I stepped out of the castle and into a bright, almost pleasant morning. The usual mist had dissipated faster than usual, and the wind was blowing south, so that you hardly noticed the stench of the moor. My traveling clothes, clean and fresh and not remotely French, whatever that means, felt wonderful on me. And under my arm, without triggering the slightest compulsion to send it anywhere, was boSuntel’s Gender-Specific Glamours and Their Uses. Life was pretty good. At least, as good as it gets in a backwater mishmash of hills, swamps, and no soap like Kyrno.

I stopped. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was standing in the courtyard, waiting for me. Iola and the entire guard. Brea and the house staff. Iason. Even Mira. As I stood there, trying to figure out what was going on, all of them except Mira burst into applause.

“What’s this about?” I asked.

“Saving us, stupid!” said Brea, and laughed. “We’re free because of you!”

“Well,” I said. “Iason helped.” It’s important to be humble in these sorts of situations. “A little bit.” Just not too humble.

“What happened at the end there?” asked Iason. “I still don’t get it.”

“The spells cancelled,” I explained. “They were pulling in exactly contradictory directions, which meant I could break one of them off me by doing what the other one wanted. So I did something completely different from what either wanted, and broke both!” I grinned at Mira, who glared back but said nothing, of course. I considered telling her that her enchantment would only last a couple of months, but decided against it. Maybe she’d learn something.

“So,” I asked, “what are you all going to do?”

The girls looked at each other. “There’s not really anywhere we can go,” said Brea. “None of us are virgins, so it’ll be almost impossible to find husbands. And without them—well, there’s really only one job an unmarried woman can do in these parts.”

“So we’re laying claim to this land,” said Iola. “Since Brinksmoor had no male heirs, the land passes to Mira, and she’s going to let us stay, isn’t she?” The last had an unmistakable tone of threat, and Mira flinched away from her.

“Brinksmoor wasn’t the only predator in the world,” Iola said, “he just had the advantage of magic. There are others. We want to create a refuge, where anyone, man or woman, can be safe from people who’d abuse their power.”

“That’s a good dream,” I said, looking around the girls. “Given what you’ve survived already, I think you have a pretty good chance of making it.”

“I’m glad you think that,” said Brea. “Because we want you to lead us.”

I gaped. “Me?”

“Of course!” said Brea. “You broke free! You freed the rest of us! You have magic and knowledge we need. Who else could lead us?”

“Wow,” I said.

“Congratulations,” said Iason. He turned to his sister and held out his sword. “Here. You’ll need this in service of your new Lady.”

“Father’s sword?” asked Iola.

Iason nodded. “He wanted you to have it. You’ve always been the better fighter than me.”

Iola took the scabbard in her hands, feeling its heft. Then she pushed it back into Iason’s grasp. “No,” she said. “I tried to kill you. My own brother! I don’t deserve that blade.”

“You were bewitched,” he countered. “I forgive you for it.”

“It is not your forgiveness that matters, Iason,” Iola said softly, “but my own. Spells or not, I dishonored myself and our family. Until I have atoned for that, I cannot take father’s sword.” She paused. “Besides, they need me here, to train these guards and protect this realm, and I am far likelier to fight bandits than demons or dragons. You, in your wandering, will have more need of it. Take the sword. Fight evil wherever you find it, and make him proud. One day, perhaps, I will come for it, unless by then you have proved yourself its worthier bearer.”

Iason’s eyes were shining as he took the sword and bowed deep. “Thank you, Iola,” he said. “If you ever need anything, call for me, and I will come as swiftly as I am able.”

“I know,” she said. “And thank you. For everything.” She turned back to me. “So? Lemma, Lady of Brinksmoor Castle. What is your first command?”

“No,” I said.

“No?” All the women stared at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I have to search for the books.”

“I thought you said the geas was broken!” Iason said.

“It is,” I answered. “But that doesn’t change things. Not really. I could stay here and lead, or go home if I wanted, but then those books would be out there. You saw what just one of them did here. And that wasn’t even the worst of them. I have to find the others, and make sure they stay out of the wrong hands.”

“But,” stammered Brea, “who will lead us if you go?”

There were several cries of agreement from the former house slaves.

“I’m not really the leader type,” I said. “You need somebody who can fight to protect you, somebody with honor and pride you can trust. Fortunately, you have that somebody right here.”

“Who?” asked Iola, and I laughed.

“You, stupid!” Everybody turned to stare at Iola. Then, one by one, the guard began to clap. Slowly, the house staff followed suit, and soon everyone was cheering. Even Mira gave a polite little two-fingered clap.

Iason sidled over to me while the girls crowded around Iola, asking her opinion about everything from what to tell the villagers about the change of leadership, to what color to make her banner. “I think we should slip out quietly,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I said. “And what’s this about we?”

“Oh, I’m coming with you,” he said. “Dad would like the idea of using his sword to take on a series of evil wizards. And besides, where would you be without my ‘little bit’ of help?”

“All right,” I said. “Just don’t get in my way, beefcake boy, and we’ll get along just fine.” I grinned at him.

Looks like I’m going to be Lemma the Librarian just a little bit longer!

After the Dinner Incident, every slave in the fortress knew who I was. I got a lot of sullen glares and whispers behind my back as I worked, and also a lot of shy smiles. I soon figured out the pattern: the girls who talked to Mira a lot, and who she generally gave the cushiest assignments, hated me. The girls Mira was constantly putting down, the ones she had cleaning the stables and the outhouse, smiled at me but seemed afraid to talk to me.

The only person who actually talked to me for the next two days was Mira. I didn’t see Master in all that time, and I was starting to suspect that Mira was arranging my work that way on purpose, always keeping me away from whatever part of the castle Master was in.

I spent my fourth morning after being enslaved cleaning the tapestries in the northwest corridor. Brea, who was definitely one of the smiling group, was there on mopping duty.

After nearly an hour of work—Mira was careful every day to order me not to use any magic, so I had barely half a tapestry cleared of cobwebs and dust—Brea suddenly spoke. “She hates you, you know.”

“I’ve noticed,” I said. “The feeling’s mutual.”

“Tell me about it. She hates all of us, I think. Even her favorites are only her favorites because they suck up. She doesn’t actually like them.”

“Really?” I said. Useful information if I planned to get her out of the way between Master and me.

“You know she used to be Lady Brinksmoor?”

“She said as much,” I said.

“She was Master’s very first slave. The one he first tried out the book on.”

“Book?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, he learned how to do all of this from a book. He used to keep it on him, until he memorized all the magic. I was his third slave, you know. He had it when he took me.” She added the last proudly.

I made encouraging noises for her to continue.

“Mira hates all of us, because it means she doesn’t get Master to herself. But she seems to be going all-out on you. You must have really impressed Master to get her that mad at you.”

I repressed the urge to whoop with joy. Of course I’d never really doubted it; Master of course was a discerning individual, and I am beautiful, talented, and brilliant. Any dolt would be impressed; someone as clever and wise as Master couldn’t possibly miss my qualities.

Brea and I continued to talk as we cleaned. She told me about Master, and all the castle gossip, and in return I told her about the wonders of Lemuria. It felt like a pretty fair trade.

“Have you heard about Mira and the captain of the guard?”

I shook my head. “What about them?”

“Mira,” said Brea conspiratorially, “is completely, head-over-heels in lust with our resident Amazon. They say Mira even once tried to get ahold of Master’s book, to turn the captain into her slave!”

“Wow,” I said, grinning. “I bet Master wasn’t too happy about that.”

“Oh, he was furious! He found her in his study, trying to find it. He put her in the dungeons for a month, and every night fucked one of us right in front of her! It was great.” She grinned savagely in memory, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the malicious glee in her voice. “But that’s not the best part. The best part is what happened after he let her out.”

Study? Wasn’t that the room where Master had taken me? I hadn’t seen any books in there, just papers! Still, I’d have to check it out again as soon as I could. “What happened?”

Brea grinned. “Well, Iola found out about it, right? She came right down to the slave quarters in full uniform, whipped out her sword, and told Mira right in front of everyone that she would never touch her, and if Mira ever so much as looked at her funny, she’d tear her throat out with her bare hands!”

It was like I’d been struck by lightning. (And I should know, because I have been. Twice.) I couldn’t see. I couldn’t move. I knew Brea was talking, but none of it was registering. Master had lied to me. He had told me Iola left. I told Iason about it! His sister was right here, waiting for him, and Master had used me to send him off on a wild goose chase!

It couldn’t be true. Master wouldn’t do that to me. Master was perfect. Master made me his slave, the most wonderful thing in the world! Didn’t that mean he loved me? Why would he use me, lie to me?

“Lemma?” Brea was saying. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” I shook my head and tried a weak smile. It felt fake. “I’m fine, I was just thinking of something.” I looked at the tapestries lining the hall. Master told me I had to obey Mira. Mira said to clean the tapestries without magic. But I had to finish my work and find Master! He had an incredibly good explanation for why he used me. I just needed to hear it, and everything would be okay again.

But Mira said not to use magic. Master said to obey Mira. Nothing was as important as obeying Master. But I had to know! There had to be a way to finish quickly.

I closed my eyes. I really hoped this worked. “Master could be in his study right now,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Brea.

The geas kicked in. I could feel it pulling at me, and it took all my will, and all my need to obey the command to clean, to keep from sprinting straight there. I needed to go, I needed to clean, and there was simply no way to obey every compulsion on me. It hurt like an ice spell to the gut, but I had to do the best I could. I gathered a knot of wind in my hand, my hair and ridiculous skirt rippling in the sudden breeze. The light streaming in the stained-glass windows dimmed. My blood sang; it had been far, far too long.

“Mistral Weft!“ I commanded, and the wind exploded through the room. As one, the tapestries lifted briefly from the walls, dust and cobwebs lifting from them in a gray cloud, and then settled back, the dirt dissolving into air. The magic ended, and my hair fell back again down my back.

“Wow,” said Brea. “They’re spotless! How did you do that?”

I grinned. “Little something I whipped up back at school. I can’t tell you how many times it came in handy during detentions. Anyway, I have something I have to go do. Later, Brea!” I started to run down the hallway, then stopped and turned back. “Oh, and thank you!”

“Uh, you’re welcome,” said Brea, looking a bit bemused.

“Dinner will be ready shortly,” she said. “His Lordship will entertain you in his study until then.” She opened the door, then stood by as I walked into the room. A thick rug covered the floor, and tapestries depicting what I assumed were great battles in the Brinksmoor family history covered the walls. A roaring fire made the temperature in the room just a little too warm, but gave a nice orange glow to everything. There was a writing desk at the far end of the room, a pair of high-backed chairs, and a long, low couch. Brinksmoor was sitting on the couch, holding a goblet of wine.

Brinksmoor stood and put his wine aside as I entered. Taking my hand, he bowed low and kissed it. “Truly, you are a stunning vision, Lady Lemma.”

I felt heat rising to my cheeks. “You look quite dashing yourself, my Lord Brinksmoor.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he said, guiding me to sit on the couch. He was still holding my hand, I vaguely noticed. I decided I was okay with that.

“Were the bathing accommodations adequate?” he asked. He really did look dashing in an open-necked white ruffled shirt and black breeches.

Wait, dashing? Since when did I think fat, balding men could be dashing? I mean, yes, his weight was evidence that he had wealth and power enough to never go hungry in a nation where that was a real problem, and they say receding hairlines are evidence of virility—I cut my own thoughts off. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. Was I that horny, that this guy was looking good? I mean, yeah, the dress was sexy as hell, and the bath left me feeling really good… wait, he’d said something, hadn’t he?

“My lady?” he asked, stroking my hand with his fingertips.

I wished he wouldn’t do that. There was something important I had to focus on, and it was very stuffy and warm in the study. Hard to think. “Huh?” I said, demonstrating my razor-sharp mental acuity. Gods, a few months without screwing, one hot bath, and a nice dress? I couldn’t believe that was all it took to get me going. But I couldn’t deny it: it was all I could do to keep from melting into his arms.

Ick! Focus on his nose. His big, ugly nose. It looks like a beak. Long and hard and thick… I wonder what else of his is long and hard and thick, that I could get inside me… I shook my head.

“Something’s wrong…” I said thickly.

“Shh…” he said soothingly, still stroking my hand with one of his, while his other hand caressed my cheek. I closed my eyes, feeling a need for him storm through me, much like the need to own the dress had earlier.

The dress! My eyes snapped back open and I stared at him. The anti-glamour wards woven into my clothes! I’d stripped them off happily to take a bath, and I wasn’t wearing them now. All those spells to make him seem attractive and charming were affecting me. But now that I knew they were there, I could resist.

He was still stroking my cheek. “What’s wrong, my darling?” he asked.

I felt a little bubble of happiness as he called me that, my inner teenager squealing He likes me! He likes me! But that was just the glamour talking. I could fight it down. “Not… going to work,” I said. “I can resist the glamours on you.”

He smiled confidently. “But what about the ones on you?” he asked. “The spells of relaxation in the towel and robe. The dress beglamoured to make it look beautiful, and make its wearer feel aroused.”

Shit, my horniness was coming from the dress? Should have seen that. Damn clever of him, to hit me with two sets of passive glamours at once, so I’d have to divide my attention. Now that I knew it was there, I could see it, threads of magic twisting from the dress into my mind. “I can beat you,” I told him.

“Can you?” he asked, running his hand up my arm. I shivered. “I am very good at this. I am fast, and clever, and have an incredible gift for glamours.”

He was right. These were incredibly well-made spells, and he’d tricked me right into them. Beating him was a lot harder than I wanted to admit—and that was the magic again, making me feel like he was so smart and talented. But wasn’t he? I mean, sure, lots of people at the Academy could do magic like this, it wasn’t that advanced, but he was out here, all alone, learning it himself from one book. Who knew what somebody with that kind of natural talent could do with more knowledge? He was so clever and good at magic, and that made him even sexier. “You’re casting them now,” I said. I closed my eyes and concentrated, trying to find the exact spells he was using and intercept them. But while I focused on that, the glamours making me want him were free to do their work. I was getting really turned on, and the fingertips softly caressing my jaw and neck were not helping.

“Look at me, my love,” Lord Brinksmoor whispered, and I opened my eyes to see his face close to mine. He took my face in his hands, and his thumbs caressed my temples as his gray eyes bored into mine.

“Gods,” I whispered, and licked my lips. He was unbelievably hot, the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. I wanted to rip our clothes off and fuck him, right then, right there, mission and magic be damned.

“You can’t beat me,” he said. “You can’t resist my spells. You don’t want to. You want to submit, to surrender.”

I did. He was glorious and powerful, so far above me, so amazing and wonderful. I wanted to kneel at his feet and worship him. That was a glamour, working its way through me, getting stronger by the moment as he layered it. He was casting the same spells as he’d wrapped those servant girls in. “No…” I said feebly, not sure I meant it.

“You desire me desperately, don’t you?” He brushed one of his thumbs across my lips, and I groaned.

“Yes…” I admitted.

“Don’t fight it. You want me to take you. To make you mine. Let go, and you will know the bliss of belonging to me.”

I closed my eyes again. I wanted that. I wanted him to fuck me, to use me. I wanted to be his—no!

“No,” he said, “look at me. In your heart, you have already given yourself to me. You know you cannot resist my magic.”

I could resist it. I could still fight this off, and break free. But if I did, I wouldn’t get to fuck him, would I? I wouldn’t get to feel the surrender he was promising. I looked at him. He was like a god. Why would I want to fight this? “Yes…” I said again, and then I closed my eyes as he kissed me.

I knew he was a lousy kisser. If anybody else had kissed me like that, it would have left me cold. But this was Lord Brinksmoor! The kiss made my toes curl. The touch of his tongue to mine practically made me cum! I was dripping wet, flushed, and a little dizzy when he broke the kiss.

“I want you…” I gasped, no longer able to think about anything else. I reached for his belt, and he took my hand in his.

“Not yet,” he said. “I will take you when you are completely mine.”

“Please,” I begged, “I can’t wait!”

He leaned forward. “Not until the spell is complete,” he whispered in my ear, then kissed the corner where my jawline met my throat. I wrapped my arms around him, feeling the threads of magic that contained my submission and desire wrapping tighter around me. Part of me was still screaming at me to stop, to fight, but the sooner I silenced it, the sooner he’d fuck me.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” he asked, pushing up my long skirt to stroke my thigh. “Say that you want me to take you!”

“Yes, please!” I begged. His hand on my leg had me dripping. His other hand was behind my back, fumbling for the series of concealed hooks that held the dress on. His lips were on my throat, and my hands dug into his shoulders, clutching desperately. I was terrified he was going to leave me like this, empty and desperate. I needed him in me, and I didn’t care what I would have to do get him.

I felt a breeze on my back, and realized he’d undone my dress. He peeled it down to my waist, exposing my torso, then pulled me in for another searing kiss while he undid my hair. As it cascaded down my back, my nipples stood up like tiny pebbles, and a flush ran from my collarbone down to my breasts. I moaned incoherently as he ran a hand up along my flat belly, toward my breasts. Then he ran a thumb over my nipple, and it was like a line of lightning connected it to my dripping pussy.

“You need me,” he whispered.

I nodded, eyes tightly shut. I couldn’t speak.

“What will you give me in return?” he asked, squeezing and stroking my breasts. I didn’t normally like having them played with so roughly, but right now it was wonderful, pleasure and desire rising so high it hurt.

“Huh?” I moaned, then gasped and panted as he pinched my left nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger.

“What will you do for me?” he asked again. “What will you do to get me to take you now?”

“Anything you want…” I whispered, grabbing his head and pulling it to me for a deep kiss. I was completely overwhelmed. I knew there was something I was supposed to be doing, but I didn’t care. I wanted him, and nothing else mattered or was worth paying attention to.

“You’ll always do anything I want, won’t you?” he asked, trailing kisses down my throat.

“Yes, always,” I agreed. And it was true. Of course I would. “I’d do anything for you. I love you!” Love? Yes, love, of course. I loved him. I’d only met him, but I knew I loved him. His lips reached my nipple, his tongue curling around it. He sucked, once, sharply, and I screamed.

“In fact, I own you, don’t I?” he said.

Owned? Nobody owned me! I was a free person. Wasn’t I? But I would do anything he wanted, I knew that. Doing whatever he wanted made me happy. He was so clever, and so good at glamours. He really was so much better than me. It would feel so good to belong to him. It felt so submissive and sexy. He teased my nipple with his tongue and lips, while kneading my other breast. My breathing was ragged and my brain dissolving and running out between my thighs. If this was how he used his property, I was going to enjoy it. “I’m yours!” I agreed.

Grasping the waist of my dress, he pulled it off the rest of the way and let it pool on the floor. He caressed my thighs and hips, then grasped my soaking panties and pulled them to the ground. I trembled as he stroked my legs, pushing them gently apart, then licked at my left knee. Sighing, I lay back, clutching his head in my hands, urging it upward, writhing and moaning as he kissed and licked his way up my thigh. I’d never felt so incredible in my life. So incredibly turned on and submissive, my whole body primed for orgasm and my whole mind focused on HIM.

“My Lemma. My servant. My slave.”

Slave? But—oh gods he reached the top!—I’m not a—his tongue!—I needed to—my clit!—“YES!” I shrieked, my orgasm exploding me, shattering the last tiny shreds of annoying resistance so that He could finally take me, make me His slave as I now knew— felt, to the core of my being—I was born to be.
“Master…” I moaned softly, as he quickly stripped off his shirt and breeches. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he came down between my legs, thrusting his powerful cock into his slave’s unworthy cunt. He felt so big and hard, and I was so tight and slick and wet. It was the best feeling I could have ever imagined, and I moaned.

“Say it!” He gasped as he pounded me.

“Master,” I panted, in time with his thrusts. “I’m yours! I’m your slave. I’ll do anything you want, forever. Use me. Abuse me. I’m your plaything, Your toy, Your—ahhhh!—slave, uh, your fucktoy, ohhh…” I wrapped my legs around his waist, my ankles locked behind his back, trying to drive him deeper and harder. I was getting close to cumming again, still muttering feverishly. “Slave, slut, fuck, oh fuck, yours, Master, cunt, toy, fuck me, gods fuck me, fuck your little slave, your little fucktoy, oh my Master fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!!!” I screamed as his hot cum filled my tight little pussy, and I came again, on and on for what seemed like hours, clutching at my Master and screaming in unbelievable pleasure.

I lay in a stupor on the couch for a while. I’m not sure how long it was, but the next thing I remember is Master standing beside the couch, telling me to get up. I shakily sat up, feeling more incredibly wonderful and relaxed than I ever had in my life.

I blinked up at him. “The clothes you came here in,” he said. “Do they contain anti-glamour charms?”

“Yes, Master,” I said, looking down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand how wonderful being your slave would be.”

“No matter,” he said magnanimously. Master is so wonderfully forgiving. “If you put those clothes on again, would they disrupt the glamours binding you to me?”

I shook my head. “They would help me see and understand your spells, and help any efforts I made to resist them, but I’d have to make the effort. I would never do anything like that!”

He smiled. “Good girl,” he said. I beamed. Earning Master’s praise was nearly as good as being fucked by him! “Mira will teach you the proper duties of being my slave. You will obey her as you would me. In the meantime, go clean yourself then put on your traveling clothes and return here. Quickly! Before dinner, we must discuss how to rid ourselves of your companion.”

Who? Oh, he meant Iason. “Of course, Master,” I said. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“I know you will,” he answered, and laughed. “But first…” he grabbed my hair and pulled my face to his crotch. “Clean me off, slave,” he said.

As I took Master’s cock in my mouth, tasting myself on him, I felt nothing but total happiness. I was his slave, and at that moment, that was all I wanted to be.

I’d worry about the geas that was going to make me betray him later.

We spent the next day walking through the woods, trading stories. Iason, it turned out, came from a long line of monster-hunters. His father had, in the chaotic lands east of the Black Sea, acquired a sword “made of a terrible black metal, far harder and sharper than bronze, that fell from the sky in a blazing, dying star.” I recognized it as iron, of course, but I wasn’t about to say anything–if anyone back home learned I’d revealed the secret of iron to a barbarian, I’d spend the suddenly very short rest of my life regretting it.

Anyway, on his deathbed, Iason’s father had willed his armor to Iason, and the sword Iason’s older sister, Iola. Iason had now been searching for her for three years.

While we walked, he showed me the sword, and I whistled, impressed. Real starbolt iron, strong and sharp and dark, and more importantly with a near-bottomless capacity to absorb magic. The result was a weapon with no special powers of its own, but able to disrupt any spell it came across. It was something special, all right.

For my own part, I told Iason about my escapades at the Academy. You have seriously never seen a party until you’ve seen mages party! Especially when they’re the young elite, trained enough to know better and too drunk to care.

Late in the afternoon, we emerged from the woods. A ridge rose ahead of us. Behind it, according to Iason, was a swamp that extended along the length of the main river in these parts, all the way down to the sea. On top of it was a looming, brooding circle of brown stone: Castle Brinksmoor.

“What’s your plan?” asked Iason.

“Simple,” I said. “I’m going to walk up and knock on the door, tell them I’m a sorceress from Lemuria and ask to see Lord Brinksmoor. I’ll use my feminine wiles to persuade him to let me see the library, and if one of the books is in there, I’ll take it and blast my way out. Meanwhile, you can ask around about your sister.”

“That is,” he said simply, “quite possibly the worst plan I have ever heard.”

“What’s wrong with it?” I demanded.

“Well,” he said, clearly picking his words carefully, “local standards are, uh… well, you’re a little…”

“What?” I said irritably, already suspicious of where he was headed.

He gestured vaguely at his chest. “I’m not sure your, um, ‘feminine wiles’ are quite up to the task.”

So I kneed him in the groin. I think it was a reasonable response. Plus, I’m very, very good at it. Leather breeches or no, he fell to the ground with a groan.

“I think that they are perfectly sized for someone of my petite build!” I told him. “And I’m sure I can persuade Lord Brinksmoor of the same, if he has even an iota of taste. And if not, I’ll just blast my way into the library.” I stormed up the path toward the castle.

Halfway there, I glanced back to see Iason hobbling along behind me, clearly keeping his distance. Bastard. And after I’d been thinking all those nice warm thoughts about his muscle-y chest, too, he had to go and say something mean about mine.

There were three guards at the front gate, with spears. “Halt!” said one. “State your name and business.”

“The Lady Lemma Kyrie baSontara of Lemuria, here to discuss matters of arcane import with Lord Brinksmoor.” I glanced back at Iason. “And my retainer.”

One of the guards ran back into the castle, and a few minutes later, we were ushered into the courtyard. It was typical Islander crud—bad stonework, a severe shortage of decorative plants, and no fountains to speak of. Just an open space with a well where some knights could hold off a siege for a while. At the far end was the main hall, a long, low wooden building. At least it had windows.

“Interesting,” said Iason, coming up next to me. “The guards were all women.”

“So?” I said.

“Woman warriors are almost unheard of here in Kyrno. They show up occasionally in Breizht, and more often in Cambria, but they’re still much rarer in the Tin Islands than Lemuria.”

“Huh,” I said. “I guess that is a little unusual.”

Two more spearwomen stood at the doors to the hall, and opened them for us. We stepped into an antechamber, where Lord Brinksmoor and two servants stood. The two girls were both young and, by local standards, fairly pretty. They were also, by local standards, unusually short and thin—I noted that, as it might help my feminine wiles strategy. They wore matching black frilly dresses with white lace trim, with short puffy sleeves, low necklines, and short skirts. They were utterly impractical outfits, clearly meant to play up their physical assets rather than be useful to do work in. Both girls were also clearly utterly besotted with Brinksmoor.

Brinksmoor was thirtyish, balding, tall and chubby, with an oversized nose. He was wearing a lot of purple and ruffles, and a long black cape. He looked like an actor parodying a nobleman, and it was very obvious he had one of the magic books, because he was dripping with glamours.

Quick magic lesson time! There are three main kinds of magic that affect people’s minds. (Not including curses, which are a whole ‘nother thing entirely.) I’ve already mention geas, which can control people’s actions. Magically binding contracts and oaths are a kind of geas, and you can also cast one on a person with some of their blood, although it makes it easier if you get their permission, like a certain bastard Archmagus tricked me into doing. Then there are illusions, which mess with people’s perceptions. They can make you see things or hear things, that kind of thing.

The subtlest, most difficult and dangerous kind of mental magic are glamours. Glamours alter emotion and interpretation. You can either cast a glamour on a person to change how they feel about something— say, to make them hungry, or horny, or lonely—or on an object or person to change how everyone reacts to that thing. For example, you can cast an illusion on an ugly old man to make him look buff and healthy, or you can cast a glamour on him to make people attracted to him. People looking at him will see an ugly old man who is still somehow really sexy. You haven’t changed what they see, but you can change how they feel about it. Got it? Good.

Anyway, Brinksmoor was dripping with glamours to make him seem attractive, charming, trustworthy and likeable. Of course, one of the many enchantments woven into my gear was an anti-glamour spell of my own devising. It allowed me to see his glamours, which alone was enough to make them nearly harmless, and simultaneously upped my resistance to mental effects. I could also see the glamours wrapping around the two servant girls. I won’t go into too much detail about what he did to them, but suffice it to say I was surprised they were merely besotted, as opposed to, I don’t know, falling to their knees and begging for him to take them. Yeah, he had them that badly ensorcelled. What a sicko…