MAGE
BY “HECK”



Comments to heck@heckster.co.uk

CHAPTER TWO

LET THE MIND’S eye drift back through the millennia, through the swirling
eddies of time. The lush pampas becomes dense woodland, which in turn
degenerates into a cold, wind scoured desert. The only constant is the
towering column of the volcanic plug, looming over the flat landscape like
some lofty guardian. Bare necked vultures wheel and soar around the flat
pinnacle, or sit on its craggy brow, waiting for the next fatality far below.

Now let the eye focus on a solitary figure, trudging over the desert floor. It
is wrapped in animal skins fastened with leathern thongs, protection against
the biting wind, only its eyes showing through the fur as it determinedly
slogs onward, driven by a compulsion it does not understand.

As it nears the tower, it pauses, raising a hand to push back the hood from
its face. It stands revealed as a raven haired woman of delicate beauty, eyes
narrowed against the relentless wind. Those eyes, despite the lack of
understanding, hold an expression of deep and ageless wisdom. She pulls the
hood up again and resumes her trek, completing the last league of a journey
that has consumed many months.

The tower had appeared to her in a dream. At first, she had ignored it, but
the dream came again, night after night, and the image of the mountain began
to occupy her waking thoughts. A seed of a need to be there germinated within
her, blossoming into a growing compulsion to leave her home and family, leave
behind everything she had ever known, and journey to the mountain. The urge
eventually became too great and she had to go, despite the pleading of her
family, despite the fact that she did not know where she was going. But
something greater than herself drove her on, unerringly guiding her feet,
bringing her footsore and weary to the base of the mountain itself.

And now she stands at its foot, knowing that this is her journey’s end, but
bewildered about why she stands here. "I’m here!", she yells, her voice
bouncing from the stony crags and echoing across the plain. She feels small,
insignificant next to the mighty crag. Her eyes fill with tears and her lower
lip trembles. In a tiny voice she whispers, "I’m here".

The details now enter the realms of myth and legend. It is said that, in a
rainbow blaze of light, the goddess Themyra appeared to the woman at the foot
of the tower. She appeared as a serenely beautiful naked woman, tall and
strong, fecund belly distended and filled with life. The woman felt no fear at
the appearance of the deity, but a soothing calm descended upon her, a calm
that would sustain her throughout the remainder of her long life. Somehow, she
found herself at the summit of the tower, looking out over the vast desert. Up
here, the wind was fierce and freezing, but the woman felt warm and secure,
bathed in the goddess’ light. And when she turned she saw, without surprise
although it had not been apparent when she had looked at the tower on her
approach, a great hall with high, crenelated walls and narrow slots of
windows.

The edifice was obviously new, but nonetheless looked as if it had always been
there, almost as if it had grown organically from the very rock itself.

The Goddess gestured with her hand, and before the woman’s eyes a wide
hardwood door complete with wicket gate, which swung open, appeared in the
wall. Basking in the goddess’ aura it did not occur to the woman at the time,
but in later years she often pondered why, in a building several hundred feet
above ground level with no access to horses or vehicles, a huge double door
was necessary. No doubt Themyra had her reasons.

Inside the Hall, without the goddess actually speaking to her, Themyra’s plans
were made plain to the woman. She would be known henceforward as Serenity, as
would all those who succeeded her, and she would found a Sisterhood whose
purpose would be to offer a home and refuge to all woman who genuinely needed
it. They would worship Themyra, certainly, but the prime reason was to provide
succour for abused, disabused, and lost women.

And so Serenity sent out word that the Hall was available. And women came.
They came in their tens and scores. But entry was not granted lightly.

In those days, access to the sanctuary could only be gained via a lava tube,
formed when air became trapped in the molten rock. There were many such tubes
weaving their way through the living rock, but only one had an entrance that
not only opened to the world near the foot of the mountain but also within the
confines of the Hall. Applicants were required to find the correct tube, and
traverse the difficult and steep twisting path. Many gave up after a fruitless
search for the entrance. Others found the way up the tube too difficult or too
daunting, and turned back. But the few that made it to the hall were greeted
with love and warmth, and formed the nucleus of the Priesthood.

For many years, the Sisters of Themyra prospered and devoted themselves to
worshipping the Goddess. The ways of their worship were somewhat
unconventional, however, and they paid homage to their deity through
self-improvement of mind and body, becoming renowned throughout the world for
their strength and wisdom.

The presence of a hall full of unprotected women does not go unnoticed,
however, and it was only a matter of time before their peaceful existence was
disturbed. Roaming bands of barbarians were common, and the overweening lust
of the male of the species prevailed. They raided the Hall by scaling the
cliffs and, in time, through discovery of the lava tube, and many women were
raped or killed or both.

The Sisters realised that the situation could not be allowed to continue, and
a number of them elected to train themselves in the arts of war. In time, they
became formidable fighters. Bad news travels fast, and the raids soon stopped.
The outer end of the tube was hidden, and a guard placed on permanent duty
there. The Warrior Caste was born, and in protecting the priests they also
served the goddess.

The Caste of Servitors also arose out of need. The priests were busy with
their devotions; the warriors were always on the lookout for trouble. It
became necessary to found a new caste, one that would cook, clean, and take
care of the needs of the others. Not all women, naturally, were ideally suited
to either of the existing castes, and there was no shortage of volunteers.
These persons were not placed below the others, but were of equal standing in
the Sisterhood. Nobody ordered them to do anything; they required to be asked,
and by and large they fulfilled the duties of the day to day running of the
Hall efficiently and with good grace. And in taking care of the needs of both
priest and warrior, they in their turn served Themyra.

The intervening centuries had seen the Sisterhood flourish. Widely renowned
and respected, countries far and wide held the women in high esteem, and the
members became an ethnic mixture that was truly cosmopolitan.

Life quickly settled into the familiar routine for Brenhya. Routine that made
living at the Hall so secure and comforting. She slotted seamlessly into the
duty roster, almost as if she had never been away, and quickly rekindled all
of her old friendships. And in her free time she enjoyed getting back into
regular weapons practice and gymnasium work.

She always attracted a crowd of spectators when she exercised in the
gymnasium. Dressed in the regulation soft leather halter and skirt that left
her splendid midriff bare, she worked hard and heavy every day, laying on a
display of strength and muscularity that drew gasps of wonder from the women
who were rapidly becoming her devotees.

The gymnasium itself was merely a large, high chamber that was long ago
adapted to the requirements of women who desired to develop fitness and
fighting skills out of pure need. It was equipped with ropes, wallbars,
weights, and other apparatus crafted by the women themselves in their quest
for physical perfection. The notion was that athletes would complete and
repeat circuits of the equipment in a series of exercises that had come to be
known as "The Loop".

Brenhya had discovered, some time ago, that the Loop was less than a challenge
to her. Over the years, she had become something of an expert in extreme
exercise and had come to believe that, to be effective, exercise should leave
the participant at least a little out of breath. The Loop no longer did that
for her. She could climb the ropes hand over hand without using her feet at
all. The weights on the rack, constructed of lumps of lead moulded around
brass ring handles, graduating from five to fifty pounds, were as nothing to
her. And her stamina was such that she could complete the Loop all day without
ever breaking sweat.

So she had to devise exercises for herself. With an astounded crowd around
her, she would take two of the fifty pounders in each large hand, swing them
out to shoulder height, hold them for a beat, and let them descend to her
sides in a controlled movement. She would perform one-armed pull-ups or
push-ups for dozens of repetitions, pumping her large round biceps until the
veins stood out in ropy snakes, She would hook several of the largest weights
on an iron bar she had made and, lying on her back on a mat on the flagged
floor, push them up from her chest time after time until her teeth ground and
grunts of exertion escaped her.

When she had completed this last routine, and lay finally spent under the bar,
it would take four strong warriors to remove the weight bar from her.

Occasionally, more from a sense of challenge and to entertain her spectators
than for useful exercise, Brenhya would address the Stones of Gloire.

More than two hundred years ago, a warrior by the name of Gloire had been the
strongest of all the strong women. Her prowess in battle and her incredible
feats of strength were legendary in the Sisterhood. It was for her that the
massively powerful wheelbow had been crafted, and it was said that she had
once defeated a team of twelve of the mightiest women in a tug o’ war. She had
brought the stones to the Hall as a challenge for all who would emulate her.

There were six stones, all nearly perfectly round making them extraordinarily
difficult to handle, and ranging in size from a hundred to three hundred and
fifty pounds. They were arranged on a narrow strip of carpet and at the far
end was a pedestal about four and a half feet high. Beginning with the
lightest, the test was to lift each stone in turn, place it on the pedestal so
that it balanced there, and then return it to its place of origin. The rules
of the game required that the stones must be placed carefully and never
dropped. Though many had tried, no woman, since the days of Gloire, had ever
achieved the feat with the largest stone, the Gloire Stone itself.

Until Brenhya arrived at the Hall. At the age of ten, she had managed the feat
with the first four stones, and had raised the fifth from the floor. On many
occasions, she had attempted the test, and Athlo remembered, not without a
little awe, watching her pace up and down before the stones, steeling herself
for yet another attempt. And on her sixteenth birthday, she finally reached
her goal, placing the Gloire Stone on the pedestal and equalling the feat of
Gloire herself at last.

Since then, she had performed the feat many times, but the onlookers it
invariably drew were both entertained and awe-struck every time. Since her
return to the Hall she had a partly new audience, and when Brenhya went to the
gymnasium word went round quickly. Pretty soon, a crowd of women just happened
to turn up, ostensibly to exercise but all hoping that the big warrior would
feel inclined to put on a show of strength.

She was aware of the entertainment value of her displays, of course, and hoped
that they would also serve to educate and inspire her peers. And secretly, she
could not help but allow the innate performer inside her surface, just a
little.

Donning a leather apron, the kind worn by blacksmiths or farriers, in order to
protect her skin from the abrasive stones, Brenhya bent to the task. The first
four stones were little problem to her. In fact, the two smallest she could
easily have lifted one-handed were it not for their awkward shape. The fifth
caused her to expend some effort, but was no real challenge. But the great
Gloire Stone itself; that was a different matter.

The boulder stood over three feet high, and was a near perfect sphere. Just
getting a sufficiently secure grip was a feat in itself. Brenhya paced back
and forth in front of the object, glaring at it as if it was her mortal enemy,
muttering oaths under her breath, hating the implacable stone. Her expression
grew in ferocity, lips curling back to show strong, white teeth, a low growl
rumbling deep in her throat. Her pacing increased in intensity, and she began
to slap her hands against her thighs and shoulders, psyching herself up for
the feat.

Much of this was for the benefit of the audience, although the flood of
adrenalin that was the result was for her own benefit. With a last defiant
yell, she addressed the great stone. She squatted before it, positioning her
feet just right, and wrapped her long, muscular arms as far about it as she
could. Gasps of astonishment escaped her watchers when tiny tricklets of dust
fell from the rock as her iron fingers took a grip and her superb musculature
sprang into deep relief, tensing for the effort. Her arms took the strain at
first, gathering the huge lith to her chest and raising it clear of the floor.
Then the great arching muscles of her forward thighs came into play, driving
steadily and smoothly upwards as she hoisted the enormous weight to chest
height with a fierce grunt. Her sloping trapezoids formed into steely cables
and her rounded deltoid caps became hard mounds of iron. Back and thigh
muscles rippling, she turned and carried the boulder the several yards to the
pedestal, where she placed it with almost surgical precision, steadying it
carefully to ensure it was balanced before stepping away.

The onlookers let out their collective breath and erupted into applause.
Brenhya, slightly breathless and golden skin shiny with sweat, smiled
appreciatively and inclined her head in acknowledgement. She lifted her hands
to push the hair from her face and adjust her brass brow band, raising full,
peaked biceps as she did so. But the test was not over yet.

The replacement of the Stone was an integral part of the trial. Once again,
she gathered it to her chest, carried it the few yards and, slowly and with
great care, lowered the burden to place it gently upon its resting place.

Such feats of pure power reaffirmed her position with her old friends as their
role model, and raised her to be held in awe by the newer members of the
Sisterhood. And her skills with nearly every sort of weaponry - for instance,
she could handle a quarterstaff with such skill that it would twirl and spin
in her hands until it became a blur, and stop within an inch of the nose of a
hapless observer; she could put an arrow into a target three inches wide from
fifty yards, or further with the Wheelbow [although at distances of less than
a hundred yards, it tended to destroy the entire target] - made her a much
sought after teacher.

She visited Makaar daily in the ground level stables, and often rode out on
the splendid bay mare, galloping far across the plain. And she regularly
visited Sister Serenity, who had been and was still her closest female friend.

The first time she had an opportunity to visit with the young matriarch alone,
was about two or three days after her return. She went to the Chamber of
Serenity, seeking out her old friend, and the two fell quickly into nostalgia,
reminiscing about their formative years together. They had been very much more
than friends, in those days when Sister Serenity was simply Jaliza; Jal to her
friends. They spent a contented hour, Brenhya relating the stories of her
adventures and Jaliza listening with a range of reactions; at times laughing
aloud, at others almost choking with emotion.

"Ah, Bren. I wish I could have been with you. You’ve been through so much,
learned so much, and you’ve made so much personal growth". The two sat side by
side on one of the comfortable sofas. Jaliza looked up at her tall friend and
smiled. "You’ve changed a bit, too".

Brenhya raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Your face. And, no". She raised a hand as the warrior’s fingers touched the
tiny scar on the margin of her upper lip. "Not that. I actually think that
little blemish is cute. No, I was talking about your eyes".

Brenhya stared at her uncomprehendingly. She let out a little snort. "I have
no idea what you mean".

"No, I guess you don’t. Listen, before you left, your eyes didn’t show
anything. You laughed and smiled with the rest of us, but it never, ever,
showed in your eyes. They were beautiful eyes, bright and green. Still are,
for that matter. But you kept your real emotions hidden, and nothing showed in
them. All that hurt, bottled up inside. You never let anyone in to that part
of you. Not even me. But now ..." She touched her hand to Brenhya’s cheek,
smiling wistfully as a tear came to her eye. "Your eyes shine with feeling. It
lights up your face. You’re even more lovely than ever".

Brenhya slipped an arm about the slender woman and held her close. "I should
be angry", she said with a playful smile. "You calling me dead eyes, and all".
She feigned a wince as Jaliza slapped her arm indignantly. "But I’m not. Looks
never meant anything to me. But somehow it’s important that you think I’m
beautiful". She drew the priest even closer. Jaliza snuggled into her
shoulder, nestling her cheek against the hard muscles under the velvety soft
skin.

"So soft", she sighed. "Yet so strong".

"Perhaps", Brenhya mused. "Perhaps I should come to your chambers tonight".

"You better".

****************************************************

Three days at sea and Lon was convinced that, if he threw up just one more
time, his entire body would be turned inside out. He was at that stage of
seasickness where he was oblivious of his surroundings, wrapped in a cocoon of
self pity. He had spent the first day and a half afraid that he was going to
die, and all the time since then regretting that he had not.

Drosklyn Chaithe, on the other hand, was completely unaffected. He bustled
about the deck, inspecting this and that, and generally getting in the way of
the crew. His progress around the ship could be traced by the string of oaths
and curses that followed him.

"Ah, my boy. Mmm". Chaithe joined Lon at the rail, where the unfortunate
apprentice was, once again, trying to eject the non-existent contents of his
empty stomach. "Bracing, isn’t it? Eh? What? Mmm. I always enjoy the, um,
crossing. Yes. There’s something about being at sea that, um, brings out the
philosopher in me, what? But what’s this?" He paused, apparently noticing his
pupil’s plight for the first time. "Not feeling too well, lad? Eh? Never mind.
Not far now".

Lon could only groan a response, as he lurched off below decks to lie among a
pile of damp ropes in an uncomfortable heap of self-pity.

But the old wizard was accurate in his prediction. Within the hour, the man at
the masthead sighted land and sang out. All eyes followed his pointing finger,
which indicated a dark hump on the horizon. Lon staggered back on deck to
stand beside his new master.

"There it is, lad". Chaithe’s beard waggled excitedly. "Your new home, as it
were".

Distances at sea are deceptive, and it was darkening evening when the fishing
boat’s tender drew alongside the narrow jetty that was the only seaward access
to the rocky island. The two crewmen helped the old man roughly ashore, and
dumped his and Lon’s baggage unceremoniously on the planking before rowing
away without a word.

"Funny", Chaithe noted as he watched them go. "Helpful fellows. Stalwarts, I
would say. Um. A bit, how shall I say, taciturn, but the salt of the earth,
you know, salt of the earth. Yes. But they, um, never seem to want to come
ashore. Never could understand it. Mmm". The wizard gestured with his fingers,
and a glowing orb of light appeared in the air, bobbing slightly as it lit the
way. "On and up, what? On and up".

Impressed by the ease with which his mentor had produced the illumination, Lon
shouldered the heavy packs and followed the old man.

******************************************************

Like all the doors in the Hall, the door to the Chamber of Serenity was plain,
heavy wood. Standing before it, keeping her evening liaison, Brenhya felt a
funny little flutter of nerves in her belly at the prospect. Silly great cow,
she thought. This is my oldest and best friend. She’s been my lover before.
Why should I be feeling nervous now? Pull yourself together, girl!

A couple of deep breaths, and she rapped at the door which was opened in
seconds, as if the occupant had been waiting on the other side. Which she had.
Jaliza pulled the door wide and ushered Brenhya inside with a flourish and a
wide smile. The warrior stepped over the threshold, returning the smile with a
dazzling one of her own.

Jaliza stepped into Brenhya’s arms as she kicked the door shut. She nestled
her curly blond head against the firm breasts under the soft leather.

"It’s so good to hold you again after all this time. I’ve been aching to do
this, ever since you came home".

"Me, too", Brenhya sighed, enfolding the smaller woman in her strong arms and
hugging her even closer. She kissed the yellow curls.

"Are you nervous?"

"Me? No", Brenhya lied.

"Me neither", Jaliza said. "And we’re both lying through our teeth". They both
laughed at that, and the tiny priest led her big friend to a seating area. She
sat on a banquette, leaving the warrior standing before her. The last rays of
the evening sun streamed through a window, illuminating he glorious red hair
from behind and limning her superb body with light, surrounding her in a
glowing halo.

"Just let me look at you for a minute. Goddess, you’re beautiful!", Jaliza
gasped. "I always said you were the most beautiful woman in the Sisterhood.
Damn, I was right!"

"You’re the most beautiful to me", Brenhya replied, her contralto voice made
even more husky with emotion. "You’re tiny, so delicate. Perfect".

"Not so delicate!", Jaliza said, a mischievous glint in her eye. She jumped up
from her settee, throwing her white robe from her shoulders, revealing a taut,
firm body. "I’ve kept up with the exercises you taught me. Look!"

She cocked an arm, displaying a small, round bicep. Brenhya closed a large
hand around it, feeling its hardness appreciatively.

"Not half bad", she said, with a quirky, half-smile. "Not half bad at all".

"Now". Jaliza’s cute face held an impish grin as she pulled Brenhya’s halter
up. She could not reach high enough, and Brenhya had to stoop to allow her to
pull it over her head. "It’s your turn. Let me see those beautiful muscles,
big girl!"

Brenhya gave a short laugh. "You don’t waste time, do you?"

"Nuh-uh. It’s been too long".

Brenhya remembered their childhood dormitory, where one of the favourite games
had been, ‘Brenhya Make a Muscle’. Obligingly, she slowly curled her arm so
that Jaliza could get a good view. A large, steel hard bicep swelled in her
upper arm, as big as and harder than a big man’s fist. The corded sinews of
her forearm rippled as she turned her fist this way and that, making the bicep
rise and fall with tidal force. Jaliza’s eyes bugged wide as the muscle moved,
and her mouth fell open when Brenhya clenched her fist harder, popping the
bicep to an even higher peak.

Brenhya turned round and placed her hands on her hips. She pushed her elbows
forward, and spread her shoulder blades wide. The expanse of rippling,
muscular back that she showed to the priest caused Jaliza to suck in her
breath sharply, and when she raised her clenched fists, causing the
musculature to spring into deep relief, Jaliza felt her knees wobble. The
smaller woman stepped close, marvelling at the coils and hawsers of muscle
that moved under the golden silken skin like snakes in oil. She extended a
finger, and traced the curves and valleys, her fingernail raising delicious
goose bumps along Brenhya’s arms.

Jaliza stepped in close to her tall friend, moulding her belly and pert, small
breasts against the other woman’s back, the twin iron globes of the warrior’s
buttocks fitting perfectly against her own firm stomach. She let her small
hands find the tie on the warrior’s short skirt, and removed the garment with
a single action, repeating the motion with Brenhya’s brief underpants. Her
hands moved up the sides of the powerful body, tracing the lines of the large
lateral muscles and moving up to feel the extraordinarily hard biceps and
rounded deltoid caps. Brenhya gasped as her fingers flicked across the big
girl’s erect, thumb-sized nipples and moved down and around to stroke her flat
belly. Brenhya made that belly rock hard, the squared sections of muscle
becoming rigid under the ministering hands. She made her belly ripple in
waves, making Jaliza squeal with laughter as she felt the muscles rippling
under her hands.

Like a small snake, Jaliza coiled her way around Brenhya’s body, sliding down
the steely column of one immensely strong leg to kneel before her, looking up
the tall body, between the full, perfect breasts to the lovely face smiling
down at her. She could feel her juices flowing freely as she caressed and
hugged the powerful legs, running her hands up behind them to fondle the
round, hard buttocks, marvelling at the unyielding firmness of the thighs
under her arms.

Not matter how fiercely she dug her fingers into the flesh, they could make
virtually no impression in the hard muscle. She wrapped her arms around
Brenhya’s thighs and nuzzled her face into the glistening chestnut bush and
inhaling deeply. Brenhya, who had felt a growing moistness in her groin,
almost climaxed on the spot as Jaliza’s tongue flicked out like a snake’s to
touch briefly the nubbin of her clitoris.

Using her tongue expertly, Jaliza licked a moist path through the red curls,
up to Brenhya’s navel. The pink tip traced the outlines of the solid belly
muscles, while her agile fingers stroked Brenhya’s sensitive groin. From her
kneeling position, she looked up the long body towering above her, between the
most magnificent breasts she had ever seen, to a foreshortened view of
Brenhya’s lovely face smiling down at her.

The warrior reached down and slipped her hands under Jaliza’s arms. With an
easy curling action, she lifted the smaller woman clear of the ground and
hoisted her so their faces were level. Softly, she kissed the priest’s cheeks
and nose and let her tongue flick across Jaliza’s closed eyes. Jaliza took
Brenhya’s face in both hands, and moved in to kiss her on the lips, gently at
first, then with growing urgency.

It was Brenhya’s tongue that first probed the inside of the other’s mouth,
making an almost timid incursion at first, before delving deep, licking and
tickling the surface of Jaliza’s palate. In response, Jaliza locked her arms
around Brenhya’s strong neck and forced her tongue deep within Brenhya’s mouth
and the two tongues wrestled with each other, sliding over and wrapping round
each other as they each tasted the other’s saliva.

After long minutes, Brenhya disengaged her mouth and her powerful hands cupped
Jaliza’s firm buttocks. "Up you go". She boosted the smaller woman, who gave a
small shriek and knotted her fingers in Brenhya’s luxuriant mane to keep her
balance. Brenhya lifted her until her groin was level with the warrior’s face,
rubbing her face into the soft blonde curls and inhaling the musky scent of
arousal. Her lips kissed the other lips they found there, nuzzling and sucking
at the wetness that ran down her chin like succulent juices.

Sitting in Brenhya’s hands, Jaliza felt perfectly safe, trusting the strength
of her lover implicitly. Her fingers clenched tighter in the thick auburn hair
and her head arched back with a tiny squeal as Brenhya’s tongue found her
clitoris. Her tongue played with the hardening button and lapped at the open
labia, savouring the salty-sweet taste of her lover, swallowing the mouthfuls
of juices that flowed into her. She probed deeper, lapping at the button and
plunging into the depths of the dark, warm tunnel, and Jaliza moaned as waves
of pleasure washed over her. Sensing the moment, Brenhya applied her tongue
more aggressively and held the other woman even more closely. Jaliza began to
squirm in her grasp, and ground her hips against Brenhya’s face. Standing rock
steady despite her increasingly mobile burden, Brenhya stepped up her workrate
and crushed her mouth against the sweet vagina, driving her supple tongue
deeper and faster in and out.

Jaliza’s tight little belly hardened against Brenhya’s face. She wrapped her
wiry thighs around the warrior woman’s head, gripping hard as she felt her
climax building. Throwing caution aside, she moaned sensuously as she released
her hold on Brenhya’s hair, moving her hands to her own shapely breasts,
rubbing and caressing her own hard nipples.

Brenhya held her tight as she felt her body beginning to spasm. Jaliza cried
out loud when the orgasm began, racking her body with wave after wave of
unimaginable ecstasy. She literally screamed Brenhya’s name and her body
arched backwards until she was almost horizontal. Brenhya held her easily and
her legs, clamped about her lover’s head, counterbalanced her, while her toned
belly held her position. Brenhya’s face and neck were drenched in the love
juices that ran freely, and her thighs became damp with her own fluids,
stimulated by the ecstasy she was bestowing. Chewing her lips until they were
almost raw and emitting squeals and moans, Jaliza jerked and writhed for what
seemed like an age, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable in its intensity.

Finally, and almost as a relief after such sustained orgiastic release, the
climax began to subside. Slowly, Jaliza began to sag backwards, tiny moans
escaping her as her body relaxed, jerking occasionally as the tiny, popping
aftershocks claimed her, until she hung head downwards, legs over Brenhya’s
wide shoulders and supported by a powerful hand gripping each hip.

Gently, Brenhya lowered Jaliza to the floor, giving a soft chuckle as the
priest all but puddled on the rush mat, so fluid and relaxed was she. Jaliza
curled up with a contented sigh and closed her eyes, a happy grin on her face.

Standing over her with hands on hips, showing no signs of exertion other than
a reddish glow, due more to sexual excitement, Brenhya smiled down at her
friend and nudged her with a toe. Jaliza frowned and pouted slightly.

"Don’t you dare go to sleep", Brenhya laughed. "It’s my turn now".

"Mm-hm. In a minute".

And before long, it was Brenhya’s turn.

********************************************************

The island was bounded by low cliffs, topped by a range of thickly forested
hills. The trees were roped together by vines and lianas, and the bushy
undergrowth clustered round the trunks like drawers round the ankles of a
surprised old woman. Here and there, a strangler fig wound it’s deadly lattice
around and about a tree, parasitising and slowly choking the life from its
unwilling host.

At the head of the wooden steps leading to the top of the cliff, which the old
wizard climbed in a surprisingly sprightly manner, a well trodden narrow path
led through the jungle. They followed the trail between the trees, winding up
and through the hills, until they reached a small clearing.

"Here, mmm, here it is! Welcome to my, um, home. Yes. Not much, not much, but
I like it. Mmm. You must treat it as your, er, your own. Mm-hmm. Your own.
Come. Come!"

Light from the orb fell on a modest home. Almost a perfect cube, it looked
like nothing more than a child’s drawing of a house, with a central door and
four square windows. A dead level manicured lawn surrounded the edifice, and
green moss clung to the building. It had an air of simplicity about it, warm
and welcoming as the ground floor windows shed flickering light on the turf.

The old man gestured again as the two approached the house, and the orb
vanished with a tiny pop. He pushed open the door, to reveal a long corridor
lit by guttering candles nestling in sconces. Lon peered inside, puzzled by
the fact that the corridor seemed longer than he would have thought. Ushered
by his master, he entered the house, squinting in the dim light at rows of
portraits down each wall. Some were dark and greasy with age, but all showed
the style and flourish of a flamboyant artist.

"Family portraits?", Lon asked.

"What? No, no, no. All my own work. I like to, um, dabble a bit, doncher know?
Yes. None of them real, of course". Chaithe chuckled as he tapped himself on
the temple. "All from in here. Mmm. Totally made up. Hee hee".

"They’re very good", Lon commented. He indicated the luggage. "What do you
want me to do with this?"

"Oh, just drop it there. Quaff will take care of it. Quaff!!" Lon jumped a bit
at the old man’s bellow. Chaithe continued as if nothing had happened. "He’s a
damn’ fine servant. A bit slow, doncher know, but very thorough. Yes. Very
thorough. Mmm. Now, come into the parlour and take your, er, your, er, boots,
yes, that’s it, boots off".

He flung a door wide, and Lon followed him into the room. His mouth fell open
at what he saw. It was impossible! The room was bigger than the whole house
had appeared from outside. The great fireplace alone, with a roaring blaze in
the grate, was bigger than many rooms the apprentice had stayed in, and an
enormous table, several yards long, dominated the centre, surrounded by high
backed chairs and polished to a deep shine, with a place setting at each end.
The smoothly sanded floor was strewn with luxurious deep-pile rugs, in stark
contrast to the rush mats Lon was used to, and deeply upholstered sofas and
chaise-longe huddled against the walls, which were hung with more of the
colourful, flamboyant portraits.

Drosklyn Chaithe bustled over to the fire and warmed his hands over the
flames. He noticed Lon’s stunned look.

"You, um, you look amazed, lad. You like my bit of trickery, eh? Yes? Just a
matter of dimensional manipulation, you see. Mmm. Pretty advanced stuff. But
I’ll teach you. You’ll see. You have a lot of hard work ahead of you, but you
have the potential I think. Mm-hmm. You have the potential".

"But this is Great Wizardry!", Lon blurted out. "This sort of stuff died out
with the Great Wizards! It can’t be done! Not any more".

"My boy, my boy, my boy". Chaithe smiled and put a skinny arm around the
youth’s narrow shoulders. "So naive. Just because the Great Wizards are gone,
doesn’t mean their secrets died with them. No. For the, um, inquiring mind,
they are all still there, waiting to be rediscovered. Yes. I have done, mmm, a
little research, doncher know. Eh? This", his gesture took in the entire room.
"This is nothing to what they could achieve. Oh, no. Nothing. And when you’ve,
um, finished your apprenticeship, I hope you’ll stay on and explore their
secrets with me. Yes".

"But the magic of the Great Ones was evil!"

"Silly, silly boy". The old man shook his head from side to side. "Magic is
not evil. No, not at all. People are evil. Magic, you see, is merely a, mmm,
how shall I put it. A tool. Yes, that’s it. A tool. To call magic evil is like
saying a woodsman’s axe is evil. The evil lies in the purpose to which it is
put, d’you see? The Great Ones, now, they were evil. But their magic was not.
And just think". He spread his hand before Lon as if showing him a great
vista. "How much good we could do with that power, hmm? Think on it".

Lon acquiesced for the moment, although inside he was far from convinced.

"Not sure, eh?" Chaithe read his apprentice’s expression with some accuracy.
"Consider this. Mmm. Look at all the suffering in the world. All the disease
and poverty. Eh? If you could find the power to put an end to it all, you
would take it, no? Yes? Of course you would. And the Great Wizards had that
power. Oh, yes indeed. They had it. That they chose to use it for their own
greed is, what shall I say? Unfortunate? Yes, unfortunate. But just because
they misused it, doesn’t mean to say that I, that is to say, um, we would.
Does it?"

"But if the power fell into the wrong hands ..."

"Mmm. Then it would be up to us to see that it, er, does not. D’you see?"

Lon did not see, quite, but he nodded anyway. He looked up as the door swung
open. A short, hunched figure, taller than a dwarf although not by much,
shuffled in. His shiny bald head, and beetling brows which all but hid his
small black eyes, hung forward on his thick neck, and a permanent glistening
dew drop hung from his hooked nose. Lon couldn’t take his eyes off it,
experiencing a feeling of suspense as he waited for it to drop.

"Sire", the figure croaked. "Young Sire. Quaff has unpacked your baggage. He
will serve dinner in forty minutes, if that please your Sires".

"Thank you, Quaff", Chaithe smiled. "Would you bring us one of your, um,
delightful tisanes while we, mmm, while we wait?"

"Of course, Sire. Quaff has already prepared some, and he will serve it
straight away".

Lon watched him leave. "Is he a Kobold?", he asked.

"Mmm? Oh, yes. Yes he is. One of the, um, last of his kind. Curious people.
Yes. Good servant. Excellent. He always seems to, um, anticipate me, doncher
know? Invaluable".

"I’ve heard of them, of course, but I never met one before. He has an odd way
of speaking".

"Hmm? What do you mean?"

"He talks about himself in the third person. That seems very strange".

"Ah, yes. I, um, see what you mean. Heh! He’s been around so long, I don’t
notice it any more. No. No. Yes. But it’s just their, um, what shall I say,
their way. Yes. Their way. All his people do it, what? They have no concept of
the individual, d’you see? That’s why they make such excellent servants. No
egos. None at all".

"Fascinating".

"Indeed. Indeed. Now. Let us sit by the, um, fire for a while until dinner,
and you can tell me all about yourself and your, um, your remarkable friend.
Brenhya, wasn’t it?"