Hellebore by Chris Cook

Summary: A headstrong sorceress and a young Amazon join forces to locate and destroy an ancient source of demonic power.

Tara climbed first into the enclosed carriage, and reached out a hand to help Willow up.

"Are you riding with us?" she asked Lissa, who had walked with them, holding up a large umbrella against the steady rain.

"If you wish, Miss," she said, folding the umbrella after lifting the hood of her thick cloak, "attendants either ride with the noblemen and ladies if they wish, or up front with the driver."

"In the rain?" asked Willow incredulously, reaching out to help Lissa inside, as Tara took her umbrella and stowed it out of the way.

"Thank you Miss," the servant smiled, seating herself on the front seat, opposite where Willow and Tara sat down. "Usually not in the rain, no, but some prefer their privacy. Just between you and me," she added, leaning forward with a slight grin, as if sharing a secret, "some of the noblemen still behave like they're in the olden days, when servants were a caste, and indentured."

"Well, I'm sure we don't need to be alone for a five minute ride to the opera house," Willow said. "Assuming you can restrain yourself," she added in a quiet murmur in Tara's ear, grinning as Tara shot her a scandalized stare, with the corners of her mouth struggling not to smile.

"Have you been to the opera before?" Tara asked Lissa, to cover her reaction, and keep from giving Willow the satisfaction of catching her out in their ongoing flirting game.

"Once Miss," the servant said, "several months ago, a guest I was attending made a visit. But he was in the stalls, so I didn't go in with him. But in the boxes, which is where your seats are tonight, it's normal for servants to stand behind the seats in case they're needed, so," she grinned, "I get to see the show."

"Not properly Miss," Lissa replied, "now and then the Duke's had performers at the Palace and I've heard them sing, but that's all, never a full opera. Even the smaller house down by the university is more than I can afford, just for one night's entertainment. The opera house, which is to say the Royal Opera, which we're going to tonight, is very prestigious, only the nobility and the wealthy go there."

"Hmm? Oh, no," she said, "opera as an art form hasn't made it to Kurast yet. It's very big in Entsteig, that's where some of the most famous operas were written, but I was just one of the apprentices, so seeing an opera wasn't really within the realm of possibility. Like you said," she said to Lissa, "it's for the wealthy and prestigious. Sorceress apprentices get enough of an allowance to do a little shopping and maybe see a show at a music hall, but opera, nuh-uh."

"It's not a full opera tonight," Lissa offered, "it's the anniversary gala, for the Duke and Duchess. It's held every year sometime during the month of their marriage, usually whenever the opera house can clear its schedule for a night. Jesye, who you met this morning, was with the Duke's party last year, she told me about it – they have all sorts of performers from all over the world, music and song and dance and, well, who knows what. Some of the performers are brought in just for the gala, and otherwise you'd never see them in Westmarch."

"When Jesye found out I'd be taking the evening shifts, she made me promise to remember every detail, to tell her later," Lissa smiled. "For a servant, it's a once in a lifetime kind of thing." She paused, then spoke up again.

"Forgive my curiosity, Miss," she said to Tara, "but I wondered, what do Amazons do as performance?"

"That's fine," Tara assured her, "well, dancing is popular – as a pastime it's encouraged for warriors, we dance a bit more," she gave Willow a quick grin, "athletically than what seems to be common here."

"There's stories about Amazons, with dancing," Lissa admitted, "but, they're kind of fanciful."

"There might be a little basis in fact to them," Tara said, "aside from performance for its own sake, there are ritual dances that tell the legends of our gods and our greatest heroes. Some of them...well," she grinned shyly, "our gods and heroes had interesting lives, and the performances don't really leave out the, um, 'fanciful' parts." She was acutely aware of Willow's attention, not to mention her thigh pressed up against her. "There's song as well," she went on, discreetly taking Willow's hand beside her and stroking it, "our earliest stories were passed down as songs. Most of them have been adapted for dancers and actors as well, but we keep the songs as well."

"They're beautiful," Willow added, smiling fondly at Tara. The carriage lurched gently, then set off to the accompaniment of the clatter of hooves on the courtyard cobblestones, and the occasional quiet creak from the suspension.

"There's a place you might both like to visit if you get the time, Miss," Lissa ventured, "the Sanctum, it's a playhouse, where the Duke's Players perform. The cheap spaces are quite reasonable, if you don't mind standing, or there's seats in the galleries if you'd prefer, and the Players are the best in the city. I heard some of them would be performing a scene tonight."

"Not often, as such," Lissa smiled, "but now and then. The week before you both arrived I saw one of the chapters of Akarat, and it left me awed the whole afternoon."

"Yes Miss. About ten years ago the church commissioned one of the playwrights attached to the Duke's company to write a play about their prophet's life. Only he got enthusiastic, I suppose, and it ended up five plays, the 'chapters'. They're very popular – I'm not a believer, but you don't have to be to enjoy the story. The Players usually have a company performing Akarat during the year, one chapter at a time. The season for the fourth chapter just finished recently, the showing I saw was a dress rehearsal of the fifth. They'll be starting in a couple of weeks."

"Well, if it's as good as you say," Willow said, giving a nod to Lissa, "you know, I've studied some of the old Zakarum texts, and I always thought it would make a pretty spectacular story. It's all very larger-than-life. Oh," she said with a sudden grin, "there's a whole branch of holy magic specifically related to the Zakarum paladins, so technically it'd be a learning experience. I don't think the Order would mind if I used a little of the money I've got on a couple of modest yet comfortable seats."

"For you and your co-researcher in magic?" Tara smiled. Lissa hid her own grin, then turned her attention to one of the carriage's windows, giving her two charges some measure of privacy.

"Absolutely," Willow insisted lightly, "I learn twice as much when you're around, 'cause I get to see everything through your eyes as well. Plus, you know what they say, a happy student is a good student?" She shifted a little closer to Tara on the seat, and leaned over, brushing her cheek on Tara's shoulder. "You make me a very, very good student." Tara smiled radiantly and put her arm around Willow's shoulders.

"Thank you, love," she murmured, "and of course I'd love to go with you. As if I could ever refuse a night out with you anyway."

The ride took only a few minutes, and then the carriage was slowly edging its way through the crowd of people and coaches in the circular plaza surrounding the opera house. Willow and Tara both leaned close to the window, staring up at the building dominating the whole area, a massive, imposing structure of carved stone, great columns rising four storeys, and between them dozens of windows, all glittering with light from within. The steps and driveway were teeming with guests, each pair or group attended by servants, holding umbrellas and cloaks. A canvas shelter extended from the opera house's front steps, so that the most important of the arrivals, whose carriages were drawing up right in front of the building, could walk the short distance to the interior in dry comfort. Though dusk had faded into evening, the whole plaza was lit bright as day by dozens of oil lamps, aided by a pair of wide bronze fire bowls, like great lighthouse signals, the flames from their supply of oil leaping high into the night, refusing to be dampened by the rain.

Willow and Tara's carriage, along with the others from the Palace, slowly edged across the front of the opera house's steps, stopping in turn to let each group of guests alight. Tryptin and Galt, along with their attendant, were in the carriage just ahead of Willow and Tara, and had just disappeared inside as their carriage pulled up and Lissa quickly disembarked, holding out a hand to both women as they got out. They both took a moment to look around, struck by the scale of the gathering, as their carriage slowly pulled away. Aside from the guests and their coaches, the street before the opera house was teeming with spectators, presumably waiting to see the Duke and Duchess arrive, though there were excited murmurs from the crowd as each carriage drew to a halt and each group of opera-goers made their way inside.

"Which is that other flag?" Willow asked Lissa. Tara peered at the crowd, which was half-obscured in the evening beyond the light of the torches and lamps, noticing many, particularly the children were waving flags. There was the familiar red, with the lion of Duncraig, but many besides those were blue, with a single white stripe and an eagle's head as its crest.

"Kartand, Miss," Lissa explained, "the Duchess's old home. She's very popular with the people, particularly the citizenry, though she's well regarded by the nobility as well. They respect the Duke as a leader and statesman, but the Duchess has a special place in our hearts. The wedding was quite spectacular – I was just a girl then, but I remember being in the crowd and seeing them go past on their way back to the Palace."

"Well, it might have," Lissa said, "it's an honor, of course, but it runs in the family as well. My mother was a lady-in-waiting back then, though not part of the party that served at the marriage. Now she's the deputy head of the Duke's household staff."

"Really?" Tara mused. "That's pretty high up, isn't it? She must have more influence than half the nobles here."

"It's a well-respected position," Lissa replied with a proud smile, "the head of the staff, Miss Valera Prederst, thinks highly of her, and says she'll ask that my mother replace her when she retires."

Willow listened in, while marveling at the opera house as they neared the wide double doors. The façade was decorated more elaborately than any building she had ever seen, including the great opera house of Sallna in Entsteig, which was widely regarded as the most prestigious in the world. 'Looks like they'll have to lift their game,' she thought wryly, 'this place is making a good effort at outshining it.' She had just enough time to glance at a couple of the sculpted marble pieces decorating the stairs on either side, which she identified from their plaques as scenes from famous epics – Tal Rasha kneeling before the Archangel Tyrael, and the crowning of Mabus, the first king of Sescheron – before they were through the doors, and she was momentarily dazzled by the light.

The entrance chamber was a vast, wide hall running the full width of the opera house, decorated with rich silks and glittering gilded sculpture, huge paintings of great battles and triumphs in thick frames hanging from the walls, and lit by a dozen chandeliers suspended high above the heads of the guests. No fewer than a hundred people crowded the hall, probably more, each arrayed in dazzling finery, the men in dignified jackets and suits, the women in all manner of dresses, some elaborately archaic, some daringly modern, all exquisitely made. The murmur of dozens of conversations was overlaid by music from a quartet on a small stage between two of the ornate doors leading further into the building.

"I was just guessing," Willow admitted with a grin. Lissa excused herself to pick up a program and directions to their seats for when the performance was called, and vanished into the crowd after a brief word to the doorman. Tara held out an arm, which Willow took, and they made their way slowly into the crowd, picking up their pace when they spotted Tryptin waving them over.

"Hello again ladies," he said, "I had a word with the doorman and he agreed you should be in the party meeting the Duke, seeing as you weren't with us when we arrived from the caravan. Technically you're the one in line for the meeting," he said to Tara, "but seeing as Miss Willow is your companion you can present her as well."

"Really?" Willow asked. "I don't think I was actually going to see the Duke originally, I'm just a student mage after all."

"Here's your chance," Tryptin grinned, "the Duke doesn't deal directly with the running of his Palace the way the Baron did at Kingsport, but I imagine he'll have been notified that you're studying with his mage, and probably your name would have come up while he was being briefed on the trouble to the south. I've found it never hurts to put a face to a name."

"Even a happily-married man won't forget your face in a hurry," Tara put in, smiling as Willow blushed. "How should I introduce us?" she asked Tryptin. "Um, our relationship, I mean..."

"'Companion' or 'partner'," Tryptin suggested, "the Duke's reputation is for broad-mindedness so long as it doesn't cause any harm to his realm. See there?" He pointed through the crowd, and Willow and Tara glanced at the man he was indicating, a tall, bearded man in robes much like Solaris and his crew had worn, only very much more expensive. Another man, fairer-skinned but similarly dressed, was by his side, and there were definite suggestions of intimacy in the way the pair stood close and spoke quietly to each other.

"Several traders from Aranoch have settled here and become very wealthy, and relations between men aren't uncommon there. Few people here speak out against it. As for women, the Duchess's niece, something of an adventuress I'm told, is reputed to pursue the more beautiful of the daughters of the nobility on the occasions she's in the city, and I don't believe there's ever been any strong complaint on that score."

"It's my job," he shrugged. "When the Amazon Nation chooses its allies, it looks to the nature of people first, and their strength of arms second. A small, reliable ally is far more valuable than a powerful one who dislikes our ways. I must say I'm pleased with what I'm finding here, a stable alliance with Westmarch could be a great benefit to us."

"How are the negotiations going?" Tara asked. "I have kind of been out of the loop, what with one thing or another."

"You'll be in line for a promotion when you get home," Tara observed, "on your first mission too."

"Well, I don't know if I'd go that far," Tryptin said with a bashful smile, "but definitely I've got nothing to complain about. I'll let you know if we decide to travel, of course, and you're welcome to come along – probably nowhere more than five days each way from the city. But I don't expect any of the lords we meet will be expecting a warrior, so if you'd rather stay here...?"

"She'll have been told you'll meet the Duke then," Tryptin nodded, "I imagine she'll be along to collect you for the line in a moment."

"Hey," Willow murmured, as Tryptin was momentarily distracted by a conversation going on beside them.

"I love you," Tara smiled, "and you are without a doubt the most beautiful woman here. Or anywhere," she added with a wink. Willow gave her a dazzling smile, but before they could talk more the quartet played a loud fanfare and the crowd fell relatively silent.

"This way Miss," Lissa said quietly, appearing behind Willow and Tara as if by magic. "Miss Willow, you should stand on Miss Tara's right side, half a step back, and come forward when she introduces you. Miss Tara, you just stand in line with the others." She led them towards the main doors, where a small queue of notable guests was assembling, with attendants fussing around them like tugboats.

"Do I curtsey, or what?" Willow asked in a whisper, as the level of conversation in the hall dropped.

"You can both bow," Lissa whispered, "just a little, not a low bow. Shake the Duke's hand if he offers – some of the ladies might kiss his hand, but you needn't, being a warrior and a mage. The Duchess will be with the Duke, the same applies to her."

"Thanks," Tara whispered as they reached their place in the line, and Lissa stepped back among the other attendants. There was a moment's pause, as everyone stood still, expectantly, then a pair of Palace guards came through the doors and took station on either side of them, resplendent in polished breastplates, with colored sashes and feathered crests on their helmets. The line of nobility drew to attention as a group approached the door, then a cheer rose as the Duke stepped into the light of the hall, lifted a hand, and waved.

He was a tall middle-aged man, with a slight spread about his midsection but, for his age and station, a fairly lean figure, certainly no indication that he had left his active lifestyle behind in his youth. His hair, just beginning to turn gray, was closely-cut, and the hairline had begun to recede just enough to reveal a faint scar just above his left temple. His expression was cheerful, the man obviously looking forward to nothing more pressing than a night of entertainment, but there was still the suggestion of a keen intelligence beneath the jovial smile. He wore an immaculately tailored suit, with a sash over his chest bearing his coat of arms and a series of small bronze medallions. At his waist was a sword, its sheath and grip muted brown, unobtrusive among all the finery, yet to Tara's eyes a serviceable weapon, rather than purely ceremonial.

At his side, the Duchess was almost taller than her husband, with long blond hair left loose over her shoulders, clad in a dress not unlike Willow's, though sky blue, and with a more conservative cut, especially the back. She was not much younger than the Duke, but she had aged very well, and Tara had no trouble imagining the patriotic young men of the city admiring her for more than her character. Her figure was fit and elegant, and when she and her husband stepped forward to the first of the guests they would be greeting, she moved with considerable grace.

Seeing it would take a moment or two for the couple to make their way along the line to her, Tara glanced back to offer Willow a smile, catching her hand, then studied the Duke's entourage briefly. Behind the Duke, just to one side, was a man in an unassuming gray suit whose eyes never stopped moving, flickering across the faces of everyone nearby. 'Bodyguard, certainly,' Tara thought to herself. There was nothing remarkable about the man, but he had a certain air about him that Tara recognized from being around the veteran warriors at home, the sense that whatever was going on around him, he was aware of all of it, and would never be caught by surprise. There was also a servant by the Duke's side, quietly informing him who he was meeting when necessary, and a pair of guards behind the group.

On the other side, trailing behind the Duchess, was a younger woman who Tara immediately picked as the niece Tryptin had mentioned. The family resemblance between the two was obvious, despite perhaps twenty years separating them, but where the Duchess's beauty was refined, elegant and courtly, those same features were arranged slightly differently on her niece, giving her an impulsive, openly seductive look that, judging by her demeanor and wardrobe, she didn't regret one bit. Her attire was strikingly different from any other in the hall – she wore tight leather pants with boots rising half-way up her shins, and a loose red shirt with the top few buttons provocatively undone, displaying an admirable cleavage which she was obviously and justifiably proud of. Her hair was unbound, like her aunt's, though less immaculately straight, a little more untidy, which actually suited her well. Tryptin's description of her, 'an adventuress', was well-earned, at least on first impressions.

"I'm getting ideas all right," came Willow's quiet reply, "first clothes shop I see, I'm buying you a pair of those trousers." Tara chuckled softly, though at the same time she was very touched that Willow's first thought was of her, even in the face of such a brazenly attractive woman.

"Lady Tara, Amazon," the Duke's servant murmured, just on the edge of Tara's hearing range, and the man himself met her gaze and extended a hand to her. Tara took it, bowing gently at the same time.

"Well met sir," Tara replied, turning side-on to allow Willow to come forward. "My partner, Willow of the Zann Esu." The Duke nodded as if in recognition, evidently remembering hearing of her in one of his briefings, and held out his hand.

"My wife, Lady Marindi," the Duke said after Willow had bowed and shook his hand. He stepped aside to make way for his wife, who curtseyed regally to Willow and Tara's bows. That done, the royal couple moved on to the next guest.

"I'm spoken for," Tara said politely, with the easy-going smile on the woman's face comforting her that the situation wasn't going to turn uncomfortable.

"Damn," she said without rancor. She gave Willow a glance, and raised an eyebrow. "Damn on both counts. Ah well, enjoy the night, I'm sure you will." With a knowing smile she drifted away after the Duke and Duchess. Tara let out a breath and turned back to Willow, who was blushing and grinning at once.

"When you say 'my partner', or 'I'm spoken for'," she replied, "I get all...do you think a quick kiss is okay?"

"I doubt anyone would mind," Tara said, stepping closer to Willow, "particularly with Miss Wild over there hitting on everyone in sight." She shared a brief, fairly chaste kiss with Willow, and was afterwards unable to banish the grin from her face, at how exciting a brief, chaste kiss could be.

"Well, to be fair," Willow said, looking over Tara's shoulder, "she's not hitting on everyone...she's being quite discriminating, actually, though admittedly incredibly forward. Hey," she grinned, "it's nice to know we're hot enough for royalty, huh?"

A few moments later, once the Duke had seen all the guests who were there to be seen, the opera house's staff rang small hand bells, signaling the opening of the opera hall for the evening's performance. The majority of the guests crowded their way through the several main doors leading to the stalls, but Lissa led Willow and Tara to the far end of the entrance hall, up a stairway to a corridor leading to the private boxes on that side of the building. From their vantage point half-way along the opera hall's left wall, the box angled towards the front, they had an excellent view of the stage and quite a lot of the hall besides, which was filling rapidly as people took their seats. The décor was, if anything, even more extravagant than the entrance hall, with the gilded columns and decorated wall panels overshadowed by a marvelously detailed relief on the ceiling, depicting gods and angels, the entire panoply of heaven, with a huge circular fixture in the center of the ceiling studded with mirrored decorations, representing the Crystal Arch, supporting a massive chandelier lit with hundreds of thick candles.

Visible on the opposite wall, and presumably mirrored directly above Willow and Tara's box, more expansive galleries hosted entire parties of guests, but the lower level's boxes were quite compact, cozy even, and there were only two seats. These, though, were nearly adequate for two people each, to accommodate all manner of expansive dresses if necessary, and when Willow discovered that the armrests between the seats could be lifted up and out of the way she insisted that Lissa take her seat, rather than stand at the back of the box. With the armrest out of the way there was still enough room for Lissa to set the program on the seat between herself and Willow, who nestled comfortably up beside Tara with an arm around her waist.

Once everyone was seated and the house staff had turned down the oil lamps, leaving the chandelier and stage lamps the only source of light, a man walked to the center of the stage and gave a speech, introducing himself as the master of ceremonies, and the conductor in the orchestra pit before the stage, who stood and bowed on cue, and briefly wished the Duke and Duchess well on their anniversary, wished goodwill to the other guests as well, and promised no effort had been spared on the night's performance. With a bow to acknowledge the polite round of applause, he left the stage, and the great scarlet curtain shuddered and lifted.

The stage was decorated with shimmering curtains of white silk, framing a choir of women in plain white dresses, with silver thread wound into their hair that glittered as they sang. Their song was as ethereal and dazzling as their garb and surroundings, a soaring sequence of verses in old Imperial, first only a few voices, then more with each verse, until the whole choir was singing as one, almost a single voice. The applause when at last they reached a crescendo and the curtain dropped was sustained and enthusiastic.

"Traditional prelude from Khanduras," Willow noted, reading the program, "representing the creation of the world of the stage, as a pale mirror of the true creation of all things. I've heard of that," she added, closing the program, "there's a denomination of the Zakarum church in Khanduras who believe the Power That Is sang the world into being, and as each lesser power was created it joined the song."

When next the curtain lifted the silken clouds were gone, replaced by an amphitheatre of stone columns and blocks, painted so well they looked real, though they must have been wood. For the first time the orchestra struck up, drums dominating the melody, with strings supporting them. A troupe of black-skinned dancers dressed in tight, brightly-colored fabrics wrapped around their torsos and trailing behind them appeared, their bodies moving as it powered by the drums, twirling and leaping in time to the rhythm. Two of them broke away from their groups, a bare-chested man in an emerald green loincloth and a woman with long black hair, wearing a single swathe of white cloth, starting around her neck, crossing over her chest, then around and down her back, circling her hips and then trailing loose around her legs as she danced. It wasn't obvious how her clothing was supporting itself, and with the energy with which she danced with her partner, spinning, leaping, stamping her feet and undulating her body, she seemed in constant danger of shedding her meager covering altogether. The man kept his side of the dance equally eye-catching, every motion emphasizing the sculpted shapes of his muscles and the powerful ease with which he moved. The mood they created was entirely appropriate to the music and the troupe's dance, which was primal, fierce, full of unashamed vitality and celebration.

"Quite stimulating, isn't it?" Tara murmured into Willow's ear. "In a tasteful way, of course."

"Mmm, tasteful," Willow whispered. Tara laughed quietly, kissed the top of her head, and went back to watching the dancers on stage.

The next act was another choir, this one mixed men and women, singing a purely musical piece with no lyrics. They appeared in front of the lowered curtain, keeping the audience enthralled with their harmonies. By the end of their song, when they left with a bow and the curtain was raised, the stage had been redressed again, as a jungle temple complete with vines snaking over the stonework, and a dozen unlit candles in brackets on the columns. A single fire bowl was burning in the middle of the stage, casting shuddering shadows over the exotic scene.

A single performer appeared from offstage, and a brief murmur from the audience signaled their interest. She was a cat woman, tall and athletic, with strong, curvy thighs and biceps. Her outfit consisted mainly of leather straps joined by shining gold buckles, winding about her limbs and body, strapped across the generous curves of her four breasts, around her thin waist, and between her legs, covering just enough for decency's sake. Tara glanced back along the boxes on the far wall, and chuckled to herself.

"What?" Willow whispered. Tara pointed up at the gallery where the Duke and his party were sitting, and Willow too stifled a chuckle at seeing the Duchess's niece leaning forward, her attention firmly fixed on the elegant figure on the stage.

"I wonder if the royal party gets to meet the artists after the show," Tara mused.

"Maybe," Willow murmured, "you know, according to the Order libraries, cat tribes tend to have a pretty casual sexual structure. If they decide they like someone, that's all the reason they need...maybe I won't be the only one getting lucky tonight?" She realized with a start that her whisper had become a little louder than she'd intended, and glanced quickly at Lissa, but she seemed absorbed in the program.

"Well, good luck to her," Tara said, as Willow settled back into her arms, "but there's only one sexy lady I'm thinking about." She stroked her fingers up and down Willow's arm lazily.

"Uh-huh," Willow sighed, "and who might that be?" Tara chuckled to herself quietly.

"I think you know perfectly well who she might be," she replied in a whisper, "but I'll give you a clue: she's going to get very, very lucky tonight...not to mention into the small hours of the morning."

They both giggled quietly, then returned their attention to the stage as the cat woman bowed to a round of applause – a warrior's bow, from the waist and martial. She flexed her right hand and the black coil held there unfurled into a long, slender whip that she swung idly back and forth, building up speed in the tip as it circled her body. With her other hand she reached behind herself and from one of the straps around her drew an exotic weapon, like a dagger except that the blade split twice along its length, so that the weapon had three points, each aimed in a different direction, like a lethal star. All the blades were oiled, and glistened darkly.

With a sudden burst of movement she lifted the whip above her head and cracked it twice, in front and behind her, startling the crowd. With their full attention, she flicked her other wrist, sending the multi-bladed weapon spinning flat across the stage, through the flames from the fire bowl. The fire caught the oil on the blades, and then as the burning weapon spun away it pulled up in its flight, curved over and darted back towards its owner, who casually caught it behind her back and flipped it out again, this time towards one of the columns. It skimmed side-on past the column, lighting the candle – which had presumably had its wick soaked in oil from the ease with which it lit – before again curving around in flight behind the column. The moment the candle was lit the woman lashed out her whip, cracking the tip right on the newborn flame, snuffing it out with perfect precision as she caught her flying weapon again.

Within the space of a minute she had similarly lit and extinguished every one of the dozen candles in a similar manner, flinging her blade and whipping each flickering flame back out of existence as it flared. All the while she was swaying and strutting around the stage, and the longer she went on the more complex her motions became, until her skill with her weaponry was being combined with a truly athletic performance as a dancer. To gasps from the audience she backflipped, cartwheeled, spun over in mid air, all the while continuing to catch and release the flying blade, and striking out each flame with perfect timing. Now and then she tossed her whip into the air, freeing both hands as both her weapons flew, performing handstands and somersaults, and once blowing a kiss to the crowd, before reaching out almost casually to catch and strike with her whip, and flick her blade once again on a new arc. Her finale, which drew a chorus of gasps and thunderous applause, was to catch her whip in both hands, stretching it taut above her head, and pluck the spinning blade out of the air with her tail.

Willow and Tara, along with Lissa and most of the rest of the audience, rose to their feet to applaud, and the cat woman smiled broadly, revealing an impressive set of feline teeth, and bowed deeply and graciously. The curtain fell behind her, and she stayed for a moment, acknowledging the applause and gathering a few of the flowers that were tossed onto the stage for her, on either side where the stalls came close enough. A few hopeful admirers tossed flowers towards the center of the stage, but they tended to fall short into the orchestra pit. Willow giggled at seeing a trombone player catch a rose in the horn of his instrument, and pointed him out to Tara.

When the cat woman finally took her last bow and departed, the master of ceremonies announced a brief interval, while the next set was prepared. Lissa departed to bring drinks for Willow and Tara, and at their insistence something for herself, leaving the pair alone in their box. Most of the other guests in the boxes, balconies and the stalls below remained in their seats, though some got up, either to fetch refreshments or simply to stretch their legs.

"Quite a night," Tara mused, cuddling Willow who took the opportunity to stretch her legs out across the seats and lie back against her.

"And it's not over yet," she replied, lazily stroking Tara's arm around her waist.

"It was, wasn't it?" Willow agreed. "I remember reading somewhere that their warriors usually fight with whips, I guess it's no wonder they've gotten good at it. Javelins too, if I recall...I don't think I remember reading anything about flying blades, but you never know. In a lot of places they're not very trusted by humans, so they keep to themselves. There's probably a lot about them no-one knows."

"I've seen weapons like that," Willow said, "not exactly the same, but similar, usually polished wood, carved in a special shape so that they glide, like an eagle's wing. There's tribes up and down the Argentek river that use them in various forms, they can throw them and they glide in a circle. I've never heard of a weapon that can change direction that sharply, though."

"She might have been," Willow said, "I'm sure it was mostly pure skill, but I wouldn't be surprised if there was a little magic involved. A lot of the non-human races have higher proportions of magical ability than humans do. That's one theory, anyway, though it's never been proven."

"Well, it's tricky to measure," Willow explained with a vague wave of her hand, "for a start, cat people are the most human-friendly of the non-human races, and even they're pretty wary of humans in general. As opposed to a one-on-one basis," she added, "with individual people they're sometimes quite forthcoming, but on an official basis they tend to keep their distance. The histories say that a lot of work went into gaining the trust of the Kehjistan tribes before the Order could form proper ties with them, as a society. And aside from that, there's some people who think that a lot of humans, maybe all of us, have some magical ability, but either they never know to try to use it, or it's something that no- one's learned to use yet."

"Could be," Willow said, "I mean, by definition no-one knows, but...well, take magnetics. There's a whole branch of magic that works by interaction with magnetic fields, and before people discovered them and started having a good look at how they worked, no-one knew they could be used for anything but picking up bits of iron."

"Pretty much," Willow agreed, "it's an exciting time to be a mage." She giggled. "I just imagined that being on a recruitment poster. Be a mage! See the world! Set fire to bits of it...Seriously though, I'd bet real money that there's going to be some big breakthroughs in the next few years. Everything's been moving faster since the Reckoning – before that, it was all about the threat of the Prime Evils hanging over our heads, and even if you were a mage dedicated to research and theory, you spent a lot of time working purely with battle magic. Now the Prime Evils are gone, and we know we've got the power to handle it if one of the Lessers, or something else in the demon hierarchy, starts causing trouble...a lot of mages are starting to experiment with other fields, besides just making bigger and better fireballs."

Lissa returned with glasses of wine, which they sipped gently, though it turned out not to be very strong. Soon after the hall was full again, and the master of ceremonies announced the resumption of the performance with a preview of an opera being developed, which he said would begin in full in several weeks' time.

The curtain lifted, and the stage was a desert wasteland, stark and intimidating. The floor was covered in a painted cloth with sand strewn over it, creating a very realistic effect, and above it rose the remains of a temple, huge sandstone blocks and broken statues leaning over in partial ruin. A real stream flowed over one of the blocks, in a channel carved into it, trickling down its slanted side into a pool in the shadow of a great stone jackal's head, the remnant of some colossal statue, lying on its side in the sand. The backdrop was painted with fierce red clouds, as if war was raging in the heavens, and parts of it were slightly transparent, lit from behind by flickering flames that gave the impression of lightning rumbling through the heavy cloudbanks. Broken spears, smashed shields and shattered swords decorated the stage. The orchestra began a slow build, drums and strings quietly coming to life and rising almost imperceptibly, drawing the audience forward on their seats.

Red light flooded from a gap in the fallen stone blocks, silhouetting a figure standing in the doorway they created. He took a single step forward at the same time as hidden lamps in the ruins flared to life, revealing him. The audience gasped in shock, and with good reason. He was tall, broad-shouldered, clad in bronze armor than shone several shades darker than it should have, almost blood-red, decorated with savage patterns and symbols. A cloak flowed around him, black and glistening as if wet, and in one jagged gauntlet he held a great morningstar, with cruel barbs decorating its heavy, angular head. His skin was painted, metallic red to match his armor, and from his brow rose a pair of bone-white horns, the band holding them on concealed by his long, oily black hair. Behind him, mounted on a banner pole on his back, a tattered pennant fluttered in the breeze, scarlet marked with an inverted pentagram that looked as if it had been burned into the fabric, and decorated with dozens of tiny bones sewn into the edges.

Tara felt Willow recoil in shock, and tightened her hold protectively. It lasted only a moment, then she relaxed and glanced at Tara with a sheepish smile.

"Are you okay?" Tara whispered back, as the hellish figure walked slowly to the edge of the stage.

"Yeah," Willow grinned bashfully, "just, I guess once you've seen a pure demon up close...bad memories lurking around, that's all."

"I'm fine," Willow reassured her, "it was just the surprise. And hey, it's a pretty good costume," she added, the lively tone returning to her voice. Tara smiled and gave her a quick kiss.

"You make me feel safe," Willow whispered, gazing into her eyes, then she settled back in her arms and they watched the show.

"He's the Lord of Destruction," Willow explained quietly, as the terrible warrior began to sing in a deep, martial voice, in the Imperial tongue. "They must be doing an opera of the Sin Wars. He's saying how his army has been beaten down by the Horadric mages, but no mortal can defeat him. He's challenging Tal Rasha, the leader of the Horadrim, to fight him."

The Lord of Destruction's aria went on for some time, during which he strode around the ruined temple, shouting defiance and brandishing his morningstar. The effect of his elaborate costume, and the singer's deep, thundering voice filling the hall, accompanied by drums and strings, with horns punctuating his raging, was quite striking. At last he strode to the very front of the stage, bellowing his song into the audience, as if challenging them directly. His presence was so riveting that no-one noticed the second figure at the back of the stage, standing atop the ruins of the temple, until he began to sing, cutting off his adversary's voice in mid-note.

"Tal Rasha?" Tara asked quietly, and Willow nodded. He too was an impressive figure, clothed in gray robes with stark gold patterns on the edges, hood thrown back to reveal strong features and long blond hair, a glimmering white staff in one hand with a golden sunburst head. He sang a short rebuttal to his opponent's defiance, then the curtain fell just as he began to descend from his vantage point, gripping his staff firmly. The audience rose up in appreciation, and the Duke in particular looked notably impressed by the spectacle.

"Yes, in the end," Willow said, "he defeated Baal, but with his dying breath Baal cast a spell to break the Soulstone that was going to imprison his spirit. Tal Rasha used a fragment of the stone to capture Baal momentarily, and drove it into his own chest to imprison Baal's spirit inside himself. He had the other Horadrim magically bind him to a monolith inside one of the great tombs, and then seal it completely. He fought Baal in his soul constantly for centuries, until the Reckoning when the other Prime Evils finally killed him and set Baal free."

"Tal Rasha had fought the campaign against Baal for his whole adult life," Willow said quietly, "he'd seen what the army of destruction did first hand...I guess he thought it was worth it, to put an end to it all."

"I remember you pointing out his statue on the Parliament building," Tara murmured. Willow nodded.

"He's revered as the greatest mage ever," she said. "If ever a person single-handedly saved the world, it was him."

The performance resumed with a troupe of acrobats, flipping and twirling through the air on ropes and trapezes, then another song, and then a short scene from the Akarat play Lissa had mentioned, in which the prophet's brother gave his life to defend him from assassins, while Akarat himself lay in a coma after a battle. Then came a gymnast, a slim woman who, with the aid of a mage standing discretely at the side of the stage, performed a complex dance while tiny sparkling stars trailed from her hands and feet. Finally a full choir performed with the accompaniment of the whole orchestra, in a great swell of music that filled the hall completely, and lifted the whole audience with it as it surged towards its climax.

"They'll clear the seats out of the stalls for a dance now," Lissa said, once the applause had died away and the guests had begun to leave their seats and make their way outside. "It's not a formal part of the evening, so you needn't stay if you'd rather go back to the Palace. Your carriage can be ready in a few moments whenever you decide to leave."

"I think we shall," she replied with a smile, taking the offered arm and following Lissa down to the entrance hall, where they waited for the opera hall to be opened again. Most of the guests returned to the floor, where the Duke and Duchess began the first dance, quickly joined by dozens of other couples. Willow laid her head against Tara's shoulder as they danced slowly, holding each other close.

"Look over there," Tara said, in an amused tone. Willow followed Tara's gaze over her shoulder, to see the Duchess's niece dancing, intimately close, with the cat woman who had performed earlier.

"Heh," she chuckled, "looks like she rarely misses out on something she wants." She looked adoringly at Tara. "Must have been a rare disappointment to her not to sweep you off your feet when she saw you."

"Or you," Tara replied, "I doubt it though. If she's as experienced as Tryptin said, she's probably good at spotting when she hasn't got a chance. I'm a one-woman Amazon...and that one woman is you." She leaned close and tasted Willow's lips in a kiss that lasted a decidedly long time, especially considering they were in the middle of a crowded dance floor.

"Now then," Tara purred as she closed the bedroom door behind herself and Willow, "may I have the pleasure of sliding you out of that gorgeous dress?"

"You don't even have to ask," Willow said giddily, turning in Tara's embrace and kissing her. "Mmm, wow...and not before time either, the longer I see the luscious sexiness that is you in that outfit...I was worried I was going to start drooling in the carriage."

"Don't worry," Tara smiled, kissing Willow again and steering her over to the bed, "I'm sure Lissa didn't notice you vividly imagining tearing my dress off and making love to me right then and there."

"It's what I was imagining," Tara replied, crouching down in front of her and removing her sandals.

"But now we're thinking of making love in a carriage, rather than a wagon," Tara pointed out, "we're moving up in the world." She straightened up and gently kicked off her boots, while Willow slowly stood and reached behind her neck to undo the straps holding her dress up. With a sigh and a delicious wriggle of her hips it slid down around her ankles, leaving Tara staring at her, totally nude.

"Now just remember how I was cuddling up against you all night," Willow teased, "and not wearing anything but a dash of perfume under my dress."

"I had a fairly good idea anyway," Tara murmured, putting her arms around Willow's waist and drawing her close.

"Either that, or you had magic underwear that doesn't show up at all under a skin-tight dress like that...knowing you, I figured it was the former."

"Would I?" Willow asked incredulously. "Goddess baby, I've hardly thought of anything else since I saw you in this dress."

"Not all at once," Tara said as Willow's hands went to work on the laces at the front of her dress, "I've got a treat for you."

"You are a treat for me," Willow chuckled to herself, finishing undoing the laces and sliding her hands over Tara's body as the dress slipped from her shoulders and crumpled to the floor, leaving her clad only in her black bustier and wispy black silk underwear.

"Play me a dance," she purred. Willow grinned and quickly rummaged through her satchels, while Tara picked up the two dresses and laid them out of the way over the top of the chest of drawers. Willow returned with her set of pipes, and Tara sat her down on the bed and stood in front of her.

With a playful grin Willow raised the pipes to her lips and began to play a simple melody, letting Tara ease into the rhythm. She watched entranced as her lover swayed in front of her, gently back and forth like a reed in the ocean. As Willow added more notes, more complexity to her melody, so Tara danced more for her, spinning around, raising her arms above her head, always staying to the rhythm, as if Willow were playing her like a snake-charmer.

Fixing her with a seductive stare, still swaying to the music, Tara began undoing the laces on her bustier, letting it fall looser and looser until it opened and her breasts spilled lavishly out of their confinement. She pulled the last laces free and let the bustier fall behind her, and Willow began to find it difficult to concentrate hard enough to play the pipes, watching Tara sway back and forth, running her hands up and down her front, cupping her breasts and letting them fall free.

Rallying her scattered thoughts, Willow began to change her melody, playing a stronger, faster rhythm, remembering the dancers they had seen earlier. Tara recognized the music too, and began working in the same kinds of moves they had used, fast twirls, stamping her feet for emphasis, making her whole body shudder. Willow's breathing became erratic, and she absently dropped the pipes, but still Tara danced, her motions providing all the rhythm either of them needed to hear the drums thundering in their minds. Willow's hands flattened against her thighs, fingers pressing into her skin, as she unconsciously shifted to the edge of the bed, spreading her legs for balance. Tara came closer, dancing right in front of her, inches away from her wide, lustful eyes. Her motions suggested a rising crescendo, coming faster, more frantic, and Willow found herself caught up in it, breathing quickly, desperate to see the final moment of the dance. In one quick motion Tara leaned down between Willow's spread thighs and pressed her tongue firmly against her sex, licking up over her clit, her mound, her stomach as she fell back on the bed in delight, her cleavage, up her neck and beneath her chin. Quick as a flash she was straddling Willow, and then they were still, motionless and breathless, Willow lying back, Tara above her, less than an inch separating their faces, Tara's heaving breaths teasing Willow's lips.

Tara blinked lazily as she woke up, then moaned at the wonderful sensation emanating from her breasts. With some effort, she managed to open her eyes all the way, and glanced down to see Willow nibbling on her left nipple, while her hand kept the other from feeling left out.

"Mmmmorning," Tara managed, "a-are you...trying to give me...sexy dreams... again...?"

"Maybe," Willow admitted with a smile, moving slightly to settle her head on Tara's shoulder, as her free hand took the place of her lips. "Did it work?"

"Oh, baby," Tara sighed, "like you wouldn't believe." Willow's smile broadened with pride.

"You were sleeping so soundly," she said, "I thought, given you'd have to wake up anyway, you'd appreciate it being something worth waking up for."

"You don't have to do anything to be worth waking up for," Tara said fondly, "but, seeing as you did...that feels soooo beautiful..."

"Your dance must've tired you out," Willow quipped, "but hey, no complaints here, you're amazing. Did you ever do any of those Amazon ritual dances?"

"Not formally," Tara murmured, as Willow continued to gently stroke her breasts, teasing the nipples, "but...ah...some of the trainees...used to arrange performances in their free time...just for fun...I sometimes joined in...it turned out not to...mmm...be so difficult...a lot like practicing with a spear...just learning the motions..."

"Nah," Tara shook her head, "I think I've found my preferred style of dance... intimate performances, for an audience of one. That way I can go into the second half of my act."

"Best dance I've ever had," Willow laughed. "Oh, there's a letter for you from the army, the seal says it's from the training office."

"Just a formality," Tara said, "the General said he'd get it to me in writing, but he already told me what days I'd be instructing the archers. You've been up and about already?"

"Like I said, you were sleeping pretty soundly. I got the mail, and breakfast." Tara glanced over to the table, where a covered platter was waiting.

"I do my best," Willow murmured, leaning down to teasingly lick at Tara's cleavage.

"Couldn't possibly be better," Tara sighed. "Anything else you got done while I was being a lazy Amazon?"

"Our dresses are headed down to the laundry," Willow said, "and I got a couple of replies to the letters I sent out. One from a mage's apprentice saying his mistress is traveling, but she'll be in touch when she gets back in a few weeks. The other from a mage with a workshop down near the river, saying to drop by some afternoon to get acquainted and see what we can work out. Actually I remember the letter that went to him, it was from Ember herself, rather than a formal one from the Order."

"An old friend of hers?" Tara wondered, stroking her hand up and down Willow's back.

"Probably," Willow agreed, wriggling enticingly, "if nothing urgent comes up today with Myrreon, I thought I'd go see him tomorrow afternoon."

"I've got instructing duties today and tomorrow," Tara said, "do you think you could manage a day off after that?"

"Nothing yet," Tara replied lightly, "maybe we could visit Amalee, do some shopping...it's a big city, I'm sure there's more than enough to do. And of course," she grinned seductively, "there's a certain appeal to being able to stay in bed all morning."

"There is at that," Willow nodded. "Speaking of which, we should probably be getting up right about now, but then again I'm kind of leading somewhere with all this," she licked Tara's cleavage again, and gave her breasts a squeeze. "Do you think you and your luscious breasts might join me in the shower?" Tara laughed loudly, which in turn caused her to shudder in Willow's grip.

Tara watched a volley of arrows fly, and mostly hit near the bull's-eyes they were aimed at. None missed the targets completely, which was unsurprising. General Murine had told her, both in his letter and then when Tara had arrived at the barracks, that she would be working with trained archers initially. Depending on how she did, the General would either add her to the roster of instructors who worked with new recruits, or, if she proved able to improve the abilities of trained men, keep her with the soldiers, and perhaps see if she could pass on some of her skills to the army's own archery instructors at the same time.

Her first session seemed to be going well. She had been hesitant at first, especially on seeing her 'students', three dozen soldiers who according to the General had already completed a six month tour of duty. Her worries about whether they would even listen to her were quickly put to rest by Sergeant Sheerson, a lean tower of a man who informed the troops, in a booming voice, that they would not show the slightest disrespect to Lady Tara, that they would do exactly as she told them, and that they would treat every word she said as if it had come from the Power That Is herself. That got her through the introductory stages without any difficulties, and once the soldiers saw her demonstrate her abilities, she was confident that they respected her, archer to archer.

As for being able to teach them anything, as the morning session wore on Tara was more confident about achieving good results. To a man they were good archers, with steady aim and good arms. Tara found that this actually helped her – when she explained and demonstrated Amazon techniques, they were able to understand quickly, and their training allowed them to put what they learned into practice, and see the results. The General watched the first hour of the session from the side of the range, then departed to attend to other business after giving Tara an encouraging nod.

She called a halt and told the men to retrieve their arrows and line up for another round. They were working on snap shots – firing accurately without preparation time – which was a skill that she felt the Duncraig instructors had undervalued somewhat. It was natural, she supposed, to concentrate on accuracy at range, given that the most likely battleground in Westmarch was an open plain, rather than the dense jungles of the Amazon Isles. The soldiers, however, had seen battle to varying degrees, and had learned the hard way that nothing in battle goes to plan. Some of them had already taken it upon themselves to practice drawing and firing in one motion, and all of them were eager to learn more.

Tara stood at the practice line and fired with the soldiers, doing exactly as she had taught them – facing sideways, bow held down, arrow in hand, opening her eyes, turning and nocking her arrow as she lifted the bow, letting the string loose the moment the arrow was pointed towards the target. She had felt awkward when she had first been taught the technique, so she had worked extra hard on it, and it paid off – by the time she was fifteen she had been able to bull's-eye a target the moment her eye fell on it. The soldiers had a lot to learn, but showed promise, and they were slowing slightly to get used to the action, rather than trying to match her speed and making mistakes in the process. Solari had always taught the same thing: 'Don't try to do it perfectly first time. Just try to do it okay, and work from there.'

After each man had fired ten arrows at his target Tara called a halt, and once the arrows had been collected she dismissed them for lunch. She felt a sense of accomplishment when she noticed how many of them spared her a wave or a word of thanks before they headed back to the armory to stow their weapons. 'This might work after all,' she smiled to herself.

For her own part, she was looking forward to lunch for more than the chance of a cool drink and something to fill her stomach. Before Tara had left their room for the barracks, Willow had asked if she got time off for lunch, and when Tara said she did, asked her to be at the gate to the Palace gardens at midday. Seeing the anticipatory grin on Willow's face, she didn't ask why – curiosity had plagued her during the short walk to the barracks, but the instructing had kept her mind busy, and besides, she knew it would be a good surprise. The gardens, on the northwest side of the Palace, were only a couple of blocks from the barracks, and Tara covered the distance quickly.

Willow was standing by the gates – huge old wooden doors, and a portcullis that looked like it hadn't been used in some time – and gave Tara a gleeful wave when she spied her across the street. Tara gave an answering wave and quickly crossed. Willow jogged forward a few steps to meet her, draping one arm around her waist and leaning in to kiss her. In her other hand she was holding a basket covered by a cloth, which Tara looked at, then raised a questioning eyebrow at Willow as they parted.

"Patience?" Tara teased. "This from the same Willow who gets over-excited at the tiniest little things?"

"For the record," Willow said mock-haughtily, "you've never seen me over-excited, the reason being, I'm with you, and you're worth all the excitement I can muster. Thanks," she said to the lone Palace guard standing at the gates, who nodded to allow them to pass.

"I will grant you," Willow went on, linking arms with Tara as the walked through the stone archway, "I get more visibly excited than most people. But I'm not most people, am I?"

"No you're not," Tara agreed, lifting Willow's hand to her lips, "you're my Willow." She gave her palm a gentle kiss. "And I love you, just the way you are."

"I love you too," Willow said warmly, "even more than I love being your Willow – and you know, I love being your Willow a lot."

Willow led Tara into the gardens, a sculpted piece of nature in the heart of the city. Tara knew the land extended right up to the river to the north, though she couldn't see that far – the road from the gate curved away in the other direction, towards the Palace, and apart from that there were lush green trees and bushes as far as she could see, with gravel paths lined with painted rocks winding their way in and out. Birdsong was in the air, the sounds of the city were quite muffled by the high stone wall – it was tranquil and inviting as paradise, and reminded Tara of home, of the green lands down by the lake, where she imagined herself and Willow living one day.

Willow led them down one of the paths, past exotic flowers, and beneath the shade of leafy trees stretching their boughs over little lawns of soft, verdant grass. They came to an avenue through the small forest, wide enough for a small coach, lined on either side with ornate oil lamps, statues dotted here and there, and twin rows of bushes that were blooming with hundreds of tiny white flowers.

"It's just up ahead," Willow said mysteriously. Tara had already guessed, just from her choice of setting, that Willow had planned a picnic, but held her tongue, looking forward to seeing just what she had prepared, and the spot she had chosen. They followed the avenue some way, then Willow took a turn off to the other side, leading Tara along a narrow path between shrubs and bushes, with venerable old trees stretching their branches high above.

"Here," Willow said, letting Tara walk in front of her. She emerged from between two tall bushes into a tiny clearing, outlined by the trunks of some low trees, their branches intertwining to filter the sunlight from above into a soft pattern of light and shade. The grass was tall and soft, dotted with tiny flowers, blooms of rich red and gold and white and sky blue all over. A blanket had been laid out, with cushions spread at its edge, and at the center a wood-covered metal ice bucket, with a bottle of wine, and two crystal glasses next to it. An unassuming statue of a woman in a robe stood just at the edge of the bushes, holding a dish, a bird-bath, kept full of water by a tiny brass spout bubbling merrily to itself. The trees enclosed the clearing on three sides – on the far side from Tara was the shore to a sparkling lake, with ducks paddling about, and not far off a little island, covered in long grass, reeds where it met the lake, and a pair of trees in the center, short with wide branches.

"You like?" Willow said with a radiant smile, taking her arm again and leading her to the cushions, where they both say down.

"Nothing's too good for my Tara," Willow said with a shy smile, setting the basket and her satchel down on the blanket. She reached for the wine and poured some into both glasses, handing one to Tara.

"It's light spring wine," she said, "just a couple of glasses won't affect your aim at all, so don't worry about this afternoon."

"You think of everything," Tara smiled. She settled back on her cushions and looked at Willow, who was smiling fondly at her.

"You know," Willow said, keeping her gaze, "it's been twenty-five days now since we met. Which isn't really a set moment that you'd normally celebrate, but hey, why not... In the past twenty-five days I've had a demon nearly summoned right in front of me by a psychotic mage, I've had Carvers attack me, I've found out that same demon has a massive grudge against me, I've come this close to being captured by yet another psychotic mage, I've had the wits frightened out of me by something going 'bump' in the night, I've walked across miles of wilderness with all sorts of nasty things chasing me, and I've been surrounded by a whole clan of goat-men and fought their truly massive leader – but you know what?" She settled back, still staring into Tara's gaze. "They've been the best twenty-five days of my life, and I wouldn't swap them for anything."

"Me neither," Tara said, "and in my case, you can add 'got shot at' and 'got clawed by a zombie' to that list." She was pleased that Willow laughed – the bad memories were only memories. "There's nowhere I wouldn't go with you," she went on, "nothing I wouldn't face to stay with you. I love you...I love the person I've become by being in love with you." Willow's expression was pure joy.

"Twenty-five days," she said in a voice thick with emotion. She raised her glass. "To many more."

"A lifetime's worth," Tara agreed, touching her glass to Willow's before taking a mouthful.

"Yeah," Willow said, setting her glass down carefully before leaning over to kiss Tara, slowly and thoroughly. Tara struggled just to keep from dropping her glass, overcome by the intense sensations of Willow's mouth on hers, her tongue touching her lips, gently moving inside, the taste of her, and the wine on her lips, the soft press of Willow's hands as she drew her into an embrace, the jolt of desire that rocked through her as Willow's leg nudged up against hers.

"Here," Willow whispered, taking Tara's glass, "let me get that for you." Never moving from Tara's side, she drained what was left in her glass, then kissed her again, sealing their lips together. Tara tasted the wine, and licked eagerly at Willow's tongue, moaning into her mouth as the sweet liquid flowed between them.

Without consciously realizing it, Tara found her right hand had worked the waist of Willow's skirt down to caress her hip; her other hand had pulled free the hem of her tunic and slipped beneath it, against Willow's back; Willow's hand was on her thigh, beneath her short leather skirt. Smiling devilishly as Willow paused in her kissing, she pulled her astride her thigh.

"Never," Tara murmured, "anytime I'm around you – especially when you do something this beautifully loving – you know it just makes me want you like nothing else." Willow grinned and pressed kisses onto Tara's neck and shoulder.

"Mmm, lovely," Tara sighed, "see? Completely robbed of...common sense...rational thinking...just want to love you..."

"I hope you're not expecting me curb your amorous tendencies," Willow warned, "because from where I'm lying, I don't see a problem." She worked her way back up to brush her lips across Tara's, her tongue sneaking out to lick at her moist lips, and slowly thrust her hips against Tara's leg, her thigh slipping between Tara's at the same time.

"Nope, no problem at all," she whispered, as Tara's hands tugged gently on her skirt, finding the tie at her waist and undoing it. As Tara slid the material off her, Willow kissed her way back down her neck to nuzzle in her cleavage, while her hand not around Tara holding her tightly lifted her skirt up around her waist. There was a brief pause while both women wriggled out of their underwear, then Willow lay down against Tara, each feeling the other's moist warmth on her bare thigh.

"Ooooh," they moaned simultaneously. Neither could resist a small giggle at that, then Tara's hand around Willow's waist urged her to press forward, while her other hand wound into her hair and brought her to her lips to taste her again. Willow moaned openly into the kiss, allowing Tara complete access to her, the elation of her lover's exploration of her mouth joining the building desire emanating from her core as they began a rhythm of pressing and moving against one another.

"Mmm," Tara murmured into Willow's ear, "feel that...on your skin...wet...just like I can feel you, baby..." Her breathing, and Willow's, was becoming rougher, more desperate, as their rocking motions pressed their clits and glistening folds against each other's thighs.

"Oh god-dess ye-es," Willow whispered in a halting voice, "yes...oh yesss...feel... me..."

"I...ahhh...can," Tara purred, "I can...feel...y-you...a-as if it...it were me... goddess...come..."

"Mmmm!" Willow bit her lip to keep from crying out, instead giving voice to a high- pitched moan of ecstasy as her sex clenched and gushed her delight. Tara was close, so close that the mere feeling of Willow's juices gracing her skin sparked the quaking climax building inside her. She held Willow to her, one arm around her shoulders, the other her hips, holding them against her own, keeping their sexes tightly pressed against skin that now glowed with the other's arousal. Every shudder, every sigh as they recovered from climax was passed through touch to the other, sharing everything.

"Just...gods," Willow murmured, nuzzling against Tara's neck, "you're so, so... beautiful doesn't even begin to cover it. You're more than beauty, you...you make beauty, you create it...you bring it into my world."

"I could never doubt that," Willow smiled, "never, never ever. I love you, my sweet," she kissed Tara on the lips, "beautiful," and again, "sexy," again, "lovely Tara." With one last kiss, gently opening Tara's mouth and dipping in with her tongue, she finally slid off her thigh and lay beside her, gazing at her in complete adoration.

"So," she grinned after a moment in which they simply enjoyed the sight of each other, "thinking of this all day, huh?"

"Uh-huh," Tara said with a smile, "well, asking me to meet you at the Palace garden sort of put the idea of a picnic in my head. And, well," she admitted with an adorable blush, "then I might have imagined a brief, um, interlude in the privacy of the bushes."

"Well that just shows how well you know me," Willow laughed, "besides, it's been at least four hours since we made love in the shower, that's plenty of time for me to build up a new appetite for you. Actually," she grinned sheepishly, "four seconds would do fine as well."

"You're not the only one," Tara said with an answering grin. They shared a chuckle, then Willow sat up and reached for her basket.

"Oh, plenty – um, bread, cheese, there's a salad in that bowl, some fruit, there's a flask of juice somewhere, oh, and look!" she finished, fishing a stem out of the basket.

"Fresh cherries," Willow nodded, picking one off its stem and holding it out to Tara, who devoured it right out of her fingers.

"They're not pearl cherries, so they've got seeds," Willow added. "I definitely owe Jesye some thanks, I asked her where a nice spot in the gardens might be and she told me about this little hideaway, and then she just showed up at Myrreon's workshop just before lunch with the basket from the kitchens."

"Wow," Tara mused, "that's impressive. I hope someone on the Duke's staff asks about our attendants sometime, I'd really like to give them a glowing report."

"Me too," Willow agreed. "I think Jesye might have had a bit of an ulterior motive though, I get the impression she might just have a teensy crush on Zan."

"Just a hunch. I mean, she's always nice, but she seems even more...I don't know, lively? I noticed her looking a bit more, I'm not sure how to put it – she smiles a bit wider, her face sort of lights up. I guess, next time we meet somewhere, watch me when I see you, I bet it's just the same." Tara blew her a kiss, which she returned.

"Anyway," she went on, "I thought I noticed her brighten when he answered the door yesterday, and she was definitely sneaking a glance at him now and then today. Not that I doubt she was glad to give me a hand preparing this little surprise for you, she was just as enthusiastic after we left the tower, but," she smiled, "I bet having an excuse to go up there seemed like a nice bonus."

"You might be right," Tara said, "I was kind of too nervous yesterday to be really paying much attention to how she was acting. But, you remember you told me Lissa had been assigned to Myrreon's rooms once? Maybe Jesye was too. I mean, they're friends, maybe they worked the same shifts, or something..."

"...and Jesye developed a liking for the mysterious, handsome mage's assistant," Willow concluded, "yeah, I can see that."

"Not on purpose," Willow said, "but...well, I think he's very deep. Lots of layers, and he seems like he might be a very private person too. Combined with the exotic looks, yeah, I guess there's a bit of mystery to him. He's very friendly, though. We get along well."

"I'm not sure exactly," Willow admitted, "I asked him, but he didn't want to go into it, so I didn't press. Somewhere in the far east. Way beyond the lands the Order has reliable information on, anyway. Like I said he's private – he was very polite about it, but I could see he didn't really want to talk about it. Maybe they're not happy memories – there's some scary rumors about that part of the world."

"He seems to be," Willow said, opening the salad bowl and placing it between them. "Myrreon's very complimentary about his abilities, and he seems to enjoy assisting – Myrreon gives him a lot of responsibility, it's not just carrying books and beakers around. He's got a very precise mind, very methodical, analytical – I think he liked the challenge that Myrreon's projects give him."

"No idea," Willow shrugged, "we're friendly, but I get the impression he takes a long time to get to know someone. Most of what we've talked about has just been magic, either general stuff, or specific to what we're working on. Maybe, though – he did ask about her, just in passing, how she's doing as our attendant, and he's not the sort to just make casual conversation for no reason. Maybe she's in with a chance there."

"A bit," Willow said, "she's an apprentice, so mostly when Myrreon's talking to me she's keeping an eye on whatever he was doing beforehand. Now she is a mystery...Zan's taught me a few of her signs, so she can 'talk' to me a bit, enough that we can work together well enough for simple stuff. She understands me, of course, just I have to be able to read her signs to understand her."

"Zan says she can't," Willow explained, "not human speech, anyway, apparently she's just not capable of forming most of the sounds."

"Sort of," Willow said, "there's a species that live deep in the Aranoch desert called Vipermagi, sort of serpent-men – humanoid upper body, with arms and shoulders and head, but covered with scales and sort of snake-shaped, and from their chest down these long, powerful snake bodies. They're- well, to put it bluntly, they're evil. They hate all other creatures...this isn't just second-hand sources, you understand, Ember's told me about them herself, and she's really not the kind to hold onto old prejudices. So far as I know – and I've read a lot of what the Order has about human-like species – they're the only serpentine race there is, aside from your basic snakes."

"No, she's not," Willow agreed, "for one thing, she's got legs, and besides, all the accounts I've read that mention it say that Vipermagi are asexual, they all appear male by our standards, except they can reproduce with each other – they lay eggs – whereas Ocean's definitely a woman, they way humans would see it...I didn't want to pry, particularly seeing as I don't know her well enough myself, and would've had to ask Zan. I mean, where she comes from isn't a problem – Zan obviously thinks she's no danger at all, Myrreon sort of treats her like a daughter, and she seems to look up to him kind of like a father. She's the gentlest person, as well. Just from being around her a little, I can't imagine her ever wanting to hurt anyone, or be cruel. She reminds me of you, in that respect."

"But yeah, she's a bit of a mystery. Unless she's the product of some very powerful mage doing something really insane with humans and snakes, I'd guess she's half Vipermagus. That can happen sometimes with some of the human-like races, cats in particular, there's some accounts of cat-people mating with humans...well, mating in the physical sense they do all the time, apparently, but there's reliable sources saying that there have been half-cat half-human children born to cat and human parents. I've never heard of a half-Vipermagus though, there's no reference to any ever having been born in anything I've read, and all things being equal I'd have guessed that humans and Vipermagi were incompatible, on a child-bearing level. And yet," she waved a hand vaguely, "there she is. Where it counts she's about as unlike a Vipermagus as you could imagine, but that'd be my best guess. She's even got their skill at astronomy."

"Yeah, Myrreon says she's brilliant with it, she actually helped redesign some parts of it. And Vipermagi are famous – infamous, actually – for sky magic. Ember told me that during the Reckoning, when things looked bad for Lut Gholein, and the Vipermagi thought they'd have all of Aranoch to themselves, they actually brought on an eclipse that lasted for twenty days before their temple was found and the spell was broken."

"I'm sure Ocean's a good person, though," Willow went on, "she's just...well, I guess she's like Zan, she's very private. Mind you, if she was born in Aranoch, they hate Vipermagi there, so it can't have been easy for her. Poor girl...oh, hey, though, you'll love this, speaking of the orrery-" She leant over and began fishing in her satchel.

"Where is the darned thing? Oh, here, hold this." She handed Tara the disc they had transmuted the day before.

"Yeah...still a mystery. I mean, it's completely magically inert. Odd composition though."

"Oh?" Willow abandoned her quest in her satchel for a moment and picked the disc back out of Tara's hands.

"It's covered by a thin gold layer," she explained, "but underneath that – we did a bunch of equivalence spells to see what it was made of exactly – underneath that there's twenty-seven different alloys, each in a ring that's locked into the alloys next to it. And I mean locked, it's not like they could have been slotted together, there's parts where they have bolts and hooks actually inside the next ring, so they had to be made by magic, or a very very talented craftsman. The precision in it is amazing, but so far as we can tell, it doesn't do anything. There's no sign of wear on the edges, so it wasn't made sharp and blunted over time – Zan still thinks it's a chakram, but it doesn't even fly well. He tried skimming it across the workshop, and just knocked over an empty easel a few meters away. If it weren't for the gold it'd be decorative, in a way – sort of a show-off piece – but as it is, it might just as well be one metal inside it rather than dozens." She shrugged and handed it back to Tara. "We sent a description down to the university library – they've got literally more books than anyone could read in a lifetime-"

"Even me," Willow nodded, "but the mages have always got the librarians looking up something or other, so if they don't know where to look, they just give them the description of whatever it is. Sooner or later, if it's there, it'll turn up. Maybe in some obscure book of party decorations for mages who like metalwork, I don't know."

"Beats me," Willow said, her attention on the contents of her satchel again, "maybe it's a piece of something else, who knows...ah, here it is." She proudly held up a pair of small metal spheres, each an inch across, their polished silver surfaces shining brightly. Willow held the top one, and the other hung a few inches beneath it. Tara peered closer, looking for a strand of silk, a thin wire, but there was nothing.

"Neat, huh?" Willow said, swinging the sphere back and forth – it moved exactly as if it were attached on a string. "It's a test piece for something Myrreon and Ocean are trying to build into the orrery, so it won't have to have to many moving parts. Apparently it's still prone to throwing a gear late at night now and then."

"It's one of those simple/complicated things – easy to do, but you need a particular sort of genius to think it up in the first place. What you do is, you make two spheres, or whatever, it doesn't matter what they are so long as they're as close to identical as you can get. These are just a silver-tin mix. Now, everything has energy – people have so much energy they're practically bursting with it, living energy, souls, magic – but everything, even something as simple as this, has energy, even if it's just the energy that makes it exist."

"Uh-huh," Tara said, gently prodding the lower sphere, watching it swing on its invisible tether.

"What Myrreon's done is to swap some of the energy from one sphere to the other, and vice versa. It works because they're almost identical – the differences are minute, the kind of imperfections that even magical forging can't entirely get rid of. But that means their energies are very, very close to being identical. If you tried to swap two different things, it wouldn't work, because the energy from one wouldn't, well, 'fit' in the other. But this works, and the result is, they're permanently 'paired'."

"Well, that's more of a side-effect, this is the distance apart the spheres were when the experiment was done, so they sort of default back to that. You can separate them, though." She caught the other sphere and gently tugged them apart. "The real benefit is... well, here, hold this."

Tara took the sphere that Willow offered and held it in her palm. Willow meanwhile leant over and touched the other sphere to the ice slowly melting in the wine chiller.

"Ah!" Tara exclaimed, almost dropping her sphere. She relaxed, and rolled it around in her palm. "It's cold. Not ice cold, but...like a cold breeze."

"I want to ask 'isn't that cool', but I'd never stoop to such a pun," Willow joked, earning a giggle from Tara. "See, because they're paired, they sort of transmit their physical state from one to the other. What you felt wasn't actually the sphere getting cold, although it would after a while, if I left this one in the water and it cooled down. But when I held this sphere close to the ice, an echo of the ice existed around your sphere. So you were sort of feeling an echo of what it would have been like if you hand had been holding my sphere, and seeing as your hand was underneath it, and I was holding mine above the icy water, your hand felt cold."

"It's really just a toy," Willow said, reaching over towards Tara. As she held her sphere over Tara's hand, the other sphere tugged gently towards it, finally seeming to latch on and float up as Willow lifted her hand. "Myrreon's made other versions, paired gears and stuff, to work on eliminating some of the connecting struts in the orrery that keep getting jammed. These are just a test he did, to see if it would work." She shrugged and dropped them back into her satchel. "Zan had an idea for using them to send messages, sort of coded, like smoke signals – touch one sphere to a block of ice and they'd feel it at the other end, something like that – but it didn't work out, the pairing effect starts to fade after they get more than five miles or so apart."

"I promise I'll keep you up-to-date until you get time to visit the workshop again," Willow replied.

"Yay," Tara murmured happily. She happened to glance up at the statue, with its bird-bath.

"Oh! Look." She leaned over beside Willow and pointed. A small bird, small enough to fit in the palm of a hand, was perched on the edge of the dish, taking sips of the water. It was a brilliant scarlet over its wings and head, and pure white underneath. Sensing the attention on it, it glanced up, tilted its head to peer at Willow and Tara with each eye, then went back to dipping its stubby little beak in the water.

"Red Paladin," Willow whispered, "a baby...there must be a nest nearby. Oh, isn't it cute?" Tara smiled, both at the little bird and at Willow's enthusiasm, and gathered her in a hug from behind. They watched for a moment more until the baby Paladin, evidently having had its fill, waddled around to face the other way on the edge of the dish, then quick as a flash flitted into the air and vanished out over the lake.

"They're very tame," Willow said, "out in the wild you don't see them much, 'cause everything else is bigger and stronger, and they're pretty timid, but...it's kind of like nature intended them to live in parks and gardens. The babies are a bit skittish, but the grown ones – they don't really grow that much, they're all tiny, but adult ones have these lovely long tails – they'll come and perch on your finger, they're not afraid of people at all."

"Beautiful," Tara sighed, "everything's beautiful, this is..." she waved a hand vaguely around the clearing, "everything is just beautiful. Thank you Willow, thank you so much, I..."

"You know," Tara said softly, "you don't have to do a thing, not a single thing, for me to love you completely, and yet, you do all this...I feel so, so...like my heart's full of love, you know?"

"Yeah," Willow smiled, leaning back in Tara's embrace, looking up at her, "I know exactly how you feel."

"The Duchess's niece was at the training field this afternoon," Tara mentioned as she and Willow ate dinner in their room that evening.

"Oh?" Willow prompted. "Do I have to go freeze her solid, or did she get the idea last night?"

"No freezing," Tara laughed, "she – Lindia – she was polite, courteous, and nothing more. We just exchanged a few words anyway, she spent most of the time riding up and down along the medium archery range."

"She's a horse archer," Tara said, "a good one. I had a look at some of her arrows after she'd made a run, her accuracy is good – exceptional, when you take into account that she's riding across the firing line at a fast canter."

"Really? I kind of took her for a, you know, a casual adventuress – goes out riding on her own, has a poke around remote areas and ruins, but really doesn't do anything much more difficult than sleep on the hard ground once in a while. They're not uncommon, men too. Ride into town, show off a bit, move on before someone asks you to do something difficult like clear up a nest of Carvers or something."

"Apparently not," Tara shrugged, skewering the last slice of baked potato on her fork, "my Sergeant – well, he's assigned to me while I'm instructing – actually knows her a little from a campaign his unit was part of last winter. According to him she's got a noble commission, brevet-captain, and she spent three months leading some of their best scouts on hit-and-run expeditions when they were scouring the eastern highlands for demonic beasts."

"A real adventuress," Willow mused, "well...I bet that helps catch the attention of the noblewomen."

"Well," Willow said, making a show of considering it, "I guess...so long as she's just looking. Besides, there's no denying you are eminently look-over-able. It's a real word," Willow protested as Tara giggled.

"I seem to remember she thought you were worth a look too," Tara grinned, "on which I happen to agree. A lot more than a look, in fact."

"Agree with her you may," Willow smiled, pushing her empty plate aside, "but you're the only one who gets more than a look. Do you happen to fancy a little more than a look?"

"I said a lot more," Tara replied, standing up and coming around the table, "and yes, as a matter of fact, I do." She faced Willow, giving her her best sultry smile. "Is my Willow amenable to being more than looked at?"

"Your Willow is amenable to anything you please," Willow replied, lightly biting her lower lip and ducking her head to look up at Tara through her lashes. "Looking...or anything else."

"I had an idea this afternoon," Tara leant down to whisper in Willow's ear, "why don't you go get comfortable, and I'll join you." Willow turned her head to steal a quick kiss, then sauntered over towards the bed, glancing over her shoulder now and then. Even as Tara gathered up the plates to put outside the door, Willow could feel her eyes on her. She took her time undressing, making a show of undoing the laces on her tunic, sliding her skirt slowly down her legs, discarding her bra, then sitting down on the soft bedspread, arching her back as she slipped her underwear off. By this time Tara had put out most of the candles, bringing the room's lighting down to its usual comforting night- time glow. While Willow pulled back the covers, slowly slid her legs up onto the bed and stretched out, her eyes never left Tara, who disrobed with more than a little elegant teasing in her motions, and how she chose to tantalizing reveal glimpses of herself before finally shedding her clothes completely.

"These," Tara said, picking up the pair of spheres Willow had left on the mantelpiece when she returned from the afternoon's study, "they're quite safe?"

"Um, yeah, perfectly," Willow said, her brows furrowing in confusion. Tara sauntered over to the bed and knelt down beside it, bringing her face level with Willow's.

"So if I were to touch this one to my lips," she said, holding up a sphere, "and this one," she caught the other, hovering a few inches below the first, "to yours...?"

"I'd...it'd feel like you were kissing me," Willow said, comprehension dawning on her.

"If I were to hold this one...here," she touched one sphere to Willow's hardening nipple, "and this one...?" she slowly brought the other to her lips and kissed it.

"So," Tara breathed, giving the spheres a quick tug apart to separate them, "if I were to..." One hand disappeared down, beneath where the edge of the bed cut off Willow's line of sight. Her eyes went to Tara's, and she watched as she licked her lips, as they parted slightly, as she let out a faint sigh that turned into a smile. She raised her hand again, opening it like a stage illusionist who had made a card disappear by slight of hand, then rose slowly, looking down at Willow as she stood tall, proud and naked. The sphere was nowhere in sight, but Willow, breathing in heavy, aroused sighs, knew exactly where she had put it.

"Now," Tara whispered, elegantly lifting a leg over Willow and settling onto the bed, straddling her, "if we..." She held up the remaining sphere, and even before she had brought it all the way up to Willow's face she darted down and pressed her lips against the smooth metal. Tara let out a startled gasp, as if Willow had truly, intimately kissed her, and Willow was elated to feel on her lips an echo of the warmth and wetness she knew was within Tara.

"Tara?" Willow asked softly, "is it okay-" She was cut off as Tara practically lunged at her, devouring her mouth in a searing, heart-racing kiss. Her lips and tongue moved with such passion, such single-minded desire, that Willow felt as Tara's kisses were all over her, inside and out, caressing every inch of her body.

"Then I guess," Willow said, managing to sound at least a little teasingly nonchalant, "I know what you'd like me to do with this?" She brought her hand to Tara's and took the sphere from it. Tara stared at her hand, then let out a great, sensual sigh and stretched herself out full-length on the bed, her head resting on Willow's chest, her lips tasting her breasts and nipples as she writhed slowly, too aroused even to keep still. Her eyes followed Willow's hand as she lowered it, rolling the sphere down her chest and stomach, her quick, shallow breathing a reflection of the sensations of warmth and silkiness she felt moving down her body.

"Oooh," Tara purred, "smooth..." Willow grinned at her, taking in the length of her body with her eyes, her back arching, her legs slowly moving back and forth, pressing her hips against the sheets. Tara turned her lidded gaze back on Willow's face as her hand passed her waist, and it was with Tara staring into her eyes that Willow gently parted her nether lips, slipped a single finger into herself a little way, and then tucked her thumb behind the sphere in her palm and nudged it forward.

Between its modest size, smooth surface and the abundance of moisture glistening on Willow's sex, it was no effort at all to slip the sphere between her folds and into her channel. She had to fight to keep her eyes open, to hold onto the erotic spectacle of pleasure overtaking Tara's face, as she filled with the sensation of her lover within her, not a part of her, fingers or tongue, inside the hollow of her sex, but Tara's warmth, Tara's wetness, the tight clenching of her muscles and the silky smoothness of her core, coexisting with Willow's own center, as if a part of her. With a trembling hand, Willow slipped a finger into herself, and nudged the sphere deeper, settling it where it wouldn't immediately push out as her inner muscles worked.

Then she did close her eyes, her last glimpse being of Tara doing the same, and she knew from what she felt within that the last gentle nudge had pushed the sphere to the same place Tara held hers. It was no longer a foreign sensation she felt, but something so close to the pleasure radiating from her own sex that it seemed to Willow that she and Tara had merged, that they were both feeling the sensations of a single body, a single core of love feeding them both. Gathering herself, controlling her ragged breathing, she essayed a quick squeeze of her muscles, and was instantly rewarded by the sound of Tara's gasp of delight, and the feeling, within herself, of her lover's answering spasm of pleasure. That in turn sent another wave of pleasure through her, drawing another moan from Tara as she too experienced it.

"I feel you," Tara moaned, her head resting on Willow's shoulder, hot breath flowing across her neck, "I feel you like I'm part of you...I...oh goddess...I-I can't keep myself... can't hold on...for long..."

"Yes," Tara said at once, "yes, I want to feel you...all the way...everything, my love."

"Everything," Willow agreed, as Tara's hand moved down between her legs. Tara shifted, her other hand moving beneath herself, and then, at the same time, both sets of fingers found their destinations.

"Oh!" Willow exclaimed, jolting as Tara caressed her clit, while within her she felt the effects of Tara's attentions to her own sex, the squeezing, the incredible heat and wetness, climbing, soaring.

"Willow," Tara chanted like a mantra, "Willow...Willow..." Willow knew – from her voice, her breathing, the trembling in her form, and from the echo within herself – that she was very, very close. She herself was seconds from climax, but a need overtook her, to give Tara more.

"I love you," she moaned, her hand moving to cover Tara's between her legs, holding Tara's fingers to herself, the pressure on her clit setting her off. As the wave of heat crashed within her, as Tara cried out in ecstasy, she felt the answering climax, felt Tara respond to her pleasure, and Tara's pleasure become a part of her own.

"Tara! Oh goddess," Willow exclaimed, "oh my goddess, oh! Oh...oh Tara...lover..." She shuddered her way through a strong aftershock, which with the same pleasure from Tara had almost the strength of another climax in itself. As her core slowly, very slowly, settled and calmed, she drew Tara to herself, enveloped her in a hug, and kissed her as if she was intent on achieving by pure passion the same kind of joining that magic had just given them.

The kiss – deep, probing and intense – ended only when Tara shifted her hips on top of Willow's, and both gave a little involuntary gasp as the spheres within them tugged gently, finding their partners close enough to link. Tara pressed a final kiss to Willow's lips and sat up a little, sliding her hips down over Willow's thighs. With a luxurious sigh Willow felt the small sphere slide out of her, and parted her legs to let it fall into Tara's palm. With a gentle motion Tara drew its twin out of herself, and set the pair on the bedside table as she lay back down, cuddling around Willow, submitting most willingly to her embrace.

"You're always beautiful," Tara went on, "always...every touch, every moment...I don't- That was a wonderful experience," she said, "but I don't want you to think there's any experience you can't give me on your own."

"I know," Willow assured her, "it was very, very good, but nothing's better than just you and me, making love. We don't need anything else."

"That said," Tara smiled, nuzzling into Willow's hair, spread out on the pillow, "do you get to keep those?"

"I think so," Willow said, lifting her head slightly to give Tara a grin, "they're not actually useful for anything in the workshop, and Myrreon gave them to me...I'll ask him, but yeah, I think we get to keep them."

"Good," Tara said firmly. "The utter, complete perfection of making love to you," she kissed Willow's neck, "may be all I need, but there's nothing wrong with a little... magical experimentation?"

"Not at all," Willow agreed, "variety is the spice of life, after all. And I'd like our life to be nice and spicy."

"Mmm, my spicy sorceress," Tara murmured, slowly kissing her way across Willow's shoulder, then starting down towards her breast.

"Always," Tara said, her voice muffled against Willow's skin, "now lie back...I'm hungry."

She was at home, beneath Tran Athulua in what was colloquially called the Forest Basin. High above the branches of the huge trees spread out, reinforced with timber beams, joining together into a gigantic lattice that bore the weight of a whole city. Hundreds of people lived, worked, played and loved, but here, below, there was a serene hush. Light filtered unevenly through the branches and buildings above – not day, not night, not even twilight but a gentle glow, warm and inviting, shafts of brilliant sun lighting the shady glades and trails.

Tara wandered through the trees in the vague way of a dream, moving from one place to another like water flowing down a stream, her senses filled not with colors and forms but with memories, feelings, echoes of her past and the future she hoped for. She knew Willow was here – not by sight or hearing, but she knew her movements would bring them together. Part of her was already there, touching her skin, inhaling her scent.

With a gentle sigh of change the scene shifted to a glade Tara had liked as a child, near Jenavria's house, where flowers bloomed and birds chirped in their nests in the low branches. Willow was there, of course, lying naked on a carpet of moss around the spreading roots of a great oak, smiling up at her. She reached out to Tara with one hand, her other trailing a rose over her body, dipping between her legs, then back up, with her dew gracing the petals. She brought the rose to her lips as Tara lay with her, both of them kissing the petals, tasting, before a sly grin overtook Willow's features, and she tossed the flower aside and pulled Tara into her embrace.

Tara felt her body singing as she lay between Willow's legs, inhaling her scent, tasting her wetness. The glade became a lake, and the lake in turn became Willow, and an endless ocean which Tara floated in, shallow waves lapping at her body. She arched her back and submerged, diving deep into the water, which became Willow again, her core, her soul in liquid. Tara opened her mouth to the taste and breathed her, Willow's arousal sustaining her as she sank even deeper, beyond the need for light or air, or anything of the world. Her legs parted and she felt Willow's warmth caressing her, flowing into her, as all around her the deep waters of Willow's soul pressed in on her, caressing every inch of her body, kissing her, licking her-

Willow moaned in the back of her throat and tried to keep herself from moving too much as Tara's body writhed against hers, and her mouth bestowed all its affection on Willow's breasts, kissing and licking, sucking on a nipple whenever her gentle motions brought her lips near enough. Finally Willow couldn't resist admitting she was awake, and lifted an arm off her pillow to stroke Tara's hair.

"Mmm," Tara purred. Willow giggled involuntarily as she felt Tara's eyelashes stroke against her skin. Tara started slightly, then looked up at Willow and her mild surprise turned to contentment.

"I was dreaming," Tara said, resting her head on Willow's shoulder. A cheeky grin curved her lips. "Why, was I groping you in my sleep again?"

"I imagine you were," Willow chuckled, "but for at least the last ten minutes you've been kissing my breasts. Most exquisitely, I might add."

"At least," Willow repeated, "that's how long ago I woke up. After that I was kind of pretending to be asleep, and enjoying the attention," she grinned, "I thought you were already awake."

"I was dreaming," Tara said again, "it was beautiful... I was at home, you were there, then you were all around me, and I was... you were touching me, all over, and inside me, and I was breathing you, my heart was beating for you, it was like you were, were life itself."

"Sounds like a nice dream," Willow smiled. Tara opened her mouth to reply, then bit her lip and instead moved her legs, settling herself down atop Willow's left thigh so that she could feel the wealth of wetness there.

"For me too," Willow added, lifting her free leg over Tara's thigh and pulling it down against her own sex, hot and wet with arousal. "In fact," Willow went on, "if you hadn't done that thing with your eyelashes, I don't know how much longer I could have held myself in check anyway."

"What thing with my eyelashes?" Tara asked. She lay down and batted her lashes against Willow's check, just at the top of her cleavage.

"Oh!" Willow squealed in delight. "Yep, that thing... it's like a caress and a tickle all at once. Ahhh... even the tiniest little things you do are so, so... so darned erotic." She rolled over, ending up on top of Tara, who she leaned down and kissed, slowly and thoroughly. Tara opened her lips and settled back luxuriously as Willow's tongue played with hers.

"Lovely Willow-tongue," she murmured to herself, when Willow freed her lips and began kissing her way across her cheek, down to the side of her neck where she nuzzled against the curve of her neck and shoulder, licking her skin. She glanced at the shuttered window, and noticed the light filtering through it was lancing far across the room, rather than slanting downwards.

"Early," Willow replied happily, still applying her tongue to Tara's skin between words, "dawn was just a little while ago, I think. We got an early night last night... well, and more than a little snuggling and kissing and ecstatic moaning, but still, I think we managed a couple of hours sleep..."

"I like early nights," Tara mused, "lots of time for making love, and we get even more time to ourselves in the morning."

"Best of both worlds," Willow grinned. "So, with all this free time we've got, what do you think we should do before we start the day? Read a book? Go down to the markets and see what they've got fresh for breakfast? Dust the mantelpiece?"

"It's always good to start the day with some exercise," Tara said. Willow giggled.

"Well, isn't it lucky I just happen to have an Amazon warrior here who, I'm told, is an instructor as well. I'm sure she'll know exactly how to keep me fit and active."

"I'm sure she will," Tara said, "of course, you're quite fit already, so let's just concentrate on the 'active' part now."

"Heh," Willow chuckled, "my own personal Amazon workout." Tara smiled and rolled Willow over onto her back, cuddling up to her side.

"So does my instructor have any preferences?" Willow asked. "Or should I just improvise?"

"Improvising is good," Tara said, "but to get started, let's see how you do following a strict exercise routine."

"Strict?" Willow asked, a gleam in her eyes. Tara chuckled and lay her head down next to Willow's, whispering in her ear.

"Then I'll put myself in your hands," Willow purred. With a fleeting lick at her ear in parting, Tara sat up and took hold of the covers.

"First, let's see what we've got to work with," she smiled, pulling the bedclothes down to reveal Willow from head to toe. Crouching beside Willow, she very slowly ran her eyes up the length of her body. Willow shivered with anticipation at the naked excitement she saw in Tara's eyes, the shameless, luxurious way her gaze roamed all over her body, taking in her flushed skin, her slightly parted thighs, the gleam of moisture at their apex, the erect nipples still glittering with traces of her kisses.

"You've obviously taken excellent care of yourself," Tara said seriously, with only a twinkle in her eye giving away the amusement she was finding in their game, "I'd even go so far as to say, you're nothing less than what an instructor would dream of. Now, shall we get started?"

"Now, when you start to work out," Tara went on, in her playful-serious voice, "it's very important not to just start cold. You have to warm up first. Normally that would mean doing some easy moves to begin with, but in your case," she leaned over Willow, teasing her with her breasts dangling enticingly near her lips, "there's a very special technique I can use to warm you up. Would you like to try it?"

"Instructor knows best," Willow said, trying for the same serious tone in her voice, though the immediate temptation of Tara's breasts so close made her words come out in more of a desperate gasp. Tara smiled widely, nodded, acknowledging Willow's assent, and moved down her body until she was kneeling beside her legs.

"Open wide," she said, brushing a hand over Willow's thigh. Willow obediently parted her legs, stretching out to either side as far as they would comfortably go. Tara raised an eyebrow in approval and crawled over to kneel between her legs, crouching down close to her center.

"You bet," Willow replied, biting her lip in eager excitement. Tara gave her a grin, then leaned down and, without preamble, pressed her open mouth against Willow's sex, reaching her tongue as deep as she could, swirling and tasting Willow with abandon.

"Oh gods!" Willow shouted, involuntarily thrusting down towards Tara, as if trying to draw more of her in, her slick folds kissing wetly against Tara's lips, her inner muscles clenching desperately. Tara kept Willow writhing for a moment, but drew back before she could gain control of herself and began a rhythm with her hips. She licked her lips, as Willow whimpered beneath her.

"Burning hot," Willow gasped. Tara chuckled, delicately licked her fingertip then touched it to Willow's cleavage, making a hissing sound between her teeth.

"Perfect," she smiled as Willow giggled, "now, we begin. First... start slowly. Put your hand flat on your thigh. That's right..." She lay down next to Willow, propping her head up on the pillows so she could whisper in her ear and observe the length of her body at the same time. Willow had obediently put her right hand on top of her thigh, pressing her fingertips lightly into her skin.

"This is very important," Tara whispered, "before any sort of strenuous exercise, an Amazon always takes a moment to concentrate, focus on herself... to experience her body. Even before a battle."

"Oh yes," Tara replied, "a full-fledged assault on your senses... no prisoners taken, no quarter given. Now, just... feel your body. Open yourself to the experience of, of being you... feel the heat inside you... those firm muscles, ready to obey your every command... feel your core waiting, ready for-" she paused. "Well," she said with a chuckle, "we'll get to that, all in good time. Now, do you feel it? Your whole body?"

"Like I said, we don't want to just leap into the most strenuous exercise," Tara said, resting her upper body against Willow's left shoulder, "you're warmed up, but even so, the best way is to build up slowly... So to start, move just one finger... just a little. Just touch your inner thigh, very slowly, very lightly. Stroke, back and forth... back and forth... enjoying that?" Willow nodded, and Tara felt the trembling excitement within her.

"Good... now move your hand up, slowly, until that finger is just about to touch your lips." She watched Willow's hand edge up to the top of her thigh, with her forefinger dipping down towards her sex, and felt her own arousal building with surprising strength. She did her best to put the demanding itch between her thighs out of her mind, and concentrate on Willow.

"Are you close now?" she asked. "So close you'll be touching yourself, if you move just the tiniest fraction? Good... I want you to concentrate very hard now, just on your core... Concentrate on your sex, Willow," she breathed, trying to ignore how much she was turning herself on in the process, "forget everything else, forget the rest of your body. Feel how wet you are... how ready you are... imagine what it will feel like to touch yourself... imagine that fingertip brushing over your folds... close to your clit... becoming moist... Feel how the muscles inside you are pleading, pleading for you to go inside... aching to be touched... nothing else exists... do you feel it?" Willow nodded, a faint sigh escaping her parted lips.

"Good," Tara purred, "excellent... my perfect Willow... Now, I want you to let that feeling spread through your whole body. From your core down, inside your thighs, down your legs to your feet... and up, through your body, through your chest, flowing from inside you into your breasts, along your arms, up into your mind, flooding you... Do you feel it baby? All of you, so ready?" Willow nodded.

"Now touch," Tara breathed in Willow's ear, "just lightly, just like you imagined... Give your body exactly what it wants, but slowly... so slowly... so you always want more." She watched as Willow's finger moved a fraction, felt the shiver than ran through Willow as she touched herself, and she drew her finger up, the fingertip cresting her mound, touching her clit for a fraction of a second.

"Now still," Tara said, and Willow lay her trembling hand back on her thigh. Her breathing was deep, her breasts rising and falling beneath Tara's gaze.

"Sensitive?" Tara asked. Willow nodded unsteadily. "Felt good, didn't it?" Again Willow nodded. "You want more, don't you?" Again, nod. "Alright... now slowly, baby... your body needs you. Show it how much you love it... touch yourself again... But don't move this time, just rest your finger against yourself." She heard Willow's breathing quicken, and imagined her fingertip nestling between her folds, poised to taste the warmth within.

"Now move," she whispered, "up and down, little motions... and feel every stroke go a little deeper... part your lips a little more..." She glanced at Willow's face, and smiled at her intense, desperately blissful expression.

"I love you," Willow whispered. Tara settled in beside her, finding her face far more erotic to watch than the motions of her hand.

"Deeper," she purred, her gaze fixed on Willow's lips as an anticipatory smile tugged at their corners, "deeper now... and feel every muscle... feel every heartbeat as it surges through you..." Willow's lips trembled, opened in a silent sigh of delight. Tara felt her arm move slightly, and knew as if Willow's body were her own what she was doing.

"That's good," she continued, "that's so good... faster now... feel your core grasping at your finger, welcoming it with every thrust... straining to hold it inside every time you draw back... weeping tears of joy for being filled, and caressed... loved..."

"I love you," Tara replied, "now draw back, and hold yourself back... still... that's good." She felt Willow's arm trembling, and didn't have to imagine the temptation she felt to return to her inner warmth. It was only by a great force of will that Tara had been able to ignore the demands of her soaking, pulsing sex. She shivered, feeling tiny beads of moisture trickle out of her, down the insides of her thigh, over her mound.

"Two fingers now," Tara sighed, "this is the key to a good workout, you see." She smiled to herself. "When you've found that place where you feel like you can keep going forever, then you add just a little more... push yourself just a little further... that's how you reach your peak. Reach for me, baby," she whispered, licking Willow's earlobe, "reach into yourself, reach your core."

She felt the motion of Willow's arm as she returned her fingers to her sex, and marveled at the beauty in her face as she let out an unrestrained moan of pleasure. Tara's own center throbbed in sympathy as Willow's body rocked with her motions, in and out, gaining pace.

"Good, baby," she breathed, "so good, so beautiful... oh goddess Willow I love you... feel with your whole body baby, don't hold back... don't hold back... faster... rub your clit baby, every stroke, all the way up to your clit, then down and back inside, inside and out, oh goddess baby, do it... do it..." Willow's amorous whimpers were constant now, a stream of aroused sound welling up from her soul with every breath she released. Her body was writhing, in the grip of the rhythm of her hand, and Tara reached around her shoulders, holding on to her.

"Come for me," she whispered, "come for me, my beautiful Willow, make my world perfect, make me come..."

"Yes!" Willow cried out loud, her hips rising completely off the bed as her climax took over. Tara held on to her, aroused beyond belief, and between her own clenching thighs her core released its flood of pleasure. Willow gasped and moaned aloud, caressing her folds as her juices saturated her thighs and her hand, turning her head to search for Tara's lips, and claiming them the moment she found them. Tara held nothing back, letting Willow feel the full measure of how wholly, hopelessly aroused she had become.

"Mmm," Willow moaned into Tara's mouth, rolling over and embracing her, pressing their bodies together. Her hand, soaked from her own climax, gently explored Tara's moistened sex, bringing on a series of delightful tremors that shook her whole body. She then brought her fingers to their joined lips, adding the taste of both their orgasms to their mouths. Tara felt she would cry from pleasure, and even when Willow finally released her lips and lay her head on her chest, she remained in a state of ecstasy, sighing and whimpering, licking the mingled tastes from her lips.

"You know," Willow said, once Tara had rode out her post-orgasmic bliss, "if all those soldiers you're teaching at the barracks find out the kind of exercises you give me, they're going to be severely jealous." Tara chuckled, and in the warmth of their shared pleasure her chuckle overtook her and infected Willow until they were both clutching at each other laughing.

"So you liked your Amazon workout, then?" Tara asked when she had managed to calm down.

"Oh yeah," Willow grinned, wriggling her body against Tara's, "I can feel it doing me a world of good. I take it this is an ongoing program?"

"Definitely," Tara replied, adopting her mock-serious instructor's voice again, "best results are achieved with a consistent regimen – daily, or if you like, even more frequent."

"Sounds good to me," Willow said, rolling on top of Tara and cuddling up to her, "I'll take one lifetime's worth."

"I know," she replied, "a-and I love you so much..." She pressed a tender kiss to Tara's lips, tears spilling calmly from her eyes and trailing down her cheeks. With a radiant smile she hugged Tara tightly and buried her face in the blonde hair spread across the pillows.

"No hurry," Tara smiled, "hey, you feel like a long, relaxing bath to start the day?" Willow's head popped up, a gleeful smile on her lips.

"Well, it's important we both keep up our exercises, and you know, it can be very soothing to work out in the water, so..." Willow's smile actually grew wider, "...want to put me through my paces?"

The guard at the barracks gate accepted Willow's reason for visiting and let her by, quickly telling her in a bored voice which buildings were off-limits, and pointing her in the direction of the archery ranges. She kept to his directions and found them quickly, though she was surprised to find the firing lines vacant. Spotting the lone figure nearby, she smiled and sat down on a bench, content to watch for a while.

Tara was practicing with her spear, concentrating wholly on herself and her motions, such that she didn't seem to have noticed Willow's presence. The weapon whirled around her, and she moved almost as if she were dancing, spinning, darting from side to side, advancing and retreating amid dazzling combinations of strikes and defensive strokes. Willow leaned back against the wall behind the bench and tuned out everything but Tara, idly fixing on one part of her for a while then moving on to the next, studying her in detail. Where her armor left her bare – her face, her upper chest, arms and legs – Willow could see the sheen of sweat on her, a combination of the sun's heat and her exhaustive routine. But as the minutes wore on, she never faltered – precise, controlled, graceful.

'That's my girl,' Willow thought, shaking her head slightly in wonder. 'My girl, my lover, my partner... Tara.' She noticed a motion off to one side and glanced at it, spotting a pair of lancers on their way from the armory to another building. She couldn't help but grin as she saw them both take more than a glance at Tara, and one of them murmur a comment to the other with an impressed expression on his face. 'What're you thinking?' she mused, before turning her gaze back on her lover, 'something like 'Wow, isn't she hot'? 'Boy I wish I could get to know her better'? Too bad,' she grinned, 'she's mine. All mine. I'm the one who gets to kiss her... all over... yummy. I get those strong hands holding me, touching me everywhere... I get those thighs wrapped around me, I get to run my tongue up and down them, and then between them... I get to see her glistening with sweat like that from a very different kind of exercise.' She chuckled to herself. 'Who's the luckiest sorceress in the whole world? What do you know, it's me! Yay me.'

She smiled and stood up as Tara's routine drew to a close, and waved when Tara glanced over and saw her. She spun her spear around a couple of times, casually, then sauntered over to Willow.

"Well now," she said flirtatiously, "what's a pretty young thing like you doing hanging around the barracks?"

"Oh, you know," Willow said, waving a hand vaguely, "just checking out the soldiers, you know how sexy leather armor can be, on the right body."

"As a matter of fact, I did," Willow replied, taking Tara's hand and walking with her across the vacant parade ground next to the archery ranges. "I just sat down for a moment to get out of the sun, and happened to spot a sexy goddess of a woman getting herself all hot and sweaty doing a spear routine."

"Oh yeah," Willow replied airily, "and between her armor being yummily tight, and not concealing much, I saw plenty. I was thinking I might see if I can get her into my bed..."

"You've very confident," Tara observed, "how do you know she hasn't already got some hunky soldier to keep her company?"

"I have it on good authority that she's got a thing for red-headed sorceresses," Willow said with a wink.

"Well in that case I definitely like your chances of getting lucky with her," Tara chuckled. "Do you know who this sexy spearwoman might be?" Willow nodded and returned her grin.

"You know I'd never even think about anyone else," Willow said, seriousness behind her smile.

"I know," Tara said easily, setting Willow's mind at ease, "and for the record, you can seduce me anytime you want. Sort of like having your cake and eating it too."

"Well, as you so accurately noted," Tara said, leading Willow between the armory and a storehouse, "I got all 'hot and sweaty'. There's a shower block down by the river. Private stalls for officers – I get to use one of those. Technically I'm an officer, you know."

"Only a third lieutenant," Tara said bashfully, "kind of bottom of the food chain, for officers, but it means I'm entitled by military law to give orders to the troops I'm training. The contract only applies while I'm in the barracks compound on instructor duty, though. Not that I'm instructing at the moment."

"I don't care," Willow said, "I'm still proud of you. Though seeing as you mention it, where's your class of budding archers? You didn't send them all home to their girlfriends to get some exercise, did you?"

"No," Tara laughed, "there's an escort being put together, they got called away an hour early for briefing and preparation. They marched out not long before you got here, they're going to form up outside the city while the rest of the expedition gets together. They'll be away for two weeks, to the northern army and back, and until then I've just got afternoon classes with the household platoons."

"Not really, just going up there to check things out. He told me this morning, apparently the Duke got a report last night saying that the mages they've got up there found evidence of enemy mages, but weren't sure what it was. They're battle mages, according to Myrreon, so not necessarily the best at identifying artifacts and reading ancient tomes."

"Yeah," Willow said, "just for the two weeks it'll take to get there and back. He's taking Zan with him, they're leaving tonight."

"He's given me permission to use his workshop and most of his libraries, and Ocean's staying, the orrery's doing something delicate she needs to make daily adjustments to for the next few days. So I'll be able to pursue a couple of projects Myrreon started me on. Plus there's the other mages the Order made arrangements with, at the university, and the private ones. I'll visit most of them, see if any of them have openings in their schedules for the next couple of weeks. I'll drop by that mage Ember wrote to this afternoon. But basically, more free time than otherwise. So, you're free mornings, huh?"

"Just so long as you deliver me to the barracks after lunch, I'm yours," Tara grinned.

"Goody," Willow smiled. They reached the river, where a squat rectangular building turned out to be the shower block. There was no sound from within, and Willow peeked through the open door, seeing the interior to be largely empty, with a tiled floor and a row of metal showerheads. Tara led her around to the side of the building, where a number of enclosed stalls had been added.

"You could wait out here," she said, sounding like she didn't think much of the idea, "or if you want," a grin appeared on her lips, "the stall's big enough for two?"

"Luring me into a shower five minutes after we met?" Willow smiled. "Who's seducing who here?" Tara raised a suggestive brow, then reached out and caught the collar of Willow's robe, gently dragging her in and closing the door behind them.

The stall was roomy and clean, sloping gently to one end, where the shower was, and at the other mainly occupied by a bench and a high wooden shelf. The showerhead was connected to a small foot-operated pump, and from there evidently to the river. Willow felt a tiny spark of magic from the pump, and hazarded a guess at a simple filter spell. Tara slid the bolt across in the door, locking it, propped her spear in the corner, and laid her bow, quiver and pack on the shelf.

"Love to," Willow replied, starting to undo the laces on her armor. With practiced ease she quickly divested Tara of her armor, neatly laying out the bodice, skirt, boots and gloves at the far end of the stall, clear of where the water might splash. Tara gave Willow a glance over her shoulder, an inviting grin, and repositioned her hips. Willow took the invitation and crouched down behind her, sliding the thin leather underwear down her legs. She couldn't resist leaning in to give Tara a quick kiss on her bottom, which drew a giggle.

"How about a deal?" Tara suggested. "You pump, I bathe... you get to watch. I'll make it worth the effort."

"I like this deal," Willow nodded. She sat down on the bench, finding she could reach the pump with one outstretched leg quite comfortably, and gave a few pumps. This pressurized the system, so that water sprinkled out of the shower as soon as Tara turned the single tap. Willow found she only needed give a pump every few seconds to keep the water flowing consistently, and quickly fell into a rhythm she didn't need to think about, leaving her mind free to concentrate on Tara.

'She's as good as her word,' Willow thought idly, propping her chin up on her hand and gazing longingly at her. Tara was indeed making the chance to watch her bathe worth far more than the meager effort of keeping the shower going – she turned slowly, swaying her hips, tilting her head back as the water flowed through her hair, over her shoulders, down her body and legs. Her hands ran lazily up and down, now cupping her breasts, squeezing her nipples, now one hand caressing her neck and continuing upwards, gathering a handful of hair and lifting it above her head, as her other hand brushed lightly between her legs, fingers moving slowly through the patch of hair there. Willow's head started to tilt from side to side in time with the swaying of Tara's hips, as if she were hypnotized.

Tara tipped her head far back, closing her eyes as the water showered onto her face, running in rivulets down her body. From there she rolled her head around until she was looking straight down, her hair swept over on one side, water streaming from it. Looking up just enough to meet Willow's gaze she grinned, then leant down, lifted her right breast and delicately licked her nipple. Willow shivered involuntarily. Tara's grin widened, then she looked down at herself, craned her neck a little further and cupped her breast a little higher, and took her nipple into her mouth. Willow let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and then found herself unable to keep her gaze from following Tara's other hand as it descended again to her mound. With her feet planted firm and wide, Tara used her index and ring fingers to part her lips, and her middle finger took Willow's eyes with it as it stroked up and down the soft pink flesh in between.

Tossing her head back, she lifted her fingers from her folds and stroked herself, once, lavishly, with her palm. She turned and spun the tap off, then sauntered over to where Willow was sitting.

"Huh?" Willow's brow furrowed in confusion, then she looked down at her foot, which was still pressing against the pedal every few seconds. With a sheepish smile she stood up and handed Tara a towel from her pack.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Tara said nonchalantly, "I knew you liked pumping me." Willow couldn't help a burst of shocked laughter.

Willow sauntered happily down one of the narrow streets that wound through the blocks to the south of the university, swinging her staff jauntily with each step. She had had lunch with Tara, at a little tavern restaurant near the barracks, which judging from the handful of uniforms among the patrons was where the officers liked to spend their lunch hours. A well-cooked hearty meal, and Tara's company, had left her grinning all the way down past the side of the university, through a small square ringed with small boutiques that seemed to carry all kinds of magical commodities – she made a note to visit them later – past a grassy sports field where young boys from a school were playing some game that involved a ball and a lot of good-natured running into each other, down into a pleasant little maze of tiny shops all squeezed together, offering all kinds of eccentric oddities for sale, each with a separate workshop, studio or room-for-rent occupying the first floor.

Willow came to what seemed to be a shop for small antique tables – at least, that comprised most of what was stacked to the ceiling just inside the door – and glanced at its tiny street number, then again at the folded letter from her satchel. With a shrug she went in, setting a tiny bell chiming as she pushed back the door.

"Hello?" said a middle-aged woman wearing an over-large pair of spectacles, who popped up suddenly from behind a cedar cabinet just beside Willow. "What can I do for you dear lady? A side table? An end table? A set of drawers, I have just the thing. You're looking for something more up-market than just a common piece of furniture- no? You've just arrived in town, and need to decorate your rooms? I've just taken delivery of a drinks table all the way from the Tamoe highlands, it's the most beautiful piece of work, would you like to see it?"

"Um... no, thank you," Willow said, slightly taken aback by the woman's enthusiastic and unremitting sales pitch, which she seemed to have delivered without the need to draw breath until she was done. "Um, I'm looking for," she checked the letter again, "Niston Gelt? My name's Willow, I sent a letter a couple of days ago?"

"Oh, you mean Mister Gelt upstairs," the lady said, nodding to herself. "The stairs are just around the corner to the left, dear – that's left looking in, it'd be your right, if you're facing that way, facing out, I mean... this side," she finished, pointing to the wall.

"No, thank you," Willow said politely, backing out the door. The lady gave her a smile and a shrug, then ducked back down beneath her cabinet. Willow shook her head and glanced to the left, where the shop was bordered by a small alley. As promised, when she peered around the corner, a thin flight of wooden stairs led up to the shop's upper storey. Willow climbed them – they were sturdy enough, despite looking somewhat precarious – and knocked on the door at the top.

She heard a bolt slide back, and the door opened to reveal a tall man in faded brown robes with a handful of pockets sewn around the waist. He looked about fifty, though his exact age was difficult to tell – his face was somewhat gaunt, though otherwise handsome enough, lined but in other ways inclined more towards youth than old age. His hair was white, pure white rather than aged gray, fine and well cared-for, hanging to his shoulders. The doorway was only a little more than Willow's height, so that he was stooped slightly looking through it. His eyes, a piercing gray, flickered to Willow's staff and then back to her face.

"Miss Willow of the Zann Esu?" he asked in a polite voice that was as smooth as liquid.

"Please come in," Gelt said with a nod. He stood aside to let her through, and pushed the door to behind her, without bothering with the bolt. She took a moment to glance around, taking a quick impression of the room. The furnishings were an eclectic mix of styles, the shelves and small tables evidently acquired from the shop downstairs. A door to one side led to the other room – the size of the storey as a whole suggested there were only the two – and two small windows, currently shuttered, looked out onto the street, one of which had a slim telescope on a tripod perched in front of it, aimed up at the sky. The books, lining the shelves and scattered about on other surfaces, were all small, old and here and there slightly battered – no newly printed works, all likely the property of more than one previous owner. A set of intricate brass instruments hung on pegs in one wall, an astrolabe, a small sickle, a pair of compasses with a ratcheted lever between their arms, and a circular device Willow recognized after a moment as a spectral sextant. Various rolled-up maps and charts were stacked in a corner, behind a plain wooden desk with an old, worn padded chair. Gelt hurriedly lifted a stack of books off a wooden chair and set it in front of the desk, motioning Willow towards it while he sat in what was obviously his familiar position.

"Actually sir," Willow said, "I don't remember her mentioning you to me at all, there was just the letter, the one I sent you. I'm on a, a sort of study tour, I guess you'd say, the Order gave me a whole bunch of introductory letters so I could meet some of the mages they have dealing with and arrange to work with them, only the one I sent you was from Ember herself, rather than the Order. I figured you knew her personally, rather than through the Order?"

"We journeyed together, some time ago," Gelt nodded, "so, she sent you to me... well, I must tell you before all else that I do not believe she meant for you to study with me."

"Perhaps, though," Gelt went on, "she thought you might learn something. Her instincts, I suspect, moved her to give you that letter which you sent to me, so I must conclude that she felt I would be of some use to you. I must also conclude, though I admit it goes against my nature, that she intended for me to trust you."

"This is a fine city," Gelt said, leaning back in his seat, "welcoming to many peoples, but there are some here who, for various reasons, find it necessary to conceal their identities. Not everyone is welcome. I am one such person."

Willow opened her mouth to pose a question, then her mind caught up with her ears and she jolted to her feet, her chair toppling over behind her.

"Well, it might be more comfortable than standing," he replied evenly. "Do as you wish – the door is unbolted, you could be out of here in seconds. Or, come to that, you could just as easily kill me. I'm unarmed, and have no protective spells prepared." Willow hesitated, and glanced quickly around the room for any sign of active magic.

"Consider why you are here," Gelt said, patiently but not unkindly, "Ember sent you to me. Do you believe she would knowingly put you in harm's way?"

"Please," he said, gesturing to her chair. Cautiously, she picked it up and seated herself opposite him.

"Most necromancers are evil," Gelt said, leaning back, "however, they are not priests of Rathma. Just as not all elementalists are Zann Esu – many mages have a spell or two at their disposal that draws on primal elemental power. Almost all healers use primal fire magic, even if only on a passive level. There have even been evil mages who used the elements for their own ends. Fire, ice and lightning in the service of evil – does that make the Zann Esu evil?"

"I can only tell you," he said, "I can't make you believe it." Willow gave him a long, calculating stare.

"Okay," she said, "let's say Ember knows you're a ne- a priest of Rathma," she corrected herself.

"Why send me here? And why like this, in secret, without at least telling me? I trust her, if she'd told me who you were-"

"She could have been overheard," Gelt sighed, "or her letters might have been read. There is no court in any of the lands of Sanctuary that does not live by influence, politics and suspicion, and the same is true of orders of mages. Even yours, which I might say is among the better. This way, so far as the Zann Esu are concerned, your sponsor sent you to meet an old friend of hers, a mage of some small merit she met on her travels once, who perhaps might have a word or two of wisdom for you – there is no reason for anyone to doubt this. If a sponsor were to be found to be consorting with necromancers, sending her impressionable young students to them, well, how would the Council of the Zann Esu react?"

"It... there'd be consequences," Willow allowed. "But if what you say is true – if – why the secrecy at all? The Council aren't zealots, if you're free of evil influences, and they were allowed to see that for themselves-"

"Ah, well," Gelt said, "let's just say the priesthood finds it convenient to remain in the shadows. It allows us to do what we believe we must do."

"I suppose I had better explain, as best I can. Rathma represents balance. Balance in all things, and the most important balance, underlying all others, is that between order and chaos. The purpose of our priesthood, the goal we strive towards, is to maintain that balance, to see to it that neither chaos nor order gain the upper hand. You're going to ask what's wrong with order overcoming chaos?"

"Would you want to live in heaven?" Gelt asked. "The Zann Esu know, so far as any mortal can, what heaven is."

"Would you want that? Not an afterlife, heaven as the Zakarum church describes it, but to actually be alive, in the high heaven of the crystal arch? Most people would say yes, of course, but you didn't – I imagine this thought has occurred to you before."

"And knowing what heaven would do to a mortal life – render it changeless, sterile, unable to grow, to become more than it already is – it has occurred to you that it is just as well that the high heaven is reserved for angels, and when we die our souls will find rest in a place closer in nature to the mortal realm. Perfect order, and perfect chaos such as exists in the burning hells, exist because they should. But in their proper places – not here. Sanctuary is not for demons and angels, it is for mortals, and we require both order and chaos. Those who ignore this, and strive to impose total order... I'm sure you're familiar with the examples history affords us."

"Oh, yes," Gelt nodded, "some degree, just as some degree of chaos is valuable, indeed necessary. But order is not an end in itself, any more than chaos is. What purpose could there be in causing chaos, destroying, simply because one can? Madness. But so too, there is no purpose in creating order simply for its own sake. Order is... it's a tool, it allows us to create stability, a place to be safe, to build for the future, to prepare for what might lie ahead. And chaos allows us to invent, to grow, to become more than we are. Both are necessary, and neither alone are enough. That is what Rathma means. There are times when chaos becomes too powerful – the Reckoning was one such time. Then we take up arms against the forces of chaos, to allow order to regain its position in the balance."

"Yes, that's the question, isn't it? When order grows strong, it will inevitably fail of its own accord – perfect order is not attainable in the mortal realm, thankfully. But in failing, such order may do tremendous damage, poisoning the minds of millions against new ideas, different ways of living. And the collapse of order leaves a vacuum into which chaos flows. It is, in most cases, preferable to ease the decline of an overbearing system of order, rather than allowing it to implode by itself."

"The same way we aid order," Gelt said, "there are always people who recognize, instinctively or for personal reasons, the danger of an imbalance. When chaos reigns, the brave take up arms to protect their little patches of order – their villages, their families, their way of life. And when it is order that grows too strong – people are not inherently orderly, so there are always those who do not conform. They are persecuted, shunned, driven out. You..." he seemed to concentrate for a moment, "...you love a woman. And you have encountered people who regard this as a sin."

"I will explain soon," Gelt replied, "in all likelihood, those people who denounced your partnership had never been themselves harmed by it, or by other similar men or women. They simply considered a system of order – one man, one woman – to be more important than your individual nature. There are always people who rebel, or are forced to rebel, against such prejudice, and it is those people we then come to the aid of. So long as their voices are heard, there is an avenue, however difficult, for tolerance – acceptance of the chaotic within human nature – to breed, even within the most strictly ordered society. Do you understand now what we believe, and why we believe it to be necessary?"

"It is our nature," Gelt said. "Just as you are attuned to the primal elements, the priesthood of Rathma is composed of those attuned to balance. We can... see it, sense it. When a person, a group, a place is in balance, we know it. Likewise, even when all seems well, we can sense where a tiny imbalance has the potential to grow into a greater one. We sense all balances, not just that between order and chaos. Joy and grief, good and evil, nobility and selfishness, bravery and cowardice... life and death. All our abilities revolve around sensing the state of these dualities, and altering them. If it is necessary for us to employ force, we can strike fear into the hearts of brave men, turn loyal comrades against each other, sow seeds of doubt in the minds of prevailing foes, and ultimately twist the line between life and death – bring to the dead a measure of life, and thus raise an army from the graves of the slain." He regarded Willow's expression of distaste.

"It is not an ability we use lightly," he said quietly. "Nor do we use it often. We have other powers at our disposal, which we use when possible – some I have mentioned, others you may be familiar with, through rumor and story, such as the creation of golems, which are unliving forms imbued with a measure of life. But necromancy is the strongest force we wield. You're about to ask whether I've ever raised the dead?"

"After I read her letter, I imagined the kind of person who might suit her, as a student," he said with a mild grin, "the idea of someone intensely curious came to mind more than once. Yes, I have wielded necromancy. Three times, not counting my apprenticeship. The most recent, and most extensive, was six years ago. A renegade from the Zakarum church, a Paladin who had cast off his vows, made a pact with a demon, and was given necromantic abilities. I had no choice but to pit my magic against his."

"You wouldn't have heard of it," Gelt said, "to my knowledge, no-one besides myself and my superiors in the priesthood are aware that the battle even took place. It is often best that such things pass unnoticed by the world at large. Fear is a powerful incentive to accept order, even when it is a strict, dangerous order. It is usually best for the general populace to feel safe in their homes. It promotes a more tolerant view of the everyday differences that stem from the chaotic within us all. Usually, of course – sometimes it is necessary to know of the danger, otherwise no-one would steel themselves against it."

"You'll understand if I'm still not quite at ease with all this," Willow frowned.

"Of course, of course. To be frank, it's probably for the best that you aren't. Necromancy is far more commonly practiced by the evil than the good. It's a power inherent to demons, whereas very few mortals are born with it, and fewer still join the priesthood. I honestly do not think it would be wise for you to be 'at ease' with the raising of the dead. I'm not."

"Oh, not that she was hurt, of course not... but you felt the hurt as if it were your own. In any case, you saw the creature. How did it feel, for you to look upon it?"

"True. The dead have completed their journey on the mortal plane. Their souls and spirits have gone... wherever they may go, and their remains should be allowed to rest in peace, as they say. To become one with the earth once more. It is a terrible thing to see a body, that once housed a fragile, beautiful mortal spirit, dragged from its rest, animated by soulless power." Willow nodded. "Now," Gelt said, "imagine what it is like to be the cause of it."

"At times, it must be done. Any weapon is terrible, ultimately. A sword may be used to defend, to achieve great good, but the only purpose inherent to it is to kill. Whatever noble goals its wielder may seek to achieve, all a sword is, and can ever be, is an instrument for inflicting suffering and death. A tool for killing, nothing more, and that is terrible."

"You're saying necromancy is the same?" Willow asked, a challenging tone in her voice.

"I am saying necromancy is the extreme end of that dichotomy," Gelt replied calmly. "A terrible power, which we of the priesthood wield for good. Or what we consider to be good – I may tell you we have a special insight into the nature and processes of good and evil, but even so we acknowledge that our judgments are our own, not those of a higher being who claims absolute knowledge. We are but mortals, and as mortals our judgment may be flawed at times. We try our best, though. As I said, we don't wield our powers lightly. I will say, though, that never in the history of our priesthood has a priest of Rathma served a demon. Not once."

"Why tell me all this?" Willow asked. "Why did Ember send me to you? Just to learn about necromancy? I don't mean to offend you, but this is not a subject I'm really eager to pursue."

"Good," Gelt said without hesitation. "And no, I don't imagine you are here simply to meet a necromancer in person, and certainly not to study necromancy. One must be born to it, in any case. But I am explaining this to you so that you will know, in full, who and what I am. I did not wish to meet you under false pretences, you see – I don't think it would have been advisable to do so. If I may draw your attention to something..." He flipped through a few papers on his desk and handed Willow one which she recognized as Ember's.

"The letter she wrote, that you sent to me," Gelt explained. "You'll note that, among all the formalities one might expect in such a request to meet a student of hers, she asks that I 'see what I can see in you'. A casual phrase, but I don't believe she meant it as such – she knew better."

"Well... allow me to demonstrate." Gelt reached to a shelf behind him and drew out a slim book, then lifted a coin purse from one of his pockets and fished out a copper coin. He laid the book flat on the table, then balanced the thin coin on top of it, on its edge, holding it upright with the tip of his finger.

"I don't know," Willow said, frowning, "either way's just as likely." Gelt nodded, then with his other hand lifted up the left edge of the book, keeping the coin held upright relative to the now-slanted cover.

"To the right," Willow said. Gelt let the coin fall, and slide down the book's cover to the desktop.

"Imagine the coin is a man," he said, "making a choice. The book is the world around him, influencing his choice. Suppose he has to fetch wood from the woodpile, will he walk or run the distance from his doorstep? If it's sunny he'll walk, and enjoy the sun, if it's raining he'll run, to be back under the shelter of his roof as quick as possible. If you know whether it's sunny or raining, you know what choice he will make, even though you do not know the workings of the man's mind.

"That's a simple example, but it will suffice. Priests of Rathma see balances, and a choice is simply a balance that tips to one side or the other. We can sense, to continue the example, whether the man will walk or run, because the way his balance tips is already known to us."

"You're right to be skeptical," Gelt nodded, "and of course it's not so simple. Even if that simple example – suppose the man is in a hurry, he may run even if it's dry. Or if he's depressed he may trudge through the rain, conscious of nothing but his gloomy mood. Any single choice is affected by millions, perhaps billions of previous choices. To the sight of Rathma, this turns a simple yes-or-no choice into a murky mire of 'perhaps', 'maybe', 'what if'... but it can also reinforce certain choices. That we are attuned to balance, to choice, affords us a great insight into the present. We can also see, sometimes, a part of the future that the present is leading us to. Whether what we see will come to pass, or whether events will transpire differently... that we do not know until we arrive at the moment of choice – when the future becomes the present."

"Yes," Gelt said, "not a certainty, but a guide. Useful, at times, in moderation. It is called, as I said, 'the sight of Rathma', and I believe this is what Ember referred to. She wants me to look into the balances that make up your life, and uncover where they may take you. The spell will allow you – only you – to see fragments of what may be your future. I chose to reveal my allegiance to you out of... well, loyalty to Ember, as a friend and former comrade, and because I feel it would be reprehensible for me to use my magic on you in this way without your consent, which you could not give if you were unaware of what I am."

"This, also, is not something I do lightly," he warned. "The gifts of the sight can be as much a burden as a blessing, and can lead to as much harm as good. In some cases, in fact, the sight can be used as a weapon – a curse. It is rare to do so, but effective, or so I'm told. The choice must be yours, and you must know the dangers involved."

"There is no physical peril," Gelt said, "you will see, hear and feel what is to come, but you will be unaffected by it, in body at least. Mentally... well," he said with a grim look, "if a man were to look into the future, and see some great suffering to come, what effect might that have on his psyche? I use this as an example only, you understand. Many people – almost all, at one time or another – choose to exist in a state of, well, denial regarding the future. They choose not to think about various inevitabilities – old age, and death. It can be distressing to be confronted with your future in such a way as to force you to accept it."

"That is the risk," Gelt said. "Balance against it Ember's desire for you to see. I'm sure she cares for you, perhaps loves you like a daughter. She would not want you to experience the sight without reason. What that reason may be, I cannot say, nor is it for me to say. There is much that I can see about you – your love for your partner, your great thirst and aptitude for learning, your intellect... and considerable wisdom, for one so young. I see many trials, both fresh in your mind, and not so recent, and that the past few days have been less trying for you. Many things, but not all things, and it is not for me to say what could yet be important to you. Choose, though – do you wish to see?" Willow took a deep breath.

"I- yeah," she said after a thoughtful pause, "yeah, I do. Ember's never steered me wrong, a-and there's... there's something going on that could turn out dangerous. I think maybe she knew, at least suspected, it wasn't over. So yeah," she nodded to herself, "sight me."

"Very well," Gelt said gravely, "You will be perfectly safe while I perform the magic. You will see things, hear things – they will be distorted, perhaps dreamlike. You alone will experience what you see, I will know nothing of it unless you choose to tell me. The details given by the sight are considered highly personal among the priesthood, so I will not ask you to share them – you may, if you wish, or you may wish only to share them with those you feel closest to, or to keep them to yourself. The first experiences you have will be weak, and they will grow from there until they seem as real as the world around you now. Then they will fade again, until the spell is over. Try to remain calm. Remember, what you experience has not yet come to pass, and cannot harm you now."

"I must use a small amount of my blood to prepare the spell. Don't be alarmed." Gelt took the sickle off its peg on the wall and carefully pricked his palm, drawing a bead of blood. He took a deep breath then began to chant very softly, almost inaudibly. He held his palm facing up, and the blood began to flow, in a very thin, faint stream, into the air, a wisp of scarlet that formed a circle.

"The magic of Rathma calls on no power but our own," he explained quietly, "no demon or god holds sway with us. Like the Zann Esu, we are of and for the mortal realm. The sight exposes you to no outside influence. You need not fear."

"Then it begins," Gelt said. The circle vanished, and Willow's eyes closed. Gelt stared at her, breathing deeply and quickly, as if exerting some great continuous effort. His hands clenched, knuckles turning white. He set his jaw, while his breaths became more labored, shallower, as if he was in pain. After a moment he seemed to become accustomed to whatever sensations were troubling him, and continued his vigil, while Willow remained motionless.

"Ah!" she suddenly cried, eyes flying open. Gelt jerked, startled, then wrapped his arms around his middle and gritted his teeth against some deep ache. Willow stared around herself wildly, beginning to rise from her chair, before she remembered where she was, and her breathing calmed. As awareness returned to her, her face fell, and tears began to fill her eyes.

"Wh-what I saw," she began, looking at Gelt. She halted when she saw his state. "Are you alright?"

"Some discomfort," he said in a strained voice, "it will pass... no permanent harm." He took a deep breath and sat up straight, if stiffly. "Our way requires a price be paid in return for our abilities. Another thing that separates us from the," he winced, then recovered, "the necromancers who make deals with demons in return for their powers." Willow frowned with concern, bit her lip, then held out a hand. A haze of frost appeared on the desk, coalesced into the form of a cup, and filled with clear water. Gelt grinned to himself, and gingerly took it.

"Thank you," he said, sipping the water. "I should have prepared a glass of water myself, but I underestimated the drain of the magic on me. That was an unusual casting."

"It didn't fade away like you said," Willow offered, her voice trembling a little. "Just... I saw things, and then suddenly it was over."

"I think you should not tell me what you saw," Gelt said, gulping the rest of the water down and taking a deep, steadying breath. Without concentrating Willow dissolved the cup back into a mist, which quickly faded away.

"The sight was ended prematurely," Gelt explained, "a choice was reached for which I could not reach a point of resolution."

"To bestow sight on another is, essentially, to infer their future choices from the content of their present character. Your spirit guided your path, and determined what you saw. The last thing you experienced was a glimpse of a choice you will, at some point, have to make. For whatever reason, it is a choice your spirit is unable to face now. All the powers of all the priests of Rathma – and, I am sure, the similar powers of seers, scryers, prophets and oracles – cannot see what you will decide. And thus, everything beyond that moment is hidden from us. Even from you – which path you choose will remain a mystery until the moment arrives, and you make the choice as it presents itself to you." He fell silent, and stared at her, with a degree of concern in his gaze.

"Th-thank you," Willow said, gathering her wits, "for trying... I'm s-sorry I was suspicious earlier..."

"Oh, think nothing of it," Gelt said with a wave of his hand, "I'm sorry, in fact. I can see this experience has upset you, and I regret that. I believe that Ember asked for me to do this for a reason, and had your best interests at heart. Perhaps that will afford you some measure of comfort."

"I-I'll try," Willow said. She looked around herself, then slowly stood. "I should go... if there's nothing else?"

"No," Gelt said sadly, "no, that is all I can do for you. Even for one such as Ember, there are things I cannot reveal. I have said and done all I can." He stood and opened the door for Willow. She gave him a fleeting, haunted smile as she stepped past him.

"Willow," he said abruptly. She turned on the landing and looked back at him. He frowned to himself, as if wrestling with some inner struggle.

"I should not say this, not to an outsider, but... the bond you share with your partner – such things have great power. When the moment comes, trust her."

"Good fortune to you," Gelt said. She turned and climbed down the stairs, hearing the door close behind her.

Willow walked joylessly through the narrow city streets, heading slowly back towards the Palace but in truth not paying very much attention to where she was going. Aside from the miniscule amount of concentration needed to keep from walking into anyone, her thoughts were entirely turned inward. She walked by other pedestrians, people enjoying a meal at tables outside taverns, children playing games up and down the pavements, all without sparing a glance or a thought. The present flowed around her, and she ignored it – the future plagued her, and she hunched her shoulders, cast her eyes down, and hoped to reach the privacy of her room before she could no longer hold back the tears.

Over and over, against all better judgment, she replayed the vision in her mind. She wondered balefully how far she would get – when would it become too much, how far would she still have to go when the memories crippled her, and left her crying on a street corner? Doggedly she walked onwards, as again and again she lived what she had foreseen.

At first it had been indistinct, as Gelt had told her it would be, a vague jumble of sensations and familiarities that made no sense. The impression she was standing by a window, with sunlight filtered through glass on her skin. The feel of paper beneath her fingers as she turned the pages of a book. The leap her heart took when Tara was near her, when she felt light and almost able to fly if she wanted. Wind in her hair. A smell, old and dank, like a cellar that had never been aired. The familiar sensation of a minor spell, like a tickle running up the inside of her spine. Something like losing her balance, stumbling.

Then in the space of a heartbeat everything was suddenly vivid and real. Her surroundings were still indistinct – open sky, dark shapes nearby like standing stones, a storm overhead, strange colors hanging in the air – but at the center of her vision she could see as clearly as she saw the pavement in front of her. Tara, her Tara, surrounded by an aura of pure, primal ice, a shroud of cold magic so intense she had never seen the like. The vision lasted only a fraction of a second, but in the instant that it faded it had left Willow with the sickening realization that it was her energy, her magic around Tara, inescapably surrounding her, turning her to ice, flowing through her as if she were nothing. She had seen the future – she was killing Tara.

"Go," she muttered to herself, as the Palace walls loomed up ahead of her and she turned towards the distant gates, "just go." She swallowed and concentrated on her breathing, unwilling to let herself shatter until she was alone.

'No,' she told herself, 'I don't have time to cry. I don't have that luxury. I know what I have to do. Be strong. Walk away. Just get my bags and leave, and she'll be safe. I'll never see her again, but she'll be safe, whatever I saw can't happen, and I can live. I won't have her, but I can live if she's safe. I can live. She'll keep me alive, even if I can't have her. I can't lose her. I can't. I can't!'

She had to stop, pause a moment and take a deep breath, before she resumed her course towards the gates. She was biting her tongue by the time she made it to the Palace, making for her and Tara's room as quickly as she could. She turned down corridors here and there to avoid the Palace's other inhabitants, but there were plenty of ways through the rambling building. She wanted to be alone.

'I can do this,' she thought, 'I can. I have to. I can't hurt her, I can't, I can't- '

"I can't," she muttered, without realizing her voice had picked up her thoughts. She whispered fiercely to herself, as her legs carried her up the spiral staircase.

"I can't hurt her, I can't ki..." she couldn't even say the word, "...no. No, I can't. He was lying, he tricked me, it's not going to happen..." She knew she was deluding herself. 'Don't be weak,' she silently told herself, 'I saw it as if I was there. He wasn't lying. I don't believe that, I just want to. If he was lying, if it wasn't real, then everything's okay, and I want that so much... gods I wish he was lying, why can't he have been lying? Oh gods, what do I do? What can I do?'

She was vaguely aware of Lissa looking up at her from the attendant room as she passed on the landing, but she didn't look or give any indication that she wanted anything, so she was left alone as she climbed the last few stairs and pushed open the door to the bedroom. She leaned heavily against the door as it closed behind her, letting her staff fall to lean against the corner of the wall, and dropped her satchel from her shoulder, leaving it where it lay on the floor. Without really seeing she looked around – bar the bed, which had been made sometime during the day, everything was exactly as she had left it that morning, half an hour after Tara had kissed her goodbye and headed out to the barracks. Willow absently touched her lips, remembering the kiss.

She staggered wearily across the room, slumping onto the long, soft couch beneath the window. Having foolishly allowed herself the luxury of remembering a kiss, the memories came fast now, watching Tara at practice, watching her shower, knowing the way she moved, the way she touched herself, was all for her to watch. Kissing her, teasing her, flirting over lunch, promising fulfillment later. 'Promising,' Willow thought, 'oh gods... oh please forgive me...'

"I promised..." she whispered to herself, willing the tears to come, to wash away her thoughts. All she was given were memories of things she had said to Tara – that she would stay with her, never leave, all the places she would show her, the wonders she had seen on her travels that she would share... the life they would have.

"What life?" she demanded of herself. "There is no life, there isn't- nothing. If you stay, there's nothing, she'll... she-" Willow felt a tear slip from her eye, leaving a wet trail down her cheek. "It'll be my fault," she whispered, almost pleading with herself, "it'll be my fault, if I don't... if I can't leave, a-and she... it's my fault. It will be. I have to go. Now. Get up! Now!" Dashing away the tears that were flowing freely now, she got to her feet and stomped over to the desk, where she had left some of her books out. She looked at them, trying to think.

"Just take what you need," she said to herself, ignoring the tears, "just... the ones you need. And-" 'And what?' her thoughts demanded treacherously. 'Leave the rest? Leave half me life here for her to find, and wonder what drove me away? She'll come after me. I should write her a letter, I should explain- I should...'

The sight of the slim leather-bound book she had bought a few days earlier put a halt to her thoughts. She opened it and felt the blank pages slip past her fingers. She had been going to start it today. She had guessed she would be back from meeting Gelt before Tara returned from the barracks, and she remembered thinking, as she had walked to meet Tara for lunch, that she would start with her first sight of her, in the wagon just by Kingsport docks, as she had sat among her books, looked up at the newcomer, noticed her cleavage first of all – she had imagined Tara's laugh as she read that – then looked up into her face, and seen such a gentle soul in her eyes...

The book fell from her hands, landing on its spine on the desk and falling shut. Willow stared about herself, looking for some safe haven from the life that was too perfect to leave, and the future too terrible to face. Finding none, she staggered to the bed, threw herself across it, curled up, dragging the covers around her, and cried like she had never before cried in her life.

Tara saw Willow curled up on their bed the moment she opened the door, and her jovial greeting died on her lips. Dropping her spear and pack hastily on the table she rushed to the bed, kneeling and leaning forward to reach her.

"Willow?" she whispered hesitantly. "Willow, are you awake? Wh-what's... Willow?"

Willow started at her touch, then the tension seemed to flee from her, replaced by lethargy as she slowly looked up at Tara, deep despair in her eyes.

"Tara," she murmured sadly. Tara's heart broke at seeing her eyes red from crying, and the trails of tears half-dried on her cheeks.

"Sweetie?" she asked, with quiet desperation, "talk to me? What's wrong? Please?" Willow swallowed, hesitated, then raised a hand towards Tara, as if she couldn't quite make up her mind whether to reach for her. Tara lay beside her and hugged her tightly, relieved to feel Willow's arms slowly close around her and hold her in return.

"Y-you're... you're in danger," Willow managed to say, in a choked voice still thick with unshed tears. "You're- something terrible... I'm not strong enough to stop it."

"What's going to happen baby?" Tara asked gently, leaning her head back just far enough to look into Willow's eyes.

"Please?" Tara whispered. "Please, Willow? Whatever it is we'll face it, I promise. I won't leave you, no matter what." She frowned in dismay as this caused Willow to bury her face in the rumpled blankets and sob.

"I-I have... I can't leave," Willow replied without looking up, "I- I have to, to protect you, b-but I can't-"

"Why?" Tara asked, with real fear in her voice. "Baby, why do you have to leave? Please tell me, please... don't leave me?" The last words came out in a whisper, the tremulous plea of a frightened child. Willow heard them though, and her arms, which had been hanging limp around Tara, now hugged her with fierce strength.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, "so sorry... I'm- I won't leave you baby, I promise... but I'm so afraid..."

"Just talk to me, Willow," Tara whispered, returning the hug, unfathomable relief in her voice. "Tell me what's going on." Willow managed to look up at her, and Tara lifted a hand to brush the tears from her cheeks, and then stroke her hair as they both lay down, resting their heads against the pillows.

"Did he-" Tara began, fire flashing in her eyes. So close to her, Willow actually felt the flush of power through her, shamefully reminding her that Tara was not a woman incapable of defending herself. She shook her head quickly.

"No," she explained, "no, he's alright, he didn't do anything bad... I'll... Ember sent me to him for a reason..."

Willow talked, uninterrupted, for some time, while Tara listened, holding her and comfortingly stroking her hair. Willow spoke almost in a monotone, her voice as expressionless as it was normally lively. Tara frowned at first, when Willow told her who and what Niston Gelt was, but let her keep talking, and as Willow explained the ways of his priesthood, and added her belief that he was telling the truth, she relaxed. Only once did Willow falter, when describing the vision she had experienced.

"Deadly magic," she was explaining, "absolutely deadly... I was casting at-" There her voice caught, and she seemed unable to speak.

"Me?" Tara prompted softly. Willow nodded wretchedly, but Tara just kept stroking her hair, her other hand hugging Willow's waist, and after a moment she resumed her tale.

"Do you want to leave?" Tara asked, as calmly as she could, when Willow had finished. She made no motion to get up, or let go her hold on her.

"No!" Willow said vehemently. "No, by all the gods no, I never wanted to leave you. I... I was so afraid... I am afraid," she admitted, her voice growing small and shameful, "and I thought... I thought if I wasn't around you, I couldn't hurt you... I-"

"I'm so sorry," Willow said, fierce through her tears. She turned over in Tara's embrace and clung to her tightly. "I'm so sorry... I never wanted to hurt you, never..."

"I was upset," Tara admitted, "and worried. But not hurt. I knew there was something going on I didn't understand yet, and I... I was afraid that, for some reason, you would leave. But I knew you didn't want to, even if you believed you had to."

"Shh, baby," Tara murmured, "you're not stupid, don't ever think that. It's alright to be scared baby, it's alright... we'll make it through this. Just like we have before, together."

"I promise," Tara said sincerely, "somehow, we will get through this. I won't give you up. I can't."

"I'm just so-" Willow began. "The thought of hurting you... it's so terrible, it frightens me so much, I just want to run away... huh," she chuckled mirthlessly, "some sorceress I am."

"Don't say that," Tara said gently, "you're the bravest person I know. You remember putting all your trust in me, when we were surrounded by goat-men?"

"Then trust me now," Tara went on. "I will not let that happen to you. I don't care if destiny and fate and all the powers in the world try to make it happen, I won't let it. You don't have to worry," she whispered, leaning over to rest her cheek against Willow's, "I know, baby, I know with all my heart, you won't hurt me. Look at me?" She gently guided Willow's gaze to hers again.

"I don't have any defenses against you," she said softly, "I've let you into my heart completely, and you know why? Because I know I can. Because I know you make me safe. And if anything tries to change that," she shook her head for emphasis, "then it can go straight to hell, because I won't let it. You will not hurt me."

"I..." Willow said at last, "I-I believe you. Gods know I'm afraid, but I believe you. I believe in you."

"I believe in you too," Tara replied. "It's okay to be afraid. I am too. But we're together, baby, so... so I know we'll be alright. Whatever's going on, we'll defeat it." Willow swallowed, then nodded once, firmly.

"I know," Tara smiled, "that's why I know we'll make it. I love you too, Willow."

"Tara," Willow murmured, capturing her lips for a moment, seeking reassurance and finding it.

"Well, first things first," Tara grinned, "it's getting close to dinner time. Let's get something to eat?" Willow smiled tentatively, and they both sat up.

Rather than use the dining table Tara suggested they eat on the couch, and so they did, with trays balanced on their laps, Willow leaning contentedly against Tara, enjoying the constant gentle strokes and touches she gave whenever she had a hand free. Tara was glad to see Willow's smiled coming easier and more frequently as she relaxed – she knew they had to discuss her vision in more detail, but she would have been reluctant to bring it up so soon had Willow's distress continued.

"Okay then," she said quietly, stacking Willow's empty tray on top of hers and leaving both on a side table for later, "comfy?"

"Comfy," Willow said, with a small sigh but a resolute expression as she glanced up at Tara.

"Alright, let's start at the beginning. Do you think it would do any good to go back to Gelt tomorrow? I'm free all day, I'll go with you."

"I don't think so," Willow said, measuring her thoughts carefully, "I think he's told me all he can. Or at least all he's able to, according to the rules his priesthood has. He sort of suggested that the last thing he told me, to trust you, was something he shouldn't have said to an 'outsider', like it was something he was able to see, but shouldn't have shared. I..." she paused for thought, then continued: "I think he's done his best, for the sake of whatever loyalty he has to Ember, and now it's up to us." She shrugged. "Plus, being a priest of Rathma in a place like this, he must lead a fairly secretive life, so turning up on his doorstep demanding information would probably be... well, impolite." She gave Tara a little grin.

"Okay," Tara agreed. "Alright then... you believe he's told you the truth? About what he is, and what you saw?"

"I do," Willow said, "I'm not a truth-seer or anything, and even if I was from what he said it's possible he'd be able to counteract that kind of magic, but... well, I believe him. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe he was hiding his real intentions or his real nature... Ember always told me to trust my instincts though, and I think he's genuine. Besides, Ember obviously knew he was more than just a common mage, and I don't think he could have fooled her, not to the extent that she'd entrust me to him. All together, it... it makes sense that he is what he said."

"And the spell he did for you was what he said it was," Tara added. "From what he told you, how definite do you think that power was? Was he showing you what will be, or what might be?" Willow gave this careful consideration.

"I think he believed it," she said eventually, "I'm not sure I do – what I saw was... well, I don't want to believe it," she admitted, "part of me can't... but the intellectual side of me says that he believed I saw something that will happen, not something that might happen. And it seems from what he said that his priesthood are good at this sort of thing. And, again, Ember sent me to him for this. She doesn't put much store in predestination, as a rule, so if she thought it was important enough..." She frowned to herself.

"You remember I told you once about the Priestesses of Zerae?" Tara asked. "The ones that have visions, like the Oracles in your order." Willow nodded, and Tara went on, "Well, they believe that what they see is the future at that moment. Sort of like... like being on a boat and looking ahead. You can see where you'll end up, but if you change the sails, your course changes. They say that the, the act of seeing the future changes it."

"Yeah," Willow nodded, "I understand... I don't think that's what Gelt's priesthood believes, though."

"Maybe they don't, but Ember does," Tara suggested. Willow glanced up at her, and Tara could see her digest the idea, as a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Maybe," she said slowly, "I- the thing is," she confessed, "I'd absolutely love to find some way where what I saw isn't real, and everything's okay. I-I don't want to dismiss it too easily, though. It's tempting to dismiss it, but-"

"But we don't want to be unprepared for anything that does happen," Tara finished. "I agree. Okay, let's look at it this way: we have a chance to change what will happen. I want to believe everything's okay, too," she smiled, "but not if it means putting either of us in danger. Whatever happens, we'll be ready, I promise."

"Then we've got a plan," Tara said, hugging Willow and giving her a playful pat on her stomach. "Alright, so... your vision. Tell me everything you can remember, as much detail as you can. Anything might be important."

"There wasn't much," Willow admitted, "and I didn't recognize anything at the time... apart from you," she added with a frown. Tara gave her a reassuring squeeze.

"Maybe we'll recognize something if it turns up," she suggested, "it might give us the chance we need to do something differently." Willow looked up at her with a grin.

"Good thinking," she noted, "okay... first it was just a few sensations... like- bits of experiences, but not the whole thing. Sort of... like you'd get if you had déjà vu, and take away the actual experience of whatever it is you're doing that seems familiar. Just the sense of something... Okay, first I felt as if I was standing in front of a window during the day, I don't know where – might even have been here," she shrugged, waving a hand in the direction of the window opposite them, beyond the bed, "I just don't know. There was definitely sunlight, and a... like a sense of the space beyond the window, but I think it was closed. Looking out on a view that I wasn't part of, like from behind glass. I didn't feel the wind, of hear anything from it. Not a whole lot to go on."

"Yeah," Willow agreed. "Next there was a book – I think it was a book. I just felt paper on my fingers like I was turning pages, but there was a, a sort of weight to it, which is why I think book rather than a pile of paper or something. No idea what it was, though. Then I felt like you were with me. I always feel better when you're close," she said, smiling up at Tara, "I felt that, I'm sure. Then I felt wind blowing, I don't know if I was running, or riding, or if it was just a strong wind – just the feel of my hair blowing around. Then a, a sort of confined feeling, not trapped exactly, just... like I'm in an enclosed space, and it's kind of dark and damp. Not scary, just... like a cellar, or a basement. Or maybe just an old room without any candles lit. Some place that hadn't been disturbed in a while, it had that sort of... still feeling. I felt myself cast a spell, a minor one, I'm not sure what. Cold magic, not from a scroll, but nothing powerful. Then I felt off balance, like I'd stubbed my toe, and was just feeling myself overbalance but I hadn't started falling yet."

"Well, there wasn't anything between them, but I don't think they were related – I don't think it was the spell making me feel that, whatever it was. Then... well, that was when the real vision hit me."

"It was... everything around you was blurry, like – like I could only properly see what I was focusing on, and everything else was peripheral. I'm sure it was open sky overhead. Cloudy, overcast, a storm, I think. There were these dark shapes all around, like pillars, or standing stones, I'm not sure, I couldn't see them properly. Just... things, standing upright. I think stone, just a feeling. There were these patches of, of color, in the air. It must have been some sort of magic, but I don't know what, nothing I've ever seen before."

"Maybe," Willow nodded, "they might have been connected. They were all around. Some kinds of magic need standing stones, or some sort of constructs like them, to work, to help focus the energy. The Zann Esu don't practice them, we study them, but not to use. A sorceress isn't supposed to rely on anything but her own abilities. I haven't actually seen those kinds of spells in action, so perhaps it was something like that."

"No," she said, "that was all I could see... I remember feeling sort of... threatened. Not by you," she added hastily, "just the sense that, that something was happening, and I had to do something. I wish I could be clearer, but it was all jumbled up-"

"It was difficult to see," she said, "all the magic in the air... You were in your armor, the light set. You looked... not afraid. Tense, but not afraid... like I said though, it was difficult to see, so I might be wrong."

"I doubt it," Tara said, "you're pretty perceptive when it comes to what I'm feeling."

"Well, I try," Willow said bashfully. "That's just about all I could see though. You had your spear, I think – some weapon, anyway. Not your bow, though it might have been on your back, I'm not sure. Not in your hand, at any rate."

"I know it," Willow admitted, "it's not a spell, it's... it's what you get when you don't cast a spell. Just pure power, drawn from the flow of the elements and released into the world, with no form, no purpose. Normally a mage – any mage, not just sorceresses – forms a spell and draws on the power for it at the same time. We're taught, as a last-ditch measure, how to draw on power alone. Without having to form a spell, you can draw more power, but because there's no spell there's no way to control it. It's very dangerous, we're taught only to attempt it if we're absolutely sure there's no other option. We're taught how to do it, but only in minute amounts, the rest is all theory. If a sorceress draws on the full extent of her power, without controlling it, there's a fair chance she'll kill herself doing it. But it's just as destructive to anything else. It's for when you've got nothing to lose, and you're dead if you do nothing."

"Yeah," Willow nodded, "yeah, pretty much. In Entsteig, in the library when I saw Shadai, that's probably what I should have done, instead of trying to fight my way out of it and banish her. According to Zann Esu rules, anyway," she added.

"With cold magic? About half-half. According to the texts, anyway, it's not something that sorceresses experiment with. But there are times when it's had to have been done. It's supposedly impossible to do it safely, if you draw on that much power, but it can be survived. All the magic flying around would probably cause freezing, cuts, maybe disruptive internal damage. Wild magic, without a spell to shape it, can be pretty unpredictable. That's using cold, at any rate. With fire it's more predictable, but the odds of surviving are lower. Lightning... they say you never know what you'll get. Maybe vaporized, maybe tossed around like a rag doll, maybe not a scratch. It's really not the same stuff as storm lightning, it's primal energy, very unpredictable."

"Definitely," Willow said, "I doubt I could draw on much power from another element even if I threw everything into it, and anyway, I'm sure it was cold. I saw the freezing, the- I knew it. It's the magic I've been casting since I was a little girl, I should know what it feels like by now."

"Huh? No- I'm sorry," Willow shook her head, "I didn't mean it like that, it's just that... this is all so unbelievable. What I'm saying is something I- If you'd asked me yesterday, I'd have said it was impossible. But I saw it..." She trailed off and turned over, kneeling on the couch beside Tara, with no tears yet in her eyes, but her sorrow plainly written on her face.

"Why is this happening?" she asked plaintively. "Why can everyone else lead a normal life, but everywhere I turn sooner or later there's demons, or madmen, or nightmares? No, it's alright," she said with a wan smile, as Tara opened her mouth, "I know I'm just being childish, but... I'm okay."

"Here," Tara offered, opening her arms to Willow, who gratefully sank into her embrace, resting against her with her head pillowed on Tara's chest.

"I'm okay," she repeated, "I guess... it's been a bad day. I guess I just needed to vent a little."

"I understand," Tara offered, "you know, you'll get no argument from me. I wish we could just get on with our lives, instead of having to worry and deal with goddess-knows- what looming over us."

"But we don't get to choose what life throws in our path, huh?" Willow said wryly.

"No we don't," Tara sighed, "and sometimes it's a blessing, to be surprised, and enjoy unexpected moments... and sometimes," she grinned down, "it's a real pain in the butt." Willow snorted with sudden laughter.

"Well, if it were true what you've said now and then... that I could have anyone I want? Any of those people out there with normal lives, who never get chased by monsters, never have to deal with dark forces, or fight for their lives... I wouldn't. I'd choose you, over anyone else in the whole world, monster chases and all. And because I've got you in my life, I feel like the luckiest, most blessed women alive."

"Tara," Willow whispered, lifting her head. Her eyes were moist, but it was joy, not sadness, that sent the tears trickling down her cheeks now.

"I promise," she said, slowly and deliberately, meeting Tara's gaze unwaveringly, "I promise with all my heart, I am yours, a-and I'll be yours forever. No matter what happens, no matter how frightened I get, no matter how much danger the world throws at us, I promise I'll be at your side. I know I've said before I'll stay with you forever, and – not that I didn't mean it, but I guess I was just thinking of the good side of things. Well now I've... now it's tough, and now I'm promising anyway. I'm... I'm yours."

Tara smiled, bit her lip, then leaned forward and kisses Willow, very softly. Their lips brushed together like clouds, then opened, but still there was no haste and no pressure. Just love; Willow was utterly captured by the gentle kiss, and when it finally ended, when Tara leaned back again, she felt completely satisfied, and forgiven for her fears.

"I know," Tara replied, "I love you. Hey," her tone became more playful, "how about a long, hot bath before we go to bed?"

"Tell you what," Tara said, sitting up, "I happen to know you were ogling a hot young Amazon down at the barracks today. Perhaps I could arrange for her to bathe with you?"

"I can't say no to that," Willow replied, bouncing to her feet. Tara stood with her, and held her for a moment, smiling with her arms loosely around Willow's waist.

"Well... she's never far away," Willow shrugged with a smile, "you know just how to excite me." They kissed for a moment, then Tara disengaged her hug and led Willow towards the bathroom.

"I wasn't ogling," Willow pointed out half-way, "I was... discreetly observing. A casual passer-by wouldn't have noticed anything thing untoward in the way I was looking, regardless of what I was thinking."

"Well... maybe a little," Willow conceded as Tara began filling the bath, "but you know, she was a very hot Amazon. Exceptionally hot, in fact."

"You'll just have to wander down to the barracks more often," Tara suggested, "maybe you'll get to 'discreetly observe' her some more." She adjusted the water temperature, held her hand under the tap to test it, then sat on the side of the tub and gave Willow her full, appreciative attention as she undressed.

"Doing some discreet observation of your own?" Willow quipped as she swayed naked past Tara and stepped into the bath. She sank into the water with a sigh, then folded her arms on the side of the tub and rested her chin on them, watching as Tara loosened her armor.

"An Amazon should always be aware of her surroundings," she replied, "particularly people. It's amazing what you can learn, just by taking note of every subtle nuance." Willow chuckled to herself, and leaned back to turn off the tap. She glanced at the small shelf above the taps, studied the small bottles there – stealing glances back at Tara all the while – and finally selected a scented bath oil and poured a little into the water, swirling it around.

Tara shed her armor and skirt, sneaking a look at Willow over her shoulder as she stood before her, wearing only her boots and briefs. Ignoring the bench beside the bath she lifted her leg and planted her heel against the wall, at waist-height, as she undid the buckles on her boots, first one leg and then the other. Kicking the boots away under the bench, and stood with her back to Willow, hooked her thumbs into the waist of her underwear, and in one slow, elegant motion leaned down, dragging them over the curve of her bottom, down her legs, and finally letting them fall around her ankles.

"Beautiful," Willow murmured, "you'll be pleased to know I took careful note of each and every subtle nuance."

By virtue of already having the soap and washcloth ready, Willow bathed Tara first, making no secret of her appreciation for her body as she ran her hands all over her, nor making much effort to conceal her interest in Tara beyond bathing her, as her hands lingered in all the right places, and touched in just the right ways. By the time she handed the washcloth to Tara and settled back into her arms, they were both thoroughly at ease, giving and receiving physical contact as easily as the time of day.

"Want to hear a story?" Tara offered, as Willow lay back against her, arching her back slightly as Tara caressed her chest and stomach. At an affirmative murmur, Tara grinned and went on:

"Many, many years ago... when Athulua and Kethryes wandered the harsh lands of the old warlords and chieftains, gathering their following of the downtrodden, the enslaved, the persecuted, all those who hoped for a better life. They had traveled for years, and had been joined by many others – Zerae, Hefaetrus, Karcheus, Elasia, Anishe, Jamaron, dozens of them, who all now watch over the Amazons from their homes in the world beyond, as our gods and goddesses. But this was when they were just men and women, gathered together in search of the chance for a new life. More than anything they wanted a homeland, somewhere to build their homes, plant their crops, raise their families and not have to worry about where they would find shelter next. But no-one would take them – wherever they went, the rulers were distrustful of them, and would not allow them to make homes on their land unless they agreed to abide by the old, unjust laws that demanded some live as slaves, some be condemned for their choices... so they journeyed farther and farther, hoping to find their home somewhere over the horizon.

"Karcheus, who had traveled much in his young life, and whose keen eyes and ears had revealed many rumors and secrets to him, had once heard of a man he believed could help them, called Misiya, the mariner, a man from far away, who because of his foreign ways and appearance was mistrusted in all the ports he put into. But his home was the sea, which he was master of, and it was said that if he wished he could sail around the world, and never lose his way. Athulua led her people to the mouth of the river Tiera, where rumor said Misiya could be found. They made camp outside the city and waited, and on the eighth day a strange ship came into view, unlike any of those at anchor in the harbor. She was Misiya's ship, the Valkyrie, and the mariner himself was at her helm.

"Learning of the plight of Athulua's people, he agreed that he would join them, for a while at least, and carry them on the Valkyrie to the far-off land of Westmarch, where they hoped to find a kind ruler who would allow them to settle and make their homes. But as they loaded their supplies and livestock aboard, a priest of the sea god Marvulla, from the city, appeared, calling on Misiya to give up his ship. The priest said that only men of the city and river were worthy of Marvulla's blessing, and demanded that Misiya and his new crew of refugees disband and abandon their journey. Misiya refused, and so the priest cursed him. 'I call on Marvulla,' he said, pointing his gnarled old staff at Misiya and his ship, 'If you and your unclean vessel take to the seas on this voyage, a great storm shall arise and beset you, your ship will be destroyed, and you shall never see the shores of Westmarch.'"

"Misiya scorned the priest," Tara went on, smiling, "but later he went to Athulua and Kethryes, and confided his fears. The sea was a treacherous mistress, he said, and a curse was no laughing matter – even a mariner such as himself would be powerless if the sea turned against them. Athulua and Kethryes listened to him, and then talked with their people, and they agreed that they would rather set forth, following their own path in spite of the scorn of others, than turn back and return to the lives they had once known, governed by cruel and unjust rulers. They said to Misiya that, if he still wished to make the voyage, they could sail with him.

"Dark clouds were already gathering above the far horizon, but nonetheless Misiya took his ship out and set a course for Westmarch, trusting his instincts to guide them to a land which would not even be visible for many weeks. But as the priest warned, the clouds grew to a storm, the sea churned, and huge waves tossed the Valkyrie, sending her far off course. Misiya fought with all his might and guile, but as he had feared the sea was far stronger than any man or ship. Farther and farther they were driven by the storm, far out into the sea, away from any land on Misiya's charts, and the Valkyrie began to creak and groan, her old, trusty timbers battered by the massive waves.

"On the sixth night of the voyage, Misiya finally came to believe that they were doomed, for the storm showed no sign of abating, and his precious Valkyrie was on the verge of breaking apart, her hull leaking, her sails in tatters, her masts cracked or fallen. But just when all seemed lost, and Athulua's people feared they would never see land again, a strange fire surrounded the Valkyrie, keeping her from being broken, and she surged forwards, as if steering herself. And then, in waters that had never been charted, they saw a shore, and Misiya guided his ailing ship to land, sustained by the strange magic around her just long enough to carry her crew to safety. I bet you know where they were, don't you?"

"So, the nasty old sea god's curse came true, but the Amazons found their homeland anyway," Willow murmured. "I like the sound of that story."

"I thought you might," Tara said, gently stroking Willow's hair. "I know it's hardly the same thing, but... you never know what might happen. That was just a vague curse, whereas, well, what you saw didn't leave much room for interpretation. I don't blame you for fearing the worst. But just remember how much you love me. I don't think that leaves any 'room for interpretation'." She gave Willow a supportive smile. "Between fate, and your love, I know which one I trust more."

"You're a goddess," Willow murmured, smiling and shaking her head, "no matter how much I need you, you're strong for me."

"I do my best," Tara said with a bashful grin. "I'm sure, sooner or later, I'll need you to be strong for me, and you will be."

"I liked that story," Willow said again, as she and Tara dried each other off. "Is Misiya one of your gods as well?"

"Oh yes," Tara nodded, "we're not a big ocean-going people, but we sail between the islands, and there's a few captains who take their ships further, to reach Westmarch or the Twin Seas, and they always offer a prayer for Misiya to guide them safely on their journey, and back home. They say he shines as the brightest star in the sky, and all ships can steer by his light."

"That's the one," Tara replied, "we call it the Mariner, after Misiya. And his ship, the Valkyrie, gave its name to Athulua's handmaidens."

"I remember you telling me about them," Willow noted. She and Tara hung up their towels, gathered their clothes and returned to the bedroom, preparing for sleep. Once Willow has slipped under the covers, Tara quickly donned a robe and pulled the bell-cord for Lissa, who appeared at the door and took their empty dinner plates.

"Miss," she asked, "is everything alright? I don't mean to pry, but... Miss Willow seemed upset earlier...? Is she alright?"

"She's had... troubling news," Tara said, "but we're okay. Thanks for asking." She gave Lissa a grateful look, then turned from her relieved grin and met Willow's gaze, sharing a warm moment with her.

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Hellebore

by Chris Cook

Copyright © 2003

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