The Concubines

I will admit the tiniest bit of hesitation before I knocked upon the door. When I turned off the main street into the alcove that hid it, I realized that I had not seen it in over a decade and no clear memory of what it looked like. My own home, and I had forgotten it. I had only just purchased it when the Mythseekers received our summons to fight for Axichis. I had thought that war would be a tiny diversion. I was a fool.

It was just a door, wooden, set into an archway of dun-colored brick, down a short staircase from the bustling street above. An iron knocker, in the shape of a fish grasping a ring in its mouth, sat right at my eye level. For the life of me I couldn't remember if it had been there before. My memory assured me it had, and then I conjured an image of the door without. My home was stranger to me in that moment than the deepest jungle of the Ocaital or the stark wastes of Lu-Ninurta.

Tanyth and Quiyahui were with me on the bottom landing. The others, Ujaala, Tanyth's handmaids, and Shaluvia, were arrayed on the steps above. We'd already boarded the qobads in one of the city's stables. The hands there were excited. Apparently, Kharsoomian riding birds were an unusual sight in Castellandria, but not so unusual as the stable master heaped them with lavish praise as mounts worthy of a king. Although, considering the way he looked upon the five comely Kharsoomian maids I traveled with, I think he might have praised most anything to find their favor.

I took the iron ring in hand and tapped it against the plate, softly enough that I thought I might have to do it again. The door opened.

Waiting in the threshold, I saw a face that for many years I expected to live only in my memory. It was Lysethe the Heaven's Fire, former witchthrall of the Heacharid Empire. Her skin was stark white, her hair bound in a simple tail. Her red eyes went wide with surprise as she recognized me. She wore a loose blouse and pants, both in red linen, the Heacharid slave collar still about her neck. My gaze went to the skymander wrapped about her shoulders shedding a soft white-gold light over her fine features.

"My lord?" she breathed in disbelief.

I did not have a moment to speak, which was fortunate, as my mind was a blank.

"Bel!" a familiar voice cried as Sarakiel burst past Lysethe, crushing me in a happy embrace. Her scent, incense and candlewax, filled my nose as I held her. She pulled away only to pepper me with kisses. "I never gave up hope! I knew you would return to us! Oh, how I missed you, my love!"

Laughing, I kissed her too. "I missed you too, Sarakiel."

Sarakiel was more beautiful than I remembered. A darkling, her demonic heritage was obvious, and when she was out of doors, she would conceal her appearance with an enchanted necklace. Her skin was a pale blue, punctuated with darker stripes. Her indigo eyes with their glowing yellow-orange whites were filled with love. Dark horns curved over her head, and her pointed tail lashed excitedly, knocking the hem of her yellow linen robes about. Her hair was tri-colored, copper at the base, then changing to orange for the bulk of its length, then yellow at the tips, and she wore it in a tight bun. Her body was as soft and curvy as I remembered, her embrace effortlessly comforting. I had not realized how much I craved her touch until the moment she held me.

She looked up, noticing Tanyth and the others. "Hello," she said. Then, to me, "Who is this?"

"Please," I said, "I'll explain everything. Can we come in?"

"Of course! Oh, I'm a fool. I was so excited, yes. Come in. Come home!" Sarakiel stepped back and gestured into the house. Of an airy Castellandrian style, the main room opened out into a courtyard balcony that overlooked the Castelpont on the Azure side. Other, smaller chambers opened off of this main one, including bedchamber I'd intended to share with Sarakiel and Zhahllaia.

My entourage filed in after me, looking about with curiosity. The open structure with its clean angles and colorful accents was so alien from the crumbling glory of Kharsoom. Tanyth smiled at both Sarakiel and Lysethe, and I found myself wishing for the enchantment Lyta had on her house, that would allow everyone to converse regardless of language.

Zhahllaia stepped into the room and my heart leapt. She was exquisite. Petite and slender, her skin was bronze, glittering with metallic undertones. Her dark hair had the same luster. She wore only a costume of delicate golden chains and ornate bracers on her wrists and ankles. I could not read her expression. She was, as always, an enigma.

"Zhahllaia."

"Master Wizard," she said.

"I missed you."

"You've grown sentimental," she said, her voice breaking, her gold-flecked eyes soft.

"Honored father. Welcome home." Belazei stepped out next to Zhahllaia. The nereid, my daughter, wore a short dress, a section of netting hanging from her belt as adornment. She was a little older than I remembered, and her words were in Abbih, the language of Old Qammuz.

"Belazei. Your Abbih..."

"Is adequate," Zhahllaia said. "She's clever but needs to take her studies more seriously."

I embraced my daughter. "I am so glad you came here."

"Your wives have looked after me well."

"I'm glad to hear that too. Please, everyone, out on the courtyard. I want to introduce everyone." I repeated myself in Kharish. Tanyth nodded, watching everyone curiously.

We went out into the evening air. The smells of the city folded over us, a riot of seawater, food of every variety, of life in its manifold forms. Distant music, conversation, the sounds of ships in the strait danced on the air. Lights blazed far below on ships and wharf, from windows and streetcorners. After my time in the wilderness, Castellandria was almost overwhelming. Yet I knew that, for the first time since I had left this place to battle the Heacharid, I was safe. Standing in the middle of the courtyard, I was momentarily taken by the magic of the city. Then I focused on my task at hand. On one side were the seven I had traveled with from Kharsoom. On the other, the four who lived here.

"Before we get into introductions," I said, addressing my recent companions in Kharish, "there's the matter of language. The household language is Abbih. Its living speakers are all in this courtyard, and so it affords us privacy, a way to communicate that others can't penetrate."

"And it's a civilized tongue," Zhahllaia said.

"You speak Kharish," I blurted.

"I speak every language, Master Wizard. Has it been so long that you've forgotten?" She looked to the Kharsoomian side. "I will instruct you in Abbih."

"You are Zhahllaia the Enlightened," Tanyth said, a smile lighting her face.

"I am."

"Bel speaks of you fondly."

"Who are you?"

I switched to Abbih, putting an arm about Tanyth. "This is Princess Tanyth of Clan Abibaal, my wife."

Sarakiel was stunned, then broke into a smile, approaching Tanyth and taking her hands. I should have noticed the shadow that passed over Zhahllaia's features, but it was gone so swiftly and I was distracted. It was not until later that I reflected upon this moment that I recalled it being there.

"I am so pleased to meet you. I am Sarakiel."

"Sarakiel," Tanyth repeated. In Kharish, she said, "I am honored."

I translated, and Sarakiel blushed. I then introduced the others on the Kharsoomian side. I once again was forced to explain Oddrin's absence, and my brides were horrified by the little creature's demise. I then explained Quiyahui's role, as well as her monthly transformations. Sarakiel gushed over the coatl's beauty while Lysethe was impressed by her obvious power. It wasn't until I arrived at Ujaala's introduction that Sarakiel stopped me.

"Slave? Bel, no. You cannot have a slave," Sarakiel said.

"I tried to explain that to her, but she would not hear it," I said.

"I am a slave," Lysethe pointed out.

"No, you aren't," Sarakiel said, putting an affectionate arm about the other woman's waist. The way Lysethe leaned into her, there was affection between them. The skymander crawled from the witchthrall's shoulder to perch upon the darkling.

"I am," Lysethe said. "Belromanazar saved me. My life belongs to him, now and forever."

"A bedslave is a Kharsoomian custom," Zhahllaia interjected. "It is a matter of manner and status. Our wizard likely needed one to be accepted at court."

"Something like that," I said.

"The others, the handmaids and the warmaid are slaves as well. Property of the princess, I imagine."

"That's right."

Sarakiel frowned. "I don't like this."

"Because you have a soft heart," Zhahllaia said without malice. "It is likely that they have no other skills and were we to expel them, they would have nowhere to go. Think of them as servants if you must, paid in room and board."

Sarakiel swallowed further objections, but her expression was troubled. I turned the introductions of the Castellandrians. Tanyth was careful to repeat their names and offer a curtsy to each. When we got to Belazei, she was amazed. "A daughter. She is beautiful." She paused. "What is she?"

"A nereid. The result of a dalliance in my youth. I did not know of her until relatively recently."

"Please tell her that I am honored to meet her, and I hope she will come to think of me as a second mother." It was a funny statement, as Tanyth was only a few years Belazei's senior, but I conveyed the sentiment and my daughter smiled with her human teeth.

"The last, I'm afraid I don't know," I said, gesturing to the skymander that had made its way back to Lysethe's shoulder and watched Quiyahui with open suspicion.

"This is Eytelis," she said. "Rescued from the Red Citadel."

"That is my honor," I said with a bow. Lysethe blushed sweetly. I looked about. "This place is too small, isn't it?"

"Azureview was suitable for the four of us," Zhahllaia said, "but twelve? I don't think so."

"Azureview?"

Sarakiel colored. "It is what I called it."

"I like it. I suppose my money from adventuring is exhausted. We'll have to make do until we can earn more."

Sarakiel grinned. "Not as such."

"What?"

Zhahllaia shot a smirk at the darkling. "Sarakiel is quite clever in such matters. She spent your money on things like shops. She gave them coin in exchange for stakes in the business. Now we have income. Quite a bit of businesses. Quite a bit of income. As I said, she's quite clever." Sarakiel glowed under the praise.

"Could we purchase a different house?"

"I was thinking of the neighboring properties," Zhahllaia said. "Buy them, connect them. What used to be two, four, even more houses, can be one. Big enough for all."

"Let's begin that process," I said. "In the meantime, we should find places for everyone to sleep." I explained what was going on to Tanyth.

"We will sleep out here," Tanyth decided. "We have our furs. We will be comfortable."

"Tanyth, you can sleep with me."

She gave me an indulgent smile, putting her hand on my cheek. "My love, these three have been awaiting you. They do not know me yet. They need to understand that you still love them and accept that I am not a threat."

"What about you?"

"I see the way you look at me." She kissed me. "I will sleep out here. I am accustomed to Kharsoomian nights, and this is mild. I will join you eventually, but tonight would be a mistake."

Tanyth went to Sarakiel, kissing her hand, then Lysethe, clasping it, and finally she curtsied to Zhahllaia before returning to the rest of the Kharsoomian contingent. I touched Quiyahui's head, feeling her thoughts. They were with Ujaala, a deep concern born from their years in the wilderness together. I knelt, kissing the serpent on the top of her head. She slithered away to coil about the bedslave, whose body relaxed at the serpent's touch.

Belazei had a small room, where a tub of saltwater gave her the perfect bed. Sarakiel, Zhahllaia, Lysethe led me to the bedchamber we had claimed so long ago. Lysethe gestured, the candles in the room lighting as one, spilling gold everywhere. Bookshelves now stood against the walls, stuffed with texts, statuary, and oddities. A soft pillow stood on a pedestal. On another was Zhahllaia's lamp. A pair of chairs sat in one corner, next to a pair of candles.

"Your wife seems kind," Sarakiel said.

"She is a princess of Kharsoom," Zhahllaia said.

"What does that mean, my lady?" Lysethe asked.

"You cannot trust her."

"Zhahllaia," I sighed. "I've spent years in Kharsoom now. I'll not defend the culture, but Tanyth should not be tarred with that brush."

"I like her," Sarakiel said firmly.

"Why?" asked the djinn.

"You don't know what it is to be a darkling. I have to hide myself, and when I am seen, there is a look that passes behind the eyes. Bel never looked at me like that. It was why I loved him so swiftly. And neither did Princess Tanyth."

Zhahllaia stared at Sarakiel, and her eyes softened. "Very well. I won't call her princess. She is our equal, no matter what her title."

Lysethe relaxed, taking her skymander to the cushion. The little creature slithered from her arm to curl up. "You found your familiar," I said.

"I'll tell you the tale one day, my lord. Where will you have me sleep?" She looked to Sarakiel, "My lady?"

Sarakiel smiled, a glint in her indigo eyes. "I believe our Belromanazar needs a proper welcome." She turned to me. "We have had a good many years to ourselves, and you will need to understand our habits, but for tonight, I just want you to be home. To begin an easy span of years."

"Thank you," I said. "Allow me a moment."

I placed Ur-Anu against the wall, then I removed my robes and boots, followed by the sheath belted over my chest. Clad only in my loincloth, I removed the treasures I had hidden there, the sweetwater goblet, the dryad seed, and the swatch of cloth emblazoned with the scorpion. All three went into a nearby shelf. I turned and the three women were staring at me with a mixture of concern, love, and lust.

"What?" I asked.

"You've grown," Lysethe said, swallowing. "My lord."

"Yes, I've been told I'm broader."

Sarakiel approached. "And taller, Bel. Did you not notice?"

"I had nothing to compare to."

Her hands brushed over the scar on my abdomen. A circle, looking a bit like an eye, was on the right side of me, just above my loincloth. "This was a terrible wound."

"It happened during the war. It nearly killed me."

Her fingers found other scars. The one over my heart, the one on my arm, the whip marks across my back. "Oh, Bel. You were hurt."

"It was not an easy span of years."

Sarakiel wrapped her arms about my neck and kissed me. The edge of her scent, of sweet incense and candlewax, slid into my senses, and I lost myself in her comforting embrace.

"Sarakiel?" Zhahllaia said.

She broke the kiss only reluctantly. "You tell us all you wish to," she murmured, then shot a glare at the djinn as she stepped back. "There. Happy?"

"Ecstatic. Master Wizard, you are still dressed, are you not?"

I took her hint and doffed the loincloth. Now I was nude, my staff beginning to rise. Their gazes crawled over my body, Sarakiel hungrily devouring, Zhahllaia softly sampling, Lysethe openly worshiping. I'd had many paramours in the stretch of years, but never three at once who wanted me so thoroughly.

Sarakiel was next, her robe falling from her bountiful curves. Her figure was an hourglass, with heavy, teardrop-shaped breasts, full hips and buttocks, and a slender waist. Her scent grew stronger in the air, the bare slit between her legs shiny with her juices. She let her hair down, shaking it out, and she was a goddess of beauty, all the lovelier for her demonic features.

Lysethe dropped her clothing as well, revealing a leaner, ropier body. She was a warrior, all taut muscle beneath her stark white flesh. Where Sarakiel was curved and soft, Lysethe was slender and hard. I found my attention falling to her sex, furred in white, droplets of arousal clinging to her fleece.

Zhahllaia had no clothing to remove. She joined them, and I was faced with three beauties, all beautiful and unique in their way.

"I was gone from you for a long time. Too long. It was not because I wanted to be. It was because I had to be. I'll explain everything. I'll tell you every story. But not tonight."

Sarakiel pulled me back into her arms, kissing me again. "When you are ready, my love. Come, let me take you."

"Oh, Sarakiel." I took her hands in mine, kissing her fingertips.

She helped me down onto the bed, laying me on my back. I jutted upward, straining for my loves. Zhahllaia stood beside the bed, idly toying with her nipples, watching us. Sarakiel crawled to me, her haunches in the air. Lysethe sat at the foot of the bed, her eyes going from me to the darkling and back again. Sarakiel held up her finger, a shiny black claw emerging from the tip. One by one, the claws emerged, and she flashed her fangs in an alluring grin. She gently placed the tips of her claws against the flesh of my leg. She carefully ran them up my thigh, the lightest of touches. The soft scrape raised gooseflesh in its path. Though Sarakiel would never harm me, her claws were sharp enough to do the work, and those so close to my vitals was enough to inflame me.

As Sarakiel teased, her claws swirling past my most sensitive spots, promising at once death and bliss, Lysethe settled behind her. The witchthrall's hands were just as restless, running over Sarakiel's skin, over her buttocks, up her back, and down to her thighs. Sarakiel's shuddering breath spoke to the success of these touches, and I knew I was seeing some of the ways they had found to please one another.

Sarakiel crawled forward, flashing her canines. "I have thought of this for many years now," she said, her breath tickling my staff. She leaned forward, confidently licking my entire length, from coin purse to head. "I'd forgotten the taste."

"Now that is a crime," I said, caressing her hair.

She grinned again. "You will just have to remain here."

"With you or in this bed?"

"Both," she said winsomely. Her laugh was muffled as she swallowed the tip of my spear. Her lips strained as she sucked me to the back of her mouth. Hot saliva rushed over me, the first rivulet falling running free down my shaft. She pulled her mouth from me, a line of spit dangling from her lip, pausing to gasp for breath, give me a lick, then attacked once again.

She took her time. I could tell she had been thinking of this for a long time. She had meditated on our dalliance so long ago, the thoughts worn deep ruts in her mind. She continued to lick and to suck, taking me to her throat but never deeper. She was not ready for that. She made up for it in eagerness, in the way she slurped with abandon, wanting nothing more than to heighten my pleasure. She purred in her throat, the soft tingle of sound another embrace that danced over me.

I opened my eyes without realizing I'd closed them. I saw why she had begun to purr. Lysethe was behind Sarakiel, her hands on the darkling's buttocks, spreading her, attacking the sweet ring within. The way the witchthrall industriously worked and Sarakiel writhed and pushed against her made me think this was a common component of their loveplay. I was already learning more about my concubines.

The sight, so unexpected from my sweet Sarakiel, took the pleasure that had been building in my belly to explode. I gave a happy moan as it burst from me in hot gouts of pure bliss. Sarakiel coughed as the first molten gush of seed filled her mouth. A thread fell from her lips and down her chin. She leaned back, sitting up. Lysethe, interrupted, sat as well, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes widened as Sarakiel kissed her hard.

Sarakiel's tongue pushed into Lysethe's mouth, and a pearly line fell from between their lips. The witchthrall's eyes widened in surprise, and her throat began to work as she swallowed. They broke, Sarakiel grinning wickedly. She licked her lips once, collecting the drip first from Lysethe's face then her own on a finger, sucking it clean.

"Oh, Sarakiel," I sighed.

"You're not finished, are you?"

"No," I said, smiling.

"Good," she said. She crawled up me, kissing first my scar, then my chest. Then she was on her knees, rising over me like a goddess. Her knees were on the sides of my head, her sex over my face. Her lips, so private, gave me only a glimpse of the bright blue folds within. Nectar shone over her mound, running down the insides of her thighs. Her distinctive scent, the incense and candlewax, enfolded me in a sweet miasma.

"This is the other thing I've been dreaming of," she said, her voice rusty. "Every time I touch myself, I pretend it's your mouth."

I kissed the inside of her thigh where her nectar had dripped. I sampled it, the taste bringing me back to the first moment I performed the knight's kiss upon her. I nibbled her flesh, teasing her with my tongue, finding every place upon her but the one she begged for.

I felt her fingers grip hair, and she pulled my face up to her as she pushed her hips down. Her slit met my mouth, and kissed her. My tongue parted her, where her flavor was thickest. It was not an exploration, for I knew her, but it was coming home. It was remembering every corner of her sex, every fold. I ranged over her, never staying in one place long. She was a fruit I would never tire of eating. She was a labyrinth I would never truly solve. She moved against me, shuddering, sucking in breath.

That was when I felt a weight over me. Another hot embrace took my staff, followed by a happy sigh scarcely audible over Sarakiel's increasingly heated moans. It was Lysethe, taking me inside her, grinding her hips down hard over me. I found her hip, caressing her, letting her know that this was good, this was wanted.

Lysethe's stroke was inexpert, but she hardly seemed to need more. My long absence would substitute for technique, at least for now. She pushed down to take me deep, then withdrew, only to do it all again. Each time she sped up, the sinking over me more violent. Her cries came swiftly.

Then, I felt a third point of sensation. I line, subtle and sweet, over my body. I knew the caress, on the edge of touching, like soft and cool breath of a lover over my skin. It was Zhahllaia.

The three of them spurred me all the more. I attacked Sarakiel. I took her pearl in my lips, sucking hard. She uttered a sweet sob, shuddering once, and a flood of nectar issued from her. I swallowed to keep from drowning, but what a wonderful death that would have been. Cool air kissed me as Sarakiel moved from my face. She crouched by my side, taking my cheeks in hand, her kiss finding my mouth, her indigo eyes bright.

Now I was able to see Lysethe as she moved against me. Her muscles were taut beneath her floury flesh, her breath stuttering. She pinched her nipples hard as she stroked, and I remembered how much she enjoyed the sweet tortures of our first meeting. Zhahllaia had moved behind her, one hand running over the other woman's body, the other between her own legs. Our eyes met, and she broke into a smile.

"We are a long way from Thunderhead," she murmured.

"Not so far, my love."

Sarakiel's mouth had given me endurance, and soon, Lysethe broke, her body quaking in bliss. I too had built something within me, but I was not yet ready to spill. I watched her lose control, and my love bloomed for her. I sat up, kissing her softly. Sarakiel helped her off of me, revealing my spear, turgid and glistening.

Sarakiel never hesitated, taking me in her mouth once, her tongue running over me. "I love her taste," she said, getting onto all fours. The bright slice of her sex, shining with arousal, peeked from between her thighs, her tail lashing back and forth. "Once more," she purred.

That was not an invitation I would ever refuse. I rose, gripping the darkling's haunches. Her tail raised, wrapping about my waist. I sheathed myself in her. That was the moment, in the rumpled bed with my three concubines, that I truly came home.

For our first month or two at Azureview, things were cramped. Then, with Zhahllaia negotiating, we were able to buy the house below ours, and brought in workmen to build pathways between. The Kharsoomian contingent moved down there, onto a suite of chambers that could house Tanyth and her entourage. Ujaala was given a room of her own and lamented that she could use company.

Tanyth picked up Abbih with a facility that surprised me, and Ujaala was almost as fast. The others acquired it more slowly, and I believe some of that was because they tended to speak Kharish among themselves. Sarakiel also began to teach them Eomet, and once again it was Tanyth who excelled.

Sarakiel fell pregnant swiftly, a fact that annoyed Tanyth to no end. She had been intent on me siring an heir in her, but we had thus far been unable. When Sarakiel announced her condition barely two months after my return, Tanyth was outwardly pleased, but I could see it ate at her a little. Sarakiel and I had not intended to conceive a child, but we were pleased with the news.

Belazei needed to swim, and every few days, she and I would walk down to a small cove on the Azure side of the Castelpont where bathers frequented. At first, we drew attention, but soon, we became a familiar sight. I found I enjoyed floating on the water, watching Quiyahui dance in the sky above while Belazei frolicked below. My daughter would surface from time to time to tell me of something she saw. She and I began to map the Castelpont's seafloor, a fascinating project but more importantly a way to spend time with her.

These moments were small in my life, but they could not have been more important. Belazei, with her every word, gave me a gift that before I had it, I could not have conceived. I lamented the time I missed with her, but was grateful for the time I now had. It cemented in me the desire to be a father to the baby in Sarakiel. I didn't want to miss what I'd missed with the nereid. It was not a desire I always lived up to, I will admit that.

One afternoon, Belazei and I were walking back from one of our lazy days, up the winding pathways that would eventually take us to our home. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course, father," she said. Abbih can be somewhat formal, but I was pleased she dropped the "honored" part of the address.

"How is your mother?"

"When last I saw her, she was well. She had just borne another of my sisters, and was quite busy with her."

"Sisters? How many sisters do you have?"

"I don't know. Many. More than live in our house certainly."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "I should not have thought I was special to her."

"You were special," Belazei said firmly.

"I was?"

"Mother speaks fondly of you. She says of all her mates, you were the sweetest. It was one reason I wished to meet you. I thought if you were sweet to Mother, you would be sweet to me."

"And am I?"

She smiled, wrapping an arm about me. "I'm not certain. I might need to stay for longer to be sure."

"Belazei, as long as I have a home, you will always be welcome there."

"I have liked learning of this world."

"I would like to learn of yours as well."

"I will take you there when you like."

"Do you intend to have children?"

"Father! When I am of age... I don't wish to think of it."

"I know so little of your people. When are you of age?"

"Zhahllaia taught me how to reckon time here on the surface. One hundred years, I believe?"

"I suppose you have time in plenty then."

"Not so much for a world as big as this one." When she said that, I felt such a surge of love, but it was a selfish kind. That was an idea that came to me often, and a sign that, despite her appearance, she was truly a part of me.

It is difficult to explain my love for the girl, for I still barely knew her. Yet I could not imagine my life without her. I treasured every moment, and craved more, even as I knew eventually she would leave. I did not begrudge her that either. Her life was her own. I could only be grateful for the pieces she chose to share.

I was out on the balcony one day while workmen went about building the staircases that would connect one house with another. Quiyahui lounged beside me, enjoying me brushing her feathers as we sat in the warm morning sun of Castellandria. The serpent could groom herself, of course, but it was a way for the two of us to bond. To be one, magus and familiar.

Sarakiel came out on the balcony, her robes dripping over her curves. She had begun to show, her belly growing with the new life inside her. She settled into the chair next to me, affectionately ruffling the coatl's feathers. "Bel, I wanted to give you something. I had almost forgotten it." She reached into her robe, pulling out the tiny glass vial. Inside was the xilquinal sapling, its trunk a silvery white, its leaves gold, a gift from my elven paramour.

I laughed at the sight of it. "When I was first lost, there were times I blamed that. Then, I stopped thinking of it. I had forgotten it as well."

"You blamed the tree?"

"It was good luck, remember?"

Zhahllaia stepped up beside me. The sun glinted off the minute golden chains that traced her form, and made the metallic undertones of her bronze flesh glitter. I could not look upon her without falling in love again.

She no longer returned to her lamp. That had become a curio. It had a place of honor in our bedchamber to be sure, but it was no longer her home. In my absence, she had become something of the public-facing party of the household. Sarakiel was too shy, cognizant of her need to hide her darkling identity, and Lysethe saw herself as a bodyguard. That left Zhahllaia. I believe the sight of an exquisite nude Qammuzi woman had aided our negotiations to purchase the house, but I could not prove it.

The djinn lay a hand upon my shoulder, and the ripple of pleasure, like soft breath over the back of the neck, bloomed at her touch. "What happened while you were away? Will you tell us?"

In the sunlight of Castellandria, surrounded by them, Quiyahui's head in my lap, I could tell them. There was no safer place. I did not think I would tell it all, but once the words started, they spilled from my lips. I started with the shipwreck, the story of Oddrin's death, of the Hollow and Ur-Anu, of my travels across Uazica, of the cult, slavery in Kharsoom, my escape over the wasteland, finding Tanyth, and my congress with the goddess Errishti. I wanted them to know what I had done in the many years I had been absent. I wanted them to know me, to judge me as still worthy of their love.

"Oh, Bel," Sarakiel said. "You should have come home instantly."

"No" said Zhahllaia. "When I gave myself to you, Belromanazar, it was because I saw a spark. I hoped that what I saw in you wasn't the desperate trick of the mind. The boy I feared you were would have returned home, lesser. The man I love would have taken his power back and returned mightier than he left. Here you are, in the company of a magnificent familiar and bearing a weapon of legend."

"You certainly have exacting standards," I said with a wry grin.

"My love is a treasure. I do not give it out to anyone."

"That is your way of telling me you love me."

Zhahllaia kissed my cheek. "I love you, Belromanazar. I am your concubine, your wazira, your..." She faltered at the last word, and I wish I had paid more attention, but I was basking in their affection. I was relieved that they still loved me as much as ever.

"You are cruel," Sarakiel said to Zhahllaia, cradling her belly. She sighed. "I suppose complaining now is foolish. You're back."

"Have you considered what you will do now?" Zhahllaia asked.

"I hoped to rest for a time," I said, "though I'll admit that I have been feeling restless. I assumed our situation would be more dire, but I underestimated Sarakiel's facility with coin."

"It is nothing," she said, blushing indigo. "Merely serving as patron for opportunity. Short term cost for long term gain."

I touched her hand affectionately. She was, she is, a remarkable woman.

"For now, you may rest," Zhahllaia said. "I will not say this often, but you have earned it."

My heart beat a quick tattoo against my chest. My destination, found for me by Sarakiel, was not far from a regular haunt of mine, a café that sold decent, though far from transcendent chocolatl. The proprietor, a Lixhan fellow, was delighted when I addressed him in Huyu.

After purchasing my daily mug, I walked down the cobblestone streets with Quiyahui fluttering above me like a pennon. The doorway, my destination, was an unassuming one, cramped between a dressmaker and a tobacconist. I stared at it as I finished my chocolatl, my nervousness making me feel foolish. I had lain with a goddess. More than one. What was I worried about? Finally, I swallowd the dregs of my beverage and hung my mug on my belt. Only then did I knock.

The door opened to a gnome in livery of gold and brown, his auburn hair slicked to his head and his forked beard artfully turned up. A silver owl brooch glinted from his collar. He looked me over, clad in my new Castellandrian robes, and the coatl now coiling in the air behind me. I did not carry Ur-Anu on my walks through town as that felt needlessly martial. As he took me in, his gaze lingered on the ring about my finger.

"Good morrow, my lord," he said. "Might I have your name?"

"Belromanazar of Thunderhead. I am told this is a place for adventurers?"

"You were informed correctly. The Order of Owls is an exclusive club for those formerly afflicted with wanderlust but now call the city their home. Forgive me, my lord, you have the mien of an adventurer, but I know you not by name alone. May I assume you seek membership?"

"I was considering it. I was told of this place and I thought I should explore it."

"As an adventurer would. An excellent impulse. I would be pleased to show you to the antechamber. A few members are already within and would be pleased to make introductions."

"Please," I said. "May I know your name?"

"Skeevan, my lord. I am the majordomo here. I care for the needs of all club members," he said, leading me inside. The door opened to a narrow staircase, which brought us to the second story. A hall extended back into the building, to what I would later find was a collection of bedchambers, libraries, armories, dining rooms, lounges, and so forth, everything filled with trophies and mementos.

Today, we went through the first door, which led to a sumptuous room. Thick carpets covered the floors, and the walls were covered in paintings and maps. In every place, there was exquisite piece of artwork or furniture to look at, and the room was comfortable in a way that only one who has slept many nights on the cold ground can value.

In the center of the room was a table holding the most complete map of Thür I had ever seen. Terrain was picked out in exhaustive detail, and borders between states picked out in softly glowing lines of different colors. Half of the map was in darkness, though the light from the lamps should have been able to reach all of it. As I looked at it, I saw the waters on the map flowed along their pathways. The map smelled of magic, a warring sense of night and day, of far seasons and distant climates.

"The map, my lord One of the Order's most prized possessions. It adjusts itself as Thür changes. Most invaluable. Please, wait here. I will bring what members I can and some refreshment."

"Thank you."

He was out the door and I turned my attention back to the map. It was exquisite in every detail. Quiyahui reared up next to me, scanning the terrain with her lightning-blue eyes. I felt her curiosity and dawning understanding what she beheld. I found the Mixtayhua in a heartbreakingly emerald green section of Uazica. "That is where we met," I said.

My attention wandered to Aucor. Most of the continent was hemmed inside a red border. The Heacharid Empire. It had even extended into the Turquoise, wrapping about the islands of Axichis. Small cutouts on the border reached deeper, surrounding small kingdoms in orange. Haguellon was one of these, a kingdom a former paramour hailed from.

My attention fell upon a kingdom on the eastern cost of Aucor. A mountain range encircled it on three sides, the Azure Ocean and high cliffs on the fourth. The border about it was orange, marking it as a Heacharid client state. My finger traced the mountains, the germ of an idea taking root. Quiyahui's blue tongue brushed over the rugged terrain. She felt the inspiration as well.

The door opened. The first person through the door was someone I never thought I'd see again. It had been two decades since I looked upon her. The wrinkles about her eyes that had only begin to develop when we met had deepened, and her braided, blond hair held copious threads of gray. She was still vital, perhaps a little softer than she had been, but an undeniably impressive woman with thick limbs and strong features. As she beheld me, her blue eyes held amusement and affection. She was dressed in simple finery, the sunburst of Umione about her neck.

"Ulrika?" I managed.

"I did not believe it was you, lad. Come here, let me look at you." She broke into a grin as she looked me over. "Not the boy we found at Thunderhead, I can tell you that."

"Where are the other Swiftblades?"

"Mallathar is a member of the club, but you'll never find awake him before noon. Lavinia sailed for Tabiyya some years ago, and I have not heard more. Brennan has a farm in Rhandonia. The man grows turnips now if you can believe it."

"And Mira?"

Ulrika's face darkened and she shook her head. "Now is not the time. We will speak on that later."

"You know this man?" asked the other woman in the room.

I tore my attention from Ulrika, this apparition of the past, to assess the people who entered with her. Skeevan waited patiently, holding a silver tray laden with drinks with admirable professionalism.

The woman who had spoken had an aristocratic air about her, though it was hard to tell if this was by birth or not. Adventurers often purchased titles, or in my case, married into them. A decent career usually afforded us the ability to act as nobles even without the title. In any case, she had long since grown accustomed to the trappings of money. She was nearly as tall as I, with a swanlike neck, and long, graceful limbs. Her black hair was pinned up with a pair of jeweled combs. Topaz drop earrings and a matching necklace set off her tawny eyes. Her skin was a lustrous brown, smooth and unblemished. She wore a figure-hugging gown in a variety of rich fabrics. Her features were nearly elven. I caught a scent of magic about her, a flash of color in my nostrils. As though to confirm this impression, a piece of silk shifted upon her shoulder, and I saw that it was a silk manta, deftly camouflaged on his mistress.

As though to contrast her, the other individual was a dwarven man clad in simple breeches, shirt, waistcoat, and boots. He was bald, though I could not tell if this was the result of time or the barber's razor. His eyebrows and beard were a thick and bristly red. He'd braided his mustaches, decorating them with beads made of bone. He carried a heavy pewter mug, and in fact I would never see him without it. A touch of magic came off that, and I reeled as it smelled like a hard night of drinking.

"This is Belromanazar," Ulrika said. "When he was but a stripling, he accompanied the Swiftblades on one of our adventures. Served well, though he was frightened out of his wits."

I laughed. "It was the farthest from Thunderhead I had ever been."

"No shame in a little fear," said the dwarf.

"One adventure is not enough for membership in the Owls," said the woman, eyeing Quiyahui. "No matter how impressive the companion."

"Forgive me," Ulrika said. "This is Varanaya and Durrack, late of the Children of the Crown and the Deephammers respectively."

"I'm honored," I said, offering bows to both. Durrack clasped my wrist in a crushing grip. "My brief time with the Swiftblades wasn't the end of my career. After that, I joined the Mythseekers."

The dwarf snapped his fingers. "I knew your name sounded familiar."

"You know them?" asked Varanaya.

"Oh yes," said Durrack. "They were active, oh... ten years ago, perhaps more? I seem to recall something about Ul Adrax?"

"We found it," I said. "We were with the Redmarks at the time."

"You know them! Rose is a member, although I believe she returned to Freeport. Skeevan, I've a powerful thirst."

"Lucky that I brought your mead, my lord. And your tea, my lady, and your wine, my lady." He poured from a bottle into Durrack's mug, gave a cup to Varanaya, another to Ulrika, and one to me. "And your chocolatl, my lord."

I accepted it. "How did you--?"

He nodded at the mug on my belt. "A distinctive scent, my lord. I hope you forgive the presumption. Tell me, does your companion require refreshment?"

"She caught a fat shark a week ago. She will not need to eat for another month."

"If there is anything I can do to make her stay more comfortable, please tell me. If I am needed no longer?"

"Thank you, Skeevan. That will be all," Ulrika said.

The gnome gave a quick bow and retreated, closing the door gently behind him.

"Do you have records of the Mythseekers?" Varanaya asked.

"Of course," Durrack said. "I will have to look them up, as I'm afraid their deeds aren't foremost on my mind. But they are legitimate, that I know. In the meantime, Belromanazar, if you would be so kind, regale us with a tale of your adventures with as much detail as you can."

"Is this part of the application?"

"For certain," the dwarf said. "Ulrika's word carries weight. We will listen to your tale. I will look in my records. Then, should we find what I believe we will, that you are afflicted with the same blend of bravery and foolishness as we, we will invite you hence where you will meet with our other members. After that, we will decide whether to offer you membership."

"What story would you like to hear?"

"Your first tale," Ulrika said. "When you joined the Mythseekers, there would have been a purpose. All parties begin with a purpose."

I nodded, bringing a tale I had not thought of in many years to the fore of my mind. Then I began to speak, and the words came easily, for such a thing is never truly forgotten. "King Jacobal IV, known as the Unholy, when he embarked upon Second War of Ascension left tombs all over what is now northern Rhandonia." I settled into the story, reliving my first, tentative steps into the life that would claim me.

The Order of Owls sent an invitation to Azureview a week after I told that story. Zhahllaia followed me out onto the balcony courtyard, where she insisted I take Quiyahui, for she was a sigil of my power and a far less threatening one than Ur-Anu. and Ur-Anu would be more of a threat. Her next insistence surprised me.

"The Kharsoomian will accompany you," Zhahllaia said

"I would assume you would insist on going. Or Sarakiel."

"I am a djinn without power. Sarakiel is your pregnant darkling concubine."

"She could wear her amulet."

"A Kharsoomian bride, especially a noble one, gives you status. It allows you to use your title, and hers. She is the only possible choice."

"Her Eomet is not strong."

"It does not need to be. Speak to her in Kharish. It will add to her exoticism."

"You're certain?"

"I am your wazira. I do not give bad guidance." Zhahllaia paused. "She will need to be garbed appropriately, of course."

Tanyth had her dress from Mairault and had acquired a few others since. At home, she and the others from Kharsoom maintained their nudity. It was difficult to argue they should wear more than Zhahllaia did. "She has clothing."

"She needs something finer. She is a princess of Kharsoom and needs to look the part," Zhahllaia said.

Tanyth emerged into the courtyard and we both paused. Zhahllaia because we had been speaking of her, and for me, it was half that, and half the stunning sight of her clothed only in the sun. "You speak of me," Tanyth said in Abbih.

"We do," Zhahllaia said. "Belromanazar has been invited to a gathering in at a guild of adventurers. You will accompany him as his lady wife."

I held out a hand to the djinn, trying to settle her officious manner. "What she means, Tanyth, is will you do me the honor of being my escort?"

The frown creasing Tanyth's face at Zhahllaia's presumptive demand vanished. "You perform me honor."

"You honor me," Zhahllaia corrected.

"You honor me," Tanyth repeated.

"You will need a new dress," the djinn said.

Tanyth broke into a smile. "I have ideas. Will need summon a tailor."

"I will need to summon a tailor," Zhahllaia said, and Tanyth repeated it.

"What do you have in mind, my love?" I asked in Kharish.

She flashed a smile, and in Abbih, said, "The surprise is mine, honored husband."

Tanyth arranged for a tailor, and that alone was impressive, navigating such with her broken Eomet and a winsome smile, and refused to show me what was being done. Zhahllaia bade me make my own appointment, as I would need proper finery as well.

The night of the fete, I was garbed in new robes, marked with the feathered serpent. I waited outside a Tanyth's chambers while her handmaids prepared her. When the Princess of Clan Abibaal emerged, I was once again dazzled.

Her black hair was piled atop her head, secured with pins and combs. The pearls in the adornment were an accent and counterpoint to her blue highlights. Her scorpion diadem, her marker of rank, sat on her brow. Her gown was low over her chest, and clung to her curves, twin slits to her hips. The material was a diaphanous white, pale enough to see an idea of her form, and where it caught the light, rainbows caressed it. That would become her trademark, that iridescent white. Set against her crimson skin, she was a sunset clad in cloud.

"I wanted this color," she said in Kharish. "To honor Quiyahui."

"It's lovely," I breathed.

"I don't like leaving you unattended," muttered Shaluvia.

"We do not need a warmaid," Tanyth soothed. "What could face us that Bel and Quiyahui cannot defeat?"

"He should take that godslayer of his."

"This is not Kharsoom. We need not fear assassination."

"She is right, Shaluvia," I said.

The warmaid shot me a withering glare. "As you wish, Your Highness, but you know my feelings."

Tanyth kissed her warmaid. "I do."

The two of us took a carriage to the Order house with Quiyahui pacing us above. The way she flew, she was like my banner, something that would become a source of hope for the people of the city.

As we approached the door, Tanyth took my hand. "I am so proud to be your princess," she murmured in Kharish. It was precisely what I needed to hear in that moment. Fear bled from my heart.

The door opened before we needed to knock and Skeevan stood on the other side. He bowed low. "Welcome, my lord, they are waiting for you." His attention went to Tanyth, and the normally unflappable majordomo's jaw momentarily dropped. He recovered swiftly. "And welcome to you, my lady. If there is anything I can do to make your visit more comfortable, I beg you to but to ask. The Order of Owls is assembled in the lounge. If you would follow me."

The gnome led us up the narrow staircase, past the doorway into the antechamber, and beyond to the maze of corridors. He arrived at a double door that opened into another room as sumptuously furnished as the last. Golden lamplight drenched the room. The walls were covered in trophies, from the preserved heads of exotic beasts to strange artifacts contained in shadowboxes. Though there were only around sixteen people inside, the confines of the club made the space feel far cozier than perhaps it might have otherwise.

Ulrika and Durrack approached, welcoming smiles on their faces. Both were decked out in their finery. "The guest of honor," Durrack said. Then he noticed Tanyth and whatever else he planned to say was gone. "Madam, I didn't... who are you?"

"I would like to present my wife, Princess Tanyth of Clan Abibaal," I said.

"My pleasure it is meeting you," Tanyth said in halting Eomet.

"Your Highness," Durrack said in flawless Kharish, sweeping a bow low. "Welcome to our humble order."

"You speak Kharish," she said with a smile.

"If it please Your Highness, I would speak Dragon."

"I am Ulrika Karksdóttir," Ulrika said in Eomet. "I did not know Belromanazar had married."

"Wanted him, did I," Tanyth said.

Ulrika chuckled, turning to me. "Are you ready to meet the Order of Owls?"

"How are my chances?"

"Good, I would say. Varanaya is skeptical of you, but comport yourself well, and you should do..." She trailed off, and then her tone flattened. "Oh, I suppose this was inevitable."

Mallathar wove his way through the crowd. I felt the most juvenile surge of hatred at the sight of him. He had robbed me of Bridda, the girl I'd loved from afar. I reminded myself that Bridda and I had later shared a lovely night, one that I still treasured, but that didn't salve the initial hurt.

He was still handsome, though undeniably in his middle age. His belly had grown, his face had begun to wrinkle, and his hair was going gray. The arrogant smirk remained. That vanished as his gaze slid from me to my wife.

"Madam," he said. "I am Mallathar, late of the Swiftblades, brave adventurer. It would be my honor to escort you about the Order of Owls. We have quite a few mementos that I personally liberated from this dragon or that dark lord--"

"Your Highness," Tanyth said.

Mallathar blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"I am a Princess of Kharsoom. I am 'Your Highness.' I am not 'Madam.'" The precision with which she said the words told me that she practiced them in advance.

I caught Durrack smirking, which he covered with a sip from his mug.

"A thousand apologies, Mad... Your Highness."

"Stop your foolishness, Mallathar," Ulrika said. "Her Highness is the wife of our prospective member. You remember Belromanazar, don't you?"

He looked at me, and no shade of recognition passed over his features. "Yes, of course. How are you?"

"He accompanied us once. The barrow, in the north of Rhandonia."

Mallathar nodded unconvincingly. "Oh, of course, yes. The barrow. In Rhandonia." He looked me over. "He's a fine figure of a man with excellent taste in women. He has my vote." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Welcome Belro..." the rest of my name was a string of incomprehensible muttering. "And you, Your Highness, I am ever your humble servant."

Durrack and Ulrika took me about the gathering, introducing each member in turn. Quiyahui got almost as many looks as Tanyth, though only one, an elderly Esmian warrior Clodomyr, tried to draw a blade on her. Tanyth calmed him quickly and had him eating out of her hand with a few choice words and a batting of her eyes.

I do not think I owe the entire success of the evening to Tanyth, but a significant amount was her doing. Zhahllaia had been astute. Where she would have been aloof, Sarakiel overwhelmed, and Lysethe meek, Tanyth was accustomed to navigating such environments. The terrain might be different, but her weapons were not.

Near the end of the night, I was by the window, sipping my wine and absently smoothing the feathers on Quiyahui's head. I watched as Tanyth allowed Durrack to explain the origins of each and every trophy on the wall.

"You've made quite an impression," Varanaya observed, stepping up next to me.

"Not upon you."

"On the contrary. A wizard with a familiar like that magnificent beast is one worthy of consideration."

"I heard you were skeptical of me."

"I am honor-bound thus. Ulrika would welcome all who came through the door. Durrack would give membership to any who can craft a story. Only I am uniquely capable of truly judging a candidate."

"Then I have your vote?"

"You don't need it. We have, by my count, nine full members who can be present. Spouses do not vote, though I would not be surprised if Durrack tries to change those rules for your bride."

I chuckled at the joke. "He's quite taken with her."

"He is not the only one. You have at least five votes already."

"I want yours."

"Why is that?"

I believe it was my recent dalliance with Lyta that put the idea in my mind. "You are a colleague."

"I am not the only wizard here," she said, nodding to Iago the Gray, a halfling presently sharing a pipe with his familiar, a briarchild.

"I want his vote too."

"You want everyone's vote," she said. "Oh yes, I know you might value mine and Iago's a bit more. I can understand that. We are wizards, and the three of us here, together, it's a rare thing. It is more than that. You wish to be loved."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"No," she said, smiling. And she left me.

Ulrika and Durrack saw me off at the end of the night, and Tanyth and I took the carriage home. Quiyahui lay across us, her coils encircling my arm and my bride's leg. "I liked them. A whole guild of boldisars," Tanyth said, shaking her head. "Amazing."

"I suppose that's one way to think of us."

"You should not be worried. They liked you, although those two other wizards were wary. I believe your familiar might be the cause."

I stroked Quiyahui. "I do not believe I would be in such a good position without you."

"Oh, that is certain. But it is what I do. You go off, doing brave things, and I ensure you are loved for it."

"What did I ever do to deserve you?"

She kissed me. "Some questions hold their own answers."

I could not leave Tanyth to her quarters with the other Kharsoomians. "Where are you taking me?"

"Into my bedchamber."

"Bel. The others are not yet accustomed to me."

"And they will not be if we insist on sleeping separately."

I opened the door. Sarakiel read by candlelight, stroking a slumbering Lysethe's hair while Zhahllaia reclined on her couch. The darkling looked up, putting her spectacles up over her horns. "Hello, the two of you. How did it go?"

I began to undress. After a moment, Tanyth did as well. Quiyahui coiled up, observing Lysethe's familiar Eytelis. The skymander watched the coatl with equal suspicion.

"Well," Tanyth said. "He was wonderful."

"She did most of the work," I said.

"Is that true?" Sarakiel asked. Tanyth nodded, and Sarakiel giggled. "Were you planning to sleep here?"

"We were," I said, and Tanyth nodded shyly.

"There is more than enough room. Come on now."

We climbed into bed. Lysethe stirred but did not awaken.

"How are you feeling?" Tanyth asked, glancing at Sarakiel's growing belly.

"I have been craving raw meat. That is common with darkling mothers, I'm told."

"Then you shall have as much as you like." Tanyth vowed. "We will make that child strong."

Sarakiel reached out and touched Tanyth's hand. "Thank you."

As we settled in for the night, Zhahllaia slipped out. She did not return, and when I awoke, she was not in the room with us.

Tanyth grew more comfortable in her new home. True to her word, she purchased meat for Sarakiel, and my lovely concubine was soon eating it, shyly asking for different cuts, and different animals.

Tanyth's other purchase was new slave collars for Ujaala and Lysethe. She showed them off proudly, golden collars sculpted to be a feathered serpent biting its tail.

"You will need these to mark your slaves," Tanyth said. "A lord has his sigil upon them."

"I don't have..." I paused. "I won't have any more slaves."

"You have Ujaala and Lysethe, and both are due the honor of a proper collar. A master of renown confers some of that upon a loyal slave."

I reminded myself that Tanyth was from a very different culture. She had only just left Kharsoom and had not yet adjusted to the way things were done elsewhere.

Tanyth called them in, explained her purpose, and showed off the new collars. Both looked pleased, and I could not understand why. Ujaala, in particular, was relieved.

"Why does this matter to you?" I asked.

"I still wear Lord Kulla's collar," Ujaala said. "I have no true records of belonging to you. I could be taken away. I would not want that."

I did not bother to point out that were she free, no one could take her. I had tried that already. She would not listen. I turned to Lysethe. "What of you?"

"I am your fist, my lord. It is appropriate that I wear your feathered serpent. Let all those who oppose me know."

They donned the collars, locking them into place. I watched in confusion as the two of them would occasionally stroke the golden surface, as though reminding themselves it was there. Ujaala would eventually remove the collar and accept her freedom. Lysethe would die wearing it.

A month after the gathering at the Order, Ulrika arrived on my doorstep. I brought her out to the courtyard. She looked out over the shining sea and sighed. "This is quite a view."

"It is. Can I offer you something?"

"First, this. I insisted upon bringing it to you myself." She handed me a brooch, a simple silver owl. "Welcome to the Order."

"That is wonderful news," I said, turning the little object over in my hands. "Can I offer you wine?"

"That was what I wanted, but I didn't want to spoil the surprise."

I fetched a bottle, passing Tanyth on my way to the courtyard. "You're in a good mood," she observed.

"The Order accepted me."

"Of course they did." She kissed me. "Congratulations, love. Now we need to find an order of exiled Kharsoomian nobles for me."

"I will look," I vowed with mock gravity.

I rejoined Ulrika out on the balcony. She watched Quiyahui ascend and dive into the water, emerging only to do it again. "Is she hunting?"

"Playing. She likes the feel of the wind and water on her feathers."

"An incredible creature. You will have to tell me that story."

"I will."

She accepted the goblet and drank. "This is excellent."

"Saumont vintage. I developed a taste for it recently."

"I can see why. Durrack is looking forward to seeing you again. He keeps asking if you plan to bring your Kharsoomian bride."

"Whenever it is permitted. She enjoyed herself."

"She is a lovely woman," Ulrika said. "You've done well for yourself."

"Somehow."

"I admit, I have a hard time reconciling you with the boy who entered that barrow."

"There I times I can't either."

An image touched my mind. I had not thought of it in years, but it came to me so clearly. The heart carved beneath my desk in my chambers. I used to run my fingers over it. Mira had left it there, a memento of the night we spent together, the night that began everything.

"Ulrika," I said. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Mira. What happened to her?"

She searched my face, then, softly, "She took your innocence, didn't she?"

"How did you know that?"

"She was fond of ushering young men and women into the pleasures of the flesh."

I chuckled ruefully. "I was nothing more than that."

"I think Mira cared for all of you." Ulrika shook her head. "I am somewhat at sea when it comes to romantic matters. Umione is my only partner. I did not meditate too long on that aspect of Mira's life."

"What happened to her? The way you spoke of it, I fear the worst."

"I'm afraid I know only fragments. The Swiftblades retired a few years ago. Most of us were getting old, looking forward to putting our adventuring days behind us. Mira was not entirely human. I don't know if you knew that. She had an ancestor that was from the Plane of Night. She was older than all of us, and still youthful when the rest of us could no longer ignore time's cruel grip. She joined another party. The Gloom Sovereigns. Quite the name."

"What was their purview?"

"I am not entirely certain. I know they were going into the deep places. Ghoul lands. I don't know why. Only one of them ever made it out. Their cleric. He was an orc, a servant of Yegoth, their God of Valor. Members of my faith found him gibbering and mad, wandering about the Caster Mountains in the north of Esmia. They tried to nurse him back to health, but he had no will to live. He died shortly after."

"That is awful."

"Because of my connection to Mira, I was given the charge to return his remains to his tribe. I trekked the Valenspur Hills with him."

"Valenspur Hills?"

"You know it?"

"I have a friend in Iarveiros."

"He was part of a small tribe that lived there. I believe they used to make their living as raiders, but have since turned to more peaceful existence."

"I met their chieftain once. Ghorza."

"The Hammer, yes. Impressive woman, though growing old." Orcs did not live as long as humans. I had not seen Ghorza in many years. I could not imagine how she had aged.

"I know that look," Ulrika said.

"What?"

"That is the look of an adventurer preparing himself for a quest. I know it because I felt it in my heart too."

"Mira was your friend."

"One of my dearest. I owe her my life many times over."

"Were I to investigate, would you want to be involved?"

Ulrika watched me. "Yes. Yes, I think I would. Age be damned. Would you mind if I told Mallathar?"

"That gadfly?"

"I know how he looks, but trust me. A good bard can mean the difference between success and failure."

"Very well. But this is still merely the beginning of an idea."

"I understand."

"Will you stay for dinner?"

"I would be pleased. In the meantime, we should discuss the Order's bylaws and your dues. The house is open to you whenever you like, and there are always some of us present. Every member in the city gathers monthly. You'll want to bring your princess."

"Hold, I need more wine if I'm to keep track of this."

"I'll need more if I'm to recite it!" she called after me.

Though I wanted to share a bed with my brides, it soon became clear that this was not feasible. Unless in the context of loveplay, four people in a bed is too many. To make matters more complicated, Quiyahui finally began to join us on her human nights. Lysethe found her strange but Sarakiel enthusiastically welcomed her.

Sleeping arrangements would be a challenge never fully defeated, as even when we found some solution, the arrival of a new bride would change things. For now, I reasoned, that once our loveplay was sorted out, our sleeping would come naturally. I was foolish, of course, and randy as a goat. I trust you understand.

Lysethe was the one I was most concerned about. Her proclivities had been irrevocably shaped by her captivity, not only at my hands, but her formative years at the Red Citadel. She craved the sweet tortures I had performed upon her in Axichis. I learned that Sarakiel was an enthusiastic tormenter. To know the three of them, I would have thought Zhahllaia would have taken that role, but it was Sarakiel who enjoyed dominating her fellow concubines. Sarakiel became my assistant when I used my magic to tease the witchthrall on that blissful edge. I found it to be excellent practice, regaining the control that had atrophied during my years without.

One other thing I had noticed was that when we lay together in threes, fours, and occasionally fives, Lysethe always left the business of knight's kisses to Tanyth, Sarakiel, or Quiyahui. All three of them were wonderful spear-polishers with their unique techniques, and they seemed to crave it. Yet I am nothing if not greedy. I wanted Lysethe's mouth. The thought would not leave me. One evening, I was on the courtyard, enjoying the night sounds of the wharf below when Lysethe came out to the courtyard.

"Are you coming to bed, my lord?"

"May I ask you something?"

"I will hide nothing from you."

"Why do you not give me the knight's kiss?"

Lysethe blanched. "It is foolish, my lord. I fear that I am out of practice. I see the way Sarakiel and Her Highness please you and I know that I cannot compare."

"Is that what you worry?"

She nodded. "I am foolish."

"You are sweet. Would you fetch Ujaala for me? She should be in her quarters."

"Right away."

Lysethe returned with Ujaala. The bedslave was nude save for her collar. She had clothing, but it had been some time since she bothered wearing it. "You wanted me, my lord?"

"Thank you for coming. Ujaala, you are an excellent spear-polisher."

She smiled, giving me a curtsy. "I am pleased to hear that. Would you like me to take you now?"

"Yes, but I would like you to show Lysethe your technique. She fears her lack of skill will displease me."

Ujaala nodded gravely. "I understand." She looked to Lysethe, and concentrating on her Abbih said, "I will show you."

Ujaala knelt between my legs, beckoning Lysethe to kneel beside her. Then she began her lesson. I found myself smiling up at the stars as the two of them explored, and when I found my bliss, it was because Lysethe had begun to help.

I was as surprised by the invitation as anyone. Before I explain, I fear I need to impart a civics lesson. Castellandria was a free city, ostensibly ruled by the Prince Regent. That was a comfortable fiction. His family had long ago lost what power they'd had. His name, though, Acropolita, carried with it legitimacy. Whoever ruled, had to keep that family as an expensive pet.

The pet's keeper, at that time, was the Doge. He was the leader of the city's ostensible faith, the church of Holios, a god of sun, of travel, of commerce. Holios ate other domains as he absorbed other faiths. His church was the true power in the city, its will enforced by the Kallisites, its militant order.

The Kallisites were one of three armed forces in the city. The city guard served at the pleasure of the guildmasters, and the army, little more than a rump at that time, belonged to the Prince Regent. The guards were the most numerous, but the reputation of the Kallisites was such that one of them was worth ten regulars. Better training, better equipment, better discipline. I would see them in action, and their reputation was not idly given.

The Doge ruled Castellandria in all but name. Anger him and find yourself a prisoner of the Kallisites while he looted every last piece of your property. He was a dangerous man and bottomless in his venality. An invitation with his own seal felt like an ill omen. It was an invitation to a feast celebrating the city's founding. Refusing was not an option.

Tanyth would once again accompany me. She had another gown made in the style she preferred, and since it was winter in the city, she also wore a freshly-purchased a fur-lined cloak. On the night of, we took a carriage to the Great Basilica. "We take enough carriages, we should have our own," I joked.

"We should," Tanyth said. "A qobad-pulled carriage would almost be like home. It should be an urok, but I wouldn't want to keep one of those brutes."

"Me either."

"We'll need a carriage house," she mused. "The house next to us, perhaps."

"This is easy for you, is it?"

"I am a princess. You are a wizard. Some of what secures us in this city is our extravagance and eccentricity."

"This is not Kharsoom."

"No, there are more layers of artifice here. Trust your wife, this place is more similar to Kharsoom than not."

The carriage, our stables, and carriage house would eventually become reality, and I wonder if it was not this conversation that willed them into existence. She was right about the qobads as well. It became part of an image of us, two outlanders who came to Castellandria and made it a home. Tanyth understood something that I did not. She was the exotic Kharsoomian beauty, and the more she played to this image, the more loved she was. Her political mind, first understood to me here, became invaluable in our time in Zuunkhorun.

The Great Basilica was located on a hill on the Aucor side of the Castelpont, inland of Azureview. Legend said this was the place where the founder of the city, the Qammuzi sultan Jahiz the Magnificent, built the ramshackle fortress that would eventually grow into this great city. I don't know how much I believed that tale, but I would never express any doubt around Zhahllaia.

The Basilica had been built, expanded, destroyed, rebuilt, expanded, destroyed in an endless cycle over the millennia Castellandria had existed. Each ruler of the city, whether the original Qammuzi sultans, the various Princes Regent, or the current Doge, insisted on putting his personal stamp upon it. The Great Basilica was viewed as the one thing in Castellandria that would never change, and ironically because of this, it was the one thing in constant flux. I don't want to digress overmuch, but I find the great city to be fascinating. This is just before I made my own small mark upon Castellandria's history, and that I will discuss relatively at length, for it intertwined with a most unexpected return.

As I arrived at the Basilica I was struck by the grandness of it. The colossal columned structure looked to be sized for cyclopes, its opulence a sign of the great city's enduring prosperity. Kallisites surrounded it in their finery, their masked faces eerie. For the first time since my arrival in the city I wished I had Ur-Anu with me, but Fate was at home, hanging from a warded rack in my bedchamber. I banished the thoughts, the Doge had no reason to hurt me, although he might have, had he known what I would do to him.

Braziers, each blazing with its own fire, guided us inside on a path marked by Kallisites standing silent and motionless. It was difficult to take the presence of so many of them as an implicit threat, the Doge informing all that we prospered because he allowed it. After so long in the Red Wastes, the number of warriors he could lay hands on and their opulent equipment, spoke to impossible wealth.

We entered the nave in the eastern wing. No longer a cathedral, it had been converted to a feasting hall, with the Doge's table on the east side of the room, and a horseshoe of tables on the other. Frescoes and murals covered the walls and ceilings, evidence of centuries of the finest artists working tirelessly. The oldest of them depicted a variety of deities, but the newest showed only the Doge's own patron, Holios. None had sat yet, the guests all socializing, enjoying wine by the barrel. I sensed a desperation in the air, but there were smiles on all the faces. The Kallisites weren't the only ones wearing masks, I suppose.

As we entered, we received our share of looks, but I was growing accustomed to them. No longer was the attention on me thanks to being a barbarian outlander. Now it was the feathered serpent who paced me, and the incomparable beauty on my arm.

"Thank all the gods, Belromanazar," Mallathar said, slithering through the crowd, and from the looks of him it was far from his first goblet of wine that evening. "And you, Your Highness."

"Mallathar, you look distressed," I said.

"I foolishly arrived early, forgetting that though the Doge has the best wine, his guests are crushingly boring and looking for any excuse to savage an innocent bard. And not all of them have forgiven me for certain things I might have said while in my cups at previous such soirees."

"I'll protect you."

"Good lad. I can see why we let you come along on that barrow expedition."

Ulrika arrived a short while later, and Mallathar was just as happy to see her. More of the Order filed in, and though I wanted to remain with them, Tanyth insisted we mingle. Everyone wanted to talk to her. Her heavily-accented Eomet only made her more charming, allowing every conversational partner to magnanimously brush off her apologies. Thanks to her, I could be the mysterious adventurer, accompanied by a familiar of astonishing power.

We met Glycas Bendewar, the Captain-General of the city guard, a man I would grow to know well in the coming years. We met Thraz Dervaiou, head of the Stevedores Guild, and Evgenia Palamas, the Reverend Mother of the Monia. We met cardinals of the church and guildmasters. There were faces and names in plenty, and I was grateful that Tanyth had a bottomless memory for them. Joining the Order of the Owls had been my first step to becoming Castellandrian, but it was this gathering that made me a part of the city.

Lastly, we met the Doge himself.

I must pause here, for though I took an instant loathing to the man, he was an ally of sorts for most of the rest of his life. A life that was tragically cut short only a few years after our introduction. This was my first meeting with the Doge, Archpriscus Wolusian XI.

Wolusian was not pleasant to look upon, but it was his manner that made him unappealing. He resembled a fish brought to the surface too swiftly. His flabby skin had an oily quality to it, and though he wore the finery of the Church of Holios, it looked cheap and ostentatious upon him. He was, though, an able enough administrator. It would take dire times indeed to expose his deficiencies, but those were but a few years away.

"Belromanazar of Thunderhead," he said, holding his hand out.

I kissed the ring. "Your Holiness. May I ask how you've heard of me?"

"The Turquoise Conquest was of especial interest to me. Having one of its heroes here is a boon. You are most welcome here. One of our elite indeed. Should the Heacharid dogs come to the Hallian Walls, their tormentor will be there to face them."

"Your Holiness, we lost that war."

"Castellandria has stood against invasions from both sides of the Castelpont by land and sea. What could not turn the tide in Axichis will be a valued tool here. A part of our impenetrable defense." He offered Tanyth a smile. His teeth were lightly stained with wine. "And who is this lovely creature?"

"My wife, Princess Tanyth of..."

"Kharsoom, yes. I could not help but recognize your skin, my dear."

"I recognize your pallor too," she said sweetly. The Doge's eyes went wide. Then, in the thickest Kharish accent she could muster, "Oh forgive me. I still am not speaking Eomet properly."

"That is quite all right, my dear." Whatever he had been planning for the rest of the conversation had fled. The Doge, apparently, was easily flustered. "Enjoy yourselves, both of you. If you will excuse me, I have other guests to attend to."

Mischief danced in Tanyth's violet eyes as he walked off. She muttered in Kharish, "Try to threaten you, does he?"

"Apparently," I said, my hand closing over hers. "He didn't know I had a brave woman of the Red Wastes to protect me."

"More fool him."

We sat about the feasting table, as far from the Doge as we could manage, among the Order. Mallathar hid between Ulrika and myself, judging his safety more important than flirting with my wife. The Doge did not trouble us again, but that was far from the only time I would be in his presence. When the Heacharids did come in a few scant years, he turned out to be right.

While Sarakiel befriended Tanyth and Lysethe served her, Zhahllaia continued to be cool to my Kharsoomian bride. She spoke highly of her, valued her contributions to our family, but she did not like her. This troubled me.

"What should I do?" I asked Sarakiel one late evening as the two of us read by lamplight.

She set aside her spectacles to look at me. She was quite round now, her belly full with our child. I admit to some wonder when I felt it kick.

"About what, my love?"

"Zhahllaia and Tanyth."

"I think the answer is at once simpler and more complex than you would like. Talk to Zhahllaia."

"This sounds strange to me," I said wryly. "I suppose at this point you've been with her longer than I."

"True. She's my closest friend."

"How would you approach her?"

"Zhahllaia believes she operates entirely by reason, but that's not true. She loves us, and but she sees anything she doesn't like as threatening that love. Do you understand? But if you attack her, tell her she is unreasonable, she will not listen."

"That is hardly unusual."

Sarakiel chuckled. "I suppose. Zhahllaia is like everyone else, but more so. Talk to her, love."

"You're a wise woman."

"You have a fondness for wise women." She looked me over. "I am a whale, but I need you tonight."

I kissed her. "If you are a whale, you are the most alluring whale I've ever seen."

She gave me a peck on the nose. "Fetch the oil. It'll be Arthan tonight."

"Wise and wanton," I said, rising from the bed.

"You have a fondness for that too," she said demurely.

I thought not to leave it for long. The following day, I found Zhahllaia in our bedchamber. The others were scattered throughout the house, and so we had privacy. She was upon her chair, gazing at two pieces of statuary, her gold-flecked eyes cataloguing minute differences. As I came in, she cocked her head at me.

"Master Wizard, what can I do for you?"

She was so small. I had forgotten how petite she was in my time away, though perhaps she seemed smaller as I was told I had grown. Combined with her nude state, she always looked curiously vulnerable. I thought of our time in Thunderhead, when I was but a boy and she had been my secret. My heart bloomed with love for her that nearly took me off my feet.

"Zhahllaia, I want to speak to you about Tanyth."

"What of her?"

"Why do you dislike her? Is this some prejudice? Some ancient feud between Qammuz and Kharsoom?"

A frown creased the djinn's exquisite features. "A feud?"

"You have not welcomed Tanyth and I want to know why."

"You don't know?"

"I would not ask if I did."

Zhahllaia was silent, her teeth worrying her lip. Then, finally, a single bitter sentence. "You married her."

"What?"

"You married her and not me."

I was stunned. "Zhahllaia, I don't understand."

"She is your wife. I am merely a concubine."

I fell to my knees in front of her, my hands seeking hers. The ineffable kiss of her touch brushed over my palms. "Zhahllaia, you are my wife in every way that matters. I love you. I have always loved you. From the instant you appeared to me, I have been hopelessly yours. How could you ever doubt that?"

"I cannot lay with you. I cannot please you. Not the way the others can."

"That never bothered you."

"It didn't. Then you bring home your Kharsoomian and she is perfect. She can be everything for you, everything that I cannot be."

I gazed into her eyes. "I have not forgotten my vow to you. I will make you flesh and blood. If you want me to marry you tomorrow, I will do so happily. Gratefully. In the Qammuzi fashion, in the Castellandrian fashion. I will marry you as a pagan from the steppes. I will beg for your heart because you alone drive me to be worthy of my destiny."

Tears welled in her eyes. "You stupid boy."

"What?" Again, confusion crashed over me.

"I want you and I can't touch you."

I wanted her as much as she did me. Inspiration struck. "I've an idea. Do you trust me?"

She nodded. "I do. Your magic?"

"No, a different idea."

"I still trust you."

I went to the door, calling out into the house. "Tanyth?"

"Tanyth?" Zhahllaia murmured.

"Trust me," I said.

A moment later, my bride entered. "Yes, love, what is..." She trailed off as she saw Zhahllaia. I believe the expression on the djinn's face silenced her.

I took Tanyth's hands. "We have a favor to ask of you. Zhahllaia and I wish to lay together, but as you know, we cannot. We need your help, to serve as Zhahllaia's physical form."

Tanyth's violet eyes flicked back and forth between mine and Zhahllaia's faces. I had no doubt that Tanyth saw the opportunity I was handing her. I had called her for this, and not Sarakiel or Lysethe. She nodded. "What do you need of me?"

I brought her to the center of the room and then stepped away. "You will be Zhahllaia's body. She will guide you."

Zhahllaia stood now only a few feet from Tanyth, their eyes upon the other. Two exquisite beauties. Zhahllaia, more slender and waifish, skin a metallic bronze, every part of her a poem. Tanyth, a princess of Kharsoom, her proportions graceful, an exemplar of beauty in every regard.

"You're certain about this?" Zhahllaia asked.

"I want us to be close. I feel we are far more alike than different."

Zhahllaia nodded, tears falling from her cheeks, the normally stoic djinn overwhelmed. "Thank you," she managed.

"I am yours," Tanyth said. Her gown fell from her body and she stood as nude as Zhahllaia. "How do we begin?"

"I want to show you how to move," she said. "To respond to my touch."

The djinn raised one hand and Tanyth mirrored her, their palms closing. As they met, Tanyth shivered. "You feel like the promise of a caress," she said.

Their other hands came up, tracing patterns in the air. As they moved, Tanyth grew more in sync with Zhahllaia. Their gazes were locked, gold-flecked eyes meeting violet. Their breath came in unison, shivery inhales followed by soft exhales.

Zhahllaia stepped forward. Tanyth did the same. Now Tanyth gasped. They were touching, breast to breast, belly to belly. Tanyth struggled to slow her breathing. The Kharsoomian's body was covered in gooseflesh, and as they moved, it bloomed over the djinn's skin as well.

The fingers of Zhahllaia's left hand traced their way up Tanyth's right arm. Tanyth did the same, now their mirroring becoming a spiral of sensation. Crimson fingers over bronze skin, bronze fingers over crimson skin, leaving gooseflesh in their wakes. They shivered, their backs tensing against it. Then, the arms shifted, right to left.

Zhahllaia tilted her head, her lips parting. Tanyth did the same. They remained poised there, on the edge of a kiss that could never come. They breathed one another, as close as one could be to the other without joining.

Then, under some unspoken signal, Zhahllaia's fingers stroked Tanyth's arm again. Her body followed, the djinn's flesh kissing the Kharsoomian's. She found her way behind Tanyth, not an inch of air between the two. Tanyth's front was exposed, her burgundy nipples hard as rubies, her orchid shining. Her spicy scent caught the air, and another had joined it, a clean mineral aroma with a metallic tang.

Now Zhahllaia's fingers went from Tanyth's shoulders out to her wrists, tracing the paths. She moved her arms, and Tanyth followed her lead, reacting in the same instant as the djinn's guidance. Tanyth's back was straight, Zhahllaia's nipples tracing lines over the smooth flesh. Tanyth's breath held a shudder now.

Zhahllaia moved forward, and Tanyth arched her back before recovering and taking the step she was bidden. Her eyes were smoky, her mouth open, this aching contact, this ineffable teasing, already bringing her to the brink of bliss.

"On the bed, my love," the djinn murmured, her eyes filled with molten desire.

I did as she asked, shedding my clothes along the way. The two of them approached, moving in perfect unison. Zhahllaia's hands moved along Tanyth's arms, guiding her in a language I did not understand, one they had somehow managed in the moments before. They were connected somehow, a link forged with need.

Tanyth knelt over me, her knees on either side of my hips. Zhahllaia stroked her arms, ran fingers over back. Tanyth took me in both of her hands. This was not her usual grip. She liked to stroke with a single hand, holding me about the shoulders. She passed her palms over me, up my staff, finding the moisture at the head, massaging that into my silky flesh.

Zhahllaia brushed her chest and belly over Tanyth's back, a single stroke. Tanyth shuddered, placing me at her entrance. Zhahllaia shivered, her eyes closing. As Tanyth sank over me, accepting me into her, the two of them moaned as one.

Zhahllaia played the Kharsoomian princess like a fine instrument. It was pleasure and control all at once, and Tanyth belonged to her utterly. My bride's lovely face was a mask of bliss, her eyes closed as she danced between the two of us, serving as the bridge we never had.

Zhahllaia moved against Tanyth, caressing her with aching strokes, that Tanyth mimicked. She raised her arms like a dance, and Zhahllaia caressed them, her fingers dancing over the crimson flesh. Tanyth leaned back, into the djinn, her hips rolling as she milked me.

Their breath came as one. Zhahllaia's control over Tanyth was complete but her control over herself diminished with each passing heartbeat. The familiar sensation of my princess, her warmth, her wetness, had an edge to it. The kiss of breath washed over my staff, as though it truly was the djinn. The pleasure flashed brightly within me, a hot orange-yellow already threatening to explode. My eyes went wide as a groan tore its way out of me.

Now I drank in the sight of Tanyth riding me, Zhahllaia just behind, the two of them entwined. The magic of the moment had all of us. I moaned Zhahllaia's name, and her eyes opened. She cried out once, her body quaking. Tanyth followed an instant later, and then I too. The bliss burst from me and I emptied myself deep inside the lovely Kharsoomian.

The three of us sagged against one another, eventually making our way to a contented pile upon the bed. Zhahllaia was like a breeze, Tanyth warm and vital.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Zhahllaia whispered.

Tanyth brushed her hand. "No thanks are necessary. And I am Tanyth to you, now and forever."

I kissed Tanyth, and shivered at Zhahllaia's ineffable touch. "I love the both of you," I murmured. "So much it hurts. My wives."

My son was born right as winter became spring. A darkling midwife, handsomely paid, attended Sarakiel. I thought it best to have an expert on the subject, though perhaps I was overcautious.

"She is a strong woman," the midwife said as she left.

"She is at that. Thank you for your help."

I entered the bedchamber quietly. The sight of Sarakiel, exhausted, laying upon our bed with the child on her chest was perhaps the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Her tri-colored hair lay lank over her forehead, and her indigo eyes were filled with fatigue.

"Are you going to stand there, or are you going to meet your son?" she asked.

I knelt by her side, kissing her hands. "He is beautiful."

"I want to call him Arkohnus," she said.

"Then that shall be his name."

Arkohnus has a special place in my heart. He was not my first child, but he was the first conceived in the household, the first intended one. The first I could be a father to. His years were ultimately too brief, and I do not believe he is remembered at all anymore. In Zuunkhorun, for a time, he had some fame as the Black Rose. In that moment, seeing his peaceful face for the first time, I could not know how profoundly I would fail him. I knew only that I loved him more than all the world.

"Rest, my love," I murmured.

"No, I want the others to meet him."

"I'll fetch them."

One by one, the others came in at my invitation. Belazei was first, then Tanyth and Zhahllaia, Lysethe, Ujaala, even Shaluvia and the handmaids. Each one met the tiny babe. Belazei and Tanyth insisted upon holding him. Lysethe wiped away a tear.

"We have made something here, haven't we, Master Wizard?" said Zhahllaia.

"Something wonderful," I said.