The Belromanticum

Chapter 51

"That is her, my love," Maireili murmured in my ear. My bride wore the hood up on her Widow's Cloak, rendering her a dimly-remembered afterthought for any who saw her. Important, as Maireili was a ghoul and other races held no love for the twilight people. I found Maireili's inhuman traits, from her black-in-black eyes to her razor-sharp teeth, integral to her stunning beauty.

The woman she indicated was in her early middle age, one of the Jegu people of Zuunkhorun. She was of middling height and slender, her silky black hair piled high on her head in a complex web of braids and jeweled combs. Her gown hugged her figure to her waist before it bloomed in white skirts. It was covered in detailed jade and gold embroidery, echoed in the fine jewelry over her body. Her face was aristocratic, oval-shaped, and covered in the detailed makeup common among the aristocracy here. Her almond-shaped eyes were imperious, though I detected a sense of nervousness within.

"You should have no trouble with her," said Tanyth, holding my arm. As was our custom, she had taken the role of my public-facing wife. Her natural charisma and impeccable manners made her an excellent diplomat. Tanyth was radiant as always, her crimson skin contrasting against the iridescent white of her gown. The amethyst in her diadem and at her throat complimented her wide violet eyes.

"You have great confidence in my skills," I remarked. The three of us spoke Abbih, a dead language everywhere but my household.

"You seduced the great beauty of Kharsoom and then the great beauty of the ghouls."

Maireili blushed prettily, blue rising to her cheeks. "Tanyth..."

"I speak only the truth," Tanyth said archly.

"I should keep the shadows company," whispered the ghoul, and she vanished, uncomfortable with Tanyth's genuine praise. The magic of her cloak and prodigious skills in the stealthy arts meant even I had a hard time finding her. Now it was myself and my Kharsoomian bride.

"She is at once skilled and sweet," Tanyth sighed. "I love her so."

"As do I," I said. The others, Zhahllaia, Sarakiel, and Lysethe, had remained at the inn.

"You are the Castellandrian wizard," said a voice. He spoke Zuunese. Thanks to lessons from Zhahllaia and the fact that I had been living in Zuunkhorun for half a year had given me some proficiency in the language.

I turned to find a man wearing ceremonial robes. His features were mostly Jegu, I saw hints of Besh in the lines of his nose and the shade of his complexion. The Besh people looked far more like the rest of Aucor, with their olive skins, and dark, curly hair. He made a gesture I learned from the pirate Daijirai back in my time with the Shattered Reavers of Kharsoom, a lift of the right arm and a turn of the wrist, a stylized representation of a man returning an unshot arrow into a quiver. A respectful Zuunese salute.

"Belromanazar," I said, returning his gesture. I did not think to correct him on the subject of my origins. The metropolis of Castellandria was a more impressive place to hail from than the rural backwater of Rhandonia.

"Lord of Eirashtar," Tanyth hastily amended. "I am Princess Tanyth of Clan Abibaal, his lordship's wife."

"His lordship is a wealthy man to possess such a treasure," said the man, bowing to both of us. "Forgive my familiarity, my lord. I am Shindeger, Master of Birds."

"Your Excellency," I said, returning his bow.

"I was curious to meet the man who our patrons in Heacharium seem to regard with such terror. This Dreadstorm."

I gave a polite laugh. "I seek to leave that name behind."

His eyes probed my defenses. "I suppose you have," he said, with the tone of a man who heard the lie but did not see fit to call it out. "Heacharium will hear of your presence, and should they wish to have you face the justice of Xomera, there is nought our beloved Tyrant may do about it."

He nodded to the elderly man on his throne, surrounded by his wives and concubines, most almost as old as he. Yerentei was a skeleton in brocade, and if he died in that moment, I would not have been surprised in the least. He was surrounded by his court and every noble at that fete struggled for his ear, though it was clear the old man was barely aware of any of them.

"I would not ask His Majesty for such a boon. Nor would I trouble my hosts with any display of magic."

"Other than that one," Shindeger nodded to the ceiling, where Quiyahui waited in the rafters with shadows dancing over her iridescent form. She was now several times longer than a human being and showed no signs of stopping her growth.

"I am afraid there is little I can do about my familiar."

"I believed familiars to be quite small. Not a great beast such as that."

"I have been fortunate."

"So you have. Welcome to Zuunkhorun, Lord Belromanazar." He bowed again, and began to circulate among the other guests.

Tanyth encircled my arm. "I hope I don't have to explain what that was all about," she muttered.

"No, I understood him quite well."

"Master of Birds is a silly name for the lord of assassins."

"His purview is more spies than assassins."

"A spy is just a cowardly assassin," said my Kharsoomian bride. "Now go over there and begin your seduction."

"Yes, my love. I wish this were easier."

"If it were, everyone would do it."

I made my way over to the woman I had seen earlier. She watched the tyrant as she sipped from her goblet, a thoughtful expression on her face. As I approached, her bodyguards made note of me but did not move to intercept. She saw me coming, and fixed me with the same imperious gaze with which she regarded everyone. There was a time when she would have intimidated me.

"My lady," I said. "I wanted to make my introduction."

"You are the wizard from Castellandria. News of your arrival has made quite the stir in court."

"Halaak Nesugen Wailor," I said, bowing. Halaak was something like a duke or duchess, appropriate for a minor member of the Tyrant's own noble house. "I am Belromanazar, Lord of Eirashtar."

"Is that part of Castellandria?"

"No, Your Grace, it's a Kharsoomian title. It was granted me when I married."

"My apologies."

"Think nothing of it. I would expect a Zuun noble to care about a Kharsoomian honorific as much as the tides of the Emerald Sea."

"Why introduce yourself to me?" she asked. "You are in a room with a great many hals and halaaks. Ones with grander fiefs far closer to our capital."

"And have all of them been as tireless patrons of the arts?"

"You know of our art?" she asked, suddenly intrigued.

"I know of Kharachar's work, and that you have been his unflagging patron."

Her eyebrows raised. "You appreciate Kharachar?"

"I am no expert, but to my eye his craftsmanship is second to none."

Her gaze softened, and she regarded me for the first time. "Tell me, what brings you to Zuunkhorun?"

"I am a traveler by inclination and I thought to show my family more of the world."

"The Heacharid Empire seems to be a strange place for one who has been an enemy."

"I'm no one's enemy. I merely defended my adopted city during a siege, something I would do for anywhere I lived. And I was told this isn't the Heacharid Empire."

She shrugged. "There are those who say it is and those who say it isn't. We pay them tribute, in gold and men, so that the affairs of the Zuun Valley stay within the Zuun Valley."

"I have no intention of upsetting that order," I lied.

She looked me over once again, her attention pausing at my chest. "Tell me, would you like to see Kharachar's workshop?"

"It would be a dream."

"You will come to Jihorut as my guest," she decided.

"Where is that?" I asked with a frown, though I knew precisely where it was. I could picture it in my mind on the map at the Order of Owls. It was in the south of the kingdom, in a bowl carved out from the mountains, closer to the coast than the interior.

"A resourceful man like you should be able to find your way there."

"I am in your debt, Your Grace."

"What a lovely way you have of looking at things," she said with a smile.

Tanyth, Maireili and I left the gathering soon after and returned to the inn. It was the finest one in the capital city of Tagariaganuur, located in the heights with a commanding view of Lake Sutou. I would learn much later, from my son Miloz of all people, that what we see of Sutou is a mere fraction of its vastness, with most below ground. I have since witnessed the subterranean waterfalls that feed this incredible body. Some of the world's wonders are invisible to those who do not seek them.

I found my family in our rooms. The children were long abed. Sarakiel and Lysethe had waited for us, Lysethe cradling the sickly form of little Euvorio. I embraced my wives and kissed my son's sleeping head. Sometimes I wonder if his formidable artistic prowess was related to his weak constitution, or perhaps I look for a reason for his infirmity when there was none.

"You were right," I murmured to Sarakiel.

She smiled, flashing her fangs. "Kharachar?"

I nodded, kissing her. "She has invited us to Jihorut to see his workshop."

"And that will provide the closeness for what you need," Zhahllaia said.

"You are certain she's ambitious?" I asked.

"We are," Zhahllaia said.

Maireili looked to the djinn. "She has acquired weapons from the dwarves and calls up her forces to drill in the spring. She is preparing for war."

"Could she be preparing for some threat within the mountains?" I asked.

"You are concerned with the Rising Shadow," Maireili said. "I saw no evidence of their presence, though I didn't delve into the caves."

"It seems the humans and dwarves have little contact other than the taxes levied and some minor trade," Zhahllaia said. "In answer to your question, no. Her eye is fixed on the capital. I believe she has the ambition, but perhaps not the courage, to see it through."

I settled into bed, and Sarakiel cradled my head, stroking my hair. "And what could give anyone more courage than a wizard?" she mused.

***

***

We quit the capital two weeks later to travel along the meandering path southeast to Jihorut. The weather turned cold as we neared the forbidding peaks of the southern reach of the Zuunkhor Mountains. On the other side was the stark tundra of Jaggurzar and the wind that snaked through the peaks had teeth.

Jihorut was a small but wealthy fief, orhalaakunin the native Zuunese. It was tucked away in an unassuming corner of the Zuun Valley, bordered by peaks and foothills. Its growing season was short, but the soil was fertile, and it was located near a dwarven town within the mountain it had limited but friendly relations with. Nesugen's estate was the center of the fief, while the biggest settlement was Jihor, a bustling town situated on the swiftly flowing river Bhan.

We found Nesugen's estate in the foothills overlooking a particularly fertile section of valley. She cultivated apples here, a different breed than I was used to in Rhandonia. These had a lip-curling tartness to them, and I grew to appreciate the subtle flavors beneath, which lent a wonderful body of flavor to oghul, the apple liquor the locals distilled in abundance.

I noted the blockhouse on the road to the south, and would later learn this was there to protect against an incursion of the dwarves. Dwarves who were loyal subjects of the Tyrant. Foolish nonsense, but I am getting ahead of myself.

Nesugen welcomed us into her home, and she was surprised at the size of my family with my five wives and nine children, from the eldest Faustan, to little Miloz who still needed his mother to chew his meat for him. Over Tanyth's objections, we had traveled without servants or slaves. We would summon them later, when we had a home.

Sarakiel did not wear her amulet and Maireili kept the hood of her cloak down. While they could perhaps hide, Sabrael, Zazel, and Miloz could not, and none of us would deny our own children. Nesugen accepted them with equanimity, though I detected a hint of distaste especially for little Miloz.

She gave us a cottage on her estate which was small for a brood of my size but pleasant enough. She took us to Kharachar that first week and though I had lied about my admiration for his work, I grew to appreciate him. The man was a master weaver, and his work was undeniably evocative. I insisted on buying a few of his tapestries. One still hangs in Stormspoint to this day.

With us installed in Jihorut, the next step of the plan could be undertaken. We took that step some weeks into our stay, on a night that was not as chilly as most. The six of us were in our cozy bedroom while the children were abed in the next room with Quiyahui watching over them.

"I don't see why it has to be me," Tanyth complained. She was wrapped in her fur-lined cloak, shivering in the Zuunese cold. After the mild Castellandrian climate, it would take all of us some time to adjust.

Zhahllaia sighed. "We discussed this. It needs to be humans."

Lysethe touched the Kharsoomian's arm. "I will help you forget the cold."

Tanyth covered the former witchthrall's snowy white fingers with crimson ones. "You say that now."

"Kharsoomian nights are at least as bitter as this," Sarakiel pointed out.

"Which we spend wrapped in furs, by a fire."

I embraced Tanyth and Lysethe. "Come, my loves. It won't be as bad as all that."

"Oh, I'm just complaining," Tanyth sighed as she stood.

Lysethe, a wicked glint in her eye, handed Tanyth the slave collar. It was of Kharsoomian design, unadorned, the kind given to the lowliest of the low. "Put this on, slattern."

Tanyth shivered in delight, putting the collar about her neck. "Yes, mistress," she said, embracing Lysethe. I hardened beneath my robes, anticipating the delirious loveplay between my brides.

The three of us went out onto the grounds of the estate. Of the halaakun's lands, only the keep was truly fortified as a place to fall back to in the event the dwarves grew unruly or something more sinister found its way out of the mountains. This was a single tower, covered in loopholes, placed on the highest hill. I had encountered only one Zuunese archer outside of this kingdom, and he was a marksman without peer. With enough arrows and a high enough vantage, there was little that ranked Zuunese archers couldn't fend off.

The main house opened up into a pleasure garden which was heavy with the scent of apple and pine. Thorny hedges blooming with bright yellow flowers made meandering pathways. These wound past the estate's orchards, eventually joining Nesugen's personal farmland. A wall separated the border of the estate from the road that led, a few leagues down the road, to the town of Jihor.

Lit braziers burned from the main house's terraces, their flickering golden fingers reaching into the garden. Here and there, lanterns hung on hooks, adding some illumination. Lysethe and Tanyth were both wrapped in long, fur-lined cloaks, only their boots peeking out with every stride. I wore my elven robes, the remarkable fabric warming me.

The chill in the air was invigorating, reminding me a bit of the cold of the Rhandonian coast. We were not the only ones out, as we knew would be the case. Nesugen ambled up the path. She had only a single bodyguard with her, as nothing more would be needed so far in the Zuunese hinterlands.

"Lord Belromanazar," she said in surprise as we closed. "What brings you out here?"

"I thought I might enjoy a walk before bed and my wives wished to join me."

"Your Highness," Nesugen acknowledged Tanyth. My Kharsoomian bride's status made her easy for other nobles to relate to. Nesguen was far more awkward around Sarakiel, Lysethe, and Maireili, all of whom were commoners, and none of whom held official title. I had been born a commoner, but the title Clan Abibaal gave me was a key into the rarefied culture of the aristocracy. "Do you find the climate to your liking?"

"It is chilly," Tanyth said diplomatically.

"I hardly notice anymore. I have lived my entire life in Jihorut and I suppose I will live the rest here as well."

"You would not move to the capital?" I asked.

"There would be no reason to. I will visit when the next Tyrant is crowned."

"That looks to be soon," I said, then blanched. "Forgive me."

"No, you are correct. My cousin's health is failing, and he has attained far more years than any would have expected."

"I understand he has no heir?"

"He never named one."

"In Rhandonia, the heir is always the eldest child."

"Perhaps we have something to learn from your people, then. If he does not name an heir soon, there will be a struggle."

"And who will you support?"

"I don't like to think of such things," she lied.

"I speak out of turn."

"There is nothing to forgive, my lord," she said with a smile.

"Your Grace," said Tanyth, "the orchards looked like a pleasant place to walk."

"They can be," Nesugen said. "At night, they can be rather dark."

Tanyth shot a sly smile at me. "Oh, that isn't a problem. Thank you."

"Good night to you, Your Grace," I said, and both Tanyth and Lysethe offered small bows.

My Kharsoomian bride held me and Lysethe by the arm as we followed the path into the orchard. We walked in silence, a shiver working its way through my spine.

"Is she following?" Lysethe murmured.

Tanyth turned, disguising the motion by kissing Lysethe. "Yes, I can see her at the edge of the trees. She's holding back."

"This way," I said. "There's a press and a distillery in the middle. Faustan and Mal found it the other day."

As we moved through the orchard, giddiness took over. Though this was a calculated part of the plan, the chance to be with my wives was never anything less than thrilling. The heavy scent of apples on the edge of decay, covered us. The collection of wooden buildings in the center of the orchard were shadows in the moonlight. I balled my fist, brought it to my lips, murmured a few words, and blew gently. I opened my hand and cast a light into the air, where it rose above us and hung, bathing us in a silvery glow.

The three of us melted into one another's arms, our mouths ranging over each other. Here another set of lips, another tongue, a neck pounding with the excited pulse of arousal. Though the air about us was cold, the heat of our bodies warmed us, mingled, becoming a fire.

I concentrated, difficult while Lysethe nibbled my ears and Tanyth's clever hands roamed over me. I murmured another incantation, swallowed by Tanyth's hungry mouth. A rumble sounded through the orchard. Clouds formed not far overhead, wreathing the light I had made, reaching down with their gray tendrils. They closed around each of us. Tanyth opened Lysethe's cloak, revealing the former witchthrall's nude body. Taut muscles danced beneath snowy white skin. Dew collected on the wispy threads between her legs. Lysethe's scent, sharp at first, then blooming with complexity, enfolded us.

Tanyth explored Lysethe with lips and fingers, covering her body in licks, nibbles, and kisses. I took Lysethe's mouth, my sweet concubine's ardor growing as the Kharsoomian worked her magic. Then I felt Tanyth's hands on me, moving aside the elven cloth of my robe. It knew what I wanted, that incredible fabric unraveling enough to give Tanyth what she sought. I was exposed then, my chest, belly, and my staff, swollen with lust.

Tanyth, without hesitation, dropped to her knees and took me in her mouth. Lysthe gripped the slave collar and pulled, forcing the Kharsoomian noblewoman to take me deeply. She whimpered happily, her crimson mouth straining, her throat desperately opening to accept me. Tears wobbled at the corners of her violet eyes.

"Take all of my husband, whore," Lysethe said, playing the role Tanyth loved.