The Warmaid

I reached the edge of the Forest Issatesh swiftly. Thanks to my sweetwater goblet, I could travel through areas of Kharsoom that were impassable for others. I could find the muddiest puddle poisoned with the noxious blood of some slain Kharsoomian beast, and once I dipped the magical goblet within, the water would be as clear and rejuvenating as that I had in Iarveiros, the land of the elves.

A millennium ago, the Forest Issatesh had once been verdant and filled with life. When the gods died, the leaves were stripped form the branches and the trees turned to onyx. I wondered what Shu-Turul must have thought as he watched his homeland wither and die like a gangrenous limb. Had he felt shame for what he had done? Or was he content that it served his grand designs to be emperor of all Kharsoom?

I believe that what curiosity was for me, ambition was to him. No doubt during his quest he believed he was reshaping Kharsoom in his image. What horror to see that he stripped it of life and turned to a bleak and decadent wasteland? What horror when he realized he had succeeded in his goal? Or was this his design all along?

When I found the site of his great victory, perhaps I would learn what was in his heart. I had no way of knowing what sort of remnant he had left, but the death of a god had to leave a scar on the world. He had slain an entire pantheon. This was a madness so all-consuming I could scarcely understand it. I held no particular faith, of that I have been clear, but I would never hunt a god down for the purpose of slaying it. So I thought then, but time makes fools of us all.

At that time, I had encountered two gods by my count, or beings close enough that such distinctions were academic. I lay with one. I accepted the daughter of another as a mate, partner, and charge. In short, I had dealt with them in a spirit of friendly curiosity.

These thoughts occupied me as I beheld the deathlike landscape of Issatesh. I found a Kharsoomian road winding into the trees, and I followed it into the funereal silence of the stone forest. I was low on supplies and thought to sell my services for food and a bit of coin to the first town I encountered. In Kharsoom, there was always work for a boldisar.

Ahead I found a castle looking out imperiously over this section of forest from a perch on a short hill. The castle was a modest one, the kind that clans used when away from their seat of power. They would likely have referred to it as a lodge, but for a man who had been sleeping on cold ground, it might as well have been a palace. The thought of laying with a willing bedslave danced in my head and I gave Ksenaëe a slight nudge in her flanks. She protested but obediently sped into a trot.

The gates of the castle were open and immediately I sensed something was wrong. The landscape had put me in a somber mood, but it was not merely the environs that raised my hackles. The walls about the castle were bare of men. An evil scent lingered in the air. The soft susurrus of animals came from within but nothing that could have come from a human.

I took Ur-Anu in hand, ready to do battle. No threads reached me, but I remained alert. It was death I sensed, hanging in a miasma about the castle. I knew death well. It had become a constant companion during the Turquoise Conquest, and stayed close by me during my wanderings.

As I rode through the gates, I found the source of my uneasiness. The courtyard was a charnel house. Fighting men lay butchered in the dirt. The leathery scavenging creatures of Kharsoom had found the bodies and were already devouring the softest parts. As I rode in, a few lifted their scaly heads to utter baleful hisses, but none thought to try for fresher meat.

Someone had attacked this place, that was plain. Human, xerxyss, perhaps even one of the scattered tribes of orcs I had heard troubled the wastes but never saw with my own eyes. If it was mere brigands, it would have to be a full clan of them. Kharsoom was filled with such groups, all ready to kill for the meager resources of the wasteland. Sacking a castle, even a small one like this, would require an impressive host.

I dismounted, and Ksenaëe immediately began to forage, chasing a few of the flapping creatures from a corpse. I needed food as much as she, but I had a more discerning palate and went in search of the castle's larder. I felt no sentimentality for what had happened. The Red Wastes were a brutal place that could drive gentle souls to brutality.

I found the larder easily and was surprised to see that it was almost entirely full. Breads, cheeses, dried meats, even a selection of spices were mine for the taking. Though I did not curse my good luck, I noted it strange. Kharsoom was a land of scarcity. No one would sack a castle and not pick the larder clean. For my part, I ate my fill, and was in the midst of filling saddlebags with provisions that would see me across the wasteland, when I heard the squawk of a qobad in the courtyard. I knew my own bird's squawk, and this was a newcomer. A qobad likely meant a rider, and a rider could mean trouble.

I dropped the saddlebag in the larder, and taking Ur-Anu in hand, made my way to the courtyard. As I emerged into the afternoon sunlight, I saw the source of a sound. A Kharsoomian woman led a qobad, whose livery was purple, a silver scorpion as a device. I did not know which clan this signified. The woman stared at my qobad, who was pecking at the corpse of one of the fighting men. Ksenaëe's saddle betrayed her as a domesticated beast.

The woman was a warrior, that much was evident from a first glance. Her harness was spare but well-made and she carried a longsword and shortsword, both of Kharsoomian design. Her jewelry was modest, with only bracers, anklets, and an elegant slave collar, all in gold. Her coal black hair was cut short, the front over the eyes, the rest at her chin. Her body reminded me of the acrobats I had lain with at the Silken Labyrinth, for every inch of her was covered in lithe muscle. She was as lean and graceful as they, more like Halitet than Ra-Nom, but long of limb and slender of hip. Her breasts were small, sitting high on her chest. Her jaw was square, her chin stubborn. Her amber eyes were narrow and keen. A single tattoo, a purple scorpion, its tail reared, encircled her taut navel.

Her senses were keen as she turned as soon as I stepped into the courtyard. Her face contorted in hatred. "Brigand," she spat. "Come to this place to plunder, have you? This is the last mistake you will ever make." Her blades whispered into her hands.

"You misunderstand," I protested, but my words lacked conviction, at least in part because she was right. I was plundering the castle. Though not in the way she likely assumed. Regardless, I didn't get a chance to explain, and I do not believe she would have accepted my words anyway.

She leapt into battle with the lithe grace of a jungle cat, and I was instantly on my heels, desperately battling for survival. Threads showed me the pathway of the battle, but they changed so rapidly, I couldn't follow a single one to its ending. I'd start the path, and she would make a minute adjustment, a tiny difference in her footwork, an unexpected parry or thrust. She read the battle as I read my threads.

Her skill was incredible. The only opponent I faced who was close to her was Iron Rhayn in the dirt of the hippodrome. I had been able to find her pathway, been able to read the thread to her death. I could not with this fighting woman. She was too unpredictable, but at the same time precise. She was the pinnacle of Kharsoomian fighting ability.

"Who are you?" I gasped, scarcely parrying a slash.

"I am Shaluvia, warmaid to Princess Tanyth of Clan Abibaal, and you have fought your last."

She might have been right. I judged I had but two advantages. I held an edge in strength and size, and my weapon gave me reach. The second she was adept at countering, constantly stepping inside my range and forcing me back. I would learn that this was because of Clan Abibaal's style of fencing. Unlike most Kharsoomians, Abibaal fighters used their longer blade primarily for parrying, and the shorter for attacking. It made them especially adept at handling spearmen, and resulted in her pursuing me all over the castle.

"Your comrades abandoned you," she sneered deep into our duel. "Was it cowardice?"

"I have no comrades," I said. "I am alone in the wastes."

"Then you die alone."

We fought our way to the ramparts. Fatigue had begun to slow us both. We were both glistening with sweat. It stung my eyes as my throat burned for a drink of water. Ur-Anu grew heavy in my hands and I knew that there would come a moment when my parry would be half a heartbeat too slow. That was more time than she needed to end me.

Her crimson skin shone with exertion. She controlled her breath, but it had become a battle for her. I stepped back to put her at the edge of my range and she made her first mistake. She took a step she shouldn't have and I punished her for it, slamming the butt of my spear into her ankle. She cursed and stumbled.

"Enjoy your hit, jagkru. My rage will not be sated."

"Madwoman! I did not attack this place! I am but a hungry boldisar!"

"Then you're a thief!"

"I steal from the dead!"

"My lady is not dead!" she shrieked in rage.

This time her attack was frenzied, lacking all semblance of the impeccable style and control she'd exhibited thus far. A thread struck into my mind's eye. I saw myself taking a step back, a feint to her left, and then a decisive thrust through her heart. She would be dead before she could blink. This time the threat remained, shining and silver in my mind. She had not made her adjustment that would send it away. I had my pathway. I could end her.

Something stayed my hand. I am a killer, yes, but I do not kill for its own sake. Her anger with me seemed to be centered around something I did not do. She seemed to be on a noble quest. And yes, the thought of slaying such a beauty turned my stomach. I am, as ever, a fool. I have never hidden this fact.

I stepped back, feinted to my left, and she took the bait. The thread blazed in my mind, demanding to be made manifest. Then, spinning Ur-Anu, I caught her chin with the butt of the spear, dazing her and knocking her to the floor. A quick spin and the obsidian blade was at her throat. I was still, save for my exhausted breathing.

Her defiant gaze crawled up the black glass, picking out the veins, like lightning, that blazed from within, then up the intricately-carved shaft, to mine. Her chest rose and fell. Her nipples, tiny and bright, were hard. I caught a scent on the air, faintly, of musky arousal.

"Do it, boldisar. Slay me," she snarled.

"No," I said simply.

"This is a duel to the death! You rob me of my honor!"

"I would not leave your lady without her savior." I spun the spear, striking the butt on the flagstones. I noted then that the daylight was dying. Long shadows reached their dark fingers over the castle. We had been battling for hours.

She rose, watching me with suspicion, her weapons in hand but not at the ready. "You steal from Clan Abibaal."

"If I did not take it, the food would spoil or be taken by scavengers." She stared at me, but did not object. "Come, let's eat. Tell me your tale. You will not be traveling after nightfall anyway."

She looked at the bloody sun sinking into the horizon and sighed heavily. Then she looked at me. "You know my name, boldisar. What do I call you?"

"I am Belromanazar of Thunderhead."

Her gaze went to Ur-Anu. "I almost thought you were someone else."

"So did I."

Shortly, our qobads were made comfortable in the stables, given dead animals to eat rather than the bodies of the humans. Those were given to a pyre Shaluvia insisted upon building in the middle of courtyard. By the time she came in, she was shivering from the frigid night air. I had made myself at home in the castle's modest feasting hall, eating my fill by a fire roaring in the hearth.

She knelt, warming herself before the dancing yellow flames. "What is Thunderhead?" she asked after a moment.

"A wizard's tower in Rhandonia," I said, leaning back in my chair, and digesting the feast I had foolishly devoured. When I saw the blank expression in her amber eyes, I added, "A small kingdom in northwestern Chassudor."

"You are a wizard then?"

"I was."

"Oh." She didn't hide her disappointment. Had she thought I was hiding my power in her duel? "Is that there you learned to fight like that?"

"I am amazon-trained and jungle-honed. I hardly think I am impressive compared to you."

"You bested me."

"Because you care about your mistress. In a pure match of skill, you would have prevailed."

"There is no such thing as a pure match of skill." I tiny smile quirked her lips. "But I am the swordmistress of Clan Abibaal."

"And the Princess's warmaid?"

"Princess Tanyth needs a skilled warmaid." She sighed. "And I failed her."

"Start from the beginning. Why does Princess Tanyth need such an accomplished warmaid?"

"You are a barbarian, so you know not our ways, but you are an honorable man. For a thief and a boldisar, I mean. Clan Abibaal is one of the oldest families in Kharsoom, tracing our lineage back to Shu-Turul, the Great Conqueror." She watched my face. "You know the name."

"I have heard of him. The man who slew the gods."

"I am no scholar, but I do not believe that. If gods could be slain, they would not be gods."

"I'm not a scholar either."

"Clan Abibaal has a lineage, a name, but has fallen upon lean times. They have not the power they once had. Other clans circle us like carrion pharchyl. Of all the threats, none is more dangerous than Clan El. Their Prince has set his sights on taking Clan Abibaal's lands and lineage as his own."

"I have met Clan El."

"You seem to like them as much as I. This had been the state of things since Prince Hadirseen was small. He married for love. A slave."

I had to move my thinking to Kharsoomian pathways. For me, a man of Chassudor, marrying for love was assumed. "That sounds irresponsible considering his clan's plight."

Shaluvia nodded. "Quite, though I cannot fault him, for his union gave the world Princess Tanyth. From the moment she emerged from her mother's womb, she was a prize. Marry Tanyth, and your children could point descent from Shu-Turul, and be heirs to Clan Abibaal's lands and holdings."

"What of the rest of her family?"

"Princess Tanyth's mother, Princess Imshu, perished during childbirth. Prince Hadirseen will have no other children, for he refuses to remarry. He knows it will be Tanyth's marriage that saves his clan, but every bridegroom's motives are suspect."

"Clan Abibaal's holdings must be impressive."

"Their bloodline is more valuable, but there is more. You see, Princess Tanyth's beauty is legendary."

"Legendary?" I found myself growing more interested. I have often said that Kharsoomian women were known for their beauty and in my time taking Kharsoomian paramours I agree with the assessment. What would be legendary beauty to a Kharsoomian fairly boggled the mind.

"Oh yes. Some call her Ari-eil reborn." A pause, as she once again realized she dealt with a barbarian. "The goddess of beauty."

"I see."

"When she came of age, she had no shortage of suitors. Prince Hadirseen tried to navigate, to find the suitor who would preserve Clan Abibaal, but... he has not the wisdom of his daughter. He sought to marry her to a scion of Clan Bazaya." She shook her head in disgust. "That was not to be. Tanyth despises the lad, and in protest, ran here, to the family's hunting lodge."

"Why were you not with her?"

Shaluvia withered in shame. "She is headstrong, and she rode in the middle of the night. I should have known she would do this. I should have seen her intent."

"You could not have known she was fool enough to ride in the dark."

"My lady is an excellent rider!" Shaluvia sucked in a shivering breath. "I only discovered her absence at dawn, and rode after her immediately. At midday, I encountered men and women who worked in this lodge, wounded and bloody, fleeing up the road. They told me the lodge had been sacked by soldiers from Clan El and Princess Tanyth abducted. I sent them up the road to tell Prince Hadirseen what happened. He will send Clan Abibaal's soldiers, but by then I fear it will be too late."

"Too late?"

"I believe she is even now being taken to be wed to Prince Enlilbanipal of Clan El."

"I know him," I said through gritted teeth.

"Once they are wed, honor demands the remain so. We must rescue her before that occurs, or she will be trapped and Clan Abibaal destroyed."

"I stared into the fire, nodding to myself, my decision made. The desire to behold a legendary Kharsoomian beauty united with my need to hurt Clan El. "I will help you."

"You will be well rewarded, boldisar."

"Fighting Clan El is its own reward."

"We ride at dawn."

We pursued Clan El's fighting men over the wasteland. Along the way, we battled the realities of the Red Wastes, including packs of feral jagkru, a skirmish with a xerxyss warband, and a battle with a feral cthithk. There is an intimacy that develops between warriors where one begins to know the moves, the tendencies of the other. It is something like the threads Ur-Anu gives, but it is based around harmony rather than destruction. I had not felt it since my hetairoi. Even still, it was different. With them it was always about letting them protect me as I used my magic. With Shaluvia, it was pure whirling mayhem.

One encounter, I believe, exemplifies our journey across the Red Wastes. It was the day I learned to loath ghalaks. I have often expressed sorrow at the passing of so many creatures when the Fifth Strata became the Sixth.

Not so for ghalaks. I am glad they trouble Thür no longer.

We had found an especially bleak stretch of the wasteland, cutting across it. While Clan El's forces remained on the roads, we believed we could save time. So long as the wastes didn't kill us.

It was late afternoon, and the two of us were exhausted. Our reserves of water were nearly exhausted, and the heat shimmered up over the cracked red earth, baking us. Even our qobads, as hardy a creature that has ever drawn breath, wilted in the punishing heat. I had begun to feel the edges of despair when I glimpsed salvation ahead. A filthy pool, little more than a puddle, choked with muddy water.

"There," I said, riding to it and dismounting. An evil stench hung over the puddle, bringing the gorge to the back of my throat.

"Drink that and it will kill you," Shaluvia said.

I reached into the folds of my loincloth and drew out my sweetwater goblet. Shaluvia's eyes widened as the cup appeared seemingly from nowhere. It was not impressive to look upon, merely a silver cup encrusted with old barnacles hiding the elvish writing over the surface. I knelt by the pool and filled it. The water went from its filthy brown to crystal clear, the scent vanishing and replaced by a fresh aroma.

"Wait!" she called as I tipped the goblet to my lips and drank. The enchanted water replenished my strength instantly.

"Trust me," I said, dipping the cup into the water and offering it to her.

Curious, she dismounted and peered at the water. "What sorcery is this?"

"Try it."

She accepted the cup, took an experimental sip, and her eyes widened in appreciation. She guzzled the rest. "What is this object?"

"My sweetwater goblet," I said. "Come, we can drink our fill."

"An incredible object," Shaluvia mused. "You can travel the wastes without fear."

"Not entirely. I still need water, but any will do."

"Where did you find it?"

"It was a gift from a paramour."

"Quite a gift."

"She was quite a paramour." I knelt to fill it once again, and the puddle collapsed into a sinkhole. The stench that had hung over it now washed over me, and I had to fight to keep my gorge down. Below, a writhing mass of ghalaks reached to me, gnashing the razor-sharp teeth in their hideous circular maws. Threads reached me, and as I reached for Ur-Anu, the soil gave way beneath me and I fell into their nest.

The stink was overwhelming. I had to fight to stay conscious, to say nothing of slaying this loathsome nest of monsters. I pulled Ur-Anu from its place at my back and though the threads showed me precisely how to kill these creatures, the miasma of their odor hammered me to my knees.

Shaluvia cursed. "Bel! Take my hand!"

I reached for her. My vision closed in on me, the stink robbing me of consciousness. I felt her, far away, close over my wrist and she hauled. The stench receded only slightly, but it was enough. I gripped the edge of the dirt and hauled. One of the little horrors was stuck to my leg, busily chewing a circle of flesh.

Shaluvia drew her shortsword, and with a flick of her wrist, beheaded the creature. The others reached from the hole, a keening hiss demanding my blood. I cursed, scrabbling away as the horrors reached for us. The more distance I gave them, the more the stink receded and my consciousness returned.

"Awful creatures," Shaluvia said, beheading another that reached too far from its nest. She gestured to the wound on my leg. "That will fester. We'll need to burn it."

"I should not be surprised."

"Come, we should put some distance between us and this nest and I'll build a fire."

Not long after, I clenched Ksenaëe's reins between my teeth as Shaluvia cooked the wound with a burning brand.

"You handled that well," she said. "For a barbarian."

"Thank you," I said, spitting the rein out. "That is a ghalak. I'd only seen them as a device on a clan flag."

"I can't imagine a clan using such a device. There are more elegant creatures."

"Such as the scorpion."

She traced the tattoo on her flat belly. "Indeed. Do you like it?"

"Seems a good totem."

"A powerful one too. A scorpion can live anywhere in the desert. A clever creature, and deadly to its enemies. Do you have a sigil?"

"No," I said. "I am lowborn. So low I don't know my parents, and I would be surprised if they had a bloodline worth mentioning."

"You were a slave," she said.

"You saw the whip scars on my back. Yes. I was a slave to Clan Sesamhat for a time. I escaped. I understand this is a crime, but other than the clans I have personally crossed, none seem interested in enforcing that law."

"You are a boldisar. It is a complex concept."

"Do you ever think of being a boldisar?"

"I would never abandon my lady."

"She inspires loyalty."

"Oh yes. I am a woman of honor, but I am no fool. If Clan Abibaal did not deserve my allegiance, I would leave for the road. Princess Tanyth deserves her protection and I will kill and die for her without hesitation."

"I have met your like before," I said, my tone softening.

"Tell me of them."

"I fought in a war once. I was given... bodyguards, I suppose would be the word. They died for me."

"If they were like me, they died content."

"I believe they did. I hope they did."

She looked at me speculatively. "I've been curious about your spear."

I coughed. "What?"

She laughed. "Your spear," she said, nodding to Ur-Anu. "As for the other, I have no idea because you insist on wearing that ridiculous kilt."

"Clothing is customary where I am from."

"I assumed you were ashamed."

"We would call it modesty."

"I don't know much of barbarian ways," she said. "You all cover yourselves so?"

"Some more than this."

She shook her head. "That sounds terribly uncomfortable. And it robs the world of the beauty of your form. You enjoy looking at mine."

"I--"

"Do not dishonor yourself denying it."

"Well, yes. You are exquisite."

"I know," she said mildly. "Tell me of your spear. The fighting one."

I settled back against the rock, the ache of the burn receding into the background of my mind. "I suppose a tale would do the both of us some good." I told her the story of the hollow, of the forgotten city, and the forging of Fate.

When I was finished, she thought it over. "Were you describing another weapon, I would not believe you."

"Neither would I."

We caught up with Clan El's rearguard not long after our encounter with the ghalaks. Ahead, on a small rise, we spotted their campfire in the dying light of day. We rode from the west, the setting sun masking our approach, but throwing our shadows across the cracked dirt of the wasteland.

Shaluvia and I took refuge behind an outcropping, dismounting and securing our qobads while we watched the camp. There looked to be a decent-sized force, and with surprise as an ally, I was confident in our ability to defeat them. One look at Shaluvia told me she had a similar assessment of our chances. Fire danced in her amber eyes. She was never so free as she was in the grips of battle, fierce and glorious.

"We'll wait until nightfall," she said. "Get as close as we can before they raise the alarm."

"Eat something," I said.

"A little," she said. "I like to eat after battle."

As night fell and the chill closed in, she drew her blades. She was magnificent in the looming dark, an avatar of war itself.

"Ready for a bloodbath, barbarian?" she asked.

"I am, you glorious madwoman."

We jogged to the camp, staying low. We were nearly upon them before a sentry spotted us. He got out half of a word before I slew him. It was enough, and the rearguard grabbed their weapons and made their futile stand.

Shaluvia fought with abandon even at the best of times, but I had never seen her entirely berserk. These men had laid an unkind hand upon her mistress, and she would see that insult repaid in full. She danced on the edge of control. Her mercy might be gone, but her precision was with her. She slew every man with a single thrust through heart, throat, or eye.

I followed, taking on the role of hetairos. If she would not care for her life, I would do that for her. My superior reach enabled me to intercept the men who thought they had her, and the enchanted blade made short work of them.

We were poetry, but it was the kind of poetry of the old epics. The bloodsoaked ones where the hero is only that because of some mandate from the gods. Our cause was noble perhaps, the freedom of Princess Tanyth, and that name had not any significance to me really. These men, were they evil? Or were they merely on the other side? It doesn't matter, and no one remembers them today, nor the battle we fought upon that small hill.

We fought by the blaze of the fire in the middle of camp, the golden light dancing over bodies slick with sweat and blood. As the battle progressed, I saw Shaluvia in fits and starts. Her crimson skin glistened in the night. Her amber eyes were alight with the carnage. It was a dance, the impossible grace of violence. She was terrible in her beauty.

When the last of the Clan El soldiers lay dead, she turned to me. Her breath was heavy in her chest. Her eyes blazed, and for a moment, I thought she would attack me. Not even mistake me as an enemy, but be so in the grips of battle she could not leave it behind. She had taken so many lives, and what was I but one more? I gripped Ur-Anu, ready to defend myself. I was so taken aback, I did not notice that no thread made its way into my mind, no pathway to her defeat.

In a sudden move, she took two steps to me, dropping to her knees. She stabbed her blades into the dirt and pulled my loincloth off with a single motion. I was hardening already, and she didn't hesitate, taking me in her mouth. Her soft lips were around me, her hot breath over me. Her tongue coaxed me to full rigidity. As I swelled, she fought against my size, sucking at my head while lashing me with her tongue. She wrapped her hands about the base of my staff, pumping as she sucked. There was no artifice in what she did. No sense of teasing. She wanted this, wanted me in this way. This was the final battle of the evening, and she would meet it eagerly.

I pushed a hand into her hair, taking a handful and giving it a gentle pull. She moaned, pushing me to the back of her mouth. She was greedy, her hand following her mouth as she sucked me deep, then shallow. One hand came free of my staff to wrap about my buttocks as though to push me deeper into her hungry mouth.

I moved against her, thrusting into her. I was gentle at first, but the more violently I took her, the happier her moans as she suckled. I pressed hard against the back of her throat, feeling her moans against my silky flesh as I penetrated her. She gagged against my sudden intrusion and that was the spark that set me ablaze. The fire took me, igniting every part of me. I spilled into her mouth in great, hot gouts.

I pulled back just enough that the second, third, and subsequent pulses fell upon her tongue. She stroked me, sucking every thread of me she could find. She had said she wished to eat after the battle, and I wondered if this was what she meant. I sighed, letting her hair go as her tongue washed me. A delicious shiver washed through me as she finished cleaning my staff.

But she was not finished. With a growl, she stood, knocking me upon my back. She stood over me, her bare slit shining with her juices. She knelt over my face, now gripping a handful of my hair, bringing her mound to my eager mouth. I was only too happy to take her in a soft kiss, my tongue piercing the wonderfully pungent depths of her sex. I tasted not only the musk of her arousal, but the sweat of her travel, the leather of her saddle, and even traces of blood from the battle.

Her hips churned against my face as I opened her. I held her buttocks like a piece of fruit as I ate her. I hunted for her flavor, savoring every last hint of her. My tongue was everywhere on her, up and over, around and inside. I slid a finger, then two inside her, beckoning, as I found her pearl with my mouth. She cried out, a ragged thing, her body quaking. A wash of nectar flowed over my chin.

I let her shiver for only a moment. I was ready again, the act of pleasing her demanding another release. I grabbed her, putting her back into the dirt, spreading her legs roughly. Her eyes were still smoky in the grips of the bliss. She had not yet found me again. I sheathed myself inside her, finding her more than wet, more than willing. Her eyes cleared in that moment, her head thrown back, and she cried out again as I took her to the hilt.

She gripped me, her eyes strong on mine, fire in them, demanding me to take her deeply. She rocked her hips forward, her feet in the air. I drove myself down into her. I leaned over, finding a rivulet of sweat between her breasts, taking it on my tongue, then kissing her hard. My hand went to her breast, kneading the supple flesh, pinching her hard nipple.

I was not prepared for her to punch me. The hit dazed me, and for a moment I thought I had gone too far. She pushed me off of her, and whatever concern I might have had vanished as she turned over, getting onto all fours.

"Hard," she said breathlessly.

I needed no more encouragement. I gripped her haunches and slammed myself home. She uttered a choked cry, pushing back against me. She was tight about me, her insides holding my staff. I gripped her hair, pulling as I impaled her with my spear over and over. I knew what it had felt to be berserk, for I was berserk then, but it was our bliss that I sought. I nearly lost my wits entirely, when her body began to quake under the punishment. That was enough to bring me back. I pulled myself from her at the moment of my bliss, covering her back in hot threads of my seed.

She shivered, remaining in her pose, her sex glistening, the pearly ropes of my lust across her back like candlewax. She broke into a wide, catlike smile, looking over her shoulder at me. "Well," she said, "that answers the question about your spear."

Our journey was one of violence punctuated by lust. I believe that for Shaluvia, combat was a form of loveplay and loveplay a form of combat. One demanded the other. Her ardor was never greater than when we had just finished a battle.

Clan El's forces detected the loss of their rearguard. They detected the loss of the next as well. It became obvious that Clan El was feeding their fighting men to us, sending bands that would delay us for another night. As we drew closer to Ghanappur, Shaluvia's desperation, her temper, and her desire reached a fever pitch. She was perpetually glistening with sweat, surrounded by a miasma of her womanly scent, a fire in her amber eyes that could not be quenched, not by love or death.

I was so accustomed to her vitality that when I saw despair in her eyes, it nearly took me too. We had drawn close to Clan El's forces, the cloud of dust kicked up by their column looming in the flat blue sky. We rode hard, and came in sight of them just in time to see them disappear through the gates of Ghanappur, the seat of Clan El.

This was when despair took the glorious warmaid, and I was at once gripped in rage and melancholy over the crime of dousing the fire in her eyes.

"We are too late," said Shaluvia. "We will never be able to fight our way through those gates before the marriage."

I stared at Ghanappur. The city was built on a sloping butte, the gate level with us, then the rest of the city rising over the terrain. At the top was the hippodrome, and not far from that was the Prince's castle, where Princess Tanyth would be held. My eyes fell from there to the butte, the mass of rock holding the city up.

"I escaped Ghanappur once," I said thoughtfully.

"How?"

"I made my way through the undercity. The hill is a warren of hills."

"And this leads into the city itself?"

I nodded. "Through their drainage mainly."

"You know the way?"

"I was a wizard once, trained in memorization," I said. "I can guide us through. We will make it to the castle in time."

She kissed me, hard, her body moving against mine. "I want you," she murmured into my mouth.

"I will take you after the Princess is safely with us," I said.

"Yes you will," she said, taking my lip between her teeth. Then, a moment of regret, and she released me. "A warmaid and a boldisar against a city? These are the quests they write songs about."

The entrances to the undercity were concealed, and the subterranean parts of Ghanappur were no places for the unprepared. I led her to the same place I had emerged from in my own flight from the city, a tunnel nearly invisible until one was on top of it. The two of us dismounted, secreting our qobads in a nearby alcove. They would be fine until our return.

As with every city in Kharsoom, Ghanappur was impossibly old. I do not know when the undercity was built, but I do not believe it was all at once. I believe it started as drainage and grew from there. There were those who would dismiss the undercity as mere tunnels, but it was so much more than that. It was an entire city, vaster even than the one above. Rivers of filth ran down from the butte into the stinking bog at its base. Bridges spanned these rivers, plazas opened between great structures. The undercity was lit with dancing green flames, remnants of a long-dead wizard whose name had been forgotten for a thousand years.

We traveled the great staircases of the undercity, rising through its noisome depths. We were untroubled by the inhabitants, who watched us pass with vague curiosity, no doubt correctly judging us to be more trouble we were worth.

I brought us to the culvert by the hippodrome where a river of sludge from the great structure was emptied out into the undercity. We had traveled through the night, fatigue heavy upon us, and when we emerged, it was in to the deep blue light of early morning. We paused in the deep shadow by the hippodrome, gathering the strength we would need for our task.

"There," I murmured, pointing with Ur-Anu at the castle.

"You did it," she said with a grin. "I did not believe."

"And yet you followed."

"It was your plan or the main gate. I knew that was futile." She shrugged. "And you have proven yourself to me."

"I will treasure those words."

The castle was surrounded by a wall built more to keep the rabble out than repel invaders. We found innumerable handholds allowing us to scale the wall with little difficulty. As we pulled ourselves onto the ramparts, she pointed to the tower at the back of the courtyard.

"He will be holding her there until the wedding," she murmured.

"Let met guess, on the top floor."

"That is the traditional place to hold an abducted bride."

I stared at her. "Kharsoomian traditions are strange."

"To a barbarian," she said without humor. "Today we are Kharsoomian. Even a paleskin like you. We fight our way to the Princess's cell. Quickly, and perhaps we will escape before the alarm sounds."

Guards were everywhere, though they were not on alert. I suspect Prince Enlilbanipal believed himself safe now that he was within his castle. I would not gainsay Shaluvia. This was why we had trekked across the Red Wastes.

We climbed down from the walls, making our way through the deep shadows to the base of the tower. Then, without hesitation, she charged the guards at the tower's door. Two quick thrusts later, and both men were dead and we were inside. She was first up the stairs, her pace never slacking as she ran. Her sandals were soft on the flagstones, and when she found a guard, it was a single thrust through the heart and a fallen man.

We were so swift that somehow the alarm was not raised. We knew we had found our destination when the number of guards tripled. They were no match for us, but one was able to get away for long enough to raise the alarm before I could silence him. I cursed, my heart pounding as we made our way up the final flight of stairs to where the Princess was being held.

The chamber was a gilded cage, silks hanging from columns, a Kharsoomian bed covered with furs at the far end of the room. My breath fled my lungs as I beheld Princess Tanyth of Clan Abibaal for the first time. She stood before the bed, her body tensed in trepidation.

Shaluvia's description had not been lightly given. Tanyth's harness was finely worked, a scorpion motif upon the leatherwork in golden threads. A silken half-skirt flared from her waist, hiding none of her nudity, and giving her only a more elegant silhouette, as though Tanyth could ever be wanting for elegance. Her other adornments were golden bracelets and anklets, both worked in the designs of her clan. A golden diadem with a scorpion design sat on her brow. A necklace hung between her breasts. Lastly, her navel was pierced, and she wore a golden scorpion in it. All of her jewelry was set with amethysts, sparkling purple gems in plenty.

She was not quite into her second decade, her beauty still in the bloom of youth. She had a wide, intelligent forehead, sculpted cheekbones, and a stubborn chin with a subtle cleft. Her lips were full and heart-shaped. Her wide eyes were violet, and though holding some fear, she did not shrink. Her hair reached the small of her back and so black that it carried blue highlights. She was slim, her breasts like teardrops, prominent and proportionate to her frame. Her hips flared gently from a narrow waist. Her crimson skin was smooth and unblemished. Her sex was modest and private, holding secrets even as it was bare before me. She was less a woman and more of a vision of loveliness, the indelible image that would enter my mind whenever the word "beauty" would be mentioned. I fell in love with her immediately, though I would deny it, even to myself. She was out of my reach. She was out of any mortal's reach.

As her gaze fell upon her warmaid, relief filled her eyes. "Shaluvia," she said, her muscles uncoiling.

"Your Highness," Shaluvlia said, saluting with her bloody blade. "Come quickly, the alarm has been raised."

She ran to us, her smile lighting up her face. "I never doubted you would be here. And you brought a friend." I shivered with pleasure as the Princess regarded me, standing straighter to present a more fetching outline.

"Princess Tanyth, this is Belromanazar, a savage boldisar who makes our cause his own."

"I'm in your debt, brave boldisar," Tanyth said, offering me a curtsy. Her voice was a caress upon the back of my neck, and I knew I would do anything to hear her speak to me in kindness.

"You owe me nothing yet," I said. "There's still spearwork to be done."

"And spearwork to be done once we're free," muttered Shaluvia, shooting me a wink.

That brought me back down from the heavens. Though I might love Tanyth, it was Shaluvia who would warm my furs that night. The warmaid was no mere consolation either. She was a magnificent creature in her own right, an exciting and alluring bedmate I was lucky to call mine even for so short a time.

We ran down the stairs, ready for resistance, but we passed only the corpses of the men we slew on the way up. I had a moment of hope, believing the alarm might have been missed. Then we emerged from the tower, and saw my hopes were in vain.

The guards were massing in the courtyard. More emerged from their barracks, armed and looking for the source of the alarm. The three of us paused in the face of this response. I do not know what was in Shaluvia or Tanyth's hearts, but for myself, I looked for the steel within. I found it with Tanyth. I would show her nothing but valor.

As we gathered ourselves, Prince Enlilbanipal emerged from the ziggurat at the far end of the courtyard with his personal bodyguards in tow. Though I had last seen him years ago in front of the hippodrome, I recognized him. He was a handsome man in vital middle age, his black hair graying at the temples. His limbs were strong, his belly only beginning to soften. He carried a finely made Kharsoomian blade, ready to do battle. Though I hated him, I could not help but hold some respect for the man.

The man next to him was huge, his black hair in a scalplock, a pair of mustaches at the corners of his mouth. He carried a massive cleaver on a long handle. His arms and legs were like tree trunks. This was Amukkan, Enlilbanipal's right hand, though I would not know his name until years later.

"Those are the fiends that tracked us, Your Highness," Amukkan said. "The few who escaped their slaughter told us of them!"

"She is Shaluvia, warmaid to my bride-to-be," explained Enlilbanipal. His eyes narrowed as he looked to me. "And he... yes, I would not forget the man who dishonored my city! That is Ashuz the Farmer!"

"You're a farmer?" asked Tanyth.

"It was a nickname."

"I thought you were Belromanazar," said Shaluvia.

"I'll explain everything when we escape."

"Men!" boomed Enlilbanipal. "The man with the spear is an enemy of Clan El! Bring me his head and you'll have a thousand caira and the use of two of my bedslaves for a night!"

The guards roared and charged. Though I was filled with anger, wanting revenge not only for being placed in the hippodrome but for the arrogance of believing he could wed a creature as lovely as Princess Tanyth, I had not lost my senses. Every heartbeat that passed, another fighting man of Clan El boiled from the barracks, ready to collect the Prince's bounty.

"The gate!" I called to Shaluvia.

Her mouth stretched in a grim line. The joy of battle was upon her, but she knew her true duty was to the Princess. The three of us ran, and when Shaluvia or I had to kill a man, we did so without breaking stride.

I was almost to the gate when a guard leapt from the ramparts. I killed him with a quick thrust through his neck. A thread touched my mind, warning me of immanent attack. A guard had outpaced his fellows, and if I turned, he would end his journey at the end of Ur-Anu.

I whirled, bringing up the blackspear to introduce him to his fate. It was unnecessary. To my surprise, Tanyth picked up the blade from a fallen man, and with impressive grace, she sidestepped the attacker's advance and dispatched him with a thrust through the neck.

"Are you going to stare at me, or are we going to escape?" Tanyth asked with a grin.

"As you wish," I said, slaying the two men still obstructing us. The three of us sprinted out into the streets of Ghanappur with Clan El's fighting force on our heels.