by Bill Smith
The battlefield was still scattered with the dead, both Minion and Karok. Tattered banners and skeletons swayed in the breeze as a warm wind blew up from the battlefield. Falgor welcomed the smell of death, since he equated it to the smell of victory. At last, the half-trolls were acknowledging their weakness by running away.
"The time has come," Marath whispered into Falgor's ear. "The siege of Allanon cannot be delayed."
Falgor stood up, oblivious of the huge winged creature on his dais, and called for his generals. The two orcs and one Darkness approached, then stood waiting for orders.
"The time has come," Falgor said to his three generals. "We will begin the siege of Allanon today."
"Yes, Sire," said Jorgash, one of the orc generals.
"But Falgor," Shargoth, the Darkness, protested simultaneously, "should we not clean out the Black Pass and continue through the Black Mountains? If Jorak has hidden any of his forces in the Black Mountains, they could strike at us while we siege Allanon. Jorak is a devious general, and I would not underestimate him."
"He has no forces reserved in the Black Mountains," Marath said.
"Jorak has no army left in the Black Mountains," Falgor replied curtly. "Otherwise I would share your concern. Now, we will strike them before they can recover. Jorak expects us to follow his battalions into the Black Mountains, but with his knowledge of the Mistlands, he could have his armies out and that would strand us in the mountain range for winter. We would lose half the army in the snow." Falgor's one eye narrowed. "I will not be fooled by Jorak's numb-skullery, and I am surprised that you are. Now, the time has come for us to strike. Assemble your armies and march for Allanon."
***
Two days journey away, Jorak was staring at two different maps of the Mistlands. Black markers showed the known positions of Falgor's army, and red markers showed the few remaining battalions that Jorak commanded.
A bandage covered the king's forehead, from when he had been struck in battle. His armor was dirty and worn, after nearly two months of constant use. He had replaced his axe twice, his greatsword once, and his shield twelve times. A great number of orcs had died at his hand in the past two months, and it was satisfying to finally have a war to live for...but not like this. Jorak had never expected it to be like this.
The Minion suffered heavy losses, but they continued to press onwards, relentlessly driving back the Karoks, pushing in the borders by leagues every single day. Hordes and hordes of the Minion stampeded across the Mistlands, crushing any resistance by sheer numbers.
There had been no warning, no prophecy, no prediction, and not even a suspicion. Falgor Bloodfist had reared his army up from the Darklands like a sleeping dragon. An invisible dragon. After the first town - Jorak could not even remember its name - was destroyed, most of the army traveled west, to meet the threat. Jorak never anticipated the size of the Minion that Falgor had raised. In the first battle, there were easily 50,000 Minion. The king never even suspected that many existed.
Those on the forefront fought long and hard, but for those in the Western Regiment, it was a hopeless battle. Jorak called in the Eastern Regiment, but by the time they arrived, the Western Regiment was no more. Its numbers originally exceeded ten thousand, but when the Eastern Regiment arrived, after days and nights of grueling battles, there were fewer than a thousand, and they were on the run. The Eastern Regiment were to be the saviors, the ones to earn victory for the Karok's crippled army.
When the Eastern Regiment met the Minion on an open field of battle, the sheer numbers of the Minion dwarfed the Karoks. Total, the Eastern Regiment and additional forces numbered 12,000. Even though the original 50,000 Minion had been reduced to 5,000, Falgor called in his first reserves, and his army numbered 60,000. In addition to this army, tens of thousands, maybe more, were camped out on the opposite side of the mountain. Jorak did not know that.
Though the Eastern Regiment fought hard, with Jorak leading every battle, sounding every war cry, it was hopeless from the beginning. Normally, the Karoks were used to fighting disjointed, single patrols of orcs. Large scale, organized battles were new to the Karoks, but their sheer willpower forced a bravery that tore through the Minion like a battering ram. The first battle ended in a close victory for Jorak, with greater than 10,000 Karoks lying dead and less than one hundred uninjured. But the Minion had 54,000 slaughtered, despite their overwhelming numbers and strategic prowess.
When Jorak saw the Minion retreating from that battle, the Battle of Minthar, he knew in his heart that it was over.
But it was not.
The next day, at the crack of dawn, Jorak's army awakened and prepared to mop up the remaining orcs. When the fog cleared, far earlier than normal, every Karok in the camp felt, often for the first time, dread.
More than 100,000 orcs had moved over the mountainside and were then camped on the battlefield, staring down at the pitifully small Karoks. All of these troops were fresh, and waiting to taste their first half-troll blood.
Needless to say, Jorak made a strategic withdrawal and he split his army up into battalions, which were then scattered into the Black Mountains. Since almost every Karok knew the Black Mountains by heart, they were expected to lead a confusing trail through the mountain range, and then return to Allanon as swiftly as possible. With any luck, the Minion would follow them in, and would be trapped for the winter.
That probably would not happen.
Jorak sighed, and stared out the window over his city. His city. He knew that it would be burning within two weeks.
Painfully, Jorak sat down and forced himself to write a letter to King Borric of Althoria.
***
Since Bolthorn had been unable to rid himself of Lia, Aleya, or Borim, he was forced to take a regular job as a warehouse guard in the outskirts of Althoria. It was a couple miles from the city walls, so there was little noise and little risk. The job was cushy, and too quiet.
Bolthorn hated it. But he had become good friends with the others over the past few weeks, and it would be hard to let them go.
With a sigh, Bolthorn began sharpening his sword again.
He caught a glimmer in the reflection on his blade, and he looked up. Standing in front of him was a man in a gray cloak, with the cowl drawn up, covering the face. It took a moment, but when Bolthorn saw the green eyes, recognition snapped.
It was the man from his dream.
"You are needed at camp," the gray-cloaked man said. His name was Alinor, Bolthorn remembered. "Return now."
"Wait, wh-"
"Go now. If you do not, consequences will be severe."
With that, Alinor spun on his heel and walked around the corner of the building. Bolthorn jumped up from his seat and followed, but, as he expected, Alinor was gone.
Uneasy at the man's words, and unsure how a complete stranger would know such things, Bolthorn debated whether or not to go. After a few moments, he decided that the consequences of skipping an hour of work would be far less than those of Alinor's boding.
Bolthorn sheathed his sword and headed to the campsite.
***
Aleya knelt by the lake, testing the water with her bare toe. It was freezing. At this hour of the morning, though, it was bound to be cold.
The girl glanced around, then dropped her nightgown around her feet. She stepped out of the pile of cloth, then tested the water once more. With a firm resolve that she made every morning, Aleya dove into the water, her body cutting smoothly into the water.
The harsh temperature bit into her skin, and Aleya came up sputtering. She giggled, then reprimanded herself for bathing so early in the morning. The morning mist hadn't even cleared yet.
Aleya took baths at this time of morning every day since she met Bolthorn and Lia, and she couldn't figure out why. The water was always colder, the air was always colder, and there was only a cooking fire to keep her warm. She just did it. No real explanation.
To keep herself warm, Aleya began swimming around the small lake. Despite this, she began to shiver uncontrollably, so she decided to clean herself. She swam to the shore and pulled the bar of soap from the grass. Back out in the middle of the pond, Aleya floated on her back, lazily drawing the soap across her body. She washed her hair, then her face and moved down her torso, rinsing off the soap after each body part. When her hand drifted between her legs, her thumb brushed against her sensitive clit, and Aleya gasped at the small burst of pleasure. It had been a while since she had pleasured herself.
The soap slipped free, floating to the surface. Aleya moved her hand further between her legs, and closed her eyes at the sensations. For a few moments, she just lightly rubbed her fingers over her nether lips, sighing as the pleasure grew. Her cunt lips' sensitivity grew with every stroke.
Aleya pushed her other hand down to her pussy, and began caressing her lips with two fingers from each hand. When that wasn't enough, she pushed two fingers from her left hand into her pussy, and groaned as the pleasure continued to mount. Her left hand began thrusting in and out slowly, and her right index finger began circling her clit. She continued to stimulate herself like this for a few minutes, increasing tempo.
Her mind was occupied with thoughts of Borim and Bolthorn, the only two males she had ever known, besides the Oracle. After another few minutes, those thoughts dissolved, and the white-hot pleasure consumed Aleya. She clamped her legs together tightly, around her hands, and began convulsing. Aleya sucked in a breath and held it, since the water was entering her nose now.
For a few moments, Aleya just shuddered and bit her lip as the orgasm overwhelmed her. She submersed in the water, and floated down. After a few moments of mental emptiness, Aleya sighed, the bubbles swirling from her lips and nose, out of the dark silence, up to the surface.
Aleya's head came free of the water, and she began breathing in the morning air. Now, she noticed the cold water again.
"Gods," Aleya muttered, looking for the soap. She found it a few yards away and swam for it. Once she had it, she turned around to head for shore.
As soon as Aleya turned, she yelped and fell back with a splash. A few inches in front of her face was a man, sitting cross-legged on the surface of the water.
"Wh-Wha-Who-?" Aleya stammered.
The man smiled. He wasn't very young, but he wasn't very old, either. Gray hair had just begun to touch his black hair around the temples, and there were only a few lines on his face. His eyes were the strangest part. They were piercing blue, and extremely intense, as though he could see right through her.
"My name is Ghin," the man said. "Are you Aleya?"
"I-You-What are you doing here? How did you-"
Ghin waved his hand. "We'll answer all those questions later. For now, you have to come with me."
"How did you get here?"
"I've been here a while. You just haven't seen me."
Aleya blushed a deep crimson when she realized exactly what he had seen. "What are you-"
Ghin put a finger to his lips. "Shh..." he said. "We'll talk about that later. Now, we need to leave, before Borim comes."
Then Aleya saw.
Her mind opened, and she saw a whole new path in front of her, one that she hadn't noticed before. Unfortunately, since Ghin was here now, it was too late to be avoided.
"May I get my clothes?" Aleya asked.
"I have some for you." Ghin extended his hand, and Aleya hesitantly took it. He helped her out of the water, up onto the surface of the lake. Aleya tried to avoid covering her nakedness, but it was hard. He probably didn't care, but Aleya wanted some dignity.
"Now get ready," Ghin said. He held onto her right hand with his left, then made a few gestures with his hand. The air around them rippled and distorted, then the lake vanished.
***
Borim stormed into the small clearing, swearing. "Aleya is gone."
Lia looked up from some herbs she was examining, and knew that something was terribly wrong, just by his tone. "What did you say?"
"Aleya is gone. She went to the pond to bathe and now she's not there any more. Someone has taken her."
"How do you know?"
"I looked."
"But how do you know she's been kidnapped?"
"I've told you before," Borim said, "we know more about each other than you would believe. Aleya and I are bonded in more ways than just friendship, and I know when something's happened to her. She's been taken away. Far away."
"How far?"
"At least a week's journey. Somewhere to the south."
Lia studied Borim for a moment and then stood up. "Let's go find Bolthorn."
***
Doronar knocked on the door lightly, and when he received no answer, he knocked harder. A minute passed, and no one answered. Doronar sighed and returned back down the hall he had entered through. He found the guard that had directed him there, and said, "I looked in that room, and she's not answering the door."
"Well, she either doesn't want to answer the door, or she's out. Come back later," he growled.
"Fine," sighed Doronar, walking back to the courtyard. He looked for a comfortable place to sit for a few hours. An abandoned hay wagon near the stables seemed to fit his needs.
He hopped on the back and crawled into the hay, making himself comfortable. Just as he was settling back, Doronar caught a glimpse of white. He looked in the direction, but saw that it was just a woman carrying some folded cloth.
When Doronar looked up at the woman carrying the cloth, he knew he had found her. Though she was not wearing her robes of Nala, Lily's features matched his vision exactly. Her hair was brown, her skin was slightly tan, her face sharp, her body was lean...of course, in the vision she had on robes, so that was difficult to tell, but after seeing her in person, Doronar could see she had a nice figure.
Lily carried her cloth into the palace, and Doronar jumped off the wagon, ignoring the cries of the wagon's owner. He jogged after Lily, and caught up with her in front of her office, where he had searched earlier.
When Lily noticed that she was being followed, she looked at Doronar and said, "May I help you?"
"I finally found you!" Doronar grinned. "It's taken me almost two months, but I found you!" He realized he sounded stupid, but didn't care. Right now was probably the most fulfilling moment of his life, up to this point. Her response instantly tore that feeling apart.
Lily looked uncertain for a moment, then checked down both ways of the hall. "Do I know you?"
Doronar's mind went blank. This possibility hadn't occurred to him. "Don't you?"
"Should I?"
***
Two tears splattered down on the floor, darkening the gray stones. Ranon was on his stomach, bent over a footstool. His right arm was stretched out to the side, tied to a bedpost. An old man was sitting on his back, with a lens strapped to his eyeball. Next to the odd-looking pair was a brazier, full of burning coals, surrounded by six metal bowls, propped above oil burners. Inside each bowl was a different colored dye.
"You know," the old man said, "you can make noise if you wish. I'm sure the princess won't mind, and Kinar says it's healthier for you to express pain."
"I'll fucking make noise of I want to make noise!" Ranon snarled. But since he was biting down on a cloth-wrapped strip of leather, it came out indistinct.
"That's right," said the man, peering at Ranon's arm. "Make all the noise you want."
The man bent over and carefully applied the tip of his needle to Ranon's bare shoulder. He traced another black line parallel to the first.
Ranon's eyes widened and his legs jerked.
"Keep still, please," the old man said.
It took great effort, but Ranon managed to keep his body still, if tensed. To Ranon, it seemed as though the man painted on his skin for hours, even though it was only another few minutes.
Then, the door opened. Ranon looked up, and saw a man enter, wearing dark clothing. Time seemed to slow down the dark-cloaked figure pulled a shortsword from his cloak and advanced on the princess.
Alleria looked up from her studies, and started to stand.
"Look out!" Ranon shouted, spitting the leather cloth out. He jumped up, ignoring the pain as the tattooist's hot needle slid across his arm.
The assassin's sword swung toward the princess, but she scrambled away, and ran behind the tattooist's other tables, screaming.
Ranon tried to jump after the assassin, but swore when his tied-down arm held him back. He slid his dagger from its sheath and cut the leather strap. "Hey!" Ranon shouted at the assassin when he attacked Alleria again.
The assassin spun around, and Ranon dodged the first attack. He leaped forward and slashed out with his dagger, splaying open the man's neck. As the man fell, Ranon spun around, looking for other attackers. He saw two more enter, carrying shortswords as well.
"Leave, now," Ranon told them. "Or I will be forced to kill you. I am the sworn Protector of Alleria, Princess of Althoria. Leave or die."
The two dark-clothed men ignored his warning, and attacked.
Ranon jumped to the side, and rolled over a table, scattering dyes all over the floor. He grabbed the drawing needle from the startled tattooist and threw it at one of the assassins. The needle thudded into the killer's neck, and the man went down in a heap. The other one swiped his sword at Ranon, but the boy ducked, and stabbed his dagger blindly. With a graceful maneuver, the assassin pulled Ranon's right arm into a wristlock, and pulled him into the table. Ranon grunted with pain, but managed to jam the next attack with his left arm.
Just as the assassin was about to snap his wrist, Ranon's leg shot down, and broke the man's knee like a twig. With a grunt of pain, the assassin's left leg bent inwards, and his grip on Ranon's arm loosened. Barely a second later, Ranon's knee swung around and smashed into the assassin's neck, breaking every vertebrae above his shoulders.
Then Alleria screamed.
Ranon spun around, and saw that another assassin had come from somewhere, and had the princess pinned up against the wall. With a yell, Ranon launched himself across the room before the assassin could draw the dagger across her throat.
Alleria stumbled free as her Champion and her assailent tumbled to the ground in a heap. Growling, Ranon pulled the assassin to his feet and twice drove his knee into the man's groin. The man squawked and doubled over, only to meet Ranon's knee again. Nose bleeding, the assassin was thrown against the wall. Before he could react, Ranon's hand flashed out and crushed his throat. The man slid to the ground, trying to breathe through a broken esophagus.
Alleria threw her arms about Ranon's shoulders, and she began sobbing into his neck. "I-I was so scared," she cried. "No one's ever-"
"Hey," Ranon said, looking at her face and tilting her chin up. "As long as I'm here, no one can hurt you. I won't let them, do you understand?"
Alleria smiled and nodded. "Yes. Thank you." She leaned forward and lightly kissed Ranon. At first, it was a normal kiss, but when her lips stayed, the passion grew, and they melted into each other's arms. "Gods, Ranon, I want you so bad," Alleria murmured, fumbling at his tunic.
Ranon's hand slid down her back, and he grabbed her tight buttocks, squeezing.
Then Ranon felt something tugging at his mouth. He opened his eyes and saw that Alleria was pulling on the leather strip. Painfully, Ranon opened his mouth, and the leather came free.
Alleria dropped it to the ground and said sympathetically, "I didn't like that at all, how are you feeling? You looked a little lost for a second."
Ranon looked around, and figured he must have been dreaming. "I feel like my arm is on fire."
"It was for a few minutes," the old man said. "I'm surprised you didn't notice."
Alleria snorted and helped Ranon to his feet. The old man untied Ranon's wrist from the table leg. "Sorry I had to do that to you, but if your arm moved, the tattoo would be ruined."
Ranon nodded. "Do you have anything to drink?"
The tattooist handed him a cup of water. "That's what everyone wants." He pointed to the bandage on Ranon's arm. "Take that off tomorrow night, and clean it. Then it should be fine."
Ranon nodded and picked up his shirt from the table. "Thank you." He pulled it on and followed Alleria out the door. She headed toward her quarters.
"How much did that hurt?" she asked.
"A lot," Ranon admitted.
"I wish you hadn't done it. It sounded too painful."
Ranon shrugged. "It is tradition. All Royal Protectors have a caduceus tattooed on their arm. I'm sure your father wants it."
Alleria shot him an odd look at that statement, but continued walking. "You know, Orin Lanash is visiting the palace tomorrow."
"He is?" Ranon raised his eyebrows. "Really?" Orin Lanash was one of the greatest swordmasters of all time. He fought thousands of battles, and was rumored to have lost none.
Alleria nodded. "My brothers are having a private training lesson with him. Would you like to join in?"
"Only if you are going."
"I'm going, but I won't join in. I just want to watch. To see Lanash in person would be an honor."
***
Garen traced a finger down the curve of Bree's side, from her waist to her thigh. He kissed her collar bone, then moved down to her breast, and began teasing her breast with his tongue. She giggled and squirmed, mock-struggling against him.
With a primitive growl, Garen pushed his head between her legs and began licking Bree's pussy. She sighed and succumbed to his active mouth. For several minutes, she just lay there, accepting the pleasure, and letting him suck on her and drink her juices. Bree couldn't resist his roving tongue for long, though. Unconsciously, her hips began rocking back and forth, and small moans of pleasure escaped her throat. "Gods..." she whimpered, holding down his head.
Garen continued to work her pussy and clit, pressing one finger against her asshole and thrusting his tongue into her cunt. Then Bree came, screaming and arching her back, holding his head between her legs. Garen continued to pleasure her, drinking the liquid that gushed all over his face. When the girl's hips had stopped bucking, Garen pulled away and wiped his face on the sheets.
When he was pulling his face away from the cloth, a sudden realization hit him. He had to go...now. For some reason, he was needed to the south. Garen looked down at Bree, who was breathing raggedly, and wondered what to do about her. He had considered buying her...but Bree was property of Red Feather. How would that be worked?
Besides, she was always here.
After a moment, Bree looked up at him and smiled. "Thank you, Garen."
"You're welcome," he replied. "I wish I could stay, but I have to go."
Bree sat up when Garen began pulling on his clothes. "Where? Now? I just got here."
"South. I'll be back in a few...soon. I'll be back soon," he said.
For a moment, Bree considered asking him to buy her, but she couldn't work up the courage. Just when she was ready to ask, Garen was tying his cloak and bending over her. He kissed her lightly on the mouth and said, "Check me out of the inn, will you? Hopefully my manor will be finished when I return. It's been over a month."
Bree sat up in the bed and watched him go. When the door was closed, she sighed. It was not often that clients left their rooms in the care of the girls...she still refused to use the word "whore" or "prostitute."
For a moment, she just sat there, but then Bree stood up and pulled on her robe. She went downstairs and told Balan that she had just finished with Garen and that he had just checked out. Balan nodded and recorded the information. He would charge Garen's bank account in the morning for a lot of money.
Bree had been Garen's only interest over the past month, and he refused to have sex with one of the other girls if Bree was unavailable. It felt good to know she was appreciated.
When Bree walked into the bunkroom, she heard moans coming from the bathing room. Not even pausing to listen to the nature of the moans, Bree walked into the bathroom, and came upon Marian and Kaia, kissing.
Marian was a year older than Bree, at fifteen, and Kaia was a year younger. The older girl's hair was cut to the middle of her neck, where Kaia had long blonde hair that fell to her waist. Bree envied the younger girl, but she wasn't even thinking about that now.
With a gasp, Bree stopped in her tracks and gaped. They were both in a tub, passionately making out. Kaia was the one facing the door, and as soon as she saw Bree, she cried "Mmph!" into Marian's mouth.
Marian turned around and flushed deep red, but Bree spun on her heel and returned to the bunks. There were no immediate feelings on what Bree had just seen, just shock. Bree took off her robe, trying to think of something...anything to get her mind going again. Now her thoughts just ran in a loop, repeating the scene in her mind over and over.
Bree lifted a nightgown over her head and pulled it down. When the cloth came away from her face, she saw Marian standing in front of her. Surprisingly, Bree turned red and looked away. "Yes?" she said, walking over to a mirror and adjusting her hair.
"Briana..."
"Bree."
"What you just saw...don't...think..."
"Bad thoughts?"
"No. I don't know. What do you think?"
"I...haven't had time," Bree said. "Why? What...well...you shouldn't be ashamed," Bree said just as the notion came to her. After all, the girls had a right to pleasure each other in any way they pleased, whether it be with a client, alone, or each other.
Marian looked at Bree in the mirror and said, "I just don't want you to think we're perverted or anything. This kind of thing might not have happened at your old place. We're a little more liberated here."
"I don't think you're perverted," Bree replied, walking back to her bed and climbing in the covers.
Marian was still naked, and she was pink between her legs. Bree couldn't help but notice the swelling; she tried to ignore it. The girls stayed nude half the time, while they were in their rooms, but now Bree had a feeling that whole attitude might make her uneasy.
Bree pulled the covers up to her chin and set her head on the pillow.
Marian sat at the base of the bed and crossed her legs.
Of course, this didn't help things, so Bree closed her eyes.
"Bree," Marian sighed. "Please. Don't lie, I saw the look on your face. You were utterly shocked."
"Shocked, yes, but not repulsed," Bree said.
Marian raised an eyebrow.
"I mean..." Bree sighed and opened her eyes, looking at Marian's face. "I've just...never...seen, or even thought about...anything like that. That's all. I don't think you're perverted or anything, so don't worry."
Marian smiled and stood up. "Thank you, Bree. You know it's all we can do to ever come. Working with a client is sometimes like torture. You never quite reach your peak, and then you have to leave. This is the only way we can relieve that tension."
"I know, but how come I haven't heard of this before?"
Marian shrugged. "You probably came in at the wrong time. And since that Garen fellow of yours lets you sleep in there after you're finished, you spend less time in here than before. A lot goes on in here, Bree, but not everyone catches it. No more than three or four girls are in the bunks at a time. So don't be surprised it took you so long to find out."
Bree nodded and closed her eyes.
"I'll let you get some sleep, Bree. Good night."
"Night."
Marian returned to the bathing room.
***
Bolthorn and Lia were riding Borim's horse, since it was used to carrying more weight, and Borim was riding Aleya's. At the end of the first day, they had nearly ridden both horses to death, especially Aleya's. The horse was coated in lather, and practically foaming at the mouth.
The only reason Bolthorn didn't stop earlier was because Borim absolutely would not. Borim didn't care if he killed both horses, all he wanted to do was get to Aleya. He was the only one who knew Aleya's location, but even then it was in general terms. Perhaps his knowledge would get more specific as they neared her position. Until then, Lia and Bolthorn would just have to rely on Borim's vague directions.
Bolthorn was slightly ill that they had to storm out of town so suddenly, since his payment for the warehouse duty would not be collected. That was life, he supposed.
Now, Borim was on edge. Usually, the boy was easy to talk to, and pretty detached, but now his face was lined with worry, and his responses were short and curt. He sharpened his sword whenever they stopped to rest the horses or eat or camp, and then stared into the fire or paced back and forth. Any attempts to relax him were futile, and he would often break off on a tangent about how important Aleya's life was. She had a destiny to fulfill, he said, and that was of the utmost importance.
"If you'll excuse me," Borim said. "I'm going to bathe now. I'll return in a bit."
When he was gone, Lia looked at Bolthorn and said, "Do you think we'll find her?"
Bolthorn shrugged. "I don't know. I hope so. With Borim's determination, we had better find her."
Lia looked into the crackling fire, and sighed. "This has been a very strange month."
"I know," Bolthorn said. He was thinking of the three people that had suddenly found him and decided to follow along for no reason, but Lia was thinking of the midnight Shadows' attack, and the sudden kidnapping.
***
Lily sipped from her tea, politely listening to Doronar's story. When he finished, she tried not to look skeptical. "Well...Doronar, I'm sorry, but Nala has not revealed anything to me. No god has. Even so, I'm just a healer, not a priestess. I used to be a priestess, but I just couldn't do it. My devotion to the Goddess of Life is far less than any other woman who wears the robes of Nala. Are you sure that it is me you're looking for?"
Doronar nodded. "Absolutely. There is no doubt in my mind. You are the one I've been searching for for two months."
Lily pursed her lips and looked at her tea for a few moments. "I don't know what to tell you. There is nothing I can do for you, since I don't even know what you want. I know you don't either...that was a vague dream you had. Sorry, I can't help you."
Doronar looked down into his tea, and finally said, "I understand. I will leave now, since I have nothing to gain by pestering you. I will go to the local temple and meditate until the answers find me." Doronar stood up and Lily led him to the door. "Thank you for your time." He bowed and walked down the hall, lost in thought.
He passed Ranon, Corin, Daren, and Alleria, all on their way to meet Orin.
"You should practice with us, Alleria," Corin said. "It would be useful."
"You might be able to use it if the Minion do really conquer-" Daren said.
"-the Mistlands," Corin finished.
Alleria shook her head. "I'm too old to start learning now, and-"
"Too old?" Corin retorted.
"You're sixteen," Daren said.
"I know, but I've never practiced with a sword in my life," she replied. "To start now would be too late. Besides, I would only slow you three down, since you know everything about swords."
"We're only class four swordsmen," Daren said, "and you're a what?"
"Class two," Ranon replied.
"There, see..."
"Class two?" Corin gaped.
Ranon nodded.
"Wow."
"You'll probably be Grand Master before you are twenty."
Ranon shrugged.
"Three years to do it in. That's enough time."
"Perhaps."
They came to the north garden entrance, and saw Orin lounging on a bench near the fishpool. He stood up when they came near.
Orin wasn't anything like Ranon had expected. He was short, with scruffy hair and an uneven beard that looked like he hadn't shaved in three days. His clothes were worn, and his sword belt had lost all color, and was deteriorated.
"Your Highnesses," Orin said, kneeling in front of the three. "It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Get up," Alleria said. "You don't need to do that around us."
Orin stood and looked at them. "Is this Ranon? The new Royal Protector?"
Alleria nodded. "Yes, he was entitled a month ago."
"So I can still teach you something, then?" Orin grinned.
"Yes, sir."
"First lesson," Orin said, sticking his finger up and pacing in front of them. "Oh, will you be participating in today's training?" he asked Alleria.
The princess shook her head and stepped to the side. "I'll just watch."
"Of course," Orin said, continuing to pace. "First lesson is this: everybody is better than you. Nobody is worse. Never underestimate an opponent, and never boast your skill, unless you know exactly what you're doing. Always make them think you are worse than them, and you always think they are better than you. Do you understand?"
The three nodded.
"Good," Orin said. "Second lesson: don't stop learning. As soon as people reach the Grand Master title, they stop learning, and boast that they are the greatest things to walk the face of the planet. Anytime I meet a Grand Master who boasts like that, I challenge him to a duel, and I kill him. So don't boast, because you never stop learning from your mistakes. What levels are you?"
"We're class four and he is class two," Daren said.
"The titles are meaningless. They are a set of criteria for you to believe your skill is at a certain level, and they are set up just because people need order. They categorize all the skills of the sword into movements. Choppy movements. Parry, thrust, parry, parry, slash." Orin waved his hand. "Don't listen. Sword fighting is a technique that is part of you. There are no single movements, and there are no series of attacks. Everything is vulnerable, unless you make it invulnerable. You cannot do that with rigid forms of attack."
Orin's speech style was a little abstract, at first, but Ranon soon caught on, and it started making sense. For the first few hours, Orin lectured, and broke down everything they had ever learned about swordsmanship. Then, he began teaching them to move with the sword. The sword was now a part of their body that was just really sharp. At noon they ate lunch, and Orin lectured for another hour. Then they broke out the swords and began practicing. At first, Orin demonstrated his fighting style in slow motion with Corin, then showed how easily he could win on Daren, then told them to begin. With each other, they used practice swords, but against Orin, they used the real swords. It did no good to practice with a weapon you would never use, he said. If they somehow managed to hit Orin, they would be the first students to ever do that, so they didn't need to worry about attacking him with real blades.
The first few hours of real practice were rough, since Orin constantly reprimanded them for using their old fighting style, but they eventually fell into Orin's method. At sunset, Orin called a halt to practice, since all three of them were exhausted.
Ranon walked over to the bench where Alleria was sleeping and sat down on the end. Corin nudged her with his fist and she came awake. "Time to go inside, Sis. Practice just finished."
Alleria yawned and sat up. She blinked sleepily and looked at the sky. "Night already?"
Daren nodded. "See you tomorrow. We're going to sleep now."
Orin bowed to Alleria, then walked inside.
Alleria sat there for a few moments, then looked at Ranon. "Do you want to go inside?"
"It's up to you."
Alleria stood up and headed indoors. As they neared her room, the princess said to Ranon, "Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?"
"I usually do."
"No, you usually sit there, eat, then watch me eat as if the food's going to attack me. Ranon, my life is rarely threatened, and my father's life has never been in any immediate danger. Don't go around as if everyone is a spy."
Ranon gaped for a moment, then grinned. "Of course, Your Highness."
Alleria rolled her eyes and walked into her room. She pulled the servant cord and walked over to her wardrobe. "How was your practice today?" she asked.
"Informative," Ranon said. He turned around and began piling logs in the fireplace when Alleria started unlacing her dress. "Orin is an excellent teacher."
"Really? Most good swordsmen are too impatient."
"He knows what he's doing. You shouldn't have stayed."
"What? Why not?"
Ranon pulled a tinder box off the mantle. "It was a waste of your time, and I'm not part of your life, Alleria. I compromise myself for you, not the other way around."
"Ranon," Alleria said, "if I want to sit in the garden all day and watch you three strong boys sweat all day, then I will do that. I do what I want, Ranon, don't assume otherwise."
"Of course. I apologize."
"Don't," Alleria sighed. "Just find out what's taking that servant so long."
Ranon lit the fire and put the tinder box back. Before he could open the door, a servant knocked, and Ranon let him in.
Alleria, who was dressed now, said, "Bring us two dinners. Tell my father I'm turning in early, and don't want to be disturbed; eating with the family keeps me awake too late. Thank you."
The servant bowed and left.
Alleria was now wearing a pale nightgown, that fell just below her knees. She began unbraiding her hair and combing it down. "Sometimes I wish I had shorter hair," she mused aloud.
"Why?" Ranon asked.
"Just because it would be easier to handle."
"Tie it behind your head."
"Sometimes, but it looks prettier braided."
Ranon nodded.
Alleria sat down at the table and motioned for him to do the same. "I never asked you this, but do you mind being my Champion?"
"Of course not! It's such a great honor to-"
"No, no, no. I'm not talking about honor," Alleria said. "I'm talking about you. I made this decision with risk attached to it, Ranon. I knew that Gronit wanted to be my Royal Protector, but you? I knew nothing, other than that you were on the list. What if you didn't want to be my Champion?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"You're destroying your life, Ranon. You have no future. As my Champion, your life revolves around me, every second of every day. There is no time when you have your own free time. Now, your life is merely an extension of mine. Does that sound enticing to you?"
Ranon raised an eyebrow and replied. "Not the way you put it. But that's not how I look at it. My life is my life, and what I choose to do with it is my choice. My father asked me if I would want to be your Protector, and I said yes. I've devoted my life to you because you are the Princess of Althoria. In your arms rests the kingdom. You are the heir to the throne, and I will protect you no matter what. I know my explanation didn't say much, but it'll have to do. I want to protect you, and that's the end of it."
Alleria studied Ranon for a few moments, then smiled. She leaned across the table and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."
Ranon looked down.
Alleria laughed and said, "Why don't you take some of that armor off, it looks uncomfortable."
Ranon looked down and realized he was still wearing all his armor and weapons. "Of course. I'll be back in a minute." He walked into his room, which was adjoining the princess's chambers, and began pulling off his armor, piece by piece. After some thought, he undressed completely and then put on his old tunic and pants. For his weapon, he just wore a dagger. When he returned to Alleria's room, the food had arrived.
"Have a seat," Alleria said. "Eat whatever you like." She popped some grapes in her mouth and began cutting some meat.
Ranon ate the food swiftly, since he was so hungry. When he finished, he washed it down with a couple glasses of wine, before he even realized what it was. Hopefully he would not get drunk.
Alleria finished more slowly, and didn't eat as much. When she did, she took the pitcher of wine and her glass to the bottom of her bed, facing the fireplace, and sat down, leaning against the baseboard.
Ranon put some more logs in the fire, and said, "Thank you for dinner, I'll ring a servant to take it, then I should sleep."
"No, sit down," Alleria patted the ground next to her. "Don't go to bed yet."
A barely noticeable hesitation passed before Ranon sat next to her. She offered her glass of wine, and he took it reluctantly, drinking some more of the red liquid. He finished the glass and set it back on the ground.
"I wonder," Alleria said absently, staring at the fire. "What is going to happen with the war? Do you think we'll ever have to fight?"
"No," Ranon lied. "The half-trolls have not lost a war for three thousand years."
Alleria sighed and poured herself some more wine. She drank it and then sighed. "Sometimes I just get depressed, Ranon. My life is so boring. My father is just a big bore who thinks I love everything he does and should do everything like him. His whole life is politics, jousts, fighting, and wars. That's it. If we weren't under threat from the Minion right now, he'd fight it out with Harnash."
Ranon chuckled. "That would be a sight."
"They wouldn't last a day."
Ranon looked at Alleria's child-like face. Her face looked youthful, younger even than sixteen, but her body was mature. The firelight glowed softly on her skin and in her blue eyes. The princess's golden hair seemed to shine with a light of its own, giving her the appearance of an angel.
When Alleria looked up at Ranon, he looked back into the fireplace. "What is it?" she asked.
"Nothing," he answered. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
"Nothing."
Alleria set the pitcher and cup to her left, and scooted closer to Ranon. She leaned against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. If the wine wasn't affecting him so much, he would never do something like that. "Why did you pick me?"
"What?"
"Why did you pick me instead of Gronit?"
Alleria looked up at him. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. Everybody thought you were going to pick Gronit, because he's a better warrior, because he can ride better, because he's stronger. Gronit was the obvious choice. Why did you pick me?"
Alleria smiled up at him. "Because I like you."
"You never knew me before I was knighted."
"One of my maidservants knows Randall."
"My brother? What's he got to do with me?"
"He knows you."
Ranon thought about it, but was too confused to understand why she would want him over Gronit. Of course Gronit was ugly, but that hardly mattered when choosing a bodyguard. But then, Alleria didn't seem to take the Champion role too seriously, so she might have avoided Gronit because of his looks. Gronit wasn't too harsh on the eyes, but he wasn't that lovely, either.
"Ranon," Alleria said, sitting up, bringing her face closer to his. "Have you ever been with a girl?"
Ranon's mouth went dry. "What?" he croaked, suddenly hoarse.
"You know what I mean," the princess murmured, pressing her mouth against his.
Ranon grunted in surprise, but instantly gave in to the girl's roaming tongue. They melted against each other and began kissing passionately, relaxing their constraints and awakening to their primal desires.
For several minutes, they just explored each other's mouths and pressed against each other, until Alleria slipped her hand inside Ranon's pants. He gasped as her fingers found his cock and began massaging the stiff erection.
Before he knew it, his pants were down around his ankles, and Alleria's hands were massaging his penis. She was on top of him, her mouth on his, her pelvis pressing against his hard member. "Alleria," Ranon mumbled. "This is-"
"Right..." she interrupted, lifting the hem of her nightgown. Ranon caught a flash of pubic hair before the gown fell again, and she was pressing her cunt against his cock. Alleria continued kissing him, and felt beneath the hem of her gown. With both hands, Alleria maneuvered Ranon's erection into her lubricated pussy.
The head slipped in, and Alleria's eyes closed. She put her hands on Ranon's chest, and slowly sank down. His length was so big inside her! Alleria became delirious with the pleasure, but held on to her sanity for just a few more moments. Both of them grunted when Ranon broke past her virginity. After that, his cock slowly slid into her tight pussy until Alleria's clit touched his skin.
When her sensitive spot brushed against Ranon, the spike of pleasure sent her over the edge. Alleria's body rocked as her orgasm exploded through her body, pouring juices around Ranon's cock. She screamed, voicing her climax into the large bedroom. For several seconds, sheer pleasure overwhelmed her and the princess just thrashed over Ranon.
Then Ranon began rocking his hips into Alleria, and she responded, bobbing up and down on top of his penis. The girl moaned as her previous orgasm died, and she began building to a new one.
Ranon's hands found the top of her gown, and he pulled it down her shoulders, to her waist. Alleria's breasts came free, and Ranon came off the floor, taking them into his mouth and wrapping his hands around her waist. He began to groan as his orgasm neared.
Alleria's mouth opened, and she screamed her second climax. Ranon came as soon as he heard her howl of pleasure. He held her pelvis on top of his as the hot seed began gushing from his cock into her womb.
They both writhed in bliss, absorbed in the pleasure of their orgasms. After the noise and ecstasy died down, they both lay on the ground for a full minute before moving up to the bed.
***
On the bottom level of Althorien, Doronar was in the meditation room, chanting softly. The gray smoke floated from the brazier thickly, curling around Doronar's sweating body. Like water, it flowed in and out of his nostrils, filling his lungs with the stinging pain. Doronar ignored it, and let himself wash along with the tidal forces of Arraka's will.
To Doronar, when he was meditating, Arraka was like a raging river. The Dragon God surged through the universe, throbbing with life and pouring Himself through the veins of existence. Only if Doronar was caught up in this flow could he even glimpse Arraka's purpose for him. Arraka would not bend down and hold the hand of everyone who had a destiny. It was up to Doronar to find that destiny, and until he knew that destiny, his life would be unfulfilled.
So, without even thinking, or knowing why, Doronar's eyes snapped open, and he leaned forward. In one swift motion, his hand pushed forward and buried itself in the brazier's burning coals. Pain tore through his arm, and Doronar nearly passed out from shock, but when his vision refocused, he saw someone else in the room. The other person was a man, and at first Doronar thought he was looking at a mirror image.
Both were in the same position, each with a hand in the brazier, and both wore the same expression of amazement. This man's hair was slightly darker, though, and he had a leaner build.
"Who are you?" Doronar asked, suddenly nervous.
"Who are you?" the man countered.
"Doronar Redhand, Acolyte to Mak-kar, Temple of the Dragon of Dale."
"Where?"
"Who are you?"
"I am Rinas, Dragon Knight of Joshar, under the command of Mal-kar."
Doronar's jaw dropped, and he said in a scratchy voice, "Dragon Knight?"
"Yes, where are-"
"Dragon Knight? From where?"
"Joshar. Northwestern corner of Draconia."
Doronar gaped, and fell back onto his butt. As his hand came free of the brazier, Rinas faded into the smoke, and vanished. For a few moments, Doronar sat awkwardly, holding his burnt hand and watching the smoke drift in front of him. He knew that if he put his hand back in the brazier, Rinas would not be there.
Awkwardly, as if he was in a daze, Doronar crawled over to his clothes, cradling his burnt hand. He fumbled through his things and decided to just take his robe, since dressing in his armor would be a difficult task with a disabled hand. The pain was nonexistent now, but it would grow, soon.
Doronar managed to pull his robe on and stagger out into the hall. He would get his things later. Now, he had to find one of the priests.
Dragon Knights were mere legends, now. They supposedly existed, on the southern continent, but those rumors died ages ago. Draconia also supposedly existed, but that rumor stayed alive. Now, it was no rumor. Doronar knew that Draconia and Dragon Knights existed. He had to find out why they finally let themselves be known.
"Father," Doronar said to a passing priest, "please, I have to talk to you."
"Is it urgent? I am-"
"It is urgent."
The priest hesitated, then nodded. He took Doronar outside, next to the sacrificial altar. "What is it, acolyte?"
Doronar took a deep breath, then poured out his tale, including the vision of Lily and his search for her. When he finished with tonight's dream, the priest's eyes were wide. He said, "This is most amazing. I believe we should call a gathering of the temple tomorrow. For now, bandage your hand, and get some sleep." The priest put his hand on Doronar's shoulder. "Know this, acolyte: Arraka has a great purpose in store for you; do not ignore it."
Doronar nodded and walked back inside, wondering why he would ever ignore such a noble calling. Perhaps, sometime in the future, Arraka would test him. When that time came, he would have to be prepared.
***
Garen was becoming quite annoyed with himself. He was riding to the south, at an absurd pace, for no apparent reason. Though he should be getting used to it by now, he wasn't. Garen wouldn't be surprised if he was riding all this way just to kill someone.
His horse was slowing in speed, so Garen stopped when he entered the next village. "Excuse me," he said to a pair of playing children. "Could you tell me where the stables are?"
The children ran away.
Garen sighed and found an old man who pointed him in the right direction. When Garen arrived at the stables, he asked for the stablemaster.
As the stableboy was fetching his employer, Garen looked at the stables. They appeared to be of adequate construction, and the horses looked sound. To him.
Garen didn't know the first thing about horses; his could be diseased and dying for all he knew. If so, he would just buy another one.
The stablemaster came out the back and said, "Hello. How may I help you?"
"I want a horse. I'm in a hurry to get somewhere, and I need a fresh one. Will you buy mine and sell me another?"
The stablemaster raised an eyebrow at the proposition, but looked at Garen's horse. He pulled up the eyelids, the lips, looked in the nostrils, examined the hooves, listened to its breathing, and finally said, "I'll give you my best riding horse and three crowns for this one."
"You'll give me three crowns?"
The stablemaster scowled. "Fine, I'll give you four, but no more. The bit is digging into the horse's mouth, and the shoes are a little off, which might have caused damage-"
"Yes yes," Garen said, "I'll take it. Hurry up, I need to get there as fast as I can."
The stablemaster sent off the boy and began unsaddling Garen's horse. He wondered why the stablemaster was actually giving him money, until he saw the horse come out. The stablemaster's finest riding horse was ugly, dirty, and old.
Garen rolled his eyes and hoped the horse would last a hundred yards.
***
Three days later, Bolthorn, Lia, and Borim were riding into Vroll, a small mountain town just north of the Harnash border. Borim's condition hadn't gotten any better. He spent several sleepless nights, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Any pause seemed to agitate him more, so they were stopping less and less.
While the others were sleeping, Lia replenished the horses, and healed them to the best of her ability, but she could only do so much. During the day, the horses were driven almost to death, and during the night, they were allowed to rest only briefly, since Borim started early and ended late. Lia was surprised that any of them had survived this far.
When Borim stopped in the town square of Vroll, looking around uncertainly, Bolthorn rode up next to him and said, "What is it?"
"I...we're too close to her. I don't know which direction she's in, but she's near here. Within a few miles."
"We should ask if someone's seen her," Lia said.
"I'll go to the taverns," Bolthorn said, "Lia, you go to the market, and Borim can go to the inns. We can meet here at sundown."
Borim nodded and kicked his horse away, pushing through people in the crowd. "You take the horse," Bolthorn said, swinging off. "I'll meet you here at dusk."
Lia nodded and rode away.
As Bolthorn headed toward the nearest tavern, just a few feet away, he had to jump out of the way of galloping horse. He only caught a quick glimpse of the rider, but Bolthorn could swear that it was that boy who had paid him and Doronar for guard duty a month ago.
***
Bornas walked into the room and looked around. "Belana, you're needed in room 435. Lyn, you're needed in room 310."
Bree saw Belana's expression go blank, and she pulled on a pair of slippers.
"Who's in 435?" Alyssa asked.
Bornas scanned his list. "Olvan Dagahan."
Belana's eyes went wide and her lip began to tremble. "Isn't he...?"
"No," Alyssa snapped. "Belana's not going to fuck that bastard." She bounced up from her bed and advanced on Bornas. Though she was a full head shorter, she stood up to him like he was her size. "Dagahan is a sadistic pervert who enjoys pain...when it's inflicted on others. He'll hurt her, maybe worse."
Bornas shrugged and said. "I'm sorry, but the rules of Red Feather are simple. Any one of our members has the right to all of our services, under all circumstances. There's nothing I can do."
"I'll go," Alyssa said. "Send me instead. I'll show that fucker who's-"
"No," Bornas said. "He likes 'em young."
"Send me," Kaia said. "I'm almost as young as Belana. He won't know."
"No," Bornas said. "Dagahan said he wanted the youngest one we have. That's Belana."
"Tell her she's busy," Alyssa replied.
"That would be against the Red Feather's code of ethics," Bornas said helplessly. He was a bad liar; he didn't give a shit about the code of ethics. "I cannot lie to any member or misappropriate our services to the clientelle."
"You're following the code of ethics?" Alyssa snorted. "How come you're sending Belana off to Dagahan, then? He'll kill her!"
"Alyssa, I cannot help you, but it is not even your problem," Bornas said sternly. "You all have a duty to the Red Feather, and you will all follow it. Belana, go to room 435."
"Belana, stay here," Alyssa said, sticking her hand in front of the girl. "Bornas, if you force her to go, so help me I'll..."
No one saw it coming, not even Alyssa. Bornas's open hand struck Alyssa's face with a sharp slap, and the girl was knocked to the ground in a heap. The room was stunned into silence, and Bornas pointed out the door. "Belana, go."
The young red-head stilled her trembling, and wiped her eyes, then walked out the door quietly. Lyn followed behind, avoiding the head server's gaze. He looked at them all, and everyone but Bree dropped their eyes.
When Bornas was gone, Marian closed the door. Alyssa, who had been sobbing, immediately stopped and walked to the mirror.
"Why did you all look away when he stared at you?" Bree asked. "If we all stand up to him, there's nothing he can do."
"You're right," Alyssa said. "But we wait. It'll be time, soon. We have to wait until he steps out of bounds, and then he's ours. We could've done it just now, but I didn't expect it. Maybe next time."
***
Allanon was a fortress city; its walls were so high, they rose above the fog. From Falgor's vantage point on a hill to the west, Allanon looked like an island in the mist. Thirty towers protruded above the dark city, each with a large bonfire atop the spire. Moonlight shone down on the heavy mist, giving it an eery quality. The Black Mountains cast long shadows over the mist, and created a beautiful background.
But Falgor was paying attention to none of this. Instead, he watched the fog around Allanon, as if he could see the scouts he had deployed. Shargoth flanked the orc king, his fiery eyes glowing in the darkness.
Shargoth was a Darkness, one of the most feared species of the Minion. Their bodies were as black as night, just like the Shadows, but the Darknesses were more evolved. Tir had granted them limited magical powers, and increased sight ability. Their eyes constantly burned orange, as if they held flames in their eye sockets. Fire brands were forged specifically for the Darknesses, in the deepest forges of Falgor's stronghold.
"It is only a matter of time," Shargoth's disembodied voice said. "You need not waste your efforts or men by attacking Allanon."
"They will wait until winter," Falgor replied. "Then the half-trolls will attack, or break a hole in our defenses, or ask Althoria for aid. Or Althoria will come for aid."
"The Karoks will fare no better in winter than we will; it will actually be worse for them. Their food stores will deplete quickly, and they will be forced to attack us. Attacking Allanon is a waste of valuable resources."
"It's economical," Olrack said, walking up the hill to stand next to them. He threw his hood back and stared out at Allanon. "We have no way of feeding an army our size in such close quarters," the orc general said. "It is only a matter of time before our food runs out as well. If we attack, we take heavy losses, but reduce the risk of starving."
"The size of your army dwarfs the Karoks," Shargoth said. "You need only leave a third of the army here, and the other two thirds can gather supplies from the Mistlands. Winter will be a difficult time for us."
"Not if we have the Karoks here," Falgor smiled. "They taste like humans."
***
Over three hundred leagues away, Aleya looked up from her knees, and stared at the moonlight streaming through the bars of her cell. She stood up and walked across the cold stone floor, and looked out of her tower window. If only she could ride the moonbeams out. That was her one wish. Time was eternal, in this cell. She had been here for ages, it seemed, and it was time for her to leave.
But it was not. Not yet. First, Borim had to arrive, but before that, Aleya needed to see the Puppet. She had to know her enemy.
She had to know the holder of her destiny.
END OF ODIN THREE
******
(c) 1996 by Bill Smith (micro@oz.net)