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A beautiful Arabian woman changes his world.

In one corner, a stand held several gleaming swords and daggers. There were a few chairs scattered about the room, casually left wherever their last occupants had set them.

While Alan paced back and forth, Daphne moved to the table with swaying hips, then turned and hoisted her luscious ass onto the surface. Alan glanced over to her, pausing in his pacing, just long enough to watch the elven woman deliberately and slowly cross one leg over the other. The silk of her stockings hissed against one another, and the action caused her brief skirt to ride high enough to reveal the flash of smooth, tanned thigh above the frilly garters that supported those stockings. She made no effort to correct the fabric, instead her hands came to rest on the edge of the table, and her delicate, long nailed fingers curled under the edge. As she leaned forward, that blouse fell forward just enough to let one think one could see more of those breasts than the shadows actually allowed. Everything the elven maid did positively oozed sensuality. It had been that way since they had met, all those years ago.

"She must be treating you well, Alan." Her words caused Alan's gaze to snap upward, where he caught the amusement dancing in Daphne's eyes. The elven woman's tongue traced out deliberately, teasing the tip over those soft, moist, red lips. "You still look good enough to eat," she purred the words out, pursing those inviting lips into a semblance of a blown kiss.

The old rogue turned his head away with a frown. He resumed his pacing, his waiting. "Behave," was all that he could muster in answer.

"Oh don't worry, Alan, we'll get her back. I still owe you, after all. Besides, you make such a cute couple."

Alan found little solace in Daphne's words, and indeed became almost angered by them, but any response he was going to make was silenced by the sudden opening of the door.

Varonne waddled in, his ponderous girth clad in red and black finery, a robe casually tossed over tunic and trousers. The thick belt about his waist supported his old sword, a sign he meant business. A frown was offered to Daphne, but he made no attempt to chase the woman from her perch. Instead he drew a chair out and settled into it. The sturdy wood still groaned under his bulk. "Alright Alan, tell me exactly what happened."

Alan began to relate the events he knew, while the two listened raptly. He had gone on an errand, and come back only to find she had been gone on a walk. The attack most likely happened while he was out on an errand, in the middle of the day. He hadn't followed up on it because there had been no clue that anything was amiss until later. When Alan mentioned Henri's injuries, Varonne looked troubled.

"Will he survive?"

"He should, Marcy is taking care of him now, and a healer should be there by now."

"Good. The lad may be simple, but he's loyal and honest. Men like that are hard to find these days. It's just a damned shame he took up with you lot."

Alan smirked faintly "You would have had him marching under your orders, risking his life on the battlefield."

"As if he's done any better under your watch. At least on the field of war he would have earned honor and glory."

"Neither of which he seems particularly interested in, old friend." Alan sighed, it was easy to get back into the old tit for tat with the old warrior. It made him miss the old days. "But he'll be fine now. After getting him settled, I used one of the Jaron's old scrolls."

"Foul sorcerer," Varonne muttered, then waved for Alan to continue.

"It let me use a mirror for far seeing. I was able to confirm they were in the old guild safe-house. There was the portrait of the black rat on one of the walls, and I recognized the room."

"Well it certainly sounds as if your man Devron has gone rogue, excuse the pun. I thought you had hand picked him for his loyalty?" The Count raised one brow as he regarded Alan.

"This is all true," The old thief finally slumped into one of the chair

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