Mud & MagicChapter 10: Respite free porn video

Author’s Notes: A heartfelt “thank you” goes out to the people who helped in refining and improving this chapter. My lady love for her undying support and the harshest critique one can hope for, my editor bikoukumori for his unending patience and a host of volunteers who suffered through the early drafts of this tale. In no particular order: Thornfoote, Pyvent, UKWaterRat and of course my Patrons.

All participants in sexual activities are adults.

“I’m not quite sure if I’ll ever be comfortable holding that thing again,” Rhys said, waving his hand defensively. “Faedal really did a number on me with it.”

Astra’il lowered the battle staff. She had affixed a short, sturdy piece of wood to it at an angle, turning the weapon into a passable crutch. “Rhys, don’t be foolish. Weapons don’t hurt people. People do. By itself, it’s just an item. The intent behind the hand holding it ... that’s what counts. And right now, it will enable you to walk.”

Rhys gently touched his battered knee. “It will take weeks for us to reach the ‘Dryad’ with me hobbling along like this.”

“I’ll take the stretcher along,” Borna said. She had barely talked to Rhys at all since they had woken up, curled around each other, his face between her chitin-covered breasts. She had grabbed her loincloth, tried – and failed – to cover up her prodigious erection and fled the room, leaving Rhys half-awake and quite confused.

And I foolishly thought that our talk last night would allow me to understand her better. I still have no bloody clue how Borna thinks, Rhys thought.

A slap against his shoulder tore him from his musing. “So, are you taking the crutch or not?” Astra’il asked. “Not using the leg will only exacerbate the stiffness.”

“Fine, fine,” Rhys muttered, taking the offered crutch. He pulled himself into a standing position and tried a few hobbling steps. The knee thumped painfully and refused to bend properly. He cursed.

“How bad is it?” the dark elf asked, flitting to his side.

“I’m already praying to Mercy for smooth, even terrain,” Rhys said between gnashed teeth. “No telling what one nasty aerial root might do to me.”

“Let me help you a bit,” Astra’il said. She hummed a few notes and touched his shoulder. The knee stopped thumping. At the same time, Astra’il hissed.

“What have you done?”

“A little gift from my Mistress. For the next few hours, I will endure your pain. At least that’s the plan. With your garbled magical field, the spell could end any minute. So we’d better get going.”

“I’m ready,” Borna hissed. She had wound her blanket around herself, hiding most of her monstrous physique. The equipment bag hung at her waist, held in place with a new tool belt Astra’il had dug up somewhere in the cabin. On her back she had the makeshift stretcher they had used to get Rhys this far.

“Well then... ‘Dancing Dryad,’ here we come,” Rhys muttered, planting his crutch.

It would be a long, hard walk. Progress was painfully slow; even with some practice, Rhys was barely half as fast as Astra’il’s leisurely walk. And the pain-numbing spell fizzled and died barely half an hour into their trek. He gnashed his teeth and soldiered on, refusing to call for the dark elf. She moved around him and Borna in slow circles, sword in hand while scouting for dangers ahead.

“We’d be faster if I’d simply carried you,” Borna grumbled. “Besides, you’re making an awful lot of noise.”

“I know,” Rhys grumbled. As if to emphasize Borna’s point, a dry piece of wood loudly shattered under his good foot. “My wheezing is probably attracting every predator in a five-mile radius.”

A fleeting smile flickered over Borna’s angelic visage. “How fortuitous that I’m here. Most animals will think twice about laying a paw on you with me around.”

“It’s not the animals you should be worried about,” Astra’il said, appearing like a wraith from between two hulking tree trunks. Borna flinched, her tail nearly missing the dark elf’s face. Astra’il grinned. “Good reflexes.”

“It’s my restraint you should be praising,” Borna said gruffly. “What lurks in here besides those strange beasts we met? Like that tree-like thing with its tentacles?”

“Large triangular maw? Seems to walk sideways?”

Borna nodded. “We fed it a corpse we happened to have on hand.”

Astra’il exhaled slowly. “It’s called a Devourer. The thing can smell blood and gangrene from miles away and is more persistent than a Desire cleric trying to peddle a deal. They’re harmless once they’ve had something to eat.” She shivered. “Their tentacles can numb and paralyze the terminally wounded so the killing bite doesn’t hurt so bad. Too bad their definition of ‘terminally wounded’ is rather loose.”

The dark elf joined Rhys and inspected his knee. Borna’s impromptu amputation of the trouser leg left it in the open. “It’s almost noon,” she said. “You have earned a bit of rest.”

“How far did we make it?” he asked, stubbornly planting one foot before the other.

“Further than I expected. I was afraid you’d give up much sooner.”

“Who said anything about me giving up?” Rhys snapped then moaned as his good foot hit a root and bent in a direction it wasn’t meant to go. Astra’il caught him before he could fall. She helped him to sit down on a fallen log. Borna growled dangerously.

“What?” Astra’il asked.

“Your two-legged predators are close,” Borna snarled. “And Rhys’ yelp just told them where we are.”

“We can take them,” Rhys grumbled, raising his hands. A moment later, his body turned silver. “Borna, hit me.”

“You’re in no condition to fight,” Borna hissed, crouching low. Her stinger gently clipped Rhys’ shoulder.

Not only did the light slap not ring off his metal-shod body, the wreath of negative energy surrounding her stinger hurt like hell. He ground his teeth. “So much for my Armor spell.”

“Just keep your head down,” Astra’il said. She ran towards the nearest tree and jumped. At the apex of her leap, she invoked her dark elven powers and levitated upwards, easily landing on a branch twenty feet off the ground. “I’ll cover you from up here.”

There were noises coming closer, heavy footfalls crunching through the underbrush. Rhys quickly checked his belt for anything which might be useful in a coming fight. There was the Fireball wand but using a magical item seemed like a pretty bad idea. The last thing I need is a fireball erupting at my feet or hurting anyone besides the attackers. No Disjunction Stone he could throw either. I’m frankly sick of them by now, he bitterly thought. Sighing, he drew his dagger, the one Galdor had given him. Not that I’m in any position to knife someone. He pulled his cloak around him and hid the weapon under the dark fabric.

The steps were almost upon him now. He looked around. Borna was nowhere to be seen, hidden in the thick underbrush. Three men appeared from between the tree trunks, wearing black cloaks over bronze-studded armor. Carver’s insignia were fastened to their right shoulders. Each one had a bow on their shoulder, a quiver with black-feathered arrows next to it and wickedly sharp-looking hatchets in hand. Most of their faces were hidden under dark hoods.

“I thought I heard voices,” one of them said.

“Damn woods, trickin’ yer senses every chance they get. I mean, look at this fool,” another said, gesturing at Rhys with his weapon. “Looks like he’s got silver skin, sarge.”

“Silver everything,” the third said. An errant ray of sunlight caught on his teeth, turning a smile into a threat. “Maybe he’s worth something.”

“That’s ... that’s just an illusion,” Rhys said. “Greetings to you, gents.”

“What’s a scrawny whelp like you doing out here? Got lost?” one of the men asked him. “Hurt too.”

“Yeah, I ... stumbled and fell,” Rhys lied. Even to his own ears, it didn’t sound very convincing. Especially not if these are Faedal’s men. “I’m looking for the ‘Dancing Dryad.’ It should be around here somewhere.”

The men laughed. “You’re way off course, lad. The ‘Dryad’ is at least three days thataway,” the sergeant said, pointing. “And with your leg? You’d be lucky to make it that far.”

“If you want, we can put you out of yer misery,” one of the others said, hefting his hatchet.

The sergeant whirled around and slapped his companion across the face. “I don’t want such talk, Reece. Mayhap you don’t have kids – and Allura forbid you’ll ever sire some, with talk like that – but I’ve got a lad about that age back home.” He returned his attention to Rhys. “Tell you what, lad. There’s a camp of ours not that far from here. We’ll get you there and I’ll see to it a healer has a look at that knee.”

Rhys looked at the scout in surprise. “That ... that’s uncommonly kind of you.” His eyes flicked to the badge affixed to the man’s cloak.

“Now, now. Not everyone is a bloodthirsty bastard like Reece here,” the sergeant said. He straightened up and hefted his hatchet.

“Ah, there you are!” Astra’il said, appearing through some bushes. “I have looked everywhere for you!”

The three scouts had their weapons at the ready in an instant. The sergeant eyed Astra’il with disdain then his gaze flicked back to Rhys. “Friend o’yours?”

Rhys simply nodded. “Yes. We got separated when a Devourer attacked. She drew the beast away before it could eat my leg.”

“There’s a Devourer on the loose?” the sergeant asked, alarmed.

Astra’il grinned. “Yes. It’s gorging itself on some of our scant supplies over there.” She pointed the way she had come. “About half an hour that way.”

“What’s a Devourer head worth, sarge?” one of the scouts asked, rubbing his hands eagerly. “At least a few bottles of stone water, innit?”

“It’s all yours,” Astra’il said, bowing. “Good hunting!”

Exchanging their hatchets for their bows, the scouts dashed in the direction Astra’il had indicated. Borna crept from the bushes she had been hiding in.

“We didn’t kill them?” the cursed girl asked, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“No need. This once,” Rhys said. “Seemed they weren’t Faedal’s men.”

“We should nevertheless make haste and vanish before they realize they’ve been tricked,” Astra’il said. “Borna, the stretcher.”

“That was some quick thinking,” Astra’il said ahead of him. She and Borna carried Rhys between them and moved through the forest at a brisk pace.

“I’m amazed I got out anything coherent at all. When I saw the axe-and-goathead insignia, I thought we were done for,” Rhys said, grasping the sides of the stretcher for dear life. “Thanks to you I knew enough about the Devourer to fool them.”

“And I was afraid you’d let them carry you away,” Borna said. “Who knew Carver employed men with a conscience?”

Rhys remembered his first attempt at scrying, the squad leader he had spied upon doing his paperwork back at the village inn. Or my father.

“Carver’s men don’t join him for a cause. They do it because they’re told to do so. Or because they want the money,” he said.

“The last thing I need are people I can sympathize with,” Borna snarled. “It’s so much easier to kill them if they’re faceless bodies.”

“This may sound strange, coming from a dark elf,” Astra’il said, slowing down somewhat. “But killing someone should be the last resort.”

Borna snorted. “Didn’t you tell me something about a raiding party from Below ‘not anymore coming?’”

Astra’il sighed. “I didn’t kill them. At least not intentionally. I merely sealed the tunnel they were bound to use with a few dozen goblin bombs. If they were lucky, they didn’t stumble into the explosion. If they weren’t then the Surface has one dark elven slaver pack less to worry about. I can live with either outcome. For every convert to the Moon Maiden, there are hundreds of my kind more than happy with their debauched existence. Don’t get me wrong. There are few emotions more powerful than the unshakable knowledge that the Chaos Queen has bestowed her favor upon you. You are invincible. All males bow to your every whim, fall over themselves to please you and even some fellow priestesses finally show you respect. Not even the silvery moonlight and the naked body of the Maiden against mine come even close to the sensation of bathing in the blood of your vanquished enemies or an especially sweet sacrifice.”

“You almost sound like you miss the Chaos Queen,” Borna said.

Astra’il spat. “She is one fickle bitch. The smallest slight will be punished harshly and even perceived lapses of faith incite Her wrath. For all the power the Chaos Queen bestows, she demands unreasonably high prices. My limit was reached when I was ordered to eviscerate my youngest brother.”

“What did he do?” Rhys asked. Astra’il’s tale even managed to divert his attention from his hurting knee.

“He didn’t obey another priestess,” Astra’il said, her face a carefully settled mask. “Sometimes, when they’re especially good in bed or otherwise useful, a male can get away with a bit of insubordination. Not this time though. He was just a boy.”

They trudged on in silence for some time.

Eventually, Astra’il continued. “I asked the Chaos Queen if killing him would have changed anything – and promptly She withdrew what favor I had. And She let every other priestess know that I was questioning Her decrees, turning me into the next worst thing to an outright heretic. Before we knew it, our House was under siege by some opportunists and I was faced with either laying down on the altar to placate the furious goddess or fleeing. I chose the latter. I happened to stumble into a Moon Maiden priestess mere moments after arriving on the Surface. She...” Astra’il fell silent.

“Where is she now?” Rhys asked. “Ever since we met you back at the Dryad-”

“Shh,” Borna hissed.

“No need,” Astra’il said, more a whisper than anything else. “She was killed by some surface elves who shot first and never asked questions.”

“And yet you’re still here, patrolling the elven woods?” Borna asked. “You folk from Below must have a special desire for self-flagellation.”

A quiet chuckle answered her. “I wouldn’t know where else to go. This is my home now. And even if not every inhabitant is aware of it or agrees, I’m doing my best to protect it.”

“That’s admirable,” Rhys said. “But ... how are you dealing with the bad memories?”

Astra’il gazed over her shoulder, favoring Rhys with a scorching look from an emerald eye. “By trying and making new ones. Meeting new people is a good first step towards that goal. Let’s see where this path will take the three of us.”

“Hopefully away from here,” Borna said ominously. “I still have the stench of Carver’s men in my nostrils.”

“You think they caught up to us?” Astra’il asked.

Borna shook herself like a wet animal. “Not sure. Maybe the stench of cheap spirits and unwashed crotches clogged my nose.”

“Well, it’s fortunate that I know a little shortcut,” Astra’il said, guiding the stretcher down another path. Rhys noticed the ground sloping downwards. They entered a rocky hollow. Within minutes, what had been the floor was above their heads, with the trees forming a natural vaulted ceiling, their branches interwoven. Only the occasional shaft of cool light reached the pebble-strewn ground.

“You don’t plan to dive into the caves, do you?” Rhys asked.

“Contrary to what Borna thinks of me, I don’t enjoy inflicting inconvenience on me. Or others,” the dark elf retorted playfully. “I’ll let you in on a little secret Isaya ... my lover taught me. Here we are.” She stopped in front of a weather-beaten monolith and helped Rhys off the stretcher.

The young sorcerer looked the monolith up and down. It was ancient, blasted by millennia of exposure into a roughly triangular shape, narrowing to a smooth, round point. Examining it more closely, Rhys saw strata of a darker material meandering in the glistening grey stone, forming strikingly regular patterns.

“Are these ... runes?” Rhys asked. He nudged Borna. “Is this some kind of runestone?”

The cursed girl shook her head. “Not the kind I’m familiar with. My Gran made small ones, for gambling or telling fortunes.”

“This is an old standing stone,” Astra’il said. “Some people think the elves erected them but they’re far older than that. With the right words, they can be coaxed to do amazing things.” She placed her hands on the smooth stone and began to sing. This song was different than the ones she used to invoke her magic. The notes were set at strange intervals, causing Rhys to fight a sudden bout of nausea. There was nothing beautiful in this song. It sounded primitive, dangerous. And it hurt. Next to him, Borna crumpled to one knee, whimpering softly as she clutched at her head.

Astra’il ended her song with a weird trill, her voice effortlessly racing up the octaves. Behind the monolith, the ground seemed to ripple and flow. Tossing pebbles aside and tearing deep gashes into the ground, roots emerged from the earth, threading themselves higher and higher until they formed an arch framing a shimmering opening. Whatever waited on the other side was an indistinct blur. Rhys could only make out what looked like flickering lights and some kind of wall.

“You think dragging me through a magical portal will work?” he asked.

“I haven’t tried tossing Disjunction Stones at an Earthgate yet,” Astra’il said. “But crossing a gateway should depend much less on your particular magical properties than using a touch spell. Sadly, my time studying magic theory at the Academy revolved around other topics. Battle magics, coercion spells, necromancy – the tools any evil priestess needs to succeed.” She offered a hand to both Rhys and Borna. “Let’s hold hands while we cross the threshold. If the gods are with us, we’ll end up near the ‘Dryad’ together.”

“Just a moment then,” Borna muttered, fiddling with the sack around her neck. The angry red arcs of energy racing up her claws and stinger vanished. Grinning, she extended her dangerously clawed hand to Astra’il. “If you dare,” she said.

“You are one intimidating beast, Borna,” Astra’il said, threading her fingers between Borna’s armored digits. “But compared to the Handmaiden which drilled me senseless during graduation ... you’re actually quite nice on the eyes.” She raised Borna’s hand to her mouth and breathed a kiss onto the crimson plate protecting the back of her hand. Borna stared at her, for once at a loss for words.

Grinning, Astra’il threaded her arm through the nook of Rhys’ elbow. Together, they entered the Earthgate. A whirling moment of disorientation later, they stumbled onto the flattened earth surrounding the ‘Dancing Dryad.’ Rhys looked over his shoulder. One of the stones serving as the inn’s foundation had the same regular veining as the standing stone they had just left behind. The runes gleamed in an eerie green, their luster diminishing as he watched.

“And that saved us three days of carrying you,” Astra’il said, turning to face Rhys. “And you lost your fine silver sheen. Does anything hurt? Besides the knee, I mean?”

Rhys checked his body, moving his limbs. “No. Everything seems to be fine. But I wouldn’t mind a firm chair under my butt and something to eat.” He moved his hand to his belt, checking his coin purse. The sad clicking of a few copper nibs was his reward. He looked at Borna.

“Tell me we looted something valuable from the camp,” he said.

Borna adjusted her blanket cloak and shook her head. “Chassari took the stuff the commander had but apart from that ... I was too busy hauling you out of harm’s way to look for loot.”

“Don’t fret,” Astra’il said. “I have enough for a hot meal and a room at least. Tonight, you are my guests.”

“You’ve got some nerve showing yer face again after the ruckus your friend caused,” Farook, the innkeep growled. His glare promised trouble.

Rhys raised a hand, trying to ward away the man’s fury. “First, those drunk mercenaries started the brawl. And what about us saving your waiter’s butt? Doesn’t that count for anything? I’m sorry for the floorboards-”

“And the windows upstairs,” the barkeep snarled. “And let’s not forget the set of keys. That’s two rooms I wasn’t able to rent out for almost a week. I’ve got a locksmith incoming from Horvath Point to replace the locks and that man won’t work-”

Rhys dug around in his money bag. Grinning, he withdrew two keys and clicked them onto the counter. “I simply forgot to return them in all the hubbub. Sorry about that.”

Astra’il joined Rhys at the bar and flashed Farook a dazzling smile. “Cut him some slack. He got knocked about pretty badly.”

Farook’s grim scowl relented somewhat and he looked Rhys up and down again. “What happened to you anyway? That couldn’t have happened during the brawl, now could it?”

“No. We had a little spot of trouble with some of Carver’s men,” Rhys said, carefully weighing his words.

“Did that, by chance, involve rescuing two handfuls of slaves?” Farook asked. “One of them a heavily tattooed, bad tempered elf lass?”

“That must have been Sylae and the others,” Rhys said. “Yes, that was us.”

The dark-skinned innkeep’s face split into a wide grin. “You? Damn, boy. Tangling with Carver, blowing up his supply depot and earning the praise of a Stalker faithful? I’m amazed you don’t simply miracle your damaged knee back into shape.”

“Well, that might be out of the question at the moment,” Rhys said. “My magic got jinxed. And before you ask, yes, two of my companions are missing too.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping to persuade that lovely serpent lady into dancing for me, if even for one night. Anyway, you have earned at least a belly full of food and a good night’s rest for your troubles.” Farook slapped Rhys’ shoulder, nearly taking him off his feet.

“What happened to Sylae and the others?” Rhys asked. He scanned the room. Borna had taken up residence at the same table they had when they first came here, close to the stairs, with a good view at the stage. Even this early in the afternoon, the taproom was bustling. Thankfully, no obviously drunk mercenaries this time.

“Sylae is still around here somewhere,” Farook said. “Her kind wishes to eventually take back the old elven holds for themselves. The dark elves and the others were more than happy to accept the help of some of my acquaintances. I’ve sent them east, towards Horvath Point.”

“Isn’t that still Carver’s dominion?” Rhys asked.

“Relax. Sure, the town has sworn fealty to that madman but his touch is rather light there. It’s the biggest port in these parts and the freed slaves can pick where they want to go from there. My friends will make sure they’ll be alright. So, what’cha want?”

“A good meal for the three of us. And since I still have the keys, how about you let us keep the rooms for the night?”

“Ha! If your adventures don’t play out, you should think about becoming a merchant in El-Abessin,” Farook boomed. “Your haggling skills will put the fear of Sikka in those fools trying to pull a fast one on ye. Sit your ass down, the food and drinks will be along shortly.”

“Thank you,” Rhys said, pocketing the keys again and picking up his crutch. Astra’il by his side, he made his way back to the table Borna had claimed and sank onto a chair.

“That went much better than I had feared,” he sighed.

“He didn’t want to kick us out right away?” Borna asked.

“No, your actions made you rather popular it seems,” Astra’il said.

The half-elven waiter appeared, carrying a tray with ale steins. He placed one in front of everyone. “Thank you for helping me before,” he said, bowing. He looked around. “Where are the others?”

“I wish I knew,” Rhys muttered. “We got separated. I hope they’re safe.”

“If it helps, I’ll offer a prayer to the God of Roads tonight,” the waiter said. “I’ll be back with your food once I have served the rest of these.” He nudged his tray full of drinks.

Rhys took a sip from his ale. It was good stuff, strong and not at all stretched with water, like the swill back home.

“What are your plans going forward?” Astra’il asked, touching Rhys’ forearm. “Besides resting and healing.”

“We should try and get back to the Tower. Or at least send Thurguz a message and ask for help,” Borna said.

“You know that we’re at the opposite end of the continent, right?” Rhys said bitterly. “Even if we could find a caravan going north, we’d be on the road for months.”

“Or you could try teleporting us there,” Borna suggested.

Rhys placed his hands on the table, palms up. “I don’t know that spell. And even if I did, I’m not sure if I’d risk casting it. Not with the effect of the Disjunction Stone on me still.”

“It’s been almost three days since Faedal made you eat it,” Borna said. “Shouldn’t it have worn off by now?”

“You saw how my Armor spell worked. Or rather didn’t,” Rhys said. “I can’t even cast something as simple as a Light spell.” He concentrated and touched his ale stein. The vessel turned a lively shade of purple.

“Stop thinking about Chassari already,” Borna said, grinning.

“I’m not ... huh.” Rhys closed his mouth. “Maybe I am.”

“You could try using spell scrolls,” Astra’il suggested. “I’ve known a warrior back home who used them to devastating effect.”

“And my garbled magic won’t interfere?” Rhys asked, his eyes lighting up.

“It shouldn’t. The scroll’s creator already expended the energy needed for the spell when he wrote it. All the user does is unleash the stored spell.”

“How come we don’t see more grunts using fireballs and the like?” Borna asked. “All it takes is the ability to read, isn’t it?”

Astra’il grinned. “Now tell me how many sellswords can read Draconic. Or Elven. Or whatever script the scroll’s creator used.”

“A good point,” Borna conceded. “So, all we need is some message spell scroll. Or a Teleport.”

“The other reason why you don’t see bandits carrying cases full of scrolls with them,” Astra’il said, “is their cost. The special ink and imbued parchment needed to hold magical energy aren’t cheap.”

“That might be a problem then,” Rhys said, again slapping his flaccid coin pouch. “And I don’t want to ask for your gold, Astra’il. You already did so much for us.”

Astra’il snorted. “I feel like I failed horribly.” She caressed down his thigh, stopping short of the busted knee. With her other hand, she upended her purse on the table. A small pile of gold coins tumbled out. “I’ll happily share what I have but, knowing the prices around here, we probably don’t even have enough for an enchanted bookmark.”

The waiter chose that moment to appear, carrying a platter with meat cuts, bowls of salad, roasted potatoes and a basket with fragrant bread. “Farook sends his regards,” the half-elf said. “Dig in.”

“Thank you.” Astra’il swiped the coins off the table and took the platter, setting it down between them. “Do you know what’s planned for entertainment tonight?”

“Unless you decide to dazzle our patrons, it will probably only be the ensemble and our girls, as usual,” the waiter said.

“I think I’ll keep my clothes on tonight.”

“A pity. You managed to fire up the crowd really well,” the waiter said, his eyes never leaving Astra’il’s

“I know,” the dark elf said, casting down her gaze. “I fear I’m partly responsible for the chaos that happened afterwards.”

“Not true,” the half-elf said emphatically. “These mercenaries had been a problem the whole day, ever since they swaggered in, their pockets bulging with coin.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Astra’il purred, reeling him in with one arm and smooching a long kiss onto his lips. She pulled his head down and whispered something into his pointed ear.

The lad shot her a wide-eyed look. “Really?”

“Absolutely. Rhys, can I have a room for ... myself tonight?” Astra’il asked, extending a hand.

“Yourself, huh?” Rhys asked. He fished a key from his pocket and dropped it onto her palm.

“Thank you,” the dark elf whispered, leaning in and pecking a kiss onto his cheek. When she turned away, the waiter was already two tables down but he moved with a little extra spring in his step.

“You still have that much energy after carrying my sorry hide for most of the day?” Rhys asked. “I’m in awe.” He piled his plate high with potatoes and meat and dug in. He was surprised at how bloody ravenous he was all of a sudden.

“Borna did most of the heavy lifting. I felt more like a guide, if anything,” Astra’il said, plundering a salad bowl. “And it has been a while since...” She made a lewd gesture with her fork.

“Here’s something I’ve been wondering about,” Borna said between bites. “I’ve heard dark elves don’t really care who or what they lie down with. True?”

Astra’il laughed, a merry, musical sound. “That’s one broad stroke if I’ve ever seen one,” she said. “If we’re speaking in broad terms ... my kind does care very much who or what they lie down with. The big thing dangling over all our sex lives is the Chaos Queen, believe it or not. Her existence, her cult, has a profound impact on how, when and with who we do it.” Smiling wickedly, she popped a slice of tomato into her mouth and chewed before continuing.