He dropped his sword to the floor and then, almost as suddenly, he evaporated. Hot fire burst across the vacuum, filling every corner of Silar’s mind. From amidst the flames a striking, pale young woman materialised, her hair forming part of the flames themselves.
“Blazes!” Silar erupted from the bath water, spilling it over the sides and sending droplets onto the blade of his sword. He needed to get women out of his head, not into its deepest recesses! The meditation had not helped nearly as much as it should have. He grabbed a rough sponge and commenced scrubbing at his body in haste. “Bloody blazes,” he muttered again.
The ceiling curved in a beige hemisphere above Artemi’s head, seemingly imitating the insides of an eggshell. She eyed the small grooves in it, wondering which craftsman had left each mark and how many centuries ago they had done so. Three candles burned in the wall hollows around her, providing barely adequate illumination to read. Achellon was a favourite book of hers. It described the mythical lands which had given rise to their world: lands which were a physical embodiment of Blaze Energy. Achellon was a place supposedly bathed in bright light, where no one knew pain or suffering, where no one was another’s servant. The people there had the power to manipulate the environment of this world, deciding when it rained or when an earthquake should strike. This seemed a trivial power to Artemi, since wielders were able to instigate such phenomena without much more than a sneeze. It was a welcome escape though, offering a window onto somewhere less troubled with the issues of her home.
She felt at the roughness of the pages. It was hardly a high-quality copy of the text, but remained the best she had been able to obtain. Some of the letters had been printed at odd angles and there were a few typographical errors; none detracted from the overall effect, however. The illustrations were beautiful, simple engravings that had been coloured by hand. She marked her page and closed the volume, running her fingers over its embossed card cover. She longed for more books to add to her collection. She had read this one so many times.
Artemi placed it atop the other text: Ebb and Flow of Noble Warfare . That was an interesting one, arguing that some battles were more legitimate than others. Armies seemed to enter fights at the whim of their commanders, whose decisions were frequently made upon the basis of hysteria and public perception. Was Calidell’s army so committed and blind? Cadra’s two newspapers would report the number of casualties sustained following a battle, but she doubted any of those included deserters.
The servants’ cellars were unusually quiet this evening. Some event unknown to her or a chance effect had quelled a large proportion of the cries. That, and a lot of them seemed to have visitors. Artemi wondered at the new tranquillity - well, relative tranquillity. She glanced over at the white rose that Lord Forllan had given her earlier. What would it be like to have a lover, to be married and have children? Artemi supposed these things would happen to her some day, though not with a blond-haired, gurning soldier. She certainly had not planned on washing linen forever.
The idea of sex did bring fears of its own, however. After all, it would not be safe commencing a relationship when she was not yet mature enough to withstand nalka , no matter how much she cared for the man. Still, she had received the education necessary to understand the workings of it and to know what to expect. By rote, she knew of the six levels of pleasure and the mating bond it produced. She knew that the sensations were shared. She knew that this bond had to be maintained for nine years before a child could be produced. It seemed a surprise the population managed to maintain itself in the face of conflict at all. However was a woman to put up with the same man clambering into her bed every
“Blazes!” Silar erupted from the bath water, spilling it over the sides and sending droplets onto the blade of his sword. He needed to get women out of his head, not into its deepest recesses! The meditation had not helped nearly as much as it should have. He grabbed a rough sponge and commenced scrubbing at his body in haste. “Bloody blazes,” he muttered again.
The ceiling curved in a beige hemisphere above Artemi’s head, seemingly imitating the insides of an eggshell. She eyed the small grooves in it, wondering which craftsman had left each mark and how many centuries ago they had done so. Three candles burned in the wall hollows around her, providing barely adequate illumination to read. Achellon was a favourite book of hers. It described the mythical lands which had given rise to their world: lands which were a physical embodiment of Blaze Energy. Achellon was a place supposedly bathed in bright light, where no one knew pain or suffering, where no one was another’s servant. The people there had the power to manipulate the environment of this world, deciding when it rained or when an earthquake should strike. This seemed a trivial power to Artemi, since wielders were able to instigate such phenomena without much more than a sneeze. It was a welcome escape though, offering a window onto somewhere less troubled with the issues of her home.
She felt at the roughness of the pages. It was hardly a high-quality copy of the text, but remained the best she had been able to obtain. Some of the letters had been printed at odd angles and there were a few typographical errors; none detracted from the overall effect, however. The illustrations were beautiful, simple engravings that had been coloured by hand. She marked her page and closed the volume, running her fingers over its embossed card cover. She longed for more books to add to her collection. She had read this one so many times.
Artemi placed it atop the other text: Ebb and Flow of Noble Warfare . That was an interesting one, arguing that some battles were more legitimate than others. Armies seemed to enter fights at the whim of their commanders, whose decisions were frequently made upon the basis of hysteria and public perception. Was Calidell’s army so committed and blind? Cadra’s two newspapers would report the number of casualties sustained following a battle, but she doubted any of those included deserters.
The servants’ cellars were unusually quiet this evening. Some event unknown to her or a chance effect had quelled a large proportion of the cries. That, and a lot of them seemed to have visitors. Artemi wondered at the new tranquillity - well, relative tranquillity. She glanced over at the white rose that Lord Forllan had given her earlier. What would it be like to have a lover, to be married and have children? Artemi supposed these things would happen to her some day, though not with a blond-haired, gurning soldier. She certainly had not planned on washing linen forever.
The idea of sex did bring fears of its own, however. After all, it would not be safe commencing a relationship when she was not yet mature enough to withstand nalka , no matter how much she cared for the man. Still, she had received the education necessary to understand the workings of it and to know what to expect. By rote, she knew of the six levels of pleasure and the mating bond it produced. She knew that the sensations were shared. She knew that this bond had to be maintained for nine years before a child could be produced. It seemed a surprise the population managed to maintain itself in the face of conflict at all. However was a woman to put up with the same man clambering into her bed every
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