To the Heart of Truth

By Bill Mays

Brother Joseph Kim, on a routine mission in the name of his temple, comes across the beginnings of what could be a city-state wide disaster of immeasurable proportions. Portals linking this world to the dark realms of the abyss are opening and terrible things are coming through. Death surrounds his every step as he tries desperately to find a way to seal these doorways forever. Only the beautiful elf with the mysterious past and even more unclear motives holds the knowledge he needs to succeed. Together with a handful of allies, including the innocent and lovely mermaid Glimmer, and the feisty gremlin vagabond Burbbles, he fights his way towards the salvation of the land. Can he resist his lustful urges and keep his faith intact long enough to see his goals completed or will the darkness spill forth to claim his soul and the souls of his people? Only time will tell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Mays III
• Release date: Nov 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310899508

Bill Mays

I currently live in Commerce City Colorado with my husband two dogs, and two cats, though my work carries me all across the country and beyond the borders as a flight attendant and an instructor for other flight attendants. I have a degree in studio art, have been an actor and professional artist, as well as many other things, but I have found my love for writing which stems from my love of role-playing games and reading. Fantasy adventure is my absolute favorite, though science fiction follows at a close second. I have learned that writing is good for my soul. I plan to continue writing fantasy books for many years to come! Feel free to contact me at [e-mail]

Book preview

To the Heart of Truth

By Bill Mays

Copyrite 2014 Bill Mays

Shashwords Edition

Prologue

Coldness, more numbing and painful than seemed possible, surrounded her. Her fingers and toes grew stiff from the frost in the stale air. Everything was blue-gray or cast in a drab, bluish tint. The world felt lifeless and bland. What a hell to endure. That thought made her giggle. Things both dark and dangerous prowled just out of sight, stalking the fringes of the shadows, waiting to maim, to kill. She did not fear them. On the contrary, the danger excited her. It was one of the few pleasures she found here. Days stretched to months and months to years. There was no morning, no night. Time was irrelevant. Only tedium existed. She was but one of many retained by him. A dark visage, something not meant to be viewed, stared at her ominously. His gaze chilled her to the bone. He was always watching. He liked to watch. He liked to watch her. There was bright, blinding light accompanied by shouts and words of magic. Warmth, there was warmth. She could not ignore a change from her drab existence. She felt compelled to answer the call. Yes, it was a call.

Everything reformed into a world of colors and noises, a world full of life. Various images sped by in whirling blurs of sound and smells. Exhilarating, like in the beginning. A handsome young man in the white robes of a mage, sage or perhaps a priest smiled. His steel-blue eyes burned with desire. What did he want? What was her purpose?

Something shifted, things changed around her once again. She bounced from one random location to another as the magic went awry. When the world stabilized, large mushrooms encircled her. An innocent elven child looked on in surprised shock. The world shifted again. More unidentifiable faces and places sped by. Trees and foliage of endless green shades filled with fragrant flowers and teaming with life encompassed her this time. That seemed vaguely familiar from long ago. The soft rumble of flowing water sounded in the distance. There was some sort of underground tunnel carved by hand or maybe it was natural. Was it a tomb, a grotto, no, a mine… now it was gone. Another jump, another place.

She was back with the handsome man in his pristine white robes. She stood in a shrine, the word ‘Santridge’ played prominently in her mind around the structure. Fire, lightning, and ice blasted forth in sheets as more pain-filled screams assaulted her sensitive ears. The connection severed - escape. She felt joy, lust, hatred, desire, pain, anguish, triumph, loss, love… was that really love? The sensations were delicious! They all meant something once, long ago. Many more jumbled images clouded her dreams, battling to gain the foremost position in her mind. Then, she woke with a start.

Once again days stretched into years. Her memory was clouded, blocked. Though she did not know why or by whom, she did know that she was being pursued. They were searching for her always. Time was running out and they were coming for her. Would they, could they destroy her? That thought tickled her. She was mistaken. The connection had not been completely severed. There were ties still. The deadly noose was tightening about her neck, strangling her a little more with each passing moment. Panic set in. She enjoyed the thrill of danger. What was her purpose? Very soon she would be found. They would come if she did not figure this all out. She did not want to be found, ever. But how could she figure out what she did not understand? Why was her memory so hazy? The dream ended as abruptly as always. Perhaps, she had gained a glint more information, perhaps not. What was her purpose? She woke with that echoing thought.

With a heavy sigh of frustration, she awoke and crawled from her current resting spot. She left the brawny arms of the man that shared her bed. He was attractive in a brutish way, muscular, hairy, carnal, but unimportant, a passing fancy discovered at the local docks. He stank of fish. Despite her vigorous stretching, he did not wake because she did not want him to wake. He would talk. Too much time had passed. How long had they spent in this hovel of a room? Sleep was such a bothersome thing. Why did she enjoy it so? She had things to do, important things.

Santridge was near Montigrew and her sister city-state of Montigrow, though neither could lay claim. It was not the only destination of import. There were other sites in the area to visit. It took many years, but she pieced her memories back together like a patched vase covered in cracks. She was certain she could find what she needed wherever she went in this region. This was where she needed to be. She knew that much. The question at hand was where to go first. Decisions were not a strong suit of hers. Her generally random nature made such organized thoughts difficult. Planning remained such a bother. Pleasure was the important factor in life. With a toss of a stolen coin, it had been decided, Montigrow it would be, and here she was.

- Chapter 1 -

Persuasion

Brother Joseph Kim was a pious man, well received and respected by his peers and the worshippers of his church. Many worshipped at his church. It was the second largest congregation in the city-state. That spoke volumes. His religious community remained acutely aware of his dedication and drive. He held his faith and the strict edicts of the temple above all else for many years now. His devotion was his calling and his pride. He discovered faith at an early age. Some considered Joseph a beacon of piety. Others thought him too self-righteous, rigid and judgmental. The young priest paid little attention to what others thought unless it affected his work. He rarely spared time for anything that was not related in some way to his calling and spiritual beliefs. He was not a saint, however. He was still a mortal man. This was one of those rare moments where he became… distracted.

The woman standing before him stole his breath from his lungs. She was a creature of such unparalleled perfection, such unnatural beauty that she was nearly painful to look upon, but it proved even more painful to look away. To his credit, he did try to look away. She was an image of divinity in the flesh. He would repent later for even having that thought. They called her The Temptress of Montigrow. Though she arrived in the city a scarce two months prior, her physical charms and silver tongue were already well known to many in the area. Wherever she walked people scrambled to catch a glimpse of the glorious elf maiden. And she did not admonish those attentions. In fact, she thrived on them. Men jumped at her every word and melted at her slightest glance. Her heart sang and her violet eyes sparkled when she felt the gawking stares linger over her. Life could not be better than when she held the rapt attention of everyone around her.

With a seductive glance and the casual flip of her short, spikey, platinum tresses, she caught the attention of Brother Joseph. She found the stalwart, flaxen-haired priest quite attractive in a sanctimonious, holier-than-thou sort of way. His hair remained perfectly combed and his white robes pristine. Something about him seemed distantly familiar. She could see the strength behind his rigid posture and his focused mannerisms. His shoulders were broad and his waist narrow, just the way she liked her men, most of the time, or was it some of the time? Her tastes could vary greatly on a whim. Whatever. The elf maiden spared a second to wave at him in passing, knowing as she departed that his thoughts would not soon leave her. She always captured their thoughts, their dreams and desires.

Joseph swallowed the dry lump in his throat, set his square jaw firmly, and pointedly returned to his task of preparing the acolytes for the evening services. Tonight was the Night of Consecrated Blessings, a little-known holiday only celebrated by Bannrae’s most faithful of followers. It was meant to be a day set aside for contemplation of one’s sins and purification of one’s thoughts. Viewing this temptress added other points for him to repent at the ceremony. He quickly blotted the beads of sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. It was cool. He should not be sweating. He did not want anyone to see the way this wandering elf, this foreign temptress, affected him with but a wave of her delicate hand. Even her hand gestures seemed alluring. Such long slender fingers. Joseph shook away the forming images. It would not look proper in the eyes of the congregation, especially not today. Thoughts of her felt wrong. His faith was dedicated to Bannrae, God of Order and Law. His heart belonged to his patron. The teachings of the temple were strict and concise. Order was paramount and this woman disrupted that delicate balance with her mere presence. The elf maiden distracted him from his contemplations and brought about very unholy thoughts. Joseph could not deny that she seemed flippant and whimsical in a most pleasant way. That alone felt wrong. For the briefest of seconds, he wondered what she smelled like. He denied the image of her that threatened to compromise his current focus.

Gather around, my brothers and sisters. Collect your incense for the evening’s sanction prayers in the town square. We carry only white flowers and standard incense today.

He strode purposefully away from the direction the beautiful elf departed. His duties and his faith were calling. Despite his best efforts, he could not resist one last fleeting glance in her direction. Somewhere out of sight the svelte maiden smiled in triumph. There was always one last glance.

* * * * * * * * * *

Dairion stood tall and lean with a well-oiled sword comfortably hanging at his hip. The sword swung with his swagged. His high, fitted boots remained polished to a shine and his collar hung open to reveal the dark hairs dappling his sculpted chest. He was a skilled warrior, veteran of many adventures and current captain of the city guard. Though Montigrow was not a battle-hardened settlement like its sister city-state of Montigrew, he prided himself on keeping his men in tip-top fighting condition and thus keeping the city and its people well protected from any possible threat. To most, religion was considered the primary weapon of Montigrow, but Dairion knew that sharpened blades and proper armor were the city’s primary defense. Daily sparring and combat exercise remained the key to his prime physical condition and his success.

He rose to the station of captain quickly but did not fuss over his position or with gaining in rank. Dairion held other key interests. He also prided himself a ladies’ man. Even now, as he headed to check on the northern militia outpost, he paused as two attractive young maidens giggled and smiled his way. His rugged charm had that effect on the fairer sex. He relaxed his stance and prepared to move in for the kill when suddenly he lost all interest in the girls. His latest target for conquest sauntered into sight, the light of early day seeming to fall only on her. Her fitted bodice, flowing skirt and sensual stride brought a crooked grin to his stubbly face. She walked with such confidence in those high-heeled boots. He particularly liked that about her. He could not tear his eyes from her beautifully long legs. Dairion was an admitted leg man. The high-heeled boots she wore added inches to her impressive stature. The elf maiden was a prize fit for any man, even Dairion Bold. When he spotted the lithe elf, his manly instincts pulled him towards her like a powerful magnet.

Excuse me, ladies. Dairion barely spared the pair of giggling girls a second glance. They were ugly children in comparison to this woman.

He quickly stalked up behind the elf with the practiced silence of a skilled hunter. He had done this before. He would catch her by surprise and steal her poised guard. Then she would fall victim to his charms - easy prey. The tall elf flipped her head over her bare, silky shoulder to stare at him seconds before he reached her.

Well, hello there, Dairion, she smiled coyly through her long, fluttering eyelashes. Her voice was as smooth as her silky, tan skin.

He had heard the rumors and apparently, they were not exaggerated. According to the local gossip, this wandering gypsy always seemed to know everyone by name. The lean, muscled captain of the guard was the one caught by surprise, instead. His plan backfired. Dairion was not about to let this minor setback stop him, though. He chuckled slightly and met her violet gaze with his warm brown eyes. Time to melt her heart, he thought smugly.

Good morning, my lady. His lengthy brown hair fell across his face before he could brush it away casually. Then he smiled his crooked, disarming smile. That combination coupled with his relaxed swagger always conquered the ladies. Conquest in seconds.

The elf maiden did not react as he expected. She reached for his jaw, taking his stubbly, pointed chin in her hand. Standing equal in height to the tall soldier, her smoldering gaze arrested him instantly. Her touch proved incredibly warm and inviting. She turned his face from side to side, studying him casually. Cute, she whispered as she released him and then spun to continue on her way, flipping her short, spiky hair from her face in a mockery of his signature gesture.

He felt his body tingle at her touch. Dairion was unsure how to read her reaction. Did she enjoy his flirtations or was she simply dismissing him like some lovesick admirer, of which she undoubtedly had many. The elf strolled away on her long legs with that sensual sway to her hips as she headed for the market district. She did not even bother to look back. Dairion chuckled to himself again and watched her intently until she vanished around the corner of a building. He continued with his duties contemplating how he would better handle their next encounter. There would be another encounter. He was going to make certain of that.

* * * * * * * * * *

When the door to his small alchemical and minor magical wares shop opened, Carwell lifted his gaze from his current project with a hint of annoyance. He hated it when people interrupted his work. Truthfully, he was no fan of people in general. Whoever it is, they better buy something, he thought with a heavy internal sigh. Opening a store turned out to be a grave miscalculation on his part. He never factored in the excessive amount of human interaction required. When he identified his newest customer, the young mage practically dropped the mixing bowl to offer his services.

The elf maiden slid through his shop like a fish in water despite the overwhelming clutter. She admired his wares with a critical eye. It was evident she knew a thing or two about magical as well as alchemical brews and the arcane arts. When the tall, buxom woman paused to admire a tapestry depicting a particularly dark, necromantic ceremony, Carwell involuntarily shuttered with excitement. Not only was she exotic and gorgeous, but intelligent, too. That was his favorite artwork painted to portray one of the highest rituals a necromancer could ever hope to perform, the ritual of everlasting life. She had a good eye.

The slender shop owner moved to greet the elf with a tight-lipped smile. His pleasant demeanor seemed false, though it was genuine. Smiling was not something he did often. That fact was painfully apparent. He rarely interacted with others beyond the customary business transaction which did not require a smile. That is why he chose the study of necromancy in the first place. One needed no special skills in diplomacy when dealing with the dead.

Hello, what can I help you with today, madam?

Carwell’s eyes caught her attention. One was dusty blue and the other was a deep green with flecks of brown. She bit her full bottom lip in thought as her violet orbs drank in the oddly attractive young mage. His pale skin and jet-black hair along with his obvious infatuation with death sparked her interest. He was much more stimulating than that withered old husk of a man at the herbal shop down the street. Plus, there was true magic in this one.

I’m only browsing right now, Carwell Darains, but I’m certain I’ll be back to invest very soon, she purred smoothly as she purposefully wrinkled the collar of his black and gold cloak, destroying the neat line of the fabric he was always careful to maintain.

Carwell swallowed and then cleared his tightening throat. She was taller than any elf he had ever encountered, standing noticeably taller than his five-foot nine-inch frame. She must have had sun elf or star elf ancestry, he thought. Her gaze all but sucked him into a dark, endless oblivion. He could scarcely organize his thoughts to respond properly. Before he managed to formulate a coherent sentence, the platinum-haired elf was exiting his shop. He moved to the door and watched as she made her way towards the docks. He realized his mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it before anyone on the street took notice. He had a reputation to maintain.

* * * * * * * * * *

Kaelep Glendale was an outsider in Montigrow despite the fact that he was born and raised here. His parents shared a forbidden love. Due to his odd heritage, a human mother and an aquatic elven father, Kaelep found it difficult to relate to most everyone around him. The fact that he was not particularly religious further set him apart from his devout neighbors. Montigrew loved its religions. He was a friendly if solitary man contented to live on his tiny houseboat and earn his living as a fisherman and occasional ferryman. He was one of the best fishermen this side of Pangias.

He hauled himself out of the cool river waters and onto the deck of his docked houseboat, Kelp’s Embrace. The plaque depicting the small boat’s title in sleekly scrawled elven and common lettering hung prominently at the prow. He sat there for a moment, stripped bare to the waist and barefoot, drinking in the morning sunshine as the droplets of water rolled from his pale bluish skin. He enjoyed his morning swims immensely. He flexed his fingers and toes, airing out the slight hint of webbing between them. His shortly cropped hair shone a silvery-blue color in its currently soaked state. He clasped his webbed hands behind his head and laid back, stretching out in the warm sun to dry.

He felt the telltale lurch of the deck and sprang to a sitting position. Someone had boarded his floating home without permission. Kaelep expected to find one of the local children. They often tried to catch a glimpse of the fish-man as he was called because of his webbed digits, odd coloring, and pointed ears. He would not have been surprised to see one of those pesky gremlins creeping onboard, either. He had to chase away several of them seeking a new home over the past few months. Kaelep never expected what he did find standing there. She was obviously a surface elf, but lovelier than any maiden he had ever seen, above or below the waters. He could not pinpoint her heritage. She was even more striking than the mermaid sisters that frequented these docks, a feat that was most impressive.

Her spiky, shoulder-length, white-blond tresses and silky, crimson skirt billowed about her perfect face and body in a breeze that seemed created by the heavens solely for her. Her fitted black corset left her bare shoulders free to be caressed by the sunlight. That kiss of light also displayed her womanly assets with equal fervor. She gazed down upon him with the most entrancing, violet eyes he had ever seen. They were almost otherworldly.

Good morning, Kaelep Glendale, how was your swim? The smile that played across her crimson lips let him know that though her question was simple his answer would speak volumes.

Kaelep sputtered as he retrieved a plain, leather jerkin and his worn boots. He felt completely exposed under the maiden’s penetrating gaze. It was quite pleasant, he eventually replied. The water is cool and refreshing today.

The blue-skinned fisherman tried desperately to remain calm, but his stuttering sputter and wringing hands made the attempt futile. It took him a considerable amount of time just to ask the most obvious question. Excuse me, fair lady, but why have you come to my boat? Is there something I can do for you?

The tall elf giggled and then cast him a knowing wink. Something about that gesture hinted at ideas she was not going to share. Actually, there is something, a favor I would like to ask of you, if you aren’t overly busy tomorrow morning. I want you to take me somewhere, not far, but down and across the river. He was already shaking his head in compliance before he could speak.

Her sultry voice reminded him of the mesmerizing sound the waves made when the water was too full after a heavy rain, soothing and yet slightly dangerous. He instinctively looked out over the river. She said tomorrow morning. The water seemed especially calm today; perhaps it would stay calm for the morning, too. Barely a few moments of distraction had passed before Kaelep found that he was alone on his boat once more. The elf maiden was already striding purposefully across the docks towards town. The clicking of her high heels on the wooden planks echoed out. He watched her until she vanished in the growing bustle of bodies. He glanced around, taking stock of the many ships docked today, both large and small.

Why would she choose me to ferry her? he wondered aloud.

A smile settled over his sharply angled features seconds later. He may not know why Aethine, Goddess of Luck, decided to bless him this day but he was thankful, nonetheless. Perhaps all these years of residing in a religious city were paying off. By sometime on the morrow, Kaelep would be sailing down the Sidewinder River with the most beautiful woman in all Pangias, maybe all EL, at his side. He looked forward to that.

* * * * * * * * * *

The elf maiden left the docks with pep in her stride. She knew now that the outcast fisherman was an excellent choice. He caught her eye by chance, but he was both pleasant to look at and malleable. She liked her men that way. It was good she happened in his direction this morning. Next, she would gather the others and learn what the secluded ruins of Santridge Temple could tell her. Her selections were made. The tedium of organization was done. They seemed fitting for this expedition. Originally, she sought to gather a few more, but lost interest in her hunt rather quickly. The priest, the warrior and the necromancer would suite her needs nicely. She silently applauded her investigative skills. It might have taken her many attempts to find a proper starting point, but she took that first step in uncovering the truth. Montigrow was definitely the right choice for her recruitment process. It was a town of celebration. That was much more her style than the dour attitude of Montigrew’s militant residents. The random coin-toss that brought her here proved pleasantly surprising.

The twin city-states were as different as night and day. The additional fact that Montigrow was a religion-based state only added to her personal thrill. She had no doubt by the way each of the men responded to her that things were going exactly as intended. Why should it play out in any other manner, though? Things were supposed to go her way - always. By tomorrow mid-day or so, she would be arriving at Santridge to see why that place played such a big part in the story of her past, or what little she could remember of that muddled story, anyway.

She spun about as a sudden twinge of uncertainty pulled at her thoughts. She scanned the area carefully to make sure she was not being followed. That nagging feeling never fully left her. Eyes watching her from a distance. The tall elf paused in front of a store window to a small blacksmithing shop as she caught her reflection in the glass. She could rarely pass up the opportunity to gaze at her own image. The distraction removed all sense of suspicion from her mind. She posed to one side and then the other, reveling in her unparalleled beauty. A sudden frown crossed her face. She brushed one hand through her shortly cropped, platinum hair. She liked it that way yesterday but now it did not suit her. As her slender fingers reached the upturned ends of those silky tresses, they extended another six inches in length. Her hair just grew to this new length in the blink of an eye and then fell into place. Her other hand brushed across her bosom causing it to grow slightly fuller. The fitted bodice would need to be loosened somewhat. But it was a necessity. That’s what laces were for. Fuller breasts fit her longer hair better. She admired the difference with a critical eye and smiled. She then blew her reflection a kiss. She sauntered away whistling a pleasant tune, quite pleased with her day in general.

She did not bother to take notice of the small boy, the blacksmith’s son, seated just inside the shop’s window. The boy watched her in awe. His idea of beauty would never be the same. Truthfully, she would not have cared even if she had noticed him. What did children or their thoughts matter to her?

She had the rest of the day to stir up some entertainment while simultaneously drawing in her selected assistants. Who should she start with? The elf maiden spun in a circle on her high heels and continued in the direction she now faced. Her current path carried her back towards that young mage’s alchemy and magical wares shop. The brooding necromancer was as good a subject as any to begin with, so why not start there? She was always open to happenstance and whim. Actually, she preferred things that way. Careful planning was for prudes. If there was one thing she would never be confused for that would be prudish.

* * * * * * * * * *

Carwell sat at the compact desk located against the back wall of his small apothecary. His two pet rats, Tiki and Foppin, scuttled noisily against their cage, trying to get his attention. They wanted to be fed, as usual. The raven-haired mage heard the familiar creak of his front door, despite the fact that he had posted a sign clearly stating that he was closed for the day. Did he forget to lock the door again? He was certain he locked it this time. He silently cursed the numerous illiterates that populated Montigrow. Did those abundant temples not teach their simpleton recruits to read? What was the point in posting signs if people were not going to heed them? Perhaps, he would invest in a magical trap. That is exactly what his shop needed, a good trap to keep out the vagabonds. The more he debated the topic internally, the more agitated the young mage became. It would not have to be lethal, just painful enough to teach them a lesson.

With an annoyed furrow of his brow, he turned to face the intruder. He did not expect to find them standing so close already, practically on top of him. He gasped. He definitely did not expect to find the ravishing elf maiden back in his presence for the second time in one day. The click of her high-heeled boots on the floor panels should have given him a clue, but he never heard her coming. Carwell fumbled with the feather pen and ink jar he was writing with in an effort to put them away and stand at the same time. He spilled an expensive black cherry ink across his fingers in the shuffle. That tight-lipped smile crossed his mouth once again as he trained his blue and green eyes on the stunning lady. She looked different. Her hair was longer, and her bosom seemed more - present. Carwell was a stickler for details.

W-what a p-pleasure to have you back again so soon, he stammered nervously. He was never much of a social person, preferring his research and experiments on the dead to interacting with the living. Rats were more than enough social interaction for the slender mage.

He held a hand out to her in greeting, and then withdrew it quickly after noticing the copious amounts of ink coating his fingers. How sloppy. The young mage tried to clean his fingers of the black liquid on a nearby cloth. The elf’s violet gaze studied him intently. He could feel himself being pulled into that void, that oblivion once more. She took his hand in hers and sucked the ink from his index finger, slowly. Her gaze never left him. Carwell stood dumbfounded. He blankly offered her the washrag, but she licked the last traces of ink from her ruby lips, again very slowly. His first thought was whether or not the ink was poisonous. Perhaps elves held an immunity of some sort.

The elf smiled suggestively and Carwell felt his knees get weak. Mmmmm… black cherries, expensive and delicious. The mage had no response. He was surprised the cherry flavor came through. He never knew the ink was edible. I told you that I’d be back to invest soon, and I meant what I said, Carwell. I usually do. She reached forward and un-straightened the young mage’s neat cloak collar. She stood very, very close to him. The heat of her body was tangible. Carwell felt completely inadequate in her presence, like a child trying to play an adult role and failing miserably.

Y-yes, of c-course, he grinned sheepishly. Let me show you some of my finer creations. Are you looking for something medicinal, empowering, or possibly corrosive? I have potions and elixirs for purchase. They run the gamut.

The elf could clearly see his nervousness. The discomfited sight made her giggle. She liked his awkwardness. Relax, Carwell, she purred. I don’t bite, unless you want me to. She let the statement hang between them for a moment before continuing. I didn’t come here for any mixture or potion. I came here for real magic. She traced his neckline with one finger.

Carwell barely heard the last part of her statement. He was still focused on the biting comment. Ummm… oh, yes... of course you did. I-I have several scrolls that I’ve recently scribed. I was in the process of working on a new one just now. Forgive me for not recognizing your magely talents sooner. Is there a particular spell or result you were searching for, madam? He slid past her to gather a collection of rolled parchments on a nearby table. Carwell made a point not to touch the woman. She scared him.

The elf moved closer again, within inches of him. Her sweet, warm breath caressed the nape of his neck as she spoke. "No, I’m no mage per se, and I want no scrolls from you. I’m just a traveling… gypsy. What I came here for is much more valuable. I want you, Carwell Darains."

The young mage dropped the gathered stack of parchment to the table as he slowly turned to face her. She was so close he had to arch backwards over the table. She did not back away. In fact, she leaned in even closer until her full, moist lips were inches from his very dry mouth. Those violet pools sucked him in deeper and deeper until he felt completely helpless. Carwell could not respond. As hard as he tried no words would form in his parched throat.

She used one long finger to trace his jaw line. What do you say, Carwell? Can I have you?

Her hands suddenly slid up his arms as she moved closer, pressing her warm body against him. She smelled like nutmeg mixed with honeysuckles, so sweet, so enticing. Those were smells he loved as a child. He could not respond so he nodded dumbly, his trembling hands shyly grasped her waist, afraid to apply pressure. He felt his palms sweating.

Good answer, she breathed into his neck as she nibbled there.

Her words seemed to echo in his mind more than his ears as she swept him into her arms. He felt like a puppet in her grasp. She was taller than he was and much stronger than she looked. A groan of pleasure escaped his lips as the woman crushed his body to hers and they fell upon the table.

* * * * * * * * * *

About an hour later the elf maiden carefully slipped from the small magic shop into the street adjusting her snug bodice. She checked her reflection in the window, smiling and smoothing her hair into place. A brush of her fingers caused it to extend again by another few inches. The tall woman then headed for the center of town with her long mane flowing in the breeze. If she remembered correctly, this was a night for the sanction prayers, one of the many meaningless religious ceremonies dedicated to some god or another. There seemed to be an endless prattle of them in this city. It was an event like most that remained open to the public. More importantly, though, it was a ceremony officiated by a certain handsome, blond-haired priest she fancied.

By the time she sauntered into the town square, a sizeable gathering had already formed there. Montigrow was built on religious freedom. The large city-state had more than its fair share of worshippers devoted to a vast collection of religions. Brother Joseph Kim was determined to push his faith, the worship of Bannrae, God of Law and Order, to the forefront of the public where he believed it belonged. Bannrae’s place among the community stood strong, but that did not mean the temple should become complacent. Mariksis still held the largest following here. The rigid man spent the majority of his free time spreading his teachings and expanding Montigrow’s spiritual awareness. A day consumed in the service of Bannrae was a day well spent. His entire adult life was dedicated to his faith. Rarely did trivial issues, including social interactions and his personal entertainment, interfere with his duties as a cleric of the temple. Even when he did take a break from his vigilant preaching and ceremony, he usually spent that time reading the sacred writings of Bannrae as passed down through the ages. So, when the lovely elf arrived before him in the town square for the sanction prayers, he was as perturbed as he was excited.

For a brief moment it seemed as if she may have come to see Hastin, another ranking priest of the Bannrae order. Her gaze studied the handsome young man with much attention but just as quickly as her notice in the man appeared it was gone again. Her penetrating gaze focused on Joseph and Joseph alone. The sultry woman made no secret of her interest in the blond priest. Her smoky, almond-shaped, violet eyes rarely strayed from him throughout the services, which left Brother Joseph quite uncomfortable. His ceremonial collar became too tight. His tongue felt swollen, causing him to stumble over prayers that were like second nature to him. Even his traditional robes seemed scratchy and constricting. He could scarcely tear his eyes away from her. About halfway through the service, he was tempted to ask the woman, this Temptress of Montigrow, to leave so that he could conduct the prayers properly. He quickly aborted that plan, knowing it would not reflect well on the temple’s status to send her away. These ceremonies were meant to bring new members to their folds. All were welcome.

He repressed his interest as best he could manage and struggled through the services to the end. Brother Joseph skipped a few parts, something he had never done before. He even stumbled over the closing prayer of unity and truth. Most of his faithful community took no notice of his discomfort or oversights, but he knew his acolytes were well aware that something was not right. The way his eyes strayed to the rapt elf explained his follies to any careful observer. He prayed that his rival, Andimere, was not present to witness the incident.

As soon as his primary duties were completed, Brother Joseph politely excused himself from the conversations and headed to confront the distracting temptress. He decided to inform her that she must tone down her presence for the sake of future services if she intended to continue attending. As little as a cloak would accomplish this simple task. His broad shoulders squared, and his chiseled jaw set firmly as he strode with purpose up to the platinum-haired elf maiden. He could not help but drink in her beauty. Was her hair longer tonight? It appeared much longer than before.