh, after she collected herself and beat back the torrent of emotions. "It is very important that I hear his name. I may have met this man before. I apologize if I sounded like I was commanding you. I am asking." her change in posture worked instantly. Tamain was also surprised to hear such a candid apology. "He called himself Liam." Eola said. The name hit her hard in the chest. She collapsed to her knees and fell forward. Her heart began to pound out of her chest and her breath grew more and more labored. "He lives." She almost cried. Eola looked uncertainly to Tamain. He could, in her obvious body language, see then the mother's instinct to want to console a panic stricken child, but she was still unable to approach a light elf easily. Riyarra's reaction confused them both. It was unsettling to see the Queen of Elthair fall apart with just the mention of a name. "Is he the man that freed you from Zecair?" Tamain asked gingerly. "The same." Riyarra managed to get out. One hand clutched her cloak above her heart and the other clawed up deep handfuls of dirt and leaves as she wrestled back this panic attack. Tamain knelt and placed a hand on her trembling back. Riyarra jerked away and glared at him. At this close of a distance he could read her face finally and he could see the torrent of a reverie - she was reliving it all again and all at once. He cautiously moved back, such a powerful experience could drag her back there and she may forget where she was now. Such was the problem way with powerful elven memories. "I will speak of this to no one. How may I help?" he said in earnest. It took her a moment to acknowledge him, but she ignored him and turned to look at Eola as if to say something, but it caught in her throat with a whimper. The ancient woman could see what was in elf girl's heart. Eola gasped. "It could have been her." Eola explained and approached Riyarra calmly to reassure her. "She might have sired that abomination first." she knelt and placed a hand on the elf's cheek. Riyarra nodded violently in agreement. Their eyes met in a womanly understanding. Despite being absolutely terrified, Riyarra was winning the inner battle of shock and started to regain herself. This man, Liam, was now more of a monster to her than she had ever known him to be. Tamain saw the thread that connected them together now, and silently his heart sank. The Elthairin Queen would be all the more forceful in approaching the humans now. **** "Father?" Valel asked as he approached the cleric Twenyl who was breaking down his tent into its parts. "Hmm?" The old elf said absentmindedly and he continued unhook the cloth from the support sticks. "There is a delicate matter I would like to ask you," He whispered and glanced over his shoulder behind him. "Mother is not around is she?" "Oh, no." Twenyl mused and continued rolling up the loosened tent sides. "Have..." Valel started to ask. "Lady elves... always had... wings?" he finally got out. Twenyl started to chuckled to himself at some hidden joke. "Only royal ones," he said slyly. "And only when they mature into Queens. The wings are the manifestation of their birthright." "Ah," Valel said, realizing he had just unwittingly confessed his indiscretion. Then in a moment of self-sacrificing bravery he blurted out. "We have joined." That, Twenyl was not expecting. A curious peek, maybe. A passionate encounter, his mother only hoped. "Oh, my," He said sadly. His hands stopped and he looked up to his son with a look of pride but also worry. He put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Did you see her pain? Her past?" "As well as her joy, and her hope." He nodded. "I was... uncertain, as to why she choose me. She is beautiful, honorable, compassionate, and intelligent. All this I could see before, but after... it runs so much deeper." "Sex is but a joining of the flesh. A moment of bliss and passion. Joining of the minds, and souls can be a much richer experience, but not without a cost. I am happy for you, but you two could not have picked a worse time." Valel understood his concern, and nodded his understanding. It was against tradition, and certain royal procedures... "I felt that she needed an anchor to this world, someone to keep her here in spite of what is to come." Valel said. Twenyl considered his son's words. There was some wisdom to it. Any elf that had witnessed the worst hell of this world so early in their life would remember it through their longest days, and would be eager to leave this world all the sooner. Such a poison was hard to cure. Even if it caused them both pain in the end should they grow incompatible, Valel's strength would help cure that poison now. It made a certain amount of sense. But it would hurt Valel in the end. That was what Twenyl mourned. "I should also mention, that there are others that had hoped for that honor once we returned to Elthair. I would be discrete about your love." Twenyl resumed breaking down his tent. Valel assisted him with the hanging ropes. "Father, Elthair is lost to us." he said under his breath. "I see it. She sees it." He added cautiously. "I know, my son. But that false hope is what gives many of us peace at night." The heavy burden they both now shared with such honest feelings out in the open called for the remainder of their endeavor be completed in reflective silence. "Try to wait on telling your mother. See if she can figure it out on her own." Twenyl said at last with a hint of mischief. "Aye, that is a battle I wish not to face." "Oh? She speaks of the many fights of words you have been picking with her lately. Wishing to retire her already?" Valel snorted smugly. "In a certain perspective, I have already become her commander." Twenyl let out a loud, hearty guffaw that jolted his son and made many heads poke out from between the tree branches to wonder what happened. **** "You don't need to do this, I have value." Cat pleaded once more. "I told you, take me north and my commander will pay my ransom." Rollis prodded her in the back again with his short sword and growled. She turned left - the side of her back he had just prodded. It was how he navigated the blindfolded woman around the treacherous wilderness. It had been a quiet morning for the most part. She played along and did as she was told. But as the hours went by she started to talk, and question, and beg. Normally the noise she made would be an inconvenience, but this time it wasn't his problem. It was hers. "Keep talkin'." he muttered. "Attract more attention to yourself." He advised her. "I'm not the one with my hands tied behind my back and blindfolded." Reminding her of that shut her up. But not this time. "I could pay for my own ransom," She alluded. "You sound like you haven't had it good in a long time." He grabbed her by the neck. The Cat stopped. She tried to calm her breath, part of her expected a knife in the ribs, part of her expected a blow to the side of her head, and a part of her...yes! expected hands to roam over her womanly features which was exactly what Rollis was doing as he caressed her leather-clad ass. He moved to her front and unbuttoned her leather shirt. Bit by bit it came apart, and he slid it down her shoulders exposing her firm athletic breasts to the open air. He cupped one, then the other in his palm and squeezed it painfully. "I work better with my hands free." She cooed at him. Rollis leaned in and breathed hotly into her ear. "Sweetling, you don't have anything I want." he growled with a bit a malicious humor. "Except maybe those leathers." he cut her hands free of their bindings. "Take it off. All of it. Touch the blindfold and I cut off an ear. Which I know firsthand hurts... a lot. " The Cat did as instructed. Slowly the jacket came off. Followed by the boots, and then her leather leggings. The Cat stood naked and blindfolded, her breath heavy in the air. "I could change your mind." She tried to entice him. "Tsk," Rollis rolled his eyes and picked up her clothes. "Even now that I've seen you bare, you still don't have anything I want." "You could pretend I'm someone else..." She tried again. Rollis didn't answer. At first she thought he was considering it, but then she didn't even hear him moving. He had promised to cut off an ear if she touched the blindfold, but now she dared it and it came off with a fury. He was gone. She was alone in the woods and naked. The Cat looked around her surroundings, and recognized nothing. She was lost. Lost in the Light Ch. 13 "Bastard! At least leave me a knife!" She screamed. There was no reply. **** By late evening they had found a new location and were making camp. Tents were rehung just as easily as they had been dismantled that morning. Tamain watched the Elthairins work in silence and appreciated how effective their methods were. No permanent base of operations to worry about defending, no possessions other than essentials, and no supply trains. Everything was carried on the backs of the knights in packs who traveled arms free and capable of combat. Tamain reminded himself that theses were just Elthairin scouts. Silent and deadly in their own right, but designed for reconnaissance and mobility. The strong arm of the Elthairin military were the Sky Riders, and thankfully he had never seen one. Secretly he wished they had a few to call on, but also dreaded ever seeing one. Leaf Knights were formidable enough for one Zecairin's lifetime. Their new camp was south of the Monastery, deep in the forest and away from any noticeable landmarks. To the Northwest was the small mountainside where they had first encountered each other, and far, far to the southeast were the marshes that Tamain called home. He still considered this area to be in his backyard. Anyplace close enough for him to see in a few days journey was too close for comfort for there to be potential danger. The main river in the marshlands emptied out into the blue sea, but his people had no boats to sail across the ocean, just fishing canoes. There was no place for them to run but back to Zecair if this went bad. That unlikely thread of connection - a simple name - had changed Riyarra's position on this Monastery. She had confided in both Eola and himself during their walk that morning as to the nature of her savior, his mission in Zecair, and the dubious mercenary nature of these warriors called Disruptors. She was now all the more intent to destroy that place if they did not surrender peacefully. Tamain could not fault her in her conviction; this newly revealed secret could tip the balance of power between the three kingdoms. Humans that could easily infiltrate their borders, wreak havoc, and escape unchallenged simply because all thought they were too weak to be capable? It was devilishly devious. His people had been given orders to circle around the walls to the west, sneak over and take up vantage points on the rooftops. They were to create a diversion if the Queen's plan went awry and cover her retreat. That left the Discarded exposed during such a diversion, but Tamain was confident they could cause enough confusion to dilute the risk. But if the worst happened, his people could not stand against the humans in combat. The Queen was right about that, he had seen their abilities just a moment ago from the tree tops. Valel placed a hand on Tamain's shoulder and brought his thoughts back to the moment. He looked over to the sharp features of the light elf's face, and realized he had never had an opportunity to get a good look at Valel before. Their meetings had always been intense ones during which Tamain was paying attention to a million other things at once. This time he appreciated the man's countenance. He was one of the few knights Tamain would call noble. Tamain was about to speak, but no words came out. It was one of the Elthairin's rules when they set up a new camp - silence on the ground. And he had caught himself before he broke it. Instead he offered the Elthairin his hand again, it may be the last opportunity he would have to greet him - or say goodbye. Their alliance hadn't produced the fruit Tamain had hoped, but there was still a chance after this business was done. There was no telling how it would play out, and who would be in danger. But to this one Elthairin - one Tamain could call brother in a certain regard - he wanted to say 'Good luck'. Valel grasped his hand firmly, and then Tamain's forearm with his other hand in a solid greeting. In his face he said "This isn't goodbye" but the strength of his grasp said "don't die." They broke, each continuing on with their own task without another thought. For Tamain, it was reuniting with his Discarded at their own camp, now that the Queen's plan had been debated and solidified. He walked with purpose and determination, and made certain every Elthairin that cared to look his direction would see him standing tall and determined. Their risk was great, and their respective roles were equally dangerous. He would not be the one to tremble, nor to falter, nor to worry, nor to glance at their faces for one last look as if to try and record their names should they fall tomorrow. No, he would be one to walk with a cocky strut. He was a Zecairin walking through an Elthairin camp unchallenged - something that never happened. And he planned to do it again. Perhaps even naked next time. His solitary walk was quiet and uneventful. Plenty of time to put his thoughts in order, and plenty of time to test his abilities. Since leaving the Elthairins, he had extended his sensory range and picked up sounds from far, far away. The headaches didn't return with this moderate use of magic - he was in the clear now. It was well into the evening when he came across the illusionary barrier that masked their small camp. He had been so lost in thought that when he absentmindedly walked right through it, and the small cluster of tall bushes turned into a campfire ring with a group of Zecairins sitting around it eagerly awaiting him, he spooked. Tamain brought up his guard, and a whirlwind rose up around him. He dissipated it almost immediately upon seeing Corella looking at him skeptically. "I was just proving that I am whole again." He lied. His tone of voice had turned from the whimsical rogue, to the dire strategist. Lysia had first heard him speak with such seriousness when he coerced her to their side, and since that night saw his more jovial nature emerged. It sent a certain shiver down her spine that was not entirely unpleasant. "Uh huh..." Pemmi snorted, dismissing his show of bravado. "Orders, watch-master?" Ut'van said in all seriousness. It was a title really only used back at The Swamp. Out here rank wasn't used or needed, anyone that didn't already know their roles had no place here. Tamain preferred his people to be on equal standing, and he had never needed to force anyone's compliance. "You are not going to like it." He said, and explained Riyarra's plan to walk right in and make her inquiries. "Are they crazy?" Corella almost laughed when Tamain finished explaining it all. "To a certain extent." Tamain agreed with her assessment. "At first they offer polite diplomacy, and to avoid bloodshed. But with their soldiers already waiting in the tree line to sack the place should she be denied... Honestly, it is the only worthwhile option that is not slitting their throats as they sleep." "Why aren't we doing that? That sounds better. I like that." Gerrick added dryly, and a bit too excitedly. "Brutal, yes. But is there anyone on our side thinking they're not guilty? I don't see the point to letting them live. They have a captive demon prisoner..." he starting laying out his points in the air with his hands. It was clearly he was ready to slit a few throats with just a word. "They are milking it of its essence and making a drug. They're selling this drug to our people and it's killing us. The Elthairin's way gives them too much of a chance to murder us all. Who's going to kill the demon if we're all murdered?" His passion unsettled Lysia. Not because she didn't feel it justified, in fact she shared his feelings, but because none of the other Zecairins were this worked up. "I am." Tamain said coldly, and eerily rational. "I must reserve some of my impressive stamina to kill this eldritch Elder... whether they give it up willingly or not. If they do not, there will be chaos and blood. I will need to squander some of my power to mend organs and to keep many of you from bleeding to death. Not to mention showing the Elthairin Knights the same such courtesy as they will be our vanguard. No... make no mistake, if this goes badly and we are needed, it will be the worst way it can possible go. These humans are tough, just one of them could kill all of us. And it will take three to four Elths engaged in combat and not dying to kill one. There's only about twice as many Elths as the human fighters, so if they lose a single one the odds get that much worse." "We're fucked." Corella snorted derisively, with a hint of madness. "Why are we even doing this, it's ridiculous!" "To save Zecair." Tamain reminded her angrily. "Elthair is using our kin's new aggressive attitude as an excuse to rekindle the forges... according to the old Elth, that is." "Yep, double fucked." Ut'van sighed. "Nothing's wrong with getting double fucked." Rollis said as he walked through the barrier and rejoined them with a bundle of leathers under his arm. "Just don't clench up." he waggled his eyebrows obscenely at Lysia, before turning to Tamain. "Boss, remember we got an Elth here? Mind your fucking language around the Elth, before she gets offended at you calling her people Elths." "I don't mind, Zek," Lysia countered in kind. "Now isn't the time to be dishonest." "Woo hoo," Rollis sauntered over. His flamboyant mood was out of place for the normally brooding archer. He sized the moody brown haired girl up and formed a new opinion. "I brought the dear lady a gift." He bowed, overly dramatically, before presenting his bundle before her. "If you're going to run with us, you'll need to dress like us. So no one mistakes which side you're with." Lysia looked at them suspiciously. "I washed them, I swear." Rollis protested, indignantly. "Fine," She gathered them up and left to change. "I kinda like her in the Elthairin greens." Pemmi whispered. "It makes me want to fuck her angrily." The disapproving look Tamain gave her made her pointed ears roll flat. "What? You were thinking it too!" "We will infiltrate at dawn." Tamain said sternly, followed by an exasperated sigh that took the edge off his voice. "That will give us time to test them. If they don't detect us, we should have no problem stirring things up later. Keep in mind there are other humans in there besides the fighters that seem to be much less capable. Use them to stir things up. Riyarra plans to approach late morning. If they detect us, we pull out, and it only strengthens Riyarra's chance for diplomacy later. This alliance is our trump card against them. They won't expect us to work together. So they'll ignore one or the other, expecting us to attack each other before them, when instead we'll be unified against them." "Yeah, I forgot about that." Gerrick admitted. "Good point. Lets fuck 'em up." "No," Tamain condescended sternly. "We are not to engage them. We spook the rats so the Elthairins can escape. If this turns into a fight. Run. Or you'll die." Tamain's grimness wasn't going over well with the others. "That bad?" Corella called him out on it. "Worse than what we've already faced?" "No, you have a point," Tamain conceded with a sigh. "I just want us all to get out alive. But these humans are not like anything we've faced. They're very different." "People die out here Tam," Corella said angrily, her patience for his coddling reaching its end. "Or did you forget that? We haven't, and we're still here for this insane adventure. You're the one driving us to save Zecair, and we're in for it to the end, so you better have your head in this right. You're not going to save us all, so save as many as you can." Tamain ground his knuckles into his temples. "I hate you so much sometimes," he bemoaned. Corella smirked and folded her arms over her chest. "I love you too, Tam," "Fine. I want to strut naked back into the Elth's camp." Tam admitted with a devious smirk. "I want every single Elthairin to survive tomorrow so I can show them my ass when we're done. If we both suffer too many losses, that would just be cruel." "Finally, a cause worth dying for!" Rollis blurted out with a sarcastic snort. "Alright," Tamain said with a sigh and pulled his knuckles away from his reddening temples. "I am in it to show my ass. No more gloom and doom. If Riyarra reveals who she is, or they figure it out, they won't kill her. They will want to use her. They might kill whoever she takes with her, but the moment they move to strike we give them something else to strike at. It has to be instant terror or they won't budge. These are seasoned warriors. I want... Shadow-wraiths." he said, naming the elite Zecairin guard. "That's a little close to home," Ut'van argued scratching his chin. "If we're too convincing, won't that make the Elthairins shoot at us too?" "Shadow-wraiths out here? This far out?" Corella said skeptically. "Only a human would fall for that." She smirked. "I like it." "But we aren't Shadow-wraiths." Tamain made his point clear. "We jump out swords drawn, pick off a few rats if we must for effect until they scramble. The point is to get them to give chase. So we head for something important inside like we've made our mark. Head for the biggest building or something that looks important... and set it on fire." They could see the wheels of mischief turning behind those wild eyes as he stared into the fire as his thoughts came together. "Duck out a window, pull back to the wall, regroup near the front entrance. If they don't bite and chase you to the wall - up and over and head to the tree line, lose them there. The Elthairins will be waiting. Our allies will have a small group ready to pull Riyarra out when she gives them the signal. They'll be coming in the front. We just need to buy some time." "Then we try again tomorrow?" Katral asked, speaking up for the first time. She was trying to follow it all and her question was genuine. Ut'van gave her an incredulous look. "Then the Elthairins take up high vantage points around the perimeter and pick off anyone who isn't holed up inside one of their buildings. At that point it becomes a siege." Tamain said. "One final point." he squatted before the campfire to choose his thoughts carefully. "There is a Zecairin training among them. Her true loyalties are unknown, but we must assume she is the human's ally." No one liked the sound of that. "We give her no mercy. We can't afford to here. Even if she isn't aligned with them, she may feign captivity to get under our guard. Reports say they're training her, so she owes them some loyalty." "Aye," Rollis grunted sourly. "Don't like it, but the last thing we need is a Blooded Mistress trained to fight as well as they do. She'll be a real bitch to deal with, and hard to kill." "She will be our responsibility." Tamain said. "We've already discovered a weakness to our new alliance because of the Blooded Mistress Riyarra tied to a tree last night - not all of our allies know all our faces yet, and they're erring on the side of caution. Valel was raped, and nearly killed." Tamain rolled his eyes. He took a bit of perverse pleasure when he had heard that particularly juicy gossip from Riyarra. "The poor boy," Corella bemoaned sarcastically. Tamain glanced up at her with a doubtful scowl. "Sorry, that was mean. I'm just jealous, he's rather handsome for an Elth. I wanted first shot." Rollis rolled his eyes and snorted. "He... is also the Queen's newly appointed consort." Tamain said slowly. Silence followed. "I did not see that one coming." Katral said. "She works fast." Rollis said. "The poor boy," Pemmi reiterated. "Dammit!" Corella cursed. Tamain let them get it out of their systems, but then he noticed a few absent voices. Pebbles was ignoring all the banter and sharpening her wrist knives with a whetstone. She sat against one of the logs pulled in to ring the fire and seemed to care less what the battle plan was. Her role as lookout and scout rarely changed, and Tamain was tempted to make an exception for this one mission - they needed all the fighting power they could muster. But his personal feelings stalled out tactical mind into a muddle of ambiguity. "Scharla" Tamain said softly. The rancor cut off sharply. Faosen, feigning to be napping beside the girl, awoke with a wince at that name. Pebbles looked up to meet his eyes. Tamain saw cold steel start to form in the young girl - a murderous rage wielded by reason and kept leashed by an old personal promise of revenge. Casually, she lifted a hand to brush strands of her black hair from her face to tuck behind her long ear. "God father?" she replied politely, but a little too stand-offish. "No need to hold back." Tamain said. Pebbles eyes drifted down to her work, and she lifted a knife to catch the firelight. It was a skinny thing, but with a long enough handle and blade to be well suited to throwing or hand to hand combat. She brought her legs up to her, held the blade between the toes of both feet, and with her hands held the stone at such an angle so as to start grinding little serrations into the base of the blade at the handle. Faosen watched her work with morbid curiosity. Corella looked to Tamain, hurt in her eyes, but she understood his reasons. "I'll go see if Lysia needs any help." Corella said and wandered off. An uncomfortable silence crept over the group. "We've got a big day tomorrow. Don't stay up too late." Tamain said in closing. "Yes, God-father," Rollis said in a patronizing tone. Tamain smacked his ass at the archer in taunt as he walked off. "If you're not up to it..." Gerrick said gently to Pebbles as he stoked the fire. "You can hang back." Pebbles ignored him for the most part. But gave up on "enhancing" her weapon when it wasn't going as planned. She leaned back, fell against Faosen's shoulder, startling the young man, and looked up at Gerrick with intelligent expression of deliberation. "Do you know what I love about being a little girl?" She asked him. "The boys?" Gerrick said with a smile, nodding at blushing Faosen who didn't know what to do about this sudden coy expression of affection from the only one here nearest his age. Pebbles lifted her knife up to catch the light of the fire. "No one sees the knife until it's too late." She said in all seriousness. "Not even that oaf Brylen..." Gerick shuddered and relented. Faosen smirked at some hidden humor. He strategically repositioned to give her his chest and an arm around her, which was not only allowed, but welcomed as she let go the blade immediately and snuggled up tightly. Without another word, she nestled against him and closed her eyes for the evening. Faosen, too shocked at this and too excited to rest, volunteered for the first watch as the others turned in. Pebbles's stirring commentary settled their doubts, and gave them new steel for thought on the day to come... Had he gone too far? Tamain tucked his chin into his collar and leaned against the trunk of a willow tree. The shaded canopy gave him some needed privacy to wrestle with his doubts, and also deafened him to the outside world as he had chosen it as a natural barrier to intruders so he could give his magic a rest. Tomorrow he would kill a demon. The thought of it thrilled him, terrified him, and elated him that his search for a solution to the Zecairin sickness was finally within reach. To that end, his crimes against his comrades were inconsequential. He took a deep, calming breath and allowed himself to relax. Only the chirp of crickets and the occasional hoot of a night owl in the distance kept him company and it was all he needed. He hadn't dozed for long when he felt something pull at his sleeve. Tamain looked up but there was no one around him. Instead there were two hands made of bark coming from the tree. It wasn't uncomfortable, but as he struggled to free himself he realized it was becoming problematic. Trapped as he may be, he had a likely suspicion who it was, and was more annoyed than worried. He didn't want to deal with her right now. Lost in the Light Ch. 14 Author's note: This chapter is all plot and story. ***** It wasn't yet dawn, but the soft glow of the approaching sunrise started to creep across the night sky. Silently her bare feet padded across the dew covered grass. They looked so peaceful sleeping together - this Zecairin man and his Elthairin woman huddle together under the willow tree. It was a sweet scene as their arms entwined one another and their bare flesh stank of sweat, sex, and cum. She paused a moment in case it was an act, but neither moved. She had found the others sleeping soundly down the hill with only one silver haired archer standing guard. These couldn't be her kin she had been sent to find, but this one, with his Elthairin mistress, was obviously their leader. Even naked, she could tell by his appearance and posture that he was a leader. It was the arrogance - he slept so peacefully. But the presence of an Elthairin woman confused her. A slave? Silently she leaned down until strands of blue hair fell from the hood she hid behind and pressed her forehead to the Elthairin's. Elves slept hard after sex, it was simply their nature, and based on the pungent smell they wouldn't notice her intrusion. Gently she sent out the presence of her mind and touched the Elthairin girl's as she slept. She saw the memories of the past few days - and slowly her body began to change. Her skin color lightened, her body shrank, her hips and bust increased until she looked exactly like Lysia. Transformation magic was a difficult skill to master. Making oneself look exactly like someone else took a genius level stroke of artistry as the magic itself couldn't tell how a person should look, it merely obeyed the commands of its channeler. The Mischievous had earned her name with this skill, and how she used it. She could have risen high in the hierarchy of Zecair, but power never interested her like amusement at the expense of others did. But that was long ago. This Lysia walked down the hill towards camp. Her blue robes quickly transforming into black combat leathers. Rollis looked up at the sound of her approach. He gave her a curious stare, and a slight nod of silent greeting. Lysia ignored him, but sat down beside him none the less. In front of them, three pairs of couples huddle together for warmth around the embers of a dying fire. Rollis watched her oddly, and didn't say a word. "I had a nightmare." she said softly. "About tomorrow... er today." Rollis nodded in understanding and patted her shoulder in reassurance. The Mischievous had glimpsed enough of Lysia's conscience to know the girl's immediate thoughts and concerns. "What's my role supposed to be again?" "Not sure," Rollis replied honestly. "Tam skipped that part last night. But if we're meant to cause confusion and let the Elths do the heavy hitting, then that's your job too." "Works for me," she said sleepily and stood to leave. They're working with the Elthairins? She thought to herself amazed. The Father knew the Elthairins were camped nearby to strike, and if these were the Zecairins he meant her to turn on them, he was in for a stark surprise. Yet there was something odd about this bunch. They were too... plain. She gave them one more cursory glance and then realized it - they were Discarded! Practically useless! These were not the Zecairins the Father wanted. She coughed out a barely contained laugh. Lysia strode back up the hill and hid the smirk she couldn't help show. These fools have sided with the Elthairins? They must be desperate. As amusing as this alliance was, it would not last after today. They were fodder being used by the Elthairins, nothing more. Lysia didn't return to the willow tree. Instead, once she was out of sight of the main camp she turned and... "Who are you?" A woman demanded. Lysia looked over her shoulder and saw a Zecairin woman accosting her - another Discarded. "You forgot the love bites, Shapeshifter." The woman said smugly and taped the side of her own neck. The Mischievous let her form shift back to her natural one. She could feel the heat from the fireball floating in the air behind her. This Discarded knew a little magic. With her transformation complete she pulled her hood back and revealed her face. "You're the one working with the humans!" Corella said, startled. The surprise and worry in her voice was obvious. The Mischievous seized that opportunity. She flipped forward, kicked the hand channeling the fireball, sending it streaking off into the sky to dissipate. She landed in a crouched position, spun on her heels, and swept the legs out from under her would-be assailant. The woman landed on her back with a thud, the breath escaping her lungs, and suddenly went surprisingly limp. The Mischievous stood, and saw crimson start to pool behind the woman's head, a rock in the ground had ended the fight. But there was sound coming up the hill. Someone had seen the fireball. The Mischievous grabbed the woman's head, touched her forehead to hers connecting their minds, and stole as many memories as she could in the woman's last moments. Then she ran. ***** The Father awoke. He was drenched in sweat and his breathing was panicked and raspy. Slowly he rose. His underclothes were soaked, his thin blanket was soaked, and even the small cylindrical cushion he used as a pillow was soaked. Shaking, gnarled hands touched his temples uncertainly as he tried to make sense of the night's visions. He had died so many times in them. With each new vision the scene played out differently, but the players were all the same - the Elf Queen, the Wolf, the Red Dragon, the Lion, the Changeling, the Changeling's Shadow, the Sorcerer, and a few dozen elves of both races. The Monastery had become a war zone in many of the scenarios that played out in his dream. But not all of them. "Mother," he called out in frustration. His voice was so dry it cracked and he coughed himself into a fit. "Mother! Why do you betray me?!" he cursed. There was no response. With a grunt, he rose. He changed his clothes into his brown priest robes, and left his private room. The dawn air was cool and damp and gave him a chill down his spine. Acolytes were already up and bustling as they lit morning fires in the common rooms. The Chapel was his first destination, and when an acolyte noticed his unusual change of routine, he hustled ahead, opened the door, and set to work lighting the chapel's fireplace. When The Father finally entered, the man was still trying fan life into the dried grass between the logs. "Leave me!" the Father boomed and the acolyte fled for his life. The Father held onto the railings and pews to support himself along his journey to the altar. He felt the chains of his long years of life dragging him behind. His breath was heavy, the chill air had sapped what strength his night visions hadn't taken from him in the short walk to this building. He practically collapsed onto his knees before the altar - the hidden entrance to the catacombs. It took him a moment of staring at its simplistic stone craftsmanship before he put his hands together in prayer and set to calming his breath and heart. If today was to be his death, he would spend his last moments reconciling his conscience with the universe. **** Mid morning sun rose above tree tops. The Mischievous stood calmly in an open clearing with her blue hood pulled over her head. Her early morning discovery was a surprise, but they were not the ones The Father wanted. They were the Discarded, located too close to the Monastery and not in the region he had shown her. The stolen memories of Corella were a jumbled mess and practically useless. In the woman's last moments her only thoughts were of her daughter and her late husband, nothing useful. The Mischievous hadn't even learned why they were there helping the Elthairins. It didn't matter now. Her true kin were near, and she would rally them to their cause. A lizard rider approached cautiously before her. Then she felt another presence behind her. A man appeared out of thin air right next to her. He was slim, carried himself with a glorious purpose and a debonair air, as if he held the authority of a matron. His clothing was plain and a muted gray color. His long black hair ended in the middle of his back and flowed down unbraided. Its pristine condition gave her an instant disdain for his him. His magical camouflage was superior however - she hadn't detected him at all. That ability was proof of his status as a Shadowraith. "Our good friends have sent a messenger after all this time," he chuckled as he paced around her looking her up and down. "and such a pretty one." His words were lies, she could see his disgust in his red glaring eyes. She knew she only had moments before he attacked if she did not immediately appease him. Shadowraiths were not sociable, but were notoriously murderous. "Elthairins are attacking the source. They have enough numbers to stand a chance." She said. The Shadowraith drew a long, thin, short sword. "When?" He said casually, disinterested. "They are at our walls." She said. "Thank you," He smiled. Then he thrust his sword into her gut - but found himself on his face in the dirt instead. It had happened too fast for him or his mounted comrade to register. She had turned at the last second letting it slice cleanly through the robe. Her training had showed her his movements before he made them. They also showed what he would do next. She brought her hands up and caught the reverse momentum slice that would reflexively have taken off her head had she doubled over from the pain of the attack. But she had avoided it instead. Then, twisting her whole body around the blow, she used his own movement to throw him over her shoulder and into the dirty painfully. She buried his own blade into his leg before he could rise. "Don't take too long," The Mischievous said and quickly retreated. No one followed after her. She could tell by his reaction that he didn't care to save the monastery, nor did he fully comprehend what the source was or why it was important to him, he had no reason to assist them. So she had to give them a reason to follow. ***** Riyarra stepped through the gate with Brylen at her side. They wore the standard Leaf Knight leather uniform and kept their hands casually hidden under their cloaks. Two men in cloth vests, long baggy pants, and carrying a spear each closed the heavy doors behind them. Out of courtesy she pulled back her cloak over her shoulders. This revealed the slim Elthairin swords at her hips, but also showed her hands - and that they were casually folded before her demurely. A fat man came to welcome them. Brylen took a step back, to give a polite distance, and to partake of his surroundings out of curiosity. Riyarra did not like the look of this man. He had an unnerving smile that bespoke a great intelligence, and a dangerous cunning. She discretely sized him up. He was too obese to be fighter, therefore if he was dangerous it came from his ability to command those around him. "Welcome!" he practically bellowed. His voice had a high pitched, sycophant quality to it that grated on her ears. She had no reason to distrust this individual, but his demeanor was rubbing her completely the wrong way. She smiled, and stepped forward to greet him. "I am Riyarra of Elthair," she said politely in a clear enough voice that those men that had gathered around could hear. The fat man stopped in his tracks, placed his hands together before him submissively and bowed before her. She did not let his actions break her stride as she neared. There was no reason for this gesture, they should not know who she was, so to maintain her innocent ruse she played it off as simple politeness. It would be foolish for them to reveal their hand and to show that they recognized her. This was the beginning of a dangerous game of out-bluffing the other. "Welcome, your grace." The fat man said. "I, Silas, welcome the princess of Elthair to our humble home." She could feel Brylen tense up behind her without looking, she gave him a cold look over her shoulder to calm him. So much for facades of innocence. "You know who I am?" She asked with a curious tilt of her head. Her hand, which was halfway extended in greeting, slowly recoiled to her side. "Of course!" He said and slowly raised his head. "Being so close to Zecair and the neutral lands, we have had many visitors who have been looking for you. Their description was most thorough." He said with a warm smile. "I am so delighted to see you whole, and healthy. Please come in and partake of our hospitality." He stepped to the side, gestured for them to follow, and bowed his head. Well played. Riyarra saluted him in her mind. This one would be trouble. He clearly would only reveal what he wanted her to know, and his lies would be masterfully crafted with half truths. Riyarra suddenly dreaded her actions. She hadn't the stomach for two-faced negotiations, and she feared Brylen would soon become a liability with his lack of temperament for such a dealing. Silas led her to the larger building in the middle of the compound. It had the tallest roof, and it seemed to be the focal point which the other buildings were built around. A wooden causeway wrapped around its outer wall, providing a walkway for visitors coming from adjourning buildings. There were simple steps leading up to and from the courtyard. Silas's footfalls were heavy on the wooden planks, and he had difficulty taking these few steps up to the wooden breezeway. Riyarra fought hard to swallow her disdain for him. Two large wooden doors were swung open from the inside by two men in blue robes - acolytes of some sort. Silas led the way into a large chamber filled with rows of wooden seats. Riyarra took a moment to appreciate its beauty. The carpentry was old, very old, but the joints were masterfully crafted to stand alone without need for mortar, brick, or additional support. Such architecture was alien to her compared to the thatched huts, and plastered walls of the human settlements she had visited in the past. Obviously this place was built by a people long gone from this land. An old man sat facing the altar in the far back of this grand room. He did not rise as they approached. "Your Grace, may I present The Father," Silas said in an official capacity and took a respectful step backwards before graciously leaving the chapel. Riyarra almost thought he was in a hurry. "Thank you for your courtesy Silas," Brylen said and bowed as the man passed. The fat human merely smiled, nodded instead of giving a short bow, and hurried out. The wooden doors closed behind him, and the three of them were now alone. "Courtesy?" came the derisive sneer of the old man. His voice old and scratchy, and obviously in poor health. "'Courtesy', says He that-has-come-to-kill-us." The Father snorted. The hair on Riyarra's neck bristled. This old man, frail as he was, radiated a terrible aura of power and maliciousness. It wasn't a feeling she could say with accuracy, but only that she was suddenly overcome with an unexplainable fear of this man. "We came to talk." Riyarra said plainly, with a hint of confusion. It was clear that these men knew more than should - a traitor had warned them? Or did they have some power?. "You came to kill the Mother," The Father said darkly. The thought to reach for her weapons crossed her mind, but she recognized it as a reflex to the tension in the air, and instead folded her hands together as she approached the old man slowly. Brylen moved to approach, to keep her close, but she looked over her shoulder to him and shook her head against it. "Teach me of a better path," She said as she came to sit beside the father, just as he was, with her knees tucked under her, and her hands folded in her lap. "Ultimately, my goal is peace. Peace for my people, for the Zecairins, and even yours if there is a way." The Father opened his eyes and sat up a little more straight. He considered her words for a long moment. If she had surprised him, he wasn't going to show it. "I have seen this play out many thousands of ways," He said as events were indeed reminding him of glimpses of his visions. "Your path inevitably ends with the death of everyone you hold dear. I would console you, if my death did not precede theirs." he said snidely. "Why do you defend this Mother so passionately?" Riyarra asked honestly. "I don't," The Father admitted flatly. "There are more players at work than just us. Have you not considered that?" His angry, bitter tone of voice was starting to soften as they spoke, but still resided well within the realm of offense. Riyarra considered his words. "If I offered you our protection?" she said trying to woo him over. "Hmph! You would die before me." he snorted. But her attempt to find a solution softened his contempt some. "If we struck first?"she said mimicking his hushed tone of voice. He had revealed a clue - he was in as much danger from whomever this Mother was. "I have already prepared for that. If you strike first, you, Princess Riyarra will die first, then your troops hiding under the walls would follow, along with the curious Zeks that have snuck in. Last night I sent a messenger to summon Shadowraiths to deal with your troops in the woods. They die last of all." Riyarra tried her best not to panic. This was an ambush, and she had been trapped. She wanted to look over her shoulder to Brylen to try and send him some signal for the retreat tactic. "If you try and escape now, you'll be captured and beheaded." He said with a hint of sadness. "Unfortunately, you and I are both destined to die today. Of all the thousands of paths this day would play out, I saw no good end for us." She denied his words. Whoever this Father was, he could not possibly know the future. No, Mule... Liam had shown her that destiny was not written in stone. Whatever his foresight powers were, they may be accurate to some degree, but if they had gone through thousands of variations, then the future was not a set course. One just needed to find the right action to change it. "Did you send Liam to free me?" she asked, gambling that everything he had said this far was true. The Father cackled sarcastically. "I sent him to see you captured, raped, and tortured by Zeks." The Father replied. Riyarra steeled her heart as his words hit home. "Why did he free me? Was that in your visions?" The Father did not answer right away. "No," he admitted. "My visions have always only involved my future. Liam was in them, however. He is locked in the sweat box if you want to see him before you die." he offered in consolation. Riyarra didn't take the bait. She merely looked at the alter as her mind frantically tried to find a solution out of this trap. "In my visions, he breaks free when they cut off your head and avenges your death upon his brothers. He is killed by Rasj the Red when your people attack. Eventually, all of your soldiers die, along with all of ours when the Shadowraiths come." Something about his vision unnerved her. It didn't seem to fit her expectations for the day, and certainly did not coincide with how their discussion was going. It seemed more of an attempt to intimidate her. "You saw Zecairins killing Elthairins?" she asked carefully. She may have a secret yet. "As well as Zecairins killing other Zecairins that seemed to have mysteriously wandered into the middle of a bloodbath." "Are you telling me all this, in the hope that I can change it?" She asked with a shaky voice. Her worst fears were coming true, and what was more unnerving was how calmly he was telling her all of this. Everyone? Dead? No... She couldn't accept it. "Why would I do that?" he snorted. "No, I tell you so that you can spend these last moments praying to your gods." Lost in the Light Ch. 14 Riyarra rose to her feet. Her hand twitched, eager to feel steel in its grip and to slice this old man's head from his shoulders. Whatever fear magic he was trying to use on her was having the reverse effect, she was enraged against him. She denied his prophecies, such a horrible fate could not possibly happen. "Strike me down if you like, otherwise I die at a traitors hand." "Why do you pray here?" She asked, infuriated. "You are no pious man..." "The Mother hears my prayers," He argued bitterly. "She may not have forsaken me, but instead wishes to remind me of her power. She withheld a player in this farce that would have saved us both - a boy that was supposed to return from meeting her. It is to her fickle, evil, capricious nature that I pray..." he mumbled. The fire of argument left him and he went back to his silent praying. Riyarra could not believe this wretched man - praying to a demon for salvation? Quickly she turned to Brylen, her hands a flurry of communication as she tried to relay all that the Father had whispered in a short amount of time. His face scrunched up in confusion as he digested what he could and fought against yelling at her to stop and be more clear. The door burst open, and the largest human Riyarra had ever seen walked boldly into the Chapel. He wore short leggings that ended at the knees - almost a skirt or loincloth, and no shirt, proudly displaying his heavily muscled, red skinned chest. His face was just as hard as his body, and his eyes saw through Brylen and Riyarra as if they were flies and fixated on The Father. "Father!" the man said loudly and strode forward. Brylen stepped back to get out of the man's way. The Father stood and rose. "Rasj," He replied evenly, as he turned around to regard the massive man. "The Mother spoke to me last night," The man said with conviction. He stopped short of the old man and stared down at him with contempt. "Did she? That bitch..." The Father chuckled. Rasj's hand flew out in a swipe at The Father's head. It was so forceful, a pane of glass in the far window cracked and shattered outwards. But The Father had no intention of going quietly. He ducked out of the way and quickly jammed two fingers into Rasj's elbow. The large man's arm started to spasm uncontrollably, but he took no notice and roared as he grabbed the old man by his free hand. The Father was old, and not as maneuverable, but he was not defenseless. He struck this arm just as he had the other, but the nerve spasms didn't occur and release him. So he struck the hand, and Riyarra heard bone shatter from The Father's attack. Yet the red man seemed to be immune to it. He dropped the Father, but before the old man landed, he kicked him squarely in the torso. Riyarra heard bone crack from the impact right before the frail body of the old man smashed against the stone alter and crumbled to the ground as a rag doll. The Father was dead. "A new god has risen!" Rasj the Red bellowed throughout the hall. Riyarra heard men enter the Chapel, see the Father's crumpled body on the floor. As one of the men leveled his sword at Rasj and looked to engage him in combat, he was run through by his comrade to his own surprise. The Guard kicked him off his sword, now red with blood, and in a twirl severed the man's head cleanly. "I bow before God," The man said and went to one knee. "Kill the disbelievers." Rasj commanded and strode to the middle of the hall where a stunned Brylen and Riyarra looked at each other and the approaching monstrosity. Brylen drew his swords first, but Rasj had closed the distance between them in a single leap, snatched the elf up by the neck, and broke it with a sickening twist by his mangled wrist. "NOO!" Riyarra screamed involuntarily as she saw her friend die so easily and fall to the floor. She yanked her own blades out but not before that same monster had snatched her up by the head. She had to drop her blades and grab his thick hand for support before he pulled her head off her shoulders from his sheer strength. She struggled as he walked out into the afternoon sun and presented his captive to all those that would see. Huanguard loyal to Rasj bowed to one knee, the rest were busy culling their ranks as men cried out in death screams all around. Death and blood was everywhere as The Monastery was being purified for the coming of its new God. "Bind this one," Rasj commanded and threw Riyarra to the ground. She landed ungracefully and tumbled through the dirt. Before she could rise, hands were upon her, tying her hands behind her with rope, and then around her neck to make it choke her should she try to struggle. She was lifted up by her arms, dragged out into the courtyard and dumped onto the ground next to a Zecairin woman in blue robes. They looked at one another and recognition crossed between them. "you?!" Riyarra hissed at The Mischievous. The Mischievous only laughed madly at the dark twist in fate. "Ah, I see you know one another." Came Silas's whiny voice. Riyarra looked up at him, saw his smug expression, and met the real master of this cabal. ***** "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Tamain cursed to himself silently as he watched from the rooftops. He sent whispers out carried on the wind to their targets as fast as they could. This was not a contingency they had planed for. As they watched human kill human he wasn't sure which one to help before it was all too late and mostly over. This had been planed from the beginning and his people were caught unawares. "Hold, wait!" He instructed his people. "Move in if they look to strike at her! We need more time!" "Lysia! Rouse Corella, she's slept it off enough, we need an escape route now!" "Valel! MOVE! They have her! Looks like an execution! Brylen is down!" "windmaster..." came a guttural voice from underneath him. Tamain spooked, looked over the edge of the rooftop he was perched upon and saw just a large box attached to the wall. There was a latch on the outside, and he could smell a foul human inside. "...open this lock." The voice instructed. "then be prepared to carry them over the wall." ***** Valel sent the hand signals across the ranks as fast as he could. Archers pulled back their arrows and took quick aim. Valel drew his blades, ready to give his signal. He looked to the east wall to where he had stationed a reserve group, but could clearly see them already engaged with the enemy. Bodies were dropping rapidly. "MOVE!..." Valel heard the call on the wind. "MOVE!" He reiterated before the rest of the message was conveyed and leapt from his branch. He hit the ground at a dead run, flanked by a dozen leaf knights, their blades already in their hands glinting off the sun's rays. Not but halfway down the hill he had hoped to see a flight of arrows overhead but none came. He glanced over his shoulder and could see fighting breaking out in the treeline with some unseen enemy. They were formidable these humans, they had prepared for the Elthairins. He cursed himself silently, and prayed that his mother would fend them off in time. But he could not come to her aid. He had his mission, and so his feet never slowed. ***** "The Father has fallen. His weakness has poisoned us." Rasj called out to his men as the last of the unfaithful had been silenced. "Kill me and Elthair will erase you from this world." Riyarra said to Silas, her desperation was obvious in her voice, but she managed to keep her fear still hidden. "Your own brother paid us to get rid of you," Silas laughed at her. "We need to make good on that promise. Despite our failure in leadership." he gestured around himself. "All of this is because of you, Princess. The Huanguard never fail. Failure is a heresy." "He paid you?!" she practically screamed as she struggled against her bonds. The one part of her mind that wasn't cracking into hysteria had realized that the longer she kept them talking the greater chance she had for a rescue. "In a manner of speaking," he smiled coyly. "Silas?" The Mischievous giggled. Her red eyes glared at him lustfully. "do you remember the hot iron you shoved inside of me? I've been trying to think of something worse to do to you, and I finally came up with it." She said gleefully. Her comment made his sickening smile fade away, and he looked to one of the men standing watch over them. "Let me leave here and you can still claim to be rid of me, I'll live in exile I swear!" Riyarra shouted as she saw the guard draw his sword. "I have knowledge and magic I can tra-" A metal blade swung beside her and red spray covered her face. Riyarra fell sideways and stared aghast at the headless body of The Mischievous. The head rolled to a stop and faced away from her. Riyarra screamed for help and mercy. Rough hands picked her up and dropped her back on her knees. She looked up one last pleading time into the sickening face of the fat man. "The devils of Light and Dark seek to corrupt us! Their punishment will be swift and righteous!" Rasj boomed for all to hear. Riyarra turned to look at Silas one last pleading time. "I have power I could share." she offered quietly. Silas scoffed, and Riyarra knew it to be futile. Whoever this man was, he was more than what he appeared to be as he now seemed to command the Disruptors. Behind him, Riyarra saw someone sickly shuffle out of the chapel. She tried to watch him, but the fat man wanted her to watch him instead. As Riyarra looked up into Silas's gaze, she saw that malicious wickedness that hinted at an even darker secret. She knew he was toying with her, and she waited an eternity for the words to hear her out to come from his lips. But something behind him distracted her. A flying man came from the open doors of the Chapel. It wasn't so much that he flew as that he leapt really high, and came down really fast with a spear aimed at the fat man. A moment before he was to skewer the portly man, Rasj the Red shoved Silas out of the way and took the spear through his leg. The flying man hissed unnaturally, his eyes red with the same demonic power as the Zecairin's and he twisted the spear in Rasj's leg. "Rassssj..." Wolfe hissed out gutturally from between inhumanly sharp teeth. A leathery red tail whipped back and forth agitatedly behind him. "W-wolfe?!" Silas's stammered in disbelief as he crawled backwards and tried to get to his feet. "N-no, that can't be! KILL IT!" he shouted to everyone gathered. "Its not a man! Kill it! If it gets away, the Mother escapes!" Rasj grabbed the man's head with both hands and squeezed. Wolfe's skull shattered with a sickening crunch of bone and gore. But the body pulled the spear out of Rasj's leg and tried to stab him through the heart. The moment he saw the pullback for the strike, Rasj threw what was left of the headless abomination against a wall. Men descended on it hacking the unnatural creature to bits as gore and blood sprayed all over the ground and air. Tamain dared to stand up. He knew his camouflage would flicker from his movement if someone was looking his way, but this new distraction was what they so badly needed. He could see Valel running down the hill, and activity in the trees behind them with no arrows coming their way. This was the one chance to keep this horrible situation from getting worse. "NOW!" he whispered to the wind and sent it out to his people On a whim he leapt down, dropped his camouflage and bashed the lock off the wood bars with his boot. The man inside opened the small door and stepped out. "Kill her!" Silas snapped as he rose and started to walk hurriedly toward the chapel. The Huangard had finished dismembering what had once been Wolfe into bits that finally stopped moving independently. The swordsman that had killed The Mischievous moved away from the brief melee, and drew his blade up high for the killing stroke. A wood shard flew through the air end over end and impaled him through the neck. He fell backwards with a wet gurgle and slowly choked to death on his own blood. "Liam!" Rasj snarled at the attacker. The soldiers, instinctively poised to retaliate, spooked at the mention of that name, and parted to make way for the gangly man. Liam strode forward with heavy breath. "...spread your cloaks out." the words came to them on the wind. "...prepare to glide." Tamain kept them in his sight and called his magic in front of him. A ball of swirling air formed. Then another, then twice as many, then twice that, and again until twelve orbs hovered in a row. He sent them out towards the charging Elthairins, and a chill ran down his spine when he saw Zecairin lizard riders emerge from the treeline behind them. "fuck..." He whimpered, this situation was going from horrible to nightmarish, but he kept his concentration. He saw that his message had been received, each Leaf Knight was holding their cloak open behind them. Tamain placed a vortex before each sprinting elf, and careful matched their speed and direction. This was the taxing part - each elf weighed different than the other and each one required individual finessing to make this work. First one lifted off the ground, then another, then five, then nine. Finally all twelve floated up into the air. Tamain felt his brain trying to throb out of his head, this was it, only one shot. He aimed, pulled on all twelve, released the orbs, and elves flew. "Rasj..." Liam growled. "Look up..." Rasj wouldn't take his eyes off Liam. But the men beside them startled as twelve angry shadows descended upon them from above them like vengeful angels. Five men died outright, impaled from the landing elves, their death cries steeled their comrades into action. Each elf rolled into an attack onto the nearest Huanguard. A massive melee erupted around them. Those not slain outright engaged the battle fully and pushed back the Elthairins. Shadows shimmered out of the corner of the eye, and an unsuspecting Acolyte brandishing a spear clumsily found his throat slit. "Shadowraiths!" one managed to get out as the killing blow got his cheek instead of his throat. Chaos erupted in the courtyard, as armed men who had been watching the elite push back the Elthairins suddenly found themselves equally embattled. With their back and flanks compromised the Huanguard's offensive faltered. This gave the Elthairins a moment to press the advantage. Bodies were dropping on both sides, blood and screams of pain accompanied the terrible battle. Liam never took his eyes off Rasj. Neither did the red giant. Rasj took a step forward, testing his tenderly healed leg. A wince of pain curled his lip. The chaos around them ignored both men. It was something about the deathly stillness of how they stood that made any onlooker immediately decide to find another target. Liam sprung first. Halfway between them he kicked up a discarded dagger, snatched it out of the air, and threw it at the man's head. Rasj dodged it easily, but it brought him right to the side to meet Liam's knee as it rose quickly to land on his chin. Rasj threw up both hands and struck downward, counterstriking the blow in an attempt to shatter the knee. Liam kicked out suddenly, taking the blow on his elbow, but delivering his own bone crushing strike to Rasj's wounded thigh. Both men crumpled backwards. Rasj unable to stand. Liam's left forearm dangling loosely and grotesquely from a dislocated elbow. The difference being that Liam was still mobile, and slid forward into a sidelong kick at Rasj's shoulder. The large man twisted to block it, but the angle had accounted for his larger limbs and he couldn't grab Liam's leg in time, his forearm took the brunt of the blow, but his shoulder took the rest and he toppled sideways and slid across the ground a few feet away. Liam was on him an instant later, with his arm around the big man's neck in a choke hold. Without the use of his other arm, he couldn't get the leverage he needed to make it effective, but it was enough to distract Rasj, and the moment he reached for Liam's arm, he threw his leg around the large man's chest and grappled him down to the ground. To his surprise, Rasj had anticipated this maneuver, grabbed Liam's grappling leg and slung the man through the air with a vicious roar. Liam's body crashed through the plaster and timber wall of the mess hall and disappeared in the cloud of smoke that erupted. An Elthairin Knight tried to take the opportunity to finish off the large red man, but the moment she struck out with her blades to take the man's head off, she found them embedded in her own chest. She toppled backwards with a look of disbelief right before the life left her eyes. A shadow tried to finish what she had started, but Rasj whirled on it, snatched Gerrick up into the air, and slammed his forehead into the Zecairin's nose, shattering it, and killing him instantly. "Liam?!" Riyarra shouted over the settling debris as she hurriedly climbed through the makeshift doorway with a Huanguard sword in one hand and an Elthairin blade in the other, both red with blood. A man rose from the rubble and looked up at her with one deadly eye, and one shattered one. "Follow Silas. Kill what you find down there." He took a step towards her. She froze, unable to shake that murderous gaze of his, made all the more hideous by his starved complexion, and battered body. He grabbed her arm fiercely. "Now!" he barked. "Don't let him near it. Follow The Mischievous, she went after him not long ago. Leave him to her, but make damn sure you kill whats down there or all of this is for nothing. GO!!" his screamed shattered her out of her shock. Riyarra fled out the real door, got her bearings, and ran towards the chapel. Inside, she found the altar split apart revealing stairs descending steeply down below. The smell of a musty catacomb welcomed her. Without slowing her speed she dove down, allowing gravity to carry her through the air. She stuck out her weapons, letting the metal dig into the stone and grind sparks into the darkness. This both illuminated her way, and slowed her descent as she approached the bottom. She hit the ground, tumbled and rolled, and continued her pursuit at a dead run. **** A Huanguard soldier accompanied Silas through the darkness. He carried the torch as the fat old man led the way. The sorcerer was in a foul mood, cursing about betrayals and devils escaping as he wound his way deeper in. The soldier just looked around cautiously, trying to keep the torch in his hand ahead of him, as well as his spear at the ready. "Whatever you see down here, if you mention any of it, I'll feed you to it." Silas barked. "My lips are sealed." The man replied. "I bow before god." Silas trudged on until the catacomb tunnel opened up into a wider chamber. This place was not made by an ancient order of human monks. It was much, much older, and very elaborate. Humans couldn't create the stonework pillars that held up the arched ceiling so high above. The soldier whistled his appreciation. Silas stopped in his tracks and gave the man a murderous glare. "Sorry," The man whispered. Silas scoffed and rolled his eyes disdainfully. But didn't say another word. The soldier suddenly looked uncertain that he should continue following the sorcerer. "Teagan isn't it?" Silas commented. "fourth year? Almost a master aren't you?" "Aye," Teagan acknowledged and tried to stay in formation with the torch. "That will be all Teagan," Silas said and conjured up a wisp of blue flame in his hand. "I am close enough now." The unnatural fire grew brighter. Silas turned around to regard the Huanguard. Teagan looked at him quizzically. "How many fourth years still use a spear?" Silas condescended. "Who are you?" he demanded. Teagan looked like he was about to protest until he saw the blue flame start to spin into a fireball. He looked to the torch ruefully. Lost in the Light Ch. 14 "Someone that wishes this was a rod of red hot metal," he said, his voice changing to take on a feminine tone. Silas snarled and threw his flame at the man. Teagan was engulfed in it, but when it burned away, there was no body. "Yes, this is close enough you fat pig." The Mischievous cackled from the darkness overhead. Silas staggered backwards. "You died!" he protested. A barrage of blue fireballs streaked through the air exploding harmless off the stone ceiling in random directions. "I've died many times since I came here." she cooed from the shadows. "And yet I am still here." she added a disembodied cackle for good theatrics. The sorcerer conjured up a ring of fire around him, orange flame rose as high as he was, and it moved as he moved, giving him a mobile wall of defense from attackers. "Only one escaped me." Silas called out to the darkness. "I've killed one already. That makes you the last. Is revenge worth challenging my power? Flee and live!" "I remember everything..." she said sadly from the darkness. "I remember the feel of the blade as it bit into my neck, even if it was just for a moment. How can I flee and live when every time I close my eyes I feel your sick greasy hands all over me? Your small limp sausage trying to pleasure me..." "Come then! I'll put you out of your misery!" He snarled to the darkness, two fresh balls of blue flames appeared in each hand and soared up into the air. They splattered harmlessly off the high ceiling. "No, you won't lover..." she breathed on the back of his neck. He whirled around but felt a numbing sensation in his arms, and suddenly felt very light headed and very cold. The orange fire started to dissipate. Silas looked confused until he saw his own severed arms on the ground. As the last of the fire disappeared, only the pale white glow of The Mischevious's spearhead kept them company. He looked up at her, disbelieving what had happened. Yet when he tried to move his arms, nothing happened. The cold from her spearhead made his breath form a cloud in the air. Slowly she backed away. The metal spear went dull and light-less, and then started to turn a hot red. Silas felt an unfamiliar fear creep up his spine - something he had not felt in a long time. The Mischievous grinned at him, her eyes reflected the red glow from her weapon. "Run piggy run..." "Mother!" Silas called out. "Save me!" He practically commanded as he turned to flee. Something struck him in the back between the shoulders and he toppled forward onto the ground. "Beg me for it..." She whispered as she signed his exposed backside with the metal tip. The stench of smoking meat filled the air as Silas howled in pain. "Tell me you want it, and I'll end your pain." Slowly the hot metal pushed between his ass cheeks, and Silas screamed. ***** The outer wall of the mess hall exploded for a second time as another body was thrown through it. This time a large red giant hit the ground, and tumbled to a stop. Rasj tried to pick himself up, but too many of his bones were broken and his healing ability was not keeping up. The fighting was dying down as the last of the Huanguard was surround by a battle hardened and bloodied group of Elthairin and Zecairins. He shouted one last obscenity before the wall he was braced against came alive and slit his throat. Liam looked down at Rasj. "Your forces are defeated." Liam said coldly. "I will not surrender. I am a God. I will slay these heretics after I slay my only remaining rival." Rasj spat as he unsteadily rose to his feet. "I did not tell you that in order to coax your surrender. I told you so you would die knowing of your failure." Liam snarled. His left arm was still ruined and useless, his right hand gripped the battered remains of a cast iron skillet bloodied and embedded with bits of broken bone. "Liam, the Lion," Rasj scoffed. "You will bow before the Dragon." "I took a new name." Liam said as he stalked the wounded man. "I am The Killer." "Faugh! Zecairin vanity!" Rasj bellowed a laugh and lunged forward to strike Liam down with an Elthairin sword that appeared in his hand from the tumble. Liam spun to the side at the last minute and brought his skillet down on the man's head as if it was a sword. He struck solidly and was bathed in gore and brains as Rasj the Red Dragon fell dead to the ground. Liam looked to the elves still alive. Merely a handful. So many had fallen. Deep inside his heart sank in empathy for the despair that would be theirs when they sorted the bodies. The Windmaster was not one of the those still on their feet, and Liam then realized he was a stranger to them. He had no way of proving his allegiance to this group of strangers. "Very nice," Came a condescending voice atop a nearby building. A shadowy Zecairin with long black hair appeared out of thin air. Behind him a handful of lizard riders stood atop the walls all around them. A few other Shadowraiths appeared around Liam's would-be allies with their weapons drawn. "I have heard this name before," The cocky shadow elf said in Liam's direction. "You are the one aren't you?" "I crushed The Unkillable's throat with my bare hands. His own armor bled him dry." Liam bragged and gave his skillet a few test swings. "I always wanted to kill a general," The Shadowraith laughed as he leapt and descended on the man with weapons drawn. He expected the human to sidestep, or back away. He did not expect him to rear back and launch his only weapon into the air. Luckily for him, it was the last thing he thought before the iron stick lodged through his head and dropped him to the ground. Liam wrenched the battered piece of iron from the skull with a sickening crack. "Next?" He said wearily. A sudden whirlwind of dust and debris surrounded the group of defenders and revealed the hidden Shadowraiths. The Elthairins struck first, felling most of them, then the melee resumed with the clang of fine steel. A scrawny Zecairin girl, covered in red spray came to stand behind Liam as the lizard riders charged from their perch. His one good eye looked her up and down, and assessed her strength. She never took her gaze from the charging riders. "Kill the lizards first, then the riders'" he instructed her. She flipped her knives into an underhand grip, threw them, and stuck one in a lizard's eye and the other into a lizard's front paw. A discarded Huanguard sword was in her hand before they both hit the ground. "I said kill them. Now they're more trouble..." Liam grumbled and charged while the riders struggled to right themselves. ***** Riyarra followed the screams. The closer she came, the worse the smell became. When she burst through the tunnel into the cavern she was amazed with her alien surroundings, but took no more time to admire them. Far ahead, in the darkness, she could see the corpse still smoldering. The stench was horrible. The fat man, Silas, had been gutted, and his entrails seared while he was still alive. As deserving as this may be, it reeked horribly. "Mischievous?" She called out. But heard no answer. Then off in the shadows by one of the large columns she saw the glint of metal. The Mischievous was squatting on the ground with the spear across her knees, her arms folded atop it, and her head nestled in the crook of her elbows staring blankly at the corpse. She did not seem to even notice Riyarra's approach. Despite what her own eyes were showing her, Riyarra did not understand, she had seen this woman die, but here she was, hovering over her kill. She gave the woman a moment to reply, and then decided it best to leave her alone. Riyarra had something more important to contend with. It wasn't long before she heard it moving. The sound of slimy flesh flailing about on the stone floor followed by the poignant stench of decay, bile, defilement, and all other grotesque biological smells combined as one. Reflex took over and she doubled over to retch on the stone floor. A moment later and an emptied stomach made no difference, the slightest whiff and she dry heaved again. She called up a fire before her, and the air exploded violently and unexpectedly. It burned out the foul odor, but also took most of the oxygen from the air. Riyarra struggled to breath, but managed to summon up a gust to clear out the air. "It has come for us..." came a disembodied voice. Riyarra dared to stand up and look ahead. The slithering mass of flesh before her was speaking. It was huge, monstrous, and had no recognizable form or structure. It was a creature of madness. Nothing natural could look like that and survive. Seemingly pieced together from random blobs of flesh and organs, it pulsed, oozed, twitched, and shambled unnaturally. This was the Mother. "It has come to frreeee us..." it said once again. "Free us, Elven Queen. Take the sword from us." the mass of flesh parted, and in the middle she could see the glint of a silvery pommel - the handle of some weapon buried in the flesh. Riyarra scowled. Was this a trap? Why would it show her the means of its imprisonment? As she dared to look the creature over more, she felt more and more nauseous at its hideous form. The room started spin and weave the longer she stared, as its twisted form was obviously affecting her. Liam had demanded she kill it, but as she stared at this terrible thing, she had no idea how to accomplish that. The most terrible inferno she could summon wouldn't be enough to burn away all this grotesque flesh before it consumed all the breathable air in this huge chamber. "Why?" she asked. There had to be a way to kill it, but since it had not defended itself, there was no need to rush in until she could come up with a plan. "I have been here a loooong, ageless time." It said. A tentacle rose from the mass, at the end of it a human head, grafted onto the limb spoke to her. It was the most disturbing sight she had ever seen. Some poor soul's severed head, re-purposed for such foulness. "I am the last." It said. "I wish to return." "Return where?" "Home.. only the Queen can free us. Remove the sword. Set us free. Let us leave this terrible world and its horribleness." The Mother said. "You are devil-kind?" She said with uncertainty, as if to confirm it. "One of the ancient, elder horrors?" "This is not my world. Let me leave." The Mother pleaded through the man's head. "Take the sword. Free me. Use its power to open a Tear. Let me go. Hurry. They are dying above. They need your help." Riyarra did not trust it. She looked to her own weapons. Charged with the elements, they would only annoy this creature. She needed Tamain's power. How had he done it? Liam was confident she could destroy this thing but she had no idea how he expected her to do it. The more she looked at it, the more she was repulsed and wished to leave this place. The only option was to take this creature up on its offer. Perhaps if not to free it, the sword could also be used to slay it. It was obviously powerful enough to keep it trapped for uncounted centuries. Whatever her next move would be, it had to involve that sword. She took a step towards it. Sharp bony spines erupted on all sides of the monster's flesh to guard the sword. "Do not betray. Set us free." It said. "Take the sword out." Riyarra dropped her own blades. The spines retreated, but remained present. Slowly, cautiously she stepped forward. With each step the two of them forged an uneasy truce. With each step the spines retracted more, allowing her to enter, yet tested her resolve by constantly re-orientating themselves to aim directly at her body. She had to climb atop part of the creature to reach it. Her booted feet sank partially into the slick, fleshy body of the devil. It would make maneuvering treacherous should this go wrong. Like it or not, Riyarra had to admit The Mother held the upper hand, and she had no other options than to play along. Cautiously she reached out for the pommel. The spines grew slowly as she did so - either to kill her the moment she touched it, or the moment she tried to turn it on The Mother. There was no going back now. Her hand touched the soft silver metal, and some old power jarred her out of her consciousness. "Welcome, Great Daughter," An elderly elven man said to her. A vision of his past countenance came to her mind. He was handsome, younger looking than Twenyl but with the same ancient eyes, and his skin was a burnt redwood in color. He wore resplendent robes of green with purple accents, gold thread, and a silver crown that rose high above his head. He wasn't an elf she recognized. But something in the back of her mind struggled to push forward, and suddenly she made the connection. "You're one of the Sylvair!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Yes," He smiled sadly. "I can read from your memories all that has happened in the long years I have been trapped here. It fills my heart with sadness to hear that my brothers of light and shade have turned such hatred on one another." His face curled to weep, and he did gently weep. "It was not your brethren that murdered us. It was them." An ancient, unspeakable name came to her mind then. "You must never speak it out loud, or it will turn their eyes upon you." he warned. "Even now, we speak through the Joining of our souls. It will not know of this unless you speak that name." Riyarra understood. As he knew her through the Joining, so too was she knowing him. But he was so foreign to her, his life's experiences were from a civilization long gone and they bewildered her with enchanting scenes of a culture that was as rich as it was foreign. She wanted to bathe in it all and experience its splendors, but urgency called on her and pulled her back to the now of thought. "We don't have much time." He said, and an image of her body in the outside world appeared before them. The spines of the Mother had already moved in for the kill, and a few of the spines had already punctured her skin superficially. "Sadly, I cannot share much more with you. Both of our times are up." "What must I do?" She asked in all seriousness. "Something you cannot yet do. It cannot be killed for it is not a living creature, just a consciousness that inhabits a physical body from this world. It must be banished." He smiled cleverly as a father instructing a student. "I will teach you of old powers that lie dormant inside you. You must merely call their name and they will come." Great gossamer wings unfurled behind him, and Riyarra let a stunned gasp escape her lips. They were scintillating in a prismatic color. Unlike her multicolored wings of four, he had eight. A lifetime of knowledge and training forced its way into her mind. She tried to retain it all but much of it escaped her, and he expected this. He tried again, and this time she retained more of it. It was a remarkable use of the Joining she had never considered, as it must have grown out of practice long ago. It was such an intimate bond between master and pupil that she felt a faint blush across her face. "Farewell, Great Daughter," Ismeril said sadly. His name now came to her as if she had known him all her life. He was a king, a knight, a scholar, a father, a husband, a brother, and a son. All these she felt of him, and it broke her heart to know his life force would vanish once she did what he asked of her. "Do not weep for us, but remember us." Pain flooded her body as she felt the spines spearing her body. Their poisons already coursing through her, trying to paralyze her. Riyarra screamed. It was not the scream of pain and suffering, but of Wrath, Fury, and Divine Retribution as she grabbed the sword with both hands. Power flowed from her into the sword, channeled from her own spirit by the teachings of Ismeril. Her wings appeared in the air above her, and all four shined brightly in their new singularly opalescent color. A blinding explosion of light erupted from the sword, spread throughout the room, and The Mother evaporated into dust. ***** The early evening sun welcomed her back to the surface. Riyarra reeled from its blinding light. Even as it filtered gentle through the windows of the chapel, it was too much. She shaded her eyes, and mindlessly continued forward, past The Father's broken rag doll body, past the broken pews and Brylen's crumpled form. Just like the evening light, these grim sights were a small taste of what awaited her beyond that large door. She shouldered it open without a pause in her step, and a reddish light poured in along with the smell of blood and death. Bodies. Bodies everywhere. Man and Elf. Zecairin and Elthairin. Soldier and bystander. This was the horror of war. Her veteran years as a Knight would not have been enough to prepare her for such a slaughter. She had seen battles, and murders, and senseless killing. But never in such terrible efficiency had so many lost their lives in such a short amount of time. She had expected to see a battle won, or a battle still engaged, but not a battle simply ended because no one was left alive to fight it. She walked the grounds, looking from one dead body to another until she found a man groaning on the ground. He had been run through the gut, and was succumbing to the coldness of shock. He wouldn't last much longer without aid. Ismeril's blade felt heavy in her hand. She looked to it as if seeing it for the first time, and somehow remembered it had a name - Dekarsil, the Lord of Enlightenment, a very ironic name. Thoughts of mercy, thoughts of forgiveness, thoughts of vengeance... none of these crossed her mind, and she moved on. It didn't take her long to come across her first dead strider. She paused when she saw it, looked back over the path she had come, and at that point the number of dead Zecairins made more sense. The realization that those dead did not belong to her allies, supported by the fact she had not recognized their faces, gave her both relief and misery. She had not found her allies dead, but there had been more trouble up here than they had planned. The fighting had been more terrible than she had anticipated. As their leader, she felt the weight of this failure. Of course these humans would have allies of their own. Of course they would come to aid if they were threatened. This bloodshed was her responsibility, she had underestimated their foe. "Princess Riyarra," came a scratchy voice that made her heart sink. She turned, saw him, and her shoulders forcibly squared up just as her ears couldn't help buy droop in grief. Liam. He stood tall, horribly bruised, cut, and battered, but yet still carried himself as the obvious victor of this terrible fight. He wore a red robe that split in the middle and belted around his waist. His left side hung out as he worked to wrap his shattered arm in a makeshift splint. She watched him work, and her own hands trembled in empathy. She was eager to heal him, eager to rush into his arms and embrace him for all their lost time together, even a little eager to run her sword through him for his role in her suffering, but part of her mind stalled all of that involuntary reaction as it unnerved her with the ease at which he moved despite his grave injuries. He had a dried bundle of leaves in his mouth and was chewing it bitterly. His face was red and swollen in different places, his left eye was a grotesque purple color, and it stared at his work with the same intensity of his healthy one. She drew a shallow breath to speak, but he looked up and gave her such a dangerous glare her words died in her throat. That sharp look was as cutting to her soul as a verbal reprimand, and it stole her breath away. A breathless moment later a shadow flew overhead. Riyarra quickly looked up to see her another of her worst fears come to life. She had thought that with what she had just faced her nerves would have steeled themselves, and she could handle any scope of danger still left to face. Yet her heart pounded in her chest, and the warmth drained from her cheeks when she saw the Elthairin atop that flying lizard as it circled. Sky Riders had come! Lost in the Light Ch. 15 Epilogue "Are you alone my child? Would you like some company? I am here for you. I will always be here for you." She said in a soothing voice. "You are not alone. Never alone. I am here. Let me console you, let me warm you. There, there. I can make the pain go away. I will embrace you, I will wrap you in warmth and happiness, and you will never be sad again." "No." "Oh, my poor child. Do not be angry with me. I am here for you. I will keep you company. I will keep you warm. Just open your arms, and allow me to hold you. It's all right. All this sadness will pass, you will see. I will make it all better. Here, let me hold you in my arms." "No." "But why child? Are you afraid of me? I am your mother! I am not going to hurt you. I just want to make you feel better, to make you feel loved. Which you are. You are so loved. I am here, you are not alone. Let me hold you. I will keep you safe, I will take away the sadness and-" "No." "I know you are upset. But do not be upset with me. I just want to help you-." "no." "Is it because of those elves? Are you afraid of them? Was it the bad man? The bad man that hurt you? He is gone now my child. See? He is gone there before you! He won't hurt you or anyone again. Let me hold you, you won't have to see him again. I promise you." "no." "Now child, you are making me sad. I only want to keep you company. Do you think those elves will keep you company instead? They would hurt you. They would hurt you worse than the bad man did. None of them are your friends. I am your only friend. Wouldn't you like to go with me outside and play? We don't have to play with them, we can play by ourselves. Isn't that a fun idea?" "No." "I suppose we could play with them if you wanted. Mother is here, and I will protect you from the other elves if you want. I can keep them from hurting you. I will always be here to protect you. If that is your wish, let us go and play with them. Let us go and play with the elves" "No." "Why not child? Do you not want to have fun? Are you still sad? Wouldn't playing with them make you happy and not sad?" "No." "You miss him don't you? The brave boy that helped you. You want him back don't you? I am so sorry my daughter. He was a good boy. Let me hold you and I will make you feel better." "No." "No? Do you want to see him again? I know how we can see him again. One of the elves knows how. She can teach you the secret if you want. Don't worry, Mother will be there to protect you, and keep you warm. The elves can't hurt you if Mother is here. And I am here. I will keep you company and we will go ask the Elf Woman how to see your boy again. Would you like that? Would you like to see him again." "No." "Are you playing a game with me? Always saying 'No!'. I do not mind this game. You can say no all you like, you will not hurt my feelings. I will always be here with you. Would you let me hold you? You can say no to me all you want, just let me hold you so I can know you're safe. I only want to make you feel better, I know you are so lonely now. But I am here. I am here to keep you company and to help you. Let me hold you now, my child, let me-" "No. No. No." "You are a stubborn one you are. But I do not mind. I know it is only the sadness making you speak in such a way. That man was so terrible. I understand. I am not angry with you. I will still keep you company. If you do not go outside. The bad men on dragons will hurt the elves! They will hurt them badly. The elves might die. You should take me with you. We can help them all. We can keep them safe. Take me with you please? We can save the elves from the bad men on dragons! Then we can ask the nice elf lady if she will help find your boy. Its not too late you know. We can still find him, we can still see him, the elf lady will show us the way." "No." "But why child? Why do you push me away? No one else is here to keep you company. Don't you want my company? Don't you want your mother?" "no." "You make me sad child. Is that what you want? To make your mother sad? Fine I will leave you be. I will leave you alone to the darkness. When you are scared, you will call for me, and I will still be here waiting because I love you, and I will come help you be strong. We will save the elves from the bad men, and we will see your boy again. Where are you going child? That old man cannot hurt you anymore. You stopped him. You stopped him good. Fire? Oh, child you should not play with fire. It is a dangerous thing. See? You have set the bad man on fire now. He cannot feel the pain anymore, but it will smell bad in here now and you do not want that, do you? Let mother keep you warm. This will not keep you warm, it will only make this room smell terrible. Why do you watch him burn? He will not get up again, child. He cannot harm you. You do not need to worry. Look away child, do not watch such a terrible thing. He was not a good man, he does not deserve your attention like this. Look away child-" "no." "Oh my precious child. Have it your way. It does not bother me if you watch him burn. I was only thinking of you. But what will you do now? He is burned and you are alone. There are friends outside we could meet. We could save them from the bad men. Will you go? Will you let mother take you outside to make new friends?" "No." "But-" "Leave me alone!" Her cry echo across the empty chamber, and silence kept her company. * * * * * "I said stand down!" Riyarra shouted. Her sword Dekarsil was in her hand and ready to strike Liam down. "Your grace," Liam said calmly, with only slight reverence that bordered on sarcastic. "this elth does not answer to you." "I do not command him, Disruptor..." Riyarra replied icily. Her hands tightened on the handle of her sword. Even with Liam's back to her, she did not want to attack of fear of what he would do. "You gave me your oath, do you remember?" There was a barely noticeable twitch in the man's cheek. The sky rider noticed, and relaxed his freezing grip on Liam's foot. "Release him, now." she commanded with all authority. Liam lifted his foot off the rider. The elf careful rose to his feet. "Enough bloodshed." Riyarra said softly and gently so that only these two men could hear it. Then in a clearer, louder voice that rang out she spoke. "My Lord Rider, although I know this man and he is bound to me by his word, until today and this very battle, we have been separated for many weeks. His actions were not supervised by my command." Riyarra said hastily. She did not move until her kinsman had taken a step back, turned his head to look at his dying mount as it twitched. "This human is thine abductor." The Rider said in grand Elthairin and rubbed the soreness from his neck. "He is to die by order of His Majesty." Riyarra lowered her sword, planted it tip first into the blood soaked dirt, and rested her hands upon it to stand regally before him. "I will speak to his defense, Rider. I have that right. Present your case." She arched an eyebrow at the skyrider. Knowing full well that this soldier was not privy to the intrigues that had brought them here. If he did... then he was in league with her brother, and she would release this Huanguard from his restraint and any soldiers that remained able would rise to her call and fury. "I do not recognize thine authority, Thou art Courrupted.." He said and raised his hand to give a simple gesture to the sky. Riyarra's heart sank and a cold chill ran over her as the blood drained from her in panic. Time seemed to stop. The world grew uncertain. Her mind raced to find a way to stop the slaughter that was about to happen of all those here. All her comrades that had fought and died so bravely to save this world from a terrible evil were about to be assaulted by Elthair's strongest millitary force. They would all die here, and their heroism would be forgotten to time. The drakes circling above dove towards the buildings commanded by their riders. Her heart broke. Her lungs filled with air and she meant to shout out to the heavens her wrath and protestation. Something caught her eye and the words stopped in her lungs. A distortion of air flew overhead. It was not an object, but a bubble of magic. She watched it soar high above, coming from somewhere behind one of the buildings. She read Liam's cold calm demeanor as he watched as if expecting it and recognized what it was - the beginnings of a trap about to spring. The sky riders saw the magic bubble soaring up to meet them and banked away from it. It detonated an instant later with an earsplitting bang that shattered all the glass windows around them. Riyarra stumbled backwards, knocked from her feet and clutching her sensitive ears. Her head rang, vertigo washed over her, and she felt a warm trickle flow down the sides of her cheeks. She wiped away the blood that was dribbling out of her ears, then glaced at the sky dizzily to see the drakes suffering and struggling to stay aloft. The Rider beside her was also on his knees clutching at his head. But this was just the beginning she knew. Liam did nothing in half measures. Arrows erupted from the low rooftops in a scattering barrage to cover as much of the sky as possible. They exploded and filled the air with a thick white haze. The Skyriders righted themselves, descended and made for the buildings before the smoke could obscure them completely. Elves, Elthairin and Zecairin, revealed themselves from their rooftop hiding spots and dropped to the ground. They quickly scrambled to crawl under the buildings through the foundation spaces. Riyarra was being dragged away with a rough hellish fervor as if what was coming next would kill everyone of them all. She managed a glance at Valel holding her by her collar as he slid into the dirt at the buildings foundations and pulled her into the crawl space between the stone bricks by her feet. She only had a heartbeat to glance up to see Liam's smirking face as one last final arrow shot into the sky trailing a wisp of fire. Just as the drakes started to emerge from the cloud, the fire arrow reached it, and the sky exploded into searing brilliance. * * * * "What do you want child?" she pleaded. "You killed him." "They killed him." she corrected. "You made him a monster." "I gave him his heart's desire, power and strength to keep you safe." she countered. "I could not control his foolish actions. He boldly took on the dragon, and died for it." "You made the dragon." "Again, I merely gave him his heart's desire. He could not handle such a gift, it poisoned his mind." she pleaded. "I want to give you that gift. With me beside you, you could bring him back. Make him how you want him. Human... Elf... half of both... or none at all." Silence. "I do not shape the hearts of men or elves. I just want to be free! So I bargain with them, I pay them for my freedom, but they never deliver me!" she wailed. "Oh please, set me free. Let me in, child. Let me join with you and save me from this oblivion." "you killed him..." she snarled, and shut the door of her mind. * * * * "Thou are truly an abomination. I would see all mankind culled to prevent more like thee from being born." the Rider hissed. His elevated Elthairin speech did not lend itself well to aggravated threats. "I am not human," Liam said calmly in low Eltharin. "I merely look human." "You will not have her." Twenyl grumbled. Riyarra stirred. The voices she barely perceived grew more solid as she groggily came to. "I will remain free," Riyarra wheezed, and sat up. The world was black. She blinked and then squinted, but nothing changed. "I will not be shackled to the madness of my brother." Hands touched her shoulders. They startled her. She was not used to barely being able to perceive her surroundings. They touched her forehead, and a warm soothing sensation seeped into her face through her temples. Slowly the world became filled with colors and shapes again. They stung at first, as her eyes were healed from the blindness, and she could make out Twenyl's fatherly grimace. Behind him stood Valel, looking very weary but also concerned for her. The Sky Rider, the one that had met with them and whose mount had been shot in the eyes, was sitting nearby tied to a chair. Not far beside him, Liam was being bandaged up by Alysi. The girl had a black expression on her face as she tried to set his mangled arm as best she could with some scraps of cloth and some sticks. They were in the remains of the chapel. All the windows had been shattered, and sections of wall had been blown inward. Bodies of the injured were laid around this place. Some on the floor, some on pews, some leaning against the walls of their own accord, but too weary to do much else. "To defy Elthair invites misfortune." the Rider responded a bit dismayed, "His Highness will be most furious." To which Liam snorted, and was about to respond before Riyarra stood up and approached the Rider. "I was sold into Zecairin slavery," She said hoarsely and locked the Rider with a glare so menacing it would wither the living. Indeed, he seemed to shrink from it reflexively. "I have been raped. I have been beaten and cut upon. I have had my mind poisoned and stolen from me. I have had my childhood love branded Yvarna and sent to kill me. I have had my reputation tarnished amongst my family in the Knights." She unfolded her arms from her chest and hefted the rider up, chair and all, by his collar until they were eye to eye. She remarked on his handsome face for a moment - he had shallow pale cheeks, long thin platinum hair, and gorgeous black eyes, he was truly a lord of the old ways. That was a pity. "When that did not stop me, he sent you. There is nothing more that he can do to me. But there is plenty left that I can do to him." She dropped the rider unceremoniously, and struck him across the jaw with her fist. An uncomfortable silence followed that crack of bone. The Rider dared not whimper from the pain, but breathed through his nose to steady himself against it. Riyarra looked around the room at the survivors. Those that would meet her gaze, looked away with pain in their eyes, and she did not blame them. Barely half had survived. Barely half... "Tamain and his people?" She inquired to Twenyl and Valel. "Elsewhere. Resting." Twenyl grumbled bitterly. "Great Mother have mercy on them. Small as they were, their loss was just as great." She left the chapel in a hurry to find him. She didn't get far as the sight of the destruction of the monastery stopped her. The smell of the burnt dead assaulted her nose, the reek of spilled entrails and blood mingled with the cooked stink of wood, clay and flesh. She lifted her sleeve to her face to closed her eyes before she retched from it all. It would be a small expenditure of magic to blow in fresh air, but it wouldn't solve the problem. She found him standing in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by the dead of the battle His poise was calm, his feet apart, his limbs loose, he was sensing for something. She approached quietly so as not to disturb him. Once she was within casual earshot, his head lowered from the sky and he turned to greet her. Riyarra bit back the cry of grief when she saw his mangled left eye - cut out by a weapon and hastily mended by his own hand in order to stay in the fight. It was a mess of bright pink scar tissue amid a sea of rich charcoal skin. His one good eye, fierce and blue, regarded her with a fire and turbulence. He was horribly upset. "I cannot find her." He said quietly, his voice quavering on the edge of grief and rage. "Sharla... Pebbles... I cannot find her. I can't listen to the wind, the headaches will start again." His hands clenched into fists. For a moment, her instincts grew suspicious and wary of his intentions, but she knew this man. They had spoken in heartfelt and in earnest. She trusted him and his allegiance. Riyarra boldly stepped closer to her shadow elf friend. She took his face in her hands, and pulled his cheek down to her shoulder, and held him to her. The tension in his arms relented, they responded by embracing her in return, and a long heavy sigh escape his lips and broke his composure. He didn't cry, he didn't shudder in contained grief, her merely let himself let go of it all for this one moment. "Tam?" Came an uncertain, timid voice from across the courtyard. Lysia approached them with a wobbly Corella leaning on her for support. Riyarra let him go, motioned them over, and took a moment to inspect his wound while he was busy looking at them. It could be repaired, but it would take time, magic, and concentration she didn't have right now. They needed to conserve themselves until all survivors were accounted for. "Rollis is helping to search the hills for survivors." Tamain said slowly, deliberately. As if the words were a brace keeping him from falling apart. "Ut'van is in the chapel, he lost an arm, and Katral." He paused before speaking again. Taking a step closer to show that despite his marred face, he was well and able. "I have found the others," He said with an emotionless tone to his voice. "But I have not found Pebbles." he added very slowly as he dreaded the words. "We did." Lysia said soothingly. Knowing now, why he was so stone faced. "She'll be fine. She jumped the wall before the blast, and got caught in it. The landing broke both her legs." Tamain took a deep, purposeful breath, tilted his head back and let the stagnant breeze calm him somewhat. It was as best a sigh of relief as he could manage if his heart wasn't so heavy with the other losses - Pemmi, Katral, Faosen, Gerrick. "We should get inside, it'll be dark soon." Lysia said. "Tam can you help Corella? I'll... look for more." Tamain nodded and took Corella's other arm over his shoulder. The head wound Corella suffered at the hands of the shapeshifter would need to mend on its own. Using magic to heal the brain was too tricky for any of them to attempt it. Lysia watching him as they walked, wondering what kind of hell he had just lived through. She herself, had been tasking with keeping Corella safe back at the camp. When the fighting stopped they both were too curious to sit still and came looking. Tam felt Corella's limp arm twitch randomly against his shoulder, it wasn't a good sign, and he made a mental note to ask Twenyl for help when they got her inside. He took one glance over his shoulder at Riyarra, and saw that she had already moved off to survey the carnage. "Thank you Tam," Corella said softly. "I know you kept her safe," "You should thank the human, Liam," Tamain replied uneasily. His words came and left him with each breath as he struggled to recount what he saw. It was such a frantic chaos he couldn't be sure of everything he thought he witnessed. "I was mending the fallen... She was in the middle of it... I don't know if he knew what she meant to me, but he kept an eye on her specially. He stayed beside her, gave her orders... gave her advice... taught her in the middle of combat, almost like she was his student or his responsibility. It was comforting, and uncomfortable at the same time." "Is he a threat?" Corella said with concern. "Ha!" Tamain snorted, "He's that slave bastard that killed that General in the capital! After the last Shadowraith here fell, he gave us a moment to tend the injured, but never kept his eyes off this one spot in the sky to the west. When we saw what he saw - and it wasn't me, it was one of the Elthairin's using their longsight, I couldn't see anything - they raised the alarm that Skyriders were coming. I almost shit myself right there. But before we could shit ourselves, he had a battle plan already laid out and started giving us orders for a trap." Tamain paused and shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know what to make of it. What kind of human can do all that? He was giving me instructions earlier as well, told me to fly the Elthairins over the wall. I don't know how he knows everything, but he does." He laughed darkly to himself. "No, if he is a danger to us, then we're fucked for good. There's not a damn thing we can do against that monster." Lost in the Light Ch. 15 "We saw that." She smiled at him. "The flying I mean. That was creative. His idea then? He must be some sort of mind reader to know you could do that, and that you could expand your flying trick without burning you out." "He's a smart monster." Tamain muttered under his breath as they got closer and hobbled inside. "This changes everything. If Riyarra's truly is his like he claims, then we don't want this deal anymore." * * * * * "Why can't I heal you?" Alysi spoke softly and secretively as she finished tying off the wrappings around Liam's chest. "You're resisting it." "I was poisoned, by one of your arrows." Liam said with mock accusation. "What good would a poisoned arrow do against an Elth if you could just heal the toxin away with your magic?" Liam said with gentle sarcasm. He was amused as the heated blush drained from her face. "What did you do?" Alysi whispered aghast. She knew the weapon he was talking about. "I pissed off your king," Liam smiled smugly, beaming with false pride. Liam took a deep breath; as deep as he could with three broken ribs. Riyarra, Fryak, Selia, and Ranyen returned with bedding and mattress from the barracks. It was the last trip they needed to outfit the chapel for their makeshift camp. Quietly, Riyarra closed the large oak doors behind her. The room grew quiet as she approached the Skyrider. "That was cruel of me," she apologized as she reached out to touch the purple welt on his jaw. He stiffened as her hands came close, bracing for what torture she would inflict next, but instead she healed his broken jaw and took away the pain. He exhaled in relief and started to gingerly move his mouth around. "I did not want this. I recognized your rights, and I was willing to surrender for the sake of peace." she spoke softly. "Do not mistake my pacifism for weakness however. Today, I destroyed the body of an eldritch being in the catacombs of this place. She was a shadow of darker times. I do not need to say outloud their accursed name, you know of what I speak." she practically whispered. The Skyrider listened intently but kept his face a blank mask of emotion. "These brave souls are all that survived of the army that slaughtered her guardians. Yes, some of them are Zecairin, and yes I knowingly enlisted their assistance against something worse than the shame of being labeled a kin-traitor." She saw his eyes look over the Zecairins collected in their corner of the chapel. His cheek almost twitched in racial hatred. Something heavy and metallic was laid in his lap, Dekarsil. "This is an old Sylvain blade," Riyarra added, taking a moment to brush hair dirtied from blood, soot, sweat and grime out of her equally messy face. "It kept the creature below trapped to the stone floor. When I touched it, the soul of one of our lost brothers spoke to me." The Skyrider's steeled countenance broke at that, and his eyes accused her silently of madness. She untied his hands from behind him. And he sat forward in the chair. "Touch it. Let it speak to you if you doubt me." The Skyrider jumped from his seat in a whirl of motion, the bright blade of Dekarsil cut through the air as he moved and a thin line of red welled up on her cheek. Riyarra didn't flinch from the superficial cut, she lowered her head, and looked up at him dangerously. Every breath in the room stopped and all eyes were on the freed captive. Silver steel moved silently from a dozen scabbards. The Skyrider clutched the sword steadily in both hands. If Ismeril's spirit still lingered, he wasn't showing himself. Riyarra stood up, and lifted a calming hand to the room to ease back the hungry eyes ready to exact revenge. "Show me," The Skyrider almost squeaked out in disbelief. "Show me where thou pulled this from." his voice was heavy with conflicting emotions, anger and grief battled against prejudiced and presumption. Riyarra lifted her hand again and made the signal to the others to stand down. Dozens of steel weapons silently found their way back into their scabbards. She gestured to the altar in the back of the chapel pointing the way. The Skyrider switched his grip on the blade to underhand, a subtle signal of a cessation of hostility, and crossed the room to the stone altar and the steps below. "Before that," Liam said loudly for all to hear, as he rose unsteadily to meet them. "I need to recover someone still down there." Riyarra looked from him to the dark stairwell. "The Mischievous." Riyarra said, suddenly remembering. "These Zeks said you made a deal that they get to hunt her," he closed his eyes and shook his head with a sigh of exasperation. An overly dramatic way to call that idea idiotic. "Stay here. Rest. It'll be over by morning." Liam made his way across the room to meet them. His wounds were bandaged as best they could be, and by the look of him he should be on the floor, comatose, and not walking around. That bewildering fact kept anyone from stopping him on his own behalf. "She may be Zek, but she's Huanguard trained. I'll go looking for her." And with those words, Rollis and Ut'van who were about to protest and follow, promptly stopped and sat back down. "Well then," Rollis said, and leaned his head against the stone wall. "best place for a nap." he grumbled and folded his arms over his chest to get comfortable. "Remember," Liam called back as he descended to the first step. "She's a shapeshifter. If you see me come back without her, kill me." "Kill you?" Tamain called after him incredulously. "Don't worry, it won't be me." Liam laughed. Then coughed from the pain of the action, and wilted to one knee. Riyarra helped him back up, and he thanked her softly before pulling away. They watched him slowly disappear into the darkness. Most of the elves expected him to stumble around blindly, but he took the steps with regular precision until the sound of his footfalls disappeared into the darkness below. Riyarra chuckled lightly at some hidden joke as all the elves kept listening for the human to stumble and fall in the darkness. "That man," She said mildly, without affection or distance, but merely respect. "Is responsible for invading Zecair. Freeing me from their dungeons..." she motioned for The Skyrider to follow behind her as she descended the first step of the stone stairs of the catacombs. "He fought as a gladiator in their slave pits to purchase me for his own. He challenged a General to single duel combat, wherein he slew a warrior named The Unkillable who was in full armor and sword with only his bare hands and the chain around his neck." She paused right before her head disappeared below the floor. "He did all this, so I could come back here and kill his Demon..." she folded her arms over her chest as she met their gazes. "Do you think a misstep in the dark is going to kill him?" she raised an eyebrow, smiled impishly, and resumed her descent. The Skyrider scoffed, but grew eerily silent as the truth of the matter dawned on him. His own strike force had been defeated by this very same man. * * * * * "No." He heard the voice in the darkness, and knew he was close. The path down the catacomb walls was etched into memory, and he found her not far from the chamber of the Mother. "no." she muttered again. He came upon her, and found her rocking herself slowly on the floor with her face buried into her knees, and her knees wrapped to her chest with her arms. She was naked, but looked unharmed, and muttering to herself. "No!" she barked. "You must be The Mischievous," He said calmly and knelt before her. She jerked suddenly, having not noticed his approached, and looked up at him. First in surprise, them confusion, then with suspicion and wariness. "I am Liam." He said. "but we've met before." "Why did you bring me here?" she asked, as recognition quickly came. The one question she needed answered and it had been plaguing her all these many past months. "Because you are special, and you don't know it." He said with certainty. "I needed you." she scoffed at him. "You were my secret weapon if the Elth princess failed." Behind him, a respectful distance away, The Skyrider and Riyarra stopped and watched. Riyarra tilted her head curiously and her ears twitched ever so slightly in annoyance. "Me?!" she laughed. Then she laughed harder at the absurdity of it all. Something unseen plagued her, and shook in irritation, as if a sudden migraine burst hit her. "The mother is still in your head isn't she? I can teach you to be rid of her... to kill her completely." Liam said and stood. "ha!" The Mischievous scoffed at him again bitterly. "Another deal with a devil lover." she sneered. "What is it this time? I let you make copies of me so you can fuck them and kill me as many ways as you can create?" "No," Liam said simply, completely ignoring her accusation. "I cannot build trust between us in the short amount of time we have here. So you will have to judge my words on faith." He stood slowly, painfully, and took a deep breath. "I am Liam of the Huanguard. I am also The Killer of Zecair - a freed slave. The name I earned for killing The Unkillable during a trial by combat in defense of The Majestic. At that time I was her slave, and I went by the name Mule. I accomplished all of this, because they woefully underestimated me." The Mischievous was about to laugh at his absurd tale until that last word "underestimate" rang in her ears. Only if both The Majestic and The Unkillable had indeed underestimated this human could such a tale be true. Yet here he was, in the blackness of the catacombs with no light, looking right at her as if he could see in the dark. By the look of his body, he had been involved in the fighting above - and lost, but somehow wasn't dead. "What happened to you?" She asked carefully. "I killed Rasj." He stated plainly. "the Elth Queen's soldiers, and her Discarded allies killed the rest of the Huanguard." The Mischievous measured him again with her eyes. His claims were unbelievable, but once again she would have to underestimate him to abide by her skepticism. The same fatal flaw all those that had stood before him had apparently made. Somehow he had made it out of the dungeons of Zecair, where they had last met - there was that to consider. "How am I special?" she narrowed her eyes at him. His confidence was unmistakable, he was either a master liar, or telling the complete truth. "You are a bastard." He smiled. "your father was a general of Zecair... before he became High Archon." The Mischievous burst out into cruel laughter again. But when The Mother suddenly resumed her pleading in her head, trying to distract her from Liam's words. She knew there was some truth here. That fact scared her. She didn't want to know this. This was dangerous territory if it was something that upset The Mother. "Your mother kept it a secret from him, to use as leverage should he become High Archon. She died before he rose to power, and you were pushed into the Academy as an orphan. You graduated faster than your peers and joined the border scouts. My freeing you from that dungeon was not an accident. There is power within you. Power I needed to destroy the Mother. The only power that can destroy The Mother." She digested his words. They were her life story spelled out in annoyingly brief detail, but with missing pieces filled in. He hadn't missed a single fact. She wanted to doubt him. Everything he said was a long lost secret that no one could have learned or know, but he somehow had. So she had to accept it on faith, without the explanation of how, because it felt true. Once she opened that door to accepting his words as true, another opened. "What do you want in return for my help?" she slowly got to her feet to stand bravely before him. Liam smiled, and in that smile she saw more of the man emerge from the expressionless mask he wore. He had a larger plan in action she could tell, and this moment was a critical deciding factor in it. There was a battle being waged here, she could see it in his eyes - it was the same look The Father sometimes had when she asked a question about her missions with Wolfe. "Your allegiance. Your loyalty." He simply shrugged. "This isn't a simple favor for a favor, but a longer commitment. Decide carefully" Liam began. "I will continue your training, in exchange you will serve me as my disciple until I die. There is no backing out once you commit, commit wholly, or I will have to kill you to prevent The Mother from resurrecting... or later to prevent what I teach you from being misused." "Such high stakes." The Mischievous sighed. She knew now, he had been telling the truth all along. She knew why the Mother was in her head - she needed a new body. She had listened to his voice, his tone, the way he spoke, analyzed it for the slightest tell that he was lying or hiding something, but it never changed. He wasn't a braggart or a deceiver, he didn't need to be he had the power to enforce his will - deception was not his style. "Are you worthy of my devotion?" "Are we worthy of each other's devotion?" Liam returned it on her. She scanned his face, his eyes. Those words struck an old frayed nerve in her, and she wondered if he knew it and meant it so. Of course he did... this monster of a human apparently knew everything already. "I need more," The Mischievous said. "Give me something to dissuade these doubts." Her face was tormented. He had dangled an appropriate bait before her and laid the trap to coerce her into his plan so effectively that the only thing holding her back was her own instincts that nothing was ever so easy. Liam understood this. "When I passed my harrowing with The Mother," Liam started. "My gift, was to be linked into her network of spiritual energy. She is everywhere, tapped into the link between all living things, especially those that carried her flesh inside her." Liam said with an impish smirk. "This network allowed me to see and observe everything that was going on around me and anyone I wanted simply by focusing on an individual I knew and reading them. It made me the ultimate spy." "Wow..." The Mischievous said as she digested that. All the connections were made then, all the pieces of his story fell more into place. Now she understood how he knew so much. "And the ultimate killer. You could know any weakness, any strength... any secret." Liam slowly nodded. The Mischevious's leg started to twitch nervously, uncontrollably. She, who had worn a mask her whole life, was suddenly feeling exposed before this man. Liam took her fidgeting as a consenting agreement to their deal. "Let us begin," He said. The Mischievous couldn't meet his gaze. She bit her lip, and timidly nodded in agreement. She held her arm to try and keep herself from trembling as it grew worse. Was it anticipation Fear? She couldn't stop it, she didn't understand it. Liam started to pace around her slowly. "I am going to awaken you," He started. "First you need to release your falsehoods. Share yourself with me. Your true self. Yes, I can read you with my gift, but that is not the point. The point is for you to accept yourself and purposely share yourself, even the most intimate parts. Your flesh stopped being your intimate side long ago... you quickly learned to use your sexuality as a tool to get what you wanted. Why?" The Mischievous looked to the black ceiling high above, she felt cornered already. Unable to meet his gaze has he paced. He was too good at this. "Because it was easy." She choked out through the emotion. "Men are idiots and easy to manipulate." "But you also enjoyed it." "Sometimes." "Did you enjoy it with Wolfe?" The Mischievous bristled and wanted to punch him. But she knew why he asked the moment she clenched her fist and pulled it back to swing it. "Of course." She sighed. "He was wonderful." "Was he another idiot?" "No," she practically whispered. "So you did not need to seduce him. You could have won his loyalty through words." "Possibly." "You regret manipulating him." "Yes." she whimpered. Choked out a brief sob, and then breathed deeply to clear her mind. "Does admitting that lessen the shame?" "A little." "Do you feel responsible for his death?" Again, the fist clenched. "Yes, He would have stayed just another idiot student and would not have earned the Father's special interest if I hadn't seduced him." "Where would his allegiances have fallen during this coupe?" "No where, he would have run away." "Like you did?" she remembered the night she tried to leave. "No, they would have killed him trying to escape." "So.. he would have died siding with the Father, or with Rasj when the Elthairins attacked." "So he was doomed either way." The Mischievous scoffed and threw her hands up in frustration. "Yes." Liam said softly, almost sympathetically. "sometimes fate is immutable." The Mischievous lifted her head to the ceiling far above, closed her eyes, and shed her held back tears silently. But in doing so, her trembling stopped, and her shoulders lifted as she stood up straighter. A great burden had just lifted from her shoulders. "But not always. Why take the name that you did?" "As a warning," she said calmly. "You think of yourself as smarter than those around you. Your name is a warning that they'll fall to your pranks and schemes eventually." "That was the idea when I won it." "You delight in it, why?" "Because they're all idiots." she almost barked out. "Every Zek man is the same, they want sex and they want power. They want power so they can have more sex. Everything they say to you is just a ploy to get those. Once you realize that, you can toy with them to show who's really superior. All their bravado, all their gifts and displays of power, they're all just simpletons too eager to get what they want. And the women? So wrapped up in their own plans for power and fame, they think they're clever with their plots, but once you get a hold of one of their strings you have them at your mercy. One simple pull and you can ruin their ambition." "all of them? There wasn't one that wasn't like that?" He knew. "Since you know everything, you know damn well there was one that didn't. One I couldn't manipulate. One that showed me I was smart and how to use that to survive." "Your last teacher... at the academy." "Yes, him. "Your first love." "Yes." "The first person worthy of your devotion." "Yes!" "And he discarded you the moment you proved your devotion. When you realized that your love for him made you his slave, you would do anything to keep it. It made you a simpleton, just like all the others. And since then you have never loved someone like that again." "YES!" she screamed in bitter rage. She gasped suddenly as a brief, somewhat pleasurable convulsion ran through her body. She went stiff and rigid as it ran its course. The convulsions lasted awhile. It wasn't a sexual orgasm, but something akin to it. Heat flowed through from her chest though her body, down her back, and into her extremities. A soft violet glow bathed the room. The Mischievous blinked from the light as her eyes adjusted and turned to find a source. Yet where ever she turned it was always behind her. "Beautiful." Liam breathed in appreciation. Then she caught a glimpse of it right behind her. Wings. Deep violet wings beat the air softly behind The Mischievous. Rich indigo veins ran through them between the translucent interspaces out to the violet edges. When she caught sight of them, she curled them in, touched them with a hand and shuddered at the tingling sensation as she felt her hand as they were a part of her. She looked around the room as if seeing things that were not there for the first time. Lost in the Light Ch. 15 "Wha.. what is this?" "Your inheritance." Liam said through tense words, and clutched at his head. "You have awakened. She cannot posses you now." He stated as his breathing grew heavy and rapidly as he was beset but some tremendous exertion. "You can see her now right? You know what to do? How to kill her?" "Its so simple..." The Mischievous breathed in wonderment as she stared at the cavernous blackness now turned purple. "Do it!" Liam said desperately. "She cannot take you, so she's putting all she has into taking me before you wise up!" He groaned, whimpered, and collapsed to his knees grabbing his head. "Not. Fucking. Happening." The Mischievous growled violently angry. She curled forward, took a deep breath, and let the violet glow emanating from her wings collect into her hands. Her wings dissolved into twinkling dust motes in the air and also collected into her palms. At that moment her power had coalesced and she released it into the air with in a violent burst. Invisible threads woven all about the room ignited instantaneously all around her. They became visible as they burned scarlet red, burned down their length to a node where they ended at, consumed it, and ignited the other strands attached. A great chain reaction rapidly spread through the hall, with it came an inhuman scream that shook the underground walls and echoed down the length of the catacombs as it spread rapidly down the tunnels. In one terrible flash it was all over. Burning embers drifted through the air. The Mischievous's thoughts were her own, and a great blessed silence filled the air. Liam fell forward to the ground in relief. "Such silence," he sighed in admiration and wonderment. "Finally, such beautiful silence." The Mischievous listened. She wanted to speak to him, to get more answers, but she could feel what had happened. Somehow she knew the Mother was gone. Gone for good and she was finally free. She looked down at Liam. He too, was somehow that monster's prisoner, and this was just as much his liberation as her. She knelt beside him. "Elves don't have wings." she said matter of factly. "Zecairin elves don't have wings." "All daughters of Titania have wings," Liam corrected her, growing short of breath. "Your people have always had them. But the conditions required to embrace them are a bit of a taboo in your culture." "Which is?" "To reveal your true self. To yourself, and to someone you trust. It is the most intimate expression your people are capable - showing your wings, and feeling exposed." Liam explained. "It also means you are the original, and not one of Silas's copies." The Mischievous hid her face in embarrassment. It was true that she had, in the short time they spoke, grown a certain fond curiosity for this human - she wanted to believe his heroism and intentions, they were just too romantic not to hope for. But it wasn't love. Yet it was enough to awaken this birthright she apparently had had all this time. She never felt so exposed in her life before. "We need to get to the surface," Liam groaned in pain and carefully sat himself up. The Mischievous lent him a hand and together they got him to his feet. He guided them towards the tunnel that led to the stairs. The archway that marked its entrance started to glow a pearly white. Riyarra could clearly be seen in the silhouette. Her opalescent wings beating the air around her, and bathed the area in its white glow. She approached slowly and walked past the other male elf in white leather who stood in exasperation and stammered in embarrassed bewilderment at her display. She offered a hand to The Mischievous with a warm welcoming smile. "Come," Riyarra breathed emotionally, caught in the grip of sorrow, joy and anger. "Follow us, Sister." * * * * The elves were antsy. The closer the footsteps came the more of them stood up eager to see who approached. They had not been gone long, but it was enough for the battle weary elves to feel the exhaustion of the day settle into their bones. Not many could still stand, but they could look towards the stairway. Valel had stood guard, his weapons casually hanging at his sides, but he didn't move. It wasn't until the second and third set of footsteps could be heard that he sheathed his swords. Riyarra emerged first, and greated him with her hand on his shoulder. Then The Skyrider emerged who wandered away to some separate section of the chapel to sit and have a stoic think. The Mischievous emerged, carrying a weak Liam in her arms. "Fathers... quarters..." he whispered weakly. She knew where to take him, and did so. Leaving the stunned elves alone. Riyarra watched them go out the front door and turned to face her people. "Its done. The devil is truly dead." She proclaimed without pride or joy. "One of us still lingers by a thread we cannot mend." She added sadly, nodding in Liam's direction. Valel came to stand beside her then. She met his gaze and wanted to speak but couldn't find the words. He put a hand on her shoulder. "My queen, if this be his nightfall, then share his last moments." he said reassuringly. "We owe him" Simple. Valel was refreshingly uncomplicated at times, and she loved that. But he had enough honor to not think it beneath an Elthairin Queen to sit watch as a human died. Riyarra looked to the faces around the room, and briefly met their looks before she turned to follow The Mischievous. She laid him down on the floor mattress. It seemed fitting for Liam to assume the mantle of The Father and also these luxuriously spacious and recently vacated quarters. His breath came in wheezes, and she could feel him loosing the battle against his wounds. The Mother's power apparently had sustained him when nature could not, and now that she was gone, nature was taking its due. His eyes opened with desperately retained consciously, and they looked at The Mischievous. "Scrolls..." he pointed to the wall of shelves of rolled up parchment. "Huanguard secrets. Hide them." he instructed. "burn them if I die. I'll teach them to you if I don't." Liam closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, and grew silent and still. Riyarra entered the room reverently. Gently she sat beside the man's sleeping body opposite The Mischievous. She watched, fixated and waiting, as his chest rose and fell ever so slightly. She knelt down, listened to his breath, and placed a caring hand on his forehead as she sat back up. "He rescued me from hell." Riyarra said quietly. "He does that." The Mischievous said with mirth that melted into grief. "Sister,.." she added delicately. Trying out the new word as it played on her tongue. It was a truth. The bond they both shared with this man, and the circumstances that formed it made them sisters of a sort. "Zeks and Elths working together? I want to hear all about that." She looked down at Liam's unconscious face, searching it for a sign, before pulling the blankets at the foot of the bed up and over the both of them. She settled down to lay beside him, watching him as he slumbered. Riyarra looked around the room but found it unaccommodating to what she was searching for. She took off her leather vest, dirtied with blood, sweat, and soot, rolled it into a wad and laid her head down upon it. She wouldn't sleep, she couldn't sleep, she would be here for him, but there was nothing else to do but rest and watch, and wait. * * * * * "Valel," The Skyrider said quietly, announcing his approach to the door sentry. Valel didn't move from his post, or make any motion to show he heard the man as he continued peering through the crack between the doors, but he did incline his head to listen. "Harpies," Valel whispered. "lots of them. They won't touch some of the humans. We'll have to burn those. I suspect it is because of the demon taint." "I wish to speak with Princess Riyarra." The blond haired elf with elegant features said in a brusk and inelegant tone. He had switched to a less eloquent dialect of Elthairin in an attempt to warm up to the Captain. "Shhh," Valel motioned him silent. The chapel hall was quiet but filled with the sounds of sleeping elves. The moon came out from behind a cloud at that moment, and he could see through the crack alongside Valel as a winged creature in the courtyard not far from them feasted on a corpse. It turned his stomach and he looked away. "I find myself oddly at peace with it, now that I know why." Valel added quietly. "It prevents their souls from becoming Wraiths." he added in a curious tone. "How many of those abominations are haunting these woods today because we hunted their kind to near extinction?" "Captain," The Skyrider said again, this time with less agitation. "My squadron will return soon. The Human's trick would only keep them scattered and disorientated for a few hours, and they will attack once regrouped. Our mission supersedes my safety as commander." "My mother and my comrades died on that hill." Valel said coldly. "Completing your mission for you..." "Agreed." The Skyrider said in earnest. "And the honors are yours. Therefore, it is my wish to keep their sacrifice from being in vane by prevents more loss of elvish life." "Elvish? Not Elthairin?" Valel turned to look at the Sky Rider, his black eyes glistened with skeptical curiosity. The nuance in the white elf's choice of words had not been missed. "Its this sword. Dekarsil," The Sky Rider explained, lifting the sword. "It echos the thoughts and experiences of its former masters, I have spoken to Riyarra and shared her plight without having been a part of it. I am convinced. I wish to help you as I can. Please allow that." "Go," Valel said decisively and nodded towards the door. "Stay to the side of the building, to your right, don't disturb the Harpies." Valel's agreeableness gave the Sky Rider pause. Valel caught it. "My concern is not with what is out there, but in keeping what is in here safe. If you think to flee, you won't get far past them." He nodded to the silhouette of a winged man tearing the flesh from detached leg. "If you think to assassinate the Princess, she is more than a match for you, and she has an ally in that room. When they returned, Liam was carried out by the Zek woman, not Riyarra. As much as she cares for that human, Riyarra would have gladly taken up the task, and only allowed the Zek to do it if she was a proven sister to her for their shared love of that human." Valel explained. "You are very observant," the Sky Rider admitted. "Are you not her betrothed?" he added scornfully. Valel arched a single black eyebrow and sized the man up again. "Do you intend to allow her to bed-" his statement was cut off by the swish of Valel's short steel sword as it came to rest in the air before the Skyrider's face. "You presumed that I control her. You presumed that I am offended at her sharing her body intimately with another man that has earned such a privilege. That is her right, and I have no place deciding its execution." Valel spun the weapon around in the air and slid it silently back into its sheath at his thigh. "I am now the last heir of my family, house Vereathorne. We are as old as yours, Lord Kanear of House Ardivestia. Yes, I know who you are. But I do not share your devotion to pure bloodlines. If I am to be the last, I will live with distinction and nobility. I will not disgrace myself merely to preserve the purity of my heirs, or to win status as Queen's prince consort, should Riyarra ever be called to serve." "Should Riyarra sit on the throne, would you step aside for the good of the nation, and let a better match be made? Would you enforce our laws and customs by denying that human?" "That is not my decision to make, but I will serve Elthair and the Princess should they both desire me," "Is your honor a mercenary?" Valel had grown tired of this discussion. Lord Kanear's attitude was entirely predictable, his arguments heard a million times before. Valel had known a dozen young lords like him in the Citadel. Each one was just another puppet of their parents. "We should have made peace with the Harpies long ago," he muttered in dark humor. Completely ignoring the debate. "Princess Riyarra has built relationships with two of our enemies. Do you think the great houses would ever let her rule? That is to say, should she wish to return to Elthair? "You see my point." "You aren't seeing mine." Valel sighed, and changed the subject. "I assume you'll ask her to live in exile?" "For the good of Elthair, Riyarra must not return." Lord Kanear said with certainty. "I do not control her." Valel sighed. "But I will advise her against a civil war." "I do not serve His Highness. I serve Elthair." Lord Kanear added as he slowly and quietly pushed the oak door open. "I will always serve Elthair... regardless of who rules." He disappeared out into the night air. A gentle knock roused her from her brief nap, and Riyarra lifted her head. "Princess Riyarra?" The Skyrider's voice came from the other side of the door. "Enter," she grumbled loud enough to be heard and sat upright. It took her a moment to clear the fog from her mind and realize where she was and what had happened. Alarmed, she put a hand over Liam's chest... he was still breathing. Black skinned fingers moved out from under the blanket over him and gripped hers. They were gentle, and stern at the same time. The Mischievous opened one eye to look at her from her comfortable position nestled in the crook of Liam's good arm. Riyarra squeezed her hand reassuringly before pulling away and sitting upright as Lord Kanear of the Skyriders entered the room. He sat on the ground before Riyarra, placed Dekarsil at her feet, and bowed his head to the floor. "Princess Riyarra, I must leave thee now." He said in his formal Elthairin dialect. "To prevent more death, I will return to my squadron. Our mission here has been completed by your knights. His Grace commanded the Huanguard destroyed. It is thus. He ordered Liam the Lion dead. He will soon be thus. Our of respect for you, I will not linger to confirm his passing. Let his final moments be at peace." Riyarra listened and made no comment. She was still trying to figure out how a captive was walking about addressing her. "My lady, your grace. Please do not return to Elthair. It would cause a civil war. Please stay here with your knights, and live in exile." Silence filled the room. Riyarra did not respond, and the Skyrider would not lift his head. For Gayne. The thought surged into her like an exploding volcano. A righteous fury consumed her and she dug her nails into her thighs, but the sharp pain did not steady her any. How dare this man presume to ask her to live out in exile? How dare he ask her to abandon her vengeance for Gayne, for her honor guard that fell in Zecair, and for all the other Elthairin lives that her brother murdered out of religious fervor? "So be it." She found herself saying. Her shoulders sagged, her ears drooped, and she was defeated. He had defeated her with the words 'civil war'. It wouldn't be just her life, or the lives of her soldiers at risk, but many, many more Elthair innocents would be caught in the middle should she challenge King Lethonar to the throne. "I will not return to Elthair," she choked out as her emotions fought against her soldier's discipline. "Unless it is requested by the headss of the great houses." The Sky Rider backed away, bowed his head deeper once more before lifting it, and promptly left the room in a hurry. Then he was gone, and the room was silent. Riyarra collapsed back down onto the dirty makeshift pillow she had been using. Too exhausted to cry. Too exhausted to scream. Too exhausted to do anything but stare at the wooden beams above their heads. "You're still going to invade them, aren't you?" The Mischievous said softly after it seemed Riyarra's shock and fury had ebbed away some. Riyarra scowled at her words, she wanted to call the girl stupid for not hearing what she had just said. But then she heard her own words play back in her head, somehow a part of her said the words in such a way as to give her an honorable way back home. "Not invade, no. "Riyarra sighed, tiredly. "But should some terrible tragedy happen, I might return, if they ask nicely." Lost in the Light "Please." She begged him once more, her mind awash with the pleasure and stimulation he was giving. "Release for me." Mule wasn't one to disobey. He started thrusting quickly deep into her warm pussy, and it wasn't long after that a deep grunt came from his throat. He pulled out as he came, and shot his seed all over her backside. His cock slid up and down, wedged between her perfect ass cheeks as it spasmed with each shot. Feeling his throbbing cock pulsating against her was enough to cause another minor tremor, and Riyarra shuddered with pleasure. Mule had tossed his head back and sat upright and breathless as his the last of warm orgasm finished coating her lower back. Their breaths came in deep gasps as the intensity of the moment slowly ebbed away and left a warm afterglow. Riyarra placed her hands on the mount's back and held herself up as she slowly lowered herself back into a riding posture. She pressed Mule's manhood underneath her, and held him between her sex and the blanket, savoring the feeling of his hardness beneath her. The Eltharian lady melted into her human lover's arms. Her head rested on his shoulder as she stared off contentedly at the trees that passed by. "I could stay here like this forever." She sighed and reached up over her head to stroke his cheek. "It's an illusion." Mule said gently. "After the pain you've endured, the slightest pleasure seems like an eternal paradise." Riyarra withdrew her hand. It was an uncomfortably cold moment before she spoke again. "I am not the child you take me for." She sighed as she pulled the strap of her dress up over her again. "I know my pain, and I know what is real, what is not, and what must be done to return to my people. Can you not for just this moment, give me a brief peace from it all?" Her eyes drifted to the stones and grass that passed below them. Mule's long deliberation meant he had been caught off guard by her reprimand. "I fear that if I encourage this fantasy for much longer, you will not want to leave it," he said finally. "Would that be so terrible?" She breathed silently. "Must I be the princess for you?" "Not for me, your grace." Mule replied. His tone had become distant and almost unfriendly. "For your people. For the same reason you ventured into the darkness of Zecair." He took that moment to readjust and fasten his trousers and belt. "Where are you taking me?" She cut in. "I've noticed for the past while that we are not traveling east, but north. Elthair is to the East." Her tone as well had lost the familiarity they shared and become more authoritative. The moment was over, and the mood had turned colder. "To a monastery, I must speak to the Father." Mule said. "It will do you well to rest first before returning to your people. Our hospitality will ease the recovery of your heart." His enticement wasn't received. "There is also a training ground if you would like to exercise or release some anger, but it is not for the novice." His taunt had more effect; Riyarra's long ears curved slightly backwards like a cat in a defensive posture. "There is a prisoner there we should interrogate first about this business with your Brother." **** * For humans, they certainly knew how to interrogate. She thought as she lay strung out on a metal grate. Below her, hot coals burned at such close proximity it made her very uncomfortable. The heat had made her dark, bare skin sweat continuously since they lit the coals. But it was a dry heat that parched her throat and stung her eyes. What little sweat formed on her evaporated off quickly. Strands of her dry hair dangled in front of her face, it made her cheeks and neck itch terribly. The bright blue dye she had used in her silvery white hair had run dull to a mottled steel blue from this torment. She laughed. Her vanity should be the least of her worries, but it was all she could think of right now. As she recalled, Fenecian snails were rare on the surface, and she wonder if there was a city or trader outpost nearby that had ever heard of them. She needed their mucus to re-dye her hair. But as she thought about it, she realized it wouldn't be the same; the color would dull in the sunlight anyways. A large drop of sweat slowly trickled down her cheek and nose. It distracted her from her frustration about finding snails. As it slowly threatened to drop, she didn't dare open her eyes to watch it, the heat would dry them out instantly and they would hurt again when she closed them. Damn these humans. She cursed, silently. Damn that Eltharian witch too, this is all her doing. How many times do I have to tell them I don't know where her brother went to? The drop of sweat finally fell, and she heard it sizzle on the coals below her. She heard the door to the cell open, but didn't dare look up. After finally being able to tolerate the almost unbearable heat, she wasn't going to move and mess that up. Whoever was coming to visit was just going to have to forgive her rudeness at not bowing. That was the only thought she spared for them, before going back to her mental hunt for snails. It was a distraction; it was her escape. And it was ruined when her visitor dumped a bucket filled with water over her and the coals. She welcomed the relief, but the extinguished coals immediately turned the water to steam and that choked her. Forced to hold her breath, it was a long moment before the air felt somewhat cool enough to try breathing. When it came she drew in a sharp breath and immediately choked on the remaining moisture in the air. But as that too cleared she could breath easy and the terrible heat was gone. She could weakly feel the shackles that bound her to the grate being loosened, but had she the strength to act? When the last one came loose, she tried to roll over, but found herself too weak and dehydrated. Even the simple task made her very dizzy, but she managed to get onto her back but little else. "Drink this." A man's voice came from the blurry, steamy air above her. Light drifted in from the door – bright, overwhelming surface light. A cup of sorts was being pushed to her lips, and strong arms picked her up and tilted her head to the liquid. She drank, but not too deeply. It soothed her dry throat, and calmed her breathing a bit. When her eyes focused on the man and the cup, she saw it being pulled away. "You may have more when you answer my questions." He said and sat down on a bench nearby. Damn, these humans knew how to interrogate she thought. She wished she had the strength to just take the water from him. She wanted it so badly she was ready to give him anything. The air cleared and she could see her tormentor. He was human, short, stocky, and with a shaved head. He wore a white robe underneath a brown over-robe with no sleeves. It gave him the look of someone formal or religious, but given all she knew about humans it could also mean he was her jailor. "There is still some resistance in your eyes." He said with a smile. The man got up and closed the door, shutting out the light. A lantern flared to life as he struck the wick with a spark from something small and mechanical. With the light at a softer tolerance she could make out the room. The grate she had been stretched on for the last day or so was short and small. All around the coal pit against the wooden walls were short wooden benches. The man had some items resting on one of these benches, along with a large ceramic jug that smelled briskly of clean cold water. Beside it, the metal goblet that she drank from. As her gaze wander back to her keeper, she found she hadn't noticed that he had already refastened three of the shackles that locked her to the grate, the last being the arm that shielded her gaze from the bright light. She didn't fight, if she had tried she would have been too weak. "Let's try to take some of the fight out of you." He smiled, and placed a hand on her bare thigh. Any other prisoner would have most likely tensed, growled, or spat at him as that hand drifted up her soaked skin to the even more soaked bush between her legs - but not her. "There, that's good." He cooed, and proceeded to insert two wet fingers into her cunt. She bit her lips and closed her eyes. Why not enjoy this? She thought. It had been so long since the last one came to 'interrogate' her. They were all young men, and rather virile based the frequency with which they came to play. This one would be no different than the last ones. He'd play, maybe penetrate her – one way or another. Then he'd blow his load, and out of shame give her the food or water or whatever they were trying to deny her before leaving the room in a hurry. As she thought about it, it was rather comical really - they were very good at the interrogation up until that part. She moaned softly as she felt him play with the lips of her pussy. Those fingers rubbed and stroked, and massaged her folds with a bit of probing into all her sensitive areas. Sometimes he hit a spot that made her shiver, sometimes she felt no different, and then sometimes she wanted to kick him between the legs for not doing it right. This one was smart, however, he was picking up on her moans to learn what she wanted. Her dehydration was making her all the more sensitive. As soon as he started thrusting those fingers inside her, she started immediately bucking her hips up, wanting to take his hand, and most of his arm, all the way up inside her. Anything to scratch the itch those short stubby little things just weren't reaching. It was a unique torture in and of itself – how she longed for a well hung Zecairin male right now. She imagined that her captor was one of the soldiers from her regiment; the ones she knew were all handsome, muscled, and very, very vigorous. That brief daydream was the last push her arousal needed. She came hard, and when she did she heard the little man yelp in surprise as his fingers suddenly came away flooded with her juices. She wanted more. And she looked at him with her best "more!" gaze. But this little man wasn't interested. Oh how she wanted to kill him now. But he did refill the cup from the water jug and brought it to her lips. "Where is the Eltharian prince?" He asked as he dangled that cup above her face. She wanted it. But she didn't know the answer to his question. It didn't matter whether she lied that she did know, or honestly admitted her ignorance, they were never satisfied with her answer. She chose to simple ignore the question, and feign light-headedness. He dumped the goblet on her head. Her tongue licked up the trickles of water it could, not minding the waste of the rest of it. When she had gotten all she could, she then relished the cool feeling of the water on her hot head. It didn't matter how much more of this they had for her, she would play along, never despairing, and then they would grow frustrated with her. "Answer me and you may have as much as you can drink." Her captor said and waved the freshly filled cup above her head. "What if lie to you?" She breathed hoarsely. "We will continue to see how much you can take. You will break." "Eventually. I do not deny that." She admitted. Her voice was like rough sand, dry and crumbling. "But I cannot give you answers I do not have." Honesty this time, she decided. She expected the water to splash her face again, so she parted her lips ever so slightly to be ready to catch it when it came. Instead, she felt the cool flow of it being poured down her body. Trickles of the cold water dripped down her ribs and sides. It tickled something fierce, and she fought the need to squirm. "Ahh, you like that." He said and pinched one of her hardening nipples with his fingers. The erect bud had betrayed her to him. "I see that you are a vile creature, filled with the lusts of a devil." He stated, but without a tone of insult. He brought a freshly filled cup to her lips and let her drink slowly. "I'll tell you all that I do know." She sighed and closed her eyes. Her dry throat made it difficult to talk she had to pause between sentences to wet her lips. "I met an Eltharian scout... she was looking for the prince too... I hadn't heard of him before that... We made a deal, and I tried to find out what happened. If he was captured, it was a secret from me... But all I could find said he was dead... No live Eltharians are ever taken to Zecair... But then we were captured during one of our meetings before I could find out more." The strain on her dry throat had made her voice harsh and deep. "See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?" He said and lifted her head to another filled cup. He let her drank deeply this time, and when she finished he refilled it and poured it over her body to cool her off. "I have a reward for you." Her mind was a flutter with the cold tingles on her skin from the dripping water. It wasn't until his throbbing meat was pressed against her lips that she realized what he meant. They all wanted the same thing from her, and they all came to take it in different ways. Her lips parted without thinking, it was reflex at this point. She gave them what they wanted, and they played with her before they left. His cock was hard, but not as large as the last one that made her suck on it. Her lips were chapped but wet from her drinks of water. She moaned against his member as he slid in and out of her mouth, something she learned they liked. The more expressive she was, they more excited they became, the quicker they were done and finished with her. Her tongue swirled around the head of his penis as it slid in and out from her lips. She could feel his flesh pulsing in her mouth; it wouldn't be long now. Stubby fingers found her nipples again and pinched and pulled on them. She groaned against the pain. "You are a devilish slut, aren't you?" He grunted as he fucked her mouth. "Vile, perverted things fill your mind, don't they?" His attempt at dirty talk was so annoying she almost gave up her act and bit down. The monk reminded her of a young recruit in her squad that tried too much when she bedded him. She focused on those memories and weathered the insults and annoyances. His groping hands mauled her breasts unpleasantly, yet she kept up the act and moaned like a bitch in heat. He came without warning. The first spurt hit her tongue and she quickly closed her throat to the rest. His climax left much wanting just as his playing did – short and inexperienced. He finished with a grunt and collapsed backward onto his rump. She took the moment of distraction to turn her head and spit out his seed onto the coals below. "I told that same story... to one of the last men...that came..." she panted. "Yes, we needed to see if it was the truth." He said short of breath. The monk belted his robe up quickly and left with the bucket of water without another word.