Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The healer stood beside the narrow bed.  Crissa rested soundly, her wounds
mostly healed.  Peris smiled happily at the soft-spoken healer as he turned
toward her.  "She will be fine, but needs a day or two bed rest," he said.
He face then shifted to a rather sardonic expression.  "It's good that you
forewarned me that her wounds might seem as if earned in a fight, else I
surely would have thought them such."

   "I feared they would, those steps can be tricky," she said, with utter
solemnity.  She stepped over to the cot and pressed a small, cool hand to
Crissa's brow.  "You're sure she's well?  She was hi - er - rather she
struck her head many times falling."

   "Yes," said the healer, "she had some swelling in her mind, but I've
seen to that, and the worst of the wounds.  As you likely know, though,
magic cannot mend a body fully, except that granted by the One, and that's
hardly magic at all."

   She nodded agreement.  "More a miracle, I would think," she said.

   A bright smile crossed onto the face of the healer.  "As would I, young
woman," he said.

   He had been extremely gentle in treating Kenett and Crissa's injuries,
his hands moving delicately over them as he expended magical energies from
small red mana crystals.  Peris had never seen those used before, but to
those who had not the gift of magic, it was the only way to practice the
art.

   "Could I learn magic with those?" asked Peris, eyeing the crystals as he
slipped them into his black sack.

   Pallin looked at her a moment.  "You seek to learn the arts?" he asked.
"As a healer?"

   Peris shrugged.  "It seems an honorable and noble profession," she said.

   "And a tiring one," said the healer, grunting as he lifted the sack. 
"You implied favors for my services, yes?"

   Her eyes looked down shyly, this had been the moment she feared, or
hoped for, as her whim flipped and turned in her mind.  "Yes," she finally
said, after achieving a rather appealing shade of pink to her cheeks.

   "Good," he said, his voice filling with desires unspoken, softening and
hardening all at once.  "My home has not had a good scrubbing and cleaning
in at least a year, life of a bachelor and all that," he said.  "I expect
you to be there by noon, and you clean until I am satisfied that the place
is spotless."

   Peris was not sure if she was pleased or annoyed by this change in tack.
Surely any other forms of favors would be over quicker.  However, he
thought he was doing her a kindness in having her clean instead of lie down
for her payment.  She donned a bright smile that became truth in but a
moment, as she realized how kind he must truly be.  "It will be, then," she
said.  "If you are asked about injured parties this night?" she asked,
suddenly worried for Crissa and Kenett's safety and the watch's possible
investigation of the break in at the asylum.

   "What injured parties?" he asked, suddenly appearing quite shocked.  "I
was called out by a fearful young woman who worried that her beau may have
passed her something in their loving that she had not bargained for."

   Peris barked out a laugh that caused Crissa to half stir in her slumber.
She covered her mouth with both hands.  "That's almost worse," she said,
giggling.  "But imminently believable, I should say."

   The middle-aged man nodded.  "Aye," he said.  "One advantage of being a
healer is that most folk believe whatever you tell them." He thought for a
moment.  "Which is why we do not lie lest we believe the need great."

   The young noblewoman nodded.  "I understand," she said.

   "If I find that you have mislead me, and your part was ignoble in the
events that led to these injuries. . ." he let the threat drift off into
the night.

   Peris looked up at him and said, "It's not, though rumors may say
otherwise, please give us two weeks for you to see that."

   "Two weeks, then," he said, giving her a nod and picking up his black
sack.

   She hugged his wide chest and squeezed hard.  "Thank you," she said.

   The healer patted her back and laid a small kiss upon her brow.  "You
did tempt me, you know?" he asked.

   Peris nodded at that, then asked, "Why did you not demand the offered
price, then?" Her expression was nonplused.

   "I'm too old to be taking a girl's innocence," he said, smiling at her.
Then he grinned even more broadly at the shock on her young face.  "Of
course a healer can learn these things," he said, patting her shoulder. 
"Had you been more experienced, I'd likely have gladly taken the offer."

   "I'd have given it without complaint," she said, her eyes now again
shyly looking downward.

   The healer walked toward the door.  "I know it," he said, chuckling. 
"Which is why I also know you will clean my house extremely well."

   Peris pushed the door shut as he walked out into the thick fog of the
night.  She slid the long wooden bolt back into place to secure it and
looked back at Crissa and Kenett, both sleeping quietly on the bed.  She
crawled onto the bed, as well, leaving on her clothes, and cuddled up
beside Crissa, putting her head on the tall girl's shoulder.  Crissa
murmured something in her sleep, but did not awaken.

   Soon, Peris joined them in slumber.

   - - - - - - - - -

   "How can one man have so many socks?" asked Peris, looking at the huge
heap of smelly footwear in the middle of the hall floor.

   Pallin laughed from the study, where he was pouring over some musty old
tome.  "I find it easier to buy them than to have some winsome young lass
come clean them," he replied.

   Peris was now doubly unsure that he did her a kindness by not bedding
her last night.  The place, like many homes of unwed men, was a sty. 
Cleaning for four hours netted her but a room full of dirty clothes and an
aching back.  She was not the most efficient of cleaners, as cleaning was
not a typical duty of young noblewomen, but this seemed a woefully slow
progress, even to her.

   "Take a break," said the healer as she struggled with a particularly
unwieldy pile of clothing.  "Come, sit in the study for a while, and have
some tea."

   She followed him into the study and sat in a proffered chair.  Dread
filled her eyes as she noted the layer of dust on the shelves and the
disorder of the small library in general.  "You just wanted me to see my
future of indentured servitude, didn't you?" she asked, gazing about the
room.

   His eyes hardened a bit, more mocking than truly upset.  "Do you know
how much I normally would have charged for last night's aid?" he asked.

   She shook her head.

   "Fifty marks," he said simply.  "Were I to seek to collect that from
you, even given a premium value as you are a virgin, which only is good for
the first time, it would take you most of a tenday, bedding five men a
day."

   Peris blanched slightly.  "You're serious?" she asked.

   "Very," he replied.  "Your friends' injuries were serious, especially
the young man's, in truth, he was more wounded, more deeply, than the young
woman.  He was dying, in fact."

   "One save me," she sighed out under her breath.

   "I'd say he was tortured, by someone who knew what they were doing,"
said the healer.  "If my opinion were asked on the matter.  By someone who
knew exactly what they were doing."

   Peris nodded at him, her face downcast.  "He probably was," she said.

   "And one might ask how it is that the apprentice of Marrat finds herself
grievously injured, as well," said the healer.  "Of course I know who she
is," he said, noting her look of surprise.  "I have to have my manastones
charged by his other apprentice, the one who was arrested a couple of days
ago. . ." his voice drifted off, something he seemed wont to do.  "Oh One's
mercy," he said in an exhaled sigh of air.  "This is to do with that, isn't
it?" he asked.

   "It's likely best that you not know more than you do," said Peris.  "For
all of us."

   "I see," said the middle-aged healer.  "Still, it begs the question of
what passes, though I'll leave it to your word."

   Peris sipped the tea, it was strong, and perked her up slightly.  Her
back also stopped aching quite so much.  "This is good tea," she commented.

   "Yes," he said, taking a sip himself.  "All the better to get a good
days work out of a person." He grinned broadly at her mock look of
annoyance.  They spoke idly of her impending chores and finished the tea,
eating some biscuits in the process.

   A few more hours of the hard work and she returned to the little inn. 
Crissa was awake, sitting up in the bed, watching the door impatiently as
Peris entered.

   "He's not awakened yet?" asked Peris.

   Crissa gave her a hard, upset look.  "He has, twice," she said.  "I've
put him back to sleep both times.  He's not happy with our 'rescue'."

   "What?" asked Peris.

   "He says that he'll be killed," explained Crissa.

   Peris thought a moment.  "Did he say by whom?" she asked.

   "He refuses to," said the sorceress.  "Then he gets unreasonable and
begins raving.  That's when I put him to sleep." She cast an impatient
glance at Kenett as he lay, sleeping.

   "Whoever put that into his head surely is the same folk that tormented
him," said Peris.  "He was dying, or so the healer said."

   Crissa's eyes widened.  "Healer?" she asked.  "I meant to ask you about
that.  Where did you find a healer, and how did you pay him?"

   "The pay is still being worked off," said Peris, a tone of annoyance in
her voice.  "The where was the first one I came across."

   "I hope you don't mean you. . ." Crissa let the statement go unfinished.

   "No," said Peris, "though I was prepared to."

   They both remained silent for some time, each taking their own counsel.
Finally, though, Crissa broke the silence.  "We need to calm Kenett when he
awakens, and I don't know if just attaching him to one of us will suffice."

   "He wouldn't get impatient with someone he loves would he?" asked Peris.

   Crissa snorted.  "It makes them love you, and often love or lust are
rather over emotional," she said.  "No, we need something more soothing to
his nerves."

   "Elves," said Peris.

   The sorceress looked at him oddly.  "Elves?" she asked.

   "From what I know of him, elves are his whole life," she said.  "He
studies them ceaselessly."

   Crissa stared at her for a moment.  "Okay," she said.

   - - - - - - - - -

   Kenett awakened and looked down at the coverlet.  Beside him slumbered a
pretty young woman with straw-colored hair.

   "You have finally awakened," a feminine voice emerged from the darkened
corner of the room, she was speaking elven.

   He peered into the dim corner and his eyes gradually adjusted to make
out the form of an elven woman sitting at the room's tiny table.  As he
watched in delight, she stood and walked toward him.

   "Do you not speak?" she asked, walking fully into the light.

   Kenett stammered a moment, and then said, "Yes, I speak, of course."

   A huge smile formed on the elven girl's lips.  "I am called Thenaldis,"
she said, placing her hand over her heart and bowing at the waist.

   Kenett swallowed hard, almost bursting out of his skin with excitement.
The only thing that kept him in the bed was his nudity beneath the
coverlet. He had never actually spoken with an elf, and had only seen one
once, when some elves passed through Norboro, heading northward.

   "I am called Kenett," he said, his name sounded ugly to him, when spoken
amid elven words.

   "I am pleased to meet you," said Thenaldis.  She smiled down at him, as
he seemed to nearly twitch with excitement.

   Kenett had never imagined an elven woman would be so appealing.  He knew
they were lovely beings, naturally, but to see one, up close and speaking
to him, interacting with him was overwhelming.  Thenaldis sat on the edge
of the bed and the scent of cinnamon that he heard they gave off reached
his nose.  He sniffed deeply of it.  Her silver eyes flickered in the
candlelight of the room.

   He glanced toward the tall girl beside him.  He knew her name, but for
the life of him could not remember it just now.

   "You were badly injured," said Thenaldis, "and Crissa asked me to aid
you."

   The young man smiled at her.  "Thank you," he said, performing a curt,
elven head-bow.

   Crissa, feigning sleep, was in truth working very hard, thinking very
hard.  She was filtering his perceptions of Peris, and even some of
himself. He believed he was speaking and hearing elven spoken, while in
truth, both spoke Westron.  She ran their words through the lens of his
perceptions with the result that he heard her speak and believed he spoke
in elven.

   Further, his perception of her appearance was likewise being changed to
resemble what he thought an elven maiden should look like.  Surprisingly
for Crissa, convincing his mind was easy, as she could summon forth things
that people felt affection for easily, and he loved elvenkind.

   Long, delicate fingers reached to Kenett's brow and brushed back an
errant curl.  "We must know what you saw that night," she said in a soft
voice.

   Fear chased the mild pleasure from Kenett's face, a sudden panic quickly
set in.  "No," he stammered, "I cannot speak of it." He glanced at the door
into the tiny room; sweat beginning to form on his brow.  "They will know
if I do."

   Peris leaned forward, and Kenett saw the elven maiden widen her silvern
eyes.  "Who will know?" she asked.  "Please, you must tell me for me to
stop more horrible things happening."

   He began to curl up, drawing his legs under the coverlet up to his chest
and turning onto his side.  "NO!" he screamed and pushed Peris away,
knocking her from the bed, she managed to keep her feet under her and moved
back toward him on her knees.

   "You must!" she said in an urgent whisper.  "Do not tell me I expended
myself for one who puts fear before truth." She touched his shoulder, which
had slipped from beneath the covers, her cool fingers moving over the warm,
smooth flesh of his upper arm.  "I was told you were a lover of all things
elven." Her expression hardened, her silver eyes darkening to the color of
steel.  "Now I find that healing you was a mistake."

   "No," he begged as she stood up and walked toward the door, a wash of
cinnamon-scented air wafting over him.  "Do not go."

   Peris glanced over her shoulder and Kenett saw the elf give him a cooly
regarding look.  "You will speak?" she asked.  "Or will you protect a
murderer?"

   - - - - - - - - -

   Some five miles north of Norboro, amid the ruins of an old farmstead,
long abandoned, was pitched a concealed tent.

   Cherle slipped through the flap of the tent and knelt before the seated
figure.  "We have done as you commanded, my lord," he said in a sober,
placating voice.

   "Yet?" asked the seated man.  He had cruel and handsome features, with
slicked back dark hair and hard, brown eyes.

   The young nobleman found he could not meet those accusing eyes.  "The
elf-lover, our picked witness, was kidnaped from the asylum," he said.

   "You were to watch him!" shouted the seated man, his eyes flashing to
sudden rage.  "I sent my best torturer to soften him and make him ready to
tell the story we wanted to be told."

   "And it was working my lord, he truly believes what we have told him to
say," said Cherle.

   "Which serves us in no good stead if he isn't there to act as witness in
the young wizard's trial," said the seated man.  Massive arms flexed in the
dim candlelight of the tent.  "It falls then to you and your coterie's word
against his and his friends'."

   "We are nobleborn!" exclaimed Cherle, his eyes widening.

   "You're fools!" shot back the man, rising from the chair and pushing the
kneeling youth back onto his rump.  "They have a noble witness, as well,
and they are gifted people, they are not commoners who can be simply shoved
down the path to execution." He brushed past the young man as he walked to
the far side of the tent.  "You were to bring Lentan over to our camp
gently," he said, forcing patience into his voice.  "He was ripe for
recruitment, yet you sprang the secrets upon him too quickly and he
balked."

   "Yes, milord," said Cherle.  "He was not ready."

   "So, instead of a new, influential Dark Alcolyte, we have a son of a
nobleman dead and suspicion falls onto your very group of friends," said
the powerfully built man.  Even out of his armor, he was impressively large
and powerful.  "And now you lose the one key to throwing suspicions into
another camp?" His dark eyes glinted with anger as he turned them upon
Cherle.  "Are you trying to destroy my hard works?"

   "No, milord," said Cherle.  "I serve the One as you do!" Panic was now
set in his blue eyes.  "I wish to serve as you do, milord."

   "You could never be a Templar, boy," growled the man.  "But you may yet
become a true Alcolyte of the One, and serve me, and gain power as I gain
power."

   Cherle smiled hopefuly.  "Yes, milord, I will serve you and take
whatever gifts you deem me worthy to receive."

   The Templar snorted.  "Right now you deserve a slow death," he said. 
"However, I've need of you.  Pray I change my mind of your worth before
that need ends."

   "Yes, milord," said Cherle, the smile flashing out of existence as
quickly as it had come.

   "Who kidnaped the elf-lover?" asked the Templar.

   "The wizard's whore," said Cherle.  "Or whores if you believe the
rumors."

   The Templar's eyes widened.  "You couldn't stop a witch and a pitiable
noble girl from taking him?"

   "The sorceress is not a frail creature," said Cherle, again not meeting
his lord's eyes.  "And Peris is not a foolish girl, herself.  We set two of
the most violent and deadly of the asylum's inmates upon them, then called
the watch to retrieve their bodies."

   "A sound plan, all in all," said the Templar.  "Yet it failed, I take
it."

   "The girls defeated the inmates, we know not how," said Cherle. 
"Assumedly, the sorceress did for them."

   The Templar's expression became contemplative.  "I fear we've
underestimated Crissa's abilities and intellect," he said.  "We've taken
her rumored whoring as a sign of feeblemindedness or insecurity, which it
apparently is not."

   "No, milord," said Cherle emphatically.  "She is smart, and strong
willed.  Carsten, who has been asking about her believes she beds the men
because she enjoys it."

   A wicked smile turned up the lips of the Templar.  "A woman after my own
heart," he said.  "Were she not a heretic.  You have to find them, and the
elf-lover," said the Templar, coming to a decision.  "Peris is expendable,
do with her what you wish.  However, this girl, Crissa, the sorceress, is
to be taken captive, unless you must kill her.  The elf-lover must be
returned to the asylum to provide you your alibi."

   "Yes, milord," said Cherle.

   "Use the ritual of seeking which I taught you," said the Templar.  "Use
one of the lesser of the circle as the seeker, someone you can do without."

   "Yes milord," repeated Cherle.  "I know just the one."

   Carsten had been showing signs of weakening in his loyalty to the One.
He had also been something of an annoyance to Cherle of late.  He would do
nicely.

   The lanky youth bowed again and kept a wary eye on the Tempar as he idly
lifted his sword from a wooden stand.  "And Cherle?" he said.

   "Yes, milord," said the young nobleman.

   "If you fail me again, hope I don't find you," said the Templar.

   Cherle scampered from the tent and off into the darkness of the rural
night.

   "What do you think, witch?" asked the Templar, apparently speaking to
the airs of the tent.

   A shape shimmered in the dim light, and then became solid, as if a
mirage was gaining solidity.  She was a young, slender woman with long
white hair.  "He tells the truth," she said in a soft voice.  "He is loyal
still, Lord Grendahl."

   Grendahl smiled.  "I know he's loyal," he said.  "Is he smart enough for
this task?"

   "Yes," she said.  "He comes off a buffoon, but it is mostly show.  He is
up for the task."

   "Go into Norboro," said Grendahl.  "I want a second tine on my spear,
seek for the two girls and the elf-lover.  Kill Peris if you like, or play
with her, your choice.  I want Crissa, though, brought to me."

   "Milord fancies another witch in his stable?" asked the slim woman,
sidling up to him and running her sharply nailed fingertips over his
shoulders.

   Grendahl said, "Terena, I fear I could never meet your match, in either
ability or appetite."

   "This is true," she whispered into his ear, kissing his neck between
words.  "I serve you, mind, body, and soul," she said.

   The Templar's hand moved down the witch's back and then palmed her
small, round rump, pulling her toward him until her slight form was tight
against his body.

   "You try your arts on me?" he asked, glaring at her lovely hazel eyes.

   "No, milord," she gasped.  "I only seek to please you, in any way you
ask." Her body writhed against his and he could feel her hands moving down
his tunic, front and back.

   He shoved her away.  "I've taken enough pleasure of you, witch," he
said, "and you've fed of enough energy from me, find your own source of
power."

   The briefest of hateful glares flashed in her eyes, but was soon masked,
skillfully, by this consummate deceiver.  "As my lord commands," she said,
bowing low.  "I will have the golden-haired witch before you in less than
five days."

   "Better," said Grendahl as she left the tent, the anger in her posture
telling him she would do as he ordered, simply to spite him later, and so
he would owe her a large favor.

   - - - - - - - - -

   "His own friends?" asked Crissa, having heard Kenett tell the entire
tale of that night.  "Why would they do that?"

   Peris shrugged and sat on the bed beside the sorceress, who was now
sitting up and cupping her chin in both hands.  She still had no clothing,
but Peris would rectify that this night.

   "Frankly, that makes less sense than Wenn doing it," said Crissa.

   "They are young wolfling nobles.  Who knows what slight may have set one
to killing another?" said Peris.

   "No," said Crissa.  "What he described was a ritual, and it was more
than one of them."

   "But Kenett said only one launched the burning spell," said Peris.

   Crissa sighed.  "Ritual magic," she said.  "It is something some of the
churches do to heal their sick.  The entire congregation gathers with one
person leading.  That leader becomes the focal point of a LOT of magical
energy."

   "A horrible ritual," said Peris.

   "Agreed, but a ritual nonetheless," responded Crissa.

   Kenett was sleeping soundly again, gently nudged into unconsciousness by
Crissa after he had spoken the full tale of the night of Lentan's death to
Peris in the guise of an elven maiden.  "Will he recognize me when he
awakens?" she asked.

   Crissa shook her head and said, "Not likely, he fully believed you to be
an elven woman; he will never associate you with her."

   "You're saying I'm not pretty enough to be an elf?" asked Peris,
pretending upset.

   Crissa gave her a humored grin.  "Not even an elf is as pretty as he
thought that elven maiden was."

   "That explains the agog expression he kept wearing," said Peris, looking
at Kenett with soft eyes.  "I really thought he loved me."

   "He did," said Crissa with a wistful sound in her voice.  "Would be that
it was a permanent effect."

   Peris lifted the coverlet slightly, revealing his bare thigh.  "I should
find him clothes, as well," she said.

   "I don't know," said Crissa, giving him an appraising look.  "He's
rather a good-looking lad when not clad."

   "Crissa!" exclaimed Peris.

   "As if you've not looked yourself, girl," said Crissa, grinning at the
younger girl.

   "Only when I was tending his wounds," said Peris, giving self-defense
one last try.

   Crissa raised an eyebrow at her, and her smile broadened to huge
proportions.  "I don't believe he was injured there, in particular," she
said.

   Peris was blushing fiercely now, and covered her face with her hands. 
"I did, I looked at his manhood," she said, giggling.  Both of the young
women had a hard-earned giggle then, and felt their ages for a moment or
two.

   "I'm off to find you clothes," said Peris, putting on one of the cloaks
and donning a head-covering rag that would hide her hair.  "And some for
our young stud there."

   Crissa giggled again and rose to relock the door after Peris left.  The
shorter girl stood quietly in the doorway.  "I'm very afraid, Crissa," she
finally said.

   "So am I," replied the sorceress.  She reached out a hand and touched
the cheek of the pretty young noblewoman.  "Be very careful."

   Peris silently nodded and stepped out into the fall fog that was already
filling the streets, even though it was just after full dark.

   Crissa should be doing this, she's more competent at all things than I,
she told herself as she moved down the long street.  Every motion in the
fog made her start, her head turning alertly toward every noise.  A cat
caught her attention for a brief moment as it came bounding out of an
alley's mouth, seeming huge for a fraction of a heartbeat.

   She had prowled Norboro many nights, even more foggy ones than this, and
had never feared for her safety.

   Of course, that was before there were people about who might wish to
kill her, and before she had become something of an outlaw.

   Peris decided that she had to get word to her family, let them know what
passes.  She feared penning that letter, though, and feared even more the
response from her father.  Crissa had given her a name, Charel, a tailor,
who would, from Crissa's word, give her clothes aplenty.  She idly wondered
as she turned onto his street, what Crissa may have done to make him that
grateful.  Quickly, she dismissed that from her mind, knowing she would not
be comfortable with the answer.

   Are you so much holier?  A sudden thought sprang into her mind.  You
were ready to do the same to pay the healer, and you were actually looking
forward to it, weren't you?

   "No," she said out loud, in a quiet voice.  "I was simply resigned to
make the best of something."

   Peris had reached the door to the tailor's shop.  It was a tiny place,
barely a shop at all, more of a stall attached to the front of a small
home. She rapped on the door, her knock tentative in its softness and
caution.

   A few moments later the bolt was thrown back and the door opened a
crack. Lamplight poured out in a narrow fan.  "Yes?" a voice asked from
behind the still mostly closed door.

   "Hello," she said.  "My name is Peris.  Crissa seeks a favor of you."

   - - - - - - - - -

   "Hold him well, lads," said Cherle as he watched the other members of
his circle grasp the arms and legs of Carsten.  That worthy seemed quite
unwilling to be held down, and it took six of them to do so.  "You will
serve the needs of the One, Carsten," said Cherle.

   He was wearing long, dark robes with red-trimmed sleeves.  The other
boys wore only black robes with no markings.  Carsten was nude, his body
glistening with the sweat of fear.  "No," he grunted.  "You're lying, he
would never order this!"

   "He has and I have chosen you," said Cherle somberly.  Two other boys
stood back from the six pinning down the writhing young nobleman, and four
girls with them, young noblewomen, also of the circle.

   Each had remarkably similar stories of how they had become members of
the Circle of the Eye.  It had been all in good fun at first.  Emilee was
the first, the eldest girl.  She was reasonably pretty, and well liked. 
But when the man had approached her, a handsome man, who radiated power and
vitality, and asked for her company, she happily obliged.  Soon, she was
recruiting the others into acts of more and more base debauchery.

   They were soon conducting more dire rituals, and animals bled their
lifeblood to feed the spells they wrought.  They reveled in the petty power
it granted them and they learned more potent rituals and conducted them. 
They prospered in small ways of little significance, ultimately, but
seemingly important to young noblemen fascinated in minutia of status and
power; bits of wealth, ill health upon their rivals, turning the eye of a
favored person, and a hundred other little things that felt powerful and
urgent.

   Now the Templar who had recruited them and shown them how to achieve
this power asked for some payment for that gift.  Who were they to refuse a
simple and minor request such as that?

   Cherle began to chant and was soon joined by the outer circle.  Shiran,
the youngest girl, and the newest initiate, recruited by Cherle himself,
shed her robe and walked up to the struggling young man.

   "No!" Carsten shouted.  "Stay back!"

   She smiled down at him and lowered herself beside his head, stroking his
hair with a gentle touch.  "You know we must serve the One, as it is deemed
needed," she whispered, her smile never leaving her expression.  "Do not
resist, for it will only make the service more painful."

   He yanked his head from her touch, glaring at her.  "They mean to kill
me!"

   "Those who die in the service of the True One never truly die, and you
know that," she said, her eyes flashing with impatience.  "If your faith is
lacking, then you're an unworthy servant, anyway, and death is the only
answer you deserve."

   The six boys holding him pushed down harder, pinning him securely, only
his head could now move, and his body at the waist a bit.  She moved around
them, crawling, almost like a predatory cat.  Shiran moved up between his
outstretched legs, lowering her head as she moved up and keeping her large
blue eyes locked upon Carsten's.

   She took his flaccid cock into her mouth and started to suck upon it,
moaning as she did so.  He writhed, but was unable to dislodge her and
unable to stop his prick stiffening under the gentle suction and soft
caress of her lips.

   Cherle's chant gained volume and her head moved faster over his stiff
rod.  His arms were twisting in their sockets as he tried vainly to stop
the climax that was forcing its way upward through his loins.  There was a
horrid sound of snapping as the bones inside his pinned legs snapped.  The
change was beginning.

   "One save me!  NO!" Carsten screamed as he came.  The girl kept sucking
until the last of his seed was spilled and she looked up gleefully as the
change began.  The other boys loosed their grips on the twisting and
withering limbs.  All of them began chanting, except Shiran, who smiled at
the writhing shape as his body metamorphosed and his soul was ripped from
it and ascended to the Portal of Forever.

   The change was as quick as it was extreme.  A few moments later, barely
a dozen heartbeats from when his seed had spilled into the young woman's
mouth, he was no longer human.  In his place was a - thing - that resembled
more a cat than any other creature.  It had four short but powerful-looking
limbs, each ending with long, bone-taloned feet.  It was bare of fur,
except a patch atop its head, where Carsten's blond hair had been.  It's
long neck rippled with strong muscles, echoed down its flanks.  It turned a
hateful glare upon Cherle and opened its maw to reveal rows of sharkish
triangular teeth.

   It took a step toward him, hissing and spitting blood in its fury.

   "Stop," ordered Shiran.

   The creature lurched to a stop and turned its wide-set blue eyes toward
the girl.  "Obey me, you serve me and the One through me."

   It turned all the way around and walked toward her.  Its scent was upon
her, its nose twitched incessantly, sniffing the air.  Between its strong
hind legs, a long phallus extended, growing very long indeed, nearly
dragging upon the ground.

   "You wish to have me?" she asked, rising to her knees and opening her
legs.  Its head moved between them and sniffed at her entrance.  The
phallus bobbed obscenely between its hind legs.  "Find the one named
Crissa, the Whore of the False One.  Kill the slut who is her companion and
bring us the witch and you will have me."

   The creature hissed again, baring its shark's teeth, then glared at the
pretty young woman's face.  "Obey," she repeated.

   It hissed a last time and bounded toward the door of their basement
chamber.  One of the young men opened the door for it and it shot out into
the night, a pink, fleshy blur vanishing into darkness.