The Onyx Throne - Ch.89-Epilogue

Chapter 89

The palace proper was not what Mitchell had expected, but then he realized that he'd never been to any palace before, so he had nothing with which to compare it. The fact that it had been essentially abandoned for the last two years probably wasn't helping much, either.

Once the gate clicked shut behind them, and they made it through the fifteen-foot-thick wall, everyone paused to take a breath. They were, for the moment, safe. Exhausted to a man, all sported wounds of varying severity. The exception was Vras, who -- though covered in blood -- seemed unhurt. For the moment, they were safe.

The main building was to Mitchell's right, perhaps half a kilometer from where they stood. They appeared to have come in through some sort of business entrance. There was an abandoned guard station just to the left of where the passageway through the walls ended, and then the once-manicured path weaved forward deeper into the palace proper, branching off to what looked like administrative structures or perhaps staff housing. Mitchell couldn't be sure, but the bland look of government buildings seemed to be the same in any universe.

On his shoulder, Lethelin groaned, and Mitchell suddenly remembered himself. He laid her down as gently as he could and checked her over. She had a nasty head wound above her left eye that had flayed open her scalp to the bone. The little bit of healing they'd been able to do with their dwindling mana supplies had stopped the profuse bleeding at least.

"That's no good," Hackett said, seeing the wound in more detail. "Anyone have any mana left?"

"Save it," Mitchell said and reached into his small pack. "We'll likely need it and I can cover this."

There sound of exploding gemstones could still be heard in the still air and Mitchell knew they had only minutes before the barrier collapsed completely. If holes were developing that a shadow cat could jump through, the soldiers would be arriving soon enough. Luckily, Vras could see magic.

Mitchell rooted around until he felt cool glass beneath is fingers and emerged with the healing potion they'd found a few days prior in the abandoned warehouse.

When Eldrick saw the potion, he gave a whistle.

"Those have been hard to come by," he said. "Where did you get that?"

"Found it," Mitchell told him as he pried the cork free and started to dribble it into Lethelin's mouth. It had a warm, amber color and it was slightly thick, almost like warm syrup.

"You... found it?"

Mitchell only nodded and watched Lethelin's face for a reaction. After a moment, the unconscious woman coughed, then spluttered and started to swallow the healing liquid. Mitchell watched and, within seconds, the lacerated skin on her forehead began to knit itself back together. Her eyes snapped open and Mitchell placed his hand under her neck to help her sit up.

"Drink it all," he told her softly, as he watched her struggle to focus.

After a few seconds, she had the presence of mind to hold the potion to her lips and swallow the contents, then she leaned into his arm and closed her eyes as the potion went to work. Within a minute, the wound was healed and Lethelin was coming around.

Allora took out a cloth from somewhere and wet it from her waterskin, then wiped the blood away from Lethelin's eyes.

"You gave us a fright," Allora said gently. "Can you walk?"

Lethelin started to speak, but only managed a weak croak at first. Allora offered her some of the water which she drank greedily.

"I'll bloody well walk out of here," she said, after clearing her throat. Lethelin's voice was still a little weak, but better.

"On your feet, then," Allora told her with a smile. "There is still a kingdom to save."

Lethelin nodded and Mitchell pulled her up. She swayed a little and Mitchell had to support her with his arm, but she got her bearings and was able to stand on her own.

"You're not looking so hot, yourself," Lethelin said, grimacing at the sight of Allora.

The lord captain did indeed look almost as battered and bruised as the thief, but she only shrugged.

"We are alive and we are here. The wounds can be healed later."

The quiet was punctuated by several muffled explosions and everyone jumped.

"The shield is failing, Mitchell. I can do no more. Already there are gaps that the soldiers have begun to exploit. You have maybe one or two minutes before it is down completely. I can sense them already moving through and heading towards the gates."

As if to emphasize Awen's words, a loud booming sound came echoing through the corridor that they had just emerged from. Their enemies were trying to get in.

"Time to go!"

"One moment," Khardin said. "My mana has refilled a bit. I think I can slow them a little. At least from this gate."

The dwarf stuck out his hands and a gemstone flashed. Then, a few feet inside the corridor, the path began to bulge upward, dirt and rock surging up from beneath the ground to fill the space above it, stretching all the way up to the top of the arched passageway. Khardin held the spell as long as he could, then slumped in exhaustion and clutched his head.

"Spent, aye. Won't be much good with magic for a bit."

"You did plenty," Mitchell said, clapped him on the back. "Every bit helps."

Mitchell turned and looked at the palace.

"Most direct route, if you please, Allora."

Behind him, there came a staccato popping sound that reminded Mitchell of setting off strings of fireworks on the 4th of July, only much louder. It rippled all up and down the walls of the palace and Mitchell actually felt the vibrations through the soles of his feet. The sound filled the air and stretched for a good thirty seconds before all was quiet again. Everyone was looking up at the sky and they saw the last translucent wisps of the barrier vanish, like fog under a noonday sun.

"That's it then," Vanthella said, her voice almost startling in the sudden quiet as even the people outside were stunned into silence.

"Double time!" Mitchell half shouted into the stillness.

Moving as fast as they could, their battered group began a halting sort of jog down the path towards the palace.

***

The sounds of explosions picked up relatively quickly. Falen received an update via a message spell from one of his bodyguards that the crowds had forced the soldiers back and they were clustered around the large main gate and two of the smaller ones trying to gain entry. Fighting was fierce, but the soldiers, now that they weren't so spread out, were having a much easier time fending them off. To Mitchell's relief, many of the city guardsman had turned against the occupiers and were providing some much-needed organization to the battle beyond the walls. Still, there were more soldiers than there were guardsmen so without the assistance of the palace defenses, they would eventually be pushed back. It sounded like things were settling into a stalemate as the soldiers fortified their positions around the entrances and people began pulling back because of heavy casualties.

It didn't take long for them to see the remains of the people who died in the battle that toppled the kingdom. Once-manicured lawns and topiary, now grown wild, could not hide all the bodies that laid where they had fallen. Tattered clothes, livery, rusted out armor, and bones were all that were left of the men and women who had died that night. Mitchell saw it, but tried not to dwell on the spectacle of so much death. More than once they had to move around bodies that had fallen in the path, some of them wearing the armor of Onyx Knights. Mitchell could almost feel the anger building among them with the sigh of each new decomposed body. His sensitive nose could still detect the lingering scent of death, but it wasn't too bad.

As they passed various buildings, the results of fire were also all around them. Some structures had been reduced to hollowed out husks or rubble. Some only had scorch marks around a few shattered windows. The destruction appeared random as befits the chaos of a battle.

"How long did the people have to get out once Baylor died?" Mitchell said as they crossed near a fountain with fetid water filling the basin.

"Ten minutes," Allora said. "Alarms sounded immediately upon his death and that is how long it takes for the barrier spell to charge up."

"Seems like a bad plan," Mitchell said, contemplating the situation. "They could have just brought in enough people to break the walls from the inside and start shattering the stones and runes that held up the shield."

"I do not think they intended to kill Baylor that first night," Allora said. "I suspect they wanted to capture him to prevent this precise situation. Capture him, destroy the throne, and then kill him and destroy the heart stone. They succeeded in only one of their goals."

"Small favors," Mitchell thought to himself.

After trekking through another park or two and what looked to be some sort of training ground, the palace was before him. Mitchell had never been to France and seen the palace at Versailles, but he'd seen pictures often enough. This one wasn't quite as ornate as what he remembered from photos of its Parisian counterpart. It was a bit more utilitarian, but it was still beautiful.

In contrast to the wall, the palace was constructed of a dark gray stone with onyx used only as accents. It framed windows, delineated floors, and had been carved into beautiful statuary and gargoyles. It gave the palace an almost gothic look, even if it didn't have all the spires that one might associate with a medieval cathedral.

The building was four stories high and as they approached one of the walls, Allora turned them down the left rather than towards the front of the building.

"We will use a servant's entrance," she said by way of explanation. "If they breach one of the gates, let them waste time trying to get through the larger doors."

This close to the palace there were many more bodies, and Mitchell did his best not to focus on the number. Instead, he studied the large structure in front of him, trying to keep himself distracted from all the bones poking through the overgrown grass.

Up ahead he saw a rather plain set of double doors set into an out-of-the-way alcove.

"Gardener's entrance," Allora said as they came up to it. Then she looked at Mitchell. "You must open it first, it will respond to your touch."

Mitchell walked up to the door and reached out for the handle. Once his fingers closed around the rusted iron latch, he felt another presence intrude upon his thoughts. It was different than the previous one in a way that was hard to discern. It felt simpler, somehow. There was no sense that it understood anything beyond the series of conditionals it was designed to operate under. Before Mitchell could see if there was anything deeper beneath the surface, he felt that spark of recognition as the magic connected with the heart stone in his chest. Then, there was a click within the door and Mitchell gave it a tug. It opened with a squeal as rusted hinges, long immobile, were forced into operation once more.

They came in to a store room. Mitchell could see rows upon rows of gardening implements and, beyond the dusty shelves across the room, a door that led deeper into the palace. Before they had made it all the way across the room, the floor shook and they heard the sound of a massive explosion.

"I guess they got the main gates open," Eldrick said. "They'll be here soon."

Gilriel nodded and they pushed forward.

Everything was a blur as Mitchell followed behind Allora, her memory of the palace guiding them. They ran down long corridors with more bodies at every turn. The fighting must have been intense. He saw shattered wood, glass, windows. Holes blown into walls, scorch marks from various different magical attacks or just plain old fire.

Mitchell looked at Allora as they traversed the seemingly never-ending maze of corridors and saw her eyes bright with tears and her lips pressed tightly together, but her footsteps never wavered. Around him, he heard the others cursing at the sight of the destruction. None of them had been here when the palace fell. Likely, this was the first time they had seen it in decades. Mitchell knew for a fact that it had been close to a hundred years since Gilriel had set foot within these halls. Looks of anger, sadness, and shock were clear on all their faces.

Finally, they emerged into a grand hall.

"Oh wow," Mitchell said as he took in the grandeur of the room.

"The Hall of the Sun," Gilriel said, a note of awe present in her voice as it echoed around the cavernous room.

It was magnificent. It was open all the way up to the ceiling, nearly sixty feet. To his right was a massive set of double doors that Mitchell assumed led outside. There was another set at the opposite end that were smaller, but no less ornate in their design. Stairways that led to the upper floors and, beyond the balconies, Mitchell could just make out more halls that stretched back into the palace.

Huge fluted columns spaced equidistant around the edges and made of pure black onyx stretched all the way to the frescoed ceiling. As Mitchell scanned upward he saw a massive glass dome that allowed the sunlight to come pouring down so brightly that it looked to Mitchell as though it might be a physical thing. Set squarely in the middle of the room and directly underneath the glass dome was a ten-foot tall statue of a nude man wrought in white marble with veins of gold. His face was angular and beautiful. The eyes, also made of gold, shown with an inner radiance that, despite their metallic nature, looked alive. Mitchell felt a sense of great age and power coming from the stern face. Just looking at it made him want to bow and prostrate himself before the stone visage.

One muscular arm was held aloft, the fingers extended almost as if it were calling forth the light. In the opposite hand there was a long scepter cradled in the crook of the elbow, the end burning with actual flame. The longer Mitchell stared, the surer he was that the statue was breathing; that an invisible wind was blowing the shoulder-length hair, and that those golden eyes were watching and judging him. But then Mitchell would blink, and the effect would end, only to start again if he stared too long.

With an effort, Mitchell pulled his eyes away from the enchanting figure that he was sure was Stollar, and he took in the rest of the details. It was then he noticed the floor. The marble floor was made with a black tile that had veins of gold running through it and Mitchell realized he had seen its like before. It was the same as the material that the statue of Denass had been made of in Besari. The gold here glimmered in the light and Mitchell swore that it was moving through the tiles like a lazy river but thought it must have been a trick of the light. The black tiles had a similar effect of pulling his gaze and Mitchell felt like he was looking down into infinity before quickly growing dizzy. Trying to stop the effect, he pulled his eyes away from the floor and took in the rest of the room as best he could.

Between each column was a statue of some sort, each one seven to eight feet tall, and each one armed. They were made up of all races, male, female, and others, Mitchell couldn't be sure. They were all carved in different clothes, some simple robes, others armor, others nude. He guessed what those were. Luckily for Mitchell's tortured mind, none of them had the same sorts of qualities that Stollar did, or the tiles for that matter.

"Beyond there lies the throne room," Allora said, indicating the doors to the left. Mitchell could hear the strain in her voice. None of them spoke of the bones that littered the floor here and all avoided looking at them. "We made it."

Mitchell turned to her and he saw her trying to smile but the pain of seeing the destruction in the palace was too much for her to manage more than a flicker.

"Let's not waste time, then," he told her.

As one, they crossed the black tile, through the light of the dome and, as he passed through it, Mitchell felt a sudden peace come over him. Much of his weariness passed away, the ache in his sword arm vanished. Around him he noticed the same effect in the others. All of them straightened, their tired bodies looking strong, once more.

"The Healing Light," Vanthella said, and he saw tears of joy in her eyes. "I had forgotten it. I..."

But she stopped and swallowed back what she was about to say. Mitchell saw the other knights all similarly affected.

"Aye," Khardin said, his voice thick with emotion. "Aye, so did I."

There were smiles then among all of them. Lethelin was looking around in awe, too overcome with emotion to do much more than grin. And Mitchell didn't know why, but he felt like smiling, too.

"All who pass through Stollar's light with good intent can feel his blessing and gain healing from minor ailments," Allora explained as they began to walk again.

"That's amazing," he told her.

She grabbed his hand, and together they walked to the throne room doors.

As before, Mitchell placed his hand on the door and it granted him access. This time, the doors swung open under their own power and Mitchell's eyes dazzled.

The room was round, about fifty or sixty feet in diameter, and the doors opened up directly opposite the throne, which dominated the far side of the room, raised up on a dais with eight steps. It was made of pure onyx that Allora had told him had come directly from Awen's geode deep within the earth. It had been shaped or grown into a chair, but with shards of the priceless material jutting up about five feet at its highest point to form the back of the throne which fanned out in a semi-circular pattern. The stone glowed with an inner light that Mitchell had seen only once before. The day he'd taken the heart stone and had the vision of Awen inside her geode, the onyx there had illuminated with the same light.

Compared to the ornate Hall of the Sun, the throne room was fairly simple. It was largely white, albeit the tile floor was the same gold-veined marble that made up the statue of Stollar they'd just passed. It also had a vaulted ceiling, though not as high as the hall, and a glass dome at its peak. Light poured into the room from all sides, but it didn't have the cleansing feeling of the light they'd just passed through. There was a double row of chairs all around the room made of some soft plush material and Mitchell could see a few doors that led off into parts unknown.

Perhaps the most striking feature of the room--besides the throne--was the statue of two dragons carved in bas-relief on the wall behind the throne. Even from the far side of the room, Mitchell could see the exquisite detail that had gone into the carving. One was white, the other, black. Each scale was expertly carved. Each ridge, horn, and spike from their heads precise in their imperfections. Mitchell could have spent an hour just going over all the lines.

Behind the group the Hall of the Sun echoed with a massive boom, and they all jumped.

"They're here," Gilriel said. "Get to the throne! We'll hold them off until you complete the bonding."

Mitchell nodded and looked around at his team. They were healed up by the light, but there were still a lot of soldiers out there and only a handful of them. He turned to Vras who had been plodding along quietly since they made it inside the grounds.

"Stay out here in the hall where it's darker. Pick them off as you can and try to buy the others time."

Vras flicked his ears and loped away on silent paws.

"Will these doors lock when we close them?" Mitchell asked.

"They will if you tell them to," Allora said.

Another explosion rocked the hall and dust drifted down from overhead as the walls shook.

Mitchell ushered everyone out of the way and shut the double doors. Then he reached for the presence that held sway over the palace and tried to get it to lock the door. He pushed the command at the magical entity, and it responded, a satisfying thunk letting everyone know that the deed was done. Without further comment, Mitchell jogged for the throne.

"What do I do?" he said to the Awen, seeking the connection in his mind.

"You need only sit, and I will do the rest."

"Will it be painful?" Mitchell asked as he mounted the steps. The throne seemed to grow in his vision as he got closer to it, the light within pulsing faster.

"No, Mitchell Allen. It is not painful."

As Mitchell had climbed the dais, the rest of the knights and Falen spread out in the room and started taking up positions as best they could. There weren't many places to get cover in here, and it would be nasty fighting if it came to that. It all depended on how soon Mitchell could complete the bond.

Allora and Lethelin were beside him, both looking worried. As he turned, he pulled Allora to him and kissed her, then did the same to Lethelin.

"Just like a man to sit on his ass while the women do all the work," Lethelin said, trying to disguise her fear with a joke.

Mitchell smiled at her as he sat in the throne. It was surprisingly comfortable, and warm. He could feel it molding to his body.

"We will protect you," Allora said, her eyes hard and her face a mask of determination.

He nodded and they all watched as the crystal of the throne began to grow and encase him. It started at his feet and began to move up his legs. Mitchell's heart was beating in his chest as he watched it. The sense of being entombed was inescapable.

"Do not fear," Awen said calmly into his mind.

The onyx was flowing over his torso now, moving up to his neck. Mitchell's chest was tight and he struggled to control his breathing. As the living crystal flowed up over his neck, he looked at each of them.

"I love you both. I'll see you soon."

And with those words, the crystal flowed over his mouth, nose, and eyes, and Mitchell was fully entombed.

Chapter 90

The sound of another explosion rocked the palace, and Allora and Lethelin both jumped. Before the echoes had even died away, there was a great crashing noise and the floor shook again. Windows rattled in their frames and several cracked.

"That would be the main doors," Hackett said with a frown. "Bunch of jivi fucking whoresons."

Allora stepped down from the dais and crossed to the front of the throne room doors, standing about ten feet back. She could already hear the sounds of the soldiers filling the room beyond. Just like before. Just like that night. The sounds of people screaming, fighting, and dying. Invaders in the palace. In her home. She drew her sword slowly and, with her free hand, swapped out all three stones in her krisa for fresh ones.

They had invaded her home, killed her friends, her parents, and the monarch. They had driven her into hiding, chasing her for two years, even to another world. They had tried all they could to kill her, but they had failed. She would run no longer. Now it was time for vengeance. None would get past her.

"You're just going to stand there?" Lethelin spoke up, her voice tight with nerves.

"Yes."

"Shouldn't you... I don't know, hide or take up some defensive position?"

"I will run no longer. I will never hide again."

Allora didn't mean for her voice to sound so cold, but her mind had gone quiet. Distant. She saw nothing but the door in front of her. She felt nothing but the light touch of the stones in her krisa against her head, the lines of the pommel against her hand, and the surging of mana in her chest. She was the eye of the storm. She was the spark in the dragon's maw. She had come to it at last, and she would have her revenge.

"You're freaking me out a little, Lora," Lethelin said.

Allora didn't bother to respond. She waited and she watched, her feet planted, her sword tip resting on the floor, both hands on the pommel.

"Lethelin, get over here, you silly girl," Allora heard Gilriel snap, but her voice was far away.

"Something's wrong with Allora," the thief said.

"Don't worry about her, post up behind the throne with that bow and start picking off anyone that gets through our line. You hear?"

The first attack came against the throne room door, thunderous in the enclosed space, but Allora did not flinch. She was the razor edge of the blade, flawless and without mercy. She was vengeance, two years delayed, but coming nonetheless. None would get past her.

***

"Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls and bloody fucking taint!" Lethelin swore to herself as she sprinted up the dais steps and behind the glowing throne that held Mitchell inside, doing Stollar-knew-what to him.

Lethelin had heard of the throne her whole life, but she never thought she'd actually get to see it. Nine hells, she never thought anything like this would ever happen to her.

"Allora sure picked the perfect time to go all catatonic," she muttered as she unslung her bow and grabbed the arrows from her quiver.

"Oh balls!" she swore as she saw how many she had left. Only twelve, and then five of her specialty arrows.

She really didn't want to have to fight the approaching force head on, but she knew she would run out of arrows long before they ran out of soldiers. As she shifted, her foot hit her pack and something rolled out of it.

Lethelin looked down at the sound, as the white bottle she'd picked up from the warehouse came to a stop at the back of the throne. She picked up and tried not to drop it when the next attack came against the throne room doors.

"I never did figure out what you did," she said, starring at it.

She bounced it in her fingers and contemplated taking the potion now. She figured it probably couldn't hurt. Just then there was another loud crash and the throne room doors bulged precipitously and the frame around several of the hinges ripped free of wall.

"Not yet," she told the bottle, setting it down carefully out of the way. "But maybe."

Instead, she picked up her armor breaking arrow. Likely the first ones through would be the most heavily armored and this was a very bright room. It would give the skitterback blood in the glass arrowhead a bit of extra punch.

Outside, the sounds of triumph became louder and through the gaps around the failing door, Lethelin could see movement, as they positioned to deliver the final blow. Lethelin steadied her breathing, calling forth that cool, calm center she always sought when using her bow. It wasn't too dissimilar to when she fought with her blades, but there was no music. Whenever Lethelin was dancing with her blades she always thought she could detect music just beyond her hearing, and sometimes she thought it guided her steps. But not so with the bow.

With her hand around the grip and her fingers clipping the shaft around the fletching, she heard only the silence between her heartbeats and her slow, deliberate breathing. Her eyes sought the tip of the glass arrowhead, focusing there, and then moved to the door.

Time almost seemed to slow for her. She knew from long practice now that she was in that in between space. Where her eyes tracked, the arrow would follow. Her body would make the minute adjustments necessary to send the arrow where it needed to go. This close, it wasn't even a challenge.

The doors blasted outward and clattered to the ground, the cast bronze warped and smoking. Lethelin let out a breath and her eyes caught the first hint of movement in the dust and smoke, and -- delicate as a fairy's wing, she released the armor piercer. Lethelin could feel it connect to the target in a way she could never properly explain. But when a shot was good, she always knew it. And this one was good.

As the big man, a half-orc by the looks of him, nearly seven feet tall and wearing full plate came charging into the room, his great sword already in motion, Lethelin's arrow was there to meet him. The black glass struck the hard steel of his breastplate and shattered to dust, exposing the caustic liquid inside to Stollar's holy light and the reaction was near instantaneous. The fireball detonated through the metal and into the man's chest and blew a hole at least three times as big as the one it made going in, splattering those behind him with shards of steel, bone, and gore as the man flew backward several feet.

Lethelin didn't see that part, though. She knew well enough what the armor piercer did. She was already grabbing her next arrow.

***

"There! Movement on the second level!" one of the two legs cried from below. "Get up there!"

Vras liked the idea of fighting in this giant two-leg den much more than he did fighting outside underneath the sun. True, it was quite fun to be able to run down the terrified two-legs as fear made the blood sweeter, but he was, by nature, a creature of stealth. And now that he was in the shadows, his illusions would be much more effective.

Vras had extended his palps and displayed the illusion of Tar Ara'tiss near the edge of the platform, making it appear as if she were turning away and running. Once the illusion disappeared from the sights of the two-legs below, he ended it. He could not maintain his illusions very long, but in the rush of battle, he didn't need to. The two-legs were panicked and the smell of their fear was intoxicating. Already, Vras heard the pounding of their feet as they ascended.

He waited, narrowing his eyes and retracting the palps to hug his back. His body was tucked up on the ceiling of one of the passages, deep in the shadows. There were no windows to the outside here, and the glow from the magical light was muted.

"I thought she was in the throne room!" shouted one two-legs.

"They might have split up! There's five of us, don't worry about it."

Vras's claws flexed into the wood and the powerful muscles along his back began to tighten. Their fearful scent was a heady perfume that was so thick it almost made him dizzy. His teeth ached with the need to rip their fleshy bodies asunder and feel the splash of their blood on his tongue and running down his fur. He would need to kill one of them slowly so as to further terrify the others below. Well, not too slowly. There wasn't time for that.

"The second passage, troll brain!"

Their footsteps grew closer now, the sound like small explosions to his sensitive ears. Vras's whole body began to quiver but not yet. Not yet.

The five two-legs came charging into the dim corridor weapons raised their eyes scanning ahead for the false Tar Ara'tiss. Scanning ahead, but not above. As the last one passed beneath him, Vras released his hold on the ceiling and lunged.

The screams. The beautiful screams. And oh, so much blood.

***

When stories spread afterward of the Battle of the Onyx Throne, few believed the more outlandish retellings though some did. Others assumed the tale was an apocryphal yarn meant to inspire patriotism in the days after. Because what was described could not be true, they told themselves. Everyone knew that the Onyx Knights were fearsome. No one doubted that, not in Awenor or in any of the seven kingdoms. But for one woman to do all that... Do not be absurd, the call would ring out in taverns across Awenor, and eventually Iletish, Kazig, Islivaria, and all the rest. The tale was sometimes celebrated, the bard songs cheered, but it was just as often that the teller would be shouted down and warned not to spread such nonsense. They were nice, sensible people and wanted none of those troll leavings in their nice, sensible taverns and villages. The knights are skilled but they are still mortal! But as with all tales become legend that then fade into myth, the truth is somewhere in between.

Of the stories that were written down after the battle, the most trusted, came from those few survivors who charged the throne room that warm spring day. They told a wide-eyed tale of, not a woman, but of a black-haired, violet-eyed demon. They said that inside that throne room a portal opened from the Nine Hells and death emerged. Ghosts of the fallen arose from the sun stone and struck down the enemies of Awenor. Some say it was Denass herself emerging from the void stone to claim the souls of the invaders.

While the stories disagree on just who or what empowered the lord captain that fateful day, none disagree that she was a beautiful and terrible sight to behold. Soldiers fell before her blade like wheat before a scythe. Her magic charred bodies and ripped them apart. She fought without mercy, gave no quarter, and her blood-streaked face sent terror into all who looked upon her. Those who survived would be haunted by the sound of her vengeance for the rest of their days.

But, while every warrior in the purple and black acquitted themselves well that day, and showed for all the world to see what it means to bring the wrath of the Onyx Knights, they were just mere mortals. So then where did the tales of the ghosts come from? On that, the stories have little to offer. Men and women dropped dead, their throats cut open, despite being nowhere near the battle. Casters suddenly found their magic useless and were cut down, no shield spells to protect them. Those that survived that bloody day say all they saw were flickers at the corner of their vision before the man next to them died.

And all of this is to say nothing of the unnamed horror that stalked the halls of the Onyx Palace, that left every soldier who entered those empty passages a ruin. The blood still seeps up from the floor and drips from the walls even now. In the true dark before first moon rise, the screams of those dying men still echo through the corridors and give nightmares to the uninitiated. What it was, no one is sure. More demons, perhaps? More ghosts of the fallen knights? The angry spirit of Baylor seeking his own revenge? Some say that dark rituals were held in the palace and they summoned creatures from other worlds that mortal minds simply cannot comprehend. But whatever it was, it left only blood and bodies in its wake and it is still unsafe to walk those empty halls to this very day.

Or so the tales say.

But, as is always the case, the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

***

Lethelin released her last arrow and cursed. Every shot had flown true, and she had an impressive body count, but now her ranged options were done. In front of her the throne sat, glowing and implacable. And beyond that, the knights battled. The sight of their true might both terrified her and made her want to scream with adulation. Their blades sang, their magic coursed through the air, filling the space with the smell of ozone, fire, and ash. And beneath that, the smell of blood was so thick as to nearly choke her. Were it not for the windows that had been blasted out by the concussive shockwave of spells fired all about, the charnel house stench would have made her gag.

And, despite their unmatched skill in battle, there were simply too many soldiers. If something didn't change, they would be overrun. The knights and Falen--who was a blade master in his own right-- had blocked the door with the dead, but it couldn't last. And they had no way of knowing when Mitchell would break free. She would have to go down there and aid in the fight. There was nothing for it.

"Balls and bloody fucking tai--" and she stopped suddenly, her foot hitting the small bottle once more as she had prepared to stand and charge down the dais stairs.

She picked it up and, not taking the time to second guess the decision, pulled the cork out with her teeth and drank it down in one long pull. It tasted strongly of quinnamon and something else that made her mouth begin to tingle. She held her breath, wondering if she would be dead in moments, her insides melted. She breathed, awaiting her death, but it didn't come. The tingling sensation in her mouth intensified, then the same feeling spread out from her stomach to all her extremities.

Her vision changed then. Or, at least that's how it appeared to her. Whites became pale grays, colors became darker and richer. But, more than that, everyone seemed to slow down. Allora's lighting fast swings with her enchanted sword were suddenly moving as if through a thick oil. She watched as one of the soldiers cast arcane lighting at Gilriel and the lightning moved through the air at the pace of a slow walk.

"Sweet fucking sun!" Lethelin swore her eyes going wide as a dragon's. "It's a haste potion!"

Everyone wasn't moving slower; she was moving faster! She was moving a lot faster. Lethelin knew there wasn't much time. Grabbing Mira in her off hand and her rapier in the other, she bolted from behind the throne, her now-white cloak billowing behind her and she charged into the melee.

It was like child's play as she dove between the attacking soldiers, cutting a throat here, stabbing a kidney there. She took an extra second or two to seek out the handful of casters in the front line, using her witch bane daggers on them. She could have killed them outright, but she knew that the panic that set in when they lost their magic would further confuse the enemy and serve better than just another dead body.

Lethelin didn't know how many men and women she'd killed before the potion started to wear off. The pale gray began to shift back into white and the sounds of the battle returned to her ears. The could feel her legs getting heavy and her fingers start to slacken. Haste potions were amazing, but they extracted a heavy toll on the body. She had to get to safety before it wore off completely.

With a last burst of strength, she ran for the dais and was halfway up when the spell ended and Lethelin felt herself start to lose consciousness.

"Balls and fucking--" but she never finished that sentence.

Her body collapsed, its forward momentum carrying her over the last few steps where it hit the ground next to the throne and slid into wall behind it. There she lay, unmoving. Keen ears might have detected the softest snore coming from her exhausted form.

***

"Can you feel it, Mitchell? Can you feel the land as I do?"

Mitchell came awake at the sound of Awen's voice. Or... no. Not awake. He hadn't been sleeping, but he had been somewhere else. As he thought about the words, he turned his attention inward, but that was the wrong direction. He cast it outward into Awen. And from there, it spread out into... everything.

Mitchell was the land. He was every living thing, from the single blade of grass growing through the rocks on the eastern shore, to the blackmoor trees in the heart of the Shadow Glen, to the water drake prowling the river in the High Valley. He was everything and everyone.

"This is how you sense things all the time?"

"If I wish it. Focusing my attention on any one piece for long is difficult for me. But, if you pull your awareness back, you can get a different perspective."

Awen showed him how to orient his perception so he didn't see each individual thing, but rather the land as one interconnected whole. He felt how the pressure of the air exerted force against the trees and ground in one area where, in a different part of the land, the air passed more lightly. High and low pressure systems, he realized. He felt the surface water and the underground rivers and aquifers as one whole, flowing back in on itself, the whole system appearing in his mind like swirling lines of fire on his consciousness. He felt the mass of all the people pressing down on the ground, the weight of their buildings like fingers pressing into his skin. Mitchell was aware of all of it as one varied sensation that expressed itself in different ways across his senses.

"This is how I generally get a sense of the health of the land and our people. If I sense an imbalance, I can divert resources to correct it. With time, you will sense those imbalances, as well. But only when you sit in the chair. I would not be able to share this much information with your fragile human mind without the throne there to act as a buffer. But, suffice it to say, this is how you will fight Milandris and how you will direct the forces to do battle against him. I can show you where he is now."

Mitchell felt a pressure and then his perception became that of the ground beneath ten thousand feet. The weight of the men and women of Milandris's expeditionary force pressed into his consciousness and he felt the magic and men tearing up the soil to dig for the onyx geode that they knew to be beneath them. He didn't see them with his eyes, but he could view them through the senses of all the living things around them. The sights, sounds, and smells of those soldiers and engineers were broken up into a thousand little pieces by the various insects, plants, and animals, that called that area home, and all of it was fed to his mind.

"This is how I track him and how I listen to his plans. This is how you will track him and his armies when they come to retake the city. And this is how you will direct your soldiers to battle him and drive him out."

"This is... This is unbelievable."

"There is more I must show you before I release you from the throne. You must learn to take control of the palace and its defenses. Allora and the others fight bravely, but they are being overrun. Now, watch carefully."

***

The soldiers that were still lined up in the hall were the first to notice the statues. And that was only because they all stepped off of their platforms as one and began to attack the back line. Their stone bodies paying no heed to spell attacks and no concern for sword slashes or axe blows. Their faces were all expressionless except for their eyes, which glowed with a purple fury that knew no mercy.

Out in the courtyards where more soldiers were forming up, sculptures that looked like ornate sundials began to spin, shredding off the vines that had grown over them in the last two years, and lighting began to arc out with terrible power, exploding men and women on contact. Each bolt landed true and left only a mist of blood and shattered armor. Statues of man and beast alike came to life and began to chase down and slaughter every soldier that had made it inside the gates. They emitted no sound, their carved faces bore no expression, only the fury in their purple eyes spoke of vengeance long delayed.

The greatest terror awaited those beyond the gates.

As Mitchell's expanded consciousness flowed into them, easily dissecting itself to control all 47 guardians, their eyes opened as one and they stepped away from the wall in unison. Mitchell could see through each and every set of eyes at the several thousand soldiers that had remained outside the gates to keep the citizens of city at bay. The ground was littered with the bodies of the dead -- soldiers and civilians alike.

As the guardians stepped from their ancient posts, a silence stretched over the palace grounds. Then a cheer so loud it broke the sky ripped through the air as the people saw their guardians--at long last--come to their aid. The ground shook with cries of victory.

Inside his shell of onyx, Mitchell smiled and he felt the smile echoed across all 47 guardians. Then those terrible eyes turned to the soldiers who stared mute in disbelief at the threat they now faced. Before their captains could organize any sort of defense, Mitchell attacked.

Few soldiers made it out of the city alive.

***

Allora brought her sword down on the head of another soldier, cleaving through the left side of his temple and down into his neck and chest. The man died without uttering a sound and his body collapsed to the floor to join the other dead soldiers. Her mind was empty, her body numb. Only one thought burned through the haze of exhaustion.

"None shall get past me."

She swayed but raised a sword as heavy as the world to meet the next attacker only to find there were no more. In front of her was the stained and cracked statue of Verity De Farseer, a captain during the war with Iletish who had died defending the town of Buckkeep near the Southern Road. And behind him stood a dozen other statues, all still, their weapons held at the ready, their purple eyes unblinking. At their feet lay untold scores of dead. The Hall of the Sun was thick with bodies.

"Is it..." Elrin gasped beside Allora. "Is it over?"

The woman's hair was matted with sweat and blood, she didn't appear to have the use of her left arm, and one side of her face was a bloody swollen mess. Her words were slurred and tears of pain and maybe relief were dripping out of her other eye.

"I think so," Allora croaked. She started to turn and look to the throne but her legs gave out and she collapsed. The last thing she thought she saw was the throne receding around a form that sat upon it. As her eyes slid closed, she thought she heard the sound of cheering drifting through the shattered windows.

Chapter 91

Allora squinted as light pressed against her eyes. Sleep. She needed more sleep. The bed beneath her was warm, soft and familiar, the fabric of her pillow pleasant and comforting against her skin. Not completely awake in that in-between place where returning to the world of dreams was still possible, she turned on her side, away from the light and adjusted her pillow, looking for the cool spot. There it was. Allora sighed and began to drift back down.

She inhaled a deep breath, her body sinking further on the exhale, and her nose caught the scent of sun fruit blossoms. Sabenn must have snuck into her room this morning to place fresh ones. Allora would have to thank her. But not now. Now was the time for sleep. No one had come to wake her for her shift, so it must be third sun. Vish bless Sabenn for the sun fruit blossoms though.

Sabenn died the night of the coup. You came across her body in the halls. Her stomach had been sliced open and she had crumpled against the wall and lay in a puddle of her own blood and entrails.

The memory crashed into Allora with the force of an avalanche as it all came back to her. She sat up with a scream so sharp her own ears started ringing. She looked around, eyes squinted and saw her surroundings. She was in her room in the palace.

The battle! The blood and the pain. So much death. None would get past her. What? How?

"Mitchell!?!" Allora screamed, her breath coming in gasps. She was sweating, her chest was getting tight. She flailed around to find her sword but it wasn't there. So many soldiers! There had been so many!

"Mitchell!" she yelled again, her voice near panic as she tried to get up, but her body was weak. She crumpled to the floor in a heap.

The door to her outer chambers burst open and Mitchell was there. He was alive! He was tall and strong, his wide shoulders filled the doorway and his blue eyes like the sky found hers.

In a flash he was on his knees picking her up in his arms.

"I got you," he said, his voice soothing the terror that threatened to overwhelm her. "It's okay, I got you."

He picked her up like a child, cradling her trembling form to his. She clutched at his shirt and buried her face in his neck, breathing him in. Her chest shuddered as her mind struggled to make sense of what she saw.

"That healer is going to get a talking to," Mitchell muttered. "A little disoriented when she wakes up. We'll see how disoriented he is with my foot up his ass!"

Mitchell tried to lay her back in the bed but Allora clung to him and wouldn't let him rise.

"Okay," he told her. "I'll stay."

He got into the bed with her and held her as her breathing slowed. He caressed her hair and whispered to her that it was okay and that she was safe.

"You are alive," Allora said at last, her voice uncertain.

"I am."

"You completed the bond?"

"I did."

"Then... Is it...?" Allora's voice caught in her throat and she struggled to get the words out. "Is it over?"

Mitchell bent his head to look down into her eyes. She could see pain in them, but also his love for her.

"For now. We have taken back the city. The soldiers who survived have been captured, though some got away. We did it. You did it, Allora."

Mitchell leaned down and kissed her head.

Allora could almost not comprehend what he was hearing.

Suddenly she laughed and the laughter kept going. As her body shook with it, it began to change, however. All the pain and the heartache; all the misery, the fear, the rage, and the loss. It all came pouring out of her. Everything she had endured, everything she had seen and sacrificed, and everything she had lost since the last time she slept in this bed. It was like a dragon breaking from its prison and it raged through her.

From somewhere deep within, she felt a black void of madness begin to grow. As the tears ran like the Oryn down her face, as years of anguish that she had kept suppressed broke free from the dark place she'd forced it into, she felt her mind begin to surrender. As her body sobbed until she couldn't breathe, the madness sought to claim her and she didn't think she had the will to resist it. So much. It was too much for any one person to bear. Too much. It was crushing her, pulling her down, ripping her apart.

Then, through that bubbling madness, she heard Mitchell's deep voice calling to her, telling her everything was okay. Her pain crashed against him and he was the Skybreaker Peaks. The more she cried, the closer he held her. He was the rock she clung to as all that had happened to her, all that she'd done, tried to sweep her away. But Mitchell did not let her go.

"I've got you," he said, again and again. "I've got you."

"Do not let me go!" Allora cried, near panicked. She was slipping away. She could feel it. Something was pulling at her, dragging her down to the depths. "Do not let me go, Mitchell! Please do not!"

"Never."

Allora lost herself for a bit and she remembered little after that. Except for Mitchell's voice in her ear, whispering that he loved her. Except for his arms holding her tight as her body shook. A different sort of blackness overcame her then, but it was not madness. It was peace.

The next time Allora woke, it was dark except for Vish's pale blue radiance through her windows. Beside her, she felt Mitchell, still there and pressed against her. His breathing was deep and even and just the sound of it calmed her. To her surprise, she felt something warm pressed to her back as well. Then she heard the snoring and, despite herself, she smiled. The three of them were together. They had all survived and she was home.

Allora's eyes sought the night sky, but she couldn't see the moon without shifting and she didn't want to risk waking up her two bedmates.

"Lady Vish," Allora whispered, so softly that even she could barely hear it, "goddess of my mother's people, this humble servant thanks you. Thank you for your guidance and thank you for Mitchell." Allora paused and rolled her eyes. "And thank you for Lethelin as well. I know we still have much to do to save your child, but I am grateful for the peace we have now. Please ask Denass to tell my mother and father of our success. And tell them I love them."

Allora lay awake for a little while longer, listening and watching. She felt for that place inside of her where she had forced all her rage and pain and found it was empty. There was a raw, wounded sensation but it was the feeling of a wound that had begun to heal. She was free of it. The relief was so intense she almost started to cry again. She had made it.

Allora didn't know when it happened, but she detected a change in Mitchell's breathing. As she turned her gaze from the window to his face, he found his eyes open and watching her, the normal sky blue a deep sapphire in the room's darkness.

"Haaa yoo," she said softly.

"Hey, you."

A warmth spread through her at his words. They were simple, but she understood the weight of them. That angry, raw place inside her didn't hurt quite as badly as before.

She brought her hand up and traced it down his jaw line, rough with stubble, and then around his lips, up the ridge of his nose, and through his long, unkempt hair. They lay like that in silence for awhile and slowly, Mitchell's eyes slid closed and back to sleep. Allora followed soon after.

***

The next few days were a blur for Mitchell and the girls. With the power structure in the city gone, there was a mad dash to restore order. It didn't help that Allora and the rest of the knights had been exhausted near to the point of death by the time the battle ended and all of them, not just Allora, had been placed into what amounted to a magically-induced coma for them to recover. Mitchell had been working through Cenedra and one of Falen's lieutenants and some of his people as they were the only ones awake and functional immediately after the battle. They'd put him in touch with what city guard commanders and community organizers they could and slowly, order was restored. He supposed they probably should have had a plan for that, but with everything else going on, it hadn't come up.

The knights each had a list of injuries longer than Mitchell's arm, not the least of which was prolonged mana drain, and--in the case of Khardin, an arm that had been too badly scorched to heal and had needed to be amputated. Apparently healing magic needed something living to regrow and couldn't work on dead or charred flesh. If anything, the dwarf seemed to like the change.

"Aye, gives me more character," he had said upon waking and being given the news. "It'll only add to my legend. Might even earn me a new wife or two. The ladies love a good battle scar, aye."

Mitchell had laughed and clasped his good shoulder.

"I am forever in your debt, Commander Khardin," he said somberly.

"I'm just a sergeant, my lord, aye."

"No longer. After this fight, I am raising all of you to commanders. You're just the first I've visited today. You answered the call, you saved my life, and you saved Allora's and Lethelin's. If there's ever anything you need, as long as it is within my power to give it, it is yours. I swear it, by Stollar's holy light."

"Aye, my lord, I..."

The stone-skinned old dwarf actually got a little misty-eyed at the compliment and, instead of speaking any further, nodded and performed the ritual salute with his good arm.

Mitchell nodded, gripped his shoulder once more, and bid him to take as much rest as he needed.

And so it had gone, with Mitchell visiting each of the battered knights as they'd woken up. He'd given thanks and the promotion to each one. Gilriel was already a commander, having served on the Council of Eight, and Mitchell told her the job was hers again, if she wanted it. She said she would consider it, but made no promises.

Mitchell could not believe that everyone was still alive. But as he'd talked with each of them about the fight that he had missed out on, it became clear to whom they credited their success. Each of them named Allora as the force that kept them going when they were well past exhaustion. By rights, they all should have died, but--when they had felt like they had no more to give--they saw her there, fighting beyond all mortal endurance, the found it within themselves to keep going.

"That woman..." Eldrick said and his voice trailed off in the middle of recounting of his recollections of the battle to Mitchell and a scribe that had been brought from somewhere. Suddenly, a look of deep pain spread into his hard features. "My lord, I am a veteran of many battles. I have fought my way across this land since I first earned my sword, going on seventy years now. Even after I stepped down from my duties as a knight, I worked as a ranger with my sister, running patrols into the Shadow Glen, the Peaks, and out into the islands to the south to hunt pirates. My sister and I even took a commission for two years on a wave dancer ship. But in all those years, I have never seen one fight as she did. Even now, I don't know how she managed it. And I am deeply ashamed that I ever doubted her. It is a black mark on my soul that I will answer to Denass for when it is time for me to leave this plane. She is truly the Lord Captain."

"She has been fighting to save Awen for a long time," Mitchell said, somewhat taken aback by the man's admission. "It is all that has driven her since this began."

"My lord Mitchell," Eldrick began as a somewhat bemused smile crossed over his face, "she was not fighting for Awen. Not fully, at any rate. She was fighting to protect you."

Mitchell opened his mouth to reply, but found he didn't know what to say. He thanked the man and took his leave.

Of all the knights who had returned, only Hackett was committed to leaving.

"I've got two wives and a husband, two children of my own, plus three more besides, and four grandchildren, with one more on the way, my lord Mitchell. Something I never could have had while I served."

"I thought knights were free to marry?"

"Oh, they are, that's not what I mean, my lord. But Bethell, my first wife, would not be able to endure the stress of me being sent off on campaigns. Anell could, I think, they both still have Raffin, but... Well, I liked being there for my children as they grew. I figured that's all a man can really ask and when the grandchildren came, I considered each one a gift above and beyond what I'd earned. But now that this fight is done, I want to be there for the fourth one, too."

Mitchell nodded his understanding.

"You have served with honor and distinction, and you will leave with the rank of commander, the same as everyone else, and the pension that goes with it. I hope to return Awenor to peace soon enough."

"Thank you, my lord Mitchell!"

Mitchell shook his hand, despite it being an unfamiliar gesture here, and the halfling warrior adapted readily enough.

"My lord," Hackett called, as Mitchell was heading for the door, a note of hesitation in his voice. "If it's alright with my daughter Lynae, if she has a girl, I would like to ask her to name her Allora. And if it's a boy, Mitchell. Would that be alright?"

Mitchell paused to consider, trying to give the question the proper weight that Hackett seemed to think it deserved.

"On one condition," Mitchell said, after a somber pause.

"Speak it, my lord."

"When this is all over, and if we've driven Milandris out and things have settled down, that you bring your whole family to the palace so that we may meet them. Your children and grandchildren deserve to hear the tale of what you did, straight from the horse's mouth.

"Of course! It would be our honor, my lord. But... what is a horse?"

***

"I'm really not comfortable with all this," Mitchell said as he stared at himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

"Is something wrong with my work, my lord?" Holfo said, looking suddenly in distress. The notion that his work might not be perfectly to his customer's liking seemed to have that effect on him.

"No, no," Mitchell told him. "I just don't normally wear clothes like this. I look like a peaco--"

Mitchell stopped himself. They didn't have peacocks on this world. At least not that he had heard of. He had to stop mixing in English. What was it Lethelin had said once?

"I look like a glitter fish... um... swimming about in the water."

Holfo calmed, then seemed to consider.

"I suppose we could shorten the cape in the back. Simplify the front waist coat, I think. Remove the false dragon scales. It would be a bit of a bold statement, though, what with you being the monarch."

"Why's that?"

"It would put the other nobles on edge, I suspect, my lord. Their capes should not be longer than yours, and if you show up with a shorter one, it would make them look like braggarts and that they held their deeds in higher esteem than your own."

"Would that be bad?"

Mitchell had exactly zero experience in what he had learned over the last few days was called The Veiled Dance; the maneuvering of nobles for better positioning. He knew he was going to have to learn though, and it was not a task he looked forward to.

Holfo looked pensive and he started chewing on his lower lip. Mitchell had only met him yesterday, but he already recognized that gesture as one he got when he was pondering something difficult.

"May I speak freely, my lord Mitchell?

"I would prefer it if you always did that, Holfo. I have little patience for games."

His deep brown eyes darted around the room as if afraid they would be overheard, but they were alone with Allora off handling duties as the Lord Captain, and Lethelin doing... well, whatever it was she did.

"The other noble houses were quick to bend the knee to Milandris, and then his governor, Sanit, who, I'm to understand, died in the battle?"

Mitchell nodded.

"That's what they tell me. He was in the contingent at the main gates when the guardians were activated."

"To the void with him," Holfo cursed, then seemed to remember where he was, and bowed. "Apologies, my lord. I did not mean to speak so in your presence."

Mitchell chuckled.

"It's fine. You were saying?"

"Yes... um... well, the nobles fell in line rather quickly, and, while I don't think any of them truly supported Milandris, they also put up no resistance to his rule. They surrendered some of their local forces to fill out his mercenary numbers. Not enough to pose a threat, but more as a show of obedience. I imagine that, what with your ascension to the throne and the retaking of the city that they will be feeling a bit like they've placed their head in the dragon's maw. Will you punish them for siding with Milandris or will you pardon them? Or perhaps inflict some other form of retribution that they have not yet imagined.

"If I may be so bold as to advise you, my lord..."

Mitchell nodded.

"You may."

"Showing up in more simple attire to your own coronation while they will be wearing their finest adornments would be a clever way to indicate that you think their accomplishments paltry and weak. It will make them fear what you will do next. If you, who marched on the city and retook the throne right from under Milandris's forces in a single afternoon, think so little of your accomplishments as to wear simple dress, what right would they have to dress in so gaudy a fashion?"

Mitchell thought about that and smiled.

"We have a saying where I'm from, Holfo. Less is more."

Holfo considered the odd phrase but it was clear he didn't understand it, so Mitchell took a moment to explain it to him. Once he got it, his eyes lit up and he chuckled.

"Oh, I like that very much, my lord. Less is more. Indeed!"

"Can you do that?"

"Of course, my lord."

Mitchell gave him the go ahead, and the halfling set to work plucking things off here, snipping thread there, stripping it down to the bare essentials, but adding very subtle touches back in.

"Tell me, Holfo. How is it that a tailor knows so much about The Veiled Dance?"

The halfling looked up where he was making some adjustments to the thin black sash that cut smartly across Mitchell's chest, and he scoffed.

"I am not just a tailor, my lord Mitchell. I am the tailor. I serve most of the noble houses and several of the powerful merchants in the city. And my apprentices serve more beyond that. You don't rise to that sort of position without picking up a thing or two."

The short man grinned and Mitchell matched it with one of his own.

"And why would you trust me with this sort of information? You just met me yesterday. You don't know if I will be a good monarch or bad. You don't really know what kind of man I am. For that matter, how do I know if I can trust you? How do I know you are not loyal to one of the other noble families and are using this as an opportunity to make me look weak at my coronation?"

Mitchell trusted that Allora would not let that happen, but he still thought it a pertinent question to ask the tailor, even if just to see his reaction.

Holfo stopped smiling then. He stood up and looked thoughtful and then he gave Mitchell a level look.

"I served King Baylor in his time, and I served Lord Captain Travelor as well. My first wife, Prida, served the Lord Captain's wife, Allora's mother, Kahlen. She was a member of the Council of Eight, and a commander as well. My third son apprenticed at Prida's feet and my daughter Cily, with my second wife Ennen, apprenticed at my feet with Baylor and Lord Captain Travelor, both. We have always served the knights and the throne."

"You've served with distinction," Mitchell said, "but you didn't answer the question."

"I tailored the clothes that Lord Captain Travelor wore to Lord Captain Allora's induction ceremony when she was seven high suns old. I did so again when they were preparing for her graduation ceremony. I watched the Lord Captain grow, from when she was nothing but a bulge in her mother's womb as Prida was called in to adjust Lady Kahlen's clothes while her belly swelled, until that terrible night when Milandris came.

"Lord Captain Travelor and Commander Kahlen were two of the finest people I have ever known. And I have known many. Some are not worth the scrapings from the bottom of a jivi paddock. But few are the match of Lord Travelor and his wife. And Lord Captain Allora is every bit their daughter. And she loves you. She would die for you. I see it every time she looks at you. That is all I need to know about you, my lord Mitchell. If I knew nothing else, that would be enough."

Mitchell didn't quite know what to do with that sort of admission. He felt a knot of emotion form up in his chest and his eyes began to moisten. It was such a powerful declaration that Mitchell found himself momentarily overwhelmed. He took a breath and got ahold of himself. Then he placed a hand on the tailor's shoulder.

"Thank you, Holfo. That means a lot."

Holfo nodded and then his professionalism asserted itself once more. Over the next half hour, Holfo made his final adjustments and then scratched several notations in his ledger and began to undress Mitchell with assurances that he would work through the day and into the night to have it completed by the morning.

As the hafling was packing up to go, Mitchell stopped him.

"Tell me, Holfo, have you met Lady Lethelin?"

Holfo wobbled his head.

"Not personally, my lord, but I have seen her a couple of times. Usually with either you or Lady Allora. She is quite striking. Do you wish us to prepare something for her as well? I can assign Cily to make her something. Cily has a flair for the edgier styles and I suspect that would suit Lady Lethelin well."

"Perhaps, but that's a problem for later. If I set an appointment for you, would you meet and talk with her?"

"Of course, my lord Mitchell. But, if we are not to discuss fashion, what is it we would talk about?"

Mitchell cocked an eyebrow and gave the tailor a sly grin.

"Dancing."

***

"Knock, knock," Mitchell said, tapping on the frame of the door lightly as he stepped into Allora's chambers.

The sun was setting and the sky beyond Allora's large windows had an excellent view of the western palace grounds. He could see the effects the newly returned groundskeepers were having on the long neglected gardens, even from the third floor window. Bushes were getting trimmed back, paths cleared away, and there was even a fountain already up and running.

Through the bedroom door off of the small sitting room, Allora's voice called out.

"Dok, dok, not nok, nok," she corrected, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

"No no," he heard Lethelin say. "Let him. My thumping finger hasn't had a good work out in a dragon's age."

Mitchell smiled, hearing both of them together and stepped in, closing the door behind him. Despite the small size, the room was well appointed. It had one couch along the right wall that could seat three, albeit a little tightly, and two small chairs around a table barely big enough for two plates to sit next to each other. The two windows in this room were tall, almost Mitchell's full height, and hung with light blue curtains. The walls were an off-white plaster, now cracked in several places, with green wallpaper acting as wainscotting which was peeling in several places since the palace had been abandoned for two years. Such cosmetic repairs were very low on the list of priorities at the moment.

There was also a mix between a hearth and a Franklin stove that sat against the left wall, and this served as a heat source when it was cold. Heat stones--sometimes called fire drakes, he'd learned -- could be placed inside and they would warm the whole room for hours. He'd used the same sort of magic item on his trip over the mountains. No burning wood or coal. No ash or smoke. It just needed someone with a little magical knowhow

Once Allora had been feeling better, Mitchell had commented that this seemed like an awfully nice room for an Onyx Knight fresh out of training. He had expected her to have to sleep in the barracks, now in the process of being rebuilt. It had been one of the burned-out buildings on the palace grounds and it had taken some of the worst damage.

Allora had admitted that this had been her room as a young girl, before her seventh high sun when she had been permitted to join the knights. It was a privilege she'd had since her father was the Lord Commander and her mother a commander and on the Council of Eight. Her family did have land about two days ride to the west near the region called the High Valley, but because of their duties to the monarch and the Knights, they lived at the palace most of the year. When Allora had joined up, she had been expected to stay in the barracks with the rest of the trainees and was only allowed to sleep in her own quarters on holidays if she'd been given leave.

Mitchell stepped into the bedroom and saw Allora sitting up on her bed with Lethelin sitting cross-legged in front of her, and Allora was brushing her hair. He then did a double-take and saw it was a much bigger bed than the one they'd woken up in that morning.

"I see we got our new furnishings," Mitchell said, smiling.

Given that the room was Allora's when she was a child, the original bed had not been that large, nor had it smelled all that fresh when they'd first reclaimed the space. Someone had brought in a newer one as quickly as they could, but it had been the same size as the original that had been thrown out because it matched the frame. All of them trying to squeeze into it had been less than ideal. However, the notion of sleeping apart from the two women felt wrong to Mitchell, and he had been surprised that they had felt the same.

So, they'd suffered through the tight space the last two days. Until the royal quarters could be remodeled, this is where they had opted to stay. Mitchell hadn't even suggested that Allora take her parents' old room.

"Yes," Allora said, looking up and smiling. "It is much better."

A look of consternation then passed over her features and she looked back at Lethelin's head.

"Wait, was that 141 or 151? I lost count."

"Not even close. That was only 121."

Allora reached up a long finger and plucked a single strand of red-orange hair from Lethelin's head.

"Ouch!" the thief yelped. "Balls, woman, alright! 151!"

"That is what I thought," Allora said primly, then gave Mitchell a grin from behind her head.

Lethelin rubbed vigorously at the spot on her head where the hair had been yanked out, but wisely chose not to comment further.

"What's this all about?" Mitchell asked the pair as he had to nearly bite his tongue to stop from laughing.

"She lost a bet. And not very graciously, I might add!"

"Do you want to lose more hair? Because that is how you lose more hair. And I would not have lost if you had not cheated."

"I didn't cheat!"

"160!" Allora stated with emphasis.

"What was the game?"

"It's called The Sea Fairies. Three cards, shuffled around, and you have to pick the winner. She lost so she has to brush my hair 200 times."

Mitchell chuckled openly then.

"You know, my father told me something once. He said "Never play poker with a man named Doc".

"What is poker?" Allora asked, pausing her strokes.

"A card game."

"Why do you not play with a man named Doc?"

"It's a way of saying don't play a card game with him because he is likely a much better player than you. Lethelin is a member of the thieves guild, honey. Those games are used to trick people out of their money. She's probably been playing them almost as long as you've been using a sword."

Allora narrowed her eyes and glared at the back of Lethelin's head.

"So you did cheat!"

"No, I didn't cheat! I didn't need to," Lethelin protested. "I know how to move the cards so that the one you think is your card isn't. I can even make you pick the one I want."

Allora looked at Mitchell to confirm her words and he nodded.

"We have a similar game on Earth. That's how they do it."

Allora finished her last ten strokes in silence before placing the brush down.

Lethelin ran her fingers through her long red hair and smiled appreciatively before scooting around and giving Allora a quick peck on the lips.

"Want me to brush yours next?"

"That would be nice. And I want you to show me how to play this card game later, when we have time. I want to learn more about this world. I fear it is an area of my education that is lacking."

They readjusted on the bed and Lethelin began to pull the brush through Allora's raven locks. Mitchell watched as the knight's eyes rolled back in near ecstasy at those first few thick sweeps of the brush and she could not contain the groan as the tension was eased from her scalp. Mitchell took the opportunity to crawl up onto the bed with them and he placed his head in Allora's lap. She began to idly run her fingers through his hair and scratched his head which caused Mitchell to break out in goose bumps, or as they were called here, fairy tracks.

All was silent for a time. Just the steady rhythm of the brush strokes and the soft sounds of Allora's breathing. There were things to talk about, plans to make, people to meet, and there were still the battalions of troops stationed all through the country with which they had to deal. Taking back the city did not win them the war. Mitchell reminded himself that while he could see those enemy soldiers now when he was upon the throne, he had no army to send after them. City guardsmen did not a military force make. They were not out of the woods yet. But for now, that didn't matter. For now, it was enough just to be with the two women he loved with no one pestering them, no reports to read, no strategies to plan. He'd left strict instructions not to bother him unless a dragon attacked the city or Milandris showed up to surrender and offer his head.

Mitchell allowed himself to doze as Allora's hands massaged his scalp and he was feeling very relaxed when he heard an unmistakable sound. It was the sound of lips on skin. It was then that he noticed that Allora's hands had stopped their gentle caresses. He opened his eyes and looked up to see that Allora had her head off to one side and Lethelin was leaning over her shoulder and kissing her neck. As he watched, Lethelin's eyes found his and gave him a wink.

"Mitchell, love?" Allora said, a touch breathlessly.

"Yes?"

"Did you leave orders for us not to be disturbed tonight?"

"I did."

"Good."

Allora turned then, and grabbed a handful of Lethelin's long red hair, and kissed her full on the mouth.

Interlude 3

Lethelin seemed a little taken aback by the ferocity of Allora's kiss, but she returned it with equal fervor. From Mitchell's vantage point in Allora's lap, he watched Lethelin slide her arms around Allora's waist from the back and cup her full breasts through the loose fabric of the shirt and squeeze. Both girls were breathing hard through their noses as their lips stayed locked together.

Fantasies that had been tickling the back of Mitchell's mind for months were finally coming true and he was torn between participating or just watching them and enjoying the show. At first, he decided on the latter. The sight of them together was simply too beautiful to look away.

Mitchell sat up, freeing Allora to twist fully into Lethelin's embrace, wherein the elf promptly bore her down to the bed, eliciting a squeal from her partner followed by a throaty giggle. Mitchell could see the redhead's green eyes hot with lust as she stared up into Allora's face. Then Allora surprised Mitchell by pulling Lethelin's hands above her head and pinning them there. The topic of Lethelin's submissive behavior had certainly come up in their long nights together and Allora seemed to have taken it to heart. Mitchell could already anticipate how their relationship would play out when they decided that they wanted something like this in the future.

Allora was definitely deferential to Mitchell, but not to the extent that Lethelin was. Allora wanted Mitchell to be the one in control and directing things but Lethelin enjoyed actual domination and punishment. Now, it looked like she had two doms.

"Have you been a bad girl?" Allora said, almost as if she were speaking to a small child.

"Yes, mistress," Lethelin said, her voice quavering with excitement and anticipation. Her foot was pressed against Mitchell's thigh where he sat at the end of the bed and he could feel her trembling.

Allora turned to look back at him, then asked, "What should we do with her, my lord?"

"Bad girls get punished."

Allora turned back to Lethelin and bent forward, bringing her lips to her forehead, then to each cheek, and kissed her softly. Lethelin's body arched up and a groan of need emerged from her throat.

"Do you need to be punished?" Allora asked, as their lips broke apart.

"Yes, mistress. I do."

Allora sat back and then grabbed Lethelin by the back of the neck and pulled her into a sitting position.

"Get on the floor, on your knees, hands behind your back," Allora ordered.

"Yes, mistress," Lethelin said meekly.

"Do you like her like that, my lord?" Allora purred as she crawled across the bed to him.

"I do. You've got a wicked streak, I think."

Mitchell pulled her close to him and kissed her hard. When they broke apart, Allora curled herself into his lap almost like a cat, an awkward pose given her height, but in a moment she was cradled in Mitchell's arms and they both looked at Lethelin, who had not moved.

As she started to kiss his neck, Mitchell began to slide a hand up Allora's leg and, in response, she opened herself wide. Mitchell bunched the dress up around her waist giving Lethelin a clear view of the dark treasure between Allora's thighs and, to his delight, found she was not wearing any sort of undergarments.

Sensing his surprise, she said, "I did not bother to put any on after bathing. Do you like it?

"I do," Mitchell told her and began to stroke the soft downy hair which caused her to exhale deeply against his neck and push her hips into his hand. "I think our pet likes it, too."

Lethelin indeed was staring wide-eyed at Allora's pussy and the look of hunger on her face was plain. He began to rub with more focus, sliding one finger down the center fold, feeling the wetness there, then bringing it back up to circle her clit.

"That feels good, my lord," Allora gasped and bit at his neck.

On the floor, Lethelin had started to squirm, and Mitchell could see her clamping her thighs together as she watched Mitchell pleasuring her new mistress.

"Do you want to taste your mistress, pet?" Mitchell asked the kneeling thief.

"Yes, sir," Lethelin whimpered. "So much."

Mitchell brought his wet fingers away from Allora's sex causing the knight to gasp and held them out to their eager pet.

Without hesitation, Lethelin leaned forward, arms still behind her back, and took Mitchell's fingers into her mouth, moaning as she sucked them clean.

"I think that tongue needs more work," Mitchell told her as he pulled his hand from her lips with an audible pop. Extending himself just a little farther, he grabbed a handful of Lethelin's red hair and pulled her between Allora's legs.

"Make your mistress happy, pet," Mitchell ordered.

Allora immediately groaned as Lethelin began to pleasure her, and while Mitchell couldn't see it, he could imagine.

"Thank you, my lord," Allora said, her voice thick with desire.

Mitchell slid both hands under the folds of her dress and grabbed a full handful of each breast, massaging each of them as the sound of Lethelin's efforts filled the room, accompanied by Allora's pleasured moans and gasps. Mitchell's fingers found Allora's nipples and squeezed them gently, but with enough force to make the woman hiss.

"Don't cum," he said low into her ear as her body writhed. "Your orgasms are mine to give."

"Mmmm, yes, my lord," Allora whimpered. "But our pet has a very talented--uhh!-- t--tongue!"

Mitchell nibbled on her earlobe as her breathing deepened and her hips pushed into Lethelin's face.

"My lord, I... I do not know if... Ohhh, godssss! Please, my lord! Please!"

Allora's body tensed. Both her hands were wrapped in Lethelin's long red locks and she had started to move the woman's face up and down, pressing harder in a way that must have been uncomfortable for Lethelin, but she made only sounds of pleasure as Allora directed the motions.

"Not yet," Mitchell said with deliberate slowness. "Not yet."

Allora began to pant as Mitchell increased the pressure on her nipples and, right before she lost control of her body, he whispered, "Cum for me."

"Unnggg!" Allora groaned as she surrendered to the pleasure of Lethelin's tongue. "Oh, gods! Ohhh, FUCK!"

Her body bucked hard one last time and she pulled Lethelin's head from between her legs and went limp in Mitchell's arms. Her chest heaved beneath Mitchell's hands and he slid his hands down to her stomach, caressing her gently.

Lethelin, now released from Allora's fierce grip, lay panting as well, her head resting against Allora's toned thigh, her eyes closed and the skin around her nose and mouth glistening. She was smiling and running her tongue around her lips.

"Thank you, my lord," Allora sighed. "And good job, pet."

"Thank you, mistress," Lethelin said.

Allora squirmed, then, pressing herself into Mitchell's erection.

"That must be very uncomfortable," she said.

Mitchell agreed it was and moved to get up. Allora reluctantly pulled herself free and Mitchell swung his legs over and stood to his full height, stretching.

"Help each other undress," Mitchell told them. "I want to see you both."

Allora gave him a sexy smile and stood, pulling Lethelin up with her. Together, they started disrobing. Allora wasn't wearing much, just the simple dress she'd put on after her bath earlier, and Lethelin was in a lose-fitting pair of slacks with a blouse tucked in. In moments, both women were nude before him and they were gorgeous. Allora's curves were a delicious contrast to Lethelin's smaller, more athletic physique. Lethelin's smaller breasts were high and tight on her chest, whereas Allora's were heavy and swelled enticingly as they were pulled down without the support of her garments.

Mitchell's eyes traveled downward, taking in the generous swell of Allora's hips and contrasting that with Lethelin's smaller size. Both women were toned and hard in some places and soft in others. Mitchell felt like the proverbial kid in the candy store as he drank them in.

Allora slipped a hand around Lethelin's slender waist and pulled her closer. Then, with her free hand, she grabbed her once again by the back of the head and pulled her down to her breast. Lethelin didn't need to be told what to do, immediately taking Allora's left nipple in her mouth, causing her to moan as she stared seductively at Mitchell.

"What does my lord wish of us?" she said, fully embracing the moment now.

"Come here and undress me," Mitchell said, his voice tight with need. The way Allora said 'my lord' got sexier each time he heard it.

"As you like," she said and both women approached and began to slide their hands over his body.

Allora, being the taller of the two, focused on Mitchell's shirt and Lethelin once again dropped to her knees and began to work at his pants. Mitchell could not contain the groan of relief as they were pulled down and his cock sprang free, almost painfully hard. Both girls laughed at his reaction and, once he was fully nude, Lethelin stood and they both pressed their bodies against his.

Hands were everywhere. Mitchell lost himself in the sensations and could no longer discern which girl was where. He moved from one pair of lips to another he grabbed onto each woman's ass and squeezed. Both had a hand on his cock and were stroking him. Suddenly, one hand broke away and grabbed onto his balls and began to massage there, and the sensation was so amazing he almost collapsed onto the bed.

"I want your mouths. Both of you. Now," Mitchell almost growled.

"As my lord commands," came Allora's breathy voice as she pulled her mouth away from his nipple.

"Yes, sir," Lethelin said, her voice nearly in unison with Allora's.

As one, the girls sank to their knees, Allora on his left, Lethelin on his right. Once again, Allora guided Lethelin's head, positioning her lower centered between Mitchell's legs and instructed her to go to work on his balls. He felt her hot breath first. Then her tongue found its mark and Mitchell couldn't hold back.

"Fuck yes, that's a good pet!" he moaned.

Allora then grabbed Mitchell by the base of his cock and took it slowly into his mouth and the sensation nearly overwhelmed him. She took him as deep as she could, until the head of Mitchell's cock struck the back of her throat and he felt her try to push it even deeper.

"That's so good, Allora. Keep doing that. Keep doing that!"

She pulled away with a gasp and then went right back down, trying again to take him even deeper. And the whole time Lethelin was working his balls, her tongue never ceasing, her arms locked around his thighs to give herself more leverage.

"Your turn, pet," Allora suddenly said and grabbed Lethelin's head, forcing it onto Mitchell's length. "Do a good job and maybe you'll get to cum later, too."

Lethelin stretched her mouth around Mitchell's girth and, with her green eyes wide and locked on Mitchell's, she pushed herself down the shaft. She couldn't get quite as deep as Allora had, but she tried.

As Lethelin started to build up her own rhythm, he placed a hand between the thief's legs and began to stroke her pussy. Lethelin groaned around Mitchell's cock and her eyes started to roll back in her head. Her tempo faltered for a moment as she tried to work through the pleasure coming from her pussy while giving the attention needed to please her master and mistress.

Despite only being about five minutes into this double blow job, Mitchell already knew he was going to climax. He wasn't necessarily worried about it as he knew he would be good for at least two more rounds with them but it felt so good he didn't want it to stop. Then, he reached the tipping point and knew he didn't have the strength to tell them to stop.

"I'm going to cum!"

"Cum in the pet's mouth my lord, please!" Allora pleaded, an almost manic light in her violet eyes. "I want her to cum as you fill her mouth."

Allora's hand increased its tempo between Lethelin's legs causing her to whimper as she gripped his cock in her hands and began pumping in unison with her mouth.

"Fuck fuck fuuck!" Mitchell screamed and shot his load deep into Lethelin's mouth. At almost the same time, her own orgasm hit her and she struggled to swallow everything Mitchell had provided while her own body tensed. In the end she failed and fell away, coughing and red faced, Mitchell's seed spilling out over her lips and down her chin. She gasped and tried to catch her breath. Suddenly, Allora was there, taking Mitchell's cock in her mouth, and swallowing the rest of his seed.

Mitchell collapsed then, sitting in a heap on the bed and falling back on his elbows. He was lightheaded and his legs were shaking. Lethelin lay on the floor, her eyes glassy and her face once again wet. Allora had followed Mitchell as he sat and was now slowly running her tongue up and down his length. Despite what was probably the most intense orgasm of his life, his cock was still rock hard.

"Help Lethelin clean up," Mitchell told her after a moment.

"Yes, my lord," she purred.

Allora went to the prone woman and kissed her. Lethelin responded immediately, pulling herself up to embrace her mistress. When Allora broke the kiss, she began to slide the cum that Lethelin had failed to swallow into her mouth with admonishments not to waste so much next time or there would be consequences.

"Yes, mistress," Lethelin said as she completed the task.

Once done, Mitchell bid both of them to join him on the bed. Everyone piled in together and they were once again a jumble of arms and legs. Allora reached across Mitchell's chest and began to stroke Lethelin's messy hair and the latter leaned into it, closing her eyes and basking in the affection.

"I quite enjoyed that," Allora said. "Being in charge in that way."

"It was very sexy," Mitchell agreed.

"Have you ever done that before?" Lethelin asked.

"No, never. I like Mitchell to control me, but being able to control you at the same time was very exciting."

"Gods, yes. I could feel myself dripping down my legs I was so turned on!" Lethelin exclaimed and giggled. "The way you kept grabbing my hair and forcing me around. MMmmm!"

Lethelin pressed her pussy into Mitchell's leg and he felt her shudder.

Taking the initiative, Mitchell began to pull Lethelin up onto his lap.

"Ready for more?"

"Yes, sir," she grinned, guessing what he wanted.

Lethelin straddled Mitchell and grabbed his still semi-hard cock and began to stroke it back to life. Allora joined in and within seconds, he was fully hard again. Then, with Allora holding his shaft at the base, she guided it into Lethelin's pussy.

Lethelin gasped as Mitchell filled her and her body shuddered on the way down until she came to rest on his pelvis. Her fingers curled into his chest as she adjusted him inside her. Allora got up and moved around behind Lethelin, cupping her chin in her hand and pulling her head up and back. She kissed the redhead's earlobe and then bit it. As her nails traced down Lethelin's throat, she said, "You only get one orgasm on your master's cock, pet. Then it is my turn. So, if you want it to last, do not cum."

"Yes, mistress," Allora whimpered as she nodded.

Allora kept her position behind Lethelin and started to massage her breasts and tweak her nipples. Lethelin began to move herself up and down, slowly at first and Mitchell got the sense she was trying to pace herself. Her pussy held him in its grip and he could feel each convulsion as she moved. He slid his hands up and down her thighs and up to her breasts, his fingers intertwining with Allora's.

"Good girl," Mitchell told her as she paused, trying not to let herself finish. "Show me how much control you have."

"MMmm, fuuck," Lethelin panted. "I will try, sir."

Mitchell moved his hands down to her hips and lifted her before bringing her gently back down. Her nails began to dig in and she was biting her lip. Mitchell increased the tempo, bringing her down a little harder each time and a moan began to build in her chest as he took over control.

"Oh gods! Oh fuck, oh fuck!" she cried out as he she surrendered. "Sir! Sir! I'm--"

She screamed then, her nails actually piercing the skin of his pectorals as he thrust into her, not stopping.

Mitchell sat up as her body seized, pulling her tight to him and wrapping her legs around his waist. He then put both hands on her ass, shoving her onto his cock as she orgasmed. She threw her arms around his shoulders, her breasts pressed firmly into him as he fucked her. She descended into a series of grunts as he thrust himself several more times and her body went limp against his, her arms falling away and her head rolling onto his shoulder as he slowed and finally stopped. He hadn't cum again, but it sounded like she'd had at least two more.

Slowly, he eased her body back to the bed and she stared up at him, eyes wide, chest and face flushed a deep crimson.

"Thank you, sir," she mumbled.

"That's my good girl," he said and kissed her softly.

She returned it and purred to him.

Then, Mitchell turned his attention to Allora and saw her sitting there, staring at them with open lust on her face.

"Did you save some for me, my lord?"

Allora trailed a finger down her taut stomach and slid it into the gentle folds of her pussy and circled her clit, putting on a little show for him.

"I did."

Mitchell got up out of the bed and pulled Allora to him. Though covered in a light sheen of sweat, he wasn't even winded. Then, slipping both hands underneath the back of her thighs, and lifted her up so high that her breasts were level with his face. She was feather-light to his enhanced body. He felt stronger, more powerful, than he ever had in his life.

Holding her with one arm, he reached down and angled his cock up to her eager pussy.

"Tell me what you want," he told her, rubbing the head of his dick across her opening.

"Mmm, fuck me my lord. Please fuck me!" she begged. She wore a savage grin and had a devilish sparkle in her eye. His warrior woman.

Finding her opening he dropped her unceremoniously down onto his cock, causing her to scream out at the sudden but welcome intruder. Then, with her arms in a bear hug around his neck and his hands firmly on her ass, he began to bounce her up and down his full length. She locked her ankles behind his back and began to pull herself down onto his member even harder, grunting. It was animalistic and primal, as if they were using the force of the intensity of their passion to cleanse themselves of all the horrors they had witnessed over the last week.

Her lips found his and she bit down on his lip as her body bounced. He felt her pussy squeezing his cock with each stroke, exhibiting the kind of control he didn't know she had. And it was working. With their eyes locked on each other, their bodies moving in sync, her sounds of lust filling his ears, Mitchell felt himself about to climax.

"Cum with me," he told her. "I want you to cum."

"Yes, my lord! Harder! Harder! Make me cum with you!"

With a final roar, Mitchell exploded into her pussy and she screamed out, the sudden sensation pushing her over the edge. Mitchell staggered, trying to stay upright as his second orgasm seared through his body. He felt Allora start to slip and pulled her tight against him, both of them shuddering. Mitchell hobbled over to the bed and sat, his cock still inside Allora, neither of them wanting to separate.

As their breathing slowed, she began to kiss him. His forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips.

"You can do that to me forever, if you like, my lord."

"Aye," Mitchell said, borrowing a word the dwarves often use. "I will."

Epilogue

Mitchell stood on the second-floor balcony overlooking the assembled masses in The Hall of the Sun. His coronation had gone off without a hitch. Truth be told, Mitchell found it rather anti-climactic. A stuffy official from Stollar's temple in the city had placed a heavy onyx crown on his head that had magically sized itself to fit comfortably followed by a proclamation of him as the true monarch. He went on to say that Mitchell was chosen by Awen and blessed by Stollar, and blah blah blah. Mitchell had immediately disliked the man in his pompous golden robes and giant sun medallion. It seemed that clergy were the same here as on Earth -- stuffed shirts puffed up with far too much ornamentation and not enough humility, as far as he was concerned.

The man had droned on for what seemed like hours, but what was in reality probably only a few minutes. And, it was possible that Mitchell was just being cranky and taking it out on the high priest or whatever he was. Allora had told him but he'd forgotten the man's actual title already. It had been an extremely stressful day leading up to the actual ceremony and, by the time it started, he already wanted it to be over. Allora had said he was actually a dedicated servant of the people, despite his somewhat self-important attitude, and Mitchell tried to take her word for it, but long experience on Earth had given him a healthy distrust of religious officials of any sort. Lethelin agreed with him, at least, and said she could arrange for him to have a little accident if he wanted, which made him laugh. But then, the more he thought about it, he wasn't sure if she was kidding or not. Best not to find out.

Once the ceremony had completed, the Onyx Throne began to glow, and Awen's voice resounded through the circular chamber, soft and sonorous, and everyone seemed to stand a little taller as the elemental's words reverberated off the walls.

"Thus begins the reign of Mitchell Theodore De Allen, monarch and ruler of all those who reside in my domain. He is bound to me by magic and bound to the people by love, duty, and honor. Long may he serve our people with wisdom, strength, and compassion."

The assembled nobles and who's who of Lorivin had begun to celebrate in earnest, then. Mitchell greeted more people than he could remember and had been suddenly glad they didn't shake hands here. He wasn't a germaphobe but the idea of glad-handing over a hundred people suddenly made his palms start to sweat.

Hackett had agreed to stay until after the coronation, so all of the surviving Onyx Knights were in attendance, lending somewhat of an ominous air to the proceedings. Falen, in another surprise, had also lent some of his people as additional security. The man was proving to be a valuable asset. So much so that Mitchell found he didn't even mind that the deal he'd made was with, in essence, a mafia crime boss. Lethelin was still keeping a close eye on him, and had informed Mitchell that she'd sent a message to some contacts in Varset, requesting a few trusted friends to join her in the capital, but they were still weeks out.

After nearly an hour of mingling he'd finally managed to escape up to the second level for a breather. The late afternoon sun was still coming through the large dome at the top which, much to Mitchell's surprise, had not been damaged with all the magic and explosions that had been thrown around. He'd later learned that it was enchanted, which shouldn't have surprised him. Additionally, all the statues were back on their pedestals, standing silent guard over the festivities.

"If we don't get out of here soon, I really might start killing people!" Lethelin hissed as she stepped up silently beside him.

Mitchell chuckled.

"I see what you mean about glitter fish," he told her as they watched the throngs of people eating and drinking in the grand hall below. On either side of him, back about a dozen yards stood Eldrick and Elrin, resplendent in their ceremonial armor, each back to full health. They stopped anyone attempting to come up the stairs and talk to Mitchell further, knowing he wanted some quiet time. Lethelin was the obvious exception.

"I told you," she said, her fingers finding his and squeezing. "I don't know how Lora can stand it. Just ten minutes down there and I started to get stabby. They are such an insufferable lot. So obsequious and cloying, always asking for information without trying to look like they're asking. Pretending to be interested in me when really they wanted to know more about you. Thinking I couldn't tell how they looked down their noses at me when they heard my accent."

"On that, we can agree," Mitchell said, and kissed the top of her head. "And don't worry about your accent. Now that I can actually tell the difference between the way you and Allora speak, I love yours. It kind of reminds me of how people from a land on Earth called New Zealand speak. But Allora grew up with these people. She--"

Mitchell's voice cut off as a sudden disturbance broke out among the gathered nobles and dignitaries who had been in Lorivin when they'd taken back the city. Had these been normal times, there would have been even more as the various kingdoms would have had time to prepare and send their envoys across the continent to properly welcome a new monarch in one of the most powerful kingdoms. But as they were only holding a city in an occupied country, they had made due with who was available.

At the feet of the large statue of Stollar, which was carved from what Mitchell now knew to be a special material they called sun stone, a ring had formed and rapidly expanded as people began backing up so fast that several tripped and crashed to the floor. There were a handful of screams, from both men and women as they cleared away from the figure that had suddenly appeared.

When Mitchell saw who it was that was inspiring so much terror from the guests, he went cold. Beside him, Lethelin gasped and took a step back.

"Oh balls!" she swore under her breath. "Oh, balls and bloody fucking taint!"

Almost as if she had heard the curse, Luvari's snow-white eyes turned and looked right at Mitchell. She stood in the widening circle at the base of the statue and she was pristine in her pale beauty. She was wearing a flowing white gown made of what looked like actual snow. It swirled up and around her pale skin like a shaken snow globe, always giving you hints of the luscious cold skin beneath, but never revealing more.

"At least she doesn't have to worry about any buttons ripping off her corset this time," Mitchell thought to himself wryly and tried to tell himself that he wasn't instantly overcome with a desire to ravage the ice princess.

Before Mitchell could say anything, several guards rushed towards the statue, weapons drawn. Vanthalla was among them, her swords already out. They were calling for people to get out of the way and then, they weren't. They were just gone; vanished so fast that people that they had been in the process of shoving aside were still in motion before they recognized that the force pushing them was gone.

Mitchell sighed.

"Hello, Lady Luvari," Mitchell called out from the balcony, greeting his sudden guest with a smile that was only a little forced. While he did enjoy the shock she was giving the nobles and the wealthy of the city, he knew he needed these people. Turning his attention to the crowd at large, he called out, "Everyone, please be calm. Lady Luvari of the Winter Court of the Fey Realm is a..." he paused, wondering if friend was the right word, but decided to be a little more diplomatic. "A guest."

"So wonderful to see you again, my lovely Mitchell," Luvari's voice echoed through the hall. "I just had to come and congratulate you on your victory! And I do love a party!"

When she said his name, something inside him answered. Mitchell had never felt anything like it in his life. Part of him wanted to go to her. Wanted to be close to her. Something deep in his mind whispered that he belonged with the arch fey.

The hall had gone deathly still. With her long ears, her alien face, and bone-white skin and hair, she stood in stark contrast to every other mortal race. Several people actually fainted as the realization hit them. They were in the presence of what many understood to be a demigod. They were immortal beings of legend, the source of both magnificent fairy tales and horrible nightmares.

"It is, and you look as lovely as ever," Mitchell said into the quiet, his voice cautious. "Thank you so much for attending. I would have sent you a personal invitation but I had no way to contact you."

Luvari visibly preened at the praise and twirled around in her dress made of winter. She pulled her hands through the swirling ice crystals and they came away at her touch, dancing around her fingers, and then fluttered back down to conceal her incredible figure once more.

"Oh, this old thing? Why, I only wear it when I don't care how I look!"

Mitchell knew that line. He racked his brain for a moment and then it came to him. She was quoting It's a Wonderful Life! Mitchell's parents had watched it every Christmas when he was growing up. Then she did something even more shocking.

Luvari leaned forward and pressed the front of her blizzard dress down and, from nowhere, a wind blew up the back of the frock in a near-perfect recreation of the infamous Marilyn Monroe scene from The Seven-Year Itch.

The fey giggled as she watched the shocked faces of her audience and then gave a little curtsy after the dress settled down.

Looking back up at Mitchell, Luvari said, "Don't worry, I took no offense, I have kept an eye on you," and she winked.

A figure had begun to move toward Luvari, and Mitchell saw it was Allora, with Gilriel close behind. Thankfully, her weapon was not drawn. She moved with what Mitchell would call a stately urgency. People moved from her path and in a moment, she was before their powerful visitor. Rather than speak, Allora bowed low, almost touching her head to the floor.

"Lady Luvari, it is a pleasure to welcome you to The Onyx Palace. As Lord Captain and as one given the authority to speak on behalf of Lord Mitchell in matters of state and diplomacy, I extend to you the protection of the law of hospitality and name you honored guest within these walls or any that I call home, now or in the future."

Her speech finished, Allora rose and met Luvari's pale gaze.

"Well met, Lady Allora," Luvari said, her voice as warm as her dress was cold. "You are looking much better than the last time I saw you. I am pleased to see you so. Our Mitchell has taken good care of you, it seems."

That feeling tugged at Mitchell again. It was really starting to freak him out. And the inclusion of the possessive when referring to him was also troubling.

"He has, my lady," Allora answered. "Thanks in no small part to your timely aid. Please, what service may I render to you? It would be my honor to see to your comfort."

"I've come to see young Miss Lethelin. She has a debt that is due."

"As you wish, my lady," Allora said with no hesitation. She of all people would know the intractability of a deal with a creature of fairy.

"Oh balls!" Lethelin groaned.

Allora's eyes found Mitchell's and he nodded, knowing the question in her eyes without her having to speak it.

"Please, follow me," Allora requested.

Luvari nodded and Allora made her way to the nearest stairwell with Luvari a few steps behind. A chill seemed to sweep over everyone she walked near and people jumped back as if they'd been shocked. As Lethelin got to the bottom of the stairwell, Luvari suddenly stopped and looked at the man who was standing there. It was Falen, Mitchell saw. He was dressed in his best court finery, the people here having no idea that he was also one of the feared edrokii. His actions in the battle had made him somewhat of a celebrity and he had been enjoying himself immensely so far.

Luvari studied him for a long moment and the swirling snow that made up her dress appeared to blow a bit more violently as she appraised him.

"Interesting," she said after a pregnant pause.

"Pardon me, my lady?" Falen said, shocked at the sudden attention.

Mitchell could tell that he was trying to decide if he should run or not. Falen was no coward, but this was a lady of fairy who was giving him a once over. As Mitchell understood these things, that would turn even the bravest man's bones to water.

Luvari took a step closer to him and looked him up and down. Several people gasped and stepped away, but to his credit, Falen held his ground.

"Lady Luvari, is something wrong?" Allora asked, a subtle note of panic in her voice that Mitchell could tell she was trying to mask.

"Hmm?" She said distractedly, not taking her eyes away from the crime lord. "Oh, no. Nothing is wrong. But you and Mitchell certainly keep interesting company."

Luvari reached up and patted Falen on the cheek.

"But you and I should talk one day, I think."

"I... uh... I..."

But before Falen could formulate a proper response, she turned back to Allora and bid her continue up the steps. The guests watched in mute fascination, still none daring to speak. Few barely had the courage to move at all, lest something inadvertently draw the arch fey's attention to themselves.

With a nod, Eldrick stood aside, and the two women walked at a stately pace towards where Mitchell and Lethelin awaited. Lethelin had moved behind Mitchell, as if hiding behind his bigger frame would somehow save her from the deal that they had struck to save Allora's life.

Mitchell felt the weight of every pair of eyes as they watched their new monarch speak with an arch fey. The stories of this would only add to his legend and he didn't want to think of the wild tales that would come up from it.

As they came to a stop, Allora spoke first.

"My lord Mitchell, I present Lady Luvari, arch fey of the Winter Court of the Fey Realm."

Her voice was crisp, sharp, and formal. Her face was flat and, to an outsider, perhaps, inscrutable. But Mitchell had learned to read her over these many months and he could see the barely contained panic behind her eyes.

Luvari tipped her head.

"Welcome," he said.

"I am well pleased with the hospitality of your court," Luvari said. "It speaks well of you."

Her eyes shifted past Mitchell to where Lethelin stood peaking from behind his shoulder. "And greetings to you as well, Miss Lethelin. Are you ready to go?"

"Ah, if I may, Lady Luvari..." Mitchell began.

"Hmm?"

"The guards? Are they... Are they alright?"

"Oh, yes, of course!" the arch fey woman said, waving his concern away. They're sleeping, don't worry. I sent them home. I didn't want to risk a misunderstanding and cause anyone to get hurt."

Mitchell released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and nodded.

"Thank you for your consideration."

"Come, my dear. I've waited quite long enough," Luvari said to Lethelin, holding out her hand and indicating that Lethelin should take it.

Mitchell knew there was nothing he could do and this moment was always coming. Lethelin did, too but he supposed that she had been trying to ignore it.

The terrified thief slowly stepped from behind Mitchell and was looking at the offered hand like it was a viper about to strike.

"It's only two weeks," Mitchell reminded her. "It will be over before you know it."

Lethelin gave a hesitant nod but still didn't look away from the pale white hand hovering in the air.

"You owe me," she suddenly growled, her eyes glancing at Allora. "So, so much!"

Slowly, Lethelin placed her hand in Luvari's and a shudder went through her.

Luvari looked to Mitchell then.

"Two weeks, to the second, as agreed," she said, then turned to go.

"Uh, Lady Luvari, if I may?" Mitchell suddenly interjected.

"Yes?"

"How did you know about It's a Wonderful Life and Marilyn Monroe?"

She gave him a knowing smile.

"Amazon Prime."

She reached into the swirling snow and pulled something small and orange from within and tossed it to him. Mitchell reached to catch it and when he looked back, she and Lethelin were gone. There were only a few snowflakes swirling where she had stood. They quickly fell to the carpeted floor and melted.

Mitchell then looked at what she had tossed to him and barked a laugh.

It was an individually-wrapped Reese's Peanut Butter Cup.

***

Milandris stared out at the dig site and tried to control his rage. It was all coming apart. Two years he had been searching. Nearly a decade in the planning before that. How? How had that woman evaded him for so long? How could one woman and, from the reports he'd received, a man from the human home world, have done all this? And where had those knights come from!? If he could just find the gods' damned geode, none of this would matter!

The dig site was a bit of organized chaos. Men and machines labored to move tons of earth as they pushed deeper into the ground. And in all likelihood they were wasting their time. Milandris had poured over the surviving records of the previous hunts for the elementals in preparation for his move on Awenor and none of them had ever mentioned anything like this. The first false geode had been bad enough, but the second? Then, a third! Awen had done this, he was sure of it.

As he'd pondered the successive failures over the last year, he knew she must have anticipated this centuries back. There was no way she could have done this since he'd taken over the kingdom. He could find her eventually, but this should have been done much sooner. And now, with the loss of the capital he would have to divert resources to either reclaiming it or isolating it. A siege of the city would be long and costly but with a monarch once again on the throne, short of a successful assassination attempt, he didn't see how else he could take the palace again.

"Balls and bloody fucking taint," he swore. How had she done it!?

"You have losssst the sssssity, Milandrissss," a rasping voice suddenly spoke up behind him. "Your failuresssss mount in frequensssssy."

A cold fear spread in from his gut at the sound of that creature's voice. They knew. Of course, they knew.

He turned and faced the cowled figure behind him. The tilsin's coppery scales glittered inside the hood. Her face, not as reptilian as the lower casts in their society, was almost elf-like, if you could get past the serpentine features. The elongated eyes, the vertical slits, the lack of an actual nose, and a mouth that always looked too big for the head. There was a sort of cruel and deadly beauty to those of the royal caste, but one would be mistaken to think it anything more than a mask. Tilsins had no concept of pity or mercy or of aesthetic beauty. As far as Milandris was concerned, their entire race was an abomination. Still, he had needed their gold to finance his plan.

"It is a setback," Milandris replied. "He has the city, but he has no army, no generals, and my forces still control the countryside. If he steps beyond the city we will have him. Already my secondary forces are moving to encircle the city and cut off trade."

"We feel asssss if your leadersssship has been lacking. You promissssed us the geode sssstoness within the firsssst year of your asssault. It hasss now been two. We grow tired of delaysssss."

"Your costs have been covered," Milandris snapped. "The coin from the taxes is ample to the task."

"The coin issssss insssidental, Milandrissss," the tilsin woman hissed. "We dessssire the stonesss from the elemental. That issss why you are here. Not for taxssssss revenue."

"You know why we haven't found her yet. No one anticipated false geodes. You will just have to wait a little longer."

The creature studied Milandris for a long moment, her flat, emotionless eyes probing.

"We feel it issss time we took a more active role in thissss endeavor."

"No!" Milandris yelled. "That was not our deal. I run the campaign, you provide the funding to hire the mercenaries. You get your stones when we harvest the geode. That was it."

"It hassss already begun," she said, as if he hadn't spoken at all.

Milandris stared at the alien creature, shocked at the ease with which she went back on their arrangement.

"What did you do?"

Beneath the cowl, that too-wide smile revealed a row of needle-sharp teeth. Milandris did his best to suppress a shudder of revulsion.

***

"Allora!" a voice sounded through the room, breaking through Mitchell's slumber. Beside him Allora groaned as well. More pounding exploded from the door.

"Balls and taint woman, wake up!"

Mitchell cracked an eye open. What time was it?

"Sounds like Gilriel," Mitchell grumbled. "I guess we should answer it."

Beside him, Allora pushed herself up, her bare skin glowing softly in Vish's pale blue glow. Mitchell did the same, both of them reaching for their robes. He moved to wake Lethelin as well, then remembered she was still gone. It had been nearly a week and he felt her absence every day. Allora had been in a bit of a funk as well, which surprised him. He knew that her feelings about Lethelin were complicated but it made his heart glad that she seemed to miss the thief nearly as much as he did.

The pounding came again, sounding hard enough to break the door down.

"Lord Captain or not, if you don't open this door, I'm going to tan your hide!" Gilriel yelled from the hall.

Together, both of them still exhausted from the previous day's training and meetings, they trudged to the door and Mitchell deactivated the wards that kept it sealed.

Allora reached forward and yanked it open.

"What?!?" the lord captain snapped. "Are we under attack?"

Gilriel's hand was raised in preparation for another round of pounding and the door had opened up so quickly that the older knight took an involuntary step back before remembering herself. Her eyes looked just as sleepy and her hair had the look of someone who'd just woken up as well. Beside her was a harried looking young man in a city watchman's uniform. His eyes were wide and terrified as he stared at the monarch and the lord captain in their bedclothes. He was carrying a stack of papers.

Gilriel brought her hand down and took a deep breath.

"Allora. It's your mother. I think she is alive."

~The end of Book One~

A Note from the Author

Okay, you did it. You reached the end. Thank you so very much for showing up, reading, rating, and commenting. I tried to make sure I read every one and there are so many of you I wanted to reply to to thank you for your kind words, but this site isn't the best for that sort of fan engagement. Just know that it means a lot.

For those keeping track at home, this tale comes in at roughtly 318k words. Those of you who've taken this journey with me, you're looking at something that started more than three years ago. During the process I lost a parent, I lost a woman I thought was the love of my life, changed jobs, ended a second relationship with a woman I was coming to love, and dealt with a fair bit of depression as I tried to reorganize my life on the wrong side of 40. This novel served as therapy in a lot of ways. I tried, with inexpert hands, to pour my heart into the relationship with Mitchell, Allora and Lethelin. While Mitchell isn't exactly a self-insert on my end (there are parts of me in all of the characters) many words that were spoken between the three of them were words I wish I could have said to the women in my life, or had them say to me. The scene with Mitchell and the memories of his mother were written not long after my own mother passed. The way his parents met is how I always imagined I would meet the love of my life. Just that instant recognition. What can I say, for a guy who writes very wordy erotica, I've always been a romantic at heart.

I found the haremlit genre before covid and, while I enjoyed it, I found it lacking in many ways. For a genre that touted itself as romance for men, there was rarely--if any--actual romance. The women were often disposable, barely discernable from one another beyond a few basic characteristics (the hot one, the shy one, the bitchy one, etc.) and romance consisted of a brief conversation around a campfire or something, and then they were banging. Now, don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with that, but I wanted more.

I wanted deep fantasy, an expansive world to adventure in, and relationships and love that felt earned and deserved. I pulled from a lot of the fantasy I grew up reading and watching as a kid, and many a keen-eyed reader has spotted those references. This is my way of paying homage to the men and women who gave so much to a lonely kid growing up in rural Missouri. I hope that the emotions I poured into this have touched you in some way, as well. The response has been beyond my wildest dreams when I first dared to think that I could write a story like this that people would want to read. So once again, thank you all so much who've shown up every week, through my painfully slow release schedule.

Rest assured, the story continues. As of this post, I am working on book 2, and then the final book in the planned trilogy.

The story is not over for Mitchell, Allora, Lethelin, and Vras. Not by a long shot. I can't wait for you to see where it goes next.

-Devon Hexx (aka Abbe Faria)