The magnificent opulence and the lavishness of Antilorwe's very own private chambers paled in comparison to the two beings warmly nestled in front of her. Raising her hazel eyes from the other side of the table, a thin smile danced on her lips. Cyrene had opted to forego the empty chair, finding the inviting lap of Urganza more comfortable. Tears still marred her beautiful face. But the warm arms of Urganza encircling her waist drawing her closer, told Antilorwe that Cyrene was well consoled.

Cyrene drew her supple legs inwards, her tender feet resting on the toned thighs of Urganza. Basking in the warmth of the High Lady, she gently tilted her head, resting it on the broad shoulders of the orc, while her dazzling eyes still held fixated on her elven lover.

"Cyrene was it too intense for you?" Antilorwe asked with obvious concern clouding her judgement.

The girl mage parted her ruby lips, just wide enough to throw small breadcrumbs, as if about to say something, but pursed it at the last moment. She gave a weak nod of acknowledgement, instead.

Reaching up to a hidden space in her cabinet, Antilorwe retrieved a thick leather-bound journal and a stack of well-cared letters. Her voice took a well-controlled and conspiratorial tone when she finally spoke. "There has been some recent revelation in Silvaniel's correspondence and I am afraid, we need to revise our strategy. Time is not our ally."

With both pairs of eyes, brilliant amber and dazzling green staring at her lips, expectantly waiting for the next words to fall from them, Antilorwe knew that she held their undivided attention.

"Rylonvirah will not abandon High-Crag Hold. The old dark elf has gone senile at last. No reason to defend that pass or the crumbling walls called a hold."

Lifting her head from the comfort of Urganza's shoulders, Cyrene offered, "Perhaps, she seeks to regain. The promise of land and title would be a stepping stone. So, she seeks to either gain all or lose her life in the process."

"No." Urganza cut in. "She is engaged to the forge-marm. A wonderful future awaits her. No reason to gamble her life now."

"Then we are in dark to her real motivations," said Antilorwe tartly, "but that does not change our predicament. High-Crag Hold will fall and the remnants of the One-Horned Warlord's forces will scatter, some moving up High-Archoness Stormaire's land, but the rest will flee into Orc territory."

Stifling a teardrop from falling -- to prevent alarming the already emotionally heightened Cyrene -- Antilorwe lowered her head, blinking the clear welled fluid from her eyes and continued. "Orc territory will be besieged from either side. Your territory, Urganza. The orcs, perhaps might survive, but reduced to sharing caves with goblins, and You...." Her voice trembled at the foolish orc she fell in love with, "You, Urganza, as their Overlord will neither retreat nor yield. You will die defending them"

"That I will." Despite the fact of her own lingering death, Urganza's words betrayed fear and carried sheer proudness in gracious measure.

Reaching both her lovers, Antilorwe lowered, balancing precariously on the flat of her feet, she took their hands reassuringly. "But I devised a new strategy. Urganza, will you trust me?"

Urganza simply acquiesced.

"Then you should leave us now, immediately."

Disapproval suddenly found refugee in Cyrene's face while Urganza was veiled in a veneer of confusion.

"The orcs will not survive battling on two fronts. The looming undead threat cannot wait anymore. Your warriors need your guidance to root out the necromancers and then prepare your people to meet the remnants of the Warlord's horde."

Urganza's brows furrowed, marking her expression far more intense than usual. "Repeated engagements mean, I cannot lend the Ashen Bulwarks and Dusk Reavers to Rylonvirah as promised. I will fail my words." Only the gentle restraint of Cyrene's hands prevented Urganza from lashing out at Antilorwe for her impudence.

Urganza, her blood boiling with unadulterated rage, rasped. "My Ashen Bulwarks are unparalleled in offense and defense, unmatched in ferocity; and the Dusk Reavers are the best shock troops of the Orcs. A lone Dusk Reaver on foot could outrun any well-trained cavalry and Rylonvirah is expecting reinforcements from me. She will die otherwise."

"She will die even with you throwing your soldiers to a suicidal cause." Screamed Antilorwe. Why do orcs have to be so stubborn? Or why did she fall for the adamant of all Orcs? Calming herself, her fingers gently pressed around the Orc's palms, and she spoke, "I am suggesting, abandon Rylonvirah to save your own people. Or doom both." Her fingers pressed slightly more, letting hope-like liquid warmth flow between them.

Every fine hair of Urganza's bristled at the gesture of Antilorwe.

"If it eases your conscience," Antilorwe carefully studied Urganza's face, "there is a way, a sliver of hope accompanied by a huge gamble, that High-Crag Hold will not fall. That would be the optimal result to ensure the orcs; you, my love; will survive, but the chance of success is slim at best, even with adequate tide provided. Hence I did not want to provide you with fading hope."

No matter how Antilorwe thought about her methods, how she presented her arguments to the other parties and convinced of the validity and the eventual gain, the scales just wouldn't balance. A fact that rattled her deep, to her very bones. Yet she donned her mask of a diplomat and shrouded herself in a veil of confidence, letting her words persuade the Orc Overlord.

"Arch-Duke Lothmar and Grand Paladin Champion Lord Ellandor are not the only two powerful military leaders. We seek allies -- for Rylonvirah."

"Prince Cassadan, might assist. I heard that he is an honour-bound man." provided Cyrene, her own contribution, excitedly.

Antilorwe found the jubilant and naive nature of Cyrene, adorable beyond any measure. Her simplified views on complex political machinations, and her child-like innocence in believing that a simple mage could even claim an audience with the prince, were captivating in their own fragrance of charm. Suppressing her smug smile, Antilorwe responded, "Prince Cassadan did very little to help Lady Wysteria when she was all but held a captive in her own manor. I doubt, the good prince would involve in plans running counter to the grand vision of Arch-Duke Lothmar"

But Cyrene was not terribly wrong in her directions. There were other powerful humans. "Instead of Prince Cassadan, we could approach Margravine Sirenia. She commands an equally ferocious and well-trained Dragoons. The Lady has been known to be inclined to the plight of other women. She would most likely sympathize with Rylonvirah."

"No." Cyrene's voice held undisguised disgust. Panic and sheer terror amalgamated on her lovely features as she shook her head. Thoughts unbidden and despair-inducing raced through her. "She...." Cyrene paused and struggled. "Margravine Sirenia would indeed lend her support to fellow women, only when they fit her narrative of a woman and Commander Rylonvirah, with her choice of lovers, will not receive any compassion -- from mother." She left the last part unsaid.

"What about the dwarves?" pondered Urganza loudly, forcing the conversation back onto topics that mattered. "Would the architects or clan patriarchs lend assistance?"

"Had the dwarves held any mutually beneficial interest in the conflict, Zelaphiel or Lothmar would have swayed them to join. It stands to reason, that the dwarves would see themselves as unaffected. Besides negotiations with the dwarves are always long-drawn and slow," replied Antilorwe.

"And the gnomes?" asked Urganza with wistful thinking.

"Too unpredictable and uncoordinated. Cannot be relied upon to defend," replied Cyrene.

"And probably will not be able to muster a standing army at a short notice," added Antilorwe.

"Well," concluded Urganza, "This leaves us with either Raelion or ....." She left her words trailing. The implication was evident.

"The forest elves follow their own notion of honour and justice. It will be impossible to imagine, either Raelion or the Viridian Dawn Rangers under his command to submit willingly to another's order." Antilorwe had thoroughly combed through their viable choices.

"So who is the final help we could approach?" Cyrene asked. The book-bound mage lost the trail of political traverses.

"Dellynthelaara, the uncrowned queen of the dark elves," replied Urganza.

"And Rylonvirah's only daughter, and also the one who exiled her," completed Antilorwe.

Cyrene, not one to give up easily, failed to comprehend what could have caused a rift between Rylonvirah and her daughter. Compared to her own mother, Cyrene felt Rylonvirah warm, welcoming and more importantly, sympathetic to the plight of others -- others who are different from her own. She, eventually, concluded that Dellynthelaara could only be a self-centred princess.

"I have made Celerim's acquaintance on an occasion. With his marriage to Lord Savvas the younger, fast approaching, he is almost her brother now. I could arrange for us, an audience with her. Could you not persuade her, Antilorwe?"

"Sugarplum, I do not have any influence over Queen Dellynthelaara. Besides if tales of her exploits held a modicum of truth, she is every bit astute and precocious, even more than Rylonvirah herself. Negotiation with her would require more, and with your help," Antilorwe's eyes gleamed almost predatorily, "I am going to bargain with some really powerful forces."

Lazily walking over to her desk, Antilorwe brushed the imaginary lint off the thick journal, highlighting its precious value to both her lovers.

"I have recently come into possession, of certain incriminating evidence related to my birth. Or rather, a conspiracy which I am convinced could not have been successful were it not for some powerful figures pulling strings behind the scene."

Listening to Antilorwe's words, Cyrene slowly relieved herself from the comfort of Urganza's lap. She moved. Dragged by hands of trepidation.

"Unfortunately, the journal is a record of High-Alchemist Vangere, ciphered only to reveal its contents to none but one."

Separating, placing as much distance between them as the chamber would allow, Cyrene gazed at Antilorwe with pity. "I must insist on the futility of your plan." It was Cyrene's turn to be subjected to the scrutinizing stare of two pairs of eyes.

"How could you hope to gain over a whole race fixated on their own superiority? Obsessed with their own apotheosis. Spending their longevity on tinkering with immanence?" Cyrene's words reverberated from the walls and struck Antilorwe, staggering her.

"Explain." A feral growl came from those lips, that until now, only exuded sweet nectar.

"Perhaps, certain things are better left unexplored," offered Urganza. The orc felt her very soul being torn apart between the two divine beings she had come to adore.

"Cyrene, I have lived my whole life subjected to ridicule because of my unknown heritage. My entire world crumbled due to no fault of my own." Recounting her past experiences, weary and despair Antilorwe found herself sapped. "Answer me Cyrene."

Cyrene trembled. The sudden outburst of Antilorwe sent shivers down her spine. Her attempts to embrace and calm her Antilorwe was met with a shove from the High-elf, leaving her feeling helpless.

"Antilorwe, you are the result of a eugenic experiment to attain divinity. To create a generation of celestial-heritage and Angelic blooded, evolved High-elves."

"And I was abandoned like a broken tool because I was a failed experiment?' With every word uttered, Antilorwe's tone darkened and the room began to fill with heavy shadows. Almost as if she was encased in a small pocket of hell.

"No! No! You can't possibly feel that. That is definitely not true. You are the epitome of perfection," cried Cyrene with tears streaming down her cheeks. Not bothering to wipe them, she placed her palms on Antilorwe's shoulders. Trying to placate the dark furious aura emanating from her.

But Antilorwe was lost. Deep within her chest, despite her attempts to keep summoning courage, only painful memories surged. Her inconsiderate words rushed out with such force, hurting her; they struck deep into Cyrene's heart -- hurting the one she promised to protect. And the soothing touch of Cyrene did very little good. It only made Antilorwe more volatile -- at herself.

"There is nothing about which I need your pity. I am merely what I am meant to be." Antilorwe kept pushing Cyrene with trembling hands, but her will and strength failed when Urganza wrapped her arms around, pulling her into a silent embrace.

"Antilorwe, perhaps, did your skin ever glow? or your eyes manifest opulence?" asked Cyrene.

"Who is asking?" Spat Antilorwe. Every word, laced with venom. "A concerned lover or a curious mage?"

Looking at Antilorwe glaring stone-melting scorn, Cyrene fell silent.

"And while we are at the topic, yes my skin glows, I sprout halos and on occasions, I grow wings and fly from this wretched place," said Antilorwe wielding a scowl like an envenomed dagger poised to strike. There were so many things Antilorwe could say without even opening her mouth. But with each word, more hurtful than the last poured from her, shattering both of them.

Cyrene tried not to sob, while Antilorwe ranted and raved. The only thing keeping her lovely Antilorwe from sinking into despair was the heavy, chesty embrace of Urganza.

Even in her deep pain, Antilorwe knew she needed to calm down -- to save Urganza. And yet she couldn't help her anger, flowing like molten magma through her veins. The longer she held her anger, the longer it marred her soul and the more she loathed herself. Despising her very being, desecrating the blameless self that she carried with pride for so long. She needed to hate someone, something tangible for her grief. Antilorwe felt bad for directing her fury at Cyrene. The sight of her pretty face wrecked with sadness made her feel unworthy.

When Cyrene's cheek eventually rested against Antilorwe's shoulder, soft weeping came over her like a gentle breeze. Her throat tightened and a lump dislodged allowing her to apologise. "Forgive me Sugarplum." she pleaded.

Tilting her head, Cyrene's eyes flicked to her face momentarily. Her hand gently rose to wipe away her tears.

"I realise that it is your wish to make me feel special. But the two of you already made me special," whispered Antilorwe as if speaking to a child. Bending down, she took Cyrene's cheek in her fingers and tenderly wiped away a single tear. Both she and Cyrene exhaled in silence.

"Antilorwe you were terribly wrong in proclaiming to be mundane. You could work sheer magic with your very presence," said Cyrene.

"Sugarplum, does this line of yours always work with maidens you fancy?" teased Antilorwe, watching Cyrene blush more. "You are as gullible as Silvaniel. He claimed once that sharing an office with me increased his own awareness and concentration at work."

"I digress, being around you would only make one scattered and unfocused on the task at hand," said Urganza with contorted mirth.

Antilorwe beamed a wide smile at Urganza which rapidly dissipated into a strange sadness as the realisation of her own powerlessness to impede Urganza's fate loomed around the periphery of her mind. "Forgive me, my love. Truth is, I am no further to helping you than I was before. Doomed, and fated to watch you march into a war that will consume you."

"Actually," Cyrene exhilarated words cut through the moroseness blanketing Antilorwe and Urganza, "it will not come to that. You are the key to turning the tide, Antilorwe."

Composing herself and mentally preparing her rapidly spinning thought into a concise presentable form, Cyrene spoke. "Zelaphiel's recent obsession forced me to review some of Vanere's old notes. I found vague references to an experience and to Vangere's own failure to save the lives of those newborns. Except you."

"In High-Alchemist's own words, you were the only one he needed no attending to and you survived without any issues. Coupled with Silvaniel's claim that your presence improved his concentration, I believe your abilities are passive," concluded Cyrene.

Teasing nudging closer to the adorable mage, Antilorwe purred playfully. "So how will that help us defend High-Crag Hold? Place me behind a row of archers to improve their concentration and aim?"

"I strictly believe your abilities were unnoticed, partly because they were not flashy or active like the Paladin's nor could they be activated at will. Your latent abilities require a bit of bond, a connection running both ways, an imminent trust, to activate."

Hesitating, Cyrene composed herself for a brief and interminably charged moment. "At first, I attributed all those powerful images to the inherent changes in my own body and my own newfound climaxes. In reality, my own ability amounts to nothing more than analyzing spell components and revealing their planar bindings, and your latent abilities boosted them, enabling me to peer beyond what is physically permissible."

Urganza's eyes darted like swallows between Antilorwe and Cyrene. The powerful warrioress cursed her lack of comprehension under her breath but still held a wide smile at both her lovers.

Smiling broadly, Cyrene lifted her head slightly to exchange two tender kisses with both her lovers. "Well, actually, what I discovered might offer a new solution to our current problem. Allow me to explain...it is quite the simple thing."

"Antilorwe's ability might fetch the allegiance of the right person, provided we convince them of it. I would propose that we approach either Raelion or Dellynthelaara. Though given Dellynthelaara's history, if she were willing she would have rushed to her mother's aid. Hence Raelion is the one we should approach."

---

As the day slowly started slipping towards dusk, Urganza stood outside the manor. Her mount eyed her two lovers with cruel eyes but before the brutality wielded by its rider, the beast returned to lethargy and submission.

"I cannot in good conscience, let the two of you tread this path alone. Not after knowing the perils that await," said Urganza, surrounded by an ashen cloud of apprehension. For a precariously subtle moment, she felt the urge to abandon her illustrious title of Overlord and stay with the two most important goddesses in her life. She wanted to flee from the conflict -- into the eagerly awaiting hands of Antilorwe and Cyrene.

But then, something stirred in her mind. A sense of honour demanding her to sacrifice love, just like how she did it in the past -- by slaughtering her family. With dint of her own volition, she dispersed those dark thoughts and vowed to protect the tender Cyrene and the nurturing Antilorwe by whatever means necessary.

"This separation is temporary," consoled Antilorwe though her own tone betrayed her concealed sadness, "Once we secure the alliance for Rylonvirah, we will seek you out, my valiant warrioress."

Cyrene, clung to her other lover, receiving comforting strokes on her back, yet the agony of being willingly separated from Urganza, consumed her very soul. Thus, lacking words to describe her pain, approached Urganza and kissed her deeply on her lips. Tears streamed down her cheeks while she held onto the warrioress tightly.

An emotion that matched the colour of her eyes flashed across Urganza's face. She slowly dug into her pouch and brought her hands up. With a clear orotund voice, she spoke.

"I loath the idea that you would be travelling across without my protection, especially, should High-Crag Hold fall; and I especially loath the idea of doing it this way, but spirit above and below, forgive me for doing this -- I know not any other means to protect the two of you."

Urganza opened her palms to reveal two perfectly cleaved parts of a tusk -- her brother's tusk. The tusk of her brother, valuing more her very being, and yet she parted them willingly to the two. Carved with her very own rune, and hung with a simple thin leather cord fashioned to be held as two individual parts of a single amulet.

"When you are lost and in despair, seeking help, reveal this to any orc tribes and they will willingly follow you to the abyss itself."

"But Urganza, those are the tusk of ....."

"....my brother, and it meant more than life itself." Urganza completed Cyrene's sentence. "And now that I have found the two of you. My own heart willingly cleaved and placed in both your hands is how I would want it."

Pulling them both closer, Urganza thrust the amulets in their hands. As her fingers met their palms, tears streaked through her face -- tears extracted not by the impending separation but more from exhilaration.

Without any further words, Urganza leapt with the innate grace of a warrioress who had lived through a thousand battles and rode away.

---

Holding the still pinning Cyrene closer, Antilorwe stood watching the receding form of Urganza till the Orc High-Lady became a dust mote on the distant horizon.

In another situation, Cyrene might have acted but feeling love, for the first time, and being separated from her beloved, with no certain plausibility to meet her again, made her catatonic.

Finally, Antilorwe, still holding her tight in her arms, turned to Cyrene -- pressing her even tighter to comfort the lovelorn girl -- whispered, "We should make our own preparations."

"I find it astonishing that Urganza would claim a simple talisman could influence a whole orc tribe to follow us. Don't you find it surprising too?" asked Cyrene.

"Perhaps there is more to it." Antilorwe twisted her head to find her maid waiting silently behind. A curious twinkle in her eyes -- an unreadable expression. For Antilorwe, who could look transparently and infer the lewd thoughts roaming inside the maid, the whole ordeal felt odd.

Deciding that her maid had more knowledge of orcish customs and additional knowledge that they both lacked, she prodded her maid. "Do you have any insights to share?"

"My Lady, that is not surprising at all," replied the maid with a devious smirk, "I believe congratulations are in order. You, My Lady and Madame Mage are the new Hearth-Mistresses of the Orcs."

Cyrene gaped -- every last nerve ending burnt up with the warmth flooding through her veins.

Antilorwe choked on her amazement -- "What? How is that likely? Could not be so fast."

"That amulet the Overlord gave you, marks you two as her wives."

Not consort! Not concubines! But wives.

"Apologies! The amulet your wife gave you marks you both as her wives."