©1994-2001 Ian A. Ralph & Kelly C. Naylor Chapter III: Reunion Timor breathed in the sea air. He looked around the city of Taselon from the window of his third floor apartment. The window faced South, towards the Corinthian Sea, which brought trade to the great city. Trade routes extended out over the land to the North and East. To the West, where the sun was rapidly descending, were the Barrier Mountains. Timor quickly averted his gaze from them, their sight reminding him of the recent past that he so desperately wanted to forget. And he knew just how he wanted to distract himself. He turned around, and looked over his small apartment. It wasn't what he was accustom to while being in the city, but as his last venture lacked the profit he was expecting, he had to settle for what he could get. He pawed through his new clothes to replace the ones he had lost on his last venture. Again, they were not what he was used to, but they would do until he could scare up some extra cash. He dressed in the best he had, and checked the looking glass to see that he at least appeared respectable. The half-elf smiled at his reflection, noting the fair face, long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, and sparkling, playful blue eyes. He nodded. Despite whatever happened, he still had what he needed. Fiji looked up at him from his perch by the window, yawned, revealing a mouth of small sharp fangs, and stretched. His wings unfurled as he dug his claws into the window sill, and he gave them a sharp flap to straighten them out. He sat down and furled his wings, waiting to see what his friend was going to do. Timor descended the exterior stairs that led to the alley, which in turn led to the street. He had an appointment with a cute waitress that he met just this morning, and it would be just the thing to lift his spirits. His steps were bouncy as he walked towards the dockside inn where he arranged to meet her. Fiji launched himself from the window, and floated on the breeze above the alleys. The section of the docks he headed to were on the opposite side of the Muddy river, that separated the city on it's slow way to the Corinthian sea. It was a grubby little section of the city, actually a village unto itself, but that didn't bother Timor. The prettiest flowers bloom in the mud, and he was meeting a very pretty one indeed. The section of town looked familiar to him. That puzzled him for a minute, then it came back to him. Three years ago, he had an opportunity to tutor a young apprentice in the art of illusion. Not that he was a fantastic mage or anything, but illusionary magics were a specialty of his. An old friend and mentor, Gunstov, asked him to tutor a promising apprentice. What was her name? Ah. Jehane. She was pretty. When she first appeared on his doorstep one evening, she was nothing like he expected. Instead of the typical nose-wiping, unsure child, Jehane was a mature young woman. As soon as his eyes met hers, he knew he was in trouble. However, this was a teaching job, it paid well, and he felt that he could keep his hormones under control. Yeah, right. The first week, the evening lessons went smoothly. Jehane was a bright and attentive student. However, every time he looked at her, her warm blue eyes met his, and Timor felt them pierce right through to his heart. Timor struggled to resist the feelings that were building inside him. Then, one evening, after the lesson, they had gotten to talking casually, and Timor found himself sharing stories about Gunstov. Finally she had asked him why he ended his studies. He sighed, and said that was a long story, better told over a tall glass of ale. Jehane smiled, and grasping his hand with her small warm one, dragged him out of the apartment to a small inn just down the street. There was no way he could have resisted her gentle insistence. Over the ale, he told his story. He discovered that while his talent was strong, he didn't have the patience needed to become a master mage like Gunstov. Gunstov was forced to agree, stating that everyone had to find their own path in life, and with a measure of sadness, Timor left his training after achieving his journeyman status. While Timor told his tale, Jehane's eyes never left his face, and the sadness he spoke of at leaving was mirrored in her face. He knew that she was still an apprentice, but her body and grace belied her age. She was articulate and savvy and exuded more sex appeal than any girl he met before. Before he quite realized what had happened, she was sitting on the same side of the table as he was, and their lips met in a hot, deep kiss. Timor caught a glimpse of her aura, and again, there was nothing there to indicate a child. This was a woman he had in his arms, and she wanted him as much as he wanted her. In bed, he discovered that she was inexperienced, but willing, almost desperate in her need. He showed her another mage trick that allowed them to share their emotions and thoughts while together, and then, as gentle and caring as he could, he transformed her from a girl to a woman. The following week was one of the most intense periods of his life. They couldn't get enough of each other. Jehane was a fast learner, and was teaching him new things after a few days. Timor never wanted it to end. Jehane had started talking about a permanent relationship, and Timor actually found himself considering it. Then, one morning, Timor woke up to find Master Gunstov on his doorstep. Surprised, he invited his old master in. During their conversation, Gunstov spoke greatly of Jehane's abilities, and her potential as a master mage. Timor agreed. Her potential was enormous. Then Gunstov mentioned that she was only fifteen, and was at the age where she could easily lose sight of her goals. And while others might not have had the patience to become a master, she did. Timor instantly realized what was happening. First, despite her maturity, she was still a child, and that he, as a tutor, had violated his obligation to remain objective about her and her skills. He asked Gunstov to pass on his regrets that he would no longer be able to remain her tutor. Later that day, Timor hired on as a guide for a mercenary that wanted to explore the Dark Lands beyond the western mountains. He never saw her again. Timor sighed, and woke up from his daze. He had arrived at the Golden Schooner Inn, a small run-down tavern on the docks, in the village across the river from the city. He shook himself in an attempt to throw off his melancholy mood. After all, That was in the past, and this was the present. And Melanie was waiting. As he entered the inn, he glanced up to see Fiji taking a roost on the roof of the tavern still in a corner of sunlight. He faced the door, entered, and there she was. Five and a half feet of voluptuous beauty. Melanie was waiting by the bar, her long red hair and flashing green eyes sparkled at his arrival. Timor approached her and lifted her hand to his lips. "Ah, Melanie. Your beauty is like the rising sun over the crystal mountains. I can barely look at you for the light you shine." "Oh, Timor. You say that to all the girls. They told me," giggled Melanie. "Does that make it any less true, my dear?" smiled Timor. "Come, let us sit down and you can introduce me to the pleasures this quaint inn offers." Timor held out his arm, and Melanie slipped her arm through his. She led him over to a private table in a far corner. "I have Danny making something special for us tonight." Melanie slid on to the bench on one side of the table, while Timor sat on the other. There was a bottle of wine on the table, already opened, and two glasses. "You know, this wine should really be chilled," said Timor. Melanie shrugged. "I'm sorry. Ice is expensive this time of year." "Not to worry." Timor smiled and made a gesture over the bottle. Almost instantly, beads of condensation appeared on the bottle. He lifted the bottle and poured the light red fluid into the glasses. Melanie picked up her glass and took a sip. "Ooh, that's wonderful. It's nice and cold. What else can you do?" "Oh, lots of things." Timor was interrupted as food arrived. "Ah, this looks wonderful." They fell to eating and exchanging pleasant conversation. Timor got distracted once when a dark figure appeared in the doorway. The stranger was dressed in a long cloak, and the hood was pulled up and the shadow covered his face. The stranger glanced around, then found a table by himself. Timor turned his attention back to Melanie. After dinner, Timor demonstrated some of his illusionist spells. He created several balls of light and juggled them for Melanie's delight. She squealed in delight as he made the lights bounce on the table and dance around her head. He didn't even hear anyone approaching until someone slid onto the bench next to him. "Hello, Timor. It's so good to see you again, my friend," said Jehane. All the colored balls exploded, covering Melanie with splotches of color. Timor jumped in surprise at the sound of her voice. "Ah, Jehane, hello." "Oh, ick." Melanie tried wiping off the color spots with her napkin to no avail. "So, who's this, Timor?" "Ah. Melanie. This is Jehane. A, uh, fellow mage." Timor squirmed in his seat a little. "So, Jehane, what brings you here?" Timor's discomfort surprised Jehane. His normally vibrant aura had suddenly thinned to a pale blue, tinged with an orange that could only be embarrassment. Since she hadn't seen him in nearly three years, she could not imagine why he might be embarrassed to see her. Oh, he had disappeared one day, never to be seen again. Despite Master Gunstov's explanation, she had been thoroughly disappointed for weeks. But soon she came to realize that once again Master Gunstov had only her best interests at heart -- getting involved a permanent romantic relationship before she achieved Master rank herself would only make achieving that rank infinitely more difficult. So she held no grudge against Timor for his actions. Indeed, she had only fond thoughts for the Elf, as he had taught her much more than the art of illusions. She smiled to herself. "It is not something I wish to discuss where unwelcome ears may hear," said Jehane, glancing towards the door of the tavern. "Only that I need your help to save my Master's life." Her blue eyes held his, and his embarrassment faded ever so slightly as his concern for Gunstov became evident. From the corner of her eye, Jehane caught the near-frantic movements of Timor's friend. The Elf seemed oblivious to Melanie's distress. Glancing at the young woman, Jehane noted the rising panic as the redhead tried unsuccessfully to wipe Timor's magical color from her skin and clothing. Before her panic could fully materialize, Jehane waved her hand in the air. The color splotches detached themselves from Melanie and began spinning lazily in the air above the table. Melanie sighed audibly and warily eyed the colorful spinning disks. Timor glanced at Melanie, and saw that Jehane had already relieved her of the color spell. He dismissed the spell, causing the swirling colored spots to vanish. Melanie jerked back at their sudden disappearance, and Timor gave her a sad little smile. "Melanie? Can you pardon me for just a few minutes? " "Uh, sure." Melanie glanced around the table to see if the floating spots had really disappeared, or were just hiding. She even craned her neck around to look at her back, however, the spots had vanished. "Don't take too. . ." Her voice faded off as she looked back at Timor, who had already left the table without waiting for her response. "Himmph. Men. They're all the same." Timor couldn't believe his eyes. Jehane was beautiful before, at 15. Now, she was a knockout. He resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her, to hold her so tight that she'd never get away again. The thoughts of his violation before held him in check, not wanting to further damage their relationship. Timor followed her out of the inn, and over to the alley next to the tavern. As Jehane paused and turned to look at him again, Timor cast his eyes downward, afraid to meet her gaze again. "Jehane, I'm sorry. . ." In a glance, Jehane took in Timor's bearing and his refusal to look her in the eye. His demeanor, combined with the colorings of his aura, told her all she needed to know. Apparently, he was still torturing himself about their relationship. She sighed and shook her head. Defying her impulse to fling herself into those strong arms, she reached out one delicate hand and lifted his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes. The electricity was still there between them, and she knew she still loved him. "Oh, Timor, you have nothing to be sorry for!" she said, fighting to keep the tears from her eyes. "I would like nothing better than to take the time to convince you of that. But my Master lies only moments from death, with nothing but a Spell of Suspension keeping him alive." She let her hand drop as the tears she had been holding back for hours finally began falling. She told him about Reger and the missing stone, and Gunstov's declining health. Her words pulled his mind from his ruminations about her and she could see his concern for Gunstov surfacing. Jehane knew Timor admired the old Master. She could set aside her feelings for the Elf if it meant a better chance to save the life of the only man she would call Father. As Timor listened to her plight, he felt anger in him rise stronger than his normal easy-going self usually allowed. His expression hardened, causing his normally soft features to sharpen, giving off the impression that he was made of sharp edges. He smiled at Jehane, but it wasn't his usual friendly smile. It was thin and tight, like that of a predator. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "We'll find them, and get the stone back for Gunstov." He paused and thought for a moment, staring off into space. "Gretmak, huh? We'll need a strong sword to come with us, and I know of only one I would trust. Go and get what you need. We'll meet tomorrow night at the Forest Inn. Know where it is?"