ISBN: 978-0-9885822-0-0

Published by Samantha Sabian and Arianthem Press

THE DRAGON’S LOVER Vol 1 CHRONICLES OF ARIANTHEM, 2012. FIRST PRINTING.

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The entire contents of this book are © 2012 Samantha Sabian. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental. With the exception of artwork used for review purposes, none of the contents of this book may be reprinted in any form without the express written consent of Samantha Sabian.

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THE DRAGON’S LOVER

THE CHRONICLES OF ARIANTHEM I

by Samantha Sabian

Chapter 1

Raine studied the slave child. The girl was seven, perhaps eight years old and tied to a stake in the center of the village square, the rough rope knotted about her neck like a dog. The child was filthy, her clothing little more than rags hanging off her thin frame. Intense blue eyes stared out from beneath a tangle of matted hair.

The slaver studied Raine craftily. She appeared well off, her lightweight leather armor gleaming and in good condition, her clothing simple but well made and of high quality. She carried a variety of weapons, a longsword, two shortswords, a dagger, and something that looked like a longbow folded in two. The slaver tried to get a better look at the unique weapons to assess their worth, but it was difficult to do so without staring. Normally he did not bother with subtlety but the woman gazed at him impassively in a way that made him feel she could see right through him.

His graft outweighed his misgivings, however, and he launched his sales pitch anyway. “You are aware of the legend of the Arlanians?”

The woman examined him with skepticism. “I know a little of their story.”

“Ah,” said the man, moving closer as if to take her into his confidence. Raine wrinkled her nose at the man's pungent odor, but he did not appear to notice as he began spinning his tale.

“The Arlanians were the most stunning creatures in all the world, surpassing even the Elvish in their beauty. Skilled artisans and musicians, they were desired by all other races. It is said,” the man said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “that Arlanians were not truly man or woman until their 18th year, existing in a neither/nor state that was irresistible.”

The woman gazed at him in contempt, which he did not seem to notice as he continued. “This child before you is a remnant of that race, one of the very last of that beautiful people. She could be yours if you have the coin.”

Raine was not certain what disgusted her more, that this oaf was selling the child as a slave, or that he was selling her in a manner that would certainly result in the most awful sexual abuse.

“First off,” Raine said coldly, “this child is clearly not Arlanian. It is said that Arlanians have eyes of a deep purple that is unmistakable.”

The man took a step back. Evidently the stranger was a little more familiar with the legend than he thought.

“Second,” Raine continued, her voice even colder, “although I do not believe the Arlanians were ever real, even if they did exist at one time there is nothing left of them. Myths say they were all captured or sold into sexual slavery. They may have been skilled at music and art, but from what I've heard, they were completely incapable of protecting themselves.”

The slaver nodded sagely at this recount. “Yes, 'tis true. It is said there were so few of them in the end that kings started great wars just to possess them, and fortunes were forfeited for a single night in one's arms.” His eyes gleamed with lust and avarice at the thought and Raine's jaw clenched spasmodically. She threw a bag of coin at him, striking him squarely between the eyes.

“This is for the girl. It is far more than the market rate for a slave, and if you even think to barter with me, I will run you through with this sword where you stand.”

The slave merchant juggled the bag of coin and even though it had struck him squarely, he still managed to keep it from falling to the ground. He hefted the weight and took a quick peek in the bag. It was a small fortune.

“Very well, stranger,” he said with all the dignity he could muster, a bright red splotch appearing on his forehead. “The girl is yours.”

Raine drew a shortsword and sliced downward and across in one smooth motion, freeing the tether from the stake and the girl from the tether. The merchant was stunned. The movement had been so fluid and fast it had been almost invisible. He was very glad he had not bartered with this woman.

Raine leaned down and scooped the scrawny child up, tossing her onto her back where the girl clung to her neck.

“Let's go,” she said with a sigh, “I'll have to find a place for you.”

Raine watched the farmhouse from a distance, the girl still clinging to her back. She counted five children, two girls and three boys, ranging from toddler to teen. They were laughing as they did their chores, and their round-hipped, apple-cheeked mother scolded them good-naturedly. The father was shoveling hay, lanky, thin, and far quieter than his gregarious wife.

The farmer lifted his eyes at the approaching stranger, squinting, and his weathered features took on a wary expression. He was relieved to see it was a woman, although that was not always the lesser of two evils. But she had a young girl on her back and that was generally a good sign as well.

“Hail, farmer,” Raine said in greeting as she slung the girl down to the ground. The girl hid behind her, clutching the hem of Raine's cloak.

“Hail, stranger,” the farmer replied in a taciturn manner. To his dismay, his wife rushed past him to get a closer look at the girl.

“Look, Sven! It's that babe from the village! The one that monster was trying to sell for,” she paused, her indignation getting the best of her limited vocabulary, “for unsavory things!”

Raine nodded. “Yes, the slaver in the village sold her to me, but I can't take her with me, it would be too dangerous.”

The farmer eyed the woman. She was bristling with weapons and armor and carried herself with a deadly grace. She might have been a mercenary, but it was more likely she was a soldier or possibly an imperial knight.

“I don't have any money to give you,” the farmer said, “we would 'a bought her if we could. Not for anything unsavory,” he added quickly, “but just to get her out of that evil man's hands.”

Raine nodded. She had judged the family correctly.

“Then take her in,” Raine said. She tossed the farmer a bag of coin far larger than she had given the slaver. “This should cover her keep until she can pull her own weight.”

The farmer's wife was overjoyed and didn't wait for her husband's response. She clasped the dirty urchin to her ample breast, then scurried away with the rest of her children skipping behind. The farmer watched the exit of his impulsive wife, then let out a deep sigh. He turned back to the tall, imposing woman, eying the gleaming leather and weapons.

“You heading out to fight the Hyr'rok'kin?”

Raine nodded. “The threat's still a ways out, but I mean to start heading in that direction.”

The farmer nodded. “Be safe then.”

Raine nodded and started off down the dusty road. The farmer took that opportunity to glance in the pouch she had tossed him. He had assumed it was copper, possibly even silver, but what he saw almost caused him to drop the purse. It was the emperor's script, pure gold, more money than he had ever seen in his life. It would support his family for the next twenty years.

The farmer glanced after the stranger but wasn't really surprised to see that she had already disappeared.

Raine tossed her rucksack to the ground. She had assessed the surrounding area and found a strategic spot for camp in a small clearing on the side of the hill. It was protected from above by a rock outcropping and below by thick, gnarled trees. She thought it was safe to build a small fire and began collecting sticks, twigs, and the few logs that lay about. She was just about to strike a spark with her flint when she paused, glancing over her shoulder.

“You're not going to sneak up on prey that way,” she said “You'll have to work on that.”

A gray wolf peeked out from the underbrush at the edge of the clearing. He was young, plainly a juvenile by his size, and wore an expression somehow suggesting embarrassment.

Raine struck the flint and a tendril of smoke curled upward as the tinder caught fire. “Come on over,” she said, mildly exasperated, and the young wolf trotted into the clearing, settling at her feet. She turned to the darkened forest around her. “And the rest of you as well.”

Three more juvenile wolves trotted out, turning here and there seeking the perfect spot, then plopping down about the campfire. Raine eyed each of them in turn. “Does your mother know where you are?”

One wolf barked indignantly and Raine sighed. “Yes, yes, of course, you are all quite grown now.” She slung the rack of hares she had from her shoulder. “So I suppose you are too proud to take handouts?”

An anxious bark clarified any imagined resistance to the proffered meal, bringing a smile to Raine's lips. “I see,” she said, “cooked or uncooked, then?”

Raine sliced one hare into four equal pieces, tossing each wolf a chunk of raw meat. She sharpened a stick, impaled a second rabbit, then set the spit over the flame. It was not long before she, too, was munching on dinner. When finished, she unhooked the bedroll from her pack and spread it outward with a snap. She sat down on the makeshift bed and maneuvered her pack behind her, preparing to use it as a pillow. Instead, the young wolf that had first entered the clearing crawled forward on his belly, his expression hopeful. He squirmed in behind her and Raine adjusted her position, leaning backward and laying her head on the canine's side. She shifted her weight, enjoying the warmth of the wolf and the softness of his fur.

“You are right,” she murmured, feeling her eyelids grow heavy, “you are a most excellent pillow.”

The wolf growled happily, the others moved close, and the impromptu pack went to sleep.

This village looked almost exactly like every village before it. Little in the way of fortifications, it was built primarily around agriculture and livestock. The fields in the outlying areas looked fertile and the cows, sheep, and goats all looked healthy. Clearly the Hyr'rok'kin had not reached this area yet.

Raine passed the chapel, home to those looking for greater meaning in life, and headed toward the local tavern. She pushed past a drunken dwarf and entered the pub, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dark, smoky interior. The occupants were the usual motley array of customers, mostly human, farmers, mercenaries, merchants, and a couple of thieves. There were a few soldiers lucky enough to draw duty at this peaceful outpost, and even an imperial knight sitting off by herself in the corner. A group of dwarves, probably miners from the local mountain, were downing huge flagons of ale, and an elf sat half hidden in shadow against the wall.

Raine examined the only two in the room that attracted her attention, and both were returning the favor. The female knight was assessing her as a potential threat, but when her eyes lingered on certain portions of Raine's anatomy, Raine correctly surmised she was assessing her as a potential conquest as well. Raine turned her attention to the elf. His expression was far more guarded and his intentions were not so obvious. He held her gaze coolly and Raine's eyes drifted downward to the elaborate yellow stitching on his green jerkin. The symbols were Alfar and she examined them with casual interest. He was an assassin, and from a particularly dangerous guild. She smiled at the obscure motto written on the jacket, one without a direct translation outside of the Elvish language, but essentially meant “if you are close enough to read this, you are already dead.”

The elf was surprised that the stranger had correctly interpreted the ancient markings on his clothing and nodded to her with newfound respect. Raine nodded back, the restrained recognition of one killer to another. She moved to the bar.

“I'll have an amber sting.”

The humans within earshot turned in surprise while the bartender blanched. An amber sting was a deadly drink, causing convulsions, blindness, severe vomiting, and various other maladies to those who could not handle the cinnamon liqueur. Those who could successfully ingest the drink generally turned violent upon swallowing the liquid fire, and for that reason, the drink was banned almost everywhere.

But not here.

“Very well,” the barkeep said. He reached up onto the top shelf and pulled down the honey and spice concoction, blowing the dust from the seldom-used bottle. His actions caught the attention of everyone in the bar and resulted in raucous cheers from the dwarves who began pounding on the solid wood table. The bartender carefully poured out a shot glass full of the dark yellow liquor, giving his customer a once over. She actually looked like someone who could handle the drink, but she also looked like someone who could destroy the entire room if this went sideways. He glanced over at the knight, who had gotten to her feet.

Raine lifted the shot glass, swirled the dark amber liquid so that the red highlights spiraled in a miniature vortex, then drank the deadly concoction in one swallow. She set the glass down solidly, enjoying the rush of fire that suffused outward, reddening her cheeks, giving her a flush of pleasure that went to every extremity. The barkeep watched her nervously, but when it appeared she was experiencing no ill effects, a roar erupted in the pub. It had been years since anyone had even tried the amber sting, and no one had ever drunk one so effortlessly.

“Here you go then,” the barkeep said, able to finish the ceremony surrounding the drink for the first time in his life. He lifted a sconce from its holder and held the flame in front of Raine, who forcefully exhaled the fumes from the alcohol. A pyre of flame shot from her mouth as if she were breathing fire and another roar erupted from the crowd. The flames subsided, fortunately doing no more damage than singeing the hair of those closest to her, and she was surrounded with well-wishers who pounded her on the back in congratulation.

“By the gods,” the bartender said, “that is a feat that would do even a Scinterian proud.”

Raine smiled mockingly. “That is a myth, my friend. There are no more Scinterians, and maybe there never were.”

Suddenly, the shadowy elf was at her elbow, and he, too, was mocking. “So you don't believe in Scinterians, ancient allies of the dragons, the most skilled and invincible warriors of all time?”

Raine laughed at the handsome elf. “Well, I sure as Hel don't believe the dragons gave them amber sting so that they, too, could breathe fire.”

This produced much more laughter from those around her and Raine became aware that the knight was heading in her direction. She leaned down conspiratorially to the elf, winking at him. “Got to go,” she said.

The elf grinned. He understood exactly. The stranger was much like him and it was always a little dangerous to attract too much attention. He shifted his position, shielding her from view, and Raine slipped through the crowd and to the door. She gave one last wave to the handsome elf, who watched the skilled departure with admiration and a little regret. The Alfar were rarely attracted to humans because their own kind were far more beautiful. But that young woman was gorgeous and he would have taken her to bed in a heartbeat, given the chance. The devilish glint in her eye as she headed out the door would long haunt his dreams.

Raine jogged down the back alleyways feeling remarkably refreshed. The amber sting invigorated more than impaired, at least for her, and where before she had considered stopping for the night, now she thought she would continue forward, meandering toward her destination.

Chapter 2

The terrain was incredibly steep. Raine had already inadvertently created two rock slides and was thankful she was traveling alone because the slides would have killed anyone climbing below her. There were stretches so impassable she had to wedge her double swords into crevices and pull herself up entirely by arm strength. The ascent itself was a feat of physicality that few could have matched and for that reason, Raine was again glad that no one saw her. She could perhaps attribute it to magic, but then she would be hard-pressed to produce any other act or spell.

She paused on a ledge no wider than a foot, resting for a moment and allowing her legs to dangle over the side. The drop was thousands of feet yet she felt only exhilaration looking down into the abyss. She glanced up, estimating she had almost another thousand feet to go before she reached the pinnacle. She was not quite certain why she was climbing this mountain but somehow she felt compelled to continue, as if something was drawing her in. She had felt the sensation while in the lowlands, something unidentifiable yet totally intriguing. It seemed familiar, yet unknown, and now she could not have stopped if the entire mountain collapsed in on her. She simply would have dug her way out and started climbing again, so driven had she become.

She stood, balancing on the narrow ledge, and chose a path of ascent. She continued to climb effortlessly, her strength and endurance excessive even for her impressive physique. In a very short time, she reached the rock ledge she was climbing toward. This ridge was far wider, however, and as she pulled herself over the edge, she saw the entrance to the cave she had suspected was there.

Raine examined the gaping hole in the mountain, nonplussed. This was what she had been looking for, what she expected to find, yet she still wasn't quite certain what was driving her. She strolled toward the entrance and without hesitation, entered the cavern.

And cavern was an apt description. This was not some hole in the wall, some dark, dank cave. It was well-lit by the sun streaming down through a gigantic opening in the ceiling and the enclosure itself was enormous. It even had a lake of sorts, so large was the opening inside the mountaintop. It was quite a stunning sight, with elaborate rock formations on the shores of the lake.

A stone clattered to the ground and Raine froze. Whatever had compelled her climb, whatever had drawn her in, whatever had so attracted her to this place…

Was now behind her.

A scratching, abrasive noise, like stone-on-stone emanated from the rocks she had just passed. It was like the scales of an armored reptile scraping across rough ground, a very, very large reptile. Raine slowly and methodically turned around as the dragon's head rose above a jagged rock formation in a sinewy, serpentine fashion. The creature then moved its massive body out into the open with a lithe grace that nothing that size should possess.

Raine gazed at the creature in wonder. It was a deeply saturated red color, the heavy plated scales reflecting light in millions of tiny rainbows. There were hints of a brilliant yellow which would flash in the light as the dragon moved, creating an illusion that the creature was made of fire. The skin in places was rough with sharp, protective spikes protruding that could easily impale a man. In other places, the skin was supple and smooth, the muscles flexing and rippling beneath the scaled surface. The dragon had a mouthful of wicked looking, razor-sharp teeth and stunning gold eyes also flecked with red. The golden eyes examined her as the dragon came completely into view. A long silence ensued as Raine simply stood there, then at last exhaled.

“You are beautiful,” she said.

The dragon was taken aback, yet also clearly amused.

“You are a strange little creature,” the dragon said. “Most come into my presence in terror or with fake bravado, yet I sense no fear in you at all.”

The dragon was female and it was clear to Raine that she was very old and very powerful. Her voice was low, with a dangerous but sensual edge to it. Raine bowed low, making no effort to go for the weapons at her disposal.

“I apologize,” she said formally, “it was rude of me to disturb you simply to satisfy my curiosity.”

“So you sensed me,” the dragon said, now even more intrigued by the little creature before her, and Raine realized she had revealed more than intended. She also realized there was probably very little she could hide from the creature in front of her.

“Yes,” Raine replied.

“Hmm,” the dragon said, the scales scraping across the rock as she moved to examine the girl from a different angle. “So what should we do to compensate for this transgression, this trespass of my domain?”

The dragon leaned down close and Raine could feel the heat of the monster's breath. The sensation created an odd disquiet in her, a fluttering twist located in her abdomen, an extraordinarily odd reaction more akin to pleasure than fear. The dragon sensed the reaction and thought she must be misinterpreting the response because it felt more like desire than anything remotely appropriate for the situation.

“What is it you wish from me?” Raine asked, struggling to focus and remain calm under the dragon's now pronounced scrutiny.

The dragon drew back, pleased. “You have a secret,” she announced. She again examined the girl at length, both physically and mentally. “I want you to show me.”

Raine sighed. She had known this was fairly inevitable from the moment she had encountered the dragon. She began methodically removing her weapons, laying them on the ground one-by-one. The dragon was impressed with the weaponry, but her attention was immediately diverted when the girl also began removing her armor. This was truly unexpected, but not necessarily unwelcome. The ancient creature wondered if the girl was going to strip naked and could not imagine what the outcome of that potentiality would be. The young woman turned her back to the great drake and the dragon now wondered if this were a sudden attack of modesty. But the girl removed her long-sleeved jerkin with a flourish and the dragon instantly understood.

There were elaborate, beautiful markings on the inside of the girl's forearms and spread across her upper back. They were mythical, unmistakable, less tattoos than inlaid filigree, a brilliant royal blue and gold woven beneath the skin in a process so painful and permanent that only one race could survive the process.

The dragon exhaled. “You are Scinterian,” she said with immense pleasure.

“Yes,” Raine said simply, “I am.”

The dragon drew back, still unable to believe her eyes or her fortune. “The closest allies of dragon kind in all the world. But I have not seen a Scinterian in hundreds of years and I did not think there were any left.”

“I may be the last of my kind,” Raine replied.

At this comment, the very space around the dragon shifted as she began to transform. The great creature shrank as bones, tendons, and ligaments transitioned into their alternate phase, then re-formulated, re-spawned into human-like form. The dragon was now a stunningly beautiful older woman dressed in imposing red armor that also at times appeared to dance with flame. Her hair was silver and brushed back from her face. Her cheeks were high, chiseled into her face, and her eyes were still a deep gold color filled with wicked amusement.

Raine stood dumbfounded, then swallowed hard. She normally was master of every situation but at the moment, she was at a complete loss. This was very unexpected.

Weynild stared at the girl, slowly grasping the effect she was having and quite surprised by it. As a shape-shifter, she could morph into any form she wished, young, old, ugly, beautiful, voluptuous, spare. But her current form was the most similar to and consistent with her dragon form in all ways, age included. And the girl just stood there, stunned.

“Is it possible,” the dragon-human said, “that I am more dangerous to you in this form than my other?”

Raine again swallowed hard, a deep flush spreading out across her cheeks. “Not just possible,” she murmured, “but highly probable.”

Weynild stepped forward, a matching desire flaring within her. But she was far more in control than the one in front of her and there was something else here. She placed her hands on the slender hips and pulled the lithesome frame to her, gazing down into eyes that were now having a hard time meeting hers.

“You have another secret,” Weynild said with growing certainty, “and you will show me this one as well.”

Raine's eyes sought refuge anywhere, the lake, the rock formations, the entrance that now beckoned so invitingly. But they could not evade the golden eyes that were seeking her deepest secret. Very slowly, the dragon leaned down and touched her lips to the girl's, and a shock of electricity went through them both, causing Raine to jerk backward and reveal what she could not hide from the dragon.

Weynild stared down into eyes that were a deep violet, a color so beautiful it would make the flowers in the field weep with envy. They were deep purple, a color that would put royalty to shame.

“You are Arlanian as well,” Weynild whispered, unable to fathom the creature she was holding. What kind of improbable union could have created this being? And had there been any doubt as to the outcome of their meeting, it was now removed. She took the girl to the ground, shredding and stripping her clothing with nails that had lost none of their sharpness in the transformation. The armor that hugged the curves of her body retracted, revealing magnificent breasts that occupied all of Raine's attention for a brief moment before Weynild bit into the side of her neck, creating intense pleasure. Then the tongue was in her mouth, gentle but insistently dominant, and although she had kissed few in her life, somehow Raine knew exactly what to do and matched the dragon's passion.

Then the trail of fire went down her body, down her sternum, to one breast, then the other. Raine was not as endowed as the creature on top of her, but sensed the woman's pleasure in her. And when the dragon fixated on the firm muscles of her torso, then went lower, the girl writhed beneath the incessant brutal sensuality of the creature.

Weynild returned to her position on top the girl. “Although I am female,” she said, “I am also a shape-shifter and capable of many things.” Raine was not quite certain what this pronouncement meant, but it became immediately clear when the woman penetrated her with some fortuitous appendage she had constructed. Raine arched upward in both pain and pleasure, holding onto the woman who briefly paused. Weynild glanced down between the girl's legs where her hips were now buried.

“You are untouched,” she whispered, surprised and pleased.

“Well, I was,” Raine said, stating the obvious.

The dragon's pleasure only intensified, although she moderated the size of the appendage she had created. But she did not slow the pace or strength of her thrusts and quickly drove the two of them to a precipice much higher than the one Raine had just scaled. Although the violet-eyed beauty beneath her was inexperienced, the gorgeous creature was not unskilled, clearly inheriting all the gifts of her Arlanian parent. Her body answered with unrestrained passion and although Arlanians could be forced to climax against their will, that was not remotely an issue as the two moved to a complete and explosive union. In the end, the girl cried out at the overwhelming sensation she had waited centuries for. The dragon's climax was simultaneous, the experience in a way as novel for her as it was for the vestal creature beneath her. Never had a lover so completely sated her.

The older woman rolled over, carrying the younger with her. The two lay side by side, their limbs comfortably intertwined. Despite the suddenness of their conjoining, conversation seemed unnecessary. The silence was lengthy and enjoyable and was only broken when the humor of the situation impressed itself upon the dragon.

“So are you always attracted to women a thousand years your senior?”

Raine stretched languorously. “I have met only one, so apparently yes.”

The golden eyes assessed her carefully. “And don't you wish to ask me which form is truly mine? The dragon or the woman?”

“No,” Raine said casually, “it does not matter. And you might as well ask me if I am Scinterian or Arlanian because I am quite impossibly both.”

“Yes,” Weynild said, shifting her weight so her hip rested against the girl's. “And how exactly did that come about?”

Raine shrugged. “My parents died when I was very young, so I remember very little of them. But it is said my father was fierce on the battlefield, and my mother fierce in bed.”

“And did you get the best of both of them?”

Raine grinned mischievously. “Now that's not something I can judge personally, now is it? Clearly that is something someone else must decide.”

The dragon examined the long graceful limbs, the slender muscularity of the torso, the intricate blue and gold markings on the forearms. “Well I can attest to at least one of them. Which brings to mind another question. Both your parent races are long-lived, and although you are young, I am still guessing you are several centuries old.”

“I am,” Raine said. “I am almost three hundred, in fact.”

Weynild traced the outline of the girl's cheekbone with her finger. “Then how is it that an Arlanian remained untouched all of that time? Surely you had numerous suitors?”

Raine's words were still casual, but with a slightly harder edge. “Arlanians don't have suitors. They have masters, they have keepers, they have owners.”

The golden eyes locked on the girl. “Your people were not always slaves. They were worshiped by the Alfar long before the sons of men discovered their existence.”

“Nevertheless,” Raine said, “Scinterians have no masters, no keepers, no owners. And they only ever had one equal.”

Weynild rolled the girl onto her back, easily pinning her with strength that belonged to her other form. She stared down into the violet eyes with great pleasure.

“And is that why you have had no lovers?” she asked. “You could not find a dragon?'

The mischievous grin returned. “I found you.”

The beautiful older woman smiled at the renewed desire of the youngster beneath her. “You should be careful what you wish for, small one. Dragons are notoriously insatiable and known for grinding their lovers into dust.”

Raine clasped her hand behind Weynild's neck, pulling her downward and kissing her deeply. Weynild's desire, too, returned full force, inflamed by the playful actions of the woman beneath her. Raine's fingers caressed each breast, then traveled lower, stroking the softness between her legs.

“You are remarkably skilled for someone so inexperienced,” Weynild said between gritted teeth, then gasped as the fingers gently entered her, exploring. She captured the girl's mouth with her own, her tongue probing as deeply as the fingers inside her. The two seemed to engage in a dance, the tongue and the fingers, each matching in opposite but complementary rhythm. The rhythm increased, and the body beneath her rocked in a gentle motion that became quite insistent, again pushing the dragon to a pinnacle, then over the edge.

The two kept up their dance for hours, each pushing the other to heights of pleasure that few would ever experience and most would not survive.

Raine rolled over on the ledge. At some point in time, they had made it to the small raised platform on the far end of the cavern, the floor of which was lined with hides and fleece. It was quite comfortable, like a large, warm nest. A fire burned in a nearby pit and Raine idly wondered if Weynild had lit it by traditional means or simply ignited the inferno from her lungs. The latter she would have enjoyed seeing.

The water beckoned invitingly and Raine stood, stretching. Weynild was nowhere to be seen and Raine imagined she was out hunting for food. They had spent days locked in nearly non-stop sexual union. The dragon truly was insatiable and Raine apparently possessed both her mother's desire and her father's stamina. This thought brought a smile to her face as she dove into the water, surfacing with a gasp as the chill took her breath away. She floated on her back for a while, gazing up at the sun shining down through the jagged hole in the mountain.

She became aware of a pair of golden eyes watching her intently and she paddled back toward the shore. Weynild sat near the fire, once again cloaked in her fiery scales. Raine waded from the water, no concern for her nakedness even when it was in such stark contrast to Weynild's fearsome armor. Weynild did not disguise her admiration for the lithe, sinewy form, or her admiration for the casual confidence in which it was displayed. Raine shrugged her undershirt over her head and pulled on the soft shorts she wore beneath her clothing.

“You need not get dressed on my account.”

“I am a little chilled from the water. Otherwise I am quite comfortable wearing nothing at all.”

Weynild glanced to the blazing fire. “Then I shall do my best to keep you warm at all times.”

A dark heap drew Raine's eye and she peered closer at the form half in shadow. It was the bloodied remains of a cow, or at least half a cow as a very large chunk of it was missing.

“Are you hungry?” Weynild asked mildly, unperturbed at the bloody carcass or the implication of the jagged bite.

Raine's response was as nonchalant and understated as the silver-haired woman's. “Yes, actually I am famished.” She pulled one of the shortswords from her pile of belongings and sliced off a large piece of the rump, skillfully separating out a choice cut. She speared it cleanly with the spit and placed it over the fire.

“Would you like me to cook you some?” Raine offered, raising an eyebrow in question.

The fire glinted off the golden eyes. “I already ate,” Weynild replied, causing a smile to tug at the corner of Raine's mouth.

“Very well.”

The meat cooked quickly and Raine ate ravenously. She had lost all track of time and now wondered if she had been here for weeks rather than days. She finished the steak, then walked to the edge of the water to rinse the grease from her hands. Weynild spoke to her as she knelt down at the water's edge.

“You have most pleasantly delayed my return to the lowlands, but I can delay my departure no longer.”

The pronouncement seemed to have little effect on Raine as she continued to scrub, seemingly dissatisfied with the results of her attempted cleanliness.

“Ah,” she said over her shoulder, “you have a home in the lowland wilderness?”

“Yes,” Weynild said, watching her closely, trying to assess the girl's response or lack of one. She continued, her tone even, testing the preoccupied youngster.

“And do you wish to depart with me?”

Raine stood, examining her hands closely. It seemed they finally passed muster. “Well of course I am going to return with you—,” she said, starting to turn around then glancing sharply upward over her shoulder. She was forced to take a step back. Weynild towered over her in dragon form, fairly menacing, or at least would have been to anyone who was not so aroused by the display of power.

“Were you going to eat me if I said no?” Raine asked mockingly.

The dragon's golden eyes glowed with amusement. “No,” came the throaty, sensual reply, “but I would have chained you to my bed for the next one hundred years.”

Raine considered the threat while gathering her things. “I don't think we should take that option off the table.”

“You are incorrigible,” the dragon replied with pleasure. The sinewy neck snaked downward. “We will travel much quicker if you take to my back.”

This prospect brought a flush of joy to Raine's cheeks. No one was ever allowed to ride a dragon. They were intensely proud creatures and the only recorded instances of shared flight in all of history were in Scinterian legend. Still, she could not repress her humor.

“Well, in truth I have already ridden you…”

“Get on,” Weynild ordered.

Raine scrambled up onto the neck of the beautiful creature, marveling at the supple feel of the muscles. She ran her fingers along the reddish scales glinting with multicolored high-lights. “I don't know,” she said, her tone dubious, “shouldn't I have a saddle and stirrups, perhaps a riding crop or something?”

The wicked sense of humor had pushed the dragon quite far enough. The enormous head turned around, gazing at Raine with glowing gold eyes. “That is an excellent idea, on one condition. I get to use them on you when I transform at our destination.”

“Ah,” Raine said, her fingers tracing the scales beneath her. “I think riding bareback will be quite sufficient, then.”

The dragon snorted and the mass beneath Raine moved to the opening of the cave. They stood balanced precariously on the edge and Raine held tightly as the muscles beneath her contracted and then the beast leaped skyward. The wings unfurled like the sails of a ship and the sensation was glorious. The blood-red dragon went into a dive from which any normal being would have died from fright. But the girl perched on the neck of the beast just laughed. The dragon engaged in a series of acrobatic maneuvers to entertain her passenger, then wheeled about toward the west, settling into a steady pace.

The feel of the rippling muscles beneath her was pleasurable. In fact, Raine thought to herself, it was almost a little too pleasurable. The steadiness of the pace was also adding to the wonderful feeling of discomfort and the warmth that began to tingle between her legs. She shifted her weight, uncertain if she was attempting to relieve the sensation or move herself into better position to experience it. It did not matter as her shifting only intensified the inexorable stroking, matching every beat of those powerful wings. A soft groan escaped her lips.

The dragon became aware of the shifting movement of the creature behind her, and it took her a moment to interpret the cause. In the meantime, the girl shifted again and pressed herself closely to the sinewy neck, removing any doubt as to the condition she was in.

“Oh my,” the dragon whispered to the wind.

It was an exquisite torture and the tension built and built, but the girl would not release. She seemed intent on restraining herself and resisting an outcome that was inevitable. The pleasurable distress finally became too much for Weynild and the dragon dove straight into the ground, pulling up just parallel to the surface and strafing into the rocky earth with her talons. Rock and dirt flew everywhere as the dragon dug a furrow three hundred yards long before the massive creature came to a halt, transforming as she did so and taking the girl to the ground. Weapons, armor, and clothing went flying as the dragon-woman buried herself in her lover, bringing her to climax almost immediately, one that seemingly went on without end. She herself came to pleasure quickly, then did so more leisurely a multitude of times.

At long last, Raine lay exhausted on top of Weynild, her head on her breast. They were lying in the crater the dragon had left on final impact. The crater would be found by hunters days later, causing them to speculate that a star had fallen from the sky judging by the trench that had been torn from the earth leading to the massive hole.

The silver-haired woman looked down at her now-sated lover, shifting her weight slightly and drawing the girl close.

“At this rate,” she said with languorous sarcasm, “we should reach the lowlands in three, oh maybe four—” she paused.

“—months.”

Raine shifted in her arms, unrepentant. “I blame you.”

“Me?” Weynild said in surprise.

“Yes,” Raine replied, “you were the one who was flying so,” she stopped, trying to think of the appropriate term, then found it. “So rhythmically.”

Chapter 3

It was not several months, but it did take them much longer than Weynild anticipated due to additional unplanned stops. But it was by far the most enjoyable journey she had ever made from her mountain keep to her flatland home. When they finally arrived, the dragon glided into an open meadow next to a sizable stream. Raine slid from her back, landing lightly on her feet even from the great height. She watched in fascination as Weynild transformed into her human shape, the brilliant light from the transmutation blinding her. She glanced around as her eyesight recovered.

There was a small cottage nestled between some hills and a grove of trees. An unkempt garden bordered the hut and a stream that could almost be called a river flowed past at a gentle pace. Fish jumped into the air, the sunlight glinting off their scales and creating tiny rainbows as they plopped back into the blue water. The hills transitioned to mountains on the far side of the stream, and even in the beauty of spring, snow dusted the very tips of their peaks. The abundant wildlife that had fled at the dragon's approach was already beginning to return. Raine smiled as a hare approached, seemingly baffled at the presence of these interlopers in his garden as he darted into the underbrush.

Weynild watched her closely. “Are you disappointed that I do not have a palace full of gold and precious jewels?”

Raine turned to her. “Why? Because you’re a dragon?”

“That is what most expect from me,” Weynild replied.

“I would think most would expect death from you,” Raine said. “And as for palaces, gold, and jewels, I could acquire those on my own if I desired. Those things have no intrinsic worth; they are valuable because people value them. And I do not. ”

“But this,” she said, nodding toward the spectacular view, “this is priceless.”

Raine sensed the answer pleased the dragon and Weynild motioned for her to follow. They pushed into the small cottage. It was not secured, but the location was so deep in the wilderness it was unlikely that anyone would come across it even by accident. And a glance around the simple, rustic interior told Raine there was nothing that could be stolen, anyway. A few pots over the hearth, a wooden table, a few books and scrolls lying about, and a bed off in the corner piled with furs.

Weynild again watched her closely, gauging her reaction. “This is charming,” Raine said, utterly genuine, “and I see the only thing that I really require.”

Weynild glanced to the bed. “I've seen you in action, my dear. That is certainly not a requirement.”

Raine smiled a wolfish grin and Weynild again marveled at the perfect blending of her heritage. The utter confidence of the Scinterians married with the unrestrained sexuality of the Arlanians was a potent combination, one that Weynild had never seen or would have even deemed possible.

Raine examined the hearth. “I am a decent hunter, but I confess I am not a very good cook.”

Weynild knew that “decent” was likely a masterful understatement. In all probability this was a creature that could kill everything that moved.

“I am a fair cook,” Weynild responded.

Raine assessed the silver-haired woman's curvaceous form. The human form was much like the dragon in that it was lean, but the added softness in certain areas was most welcome. “So,” she said uncertainly, “how much exactly should I bring back for you?”

Weynild laughed. “My appetite tends to mirror whichever form I am in. As a dragon, I consume massive quantities of food. As a human, I consume far less.”

“Then why did you consume half a cow on the mountain?” Raine asked. “You spent the majority of your time in human form.”

“I was burning a lot of energy,” Weynild said, her golden eyes glowing.

“Ah,” Raine said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, “then I shall bring back as much food as I can carry.”

She could carry quite a bit. Weynild watched the lithe form carefully pick its way up the rocky path, an entire elk draped over her shoulders. The massive beast dwarfed the woman carrying it, but she bore the load with ease. She shrugged the carcass from her shoulders, dropping it to the ground in front of the cottage. She then slung the folded bow from her back, dropping it to the ground as well. Weynild eyed the weapon.

“It has been centuries since I have seen one of those.”

Raine grinned. “Like most Scinterian weapons, it is not for the faint-hearted. It can do as much damage to an untrained person wielding it as to an adversary.” She picked up the weapon in its center at the riser and with a violent flick of her wrist, unsnapped it outward in both directions with a sharp twisting motion. It became apparent why it was carried in a folded position as the entire leading edge was jagged and wickedly sharp, allowing it to be used as much as a melee weapon as a ranged one. The only place one could hold the bow safely was at the riser. Although Raine had flicked it open in a practiced motion that appeared effortless, the actual maneuver was almost impossible to do. The force required to overcome the tension of the bow's string and lock the limbs into place was monumental, the technique, masterful. So not only was it a stunningly lethal weapon, it was unusable for any but a trained Scinterian. Raine put the bow aside and set about skinning the elk.

Weynild began making the stew while Raine finished up by cleaning and sharpening her weapons. She watched the silver-haired woman go about the meal preparations, finding their situation highly entertaining. Here she was, a warrior, a wanderer and adventurer, probably the last survivor of two mythic races. And across from her was a dangerous and supernatural creature of enormous power. Together they presented quite the domestic scene. She went outside, split a few logs, then brought them in to build up the fire. It was mildly chilly outside but the cottage was wonderfully warm.

Weynild's description of her cooking ability was as understated as Raine's regarding her hunting: the stew was delicious. This small domestic detail only increased Raine's mirth as they sat across from one another at the wooden table.

“So where exactly were you headed before you came looking for me on my mountaintop?”

Raine began working on her second helping. “I was heading in the direction of the Hyr'rok'kin army.”

Weynild's eyes gleamed in the flickering firelight. “And you seek to involve yourself in this conflict?”

Raine sobered abruptly. “None will escape this conflict, so I thought to meet it head on. I have seen these demon spawn gather many times in my life. They constantly bedevil the sons of men and dwarves, and at times even the Alfar and Ha’kan. But somehow this time it seems different.”

Her gaze grew distant as she stared into the fire. “There are more of them, and they move quickly in a swarm across the land. Everything in their path is destroyed.”

The dragon examined her companion. Raine's eyes had been violet from the time she had revealed herself in the mountain cave, but they now returned to the deep blue of the Scinterians. Weynild wondered if Raine consciously controlled the color or if it merely mirrored her emotions.

“I have been alive a great deal longer than you and I have seen the Hyr'rok'kin manifest many times over the centuries. But you are correct, this time it is different.”

This statement filled Raine with a deep foreboding and it caused her eyes to cool to a lighter blue. Weynild observed the change and was compelled to ask.

“The color of your eyes,” she said, “do you control it or does it mirror your internal state?”

Raine's distant gaze returned to focus on the present and her eyes warmed immediately to the darker blue.

“It is a little of both,” she said. “Scinterian eyes vary from gray to blue. I have always been able to hide my Arlanian heritage fairly effortlessly.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as her eyes went to a dark lavender. “At least until recently, when the fact that I was Arlanian became apparent the minute I laid eyes on you.”

The violet eyes lingered on Weynild's lips. The lips were full with a hint of the red of her dragon scales, a touch of color most women could not recreate with the most expensive dyes and balms purchased from the most exotic markets. It was a wondrous contrast to her silver hair and gold eyes. Raine's eyes lowered to the swell of her breasts.

“My god, you are beautiful,” Raine said.

The compliment charmed Weynild if for no other reason than the Arlanian creature in front of her was the most strikingly beautiful being she had ever seen. She had seen beauty without end, human, elven, demon, even the immortals. But there was nothing quite like the creature in front of her. She spoke very softly.

“When I am inside you, your eyes are such a dark purple they are almost black.”

“Really?” Raine said, trying to maintain her composure. All of the warmth in the cottage seemed to have begun orbiting her body, particularly her lower body. It settled quite comfortably between her legs. Her eyes flicked to the bed.

“Perhaps we should experiment with that.”

The dragon stood, gesturing toward the pile of furs. “After you.”

Raine's face was buried in the furs, her body trembling as the last waves of her climax wrenched themselves from her body. Weynild collapsed on top of her, her own pleasure coming to a last, shuddering halt. Neither moved, the heat and contact between them a palpable bond.

At last, Weynild rolled on to her back, pulling the exhausted girl with her. Raine stretched, shifted, then curled her body to fit firmly against the hip and thigh of her lover. Her arm draped over the lean stomach and her head rested upon the firm breasts. The dragon stretched in an almost feline motion.

“You know,” Raine said casually, “it's probably a bit difficult to see the color of my eyes when you're mounting me from behind like that.”

This brought a low chuckle from Weynild. Their love-making was different every time and could range from gentle passion to thunderous lust. This had been almost violent and incredibly enjoyable.

“My apologies, my dear. But that is how dragons mate.”

“I wasn't complaining,” Raine said, curling even closer, “it was merely an observation.”

They settled into a languorous silence and Weynild thought perhaps Raine had fallen asleep. She herself was quite comfortable, but only slightly drowsy. Raine's voice disabused her of the notion that she was sleeping.

“Although I would never ask you which is your 'true' form, I do have a question for you.”

Weynild raised her head slightly to glance down at her lover. Raine was examining her breasts quite intently. It seemed to distract her for a moment, and she caressed the globe with her fingers, straying close to the sensitive area which sprang to life beneath her touch.

“Be careful, girl,” Weynild warned, “Do not fan a fire you are unwilling to extinguish.”

“Hmm,” Raine murmured, then leaned and took the breast into her mouth.

The contact took her breath away, and Weynild arched as the tongue and lips feathered a torturous kiss. Raine withdrew only slightly, just enough to speak.

“I am always willing,” she said, then returned to her kiss.

Weynild gritted her teeth as the heat began to rise in her body. “You had a question?” she said through clenched teeth, her tone filled with the almost malevolent sensuality that Raine so loved.

“Yes,” Raine said, pausing briefly, “it is rather impertinent, though.”

This comment was accompanied by a shift to the other breast, lest it want for attention. Weynild again gasped.

“Impertinence from you. How unusual. Ask your question, girl.”

Raine paused, then looked up at the glowing eyes, her own a deep violet.

“What is your true name?”

Weynild smiled, and her teeth were brilliantly white in the dim, flickering light cast by the dying fire.

“Ah, a deeply personal question.”

Raine shifted her body firmly against Weynild's, wrapping her strong leg about her waist. Her gaze was again magnetically attracted to the breasts so tantalizingly close. “Well, we seem to be engaged in a deeply personal activity.”

“Fine then,” the dragon said, and Raine's eyes flicked upward to her once more.

“My name is Talan'alaith'illaria.”

Raine froze, a response that gave the dragon great pleasure.

“There is no need to stop what you are doing.”

It took Raine a moment to unfreeze her limbs, and a moment more to consider her response.

“I beg your forgiveness,” she said quietly and respectfully. “I did not realize I was in the presence of royalty.”

The dragon smiled. “And what will you do for absolution?”

Raine lowered her head, feathering a kiss onto the taut stomach. Her hand drifted upward to take over her mouth's previous occupation, gently caressing the breast the mouth had abandoned. The mouth traveled lower, burning a trail downward that twisted a knife of desire in Weynild's torso. It greatly pleased her that the girl had responded with such confidence to the revelation.

“I am sure I can find some way to absolve myself,” Raine murmured, her lips on the burning skin. “Such a queen deserves absolute service.”

And with that comment, she lowered her head further and placed her mouth on the warm wetness of her lover, causing Weynild to jerk with the intense shock of pleasure. The comment was sardonic because in that moment, Raine acted the servant kneeling between her legs, but Weynild might as well have been her slave so skillfully did the girl drive her to passion. Weynild clutched the furs with one hand while the other reached down to caress the girl's head. She had used that hand as guidance for those less skilled in this act, but this girl was mastering her with no guidance whatsoever. She felt as if she was going to climax immediately, but Raine eased her motion and changed her pressure ever-so-slightly, driving Weynild to an even higher plane of tension and pleasure. She did this multiple times until Weynild felt she would explode, and at the moment she felt she could take no more, the girl pushed her over the edge. Weynild's hips rose and fell in a violent, bucking, seemingly-endless rhythm until there was nothing left for her to give. She collapsed, utterly spent.

Raine pulled herself up to her former position, again in the crook of Weynild's arm, her head on her breast. She listened to the powerful heart beat thunderously in the chest, then slow, and then settle into a deep, ponderous beat.

Weynild shifted so their bodies were in perfect alignment, then pulled a fur to cover them both. Sleep was overtaking her quickly, and she sensed the youngster as well.

“One of us is a monster,” the dragon murmured as she drifted into sleep, “and somehow I don't think it's me.”

Weynild entered the cottage unsurprised to see Raine still asleep in the bed. She was on her stomach, her head resting on her arm. Furs were draped over the lower half of her body but her naked back was exposed. Weynild moved closer to examine the intricate, filigreed markings, the deep blue interleaved with gold. She sat down on the bed next to the sleeping figure and slowly began to trace the markings.

Raine stirred and raised her head slightly. “I see you're up early, right at the crack of—”

She paused glancing at the ample light streaming through the curtained window. “—midday.”

Weynild had paused when Raine stirred. “I wanted to let you sleep. You earned your rest.”

With this comment, she again lowered her fingers to stroke the markings, and Raine inhaled sharply at the touch.

“These are sensitive?”

“Yes,” Raine said, “odd since they are little more than decorative scars.”

“I understand the ceremony is brutally painful.”

Raine's response was very matter-of-fact. “The entire purpose of the ceremony is for the Scinterian to experience pain so immense it will dwarf all felt subsequent in life. If you have survived pain that makes you long for death, there is not much you fear from that point on.”

She shifted slightly on the bed, propping her chin on her arm.

“My uncle at first refused to let me attempt the ceremony. He was afraid I would not succeed or even survive because of my 'mixed' heritage. Arlanians are not known for their fortitude.”

“No,” Weynild murmured, tracing the markings, “they are known for a completely different set of talents.”

“But I did survive, and when he saw that I sustained the markings on my back without so much as shedding a tear, he told them to carve the markings on my forearms as well.” She turned her wrist to look at the gold and blue interleaved beneath her skin.

Weynild stroked the pattern on her back and the sensation was so wondrous Raine sighed her name in one long breath.

“Talan'alaith'illaria.”

Weynild again paused. Although many had spoken her name over the centuries, no one had ever said it quite that way before, rolling it off the tongue as if the sound itself gave her pleasure. Raine cocked her head to the side to look at her.

“So you are worshiped by the wood elves?”

“Hmmph,” Weynild said with a tone of disdain. “The forest people are always too quick to take a knee.”

“Well, obviously I worship you as well. Did you not see me on my knees?”

“Yes,” Weynild said, “I remember it quite clearly. But there was nothing obsequious about that worship. In fact, although you may have been on your knees, I don't know that I have ever been so dominated in a sex act before.”

“Well we shall have to do that more often then.”

Weynild continued to trace the pattern, leaning down to put her lips on the raised outlines. This caused Raine to let loose another sigh of pleasure. Weynild particularly liked to look at these markings when the girl was writhing beneath her, the lean muscles in stark relief, when Weynild was “mounting” her as Raine had so lyrically put it. She was just about to comment on this fact when a woman's scream pierced the air.

Weynild paused, but neither had much of a reaction. If anything, Weynild was mildly irritated and Raine mildly resigned.

“I should probably go check on that.” Raine said.

“Hmm,” Weynild said, disgruntled, “yes, you probably should.”

“I can hide these as well,” Raine said, concentrating. Weynild watched with fascination as the intricate markings disappeared, seeming to dissolve into the skin. “Unlike my eyes, I cannot hide them for very long, so I generally just wear clothing that will cover them.”

It was an interesting and useful trick, Weynild thought. She had wondered how Raine had kept both her identities secret for so long. But if her eye color could be controlled and her markings hidden, it would not be so difficult, especially since all thought that both races were extinct.

Raine stood and Weynild was distracted once more by the supple form in front of her. A second scream split the air, this one just as successfully dampening the mood as the first, if not more so for its closer proximity.

“I am not in the habit of rescuing maidens,” Weynild said with ill-temper, “I generally devour or deflower them, if not both.”

“Well I hope not in that order,” Raine said absently, pulling on her shift, pants, and boots. She did not bother with her armor.

The response brought a short laugh from Weynild, soothing her temper. The utter confidence of the reply, no jealousy or insecurity within the words, was amazingly attractive. Weynild’s armor formed about her body.

“Hmm,” Raine said, assessing her choice of weapons. She eschewed the more elaborate weaponry and settled on her sword. “I think this will do.” She walked out the door, the sword dangling from her hand carelessly, and Weynild followed.

Both stood on the crest of the hill looking into the valley below, perusing the scene before them. Neither spoke for a long moment and it was Raine who broke the silence.

“Hyr'rok'kin,” she said, stating the obvious.

Weynild did not take her eyes from the pack of monsters chasing the woman on horseback. “Yes,” she said, her tone as even as Raine's. “I did not expect them this far east.”

Raine counted a dozen of the hideous creatures. “It is a scouting mission. But I agree, they should not be this far east this soon.” Raine's expression remained impassive, but Weynild could sense her foreboding. Even so, her manner was completely relaxed, as if it were the larger meaning of the Hyr'rok'kin presence that disturbed her, not their actual presence. Weynild prepared to transform to her larger manifestation.

“I've got this,” Raine said, sensing her intent. A smile played at the corner of her mouth and she could not have been more unconcerned. “I thought you might enjoy seeing me in a different type of action.”

Weynild paused, her golden eyes gleaming. “I think I would enjoy that very much.”

The woman on horseback was getting closer, still screaming in terror. The malformed pig-like creatures chasing her were gaining on her, some running upright and others going to all-fours to increase their speed. They were Horde Shards, the festering foot soldiers of the Hyr'rok'kin army. Raine started casually down the hill toward them to close the distance.

The presence of another woman increased the frenzy of the pack and they quickened their pace. Hyr'rok'kin were not known for their intelligence, but even so, the leader of the pack had a flicker of unease at the approaching figure. She was not large, was not wearing armor, carried only a sword, and seemed to be dressed in pajamas. But there was not the slightest sense of fear about her and her features communicated nothing beyond a calm anticipation.

The pack, the woman and horse, and the approaching figure all converged. A Shard closest to the horse leaped upward with a great, muscular movement, thinking himself in range to drag the horse down by its haunches. And he would have been close enough had his flight not been interrupted by the tip of a sword that pierced his armor, pierced his rough hide, slipped between his ribs and stabbed his black heart, killing him instantly.

Raine swung the sword around, violently dislodging the impaled carcass and sending it into two other marauders who went down in a crunch of broken bones. The sword came around again, graceful, effortless, wickedly sharp, flitting through the air and slitting the throats of the two with a single blow.

The pack howled in rage and turned all their attention to the stranger in the pajamas. But she just laughed and danced out of the way, cutting three more down with the sword that swung through flesh as facilely as it did air. One sought to behead her from behind but she ducked as the war ax missed its mark and took advantage of her attacker's over-commitment, thrusting the sword behind her and killing him without bothering to turn around. Another approached from the front, striking downward in a tremendous wood-chopping motion, but the aggressor might as well have been a statue so slowly did he move compared to his opponent. Raine stepped to the side as the battle ax sunk with a dull thud into the wet earth, then with a fluid swing, decapitated him.

The fight was over as quickly as it had begun, with one side utilizing overwhelming force. Eleven of the twelve Hyr'rok'kin lay bloodied at Raine's feet and one was attempting to flee back down the hill the way it had come. The Horde were blood-thirsty when in packs but cowards when alone. Raine did not feel like chasing him so she pulled the battle ax from the earth and gauged the distance. She flung the ax with stupendous force and it spun through the air, landing in the back of the Shard with a solid “thwack.” He went down with a cry of pain, quivered for a moment, and then went still.

Raine had little reaction to the melee and did not even appear out of breath. She walked back up the hill, carelessly swinging her sword much as she had on the way down. The woman on horseback dismounted near Weynild and stared at Raine in wonder. Raine ignored her. She sensed Weynild was greatly entertained by the exhibition and even somewhat aroused.

“Impressive,” the dragon said, the sensuality in her tone unmistakable.

Raine bowed with mocking chivalry. “I am honored to entertain you.”

The woman looked from one to the other in bewilderment. She had just witnessed an extraordinary fight and these two acted as if it were little more than a joke. Or even more bewildering, that it had been little more than foreplay. The powerful attraction between the two was evident. The older woman, the one with the beautiful skin and strange golden eyes, turned toward her.

“And why is it you trespass on my land so far into the lowlands?”

Without really knowing why, the woman went to her knee. The influence of true royalty was too great to resist. “I beg your forgiveness,” the woman said, “I've been lost and wandering for three days.”

“Where are you from?” Raine asked, thrusting her sword into the soft earth.

The woman named a small village on the edge of the wilderness, near the swampland. Raine knew the place.

“Did you see any other Hyr'rok'kin?” she asked.

“No,” the woman said, trembling. “I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw them. We heard rumors, but we thought the empire would protect us.”

Weynild snorted and Raine hid a smile while the woman amended her statement.

“Or at least we thought it would be a year or so before the Hyr'rok'kin came.”

Raine glanced down at the dead bodies below. Swarms of flies were already beginning to gather. “This is a scouting party and I'm sure the army is far behind. But you’re wise to be concerned. They are coming.”

Raine turned her attention to the next matter at hand, which was to get rid of the woman as quickly as possible. She let loose a high, thin whistle and a young wolf came trotting from the nearby forest. She knelt down, rubbed the fur on his neck, then held his head in her hands.

“I want you to take her to Havershire,” Raine instructed the wolf. He cocked his head to one side questioningly, and she pointed to the southwest in exasperation. “That way.”

The wolf yelped his understanding, then went and stood next to the woman. She watched this latest exchange in astonishment, now certain that she was in the presence of some forest deity. What a story she would have to tell back at the inn!

“He will lead you home,” Raine said. “In the future, I would advise you to stay out of the lowlands.”

“Yes, your,” the woman flailed about for a title, “your grace, I don't know how to thank you!”

“Just go,” Weynild said, her patience at an end. The wolf bounded off and the woman pulled herself awkwardly onto the horse and began following the canine. Raine watched them disappear, then turned to the bodies once more.

“You,” she said politely, “you don't want that, do you?”

Weynild grasped her meaning and laughed. “It is true dragons will eat almost anything, but not even I can stand the taste of Hyr'rok'kin.”

“Very well, then,” Raine said, then let out another thin whistle. This time an entire pack of wolves came from the forest. Raine gestured toward the corpses. “I would be grateful if you would take care of that.”

There were several growls of protest and Raine clarified. “You don't have to eat it,” she said, “just get rid of it.”

Somehow the wolves adopted an air of both relief and understanding. They began dragging the carcasses away, shredding the larger bodies into smaller pieces to facilitate the removal.

To Weynild's surprise and appreciation, Raine stripped on the spot and began ambling toward the stream.

“I'm going to wash this filth from my body,” she said over her shoulder, indicating the blackened bloodstains on her skin. Weynild watched the perfect form step away, controlling the urge to take her to the ground on the spot. She cared nothing about the bloodstains. But she knew that within minutes they would be back in the cottage, starting anew from where they had been interrupted.

Hours later, Raine lay in her lover's arms. It seemed the vast majority of their time was consumed with either sexual activity or recovering from sexual activity. She thought back to the skirmish from earlier in the day and a shadow passed over her features. That was likely to change very soon.

Weynild sensed the shift in her lover's mood, as well as the cause. She shared both the belief and the melancholy it brought. It did not seem possible that in such a short time she should feel so utterly connected to this one. Unlike the girl, she had slept with hundreds, if not thousands over the centuries. The engagements had ranged from the laughably brief to the tumultuously too long. She had even conceived several children, a few who had actually survived. But she had never felt such an intense desire for anyone, nor ever experienced such satisfaction. She tangled her fingers in Raine's hair.

“So you asked me my true name, now I must know yours.”

“My true name is Raine, and my surname, the name of the father, is Estania.”

It was Weynild's turn to pause at the revelation. “So you are royalty as well.”

Raine rolled on to her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “Not exactly. Scinterians do not have kings, they have only generals.”

“And your father, Garik, was one of their greatest.”

“You knew my father?” Raine said in surprise.

Weynild shook her head. “Not really. But I knew of him. His prowess in battle was legendary and I see now where your skill comes from.” Weynild examined the deep violet eyes, then added as an after-thought. “I am glad I did not meet your mother.”

That statement could have had multiple meanings but Raine shrewdly guessed the correct one. “You have been with an Arlanian before.”

“Yes,” Weynild said with just a hint of regret, “it did not end well.”

Raine eyed her, and Weynild continued. “He was a young male, rather strapping for an Arlanian, but even so, such a fragile creature. Arlanians are uniquely tragic in that their desire far outpaces their ability to withstand the consequences. He did not survive.”

Weynild was curious how Raine would handle such an admission, but the dragon would not lie to her.

For her part, Raine had long ago accepted the self-destructive tendencies of her mother's people. What they did of their own accord was not her business. Rather it was the indignities and violence that had been thrust upon them that filled her with rage.

“Was the act consensual?”

“Oh yes,” Weynild replied. “There was no force or coercion involved.”

Raine shifted onto her back once more, resting her head in the crook of Weynild's arm.

“Then I will not judge.”

Weynild wrapped her arms around her and the two fell into a dreamless sleep.

They settled into their pattern of domestic bliss once more but it was only a few days before they were again disturbed. Raine eyed the cloud of dust approaching from the north. Her eyesight was exceptionally acute and she could make out the form of horses in the dust. When they got a little closer, she could make out the forms on top of the beasts. Although she could not yet differentiate them into man, elf, or dwarf, at least she could tell they were not Hyr'rok'kin.

They were men, human men, as well as a few women. Imperial troops accompanied by a priest, a bard, and a scout. Raine assessed them as they neared and determined they were little if any threat. She felt Weynild's presence at her side and turned to glance at her, doing a quick double-take.

Weynild had disguised herself as a very old woman, inconspicuously and drably dressed. She would have attracted no attention in any slum in the hold.

“Well that's a new look for you,” Raine said sardonically.

“Shut up,” Weynild said.

The band neared and the leader of the group signaled for them to hold up. He eyed the woman standing in front of the cottage. My god she was a beauty, with gorgeous blue eyes and hair the color of wheat. He glanced to the crone, startled that such a supple branch could spring from such gnarled roots. He pulled himself from the distraction.

“Tell me miss, have you or your mother seen any Hyr'rok'kin about?”

Raine muffled laughter. “Oh, I assure you, she is far too old to be my mother.”

This seemed to be some great private joke between the two of them, but the soldier on horseback did not understand the humor. “Even so,” he said uneasily, “have you seen any of the beasts round about?”

“Yes,” Raine replied, “there were a dozen here but a few days ago, chasing a woman from Havershire.”

The soldier was shocked. So the rumors were true that they had come this far east. Raine confirmed his thoughts.

“It was an advance party, a small group out scouting. But they are unusually far east.”

The soldier was troubled and in his distraction did not think to ask the obvious. His scout, on the other hand, was troubled more by the unseen than by that which was spoken. She was particularly attuned to the ebb and flow of magic which permeated all things. But there was something distinctly wrong with both the individuals standing in front of her.

The old crone was clearly in disguise and magic hummed and throbbed in the air about her, but the scout could not get a sense of the magnitude of that power. That could mean two things, that the power was insignificant and merely uncontrolled.

Or, the scout thought, eying the crone, that the power was enormous and skillfully hidden. And when the crone turned glowing gold eyes upon her, she leaned decidedly toward the latter.

The second figure, in her own way, was just as disturbing. Outwardly, the scout saw what the others in the troop saw, a strikingly beautiful young woman. But beyond that, the scout could feel nothing, which was quite impossible. Every creature had its own field of magic which could be directed outward by the being or inward against it. But this woman seemed to exist in absolute emptiness, in a solid field of nothingness where no magic entered or exited.

Raine's eyes drifted over to the scout, appraising her. The fair-haired young woman had a sudden sense of the absolute lethality of the blue-eyed one examining her, although she knew there was no danger to her personally.

“What is your name?” Raine asked the scout.

“Isolde,” the woman answered.

“Isolde,” Raine said, trying out the name on her tongue as one would try an unfamiliar drink. The woman was a Tavinter, a nomadic people known for their stealth and scouting abilities. She wore the nondescript leather armor of her people, but Raine had the impression she was far more important than her companions knew her to be. And she was a mage, or perhaps not, but by choice and not out of lack of ability. Magical power surrounded her, another fact her companions were oblivious to. Raine’s gaze slowly, deliberately drifted downward, settled briefly on the scout’s midsection, then flitted away.

Isolde nearly started but controlled her reaction. No one knew of her unborn child, not even her husband, yet impossibly it seemed this stranger had just divined its presence. Her heart quickened but it seemed the woman had no intention of doing anything with the knowledge she had gleaned.

“Your scout is quite skilled,” Raine said, addressing the troop leader once more.

The comment seemed very random to the leader and the whole exchange was making him a little uneasy. “Right,” he said, baffled. The previously ignored “obvious” finally made its ponderous presence known.

“So what happened to the Hyr'rok'kin?”

“I slaughtered them” Raine said simply.

Such a claim would have provoked laughter under any other circumstances. Even their heavily armed band would have struggled against a dozen Hyr'rok'kin. But something in the nonchalance of the words and demeanor of the speaker gave the claim a verity that the boldest bravado could not.

“Right,” the soldier again repeated. He struggled for words beneath the unwavering gaze of the two cottagers and came up empty. “Right. Well, we will be off then.”

The band wheeled about and after one last lingering look from the battle scout, she joined them and the troop disappeared into the valley.

Later that evening, long after a blood red sun had melted into the horizon and the stars had appeared in the moonless sky, Raine was curled about her lover once more. A fire crackled in the hearth and other than the occasional howl of a wolf or hoot of an owl, it was utterly quiet. She was just about to drift off to sleep when she felt a change in Weynild. It was brief, fleeting, and was less a movement than a shadow passing over the two of them. The light itself in the cottage, however, had not changed.

“What is it?” Raine asked quietly.

Weynild paused, sensing, assessing. She was silent for a long moment before answering in what was clearly a lie.

“Nothing,” she said.

Raine raised her head to look at Weynild. Her silver hair and gold eyes gleamed in the firelight, and it gave her skin a luminous quality. The lie was so obvious it was not meant to deceive and Raine accepted its intended deflection.

“Hmm,” was her only response, and she lowered her head back down.

The dragon was grateful for her lover's understanding, but could not prevent the deep sigh that followed.

Chapter 4

It was less than a fortnight before the events that Weynild foresaw began to unfold. The day had begun typically enough with Weynild transforming and launching herself into the sky to hunt. Raine watched with pleasure, the spectacle never failing to impress her. Off in the distance, a herd of deer bolted into a stampede as the enormous shadow passed over them, but Weynild was not in the mood for venison and instead began flying low over the forest, her leathery wings skimming the tops of the trees. She wheeled in a hard right and disappeared from view.

Raine returned to her task. Shortly she would work on her weapons and armor, maintenance she did every day, but for the moment she was happy to till the small garden next to the house. Her efforts had yielded results in the small patch as the earth was moist and fecund. They already had carrots, potatoes, leeks, and squash. Raine was considering asking Weynild for a ride to the south to see if she could find and transplant some of the berry bushes that grew there. This thought brought a warm smile to her face as she thought of the potential flight. It was not too far, so possibly she could make it without succumbing to the ecstasy Weynild's flight invariably provoked.

Raine paused. A figure was coming up the path. It was a woman, a rather voluptuous one to judge by her gait. Raine leaned on her spade as the figure came nearer. She had dark hair and brown eyes, possessing a smoldering beauty to accompany the seductive lilt in her walk. Her gaze held suspicion tinged with uncertainty as she took in the unlikely prospect of someone farming this land in the middle of nowhere. Her shirt was open nearly to her navel, barely covering the breasts that threatened to spill forth. It was warm this day, but not sufficiently so for that attire. Raine gave her a cursory once over, her eyes lingering not at all.

“You must be Idonea,” Raine said.

This pronouncement caused a hitch in the perfect swing of those hips because it was both surprising and accurate.

“And you are?” the woman asked with annoyed arrogance.

Raine stuck the spade into the dirt. “I am a friend of your mother.”

Idonea laughed. “Then I know you are lying. My mother does not have friends.”

“Quite right, my dear,” Weynild said, coming around the corner of the cottage, once again in human form. She brushed by Raine so close their lips nearly touched, “We are far more than friends.”

Idonea could not hide her astonishment at her mother's pronouncement, nor at the obvious intimacy between the two. Her mother was not known to openly display affection, and actually was not known for much affection at all. The girl, for that was all she appeared to be, seemed as enamored with Weynild as the woman was with her and did not seek to hide it in any way.

“Close your mouth, Idonea,” Weynild ordered, “you'll attract dragon flies from the stream.”

Idonea's mouth snapped shut, but it did not have the discipline to remain in that state. “Don't you think she's a little young for you?” she whispered furiously at a volume sufficient to be overhead by everyone as intended.

Weynild reached her and gave her a peck on the cheek, a gesture far colder and more mechanical than the mere brushing of Raine's sleeve. “In theory,” Weynild replied, unperturbed, “everyone is too young for me.” She turned back to Raine who was leaning on the shovel, an amused look on her face. “But I assure you, she is older than you are.”

This caused Idonea's gaze to swing back around to the other woman. “Then she is not human.”

Weynild shrugged, starting back towards the cottage. “Not exactly.”

Idonea's eyes narrowed. The woman did not appear to be elven, which would explain her youthful appearance and long life-span. She did not appear to be altered by magic, nor did she have any influence that might suggest a half-breed demon or sprite. The girl looked perfectly human as she stood there gazing at her with dark humor in her blue eyes. But she knew from her mother's indirect response she would receive no further enlightenment on the matter. She started up the path after her mother.

“Raine?” Weynild said over her shoulder.

“Yes, my love?” Raine responded, hardly able to contain her laughter.

“Would you bring some wood for the fire so we can prepare a meal for our guest?”

“Of course.”

Idonea could barely contain her questions but did so only because she did not wish the indignity of having them unanswered. Her mother busied herself about the hearth and when Raine came in, she set about doing some chores as well. Idonea watched in equal parts disbelief and bafflement as the two smoothly coordinated their domestic duties. She knew nothing about this stranger but she had never seen her mother like this. A meal was quickly prepared and the three sat down at the wooden table.

“So,” Idonea said, pausing for effect. Unintentionally, the effect became pronounced as she spooned some broth to her mouth and became lost to its flavor.

“So,” she said, recovering her focus, “how long have you two been…?”

Idonea again stopped, this time at a loss for description.

“Lovers?” Weynild helpfully provided.

“I was going to say 'together,'” Idonea said irritably, “but since you're going to throw it right out there, then yes, how long have you two been fucking?”

Raine muffled laughter but continued eating.

“It is hard to say,” Weynild said, “I confess I have lost all track of time.”

Raine shrugged as well. “Months? Years? I can hardly remember. It's all just one, long—”

“I don't need to hear any more,” Idonea interrupted. She returned to her broth.

Raine simply smiled. “So your mother tells me you are quite a talented mage.”

Idonea glanced sharply at Weynild. Her mother seemed to be full of surprises. Weynild was not one to share personal details, not even with her lovers.

“And do you practice dark magic?” Raine asked politely.

Idonea bristled, preparing a barbed retort, but then she realized there was nothing judgmental in the tone of the question. Dark magic was generally a volatile subject as most people had strong emotions regarding it. But Raine seemed simply to be making conversation. Still, Idonea wished to test her.

“And if I said that I did?”

“Then I would tell you to be careful,” Raine said. “I have no great moral qualms regarding its use.” She sent Weynild a look that would have melted a glacier. “In fact, I have no great moral qualms about anything.” She returned her attention to Idonea, her tone slightly more serious but as even-handed as before. “But dark magic is very powerful, and like all power, it can corrupt.” Her brows lifted as she spoke almost to herself. “And I have never seen anything corrupt quite like dark magic.”

Idonea did not appreciate being lectured to by someone who looked little more than her own age. But Raine's voice had a ring of experience to it, lending her words both weight and authenticity.

“I will keep that in mind,” Idonea said, only slightly sarcastic.

Idonea's tone had no effect on Raine at all. “Can I get your dish for you?” Raine asked Weynild.

“Yes dear, thank you.”

Raine set about cleaning the table while Weynild gazed across the wooden surface at her daughter. Raine finished, wiped her hands on the fabric hooked to the wall for that purpose, and made an excuse to leave.

“I'm going to go for a walk,” she said. She took Weynild's hand, whose eyes did not leave her daughter's face until Raine brushed a kiss across the back of her knuckles. “I'm sure you two have much to talk about.”

“Thank you, my dear. Do not be gone too long.” Her golden eyes shifted to a pair of smoldering brown ones. “I am sure Idonea will be quite concise.”

Raine made it only a few steps out the cottage door before she was joined by three wolves. They barked happily, jumping about foolishly in their joy to see her. One rolled over and over in the tall grass before he leaped to his feet, wagging his tail.

“Well come along now,” she said, rolling her eyes at their antics. “Let's go for a walk and get rid of some of your energy.” She then mumbled under her breath. “And mine as well. 'Tis a small cottage and I doubt Weynild will turn her daughter out at this hour.”

Raine threw sticks to the young wolves, which they dutifully fetched as if it were some great mission. She skipped stones across the stream and watched the resulting ripples glisten in the moonlight. She caught the flying bugs that hovered above the cattails, their bulbous tails glowing like tiny flames in the night, then released them back towards the stream. Finally, she decided enough time had passed, bid farewell to her canine companions, and returned to the hut.

When she entered, the air was thick with the conversation that had just ended. Weynild's face was impassive, yet words of import had clearly passed between mother and daughter.

“I can leave again?” Raine said, more question than statement.

“No,” Weynild said, “we are finished talking.” She turned to her lover, “and now I just wish to sit with you by the fire. I am sure Idonea is tired after her journey.”

Weynild moved to the pile of furs in front of the hearth, motioning for Raine to join her. From her corner, Idonea watched as Raine settled down in front of Weynild, then leaned back against her into her arms. Weynild pressed her cheek into Raine's hair as she gathered her comfortably close. The two spoke quietly of small things, with occasional low throaty chuckles coming from one or the other. The fire flickered and cast soft shadows on their faces, highlighting the ethereal beauty of both. Idonea had to admit that her mother was still stunning and the two made a gorgeous pair. Still, she struggled with the domestic contentment that permeated her mother's demeanor. It was so at odds with everything she knew her mother to be, and for the hundredth time that day, she had the thought that she had never quite seen Weynild in this way.

Late in the evening, the two retired to their bed and only quiet breathing could be heard. Idonea fought the urge to go look, knowing that the two would be intertwined, fast asleep. As she herself drifted into the dreamworld, her last thought, for the hundredth and first time, was that she had never quite seen anything like this.

“So?”

Weynild looked to her lover, so fetchingly dressed as a peasant, leaning against the wall of the cottage. The early sun brought out gold highlights in her wheat colored hair. Raine had been ever-so-patient to this moment.

“Let us walk in the forest.”

Idonea watched as the two headed down the path. Weynild had not given her a response the evening before. She had merely said she wished to discuss matters with Raine and Idonea assumed she would tell her that she was leaving. She wondered if Raine would ask to accompany her mother, but it was far too dangerous a mission for someone like her.

The two walked quietly for a ways and Raine leaned down to pick a blood red flower with yellow streaks in it.

“A dragon blossom for you, my love.”

Weynild took the flower from her, inhaled the scent deeply, then let out a deep sigh.

“Idonea has asked for my help.”

Raine did not like the sound of this but tried to remain light. “I don't suppose it's as simple as retiring a gambling debt or something of that nature,” Raine said.

“That is what I usually expect from her,” Weynild said darkly. “Idonea is vain, self-centered, hot-headed, and impulsive. Coupled with that in a most dangerous manner is the power her dragon blood gives her.”

A question occurred to Raine, surprisingly for the first time. “Is Idonea a dragon?”

Weynild let loose a harsh laugh. “By the gods, no. And that has been a source of contention between us. Idonea has always been bitter that she favored her human father and not her dragon mother. But dragons are only produced by mating with other dragons.”

“So no dragon babies for us, eh?”

Weynild eyed the beautiful creature in front of her. “Yes, that is one of the things preventing that from happening” Her thoughts drifted for a moment, then she pulled herself back.

“Stop distracting me,” Weynild said. “So given what I just told you about Idonea, I find it odd that she has joined a band seeking to undertake a most noble quest.”

“So she has an ulterior motive,” Raine said drily.

“Of course, I’m just not certain what that might be.”

“And so what is this noble quest?”

Weynild considered Idonea's words from the night before. “An imperial, a knight in fact, is convinced the Hyr'rok'kin are increasing because one of the gateways to the underworld has been left ajar. They are setting out on a most ridiculous journey to attempt to close it.”

“And where is the imperial army in all of this? Why does a small band seek to remedy the situation?”

“The inefficiencies of the empire are well known. Although it is said they are massing, I have yet to see it. I have seen small parties, such as the one the other day, but nothing sizable. And even if the army does gather it is unlikely they will venture into the Empty Land. So they will merely stop the forward assault, or at least attempt to.”

“But they will not deal with the actual problem,” Raine said, understanding. “And so what does Idonea want from you?”

Weynild stared off in the direction of the cottage. “She wants me to accompany them on this fool's journey, to protect them in their passing through the approaching horde, and then to assist them in closing the rift.”

Raine knew her lover too well. “You do not believe this to be a fool's journey.”

“No,” Weynild said, “the knight is very close to the truth. The Hyr'rok'kin have always appeared in spurts, but I have never seen a sustained release such as this, a vomiting of their kind into this realm. But I do not believe the gateway has been left ajar.”

Weynild paused, and Raine did not really want to hear her next words.

“I believe the gateway is being held open.”

Raine's heart was heavy but her words were lightly spoken. “And what type of being is capable of holding open the gateway to the underworld?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Weynild's golden eyes gleamed in the dim light of the forest.

“A being like me.”

The silence in the forest was oppressive as Raine considered the pronouncement. “So you believe it is one of the twelve ancients?”

“Yes. It has been so long since I have seen any of the others, I assumed they had all passed through some mishap or another. But apparently not.”

Weynild was looking at her intensely and Raine knew there was something significant she had not yet said.

“I cannot accompany Idonea.”

Raine cocked her head to the side. “But you just said you believe the quest to be necessary. And if there is another ancient dragon waiting on the other side, you are the only one who can challenge the creature and close the gate.”

“I agree, which is why I will join the battle at the end. But the ancients can sense one another across great distances, and he or she will see me coming like a beacon of light. I would endanger Idonea's companions as much as I would help them.”

Raine did not like where this was going. “But how are they going to get through that ever-increasing horde? As you said, the imperial army is scattered right now, but even full-force they would be hard-pressed to defeat the demons that are coming this way.”

Weynild did not speak but simply gazed at her lover with golden eyes.

Raine understood. “You want me to go.”

“No,” Weynild said sharply, her bitterness evident. “No, I do not want you to go. I do not want you to ever be apart from me. But what I want is less important than the outcome of these events. And I can move now or delay until my hand is forced, but either way, we will end up fighting this battle.”

Raine reluctantly nodded her agreement. “Does Idonea know what lies at the other end?”

“No,” Weynild said.

“Then she will not understand why you cannot go.”

“I don't care. She may complain but she will obey me. And you will have to deal with her ulterior motive, whatever that may be.”

Raine was quiet again, then at last spoke. “You know I will do anything you ask.”

“Do not make me ask this!” Weynild said, her tone harsh but with a catch in her throat. “I cannot bear the thought of putting you in danger.”

Raine smiled a gentle smile. “You are not putting me in danger. None of that bothers me in the slightest. I am not afraid of the Hyr'rok'kin, or even an ancient dragon. You know that Scinterians live for adventure and battle. The only thing I dread is being apart from you. All else I do voluntarily, but the separation I lay at your feet.”

“Then know that I will suffer as greatly as you.”

As she said this, she stepped forward, placed her hands on Raine's hips and pulled her to her. She kissed her deeply, the kiss as passionate as always but now tinged with anguish. The kiss finally ended and Raine stepped back.

“I suppose we should get this thing started then, shouldn't we?''

“No,” Weynild said, “I get you for three days. After that, you can set out. But your next hours are mine.”

Weynild maneuvered her wings through the great opening in the mountain, gliding down into the cavern where she and Raine had met. Raine had not asked their destination; it was where she assumed they were going. Weynild had tersely told Idonea she would return in three days, at which time the band could depart. Weynild then transformed in a flash of light and Idonea watched in astonishment and with a significant degree of jealousy as Raine climbed onto Weynild's back. Weynild launched the two of them into the air with a massive thrust of her wings and they had disappeared into the clouds.

Raine slid from the dragon's back, landing lightly on the ground. The mountain keep held such warm memories for her, she was almost happy for a moment. But the impending journey and separation hung over her head, and her face clouded once more.

“Ah, my love, the sadness in your eyes breaks my heart,” Weynild said, morphing down into her human form.

Raine pushed the clouds away. She had only three days with her lover; she was not going to waste them ruminating on things she could not change. She said nothing, but pulled the silver-haired woman into the pile of furs and fell on top of her. Weynild paused only a moment to blow a whisper of a breath toward the make-shift hearth in the rock, which ignited an inferno and warmed them instantly. Raine laughed at the feat and fell to kissing her neck.

Still, as the hours passed and their passion continued non-stop, a sense of melancholy and desperation pervaded their love-making. Each powerful climax seemed to carry with it the seeds of their imminent parting. In three centuries, Raine had found nothing which she wished to hold onto. Now she had found something she could not let go. Weynild, too, marveled at the depth of her feeling for the creature she held in her arms. She cursed the Hyr'rok'kin, vowing they would pay for separating her from that which she held so dear.

Raine, as usual, had completely lost track of time but knew that it was getting close to their departure. Judging by the light, she guessed they had maybe half a day remaining. She lay on top of Weynild, resting in her arms, enjoying the steady beat of the dragon's powerful heart. Weynild stared off into the fading light, toying with Raine's hair.

“I want to bind you to me.”

“What?” Raine said, startled. She sat half-upright.

Weynild did not release her. “I want to perform the ceremony of binding,”

Raine stared at her, a thousand thoughts and emotions running through her head. But one emotion overpowered all others, resulting in only a single thought.

“No,” Raine said emphatically. “I will not let you do that.”

“You do not wish to join with me?” Weynild said, knowing full well the reason for her refusal.

“You and I are already one,” Raine said vehemently, “But if you are bound to me and I am killed, then you will die as well.”

Weynild simply gazed at her with glowing gold eyes and Raine shook her head.

“I am long-lived, but I am not immortal like you. And I could never live with the thought that I might be the cause of your death.”

“If I am bound to you,” Weynild said, “then your life-force will not leave until my power is exhausted.”

Raine shook her head even more violently. “I will not risk you to save myself.”

“And would you wish to live without me if I were killed?”

Raine did not think ahead to where this conversation was going. “No,” she said, even more vehement. “I have no wish to live without you.”

“Then would you,” Weynild said gently, “wish a fate for me that you yourself could not bear?”

This silenced Raine. What Weynild was suggesting was the interlocking of their souls. It would create an unbreakable bond of power between the two of them. It was an extremely rare ceremony, one that few could successfully complete. No human or dwarf had ever succeeded. There were rumors that a few of the high elves had completed the joining. But the most famed joinings had been between the dragons and their Scinterian brethren in the Great War.

“There is no one I would trust more in this matter,” Weynild said, her tone still gentle. “Scinterians were the only ones proven to be worthy of the dragon's gift.”

Raine clenched her jaw. She knew she would not be able to dissuade her lover. And part of her welcomed the bond because then she would carry Weynild with her no matter how many miles separated them.

“Very well,” she said, “I am honored to consent. I will be bound to you for all of time. Your last breath will come from my lungs and mine from yours. My heart's last beat will be yours. And my soul will not leave this realm without you.”

The golden eyes glowed. “Then let us begin the ceremony.”

Chapter 5

Idonea awoke to the sound of the metal sharpening on a grindstone. Evidently her mother and Raine had returned. She pushed the blanket from her and rose to join them outside.

Weynild stood gazing out over the water. Raine glanced up at her exit from the cottage, but returned to the task in which she was deeply engrossed. She eyed the edge of the wicked looking sword, deemed it not yet satisfactory, and began grinding once more. Idonea approached her mother, who did not turn as she neared. Idonea stood until her impatience got the best of her.

“We need to leave today.”

“I am not going.”

The terse pronouncement stung Idonea, “But we agreed—”

“I agreed to help you,” Weynild said, even more tersely. “So I am sending Raine with you.”

Idonea's cheeks flushed crimson with anger. “I am sure that is a very bad idea.”

“You are sure of nothing,” Weynild said sharply, “The things you think you know but do not, could fill that stream. And the things you don't even think about could fill the world's oceans. There are reasons why I cannot accompany you. I can only help you indirectly which is why I offer you Raine's assistance.”

Idonea turned her eyes to Raine, her expression sullen. Raine ignored her, examining the edge of her sword.

“I guess it is better than nothing,” Idonea muttered.

That was finally too much for Weynild and she grabbed Idonea's arm and snatched her to her. Her golden eyes burned into her daughter as she bit off every word.

“I send with you that which is most precious to me in this world and every other. Do not underestimate or seek to minimize my sacrifice.” She released the arm, thrusting it from her. “Do not second-guess me, girl.”

This at last silenced Idonea. Raine did not respond to the exchange. She stood and began pulling on her armor. Weynild moved to her and began adjusting the straps on the beautiful leather gear. It was supple from years of wear, reinforced in strategic locations but loose enough to allow free movement. It had a subtle bluish cast, a color similar to the blue of the Scinterian markings hidden beneath Raine's clothing. It was well-maintained and fit Raine like a glove.

Raine had not looked up the entire time Weynild stood in front of her. Weynild pulled the last strap so that it was snug. The two stood inches apart, Weynild waiting for her lover to look up.

Raine finally composed herself enough to ensure her eyes would not change color and raised her gaze. Weynild felt the tight ache in her throat expand even more, making it difficult to swallow. Neither could think of anything adequate to say. Finally, Raine whispered a few words in Scinterian, a language long forgotten by all but the one who stood in front of her.

“My last breath is yours.”

Weynild let out a cry of anguish and pulled Raine to her, kissing her violently and desperately. The kiss was intense and prolonged and Weynild did not want it to end. She finally pushed Raine away, whirling from her.

“Go,” she said harshly.

Raine turned on her heel, walked toward Idonea, then past her. She was heading directly towards Idonea's camp a few hours away, surprising Idonea because the camp had been well hidden and she had not mentioned its location.

A rush of hot wind nearly toppled Idonea off her feet and she choked on the dust that rose from the ground. Weynild, now in dragon form, leaped upward and launched into a tight, savage turn inches from the ground, accelerating into the sky with tremendous force. She let loose a tormented roar that split the sky. The anguished cry rumbled like thunder across the land, echoing through the mountains and scattering wildlife and birds miles away. The fiery red dragon continued to accelerate, the powerful wings attempting to dissipate a pain that would not lessen any time soon. Within seconds the great beast was gone from sight, disappearing into the horizon to the east.

Idonea watched her mother fly away, stunned. The roar had deafened her and the sound was still ringing in her ears. Raine, on the other hand, had not reacted at all. Once she had started out, her stride had not hesitated, her path had not deviated, and she had not turned around. She walked steadily forward and Idonea ran to catch up with her.

The pain of the parting finally started to lessen and Raine's somber mood lightened. The forest was cool and lovely and it was difficult for her to remain so cheerless in the midst of such natural beauty. Besides, it was her way to experience pain fully, plumb its very depths, then let it go. She missed her dragon lover with a fierceness of emotion that only an Arlanian could experience but approached her mission with Scinterian pragmatism: the sooner her goal was accomplished, the sooner she would be reunited with her love.

Idonea sensed the lightening of Raine's mood and welcomed it. She would not admit it, but for a short while there the other woman had been almost intimidating. She was not particularly impressed with Raine and returned to her continued speculation regarding Raine's abilities to survive her mother's attentions. Raine seemed to sense her ribald thoughts and slid her a wry sideways glance.

Idonea slowed her pace slightly so she could continue her examination of the other woman without Raine noticing. True, the girl walked with a graceful athleticism, but there really wasn't much about her to suggest any extraordinary fighting ability. Although tall, she wasn't particularly large and was a bit on the slender side. The armor she wore was unique, very old, and Idonea had not seen any like it before. The weapons she carried were also strange and Idonea wondered if she had any idea how to use them. She continued to lower her assessment of her new companion as Raine walked with a certain devil-may-care attitude, one completely at odds with the seriousness of the quest they were about to undertake. Idonea didn't know if the girl was stupid or simply putting on a show of false bravado.

Still, every once in a while Raine would pull off an amazing stunt in her casual jaunt. About halfway to their destination, she picked up a small, flat stone and sent it hurtling a great distance into the brush with a side-arm motion. She followed the projectile's path into the bushes and then returned holding a four foot long serpent. The reptile had been killed cleanly by a blow to its head.

“Do you like snake?” Raine asked politely.

Idonea looked at the dead reptile with disgust, shaking her head.

“Yes,” Raine said, “I guess it is an acquired taste.” She tossed the snake back into bushes, then let out a low whistle before continuing on. Idonea had no idea whom she was whistling to and wondered if the woman was a little mad.

It took them about three hours to reach Idonea's camp and Raine had unerringly led the way. As they neared, Idonea's companions stood to greet her return.

There was a dwarf, two elves, and four humans counting Idonea. Gunnar and Bristol led the expedition, Gunnar with brown hair and hazel eyes signifying he was from the southland and Bristol with red hair and the fair complexion of those from the north. Both were tall and looked formidable in their armor, especially Bristol who was very large for a man. The other human, Dagna, was a well-endowed female who also wore armor, although not of imperial stock. One elf was female, small and dark-haired with large doe-like eyes, and one was male with short blond hair that was almost white. The dwarf was short, stout, and barrel-chested, his thick forearms covered with dark brown hair. Raine eyed the small group, wondering if they were planning on obtaining additional reinforcements. The small group eyed Raine, clearly unimpressed with the reinforcements that Idonea had provided. There was a long silence as the group assessed Raine.

“I was expecting something a little bigger,” the dwarf finally muttered.

“You and I agree on little, Lorifal,” the male elf said under his breath, “but I am with you on that one.” Feyden examined the newcomer, unimpressed. Granted, she was stunningly beautiful, but that really wasn't a quality they needed right now.

Gunnar and Bristol also sought to hide their disappointment. Idonea had insisted they travel out of their way, certain she could provide them with a valuable resource. But this seemed a little anticlimactic. Perhaps it was a subtle bias, an assumption that the stranger's physical beauty was inversely related to her fighting ability, as if she drew from a limited pool of resources that was all consumed by her looks.

“This wasn't exactly what I had hoped for,” Idonea said apologetically, “but at least it's another body.” She turned to Raine, far less apology in her tone. “No offense.”

Raine gazed at them serenely, unaffected by their judgment. “None taken,” she said mildly.

Dagna gazed at the new addition with far more interest as she was always deeply affected by beauty, especially from the female form. Idonea caught sight of her expression and rolled her eyes. The buxom bard was so predictable. That mouse of an elf, Elyara was predictable as well, hanging in the back with a meek expression on her face. It was a good thing that girl was good with magic because otherwise she would be worthless on this excursion.

“Well then, let's break camp,” Gunnar said. “We might as well get started.”

The small band worked its way through the forest, then through the more difficult swampland of the wilds. Raine felt they were taking a most ridiculous route, far more strenuous than several alternatives that she could think of. But she was unwilling to offer advice that might suggest contention and just went along with the group. She hung toward the rear of the band, occasionally tossing stones into the surrounding brush. The other members engaged quietly in conversation from time to time, but all looked at her with various degrees of misgiving. It was hard to tell who disapproved of her more, Feyden or Idonea. Gunnar and Bristol seemed intent on ignoring her entirely.

Raine was doing her best to remain unapproachable, but knew it was only a matter of time before someone in the group attempted conversation. To her great surprise, it was the meek little wood elf.

“Are they with you?” Elyara asked.

The question surprised Raine even more than the timid approach. But it was not unexpected as the wood elf would be the one most attuned to nature.

“Yes,” Raine said without elaboration.

Feyden overheard the brief exchange, glancing about. “Is who with you?” he asked.

Raine did not respond, nor did she break stride. Elyara felt the need to explain.

“The wolves that have been following us since we broke camp.”

Feyden peered into the brush, still seeing nothing. “What wolves?”

“There are a pack of wolves traveling abreast of us in the forest and brush. Three, maybe four of them.”

Raine shook her head. “There are actually eight of them at the moment. It's just that three of them are little more than pups and not very stealthy.”

Feyden looked from one to the other, uncertain if they were joking. He peered again into the surrounding brush and still saw nothing. The entire conversation was annoying him. He snorted his disbelief and continued walking.

“And the hawk?” Elyara said, whispering to Raine.

Raine smiled. The wood elf was very good. “Yes,” she responded quietly, “that one, too.”

Elyara glanced upward in wonder. The bird was huge, a wingspan as wide as a man was tall. She did not know how the others had missed it since it had been following them for hours, disappearing to scout ahead, then returning. Her initial disappointment with the stranger was turning into a mild sense of wonder. Even the wood elves did not form such powerful bonds with the birds and beasts.

It was clear the other woman did not wish to continue the conversation, so Elyara slowed her pace, content to follow a few steps behind.

Chapter 6

It was decided that Vicar's Pass would cut weeks off their journey, although the path was treacherous. It wound its way through a mountainous region, the steepness of the terrain eliminating the option of horseback. A few mules would carry their supplies, but the journey would be on foot until Eglin's Reach. This brought much complaining from Lorifal, whose shorter stature made it feel as if he traveled twice as far as his longer legged companions. The route was debated at great length by all except Raine, who seemed content to participate as little as possible. This lack of participation furthered the unease of Gunnar and Bristol and deepened Feyden's disdain. Idonea eyed her without surprise as Raine seemed quite passive about the whole affair. Dagna, although usually gregarious, had yet to generate the courage to approach the stranger, and even she seemed a little disappointed in the woman's seeming apathy. Only Elyara looked to Raine for any type of confirmation, yet was not really surprised when she received no response. Raine was content to walk at the back of the pack, loping along casually as if she were out for a stroll.

“Elyara.”

Elyara jumped, startled that Raine had spoken her name, startled that she had spoken at all. She turned to look at the woman.

Raine's tone was even, her words conversational, her manner unconcerned as she scanned the area around them and in front of them. They were approaching a curve in the path, one that descended into a hilly area.

“You need to stay to the rear.”

Elyara wrinkled her brow. She saw and sensed nothing. Raine's manner was so casual it was hard to decipher her meaning or generate a response. But something made Elyara take Raine's words seriously and she slowed her pace.

Raine also slowed and the band of companions was strung out on the path as they rounded the curve. A blood curdling battle cry split the air and Hyr'rok'kin materialized from every direction. Gunnar, Dagna, and Bristol drew their swords, Lorifal pulled his enormous ax from his back, and Feyden removed his bow. Idonea removed her staff, as did Elyara. The wood elf looked to Raine, wondering how she had sensed the ambush, and was shocked that Raine was simply standing there.

The battle exploded and the small group was outnumbered ten to one. Feyden began firing in all directions, his arrows flitting through the air and taking down the blackened monstrosities. Lorifal began cutting swathes through the horde that began piling atop him. Dagna swung her light sword with great skill, cutting off limbs, and Bristol smashed his broadsword down into a teeming mass of attackers. Gunnar looked around him, his eyes falling on Raine with disgust. The woman appeared to be frozen in fear; she had not even drawn a weapon yet.

Feyden, too, noted Raine's lack of effort and was unsurprised, muttering imprecations under his breath. It merely confirmed his impression of her. Elyara was casting spells of fatigue upon those Hyr'rok'kin nearest her and when she caught sight of Raine, her heart sank. She had hoped the impressions of the others were not accurate, but it appeared they were. Gunnar fought his way to Idonea's side, furious.

“Is your friend even going to draw a sword?”

Idonea smashed her staff on the head of a Shard, then sent a blast of fire towards another. She, too, was furious, not to mention embarrassed that she had inflicted this coward on the group. She pushed her way through the melee towards Raine, who was standing at the edge of the fight, examining her fingernails.

“Are you even going to do anything?” Idonea demanded. She ducked the incoming blow of a jagged club, shoving the Shard backward with her staff.

Raine seemed satisfied with the condition of her nails. “I thought I would wait for the big one.”

“What big one?” Idonea fairly screamed, her anger and frustration boiling over.

A great rumble vibrated across the battlefield and the earth seemed to shift beneath their feet. A gigantic Hyr'rok'kin erupted from the ground, sending dirt and rocks in every direction, a primal, horrifying roar exhaling from his lungs. The Hyr'rok'kin army screamed in response, a terrifying howl of joy. The monstrosity unfolded to his full height, towering over the tiny figures at his feet. The panicked companions froze in horror at the unexpected and devastating sight.

“That one,” Raine said, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

And in a most unlikely turn of events, the one who had been motionless before was now the only member of the band moving. Raine sprinted toward the gigantic creature, her double swords appearing in her hands as if by magic. She used the bodies of the fallen Shards as stepping stones, moving to the heads and shoulders of those still living as one long ramp to her goal. The gigantic monstrosity turned toward the creature flying at him, dumbfounded. With a great leap, Raine landed on the giant's shoulder, catching his thick neck between the two wicked swords. And with a vicious and impossibly powerful twisting motion, she sliced deeply into both sides of the throat until the swords passed one another, decapitating the monster. The humongous head tumbled from the shoulders, landing with a bloody, wet splatting noise on the ground. Then the body began to fall in slow motion like the collapse of a tower. Raine rode the monster's body to the ground, leaping lightly off and landing in a crouch as the corpse thudded into the dirt, setting up a small dust storm.

The battlefield went utterly silent. The monster had appeared at the leading edge of the fight, leaving Raine's companions behind her and the vast majority of her enemies in front. As she rose from her crouch, a sword in each hand, the dust settled around her. The Hyr'rok'kin looked at her, and she looked at them. A few of them took a step back.

Raine smiled.

The entire Hyr'rok'kin party turned and fled. They were not intelligent creatures but nor were they stupid. This “thing” facing them filled them with more fear than they had ever felt in their lives.

Lorifal watched the feat in stunned amazement. But now his blood boiled and he hefted his ax, preparing to chase after the defeated horde. But he did not make it past Raine, who caught the jerkin of the stout little dwarf and reeled him in without effort.

“There are thousands of Hyr'rok'kin between us and where we are going,” Raine said, her tone as casual as ever, “I suggest we fight the ones that come to us.”

Lorifal flushed, embarrassed. She was right, of course. He gazed at her, his misplaced disgust having entirely disappeared into disbelief and wonder. A half-dead Shard twitched nearby and one of the swords flashed in the sunlight, rendering him fully dead. Raine hadn't even looked his way in order to kill him.

Feyden watched the casual dispatch of the fallen Shard and realized he had completely misjudged the beautiful woman. Her nonchalance was not a result of apathy but rather from a total lack of fear. What he had interpreted as indifference was in reality a serene and utter self-confidence. He now had a very different set of misgivings about Raine, and as she glanced at him with intense blue eyes, a smile played about her lips as if he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

Idonea stared at the decapitated monstrosity. The beast was enormous, a miniature army in itself. Few Marrow Shards had ever been seen outside the bowels of the earth. Their quest might have ended on that spot had it not been for the quick death Raine had delivered, seemingly with negligible effort. Idonea, too, began to mentally revise her opinions of the woman. What had seemed before an inappropriately languid manner was now seen for what it was: minimalist efficiency.

“Well, that explains one thing,” Idonea said under her breath.

Raine glanced to her. “And what's that?”

“How you manage to survive my mother in bed.”

Raine grinned, sheathing her swords in a fluid motion. She began walking in their original direction of travel. “Oh I assure you,” she said over her shoulder, “your mother is far more of a challenge than that.”

Idonea gritted her teeth. She did not know why she continued to invite these conversations she really did not want to have.

The mood around the campfire was decidedly different that night. Raine had resumed her distant air, much to the disappointment of her companions. Gunnar had dozens of questions he wished to ask her, but something about her demeanor was unapproachable. Whereas before he had thought her cold, now she seemed to him merely distracted, as if her mind and thoughts were very deeply elsewhere. Bristol shared Gunnar's curiosity, but he, too, was hesitant to intrude upon the woman. He was just grateful she was proving to be such an extraordinary addition to their band. He had quietly apologized to Idonea for doubting her judgment in the matter and Idonea had given him a strangely irritated look.

Dagna no longer bothered to hide her open appreciation. She gazed across the campfire longingly, but Raine was either oblivious or was studiously ignoring her. Feyden was sitting back from the fire, partially in shadow, and he also was examining Raine, although more discreetly than Dagna. Even so, Raine was aware of the scrutiny and her eyes drifted to his gray ones. She held the elf's gaze for a moment, then lowered hers to study the markings on his jerkin. He was surprised. Few could read the ancient language of his people, yet he had the impression that she fully grasped the history that was woven into his clothing. She returned her gaze to the fire.

Idonea studied the chiseled features that were highlighted by the flickering flames. Normally she would have been jealous of such beauty, but something about Raine did not inspire that jealousy. Perhaps it was the fact that the woman was so clearly enamored with her mother, eliminating her as any type of competition. Idonea's eyes slid to Dagna. She wondered if Raine would remain faithful under the assault she would likely soon get from that bard.

A movement from Lorifal broke Raine from her spell. The dwarf was removing a flask from his pack which immediately piqued her interest. Dwarves always carried the most excellent spirits. Lorifal caught her head movement and proffered the flask in her direction.

“Would you like a drink?”

Raine was touched. It was a great honor to share a drink with a dwarf, far above any other act of friendship. She nodded formally. “I would welcome it.”

She took the flask and took a deliberate, thoughtful drink. Not too long, which would be greedy. Not too short, which would be insulting or cowardly. But the perfect drink which indicated her appreciation of the gesture and her savoring of the liquor.

“Ah,” she said with satisfaction as the warmth spread through her cheeks. “This must be from the flatlands. I can taste the anise.”

Lorifal was impressed. Both by her knowledge of the liquor, which was a special brew, and by her ability to consume it without reaction. Most humans and in fact a good many dwarves, would have choked or even collapsed writhing on the ground from the alcoholic content in that drink. She merely settled back into her pack, a look of contentment on her features.

Surprisingly, it was Elyara who gained the courage to ask anything of Raine. She was thankful that the woman had thought of her protection in the battle.

“And how is it that the wolves obey you?”

A short laugh came from Raine. “Oh, they do not obey me. They do exactly as they will.”

“Then how is it that they follow you?” Elyara asked, unwilling to let the matter rest.

Raine hesitated, reluctant to disclose much of herself. But sometimes the truth was so unbelievable it would most likely be taken as a lie.

“I came across a wolf in a trap in the forest. It is the typical story, I freed him and in gratitude his kind follow me, offering me companionship and protection.”

Feyden cocked his head to one side skeptically. “The wolf spoke to you?”

“Yes,” Raine said without much elucidation, “he did.”

“What kind of wolf?” Elyara persisted.

“A very large one, one whose shoulder stands higher than the head of a man.”

“You are talking about Fenrir,” Elyara said in astonishment.

This drew everyone's attention. “Fenrir” was a forest deity worshiped by the wood elves, one of the immortals who generally manifested in the form of a wolf. Although the sons of men had a different, more ominous belief about Fenrir and his place in the Aesir hierarchy, the elves believed him to be a neutral god, capable of both good and evil depending on his whims.

“How could Fenrir be caught in a trap?” Elyara asked.

Raine thought back to the incident which was now almost 200 years past. The gigantic wolf had been trapped in a web of spells and magical totems, creating an almost impenetrable tangle of sorcery. It was only due to one of her unique abilities that she, and only she, was able to free him.

“It was a very complicated trap,” Raine said, knowing she could never explain and unwilling to do so even if she could. She abruptly stood. “I am going to stretch my legs.”

It was obviously an excuse as all they had been doing for days was “stretching their legs.” Lorifal nodded as she left. He didn't care if she told outlandish stories or not, Raine was his new drinking companion. Dagna started to urge her to take more of a weapon than the dagger at her side, then held her tongue. Raine probably didn't even need the dagger. All watched as the woman disappeared into the night. Each was occupied with their own thoughts. Finally, Dagna leaped to her feet.

“I should take her a sword,” she said.

“Yes,” Feyden said drily, “why don't you go do that?”

Dagna blushed at her transparency but did not care. She followed Raine into the night as Feyden turned his attention to Idonea.

“Does she use magic?”

“You mean Raine?” Idonea asked.

“Yes,” Feyden said, “I have never seen anything like what I saw today.”

Lorifal agreed, nodding sagely into his flask. “I have never even heard of anything like I saw today.”

Bristol propped his chin onto his fist. “I'm not even sure I could dream of what I saw today.”

The matter had occupied Idonea's thoughts all afternoon. “No, she is not using magic. In fact,” she said, turning to Elyara for confirmation, “strangely I do not sense any magic around her at all.”

Elyara nodded. “It is strange indeed because she seems the most magical of creatures.” She blushed at her own characterization.

The pronouncement relieved Feyden. Although he traveled in the company of two mages, one who professed to dark magic, he disliked it intensely. Although he was still uneasy about Raine, he was pleased to know she did not practice the black arts. It made him even more curious about her unusual abilities.

Dagna entered the campsite, the quickness of her return indicating her lack of success with Raine. Idonea smirked, although she was slightly disappointed. She would have enjoyed holding the infidelity over Raine's head as the woman was proving to be irritatingly perfect.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Idonea said sarcastically.

Dagna seemed oblivious to the sarcasm as she was stunned by what she had just seen. She had not been rebuffed by Raine because she had not even dared approach her.

“She is already fast asleep,” she said, her voice filled with wonder, “surrounded by her wolves. And she is lying curled up with her head pressed against the largest wolf I have ever seen.”

Chapter 7

The band continued and for a few days the mood lightened. They were still days from the more difficult part of the journey. Lorifal was quite taken with Raine and was content to chatter at her side despite her minimal reciprocation. She did occasionally laugh at his jokes, which was all the encouragement he needed. Elyara watched with interest as Bristol attempted to romance Idonea, who seemed to vacillate between minor interest and minor annoyance. Elyara thought that Idonea would probably bed the knight in a heartbeat; Idonea just did not want the resulting emotional entanglement. Elyara felt that Idonea would be better with Gunnar who had a similar temperament and they could just have sex. Elyara then wondered why she was spending so much time thinking about everyone else's business.

That did not stop her, however, from watching Dagna as well. The bard was clearly enamored with Raine despite no signs of interest from the other woman. Raine was ineffably polite but did not offer the least bit encouragement. Elyara thought perhaps some open discouragement might be in order, but maybe Raine was just too courteous.

Feyden kept to himself but Elyara noticed that he often fell in beside Raine. The two were about the same height, had a similar build, and had the same length in stride. They even moved very much the same, with the athletic grace so characteristic of the Alfar. Although the two rarely spoke, there seemed to be a growing level of comfort between them. Elyara was a little envious over the fact that Raine moved more like her people than she did as Elyara tended to be more awkward than most elves.

Elyara, ever observant, noticed that Raine had been glancing toward the sky on a regular basis. Once again she saw the gigantic hawk that she had seen before and wondered if there was some sort of communication passing between the two. Raine began scanning the land in front of them, and Elyara grew nervous.

“What do you see?”

This question caught the attention of the others and the band slowed as Raine continued to scan the valley in front of them. “I don't see it yet,” she murmured.

She came to the edge of the small cliff they were walking along and knelt down. She looked for even the slightest movement that would betray the presence she was looking for. Feyden knelt to her right, also scanning the forest below. Elyara kneeled to her left, for some reason holding her breath.

“There it is,” Raine said, nodding.

Feyden looked in that direction, but even with his exceptional vision he saw nothing. Then a slight movement caught his eye.

“Hyr'rok'kin,” he muttered.

“Yes,” Raine said quietly, “probably a scout. I imagine they're out looking for us after our little stunt at Vicar's Pass. I am guessing his troupe is not far.” She glanced over at the elf. “Can you hit him from here?”

Feyden looked at her in disbelief. She was talking about a distance that was twice his normal range. “No,” he said, “not a chance.”

“Hmm,” she said.

Gunnar and Bristol kneeled behind them on the cliff edge. Feyden was by far the best archer so they themselves had no chance of striking the target. Lorifal didn't even carry a bow. Bristol turned on his haunches to speak to Idonea, who had also lowered herself to hide. Unfortunately, in his heavy armor and awkward position, he lost his balance and fell against Gunnar, who tried to regain his balance by reaching for Lorifal, who had a low center of gravity and maintained his position but slightly bumped Elyara from behind. But Elyara was leaning precipitously over the edge, trying to see what Feyden and Raine were looking at, and the gentle bump was enough to send her pitching headfirst over the edge.

Or she would have had Raine not reached out and grabbed her by the back of the collar, hauling her forcefully back with incredible strength. Elyara's feet kicked the air before she was grounded once more, but the maneuver dislodged the loose shale at the cliff's edge, which then went clattering down the side of the mountain. The Shard scout glanced directly up at them, startled, then turned to run.

Raine muttered an ancient profanity and stood upright. She pulled the bow from her back, snapped the limbs into place with a violent twist of her wrist and pulled a long arrow from the quiver with her other hand. In a fraction of a second, the arrow was notched. She took aim as she drew the powerful string back, and let loose the arrow with such force it slit through the air in a blur. It flew impossibly true, striking the fleeing Shard square in the back and causing him to go down in a tumble of limbs. A second arrow flew just as quickly and just as accurately, this one impaling him through his throat and ensuring his death. The prone figure twitched a few times, then went still.

“By the gods,” Feyden said, looking from Raine to the dead Shard who was little more than a speck at this distance, then back to Raine again. “By the gods,” he sputtered.

Lorifal gazed at the weapon and the person who had unleashed it. In a way, this feat was just as unlikely and unachievable as the decapitation of the Marrow Shard, the skill just manifested in a different way. Raine kneeled back down and motioned for them to be quiet. She wanted to make certain that the Shard had indeed been alone and that no others had heard the minor avalanche they had caused.

“Sorry,” Bristol said under his breath when Raine indicated they were clear.

“Hmm,” Raine said in response, although it was difficult to decipher exactly what that meant. She did not appear to be angry, however, and her demeanor appeared as unruffled as always. Bristol wondered if anything was capable of agitating her. Events that would send most into all sorts of emotional states barely seemed to register on her.

“May I see your bow?” Feyden asked.

“Of course,” Raine said, handing the weapon to him carefully. “The edge is quite sharp, so be wary.”

Feyden examined the beautiful weapon with great interest. He had eyed it curiously from the first day Raine had joined the band. It was as much a work of art as weapon, appearing very ancient but in immaculate condition. He could see the latch on the riser that would release the tension, allowing the bow to be folded in thirds once more. And he could see why the folded position was necessary. The leading edge was so dangerously sharp it could easily slice through someone's hand. It also made carrying the weapon much easier. But he had no idea how she had deployed the bow, snapping it out to its full length. It was a long bow and the entire weapon was very tight and taut. It seemed the force required to complete such a task would render it impossible. He handed it back to Raine.

“I have never seen a weapon like this.”

“It was my father's,” she said.

He watched as she skillfully folded it into its retracted position. “It is not a weapon that allows any room for error,” he commented.

Raine grinned. “I try not to make any.”

The twinkle in her eye caused a slight tug in Feyden's chest cavity. It was a most extraordinary sensation, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. He was going to have to be careful or he would start mooning over this one like that foolish bard. Still, it was a comfort to him to admit he was starting to admire the young woman. She really was quite amazing.

“Thank you,” Elyara said, finally recovering her breath, “you are very strong.”

“I couldn't have you bouncing down the side of the cliff and giving away our position now, could I?”

Elyara blushed at the teasing and Raine turned to Gunnar. “I am not sure where that scout's troupe is, but we may want to camp here and descend through this pass when the sun is fully on this side of the mountain.”

Gunnar glanced to the sun that was getting lower in the sky. “That is a very good idea.”

Despite the near disaster earlier in the day, the mood around the camp was relaxed and jovial. Raine, as usual, seemed lost in her own thoughts and did not engage much in the conversation. Dagna was explaining to Lorifal and Elyara why she had left the Order, specifically that she had great difficulty with the vows of celibacy. This caused considerable merriment with that small group, which drifted over to Gunnar and Bristol while Idonea and Feyden looked on with mild disdain. Apparently the encouragement she was receiving emboldened Dagna and she addressed Raine across the campsite.

“And is there no one special for you, Raine?”

The group fell silent as the answer to this question was keenly anticipated. Half just wanted to know anything about Raine, who had thus far been nothing but circumspect. The other half had some vested interest in the answer. Idonea was quite interested in what Raine had to say whereas Feyden doubted that she would respond at all. She was silent for so long it appeared Feyden would be correct when she raised her eyes slowly to the group.

“My heart,” she said simply, “is owned entirely by another.”

It was a breathtakingly romantic expression, unexpected yet somehow perfectly consistent coming from Raine. Although it was deeply disappointing to Dagna personally, the words were so expressive, the tone so matter-of-fact yet filled with such great longing, it touched Dagna to her core. She was, after all, a bard, and love is love even when it belongs to someone else.

The admission seemed to affect Raine and she stood. Without a word or backward glance, she walked from the circle of light and disappeared into the darkness. All watched her go and Bristol was reminded of his earlier thoughts. Apparently there was something that could affect this one deeply.

Raine walked through the forest, willing the tightness in her chest to go away. Her longing for her lover was like something alive, twisting inside of her, causing her to ache with need.

“It seems you have many suitors.”

Raine caught her breath and her eyes went instantly to a deep violet. The voice behind her was low, sensual, gently mocking but with no malice towards her.

“No,” she replied, “I have only one.”

Warm breath whispered over her neck and into her ear. “She must be very fortunate.”

“No,” Raine said, shaking her head, “she deserves no less. I worship her.”

And with that, Raine turned, fearful that she was imagining the whole thing. But Weynild, was there, her golden eyes gleaming in the night, her silver hair reflecting the moonlight, her full lips parting as she pulled her young lover to her. Raine kissed her desperately, hungrily, gasping from the desire and need that this one inspired in her. But reality intruded, and Raine grasped her arms, pushing away just enough to look into her eyes.

“But you are here!”

Weynild understood. “Yes, but we are not in any danger.”

“But how?”

Weynild pulled her close. “Your band is at the crossroads of meridians.”

“Meridians?”

“Yes,” Weynild continued, adjusting her hands about Raine's hips so there was no space between them. “The lines of power that crisscross the world, invisible to all but the birds that migrate by them.”

Understanding dawned in Raine's eyes. “And visible to dragons as well?”

“Yes,” Weynild said, smiling so that her teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “To dragons as well. And where the lines cross, the light is so bright that I cannot be seen within it.”

Raine clutched her close, drinking in her beautiful face, the breasts framed so perfectly in the fire-red scaled armor that hugged the curves of her body. “Is there a meridian line I can walk all the way to my destination?” she asked.

“If only your path were that straight, my love,” Weynild replied. “But you will pass meridian crossroads several times, and each time I will come to you. And tonight, you are mine.”

They went to the ground together, unmindful of the damp earth. Raine tore her own clothing from her body as the magical armor that encased Weynild retracted, revealing the suppleness beneath. Weynild kissed her everywhere, her hair, her ears, her throat, her breasts, her stomach, her inner thighs. She settled on the softness between her legs, expressing pleasure at the warmth and wetness.

“I see you missed me,” she murmured.

Raine moaned and twisted beneath the onslaught, but the dragon held her tight, the strength of her lover exciting her to an even greater height. Her climax came quickly, her need and desire for the one holding her too overwhelming for her to toy with the idea of restraint. Weynild held her hips, pushing her passion beyond the physical so that it encompassed all of the longing of their separation. Although the beginning of the climax came quickly the end did not as waves of pleasure shook Raine's slender frame.

Finally, Raine collapsed, her body trembling and her breath coming in ragged gasps. Weynild pulled herself atop her, gazing down into her violet eyes with great pleasure. Raine touched her cheek, tracing the cheek bone that defined her beautiful features. Weynild's breasts were pressed against her, creating a warm and wondrous sensation. Slowly, Raine's breathing returned to normal although her heart still pounded in her chest.

Weynild sensed her companion's recovery. She shifted her weight, causing another groan of pleasure as she contacted still-sensitive areas. She smiled, knowing that they still had hours and that the stamina of her Arlanian would consume them all.

“Let's try that again,” Weynild said, her golden eyes gleaming, “this time with me inside you.”

Raine returned to the camp at first light and although she was still quiet, she seemed in a better mood than when she had left. Idonea examined her suspiciously, because to her eye, more accustomed to the subtleties of Raine's behavior, the woman seemed in a much better mood than when she departed. And that could have only one explanation.

“So how is my mother?” she said under her breath, sidling up next to Raine.

A grin tugged at the corner of Raine's mouth. “She sends her love.”

The sardonic response was all the confirmation Idonea needed. It made her wonder all the more at her mother's motivations. Obviously there was some larger reason why Weynild would not accompany them because clearly she could not keep herself from her little toy. And Idonea wondered at the significance of the location, knowing they were at a meridian crossroads. This thought angered her for reasons that had nothing to do with Raine. Her ability to see the meridian lines was truly useless since she had inherited nothing else of value from her mother. Raine began a quiet little hum, the pleasant tune aggravating Idonea even further. She moved up in the band to Bristol's side, who welcomed her company.

After a while, Lorifal engaged Gunnar in quiet conversation.

“My people, the Dvergar have always been bitter enemies of the Hyr'rok'kin, but why have you chosen this quest?”

Gunnar was sober for a moment, then lightened. “I think we will all have to fight the Hyr'rok'kin sooner or later, but personally, I am the fourth son of a tradesman.”

“Ah,” Lorifal said, nodding his understanding. “Your father has his heir and his spare, and your other brother is clergy?”

“Yes,” Gunnar said, “so I joined the military and have been far more successful than I ever dreamed.”

“And you, Bristol?” Lorifal asked.

“I am a first son,” Bristol said self-consciously, “but my father, and his father, and his father, all were soldiers.”

Lorifal had already noticed a certain awkwardness in the giant of a man and surmised that Gunnar and Bristol served each other well as friends. Bristol probably had numerous connections within the imperial army and Gunnar probably made up for some of Bristol's weaknesses that were gradually becoming apparent.

“And you, Dagna?”

Dagna laughed merrily. She seemed in perennial good humor, even under the worst of circumstances. “I hope to write an epic ballad from this adventure.” She nudged Elyara in the ribs.

“And you?”

“Our shaman had a vision, and our tribal chieftain determined that I should go.” Elyara shrugged. “I didn't quite understand any of it.” She turned to Feyden.

“And how about you?”

A grim look settled on Feyden's features and he did not at first reply. As the silence lengthened, several glanced in his direction until finally he spoke. His tone was quietly bitter.

“My people were attacked by Hyr'rok'kin and my youngest sister was killed by them.”

“I'm sorry,” Elyara stammered.

“Don't be,” Feyden said, “I was a child and my days of mourning are long over.”

The group again fell into silence, although now it was heavy and uncomfortable. It was Idonea that broke it.

“And how about you, Raine? Why did you agree to come on this quest?”

The question seemed loaded with significance but Raine's answer was mild, as if the answer were self-evident.

“Because you asked for help.”

That seemed to end the conversation although one question remained unasked. Raine did not think Idonea would answer truthfully, so she did not bother asking her why she had come.

They were descending from one mountain range into a valley which would give them a brief respite before they began ascending through another, steeper set of cliffs. There was a fair-sized village at the base of the mountain and they determined to spend a day in the town before continuing. The band was evenly divided, with the four humans wishing to sleep in real beds at the lodge, and the two elves and Raine wishing to camp on the outskirts of the village. Lorifal determined he would begin drinking at the tavern and wherever he ended up was fine.

Gunnar set about visiting with the village elders, trying to find any news of the Hyr'rok'kin or the empire's response to the growing threat. Elyara sought out the local healer, seeking to trade for herbs or recipes. Bristol followed Idonea about, in his mind protecting her from the lustful looks of the male townfolk, in her mind, annoying her endlessly. She was not interested in any of these bumpkins and could likely fry them from the inside out were they to attempt anything. She thought perhaps she should just sleep with Bristol and get it over with, but was afraid he would then declare his undying love for her and complicate the entire mission.

Much to Idonea's amusement, Dagna went to visit the local temple. Apparently habits of the church, at least those that were easier to maintain than chastity, lingered even after the excommunication. Idonea herself did not care much for the church as they sought to control or exterminate most mages. And black magic was considered a grave offense against the Divine.

Feyden and Raine sat quietly at their campsite, Feyden smoking a long pipe and Raine smoking a short cheroot she had made with the pungent tobacco Feyden had offered. They were quite content, seated in a small patch of sunlight that would soon disappear as the sun dipped below the mountains. Neither was inclined to move or talk, and the silence, broken only by the chirping of birds and the thrum of insects, was comfortable.

A muffled crash drifted across the fields from the general direction of the village. Neither seemed perturbed by the commotion, which was joined by muffled shouts that also drifted their way. Finally, reluctantly, Raine acknowledged the fracas.

“Why am I guessing that's Lorifal?”

Feyden took a deep draw on his pipe. “Because you have actually met the dwarf.”

“Ah,” Raine said, drawing deeply and finishing her own smoke. She ground it into the dirt and rose from her seated position. “I guess I should go check on him.”

Feyden tapped the remaining tobacco from his own pipe, extinguishing it. “I will go, too,” he said without enthusiasm.

They entered the dimly lit tavern, and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust. Lorifal stood in the middle of a circle of men, his fists upraised in defiance. The men surrounding him were battered and bruised, their superior numbers offering them no advantage over the stout little dwarf. The only thing bloodied on Lorifal was his knuckles.

“I tell you it was a Marrow Shard,” he said belligerently, “and killed with a single blow.”

“You're a liar, dwarf,” one man said, “Marrow Shards t’ain't been seen outside the bowels in hundreds of years. And armies can't bring ‘em down.”

Lorifal was seeing double, but he brightened as he caught sight of Raine and Feyden, or in fact, the four of them. Raine pushed her way into the circle and Feyden followed. The striking pair gave the mob pause.

“See, she's right here. Brought down that bastard by taking off his head.”

“Your words plop out like dung from my donkey.”

Lorifal took a swing at the one hurling the insult, one that would have landed solidly had Raine not caught him and redirected the blow. The crowd of men laughed but Raine sought only to soothe the riled dwarf.

“Come now, Lorifal, let's go have a drink.”

Feyden grabbed the other arm and they led him to the bar.

“You're going to have to pay for his damage.”

Lorifal started to protest the barkeep's decree. The others had done as much damage as he. But Raine pulled a few coins from her shirt and flipped them to the man, who gazed at them in astonishment. This would have paid for the entire tavern, not just the few tables and chairs that had been broken. A flask above the bar caught her eye.

“Is that an amber sting that I see?”

The barkeep followed her gaze. “Yes, it is. I must warn you though, lass, it is a dangerous drink.”

All attention was back on the trio, but this time most prominently on the beautiful woman. “Well, if you're concerned for my safety, according to this dwarf I have killed a Marrow Shard. And if you're worried about the condition of your tavern, I believe I just paid for any damage I might do.”

The barkeep shrugged. The worst that would probably happen would be she would spew the drink across his bar, which would be easy enough to clean up. He dusted the bottle off and popped the cork. Feyden eyed the dirty glass the barkeep brought forth.

“That looks none too clean,” he commented.

Raine shrugged. “An amber sting will either kill or cure all ills. There is nothing in between.”

She swirled the amber liquid about the glass, savoring the cinnamon fumes that wafted upward. Then she tossed the glass back, swallowing the entire drink in one gulp. The warmth suffused her head then spread downward, snaking throughout her torso much like desire.

Lorifal roared with delight and grabbed a nearby sconce from the wall. As required by tradition, Raine blew the fumes out, creating a funnel of flame. The temperature in the tavern went up markedly as all cheered. Feyden was watching Raine carefully to make certain she would not suffer any ill effects, but was not really surprised when she downed the drink without harm. She set the glass back down on the bar with satisfaction.

“Maybe I should try one of those,” Lorifal suggested.

“No!” Feyden and Raine said simultaneously. They both grabbed an arm and led him out through the throng that had gone from belligerent to admiring. Amazingly, Raine was still steady on her feet, far steadier than the inebriated dwarf she assisted out the door.

Idonea watched the display from the corner. She, too, had heard the commotion and followed Feyden and Raine in. She was curious to see how the woman would handle the altercation. Most with her skill and fighting prowess would have thrashed the mob. Raine merely defused the situation and moved on, as if anything else would have been beneath her.

It did not surprise her that Raine was able to down the deadly drink, nor did it surprise her she blew the fire out in the great funnel. But what Idonea did note that was missed by all others was the change of expression on Raine's face as she mimicked the dragon's fire. Her eyes, for a moment, were filled with an intense longing and flickered, almost as if they were changing color. Idonea thought perhaps she was imagining things; it was difficult to see in the dim light.

Idonea rose, ignoring the lustful stares of the drunken patrons. Suddenly it seemed uncomfortably hot in the tavern.

Raine was lying with her head on her pack near the flickering fire, enjoying the residual warmth of the amber sting. It left her with the mellowest of feelings and the heat from the flames felt good on her skin. Lorifal lay sprawled nearby, occasionally snorting and snoring in his drunken slumber. Elyara had taken one look at the fallen dwarf and decided to stay at the inn. Lorifal would not be pleasant first thing in the morning.

Feyden leaned against his own pack, gazing up at the stars. “Do you know the legend behind the amber sting?”

Her eyes had drifted closed, and now they opened but slightly. “The one about the dragons and Scinterians? A little. It is but an old myth. A story told to children around the hearth.”

“Hmm,” Feyden said, “sometimes I wonder.”

Raine's eyes drifted back closed. She rolled over onto her side, settling in comfortably. “You should get some sleep,” was all she said.

Chapter 8

First light came far too early and Elyara's plan to avoid Lorifal was in vain. The dwarf was in a foul temper as the small band set out to continue their journey. The sun had moved halfway up the morning sky before he even spoke a word, and that was more of a grunt than anything else. Raine, on the other hand, appeared to suffer no ill effects from the deadly concoction she had consumed. She was mindful of Lorifal's mood, however, and walked quietly next to him, which he found comforting. Dagna hummed a gentle dvergar tune, which also seemed to soothe him.

They were making surprisingly good time considering the roughness of the terrain. They were high above the valley now and they could see fires burning below. Smoke hovered over large blackened swathes of land. Flocks of winged scavengers wheeled about in the sky above what was most likely carnage below. It was not a good sign and weighed heavily on Gunnar. The weight became crushing, however, when they found their primary path blocked by a landslide.

“This is not an accident,” Idonea said.

“No,” Gunnar said in agreement, “this is too fortunate for the Hyr'rok'kin.” He pulled his worn map from his pack

“Smuggler's Breach is too dangerous,” Bristol said. “It is a narrow passage and we will be forced almost single file.”

Lorifal was uneasy as well. “I have been through there. The walls are steep and there are ledges on both sides, perfect for an ambush.”

“Well at least we know what to expect,” Feyden said sardonically, pessimistic at the outcome but seeing little choice. Dagna nodded her agreement.

Gunnar glanced to the smoke hanging over the valley. They were running out of time. He, too, saw little choice. “Turning back will add weeks to our journey.”

Whereas before Raine's opinion had not been solicited and would most likely have been ignored, now both Gunnar and Bristol turned to her. She gazed at the blackened land below, destruction that indicated the diseased horde was spreading very quickly. Smuggler's Breach was not a good option but the alternative was worse. She was reluctant to make the decision for the others; she had no doubt of her own survival, but she was not confident of theirs.

“Lorifal is right. Smuggler's Breach is ideal for an ambush, which is most likely what the Hyr'rok'kin have arranged for us. They will line the ledges with archers then flood the passageway with heavy infantry. The only thing we have in our favor is the passageway is narrow, meaning we cannot be flanked. And there are only so many of them that can squeeze into that space.”

“Can we pick off the archers from a distance?” Feyden asked.

Raine shook her head. “No, the twists and turns of the path make the angles impossible. Which will somewhat work in our favor because it will make hitting us a bit more difficult, even from above. We will have to pick them off as we go.”

“Who is this we?” Bristol demanded, his voice sounding a bit high even to his own ears. “That is a death mission.”

“Yes,” Raine agreed, “which is why I will go first.” She glanced to Feyden, “But I will need someone at my back.”

The elf nodded. “Of course.” He would feel safer with Raine at his back than this so-called imperial knight who was squealing like a young girl. Even Elyara was showing more fortitude than him.

“Feyden and I will go through first, back-to-back. We will move quickly and take out as many of the archers as possible. As we move, the rest of you will stay back until they charge us from the front. There will most likely be a logjam near the center of the pass at its narrowest point, and it is crucial that Feyden and I have destroyed the archers or we will be trapped there. After that, the pass opens up and if we have destroyed the threat from above, we should have a favorable defensive position.”

“Elyara and I can help,” Idonea said, “there are many spells that work at a distance as well as an arrow.”

“Good,” Raine said. “And when the mass comes crushing forward, Lorifal, Gunnar, Dagna, and Bristol will be there to meet them.”

Gunnar thought through the plan. It seemed suicidal, but it was as good as anything that he could come up with. And the fact that the woman was willing to lead the initial assault herself gave him confidence. From what he had seen, if anyone could get them through this pass, it was Raine.

Raine crouched low, creeping forward silently, Feyden at her side. She motioned for those behind her to stop. They had traveled only a short distance into the mountainside, but she could feel the presence of the Hyr'rok'kin, and she could smell them. It was an unmistakable smell to her, a combination of wet, rotted leather, sulfur, the coppery smell of blood, spoiled food, and the foulness of unwashed bodies. Her keen nose picked up another odor, this one far subtler: the smell of corrupted flesh, rotting from the bone. It was the smell of death and it made her frown. She would have preferred another Marrow Shard.

“Are they here?” Feyden whispered.

“Yes,” Raine whispered back. “Look there.”

The ledge above them appeared empty, but there was one undisciplined Shard archer who kept peering over the edge. Perhaps he was the lookout, but he wasn't a very good one.

A smile played about Raine's lips. “Watch this.”

She carefully withdrew her bow and instead of violently snapping the risers into place, she slowly and silently unfolded it. She pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back, took aim, and the next time the Shard's head appeared above the edge, she let it fly. It impaled him through the eye. He gurgled once, then fell forward off the ledge onto the ground below.

There was a commotion above them, some shuffling and the creak of armor, then numerous Shards peered over the ledge.

“We are fortunate they are so stupid,” Feyden said.

“Agreed,” Raine said, “are you ready?”

Feyden took a deep breath, then nodded his head.

“Then let's go.”

Raine stood upright and Feyden pressed his back to hers. Within seconds, the two had unleashed a hail of arrows that unerringly found their mark on the enemies above. It took the Shards a moment to even realize what was happening and in that short time span, twenty of their number had fallen.

Feyden marveled at the skill of the one at his back. Raine did not miss and fired at a rate that did not seem possible. Her movements were a blur, the steady rhythm of her attack broken only by the occasional sharp twist of her wrist which would strike an incoming arrow from the air, snapping the projectile in two. This defensive maneuver was used not only to protect herself but Feyden as well, and he had one of those random, battle-born thoughts that he would ask her to teach him the technique if he lived.

The confusion of the Shards was growing. There were only two below them, vulnerable and exposed, yet they could not seem to land an arrow no matter how many they fired. Those on the forward part of the ledge were picked off like flies, and those designated to back-fill as reinforcements were growing reluctant to move forward. The Shard regiment leaders had to turn their whips on their own troops to keep them in line.

“By the gods,” Lorifal murmured, watching the pair. Feyden's skill was a sight to behold, but he had never seen anything like the blue-eyed demon that was so coolly decimating the Shard army. He was itching to get into the fight.

“Hold,” Gunnar instructed. He, too, was anxious to move forward and was palming the hilt of his sword. But Raine had been very specific in her instructions. They were not to move into the open until the frontal assault revealed itself across the open area and was upon her and Feyden.

“There they are,” Bristol said. As one whose courage was largely determined by those around him, his fortitude had returned watching Raine. He was beginning to believe they might actually survive this course of action.

Raine also saw the movement towards the front of the cave. But when she saw what was barreling towards them, she muttered a dark curse.

Feyden looked up. The Elvish expletive Raine had uttered translated roughly to “the gods have fucked me,” a sentiment he now completely agreed with.

The creatures galloping towards them were not Shards but rather the blood-hound equivalent of Shards. Four-legged with thick spiked hides, they were dumb, blunt-tipped, ambulatory missiles hurtling towards them. It was not the blood hounds themselves that gave Raine pause but rather the speed with which they moved. They were far faster than infantry and were quickly covering the open expanse between them. They would be upon her and Feyden long before the others could move in to give them support. The number of enemies on the ledges above them had thinned considerably and Raine alternated between upper and lower targets. A Shard would fall from the ledge above them and a blood hound would go down in a tumble of flailing limbs. But that did not change the fact that the horde of beasts would soon be upon them.

Feyden was debating going to his sword but a hot wind of magical energy blew past him, staying his hand. A wall of fire appeared between the charging hounds and the pair of archers, and both Raine and Feyden watched hopefully as the fierce flames licked upward. The hope was short-lived, however, as the brutes charged through the inferno and continued unabated, except now they were on fire.

“Well that didn't quite work out,” Raine muttered, and renewed firing at the approaching hell hounds. The only good thing about the attempted spell was that it had created a lot of smoke and confusion, limiting the damage that could be done from above. It was not a tactic she would have used on purpose since it made breathing incredibly difficult and created almost as many problems as it solved. But she would use anything that was given to her in this battle.

She used the wickedly sharp edge of her bow to take out the first wave of hounds, fired a few more arrows and brought down several more, then retracted her bow with a snap and drew her swords. Feyden also drew his sword and took a ready stance, glancing back. The others were sprinting their way but they were not yet close. He and Raine would be engulfed before they could get to them.

A mass hit Feyden in his chest and he went down. Raine was fighting three hell hounds, one whose massive jaws were clamped around her right arm. Her armor kept the razor sharp teeth from penetrating, but the pressure was enormous. She hit the beast square between the eyes with the hilt of her sword, making a sizable indent and knocking him out cold. A single slice of her sword decapitated him. She tried to fight her way towards Feyden, but four more of the beasts blocked her path.

Feyden's sword had been knocked from his grasp and he frantically felt around with his left hand for the blade. His right hand was fully occupied with the throat of the beast atop him, holding the gaping maw inches from his own throat. The beast’s foul breath steamed down upon him as the strength of the monster overcame his own and it pressed inexorably downward.

And then the beast was gone. Feyden had the briefest impression that something much larger than the blood hound had snatched it from him. He staggered to his feet, helped by Raine who handed him his sword. He staggered once more and she held him while fighting with her other hand. He turned to see what had saved him and was astonished by a gigantic wolf, one whose shoulder stood higher than the head of a man. The wolf had a blood hound in his mouth, one which he flung with great force into the rock wall beside him.

By this time, the others had caught up with them and Lorifal leaped into the fray, his battle ax swinging. Idonea had restricted her spells to those perpetrating blunt force since the incineration spell had been less than successful. Gunnar and Bristol swung their greatswords, smashing the beasts down. Dagna used a shortsword and dagger with considerable skill. Elyara had paused at the sight of the wolf king, but his presence had inspired her and she sent a swarm of stinging insects down onto the beasts.

Raine could see the front line of the Shard infantry at the far side of the expanse of the cave. But they seemed reluctant to move. Perhaps it was the fact that their archers had been utterly destroyed, or perhaps it was the fact that Fenrir had appeared and helped decimate the cavalry of hell hounds, but the hesitation grew pronounced, then grew into retreat. The figures at the far side of the cave began to disappear.

Lorifal did not chase them this time. Fenrir loped over to the far side of the cave to ensure they were departing. Raine glanced to Idonea and Elyara.

“I suggest that you two burn all that remains to eliminate any potential necromancy. It was bad enough fighting 'flaming' hell hounds,” she said wryly, “I don't want to fight them as the undead.”

Idonea reddened slightly. The wall of flame had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Raine jogged across the open expanse, weaving in and out of the blood hound corpses. She slowed as she approached Fenrir. Elyara watched curiously as Raine went to one knee before the wolf king, then was astonished to see the king return the bow. She had never heard of deities bowing to anyone. And it was clear there was great affection between the two as the woman took the beast’s great head in her hands. There seemed to be some communication passing between the two, but Elyara was too far away to hear anything. She was greatly disappointed; she would have loved to hear the forest god speak.

“Thank you, my friend,” Raine said.

“It was my pleasure,” Fenrir replied in his deep rumble. He glanced disdainfully at the dead abominations strewn on the field. “I despise the hell hounds more than any other type of Shard.” He turned his wise gaze back to her. “But that which was most powerful on the field today did not attack.”

“I know,” Raine said. “I smelled it. It was very near.”

“First a Marrow Shard, and now…” The great wolf's words drifted off. “Your journey will only get more difficult.”

“Yes. Which only convinces me of its importance.”

The wolf bowed his great head. “I am at your service if you need me.”

“And I am at yours,” Raine replied, “as always.”

The wolf bounded off, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared. The smoke was getting thick in the cave and they were not quite through the pass. The others joined her, Elyara coughing slightly from the smoke.

“We should get going,” Raine said.

They settled just outside the mountain pass on a small plateau. It was still early but they were tired after the fierce battle. Raine's ever-present wolf pack had scouted the immediate area and determined that the Hyr'rok'kin had fully retreated. So they decided to tend their minor wounds and rest for the remainder of the day.

The camp was nearly set up and Lorifal had already sprawled in front of the fire when an enormous shadow passed over the group, blocking out the entire sun. It startled them all, causing Elyara to stumble over her pack. All looked upward, but whatever had created the shadow was already gone, having veered around the mountain.

Actually, all had looked upward except Raine, who merely smiled to herself as she went through her simple belongings. Idonea looked over at her suspiciously. They were close to the meridians.

“Was that a bird?” Bristol asked.

Gunnar examined the now empty sky. “That was far too large for a bird.” He looked over at Raine, having learned to trust her instincts. She appeared completely unconcerned, which reassured him.

“Perhaps it was a harpy,” Dagna suggested. “They are supposed to inhabit this part of the land.”

Elyara did not think it was a harpy. But she, too, trusted Raine's instincts.

Idonea thought to make some additional comment regarding the appropriateness of the “harpy hypothesis,” but held her tongue.

Raine stood up. “I think we are safe here for the moment. I am going to go find some water to cleanse myself.”

Lorifal watched the lithe figure leave. “She sure bathes a lot,” he commented, taking some mead from his pack. She didn't seem that dirty to him.

“You should try it sometime,” Feyden said drily. When Raine returned, he would ask her where she had found water.

Idonea watched the woman's exit with narrowed eyes. She sifted through her things with a degree of agitation. Finally, she stood upright and left the camp in Raine's direction.

“Hmph,” Dagna said, watching the dark-haired beauty leave. And Idonea had taunted her for her interest in Raine. Obviously the mage had sought to discourage her for personal reasons. Feyden watched Idonea's departure as well, taking a long draw on his pipe. It wouldn't matter. Although several in their band were intrigued by the temptress, Raine was not one of them.

Raine picked her way through the sparse forest. The side of the mountain was rocky and only the hardiest vegetation could root deep enough to survive. She could hear a waterfall nearby and the vegetation grew lusher the closer she got to the water. The waterfall had worn a deep groove into the side of the mountain, creating a beautiful circular pool at its base. The sun was at an angle to light the surface of the pond, which was otherwise surrounded on all sides. It was a beautiful, secluded spot and it reminded Raine of the mountain keep where she had met Weynild. She removed her clothing and moved waist deep into the water, dipping beneath the surface to wet her hair. The water was icy cold and a marvelous contrast to the sunbeam filtering down into the cove.

A slight wind accompanied the beating of leathery wings as an immense red dragon glided into the cove from above, hovering for a moment before Raine, then disappearing into a flash of golden light. And then Weynild was there, standing in front of her, holding her, bending slightly to kiss her deeply. One hand was about her waist, one hand cradling the back of her head, and Raine, who fainted at nothing, felt she might swoon.

Weynild pulled back so that she could look at her lover. As she did, the red scaled armor retracted so that she could feel that strong, supple body against her own. The sensation of those perfect breasts pressing against her caused Raine’s control to slip further.

“We are not alone,” Weynild whispered to her.

“I know,” Raine said simply. “Do you wish me to stop?”

Weynild smiled and her white teeth gleamed. “No,” she said, “I don't care. But you must keep your Scinterian markings hidden. That is a secret that must remain so.”

Raine caressed the face that she loved. “Must I keep my eyes hidden?”

The response was adamant. “No, I will never ask you to hide your eyes.”

“Good,” Raine said, her eyes transitioning to a deep purple, “I'm not sure that I could.”

Idonea nearly fell out of the tree she was hiding in. Out of all the secrets she thought this woman might possess, this was the most extraordinary and least expected. She had never seen the eyes of an Arlanian as the people were thought to no longer exist, but the description was so unmistakable from legend she knew instantly how this creature had captivated her mother. And leave it to Weynild to find what was probably the only remaining Arlanian in existence.

Weynild's golden eyes softened to a deeper shade. She led Raine to the shallows and then was on top of her. Her lips were everywhere, her hands tracing the mouth's fiery path. Raine cupped a breast and took it fully in her mouth, torturing the sensitive flesh with her tongue. She turned her attention to the other and Weynild shifted to assist her pursuit, sighing with pleasure. But she was not content to let her lover take control and pinned Raine's hands above her head. Raine watched the look of fleeting concentration pass over Weynild's face, then groaned as she thrust deep inside of her with the appendage she had just created.

“One of these times you're going to have to make me one of those,” Raine said, her hips rising in response as if they had a mind of their own. “So I can return the favor.”

Weynild thrust deeply once more, enjoying the control she was exerting over her indestructible little companion. “I think I might like that,” Weynild said, driving into her, “but not today.”

Weynild's insistent rhythm drove Raine to the brink. Her body moved in perfect union with the powerful strokes of the dragon on top of her. Weynild held her tightly, the restriction to her movement merely increasing both their levels of excitement. The girl writhed beneath her, completely out-of-control, and Weynild had the passing thought she was glad Raine was on her back because it was possible she could not keep her markings hidden.

Idonea watched in horrified fascination. She knew her mother was a lusty creature, as were all dragons. Over the years she had caught sight of Weynild in various trysts, shocked and impressed at the woman's stamina and imagination. Nothing was beyond her, especially with the gift of her shape-shifting and an even more profound gift of utter insouciance. Weynild did exactly as she pleased without regret or shame.

Idonea could not look away. Yes, it was her mother and that fact filled her with a combination of unease and disgust, most directed at herself. But the raw sexuality of the scene was impossible to escape, impossible to turn away from. There were kings who would sacrifice their kingdoms to experience such ecstasy even once.

And then, with a very slow and deliberate movement, without changing her rhythm in the slightest, Weynild raised her head and looked directly into Idonea's eyes.

The look was knowing, malevolent, amused. It communicated things far beyond voyeurism or exhibitionism and this time Idonea did fall from the tree. She fled from the scene. Weynild did not pause but rather thrust deeper into her companion, this thrust finally driving Raine over the edge into climax. Weynild held her tight, allowing only Raine's hips to move which they did with utter abandon. She kissed her, her tongue probing as deeply as the penetration of her lower body. Every ounce of energy was wrung from Raine's body and with one last shudder, she collapsed. She clutched her lover close to her and Weynild buried her face in Raine's hair, all thought of Idonea gone.

The two lie there for a while without moving and at last Weynild shifted her weight and pulled Raine to her side. She did not speak but rather silently enjoyed the slowing of Raine's breath and heartbeat as she recovered. Raine took a deep, satisfied breath, then propped herself up on her elbow.

“Well that was interesting.”

Weynild smiled and traced her cheekbone. “You continue to amaze me.”

Raine began to trace the outline of Weynild's ribs, coming playfully close to her breasts as she did so. She then traced the lean muscles of her abdomen, also coming tortuously close to the softness between her legs. Weynild watched her insatiable lover with amusement, but then sobered for a moment.

“Before we continue,” she said, grasping Raine's exploring fingers in her own, “I wish to speak of your last battle.”

Raine obediently paused her exploration. “You mean the Reaper Shard.”

Weynild nodded. It did not surprise her that Raine had sensed the creature's presence.

“It was strange it did not attack,” Raine said, musing on the sudden end to the battle.

“Not to me,” Weynild said. “I believe it was there to scout your party, or more specifically, to scout you. And whoever summoned the creature has now seen you through its eyes.”

Raine thought back to the one time she had seen a Reaper Shard up close. They were hideous creatures, living half in this world and half in the underworld, smelling of death and corrupted flesh. It took an immensely powerful being to summon them and it led credence to Weynild's belief that someone or something was holding open the gate to the underworld.

Raine's hand gently disentangled itself from Weynild's and she returned to her exploring. “It may have seen me,” she said, “but it has no idea who or what I am.”

This time Weynild did not stop the hand and it fluttered downward to settle between her legs, causing a sharp intake of breath. She would not delay Raine's gently insistent probing any further; frankly, it just felt too marvelous. But she would say one last thing.

“It may not know you now, but you will see the creature again, and possibly worse as the enemy seeks to learn who you are.”

“Well then,” Raine said, her mouth moving to follow her hand, “I guess I will just have to deal with that when it comes.” Dark eyelashes covered deep violet eyes as she went lower. “That's a good approach in all things.”

Idonea tried to appear composed as she entered the campsite, but it was difficult. The vivid, sexual scene was branded on her mind, but even more so was the look in Weynild's eyes as she revealed she knew full well that Idonea was there. Her mother was a monster, an unfairly beautiful, seductive monster who had found a priceless treasure. Idonea had to admit that, out of the chaotic flux of her emotions, jealousy was preeminent.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Dagna said, mockingly repeating Idonea's previous taunt directed at her.

“That and so much more,” Idonea said, her own tone slightly mocking with a tinge of bitterness. She nearly tripped over Lorifal, who was sprawled sleeping. She sat down heavily in front of the fire, haunted by a pair of violet eyes that saw only her mother. Her expression grew distant as she thought about the ramifications of what she had seen.

The fact that Raine was Arlanian brought more questions than answers. True, it did explain why she was so long-lived. Arlanians were rumored to live centuries, at least those who were cared for and protected, and not violated to death. It also explained her mother's fixation on the woman as Arlanians were known to be extraordinary lovers, more desirable than any other creature.

Idonea's eyes narrowed. And that was the problem. Arlanians were not known to be good fighters. In fact, they lacked any battlefield prowess whatsoever which led to the enslavement of their people and ultimately their demise. It did not seem possible that any Arlanian could possess the skills of a warrior, let alone the near-supernatural skill that Raine possessed. Something was just not right. She wondered if Weynild was augmenting Raine's abilities with magic, but that did not seem probable, either, as she sensed no magic about Raine whatsoever. And even that fact was strange.

Feyden watched the conflicting emotions pass over Idonea's face, taking a deep draw on his pipe. He was curious how Idonea knew Raine. It was clear when Raine had joined their band that Idonea knew little of the woman, and she had explained off-handedly that Raine had come “recommended” to her. There was an interesting tension between the two, or at least on Idonea's side. Raine did not seem much bothered by anything and the barbs tossed her way did not stick, or in fact even brush her skin.

Elyara approached him with a poultice. He had an ugly wound on his arm where the blood hound had knocked his sword from him before taking him to the ground. It was not deep, but all wounds from the Hyr'rok'kin quickly grew infected and could kill as surely as a death blow on the battle field. Elyara's skill with herbal remedies was invaluable. She had mixed a potion and applied it directly after the battle, and had changed the dressing every few hours since. Feyden was grateful. He had been skeptical of Elyara's worth to the band, but he was beginning to see the wisdom of her inclusion.

“I think Dagna had a bit of a wound on her shoulder,” Feyden said, nodding off to the small tent at the edge of the plateau. “She would probably welcome your skill.”

Elyara blushed profusely. Upon realizing that Raine was completely unobtainable, her interest had shifted to the buxom bard. She nodded to Feyden, appreciative of his subtle encouragement. Even Idonea's derisive snort did not affect her as she made her way to the shadows. Lorifal chose that moment to let loose a great wind from his backside, nearly waking himself, and Feyden laughed quietly to himself.

Raine reappeared at first light, looking remarkably refreshed for someone who had not slept at all. She gave Idonea a single look from beneath lowered brows, a look as knowing as Weynild's. It told Idonea that she knew she had been watched, that she knew that Idonea was now aware of her Arlanian ancestry, and that she cared nothing about either. She set off jauntily, whistling a little tune.

The band was approaching flatter lands, more forest than mountains. Lorifal was happy because it meant he would soon be on horseback and not trying to keep up with his long-legged companions. They would only be walking for another day or so.

Gunnar and Bristol led the band, as usual. Dagna, Lorifal, and Elyara generally walked in the middle, and Raine brought up the rear. She was content with this arrangement because she could protect their rear flank and her lycan scouts were actually far ahead of the two knights. Idonea moved about depending on her mood, and today her mood was testy. She brought herself abreast of Dagna, well within ear-shot of Raine.

“So, bard, since you are a historian of sorts, who do you think were the most beautiful creatures in all of history?”

Dagna was surprised that Idonea addressed her. They talked little, especially of such frivolous matters. And it seemed there was something beneath the surface of Idonea's question. But it also happened to be one of her favorite subjects, being such a romantic at heart, so she seriously pondered her response.

“Well, the Alfar of course. They are known for their beauty and grace. And there are the sprites, those lovely little fairies that hover about the ponds in the forest. Oh,” Dagna exclaimed, “and don’t forget the Ha’kan.”

“I was thinking of a more tragic race,” Idonea said, “one known for both beauty and a dangerous desirability.”

“Ah,” Dagna said sadly, “you are referring to the Arlanians.”

“Yes,” Idonea said, glancing over her shoulder, “that is who I was thinking of.”

“I don't know that the Arlanians ever actually existed,” Dagna said, “although there is considerable historical record to indicate they did. But theirs is a very sad tale.”

Lorifal was interested in all things historical, seemingly at odds with his propensity towards all things bacchanal. But like all dwarves, the past, especially that of his ancestors, was greatly treasured. He had never heard of this particular myth.

“Who were the Arlanians?” he asked.

Dagna was happy to share the tales of her craft. “The Arlanians were the most beautiful creatures in all the world. Mostly dark-haired, they had the most incredible violet eyes, a color that would make the flowers envious. They were supposedly renowned for their artistic and musical contributions. It is said that they were neither male nor female until they came of age, adding to the gentleness of both sexes.”

“And what happened to them?” Lorifal asked curiously.

“Legend has it that the Arlanians lived joyfully and peacefully while their society was self-contained and undiscovered. But once found by others, they were destroyed.”

“That doesn't make sense. Why?” Lorifal asked.

Dagna's expression grew sad. “It is said they were so desired that they were horribly exploited, forced into the most awful and degrading sexual slavery. Their numbers quickly dwindled, and when there were but a handful left, wars were fought to possess them.”

A large “thwack” caused Feyden to turn his head. Raine had hurled a stone so skillfully and with such force it removed a branch from a tree. She seemed quite expressionless at the moment. But he was interested in Dagna's tale and returned his attention to the bard.

“Hmm,” Idonea said thoughtfully. “But have you ever heard of them being skilled at warfare?”

Her head shook emphatically. “No,” Dagna said, “that was the problem. They were helpless, totally unable to protect themselves. It really was quite tragic.”

The band settled into silence, a silence that was broken by Raine who seemed to playfully pose a hypothetical question.

“So out of all of history, and all your knowledge of the different races and creatures, who do you think would make the best companion for an Arlanian?”

Dagna liked this question. “Well, another Arlanian, of course. And after that, me.”

This brought chuckles all around and lightened the mood.

“But beyond that,” Raine persisted, “out of all the creatures that you are familiar with, what would be the most extraordinary pairing?”

“Would the Arlanian have to survive?” Dagna asked doubtfully.

“Say it is a particularly indestructible Arlanian who could pair with anyone,” she said, stretching the hypothetical to its limits. “Who would make the best mate?”

Dagna liked this version of the question even more. “Well there are the various demi-gods, the high elves, and the Vanir.” She paused, deep in thought. “No, wait! I have it!”

Idonea did not like the turn of this conversation.

“A dragon!” Dagna exclaimed. “A dragon would be perfect!”

“A dragon?” Raine asked innocently, “and why is that?”

“By the Divine!” Dagna said, “Dragons are insatiable and known for their sexual skill and seduction, not to mention their ability to change form. Such a pairing, if the Arlanian could survive, would be epic.”

“Epic,” Raine said thoughtfully, savoring the word, “epic.”

This fairytale coupling occupied everyone's thoughts with an intensity proportional to their imagination. With the exception of Raine and Idonea, of course, who needed no imagination whatsoever to envision the act.

Chapter 9

Lorifal was at last on his horse. His expression was joyful as he sat at ease on the beast's back. When they reached the edge of the forest and the rest dismounted, he allowed his horse to pick its way through the thick undergrowth. Even with his short stature, he had to duck here and there to avoid low-hanging branches, but he didn't care. He wasn't walking any further.

Raine patted the flank of her steed. Where the others led their beasts by the reins through the trees, she allowed hers to trot along at her side. The beast was a fiery stallion and she had gravitated towards him on sight, but he was content to amble along next to her without restraint.

“Elyara,” Feyden asked, “is it your people that inhabit this forest?”

“No,” Elyara replied, “my clan is westward, deeper into the forest. I do not know the wood elves that live here.”

“That is unfortunate,” Feyden said with a sigh.

“Yes,” Raine replied, “that would have made things a lot easier.”

Elyara glanced from one to the other. Feyden was of the Alfar, a people that lived on the ledges of Mount Alfheim. Although the high elves were known to disdain other races, they did engage in barter and trade with humans and dwarves. This was in stark contrast to the wood elves who were a secretive lot that kept to themselves.

“Why would it have made things easier?” Elyara asked, concerned.

“Because we are surrounded,” Raine responded.

Lorifal's horse snorted, then reared, tossing the dwarf skyward. Raine watched his trajectory, trying to maneuver beneath him, and timed it perfectly. She caught him, stifling a groan as she broke his fall and stopped his full weight. A rare smile appeared on Feyden's face; it looked as if Raine were carrying Lorifal across the threshold.

“Really you two? This is so sudden.”

Raine grunted with the exertion. “I'm not sure I can get 'my love' through the door. By the Divine you are heavy.”

Lorifal came to his senses and struggled to free himself, and Raine set him down. The skin across his cheeks and nose was a fiery red. “Thank you,” he said gruffly, brushing himself off. It would have hurt less, at least in terms of pride, to have fallen on his ass.

The clang of steel was loud as Gunnar slipped his sword from its scabbard.

“Hold,” Raine commanded. “Let's not fight unless need be.”

The first wood elf slipped from the forest. He was dressed in forest green clothing that contrasted with his blond hair and light gray eyes. Those eyes sized up the group.

“At least one of you has a degree of wisdom,” the elf said as thirty more slipped from the shadows. “Because you are indeed surrounded.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Bristol demanded.

The elf glanced at him disdainfully. “You have the nerve to ask that? You, who are trespassing on our land?” The elf looked to Feyden, dismissing him, then to Elyara. His eyes narrowed as he assessed her. “I don't know you.”

“I am from the Halvor to the west,” Elyara said. “We wish only to pass peacefully through your land.”

“Under normal circumstances, that would not be allowed.” He gave another arrogant glance that encompassed the group. “Under normal circumstances we probably would have already killed you. But Y'arren has requested to see you, something that is unusual under any circumstance.” His tone did not brook argument. “You will follow us.”

Gunnar looked to Raine, and she simply shrugged. The smaller group, surrounded by the much larger group, fell in behind the elf. All appeared uneasy as their captors kept their weapons at a ready position. Lorifal was a bit of a laggard and an elf poked his sword into Lorifal's side, causing him to yelp in pain and anger. Raine slowed her pace slightly, looking over to the young elf warrior.

“I suggest you not do that,” she said mildly.

Her tone was calm, her expression tranquil, yet somehow it was the most menacing thing the young elf had ever heard. He slowed so that his sword tip no longer wavered near any of them. Feyden smiled to himself.

It was not long before the sounds of a fair-sized camp could be heard and soon the smoke from campfires drifted on the slight breeze. They entered a large clearing at the base of a hilly area, one that was filled with tents and make-shift structures. Although the wood elves traveled lightly and camped with the goal that they could disappear into the forest at a moment's notice, this seemed a fairly permanent settlement. A nearby blacksmith pounded steel on an anvil and several vendors had large displays with fruits and meats available. Artwork was carved into rock pillars and towering wooden totems dotted the clearing. Their entrance drew a great deal of attention as activity slowed, then halted as the community of wood elves stared.

“Your people aren't cannibals, are they?” Lorifal whispered to Elyara.

Feyden snorted. “We will give you up first if they are. Should satisfy the lot of them.”

There was a cave at the base of the mountain and the number of totems increased as they approached. The artwork on the rock was elaborate, intricate, and very, very old.

“Wait,” the blond elf commanded, and the group stopped obediently in front of the cave.

Silence descended on the settlement. Even the clank of the hammer and anvil had ceased. A few birds chirped off in the distance. The tension grew and Lorifal shifted uneasily. A bead of sweat ran down his back, making him itch. An insect buzzed about his head, and in frustration, he swatted at it.

The flitting of the arrow through the air was so sudden it was barely comprehended before reacted to. A fidgety young elf had accidentally loosed the arrow at the dwarf upon his sudden movement. It was completely unintentional and he gazed in horror before his eyes could grasp the end result.

The arrow had not struck its target but rather was being held in the palm of the blue-eyed woman, her arm extended, her head having not budged a whit in order to stop its flight. Raine had caught the arrow from the corner of her eye and snatched the missile from the sky before it could pass her. Lorifal swallowed hard staring at the point of the arrow which would have pierced him through the eye.

The circle of guardian elves took one large step backward, and all weapons, which before had been trained on the group as a whole, now were trained entirely on Raine.

Feyden chuckled softly. “It won't help,” he told them.

Fortunately, some commotion at the entrance to the cave distracted everyone. Two older female elves, both dressed in elaborate robes, exited from the darkness. They appeared to be seidr, sorceresses, or perhaps priestesses or some combination of both. They were greeted with respect but the assembly still had an air of expectation. The two attendants stopped, awaiting the one that followed them.

A tiny, wizened old elf came from the shadows. She was old, old even for the Elvish who could live for a thousand years. Her skin was wrinkled, her hair was white, but her green eyes shone like emeralds from that craggy, lined face. She supported her weight on a gnarled wooden staff carved with filigree. Her robes were simpler than her attendants yet beautifully mystic, woven with ancient, arcane symbols, the glyphs of the natural world. The vibrant green of her cloak set off her white hair and green eyes in a magnificent and intimidating way.

Y'arren took the measure of each in the band. Her eyes settled on the two knights first. They were typical sons of men, brash, head-strong with little respect for the old ways due to their short life-spans, but remarkably brave despite that fact. Her green eyes moved to the bard. Lusty but soft-hearted, a romantic, but a strong one. Y'arren turned to the high elf. Handsome, taciturn, a little cynical, but deeply noble at his core. She looked upon Lorifal. The dwarf was unpolished, a bit crude, but loyal and fearless. Her eyes lingered on Elyara. One of her kind, talented, but always tempted to play with the dark side of magic.

Y'arren turned to Idonea and her eyes lingered even longer. Mixed blood in this one. Power. Ambition. Dark magic. And an uncertain path ahead of her.

Each member of the band stood quietly under the ancient elf's scrutiny. And finally, the tiny wizened creature turned her attention to the last member of the band.

“Raine,” the high priestess said with obvious pleasure.

Raine stepped forward, all astonished eyes upon her, an expression of quiet joy and respect on her fine features.

“Y'arren'ikad'qeri,” she said, using the revered one's full title. She went to a knee, not so much in obeisance but rather to get down to eye-level with the diminutive creature. “May warmth find you in winter and the cool breeze in summer.”

Raine spoke in flawless Elvish, much to the surprise of everyone present, including her two elven companions. But the next conversation would shock them even more.

“No,” Y'arren said, “We will speak in the ancient tongue.”

“As you wish, so it will be,” Raine replied, switching to the archaic language which no one could understand, not even the two attending the high priestess.

The language was slow, lyrical, elaborate, and exotic. There were parts of it that seemed familiar to those straining to decipher it. But it pre-dated their current language by thousands of years and was all but forgotten, except for, apparently, by the two in front of them. And most would be stunned to know that Raine had learned it from Y'arren.

Y'arren examined the beautiful creature in front of her. Beautiful inside. Beautiful outside. A slow smile stretched the corner of her mouth as she placed her hand on Raine's chest over her heart.

“You carry another here.”

Raine smiled, her calm joy radiating outward as Y'arren absorbed the energy from the contact. She was pleased with the images that filled her mind.

“Ah, that explains why we have had so few reports of slaughter and rapine of late.”

“I've been keeping her busy,” Raine said, laughing.

“A perfect match,” Y'arren said with satisfaction.

Raine stood, and Y'arren turned to address the assembly, now speaking the common language that everyone understood.

“These are our guests. You will treat them with hospitality.” She turned to Raine once more. “I would speak with you this evening, then you may depart on the morrow.”

Raine bowed low. “Of course. Thank you for your kindness.”

Whereas before the band had been looked at with disdain and distrust, now they were looked upon with uncertainty and curiosity. Dagna particularly garnered a good deal of attention because most elven women were small and delicate, not generously endowed as was she. Elyara was happy to blend in with a group of healers and alchemists, and Feyden and Lorifal began discussing the various merits of weaponry with the smith. They were joined by Bristol and Gunnar who, uncomfortable at first, quickly fell into the conversation about swords and shields. Even Idonea was somewhat sociable as she was fascinated by the arcane markings on the surrounding architecture and found a smitten young scribe who was willing to answer her every question.

Raine, however, garnered the majority of attention, and probably would have even without the extraordinary recognition bestowed upon her by the greatly revered high priestess. Many apparently forgot that she spoke both Elvish and the more ancient form of their tongue that they didn't even know. They loudly speculated that she must have some elven blood in her due to her angelic beauty. There was also much talk of the spectacular feat with the arrow, and much speculation on magical abilities.

Ignoring the attention, Raine found a grindstone and sought the opportunity to see to her weapons. She methodically sharpened each sword and dagger one by one, and the elvish warriors gaped as the number of weapons she removed from her person seemed to increase without end. She then removed her bow, snapped it outward, and began to sharpen the melee edge. This caused a great deal of consternation because no one had ever seen a collapsible bow, let alone one that required sharpening.

When finished, Raine set out for a quick hunt, joined by Feyden and a few of the wood elves. The wood elves were highly skilled at hunting and the group brought down several deer, some hares, and even one large boar. When they returned to the settlement, the food was consolidated and several elven chefs set about to prepare the evening meal. The resulting stew was delicious, accompanied by a honeyed brew that brought relaxation to everyone. The camp minstrel began to play his lute and Dagna joined his performance, much to the merriment of everyone.

Raine leaned back on her pack, watching the merry scene, and soon felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. One of Y'arren's attendants was there, silently gesturing for Raine to follow her. Raine rose quietly and slipped away from the assembly unnoticed.

A warm glow emanated from the cave in the side of the mountain, bathing the steps in soft light. When Raine entered the cavern, she was greeted by dozens of candles that burned brightly while giving off a wonderful scent of sandalwood. Y'arren sat in the center of the circle of light on a pile of soft furs, and Raine took a seat near her as the attendant silently bowed out of the room.

A look of pleasure softened the wizened face of Y'arren. “It is good to see you so happy.”

“Well I am not completely happy as I am separated from my love, but it is necessary.”

“Yes,” Y'arren replied, nodding sagely. “I had feared you would never find a suitable match, being the offspring of two such disparate people. But now I begin to understand the ebb and flow of purpose in your life.”

“What do you mean by that?” Raine asked curiously.

“I think had you been purely Scinterian, you would have become Talan's ally, but not her lover. The fact that you are also Arlanian made the romantic bond inevitable, and that will have profound consequences.”

“What do you mean?” Raine said, still not understanding.

“You are now the Dragon's Lover,” Y'arren said, speaking the last two words in the ancient tongue as if the phrase were a title.

This meant nothing to Raine. “Dragon's Lover? You say that as if it has some significance.”

Y'arren breathed deeply of the sandalwood scent around her. “Many ancient stories are allegories, myths without true manifestations. Some are meant as warnings, some as guidelines for behavior. Some are merely cultural artifacts from the Old Times.”

“And others?” Raine prompted her.

“Others are prophecies.”

“And what particular prophecy would you be referring to?” Raine said, furrowing her brow.

Y'arren shifted on her pile of furs. “There is a very ancient saying that when the end of the world approaches, only the Dragon's Lover stands between life and total destruction. It is very lyric and obscure, but the truest translation is the Dragon’s Lover, felled by the closest of allies, carries into death without dying that which saves all worlds. There is a final line to the poem, but it has proven too difficult to translate.”

“Really?” Raine said, “It specifically used the phrase 'Dragon's Lover?’ And you think that refers to me?”

The wizened expression darkened. “I do, my dear. Although dragons are a lusty lot and there are tens of thousands who theoretically could fit such a description, there is only one that is actually bound to a dragon. And only one like you.”

“Does Weynild know this?” Raine asked, troubled.

“It is likely Talan knows of this prophecy. And she may have realized its relevance as your bond has strengthened. But given the great love she has for you, I believe had she known its significance early on, she would have fled from you and spared you that fate.”

“I would not have let her flee,” Raine said darkly.

Y'arren smiled. “I know my dear. And she would not have escaped you. Not even with her great skill.”

Raine sighed, and with the Scinterian pragmatism that ruled her life, shrugged her shoulders. “Well, destiny is destiny. I can flee from fate, but I will only meet it on the road I took to avoid it, probably under less favorable circumstances. You cannot run from it, you cannot run to it, you can only meander your way until fate tires of waiting and sweeps you from your feet. You may think you can control your destiny, but none of us influences it in any way.”

“You are wise even beyond your advanced years,” Y'arren said, “although you are still a youngster to me.” She raised an eyebrow. “And I imagine you are quite a youngster to Talan as well.”

A smile stole its way back on to Raine's face, and the somber mood lightened. “I have never had much of an attraction to anyone. But apparently I like older women.” She paused, and the smile grew larger. “As long as they are also dragons.”

Chapter 10

Although their entry into the elven camp had been less than auspicious, the band left the clan with great reluctance. The short respite from their journey had been wonderful for all. Y'arren had appeared once more, highlighting the importance of their quest by bestowing her most profound blessing on them. The travelers then departed, picking their way through the thick forest.

It was two days before they made it to the flat plain area and Lorifal was once again happy to be on his horse. Although the open land made travel far easier, the open sky above made Gunnar nervous, as did the wide swathes of land around them. Although they could see for miles in every direction, there was no place to hide or even flee to if they were attacked.

They passed blackened, diseased areas where roots had crawled to the surface as if trying to escape, their twisted, tortured positions bespeaking the agony of their attempt. These stretches of land looked like scars on the countryside, filled with dead wildlife, dead plant life, dead everything. Occasionally, a mortally wounded animal or bird could be found limping along the blackened earth and Raine would dispatch these quickly, her blue eyes dark with sadness and her jaw clenched.

Elyara noticed that Raine began to look to the sky with increasing frequency, and when she followed her gaze she saw the gigantic hawk that she had seen before.

“Is there a story behind the hawk?” Elyara asked, “Like the one behind the wolves?”

Raine's eyes again went skyward, and she seemed preoccupied. “Yes,” she said, “it's somewhat similar. Baby bird. Rescued from certain death. Raised to adulthood. Taught to fly. Turns out it is one of Freyja's children. I have the most profound luck that way. But we really don't have time for the full story right now.”

“What is that?” Feyden said, squinting towards the horizon. It looked at first like a storm front, but it was too low to the ground and the sky above it was clear. He realized it was a cloud of dust.

Gunnar felt a stab of fear. “We are exposed. There is no place to hide here. No cover.”

Raine looked around them. There really was nothing. Even on their horses they could not outrun the approaching horde. And as the cloud of dust spread across the entire horizon, she realized the far edges were increasing their speed, meaning the approaching army was going to flank them, then surround them. She dismounted, thinking furiously.

“Elyara, your skill is with the natural world. The soil here is soft and sandy. Can you create a wall from it? One about five feet tall so that we can see over it?” She glanced to Lorifal, “Well, so most of us can see over it,” she amended. “But make it as long as possible given your abilities, but not so long that it strains your power. I'm going to need you to maintain it throughout the skirmish.”

“Skirmish?” Bristol fairly squealed, “Skirmish? This is going to be a slaughter. And what good is a wall going to do?”

Raine ignored him and continued to address Elyara. “Make the wall slightly curved so that it bends around us like a shield and will deflect the enemy as we move forward.”

“But how will we move forward with the wall in front of us?” Gunnar asked.

“Because the wall's going to move with us.” Raine turned to Idonea. “I know how powerful you are,” she said quietly, “and I know your skills are very opposite those of Elyara's. So I need you to bring this wall to life. Nothing fancy, just give it legs. Short, stout legs every ten paces or so along its length, enough that it can march slowly forward.”

Idonea pursed her lips. It was an interesting request. That was one of the fascinating aspects of magic; sometimes it wasn't so much the degree of power but the degree of creativity used in manipulating it. And this was quite a creative application. Although there were many far more elaborate spells or incantations that could be cast, all would require enormous magical energy, exhausting both her and Elyara. This one was quite simple and could likely be sustained throughout the battle.

“Yes,” she said, “I can do that.”

“Good,” Raine said. “Feyden, you and I will be at the front with our bows. Gunnar, Bristol, and Dagna, you will be behind us. The wall is not meant to stop the Hyr'rok'kin, only slow them down. So if they get past Feyden and me, you will take care of them.”

Gunnar and Dagna nodded vigorously, and Bristol far more slowly.

“And me?” Lorifal asked.

“We could make the wall a complete circle, but I think it will move with greater ease and blunt the frontal assault more if it is shaped like a wedge or a shield. It is your job to take care of our rear flank, which will be exposed.”

A smile crept across the dwarf's face as he gripped his battle ax. “Clean up. I like it.”

“If we do end up being flanked,” Raine said, turning back to Elyara. “Gradually close the wall into a circle and close it if need be. At that point,” she continued, now addressing Idonea, “just drop the wall in place and we will fight from there.” She looked around at her companions. “Does everyone understand their role?”

Somber faces greeted her, but all nodded. The cloud of dust was getting closer and the little black outlines of individual soldiers could be seen. Raine spoke a few words into the ear of her stallion, then gently swatted his flank. He took off in the opposite direction of the cloud of dust, followed by the other horses. Bristol gargled, nearly choking in fear and indignation. Raine had just eliminated their only means of escape.

“Where do you want Idonea and me to stand?” Elyara asked.

“You may stand wherever you feel most comfortable,” Raine replied, “and the most safe.”

It did not take Elyara half a second to decide where she was standing, which was directly behind Raine. And as much as it pained Idonea to admit, that was exactly where she was going to stand as well.

“Are we ready?” Raine asked, gauging the approaching dust. They were getting very close, but she did not want to strain Elyara and Idonea beyond their limits. But it was time. She nodded to Elyara.

“Go ahead.”

A determined look settled upon Elyara's delicate features. She spoke a few ancient words, held her hands out wide, and concentrated with all her might.

At first nothing happened. Then the ground began to quiver and shake. A split in the earth in front of them slithered through the dirt like a snake, then straightened with a snap and the oddest precision. The earth erupted upwards, flowing like thick water, quivering gelatinously, then solidifying into a mass. The mass was uneven, twisting, turning, then again solidified with that odd precision into a wall. The wall stretched outward in both directions, then curved about the group.

Raine eyed the magical structure with appreciation. “Perfect,” she said. “Now it's your turn, Idonea.”

Idonea would never say it aloud, but the wall impressed her. So she rose to the occasion, spoke her own arcane words of dark magic, and brought the wall to life.

It was an awe-inspiring sight and probably would have been much more enjoyable had not the Hyr'rok'kin army been bearing down upon them. But the wall began to rise, appearing for an instant almost as if it were levitating. But the illusion resolved itself as it became apparent the wall was not floating, but rather was getting to its feet on its newly sprouted legs. The legs themselves were a sight to behold, not mere appendages but vicious, spiked limbs that would inflict damage with every forward step.

“Nice touch,” Raine murmured.

“Thank you,” Idonea said, stabilizing the spell, then commanding it to move. The wall took one step, then another, then began to slowly move forward.

“By the Divine,” Dagna said, “what an incredible sight. We might actually survive this.”

“We will more than survive this,” Raine said, her tone dark but confident. “We are going to destroy this army.”

That was an unlikely scenario, Feyden thought as he took his place behind the wall. The numbers bearing down on them were like stars in the sky. Even with his extraordinary faith in Raine, he did not see how they could come out of this. Still, he thought, as he turned to the beauty at this side, there was something about her that inspired confidence. She had a look of grim anticipation on her face, as if what she was about to face brought her great joy, as if some part of her was born to live on a battlefield and came to life only under those circumstances.

“Want to wager I can hit one from here?”

“I'm not inclined to bet against you, but…”

The distance between them and the Hyr'rok'kin was much farther than the Shard scout she had taken down before. It was not even close to Feyden's range.

Raine snapped the bow outward into place with a violent twist. She removed a long arrow from her back, notched it, and eyed the rapidly approaching line. The figures were still tiny and could barely be seen in the dust. She had already taken note of the wind speed and direction, negligible under most circumstances but significant at this distance. She focused, breathed in, breathed out, and let the arrow fly.

The missile could not be tracked because it was too great a distance, but the outcome was clear. A tiny figure went down in a tumble of limbs, taking out several more tiny figures around him. The effect was also clear as the line slowed to a crawl, then came to a complete a stop. The tiny, black figures milled about uncertainly.

Raine was already notching another arrow, and within seconds, another tiny figure grabbed its chest and went down. She began methodically picking off Hyr'rok'kin one-by-one, moving and firing in a constant rhythm as she kept pace with the wall. Feyden looked back to Dagna.

“She's going to need your arrows.”

Dagna handed her entire supply to Feyden, as did Gunnar and Bristol. Idonea took that opportunity to murmur a comment to Raine, unheard by the others.

“If you fuck as well as you kill, it's no wonder my mother is so enamored with you.”

Raine grinned, pausing not at all. She notched another arrow, took aim, and another figure went down.

“Actually,” she replied, “fucking and killing are the two things I do best, and fortunately both excite your mother.”

Idonea just shook her head, for once more amused by the answer than disgusted.

The front line of the enemy began to move once more, whipped from behind by their superiors. But the advance seemed more chaotic now, less organized, less certain. Soon they were within Feyden's range and he began firing just as methodically as Raine. By the time he could see the blood red eyes of the beasts, he estimated they had taken down more than five score. But this was a huge force, much larger than any they had faced before and one designed to end their journey. Some arrows did come their way, but Shard archers were not known for their accuracy, especially when they were moving. There seemed very little strategy in this attack but rather it was a straight-forward, brutal frontal assault meant to succeed by overwhelming force. And what arrows did make their way into their small enclosure either met the shields of those behind them or were swatted from the air with a twist of Raine's wrist.

As the army neared, the Plague-Riders came into view, gigantic bear-like creatures that Shards rode like horses. They were hideous, with great gaping maws filled with jagged teeth. Their hides were as diseased and pock-marked as the Hyr'rok'kin. They snapped at their riders, they snapped at the infantry, they snapped at anything that was in range of their massive jaws. They were not known for endurance, but like the bear, could run dangerously fast over short distances.

Raine did not see any Marrow Shards, of which she was glad. But there was something worse she was looking for, and thankfully she did not see it or smell it yet.

The first Shards struck the wall and Raine braced. Both Elyara and Idonea staggered as if they themselves had been hit, but the wall held and with little more than a stutter step, it kept marching forward. Raine kept firing, pleased with the mages. The Shards came over the wall, blood and phlegm dripping from their mouths, and for every two that she took down, one would get past only to be cut down by those behind her. Elyara and Idonea were pressed close behind her and Feyden, and their constant stream of arrows created a funnel of protection for them. Dagna, Bristol, and Gunnar guarded the edges of this funnel, cutting down everything that came their way. Lorifal stood in the rear, smashing anything that was left.

The army was starting to swarm around them and Elyara slowly began to close the wall. It was becoming more elliptical than circular in order to protect their flanks, and it was more like a wedge than a shield in order to keep its forward progress. But the wall was slowing due to the sheer number of Shards throwing themselves against it. Lorifal was getting overwhelmed with the Shards flowing around it, so Dagna turned to aid him.

Idonea was having difficulty keeping the wall moving. The spell she was casting was not particularly difficult because she was not actually bringing the earth to life but rather was simply animating inanimate material. So she was acting less a god and more a puppet master at the moment. Because of this, she felt she could add to the spell without completely draining her power. Spiked arms sprang from the wall, slithering outward like tentacles, and the arms began to smash, impale, and strangle the Hyr'rok'kin attempting to crawl over the wall.

The arms were a glorious addition but Raine was concerned that Idonea would grow tired. She could see that Elyara was beginning to fade as well. A quick assessment of her surroundings told her it was time to go to her sword, and she retracted her bow. She drew the shorter double swords because of the close quarters and began slicing through everything around her. She glanced to the sky, saw what appeared to be a dark cloud, and grinned. Feyden saw the flash of her white teeth in the haze of dirt and blood and followed her gaze.

A cloud appeared to be diving toward them. At first Feyden could not fathom what the strange formation might be, then began to see the individual parts that made up the whole.

It was a gigantic flock of birds. Large birds. Birds of prey.

The hawks strafed down over the endangered rear flank of the party, some at so great a speed and angle that when they struck, they took the monstrous attackers to the ground. Others skimmed over the tops, their razor sharp talons slicing wounds through heads and shoulders.

An enormous hawk took out a Plague-Rider and the Shard on its back, pinning the Shard to the ground. The magnificent raptor turned to Raine, who was yelling something to it in a language Feyden had never heard. Raine was also motioning, pointing to her own eyes, and the raptor gave a piercing cry of acknowledgment, one heard easily above the din of battle. The raptor, and all others, began plucking the eyes from the Shards, the simplest and most effective way of rendering them helpless. The newly blinded combatants screamed in pain and fear, swinging their axes about and endangering their own comrades far more than the small band tightly ensconced inside the wall.

Feyden felt giddy. Not only might they survive this, they were slaughtering this army from what had been an exposed and indefensible position on the plain. If they could beat the Hyr'rok'kin here and in Smuggler's Breach, they could beat them anywhere.

Raine, too, was starting to feel a cautious hope. Although still vastly outnumbered, the Shard commanders were having difficulty keeping the low-level troops in line and many were fleeing. A blinded Plague-Rider was rolling and thrashing about, taking out infantry all around it. The hawks were still plucking out eyeballs, gulping them down like treats. Lorifal was joyfully surrounded, smashing the Shards who came too near, his dwarven helmet pulled low over his eyes and dripping with blood. Dagna and Bristol fought back-to-back, Dagna with sword and shield and Bristol with his greatsword. Feyden was still at her side, he, too, having moved to a short sword and dagger. Gunnar was swinging his greatsword about, at times slicing, at times smashing. It seemed they might be victorious.

And then she felt it. The sensation crawled over Raine's skin, raised the hair on the back of her neck. She could smell it, a noxious odor of corrupted and diseased flesh, the smell of death. And when she breathed outward, although she was sweating from the heat and exertion of battle, her breath came out ice cold, the vapor visible, crystallized, in the hot air.

The breath confirmed it. It was her body's reaction to and warning of what was about to appear. She turned desperately to Elyara, handing her one of her swords.

“Elyara,” she said urgently, “you must enchant this.”

Her confusion evident, Elyara took the sword, still concentrating on the wall. “But I may lose control of the wall.”

Raine pulled a cloth from her jerkin and began wrapping it around her fist. She wrapped it around and around, her movements almost frantic. Feyden watched the curious act with growing concern and Raine's demeanor with growing fear.

“It doesn't matter!” Raine said, agitated. “Enchant it with something from the natural world! No dark magic!”

Raine glanced to Idonea as she spoke these words, and Idonea's look of terror told her that the mage had sensed the apparition as well. It was all Idonea could do to maintain her spell, so gripped with horror was she at what approached.

Raine's desperation finally registered on Elyara. She frenetically searched her mind for an appropriate spell, and heard Y'arren's gentle voice in her head. The elven high priestess sat miles away, transmitting the spell she had known Elyara would need.

It was perfect. Elyara held the sword in her hands, spoke the words that would allow the sword to become a conduit for the spirit of the trees, and then looked away as the blinding flash of light ignited the weapon with a green glow.

“Here!” she said, handing it to Raine.

But the sword would not reach her as it dropped from Elyara's suddenly nerveless fingers. A swirling blue maelstrom exploded right in the center of their circle, right in the center of their band as a Reaper Shard manifested, then fully formed. It was twelve feet tall, a pillar of blackness that shifted into hideous forms. Its shriek split the air and hurt their ears, as did the low rumble and hissing that followed the scream. The smell was like a physical blow, sulfur and rotted flesh, and even the Hyr'rok'kin shrunk away from this manifestation of death. The Reaper was not quite solid, nor fully transparent, but rather wavered between the two as it wavered between worlds.

Raine thought the creature would come for her, but it was immediately attracted to Idonea as all dark magic was like nectar to it. It was clear the Reaper Shard intended to consume her soul after killing her body. The apparition reared back, its willowy, ephemeral arms floating outward like smoke, then it flung the fire of the underworld toward Idonea. Idonea screamed.

“No!” Raine shouted, stepping in front of Idonea and pulling the woman behind her. The two were engulfed in an inferno, disappearing beneath the fiery onslaught. The wall behind them was blown outward, causing the entire magical structure to disintegrate. Shards standing too near the funnel of flame went down in agonized screaming as they were burned alive. It seemed that nothing would be left but charred corpses and ash as the attack continued, and as the Reaper shrieked again, all flinched from the horrible scream. Finally, the wraith quit the assault, and the smoke and flame died down.

And Raine was just standing there, untouched, with Idonea safely behind her. There was a path of still burning destruction all around them, but Raine and Idonea were unharmed as was the area immediately behind them. It was as if Raine cast a surreal shadow resulting from the deflection of the flame around her body.

The Reaper Shard screamed in fury and its attention was now fully on Raine. Raine leaped for the enchanted sword that Elyara had dropped, grabbing it with the hand wrapped in cloth. She turned just as the wraith bore down on her, enraged, and met the creature with the tip of the sword. It pierced the abomination, causing a prolonged scream that caused everyone to cover their ears. The creature tried to fling Raine away, but she held fast, grasping one ephemeral arm and the hilt of the sword. She clung to the Reaper as it thrashed about and finally was able to wrestle it to the ground as the natural magic took its toll. She straddled the creature and with one great thrust, impaled it through its core, pinning it to the earth. She smashed her elbow down onto what would have been the creature's face, staring into the empty eyes of a dragon's shrunken skull.

“I am coming for you,” she whispered through gritted teeth, knowing that whatever being had summoned the creature could see her. “And I will be there soon.”

The wraith twitched, began to melt, completely dissolved, then disappeared into a wisp of foul-smelling blue smoke. Raine sat straddling nothing more than the ground, the sword stuck into the earth between her knees. She continued to stare at the ground in front of her unmoving.

The remainder of the Shard army turned and fled.

They moved across the plain in uncoordinated terror. And although normally their commanders would be whipping them to stand their ground, in this instance, the infantry could barely keep up with their fleeing superiors.

Raine stood. She unwrapped the cloth from her hand and grasped the hilt of the sword, pulling it from the ground. The gentle green glow that had encompassed the metal disappeared, and she sheathed her weapon. Her companions were all looking at her, stunned. Idonea kept running her hands over her arms in disbelief, as if she could not grasp the fact she was not covered with burns. Feyden examined the path of non-destruction, the surreal “shadow” that Raine had cast. Elyara was in shock, unable to grasp much of anything that had just happened. Dagna, Bristol, and Gunnar all looked at Raine a little fearfully. They milled about uncertainly, and finally Lorifal removed a flask from his inside his armor, proffering it to Raine.

“Would you like a drink?”

Raine took the flask gratefully, taking a much larger swig than she would normally. The fiery liquid felt good going down her throat. She glanced to the sky and let loose a piercing whistle that sounded remarkably like a hawk's call. The raptors, who had all instinctively taken flight when the Reaper Shard materialized, wheeled about in response. Their formation solidified as if in salute, then dissolved as they all went their separate ways.

She handed the flask back to Lorifal. She looked about her at the piles of dead bodies.

“Under normal circumstances, I would hate to camp out here in the open. But I have a feeling we will not be bothered tonight.” She wrinkled her nose. “But as tired as I am, I don't mind walking a bit further to get upwind from this.”

The rest of the tired band heartily agreed.

The horses came trotting in about dusk, led by Raine's stallion. The campsite was quiet and subdued. Although the day had brought a resounding victory, there was a degree of uneasiness, largely because of what was unsaid. Raine sat before the fire, her back resting comfortably against her pack, aware of the unspoken questions of her comrades. Her thoughts were on the Reaper Shard and on the power of the being who summoned it. This brought her thoughts more pleasantly around to Weynild, whom she would probably see soon. Based upon the few meridians they crossed, she estimated another intersection was a few days' travel away. She mused that she was probably more angry at the Hyr'rok'kin for delaying her reunion with her love than she was for them nearly killing her.

Feyden watched the emotions shift in those expressive blue eyes. He could tell when Raine was thinking of her mysterious lover because her eyes shifted to a deeper hue. He took a deep draw on his pipe. Although Raine had revealed a startling number of abilities, today's revelations were astounding, and a little disturbing. He was not certain he had ever heard of anyone destroying a Reaper Shard. Extraordinarily powerful mages were rumored to have banished the wraiths back to the underworld, but he didn't know of anyone who had actually destroyed one, and it seemed today that the creature had in fact been destroyed.

Smoke curled up around his head as he took another deep draw. Raine was not resistant to fire, of that he was certain. A week back when she and Lorifal had been drinking merrily, she went to light the wrapped tobacco he had given her and burned her finger. She had yelped as any normal person would and Elyara tended the wound, commenting only that Raine healed very quickly. So he was uncertain of what had happened today. He had quietly asked both Elyara and Idonea if they had intervened in any way, and both denied taking action. Elyara replied that even her most powerful ward would not have stopped that inferno and it had happened so quickly she did not have time to act even were her spells sufficient. Idonea was still so shaken by the incident that she merely shook her head numbly.

Gunnar passed a cup of the strong, pitch black tea he favored to Dagna. She took it, thanked him, then returned to her work. She was already writing the prose that would memorialize today's battle. Bristol also took a cup, his eyes returning to Raine when he resettled. Elyara sat near Dagna, who more and more welcomed the delicate elf's company. Idonea sat with a blanket about her shoulders even though it was warm out. She was deep in thought.

Fortuitously, Lorifal had consumed just enough of his favorite drink for imprudence.

“So,” he said, addressing Raine, “fire doesn't even burn you?”

Raine laughed. “Of course it burns me. Remember just last week when you and I were drinking and I burned myself.” Her tone was even but her expression darkened a touch. “That wasn't fire today.”

“No,” Idonea said, the words pulling her from her reverie, “it was magic.”

Silence settled on the group.

“Yes,” Raine said calmly.

“You are immune to magic,” Idonea said, growing more certain as she gave voice to the thoughts that had occupied her since the attack.

“Yes,” Raine said simply, “I am.”

Elyara glanced over, startled. That would explain the strange void that surrounded Raine, the lack of magical energy that all beings possessed.

“That is why you wrapped your hand,” Feyden said, “you could not touch that enchanted sword.”

“Well,” Raine said, “I could have touched it but that would have defeated the purpose. The sword would have disenchanted the instant contact was made with my skin.”

Although Idonea had suspected the truth, the admission was still hard to grasp. “I have known some who are resistant to magic. And there are some races in which this resistance runs deep.”

Raine waited to see if she would mention the Arlanians by name. It was one of the few, passive defenses the beautiful people possessed, protecting them from at least some of the profane acts perpetrated against them.

Idonea held her tongue on Raine's heritage, leaving the knowledge unspoken but hanging between them. She continued, disbelief in her voice, not at the reality of the gift but at its improbability. “But I have never known anyone who was completely immune to magic.”

Raine was a bit uneasy at Idonea's persistence. Her gift was a result of her unique parentage, of having two wildly divergent races, both known to have high resistances to magic, breed in the most unlikely pairing. Two resistant Scinterians would yield a resistant offspring. Two resistant Arlanians would yield a resistant Arlanian. But apparently a resistant Scinterian and resistant Arlanian yielded an offspring that was completely immune to magic. And Idonea was correct, as far as Raine knew. In all her travels, she had never come across another being with the gift.

“It must be some quirk of fate,” Raine said, as if to end the subject.

“I believe it to be a gift from the gods,” Dagna said with certainty, her romanticism taking hold. She would add this “fact” into her narrative.

Idonea greeted that proposed explanation with condescension but held her tongue. She returned to her dark reverie, her curiosity about the creature sitting across from her growing insatiably. She wondered if Raine could feel magical artifacts, and the weight of the amulet in her pocket grew heavy. She moved her hand to feel the outline of the object, unconsciously patting it beneath the folds of her robes.

Raine observed the subtle movement and inwardly sighed.

Chapter 11

Once again on horseback, it took them but a few days to clear the remainder of the open plain. Gunnar welcomed the rolling hills and sparse forest. It wasn't much in terms of cover, but it was far better than the exposure of the flatlands. And they were approaching another small village which cheered them greatly. It was not as large as the previous, with only a few farms and a tavern that doubled as a general goods trading post, but the villagers welcomed them. They set up camp at the edge of a tilled field on the town border.

Each left to pursue individual interests and Idonea watched Raine slip away into the hills. Everyone was used to Raine's disappearances and no longer considered them mysterious. Raine just seemed to be the kind of person who enjoyed solitude and needed time alone. Idonea, on the other hand, could see the meridian lines and knew where Raine was headed.

Raine pushed her way through the forest and came upon a mossy clearing decorated with an explosion of wild flowers. Butterflies hovered over the rainbow petals and iridescent songbirds perched in the trees. She wondered if the confluence of meridians always produced such beauty because the scenery at each crossroads had been gorgeous. Or perhaps it was merely the expectation of seeing her lover that made everything beautiful.

Weynild was there amongst the flowers and she fell into her arms, laughing. The dragon in human form took her to the ground and rolled her onto her back on the soft moss. Raine stared up into the golden eyes she loved, feeling impish.

“Sometimes I wish I were not immune to magic.”

Weynild propped herself up on an elbow. “And why is that?”

“I would have you shape-shift me, and then I could be on top.”

Weynild chuckled at her mischievous companion. “Oh really? Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “That might actually be enjoyable.”

She glanced about her, looking for raw material, and found it close at hand. A combination of earth and soft metal that could be hardened by extreme heat. Raine watched curiously, a grin appearing as the phallus began to take shape, the grin widening when Weynild set the object down and blew upon it with a red hot flame, solidifying its form. She went to pick it up, pulling her hand away sharply as it was still very hot.

“We should probably let that cool down a bit,” she said sheepishly.

Weynild's golden eyes gleamed. “Thank you for your consideration.” She sought further materials and created something of a belt in order to attach the phallus. Raine watched her work.

“I did not realize you were such a craftsman.”

“Shut up and put that on.”

It was a surprisingly good fit for such a makeshift device, and Raine glanced down, the sight of the contraption making her laugh.

“I see that I am quite well-endowed,” she said.

“Yes,” Weynild said, “one of the advantages of crafting your own.” She pulled Raine on top of her and helped guide the device to its intended destination, catching her breath at the penetration.

For a moment, Raine merely lay on top of her, enjoying the look in her eyes as they hovered at the beginning of the act. Then slowly she began to move her hips, experimenting, enjoying the novel sensation. She received instantaneous feedback as Weynild's eyes closed at the ecstatic feeling, the fullness between her legs and her lover's weight atop her. The girl's rhythm was perfect, her strokes gentle but strong, her skill really quite exceptional considering she had never done the act before.

Weynild stopped her and with her immense strength, rolled her over onto her back. She straddled her, the object still pleasantly inside. “And how is it you are so skilled at this? Have you done this before?”

The words were more playful than jealous and now Raine was enjoying the view of those perfect breasts above her head. “Unless I perpetrated it on you in your sleep, you know I have not. I’ve been watching you for some time, however, and have been mindful of your technique.”

As she said this, she thrust her hips upward, burying the phallus deep inside Weynild and causing waves of pleasure to wash over the silver-haired woman. Raine continued the motion and Weynild began to rock her hips so that they moved as one. It was one of the most pleasant sensations Weynild had ever experienced, and she decided she liked the position.

“I see I am still on the bottom,” Raine commented wryly.

“Shut up,” Weynild said, then ensured obedience by kissing her. She could tell by the quickening of her lover's rhythm that Raine, too, was enjoying the orientation and would likely achieve climax in that position. She forcefully tried to contain her own climax in order to bring the girl along, but Raine seemed insistent on driving her to pleasure. Weynild would have none of that and knew how to manipulate her lover. She leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“I want you to come with me.”

The sensation of the warm breath in her ear and the whispered endearment, half invitation, half command was all it took. Raine exploded, all of her energy focused on driving into the one who straddled her, the one who rode her waves of pleasure until they were overcome by her own.

For the longest time, Weynild just lay on top of Raine, enjoying the exhausted intimacy of their positions. Raine was very much overcome by the intensity of the act, and she held Weynild tightly. She finally loosened her grip enough to allow Weynild to roll off of her. Weynild removed the phallus, set it to the side, then heated it to a white hot flame, which melted it back into the earth.

“I was growing fond of that,” Raine said.

Weynild kissed her tenderly. “I assure you I will make you more. I don't want you tempted to use it on anyone else.”

Raine knew she was teasing, and her eyes darkened to such a deep violet they were nearly black. “As if that were even possible.”

Their positions were so comfortable and the mood so gentle, Weynild despised the fact she had to intrude upon it. But they needed to talk and so rarely had the opportunity.

“So now you have killed a Reaper Shard.”

Raine was not yet ready to let the mood pass, so incorporated the conversation into it. “And does that arouse you?”

“You have no idea,” Weynild said with a deep, throaty chuckle.

Raine grinned. The flash of renewed desire in Weynild's eyes told her they would not be talking long, so she would get to the point quickly. “Of course now Idonea knows of my immunity to magic, as do the others.”

“It is not Idonea and the others I am concerned about. It is what was on the other end of that wraith that has me concerned, the summoner.”

A sigh escaped from Raine. “Yes, especially since I stood over the Reaper and threatened him or her, or whatever the summoner is. I told them I was coming for them.”

The admission made Weynild smile and Raine blushed.

“I was caught up in the moment. I usually am not so melodramatic.” Raine rolled her eyes at herself. “It just seemed appropriate at the time.” She sought to change the subject.

“Idonea carries something with her, a magical artifact, I believe. Do you know what it is?”

“No,” Weynild said, “do you think it's significant?”

“I don't know,” Raine said, “and I don't know what it is. But she's hiding something.”

“That does not surprise me,” Weynild replied. She rolled onto her back, finished with the conversation, and pulled Raine on top of her.

“Sit up,” she commanded, and Raine sat upright, straddling her hips, and now it was Weynild's turn to enjoy the view. The taut stomach, the firm breasts, those violet eyes darkened with desire. She concentrated, and Raine felt the penetration between her legs as she shape-shifted.

“That really is not fair,” Raine said, biting her lip at the startling pleasure.

Weynild held the slender hips tightly as her own rose upward. Raine clung to her, much as she clung to her neck when Weynild was in flight in dragon form.

“So, little dragon rider, let's see how long you last this time.”

Chapter 12

Once again they were leaving a pleasant village behind, weighed down by the knowledge that the nearer they came to the Empty Land, villages would be fewer and far between, and most likely with far fewer amenities. Not many chose to live outside the bounds of the empire for many reasons. The land itself was inhospitable, unfit for farming and wildlife was scarce. Although there were areas rich with minerals, there were few resources available to support full-scale mining operations. A few of these mining camps bordered the Empty Land, but none set root too far inside the harsh landscape.

They had fortified themselves but it was a balancing act between carrying adequate supplies and overburdening themselves. They had traded out their horses for a set of pack mules, hardy little burros that would last longer in the rough conditions. It meant they would have to travel on foot, but could carry more with them to make up for the longer time it would take them to cross the desert.

The denizens of the Empty Land were small, grotesque creatures particularly suited to the harsh landscape. Various hard-shelled beetles and insects made a life burrowing in the sand. Certain snakes and rodents also thrived amongst the more rocky terrain, creating their own little dynamic of predator and prey. Nothing much larger than that survived in the Empty Land.

The days were hot and the nights were freezing cold. The heat bothered Lorifal and the four humans whereas the cold bedeviled the two elves. It was difficult to tell if either bothered Raine, who set a steady pace, eyes steadfast on the horizon. They had limited supplies and had to reach the Edge and pass through the Veil before they ran out.

The “Edge” was a place where cliffs bordered the Empty Land, and, well, someplace else. Intrepid explorers had found the Edge centuries before, referring to it at that time as the Edge of the World. More intrepid explorers followed them, daring to descend the steep cliffs into the mists below. No one ever returned. Some speculated that it was because there was nothing beyond the cliffs, that they descended into a gaping hole, a swirling vortex of emptiness. The only problem with that theory is that the Edge seemed to produce the Hyr'rok'kin. They would spew out from its depths every few decades or so, wreaking havoc until they were put down by whatever powers could defeat them. Because of that, most were firmly convinced that the underworld was on the other side of the Edge.

Now, of course, the Hyr'rok'kin seemed to be spewing forth without end. Raine was surprised they had not come across any more armies of the creatures as they crossed the Empty Land. It made her suspicious, as if perhaps they were now being drawn in.

They tried to keep moving later into the evening, in that space where it began to cool down but was not yet freezing. As much as she wished to keep moving, she was wary of overtiring her companions and always watched Elyara closely as she was something of a bellwether. The wood elf never complained so Raine was always watchful to gauge her fatigue. And she was showing signs of fatigue right now.

“I think we should stop here,” Raine said.

No one would say anything, but they were all grateful. They were very tired. And as anxious as they were to reach the Edge, they were also experiencing that peculiar reluctance one feels when a theoretical goal begins to become actual and the reality begins to sink in.

Even the fire they lit seemed to bring little warmth and Dagna motioned for Elyara to move closer, putting her arm around the slender elf and drawing her near. Idonea would have said something sarcastic, but she was huddled next to Bristol, sandwiched between him and Gunnar. Lorifal was obtaining warmth from his flask, and Feyden was wrapped in furs, drawing on his pipe. Only Raine sat in the open. Although her breath came out in heavy vapor and her skin was bluish from the cold, she stared into the fire, seemingly oblivious to the deep chill.

Idonea examined the beautiful features, the high cheek bones that seemed even more pronounced in the light from the fire. The eyes were a pale blue, but it was not difficult to imagine them the deep purple that gazed upon Weynild. Idonea wondered if Raine controlled the color of her eyes, having noted that when Raine fought, her eyes were very pale, almost gray like a stormy sky. She wondered what Raine was thinking about at the moment, since her eyes were nearly as pale as when she was fighting. A question occurred to her, and she wondered why she had not asked it previous to this moment.

“Have you ever been to the Edge before?”

The question caught everyone's attention and Raine knew it was directed at her.

“Yes,” she replied, “I have.”

The silence had already been present but now it seemed fuller, more weighted. Idonea tried to assess Raine's expression, but it had taken on that guarded impassivity that was so frustrating.

“And have you been beyond the Edge?”

The silence was now complete. It seemed that even the cold wind scuttling across the sand had stopped, and the fire flickered but no longer crackled or hissed.

“Yes,” Raine said again, “I have.”

A startling number of emotions flooded through Idonea, mirrored in the faces of those around her. Shock, disbelief, anger, indignation, and chief among them, fear.

“Were you ever going to tell us about this?” Idonea demanded.

“You didn't ask,” Raine said, her tone calm but firm. “And my guess is that had I volunteered this information early on you would have dismissed it as you dismissed me.”

“What is beyond the Edge?” Feyden asked.

Raine's response was dark and thoughtful. “The original name of these cliffs was the Edge of the World. And the early discoverers didn't know it, but the title was apt. Just beyond the cliffs is an area that does not really exist as we know things to exist. It is the Veil, the transitory world between life and death, between our world and the underworld. When the Veil thins, Hyr'rok'kin and Demon'ai can make their way through from the underworld into ours. But in order to do so, they have to overcome the Gatekeepers, and the Arond'ai, although few, are formidable foes.”

“And what will we face in the Veil?” Gunnar said, his concern bordering on fear.

“All sorts of creatures thrive there, feeding on black magic. Reaper Shards are quite common because the Veil mimics their normal state of being.”

“We don't stand a chance!” Bristol said, and for once, Gunnar was inclined to agree with him.

“Were you ever going to share this information with us?” he asked accusingly.

“Yes,” Raine said. “In three days’ time. That is how long I estimate it will take us to arrive at the edge of the cliffs, at which time I was going to inform all of you of the perils you face and give you the option of leaving.” She raised her eyes icily to the dark-haired beauty sitting across from her. “Except Idonea.”

Feyden glanced from one woman to the other. He had thought Raine's comment would have generated an outburst or protest from Idonea, but instead she kept her tongue and merely crossed her arms over her chest.

“Why Idonea?” Dagna asked, “And why wait until we reach the Edge?”

Raine addressed the second question first. “I did not think Idonea would accompany me clear across the land on her own accord, and I did not wish to carry her kicking and screaming the entire way. It was easier for us to travel as a group.”

“Still,” Dagna said, “why Idonea?”

“It is not Idonea herself,” Raine said, “but rather what she carries with her. Something I myself could not carry, and in fact, could not even touch.”

All eyes turned from Raine to Idonea, whose dark eyes glared at Raine. Raine disguised the small surge of satisfaction she felt. It had been a guess, but it had been a good one.

“Yes, Idonea,” Raine said, “what is it that you carry?”

Idonea's reluctance was evident. “It is a soul catcher,” she said at last.

“A soul catcher?” Elyara said, “What is significant about that? I have a small one I keep as a souvenir.”

Raine's eyes narrowed. Soul catchers were gems that had the ability to store life energy. There was great debate amongst scholars whether or not they actually stole one's soul or merely acted as a reservoir for power. Even the most common were fairly rare. The blue and green ones could store a small amount of energy, generally leeching it from the smaller creatures. The yellow and violet could store a greater amount of energy, perhaps equivalent to a small dog. The red soul catchers were extremely rare, and only they could leech energy from a human-sized being. Fortunately, not only were soul catchers rare they were inefficient. Although they could sicken or kill the creature they leeched upon, making them a potential weapon, that effect was unpredictable. And once the soul catcher was filled, many times it would crack or even explode. There was no known way to do anything with the power the gem had absorbed and soul catchers were thought to be fairly useless, more of a novelty than anything else.

“What color is the soul catcher you have?” Raine asked quietly.

Idonea's jaw clenched. She could continue her ruse, but there was no way she could continue this journey without Raine.

“It is white,” she said.

Elyara gasped and both Feyden and Lorifal jerked their heads around to Idonea.

“Ah,” Raine said, at last beginning to understand. She had never seen a white soul catcher, nor met anyone who claimed to. Their existence was believed to be a myth grown out of some alchemist's speculation. But as someone who herself was considered to be a myth, she would not dismiss the claim. It did explain a great deal.

“And I am guessing this is no ordinary white soul catcher.”

Elyara was baffled by Raine's words. There was no such thing as an ordinary white soul catcher.

Raine was now certain. “You have found Elkar'Anon.”

Idonea was like a child who had been caught in some clever misdeed, somehow both proud and ashamed, apologetic yet unrepentant, the artfulness of her act at war with its wrongfulness.

“Yes,” she said, “I believe the gem I have found is Elkar'Anon.”

“I don't understand,” Bristol said.

Raine and Idonea merely stared at one another, so Feyden filled the gap in conversation.

“Elkar'Anon,” Feyden said, “is a mythical soul catcher that has no limitation on the amount of power it absorbs. And unlike other soul catchers, it is said that the gem can transmit that power back to the one who wields it in a singular transfer, at which time the gem will be destroyed.”

“So it is a weapon, right?” Bristol said eagerly, missing the larger ramifications, “it can be used against the Reaper Shards, right?”

Raine said nothing but continued to examine Idonea. It was her opinion that Idonea was going to use that soul catcher on something much larger than a Reaper Shard. And if that was the case, then Idonea, too, suspected that something very powerful was holding open the gate to the underworld. Perhaps she sought to absorb that creature's power, an incredibly dangerous act to attempt. But it would finally put her on equal footing with Weynild, at least in her mind.

Raine's thoughts followed the various threads and possibilities, trying to determine Idonea's motivations and intent. Did Idonea think the creature was an ancient, as Weynild did? If so, she greatly endangered Weynild by asking for her help, perhaps even hoping to lead Weynild into a trap. This thought caused Raine's anger to burn, which reflected in her eyes. Idonea had watched the calculation on Raine's face and quite rightly assessed her current train of thought.

“If I had wanted to do that, I could have used Elkar'Anon on her directly,” Idonea said with quiet bitterness.

All looked from one to the other, aware that there was a far deeper conversation going on between the two, even when no words were being spoken. No one knew the “her” Idonea spoke of, but no one was willing to ask. It was evident Raine knew exactly of whom she was speaking.

“You could have tried,” Raine said, just as quietly. Weynild was clever and wise and sensed things across time and distance that even the gods missed. But Idonea's words did make sense. It was more likely that Idonea sought to use Weynild as a distraction, knowing that despite the dragon's outward cynicism, Weynild's nobility would require her to put a stop to the Hyr'rok'kin invasion.

“Well,” Lorifal snorted. “I don't really know what the hell is going on here. And I'll take an ax any day over some bauble. But if you think you're going into that hell-hole without me,” he said, turning to Raine, “you're out of your mind.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Raine said to him, “I welcome your company. But I encourage all of you to think through your options. You have three days to decide.”

Silence settled on the camp once again. Dagna pulled Elyara close, and despite the intense conversation and startling revelations, the two were soon fast asleep. Lorifal followed suit, as did Bristol and Gunnar, the latter's thoughts still spinning as he drifted into an exhausted sleep. Finally, only Idonea, Raine, and Feyden were awake and Idonea leaned against Gunnar, falling into slumber.

Feyden blew out a thin stream of smoke, and the wisps were carried away on the chill wind. “So why did you enter the Veil before?” he asked quietly.

A look of pain crossed her features and Feyden regretted the question. “It was a rescue mission,” she said. She seemed at war with herself for a moment, as if she were two people fighting for control, and then she settled into her impassivity once more. “And it failed.”

Chapter 13

The Edge of the World was as breathtaking and ominous as its title. There was no sensation of height or depth as one approached. It seemed the Empty Land was nothing but level ground, something close to the level of the sea. But it precipitously dropped into nothingness at the edge of the cliffs, yielding an instant and disorienting sensation of immense height. Alternately, by a simple shift in perspective, one could have the sudden sensation of immense depth, as if the ground beneath them disappeared into a gigantic hole. The two perspectives seemed to cycle, further increasing the sense of disorientation. It was hard to say if they were on the edge of a mountain looking downward, or on level land gazing into the bowels of the earth.

Raine stopped at the edge of the cliffs and picked up a stone. She tossed it over the edge and it disappeared into the swirling mists. There was no sound of it ever striking bottom. She sighed and turned to the group.

“Now is the time for you to make your decisions.”

Lorifal stepped forward without hesitation. “I already told you I was going,” he said gruffly.

Feyden was right behind him. “And someone has to keep the dwarf in line.”

Gunnar squared his shoulders and also stepped forward. “I started this quest with the goal of stopping the Hyr'rok'kin. I won't stop here.”

Dagna looked down at Elyara, and they stepped forward together. “We're in.”

Raine's eyes fell upon Idonea. “I told you before that you didn't have a choice, but in reality you do. You can stop here if you wish.”

“Oh no,” Idonea said, “I will do what I came to do.”

It was not a particularly reassuring response as Idonea had revealed her motivations were selfish, but if the ultimate goal was achieved, few seemed to care how it was accomplished.

Raine turned at last to Bristol, who stared over the side into the abyss. She spoke to him gently.

“There is no shame in fear, Bristol. It's been my experience that stupidity often masquerades as fearlessness when the fearless don't recognize the threat they face.”

Bristol's jaw clenched. He knew full well what they faced and he was very afraid. But he could not turn back.

“I'm in,” he said.

Feyden murmured an Elvish saying, and Raine translated it for him.

“The brave are merely brave, but the heroic fight despite their fear.”

She nodded to the group as a whole. “Then into the abyss, my friends.”

There was a network of narrow ledges that traversed the cliffs downward at a steep angle. Some of the paths appeared old, worn smooth over eons. Some, however, appeared very new, jutting from the rocks as if they had been cut very recently. It had been over two centuries since Raine had descended into the Veil and there had been only a few paths at that time. The new trails were wider, as if they had been constructed to move a larger contingent of people. Raine realized the ledges were not designed to move people at all, rather they had been constructed to move the Hyr'rok'kin. The paths weren't for those descending into the Veil, they were for those coming out of the depths of the underworld. This realization was troublesome as it meant lengthy planning for a large scale invasion. It also explained the increasing number of Hyr'rok'kin in the imperial hold, at least the how if not the why.

It did, however, make their descent less treacherous. Raine had not relished the thought of clinging to the side of the mountain with her companions. Although they risked meeting the Hyr'rok'kin head-on while occupying one of their thoroughfares, it was likely they would hear them far before they would see them, giving them an opportunity to divert to one of the narrower paths.

They had been descending for hours and it did not seem they were making any progress. Their thighs burned with the steepness of the terrain. Although the mists would thin in places, they did so only enough to see the adjacent paths of the cliff, all of which were beginning to look the same. Nothing below them was visible and after a while of descending, nothing above them was visible, either. It was a suffocating feeling, as if everything around them outside of their visual range had ceased to exist. The light had subtly altered as well, and illumination seemed strangely diffuse, as if it did not come from any singular source like the sun. It was dim, and day seemed to have capitulated to the beginning of night, as if it had compromised to a perennial dusk.

Elyara stumbled and Dagna caught her arm. Raine observed the fatigue of her companions and was in a quandary. It had taken her two days to make the previous descent and she had never stopped or even slowed down. Had they been required to take the same, treacherous paths, it likely would have taken them five or six days to reach bottom. But even with the wider thoroughfare, it would take them at least three days to reach the border of the Veil. They could not set up a formal camp; they would be too exposed. But they were going to have to rest, that much was obvious.

They came upon a stretch of path that, although not comfortably wide, did not induce the sickening vertigo of some of the more narrow stretches.

“We should stop here for a few hours, have a little something to eat and rest our legs. I'm afraid we're not going to be able to camp much the rest of our journey.”

“Hmm,” Feyden said, “camping in the Veil. Probably not a wise decision.”

Elyara dropped her pack and sat down heavily, as did Dagna. Lorifal, for a change, was probably more rested than most because his stout, muscular legs were ideal for the steep descent.

“I will take the first watch,” Raine said, “and Lorifal the second. We'll rest for a few hours, then continue on.”

Gunnar was grateful and sat down, massaging his legs. “I will take my turn on the next stop.”

Considering their exposed position, hanging on the edge of the sheer cliff with no real escape routes, it was surprising that all but Feyden fell asleep. Perhaps it was faith in the one keeping watch, but it worried Raine a bit. Her companions were very tired, and their journey was about to get far more difficult.

Raine's assessment had been correct. It took them almost three full days to reach the bottom. This was just a guess as day and night had been non-existent and the dim light provided few cues as to the passage of time. But Raine's sense of time was good even without the cues, and she estimated they had marched downward for three full days and two full nights, stopping as needed to rest.

“Why is it that we haven't seen any Hyr'rok'kin?”

“Hyr'rok'kin are flesh and blood,” Raine replied. “Granted, it is foul, filthy, diseased flesh and blood, but it is still corporal. It is why they can pass into our world with such great ease. But the Veil has to be thin enough for them to pass through. I am concerned if it is too thick for them, it will be too thick for us.”

They now stood at the base of the great cliffs they had descended and a twisted dark jungle unfolded before them. The mist was even heavier at this depth and they could not see very far into the forbidding foliage. Raine waved her hand through the heavy, smoky air.

“The creatures of the Veil live in an either/or state, or sometimes a neither/nor state. This makes it very difficult for them to pass into our realm, and even more difficult for them to stay. This is a good thing, because otherwise our world would be overrun by Reaper Shards. Or worse.”

“Worse?” Lorifal said uneasily.

“Yes,” Raine said, “worse. Unfortunately the Veil is filled with such monsters. I have a feeling that our progress is being monitored, which probably means the decision has been made to leave our fate to them.” She glanced around her. “We should move forward.”

The jungle was a sight. It did not seem to be any type of normal vegetation but squirmed and writhed as if a many-tentacled beast. The colors were unnatural, brownish reds, blackish greens, oddly fluorescent blues. Unseen things scuttled about in the underbrush and everyone kept a hand on the hilt of their sword or staff. Raine had Elyara enchant one of her swords just in case, carefully placing it in a position where she could draw it with her wrapped hand.

They came across water, but it was brackish and foul, smelling of sulfur. Lorifal experimentally dropped a stone into one pond. The water was so thick, the stone floated for a moment, then instead of sinking, slowly dissolved in the acidic liquid.

“Guess we won't be drinking that,” he said.

“'Tis probably no worse than what you carry in your flask,” Feyden commented, and they moved on.

Raine was trying to remember how long it had taken her to make her way through the Veil. It had been but a few days, but she had met little resistance because no one and no thing knew that she was there. This time, something very big knew they were coming.

They came across a small clearing and decided to rest for a short time. It would not help to arrive at the Gate in an exhausted state. Gunnar volunteered for first watch and Raine, who had slept little in days, thought she would take a short nap. She was in a hyper-vigilant state and did not think she would sleep at all, so she was pleasantly surprised when she felt herself dozing off.

“Raine!”

The furious whisper woke her instantly. Instinct would normally have had her reaching for her sword, but perhaps it was that same instinct that in this case caused her to freeze. Her body felt very cold and that was a very bad sign. As slowly as possible, she turned her head in Gunnar's direction, responding to his furtive, panicked call.

At first glance it appeared he was covered by a yellowish, smoky film. But the film shifted sinuously and shapes within it appeared and disappeared. The forms manifested as a conglomeration of female appendages, arms, legs, breasts, lips, eyes, but not always in their proper form or position. It appeared to be some monstrous orgy of body parts, a horrifying, erotic display that was mesmerizing. The Membrane writhed in pain and passion, pulsating as it moaned and quietly screamed. Gunnar was terrified. The monstrosity had hypnotized him when it appeared and he had watched helplessly as it hovered, then began to touch him. He felt tendrils of smoke, silky, fleshy fingers drift beneath his tunic and grasp the hardness between his legs, a hardness he cursed but could not control in the face of the atrociously sensual onslaught.

“Don't move,” Raine said softly. “By the Divine, do not move.”

The others were stirring and caught Raine's quiet but harsh admonition. They stared in horror at the manifestation swirling about Gunnar. Idonea had been sleeping more soundly than the rest and came out of her slumber less wary. She sat upright and froze.

The Membrane shrieked in pleasure and recognition. It darted in a great wisp from Gunnar to Idonea, swirling about her in lust and anticipation. The dark magic in her was irresistible, a matchless ambrosia to them. Idonea shivered in fear as the hands caressed her breasts and sought her most private places. A fully formed female face appeared in the shimmering smoke and the lips traveled over her cheek, the sensation more akin to the crawling of an insect than a kiss.

“Raine,” Idonea said, her lip trembling, her tone pleading.

Dagna clutched Elyara to her, looking to Raine. She had no idea what Raine could possibly do in this situation, and no idea what the hideous amalgam of limbs was. It squirmed about, appearing to both pleasure and torture itself at the same time. Feyden, too, wanted to crawl into the underbrush, so awful was the vision. But he was just as mesmerized as Gunnar. Lorifal's mouth simply hung open, as if he could not fathom what his eyes were seeing. And Bristol peered between his fingers, wanting to hide his eyes but at the same time unable to look away.

“Raine,” Idonea whispered again, “please.”

Raine closed her eyes, knowing what she must do. It would reveal far more than she wished and make her vulnerable in ways that could prove intensely dangerous later on. But she really had no choice. She opened her eyes.

Dagna gasped, and Lorifal's mouth dropped open further. The Membrane shrieked in pleasure once more and darted like an arrow, swirling about Raine in an agitated ecstasy. The body parts writhed, twisted, distorted, re-formed. Legs straddled Raine's body, arms wrapped themselves about her torso, breasts pressed to her chest, lips feathered kisses down her neck. Raine did not move under the sexual assault, but stared at the creature with deep violet eyes. A face began to form in the cacophony of breasts, a different face than before, a darkly beautiful and unutterably evil face. And then the membrane spoke, its voice a hiss, the scrape of a reptile's shed skin fluttering on a stick in the breeze, the rattling of bones in a necklace.

“Not possible,” it said, the “s” drawn out in that hiss, then the voice disintegrated into a harsh guttural language that sounded less like words than the death throes of an animal.

Raine simply stared at the creature, stoic under the continued assault. She did not know who was speaking but the absolute power and absolute evil of the entity was unmistakable. And that was the one thing that would play in her favor. It was a strange cosmic truth that when purity and evil collided, it always yielded cold. And when the utterly pure and utterly evil met, it could create an ice storm.

“Quite possible,” Raine whispered to whatever was manipulating the Membrane, and breathed out.

Her breath came out freezing and on contact with the Membrane, began to solidify the creature into a block of ice. Cracks, then fissures began to appear in the horrendous orgy of appendages, then the thing began to break apart. The face merely smiled a horrible smile and disappeared, leaving its minion to squirm in tortured agony as every extremity slowed, then froze, then shattered. Breasts fell to the ground, broke into pieces, then melted into an oily yellow residue. Wisps of smoke arose from the residue, gathered themselves together and flowed away with alacrity. Within a minute, the smoke had consolidated into a larger form that disappeared into the jungle.

Raine sat unmoving, exhausted at the contact. The Membrane could not be killed; in a way it was ever-present, merely choosing to manifest or not. And she knew her brief connection with the creature, even though it had been unable to sustain it, would only increase the Membrane's affinity to her.

No one really knew what to say. The horror of the creature was nearly overshadowed by Raine's latest startling revelation. Only one race in the entire world possessed eyes like that, and the stunning beauty of the Arlanian contrasted sharply with the vile eroticism of the Membrane. It was nearly impossible to grasp that the woman they had been traveling with all this time was in fact a member of a most mythical people.

“What the hell was that?” Gunnar finally asked.

How to answer that question, Raine thought to herself. The Membrane was the physical manifestation of lust, of greed, of jealousy, of narcissism. It was lecherous and dangerous, bringing shameful, tortured pleasure to men and women, killing them at climax and absorbing their soul into its libidinous fabric. It could be as small as a blanket or drape itself across an entire valley. There generally was no escape from it, and only her studied focus on a pair of golden eyes flecked with red kept her from its touch.

“It is hard to explain,” Raine said tiredly. She did not wish to speak of it, did not wish to speak of being an Arlanian, did not wish to speak of anything. “I am going to need to sleep for a while.”

Feyden stood, drawing his sword. His eyes burned. “I will guard you with my life.”

Lorifal also stood, pulling his ax from his back. “And I as well.”

“We all will,” Dagna said firmly.

“Idonea,” Raine said, “and Gunnar. You should rest. The Membrane's touch is not to be taken lightly.” She laid down on her pack.

Idonea was still in shock. She obeyed Raine numbly, also lying down. Bristol took a position near her, and for once she was grateful for the brute's towering presence. She shifted her pack slightly to get more comfortable, and could feel sleep overcoming her.

“Thank you, Raine,” she whispered, but Raine was already fast asleep.

Idonea awoke long before Raine. She sat up, holding herself tightly. She could still feel the touch of the Membrane on her skin. Gunnar was also stirring, and he awoke as disquieted as she did. Feyden had his sword across his knees, one hand on the hilt, the other hand holding the bowl of his pipe.

“Did you know that Raine was Arlanian?” he asked.

The others of the camp turned to her, wanting to know the answer as well. Idonea hugged herself, rubbing her arms as if to increase the circulation.

“Not at first,” she replied, “but yes, I knew.”

It was a dissatisfying and obscure answer. It told them nothing of the relationship between Raine and Idonea, or even how they knew one another. And it hinted that Idonea knew little more of Raine than did they.

“How is it that she fights so well?” Feyden persisted. He knew that “so well” was a description as dissatisfying as Idonea's response. Raine fought like a demi-god and she was the most extraordinary warrior he had ever seen.

“I am guessing she is only half Arlanian,” Idonea said.

Dagna chimed in. “Then her birth must have been quite unusual. Legend has it that Arlanians could only produce offspring with other Arlanians. They considered this a great gift. Although they could be kidnapped and raped, forced into slavery, the one thing they could not be forced to do is reproduce. Sadly, they welcomed extinction rather than this fate, although I understand their reasoning.”

Feyden considered these facts, which returned him to musing about Raine's extraordinary abilities. Half of Raine's parentage was a race with no known fighting ability, one incapable of protecting themselves. The other half?

“If she is half-Arlanian,” he said, articulating his thoughts, “I can't imagine what the other half is.”

Raine awoke at last, and was quickly ready to go. She was pale, but as they began moving, her color returned. Her thoughts were on Weynild, which gave her strength, and she felt her lover’s presence strongly. This was the longest she had been away from her since they had met, and she longed to see her. Although the strangeness of the jungle was unrelenting, their travel was not greatly impeded and they seemed to be making good time. Raine again felt the whisper of concern, as if their travel were too easy, as if they were being drawn into a trap. She was almost relieved when she felt a chill pass over her. She stopped, sniffing the air, then wrinkled her nose. It was faint, but the putrid smell was unmistakable.

“What is it?” Feyden asked.

“You're going to need to draw your enchanted weapons,” Raine said quietly, addressing everyone.

As a precaution, Raine had asked Elyara to enchant a weapon of choice for each of them. The enchantment rendered the weapon less effective against a traditional enemy and it would not last long, perhaps only for a few blows against a powerful enemy. But it might make the difference against a Reaper Shard.

Idonea shivered. Raine had picked up on the spectral presence before she had, but she could smell it now, too. They all stopped, eyes peering into the darkness of the jungle surrounding them. Now that they were no longer moving, the strange vegetation seemed to be collapsing in on them, although that could have been an illusion born of fright.

“There is more than one,” Raine said, her voice still quiet.

Gunnar fought to still his trembling. The incident with the Membrane had deeply affected him, poisoning him with fear and indecision. Whereas before he had moved forward with an almost reckless abandon, now he seemed to fight just to find courage. “How many are there?” he asked.

Raine breathed in deeply, the odor burning her nostrils. “Three,” she said, “maybe four.”

“Four?” Bristol whispered furiously, “Four? You are talking about Reaper Shards, right? We will not survive two of them, let alone four!”

“We'll see,” Raine said, drawing the enchanted sword with her wrapped hand. Feyden notched an enchanted arrow in his bow. He had only four, and even that number had exhausted Elyara. Idonea clutched her staff. Although her skills tended towards the dark and destructive, which would be of little use against the Reaper Shards, she thought she would use lightning. It might not cause much damage, but could be very disruptive.

The Reaper Shard materialized behind Elyara and Dagna. Elyara froze and Dagna seemed too stunned to react. The creature was grotesque and terrifying. Feyden let loose his arrow, but the wraith disappeared once more in a cloud of oily blue smoke. The arrow sailed harmlessly into the jungle as Feyden uttered an Elvish curse.

The Shard wraith appeared again, this time accompanied by a second. The two towered over Bristol and Gunnar, who swung their enchanted swords wildly, striking nothing. A smoky tendril lashed out, striking Bristol across the chest and sending him to the ground in agony. Smoke began to rise from his armor as the poison ate through the metal like acid, and he twisted about as Elyara ran to his side. She desperately sought to stop the damage with one of her healing spells. The two Reapers disappeared, their awful laughter echoing through the jungle, leaving Gunnar standing as his sword dropped from nerveless fingers.

Lorifal could hear himself breathing and it sounded harsh in his own ears. The Reaper Shards had done nothing yet and already one of their band was down. He strained to hear, see, or sense the monstrosities, and the suffocating silence was taking a toll on his nerves.

The wraiths returned, and this time there were three of them. One appeared to spring up from the ground directly behind Dagna, and she swung her sword frantically. She did not strike anything, but her frenetic swinging kept the creature at bay. One appeared close to Idonea, who turned her staff upon him. Jagged lines of blue electricity arced outward. The Reaper let loose a shrill cry of annoyance. The lightning did not appear to do any damage, but it was clear the Shard did not like it.

The third appeared near Gunnar once more, and he dropped to his knees, scrambling for his fallen sword. Feyden loosed another arrow. The aim was true and the Reaper dissolved to avoid the projectile, but Feyden still cursed. They were not doing anything other than holding the wraiths at bay; they had not inflicted any damage thus far, and it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed. He turned to Raine for guidance, who seemed to be waiting for something, deeply concentrating.

“Come on,” she whispered, barely audible. “I know there's one more.”

And she was right. This time when the Reapers materialized, there were four of them, and the fourth materialized directly behind her. But in that fraction of a second before the creature fully occupied their plane, she felt the coldness on her back and smelled the odor of corrupted flesh. She thrust the enchanted sword rearward as the monster became fully corporeal, impaling it with perfect timing. It contorted about in a mass of noxious smelling smoke, screaming horrifically as it disappeared. All three Reapers now focused on her and without pausing, she swung the sword back around in a fluid motion, slicing the wraith nearest her in two. The creature had tried to dissipate to avoid the blow but Raine had been too fast. The abomination twisted in anger as it screamed in rage and pain, but it, too disappeared into oily smoke.

Dagna tried to move into the path of the third, but she was thrown to the side. Her armor began to smoke at the point of contact, and Elyara scrambled on all fours to her side. The Reaper Shard reared to its full, terrifying height above the two of them and Elyara screamed. Lorifal stepped in front of them, swinging his battle ax about in a great arc to keep the wraith from his fallen comrades. Idonea turned her staff on the wraith, but the lightning seemed to no longer have any effect. Gunnar joined Lorifal in swinging wildly at the creature, if nothing else than to distract it from his vulnerable friends. Feyden took careful aim, but the creature jerked as he let it fly. It pierced a tendril, causing the Shard to scream in pain, but it sailed off into the jungle like the others, causing only minimal damage. Feyden cursed again.

Raine was in a quandary. The fourth Reaper was nearly upon her but her companions were facing death. And with what most would consider extraordinary bravery, yet to a Scinterian was merely common sense, she took aim on the wraith that was bedeviling her comrades and sent her sword sailing end-over-end. It impaled the Reaper Shard in the back, causing it to shriek so loudly they all covered their ears. The smoke twisted and turned into a small vortex, then disappeared.

But now Raine was facing the final Reaper unarmed. None of her non-enchanted weapons would have any effect on the creature. Her body was ice cold and it was possible she could freeze the monstrosity as she had the Membrane. But it would be a slow attack and it was likely the wraith would flit to the other plane then return, rendering the attack useless.

“Feyden!” she yelled, holding out her arm.

Feyden had notched his final arrow and was aimed at the Reaper. He had hesitated because his attacks had been so ineffectual and knew that he had only a single arrow left. And now Raine was standing there in an odd position, her arm out from her shoulder and parallel to the ground. But the position was familiar and the event in the elven camp came rushing back to him. He understood, and he altered his aim three feet to the left and let the arrow fly.

The Reaper sought to dodge the missile, but the arrow was not aimed at the abomination but rather was aimed towards Raine's hand. And just as she had in the wood elf camp, she snatched the projectile from the air with her wrapped hand, twisted her wrist, and stabbed the wraith through its black heart. The creature seemed paralyzed, so stunned by the act it did not realize it was dead. There was no scream or shriek this time, only a low rumbling, a hissing, a semi-groan, and a question in a croaking voice filled with disbelief and wonder.

“What are you?” the creature whispered.

Raine stared into the monstrosity's eyes, and by extent, into the eyes of its summoner,. “Soon enough,” she said quietly, then yanked the arrow from the creature's body. The Reaper Shard hovered for a moment, faded in and out, then simply dissipated far more quietly than its companions.

Elyara was working furiously to stop the damage to Bristol and Dagna, and Idonea, although not skilled at the healing arts, joined her. Feyden and Lorifal were a little numb from the quick battle and its most unexpected resolution. No one had ever battled four Reaper Shards and survived, let alone killed them all single-handedly. Although it was a feat of legendary proportions, it was not one without consequences.

Feyden articulated those consequences. “I imagine your bounty is going up.”

The circulation was returning to Raine's extremities. Although the cold she felt when confronting pure evil could be used as a weapon, it also could be debilitative by slowing her movement. She rubbed her hands together.

“Yes,” she said, “I imagine I am in for quite a welcome at the Gate.” She approached Elyara. “How are they?”

Elyara's expression communicated as much as her words. “I am afraid not well. I don't think they can continue.”

This was the scenario Raine had feared. She could not simply leave her companions in the midst of the Veil; it was too dangerous. Yet it was clear they were in no condition to move forward. The thickness of the miasma at their current location told her they were getting very close to the outer gate.

Dagna stood with difficulty, and she pulled Bristol to his feet. “We may not be much good in a fight, but we'll not stay here and we'll not go back, which leaves us only one choice.”

Although it was an extremely brave declaration, Raine evaluated it with her Scinterian pragmatism. If she had to protect the two in battle, it might distract her. But leaving them behind would also prove a distraction as she had grown fond of them and abandoning them to the creatures of the Veil would weigh heavily on her mind. But the recent contact with both the Membrane and the Shard Wraiths would in a way indirectly protect her companions far more than all her physical prowess. Once inside the outer gate, she had little doubt that all attention would be focused upon her.

“Very well. We'll keep moving. Let me know if you need rest.”

Chapter 14

The outer gates rose up out of the mist of the Veil like monolithic sentries. On each door respectively, carved in bold relief, was a beautiful but frightening woman. The small band stood before the gigantic doors, seven in awe and fear, one in neither. Raine had stood before these doors before, giving little attention to the figure carved on the great doors. But now the image filled her with a deep foreboding.

“Idonea,” she said, turning to the dark-haired woman, “who is this woman?”

“I believe it is Hel, the goddess of the underworld.” Idonea said, examining the carvings, as well as the lettering and figures that surrounded them.

The cruel arrogance on the face of the goddess was breath-taking in its most literal sense; her expression made it difficult to breath. She possessed a hideous beauty, a combination of ravishing good looks and pure unadulterated evil, a look of seduction that did not hide the fact that she intended to brutally rape you then rip your head off afterward, or perhaps even before.

“And what does the inscription say?” Raine asked.

Idonea turned to Raine. There was an odd disquiet in Raine's voice, a pronounced uneasiness that was foreign to her. Idonea's reply was measured as she examined the other woman. “It says 'where hope dies.' Is something wrong?”

Raine shook her head, part a negation, and part as if to shake off something. “No, no, nothing's wrong. I am a bit disturbed that the gate is open.”

The others had missed that minor detail, having been so absorbed in the horror and magnificence of the gates themselves.

“Why is it open?” Lorifal asked.

“Well,” Raine said, resignation in her voice, “I'm guessing it means someone is expecting us.”

The open gate was enough of an anomaly to cause some of Raine's disquiet, but Idonea had a feeling that there was more to it. Something about the gate had deeply disturbed her.

Raine pushed through the gigantic gate, which swung open surprisingly easy given the enormity of its size, and the others followed. Her thoughts for once were not on what they were about to face, but rather on something she had faced previously. She had not recognized it at the time, even having stood before Hel's Gate before. But now, as she had stood before the gigantic carved relief of the Queen of the Underworld, she recognized the features instantly.

The face that had appeared just before she had frozen the Membrane, the one of unutterable beauty and unspeakable evil that had stared out among the orgy of appendages, had been Hel's.

The courtyard was as immense as the outer gates. They were now within a walled enclosure that gave no sense of being enclosed because of its sheer size; it seemed to extend miles in every direction. In stark contrast to the untamed jungle of the Veil, the courtyard appeared well-maintained. The ground was smooth and level, patterned with black and red tiles that curved about in flowing pathways. There were trees that seemed to bleed a red sap where they had been carefully pruned. Torches were placed every few feet, and a quick glance would give the illusion that the entire courtyard was ablaze.

The small band walked slowly into the courtyard. It was strangely empty, and there was little noise beyond the licking flames of numerous torches. They appeared tiny figures in the immense space.

“I expected thousands of Hyr'rok'kin here,” Feyden said quietly, “this is where they are coming from, correct?”

“Yes,” Raine said, her eyes scanning in every direction, “the true Gate, Hel's Gate, is there.” She pointed to the far end of the courtyard which seemed miles away. There was a gate similar to the outer one they had just passed through, but this one was even larger with more intricate and hideous carvings upon it. Even from their great distance, the immensity of the gate was evident. “That is the entry to the underworld and their only access into the Veil, and then into our world. I am sure this has been a highway to them of late, but I don't understand why they aren't here now.”

That was not entirely a true statement. Truly, their band could have been attacked at any time, across the Empty Land, through the Veil, and now in the courtyard. Perhaps their resounding defeat of the Hyr'rok'kin each time they had met had tempered their enemy's response. Or perhaps the astonishing destruction of the Reaper Shards had created uncertainty in the enemy's tactics. But it was Raine's experience that such an enemy would generally respond to such defeats with overwhelming force, which meant their motivation went beyond simply killing them.

They walked slowly across the immense courtyard, dwarfed by the grotesque statuary that spotted the grounds. After what seemed an eternity of walking, they came to the center of the courtyard where an enormous set of scales was placed. The two platforms towered above them, one black as night, made of some type of ebony material, and the other white as pristine snow, appearing to be marble. The scales were balanced, each platform level with the other. The mechanism was intricate, a marvel of engineering.

Lorifal was dumbfounded. “This should not be here.”

“You know this?” Raine asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “My people built this. These are the scales of light and dark, created to measure the balance of good and evil in the world.”

“For what purpose?” Idonea asked.

“Our intentions were noble,” Lorifal said, gazing at the structure in awe, “but in vain. The goal was to increase the amount of good in the world. But no matter how hard we tried or what we did, the scales would return even with their fulcrum. We could change things for the better short-term, or sometimes they would change for the worse when our efforts were misguided, but the balances always returned to equilibrium. We could not find a way to use them.”

“I wonder what they are doing here?” Feyden murmured.

“I can't imagine it's a good thing,” Raine said. “We mere mortals might be incapable of altering the balance, but whatever was powerful enough to bring the machinery here might be powerful enough to tip the scales.” She gave one last look at the colossal piece of equipment. “And I doubt it will be toward the light.”

They set out again towards the main Gate. Their progress was slow, both because of the immense distance they were covering, but also because of their wounded companions. Elyara gamely tried to support Dagna, but Lorifal soon relieved her. He was the perfect height for the bard to lean upon and she gratefully accepted his assistance. Gunnar helped Bristol along, steadfastly refusing Feyden's offer of assistance. He seemed to feel a sense of responsibility for Bristol's condition, although it had not been his fault.

They seemed to be nearing the great Gate although it was hard to judge the distance based on the sheer size of the structure. Off to the left was a raised platform, a structure that Raine was certain had not been there before. At first glance, it did not seem that large, but as they approached, it became apparent that there were hundreds of marble steps leading up to the dais, and the platform itself seemed something of an altar. They stopped at the base of the stairs uncertainly. Raine looked to the gate to her right, which was still tightly closed. She looked back at the great scales, trying to fathom their purpose and position. She then sighed and started up the stairs with the others following.

They had to stop halfway up to rest. Raine was tense and thought of continuing on her own. Anxiety swirled about them as if it had taken physical form, and she forcibly pushed it away. They continued on.

Lorifal was breathing hard by the time they reached the top. The air had thickened as they progressed across the great courtyard, and it had grown hotter. It was even hotter on the altar. Sweat ran down his back in rivulets. Beads of sweat appeared on Idonea's forehead. In fact all were perspiring heavily with the exception of Raine, who was dry simply because her body had grown colder the closer they came to the top of the stairs.

A man stood there. A man dressed in black robes. A man with strange green eyes and thin features that bordered on cadaverous. Oddly, this did not make him unattractive but rather somewhat mesmerizing. Raine examined him, and he examined the band as a whole.

“Hmm,” she said, which brought his intense and fearful gaze around to her. He smiled broadly and Dagna took an inadvertent step backward, nearly tumbling down the stairs. He had a mouthful of razor sharp teeth.

“Hmm,” Raine said again, her unconcern pronounced, and this caused the man to smile even more broadly.

“I have been waiting for you,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice. It was not loud, yet echoed throughout the great courtyard like thunder rolling across an open plain. “I thought you would be here long before now.”

“We ran into a few mishaps,” Raine said casually.

This brought the fearful gaze around to the others of the band. “Yes, your little troupe has provided me ample material for my experiments, allowing me to fine-tune my process.”

Raine's eyes narrowed. “What experiments?”

The man's eyes gleamed. “Here, let me show you.”

He raised his arms and the sleeves of his black robes hung down like wings, giving him a dreadful appearance. An awful, grating noise filled the courtyard and all turned towards the great Gate. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the gigantic doors began to swing outward. They did not move quickly, nor did they move far, but the power required to effect even that small movement was unfathomable. And as soon as the doors were opened shoulder-width, Hyr'rok'kin began squeezing through the opening. Granted, they came through in single file and not with any great speed, but still they seeped from the Underworld like noxious fumes.

Raine looked back at the dark-robed man. It was an extraordinary feat, the power almost unrivaled. But she did not think him capable of opening the doors any further, nor did she think him capable of holding them open for any sustained length of time.

“And that is just the beginning,” the man said as if sensing her thoughts. He waved his arms once more and a great metallic clanking rolled across the courtyard. Link by link, a chain began forming from the ebony platform of the great scales. It was hard to judge the size of the chain, but each link had to have been the height of a Marrow Shard or greater. The chain stretched out, a sharp clank emitting each time a link formed and attached itself to the chain. The band watched in amazement as the immense chain stretched across the courtyard, then attached its final link to the left door of the great gate.

Raine watched the Hyr'rok'kin pour from the gates, still trying to fathom the purpose of the contraption. As their numbers increased, a tortured squeal of metal-on-metal came from the scales as very slowly, the ebony platform began to tip toward the dark. The great chain began to tighten, and as it did so, it began to pull the door of the gate. Once completely taut, the door began to slowly move, and Raine understood. As the darkness poured out of the Underworld, it tipped the scales towards evil. This in turn put strain on the chain, opening the doors ever-so-slightly more. At some point, the Hyr'rok'kin would enter two abreast, the doors would open more, and it would become a self-sustaining process. Theoretically, it could only be countered by good, which would re-balance the scales and slacken the chain.

The man smiled his evil, fang-filled smile once more. “And that is where your little band has proven so instrumental. Each time I moved the scales out-of-balance, your ridiculously selfless acts, your camaraderie, your foolhardy bravery, would shift the balance back, giving me more and more detail on the process.”

This did not seem an entirely truthful statement to Raine. “Instrumental?” she said, “Or frustrating? How many times have you opened that gate only to have us unknowingly shut it?”

The smile disappeared abruptly, then reappeared once more in an even more hideous variation. This one held a sly malevolence in addition to the earlier dark glee. “I thought your death alone would tip the scales to the breaking point.”

“Breaking point?” Raine said. She at last understood the full extent of this monster's plan. “You don't want to just open the gates, you want to tear them down.”

The mouthful of fangs appeared once more. “Yes,” he rumbled, “then there will be no more light. There will only be a constant stream of darkness from the bowels of the earth.”

“Hmm,” Raine said with the same unimpressed disinterest as before, a monosyllabic reply that finally pushed the man into fury.

“You have no idea what you are dealing with,” he spat at her.

“Oh, I think I do,” she murmured back.

Lorifal stepped forward. “No wizard is going to use the scales of my people to bring darkness to the world!”

“He is not a wizard,” Raine said warningly, pulling Lorifal back. But the dwarf's verbal attack and Raine's warning only made the man laugh, laughter that boomed out across the courtyard as the dark robes disappeared into a blinding flash of light. The man transformed into his true form and towered above them, his sinewy neck weaving back and forth.

Everyone except for Raine and Idonea stepped backward to the edge of the steps. Raine did not step back because she had expected the transformation, and Idonea because she was too stunned to move. Out of everything she had expected, a master wizard, a demi-god, a demon'ai, she had not even considered that another dragon might be waiting for them.

Raine examined the black scales, the glowing green eyes, and sought for the name in her memory.

“Ragnar'ante'ilain.”

The ancient dragon smiled and this time his fangs appeared far more suitable for his fearsome appearance. “You know me,” he hissed with satisfaction.

“I know of you,” Raine replied. “You have a long history of betrayal.”

The dragon leaned close and Raine did not flinch from the hot breath. He returned to his earlier conversation. “I thought your death alone would tip the scales, but that has been forbidden me.”

This comment made Raine far more uneasy than all of his earlier, threatening histrionics. “And why is that?” she asked.

“I have very special instructions regarding you, little Arlanian.”

Raine's jaw clenched.

“I am certain the deaths of your brave comrades will tip the scales sufficiently, and when we are finished here, you will be 'escorted' through those doors. You will not be returning,” he said with false regret. He appeared to ponder her fate. “I almost feel sorry for you, for I am certain you will be used in a most degrading Arlanian fashion.”

Raine tried to control her anger. She still needed information from the creature and she focused on what he had just revealed.

“So you are in fact taking instructions from someone.”

The dragon's jaws snapped shut. He could pay dearly for revealing too much.

Idonea shifted, unconsciously fingering the artifact in her pocket. The movement caught the dragon's eye and he swung his great head around to her.

“Oh, that's right,” he said, “I nearly forgot about you. Now your plans, if I'm not mistaken, were to steal my power with that little gem you have in your pocket.”

Idonea seemed to shrink in size and moved closer to Raine. It had seemed like a good plan when she had expected a powerful mage or wizard. But she was not certain even the white Elkar'Anon was powerful enough to absorb the soul of an ancient dragon, and even if it was, she could not think of any way to use it now that the dragon knew that she had it.

“I thought to kill you like all the rest,” the dragon said, “but now I think I will take your little toy and use it on you. There is something remarkable about you, something you yourself take for granted and do not appreciate. But I will be happy to take that power from you.”

Against her will, Idonea found herself removing the soul catcher from her pocket. It was a beautiful crystal, pure white and shining with some type of light from within. She held it at eye level, gazing longingly at the artifact held by a limb which she no longer had any control over. The black dragon leaned forward, towering over her. He admired the amulet.

“So it is Elkar'Anon,” he said with pleasure. “I thought it no longer existed. You will give it to me, then I will take your life force as you sought to take mine.”

Idonea fought for control. She did not hand the amulet to the dragon, but nor could she pull it back towards her. It hovered between them.

“Give it to me,” he said, enjoying her resistance because he knew he would prevail. His influence caused the soul catcher to inch towards him, but Idonea fought to bring it back, struggling mightily against his control.

“No,” she said through gritted teeth, the strain on her face obvious.

“You cannot resist, foolish little mage,” the dragon said, “Now give it to me or I will take it.”

“Oh this is ridiculous,” Raine said with impatience. “Idonea, give it to me.”

Raine snatched the amulet from Idonea's hand, then tossed it to the dragon. “If you want her soul, it's yours.”

“Raine!” Feyden and Dagna exclaimed simultaneously, stunned.

“No!” Idonea cried as the dragon caught the white crystal. The move startled him but he laughed at the betrayal by the Arlanian. This was the point where allegiances often failed and the panic and shock in the mage's eyes did his black heart good. He raised the crystal to Idonea, preparing to absorb her life force, and she cringed from him. He pointed the soul catcher directly at her.

And nothing happened.

Raine gazed at him, arms crossed over her chest, a look of mild contempt on her features. Her eyes were a very cool blue.

“Oh that's right,” she said, “it doesn't work anymore.”

The dragon stared at the soul catcher in disbelief, shaking it as if to make something happen. The self-illumination of the artifact was gone and it looked to be nothing more than an ordinary crystal, albeit a very pretty one.

“What did you do?” the black dragon demanded.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Raine said mildly.

But Idonea knew exactly what she had done. The minute she had touched Elkar'Anon, the enchanted item's magical properties disappeared. Raine had saved her by destroying the soul catcher. She stared at the other woman wordlessly.

“Sorry I broke your toy,” Raine said, no apology evident in her voice. She kicked a stone that clattered across the great platform. “I was actually hoping that would work. Did you have some secondary plan?”

Idonea shook her head, still mute. How this woman could remain so calm under their current circumstances was beyond belief. Although the destruction of Elkar'Anon had stopped the downward descent of the ebony platform of the great scales, that had merely slackened the chain. The dragon concentrated forcefully to keep the gates open, and the unending stream of Hyr'rok'kin slowly put tension on the chain once more. The army was massing at the base of the stairs of the altar.

“No alternate plan, eh?” Raine asked. She glanced down at the horde. “Well, then it's a good thing your mother is here.”

Idonea had never been so pleased to hear those words in her life. And while the others and the black dragon sought to comprehend this most arbitrary statement, their effort was interrupted by a thunderous roar that split the very air of the courtyard. The horrific noise made the Hyr'rok'kin tremble as the sound of leathery wings swooped down over them. A blast of fire incinerated a swathe of them before they could see their attacker, and the bodies piled up in front of the great gate, slowing their egress.

The mouths of the small band gaped as a magnificent red dragon wheeled over the Hyr'rok'kin army. The creature was terrifying, yet somehow seemed to be on their side. The monster skimmed down over the Shards, razor-sharp talons strafing all below.

“Isn't she gorgeous?” Raine murmured to Idonea, and even under the circumstances, Idonea rolled her eyes.

“Yes, yes, whatever,” she said, regaining the senses that had fled when she thought her life was over. She felt the urge to rush down and join the fight, but Raine was keeping her eye on the black dragon, who seemed too stunned to react at the moment.

Weynild wheeled about again, then hovered above the great scales. Golden eyes assessed the contraption. Great leather wings lifted her upwards, then she went into a steep dive at a sharp angle into the support of the platform. The impact of the gigantic creature with the marble pillar shook the ground, throwing nearly the entire Hyr'rok'kin army to the ground. Elyara and Dagna went down, as did Gunnar and Bristol. Feyden fell against Lorifal, who barely maintained his feet. Raine went to one knee, catching Idonea and keeping her from tumbling down the stairs. A crack appeared in the pillar supporting the scales.

“No!” the black dragon screamed in fury, knowing he was too far away to prevent the inevitable.

Weynild shook off the impact and regained altitude with a few thrusts of her mighty wings. She went into another steep dive at an even greater speed, and this impact was deafening. Any one left standing was thrown to the ground and even Raine went to both knees. The crack widened and the chains were broken. Although magically constructed, they had been fashioned with physical materials and the enormous links fell on the Hyr'rok'kin below, crushing everything beneath them. The great scale began to slide off the support pillar and once reaching a critical point, broke in two and crumbled downward. The platforms went down in a huge cloud of dust and debris, smashing everything below.

“By my ancestors,” Lorifal said in disbelief. He did not think the destruction of the great scales was possible. The magnificent red dragon again shook off the impact and headed their way. The enormous creature hovered above their heads, glaring menacingly at the black dragon.

“Talan,” the black dragon hissed.

“Ragnar,” Weynild said with contempt, “I should have known that you were behind this. Out of all the ancients, you always were the most willing to involve yourself in petty affairs.”

“Not so petty,” the black dragon replied. He nodded to the great gate. “You may have destroyed the scales, but the door is already opened wide.”

Weynild turned her great head towards the gates. The Hyr'rok'kin were using the bodies of their fallen comrades as a ramp, and now were coming through the doors four abreast. Their numbers were increasing astronomically and they now flooded the courtyard. Hell hounds and Marrow Shards were starting to come through the opening as well, and the mass began to creep up the stairs of the altar. Lorifal drew his ax, and Gunnar and Bristol their swords. Dagna drew her sword, still leaning upon Elyara. Feyden notched an arrow in his bow, looking to Raine for guidance. Raine gazed up at the red dragon, who gazed down at her with glowing gold eyes.

“You must shut the gates,” Raine said.

Weynild knew this to be true. She must stop the Hyr'rok'kin at their source, and she was the only one capable of shutting the gates. It would be difficult even without Ragnar's attempts to hold them open.

“And you?” Weynild asked.

Raine smiled her wickedly mischievous smile, the one Weynild loved more than all the world.

“I've got this,” she said, nodding towards the black dragon.

Weynild roared her approval and spun about in an acrobatic maneuver, heading towards the gates as Raine turned back to the black dragon.

Ragnar coughed his amused contempt. Although he was exerting tremendous effort to keep the gates opened, the effort was lessening as more Hyr'rok'kin came through. And it would require little effort to defeat the band of tiny cretins in front of him.

“Raine?” Feyden asked. The question did not need to be articulated. The Hyr'rok'kin were seeping up the stairs towards them and they were surrounded. And with all her skill, he did not possibly see how she could defeat an ancient dragon. Reaper Shards and Marrow Shards were one thing, one of the ancients, entirely another. He did not know whether to train his bow on the dragon or on the approaching Hyr'rok'kin, so he alternated between the two. Lorifal stood at his shoulder, his ax wavering with the same indecision and anticipation. Dagna assessed the situation a little sadly; she did not see how they would survive this. Elyara clutched her staff in her hands, bravely raising herself to her full height. Bristol and Gunnar turned to the Hyr'rok'kin, knowing they could do nothing against the dragon.

“Raine,” Idonea said, “you of all people know you cannot defeat him.”

Raine smiled, a look of fierce joy on her face. “And you of all people,” she replied, “should know me better than that.” She turned to the black dragon, drawing one of her double swords.

The dragon laughed, an awful snort of derision. He towered above her as she approached, his sinewy neck snaking down towards her. Oddly, as she approached, she was removing her armor, shedding clothing as she neared.

“Are you going to seduce me, little Arlanian?”

Raine was dressed now only in boots, breeches and a short-sleeved leather jerkin. She drew her other sword now that her hands were free. She allowed her eyes to go to their native deep violet and the dragon was taken aback. The beauty of this race was not exaggerated. He knew now why his Mistress had given him the orders she be captured alive. He was a little saddened to think that might not be possible, not because he was not capable of taking her alive, but because he no longer wished to if he could not possess her himself.

“Not exactly,” Raine said, responding to the suggested seduction. “You're really not my type.”

Somehow this obscure response was perfectly interpreted by the dragon. He looked to the red dragon that was hovering before the great gates, her powerful hind limbs holding the doors and her wings beating the air in an effort to keep them from opening further.

“You are Talan's lover!” he exclaimed.

“I don't see how that's any of your business,” Raine said, swinging her swords as if she were warming up.

As dreadful and hopeless as their situation was, the proclamation and failure to deny it caught Dagna's attention as well as her imagination. She leaned towards Idonea.

“Did he just say what I think he said?”

“Shut up,” Idonea said, exasperated.

“I am not sure how an Arlanian could survive the attentions of an Ancient One,” Ragnar said, “your parents must have been quite hardy.”

“You have no idea,” Raine said, her eyes darkening to almost black. It was rare for her eyes to remain purple while preparing for battle, but perhaps it was due to the fact that her emotions were running so high at the moment. She swung one sword with a vicious motion, carving an imaginary enemy to pieces. The dragon was actually beginning to feel uneasy.

“You see, I am only half Arlanian,” Raine said casually, whipping the second sword around with blinding speed. “Something I understand is exceedingly rare.”

Although the eyes of the others were fully on the nearing Hyr'rok'kin, they strained to catch the conversation between Raine and the dragon. Idonea clutched her staff, preparing to unleash fire on the approaching horde, but she, too, was fully absorbed in the conversation taking place behind her.

“Really?” the dragon responded. “Let me guess, the other half of you is demi-god.”

It had been a sarcastic comment, an allusion to her fighting abilities even if a derisive one. But the amused look on the Arlanian's face and the glower in those purple eyes made the dragon even more uneasy.

“No,” she said calmly, “something far more dangerous than that.”

And as she spoke the words, Raine outstretched both arms, no longer attempting to hide anything. The intricate blue and gold markings rose to the surface of her skin, the unmistakable filigree of a tortuously painful ceremony, one attempted and survived by only one race in all of time. None present had ever seen such markings other than in ancient texts.

None except the dragon standing in front of Raine.

“You are Scinterian,” the dragon said, exhaling in disbelief.

“And you are old enough to have seen these markings before,” Raine replied. “Old enough to remember why the Scinterians became the dragon's ultimate ally.”

The black dragon's jaw slammed shut with tremendous force and his fangs ground upon one another. Raine smiled as if the two of them were sharing some inside joke, then gazed at him with pale blue eyes beneath lowered brows.

“Because before the Scinterians were the dragons' ultimate allies, they were the ultimate dragon slayers.”

No sooner were the words from her mouth than Raine leaped toward the dragon. He attempted to take flight but she was upon his neck, one sword impaled in the soft skin between the scales. She used this sword to hold on as the head writhed about like a serpent, the great jaws snapping at her. The black dragon began to launch himself skyward but Raine swung again, this time slicing the tendon on the back of his leg, crippling his ability to leap. Without sufficient height, he was unable to flap his swings to their full extent nor gain any altitude. He skimmed along the platform before crashing downward while Raine still clung to the impaled sword. With a great wrenching motion, she yanked the sword from his flesh and went for his heart. He lunged sideways, and although she was able to cling to his neck, her sword deflected off the great bony plate protecting his chest. The sideways lunge sent them both tumbling down the stairs, taking out a column of the advancing Hyr'rok'kin who scattered panicked in every direction.

Raine was barely able to avoid being crushed by the tumbling dragon and it was only her incredible strength that kept her grip on his thrashing neck. She had lost her swords to maintain her grip and now pulled a dagger from her belt, feeling the blood pulse beneath her. There was a gigantic vein throbbing beneath her leg and with unerring accuracy, she jabbed the dagger between two scales to find the monster's jugular. Blood began to spray from the wound, not a killing blow, but one that would weaken.

They had tumbled all the way to bottom of the steps and the wounded dragon was whipping his tail about in rage and agony, doing damage to the Hyr'rok'kin and none to Raine. She had lost the rest of her weapons in her prolonged fall and now was unarmed, so she turned to a nearby Shard who looked at her dumbly. She smashed him in the head with a downward fist and took his ax from him. She hurled the ax at the dragon, her target the other leg, and again her accuracy was unerring. The ax sliced through the tendon, hobbling the monster completely. His thrashing became frenzied and blood sprayed in every direction. He also began breathing fire from his lungs now that Raine was no longer attached to his neck and was a viable target, or at least would have been were she not dodging the flames.

“Raine!”

Raine looked upward. Feyden had raced down the steps after her. He had her bow in his hands. With a great heave, he threw the weapon end-over-end and she concentrated with all her ability to catch the bow in its center. To do otherwise would amputate her hand. Ragnar was rearing back, preparing to blast her with an inferno, and she snapped the bow outward into place.

The dragon let loose a blast of fire at her but Idonea sent a simultaneous blast of ice towards the funnel of flame. The end result was a wave of warm water and steam that drenched Raine, nearly knocking her to the ground. It was a decidedly better outcome than being burned alive, and she shook the water from her hair with a toss of her head.

“Feyden!” she yelled, holding out her arm. The Scinterian markings on her forearms seemed to glow with the exertion of battle.

But Feyden was already notching an arrow. Raine had the bow but did not have any ammunition. He let the arrow fly, praying that Raine's supernatural skill would not fail at this point. The black dragon slammed his tail to the ground, causing Raine to stumble and nearly fall again. But she caught the arrow in mid-flight, flipped it by spinning it in the palm of her hand, notched it, and drew her bow string to its full length. She let it fly.

Time seemed to stop as the arrow flew through the air. Bodies fell in slow motion, blood spattered at an infinitesimal rate, the dragon swung his wing to block the incoming missile. The arrow pierced the thick membrane of his wing but it was fired with such force it did not even slow down as it passed through. It found its mark, piercing the right eye of the dragon, then burying itself in the dragon's brain.

The scream was deafening. Raine fell to the ground, covering her ears. The Hyr'rok'kin began fleeing in terror, scrambling over one another to get back through the doors that were now slowly but surely closing. The black dragon thrashed about in death throes, destroying everything in a large radius. Raine stood, a little unsteadily, as she was joined by her companions.

“Can I chase them now?” Lorifal asked with grim humor, watching the Hyr'rok'kin flee.

“Yes,” Raine said, taking the sword that Elyara had retrieved for her. “We can chase them now.”

And so they did, the small band of four humans, two elves, one dwarf, and one Scinterian Arlanian, accompanied by one of the most powerful ancients of all time, Talan'alaith'illaria. They chased the Hyr'rok'kin army, hell hounds, and Marrow Shards back through the gates of the Underworld. And as Weynild was finally able to shut the doors completely, anything that had the misfortune to be left in the great courtyard was slaughtered. When the last one fell, a cheer went up amongst the small band. Lorifal quite forgot himself and hugged Feyden. The reserved elf took it in stride, however, and patted his comrade on the back affectionately. Elyara and Dagna kissed. Gunnar and Bristol grasped forearms and pounded one another on the chest. Then all eyes turned to Raine, who stood slightly apart from Idonea. Both women stared up at the immense red dragon that was gliding in to a graceful landing before them.

The dragon's feet touched down and it disappeared into a blinding flash of yellow light. From the light emerged a stunningly beautiful older woman with silver hair and golden eyes. She moved with an elegant saunter that was reminiscent of the dark-haired beauty she approached. She brushed her fingers lightly over Idonea's cheek as she passed, a gentle acknowledgment.

“Not bad, my dear,” Weynild said in her low, sensual voice.

“Thank you mother,” Idonea murmured with feigned obedience, pleased despite herself.

The silver-haired woman approached Raine, whose sudden longing was like something alive. She drank in the sight of her lover, every inch of her supple curves, the grace of her features, the depths of her golden eyes flecked with red. Weynild pulled her to her, crushing her in her embrace, kissing her long and deeply. Raine could not get close enough to her, even with every inch of her body pressed to her.

The kiss lengthened as the others gaped, and the utter sensuality of the two together was stunning.

“By my Ancestors,” Lorifal murmured, and Dagna turned in question to Idonea.

Idonea watched the kiss extend. “Yes, yes,” she said, “My mother is a dragon and Raine is the dragon's lover.”

Dagna's mouth dropped open further, if that was possible. “Your mother is Raine's lover?”

Idonea looked at her in exasperation. “Out of everything I just said, that is what you find odd?”

“Well, no,” Dagna said, embarrassed, but then could not help herself. “But really, your mother and Raine?”

The kiss finally ended but the two did not separate. Raine knew she would have to part with her lover a while longer.

“There are a few loose ends I need to tie up,” Weynild said. Raine looked askance at her, then quickly shook her head.

“Never mind, I don't want to know. I would not abandon my friends at this point, anyway. I must get them safely back through the Empty Land.”

“I knew your sense of honor would require that. I can accompany you, if you wish, but then I would have to part from you again.”

Raine shook her head even more vehemently. “No, finish your business, and when I see you again, I will not allow your parting for a decade.”

Weynild raised an eyebrow. “Only a decade my love? I am not letting you go again for at least a century.”

They kissed again, this one as prolonged as the previous, and Weynild quickly transformed, fearful that if she stayed with her lover a moment longer she would not be able to leave.

Chapter 15

The small band was surrounded by wood elves some distance out from their camp, but this time it was a far more cordial greeting. They were welcomed by Y'arren's people, who had been expecting them. Rumors had rippled across the land of the success of this group of heroes, and the sudden disappearance of the Hyr'rok'kin gave confirmation to those tales. Y'arren herself had meditated greatly on their acts, pleased with the outcome. And when her beloved Arlanian strolled into the camp, accompanied by her cocky fellows, she went out to embrace each of them personally.

Raine smiled. They had made far better time on their return then their exodus. They had dispatched a few Hyr'rok'kin stragglers, but had met little resistance. The imperial army had arrived, albeit a bit late, but their presence was welcomed throughout the holds in the villages and towns. The companions had agreed to travel to Y'arren's people together, where they would disband.

As Y'arren stood before the altar where incense burned, offering thanks, she was unsurprised at the shadow that passed over them. She turned upward at the sound of the great leathery wings as the magnificent dragon glided into the camp clearing, then dissolved into a flash of yellow light. Weynild emerged from the light, her red armor glistening, her golden eyes gleaming. Y'arren and all her people went to their knees, and Raine's band slowly followed suit. Even Idonea deigned to offer a deep bow to her mother. Only Raine stood tall as her lover approached.

“And will you not bow before me?” Weynild asked, amused.

“I gladly kneel before you,” Raine replied, “but you know what that will lead to.”

Weynild laughed and took her lover into her arms, kissing her hungrily. She broke the embrace, however, simply because she did not wish to tarry long.

“Talan'alaith'illaria,” Y'arren said respectfully, returning to her feet, but again bowing deeply. “You honor us with your presence.”

“Respect to your people,” Weynild said in Elvish, “wisdom and long life.” Y'arren again bowed, accepting the blessing.

“To you as well,” she replied.

Raine turned to her companions, individuals a few months prior who had been strangers to her, reluctantly adding her to their quest. She disliked goodbyes intensely, so determined to make the parting quick. She approached Lorifal and placed her hands on his shoulders.

“You are welcome for a drink at my hearth any time.”

Lorifal beamed. “I will take you up on that offer.”

Raine moved to Dagna and Elyara, who had become inseparable. “I wish you two the greatest happiness.”

Both women gave Raine a quick hug, and she moved to Gunnar and Bristol.

“You do the sons of men proud,” she said. She addressed both of them, but looked to Bristol at her next sentence. “You fought bravely.”

Bristol blushed as red as his hair, and Gunnar beamed. Both clasped forearms with her in the traditional parting.

Raine moved to Feyden, and they stood eye-to-eye, saying nothing. Finally, Feyden just smiled and Raine laughed, clasping his shoulder. “Until next time, my friend.”

At last, Raine came to Idonea, feeling the need to say little. “And I'm sure I'll be seeing you again, since you're my step-daughter, or something like that.”

Idonea rolled her eyes. “Oh dear god,” she said, but there was no bite to her words and a smile played about her lips.

Raine last came before Y'arren. “Warmth in winter and cool in summer, my friend.”

“You will return in the spring?” Y'arren asked.

“Of course,” Raine said, nodding respectfully.

Weynild had watched patiently but her patience was at an end. She transformed in a brilliant flash of light and her immense form draped off the platform, causing those too near to step back. The sinewy neck weaved back and forth as she stretched, preparing for flight. She leaned down as Raine approached.

“That is always so arousing,” Raine murmured to her.

“Do not push me, girl,” the dragon rumbled. “Or I will transform again and put you on your back on this altar.”

“I'm sure that would give Y’arren’s people a show they would not soon forget,” Raine said, pulling herself onto Weynild's neck. She stroked the supple skin beneath her. “I wonder how far I will make it this time.”

The dragon laughed and leaped toward the sky. The monstrous beast climbed skyward, lifted by strong wings and a favorable breeze, and the two soon disappeared over the horizon.

Weynild glided into the skylight opening of her mountain keep. Raine had maintained her composure on the flight, but only barely. She could not get her clothing off fast enough and Weynild, as soon as she had transformed, assisted by shredding her remaining garments with nails that retained talon-like sharpness.

Raine's fear was that she would climax immediately. She had been away from her love for so long and was so inflamed she thought she might explode. But Weynild's lips were so skillful, her hands so attuned to Raine's body, she found ways to heighten Raine's pleasure even more. They were locked together, moving as one, as if they had been fused into a single whole. Something Raine feared would last minutes instead lasted hours in a reunion far more epic than even Dagna’s vivid imagination could envision. In the end, they were only one, as joined by the intense sexual act as they had been by the ceremony of binding. Indeed, it seemed that one was merely the physical manifestation of the other.

Raine lay on her stomach with her head beneath Weynild's breasts. Weynild traced the blue and gold markings that stood out in bold relief on her back, and Raine sighed with pleasure at the touch. She would not, however, keep her thoughts to herself.

“This isn't over, is it?”

Weynild continued to trace the intricate pattern. “No, my love. I fear it is just beginning.”

The admission did not surprise her, and she thought back to the black dragon’s words, his inadvertent confession. “So who is powerful enough to give orders to an ancient dragon?”

“The same one who has the most to gain by opening the gate to the underworld.”

Raine lifted her head slightly and looked up at her.

“Hel.”

A cold chill passed over Raine as she suddenly saw the face in the midst of the Membrane, the same face that was on the gates themselves. She thought of Ragnar's words, that she was to be “escorted” into the underworld. Weynild could feel the change in temperature of her lover's skin, and pulled her close. She turned her head and blew out a great gust of fire, lighting the wood in the pit next to them. The heat was wonderfully warm on Raine's skin, and she relaxed in her lover's embrace as Weynild continued.

“I knew you would become the object of her desire once she saw you,” Weynild said, eliminating any doubt in Raine's mind regarding the meaning of the black dragon's words, “but now that she knows you are mine, you will become the object of her obsession.”

Raine propped herself up on an elbow. “Why do I have the feeling there is some history between the two of you?”

Weynild's golden eyes gleamed in the firelight. “Because you have such remarkable instincts, my love.”

Raine could not generate even mild annoyance at her lover's withholding of information. She knew that Weynild had her reasons and she would become privy to them when the time was right. She rolled back on top of the silver-haired beauty in playful domination, an action so far removed from reality it made Weynild smile.

“Feeling the need to be on top, are we?”

“Yes,” Raine said.

And so the dragon let her.

Also from Samantha Sabian

THE SJÖFN ACADEMY

CHRONICLES OF ARIANTHEM II

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THE RUNNER THIEF

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THE RIVAL’S CONCORD

CHRONICLES OF ARIANTHEM IV

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THE DRAGON’S ALLIANCE

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