The Hero

Chapter 66

For all of Bashamailon's modest size and relative remoteness, adventurers were not an uncommon sight. The Infernium Peaks were high, their caves deep, and secrets called from every one. Thus, I was not surprised when on a spring day, a party of them joined the line to petition Queen Allegeth. I assumed they wished a few supplies or even just to announce their presence out of respect.

Adventurers are easily recognized thanks to their motley appearance. Even in a place as diverse as Bashamailon, these four stood out. The fact that they were adventurers was of mild interest, but what drew my attention was that they did not look to be from Chassudor.

Their leader was a beautiful woman of commanding height. Her thews were thick with muscle, and she wore her black hair short. Her skin was olive, bronzed by the sun, her sparkling turquoise eyes watchful. Her armor was a patchwork assemblage of leather and steel, and two scimitars hung from her impressive hips.

Next to her was a Khaltóg man. His leathers were furred at the neck and he wore a furred cap in the custom of his people. His auburn mustaches drooped to the middle of his chest. His clothes were covered in pockets, and from each a tool. I knew a treasure hunter when I saw one. He carried a pick hammer on his belt.

A ghaunt woman stood behind the leader. Like most of her people, her features were partway between those of her human parent and those of her ghoulish one. She grew a bit of dark hair on the crown of her head, braided with silver rings, and her eyes carried the tiniest bit of white about the black. She wore a costume of blue and white and though I did not attach any significance to it then, I would later.

Last was a Zuunese woman carrying one of the stout bows I had grown so fond of during the war against the Heacharids. She looked to be a combination of every one of Zuunkhorun's people. I saw Jegu features, Besh, she even looked to have a little dwarf and ghoul in her. She wore Zuunese militia armor, though stripped of heraldry and rank.

I watched them with curiosity as they steadily approached. Their attention fell upon me periodically, but darted away. The ghaunt woman blushed blue when she caught me looking, while the Zuunese woman reached over her shoulder in a salute. Only the leader never looked in my direction.

When it was their time, Allegeth's chamberlain announced, "The Spellbreakers."

"A threatening name," observed Allegeth.

"With respect, Your Majesty, the name is not aimed at you, nor anybody in your fine kingdom," said the leader., She spoke in a thick accent that I could not quite identify. It held Aucorian sounds, but not in a combination I remembered. It had been some time since I had heard an accent of that continent.

"And why do you come before us today?"

"We've come to see your husband the Prince." Even then, the leader never looked at me.

I leaned forward in my throne. "And what do you want of me?" I challenged.

"From the ashes of the Heacharid Empire a dark lord has arisen," she said, still refusing to look at me.

My heart sank. "And you have united to defeat this dark lord and ensure freedom of your lands? That is good. I do not know that I can be involved. I resolved to leave Aucor to its own devices. As long as the Heacharid Empire itself did not return, neither would I."

"You are already involved." The leader's turquoise eyes met mine. They were cold.

"You speak of more than my war," I said. I felt as though I was on a precipice, gazing out over a yawning abyss.

The leader swallowed, steeling herself. Her voice was even. "The dark lord is Diotai. Your granddaughter."

***

The leader's words had shaken me and I immediately agreed to meet them privately. I had to speak with them at length and had no wish to air this in front of court. I had long suspected Diotai's destiny would be a dark one, but to hear it filled me with queasy disgust. I had well and truly failed her.

I had directed the chamberlain to feed the adventurers and see to any requests they might have. As I entered the chamber, they were finishing the best meal they were likely to have in a long while. Carcasses of roast pheasant, the heels of fresh bread, and the remnants of baked vegetables covered their plates.

"Your Highness," said the leader, standing and wiping her lips, "Thank you for your hospitality and agreeing to hear us out."

"It seems to me I owe a debt," I said, taking a seat and filling a goblet with thick port. "First, may I know your names?"

"I am Firussah Belwar," said the leader. Then, in turn, she pointed to the ghaunt, the archer, and the dwarf. "These are my companions, Malya, Tenuchun of Alguur, and Khuzas Stoneborn."

"Stoneborn!" I exclaimed, the first ray of sun through the dark cloud of my mood. "You must be related to my friends Strombella and Bhaznella!"

The dwarf nodded, a faint smile quirking his lips. "My dear aunts."

"I long to hear everything about them, but this is not the time. Miss Belwar, if you would continue?"

"I come from Zarastar," she said, her turquoise eyes settling on mine.

"I know it," I said. In my time in Zuunkhorun, it had been a subject kingdom of the Heacharids close to their ancestral borders. Not terribly important and it had never been in my path. I believe it had been spared most of my wrath. "How is your homeland?"

"It was well. We rebelled against the Heacharids during the Dreadstorm's... during your Crusade. We cast down the Heacharid puppet that had sat our throne and installed the scion of the old line. After that we knew peace for generations. Until the coming of Dioscoro of Ironmotte."

"Dioscoro? I thought you said it was Diotai."

"Father and daughter both," Firussah clarified. "They slew our king and took our lands for their own. They cowed our army and sent Zarasites to conquer our neighbors." She retrieved a scrollcase from her possessions. Khuzas and Malya moved plates out of the way as Firussah unfurled a map and laid it upon the table.

I stood, coming to her side. Firussah shied, a slight movement that I might not have noticed had I been younger. I gave her a bit more space. The map was not a familiar one to me, drawn sometime after the sack of Heacharium. What had once been a great mass dominating the continent of Aucor was a patchwork of kingdoms, petty empires, and free cities. Her finger went to Zarastar, where new borders had been drawn over the old ones, showing a spreading mass, eating into the rump of the ancestral Heacharid lands. "Here," she said. "The Wizard's Peace, they call it. Some have taken to calling it Greater Zarastar."

I traced it with my fingers, following the southeastern border. I stopped on the other side over a city called Sabbatium. "The Red Citadel is there."

"It is. Our destination before we face them."

"You think to plunder its secrets. How has it remained inviolate?"

"All believe it to be haunted. I believe it is worth the risk."

My fingers ran across the modified borders of Greater Zarastar. "Two blooded wizards can cause much suffering."

"They have slain thousands, maybe more. They butcher whoever they wish for the amusement of their queen and her father. They are building an empire of pain."

"And you mean to stop them."

"I sought allies. Zuunkhorun was the great enemy of the Heacharids and there I found my companions. But we are not the match of two wizards. We thought, perhaps, that the man who taught them would be willing to help us."

I smiled sadly. "I could not possibly refuse."

***

"I should go," Lysethe said, pacing in my chambers. Her snow-white hands gripped one another.

"My love, this is not for you," I said.

"He is my son too," Lysethe said.

"He is all our sons," Tanyth said gently. Lysethe whirled upon her, but the tension fell from her at the sight of the Kharsoomian's love-filled eyes. Tanyth had been the only one who could calm the infant Dioscoro. Even then, he had been haunted.

"This is foolish, I will watch over him," said Nal'qiranaath. She crouched at the far end of the chamber, a chain going from her steel collar to a bolt by the hearth.

"You will both stay here," I said. "Dioscoro would sense his mother and a demon would attract far too much attention. Quiyahui will remain here as well. We must catch them by surprise. It is enough of a risk that I go at all. We will not even be using standing stones."

"Do you plan to slay our granddaughter?" Lysethe asked. Her red eyes were flat, but the hurt in her voice told me everything.

"I hope I can make her see reason," I said. I could have left it there, but that would have been a lie of omission, and I would not lie to my brides. "But after what Firussah told me, I do not believe there is reason to be seen."

"Bel, if only I had--"

"It was not you, my love," I said, holding Lysethe close. She put her pale head on my shoulder, wrapping her arms about me. "I sent Dioscoro into my war before he was ready. I allowed him to raise Diotai."

"That was a choice we all made," Tanyth said. "We sent Deimara into the same war, gave her the same power and privilege and she is an exemplar of nobility."

Lysethe turned my head to look into my eyes. "If you must do it, be merciful."

"This I vow," I promised.

***

This quest is covered extensively in Pale Conquest, which sources heavily from the poetry composed by Tenuchun in the aftermath. I do not wish to relate what is available elsewhere and perhaps I will cobble together my own history. In the meantime, I will attempt to confine myself to what is relevant to this volume. Though we know I shall wander at times and I beg your largesse.

I resolved to journey in disguise, or at least not advertise my identity. I wore simple locally-made clothing and carried a spear with a dragonsteel head. I cut my hair and beard short. I judged myself unrecognizable in comparison to the paintings and tapestries that remained in my old kingdom.

I joined the Spellbreakers at the stables, where they retrieved their mounts.

"Thank you for coming, Your Highness," said Firussah.

"For the duration of the quest, I am Ashuz," I corrected her gently. "Not Your Highness, not even Belromanazar, just Ashuz."

"As you wish, Ashuz."

We rode south. Several days into the journey, while rummaging through my pack I found, secured at the bottom, a few packets of night tea. A tiny scroll was tied to the bundle. In looping Kharsoomian calligraphy, the note said, For one or all three. Enjoy yourself, my love. It was signed with a scorpion. I chuckled to myself. Tanyth knew me better than I knew myself, for this chapter would not be in these volumes if she had not correctly predicted my actions.

We passed the Infernium's one great free city Sunfell on the way down to Mondragon at the southern edge of the range. From there, we found passage on a merchant ship. We journeyed east through the Turquoise to the Azure Ocean, as Uraraoi was the only truly safe harbor on the continent. As we passed through the Castelpont, I looked along the city's cliffs for Azureview. Faustan was still living there with his burgeoning family. It felt strange to be so close without seeing him.

I spoke to my companions only rarely as my thoughts lingered on the unhappy errand at the end of the journey. I suppose the most damning thing was that I did not doubt the word of the Spellbreakers. I had seen Dioscoro's depredations and used his cruelty against the Heacharids. His army had been a terror during the war and had only gotten worse with his daughter by his side. She was the one I carried hope for. If he could not be reached, perhaps she could.

One day I was on the deck of the ship, watching the swells of the Azure as we tooled our way south to Uraraoi.

A voice softly came from behind me. "Your Majesty?"

Malya stepped up next to me. She was lovely, though I understand that ghaunt beauty is not always appreciated. Her face was dewy, her cheeks full, and her liquid black eyes showed emotion in a way that more human ones couldn't. I felt a sense of protectiveness to her that I could not quite explain.

"Please, I do not wish to be recognized. It's Ashuz, remember?"

"Ashuz," she said, the syllables awkward on her tongue. Blue rose to her cheeks in a blush. "It feels strange to speak to you."

"Why is that?"

"I am your great-great-great-granddaughter."

I looked into her face, recognition dawning at the contours of her features. "Through Maireili, I expect?"

"Lysethe. My great-great-grandfather was Vitalan."

A wistful smile crept over my face. "Vitalan was a good lad. We used to build great structures in Zuun Khatai with blocks, he and I. I tried to build towers, but the boy was obsessed with walls and gates. He once made an entire block city of nothing but gates."

"I never knew him," she said, watching me with wonder.

"He was a brave and noble man. Commanded the guard at the Arkhonum Gate for many years." The thought of the lad warmed me. Lysethe and I had done one thing right. Our other children, from Faustan to Kalixto, moved through my mind's eye. We had done much right.

"I knew of you from stories," she explained. "I grew up in Tagariaganuur, in the Underquarter. All knew we were descended from the Good Tyrant. There was a tapestry of you in our family home."

"A tapestry?" I asked, caught between amusement and disbelief.

"Lysethe was on it as well, in her red armor. We were the scions of the Hound of Heaven."

"Did you not wish to meet her? She would have loved to know you."

Malya's blush was as deep an azure as the water. "Oh, I could not be so presumptuous."

"Nonsense. You are family. When we return, you will meet Lysethe." I considered her words. "Dioscoro and Diotai are your cousins. Are you on this quest out of familial obligation?"

"Somewhat. There is another reason." The blush had taken root upon her cheeks, and I felt such affection for this young woman. She reached into her robes and withdrew a symbol. It was a silver circle, which, under closer inspection was a feathered serpent grasping her tail in her mouth. "I am a priestess of the Feathered Serpent."

Now I was struck dumb. I had never been in close proximity with one of my cult. I had assumed that when I quit Aucor, the faith would die. That had apparently not come to pass, as one of my own descendants was a priestess. "I see," I choked.

"I saw her with my own eyes," Malya said, gazing lovingly at the symbol. "When we were in Bashamailon, I saw her flying over the castle."

"Quiyahui?"

Malya's eyes widened, her expression a scandalized mask. She recovered, looking away. "Forgive my surprise. To speak her name is blasphemy, but you are... well, you."

"She is my familiar."

"I understand this, but she is also divine." She smiled awkwardly. "Faith is a powerful thing."

I could only nod as worry gripped me. A priest can be a wonderful companion. Ulrika Karksdóttir had proven her worth time and again. Their power is not just in their strength of arms, but in their faith, calling their deities to work miracles. While Quiyahui was undeniably magic, serving as a bridge even before I had seized my power from Errishti, I could not imagine her granting such miraculous power.

"You are here for your faith, then?" I asked, hoping to get my mind off the subject.

"Indeed. Dioscoro and Diotai are blasphemers against the Feathered Serpent and an insult to the Good Tyrant. I could do no less."

"I am glad you petitioned me," I said, back on familiar ground. "This is not a happy errand, but it is one I would not trust to anyone else."

I looked out over the waves where the coatl would have frolicked had she been with us. I wondered what Malya's reaction would be had Quiyahui accompanied us. I would not be quite as lonely. Though I had my new companions, I was alone like I had not been since my exile. I would not know what true solitude meant, not until my journey, but that was still some years off. I believe the true loneliness came from what I knew I must do at the end of this quest.

***

The Keening Bay welcomed us with a song. Wind slithered through the caves, calling me back to the land I had ruled for almost two centuries. Uraraoi was a welcome sight. It had always meant freedom to me. It had been the only open part of the country for so long, and it had been the place I planned to use to escape should the Heacharids manage to breach Ironmotte.

As the ship docked, we retrieved our horses from the hold. The beasts were none too pleased about their months at sea, and champed and stamped. A qobad would have been far more even-tempered, but I should spare you my lengthy extolling of their superiority. Suffice to say, a Kharsoomian riding bird would be noticed and spoil our errand.

We stayed in the same inn that had once hosted me as I spoke to Kucyone and Arishat about becoming my privateer navy. None recognized me there and I recognized none of them. The world kept moving through my immortality. This is why I treasured these little adventures. What I had to do aside, I still needed that connection with the world. Those wizards who retreat, they are the ones who succumb to despair.

We drank oghul, the apple liquor of Zuunkhorun, and I thought I might visit the hospitality house. My family had long since divested ourselves of our stake and I was curious to see how it fared. I was also in dire need of a tumble. I must have made a face when the first drop of oghul touched my lips. Tenuchun laughed. "Not used to oghul?"

"Been some time," I allowed, watering it from the pitcher. Tenuchun and Khuzas laughed, and even Firussah cracked a smile.

"You should not laugh," Malya scolded. "Only drunkards drink it straight."

"I should sleep," said Firussah, leaving us.

"I don't think she likes me very much," I observed as soon as the fetching Zarite woman was gone.

"She doesn't," Khuzas said.

"Khuzas!" Malya scolded.

"What? Ashuz wanted to know, now he knows."

"She did not want to take you," Tenuchun explained, sipping her oghul.

"Why not?" I asked.

"She said we had enough between the four of us. We wanted a wizard. Malya suggested you."

"You suggested me?"

Malya's cheeks turned deep blue. "We needed a wizard, and who better?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Has she ever said why she doesn't like me?"

Khuzas shrugged. "Can't like everybody."

My chuckle became a laugh. So Firussah didn't like me. I could live with that. So long as she was a true companion, it would be fine.

We finished our drinks and one by one the others went to bed. I had been distracted by a fetching serving woman and the oghul had done its work. More and more I thought I should visit the hospitality house and see what shape it was in. A bout of love would do me well, and banish the melancholy I felt from the unhappy errand and the absence of my brides.

Finally, drink and desire drove me from the tavern. My mind was buzzing with what sort of woman I might wish. My thoughts kept turning to one like Firussah, one of the fine Aucorian women whose ancestors came from every corner of the world to produce a uniquely fetching amalgam.

I left the tavern in the cold wind of the harbor. The walk was a short one, my mind dancing with what sorts of delights I would buy. Perhaps two women would be my fate. I was lost in carnal thoughts of my wives when a rough voice broke the stillness of the night.

"Well now, traveler. We'll take what gold you have. And that pretty ring."

Three stepped from the alley in front of me, the blades of their daggers silver in the moonlight. I was unarmed, as I had no wish to carry a spear through town. I could of course summon Ur-Anu or attack them with my magic, but I had no wish to announce my presence so publicly.

"Afraid the ring does not come off," I said.

"Then we'll cut it from your hand," he said. A vicious knife scar made his grin far too wide.

I glanced behind me and saw two more slinking from the shadows. Even when I was jungle-honed sinew during my exile, taking five attackers while unarmed was beyond me. Diotenah's whispers slid through my mind. She did not want to be taken from my finger. She wanted me to slay these five and raise them. The distant throb of the Deadwall resounded in my mind, joining the ring's call. I had not thought of those stormwights in many years, but they remained dormant, buried on the borders of the kingdom.

"This is what I get for being a goat," I sighed. "Come on then. I don't have all night."

They did not attack at once, which saved me perforation. These kinds were always wary when prey didn't behave like prey. I swiftly bloodied the leader's nose, which only made them warier. Not enough to leave me alone, but enough to give me room.

The ones behind were armed with clubs, which I preferred to the blades. Bruises I could handle far easier than cuts. They herded me into the alley, which proved to be a dead end. I was stuck, but the cramped quarters made them unable to mount a mass attack. Only two could manage to fight me at a time, and only from one direction.

It was enough. I could only evade them so many times before luck or fatigue decided the contest. As though summoned by my gloomy thought, I stepped backwards to avoid a thrust and slipped. On my back I was easy prey.

The cutthroat advanced on me, his nose weeping blood from where I had smashed it, his lips twisting in a grin. Then a shape landed on him dropped out of the sky and with the crunch of bone landed on him. The shape sprung up, attacking the next man, grabbing him and slamming him into the wall. Faced with this berserker, the cutthroats quickly routed, cradling fresh injuries.

My rescuer turned, and by the diffuse light from the moon, I recognized Firussah. She was barefoot, wearing her trousers and a tunic. Her face shone with sweat, her turquoise eyes were alight with excitement. She did not seem quite the same woman, as though the night had somehow transformed her. I clambered to my feet, wondering if I saw what I thought I saw in her eyes. I slipped an arm about her narrow waist and drew her to me. She did not protest. My lips found hers.

Her mouth opened in surprise, my tongue pushing past her lips. Her back hit the alley wall, and my kiss came harder. I pushed my knee up between her legs, her powerful hands on me, holding, gripping, running through my hair.

I roughly turned her about, my mouth falling to her neck. Her flesh was salty, her pulse pounding. One hand found her hard belly, the muscles coiling beneath taut skin. I reached into her trousers, finding what I sought: a tangle of fur between her legs, slick with her nectar. I stroked her, the heel of my hand hard against her belly, my mouth continuing to lick, suck, and nibble at her neck. My other palm moved up her writhing torso, beneath her tunic to her breasts. Her nipples hardened at my rough caress.

I parted her and she sighed in relief. Her folds were thick, wetter than I could have hoped. Her pearl was hard, and I gave it a swirl, plunging into her, then out, stroke and again. She gave a throaty moan, her thrusts growing desperate. I pushed my hardness against the globes of her buttocks, grinding myself against her.

My fingers were inside her now, deep, hooked within. Her body tensed, her breath hissing between gritted teeth. Then, a shudder as the bliss worked through her. I took my hand from her, fumbling at my own trousers, ready to take her.

She spun about, her strength returning. I leaned to kiss her, but she shied away, falling to her knees in the alley. She finished the process I started, opening my trousers, drawing my hard staff out. She beheld it once, a quick assessment and a slight widening of her eyes. Then they were upon mine, the turquoise seeming to glow in the dark. They never left mine, and I felt myself falling into the color like the waves of the Turquoise Sea.

She took me in one rough, warrior's hand. It had been a long time since I had truly had a warrior like Firussah, perhaps not since the bandits of the Golden Sea. Truthfully, I saw in her more of the Amazons I had bedded in the Fall of Axichis.

She licked me up and down quickly, and then was still. A shiver shook her body as she regarded me. I didn't understand the hesitation. She had been eager only a second ago. I was about to offer her an end to this encounter when she spat on the crown of me. Before I could do anything else, she sucked me into her mouth, her tongue finding the spittle, laving over my head. She slurped me obscenely in that alley, her mouth filled with saliva. Her sucking was forceful, as though she wanted to pull my body through the head of my spear.

Her tongue was busy. She was not the most skilled I'd ever had, but she was experienced. This was a knight's kiss by one who was used to bringing a partner bliss when time was of the essence. She was indelicate, sloppy even, and I loved every blissful moment. The pleasure built so quickly, everything I had been saving, that I could not stop it when it broke from me. I steadied myself against the wall as I emptied gout after gout of my seed into her mouth. She gulped eagerly, milking me for the last few drops. We were still, she swallowing, her tongue finding the few last specks.

Only then did she stand. She wiped her mouth, but could not do anything about the spit that covered her reddened lips. Her turquoise eyes bored into mine. Desire lurked within, but something else, something I could not name. I wanted more, and I saw that same need mirrored in her.

I put a hand on her waist. "Come to my room. I want to spend the rest of the night between your thighs."

She was silent. "I will see you tomorrow, Dread... Ashuz. Ashuz."

I watched her retreating back as she scurried into the inn. Confused, I gathered myself and returned to my room, trying to make sense of what we had just shared.

***

We rode out of Uraraoi the following day. The road was a source of pride for me. It was not as maintained as perhaps I would have liked it, but it was wide and smooth, an excellent thoroughfare for traffic coming in from the sea into the interior of the kingdom. We stayed in inns along the way before we arrived in Tagariaganuur.

I tried to catch Firussah's eye, to arrange another night of passion. Even another polishing of my spear would have been nice, but she avoided being alone with me. I had to accept that it was the night and nothing more.

I did not realize how much I missed Lake Sutou until I saw it glittering ahead at the foot of the hill that held the capital. This was an odd feeling, as I spent little time on the lake when I dwelled in Zuun Khatai, the palace in the capital. I was too concerned with the war to enjoy the idyllic lake as the locals did. I always thought I might at some point, but by the time I could, I was already leaving.

We passed through the city and I had the strange sensation of seeing it as any pilgrim might. It felt alive the way it never had before. I was utterly absorbed in the view when we passed through a plaza. In the center stood a statue of Tanyth. The modesty of the Zuunese people collided with Tanyth's Kharsoomian mores, and the statue appeared to be clad in clingy silk that rendered her more naked than simple nudity. I paused to gaze up at it.

"The statue of Crimson Tanyth," Malya said, riding up next to me.

"I don't remember it," I said. "It must have been made after I was gone."

"I remember it from when I was a child," Malya said. "It has been here for many years."

I squinted up at the statue. "That face. She looks far more like Ten Ghosts than Tanyth." I gestured. "The chin. They got the chin wrong. Tanyth has a cleft. It's subtle, but you could not miss it."

Tenuchun laughed. "A statue to your wife and you criticize it."

"Accuracy is important."

Khuzas frowned. "Does this mean I loved Ten Ghosts and not Crimson Tanyth as I thought?"

I had no way of answering my Khaltóg companion as we rode from the plaza. "Crimson Tanyth was always my father's favorite," Tenuchun said.

"His favorite?"

"The Good Tyrant's brides. Everyone has a favorite. Even those who collected every one of the idols still had one they held above the others."

"Idols?"

Tenuchun broke into a wide smile, raising her voice. "Turn left, Firussah. We're taking our friend to Market Street."

"I suppose we've the time."

I knew Market Street well from my time as Tyrant, though mainly from a distance. A wide avenue that had been colonized by outdoor market stalls, it had only grown since my abdication. I imagine Zuunkhorun's new status as the most civilized land in Aucor was responsible. When one had goods to sell, one picked the most stable place to sell them. Everything from food to weapons to clothing to potions was sold here. Tenuchun looked about for only a short time before she called us over to a table.

A Zuunese man who looked to be the amalgam of every one of the kingdom's people stood behind a table that was shaded with a great awning. Lines of idols, each the size of a finger, stood in even ranks. I picked one and inspected it. It was a figure of a darkling, with impressive breasts and hips evident even beneath her robes.

"Sarakiel the Wise," said Malya. "She was always a favorite in my household."

"Did your family personally know my rule?" I asked, careful to speak quietly enough not to be overheard.

"Oh no. My family has a dwarf or two and of course my mother is a ghoul, but not enough to give us the span of ages."

I set it down and looked to the others. They were indeed representations of my brides, each one accurate in a broad sense, becoming stranger the more closely I looked. I counted, then counted again. Seven of them. I took inventory once again. "Where is Allegeth?"

"She is not popular here," Tenuchun said. "The serpent temptress who stole our Good Tyrant away."

"That is not what happened."

"Since when does what happened matter?" Firussah asked, a note of bitterness in her voice.

I called the shopkeeper over and bought one of each of the idols. I thought they might amuse my brides. When they were safely wrapped in my spare robes and stowed in my pack, I turned to Firussah "Then why do anything?"

"In hopes that a story is right," she said, swinging into the saddle. "Why did you think we brought Tenuchun?"

"She is an archer," I said, as the rest of us mounted our horses.

The Zuunese woman grinned. "I am a poet. Because I am a Zuunese poet, from rugged Alguur, I can put an arrow where I want it."

I chuckled. "That I can believe."

"I will write the first chronicle of this quest. If there are idols made, they will be accurate." Tenuchun touched her chin. "The cleft will be where it should be."

***

I had started hearing the slithering whispers of the Deadwall since that night in Uraraoi, which only grew louder the closer we came to the Arkohnum Gate. In much of the later art, the Deadwall was depicted as a literal wall of corpses, alive with the talons of lightning. As I have stated elsewhere, this was not the case. The stormwights were concealed in ditches, in caves, beneath stones. When attackers came, the wights roused themselves for the slaughter. They were a wall of warriors who fought with the fearlessness of death.

After the war ended, I returned the stormwights to their places upon the Zuunese border. The longer they lay dormant and the farther I journeyed from them, the softer their presence became in my mind. My return must have made them eager to march once again. Wights often retained some vestige of their living mind, and these were former Heacharid soldiers. They desired conquest.

What was left of Diotenah in the ring purred its approval. I felt her presence, as though she were just behind me, her breath tickling my ear. Though she spoke no intelligible words, her desire was plain, one echoed in the wights themselves.

I was tempted. No matter what Dioscoro and Diotai had waiting for us, an army of the dead would overcome it. But I knew that if I succumbed, I would damn myself. Even the practical concern of spoiling an errand of stealth. I would become what my son and granddaughter had become. I would be the despoiler of Aucor. The worst stories the Heacharids told would be true.

Wizards are prone to this because of our power and eternity. Evil becomes less a function of desire and more the inevitable result of falling out of touch with people. Once again, the love of my family, of my friends, has kept me from this terrible place. Still, I will not deny the strength of temptation.

"Ashuz?" Firussah watched me with concern. I thought I saw the ghost of the affection she'd shown when she so adeptly swallowed my spear.

"I need to put this place behind me," I said, forcing a smile. "That is all."

She nodded, but the worry did not leave her eyes. I stayed tense as we passed through the gate and rode out into what had been named the Golden Wastes. The area about the Arkohnum was still blighted, but not far, the Golden Sea looked like it once had. The world was recovering from my rage. We followed a new road into the west, one that had only just begun construction when I abdicated. We passed more towns, the people in them looking like descendants of the people who had once been nomadic bandits in this place.

"Where are we? Is this a kingdom? Empire?"

"Officially, it is nothing," Firussah said. "It is settled by Jaggurs, by Besh, Jegu, even Heacharids. Each town will have a lord and they have likely a tangled web of allegiances no outsider would ever dream of unraveling."

"Zuunkhorun will take it," Tenuchun said. "Eventually."

"The people here are of the faith," Malya said. "Zuunkhorun cannot take up arms against sibling in faith."

"You would be surprised what people will take up arms against," I said.

***

We traveled across Aucor like ghosts. Three hundred years ago, during the time of the Turquoise Conquest, we would have been constantly stopped by Heacharids demanding accounting for our presence and taxes for our passage. Now, we merely had to contend with the roving bands of armed men. Were they soldiers or bandits? Both and neither. What separates one from the other is merely perspective.

Evidence of war dogged us on our travels. I had taken a peaceful continent and plunged it into chaos. Or had I? The rapaciousness of the Heacharids was always going to summon something. It was their bad luck it happened to be me. My feelings were a morass. I had done what I had done and there was no escaping it. Good Tyrant indeed.

The Red Citadel was in a city once called Sabbatium in the northwest of the rump of the Heacharid Empire. Lysethe had sacked it on her way to her homeland of Arcanoir. I suspect she had done it to exorcize the space the Red Citadel took in her mind. After the fall, the city had been renamed Viatum, its quarters given over to different factions.

When I met Lysethe during the Turquoise Conquest, she was a witchthrall of the Heacharid Empire, one of their fighting wizard-slaves. She only understood relationships in terms of dominance and submission and considered herself my slave. She still wore the collar marking her as mine, though she was for all purposes, the equal of any of my wives. I believe that after centuries at my side, she had come to believe it.

Wizards were outlawed within the Heacharid Empire. Considering what a wizard eventually did to them, perhaps their fears were justified. Witchfinders combed the empire for young wizards, who were stolen from their families and brought to the Citadel. The familiars were imprisoned in the Solitarium, a cursed vault in the center of the prison. Then, though a program of torture, debasement, and all manner of brutality, they transformed a wizard into one of their witchthralls. Driven mad with pain and fed fanatical faith, they fought for the Empire, and if they should ever turn, the Heacharids could simply slay the familiar in the Solitarium and rob the witchthrall of their power. I slew many in my war, but such victories never brought me joy. I saw it as mercy.

Lysethe still possessed hazy memories of her home in Arcanoir before she was taken. She remembered her mother's arms and a simple hearth. She did not often speak of her time in the Red Citadel. It was long ago, and in the scheme of her centuries of life, not a lengthy period. She had been trained, released, and then I caught her. She transferred the fanatical loyalty she once held for the Heacharids to me and found that unlike them, I rewarded her with kindness and love. I released her, and she returned briefly to the Empire, stealing her familiar from the Solitarium. Later, she joined Zhahllaia and Sarakiel in Castellandria.

The Red Citadel has thankfully been forgotten by history. It was not the Heacharid Empire's greatest crime, though I believe reckoning such things places a shadow on the heart that will never truly go away. I can merely say it is their crime that gave me the most dread, for it was but an accident of birth that placed me in that forest in Chassudor. Had I been born in Aucor, the Red Citadel would have been my destiny.

And for Lysethe, it had been hers. The Red Citadel was a crime against my own family. My dread was a looming, toothed thing over my shoulder. When we saw the citadel itself, poised on a hill in the middle of the city now called Viatum, the dread gripped my heart in talons of ice. I told myself that Lysethe had been tortured there and yet had the courage to return and take her familiar. In the war, she had returned once again to sack the city. Lysethe was always brave. That was her undoing in the end.

The Red Citadel was indeed red, but only in the rising and setting of the sun. The sandstone walls caught the light of dawn and dusk and turned it to blood. A squat dome surrounded by fat towers, the Citadel was an ugly edifice. I do not believe I could ever have found it beautiful no matter how it might have looked.

A staircase went up the front of the hill where the Citadel sat, traditionally the one way to enter. Towers watched over it, and in the old days, the Heacharid Witchguard would have anyone thoroughly feathered before they were half way up. As the thought entered my mind, I saw that the stairs had indeed crumbled partway, turning a steep climb into a treacherous one.

A dread aura sat over it, a miasma detectable only by those who could perceive the aerilean. The stench of old blood wept in my ears and a wail of despair permeated my nostrils. My hands trembled. I wanted to be anywhere but this place, but knew I had to face these ghosts.

"We're not taking the stairs," Firussah said with finality.

"I should hope not," Tenuchun said. "I don't think the Witchguard are still about, but even one archer on those towers could make any ascent deadly."

"There's a culvert at the base. The old sewer."

"I don't want to muck through a sewer," said Khuzas.

"What sort of treasure hunter are you?"

"The kind that stays out of sewers."

"I could fly us over the walls," I said.

"And they would know a wizard with storm magic is here. It would not take long for word to reach Diotai. How long would it take her to know it was you?"

"What is in there to see us coming?" I asked.

"I believe someone dwells there still."

I sighed heavily. "We're going through the old sewer."

Khuzas cursed in Khaltóg. "Very well then. You'll be buying me new boots when this is finished."

The sewer cramped and dank, but fortunately mostly dry. A single line of evil-smelling sludge trickled down the center of the tunnel. Khuzas pried the grate open. As we climbed up through the sewers, I found myself chuckling.

"What's so funny, Ashuz?" Tenuchun asked.

"The last time I did this was in far Kharsoom. I had to retrieve my wife from the one who had abducted her."

"Sounds like quite a story."

"I'll tell it around our next campfire."

It was far less spacious beneath the Red Citadel than it was under the great city of Ghanappur. As we passed through the darkness, shuffling footsteps and hissing moans echoed from out of the gloom. More than once, some kind of wights barred our path, degenerate things that bore a strange resemblance to rats. We slew them easily. Any place like this one would have magic leeched into the very soil. Evil creatures would find themselves attracted to it, and those buried in the dirt would rise anew.

Our exploration of the Citadel is covered in detail in Pale Conquest. What is relevant here was not only the dread I felt, but also the deep connection I felt to Lysethe. She and I had come together in a strange way--she had been my prisoner--but we had come to love one another deeply. I at once wanted her by my side and was grateful that she was not here to suffer her fears.

Those who have read the histories know that the Citadel was not empty. Antheme, known as Death's Bride, had made this place her own. I wrote a comprehensive history of her, Ghost of the Heacharids, and though I do not wish to boast, I believe it is the most complete accounting of her life. I will not plagiarize myself overmuch, but certain elements matter for this volume.

For in some ways, she was what Lysethe could have been.

Antheme hailed from Arcanoir, much as Lysethe had, a land that many claimed to be the homeland of Kleomenope, the legendary mother of the Amazons. She had been broken in the Red Citadel and had served the Empire for several centuries. She had fought in my war, though our paths had never crossed. When the Heacharid Empire fell, she returned to the Citadel, either out of despair or mindless need, and lived as a ghost, keeping the edifice inviolate.

By the time we found her, she was a debased and skeletal creature. A century or more of solitude and starvation, warped by the foul energies of this cursed place, had robbed her of whatever remained of her humanity. Slaying her gave me no pleasure. I carried her twisted, broken body to the Solitarium, where I laid it to rest in the middle of all the empty cells that once held the familiars of a continent of mages. I found a shroud, blood red, and wrapped her body so that none would see what had become of her.

I was relieved to leave the Solitarium behind, for the despair was heavy in its stinking walls. I found the great library of the Citadel, and stayed for a time. While the others hunted for the objects they sought, and they would find them, I contented myself with what I saw as a far greater treasure. I soon was hunched over an ancient map, one that showed Aucor when it was under the Qammuzi yoke, a stack of books piled next to me.

"How many books do you plan to take?" Firussah stood in the doorway, holding her lantern. The library was thick with gloom, the lantern joining my little stormcloud in a futile attempt to banish the dark.

"I wish I could take them all," I said, my voice echoing down the halls. "Perhaps I will return and raid the collection properly."

"What are these books?"

"Relics of Old Qammuz. There has never been an empire like that one, reaching heights we still have not equaled." Those were Zhahllaia's words, but I had come to believe them. After all, they had produced her, and thus no wonder was out of their reach.

Firussah came to my side, setting the lantern down on the desk. "A map?" she asked. "I don't read Old Qammuzi."

"Abbih," I corrected absently. "You'll find most languages on this continent trace some of their lineage to it. Save perhaps Heacharian."

"That is what I was raised speaking. Zarite Heacharian."

"I don't know when this map was drawn precisely, but it shows the city of Pharnaz." I indicated it on the yellowed skin.

She leaned down, her warmth coming over me. Her sweat was a musky perfume. "I don't know my Qammuzi history."

"Pharnaz was the site of their great library. What is here is the merest shadow to what was there. After the fall of Old Qammuz, Pharnaz was lost beneath the sands of the Farayid Desert, but..."

"... with this map, you think you could find it."

"Long ago I was an adventurer and in those days I found more with far less."

"How would you find it?" She sucked in a shivery breath.

I stood, taking her hand and putting it upon the map. "This is Tal Qarah. You see it sits on the Mishtul Road."

"Sabbatium is here."

"And southwest, you see Pharnaz." My finger ran to her wrist and she shivered. I leaned in, brushing my lips over her neck. "I cannot stop thinking of that night in the alley."

She was silent for a few heartbeats and I feared I had gone too far. Then came her teasing murmur, "You liked me on my knees?"

"I wanted to taste you but you ran to your room."

"I cannot run now," she said, shivering.

I pulled her clothes from her, piece by piece, savoring each part of her as it was revealed to me. Firussah's body was sculpted by battle, adventure, and rigorous training. Scars crisscrossed her knuckles, some deeper in more vital places. I covered her breasts with my hands, teasing her nipples as I ground into her. I would not settle for her mouth this time. I would take what I wanted.

I pulled her trousers from her body, leaving her nude before me. Her fleece was wild and unruly, stretching in a wide irregular triangle over her sex. Perhaps I had become Kharsoomian in my old age, for I found it intoxicating. I dropped to my knees, sucking in the delirious scent of her. She was a fighting woman, a woman who had been on the trail for days. She was pungent, her aroma overpowering. I kissed my way up her thighs, taking in the delicious saltiness of her dried sweat.

I reached her center, hauling her hips to me and spreading her wide. My breath tickled her and I gave her a single soft kiss just above her savory hair. Her taste was as powerful, as strong as she was in battle. Inside, her folds were preternaturally soft, untouched by her outer fury. She moaned, falling back to the desk. I helped her onto it, hooking her legs over my shoulders.

I explored her, opening her, enjoying her. I caressed her folds with my tongue, finding where she moaned and chasing that. I lashed her pearl, sucking it, always relenting whenever she cried out.

Her powerful fingers curled into my hair, pulling me up. Her turquoise eyes were feverish. "Fuck me. Take me. I am your captive."

I stood, gripping her hips. A single thrust impaled her. Her back bowed, the crown of her head touching the desk's surface. She gripped the edge of it, her knuckles white. I mimicked Melisant's stroke, the deep penetration, the brutal swirl, the slow withdrawal. Firussah gave deep, bone-rattling moans, shuddering every time I buried myself inside her. I was treated to the glorious sight of her nude body, the muscles of her belly like stones, her breasts jiggling, her nipples like gems. She opened her mouth, the moan breaking at the end, and this time the quakes shook her helplessly. I ground my hips against her hard, and she pressed against me, wringing every bit of sensation from where we met.

Finally, she relaxed, her back touching the desk. Her eyes met mine. With difficulty, she pulled her hand from the desk and reached for where I gripped her strong hips. She pulled my hand to her throat, wrapping it about her, and squeezed. The smoky pleading in her eyes made me want to please her.

As I took her to the hilt once again, and this time I squeezed. Her eyes fluttered, and a quake shook her. Her mouth opened, and I knew then that she had found bliss once again. I had never seen it so swiftly. What should have been a cry of pleasure was a squeak.

Every time I pushed into her, I squeezed her throat. Every time, her body quaked anew. I released her throat as I drew out of her, the gasp of pain, relief and loss. Then once again, I took her, wringing the breath from her. She was so wonderfully soft, soaked velvet. The quakes her in body soon no longer had borders, it became a single, continuous shudder. Her turquoise eyes rolled back, her mouth lolled open. She could not muster the control to move against me.

She was utterly mine. I held her life in my hand and she loved every last second. The realization made the pleasure that built in my loins flow from me. I pulled myself from her and she curled up, crying out. Hot seed splashed over her chest and belly. Her choked cry of bliss echoed down the corridors of the Red Citadel.

The room was quiet save for our panting. She stirred first, rising unsteadily from the desk and gathering her clothes. Our loveplay had been too intense, and in the aftermath of release, a weight hung in the room.

"I will check on the others," she muttered, unable to look at me.

I could not bear to go back to what we were. What we'd shared was too wonderful. "Firussah, wait. There is something between us. I know you feel it."

"Love, Dreadstorm? Is that what we have?" she asked. I do not believe she realized what she called me in that moment.

"We are friends, you and I. There is no reason we should not find comfort and pleasure in each other's arms."

Her arms were laden with her things as she went for the door. I could not tear my attention from the muscles of her buttocks, fetchingly moving with every stride. "I will leave you to your reading," she said.

I called a gust of wind. The door slammed. Firussah stopped suddenly. "You called me Dreadstorm," I said quietly.

"What?" she said, turning. She held her things protectively to her chest.

"A moment ago, you called me Dreadstorm. Not Belromanazar. Not Ashuz. That is who you lay with just now, wasn't it? It was the Dreadstorm fucking you."

She bit her lip, suddenly vulnerable. Wordlessly, she nodded, staring at the desk where she had just been taken so savagely.

"Firussah, tell me." I did not approach, sensing she could not have me closer.

I watched her consider her words carefully. When they spilled from her lips, they were fragile. "When I was little, the Dreadstorm lurked in every shadow, beneath every bed. My parents, the parents of my friends, they would say, eat all your food or the Dreadstorm will get you. The Dreadstorm loomed over my childhood."

Her eyes met mine, the brilliant turquoise that fairly glowed. "You lived in my mind. As I grew older, the feelings changed. I dreamed of being captured by the Dreadstorm, of being his slave. I didn't understand these fancies. Soon, they became something else. I would touch myself as I thought of this, and if a lover was not skilled, I could imagine being enslaved by the Dreadstorm, and the bliss would finally come."

She set her clothing down on the desk. Now she was nude before me, vulnerable. A single streak of pearl still decorated her belly, evidence of our love. "When Malya suggested we recruit you, I was ashamed. Frightened. And I needed you. I could be with the man who compelled me to be a good girl and who tormented me in my dreams. Who forced me onto my knees. Who made me beg for more."

"You want to be my slave?"

She hesitated, and then nodded. "Not forever. I want to feel what it was to experience the fantasies in my mind. But that makes me so small, so weak. I am a warrior of Zarastar and here I want to be on my knees for you."

"That is nothing to be ashamed of, Firussah. You are a mighty woman. Powerful. You are the leader of the Spellbreakers and I will obey your commands without hesitation. But such responsibility can come at a price. You want to be free to be told what to do. To serve the shadow that has lived in your mind."

"You want this?"

"In this place, when we are alone together, you may call me Dreadstorm."

"And I am your slave."

"Taken in battle."

She shivered. The scent of her arousal, powerful and pungent reached me. "Yes."

"And I require something of my slave."

A lovely smile spread over her wide mouth. "If I do this, you will spare my village?"

"If you perform as I like."

"I will do anything for you, Dreadstorm, if only you will be merciful."

"Come here and get on your knees." She fought the smile, trying to maintain the character she had adopted, as she obeyed me. I hardened before her eyes. "Now suck, slave. I need to be nice and clean."

Her mouth was sweet and eager, and when we were finished, she did not scurry away.

***

The Spellbreakers had successfully gained the devices they sought in the Red Citadel. The obejcts were brooches, styled into the burning rose of Xomera. Each one set my teeth on edge. Even having them close was a splinter in my mind. These would do some good against Dioscoro and Diotai and so I bore my discomfort.

We crossed the Tylah River into Zarastar at night, avoiding the fortress near the mountain pass. My son and granddaughter were in the ancient city of Naharaz, the Zarite capital. It had once been Qammuzi, founded when the empire was still young. It sat amongst high rock formations, desert plants dotting the landscape around it.

The city was patrolled by beings of light encased in armor. I recognized my son's creations, though even I was astounded he could have so much power. Though intimidating, they were simple to creep past. It seemed my son relied on fear more than effective defense. It would prove his undoing.

Khuzas gained us ingress to the castle, scaling a wall with the grace of a cave fisher. We could not remain undetected forever. Here, my son employed human guards, their heraldry featuring the bright hound that had once flapped over his Zuunese army. They were not the equal of any of us, especially once I dispensed of any attempt at subtlety and brought Ur-Anu into my hands.

Diotai met us in the main hall of her castle, her guard about her. These were hardened cutthroats armed with curved blades and encased in old dragonsteel that had been used since the war.

It is common knowledge that wizards do not age, but that isn't precisely true. Our existence still changes our bodies. Scars are the most common change, but we can grow thinner or fatter. Our hair can even gray, though far more slowly than that of our mortal friends. I will not claim to understand these changes, nor how they relate to our endless days, but they are observable.

Diotai looked like a different person. She took after her grandmother, with stark white skin, strawlike hair, and eyes the color of blood. She was thinner than I remembered, her proportions reminding me of a subterranean spider. She wore scraps of her Zuunese armor, revealing wide expanses of skin, all covered with swirling red tattoos. A golden crown sat on her brow, looking to me more like horns than any kind of halo. The only thing I would have recognized was her night eft, as pale and red-eyed as she.

"Grandfather," she said. "At last, you visit."

"I promised your grandmother I would try to turn you from this path," I said, already knowing such things were impossible. Diotai was lost to us, if ever she had been in reach.

"You should not have come here."

"You knew I would."

A feral grin twisted her features. "I have to slay you." She raised her arms, calling upon her magics.

I was swift and merciful. More I will not say.

We found Dioscoro in the dungeons which he had turned into his quarters. His indolence had made him flabby and we discovered him cowering in a great tiled bath at the center of the room. Judging by the state of his flesh, I believe he lived most of his life there. All around was evidence of his depravity. It turns my stomach to remember what I saw there, and I shall not describe it here. His crimes have been extensively chronicled and his name will not be mentioned without a curse.

"Papa?" he asked. He had not called me that since he was ten. The hope flickering in his eyes was pathetic.

"What did you do here?" I demanded in horror.

"We did what you did," he whined. "We seized a kingdom to do with as we pleased."

"I did not merely take Zuunkhorun for my amusement!" My shout boomed like thunder in the dungeon. "I used it as a weapon against a greater evil, and left it better off!"

"Zarastar is better than when we found it. There is peace and prosperity here." He gestured. "Look out onto those streets! You will see no brigands, no cutthroats."

"Because they're all in here! Dioscoro, this is a chamber of horrors!"

"A small price, Papa. One the people are only too happy to pay for their beloved rulers." His smile was unctuous. I do not think he could have stood against me at his height, and he was long bast that.

"Your mother asked me to be merciful," I said sadly.

"I surrender. Take me to her," he begged. "I will live my life in peace!"

A tear ran down my cheek. "I'm sorry, my son."

"Papa?"

"I failed you. There is but one thing I can do."

***

I brooded on the parapets the castle's highest tower. Below on the streets an ecstatic populace paraded the bodies of Diotai and Dioscoro through the streets. Cheers and song rose from the jubilant masses. The other Spellbreakers were among them somewhere, celebrating. I was hollow. I had failed my son and my granddaughter more thoroughly than anyone could have. The things I saw, the things they did, would haunt me forever.

I lifted the jug of wine at my side and swallowed another long draught. It wouldn't burn the memories from me, nor would it assuage the pain I would cause my wives when I told them. They all raised the children, and though the one who bore them would be called simply "Mama," they all held that title.

"There you are." Firussah said, emerging from the trapdoor out into the night.

"I thought you would be on the streets with our companions. Your homeland is free."

"Aye, it is." She settled down next to me. I handed her the wine and she swigged.

"Firussah, I don't feel like the Dreadstorm."

"Perhaps I can make do with my friend Belromanazar," she said, handing the wine back. I tasted her lips upon the rim. "What will you do next? Return to your brides?"

"I think I'll follow my maps. Pharnaz awaits. And what of you?"

"Try to avoid being crowned queen of this place while helping it recover," she smirked.

"Noble of you."

She turned my head, pressing wine-sodden lips to mine. "I don't want to be noble. I want to be fucked," she murmured.

"I need you too." After what had happened, I needed to be with someone. I sensed the same emotions roiling within her. This had been a personal quest for me, the correction of a mistake. For her, it had been the liberation of her homeland and the promise of a tomorrow that was bright. We were connected in this, in a way the other Spellbreakers were not.

She stood, pulling her clothes from her body swiftly, as though unable to stand being clothed before me a second longer. She was never less than breathtaking, the bright moonlight playing over her muscled curves. Shallow cuts, souvenirs from the battle Malya couldn't close, striped her. Her pungent scent hit me with the force of a blow, and my eyes went to the unruly mass of dark hair between her legs. I hunted for the contours of her orchid, but all I could detect was that maddening scent, caught by the fleece.

She dropped to the floor, pulling first my boots from me, then unlacing my trousers. She stopped to smile. "You will spare me..."

I touched her cheek. "Let us be Firussah Belwar and Belromanazar of Thunderhead tonight."

She took my hardening manhood in hand, kissing the head with affection. "No, let me instead fuck my dear companion Ashuz, the strange northern barbarian who speaks like a scholar and fights like a demon." She licked me, her turquoise eyes on mine. Her tongue left molten streaks of pleasure across my rapidly hardening length. Even when I was fully ready to take her, she continued her worship, covering me in her hot saliva.

Her hands pushed up my tunic, revealing my chest, the patchwork of scars that chronicled my adventures. I hauled her up and she settled over me, poised to take me inside her sweet folds.

I murmured an incantation, my hand balling into a fist. Wind filled it. Hers. Her eyes went wide and one hand went to her throat. I opened the hand slightly, giving her a tiny bit of breath. She gazed at me with new smoky desire.

"Just because I want my friend doesn't mean I won't give her what she wants," I said.

She went to speak and I cut her air once again. She shivered, guiding me into her. I gave her only as much air as she needed. Her choked gasps grew increasingly desperate as she took me to the hilt. Her hips began to roll and I was treated to the sight of the muscles of her belly standing out in stark relief beneath her taut olive skin.

I sat up, kissing her belly, then finding her breasts, licking and sucking. She cradled my head, the soft gasps coming from her like music. The bliss built in me quickly, fed by the sweet way she shivered with every thrust. I found strength I didn't know I had, standing up, pulling her from me and turning her about.

Her hands hit the parapets. She was able to look at the cheering crowds below as I took her with long, aching thrusts. She gasped, her hand finding mine where I held her hips, our fingers interlacing. She pushed back against me, her body demanding more. I punished her with hammering strokes, and she could scarcely make a sound. Her body hummed, the shivering covering her.

Then, right as I took her hard, I opened my fist. Breath flooded into her lungs. The bliss shook her in a violent quake, her ragged cries echoing over newly-freed streets. We stayed there, breathing in rhythm before I gently I pulled myself from her and gathered her into my arms.

She kissed me, delirious from the bliss I had given. I carried her to the floor, lifting one of her legs and taking her again. She moaned, and I cut her off with stolen breath. At the first gasp, she shook with her bliss. I leaned over, kissing her hard. Her eyes widened as she drank her wind from my lungs. I held one of her muscular legs, my strokes finding a new rhythm. She moved against me, but the shaking kept her from control.

I would take it. I lifted her hips from the ground, driving myself down. Gasping, her eyes feverish with lust, leveraged herself up on the backs of her shoulders. Her mouth worked soundlessly, trying to take air I granted only sparingly.

The bliss built in me inexorably. Everything I had been holding inside, desperate to come out. Pleasure and pain, glory and misery. I looked down into her lovely face with her furrowed brow and pleading eyes and I let go. She broke at the first gout, and only then did I release her breath into her lungs. That sparked a second series of quakes.

In the calm of the aftermath, we lay together on the parapet, nude and soaked with our juices. I stroked her hair as she pillowed her head on my chest.

"I will miss you," she murmured.

"Do you miss Ashuz? Belromanazar? Or the Dreadstorm?"

She looked into my eyes, kissing my chest once. "Yes."

"And I'll miss you, my love, my slave, my friend."