A Paladin's War Ch. 17

© Antidarius 2025

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A PALADIN'S WAR

CHAPTER 17

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The Blade in the Valley

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Maloth surveyed Cathgard from atop the high wall that ran the entire length of these northern cities, hard up against the coastline. They called it the Dawnwall, a grandiose name that had not saved it from ruin. Vasuda had seen to that. The Titan had punched through the tons of heavy stone as if were straw, sending the Heralds running like dogs.

Ironically, dawn itself was breaking over the city under assault by Maloth's forces, smoke-haze heavy in air filled with screams and shouts and the clashing of steel on steel. Cathgard was the central city of the five. A lesser force would struggle to fortify here as the Heralds retaliated from the east and west, but Maloth would have little difficulty.

Beside him stood Rava, as tall as himself at seven feet, slender and proud, even now. Her pale form was cloaked in a light mist that shifted and swirled around her, sometimes opaque, sometimes not. She was an exquisite beauty with that long white hair, slim curves and those all-white eyes that seemed to see things others could not. They likely could. The mist did not hide the purple-black magic-wrought bands that encircled her wrists, ankles and throat. She deliberately did not look at those bands.

Kreya stood on Rava's other side, carefully watching the Titan, though Maloth was increasingly convinced her vigilance was unnecessary. Rava had not disobeyed a single command since being bound to him, and he had tested her most thoroughly. Unlike his ahk'sheth, however, she hated him to her core, unable to disguise the loathing in her eyes when she looked at him, which only further supported his assessment; if she had been able, she would have destroyed him a hundred times by now.

"Clear this air," he commanded without looking at her as he placed his hands on the battlement, leaning forward. "I wish to better see the city."

Rava said nothing, and made no noticeable movement, but Maloth felt something shift in her as a stiff wind rose, blowing east to west across the city. The wind would have served to stoke the fires burning below, but clouds quickly developed overhead, much faster than was natural. A light rain began to fall, stopping just short of the wall, dousing the fires. He would have let the whole city burn, but his men would need garrisons and supplies.

After a few minutes, the smoke was all but gone, revealing more detail below. The streets closest to the wall were filled with his soldiers, hulking Gor'dur Orcs and midnight-black Mor'elda, alongside roughly armoured Human barbarians, black-cloaked Wardens of the Dead with their Risen servants, and towering Amun'noroth. The fighting here had only recently stopped, the Heralds giving ground to the invaders and retreating further back into the city.

Captive Heralds and citizens of Cathgard were kneeling in clusters in the streets, closely guarded. More were being dragged from buildings in every direction, kicking, screaming, or weeping, to join the others on their knees.

Directly below, his forces were clearing the dead from the streets to make way for more soldiers to pass through. Maloth glanced behind him, at the dozen greatships anchored offshore. Only three had lent their troops to this initial assault. The other nine were being emptied now, the men being ferried ashore on dozens of longboats, their rows of oars making them look like water spiders this high up.

The stone walkway of the battlement just beside Maloth shifted and cracked, then bulged upward like a geyser of rock, quickly taking the shape of a tall, muscular man with deep brown skin and two long, curved horns that curled out from his forehead, then back over his bald scalp. Eyes like orbs of granite regarded Maloth, then turned to look over the city below.

Why the Titans insisted on taking worldly forms was beyond Maloth, but Vasuda was no different, even down to the prodigious genitals hanging between his legs.

"Is it done?" Maloth asked, watching the Titan from the corner of his eye. Unlike Rava, Vasuda was not under his control, not directly. Maloth was still waiting for his moment to remedy that issue.

"It is," Vasuda answered in a voice like a mountain crumbling.

"Good," Maloth said. "Very good." Vasuda's tunnel would surface in two places that would be most inconvenient for the Heralds. "I have additional tasks."

Vasuda grunted. "I require rest, Mor'ion. Your tasks will have to wait." He leaned forward a little, looking past Maloth to eye Rava up and down. "Although I could be convinced otherwise."

Rava's head snapped around, the sneer plain on her beautiful face. "You are as arrogant as you are foolish, Stonelord." She invested the name with scorn, and thunder rumbled ominously over the city, punctuating her words.

She opened her mouth to say more, but Maloth raised a hand, stopping her short. Vasuda chuckled darkly, amused. "Enough. She is mine, Vasuda, not yours. Find another plaything. I can provide you whomever else you desire."

Vasuda laughed. "I do not require your generosity, Mor'ion. I can take what I wish, when I wish it."

Maloth felt Rava tense in anger, and a bolt of lightning lanced from the now dark clouds not a hundred yards away, striking a group of men working below. Maloth's men. Bodies flew into the air in every direction, most of them smoking.

Rage flared in him, hot and sharp. "Stand down!" he bellowed at Rava, making Kreya start. The small, pale Warden took a wary step back. She knew how frightening his fury could be. Rava immediately relaxed and lowered her chin to her chest, but the veil of fog shrouding her body turned as dark as the clouds over the city.

"It appears," Maloth continued in a quieter voice, "that your training is not yet complete. I see I have been too lenient on you, Titan." Vasuda watched with interest as Maloth spoke. "You will spend the rest of today on your hands and knees, in the manner of a dog." Rava quivered visibly but automatically got down on all fours as soon as the words left his mouth. "And should you displease me again today, I will let Vasuda do as he wishes with you. Publicly."

Her pale fingers gripped the stone beneath her hands as if trying to crush it, and Maloth felt something surge against the bonds that gave him control of her, but they held strong. A single tear - the first he'd seen from her - fell from her face, splashing silently to the ground. Good. She was breaking. These Titans were far too proud, far too accustomed to existing uncontested by none but each other. Maloth would see to the end of that soon enough.

"Begin the Rising," Maloth said to Kreya. She nodded and barked an order to a nearby Warden, who raised his hands to the sky. Purple light flared, streaking from his fingers up towards the clouds. Down below, black-cloaked Wardens gathered in the streets around the clusters of prisoners. Forming orderly ranks, the Mor'tirith began selecting captives and dragging them away, either doing it themselves or having their Risen do it for them. Screams filled the air as it began, yet even as people were taken for turning, fresh captives were being delivered.

Maloth's lips curved as he idly fingered the long hilt of the black-bladed sword at his waist. Everything he had worked for since waking was now coming to fruition.

*

"You want us to do what?" Elaina blurted as she followed Jesserae into her personal quarters. Aran, Elaina and Amina entered after them, taking in the lavish room, replete with silk hangings in red and gold, fine carpets to match, artworks and tapestries of a style Aran had never seen before, and an enormous bed against the centre of the opposite wall. Several armchairs and lounges completed the furnishings, draped with more silk or satin or fine linens, and cushions and pillows to match.

Aran blinked as he looked around. This was a room fit for pleasures, if he had ever seen one. Indeed, as the group entered, a burly brown Orc and a woman as dark and almost as large - likely a half-Giantess - rose from where they'd been lying on the bed, their expressions brightening at seeing their mistress. Both were naked.

Jesserae reached the foot of the bed and turned to face the arohim, smiling. She'd donned her filmy gown for the short journey up the two flights of stairs from the baths, but the Orc and per'Norothi quickly rounded the bed and carefully divested her of the gown. The arohim had been provided robes of a similar fabric after bathing, Jesserae insisting that she see to their clothes being washed.

"Thank you, my darlings," the buxom andrakin cooed, giving them each a pat on the cheek in turn. They both beamed, and the Orc's excitement at her touch became apparent as the heavy appendage between his thighs began to thicken and rise. "I require privacy for now, but return later, and I will reward your diligence."

Bowing, the attendants left wordlessly, pulling the finely carved door shut behind them. "I believe I was clear with my words," Jesserae said to Elaina. "One performance, from all of you together, in the parlour."

"Performance?" Aran asked, already knowing what she meant.

Her pretty face almost gleamed in anticipation. "Yes. The day after tomorrow. This will give me time to put word around the city. It will be the finest event in the Lady's Fancy's history!"

Amina opened her mouth, but the andrakin went to her and placed a delicate finger over her lips. "I respect your desire for anonymity, my love, so you will of course be masked."

Aran shared glances with his friends. Smythe looked uncomfortable, Elaina uncertain, Amina reluctant. Aran had seen the avarice in Jesserae's eyes earlier, so this proposition was not an enormous surprise. "And this performance details what, exactly?" he asked, bringing Jesserae's attention to himself.

Her eyes widened excitedly. "Just think about it," she began with enthusiasm, "the four of you, so perfectly beautiful, making love in the centre of my pavilion, surrounded by an adoring audience, wanting you, yearning for you, aching to be involved!" She came to Aran, and he had to steady himself against the intensity of the sexual aura that washed over him. "And some of them will join you," she added as she leaned in close, pressing her soft breasts against his chest. "Those that pay the required fee, of course."

Aran chuckled despite his concerns. "So, the legends are true, after all. You cannot separate a dragon from gold."

She drew back a little, meeting his gaze. "Oh, this is about more than gold, pet. This is about the future."

Aran frowned, wondering what she meant. "So why not hold the event free of charge?" The suggestion was met with a peal of delighted laughter, and she touched his cheek perhaps a little condescendingly.

"Oh, you are a precious one, Anarion. Men like you are few and far between."

That was the first time she had called him that. He opened his mouth to ask how she knew, but her response was already forthcoming. "Oh, it took me a little time to figure it out, darling, but it is the only explanation for your smell," she leaned in and put her nose to his neck, inhaling deeply, "and your strength." Something in her tone said she wasn't talking about muscles. "And this." She put a finger on a scar on his right side, parallel to his navel, an upturned crescent with a vertical line through the centre. "Individually, these three things are curiosities, mysteries perhaps. But together..." she circled the scar idly with a fingertip.

"You know this symbol?" he asked, looking down at it. She was still so close he had to lean back a little to create space between their bodies. He also noticed her male parts had disappeared.

"I do," she breathed, bringing her face close to his. He could feel her warm breath on his lips. He knew now why Smythe was nervous about Jesserae; he wasn't strong enough to withstand her. Even Aran was having trouble focusing. "It is the blade in the valley."

"What does that mean?" Elaina said as she came up beside them, her emerald eyes on the gold-scaled finger still tracing the scar.

"Salvation," Jesserae replied in a whisper. Her reptilian gaze seemed to stare into Aran's soul. "Or destruction. Which is it, Anarion?"

A silence settled over the room. Aran gently grasped her finger and moved her hand away. "That depends on who is being saved and who destroyed," he replied, releasing her finger. She smiled briefly, understanding.

"Very good." Suddenly turning from him, she went to the bed and stood by it, watching him expectantly. When Aran didn't move, she seemed a tad irritated. "Come now, we do not have all day." She stretched, reaching long arms above her head and arching her back, making her monumental breasts look even more impressive. "You are the only one here I have not had, and I wish to experience you."

A sudden wave of arousal washed over him, and the others reacted in kind. Elaina exhaled softly, Smythe grunted, and Amina inhaled just a touch more quickly than she normally would have.

"Very well," Aran said after a moment, giving Elaina a kiss before going to the taller woman. "I suppose it was inevitable." He sensed the others coming together as he reached Jesserae.

"Amuse yourselves," the andrakin said to them as she sat on the bed, beckoning Aran to step in between her spread thighs. "And if you require additional partners, you have only to ask." Her fingers deftly undid the sash at his waist so she could open his robe, and a moment later his cock was in her mouth. He groaned deeply as his full length slid all the way into her throat, her muscles massaging him delightfully.

Taking her silky red head in his hands, he seized the initiative and began to thrust slowly. Just a touch of his vala set a simmering burn in her body, making her moan with approval around his cock. Elsewhere in the bedroom, the women had lain Smythe down on a long lounge, where Elaina was mounting his hips, Amina his face. They faced each other as they began to ride him casually, a sensuous dance in perfect rhythm, as if practiced a thousand times.

Jesserae looked up at Aran, her fine nose almost touching the smooth skin above his cock. There was a glint of challenge in those brilliant green orbs, and excitement. Slowly, she withdrew, pulling her full lips along his wet length inch by inch until he came free of her delicious grip with a soft smacking sound. "Show me what you are," she breathed, leaning back on her hands and letting him take in her body.

Aran let himself enjoy the moment. She was as beautiful a creature as he had ever seen, her long, luscious form made for pleasure. Assessing her desires, her needs, he gathered some vala and pushed it into his loins, adding twice again his natural size. His cock now stood a little over a foot from his body, his balls hanging beneath like two ripe plums.

Jesserae's eyes widened greedily. "Oh, you didn't have to do that for me, lover," she purred, widening her spread thighs in invitation. The gold scales on her smooth mound glittered in the lamplight.

Aran desired the andrakin badly. She was lust personified. A glance in Elaina's direction showed her watching hungrily, her eyes moving between his cock and Jesserae waiting on the bed. She wanted to see him fuck Jesserae almost as much as he wanted to do the job himself.

"You wished to see what I can do," Aran said as he stepped toward her. "Very well."

*

Sometime later - Aran wasn't sure how long - he and Jesserae lay sprawled on their backs on the huge bed, sweaty, tired, and satisfied. His head was resting on her soft belly, and she stroked his hair idly with one hand as she recovered, her body still suffering the occasional tremor.

"That was... remarkable," she said with a sigh, Aran's head gently rising and falling as she took a deep breath, then exhaled contentedly. "If only I could keep you here, young man. The coin we would make..."

Aran looked toward her head but couldn't see much other than the undersides of her tits. Even laying on her back, the huge mounds flattened little. "Perhaps I can visit sometimes," he suggested. "Though I doubt Aros would approve of me using my abilities for profit."

Jesserae scoffed. "As if your ancestors did not take donations at their Temples."

"Donations only," Amina said firmly as she came to the foot of the bed. She too was sweaty, with flushed cheeks and tousled hair. Aran had never seen her look more appealing. Behind her, Elaina and Smythe were tangled up on the floor, both smiling happily. It had been an intense afternoon of lovemaking.

Jesserae sighed and sat up, pushing Aran's head into her lap. In this position, her tits fell onto his face. He chuckled and moved aside, somewhat reluctantly. "If I could choose a way to die..."

Jesserae winked at him before addressing Amina. "It is a matter of perspective, Priestess. The Order of Aros did not 'sell' their services, though oftentimes it was compensated handsomely. You call them 'donations,' I call them payments. It is no different to what I offer here."

Amina's golden head swung. "It is different. We offered our services whether or not money was given. How many of your guests downstairs are enjoying the Lady's Fancy free of charge?"

Jesserae grinned widely. "Only a very select few."

Aran sat up and looked between the two women. "I think that settles it," he said, getting out of the bed and stretching. Both of them looked at him as if he had no business saying anything at all. He was about to offer a cheeky remark to them both, but the door burst open to admit a wide-eyed Lenaila. Aran frowned; she looked shaken.

"Lenaila? What is it?" Jesserae asked at once, smoothly getting out of bed.

"I would speak with you in private, Mistress," the Elf said hurriedly, holding her filmy robe closed around herself as if cold. There was no evidence of her previous sultry disposition now.

Smythe and Elaina quickly rose from the floor, looking concerned. Jesserae looked at all the arohim briefly before replying to Lenaila. "We are in trusted company. Speak."

Lenaila blinked. She had not expected Jesserae to say that. "I just received word from Cathgard. The Dawnwall has been breached. They are being invaded."

*

In deepening twilight, Aran, Smythe, Elaina and Amina hurried through the streets of Beringarde as fast as they dared. Jesserae had moved quickly once she heard the news, finding the arohim clean clothes and supplies for their journey back to the army. Her idea of having them perform in her parlour had evaporated, replaced by much more pressing matters.

"Will she do as she says?" Elaina asked nobody in particular as they deftly wove through the hundreds of people meandering through this particular avenue. Night was apparently as busy as day in Beringarde, with people everywhere seeking food or drink or entertainment.

"I think so," Aran replied. "She is cunning, devious even, but as far as we are concerned, I do not think she'll betray us. Her alternatives are far worse."

"I agree," Amina added, pulling her cloak around her when it slipped open. Jesserae had provided them with the most modest garments she had available, but modest was not an oft-used word in this city. Smythe and Aran had been given the tightest imaginable breeches, and shirts with widely scooped necklines to show off their chests, while the women wore dresses with skirts that ended well above the knee and bodices with necklines that threatened to expose them completely if they breathed too deeply. Thankfully, the cloaks helped, even if they were garishly embroidered. There hadn't been time to look for more appropriate travelling clothes.

Indeed, as if to punctuate Amina's words, the city's alarm bells began to ring.

"Relax," Aran said firmly. "The bells are not for us." He was sure Jesserae wouldn't sell them out. I hope you're right, man, he said to himself silently. It had only been a small measure of surprise to learn from Jesserae that she was in fact the Governess of Beringarde. It made sense; it would take someone as clever as her to keep the Heralds' noses out of this city.

Concerned citizens began hurrying home once the bells began to ring, shopfronts and stalls closing and street musicians packing away their instruments. It was eerie how quickly the lively din of the city died, leaving only the bells, pealing their ominous single-noted song.

They reached the eastern city gates and were allowed to exit uncontested after only a short once-over from the guards. From there, they broke into a trot until they were out of sight, and then they ran as fast as they could, racing out into the deepening night.

*

"River!" Kedron barked at the five par'vala arrayed before him in a line. It was early evening, the sky in the west still just faintly brighter than elsewhere. In Master Smythe's absence - and the absence of any other full member of the Order, Kedron had been tasked with training the par'vala. Tonight, they were working through the forms of the mohar, the fighting style favoured by the Order of Aros.

They adopted the low, fluid stance, some more adroitly than others. Ayla and Tavish from Maralon, about as alike in appearance as possible for a boy and a girl, took on the stance easily, Ayla a little more readily than her twin brother.

Ostin from Rostin - often a joke at his expense - was also quick; the lanky blonde lad had been training hard. Bronze-skinned, dark-eyed Mikel from Sarresh in the east was coming along nicely, though he was far too cocky for a par'vala, in Kedron's opinion.

And finally Edda from the Hills of Gaela, slender and pretty with long brown hair tied back from her face. She was the slowest of them, but also the newest recruit.

"You can do better, Mikel," Kedron said firmly as he approached the younger man. "Loosen up. Flow, like a river itself." He took on the stance to show what he meant, feet wide, left foot in front, knees bent, hips low. Mikel studied him carefully, then tried again, doing better this time. "Good," Kedron said. "If you spent less time looking at women and more time on your stances, you would be much further along."

Mikel smirked, but Kedron let it go as he straightened. Mikel was very strong, but had had his vala awakened too early, by Sara. Ayla was in the same boat, but she was much more disciplined. Kedron couldn't be too hard on the lad - strange that he thought of him as a lad when he was only two years younger than Kedron himself - because he too felt the pull of temptation almost every minute of every day. Ayla had grown taller and more attractive since being awakened, and now she was a slender beauty with flowing brown hair and eyes like a doe, and she could already make a man's knees weak with nothing more than a smile.

Edda was no less pretty, but the way she looked only at Ayla made it clear she was not interested in men, or at least, wasn't interested in anyone here. Kedron was glad the training was not required to be conducted in the old way Master Smythe talked about, which was done unclothed. He doubted he would be any better than Mikel if Ayla and Edda were naked. Even in plain breeches, boots and loose white shirts, they were hard to ignore. Still, Kedron had made a promise, and would keep it, no matter how tempting things got.

The other problem was keeping the par'vala away from the rest of the camp. Right now they were training on the border of the sprawling array of tents and wagons and carts, amongst a small copse of trees, the camp just out of sight over a low ridge to the east. But in an hour or so the arohim would retire to their tents, and Kedron had to sleep sooner or later. He had already caught Mikel three times trying to sneak out to find some company, and he and Tavish had fought once when Mikel had tried to visit Ayla late the other night.

Tavish was usually not one to cause fuss. In fact, Kedron spent more time trying to get Tavish to train less. Spurred on by the fast development of his sister, the lad was flogging himself trying to catch up. Kedron had to watch him carefully for signs of strain. There was a fine line between pushing oneself and overdoing it.

The arondur and meldin had been very helpful to Kedron, keeping an extra eye on the students when Kedron needed rest. Erik, Elsa, Jeira, Sylvia, Rayna, and the rest. Together, they were all making it work.

Master Smythe said leading was a heavy responsibility, and Kedron was beginning to understand what he meant. He wondered how they were faring out there, Aran, Elaina, Amina, as well as his master.

Noah had returned last night, according to one of the Elves Kedron was friendly with. Apparently the hunter had charged into camp on a horse almost run to death, as if the hordes of darkness were on his very heels. He'd thrown himself from the saddle and run for the command tent. Kedron had yet to learn anything else, and Noah had not returned yet to the arohim tents.

"Mountain!" he barked, carefully watching the stances as his students assumed them. They were about ready for more serious sparring, but he was going to have to watch Tavish and Mikel. Sparks flashed whenever their eyes met. There wasn't too much harm they could cause one another; the vala would heal them from anything but the most grievous injuries, but Kedron would not allow anger or resentment from them. He knew the dangers of that better than anyone, thanks to his late father.

"Forms!" he snapped as he walked back and forth in front of the par'vala. They began working through the practised strikes and movements of the Mountain stance. Heavy hands, broad strikes. Slow, deliberate, powerful. More for defence than attack, but sometimes useful for both.

Movement in the trees to the left brought his head around to see Imella standing there, arms folded over her chest, one shoulder leaning against a tall pine. He realised in the back of his mind he'd felt her approaching from the camp for the last few minutes.

He couldn't stop the smile that crept onto his face as he met her big dark eyes. She returned the smile, but stayed where she was; she knew how important it was to him that he train the younglings well. She was looking as gorgeous today as every other day, in a plain white dress that was looking a little frayed around the hem from frequent wear. Her dark hair was tied back from her pretty face, no doubt for work. To Kedron, she may has well have been wearing a silk evening gown with jewels to match.

Every morning he woke up next to her, he counted himself a lucky man. She had been through nothing short of hell for him, and she still loved him. It flowed through the melda, energising him, spurring him to become better. That the two of them also had Lena only made things more perfect. Lena was from Rostin, and had joined the Emerin Chapel forces before the battle that had killed Kedron's father - and freed Imella from his mad clutches. She had quickly grown close with Kedron and Imella. He was confident she would want to meld with him when he was ready, and Kedron felt that day was near.

Forcing himself to tear his eyes away from his Imella, he put his attention back on his work, correcting the students as they moved through the forms of the Mountain stance. "Almost," he told Ayla when she thrust two fists forward together, hands not quite touching directly in front of her, parallel to the ground. He used two fingers beneath her fists to lift them a little higher, ignoring the jolt of sensation that came from touching another arohim. Ayla inhaled sharply, her eyes boring into him with barely disguised desire. He gave her an encouraging nod - for the training, not the desire - and moved along to Tavish.

"Good, Tavish," he murmured, carefully watching him. The formerly chubby, nobly-born boy was becoming a man, now taller and more muscular, with less baby fat around his cheeks. He was shirtless, his now almost lean body glistening with sweat as he worked. Kedron leaned in a little closer. "Remember, it's not a race."

Tavish gave him a grateful nod and continued, though the light of determination did not fade from his dark eyes.

Kedron was about to address Ostin when Mikel - the last in line on the right - executed a perfect standing back flip, landing smoothly on his feet exactly where he'd jumped from, at least until Kedron's boot heel caught him square in the chest and sent him sliding ten feet across the ground on his back. Kedron was a fair teacher, but there was only so much he would tolerate. It's what Master Smythe would have done to Kedron, if he was showing off like that.

The other three students stopped, watching with interest. Kedron let them, for now.

"What was that for?" Mikel demanded hotly as he smoothly rose to his feet. His dark eyes glared in his bronze face, but when Kedron met his gaze levelly, some of the fire dimmed. He had tested Kedron before, and while he might be a match in raw power, he was not trained in how to use it yet.

"How many mountains do you see doing flips, par'vala?" he replied calmly, waiting for Mikel to resume his place in the line. "Had you been in the correct stance, that kick would never have landed." There was a lesson in this for the others, too, if they were listening. "You were showing off, and so you left yourself open."

Mikel came back into line slowly. "You are supposed to be teaching us," he said sullenly.

"I am teaching you," Kedron replied firmly. "What did you learn?"

Mikel met his eyes for a moment, the light of stubbornness still glowing, but then he relented. Smart boy. "No showing off," he said quietly. "It leaves me open."

Kedron nodded. "Good. Back to it."

"Was Master Smythe this hard on you, Kedron?" Ayla asked him when he stopped in front of her again.

"Harder," Kedron replied honestly. "Much harder."

That got some surprised looks from the boys, but Ayla only nodded thoughtfully.

"Take a break," he told them after a minute. "We'll resume at my word. Don't go too far." The par'vala relaxed, Tavish and Ostin exhaling in relief, Ayla and Mikel simply exiting their stances and stretching. There would be little strain on the latter two thanks to their awakened vala lending them strength.

"So masterful," Imella purred when he went back to her. She reached for his waist and tugged on his belt teasingly. "Can I steal you for a few minutes?" The look in her eye - and the heat in the melda - left no question as to what she wanted.

He grinned. "Save it for tonight. I'll make it worth your while, I promise." He pushed a thread of vala into her, making her shiver delightedly. He was getting good at that now, using his power in more subtle ways. "Where is Lena?"

"Have it your way," she replied breathily. "But you won't be getting much sleep."

Kedron shrugged. Sleep was not something he got much of anyway lately.

"She is working a laundry shift," Imella went on, answering his question. "I just finished mine."

Everyone in camp had assigned jobs. There was always a million things to be done in a camp this size, and every pair of hands was needed. Elsa - master Smythe's meldin - looked after the Order of Aros section of camp, which they'd all taken to affectionately calling 'The Wandering Temple.'

"What are you doing here?" he asked her gently. "Why don't you get some rest? I can feel how tired you are."

She shook her head. "I wanted to be here. Being around you is comforting, even if you're busy with other things."

He touched her cheek. "Alright, whatever you need. I will do another hour here, then we'll go find something to eat." He shared a quick kiss with her before turning and calling the students back to their marks.

Imella had first caught his eye back in Ironshire, when he was in training to become a Herald of Dawn. Gods, but that felt like another life entirely, now. Unknowing the true power within him, he'd melded with Imella by accident - not that he regretted it by any means. But, after Kedron fled Ironshire with master Smythe, his father had found Imella and used her against him, inflicting pain on her to cause him pain. The mere memory of it made him grip the hilt of the sword at his waist tightly.

Imella had not lain the fault at Kedron's feet, despite the torture she'd endured, but Kedron still felt responsible, despite Imella's continuing insistence that he let it go and move forward. He glanced at her as he worked with Ostin, guiding him through more forms. She seemed to know what he was thinking, judging by the firm resolve he could feel from her right now.

Maybe it was time for him to let it go. He wasn't sure if he could, but for her, he would try.

*

When Kedron, Imella and the students returned to camp, there was a different feel in the air, a heaviness that had not been there a few hours ago. Nothing tangible had changed, but the eyes of the soldiers and workers were graver, their faces set.

On the way to the tents assigned for the Order, Kedron stopped and gave the par'vala strict instructions to eat dinner and retire to their tents without exception. There must have been something in his voice, for they all nodded quickly and hurried off, even Mikel.

"What is it?" Imella asked, looking up at him. It was full dark now, but her big eyes glimmered worriedly in the faint moonlight.

"I'm not sure," he replied slowly, looking around. They were standing in the space behind two long tents assigned for workers. "But I'll find out." A passing Dwarf woman carrying an armload of dirty wooden plates gave him a polite nod, but Kedron put out a hand to stop her. He knew this Dwarf, what was her name again? Larfi, that was it.

She stopped, eyeing him expectantly. "Everything well, Master Kedron?" she asked, shifting the stack of plates against the immense swell of her Dwarvish bosom. For once, Kedron hardly noticed.

"What has happened in the last few hours, Larfi?" he enquired. "I sense something has changed."

Larfi nodded, leaning in closer to him and Imella. "Well, I don't know myself, exactly, but word going around says that there's a big old hole in the ground just north of us, and Senna is gone."

Senna? Wasn't that a village near Maralon? He'd been there once, on a trip with his father. "What do you mean, gone?"

"Vanished," Larfi explained. "As if swallowed up by the Stonelord himself."

Imella shifted uncomfortably and slipped her arm through his. Kedron doubted it was true; rumour had a way of magnifying facts. But what was the truth? "That seems... unlikely," he told Larfi diplomatically, but she swung her braided head emphatically.

"Not so, Master Kedron. I've had the same story now from five different mouths, all reliable folk, too. Truci never tells a lie, and she heard it direct from Captain Finya herself."

Kedron pursed his lips. "Thanks, Larfi. I won't hold you up any longer."

"Oh, no bother, Master Kedron." She hefted the plates again. "You have a pleasant evening, now." She shuffled off, almost waddling thanks to her prodigious bottom.

"Do you think it's true?" Imella asked him softly as they continued on through the camp. The Order of Aros tents were only a minute or so from where they were.

Kedron patted her hand reassuringly. "Probably not, my love. You know what rumours are like." He hesitated. "Still, it's worth investigating."

The investigation was not required. They were almost back to the tent he shared with Imella and Lena when Noah - dressed in his full leathers and travelling cloak and armed as if he intended to leave camp again tonight - stepped out of a neighbouring one. The bearded hunter's eyes locked onto Kedron immediately. "Kedron!" he said quickly, offering a deep nod of respect. "Imella. It does me well to see you both."

"Noah," Kedron replied, offering his arm, which the man clasped. "Is everything well?"

Noah exhaled. "No. If you've heard the rumour going around camp of a sinkhole swallowing Senna, it's true. I saw it with my own eyes." He stepped closer and pitched his voice low. "It's a tunnel, leading north somewhere, right under Maralon."

Kedron's gut tightened, and Imella gripped his arm. "How is that possible?"

"It had to be Vasuda," Noah replied in a whisper. "Aran sent me back here to inform the commanders. The Dwarves don't know what to do; they worship Vasuda. They half-think it's a gift, a free way to pass beneath Maralon unhindered, but an army of darkspawn passed through before we got there. I read their tracks myself."

"Fire and fury," Kedron breathed. A hole in the ground the size of a village? "What will they do?"

Noah grimaced. "I'm not sure. I think Fathvir would use the tunnel, but I do not believe Baelin will let him." Fathvir was a captain of the Dwarvish forces. Baelin was the captain-general, much older and likely wiser than Fathvir, at least according to Liddea.

"To compound matters," Noah went on, "the Ash'goth Orcs arrived yesterday, the ones Aran said were coming. They have a clan of Druids with them."

Kedron whistled through his teeth. The arrival of the Orcs was welcome; they were fierce fighters, each one worth five Humans on the battlefield, if what he'd heard could be believed. But Druids? That was a new development. When Noah added that a Mountain Giant was also involved, Kedron just shook his head wryly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Aran tends to do the impossible more often than not."

Noah nodded agreement. "I know. I feel like I'm in a dream filled with myths and legends half the time, and nightmares the other half." He fingered the bowstring slanted across his chest. "I need to get back to Elaina, Kedron," he said gravely. "Something has happened in the last-" he stopped and looked northwest, frowning. "Never mind. I think she is on her way back."

"Is she well?" Kedron asked carefully.

Noah answered while still staring through a nearby tent. "Yes, in her body at least, but her mind is troubled. I do not think she returns with glad tidings."

*

Forgoing any effort to conserve energy, Aran, Elaina, Smythe and Amina reached the army just two days after leaving Beringarde, landing a short way outside camp in the late afternoon, much to the startlement of some nearby guards on patrol, circling the perimeter of the camp.

Aran was pleased to see the squad of ten soldiers was made up of Elves, Dwarves and Humans, working together. They lowered their weapons when they recognised the arohim and saluted. Aran waved them to ease and gave them a friendly nod as he passed, making for the command tents. Smythe, Elaina and Amina accompanied him. They were as tired as he was after that run, but news of Cathgard took priority. They would rest later tonight.

When they entered the massive, triple-peaked command tent, Aran's face split into a glad smile. "Reikar!" the hulking dark-green Orc, dressed in a simple brown waist wrap, turned from a large, round map-strewn table to regard him, dark eyes hard and intelligent. "Your arrival is timely."

"Karneshi," he replied in his bass rumble, offering a deep nod. Orcs did not bow. "We arrived yesterday. We moved quickly, as we said we would."

Aran returned Reikar's nod before looking to the other occupants of the tent. Ageing Baelin was there, High Commander of the Dwarvish forces, his keen grey eyes matching his beard. His commanders, Fathvir and Finya, were also present. Strangely - and happily - Aran sensed no ill will between Reikar and the Dwarves. Could it be they were getting along on their own? Whether they were or not, he couldn't address it now. It would have to wait.

"Commander Sunblade," Fathvir said from the other side of the table, the stocky, blue-eyed Dwarf appearing even smaller than his five feet of height would account for, with Reikar looming so close. The Orc's head was near brushing the peak of the canvas, even standing by one of the three support poles. Fathvir stroked his long blonde beard the way he did when he was thinking. He greeted Smythe, Elaina and Amina in turn, as did Baelin and Finya.

Aran made quick introductions between Reikar and the other arohim before addressing the army's leaders. "I am glad to find you all here," he began, moving to the table and casting an eye over the maps. "But what I have to say should be heard by all commanders."

Before he could ask for a messenger, Smythe spoke. "I will go to the Elves, Aran. I will be faster." He slipped out at once, not waiting for Aran's nod.

"I will go to the Human camp," Elaina said before exiting on Smythe's heels.

"I will remain," Amina announced as she came up beside Aran. She didn't say it aloud, but she was there to offer him advice, for which he was glad. She had a fine mind for strategy, and she would be useful.

In short order, Smythe returned with Lord Andil and Captain Tarien, the former looking as resplendent as always in his red-gold leaves and vines, the latter in his usual forest greens and browns, long knife on his hip and bow slung across his back. Lady Elessir did not appear, making Aran wonder where she was.

A minute after the Elves, Elaina returned with none other than young Kedron Stallen, a small smile on her face. Kedron's eyes widened a little when he saw Reikar, but other than that he remained composed.

Aran could tell after one look at the lad - no, that was wrong; he was a man now - why Elaina had brought him back. She smiled proudly as she introduced him to those who didn't know him. He stood straight-backed, with one hand on the hilt of the blade at his waist, just like Smythe did when he focused and standing ready.

"Commander Stallen," Aran said as he went to Kedron and extended an arm. Kedron clasped it after just the briefest of hesitations. Aran doubted anyone but an arohim would have noticed. "Welcome." He turned to take in everyone else and gestured toward the largest of the map tables. They all gathered around, ready to listen.

"We raced here from Beringarde," Aran began, marvelling in the back of his mind at the faces watching him around the table. A meeting like this hadn't happened in a thousand years. "We received news that the Dawnwall has been breached. Maloth is invading Cathgard as we speak."

There were some mutters, some curses, some shifting of feet and unconscious touching of weapons, but nobody argued the information; they knew it was coming. The only difference between yesterday and today was it was now here.

"The Heralds will fight hard," Aran went on, "but they are not likely to be ready for an invasion out of the north. Their wall has gone uncontested for centuries, and now it is breached, I struggle to believe they will repel the invaders. They will likely be shocked to their cores. Maloth has Gor'dur Orcs and Dark Elves and Hill Giants at his command, not to mention Wardens of the Dead." Mention of the Gor'dur got a grunt out of Reikar, but he otherwise said nothing.

"By now, I expect Maloth has fortified some of Cathgard against potential counteroffensives from the Heralds." As he spoke, one of the Dwarf attendants at the back of the tent came forward and placed a rolled map on the table. She smoothly unrolled it to show the Northguard, all five cities neatly drawn in fairly good detail.

Thanking the woman, Aran continued. "The breach is here, best we can tell," he put a finger on the Dawnwall on the north side of Cathgard, roughly in the middle of the city's section of the wall.

"How did he breach the bloody Dawnwall?" Fathvir asked. "Magic? I've never heard of a power that strong."

"Vasuda did it for him," Aran replied. The tent went deathly quiet.

"The Stonelord did it?" Baelin said, holding his fingers together in a certain way. It was a Dwarvish talisman against evil.

"I'm afraid so," Aran confirmed. "The good news is that except for Rava, the other World Guardians are not under Maharad's control. If even one more of them were, we would likely have been wiped out by now."

"Forgive me, Anarion," Lord Andil began, "but how can you be sure of this?"

"Because I have met with them all myself," Aran answered, realising how ridiculous that might sound once the words left his lips. "And I vouch for them." Well, it was the truth; they'd have to accept it.

Reikar barked a booming laugh. "Ha! Mighty is our chief!"

The others didn't look so ready to believe. At least nobody was contesting him. "I wish there was a way I could prove it to you," he told them, "But there isn't. I will require your trust on this matter."

"I stand by this," Amina said firmly. "There is no mistake."

One by one, they nodded slowly, and Aran relaxed a little. "Now, as you are no doubt aware, there is a large hole in the earth where Senna used to be." He pointed to another map, this one a detailed drawing of Maralon just to the north of where they stood now, with Senna notated just south of the city.

"It is a tunnel," Fathvir said before Aran could say more. "But where it leads is yet a mystery."

Aran met the blunt-faced Dwarf's eyes across the table. "That is what you are going to find out, Commander. I can think of none more suitable that Dwarves for this task." It was a risk sending anyone down that tunnel, but there was no other option. Aran or one of the arohim could scout its limits using the vala, but the time and energy it would take was too great.

Fathvir nodded as if he'd already had the thought. "Yes, nobody knows tunnels better than we, Anarion. We will see it traversed and plotted as fast as can be done. One battalion should be enough?"

"Yes. Thank you," Aran said gratefully. "But I will not send the drengr alone. The Eryn'elda are unsuitable to accompany, I think, and their skills are best used elsewhere." Tarien nodded in silent agreement where he stood opposite Fathvir. "However, I know a small but powerful force that will be perfect for this mission."

Everyone looked at him curiously, except Reikar, who grinned around his thick tusks.

"I see my arrival is also timely," a woman's silky voice announced, bringing everyone's attention to the tent entrance. Serefi strode in confidently, back straight and shoulders square, her body moving in a way that made her seem to slide gracefully along the ground. She looked as exotically beautiful as ever, with that glowing olive skin, sleek curves and brilliant green eyes that belonged on a serpent. Her native nudity certainly drew plenty of stares from all present.

"Perfectly orchestrated, Serefi," Aran remarked drily. "It's almost as if you were listening outside."

She came to the table and stood in between Aran and Amina. "Come now," she purred, "I would never do something so underhanded." She looked at Reikar and winked, and the big Orc chuckled. No secret that they were getting along, at least.

"Underhanded may come in useful," Aran told her as he gestured to the map. "I want you to take your clan and go with the drengr. We need to know where this tunnel surfaces."

"I have solid drengr standing by," Finya said from almost directly opposite Aran. He smiled at her; he had some fond memories with Finya, and the slight colouring in her pale cheeks said she remembered, too.

"Excellent. Serefi, gather your clan and meet Captain Finya at the tunnel by nightfall." To both of them, he added, "Your orders are to scout and plot the tunnel and locate the other end. Do this carefully! There are bound to be darkspawn ambushes set."

"We will smell them long before they know we are there," Serefi said confidently. "Darkspawn stink cannot be mistaken."

"Good," Aran replied. "Dismissed. Aros shelter you and guide you to a safe return." He saluted them both, as did everyone else except Serefi, who simply turned and walked out.

With that done, it was time to sort missions out for the remaining force. One of the attendants brought a big tray of wine-filled goblets which were quickly dispersed. Aran sipped his without even really tasting it as he stared at the maps.

"What is the situation at Maralon?" he asked nobody in particular.

"The city appears to have been emptied," Tarien answered. "My scouts have been camped nearby for almost a week, now. There is no sign of Heralds entering or exiting. Either they have all fled north, or they are hiding within the walls."

Aran grunted. "Can't leave that to chance, can we? If that tunnel opens up into Maralon, the darkspawn will have sacked it, but you have seen no signs of invasion?"

Tarien's head swung. "None."

Aran looked to Smythe. "My friend, run to Maralon and sense out the city. Do not go inside. Report back as fast as you can."

Smythe struck his chest with his fist - and even bowed! - before turning to leave.

"Eat first!" Elaina called after him as he slipped from the tent. Aran hoped he would; his own stomach was growling, his body demanding replenishment after two days of running at speed.

"Alright," Aran mused as he ran his eyes over the maps. "Baelin, Reikar, Andil, Kedron, we need a contingent at the tunnel mouth to protect the scouts from the rear. A force of three or four thousand should be enough, so a thousand from each of your camps. They'll need to leave tonight." He realised he'd meant to ask them rather than tell them, but they all four saluted at once.

Baelin sent Fathvir hurrying out, Andil sent Tarien, and Reikar went to the entrance and shouted something in Orcish - loud enough to make everyone in the tent blink - before coming back to the table.

Amina caught Kedron by the sleeve as he passed her. "Be safe, par'vala," she told him gravely. "You are strong, smart and brave. Keep your head, and remember your training. Aros is watching over you always."

Kedron nodded. "As you say, Priestess." He bowed, fist over heart. "I am strengthened by your love and wisdom." He turned smoothly and left the tent, left hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist.

Aran was impressed; Kedron's manner was a fair measure of the ancient way. Had Erik been at him? That man knew a surprising many things.

Aran stared after Kedron. The man needed a proper weapon and a Truename; he'd earned it, and it was time. It wasn't until he saw everyone else looking at him that he realised he'd spoken aloud.

"Yes," Amina agreed. Elaina also looked approving. With less bodies at the table, everyone crept in a little closer.

"Proper weapon?" Baelin enquired. "That sword he carries looks a proper weapon, to me. Looks as if he knows what to do with it, too."

"A Paladin's weapon is something more," Elaina explained, touching the spiked head of Shatter - her mace - at her hip.

Baelin inclined his head. "Ah, yes, I have heard stories of that mace from the battle of Vesovar. It is special, I understand." His eyes flicked across the weapons carried by Aran and Amina, but he said no more.

"I don't have the time to teach him how to make one," Aran said regretfully. "Neither does Smythe, which is a shame. He deserves one."

"I have a small collection I brought from the Temple," Amina revealed. "I have gathered some over the long years, others were left there after the car'mori. Perhaps one of them will bond to him."

Some ancient knowledge floated to the surface of Aran's mind then, telling him it was not unheard of for an arohim to bond with another's weapon, though it was extremely rare.

Elaina and Smythe seemed surprised at the notion. "I did not know it was possible," Elaina confessed.

"It is possible," Amina explained, "but highly unlikely any of the weapons I have will take to him. It is a most rare occasion, yet still worth the attempt."

A disappointed silence fell over them, until Andil spoke up. "I do believe," he said slowly, "that I may have one or two of these weapons in my possession. I intended them as a gift to the Order of Aros, but have not yet presented them."

Before anyone could respond, Reikar raised a finger, looking thoughtful. "Now that I hear it spoken, I do think there are some of these items with my people, too. Ancient relics, finely made, but too small for Orcs."

"I suppose it comes as little surprise to hear that the Dwarves have found some of these items over the years as well?" That from Baelin.

Aran smiled and shared glances with Amina and Elaina. Aros provided always in times of need. With luck, there were enough vala-forged weapons for all the par'vala. "See to it they are collected and brought to us with haste, please," he said to Reikar, Baelin and Andil. "They will be a great asset to all of us in the hands of an arohim."

They gave their assent, and Aran thanked them before calling the meeting to an end. There was much more to do, but further planning would be largely useless until word came back from Smythe and the scouts.

Outside, dusk was fast approaching as Aran walked towards the arohim tents with Elaina and Amina. His feet felt like they wanted to drag.

"You are in need of rest, my love," Elaina observed quietly from his left side."

"As are you," Aran replied, shooting her a smile. She covered it well, but she was exhausted. The weakest of the full arohim, she had kept pace with Aran and Amina and Smythe without complaint. Weakest in the vala, not in character.

"A hot meal would not go astray," Amina said almost wistfully as they passed a large cooking station where three massive iron kettles were bubbling over fires. The smell of the evening stew was thick in the air here, reminding them how long it had been since they'd eaten.

"And a bath," Elaina said with a sigh. "Though that is out of the question."

"I will be thinking fondly of that bathing chamber in Beringarde for quite some time," Amina said.

"Aye," Aran agreed. "Quite something, wasn't it?" he felt a presence approaching and turned to see Evoni coming up the path between the tents from behind, looking as beautiful as the first time he'd seen her. Long, cobalt hair glistened in the last light of the day as her tall form moved. Skin the colour of sandstone glinted here and there as it caught the sun. In the way of her people, she wore long, loose white trousers and a matching vest that left her flat midriff bare.

Elaina and Amina stopped when he did, waiting for him. The Giantess picked up her pace when she saw he'd noticed, crossing the intervening space quickly until they were embracing, which may have looked a little strange to some people due to Evoni's seven-foot height. Aran's face ended up buried in her abundant cleavage.

"Hello, my love," he mumbled into her soft skin. "About time you showed up."

She looked down at him and gave him an extra hard squeeze that made him grunt; Oron'noroth were strong. "One could say the same of you, I think."

"I suppose that's fair," he replied, pulling her head down for a kiss. It was nice to feel her again in the flesh, instead of just inside his head. "I'd like you to meet Amina," he said when the kiss ended. "And Elaina." He stepped back, giving them room.

The two women moved up and embraced Evoni in turn, offering warm greetings.

"It gladdens my heart to meet you, at last," Evoni told them. "Aran speaks most highly of you both."

Elaina smirked. "He bloody well better. The things this man has put us through..." There was no heat in her words, just Elaina's usual cheeky sense of humour.

Evoni blinked, then laughed gaily. "Oh, you need not say more! Life has certainly been chaos since he arrived in my village."

"My sympathies to you, sister," Elaina replied drily. "One day, we will figure out what to do with him. Until then, we must endure, I'm afraid."

Evoni laughed again and touched Elaina's shoulder. "Aran failed to explain to me how likeable you are, Elaina. I think we will become great friends."

"I think so, too, Evoni." She smiled up at the taller woman warmly.

Aran's eyes moved between them, his brows raised as they discussed him as if he were not even present. Was that a small grin on Amina's face?

"Will you eat with us tonight, Evoni?" the Priestess asked. "It would be wonderful to welcome another meldin to our Order in an appropriate manner."

Evoni quickly assented, and so the group of three become four.

*

An hour later, Aran lay back with a satisfied sigh on the comfortable furs of the big tent the Order of Aros used as a common area. His stomach was full after four bowls of hot stew, and he could feel his body soaking up the nourishment.

There was certainly need for a common tent with the Order expanding so quickly. The air was filled with excited chatter and laughter, giving him an even further feeling of contentment. Evoni had been introduced to everyone before dinner, and she'd taken to the group like a duck to water, embraced fully by his other meldin, something she'd been a little worried about.

They sat in a circle over on one side of the tent, his meldin, finally all together for the first time since he'd melded with Evoni. Jeira, Rayna, Bella, Sorla, Induin, Liaren, Elaina and Evoni, all either wearing their vaima or nothing at all, now that they were in their private tents for the night.

Now and then, one of them would look over at him and smile briefly before returning to the conversation. He was happy to leave them to it, at least for tonight. He needed rest, otherwise he would be making love to them all at once, something he very much looked forward to doing at the soonest opportunity.

Another circle had formed a short distance away, consisting of the remaining present members of the Order. Half-Elvish Sylvia and her mother Lynelle, Liddea, Erik, Imella and Lena, and Elsa, Smythe's meldin. The par'vala were there, too; Ayla and Tavish, whom Aran knew best, then there was Ostin, Mikel and Edda, Noah's only surviving sister.

Nasty business that, what had happened to Noah's family. The hunter was there, in the second circle, doing more listening than talking, but then, that was his way.

Aran marvelled at the fact the young arohim were here at all. He watched them talking and laughing without letting on; he wanted them to be comfortable, tonight. Ayla and Tavish looked at Aran frequently, an almost reverent shine in their eyes, though he pretended not to notice. With the help of Elaina and Smythe, he had pulled them out of the Heralds' clutches in Maralon, not too far from where they sat right now.

Ostin had been discovered by Smythe among the refugees out of the Sorral Plain, while Mikel had been found by Sara in Sarresh, far to the east. That thought made him wonder yet again where she was, and what she was doing. He wished he could spare the time and resources to look for her. He often remembered that day in Maralon he'd found her, undernourished and dirty, living on the street on whatever scraps she could find.

"This is a window into the future," Amina said to Aran. She was on his left, reclining on an elbow, turned towards him. She had donned her vaima for this gathering, as had Aran, and it lay around her untied. It was hard not to just let his eyes wander over her body all evening.

"A wonderful future it will be," he agreed, smiling at her. Her sapphire eyes were large and full, shining in the lamplight. "Though I admit, I have given more thought to the coming days than what follows them."

"You are right to keep your mind on the present," she replied softly. "But always remember what we are fighting for."

"I will," Aran assured her. "Always." He searched her gaze for a moment. "How are you faring?" Amina had been internally conflicted, lately, since she learned that Palavus Ironrod - her old amatharn - was not in fact centuries dead as she'd believed, but was in fact alive. She'd been on a search for him, until events had commanded her attention elsewhere. She'd put her own personal needs aside for the greater good.

She smiled wanly, letting her usual serenity crack for just a moment before she resumed it. Aran was sure it had been just for him; she didn't like letting those she led see her struggle, but she and Aran shared a common burden of responsibility, and so their relationship had deepened of late, if that was possible. Knowing another arohim was strange like that; the vala created an instant intimacy, not as deep as melding, but something akin to it, a sharing of ones own essence that was difficult to veil.

"I have conceded that I may not see Palavus before the coming battle," she admitted softly. "As much as I desire to find him." From the look in her eyes, Aran wasn't sure if she intended to jump the man's bones or stab him in the gut. Perhaps both. "My thoughts dwell on him often."

"As they would," Aran said. "I cannot imagine myself in the same circumstance."

"Pray you never are," Amina replied. "Losing an amatharn is the greatest pain one can endure. To know they are still alive after centuries believing them dead, after all the grieving..." She sighed. "Part of me knows I've been without him this long, so why should anything change? The other part..."

Aran nodded, understanding, but said nothing.

"My fury was deep, at first," she went on, "but it has cooled somewhat over the weeks since I learned. Now, I am content to know that Aros will bring us together at the right time, in this life or the next, and I must trust that Palavus' reasons for breaking the melda were worthy of the deed."

Aran extended a hand and gently grasped her wrist. "I am sure it will be put right soon." He hoped so. For all the legends about Palavus, putting Amina through that anguish was nothing short of cruel except for the most dire of needs. Aran hoped for the man's sake that was the case, else he would be having words with the man himself.

Amina smiled again, this time more warmly. "Thank you, Aran. My heart remains hopeful." Her eyes drifted over his shoulder, to where his meldin were sitting. "I think they are ready for you."

Aran leaned in and gave Amina a gentle, but lingering kiss. "Our love is yours, always." She touched his face before he got up and went to the circle where eight very special women awaited him.

***

END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

***