Be Careful What You Wish For (Nalifan)

[Imperial Overlord]

Nalifan turned away from the window and back to Miranna. Outside, white flakes of snow drifted on the wind. It wasn't sticking now, but it was still early in the season. Winter had, without a doubt, arrived.

"Tell me about the Triad," he said. "In Saltuth."

"Are you sure?" she asked. She sat on the other side of the scarred wooden table. Nalifan's rooms were warmer than most of the rest of the castle, but she wore a heavy wool cloak and a fleece lined over tunic to guard against the cold weather. The drow had been here for about a week. To already possess such a mastery of the language was . . . inhuman.

"If I have trouble following you, I'll let you know," said the arch-necromancer. "Please begin."

"The Triad are the three gods of the Vanyard and the rest of the south. They are the Father, the Mother, and the Son. Together they embody all the positive and benevolent aspects of the world. The Father is the craftsman, the wise ruler, and the scholar. The Mother is the healer, the grower of crops, the nurturer of life. The Son is the labourer and the warrior, the one who uses the strength of his body and the fire in his heart."

"I see," said Nalifan. "Now how does this translate into everyday life?" She stared out him. "How does the priesthood behave? How much power does it have?"

"Ah," she replied. "Well, it really doesn't seem to have much affect on the ordinary folk. They seem mostly the same north and south, but the priests of the Triad have a great deal of power. The pious follow their declarations closely, including their condemnation of secular magic."

"Yes," said Nalifan. "We've been there. Continue."

"They have influence because they command the faithful, but the upper priesthood is, well, well known to be corrupt. It breeds cynicism. No priest of the Triad has performed great miracles in living memory."

"Understandable," said Nalifan. "The servants of gods are themselves imperfect. Deities must by necessity, be used to such imperfections, not that they themselves are perfect. Any hierarchy attracts those who are interested in power and if they hierarchy doesn't have a driving goal to focus their energies, corruption will set in. Since their primary duty is to protect the hierarchy and maintain a high level of worshipers, simply expanding the power of the hierarchy and preventing rival cults from gaining any ground serves the gods quite well."

"You're amazingly cynical about gods."

"I grew up in a theocratic matriarchy. These Triad priests are nothing, nothing compared to the priests of Lolth. The Triad priests have to use whatever powers they can wield to heal the sick and open their collection boxes to feed the poor in between buying new silk robes and eating sumptuous feasts. Pikers."

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Elvarra opened her eyes and groaned. Her head felt like it had been split open by an ogre's axe. She was aware that she was lying in her own bed. Her throat was as dry as the Anauroch. "Here," said Trizkel as he handed her a glass of water. She drank greedily.

"You've been out for three days," he said. "We were beginning to get concerned."

"No priest?" she asked.

"Priest of Mystra from Featherdale. He said it would be best to let you recuperate naturally. So did this." He tapped his skull. "What happened?"

"The god decided to share what he saw at the time Nalifan vanished. His mind can handle following a score of different events simultaneously while dealing with the entreaties of his priests." Trizkel's fleshy eye winced. "Yeah. Overload. The bastard."

"Did you get what we needed?"

"No," she cursed. "He knew that too. The trail brushed by the upper planes and his vision dies."

"I thought the magic was arcane."

"It was," said Elvarra. "That doesn't mean it can't reach the upper planes or the lower and it doesn't mean it can't originate in the upper planes."

"The way Nal has spells that draw upon the Abyss."

"Yes," she said. "And the faerie are good at such magics."

"So," he said. "Dead end."

"Dead end."

[Imperial Overlord]

Nalifan stepped into the salle d'armes and every head turned toward him. Sitting on chairs by the wall there were several perfectly respectable young women working on embroidery. Other women wearing leather tunics and breeches reinforced with leather pads stood around the central fighting square. Inside the square was a woman in her late thirties that was six feet tall and solidly built. She wore her dark hair in a braid. She was facing off against a man on the far side of forty with grey-white hair. He had a couple of inches on her and his bare arms were corded with ropey muscle. His beard hid most of his facial scars, but his arms showed an impressive collection. The woman had a slim bladed sword in her hand with about thirty inches of blade. The man had a buckler and battle axe. All noise ceased.

"Yes?" Darmira asked coldly. The princess wore dark brown leathers with shiny patches where they rubbed against the heavier armour she wore over them. Her dark hair was pulled back in a braid like her teacher's.

"Princess," said Nalifan. "I was hoping to speak with you."

"I was told you did not speak Saltuth. You're accent is barbarous."

"That was then," said Nalifan. "I would apologize for the accent, but the only thing more atrocious than most humans' attempts to speak elvish are orcs attempting to speak Drowic."

"You learned our language in a week?" she said skeptically.

"About that, yes," said Nalifan. "A number of your colourful idioms still elude me so it will be a while before I have actually mastered your tongue." He walked through the circle of women and stopped in front of the middle-aged woman. He extended his hand. "May I?"

The woman's eyes darted to the princess. Darmira glowered, but nodded. Nalifan took the sword. "Nice. A little long for me, but a good choice for a human fighting from horseback or any disbursed infantry arrangement where there is room to swing. Northern design right?"

"Yes," said the trainer.

"Of course it is. The blade's too light for the Southern 'bash them with a rock' fighting style." He made a few passes with the blade. "You are, however, doing it wrong."

He leveled the blade at Darmira's face. "All the pretty ladies and not a scar on their pretty faces. No cages or battle masks on their heads. They're being taught to fight half way, but no one wants to mess up an aristocrat's face and that can happen with a training blade. In a real fight ladies, your enemy will not be so courteous."

The princess and several ladies glowered at Nalifan. The drow laughed. "Look at them," he said pointing at the trainers. He tossed the woman her sword. She managed to catch it by the hilt. "Look at their faces. Look at their scars. This is not news to them. Shall I tell you why, your highness?"

There was silence for a moment. "Because this is all a game. They know that if any their charges, and most especially the princess that has been put in their care, ends up disfigured they will answer for it. And who will they answer to? Not you, but to your fathers. The king and the nobles who sent their daughters to court and they are just commoners trying to make an honest living. Why should they risk that? It's not like you're paying them. They're the king's and if the king wishes to indulge his tomboy daughter, well that's the king's prerogative. After all, it isn't like you'll ever be expected to fight."

"Enough," said Darmira.

"Not even close to enough princess. Do you wish to hear the truth or do you truly wish only to acquire the trappings of strength?"

"Women know truth is hard. Men are the one who have to armour their egos with claims of honour and self-serving lies."

"And here we get to the sore point," said Nalifan. "Your entire culture is male dominated, from politics to war to the lowest household, but it is also one that has extensive female participation, although mostly in a support role. You help with the farm work, tend the sick and wounded, run a business, educate children, and so on; but you're not equal are you? The Father is the head of the family and its the men from the cults of the Father who run the priesthood. The cults of the Mother have some voice in leadership and a few positions of authority, but in the end it is men who run everything. Religion, politics, war, merchant houses, and so on. And your role is to be marriage bait because if your brother dies or becomes intolerable, the man who marries you will be one of the leading contenders to sit on that throne.

"And that's all you're valued for. Your father loves you, but he doesn't take you seriously. Your ladies copy you, but that's what the ladies in waiting for a princess do." A blond woman's eyes flashed and she took a step closer to the princess. The rest of the women followed suit. "That is the way things are and that is the way things will be. Unless steps are taken to change them."

"And what would you suggest sorcerer?"

"That I tell you a secret," he said with a smile. She scowled. "If you really intend to wield power, you need to start with secrets. What I have to say is for your ears only."

"Give us room," she commanded and walked over to Nalifan. Her ladies and trainers retreated behind her. Nalifan guided her over to the other end of the room.

"Face the wall, not the window or me," he said.

"Why?"

"In case one of them can read lips."

"Do you trust no one?"

"No," he said, "but you have too little power to punish and too many can offer rewards."

"Very well. What is this secret?"

"Victory, in battle, over a hated and deadly enemy that has so far proven invincible."

Her mouth fell open and her jaw worked soundlessly. "I thought you had promised my father victories. Now I am to deliver?"

"I never said I would be alone, I merely said I would prove my worth before the winter was out. The more support I have, the bigger victory I can, we can, manage. Share in it and this will be not a game of a spoiled child."

"My father will never allow it."

"Not if he learns of it in time to stop it. If he does not, then you will return as a living symbol of victory over the Khaduli and a power in your own right."

"And if we fail?"

"We die, possibly horribly. Which is what will happen anyway unless I can defeat the Khaduli. If you would be the warrior rather than play at being one, you need a warrior's boldness."

"I have no soldiers."

"You don't, but your father and your suitors do. Its all about stringing them on until its too late to turn back."

"There's no honour in that."

"There's less honour in being raped to death," he said bluntly.

"I will-" a shadow passed over them. She turned to the window. "What in the name of the Mother-" she began. Nalifan grabbed her around the waist and sprang back across the room in a single, impossible leap. Glass and fragments of jagged iron exploded inward. Woman screamed in panic.

Icy wind washed in, accompanied by a sulfurous stench, and a vision distorting haze. Massive hands, sheathed in scales and ending in raptor-like talons, tore away stone and a nighmare godling pulled itself through the gap where the windows had once been. There was something about it that caused the mortal eye to look away. Panicked glimpses revealed a massive body cloaked by great wings. Armour scales glowed disquieting colours and fallen stars blazed in the sockets of its over sized head. Huge ram horns curled around its behemoth skull and a mouth filled with sword-like tusks opened to roar its hatred and fury at the world. Stone cracked.

A massive hoof strode upon the floor and the room shook. The demon uttered words in an language that sounded like screams of anguish. One of the court ladies fell convulsing, blood coming from her ears and eyes. Violet flames exploded around Nalifan, enveloping him and the princess. The chaos flames turned stones to powder and cast shadows that caused cloth to ignite and flesh to freeze. The unnatural fire died down, revealing a swirling cloud of dust where a thirty foot section of the floor and wall had once been. Of the arch-mage, there was no sign.

[White Haven]

Oh...shit...

Well that was highly unexpected. Also *shakes a fist at cliffhangers*

[D.Turtle]

Damn.

Nalifan just can't get a break, can he?

[Rahvin]

I second the cliffhanger-frustration! I hope IO comes out with the next installment soon!

[consequences]

Hmm, quickened dimension door maybe? Expensive in that it uses an eight level spell slot(Presuming Nal hasn't put a feat or two into improved metamagic), but it does provide a near-instant escape clause(and also allows for more than one person to get clear or position themselves for a surprise attack). Or maybe something else of similar nature.

I have too much confidence in Nal to believe that he would go out that quickly. And there's probably be some charred princess remnants if he had decided to let her die and give the king reason to kill him for some reason.

[Imperial Overlord]

And there's probably be some charred princess remnants if he had decided to let her die and give the king reason to kill him for some reason.

The fire turns stone to dust. The shadows cast by the flames freeze flesh and ignite cloth. If the princess was caught in the blast, you would have difficulty extracting the dust that used to be her from the dust that used to be the walls around her.

[consequences]

Eh, I'll just have to trust in Nal's desire to keep his balls then.

[Imperial Overlord]

Two rats touched whiskers and chittered at each other on the dusty stones of a cellar floor. A loud whump sent a rush of air blasting over them. The rats scattered away as a haze of drifted through the air in the southern half of the cellar. Nalifan D'Azurentien released Darmira. "Keep yourself out of trouble until I'm finished."

"Where are we?"

"Palace cellars."

"My ladies?" she said urgently.

"The demon knows my wards are too strong for that blast to have obliterated me. It will probably ignore them and hunt for me. If they're lucky."

"And if they aren't?" she cried.

Nalifan spoke the initiators of another spell and vanished.

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Belaphariz roared as he surveyed the damage. The human's body should have been blasted to dust, but the arch-mage was too well shielded for there not to be remains of some kind to be left behind. The absence of any sign of a body at all meant that he had escaped and would counter attack shortly.

The rest of the herd mewed along the far wall, crying in weak, shrill voices. The tanar'ri extended his claws toward the loudest of them and jerked glittering strings of light from her body. The meat collapsed as her soul was ripped from her body and consumed by the demon. The shrill whining from the rest grew louder, but the demon did not bother with them.

The arch-mage would be returning soon and would try and take him by surprise, hitting him with his strongest spells. Belaphariz closed his wings around him and vanished in a blinding flare of white light.

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Nalifan appeared in front of the gap the demon had ripped in the palace wall, his feet firmly resting upon the air forty feet above an open courtyard. A shell of silvery light surrounded the arch-necromancer, protecting him from hostile sorcery. The demon was nowhere to be seen.

Nalifan didn't waste breath swearing. The syllables of a scrying spell hissed through his lips as turned to search the area around him. There were not that many places to hide a demon of that size.

Belaphariz heard the displacement of air that marked the drow's return and leapt up from his perch on the far side of the palace roof. His prey would be guided to his position soon enough, either by his own magic or warnings by others, but if Belaphariz acted swiftly surprise would still be his. The demon cleared the line of sight dead zone imposed by the roof and looked down upon the drow. He began a spell.

Nalifan's head whipped around, the initiators to a spell of horrific power tumbling his mouth and tearing power from the planes themselves. Blood-red runes materialized around the mighty demon as Belaphariz finished the last flesh-rending syllable of is spell. A blast of violet fire smashed into Nalifan like the fist of an angry god.

Belaphariz stooped like a diving hawk through the wisps of darkness trailed away from the unholy blast. The silvery shell around the drow was gone and the Nalifan was reeling slowly through the air. The demon hit the elf and smashed them both to the flagstones below.

The impact slightly injured the mighty demon, but he paid it no mind. He straddled Nalifan's body and raised the massive mauls that were his fists. He brought them down on wards that stronger than spell strengthened steel plate. Wards buckled. The fists were raised and hammered down again. Flesh bruised, bone cracked. Light and awareness flared in Nalifan's eyes.

His right hand clenched into a claw and from his mouth came a single, multisyllable word. A shimmering distortion appeared on the tips of his clawed fingers and flew into Belaphariz's face and then another appeared and another and another. They struck with the force of a giant's sling stone and their detonations were powerful enough to shatter every window on this wing of the palace despite almost all their energy washing into the demon.

The multiple blasts shattered the demon's tusks and broke his jaw in a dozen places. Only his massive neck and shoulder muscles had prevented his neck from being broken, but they had not saved the demon from being knocked back and lolling on the ground like a punch drunk boxer. Nalifan rose to his feet on wings of magic, his face locked into a grimace of pain. The drow opened his mouth to utter a spell and a spasm of coughing racked his body. Bloody spittle hit the flags.

Belaphariz shook his head and felt a thousand knives of pain jab into the front of his skull. The demon growled deep in his throat and drew himself upright. His glow had dimmed and one eye socket was dark, a mass of ruined flesh and bone but light and endless malice still burned in the other. He could still see the drow and he was close.

Nalifan rose up and hissed a spell through bloody teeth. An invisible blast shattered flagstones and broke the immortal's bones, almost knocking the demon to the ground. Belaphariz staggered, but did not fall, but the unholy luster of his scales had faded and he no longer glowered. He came on, his wings unfurling as he leapt clumsily into the air.

Nalifan spoke another spell, drawing power and purpose from the Nine Hells of Baator. An barbed and bladed multibladed axe-shape of azure force appeared in his right hand. Belaphariz's groaned in rage and dismay when he saw the Axe of Torments take shape in the drow's hand. Nalifan flicked his wrist and released the spell. The Axe tumbled through the air and took the tanar'ri in the chest where it detonated in a flash of blue-white light.

Scintillating scales and bloody meat rained down on the broken flagstones below. Belaphariz's head bounced, breaking stone, and his limbs fell like toppled obelisks. After a few seconds his blood and flesh began to emit oily black smoke and then ignited in gold and eldritch green flames. The arch-necromancer descended and leaned up against a wall, clutching his ribs.

It was well over a minute before guards cautiously approached the scene. "You," Nalifan snapped, "get some servants and collect this mess. All of it." He shifted his gaze to another guard. "Get the best healer you can. Go."

No one even considered disobeying him.

[Alan Bolte]

Good fight.

[Rahvin]

Understatement. That was fucking awesome.

[consequences]

Darn, that had to have been one heck of a demon.

Of course, depending on the time limit of the summoning and the availability of suitably unoccupied mages of sufficient power, the bastard-coated bastards may be able to throw more than one at him next time.

[Eleas]

Epic. Loved that scene.

[D.Turtle]

No one even considered disobeying him.

They must haver never read Order of the Stick.

Great fight.

[LadyTevar]

No, they just saw an elf win against a devil. They're going to be siding with the elf now.

[Vehrec]

... The Axe of Torments? Have you been scribing spells from the Nameless One's collection?

[Imperial Overlord]

... The Axe of Torments? Have you been scribing spells from the Nameless One's collection?

When you *know* yourself, you shall *know* the answer.

[White Haven]

WOO! Planescape references always make me happy in the pants. Also: smartest palace guards I've seen in recent fiction, knowing who not to fuck with.

[Crom]

Great! Who can ever get bored of demon fighting and political intrigue?

[Imperial Overlord]

Sir Ralsen swept passed the thin cordon of guards, his charge Queen Alyssia hot on his heels. Nalifan was sitting on bench next to the palace wall, being attended by Dedicant Fargen. The middle aged priest was a big man with short, thick grey hair, piercing eyes, and a pot belly. A heavy beard hid a weak chin and he wore a plain brown wool robe. The priest was scowling at his charge.

Nalifan didn't appear to be injured, but he did not rise as the queen approached. "The fun's over," the drow quipped as the royal approached. His breath steamed in the cold air. Stray flakes of snow were beginning to fall from the sky and glittered in the drow's hair. Blood flecked his lips. Her gaze slid over the priest.

"How is he?"

"A few bruises now, but his injuries were serious," Fargen with a scowl. He was not a popular man, but he was one of the best living healers which was why a man who was too blunt and too common to have a place in a noble's entourage was a minor royal functionary.

"He's competent, but unspectacular," said Nalifan.

"Are we safe?" she asked.

"For the time being."

"Then let's go inside and discuss this," she said.

Nalifan shrugged. "As you wish." The drow got to his feet.

"My solar," said Alyssia and her knight lead them back through the circle of guards and into the palace.

"You might want Gest here as well," said Nalifan.

"I already sent a page for him. I see you no longer need a translator."

"I'm a quick study," said the drow.

The queen's solar was empty save for Miranna and Varnar Gest. The queen walked toward the fireplace set at the far end of the room and the rest of them followed. Stray flakes of snow glistened in her dark hair. "What happened?"

"A demon attacked," said Nalifan. "I was its target and was in the middle of a discussion with your stepdaughter when it made its appearance."

"What happened to her?"

"I left her in the cellars," Nalifan answered. "After that I didn't bother to check."

"Was it really a demon?" asked Gest. "Not a baatezu or a yugoloth?"

"It was a demon," said Nalifan, "and a powerful one at that. An entity strong enough to shape its own development when it was last reborn in Abyssal chaos, a demon lord in the making."

"Old Father have mercy," whispered Miranna.

"That's the good news."

"How is that good news?"

"Such beings are rare and almost impossible to compel. Sending it here cost and it failed. This makes further intervention by beings of similar or greater power unlikely. None of them will wish to die and thus will refuse. To bind them will almost be impossible and the cost of even attempting, to even summon let alone bind such a being, is immense. It is unlikely that the wizard behind this will strike at me in this way again."

"And the bad news?" asked Alyssia.

"The summoner had to know that there was someone here worth paying that price to kill despite my wards against scrying. He had to have the strength and the knowledge to summon such a being, which means his power is at least close to my own abilities and that's before we take into account the rest of the Khaduli."

"How does this alter your plans?" Alyssia asked.

"It doesn't," replied Nalifan. "Your majesty, from you I would appreciate letters to your most warlike Deraddan friends and relatives requesting them, in the strongest possible terms, to come to the capital with as many retainers as they can muster horses for and prepare to engage in a winter campaign."

She blinked. "You want to muster an army?"

"As big a one as can travel by horseback, which I'm guessing isn't that large, especially in Deradda."

"You're going to attack."

"Yes," said Nalifan. "They're herders, correct? Nomads. They can't sustain an offensive into snow country because their logistics are dependent upon their herds and their herd animals are dependent on grazing lands since they don't herd reindeer or rothe."

"Rothe?"

"Never mind," said Nalifan. "Cold weather animals. An thorough knowledge of the multiverse's domesticated, arctic animals is not required. What is relevant is that they can't range too far north withot all sorts of problems until the snows are over while we can muster a brief raiding expedition."

"To what end?"

"To kill a lot of them, see them fight first hand, take valuable prisoners, prove that I know what the fuck I'm doing, and spread the word through a large number of eye witnesses that I'm salvation made flesh."

"This is an awful risk."

"It's a necessary one," said Nalifan, "and it is time that the Khaduli learned to fear."

[Eleas]

Cry havoc, in other words. I'm loving it.

[LadyTevar]

Nalifan doesn't 'cry havoc'. That would let them know he's coming.

[White Haven]

Now I've got the mental image of Nalifan beating the daylight out of someone, then crouching next to their either dead or thoroughly defeated body and saying 'By the way? 'Havoc.'"

[Eleas]

Nalifan doesn't 'cry havoc'. That would let them know he's coming.

He could cry it softly. If only to make a point of Drow having superior hearing.

[Imperial Overlord]

Nalifan dipped his brush in a the ink pot and painted a glyph on the piece of paper in front of him with brisk, smooth strokes. He drew two more glyphs, one above it and just to the left and one off to the right. Below it he drew another chain of interlocking glyphs, this one involving the three he had just written and then adding two new ones. The final design, at the bottom of the sheet, involved just one more glyph, but added new lines to the glyph in the center. Nalifan carefully put the sheet to the side to dry.

There was a knock at his door. The drow cocked an eyebrow and got out of his chair. One of the cats looked up lazily from the basket it was resting in. Nalifan crossed the room and opened the door.

The woman on the other side was stunningly beautiful. Black hair fell like a waterfall down her back. Dark eyes, full of intelligence, peered from a olive skinned face with high cheekbones, flawless skin, and full lips. The body under the heavy full cloak was slender and well formed. "My lord, may I come in?"

Nalifan gestured for her to come in as he stepped away from the threshold. She closed the door behind her and shed the heavy cloak, revealing a form fitting black dress with a plunging neckline was slit up the thighs. She dropped her cloak on the chair. She had curves in the all the right places. "You keep your quarters warm," she said.

"Why do I think you would have dropped that cloak if there were icicles hanging from the ceiling?" replied Nalifan with a smile. "You aren't a noblewoman, not dressed like that. I would notice if they did. Dead men would notice if they did. You aren't a servant. So you're working for someone and you, or your employer, think, not unreasonably, that lust will make me blind or stupid.

"Two problems with that. One, it's rather obvious and I have very good self control. I have no desired to get knifed by my bed partner. Two, I already have a paramour. While you are, without a doubt, more beautiful and that is high praise; it does mean that I'm having sex regular and not in desperate need of release. So why don't you tell me who your master is and we get down to business?"

"And I couldn't just be," she said as she reached out and traced the line of his jaw with an elegant finger, "attracted to your obvious potence?"

Nalifan chuckled. "Are all the men you deal with that vain?"

She crossed the room languidly, heading towards the bed chamber. "No man I've ever met has been like you."

"Your tenacity is admirable, if futile," replied Nalifan. "My patience is wearing thin. The name of your employer."

She slid into the other room and sat down on the bed. "Maybe you should . . . force the answer out of me." She fell back onto the bed. "I'm helpless against your power."

Nalifan walked towards her. She smiled and beckoned to him. He slid bent over her. She raised herself slightly and put a hand on his shoulder, pulling herself as well as urging him down. Her lips opened slightly. Something very hard and very sharp pricked her throat. "I didn't make myself clear," said Nalifan.

"Let me clarify. You're beautiful and desirable, but I will not be swayed. You have a master. I want his name." He smiled and it was a terrible thing. "There are many, many things I enjoy. Many of them are best with an enthusiastic partner. Some, on the other hand, aren't supposed to be shared with a willing partner." He licked his lips. "Screaming, begging, the sticky feel of blood on naked flesh. The wide eyed look of fear and horror. Those delights, those torments, are waiting."

Her eyes went wide and her voice quivered. "Don't. Please."

"Why not?" he asked. "Name."

She licked her lips. "Duke Ericorn. He is not your enemy, I swear it. I was just hear to find out more about you."

The dagger vanished as quickly as it appeared. "Isn't that better?" Nalifan asked. "Tell the good duke if he wants to find out more about me he can ask. He does know where to find me. I will be happy to furnish his grace with answers."

She nodded, shivering. Nalifan walked back into his workroom and handed her her cloak. "Your name?" he asked.

She donned the cloak and wrapped it tightly around her. "Therasa," she replied.

"The name isn't as lovely as you are," said Nalifan. "Do convey my good wishes to the duke."

"As you wish, my lord," Therasa replied and left the room. The door slammed behind her.

Nalifan toyed with the image of Therasa and Lania entwined naked on the bed, pleasuring each other as they waited for him to join them. "A pity," he said and sat back down at the table to resume his work. He picked up a fresh sheet of paper and began writing.

Therasa walked swiftly and surely through the palace halls. She had much to tell Duke Ericorn about the elf mage and his habits. That she had more evidence confirming that he was shrewd and ruthless was interesting and desirable, but that he was constructing a library of spell formulae using a simplified system of interlocking glyphs derived from Elvish magical symbology was a matter of far greater significance.