SONG OF POWER
CHAPTER XXI: FORT ALAFIN
The group ran through the night as Lucifer and the seven Fell Gods were chasing them. Concern for Tyroce weighed heavily on their hearts, yet instead of being slowed by this weight, they were spurred on to greater speeds. Each runner moved with narrow focus, never glancing at the beautifully rolling hills to the left and right, nor observing the crystal clear constellations that hung gently in the sky above. They ran until they could see the arrogant walls of Fort Alafin. Such was the time that Jake’s potions wore off, and it was an exhausted man, woman, ogre, two elves, and two gnomes that finally arrived at the unnecessarily-massive gates that warded the plains away from the Baron’s sanctum.
“Who approaches?” hailed a guard from atop the barbican, flanked by two crossbowmen ready to defend the keep.
“I am Donk the Dashing, and have supped within these walls before! Allow me to introduce my lord of late, Baronet Cipher Lostheart of Cyen, along with his wives and retainers. We seek entrance and aid!” bellowed the lanky ogre, leaving Rowena to wonder silently how the massive bard could find his wind after the cross-country sprint he’d just taken part in. Though Jake’s magical draughts had allowed them to keep up the pace over the miles, the drinkers still felt fatigue.
Relief crossed the guard’s face at Donk’s name, and one of the crossbowmen reflexively lowered his weapon. The other kept it trained on—if Cipher was tracing the man’s sight picture correctly—Tyroce, of all people. Cipher fumed but was still.
“But of course. Milord Lostheart, honored guests. I apologize for our precaution,” the man’s flowery speech grated on Cipher’s nerves. The speaker motioned to his crossbowmen to open the gates. With a loud protest the great gates of Fort Alafin groaned open. A swarm of valets, porters, and lackeys surged around the fatigued group, enough servants to make a fuss of royal proportions. Seeing the incoming nobility on the verge of collapse, a jug of traveler’s wine was quickly moved among them; Donk finished the last half of the jug with a weary grin. Before they knew it Cipher and his companions were ushered inside the keep and seated in comfortable, cushioned seats at a table that was hastily being laid out with all manner of foods. Cipher felt numb to the world as he was introduced to Chancellor so-and-so, and it only vaguely registered that the Baron was indisposed but would dine with his guests that evening. It was only when Tyroce crashed from her chair that the fog lifted—Cipher felt wide awake in spite of his recent exertion.
“She’s dead!” shrieked a scrawny page, blanching.
“You fool, be still! The woman lives yet—barely. Fetch Father Somerled at once!” one of the older boys managed to maintain his bearing and took charge of the rest of the servants. Orders were issued and carried out. Jake, Ninthalsaya, and Rowena huddled around the comatose form of Tyroce, pooling their magic specialties in hopes that they could at least retard the poison, if not remedy it. Cipher remembered the book that Summoner had thrown to him and quickly fished it out from where it was stowed. Though Cipher could not read any of the words within, he quickly found a remarkable illustration of Apepi. His silver eyes widened in hope and fear.
“Jake!” Cipher moved to the gnome’s side, shoving the green book into his tiny hands. “Look, this is the demon—Apepi—that Summoner conjured. This is what wounded Tyroce. But I can’t read this!” Cipher’s voice was full of despair, and his hopelessness seemed to spread like an enervating wave through the room. Jake shook his bespectacled head to clear it.
“Not now, Cipher. Control yourself. Of course you can’t read this; it’s written in Lifa, for Biotan’s sake! Do you read Lifa?” Jake asked, and Cipher shook his head. “It’s a shame, lad. I cannot read this language, either! Quick, lad, the potions!” Cipher produced the potions for Jake, who quickly selected a draught that smelled strongly of lemons. After drinking its all, Jake once more looked at the book.
“Ahhh,” exclaimed the gnome in understanding.
“You said you don’t read Lifa,” said Ninthalsaya smugly.
“I don’t, but the potion I drank allows me to—for a short duration, milady, if you’ll kindly keep from interrupting me. That’s better. Let me read,” the gnome concentrated on what was written, digesting information put forth in words he could only comprehend through magic. Cipher knelt beside his wife, holding her hand, watching as her beautiful face contorted in pain, and…horror? Ninthalsaya and Rowena did what they could to lay Tyroce out comfortably.
Her hair never reveals that side of her face, does it? It must be magic, Cipher thought.
“I just want to know what’s wrong with Tyroce,” Cipher said, his voice calm as death. His other two wives turned saucer-sized eyes toward him as Jake nervously read the entry in the book about the fiend. The gnome could be heard reading the words in a low voice, the beautiful language rendered less so by his hurried, nasal whisper.
“Cipher…” Rowena began, moving to stand beside the black-clad man. His eyes never strayed from Tyroce’s comatose form. Rowena knelt beside Tyroce, looking to Jake for guidance.
“This…this is bad,” Jake finally pronounced, his voice drained of all hope.
“What?” asked Ninthalsaya, her voice strained with concern. Before the gnome could answer, a red-faced, pudgy, hideously ugly old man came running into the room with more speed than one of his generous girth had any right to. He was at Tyroce’s side in an instant, huffing and puffing and reeking of brandy.
“Father Somerled,” one of the servants announced, not taking the time to perform a proper introduction. Cipher merely nodded. Without other options, Jake and Ninthalsaya moved aside to give the portly priest room.
“What are her symptoms?” Somerled managed between breaths. From his accent Cipher could place the priest’s origins in Schade, which struck the youth as odd. Schaders were notoriously insular and not given to travel.
Jake and Rowena told Somerled everything, and Jake translated the entry on Apepi in the strange green textbook for him. Somerled listened intently while casting a suite of divinations on the envenomed vixen. After the battery of magical tests was performed, the old holy man was noticeably fatigued—both from spellcasting and from the information he gleaned.
“This…is bad,” Father Somerled began.
“I have heard that before,” Cipher quipped, his patience having been devoured by concern.
“The Apepi is a unique and deadly demon. Its presence in your battle speaks to this Summoner’s power and command of dark magicks,” Somerled began. He adjusted his girth so he sat cross-legged on the floor, and placed the palm of his hand on Tyroce’s brow. Her entire body was beaded with sweat. Clearing his throat, the Father continued, and one of the servants poured those gathered around Tyroce water.
“Apepi is a demon of the foulest lot. Its venom is as unnatural as its origin. The venom not only damages the body but separates it from the soul, attacking both in kind.
“This is why the spell cast by your witch-wife failed to cure it. It is also why Rowena’s curative prayer went unanswered. They’re the wrong kind of magic.
“Witches draw upon the magic of the land—nature magic. Rowena is a woman of the cloth, a conduit for the divine magic of the gods. Those are two sources of magic that are known in our world. There is a third source of magic, the arcane magic of wizardry. This is the sort of magic Summoner no doubt wields. Also, from what little you all have told me about my patient, she is a sorceress. She is a wielder of that same magical source. I daresay it is her great magical talent that is keeping Apepi‘s venom at bay—had it been someone who lacked the muscle to wield magic, long dead would she be.
“So there are three sources of magic that those with the talent and faith can draw upon. However, some scholars in Everton who theorize that a fourth source of magical power exists. They refer to it as soul magic. This is the magic of powerful or otherworldly creatures—demons, angels, and even dragons if you believe certain theories. They has been a great deal of research on this matter in Everton, yet it bears no fruit,” Somerled’s tone was wistful. Cipher’s hands clenched into fists to maintain his calm.
“What does all this have to do with my dying wife?” Cipher demanded with measured ire. Somerled blanched.
“I have recently returned from Everton, a participant in this research. Instead of returning to my homeland, it was requested of me to come here, to Fort Alafin. I am to follow rumors of a powerful arcanist—the Summoner you did battle with. From the description of the battle I can say with a great measure of confidence that he is not, as was suspected by my colleagues, a wielder of soul magic. But Apepi is, and this is my concern. To cure your wife’s malady, you need a cure crafted from soul magic.”
“But you said that soul magic is merely a theory, and that its existence has not been proven!” Ninthalsaya said, her voice quivering with emotion.
“No, I said that no mortal wielders of soul magic are known to exist. However, I think my recent research can be of aid to you. You see, there are two places you might be able to find a so-called ‘soul-caster’ in the True World that I know about. Mind you, both of these spellcasters would rather not be found, which is why they have not yet been brought to be studied by the Council Magica in Everton.”
“Please, Revered One, tell us w-w-where these magic-u-u-users can be found,” Rowena asked, her large eyes leaking her pleas down her cheeks.
“There is a cult that is widespread in Schade, my homeland. It is known as the Ethereal cult. There is a person who leads the largest sect of the cult whom I believe is a wielder of soul-magic. If you like, I can take you as far as the town he resides in, but I cannot get deeper involved than that,” Cipher nodded to ease the suddenly worried priest.
“And the other?” asked Jake and Jigger in unison. The two gnomes were perched on the edge of one of the luxurious wooden chairs that surrounded the table, their complete attention arrested by the priest’s words of hope. His face fell.
“The other is you, Cipher,” Somerled said this slowly, as if each word were a precious gift. Cipher’s silver eyes widened.
“Me?” he asked.
“It is only a theory. I was shown a vision by the Highwizard himself of a young man with silver eyes who could draw power from the soul. You are the one I saw.”
“I…I’m no magician!” Cipher said furiously. Anger swept the room. Somerled held up his hand.
“Baronet, I said it was only a theory. There is someone who was a part of the research I just did that you might want to see—she’ll have more answers for you,” Somerled was interrupted by a wracking cough issuing from Tyroce.
“What about Tyroce?” asked Cipher mournfully.
“Leave her in Baron Alafin’s care. You are a minor noble. He’ll not let any harm come to another noble’s wife. Not if there’s a chance it can help to improve his power and prestige. With the help of your two wives, I can place enchantments on Tyroce that will slow the progress of Apepi’s venom. Slow it, but not halt it—she will die, Cipher, if you do not succeed in finding an anti-venom conjured by soul magic.”
“How…how long will we have?” Cipher asked, and the fear he felt spread like wildfire to those around him. One of the younger servants ran from the room, dropping a fine clay pitcher of water on the floor. It shattered on impact, but everyone’s attention was tied up in Somerled’s answer.
“One week from sunrise,” replied Father Somerled, “no more time can I grant you.”
“It takes more than a week to get from here to Everton!” rumbled Donk, uncharacteristically losing his cool. An angry ogre is a terror to behold.
“I can assist the party heading to Everton,” came a voice from behind the group. Cipher rounded to see a short, squishy, dark-haired man overdressed in the latest fashion and nearly anchored in place with fine jewelry.
“Baron Alafin?” Cipher asked, rising to his feet. The young baronet stood a head taller than the baron.
“The same. One of my servants came and informed me of the uniquely tragic nature of your situation, giving me reason enough to forsake my prearranged business. No matter. I can assist the party heading to Everton—they shall make it there with an excess of time,” Baron Alafin’s voice was sincere, yet Cipher couldn’t help thinking he had ulterior motives hidden behind his massive moustache.
“Milord Baron, would that we were meeting under better circumstances,” Cipher mustered all the etiquette he could through the stress he was stricken by, bowing to the Baron and trying to make pleasant even as his wife lay dying.
“As would I, my new friend. Come, let us talk. Leave Father Somerled and your healthy wives to do what they can to ease their patient; I will explain to you my plan,” Baron Alafin placed his white-gloved hand on Cipher’s back and steered him towards the door. Cipher looked over his shoulder at his wives, his gnomes, and his ogre. Alafin spoke again, causing Cipher to return his attention to him.
“Yes. Do what you can to ease Tyroce’s suffering; I will see the lot of you at dinner tonight,” with that, the baron and the baronet left the parlor.
“Your generosity is humbling, Baron,” Cipher said absently, trying to ingratiate himself to the noble. Baron Alafin snorted and waved his hand.
“Please, let us speak plainly. You, Lostheart, wisely came to me for aid. You shall have my every resource at your disposal. All I ask is that, when I need it, you shall return the favor in kind. Do we have an accord?” Alafin pulled off his white gloves as he spoke, then turned and extended his bare, manicured hand to Cipher. Cipher’s silver eyes looked upon the hand with some trepidation before finally shaking it.
“Agreed, and with heart. It pleases me to know that I have somewhere to turn in this, my darkest hour,” Cipher professed, his pretty words sincere.
“You are wealthier in love than I, I grant you that, er…” Baron Alafin looked comical as he realized he did not know Cipher’s given name.
“Cipher. Cipher Lostheart, Baronet of Cyen. Son of Zot Lostheart, originally of Demarest,” Cipher said, inclining his head in a slight bow.
“Baron Vasos Alafin, son of no-one worth remembering, founder of Fort Alafin and the future domain here in the Tearfall Plains,” Alafin said with affected gusto.
“Here we are, two new-blood nobles, strutting about like peacocks,” Vasos continued. “Come, let us find somewhere pleasant to sit, and you can tell me more about your court. I should very much like to learn of my new ally,” Vasos suddenly seemed much younger than the thirty years Cipher placed him at. Cipher could feel the fatigue both the run and worry had placed upon him, and nodded his approval.
Combining their spell-power into a ritual casting, Father Somerled, Ninthalsaya, and Rowena were able to slow the spread of Apepi’s venom to an imperceptible speed, yet all three knew that it was still there, burning in the icy woman’s veins. At the very least, Tyroce’s face relaxed somewhat, and her thrashing ceased.
Ninthalsaya and Rowena were still worried, that much was clear. They mumbled something about accommodations for Tyroce. Donk lifted Tyroce gently in his long arms once the ritual casting was done. Servants lead them through a blur of rooms and corridors until they brought Tyroce to a small, comfortable room. Therein Ninthalsaya and Rowena set about stripping from Tyroce her scant clothing, Father Somerled having gone to get her a soft, warm shift to wear while she was bedridden. As each piece of her strange clothing was removed it turned into a thick black liquid and retreated into the ever-glowing ruby at Tyroce’s throat.
“Can w-w-we save her?” asked Rowena, her voice full of doubt. Ninthalsaya put her hand on Rowena’s shoulder.
She did this to protect me. The fey-kissed witch realized how much Cipher, Rowena, and even Tyroce had come to mean to her in such a short time. It was a scary emotion, not one that sat well within her. Still, she knew she had to comfort young Rowena.
“We can,” Ninthalsaya said earnestly. “I’m certain that Cipher is plotting with Baron Alafin right now,” she said with more certainty than she felt.
“He is amazing, isn’t he? W-w-when I was younger and he w-w-was new to Cyen, I used to hope that I could marry him. I didn’t think he w-w-would ever token me. I w-w-were always told I’m unfit to w-w-wed, so I didn’t dare pray for it,” she confided in Ninthalsaya. Ninthalsaya thought about what Tyroce had said to her, how Tyroce was the only one of the three to actively choose Cipher to wed.
“If Cyen’s customs were different, and its women given a voice, I would have chosen you,” Ninthalsaya said softly. She moved kissed the short human on the forehead through her veil. Rowena looked up at the taller half-elf.
“For true?” she asked, too stunned to stutter.
“For true.”
“I w-w-would have liked that,” she whispered.
“Do you think what Father Somerled suggested about Cipher is possible?” Ninthalsaya asked.
“About Cipher having magic? Y-y-yes. Tyroce called us a Covey—w-w-we all have to be magical to be a true Covey. She w-w-wouldn’t lie to us,” Rowena replied.
“I am not so certain,” Ninthalsaya mumbled in response.
“W-w-what?”
“Nevermind. Let us go find our husband and learn his plan.”
“I must inquire what you found with the slavers,” Vasos asked Cipher cordially as they walked through his halls. Cipher thought of the evidence he’d discovered, but remained silent on that topic. I need this man’s help.
“We found some simple supplies, slaves…you are, of course, not interested in those details. I fully intend to seek out Summoner and bring him to justice,” Cipher was angry that the Baron would put his own daughter in danger for political gain, but he remained calm.
“There was…nothing more?”
He knows! Cipher thought, but said, “No, friend, nothing else of importance.”
“Good, then, we can turn our attention to your problems. ‘The dead will keep; the living eventually spoil,’ as the saying goes.”
“What of your ability to get me halfway across the True World in no time at all?” Cipher asked as the two walked through the modest keep. He was glad to change the subject.
“I employ a magic-user of multifaceted talents,” Alafin replied proudly. “He has methods that will be most useful to your cause. I shall introduce the two of you at dinner this evening.”
“Why not right now?” Cipher asked, resolve making firm his weary voice.
“After what you’ve been through? Perish the thought! No, tonight we dine and you regain your strength. You surely have a quest ahead of you. Ah, here we are,” Vasos said as the two walked through a door into a small, intimate room, lit by a small fireplace and resplendent with welcoming couches and chairs. The air was thick with incense and dim from sputtering candles.
“My war-room,” the baron chuckled. The gentlemen sat down, Cipher selecting a green-cushioned chair, Vasos a low sofa engorged with pillows. The short baron doffed his regal cape and doublet, stripping until he lounged bare-chested beside Cipher. A moment later a pair of lovely, full-figured serving girls brought each man a fine crystal goblet full of the darkest red wine Cipher had ever seen.
“Yes, thank you. You see, Cipher, I have a vision. I am gifted with the Sight. You will travel to Everton and find the answer you seek there. Your servants will go with Father Somerled to Schade and find answers there. Then you all will return here, to my dominion, and your most bountiful wife will be saved,” as Vasos spoke, one of the chubby servants moved behind him and began to rub his shoulders, and he nestled the back of his head between her favors. The other stood patiently, her eyes trained on Cipher. He glanced at Vasos, who nodded almost imperceptibly. She took that as an order; she moved behind him and bent over the back of the chair, rubbing the knots out of Cipher’s shoulders. He could tell at once that these two women were courtesans, and very skilled at what they did.
“You see that, do you?” Cipher asked, feeling some of the tension built up within him ease at the woman’s deft touch. The rest of him began to feel uncomfortable, though.
“Yes. Ours shall be a powerful alliance, no doubt. In time both Alafin and Cyen shall be spoken of with equal weight to Emeria and Domberry,” Vasos declared, his eyes closed as he leaned into the massage.
“You truly think so?” Cipher asked.
“Yes, friend Cipher. Have you much thought of how your court will divide up the quests before you?” When Cipher shook his head, the portly baron continued, “If I may: clearly, you must go to Everton. I suggest you bring your two wives, as they are magical folk. Your ogre and gnomes will fare better in Schade.” Alafin finished explaining his simple strategy and became deeply involved with a passionate kiss from his concubine.
“Your counsel is wise. ‘Tis no wonder you command the finest domain in the Tearfall Plains,” Cipher responded. His words were equal parts flattery and praise.
“Of course,” Vasos said with bravado. “Father Somerled may be a stuffy old twit, but he is a man of his word. If he says this cult in Schade can help you in some way, then it can. And you are a clever and capable man; whatever you need from Everton, you surely shall find it. I am so certain that you will find the answers you need that I will think on it no more until dinner.
“Tell me,” Vasos asked between smooches, “about your wives.”
“What would you like to know,” Cipher asked in return, thankful for the change in conversation. He knew very little about Schade or Everton, and was glad to be asked about a topic he was better qualified to disucss. The woman attending to Cipher continued to rub his shoulders, but did not move to engage him as the other engaged Vasos.
“Yes, my wives. A, um, sign of my prestige. The youngest is Rowena, with the auburn hair. She is a priestess of Lilicule, modest, and—”
“Lovely,” Vasos interrupted. “And petite. Oh, her peaches are so perky!” The chubby masseuse harrumphed in mock-offense, to which he replied with a firm squeeze of her sloppy breast.
"Yes, er—they are at that,” Cipher could see that Vasos was particularly interested in the physical qualities of his wives, so he decided not to go into great detail about their other qualities. “Ninthalsaya, the one of purple tresses and ample bosom, is half-sidhe, and—” Cipher thought carefully about how to describe the hot-tempered witch. He noticed that Vasos was only half paying attention, so engrossed had he become with his mistress. “—and her beauty is her true magic.”
“And the third?” the baron asked when he was able to pull his face away from his concubine’s. “Your ill wife, the one with the massive tits? They certainly did not escape my keen eye,” he finished crudely. Cipher was becoming uncomfortable with the promiscuous display before him, but did not want to say anything to put the baron ill at ease in his own keep. I need this man’s help, Cipher reminded himself. For Tyroce.
“Tyroce is something of a mystery to me. She is Unseelie, a dark elf. Tyroce is so unlike the other two—unabashed, dominant, powerful.”
“I reckon she’s a right fiend in bed! How is it you’ve come to wed three varied women? And two of them aren’t even human! Oh, you’ll have to teach me that trick,” Vasos was truly interested in hearing Cipher’s response, demonstrated by how he leaned forward and ignored the attentions of his whore for a moment. Cipher’s response was lost when the woman who had been rubbing his back suddenly craned her neck around to kiss him. The baron and his consort laughed at the woman’s timing.
Ninthalsaya and Rowena had paused outside the closed door to Baron Alafin’s “war-room.” Ninthalsaya placed her long, pointed ear against the keyhole and listened to their conversation. Hearing the strange sounds from the Baron she cast a simple spell that allowed her to see beyond the door, giving her a rough view of the room beyond. What she saw made her blood boil. Concentrating intently, she brought Cipher into focus and, seeing the discomfort on his face, relaxed slightly. Then it dawned on her that, to secure the Baron’s full cooperation, Cipher would likely do whatever was necessary. She searched within her and came to the same conclusion, that she would do whatever was necessary to protect Cipher, Rowena, and even Tyroce. With another simple spell she was able to detect the crude thoughts that were present in the minds of Alafin and the courtesans. They’re thinking it so loud one would wonder that there wasn’t a minstrel within singing a ballad about orgies!
“Oh no, not on my watch,” Ninthalsaya growled.
“W-w-what is it?” Rowena asked in a worried whisper.
“Cipher needs rescuing. Just follow my lead,” Ninthalsaya said, straightening up and removing her veil.
The door to the war-room opened, revealing Ninthalsaya and Rowena. The courtesan kissing Cipher did not stop, but he pulled away when he saw his two wives standing in the threshold. His cheeks couldn’t decide if they should flush or blanch as Ninthalsaya crossed the room in a few easy, purposeful strides, Rowena trailing slightly behind her.
“You are doing it wrong,” Ninthalsaya said to the concubine with the hint of a threat in her honeyed voice. Then she grabbed Cipher’s face in her hands and kissed him deeply, her fingers in his long hair, forcing her tongue into his mouth in a display of passion. When she pulled away Rowena did the same, although with less assertiveness than the Seelie had mustered. Cipher was dumbstruck.
“May we borrow him?” Ninthalsaya asked of Alafin, her eyes smoldering with desire. Her exposed face, the face of an Uwodu U’nu-La, struck Alafin and his courtesans, freezing them mid-motion even as it made their blood burn with desire.
“Ah-ah-ah, you devil!,” Vasos managed to chuckle after staring hard at Ninthalsaya for a moment. “Away then, and we shall meet again at dusk for supper, yes?” Cipher began to answer but Ninthalsaya kissed him again. Rowena tugged Cipher to his feet and led him to the door.
“Yes, supper. Our room?” she asked him, speaking carefully. The baron simply gestured to the mistress who had been rubbing Cipher. The thick courtesan, the prettier of the two whores Alafin kept on-hand, motioned for them to follow her.
Ninthalsaya and Rowena kept up appearances by carrying on with Cipher the whole way to their chamber, which was clear on the opposite end of the keep. Fort Alafin was a motte-and-bailey, the keep of which was a long, mostly rectangular affair. Once they were inside the room Ninthalsaya shooed the whore back into the hallway before slamming and barring the door. A bewildered and aroused Cipher sat on the bed.
“Phew! Why, if I ever see that woman so much as look at you with lust in her eyes again, I will hollow out her saggy bosoms and make saddlebags for Tyroce’s donkey!” Ninthalasaya growled. She locked the door and left the key in the lock, then tossed her hat into a nearby chair. I am not ready to feel like this yet. Not here.
Cipher’s eyes were trained on Ninthalsaya’s back. She stood leaning against the door, her head on her forearm. He admired the curve of her back, the roundness of her buttocks, the way her corset strained as her breath went in and out. He was shocked at what just happened, but he, too, was feeling wondrous sensations in his body.
“No,” was all Ninthalsaya said. “I know what Baron Alafin had in mind, and I was not going to let that happen. You won’t have some…some…whore. Not when you have three willing wives…” Ninthalsaya growled without turning to look at Cipher.
Rowena stiffened beside him, Ninthalsaya’s words were so unexpected. Her head was swimming from the exertion of the night before, the concern she had for Tyroce, and the sudden desire she felt screaming within her. It was all too much—Rowena feared she would burst into tears if she didn’t find some sort of release. She wanted Cipher and Ninthalsaya. She grasped at the prayers of purity and chastity that she had been taught in service of Lilicule, but her desire was too powerful. There is no sin in loving my spouses. Lilith has no place in our wedded bed, Rowena thought, knowing it to be true.
“No,” Ninthalsaya repeated, placing her soft hand over Rowena shoulder. “Not tonight. Not here. Not while Tyroce lies dying.”
“B-b-but I need this…” Rowena couldn’t finish her sentence. Her heart fluttered, her mind’s eye conjuring naughty images she could not have considered even just a few days before…before the Covey had truly become one. It was the effect of Ninthalsaya’s beauty. Seeing Rowena’s desire, Ninthalsaya kissed her as she had kissed Cipher—the kiss of the Uwodu U’nu-La quenched Rowena’s thirst.
“We must focus on the immediate,” Ninthalsaya commanded. “Tonight at supper Baron Alafin has promised to introduce us to his court magician, who he claims can help us get from here to Everton with enough time to save Tyroce. How, I know not”
“The baron's blood burns hot,” Cipher replied. “I hope we can secure his aid at supper, rather than he try to fix us each up with a concubine! Our focus must be on Tyroce, and nothing else. We need to gather what information we can from Alafin, his magician, and Father Somerled. Until Tyroce is healed everything else must wait.”
“I like your voice,” Rowena said simply, leaning against her handsome husband. She felt drained after all that had occurred, and now wanted nothing more than to lay her head on Cipher’s chest and sleep. If I cannot lay with him, I can lie beside him.
“We have a few hours before supper with Vasos. Let’s rest,” Cipher suggested, and the two women curled up with him in the bed. They slept fitfully for an hour or so before finally quitting the bed freshening up for the meal.
The supper that was set for the group was extensive, with several platters of venison prepared in an equal variety of methods. Breads, cheeses, fish, sweetmeats, and fruits and vegetables completed the ensemble. More of the strange, darkest red wine was provided. Alafin was again richly dressed, but gone was his heavy royal cloak. Father Somerled was there, as well as a hooded figure who was not immediately introduced to those at the table. Donk, Jigger, and Jake sat at the far end of the long table.
The meal began with pleasantries, nothing of substance being discussed until after a large portion of food was consumed, as was customary among nobility. Baron Alafin prodded Cipher for some juicy details about the sexual escapade he assumed had taken place between him and his two wives, but Cipher did little more than wink and chuckle, substituting innuendo for details. The Baron, however, was a braggart, and the group endured his overblown tale of sexual conquest, which he dedicated (in poor taste) to the health of Cipher’s fallen bride, “that she might come back with renewed vigor and make up for lost nights.”
At long last, when all had eaten their fill (and beyond, in Cipher’s case; he forced himself to eat more in a failed attempt to speed Vasos along) and the servants were clearing the table, Vasos brought the conversation smoothly to more serious topics.
“Cipher, my brother, allow me to revisit your concerns from this afternoon. I trust that your lovely wives have not pushed your troubles completely from your mind? No? Excellent. You have two distinct destinations in which to search for this alleged soul magic, which lie in opposite cardinal directions. While even old nags would suffice to carry a party into Schade to search for the cultist, it would take greatest haste to deliver you to Everton in a timely manner. Allow me to introduce, then, Grivel the Magi, Order of Mabrook, Court Wizard of Fort Alafin,” at the baron’s introduction the robed figure stood and cast back his hood. He wore a smooth white mask that covered his face from brow to chin, framed by long, dark hair. He gave Cipher a slight bow before resuming his seat.
“Baronet Lostheart, allow me to speak,” Grivel’s voice was an echo behind his mask. “I am trained in several magical arts, but chief among them is chronomancy. Through me you will be able to reach Everton with enough time to find that which you seek,” as he spoke, Grivel removed his mask and set it aside. His face was gaunt, his eyes dark; though not ugly, Cipher thought him more handsome with his visage concealed.
“You are a chronomancer? Is that not a wicked specialty?” Cipher asked, his knowledge of the seven magical elements coming to mind. Grivel waved away the comment.
“People only label time-magic wicked because they don’t understand it. People fear what they don’t understand. Chronomancy holds no terror for me,” he remarked.
“No, people fear chronomancy because of its potential to wreak havoc,” Ninthalsaya said, though with less of a growl in her voice than she felt in her heart—she was supposed to be on her best behavior. Grivel’s eyes stared daggers at the witch.
“True enough, but I practice the art in the capacity of a historian, no more.”
“Then how can you help us?” she asked quickly.
“I will transport the three of you to Everton at first light,” he replied in the tone one would use when explaining common knowledge to an idiot. “Through chronomancy we shall come to Everton in an instant, as if it were as simple as crossing this room. Ninthalsaya seethed quietly in her chair.
“Grivel, how will we return?” Cipher asked the mage.
“I can…retrieve you,” Grivel said with a wink.
“Then I thank you,” Cipher replied.
“So is that the decision, then? You three to Everton, and we three to Schade?” Donk asked in a worried tone.
“They four, and we four,” corrected Father Somerled pompously, “I am Schader and will help you find the cultist.”
“Then it is done. Excellent,” Baron Alafin said, clapping his hands together. The last of the food was cleared from the table, goblets refilled, and several of Alafin’s women entered and began to dance, their too-small garments revealing the flesh of their too-large bodies. Rowena suddenly felt a little self-conscious, she being the most slender and small-breasted woman in the room. She focused on her goblet and tried to ignore the gyrations of the seductive, chubby concubines.
With a sigh Ninthalsaya made a show of placing her hand on Cipher’s thigh, under the table. Cipher allowed a goofy grin to cross his face.
Alafin lusts after us, Ninthalsaya thought. She could tell by his eyes that Cipher was having a similar thought. He looked over at her, catching her wink.
“What time do you wish to depart, Baronet?” Grivel asked respectfully. Cipher’s silver eyes locked on the chronomancer.
“We leave with the dawn,” Cipher said. “Vasos, my friend, can you provide my gnomes with mounts?” Cipher asked, turning his attention to the short baron.
“Milord, I shall carry them. I’m as fast as a horse and twice as strong,” Donk interrupted, “and have many horse-like qualities besides,” this last he directed at a female servant who was refilling his tankard, setting her heart aflutter. It was the sort of comment Donk knew that his host would want to hear, such was the baron’s disposition. The herald was enjoying himself.
“I shall require a horse,” interjected a perturbed Father Somerled, whom the concubines pointedly ignored.
“And you shall have the fastest steed in my stables!” pronounced the baron with gusto. The chubby old cleric visibly relaxed at that. The baron nodded absently; his immediate attention was arrested by the various dancing girls in the room. When his lecherous gaze fell to Ninthalsaya she grew visibly uncomfortable. Leaning herself against Cipher, she squeezed him seductively.
“Husband, I feel the need to retire,” she said huskily, shooting Rowena a telling glance. Picking up on her wife’s intent, Rowena, too, leaned close to Cipher. The emotions she’d thought dispelled by their fitful nap flooded back into her young body with a vengeance.
“My friend, they are insatiable! If you ever need help…” Alafin let the silence finish his thought. Cipher laughed heartily.
“I have a long night ahead of me. I must bid you goodnight, Vasos, and you too, master Chronomancer. Donk,” Cipher addressed his herald imperiously, and the ogre rose and stood at attention as his liege addressed him. Seeing Donk with an almost military bearing stood in stark contrast with his grab-bag of clothing, yet the ogre did not look the fool for it. Somehow the ogre appeared to be the most noble person in the fest-hall.
“Yes, Baronet?”
“You and the gnomes may indulge in all the luxuries the Baron has to offer, so long as you are ready to depart at dawn,” Cipher said, and the ogre grinned.
“Yes, Baronet!” Donk replied, a smile on his face. Jigger and Jake were engaged in a staring contest, but the younger gnome motioned to signal his understanding. Cipher rose and led his wives back to their chamber.
“Ooh, that base oaf! He’s disgusting,” Ninthalsaya fussed when they were once again behind closed doors. Rowena exchanged her gown for a long nightshirt. She was trying to calm her eager young body, wondering how it could want something so much when her mind was so full of conflicting emotions and concerns.
“He seems to only understand one thing, which warns me to mistrust,” Cipher complained as he sat down to doff his boots and traveling clothes.
“I worry for Tyroce, what with his lust,” Ninthalsaya said with honest concern.
“I d-d-doubt Alafin w-w-would do anything untoward,” Rowena said with more confidence than she felt. “He w-w-will let no harm become Tyroce.”
“I…I put a spell on her,” Ninthalsaya announced nervously as she stripped out of her day-clothes. Cipher and Rowena both turned to look at her. Feeling their full attention she flushed slightly.
“You put a spell on her?” Cipher asked simply, folding his clothes and placing them in a neat pile on the floor at the foot of the bed. Rowena did likewise as Ninthalsaya, too, changed into a long nightshirt.
“Yes, I placed a hex on her. I saw how that lech fixated on we three wives, and on Tyroce’s bosom most particularly of all! I was, um, concerned. So I placed a spell on her,” Ninthalsaya said, moving to the window. The shutters were stuck, but the half-sidhe continued to work at them.
“W-w-what does it do, sweets?” Rowena was infinitely curious. She sat beside Cipher, his nearness thrilling her.
“If anyone but we touches her, um…her bounty, he will be stricken with a great weakness,” the witch responded triumphantly, both because of her magic and because she was able to un-stick the shutters.
“Weakness?” Cipher queried before Rowena could stutter out the same.
“Yes. Let me put this delicately…um, it is not a curse any man could reconcile. He would fill with emotion but, ah, never burst,” Ninthalsaya said coyly, sending Cipher into fits of laughter. Rowena joined in the mirth after a moment’s consideration allowed her to understand the joke; after the events of the last two days, its emotional ups and downs, it felt good to laugh.
“My wife’s breasts are cursed!” was all Cipher could manage to say as he laughed, causing all three to laugh harder. The laughter did the three of them good, helping to ease the worry they all felt in their heart of hearts for Tyroce. Cipher and Rowena curled up together and were soon asleep. Ninthalsaya disentangled herself from her spouses and rose, restless as she felt.
Ninthalsaya opened the windows and stood in the light of the full moon. The Uwodu U’nu-La became a being of pure beauty it the moonlight. Her eyes shimmered with arousal and her skin glowed with desire. As if Nyxa Herself had cast a spell on the half-sidhe.
A morning cloaked in a tender drizzle greeted the two parties. The first rays of sunlight cast by Phrenon’s Lamp shone golden in the precipitation, and the periphery of the horizon was adorned with rainbows. Had the task at hand been any different, one would have declared the morning a thing of beauty and invited poets to capture it on parchment. This morning’s beauty was marred, however, by the comatose form of Baronetessa Tyroce Lostheart, who lay dying in Baron Alafin’s keep.
Cipher made a show of inspecting his court, more to calm his nerves than to simply put on a good face for his new ally. Donk had taken two large wicker baskets and fashioned a double-barreled knapsack from them; one each Jigger and Jake rode in the baskets. Father Somerled was mounted on an impressive thoroughbred, the type that Cipher had seen win ribbons in races. That Alafin would part with such a prize was a mark of his devotion to this new alliance and a palpable display of his ambition. Cipher suppressed a smirk as he thought of the steed’s misfortune at having the obese clergyman ride it, thinking the animal might fare better carrying the ogre.
Noticing Cipher’s stare, Father Somerled cleared his throat. “It is but a short ride to my homeland, and your men—your court will be well looked after in my care.”
“No doubt, Father. I am glad that they will have your guidance. Make all haste, and return with the knowledge to save the Baronetessa. I need not remind you how very important your quest is,” Cipher said this last to Donk, receiving a bow from Donk and a nod from Somerled in return. Then the ogre and the horse turned and were off to the east, towards the rising sun and the grim dominion known as Schade.
Cipher went to Baron Alafin. “Vasos, my friend, you are the only man I can trust to guard my most coveted treasure.” Vasos embraced Cipher as would brothers.
“If titans razed the peaks of Jagd and rampaged across the Tearfall Plains, I would stand immobile between your wife and the apocalypse. Cipher, my friend and brother, know that if anywhere in the True World be safe, it is Fort Alafin.”
“Thank you,” Cipher expressed his gratitude with a bow. “When my wife is well and I am returned to the borders of my holding, we shall have such a feast as never before seen in the True World.” Vasos kissed Cipher on the cheek then held the young man at arm’s length, staring into his silver eyes.
“The feast I shall throw in the Baronetessa’s honor upon her healing shall be the talk of both our regencies for generations to come,” he boasted. Cipher nodded, then moved to stand beside his remaining wives and the time-mage.
“Milord Baronet,” Grivel the Magi, Order of Mabrook, addressed Cipher. The young noble turned to face the chronomancer. Leaning his staff against his shoulder, Grivel reached out his hands to the others to join hands, forming an unbroken circle. With a word of magic, they were gone.