Horvan looked around the cell. There was nothing much here, and what there was was familiar. His employers were away on a mission, rescuing some women from the clutches of a demon. Or so he had gathered, from what he had overheard of their planning.
They were often away, of course, venturing into unlit catacombs in the far reaches of the wilderness was, essentially, how they made a living. Normally, at such times, he tended the villa for them. But this time was different. This time they were doing something in the city itself, and more importantly, somebody had sent a demon into the villa.
He shivered inwardly as he remembered facing the thing. He had known immediately that the creature was far out of his league, and that it could kill him in an instant. He had shouted out to it instinctively, before it had turned around and its full nature had become apparent. Not that he was any sort of warrior -- in retrospect it was obvious that he should never have made himself visible to it at all.
Those glowing red eyes had fastened on him, and he had known the gut-wrenching fear that he was about to die. Even being hit with the knife was nothing compared to how terrifying that one look had been. It brought him newfound respect for what his employers did all the time, and he still did not know why it had spared his life at all. By all rights, he should be dead, yet it had not taken the trouble to finish him off. Perhaps he was just too insignificant to even care about.
The attack, however, had meant that while the adventurers were away this time, they had insisted he remain safe, away from the villa. His parents were out of the city, and there were few others he would have been willing to impose upon. But he had an aunt that, like his mother, worked as a healer at the Temple of Felanda. She, at least, was in the city at the moment, and had been able to arrange for him to stay for a night or two at the temple.
He was sitting on a small bed in a spare novice's cell, a sight he was familiar with from his own childhood, although he had never seriously considered the healers' calling himself. He lacked the skill for it, although perhaps he should have studied harder. But he was lucky in having found the job that he did, as housekeeper to the adventurers. At least growing up in the temple had got him used to doing a lot of cleaning and housework.
Now he was back here again, if only for what should be a couple of nights at most, looking round at walls that were bare except for a single religious icon, and a room that contained nothing else save a bed, a small table, and an empty trunk. Novices had few possessions; it was part of the preparation for ordainment as a healer.
He sighed and leaned back against the stone wall. He had already exhausted the supply of things to do here; it wasn't even as if they had any need for more cleaners. There was nothing left to do but think. Naturally enough, his thoughts turned to his employers, and to the danger they were currently facing.
It was always a concern when they were away; that, this time, they wouldn't come back, or at least not all of them. He might not have been one of them, but they were almost as close to him as family now, or so he felt. They were undoubtedly good employers, and he knew that he was privileged to work for them, under their protection -- even if that had not worked out so well recently.
But that was not the only reason; there was also Vardala. Calleslyn and Lady Tarissa were undoubtedly attractive women, but there was just something about Vardala that he found incredibly appealing. Her fine features, her lithe body, her deep brown eyes, all combined to make her the woman that fuelled his desires.
It was something he felt deeply guilty about. There could never be anything in it, not least because she was his employer, She deserved better than him secretly admiring the curve of her breasts, or trying to catch a look at her even partially unclothed -- something at which he had so far failed dismally. But he just couldn't help it.
The guilt and the impossibility of it all were both compounded by the obvious fact that she was a gnome, not a human. Although she had all the curves and attributes of any adult human woman -- in fact, she looked five or six years older than he did -- she barely reached up to his waist. A vision of sexiness in miniature that he should surely have ignored, yet was unable to.
That small size had occasionally fuelled fantasies of her giving him fellatio while they both stood upright, but mostly he just wished that some bizarre piece of magic would transform her into his own size. In the dreams that fuelled his nights, that was how she always was; all but human, until he woke to a damp patch on the sheets and remembered that if such a spell existed, he had never heard of it.
"Horvan, I heard you were here."
He broke from his reverie, and the inevitable beginning of an erection, to notice the woman standing at his door. "Sallisha," he said, "it's been a long time."
Sallisha was one of the novices at the temple, somebody he had known before his life with the adventurers. She had been his girlfriend at one point, but it hadn't lasted, and that was before he met the woman of his impossible dreams. She didn't even look anything like Vardala, even leaving aside the fact that she was obviously human.
Her light brown hair cascaded in ringlets around her shoulders, her slender body clothed in the simple white robes of a novice, a deep cleft plunging from the neck to expose the holy symbol nestled on the thinner white fabric underneath. A narrow girdle wrapped around her slim waist, and the skirt fell to ankle length, giving him only a glimpse of the slippers she wore on her feet. She was, he had to admit, still a very attractive young woman, her skin fresh and supple, her light brown eyes watching him with the caring warmth so typical of healers.
"How is it with... uh..." he struggled to remember the name.
"We broke up. It's a long story."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"But what about you?" she asked, stepping forward into the cell, her musical voice indicating her eagerness to hear more. "How have you been since... how long has it been now?"
"I, uh... I don't know," he admitted, "but I've been well enough, thank you. Busy at work, you know." He couldn't tell her about the demon, Lady Tarissa had impressed that much on him. And it wasn't something he wanted to remember anyway.
"Yes, that's right; you were with those adventurers, weren't you? But you never decided to become one, did you? It must be a hard life, even if it pays well for some people. A great many never come back."
"No," he said, smiling, "I've never even felt tempted. I'm no warrior, and I'm certainly not a magician. You're right, it's a big risk to take... and not one for me, I have to admit."
"Good," she said, sounding relieved, "You should have become a healer. Like me. Maybe then we wouldn't have broken up."
"Well..." he said, not wanting to get too far into that side of things, "that didn't work for me, either. There's too much learning, and religious dedication... I think it's great that you've found your vocation, and you'll be a great healer once you complete your novitiate. But that isn't me, either. I'm happy the way I am. It works for me."
"Why are you here, then? I got the impression that something had happened, but nobody seems to know for sure. The adventurers you work for... they're not out of the city, are they? It's not as if they'd have anything to do here. We don't have heaps of gold coins lying around in the city guarded by fire-breathing dragons, after all."
This was what he wasn't supposed to talk about. "It's just temporary. Nothing to worry about."
He had obviously sounded less than convincing, because she took another step forward into the room, a worried frown on her face. "If there's nothing for them to do here... has something followed them home from their last expedition?"
"No... I mean, uh... no." A memory of the demon's face flashed before him, the red eyes burning, the large horns dark and menacing, spurs distorting its face into something less than human.
Sallisha's hand leapt to her open mouth as her eyes widened in shock, "oh, my gosh, it has, hasn't it? Something followed them! Are you all right? Did it hurt you?"
He floundered, trying to think of something to say that would allay her suspicions, but nothing came to mind. He really wasn't very good at this sort of thing.
"Oh my goddess!" she gasped, rushing to his side. "You've been hurt! Let me see -- I'm a healer, maybe I can do something."
"It's fine, really, nothing. I mean, it's already been healed."
He winced with the memory of the pain, and she must have caught the look, and perhaps an involuntary twitch in his shoulder, because her eyes immediately darted towards the site of the injury, hidden as it was beneath his clothes.
"No, no, you can never be too sure. There's infections, and all sorts of things. I have to have a look. What do adventurers know about healing?"
"Quite a lot?" he asked, but she was already fiddling with his shirt, which was embarrassing in more ways than one. "Look, don't fuss, it's fine. Lady Tarissa is a paladin..."
"No, Horvan, I am going to inspect your wound, whether you like it or not." A sterner tone had crept into her voice, the way that healers sounded when they obviously weren't going to brook any nonsense. "I'll close the door if it makes you feel better, that way nobody else will see. But I will have a look, just to make sure."
"Oh, for goodness sake..." he said, knowing that he had already been beaten, "it's been magically healed by a paladin laying on hands... there's nothing to see."
"I'll be the judge of that," she said firmly, getting up to close the door.
Reluctantly, Horvan began to peel off his shirt. "See?" he said at last.
"You call that nothing?" She was at his side on the bed again, looking at him with concern.
"Well... nothing much."
