Коллектив авторов - The Realms of the Elves

"The Maid of Misfortune." When Yldar stared, she smiled crookedly. "Beshaba and I have an understanding." Then her ears perked up, like a feline's might.

"Besh…?" Yldar let it trail off. He knew better than to try to decipher this strange and confusing maid. He would discern her business and insist she leave him in peace.

"Why, ah-" he started, but then Twilight leaped across the room and kissed him.

Yldar was so shocked, he did not even protest for a breath. Then confusion took over.

"What?" asked Yldar as he fought off her mouth-her sweet mouth. "What?"

"We're about to be rudely interrupted," Twilight informed him. She kissed him again, hard. "Just hold me, eh?" She positioned his hands on her backside. "Like this."

Yldar stammered, shocked, but didn't resist. It provided Twilight an easy target for her lips.

As they kissed and ran their hands over each other- or, rather, as Twilight did so and Yldar stood rather woodenly-portals of crackling darkness opened behind them. There was an awkward silence as the two elves simply stood, exploring one another's mouths rather fully, and the intruders looked at one another, trying to decide what to do.

"Oh, put your back into it, golden boy," Twilight said between kisses.

Yldar stiffened uncomfortably. "Truly maid, you-"

"Ahem," said one of the intruders.

Twilight smiled. "That shall do."

Without turning, she sent a crossbow bolt streaking for the head of the cougher.

There were three of them-two men in dark mail with wavy, zigzagging blades held in both hands, and one in tattered, black robes who stood behind, staff in hand. One of the former leaped into the path of the quarrel-or, rather, was forced there by magic-and caught it with his face. The staff wielder scowled.

"You!" he barked at Twilight. He pointed. "Zsa'kai!" Yldar didn't understand the foul tongue, but the meaning was clear enough, as the remaining swordsman ran at them.

"Goldie," snapped Twilight, "get the mage!"

Twilight drew her rapier just in time to block the advancing swordsman. Her dusky blade sparked as it struck his fiendishly serrated sword and turned it low. Out of the corner of his eye, Yldar thought he saw flames lick down Twilight's blade and electricity crackle down its length.

He had other concerns, though.

"Get the mage?" he asked, confused.

Then the gnarled, darkwood staff glowed with abyssal power, and Yldar gulped. He desperately wove a spellshield.

The next thing he knew, he was pulling himself out of the shattered wall, batting at the black flames that licked at his tunic. His defense had not been enough, it seemed.

"Yldar!" Twilight hissed. "What did I say?" "You sa-" he began, but he saw the necromancer looming over him, chanting darkly.

"In Graz'zt's name," the man hissed, and laid a burning black hand upon Yldar's chest.

Vile magic ripped its way into the sun elf, burning through his blood and seeking his heart. He sensed its purpose-to still that beating organ forever-and fought it with every bit of his strength, every fiber of his vitality. He willed his heart to pump on, resisting the foul magic.

And resist it he did, for the corrupting spell faltered, undone by his robust body. Yldar fell back to the ground, coughing and retching the foul magic out.

"What's this?" the necromancer growled. "Not a mage?"

Yldar smiled despite himself. Without the physical training in his swordsmanship classes-if he had studied only magic, say-he would never have fought off that spell.

"Wrong sun," came a voice from above.

Drawn by the magic thrown about, Cythara floated through the ceiling as though it were mist. The necromancer whirled, calmly intoning the words to a spell, but Cythara was the faster. She threw a beam of shimmering gold at his chest, meaning to reduce the necromancer to dust.

Her power struck a shield of shimmering black and dissipated as though it had never been.

"Imposs-" she managed just before the necromancer's dark bolt struck her. Searing, profane blackness scourged her body and her soul, and while her will kept her life-force intact, her body was weak. She fell and slumped to the ground, still burning with freezing, black flames.

"Such power," Cythara whispered. A glaze that was not unlike lust passed over her eyes, and she succumbed to the demonist's spell.

The necromancer grinned and turned back to Yldar- who promptly stabbed his sword into the man's guts. The mage screamed and twisted, black eating away at the blade as though his blood were acid. Yldar let go in disgust and hurried to his sister, who groaned.

"In Graz'zt's name, I shall slay-!"

The necromancer never finished the threat, for Twilight leaped across the room and plunged her rapier through his side. The man's acid blood didn't harm the ancient steel, however, and he died without protest.

The door slammed open and the burly innkeeper shoved his way into the room, stout club in hand, along with two equally wide bouncers, one holding a thick length of chain and the other a long knife. They looked at the battlefield with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. Then Keep found Twilight, spattered with blood, and rolled his eyes.

"Better clear out my room, Keep," Twilight said brightly. "I shall be on my way in the morning."

The burly innkeeper turned the stout club in his hands. "And what about thy tab, pretty lady? I am owed a fair amount of gold."

Twilight shrugged, stood up on her toes, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "Oh, Keep," she said. "You know better than to doubt me, don't you?"

"Ahem," said Keep. "Something like that."

Fox-at-Twilight gave him a smile and danced past him, out into the corridor.

The innkeeper and the two sun elves were left in the room then, where silence reigned for a long breath. Then Keep shrugged.

"Quite the fox, that 'Light," he said.

"Indeed," said Yldar, thinking Keep meant her name.

From his slightly raised brow, it was clear he hadn't.

Over "fresh" bread-only two days old! — cheese, and hen's eggs the following dawn, Twilight's face seemed tired, the lines deepened and stretched in a way that did not diminish her beauty but only caught Yldar's notice and concern.

"Are you well this morn, maid?" he asked.

"As well as to be expected," she said, "with so little rest."

Yldar furrowed his brow. "Four bells rang in Elver-suit's square since the attack. Cythara and I found it to be more than enough time for Reverie. Did you not rest well?"

She offered a crooked smile and said, "Something like that."

Twilight spent much of the rest of the meal trading wry repartee with Yldar, even making some lewd comments that made the treasure hunter blush and Cythara scowl. She never declined an opportunity to cast a mistrusting glance in Twilight's direction.

After a particularly witty exchange that left Twilight smiling sensuously and Yldar absolutely confused, the wizardess threw up her hands.

"Can we not simply get to business?" she asked in Elvish. "I grow weary of your child's games."

Twilight rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Very well, Highness" she replied in kind. "You're probably wondering where you have to go to find the Bracer."

" 'Tis the theme," Cythara muttered.

Yldar gave his sister a scolding look and said, "Go on.

"Well-it's in the hands of the Deep Coven." "Who?" Yldar asked.

"A cult of a demon lord named Graz'zt," said Twilight. "Our friends from yestereve."

There was silence, because it was time for Cythara's angry interjection, which didn't happen. Yldar glanced at her. The sun elf wizardess had leaned back in her seat, eyes far away. Yldar wasn't about to guess what she might have been thinking, but he was glad of the respite from her tongue. He liked hearing Twilight's voice rather more, for some reason.