15th of the season of the sun 2448

A hoot pierced the silence of the night. Was it night? Serfantor was no longer sure. There was no time in Norkux except for the changing of the seasons. Was it early summer, mid-summer or late summer? He couldn't tell. The sky was as dark as the hearts of the assassins who lurked the misty streets of the dark city looking for targets that would give them only a fleeting respite. Stuck in a vicious cycle like most grey elves, this reward was just enough to keep them sane.

From the roof of the castle, Serfantor could see the city come alive before his watchful eyes. The grey elves, most of them dressed in dark clothes to promote subtlety, were sneaking from one street to another like ants in their nest. When he was bored, he liked to observe the people. A young child was dragged down a lonely alley by two adults only to be killed simply because she had been born in a house more powerful than theirs. Jealousy is a perverse beast, but the thirst for power is even more so. But sometimes the will to survive outweighs both.

The girl whose soul seemed so innocent a moment ago walked away as a murderer. An animal instinct took control of her small body and she impaled her assailants with their own weapons. This pleased Serfantor, who smiled softly as he watched the survivor clean the blood of her victims that was smeared on her torn clothes with water from a puddle on the ground. She hadn't even screamed; she knew better: that no one was going to help her. The fact that she possessed this notion at her age saddened the dragon rider.

- The war of the gray elf houses, Serfantor whispered.

He sighed, a sigh that seemed to carry the burden of all the blood spilled for the greed of the grey elf race. Despite all the atrocities and his aversion to his people's culture, there was nothing he could do. It was too big and too aged for him.

- What am I doing here? What am I doing here? Why was I born a grey elf?

He diverted his thoughts from the duty he owed to his house. His mother's words echoed in his head, her words like a cruel whip on his mind. A gust of wind chilled his dark skin. He shivered and lowered his grave gaze and saw a hooded figure leaving the castle, his so-called home. He effortlessly recognized the clumsy gait of the stranger. He grabbed the edges of the structure on which he was perched and jumped from platform to platform, all as familiar as the others, until he reached the ground. The sound of his dagger stroking against his belt startled the runaway.

- Who goes there? he asked the runaway in an uncertain voice.

He stopped and turned with fear, hand on the guard of his scimitar. Serfantor recognized the voice. He smiled as his little brother looked at him with surprise.

- It is but me.

He approached. His identification didn't calm Katanor as much as he would have liked. A bead of sweat shining in the moonlight informed him that the younger elf was under stress.

- You can let go of your scimitar, little brother. It's only me.

Finally, Katanor obeyed, and his breathing slowed. He relaxed, but still remained kept his guard up.

- What are you doing? Serfantor asked. It's very dangerous in Norkux alone. You should know that. We're not at the academy here.

Katanor lowered his hood and made a teasing face.

- Are you trying to protect me?

Serfantor watched his little brother. He looked too similar to Norkux's assassins. He relaxed his jaw. His solemn face, however, did not hide his severity.

- Why not, Serfantor? You're the only one with a bit of common sense in this crazed city.

He folded his arms and went on.

- So, what are you doing that's worth such a risk?

Katanor hesitated. He looked left and right with anxiety.

- You see...

He scratched the side of his head, carefully avoiding the tip of his ear.

- It's the festival of Passion...

Serfantor widened his eyes.

- Everywhere else it is.

He remembered his classes at the academy. During the history class, Master Magar explained the various festivals of Aerinda and the festival of Passion, symbol of love and the sun, was abolished by the grey elves along with the light.

- Have you become fond of the customs of the people of the light?

A broad smile appeared on his lips. The people of light referred to the races that lived during the day, enjoying that time of day and sleeping at night.

- N-n-no, stammered Katanor. Not at all. That's not it.

He blushed and looked away.

- Didn't he? So, tell me, why is the festival of Passion so important to you?

- Well, I'm curious.

- Curious? he asked, raising an eyebrow. Curious about what exactly?

Katanor looked down, too embarrassed to answer.

- Oh, said Serfantor. I see where you're going with this. Mother will be furious if she finds out you want this.

- Why don't we ever say anything when it's the women who have their fun? Katanor bellowed, offended. I have the right to live my life too.

Serfantor sighed. Now that he knew a little more about the customs of other races, it was difficult for them to accept theirs. Among humans, a young man of fifteen, Katanor's age, had surely already made love with several women and that was completely normal.

- Life is unfair. We were born into the feminist race; it's like that for humans, except that it's the other way around; men have the power. Anyway, if I can't stop you, at least I'm going to come with you.

He lifted a finger as his little brother's face lit up.

- I won't touch a whore.

- But, Katanor began, but you...

- No, interrupted Serfantor.

Katanor giggled.

- You're always so hard on yourself. The honorable grey elf, you are more light than shadow despite your roots. Anyway, let's go before an assassin targets us. He'd be a fool to miss his chance to get rid of the heirs of the royal family.

He pulled the hood down over his head. Serfantor did the same.

- Don't look at the suns for too long.

He gave his brother a friendly pat on the shoulder.

- Spoken like a true gray elf, Katanor replied.

The two dragon riders set off, Katanor in the lead since he knew the way to the brothel.

- How are you going to pay for this? Serfantor asked. Service with even the ugliest and most inexperienced woman is very expensive.

Unlike other kingdoms, the women of Gosform were far too proud and important for prostitution, forcing the men to satisfy their needs with their brothers. The few who became a whore were usually desperate for money and from a weak family.

- I stole from Mother, he replied nonchalantly. She deserves it anyway.

He pushed his cloak to reveal a leather bag attached to his belt before hiding again.

- I thought I'd save some for tomorrow night, but I can share, if you want. I have enough for two women. Besides, at your age, it's about time you share some intimacy with a woman, don't you think?

Serfantor ignored his last comment.

- I'm only going for your protection. Only Noktow knows what kind of trouble you'll get into.

- Oh, not even him, Katanor laughed.

The two brothers eventually arrived downtown. When he was at the top of the castle, Serfantor had not realized how stifling it was to be at the center of this chaos. It was a day like any other for the grey elves, but some of them were preparing to celebrate the Passion Festival in secret. The gray elves were too lustful to pass up such an opportunity. At this time of year, brothels were making the most profit. Demand for their services was high, and they allowed themselves to raise the prices. The situation disgusted Serfantor.

- Even my dear mother must be rubbing up against the body of her Sir Bregkhon, he thought bitterly.

Katanor turned a corner and crept through the crowd to a luxurious mansion protected by an iron gate. The sign hung on the gate read "A woman's touch". A lame name, but perfect to indicate that there were female whores here and hence, to spark the imagination of men hungry for female affection. A woman's touch was the brothel of the Undrèm, a feminist house, but one that was also well aware of the ways of making money with women. They were an extremely rich and powerful house, hated by other houses for using women for dishonourable purposes. In the eyes of the Undrèm, these methods were rather clever because, in the end, they gave them enough money to buy the loyalty of several mercenaries. At the entrance to the gate, two of these mercenaries would act as guards and would stop anyone who approached. Many were sent back to where they came from. Serfantor and Katanor stood in line.

Serfantor was surprised to find the two guards attractive, even though he could barely make out their faces hidden by their helmets, whose opening was strangely reminiscent of a snake's mouth. Their silver plate armour glittered in the moonlight. Beneath it lay a tunic of ebony chain mail. Their pale hair was braided and cascaded down their generously curved bodies, and in the shadow of the helmet's breathing hole, their eyes pierced the souls of the customers like an eagle watching a mouse from the sky.

- But, I have enough for one hour! said a grey elf when he was rejected by the guard.

- Go back to your poor house, grumbled the guard who had stopped him. During the festival of the Passion, which is banned as you should know, the prices are higher. Now keep your cock in your pants and get out of my sight or else the spider will be lacerated by the steel and the fangs of the viper.

The gray elf was wearing a very colorful, high-quality outfit. He was clearly from a wealthy house that was impetuous enough to think it could avoid the dangers of grey elf society. His face was in plain sight and on his back was the coat of arms of his house, a black and orange spider on a white field.

- If he doesn't have enough money... it must cost a fortune, thought Serfantor.

He turned to his brother.

- Are you sure you have enough?

- Don't worry, Katanor said, rolling his eyes. He can charge me with a golden sun if he wants to discourage me that much.

Screams of rage drew their attention. It was still the same elf who was fighting for his rights with the guard.

- You, the Undrèm house, you're nothing but thieves, he spat. I'll get my service.

- Shut your mouth, replied the guard with a stern calm that almost made you forget she was female. My ears don't want to hear any more of your sex addict laments. Vile bastard of a man that you are, unable to function without having your dick in a hole. Well, get lost! There are more than enough males of your species just waiting to be ridden like a beast with their assholes spread wide apart, so desperate are they. Plus, good news for you, they're cheap or, for the filthy ones, free.

The elf shooked his hands into fists, chanting a few words that Serfantor could not understand. His hands began to shine. Panic mounted dangerously and instincts took over. The guard grabbed her scimitar, but the elf was faster. He fired a ball of energy into the banner hanging from the mansion that was floating in the wind. The Undrèm emblem, an gray owl on a purple field, melted on contact with the mana.

- This is what I make of Undrèm, hissed the elf. Dishonorable birds.

The guard, irritated by the elf's impudence, clutched her scimitar's grip and, without warning, she opened up the elf from navel to neck. The elf could not even scream as his entrails spilled to the ground. His warm blood splashed on the face and on the helmet of his murderer. He fell, mouth ajar, still in shock, to his death.

- Slave, shouted the guard. Pick up the remains of the brainless spider who died for his cock.

She kicked the elf's head to make sure he was dead.

- Idiot. Let this be a lesson to the witnesses. I repeat, tonight, prices are doubled. Don't waste my time or you'll face the wrath of the Iron Sisterhood.

Silence fell and a grey elf with his chest bare, trousers with holes and an iron collar, marking his slave status, dragged the body by his hands.

- You can fuck him in the asshole if you want, laughed the guard in regards to the slave. He must still be warm. It's going to be like he's alive. Besides, it'll satisfy you a little before you go crazy like him.

She paused.

- Then, take him back to his family and tell them that the owl won't let a spider ride on her back. If they show their faces here, let them pay for our services or get killed.

The slave hesitated at the last order and stiffened up. He knew that going to the family of the deceased meant his death sentence, but if he disobeyed, the result would be the same. In the end, he disappeared into a dark alleyway, avoiding the guard's gaze.

Serfantor had watched the whole scene without flinching, without reacting. He was used to this kind of behavior. Katanor tried to hide his stress, but the sweat on his forehead gave him away. He didn't observe the city like his big brother because he was afraid. He tried at all costs not to see the atrocities, but sometimes it was impossible to avoid them. Serfantor put one hand on his shoulder.

- It's going to be fine. You have the money. Tonight is your night of fun and passion.

- I just have to be able to seduce the girl so that she doesn't fake her excitement like she's paid to do, says Katanor.

Finally, their turn came. The guard signaled them to come.

- Come closer.

Katanor handed him a gold coin and a few silver ones.

- That's enough for one hour with one girl for each of you, she said.

She smelled of blood and steel, but when a breeze swirled her braid, a subtle scent of fruit grazed Serfantor's nose. Her predatory eyes met his own. She looked at him with suspicion. Serfantor felt his calm abandon him, but he didn't move. His heart pounded as she touched his hip to check if he had weapons on his belt.

- Only the bardiche then? she asked.

He nodded and she let a small amused smile slip from the corner of his thin lips.

- You leave her at the entrance or else...

- I know, Serfantor replied with collected cool.

- What have I gotten myself into? he thought as his jaw tightened.

- Good boy, said his interlocutor. Here's a smart boy who doesn't want to die tonight.

She did the same procedure for Katanor and let them pass.

As the two brothers stood at the doorway, they heard the scimitar of the guard whistle and the song of death was heard again. They followed the guard's instructions and went to the second room where a beautiful dark-skinned grey elf was waiting for them, dressed in a midnight blue silk dress.

- Welcome, she greeted with an enchanting voice. Make yourself at home. Our girls will soon be at your disposal. You can choose the one you like the most.

Serfantor grimaced, unsure if he really wanted to proceed, but it was too late to refuse the lady now. He might as well to take advantage of the situation.

- Excuse my rudeness, my lady, but, have your girls already had their two children?

He certainly didn't want to end up with bastard children in his arms, not in this society, not with his mother as his queen.

- You don't have to worry about that, she smiles. They've had so many men that they had their two children a long time ago.

She seemed impressed and delighted by his good manners and politeness.

- On the other hand, if that's what you want, a fertile woman, we have them, but they're more expensive.

- Thank you for your response, my lady.

She withdrew.

While waiting, Serfantor took the opportunity to observe the room. Everything had been decorated in the taste of the owl's house with a mixture of passion. The colors were cold and dark or warm and vibrant. Several statues of exquisite gray elf women were placed all over the room, feeding the sexual appetite even more. The vault was hollow, high and oval, giving the impression of being in a church full of sin. Here was the most splendid brothel that only the richest could afford.

- I've never seen anything like it, said Katanor. Not even mother's halls are this good. The sexual tension is intense. It makes me nervous.

Serfantor didn't find that amusing. The features of his face dug into her sobriety as they watched the dark corners. Everything was designed to satisfy sexually, be it in a gentle, passionate or violent way. He didn't like this mansion, its atmosphere was deceptive, like everything else in grey elf society.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor and then the laughter of a few young women. The door opened and they entered. They were four, followed by the mistress from a few minutes ago. They stood in front of the boys. Two looked embarrassed, but Serfantor knew it was only a game. The third smiled nonchalantly; she seemed to be having fun at her job. The last one watched the two customers with curiosity, unsure of them. The second was the only one with dark skin and a face with fierce features. Her shyness did not fool Serfantor, but attracted the attention of her little brother who smiled at her. The first and the third had medium skin tone and were as thin as blades of grass.

- They are still alive after giving birth to two children, Serfantor thought. Impressive. They have no hips, fragile little things.

He turned his attention to the fourth. This one was the shortest and had skin so pale, a pearl grey, that it looked sickly. Serfantor knew better. The young whore had a gaze that was full of life and questions.

- She's smart, he thought to himself.

- Do you like this one? asked the mistress who noticed that her client was taking a long time to detach his gaze from the whore.

Serfantor's only reply was a blush on his cheekbones.

The mistress gave an encouraging glance to the short whore who remained in shock at the unexpected turns of events. She smiled and gave her a little push on her back. The whore continued on her way until she stood straight in front of him.

Serfantor avoided her gaze, too shy to face her. He noticed that his brother was under the spell of the other whore's generous breasts. He turned to the right and saw a skull the size of a melon on the table next to him. The muzzle was that of a lizard but the rest was that of a canine. Confused, he frowned.

- It's an alphyne, explained the whore.

He turned towards her, surprised by the delicate voice. He had almost forgotten her presence. He must have had the look of a lost puppy because, she laughed a little and sat on his lap.

- You don't know what an alphyne is?

- No, he admitted. What is it? What is it?

She ran her fingers through a lock of his alabaster hair.

- It's a creature with the characteristics of wolves, lions and dragons. They're said to be tameable, but it's a rare accomplishment. The dragon in them makes them aggressive and chaotic.

Serfantor laughed, knowing that the dragons are not as terrible as she thinks they are.

- I've heard that dragons team up with elves and humans when they like one of them.

The whore widened her eyes with interest.

- How do you gain their friendship?

- Maybe they're not so different from us deep down.

Someone elbowed him and he turned around to be greeted by a very smiling Katanor.

- What? he grunted, annoyed at the interruption.

- I knew that even you, the honorable Serfantor, had desires like any other male.

He got up and his dark-skinned whore dragged him into a room. Serfantor sighed.

- Is everything all right? asked the whore with the sparkling eyes.

- It's nothing, he answered. Don't worry.

- I'm glad to hear that.

She took his hand and guided him to a large luxurious room illuminated by a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. She pushed the crimson sheets off the canopy bed and sat on the corner.

- Come along. Sit with me.

Serfantor closed the door behind him and hesitated. The whore tilted her head sideways, as if in confusion.

- Is this your first time in a brothel?

He smiled as he nodded.

- You can take off your boots. Make yourself at home. We're here to relax. There's no danger. Our guards protect us.

Serfantor took the young gray elf's advice and approached. The floor was covered with red and white lined silk carpets. The softness relaxed him a little, but he still hated the situation. He chewed his upper lip. Finally, he sat down next to the whore and avoided her gaze.

She realized this and, with a gesture as delicate as the affection of a virgin, she turned his face towards hers.

He could no longer escape. He felt her small fingers touching his jaw and could not hold back a shy smile.

- I'm so sorry. I'm not very experienced with women.

He followed her hand, guided down to her cleavage. Her breasts were small, but he enjoyed it. She had fair skin and a frail body. He assumed that she must not be very popular. Yet she was more beautiful than many women he had seen. It was her soul that attracted him, he could see it through the facade she had to build to perform in her job.

- You're beautiful.

The whore smiled, but for a moment that did not escape Serfantor, she looked sad.

- That's sweet, but there's no need for flattery. You get what you paid for.

- Why did you choose this path? he asked.

- I have no other future, she answered. Those with pale skin are weak and useless. I have not been blessed in this.

- You have more potential than that. It is only a skin color.

- But it is what determines many things.

- Here it does. Elsewhere, not really. I've been to the human realms.

She seemed surprised. She knew that leaving Gosform was only for important gray elves, often on dangerous missions.

- But you don't have dark skin. Your skin is medium gray. You must be important enough to... Are you a spy?

He raised both hands, as if he was giving up.

- No, no. I can't tell you more than that, though.

She moved her face forward and stopped when her nose touched his. Her locks mingled with her hair, slate with silver.

- You are different.

He wanted to step back, but he was paralyzed by a heat wave that went through him. He lost himself in the blue-grey expanse of her eyes. They looked like rare pearls from a distant ocean.

- Who are you?

- Merryn, she answered.

Merryn. The name stuck in his mind.

- Thank you, my lady.

It was an honor to receive the name of a grey elf, for it was not wise to reveal such information in their world.

- I guess you're not going to betray me, said Merryn with a smirk on his face. Such politeness in a grey elf is rare, especially when it doesn't come with dry sarcasm.

Serfantor put his hand on hers.

- Aren't you going to ask what my name is?

- For your safety, no.

- What are you trying to say?

- Men talk a lot when they're in the clutches of their hormones. They become as vulnerable as a young child.

Serfantor realized what she meant. This whorehouse wasn't just that. The whores were probably trained in the art of espionage. He knew all too well that well-placed information could be more effective than an army. He could read in Merryn's eyes that he was right.

- Why warn me?

Merryn brushed his long silver hair and smiled.

- Because you are not corrupt like all the gray elves in this city and perhaps the entire kingdom. I wish I had a harder heart, but I was born with a tender one, like yours. I wish I could see the outside of this sunless world. Artificial light is all that exists here. The same goes for its people.

- You can. It's possible.

He paused while she looked at him worriedly.

- Anyway, I'm not the type to use people for sex. I only came because of my brother and because it was the festival of the Passion. Don't disgrace yourself for me.

She moved away from him.

- You're strange but, I appreciate your respect. I don't want to sound selfish but, my mistress won't take it well if I give you a refund because you didn't take advantage of the service.

- I intended to pay you anyway. I know how grey elves are and I certainly don't want to incur the wrath of one of them, especially not one with power.

The two spent time chatting about life outside of Gosform. The more information Serfantor gave Merryn, the more the young elf's eyes lit up. Her curiosity reminded him of the young Azena Kindirah, but he didn't dare mention her. He went through the trouble to draw a draft of a map of the human regions he knew on a sheet of parchment.

- You can keep it.

When two guards came to get them, Merryn hugged him and escorted him to the entrance.

He handed her a piece of parchment.

- Don't worry. Trust me.

Without wasting any more time, he grabbed his gigantic bardiche and put his hooded cloak back on. When he gave her one last look, he smiled. A smile hidden in the shadow of his hood.

- Let's go home, Katanor said.

His smile was so big that he seemed to have forgotten the horrors of Norkux. They crossed the threshold of the mansion, the mistress behind them. She waved goodbye to them.

- Be careful.

As he left, Serfantor noticed a new corpse near the guards at the gate. He glanced behind him. The guard who had killed the man as they waited for their turn crossed his eyes and her fingers slipped to the pommel of her scimitar.

- Let's go, quickly.

He pressed the march, forcing Katanor to hurry.

✦×✦

The next day, the first thing Serfantor saw was the queen's angry face. She was accompanied by two Black Helmet women who lit her room with torches.

- My Queen, he said half asleep.

- That's it, she said. Wake up, lazy! You have done nothing productive of your summer when you possess great power that could be useful to us. I have a task for you, and it's urgent. You leave at once. Call your dragoness.

Serfantor squinted his eyes and pushed the torch away from a guard too close to him. He wanted to tell his mother that a dragon was not just a pet, but a companion, but he knew he should hold his tongue.

- As long as it doesn't take too long. I have to go back to the academy at the end of the season. What's going on?

- Wolves are treacherous and voracious. Treachery is unforgivable. I was right not to trust them, the impulsive little rats.

She gritted her teeth, pondered for a moment and continued.

- If your education must wait, it will wait. Luckily, if you perform well, you'll return to go back to the academy in time. My spies tell me that if you leave now, at the back of a dragon, you should reach Nothar in the middle of the festivities following the announcement of the wedding of Prince Zamir and Lady Azena. They will all be drunk, it will be easy. Get the quill. Don't fail a second time.