Chapter 1: A meeting of minds and bodies

The cold, pale light of Atryx, the azure moon, lent a pearly glow to alabaster skin, reflecting a sapphire lambence from the dreamy eyes that looked into her twin. The full sized mirror was a rarity, a marvel of construction to equal any in the imperial palace. The frame was heavy and thick, expertly carved with roses, thorny vines and twisting silhouettes of great serpents, a construct of burnished silver wrested from the depths of Servesti's mines. The clear crystal was formed, legend said, from a crystallized tear of a forgotten goddess. The mirror's perfection, however, was but a pale shadow of the image it presented at that moment.

The woman who stood dream-gazing was young, fresh and so fair that she might well be mistaken for a goddess. Vampire-white skin, soft and creamy, contrasted sharply with ebon curls that caressed delectable shoulders and framed features that defied description. Delicate, one might say, dainty another would argue. Few men, faced with her unclad, would spare more than a momentary glance for a face that might still a heart, and had stolen many. Of average height, that was the only average thing an onlooker would find. Slender, nearly too thin for her build, the swell of her breasts and hips was maiden-like rather than lush, the only color gracing her pale body displayed by a pair of pinkish, virginal nipples and a line of tangled dark hair between thighs that might well raise a corpse to rigid attention. Perfection of form and face would have held another spell bound, but the girl paid her reflection not an iota of attention. Vain she might be, but she was well inured to such sights, for her relatives were as attractive, and could surpass her easily with the glamours they employed with great frequency. Appearances were a shell a sorceress could look behind and beyond and a trained mind was not easily led astray by unearthly beauty.

Still and all, she was distracted. A long fingered hand, nails trimmed with meticulous attention, fingered the cause - the single ornament she wore, an eggshaped glittery-black stone the size of a child's thumb joint, threaded upon silver wire around her swan's neck, nestled in the hollow of her throat. The black pendant was no ordinary jewel or trantle, and its weight carried a heavy promise of power coupled with a threat that lay even heavier upon a restless mind.

Sapphire eyes snapped into focus, sharp edged, awakened from her dreaming with a veritable slap as the mirror clouded, and a view to otherwhere materialized. "Sister! Such a surprise," collided with the chime-like chuckle of the lady who sat, revealed, upon a throne of pale marble threaded with veins of ochre. "Preparing for an assignation, Elorie? Listen well then. There's been an attack on Avoy, mercenaries and bandits. A ruse, to distract Halanthra and permit an assassin's poisoned bolt to strike. The poison," the seated woman, a more mature version of Elorie in an elaborate and revealing gown of black and silver, frowned, the tone of her voice promising death, "was imbued with a spirit sacrifice. Not long thereafter, the mines at Telanther collapsed. According to the circle of stone, those responsible were taken by the web of defence as it lashed out in response, but the force of their strike was too great for it to absorb. I don't need to tell you what this means for our wealth and prestige. You know what needs to be done."

Face frozen into a mask, the girl merely nodded, black curls swishing against bare skin, already considering which faction or temporary alliance might be responsible. "This is truly HER mirror then? You would not have used it otherwise," her thin eyebrows rose in question. "Yes, Elorie, that is correct. Even the link might be broken or eavesdropped upon. But none can interfere with the Lady's artifacts. Except, perhaps, you - if you prove worthy". "If I survive, you mean," she responded with an overtone of bitterness. "But perhaps they are one and the same. Fair fortune, Alysin, until we speak again," she said breathily, the mirror misting and fading to clarity as her hot breath reached it.

Pacing back and forth on the lush carpet of bedchamber, she considered and planned, plotted and...

A tentative knock on the door to her chambers brought a curve to Elorie's lips, a smile of mischief and anticipation. While she had little need to prepare, an assignation was precisely what she had planned. Alysin did know her well... The thin, rune inscribed metal barrier swung open noiselessly as she turned to face the door, and the black fist that would have struck once more, with greater force, threw the robed figure off balance for a moment, before a warrior's instinct took hold. The ambassador to the imperial court from the distant jungles of Amhadir was an inch or three over six feet, a thick and impressive figure. His coal black skin reminded her of the bodyguards she had been forced to leave behind, and indeed they derived from the same stock. Benendar was clean shaven, dressed in the traditional diplomat's robe of shimmering gray, the enchantment on the fabric designed to keep him comfortable in what was, to him, a chilly environment, and he wore it as well as he bore his years. Though approaching middle age, there was no give in his muscles and little gray in his hair, and no courtier who survived it underestimated him twice.

Stepping into the room, he oriented himself quickly and found her almost immediately, freezing at the naughty smile on her face, not with desire but with surprise. The Aillard women were best admired from a distance, and centuries of experience had shown exactly how dangerous they could be. The rumours whispered that none survived their embrace who were not bonded and sworn to them, and those that did were devoted slaves, doomed. On the other hand, it was almost unknown for a man to refuse their importuning, the beckoning of the hypnoticly seductive quickly drawing the thorn of peasant superstitions. Benendar had known what to expect of the night, eagerness mixed with apprehension, but the lack of preliminaries left him unbalanced. Thinking quickly, Benendar muttered "Ah... I thought we were..."

"There is no need to think," Elorie whispered huskily, and the blood rose to his face as she stepped closer, his eyes surveying the wealth of female flesh before him, halting at the joining of her thighs. Suddenly, he was naked, his robe and underclothes lying on the ground, and she licked her lips at his massive erection, stepping within hand's reach and stretching her arm to caress his taut stomach. Reaching a decision quickly on this most unusual field of battle, Benendar growled, promising himself that he would enjoy himself to the utmost, as his hands closed upon her waist and lifted her close, shifting one dark calloused hand to grasp her pale behind and support her as he brought her lips to his, thick fingers cupping her buttock and entering the crack between. Lips met in a crackle of enchantment, as the fires of passion built, and his tongue quested between her open lips, probing for the softest point in her mouth, and finding it, dallied there until a moan rose from the sorceress's throat. His hands pressed her closer to his body, pressing upon the small of her back and her behind with his full strength. Lifting her momentarily, his dark lips closed over a virginal nipple, white teeth worrying at alabaster flesh, and Elorie's hands tangled in the thick mane of his hair as she parted her thighs and wrapped her legs around him, binding them closer yet, the pressure of his erection against her lower stomach titilating both.