We reached the city gates in the chilly darkness of the winter night. My companions were silent, giving me some breathing space to recover my wits after disaster at the gypsy camp. I was grateful. I expected horror and revulsion; what I received was a mix of curiosity and, strangely, pity. The alliances that I had forged with these four were built on different foundations, though it was no secret to me that every one of them was trying to use me for his own ends. We had been together for little more than a month, or even less in Valygar’s case, but already I could feel the tender cobwebs of personal ambitions and hidden passions, binding them to me stronger than the steel wires.

Jan rode on my right side, keeping silent for a change, but periodically giving me a quick, reassuring grin and a wink. I realized how much did he change since I literally pulled him out of Rakshasa’s jaws. Before that, his major imperatives were his financial and magical gains. Now the little wizard was watching over me like a mother hen over her chick, and his personal crusade of protecting me from Anomen’s advances was most touching. Nobody really cared about me on this level since Gorion’s death, except Jaheira. But I poisoned our relationship with her with my betrayal, and there was no way back.

Yoshimo’s black horse matched an uneven stride of my mount on my left side. Kveroslava’s reading had the strangest effect on our enigmatic rogue. At first his face went rigid as if from a sudden blow and for a moment I though he was going to collapse. The cold sweat beaded his brow and he gasped for air, then he took a deep breath and slowly stabilized himself. I could have sworn he was scared half to death, but of what? In all my vanity, I could not believe he actually felt serious about me, even though he was eager enough to flirt, and to drive Anomen crazy with his manner of touching my hand ‘accidentally’ every now and then.

Anomen… Anomen was at the lead, keeping slightly away from everybody, his face in a painful contorted scowl. All the way from the campsite, he was carefully avoiding my gaze, deep in his uneasy thoughts. I was positive that he was going to leave us by tomorrow, and this time I was not going to ask him to stay. Some wounds can only be healed by quickly cutting away the infected limb. Our relationship had festered into something ugly and painful, and I could not see any other way to alleviate his pain. If he had finally realized that his body betrayed him by lusting over the weird progeny of immortal evil – good for him! Better that it happened now, while he still was in control.

Valygar Corthala, an alleged murdered of wizards, and a sharp-tongued pragmatist was riding in the rear, leading the pack animals. In only a few days he had established himself as an expert in horseflesh and a worthy traveler. He was smart, reliable, and good with animals, which was in my observation an invaluable feature of every ranger. I missed Minsc’ easy-going humor and simple ways; still Valygar was a good substitute.

The guard at the Eastern Gate grinned at us through the small grated window and yelled to his invisible partner to open the gates at once. Considering that only a week ago this same gate was under a virtual siege by packs of wild animals it was a pleasant change, though hardly an appropriate one. As we rode inside the city walls in a single file, he and his companion saluted us heartily with their half-empty tankards, and in the flickering light of their oil lantern I noted a-red-and-green twined cords wrapped around their sleeves and an ale cask sitting precariously on the stone slab by the guardroom.

The second guardsman smiled, showing a row of uneven yellow teeth and burst into a bawdy wedding jingle, praising the manly expertise of a groom, and unearthly delights he was going to give to his bride. I chuckled, despite my generally depressed mood. It looked like the Trademeet inhabitants were gradually recovering from their troubles.

“Dangerous fools,” Anomen muttered to himself. “If I was their Captain, that would have been the last day of their service.”

“For once, you are right, Helmite,” Valygar suddenly agreed, “these are dangerous times and a guard that is drunk at his post is the worst kind of a traitor, for not only he betrays the trust of his people, he also betrays his own wit.”

“You are a bright one for an unbeliever,” the cleric responded in surprise, “tell me, Valygar, how can one of a noble decent and upbringing not feel a need to dedicate his life to the righteous ideal? The service of the rightful Deity gives our life purpose. Without it there is emptiness filled with howling of the damned. Or do you expect Kelemvor⁵⁹ to be lenient on your lost spirit when you pass into his realm?”

“You’ve created this emptiness yourself, preacher,” Valygar answered with a fierce scowl. “My trust is in men, not in gods and the only thing I believe in is my own reason, and my right to decide what is good for me without divine interferences!”

“But how do you know you are free of interventions even now, ranger?” Anomen asked sadly. “The dark powers are cunning, and there are traps for the souls of the unwary. Even the gentlest spirit, and the purest heart can eventually succumb to corruption or despair if it does not have the support of true love and friendship, and lacking these there is only one source of spiritual energy – the help from your chosen Deity.”

“I feel sorry for you, Helmite,” Valygar said after a moment of silence. There was no anger in his voice, just tiredness. “Leave me be. You have your own demons to battle, so leave me with mine.”

They both fell silent. Our horse’s hooves clicked on the cobbles of a narrow street leading up the hill into the heart of the city. I stayed quiet through the whole exchange. There was no fire left in me to pick up another fight. My mind was overwhelmed with bleakness. It felt like the weight of the whole world was resting on my aching shoulders, and my only wish was for a hot bath and a bed.

We took a turn at the crossing and continued in a general direction of Vyatri’s pub, located in the more respectable part of town. It was our designated meeting place with Minsc and Jaheira. The streets were not empty, despite the late hour and cold weather. There were torches in the wall rings of most of the houses, and we met few more drunks with red and green insignia. Loud cheering, music and singing was drifting from the richest quarter of the town, mixed with catcalls and loud banging.

When we finally reached the inn all I could do was slide down my horse’s side and collapse. I vaguely remembered the strong hands picking me up and carrying me inside, then Jaheira’s voice ordering a hot tub and a meal.

* * * * *

Pleasant warmth of the perfumed water washed away my pain and anxiety, my muscles started to relax, and the tight circlet of the sickening headache dissolved into nothingness. It had been a terrible day… but now it was over. My eyelids were getting heavier, as I inhaled the scented vapors of my herbal bath. Slowly but inevitably, I fell asleep. Amazingly, my dream was free of the usual nightmares, and as I floated in the quiet, fragrant darkness I relished these few precious moments of being carried away from the pain and suffering of my regular dreams.

Suddenly, something changed. I felt as if I was pulled away from my bubble of peaceful slumber and dragged somewhere against my will. The emerald light ahead of me glowed brightly, and I plunged head forward through its green and golden curtain…

The night is filled with silver music of harps and sweet, tangy scent of pine resin. A gentle breeze blows from the heart of the forest, bringing with it the aroma of fertile soil and growing mushrooms. I cannot remember ever before the night forest’s scents filling me with such abundant joy and tranquility.

I am sitting on the ground with my back against the warm, solid trunk of an oak. My body relishes in the pliable softness of earth and the firm, reassuring support of the living tree. My head is spinning slightly from too much music, laughter, and golden wine. I look at my hands and discover to my wonder that these are men’s hands, strong, yet delicate, with long flexible fingers. A large cameo, cut from translucent green beryl and rendering a perfect woman’s face, graces my middle digit. The lady’s features, sharp and intelligent, are strangely familiar, and my heart gives a painful jolt as I look at the miniature. I am wondering how soon would my Queen notice my absence, and if she would consider looking for me. Queen of what people? I wonder dreamily in my other consciousness.

It would be nice to talk with her alone for a change. We have not had much privacy lately. I smile bitterly, my pleasant mood disrupted with the thoughts of her. We’ve been lovers for many years now, but I feel that her passion is fading. She is the Queen and the Chosen One, with the blood of the God flowing in her veins. I am just what I am – a younger son of the minor house. Admittedly, everybody says I have an affinity to magic the kind of which nobody had seen in generations. But everything that I possess – my vast knowledge, respect of my kindred, and most importantly her love, I’ve earned honestly through the years of hard work and self-sacrifice. Obviously, that is not enough for her, not any longer.

I think resentfully of the unfairness of life. All she had to do to assume her position, was to be born, for the mother of her mother was beautiful enough to attract the attentions of our God, who sometimes walks among his children in his earthly avatar and while in this form succumbs to the weaknesses of flesh. Now, where did I hear this story before? I wonder frantically.

My thoughts now take a bitter, jealous path. “My love is still attracted to me,” I think cynically, “as to so many others before, as she will no doubt be to many others after.”

 Still, I cannot stop myself from lounging after her. I am cursed with this commitment to a single female. I could never follow the fashion of my many brethren, and their light-hearted approach to life’s pleasures. I had always needed a partner who could understand me, with whom I could share more than a single night’s tryst. She is all I ever dreamed of and more but she is also elusive and unpredictable as a night’s wind. I smile remembering her beautiful eyes of jade green, and the way they sparkled with laughter after the night of passion and the morning spent in leisurely conversation. I panic slightly as my body, evidently male in this strange dream, starts to respond at the thought of my lover. 

“Here you are!” A soft voice interrupts these enjoyable fantasies “I almost gave up on finding you tonight!”

I frown in mild irritation. My nosy sister is not the company I desire tonight. Still, I am fond of her, for she is the only one in our large family, who seems to genuinely care for me. Now this is a familiar situation, I remember in my other mind…I have a sister too, do I?

I look at her in wonder, noticing the graceful beauty of her features, her delicate pointy ears, and the minor slant of her dusky blue eyes. These are beautiful eyes, a slightly darker shade of sapphire than mine, but with a disturbing red spark, hiding somewhere in their depth. I incline my head to acknowledge her presence and she plops to the ground unceremoniously, spreading herself on the green moss near me, and supporting her smiling face with both hands.

“You are drunk again, Joni,” she says matter-of-factly, “and alone, while your glorious girlfriend chatters with that idiot general of hers.”

I lift my hand, in protest and lower my heavy eyelids. “I am not drunk,” I mutter sheepishly, “Seldarine protect me! I am just enjoying a moment of peace and quiet away from the crowd.”

“Seldarine’s powers do not grant immunity from too much firewine,” she laughs musically. “The Gods do not preoccupy themselves with a plight of each individual Tel’Quessir unless she happens to be their granddaughter. As for peace and quiet - I had seen and heard enough in the last few months to understand why are you always slinking away when Elhan joins her company.”

I am silent, so she continues with more vigor. “How long are you going to play a toy-boy for the Queen’s bedchamber? You are the most powerful mage to ever come out of this family, may be even out of the whole Tethyr! How can you reduce yourself so before her?  Just because the little wench has Rillifane’s⁶⁰ blood in her...”

“Please, Bodhi, stop making all this random noise,” I chuckle, “you are making my head hurt. Why are you so sour tonight? Enjoy the festivities.”

I make a fluid gesture with my right hand and whisper. A cloud of multicolored sparks flows from my fingers, turning into the tiny fireflies shining with green, red and violet lights. The little creatures turn in the air and form a sparkling circle around her head, like a wreath of tiny stars. My sister looks stunningly beautiful in this crown of lights - her exquisite porcelain features are lit with delight at this magical gift. Her violet eyes look at me with admiration and some deeper, disturbing craving, which makes me little uneasy, so I laugh again to cover it. Her face is an exact copy of mine, though maybe slightly sharper and harder around the eyes.

“You know how I feel about you,” she continues after a slight hesitation. “I view you as a continuation of myself, as somebody so close to me that I can feel every wrong done to you and every humiliation you sustain at her hands as my own. How can you love somebody so ... so shallow, so self-absorbed, and egocentric as Ellesime? She does not deserve to kiss one of your footprints!”

“Shush little one, you make me blush,” I say, genuinely uncomfortable with this talk. “I love her and this is enough for me, the rest of it is not of your business.”

“Not of my business, perhaps,” she carries on with less fire, and more caution in her fluid voice. “I just think that you are loosing your time with her, instead of increasing your powers and moving forward with your research.  Tell me about your work. The last time I’ve heard, you tried to breed this special kind of aphid, the magical one who would make firewine and mead out of tree sap.”

I laugh, delighted with her interest, and capture one of the fireflies from her fiery crown.

“Look at it,” I say gently, “is not it a beauty?” I blew on the insect in my fingers, and it begins to grow, becoming the size of the hazelnut, then an apple. Its soft green body continues to glow in the darkness, bathing my hand with emerald light.

“One of the nature’s wonders.”

“Eeek, a giant bug,” she cringes away from my outstretched hand.

I laugh again and release the thing into the night. It buzzes loudly as it flows away.

“So much for your concern for my work,” I lift unsteadily from the ground and shook a finger at her. Her eyes fill with tears at my rebuff and she bites her lower lip with her sharp white teeth.

“I must be off now, little one. Hope you will find somebody to lift your sour mood tonight.” I wink.

My sister is famous among the young ones for her many adventures and insatiable sexual appetite. She claims she had never laid with the same male twice. Sometimes I wonder if the nature intended us as one and mistakenly split in two halves instead, giving her this everlasting hunger for change and me the obsessive fixation on one woman.

Suddenly I feel a strange pull on my mind as if somebody is trying to call me from far away. I do not want to leave the forest, I cry and try to claw at my fleeing memories, but my dream is shuttered and I am thrown back into my own reality…

“Are you out of your mind? You cannot just barge in here like this! She has fallen asleep in her bath. Get out here this very moment before I called for help.”

“Please wake her up!” I heard a voice choked with grief, pleading desperately. “I need to see her! The messenger was waiting for me with news from home… Jaheira, it is my sister… she is dead! I need to go but I cannot just leave without telling her!”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Moira Delryn woke up early that morning with a sense of determination. There were many things to be arranged today besides her regular chores. It was raining outside. The wet bare branches of old elm tree under her window scratched against her shutters all night and gave her nightmares. She should have asked Terl to cut it down long time ago.

It was chilly, but she could not afford coal in her bedroom. The last month’s bill still was not paid, and the weather was getting colder with every passing day. She shivered, thinking of how would they make it through the winter if it will be as harsh as the last one. Well, if everything will go according to her plan today, she would not have to worry about it.

She was a tall, slim girl, with a wonderful pearly-white tone to her skin, proud aquiline nose, and high cheekbones. Nobody would have called her pretty, simply because her exquisite patrician face denied such a trivial definition. Her steel gray eyes seemed bigger and brighter, accentuated by her thick, dark lashes.

She threw a threadbare blue robe over her nightdress, and shoved her icy feet into old sheepskin slippers. The sole of the left one needed mending, and she could feel the deep chill of the stone tile through the whole in it. The thick woolen rug and bright Tethyran tapestries were gone from her room again, along with her mother’s jewelry and the most valuable of books. Moira sighed. She should have tried to squeeze more out of the fat pawnbroker.

He was quite taken with her, but just remembering the oily look in his little beady eyes and the touch of his clammy fingers on her wrist made her shrug with revulsion. She would have to manage until the news of the ‘Golden Sun’, the last of the Delryn family ships, would come from Muran. Then she would be able to get more credit and buy her things back. She was furious with Cor for putting her into this position again. But she also knew that she cannot miss on the pay for her clerks, and on the monthly Merchant’s Guild fees. Noblesse obliges. Though what little noblesse was left to her was spent on convincing the Magistrate to drop charges of aggravated assault against her father, and stick with lewd language and indecent behavior.

Thus, Cor Delryn was spared the ignominy of prison term, and their name stayed in the Merchant’s Guild books. The old fool barged into a private room in  “Four Winds’, where Saerk the Calimshite and his cronies were celebrating their latest victory of signing away Cor’s best agent in Zazesspur. He was drunk as a fish, and mad as a rabid dog. As of late it was his standard condition. Moira shook her head ruefully. One of Saerk’s parasites got a bloody scratch on his cheek and lost few buttons from his shirt, but she had to put together 200 gold for his injured pride.

All she got for her trouble was a fresh bruise on her forearm, and being called ‘a meddlesome wench’ and ‘an ungrateful daughter’. Later that night Cor begged her forgiveness on his knees, dribbling tepid, watery tears over her feet and promising to mend his ways. She was not sure what upset her more – his drunken sprees and debauchery, or his pathetic fits of self-humiliation afterwards. She remembered these scenes repeating themselves all through her miserable childhood. Only then it had been her mother before whom he begged and sniveled, and pleaded after beating her up, and wasting the last of family’s money. Now it was Moira who virtually became the head of the household.

Moira brushed her light brown hair and pinned it up before the small looking glass. She cringed at her pale reflection and bit at her lips, trying to bring in a little color. It was important that she looked her best today. She lost little weight lately and there were dark circles of fatigue under her eyes. She wished they were deep blue, like her mother and brother’s. No such luck – she got Lord Cor’s cloudy gray orbs, as well as his long nose and thin lips. She wondered if that was the reason under the old man’s bursts of irrational, sappy affection to her. She frowned. At least she did not get his volatile temper and penchant for self-indulgence. She was afraid somebody else in the family picked up these traits.

Moira adored her older brother. It grieved her to be separated from him when they needed him so badly. But she also knew him well. There was no way he was coming back to help her, even though the family was on the brink of a financial ruin. Anomen would never bend his stiff neck before the old drunkard again. Her brother and her father, the two men who were her only family since her mother’s death, hated each other with passionate abandon, which ironically was their shared family trait. That last year before Anomen finally left home for good and entered the Order as initiate to Helm, it was so bad that Moira started thinking about leaving herself, even though she knew Cor would not last a month without her. The reason she did not run away at that time was her mother’s poor health.

When Lady Moraia finally died after the long, debilitating sickness Lord Cor dropped the last pretence of civilized behavior. Moira remembered the terrible scene at the funeral - the old man was drunk and miserable, wallowing in his grief and self-pity, and Anomen as always, was a convenient scapegoat. When her brother refused to return home with them yet again, Cor lost control and hit him in the mouth, as if Ani was still a little boy. She had to hang on her brother’s sword hand begging him to forgive the old fool one last time, while the servants dragged Cor away, screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs. She had looked up, then at her brother’s white face and bloodied lips, and felt that if she let go nothing would stop Anomen from slamming his mailed fist into the old man’s face. She still shivered remembering the murderous look in his eyes.

She put away her brushes and combs, and made her way through the silent, empty house to the kitchen. The cook already lit the fire in the stove and put on a portly old kettle. Moira sighed and sent her for fresh rolls and butter, giving her one of the few silver coins from her purse. She decided she needed a clear head today, and this could not be achieved on a half-empty stomach.

* * * * *

Yusef Farrahd snapped his eyes open and gulped hot air permeated with the reek of Black Lotus. A pitiful whimper of a hunted animal escaped his lips. He never was so scared in his short life. He was in the back room of the ‘Sea Bounty’, his favorite lotus den as of late, hidden deep in the shabbiest quarter of the Dock’s district. It was a dangerous place, frequented by smugglers and pirates, but it suited Yusef just right at the moment, as he wanted to hide from the terrible mess that he had made of his life. The owner was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and let him indulge his addiction discreetly for the appropriate fee. Yusef had no idea how long had it been this time, but judging by the terrible parchedness of his throat and weak shaking of his fingers he had spent many hours sprawled on the striped silk cushions, breathing in the aromatic smoke from ornate hookah ⁶². Its flexible mouthpiece had fallen from his numbed fingers and lied as a coiled snake by his side.

His awakening was not a natural thing for he was summoned. Something had entered his lotus-induced pleasant dreams, and urged him back to consciousness. Yusef knew what it was, and the knowledge made him tremble like a mouse caught in a mousetrap. He was a handsome boy of about eighteen, tall and graceful, with beautiful dark eyes and fine features, though now his skin acquired an unhealthy yellow tone. He wiped a droplet of sweat that started to trickle down his nose and moaned in desperation. To feel so desperately vulnerable, and not being able to do anything about it almost made him queasy for most of his life he was pampered and spoiled by adults.

 Yusef’s father, Saerk Farrahd, respected the traditions of the country that had become his new home after he was forced to flee Zazesspur over some major political misadventure. Over many years that he had spent in Amn he never took more than one wife, but neither he gave up the man’s right to please himself in as many ways as he desired. The upper floor of his Athkatla mansion was always filled with silvery tinkling of a fountain in the winter garden, and rustling of fine silk clothes of its current occupant. When Yusef’s mother died he was only six. He could not remember much of her now – only the perfumed palms of her soft hands, and shiny black eyes. After five years of bachelor’s life his father remarried but soon his second young wife died of mysterious sickness, leaving him a small daughter. Saerk cursed his bad luck, and swore never to take another wife, limiting himself to expensive concubines.

Yusef was never quite sure what had befallen his father’s wives, and he preferred it that way, for Saerk’s moods were dark and dangerous. Until Yusef turned twelve he had a full run of the upper floor. He was always fed sweets and slices of fruit and given small gifts by his father’s women and their maids. He liked them, and they loved him in return for he was quick and pretty, in a dark and handsome way, and he always knew how to say the right thing to make them laugh. Then one day he was summoned to his father’s room and restricted from visiting the seraglio. Yusef felt as if an important part of his life was taken away from him. He was in the men’s world now, and this transition did not bode well with him. At least the women always listened to his complaints, and coddled him to their soft bosoms.

Being an extremely busy man, Saerk bought the services of the best tutors and instructors to groom his only son into a proper heir for his massive trade empire. The problem was – Yusef was never really interested in anything they tried to teach him, and the teachers were too afraid of Saerk’s temper to let him know how Yusef really faired at their respective subjects. So they pretended to educate him while he pretended he cared, all to their mutual satisfaction. As he grew older, Yusef acquired some followers – a crowd of like-minded youngsters from the families of his father’s sycophants and allies. Saerk was pleased with his son’s social advancements and bestowed on him an extravagantly rich allowance; though in truth he never cared how did Yusef spend this money and what did he do in the company of his so-called friends. By the age of sixteen Yusef had been to every expensive bordello and gladiator pit that Athkalta could offer to his young and restless spirit. Fortunately for him he never took to drinking. By the age of seventeen he was thoroughly fed up with paid love and forced cruelty. By eighteen he discovered Black Lotus.

Now that was a habit that drained his pockets faster than any other vice that he had tried. The good stuff was really expensive, and continuous civil unrest in Tethyr made overland smuggling routes from Calimshan and beyond dangerous. The Shadow Thieves guild controlled the black market and charged outrageous prices. When his money started to run out, first he could not believe it. He asked his father to raise his allowance, but was firmly told that what he got already was more than a combined monthly income of a small village. He was promised more when he could show firm interest in the family business and start making a valuable contribution. He was also told to expand his social horizons and start thinking about a marriage alliance with one of the more powerful merchant families. Possibly even one of the Six. That was the last thing on Yusef’s mind. His monthly attendance of business dinners with his father’s agents and their wives was more than enough for him. Yusef needed a really good doze of smoke to sit through one of these endless affairs without his eyes turning glossy blank. But what really threw him into a spin was the though of a marriage.

His childhood experience proved that an expensive pet of a woman could be a desirable and pleasant companion, even though the only thing they were good for did not excite him any longer. His body was saturated with lotus smoke, and his animal instincts were blunted and almost culled out by his overindulgence at younger age. Thence, even a thought of being forced to share a living space and his bedroom with of one of the bland and pompous High Merchant’s daughters, with their shrill, bird-like voices and insufferable mannerisms made him shiver with disgust. Still, he had to attend more of the social events hosted by the Merchant’s guild that year. It was on the Midsummer Guild Ball that it all really started.

Yusef remembered that night. He was hot and bored, and the ever-present wish for another smoke was gently gnawing at the edges of his patience. Saerk was resplendent in his purple surcoat trimmed with golden cord and Yusef in his dark brown velvets felt himself but a bleak shadow of his father, even though his clothes showed much better taste. Saerk’s parasites flocked around both of them continuously, and soon Yusef lost count of the sweaty blushing maidens that were presented before his bleary eyes, one after another. But his father frowned if he let his eyes linger on any one of them for too long. Saerk was hunting for a bigger game. Yusef’s head began to pound, and he could see the swarm of glassy worm-things gathering at the periphery of his vision. He had stayed far too long without a smoke, as he had not had a chance to indulge since that morning. So, he excused himself politely, and went into the inner courtyard decorated with statuary and shadowed with flowering lemon-trees in the wooden buckets. The place was blessedly empty and quiet, and sparsely lit by the flames of a few oil lamps.

By the time he had reached welcoming shadow of the tree, his hands started to tremble badly. Yusef pulled out a sheaf of dried petals and a small clay pipe that he had carried around in his belt pouch. The oil lamp in the hands of a stone nymph was shaped like a miniature bronze dragon, sprouting a jet of flame out of its toothy jaws. Yusef  gently tapped his pipe on the tail of the creature, and quickly stuffed it with the dried lotus mix. He had to hold the dragon by the tail tilting it slightly in order to light the aromatic herbs. One side of his pipe was already burned black from such exercises. He dropped at the marble bench at the feet of the statue and drew in a mouthful of smoke. The relief that he felt with the first inhalation was incredible. His heartache started to dissolve, and the bubbling happiness trickled through the thick blanket of boredom and despair that were his constant companions these days.

“Hey lad! Psst – over here!”

Yusef chocked on his next puff and almost dropped the pipe.

“ I could have bit your nose off for this, you know,” the little bronze dragon said conversationally in a strangely hissing voice. “You are just lucky today, that I already had my supper.”

Yusef jumped up and looked around growling like a dog. The dragon responded with undignified giggle that sounded suspiciously feminine. Yusef’s hand went to his belt, almost drawing out his small stiletto.

“By Helms beard, boy! I did not mean to scare you. It’s just you looked so funny when you cuddled that little chap.”

“Who are you?” Yusef heard himself say hoarsely into the blackness of the night.

He licked his dry lips and forced his hand to drop at his side casually. There was no need to show how tense he was. It was so stupid of him to be caught with lotus pipe in a public place. He cursed his luck and tried to make out the details but the lamp fire spoiled his night vision, and all he could see was a slender white silhouette in the overgrowth of the oleander bushes. So, she was there all along! She called him ‘boy’ and probably had no idea what was it that he was up to. Now if only he can keep it casual, may be she would forget about the pipe.

“Don’t worry. I am not going to tell your parents that you smoke.” The invisible girl said amiably. “I tried the tobacco leaf once when I was about twelve, and I could not keep my food down for about a week afterwards. Now that I think of it, our old groom may have given it to me on purpose, so that I would know how vile-tasting is it.” Her voice sounded low and melodic, without the coquettish lisp that was so fashionable among the well-bred young ladies.

“Oh … yes, please don’t tell my father,” he mumbled. Somehow it hurt to be perceived as a boy, who is hiding in the bushes for a quick smoke of pipeweed.

 She stepped forward boldly, and entered the bright circle of light from the bronze dragon. Yusef sucked in his breath. Her skin was so radiant that her face looked almost transparent. It glowed with a light of its own in the golden halo of the lamp as if she was one of the nymph statues made of alabaster, and brought to life by some potent spell. Her eyes were deep pools of gray light, shining softly in the deep dark shadow of her black lashes. Yusef wondered briefly how much of her glamour was the result of lotus fumes. Then she smiled, showing two rows of perfect white teeth, and he forgot about it. All that mattered was an aura of quiet strength and confidence that she carried around her like a queen’s mantle. She did not wear any makeup, and her only ornaments were small silver earrings and a shiny blue stone on a silver chain at the base of her throat.  Her dress was simple pale-blue silk, outmoded and freshened-up with a bit of lace. She definitely looked older than him. It did not matter.

“You are Farrahd’s son, aren’t you?” the girl asked casually, ignoring his question about her name. “I would never betray your secret to someone like him.” She scowled disgustedly, as if the very though of his father made her angry. “I am very good at keeping secrets.”

His interest was peaked - his father provoked fear and respect, not anger, and it was certainly unusual to hear this from a young lady of a good family. He was certain now that she was noble-born – her manners were graceful, and her accent that of the upper classes.

“Now you have an advantage over me,” he bowed deeply turning on all of his inborn charisma. “I am indeed Yusef Farrahd but I did not have a pleasure meeting you before, although I praised myself at being acquainted with most of the Athkatla’s eligible belles. Are you a visitor to our fine city?”

The girl in blue frowned, looking at him with disappointment.

“Now you sound like a parrot!” she exclaimed in distaste. “How old are you anyway? You looked so young and sad when you touched that dragon. I just wanted to make you smile, nothing more. I am sorry I’ve bothered you, Yusef.” She gathered her skirts and walked away from him down the gravel path leading back to the house.

“Wait!” he cried after her not sure if he was relieved or disappointed at this sudden departure. “What is your name? Look, it is not fair! I gave you mine!” it sounded so childish that he cringed at himself. His friends would laugh at him if they hear of this.

She stopped in her tracks somewhere in the shadows, as he could not hear the grate of stones under her shoes any longer.

“I am Moira Delryn, Lord Cor’s daughter,” she said after a short silence, and marched away.

Yusef would have forgotten all about it if they did not run into each other again next week. The daughter of  his father’s arch-enemy was a fascinating creature, but still she was just another girl. Yusef had no lasting interest in females.

His financial problems deteriorated. He had to turn to loan sharks, and although they all agreed that he was a young man with ‘big expectations’, they refused to give him more than several months worth of his allowance, and charged an outrageous interest. He already owed them a hefty sum. At the same time Lehtinan, the primary source of the drug for young Athkatlan nobles, refused to sell him on credit. Yusef could not understand this but suspected that the ghastly owner of the ‘Copper Coronet’ was protecting himself from future retributions by Saerk, in case he would find out about his son’s addiction. In fact Lehtinan was charging him ten times his regular price, trying to get rid of the dangerous client. Saerk’s temper was legendary, and he had ‘connections’.

Yusef crawled out of the ‘Coronet’ in a terrible state. He had not had a smoke for two days and it felt like his skull was bound with tightened steel hoops. Each step awakened a pounding in his head akin to marching of an elephant herd and his hands trembled so badly that he could not carry a drink of water to his mouth without spilling it on his chest. Lehtinan had laughed in his face even as he begged him for a single pipe. The thought of it made Yusef flash with a hot rage that was quickly transformed into a fit of wretched misery. He was so sick - he could not even stay angry. That morning he had managed to slip out of the house through the servant’s quarters and made it to the Slums, only to find out that his source of lotus petals, and his life’s only joy, had run dry.

Yusef dragged himself few steps away from the entrance, and sagged to the ground. He crouched there with his back against the dirty wall, and his whole body began to shake badly as a cold sweat trickled down his spine and legs into his shoes. At some point he actually worried that someone, who may recognize him, may happen to be in the area. Then he simply forgot about it. He retched with a terrible wheezing sound but his stomach was empty, so it only filled his mouth with bitter yellow bile.

He could hear the laughter and callous remarks of passersby, but it all stopped bothering him after a while. He was sure now that he was going to die here squirming like a squashed cockroach on the pantry floor, so he closed his eyes and let go. Suddenly, he heard a clacking of heels on the dry dirt and an angry exclamation. He felt the warm, strong hands grab him by the hair at the back of his neck and lift his head up forcibly. Involuntarily, he gave a cry of pain and dismay, and immediately felt a sharp slap of a small yet heavy palm upon his cheek.

“You do not smell of spirits at all, though by the Gods - you sure look like you’ve been dragged through every offal receptacle from Baator to Nine Hells!” A puzzled voice said into his face.

Yusef whined piteously and lifted his heavy eyelids. The shock of seeing Moira’s gray eyes looking at him broke him out of his queasy delirium. She was wearing an unobtrusive brown cloak with a hood, over a dark woolen dress. Her hair was modestly covered with a white headscarf.

“It is you,” he mumbled stupidly. “W…what are you doing here? This place… it is not suitable for the young woman of good repute.”

“You are not exactly in a position to lecture me about what is appropriate,” she noted smartly with a lift of an eyebrow. “But if you need to know - I was visiting a acquaintance, who happen to live in the area. My mother’s friend, and mine in turn.”

He just nodded tiredly. If was too hard for him to concentrate on her words. His head that was cleared for a moment by her slap began to pound again, and another fit of tremors run through his body.

“You are not drunk, you are sick!” Moira exclaimed worriedly. “Can you get up, or should I call for a litter? If only I could get you to my friend’s house – he would help. He is a wizard and famous healer!”

“Please, leave me alone,” he moaned petulantly, “can’t you see I am dieing? I don’t want your help. And if you think you can blackmail my father with this, think again! He will rather kill you than pay. Just go. Now.”

“It will suit you right to leave you here on the street!” She snapped back at him. “But I have had enough experience with the wool-headed males to know that you really cannot mean what you just said. And even if you did – I don’t give a damn! I will drag you to Gerhardt’s house even if I have to slap you on every step from here to his door.”

True to her word, she had dragged him into some little alley to the east from the ‘Coronet’, and brought him inside with the help from a crowd of gnomish children that appeared out of nowhere, shy and quick as mice. Yusef had little recollection of the place afterwards. All he could remember was a warm, spacious chamber clattered with books, scrolls, weird instruments, and many strange plants in pots, jars and wooden boxes vying with each other for every ray of sunlight falling from the low, arched windows. The wizard himself was a strange figure – a gnome by origin and quite obviously insane, in a quiet, comfortable way. This does not seem to bother Moira at all. She kept answering calmly on his inane, disconnected questions, until he suddenly smiled and patted her on the arm as if remembering something. After this, Gerhard (or whatever his name was) asked her to wait outside, much to Yusef’s relief.

The gnome examined Yusef briefly and scowled, muttering something to the effect of ‘stinking black death’ and ‘blood poison’. Then Gerhard whipped up a brownish malodorous concoction and made Yusef drink all of it, though the young man almost gagged at the metallic aftertaste it left in his mouth. Immediately, he started to feel better. The pounding in his head stopped, and he suddenly felt ravenously hungry, which was not surprising considering how long he had stayed without food.

The old wizard looked at him sadly, and said in absolutely clear, sane voice, “You know, it won’t help you against the craving. It removes the withdrawal symptoms, but it is up to you to resist the temptation. I will make you some to take home with you, though if you stay clean you would not suffer from headaches again. But if you poison yourself once more,” he shrugged, “let’s just say it won’t be this pleasant the next time you decide to quit.”

He gave Yusef a little jar with the vile potion and ushered him out of the room, quickly falling back into his usual state of cheerful lunacy.

Moira was not in the corridor, so he had to follow the tiny child who was waiting for him into the kitchen, where he found her taking tea with an elderly gnomish matron and a pack of youngsters. In his current condition, Yusef felt like his head was forcefully removed from his shoulders and reattached back after considerable trashing. He excused himself from their hospitality, and offered Moira to escort her home somewhat sheepishly. He was ready for her angry rebuff but, to his greatest amazement, she agreed.

They finally made it to the Delryn’s house in prestige Government district. Yusef had to admit that his father’s nouveau riche mansion lost some of its luster when compared to this grim but impressive derelict. Delryns were still a very old family, if now stripped of their former influence and impoverished. Moira asked him not to follow her to the doors and he obeyed but at the last moment suddenly asked if he could see her again sometime. He could see that she was surprised and did not know what to answer, but after a moment of hesitation agreed to meet him at the city’s central square in a week’s time, and maybe let him escort her to the town fair.

After that, they had met several times, and took walks through the city talking mostly of the current social and political intrigues, the past and present wars that endangered the free trade, the iron plague of the North, and the history of the current conflicts. Somehow, it was not boring when coming from her, though he always dreaded his father’s political talk. At first Yusef was stunned to find out the she was in fact running most of the family business, he had never thought that woman can succeed in what he was taught to believe was a man’s job. She had never mentioned any details of her business affairs, and that was understandable considering who he was, but Yusef was very much impressed with what little had slipped her tongue. He started to believe she was very professional in the matters of trade, and when his father once complained that, ‘the yellow murkhag dog’ (his personal name for Lord Cor) was sharper than he gave him credit for, Yusef almost betrayed himself by laughing, but remembered and concealed his amusement by a pretend coughing fit.

Thus had passed few weeks. Yusef’s headaches never returned. The scare that he got over his withdrawal symptoms, and the lack of financial resources was enough to keep him away from the drug for good. But in the middle of the last month of summer a sudden spell of existential dread and boredom overtook Yusef once more. The air was hot and humid. The winds that normally blew from the open sea all year round, and made the local climate mild and pleasant had subsided. The stench of rotten fish guts and iodine wafted from the docks reaching into the richest quarters of the city. On Athkatla’s sun-baked streets the stray dogs lingered in the scanty shadows of disheveled acacia trees lolling their tongues out, too tired even to bark. Saerk was out of town for a few days. Moira was preoccupied with some important enterprise, and had sent him a note canceling their next assignation. Yusef was sulky, hot, and irritated. His temper, usually subdued by his father’s oppressive autocracy, had flashed and led to several ugly confrontations with guards and house servants.

So, the Farrahd heir spent his time playing dice with the stable-boys or sulking in the hot and dusty garden, feeding breadcrumbs to the fat bubble-eyed fish that thrived in the fountains. He was too hot for the sword practices with his trainer, and he had fallen asleep on the second page of the novel that Moira lent him at the last meeting. Most of his friends were at the summerhouses, hiding from the heat wave in the green hills around Athkatla, but Saerk insisted that he stayed in the city for the rest of the summer to learn more about his future empire. At first he was glad because it meant he would see more of Moira. Now it looked like she had abandoned him for some stupid business deal. It was simply not fair.

It had arrived on the third day of his forced solitude. A pageboy in a non-descript, dark livery gave the package to the guard at the front door. It was a small bundle, wrapped in brown sackcloth, and secured with a piece of rough thread. There was no note with it, but the boy had left a message that it was a ‘gift to the young master from one of his friends’. Yusef’s first thought was of Moira. He was rather pleased with the idea. She was trying to make amends with him, which meant – he was important to her. Deep in his heart he was still not sure if he was not merely a charity case.

All his life he was taught to treat women like things that could be used for one’s pleasure, bought and sold for the right amount. Even his little sister Syraiah, was merely a bargain chip in their father’s hands. She could be sold into marriage for a significant price – an important political alliance and hefty wedding gift. Moira simply did not fit into that category. He sometimes tried to imagine her wearing one of the transparent outfits that his father favored for his toys, or the tight black leathers of the street prostitutes. It brought a strange shiver to his spine. He never felt this way about any of his paid partners, or any of the empty-headed, pretty merchants daughters that were presented to him as prospective brides. Moira was a challenge. She would have to be conquered. The thought of what may happen after this, or what price he would have to pay for this never crossed his mind.

He took the package to his study and left it unopened for a while, trying to imagine what was it that she thought may catch his attention. Hopefully it was