Chapter 2

Harlen pulled Hyandai close to him and leaned back against the mossy trunk of the tree. She peered up at him with her large emerald eyes.

He thought about what the duke had said and smiled grimly as he turned to look on Wendy, leaning against another similarly mossy tree trunk. She flicked her eyes toward him and lifted two fingers. Harlen and Hyandai nodded back at her.

They both spun around the trunk, in opposite directions, their bows rising in their grips as they moved. By the time the two Ghantian soldiers realized their peril, the arrows were on their way. One fell back, a long arrow sunk into his chest dead center. The other gripped at his shoulder, screaming. The scream was cut off, however, when Wendy brought the butt of her spear around and jabbed it into the middle of his forehead, sending him sprawling into unconsciousness.

More Ghantian voices sounded in the mist-shrouded rainforest, alarm and threats mixed with screams. A pair of green-clad rangers ran past the trio, swords drawn, and then another walked up, right behind Trevir, who was carrying Morlani in his arms.

"This is your idea of a safe path?" asked Harlen, turning on the young ranger who had followed Trevir.

"Lord Ambassador, we had no idea that they would try to stop your arrival," he said defensively. "They have spies everywhere."

Harlen nodded, picking up one of the Ghantian's crossbows and handing it to Wendy. "New toy!" she exclaimed, grabbing it with both hands and immediately discharging it into the sky. They all five looked up where the bolt had just thwacked its way through the canopy of thick leaves overhead. Wendy giggled and grabbed up the bolt case on the Ghantian's hip and the windlass hanging from his belt. "I've always wanted one of these; I stink at archery."

Hyandai was already halfway back to the small train of wagons, where Young Tammer was still with the nanny, hiding among the massive chests that the duke had provided them. Half a dozen Ghantian soldiers lay scattered on the ground, in various states of dead. Most were killed by arrows, though two had deep puncture wounds in their chests and one had his throat cut.

As the trio mounted the wagons, the rangers started trickling back from the woods. There were six of them as escort. They carried one of their own among them, wounded, but still alive. Hyandai knelt over him; he had been sliced across his chest and stomach. She leaned down, and with a grimace, pushed a bit of exposed gut back into place as the man screamed. Then she began breathing on the wound. A process Harlen never tired of watching followed; the wounds began to mend, knitting themselves closed and the skin rapidly growing before his eyes. Five minutes after she began, the man was on his feet, looking at the long, jagged pink line that ran from his nipple to his belly button, then thanking Hyandai profuselly.

She was washing her hands off with water from a canteen being held by one ranger as Wendy kissed her shoulder. "You're a miracle, beloved," said Wendy into her elegant ear.

Hyandai smiled at her wife and kissed her brow. "I am simply me, bride of mine," she said. "I do what I am able, as do you."

"I can't do anything like that, though," said Wendy, pointing at the healed ranger, now talking among the others animatedly, and showing off his pink scar.

Hyandai looked down at the two pierced men and the one with a slashed throat. "And I cannot defend us like that," she said. "That is a fierceness I do not possess in a fight, and I am gladdened that you do."

When the ambush had started, Wendy's rapid and surprising onset had thrown the Ghantians into confusion. Her warcry and appearance, wielding a heavy warspear and wearing an evening gown had caused them no small amount of panic. They had stood dazed for several moments, while the rangers had gotten their bows out and then sent them into a rout with a hail of arrows.

Wendy smiled. "It's what I do," she said, in the same tone Hyandai had said it.

The elven woman's emerald eyes noted a small cut on Wendy's shoulder. She kissed Wendy again, gently, then kissed her way down her slender neck and over her shoulder, breathing upon the small cut, healing it in seconds.

Wendy smiled. "I like it when you heal me like that," she said.

Taking Wendy's hand, Hyandai led her back to the wagons. "Try to get wounded in the thigh, it would be of great interest."

Wendy giggled and said, "For that, I'll cut my own thigh!"

Everything was back in order and the wagons set off again for Marved, the captial of the Windy Isles, still two hours away. The rangers, now back upon their horses rode beside and ahead of the three lumbering wagons, two laden only with massive chests.

The road was a good one; reed mats lay over a packed earth of gravel and sand. Harlen was impressed with how solid it felt after being in the jungle a ways on foot and still picking mud chunks from inside his boot where he had sunk to his knees in places.

One of the rangers, a youth named Gharus rode near the wagon, now keeping his bow in hand across the saddle horn. "How is it you've carved a nation from this rainforest?" asked Harlen.

The young man said, "This is the rainy season, in addition, but we do always get a great deal." He smiled. "Mostly we build things that are light enough to float atop the mud and we try to stay dry."

They had slowly been gaining elevation as they traveled, and slowly, the mists of the jungle were lightening. Then it was gone. "We're above the rain-line, now," said the young ranger. "This is why the capital is up here, so we can actually keep records without them rotting, it's said." The young ranger spoke passable Westron, though Harlen and Wendy did not need him to, the duke had generously provided enchanted earrings that would translate anything they heard in almost every language to Westron. However, he had not been able to acquire any of the 'speaking stones' and they would have to rely upon a translator to make themselves understood to others. Luckily, Hyandai spoke twelve languages well.

The jungle rapidly gave way to more recognizable dense forest, similar to parts of Morrovale and much of Windir, though still warmer. Ahead of them loomed the walls of, it seemed to Harlen and Trevir, a great city. To Hyandai, it seemed that her heart would fail her from sheer terror. To Wendy, it seemed a sizable town, but nothing like Vilders. To Young Tammer, it seemed time to spit up, much to Trevir's discomfort.

As they neared the city of Rondall, the road widened and became actually paved, with cobbles. More traffic joined their little caravan, in the way of laden wagons with produce and people aboard them. Soon they were bracketed ahead and behind by the stream of wagons and forced to slow to a snails pace.

"I already don't like it," said Harlen. "First the ambush, now a logjam on the road."

"Stop following that mead wagon so close, Harlen," said Hyandai. "If he stops you shall run him down."

Harlen gave her a long look and then laughed. "You wish to take the reigns, beloved?" he asked.

Hyandai shook her head, holding both of her tiny hands out in denial. "No, I am terrified even being among this many folk, much less driving the wagon."

Wendy piped in, "I'll drive!" and clambered over the buckboard to sit between Harlen and Hyandai. Harlen handed her the reigns and sat back, putting his hands behind his head. He grinned when he noticed that the distance between the nose of their horses and the rear of the wagon ahead shortened to half its former length.

The buildings of the city grew closer together and they passed through the large gate by way of a stone archway. Guards watched them pass and raised eyebrows at the purple and gold standards on little masts mounted to each wagon.

The streets bustled with folk, and the noise grew to a din that caused Hyandai to cover her delicate ears. "Spirits help me," she said, looking worriedly at Harlen. "This will drive me mad."

Soon, though, they had passed the market quarter and entered a quieter neighborhood of large estates with high stone fences about them, topped with wrought iron spikes. They trundled down this street, also free of the press of other wagons. Great elms and oaks loomed over the road from behind the fences and Hyandai relaxed visibly.

The young ranger beside the wagon, on his horse, said, "The next estate is the Morrovale Embassy."

They came around a bend in the road and saw ahead a shining standard snapping in the evening breezes, purple and gold with the dragon rampant. Two guards, wearing matching livery stood beside the gate. The guards seemed to awaken at the last moment, sallying to the gate and opening it with haste to allow the wagons to enter. The rangers all stopped at the road before the smaller road into the estate.

"Aren't you coming?" asked Harlen, as Wendy stopped the wagon and peered over her shoulder, too.

"Lord Harlen, this is sovereign Morrovale land," said one of the guards. "They cannot enter without official leave."

Harlen blinked. "And where do they get that?" he asked.

"From you, milord," said the guard, trying to stifle a grin.

"Come on, you lot, then, come have a look about," said Harlen, waving the rangers inward.

The six rangers spurred their horses and followed the three wagons onto the property. At first Harlen wondered where the houses might be, and then they rounded yet another bend in the long road through the estate and a large mansion heaved into view. They stopped before it. "Our place must be about the back," said Harlen, eyeing the beautiful marble and granite manor house as he hopped off the wagon.

Wendy stared at the home. "No, uh, Harlen," she said, stammering and pointing at the massive oaken doors of the mansion.

Harlen peered at them, and saw a brass plaque upon one. He walked closer and began reading, for he had never mastered reading silently. "Embassy of Morrovale to the Windy Isles, Master Harlen, Ambassador." He leaned back and looked straight up at the three-story structure, and then left and right down the long wings. "Oh," he said.

The door opened before him and a man in a sharp purple vest stepped out onto the porch. "Lord Ambassador Harlen, welcome back to Morrovale," he said in a formal tone. "I am Wennan, your aide."

Harlen blinked at the man. "Wennan?" he asked. "As in Wennan, the duke's personal assistant?"

"I was, milord, but I will be serving you until such time as you are ready to allow me to return to Morrovale and take on a new aide," said Wennan. He was an older gentleman, with a balding head and a nose that hooked severely downward. From his vantage point of almost a foot higher, it seemed to Harlen his nose hung to his chin.

Wendy leaped from the wagon and looked about. "Where's all the household staff?" she asked. She had been to nobles' homes in Vilders, and there was supposed to be staff all over the place, she told them.

Wennan smiled appeasingly. "You seem to have outpaced them madam Wendy," he said. "They are scheduled to arrive on the morrow."

She 'huh'ed' and walked past him into the house. Hyandai was sitting with Young Tammer in her arms and let one of the rangers help her down from the wagon. Another ranger helped the nanny with Morlani. Trevir was still staring at the building.

"Wow, Harlen, you're a big muck about now!" he said, smiling broadly and springing down from the back of the wagon. The drivers took the wagons and the massive chests toward a small building beside the mansion, with large swinging doors, a stable, Harlen guessed.

Wennan coughed and said, "You must officially lay claim to your position, milord."

Harlen said, "Ok," then stood there, staring blankly at his aide.

The aide stood expectantly and watched him for a long moment before saying, "You must state that you are accepting the Embassy, and that you are the Ambassador."

"Oh!" exclaimed Harlen as Hyandai passed behind him and into the house, Young Tammer burbling happily and playing with her hair. "I, Harlen, Ambassador from Morrovale to the Windy Isles, accept this Embassy and take up my office."

"Very good, sir," said Wennan, pulling a thick ledger from somewhere mysterious and jotting a note in it with a stylus. Harlen attempted to see what he was writing, but the book snapped shut with a clap of finality and left the huntsman blinking at the little gust of wind it produced. "I am certain you will find the accommodations to your liking, sir." With those words, Wennan moved into the house on the heels of Trevir who was slowly walking and trying to take everything in at once.

Harlen shrugged and followed his aide in, peering about almost as much as Trevir. As he entered, he was first struck by the size of the antechamber. It was larger than the duke's own, though not quite so finely appointed. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling three stories up and looked to hold a thousand candles. Harlen sighed at how much it would cost just to light the damn thing.

Wennan moved off to a door to the left and Harlen followed him. Beyond that was a small office, stacked high with papers and books. Every horizontal surface was covered with parchment, in one form or another. As Harlen followed him in, Wennan turned. "Milord, you are scheduled to attend a banquet this very night, to honor your arrival. It is being hosted by the Consortium of Vilderian Guilds."

Harlen blinked. "Who?" he asked.

"It is a group of all the major trading guilds in Vilders, the only Ghantian city that still has relations with the Windy Isles," said Wennan. "They are keen to make trade agreements with Morrovale, and each guild, I fear, will try to secure a monopoly from you."

"And that's bad?" asked Harlen.

Wennan shrugged. "Bad or good, it is what they will attempt."

Harlen picked up what looked to be a map of Abia off of a desk and looked at it. "Do you think that I should resist that?" he asked.

"I think, milord, you should do what is best for Morrovale, naturally, that is your job," he looked down. "Sorry milord, I should not presume... "

"No," said Harlen, "it's quite okay, I am very new to this, and will be relying heavily on you to tell me what needs doing, if you will."

"Of course, milord, that is my job," said Wennan with a small grin.

Harlen chuckled and laid down the Abian map and picked up a piece of parchment that said it was a receipt for twelve thousand candles. He whistled, "That's a lot of candles."

The aide walked up beside him and peered at the paper. "Indeed, sir, quite a lot."

"Who else will be at this banquet?" asked Harlen, noting the scent of cologne coming off the aide.

"Sir, everyone will be there," said the aide, "ambassadors from other nations, dignitaries from the Windy Isles, themselves, as well as various other concerns, such as powerful merchant houses and even, I believe, a representative of the Green Order."

"Huh," said Harlen, laying down the receipt and looking about the cluttered office. "Is this my office?"

The aide chuckled in a way that said he was not really laughing. "Milord jests, of course," he said, walking to the door, Harlen followed him across the wide foyer, where there were no longer any other people in evidence, and to a more ornate, larger door. The aide opened it and led Harlen into a huge room with a vast desk at the far side, beneath five huge windows that let a massive quantity of sunlight. On the desk was a single sheet of parchment. No other paper was to be seen. Behind the vast desk was a leather chair stuffed to ridiculous proportions. Two comfortable-looking chairs sat before the desk.

"Wow," said Harlen, his voice echoing off the far walls of the giant office. He moved to the desk and looked down at the parchment. It was filled with flowing script, which, though Harlen could read after a fashion, looked like it would take four hours to read. The headline on it said: 'Household procedures and staffing requirements'.

"What's this?" asked Harlen, picking up the parchment.

"Sir, it delineates the routine requirements of the household and the staffing needs," said Wennan. "It is basically the laws of the house, for the Master of the Estate to tend."

"Who's that?" asked Harlen.

Wennan sighed. "He will be arriving with the remainder of the staff on the morrow." Then he opened a drawer of the big desk and produced a quill and ink vial. "It will require your signature, milord."

Harlen looked at the quill a long moment, then pulled it from the ink and scratched his name upon the parchment, next to Wennan's finger. With a broad smile, he replaced the quill and stood back up.

"Well done, sir," said Wennan, blowing on the ink, then rolling the parchment into a tight scroll and tying a ribbon about it.

Trevir's voice came from the antechamber calling for Harlen. "Excuse me," said the huntsman and walked to the door.

"What?" asked Harlen

"Miss Wendy and Miss Hyandai asked me to come fetch you," said Trevir. "They're trying to figure out what's what upstairs."

"I will be in my office, milord," said the aide, washing his hands of the situation quite efficiently and brushing past Harlen in a gait that looked slow but seemed to cover ground with remarkable speed.

Harlen sighed and followed Trevir up the wide marble stairs to the second floor. The boy led him down a broad hallway and finally to where he could hear Wendy and Hyandai's voices inside.

"It's a bedroom," said Wendy.

"I will not perform bedroom activities before such a bay of windows," said Hyandai.

Harlen looked into the room. It was nearly circular and the outer wall consisted of mostly of wide, tall windows that reached nearly from floor to ceiling. Only the portion of the wall that the door was on lacked massive glass panes.

"Also, there is no bed," pointed out Hyandai.

"We could move one into here," said Wendy reasonably. "I love this room."

Hyandai sighed. "Only if we make curtains," she conceded.

"Done," said Wendy.

"See, you two didn't need me," said Harlen, leaning on the doorframe.

Hyandai walked up to him and kissed his cheek. "That woman, there, wants to perform personal acts before a wall of glass," she said, pointing an accusing finger at Wendy.

Wendy giggled. "No, but I do like being able to see the outside from my bedroom."

A broad smile came to Harlen's face. "I don't know, personal acts for an audience, sounds kind of fun," he said.

Hyandai poked him in the ribs with a long finger. "You two are incorrigible," she said and Wendy giggled some more. Hyandai walked to one of the open windows and leaned out. "Please be prepared for viewings of Harlen and Wendy in personal acts, shows begin in two hours!" she screamed out the window, with Wendy pulling on her hips trying to yank her back into the room. One of the guards, passing below rested his spear on his shoulder and tilted his helmeted head toward the screaming woman in the upper window.

The nanny came in with Morlani and presented her to Wendy. "It is time for her feeding, Miss Wendy," she said.

"Thank you Trish," said Wendy, taking her daughter up in her arms, she nuzzled with her five-month-old daughter for a moment, kissing her little face all over. "How's our little girl, hmm?" Morlani grinned and grabbed for her dangling trothplait and cooed. Still smiling, Hyandai moved up beside Wendy and cooed and tickled the baby with her.

Trevir, with a look of mild panic, moved out of the room. "Harlen, could you show me where I am to be?" he asked after he got into the hall before breasts started being bared.

Harlen chuckled and followed Trevir out. "I don't know, Trev," said Harlen, peering down the long line of doors on both sides of the hallway. "Just pick a room."

Trevir moved down the hall, peering at each door as either an opportunity or a threat. He stopped, pointing at one door. "This one!" he said, smiling back at Harlen.

Harlen nodded. "Okay, that room is yours," he said.

Trevir opened the door and stood in the doorway, frozen. "Wow," he said.

Harlen moved down beside him and looked in, it was impressive. The room was about ten paces to a side, and had massive curtained windows on the far wall. A high bed stood against one wall and a couch and two chairs were near the opposite wall. Two large wardrobes stood beside the door to the left and right.

"Wow is right," said Harlen. "Quite a room you've chosen."

Trevir went inside and tossed his little burlap sack of belongings on the bed. It looked tiny and forlorn, as did Trevir when he jumped up on the bed beside it, sitting and looking about the ornately carven woodwork and gilding on the walls.

Renna washed the blood from her body as Pharen looked on. Her nude form was stunning, with its tightly corded muscles and taut skin. Coated in blood as she was, he longed to take her like she was now, but she said it was heretical blood and she would not partake of love play coated in such.

Slaves worked hurriedly in the room behind them as she used a sponge to clean herself. They were picking up the bodies and carrying them from the room. Two more waited nearby with mops and buckets of steaming water.

"That was amazing," said Pharen.

She smiled. "Arouse you, did it?" asked Renna, smiling sweetly as she lifted a leg and ran the sponge down it.

He nodded. "I've never seen anyone die even as they climax," he said, "They linger longer that way, don't they?"

"The body produces powerful essences as it climaxes, and can ignore and overcome great pain and discomfort as it does so," she said. "It gave them the strength they needed to linger and let me see beyond the veil of life to the future."

"And what did you see, milady?" asked Pharen, his lusts finally subsiding enough to think beyond what he had just witnessed.

She finished with her legs and handed him the sponge after wringing it out and soaking it with clean water again. "After I am cleansed, we will speak of it," she said, turning her back to him.

He washed her corded back reverentially, running the sponge over her soft skin and the hard muscles beneath it. She sighed and smiled, propping her hands against the wall and spreading her legs for him. He knelt behind her and cleaned her backside and her long thighs. He watched in awe as she clenched her stomach tight and the heretics' spend spilled from her tight entrance, and he slowly and with infinite care, washed it away.

Soon, she was clean, the last of the heretics' blood washed from her skin and hair. She rinsed herself again with a hot bucket of water then started drying off. "Much better, though your idea has merit," she said. "Perhaps if we purify a slave first, before sending him to his judgement."

She slipped on a silken robe of white and led him back to their quarters. Dismissing the slaves in her apartment, she poured them wine and took seat in one well-padded chair.

"The augury was successful, thanks to your kind assistance," she said, nodding toward Pharen. "You handle your Reaper masterfully, I might add."

Pharen's expression grew animated. "It was like it guided itself, like it knew what to do," he said, his voice rising in excitement.

She smiled gently. "It is probably so, actually," she said. "You cannot forge a weapon of that power without something coming into it, a bit of a spirit of an angel, perhaps."

He nodded, realizing he had interrupted her.

"As I was saying, I saw a piece of our future," she said. "And it is bright indeed." Renna took a long sip of the wine. "You will command this vessel in a great victory, I saw you standing tall at the helm and leading it over many insignificant foes."

His eyes widened. "What of your feeling of ill portent?" asked Pharen, his blue eyes growing still further.

"Worry over the elf. It speaks of warning, she is dangerous, and not to be underestimated," said the witch. "Despite their harmless looks and frailty, they have minds of power and cunning."

"I will be wary of her," said Pharen, nodding. "What of your own fate?"

She giggled. "I was beside you as you crushed the enemy, and we were holding hands, lover," said the witch. "I think, perhaps, we will long ally together."

Pharen walked up to her side and put a hand upon her shoulder. She kissed it and then turned it over to kiss the palm. "I can live with you as a partner, handsome Pharen," she said.

Kneeling before her now, he placed his head in her lap. "As can I," he said as she stroked his hair, soothing him. She pulled him up to kiss her.

When their lips broke contact, she said, "I would have your holy seed this night, Templar, for I must cleanse my insides."

He smiled. "With pleasure," he said, standing and untying the strings that held his long tunic closed at the chest.

As the tunic fell to the floor, Renna sat down her wine and leaned toward him, licking the growing head of his organ, causing it to twitch and grow rapidly to full erection. Grasping it about the base, she took part of it into her mouth.

Pharen groaned at the pleasure his cock felt, and the sensation of her warm lips and cool fingers. Her other hand rubbed his testicles and ran fingers over his puckered anus. He came in a twitching of her tongue, and his hips bucked as he sent the first thick strand of semen into her warm mouth. It was followed by several more before she pulled the fingers that she had probed his backside with from him. He had not even felt them enter him. It was a demonstration of how the body ignores things while climaxing and he understood it better now for that.

Swallowing, she looked up. "That cleanses this end, lover, now for the nether," she purred as she lay upon her belly, lifted her backside, and spread her legs enticingly. He loved being between those muscular and lovely thighs. He lay atop her and kissed her.

Lady Renna filled his mouth with her breath, then his lungs. His cock responded again by surging back to a painfully full erection, with the veins seeming to glow with energy. "Bury that thing in me, lover, take me," she invited, pushing up with her hips.

He drove the entirety of his massive organ into her with one hard thrust. She cried out and then screamed to the One for the pleasure he was giving to her. She climaxed with a screech that sounded far more animal than human, then collapsed, grunting in time with his continued thrusts into her tight cunt.

Then Pharen spent, driving his cock to its deepest, then holding his back arched as he felt it twitch inside her and felt the semen being propelled forth into her welcoming entrance.

A faint blue nimbus was coruscating over her skin and he felt himself spending more and more, a torrent of semen spilled forth, filling her insides, and then running out over his shaft and onto his balls. She groaned as this happened and a smile of unsurpassed loveliness came to her face, almost angelic.

The light slowly faded, and the flow of semen abated, but he felt drained. He collapsed atop her then rolled to the side, almost unable to move. "That was very nice," he murmured as she bent down to clean his balls and cock with her fast, clever tongue.

He looked down at her cunt, now visible to him, and not a drop of the vast amount of his spend spilled forth, even that which was on her crotch and thighs seemed to be soaking into her supple skin as he watched.

Lady Renna smiled as she turned back around. "Rest, now, lover, you have done very well," she said. Whether he wished it or not, he fell asleep.

The lady rose from the bed, walked to the chair, and picked up the glass. Closing the door gently to the bedroom, she turned and rang the little bell for a slave.

With much labor, a bed was moved to the large round room and the women were busily putting things to rights. Guards had been drafted to drag the massive chests into the house and many items were already unpacked.

Wennan had apparently expected them to be poorly equipped for social events and had brought up several items of clothing: A military-style suit for Harlen with double breasted buttons of brass and epaulets, complete with a ranger green sash. There were several ornate medals pinned to the sash and he asked the aide about them.

"Sir, those are your campaign medallions," he said. "This was for your part in the Battle of Trommen Field, and this for Ulbor Pass." He pointed to two of the medallions, "This one is for Embalis, awarded by the elves and delivered to the duke in your name." Harlen eyed them dubiously, but would wear them for now.

For the women, he laid out matching, but different color gowns of satin and silk. They were narrow at the waist, to accentuate the ladies' figures, but flowed out from there to form long, pleated dresses that moved sensually as they walked. The addition of high-heeled shoes, the fashion this year from Ghant, made them noticeably taller than normal by three inches. The tops constricted their chests, and revealed a tight cleavage down the center. Hyandai looked at her breasts in the gown.

"I have never had such a pronounced cleavage before," she said, and then giggled. "I could store coins in there."