'No. And I still don't.' She grabbed at his belt and the button of his fly, and while she hauled his trousers down over his hips, Denser pulled his shirt over his head. Together, they added his trousers to the pile of discarded clothing.
She took his penis in one hand and guided it towards her, Denser looking down at the hair between her legs, which was as dark as her skin was pale. She moved her legs apart and he responded, moving his inside hers and leaning down to her. His mouth was on her breast as he entered her, and as he began to move inside her, the clamour of the mana swept him away.
Shafts of blue light shattered before his eyes as he pushed himself fully inside her. The trails they left spread away, flickering and dying, absorbed by the warm orange pulsing all around Erienne.
She felt smooth but he barely noticed as, with each gentle thrust, the mana poured around him in ever darker tendrils, catching and mixing with the Dordovan strain. The sight was so beautiful it took his breath away, and as Erienne began to move with him, it took his rhythm too.
'Don't stop,' she whispered, and he picked it up once more.
To Erienne, it was a mana-meld miracle. She could feel his hand on her breast, his lips on her neck and his movement inside her, confident and sensual. She held herself in check, denying herself orgasm as she watched their manas weave while the colours became indistinct, ultimately forming a cocoon of softly pulsating deep mauve.
Now the conditions were ideal. Denser's thrusts were more urgent, his tempo increasing, and she felt him deeply, her legs and back tingling and numbing with pleasure.
She reached a hand down to cup his testicles, his breath hissing out suddenly against her shoulder. She moved her pelvis with him, swift but controlled, bringing herself to the point of orgasm.
Above her, Denser moaned as he approached climax. His penis hardened further, delighting her with its touch, and they came together in an explosion of mana light. The cocoon disintegrated, sending rainbow teardrops splashing around them. Erienne cried out in pleasure and triumph. Denser pushed hard once more then stopped moving, still deep inside her.
She placed a hand low on her stomach and probed down with her mana to warm the semen, to keep them alive and to imbue them with the beginnings of the power her child would possess.
Denser lifted his head and looked down at her. Erienne smiled, put her hands either side of his face and kissed him.
'Now we should sleep,' she said. 'And then next time we can concentrate on pure enjoyment.'
Chapter 24.
During her run into Parve, Selyn thanked the Gods for the unusual order of the Wesmen encampments. Although it had seemed from a distance that they were pitched anywhere, the stands of tents were all grouped in half-circles around large fires, giving her the opportunity to skirt the light, people and dogs.
A CloakedWalk spell, although rendering its caster completely invisible, did nothing to deaden noise or scent, and Selyn's principal concern was the Destrana pure-bred war dogs favoured by the Wesmen tribes. Men's eyes deceived the other senses; not so those of the Destrana.
Unable to stop except in deep shadow, Selyn ran, walked, crawled and trotted as circumstances dictated, always with one eye on the ground for a stray twig or loose rock. A thrill was in her heart. This was what she had trained for so long to do. Deep infiltration, awesome odds, a deadly enemy, and Selyn passing through it all like a breeze through the undergrowth.
Where the firelight cast good illumination on the ground, Selyn slowed to examine the encampments more closely. All had the same characteristics. A tribal standard stood proud in front of a blazing wood fire, over which cookpots hung and steamed.
Between six and ten squad tents were pitched in formal order around the fire, and here and there, knots of smaller tents denoted beds for senior ranks and, presumably, Shamen. To these, Selyn gave the widest berth.
Everywhere, there were Wesmen, most lounging in the heat of the fire as the night cooled off. Lanterns lit most tents, and here and there the screams and moans of women punctuated the noises of the night - some in pleasure, others not.
There were no guards, no patrols and no lookouts. Arrogant in their confidence, the Wesmen looked to the renewed might of Parve and wallowed in their safety. And safe they were, though for a mage spy, the shadow, the noise and the eyes forever turned inwards were more than enough to make a secure if cautious passage.
The City itself was quiet on its outer reaches, where the hand of the Wytch Lords and their acolytes had not yet been laid. Here, the legacy of the past, broken stone and splintered wood, served as a reminder of the battle scars of history.
For Selyn, though, it provided a stark and terrifying contrast to what lay beyond - a City rebuilt. She moved through the rubble and into an area of low storage buildings. Long, flat-roofed constructions of slate and stone, topped by chimneys, none of which was smoking. Away towards the central square, higher buildings rose into the night, testament to the effort of the Wesmen and the acolytes of the Wytch Lords who in scant months had turned a blasted region of stone and dust into a City with a heart that beat once more.
Selyn walked in a couple of blocks before swarming up the side of one of the store buildings and lying down in its centre to rest, the CloakedWalk slipping from her. Her pulse, which had raced through her journey to Parve, hardly slowed. Her next step was to reach the pyramid itself, and with her mana stamina gone, the dark would now be her only disguise.
Dusk was settling, throwing the Mount into shadow. Puddles of wan light cast from windows grew slowly in intensity, and the sounds of the day began to ebb. Denser, Erienne and Ilkar sat around a table with Laryon, a close associate of Styliann. He had intercepted them at the door to the rooms of Nyer, Denser's mentor, and hurried them back to his chambers, where he spoke of Nyer's recent troubles with the Lord of the Mount. Nyer had subsequently been seen closeted with a splinter group of mages and it had fallen to Laryon alone to assess the chances of releasing The Unknown from thrall.
Sol himself stood silent guard by the door of the study, and Denser pushed his concerns about Nyer's intentions to one side to concentrate on rescuing the search for Dawnthief. At a nod from Laryon, Denser refilled their glasses with wine.
'The risk is great,' said the Xeteskian Master, leaning back in his chair, the lamplight catching his close-cropped grey hair and emphasising his bulbous nose and small mouth.
'But it is possible,' said Ilkar.
'Technically,' Laryon said carefully. 'You must understand the process by which a Protector is created.'
'I think I understand only too well,' said Ilkar shortly.
'No,' said Denser. 'You do not. And please can we leave aside the morals of the situation. What you are about to hear isn't pleasant, but keep in mind that we are all of us trying to help Sol.'
'Really?' Ilkar chuckled mirthlessly. 'I'd like to believe that, but I think we all know that this is purely to stop Hirad running off with Dawnthief.'
'He wouldn't get far,' said Laryon dismissively.
'Want to bet?' Ilkar bridled.
'Can we leave this?' Denser's patience wore a notch thinner. 'Ilkar, this is not productive, and, Master Laryon, I wouldn't take the bet. You have no idea what they are capable of.'
Laryon opened his mouth to reply but chose instead to exhale audibly through his nose.
'A Protector,' he said, 'is a self-supporting resurrection with a body reincarnated from soul memories. The critical point about soul memories is that they are far more accurate than brain memories. As long as the soul is taken within about twelve hours of death, re-creation of mind skills and body will be complete.'
'There's a but in here somewhere.' Ilkar was looking at The Unknown, shaking his head.
'Correct. The soul does not re-enter the body.'
'What?' Erienne jerked upright in her chair.
'Then how-' began Ilkar.
'What started as the only way to forge a bond became the ultimate mode of control,' said Laryon. 'When the spell was in its infancy, the only way to ensure life was to link the body and soul using a DemonChain - this is a spell which enthrals the mass consciousness of a multi-demonic conjuration. It works supremely well. Because the demons are under our command, we can instruct them exactly as we wish. Usually, this involves them in keeping a clear channel between body and soul.'
'Usually,' muttered Ilkar, seeing the bigger picture in all its horror.
'Yes,' said Denser. 'And the Masters can also instruct the demons to do anything to the body or soul. They can even give free rein, and that is where hell for eternity begins. Now you can see why I couldn't take it on myself.'
'It's barbaric,' said Ilkar.
'Worse,' agreed Laryon.
'So where are the souls?' asked Erienne.
'In stasis, here in the Mount. They are all together, and that's what gives the Protectors their true power. Communication and action are instant. An army of them would be unstoppable.' Laryon raised his eyebrows.
'And what's the procedure for releasing The Unknown?' Ilkar indicated the statuesque figure of Sol.
'Ilkar,' said Laryon gravely, 'I told you about the forming of a Protector so you would understand the risks involved - or at least the ones we can guess at. You must be aware that what Denser and I will attempt has never been tried before. I will do everything in my power to keep Sol alive, but I can't guarantee it.'
'It'd be convenient if he died, wouldn't it?'
'Not really. What would I gain?'
'The continuation of the Protectors,' said Ilkar. 'You could prove to the Colleges that you'd tried and failed and could sit back on your "some life is better than none" argument. I personally would question whether being a Protector qualifies as "some life", knowing what I now know.'
'I understand your cynicism,' said Laryon. 'And although you won't believe it, I agree with you. There's a growing faction in the Mount demanding acceleration of reforms to certain antiquated and unpalatable practices. Denser is one such, and I am perhaps the most senior supporter. I want this to succeed, both as a reformer and as a research mage, which is why Denser will assist me. Surely you trust him.'
'As far as I trust any Xeteskian.'
Laryon smiled. 'It is all I can offer.'
'Then it will have to do. But a word of warning. If The Unknown dies and you can't explain why to Hirad in terms he'll understand, you'll find the result the same as if you hadn't helped in the first place.'
'Thanks, Ilkar,' said Denser, sighing. 'More wine, anybody?' He refilled their glasses.
'Quantify the risks for me,' said Erienne.
'Quantify, no. Postulate, yes,' replied Laryon. 'Firstly, it is only technically possible to repatriate a soul, and then only by channelling it through the DemonChain. We do not know what damage it might incur. We also have no idea whether the soul will volunteer to return or what harm prolonged suppression of total consciousness will have done. We are merely guessing at the system shock when the DemonChain is broken and the body is once more under its own control. Don't forget, he was dead.'
Ilkar looked across at The Unknown. He was watching them. Or perhaps the DemonChain was listening and watching through him. As always, his eyes, hooded by the mask, gave nothing away.
'A return to death would be preferable to what he has now,' said Ilkar.
'I tend to agree,' said Laryon. 'Denser? We must prepare. But first we must assess the situation with our friend Nyer. Denser, if you would contact your Familiar?'
Denser nodded and closed his eyes.
The cat shifted suddenly in Hirad's lap, waking him from his doze. He sat up in his chair and looked out of the window. It was late afternoon and the sun was losing some of its strength, allowing a breeze to cool the fields. Hirad could see one of the farm hands working a plough away in the distance, and closer to home, the sounds of work echoed to him from the barns and outbuildings.
He glanced back at the cat, starting as he met the eyes of the demon.
'Don't do that!' snapped Hirad. The Familiar smiled and chuckled, a hollow rattling that had nothing to do with humour. 'What is it?'
'They are coming. We must be ready to leave here.'
'Denser?'
The Familiar shook its head. 'Those who would have Dawnthief. We must be ready.'
Styliann gathered his thoughts as he looked around the hostile table. With the Wesmen already close to the Bay of Gyernath and nearing Understone Pass, he couldn't afford to lose the support of the Colleges. And while he was furious with the actions of Nyer's mage, Denser, he was equally livid with the actions of the Dordovan mage who had begun the trouble.
'The unfortunate events-' Vuldaroq snorted. Styliann stared him down before continuing, already biting back the reply his heart demanded - 'in Dordover a few days ago have forced us to reveal to you something we wanted to remain secret for a while longer.'
'You didn't trust us?' asked Heryst, no malice in his tone.
'I felt that certain likely reactions at too early a stage would have jeopardised Balaia,' said Styliann.
'And you expect me to accept that your rape of my crypt was therefore justified?' The voice was quiet but brimming with poison. Styliann kneaded his brow for a moment before replying, choosing to look the Dordovan in the eye when he did so.
'The answer to your question has to be yes, but permit me to qualify that answer. Under any circumstances other than these, there is no doubt our action would have been different.
'It is also true that before we authorised the action we took, lengthy consideration was made of the potential ramifications as we saw them. The manner of your discovery of our actions is deeply regretted.
'It is also true that we believed that informing you of the impact of our actions would have been unwise and divisive.'
Vuldaroq nodded slowly, his face red, his jaw set. He leaned back in his chair, one of its wings hiding his face.
'Lengthy consideration,' he said. 'Deep regret.' He brought his face back into the light. 'One of my mages died.' He let the word hang in the air above the table.
'Hmm.' Styliann settled into his chair. He took a sip of water and read the notes written by his aides. They agreed with his line of argument. 'Tell me, Vuldaroq. Why did he die?'
'Because he tried to stop the rape of our crypts.'
'Is that what he was doing? My understanding is a little different. Perhaps you would like to explain to the meeting how kidnapping and imprisoning a Familiar as bait for its master's trap was supposed to help him achieve this?'
'I am not some child caught doing wrong,' snapped Vuldaroq. 'Do not treat me as such. Our mage was murdered by your bastard Familiar, let us not forget that.'
'Very well. I am prepared to concede that this was the end result. But I think we owe Barras and Heryst a complete view of the events leading to the unfortunate circumstance. I would hate them to feel they could not continue to lend their support to the alliance because of a misunderstanding.'
'What is there to misunderstand?' Vuldaroq was dismissive. 'It is hard to misunderstand murder.'
Styliann's eyes flashed and he made to rise. An aide pressed a hand on his arm and he relaxed.
'What I fear,' said Styliann carefully, 'is that our colleagues might not realise that the Familiar was taken outside the walls of your College-'
'It was still in the City,' growled Vuldaroq.
'Is that a crime?' countered Styliann.
'It was part of a-'
'Is that a crime?' repeated Styliann, his voice rising.
Vuldaroq's scowl deepened. 'No. It is not.'
'Thank you for that clarification. I would also be unhappy unless I told our colleagues that the Familiar was merely an observer, that Denser was placed in woodland some distance from Dordover and that he would never have entered the city but for the kidnap of his Familiar.
'Now I do not expect anyone to condone our theft, but I do expect everyone to understand its necessity and respect that we planned to take the ring quietly, peacefully and without using mages from any College but Dordover. Violence only occurred because of the actions of a maverick mage who suffered the inevitable consequence of caging a Familiar that was subsequently set free.'
There was a furious scribbling of notes all around the table. The delegates huddled and whispered while Styliann looked on.
'Do you disagree with Styliann's description of the events?' asked Barras following his consultation.
'The Familiar was removed from outside the College walls,' conceded Vuldaroq. 'But don't forget that at this time, our grounds had been penetrated by two unauthorised individuals.'