Story and characters (c) 1989 Watts Martin.  All rights
     reserved--please do not distribute this file to other systems without
     the author's permission.]
 
                               Charcoal & Amber
 
                                 Watts Martin
 
     [Part 1 of 2]
 
          "Do you always have to have that cigar?" Meoriar asked
     mournfully.  Donthen didn't answer, as if he was completely absorbed
     in the dishes he was washing, not the least bit interested in a new
     story; the bard sighed and walked over to the bar.
          "Excuse me."  Meoriar pushed my mug slightly to one side, reached
     across the bartop and grabbed Donthen's cigar, snuffed it out and
     started to walk back to his chair.  He got about ten feet before the
     stogie exploded in a vivd purple flash.  When my vision cleared, the
     same cigar--or one that looked a hell of a lot like it--was back in
     Donthen's mouth, lit, and Meoriar was looking somewhat bewildered.
     Donthen didn't look up from the sink, but paused just long enough to
     take the cigar out of his mouth and growl, "Don't you have anything
     better to do with your time?"
          "I was going," Meoriar said, coughing dramatically, "to tell a
     story--"
          "Damn, it's Sunday already?" Donthen said.  "Whose lame idea was
     it to have a story night?"
          "Yours," Xonzoff replied.  His boss glanced dourly in his
     direction.
          "For the last few weeks your stories have all been high
     adventure," I said.  "How about something different?"
          "Such as?" Meoriar said, raising his eyebrows.
          "Something I'd like."
          "Translation: something with sex, eh?" Gerge said, smirking at
     me.  Gerge was one of the few non-humans in the Wyvern's Den this
     night, and the only reptile.  Of course, the turtle who just called
     himself "Turtle" might be around, but lately he'd been getting into
     drinking bouts with the unicorn.  By this hour he'd be under a table
     somewhere.  Somebody ought to tell him that the old saw about unicorn
     horns being proof against alcohol is really true, but it's too much
     fun watching him try to outdrink Chip.
          "No!" I said, sounding hurt.  "You make me sound like a lech."
          "Wezip," Xon said.  "You _are_ a lech."
          "I am not!  Everyone knows foxes aren't leches."
          "Really?" Meoriar said.  "Most of the leches I know are of the
     vulpine persuasion."
          "Juka's not a lech," I said.
          "But she's creative," Xonzoff said under his breath.  I glared at
     him (perhaps a little enviously, but she's _my_ species, not his,
     dammit).
          "Besides, there's no way to tell a story that isn't an adventure.
     That's what our lives are--series of adventures," Meoriar said,
     straightening up in his chair.  As he paused to drink some mead, the
     conversation in the Den quieted.  He set his mug down and stared at
     it, waiting for complete silence.
          "The Sidhe are said to be the most beautiful race on Ranea," he
     began in a quiet voice, looking up without looking anywhere in
     particular.  "I can't disagree; mortal beings can't compete with such
     creatures on appearance.  But faerie beauty is ethereal.  When all the
     members of a race are that pretty, none of them truly stand out.
          "But for mortal men and women, ah, it's different.  When a human,
     or an elf, or a morph, possesses such beauty...."  His voice trailed
     off, and he took another sip of mead.  "We all know people who turn
     heads when they enter a room.  We might know a girl who has something
     that causes even those who aren't her species to be attracted to her.
     But a very few people have something--else.  Something magical, if you
     will.
          "We hear of these people sometimes.  For instance, the elven
     prince Convilinorey, who, they say, unknowingly steals the heart of
     every female who lays eyes upon him.  He also seems to have
     unknowingly caused the formerly straight-as-a-rod Edward of Achoren to
     fall passionately in love with him.  I am told this has caused a fair
     amount of consternation in the Achoren Church."  I bet--I wonder which
     bothers them more, the fact their King's in love with another man, or
     the fact that the other man is nonhuman.
          "Another was a maiden in Oriniste named Jarinla.  She was the
     most beautiful human I have ever seen.  Do not take that lightly."  I
     didn't; Meoriar had spent almost forty years traveling all over this
     world and a few others to boot, and hyperbole was not one of his
     vices.  "I understand Jarinla recently entered a convent, no longer
     able to bear the attraction she held for others.  She has been the
     object of one obsession after another, from members of both sexes and
     all races, and she doesn't know how to control those people. In light
     of her circumstances, I understand her decision."
          As Meoriar took another drink, Gerge spoke.  "Perhaps I've missed
     somethin', but that sounds a bit unfair of you, mate.  How could she
     control other people's attraction to her?  That's what you meant...?"
          "That's not what I said," Meoriar replied, gazing back at the
     turtle.  "See it in the light of using one's attractiveness to control
     others.  Jarinla is beautiful enough for that power, but she can't use
     it--or perhaps, won't."
          "I don't think a girl can enslave a boy just by being cute,"
     Gerge persisted.
          "Calling Jarinla 'cute' is like calling an Elder Dragon a 'small
     problem.'"  He laughed a little, then looked at the turtle piercingly.
     "If you've ever been near someone who was so beautiful, or so
     handsome, you felt that all they would have to do to make you fall
     madly in love with them was to touch you, or look deep in your eyes
     and smile--just acknowledge you more intimately than simply saying
     'hello' and walking past--then you have felt just a glimmer of what
     people felt around her.
          "That kind of attraction is powerful enough--perhaps too much so.
     But when I think of Lekai...."
          "Ah, someone who's really cute," I said, folding my arms.
          Meoriar glowered at me an instant, then smiled strangely.  "_T_h_a_t,
     Wezip, is calling the Dragon God an 'insignificant bother.'  Would you
     be so kind as to get me some more mead?"
          Xonzoff quickly filled a new mug and handed it to me, and I
     hurried over to the bard.  We knew this was the signal: the
     introduction was over.
          "Some of you know of the so-called Empire of Bandits that
     rose--and fell--some five years ago.  This story is the story of that
     fall, even though the fall is peculiarly incidental to it.
          "Well.  At the time, I was in Yeeth, the country that bordered on
     Emrit's little kingdom.  Yeeth was the newest member of Ranea, the
     population almost entirely human.  The people were suspicious of other
     races, and were perhaps a little more so of ones that looked too
     different from themselves.
          "Now, Yeeth had been carrying on a sporadic trade with some human
     tribes in a desert to their west.  But for about six months, their
     trade route had been blocked by a group of morph wolves.  The wolves
     would intercept the humans and always turn them back; lately they were
     attacking them outright, raiding supplies and killing those who didn't
     move out of the way fast enough.  Needless to say, this did little to
     back up Ranea's claim that different species could live in peace with
     one another.
          "To add to the Empire's worries, the border patrol responsible
     for keeping that trade route open had not been heard from for nigh a
     year.  The guard in charge was Commander Emrit, a well-respected
     soldier who had more than proved himself in battles past.  He was old
     for a soldier, too old, one might think, to still fight; but he was a
     wolf.  Some said he was part demon.  Maybe he was, for he stood some
     eight feet high, weighed twice as much as a big human--and it was all
     muscle.  In his prime, it was said he could take on six armed men with
     his bare hands and win, and although he was now sixty years old and
     his fur was solid gray, two well-trained soldiers would only survive
     an encounter with him if luck was on their side.
          As I said, Emrit, and most of his men, were wolves; the
     coincidence made the Empress uncomfortable.  The possibilities she
     laid out were simple.  Emrit was no longer capable of protecting the
     border, either because he had lost the ability to lead or was
     incapacitated or dead, or Emrit's men had turned renegade.  In any
     case, it was clear that to protect the trade route, and our relations
     with Yeeth, she had to know which was the truth.  It was decided that
     the Ranean Empire should send envoys along with a representative from
     Yeeth to search for Emrit.
          "For those of you unfamiliar with our diplomatic system, since
     the time of Emperor Vannilko, Ranea has had no Empire-wide diplomats.
     Envoys are chosen from the diplomatic corps of the states, and from a
     pool of Raneadhros citizens with diplomatic experience.  Those of us
     who tend to travel a great deal often end up in this pool at various
     times, usually for monetary reasons.  Some, like myself, had been on
     the winning side of certain battles as well as the winning side of
     certain bargaining tables, and on a mission where trouble can be
     expected, such people are the first choices.  So it came about that I
     was dispatched along with an envoy from Garanelt towards Yeeth."
          "Why Garanelt?" Xon asked.  The sprawling northern state had a
     neglible human population, being comprised of most every type of furry
     that had ever come through our world.  It's a wonderful place to
     visit, although I've heard extended stays tend to make all but the
     most open-minded humans nervous.  (I'm sure the stories about the sex
     dens unwary travelers are sometimes trapped in for weeks or even
     months are completely untrue, but one still hopes.)
          "Honestly, I'm not sure.  The Garanelt envoy was a friendly, if
     abrasive, ferret named Rinneld, standing about to my waist, with a
     fondness for screamingly colored shirts.  Our third envoy was, of
     course, human; Bordin was my height, of a stockier build and a dark,
     tannish complexion.  His handsomeness was coupled with an awkward
     innocence about the world beyond Yeeth that would strike you as
     annoying or charming, depending on your own biases.  He had short,
     dirty blond hair, dark blue eyes, and tended towards clothes that made
     him look like he was going to his best friend's funeral.
          "Six of us, the three envoys and three Yeeth soldiers as guides
     and guards, set out on a morning of an unseasonally hot spring, a bad
     time for extended trips into the desert.  The Ranean Guard had
     provided us with the reports of Emrit's last known whereabouts; our
     plan, so to speak, was to follow the trade route to the site of the
     last attack, then strike across the dunes towards the place where the
     outpost was, or had been.
          "It was three broiling but uneventful days to the attack site.
     All that marked the route were sandworn stone pylons set every
     half-mile; after only a short time, I found myself looking forward to
     the next one, for they were the only features along the journey to be
     seen other than sand dunes.  On the morning of the third day, a
     sandstorm started brewing, and hit us shortly before we reached where
     our guides told us the attack was.  We trudged on, our line of sight
     reduced to a few hundred feet.
          "We reached the attack site, marked only by one of the stone
     guideposts.  An oasis, seemingly undisturbed by the blowing sand, lay
     a half-hundred paces towards the north, and it was in that direction
     we needed to head.  Except for the muddy water and half-dead plants on
     its edge, there was nothing to suggest anything out of the ordinary;
     certainly nothing to suggest people had been captured and killed some
     three weeks earlier.
          "The oasis itself was unusual.  It was, we could tell, the
     remains of a lake; heading north, away from it, was the remains of a
     riverbed, carved first in sand, then sandstone, then, at the bottom,
     river rock.  As we reached its edge, we could feel a strong humidity,
     almost marsh-like.  I knew of several rivers that used to run from the
     mountains to the north of Yeeth into the desert; although this
     particular river was long since dry, the oasis was in the perfect
     position to collect water running down the valley.  I remember the
     water as unpleasant, hot and peculiarly salty.
          "The oasis formed a delta, almost pointing us up into the
     riverbed; as it was in the direction we wished to travel, and it gave
     us protection from the storm, we started to walk along its length.  By
     nightfall, the valley had widened to a hundred feet across, and its
     walls rose some thirty feet over our heads.  Curious, artificial caves
     were visible leading from the floor into the sandstone beneath the
     desert.  We made camp that night with the conviction that whoever had
     made the tunnels still roamed some of them, and we slept none too
     well.
          "We awoke to smoky tendrils of fog, drifting through the valley
     to the horizon in both directions.  A greenish-yellow light shone
     dimly from a cave a hundred yards back; no one suggested that we
     investigate, and so we all watched it in silence as we ate breakfast.
     It was one of the most rattling, uncomfortable meals I can remember.
          "Throughout the morning, it was impossible to shake the feeling
     that we were watched note only from the valley sides, but from both
     ahead and behind.  An hour before noon, we became convinced we were
     being followed; it was three hours after that until we were proven
     correct.
          "Bordin and I were leading the company.  Rinneld sidled up to me
     and tugged at my belt until I looked down, and he whispered, 'Are you
     aware a wolf's been following us for over an hour now in plain sight?'
     I looked behind me and saw nothing.  'Don't look!' he said urgently.
     'He hasn't attacked us yet, we don't know that he will.'
          "It was a few minutes after that before the wolf came close
     enough for poorer, human eyes to pick up his movement through the fog.
     He was average size for a wolf, and incredibly lean--one might even
     say dangerously thin.  He wore only ragged cloth shorts, and had a
     necklace of shells and bones around his neck; all in all, he looked so
     much like the classic adventure story primitive jungle man that I
     could believe he had stepped out of a frightening fairy tale to track
     our party for some terrible desert Faerie Queen.  I motioned for the
     other five to stop, and we waited for the wolf to approach.
          "He came towards us and stopped several paces away, then grinned
     without mirth.  'You have come seeking the god?' he asked.
          "'We have come looking for Emrit,' said Rinneld.  The wolf looked
     down at him contemptuously.
          "'There is no Emrit.  He is dead.  You are on our lands; you head
     this way to meet the god one way or another.  You may be guests,
     slaves, or both.'  He laughed again.  'Which do you claim to be?'
          "Rinneld coughed meaningfully; I said levelly, 'We are guests,
     then.'  The wolf nodded slowly, and then set off briskly in the
     direction we had been moving.
          "The journey continued in silence for hours, with the wolf
     leading.  Rinneld was, not surprisingly, the first to speak.  'Who is
     your god?'
          "The wolf laughed.  'The god.  He leads us.  We are his people.'
          "'We?' said Rinneld.
          "'Wolves,' he replied.
          "'What does he lead you to?' I asked.   'Salvation?'
          "He laughed again.  'No,' he said.  'Our destiny.  Rulership, or
     death.'
          "'Rulership over what?' Bordin asked, but the wolf was silent.
          "The rest of the journey took only two more hours; it was past
     dusk when we came to a sharp, sudden bend in the riverbed.
          "As we rounded the bend, the walls seemed to drop towards the
     ground and fall away, and the ground became criss-crossed with
     erosion.  The wolf's 'god' lived in a makeshift town built on the
     corpse of a marsh.  The dry desert gave way to a peculiarly arid
     forest of swamp trees, and gradually the hard sand and stone floor
     turned to muck.  The bite of the desert air gave way to the tang of
     swamp, odors of salt and black, rotting vegetation.  The wolf made his
     way along a well-worn path tracing an almost straight line from the
     riverbed into a clearing.  Small, closely crowded huts sprouted
     randomly around a huge, impossible stone house; this was where our
     wolf escort was taking us.
          "Close up, the house was made out of wood and rocks and dried
     mud; the door, incredibly, was solid oak.  Our guide opened the door
     and held it for us with a mocking expression, and we filed inside.
          "The dim light came from oil lanterns hanging from the black
     stone ceiling.  The room was large and--not rich, but still opulent.
     Tapestries and silks covered the walls; there were no chairs, but a
     thick, black plush carpet covered the floor, and sitting on it were
     six or seven wolves of similar build and clothing as our guide.
     Plates of steaming food were being passed between them.  On the far
     wall was a gold and blue curtain that formed a backdrop for a
     magnificent wooden throne.  It had no legs, so whoever sat in it was
     resting just above floor level, and it was decorated only by carvings,
     yet somehow it conveyed a feeling of awe easily equal to the courts of
     the Empire.
          "Upon the throne sat a wolf, and though none of us had seen him
     before, we knew that it must be Emrit.  He looked far older than I
     could have imagined, as if he had aged a decade in the last year.
     Nevertheless, he looked strong and alert, and watched us keenly as we
     entered, stopped, and stared back at him.
          "'I have brought... guests,' our guide said loudly.  The rest of
     the wolves looked up, and he quickly explained where he had found us
     and who we had been looking for.  The wolf on the throne raised his
     eyebrows at the mention of his name, but showed no emotion.  'Why do
     you seek him?' he finally said.
          "'We are from Ranea,' said Bordin.  'I am from Yeeth.  I have
     been told the commander is in charge of protecting this area.  It is
     his duty to stop the raids upon our trade route.'  He spoke into an
     almost deafening silence.  'He has not performed it; we have come to
     find out why.'
          "'There are no raids on your trade route,' said the king.
          "'You speak like you know of them already,' said Rinneld.  'Were
     you expecting us to show up?'  Several of the wolves bared their teeth
     in the little ferret's direction, but Emrit raised a paw, just barely,
     off the arm of the throne, and they turned back towards him.
          "'I expect everything.  You tell me enough.  You are from Ranea.
     He is from Yeeth.'  He gestured around him.  'Welcome to the _real_
     kingdom.'  The other wolves laughed.  'You have come after our feast,'
     he said.  'Your business can wait until the morning.'
          "Bordin folded his arms, about to speak, but our guide motioned
     for us to sit down as three humans came into the room from behind the
     tapestry on the right wall.  They bowed to Emrit in silence, produced
     head-sized rubber balls, and started to juggle them.
          "'We came here for a fucking circus?' Rinneld whispered under his
     breath.  'They could at least be juggling swords, for God's sake.'
          "'Swords are weapons,' I whispered back.  'I suspect the wolves
     are afraid a blade might happen to... slip.'  The jugglers were
     skilled, but performed their routine without smiles, almost in
     desperation, as they juggled four, five, six rubber balls, and thrice
     that flying between their six hands.
          "Emrit nodded ever so slightly in my direction, and three balls
     came leaping towards me.  I've done some juggling before, and so my
     reaction was almost instinctive; without getting up, I caught each
     ball and tossed them at our guide as they came.  The wolf didn't seem
     to have done much juggling himself, for they all went
     whap!-whap!-whap! against his chest and rolled back towards the
     jugglers, who scooped them up without missing a beat.  The other
     wolves laughed; Emrit just raised his eyebrows again, and motioned for
     the jugglers to leave.
          "The wolf-king sat silently for long minutes, then straightened
     up and clapped his hands three times.  All of the wolves in the room
     looked at us and started whispering to one another; Emrit clapped his
     hands three times again and they stopped, some of them shaking their
     heads in what seemed to be puzzlement.  Several wolves near us
     produced drums, what looked like an oversized mandolin, and a
     comically delicate-looking flute, and began to play.
          "The music was quiet, slow, and possessed of a simple melody
     wedded to an rich, intricate percussion line.  As the mandolin moved
     from background chords to holding a counterpoint to the flute's song,
     a woman stepped out from behind the curtain the jugglers had entered
     from."
          Meoriar stopped here, taking a long drink from his mug and
     shaking his own head wistfully before continuing.  "Here, words fail
     me.  Most people use that phrase to mean they are speechless.  I mean
     I can give you a description only, and the most vivid, complete vision
     I could paint for you is still not quite adequate.  So I cannot hold
     the words' failure against them; likewise, if I fail to convey this
     adequately  you, do not hold it against me.
          "Well.  The woman was a morph, a cat; her fur was a short, plush,
     tiger-stripe whose color ranged from off-white to light grey.  Her
     darker tail was long, as long as a fox's, with silky, black-tipped
     hairs, and her features were exquisitely made.  Sleek, dancer's legs,
     beautiful hips and waist, narrow but not truly thin--and a chest that
     some of us," he looked pointedly in my direction, "would die for--a
     splash of pure white fur drew your eyes to it, and, I'm slightly
     ashamed to say, you didn't want to take them away once they were
     there--her breasts were not large, but..."  He cleared his throat.
     "Yet, her face might have been the most arresting thing about her--a
     nose and mouth that almost any man I have met, of any species, would
     have given away all his worldly goods to have pressed against his own,
     and big, bewitching eyes that could catch you with just the briefest
     glance.   Her eyes were of different color, one grey, one yellow, and
     they were electrifying.  All this was framed in a luxurious, dark grey
     mane tied behind her in a long pony-tail, tipped, like her tail, with
     black.  She was dressed in a tight, low-cut dancer's costume, one dark
     blue piece that clung to her body so closely it should have hurt, with
     a translucent skirt of veils around her waist.
          "All the wolves grew quiet as she entered; even to watch her walk
     was exciting, and she held our attention completely as she moved in
     front of us and turned away from the musicians, facing the audience.
     As her eyes took us in, sitting in the rear of the chamber, they grew
     wide, and she faltered for an instant.  Then she began to dance."
          He took another drink of mead, and spoke a little more loudly.
     "Describing a dance, even for poets, is not easy, and I'm certainly no
     poet.  This scene is why I don't usually tell this story.  Well, this
     scene and a few after it."  He looked down, smiling curiously, and
     stared into his mug as if the lines of the story were being magically
     flashed there as a reminder.
          I tried to imagine the woman he was describing.  After I formed
     the picture, I decided I definitely liked what I saw; I was trying to
     imagine slowly undressing her when he continued again.  Damn bad
     timing, I think.  "It was a simple dance, quiet and flowing, like the
     music; she stepped a counterpoint to the percussion, and swayed a
     harmony to the mandolin.  When the flute came back into the song, the
     dance became more... not faster, not wilder, but more suggestive.
     Every move was liquid, her steps were slow and precise, and as she
     glided from side to side, up and down, no one in the room could have
     taken their eyes off her.
          "At first I didn't notice she was dancing closer to us, stepping
     between the wolves in her path, until she was only a few feet away
     from Rinneld, and even closer to Bordin.  He was staring up at her
     with a slightly perplexed, or perhaps awed, expression on his face;
     when she was positioned so none of the wolves in front of us could see
     her face, she smiled at him and swayed her hips in a manner that made
     Rinneld's eyes bulge so much I feared they might pop out and roll off.
     Then she turned away, brushing Bordin's face and chest with her tail
     slowly as she started dancing back towards the front.
          "After the dance was finished, we were the only ones who
     applauded.  She looked surprised, and appeared to be blushing under
     her fur; she turned and started to leave, quickly, but Emrit said,
     'Stop.'  She did so, and looked down at the ground, trembling
     slightly.
          "The big wolf seemed displeased; he motioned for her to come
     towards him, and after a few seconds, she did, standing before him.
     He pulled her down beside him roughly.  'Do you like the way Lekai
     dances?' he asked.
          "'Yes,' I said, after Rinneld and Bordin showed no signs of
     answering.  'She dances beautifully.'  She looked pitifully small next
     to his huge frame; as he held her to him, his paw almost completely
     covered her chest, and he was idly playing with one of her breasts as
     I spoke.  Her eyes were closed, but her expression of burning hatred
     was crystalline.
          "'You should see her when she dances truly well,' he said.  'She
     dances that way only for me.  Don't you?'  She was silent.
          "'Now will you talk about the raids, Emrit?' Bordin asked
     suddenly.  He was standing, and his fists were clenched behind his
     back.
          "All of the wolves' expressions darkened, and the man on the
     throne scowled.  'I said, it will wait until morning.'  The big wolf
     pushed Lekai off the chair and stormed out of the chamber; Lekai
     followed a second later, after looking back in our direction, her
     glance lingering a fraction of an instant longer on Bordin.
          "'He is not afraid of you,' said one of the wolves.
          "'Should he be?' I inquired mildly.  'We only come for the truth;
     does he have any reason to fear that it should be made known?'
          "The wolves started muttering amongst themselves.
          "'Do _you_ have any reason to fear the truth?' Bordin asked
     loudly.  'Do you do things in your kingdom that the _real_ one
     wouldn't like?'
          "Several wolves started growling.  'We follow our god,' said the
     wolf who had spoken before.
          "'You follow Commander Emrit, if you are one of his men,' I said.
          "'There is no Commander Emrit.  There are no men.  There is our
     god, there are his followers,' he replied.
          "'Then what does your god teach?' Bordin asked.  'Does he teach
     love, or hatred?  Sanity, or madness?'  Several wolves stood up,
     growling louder, but several others looked away, as if they were being
     made uncomfortable.
          "'Truth,' said one of the growling ones.
          "'All gods say that when they ask you to put your life on the
     line,' said Bordin.  'You better be damn sure about that truth.'
          "'Do you really believe he's a god?' asked Rinneld.
          "'Can you truly doubt it?' our guide said.  'Follow me to your
     room.'
          "We were led behind a curtain and partway down a short hallway
     beyond it.  Another curtain opened onto a small vestibule for three
     rooms, all shut off with curtains.  'The one on the right is being
     used,' the guide said.  The three Yeeth soldiers entered the room on
     the middle.  Before Bordin, Rinneld and I entered the left-hand room,
     Bordin asked the wolf, 'Are you sure your god teaches the truth?'
          "'I am sure of nothing,' he said, grinning.  'It is a useful
     survival tactic.'  He turned and left.
          "The room was fairly large, but furnished only with a huge,
     cushioned mattress big enough to sleep all three of us, and a few
     wall-hangings.  There was no door, only a thick curtain which could be
     tied shut.  The guide lit an oil-lamp in the room and departed without
     speaking to us.
          "Bordin dropped himself onto the mattress and sighed heavily.  'I
     can't believe how he's treating her,' he said.
          "'You don't know how he's treating her,' Rinneld said.
          "'It seems fairly obvious,' I said gently.  'I would strongly
     suspect that Lekai, and the jugglers, are prisoners here.'
          "'Then so are we,' the ferret said.  'Unless they're
     exceptionally stupid.'
          "'They follow him as a god,' Bordin snorted.  'They're not
     exceptionally bright.  We already have the answer for your empress.'
          "'Do we?' I asked.
          "'Of course,' he said.  'It's obvious Emrit is leading the raids,
     or at least ordering them.'
          "'It might not be that simple,' the ferret objected.
          "'It probably is,' I sighed.  'Emrit didn't want to be a
     decorated soldier anymore; he wanted to be a king.  Now he is.'
          "'Great.  So how do we get out and tell people about this?  If
     all these men think he's a god, they're going to pretty much do
     whatever he damn well pleases.'
          "'Do you think she was flirting with me?' Bordin said.
          "The ferret and I both looked at him blankly.  Then Rinneld
     suddenly burst out laughing.  'Damn, did you want her to paint runes
     for you, or what?  You're not that dense, are you?'  He rapped
     Bordin's temple sharply.
          "Bordin looked perplexed again.  Like most people from Yeeth,
     he'd had little experience with nonhumans, and had assumed that
     species were only attracted to their same type.  'You find her very
     attractive,' I said.
          "'But I'm human.  I shouldn't,' he said, shaking his head.
          "'You're male.  If you didn't find _her_ attractive, you'd either
     be gay or brain dead,' said Rinneld.  'What would you do if she walked
     through that curtain tonight?'
          "'You know that won't happen,' Bordin said, smiling.
          "'I bet it will,' said the ferret, brushing his fur.
          "Well, I was just about ready to put out the lamp when a soft
     voice came from outside the curtain.  'Are you awake?' it said,
     sounding desperate.
          "I went to the curtain and drew it aside.  Lekai stepped into the
     room, closing the curtain behind her.  She was still dressed in her
     dancing clothes.  Bordin looked up as she approached, and his mouth
     fell open for an instant; Rinneld grinned at him evilly, then resumed
     studiously brushing his fur.
          "'Are you here to kill Emrit?' she said, quickly kneeling beside
     us.
          "'No,' I said.  'We are here to learn why he isn't stopping the
     raids.'
          "'His men need supplies,' she said.  'He doesn't order the raids,
     but he won't stop them.  He teaches that everything--everyone--is here
     for their use."
          "'If they believe that, they have no reason to stop,' I said.
          "'Except that he's crazy.  They know it.  You can see it in their
     eyes,' Bordin replied.  'They don't follow him.  They follow what he
     was.'
          "Rinneld snorted.  'It don't matter if they see he's a furbearing
     rutebega or not.  They'll still do what he says.'
          "'Would they kill us for him?' Bordin said, looking at Lekai.
          "'Some would; I do not know how many.  Emrit would kill you
     himself, though, and none would stop him.'
          "As Lekai talked, she painted the picture of an already unstable
     man who had fallen over the edge.  I had seen some of this in the way
     Emrit spoke, but--at that time--the idea that she was not exaggerating
     seemed impossible.  Emrit wanted to set up his own kingdom, free from
     any 'contamination' by non-lupine races.  If you were not a wolf, you
     could be exploited in any way a wolf thought you would be useful.  She
     believed that all the wolves really did think Emrit was a god; to this
     day, I'm not sure I agree.
          "As she spoke, she moved closer to Bordin, and between sentences
     her eyes played across his body.  She and the jugglers were prisoners,
     and, she said, the wolves terrorized them.  Bordin, who had been
     trying--unsuccessfully--to avoid staring at her, looked right at her
     when she said this, and she caught his eyes with her own and held him.
          "'They seemed to like you well enough,' Rinneld said.
          "She looked down, silent, then spoke barely above a whisper.
     'They will not hurt me.  Emrit keeps that for himself.'  We were all
     silent, not sure how to respond.  Even if she had been playing up
     parts of her plight to increase sympathy, the pain in her eyes was
     genuine now.  She closed those strange, beautiful eyes and shuddered,
     drawing her arms to herself.  'I want to leave.  I want to see him
     dead,' she hissed.
          "'We can't just kill him,' Bordin said.
          "'We can,' said Rinneld.  'Our authority is to find out what's
     going on, and take any action we think is necessary.'
          "'That might be considered excessive by the Empress,' I said.
          "'She'd be the least of our problems.  If we killed him, you'd
     better be damn sure you can convince these wolves he's a lunatic.  If
     they think we freed them from a madman, we get out of here.  If they
     think we killed their god, we're dog food.  Maybe literally.'
          "Bordin looked uncomfortable, and carefully avoided looking at
     Lekai.  'We can't promise his death.  We can take you with us when we
     leave.'"
          "'Oh, good thinking, bald boy!' Rinneld spat back.  'And King
     Fuzzyface's just gonna give her to us?'  He had a point.  There was no
     way to leave our room without going through the main hall, and the
     wolves could certainly overwhelm us in number alone, even if we got to
     the room with our guides first.  If we tried to leave at all, we might
     be killed, but trying to bring Lekai with us would make it certain.
          "Lekai rose to her feet wordlessly and started to leave, looking
     dejected.  'Wait,' Bordin said.  She turned expectantly, and he seemed
     to flounder.  'You danced beautifully,' he said.  'Why did Emrit say
     you didn't dance well?'
          "She laughed.  'I know other dances.  Emrit will not let me dance
     most of them for others.'  Her smile faded.  'There are some I would
     not dance for him.  If I had a choice.'  Then she smiled again,
     somewhat slyly.  'I should not... would you like to see one of those?'
          "Bordin looked surprised, and stammered out a yes.  'Let me
     think,' she said, walking back towards us.  Both Bordin's and
     Rinneld's eyes were fastened to her."
          I laughed.  "And yours weren't?"
          Meoriar looked over at me crossly.  "I was watching, certainly."
          "Certainly," I agreed.
          "Now," he said, coughing.  "Lekai stood a few feet away from
     where we sat, and said softly, 'This dance needs no music.  I am not
     sure how appropriate it is.'  She stood still, breathing deeply, her
     head down; then she raised her head, brought her arms over her head,
     and began to move.
          "She spun slowly, her gauzy skirt and her tail swirling around
     her legs, turning one way and then the other as she moved towards us
     and through our group.  The dance created an almost audible rhythm; as
     we watched, the silence became its own eerie, compelling music.  After
     several more seconds, it became clear she was making a wide circle
     around Bordin.  When it became clear to him, he blushed slightly,
     looking a little confused.
          "Lekai's spins became faster, and she began to sway at the hips
     as she moved around Bordin a second time, swinging her hands close to
     him and bringing them up towards her in a way which invited him to
     follow.  As she started the third circle, increasing the tempo again,
     she brought her hands slowly down her torso, grasping the skirt and
     seperating it into two veils.  This left her wearing just the tight,
     dark blue one-piece skirt and blouse, and the skirt only barely
     covered her upper thighs."
          "Letting Bordin look right up, of course," I said.  (Why don't
     beautiful women ever try to seduce _me_ this way?  I always yield to
     temptation, and sometimes even pull off the road for it.)
          "Letting _all_ of us look right up," he said, chuckling slightly.
     "She was wearing gray panties, if it makes the picture more complete.
     As she danced around Bordin now, she was so close he had to almost
     look straight up to see her face, and her tail was whipping across his
     back, chest, and face as she spun.  As she moved towards his front
     again, she motioned for him to stand up, and he did, awkwardly.
          "The dance became even faster; she dropped the veils and gripped
     her blouse as she moved.  I am not sure how it had been held in place,
     but it seemed to melt around her legs, and she stepped out of it,
     leaving it across Bordin's feet.  She wore only those gray panties
     now, and if I had thought her patch of white chest fur was compelling
     before....  and she was dancing against him now, her head arched back,
     her body spinning against his, with her tail wrapped around his legs
     and her hands moving across his chest and shoulders.  He was trembling
     visibly, his own head arched back slightly and his arms stiffly at his
     sides; she danced around him several times, arching her body across
     his, seeming to lose herself against him.  As she came around the last
     time, she placed her leading foot between his legs, spinning full
     against his body and embracing him in the same motion, and thrust her
     hips with audible force against his.  Bordin gasped and dropped to his
     knees, shuddering.
          "The room hung for long moments, Bordin's head almost against
     Lekai's stomach, Lekai with her hands on his shoulders and her hair
     falling in his face, breathing heavily.  Rinneld and I were
     stock-still, although the ferret was whimpering slightly; for myself,
     I was not sure whether to feel privileged in having seen the first
     part of the Fire Dance--for I had recognized what it was--or to feel
     embarrassed for having seen it when I was not the person it was
     intended for.
          "After Lekai had recovered her own breath--several moments before
     I had recovered mine, I may say--she said softly to Bordin, 'Did you
     like it?'  He looked up, tried to speak, and was unable to do anything
     but nod weakly.  She laughed and kneeled in front of him.  'I am sorry
     if it had this effect on you,' she said, sounding as if she meant the
     complete opposite.  She looked over at Rinneld and myself, and seemed
     to blush a little under her fur.  'Normally this dance has no
     audience.'  She seemed to notice the ferret's somewhat thunderstruck
     expression and walked over to him, laughing a little more.  'You look
     like you've never seen bare breasts before.'
          "'After seeing yours, I feel like I haven't,' he said, leering up
     at her belly-button.  She pushed him away, smiling.
           "'I must go,' she said, walking back towards Bordin.  'I do not
     want to think what Emrit would do if he knew I danced even that much
     of it for you.'
          "Bordin caught his breath.  'There's more?' he said, as she
     gathered up her clothes.
          "'Oh, yes,' she said, slipping back into her dress.  'I would not
     dance the rest of it for even a close friend; I know I should not have
     danced this much for someone I really don't know.  Yet I felt like...
     I should.'  She paused before she stepped through the curtain.
     'Besides, the rest would require you to do more than fall to your
     knees.  Although that might be an interesting start.'  She stepped out
     of sight before Bordin could reply.
          "After a moment, Rinneld turned towards him.  'So, still not sure
     if she's flirting with you?'
          "Bordin let out a long, shuddering sigh.  'In Yeeth, at least,
     that would go far beyond our understanding of the word "flirt."'
          "This was certainly true, but even more than he knew then.  If my
     belief that Lekai had started the Fire Dance was correct--and, as
     things turned out, it was--she came from a small province in Orinthe,
     which, before the time of the Empire, was one of the few matriarchal
     societies I know of.  There were few differences between it and most
     other provinces in the Empire, at least as they exist now, but Lekai
     came from a tradition that assumed the female to be the sexual
     aggressor, not the male.  The Fire Dance was part of an old courtship
     rite--not something that everyone was expected to do, of course, for
     most people simply can't dance that well, and fewer still would have
     enough confidence to pull it off, but it was, you might say, a
     romantic ideal."
          "Let me guess," I interrupted.  "The part of the rite this dance
     was, wouldn't happen to be the last part, would it?"
          "Quite," Meoriar replied.  "The fire it calls up is within
     whoever sees it.  In the seconds after Lekai had whirled against
     Bordin, she could have had us do anything for her.  For Bordin, it
     lasted much longer, as if he was genuinely in pain because of the cat.
          "Well.  Perhaps none of us slept easily that night, but in the
     morning, it seemed as if Bordin was still sitting in the same place he
     had been when I had closed my own eyes.  'Haven't you slept at all?'
     Rinneld asked.
          "He nodded.  'I dreamed.'
          "'Of what?' the ferret asked.
          "'Charcoal and amber,' he replied tonelessly."
          The bard stopped and stared at his now-empty mug.  "It's getting
     quite late.  I didn't realize how long this story was when I started."
          "It's not that late.  Besides, you're not even halfway finished,"
     I cried.
          "On the contrary.  I think I'm about two-thirds finished."
          "Then you have no reason to stop."
          "Well," he said, rising and stretching.  "I'm going to take a
     break for a few minutes.  If any of you are interested in the rest,
     then don't leave."  He picked up his mug and went over to the bar, and
     Xon refilled it silently.
          The conversation level in the Den rose up to its normal level
     after a few minutes, but nobody left the bar.

     [to be continued]