Author's Note: This particular episode includes (virtually) no sex. Instead, it serves only to move the plot along. Hopefully, you've been following the story so far, but if not, and you're looking for erotica, you'll probably want to skip this one and wait for Ch. 13.
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The Emir's palace stood near the centre of the city, its three golden domes as distinctive as the minarets of the grander temples. From here, the rulers of Haredil administered the city, and claimed fealty from the more sparsely settled lands around. The palace fronted onto a great plaza, close to the market that was the city's lifeblood. No visitor could fail to be impressed, the Emir and his government making a clear statement about the wealth and power of their domain.
Lady Tarissa had been here many times before, but this time she had to admit that she felt a little trepidation. From what Almandar and Calleslyn had discovered at the Wizards' College, the threat mentioned in the ancient documents was very real. The College made no direct mention of events, which doubtless explained why this aspect of history was so unknown, but it corroborated much that the old parchments said. They referred, in part, to a time when demonic influence in the city had been strong, and then faded away suddenly for no apparent reason, dismissed as little more than the natural waxing and waning of the infernal powers.
And perhaps it was so; with no direct evidence to back up the tale of the old adventurers, it was difficult to know for sure. But Tarissa doubted that now, and was inclined to accept them as genuine. At the very least, it was now imperative to begin their exploration of the ancient tunnels beneath the city. If by some chance, it was all a fable, that would soon become clear -- but there was just too much coming together now for her to believe that was at all likely.
Which brought her to her current doubts. Supposedly, the infernal force in the depths -- whatever it was, exactly -- would begin to influence the leaders of the city in attempt to re-assert its hold. Some of those would be the people behind the scenes, who could achieve their aims with a quiet nod here and there, but some would no doubt be the visible leaders. That was, after all, why the adventurers who penned the original documents had supposedly had to flee the city without leaving a clearer warning.
So who here, could she trust? Had guild leaders been influenced, or temple priests? What about the noble families, the bureaucratic and military leaders, or the Emir himself? Yet here she was, answering an invitation to a reception at the palace, precisely where these people would also be.
She was glad to see, as she climbed the low steps to the great colonnaded front of the building, some of the few people she knew she could trust. Not only were Sir Larinor and Father Humboldt her friends, they were also followers of Pardror, the god of chivalry, just as she was. Pardror's powers, gifted to his paladins and clerics, made it much easier for them to detect and resist infernal magics. If a demonic being of some kind wanted to take over the city, it would be far easier to stay away from the priests of Pardror, avoiding the risk of early detection. In the long run, no doubt, it would want to marginalise them, or even deal with them overtly, but they would be enemies not pawns.
Sir Larinor was about her own age, a paladin as she was, although local, not from the southern islands. She had known him a long time, almost since her arrival in the city, and he had been a long and constant friend, although her days spent adventuring meant that she saw him less than she would like. He was dressed now, as she was, in expensive clothing, not in the armour of his office, but the rich velvet of his doublet could not disguise the breadth of his shoulders, or the trim muscularity of his body. He was handsome, too, with finely chiselled features and straight dark hair, and brown eyes that betrayed a steely determination to fight for justice and honour.
Many women, she felt sure, had fallen under his charms, but his vows as a paladin would have left them disappointed. The code of their order did not impose celibacy as such, but neither did it encourage licentiousness. Carnal desires were to be fulfilled through marriage, or, at the very least, long-term commitments and strict monogamy. Were it not for their shared ideals of romantic love, she suspected that the churches of Pardror and Sarlene would constantly be at loggerheads; as it was, relationships were little more than polite cordiality.
Of course, she was a paladin herself, and had taken the same vows, maintaining her virginity as she did so. As she greeted Larinor and the others, and they stepped into the main foyer of the palace, she felt almost a twinge of regret at that. She was not like Almandar or Calleslyn, whose numerous brief liaisons seemed to follow the morals of their elvish kin -- more so, it seemed to her, with Almandar, despite his half-human heritage. Vardala she did not know about; perhaps she was just more discrete, although it seemed unlikely that the rogue would be too concerned with conventional morality.
But for her, the paladins' code was of vital importance, defining her role, not just in the party, but in the world at large. Paladins fought injustice and the forces of evil. In return, they made sacrifices for the greater good. But that small voice of regret still said that she would like to know Larinor better, as more than just a friend. She was, after all, a woman, with a woman's desires, no matter the outer mask she showed to the world. Who could not fail to be attracted to man so handsome and so honourable, she thought? But she would not be who she was if she could not suppress those thoughts and turn her mind to higher things. Honour was, after all, often about making personal sacrifices...
Father Hemboldt, the young cleric, she knew less well, as he had only been ordained a couple of years before. But if he was a close friend of Larinor's, he had to be a brave and upstanding member of the church, something he had never given her cause to doubt. At this formal occasion, he wore the robes of his rank, the sword and helm emblem of Pardror prominent above his heart.
The final member of the trio she had first met when she invited the other two down to the villa a few nights ago. Ansreal was Larinor's latest squire, a young elven woman yet to take her vows as a full paladin. It was fairly unusual for elves to take such a path, but it was by no means unknown, for their kind had important traditions of chivalry, if not necessarily of constancy. She hoped the young woman had the strength for the path ahead, but trusted to the others to guide her properly.
"Tarissa!" said Larinor, smiling, "I am glad to see you could make it. You said when we last met that there was some matter coming up that might return you to the adventurers' path soon?"
"Yes, that is still true," she conceded, as they walked together into the palace, Father Hemboldt showing their invitation to the guards, "but I am afraid that I cannot talk further about it here. Although I can tell you that we may need your assistance in time. I wish I did not have to be so discrete, but this is really not the place."
He nodded, although clearly he did not quite understand. It seemed, however, that he at least trusted her judgement, and that would have to be enough for now.
Inside, there were a number of guests milling in the hall, as musicians played in the background, and servants bustled about with food and drinks. Such receptions were common place, for the Emir wanted to show off his influence to the other nobles and senior officials of the city as often as possible. This one was in honour of some dignitary or other from the Jalibian Confederation to the north, but it seemed that almost any excuse would do.
Indeed, there were certainly a number of Jalibians among the guests, easily distinguished from the locals, and even those guests from the neighbouring cities, by their ebony skin and tightly curled hair. Like everyone else here, they wore their best finery, and she suspected their business here was mainly trade, for the Jalibians were wealthy, and the extent of the wild lands between their home and Haredil meant that they had few things to quarrel over.
"Ah, a priest of Pardror! It is good to see that such people are honoured here," said a nearby voice. Tarissa turned to see a Jalabian man, white teeth smiling, and beckoning Father Hemboldt over.
"We work hard here for the cause of honour and chivalry," agreed the priest, as they headed over to join the knot of people already chatting with the visitor. "It is a battle that needs fighting the world over."
The two paladins and their squire joined the group, and there were soon introductions all round. The Jalabian man with an interest in Pardror was a merchant named Tolamb, middle-aged and a little portly. He was accompanied by a man who could only be a bodyguard, over six feet tall, and with bulging muscles on his bare arms. There were two locals with them; a balding merchant who Tarissa knew only vaguely, and a young woman named Quintillia, who she knew to be a member of one of the noble houses.
There was a third local, too, a younger man that she did not recognise, but it was unclear whether he was truly in the group or not, for he hung back from the others, lounging against a trestle table, and knocking back a flagon of wine. He already looked slightly drunk, and it was still early in the evening. Tarissa looked at him disapprovingly, but he did not seem to notice, his gaze instead being focussed on the curve of Quintillia's ass.
"So you are paladins?" asked Tolamb, "I have not been to Haredil before, and I know your customs are different to ours. I have heard of paladins... they are much like our own Leopard Warriors, I believe?"
"From what I understand," said Hemboldt, "that is correct. Paladins are holy warriors, able to bring the light of Pardror into people's lives, and I gather that your Leopard Warriors are different only in a few of their customs."
"I had heard that there were few female knights in Haredil, but I see this is not so," said Tolamb, bowing slightly to Tarissa. "Or is it that you are a visitor here yourself?"
"I was born further south," admitted Tarissa. She knew that her blonde hair and blue eyes were not those of Haredil native, although the truth was that city was a cosmopolitan one, with a very mixed population. "But Haredil is a free city, and there are many female warriors. I have lived here for many years, and it is perhaps not as unusual as you have been led to believe."
At that, the tipsy young man seemed to perk up, perhaps not having noticed before that there was another woman with the group. He looked in her direction, making little attempt to hide the fact that he was mentally undressing her. She glared back at him, but it seemed that he did not much like what he saw, and turned his attention back to Quintillia. The young noble was raven-haired and slender, and perhaps that was more to his taste.
Tolomb, fortunately, did not seem to have noticed her glare, or, if he did, was too polite to mention it. He continued smoothly with his conversation, "women may become warriors in my home, too, although it is not so common as with men. If one hears the call, it should not be ignored."
