Blind Devotion

Lucynda Storey

Praise for the writing of Lucynda Storey A beautifully written tale of love, magic and faith, Ms. Storey has created a rich fantasy world that appeals to all of her reader's senses and tugs at the heartstrings. The conflict between Azari and Tor's feelings and the restrictions placed on them by society creates a gripping story that is sure to please anyone who loves a little magic mixed with their romance. Jennie, Enchanted Ramblings Azari is a great character. She is confident and unwilling to sacrifice her strong will just to have a man. She would rather just remain a virgin until she finds a man who accepts her as she is. Tor is a strong man but he is unwilling to open himself to love since that would be sacrilegious towards his Goddess. Plus he has seen the suffering love can cause. When they first meet they are like oil and vinegar but Azari piques Tor’s interest because she doesn’t bow down and kiss his feet. Julie Esparza, Just Erotic Romance Reviews Ms. Lucynda Storey has written an exciting story with all the romance, danger, and suspense you could ask for. I admired Azari for her hard-headed determination to stand by her man against impossible odds. Tor’s inner struggles between his growing love for Azari and his vows as a priest will keep every reader second guessing the ending. Kathy, Coffeetime Romance

WARNING This e-Book contains material that may be disturbing to some including graphic violence and sex scenes. Store you e-Books carefully where they cannot be accessed by underage readers.

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Blind Devotion Lucynda Storey

Aspen Mountain Press

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Lucynda Storey Blind Devotion Copyright © 2006 by Lucynda Storey This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental. Aspen Mountain Press PO Box 473543 Aurora CO 80047-3543 www.AspenMountainPress.com First edition by Triskelion Publishing, October 2005 Second edition by Aspen Mountain Press, August 2007 This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and / or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the publisher’s express permission. ISBN: 978-1-60168-051-8 Released in the United States of America Editor: Maura Anderson Cover artist: Jinger Heaston

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Dedication This story is dedicated to Mike Hall who introduced me to the legend of the red dragon and my son who reminded me how much I love fantasy. I also wish to thank JR for his continued belief in my writing and my family for the sacrifice of time I’ve demanded from them. Lastly, thank you to Jaynie Ritchie, Cher Gorman, Sue Viders, and Becky Martinez for reading, editing, and offering words of wisdom to make the story better all the way around.

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Prologue

The screams from the concubine’s chamber faded as Salmond fled down the marble hall toward the balcony overlooking the Ciredan River, the deep blue robes on his shoulders flying behind him. Past his fiftieth season, the birthing process endured by his concubines was not a new experience. But the agonizing labor and subsequent delivery disturbed him nonetheless. Of all the things a man had to tolerate, the pain-wracked screams were the worst. No man’s position mattered, even if the man involved held the highest office of the temple. Birthing was the only time the High Priestess outranked even him. Lejeune’s tormented screams drove him to seek solitude. If only the Priestess permitted him to stay by his beloved’s side and offer her what small comforts he could. The High Priestess would not stand for this breach of protocol, and, in this matter, his wishes held no sway. Instead, Salmond waited outside the chambers secured by the Priestess’s handchosen guards, until he could no longer stand looking at their sharpened spears or listen to Lejeune’s excruciating cries of labor. So, he fled to the balcony and pushed aside the draperies that kept the cold at bay. He inhaled deeply. The sharp, bitter air of the winter night flooded his lungs. Pale moonlight illuminated the frost-covered stubble of the fall harvest. “Divine One?”

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A voice of an unknown initiate disturbed his thoughts. Salmond turned, weary from the long night, day, and second night he’d spent awaiting the birth of Lejeune’s child. His child. “Yes?” “The Priestess requests your presence immediately.” Trembling distinctly filled each of the barely uttered words. The boy twisted around and fled from Salmond. His escape made Salmond’s stomach tighten in worry and fear. Glancing back at the moonlit balcony, he gasped. A large black raven momentarily blotted out the light. An ominous omen for a birth. Salmond dropped the aura of aloofness he projected as leader of the priests and priestesses and sprinted toward the concubine chambers, passing the stunned initiate. The Priestess’s guards, spears crossed, blocked the beaded entrance to Lejeune’s room. “Move aside,” he impatiently commanded when they didn’t immediately reposition to allow him access. “Let him enter,” replied the high, strong voice of the Priestess. Salmond shoved through the guards’ protective stance and entered Lejeune’s chambers. The beaded strings of her doorway created a loud clatter in their violent swaying. In all the seasons they’d been together, he’d never violated the sacred space of the concubines. He approached the raised bed on which Lejeune lay. Crimson stained the linen coverings. Bowls of bloodied water lay on pedestals near the bed. Her dark hair, sweaty from her exertions, lay limp against her too pale skin, the light of her vibrant green eyes dim. Goddess, no. Don’t take her from me. “Lejeune,” he whispered. “Divine One,” she weakly responded. “You came to bid me farewell on my journey beyond the stars.” Salmond looked at the High Priestess, dressed in her white robes, splattered with Lejeune’s blood. The Priestess’s brown eyes revealed no secrets. Lejeune journeyed to the otherworld tonight.

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“My favored one, it is not necessary for you to take this journey,” he said desperately, holding her finely boned hand. “You must not make such a trip alone. One as beautiful and delicate as you needs a companion to see to your comfort and safety. You must delay this trip.” He swallowed hard. He had to convince her to fight for more life. “Your friendship and advice remain a necessity to me.” Life sparked in her eyes for a mere moment, then faded again. She was too weakened to fight. The truth of her impending death hit him like the blow of a mighty warrior. Salmond could not allow Lejeune to leave unprotected, to journey to unknown lands. He turned again to the stately Priestess. “Send the swiftest man and horse to fetch my son. I shall not leave this lady’s side at this hour.” “And what of the girl child she birthed, Divine One?” “Take the babe to your temple. I choose not to set eyes upon the child whose birth sends Lejeune from my side.” “Will you not acknowledge the child as from your loins?” Salmond pulled a jewel-encrusted dagger from his belt. He dragged the edge of the knife across his forearm. Blood ran down his arm and dripped onto the woven rug next to the bed. “The child is acclaimed by me as my true offspring, symbolized by this gesture.” Satisfied, the Priestess snapped her fingers twice. Two young women rushed to hear the High Priestess’ orders. “The Divine One wishes his son to be present. Take the fastest horse from our stable and summon the Captain of the Guard to fetch The Divine One’s son with all haste.” The girl nodded but didn’t move. The High Priest shouted, “We do not possess the luxury of time. Begone!” The first girl disappeared from the room as fast as her tiny feet carried her. Near them, Salmond heard a small mewing sound. Fury filled him. How could such a small child take Lejeune from him? “Get the babe away from me!”

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The Priestess snapped her fingers again. The small, noisy bundle was handed to the remaining girl. “Take the child to Maline. Tell her to find a wet-nurse for this child of royal blood.” Salmond glanced at the Priestess. Perhaps she’d had a vision to offer him encouragement. “Can you do nothing?” he pleaded. “Concoct a potion to give her to keep her with me.” “You know as well as I, Salmond, nothing changes once the will of the Goddess has been cast!” Agony tore through him, shredding his heart. Lejeune was the light of his life, his confidant, his lover, his friend. She mustn’t leave him. “Why are we punished this way?” he groaned. The Priestess laid a hand on Salmond’s shoulder. “Do not speak sacrilege. You, as High Priest, know I speak the truth.” “I tell you, I would not have followed the steps to this office had I known it would cost Lejeune her life.” “The Goddess forgives you, Divine One, your impertinence. She knows the grief you endure at this hour.” A soft voice interrupted. “Divine One?” “Yes, Lejeune.” Salmond leaned closer to hear her. “I must leave you, though I have no wish to go.” A cough rattled throughout her chest. Lejeune weakly gasped, “I am afraid, Divine One, to leave you alone.” Salmond forced a smile to his lips as he looked into Lejeune’s unusual green eyes. Goddess, how his heart broke with the knowledge that Lejeune would be gone from him for the rest of his earthly days. Despair enveloped him. “I know. I desire you to remain with me.” Each word was uttered in the merest of whispers, long seconds between each. “I… love… you.” The words Lejeune spoke were a forbidden utterance by the High Priest, no matter the inclination of his heart. To do so was heresy. A High Priest loved no one

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before his Goddess. To declare love for a female violated this strictly enforced tenet. The penalty for such a declaration: death. Salmond squeezed Lejeune’s hand. Her lashes fluttered against her snow-white face. He stroked dark strands of hair away from her forehead. The cold skin beneath his fingers tore at his heart. “I will wait for you on the other side of the portal,” she wheezed, her breath so shallow her chest barely moved, “for the distant time when you shall join me. Her declaration broke him. He whispered against her cheek, “I know.” Panic filled him, and he turned to the High Priestess, pleading with his eyes. The woman shook her head, her long black hair swaying. Light tones chimed as her gold bracelets jangled. “I’ve done all I am able.” Silence reigned in the marbled, sacred chamber. Even Lejeune’s labored breathing scarcely made a sound. Salmond watched each struggle of Lejeune’s chest to inhale. The effort drained her. He laid his head on the bed next to her, willing his energy into her. “Please, do not leave me, Lejeune.” In the hall, he heard feet slap against the marble floor. Next to him, Lejeune’s breathing slowed. He would not allow death to claim her unaccompanied. Lejeune must never travel to the unknown shores alone. “Divine One, your son has arrived,” the Priestess said. The beads of the concubine’s chambers rattled. The High Priest glanced at his adopted son, the heir of his spirit since the Goddess saw fit to leave Salmond without a son of his loins. At thirty summers, the muscular blond would be a powerful force to lead the priests and acolytes for many long years. Salmond placed his hand on the hilt of the ceremonial dagger, his grasp tight. “Son of my spirit, on this eve, I appoint you to take over my priestly duties.” “Divine One, forgive me, but I am unprepared for the task you assign me.” True, he’d brought his son into the temple just five years past. Not long enough to learn all the spells and divinations needed to lead. But, his son learned well. Experience provided the remainder of what all High Priests needed to know.

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“The Goddess will finish your education. Gifts of good counselors, my staff of power and authority, and the vision of the crystal which doesn’t lie all join you in this position.” Lejeune squeezed Salmond’s hand. “My lord.” Her eyes clouded. She managed to inhale deeply, and with the last of her strength, again announced to the room in a clear, strong voice, “I love you.” Her eyes fluttered shut, the last of her energy depleted. In the moment of her final breath, Salmond declared to Lejeune and the entire room, “I love you!” Around him, he heard a gasp, but he continued speaking; his decision irrefutable. “The emeralds of my blade shall be a constant reminder of the woman who dies tonight. The rubies a symbol of the blood spilled here.” A smile graced Lejeune’s lips, and then faded away. Salmond’s moment arrived. He kept his promises. The future held no fear if Lejeune didn’t travel alone. They would go through the portal of death together. Salmond held the dagger high above his head and plunged the blade deep into his heart.

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Chapter One

Azari finished sweeping. She’d fed the animals and mucked their stalls. Now all she wanted was to escape to her secret place in the woods, where the water pooled near the waterfall, and cleanse the stench of the barn from her body. Often, during the past eighteen summers, since a child of seven, Azari had run the path to the edge of the forest. Swift of foot, she’d beaten all her age in races held to celebrate the harvest. Running gave her a sense of freedom she didn’t experience while she remained under her mother’s roof. Instead, she strolled through the village to the periphery of the wheat field where the golden heads of grain indicated readiness for harvest. At the wood’s edge, lush ferns rose waist-high near flowering trees. The strong scent of siasma tickled her nose; stronger than the similar scent of the roses her mother, Betje, grew near their home. Here Azari ran through the shrubbery and followed the narrow path deer had made over the seasons. At the large Manem tree, she veered south, off the trail. This place, known only to her, had become her place of quiet refuge. A hundred paces after her turn, she slowed. Small creatures scurried beneath the ferns and rustled the leaves closest to the ground. The earth had a rich, damp smell. Natural, clean. Azari inhaled deeply and let the fragrance seep into her lungs and spread throughout her body.

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The clear pool was not far. She walked leisurely and scanned the brush and trees for signs of animals. In the past, she’d seen large, catlike paw prints left in the wet soil after a rain. Although she’d never spotted one, nor had anyone of her acquaintance, Azari had no wish to encounter such a large creature. The ground eased from dark brown humus to pale sand. The fall of the water struck the pool and whispered through the trees. Azari reached her secret spot, a small grotto just large enough to sit in, if the weather turned nasty. Hastily, she shed her short leather skirt, the matching waist-length tunic and her sandals. Cool air caressed her skin, teased her sensitive nipples, and stroked the cleft between her legs. Someday, she might meet a man she’d share her body with. But no one had appeared during her twenty-five seasons to interest her mentally or physically. Azari’s virginity, often the brunt of jokes by the other women in the village, remained intact. They claimed she was too particular and would never marry and know the pleasure of a man. Lacking the classic beauty of her older sister, Lejeune, hadn’t helped either. Lejeune’s pale skin color and fragile, ethereal look, contrasted with Azari’s tan and robust features. While Lejeune had captured the interest of the High Priest, Azari had often been mistaken for a boy until her breeding season began. She bore two similarities to Lejeune; her deep brown hair color and her bright green eyes. Those two traits hadn’t attracted a man who met her standards yet. So, she stayed celibate, waiting for a special man to appreciate her uniqueness. When the Goddess chose, Azari knew, without doubt, she’d recognize the man selected. Being content to wait didn’t remove the need for physical pleasure. Azari touched herself often to remove the ache of desire for what she knew another would someday give her. Naked, she ran the length of beach near the pool, and then jumped into the cool water. She swam back and forth, letting the water sluice over her back. The relaxing motion, caused by the eternal rush of the waterfall, caressed her cheek, and tickled her. By the Goddess Eiliki, here she experienced peace.

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Leaving the pool, she turned and scaled her favorite rock. The rough stone gave her toes a place to cling as she climbed to the pinnacle. The summit wasn’t high, just elevated enough for her to dive into the cool water. Lifting her hands over her head, she pushed off the rock with a powerful leap, soared into the air, arced, then dove into the welcoming deep blue pond. She peeked at the denizens residing beneath the water’s surface. A bright green and yellow panfish snagged her attention and she followed the water creature. With languid strokes and periodic rises to the surface to get air, she swam the circumference of the pond. The blissful, total freedom of the pleasant natural sounds replaced the harping of the elders. On her third pass, near the diving ledge, she noticed a gleam on a submerged portion of rock. Excitement coursed through her veins, like the pounding of the village drums during celebration. She shot to the surface of the pool with a loud splash, gulped in as much air as her lungs held, and dove again. The energy of her dive scattered the minnows that played hide-and-seek in the underground world and made the water plants sway in the current. There, again, a flash as some object caught a ray of muted sunlight. The stalks of the plants separated as if opening a box for her perusal. Goddess! On the ledge lay a golden ring! Azari grabbed the adornment and resurfaced. Heaving deeply, she gulped in copious amounts of air and tried to contain her excitement. She knelt on the sand and examined the ring. The loop, a narrow band, had been wrought to look like the entwining of tender branches. The braiding encircled a small stone of dark red. The ring appeared to have great value. Anticipation quickened her breath as she turned the band over. Seconds later her enthusiasm waned, replaced with disappointment. Within the ring Azari found no markings. “Nothing more than a beautiful trinket,” she sighed, “else someone would have made their mark of ownership on you.”

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Azari slipped the ring onto the index finger of her right hand and reentered the pond. When she tired, she turned onto her back and floated with the undulations of the water. Her dark hair fanned out around her. Though the water beckoned her to stay, Azari needed time for her hair to dry before she went home. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to her mother’s scolding. No matter how hard Azari worked, her mother always had another task for her to do. She took her clothes from the cave and placed them on the sun-warmed sand. Naked, she lay atop them, closed her eyes, and let her hair flow over her back, to reach the top of her buttocks. Her skin warmed and drowsiness lulled her toward sleep. A low rumble sounded to her left. Azari fought the panic racing through her blood. Her stomach clenched. Fear snatched the air from her lungs. She inhaled, held her breath and forced her body to listen to her command to get to her knees. In her hands she clutched her clothing, clasping the leather to her chest. She scanned the greenery around her pool. Azari heard the rumble again, closer. Her heart pounded. The anguished scream of an animal being attacked mingled with rustling branches to violently assault her ears. Azari jumped to her feet and ran toward the path she’d followed earlier. Branches slashed at her arms and legs. Another growl, louder, closer. She ran faster, ducked under large Pantanad leaves, jumped over twisted roots, dodged through the trees and off the trail in an attempt to hide her flight in the heavy growth. Behind her the rasp of moving ferns grew louder. A Man-trap vine snaked out toward her ankle. She jerked to the right, and then dodged a low branch. Her breath scraped her throat raw and scratched her throat as air tried to fill her lungs. A branch snapped, a loud, disturbing noise similar to that of a large rock striking a boulder. She dodged again, away from the too near sound. On she ran, terrified. Pieces of bark, wood, and stone ripped her feet, wedges of matter pushed in deeper by her run. The muscles in her legs burned. Once they cramped she knew she would be hobbled, unable to escape, and forced to make a stand against whatever chased her.

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Behind her, the woods quieted. But quiet resided at the beach too, until she’d heard the frightening rumble. Dare she stop and listen? No. She had no idea how fast the creature was that she’d left behind at the pool or how near the animal was now. She had no concept of its strength. Its size. Ahead she saw the thinning of the trees. A glen. A place she could defend herself openly, her opponent exposed. Her feet pounded against the forest floor, carrying her toward the meadow. No soft footing. A moan escaped her lips. Should she survive her encounter, her damaged feet would need careful tending. She burst into the clearing, and couldn’t believe her eyes. A cabin, on the far edge. If she could get there, she’d be able to lock her adversary out. Safety was at hand. She glanced over her shoulder. Tree branches, ferns, and other plants swayed. The wind or her pursuer? Waist-high grasses impeded her progress. She must reach the thatched building. From a distance, the grasses hadn’t looked so high. The fibrous heads of grain lashed her ribs. She’d never see her attacker in this. Even the glen extended further than she guessed. Steadily, she neared her goal. Hope swelled within her. Each step brought her closer. The grasses whipped her skin brutally. The wind whistled through the grain, taunting her. Twenty paces, then safety. Ten. Five. The door. She shoved forward with all her might as she prayed to Eiliki to unlatch the door if it proved locked. The wooden entry flew open, thank the Goddess. She turned, and then thrust the door closed. Safety was hers! Azari’s erratic breathing refused to calm, her chest continued to heave. Her heart thundered in her ears. She leaned against the door, and shoved her arms through her tunic. By the Goddess, she’d never been so frightened. What had she heard? Unexpectedly, the door bounced partially open. Azari used the last of her energies to throw herself against the entrance and slam the door shut. The door shivered under the force of her lunge. The thing was there, trying to get in.

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Another shove accompanied a deep, male voice. “Who is in there?” Someone to help her! She threw the door open. “Thank the Goddess!” **** The last thing Tor expected in his home after having gathered herbs behind the small, wooden cabin was a woman. He stepped through the doorway, pulling his rough, brown robes in behind him before he shut the door. No one was supposed to know he was here. This woman breached in his sanctuary, his refuge, the place he left the cares of his priestly office behind. Tor’s surprise faded when he noticed her injuries. Her long legs bled from scratches and cuts. More blood trickled from her face and feet. “You’re hurt.” The woman vigorously shook her head at his blunt statement. Long, dark brown hair tumbled wildly over her shoulders and onto a pale brown tunic. Her green eyes were wide with fear. He glanced at her face. Tears mingled with the blood on her cheeks and streamed down her face as she struggled to get her skirt on. He clenched his fist at the thought that someone had tried to take from her what she hadn’t wanted to give. With his considerable powers, and respected office, Tor would find the perpetrator. Bolting the door behind him, he grabbed his cloak from the wall peg and wrapped the garment around her. Anger infused him, but he tried to remain gentle. “Who did this to you?” She fought to regain control over her breathing. “No…one.” He pressed on, more insistent, lifting her arm to examine another source of bleeding. “How then did these injuries occur?” She jerked her arm, as if touch pained her. What was she having difficulty in telling him? He reluctantly released her and waited. Her ragged breathing drew his attention to her mouth as she spoke, “At the waterfall, I ran when…”

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Inconceivable. No, unbelievable. The distance, a half morning’s journey, was too great for a woman to run. “You ran here from the fall?” “Yes, I…” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know how I got away. The animal was large I think. The way it crashed through the woods … the sound nearly as loud as the water.” She shivered. “Perhaps it was one of those creatures with the cat-like paw.” “An animal?” Green eyes looked into his. Fear radiated from them. “Yes, I heard the growl near me. Thunderous and quite close. I didn’t wait to see what it was. I grabbed my belongings and fled.” “You ran all the way from the waterfall,” Tor stated again, incredulous. “Do you know how far you ran?” This time when she inhaled, a shudder racked her body. Her voice trembled. “No. No, I don’t.” This slip of a woman was clearly petrified. Tor opened the door slightly, and peered into the swaying grasses. The wind was strong, with a cold bite. To the east, gray storm clouds made their way across the horizon. A storm was coming. He pushed the door closed, and whispered a protection against evil chant. He turned, only to see the woman shake her head as if trying to rid herself of the near attack. “What is your name?” “Azari.” With a quick sweep of his arm, he lifted her, just as her knees buckled. “Please, put me down,” she said in the merest of whispers. “You will do your feet further damage,” Tor responded as he skirted a wooden table and placed her on the knee-high platform that served as his bed. From its foot, he opened a trunk and pulled out a deep brown blanket. “I think you’ll find this more comfortable than my cloak.” “Thank you.” She paused and Tor looked deeply into her eyes and saw she truly was. “And thank you for allowing me to stay,” she gulped.

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The woman, Azari, he reminded himself, let the cloak fall from her shoulders. Her silky cascade of dark hair fell over her shoulders again. Gracefully, she turned and lifted the garment from beneath her. She gasped when he replaced the rough cloak with the coverlet. “Is something wrong, did I hurt you?” “No. No.” She furrowed her brows. “This covering is most unusual.” Azari fingered the bed linen. “So soft. As is this down-filled mat. Items of this quality only belong to men of import.” She took a deep breath before she went on. “Who are you?” she asked with respect, a tremble in her voice.

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Chapter Two

“No one of consequence,” Tor replied. He placed a hand on a small cut near her eye. When he lifted his fingers the wound had healed. The tanned skin of her forehead returned to perfection. “Then what shall I call you?” Unemotionally, he replied, “Tor.” He moved to her feet, lifted the throw and exposed them to his view. The bottoms of her feet were slightly hardened, as if she were accustomed to some sort of footwear, but lacked the hardened calluses of someone used to walking among the earth with her feet bared. Her flight through the forest had done them considerably more damage than the rest of her body. There were several lacerations. Small pieces of wood, embedded in her sole, needed removal before he could lay his hands on them for healing. Tor stood and moved to the hand-hewn hutch where he kept his herbs and potions. As wicked as a Man-trap vine could be to the careless person caught in its tendrils, the plant had astounding medicinal capacities. He pulled a pouch from the hutch and poured the Man-trap powder into a wooden bowl. Once he added water blessed by the Goddess, Eiliki, he made a thick, red paste. He returned to the left side of the bed near the woman’s feet, and lifted the bowl above his head. “Goddess, instill this, your creation, with your healing power.” He

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lowered the bowl and looked at Azari. “This will help pull the substances from the bottoms of your feet. Be warned. There will be pain.” “You’re a priest,” she said in awe, eyes wide. “I am.” He tried to keep his voice neutral. No one in the area knew him for anything but an eccentric hermit. The ruse was how he kept his anonymity, important for allowing him to rest from the demands of his priestly duties in the temple. “Are you ready?” Keeping his gaze locked on her eyes, he reached into the bowl with one hand and pulled forth a fistful of the mixture. He grasped her foot by the heel and smeared the medicine over tender skin, the arch, the pad beneath her toes, and in and around each digit. She impressed him. To her credit, Azari did not cry out, though she clutched the brown coverlet until her knuckles turned white. Many men he’d tended had not done half as well. “The next will not be as bad, now that I know what to expect,” she said. He nodded, and then quickly covered the other foot with the paste. “It won’t be long ere the paste does its work. Then I shall be able to remove all objects embedded in your feet.” Silence reigned. Tor looked about his sparse quarters. His hutch, table, globe stand, chest, and bed were all he’d really needed or wanted. While away at the temple, he cast a spell on the wooden cabin, an enchantment to hide the building from the view of others. He frowned as he covered her feet with the blanket. The enchantment had been in place when he returned. How, then, did this woman enter his abode? Something was amiss. Her story, the ineffective enchantments of his home allowing her entrance to his house through locked doors, left him uneasy. “Azari,” he said gently. “I need to know if you are a virgin.” Bright red quickly stained her cheeks. “Wwwhat?” she stammered.

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If she were untouched, her state would explain the arousing of the large cat animal she suspected, the cevere. “Are you a virgin?” Her voice continued to quake. “I am.” She ran a slender hand over her face. “But, I see not what business it is of yours.” “According to the histories, the cevere is brought forth from its lair when it inhales the aroma of a virgin. I believe this is the animal that gave you chase.” He rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin. “Your scent is imprinted on the cevere’s mind.” Tor watched Azari swallow. Once more, her eyes widened. He imagined the things he told her were difficult to believe. Slowly, he continued. “Listen to me carefully. When the cevere wakes, so does the dragon.” “A dragon?” her voiced squeaked. “I don’t understand.” He spoke with measured words. “They will both come for you. They will wreak havoc wherever they go, and not care what they destroy. If you awakened the cevere and thus awakened the dragon, one of the two will take you.” **** Azari stared at the tall, imposing man. “What do you mean they will take me?” He moved closer and grabbed her by the shoulders, making her wince. “When they are done with you, you will no longer be a virgin and most likely dead. Is that clear enough?” Fear tainted her words as she pushed up on her elbows and rose to a semi-sitting position. “Is there nothing we can do to prevent these attacks?” His brows creased as he closed his blue eyes. A strand of blond hair fell over his wide forehead. For the first time since their meeting, there was a slight sign of emotion on his face. He looked peaceful, and calm. Sturdy, steady. This man had something she did not. Azari watched his lips move in silence. “What are you doing?” she gently asked.

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“Praying.” “Praying? Why?” “Your story is rather unbelievable, yet, if true…” he paused. Compassion filled his eyes. “I have to know what the Goddess would have me do with you. It may be necessary that you be given as a sacrifice. Your sacrifice could save many lives.” Panic clawed at her. Save lives? At the cost of her own? No, no, this just couldn’t be! Surely, she hadn’t brought forth a mythical creature bent on her possession and destruction. The history had to be wrong! He closed his eyes again and held out his muscular hands in what she supposed was supplication. Faint scars on the backs of those hands rose at odd angles. Now they did something else. Put a curse on her? The people of her village often spoke of the priests’ abuse of power. Had not her own sister died because of a priest? She wouldn’t allow him to condemn her as a human sacrifice. What if his story regarding the histories proved inaccurate, or had been totally contrived? Fear and anger boiled within Azari. “Now what are you doing?” she demanded. The calm the priest had a few moments before was replaced by a glare. “Never interrupt a priest as he casts a spell?” She lifted her chin, looked at the priest defiantly, and then with more strength and conviction than she felt unleashed her tongue. “No man tells me what to do.” The intensity of his gaze hypnotized her and she was unable to look away. “In my home, which you entered, uninvited, through locked and enchanted doors, you will do as I tell you. And you will keep your silence.” The thunderous echo of his voice reverberated off the log walls, his anger tangible. Perhaps he had reason for a righteous anger. She imagined most priests weren’t used to interruption or disobedience. But, she too, had reason for hers. She wasn’t prepared to die anytime soon. She would say nothing more to the imposing blond priest that thought to decide her fate.

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She watched his lips move. Full, they looked unyielding and not at all soft or inviting. Was it because he looked so grim? By the Goddess, he had reason to be if his fears were true. He said she’d roused the dragon and the cevere. Of the two, she’d only heard tales of the dragon. Those stories were horrifying and ancient. As far as she knew, there hadn’t been a dragon sighting in a dozen generations. Among her village the tales had been considered no more than entertaining legends. When Tor’s lips ceased movement, Azari, unable to contain her curiosity, spoke, “The dragon has been asleep for nearly time out of mind. How can you be so certain it will return?” “Because the cevere and the dragon are one another’s ancient enemies. What one has, the other strives to take away.” Tenuously she asked, “And what does this enmity have to do with,” she felt the blush creep up her cheeks, “a woman’s virginity?” “A bedded woman has been marked; the male bonding with her leaves his scent much in the way a wolf defines its territory. Both the cevere and the dragon wish no other to touch that which they want. They want fresh, sweet, untried. Only virgins can give them their desire. For each, the taking of a virgin enhances their power. They are energized, revitalized by the sexual awakening they create in the women they couple with.” Azari gulped at the thought forming in her mind. She had planned on lying with one man, and only out of love, not in a rash attempt to live. But the truth as the priest saw it had been spoken. “Then it is obvious to me that my maidenhead must be taken.” He frowned and crossed his arms across his chest. “And who would have you, knowing that you are hunted by these deadly creatures? Who would risk his very life now that you have been selected by the cevere?” Who indeed? She’d earned the reputation of an outsider among her village. She didn’t do, without question, what the others did. They called her a troublemaker. Azari was the odd one.

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Even if she weren’t to blame for the release of the mythical beings, if the old stories of her village held the truth, she’d be held accountable and blamed. Chosen and sacrificed anyway as an offering to appease the monster. Long ago, according to legend, to appease the dragon, the village held lotteries to determine which maiden would be given to the dragon. At least that is what the young girls were told as they grew up. All of them believed the story was no more than a frightening myth. “And they selected me?” Tor nodded. “Your scent is imprinted on the cevere, no other. It will hunt you. The dragon, on the other hand…” Her shaking was impossible to halt. “Stop! You’re frightening me!” He leaned over her, his face stern and unyielding. “Your former carefree days are over.” He lifted a stand of her dark hair. The intimate gesture was oddly comforting as Tor continued in a low, gentle voice. “Your very breaths are numbered. You should be frightened.” The implications of his words tumbled about in her mind like a landslide. Azari sat up fully and wrapped her arms about her. A dragon or cevere would take her by force, surely destroying her in the painful process. She would never know the pleasure a man could give her. Never mother a child of her own. Desperation filled her. She didn’t want to die. As the reality of her future cleared, Azari cried out, “Please, Sir, give me aid!”

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Chapter Three

Tor stared at the beauty in his bed. Her horrified expression showed him she had some indication what would happen once she left the secured confines of his cabin. She needed help, but so did the rest of the kingdom. On a primitive level, her distress called to his heart. But he couldn’t aid her. Not when the lives of so many others were at risk. Duty and honor bound him to the people. He wasn’t free to give her the help she sought. The cevere and the dragon would raze the communities in his trust. He tried to gentle his words, but the truth was undeniably harsh. “However unintentionally, you’ve brought trouble to the region with the awakening of these ancient beings.” The distress in her green eyes warred with his conscience. Her terror made it difficult to continue with the words she wouldn’t want to hear. “The citizens of our region must be my first concern.” He paused a moment, deeply saddened. What did it matter if her feet were healed or not? Either the cevere or the dragon guaranteed her death. According to the legends he’d studied, not one virgin offered in appeasement in recorded history had ever returned to her people. Yet, the Goddess had brought Azari to him. He was duty bound to render her aid. To refuse the healing would be a slight. Even his personal sense of honor forbade him to withhold assistance. Azari needed every advantage she could muster to fight the cevere and the dragon.

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Healing her feet, the most severe of her injuries, at least gave her a small chance for escape, and perhaps even success, although Tor doubted such a miracle would occur. He returned to the hutch and poured water from a pitcher into a large bowl, and cleansed his hands. Tor attempted to keep his voice neutral. “You will stay the night with me.” Surprise filled her voice. “You’re not staking me in the glen as a sacrifice for the cevere?” Returning to her side, Tor nodded. “Sending you forth with injuries goes against my training.” His conscience knew aiding her was more than just years of doing what was right. To send her to her death without aid made him less than a man. In his heart, he would have carved the word ‘coward.’ “Your feet will take the longest to heal.” She sighed, the movement causing the coverlet to slip slightly and reveal a hint of cleavage in the neckline of her tunic. “Thank you again, for allowing me to live.” His breath caught in his throat. He shook his head and tried to find a response to her simply spoken words, but none came. He swallowed hard, fighting the physical attraction to her body, attempting to call upon the stoical healer he normally was. Goddess, even the swell of her breasts had been marred with welts. Was he to lay hands on those as well? The thought of touching her unnerved him. You are a healer, not some common man bent on seduction. Be in command of yourself! Best to finish his examination of her right arm before he gazed upon those soft, inviting breasts again. He stiffened as he fought to control the lust this stranger had managed to arouse in him. “There are other parts of you that I need to examine. Your other arm,” he hastily added. She lifted her arm from beneath the blanket. Tor gasped. “What, what is it?” she asked, confusion coloring her question. Stunned, Tor continued. “That ring, where did you get it?” “I found it.”

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“Where?” The ring disappeared centuries past, purportedly stolen from the dragon’s lair. “During my dive in the pond, and I spotted it on a ledge. It is naught but a trinket.” He held her hand in his and turned it gently to see her palm. It was as he surmised. “Your ring is no trinket.” “But it bears no marks of ownership. It’s nothing but a lovely bauble,” she argued. “No, Azari,” he patiently explained. “The ring you wear is much more than a worthless piece of jewelry.” “Then what is it?” For answer, Tor pushed back the sleeve of his simple tunic and held out his right hand. **** Azari stared at the index finger of Tor’s right hand. A braided band of gold topped with a deep red stone encircled his finger. It was exactly like her own. Wonder filled her voice. “How can this be?” She watched Tor pace to the door, and then return, stopping to lay his hands upon the single window in the room, and then repeating the action at the fireplace. He closed his eyes. Fascinated, Azari watched his lips move again. Goddess, another spell? When he opened them, she spoke, “What have you done?” “I enchanted all the possible entries into my home. And prayed to the Goddess for continued wisdom.” Azari understood why he wanted to protect his property and being, but why did he need additional guidance? It seemed whenever he answered her question more came to her. “What do you seek to know this time? Did she not reply to your petitions?”

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“Eiliki does, and has. Her answer was unexpected.” He paused, disappointment etched on his face. “Then you should be pleased. He sighed. “I should be, but I’m not. The answer is not one I was prepared for.” Again, he paused; so long Azari thought he’d finished speaking to her at all. Exasperation lent volume to his next words. “The rings belong together. They bind us as one.” “I don’t understand.” “These amethyst rings once were the property of a powerful mage and his mate.” Slowly, his meaning became clear. They were bound, as one, as a man was to his wife. Dear Goddess! “But I don’t know you!” Excitement and disbelief coursed through her veins. Had the Goddess answered her own prayer? Could the binding by the rings be her deliverance? If Tor were her husband, he could take her maidenhead and rescue her. She asked for his help earlier. The Goddess clearly indicated through the gift of the rings that Tor was her savior. But, Azari had been so sure she’d know whom the Goddess chose for her. And in her surety, Azari had proven arrogant. How could the Goddess possibly think this man was her eternal mate? He appeared bossy, and not given to dealing with a freethinking, outspoken woman. How could they possibly be meant for one another? But his ring matched hers. She hadn’t known another existed, and Tor didn’t know until moments ago that she had the other. The rings, identical in design, belonged together. The idea though, that she would have no choice in her mate, overcame her relief and filled her with indignation. Despite the evidence of the rings, and the belief that their physical union would save her, she argued. “What if I have no wish to be bound to you?” His expression masked, Tor moved to the foot of the bed and opened the trunk, muttering. “All will be revealed in its proper course.”

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So, he decided what she should know and when, as if she not capable of making her own decisions? “And what if I don’t agree to wait until you deign to feed me this knowledge?” “Your choice matters little in what you do or don’t want. Or I, for that matter. This revelation came from the Lady herself.” Azari frowned. Surely she had more control of her life than what this man indicated. “I don’t believe that,” she snapped. “As you will.” He pulled a black bag from the trunk, and opened it, withdrawing a large crystal sphere. Across from the wooden hutch stood a frame Azari hadn’t noticed earlier. Tor went to the support, placed the ball into a holder carved in the dark wood, and then sat on a wooden stool. She swung her legs over the edge of Tor’s bed. “Don’t,” he gruffly ordered. She stopped cold. Focused on the clear ball, how could he know what she attempted? She moved again. “If your feet touch the floor, I promise you, you’ll endure intense agony.” How dare he threaten her with his spells! She planted both feet on the floor, wrapped the blanket about her, and headed toward Tor. She managed two steps. As if poison poured into her veins, Azari experienced a burning sensation that turned her stomach. Sweat formed on her forehead, under her arms, and between her breasts. She felt ill. Alarm spread through her as quickly as the burning pain shooting up her legs. “Will you not listen? You stubborn woman! You’ve driven the splinters deeper into your feet, and making it twice as difficult for the potion to work.” Azari couldn’t concentrate on his angry words. The burning intensified. She moved the blanket to look at her legs. Red streaks climbed her limbs. She’d seen similar infections spread in villagers wounded during the course of their work, but never with this rapidity. She screeched, “What have you done to me!”

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At that, Tor turned, his azure eyes filled with frustration. “I told you to stay abed.” He left the globe and picked her up as though she weighed no more than a sack of feathers. Heat from his touch infused her, sent her heart racing. She frowned. There was no way she could be attracted to this man, no way the Goddess would choose some overbearing male like Tor as her mate. “I’m trying to heal you. You must obey me without question,” he sternly reprimanded her. “You followed your own inclinations. Can’t you see what this has earned you?” She nodded, thankful to be in his arms and off her feet, angry with herself for bending to his will. Once she was off the floor, the burning sensation lessened, but did not disappear. Unceremoniously, Tor dumped her onto the supported mat, and covered her. Before returning to the globe he admonished her, the way a father might a wayward child. “Please, Azari, do as I tell you. I want you strong and your willfulness makes it difficult to heal you.” “This cannot possibly be right,” she heard him grumble. “What, what do you see?” Abruptly, Tor stood and the stool clattered to the floor. He withdrew the ball from its stand, placed the crystal back into the ebony pouch, and then returned it to the trunk. Azari spoke slowly and tried to keep the anxiety from her voice. “Please, tell me.” Tor moved back to the hutch, and removed a round loaf of bread. His hand gripped the cupboard door tightly. “You would not believe me if I did.” Her patience snapped. “I demand it.” At that he turned, furrowed his brows, and met her gaze, his blue eyes filled with anger. With savage wrath he broke the bread. “You will demand nothing of me. I

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do not answer to a mortal woman. What I do, what I tell you will be of my own volition, not your command.” “Are you always so insufferable?” The words flew from her mouth before she took the time to think. He returned to the bed and shoved a piece of the bread into her hands. “Eat.” He sat at the table, silent and brooding, and stared at her. Azari nibbled on the bread, forced it down her dry throat and into her churning stomach. The burning still infused her legs, the pain more intense in her feet. Without Tor’s taciturn conversation to keep her thoughts occupied, the anguish seemed to intensify. Perhaps she should soften her stance, gentle the words that hurled from her mouth like a warrior’s spear. But wouldn’t he think she’d accepted his decree as the final decision without the benefit of discussion? The Goddess knew a man for her needed to consider her opinion in any decisions made. She shook her head, convinced that somehow the Goddess had erred in her choice of Tor. Yet, the curiosity to know what he’d seen in his ball consumed her. Had the Goddess further explained the pairing of the rings? Possibly she revealed a different interpretation of the union to this priest. “Please tell me what you’ve seen that you do not believe, Tor,” her voice intentionally soft. He gave her a half-grin, the right corner of his mouth lifting slightly. In those upturned lips Azari saw no mirth. “I could tell you, but you would have difficulty believing me. Anything I tell you the Goddess will confirm, in her way and time.” His semi-smile disappeared. “One thing you should know. You might find some comfort with this fact. You will not be alone when one of the beasts comes to claim you.” No, please, she silently begged the Goddess. Don’t take anyone else. I will pay the penalty for waking these beasts, for any disrespect I’ve shown this man or you.

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Sorrow filled her at her selfish wish to live at the expense of another. “What have you seen?” There was no amusement in his words, simply a sense of resignation. “I am to accompany you.” For a moment, Azari thought she would faint. Instead, she lay back and stared at the thatched roof, thinking. Although Tor was a powerfully built man, he held the office of a priest. His considerable height, his formidable stature, the easy strength he possessed would not be enough to keep her safe. Priests were not known for their fighting abilities. She couldn’t help but verbalize her question. “Are we safe here?” “For a while. I’ve cast a spell of deception that will allow me to take you from here in the morning. The spell will slow the cevere, give your feet more time to heal, and allow us to get to your village. Her village? “Why return there?” “The beings you have released care not for our plans. They will wreak havoc on the citizens of this land.” As he pushed the cupboard door open to put away the unfinished bread, Tor moved a long staff. A huge precious gem sparkled orange, red, and blue in the crotch of the upper end of a long ebony rod. A magical staff she immediately recognized. He possessed the staff of the High Priest. “Goddess, help me!” Azari cried out. He whipped around, and ran to her side. “What, what’s wrong?” “You,” she gasped. “You’re the High Priest!” His lips tightened into a thin frown as he ground out, “I am.” “My Lord, forgive me my impertinence. Had I known…” “You still would have entered my home and brought this travesty upon our people. Save your apologies until such time as we appease the cevere and dragon.”

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There was nothing to say to his terse words. She’d violated the sanctuary of the High Priest. “I… I… ,” she couldn’t bring herself to do it, to say the words that would bind her to him as a servant, no matter he was the most powerful man she’d ever met. Azari was no acolyte. She’d never be able to wait hand and foot on the High Priest. No matter his command, no matter how the rings bound them together. “Yes?” he replied stiffly. Goddess, he terrified her, standing over her with his staff, his blue eyes harsh, his jaw set in an unyielding pose. Fear filled her at his raw, commanding power. He could make her do anything, anything at all, and Azari knew she’d be helpless to disobey. “I, I’m in your bed.” His chest deflated slightly. The move gave the appearance of relaxation, as if Tor had… no, she could not think of him as Tor. He was the High Priest, who took what he wanted because it was his given privilege. He didn’t utter a single word, as he stood looking at her in his bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor, High Priest,” she whispered. “You will do no such thing. I placed you in my bed, and there you will stay until I decide otherwise.” “High Priest…” Exasperated, he interrupted, “I told you my name, woman! Use it.” This was most unusual. One did not presume such familiarity with a man of the High Priest’s station. Protocol, common sense, the knowledge of what his power was capable of, all went against his request to use his given name. “Yes, Hi… Tor.” Should she go on? If she stayed in his bed, then there were only two other possibilities. He’d sleep on the dirt floor, or… she gulped. “Where will you sleep, Tor?” “In my bed, beside you.” Earlier, not knowing who he was, she’d begged him to take her maidenhead to stop the rape of the cevere, to save her life. Now he could take her without her

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permission, by virtue of his position. The High Priest’s office allowed attempts to sire a son off any woman of his choice. “As you will,” Azari softly replied, frightened that he would indeed heed her request.

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Chapter Four

Her eyes were so wide with fear the whites showed. Tor realized that Azari was terrified. Of him. A mere man. No, that wasn’t right. When the people recognized him as the High Priest, they reacted to him as if he were some sort of god, not a servant of the Eiliki, as all priests were. Azari was like so many of the others he’d met. The prejudice was part of the reason he tried to keep his identity secret. The office of the High Priest petrified her. Not him exactly. Tor slid under the blanket covering Azari. She turned on her side, her back to him. The exposed smooth skin of her neck and shoulder beckoned him to touch it and experience its soft texture. The scent of the siasma faintly lingered in the cool air around them. Why had the Goddess chosen him for this delicious agony? To be near this beautiful vixen with the sharp tongue? At least it was sharp, until she’d discovered his position. Disappointment infused him that she was like the others. Once women found out who he was, they schemed, plotted and groveled to get their way into his bed and the luxury of the temple apartments. These past few hours with Azari had allowed him to feel normal, like any other man of the realm. He relished the range of emotions he’d experienced while Azari had

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remained ignorant of his position. Those moments no longer existed. She’d seen his High Priest’s staff. Unaccustomed to women, to any people for that matter, visiting his private abode, he’d been careless when he moved the staff from the corner to keep the rod from being struck by the cupboard door. Yet, the movement of the staff was habit; something he routinely did when he opened and closed those wooden doors. Her independent spirit disappeared in a wave of terrified deference to him and his position. Briefly he grieved the loss of her feisty nature. Proximity to a woman over a prolonged period of time was dangerous for any priest, but especially for the High Priest. Proximity made it too easy to develop affections, to fall in love, and leave the Goddess for a mortal. How could he ever forget his stepfather, Salmond, taking his life as his lover breathed her last? Resolve filled Tor as he tamped down the returning sorrow that gripped his heart at the loss of his friend and mentor. Tor did not want the same temptation. But the Goddess had shown him in the crystal lying with Azari, her dark hair flowing over and around them as they coupled. His heart ached for a permanent relationship he knew he shouldn’t have. Hesitantly, he moved near Azari, knowing he could easily touch her. He reached out a hand to pat her shoulder in a gesture of comfort, but quickly withdrew it. In his soul he knew if he touched her, his self-control would be lost like a log rushing over the rapids. He hoped his words came across as a caress rather than a hard blow. “There is no need to be afraid.” A soft whisper responded. “I’m not afraid.” Earlier he’d been angry. Here, in his tiny cabin, he’d tried to be like other men. Anonymous. This was his place of refuge, away from the castle-like temple where he served the Goddess. And now, he had a woman here, a female the Goddess had told him to protect, a gift she’d given Tor to ease his loneliness and beget children on. Tor slid closer unable to resist the warm allure of the woman in his bed, and reached a hand toward Azari’s silken hair. The strands flowed through his fingers. The

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scent of siasma tantalized his nostrils as he breathed in the unique fragrance of this woman and her long hair. He touched her neck, and then kissed it. Rubbing her muscles above the simple tunic, Tor felt her tense. “Do not be afraid of me, Azari.” “I’m not,” she stammered. “It’s just no one has touched me like that before.” “The Goddess asked me to protect you, to keep you from the harm of the cevere and dragon. I gave her my pledge,” he murmured, renewing the massage in an attempt to relax her. “I will give my life for you in order to fulfill her will.” Azari sighed. Hope and gratitude flooded her. She’d not be given to the cevere or dragon without some form of protection, no matter how inexperienced. The man who touched her reverently was a powerful spell caster. She closed her eyes and remembered the muscular, yellow-haired man who had earlier towered over her. An image of the man who’d joined her in this bed replaced the imposing likeness. A small amount of hair peeked from the neckline of his robe. Hard curves defined the muscular contour of his upper arms. Too bad he was a priest, a member of the leadership sect known from time immemorial to prey upon the ignorant and frightened. The High Priest, the least honorable and most powerful of all of them. Azari needed to remember, no matter his instructions, that he had the ability to reduce her to the smallest of rodents. But, Goddess, how she wanted him to touch her! Her body warred with her knowledge. He could take her, as was his right. Yet his kindness and concern for her convinced her he would not. Where earlier she had begged him to take her virginity, she now wanted to give her maidenhead to him freely. She wiggled back against him, and Tor’s hand slipped over her hip and toward her inner thigh. Goddess! Would he touch her the way she’d frequently touched herself, the way she desired him to? She turned to face Tor, the High Priest, the man that could save her from the sexual attack of powerfully driven, mythical animals. She had to know. “Is this the will of the Goddess?” she whispered against his shoulder.

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“It is,” he simply said, “although I wouldn’t expect you to believe me. I’m a man after all, and you’re a beautiful woman who’s asked me to couple with you.” Against her neck, his tongue traced the edge of a muscle. A lick followed by a soft puff of air, until he reached her earlobe. Shards of desire pierced her. Her resolve to lose her virginity hadn’t changed. The little Tor had told her supported her belief that this course of action was the proper one to take. Tender and low his voice caressed her neck. “You were right to say that the breaking of your maidenhead was important.” Azari placed his hand on her breast. “Touch me.” “You play with fire,” he mumbled in a rough voice. His fingers grazed her nipple through the tunic. Chills ran down her arms, straight toward her core. “Will this union save me?” “No.” Tor pushed on her upper shoulder and rolled her onto her back. This was it, the moment he would commence the breaking of her maidenhead, and release her from the fate the Goddess had decreed. In the dark, Azari sensed him stare at her. “Have you found fault with me?” “No, Azari.” He slid his hand underneath the tunic and placed his palm over her right breast. Tingling warmth spread through her at his touch. The stinging of the welts faded. He moved his hand to her other breast. This time she not only felt warmth course through her, but a sense of contentment. Had he cast yet another spell on her? A heavy sigh escaped his lips. Tor pulled her into the shelter of his arms. “Sleep now, Azari.” The silence settled around them. Why had he stopped touching her? Desperately she wanted to say something to the man-priest holding her. But she didn’t know what. Next to her, Tor’s breathing slowed into a regular pattern. His arms tightened about her.

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It was several long hours before Azari was too tired to reflect on her future. She entered a dreamlike state where she heard a man say, “Trust me. I will watch over you.” **** She was going to have difficulty trusting him. That much was evident to Tor given how long it had taken her to fall asleep. Had the people in her village disparaged the use of magic and its wielders? He’d seen some people turn away from the old ways, chasing the priests from their temples and eventually bringing ruin upon the community. Faith came by seeing for many. And many saw the hard way what loss of faith did. Had not the people of Reviled experienced the destruction of their crops and the bulk of their animals to an unexplained pestilence? How they cried out then to the priests they’d exiled, but there were none nearby to save them. Only his temple’s stores over the previous several years had seen them through the following seasons of rain and cold. Now Reviled had a renewed respect for the power of the High Priest’s holy office, for the strength of the Goddess coursing through her priests and acolytes. He slipped his arms from around Azari, careful not to wake her. His morose memories made him restless. Tor should have known the majority would turn away before tragedy struck. He’d been advised to visit the villages, provide the people with the proof their faith needed. In his youthful ignorance, he’d railed at his counselors. Faith did not need proof ere it was no longer faith. But he would not be held as some god before them. To be elevated above the Goddess was sacrilege.

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Next to him, Azari stirred. Did she sense his defiance, guilt, and frustration? He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, but the thoughts of his arrogance and failure continued to torment him. The opposite was equally appalling. The masses, no matter their station, would not be allowed to subject those in service to the Goddess to become nothing more than carnival entertainment. Guilt at his errant attitude washed over him. Many had fallen from the faith and lost their lives. He should have listened to the counsel Salmond had wisely chosen for him. If only he’d listened! The deaths of many weighed on his conscience. Tor gazed upon the woman sleeping in his bed. Already he’d been reluctant to release her. The warmth of her body filled him with longing to have something more earthly and physical than the spiritual comfort of the Goddess. But, how could he possibly accept the gift given by Eiliki and not descend into heresy? Did Azari have faith? Could she learn to trust him? The Goddess revealed much in the gazing globe. They would experience degradation, exposure and other hardships together. Additionally, Azari had been selected to bear him a child and would endure agonizing pain to see his son brought into the world. A son he did not want. Sons meant love, love brought death. He folded the blanket around Azari as he slid from the bed. Tempted to curse the Goddess for sending him Azari, he couldn’t. Eiliki chose as she saw fit. For a reason Tor couldn’t fathom, the Goddess wanted them together. The two of them were a part of her plan for the future, even if the days ahead remained partially obscured. He would just have to resist the allure of her untried body until he understood more. He padded to the fireplace, stirred the coals, and prepared to greet the new day with his heart full of frustration. ****

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Azari lifted her arms above her head and yawned before stretching her whole body. Sleep had evaded her for a long time, but she woke up feeling refreshed. A cheerful, deep voice greeted her. “Good morning, Azari.” The High Priest! How could she have forgotten she slept in his bed, the comfort of his arms cradling her like a child through the night? She blinked her eyes, trying to become more alert. His blond hair was tousled and his eyes appeared weary as he stirred something in a pot hung over a banked fire in the hearth. “Good morning.” She paused. He’d insisted she use his name although the custom for addressing the High Priest did not allow for such informality. She continued nervously, “Tor.” The stern features relaxed and Azari saw him smile. “Thank you.” What for? She’d done nothing worthy of his thanks this morning. She must have given him a puzzled look for he responded, “For using my name.” Oh. If such address pleased him, perhaps she could get used to the familiarity. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. He rushed to her side. “Don’t get out of bed just yet. I want to examine your feet and see about those slivers.” The memory of yesterday’s agony made her wince. Even now she experienced the painful result of her folly. “Did I set the healing back much?” “We shall hope it wasn’t too much,” he gently chided. He pointed at her feet with a ladle. A folded piece of material lay at the end of the stuffed mat. “I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of extra clothing here. We will have to find you something more appropriate, but for now my old tunic will have to suffice.” Azari picked up the tan cloth. The texture was like fine linen. She pulled it over her head, and let it fall to her waist. Extra material bunched around her hips. The tunic, longer than the thin, second-hand one she wore, would cover her to at least mid-thigh. “Thank you,” she said as she rolled up the sleeves. “I should have thought of the tunic sooner.”

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He returned to the fireplace and then came to her, carrying a bowl of a steamy, orange substance. “A simple mash, but as you’ve had little to eat since you came into my home…” His apologetic words trailed off. Surely as dramatically as her existence had been altered, so had his. Again, words of thanks fell from her lips. Azari turned her face heavenward. “Thank you, Goddess, for sending me here, to your servant. May we find and follow your divine guidance in our travels along your path.” Beneath her the mat sagged as Tor sat on the end of the bed next to her feet. He picked up her ankle and examined the wounds on her sole. “Are there many?” A somber expression returned to his face. “Yes. But the poultice has helped draw the slivers closer to the surface.” Relief coursed through her. “Thank the Goddess.” “So you are a religious woman.” “I try.” She sighed. “I do believe the Goddess Eiliki exists, but it is difficult at times. I feel trapped by entrenched rules that leave no room for rational thought and discussion.” He yanked something out of her foot, and she yelped. “Why is that?” he asked soothingly. “I’m rather independent.” Tor glanced up, and she found herself staring into his sky blue eyes. Laughter seemed to dance there. “Really? I couldn’t tell.” A smile curved her lips. “Do you mock me?” “Far from it Azari. The rings, the vision in the globe, your being here in a place I’ve never told a soul about are all a part of a bigger plan. The Goddess must desire that very independence you possess for a reason as yet unknown to me.” “But why the mirth?” “My dear,” he replied, “You have a talent for understating what is obvious already.”

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Confused, she furrowed her brows. “What is obvious?” “Your independence. “There. Lift your other foot.” She did as he told her, the lesson of disobeying him in regard to her feet a vivid, aching memory. Massaging her foot, he relaxed the muscles she’d tensed. He continued, “Many of these shards have begun to work their way out. While you did slow the process, it wasn’t as much as I feared. We should be ready for limited travel by midday.” Tor continued to pull small pieces of matter from her foot. His ministrations and the extractions by his soft, yet firm hands truly had the healer’s touch. Each removal, no matter how careful he was, stung more than the last. She needed to concentrate on something other than the sharp stabs that spread through her feet, into her ankles, and up her legs. She needed to talk about last night and why he rejected her. That stung more than the removal of the splinters. The rejection conflicted her emotions. Was she undesirable, or was there some other fault of which she was unaware? She needed to know and with a gulp decided to go forward with her question. “Why didn’t you take me last night?” For a brief moment, his hand stilled. “I could not in good conscience take your maidenhead when I knew that such action would not save you from the cevere.” “How do you know this?” “The globe.” He laid her foot back down. “We will let this air before I wrap it.” Not save her? But he said the animals wouldn’t come for a virgin. And what of the Goddess? Hadn’t Tor said the rings bound them as one? How could he reject her knowing this was what the Goddess desired of her priest? She was thankful for her narrow escape but if she heard him correctly, her ordeal wasn’t over. “But it was also what the Goddess willed,” Azari argued. “Was the aterece to your liking?

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“It was a strange taste, but yes, I liked it.” He nodded, rose, and took the halfeaten bowl of steamed aterece from her hands, and returned it to the kettle hanging over the hearth. When he spoke, his back was to her. “I should not have presumed to touch you,” Tor confessed, his voice harsh. “I erred.” The High Priest wrong? No one in her in acquaintance had spoken of priests confessing mistakes. What sort of man was this? She hesitated to push, but with the panic growing within her, she had to know. “Didn’t you tell me that our joining was what the Goddess wanted? I wished your attentions as well.” Tor returned to her side and lifted her hand. His serious gaze matched the tone of his voice. “You wished the joining because you believed the act would save your life. I told you the truth. The loss of your virginity will not alter the sequence of events set into motion.” Azari watched in fascination as Tor lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. Gentle, respectful, the kiss managed to send shivers up her arms and longing into her depths. Long moments of silence passed before he dropped her hand and continued. “We must see to your feet.” Her mind ran wild with his admission. His statements, opposed as they were, didn’t make sense. “You told me that the Goddess will reveal to me what I need to know, confirmation of what you’ve seen.” “Yes,” he said flatly, a frown on his face. Azari laid a hand on his shoulder. “May I look into your globe?” He turned to her, shaking his head. “What you see will frighten you.” “It is a chance I would take.” He clenched his hand into a fist. “No. Our truth is hard to bear.” Indignation sparked within her, but she kept the anger out of her words, keeping her question simple, like the plain walls around her. “You take the decision from me?” Tor grasped both her hands in his. Sorrow spilled into his voice, drowning her in powerful waves. “I’d spare you the pain, the grief of knowing the horror of our future.”

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She saw Tor reverting to the dictatorial ways he’d so recently set aside. Despite his attempts to protect her from the frightening future he saw, Azari had to know for herself. Determination seized her. “Allow me, please. With knowledge one can prepare to carry the burden placed on them.” Standing, he went again to the chest, and pulled out the crystal globe. “You will not like the revelation.” “Perhaps the Goddess will show me something other than what you’ve seen. In any case, I would help, rather than hinder you.” Without another word, Tor handed her the globe.

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Chapter Five

Initially, the globe remained nothing more than a piece of the purest glass Azari had ever seen. In small increments though, the orb clouded, and then cleared to reveal a woods that reminded her of the forest she’d run through yesterday. The cabin came into focus. The High Priest’s cabin. She opened the door and saw Tor inside tending to a vessel heating over the fire. He turned and smiled at her, and then he came to her and took her into his strong arms. She kissed him fervently, and soon his hands roamed her body, sliding her tunic off her shoulders. Leaving the clothing behind he took her to the bed and began to devour her breasts with his mouth as his hands teased her skin. She watched, as the Azari in the globe spread her legs willingly for his intimate invasion. Azari closed her eyes. The thought of Tor loving her and her willingness to accept him was not as horrible as the scenario he relayed. When she gazed again into the globe she saw them both nude, abed in one another’s arms. There was no fear, only contentment and joy. She glanced at the man, staring into his breakfast, destined to be her lover. Tor’s serious features warred with the vision. He’d told her of grief, horror in knowing their future. He knew the Goddess had chosen them to be together. The question she’d asked earlier persisted. Why did he not take her if this was indeed the future they would share? Was there more to see?

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Around her, Azari took comfort in the simple, safe cabin. Any of her village would be proud to live in such a structure, complete with the well crafted furniture and a glass window. The walls were sound, the fireplace well appointed, and, a blush crept to her cheeks, the bed generous. Returning to the globe, Azari was surprised to see the scene had changed. She and Tor raced across a grain-ripened field, the sun at their backs. Above them, a large, winged creature descended, its maw open wide and filled with sword-like teeth. The dragon. Her heartbeat accelerated as she watched. Behind them a large black animal gave chase. Surely, they would lose to one or the other of these beasts. The scene once more changed. Smoke filled the sky, and as the billowing black clouds parted under a breeze, her breath caught. She was tied to a stake, flames licking the dry wood she stood on. Her belly was big with child. Oh Goddess! How could this be? “Take it away, Tor. I can bear no more,” she choked, as tears streaked her face. He approached her, removed the ball from her hands, and put the sphere back in the velvet bag. When he returned, he held her in his arms, and stroked her hair. “The future is hard to bear, Azari. Not many are chosen to look. You’ve been blessed with the vision, and also cursed.” “If we cannot escape, why try?” Tor drew back, and then kissed her forehead. “The future shown by the globe is incomplete. Neither does the orb have a history. These events may happen in rapid succession, or with many seasons between. Only the Goddess knows the full events to unfold.” Azari burrowed against Tor’s neck and chest. He held her more securely. “You did not love me last night because your honor would not allow you to use me to slake your needs. No matter that I’d spoken my willingness.”

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“Your reasons for losing your virginity were wrong. As much as I desired to feel us unite, I could not take that from you with false pretences. Making love with you will change nothing.” Azari lifted her head. Her lips grazed the High Priest’s chin. “What about now?” He pushed away from her and lifted her chin with his hand. There was emotion in his eyes. Desire? Pity? Concern? “Tell me, Tor, what do you think?” The merest smile lined his features. “You are beautiful beyond belief, and incredibly frightened.” Was she so transparent? Yes, she was afraid. Afraid of what the next few hours would bring, and how her life would irrevocably change; afraid of the losses she’d inevitably endure, including the end of her own life and that of her unborn child. Brazenly, she pulled out of his arms, and pulled up the tunic she wore, tossing it over her head and off her arms. The cool air of the cabin pebbled her nipples. Azari sat up taller and lifted Tor’s hands to her breasts. “If I am to die, I would give myself to you.” The pad of his thumbs caressed the swell of her breasts. “Who do you give yourself to? Tor, the man, or the High Priest?” The softness of his speech belied the terseness of his words. Was Tor at war with himself and his office? Her next words, she knew instinctively, mattered greatly to him. “Bed me, Tor.” **** The words Azari uttered were the ones he needed to hear. For so long he’d been nothing more than the High Priest, a healer, and a spell caster of some repute. There were women willing enough to sink his flesh into, but none had wanted Tor the man. There were no words he could speak in return. His rod hardened thinking of how she’d feel beneath him. Leaning her back, he traced the contours of her body with

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his fingers. The scent of siasma lingered on her silken skin, and he inhaled deeply before he kissed her. He would gift her with as beautiful an experience as he could craft. She deserved at least that. He would show her how this intimacy could be. Tor would savor their joining and remember the experience as the sum of all he could never have. The Goddess wanted him to couple with Azari. The rings confirmed they were to be together. But their time was for a short while only. The jealousy of the Goddess ran deep. She could never allow Tor to place Azari above her, and not exact the same penalty he’d seen Salmond pay. Her lips parted beneath his with a moan. “Are you sure, Azari, that I am what you want?” “Yes.” Simple. She made the act of intimacy so very simple. Tor nuzzled her neck then trailed a stream of kisses to her breasts. The brown tips hardened in response. Lifting his mouth, he spoke. “It’s permissible to touch me and to tell me what pleasures you.” “Kiss me again. It’s a feat I can’t accomplish on my own.” Tor returned to her mouth, nipped at her full lower lip, and then licked it. Azari’s mouth parted. He darted his tongue into her moist mouth and tasted her unique flavor. Her tongue caressed his in return. The fingers of her hand entwined in his hair, pulling him deeper into her temptation. Her innocence beguiled him. His need to be sheathed between her legs grew, as did his desire to surround himself with her openness and candor. In the paleness of his life she offered vibrant color. Azari parted his robe, and then ran her hand down his chest. She grazed a nipple, and then fondled the nub, teasing him to an aching fullness he hadn’t known in a long time. He slid a hand between her legs. The warm entrance to her body was slick. “Has a man pleasured you here?” “No. Only I have…”

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“I would pleasure you until you thought you were on the top of the highest mountain known to man.” “Yes. It’s what I want.” He sucked the pointed nipple of her breast into his mouth. Beneath him she wiggled. “Can you feel where that sensation leads?” “Yes,” she whispered. “Don’t let it stop.” “Put your hands over your head.” When she moved to do as he asked, he quickly performed a binding spell on her wrists. “Trust me Azari. I intend to put you into such a state that you will never doubt what a lover is capable of.” He sank a long finger into her, her cream easing his entrance. He withdrew the digit, and slid his finger around the folds hiding her nub of pleasure. “Oh!” she gasped. By the Goddess she desired him. He placed a second finger into her and after a few thrusts a third. “This is what I shall feel like when I enter you.” “Please,” she begged. “Don’t delay.” He shrugged out of his robe. “As you will.” She gasped as he held out his manhood. “You are very big!” “You will be able to handle me,” he whispered, leaning over her. He nudged her legs apart. “Concentrate on the sensations, not the size of my rod.” He would not enter her just yet. The first coupling was not always a congenial experience for the woman. He would see to Azari’s needs before he broke her maidenhead. Placing his hands underneath her shapely bottom, he lifted her off the mat. “I need to taste you.” Azari gasped. “I’ve not heard of such a thing.” He smiled against her thigh before he placed kisses on her inner thighs, and then moved to her heat. Her light musk scent tantalized his nostrils. “I believe you will find such tasting quite enjoyable.”

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He bent lower and laved the folds of delicate skin with his tongue, dipping his tongue into her for a taste of her essence. Planting his face in her heat, he suckled the tiny heart of arousal protected by the slick folds of skin. He entered her body with three fingers, moved them within her, and got her ready to take him. Her female juices multiplied. Suddenly she arched and cried out, convulsing around his fingers. Her breath slowly calmed. “Tor, that was, I, oh. Is it like this with all men?” A pang of jealousy shot through him. Nonsense. He’d had women before. Never had he felt envy at the thought of another man being where he had been. “Only with those who take care to bring their partner fulfillment.” He set her legs back down on the bed, released her hands from the binding spell, and positioned himself against her ready entrance. “Azari, there will be a moment of pain,” he warned. “Either quick or slow, but once it is over, the memory will fade and be replaced a far better experience.” “Take me quickly, before my courage flees.” Tor leaned over her and kissed her, driving into her. Her barrier gave way. He smothered her yelp with a kiss. “Shh, Azari it is over.” He lay atop her without movement as she adjusted to the sensation of having him within her. Her body accommodated him with ease, stretching to accept his bulk. As if she was made for him and him alone. His rod was held tight within her. “Are you alright?” **** Alright? She was alive. Despite the vision in the globe, her hope persisted. The dragon and the cevere would not take her now. “I’m fine.” Reaching up, she wrapped her arms behind Tor’s neck and pulled him to her for a kiss, tracing the outline of his lips with her tongue. “Woman, you torment me.”

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“This is a good thing, is it not?” A streak of wantonness emerged. “I want your seed, Tor.” He made an unintelligible noise, and then drove into her, deeper than the first time. She sighed, and then gave herself up to the sensations he created in her body. Flames danced within her core as Tor slid in and out of her with increasing speed. Of all the previous times she’d given way to self-pleasure, none of had felt like this. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist. She pushed her hips up from the mat. The sensation of fire burning throughout her body increased. Tremors began, rolling through her like the shaking of the ground. A scream of pleasure tore from her throat as Tor’s hot seed flooded her. Tor, the man, the spell caster, the High Priest, lowered himself to the mat, and rolled her into his arms. Goddess! Did loving a man always feel this good? His large hands caressed her back. His breathing, ragged initially, became normal again. The fierce pounding of his heart echoed hers. “Thank you,” she purred against his chest. “Welcome.” Silence floated around them. Even the birds stopped tweeting. Azari heard a loud, low rumble.

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Chapter Six

Tor had nearly fallen asleep when he heard the growl. The sound was powerful, feral, and most assuredly that of the cevere. He grabbed his robe and yanked it over his head. “I should not have given in to your temptation,” he whispered with remorse. “Please, get dressed.” Bowing his head, he prayed, and then cast a spell of stealth on Azari. He was accustomed to walking without being heard. The spell would last long enough for her to dress and then escape. The enchantment would buy them very little time. In his peripheral vision, he saw Azari pull his tunic over her head. She shifted and he saw her shapely legs move from beneath the cover. Goddess! How could he have forgotten her feet? He turned quickly and lifted her into his arms. Questions filled her eyes. He placed a finger to his lips, and then touched her feet. Understanding replaced her questioning look. Good, she remembered the pain. It would be more difficult to carry her, but the damage she would revisit her feet, combined with the groans she wouldn’t be able to stifle would give them away. He grabbed his staff, and a bag of cured nuts. He hurried to the door, as fast as he was able. One last time he cast a spell of deception on his rustic home. Carefully, he listened for the sounds of the cevere. The

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rumble came from far off. The creature was on the far side of the cabin. He slid the door open, and carried Azari into the mid-morning light. Tor had five minutes to get Azari away from the cabin, before the stealth spell wore off of the woman in his arms. For the moment, the high grain hid them from the cevere’s search. It was critical they get through the field and into the woods before time ran out. The wind kicked up, tainted with cold air it blew to the south. Thank the Goddess they traveled that way as well. Their scent would not be as easily carried to the cevere. “You can put me down now,” Azari whispered. “No. You’re feet are not completely healed.” “We’ll die if you insist on carrying me.” “You must stay quiet, woman. Away from my home we are exposed. The cevere has a keen sense of hearing and scent. We will get the canoe at the river and take the vessel downstream to your village. If all goes well, we should be there in time to warn them of the dragon and cevere.” Thankfully, she stayed quiet. At least the Goddess had provided him with a woman who knew when to keep silent. Azari was intelligent as well. She understood he wouldn’t be able to carry her for a long period and get them safely away from the cevere. Let his strength at least get them to the boat. They had just gained the edge of the forest and begun moving toward the river when Tor heard the beating of wings. Thankfully, the dragon had not turned its head toward them or they would have been spotted. Instead, the large red predator flew like an arrow straight toward his cabin. A screech rent the air, followed by the hissing growl of the cevere. Azari gasped. “The dragon?” He nodded. “The dragon will slow the cevere. Unwittingly, the creature has given us the time we need to escape.”

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Tor pushed through the lush green leaves of the vegetation. The forest provided them a degree of protection while the two beasts battled for supremacy of the hunt. Each presented a unique challenge to their survival. The cevere had a refined sense of smell, while the dragon had superior eyesight. Ahead, he heard the gentle rush of the river. “We’re nearly there.” He carried Azari across the sand and set her down. The canoe was where he’d left it, tied to the low hanging branch of a pantanad tree. He brushed aside the webs of spiders and the stringy pieces of rough bark lying atop the small vessel. With an easy push, Tor set the canoe into the water. Returning to Azari, he lifted her into his arms once again. Three long strides and they were at the canoe. “Take a paddle. Don’t lift it out of the water. We will be quieter that way.” “Where are they?” Untying the rope from the front of the canoe, Tor shrugged his shoulders. Cold water soaked his robes and made it difficult to climb into the craft. “I hope they still circle one another, vying for dominance. If not, we have to keep to the river’s far edge to avoid being spotted and pray we are far enough ahead of the cevere for our scent to have weakened or at least muddled.” “How long will these beasts continue to posture?” “Not long. From the histories, it is practically a rite they engage in, with no practical purpose other than to announce one to the other that they stalk the same prize.” The tiny boat turned in an eddy. Tor pushed his paddle into the soft sand under the water’s edge. “Head to the far shore.” Together they guided the canoe to the other side of the river. The water smacked the wooden siding of the boat. Undulations gently rocked the vessel as they paddled. The late morning would have been perfect were it not for the fact that they fled for their lives.

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Azari broke the silence with a whisper. “Then we can use their lack of intelligence against them?” “While they may lack what we consider cleverness, do not discount the instincts both possess. Have no doubt; both the dragon and the cevere are deadly.” “There must be a way to stop them.” Tor synchronized his strokes with those of Azari. “There is.” “What is the solution?” “Need you ask, woman? Your sacrifice will appease at least one, if not both.” She sighed. “That was not what I meant. Besides, am I not possessed? I am not what they seek any longer.” “The crystal does not lie. These two beings will continue to seek you until you or they are dead. Your virginal state does not matter. I explained that to you before we joined.” They skirted a large rock overhang. They would be at a small rapid soon. “But why?” He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t know. The facts as I know them disagree with one another. Once we warn your village, we shall go to the temple to see what knowledge the scrolls may reveal. “Careful, Azari, we come to a rapid. Our ride will be rough for several minutes. When you see a large boulder we might strike, push against it with your oar.” “Rapids? Can we survive them?” “Of course. I would not have selected this path were it impossible.” He looked over his shoulder again and winked. “I’ve had a good deal of enjoyment taking my canoe over them.” Around them, the water started to crest with white foam. Ahead the roar of the rapids assaulted their ears. In moments, conversation would be impossible. The river’s spray dampened his hair. It wouldn’t be long until it hung in heavy hanks, sticking to his face. He shoved a lock from his forehead.

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Another glance showed him that the river, too, was showering Azari. Every female curve had the linen of the tunic she wore glued against her skin. The swell of her breasts ended in peaks hardened by the cold water and the rub of the wet cloth against her sensitive skin. His rod reacted in appreciation. Another time, when the risk of losing their lives was lower, he might take the beauty to bed again, when she didn’t have her own misconceived notions about what would stop the beasts that hunted her. He’d tried to tell her that her plan wouldn’t work. Tor shook his head like a dog trying to dry off. But the Goddess had intended Azari come to him and that he mate with her. Her arrival in his life made no sense to him, but Eiliki’s wisdom far surpassed his own. She demanded trust and faith, Tor’s utmost devotion. Though the temptation to question her decision remained, he would accept the revelations and see how the Goddess brought the vision to pass. There was a look of intense concentration on Azari’s face. She outwardly concealed her fear well. A good thing. There might be a time when her ability to hide her emotions would give her the strength to go forward with an unpleasant task. Tor shoved away from a large rock. Ahead, the river’s path twisted, a convoluted maze of boulders, sharp ledges and smooth stepping-stones. “Follow my lead,” he yelled, praying she either heard him, or had the sense to do as he did. Pushing away from a boulder jutting from the shore, Tor quickly switched his oar to the other side of the canoe to keep from bottoming on a submerged, jagged rock. The tiny boat swung wildly, carried by the rougher water. The prow of the canoe lifted into the air as it fell a short distance, slamming into the rushing water. The river poured into the undersized vessel. Never before had he gone through the rapids with a passenger. The raging water lurched the canoe to the right. They headed toward a granite wall. Tor shoved his oar against a smaller boulder and pushed with all his strength. Another heave and they were back toward the center of the river, foam soaking them from head to foot. Another pass through the region he’d dubbed ‘dragon’s teeth’ and then they’d take to the air as the water fell away beneath them.

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“Hang on!” he yelled knowing his warning attempt was futile yet praying that the words got through to Azari. Then there was the air, a moment of suspension, followed by the crash of the canoe into the wild eddy of water at the edge of the falls. They spun in a circle, like the wildest fertility dance of spring, propelled by the continual pounding of the river into the water below the rocks. He paddled furiously and aimed the miniscule boat toward the far shore. A head wind kicked up. His muscles strained against the wet fabric of his robe, each motion weighted. Like a great turtle he made forward progress and the waters became calmer. He spared a glance at Azari. Her blonde hair hung in dripping hanks, plastered to the edges of her face. The linen tunic clung to her breasts. Her chest heaved as if it were a great effort to breathe. Striking in the utter lack of color in her face, her great, green eyes fixated on him. The shore loomed near. If he were to keep her from a faint, he’d have to get there quickly. With renewed strength he struck for the tree-lined shore. Relief flooded him when the oar struck sand. Tor jumped from the canoe, moored the vessel around a sturdy branch, and in thigh deep water slogged back to Azari. Prying her fingers loose from the boat wall he crooned, “Here now, we’re fine.” Tor reached forward and grabbed her around the waist. He carried her to a patch of grass underneath a great pantanad tree and sat her down. At length, she looked at him. Taking several deep breaths she gasped, “You do this for enjoyment?” Tor couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. “Exhilarating isn’t it?” “Sure. If you don’t enjoy breathing, or like forcing your heart to beat as fast as humanly possible.” “Take a few minutes, relax. I must get my staff.” He waded back into the water. His staff rested on the bottom of the canoe under several inches of water. Tor smiled. That had been some ride over the rapids.

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Azari called to him. “Do you know where we are?” “Yes.” She waited until he returned to sit by her side. “Well?” “Well, what?” A look of sheer exasperation clouded her features. “Where are we?” “We’re not far from your village. If we continue to follow the path of the river, we’ll be there before mid-afternoon.” “Shouldn’t we go?” Again he grinned. She’d recovered quickly from their run over the falls. The Goddess had gifted him with an amazing woman. What other wondrous surprises would Azari reveal? “How are your feet?” Placing her ankle on her thigh she stared at the bottom of her foot. “This one appears recovered.” Tor knelt near her extended leg and lifted her foot to examine the sole. “I agree. The rest and the poultice combined have sped the healing process.” Azari shook her ankle loose from his hold, stood, and then smiled. “There is no pain.” Her exuberance reassured him of her renewed spirits. Returning to an upright position he responded, “Excellent.” Already, Azari was in the water, headed toward the canoe. He watched as she gripped the sides of the canoe and stared within. “Tor, there is a problem.”

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Chapter Seven

Peering into the canoe, Azari couldn’t quite believe what she saw. Next to her, she heard loud splashes. She glanced into Tor’s face. The smile he’d had moments ago disappeared. The little boat filled with water as if it had several small springs. “Now what, Tor? The canoe is no longer good.” In the distance, Azari heard a screech. Two days ago, she wouldn’t have recognized the sound. Now, she did. The dragon hunted. Her. He handed her his staff. Dragging the waterlogged canoe, Tor’s muscles bulged as he pulled at the rope tied to the pantanad tree. “We hide the vessel. I’ll repair it…” Did he leave off a word or two? Her spirit sank. Even the High Priest was uncertain of the fate awaiting them. The screech rent the air again. “We’ll go into the forest. He won’t see us as easily there.” Terror made her heart pound. The brief illusion of safety fled. “What of the cevere?” Tor yanked some of the smaller branches from the tree, and placed them over the now upside down canoe. “The dragon is faster by virtue of flight. The cevere will have difficulty tracking us, but once he picks up your scent, he will come quickly.” She shoved the staff back into his hands, turned from the river and disappeared into the cover of the trees. The combined strengths of the two beasts would be difficult to circumvent.

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Gradually the rushing sound of the river faded. Tor hiked next to her, holding branches back so she wouldn’t get slapped. Oddly, his silence gave comfort. Traveling the river altered her sense of direction and distance. How far were they from her secret pond where she’d discovered the ring? How much further was it to the village? “We are nearly parallel to the fall and pond where you discovered the ring. We will be to your village within the hour.” Azari halted, watching Tor’s back advance through the woods. “How did you know what I thought?” He returned to face her. The deep blue robe he wore complemented his eyes and made them appear as dark as her pool at midnight. Long blond hair framed his broad, unsmiling face. “Telepathy is a gift from the Goddess. All the priests and priestesses have it to some degree.” Haltingly, Azari continued. “You know what I think?” Tor nodded. “Always?” Again, he dipped his head. “Unless I shield myself.” By the Gods, was there nothing she could conceal from him, nothing that would be private? “No.” She gulped. “Then you know what I think this very moment?” He stepped closer, then cupped her chin in his large hand. “I do.” A heartbeat of a moment passed before Tor slanted his lips across hers. Lightning exploded around her and tiny licks of flame raced through her veins. Without conscious effort, her arms reached behind his neck and pulled him closer. “Your desires are impractical and importune,” he mumbled, pulling away from her lips. He, too, still reacted. His free arm wrapped around her and slammed her hard against his chest.

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She stepped closer, absorbing the heat that radiated through his robes. This was where she belonged, in Tor’s strong arms. She kissed him again and deepened the kiss. Azari wasn’t sure who struck first when their tongues collided, only that his mouth was hot, and she burned with need. Somehow, she had backed against a tree. The rough bark rasped against her shoulders through the tunic that he’d given her. Desire for his touch in intimate places filled her with longing. Shaking, she whispered, “Tor.” He lifted his mouth from hers. Craving gripped him as well, if the aroused appendage between his legs was an indication. Oh, to have him take her here in the woods like two animals in heat. “Yes,” he growled against her throat. Animals. Beasts. Her eyes grew wide remembering the threat to her life. “No. Not here, not now.” He pushed slightly away. She reached out, tentatively touching the small lines that crinkled around his eye. Grabbing her wrist, he growled again before planting a kiss in her palm. He turned on his heel and headed deeper into the trees. **** Dear Goddess, when had his needs ever overtaken his senses before? Anger with himself propelled him through the trees along the rough trail he chose. Long ago, he’d made a vow that he would not develop an attachment to any woman yet here he was lusting after Azari like some sort of proprietary animal. A beast led by carnal desire. He’d have her to her home soon. They’d warn the village of the impending danger and then he’d be done with her. Despite the visions he’d seen in the globe, Tor would walk away from her. Before his emotions followed his rod. Before he buried himself in her sweet, hot wetness again. And again. And again.

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Dear Goddess. No. This was not happening. Abruptly he stopped and leaned against a siasma tree. The stringy bark peeled easily beneath his fingers. How could he serve the Goddess when his thoughts continually returned to making love to Azari? “Are you alright?” Her voice blanketed him with softness. He stared at the hand that touched his arm. The longing he’d been trying to bank leapt to full flame again. He snapped, “How can I be when you touch me?” At that, she dropped her hand and resumed her trek through the woods. It was only when Tor saw her run that he realized the wound he’d dealt. Tor gave chase. Pain lanced his heart when he caught her and saw the tears on her face. “Azari. I’m not worthy of your tears. I cannot give you what you desire.” Defiantly, she lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. “What do I desire?” Wiping away a tear with the pad of his thumb, he answered. “I know what you think. A home, family, love. I can give you none of those.” “Don’t you want them?” “I cannot want them.” “Tor, the man, or Tor, the High Priest?” “It’s not that simple, Azari. To want you for more than a vessel to spill my seed is sacrilege.” “It didn’t stop you earlier.” Around them, the sounds of the forest diminished, as if the animals prepared for a coming storm. “You used me, Azari. I willingly allowed it. Even after I told you the loss of your virginity would not alter, for reasons I don’t comprehend, the course of the dragon and cevere. Even after you saw for yourself the truth in the crystal.” “And what if I want more?” The truth tore through him. She did, indeed, want more. She wanted his love, something he’d given no other human since Salmond’s death. Her innocence and trust in him called to him, but he couldn’t allow himself to fall into dream she created. “It changes nothing.”

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“I don’t care about the High Priest.” “You must,” he replied, agony in his simple words. She stroked her hand down his chest, down to his inner thigh. “I want Tor the man.” If she fell in love with him, it would make it too easy to love her back, and that he would not do to either of them. He grabbed her wrist and wrenched her hand away. He had to stop this madness. “You have Tor, the High Priest. It’s time you remembered that.” “You don’t think that way, I know it.” Through lips held tight, he ground out, “You know nothing, Azari. The Goddess is my companion, not you.” He had to make her see that a relationship with him was not possible. He belonged to another, and his burgeoning feelings for the spitfire had to be dampened. He had to drive her emotionally away from him if either of them would live. “You are nothing but a vessel to be used for the conception of my child.” The ramifications of their relationship were agonizingly simple. He had to make her see what loving him would do to her. With deliberate coldness in his voice he continued, “A child that will be taken from you at birth and raised by another. An infant you will not be allowed to see once you’ve given birth. This is what you will receive for your union with me.” He grabbed her shoulder and forced himself to look her directly in the eyes. He enunciated each word. “Nothing more.” He watched her face. The confidence of a moment ago disappeared, replaced by a fresh injury. “I do not believe this,” she whispered. Neither do I, his heart ached to confess. In one short day, Azari had shown him the possibility of life with a real flesh and blood woman. Tears glistened in her green eyes. His heart twisted, but he had to be as hard as the rocks that weakened the bottom of the canoe they’d left behind. The pain she’d

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endure now would be nothing compared to what she’d suffer if she persisted in the delusion of a mutual love they’d never share. “It matters not what you believe. My life is what it is, given in service to Eiliki.” He delivered his final blow. “Don’t touch me, Azari, ever again, without my leave.” The words had their desired effect. Her face paled, and the tears rimming her lower lid fell. He couldn’t have struck her and delivered this sort of damage. “Come. We have a message to deliver.” **** The smoky scent of burning wood wafted through the thinning trees. Azari wrinkled her nose. Her voice drifted toward him, soft and reverent. “What is wrong?” The scent changed, to one of burning hair and flesh, tainted with sulfur. Ahead, a plume of black smoke rose and darkened the sky. Tor broke into a run, penetrating the edge of the woods and exiting onto a ripe field of wheat. Across the pasture, orange, red, and yellow flames whipped through the thatched roofs. “By the Goddess!” Azari gasped before she shot forward into the grain. Tor caught her easily. “Be careful.” He pulled her down beneath the tall, golden grasses. “This is the work of the dragon. We proceed with caution.” They hurried through the field in a semi-crouched position. The air turned black. “Cover your mouth and nose,” Tor ordered. Guilt washed over him as they entered the burning village. If he hadn’t succumbed in any way to Azari’s temptation, they might have returned in time to warn the villagers of the impending attack. Now he had their violent deaths to add to those already on his conscience. “Is anyone left?” she hiccupped between sobs, tears sliding down her cheeks. A good question. He laid a hand on Azari’s shoulder to comfort her. “I doubt it. But we’ll look for survivors.”

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She scrubbed her tears from her face and straightened. Her voice reflected a newfound resolve. “Where is it?” “The dragon departed when it didn’t find you or the cevere.” “I don’t understand, Tor.” Her brows furrowed. “If the dragon’s sense of smell is poor, how would it recognize me?” “The cevere likely recognized your scent and followed it to this place while we were on the water. The dragon, as any other bird of prey hunting, would have circled from my cabin until it caught sight of you. Failing that the dragon would follow the cevere, knowing the beast could smell what the winged demon could not see.” “So the cevere is near?” A large, dark plume of smoke drifted toward them. The crackling of fire eating away at a hut assaulted his ears. Sparks burst then drifted on the air. Wood popped, and around them charred walls and wood beams glowed red and orange. Tor tried to envision the pandemonium resulting from the dragon’s attack. The screams, the odors, the noise, all leading to death. “Possibly,” he finally replied. “It is likely the cevere tracked you from your last foray out of the village.” “That would be toward the pond.” “Yes,” he replied, peering into the blackened, smoldering ruins of a hut. “He is smart enough to recognize he had followed you on the trail toward my cabin without result and then will begin to follow our fresher trail leading to the canoe. Eventually, the cevere will conclude we crossed the river, and would once again pick up your scent. We might have a few hours start on him, if he headed back to the cabin as I suspect.” Tor’s words fell on deaf ears, he realized. Azari was no longer with him. He turned around and found her staring into the blackened remains of a small building. Grey and black smoke mingled, rising from the ruins. He followed her gaze with his own. Within the rubble, the scorched remains of a villager protruded from burned debris. Heedless of the hot ash and smoldering wood, Azari started forward.

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He grabbed her arm and hauled her back to his side. “No.” She pulled against him, her muscles contracting under his fingers. “It’s my mother.” Her broken words slashed at his heart like flying shards of glass. He drew her closer to him, tried to give her the consolation she needed. He stroked her hair. “It’s alright now, Azari. Your mother is with Eiliki.” “It’s not alright. How can it be?” she cried. “I’m responsible. I caused this. I killed my mother.” He pulled her away from the charred ruins, pained by the total loss she suffered. “We know not why these things happen until the Goddess reveals the answer to us. You must trust this was her time and she loved you dearly. You will be with her again once your sand has passed through the glass.” They reached the end of the village. They found no survivors. None of Azari’s people escaped the conflagration. The death of so many weighed him with additional guilt. All she’d known was gone. “My family…all that I know— Tor, where do I… go next?” As if she’d read his thoughts, Azari’s broken question tore into him. “You shall stay with me. We will follow the original plan. We head to the temple and go through the histories. I’m perplexed. I hope to find an answer to my puzzle in the temple library.” “What mystery do you hope to find an answer to?” “Why the loss of your virginity has not swayed the course of the dragon and cevere. Then I might find a solution that will allow you to keep your life.”

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Chapter Eight

The last rays of the sun disappeared between the crags of the mountains. The path they followed, narrow and steep, became more difficult to traverse. Azari was tired, her eyes burned from the silent tears she’d shed as they walked, and her newly healed feet were tender. Despite the man with her, she felt alone. How could the Goddess have allowed this? Her village was gone, her family no more. Exhaustion cloaked her, dampening the anger she harbored toward the creatures that had perpetrated the atrocity. “Tor, how much further?” Tall against the darkening sky, he turned and looked at her, fearsome with his intense blue gaze and powerful staff. Wind caught the edges of his robe. They billowed and added to the image of a formidable priest. No, not any priest, the High Priest, as he’d reminded her in the woods earlier. Not a friend, not really a lover, just the High Priest whom she must obey without question. The position he held didn’t change the desire her body had for his, or the emotions that had erupted in her heart before the travesty destroying her family. No one could live as Tor did and not be lonely. Loneliness would be her future if not for the visions in the globe. The vision was a tiny sliver of hope in a world gone dark, a reason to keep fighting. A happy future, with Tor, was promised by the Goddess. Azari would be the

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one to ease his solitude, bring a smile to his stern features. She could alleviate his solitary state, if only Tor would allow her. Was this the same call Lejeune heeded? Had her sister lessened the burden of her High Priest? Brought him moments of peace and joy when his position demanded such an austere, foreboding countenance to be presented to the people? Lifting his staff, he pointed beneath a shorter peak. “Not much further. There is a cave. We can rest there before continuing.” “Continuing? We’ve been traveling the entire day. I need to sleep.” She sounded like a child, whining at Tor’s words, but Goddess, she was so tired, so overwhelmed with sorrow, so empty right now. How could she bring joy and happiness to Tor when she felt so little herself? When he’d commanded she keep a distance from him? “At the far end of the cave is a hidden door. I should be able to open it with a spell.” His voice lacked compassion. He turned and ascended once more. Following Tor, Azari called after him. “Should? And if the enchantment does not work?” He stopped. Azari was a step behind him. Close enough to see how silver strands of his hair blended with the blond. His hair looked rich, silky, magical. She clenched her fists at her side. She would not reach out and touch him. In the woods, he’d made himself unavailable to her gestures. “I pushed you hard today. You’re rightfully exhausted.” His words were sympathetic. “We will make the far end of the cave our bed for the night should I be unable to open the secret room.” Our bed. Her heart leapt at the words, but she dared not think further on them, less Tor read her mind. “Thank you. I’m hungry and will welcome the respite." They carefully tread forward and the path narrowed even more. Small stones rolled from the path and over the side of the mountain. “You’re stronger than you think, Azari.”

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The wind grew stronger, colder, and whipped her hair around her head so strands lashed her cheeks. With ice cold fingers she tried to brush them aside. “I’m glad this cave isn’t much further. This passage is cold, and I’m not prepared for the chill.” “Look,” Tor pointed his staff toward a dark spot on the mountainside, barely visible beneath the clouds. “Ten minutes or less, and then you can get out of the wind.” His words were nearly lost in the gusts that battered them. “Yes!” Between bursts of wind she screamed at the top of her lungs. The force scratched her throat. “I can see it.” Each step brought the cave opening closer and the dark hole grew larger. Soon, she told herself. Soon I’ll be out of this wind where I can get warm. Rocks fell in front of her. Tor had made a slight turn to the left and the tiny pieces of granite slid off the trail. She took tiny steps worried the loose stones would cause her to slip. Azari focused on the hem of Tor’s robe, not wanting to look down at where she’d been. The sky winked into black punctuated by small white stars peering between the clouds. The trail darkened. Her eyes adjusted, now able to discern several different shades of the night. Suddenly, a bright, small blue ball of light appeared and blinded Azari. A scream left her mouth and she froze in place. The ball of light halted in front of her face. “What is this?” “A light to make your steps easier. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Azari took a hesitant step forward. The ball moved ahead of her and maintained its distance. Beneath her, she saw the path easily. “Won’t this make the dragon aware of where we are?” “No, the light is difficult to see. It will appear to be nothing more than another star twinkling in the night sky, if seen at all.” Tor halted a moment and Azari used the time to catch her breath. “What do you know of dragons, Azari?”

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“There are stories told to the young ones. I’ve thought of them as nothing more than a convenient way to make naughty children behave.” In front of her, she heard a low chuckle. “Have you always been so precocious?” “No, My Lord.” “I told you not to call me that.” “You also told me not to forget you hold the office of the High Priest,” she snapped back. His next words came back, terse. “A dozen or so steps and you’ll be out of the wind.” Azari hurried forward, the ball of light preceding her. She joined Tor on a flat outcropping of rock that skirted the front of a dark cave. Below them was the open plain her village sat in, but she could not discern it. Tor turned and went inside the fissure. Azari followed, keeping her distance as well as her silence. Abruptly, the roar of the wind ceased. Unused to the nearly total lack of sound, the quiet made her ears throb. Her ears pounded with the pulsing of her heart. It was eerie, this stillness. Cold continued to seep into her feet from the stone beneath them. Slowly her arms heated, now that they were free from the biting cold of the wind. Tiny pricks of pain followed, as if she’d lain on top of a pile of dried evergreen needles. Please, Goddess, not much further. Savagely, she pounded her arms against one another and tried to stop the torment. A flash caught her eye, illumined by the glowing ball. Her ring, once a deep crimson and now the color of a pale winter morning sky beamed radiantly. “My Lord, Tor.” Perhaps it was the whisper of her voice, but he did not chastise her as she’d expected. Emboldened, she continued, “My ring has changed color.” From the end of the cavern he called, “Come.” She stepped forward as he moved to meet her. His large hand lifted hers. She was dwarfed when she stood next to him. He held her hand and guided her arm to the

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left, across the back of the cave and to the right. He swung it back to the rear of the stone fissure. The ring glowed brightly, so much so that the ruby color had become a near blinding white. The light from the ring overpowered the blue light ball and the orb winked out. The cave did not darken. In fact, the light of the ring seemed to bounce off the surfaces of the walls, the roof, and the floor. “What does this mean?” Releasing her hand, Tor commanded, “Stand back.” Azari took a step back, and stood behind Tor’s broad shoulders. Facing the rear wall, he bowed his head and held out his hand in supplication. Murmured words she could not understand fell from his lips. The pounding in her ears increased, her breath caught in her throat. She was too frightened to speak. She closed her eyes and squeezed them so tightly random sparks of colored light raced across the inner lids. A jerk on her arm had her stumble forward. Tor steadied her. “Lean against the wall,” he whispered. Exhausted, she didn’t think to question his order. Azari took two steps forward and leaned heavily against the jagged, cold stone. A grinding noise began. Azari shrieked as she fell into an opening fissure. Strong hands lifted her. His hands. Tor dragged her from the floor, into the new cavern and sat her against a damp wall. Wearily, she glanced at him. He seemed to repeat what he had done earlier, before she touched the wall. Like then, nothing happened now. Until he placed his hand against the stone. Azari covered both ears with her hands, the grinding noise so loud and sharp it created excruciating pain. She watched as the fissure closed and quiet returned. Her mouth fell open and her hands dropped. “What just happened?” Tor held out his ringed hand. The stone of his ring also glowed bright white. “It seems we have more than just paired rings. We have complimentary rings with the magical abilities of opening and closing.”

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She blinked. Thoughts tried to form coherently in her mind. “Do you think it was meant that I find the ring?” He shrugged. “There is more going on here than we’ve been allowed to see. The rings, the changed behavior of the cevere and the dragon, the vision in the gazing globe, all point to some unusual event that has you and I together in the midst of things.” The light from the ring faded and returned to its deeper burgundy color. “What is this place?” He leaned over and extended his hand. “I don’t precisely know. But it would seem that we are here, safe for the night. Let us make the best of our haven.” Tor extended his hand and she took it and allowed him to pull her up. The warmth of his touch sent raw sexual longing racing through her blood, to the center of her needy core. She tried to dissuade her mind from acknowledging the desire filling her. “Perhaps this is the secret abode of a powerful mage. Maybe a creature of lore has hidden great treasure here. Maybe…” “Shh. You talk too much.” He dropped her hand and began to explore, casting his holy light throughout the cavern. The stone walls reflected the light as earlier. Within the room, Azari heard a faint sound, like water dripping. She followed the noise across the room, to a closed door. When she gently pushed, the door opened onto another tinier room. A small stream of water fell into a pool, a dark swath against the lighter rock. A platform of wooden planks edged the rocks next to the water. “Whoever lived here had fresh water,” she called, getting on her knees to examine the pond closer. Behind her, the door shut, an audible thump against the wooden casing. “Don’t touch it.” Azari jumped at the sound of Tor’s voice. “Why not?” “It is wise to test all items one finds in a magical room. The water may be refreshing, or it might be tainted. You would never know which, were I not with you.”

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His words made sense, but it didn’t stop Azari from bristling at his tone. Yes, she was a stranger to the ways of magic, but lack of knowledge didn’t mean she couldn’t learn at least some of the basics. “You’re right.” This time the words were spoken gently. Damn! Why did he listen to her thoughts? “Because you do such a poor job of concealing them and I dropped my mental shield.” Azari sensed him kneeling behind her. His voice whispered against the back of her neck. “You should thank me, woman. By hearing your thoughts I’ve saved your life…, again.” “You don’t know that,” she argued back, her knees weak at his nearness. “You have yet to test the water.” “I don’t need to. I would not drink from a pond that has no life within its depths.” She sputtered. “No life?” “There is not one plant, or fish in the water before you. This refreshment is not meant for human consumption.” He pulled her up from the boards and surrounded her with his arms, her back snug against his chest. Again, longing reached into her, rushing through her body, filling her with primitive need. Although he’d forbidden her earlier, she had to touch him. Whatever punishment he deemed applicable she would endure if she could touch him once again. Turning in his arms, her hand splayed against the linen of the robe that covered him. She allowed her hand to roam lower. Every part of him was solid, strong, without an ounce of spare fat. He gasped. “Don’t do this, Azari. You will find another to touch, to pleasure, to share your love and body with. I am not that man.” “I won’t stop. I know what my touch does to you.” She went forward, her boldness bolstering her decision to join with Tor again. “I care not that you know my

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thoughts in this matter.” Her hand cupped him through his robe and he hardened beneath her palm. He could protest her touch but the agony she heard in his voice told her of his need…for her. “I know your thoughts as well.” “I cannot love you.” Through clenched teeth he ground out the words. Azari lifted the hem of his robe from his feet. Her hand reached beneath and stroked his flesh. “I will love you enough for both of us.” **** How could the Goddess expect him to repel an assault like this? Tor grunted, closed his eyes, and gave himself over to the exquisite torture of Azari’s hand on his length. He could no more fight her sensual allure than he could call down the sun in the heavens. Cool air caressed him where her hand did not. His robe lifted again, and then his rod was enveloped in the wet heat of her mouth. Her tongue ran the length of his shaft before he felt her teeth scraping against the sensitive skin. Tor couldn’t contain his groan of pleasure. Forcing his eyes open, he saw the outline of Azari’s back beneath the extended robe. “By the God’s, Azari, do you know what you do?” Around him, she moaned before she ceased her sucking to answer. “I am preparing you, so I can be a vessel for your seed.”

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Chapter Nine

Tor’s self-control vanished. He stroked into her searing mouth. She opened wider to take more of him deeper within her throat, both her hands grasping him. When he withdrew, those wicked hands wrapped around him, and with a tight caress coated his shaft in her saliva before encouraging him to reenter her mouth. Time stood still. The gentle sound of water made music for their union. Her onslaught aroused him further. Dear Goddess, he wanted to plunder her depths. Her lips made him nothing more than a needy man, a weakling filled with desire. Emotion replaced thought for Tor, the need to brand Azari as only his. His pulse raced. Tiny beads of sweat erupted on his skin. Each stroke into her mouth drove him closer to the edge of release. Her lips tightened around him, drawing out his erection to its maximum length. Hips bucking into her face, he groaned when she nipped him gently with her teeth before easing away the subtle pain with a languid lick of her sinful tongue. A drop of his seed tipped his shaft. He groaned. “Stop.” “Why?” she whispered around him. The words reverberated around his length. Tor couldn’t remember a time he’d been so hard. Couldn’t remember a time when he’d had a tonguing like the one Azari gave him. For all her innocence, she had exquisite natural instincts. “I would enter you.”

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Fondling his rod, she ran her tongue along his sacs. Jolts of pleasure curled his toes. If she didn’t stop soon, he’d shoot his seed all over her face. “Azari!” Emerging from beneath his robe, she lifted the linen tunic she wore. A quick flick and the garment was flying over her head and fluttering to the ground. Her own leather tunic beneath, torn from her run through the woods, quickly followed. Her short skirt pooled at her feet. He took in her luscious breasts, the narrow waist and the hips she wanted him to straddle. He ran a shaking hand through his hair and groaned. “By the Goddess, this is insane!” She sank back onto the linen and spread apart her legs. “Take me, Tor.” Her nether lips gleamed, an invitation for him to enter her passion. The scent of her heated musk echoed her request. Tor shoved his robe above his shaft and off his body and did as she asked, sinking into her with a long smooth thrust. She moaned as he withdrew. He descended into her again. Azari’s muscles clenched around him and held him deep within her. The dark tan of his robe contrasted with her alabaster skin. The cloth bunched on her lower belly. Another powerful thrust and he was seated within her deeply, his balls slapping against her. “Ahh,” she moaned. “Sweet Azari, you drive me wild with lust.” Leaning over her, his chest met her soft skin; her breasts, with their hardened tips grazed his tiny nipple, a welcome assault. He drew her breast into his mouth, teased the point with the sucking of his lips until he felt it elongate in his mouth. He pushed back to examine his handiwork. He twisted the peak with his forefinger and thumb. “I would brand you there as my concubine.” “With the concubine’s chain?” Possessiveness overcame him. Azari had known no man but him. He had shown her the pleasures a man could give a maid. She was his with her innocence, her trusting in this matter of coupling. It was his right to select a concubine as long as she did not interfere with his duties. “Yes. I would have no other man touch you.”

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He lifted her hips and drove inside her again as he paid homage to her other breast. Taking other women had not been so arousing. He’d used them as seed vessels as required by the Goddess. There had been lust, but no passion, no true caring one for the other. None of his liaisons had borne fruit. Taking Azari was different. Before Azari, there were no emotional attachments. Was it because of the danger they were in? Maybe even the workings of the Goddess had brought him to this needy, poignant state, forcing him to look at like anew. He’d closed off his feelings the night that Salmond died. Being with Azari had brought his subdued passions to the surface. Could this be the lesson the Goddess tried to show him? That he needed to embrace life fully, with all its illogical human sentiments again? Did Eiliki give him this strong-headed woman for such instruction? Reaching a hand between her legs, Tor found the tiny nub that pleasured women, and stroked it. Azari arched against his chest and moaned his name. He pushed into her fully intent on satisfying both their lustful needs. Beneath him, she writhed. “Yes, Tor,” she whimpered against his chest. **** She wanted to gratify him, bring to him the beautiful sensations he created within her. Sharing the delights of the flesh became her soul focus. Azari lifted her hips to give him complete access to her body. Female to male, mind to mind, spirit to spirit, Azari sensed their binding as one. Did Tor feel it? Did he accept it, or did he fight it? Clasping his back, she pulled herself against him as he sought to brand her willing core as his. Her legs wrapped around his waist as his thrusts entered her with more force and speed. His large hand caressed her bottom. Burning raced through her, shortened her breath, and made her heart pound.

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They were both slick with perspiration from their mutual exertions. Azari felt her nails dig into his back as she gave herself over to freely experience the delight Tor had formed within her body. Mindless, she bit his shoulder. He grunted, but didn’t stop his drive into her. For every thrust, she parried with a strong clasp around his length. More her mind cried out, as her body responded. Wave upon wave of fire erupted within her as her feminine muscles clutched his manhood tightly. He jerked within her, scorching male essence filing her. She held tighter to his shaft and wrung from him every drop she could claim of his seed. Tor’s head sank against her shoulder, the rest of his body collapsing against her. With a near crushing grip, her priest held her. For the first time in her life, Azari felt as if she truly belonged with and to another. She reveled in the touch of his hand stroking her dark tresses. His unique scent, a mix of man and fragrant herbs, now became a powerful reminder of her time in his arms. Around them, silence reigned. For now, this coupling was all she needed. She placed a hand on his chest and played with the light sprinkling of blond hair there. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but could not, would not. Spoiling the moment with a confession of love gained her nothing. In the ball, she was burned at the stake. With child. Her stomach twisted painfully. If Tor’s seed took root in her this night and the crystal revealed the truth, she’d die within a year. “Hush your mind, Azari. Think not on these things. We know not why we were selected for one another nor how long the Goddess will grant us.” He yawned and held her closer. If she kept her heart to herself the future would be easier to endure. If she spoke of love, it would give further credence to the prediction of the globe and the meaning of the rings. Neither she, nor Tor, needed the burden of love. Not when other lives were at stake.

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She sighed. No, she wouldn’t tell him she loved him. She didn’t need to complicate their immediate survival with such binding emotions. Azari snuggled tighter against him and allowed herself the comfort of being in his arms. The soft plops of the water into the pool and the resulting pops of the bubbles continued as they had for seasons past and would persist for an unknown eternity. Every moment like this with Tor was one to treasure for however long the Goddess deemed she had left. **** Tor couldn’t keep from touching her, even after his passion had been spent deep within her body. The silk of her hair, the soft texture of her skin, the lips that had so intimately held him all beckoned him to join with her again. Yet, in her relaxed state, she’d been unable to keep her thoughts from him and those thoughts held his lustful inclinations at bay. What did this dark-haired woman know of love? She thought love brought people together. He knew differently. Love destroyed both giver and receiver. She could not possibly love him, and he definitely would not allow himself to love her. He held her tighter, tried to assuage her anxiety. If only he could eliminate its cause, remove the weight of fear from her, provide comfort for her to endure the trials ahead. But he couldn’t. Their paths had been set in the past. As much as he resented being on this particular journey, he was honored to become a small part of Azari’s last days. Her thoughts revealed in detail how and when her life ended. He nearly groaned his frustrations aloud. Why would Eiliki send him Azari and allow his child to take root within her womb, only to have them both snatched away within the year in a horrible, fiery death? Within his arms, she stirred. He kissed her temple, muttered soothing words to her sleeping form. She stilled. A sense of contentment ebbed from her.

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In less than two days, he’d come to care for her, a dangerous emotional predicament to be in as High Priest. The enigma of Azari and his relationship to the Goddess continued to plague him. Had Azari been sent as a means of testing his devotion to Eiliki? Was Tor failing the trial? No. You do not fail me, Tor. You’re concern and protective nature toward the woman has renewed my faith in you as my High Priest. The sacrifices the two of you make on my behalf will be remembered for many years to come. Your reward will be great. Tor froze. The words the Goddess spoke gave him no solace. Her words did not promise to save Azari’s life. No reward was sufficient recompense for the loss of his child. The faith the Goddess placed in him meant nothing if Azari were taken from him. Goddess! His thoughts were sacrilege as was the knowledge that any sort of love would destroy both of them. Azari removed his loneliness, gave him her spirited self. His heart skipped a beat in realization. In a shockingly short span of time, he’d fallen in love with Azari.

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Chapter Ten

Azari woke in the arms of her priest. Her head cradled against his muscular chest, she listened to the beat of his heart. She inhaled his scent and smiled. There was a bonding between them that transcended the physical. The steady beat of his heart slowed. “Tor?” she called softly. He didn’t respond. “Tor,” she said again, more insistently. She pushed away from him and his arms fell limply to the ground. “Tor!” Panic filled her. Next to her, the brawny cleric slept. Placing her ear against his chest again, she swallowed hard. The thud of his heart was softer and slower than a moment ago. Hastily, Azari grabbed her leather tunic and skirt and dressed. She pummeled his chest. He didn’t grunt, didn’t react in any way at all. His face was devoid of color. She wildly looked around the cavern, trying to find something to hold water. She could throw it on him and wake him. The room, isolated from the main hall had nothing. “You showed us together, Goddess! Help me save him!” She tugged on his arm, dragging him a few feet. His staff, he’d need his staff once they were out of this room and he was awake again. She picked up the ebony stick by the narrower, lighter end. The humid chill of the cavern seeped into her muscles as the damp streams of liquid sparkled on the walls.

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“Please, Tor, wake up,” she cried, yanking him hard. The head of the staff dragged against the stone floor and made a horrible, loud, scratching sound. Azari pulled again. Dizziness assailed her. As before, Tor’s body moved a short distance. The door to the cavern wasn’t far. She heaved again. The room, so intimate and inviting earlier, was too quiet and tomblike for Azari. With each and every pull, Azari moved Tor near the doorway. But her strength was diminishing, as was her ability to control her movement. She dropped his arms long enough to prop open the door with her hip. Goddess they had to get out of here! Queasiness washed over her. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. An overpowering need to sleep wanted to lull her into lassitude. When she knelt to pick up his arms again she listened to his heartbeat. It seemed stronger, as if his heart beat better near the doorway. His breathing, too, seemed to begin its return to a more normal state. Finally, something was going right. She glanced back at the dark room and tried to make sense of the dilemma. Goddess! Had the air been bad for some unknown reason? She searched her memory as she dragged Tor yet again. It was something about not drinking the water where there was no life. Could the water have poisoned the air? They were close to the stone wall that had magically opened and shut when they’d entered this cavern of sleeping death. “Tor, wake up!” Goddess, she needed him to wake. Azari didn’t know how much further she would be able to haul him. Her muscles ached from her exertions. She was tired. So very tired. She needed to sleep. If she closed her eyes— For a moment, his eyes opened, startling her. Unable to focus, they closed again. But it was long enough for Azari to shake herself from her stupor and continue her struggles. “Come on, Tor. Wake up. Help me get you out of here.” Before, this room had welcomed them from the cold of the cave beyond. “I wish I’d never come in here,” she complained. Weary, she leaned against the chilly rock. The grinding she’d heard earlier began anew. Cool, fresh air poured into the secret chamber.

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The opening of the secret room must have allowed the bad air to escape and mingle with the fresh. In their tired state they’d either passed off the air’s scent as a cave smell, or missed it altogether. Trying to understand how they could have become poisoned made her head ache. With each inhalation her energy revived. She could get him out of this dank place. At her feet, Tor coughed, his breathing irregular, but deepening. Color crept up his face. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw light at the cave opening. “Tor, I need you to stand. I need you to help me.” His eyes opened again, but this time they focused on her. He tried to smile. “Ow,” he mumbled. “My head.” “Stand,” she commanded. He wobbled and attempted to gain his feet. “What happened?” Azari grasped him about the waist, trying to shoulder his weight. “The air. I think it was bad.” He swayed and his knees buckled. “I feel ill.” “As do I. Use the wall to brace you. We must get out of here.” With Tor supporting most of his weight against the wall, they made good time. Sunlight beckoned her to move forward, Tor at her side. Sleep would be good in the warmth of the light. Unexpectedly, Tor stumbled against the rock, the head of the staff hitting the wall. Blue, yellow, and white sparks flickered where the multi-colored stone struck. Fire raced throughout the cavern. “Run!” Azari screamed, seizing Tor’s hand and tugging him toward the mouth of the cave. An explosion rent the air. Azari lost her grasp on Tor as she flew through the cave opening, her ears ringing. She hit the ground with a thud, and rolled down a rocky part of the hill she’d climbed with Tor the night before. A large pantanad stopped her descent.

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Twisting slightly, she saw smoke billowing forth from what she assumed was the cave opening. Gingerly, she turned away and searched for Tor. Below her, on an outcropping of rock, she saw him. He didn’t move. She lay as she was, fearful to move lest she’d broken a bone. It was a real possibility. Her legs ached in a number of places. She felt the swelling of her wrist. A sharp stab of pain stole her breath as she tried to look at her arm. The nausea she’d experienced before rushed back. Azari looked at the pale blue sky, dotted with fluffy white clouds and closed her eyes. If this was to be her last sight, so be it. **** The beating of his heart was faster than anything he’d experienced in his lifetime. Faster than racing to men fallen in battle. Quicker than the instinctive reaction he’d had when he saw Salmond pierce himself with his dagger. Tor tried to breathe deeply in a vain attempt to regain control of his body. With a loud smack his staff landed on the rocks next to him. Where was he? Where was Azari? He tried to turn his head. Every muscle screamed with pain. Intuitively, he knew his body was covered with bruises. The side of his chest burned, inside and out. Broken ribs. Above him, lit by the morning sun, was a broad expanse of bright sky slowly overtaken by storm clouds; clouds that heralded rain. Injured and wet would be a poor combination on the side of this mountain. Tor had to get them off the hill before they further risked their health and were unable to stop the cevere and the dragon from killing. With great care, he touched his side and winced when he fingered his injuries. At least, he didn’t discover an open wound to drain his lifeblood. Inhaling, he groaned when his chest expanded too much. It would be some time before he could breathe regularly.

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He stretched out his hand and grasped the High Priest’s staff. In his peripheral vision, he saw Azari lifeless on the rocks. A groan, born of grief, tore from deep within him. He had to get to her. Had she lost consciousness from the force of their fall? Or had she died saving him, changing the course of the vision in the globe as well as his life? Cautiously moving his arm he ascertained it wasn’t broken. Neither was the other. Thank the Goddess. Tor pushed into a sitting position and surveyed the terrain they’d landed on. Pain turned his stomach nauseous, but he didn’t let threatened sickness stop him. The soil, loose and rocky, had a light layer of humus. Embedded haphazardly were several large, gray boulders mixed among scrub pine and pantanads. Azari lay near a leafy pantanad still unmoving. To lose her would be to lose a part of his heart he’d only just discovered. Above, a cloud blotted out the sun and dropped heavy, fat raindrops along with a layer of gloom. With care he moved toward her. The cold rain made slick the thin vegetation. To fall would end any chance of saving her, if she still lived. Every pine needle, rock, or leaf put him that much closer to her. And every bit of forward progression sent waves of pain and exhaustion through his being. Goddess, why was he so tired? Why could he not reach Azari? **** Azari felt something rough against the back of her hand. Simultaneously, a wet plop struck her face. Another hit her hand. A breeze chilled the damp. Shivering, she opened her eyes. Around her, darkness reigned. Where was Tor? The rough touch stroked her again and she jerked her hand away. A smell of wet fur struck her nose. A low rumble assaulted her ears, and she turned her head to the sound.

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A scream tore from her throat. The animal had a large black head. Its eyes shone golden in the dim light. Terror filled her and she screamed again as she unsuccessfully tried to gain her feet. Escape was of no use. Pain paralyzed her in a semi-sitting position. The animal neared, sniffing. Long, sharp fangs were exposed outside the creature’s mouth. Now she saw it was a huge cat, with a head that easily spanned her two hands. Its tail, as long as her legs, switched back and forth as it stalked around her.

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Chapter Eleven

No! Dread took hold and horror clutched her throat like cold, powerful hands. It was too soon for her to die. She wasn’t ready. She was supposed to have more time. This was not the future she’d seen in the globe. Tor was her future. The animal sniffed. Its golden eyes scanned her as if trying to find a way to bring her down. A low growl issued from a muscular throat. Sharp claws on the ends of gargantuan paws extended, ready to tear into her, or pin her, or do what they needed to do in order to take her. The loss of her virginity wasn’t stopping this attack. Tor had been right. The rain pelted her harder. It wouldn’t be long before the dirt turned to mud. The hairs on her arms rose as did her panic. Using her feet in a panicked scramble, she pushed stones toward the monstrous feline. They bounced off one another with loud clacks and rolled down the mountain out of sight. Frantically, she grasped at a handful of stone and mud, hurling them toward her assailant in a blind assault. If she concentrated on a continual volley perhaps she’d injure the animal, or perhaps force it to retreat. She fought to keep her eyes open against the pain of the onslaught sure to come throwing handful after handful of pebbles, small rocks and anything else her hands grasped at the creature. Unexpectedly, a scream rent the air.

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The large black cat, that moments ago had circled her as it sized up her vulnerabilities, ran limping down the mountain. A blaze of white light struck its hind quarters and it screeched again in pain. The huge ebony animal raced down the path she’d sent the rocks instants before. She turned in the direction the bolt of light had come from. Tor! He stood, tall and foreboding, his High Priest’s staff pointed in the direction the cevere had fled. His light brown robe was covered with dust. Dark splotches that she assumed was blood stained a sleeve near a large tear. Azari cradled her bad wrist against her stomach and used her free hand to help her stand. More loose rocks rumbled down the side of the mountain. The gravel slid as she slipped on the wet rocks. Sobbing, she made her way to Tor, elated he was alive, grateful he’d prevented the attack. Nearer, she saw his pale skin; the crimp of muscle near the corner of his eyes revealed the pain he didn’t voice. Holding out her good arm for him she softly commanded between shaky breaths, “Let me help you.” Placing an arm around his waist she was content that they were alive, and the threat of the colossal cat temporarily removed. Glancing over her shoulder, Azari saw the opening of the cave they’d been in the night before filled with rocks and rubble. There would be no shelter there to tend Tor’s wounds. The only thing to do was head down the trail they’d ascended the day before. To look for another cave was out of the question. The risk of more bad air was too great. No, she’d have to find them another place to recover, even if for a short while. At her side, Azari felt Tor’s strength ebb. It was doubtful he would be able to descend the mountain with any control. She was not strong enough to guide them both on the rain soaked, treacherous slopes. Her gaze fell upon the pantanad tree that had broken her fall. The large leaves would not only provide a modicum of shelter from the rain, but would hide them from the searching eyes of the dragon. Hopefully, Tor’s attack on the cevere, she was certain now that was what the large cat was, would deter it for a while.

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They had just gotten under a large pantanad leaf when the rain slashed at them in earnest. “Tor, how can I help you,” she shouted amidst the pounding of the rain on the boulders around them. “My staff,” he gasped. “Hold the crystal to my side.” Azari pried the staff from his fingers, and then held it against his ribs. “No. Against my skin.” The words were strained and weak. She looked into his face, alarmed by his pallor and the unnatural, irregular breaths he took through his mouth. She slid the staff under his tunic and held the crystal against his skin. Goddess, please help him. Beneath the tan material covering her hand she felt warmth, then intense heat. The heat seemed to blister her hand, but she forced herself to keep it in place. Tor had asked her to hold the crystal against his body. She would not fail, no matter the pain searing her. For once she would not give in to the frailty of her flesh, not when he needed her. Tears flowed down her face once more as she endured the scorching. She closed her eyes against the pain. Please, do not let me falter. Char my flesh if need be, but do what you must to save his life. A large hand covered hers. The burning lessened. “It is over, Azari.” Never before had such joy coursed through her body. His face once again appeared strong and healthy. She threw her good arm around his neck and wept, and ignored the piercing pain the motion caused her injured one. “Sweet, sweet Azari,” he crooned as he awkwardly patted her back. Gently, he unwrapped her arms from about his neck. “Let me look at you.” She had no idea what he saw, or how she looked. It couldn’t have been good. She was sure her hair hung in dark, tangled, wet limps. The tunic he’d given her was torn in several spots. The leather of her own clothing had also been gashed, but had protected her skin beneath. “You’re injured.” Concern melded with the continued weakness of his voice. Despite the return of natural coloring and steady breathing, he was far from healed.

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“Not as severely as you,” she whispered. He placed a hand on her swollen wrist. A pleasant tingling seeped into the skin, the muscle, and the very bones of her wrist. When she glanced into his eyes, alarm filled her. “You are not strong enough to perform this sort of healing,” she chided as she helped him sit, his back supported by the trunk of the pantanad. She pried the staff from his fingers and leaned it against the sturdy tree. “Healing spells use physical energy. I will be fine once I rest.” Around them, the rain continued to pour. They couldn’t stay beneath the tree leaves for long. Already she felt the damp and cold wetting the sleeves of her tunic. With the dark clouds covering the face of the sun, Azari was unable to ascertain how much of the day had passed. Peering between the pantanad leaves it wasn’t possible to gauge how long the storm would last either. The dark grey clouds and the tree sheltered them from the dragon, but how long would they be able to count on such protection? If morning had passed and the afternoon late, the weather and oncoming twilight would hinder Tor’s recovery, perhaps make him ill. And there was no way to measure the threat of the cevere against them. “I don’t know how long we can stay here, Tor.” The crashing of the rain on the rocks and leaves emphasized the severity of their exposed position on the side of the mountain. “We must move.” He struggled to stand. “Yes. We need to take advantage of better cover. I can move, albeit not as quickly as I would like.” Azari rose to help him, her own legs weak. “Together, we can move back down the mountain.” “No. We climb.” She was shocked. “You barely have the strength to stand, much less walk, and you want to climb?”

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Determination filled his eyes, and he savagely pushed a wet strand of hair away from his broad forehead. “If we do not continue upward, all we’ve endured will be for naught.” She couldn’t argue. He was right. “We are both injured, we won’t get far.” He glanced back down the mountain. “You would follow the path of the cevere?” “The cevere ran away from your attack. I do not feel threatened by it now.” She grabbed one of the large pantanad leaves and yanked downward. The leaf peeled back from the trunk of the tree and left a long branch in her hand. She handed the bough to Tor, and then got one for herself. Carefully she folded the leaf and allowed rainwater to collect in the creases. The drink would sooth the rawness left in her throat from her earlier screams. “The cevere will redouble his efforts once the pain of my bolt lessens. And once he is on the move again, it will not be long ere the dragon spots him…” Holding up her hand, Azari stopped his statement. “Very well. But where will we find sanctuary? We will be in further danger. I have no fighting skills. My own legs are battered and protest against movement. Your exhaustion will make you worthless.” A muscle in his jaw quivered, as if he tried to hold back a retort. Above, the clouds parted briefly. The sun was past its apex. “I know a place we can reach before sunset. Last night it was still too far. Not today. There will be food and shelter, perhaps other priests.” He grimaced. The wind kicked up and drove the rain against them. It was insane to climb when they had difficulty walking. “I understand not wanting to lose the ground we’ve gained, but to go forward in our state will weaken us further.” She turned and threw the leaf onto the rocky ground. “Stay here, Tor. I will find us a better shelter.” With the wind and rain to her back, pain making her wince with every step, Azari set out, moving down the rocky mountainside. “Azari! Wait!” She continued downward and ignored his protests.

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Chapter Twelve

Tor was unaccustomed to his orders being disregarded. Foolish woman! He knew what was best for their recovery. If it hadn’t been for the injuries they’d sustained, they would have arrived at the sojourner’s refuge long before the sun reached its mid afternoon position. At the crude hut they would find sustenance, and the guarded passageway into the bowels of the temple. Her stubbornness would get her into trouble he might not be able to rescue her from. The energy he called upon to perform his spells was still low. But, he had to stop her from heading back into danger. Staring after her, he concentrated on casting a lowlevel spell of entanglement. Beneath the pantanad tree he uttered a brief prayer to the Goddess. Extending his hand, his power flowed through him and created a winding tendril. The more he concentrated, the heavier, longer, and thicker the tendril extending from the root of the tree at his feet became, until it turned into a stout, snaking vine that wrapped around Azari’s ankles. Her scream sliced through the air. He curled his fingers and the vine retracted, bringing Azari closer. White-hot anger with him infused her words. “You bastard! You want me to die!”

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The green strand wrapped around her waist, spun her, bound her, and returned her to his side, heedless of her protests. He gathered her into his arms, the tendril of the vine unwinding from around her waist. “No, Azari. I want you to live.” “You refuse to heal,” she ground out. “You bind me with magic that depletes your ability to keep us safe. I have to look out for my own safety.” Twisting, she tried to escape the confines of his arms and knocked his staff to the ground. “You are not capable.” He held her tighter against him. “You will die without me.” She moved as if to strike him, but was only able to clench her hands into fists. “I will die with you. What difference does it make? Either way, I am dead.” He shook his head, shocked at the venom of her words, his own filled with pity. “How is it possible for you to be so foolish?” “Foolish? I… I…” “Quiet!” He silenced her with his lips. Within his arms, she stilled. He continued the kiss, increasing the pressure. His fire against her ice. When she yielded he broke the kiss, leaned his head against her forehead, and tried to still the rapid beat of his pulse. Tor lifted a lock of her auburn hair, rubbed the strand against her cheek. “Must you argue and demand your way over every little thing?” he whispered. “I have a practical solution. You do not,” she responded, her voice weary and breathless. Good, her anger was dissipating. He would help her see that he was right in this and in all matters. The Goddess had given her to him. Complete obeisance was necessary if they were to make the most of the Goddess’s gift. Exasperation colored his words. “Why do you continue to fight me?” “Because I am not your slave,” she hissed through her tight jaw. The words struck him, harder than a fist to his stomach. Is that what he’d communicated to her? “I thought… the vision…” Words failed him.

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“You thought because you saw me heavy with your child you owned me?” she questioned incredulously. Tor released her from his hold and slumped to the wet ground, defeated. The last of the entanglement spell faded. Too late he recognized his error. He thought Azari cared for him, perhaps even loved him. The muscles of his stomach clenched in response to her sharply spoken words. His heart ached, an experience he hadn’t had since Salmond’s death. The hurt sliced deeply. While he would never allow himself the same depth of emotion because of his service to the Goddess, he had believed Azari had feelings for him. Her anger revealed the truth. She would be free of him as soon as it was practical. The sweet dream he secretly cherished within his heart dissipated as quickly as a welcome mug of ale at the end of a long journey. Resolution pounded through him as hard as the rain hit the ground around them. Resolve renewed his will to reach the priests’ refuge. With shaky legs he stood using his staff for support. The sooner they reached the temple, the sooner he could put her away from him. “Come,” he ordered gruffly. “Tor, I…” Hardening his heart against her words, he turned his back on her, and left the shelter of the pantanad tree. With as much control as he could muster he interrupted, “You have nothing more to say to me that I wish to hear.” “I have plenty to say—” His glare stopped her rant mid-sentence. Each step on the rainy, uphill climb prevented his body from achieving the rest needed if he were called on again to use his power. His brute strength would have to suffice if it became necessary to fight the cevere or dragon. Often he had practiced in the specially designed weapon room, wielding broadsword, pikes, and even axes. While it was uncommon for priests to participate in

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hand-to-hand combat, it was not unheard of either. The priests had the protection of the Versa, those robed in orange, to protect the temple and its occupants. Once in a while, he glanced over his shoulder at Azari. Her hair dangled over her cheeks and he couldn’t see her eyes. The bottom portion of her legs were bruised and no doubt hurt, but the injuries were superficial. One of the minor priests would be able to heal her once they reached the temples. The thought of an acolyte placing healing hands on her legs filled him with envy. Tor wouldn’t touch her in such an intimate way again. Neither would he lay with her in the manner of men. It was the only way he could keep from revealing his love for her. Longing erupted. Goddess, how he wanted her all to himself. Yet, she’d stated clearly their association went no further than her quest for survival, despite the love he knew she held for him in the depths of her heart. To fight the love locked in her heart was better for them both. To claim her heart as his was something he could not allow himself to do. He wouldn’t have her again. And if he couldn’t, he would instead, dedicate himself to finding someone else to cherish and protect her. Loose stones slithered down the path. He turned to see her catch her balance; the small rocks cascaded over the edge of the upward path they hiked. Tor silently waited for her to join him. The rain descended harder. It was good the refuge wasn’t much further. The afternoon light, dim and gray glowed behind the storm clouds. The same clouds would blend into darkness before long. “Azari,” he quietly called. She continued past him, head down, barely dragging one foot in front of the other. How dare she ignore him again, he thought irritably. Less than two steps in front of him, Tor grabbed Azari by the arm and forced her to face him. His ire fled like a crisp, fallen pantanad leaf pushed by a strong autumn wind. Goddess, she was crying. Why? Had she injured herself along the trail? Was she afraid he wouldn’t protect her? For a brief moment, he forgot his resolve and pulled her into his arms, her tears salting the wound of his heart. It tore at him seeing her cry.

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The will of the Goddess confused him when it came to Azari. Surely, if they weren’t meant to be together holding her would feel foreign. Instead, this woman felt as if she were a very part of his soul. It didn’t make sense. He attempted to soothe her. “No need to cry. We are nearly there.” She looked up at him with mournful eyes. Irrational perhaps, but he would do anything to erase the sorrow he saw in them, to bring the light of her smile back. Such a feat would be difficult when they both knew the odds of her survival were minimal. “Please,” he heard himself say, “tell me what troubles you.” Tears streaked her face, her eyes red and puffy. Instead of replying, she cried harder, sobbing against his chest. He let his mind shield against Azari down. Frustration and guilt filled his gut. He put his arm around her shoulder and guided her along the trail, knowing he’d been responsible for her tears. **** The rain let up before dusk, the last rays of sunlight casting pink, orange and purple hues across the tips of the mountains. The refuge, built into the side of the mountain, was barely visible in the waning light. It would be good to get out of his wet tunic, have something hot to eat, and rest. Azari had managed to control the sobbing. She still hadn’t told him what had her so upset, even though her thoughts had spoken volumes. Her exhaustion combined with the pain she refused to acknowledge lent her bedraggled looks an air of long suffering. They reached the door of the small wooden hut. Tor pounded on the doorframe. Within, he heard footsteps and a moment later the door was sparingly opened. “Who’s there?” a squeaky voice queried. “A servant of Eiliki,” Tor responded. From the fissure, Tor saw an eye peer at him. Suddenly, the door was thrown open and an orange robed acolyte knelt on the floor, his head bobbing up and down as

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he genuflected. “My lord,” the man continued, “forgive my lack of promptness in allowing you entrance.” Tor gently pushed Azari ahead of him. “Get her dry clothing and something hot to eat.” A fire roared in the pit. He placed Azari on a reclining couch nearby, and sought out a blanket to cover her with. A few moments later, Tor collapsed into a reed chair on the other side of the pit. His cold, aching muscles enjoyed the warmth of the fire. The acolyte approached Tor with a steaming bowl of food. Thank you, Goddess for protecting Azari and me throughout this trial. Pour your energy through us that we may continue to fulfill your will as you reveal it. He glanced at Azari on the couch. Light from the fire danced in the room, illuminating the simple refuge. A long table with benches, the chair and couch, a cupboard all made from the dark wood of the pantanad. On the floor were the pelts of great cats, and bears. The man silently waited until Tor was done with his prayer. With a slight nod of his head, Tor gave the man permission to speak. “My Lord, we’ve naught but a simple meat and vegetable stew to share with you and your guest.” Tor took the hot bowl from the man and inhaled the spicy scent. “It matters not what you have to share, only that you do. Help the lady first,” he commanded, returning the wooden bowl to the acolyte. “That’s not necessary,” she protested. “Eat, and then rest. We’ve still another day of walking ahead of us.” The acolyte handed Azari the bowl of hot food. Tor was relieved when she ate. His stomach rumbled at the scent, and he waited to dig into his own dish knowing the unpretentious fare would help revive his flagging energy. Another acolyte brought him a serving of the stew. With a spoon, Tor devoured the contents. The wooden spoon clacked against the empty earthenware bowl.

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“Thank you.” Azari’s barely uttered words coincided with the removal of her dish by one of the initiates. With a yawn, she lay down on the couch. Tor wanted to stretch out and let sleep claim him, but he quietly walked to where Azari lay on the couch. She was already fast asleep. Dry clothes had been placed at her feet. She should change into them now, but she looked peaceful in her sleep. Tor didn’t have the heart to begrudge her these moments of secure rest. He returned to his chair and sat. Weariness washed over him. Extending his legs, Tor closed his eyes content that they would both get the slumber they so badly needed. **** Torchlight lit the rough walls of the stone tunnel. They’d walked for several hours since their breakfast. Shadows danced in eerie patterns. Despite the strangeness, Azari felt safe. The restful night of sleep left her invigorated. Even Tor looked more like the man she’d first met. Astounding what a good night of sleep would do. “Bring your torch here,” Tor commanded. An acolyte rushed forward, the flames bending in on themselves. Azari edged closer, in time to see two men aid Tor in sliding a wooden bolt, the width of a grown man, into a hollow in a wall. With a solid shove, the door swung outward and into a dark room. Tor motioned for her to follow him. Azari, her curiosity aroused, joined him. The acolytes stayed behind in the tunnel. Pushing the door shut, Tor stayed silent and didn’t speak until he heard the bolt slide back into place with a solid thump. “Where are we?” she asked. “In the bowels of the temple. Specially designated acolytes are assigned to protect the entrance at the mountain refuge.” Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Protect? So this is a secret passageway?”

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Tor nodded as he led the way through the underbelly of the temple. “In prior generations attempts have been made to assassinate the High Priests.” A chill ran through Azari at the thought of someone trying to murder Tor. “Does that happen often?” “The possibility is ever present, but the Versa limit the opportunities.” “Versa?” “Versa are the priests of the orange robes; they are trained fighters.” “I’d forgotten.” “We were both exhausted yesterday.” Tor’s deep voice was patient. “I, for one, am glad that our adventures left us no permanent harm.” “You are fully recovered then? Able to perform spells?” He nodded. “When the body is fully sated, spell casting is enhanced.” The torch light wavered as they continued hiking through the enclosed passage. The shadows on the rough-hewn walls danced in macabre patterns. Even with a good night of sleep, the relentless walking, hour after hour, in the dark cavernous tunnel took its toll. Cold air cloaked her skin and Azari shivered. Her feet and legs ached. Ahead of her, in the tomblike aura of the passage they traversed, Tor silently marched with two Versa. If Tor could remain strong, so could she. The minor inconveniences of tired limbs as the High Priest led her to safety meant nothing compared to death at the talons of the dragon or claws of the cevere. She would endure. A great time later, with the torches nearly burned down to the base, Tor led them to a narrow stone stairway. Dust lay heavy on the steps and spider webs clung to the corners. They ascended the worn stairs. The cool air warmed. At the top, Tor placed his hands on a boulder that appeared to block the stairway. Intense concentration blanketed his face as his lips moved without uttering a sound. Gradually, within the face of the rock, the outline of an opening appeared. Azari watched the muscles in his arm bulge with tension as he pushed against the entry. The

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opening of the doorway was accompanied by a low grinding sound. On the other side, Azari glimpsed glorious sunlight playfully bounce off white marble walls. Warmth infused Azari as fresh air caressed her cheeks, a welcome sensation after their cold, wet travels, and the dim, underground tunnel. “Welcome to my apartments, Azari.” She stepped into the room. Large windows with deep red curtains pushed to the sides allowed the light and fresh air to come in. The room itself was small, and housed a variety of weapons. “What is this place?” “My practice chambers. Before Salmond declared me his heir, I was a Versa. I find continued practice keeps my mind sharp and my body prepared.” So, he knew how to fight. Although she’d never considered the possibility of any of the priests as soldiers, she wasn’t unduly surprised by Tor’s declaration. His body was well honed, without a spare bit of fat anywhere. “Come,” he gently commanded, extending his hand. “I will show you to your chambers. The women will provide you with appropriate clothing once you’ve bathed and rested.” Azari swallowed a lump that formed in her throat. “I had thought to stay with you.” He stilled, and turned her to him. “In the temple, the few women here are kept apart from the men. You will stay with the concubines.” Concubines! The thought of Tor with other women sickened her. Yes, he was High Priest, and yes, it was his right to sleep with whomever he chose, but somehow in the last few days, Azari had come to think of Tor as hers. She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice. “But, I…” A weight settled in her stomach. She was unable to go on. The thought of Tor making love to another sliced her heart. His touch was meant for her alone, not to be shared with whomever his fancy craved. The Goddess had shown her with Tor, smiling and laughing.

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What did this unexpected jealousy really mean? And then, like the sun emerging from a darkened sky, Azari understood. She’d followed in her older sister, Lejeune’s footsteps. She’d fallen in love with the High Priest. Life as a concubine was the most she could aspire to with Tor. Without her freedom, and the inability to be permanently bound to a mate of her choice, she’d be no more than a kept woman.

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Chapter Thirteen

When Tor said his unemotional good-bye and gave Azari over to Nerak’s auspices, she nearly wept. Confinement in the temple was not the life she envisioned. Oh, she could wander though the covered rooms and corridors between buildings at will, but she couldn’t leave the temple, couldn’t wander the glades, the fields, or the mountains at her will or on her own. She had no complaints about her treatment by the other women. They had given her a beautiful gown of a pale, tangerine. The rich material shimmered in the light. Matching slippers sheltered her feet and encircled them gently. Nerak was respectful, an unusual twist given her keeper’s advanced years. Scraggly gray hair, the color of dull metal, hung in thin strands down the old woman’s back and contrasted against the simple, black formless gown she wore. Since the time Tor left Azari in Nerak’s care, the woman had followed her and watched her every move. The lack of freedom saddened her and reminded her that her life was no longer her own. For his part, Tor had shared every evening meal with her over the past three days. Just last night he’d told her, “I can’t find anything in the writings to explain why the creatures continue to hunt you. In every reference, the beasts fought for an untried female. Each time, one of them found satisfaction with the virgin and left the woman

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dead. It is as if they garner their power from the woman in order to see them through their sleep.” Azari shivered. For a moment, fear filled her, but then she remembered the training room and Tor’s powerful physique. He would keep her safe, or give up his life doing so. The thought had saddened her. She’d do her best to see that he did not lose his life on her account “Perhaps it is us,” she had replied. “Are there any writings about a High Priest fighting off either the cevere or the dragon?” Tor shook his head. “I can think of none, but it is nonetheless valid to consider.” He rose from his seat, kissed Azari on the cheek, and then left, his deep green robes trailing behind him. She hadn’t seen him today and it neared the supper hour. Azari wandered through the courtyard and climbed the stairs to a white stone battlement. Nerak was close behind, a silent shadow. Azari leaned over the embrasure and stared into the valley. Eagles soared, currents of air lifting them as they glided over lakes, trees, and fields. With each successive round of dips and rises, the birds seemed to come closer. Another set of birds entered the skyway, overshadowing the eagles. These birds, large carrion, neared the temple walls as if searching for something. Scanning the ground below, Azari looked for what they sought. Far beneath her, a dark, leathery object blanketed the ground. A foul smell, like that of dead animals, rose from the area. Suddenly, part of it moved, fire flaring from one, long, tapered end. The narrow extremity was a neck and the thing’s mouth opened. Azari screamed. The dragon turned toward the sound, its red-eyed gaze locking onto Azari. Thin, nearly transparent red wings unfolded. With a deep whoosh, the dragon lifted from the ground. “Run!” Azari screamed at Nerak, as she raced down the stairs. “The dragon!”

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Chaos in the courtyard ensued as Versa came running in their bright orange robes, massing on the walls like a shaft of sunlight. A moment later, the light was blocked by the hulking creature. Azari turned, briefly taking in the dragon’s terrifying form. It stopped at the apex of its ascent, strong legs tipped by sharp, yellowed claws extended toward the temple. With a high-pitched scream the dragon dove straight for her. She jumped behind a column and fled underneath the covering of the open-aired colonnade. Arrows from Versa bows zinged past, trying to slow the monstrous creature. Above, the dragon roared, fire raining down on the open square. Glancing back, she saw an arrow embedded just beneath the wing. The sinuous neck arched back and forth belching fire in all directions. Men screamed in agony as flames burned them. Hot, fetid air burned her throat as she gasped for air. The reverberation of the dragon’s bellow shook the temple stones. Hewn rock crashed, blocking the entrance to the building that housed Tor’s apartments. Azari threw her hands over her ears to muffle the horrid sounds. The smell of charring flesh gagged her. She dodged to her right, in front of the fallen stones with Nerak on her heels. Nerak shrieked. Simultaneously, Azari screamed as her fear spilled from her lips. Strong hands seized her by the shoulders and hauled her behind a column. She screamed again. “Come!” Tor said grabbing her by the hand. “I must help them.” “The survivors will aid the fallen.” Azari looked over her shoulder to see the dragon toss Nerak to the ground. The woman fell limp and didn’t move. Guilt swamped her. She tried to pull free from Tor and run back to aid her companion but he held her fast. “Nerak!” Tor turned his head a mere moment to observe the courtyard. “She’s dead. And you will be too, if I don’t get you out of here.”

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Tor jerked her toward him until she stumbled forward into a run. They exited the far end of the colonnade, rushed through a doorway, and then pounded down a set of stairs. Keeping pace with Tor, Azari said a quick prayer for her fallen keeper. Although she didn’t know Nerak well, no one deserved to be tossed by the dragon to their death. She swallowed hard, fear propelling her after Tor. “Where are we going?” she shouted above the yells and battle cries behind her. “To the tunnel,” he hollered back as they rounded a corner. Running, Tor dragged her through the labyrinth of corridors that led throughout the temple. Their footsteps were unnaturally loud in the dark tunnel, each slap of leather against the stone sounding like the crack of a whip. He pulled Azari to a halt. “Damn!” “What, what is it,” she yelled. “Dead end. The passageway is blocked.” Azari glanced past him. Chunks of marble and piles of rock filled the tunnel. Dust flew through the air in brown clouds. “We have to go out the front.” Tor turned and began to retrace his steps. Her heart pounded harder at the pronouncement as the cold of the stones seeped through her slippers. Around her, the rocks of the tunnel glistened from condensation. “But that would take us into the open.” “In this chaos, we should be able to make the cover of the woods,” he responded, still clutching her hand. More rocks fell. Tor yanked Azari to the right. Screams filled the air. Versa continued to fire their bows at the under wings of the ruby-colored dragon. The screeches of the angry beast were punctuated by the cries of the dying. In the pandemonium, Azari was thankful for the strength of the man protecting her. She easily kept pace with him as they dodged through all the fallen debris. His tight grip on her hand permeated her with additional strength and encouragement. The din grew louder. Fetid air scorched her throat, filled her lungs, and choked her. Her stinging eyes watered. She stumbled, but Tor didn’t let her fall. More death

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screams, more arrows zinging, more rocks crashed to the ground as they darted between men dedicated to protecting the High Priest. The very man devoted to defending her. One of the dragon’s talons sliced through a Versa, cutting him in half. He didn’t have time to scream as his life’s blood gushed heavenward in a massive spray. Blood splattered on Azari, the crimson color dark and ugly against her pale orange gown. She froze, gaping in horror. Her stomach twisted, threatening to spew what she’d consumed for dinner. Shaking, she couldn’t tear her gaze from the sight before her. Dear Goddess! The death, the destruction–for what purpose were so many dying? Tor wrenched her from the scene. He pulled her behind the shelter of a fallen marble wall. A burst of flame from the dragon’s mouth narrowly missed them. Sweat rolled down her face, despite the chilly marble she leaned against. The animal screeched its frustration, rising into the air above Azari. She didn’t wait for Tor to direct her away from the carnage. On the pads of her feet, recently covered with the beautiful slippers, she ran. Terror supplied her with a new source of energy. Her throat ached, the acrid air scratching it. Behind her, she could hear the rapid, heavy breathing of Tor. “Left,” he gasped. “Next hall.” The light quickly faded the further she fled. Dust lifted into the air from the pounding of her feet. Suddenly, there was a gaping opening in the wall and she turned as Tor had directed her. The hall ended abruptly. No! He’d been wrong. They’d wasted time and the even more precious lives of those fighting. Turning, she smashed into Tor’s heaving chest. “There is no door,” she managed to wheeze. “Your ring.” He lifted her hand and placed the ring against the wall at the end of the passage. A hidden door ground open, revealing a lush orchard of sweet, aromatic ecamank. Row after row of the tasty pink fruit covered gently rolling hills. Past the

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orchard lay a grassy border, and then a stand of tall, stately pines stood guard over the area. The peaceful view was a striking contrast to the destruction and terror they’d run from. To her left, Azari saw the ruby colored dragon spinning and diving at the courtyard where the remaining Versa continued to fight, their arrows flying above the temple walls in massive volleys at the creature. To her right, the rows continued, leading to an open field of tall, green grass nestled in the high valley, rimmed with pine trees. She looked at the temple walls again. Smoke, an ugly dark black, billowed from several locations. “Tor, those people…” He encircled her in with one arm, his other hand holding the High Priest’s staff. “We will mourn for them later, after we’ve escaped.” His words, serious and poignant were uttered in a low, hoarse voice. With the staff, he pointed at the red dragon high in the sky, its head snaking back and forth. “He looks for you.” Tears flowed down Azari’s cheeks, the guilt for all the deaths in the temple weighing on her. Her mother, the villagers, Nerak, the Versa…so many dead because of her. “Why don’t you give me over to him? We could prevent so much loss.” “It is not your time, nor is it mine. We will join the Goddess when she wills, and not a moment before.” He spoke simply as he led her to the shelter of the trees, heavy with fruit. Speaking through clenched teeth, Azari let her fury with the situation boil forth, giving words to the thoughts she’d concealed within her heart since the flames of the dragon killed her family and burned her village. “What sort of Goddess would allow the senseless death of so many?” Tor spun her around, eyes filled with compassion. “Men have brought this tragedy upon themselves over time; they refuse to acknowledge and honor the Goddess, and do not seek her guidance at all times.” “So she punishes them with these horrific deaths?” She shook her head in anger. “How could the Goddess be so cruel?”

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“No. The Goddess longs to give them good, but mankind thinks it knows better. She would have the folly of their ways turn man to her, but they refuse to listen to her guidance and thus heap loss upon themselves.” Azari swiped the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands, then moved to the concealment of the next tree. Tor followed close behind. She rolled her head from side to side in an attempt to relax the strained muscles. Sorrow choked her throat, making the words difficult to speak. “How could she allow the faithful to endure this attack?” With more patience than she thought possible given their circumstances he answered her. “This is done freely. To serve in this capacity is something the Versa have chosen to do … willingly. Do not dishonor their sacrifices.” He ushered her to the next tree, with a wary glance at the territory they left behind. She shuddered, guilt enveloping her. “I am the cause of this current loss of life.” He grabbed her hand. “No. T’would be easy to blame you, but the deeds of humankind have wrought this.” He squeezed her fingers, and then let them go. The foliage of the trees would only conceal them a short time. Then they would be in the open. Azari shivered, fear creeping along her spine like a spider spinning a silken entrapment. From tree to tree, she raced after Tor. Exhaustion seared the muscles in her legs. Above her, the dragon continued to screech and belch its fire. Her stomach tightened painfully with the knowledge of the terrible fate awaiting those in the temple. “Can you make the last tree,” Tor panted. He was right. She couldn’t let them die in vain. She’d do all in her power to survive this horror. She tipped her head, dark tendrils falling into her eyes. “Go!” His command spurred her forward. Each puff of air expelled from Azari’s lungs razed her throat. Every inhalation forced into her lungs as she ducked beneath the

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sheltering branches threatened her with violent retching. Underneath the boughs, Azari collapsed to her knees, heaving as she tried to catch her breath. A hand at her elbow lifted her from the ground. “Come, we’ve just another minute to go before we are in the grasses.” She stumbled forward, propelled by Tor. What was wrong with her? She had more stamina than this. Her race through the forest to Tor’s cabin had covered more ground. Behind her, the dragon’s screeching was muted. Was it possible that the creature was so intent on destruction it had missed their escape? The tall grasses lashed and concealed her. But Tor? He was a head taller than she was. If the dragon cast his gaze in their direction, Tor would be easily spotted. “Get down, Tor,” she yelled. Goddess, let him hear me, she prayed as she reached the edge of the pines.

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Chapter Fourteen

Tor ducked as he wove through the grasses that did little to conceal him. The pale orange of Azari’s gown was better camouflage than the deep green robes he wore. So many Versa had died for them. His heart ached with the loss. He couldn’t allow their sacrifices to be wasted. Somehow he would find a way to pacify the dragon that attacked the temple. Ahead of him, Azari sped through the grasses. The wind pushed the grass in a soft rustle reminiscent of the swaying robes the acolytes wore when they went to their voiceless prayers at mid morning. So peaceful, while behind them there was chaos. In a moment, the sound of the grasses would be replaced by the whispers of pine boughs. Between the forest and the setting sun, darkness would keep them safe from the dragon’s view. “Azari,” he called, entering the forest. Where had she disappeared? He darted to the left, and then to the right. There was no sign of her. Belatedly, he remembered he had not told her of the shackling trees. If she had run for shelter beneath one … his heart lurched and slammed painfully against his ribs. There would be nothing he could do to interrupt the shackling process. ****

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Azari ran beyond the first row of pines, jogged past the second row, nearly collapsed after the third row, and rested once she passed the fourth. Her breath came in ragged gulps. With her hands on her thighs, she bent forward trying to force air deeply into her lungs at a normal rate. The pounding of her blood in her ears slowed. Relief poured through her. She was safe, at least for the time being. She straightened and looked for Tor, surveying her surroundings as she pushed dark strands of hair behind her ears. Tall trees, their leaves in varying shades of red, orange, and yellow mixed with the pines. A damp, musky scent drifted from the spongy ground. Small clumps of young grass punctuated the soggy soil, nature’s attempt to delay autumn. Fallen timbers hosted tiny purple and pink flowers. It should have been tranquil but the silence was eerie, not even an insect chirped, and the peace of a moment ago fled. The unnatural quiet filled her with dread. She whirled, her heart beating unnaturally fast. Where was Tor? He should have been right behind her. Had she run that far into the trees? She swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d just stay put, rest against the tree and wait for him. Closing her eyes, Azari slid down the smooth trunk and sank into the yielding humus. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. The sight of the Versa fighting and dying replayed in her memory. Never would she forget their sacrifice. Arms, from behind, lifted her from the soft ground. “Thank the Goddess you are here,” she whispered, eyes closed. Another went around her ankles, while yet another wrapped around her thighs. Azari’s eyes flew open. How could this be? The tree was holding her upright. Filled with terror, she flailed her arms and screamed, in an attempt to escape. More appendages wrapped around her, snaking beneath her gown, covering her mouth. A tendril grazed her inner thigh, stroking her where only Tor had been before. Bile rose from her stomach, burning her throat. Another branch converged on her breasts, pushing the pale tangerine material lower until her chest was exposed. The tree stripped away her clothing and wrapped each breast with rope like tendrils until only her nipples were spared.

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Between her legs, the tree branch stroked back and forth, eliciting the sensations that prepared her body for invasion. Vainly she struggled against the branches that secured her. What in the name of the Goddess was happening? Strength left her legs as the tendrils wrapped her tighter. A vine wrapped around her neck, choking her. Dizziness wormed its way throughout her body. The tree had her wrapped securely. She couldn’t scream, could barely breathe. It wouldn’t be long before she lost consciousness. Her gazing into the globe had not revealed this. She continued to fight the incursion, trying to close her thighs tightly. More branches reached their way under her gown, and pulled her legs apart. The vine squeezed her neck tighter. Adrenaline pumped through her veins along with horror. Was this how her life was to end? A wasted sacrifice that would serve no purpose, not even to stop the attacks of the dragon and cevere? In her anger, she struggled again. Her movements only caused the branches to wrap tighter around her. Totally helpless, unable to struggle further, she realized the tree was going to violate her before she died and she was helpless to prevent either. **** “Goddess, no!” The words were torn from Tor’s mouth in an agonizing moan. He streaked to the tree binding Azari and attempted to pull the branches away from her body, the bark scraping his fingers raw. He was too late. Azari was in the grasp of the shackling tree. If he attacked the tree she would die. During the exchange of secretions the tree would expel more of its fluid into Azari than necessary and poison her.

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Fury at his helplessness filled him. The Goddess had given him Azari to protect and he’d failed in his duty time and again. Guilt slammed into him like a battle mace smashing the skull of an enemy warrior. His head hurt, but not as much as his heart. Soft sounds refocused his attention on Azari. So much vegetation covered her that she looked to be a part of the tree. Green vines with small leaves molded against her body leaving little skin exposed. The pale orange of her gown could only be seen near the lower portion of the trunk. The shackling tree moved its branches, giving the appearance of a lover caressing his intended. Sickness filled his stomach, but Tor couldn’t tear his eyes away. Azari appeared totally lifeless. Her head lolled toward one of her shoulders, the only portion of her body he could truly see. As if in sleep, her eyes were closed. No doubt the stupor would prove a blessing once the tree had removed her essence and melded it with its own. If she were lucky, once the shackling was complete, she’d have no memory of the tendrils reaching into her, taking her eggs in order to procreate its own kind. He slumped on the open ground, never letting his gaze wander from Azari and the tree. Suddenly, the limbs around her shook violently. Tor grabbed his staff and leapt to his feet just as the tree hurled Azari from its clutches and into his arms. Tor broke Azari’s fall when he caught her. The force of the shackling tree’s throw combined with Azari’s lifeless weight knocked him to the ground. Placing his cheek near her mouth, he was relieved to feel her breathing. He cradled her into his arms, grabbed his High Priest’s staff, stood, and repositioned her naked form over his shoulder. It was imperative they get through the woods and to a shelter. Azari would be ill before long. The shackling did that to a survivor as their body fought to expel the tree’s poison. Large roots created a labyrinth of snares. Tor jumped over and around them, rushing as fast as he was able through the forest. Only when Azari’s body dealt with the toxins of the shackling tree would they be able to continue.

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On this side of the mountain there was only one place he could think of to provide the haven she would need for the night. It was far from the perfect location, but it was the best they would be able to find. The Screecher’s Grotto. Long ago, the hollow in the mountain, occupied by mages, had earned a frightening reputation. Moans, cries, all sorts of unbearable sounds issued from within the small fissure. Tor was sure, based on his studies, it was nothing more than a spell to frighten away those who would venture near. One of the things mages needed was secrecy to develop and practice their spells. Certainly, the cave achieved success. Villagers forced near the grotto reported fear-provoking sounds. Their tales kept others away, until that part of the forest was avoided entirely. The shackling process filled Azari with toxin which her body would remove violently, the end result a near-death-like experience. A weakened Azari would be easy prey for the creatures that sought her, especially the dragon. Within the grotto, she’d be obscured from their search, safe from at least one of the beings that sought her. “Where are you, cevere?” Tor whispered to the woods. “Where one is, the other is not far behind, so where are you?” For answer, Tor heard the silence of the forest. Perhaps even now the two were waging a battle. His heart lightened. If they were fighting one another, the remaining temple residents might live. The quiet was broken by soft moans. Initially, Tor thought they issued from Azari, but secure on his shoulder she didn’t move. With each step through the woods, the sounds grew louder, more frenetic. The Screecher’s Grotto. The screams were deafening and Tor was tempted to drop Azari to cover his ears. Doing so, though, was not an option. He needed to tend to Azari’s poisoning. He couldn’t do that and be ready for an attack by the cevere. There was only one place to go, inside the grotto.

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Slowing his breathing, Tor concentrated on discerning what sort of spell had been placed on the concealed entrance. The noise to keep the ignorant away was deafening. Loud screams echoed unnaturally in the forest near the grotto. When one wail stopped, a moaning started as if a man were being tortured. But it was the screams that sounded like children being tormented that were truly frightening. The intense, continual spell had a longevity that could only have been cast by a powerful mage, if not more than one. While he had his priestly power, it was as if he were yet a child compared to that which he sensed. The tiny hairs on his arm stood on end in the presence of such power. Still, there had to be a way to get Azari into that grotto! With a nod of his head, he began to pray to the Goddess when a strange sight appeared. The ring on his hand paled from its deep red color to that of a near blinding white. Glancing over his shoulder he saw that Azari’s ring did the same. Memory of the rings opening the cave door struck him with the force of a bolt of lightning. Of course, the rings, working in concert would help. Turning, so he no longer faced the grotto straight on, he angled his body and that of Azari, so their rings faced the entrance. “Shat thama, deth moru, dea lokan, parth!” The voices and sounds faded for a moment, before returning with greater intensity as if wavering in a wind-blown reflective pool of water. Perhaps getting nearer would help the rings’ effectiveness. He stumbled forward a half-dozen paces and steadied his stance before sparing another glance at Azari’s ring. Light seemed to dance from the facets stronger than it had been moments ago. He repeated his words, emphasizing them with increased vigor. “Shat thama, deth moru, dea lokan, parth!” The sounds seemed to part like a curtain, the noises softer on either side, missing altogether directly in front of them. Tor cast a protective buffer about them, and then stepped forward, confident of the hushed path revealed. Keeping focused on the sound trail, he was thankful for the blessed, relative quiet. The mouth of the cave was but a stone’s throw away and he reached it quickly.

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The overhang of the grotto blocked the little bit of light that managed to filter through the trees. The air was stale and the dry scent of dust rose to his nostrils, making them twitch with the need to sneeze. Swallowing hard, he wiggled his nose to prevent the expulsion, then looked into the shadows unable to discern anything of import. That didn’t mean something wasn’t there, waiting in the dark to attack. A spellcaster had gone through significant magical effort to keep sojourners away from this place. He held out his staff muttering the words of the very first spell Salmond had taught him. “B’Cet!” Light flared from the staff’s crystal. Within the grotto no being moved. Tor stepped into the cave holding his High Priest’s staff like a torch, located a cushioned chair and deposited Azari as gently as he could, into it. The fissure appeared well appointed although a layer of dust covered all he could see. Behind him, the screams resumed momentarily, before stopping altogether. He spun around. He could see outside the grotto. Stepping toward the entrance he reached out with his staff, but it stuck a solid mass. The former resident of the grotto had created a window in the opening that allowed a one-way view. He returned to Azari, stroking her forehead. Fever. The illness that resulted from the shackling had her in its grip. The night would be long. Longer if he were unable to discern how the mages that occupied the grotto in ages past obtained their water. The chair was not the only item of furniture in the cave. The previous occupants had made the most of the natural outcroppings, using them as shelves, tables, and even beds. A table, complete with seats, was near the far end of the cavern. Cups and saucers lay haphazardly on its top. In its center a multi-branched candleholder stood, fresh candles waiting to be ignited. What had happened here, that the occupants never lit them? Never put away their items of daily use? There were secrets here he could delve into once she was comfortable. Behind him, he heard a soft moan accompanied by the sound of motion. This was no magically created noise, but Azari’s body thrashing in response to the poison.

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Chapter Fifteen

With a practiced wave of his hand, Tor swept the dust from the outcropping he would use as a makeshift bed for Azari. A diaphanous cloud of dust rose into the air, then sank as the tiny motes resettled, tickling his nose and drying his throat in the process. The uneven rock ledge radiated bone-chilling cold. He gripped his High Priest’s staff and tipped it until the crystal lay against the rough edge. “Sama hathe nee.” The crystal glowed as it heated the rock. Tor afforded himself a moment to smile. At least he could provide Azari a degree of comfort. The warmth would ease her muscle tension. He removed his robe and placed it over the warming rock to give Azari something softer to rest upon. Once she was at ease, he’d look for an article of clothing for himself to ward off the chill of the cave as well as something to clothe Azari. Azari moaned when Tor lifted her from the chair into his arms. Her supple skin reminded him of their lovemaking. Oh to do so again, to relish each second they could be together, healthy, contented, and satiated. She shivered as he held her. Temporarily, the fever had abated, only to be replaced by an unnatural coolness. “Damn! Why didn’t I stay closer, Azari?” If only he’d thought to tell her about the trees. If only they’d been able to escape using another, safer route. If only he had properly protected her from the dragon and cevere.

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His mental self-flagellation only heaped on another layer of heavy guilt. Guilt he could ill afford if they were to survive the vicious creatures hunting them. Azari was his first concern now they were secure within the grotto. “I’ll help you through this,” he promised. “I’ll be here for whatever the Goddess wills.” Each cycle of fever and chills would escalate in the next day. At the height of her fever, Azari would either die or begin her recovery. Tor carried her to the provisional bed and placed her on his robe, then wrapped as much of it around her as he could. Lying on the green material, she looked small and ethereal. He would not again squander his time with her if the Goddess allowed her to survive. Meticulously, he examined the components that comprised the well-concealed fireplace. The fire ledge was of substantial width and girth with a heavy roasting spit in its depths. Tor climbed onto the dusty hearth in order to ascertain the condition of the fireplace’s ventilation. The chimney shaft rose a great height. At the top he saw a small pinprick of light. He climbed off the projection and went to the cave’s entrance to see how much daylight remained. The shadows of the trees indicated the sun had just begun its downward arc. The top of the chimney should have allowed for more light than what he had seen. Either the zenith narrowed considerably or the former occupant had managed a way to dispense the sight and scent of smoke. Perhaps another day, when Azari was well and the cevere and dragon were no longer a threat he could examine the curiosity of the fireplace more completely. It relieved him to know he could use the fireplace once he gathered wood and brought it inside. Next to the fireside, he found a cupboard crafted of dark timber, better yet similar to the one holding his supplies at his cabin. Goddess, it seemed so long ago he’d discovered Azari, injured in her escape, in his secret sanctuary. He allowed himself a slight smile as he placed the High Priest’s staff against the stone wall as he’d habitually done at his cabin. “Feels like home.”

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Her energy, passion, stubbornness, and loyalty to Tor had wormed their way into his heart and soul. The visions the Goddess provided, if he could defeat the cevere and dragon, gave him a glimpse of the happiness they would share. A joy Salmond had discovered with Lejeune. The thought was sobering and frightening. Their love, bearing fruit, cost both of them their lives. He fisted his hands at his side, trying to control his frustration. How was it possible to both serve the Goddess and love Azari? He pulled on a leather string latch and opened the cupboard. Earthenware carafes sat on wooden shelves with mugs of similar make. Near them was a shallow dish of small kindling, most probably used to light logs within the fireplace. There were secrets here he could delve into once Azari was comfortable. It would take little effort on Tor’s part to start a fire, but it mattered not. Firewood didn’t exist within the cave. Tomorrow, tomorrow he’d try to find a dead tree in the forest to keep the grotto warm. Behind the full-sized cupboard doors were three drawers, beneath the shelves. Tor opened the topmost and found wheat-colored linens, the sort used ceremonially. In the middle drawer, he discovered two dark pieces of cloth. He picked up the first and shook it out. It was a robe. “Praise you Goddess. You are generous to your servant, providing for his needs.” The second piece of material revealed yet another, smaller robe, as if made for a young protégé or—a woman? Why would a woman need a spell-caster’s robe? Why would a powerful mage have a woman in his domicile? These were men who practiced their arts alone, keeping the secrets of their created spells close to their hearts. Mages trusted no one. If this was indeed a woman’s covering, it wasn’t used in the creation of magic. Power permeated this cloth the way sand soaked up water, a forceful presence that even the most poorly trained Versa would discern. This robe exuded a magical protective energy, not one used for casting.

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An image of lovers filled his mind. The man’s hands caressed the woman with reverence and love. She returned ardent kisses and they both reached for the other’s clothing. No! Tor forcefully shook the thought off. Few of the mages he’d known had married or taken a lover. Emotions hindered a serious mage. Attachments disturbed the necessary concentration for casting spells. There was no doubt in Tor’s mind that this mage was not only dedicated, but formidable as well, a worthy ally or a foe not to be underestimated. He pulled the larger of the two robes over his head and let it fall. The covering went nearly to his ankles, a perfect fit. In his heart, he was confident the other robe would fit Azari likewise. “Goddess,” he groaned. “What are you trying to tell me?” Dressed, he returned to Azari’s side. Her lips, a deep blue, moved without sound as she turned. Tor put a hand on her arm. The lack of warmth in her skin under normal circumstances would have given rise to alarm. “This is how the shackling poison works,” he whispered. “You’ll go through many episodes of fever and chill before you expel this venom.” He returned to the cupboard and opened the bottom-most drawer. More carefully folded cloth rested in the confines of the drawer. Lifting the cloth, he was surprised by its density and length as he unfolded it. “What have we here, a blanket?” If so, it was a beautiful deep blue, embroidered with leaves in golden threads. It was thick in the style of a quilt. Beneath it lay a large book. He hurried to Azari, covered her, and returned to the cupboard to retrieve a mug and set the handmade goblet on the table. Tor went to the transparent entrance of the grotto. He had to find water. Water to cool Azari’s coming fever, water for them to drink. Placing his hand on the wall, Tor leaned his head against the portal and closed his eyes.

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Like a swift-footed deer, a vision raced through his mind. The mage had a well, concealed like the top of the fireplace had been. The cover merged with the stone floor beneath the table. “Thank you, Eiliki. You have truly provided us with sanctuary.” Snapping his fingers, Tor lit the candle on the tabletop, and then lowered it beneath to aid in his search. Crawling underneath the table to the hidden well, he closed his eyes and allowed his fingers to seek the cover. Using his other senses was more efficient than using only his eyes within this cave. With deft fingers, he sought the lid for long minutes. Finally, he felt an indentation, different from the other rough pieces of flaked stone. What he’d felt was a latch of sorts that pulled back until a handle was revealed. “Goddess, you’ve kept watch over us thus far. If it be your will, continue your divine protection over us.” With a mighty heave, Tor lifted the lid. The momentum rolled him backward on the rough, dirty floor with the well cover landing squarely on his chest. Stunned, he realized the lid wasn’t heavy, but light. “Thank you Goddess, for granting my request.” Setting the cover aside, Tor crawled back to the well. Its width was a half arm span. Cautiously, he sniffed. The liquid held no odor. Peering inside, he saw the water gently move as if being fed by a spring hidden in its depths. He scrambled from beneath the table and reached for the mug on top. Returning to the edge of the well, he dipped the cup into the water, splashing some onto his hand. It was cool, no doubt a refreshing drink, should it prove safe, a boon for Azari’s recovery. With the candle in one hand, the mug in the other, he went to the cave entrance to examine the contents of the cup more closely. It looked like water. Smelled like water. He poured a small amount onto the rock floor. The scent of wet rock rose to his nostrils, reminding him of boulders on a rainy day. There was only one final test. With a silent prayer to the Goddess for more protection, Tor sipped from the mug. The drink was as cool and refreshing as he’d hoped. He quickly drank the contents, then returned to the well and refilled the mug.

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He could use the contents to lower the heat of Azari’s body if she were still feverish. If by sunset he still felt healthy, he’d give her some to ease the fire within her body, secure in the knowledge the water wasn’t tainted. Setting the candle on the table, he blew out the flame. He would need it later when he examined the book. Approaching her, he laid his hand on her forehead. She was cooler than before. Positioning the drink near her head, Tor tucked the quilt closer about her before he returned to the third drawer to retrieve the book. Amazing! The leather looked and smelled old, but felt soft and giving, as if it were made for a woman. Excitement coursed through him as he thought of the magic that obviously protected this manuscript. The tome had a dusty, unused smell. The scent reminded him of the time he’d just spent in the depths of the temple library. He took the volume to the table where he lit a candle with a flint, careful to avoid sparking the leather covering of the book. Upon closer inspection, he saw the aged, tanned brown leather was intricately molded with what appeared to be letters that spelled no word known to him. He traced the large, raised shapes with his fingers, eyes closed as he tried to picture the purpose of the filigree work. Nothing came to mind, except an image of a mage and a woman. The same people he’d briefly seen in his earlier vision. He shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on the cover’s puzzle. Intuitively, he knew the information contained within was of import. He grasped the edge of the cover and gently lifted. The cover didn’t move. He tried yet again, using a little more force. Still the cover remained in place. The book was enchanted. “Goddess,” he prayed. “You meant for me to find this. Can you not reveal to me a means of opening?” Stroking the cover, amazement filled him. Where once he’d only felt ridges and dips, now he touched letters. Letters that created the words, “The heart sees”

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“The heart sees?” he repeated. Surely the Goddess has given me a key, he thought, but what does it mean? How can a heart see when it is held within a man’s chest? Weary, he shoved the book to the side and rested his head in his hands, his fingertips massaging his temples. Their day had been brutally hard. The numbing attack of the dragon on the Versa, the rush into the forest, the assault of the shackling tree, and racing Azari to the Screecher’s Grotto had all taken their toll, especially on Azari. Now this enigma to solve. Aches and pains from their ordeals made their presence known. Yes, it felt good to sit and not run. Tor took a deep breath and willed his body to relax. If only he could force his mind to do likewise. He needed to rest, to sleep. Closing his eyes, he sought an answer to the Goddess’s puzzle. ***** Tor awoke with a start. Azari violently thrashed on his cloak. Stumbling toward her, he saw the quilt had been kicked aside, and his cloak no longer covered her. She should have been cold, but the sweat on her brow told him otherwise. Fever again had Azari in its grasp. Heat radiated from her body. Dipping his sleeve into the mug of water, he placed the cool cloth against her forehead. Picking up her hand with his free one, he touched his lips against her palm. “Azari, you must continue to fight.” Fear twisted his stomach, his words spoken with whispered intensity. “I need your companionship as I’ve needed no other.” The realization of the truth of his statement hit him just as hard as his fear for her had. He did need her. Together they had gone through much. With Azari he’d shared an excitement and challenge he would remember long into his late years of life. Only Azari would understand the full extent of what their current struggles meant.

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The vision given by the Goddess swept before his eyes as if he were gazing into the globe again. The horror was there, but so was the joy. “Azari love, it is not your time to leave,” he whispered, his voice strong with confidence. Behind him, he heard a crackling sound. He dropped her hand and quickly turned toward the table, the sodden edge of his robe dripping water down his hand. What he saw filled him with astonishment.

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Chapter Sixteen

Tor watched in shock, as the ancient volume seemed to come to life. The book jerked around the table as if trying to open itself. “By the Goddess!” Tor exclaimed rushing to the table. His eyes wide with surprise, he placed a restraining hand on the tome and beneath his fingers the book seemed to calm. “What strangeness is this?” He ran the pads of his fingers around the tooling, touching the leather reverently. As before, the words were revealed. “The heart sees,” he muttered. “What can this mean?” Tor re-examined the past few moments, pacing the room with the book in his arms, trying to make sense of what he’d just witnessed. The tome’s cover had been nothing more than fancy scrollwork, and then turned into letters that formed the words he didn’t understand. Sometime after that he’d fallen asleep, only to awake to Azari’s violent shaking. Going to her, he had tried his best to offer her comfort … “By all that is holy, Goddess!” he yelled into the silent room. “You have indeed given me the key. The heart sees with love.” Glancing at the book he held within his hands, Tor sat at the table, reflecting on what he’d just learned. He gazed at Azari, certain that an important piece of the puzzle had been revealed to him in his words of consolation.

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Love. He’d experienced so little of it outside the spiritual realm of his life. Salmond had loved him as a mentor and a father. Tor had witnessed Salmond’s love for Lejuene, knew devotion existed between a man and a woman that transcended death. His minor declaration to Azari, calling her “love” had set the book into motion. Love, a powerful emotion that brought many men to their knees in humility and held the ability to destroy kingdoms. He gasped. Powerful emotions locked the protected message. Only an equal emotional strength would unlock the missive. Love. Tenderly grasping the twitching book, Tor sat, gazed upon the woman who’d claimed his heart, and then closed his eyes. The few pleasant memories he had of Azari flooded his heart and soul with warmth. The vibrations beneath his fingers stopped and he slowly opened his eyes, reluctant to loosen the scenes his mind grasped. Setting the tome on the tabletop, he watched the leather cover-latch ease open, and then the fragile pages turned as if fanned by a pantanad palm. Excitement, hot and consuming, coursed through his blood like a fast-spreading grass fire. Tor’s hand shot forth to touch a page. The book recoiled, began to reverse the turning process. Tor snatched his hand away. Goddess, he hadn’t meant to be a threat. He held his breath, uttered a silent prayer asking to be forgiven for his rashness. A still expectation cloaked the room. His heart beat faster and he held his breath in awe and anticipation, mingled with the fear he’d irrevocably ruined the spell binding the book. Slowly, the pages began to turn once again, moving forward like an unhurried army conquering territory, confident in its success. Stopping, the pages laid flat in the middle of the volume. Dark blotches danced on the fragile velum leaves, melting together like winter snow becoming a springtime stream. The pages next turned black. See with your heart, he reminded himself. He glanced at Azari, and then back to the book. 128

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The ink began to separate, pulling, twisting, until the splotch was two once more. What does this mean? As if in answer, the ink changed shape yet again, until two figures, a maid and a man were revealed, the man on the left-hand page and the maid on the right. Before his eyes, the drawing of the maid changed, and she fell to the ground. The book’s drawings continued to move, as if the very ink were a troupe in a performance. Tor watched in fascination. Rolled into a fetal bundle, he saw the collapsed woman. Long hair streamed down her back, knotted and straggly. She lay on the ledge, shivering. He watched, waited but the only movement he discerned was a tiny trembling of the woman’s plain gown. Exhaling heavily, he paced to the rear of the cave and back again, three times. With a subtle wave of his hand he stepped barefooted onto the stone ledge, knelt, and felt beneath her ear for the beat of her heart. It fluttered, irregularly like a butterfly flitting between heavily scented blossoms. Shaking his head, he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the protected confines of the cave. The woman burrowed against him, exchanging her chill for his warmth. **** Unaided by Tor, the book turned to a blank page, and then turned yet again. What did the blank page mean? Details left out? A passing of time? More dark blotches appeared, began shifting. He was impressed. He’d never seen or heard of a book being enchanted in such a way. Healthy, she was not much more than a waif. Her plain clothing, slight size, and quiet manner concealed the intelligence behind her bright eyes. Studious, she’d learned over the past several moons what he taught her with ease. He’d not taught her everything though. Some lessons were far too powerful for a young spell-caster.

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Too dangerous. Outside, in the villages, the uneducated feared magic users. Had been responsible for the death of many mages and priests. He wouldn’t have her death on his hands. He couldn’t bear it. Not when she held his heart in her own. She was so innocent in the traitorous ways of the world. He loved that about her. Her soul hadn’t been poisoned by the evil of men. She hadn’t experienced the depths to which some men sank in their attempts to gain wealth. The very naïveté that attracted him could easily be manipulated against her, should she have ever return to her village. He seized her hands in his large, gnarled ones and promised to protect her for as long as she wanted to stay with him. His heart desired forever. From a hidden pocket in his robe, he brought forth a wand and spoke as he waved the instrument over her and her robes. Returning the wand within his black robe, he pulled forth a smaller object. He slid the ring onto the woman’s finger, placed a larger matching ring on his. Tears streamed from her eyes. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. Her long flowing hair cascaded over his muscular arms when he wrapped them around her shoulders. He returned her kisses with equal passion. Her hands delved into his robe, stroking his skin. When she lifted it up and over his head her tongue danced over his nipples sending shards of pleasure to his groin. In the span of a heartbeat, her robe was off, pale bosom heaving. His hands stroked her back and ribs before they skimmed higher to enclose her breasts. **** Tor yanked his sight away from the intimate portrait he viewed within the book. His face heated in embarrassment. “I should not view these private moments.”

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He stood, stretched, and gazed upon Azari. She was still pale, but he was buoyed that some color had returned to her features. His heart ached for her sufferings, so many caused by him. In a few steps, he was by her side, bending over her, holding her hand. Fever claimed her yet, but the heat was less than before. Joy infused him and he smiled. Her body had overcome the poison. Within a day, maybe two, they would be able to travel again. All required now was patience on Tor’s part. Dipping his fingers into the mug, he let water drip onto her parched lips. He dribbled more water into her mouth and then stroked her throat until she swallowed. Longing to kiss her back to consciousness filled him. Despite his attempts to refuse the gift of the Goddess, Tor realized that Azari and his destiny intertwined in a complex knot of experience. With slow, soft strokes, he rubbed the back of her hand. “Sweet, Azari, I’ve much to make up for. I vow to keep you closer to me. I will not allow you to suffer any more because of me.” He gave in to his desire and placed a light kiss on her lips. Returning to his full height, he brushed his hair back over his forehead, trying to make sense of the revelations. Superficially, the tome told of a woman coming to the mage, their relationship deepening into that of lovers. The Goddess wanted him to know this. But why? Although the creation of the rings hadn’t been revealed, the scene confirmed their pairing. Behind him, the book rustled. He returned to the table, the determination in his heart shoving aside the guilt of his failures. “I will to see what other history you hold, book.” Another page turned over. ****

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He kept watch on her through the portal while he studied. Happiness crept into his features and he smiled. The waif would gift him with a child within the next two moons. Even though she complained about not seeing her feet, her face radiated joy. Bending his head over the mortar and pestle, he returned to his investigations. The study of the Man-trap vine revealed interesting properties. Squinting, he rubbed his eyes. Evening prevented the last of the afternoon light from illuminating his desk. Unable to work longer by the dim light, he glanced toward the cave opening. His love was gone. He lurched from his stool, knocking it to the floor, and ran to the ledge. Leaping from the stone, he raced to where he’d last seen her. The grasses at the edge of the small clearing were trampled. A larger, heavier entity caused the bent and broken blades. Fear for her filled his being. He searched the woods in every direction, frantic, his efforts hampered by the waning light. He had to find her before she began early labor and risked her life and the life of the child they’d created together. With a clap of his hands, he cast a spell. The fingers of his hands shrunk. His legs shortened into muscular limbs. His nose extended. The transformation complete, he lifted his head to the twilight and sniffed. Her scent was in the air, a faint trace of the siasma caressing his nostrils. Once again, he leapt, this time with the powerful legs of a cevere. The animal’s sensitive snout would lead him to her. The ground fell away beneath his paws. He raced against the terror rising in his spirit. Dread ate away at his heart like maggots destroying the bodies of the dead. He pulled up short when he caught the odor of a horse. To catch such a fleet animal would be difficult. If he changed forms though, he risked losing her trail. The potential of a costly mistake no matter his decision clenched his stomach in anxiety. Time. An enemy? Or friend? Perhaps her abductor stopped to rest. The aromas remained strong; they passed this way not long ago. Decision made, he sprinted after the horse, its rider, and the only person in the world that mattered to him.

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The moon rose and cast eerie shadows. Again, his keen nose inhaled siasma, horse, rider, and now something new. Wood burning. Chanting reached his ears. From the din he picked out voice, pleading. “Please, don’t take the life of my child!” He burst into the clearing surrounded by several thatched homes. She stood staked to a large pole on a pile of timber crackling with flame. Smoke rose and snaked into the air on a breeze. Tears streaked down her face as she twisted away from the fire licking at the hem of her robe. At a distance, circling the burning wood, villagers chanted, “Burn witch, burn.” A tall, thin man with a sharp, angular nose pronounced the judgment. “You have consorted with the mage. You created a spawn of evil. There will be no mercy for such a whore!” He raced into the clearing as her scream tore through the air. Another voice shrieked, “Run for your lives!” Pandemonium ensued. People ran, screeched, and hurled anything they could toward him. From out of nowhere a sword struck at him. He leapt to the left onto a fallen woman. Her scream of fear brought a fresh attack by villagers impeding his progress. A large branch struck him in the shoulder as he leapt toward the flames. Her neck curved toward the flames, her eyes no longer open. Fury filled him. Fire singed his fur. These ignorant people had taken from him all he treasured. Again he leapt, the scent of the rider still vivid in his memory. An arrow pierced his flank. He spun in pain to meet his slayer. His eyes widened with disbelief. His attacker, the man who condemned his love to the fire, was a man he’d aided long ago. A man he’d instructed, invited into his home, and called friend. With blood flowing from his side, he could no longer fully hold the form of the cevere. “Why?” he gasped. “You stole her from me,” the man hissed.

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“She came to me freely.” “She was mine!” “No.” His voice, weak from his exertions, cracked. “She chose to stay with me. She took the ring.” He mumbled an incantation. Though he’d lose his life tonight, he would for all time protect the holder of the ring until their two kindred souls joined. His spirit would remain always in the body of a cevere until his enemy was defeated and the rings reunited. “This one?” The man held up her red ring. Only one thing was left to do. Punish the man who’d stolen his life. “Thief! The treasure you have in your hand belonged to us.” He lifted a hand and pointed. “If treasure is what you desire, then you shall have your fill of it.” He waved his hand in front of the man. “You shall guard treasure all your days.” Dirt lifted from the ground, mixed with the smoke, and spun in a vortex around her executioner. He dropped her ring as he was lifted into the filthy air. A cry of rage bellowed from his lips and he pulled from his pocket a wand, uttering his own curse. “You will no longer be looked at as a man, but as the evil beast you really are!” A brilliant flash of light popped from the murderer’s wand and struck him full force in the chest. But, her assassin’s attempt at revenge came too late. It didn’t stop the spell he’d already cast. Where once there had been arms, her killer now had wings. His face contorted until it was no longer recognizable. A long, reptilian muzzle replaced his nose and mouth. When his legs stretched and his feet elongated the man’s clothes in shreds fell from his body and into the flames “Begone! Guard the treasure you covet.” With a roar the bloody-red dragon fled into the night sky.

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Chapter Seventeen

Shaking consumed Tor’s body with violent waves. Moaning, he rubbed the side of his face. “Goddess, how could I have been so wrong?” Never had the thought occurred that the visions he and Azari had viewed were glimpses into the past. The guilt washing over him lifted when he realized the importance of this new revelation. Azari’s survival, as well as her hopes for the future seemed more likely. Once well, he and Azari would go to the Oracle and find a way to defeat the dragon. Optimism filled him for the first time in hours, no, days. The same fled in a heartbeat. Love destroyed the mage of the book. Love destroyed Salmond. Were the pattern to repeat, love would require the same sacrifice of him. Gazing upon Azari in the makeshift bed, his mind in accord with his heart, Tor knew his decision. He would die for her, if need be. Everywhere he turned, the Goddess confirmed his path. Rising, he went to Azari, confident they belonged together, for whatever amount of time they were granted. This wasn’t the only reality though. “The histories are inaccurate, incomplete.” The ramifications cascaded through his mind. How many other tenets, based on incomplete writings, were wrong?

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Sorrow demanded his attention, imprisoned his soul. “Oh, Goddess, how many suffered for so long because of our ignorance?” Another thought took root. “The cevere protects the rings and once in possession of them should no longer be a threat.” He rubbed his chin considering the next logical conclusion. “Without two enemies to fight off, we have a chance of defeating the dragon.” Across from him, Azari stirred. He left the book on the table, hope and wonder unlocking the cell of his soul and eliminating his regret like the first fresh sweep of spring. This was a new dawn. He and Azari had been chosen by the Goddess to enlighten the Versa with the joyous news. “There will be no more sacrificial offerings to the dragon.” **** Azari lifted her head and peered at her surroundings, a cave. One with furniture? “Tor?” Goddess, let him be here. Her prayer was answered as if born on the wings of a great bird. “I’m here, Azari.” In his hands he held a mug. Was relief what she heard in his voice? “Where is here?” “I brought you to the Screecher’s Grotto.” He wrapped an arm around her should and helped her sit, then held the mug to her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember how they’d come to this cave. She swallowed hard, memories of Nerak dying by the fatal talons of the great dragon springing to life in her mind. “The attack?” Lowering the mug, he held her tighter. “We escaped.” The tone of his voice, more serious than usual alarmed her. “What is it? What are you not telling me?”

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“You were poisoned.” Her eyes widened. “Poisoned?” Tor picked up her hand, caressing it tenderly before placing a kiss in her palm and letting it go. “You’ve been long in expelling the toxin. Wisdom dictates you rest, regain more strength.” He held the mug to her lips once more. “You should drink.” Normally, she would have taken umbrage at his directive. But again, she heard the unfamiliar tone, an unusual gentleness, in his words. She looked into his face as she swallowed the cool liquid. “You haven’t slept.” “Not as much as I should have.” “Why?” A groan escaped his lips. “You have been my primary concern for several days. The venom attacked your body causing fever and chills. It has only been in the last day that you truly slept, the poison finally gone.” Sitting up straight, she stretched her arms above her head. When she lowered her arms, Tor’s hands began a gentle kneading of her shoulders. Though she appreciated the ministrations he bestowed on her stiff muscles, she felt rested and well. “How long have I been… asleep?” “Drink some more water.” Tor continued to massage the tense muscles of her neck, shoulders and upper back, his touch like that of a familiar lover. “You sat with me, kept watch over me?” Heat rose and lodged in her face. “Tended all my needs?” He acquiesced, a slight motion of his head toward her. “For many uncounted hours, my love.” My love. The words sank deep into her heart. Dear Goddess, could this man possibly love her, a reckless, headstrong woman? For a moment his revelation thrilled her. Then the implications terrified her. “You must not confess this. These words kill men like you.” “You mean High Priests?”

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Nodding, she continued. “If keeping these words to yourself would spare your life, I’d gladly not hear them. Actions speak when there are no words to be uttered.” Holding the coverlet, she flipped it backward. “You are exhausted. Come, lie with me.” His shoulders slumped, and for a moment she saw the weariness of his office weighing him down. “I learned much while you lay ill.” He climbed onto the ledge next to her. “Many things I told you were untrue.” A lie from my High Priest? She held out her arms to him. Tor would not have knowingly spoken an untruth. “Your statements were made without intent to mislead me.” “The histories, they did not tell all we needed to know.” She frowned. Tor’s defeated attitude only meant his discovery afforded them less time together and little chance for her survival. Melancholy infused her. In her heart, she knew he would, without her, emerge alive and wiser for their battles. Azari reached out her hand to sooth the wrinkles of his forehead. Though her death might be imminent by the violence of the cevere or dragon, she’d not leave Tor without whatever measure of comfort she could give him. “How were you to know?” She kissed his cheek. “Take the discovery and share the history as it should be.” His strong hand captured hers, and then brought her palm to his lips. “Generosity befits you better than the magical blanket I covered you with.” A sigh escaped her. “No, it is you that gives unconditionally. I only wish I would be by your side to help you.” His arms wrapped around her, crushing her to his chest. “You may be.” Lost in the safety his arms afforded, she nearly missed his words. “What?” “I was wrong. The cevere does not seek you for your sexual energies.” He lifted her hand and kissed it again. “The cevere seeks the rings, not you.” Hope and wonder splashed over her like the refreshing waters of her pool. “How do you know this?”

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“The mage left behind a book. The Goddess revealed the contents to me while you slept.” “Then I am saved?” He frowned. “No. There is still the dragon to contend with. The creature is nothing more than a wicked man cursed by the mage for stealing his mate. The two have waged a war over the ring you wear. With the uniting of the rings, I believe the cevere will be appeased.” Around her, the gray of the cave appeared lighter, much like her heart. Tor’s revelations gave her a slim chance of life with him. Elation swept the melancholy from her. Energy sang through her veins. She pulled back, loosening his arms from about her, and palmed his chest, seeking his nipple through his robe with her fingers. The tiny nub hardened when she grazed it. “Azari, what are you doing?” Seduction entwined with her words. “I think you know.” He growled low in his throat, the rumbles vibrating through his chest. “You’re not strong enough. Your body needs more time to recover.” With a burst of strength, she pushed away from him and whisked the covering her from her body. “Only you buried within me will give me the strength I need to go forward.” Slipping her hand down the outside of his black robe, she caressed his manhood. “I would show you love as many ways as I can in our remaining time together.” The muscle hardened under her ministrations. “No, Azari. I cannot let you do this.” Determined, she continued to stroke him. “Yes. We both need to unite our bodies as one.” He buried his face against the hollow of her shoulder. “You, you….” A shudder rippled through him and he was unable to finish his admonition.

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She wriggled her hand lower until she reached the end of his robe. “Help me with this.” To her astonishment, he covered her hand with his and lifted the material with her, guiding the robe over his head until his glorious body was exposed. A sprinkling of blond hair covered his chest, starting just below his broad shoulders and ending above his groin. She sought to memorize the contours of his torso, stroking the muscles that flexed beneath her fingers. “So strong,” she murmured, allowing her hand to touch his uncovered length again. She laved each of his nipples with her tongue before blowing on them. His manhood swelled in her hand. Wanton desire coursed through her, making her bold. With a tiny push of her hand, she encouraged Tor to lie on his back. Only a moment later, she sat astride his hips, his erection pushing against her intimately. Yes, she needed this, uniting with him not only for mutual pleasure, but to merge their strengths. Against her breasts, she felt his hands fondle her. Her nipples hardened and she moaned. “Yes, Tor. Touch me.” He did. With his tongue, he caressed the tips of her breasts, sending further yearning throughout her body. Releasing her nipples, he blew his warm breath against them. She lifted up on her knees and reached for his manhood, before sinking her femininity around him. Another moan of need tore from her very soul. Time stopped. She held her breath. “I’m hurting you.” “Never, dear Tor.” She wiggled and grasped him tighter within her. With slow, deliberate movements, she lifted and then squeezed, sinking her body around him. His hands skimmed the side of her ribs and traveled over the swell of her hips before grasping her cheeks. One of his fingers traced a line from the small of her back to her small tight opening. His other hand played with the curled hair of her juncture, a finger separating the slick folds above her portal and teasing the aroused button. “I would pleasure you completely.”

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She leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips. With gentle strokes, she licked at his lips until they parted. Feints, parries, thrusts, their tongues acted like warriors dueling for supremacy. Breaking away, she proclaimed, “I love you, Tor.” A light seemed to gleam in his eyes, and she saw him smile beneath her. “I feared you did not return my affections,” he mumbled against her neck. “Let my actions hither more, speak for me.” She pressed her lips to the pulse point of his throat, then lifted off him in order to trail more kisses down his chest, until she reached his shaft. Her mouth went around him, his essence coalescing in the wet heat of her mouth. In every way possible, she would show him her love. He gasped. “Azari!” With a secret smile, she continued, her tongue dancing over the head of his rod, licking the length, then returning to taste more of him. Hunger to take him fully into her mouth overcame her but her position was wrong. She shifted and turned so that her back faced him. “Stretch out, Azari. I would taste of you as well.” She wriggled toward him, not releasing her mouth’s hold on him. The heat of his hands warmed her cheeks before they spread her wider. Her heart beat wildly in anticipation. Tor’s tongue laved the nub of nerve endings he’d played with earlier, her desire bathing his mouth. “Mmm,” he moaned against her, “you taste of love…for me.” If love could have flavor, she was fortunate it was her. She redoubled her efforts to please him with her mouth, rewarded when a pair of fingers entered her, moving in and out of her flooded channel with rapidity. Trembling began deep within her, the sensations quickening her breath, making her heart pound in a strange staccato. The feeling bubbled over until she gasped against his erection. “Tor,” she moaned.

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Then the vibrations seized her, squeezing around his fingers, until all her senses, her total being could only concentrate on what he did to her in a haze of erotic bliss. She cried out when the waves of pleasure drowned out the last of her thoughts. Too soon the ecstasy faded. This moment would be cherished in her heart’s core every moment she drew breath. “Let me give you the same,” she murmured against his shaft, caressing its head with her tongue. He groaned his approval. Tor’s mouth caressed her intimately again, his hot tongue devouring her dew. This time she vowed she would finish what she began. Her lips tightened around him, and she ran her hand over and around his length, fondling his sac. He hardened more beneath her palm. “Azari!” His cry barely reached her ears. His wonderful, wicked tongue sent her past sanity as he shot his hot seed into her mouth.

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Chapter Eighteen

Tor held Azari in the confines of his arms; his vow to keep her alive renewed in his heart. Hands tucked beneath her cheek, she truly rested, finally recovered from the torments of expelling the shackling poison. He stroked her brown tresses before peppering them with soft kisses. “Wake up, dear Azari. The sun lifts its face to us.” Sleepy, arousing sounds came from her throat. Oh to languish here, their bodies entwined, heated from intense lovemaking. The temptation called to him to bury himself within her once more. “Do we have to?” Her plaintive voice cried out to his heart and he kissed her cheek. “I want many such mornings with you.” Lifting her chin, he looked directly into her green eyes. “There is only one thing we can do to achieve such a goal.” She closed her eyes and whispered, “The dragon.” “Neither of us will know peace unless he is destroyed.” “How can we accomplish such a feat?” There was worry in her voice. He understood her fear. All they had done so far was run. He stroked her soft cheek with his thumb. “We need to find the Oracle. The histories at the temple lacked the instruction we need. It is my hope the Oracle will be able to impart such knowledge.”

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Azari’s countenance turned grim. “I’m afraid. The vision.” A shiver ran through her body. Tor tugged her closer. “The vision was accurate…” “I’d hoped it was wrong,” she groaned. “You saw history. The woman wasn’t you.” Her eyes widened. “Not me? Who then?” Sadness colored his words. “The mage’s woman.” **** Azari nestled in his arms, absorbing what she’d been told. They had a chance. She had a chance to live. The sweetest wine of the temple didn’t compare to the possibility of life with Tor. “The Oracle will help us how?” “I, nor any of the Versa, fought the dragon before its attack on the temple. The Oracle may provide information on a weakness in the beast, perhaps a vulnerable spot to attack, in order to succeed.” The confrontation had cost the lives of many men dedicated to protecting Tor. “What if the Oracle doesn’t have the information you seek?” “At the very least, we will have led the dragon further from the temple and saved the remaining Versa for service to the Goddess. They will survive…” He closed his eyes a moment and Azari reached up and caressed his cheek. He left out the words ‘even if we don’t.’ She loved Tor for trying to remain uplifting and encouraging in the face of their insurmountable odds. “We should leave soon.” When he opened his eyes, Azari could see they were filled with love. “You truly are a wonderful gift from the Goddess. Why she selected me to be with you, when I’ve failed you so often is a mystery.” His lips brushed against hers, like a soft whisper, sending her into breathless heat. “Tor, you must let these disappointments go. You have done the best you could.” She paused as she remembered how petulant and stubborn she’d been at times. She laid

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a hand on his arm. “I have not always listened to your counsel, making your work more difficult.” She bowed her head. Her hair formed a secluding curtain that prevented Tor from reading her features. If there were ever an instance to pray for wisdom and guidance this was such a time. Goddess, thank you for the honor of being with Tor. Help me to give him strength and encouragement, no matter the cost. Help me counsel him, but help me to listen to his advice as well. He is a man not afraid to take action, to lead by example. Continue to guide him with wisdom and courage so that in the end we might better serve you. Azari continued. “We are here, alive, together.” Looking into his eyes, she returned his kiss. “Let us hasten to the Oracle, and bring an end to the horror the dragon creates.” She wriggled loose from his arms and scooted to the end of the ledge used as her bed. “Only his destruction will truly free me.” Reaching back, Azari grabbed the dark robe and slid it over her head. “Daylight burns. We could travel a long way toward the Oracle.” Tor sat up and donned his robe. He fixed his gaze on Azari and spoke, his voice heavy and serious. “True words. Let us begone and end the nightmare that has plagued our lives.” **** Azari watched Tor recast the spells used to keep the unwelcome from the mage’s cave. She covered her ears to keep out the high-pitched wails of the Screecher’s Grotto. Within the cave, she’d found a soft pair of leather boots and was amazed by how well they fit. She tucked a long, sharp blade Tor had discovered into a sheath inside the boots. Eager to escape the sounds, she started toward the woods where a narrow deer trail ran. Tor followed, and they traveled without speaking until the moans and screams of the cave were left behind.

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“How far must we journey?” He paused at the edge of a grassy glen, looking regal in his black robe and holding the staff of the High Priest’s office. “Across this field and through another wood. It will be two full days of walking.” Azari smiled. Tor was a striking man. His position no longer frightened her. His care and concern for her well-being left her feeling comfortable in his presence. Their lovemaking created a well of warmth within her heart. Their relationship was unique, like a rare stone, beautiful, solid and one-of-a-kind. “I would race you through the meadow and take a half day from your prediction.” He laughed at her challenge. “You think so?” “I know so.” Her grin broadened. “I shall even give you a head start since you are encumbered by that awkward staff.” With a quirk of his eyebrow, he stared at her, and then smiled. “I do not need a slip of a maid to take pity on me.” He paused. “Go!” Azari darted off as if released from a strong bow. The grasses waved around her, their golden strands dry and sharp as they brushed against her legs. In front of Tor, she could hear his breath as he closed the gap of her lead. Running for pleasure was something she hadn’t done since her fright at the pool. Air filled her lungs, and then she exhaled in easy puffs. The meadow was as wide as it was long. They wouldn’t cross through the grasses today, although if Tor wanted to stop for the night she would urge him to press on, as the plants were not tall enough to hide them well. The forest at the far end, a dark, jagged slash across the horizon, would offer far better shelter. Shortening her stride, Azari paced herself. Already she could feel her body tiring, the muscles in her thighs burning. Her time abed weakened her. She needed to conserve her energy stores. Tor edged closer. He was two, perhaps three, strides behind her judging by the near sound of his breath. She shouted between breaths, “You run well for a big man.”

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“Versa must be able to withstand long fights. Running is helpful in building such endurance.” Her breathing lacked its usual depth, her speech broken and stilted. “I forget … your title … includes that of … warrior.” In her peripheral vision, she saw Tor at her side. “I was foolish … to think I was … faster.” He turned his head toward her and smiled. “Not foolish. You challenge me to reach new heights.” A shadow crossed the sun’s path, blocking the light. Azari slowed to a stop, trying to catch her breath, her hands resting above her bent knees. “The clouds will cool us. I just pray…” “Run!” Tor grabbed her by the elbow and began racing through the grasses, half dragging her as if her life depended on his speed. A deafening roar sliced through the air as they ran. Azari spared a glance over her shoulder. A cloud had not darkened the sky. Another bellow rang through the field. Their nemesis, the dragon had spotted them, the breadth of his wings blotting out the light. “Dear Goddess,” Azari muttered, fear propelling her to even greater speed as she raced forward. In a large arc, the dragon dove at them, flame shooting from his maw. Tor dragged Azari to the left, thwarting the monster’s attempt to roast them alive with his flames. The dragon skimmed the grasses, spewing fire, and igniting the dry meadow with his breath. Small blazes jumped from one plant to the next, until there were multiple fires spreading in several directions. “Keep low,” Tor whispered pulling her beneath the apex of the grass. He stooped, stopped to grasp the staff, and closed his eyes as if in deep contemplation. Azari knew better than to interrupt him. He was gathering about him the powers he needed to cast a retaliatory spell at the creature that even now had turned and was headed directly toward them. Her palms grew clammy as worry claimed her. Could Tor’s spells truly stop this beast?

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They didn’t have much time. If Tor didn’t cast the spell within the next few moments, all they hoped for would be gone. She reached into her boot and pulled the knife from its sheath. A bright light burst from the staff, striking the dragon on its snout. He bellowed in rage and pain, sending licks of flame in several directions. Tor yanked Azari from the mesmerizing sight. They ran directly under the dragon’s belly, and once his barbed tail swung back toward the right they dodged to the left. In a tone not to be trifled with, Tor ordered, “You must run once I’ve engaged him in battle.” “I won’t leave your side.” She swallowed hard. If Tor were to die…. She shook her head, refusing to give in to the fear for him that filled her soul. “What if you are injured?” “My life will be forfeit should I lose you now.” His eyes begged her with words he didn’t express. “Please, go when I command.” Speech failed her. She could only nod her head. His deep voice was laced with concern. “Go to the woods. Do not stray from the path.” The loud beating of blood-red wings drew her attention back to the dragon that chased her. His hate-filled ruby eyes were focused on her, the object of his quest if the tales were to be believed. He threw back his neck and roared. The reverberation shook the remaining leaves on the trees. Then he returned his venomous gaze to Azari. This was death, come to retrieve her. She swallowed back her terror, not willing to give up just because there seemed no possible way to defeat the dragon. She had to fight for the possibility of a future with the man she loved. The eerie swoosh of the dragon’s wings grew in volume and the air turned fetid with the odor of the dragon’s breath. The end would not be pleasant, but she would meet it with courage. Death would come with a fight to the last of her strength as she defended her chance for a life loving Tor. She gripped the knife tighter.

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A loud crack sounded from Tor’s staff. The smell of acrid, burning flesh accompanied another piercing wail from the dragon. His neck twisted back to where Tor’s magic had struck in an unprotected area of its flank. “Now!” Tor’s shout spurred her into action. Her pulse leapt into a fast rhythm. Her tired legs revived and carried her away from her beloved. The cowardly action ate away at her heart as surely as the dragon’s flames consumed the grass around them. Smoke stung her eyes, now filled with tears. The dragon circled around their small portion of the meadow. Smoke from the burning grass thickened the sky and robbed the air of its fresh, pure scent. A new sound entered the battle. A low rumble she’d know anywhere. It vibrated through her feet, into her legs, and scaled her torso to lodge in her chest. Headed directly toward her, tearing through the field with feline grace and speed, was the cevere.

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Chapter Nineteen

Azari screamed. Trapped between the powerful cevere and the deadly dragon, she had nowhere to run. The large, black cat streaked toward her, its razor sharp claws extended. Her heart pumped faster than she believed possible, as if it could jump out of her chest and run from the danger headed directly toward her. Knife in hand, she prepared for a vicious onslaught. The menacing growl of the cevere filled her with terror. She forced breath into her lungs, tossed her head back to get the hair out of her eyes, and lifted a prayer to the Goddess. The cevere shot past her. Azari whirled. Adrenaline sped through her veins. Goddess, no! The cevere was headed straight at Tor! Giving chase to the feline, Azari had never been so swift of foot. In front of her she viewed a hideous nightmare. The dragon had completed his turn and skimmed the waving grasses. Tor, caught between the two, swung his staff and pointed it at the more lethal dragon. A bright shard of light sliced through the air and hit the dragon on his breastbone. The strike stopped the dragon’s forward motion and the beast jerked back in pain, exposing more of his ruby chest for a target. The moment was long enough for Tor to prepare a volley for the cevere.

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Not long enough. The black streak raced past Tor and leapt at the dragon. The cevere soared into the air, above the golden grasses just as the winged beast stretched his neck to the side to take aim at Tor. Her mouth gaped at the sight. A terrible, tearing sound reached her ears. Unable to avert her gaze, she watched the two monsters. The cevere, long claws extended, ripped into the left wing of the dragon, shredding the delicate membrane in several places as if the wing were covered with a fragile fabric. A howl of pain jerked the dragon’s fiery breath heavenward. He missed Tor, his target. The cevere landed with grace on the grass and crouched, his muscular legs gathering beneath him, and then extending in a smooth, fluid motion as he ran toward them. “I’m here,” she shrieked above the din, hoping Tor would hear her. Tor spared her a glance before he sent another bolt flying at the dragon. “Get behind me!” She barely heard him through the roar of the dragon and the feral scream of the cevere. The sounds resounded through her body, tempting her to drop the knife and cover her ears from the sheer volume of the noise. She wouldn’t relinquish her hold on the weapon, not while Tor’s life was at risk. Just above them, the dragon beat his wings, blood dripping from the injury dealt by the huge cat. The rips in his wing hampered the turn he attempted. Unable to get higher, he glided just above the undulating grasses. Past the dragon, Azari spotted the cevere, as the cat ran and leapt onto the dragon once more, tearing into the remaining healthy wing. Screeches, cries, growls, wild sounds assaulted her ears. Blood fell like rain. Acidic hisses rose from the earth where the drops struck. Sulfur fumes mixed with the cloying smell of burning grass as the two scents combined with the odor of singed fur.

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Smoke burned her eyes. The unnatural air thickened, cloaking the dragon from her view. At her side, Tor continued to fire bolts of lightning. Streams of sweat dripped from his brow, soaking his hair. His determined stance and countenance gave her hope. Overhead, the dragon continued to bawl, fighting to maintain his altitude and failing. The creature swished its neck back and forth, sending random paths of fire in multiple directions. Grass burned, the smoke darkening the sky. Again, the cevere, with its muscular legs, leapt upon their foe. A feral growl accompanied the sound of tearing as the big cat’s claws cut once more through the appendage. Their enemy’s left wing was totally useless. The dragon tried to regain elevation. With frantic, jerking motions he beat his wings. Each flap tore the shredded membrane further. Each motion accompanied by the wrenching sound of immense pain. Azari’s stomach clenched at the sickening sight. For a brief moment, silence reigned. Flight ceased. As if realizing the end was near, the dragon bellowed, then breathed fire in every direction he managed to turn. Every flare of fire, with no apparent target, landed in the tall grasses, igniting them with brilliant orange and blue flames. The dragon crashed to the earth, his mass shaking the ground, the sound thunderous. In the distance, Azari saw the cevere, running full force, straight at the dragon. The cevere leapt upon the creature. Just behind the dragon’s jaw, he sank his teeth into its scale-covered neck. Blood spurted, a crimson fountain of odiferous liquid. The dragon swung its neck back and forth exhaling flames as it tried to shake loose the cevere; tried to burn the cat from its death grip on his neck. An arc of fire shot toward Tor, setting fire to the sleeve of his robe. He shook his arm, trying to hang onto his staff and put out the flames at the same time. The fire licked higher up the billowing material. “Tor!” Azari shoved against him.

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His solid stance, under normal circumstances would have been difficult to move. With the fire, his concentration wavered. Azari’s impetus caught him off balance and sent him to the ground. She jumped on top of him and forced him to roll onto the burning sleeve. Black sky turned into a horizon of dark treetops, then into golden grasses, followed by the hard brown dirt, returning to grass and sky. As they spun she dropped her knife, and saw him lose hold of his staff. Broken, dried grasses scratched her arms and face as they rolled to a halt, Tor atop her. “It’s out, Azari.” He grabbed her beneath the shoulders and helped her sit. “I have to make sure he’s destroyed.” Tor sprang to his feet and ran to grab the staff. “Stay here.” “I can’t do that. What if… what if… you catch on fire again?” She struggled to find a reason to reenter the fray. Leaving Tor alone to face the results of the battle between the cevere and dragon was not a choice. Her words didn’t matter. Tor was already racing back to where their adversaries continued their life or death struggle. Azari pushed off the ground and retrieved her knife. Whether he knew it or not, Tor needed her. She returned to the scene of the epic struggle in time to see the dragon rise onto its hind legs, the cevere dangling from its neck. The crimson beast with its smaller forearms swung at the black cat. One clawed foot struck the cevere’s chest, slicing open his skin near the ribs. More blood poured onto the ground. A violent shake of the dragon’s head sent the large feline flying. The cevere landed next to Tor and didn’t move. Wounded and enraged, the dragon scanned the area, his angry gaze spotting Tor. With slow steps the wounded creature advanced. Azari could see them both, Tor with his eyes closed in concentration and the dragon with his eyes focused on her priest.

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Why didn’t the beast breathe fire? He could easily kill Tor now. Azari wasn’t about to let that happen. She ran straight at the dragon, knife in her grasp, running until she was beneath the beast. A bright flash of white light lit the area around the dragon as one of Tor’s spells struck it. Azari jumped and stabbed the dragon between a pair of scales. Darting to the left she avoided a lash of the long, red tail tipped with silver spikes. Her little knife quivered, buried between those protective plates. The blade was minuscule next to the dragon’s three-footed claw. The dragon broke his stare to swat at the weapon and missed. The creature returned its attentions to the battle at hand, ignoring the tiny blade. The minute motion had been enough to break the dragon’s concentration. In her peripheral vision, Azari saw not only Tor, but the cevere. Another brilliant shaft of light struck the dragon’s chest just as the cevere leapt, fangs and claws tearing into the scales. The wounded animal clawed its way up the dragon’s chest as if scaling a mountain. Each foothold the cevere found was followed by a pain-filled cry from the dragon. Tor’s attack with lightning continued. A bolt hit the dragon square in the eye. Another followed, striking the bleeding neck wound. The dragon stumbled. A moment later, it was on the ground. Nothing moved. The chest didn’t rise and fall, even spasmodically. There were no keening death cries. “Is this over?” Near her, Tor nodded. “I think it is.” Azari closed the distance to the dragon, scanning for the cevere. “Where…” “There.” Tor pointed to the belly of the fallen beast. Beneath the ridged plates protecting the dragon’s stomach lay the black feline, unmoving. “I don’t understand.” Tor came and stood next to her. Soot streaked his face, his hair hung in damp clumps, and his clothing was a mass of mud, grass, blood, and fire stains. “He was never our enemy.” “Never?”

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He opened his mouth to reply but stopped when they both heard the cevere groan. They both knelt, and she watched in fascination as Tor dared to place his head near that of the wild cat’s maw. Part of the chest wound dealt by the dragon remained exposed and Tor examined the injury with his long, tapered fingers. “He’s not bleeding much from this, but several ribs are broken.” “Can you use your staff to heal him?” Deep in concentration, Tor didn’t speak for long moments. Long ago, Azari had learned not to disrupt him when he closed himself this way. “I could, but it would be to naught.” Azari knelt next to Tor and dared to place her hand on the animal’s head, stroking the soft, black fur. “Why would your healing fail?” Sadness crept into his voice. “He no longer has the will to live.” “How do you know this?” “He told me.” Incredulous, she snapped at Tor. “Told you? He is an animal. His mouth doesn’t move, how is it you know this?” A melancholy smile lifted the corners of Tor’s mouth. “You’ve forgotten I’m telepathic.” Goddess! She had forgotten. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted you.” He placed a large hand over hers. “No, Azari, it is I who should apologize to you. There is so much you do not know. The cevere is the owner of the Screecher’s Grotto, the mage who created the rings we wear. He sought to protect the wearer of the ring.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “As have I.” Indignation filled her and she snatched her hand from Tor’s hold. “Since the beginning I’ve believed the cevere to want my destruction, only now discovering he was not our foe, but a comrade. When did you plan to tell me?” “I’d hoped to explain all once we spoke with the Oracle regarding the dragon. Now it would seem there is no longer a need.”

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She continued her argument. “If this is the mage, are we not honor-bound to aid him?” “He would fight my attempts. For many years he has waited for this conclusion.” As if in answer, the cevere attempted to lick Azari’s arm. The motion took her gaze from Tor and to the dying animal. “Tor,” she gasped. “The dragon… it’s not dead.” She pointed the rear of the dragon’s body where its long barbed tail twitched. “According to Clavule, I must destroy the dragon’s heart or he will eventually heal himself.” Tor leapt to his feet, scanning the dragon’s body. “My knife is the only blade we have.” She pointed to the area just above the dragon’s inner thigh where she had embedded the weapon between large red scales. Tor pulled the dagger from the monster, blood oozing from the wound. “Are you sure this is the right course, Tor? Must they both die?” Before he could answer the tail flicked, knocking Tor to the ground. At the same time, Azari screamed. The dragon’s claws tore through her robe and into her skin, holding her fast in his talons. She struggled, pounding her hands against the scaly flesh that held her. The razor sharp claws dug in deeper. “Tor!” On his feet, he ran at the dragon, the long knife in his grasp. He darted behind the arm grasping Azari. She craned her neck in time to see him plunge the blade deep into the dragon’s chest between the crimson scales. With the speed of the lightning bolts he’d cast earlier, he withdrew the knife. A shower of blood issued from the dragon. Tor struck again and again, despite the blood that splashed into his eyes, covered his face, and soaked his robes. The blade sank to the hilt with Tor’s final strike. Azari felt her blood flow faster. The dragon’s grip lessened until she dropped to the ground. She scrambled out of reach of the dragon, holding her side, warm blood flowing through her fingers. Next to her Tor stumbled, wiping blood from his face, rubbing at his eyes, all with deep groaning. “Help me find my staff, Azari.”

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The High Priest’s Staff was a few feet from her. She crawled to the powerful symbol and grabbed it, holding the staff upright and pulling herself into a standing position. “Here,” she gasped, holding the rod out to Tor. He turned toward her and reached for the staff, missing it entirely. She placed it in his hands. “Come to me, Azari.” His voice was strained and weak. Worry filled her. What was wrong with him? Had the dragon injured him earlier in their battle? She wrapped an arm around his waist as she continued to hold her side. “You’re hurt.” “No, Azari. I’m blind.”

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Chapter Twenty

Azari swallowed the lump that formed in her throat and stared at Tor’s bloodsmeared face. “Hhhow?” “Dragon’s blood.” He felt for her fingers and placed his staff in her grasp, his strong hand covering hers. “Place this against your wounds.” “Conserve your energies. You will need your power to heal your eyes.” “This is the will of the Goddess. You will be my eyes. I need you strong too,” he paused. “To help me find my way back to the temple, once we are sure the dragon is truly dead.” Tor’s humble, resigned words took her aback. Had this come about because of a lack of dedication to the Goddess? No, he’d not spoken in disregard of the deity he served. Was it pride? To an outsider, perhaps his ways seemed proud. She knew better. Tor was a quiet, introspective man, not given to loud, excessive displays of boasting. Against her wishes he placed the staff against her robe-covered wounds. “T’would be more efficient to place the crystal against your skin.” The touch of the crystal warmed her through the material. Stubborn man! He cared nothing for his own needs. Tears streamed down her face as she begged him, “Stop! Don’t waste your energy this way.” “I use less if my staff is in direct contact with your skin.”

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With reluctance, she lifted her robe and guided the crystal of the staff to just beneath her ribs. Tor had the look of concentration on his face that she’d come to know so well. Her skin burned where the crystal touched. The heat spread throughout the area and then disappeared. Her words were choked. “Enough, Tor. The healing is complete.” Against her, Tor sagged as if the bones had been lifted from his body. She wrapped her arm around his waist and supported his weight. Silently, she cried while compassion flooded her. Why had the Goddess brought her devotee and honorable warrior so low? She glanced at the site of the final battle and gasped. Chills covered her body and she shook with shock. “What is it, what is wrong?” “I… they…” “What do you see?” he ground out. “Tell me!” She placed her hand on his forearm, leading him toward the bodies. Fear raced through her again. Strong magic yet worked here. “The dragon and cevere are gone.” “Impossible.” “They’ve vanished.” The thought took hold like a man-trap vine and her eyes widened with amazement. Perhaps they were safe, their ordeal with the creatures finished. “Two men lie atop one another in pools of blood in the grass.” “Take me closer. Describe everything you see.” With care, she led Tor nearer the fallen men. “The larger of the two, lies across the waist and legs of the one beneath. His blood is everywhere.” He clutched her arm, forcing her to halt. “The man you see was the dragon.” “Is this truly possible?” Tor nodded. “Think on his position. Is it not the same as that of the dragon?” “Yes, but…”

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“What of Clavule, the man beneath?” She edged them both closer. “He breathes.” How was it possible for the man to live? “Bring me to him. Beware the dragon’s blood.” The reminder wasn’t necessary. Tor’s blindness was an effective deterrent. Finding a spot free of the dangerous fluid was difficult. With a loud groan, the fallen mage shifted his body. Under him the grasses were free of blood. “Here, he has made a place for you.” She helped Tor kneel near the dying man. “He moves his lips.” Tor leaned closer. “What is it you wish to say, Clavule?” With effort the wounded mage opened his eyes. “You wear the ring?” “Yes,” Azari and Tor answered in chorus. “They belong…together.” Frothy blood issued from the mage’s mouth. “You two…belong…together.” Azari leaned closer to the injured mage. Her joy at being alive and safe was tempered by this man’s impending death. “Is there anything I can do…to ease your passing?” Clavule reached out and grabbed Tor’s robe. “You do not need eyes to see with your heart.” He relinquished his hold and tapped on Tor’s chest. “This is all you need… to see the truth.” More blood bubbled from Clavule’s mouth as he turned his head toward Azari and grasped her hand in his. “You look like her,” he whispered, the words floating away in the air like a tender breeze sweeping through a cabin. The mage’s hand fell from hers, his eyes lifeless. Azari scrambled to her feet, avoiding the dragon’s spilled blood, stifling a cry with the back of her hand pressed against her mouth. None of his words made sense. Why had these two men died? What happened to the dragon and the cevere? As though sensing her distress, Tor rose to his feet with the aid of his High Priest’s staff. His words were gentle. “Azari, where have you gone?”

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Run, her mind screamed at her. Run from the madness that has become your life. “Running is not the answer.” She wanted to sink to her knees and cry again. The enormity of the battle overwhelmed her senses. The fear, love, compassion, anger, hatred, and other nameless feelings threatened to drown her soul in an uncontrolled eruption of emotion. “What is the answer then? What has happened here today? What did Clavule mean?” He extended his hand. “You resemble his woman.” “What woman?” she nearly shouted. She watched Tor come closer. Her breath rushed out in a loud sigh and she stepped in a clear spot toward him. Realization struck her. “The woman in the globe’s vision?” He nodded and extended his arms. “Be at peace, Azari. Courage and fortitude have won the day. You need run no longer.” **** Returning through the browning fields and trying to lead Tor through the maze of burning grasses exhausted Azari. Smoke continued to sting her eyes and more than once the thick odiferous cloud made seeing difficult and caused her to stumble. Shoulders slumping once they neared the edge of the meadow, she stifled a yawn. “I’m sorry, Tor. I’m not a good guide.” Compassion and love graced his words. “It is not easy to lead a blind man. You do the best with what you have, me.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “You’re tired.” She rubbed her eyes. “Yes. Hungry, too.” She glanced at the cloudy sky above. Twilight would be upon them soon as well as rain. Sniffing the air, Tor tapped the lower end of the High Priest’s staff into the rocky ground. “The air has a decidedly damp scent. A storm is coming.” “There is a stand of oaks nearby where we can find some shelter. Not all the leaves have fallen, although, should the rain be heavy, the remainder will come down.”

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“Tell me, what geological markers you see.” Azari studied the area. “To my right is a large boulder that looks like a man’s profile. In front of us are the trees, and behind the meadow.” Tor leaned upon his staff and steepled his forefingers in front of his lips. “Through the trees is the path to the Oracle.” Azari frowned. “Then I’m going the wrong direction. With the dragon dead and the mage as well, there is no longer a need to see the Oracle.” “Incorrect.” How could she be wrong? There was nothing to be gained continuing through the woods. Logically, shouldn’t they return through the grasslands and past the Screecher’s Grotto and eventually find their way back to the orchard of the Versa? “Put your mind at ease. There is a cabin I know of. We’ll shelter within these enchanted woods.” Her frown deepened. The magic of the forest seemed to be at odds with Azari. “Is this place safe?” Tor jerked his head as if she’d slapped him. “Yes.” There was sadness in his simple reply. Too late she remembered the guilt he felt at his failure to keep her from being poisoned. She softly spoke. “I’m sorry. It’s just that ever since I found the ring, the trees and I have ceased living in harmony.” “And I’ve not given you adequate reason to trust me in our dealings with the woods. I ask it of you once more, though.” He paused and moved his head as if he could view their surrounds. “Look behind you. Can you tell if our elevation has changed?” She did as he asked. The setting sun cast orange, pink and yellow hues across the sky into the meadow. “Yes, it has. I see the meadow as from a tree.” “Tomorrow when you have adequate light, you should be able to find the gravel trail. At the crossroads there will be a path to take us to the river. From there we will find our way back to the Temple borders.”

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Grasping his hand, Azari was relieved when he did not pull away. Carefully, she picked out the course that took them nearer and then finally into the woods. Quiet descended upon them, broken occasionally by the twittering of a bird. Unlike the other woods, there was a calm here that bespoke of tranquility and safety. With the last rays of light, Azari found the stone track Tor spoke of. “How far shall we go?” He smiled, and there was comfort in his words. “Until we see the cabin.” He patted her arm. “I’m afraid it isn’t much, and most probably has fallen into a state of disuse, but it should keep us dry once the sky opens up.” Above, a low rumble echoed through the air. “We best hurry then, or we shall end up quite wet.” “Lead on, dear heart, lead on.” She withdrew her hand from his and wrapped her arm around his forearm. “Your wish is my honor to perform.” He laughed, the sound thrilling her to her toes. “Saucy wench. You should be more cautious with your words.” The intent of her reply hadn’t been aimed at seduction, but his words coming from those desirable lips sent threads of longing throughout her body, weaving a cloak of warmth that only Tor provided. “Perhaps, but then, could it be you interpreted those words with a new and hidden meaning I did not purport?” Silence enclosed them like a warm blanket. She could have been disheartened by Tor’s lack of response, but Azari sensed no anger from him. Keeping her arm wrapped around his, not so much for guidance, but for the sense of belonging his touch gave her, they continued down the path. The crunch of gravel underfoot was the only sound to accompany the occasional lyrical tweets from birds in the trees. Darkness hindered Azari’s selection of their path. Some light would be nice. “Why did you not ask it of me?”

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Suddenly, a blue ball of light danced in front of her. The same light he’d created on the side of the mountain. The same ball that lit her path ages ago, before Tor was poisoned by the cave air. “We’ve come through much, Azari. Some experiences others will find difficult to believe.” Her steps faltered. “You do not read my mind all the time, do you?” He shrugged and leaned closer. “There are times your thoughts come through to me with exceptional force.” Tor’s masculine scent swathed her. “Then you place a wall between our thoughts?” “You have expressed a lack of privacy when it comes to divining your mind. I’ve practiced such a shield in regard to you, but as I said, sometimes you are quite forceful.” In front of them, Azari spotted a small clearing. She hurried him forward hoping her thoughts were better controlled. The edge of a thatched roof came into view, growing larger as they neared. “Not far now, Tor.” She smiled as she thought of the ways she could honor the muscular man next to her. Carefully, she tried to keep her excitement tempered. If she slowed, just a little, perhaps the storm would soak them to the skin. She could remove their clothing and initiate the skin-to-skin contact they both desperately desired. As if heeding her unspoken desire, a large clap of thunder peeled through the woods followed by minuscule raindrops; raindrops that grew from nearly imperceptible to considerable and pounding in a matter of moments. Azari smiled. Already she could feel the material of her robe clinging to her skin. **** They were mud-splattered and soaked by the time Azari got Tor into the cabin. The hut was not nearly as broken down as Tor described, and Azari set to work at once

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lighting a fire in the fireplace. A bed near a wall was covered with a quilt with extra bedding folded at the foot. Lifting the blanket, she shook it thoroughly before replacing it on the bed. She did likewise for the other bedcovers. She peeled off her robe and laid it on a ladder back chair to dry. “Here, let me help you with your…” “There is no need.” Tor handed her his staff and then lifted the wet weight of his ruined robe over his head. Azari stifled a gasp. His muscles were defined and solid. Fat would find no residence upon his body. Her gaze drifted lower, to the rod that released his seed. She sank to her knees and took his length into her mouth. ”Azari,” he groaned. “Shh,” she whispered around his shaft, before removing her mouth from around him. “I would show you how much I need you.” Licking and sucking with her lips, she wrapped her hand around his erection, stroking and squeezing until she could taste some of his seed on her tongue. Tor groaned. She glanced sideways, ran her tongue over the purple head of his rod once more and said, “To bed with you, before you become ill.” With that she guided him to the bed. The back of Tor’s knees struck the bed frame and he collapsed against it. Azari swung his legs over the edge before climbing atop him and settling her weight over his rod. She leaned forward, tasting his skin, tonguing his tiny, hardened nipples. Tor’s hands went to her hips, holding her tightly. “Do you know what you are doing, woman?” “Yes,” she replied confidently as she lifted herself from him before allowing her body to engulf his again. She increased the pace, sensations like fire racing throughout her body. “I’m making love to you.” “You cannot want a maimed man.”

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“You are not maimed. I take you the way you are, now and for as long as we are given.” She sank deeper and harder around his length. Goddess! It was true. Once they returned to the temple, her time with Tor would be limited, the demands of his office and people keeping him from her. Her body surrounded his, making them one. Firelight and shadows danced together on the walls of the cabin, highlighting the sculpture of his muscles. Faster she moved upon his shaft, his hands unerringly guiding her. He pushed up, into the depths of her core. She sank down wrapping him tightly into her channel. Their bodies united in an erotic dance of passion. He removed his hand from her hip, caressed and teased the nipple of her breast. Her breath hitched as she felt spasms of pleasure begin. Then his hand left her breast and found the nub of magical pleasure. Screaming his name, she erupted around him. “Azari!” he shouted as his seed shot into her, scalding her, branding her forever as his.

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Chapter Twenty-one

From the battlements a trumpet blast greeted Azari’s ears. Bright orange banners unfurled over the side of the high stone wall. “What does it mean if they hang banners?” Tor’s deep voice rumbled in proud words. “They triumphed over their enemy.” She furrowed her brows, confused. “But, you slew the dragon.” “I did. But, they survived. As did we. All of us have cause to mourn as well as celebrate.” Four long days Azari had led Tor on their journey through the grasslands, the forest, and to the autumnal orchard. With Tor’s blindness, the travel was slow. Although she still felt pity and sorrow for the loss of Tor’s sight, she was thankful for the extended time they had together. Along the way, Tor relayed what he’d learned in the Screecher’s Grotto. Much would need to be shared with the remaining Versa. How would they react to their leader being less than whole? What would the Versa do to Tor? When she spotted the squad of Versa just past the battlement walls, panic seized her, stealing her breath. “Tor, a dozen Versa come toward us.” He patted her arm. Why didn’t the gesture comfort her? “Don’t worry. Only death removes a High Priest from his office. We will be treated with honor as heroes."

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“We,” she squeaked. “I’ve done nothing to be honored thus?” A smile graced his features. “You’ve done more than you realize, dear Azari.” He slipped his hand down her arm and laced his fingers between hers. “This return to the temple wouldn’t have happened if not for your guidance.” Her heart fluttered as sensual heat winged through her body. He leaned in closer and whispered near her ear, “I need you.” The Versa arrived with haste and surrounded them. Tor was lifted onto the shoulders of some of his men. Azari found herself in a woven seat supported by poles and carried by four men. The entourage entered the temple. A loud cheer greeted her ears as the Versa carried her from one side of the throng to the other, depositing her at the entry to the concubines’ chambers. Several women rushed forward and hovered about her as if she were a child, propelling her through their isolated segment of the temple. She strained to see Tor, but he too, appeared to have been whisked away. Around her she heard tsks, and softly spoken words of concern. Azari brushed back from her forehead a stray lock of hair. “I’m all right,” she responded to no one in particular. “Nonsense.” A woman she didn’t remember seeing during her earlier time at the temple replied. “You’ve been through ten lifetimes of horror.” Weariness settled over Azari like a water-laden cloak. “I am tired.” The women led her to a quiet, private chamber. “Get her a fresh gown,” one ordered. Azari watched a woman run out the room, only to return mere moments later, a pale green gown in her hands. In the corner of the room, she watched as another lady filled a tub with steaming water. “Will you bathe?” The tender words soothed Azari’s spirit.

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She grasped the hem of her once-beautiful robe and lifted the tattered, filthy material over her head. Gingerly, she placed one foot, then the other into the hot bath, before she sank into the water and let it cover her entire body. “I’m sorry we cannot let you tarry long.” Azari glanced at the woman who’d ordered the new clothing for her. “Why?” A kind smile lifted the woman’s lips. “The men.” The women in the room erupted in waves of giggles. Azari frowned, her eyebrows creasing. “I don’t understand.” “The men demand to hear what has befallen you and our High Priest. They must hear the details of the dragon’s defeat. Their impatience in this regard amuses us.” Azari slid deeper into the relaxing water. Someone handed her a cloth and siasma scented soap to wash with. Dirt sluiced from her body with each rub of the cloth. She made quick work of the cleansing. Someone handed her a fresh cloth when she stepped from the tub. Rubbing her body dry she reached for the fresh gown. The leaf green garment slipped over her head and arms before floating, whisper soft, to the floor. Peace. Could it be she would finally be allowed a respite from the clamor of the past weeks? That somehow she could return to a semblance of normalcy? “Come, the men wait to hear your tale.” Azari looked from one woman to the next, all showing her a respect usually accorded men like Tor. “Why do you treat me like nobility?” The woman who’d commanded the clothes be brought to her responded. “I’m Tammor.” She nodded. “You are to be honored among the Versa and the all people for the sacrifices you’ve made.” Azari countered Tammor’s words. “I’ve done naught but run for what seems to me days on end. The High Priest, Tor,” she gentled her words, “he is the one who has suffered the most. He carries the guilt of the death of the Versa on his shoulders. He bears the mark of battle upon his eyes.” Tammor laid her hand on Azari’s forearm. “Yes, the High Priest has suffered. As have you.”

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The death of the Versa weighed on her conscience as well. If she had not found the ring, she would not have forged the chain that had left so many dead. Tor would not bear the responsibility for his presumed failures. Azari continued to argue. “No. I have my sight, my life.” The concubine looked at Azari with eyes that spoke with sympathetic understanding. “You no longer have your heart.” **** The cool, marble banqueting hall, filled to capacity thrummed with sound. Bright orange banners, alternated with yellow to cover the windows, swayed with the touch of a gentle breeze. Azari’s entrance into the noisy room went unnoticed until she was led to the dais where Tor sat. A man clad in the orange robes of the Versa leaned close to Tor and whispered in his ear. Tor stood, and turned toward her, extending his hand. From this distance, Azari couldn’t see the physical scars left by the dragon’s poison. How would the others react to his imperfection? Around her, the throng seemed excited, joyous even. Perhaps Tor’s disability wouldn’t matter to them. The knot in her stomach relaxed a bit. Reaching for his hand, warmth coursed through her fingers, up her arm, and lodged in her heart. No matter what came of this gathering, she wouldn’t leave Tor. Tammor was correct. Her heart belonged to the man who now held her hand. As one, they turned to face the crowd. Tor lifted his free hand and the occupants of the room stilled. Dropping his hand to his side, Tor began to speak. “Devotees of the Goddess, listen to my words. The woman at my side and I have ended the threat of the dragon once and for all.” The room broke out into a raucous cheer. He raised his hand once more and the clamor died down. “For many years, we have believed the dragon to claim a virgin in

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order to build its power. For time out of mind we have lived with the fear that the cevere would claim one of our women.” In the sea of people, Azari could see them nod their heads as if they were all one. “In the visioning globe, I have even seen this woman at my side, heavy with child, being burned alive.” Azari shivered. The vision, so long ago, so vivid in her memory rushed into her thoughts. “People, the vision of the globe is misleading. Our histories … incomplete and wrong.” A murmur raced among the crowd. “You speak sacrilege,” a man yelled. “I speak truth. Hear me out.” “Let him speak,” an unknown, deep voice commanded from the midst of the crowd. “Long ago, a mage of some power took into his home a young woman. Over time, the two fell in love. The mage gave his woman this.” Tor lifted their entwined fingers and with gentle pressure bent her hand down. A shocked gasp made its way through the gathered group. “The ring matches perfectly the ring I wear.” He held up his hand again. More murmurs rippled through the room. “What does it mean?” Azari recognized the excited voice as that of Tammor. “The smaller ring,” Tor said as he dropped their arms, “enabled the wearer to open magically locked doors. The ring also alerted its creator when his mate was in trouble. The ring was lost for generations until Azari found it in a pool not far from her home. “Had the mage and his woman lived undisturbed none of this would concern us. However, the woman he treasured was kidnapped while heavy with child and murdered. The mage attempted to rescue her, but failed. He battled her kidnapper, and

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thinking he was dying, cursed the killer to guard treasure all his days in the form of a dragon.” Azari squeezed Tor’s hand. He stood proud and strong looking upon the people with sightless eyes. Without wavering he continued their tale. “The battle, though, was far from over. The murderer had some degree of magic ability himself. In his attempt to find his mate quicker, the mage had transformed into the cevere.” So much made sense now. The two, caught in a battle of spells were condemned to remain in their monstrous forms. They had been locked in combat for ages. Until the rings were reunited and the dragon destroyed neither man had known peace. Tor’s strong deep voice brought her from her thoughts. “There is much we must re-examine, and with the help of the Goddess we will find the truth, but know this, the reign of terror brought about by the dragon is over.” “Long live Tor! Long live Azari!” chanted the crowd. She sighed, thankful the dissenter had quieted. The extent of Tor’s revelations would require much thinking and discussion. For now, though, the people could revel in their newfound safety. Once more Tor lifted his hand and the room calmed. What else was left for him to say? They all knew there were adjustments to be made, histories to clarify, rebuilding to occur. “The beautiful Azari needs a man worthy of her.” Azari gasped. A chill pierced her heart like a jagged icicle. What was he saying, and why? “Without my sight, I am unable to offer her the protection and dedication one so commendable deserves.” “No,” she whispered. “Tor, please, don’t do this. Your eyes do not matter to me. I love you.”

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He clasped her hand tighter. “Azari, I cannot give you that which I am forbidden to give.” The words came in agonizing whispers. “My heart must belong to the Goddess. You will find happiness with another.”

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Chapter Twenty-two

The room lost its color. Anxiety coupled with immense sadness kept her from responding. A weight settled on her chest, like that of a large man stepping on her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t run, couldn’t think of a way to stop him from his cruel decision. With stomach churning, she pulled her hand from his, her strength of will keeping her upright. How dare he humiliate her like this! Putting her up like some prized animal to be bartered for. Her mind tried to find rationale for his betrayal while her heart ached incredibly. He wasn’t bartering her, just trying to remove her from his life. How could he ignore their feelings for one another? Their love? “You should have let me die,” she snapped, trying to hide the ache of her shredded heart. “Don’t be foolish,” he sternly countered. “I know what is best for you. For me. For all of us.” She shook her head. “You haven’t learned a damn thing. You thought you knew all when I first came to your cabin. In the cave, during the battle you discovered you were mistaken. Yet, you refuse to learn the most important of all lessons.” “What is that?”

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Gone was his air of rigid self-control. His shoulders dipped, his head lowered, and for a brief moment he looked weary. Her heart, broken as it was, still went out to him. She laid a hand on his arm. Before she could answer, a blinding light flashed in the center of the room followed by an echoing thunder of sound. Women screamed and the warrior Versa jumped for their weapons. “What is it?” Tor asked, gripping the High Priest’s staff. Her mouth gaped open and she couldn’t reply. Light filled the room, gradually coalescing into the figure of a woman, a long gown of billowing cloud flowing from her shoulders. With a wave of her hand, the inhabitants of the room stopped moving as if rooted into the floor the way a mighty tree anchored itself into the ground. “You, scribe,” she commanded, crooking her finger and releasing him from her spell. “Take heed, every word that is spoken is to be recorded. Go, get your tools and do not tarry. And do not think of hiding from me. If you do not return posthaste I shall turn you into an insect.” The trembling man raced from the room and quickly returned. “Good, good.” Her voice boomed through the room. With a wave of her hand, she released the crowd from her spell, many of whom fell to the floor. “Think not of attacking me, Versa. I am She whom you serve.” Soft gasps floated on the air. Every person within the assembly knelt in homage, perhaps mingled with a taint of fear. Azari dropped to her knees in obeisance, Tor genuflecting next to her. “Yes, yes.” She sounded impatient. “Take your seats. We have much to discuss. Rather, I have much to tell you.” She looked toward the scribe. “Are you ready?” The man nodded, not uttering a syllable. In all the stories she’d ever heard, Azari had never been told of Eiliki visiting man. “You!” the Goddess shouted, pointing her finger at Azari.

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Trembling, Azari stood, stepped forward, and then with her head bowed knelt at the edge of the wooden platform. What did you say to a deity? How did you address the Goddess? She opted to stay quiet. There was a purpose that the Goddess had for selecting Azari. “What are your feelings for the blind priest, Tor?” I love him, she wanted to shout. I want to be his helpmate and confidant. But, he doesn’t want me. Speak Azari. Give voice to your thoughts. Shaking seized Azari’s limbs. The Goddess had heard her! A lump formed in her throat and a cold cloak of alarm covered her. How could she say a word when Eiliki had been privy to her most personal, private thoughts? Surely, she would be struck dead. Azari, I’m not known for my patience. Azari glanced toward the celestial Goddess whose arms where crossed. Her foot moved up and down in a tapping motion. To a man, the people in the room continued to kneel. “Rise, Azari, tell all of us of my High Priest.” Shaking her shoulders in an attempt to control her emotions, Azari swallowed back the fear that constricted her throat. “The High Priest and I have shared calamity and victory. He saw me safely through a terror unlike any I’ve ever experienced. I saw first-hand his unselfish devotion to you, Eiliki, and his unhesitating resolve to protect me.” Revealing to the crowd her most intimate thoughts regarding Tor embarrassed her. A flood of heat burned her cheeks. Continue. You are doing well. Eiliki’s encouragement prompted Azari to continue. “Long I waited for a man to stir my passion. I kept myself from others so I could seek such an individual. I found this man,” she waved her hand at Tor, “while I was in desperate circumstances, not expecting to acquire the answer to my heart’s search. His understanding and dedication

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combined with the fervor to do what is right and good bind me to him more than the pairing of the rings.” As if acknowledging her confession, the wind rippled the window coverings and allowed sunlight to fill the room. “Despite what the High Priest considers to be his physical weakness, I see a whole and complete man, one I wish to hold my heart.” “Well spoken, Azari.” Azari dipped her head lower. “I love the man next to me, the High Priest of Eiliki, Tor.” The people uttered no sound. There were no words of condemnation, no calls of sacrilege. The silence emboldened her. Azari glanced through the hair that covered her features. Few, if any, could see her embarrassment. Some women shook their heads. Their sad countenance reflected their understanding of her situation. Azari said no more. “And what of you High Priest? What are your feelings for Azari?” Eiliki’s question addressed the inquiry Azari wished to make of Tor herself. What would his response be? Would there be an answer he could give that would please them all? We shall see, shan’t we? Azari closed her eyes and shuddered. Eiliki knew her thoughts and fears. Not only did Azari love Tor, but she didn’t relish the thought that he would soundly reject her again in front of this room full of survivors. “While away at my refuge, this woman entered my abode, relaying a fantastical tale. In her story a being, one not heard of in centuries, chased her. Her injuries were such that I had no difficulty in believing she had run a long distance. While she was in my home healing, we both heard the cevere. It was then I was convinced Azari told the truth.” So far, Tor’s voice had told of their early history without passion. His guarded, monotone words would inspire no one to seek her hand. Anyone listening would know

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how carefully he shielded his emotions, just as the waning breeze let the curtains recover the windows. That suited her just fine. She wanted him and no one else. Thank you, Eiliki. A peek at the Goddess through the canopy of her hair revealed Eiliki’s benevolent smile. Next to her, Tor continued. “The cevere gave chase to us, as did the red dragon. We escaped over rapids, returned to Azari’s village and found it utterly destroyed. She had no place to go and be safe. After another encounter with the cevere I brought her here.” Go on Tor. Tell them you love me as much as I love you. Tell them! “This woman and I have been through ten lifetimes of terror. Many incidents have almost taken our lives. Yet, I stand here before you, only because Eiliki, our powerful Goddess, aided us when all seemed lost. It is to Eiliki I owe my love.” “Yes, Tor, you do owe me your devotion, but that is not the question I asked of you.” Azari glanced at Tor. His hand gripped his High Priest’s staff until his fingers were pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “To voice such words is sacrilege! I have no wish to deny you, oh, Eiliki, that which is your rightful due.” “Give heed, all of you. I know what the High Priest refuses to reveal. His honor and duty to my temple keep his lips closed. Speak Tor!” “I would not disgrace you, Eiliki!” The panic of Tor’s words forced open Azari’s eyes. Tor acted out of fear, not faith or love, when it came to the Goddess. She reached out and grasped Tor’s hand. Perhaps he would find strength in the simple gesture. “I ask you one last time, what are your feelings for Azari?” “I…I…love her,” he whispered. “Speak out, High Priest, so that all assembled may hear you.” Azari squeezed his hand. No matter what happened, he could count on her support.

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“I love Azari.” His words were clear and echoed in the area. He pulled her toward him and enfolded her in the crook of his arm. “I am ready to pass into your realm, Eiliki.” “Sacrilege.” Someone in the crowd shouted, sending a host of others into a chant, the word repeated over and over with increasing volume. Two more words joined in the chorus. “Kill him, kill him.” “Cease!” The Goddess commanded before fear for Tor consumed Azari. As if struck dead, the voices instantly stopped. Azari released Tor’s hand and sank to her knees on the hardwood, grateful for Eiliki’s intercession. Tor did likewise. “You expect me to take from this man his life?” Through the veil of her hair, Azari watched. The Goddess crossed her arms and stared long and hard at each individual in the room. “Tor has been trying to tell you this day that all is not as it seems. The confession of love he made is no different. Men, not I, created this ridiculous regulation regarding the expression of love for another other than myself. Yes, I want you to honor, revere, and love me, but that doesn’t prevent any of you from taking a spouse. Why should you deny my representative the same?” The presence of Eiliki expanded, covering all with her spirit. From the far back wall where several Versa stood proud in their bright orange robes, to the scribe scribbling with his stylus as fast as he was able, Eiliki was everywhere. Tor’s pent up breath whooshed from his lungs. “Azari, Tor,” she continued. “I bless you to live a long, joyful life together, leading my people. Your experiences and love generate the beacon of guidance this gathering needs.” She stared long at her followers. “I have blessed these two. Beware, I shall deal harshly with those who would revoke their hard-earned happiness.” Eiliki floated to the scribe. “You have written this all for future generations?” The man nodded so hard, Azari thought his neck would break.

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“Good. I am nearly finished.” Eiliki drifted to the front of the dais. Eiliki nodded, first at Tor, and then at Azari. Azari watched as Tor’s priestly robes changed into a white wedding robe with gold trim. She looked at her own clothes transformed into a white gown. Sparkling crystals decorated the material from the waist to the floor length hem. About her waist was an intricate braid of gold with ends that dangled past her knees. “Why wedding clothes?” Azari asked turning first one way then another as she tried to view the back of the gown. “Today, with my blessings, you and Tor are husband and wife.” Besides, I didn’t want to give him a chance to change his mind. Tor returned to his knees. “And what of my eyes? How can I take care of Azari when I cannot see?” His words, wracked with pain, struck Azari hard. She would have a long, hard job ahead of her, convincing Tor that his talents and abilities hadn’t dissolved just because he was blind. “Tor, Tor,” the Goddess crooned. “It would please me to no end to return to you the gift of sight. But I cannot.” Tor gasped, and then grew quiet. Defying the silence, he finally whispered, “Why not?” “Your answer is within. It always has been.” Eiliki leaned forward and kissed Tor on the forehead, and then repeated the kiss on Azari’s. “Oh, there is one other thing. Azari will bear you a son before the spring is over.” Then, as suddenly as she had arrived, Eiliki, the Goddess served by the Versa, faded away.

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Chapter Twenty-three

Azari’s voice softly informed him, “She is gone now, Tor.” The room broke out into faint murmurs, followed by the quiet footfalls of those in attendance leaving the room. He rose to his feet and grasped Azari’s hand. “I’m so sorry.” “We’ve all learned much today, husband.” His heart swelled with happiness. By the Goddess, it was both foreign and welcome to hear her address him as husband. Foolishly, he’d almost lost her. She turned from him and his grip on her hand tightened. A lance of pain speared the bliss of a moment before. “Where are you going?” “I thought to return to the women—” “Why?” He spat out the single word knowing it carried his heart. He squeezed her hand, trying to impart his need for her. “Do you abandon your rightful place so easily?” “No.” The single, murmured word was torn from her depths. Tor yanked her against his chest, releasing her long enough to encircle her in an arm. “What then?” “I thought you needed time to accept me in this new light.” He let go of her to stroke her cheeks with his clumsy fingers, allowed his thumbs to caress her lips and absorb the feel of her silken skin. Longing to lay with Azari

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hardened his shaft. He tilted her head toward his face and sought her mouth with his own. Tor broke the kiss reluctantly. They’d gone through so much with little expectation of survival. Azari hadn’t quit, hadn’t stopped believing in him when all pointed to his failure. Truly, the Goddess gave him a great gift when she’d brought Azari into his lonely life and given him permission to openly love her. “Can you not tell, woman, how much I want you with me?” Her words trembled in the air. “I thought you would…” “Want to love my wife as a dutiful husband should? I am free to love you. Free to accept the visions of us in the gazing globe. You are my light, without you I’d be truly lost.” With sure feet, Tor led her to his apartments. The scent of siasma carried through the marble halls. “There are flower petals strewn everywhere,” Azari said with awe. He smiled. “Someone, most likely several someones, have seen to the traditional marriage ritual.” “I’ve not heard of this tradition.” He tapped his High Priest staff against the wall, seeking the recessed entrance to his chamber. “The Versa don’t have much in the way of belongings or wealth. Their lives can be forfeit at a moment’s notice. Long ago, a powerful Versa decided to gift his bride with the scent of flowers, to make her wedding night as pleasant as possible. The gesture caught and is with us to this day.” Azari’s whisper came to him among the gentle breeze carrying the heady scent. “What of me? Will my wedding night be pleasant?” Drawing her to him, he kissed her again. Tracing the outline of her mouth, he sought entrance into the warmth only Azari had ever given him. Their tongues met, wrapped around each other, stroking, enflaming his desire to give Azari what she had most wanted so long ago when they fled the dragon in the woods. A home, the future

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of a family, love, all could be theirs now they’d received the blessing of Eiliki. Her lips met his passion, her fingers entwined in his hair, holding him possessively. Reveling in her passionate response, he soaked up her love as it spilled forth like an intoxicating beverage, making him dizzy with its power. He reached out to tap the stone wall again and met air. Lifting the staff, he stepped into the alcove, tapping air until a solid thud announced the placement of the oaken door. They’d arrived at his apartments. “We will find out soon enough.” Grasping the iron handle embedded in the chamber door, he released the lock and pushed the door open, stood aside and held it wide for his bride. “Tell me, what do you see?” Azari gasped and then snuggled beneath his arm. “The petals, your floor…they are everywhere, a thick blanket of red.” He pulled her further into his rooms. Inhaling deeply, he envisioned the sight to match the sensual scent. The petals would cover the entire floor and be thick upon the bed. He kicked the door shut behind them, and then placed his staff against the wall. With his hands free, he lifted Azari into his arms and carried her, mentally counting out the twelve paces he’d memorized from door to bed since their return. “I wish I could see you as Eiliki dressed you.” He set Azari on her feet. “Will you allow me to touch you, see you with my hands and fingers?” She didn’t reply, only lifted his hands within her own and placed them on her shoulders. Tentatively, he touched the silky material bunched at her shoulders, slid his hands down her smooth arms to her elbows. Slowly, he allowed his fingers to graze up the sensitive inside of her arms to her shoulders and then down to the curve of her breasts. The light touch of his fingers caused her nipples hardened. Rather than teasing her, Tor continued his sightless perusal, his fingers touching bumpy embellishments to

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the garment. His hands continued, skimming her waist and stopping at a cord around her waist. “What color is it, Azari?” “Gold. The accents of her gift are trimmed with a dazzling gold.” He reached lower, unable to touch her past her thighs. He dropped to his knees to allow further investigation. “No!” Azari’s panic stricken voice echoed in his chamber. “I cannot allow you to kneel before me. You are the High Priest.” He stroked down the delicate material to her ankles and felt the hem against her supple skin. Cool to his touch, decorations of some sort crossed her foot from her toes to her ankle. “And you are the High Priest’s wife.” Beneath the gown, he examined her legs with the tips of his fingers. Firm muscle flexed beneath his hands as he caressed Azari’s thighs. Beneath his own robes his erection throbbed with craving. Rising from his knees, Tor continued to touch her, finally reaching the cleft of her womanhood. Touching the swollen kernel that brought pleasure elicited a tiny gasp from his wife. With a deft movement he traced a finger through her desire and dipped into her ready entrance. “Lift your arms, dear wife.” “I…I can’t, Tor.” He wanted to thunder at her, let her hear his frustration. Instead he simply asked. “Why not?” “The cord, it prevents…” “Silence!” he finally shouted unable to contain his impatience. Removing his hands from beneath her clothing, he fumbled with the tie at her waist. The knot proved an easy victory and the cord fell to the floor with a faint thump and he stepped away from her. “Now, Azari, please.” A moment of quiet anticipation snaked through the air and lodged in his heart. Had she done as he requested? Where he’d expected some sort of movement lifting the gown above her head there was only stillness. He froze, unable to decide what to do next.

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“Tor.” Her voice, as soft as a siasma petal caressed his ears. “Touch me.” The gentle order required action. He reached forward and felt the swell of her naked breast. Love and lust rose in his throat, making it hard for him to breathe properly. Her beauty washed over him, enveloping him with total acceptance. Drawing Azari nearer, he kissed her. Her pliant lips gave way beneath his insistent, possessive onslaught. When she opened her mouth beneath his, Tor took the invitation to further claim her. Within her mouth, their tongues danced in a passionate embrace. Momentarily, he withdrew and leaned his forehead against her silken hair. “Azari, I love you.” “As I love you.” His fingers raked against her nipples. Stepping closer the fabric of the wedding dress tickled the top of his foot and he knew she had quietly pushed it from her shoulders to fall into a pool of material at her feet. He bent his head and traced the swell of her breast with his tongue, sucking the nipple into his mouth. Azari moaned, a sound unlike any he’d ever heard from her. He swept her into his arms and placed her on his bed. Husky and wistful he voiced his current regret. “I wish I could gaze at your beauty.” Her hands found his arms and she drew him down toward her until he straddled her legs, his knees crushing silky flower petals. “Heed the words of the Goddess, Tor.” A groan of frustration escaped his lips. “I’m not worthy of you. I fail in the ability to see with my heart.” “You shall always be worthy of me, my love. You gave me courage when I had none left. You fought for me when I was blinded by my frailties.” Reverently, he grazed his hand over her face, neck and breasts, not stopping until he found the swell of her womanhood. Shifting his weight over her crushed more petals and the essence of siasma perfumed the air. “Will you have me, Azari, an inadequate, broken man?” She placed her warm hand against his chest. Beneath her palm, his heart beat hard with expectation. “You are far from broken or inadequate. And, no matter what

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may come, illness, destitution, another dragon attack I will never see you as anything but my love and my hero.” The confession acted as a ram, breaking down the last barrier he’d placed around his battered emotions. With pride and love his heart swelled and between his legs, his member expanded in lust. Azari wrapped her legs around his waist. “Why do you tarry?” He touched her intimately, stroking her sex until he heard her ragged breaths. His fingers slid between her slick folds to caress her hidden recesses. Leaning forward, he suckled her earlobe and slid his shaft into her hot, welcoming sheath. Like a velvety glove her body accepted him. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks to Eiliki for gifting him with Azari. Then she lifted her hips and brought him into her deeply, eliciting a groan from deep within his ragged soul. His seed sac rested against her entrance. Possession by Azari sent shards of pleasure slicing throughout his body. When she clamped her muscles around his rod, Tor thought he would lose the last bit of control he owned. With deliberately slow movements he withdrew before sliding back into her again. “I would touch you, husband.” Azari reached between his legs and cupped his sac. Her firm grasp didn’t hurt, just increased his need to lose himself in her. Giving himself over to the mind-numbing passion, he drove in and out of her moist heat in rapid thrusts. “Harder,” she gasped. Her breathless voice encouraged him to pound into her sweet flesh with faster, more forceful determination. Azari’s nails raked his back, and she gripped him tightly within her core, a convincing movement causing him to enter her more powerfully. Soft mews accompanied the clenching of her core around him. He thrust faster, harder, her cries of passion more pronounced, fueling his own need and she shuddered around him, screaming out his name. A moment later, he joined her passion filled cries, pumping his seed into her willing body.

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Epilogue

“Divine One, your wife has begun her labor,” an acolyte announced. “How is she?” Tor asked with worry. “The Priestess looks after her, as she does all the women of the temple.” The statement brought back the tragedy of Salmond and Lejeune. Not all women survived the process, and the inevitability of Lejeune’s death instigated Salmond’s suicide. Since Eiliki’s visitation, Azari had bonded with her young niece. The resemblance between the two was so striking it was hard not to imagine Janeva as Azari’s daughter. Azari’s unconditional love for a child she’d never known comforted Tor. Not only were they cultivating the love Salmond and Lejeune shared, they were preparing for the unconditional acceptance of their own child into a circle of love. The Goddess’s words of comfort, nearly nine months past, assured Tor the childbearing event would have a different result. “I have confidence in the Priestess’s abilities.” His avowal was true. His faith in the words of Eiliki were unshakable. “You may go,” Tor commanded. The acolyte left, a barely discernable motion of air filled in the spot where the young man had stood. They all had waited, and each time he told them they weren’t needed. They weren’t. Versa in training did not need to waste practice time guiding a blind man around his own temple.

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Tor made his way down the marble corridor, his High Priest’s staff helping his progress, the ebony end quietly striking the flooring. In the past several months, his senses had sharpened. He paused a moment and listened for Azari. Her screams escaped the confines of her room. His head ached, thinking of her in pain. If only he could take the burden on himself. “May I enter?” he asked through the heavy red and blue beads that draped over the doorway. “Yes,” came the matter-of-fact voice of the Priestess. Thank the Goddess he wasn’t going to have to force his way into his wife’s confinement rooms. “Your child wishes to enter this world immediately,” the Priestess told him. She clapped her hands and two younger women entered the room with steaming water and bathing clothes. “Aaah!” Another spasm washed over Azari. Her weak moans once the immediate pain lessened worried him. “Is there anything I can do to ease this passage?” “Talk to her. Hold her hand, let her hold yours, keep her relaxed. Run a cloth over her face. Show her your feelings.” Feelings. In the nine months since the populace of the temple witnessed the appearance of the Goddess, he’d tried to reconcile all he’d learned with the events of that day. In the depths of night, making love to Azari, he’d told her of his love, always concerned that he’d be struck dead for blasphemy. Not once in all that time had anything happened. “Azari,” the Priestess said. “Push.” Tor blinked. Already? Truly this child was impatient! Azari screamed. Panic possessed him. Goddess, please preserve the life of my wife and my child. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, easing her into a sitting position. “Again, Azari.”

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The muscles in her arm tensed and Tor felt her extended abdomen tighten. How did the women stand this? “Take some deep breaths,” he counseled, not knowing if these were the right words. “Two or three more pushes and your babe will be here.” Eternity seemed to pass, but it was as the Priestess said. After the third push, he heard a faint cry. “’Tis a boy,” the Priestess announced. His son had entered the world. With the ceremonial dagger, the very one Salmond had used to end his life, Tor slashed his arm to signal his acceptance of this newborn as a blood child of his loins. He heard a slight splash of water and knew someone bathed the child. In moments, if memory served, the babe, wrapped in a blanket would be handed to the mother for suckling. To Azari. “Put him to your breast,” the Priestess suggested. There was a bit of shuffling and then little noises issued from the minute body. The child latched onto his mother. Tor inhaled deeply. The child smelled fresh and unsullied. “How are you doing, my love?” “I’m tired.” Azari’s voice sounded weak. Around them women talked in hushed voices as they moved through the room. He listened for the footfall of the Priestess, and when he found the sound, he turned his head toward her. He couldn’t keep the worry from his voice. “Is she well?” Footsteps neared him. “Yes, Tor,” the Priestess responded. “Being tired after birthing is natural. There is a reason the process is called labor.” He felt the woman pat his shoulder. “He has finished suckling. Would you like to hold him?” Azari’s sweet, weak voice rose up from the bed. “Yes, my love, hold your son.” Someone intervened and took the babe from Azari and handed the child to him. Again, Tor was struck by the clean scent of his son. So much innocence in such a small body.

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With gentle, seeking fingers, Tor found the downy hair of his son’s head, felt the precious lips suck on his finger. “By the Goddess, you are a beautiful child,” he whispered as his fingers sought the contours of his son’s face. “I love you already, little man. You have your mother’s thick, dark hair and my eyes, I believe.” “Tor!” Azari shouted with unexpected vigor. “How do you know his hair color?” “I can,” he gulped. “I can see it, Azari. I can see it!” He surveyed the room, taking in the dark rose color of the window coverings, the white of the High Priestess’s gown, her dark hair, and the brown earthen colored bowls used to clean the baby after birth. He collapsed onto the bed next to Azari, clasped the child close to his breast, and shook his head. Tor leaned forward and kissed Azari. “Thank you.” “For?” “Never giving up on love, on me. For waiting for me to see by use of my heart.” He laid the baby on Azari’s chest, and stretched out next to her. A smile lit Azari’s face. “Love was within you all the time. We just needed extraordinary trials to bring it forth.” “I vow to you, Azari, and to our son, that I will always try to look with my heart, to see through the eyes of others. In her arms, their son cooed. Azari returned his smile and grasped Tor’s hand. “Now, what shall we call him?” he whispered into her ear.

The End

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If you enjoyed this erotic fantasy by Lucynda Storey, you may also enjoy The Captive’s Release. Keep informed of what Lucynda is doing by joining her fan loop at [email protected]. For announcements regarding more of Lucynda’s work, please join [email protected] or if you enjoy a more chatty loop, feel free to join [email protected]. And now, for an excerpt from Lucynda’s erotic fantasy, The Capative’s Release. Excerpt: The soft crunch of the leaves alerted Finola to the presence of Broadsword behind her. What could Broadsword want from her at this point? He came around to face her, staring at her breasts, her wet skirt dangling from his hands. “Step into it.” She did as he ordered, staying quiet while he fastened the garment about her waist. The water in her skirts cooled her legs, eased the scratching of the rough bark on her bottom. “The men are right,” he began. “Under the grime I can see you have a nice set of tits.” He lifted each orb into his large hands, his thumbs running over the nipples in a seemingly careless gesture. “Yes, a pity Lacombe will not appreciate them.” “Not appreciate them?” Her voice squeaked. Finola knew her breasts were her finest feature. She could hear her heart pound, unnaturally loud. Did Broadsword hear her terror? He lifted a hand to her face, and caressed her cheek. “He likes his women much, much flatter.” Odd sensations flooded her before it dawned what he meant. She saw her eyes widen in the reflection of Broadsword’s deep brown ones. “I cannot believe this. How am I to satisfy a man who wants his women to look like boys?” “You can’t. You can only hope I put in a good word for you regarding your favors."” His lips went to hers after he spoke, drawing deeply from her partially opened mouth. “Mmm.” Finola’s heartbeat leapt like that of a doe racing through the woods. By the Gods, his kiss excited her. She fought the reaction of her body. “You presume to kiss the future wife of the King?” “I can see why Calder was smitten with you. You have spirit.” “But you kissed me!” “A kiss hardly constitutes rape.” He paused. “Princess Finola, you really are quite beautiful. Combined with your fighting spirit, you would be an

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excellent addition to the King’s harem, or a prize worthy to be married off to one of his officers. Once you are cleaned up, you will be more aesthetically pleasing to King Lacombe.” “Tell me your name,” she asked breathlessly, “Or why you cover your face.” “All in good time, all in good time. The King has promised that once he is done with you, that you will be mine, if I so choose.” He reached under her skirts. “But, I must know if you can accommodate me. Otherwise, there will be no need for you to warm my bed, and someone else can have you.” He put another finger into her and pushed in and out. Then he entered her with a second, then a third, and she felt him spread his fingers apart. “Bastard,” she spat. “Spread your legs,” he whispered. When she didn’t respond immediately, Broadsword did it for her. She was punished with a fourth finger jabbing into her pussy. Those fingers pumped her over and again until she felt her juices coat them. “Good,” he commented, withdrawing from her, and wiping his fingers on her skirt. “I am even bigger around than these four fingers diddling you.” Bigger than what she felt inside her already? Gods, how big was he? As if he read her mind, Broadsword unleashed his cock from his breeches. His meat appeared thicker than the cock of their breeding stallion at home. He placed his hand firmly around his dick to tuck himself back into his pants. “Meet your new master, Finola. I will bed you once King Lacombe has taken your virginity and had his fill of you.” Her nipples were rock hard, her pussy dripped her juices. She wanted to come. Badly. But escape from the clutches of Lacombe was more urgent. How was she going to accomplish that, tied to the tree? She grasped at the idea she’d had earlier. Let Broadsword take her, she could kill him in his sleep if need be, but only if he would have her. “Sir,” she said. “You leave me in a sorry state.” Broadsword turned to her. His erection strained against the confines of his breeches. “No more sorry a state than you deserve.” “I suffer!” “And I do not?” He removed his cock again, and slowly stroked it. “I will ease your pain.” Her heart hammered in her chest like the incessant drumming of the announcement gong. Taking him would not be an easy task. He quirked an eyebrow at her. “What do you suggest? I cannot trust you. If I were to release you in order to satisfy your lust you would slice me open.” The muscle in his jaw twitched. She could see he wanted to relieve his need, but fought it.

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Finola’s mind raced as her escape plan became clearer. “Stake me to the ground. I will have no need of my hands on you. I will do whatever you ask, only take this burning from between my legs!" Broadsword stalked closer. “Oh, I shall stake you to my bed, but not this night. No, I think I will keep you tied against this tree.” “Touch me now, my lord, else I die from the pain of unfulfilled lust.” She took deep breaths intended for the lifting of her breasts. If she could command her body, and recreate the sensations she’d felt with Calder, an air of authenticity would be added to her act. Her breasts enticed this man, she’d use them to help her. “Women have difficulty handling my member,” he cautioned. Oh how she wanted to handle his member. She’d either use the opportunity to win him to her aid, or she’d create the chance she needed to escape. For now, the efforts of her escape were rewarding. Finola just couldn’t let her lust ruin her plans. Men were controlled by their lust, not women. She writhed against his cock head, reveling in the sensations created between her legs. He continued to rub her clit through the material of her skirt. He kissed her deeply, using his tongue as if he were trying to draw water from a well. “You are such a slut,” he whispered into her mouth. “I am,” she lied. She ground her hips against him harder, felt his cock slide between her covered legs. “I want you to take me.” “Where?” “Anywhere,” she gasped, realizing she had regained her opportunity to escape Lacombe’s clutches. She writhed harder against him. “I want your dick buried in me anywhere, everywhere, so I can have the satisfaction that only your cock can give.” “Then come, my little slut. I will give you all you wish and more. With proper training you will learn to please me well.” He plunged his tongue into her mouth, and she sucked it as she had sucked Calder’s cock before. Calder! His life was in her hands, or more specifically in Broadsword’s huge cock. Trembling ran through her as her captor pinched her sensitive nipples. His dick rubbed her pussy faster, faster. To her side she heard a strangled noise. She turned her head. Pike was there. His hands encircled his cock as he stroked his rod faster and faster. The leer she’d seen on his face earlier was replaced with a look of intense concentration. White, stringy come shot out of his dick. “I will love you absolutely everywhere, Finola. And you will never, ever deny me,” Broadsword whispered into her ear rubbing against her harder. http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/romance/erotica/the-captive-39-srelease/prod_53.html

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