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 Crissa slipped the orb into a pocket of her dress, peering about the room.

   Peris was examining the witch's body closely, but moved as if fearful.

   "She's quite dead," said Crissa.  "I slid a dagger between her ribs."

   The petite noblewoman looked over her shoulder at Crissa, almost as if
for the first time, truly seeing the tall, golden-haired sorceress.

   Crissa was nearly staggered by the fear she felt from Peris.  The girl
was afraid of her.  A demon-beast lay on the floor next to a formerly
invisible sorceress, and Peris was afraid of Crissa.

   A smaller measure of that same fear came from Kennet.  It was vague,
thought, and may well have simply been general fear, which was perfectly
reasonable.

   "Peris," said Crissa, suddenly very desirous of the girl's trust, "I
only did what I had to."

   The girl moved the sorceress' body into a loose approximation of a
funereal pose, with her legs together and arms crossed over her chest.  She
then covered the corpse with a sheet from over one of the cabinets which
were all draped against dust.  Blood immediately soaked through the thin
cream-colored linen.

   Kennet did much the same for the demon's body, if simply to remove it
from sight.

   The mood in the room was somber, and the fear was almost palpable to
Crissa, and it smelled bad to her, almost made her angry.  Her showing
anger right now would only amplify that fear, she knew.

   "Pack your things back up, we're leaving," said Crissa.

   "To go where?" asked Kennet.  "We've fled from spot to spot, and nowhere
seems safe."

   Crissa curbed the flash of anger that welled up inside her with an
effort, an effort both her companions saw.  Though he had questioned the
order, Kennet was shoving loose items into a sack.  Peris had not even
questioned her, she was even more fearful of Crissa.

   A motion in the corner of her vision caught her eye and Crissa turned to
see that the piece of furnishing that Kennet had fished off a cloth from
was a small wardrobe, out of place in the common room.  It had a tall,
slender mirror on the top.  Regarding her reflection in the mirror, she saw
a tall, stark woman with callous, angry eyes staring back at her.

   Do I truly look like that?  she asked herself, and the reflection
softened the tiniest fraction with a trace of worry.  One save me, no
wonder they are fearful.  She had little reassurance to offer them, though,
and no comfort.

   "That's all of it," said Peris, standing from her packing, lifting a
rather meager looking sack of goods.

   Crissa had managed to stuff all she had brought with her back into the
sack, which was still spilled across the floor from the fight.  They pulled
on their cloaks, again, kindly provided by Charel, and slipped from the
apartment.  The people across the hall were peering from behind a cracked
door, and she knew the watch was on its way.

   Such a disturbance in a law-abiding home would bring down the watch with
certainty.

   With haste, they slipped across the street into the very alley in which
had lurked the witch prior to her attack on Crissa.  The sounds of booted
feet came clomping up the cobbled street as they moved hastily through the
muddy alleyway.  "Move quickly," hissed Crissa, wanting to change
directions again as soon as possible.  Surely the helpful neighbors in the
building would soon point the guards toward that alley.

   "In here," said Crissa in a low voice and they turned into another
alleyway just as three guardsmen stormed into the muddy alley.  Two had
torches and flickering light illuminated the alleyway.

   Crissa stood at the mouth of the side alley, as if she were denying the
existence of the guards and the main alleyway.  Her arms were outstretched
and her fingers splayed, along with her long legs.  Even her toes pointed
outward.  It was as if she were a cat, trying to make herself larger than
she really was.

   Peris watched the concentration on Crissa's face as she stood.

   The guards ran right past them, though they were not ten feet away, and
easily within the illumination of the sputtering torches.

   The guards stopped at the far end of the alley and their voices came
drifting back.  They sounded oddly muffled, like they were speaking through
a wall.

   "One's blessing, what was that thing?" asked one of the guards.

   "Looked like a skinned dog to me," said a second.

   The third barked a laugh.  "No dog I've ever seen has teeth like that,"
he said.  "It was a magical beast."

   The other two nodded assent.  "And the woman with the dark hair?" asked
the first again, apparently full of questions.

   "No idea Derlen, no idea," said the authoritative-sounding one.  "But,
mark my words, she was a sorceress, you saw the markings."

   Crissa saw her companions look fleetingly at her.  With her arms
stretched for the sky, her sleeves had slid up to her shoulders.  No
markings marred her smooth, fair skin.

   The guardsmen moved away from the mouth of the alley, their torchlight
with it, casting the trio into darkness.  Crissa slumped forward and
lowered her upstretched arms.

   "You hid us?" asked Peris.

   Crissa was breathing as if she had run a mile.  "Yes," she said between
gulps of air, "but I didn't know if I could."

   "Invisibility," said Kennet, awe filling his voice.

   A weak smile formed on Crissa's lips.  "More like a blanket, really,"
she said.  "They expected alley wall, so I just made it somewhat more
real."

   The fear the two had for her was abating somewhat, replaced by respect
and some wonderment.  This felt much better to Crissa.  She would rather
Peris keep lusting at her than be afraid of her.

   A few minutes later, they slipped out of the alley and down another
street.  The guard was not making a great effort to apprehend the killer of
a sorceress and her monstrous minion.  Crissa idly wondered if her death
would be regarded as much a favor as a crime.

   The village by night was cold, and fog had begun to roll in off the
river that bisected it as night wore on.  Peris was shivering.  As fine a
tailor as Charel was, he could not make clothes good for warm and cold
weather at the same time.  As it was late spring, he was crafting clothes
for the upcoming summer, and these garments were meant to be worn then, not
now.

   They skirted the lamplight in front of several inns.  To Kennet's
curious looks, she said, "I'm well known in many inns, and do not wish to
be remembered passing by."

   He let that go without asking other, more uncomfortable, questions. 
Peris simply smiled slightly and a reassuring wave of lust toward Crissa
moved out from her that made Crissa blush for the first time in hours.  You
did say you'd prefer it, she thought.

   It was surprising how many folk of Norboro were up and about at such a
small hour, even Crissa.  Though she moved in the night, she almost was
never still out after midnight, usually closeted away with a partner by
that time.

   "Where are we going?" asked Peris.

   They moved around another corner and were across the street from a half
collapsing old building.  "There," she said.

   "Hardly a comfortable home," said Kennet.

   "Master Marrat owns that lot," she said.  "He was given it for some
services to a merchant."

   They moved quietly across the darkened street, a dog barking in the
distance, though probably not at them and amid the tumble of wood and rock.
"Wenn and I looked it over for him and it has an intact basement."

   She looked around in the darkness until her eyes spotted the
particularly darker patch of black and made for it.  The other two followed
and she led them down some rough-hewn stairs until they all came to a stop,
bumping into each other.  There was a door.  Crissa opened it and they
moved into the utter black beyond.  The door thudded shut and she pulled
out a light stone, saying, "Light," as she did so.

   The blue-white glare of the stone momentarily blinded them before their
eyes adjusted to it.  The chamber was about twenty feet to a side, with
massive oaken timbers supporting the mastonry roof.  Moisture glistened on
one wall and a drip could be heard from in the back corner, at the edge of
the light stone's illumination.

   "It's hardly palatial," said Crissa.  "But almost no one knows about it,
and it's scryguarded."

   "Scryguarded?" asked Kennet.

   Crissa knew Kennet knew a little of magic, and things magical, and she
regarded him.  "You know what it means," she said.

   "Yes.  I asked more as to why," he said.

   A wan smile formed on the sorceress' lips.  "I have my own, very
personal, reasons, for wards about," she said.  "Let me just say that they
protect those without, rather than those within."

   "There is a barrel of water back there, follow the dripping sound," she
said.  "It's under a fountain, so should be drinkable.  There are no beds,
sorry, but we have blankets, and the floor is more or less dry."

   Kennet sat down and pulled out the second light stone, repeating the
light command, and more light filled the chamber.  Crissa smiled to see
Wenn's handiwork being put to good use.

   Peris moved to the water barrel and cupped water into her mouth,
pronouncing it fine to drink, unless it was bad in a very subtle way.

   The tensions of the night caught up with Crissa and she knew that she
should either go to sleep or find a cooperative person to work them out
with.

   Eyeing Kennet with a appraising look, she decided on the former, to
maintain equanimity in the trio.

   Kennet, however, approached her as she unfolded a blanket onto the
floor. "You said the elven woman would see me agian, but how will she find
me?" he asked.

   Crissa blinked at the question for a moment before her mind caught up
with his words.  "Well, elves have a way with things like that, I guess,"
she said.

   A slightly dubious look came into Kennet's features and he said, "Elves
have few senses we don't.  They can see better in the dark, but overall,
it's still sight."

   "She's a shaman or some such," explained Crissa, trying to rewrap his
mind with the elven imagery she had filled it with.  "I don't understand
their workings."

   He nodded.  "I thought as much," he said.  "That's how she healed us."

   Crissa gave him a curt nod and started to lie down.  "Almost I wish I
had not seen her," he said wistfully, causing her to open her eyes again
and half turn over to face him.

   He was now sitting beside her, on the bare stones of the floor.

   Peris was spreading a blanket near the door, humming to herself and
studiously ignoring the two of them.

   "Why?" asked Crissa.  "Don't you wish to meet elves, one day?"

   He sighed deeply and gave a very tiny smile.  "I have all my life, yes,"
he said.  "But, here I am, doing exciting, adventurous things, with two
beautiful women, and all I can think of is how lovely she was."

   Crissa smiled at him, extending a hand to stroke his cheek.  "You're a
good man Kennet," she said, very soberly.  "You might should think less on
elves and more on the people you see daily."

   In a infinitely tiny voice, he said, "I wish I could."

   Crissa did not even notice what she was doing.  Before she could stop,
she had reached out with her mind and touched his, changing his perception
of her, ever so slightly.  Softening her features, and heightening her fair
points.

   She leaned forward and kissed Kennet, and he responded eagerly,
returning the kiss and putting his arms around her.  Despite his
slenderness, he was a man who did perform labor, at least sometimes, and
the arms were strong and the embrace with them.

   A gentle pull brought him over onto the blanket with her, lying half
atop her body.  She felt his organ in his pants stiffen at the prone,
intimate contact and smiled inwardly as their lips continued to press
together.  She let the mental illusion go, it having served its purpose of
getting him started.  Most men, once moving, did not stop easily.

   Kennet proved no exception.  She had invited him, and now he was
responding.  One of his hands, surprisingly soft, slid up her thigh, under
her knee-length skirt.  She did not resist him.  She was in a safe place,
she did not resist anything.  It felt wondrous to let her feelings go, for
the first time in many days.

   His fingers felt hot on her thigh as he moved them upward, finally
coming to the crux of her legs and moving over the slick wetness of her
opening.  She had eagerly anticipated this and was already halfway to being
ready before he arrived, as any good hostess would be for unexpected
guests.

   Still, she sighed at the touch, so enthused and eager.  This, more than
any other reason, was why she took new lovers, for that fumbling, eager,
discovering touch.  It felt wondrous each time it happened.  Some were
skilled, others caring, still others clumsy and charmingly inept, but
always they brought that feeling to their touch and mind.

   Kennet, being a man of full years, and still a virgin, brought more of
that feeling than most.  She felt the waves of his pent passions flowing
over her and they took her breath away in a way that no man, save Wenn,
their first time, did.

   Her hands groped at his belt, tugging at the clasp, every bit as
clumsily as a girl who knew not how to handle a man.  This was another
feature of such lovemaking, she almost became a virgin with Kennet, so
powerful were his half-fearful feelings.

   Finally, though, the belt came open and her hand darted into his pants,
groping for his stiffened rod.  Her fingers found it and gripped,
forcefully, the engorged thing, hearing the sudden gasp from Kennet as, for
the first time he knew, his cock was touched by a woman.

   She smiled at the mixture of shock and excitement on his face and pulled
him down for a kiss as she started to stroke the cock in her slender hand.

   Kennet's own fingers lost some of their clumsiness and uncertainty with
her, and one moved into her, eliciting a gasp of her own as the digit
parted her lips.  "Rub gently at the top," she whispered hoarsely, "just
above the rest."

   The now wet finger pulled out of her and moved over the nub of her
clitoris.  She arched her back and groaned softly at that and sighed,
"There," as he moved back and forth.

   Crissa's hand had fallen idle in her pleasure, and now she resumed
stroking him.  His pants were around his knees now and she moved around,
twisting her upper body to bring her head to him.

   Her warm, soft lips formed a seal around the head of his penis while her
hand continued to stroke.  She noted his finger on her clit had stopped
moving.  This was fine, as she had intended to surprise him.

   When she looked up, she saw a stunned look of ecstasy on his face as he
watched her.  She kept her eyes upon his as she moved her head back and
forth, leaving a glistening gleam on the shaft.

   He seemed to have been holding his breath and released it in a
shuddering moan and grunted, "One's blessing," even as he spent himself.

   Crissa smiled at him, pulling back and letting his prick drop from her
mouth.  He had his eyes closed, his mind working furiously behind the lids.
She could feel his emotions swirling there.  Lust, desire, fear, pleasure,
excitement, amid other, more subtle tastes.

   A moment later, his fingers began experimentally moving over her
entrance and she spread her long thighs apart to allow him freedom of
motion.  He looked down at her slit, then at her eyes.  She nodded and he
moved over and down, touching his tongue to her while she untied the
skirt's bindings.  She sighed as he made contact and began moving his mouth
over her.

   While not the finest at such things, the young man was more than
adequate, and possessed of impressive drive.  He mouthed her with a passion
that bordered on mania and made small sounds of pleasure and excitement. 
The thoughts he harbored were more exciting than the contact to Crissa,
though the two together quickly had her squirming and moaning beneath his
fast moving tongue.

   Her fingers moved to his curly hair, the texture thick and heavy, like
corn silk.  She was bucking upward, and held his head in a strong grip, the
strong muscles of Crissa's arms holding his skull fast and allowing her to
choose the positioning of his tongue with precision.

   She came loudly, moaning and calling out her pleasure in incoherent
words.  Her praise just seemed to feed Kennet's fire and he mouthed her
harder and faster, eliciting a second orgasm on the very heels of the
first. "Take me now," she groaned as his tongue slowed.  "Take me fully."

   He moved atop her, running his hands along her long, slender waist.  Her
eyes flashed in the reflected light of the stones and she tried to smile
reassuringly at his somewhat fearful look.  "You're doing more than well,
Kennet," she said.  "Many men cannot make a woman climax, even with the
full act."

   A grin formed on his lips and he moved up slightly, pressing the soft
head of his cock to her entrance.  She strained upward to try to force
entry, but he held back a moment, thought crossing his face.  "Now," she
begged, pushing up again with her hips.

   He drove his cock into her.  It was no timid motion of a novice lover,
but the impassioned entry of someone sincerely wanting to take someone. 
She felt taken and the sensation was wondrous.

   Their bodies found a rhythm quickly and they settled into it, straining
together and both seeking the same goals while helping the other to their
own.  Crissa rarely felt a bond so close during her flings, and she
revelled in the connection.  Such links rarely lasted long, and she rode
this one for all its worth.

   When they climaxed, it boomed like thunder in a valley, reverberating
between the two of them.  His lust for her feeding into her own, which
would rebound back to him.  Their climax was both powerful and enduring,
their bodies arcing into one another's and their peals of ecstasy blending
to a ear-splitting sound.

   Then it was gone.

   Crissa blinked open her eyes and looked down at the shock of curly hair
on her chest.  Kennet was breathing heavily, gasping in air.  Her own
breath was ragged and irregular.  She moved her hands over his back,
stroking his sweaty skin and sighing gently.

   "Lover, count yourself one of few," she said in a low, husky voice.

   Kennet lifted his head and smiled weakly.  "Is it like that every time?"
he asked, his eyes wide and staring.

   "Not really, lover," said Crissa.  She used that title for men after
their passions for a long while, at least until they parted company. 
"Though once is enough, no?"

   He nodded.  "I could stand it to be a bit less - intense," he said,
laying his head between her ample breasts.  She continued to pet his back.
He was soft now, his cock was, and she wondered how long she had been
senseless.

   "You could warn a girl," said Peris' petulant voice from the other side
of the room.

   Crissa's eyes shifted suddenly and she looked to where Peris sat on her
own little pallet of blankets, staring at the two of them.  "Oh, One save
me," she said in a whisper.

   Peris smiled at her, though, and her petulant look evaporated.  "Be glad
I did not ravish you myself," said the girl, looking at her body.

   "What stopped you?" asked Crissa, rather startled by that very fact.

   Peris sighed and her smile became lopsided with wryness.  "A girl
keeping her 'purity' for so long learns to handle matters," she said, but
then her face shifted to one of seriousness.  "Though it was a sore trial
not to pull him off you and make use of him after you finished."

   Crissa looked down.  "I apologize, I didn't think before I started," she
said.  "And once I started. . ." A soft snore came from Kennet as he lay
atop her.  She grinned at him.  "I think he's tired," she said.

   "He should be," replied Peris, looking at the young man.  "He went at
you for almost half an hour after you went unconscious.  I believe you
climaxed in your sleep."

   Crissa blinked at her for a moment, wondering if she were serious, but
decided to let that remain Peris' own secret.  A sharp soreness between her
legs made her think that maybe she was speaking truth.

   Gently, she moved Kennet off of her and he lay on the pallet, sleeping
soundly while she rose and walked to sit beside Peris.  "I apologize for
exposing you to that," she repeated.  "I know you're trying to keep your
virginity."

   Peris' hand stroked Crissa's long, straw-colored hair and she moved it
on down over the sorceress' bare back.  "It's okay," she said.  "You got
caught up in a moment, it was rather interesting seeing you really doing as
you might."

   A fresh surge of lustful feelings pulsed outward from Peris as she
touched Crissa's bare flesh.  The fingertips felt cool after Kennet's warm
touch and she did not flinch away.

   If Peris wished to touch her, after her exposing Peris to the rather
unpredictable full release of her abilities, she would not stop the girl.

   A sadness tinged that lust, Peris knew she did not seek the touch of a
woman, and it hurt her inside.  This saddened Crissa and she wished she
could change herself to suit the other girl's needs and desires.

   A weak smile flitted across Crissa's face as Peris continued stroking
her back.  "You're very pretty, and if I did take to women, I would seek
your company in an instant," she said, then kissed Peris.

   Peris' eyes shot open at the kiss, then closed softly as she let it
happen.  Crissa was a skilled kisser, even barring the additional punch
that she could weave into anything even remotely sexual.  When they parted
lips, Peris looked at Crissa with curious eyes.

   "Nothing?" asked Peris.

   Crissa looked down.  "Nothing," she confirmed.

   Peris gave her a hearty smile, still touching her back with those
slender, cool fingers.  "Well, I can't say you didn't try," she said.

   Crissa was exhausted, which surprised her.  Usually, she had more energy
after lovemaking than before.  Master Marrat said that she was taking
energy from her lovers and that many did so without even knowing what they
were doing.  Crissa's taking of that energy was more notable to herself as
she was aware of things more acutely, but many did it, even unawares.

   This time, it felt more as if she had given up the energy, rather than
taking any.

   She slumped against the supportive shoulder of the shorter girl, laying
her head on Peris.  "I'm tired," she said.

   Peris urged her to lie down and curled up behind Crissa, pulling them
close together.  Crissa let herself be held, it felt good and Kennet was in
no condition to hold anyone.

   - -

   Lord Grendehl, Dark Templar, dropped the girl to the floor.  "I see why
Cherle did not relay this information himself," he grated out through
clenched teeth.

   Shiran rubbed her slender neck where the templar had lifted her from the
floor by the throat.  "Milord, I am loyal and without shame, I did my
best," she rasped hoarsely.  "It was I who placated and offered to the
beast for your service."

   He smiled down at her, a cold, callous smile, but one that softened a
bit at her words.  "I know this, Supplicant Shiran," he said.  "I
appreciate your efforts, but condemn the results.  Such a creature should
have been guided, even if by your own hand."

   She nodded, lowering her head to the floor.  "I was not told that
milord," she said.

   Grendehl sighed.  "Were you told to seal the bargain?" he asked.

   "Milord?" she asked, looking up.

   "I thought not," said Grendehl, scowling.  "Cherle wished to keep you
for his own use, I'm sure."

   He reached out a hand, stroking the soft hair of the young noblewoman.
She was fair, and he regretted the necessity of having to mar that beauty.
"I will need you to perform the ritual again, Shiran, can you do that for
me?"

   "Yes, milord," she said, lowering her head again and kissing the hem of
his robes.

   "The whole ritual," he said, making his point clear.  "It will be
painful, but you will become my advisor for your pains."

   She blinked up at him, stunned and pleased.  "But the sorceress?" she
asked.

   "Is dead," said Grendehl.  "She did just the thing I feared, and
underestimate this Crissa girl.  I trust you won't make the same mistake?"

   "No milord," she said, kissing his hem again.

   "Tell the circle to come to, me, all of them," said the templar.  "Rise
and stand, my advisor."

   She stood, her whole body quivering with the pleasure that tore through
her frame.  Even her breathing was short and coming in gasps.  "Milord, I
am beyond honored," she said.

   "Remember that as you complete the ritual," said Grendehl.  "It will be
a difficult moment to keep your rewards in mind."

   "I will, milord," she said, with conviction.

   "Go fetch them," he said.  "We've no time to waste."

   She bowed and fled the small tent with a broad smile.  If she survived
these events, perhaps he would take her as an advisor, in truth.  If not,
he could always use another slave on the Isle.

   - -

   Crissa awoke with a start.  Peris was now before her and she had the
petite girl curled before her with her own body wrapped, protectively
around her.  The lilac scent of Peris' hair wafted through her nose and the
sleeping dreams of the girl, and the emotions it was eliciting in her
slumbering mind were sweet and carried much the same scent as her hair.

   Kennet was sitting nearby, reading the book Crissa had brought, on elven
religious rites, with fascination.  Crissa smiled at his single mindedness.
Here were two nude girls, lying only partially covered, as she noted a
draft on her nethers, and he was looking at the book.

   With a satisfied-sounding murmur, Peris nuzzled back into Crissa,
pressing tighter against her.  She was warm and soft to the touch and,
despite her protestations, Crissa found the contact more than a little
pleasant.

   Her hand rested on Peris' belly, feeling the slow, even rhythm of the
girl's breathing.  As if guiding itself, it moved slowly downward until it
came to the tight patch of curly hairs at the top of Peris' mound.  Her
fingertips toyed with those hairs, feeling them, growing accustomed to
their touch.

   She lingered there for a long moment, just thinking on the difference in
that hair and her own pubic hair, and those of men she had lain with.  It
was softer than the mens', but not quite so soft as her own.

   Again, the fingers moved, this time downward more, exploring the shallow
crease created by the bending of the thigh toward the body.  The skin of
Peris' thigh, as Crissa had seen, was smooth and flawless, like porcelain.

   So far as Crissa had seen, Peris had no moles or warts, or even
freckles. She was a young noblewoman, and seemed the part.

   Again, Peris murmured something, but did not move this time.  Crissa did
not make out words in the murmurs, but felt happiness and satisfaction
radiate from her.

   The cleft drew her hand inward, toward the center.  It seemed that she
was being drawn into this, against her will, though surely, her will was
behind it, whether or not she thought she thought she wanted to.

   When she reached the center, Peris' folded legs stopped her
explorations. Her legs were together and curled upward.  Inwardly, Crissa
sighed with relief at being thwarted in her semi-conscious wanderings.

   She lay there for a long moment, just caressing the girl, then pressed
her face into the hair, nuzzling it.  It did feel good, Peris' hair was
like feathers brushing her cheeks and smelled so good.

   Her fingers were at the joint of the girl's thighs again, trying to move
downward.

   Peris must have felt the pressure, even in her sleep.  She shifted
slightly, straightening her upper leg downward.  Her fingers were not
longer stopped by the flesh of Peris' thighs.

   While she thought about it, she kept the hand still, just stroking the
soft pubic hairs.  Why am I fighting what I wish to do?  she asked herself.

   She laid there again, thinking about that and felt her fingers grow damp
with Peris' moisture.  She had moved downward again, as she knew she would.
Stop kidding yourself, Crissa, you control your hands, she chided.

   Peris moaned in her sleep as Crissa's fingers moved over the nub of the
girl's clitoris.  The soft folds of Peris' labia were warm to the touch and
moist, like she were already aroused.

   Crissa found herself analyzing what her fingers returned in sensations.
She noted the differences in their entrances, how Peris' had slightly
longer lips, but a very small clitoris.  The fingers moved over it again,
rubbing gently over the button of flesh.

   The slumbering noblewoman moaned again, shifting more and moving the
legs apart.  Apparently, in her sleep, she approved of the pleasurable
contact.

   The temptation to slide a finger inside the girl was strong in Crissa.
She held back, though, remembering Peris' almost paranoid desire to keep
her virginity intact.  She explored the lips of the girls entrance, around
that area, and the clitoris, noting each shift in Peris' breathing and the
soft sounds she made as whatever dream she was having blended with the
sensations Crissa was giving her.

   Crissa almost screamed when Peris said, "I thought you didn't desire
women," in a almost airless whisper into her ear.  Her hand moved away from
the area, back to the girl's belly.

   When Crissa turned her eyes to regard Peris, the girl had a slightly
petulant look on her face.  "Had I known you would stop, I would have held
my tongue," she whispered.

   "Sorry," said Crissa, blushing something close to purple.  When had she
last blushed?  She found it pleasant, somehow.

   Peris kissed Crissa's cheek.  "Don't apologize, it felt good and I sure
didn't mind it being a woman doing it," she said.  "Consider yourself to
have free license."

   A long moment passed as Crissa lay silent.  "I was apologizing for
perhaps leading you on," she said.  "It was not my intent."

   "What was your intent?" asked Peris.

   "I don't know," replied Crissa, honestly.

   "Would it help if I was still asleep?"

   "Yes, perhaps," replied Crissa with a weak, embarrassed smile.

   In Peris' mind, the awakening to find Crissa's fingers upon her personal
places had served a twofold purpose.  The first was that it rekindled hope
in her goal of becoming a lover to Crissa.  The second effect, and probably
the more important, was that Crissa was revealed as a mere human to her
eyes.

   - -

   Cherle knelt before the templar.  "I was busy with your bidding milord,"
he said, looking toward Shiran, the briefest flashes of hatred crossing his
face.

   The templar sat in his wooden seat, fully armored and reclining at his
ease.  Shiran stood beside the templar, on his right hand.  She was wearing
the black silken robe of an advisor.  Cherle seethed at her, willing her to
die.  Now.

   She leaned inward and whispered something to the templar, who widened
his eyes.  "All that important?" he asked.  "While your clever attempt at
assassination was failing, you were drinking rum and mead in the Silver
Wolf Inn?"

   Again, Cherle spared Shiran a glare.  "She lies!" he exclaimed.  "The
little whore seeks to taint your view of me."

   Templar Grendahl reached out a languid hand and cupped Shiran's small,
firm rump, pulling her into his lap by the handle.  "Speak not ill of your
betters, Cherle," he said in a light voice.  "She is now Mistress Shiran to
you and I will not brook disrespect between my servants."

   As he spoke these words, he was pushing up the hem of her long gown,
revealing the girl's long, slender legs.  She parted them for him and
leaned against his cold metal skin.  In the armor, his hands were clad in
metal gauntlets that made his fingers both larger than normal, and cold. 
When he pressed one into her slit, she sighed out at the cold thrill that
moved through her body.

   "Apologies, Templar Grendahl and Mistress Shiran," said Cherle, bowing
low and his face suffusing with the red of embarrassment and rage.

   "How she comes to her position is of no concern to you, Cherle," said
the Templar, pulling the finger forth and holding it before Shiran's mouth
to lick clean of her fluids.

   Her hands moved on his armor like she was caressing his very flesh.  She
would love him in this armor if he sought it, willingly.

   The others of the circle were back further than Cherle, in the dimness
at the back of the pavilion.  He released the girl, pushing gently upward
on her rump.  "Do it, advisor," he said.

   Shiran stood, allowing the robe to slip from her body to the floor,
forming a black ring of shimmering cloth.  She looked toward the other
members of the circle and nodded.

   The others immediately swarmed forward, grappling and holding the
surprised Cherle.  When he started to protest, they stuffed his mouth with
a ball of wood and bound it with a rag.

   He grunted around the gag, pulling and pushing with his arms and legs as
they lifted him from the floor and held him at waist height.  The girls
moved forward and used silver daggers to slice the clothing from him, being
none to careful with them, cutting his flesh in several places with the
razor sharp blades.

   He writhed in the grip of the other boys, but was stripped in seconds.

   Shiran stepped up to where she was above his head.  She grabbed his
skull in both hands.  "You should have told me the full ritual," she
hissed. "You made me fail!  Just so you could sate your base desires upon
me that very night, as I recall."

   She shoved his head away and began to circle the young man.  Two other
girls moved forward and gripped his head, lifting it so he could see down
the length of his body.

   The templar stood from the chair, walking toward the little scene.  "It
is so rewarding to see such a basic ritual on the occasion, to see that the
true ways are followed.  It almost reminds me of the days of my own youth.

   Shiran smiled at him.  "Give the word milord," she said.

   "It is given, my dear Shiran, it is quite given," said the Templar.

   She looked at the other members of the circle with his eager eyes and
they began the summoning chant.

   Cherle writhed in the clutches of the boys holding him, growling around
the gag.

   Shiran moved up between his legs, kneeling and focusing her mind in
meditation, as the templar had shown her to this very day.

   The young nobleman started jerking furiously as she lowered her mouth
over his cock, which grew erect despite himself.  Her head moved up and
down, faster and faster and he wailed around the wooden ball, tears
streaming down his cheeks.

   The templar watched with detached interest as she suckled upon him, her
mouth and hands working together to aid in his climax.  He wailed and the
sound of snapping came from his head, he was shattering his own teeth,
clenching down on the ball of hardwood.

   The sound of rending flesh and snapping bone began before he fully
climaxed, and when he did the change only gained speed.

   The flesh flowed like molten butter and the bones moved and snapped like
twigs.  The others of the circle stood back and watched the metamorphosis.
The templar stood beside Shiran, stroking her hair.  "Remember, my personal
advisor," he murmured as the beast took form amid the ruined flesh and
stood on powerful legs and looked at her with red, glowing eyes.

   She knelt before the creature, beckoning it.  It moved up to her,
growling and leaving bloody footprints on the thick carpets of the floor.
It bared its fangs at her and hissed.

   "Stop," said Shiran, turning to face the beast, only inches from her
head.  "I am your summoner, you serve me," she said.

   It growled and moved an inch closer to her, glowering into her blue
eyes.

   She reached out a hand, touching the chitinous armor that plated the
beast.  "I am your master, and your servant, if you do me service, I grant
you use of my body," she said.

   It growled more deeply, its massive phallus extending between its
misshapen hind legs.  She ran a hand under the beast and it tracked her
motion with its glowing eyes as she stroked the swollen organ.

   "Will you serve me?" she asked.

   Very slowly, as if unused to gestures, it nodded.  Her fingers wrapped
around the organ and she squeezed it.  "Then," she whispered quietly, "take
me."

   - -

   Crissa lurked around the corner of Master Marrat's home again.  It was
nearly two in the afternoon, and she had yet to see Duke Anasper return. 
The watchers were back in place, two at each station this time.  She would
have a harder time rendering them unconscious in pairs.

   She had, once again, left Peris and Kennet secreted.  Not that she
wished to do this.  She would prefer to keep them with her at all times.

   For the second time in the same day, she nearly screamed when someone
surprised her.  A hand touched her shoulder and she spun about, bringing up
a fist and readying her mind for an emotional attack on her assailant.

   The duke stood there, blinking at her.  "You're a bit tightly wound, I
see," he said quietly, moving back behind the cover of a building's porch.
He was wearing simple clothes and was nearly unrecognizable without his
silver torc and robes of station.

   Crissa hissed at him, quite forgetting he was a nobleman.  "Damnit,
don't sneak up on me, I nearly turned your brain into a pudding," she said.

   "A novel experience, I'm sure," said Anasper, smiling blandly.  "I would
prefer it if you didn't though."

   "Yes, milord," she said quietly.  "What news of Wenn?"

   "The case is pretty persuasive against him," said Anasper.  "As you know
from your own - investigations.  Your witness is the most important
element, though, as no one can link him directly to either faction that was
involved."

   She nodded and looked up at him.  "We were attacked last night, a witch
and a demon, we think," she said.

   Anasper's eyes widened.  "That was your flat?" he asked.  "I got the
report from the watch, and they said it was a cult or something.  They said
the culprits disappeared from right under their noses."

   Crissa blushed a little at that.  "Well, yeah," she agreed.  "That would
have been us, then.  And I don't think we qualify as a cult."

   Anasper allowed himself a chuckle.  "Glad to hear that, I worried a bit
that another group turning up in Norboro would be a bit much."

   "When is the trial to start?" asked Crissa.

   "In three days," said the duke, looking around the corner.  "I should
get moving, and so should you, Crissa."

   She nodded and moved back as he walked around the corner, toward
Marrat's house.  Surreptitiously, two large men moved from nearby areas to
follow him at a discreet distance.  Their clothes were scraggly and
unkempt, but their hair was shorn cleanly and they were fresh shaven.  They
also moved with the easy grace of a skilled warrior.  Anasper's bodyguards.

   Crissa slipped back into the alleys and made for the hidden cellar,
after she visited the marketplace.  She had a few coins, and they needed
some comforts.

   - -

   Grendahl stroked Shiran's hair as she lay curled on the cot.  "You did
very well, advisor," he said in a soft voice.  She shook all over, her body
convulsing from time to time.  "Few could withstand such use without
breaking, and you are not broken."

   A weak smile formed on her face and she winced.  One of the other
members of the circle was smearing a foul-smelling poultice upon the
lacerations on her back.  They were deep and long, and had bled
plentifully. That pain, however, was the least of her agonies.  "Master,"
she said quietly, in almost a whisper.  "The visions he gave me as he took
me."

   "Just what he wishes to do, if he had you in his den," said Grendahl,
reassuring her.  "Just visions."

   She looked up at him.  "Such horrid visions from an angel?" she asked.

   "Question them not, for angels are beings beyond our understanding,"
said Grendahl gently, but firmly.  "Suffice it to know you have him in your
control."

   The beast sat quietly in the corner, glaring at everyone but watching
Shiran most of all as they ministered to her.  Every time she flinched, he
twitched as if to spring.  Her will held him at bay, though, and he
followed each motion she made.

   She smiled up at the templar.  "I hope my service is worthy, milord,"
she murmured as the herbs had their desired effect of letting her rest a
bit.

   "Great service, Shiran, you may be worthy to become a templar yourself
one day," he said.

   Her eyes fluttered open and she gave him another soft, lovely smile. 
"You honor me, milord," she said.  "I seek only to serve you, and the One
through you."

   "You served him well this day, dear," he said, looking with a smile at
the beast in the corner and the adoration of the girl the creature exuded.
Her sacrifice had controlled this one completely.  Perhaps she would
survive the completion of the creature's purpose and Shiran would come with
him to become his own advisor in truth, he thought.  She certainly had no
qualms about doing what was necessary to do a job.  She was a loyal
servant, if not a skilled or wise one.

   There was something to be said for blind loyalty.

   - -

   "All right, you two get dressed," said Crissa as she opened the door and
hefted the sack of food she had brought with her from the market.

   From the corner, a light stone perched on his shoulder, Kennet looked
up, smiling.

   Peris snuffled from the blankets near the door, poking her brown-haired
head out and murmuring something about not being nearly that lucky.

   They gathered around a crate that only had three sides and she handed
out bread and cheese.  Lastly, though, she produced a pair of bottles.  One
was rum the other a stout Ghantian wine.  "Tonight we celebrate our
self-imposed imprisonment," she announced, "and Wenn's acquittal."