Banshee’s Honor
Part Fifteen
by
“It was nice of the queen to let you get away for a day,” Kyrian said as she helped Azhani paddle their small boat along the lake edge.
“Yeah, I thought I was going to be stuck watching morning court all week,” Azhani said, with a wry grin twitching at the corners of her lips.
Kyrian nodded
and looked across the bow of the boat toward the shoreline where they
planned to stop. “So what
made you decide to drag us out here?” she asked curiously as Azhani
leapt out of the boat. Water
splashed into the boat, drenching the stardancer’s sandaled feet. She frowned, daintily lifted her
feet and shook them dry.
Shrugging, Azhani said, “I’m not sure. I just wanted to get away from the city for a while and this seemed like a good place to go.”
The warrior dragged the boat up to the shoreline, helped the stardancer climb out, then grabbed their basket of goodies. Together, they made their way across the beach and into the woods. It was quiet, and the breeze that floated in from the lake was just cool enough to take the edge off the heat of the afternoon.
About a half candlemark later, they found a clearing that was small, yet warmly lit by the sun. By mutual agreement, each woman set about gathering deadfall for a fire. Soon, Kyrian had a pot of tea steeping beside the fire, while Azhani laid out a blanket and spread out their food.
“So, what’s next, Azhani?” Kyrian asked after they had eaten.
“What do you mean?”
“For you – for us, I mean. Have you decided how you’re going to deal with Arris yet?” The stardancer asked curiously.
Azhani toyed with the peace-cords on her dagger and stared into the forest. “I’d like to.” She sighed and bowed her head, shaking it slightly. When she looked up, there was a strangely haunted expression on her sharply featured face. “I don’t know what I want to do with Arris yet. I used to know, but now...” Her voice trailed off as she stared into the stardancer’s dark green eyes. Uncomfortably, she looked away. “I think I’d rather deal with the demons. At least I know what needs to be done with them.”
“Okay. I can understand that,” said Kyrian. What’s going on with her? She used to be so sure of herself.
“Of course, whatever I do will depend on what Lyssera wants,” Azhani temporized. Restlessly, she picked up a handful of pebbles and started pitching them at distant targets. “I agreed to work for her – to teach Allyn how to be a warrior, and he’s no where near competent enough to survive even a small fight.”
“He’s good though,” Kyrian said. “He nearly had me, the other day.”
“Yeah, but you’re better than he is, you just have trouble with-“
“Aggression, I know. Thanks, by the way, for listening to me, and not judging,” the stardancer said, reaching out to lay a hand on the warrior’s leg.
Azhani covered her friend’s hand with hers and gave it a slight squeeze. “It was no trouble, my friend. You listened to my story, and you’re still my friend. I could do no less for you.” I wanted to hear your story, Kyr. Can’t you see that? You’re not alone in this friendship – I want you to like me as much as I like you. Just how much she liked the stardancer was not a question Azhani was prepared to ask, or answer.
“Well, thanks, okay? It’s been a long time since I had someone I could really talk to,” Kyrian said. She stood up and shook out her robes, laughing as crumbs from their lunch rained down onto the blanket. “Oh, I’m such a mess! I hope I don’t have food smeared on my face. I’d hate to walk into Oakheart with jelly on my nose.”
Azhani stood as well and walked over to inspect the stardancer’s face. Smiling, she reached up to gently brush away a bit of dried food. “Just a little bit of something,” she said as her fingers grazed the other woman’s lips. “Right here,” she finished a bit breathlessly.
An electric tingle passed through them as their eyes met. Everything went still as the warrior continued to lightly stroke the stardancer’s lips. Azhani started to lean forward, drawn to the lips she was caressing.
Kyrian couldn’t breathe. Her lungs were screaming for air, but she dared not take a breath as the warrior moved closer, until she was almost close enough to- Is she going to kiss me?
“Hello? Master Azhani? Stardancer Kyrian? Are you out here?” Allyndev Kelani’s voice was never more welcome, or hated, than it was at that moment. The young, half-elven prince finally crashed into the clearing just as Azhani spun around to greet him.
“We’re right here, Allyn. What is it?” asked the warrior concernedly.
Smiling sheepishly, the prince reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a scroll. “Aunt Lyss thought you might want to see this right away,” he explained.
Azhani took the scroll, broke the seal and unfurled it, reading the text quickly. When she was finished, she crumpled up the message. With an oath, she threw it to the ground.
“Azhi? What is it?” Kyrian asked, stepping close to her friend and laying a hand on the warrior’s arm.
“It’s from my grandfather,” she said bitterly. “He wants me to meet with him later. Said something about protecting his grandson’s inheritance. As if I would accept one copper from that bastard!”
“I-“ Kyrian was stunned. The stardancer knew that the warrior was half-elven, but she had assumed that Azhani had no living relatives. “Maybe he just wants an excuse to meet you,” she said lamely.
Azhani bit off a bark of choked laughter. “We’ve met. After I told him exactly what I thought of him, he tried to have me arrested.”
“Oh. Well...”
“It’s
all right.” Azhani sighed and
looked up at the sky, gauging the time by the position of the sun. “We should be heading back anyway.”
“Okay. Allyn and I will pack this stuff up if you’ll put out the fire,” Kyrian said, giving the prince a pointed look.
“Yeah, I don’t mind helping, Master Azhani,” the young man said.
The warrior nodded and went over to begin shoveling dirt over the fire. As she worked, she reviewed the last moments before Allyn’s arrival. When she realized that she had been a heartbeat away from kissing her friend, she nearly dropped the shovel into the fire.
Goddess! I almost... gods, I can’t even think
it, much less say it! What is
going on with me? She looked up and saw that Kyrian and
Allyn were finished with their task and were waiting patiently for her. Can’t think about this now,
but soon, she promised herself. I’ve got to figure this out.
%%%
Should
have known the old bastard was only worried about his money, thought Azhani as she stormed
out of the inn where she had met with her grandfather.
As she had assumed, the patriarch of the Oakleaf clan had
come to Y’Syria to obtain her signature on some documents. The papers were legal forms that
basically forced her to relinquish any claim she had on his estate. I gladly
signed the damn things! She thought vehemently, glaring
at a passerby until he moved out of her way.
Should have let Kyr come with me,
though. I hated sitting in
that stuffy little room all by myself...
The
warrior sighed and chuckled wryly. She
had specifically asked the stardancer to stay behind.
Pride, or stubbornness, or both had forced her to meet
with Lord Oakleaf alone. The
man had been arrogant to the point of irritation, treating Azhani like
she was the lowest piece of dirt in the kingdom.
“Sign this, bastard, and you’ll get a good sum for your time. My grandson’s future will not be sullied by your progeny,” Oakleaf said, thrusting a pen toward the glowering warrior.
“It’s always about money with you, isn’t it Grandfather?” Azhani snarled the word. She grabbed the pen and scribbled her name on the lines he indicated.
Satisfaction glittering in his eyes, he rudely shoved a leather pouch across the table toward her. “It’s always about money, child. When you understand that – you might be worthy to be an Oakleaf. Until then, get out of my sight!”
Spinning on her heel so that
he would not see her tears – tears she bitterly refused to shed, Azhani
left the room, and the pouch of money.
Gods,
I’m glad that’s over. The warrior rubbed her temples
in an abortive attempt to stop the headache she could feel building at
the base of her skull. Don’t
want to go back yet. It’s
nice out here. Looking around, she spotted the
gates to the local bazaar and decided to investigate.
Soon, she was lost in the sights, sounds and smells of the
trader’s market.
%%%
Gliding
from shadow to shadow, Azhani Rhu’len prowled the streets of Y’Syria. Blue eyes drank in the fog-dusted
sights, remembering, living in the past. There,
at Banner Gate, she and Theodan had first entered the elven port. Twenty years and a little more it
had been since the king and his soon to be warleader had come to see
the Child of the Oaks made Queen.
The
Y’Syran pennant flapped gently over the eastern gate.
It was the first sign that she and Kyrian had made it
through the plains. Not far
from there, was the residence of Tellyn Jarelle.
From there, Azhani had slipped out on a moonless night,
driven by her honor to seek the queen’s audience.
In
her pouch was the note she had left for Kyrian, its damning presence a
daily reminder of how she had failed to maintain her vow of friendship. When the stardancer had forgiven
her, they had laughed over the scrawled message’s terse words and
Azhani had promised to never again leave without telling her friend.
Since
then, their relationship had only grown stronger.
The few weeks that she and Kyrian had been separated had
felt like forever, and having her friend beside her again was wonderful
in ways that were difficult to accept. The
depth of her feelings for the stardancer, both disconcerted and
delighted Azhani.
The
night she had knelt in the dungeon, cradling Ylera’s lifeless body, had
left her numb and wishing only for the peace of death.
Facing the crowds the next day, hearing the trumped up
charges that Arris and his cronies had leveled against her, woke a
volcanic eruption of anger, shoving aside the numbness and letting out
a demon. It was at that
moment that Azhani realized that she had to live - live and exact the
most incredible revenge since man had first come to Y’myran.
Spurred
on by that resolve, it had been terribly easy to carve a path through
the men and women who attempted to carry out Arris’ bloody wishes. Reaching the roadway had been both a
blessing and a curse. Her
bloodlust was barely sated yet what rational part of her mind was still
in control knew she needed to escape. There
was no way that the king would allow her to truly win free of the
gauntlet. Seizing the first
horse she spotted, Azhani rode like Hell itself had opened up and
nightmares were pouring forth.
Doubling
back on her route, she had left the dying horse on the roadside south
of Y’dannyv. Slowly, she
worked her way back to the lakeside city where the old blind woman took
her in, keeping her hidden until Arris’ dogs lost her trail. It was during this time that she
realized that her leg was shattered.
Azhani could
not remember which of the blows had done the damage, but she knew she
was lost if she tried to travel on it. Accepting
a gift of bow and arrows, Azhani then used scrap bits she found
littering her strange, but kindly savior’s home to fashion splints and
a makeshift crutch. She had
to leave Y’dannyv and there was only one place she could go. Northward lie her father’s
homestead, and it was there she would head.
Since
it was on the edge of the Y’dani border, she felt sure than neither
Arris nor any of his servants knew it existed.
By the time any information regarding its location did
become known to the king, Azhani planned to be long gone. Y’Syr wasn’t far and she still
remembered those names that Ylera had painstakingly taught her. Perhaps she would find succor there. If nothing else, death by the hand
of Queen Lyssera, was far preferable to life as Arris’ whore.
Fate
had thrown a wrench into her plans when it had put her in the path of
that Cabalian kidnapper and his victim. It
occurred to Azhani to wonder why the stardancer had been taken in the
first place, but then the thought passed, replaced by the memory of
their first encounter.
Unbidden,
a smile rose to transform the warrior’s harshly planed face to that of
striking beauty. Feisty was
the only word she could use to describe the adorable young woman. Astariu moves
in so many ways, and most of them mysterious and cunning, she thought wryly.
Not
only had Kyrian stayed with Azhani after discovering who her rescuer
was, she had used her Goddess-given skills to heal the warrior’s
shattered leg. The act had
sealed the warrior’s gratitude forever, for without the leg, she was
useless as a fighter. Kyrian’s
generous gift of healing had allowed the warrior to dream of the day
that Arris’ blood would coat her sword.
Except
now, that dream was silent; a translucent memory that faded away like
the fog in the morning sun. A
breeze drifted in from the lake, rattling the beads woven into the
warrior’s braids. That was
another benefit to befriending Kyrian; the stardancer seemed to adore
playing with Azhani’s thick, black hair. Once
a week, she would show up at the warrior’s door, armed with a brush,
soap and towels.
At
first, Azhani had tried to send her away, but memories of the first
time Kyrian had brushed and braided her hair, flooded her mind. Forced to admit that she enjoyed the
pampering, Azhani allowed the stardancer to style her heavy locks as
she pleased. Now, Azhani
looked forward to the weekly sessions with guilty pleasure. Kyrian’s hands were always gentle,
always soft, and the stardancer seemed to come up with new ways to
style and braid the hair, so that it fell loosely, yet remained out of
the warrior’s eyes.
This
week, there had been beads. For
next week, Kyrian had promised feathers, freshly purchased from a
trader in the bazaar. Snorting
dryly, Azhani realized that she was looking forward to seeing just how
barbaric she would look with her hair dressed up like one of the wild
elves that lived in the forests of Y’dror. Unconsciously,
she played with one of the small, ceramic beads that Kyrian had
carefully woven into her hair. It
was cool to the touch; the surface smoothly glazed a deep, indigo blue.
“To match your eyes, my friend,” Kyrian had explained, laughing when Azhani’s dark eyebrows rose in question over the decorative additions. “They’re so remarkable – I can’t help but notice when something comes close to their beauty.” Then she’d blushed, her fair skin easily pinking. “Sorry,” she’d muttered, shoving the bead back into a pouch. “I’ll just, um...”
“Get the damn bead out of that damn pouch and put it in my damn hair,” the warrior had growled. She laughed when Kyrian perked up and began to weave the baubles easily into the thick hanks of hair.
Kyrian hummed softly to
herself, the melody so soothing that Azhani had found that she was
drifting between a state of consciousness and somnolence. Perhaps that was why she had
imagined that Kyrian’s fingers lingered longer than was necessary. Each tiny stroke had been paired
with a gentle caress to the dusky bronze skin of Azhani’s neck. Yeah, that had to be it, right? Because she and Kyrian were just
friends and she wasn’t attracted to the beautiful stardancer. Yes, that was it; it was a daydream. So why the hell did she suddenly
want it to be real?
Once
more, haunted blue eyes gazed out on the sun-drenched city, each
highlighted rooftop inspiring memories that chased endlessly through
her head.
%%%
The knock was almost soundless, yet it invaded Kyrian’s dreams and woke her from a sound sleep. Drowsily tumbling from her bed, she grabbed a sheer silk robe from the back of a chair and pulled it on. The material was thin and barely covered her nakedness, but was enough to satisfy the bounds of propriety.
Grumbling about wishing folks would keep decent hours as she padded through the room, she opened the door expecting to find one of the queen’s pages with an obscure message from Starseeker Vashyra. Instead, Azhani’s haggard, careworn face shocked the stardancer to full alertness.
“I need you,” the warrior whispered and then stood there, unable to ask, but clearly begging to come in.
“I am always here for you, my friend,” Kyrian said, stepping aside and allowing Azhani to enter.
The warrior stumbled in, collapsing on Kyrian’s bed like she was severely intoxicated.
Kyrian closed the door and slowly walked over to the bed, carefully sitting next to the warrior. “Are you drunk?” she asked, thinking over the various cures she had for hangovers and hoping one of them would work on the warrior’s strong constitution.
“Haven’t touched a drop in weeks,” Azhani said woodenly. Suddenly, she turned, taking a long, hard look at her friend. Kyrian felt her cheeks flush as the warrior’s gaze lingered over every exposed curve. Azhani’s eyes reached her face, and finally matched her gaze.
“Azhani, wha-what is it that you need?” Kyrian forced herself to say, as she tore her eyes away from drowning in a sea of cobalt blue.
“You,” Azhani whispered, one hand lifting to reach for Kyrian. “I need you, Kyrian.” The warrior’s gaze shifted to the floor and she whispered, “Are you in love with me, healer?”
The question ripped through the air and into Kyrian’s heart like a knife. Every shred of hope that the stardancer had bundled up and locked away in carefully constructed boxes, began to rattle, screaming for release. Oh, goddess...
“Azhi... I...” the words struggled to get out, but months of imprisoning her tongue made it difficult for them to escape.
Azhani took Kyrian’s lack of response as her answer and stood to leave. “I am sorry, Kyrian, to have awakened you. I shall see you in the morning, at breakfast.” She turned to leave, closing her eyes against the scorn that she was sure lurked in the other woman’s eyes. One step, two steps, just a few more and she would be out and away from the rejection that she could feel gathering in the room.
How could I have ever thought that someone like her would want a murderer like me?
Another step. She reached out and felt the shape of the doorknob under her fingers and gripped it, starting to turn it.
“Azhani, wait... I, yes, I am in love with you!” Kyrian leapt off the bed and raced across the room, somehow finding herself in front of the door and pushing the warrior’s hand off the handle. She looked up and put both hands on Azhani’s arms. “Do you... feel the same?” she brazenly returned the question, keeping her eyes locked on the warrior’s.
Blue eyes blinked and then a slow, sweet smile drifted across Azhani’s face.
“Yes,” she whispered simply. Azhani leaned into Kyrian, pressing her against the hard wooden door. The stardancer’s hands slid up Azhani’s arms until they cupped her cheeks. The warrior’s skin was hot under the delicate coolness of Kyrian’s touch.
An answering smile leapt from Kyrian’s face, making Azhani’s heart ache at its beauty. She reached out and brushed her knuckles along Kyrian’s cheek. Boldly, her friend leaned into the touch. “Mmm,” she purred as Azhani’s fingers skimmed across the skin to tuck several stray strands of hair behind her ear.
Azhani tipped her head down, her smile widening as Kyrian’s hands slid into her hair and flexed, gripping the braids. Their lips touched, brushed, painted each other lightly and then, joined fiercely. Tentatively, Kyrian slid her tongue into Azhani’s mouth, moaning when the warrior returned the passion tenfold. The bright edge of teeth clashed, as their kissing grew heated, until their ardor became almost painful.
Desire rose thickly in Azhani, forcing her to draw back and take in a ragged lungful of air. She licked her lips, tasting Kyrian on them and feeling the last remnants of the numbness around her heart crumble away. Smiling warmly, the stardancer pulled the warrior down for another kiss, pressing into her and wrapping her leg around Azhani’s.
Delicately, Azhani ran her tongue over Kyrian’s bottom lip, teasing the stardancer’s mouth into a soft pout, then plunged in, drinking deeply of her new love’s appreciative moans. Trembling wantonly, Kyrian surrendered to the warrior’s hunger, grinding her silk-clad hips against the warrior’s thigh.
Azhani groaned appreciatively. Tracing Kyrian’s lips with her tongue and then brushing a trail of kisses down her lover’s face to her throat, the warrior paused to suckle at the throbbing pulse she found there. After only moments of tenderly tasting the stardancer’s skin, Azhani retraced the still wet path back to the stardancer’s lips, crushing her mouth into Kyrian’s in a bruising, deeply passionate kiss.
Kyrian felt the change immediately. Their first kiss had been timid, with a sweetness that defied the near frantic need that she felt welling out of her, as Azhani’s fingers stroked her neck. This was different; this was a kiss of such awareness that Kyrian couldn’t help but respond to the desire coiling around her. Fiercely, the stardancer kissed Azhani, opening herself to the warrior’s passionate need, completely. She barely felt it when the warrior bit into her bottom lip, slightly piercing the skin.
A tiny whimper broke into Azhani’s concentration and she stopped kissing Kyrian and pulled away.
“Oh gods, I’m sorry, Kyr,” the warrior said, noticing a tiny trickle of blood that was oozing from a cut on the stardancer’s lip.
Kyrian dabbed at the wound with her fingers and shook her head. “Don’t be; I’m not. Kiss me again,” she whispered, pleading for more of the intoxicating touch.
“I don’t,” Azhani said, raining feather light kisses on the stardancer’s face, “ever want to hurt you, Kyr.”
“Won’t happen,” Kyrian promised, wrapping her arms around the warrior’s neck and capturing her lips for a long, uninterrupted period. “Because I understand.” She did. Somehow, she recognized that this was new; that the explosive emotions flooding the room were so raw and tender that they would have to tread lightly. Time would lay the ghosts and demons of the past to rest. Together, she and Azhani would slowly seek their future.
Azhani nuzzled her face against the top of Kyrian’s head, breathing in the scent of the fresh herbs that the stardancer’s soap contained. “I should go,” she whispered. “We ... I...”
“I know, but... stay anyway,” Kyrian said, slipping away from Azhani but taking her hand and drawing her toward the bed. “Hold me. Be here in the light of morning so that I know I’m not dreaming,” she pleaded softly. “I don’t kick, remember?” She smiled softly.
If you stay tonight, warrior, you will stay every night. There’s no walking away after that. The thoughts raced through her mind. Stay, and you will be saying good-bye to Ylera for good, you know that. Kyrian is forever – you know how passionate she is. She will never be content to be just “for now”.
I’ve already said good-bye to Ylera. It’s not like I’ve never slept with Kyrian. Though nothing in the past will feel quite like lying with her in my arms, knowing she loves me as I love her. Goddess, I love her. I do. I never thought I could, but I do love her, and I am not going to take one more breath without her by my side!
“All right,” Azhani agreed after a few moments. Quietly, she surrendered to both the wishes of her heart and the wishes of her beloved, allowing Kyrian to lead her to the bed. There was some awkwardness once they reached the edge, but the warrior pushed the strangeness aside; after all, they had seen each other naked many times before in the baths.
It was different though, now, in the dim moonlight. Kyrian’s robe slithered away, revealing pale, almost colorless skin. When Azhani’s clothes joined the robe in a fabric puddle, the difference between them was mutely obvious. Scars liberally peppered the warrior’s dark brown skin, standing out starkly. Years as King Theodan’s warleader had left their mark on Azhani’s body.
“You are so beautiful,” whispered Kyrian, as she gazed into Azhani’s eyes. For the first time, she was able to put voice to the thought that had been with her since the very first time she saw the warrior.
“And you are a shameless flatterer who should spend more time looking into a mirror. You are the one who is beautiful, my Kyrian.” Reverently, Azhani stroked Kyrian’s face, stopping with her fingers just above the stardancer’s hammering pulse. “It’s time to sleep; is that okay?”
“Oh yeah,” Kyrian said breathlessly as Azhani slid into the mussed sheets and scooted over, making room for the stardancer. “It’s very okay.”
Skin on skin was a sensation that left both women fighting to cling to their unspoken agreement. Warmth cocooned around them, the covers both shielding and adding to the hundreds of tiny little jolts that skittered across their skin. Soon, they found the right joining of arms and legs, heads and shoulders and lay quietly. As they cuddled close, they could hear each other’s heartbeats diminish from hammer blows to gentle thuds. Rhythmically, their breath began to flow around them as sleep stole in on gossamer wings.
Thank you, they jointly prayed as they drifted off into the dreamrealms.
%%%
Daylight
streamed in through the windows, flooding over the two women wrapped
tightly around each other. Gazing
sleepily at Kyrian, Azhani dared to touch what she was certain was a
dream. Sun-warmed skin
pebbled under her light caress. A
soft, almost inaudible intake of breath let the warrior know that
Kyrian was very aware of the touch. Reverently,
Azhani stroked Kyrian’s arm from shoulder to wrist, then continued the
caress down to her hip.
Drawing
her fingers back up their previous path, the warrior nuzzled her cheek
against Kyrian’s amber-tinted hair. Azhani’s
heartbeat began to thunder loudly as the caress was returned. Butterfly soft kisses fluttered
against her collarbone, creating tiny jolts of pleasure that buzzed
pleasantly in her belly.
“Good
morning,” Azhani rumbled, her voice harsh from sleep.
I think I could wake up next to Kyr
every day until the stars faded, and not feel like I’d done it enough.
Kyrian
stretched, her naked body gliding sensuously against Azhani’s similarly
nude form. “Morning,” she
replied, yawning. Reaching
over the warrior’s shoulder, she unhooked a water skin from the bedpost
and took a long swallow, then offered it to Azhani.
Their hands brushed, causing Kyrian to sigh dreamily. Can the havens
be any better than this? Blinking sleepily, Kyrian watched as
Azhani uncapped the skin and tipped it up, squirting a stream of clear
water into her mouth.
The
warrior drank, then laid the skin aside and drew Kyrian in for a kiss. Mapping newly familiar territory
with her lips, Azhani used her hands and fingers to explore Kyrian’s
body, igniting the stardancer’s desire to bonfire heights. Unlike the kisses of the previous
night, this kiss was neither tentative nor passionate.
Aware and teasing, the embrace added yet another new facet
to their burgeoning love.
Kyrian
opened her eyes, and passion had darkened forest green to emerald fire. Many questions danced in her head,
and many fears pressed to escape. Gazing
deeply into Azhani’s nearly purple eyes, Kyrian sought new answers to
the questions that had been asked by moonlight.
For
a moment, her heart froze as she waited for a response.
Then, a gently crooked smile broke out over the harshly
planed beauty of Azhani’s face. This
smile was for Kyrian alone. This
warming of indigo eyes was because of the stardancer’s love and touch. The ice that had rapidly formed
inside of Kyrian evaporated, leaving behind only loving warmth.
Bravely, the
stardancer unwound her fingers from the warrior’s braided hair and
began to touch her, lightly caressing all of Azhani’s curves. Delicately, she traced the sharply
defined slope of the warrior’s nose and lips, stopping to briefly slip
her fingertip into the warrior’s mouth. Continuing
her exploration, Kyrian skimmed her fingers down Azhani’s throat and
over several tiny scars.
Azhani
let out a soft groan of appreciation. Smiling,
Kyrian leaned down and kissed the warrior gently and then let her
fingers drift across the slope of Azhani’s breast.
Lovingly, she stroked the warrior’s dusky nipples until
they hardened.
“Gods,
Kyr,” Azhani growled softly, causing the stardancer to smile.
Kyrian loved
this. She loved the way the
warrior’s muscles trembled under the tips of her fingers as she touched
her. It was exciting,
intoxicating even, to look up and see that her desire was mirrored in
Azhani’s eyes. When Azhani
threw her head back to moan with desire, Kyrian pressed delicate kisses
along the revealed skin.
The
warrior’s pleasure revealed itself as a deep groan that vibrated along
her entire body. “Ah
goddess,” she whispered, rolling onto her back and drawing the
stardancer on top of her. She
scraped her blunt nails lightly over Kyrian’s back, stroking her soft
skin gently, then stopping to cup the firm smoothness of her lover’s
buttocks. The fire between
them was rapidly blazing out of control. Kyrian
nipped and sucked at every bit of exposed skin she could reach. The shadows of the past were quickly
vanishing under the stardancer’s loving caress.
Touching
Kyrian was nothing like touching Ylera. Where
Ylera had been long and thin, Kyrian was short and muscular. Azhani found that she wanted to lose
herself in the shape and feel of the stardancer.
Every new sound that Kyrian made was a gentle goad that
drove the warrior to try harder.
Their
breath came in broken gasps as they kissed, and both women were
ignoring the ache of already bruised lips. The
unspoken agreement of the night before melted away in the bright
reality of waking naked in each other’s arms.
Bathed in sunlight, any ghosts that lingered in the room
vanished, leaving them free to express their desire.
Kyrian
broke the kiss first, sliding off Azhani’s body and sitting up on the
bed. “We should stop,” she
wistfully said, though she continued to stroke the warrior’s abdomen. I wish we
didn’t have to. Her brow wrinkled as she sighed
heavily. The very idea of
pulling her hands away, of ceasing to indulge in the delightful
sensation of Azhani’s skin made her heart tremor painfully.
Staring
up at the ceiling, Azhani laced her fingers behind her head and just
let the sensations of Kyrian’s gentle touch have free rein. Fleetingly, she wondered if she were
crazy to allow herself to fall in love again.
Common sense intruded, forcing her to realize that, where
Kyrian was concerned, she had no control over her heart. From the moment they had met until
this very candlemark, Azhani knew that fate had been weaving them
together.
Her first
impulse was to stop, and let what her body was craving slide away to be
explored another day. Would
setting aside the desires of their hearts be wise?
Or was she only punishing herself, and worse yet, Kyrian,
for falling in love? Everything
about loving Kyrian felt inescapably right; turning her back on that
would be a slap in destiny’s face.
She
closed her eyes as the stardancer’s feather-light caresses grew bolder
and bolder, edging over the curves of her ribs, and down her side, to
glide over the bones of her hips. The
voices of caution blew away under the loving onslaught.
“I don’t want
to stop,” she whispered as she captured Kyrian’s hand and brought it up
to her lips, kissing the fingertips softly.
She stopped at the stardancer’s index finger and began to
suck on it slowly, running her teeth over the ridges of her lover’s
skin. “Do you?” she asked,
continuing to suckle the fingers lovingly.
“No,”
came the barely audible reply. Kyrian
was shaking. The touch, the
desire, and the emotions she felt were caught up in a cyclone of
sensation, and it sent her reeling.
Azhani
opened her eyes to the sight of Kyrian’s face tipped up and her mouth
parted in rapture. The vision
broke a damn inside of Azhani. Driven
by both love and desire, she rolled up to her knees, then leaned over
and wrapped her arms around the stardancer, cradling her loosely and
kissing her deeply.
“Oh
goddess, I love you, my Azhi,” Kyrian whispered between the gently
passionate kisses. Azhani’s
braids tickled her face and the stardancer laughed joyfully, threaded
her fingers through the warrior’s ebony hair, and affectionately pushed
them away.
Pulling
the stardancer down to the bed, Azhani whispered back, “I love you too,
Kyrian.” Their legs twined as
their hips arched and ground together. Soft
gasps shuddered out lengthily as their fingers found sensitive spots
and learned what touches caused pleasure to each other.
The
sounds of their loving filled the room as their mouths and tongues
retraced the paths of their fingers and hands.
Sunbeams highlighted the bedding as it slipped to the
floor, their warmth unable to compete with the rising tide of passion
generated by two newly made lovers.
~Chapter Thirty~
For
three days, Kyrian and Azhani luxuriated in their changed relationship. Alternately talking and loving, they
forged an easy partnership. Yet
even though she was able to bare her deepest fears regarding battle,
Kyrian still found that she could not tell Azhani that she had known
Ylera.
It
seemed somehow disrespectful to mention the warrior’s deceased lover
while she held her, loved her, in that lover’s home.
Instead, Kyrian focused her mind on the future and where
she and Azhani were going with their lives.
Afternoon
sunlight bathed the two lovers as they were curled together in a chair,
feeding each other bits of food.
“Azhi,
if you could go anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms, where would you go?”
Kyrian asked while painting the warrior’s lips with a dollop of honey.
Leaning
up, the warrior shared the sweet, indulging in a long, tender kiss that
left both of them breathless. Pulling back, she stroked her lover’s
face and tweaked her nose, then replied, “I don’t know.” A shrug rolled off her shoulders. “I’ve never really thought about it. When Theodan was king of Y’dan, I
had a place there and I always thought I would serve the people of
Y’dan in one fashion or another – it never occurred to me to think that
I would have the time to live elsewhere.” She
scooped up a bit of scrambled egg on a fork and fed it to Kyrian.
Chewing
thoughtfully, Kyrian swallowed and said, “I’d like to see the sea. I’ve never been to the coast and I
imagine it’s breathtaking.”
“Smells
like dead fish and there lots of sand and salt – it’s not everything
the bards make it out to be,” Azhani commented as she sipped at a cup
of warm tea. “But, if you’re
still curious after,” she didn’t have to say after what, “We’ll take a
vacation there.”
Snuggling
against the warrior’s chest, Kyrian murmured, “Sounds nice.” Inside, she was wriggling with glee. She’s thinking
of after! She’s actually looking beyond the
next candlemark. The casual revelation sent a jolt of
loving warmth straight to the stardancer’s heart and made her wish she
could find the words to let Azhani know what that meant to her.
“You
like that idea?” asked Azhani, chuckling at how cuddly her lover was. It was something totally new to the
warrior; Ylera had enjoyed holding her, but Kyrian seemed to revel in
physical demonstrations of her affection. Not
a candlemark went by when she didn’t find some excuse to touch, brush
or otherwise come into contact with the warrior.
As she thought about it, measuring the puddle of
candlemarks the stardancer had put into touching her, Azhani realized
that Kyrian had been doing it since they had first met.
Grinning,
Kyrian tilted her head up and planted a wet, sloppy kiss on Azhani’s
chin. “I love that idea,” she
said while Azhani made a face and wiped away the slobber.
The
warrior gently tickled her lover’s side. “Good. I like thinking about it.” Soberly, she added, “You gave me a
future to hope for, Kyr. If
nothing else, I would love you for that.”
“Did
you say that just to watch me turn into a pile of oatmeal, Azhi, or are
you just being sappy?” Kyrian teased, though her eyes sparkled with a
pleased smile.
“Mm,
oatmeal,” Azhani purred, nibbling on Kyrian’s earlobe.
“Pretty tasty horse food if you ask me,” she teased back.
“Azhi!”
Kyrian exclaimed, slapping the warrior’s chest lightly.
“Well,
don’t you two look like the picture of domesticity.”
Queen Lyssera’s amused voice interrupted them. A tiny smile graced her lips,
transforming her face from its usual austerity, to true pleasure. Thank you,
Goddess! She has grabbed life
with both hands. I can let my
people follow her and trust that she will not throw away their lives.
As
they scrambled to disentangle, Azhani and Kyrian both ended up sprawled
on the floor, the remains of their breakfast liberally decorating their
faces, hair and clothing. Kyrian
buried her head under her arms and Azhani refused to look at Lyssera,
staring up at the ceiling as if suddenly finding the mosaics and
paintings that decorated the room of serious interest.
Clear,
infectious laughter burst out of the queen.
Clutching her sides, Lyssera laughed until her friends
joined her, all three carrying on until they were prostrate with mirth. Grabbing for a chair, the queen sat
down, suddenly grave faced.
Azhani
and Kyrian helped each other up and found chairs of their own. Quietly, they brushed the crumbs of
their interrupted meal off their clothes and waited for the queen to
speak.
Sadly
smiling, Lyssera said, “I am very happy that you found the door to each
other’s hearts.” She sighed. “Perhaps that will make this news
easier. I have had a letter
from King Arris.”
Raising
both eyebrows, Azhani quipped, “Well, what did the lunatic want?”
“Among
his rambling declaratives about how great he was and how wonderful his
life was now that he had given over to the worship of the true god
Ecarthus, he blithely informed me that he was looking to go demon
hunting this winter. Then he
condescended to ask if I’d like to send over some of my ‘much vaunted
but probably overrated’ elven archers.” Lyssera
rubbed her face and shook her head. “You
know, even if I didn’t know he was a madman, I’d tell him no. If he’s so sure that demons are
spawning in his mountains, then I’ll just bet there are more than a few
in mine.”
“I’m
sure of it,” Azhani said, her voice deadly serious.
“The mountains here are higher and they stay snow-covered
all year; perfect breeding ground for those damned creatures. I would recommend...” the warrior’s
voice trailed off
“Yes?”
one blonde eyebrow rose inquisitively. “Your
opinion is valid, Azhani. Do
not be afraid to speak.”
“I
do not serve you as a tactician, my queen, but I have many years of
battling hell’s minions in my background. I
would suggest that you send small scout groups into the mountains to
seek breeding caves. If they
are found now, the demons can be eliminated before they hatch.” The warrior’s tone was quiet and
there was an emptiness to it that made both Lyssera and Kyrian look
closer.
“You
were going to go and look anyway, weren’t you, Azhi?” Kyrian asked.
The
warrior looked away, unable to meet her lover’s eyes.
“Well,
in the interests of my kingdom’s security, I’ll do as you suggest
warrior. Stay here and enjoy
your time with Kyrian. Let my
scouts be our eyes. I will
decide what to do when I have more information.”
Lyssera gave the warrior a look that brooked no arguments.
Nodding,
Azhani said, “Yes, my queen.”
%%%
When
the queen’s scouts returned two weeks later, the news they bore was not
good. In the lowest portions
of the mountains where snow still dappled the rocks, they had found
cave upon cave full of the smooth, rubbery sacks that contained the
incubating life forms known as demons. Putting
the ones they found to the torch, the scouts rushed back to Y’Syria to
inform the queen of their discovery.
No
matter how hard Lyssera tried to keep the information under wraps, the
men talked, and soon the city was in a state of chaos.
Panicking nobles gathered their families and headed to the
southern provinces, convinced that come winter, the mountains would
unleash a torrent of evil that nothing could stop.
Those that remained behind grimly prepared for war.
In
a decision that caused her Council to explode in an uproar, Lyssera
named Azhani Rhu’len as the interim Warleader.
Stating that the warrior was uniquely qualified to lead
the elven army against the demons, Lyssera blithely ignored the furor
and insisted that the ceremony be carried out immediately.
Not
since Princess Alynna, Allyndev’s mother, had there been a Warleader in
Y’Syr, and the people turned out in droves to see who had been chosen
to protect their kingdom. Kneeling
on a high platform in the center of Y’Syria, Azhani proudly accepted
the queen’s commission.
As
the sun reached its midpoint in the sky, Starseeker Vashyra dipped her
fingers into a bowl filled with blessed water and ran her fingers
through the warrior’s braids, liberally wetting them.
“I
cleanse you before the gods, warrior,” the priest said solemnly,
stepping back to allow the queen to take her place.
Lyssera
lifted a sheathed blade, holding it out to Azhani hilt first. In a clear, ringing voice she said,
“Azhani, daughter of Rhu’len, Scion of the House DaCoure, you have
proven your worth to the people of Y’Syr. We
are a land in danger from the minions of hell and we have no Warleader. Will you take up your sword and
defend us? Will you accept
the burden of command and pledge your life against our honor?”
“I
will,” Azhani replied gravely, touching the hilt.
Though she looked up at Lyssera, her mind’s eye saw a
similar scene from nearly twelve seasons prior.
“You are the best damn warrior I’ve ever had the pleasure to serve with, Azhani Rhu’len. For that reason, as well as others, I want you to take up the flag of Y’dan and lead my armies. Will you do it?” Theodan’s kindly blue eyes sparkled with amusement at the shock written plainly on his favorite warrior’s face.
Standing on a field of battle, surrounded by a swath of death that would send lesser men running, the two had emerged victorious. The bodies of hellish demons and Y’myrani soldiers commingled in noxious piles of carnage. Cries and wails of the dying could be heard echoing around the mountains. The cost of life had been great, but Azhani had successfully led the combined armies of the kingdoms against the demons, slaughtering them to the last, rescuing Theodan’s small platoon.
“I don’t suppose I have a choice, do I?” the bloodied, gore spattered warrior replied, leaning on her sword and keeping a distrusting eye on the piles of the dead. Until the field had been torched, she wasn’t going to let her guard down. Somewhere out in that field lay Y’dan’s former warleader. Ketheryn Mor, Theodan’s younger brother, had died valiantly.
Smiling wryly, Theodan clapped her on the shoulder and said, “’Fraid not, my old friend. Come on, let’s get out of here and go find some cold ale. Let the priests deal with this mess.”
Together, they limped away,
and headed for the king’s pavilion.
“So
be it. Let all hear and
rejoice. Arise Azhani
Rhu’len, Warleader of Y’Syr!” Lyssera shouted, turning the sword enough
to draw it and tap the rising warrior’s elbows with the flat of the
blade.
Gasps
could be heard as the audience viewed the sword for the first time. When Azhani had first told Lyssera
about Padreg’s gift, she had laughed and said, “What I wouldn’t give to
see Arris’ face when he finds out about it!”
Taking
her sword, Azhani slowly raised the blade overhead, blinking as
sunlight struck the metal, causing it to blaze with rainbow fire.
“By
the Twins, I charge you to live with honor.”
Starseeker Vashyra stepped forward and cupped her damp
hands around Azhani’s face. “From
this moment, all past deeds have no meaning; you are reborn, my child.” Bringing the warrior’s head down,
she kissed her brow. The
priest turned and faced the crowd.
Lyssera’s
herald then cried out, “Let all stand and bear witness; three cheers
for our Warleader! Hip-hip
huzzah!”
“Huzzah!”
the crowd shouted back.
Looking
out at the mass of people, one face stood out to the warrior’s blurred
vision. At the edge of the
crowd, Kyrian gazed up; love and pride clear in her bright smile. The stardancer had been wary of
Lyssera’s plan to give the title of warleader to Azhani, but now,
seeing the way her lover proudly stood against the disapproving glares
of the Y’Syran nobles, she realized that it had been the right idea.
Beside
her, Prince Allyn fairly bounced with glee at seeing his mentor so
honored. In their short time
together, the young man had come to cherish the warrior’s terse wisdom
and sharp sense of humor. He
was doubly excited because Azhani had informed him that morning that as
her squire, he would accompany the war party to the mountains.
“I knew you’d
find a good use for that old relic!” a familiar voice boomed out over
the crowd as Azhani hung Gormerath at her side.
Striding
through a rapidly opening corridor came Padreg, chieftain of Y’Nor. He was followed closely by his lady,
Elisira Glinholt and his squire, Devon Imry.
Pleasantly surprised, Azhani surveyed her friends as they
approached.
Young Devon
had sprouted like a weed over the months; a tall, fine boned young man
had replaced the gawky boy. Wavy
brown locks had grown out, straightening and giving the boy a noble
appearance. Hazel eyes still
held the mischievous sparkle of youth, and a huge smile was plastered
on his face as he struggled to keep his position behind his lord.
Weeks in the
sun had darkened Elisira’s pale skin, leaving her more beautiful than
before. Dressed in the
traditional soft leather garments of plains nomads, she and Padreg
stood out easily against the backdrop of Y’Syran silks and velvets. Geometric beadwork patterns
decorated every inch of the suede leather clothes, depicting the clan
chief’s tribal emblem. Padreg’s
dark, muddy brown hair was tied back in a simple tail, while Elisira’s
raven locks were allowed to flow freely, the strands of hair catching
in the wind and buffeting her face. With
them was a young woman that neither Azhani nor Kyrian recognized.
Lyssera
descended from the platform, reaching her hands out to Padreg and
embracing him warmly. “We are
always pleased to greet our cousin from the south,” she said cordially.
Returning
the queen’s greeting, Padreg said, “As I am always pleased to visit
your fair city, cousin.”
Introductions
were quietly made after the hastily ended ceremony.
The unfamiliar young woman with Padreg and Elisira was
Princess Syrelle of Y’mar. The
princess was young, between Devon and Allyndev in age, but carried
herself with a grace that belied her tender years.
She was human, a little shorter than Kyrian and had a
shock of curly red hair that fell to her waist in crimson rivulets. Brilliant blue eyes eagerly took in
all the exotic sights of Y’Syria, staring in awe at the mighty oak
trees that encapsulated the ancient elven city.
Kyrian
joined Azhani, gleefully kissing her with abundant enthusiasm. When they parted, she turned to give
welcoming hugs to her friends.
Preparing
herself for the teasing she was sure to endure, Azhani looked over at
Elisira. Her old friend
smirked, but then smiled joyfully, whispering, “I’m happy for you,
Azhi.”
Padreg
wasn’t so easy on the warrior. “Guess
we’ll be seeing you at midwinter after all, hmm?” he asked as the two
friends clasped hands.
Flushing,
Azhani fumbled for an answer.
“Not
if we see you first,” Kyrian interrupted, smiling when both the king
and his lady blushed.
Padreg
laughed heartily and nodded at the stardancer.
“I’ve missed you, Kyr. I’m
glad our blade toting friend here kept you around.”
Bumping her hip against
Kyrian’s, Azhani said, “Well, I like to think that she stayed out of
her undying loyalty and affection for me.”
“I
could have just been bored,” Kyrian offered serenely.
The
warrior looked down at her lover, one dark eyebrow arched arrogantly.
“Yeah,
definitely bored,” teased the stardancer, reaching up to tweak Azhani’s
sharp nose.
The
warrior growled and attempted to bite Kyrian’s pinching fingers. As soon as she captured one of the
agile digits between her teeth though, she cupped her hand around
Kyrian’s and bent her head down to kiss the stardancer’s palm. “I’ll just have to entertain you,
then,” she purred.
Kyrian
gnawed on her lip and flushed.
Looking
at each other, Padreg and Elisira exchanged similar expressions. The noblewoman turned back to
Azhani, cocked her head to one side and put her hands on her hips. “All right, warrior, what’d you do
with my somber, morose friend? Are
you putting the funny herbs in her tea again, Kyr?”
A
smirk crossed Kyrian’s face. “Looking
for something to jumpstart someone in the morning?” she asked teasingly.
Elisira
only grinned wickedly.
Walking
with them, Allyndev listened to their banter, but his gaze never left
the face of Princess Syrelle. When
she had first appeared, he had thought that Astariu herself had come to
walk among them. She’s
so beautiful. The beauty in question laughed,
a hearty, joyful sound that made Allyn’s heart contract painfully. Please let her
come with us, please, please, please! He
prayed silently, vowing that he would find the courage to talk to her,
somewhere.
They
continued laughing and joking, poking fun and trading tales of their
experiences since parting at the border, until they entered Oakheart
Manor. Ambassadors Kuwell and
Iften joined them on the way, Kuwell slapping Azhani heartily on the
back and Iften offering Kyrian a grandfatherly hug.
“I
didn’t expect you, granther,” Kyrian whispered as they walked.
A
mischievous smile lit up the old man’s face.
“Well, when Ku came by and mentioned that he was getting
ready to head off to smash some demons, I couldn’t very well let him go
alone, could I?”
“But
you’re not –“ the stardancer protested.
“Of
course not,” he chuckled. “I’m
far too old to go running around in the mountains.
However, Kirthos and his men are not!” The
ambassador grinned wickedly. “For
as long as Y’myran has been a land of seven kingdoms, we of Y’skan have
answered the call of the High King. Though
his wishes have not been made clear, it is my judgment that were he to
speak, he would request our assistance in this matter.”
“Your
men will be welcome,” Azhani said, having heard the whispered
conversation.
Kyrian
threaded her arm through her lover’s and smiled contentedly.
The
constant buzz of activity that filled the Y’Syran castle never ceased. People streamed around them as they
hurried through the halls, making their way to the War room.
Round
in shape and housed in the center of one of the millennia old trees
that made up the ancestral home of the Y’Syran royalty, the council
room was almost shockingly plain in comparison to the rest of the
luxuriously appointed areas of the manor. Smooth
walls were covered in maps and charts and a large, oblong table
dominated the center of the room. Engraved
into the table, was a map of the Seven Kingdoms, each major city
painstakingly picked out in precious metals and gems.
Suspended above the table were magically created lights,
their brilliance both smooth and heatless. As
the group stumbled in, the precisely lined chairs were haphazardly
pulled out, allowing each person to sit where they liked.
Azhani
stationed herself at the head of the table, facing the door. On her right was Kyrian; to her left
were Lyssera and Allyn. The
rest of the group filled seats around the table, facing the warleader.
Leaning
forward, Padreg put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his
fists. He sighed and then
lifted his head a bit. “Now
that prying ears have been limited, we can talk.
We are all, I presume, here to speak of more than
pleasantries.”
He
looked around the room, seeing the heads of his fellows nodding in
agreement. “War. It’s going to happen; Arris is a
leech, draining the vitality from the earth and his poison is spreading
beyond the borders of Y’dan. Twice
have I sent away men that I trusted all my life.
Men who to all outward appearances,” his voice broke some
as he recalled the pain of turning his back on his friends, “had given
their lives to the service of the Twins. Only,
it was a lie. Ecarthus had
rotted their souls long before they became servants of the gods.”
“Aye,
plainsman. ‘Tis not just your
land that turns out black-robes,” Kuwell said gruffly, stroking his
beard thoughtfully. “Over the
winter, many of the human settlements in our lowlands vanished. We were at first very worried, but
investigation has proven that they left voluntarily.
Recently, some of my brethren came upon a cache of
horrible things – vile scrolls and books suggesting the most abominable
rituals in service to a demonic master called Ecarthus.” The dwarf shook his head sadly. “It was found in the center of one
of the abandoned towns.”
“It
is much the same, for us of the sands,” Iften interrupted. “Small, rarely heard from clans have
all but vanished, taking their people with them.
The Walkers traced their tracks westward.”
Lyssera
spoke next. “I had heard
reports of the black-robed strangers moving through our lands, but had
always pushed them aside in favor of more pressing matters. I shall begin reviewing them at once. Though with Arris’ “rules of race”,
I sincerely doubt any of my elves would willingly go into Y’dan right
now.”
Padreg
grunted and fervently said, “Chaos is rising all around us, and I aim
to see it squashed. I’ve
brought those men I could spare – some two thousand cavalry, to add to
what I am hoping is a move by you, Lyssera, to quash the bugs in Y’dan.”
Azhani
listened to Padreg speak, and as he finished, she stood and began
pacing around the room. “I
wish it were that simple, Paddy.” Calmly,
she filled him in about the caves full of incubating demons. When she finished, she leaned on the
table, head bent down and shoulders bowing as if carrying a heavy load. “So, we can’t just march in and turn
King Arris into sausages. If
you’re still offering me the men, Padreg, I’ll take ‘em. Astariu knows I can use ‘em.” She stood up, shook her shoulders
and walked over to a map that displayed the Crest of Amyra, the
mountain range that extended across the northern reaches of Y’myran
from Y’dan to Y’Tol.
Pointing
at an area that lay directly on the Y’Syr/Y’dan border, she said, “This
is the Ystarfe Pass. Hundreds
of natural caves line the mountains that meet here.”
She moved her finger a few inches to the east. “I want to split my forces in two
and send Kuwell eastward, to Y’dror. I
want you to cut and burn until you and your kin are assured that
nothing but what the Twins created, lives in those mountains. Then you will return to Y’Syr and
lend your strength to guarding her borders against invasion by Arris.
Padreg,
if you are willing, you will come with me, and we will burn our way to
here,” she pointed to the edge of mountains north of Y’dan. “Or until winter comes, and the
demons hatch. At that point,
it will be true war, for I will not allow Arris to waste good Y’dani
lives in pursuit of some misguided notion of glory.”
“And
after the demons are gone?” Kyrian asked calmly.
“We
deal with Arris, if we live,” Azhani said grimly.
“I’m
ready to leave whenever you give the word, Warleader,” Kuwell said,
thumping his chest proudly. “Let’s
make this a year that the bards sing about forever!”
Elisira
smiled and slipped her hand under the table, twining it with Padreg’s. “I would like to be a part of this,”
she said softly.
Padreg
nodded. “Yes, I agree. As bad as Arris is, the thought of
demons overrunning Y’myran makes my blood run cold.
I have seen their horrors first hand and I could no more
turn my back to their threat than I could grow hooves and race my
studs!”
There
was a trickle of nervous laughter, followed by a round of agreement
from those in the room.
Azhani
sat down and laid her hands on the table. “Then
let us make our final plans,” she said, reaching for a stack of
parchment, pens and ink.
Chapters Thirty-One and Thirty-Two
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