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A Sorcerer's Seduction
Way of The Wolf Book III
Prologue
"Tell me about the gods, Mother."
"Ye know the gods, child."
The tiny hand grasped hers. "Tell me again."
Evalayna laughed, catching the tumble of hair that cascaded over her shoulder as she bent to
draw in the dirt. "All right. Once more then ye go to sleep."
Bright green eyes reflected the firelight, so young and innocent. Evalayna kissed her black-haired
child on the forehead. "Say it with me, Mia~Ell."
The small voice chanted softly beside her as she drew.
Eight diamonds form the star.
One for the Wind, the breath of life.
Two for Water, that lends us sustenance.
Three for The Wolf, Endurance and Faithfulness.
Four for The Bear, Courage and Strength.
Five for the Cat, Swift and Cunning.
Six for the Falcon, Freedom and Vision.
They come together in the centre,
Earth, Our Mother.
"The poetry is better in Elvin," the mother mused. The child was silent for a moment… a rare
thing in a child. Evalayna waited patiently. At last the child spoke.
"We've only named seven, Mother. Sea, Wind, Rain, Wolf, Bear, Cat and Falcon. That's only six
points, with Earth in the centre to make seven. But there are eight diamonds. That means there's
room for nine gods. What about the other two points on our star?"
The mother's eyes flicked over the child's face. "The other two–the shadow-points–are always
with us, though we name them not. They are Chaos and Destruction...we acknowledge them, but
 
we do no' choose to serve them. Doest thou understand the difference?"
The child gnawed pensively on the end of the stick. "Those two, the shadow-points, those are why
we're here, aren't they? Chaos and Destruction are stronger than our gods, and we're running
away."
"Chaos and Destruction can never win, Mia~Ell. We are no' running away. We will wait here in
the mountains for thy father, who battles even now against the forces of darkness. The
shadow-gods will no' win."
"What if Father doesn't come for us?"
"Father will come. He is a great Warrior, as ye shall one day be, Tranorva. Go to sleep now.
Think no more on the gods."
But as she stared into the shadows, Evalayna wondered…They were only two, those
shadow-gods, but they were powerful.
They were the authors of doubt.
* * * * *
Sometime in the night he found her, the Fey creature that had been bound to her at her birth. The
light touch of a hand on her shoulder roused her. She couldn't ask, couldn't say the words, but he
shook his head once, the tumble of blonde hair a halo around his head in the darkness.
"We must go," was all Shammall said.
"Go where? I have nowhere to go. I no longer have a home."
"I will take you back to your mother. The Lord Lochinvar is old. There is no successor to his
House. He will accept Tranorva as his own. Tranorva is young. She will learn to call him father."
Evalayna had never been one to cry. She didn't cry now. "I will accept my mother's generosity,"
she responded wryly, "for the sake of my daughter. Tranorva shall call this man Father. She shall
lead his army into battle. She shall be the heir that he requires. But I shall never take to his bed."
Shammall merely inclined his head.
Evalayna packed up her few belongings and bundled them over her shoulder. As Shammall bent
to scoop up the sleeping child, she laid her hand on his arm. "How old are ye, Shammall?"
His lavender eyes glowed in the moonlight. "I have seen the moons cycle more than two thousand
times, M'Lady."
More than a century and a half. And to the best of her knowledge in all that he had never taken a
wife. Never had a family. Never known a place to call home.
"Are your kind immortal, Shammall?"
If he thought it odd that she should ask such questions here and now, he did not ask. "No,
 
M'Lady. We are long lived, but nothing lives forever except the Earth Mother herself."
Evalayna sighed. "Ye have always been good to me, Shammall. Ye alone have stood by me
unwaveringly. If it were within my power, I would give ye thy freedom now. As it is not, I can only
promise ye when I have the power to do so, I shall return what is rightfully thine."
"It is the way of my kind to serve, M'Lady, and it was I who chose you and your house."
"Ye will no' leave me, then? Wish ye no' for freedom?"
Shammall raised one eyebrow quizzically. "What would I do with my freedom, Lady? You are my
life."
Evalayna closed her eyes, resting her forehead for a moment against the small bundle Shammall
carried. "And when I am gone? What then?"
"I shall serve Tranorva as I have you, M'Lady." His arms tightened protectively around the child.
"She is my destiny."
Chapter One
Tranorva took a long swallow from her mug of ale. She surveyed the debauchery around her with
growing disgust. The camp had fallen into a sea of chaos and disorder… but what did it matter? There
was nothing left to kill. No castles to lay siege to, no enemies to conquer. No more battles to be fought.
She would move the men out in the morning, early, too early for most to offer her authority any
resistance. The Humans would return to their world. She and her Northlanders would make one last
sweep of the plains, routing out the few Orcs who had escaped, and then…
And then nothing. The war was over. For her, there would be no more wars. No more wars, no more
battles, no more marching with the men, no more feeling the heft of her broad-bladed axe as it sang
through the heart of her enemies. She was destined for another field; she had been since the day she was
born. Bile rose in her throat till she thought she might gag. Every woman made sacrifices, but this, this
was too much. To be condemned to live amidst the world of politics, for naught else but a twist of fate at
her birth…
Mother hadn't even had the nerve to tell Tranorva to her face. Instead Mother had sent Shammall, the
pet Mage she favored so much, to Tranorva before they left home, warning her to expect changes. Once
the Orc Wars were over, Tranorva's time would begin.
Shammall. How Tranorva despised that damnable Elf. Sometimes she thought Mother kept him around
just for his lithe, athletic good looks. Shammall was certainly easy on the eyes, if you liked that type.
Beautiful, in a very male sort of way. He had incredible long golden blonde hair that never seemed to get
tangled or out of place. Tranorva wanted to tie it in knots while he slept just to be spiteful. Shammall was
everything Tranorva was not–graceful and sophisticated and polished and a master of politics.
Politics. Well, Tranorva had a few useful talents of her own. She had been born to lead an army to
battle. It was what she was good at. What she lived for. Why should that change now? Lady Evalayna
was still in the height of her power. There was no reason for her to step down. There was no reason for
Mother to saddle Tranorva with such a weight of responsibility–especially one she was totally unsuited
for.
 
Tranorva took another long pull from her mug. Anger always brought heat to her blood. She needed a
man. She needed to work off her frustrations in a bout of good, healthy sex. But not just any man would
be up to the task. She didn't want a weakling who would cower before her. Most men were too afraid of
her to do more than murmur their apologies. She wanted a man who would meet her as her equal, and
more. She wanted… an image came to mind. She wanted Seanen Lindall. The man who'd emerged from
the shadows today to toss the bloody head of the Orc King into the midst of her men, turning the tide of
battle for them.
Funny. She'd never really seen him before. He shouldn't have escaped her notice. He was taller than
most and built like a battering ram. He swung those swords of his like they were extensions of his hands.
Perhaps–perhaps she had underestimated him.
Seanen had walked among her troops tonight, the conquering hero. Spattered in blood and wearing
armor none had seen for decades, he looked perfect–all hard angles and broad expanses of muscle and
power. It was the power Tranorva admired the most. She would send for him. She would send an
orderly with an invitation to come to her tent. By the gods, if this one proved to be passionless she would
turn her attention to women. She wasn't sure she could take another disappointment.
With that thought, Tranorva tossed her empty mug into her satchel and made her way carefully to her
pavilion. Her orderly was there, ready to help her strip out of her soiled leather undertunic. She used the
washbasin her orderly had provided to clean the worst of the battle grime from her face and arms. The
orderly combed out her hair and would have plaited the mass into a thick, heavy braid for the night, but
Tranorva ushered him off with a wave of her wrist. "Leave it down for now. I have an errand for ye."
"As you wish, M'Lady."
"Go and find Seanen, of the House of Lindall. Tell him I request his personal report."
The orderly paled, glancing tentatively toward the flap of the tent, but not moving.
"What ails thee? Go!"
"It's just that–M'Lady, I know Lord Lindall is not–available."
Tranorva mused over the words, playing with them like a cat with a rodent. " Lord Seanen is
unavailable? He's a Lord, now, is he? My, my. And why is he unavailable?"
The orderly trembled visibly, looking anywhere but into her eyes. "Lord Lind–Seanen has retired for the
night, M'Lady, to the pavilion of Ambassador Yarwyn, with orders that they are not to be disturbed."
Tranorva felt her mouth knotting into a frown. So. That was the way of things. This had all been
arranged from the beginning. Tranorva didn't need to ask how, or by whom. Mother was clever,
Tranorva owed her that. With Ambassador Yarwyn's help she'd used the Orc Wars to restore Lord
Lindall's place in society. It all came down to politics. The fact that a thousand Orcs and a few hundred
of Tranorva's own men had given their lives to accomplish Mother's political goals was, in the end, of no
real consequence. The Orcs needed to die anyway, and soldiers knew well their fate.
Tranorva turned her attention back to the orderly. He might have made a good stand-in for the night had
she not known he was terrified of her. He was young, and strong, and a fine hand with a sword.
Attractive enough when he didn't know she was watching him. Fear, however, was hardly an inspiring
 
emotion to elicit in a lover.
Tranorva waved her hand in dismissal. "Off with you. I suggest you retire early. We move out at first
light."
* * * * *
Élandine hadn't been invited to the reception for the returning heroes–that came as no surprise. He hadn't
expected any acknowledgment of his role in the Orc king's defeat. There were no accolades here for a
job well done, not in his line of work. When the mission was over, his latest persona would simply fade
away… All part of the job.
Something was different this time, though. Too many of those involved in this last little war considered
him a villain, and might have still, even had they known all the inner workings of House Lochinvar. And
so he was still held prisoner, bound and locked in a tiny stone room high in the great Lord Mâkakao's
west tower. Soon, he promised himself, Lady Evalayna would have need of his special services again.
She would find him, the prisoner would "escape," and he would be on his way.
Somewhere else, someone else, whoever, whatever, she needed him to be.
Élandine stared out the tiny slit of a window. The air was still fresh with the smell of spring. The bright
colors of freedom taunted him. He would have pulled back, turned away from this reminder of his failure,
but a flash of movement caught his eye. The Elvin Ranger, Yarwyn, appeared, breaking the trance of the
scene, slipping quickly through the maze of the gardens. She was almost out of range. Still, he could feel
her sorrow, and he envied her even that emotion. For a moment, just a moment, he'd become her, long
enough to feel… Long enough to know what he'd missed in his life.
He knew he'd never be the same man again.
Yarwyn disappeared through the servants' gate. Élandine felt the void in his mind where she'd been like a
hollow ache of longing. He steeled himself against such thoughts. There was no place in his life for that
kind of weakness. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if this was all there was ever to be. Shouldn't there
be something more, even for one such as him?
Yarwyn's mate Seanen interrupted Élandine's thoughts. The tall Northlander all but ran through the
orchard, following Yarwyn's trail. Soon they were back together, their energies combined until Élandine
could not tell one from another. The strength of their lusts shook him with a force that nearly wrenched
his soul from him. He knew what they were feeling now, understood it ever since he'd become Yarwyn's
twin for those few moments. He had never thought himself capable of feeling such overwhelming
emotions.
He'd been a fool to think he could steal Yarwyn's form, even temporarily, in order to capture what he
needed. He hadn't wanted to steal her identity, not permanently. He'd only wanted to know, to possess
her powers long enough to understand. For those few stolen moments he'd seen what she saw, felt what
she felt, known what it was to want, to need, to love, until the love itself consumed you, and you became
so much more than what you were.
The couple slipped away from him, leaving him alone again. He was only a thief, an interloper, a voyeur
at a window. Élandine's nostrils flared as he sank to the cold stone floor. Emotions made a man weak.
He would think on this no more.
 

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