Tales of Erogenia

Based on the online comic created by J.E. Draft.

Episode 2: Journey to Jinqua

 

Chapter 12:  Atonement

 

Zenaria found that reaching the sea was not as easy as she had hoped.  The forest was unlike anything she had experienced.  Massive trees dominated the forest but between each of the massive trunks was a tangle of vines and smaller plants that made easy movement almost impossible.  Only the sinuous feline strength that she and Sir Varden possessed made steady movement possible. 

 

Here and there they found it easier to climb one of the giant trees and advance through the treetops rather than try to force there was along the ground.  Zenaria with her lithe body was quite adept at this, but even Sir Varden was able to climb quite well in spite of his greater bulk. 

 

Eventually, however, Zenaria caught a tang of salt air and a few minutes later the rhythmic sound of waves as they broke upon a beach.  They pushed through a final tangle of thick brush and vines and found a hill of pure sand in front of them.  The roar of the sea was so close as to drown out all other sounds and together the two cat-like warriors climbed the dune. 

 

Waves broke majestically on a white sand beach.  Beyond them the sea stretched endlessly to the horizon.  Zenaria had seen the sea before from Junal’s palace, but that had been from a distance.  This close she was incredibly impressed by its power.  The continual breaking of the waves was almost hypnotic and for more than a minute she just stared at the surf.  Finally, however, she looked at sir Varden.  “It is time,” she sent. 

 

“Yes,” came the simple response.  Perhaps the lion did not want any more of his inner thoughts revealed.  Whatever the reason he turned parallel from breaking waves and moved toward the distant tower.

 

The damp sand near the water made for easy walking for the first hour and then they reached a place where a rocky headland jutted out into the sea.  The barrier forced them to turn inland and they immediately encountered their first obstacle to reaching Junal’s palace.  Facing them was what seemed to be an impenetrable barrier of thornbush and twisted vines.  The incredible tangle seemed a bit too coincidental to Zenaria.  The sorcerer’s palace was only an easy hour’s walk away, but was guarded by a vegetative barrier designed to rip any intruder to shreds.  There seemed little choice but to either retrace their steps or attempt to clamber across the rocky headland.

 

The headland seemed the only logical choice.  Zenaria suspected that the thorny entanglement probably extended all around the sorcerer’s lair and time was not on their side.  If Junal activated the Orb of Power, he would almost certainly be impregnable.  Zenaria headed determinedly toward the rocks.

 

The first part of the detour was not difficult.  Zenaria and Sir Varden advanced along a wide rock shelf, but the closer they got to the end of the headland the narrower the shelf became and the higher the cliffs towered about them.  At the same time waves rolling in toward the headland hammered the point, throwing spray high into the air. 

 

Zenaria and Sir Varden were soon soaked and events did not improve as they forged on toward the point.  Heavy waves thundered against the rocks, threatening to throw them into the sea or slam them against the cliff.  It was apparent that there was no way round the headland by the route they were taking.  They would have to climb.

 

Retreating a little Zenaria began to clamber up the cliff face.  Her leopard claws were well suited to such activity, enabling her to climb quite easily.  It was a different matter, however, for Sir Varden.  His heavier lion’s body struggled to ascend the almost sheer cliff and Zenaria had to stop and help him up by grabbing him by his thick mane and hauling him to her level.  In spite of the pain it must have caused him to be lifted by the scruff of his neck, he did not complain, but the going was slow.  The cliff was several hundred feet high and most of it sheer and slick with water.  And, Zenaria reminded herself, there were still several miles more before they reached Junal’s palace.  They would be very lucky to reach it before nightfall.

 

They had almost reached the top of the cliff when Zenaria heard something that sent shivers down her spine.  The sound was unmistakable.  Low, guttural, and sibilant it was the speech of an Erogenian warrior’s most despised enemy.  She crouched low and peered over the edge of the cliff. 

 

Just a few yards away were a half dozen green-tinged Urtt warriors.  They were armed with typical Urtt weaponry, crudely crafted swords and wooden clubs studded with spikes.  For all their primitive construction the weapons could inflict terrible wounds and Zenaria was fully cognizant of the fact that neither she nor Sir Varden possessed any weapons. 

 

They were, however, two powerful catlike beasts and had the element of surprise.  In spite of the arduous climb Zenaria felt her fatigue disappear at the prospect of battle.  She sent a message to Sir Varden.  “Urtts.  We will rush them.  Now!”

 

She sprang onto the cliff top as she finished.  Sir Varden, who was crouched on a ledge just below her, followed, gaining the cliff in a single bound and then they charged toward the Urtts.

 

Their attack caught the Urtts completely off-guard.  The pounding of the waves had covered any sound they might have made while climbing and certainly the Urtts had no reason to expect that anyone would be coming up the sheer cliff at them.  They squealed in fear and ran as the two cats charged toward them.  But a fleeing Urtt was no match for a charging cat.  Zenaria caught the Urtt she had singled out before he had taken two steps.  An instant later her fangs severed his spinal cord.  Sir Varden slammed his prey to the ground crushing it beneath his forepaws and then went on to the next Urtt, breaking its neck with a single blow of one of his paws.  By this time Zenaria had caught up with her second target, leaping upon him from behind and ripping out his throat before he could recover.

 

That left just two Urtts fleeing toward several large standing stones.  Zenaria and Sir Varden hurtled after them determined that none should escape.  As they followed the fleeing Urtts between the stones they got a bit of a shock.  They found themselves entering a large circular stone formation inside of which was a complete Urtt encampment.  With shouts of alarm dozens of Urtts jumped to their feet and grabbed for weapons.  Outnumbered fifteen to one, Zenaria and Sir Varden did the only logical thing they could.  They attacked.

 

Claws extended Zenaria slammed into the closest group of Urtts.  She ripped open the throat of one of them, slashed another across the chest, and sent another flying with a backhand blow.  “There’s something to being a leopard,” she thought.  Her strength was astonishing; nothing stood a chance against her. 

 

Beside her, Sir Varden was even more savage; his huge jaws and mighty claws tearing apart the Urtts as if they were little more than dolls.  Within just a few heartbeats Urtt bodies littered the area and the few that remained were fleeing for their lives. 

 

Zenaria and Sir Varden hunted them all down.  The Urtts were running for their lives, but their speed was no match for the speed of the lion or the half-leopard woman.  And Zenaria and Sir Varden were determined that no one should escape to warn Junal.  There was little doubt in either of their minds that the Urtt encampment was part of Junal’s security and wondered what other obstacles they would have to overcome before reaching his palace.

 

Chest heaving, Zenaria halted over the body of the last Urtt.  She ran her tongue over her muzzle and grimaced in catlike distaste.  Urtt blood was foul, or at least she found it so.  At few yards away Sir Varden stood over the body of his last defeated foe.  He was streaming blood and Zenaria realized with a bit of a shock that it was not all Urtt blood.  Then she felt the pain of her own wounds.

 

She had a nasty gash across her belly; her right arm was slashed open just above the elbow; and she had a multitude of cuts on various other parts of her body, including a painful wound just below her left nipple.  Apparently charging into a horde of Urtts without armour or a weapon other than teeth and claws was not without its dangers. 

 

Now that the excitement of battle had worn off the wounds throbbed painfully.  It was nothing that an Erogenian warrior could not handle but Zenaria realized that she needed to stop the bleeding and deal with the raw gashes before she went on.  She looked at Sir Varden, wondering if his powers of healing remained, but the lion simply returned a baleful golden-eyed stare.  His own wounds remained untreated and she suspected that in his changed form he had lost his healing powers. 

 

With no magical solution at hand, she went back to the tried and true.  Her clawed hands were not as nimble as they had been, but she could still hold a needle.  She pawed through the Urtt’s scattered possessions and found what she needed, a length of catgut and a bone needle. 

 

Starting with her stomach she stitched together the bloody edges of the wound and then dealt with the cut on her arm.  Not surprisingly closing the jagged cut just below her nipple proved to be the most painful, but she endured it with true Snow Leopard stoicism then she turned to Sir Varden.

 

The lion growled a low warning as she approached, but Zenaria merely chided him.   “You big pussy.  Hold still or I’ll take you by the scruff of your neck.” 

 

Resignedly the lion settled down to wait.  With his innate power of healing she guessed that he had never suffered any normal medical treatment before.  If she had been capable of smiling she would have.  She finished before she ran out of catgut.  It was a serviceable work of first aid even it was not up to the level of the best healers.  At least Sir Varden would not bleed to death in the next few hours. 

 

The best thing for both of them to do would have been to rest.  Any heavy exertion would probably reopen the wounds, but they did not have that luxury.  They had fought their way onto the headland and the palace was now clearly visible beyond the screen of thick vegetation that crowded the headland. 

 

“We must go,” Zenaria sent.  Sir Varden growled in assent.  Before them there was a path through the impenetrable thorn forest and Zenaria guessed that it probably led to Junal’s palace.  However, she had no doubt that it also led to further traps and obstacles.  Given time she would have preferred to find another way into the palace, but every heartbeat gave Junal time to activate the Orb.  They would have to take their chances and hope that their skill and daring could overcome any difficulties.  She stepped forward, heading down the path. 

 

It was like walking into a green tunnel.  On all sides almost indescribably thick vegetation crowded in on them.  Even in her leopard form moving through the thorn infested forest would have been impossible.  Zenaria felt as if she was being herded, but she kept on, her eyes moving in all directions in search of danger.

 

The danger when it came was from a direction she might not have seen had she been in human form.  However, the vertical pupils of her cat’s eyes were oriented upward and she jumped back just in time to avoid a heavy net woven from some sort of thick pliant vine.  It crashed to the ground just half a step from where she and Sir Varden would have been.  It was weighted with heavy stones and would have been almost impossible to escape had it landed on top of them. 

 

Her senses tingling, Zenaria scanned the upper branches and her surroundings, anticipating an immediate attack.  In this she was not disappointed.  Emitting shrill shrieks dozens of strange brown creatures leapt at them from above.  In the heartbeat before they made contact Zenaria observed that they were much like the arboreal creatures she had seen leaping through the treetops when they had first arrived in the forest.  There was one major difference; the long-limbed creatures she had seen earlier were not armed with stone knives and wicked-looking wooden clubs. 

 

The latter were primitive maces consisting of lengths of wood studded with razor sharp pieces of flint.  Zenaria had to jump back to prevent her ear from being removed by the first assailant.  After that her reflexes took over. 

 

Numbers and the element of surprise were on the side on the attackers, but martial skill and sheer feline ferocity were on the side of the two warriors.  Zenaria batted the first attacker aside with a swipe of her paw, sending it flying back into its fellows.  Using her feline agility to the best advantage, she dodged and weaved blocking blows when she had to and avoiding others while at the same time counter-attacking savagely, using her razor edged claws to rake her attackers.

 

She was too busy to watch Sir Varden, but every now and then she glimpsed him as the magnificent black-maned lion tore through his attackers.  Every blow of his paws killed, sending the attacking simians head over heels, and his jaws crushed each attacker he got hold of.  The attack lasted only seconds, and then the long-tailed attackers retreated to the treetops, leaving a score of their dead and dying comrades behind. 

 

“What’s next?” Zenaria wondered.  The attack had caused her little physical damage, but had reopened her stomach wound.  Fortunately, she still had the needle and catgut tied in a loop around her wrist.  Stitching the wound closed a second, time she wondered whether or not Junal knew that they were coming and was placing these obstacles in their path.  She decided it didn’t really matter.  They were running out of time, there was little choice but to press on.

 

They continued down the forest path doubly alert after the ambush, but met no more obstacles other than a rain of fecal matter and ripe fruit from a bunch of angry tree-creatures.  It was unpleasant, but preferable to nets and stone knives. 

 

Finally, angry and considerably smellier than they had been Zenaria and Sir Varden reached the end of the forest trail.  It opened onto the beach once again, but they hesitated to step into the open.  Surely by now they must have triggered some sort of alarm in the palace, or was Junal relying purely on his savage guards to protect his palace from invasion?  They stepped cautiously onto the beach.

 

There appeared to be nothing at all threatening.  Golden sand sloped gently down to the pounding surf, and green jungle fringed the high tide mark.  A few hundred yards away, perched on another rocky promontory was Junal’s palace, its tall tower dominating the sprawling palace complex. 

 

The lack of apparent opposition did not allay Zenaria’s fears.  Certainly there should be something when they were this close, or was Junal relying on the power of his magic to provide protection?  It had certainly been enough before.  Senses alert for danger she stepped out onto the sand, Sir Varden shadowing her, and headed toward the palace.

 

A movement to the forest side was her first warning of an ambush.  The undergrowth stirred and then moved toward her.  At first Zenaria thought the foliage was being pushed aside and then she saw that it was the foliage itself that was moving toward her.  In complete incredulity she watched as tree-like beings moved onto the beach.  They ranged in height from about five to eight feet and had numerous branch-like appendages. More than anything they resembled walking trees, an appearance that was enhanced by the fact that their limbs sprouted leaves and clinging vines wound about their bodies.  They moved slowly, almost as if they lacked the flexibility of animals, but they formed an impenetrable wall that completely blocked the way.

 

Zenaria backed away, but as she did so something told her to chance a quick check over her shoulder.  Her hair literally stood on end.  Rising from the ocean waves were dozens of dark purple tentacles, many thicker than her waist at their widest point and armed with nasty hook-like appendages at their tips.  She and Sir Varden were trapped between two evils.  Making up her mind in a fraction of a heartbeat, Zenaria sent out a single command.  “Jump!”

 

She took a single step forward and then calling on all of her strength she released her leopard muscles and leapt toward the advancing plant-creatures.  Her leap took her high into the air and over their leafy tops.  Sir Varden followed a little less nimbly, but his sheer size and power carried him past their adversaries.  They both hit the beach running, or rather, bounding, and headed for the rocks at the base of the promontory.  Reaching the bottom of the sea-cliff they scrambled up the rocks, halting some four yards above the beach and just out of tentacle range.  Above them were another hundred yards of cliff and then the palace.  Zenaria looked at Sir Varden.  “What next?” she sent.  Sir Varden shook his huge head, his black mane ruffling.  The expression was unmistakable.  She looked toward the top of the cliff, and flexing her claws began to climb.

 

It was an easy climb for Zenaria’s leopard body, but as before she had to reach down and grab Sir Varden by his mane in order to pull him up to the next paw hold.  Nevertheless, they both finally reached to top of the cliff and the base of the palace.  But something bothered Zenaria.  “This is too easy,” she sent.  “Too easy.”  Surely Junal’s palace had to have more defences than this. 

 

She glanced down at the throbbing wound in her belly, reflecting that perhaps it had not been quite so easy after all.  If she could have smiled she would have.  But still, she suspected a trap.  Junal did not seem like the sort of person anyone could sneak up on.  Then again, she and Sir Varden were no longer truly human.  No doubt without their animal form probably neither of them would have made it as far as they had, so perhaps there was a chance after all.  She headed toward the nearest window.

 

It was a good six or seven yards above the ground, but it had never been intended to keep a leopard out.  She gained it in a single bound and then hauled herself in.  “Wait,” she sent to Sir Varden.  Then she looked around her. 

 

She was in a large room, probably a guest quarters or perhaps a room for a favourite concubine from the look of the furnishings.  It was exquisitely decorated and hung with beautiful wall hangings depicting romantic scenes.  Zenaria tore one of them free and threw it out the window, keeping one end in her grasp.  It did not reach all the way to the ground, but it didn’t have to.  With a leap Sir Varden caught his claws in the bottom of the hanging and hauled himself to the top.  Reaching the window ledge he clawed his way in and an exhausted Zenaria let the hanging fall. 

 

The various wounds she had incurred were bleeding again, but she could not afford to rest long.  They were in the palace and they had to find the Orb before Junal activated it.  Motioning to Sir Varden she headed toward the doorway and into the corridor. 

 

Outside the corridor was deserted, but which way to go?  They hadn’t seen much of the palace when they had been Junal’s “guests,” but she guessed that the best place to look would be to move toward the magician’s tower.  She had a vague idea of its direction and she and her lion companion headed off that way, keeping their eyes and ears open for any of Junal’s attendants. 

 

Whether by good fortune or some other reason they encountered no one, moving from corridor to corridor and closing steadily in on the centre of the palace until all at once they came to a majestic hall.  And there, suspended at its centre, was what they had come to find. 

 

The Orb of Power glowed with a golden light, hovering some five feet off the floor.  It blinded Zenaria to everything else in the hall.  As if drawn by a lodestone, Zenaria stepped toward it.  She realized at once that she had made a mistake, but incredibly, nothing happened.  By some fantastic stroke of luck the Orb of Power seemed to be unguarded. 

 

Zenaria bounded toward it, reaching it in a heartbeat.  Her clawed hand stretched toward it and then she slammed into an invisible wall.  The unexpected barrier knocked the wind out of her and she landed in a heap below the Orb.  Sir Varden fared no better.  Even as she tumbled to the floor he launched himself at the Orb and with a crash dropped to the floor beside her. 

 

Zenaria rolled to her feet and then turned as a sardonic laugh echoed through the hall.  “Well, I must admit I never expected to see you two again, especially so completely changed.”

 

Zenaria looked in the direction of the voice.  At the top of a flight of stairs stood Junal, flanked by more than a score of heavily armed guards.  Zenaria tensed, ready to spring, but she knew that she would probably not get the chance and a second later she was proved right.  With a flick of his finger Junal rendered both of them helpless.  As before Zenaria found she could not move so much as an eyelid, no matter how hard she strained. 

 

With a sneering grin the sorcerer slowly descended the stairs and then walked around them in a complete circle.  “I must say,” he jeered, “that you look a little the worse for wear.  Apparently my outer defences are somewhat effective.  I doubt that anything else could have gotten in.”

 

He stepped forward and ran his fingers over Zenaria’s sleek fur, his fingers dancing down her back.  “My,” he said.  “You are a magnificent creature.  Perhaps even more beautiful in this form than you were as a woman.”

 

He stepped back and motioned his men forward.  “Chain them.  I wish to release them from the holding spell.  I want to see the princess’ reaction when she is able to move.”

 

The guards stepped forward.  Several of them were carrying heavy chains to which were attached thick shackles.  They locked them into place while Sir Varden and Zenaria stood helpless, securing the ends into heavy rings in the floor.  Then Junal motioned with his hand again, and Zenaria felt the spell lift. 

 

There was a loud roar from Sir Varden as he lunged forward, but the chains held.  The guards had taken no chances with him, placing a heavy collar about his throat and anchoring it on either side, and placing heavy shackles above each of his paws.  He could move no more than a few inches in any direction. 

 

For Zenaria it was the same, the only difference being that the chains holding her arms were each held by three husky guards, pulling her arms back while four others held two chains that were connected to the collar about her neck.  These men were pulling in the opposite direction, creating a painful tension on her neck and arms and arching her back so that her chest was thrust forward. 

 

This apparently was exactly what Junal wanted.  He moved back toward her and ran his hands over the sleek fur of her breasts, caressing the taut nipples.  Zenaria struggled in rage, but could not move as Junal fondled her.  Coupled with her anger was a feeling of haplessness and humiliation as she was subjected to the degrading treatment. 

 

“Yes,” Junal said, as he continued to squeeze and stroke her, “I think I may keep you.  You will make a most interesting pet.  I may even see if you are capable of mating with other members of my menagerie.”  He looked at Sir Varden while continuing to place his hands in Zenaria’s most intimate places.  “Have you tried it with the lion yet?”

 

Something in the way Zenaria reacted gave away her inner thoughts.  Junal stepped back and smiled.  “Is it possible that you have already mated with your lion companion?  I might have known that a barbarian would find such a union natural.  I thought were little better than a whore the first time I laid eyes on you.  It will be fun to watch what happens when I put you with my tigers.  I expect a simple love spell will put you in the mood.”  He gestured again, his fingers describing an intricate series of movements and suddenly Zenaria felt a familiar and unwelcome warmth flood through her loins. 

 

She made a catlike moan, her body twisting invitingly as the spell took hold.  Much to Junal’s lewd delight she tried to go to her knees and present herself for mating.  “Oh yes,” the magician crowed,  “I see it will work very well indeed.”  His mocking laugh filled the room.

 

Zenaria’s vision clouded.  All of her frustration, anger, and humiliation welled up within her like the eruption of a geyser.  A red haze descended over her eyes with an explosive contraction of her body she wrenched at her chains, tearing her right arm free.  Junal jumped back beyond range of her claws. 

 

“Hold her you fools,” he shouted.  But for some reason he did not activate his paralyzing spell.  That was his mistake.  Zenaria was still held in place, but attached to her right arm was a twenty foot length of chain.  She cracked it forward, using every once of her strength.  It snapped around Junal’s neck.  For a brief instant Junal’s face reflected surprise and then complete terror as she jerked the chain toward her.  Too late the sorcerer started to raise his hand and then the chain tightened.  There was an audible snap and then the entire world seemed to fall apart. 

 

With a thunderous crash Junal’s palace began to disintegrate.  The great pillars of the hall crumbling, and the high ceiling tumbling toward the floor.  The guards fled, leaving Zenaria and Sir Varden in the middle of the collapsing ruin.  Giant blocks of stone crashed around them sending fragments of stone in all directions. 

 

Zenaria was certain that she and Sir Varden were going to be crushed, but she would not leave her companion.  She tugged at his chains, hoping somehow that she could release him, but the heavy links resisted all efforts.  Still, she would not give up.  Either she would free her companion or she would die with him. 

 

To her surprise she did not die.  Instead, covered with small pieces of stone, and choking on clouds of dust, she and Sir Varden survived the collapse of the palace.  As the dust settled she understood why.  In a radius of ten yards from the Orb of Power the floor was clear of any large fragments of stone other than those that had bounced in from the perimeter.  In protecting itself, the Orb had protected them.  Giving up her futile attempts to free Sir Varden, Zenaria slowly approached the Orb.  Her mission had been to somehow return it and there it was, but she hesitated to touch it, remembering the consequences the last time she had done so.  Finally, with a mental shrug she reached out and cupped the glowing sphere in her clawed hands. 

 

A shudder ran through her body and there was an indescribable sensation as the Orb briefly glowed even brighter and then dimmed once again.  Suddenly too weak to stand, she collapsed to the floor, releasing her hold on the Orb.  Her skin felt as if a thousand beetles were crawling beneath her skin and she had to fight back the urge to bring up the contents of her stomach. 

 

Through watering eyes she saw that the Orb had not moved, hovering the same distance above the floor as it had been when she had first seen it.  Slowly, she got to her feet.  It seemed that nothing had changed.  How could she retrieve the Orb when it resisted her efforts to acquire it?  Then came a voice from behind her.

 

“Leave it, Princess, we have done our part.”  Zenaria turned, eyes wide, and there stood Sir Varden.  No longer in lion form, he was entirely nude, but displayed none of his old embarrassment at the situation.  “How…?” she gasped, and then realized that she was speaking with her human voice.  For the first time she realized that somehow she had been returned to her human form. 

 

Sir Varden stepped toward her, his hands outstretched and took hers in his.  “Junal is dead and his palace destroyed.  Leave the Orb to the magicians.  It is theirs to claim.”

 

As if to emphasize his words there was a disturbance near the Orb.  The air shimmered and suddenly Alzid was there, staff in hand.  The dwarf bowed, apparently completely unconcerned that neither Zenaria nor Sir Varden was clothed. 

 

Confused, Zenaria stared at her nude body.  There was not a mark on it.  Had the Orb restored her and Sir Varden to their natural form or had Junal’s death had something to do with it?  There was no way of knowing, although probably Alzid could have told them.  Her eyes went to where the dead magician lay.  If his neck had not been broken when she yanked on the chain he was certainly dead now.  All that was visible were his feet and the red-velvet slippers that covered them.  The rest was hidden by a massive block of stone. 

 

“I knew the Orb was no longer in Junal’s control as soon as you freed it,” Alzid said, “and so I used the transportation spell to bring myself to it.”  As if guessing what Zenaria’s next question might be he continued speaking.  “The Orb cannot be hidden from one such as me.  I can sense its power wherever it is, but it would have been suicide for me to attempt to retrieve it.  Junal would have detected me at once and I would not long have survived his wrath.  It was you and Sir Varden who had to find a way to the Orb and I see that you succeeded.”

 

“What now?” Zenaria asked.  She still held Sir Varden’s hand and he made no attempt to let go of hers. 

 

“With the power of the Orb I can return all of us to the palace.  Junal is dead and his power destroyed.  His minions have fled and I expect his slaves will return to their families.  There is nothing more I need to do here.”

 

Zenaria nodded.  She was very much looking forward to retrieving her bow and sword.  And she wanted a hot bath to clean off the grime that covered her.  After that…  Well, she could think of something.  “Return us then,” she said.

 

“Wait,” Sir Varden interjected.  “I do not know about the princess, but I would prefer to find something to clothe my body before I find myself in the Emperor’s court.  It seems unseemly to enter like a naked savage.”

 

“Agreed,” Alzid said.  “I see that there a number of bodies among the ruins.  Perhaps you could salvage some clothing until something more suitable is found for you.”

 

“It took Zenaria and Sir Varden a few minutes to find clothing that was not too bloodstained or too torn to be serviceable.  None of it fit properly, but it did the job of covering their bodies and soon they were ready.

 

Alzid touched the Orb of Power.  Unlike what it had done to Zenaria it did not repel him and he chanted a brief incantation.  It was nothing like the transportation spell he had used to send them to the outskirts of Junal’s palace.  Apparently the power of the Orb made that sort of elaborate spell unnecessary.  However, there was the same feeling of gut-wrenching disorientation and then they were back in the huge domed room where they had first found the Orb. 

 

“It belongs here,” Alzid said, carefully placing the orb back in its setting.  “However, I will have to improve the security to prevent another incident like the one that brought you here.  In the meantime the Emperor is waiting.”

 

Once again Zenaria and Sir Varden were escorted through the palace.  This time, however, they were treated as returning heroes rather than hired killers or wild beasts.  They were received with thanks, their weapons and armour returned to them.  In Zenaria’s case she was gifted with an exquisite suit of bronze armour magically light but enchanted to act like much heavier armour.  All of this was received with thanks and then they endured the usual banquet that went with such occasions.

 

Normally feasting and drinking was something that would have delighted Zenaria as it would any Erogenian warrior.  But this time there was something else on her mind.  She ate and drank just enough not to appear ungracious and endured the speeches of thanks with proper attention.  When the Emperor finally retired she excused herself, asking that she be shown to her quarters. 

 

Sir Varden used the occasion to excuse himself also and together they were escorted through the corridors of the palace by Alzid.  “I have taken the liberty of placing you in the same suite,” the dwarf explained.  “There are, of course separate bedchambers.  However, if you prefer I can place you in completely separate rooms.” 

 

“No,” Zenaria answered, “this will do.  Provided of course that the gentle knight agrees.” 

 

“I am happy with the arrangements,” Sir Varden replied. 

 

Alzid smiled his pleasure at their acceptance and motioned to the guard to open the door.  Zenaria and Sir Varden stepped into the grandest room she had ever seen.  Everywhere they looked there was the greatest luxury and ostentation.  Gems had been set into the malachite floors and walls and glowing crystals threw a magical light throughout the room making the thousands of precious stones sparkle with the light of myriad stars.  Servants, both male and female and obviously chosen for their beauty knelt before them awaiting their command. 

 

Zenaria looked at Sir Varden, not sure of how to react.  Never in her dreams had she envisioned a room like this and she had no idea what to ask of the servants.  Fortunately, Alzid was a bit of a mind reader.  “The servants will serve you any way that you desire,” he volunteered, “Send away any that you do not need.  You can call for service at any time simply by pulling the bell.  I would suggest, however, that you allow them to show you to your bedchambers and perhaps prepare a bath if that is what you want.”

 

“Thank you,” Zenaria replied.  “I will do just that.  Perhaps all of the servants could leave except those who are needed to prepare my bath.”

 

Alzid nodded his approval at this suggestion.  He gave a few quick commands leaving Zenaria with just two female servants and two male servants for Sir Varden, having evidently guessed that the knight would not be comfortable being attended by two very nubile and only partially clad young women. 

 

They were shown to their rooms and the servants helped Zenaria remove her clothing.  The rags they had worn when they had arrived had been replaced with much finer garments, but they had been allowed only a quick wash before the ceremonies and festivities began and she was looking forward to the bath. 

 

The bedroom and the bath rivalled the living area in opulence and decoration.  Needless to say the attention Zenaria received in the bath left her more than satisfied, but during the entire episode the matter that had been on her mind during the banquet continued to occupy her thoughts.  She cut the bath short and waited patiently while the serving girls combed and styled her hair.  Not being knowledgeable of Snow leopard warrior hair styles they twisted her thick dark mane into an elaborate coiffure.  Zenaria tolerated this simply not to appear ungracious, but she dismissed the two girls as soon as it seemed appropriate.  Then bathed and dressed in robes of the finest silk; and her hair studded with jewels she emerged from her bedroom. 

 

The living area was deserted except for the two serving girls who had seemingly misunderstood her instructions about leaving.  She ignored them and crossed the room to Sir Varden’s bedchamber.  Pushing it open she found the knight dressed in silken finery similar to hers.  He appeared scrubbed, but restless.  His back was turned to her and he was peering out the open balcony doors toward the glowing lights of the rest of the palace, his faced creased in a frown.

 

“Sir kni…” she began and then stopped.  She would be cursed by the goddess of the Moon before she would keep on calling him Sir knight or Sir Varden.  Not after what he had done to her. 

 

“Varden,” she continued as he turned, “there is something I require of you.”

 

The knight’s eyes widened slightly and he flushed, his eyes fixed on hers.  “And what is that, Princess?” he asked, his voice tinged with tension.

 

“This,” Zenaria answered, releasing her hair with a tinkle of falling gems, and untying her sash to let her robe fall from her exquisite warrior’s body.

 

Sir Varden looked at her, his blue eyes wide and a slow smile spreading over his features.  Then he stepped toward her.

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