Merecenaries

by Lancer

Part I • Part II • Part III

Yes there are two paths you can go by,
But in the long run,
there's still time to change the road you're on.
Stairway to Heaven
Led Zeppelin

PROLOGUE

The wind played in the tops of the trees, rustling them violently and causing their shadows to dance back and forth across the forest trail below, providing the traveller with some welcome relief from the intensity of the sun.

Already having discarded his light chain mail shirt because the metal trapped the heat, Berek looked down from his steed at Fang with pity at the thick fur coat he was forced to wear. Being a wolf, Fang didn't have much choice in the matter, unlike Berek who rode on in just a white cotton shirt, covered in dust and dirt from the road, and a pair of light tan breeches which matched his short, tousled hair. His face was creased, partly from age, mostly from spending his life outdoors in the sun. His hairline was receding, leaving him with a particularly high forehead. Twin scars on his left cheek and around the rest of his body bore testament to a life of combat.

Berek pressed his horse, Spear, onwards through the forest, his sword banging against his side with every step the black stallion took. Fang walked slowly alongside his master, panting heavily and concerning Berek somewhat. If they didn't find a source of water soon, the he feared his faithful companion could die of dehydration.

Berek recalled crossing a stream just a short distance ahead last time he took this path. Where, he wasn't totally sure, just that it wasn't too far ahead. All he could do till then was push on and hope he wasn't wrong.

Fang had accompanied Berek on his travels since he was pup. Being the runt of the litter, Fang had been bullied by his brothers and sisters, ignored by his mother and eventually left behind by the pack. Berek had found the frightened and hungry little pup wandering alone through a forest similar to this, one of many that dotted the Kingdom of Midgard, and being watched greedily by a large hawk. A well thrown rock had scared away the hawk, leaving Berek to care for the pup, feeding him some water and dried meat from his provisions and carrying him when the pup got tired and needed to sleep.

Fang had stayed with him since then and had grown into the large beast he was today. The partnership worked well for both of them; Fang got love and food from his master, and Berek got a loyal companion and a fierce beast to fight alongside him. Fangs presence particularly came in handy at deterring the drunks and brigands who always felt they needed to prove their stupidity against the many warriors that travelled the roads of Midgard.

Berek had not always been a roaming warrior. Years ago he had been a soldier in the Kings Army, a member of the elite Shadow Regiment, one of the highly trained cavalry units that would sneak behind enemy lines and either reconnoitre their strengths and formations, or sabotage vital infrastructure, such as destroying bridges and cutting off the enemies supply lines. Berek had joined at the age of sixteen, and fought in the Merchant War against the neighbouring kingdom of Izmit a few years later, sneaking into Izmit territory and ambushing supply caravans. It was during one such raid that Berek learned a hard lesson in life, when the caravan they were attacking turned out to be a cleverly disguised ambush. To harden the blow further, their Captain, whom they had all trusted implicitly, turned against them and sided with the Izmit's. Berek and his friend and comrade Timin, upon seeing their Captain show his true colours and knowing the battle was lost, turned and fled, riding several days back into Midgard. Parting ways at an inn, Timin went north to relay the news to the rest of the Kings Army and continue the war. Berek however traded his armour and journeyed west, turning to adventure and seeking a living as a sword for hire.

As Berek's thoughts wandered through his past, they inevitably returned to the reason behind his current journey, as he reached down and pulled a piece of parchment from his belt. Unfolding it, he read it over again for the hundredth time since he had received it a week ago, back in Wotnest, a small town that lay on the shores of the Darling River which drained from the Highlands in the west to Lake Badb in the east. The letter was from Timin, asking him to meet him in Epon by the end of the month to discuss some 'issues of grave concern'.

Berek furrowed his brow. What on Terra did Timin mean by that? Last he heard about Timin, he had joined the Royal Guard and now spent his time guarding King Omar and the Royal Family. Not a very exciting job, King Omar was aging and rarely left the more civilized lands of Midgard anymore, but then again, Timin had never craved adventure as much as Berek had, particularly now they were getting on in years.

Berek had been a greatly skilled swordsman in his day, a warrior by nature, but now he was well into his mid forties, and his reflexes were not as fast or sharp as they had been, something which constantly nagged at Berek's mind like an old housewife. Part of Berek hoped that whatever Timin had to say, it would provide him with an opportunity to deny that he was slowing down, and could still cross swords with the best of them. However the other half, his vocal rational half, kept making its opinion clear; that adventuring was a past time for the young.

* * * * *

Leagues away from Berek, the sun beat down just as mercilessly on the merchants caravan as it wound its way through the barren and rocky mountain pass. Gravel crunched under the wagon wheels as the various men on horseback tried to urge their steeds to push through the rough patches of spinifix grass. The caravan was working its way west through a particularly narrow pass at the edge of the Yusdale Mountains, a range of dry, bare, mountains that ran along the northern border of the great Koran Desert, forcing the caravan and its accompanying mercenary guard to ride single file, and leaving them open to attack from the hills above, something which greatly concerned the Mercenary Captain.

Riding at the head of the convoy, with just his scouts ahead of him, the Captain spent as much time looking up and around as he did forward, but still the attack took him by surprise.

An earsplitting roar echoed around the pass, stunning men and scaring horses. The Captain looked up to see a massive dragon swoop down from the sky. Its body was a full fifty metres from snout to tail, covered in the thick scaly hide of a lizard, with two enormous wings sprouting from its back. Those wings, with a span of over sixty metres from tip to tip, blocked out the sun as it dropped on the terrified mercenaries and wagon drivers. Many dropped their weapons and fled, but a brave and foolhardy few stayed to fight, including the Captain. Some of the mercenaries loosed off a dozen arrows, but their bows just weren't powerful enough to pierce the thick hide on its belly. The Dragon responded with a roaring jet of flame from it's mouth, incinerating all in the pass. The Captain screamed and fell from his horse as he felt the heat from the flames envelope him and sear his skin, before everything went dark.

After the defenders were all incapacitated, the dragon took to the skies again, where it promptly vanished into thin air. A lone figure emerged from behind a rock atop the hill and half ran, half slide his way down the loose surface to the wagons, his features hidden under the black mask he wore over his head. He passed the unconscious Captain, whose suntanned skin bore not a single burn from the dragons fire, and climbed into the drivers seat of the middle wagon. With a flick of the reins, the horses pulling the wagon trotted off, negotiating the fallen bodies and driverless wagons in front of it. As he trotted out of the pass, the figure chuckled to himself at how those mercenaries had fallen for one of his simplest illusions.

* * * * *

A world away from the troubles and terror of Midgard, Patricia Moore was startled into wakefulness by her bedside alarm clock. She raised her sleep weary head and gazed at it for a few seconds before everything clicked into place. It was six-thirty on a saturday morning, and she had forgotten to switch her alarm off the night before. She rolled over and stared at the ceiling, trying to decide whether to get up or sleep in a while longer. She then decided that decision was too hard, preferring instead to just lie there a while longer. As she did, she tried to recall the dream she had been having until the alarm rudely woke her. She remembered she was at work, and that she was naked, but none of her coworkers seemed to care, in fact all her female coworkers were naked too. Initially she was concerned about her nudity and had tried to cover herself, then tried hiding behind some of the furniture, but the total lack of inhibition of the other women convinced her otherwise. Striding boldly from her hiding spot, she had walked out and presented herself to everyone. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, she wasn't sure which, none of the men had cared, they just went about their work, not paying attention to her. The women on the other hand, seemed to take more notice of her than she would have thought. Two of them approached her, lay down on the floor in front of her and started making out, kissing and fondling each others breasts. Then Patricia had felt a pair of hands wrap around her and grab her breasts, at which point she woke up.

Patricia shifted her body and felt the sheets rub against her hard nipples, surprising her, she hadn't realised how aroused just recalling the dream had made her. Patricia, spreading her legs wide, moved her hand to her crotch and slipped her index finger inside, feeling her juices trickle down her lips. Pulling her finger out, she moved to her clit and fixated on that, gently vibrating it and sending pulse after pulse of pleasure through her. Massaging her left breast with her other hand, she rubbed and squeezed it, gently pinching and tugging the nipple. Patricia mewed gently as the tension inside her mounted. Letting go of her breast, Patricia reached out to the bedside table and tugged the drawer open. Fumbling around inside, her fingers grasped a long plastic cylinder and closed around it. Bringing it out, she gave it a well practised little twist and the device began rapidly buzzing like a swarm of angry bees.

Plunging the vibrator deep inside her, Patricia moaned even more loudly as each vibration sent shock waves of ecstasy through her. Every now and then, the vibrator would slip and rub against her nub, and the sensation was like a tidal wave crashing against a cliff, forcing a low moan from her lips. Finally, the waves built to a crescendo and burst whatever dam had been holding them back. The meows turned into low moans, which built into into loud groans, bordering on a wail, as her climax was approached,. And then, all to quickly, it fell off and died, leaving a satisfied Patricia with a smile and some particularly damp sheets.

Wiping the vibrator on the sheets, she dropped it back in the drawer and closed it. Climbing out of bed, she noted that it was now a quarter to eight. Making a mental note to herself to change her bed linen, Patricia headed for a nice warm shower. Twenty six and blonde, Patricia was a knock out who could quite easily have been a model, if she hadn't considered all models to be anorexic, airheaded bimbos, who couldn't hold an intelligent thought in their pretty little heads if they're multi-million dollar contracts depended on it.

Despite her hatred of models, Patricia was by no means fat, or even chubby. Despite her love of food, the greasier, the better, Patricia managed to maintain her figure, one of the advantages of her profession. While not anorexic like the models she despised, she was trim and athletic, but with all the curves a woman is meant to have. Her breasts were a large D cup and, she was proud to say, all real.

Turning the water in her shower on, she reached in and tested the temperature, but found it to be a tad too cold. After fiddling with the knobs for a few moments, she got the exact temperature she wanted, and stepped in. Patricia liked to sleep naked for comfort reasons, and therefore did not need to strip out of any pajamas, or waste money on them. Lathering a good amount of suds on her body, she washed away all the sweat and dirt she'd accumulated, then dunked her head under to wash her hair. While her profession required short hair, Patricia liked to keep hers as long as she could, cutting it off just above her shoulders. Whilst at work, she kept it tied back and out of the way in a pony tail, but at home, liked to let it hang loose.

After finishing in the shower, Patricia toweled herself off and headed back to her bedroom to dress. Even though she slept naked, she was not a nudist and kept her clothes on at home, even if she dreamed about not wearing them at work. And it was this dream that perplexed her. Whilst she did find the female body arousing, she did not find sex with another woman too appealing, even though she could find nothing to dislike about it. It must just be one of those things you have to try to find out if you like it or not she had concluded. Although she had such thoughts, she did not consider herself gay or even bisexual. She had been intimate with a woman before, but then she was so drunk, she probably would have been intimate with a dog had it tried to put the move on her.

Opening her cupboard, Patricia rifled through her clothes, looking for a particular dress she had in mind that day. About to push her uniform out of the way, she stopped and glanced at the flag she proudly wore on it. She looked up at the shoulders and remembered how proud she felt the day she was promoted to Flight Lieutenant in the Royal Australian Air Force, and became the youngest Flight Lieutenant in Number 3 Squadron history. Pushing her uniform aside, Patricia found the dress she was looking for, an attractive floral print skirt, pulled it out and proceeded to dress for the day.

PART I

Baron Brady de Lish, the young lord of the port city of Vanir and it's surrounding fiefdom of Lish, angrily pushed open the doors to his study, sending them banging against the stone walls and making his manservant, Turin, cringe. Brady stalked around the room, flexing his fists in a tightly controlled rage. The fire that roared in the hearth tinged his normally golden mane of hair an indistinct shade of crimson, and caused his gold jewellery to sparkle and flash, but did not even come close to the inferno that raged inside him. His piercing blue eyes burned with naked ambition, two glowing orbs on his handsome and clean shaven face. Standing a head taller than the average commoner, and just as well built, Brady was a shining example of the fine breeding, upbringing and lifestyle of the nobility.

"This displeases me greatly, Turin." Brady said through clenched teeth, so angry he could not even bare to look at the man.

"Oh, forgive me, milord! I took all precautions-" Turin groveled on his knees. His handsome blue tunic dishevelled, and dark hair turning grey, ruffled.

"ALL PRECAUTIONS?" Brady spun around to face the quivering manservant. "Think for a moment, you maggot! If you had taken all precautions, the caravan would not have been ambushed, and I would now have my cargo! Clearly you did not!"

"But, milord! How was I to now those bandits employed a mage! No highway brigand has ever done that before?" Turin pleaded on the verge of tears. Brady gazed at the sobbing servant in disgust as his rage boiled over. Bringing his fist up, he backhanded Turin across the face with such force that the sound echoed around the room and sent the servant sprawling backwards on the floor.

His anger vented, Brady took a deep breath and managed to calm himself somewhat. "No, how were you to know about the mage? Clearly, these was no ordinary highway bandits, to be able to afford magic." Brady stopped and thought for a few moments, his hand stroking his chin unconsciously. That cargo was extremely valuable, irreplaceable, and now it was in the hands of thieves, but not ordinary thieves. Did they even know what that caravan was carrying? Probably. And how to get it back? I must seek Rhea's advice on this. And what to do about Turin? "Tell me Turin, what punishment do you think you deserve?"

"Whatever My Lord deems appropriate."

"Well, fortunately for you, I have more important matters to think about at the moment. Guard!" A chain mail clad swordsman entered the study. "Lock him up in the dungeon, I'll decide his fate later."

"Yes, milord." The Guard grabbed the still sobbing Turin by the collar of his tunic and roughly yanked him towards the door, half pulling, half dragging him away. Brady watched watched them go with about as much interest as one would show to a rabid dog about to be put down. After they left, Brady shut and locked the doors, then went over to the fireplace. Picking up the bucket of sand that lay by the mantle, he doused the flames till all that was left was a few glowing embers. Reaching up into the chimney, Brady felt for and flicked open the hidden catch that lay inside the mantle. Almost immediately, a dark crack emerged in a panel of bare wall opposite the fire as the hidden door there was unlatched. Placing some fresh kindling on the embers and stoking them back into life, Brady took a wooden torch from the wall just inside the hidden door and lit it from the fire.

Passing through the hidden door, Brady closed and relatched it, then silently moved down the dark passageway. His torch light flickered in the clouds off dust and cobwebs as he made his way to the spiral staircase at the end. Built during the construction of the castle, it's presence was promptly erased from the minds of the builders by the use of a simple spell, leaving the owner of the castle and those they trusted with the secret the only ones knowing, as was the case with most castles in Midgard. Although no one would actually confirm it for them, it was widely rumoured among the commoners that just about every castle in the land was riddled with secret passages, and some even had hidden tunnels leading out of them, so that the lord of the castle and his soldiers could escape should his home be invaded.

Brady made his way down the stairs, winding his way down into the dungeon. Once there, he worked his way through the mini maze of passages to the suite of rooms hidden deep underneath. Originally designed as secret storerooms, Brady's father had converted them into a rather plush home, so as to keep his secretly employed mage away from curious eyes.

A fickle man, Brady's father had openly detested magic and all who used it, a hatred that grew from his fear of it. Over the years, this fear grew into paranoia, even after he took steps to protect himself. At first he banned magic altogether in his realm, but still worried about a mage sneaking into his home. So, after many months of quiet searching, he found Rhea. Rhea was a quiet, unimposing woman who one would quite rightly have overlooked, were it not for the dark confidence she radiated, a confidence stemming from her magical prowess.

Although employed by his father for nearly a decade, Rhea did not look a day over twenty one. And even though she didn't talk about it, Brady rightly assumed that it was her magic keeping her young, and suspected that it had for decades before she had started working for his father.

But after Brady's father passed away suddenly, and quite mysteriously, Brady was left with a conundrum. He did not fear magic like his father had, and thus had no need to keep Rhea around, particularly at the wage she was getting. It was Rhea who soon provided Brady with an answer. In order to keep her position, she had dangled before Brady the root of all corruption; absolute power. If Brady continued to employ her, Rhea had promised to make him king, and he had leapt at the chance.

Although Rhea couldn't use her magic to directly make him king, King Omar's Court Sorcerer, Shaul, and the Royal Guard were too powerful for that, she believed there to be another way.

Brady reached the door to Rhea's sanctum and pushed it open without knocking. Rhea, he saw, was seated on a tall stool, hunched over a pile of old scrolls, methodically searching for a specific one. Brady was disappointed that she had pulled her cowl over her head, hiding her not unattractive features from him, but immediately pushed that thought from his mind. He had more important matters on hand. She made no indication that she was aware of his intrusion, but Brady did not doubt that the old crone, even though she didn't look it, had known he was coming before he even ventured into the passage from his study.

"The caravan was ambushed. They stole the cargo." He started.

"I know." She said, not looking up from her scrolls. Her voice was low and husky, and unlike her looks, did belie her age.

"Well?" He asked, fully expecting her to show more concern. After all, the cargo may have been addressed to him, but it was she who was after it.

"Retrieve it." she said as she opened another scroll and quickly skimmed it.

Brady was furious. "It wasn't some common brigand who stole it!" he almost shouted.

"I know. They used magic."

"And you expect me to send soldiers after a mage powerful enough to overcome a full mercenary company?" he asked incredulously.

"No. Especially not your soldiers."

"Then what am I meant to do, Witch?

"My Lord." She said slowly, putting down her scrolls and turning to finally face him. "There is a common saying, which you're father was particularly fond of. 'Fight fire with fire'. It was the motive behind my employment with him." Brady calmed down a bit as he saw where she was going. "So you believe I should hire another mage to hunt down this rogue?"

"Only by magic, will he be defeated."

"Do you have anyone in particular in mind?"

"There is a young mage by the name of Beryl, who will offer us his services."

"Is he skilled enough?"

Rhea hoped down off her chair and wandered over to the large water filled cauldron that sat in the middle of the room. "Sufficient to defeat this opponent. He was not a particularly skillful mage, just lucky. Had those mercenaries you hired had any spine, he would not have succeeded." She mumbled a word and the water suddenly started boiling.

"Turin!" Brady spat. "If that maggot were halfway competent, he would have hired some decent mercenaries!" Brady turned and noticed that Rhea was not listening to him, but was instead mumbling an incantation and gesturing mystically. Suddenly she stopped and opened her eyes.

"Come. See." She beckoned Brady over to the cauldron. Brady looked in, and saw an image reflected on the waters violent surface. Only it wasn't a reflection, as Brady recognized the series of mountains that appeared behind the figure. The Macha Mountains, the jagged range of snow capped peaks that divided Midgard from Izmit, and which was over a weeks ride away. The figure standing before them was that of a young man in his early twenties with fine brown hair cut in a page boy haircut. His body was lithe, but very athletic and currently wrapped in a tattered white tunic and green breaches. "This is our man." Rhea said.

"Where is he?"

"Two days travel from Kecht. You will be able to catch up with him there."

"I shall send a message immediately." Brady said, sweeping out of the room. Rhea dispelled the vision with a wave of her hand and watched her pawn leave.

* * * * *

Beryl turned in his saddle to face his travelling companions as the city of Kecht came into view as they crested the hill. "Why are we here?" he asked.

Brecht pulled his horse up next to Beryl's. "Has all those hours with your head in a book rotted your brain? The road to Asgar passes through here."

"Could we skirt around?" Beryl said, his voice thick with worry.

"Why? What's wrong with passing through?" Asked Dirk, Beryl's other companion. "Do you sense something?"

"Not sense as in my magic, but just....." Beryl floundered, searching for the words to describe what was giving him such concern. "I do not know, just a bad feeling about this place I guess."

Dirk gripped the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it. He had known Beryl his whole life, and he had long learned to trust his friends instincts. Magic is a difficult thing to control, and only a few possessed the ability. Its applications are boundless, and there existed numerous spells to extend the senses, some of which Beryl knew, but wasn't using at the moment. His years of practising magic seemed to have stretched his normal five senses beyond human norms, allowing him to perceive things others could not. Such stretching of the senses wasn't common among mages, but did afflict a small minority. Why this happened, no one knew, but those experienced and knowledgeable in magic that he spoke to theorized that the use of magic forced the body into extending it's awareness, to allow them to better perceive the sea of mystical energy that permeated the world, and is what magic is created from, similar to when one loses their sight or hearing, the other senses strengthen to compensate.

"We could skirt around, I guess, but that would mean spending another night in the wilderness, something I don't want to do." Unlike Dirk, Brecht didn't trust in anything but his own massive two handed broadsword. The large swordsman urged his horse forward, but Dirk caught his shoulder.

"Wait, Brecht. I trust Beryl's instincts. His magic let's him sense things we don't. It's saved both our lives on many occasions."

"Be that as it may, but I intend to sleep in a bed tonight, hopefully with a belly full of ale and some wench beside me."

"That does sound tempting." Beryl commented.

"What does?" Asked Dirk,

"A warm bed and a hot wench." The mage said with a smirk.

"What about that feeling of yours?"

"It's probably nothing. Kecht is a lawful town and it's lord is a fair and just man, so far as I have heard. Sense and reason dictates that the only danger to be found here is from a bar room brawl."

"If you're sure about this?" Dirk said.

"What? Do you like sleeping on the cold, hard ground, Dirk?" Brecht goaded him with a playful grin.

"More than I like walking into danger." Dirk responded.

Brecht grinned even wider, and turned his horse towards the town. "Well come on then. All that ale waiting for us ain't going to drink itself." Beryl and Dirk looked at each other and shrugged before urging their horses on after Brecht, Dirk keeping one hand close to his sword. A young man about the same age as Beryl, he had dark hair which he kept short, as was the fashion for fighters, flashy hazel coloured eyes and handsome features. The rest of his body was muscular and athletic, with barely an ounce of fat on him. He didn't smile much. In fact, Beryl couldn't recall him smiling in the last six years, not since that night.

Brecht on the other hand, always seemed to have a grin permanently plastered on his face, as if he were the victim of some maniacal witch's curse. Large and lumpy was how Beryl usually described him, as well as temperamental, thick and irresponsible, but with the strength of an ox and the endurance of a horse. Beryl suspected, rightly, that Brecht had some giant in him, possibly back a few generations, but still making him bigger, faster and stronger than the average human. Brecht also sported sandy coloured hair which he kept short like Dirk, and deep blue eyes. His face, while not fat, was a lot more fleshy than either Beryl's' or Dirks', and the same was to be said for the rest of his body.

Out of the three, only Dirk and Brecht wore armour. Dirk wore a light chain mail shirt, plate metal arm and shin guards over his light cotton shirt and pants and a basic helmet that covered his head but not his face. Brecht, one the other hand, wore no helmet, but was dressed in a full plate mail suit, incredibly heavy, but which he carried like it was nothing more than a thick coat. His gigantic sword was strapped to his back in a plain leather scabbard, its pommel protruding over his right shoulder from where it could be easily drawn. Dirk, in contrast, wore his long sword in the conventional manner, hanging from his belt at his left side, and carried a rather sharp and vicious dagger on his right.

Despite knowing a number of offensive and defensive spells he could cast with a wave of his hand, Beryl did keep a lightweight but agile rapier at his side. While not as proficient with weapons as Dirk and Brecht were, Beryl was sufficiently skilled to fend off most attacks and inflict some pain in turn, a skill that had saved his life several times over the years.

* * * * *

A few hours later, the three travellers joined the queue awaiting entrance into the town. Being the largest settlement this close to the Macha Mountains, Kecht was frequently attacked by the various Stygian races that lived there, but not in a century had her defences been breached. Since then, heavy investment by the monarchy over the years had made it one of the most heavily fortified cities in the kingdom. Not only were her walls as impenetrable as the ones that protected the capital of Asgar, but at any one time, a full regiment of the Kings Army was stationed here, in addition to the Militia, the city's own small army and police force.

When it was their turn to enter through the gate, they were stopped and searched by the guards for contraband, but finding nothing, were allowed to pass after paying the entrance tax of two copper coins. Passing through the massive gatehouse, the three entered the city proper and forced their way into the flow of traffic on the cobbled streets. Kecht itself was like any other city in this medieval world; creaky, two storey wooden houses with wooden shingle roofs squashed against each other and perched on the edge of the cobbled roads. Often the ground floor of the houses were used as shops whilst the family that ran it would live on the floor above.

The streets themselves twisted between the houses, often not much wider than a narrow lane. The main roads however, like the one that ran from the city gate to the market square in the centre of the city or the one that followed the wall around, were wide enough to allow two carts to pass each other quite easily and served as the main thoroughfares. On the sides of these roads, many people set up stalls selling food or other goods and passersby would crowd around the more popular ones, constricting movement along the road and creating the all too often traffic jams.

To look at one of these jams was to see a cross section of Midgard's population, easily distinguished by their clothing. The poorer, more common folk wore coarse materials, typically brown or grey in colouring, while the people with money were able to afford finer cloth of various colours, the most popular being red, green, yellow and blue. Finest of all were the merchants and nobility with their silks and exotic furs, all elaborately embroidered with golden or silver thread, encrusted with precious gems and kept spotlessly clean by the many servants they employed.

Men wore either loose pants, breaches or leggings with either a shirt or smock. The more affluent ones would wear a fur coat over that when the weather got cold, and hats of various designs. The women wore dresses with long ankle length skirts, but fit tight from the waist up, cut low to display their cleavage. If they had the money, women would also wear corset like vests of various colours over their dresses to further enhance their bust. Right now, in the middle of summer, most of the women wore the thinnest of materials and dispensed with the slips and other undergarments they wore underneath. The upstanding women of fine station wore wimples and fine caps over their elaborately braided hair.

But the easiest to spot were the many adventurers, soldiers and other fighters that pushed their way through the throng. Many wore armour, either leather or metal, some carried shields of various shapes and sizes, but all carried weapons, the most common being the sword, either slung from the waist or strapped to their back. They would bump and push many of the common folk out of their way, and when the commoners turned to see who had rudely shoved them, most of them chose to back down when they caught sight of their weapons.

In all these ways, Kecht was just like any other city in the land, but one thing about her stood out to the three travellers; the smell. While most cities smelled in one way or another, either from the many thousands of people that were unable to wash regularly, or the mud and dirt that accumulated on the streets as a result of inadequate drainage, but all had some form of sanitation service that cleaned the rubbish and animal faeces from the streets. But, apparently, not so in Kecht. The streets were covered with animal dung, and the recent rain had turned much of it into a thick sludge that covered the road. The three travellers thanked their luck that they had horses to trudge through the unsavoury muck for them.

"Anyone know the best place to get a drink?" Brecht wondered aloud. The other two shook their heads.

"I have never been here before." Beryl said.

"Well Beryl," Brecht said, slapping him on the shoulder "why not use your magic to find us one?"

"I never bothered to learn that spell. I thought you were able to sniff them out."

"Normally I would, but I'm blocked up by the smell of all this dung about." Brecht said.

"Why aren't the workers cleaning this mess up?" Dirk wondered.

"How would I know?" said Brecht. "But stay that, I see an inn ahead." he announced as he kicked his horse into a canter, leaving Dirk and Beryl struggling to catch up in the traffic.

The inn Brecht had spotted was a large two storey building that sat on the corner of the main street and another side road and named the Boars Tusk, highlighted by a large sign that hung over the door featuring a boars head with an abnormally large tusk. A small arch in the side of the building led around the back to a courtyard and stables. Leaving their horses with the stable hand, the three wondered into the inn's common room.

This inn could have been any of reasonable quality in Midgard; the common room was furnished with heavy dark oaken wood cut from the Brugh Forest just west of the city, the ceiling was low and the floor boards covered in straw rushes, the tables were a mix of rectangular wooden trestles with benches for seats, and large circular tables capable of seating half a dozen large men in proper backed chairs. The spacious windows were opened wide to light and air the room, and a pleasant breeze was blowing through the place. Dirk saw that the door to the kitchen had been wedged open and guessed that the back door leading to the courtyard had been wedged open as well to allow the wind to blow and ventilate the inn. There where about a dozen people in the inn, quite busy for mid afternoon. A group of farmers well on their way to getting drunk made up half of the clientele, obviously celebrating a rather profitable day at the markets for them. In a far corner, two well dressed men, lawyers from the looks of them, sat, quietly discussing events. The rest of the patrons sat either in pairs or by themselves, enjoying a quiet drink. The three young men took all this in, but concerned themselves with only the most important; the ale was flowing and the barmaids were pretty.

Brecht slapped Beryl on the shoulder again and laughed, as he was fond of doing. "Well, Beryl, I would say that the first round of drinks would be yours." Dirk laughed with Brecht as they wondered off to a table. Beryl rolled his eyes at Brechts impertinence and started for the bar. The young barmaid, about sixteen or seventeen Beryl guessed, with bright blue eyes, a dazzling smile and flowing golden mane, looked up from the bar she was busily wiping down.

"What'll it be?" she asked, looking back down at the bar top.

"Three ales if you please." The barmaid dropped her rag into a large pocket on the front of her apron, grabbed three mugs and began filling them from the taped barrel behind her. When finished, she handed the mugs to Beryl and stuck out her hand.

"Six coppers." she said. Beryl reached into the coin pouch he hung from his belt and paid her.

"By the way," Beryl said as he juggled the three mugs, "why is there dung piled knee high on the street?"

"New in town?" the barmaid asked as she went back to wiping the bar. "The City Workers Guild has been on strike for the past few weeks, protesting some of the young nobles who got a bit drunk and tried to make a street cleaner eat some of the dung he was cleaning. When the man rightly refused, they beat him. But the worst thing is that Baron Ticht won't punish them because he wants to stay on the good side of the nobles. So the Workers Guild took matters into their own hands and are refusing to clean the streets."

"Really? The Workers Guild are on strike?"

The barmaid nodded. "The Baron's already thrown the Guild leaders in prison, but the nobles want him to lock up the entire guild, but the Baron's too afraid, cause he knows then all the commoners would riot."

"How long has it been going on for?"

"A few weeks. Long enough for disease to start spreading." The barmaid said before moving to another part of the bar, effectively ending their conversation. Beryl shrugged, balancing the mugs, wound his way to the table Dirk and Brecht had claimed.

"I think I know why I got that bad feeling about entering Kecht." Beryl said to the others as he set down their ale.

"And?" Dirk asked as he grabbed his mug.

"Seems the Workers Guild has been on strike here for the last few weeks and disease has already begun to spread."

Brecht choked on his ale. "Disease? Is it safe?"

"Well, none of the locals seem too concerned." Dirk said indicating to the drunk farmers.

"That proves nothing. They may just be wanting to die drunk."

"What farmer do you know would do that?"

"You would."

"True." Dirk said as he took a long pull on his mug. Growing up with Beryl in a small farming village known as Towomba several days travel north of Asgar along the Kings Highway, Dirk had had a fairly ordinary childhood working the family farm with his father and brothers. In those days, he had supposed he would grow up to be just another peasant leading an ordinary life; marrying, having kids, starting his own farm and eventually dying peacefully in his bed of old age, as his family had done for generations. But had he been given a choice, he would have preferred to be a powerful warrior, like a Knight or even a holy Paladin. Dirk would practice everyday with a wooden sword he had crafted, and could not be bested by anyone in the village. Had life not taken one of her ill fated twists, Dirk would have been content to just dream about it while he plowed his fields. Instead, both his and Beryl's lives changed, for better or worse, it was hard to tell, during the Teutonic Invasion of the northern lands six years ago. The Teutonic hordes where bands of nomads who wandered through the land of Taliesem to the north of Midgard and had never troubled the kingdom before. Many people had not even heard of them, let alone considered them a danger. That all changed when the hordes swept down through the Plain of Taliem, which marked the border between Midgard and Taliesem. They bypassed the unsavoury river port of Sidon, the only major settlement in the area and crossed the Ginnwar river before skirting around the Mountains of Ragnarock and striking at the northern fringes of the Asgar Plain, razing everything in their path, including Towomba. Dirk and Beryl remembered that night well.

It was a warm, moist night late in the month of Midsomer, a week after the Summer Solstice festival and a storm was rolling in from the west over Lake Badb. Dirk had been sent out to herd the farm animals into the barn for the night and was on his way back to the village when Beryl intercepted him in the fields and started to relay some village gossip when they noticed smoke coming from the village. Thinking someone's house had caught fire, they ran to help, but stopped short when they realized there were men on horseback riding through the village, setting light to all the buildings and ruthlessly cutting down the villagers. Realizing what was happening, they raced back to aid in the defence of the village, but by then, there was little anyone could do. Bursting into the nearest house, they interrupted one of the raiders raping a woman. Dirk and Beryl set upon him immediately, using whatever furniture they could swing to bash him into submission. One of Dirks blows caught him on the back of his neck, breaking it and killing him agonizingly slowly. Unfortunately the young woman was already dead. Dirk and Beryl emerged to find the raiders fleeing with whatever booty they could carry, and the entire village ablaze. Knowing nothing could be done to save it, they joined the small crowd of survivors in watching their entire lives disappear in flames and on horseback. Of a village population of over seven hundred, only ninety seven survived including Dirk and Beryl, but neither of their families. Beryl's aunt had managed to escape, but her husband and children did not.

The next day, as the survivors buried their dead and sifted through the ash for anything, a cavalry contingent of the Kings Army rode into town, announcing that the raiders had invaded from Taliesem and calling upon volunteers to help drive them out. Dirk and Beryl, consumed with grief and a seemingly unquenchable thirst for vengeance, signed up and were that very day led to a training camp being hastily erected just outside of Asgar. Neither of them had ever been to Asgar before, and both agreed that if they survived the coming war, they would return there to start new lives.

In the training camp, they were put through a series of tests, to determine the job they were most suited for. Dirk, unsurprisingly, was extremely adept at the sword, the big surprise, however, was Beryl's ability to work magic. Unfortunately that meant the two were separated; Beryl was sent off to Asgar to study magic at the Royal War College, whilst Dirk remained in the camp where he was taught the often brutal art of soldiering. After a few weeks of training as a regular Man-At-Arms, Dirk had distinguished himself as the best swordsman in his class, attracting the attention of the camps swordmaster. Very soon, Dirk found himself transferred to another camp, this one on the shores of Lake Badb, where he was to be trained as the more specialised Swordsman. It was there he met Brecht.

Brecht had grown up in one of the many combined human and dwarf mining communities in the Mountains of Ragnarock where he had worked in a copper mine for as long as he could remember. Brechts massive muscles had been developed from the many years he spent carrying ore buckets up and down the mine. It was hard work, and Brechts abusive father hadn't made his childhood any easier. One day, after Brecht came home from a particularly exhausting day at the mine, he found his father, who had been made lame in a mining accident when Brecht was still a babe in his now dead mothers arms, had gotten drunk and tried to beat him for his own amusement. As his fathers fists rained down on him, something inside Brecht snapped and the young man turned on the old cripple, landing a jaw shattering punch which stunned the man long enough for Brecht to make his escape. Brecht ran long into the night before dropping from exhaustion. He was awakened the next morning by a troop of patrolling soldiers. Returning with them to their base, Brecht had signed up and was chosen to train as a swordsman after he demonstrated a particular talent for the heavy two handed swords.

Dirk took another long pull on his ale and looked around at the now crowded inn. They had been there a few hours and four mugs now and the effects of the ale had begun to set in. The inn was now rather full with a mix of regular patrons and travellers stopping for the night, making Dirk glad they had arrived earlier in the day. The city gates were closed at sundown, and the wilderness was a dangerous place to spend the night. Not only did one have to contend with thieves and muggers at night as well as during the day, but a great many horrors, both natural and supernatural roamed the countryside in the dark, but Dirk always took comfort in the protection the city walls provided. But, unfortunately, the walls didn't fully protect the inhabitants from the dangers outside, some creatures, like dragons and their ilk were able to fly over the walls, as well as some undead beings like vampires, or ghosts and phantoms that could just pass straight through them. But, fortunately, such attacks were rare, especially on settlements the size of, and as well guarded as, Kecht.

Dirk surveyed the room again, looking for anyone that might pose a threat. His eyes fell on a man, obviously an adventurer like him from the looks of his weapons and well worn armour, trudging up the stairs to the rented rooms, and provoked a thought in Dirks head.

"Beryl?" He said turning to his friend who was laughing with Brecht at something.

"Yes?"

"You did get us some rooms for the night, did you not?" The smile fell from Beryl's face.

"By the Gods!" Beryl slapped the table.

"Well, you best get us some now before they're all gone, otherwise you'll be sleeping in a pile of horse dung outside." Brecht said.

"I will be right back." Beryl said, jumping to his feet and making for the bar. Brecht and Dirk looked at each and shook their heads before returning to their ale.

* * * * *

Monday morning, and Patricia was back at work. Conveniently, she lived in one of the many residences provided for single air force officers on base, and so did not have far to walk to the the squat, two storey brick building that housed Number 3 Squadron headquarters, which itself was a short walk to the hangers and flight line where the Squadrons F/A-18 Hornet jet fighters where housed. Entering into the building and trotting up the stairs to the administrative area of the building, she quickly saluted the squadrons clerk, a jovial, and rather round, Flight Sergeant in his early fifties, and continued on into the common workspace she shared with a dozen other officers. The space was small and was meant to house only half the number of officers quite comfortably. But with twice the number, one can imagine the mess of papers, books, folders, computers and a dozen other common office items that cluttered it, seemingly from the faded and worn carpet to the ceiling in bad need of a paint. Add to that, the fact that the officers here were pilots, not clerks and who hated paper work with a vengeance, and one starts to get an idea of what it was like. The filing cabinet was full and a new one was one order, about three weeks overdue and was expected to arrive in another three weeks, but where they would put it was anyone's guess. Until then, all the extra files were just dumped in a pile on top and on the floor and any other space that wasn't already occupied.

Patricia tiptoed her way to her desk, being careful to avoid knocking over any piles of papers. Sometimes she wondered how she even managed to get to her desk at all. Finally getting there without any dramas, Patricia set her bag down and began going through the reports and memos that had been dropped on her desk overnight. As the squadrons ordnance officer, her job was keeping the squadron well supplied with all the bombs and missiles they needed, and to keep track of where they all were, right down to the last cannon shell. Patricia also made it a point to know exactly how all of them worked, not satisfied with the 'shoot the weapon, expect it to work and if not, blame the techies' attitude several of the other pilots took.

Ever the early bird, Patricia was always the first one at work in the morning, and typically on to her second cup of coffee before the next person turned up. This morning it was Flight Lieutenant Mark Carey, the squadrons second in command and training officer, which meant he ran the squadron on a day to day basis, and decided who would fly and when.

"Morning Trish." Carey said as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the small kitchenette in the hallway just outside the office.

"Morning sir." Patricia looked up briefly from a memo regarding a suspected structural fault in the casing for all the RAAF's AIM-9 sidewinder missiles. "You seen this?" she said.

"The sidewinder casing fault?" Carey stepped into the office as far as was possible and sipped his coffee.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I got it on my fax at home. Shouldn't affect us too much, we didn't have anything scheduled with the AIM-9 till next week anyway, which by then they'll have decided it was just a single bad missile."

"And if they pull them from service?"

"Then that's your job to get us some new ones."

"That could take anything up to a year. The Yanks will be the first ones to get them before any other country, and that'll leave us without a WVR missile capability."

"Then we'll just have to hope we don't get sent anywhere where the locals shoot back." Carey said with that wry smile that told everyone he was joking. Carey picked up his briefcase and turned to leave, but stopped as a thought occurred to him. "Oh, don't get too settled. You're up first thing."

"Great! Thanks." Patricia's gleeful smile belying her excitement. Ever since she was a little girl, Patricia had wanted to fly. At that age when most girls were begging their parents to get them horse riding lessons, Patricia was begging hers to pay for flying lessons. Finally her parents capitulated and agreed to pay for half the cost, forcing Patricia to get a job to pay for the other half.

While Patricia was the first to admit she would have made a lot more money as an airline pilot, she was also the first one to bag them as glorified bus drivers. In the air force, she was able to do real flying, the pay was just a nice bonus. Truth be told, if she wasn't in the air force, Patricia would probably be sucking her life savings dry just to get an hour a week in one of the old Russian MiGs that were on offer for extreme joy flights, whereas here, she was up in the air at least twenty hours a week and doing stuff that would have made even the hardiest of the old MiG aces heads' spin.

* * * * *

Dirk awoke with a start, his head jumping off the pillow, and instantly regretted it. The pounding in his head made him think some dwarven smith had abducted him and made him his new anvil. Dirk lay back down gently and rolled onto his stomach, a position he found helped with the nauseated feeling in his guts. As the pounding subsided slightly, he slowly became aware of the noise outside his room. Thinking it must be day, he slowly opened one eye, expecting it to be blinded by the sun filled room he had retired to to sleep off the numerous mugs of ale he had consumed downstairs in the inns common room the night before. Instead of light, his eye was meet by darkness. At first, Dirks' hungover mind wondered whether he had actually opened his eye or not, but then realized that his eye was open, it was just dark out. It must still have been night, sometime in the early morning he guessed. Then why was he hearing noises outside, like people shouting and screaming? As if in answer, an acrid odour filled his nostrils, and Dirk's mind suddenly cleared. Smoke! There was a fire somewhere, and that was why people were screaming.

His hangover forgotten, Dirk leapt out of bed, his senses all now coming back into focus, and hurriedly looked over the room. He spotted his boots on the floor by the end of his bed and quickly grabbed them. Within seconds they were on his feet and strapped. Picking his pack and sword up from where he had drunkenly dropped them on the floor before collapsing on the bed (he would have to remember never to do that again) he gripped the door handle and tugged, but it didn't budge. Confused, he tried it again. Still it refused to move and he realised with a start that it was locked. In a panic he forgot he had a key and had placed it as carefully as he could on the rickety night stand that was next to the straw bed. With adrenaline coursing through his body, Dirk kicked out with his foot and and succeeded in splintering the wooden door. Two more successive kicks, and Dirk was able to force the door open, shattering the frame around the lock. Not wasting a second more, Dirk charged out into the smoke filled corridor and collided head on with Beryl, who had come to get Dirk before the fire spread to the guest rooms.

"C'mon! We must leave or we shall burn to death!" Dirk shouted at Beryl before charging for the stairs.

"Wait! The fire is downstairs, if you go that way, you will burn." Beryl said, catching Dirks shoulder before he got too far.

"Then we'll have to leap for it." Dirk said as he started back for his room, intending to jump from the small window.

"Wait Dirk, there be no need for that. I know an incantation to protect us from the flames."

Dirk stared at his friend for a moment as he considered his words. "Alright. Where's Brecht?"

"Outside already. He went to rescue the horses before the stable caught fire."

"What are we waiting for then? Let's go."

"Aye, just give me a moment." Beryl said as he shut his eyes. The young mage mumbled a few words and clapped his hands together three times before laying them on Dirk. Immediately Dirk felt a strange sensation rush through his being, and his skin began to tingle, as if it were covered with millions of ants. Dirks fascination with this intriguing state was cut short as the corridor behind Beryl creaked, then with a loud snap, disintegrated and collapsed, the timbers falling to the floor below as towering flames shot up and threatened to engulf him. Dirk instinctively threw himself backwards, but Beryl caught him and stopped him from hitting the floor. "We must go, now." the mage said as he started for the stairs.

"And what of you? Will you burn?" Dirk shouted as he scrambled to follow him.

"I already cast the enchantment on myself when I first learned there was a fire." Beryl shouted back as he began descending the stairs. Dirk followed him, but hesitated when he saw the common room below flooded with flames. Dirk glanced back to Beryl and watched as he stepped off the stairs, and right into a wall of flame. Amazingly he passed through it without it even singing his hair or his clothes.

Whispering a prayer to Calamus, the God of Life, and Vulcan, the God of Fire, Dirk began to slowly descend the stairs, gripping the railing so hard he was sure it crumble to dust in his hands. But still, he'd be damned if he was going to let go. As he neared the bottom, he felt the heat from the flames press against him. Every fibre of his being was screaming at him to turn back, but Dirk pushed on, placing his faith in his friends skills and talents.

At the bottom step he stopped, and hesitantly reached out with his hand into the fire. The heat was intense, but it didn't burn, there was no pain. After a moment, Dirk withdrew his hand and inspected it, and was amazed not to see a mark on it. Truly, Beryl's magic did work, he was protected from the fire. Swallowing hard, Dirk shut his eyes and stepped out. Heat so unbearable that he gasped engulfed him on all sides, but still he felt no pain. Dirk opened his eyes and found his vision was tinted a reddish orange, he was standing right in the middle of the inferno.

He breathed a sigh, but retched when the heat seared his throat. The coughing fit that suddenly overtook him made Dirk realize another thing, he wasn't being affected by the smoke either! Whoever had crafted this spell had provided not only protection from the flames, but also protection from the debilitating effect of smoke inhalation.

Dirk glanced at the front door, expecting to see Beryl there, and was surprised that he wasn't, just the charred door flapping open and closed in the draughts from the fire. Frantically looking around the room, Dirk was unable to spot his friend anywhere. As he stood there, trying to decide whether to search for him or save his own skin, a faint cry reached his ears. Dirk look around, trying to locate it amongst the roar of the fire and crackle of burning wood. He heard it again and was able to pin point it coming from the kitchen behind the common room. Dirk started towards it, hoping it was Beryl, and was elated to see the mage appear in the doorway and beckon him to follow before ducking back inside. Dirk dashed for the kitchen and swung himself around the door frame, gripping the wood and using it to pivot, but lost his balance and almost fell flat on his face when the frame disintegrated in his hand. Collecting his feet underneath him, Dirk saw Beryl crouched over a pretty young woman slumped against a wall, casting the same enchantment on her that he had cast on him earlier. Dirk stared at her face for a moment before he placed her as the barmaid that had served Beryl the ale when they first entered.

Completing the spell, Beryl looked up at Dirk. "I heard her cry for help." he explained. "Lend us a hand with her."

Dirk stepped up and helped pull the young woman to her feet. Dirk crouched and slung her over his shoulders, but gasped when he tried to stand up - she was heavier than she looked, but the adrenaline added strength to his muscles and allowed him to carry her with ease once he got to accustomed to her weight. He staggered with Beryl the few steps to the door and re-entered the common room.

"Quickly, my spell will not hold for much longer." Beryl said as he broke into a run and dashed for the front door. Dirk sprinted after him and, despite the added weight on his shoulders, was quite able to keep up. Barging through the flames, Dirk followed Beryl as the mage shoved open the flaming door that had been swinging back and forth in the draughts from the fire. Bursting onto the street, Dirk and Beryl put enough distance between them and the fire so as not to be scorched by any flames as the protection spell began to wane. Sinking to their knees, Dirk lay the barmaid on the ground before collapsing onto the cobbled road with Beryl as the two caught their breath.

As he lay there panting and staring up at the pre-dawn sky, he could feel the spell wear off; the tingling soften, abate and then vanish as the sensation that had coursed through his body from Beryl's hands reversed it's flow and disappeared. Dirk looked at Beryl, who looked back at him. A snicker arose in his throat before escaping his lips and quickly turn into a giggle. Beryl saw this and began giggling back. Soon the two were cackling like a pair of crazed lunatics as the fear and tension that had built in their bodies sought a release.

After they calmed down somewhat, they were able to regain their composure and survey the scene. The inn was fully ablaze now, the flames reaching high into the night air, and a fairly large crowd had gathered to watch. Several of the throng had gathered around them, inquiring into their health and congratulating them on their escape. Dirk and Beryl responded with curt nods and brief 'thank you's. Many inquired about the girl, where satisfied when Beryl said he was able to take care of her, and then turned their attention back to the fire.

Militia soldiers where battling to get it under control, and many of the crowd were joining them; beating it with blankets and splashing it with buckets of water. But in the end, it was like a butterfly trying to reverse a gale by flapping its wings. Fortunately, a mage had appeared on the scene early and erected magical barriers around the property that had stopped the fire from spreading to the adjacent buildings. Dirk hated to think what would have happened if he hadn't, possibly the whole city could have been razed to the ground. He looked over at the mage and saw him standing by an open drain leading to the sewers, waving his hands over it and loudly chanting an incantation.

"A water spout spell." Beryl said, eyeing the mage. "He's going to summon a spout of water from the sewers to douse the fire." Beryl watched for a moment before speaking again. "Show off. He's just performing for the crowd, to gain their attention and praise. He doesn't need to speak the spell that loudly. He just wants everyone to know it be him responsible for extinguishing the fire."

"He can have all the praise he likes, I'm just glad we got out alive."

"Aye, that we did. And manage to rescue a fair maiden as well."

"Are you able to heal her?"

"Oh yes, I believe I can, once Brecht returns with my saddle bags. I have a potion in one of them that will revive her."

"Where is that Ogres bastard?" Dirk asked rhetorically as he searched the crowd.

"He must be there somewhere." Beryl said as he joined in with Dirk. They watched for a few moments before Beryl spotted a large figure loom over the rest of the crowd, pulling behind him three horses. "I see him." He said and pointed.

"As do I." Dirk said, waving for Brecht to hurry over. The large warrior trotted over with the horses in tow, just as the mage finished casting his spell. With a roar, a torrent of water rushed up out of the drain, reaching high into the sky where the mage directed it towards the fire. The fountain arced over and hit the blaze, sending up a cloud of steam with a loud sizzle. The mage directed the water back and forth, all over the building, drenching it and ensuring the fire was truly out. As the last embers from the fire sputtered and died, a loud cheer went up from the crowd. Many of them surged toward the mage, hoisting him high on their shoulders and carrying him off to celebrate.

Brecht turned to them, his grin even wider than usual. "I see you've managed to pull something heroic off yourself." He said, indicating the unconscious girl.

"Brecht, pass me my saddlebags." Beryl said, ignoring his jibes. Brecht separated two leather saddlebags from the rest of the luggage he had piled on the horses and handed them to Beryl. Beryl opened one of the bags and fished around inside it for a few moments before closing it and opening the other. After another minute of searching, Beryl found what he was looking for and pulled it out with a triumphant "Ah ha!". Holding it up for the rest of them, Dirk saw a small animal hide gourd with a cork stopper in the top. Beryl removed the stopper with a twist and a tug. "Hold her up." He instructed Dirk. Dirk pulled the girl into a semi sitting position and supported her whilst Beryl tipped her head back slightly, opened her mouth and poured a small amount of the potion down her throat. Satisfied that she had received enough of it, he restoppered the gourd and nodded for Dirk to put her down. Dirk gently laid her back on the ground and watched for any signs of life.

"How long will that potion take to work?" Dirk inquired.

"A couple of minutes. She has to digest it before it will start to heal to her body."

"What was it?"

"A potion of revival. It can awaken the unconscious and partly heal whatever injuries they may have. With her, that would be the damage done to her lungs by the smoke she breathed."

"So what do we do now?"

"We wait." said Beryl as he sat back on his haunches.

So they sat and waited. Dirk surveyed the people remaining around the now charred remains of the inn. Most of it was just burnt rubble on the ground, but the blackened shell of the rear part of the building still stood. About a dozen people remained, half of them Militia soldiers posted to stop looters from stealing whatever wasn't nailed down before the rightful owners had salvaged what they could. A middle aged couple, Dirk guessed them to be the now former owners of the inn, were picking through the rubble. The man stopped, kicked at a pile of burnt wood and ashes, then bent down and pulled something from it. Dirk saw it was the sign that had hung outside the front door, the one depicting the boar with the large tusk. The man trudged back to his wife, who broke down and wept when he showed it to her.

Clearly, the inn was all they had had.

Dirk caught some motion out of the corner of his eye and found his attention drawn back to the girl who was starting to stir. He examined her closely for the first time since he had laid eyes on her. Her golden hair was tousled and dirty from the fire, and her pretty face was smudged with dirt and ash, but still enormously attractive. His eyes wondered down her body, almost perfect as far as he could tell beneath her dress. Her breasts were nice, round mounds, full and very pert. Of a generous size, they were soft yet firm with youth. The material of her dress was thin and flimsy, damp with sweat and spray from the water spout and clung to her breasts like a second skin, hugging her generous curves and sticking to her nipples which stood out like small cones yearning to break free from the skin that held them back.

The girl stirred and opened her eyes. Dirk quickly moved his gaze from her body to her face, lest he be accused of gawking. She looked around, saw the three of them looking down on her, and opened her mouth to scream. But instead her body was racked with a violent coughing fit. Tumbling over onto her side, she coughed as her body tried to clear her lungs and airways of the smoke and ash that irritated them. Beryl gave her a few sharp pats on her back to help dislodge the gunk inside her, and was rewarded when her fit died quickly.

"Thank you." she croaked, her voice still extremely hoarse.

"It was nothing." Beryl said. "You are lucky we heard you cry for help whilst we were making our escape from the flames, otherwise you would have perished in the fire."

The girl looked at Beryl, unable to contain her amazement. "You saved my life? I am truly in your debt."

"Don't worry about it." Dirk said. "We're just happy to see you alive and safe."

"That's very kind of you." she said. "If you please, I'm Serena."

"I am Beryl, and this is Dirk and Brecht."

"I remember you from earlier in the evening. You asked about the dung in the street."

"Beryl, is that how you try to make conversation with a lady?" Brecht verbally jabbed at Beryl who flushed bright red and stammered for words.

"I, ugh, I mean..."

"Oh, now he's gotten all embarrassed." Serena said with a giggle. Dirk and Brecht snickered.

"It was a legitimate question!" Beryl protested, but to no avail.

"Oh never mind. All is forgiven now." Serena said as she stood, then almost collapsed, if it weren't for Beryl catching her. "Oh, thank you again, sir. I'm afraid I'm still rather woozy."

"It will pass soon." Beryl said as he let go, confident should could now stand on her own two feet.

Serena smiled at Beryl, but choked when her eyes looked past him to what was left of the Boar's Tusk. "Oh Gods! The inn!" Serena cried with a slight warble in her voice as she pushed past Beryl. Tears began to well in her eyes, but she blinked them away. Turning back to face the three, she said "Thank you again for your help, but I must go see Mister Owen now." and ran off towards the middle aged couple.

Watching her run up to the owners, Dirk felt a pang of sympathy for them, and thought of that night six years ago. He glanced at Beryl and knew his friend felt the same. "I wish there was something we might do to help them." Dirk said.

"There is not. Short of helping them rebuild their inn." Beryl said.

"How did it start?" Dirk asked.

"The fire? I am not sure, but I thought I smelt some Smoking Weed before I went to bed."

"Smoking Weed?" Brecht asked.

"Yes. Some of the other mages smoked it at the College. It is this strange plant that produces an odd five pointed leaf which they shredded and burnt and then inhaled the smoke, hence Smoking Weed. When it burns, it smells like burning grass"

Brecht gave Beryl a funny look "Be they insane? Why on Terra would they want to do that?"

"I do not know. They liked the effect it had on them, for some reason, but I do not know what that was."

"We should probably start moving, it'll be light soon." Dirk said "We ought to get to the Kingdom Gate by the time they open it."

"I don't think we should move so quickly. Serena might want to reward us for saving her life." Brecht said with a very broad grin.

Beryl caught what Brecht was implying. "By the Gods, Brecht! I swear your brain is in your pants! Besides, you did nothing to save her life."

"I brought the horses with the potion that revived her." he pointed out.

"She would have woken up eventually. That potion just sped her up."

"Stay you two." Dirk said. "She's coming back towards us." Beryl looked and, sure enough, Serena was walking towards them, her eyes cast down, looking very sullen. Beryl took a few steps forward and intercepted her.

"What be the matter?" He asked.

"May I ask where you are travelling to?" Beryl glanced at Dirk and Brecht, who both nodded their heads slightly, giving Beryl permission to tell her.

Turning back Serena, he said "We be on our way to Asgar, to seek employment there."

Serena's eyes lit up slightly. "Oh, I've never been to Asgar." she said before casting them downwards again. "But I get ahead of myself." Serena stopped and took a deep breath.

"By the Gods!" Beryl said, getting annoyed at Serena's stalling. "Say what you will!" It was obvious she wanted to ask them something, but was too afraid they would say no.

"With your permission, I would ask if I could travel with you? To Asgar at least."

Beryl looked at Dirk and Brecht again. Dirk shrugged, while Brecht leered, making it easy for Beryl to deduce what he was thinking. Not that it was ever hard with him.

Looking back to Serena, he asked her "Why would you want to travel with us?"

"Because there is nothing left for me here. My job at the Boar's Tusk was all I had, and now that is gone too. If you let me travel to Asgar with you, I will be able to find new employment there."

"Why can you not find employment here?"

"No one will hire me. Mister Owen and his wife were the only ones who would take me in because they were friends of my fathers."

"What of your father? Where is your family?"

"They are years dead. Killed by an Orc war party. If you let me travel with you, I have some knowledge of healing, and am sure I would be of use to adventurers like you." She caught the look on Brechts face "In more ways than one" she said, casting her eyes downwards. Beryl caught what she meant.

"Hey." He said, reaching out and taking hold off her shoulders in a reassuring manner "You do not have to do that." He said.

"You men saved my life, I am indebted to you in some way."

"If you feel that way." Beryl started, "But I am afraid I do not share my friends..." He stumbled for words, "ideals of debt fulfillment." Beryl said.

"But you will allow me to fulfill my debt somehow on the way to Asgar?" Serena asked with hope glimmering in her eyes, making them dazzle like bright blue sapphires under light.

"So long as Dirk or Brecht have no objections, thought I doubt they would." Dirk and Brecht looked at each briefly and saw they shared the same thought.

"We have no objections." Dirk said. "So long as she can fight to defend herself."

"I can take care of myself." Serena said defiantly. "I have spent the last two years having to fend off drunk adventurers like yourself."

"Well, that's good news." Said Brecht. "If we get waylaid by a band of brigands, I will be sure give them a few drinks before we start fighting."

"I can not imagine brigands attempting to ply their trade on men like you." she said.

"You will be amazed at the stupidity of some of them." Dirk interjected before Brecht had a chance to say something that might have offended her.

"Well I hope not to find out then. You will allow me to travel with you?"

"Very well." Dirk said. "Do you have anything you need to pack?"

"All my possessions were destroyed in the fire." She said. "I have nothing but the clothes I'm wearing."

"Let us get moving then. They will be opening the Kingdom Gate soon." Dirk said as he took his saddlebags from Brecht and swung them up onto his horse.

"Have you ridden a horse before?" Beryl asked Serena.

"Yes. I grew up on a farm just outside of Kecht." She replied.

"Here." He said, offering his hands to provide a step up. "You can ride behind me." Serena took his offer and climbed up onto his horse.

"What's his name?" she inquired.

"Toolin." He replied.

"That be an odd name for a horse."

"He is named after my mentor at the College." Beryl started to explain, but stopped when he spotted another man on a horse approaching them. "Dirk. Brecht." he said, calling their attention to the man. They waited in silence as the man drew close to them.

He got within a horses length before he stopped and addressed Beryl. "Pardon me, but are you Beryl the Mage, of the village of Towomba?" he asked.

"I am he." Beryl said. The man pulled a sealed envelope from his belt and presented it to Beryl.

"I bear a message from Baron de Lish in Vanir." He said. Beryl took the message and examined the stamp on the wax seal. The stamp sported a Wyvern wrapped around a lance amd back by two crossed swords. Although Beryl didn't know for certain, it appeared to be the seal of the Baron of Vanir.

"Thank you." Beryl said as he broke the seal. The messenger nodded and rode off, his job completed. Beryl opened the letter and read it. "It is from the Baron of Vanir, requesting our presence as soon as possible. He has a job for which he is willing to pay us handsomely."

"What does it involve?" asked Dirk.

"It does not say." Beryl answered. "It just asks us to meet with him."

"Then we should go. It's not good to keep the nobility waiting." Dirk griped as he urged his horse onwards. The sun was starting to rise, casting long shadows across the city in the pre-dawn gloom. Already the streets were filling with people, mostly merchants on their way to their stores, to prepare for another day of buying and selling or labourers on their way to work. Riding in silence, the four travellers joined the throng.

* * * * *

It was friday afternoon when Patricia Moore entered her flat after finishing work for the day. Dropping her briefcase by the door, Patricia closed and locked it again, even though there was no need. Living in the middle of a military base, it was unlikely you would be robbed, but still Patricia felt it to be better safe than sorry.

The door was barely closed before Patricia had pulled the laces on her boots and kicked them off. Stripping out of her flight suit, she threw that onto her bedroom floor as she walked past it. Now clad only in her bra and panties, she stopped by the air conditioning thermostat in her living room and turned it down to about seventeen degrees Celsius. Even though it was late February, summer was still going strong, making the thick flight suits they wore unbearably hot.

As the ducts blew cool air through the apartment, Patricia slumped on her couch and grabbed the TV remote. Glancing at her watch before she switched on the box, she noted she was just in time for the early five o'clock news. Hitting the power button on the remote, the television burst into life as Patricia dialled up the correct channel. The TV switched and an ad for a new washing powder came on. Patricia shrugged and lay back on the couch, taking up its entire width with her body. At least she hadn't missed the headlines.

Lying back like she was, Patricia began to get irritated by the inflexibility of the underwire bra she had on. Reaching behind her, she unfastened the clasp holding it together and shrugged it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Now topless, she figured she might as well go the full monty and pushed her panties down to her ankles. Kicking out, she sent them flying across the room where they landed on top of a lamp shade. Patricia smirked at the sight before turning her attention back to the idiot box.

Although cramped, Patricia's apartment was relatively uncluttered. Originally a small two bedroom affair, Patricia had converted the smaller of the two bedrooms into a study, where she kept her computer and other work related documents. Included was a locked filing cabinet in which she kept the classified documents she occasionally brought home. Although containing nothing earth shattering, they were mainly just technical manuals for the various weapons she was responsible for and as such were of the lowest classification, the fact that they had the word 'Restricted' on their cover meant they had to be kept secure in some way. For that reason, Patricia did not keep any classified information on her computer, that was way too unsecure and a serious breach of security.

The other bedroom was where Patricia slept and kept her clothes. It was small, the large double bed and the dresser took up most of the space, but it was sufficient. Her bed was covered in a floral patterned quilt made for her by her aunt about ten years ago and very warm. Her bathroom was just as small and seemingly even more cramped thanks to the copious amount of make up she had.

The rest of her apartment was made up of a living and combined kitchen/dining room. The living room was just large enough for her to fit the living room set she had bought from one of those furniture megastores which were popping up all over the place. The set consisted of a three person couch, two lounge chairs, all covered in a bright yellow material and with a matching coffee table. Facing that was the entertainment unit, bought from the same store, and in which was squeezed her TV, VCR and stereo. The lamp upon which her panties rested was on a small table by the door, and was more for decoration than lighting; the ceiling lights were more than adequate.

The kitchen was surprisingly well equipped for it's size. There was ample shelf and bench space, a dishwasher, large fridge and combined gas stove and oven. However all this just took space from the dining area, where was squeezed a small four person table, this one bought from a different store. The walls and ceiling of the entire apartment were painted white and the floors where covered in a cheap, peach coloured carpet, save the kitchen and bathroom, which were covered in equally cheap linoleum and tiles respectively. All in all, what one would expect of government housing. Well, at least it had air conditioning.

Patricia lay there, watching the ads whilst waiting for the news to start, and wondering what she would do that night. Normally when she had to work, she would go to bed around eleven and read a book for a while. But tomorrow was saturday, and she didn't have to work. Briefly she considered calling up some of her friends and going out to a bar or club, but then decided she was too tired, she had been up on a particularly grueling training flight all afternoon, and now barely had the energy to stand. She decided she would just stay in tonight and take it easy.

She picked up the TV guide and scanned the listings for tonight. Shit, shit, shit, shit, all of them shit. Summer was the non-ratings season in Australia, when all the TV channels called a temporary truce whilst they played the programs which had failed to rate. The only thing Patricia could see worth the time was some T&A movie on after ten p.m. Until then, she could pass the time on her computer, playing a game or surfing the net.

Finally the ads finished and the channel promo came on, indicating the news would be coming straight after. Patricia glanced down at her body and decided she couldn't be bothered putting any clothes on. An unusual decision in that she normal did bother to wear them, but tonight she was feeling a bit more risqué than normal.

At long last the news started and dove straight into the headlines. Top story was about the political goings on of the day, something Patricia didn't really pay much attention to. As she watched, Patricia's hand strayed down her body to her thigh where she ran it slowly upwards, feeling her smooth skin. She reached the top of her leg and let her hand drop, coming to rest on her crotch, her fingers nestling into her trimmed pubic hair. Her middle finger strayed over the top of her lips, stirring her clit and sending a shiver of excitment through her. She held her finger over it, gently stimulating it for several deliciously long moments, before plunging her finger inside and starting to move it in and out. She was already wet through, and she could feel her juices trickle out of her and down her thighs. This wouldn't be the first time she had gotten this couch dirty.

On several occasions she had lain here, like she was now and gently played with herself. Other times, she had brought men back here and slept with them, usually on her bed or in her bathroom, sometimes on the couch, and once on the kitchen bench. As she thought about those encounters, her mind came to rest on one of her more interesting sexual encounters so far. It had been at Jessica's place one night about three years ago. Jessica was one of her girlfriends from school whom she still kept in touch with, and this had happened just after Jessica had finished her degree at university. Patricia was staying with her whilst on leave, and had gone out with Jessica and her friends to celebrate. There were five other girls with them, all of which Patricia had met before, and three guys; two boyfriends and one of their friends. After drinking and dancing away half the night at a popular nightclub, the suggestion was made to head back to Jessica's place for more drinks and a more private 'party'. It was Jessica that had made the suggestion, and Patricia thought she knew why; she had noticed Jessica eyeing the single guy all night, and Patricia knew Jess would never have invited him back to her place alone.

They had gotten back to Jessica's place shortly after eleven. Jessica rented a cheap inner-city townhouse, and made a big deal out of living by herself. She had done it up as much as she could afford, and was allowed to by her rental agreement. She had painted inside and out, re-laid the carpet and had an electrician friend rewire the entire building, therefore bringing it up to code. Her landlord had been very agreeable, paying for most of the supplies while Jessica had either done or organised the work herself.

Patricia was well into her second drink at Jessica's, which would have been about her tenth drink that night, when a pack of cards was produced and the suggestion to play strip poker agreed upon. Having never played poker before in her life, Patricia was the first one to lose, both the game and her clothes. Tim, the guy Jessica had her eyes on, won the game with his pants still on, but not for much longer as Jessica and two of the other girls quickly wrestled them off him.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what would happen next. Almost strait away, the two couples present had disappeared, sneaking off to somewhere more private, followed shortly by two of the girls, leaving just Patricia, Jess, Tim and one of the other girls. Patricia figured Jess would claim Tim, leaving Patricia with the other girl, whose name was Hannah. A prospect which hadn't excited her at the time. That was until Jessica passed out.

After putting the catatonic Jessica to bed, Patricia was left alone with Tim and Hannah. Hannah had been the first one to make a move, planting a kiss on Tim before going down on him. Patricia had been surprised at how much she was able to take, fitting just about all of his cock inside her mouth, which was no small feat. Whilst Hannah worked away on him, Tim had lain back on the living room floor to enjoy her efforts, when Patricia had decided to get in on the act. Crawling on top of him, she had straddled his face, planting her pussy over his mouth. Tim immediately got the right idea and began running his tongue up and down her lips before pushing past them to probe her further. The memory of Tim's tongue running over her clit still made quiver to this day. Reaching up, Tim placed his hands on her breasts and began to massage them, the gentleness of his touch revealing how experienced he was. As the tension had mounted, Patricia remembered grinding her pussy further and further down onto Tim's face.

All too soon, Tim's hands left her breasts and grasped at something behind her. But Patricia hadn't cared, so engrossed she was with the tongue lapping. Suddenly another pair of hands reached around, grasped Patricia's breasts from behind and pulled her back against another body that was gyrating up and down. Patricia turned to look behind her and saw Hannah sitting atop Tim, sliding herself up and down along his shaft. Patricia felt Hanna's breasts rub against her back, particularly her erect nipples. As Hannah began to play with Patricia's breasts, she leaned her head forward and passionately kissed her. A sober Patricia might have pulled away, but after a dozen drinks, Patricia had decided to go with the flow and kissed back. The sight of the two women kissing had obviously sent Tim off, as he began bucking underneath Patricia as he drove harder and harder into Hannah. Hannah broke the kiss and began to moan encouragement at him.

Between Tim's tongue and Hannah's expert hands, Patricia could feel she was not far off from joining them. Very soon all three were moaning and groaning in ecstasy. Tim was the first to come, tensing his muscles as he poured forth into Hannah, and sending her into a loud climax. His energy spent, Tim had stopped eating Patricia out and had collapsed underneath her, forcing Patricia to slip a finger in and finish herself off.

Even after coming, Patricia and Hannah felt nowhere near as exhausted as Tim did. The two picked themselves up and retreated to the couch. Hannah got an idea and ran off to the kitchen, leaving Patricia fingering herself till she got back. When Hannah returned a few moments later, she held in her hand an ice block. Asking what she intended doing with that, Hannah had giggled and told her to wait a minute. She peeled the wrapper off the ice block and ran her tongue around it until it glistened in the light. It was only after Hannah told her to spread her legs, did Patricia figure out what she was trying to do. Patricia at first had objected to it, but Hannah would not take no for answer.

Patricia had gasped as Hannah slide the ice block into her pussy and began to fuck her with it. The ice block was colder than Patricia had expected it to be, and Patricia felt her juices were going to freeze inside her. But it was a wonderful sensation, a lot different from feeling a hot dick inside her. Unfortunately the ice didn't last long, and all too soon, Hannah was pulling the stick out, slick and shiny with a mixture of Patricia's juices and melted ice block.

Throwing the stick away, Hannah had climbed up on top of Patricia, shoved her cunt against hers and began grinding away. The feel of Hannah's pussy rubbing against her clit was too much and Patricia was soon sent into the most the intense orgasm she had ever had.

Back on her own couch, Patricia smiled at the memory of that night. Pulling herself to her feet, she walked over the to the fridge and opened the freezer unit. Pulling an ice block out, she unwrapped it, threw the wrapper in the bin and began licking it as she walked back to the couch.

PART II

Dirk's horse's hooves clattered on the cobblestones of the narrow street as the four travellers made their way towards the Kingdom Gate, the western most gate in Kecht through which most of the traffic to and from the rest of Midgard passed. Beryl was riding in front with Serena, who had directed them through a maze of narrow alleys, thereby avoiding the crowds jamming the main thoroughfares. The back alleys of Kecht seemed to Dirk to be even more narrow, dark and dingy than the alleys in other cities. Almost deserted, the only people they saw kept to the shadows and denied them any good looks at their faces, preferring to carry out their business in secret.

Beryl turned in his saddle to ask Serena a question "Serena, If you do not mind me asking, how is it that no one here in Kecht will hire you?" Beryl noticed Dirk slow his horse to better listen to Serena's reponse. Serena turned her head away and swallowed hard. Beryl spoke quickly. "I did not mean to offend you, if you would rather not speak of this-"

"No Beryl, I'm not offended, it's just hard to speak of it."

"Well if you would like some time.." Beryl offered.

Serena paused and thought for a moment. "Yes, please. It's just hard. It's not something I like to think of."

Beryl nodded "I understand. Take as long as you want."

"Thank you Beryl. You're very understanding." Beryl felt his heart skip a beat when she pulled herself closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He glanced at Dirk and saw his friend watching him with an amused smile. Dirk gave him a self satisfied nod and kicked his horse ahead. With a laugh, Beryl kicked his horse after him.

They turned the corner from one alley into another and were surprised to see a large crowd gathered around something up ahead.

"What could that be?" Beryl asked Serena.

Serena looked up and shook her head. "I do not know. It's odd to see any crowds in these streets."

"Let's go take a look then." Brecht said, urging his horse forwards. The other three looked at each other and shrugged before following him.

As they neared the edge of the crowd, they began to hear odd noises over the hushed mumble of the audience. Low grunts mixed with high pitched moans of pleasure were audible, no that wasn't right, they were moans of ecstasy accompanied by a rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh. Dirk had an idea of what might be happening, but found it odd it would happen in the middle of the street, with a crowd four to five people deep gathered in a circle to watch.

Dismounting their horses, the four pushed through the crowd to get a better view. Some turned to stare at them angrily until they saw their weapons and armour and wisely backed off. Pushing to the front Dirk stopped, not really surprised by the sight on the ground before him. A man in his early thirties lay naked on his back. Straddling him was a young girl, no older than sixteen and equally naked. She rested on her knees, facing away from him as they pumped away at a steady beat. The man was muscular and slightly hairy, obviously a commoner from his hair and the layer of grim that had worked its way into every line and crevice on his skin, and lay there, grunting away, seemingly oblivious to the crowds that were gathered to watch. The girl, on the other hand, was quite aware of the people staring at them. She would often look around and smile or winked at some of them. She had long brown hair that hung down her back and a cute young face. Her body was lithe and waif like from a lack of food.

Dirk looked up from the sight to see Beryl push his way forwards to stand next to Dirk. "By the Gods!" Beryl exclaimed when he saw the two.

A stunted old man with a smoking pipe and a mug of ale next to Beryl turned to speak to him. "Aye, 'tis a sight. And what be even more alarming, is that she be his daughter."

Dirk and Beryl turned and stared at the old man. "His daughter?" Beryl said.

"Aye. I be here when it happened. He be walking down the street when this young lass comes running up to him. He recognize her as his daughter and hugged her. He asked her what she be doing here and where her mother be. But she dismissed his queries, instead she began kissing him and getting real close, too close for a father and daughter. Oddly enough, he didn't object, in fact I remember his eyes kinda went all glazed, like he weren't really there. Soon she had her hands down his pants and his up her dress. After that, off come their clothes and they begin mating like rabbits right here in the street!"

"Really?" Beryl asked, his voice thick with suspicion.

"What do you suspect?" Dirk asked him as Brecht jostled his way to the front and joined them, leading Serena close behind him.

"Spears and swords!" Brecht exclaimed loudly.

"Do not believe what you see." Beryl said. "I sense magic at work here."

"Magic?" Dirk asked.

"Watch and see." Beryl said. He then held his hands up and began chanting a series of nonsensical words and moving his fingers in an intricate pattern. Within moments of his finishing, the girl began to dissolve away like a shadow being destroyed by the light of the sun. In her place squatted a hideous monstrosity, barely human in shape, still pumping away with the man. The being had dark purple skin all bloated and puffy and covered with black hairs. Its stringy, black as night hair spilled down its back and over the ground. The thing appeared to be female, in that it had the proper parts which were filled with the man cock, but its chest was totally flat. Its face was wrinkled, like a shriveled prune, with two dark eyes, which lacked any white. Cruel thin lips and a mouth full of razor sharp fangs, from which flicked a rounded tongue completed the hellish image.

Many in the crowd screamed and ran, startling the beast. Realizing its disguise was blown, it leaped to its feet with a snarl, immediately spotting Beryl. Instinctively knowing it was he who had thwarted it, the beast lunged towards him, viscously sharp claws extending from its fingers and aimed directly at the mages throat.

Dirk moved in a blur. With one motion, he drew his sword and held it up between Beryl and the beast, hoping the thing would impale itself on it. But the beast stopped all too quickly and turned its attention towards Dirk. It slashed out with its claws. Dirk parried upwards with his sword, blocking the blows. The beast snarled and came at him again. Dirk parried, then made dummy lunge at it. The beast easily avoided it, but with its attention drawn, it failed to sense Brecht loom up behind it, massive sword in hand. With one swift blow, the large warrior separated its head from its body.

Dirk watched as the head toppled to the ground, followed a moment later by the rest of the beast. Blood spurted from its neck as the body continued to twitch and spasm for several seconds, allowing everybody time to regain their senses. Serena was the first to speak.

"What was that?" she asked.

Beryl stood over the body and gave it a tap with his foot. "A Morrigan. A supernatural being that is usually summoned by someone to destroy another's reputation as well as his life. For when death is not enough, they have to be publicly humiliated first."

"Who would do such a thing?" she said.

"Ask him." Dirk said as the man stirred and started to regain control of himself. The crowd had already started breaking up, most walking away in small groups buzzing about what had just happened. A few remained to look at, and kick, the Morrigans body. Beryl bent down, retrieved the mans shirt from the ground and lay it over him before crouching down next to the Morrigan for a closer examination. Dirk sheathed his sword and then squatted down next to the man, who groaned and slowly opened his eyes.

"Narise!" the man cried as he bolted upwards.

"Easy, friend." Dirk said, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him from standing. "Your daughter isn't here."

"But I saw her. I touched her. I-" his face contorted in horror as he remembered what had happened. "Oh Gods! I was doing things with her!"

"Nay. That be not your daughter." Beryl said. "It was a Morrigan. They can make you do things you normally wouldn't."

"A Morrigan?" The man asked, his voice filled with hope. "I've heard of those. But I never believed the stories before."

"Well, they be true." Dirk said and indicated the beasts body. "There's the proof."

The man stared at it for a moment. "That's a Morrigan?"

Dirk nodded. "Aye. They are summoned by someone wishing you more than harm. They seek to destroy your reputation and humiliate you as well. Do you know who could wish you such harm?"

"It could only be my ex-wife." The man said as he tried to stand up, then realized he was naked. "By the Gods! My clothes!"

"Here." Serena said as she passed him his pants.

"Thank you." He said as he took them and wriggled into them as best he could while trying to maintain some decency. "I must thank you." he said as he stood and put his shirt on. "You've saved not only my life but my name. Which, by the way, is Hamn. I am a blacksmith, and if you ever need any work done, I will be more than happy to do it for you for free."

"That is very kind of you." Dirk said as he stood. "But we've no work that needs doing right now."

"Well, next time then. I will not forget you."

"Next time, then." Dirk nodded in agreement.

"However," Serena spoke up. "The Boars Tusk burnt down last night. Mister Owen and his wife could use whatever help they can get to rebuild it."

"I will gladly lend my forge for whatever metal work they need doing, and my strength for whatever else they need. And my offer to you still stands. This is the least I could do for you."

"That is most generous of you." said Dirk. "But right now, if you'll forgive us, we should probably be going. We have to be in Vanir as soon as possible."

"You are travelling to Vanir? Would you be going by the village of Belrose?" Hamn asked.

"We might."

"Might I ask you for another favour?"

"Sure. What must we do?"

"If you could stop at Belrose and deliver a message to my ex-wife, I would be most grateful, and would do your work free for life."

"What's the message?" Dirk asked.

Hamn thought of how to word it for a few moments before relating it to them. "You will be able to find my ex-wife working in the leather shop on the main street, a few doors down from the Dead Troll Inn."

"Aye, we can do that." Dirk said as he and Hamn shook hands.

Whilst Hamn conversed with the others, Beryl examined the Morrigans body as best he could. Although he did know a bit about them, it was not as much as he would have liked, and he wanted to use this opportunity to study one in the flesh. Although technically a spirit, when a Morrigan appeared on this plane of existence, it was forced to take on a mortal form, in a similar way that some demons were forced to take on a mortal form. Beryl knew the mechanics of summoning one of these creatures, it was the same for summoning any supernatural being, but not the particulars of this ritual. But he did know that one of the requisites for summoning a Morrigan was something taken from the victims body, so that the Morrigan would be able to track down the victim by sniffing out his particular life essence. Usually this was a sample of the victims blood, taken from a knife or other weapon, or a lock of the victims hair. If it was indeed Hamn's ex-wife that had summoned the Morrigan, or had it summoned by someone else as was most likely the case, she would probably have been in possession of some of the required items.

As Beryl examined the Morrigans body, he noted that Brecht had cleanly severed its head from its body, managing to leave the neck relatively undamaged. Beryl withdrew a small dagger which he kept concealed underneath his tunic and proceeded to cut out the Morrigans eyes, tongue, liver and heart. All these items were valued ingredients in the concoction of potions and would be quite useful. After placing them in a special pouch which would keep them fresh, Beryl rummaged around in his saddlebags for a bit until he found an empty flask which he filled as much as possible with the creatures blood. Beryl smiled to himself. Many mages would pay handsomely for a vial of Morrigan blood, and here he was in possession of a flask full of it, easily worth over two hundred Gold Sovereigns, which was equal to a labourers wage for ten years. With such an amount of money, Beryl could buy a large parcel of land, build a fine house on it and live comfortably for several years.

It was as he was carefully returning the flask to his saddlebags that his magically stretched senses picked up a slight tugging at his belt. Beryl whipped around, his hand on his sword ready to draw, and saw a small cloaked figure with a heavy cowl pulled down over his face, dipping his hand into his coin pouch. Beryl's sudden detection of the little pickpockets activities surprised him somewhat, but not for long. Turning tail, the figure took flight down the alley. Beryl hesitated but a moment, before yelling "Thief!" and taking off in hot pursuit.

The others were startled by Beryls cry and turned to see the mage chasing after the pickpocket. Brecht reacted immediately and took off after them, grinning and overly eager at the prospect of more fighting.

Dirk realized he would never catch up to them on foot, they were too far ahead. Instead, he jumped onto his horse and kicked it into a gallop. Up ahead he saw the pickpocket dart down a smaller side alley with Beryl and Brecht not far behind. Despite all his armour, Brecht was keeping up quite well with the less encumbered thief, and actually appeared to be gaining on him.

Dirk urged his horse down the side alley in time to see Brecht disappear down another alley. Darting down this one, Dirk pulled back hard on the reins to avoid running down Beryl and Brecht who, with weapons drawn, had cornered the thief in the small dead end this alley turned out to be. The pickpocket glanced this way and that, looking for a way to escape, then turned his attention to the three adventurers blocking the alley entrance, hoping to spot a gap in their line he could exploit. Unfortunately the alley was narrow, and Dirk had turned his horse sideways, effectively blocking it.

Finally accepting he was cornered, the little thief threw back the cowl covering his face, and Dirk realized that he was actually a she and a rather delicate looking one. The little girl thief shrugged off her cloak, surprising Dirk even further as two large transparent wings unfolded from her back. The thief who he had thought was just a child, was in fact a fairy. Taking full advantage of the three adventurers surprise, the fairy flapped her wings and took to the air, flying straight up and over the buildings.

Beryl recovered first and realized the thief would get away if he didn't do something. He mentally reviewed the spells at his disposal, looking for the best one to capture a flying creature, and inwardly smiled as he found the perfect one. Shouting a short phrase in an ancient language no longer spoken, he flung his arm towards the fairy, palm facing outwards. Immediately, a rope of golden energy sprung from his hand and flew at the fairy with amazing speed. The end of the rope folded over on itself and twisted into a loop, turning it into a lasso. The noose caught up to the fairy and wrapped itself around her foot, stopping her in mid flight. The fairy dropped a few feet in surprise, but quickly recovered and tried to pull herself away. The rope held firm and began to retract back into Beryl's hand, pulling her down with it. She struggled as best she could, reaching down and attempting to free herself from it, but the knot refused to budge. Soon she was within the mages reach, and he grasped her firmly, stopping her from escaping whilst the rope untied itself and retracted back into his hand.

An audible gasp from behind made them turn. Serena and Hamn stood at the mouth of the alley with the rest of the horses, staring wideyed at the small winged being. "My Gods! Is that a fairy?" Serena asked.

"Aye, and not a very clever one at that." Beryl said as he held on fast to the struggling fairy.

"Let go!" it squeaked in a particularly high pitched voice.

"Not till you return what it is you stole from me." Beryl responded harshly.

"I stole nothing. I didn't get the chance." she protested.

"Would that that was the case," Dirk said stepping in, "but we don't believe you."

"Look at me!" she cried, "Where would I hide it?" Dirk looked the creature up and down and realized she told the truth. The fairy was typically small, barely as tall as his waist, and was so lithe that she appeared as delicate as glass. Her wings were large, transparent constructs that sprouted from the middle of her back, between her shoulders, and which Dirk knew from experience were not as delicate as they looked.

Whilst the size of a small child, her figure and features were that of a young woman in her early twenties. Her hair was long for a fairy, which was short by human standards, reaching as far as the nape of her neck and coloured a pale, almost white, blonde. Her body was covered in an attire which was skimpy even for a fairy, meaning she wore next to nothing. Her only covering was small, dirty skirt which hung from her hips and just covered the tops of her thighs. The skirt would have been so tight that she wouldn't have been able to move her legs were it not for slits cut on either side and reaching almost to the draw cord which held the whole thing up. Dirk was not surprised to see the fairy's bare breasts, many fairies chose to not cover them as a symbol of their sexuality and of their devotion to the goddess Aphrodite. Her breasts might have seemed small, but they were full and well developed for her kind, with small pink nipples crowning them. Her only other covering was a well worn pair of children's boots, obviously scavenged from a refuse pile somewhere.

Dirk turned to Brecht, who was staring at the creature with wide-eyed fascination, or was that glint in his eye something else, he thought. "Brecht."

Brecht snapped back and looked at Dirk with irritation. "What?"

"Check her cloak." Dirk said, nodding at the garment which lay by Brechts' feet. Brecht scooped it up on the tip of his sword and gave it a little shake before feeling it for hidden pockets.

"Nothing." he said, tossing it to Dirk. Dirk held it up and examined it himself. Finally satisfied, Dirk nodded and tossed the garment back at the fairy, triumphantly landing it on her head.

"Put it on." Dirk instructed as the fairy shook herself free of the cloak. From the corner of his eye, he caught Serena look at him quizzically. "She can't fly away if her wings are confined beneath that." He stated matter-of-factly. Serena nodded, realizing the logic of it.

Beryl slowly put the fairy down and released her whilst Brecht covered her with his sword. Knowing she was beaten, the fairy slowly wrapped the cloak around herself and tied it closed, before looking up at them with a mixture of burning defiance and a plea for mercy in her eyes. Fairies were good at conveying emotions with just a look.

"Now fairy, what be your name?" Dirk asked.

"Lul." She said loudly.

Dirks eyes narrowed. "Is that your name or did you just insult me?"

"How stupid would I be to insult you with a sword pointed at my neck." she said.

"Best watch your tongue or you will find out." Dirk replied harshly. Lul glared at Dirk, but kept silent.

"I am curious." Beryl said "How does a fairy like yourself become a thief? I thought your kind always kept on the good side of the law."

"If you let me go, I'll tell you."

Beryl glanced at Dirk who, considered it for a moment, then nodded at Brecht, who lowered his sword. Dirk said "Aye, we'll let you go, so long as you keep it brief. We can't afford to listen to a long winded tale."

"Aye, I'll keep it brief then." Lul took a few moments to decide her words before launching into her story. "I've been thieving for several years now. Mostly I would steal from the rich, you know, nobility, merchants and the like. I'd never stolen from an adventurer before, too risky, and that most of them guard their coin pouch a lot better than you." She nodded at Beryl, who turned a bright crimson colour. "But anyways, I don't know how you knew I was there, I'm normally very good at picking a fools pocket. How did you know I was there?"

"Simple" Brecht said, clapping Beryl on the shoulder before he could get a word out. "Little Beryl here's got Mage Sight."

"Truly?" Lul asked. "I've heard of that, but I never saw anyone with it before. And here I was thinking it was me, but now that explains how you knew I was there. I knew I was good, and not just at lifting someone's load either, I can pick a lock or two mind you!" Lul chatted on.

"Fairy, are you going to tell us how you came to be a thief, or shall we end your life here to spare us all a headache?" Dirk warned.

"I will if you stop interrupting." Lul shot back. "As I was saying, I've been thieving for many years now, but before that I served in Aphrodites' temple as a devotee, you know, cleaning the temple and holy relics, tending the sacred garden and preparing the food for the priests and acolytes, all in exchange for shelter and a bed. Been there as long as I can remember. Priest Tathos told me my parents gave me up to the temple as they were poor and unable to provide for me. Don't know whether that's the truth or a load of troll dung, as there was rumours Tathos found me abandoned in the street. Don't know which to believe, certainly Tathos would have me believe my parents gave me away for love. Makes no nevermind now though, seeing as I ran away from the temple.

"Why'd I do that? Cause it was dead boring in there. Same old thing, day after day. I'd sneak out at nights and go places just to add some variety to my day. And let me tell you, getting past those temple guards isn't easy, though I guess it is somewhat easier when you have wings and can just fly over their heads. Not too many of them look up, you know.

"Anyway, so I'd go out at night, and when I did, I noticed that people tended to lock things up, which they didn't do back at the temple. Don't any of you dare go getting any ideas though, I won't have anyone stealing from the temple. But like I was saying, everybody locked things up and so I started to wonder how hard it would actually be to steal all that stuff from them. Now Tathos had taught me that stealing was wrong, but then he also taught me that sneaking out of the temple at night was wrong too, so I didn't listen to what he told me about stealing. I started out with easy simple stuff, you know, going in through an upstairs window, you'd be surprised how many people leave them unbarred, even during winter. Guess they don't think thieves can fly.

"I didn't take too much at first, just a couple of coins, some small stuff that wouldn't be missed. I was just practising at first. After a month of that, I started on larger stuff, like jewellery and pottery and stuff. And food, which I know was really mean spirited as most of these people I stole from where poor and could barely afford the food they had, but the temple only gave me two meals a day and I would get hungry. So I stole food and hide it in my room in the temple and I would sneak back when I could and eat some.

"But that was my mistake. I was sneaking back too often and people were noticing I wasn't working, so they told Tathos. He came to check my room and caught me in the middle of eating a whole loaf of bread. I don't need to say how furious he was. He thought I had stolen it from the temple, but when I told him I hadn't, and when he saw that it was a bread they didn't have at there, he realized that I had snuck out and was stealing from elsewhere, and that just made him madder.

"He took me and locked me up in one of the rooms underneath the temple and said I would stay there until I learned the error of my ways. He left me there for over a week with very little food and nothing else to do, so I decided to escape and run away. I knew the temple guard Tathos had stationed outside my door, and I knew he'd had his eyes on me for years, so I called him into my room and told I'd let him have his way with me. I got him all the way into the room and told him to drop his pants, which he did, and then just flew straight out the door. Fortunately he wasn't too smart and I was already out of the temple before he realized I'd escaped.

"Ever since then I've lived in the alleys and sewers, thieving to stay alive. I've kept a low profile so as not to attract the attention of the Thieves Guild, I know what they do to thieves who aren't members. So far they just think I'm some snotty nosed street urchin, but now they know who I am, thanks to you, and I know they'll find me sooner or later."

"You dream, fairy. We've done nothing to alert the Thieves about you." Dirk stated.

"I be not dreaming. Nothing happens in Kecht without them knowing, and certainly would have seen you chasing me down."

Serena stepped forward past Dirk. "What would they do to you if they catch you?"

"I know not what they do to fairies, but humans they catch trying it, they usually pull their fingernails very slowly, before stringing them up from the ceiling and tying large stone blocks to their feet. After that they'll disembowel you, then behead you and scatter parts of your body all over the city as a warning."

Serena visibly squirmed at the thought of it. "That is terrible. I'd heard of body parts being found now and then, but I didn't know that was the Thieves. If what you say is true, then you must leave the city."

"Where shall I go?" Lul asked. "I've lived my whole life in Kecht, I know not what lies beyond the city walls."

"Danger." Dirk pronounced. "Unlike what exists here in the city. Out there, there be no guards, nobody to watch your back; you be on your own."

"Aye, I'd figured that much out for myself. Truth be told, I've been thinking about leaving Kecht for a while. I couldn't keep out of view of the Thieves forever, and now looks to be the time."

"Well you can't travel on your own." Serena said, then turned to Dirk, Beryl and Brecht. "Might she come with us?"

"Where are you going?" Lul asked before anyone could respond.

"Vanir." Dirk said. "We've been summoned by Lord Brady de Lish."

"Summoned for what reason?"

"For a job the Lord has for us, though the message didn't say what, but it did say we'd be paid handsomely."

"Sounds like fun." Lul said, clapping her hands excitedly.

"Hold Fairy. Nobody's said you could come yet." Dirk said. Lul's face fell and she began to pout.

"Please Dirk, may she come?" Serena asked, speaking up for Lul.

"Beryl?" Dirk turned to his old friend, asking for his opinion.

Beryl shrugged. "I have no objections, so long as she stays away from my saddlebags."

"I promise." Lul said quickly.

Beryl frowned. "Just to be on the safe side, I think I will place a ward on them."

"If you wish, but you will be wasting your magic." Lul said with a shrug.

Dirk smiled and turned to Brecht. "Brecht, I doubt I even need to ask what your opinion is."

Brecht grinned, fully flashing his discoloured teeth. "Nay, you should know me well enough by now."

"Very well." Dirk turned back to face Lul. "You may come with us, Fairy, so long as you fight when needed and you keep your light fingers to yourself."

Lul held up her right hand. "I swear on my Goddess, I will not steal from you. And yes I can fight. You don't spends years on the streets without knowing how to defend yourself."

Dirk nodded in agreement. "Very well. We'd best be going, we have some distance to travel today. Do you have anything you need to pack?" Dirk asked.

Lul nodded. "Aye, just let me get what few items I have. I'll be a few minutes." Lul said.

"We will wait a few minutes for you." Dirk said. "But if you're not back in half an hour, we'll leave without you."

"If you wish." Lul said as she scampered out of the alley and from view. Dirk dismounted and turned to Hamn, who had been quietly waiting for them with the other two horses.

"Our thanks for holding the horses." Dirk said.

Hamn handed the reins to Serena. "The least I could I do." he said. "I am glad to see you have made a new friend, even if she is somewhat untrustworthy."

"The least we could do." piped up Brecht.

"Aye, that it was." Hamn agreed. "Well, it has been fortunate I have met you, but if you will allow, I must return to my forge now. Thank you once again for your help. You are most kind."

"You're welcome." Dirk said. Hamn turned and started walking out of the alley.

"Don't forget about the Boars Tusk!" Serena called after him. Hamn turned around and waved.

"Of course not. I will go there now. Thank you again." He called as he rounded the corner and disappeared.

Lul returned a few moments later with a small sack slung over her shoulder. Dirk swung himself up onto his horse as soon as he spotted her. "If you are all packed, we truly must be going now." he said. Lul nodded. "You'll ride behind Brecht." Dirk nodded at the warrior.

"If you wish." Lul said as she trotted over to him. Brecht grinned as he mounted his horse. Taking Lul by her hand he swiftly and easily hauled her into the air before dropping her behind him.

"Hold on tight, Little One." Brecht advised.

Once everyone was mounted, Dirk kicked his horse into a trot, headed out the alley and back on course towards Vanir.

* * * * *

Baron Brady strode through the finely adorned halls of his keep, making his way from the Great Hall, where he held court over his realm, and towards his private chambers on the uppermost floor, accompanied by a valet and his personnel bodyguard. It had been a particularly frustrating day in court; besides the usual disputes between merchants and the like and the endless criminal cases, he had received a visit from one of the kings royal vassals, sent to inform him that the King was calling a sitting of the Assembly of Lords and that Brady would be required to travel to Asgar by next month.

The Assembly of Lords was a relatively new institution in the politics of Midgard. Started over a hundred years ago as a biennial meeting of all the ruling nobles in the kingdom to discuss issues of importance and settle disputes amongst themselves, it had quickly developed into a rudimentary parliament which advised the king on important decisions and on the opinions of the nobility, and so began the first stirrings of democracy in Midgard. During the sittings, the nobles made speeches and debated on various topics, often dividing themselves into factions for and against the kings position. Although technically it was treason to speak against the king, so far the monarchs had tolerated the relative freedom of the Assembly. Despite this tradition, many feared that a future king would eventually tire of constantly being spoken against, and they were desperately searching for ways to protect themselves.

Brady disliked the Assembly, which he viewed as a big waste of time and effort. Although it advised the king, he was not obligated to act on that advice and in the end, the king would make up his own mind. The Assembly was a fancy show, staged by the king to convince many of the more gullible nobles that they had some say in the affairs of the kingdom, therefore keeping them in line. It was importance without power, something Brady could not stand. If he had been able to, he would simply have not attended, but it had been made mandatory by royal decree decades ago for all nobles to attend, or a trusted representative if they were reasonably unable to. But Brady was not one to sit and brood over his frustrations. It was his nature to turn disadvantage into an advantage, and such would he do with this.

They reached the heavy oaken doors to Brady's chambers and stopped. Turning to the young and nervous valet, (Turin was still locked in the dungeon) Brady issued his commands.

"Have Lady Anise brought to my chambers. And make sure I am not to be disturbed."

"At once, Milord." The valet bowed quickly before scampering back down the hall. Brady then ordered the two guards to stand watch at the door, before entering his chambers alone.

Brady's chambers were, in contrast, sparse compared to the rest of the castle; only a few ornately woven tapestries adorned the walls, intermingling with several carefully arranged displays of weapons. The chambers consisted of a private sitting room with a wide fireplace and doors leading to Brady's bedchamber and a private study. This study was a smaller, more intimate room than the larger, official study from which the secret passage to Rhea's chambers was located. That one was used only for official purposes, whereas this one was used for all Brady's private reading and correspondence. From his bedchamber, Brady had a commanding view of Vanir and its harbour, while the study looked out over the Cardin river as it wound its way under the walls and through the city before it widened into the harbour.

Brady removed the heavy golden silk robe he wore and carelessly tossed it over the back of a chair as he crossed the sitting room for the study. Underneath he wore an expensive red dyed leather jerkin over a plain white shirt with puffy sleeves and tight fitting red hose.

Entering his study, Brady found the days correspondence stacked in a neat pile on his desk. Sitting down, Brady picked the letter on top and examined it. The seal bore the mark of Ogvana Von Akir, the Marchioness of Akir and the port city of Aesir to the east of Vanir, and long time rivals of Brady and his family. Opening the letter and reading, he found the Marchioness was just taunting him again about he's lowly position in the ranks of the nobility. As she was a noble of the second highest rank, Brady was unable to respond the way he would have liked. Instead he scratched out a quick letter reminding her of the vastly superior volume of trade that passed through Vanir and of its importance to the king. Placing it aside, Brady turned his attention to the rest of the mail.

Almost an hour later, he was just finishing his reply to the last letter when there was a gentle, almost timid, knocking on his chamber door. Placing his quill back in the ink jar, Brady rose and hurried to the chamber door which he flung open. As he expected, there stood the valet with Lady Anise Vanir. The valet bowed lowly. "Milord, may I present Lady Anise, as you requested." Brady smiled gently at the young woman and dismissed the valet with a wave of his hand.

"Lady Anise. I bid you entry to my chambers." Brady stepped aside, allowing Anise through the door.

"You are most gracious, My Lord." Anise said as Brady gently closed the door. Anise turned to face Brady and the young lord took a moment to admire her beauty. Only a few years younger than Brady, she was barely out of her teens, but carried a strength and maturity far beyond her years. She was tall and lithe with raven dark hair and a finely chiseled face that never smiled. She wore an expensive green silk dress with an elegant pattern embroidered on it with silver thread that shimmered when it caught the light. The dress was cut exceedingly low, ending below her breasts and showing the valley between her shapely mounds, and the skirt was puffed out to exaggerate her hips. Her hair was held up in an elaborate braid in a design which would have taken her handmaidens hours to finish.

Brady stepped forward, took her face in his hands and kissed her. After a few moments, Anise broke the embrace and stepped back. Loosening the ties that held her dress tight, Anise slipped it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Brady wandered his eyes up and down her body before looking back up at her face. Her skin was flawless, smooth and creamy white. Her breasts were indeed quite round and shapely, her crotch devoid of hair and her nipples rosy red and standing slightly out, signalling her arousal to Brady. Brady stepped forward again to kiss her. Anise let him and wrapped her arms around his back where she began unfastening his jerkin. After a few moments, Anise broke the kiss again just long enough to slip the leather armour from him before resuming whilst working his hose down his legs. Brady broke the kiss and ripped his shirt up over his head.

Stepping in again, Anise wrapped her arms around him whilst Brady massaged her breasts in his hands. Her nipples rub hard against his rough skin as he ran his hands in circles. Anise slipped her hands down Brady's back, enjoying the tautness of his muscles, before pushing down his hose and cupping his buttocks. Brady stepped out of his pants and walked forward, pushing Anise in front of him until she was backed up firmly against a wall. Moving his hands down, Brady wrapped them around her waist and lifted up against the wall. Anise, knowing what he wanted, wrapped her legs around his waist and reached down. Taking hold of Brady's enlarged shaft and guided it inside as Brady lowered her down on it.

Brady felt the welcoming warmth and moistness of Anise as he worked his way into her. Moving in a little, he would withdraw slightly, then move in further until his entire length was engorged in her pussy. Brady took a moment to savour the delightful sensations dancing over his cock as Anise ground her pelvis into him. The young nobleman began moving back and forth inside her, inhaling on every thrust, as if drawing strength from the air to hammer the next stroke further in. Anises' breath quickened as she bucked and rode atop him. Brady leaned his head down and gently bit at her nipples, eliciting little cries of pleasure.

Faster and faster they drove against each other, Anises' pants transforming into shrill cries of ecstasy. Brady felt the tension begin to rise in his groin. Holding it back as best he could, trying to savour it as much as possible, his hips began to buck back and forth, ramming harder and faster into Anise, who cried each time. Suddenly, Anise stiffened, her back arching as much as possible, and her pussy muscles spasmed, squeezing Brady in a most enjoyable fashion. Brady could not hold himself back any longer, his seed pouring forth into Anise in powerful surges, sending her into another powerful orgasm.

Breathing heavily, they climbed down off one another. As they did so, they're eyes locked. Brady cast a calculated charming smile at her. Anise smiled back, then leaned forward and kissed him again. A calculated move on her part. Breaking the kiss, she took his hand and led him into the bedchamber.

Prodding Brady to lie down on the bed, Anise lay down by his legs, her face inches from Bradys groin. His cock had softened, but was now growing hard again with anticipation. Anise wrapped her hand around it and proceeded to rub it up and down a few times, increasing its rate of growth. After a few pumps, she bent down and took it in her mouth, her lips closing around his shaft. She ran her tongue over the head, sending a burst of pleasure throughout Brady and eliciting a groan. Running her tongue down his shaft, Anise moved her head down, pushing Brady's cock into her throat. With an ease of effort imparting her experience, Anise pushed herself further down on Brady, taking more and more into her throat until her face was buried in his pubic hair.

Then, just as easily, she began moving up and down on him, pulling back until the head was at the tip of her throat before plunging back down, while at the same time running her tongue over as much of his shaft as she could reach. Her right hand wrapped around the base of his shaft and would quickly pump the exposed shaft, while her left hand played his balls, rubbing, massaging and gently squeezing them just enough to be pleasurable. As Brady became more and more involved in the pleasurable sensations, Anise shortened her stroke, concentrating mainly on the head.

After a few moments, Brady began to feel the welcome tingling in his balls again. He didn't hold back this time, instead grabbing Anise's head and pulling it down as far as possible, ignoring her gags and protests. His muscles spasmed, sending several streams of cum straight down her throat. Anise gagged slightly, but managed to hold him in. After Brady was spent, Anise pulled his cock from her mouth, then began licking it clean while it softened.

The sensations provoked by Anise's tongue soon proved too much for Brady, and he was hard again in a very short time. Anise smiled and began pumping it with her hand again, but Brady had other ideas. He grabbed Anise and threw her onto the bed next to him before rolling atop her. Anise complied and spread her legs, allowing Brady easy entry into her. He began pumping and Anise responded by rocking against him as best as possible. Moving at his speed, Brady was soon lost in the torrent of sensations. His breathing became ragged and his eyes glassed over, his whole world became the stimulus from his cock.

Finally the stimulus became too much and he tensed as he once again poured forth into Anise. The sensations died and Brady was once again aware of the world around him. Rolling off Anise, they lay side by side for several moments, allowing each other to catch their breath. Finally, Brady broke the silence.

"My lady, you are indeed a wonder." He said, toying with her.

Anise knew the Lords games well, and also knew how to bend the rules without arising his ire. "But not so wondrous as his Lordship." Playing at his vanity was always a good strategy to deflect his attentions.

Brady smirked. "'Tis true." He said and continued to stare at Anise, disturbing her. Normally at such times he would look away, either at something in the room or usually at himself. His continued staring led her to believe he wanted something more.

"My Lord, am I right in assuming you did not request my presence merely to bring you pleasure?"

Brady smiled. Anise was fast, one of the things he liked about her. "Yes, there is something else I want."

"What, My Lord?"

"I have a job for you. One suited to your talents." He ran a finger down her side. Anise inwardly froze at his touch, though kept her expression neutral. She had performed many 'jobs' for Brady, but something in Brady's expression and demeanour warned her that this would not be like the others.

"What would My Lord have me do?" she asked.

Brady rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "It is a problem that has been vexing me since I was young. Here in Vanir, I am lord of everything. I make laws and enforce them, I collect taxes and judge on the matters of my subjects, I command all who reside on my lands. But that is only within my realm. Outside, I am just another noble, and a lowly ranked one at that. I have to endure the barbs and insults of higher ranked nobles with grace and dignity and whatsoever cannot reply to them as I would wish, particularly that witch Ogvana." He looked at her. "But now I have a way to change all that."

"How?"

"I can not tell you all that I would wish you to know. If you were captured, they would torture you to reveal my plot. It is best not just for me, but for you as well, if you knew as little as possible. Suffice, all you need to know is what I require of you.

"For my plan to work, I must know what is being discussed in the Royal Palace. I need you to work your way in and become my spy. I do not care how you get the information, just so long as you do not endanger your cover." He stroked her face. "I would hate it if anything were to happen to you."

Anise took his hand and nuzzled it. "If My Lord commands it."

"I do."

"How does My Lord plan for me gain entry to the Palace?"

"I have written a letter of introduction to the Chamberlain, telling him that you were once my fathers ward and, following his death, your charge has now fallen to me. I will ask him to find you a position in the palace suitable to your station. From there, the rest will be up to you alone." Part of what he said was true, her noble breeding required a position of some importance within the palace. Her family had once been the lords of Vanir, but had long since fallen from grace, and Brady's family had been allowed to take over the city, annexing it as part of their fiefdom of Lish. As accorded by their nobility, the Vanir's remained prominent in the city, until Anise's father squandered their fortune on shady business deals and an addiction to gambling.

After her father died a pauper, and her mother shortly afterwards, Anise had been forced out onto the streets when debt collectors had repossessed their estate and was unable to turn to the rest of the nobility; none of them wanted to be associated with such a shady family. With no where else to turn, Anise was forced to turn to a life of whoring on the streets. After several years of that shameful business, the Fates smiled on Anise when one of Brady's personnel guards recognized her and reported it back to his lord. Brady, never one to pass up a potentially profitable opportunity, immediately had her brought to his keep, where he struck a deal with her; Brady would keep her life of whoring a secret and clear her family's name in return for her services and the occasional odd job, usually extracting information from one of Brady's enemies or seducing a more hesitant business partner into accepting terms that would be more favourable to the Lord.

But she had never gone against the royal family. That was treason, and to be caught meant long weeks of torture followed by a grisly death. Her family's name would be forever stained by the shame of betraying the king, and no one could clear that. But if she didn't, Brady would cut her off and publicly humiliate her, something she couldn't afford.

Anise decided. She would do as Brady wanted her to. He mentioned he had a plan, and his plans were always well thought out and rarely backfired. Besides, there was always the chance she might not get caught, and a chance was always better than none.

* * * * *

Rhea bent over her cauldron, busily gazing at the image of that arrogant young lord as he blackmailed that tart of a woman into spying on the royal family. It infuriated her to think that Brady would even consider sending an unreliable agent off on such an important mission. As effective a tool as blackmail was, it only worked when the victim feared the consequences. To defeat a blackmailer, one had only to accept your fate. After all, one could live with shame, and that was the blackmailers only weapon. No, it was a much more elegant solution to make the victim WANT to be your pawn, something magic was ideally suited to.

Rhea smiled to herself. Whenever Brady thought he was clever enough to think a step ahead of Rhea, she was always three steps ahead of him. Rhea would make this Anise work for her, gathering the information that was meant for Brady, and then deciding what would be passed on to him. It was always true that whoever controlled the flow of information, controlled the world.

Rhea watched them till Anise rose and began to dress. With a wave of her hand, she dispelled the image and calmed the water, before crossing to a small box she kept on a shelf. With a word, the box opened to reveal several small rings, some ornately carved, others just simple bands of metal. Rhea fished through them for a few moments before finding the one she was after, a small, modestly decorated ring, one that would suit a noblewoman serving the royal household.

Depositing the ring into a pocket on her robe, she stood straight and made a few mystical gestures, coupled with a brief chant. The world around her began to swim and dissolve as Rhea felt herself becoming disconnected from it. As the scenery faded from her eyes, a new one began to appear, blurry and indistinct at first, but then rapidly sharpening into detail. Once Rhea felt herself fully connected to this new place, she looked around.

Elegant tapestries adorned the stone walls of this corridor, lit by sun pouring in through narrow arrow slits. Another corridor intersected this one a few feet away. A large heavy door was opened, and then closed, down this corridor, followed by echoing footsteps approaching. Rhea leaned back against the wall while she waited for the owner of the footsteps to arrive.

Anise, now fully dressed again, emerged from this corridor and was startled to see Rhea standing there.

"Lady Anise." she began, "If you will come with me, Lord Brady has instructed me to prepare you for your journey."

"Lord Brady told me not of this." Anise asked suspiciously.

"It was not important enough for him to mention. I am merely to provide you with a few trinkets that will aid you on your mission."

"And what mission might that be?" Anise narrowed her eyes. Surely Brady would not have anyone else about her mission.

"I know not. I only know what I have been told, which is not much. I am only a humble servant to My Lord."

"And what might these trinkets be?" Anise asked.

"Merely a few magical enchantments designed to keep you safe."

"Like?"

Rhea pulled the ring from her robes. "This ring will protect your mind from any mage attempting to probe it." She said, taking Anise's left hand and slipping it onto her ring finger. As soon as the ring made contact with her skin, Anise's hand went limp as her eyes glazed over, before taking on a vacant, faraway look. Rhea smiled to herself underneath her hood.

"Now, my dear, you will go about your mission as Lord Brady planned, only you will report what information you have learned to me. I will then tell you what you shall report to Lord Brady. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress Rhea." Anise mumbled.

"Very good. Now go, child. Do not tarry." Rhea said. She quickly looked around, making sure no one was in sight. Satisfied, she leaned in and passionately kissed Anise. Anise responded automatically, kissing back and parting her mouth to allow Rhea's tongue to probe it. Rhea placed her hand on Anise's left breast and gently massaged it, feeling her nipple harden beneath her dress.

But all too quickly, Rhea broke the contact. Stepping away, she gave Anise on last look before snapping her fingers and feeling herself being transported back to her place of origin. After Rhea had vanished, the vacant look left Anise's eyes and she began towards the stairs as if nothing had happened.

* * * * *

Dirk unstoppered his water skin and, putting the mouth to his lips, took several long mouthfuls from it. Replacing the stopper, he returned it to his pack before turning his attention back to the road. Following behind him were Beryl and Serena on his horse, with Brecht and Lul bringing up the rear. The five had been riding all day with few stops, and were now about halfway to the village of Belrose. The sun was beginning to set in the west, over their right shoulders. Very soon they would have to find a place to camp for the night.

"The sun's beginning to set. We should look for somewhere to camp soon."

"There be no inns around here?" asked Beryl.

"Not on this stretch of the road. We're travelling faster than the caravans." Dirk replied. The inns that dotted the roads of Midgard were established to service the much slower, but more lucrative, caravans that plied the trade routes, carrying goods and merchandise from town to town, and this stretch of the road was typically travelled by them during the day.

Despite the dangers of camping outside, Dirk, Beryl and Brecht had been forced to do it many times in the course of their adventures. Usually they were able to pass the night in relative peace, but sometimes a passing pack of wild animals or bandits, or even the occasional monster had decided three sleeping warriors would be easy prey. Suffice to say, they all soon learned the error in their judgement. Still, the interruption to their sleep was an annoyance.

Tonight though, they were in luck. As they crested a small hill, they spotted a copse of trees atop the next one, just a few miles ahead. Such a growth would provide them with some cover from predators during the night.

Arriving at the copse just as the sun touched the horizon, they dismounted and pushed their way through the undergrowth. The copse was about the size off a large barn and densely packed with trees, bushes and shrubs. However towards the centre of this one, the undergrowth gave way to a small clearing. Patches of bare rock showed through the grass covering here and there, indicating that the topsoil wasn't thick enough for the bushes and shrubs to grow. Although not very comfortable to sleep on, the rocks would make an excellent spot for the campfire.

"This'll be a good spot to camp for the night." Dirk observed as he dropped his pack on the ground.

"We had best get a fire going. There will not be much light left." Beryl said.

"Aye." He turned to Serena and Lul "Why don't you two go find us some firewood."

"If you want." Serena said as she trundled into the woods. Lul shrugged, stretched her wings and took to the air. Being too small to have pushed her way through the undergrowth, she had shed her cloak and flown over it.

Dirk busied himself attending to the horses till he was sure the two were out of earshot, then he turned to Beryl. "Beryl, what do you think of that fairy?"

"Lul? She is nice enough, but I'm watching my packs."

"Aye. I'm not too sure about travelling with a thief myself."

"Brecht seems to like her though."

"Brecht would like anything with breasts." Dirk said as he pulled a comb from his pack to groom the horses with, while surreptitiously checking that the warrior wasn't listening.

"Aye. 'Tis an odd contrast though. He be nearly as big as a troll, and she being a fairy. Sometimes I feared he was going to sit on her when he adjusted his position."

"Something he will to have to be careful about, cause I'll be damned if I'll let her on my horse, right next to my packs."

"Aye. Somehow, I think that is something he is already watching. You would not be too impressed if a giant sat on you, would you?"

"No, especially if it were Brecht." Dirk with a chuckle. Beryl smirked to himself.

"So, what is your opinion of Serena?"

"She's nice enough as well, but I've yet to see if she can take care of herself. If we are attacked, I don't want to be having to worry about defending her as well."

"Do not worry. I believe she can take care of herself."

"What makes you think that?"

"You forget, I sense things you can not."

"And just what are you sensing about her? She doesn't look strong enough even to lift a sword."

"Not everyone needs a sword to fight. I carry one just so I don't get picked on in taverns." He said with a grin.

"Beryl, if some drunk drongo ever tried to pick on you, I swear, you'd have turned him into a toad before he finished slurring his words."

Beryls grin widened to something approximating Brechts. "True, but that would then be rather unfortunate for both of us as I do not know the spell to change him back."

"Not something the local magistrate would like." Dirk agreed.

"Hey!" Brecht shouted at them from where he was setting up camp. "When you two old village crones have finished yapping, a helping hand would be appreciated." Dirk and Beryl grinned at each other.

Serena and Lul returned shortly before sundown with enough wood and kindling to keep the fire stoked through the night. After lighting the fire, they ate a meal of bread and heated up dried meats. After they had done eating, Brecht pulled a bottle of rum from his pack, uncorked it and took a long swig before passing it around.

"Do you guys often sit out here and drink? I would have thought that would be too risky. What if you were attacked." Serena asked, taking the bottle from Brecht.

"We don't drink that much when we're on the road." Said Dirk. "We save that for when we get to an inn." He added with a humorous smile.

"Yes, as I saw last night." She took a swig. "Or should I say, early this morning." She said as she passed the bottle to Lul.

"Was it that late when we retired?" Beryl asked Dirk.

"Do I look like a sundial to you?" Dirk replied.

Beryl held up a hand in a playfully threatening manner. "You could with just a word."

Dirk took the bottle from Lul. "Put that away before you hurt yourself." Beryl grinned. Dirk took a swig and then passed the bottle to his childhood friend.

"When'll we get to Vanir?" Lul asked.

"About a week." replied Dirk.

"What's Vanir like? I've never seen the sea, but I've heard tails about it. I can't imagine all that water stretching beyond the horizon like I've heard it does?"

"Aye, that it does." Said Brecht. "And it's deep. So deep in parts that some say it has no bottom. It just goes on and on."

"That be codswallow through and through, Brecht." Beryl corrected him. "The ocean always has a bottom, it just be so deep in places that no man can go there and return, not even the creatures of the deep can go *that* deep. In fact," Beryl lowered his voice and leaned in closer to the fire "it is said that the Tomb of the Leviathan is hidden below the deepest part of the ocean, and guarded by the original Scylla."

Everybody around the fire went quiet. All knew of the story of the Leviathan, and the prophecy of its release. The Leviathan was the first being created by the Gods, whose power had rivaled their own. So powerful was it in fact, that they were unable to kill it when they realized their mistake. So they imprisoned it in a secret tomb far below the waves of the Magnus Ocean, the largest ocean on Terra, far below its deepest point. To ensure the protection of the tomb, the Gods created the first Scylla, a fearsome sea monster, and placed it to guard the entrance to the tomb until the end of time.

But the Leviathan could not stay imprisoned forever. Of all the prophecies concerning the end of the world, the End Times, the release of the Leviathan was the most feared. The Leviathan will be released at the end and will proceed to destroy the world and all creation. Fortunately, of all the signs prophesied to foretell the end, none had yet come true.

They were quiet for a few moments, letting the supernatural atmosphere created by the mere mention of the Leviathan linger as long as possible. Finally Lul broke the silence. "Are there many Scylla's in the oceans?" She said as she reached over and took the bottle from Beryl.

"Thankfully there are not that many." Beryl said. "Scylla's are said to be able to swallow ships whole, and can make themselves invisible, allowing them to strike without warning." Lul took a long swig on the bottle whilst Beryl was talking.

"How do you know all this?" Serena asked.

"My schooling at the College. All students are taught about the old myths and dangers of the world. Knowledge is power, and when facing monsters, knowledge may be the only thing that stands between you and judgement by Thanatos." Thanatos was the God of Death, and judged the recently dead on whether they ascended to the heavens or were cast into the burning hells.

"Knowledge and a good sword." Added Brecht with a big grin as he snatched the bottle from Lul. They all laughed.

As the night wore on, the amount of rum in the bottle got progressively lower and lower, drunk mainly by Brecht, Serena and Lul. Dirk and Beryl both declined repeated offers of more drinks, preferring to stay sober in case of attack.

"Okay, this one time, hairy old Gordon came into the inn, he was the local miller," Serena said, recounting a story from the Boars Tusk with slurred speech in between drinks. "he came in, and he'd obviously been drinking somewhere off where, somewhere, and he came in slurring his speech, tripping over everything, and I mean everything. He walks over to the bar, well, he stumbled over to the bar, and then collapses on top of it. Mister Owen goes over to him and says 'Gordon, don't you think you've had yer fill of drink?'. Ol' Gordon just picks his head up off the bar, looks at Mister Owen like this," Serena pulled a very bleary eyed face, "and says, 'For the devils sake, Thanatos, yer one ugly lookin' ogres arse. I does hopes ye gives me a good judgement." Serena said as she doubled over in laughter. The others smiled and smirked politely, concluding it was one of those 'had to have been there' stories.

Serena calmed herself and took a few breathes, then squared her shoulders and looked at the three men. "Gods, thinking of that has reminded me I have to pay off my debt to you men for saving me this morning, and like they say, there's no time like the presence, or present, one of those two." She said and stood up on unsteady feet. Beryl could see this going only one way, but decided to just sit for a moment longer in the hopes he was wrong.

Serena began to sway her hips as she hummed a tune to herself. She ran her hands upwards from her hips, over her belly and breasts to the ties holding her dress closed. She grasped the top tie and gave a gentle tug. The tie fell open, exposing some of the smooth flawless skin of her chest. She tugged at another tie, exposing even more skin. Grasping the final tie, she took her time with it, slowly pulling it open, then tightening it up again. Beryl, despite himself, found himself transfixed by the sight. Serena gave the tie a sharp tug, and her dress fell open fully, exposing her chest and the tops of her breasts. Serena danced a bit, taking a few steps forward, then backward. As she did, she pulled her dress further open, slipping it off her shoulders, but still keeping it up.

Once the dress was off her shoulders, she still held it up with her hands, but worked them up and down her breasts as she danced, sauntering forward a few steps as she lowered her hands, then sharply pulling them back up. Beryl was unable to look away, though his morality and his conscience screamed at him to do so, to stand and stop Serena from embarrassing herself in this way.

Finally, Serena flung her arms wide, allowing her dress to fall. It hung from her hips, where it was tied tight again around her waist. Her breasts were magnificent, enhancing her beauty and appeal even more. None of this Beryl would deny, but the sudden sight of them shocked him back to his senses, like an explosion of light waking him from a dream. Beryl stood and stepped over to her.

"Serena, please, do not do this. You will regret it later."

"No Beryl, I'm working off my debt to you." She said as she danced. She took his hand and pressed it to her right breast. "Should I not pay you what I owe?"

Beryl drew his hand away. "No, not like this." He said, and made a grab for her dress, trying to pull it back up, but Serena thwarted him.

"No." she whined. "I want to do this."

"Serena, you are drunk, you are not thinking right."

"I'm going to do this, and to Hades with what you think." She said, pulling away from him.

Beryl felt like someone had plunged a cold dagger into his heart. He had expected more from her, had thought she cared what he thought. For Beryl, what he thought was important, his time at the College had taught him that. Toolin had taught him that your thoughts and opinions were the only thing of consequence in the world. Everybody had them, everybody liked to share them, and they were the only thing that could not be taken away, not by death or the most powerful magic, not even by the gods themselves. Wealth, power, talent, all those were only passing. They vanished as easily as they came, and they always ended with death. Thoughts transcended all that. To find someone who cared about what you thought, was indeed truly special.

He straightened, and glared at her with a mixture of anger and hurt. "If that be what you want, then whore yourself. I will not stop you." He turned on his heels and stormed from the clearing into the night. As he fled, he could not help but hear Serena's drunken laughter echo in his ears. His chest tightened and tears stung his eyes.

Dirk was on his feet and off after Beryl within moments, casting an accusatory glare at Serena as he passed her. He followed Beryl into the underbrush, but lost him as the light from the fire was filtered out through the trees. Slowing down to a walk and drawing his sword as a precaution, Dirk called Beryl's name. There was no answer. Stopping where he stood, Dirk listened for a few moments, trying to hear Beryl as he pushed through the bushes, but he heard nothing. Cursing the mage and his magic, Dirk guessed Beryl must have cast a spell on himself to mask his passage. Double-timing it, Dirk pushed his way through the rest of the bush and emerged from the copse out onto the road.

Glancing around, Dirk could not see any sign of the mage, but that didn't deter him. Knowing Beryl couldn't be more than a few minutes flight ahead of him, Dirk took a gamble on a direction he figured his friend would go and sped off down the road. As he ran, Dirk tried to work out what had set Beryl off like that. He knew the mage had a more conservative set of morals taught to him at the College, mages in the Kings employ were expected to behave a certain way, but never before in his life had he seen Beryl get so worked up over a woman's virtue, especially a bar wench. Granted Serena was extremely pretty, but there had to be something more, Beryl had to have some sort of interest in the girl. Did he like her? Dirk was unsure. Beryl had often publicly turned down other barmaids even prettier than Serena, saying he wasn't going to encourage a beautiful girl to continue to whore herself. Was that it maybe? Was Beryl hoping to woo Serena into giving herself freely to him? Or did he see her as more than a woman to share his bed?

As he ran, Dirk began to feel himself tire and his breath became heavy. Stopping by an old oak tree, he put a hand out to steady himself while he rested and caught his breath. Without the adrenaline adding to his strength and endurance like it had that morning, Dirk's armour was weighing him down heavily. Taking several deep and slow breaths, Dirk forced himself to ignore the burning sensation in his lungs. Suddenly he tensed as he felt a hand lightly touch him on the shoulder. Pivoting on his heels, Dirk brought his sword around in a wide sweeping arc at head height. As he spun around, he turned his head to get a look at his opponent and started when he saw Serena jump at his sudden movement. Slowing his swing, he stopped the blade just short of her neck and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Gods Serena! Do not ever sneak up on an armed man again, do you hear?"

"Aye." Serena nodded, going pale as she realized how close to death she had come. Dirk lowered his sword, but didn't put it away. Looking her over, he noted that she had her dress on fully again, but that it had been hurriedly tied shut; loose, but just enough to stop it from falling off of its own accord.

"What are you doing here? You should be back at the camp where its safest."

"I came to find you." She said as colour began to return to her face.

"You mean you came to find Beryl." He corrected her. She must still be suffering from the effects of the alcohol, despite the sobering effect walking seems to have on the body.

"No, I mean you." She said shyly, implying something whilst she admitted a secret. Dirk suspected he knew what.

"I'm not in need of finding." He said guardedly. "Besides, I'm busy looking for Beryl. You really hurt him."

"I never intended to hurt him, I just didn't think about what I was saying." she said.

"You shouldn't be saying that to me. You should be saying that to Beryl."

"I will, when he comes to his senses and returns." She said with a dismissive wave.

"What makes you so sure he will return?" Dirk's eyes narrowed.

"He's that type of person; one who doesn't hold a grudge."

"Then you aren't here to help me look for him." Dirk said.

"Like I said, he will return of his volition. I came for you."

"Why?" Dirk said, knowing why but wanting to hear it.

"I like you." she said.

"And Beryl?"

"No. He's sweet, but doesn't stir me the way you do." She said, closing the distance between them.

"He likes you." Dirk said.

"I thought so, but I don't feel the same way."

"You're just hurting him more."

"He doesn't have to know." Serena said as she leaned in and kissed Dirk.

"No!" Dirk cried and broke free, pushing Serena away. "Beryl has been my friend since childhood. I'll not do this to him."

Serena turned away from him, trying to conceal the hurt on her face. "Don't you like me?" she asked quietly.

Dirk felt like he was caught between a rock and a hard place. If he said he liked her, which he sort of did, she would pressure him further, but if he said he didn't, then he'd hurt her, which he didn't want to do. Dirk stayed silent whilst he tried to compose an answer.

"If I say yes, then we'll most likely end up hurting Beryl." He said finally.

Serena turned to face him and Dirk could see she was struggling to hold back tears. "I don't want to hurt Beryl again. I'm sorry for back at camp. He was right, I wasn't thinking straight. But I don't like him back. I like you."

"If you don't want to hurt Beryl again, then you don't want to hear what I'd have to say."

Serena sniffled back her tears and cracked a small smile. "I think I understand."

Dirk smiled. "Good." He said. "We should get back. You're right, Beryl will return before we have to leave."

Dirk started to walk back to camp, but Serena blocked his way. "At least let me kiss you." she said.

Dirk felt his heart start to thump in his chest. He glanced around at the countryside surrounding him and wondered if Beryl was out there, hiding and watching them. If he was, Dirk would most likely loose his oldest friend. But here was a beautiful woman wanting him to kiss her. Should he gamble or should he play it safe. In the end, his libido won.

Leaning down, he locked his lips with hers. She kissed back with an intensity which surprised him. Though Dirk wasn't new to kissing, he'd never experienced one like this, one with so much passion. Dirk was lost, not knowing what to think. He'd barely known this woman a day, hardly even spoken to her whilst they were on the road, and now here they were, embracing each other like a pair of lovers.

Finally they broke. Serena looked at Dirk, seeking his approval. Dirk's mind was numb and his throat and mouth were dry. He looked at her dumbly for a moment, before turning away. "We must get back." was all he said, breaking free of Serena's arms and starting off down the road. He deliberately avoided looking at Serena, not wanting to see the hurt he was sure was on her face.

* * * * *

There was still no sign of Beryl the next morning as they broke camp. Dirk and Serena had arrived back at camp and promptly turned in, leaving Brecht to volunteer as the first watch. Come sunrise the four were chowing down a light trail breakfast before packing their gear on their horses and preparing for the road.

Once everyone was ready to ride and waiting by the road, there was still no sign of Beryl. The decision to wait another ten minutes was made.

Ten minutes passed and still no Beryl. Everyone looked to Dirk for a decision. Dirk had to admit he had never seen his friend behave like that before, he especially had never seen him storm away in anger. Despite that, Dirk felt very sure Beryl would return. Much as he might deny it, Beryl was a very materialistic person and couldn't go more than a few days without his belongings. But then, they also had to reach Vanir as soon as possible, which meant striking out now.

With a heavy heart, Dirk knew what he had to do. He waved for everyone to mount their horses and start off. If Beryl came back later and found they'd left without him, he'd be upset, but he had magical means to find them again.

They had barely gotten a hundred feet down the road when Beryl stepped from some bushes onto the road. Dirk hauled his horse a stop and looked down at him. "It's about time." he said "Mount up, or we really will leave you behind."

Beryl cast an angry sideways glance at Dirk as he strode to his horse, but said nothing. Serena jumped down to allow him to mount, which he did, but instead of extending a hand to help her up, he kicked his horse into a canter and took off down the road. Serena looked down at the ground for a few moments, know full well why he had done that, before looking up at Dirk with sorrowful eyes. Dirk sighed in annoyance, before extending his hand. She took it and climbed up behind him, hooking her arms around his waist for grip.

Dirk exchanged a look with Brecht, then took off after Beryl.

* * * * *

Berek rode Spear through the outskirts of Epon, accompanied by Fang. The few peasants and merchants that he passed gave him a wide berth, many casting curious glances at the wolf and the warrior. Epon was a mid sized city on the shores of the Eponnel river which flowed north to Lake Badb and which also lent its name to the settlement that had grown up around the only viable crossing. The city now lined both banks of the river and sported a solid stone wall which stretched all the way around the old part of the city. Overtime Epon had grown beyond the confines of the wall, its foulborough spreading out for a good mile in all directions, and even further along the main road as it entered and exited the city. The Highland Road, as it was called, began in the city of Athalia up in the Highlands, the region of hills and mountains that separated the Plain of Chalner and the western coast from the interior of the kingdom, and travelled east, through Epon to the city of Bifrost where it intersected with the Kings Way, the main highway running north and south along the Ginnwar River and through Asgar.

After paying the tax, Berek entered through the West Gate and trudged along the road until he came to the inn Timin had specified in his letter, the Laughing Merchant. Three storeys tall, it looked more like a wealthy nobles city estate than it did an inn. The walls were whitewashed with elaborately carved wooden trimming and kept spotlessly clean. The roof was made entirely of wooden shingles and sported the new roof gutters that were appearing on buildings all over the kingdom. Attached to the eaves, which up until recently were the only way of stopping rainwater from running down the walls and rotting them, the gutters directed the water through pipes down the side of the house and into water barrels from which the household would then use for drinking and washing, rather than to carrying buckets from the river or well.

Berek dismounted Spear and passed the reigns to the valet at the door who called for a stable boy to lead the horse and, after a moments hesitation, the wolf around to the stables. Berek pushed open the front door and wandered inside, immediately feeling the odd stares from the rest of the patrons. The inside of the Laughing Merchant was decorated just as finely as the most poseur nobles feast hall. Large ornate tapestries hung from the rafters fluttering in the slight breeze. Expensive looking oil paintings covered the walls, depicting various kings and nobles and glorious battles. The common room of the inn was illuminated by numerous solid gold chandeliers, each worth a labourers yearly wage, Berek judged.

The clientele was as he would have expected in such a fine place, rich merchants, landowners, tradesmen and investors and their affiliated clerks, lawyers and solicitors gathered to discuss business over a drink and a meal. In amongst them, waiters dressed in fine red uniforms with a gold trimming weaved through the tables, delivering platters of food and drink to the customers. Of conspicuous absence where any nobles, which told Berek that, despite all its wealth and grandeur, the Laughing Merchant was still a commoners tavern.

In amidst all the finery, Berek noticed a man roughly the same age as he, seated alone at a table in a front corner of the room, out of sight of any windows and the front door, wearing a simple woolen travelling robe with the hood pulled down over his head despite the heat, hiding his face but not conspicuously so. When the figure saw that Berek had spotted him, he waved him over and pulled down his hood, confirming Bereks suspicions.

Timin rose as Berek approached and extended his hand. "Well met, old friend." Timin said as he grasped Bereks hand in a warm shake.

"And to you." Berek replied.

"Please, sit." Timin motioned to the seat opposite him as he sat. Berek sat.

Timin, though a hardened warrior like Berek, had obviously grown soft while in the service of the Royal Guard. Years of good food and sedentary guard duty had added a layer of soft fat over Timins' still impressive musculature, while the many helmets he wore had speeded mother natures efforts to rob him of his hair.

"We're a little out of place here." Berek began. "Why did you choose this inn for a meeting?"

"Exactly that. We are out of place here. Anyone looking for me will be checking the rougher, poorer inns and taverns where shady deals like this are done?"

"And what exactly is so shady about this?" Berek asked.

"Straight to the cut, just like you always were." Timin smiled, then leaned forward and lowered his voice, causing Berek to strain to hear his words. "You may or may not have heard that I'm now a Watch Commander in the Palace." Timin said. Berek nodded. "I normally command the evening watch, from sundown to midnight, typically the time when the many fools trying to make a name for themselves attempt to breach the Palaces defences. Suffice to say, none of them are successful."

"I am pleased to hear you are doing your job well." Berek said impatiently.

"Aye, but I did not call you here to hear me boast."

"Really?" Berek said sarcastically.

Timin dropped his voice even further, forcing Berek to lean closer. "I believe someone is plotting the downfall of the King."

Only Bereks raised eyebrows revealed his surprise. While it was common to hear rumours of such plots, to hear it from a Royal Guard was alarming, even if it was in confidence to an old friend.

"Why do you say that?" Berek asked cautiously.

"Over the past six months, There's been a sharp increase in attempts on the Palace's defences. Normally we'd only have two or three a month, now we are getting seven or eight a month, and it's been lasting too long for it to just be a statistical fluke. What's more, none of the attempts are ever the same. Someone is directing them, probing our defences for the best way in. Normally most attempts don't get beyond the outer wall, we spot them trying to scale it and arrest them when they reach the top, before they have a chance to escape. Twice we've had some clever young duck get as far as the inner courtyard before he's spotted, and let me tell you, that sort of talent takes some coin. Whoever is behind these attacks is well financed. Everybody knows attempting to break into the Palace is a capital offence, and well enforced. Duke Aram sees to that." Duke Aram was the cousin of King Omar and by tradition, lord of the city of Asgar and custodian of the Palace. It was he who administered the city and dispensed justice.

"Every one of the buggers that we caught has hanged and their possessions turned over to the king if no one claims them. This," he said, taking a small button from a pocket on his cloak. "was found on one of them." He passed the button to Berek who inspected it. The button was made of wood and no bigger than the nail on his little finger, but sported a symbol carved into it that made Berek's blood run cold. A horribly scarred and cracked skull was depicted with a dagger embedded in the top of it and a snake curled through the eye sockets and mouth.

"The Zacchaeus. Izmit Intelligence. The man who carried this was a spy." Berek said absently.

"Aye. Or an assassin." Timin agreed.

"No." Berek said, realizing his mistake. "This man wasn't a Zacchaeus. Their operatives don't carry anything connecting them with Izmit. That would just draw attention to themselves."

"Aye. My superiors agree with you, but we can't pass this up lightly. The King has already dispatched several agents to Izmit to investigate, but doesn't believe we will find anything. We think whoever is behind this wants us to blame Izmit for it. Maybe even wants us to go to war again."

"Why? Who would benefit from another war with Izmit?"

"I don't know. I'm just a guard, I'm not privy to all the information."

"But you want me to find out?" Berek said.

"As a sworn servant of the King and a veteran of the Merchant War, it is your duty to prevent another such war with Izmit at all costs."

"What could I do? I'm just a hired sword. I have no title or position at any court that would bear weight with any noble."

"But you are known to those that matter, both on our side and theirs, and more, you are respected. That will more than get you a hearing with them."

Berek sat in silence, staring at the wall whilst he thought. After a few moments he turned back to Timin.

"Who else knows of this?"

"Only a few. The King and Duke Aram are keeping it quiet, just a select few of both their courts and the Royal Guard."

"And you?" Berek asked with suspicion.

"I was included because I figured out some of it by myself, particularly after I found that." Timin pointed at the button. "Doubtless some of the other guards have their suspicions, but they've been ordered not to speak of them, and you are too." Timin said with a stern stare at his friend. Berek waved it away.

"Yes, I do know how to keep a secret." he said.

"So you will aid us?"

Berek nodded. "Am I correct in assuming I won't have a royal warrant?"

"More than correct." Timin said. "You'll be doing this without royal consent or knowledge. Neither King Omar nor Duke Aram know of this, I sought you out on my own because I know you are the only one I can trust who will do what it takes to stop this war and protect the throne. Everyone else, including the Guard, have vested interests in whichever way this turns out. I would do it, but I've got my charge to protect the Palace and I can't leave that. You, on the other hand, have nothing stopping you."

"Short of age." Berek said. "You need someone younger for this. I'm getting too old for these high adventures. I'd decided to settle down in Wotnest, offering my services to Baron Sorkin as swordmaster. Surely there is someone in the Guard willing to take this mission on?"

"Willing? Yes. Capable? No. Face it Berek, you're the only one I know who could do this. Your age lends you experience, you know what's at stake and what to expect. Please." Timin said, starting to plead. "As an old friend and comrade-in-arms, help me."

Berek sighed. There really was no way he could have refused, even if he had wanted to. "Very well. You have my sword." He said.

"Excellent!" Timin exclaimed. "We must drink to this." He said, waving a waiter over. "Two mugs of your best ale." Timin ordered, pulling a small pouch bulging with coins from under his cloak and dropping it on the table. The waiter nodded curtly and disappeared to get their drinks.

The waiter returned a moment later with two fine porcelain mugs of ale. Timin and Berek downed them quickly before ordering two more and proceeding to drink the night away, remembering old battles and friends, both living and lost.

* * * * *

Berek awoke around midday, his head fuzzy from the ale consumed last night. After scrubbing himself clean with the water from the wash basin in his room, he dressed and headed downstairs to the common room where Timin said he would wait for him so they could travel to Asgar together.

Berek stood at the foot of the stairs and looked around the common room, but could not spot Timin. Trudging back upstairs, Berek walked to Timins door and knocked. There was no answer. Berek knocked again. Still there was no answer. Beginning to worry, Berek tried the door, but it found it was locked and wouldn't budge. Not wanting to smash the door down and be held accountable for the damage, Berek sped off to fetch the inns proprietor.

Returning a few moments later with the proprietor, a nervous aging man with grey hair, and some of the waiters and a valet, the proprietor produced a master key for the bedroom locks and opened the door. Berek pushed the door open and stepped inside the small room, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the bed.

Timin lay face up on the bed, his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling, his mouth opened in surprise and a large dagger imbedded in his chest, right through his heart. Berek felt the bile rise in his stomach, but forced it down. Although corpses weren't knew to him, Berek was always sickened when it was his friends. The warrior stepped over to the body, allowing room for others to enter behind him. The proprietor stepped through the door, spotted the body and promptly fainted, landing with a loud thump on the floor. Several of the waiters and the valet peered in, some turned away, audibly sickened by the sight. One of the brighter waiters ran to fetch a constable from the Town Watch.

Berek leaned over Timin, inspecting the wound with his experienced eye. The dagger had been plunged straight through his chest, between his ribs, in one swift strike. The amount of blood on the front of Timins shirt told Berek the blade had probably almost cleaved his heart in two. Judging from the surprised look forever frozen on Timins face, Berek judged he had been caught unawares. Although Berek didn't know what habits Timin had fallen into whilst in the Guard, he had always been the most careful person Berek had known. He was sure Timin would have checked the hiding places in his room thoroughly before locking the door and window for the night.

Berek looked at the window, which was wide open, meaning the killer had probably escaped that way. Leaning out, Berek spotted a drain pipe running past the window from the roof to the ground, allowing the killer to have either escaped up and over the roofs of the buildings, or down and through the alleys. Turning back, Berek examined the room, trying to determine where the killer would have hid. The only possible candidates where under the bed and in the closet, both obvious spots Timin would have checked.

Stepping over the body of the proprietor, Berek bent down and look closely at the lock, trying to spot any scratches around it that could have been made by a lock pick. There were none. Thoroughly stumped, Berek stood and thought for a moment. The only other way for someone to have gained access to Timins room and slaughter him by surprise would have been if he had used magic.

A town constable arrived a moment later and inspected the scene, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the unconscious proprietor. Berek related his suspicions to him and the constable, after inspecting the room himself, agreed, saying he would call in a mage to check for any magical residue. Berek doubted they would find anything. From the looks of it, Timin had been murdered by a professional assassin.

Berek stayed at the inn till mid afternoon, answering the Town Watch's questions and grieving silently for Timin. The mage the Watch called in was extremely flustered at having been disturbed and made only a cursory inspection, unsurprisingly finding nothing. Nobody doubted the fact that the killer would never be caught. Unless there was an eye witness or something outrageously obvious to connect a suspect with the crime, no person could really be convicted. Forensic evidence, fingerprints and post mortem's were unheard of in Midgard.

After being discharged by the Watch, Berek collected his belongings and what few items Timin had brought with him, saddled Spear and collected Fang, before setting off along the Highland Road in the direction of Asgar. There were still several hours of sunlight left, and Berek put on a quick pace, intending to distance himself as much as possible from the city. That night he camped along side the road, lighting a small fire to heat his dinner of salted meats, dried fruit and black bread. Whilst Spear grazed contentedly on the grass, Fang sat and watched his master, knowing from his body language that something was wrong. Berek sat, staring into the night for long periods, lost worlds away in his memories. As the thoughts of Timin flooded his mind, tears began to fill his eyes and the fearless warrior broke down, weeping unashamedly.

* * * * *

Dirk removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. The village of Belrose shimmered before him in the noonday sun. Heat distorted air rippled upwards from the stones used to cobble the main road and courtyards for the merchant caravans, which were the settlements lifeblood.

It had been two days since the incident at the camp site, as he referred to it as, and no one was really talking, except Lul and Brecht, who both happily chattered away, oblivious to the dark cloud that had descended on their companions. Beryl still kept silent about where he'd been, and Dirk knew better than to pry. Things between Beryl and Serena were even more strained, with Serena still riding behind Dirk and both refusing to even make eye contact. Dirk suspected Beryl knew about him and Serena, in that he was being very standoffish with him as well, though Beryl was hiding whatever emotions he was feeling and trying to act himself.

Belrose was a relatively large and bustling village, situated at the gates of the local lords keep. Most of the business in the village catered to the merchant traffic that flowed back and forth between the coastal settlements and Kecht, making the Dead Troll Inn and the leather shop a few doors down very easy to find. The leather shop was situated on the ground floor in a typical townhouse. A wooden sign hanging above the door proudly proclaiming its name, the rather unimaginative 'Belrose Leather Shop', while a selection of leather products was displayed in the front windows. Stopping out the front, Dirk dismounted and waved for Beryl to follow him inside.

A small brass bell rang as Dirk pushed the front door open and stepped into the small storeroom. Saddles, bridles, straps and other mundane, everyday leather products filled the shelves and spilled over onto display benches in the centre of the room. Summoned by the bell, an elderly man shuffled in from a back room and addressed Dirk and Beryl.

"Good day, sirs. What may I do for you? If you be after something in leather, I can just about guarantee I've got what you're after."

"Actually," Dirk said, "we're looking for a woman called Linney."

"Oh." the man said as his expression darkened. "I'm afraid I don't know where you could find her. Good day." he said as he shuffled back into the rear room. Dirk and Beryl looked at each, confused by the man's odd response. Dirk shrugged and pushed the door open.

"Well?" Brecht asked as they exited the shop.

"She's not there." Dirk said "The shop owner said he didn't know where to find her either, and he didn't seem too pleased we were looking for her."

"So what do we do now?" asked Lul.

"We could try the inns and taverns, see if any of the local people know where we could find this Linney." Beryl said as he swung himself onto his horse, then pulled Serena up behind him.

"We'll try." agreed Dirk as he mounted his horse. "We'll start with the one back that way, the Dead Troll."

"What do we do if we can't find her? Maybe she's not even living here anymore, or maybe she's dead. Maybe we should just leave the message with the innkeeper, he'll know everyone in town." Lul said as Dirk helped Serena up behind him.

"If we can't finding after we do a decent search for her, then we'll do that." Dirk said as he kicked his horse into motion and turned in the direction they had just come. As he trotted along, he caught some motion out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he spotted a shifty, rat faced man slinking towards him. Before Dirk could object, the man fell into step beside him and spoke quietly.

"If yer'll pardon me intrusion sirs and ladies, but I couldn't help but overhear you was lookin' fer the woman Linney, am I correct?" Rat Face asked. He spoke with a drawl and a hint of a strange accent.

Dirk pulled his horse to a stop and faced him. "Aye, you be correct." He said warily.

"Then I can help yer. Fer a simple fee, I could tell yer where to find her."

"How much?"

"Three Silver Dragons."

"Be you daft?" Dirk objected. "Such information isn't worth three dragons!"

"Two then, my good sir." The man said.

"One." Dirk said, trying to beat him down.

"One and a half, and that's as low as I go."

"Deal." Dirk said, reaching into his coin pouch and pulling one silver coin stamped with an image of a dragon on one side and the royal seal on the other, and an additional ten copper coins. "Now tell us where she is." He said.

"Most obliged." Rat Face said. "She's but a few streets away, in the third house from the corner on the east side."

Dirk paid him the money. "And for another five Coppers, would you lead us there." He added.

"Most happily, my good sirs and ladies." Rat Face said and trotted off. "Just yer's follow meself now." Dirk glanced at his companions, then urged his horse after him, with the others following.

A few minutes later, Rat Face led them to a run down house on the outskirts of the village. This area was on the opposite side to the keep, leaving it with the lest protection and thus housed the poorest of the villagers. Along here, the buildings were mostly small single storey huts with wooden walls and thatched roofs. Some sported small gardens where the inhabitants grew vegetables for their tables and for sale. Most gardens however were either overgrown with weeds or just patches of brown dirt.

Rat Face stopped at the corner of the street and pointed at the third house on the east side of the road. "There you are my good sirs, just where I told yers it was. Now, about me money?" Dirk counted out another five Coppers and handed them to him. "Much obliged." he said, before scurrying off into the shadows.

Dirk dismounted and walked to the decrepit house whilst the others followed suit. Leaving Serena behind with the horses, Dirk led them down the short path, stopped at the front door and knocked loudly.

"Come in." a woman called from inside. Dirk pushed the door open and stepped inside, his hand instinctively straying to the hilt of his sword. The hut was dark, dingy and rather barren. The main room they stood in was crammed with a wooden table, two chairs and a large cooking pot suspended over some hot coals. Standing over the pot was a woman in a cheap, gaudy dress, stirring what smelled like a pork stew. She looked up at them for a moment, then put the stirring spoon down and stood on the other side of the table to them, her hands clutching the back of a chair. "Good day to you, sirs, and lady." she said, nodding at Lul. "What am I able to do for you this fine day?"

Dirk spoke. "Are you Linney, former wife of Hamn the blacksmith of Ketch?"

"Aye, I am. If you've come to proposition me, it's ten coppers each."

"What?" Dirk asked aghast.

"Lady, we be not here to proposition you." Beryl said. "Rather we come bearing a message from your husband."

At that, the woman's demeanour changed dramatically. Her smile turned downwards into a frown, her hands flew to her hips and she became visibly irritated. Dirk didn't doubt she was close to violence. "Really now? What does that troll want now then?"

"He sent us to tell you that he has heard of your misfortune and will be seeking to take your children from you." Dirk said. "He has been in contact with a magistrate from Duke Aram's court who reports that there is sufficient cause for him to claim custody of them."

"No, that's not possible! Baron Leunig granted me custody of them! He can't do this!" She cried. Her hands went to her mouth as she started stressing. Dirk felt sorry for the woman. He glanced at Beryl and knew he felt the same. Looking back at the woman, Dirk saw Lul break from their group, circle around the table and reach out to the woman to comfort her.

"Aye, I'm afraid it's true lady. I know naught about the law, except for when I'm breaking it, but I do know that a duke can overrule a baron any day."

"But the Baron said...." she trailed off into a series of loud sobs. Dirk, Beryl and Brecht exchanged glances amongst themselves. This wasn't what they were expecting.

"Yes, we know what the Baron said, but think of it. It would be better for your children if they were to live with your husband. He's a blacksmith. He has money and can provide for them without having to sell himself." Lul said.

"But she's my daughter!" she cried.

"And she's also his." Lul said, trying to reason with the woman.

"No, she's not."

"What do you mean?" Lul asked.

"Hamn's not Narise's father, I only told him he was because he could provide for us. I don't know who the father is." she sobbed. Dirk sighed to himself, half turned to Beryl and Brecht and indicated they should leave. Brecht nodded and walked outside. Beryl hesitated a moment. He coughed and cleared his throat, attracting the woman's attention.

"Forgive me, lady, but who did you have summon the Morrigan?"

The woman sniffled and looked at him blankly. "What Morrigan, sir?"

"The Morrigan that tried to kill your husband?"

"'Twas not me. I would never wish Hamn harm. To do that would break the children's hearts. They love him, especially Narise."

Now Beryl was mystified. "Well, if it wasn't you, then who summoned it?"

"We can ponder that later." Dirk said as he shoved Beryl out the door. "Lul, come. Leave this woman in peace." Lul took her arms from around the woman and walked out the door. Dirk paused at the door. "Woman, I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but from what I've seen, I do believe that this would be best for your children. Forgive me." He said, tossing a small coin pouch onto the table as he walked out, leaving her a tearful mess on the floor.

"How much did you give her?" Brecht asked as he passed Dirk his reigns.

Dirk swung himself up onto his horse. "Five Dragons."

"Nobody ever said you were generous." Brecht quipped as he hauled himself onto his horse and pulled Lul up behind him. Dirk ignored him. Brecht continued. "We should start for Vanir again and make as far as we can while there's still light."

"Aye." Dirk said and wheeled his horse around to face south before kicking it to a fast trot.

* * * * *

Berek paused to look up at the massive gates which loomed above him, obscuring the sun from view, even though it was nearly midday. A week had passed since Timin's death, and Berek had arrived in Asgar to convey word to the Palace and begin his investigation. Berek did not doubt that Timin had spoken the truth, and was determined now more than ever to exact vengeance from whoever was behind this nefarious plot.

But first he had to gain entrance to Asgar and then to the Palace. The gate which he was waiting in line to enter through was the main Southern Gate, through which the Kings Way passed into the city. The walls of the city stretched as far east and west as Berek could see, and stood almost as tall, far beyond the reach of any ladder or siege engine an attacker could employ. In addition, a ditch almost as deep had been dug around the entire city, extending far down into the bedrock. Large, strong wooden bridges crossed the ditch, allowing traffic to easily reach the gates. The supports for these bridges were permanently covered in tar, allowing them to be quickly and easily destroyed.

Where the ditch met the two rivers which entered the city, large stone damns formed the banks and kept the water in place, with flood gates allowing a trickle to flow down and through the bottom of the ditch, washing away the rubbish that accumulated down there. Large wrought iron gates sealed the river entrances in the walls and extended below the water level to bottom of the rivers.

Asgar the city had grown up around the junction of these two flows of water, the Domis and the Ginnwar, and had continued to expand for almost a millennium. Two previous sets of walls had been consumed by the expanding settlement, and already space within these walls was growing tight.

The city stretched further than anyone could imagine, and Berek was convinced it was the largest city in the world. Large, spacious stone towers and buildings mixed with the more common wooden houses and structures. Many wide avenues crisscrossed the city, and branching off them were a maze of smaller streets and alleys only a lifelong resident would know. Where these avenues met, often wide squares were set aside, and many markets and fairs established themselves there.

Despite the geographic size of the city, the streets were always thronged with people, representing every walk of life in the realm. From the poor peasants and labourers to the skilled workers and tradesmen to the obscenely wealthy merchants and nobility. And mixed in amongst them were the dregs and parasites of society; thieves, beggars, con men, and brigands to name but a few.

At the heart of all this was the Palace. Built on an island in the middle of the river juncture, it towered above all other buildings. More a fortress than anything else, the Palace was built to stand even if the rest of the city fell. Large enough to garrison over a thousand soldiers and provisioned to last them through a siege for over a year, it dominated the city, which itself dominated the Kingdom and bore silent testament to the power of the Kings of Midgard.

Berek knew Asgar well, having lived there for several years in the employ of the late Duke Jacob, father and predecessor of Duke Aram. After paying the Gate Tax, Berek rode through into the city, ignoring the soldiers apprehensive looks at Fang. Easing his way into the traffic, Berek made quickly for one of the bridges to Northbank, the part of the city wedged between the Domis and Ginnwar rivers as they merged, and from where the only bridge to the Palace was situated.

Seen from the air Asgar sprawled out from the river junction, which formed a rough Y shape as the Domis and Ginnwar rivers flowed from the northwest and northeast respectively. The island of urbanisation formed by this had become known over the years as Northbank, while the larger parts of the city to the east and west became known as Eastbank and Westbank respectively. Many bridges crossed the rivers, but only one crossed to the Palace island, connecting it to the Northbank.

As Berek continued north, the style of building and character of the city changed. As one travelled into the centre of the city, the buildings began to change from poor, cramped tenements to larger, more roomy traders and workmen's houses. This part of Asgar, the Eastbank was comprised mostly of small storefronts and tradesmen's workshops. At the southern extreme, next to the where the Ginnwar river exited the city, sat the dirty polluting industries, such as tanneries, dyers and other businesses which used foul smelling substances. Such businesses had been deliberately placed to keep them furthest from the wealthy estates of the merchants and nobility who tended to congregate on Northbank.

After entering the city a little more than two hours ago, Berek finally crossed the Traitors Bridge to Northbank. Traitors Bridge was so named because a little over a century ago, several high ranking court officers had conspired to kill the King and place their choice on the throne. They had been caught before they could carry out their plot, turned in by their would be puppet king ironically, and marched across the then newly constructed bridge before being publicly executed and their heads displayed on stakes high above the crossing as a warning. Traitors Bridge was often used by Palace traffic from the east as it was the closest bridge on that side, its western end being only a few hundred paces from the Barbican which fortified the entrance to the Palace Bridge.

Berek stepped off the bridge and turned south along the road to the Barbican along with a half dozen other people. The Barbican was a tall squarish structure with thick walls and two large gates, one at the front and one at the back, exiting onto the bridge. The gates were defended by stout double oaken doors, banded and studded with metal to increase their strength, and heavy wrought iron portcullis'. Currently both gates were open and Berek could see through to the Palace.

As they arrived at the front gate, two soldiers standing guard and wearing the tabard of the Royal Guard stepped in front of them and crossed their pikes, barring the way. A third soldier, a corporal, appeared and addressed them. "What business have you at the Palace?" Several claimed audiences with either the King or one of his officials and where sent into the guard room where a clerk checked their appointments. Berek waited till all the others had been dealt with. The Corporal turned to Berek. "And what business have you at the Palace, warrior?"

"I am Berek of Guildford. I need to see the Captain of the Palace Guard."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No."

"Then I can not allow you entrance. You must make an appointment at least a day in advance." The corporal said and started to turn away.

"I've come to report the death of Watch Commander Timin." Berek said. This caught the corporals attention. He turned back to Berek.

"He's dead?"

"Aye."

"What proof do you have?" Berek reached into a pouch and pulled out the large crested pin worn by Timin and other Watch Commanders as their badge of office. The corporal took it and inspected it closely, before handing it back to Berek. "Aye, that's his badge. How long ago?"

"A week. He died in Epon."

"And what part did you have in his death?" asked the Corporal suspiciously.

"He was in Epon to meet with me, but was murdered in his bed by an assassin. Not me."

The Corporal considered Berek's words for a moment, then waved a soldier over and instructed him to fetch the Captain. The soldier saluted and ran off towards the palace. The Corporal turned back to Berek. "I've sent for the Captain, you can make your report here." He said brusquely, then turned and walked back into the Barbican, instructing the soldiers on guard not to allow Berek to leave.

Roughly an hour later a finely adorned soldier crossed the bridge from the Palace. His plate mail armour was of the finest quality and the crest on his elaborate tabard marked him as a Captain of the Royal Guard. Despite the obvious expense of his armour and weapons, it was the way he carried himself that told Berek he was a mean fighter who had earned his position through merit rather than politics. His posture was ramrod straight, head held high, his walk was measured and even and with a commanding air about it.

The Captain approached Berek, who had dismounted and stood waiting, and stopped just outside of his reach. Both men regarded each other for a moment before the Captain spoke. "I've been informed you bring word of the death of one of our Watch Commanders. Is this true?"

"Aye."

"And that he was murdered in his bed by an assassin?"

"Aye."

"You're obviously not that assassin. You look more like the kind to run a man through in a straight fight rather than stabbing him while he sleeps."

"Coming from a man such as yourself, I take that as a compliment." Berek said. The Captain smiled warmly, one warrior greeting another peacefully.

"You said your name was Berek.. Timin has told me many tales about you."

"Timin did have an affinity for storytelling, and a penchant for exaggeration."

The Captain smiled amusedly. "Aye, that he did." He suddenly turned sober. "I am saddened he will no longer be with us. He was a fine soldier and a good friend."

"Aye." Berek said sadly.

The Captain held out his hand in a welcoming gesture. "Why don't you join me in a salutary drink to Timin?"

Berek took a step forward and grasped the Captains hand. "I would be honoured."

The Captain turned and guided Berek through the gate, instructing the soldiers to take care of Spear and Fang.

The Captain, whose name was Karlton, led Berek across the bridge to the Palace and then through a maze of passageways and stairs, before finally entering through a door on the fourth floor of the main keep, where much of the administration of Midgard was undertaken. Berek followed Karlton into a large office with a half dozen clerks going about their work. They crossed the office into a smaller room with a large desk and several shelves stacked with books and scrolls. Large windows opposite the door looked out over the main courtyard of the Palace.

"Your private office?" asked Berek. Karlton nodded as he rounded his desk, then stooped and reached into one of the drawers. He stood and produced two glasses and a half drunk bottle of sherry. He bid Berek to sit in one of the chairs opposite his as he unstoppered the bottle and half filled both glasses. Karlton passed one to Berek and then raised his own as he proposed a toast. Berek stood and raised his own glass.

"In memory of Timin, may he continue to inspire us." Karlton said.

"To Timin." Berek mumbled as they both drained their glasses. Berek placed his glass on the desk in front of him as he sat, and Karlton picked it up and placed it with his off to the side, to be collected by a servant later on. Karlton sat and regarded the warrior.

"Tell me something?" he said after a moment.

"What?" Berek asked cautiously.

"What did Timin tell you?"

"Tell me about what?" Berek lied.

"What did Timin tell you of the plot against the King?"

"What plot against the King?" Berek feigned concern to help mask his lack of ignorance.

"I know Timin had you meet him in Epon so as to talk about the plot."

"We met to relive old times and down much ale. Epon was a convenient place for us to meet."

"Convenient for you maybe, not for Timin. He had to take two weeks off, much more time than I could have done without him, especially at this moment." Karlton sat back and thought for a moment. "He's charged you with a mission hasn't he? To seek out who's behind the plot."

"Why would you say that?"

"Timin was unable to do it himself, he had duties here at the Palace preventing him from seeking this villain out, and you are the only one he would have trusted with a matter such as this." Karlton sat forward and his tone changed to one of amazement. "He has told me so many stories I feel like I've known you for years."

Berek was silent for a moment as he thought. Not only was Karlton a good soldier, he was also a man of intelligence, and Berek knew that nothing he could say would convince Karlton he was mistaken. Berek got the impression that if Karlton had investigated Timin's room that morning, they would have been able to identify his killer and would be well on their way to tracking him down. Such as it was now, Timin's room had been cleaned and was already being rented out again, with the proprietor doing his best to keep the murder a secret, lest it hurt his business. After weighing the pros and cons of admitting his quest to Karlton, Berek finally decided he could trust him. "So what would you have of me?" He asked finally.

"First, I want you to tell me everything you know." Karlton said sternly, and Berek got the distinct impression that it would not be too pleasant for himself should Karlton suspect he was leaving anything out. So Berek told him everything Timin had told him and of his own intentions to find whoever was behind all this and extract vengeance for Timin's death. Karlton took it all in, then waited a minute before he spoke. "I suspected Timin had figured much more out than he had told us he had, and probably more than he told you. Now indeed, your knowledge poses a threat to our investigations and preparations, unless I were to include you."

"I have no wish to serve the Crown again. No doubt Timin told you how I came to desert the army?"

Karlton nodded. "Had you not already been pardoned for that, I would have already thrown you in the dungeon to await trial. I detest deserters."

"I understand how you feel. I've had sellswords under my command run out on me several times, mostly before I learned not to give them a single coin until after our job was finished."

"Aye. And I can also understand how having ones commander turn against you might sour your views on service. It's the same as a soldier deserting. It's a betrayal of trust."

"Betrayal runs both ways. Believe me I know." agreed Berek.

"You said you have no wish to serve the Crown, but you wouldn't be. You'll be serving me. Were my commanders or Duke Aram to learn of you, he'd have you tracked down and killed before the week is out."

"So you won't be informing the Duke of my involvement. Isn't that insubordination, if not treason?"

"Not really. Duke Aram's orders were intentionally left vague, so as to give us the freedom to uncover this plot properly. Still, they would frown on bringing in an outsider, so you will be working for me."

"I'm still not sure about this." Berek said.

"I can pay you if you like."

"That won't be necessary. All I want is vengeance for Timin."

"As do I, but the safety of the King comes first."

Berek thought for a moment. "Really I think they're one and the same. By killing whoever is behind this, not only will I save the King, but I will also have my vengeance."

"So it's agreed?"

Berek nodded. "Where should I start?"

* * * * *

"Entrance to Vanir is five coppers." Said the City Guard at the gate to the port city. Grumbling at the price, Dirk withdrew the requisite amount from his pouch and passed it to the Guard, who then waved them through to the bustling street.

"Well? Where too?" asked Lul.

"Straight to the Castle. We shouldn't keep the lord waiting." Dirk said as he steered his horse east towards the Baronial Castle which dominated the eastern side of the harbour, the small thrust of land upon which it sat actually forming the breakwater.

"Maybe we should find an inn to stay the night first. It'll soon be dark and if the inns here are anything like what we had back in Kecht, they'll all be full very soon." suggested Serena.

"No." Dirk shook his head. "I want to find out what this damned noble wants. I won't be able to sleep properly tonight until I know."

"Why are you so disturbed by this?" Beryl asked "It was me he sent for."

"Where you go, we go." Dirk said "We were all set to travel to Asgar when this Baron just demands your presence, and of course we all have to jump when a noble wishes it."

"Easy Dirk." Brecht cautioned "You don't want to get pulled up by the Guard for abusing his lordship."

Dirk waved the issue away. "Forget I said anything."

"Anyway," Beryl said "I'm more concerned about where that Morrigan came from."

"Oh, for the Gods! You're not still going on about that damned demon?" Brecht asked irately "We heard enough on the road down here. We're never going to know who summoned the devil, and I don't care. It be none of our damned business anymore, anyway."

"I have to know." Beryl said. "We can't have summoned creatures running about the kingdom."

"We killed it! That's the end of our involvement. Let the King worry about anymore of the things! That's what he's for."

"I suppose." Conceded Beryl, though it was plain to Dirk he just merely didn't want to argue with Brecht tonight. They turned down a street that would led them straight to the castle.

Within minutes they were standing outside the gates, presenting the Barons' letter to the guards. The soldiers took one look at their lords seal and let them through. A page was sent ahead to alert the Steward of their arrival.

* * * * *

The Manservant opened the door, permitting the adventurers entrance into the study. "The mage Beryl and companions, Milord."

Baron Brady looked up from the fire he was absently stoking and nodded at the Manservant, who left, closing the door behind him. Brady put the iron poker down and turned to his visitors, who stood uncomfortably in the doorway. Beryl stepped forward and addressed the noble. "I am Beryl of Towomba, My Lord. I believe you sent for me."

"Mage. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Baron Brady, lord of this city and the surrounding fiefdom." Brady said and beckoned them over to a lounge suite where several platters of fruits, cheeses and cold meats sat on a low table. "Please sit and we will eat while we talk. I imagine you are hungry from your long journey?" Brady said politely, the epitome of manners as protocol demanded.

"Aye, we are." said Beryl somewhat surprised at the unexpected hospitality. It was not the done thing for nobles to eat with commoners. Beryl bowed respectfully to Brady while the Baron sat in a large padded armchair. The others watched him and took his lead, bowing stiffly and ungracefully, even the women. Once Brady was seated, they took their seats around the table. Dirk, Brecht, Serena and Lul, having never been taught proper table manners watched Beryl closely. Beryl recalled his court training from the College and could only stifle a laugh as his friends attempt to mimic his moves. Brady said the brief grace to the Gods for the food they were about to eat, then took a plate and selected a polite amount of the food.

The young lord watched his guests as most of them heaped food on their plates and proceeded to shovel it into their mouths without any thought to good taste. Only the mage showed any signs of grace or refinement and that, Brady knewat once, was because of his time spent at the Royal War College. Brady made a mental note that that was one institution that would continue once he was king, after he had crushed any resistance from it and bent it to his will, of course.

Beryl spoke between mouthfuls "My Lord, my friends and I thank you for such generous hospitality. If I may now chance offence and inquire into the nature behind it? Is this to be a last meal?" he added in polite jest to soften the question.

Brady smiled pleasantly. "No, my dear Mage, no offence was taken. I just would rather discuss this matter over an informal dinner. I find a full stomach helps one conduct business, don't you?"

Brady nodded "Yes My Lord, it is helpful. What business do we have to discuss?"

Brady set his plate down and spoke. "I have need of several strong swords and powerful magic to deal with a problem which is of some embarrassment to me." He said, taking pains to look slightly embarrassed. "About two weeks ago, a caravan transporting a large sum of gold to me was passing the outskirts of the Kiriath desert along the Southern Marches of Izmit when it was ambushed by a rogue mage and the gold stolen. Unfortunately, the mercenaries hired to guard the caravan showed little taste for battle. I have consulted with my advisors who have informed me that you are the best qualified person to retrieve my gold back from this thief."

Beryl ignored the Barons attempts to play at his ego, and instead thought for a moment "How powerful is this mage?" he asked.

"Powerful enough to conjure up an illusion of a dragon with which to scare away an entire company of Izmit mercenaries."

"Conjuring up such an illusion does require some practice, but is easy enough. Do you have any idea of where this mage is?"

"Yes we do. Through some expensive scrying, he has been located in the city of Athalia in the Highlands, and still in possession of my gold."

Dirk spoke "Pardon my interruption, My Lord, but if you now know the location of this mage, could you not send a message to the Lord of Athalia and request his arrest?"

"I would if I could, Warrior, but Earl Rison and I are, how shall I say, not the best of friends, and were he to know that I had been embarrassed in this way, he would no doubt use it to his advantage at the next sitting of the Assembly of Lords.

"No, for this I need someone trustworthy enough not to speak of this to anyone in exchange for a reasonable amount of gold, and honourable enough to return my gold to me."

"How will we recognize this mage, My Lord?" Beryl asked.

"He has a scar down his left cheek and a penchant for dark robes. He will most likely be staying in one of the seedier inns in the city, even with such a large amount of gold."

Dirk looked at Beryl "Well? Do we stand a good chance of besting this mage?"

Beryl sat back in his chair, deep in thought. If this mage could cast an illusion of a dragon that was able to put Izmit mercenaries to flight, there was no telling how powerful he was. And if this mage was using his powers for theft, then it stood to reason that he might have no qualms about using them to harm people and had therefore become a major threat to the kingdom, which meant that it was now Beryl's responsibility to combat that threat, as he had been taught at the College. Beryl looked back at Dirk and nodded. "We must try, at least." Beryl turned to Brady "My Lord, we will accept this quest of yours. How may I ask are we to be paid? Your letter did mention a handsome amount."

"Yes. I believe twenty silver sovereigns to be handsome enough?"

Beryl, Dirk and Brecht exchanged glances. Ordinarily, if they were being given this job by a commoner, they would have demanded upwards of fifty sovereigns, but since Brady was a noble, they could no more refuse his offer than have refused this meal he provided. To do so would have been extremely impolite. This Baron Brady was shortchanging them just because he could. And if they tried to haggle the amount upwards, Beryl knew he would more than likely be offended and have them arrested. He said as much to his friends with his eyes.

"Very well, My Lord. Twenty it is." Beryl said with a deference he didn't feel. If Brady noticed his insincerity, he made no show of it.

"Splendid!" Brady said as he stood. The adventurers followed suit and the Baron led them to the door. "My manservant will provide you with an advance of five sovereigns. My gold is in a large chest with the best lock money could buy. It should still be safe. You will need to charter a wagon to bring it back, you can use the advance for that.

"My manservant will escort you to decent inn and arrange rooms for the night for. I expect you to set out tomorrow. I wish you the best of luck in defeating this mage, and I don't care how, just so long as I get my gold back and this rogue will be unable to harass me again." he said as the door was opened and the manservant showed them out.

PART III

Serena shivered and drew her new cloak around her as the wind blew down the street and chilled an otherwise warm summer day. It had taken the five of them a week and a half, but they had finally arrived in Athalia the night before and were now searching the many inns and taverns of the Highland City.

Culturally, the Highlands were a world away from the rest of Midgard. A lack of wealth and natural resources meant that earlier monarchs had never bothered annexing it into the kingdom, and the many clans of kilt wearing hillmen had always been too preoccupied with their own feuds to pose any serious threat. It wasn't until the western coastal areas were settled two hundred years ago that a safe passage through the rugged range of hills was needed.

Thus the Kings Army had marched in and quickly crushed any organised resistance, followed closely by the Pioneers who constructed numerous roads across the hills. At the junction of the three most important of these roads, Athalia had quickly sprouted to cater to the many caravans that sought to gain a slice of the huge demand for luxury goods from the coastal areas.

Or so Beryl had told Serena, reciting from his lessons at the College. Slowly, they had begun speaking to one another again, Beryl making the first overture as they rode through Vanir, offering to buy her some new clothes and her own horse. Serena had hesitantly accepted, glad to have a chance to bathe and change clothes, though her enthusiasm was tempered when she had glanced at Dirk and saw him look away from her, hiding something.

Serena now wore clothes more suited to travelling, a pair of brown riding breeches, hard leather boots, an off-white blouse that was able to hide most of the dust from the road, and the black rough wool cloak which she huddled underneath. She also had her own horse to ride, a lovely chestnut coloured filly that was a joy to ride, always going where she directed it without protest. Propped behind her were her new saddlebags, partially filled with several medicinal herbs she had acquired from a herbalist. Lul too had also been treated, some new clothes bought that covered her fully, and proper shoes made, though she still rode behind Brecht.

Currently their horses were stabled at a reputable inn just inside Athalia's Eastern Gate whilst they had split up and were systematically searching every inn and tavern in town. Dirk and Brecht had taken the western side of town, leaving Beryl, Serena and Lul to search the eastern side.

Beryl pushed open the door to a dark and dingy tavern, situated in the shadow of the main wall near the warehouse area of the city, and stepped inside. Immediately the dozen or so rough looking types that were the inns only customers at the moment turned to regard the newcomers. Beryl, one hand resting absently on the hilt of his sword, stepped down the few steps to floor of the common room and swept his gaze across the patrons. While some bore scars on their faces, none sported any on their left cheeks or wore dark robes.

The young mage walked the short distance to the bar, noting that both Serena and Lul kept close to him. At the bar, Beryl had to wait while the barman took his time cleaning a mug. Finally, after it became obvious to him that the young man wasn't going to leave, he put the mug down and came over.

"Yeah what?" the fat and surly man said gruffly.

"I'm looking for a mage that dresses in dark robes and bares a scar on his left cheek." Beryl stated.

"Ain't no mages ever come here."

Beryl pulled a silver sovereign from his pouched and dropped it on the bar, where it landed with a loud thump. The barman's eyes went wide and he grabbed the coin off the bar and out of sight. "I told yer, ain't ever seen mage 'round here, and even if I did, he wouldn't be welcome in 'ere. Can't stand them's magic users."

With his enhanced senses, Beryl was able to pick up on the subtle cues that people subconsciously displayed when they lied, and this man didn't have any of them. Beryl sighed and turned leave, but found his way blocked by an extraordinarily large man, easily as big as Brecht. The man was dressed in threadbare pants and a stained tunic with a large dagger shoved in his belt. Though he may have been as big as the large warrior, Beryl could tell from the way he carried himself that the man did not possess Brechts skill with weapons. The man grinned, showing a mouthful of yellow or missing teeth. "How much for the two of 'em?"

"They be not for sale." Said Beryl. Faster than he would have thought possible from him, the man pulled his dagger from his belt and shoved it up under Beryl's chin, the point digging uncomfortably into his skin while he stepped forward, pressing Beryl up against the bar.

"Good," leered the man "cause I wasn't planning on paying for them anyway." Beryl thought quickly. There was no way he could draw his sword before his throat would be cut, and while he could have cast a dozen spells to get him out this situation, from the attitude of the barman towards mages, he would more likely than not find a knife in his back if he did. There was only one course of action left to him. Bringing his knee up, he quickly drove it into the mans groin.

The results were instantaneous. The man's face contorted in pain and the dagger fell from his hands, clattering to the floor at Beryls feet, while his eyes glazed over and the large man crumpled to the floor. Doubling over, the man cradled his abused privates while emitting an intermittent whimper. Beryl wasted no more time. He quickly drew his rapier and backed up against Serena and Lul, protecting them.

Several of the bars other patrons drew weapons and advanced on the group. Beryl felt something brush past him and hazarded a glance. He saw Lul, knife drawn, dive behind some tables and attempt to flank their opponents. Feeling a presence close on him, Beryl looked back just in time to deflect a sword swung overhand. Pinning the man's weapon to the side, Beryl created a gap in his defence and lashed out with his foot, taking the man in his stomach and knocking him back into another attacker. Beryl pressed his attack, making a feint at his opponents head. The dirty brigand fell for it, raising his sword to block it, but Beryl adjusted his swing slightly and brushed the tip of his rapier across the man's arm, opening a wide gash. The man cried out in pain and shock and dropped his sword, gripping his wound with his other hand.

Beryl looked around for another opponent and spotted Lul dance inside the guard of another attacker and slash him across the chest with her knife before quickly withdrawing and, using her diminutive size to her advantage duck under another table to come up at her opponent from the side. Beryl looked around again and spotted Serena battling with her own attacker. She had grabbed a serving tray and was using it as a shield to block the man's lunges with his knife.

Not spotting any immediate threats to himself, Beryl leaped to Serena's aid. Lunging past her with his sword, he buried it deep into the man's shoulder. The man cried in pain and withdrew, placing a hand over the profusely bleeding wound. Beryl looked around once again and spotted Lul in trouble. Her opponent had managed to catch her and pin her to a wall, about to plunge his knife into her. Beryl lunged to her aide.

"That be enough!" a loud voice boomed around the tavern, stopping all the combatants in their tracks. Beryl looked to the source of the voice and saw the Barman holding a heavy crossbow loaded with a nasty looking bolt, which he levelled at Lul and her opponent. "There be no killing by anyone but me in my establishment!" He shouted. Slowly, the man released Lul and stepped back, hands held high. Lul took the opportunity to deliver a swift kick to the man's privates, sending him down in pain as well.

"How's that suite ya?" she shouted.

The Barman swept the common room with his crossbow. "All of ya put yer weapons away!" Those left standing did as he said, Beryl wiping his sword clean on the tunic of the large man who still lay on the floor moaning. "Now the lot of ya clear out and don't ever let me catch you in my tavern again!" Beryl and Serena made quickly for the door, collecting Lul along the way.

Outside, they collected themselves and took stock of the situation. Beryl was about to say they should move on, when a voice called to them from a nearby alley. "You best be coming with me, sir and ladies. The Town Guard is on their way!" Beryl turned and saw a shifty man hiding in the alley waving them over, his face concealed beneath the hood of his dark cloak.

Beryl called back "And who would you be to offer us aid?"

"There be no time. If yer wants to avoid prison, ye's best follow me." He said and disappeared into the alley. The three hesitated and looked at each other, but the approaching clank of the Town Guards armour convinced them. They disappeared into the alley just moments before the first soldier of the Town Guards, summoned by the fight appeared on the scene.

Entering the alley, Beryl spotted the man turn right into another alley, forcing the three of them to sprint to keep up with him. Turning the corner after the man, Beryl caught sight of him disappearing into another alley on the left.

Running as hard as they could, the three followed the man as he led them through a maze of alleys and darkened streets. Finally they followed him around a corner into yet another alley and saw him stop in some dark shadows. Motioning for the others to be on their guard, Beryl griped the hilt of his sword, ready to draw, and prepared several spells as he slowly walked over to the man. As he approached, the man turned towards him and his face was momentarily caught in some nearby lantern light. Beryl stopped dead in his tracks. "I know you!"

"And I you, my good sir." said the Rat Faced man.

"You be that man who aided us in Belrose two weeks ago."

"Aye, that I am, just as I have the good fortune of aiding yer now."

Beryl's eye's narrowed and he regarded the man with open suspicion. "Very convenient of you."

"Just a well timed coincidence, my good sir." Rat Face said with a gracious bow, making him look slightly comical in his tattered old cloak.

"I am sure it is." Beryl said.

"I know where yer can find this mage you be after."

"How do you know we are after a mage?" Beryl asked

"If yer keeps yer eye's and ear's open like I do, you will know a lot of things."

"How much?" Beryl asked, wanting to conclude this business as quickly as possible.

"As I be feeling generous today, a mere single silver dragon." Rat Face said.

Beryl reached into his pouch and handed him the money. "Now where is he?"

"Yer've missed him, I'm afraid. He already left."

"Damn it!" Beryl swore. "Where is he going?"

"South. He be on his way to Elmaran." Beryl started to ask another question, but Rat Face cut him off, "Save yerself the breath, he left yesterday. If yer leave now, yer can catch the bugger."

Beryl thought for a moment. "It be three days ride to the Elmaran border. If he is not hurrying, then we can catch him." To Rat Face he said "If you are lying, you can rest assured that we will meet again." Beryl turned and walked back to where Serena and Lul where waiting.

Rat Face called after him. "Oh, have no doubt of that, my good sir, only under different circumstances.." Beryl turned, but the man was already turning the corner and was out of sight. Beryl sighed and walked back to the two women.

"Wasn't that-" Serena started but Beryl cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"Yes it was."

"What in hell is he doing here?" Lul asked.

"Conveniently, selling us the information we need."

"You know where this damned mage is?" Lul asked.

"If our informant is to be believed." Beryl started out of the alley. "Come on. We will return to the inn and wait for Dirk and Brecht."

* * * * *

Dirk and Brecht returned to the inn late in the afternoon, their search proving fruitless. Opening the door to their room, they were taken aback to see their kits packed and stacked neatly by the door. Beryl looked up as he finished packing his saddlebags and closed them. "It is about time." he said.

"Beryl, what in the Gods name are you doing?" demanded Dirk.

Beryl slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and indicated for Dirk and Brecht to do the same. "We have to go now. Serena and Lul are down in the yard saddling the horses. Come, I will explain on the way." he said and strode past them and out the door. Dirk and Brecht looked at each other and shrugged, then grabbed their packs and followed him, both knowing he would have a good reason for their sudden departure.

Beryl explained as they hurried through the hall, down the stairs and out the back door to the stable yard, "Do you remember that man in Belrose two weeks ago who sold us Linney's address?"

Dirk thought for a moment. "Uhhh, yeah, I remember him now. What of him?"

"Apparently he does not operate in Belrose alone."

"You mean he's here in Athalia?" asked Brecht as they mounted the stairs.

"Yes. We got into a fight in one of the taverns near the warehouses and he led us away before the guards arrived, then sold us some information about our mage."

"Let me guess. He's not in Athalia anymore?" asked Dirk rhetorically as they passed through the common room towards the door to the stable yard.

"If our oddly convenient friend is to be believed." Said Beryl.

"Well where is he?" Demanded Dirk as they entered the stable yard. He looked up and spotted Serena and Lul holding the horses by the gate. Upon seeing them, the two women mounted their respective horses and waited for the men.

"He left for Elmaran yesterday. If we leave now, we can catch him before he reaches Silden."

"Elmaran?" exclaimed Brecht. "What is he going to Elmaran for?"

"Presumably to sell this artefact to one of the rich scholars or collectors down there." snapped Beryl as he tossed his saddlebags onto his horse and pulled himself up.

"So we ride for Elmaran." said Dirk as he mounted his horse. "And if he's already disposed of the artefact?"

"He'll damn well wish he hadn't." proclaimed Brecht as he mounted his horse, his hand fingering the hilt of his sword. Beryl turned his horse out the gate and kicked it to a canter.

"I trust you paid our bill?" inquired Dirk as he followed Beryl out. Beryl just grunted noncommittally and waved him away.

* * * * *

"Cheetah Two, Sentry One, bandits are twenty miles at bearing three one, angels twenty."

Patricia thumbed the radio switch on her controls as she replied to the directions from the US Air Force AWACS controller. "Sentry One, Cheetah Two, acknowledge." Patricia applied slight pressure to the left rudder pedal and eased her stick in the same direction, feeling the ten tonne fighter roll nimbly and cut through the sky, before settling out again on a heading of 310 degrees.

Patricia glanced down at her left Multi Function Display as she flipped on her radar. The display came to life, splashing bright green lines and dots around it. Isolating two dots near the centre of the display, she locked up the right one, having decided earlier with her wingman, Flying Officer Matt McCaan, which ones they would target. Still, it paid to be safe rather than sorry, and, thumbing her radio switch again, called out her intentions. A brief radio message was much more preferable than wasting two missiles with a price tag of over a million dollars on the same target.

Cycling through the weapons loaded on her aircraft, she selected the medium range AMRAAM air to air missile.

Matt replied back, acknowledging her last call and announcing his intentions.

The symbology on her Heads Up Display flashed and a tone sounded in her headset. Her weapon was locked on the target.

"Fox Three!" Patricia announced over the radio as she fired the weapon.

Immediately following, Matt made the same call and launched his own missile.

The symbology on her HUD changed as the missile sped towards its target, guided by the radar signals bounced of it by Patricia's aircraft.

Finally her opponent realized he was under attack and responded. Turning hard, he activated his electronic countermeasures, ECM, attempting to jam Patricia's radar while at the same time dropping chaff - small strips of aluminium foil designed to reflect radar signals - behind him to confuse it.

Unfortunately for him, neither measure worked as Patricia's radar already had a firm lock on him, following him about the sky as he attempted to evade, tracking his every move.

By now the missile had gotten close enough to its target for it to activate its own small radar. Once she was sure her missile was guiding itself, Patricia shut down her radar, lest it give her position away to any of her opponents friends. She watched the countdown till impact on her HUD. 10...9...8...7...6....Patricia concentrated on her missile, willing it towards its target, 5...4...3...2...1...0

Patricia tensed and the seconds seemed to tick by like hours. Finally a voice came over her radio "Cheetah Two, Sentry One, confirmed kill. Good work." Patricia breathed a sigh of relief. That was her twenty seventh simulated kill for this exercise.

Patricia and her wingman were part of a detachment of Hornets from No 3 Squadron that had flown north to participate in the biennial war games between the Australian and US militaries. Her targets had been another pair of F-18's from No 75 Squadron, returning to their base from a long late night patrol and, in their exhaustion, had let their guard down long enough for Patricia and Matt to sneak up on them and fire computer simulated missiles. Patricia smiled, as those two pilots would now owe her and Matt a beer when they returned to base. Casting such momentary distractions aside, Patricia signaled to Matt to turn back east and resume their patrol in the early morning light.

Patricia always enjoyed these early morning flights, despite the early rises they required. There was something about being aloft whilst watching the dawn break on a particularly clear day that seemed almost spiritual to her. The contrast between the pinks and oranges in the east and the inky blackness of the west appealed to her, especially the way they lit up the rugged country below. From her vantage point, she could see the long shadows being cast by the eucalyptus trees across the scrub by the rising sun, the mix of greens and browns turned orange and gold in the morning light and the sparkle of the Pacific Ocean far to the east. Occasionally a kangaroo, emu or other large bush animal would be startled from their morning foraging by the noise from the jet fighters and take off in terrified flight across the land. Patricia remarked to herself that it was probably hard for someone not born of this land to understand the deep love and affinity held by all Australians for this harsh country and its rugged beauty. But then again, she thought, all other nationalities probably held their own homelands in such awe and compassion. That was what would have driven most of their sons and daughters into service. Patriotism and love of country was one of the most shared attribute of professional soldiers the world over, no matter which land they were from.

A sudden tone in her headset startled Patricia from her reverie. An instinct forged by years of training took over as Patricia threw her aircraft into a tight turn to the right before her mind was able to consciously identify the tone as an enemy targeting radar. She glanced at her Threat Warning Indicator, the small instrument that displayed enemy radar emissions, and noted the relative position of her attackers and the type of radar being used, an American APG-63 set. As expected, they were coming from the rear.

Patricia swiveled her head and examined the sky, searching for any sign of her opponents. At first she saw nothing, then fortune smiled on her as her eyes were drawn to a brief flash of light in the sky, sunlight reflecting off an aircraft's cockpit canopy. Thumbing her radio switch, she said "Two, one, five o'clock high."

"Two, I see 'em." Matt replied. As Patricia continued her turn and the G forces began to squeeze her body, she chastised herself for letting her guard down, and considered her situation. The fact she could see the American's meant they were closing for a WVR-Within Visual Range-shot, most likely with a AIM-9 Sidewinder, or they were going to try and close and use their guns. Patricia figured it would be the former, because, no matter what people said about them, most Americans weren't that dumb, and trying to use your guns in air combat when you had a much more accurate missile with longer range handy was a fast way to get yourself killed.

"Break low left, see if we can split 'em. If not, get behind 'em." Patricia barked at Matt through the radio as she felt the G-forces began to take their toll. She didn't need to tell him to keep his eyes open for any more of their friends.

Patricia eased up on the controls, widening her aircraft's turning circle and cutting the G forces that were threatening to force her into unconsciousness. She glanced behind her and saw distant movement against the sky; her opponents closing on her, almost within range of the Sidewinder. Patricia focused on the warning tones being played in her ears, and knew that her opponent was tracking her with his radar. With a momentary inward sigh of relief, she realized that he was only tracking her, that he wasn't targeting her yet. Then she blanched as she remembered that the AIM-9 was a heat seeking missile, and that the American pilot had probably unslaved his weapons' seeker from his radar, and was allowing it to independently search for a target. This presented another problem for Patricia, since she had no way of knowing when her opponent would fire.

Patricia changed tactics, pulling hard against her stick, attempting to hide her hot engine exhausts from her opponent, while dropping flares to confuse his missile. Keeping her eyes on her opponent, she watched him expertly turn his fighter, following her into the turn, attempting to maneuver into the optimum firing position.

Suddenly Patricia eased back on her stick and, as she felt the G forces lessen with a sickening abruptness, she rolled her aircraft to the left and then pulled hard again, reversing the direction of her turn. She had momentarily lost sight of her opponent while she was turning, but quickly spotted him again. Her hopes fell as she saw him move back into position easily, and indeed start to slowly close the distance. She had been hoping to catch him off guard and put herself inside of his turning circle, therefore gaining manoeuvrability and an advantage, but unfortunately her opponent was expecting just such a tactic and had prepared for it. Now he was gaining on her, and, with a curse, Patricia was able to identify his aircraft, an F-15 Eagle. Twenty seven years old, the F-15 was still one of the most formidable aircraft in the world. Its sheer brute power was easily a match for Patricia's smaller, more agile F-18, and, despite its size, it was a more than capable dogfighter as well.

Patricia's attention was diverted by a flicker of light in her peripheral vision, and she quickly darted her eyes to it. Another F-15 was flying in tandem with the one on her six, meaning Matt had been unsuccessful in drawing him off. Patricia was truly feeling desperate now. She had a fighting chance against one F-15, but not two. Patricia wondered where Matt was, feeling the need for a friendly presence in the sky. She thumbed her radio switch and called out to her comrade "Two, one, where are you?"

A despairing moment passed, seeming to stretch out for hours, before a momentary crackle of static filled her ears, followed by Matts' voice "Two, I'm on bandit two's six, coming from underneath. See if I can't get him off you."

"One, roger." Patricia replied and slightly eased off on her stick, trying to give her wingman a better shot at the second F-15. Nothing happened for several moments, Patricia still pulled hard, whilst the lead F-15 still gained ground with his wingman covering him.

Suddenly, the second F-15 broke off, rolling up and away from the fight. The first F-15, realizing there was somebody behind them, broke off from Patricia and began a series of defensive maneuvers. Patricia thanked her lucky stars when she heard the AWACS controller in her headset "Cheetah Two Two, Sentry One, confirmed kill, good shot.". She rolled out of her turn, and flew straight and level for a few moments, allowing her body a few seconds of respite from the stress of the G-forces.

All too quickly, a call from Matt reminded her there was a fight to be won "One, Two, I need help here. This bastards got on my six and won't let go!" Patricia responded immediately by rolling into another right turn and scanning the sky for her wingman. She spotted him almost straight away, throwing his fighter about the sky, desperately trying to shake the American on his tail.

Seeing the F-15 was almost in position for a Sidewinder shot, Patricia pulled harder, trying to bring her weapons to bear. Finally coming around to face them, both aircraft crossing in front of her from right to left. She activated her radar, lighting up the American, hoping to spook him into breaking off. But this Yank obviously knew how to play poker, as he called Patricia's bluff and stayed on his target. Patricia flipped to her own Sidewinders and continued to turn, attempting to bring the American into the missiles field of view.

Too late, the AWACS controller called over the radio "Cheetah Two Two, Sentry One, you're dead. Break off contact and report back to base."

"Cheetah Two Two, wilco." a despondent Matt said. He banked and turned, following the second F-15 back to the airbase both forces were sharing, leaving Patricia alone in the skies. The F-15 pilot didn't waste anytime. He turned away from Patricia and lighted his afterburner, seemingly attempting to flee. Patricia pushed her throttles forward, lighting her afterburners and taking off in pursuit. The F-15 continued to turn, cutting across Patricia's flight path. Patricia rolled, following his turn, trying to stay inside his turning circle.

Suddenly the F-15 reversed his turn, rolling 180 degrees to turn away from Patricia and disappearing behind the nose of her aircraft. Patricia reversed her own turn, again attempting to get inside the American's turning circle. Bringing the F-15 back into view, Patricia was slightly surprised to see it closer than she expected, and slowly nearing. The American reversed his turn again, dropping out sight behind her nose. Patricia rolled again to follow. The F-15 appeared again in her view, and Patricia was startled to see he had cut his afterburner and slightly extended his airbrake. Unless she acted immediately, Patricia would overshoot him and be forced onto the defensive again.

Patricia slammed her throttles back against their stops, cutting her airspeed, and extended her airbrake, but still it was not enough. She was left with only one option. Rolling level, Patricia pulled back hard on her stick, sending her fighter straight up into the sky in a move designed to bleed airspeed and keep her behind her opponent. The drawback was it required her to disengage from the fight.

Once Patricia judged enough airspeed had been bled, she pushed her throttles forward again and continued to climb, sending her aircraft into a giant loop. Again regaining sight of her opponent, Patricia saw him turn and start a slow climb, intending to intercept her as she began her descent. Halting her now upside down fighter at the apex of the loop, Patricia rolled away from him slightly and pulled back again, starting her descent on a weird angle and foiling the American's geometry.

Looking up (or really down) out of her canopy, she saw the F-15 change its course slightly, and Patricia cursed, realizing the American was again on an intercept course. Thoughts of Val Kilmers character from the movie Top Gun came to mind, specifically how he wore his opponents down until they made a mistake. Patricia knew that if she didn't end this soon, he would win.

Rolling again to place the American on her lift-line, the imaginary line that extended upwards from an aircraft and represented the lift produced by its wings, she pulled back hard, driving her aircraft towards the ground and bringing her opponent directly onto her nose, where she kept him by easing off the stick.

Selecting her AIM-9, she pushed her throttles forward to full military power, stopping just short of afterburners. Her aircraft accelerated rapidly, its normal rate aided by gravity. The familiar Sidewinder growl sounded in her headset, informing her the missile was searching for a target. With the press of a button, Patricia unslaved the missiles seeker from the radar, allowing it to search freely for the heat from the F-15 while at the same time switching her radar to its targeting mode and locking him up.

The American seemed to hesitate, surprised by his targets sudden aggressive move towards him, but moments later Patricia saw an orange-blue glow silhouette his aircraft, while a mess of garbage distorted her radar display around his blip. He had taken the bait, kicking his aircraft into afterburner to gain speed while activating his ECM to jam her radar, thinking she was attempting a radar guided shot.

For several agonizingly long seconds both aircraft flew straight for each other in an extremely dangerous game of chicken at fifteen thousand feet. Then suddenly the growl in Patricia's ears moved up the pitch ladder to a high tone, telling her the missile had a firm lock on a target. Patricia didn't waste a moment longer. She depressed the release button on her stick, sending the electronic signal to her fire control computer to launch the simulated missile. At the same time she thumbed her radio switch and made the call "Cheetah Two, Fox one." The symbology on her HUD changed to track the missile on its flight.

The computers in her aircraft signalled to the computers on the AWACS aircraft refereeing the engagement that they had launched a missile. The AWACS computers then simulated the missile in flight while transmitting a warning to its target. The warning flashed on the F-15's HUD that a missile was in the air and rocketing towards him, an unrealistic thing designed to simulate the pilots sighting of the missile being launched if this was real.

The F-15 immediately broke off from the game of chicken with Patricia and threw itself around the sky in a series of manoeuvres meant to evade the missile. In real life, against a missile he could actually see, they would most likely work, but since the missile he was trying to avoid only existed in a computer, the American was forced to imagine what the missile was doing, based on his knowledge of the weapons performance.

In the end, the result was as expected. The computer simulating the missile calculated a hit and informed the AWACS controller who then told the American pilot he was dead. The American ceased his frantic flailings and resumed straight and level flight. He dipped his wings in salute to Patricia, then turned and headed back to base.

Patricia sighed and brought her aircraft back to level flight while she took a moment to relax and unwind after that particularly arduous fight. Finally she put in the call she had lost her wingman and was returning to base. After acknowledgement, she dipped her wings and headed home.

* * * * *

Karlton pushed open the heavily braced door, stepped through, then held it open for Berek to follow after him as they descended the narrow stairs to the dungeons below the Palace. With no windows here, the only light came from smoky torches held in small sconces high on the wall. Small droplets of water on the walls and ceiling told Berek they were below the waterline.

It had been a week since Berek agreed to work for Karlton, who had put him up at a nice inn close to the Palace. During that time Berek had been frequenting the seedier parts of the city, looking for clues and eavesdropping on conversations. He had been about to depart on his seventh such outing that morning when an out of breath messenger from the Palace had arrived and instructed him to report to Karlton immediately. Apparently another thief had been caught breaking into the Palace last night and was about to be interrogated.

Reaching the base of the stairs, Karlton loudly banged another heavily braced door with his fist. A slide in the door opened and two eyes peered out. Spotting the Captain of the Royal Guard, the slide closed and the door was quickly opened. Karlton led Berek through the small Guardroom, where a half dozen Royal Guards quickly came to attention and saluted, through another locked door and into the dungeons proper.

Karlton led Berek down a long corridor, past several heavy doors with large locks on them, finally stopping outside a smaller, lighter door at which two more soldiers stood guard. Karlton stopped outside the door and spoke to one of the guards. "Has the prisoner said anything yet?"

"Not yet, sir." The Guard responded. Karlton nodded, opened the door and walked through. Berek followed him, then stopped and felt the bile rise in his throat as he looked about the room.

He was in a torture chamber. About the walls hung various tools of the torturers trade, metal pokers, large hooks, pliers, hammers and other instruments too painful to contemplate. The walls were covered in the dried blood of previous victims which hadn't been cleaned off properly. From the ceiling hung several standing and crouching cages, and loops for ropes to be hung from. Leaned casually against the back wall was an iron maiden and nearby sat a brazier, heating several iron pokers. But Bereks eyes were drawn to the large rack which sat in the centre of the room, and to the naked man that was tied to it. Standing over him was the leering torturer, obviously rapt in his work.

"How goes it?" Karlton asked him.

"This one's got more of a back bone than those other spineless canaries you brung before me." he added with a wicked toothless grin "He's just what I dream of at night, milord." The prisoner screamed as the torturer gave the wheel a half turn to drive home his point. Berek was somewhat surprised by the Torturers deferential address of Karlton. He hadn't heard anyone else speak with Karlton and address him. Hhe had seen people stop and regard him respectfully, but he had supposed that was because he was a Captain of the Royal Guard.

Berek felt his stomach contract as he surveyed the man. His skin was pale from fright and pain, and he was close to passing out. His muscles twitched and spasmed uncontrollably. Large burns and cuts indicated where the torturer had already worked, and much of his body was slicked with blood. The man's face was a swollen mash of bloody flesh. His nose was broken and blood poured freely from it. His eyes were both black and one was swollen shut. His dark hair was caked with dried blood, and still more seeped into it from dozens of small incisions about his face and ears. Both of his arms, tied to the rack above his head, were contorted around and swollen around the joints, indicating his shoulders had already been dislocated. Berek judged it wouldn't be long before his hips were dislocated as well.

Bereks stomach churned as he eyed the torturer go about his bloodthirsty work. Despite all the death he had dealt and blood he had shed in his life, there was something he found sickening about the cruelty a torturer inflicted on his victims.

The man screamed as the torturer applied another red hot poker to his armpits. "Who are you?" demanded the torturer as he pushed the poker further into his skin, eliciting yet another scream from him. The Torturer kept the poker there for a while longer before placing it back in the brazier. He then grabbed the wheel of the rack and gave it another half turn. The man screamed again as tortured skin and joints were stretched to breaking point. "You only have to tell us who you are and the pain will stop." he said in a sickeningly seductive fashion.

The man's breath was hard and ragged through clenched teeth, but he made no other sound. The Torturer sighed and turned the wheel again. The man didn't scream this time, but groaned loudly as the bones in his legs threatened to be torn from his hips. The Torturer slowly increased the pressure on the man, who valiantly held out for as long as he could. Berek could see tears forming in his eyes and knew he was close to breaking.

Within moments tears were rolling freely down his bloodied, bruised and battered face, and his mouth moved slightly, as if trying to form words. Karlton saw this and motioned to the Torturer to release some of the pressure on him, which he did grudgingly. Karlton leaned over the man and said quietly to him "Who are you?"

"Renson! Me name's Renson, My Lord." he gasped "I be just a thief.".

"And why were you trying to break into the Palace?"

"A man paid me to. Said there were plenty o' gold lyin 'round, just waiting for someone to steal it." Renson said, weeping openly now. "Please My Lord, I'll tell ye everything, just stop the pain."

"So this wasn't a Thieves Guild job?" Karlton said, ignoring his plea.

"Nay, My Lord! If the Thieves Guild knew I was doing this, they would'a sliced me open and strangled me wit me own entrails." Berek heard the Torturer chuckle and mutter 'amateurs' under his breath, but decided to ignore him.

"Who was this man then?"

"Said to call 'im 'Hugh', but we got the impression that wasn't 'is real name. 'E came to us down at the Glitzy Whore 'bout a week ago, said he'd give us a gold sovereign each to break into the Palace and nick all the gold we could carry, and that he'd then give us ten percent each."

"Whose 'we'?"

"Me mates and me." he said. "They all turned 'im down, but I needed the money to pay off gambling debts, so I said I'd do it. Me mates said I be stupider than a draught horse to do it, but I really needed the money otherwise I'd be floating face down in the river by next week. Guess they was right." he said glumly.

"What can you tell us about this man?"

"'E was dark, like 'e had been out in the sun too long. And 'e was completely bald, like he shaved his head or somethin'. And 'e had this funny accent, kinda like from the far reaches of Izmit, like on the border o' the Kiriath Desert. I used to work as a loader for the caravans out in Kecht, and there was always this one trader who kept bringing back all these expensive silks from Izmit, all guarded by a bunch o' bloodthirsty sellswords from that region, so I knew what it was I was hearing. Only this guy didn't look like a mercenary at all."

"How so?" asked Karlton.

"'E didn't 'ave the right build. 'E was too thin and scrawny. Looked more like the cloak and dagger, type if ye know what I mean."

Berek and Karlton looked at each other and a thought passed between them. "Did he look like he could wield magic?" Karlton asked.

"I wouldn't know, My Lord, I ain't never seen a mage before in me life, so I wouldn't even know if he could blow fireballs out 'is arse." he said.

"Where were you to meet him afterwards?"

"Same place My Lord, the Glitzy Whore down near the Bredson Tannery."

"When?"

"Tonight. I was s'posed to steal what I could carry, get out and stash the stuff somewhere, then meet 'im at the Glitzy Whore tonight an hour after dark and lead 'im to the loot."

Karlton looked at Berek. "Well, he'll be meeting us there tonight instead."

Renson interjected "Do you want me to come too, Lord? I can point 'im out to you."

"No. You're in no condition to go anywhere. He'll take one look at you and know you've been captured. No, we'll go to the Glitzy Whore tonight, arrest this guy and bring him back here, then you can tell us if we've got the right one."

"But how will you know who to arrest?"

"Well, from the description you gave us, there shouldn't be too many thin, bald men from the far reaches of Izmit in the city. No more than a dozen at the most I would hazard to guess, and the odds of two of them deciding to drink at the same inn tonight don't even bare contemplating." Karlton said with a grin.

"If you say so, My Lord." Renson said.

"What else do you know?" demanded Karlton.

"Nothing My Lord, I swear!" Renson said, suddenly fearful of more torture.

"Did this 'Hugh' tell you why he wanted you to break into the Palace."

"I asked 'im, but 'e said it 'twas none o' my business, and 'e paid well, so I just kept me mouth shut. I figured that since 'e was after the gold, 'e was goin' to sell it, make money off it."

"You're sure he was just after the gold?"

"Well why else would he want a thief to break into the Palace if it wasn't to steal stuff?"

"No other reason I guess." Karlton said. Berek knew that was a lie. Karlton said to the Torturer "I'm satisfied. Return him to his cells and send someone to attend him."

"Yes milord." The Torturer said and, somewhat sullenly, began to untie Renson, though taking no pains to be gentle with him.

Karlton led Berek out of the Torture Room and back the way they came, detailing his plan as they went. "We'll go see the owner of this Glitzy Whore today and organise for tonight. I want you in the common room along with a dozen Guard in disguise. I'll wait in the kitchen with another dozen till this 'Hugh' arrives, and we'll have another dozen waiting outside to block his escape. I want you to get him away from the door and give us time to seal the room, then we'll arrest him."

Berek thought about the plan for a moment. Though it all hinged on Berek being able to get Hugh away from the door before he suspected anything and tried to escape, he could see no obvious flaws, so long as the Guards were competent at raiding a building. He said as much to Karlton.

"Oh they are more than competent. We have a company of Guards dedicated to just such occasions. You don't have to worry about any of them fouling this mission." Berek only nodded.

They ascended the stairs to the ground floor of the Palace where Berek voiced his suspicions as they headed back to Karltons office. "I heard the torturer address you as 'milord'. Are you nobility?"

Karlton chuckled. "I wondered how long it would take you to figure that out. Yes I am a Baron, but not by birth, and I care not to be treated as such."

"How do you mean?"

"I'd rather you didn't call me 'sir' and 'milord'. I only put up with from my soldiers because that's what's expected of me. But I won't stand it from you."

"If you want." Berek said.

Karlton continued "I was given my title by Duke Aram when I ascended this office. By tradition only a noble can fill it, but the Duke realized I was the best man to command the Guard, and so made me a Baron of his court, with title to a few small tracts of land near Kecht. Not enough for a proper Barony, but enough for me to retire to when I get too old."

"And how would you spend your retirement?"

Karlton eye's took on a distant look and he stroked his chin absently "I think I shall breed horses, and spend my time hunting and fishing in between tending my gardens, in a little cabin deep in the woods."

Berek chuckled at the thought of this formidable warrior on his knees with hands dug in the soil and growing flowers.

"And how do you plan to spend your days when the years get too much for you?" Karlton asked.

"I already was." Berek said as they mounted a flight of stairs "I'd settled in Wotnest and was prepared to offer my sword to Baron Sorkin as his new Swordmaster when Timin called me away. I would have spent my days teaching his parade soldiers to be real warriors."

"And how long do you think you would have been able to stand that?"

Berek looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Timin always spoke of you as too much of a wanderer to be a real soldier. He said you were unable to stay in one place for more than a year."

"I may have been in my younger days, but now my eyes have seen more of the world than I care to think of. It will be nice to settle down somewhere and find some comely young lass to marry. I'm not yet too old to father a son."

They arrived at the proper floor and Karlton led them down a hallway. "Aye, that is a fine way for an old warrior to spend retirement, but what of when you can no longer lift your sword, and you get puffed crossing the bailey?"

"Though I know that day will come, the Gods willing, I refuse to think about it. Such thoughts would only be depressing. When the day does come, I will make do, just as I've done all my life."

They arrived at the door to Karltons outer office which he pushed open for Berek, thinking on his words.

* * * * *

Lady Naomi de Giltner, daughter of Duke Marks de Giltner wandered through the flowers and well manicured shrubs of the Princess' private garden in the Palace. As one of Princess Aeryn's Ladies-in-Waiting, and the youngest daughter of the Kings most powerful political opponent, she had free reign of this garden and much of the Palace. She often wandered through here when she had some time to herself, admiring the many beautiful plants that grew in this patch of green amongst the chiselled stone and golden grandeur of the Palace. Today, however, her mind was elsewhere.

Her position as one of the Princess' Ladies-in-Waiting was a political decision made by her father, and one she had had no desire to partake in. She would rather have stayed at her home in Lydney, the capital of the Dukedom of Giltner, sharing in the intrigues of her fathers court with her Ladies-in-Waiting, made up of the daughters of her fathers vassals, gossiping about the young men of the court and viewing the frequent jousts and tournaments and being a big fish in her small pond. Instead her father had decided to send her to Asgar in an attempt to ease the tensions that existed between her family and the Royal Family.

That was four years ago and Naomi was now nineteen, well past the nominal time for marriage and she was getting desperate. Her father had placed her here with the promise that he would recall her by her eighteenth birthday, when he would have selected a suitable husband for her. She was beginning to think her father had forgotten about her when she had received a letter from him that morning. He had finally selected a husband for her, though it wasn't Milton, heir to the Earldom of Crygen like she had hoped. Instead it was Jern, the second son of Earl Balthus and an ogre of a man, the least favourite of her potential suitors. Once again, a political decision made by her father to shore up support amongst some of the more moderate nobles.

Three generations before King Omar, his great-grandfather, Calahan, was King. Calahan, the King who was plotted against by his Court Officers, died along with his heir when the Plague swept across the land, leaving his young twin sons to decide who would succeed him. Both young men claimed the throne, however the majority of the nobles favoured Prince Jierdan, King Omar's grandfather, leaving his brother, Prince Lionelle, to renounce his claim rather than risk a futile civil war. Jierdan became King, but Lionelle never forgot how he was forced to relinquish his claim, believing he should have been crowned since he was the elder brother by two minutes. A belief which was passed down to his daughter Merrian, his only child. Merrian married Valen, the Duke of Giltner and bore Duke Marks, who inherited his grandfathers outrage.

Naomi sat on a stone bench by a small pond to gaze at her reflection. Blonde and attractive, Naomi had no trouble drawing the attention of any man, though she didn't hold a candle to Princess Aeryn's beauty. She was wearing a blue silk dress with a plunging neckline that ended just above her navel and laced tight to emphasis her breasts, something Princess Aeryn had insisted all her Ladies-In-Waiting do. Secretly, Naomi worried about the Princess' preferences, and it was quietly whispered that she had dallied with several of her closest Ladies-In-Waiting, though nobody was saying anything. There were no rumours about the twenty year old princess laying with men, so Naomi wondered whether the whispers were true.

She was startled out of her reverie by a slight rustling. She looked up to see two young women walking gracefully up the path towards her, both wearing dresses similar to hers, only one was red and the other green. To most, they looked to be two of the Princess' Ladies-In-Waiting, though Naomi knew they were not. The women were identical, and Naomi realized they were twins. Both had luxurious wavy hair of a deep brown colour and creamy white skin. Their features were extremely fine and well carved, as though chiselled by a master sculptor, making for a very striking appearance. As they drew closer, Naomi saw that the one in the green dress had a very light dusting of freckles across her nose. Upon seeing them, Naomi began to feel slightly funny in her head, like a strange buzzing descended upon her and began to dull her mind. She became very aware of a strong stirring in her loins, one she got only from men, which was incredibly odd.

Naomi stood to greet the two women as they approached, though the one in the red dress beat her to the punch.

"You see, Sister. Did I not say we would find her here."

"Yes, you did. Once again your guess proved to be a lucky one." her sister replied.

"May I help you two ladies?" Naomi asked

"Yes, you may." The one in red said, sliding close to Naomi, invading her personnel space. "I am Glenda and this is my sister, Esmerelda."

"A pleasure." Said Naomi as she took a step back in spite of her desire to grab and hold onto this woman. Why she was having such desires, she didn't know, she had never felt them for other women before. "How, may I ask, did you get in here. This is the Princess' private garden, open only to the Princess and her Ladies-In-Waiting, which neither of you are."

"We know." Said Esmerelda as both she and her sister pressed themselves against Naomi. The young lady could feel their bodies through her dress, especially their firm, round breasts. Naomi tried to take a step back, but found the back of her knees pressed against the stone bench, and instead sunk down onto it. The buzzing in her head increased and she found it very difficult to think. "You would be amazed how easy it is to go anywhere if you look like you belong." Both their voices were pleasant and seductive, almost musical. The sisters sank down onto the bench as well, on either side of Naomi where they continued to press their bodies against her.

Naomi could feel her control slipping away and her desires taking over. She wanted so much to be with these two beautiful women, to feel their skin against hers, their mouths on her breasts and nether parts, to be pleasured by both of them. What was happening to her? She was not interested in women in this way! Especially two strange women who had snuck into the Palace. She wanted to protest, to scream out and summon the Guards, but her mouth refused to form the words her brain commanded, it was being controlled by her heart now.

She could feel their breasts rubbing against her arms and shoulders, their hard nipples raking her skin. Part of her wanted them to stop, but another part, one that was rapidly dominating her, wanted them to keep going.

One of them, Esmerelda, placed a hand on Naomi's breasts and began massaging and kneading them. Glenda took Naomi's head in her hands and leaned in close to kiss her. "We've come for you." she whispered, then locked her mouth over Naomi's. Her jaw went slack, allowing Glenda's tongue to push past and begin probing her mouth, flicking and playing with her tongue.

Naomi felt a tugging on the front of her dress, then a loosening as Esmerelda proceeded to untie the laces holding it closed. Glenda held the kiss, finally breaking it as Esmerelda undid the last tie and pushed Naomi's dress off her shoulders.

"The Guards on the wall," Naomi mumbled "they'll see."

"Don't worry." soothed Glenda, "They won't notice a thing." Just as Glenda said, Naomi began to relax and felt her worries slip away. She felt herself believing her words, despite their lack of logic. The Guards regularly patrolled the walls above the garden, and one would be sure to notice what has happening down there.

Esmerelda tugged at Naomi's dress, pulling it down off her body until it lay about her hips, her torso and breasts exposed. Something warm and wet closed around one of her nipples, and Naomi realized Esmerelda was leaning down to suck on it. The woman's tongue circled and swirled around her nipple, occasionally stopping to play with it a bit, interspersed with gentle little bites. Naomi's nipple became harder than she had ever known it to in her life, swelling until she thought it would burst.

Glenda closed in and kissed her again, and this time Naomi found herself kissing back. Their mouths parted and their tongues darted forward, wrestling with each other. Glenda again broke the kiss and gently pushed Naomi down to lie on the bench. Esmerelda stood to make room, but did not take her mouth from Naomi's breast. Glenda grabbed the rest of Naomi's dress and pulled it off her, leaving her nude. Whilst Esmerelda continued to minister to Naomi's breasts, Glenda spread Naomi's legs and dived upon womanly bits. Pushing a finger between the dripping folds of skin, Glenda found her way blocked by the hymen. Naomi was keeping herself a virgin for her wedding night like a proper lady should. Glenda moved her finger upwards towards the prized little nub and proceeded to stimulate, alternating between her finger and her tongue.

Naomi lost all sense and reason as her mind was clouded by the pleasure the two women were bringing her. Never before had she felt anothers touch, and certainly not a woman's. Her urges were dealt with late at night, when she lay in bed alone and let her fingers wander, like a proper lady should, her governess had quietly advised when she was just discovering such pleasures. Time lost all meaning, and she did not know how long she lay there with the two sisters expertly stimulating her, but all too quickly it was over.

Naomi opened her eyes to see Glenda still sitting there, her fingers tracing gentle patterns up and down the inside of her thighs. Esmerelda was behind her, kissing and muzzling her neck, her hands cupping and squeezing her sisters breasts. Glenda turned her head and the two sisters kissed long and passionately. Naomi's body moved of its own volition, sitting up and grasping the ties on her dress with trembling fingers. Clumsily she undid them, then pushed the dress open to expose Glenda's breasts, slipping the material out from underneath Esmerelda's hands, which continued to massage them. Naomi pushed Glenda's dress from her shoulders and down her body. Glenda cooperated by lifting herself off the seat long enough for Naomi to pull the dress over her legs and drop it on the ground, leaving Glenda as naked as she was.

Glenda leaned back and spread her legs, allowing Naomi to go down on her. Although she had seen other women's parts before when she had bathed and gone swimming, she had never closely examined any but her own, and the part of her still capable of rational thought remarked that the layout was pretty much the same as hers, but that was to be expected.

She ran her tongue over Glenda's outer lips, tasting her juices and not quite sure if she liked it or was revolted by it. She then used her fingers to pry apart Glenda's lips and locate her little bud. She rubbed it gently with her finger and heard Glenda moan, the sound muffled by her sisters mouth. She ran her tongue over it and was rewarded by another moan. Naomi's tongue moved by itself, attempting to copy the moves Glenda's had made on her clit, but unused to this sort of exercise, performed poorly. A hand grabbed Naomi's and moved to Glenda's pussy, then guided two fingers into her Vagina and showed her how to move them in and out. The hand moved away and Naomi continued to pump her fingers inside Glenda.

Naomi continued to lick Glenda when she felt a head bump against hers. Two hands grabbed her and pulled her up, and she was met by Esmerelda's face. Their lips locked and tongues met. One of Esmerelda's hands took over rubbing Glenda's clit, while the other worked its way down Naomi's body and began working on hers.

Naomi mewed gently as Esmerelda's expert touch elevated her to new heights. A strange animalistic frenzy arose within her, and Naomi grasped Esmerelda's dress by the collar and, with a strength she didn't know she had, pulled it apart. With a loud rip, the seams split, and her lovely green dress fell from her body in tatters. Neither of them cared though, so lost in their passion they were. Naomi grabbed Esmerelda's breasts and clamped her mouth around one swollen nipple, using her tongue and teeth to good effect, while one hand massaged her other breast. Naomi's free hand ran down Esmerelda's body to her pussy, only to find Glenda's face buried in it. Naomi moved her hand to Glenda's body and proceeded to knead her breasts.

Esmerelda let go of Naomi's and her sisters clits and grasped the young lady, drawing her close and pressing her body against hers and began kissing all over Naomi's neck and face. Naomi felt her breasts smoosh against Esmerelda's and began rubbing herself against them. Another pair of hands, Glenda's, grasped Naomi's backside and pulled her close until their pussies where hard against each other. Glenda snaked one leg underneath Naomi's and threw her other over Naomi's other leg, then used her hands to pull Naomi closer into her while she ground her pussy against hers.

Soon these new sensations were more than Naomi could bare, and a powerful orgasm rapidly rose in her and spread throughout her body. Naomi cried out loudly, unable to hold it in.

Upon hearing Naomi's orgasm, Glenda and Esmerelda redoubled their efforts on each other; Glenda driving her pussy harder into Naomi while Esmerelda drove hers down upon her sisters face. Soon Esmerelda began to buck harder atop Glenda, and several low moans escaped her throat, then began building in pitch and volume as her bucking increased until she driving up and down on Glenda's face so hard it had to hurt. With a final shrill cry, her orgasm subsided and she rotated around so she lay atop her sister, where they locked lips and embraced.

Soon after, Glenda began moaning, and Esmerelda broke the kiss and slide down her sister to lick and suck her breasts. Glenda picked up the pace at which she ground her pussy into Naomi's, and as she did, her orgasm built until she was moaning loudly. She continued to grind as she managed to hold on to her orgasm before finally letting it subside. Glenda released Naomi and sat up. She and Esmerelda embraced and kissed deeply for a few moments, then let reluctantly let each other go. They stood and pulled Naomi from the seat, dragging her to the ground where they laid her on her back and spread her legs. Esmerelda straddled her across her chest and sat, pinning her arms against her body with her legs. Glenda spread Naomi's legs and for a moment it looked like she was going to go down on her again, but instead she reached into the folds of her dress and withdrew a thick wooden rod with a rounded end.

All of a sudden, the cloud over Naomi's mind lifted, like a veil over a light being suddenly drawn back, and she realized what the rod was for. "No!" she cried. "You mustn't!"

"I'm sorry, but we must." Said Glenda as she placed the tip of the rod against Naomi's outer lips.

"Don't worry. It won't hurt much," Esmerelda soothed as she reached into the remnants of her dress and grasped a large dagger. "compared to this." she said holding it up for Naomi to see.

Naomi's mouth fell open and her eyes went wide as the colour drained from her face. "HELP! GUARDS! GUARDS!" she screamed a the top of her voice.

"They can't hear you." said Esmerelda "We've made sure of that."

Naomi struggled against her captor, but Esmerelda held her tight, and Glenda pinned her legs back as far possible. The two sisters smiled at each other lovingly, which only served to add to Naomi's revulsion and terror. Then as one, they attacked. Esmerelda began hammering Naomi's face, shoulders and arms with the hilt of her dagger, leaving her bloodied and bruised. Glenda pushed the rod past Naomi's lips until it rested against her hymen. Then with a powerful push, she thrust the piece of wood past it and into her vagina. Naomi screamed, the pain was so unbearable, and blood began to flow from her. Glenda ignored Naomi's pain and thrashing, and instead roughly drove the rod back inside her repeatedly, making sure to rip and bruise the now highly sensitive flesh.

The two sisters continued to bash and abuse Naomi for another minute, until Glenda judged enough blood had flowed from her. She looked at her sister, who nodded. Esmerelda reversed the dagger in her hand, brought it up and then down, plunging the blade deep into Naomi's chest.

Naomi gasped as she felt the dagger drive into her breast, scrape past her ribs, before piercing her heart. Fire erupted across her upper torso and a numbing coldness crept into her extremities as the blade perforated her aorta and pulmonary artery. Blood spurted from the two main passages from the heart and spread throughout her chest cavity, some escaping upwards past the dagger to spill across Naomi's chest.

As her heart struggled to pump an ever dwindling amount of blood, Naomi felt the numbing coldness spread through her body. She tried to speak, but her lungs had begun filling with fluid, and she could only manage a gasping gurgling sound, and she tasted more blood. Finally her heart gave out, and Naomi shut her eyes, letting oblivion consume her.

Esmerelda withdrew the dagger from the dead girls chest and wiped it on Naomi's dress, being sure to spread the blood around. Using the dagger, she cut it straight down the front, then she and her sister carefully slipped it back on Naomi's body, leaving it lying open.

Satisfied they had prepared the body sufficiently, they used water from the pond to wash the blood from their bodies, then proceeded to dress. Glenda slipped her red dress back on and began to lace it back up. She watched her sister pick up and examine the tattered remnants of her dress with a bewildered look. "I would not have thought she had the strength to cause such damage." Esmerelda said.

"It was a surprise." agreed her sister. "Shame. It was a nice dress."

"Hmmm." she agreed as she rolled up the dagger and wooden rod in the torn cloth.

"What do you plan on wearing now?" Glenda asked.

Esmerelda gestured and a magnificent white flowing gown appeared on her. Glenda smiled and concentrated. Her eyes blinked and glowed briefly, and Esmerelda's gown dissolved as Glenda's magic pierced her sisters illusion, leaving her, to her sisters eyes, as naked as she was a moment ago.

Esmerelda smiled. "I know. Not as sophisticated as could be, but it will suffice for our flight."

"And we should leave." She said, surveying the scene to be certain they had not left anything behind. "We are ready. Let's go."

Esmerelda offered her sister her arm. Glenda took and the two walked calmly back towards the keep. A Guard on the wall above looked down into the garden, but saw only two young women, one in red, the other in white, strolling leisurely through it, gossiping excitedly. The illusion they had placed to conceal Naomi's body would hold until dawn the next day, by which time they would be far from the Palace.

They passed through the Palace easily enough, everybody they encountered assumed them to be young ladies of the court and did not bother them. As they crossed the bridge to the city, they discreetly dropped the bundled dress and items in the river and continued on their way.

* * * * *

Berek forced himself to relax in the common room of the Glitzy Whore and tried to enjoy his drink like the other patrons in the tavern, though it wasn't easy with the stink coming from the nearby tanneries. Situated near the dirty and smelly industries meant the tavern was rather busy with workmen drinking away their days wages. Berek sat at a table near the bar, facing the door, near which sat a table of a half dozen of the Royal Guard, all dressed like mercenaries so their swords wouldn't look out of place. Another half dozen Guards were scattered about the room in two's and three's, ready to jump into action and seal the room. While all sat with ales in their hands, a closer inspection of them would have shown none were actually drinking, just having the occasional sip, including Berek, who had been there for three hours now and was still on his first mug.

The door opened and Berek automatically looked up, but then went back to his drink when he saw the two labourers who entered weren't the man he was waiting for. He gripped his half drunk ale with one hand and took a small sip, while his other hand absently fingered the hilt of his sword underneath the table.

Another half hour went by and Berek was beginning to wonder whether the man was going to show, or if Renson had even been telling the truth. Berek glanced around the room, letting his eyes wander past the door to the kitchen, which was slightly ajar and through which, he knew, Karlton was watching the room. Suddenly the front door swung open, admitting one man who paused and surveyed the room. Of average height, bald and with a dark, swarthy complexion; Berek only had to study him for a moment to know that this was their man.

Berek stretched and scratched the back of his neck. That was the signal to Karlton that their quarry had arrived. He looked at the man, who seemed to somehow feel Bereks eyes on him because he looked back and the two men locked eyes for a brief moment. Dark brown and with a guarded look in them, Berek could tell from experience the man was concealing something.

Breaking their eye contact, the man walked slowly towards Berek, his hand never far from the razor sharp rapier that hung from his waist. Berek chanced a look past him and saw that the Guards by the door had noticed his entrance and were now inconspicuously drawing their swords, waiting for Berek's signal.

The man stopped several feet short of Berek's reach, his hand resting on his rapiers pommel in a casually threatening manner. "You want something?" he asked in a deep, throaty accent. Berek nodded and stood, sending the room into an explosion of activity. The man took a step back and half drew his sword, anticipating an attack. The Soldiers behind him leaped to their feet, swords drawn, and bounded over to surround the man. The other soldiers in the room jumped up as well, drawing their swords and rushing to take pre-planned positions by the windows. The Kitchen door burst open and Karlton charged out, leading a dozen chain mail clad Guard into the room. Half of them converged on the rapidly growing crowd around the man, while the others joined the disguised Guards guarding the windows and doors. The front door swung open and another dozen guard entered and took positions throughout the stunned room. Several of the other patrons stood, some drawing weapons, but were quickly clubbed to the ground by the Guards.

The man, his rapier fully drawn now, glanced about him, realizing his was surrounded, but not willing to surrender so easily. Karlton advanced on him confidently, a wicked smile on his lips.

"So 'Hugh', your little thief was telling us the truth. You're under arrest.". 'Hugh' glared at him, but smartly threw his sword at his feet, where it landed with a loud clatter. Berek kicked it away as several Guards grabbed him and tied his wrists together. "Take him back to the Palace and give him to our best torturer. I want him singing like an enchanted songbird by the morning." Karlton ordered.

One of the Guards, a corporal, saluted and led a contingent of Guards out the door with the prisoner in tow. Karlton turned to Berek "We'll find out what that evil bugger knows." he said.

* * * * *

'Hugh' screamed again as the Torturer twisted the Thumb Screw once more, applying even more pressure to the broken fingers.

"If you will only just tell us why you hired Renson to break into the Palace, the pain will stop." cooed the Torturer. But 'Hugh' only stared at him in defiance, refusing to speak. The Torturer gave the handle of the Thumb Screw another turn and 'Hugh' screamed. Berek looked away and out the small barred window near the ceiling, not sure how long he would be able to stomach this cruelty and noted that the dawn was approaching.

"It would appear he needs more persuasion to talk." Karlton said to the Torturer.

"Oh, aye, milord." The Torturer said. "If 'e doesn't find the Thumb Screw to 'is liking, I've still got the Iron Maiden and the Judas Cradle to tempt 'im with."

"At your discretion." Karlton said, and the Torturer turned the handle again. 'Hugh's' scream echoed in his ears, and it was with great relief that he heard a loud knock on the door. Berek and Karlton turned towards the door and away from the Torturers grisly work as a Guard opened the door, admitting another Guard, though this one pale and extremely shaken. He saluted Karlton and spoke.

"Sir, you must come to Princess' private garden quickly. There's been a murder!" Karlton and Berek quickly exchanged glances before pushing past the Guard and hurrying out the door.

Several minutes later they arrived in the garden to find a small throng of castle servants gathered around a body, kept at bay by several Guards. A sergeant spotted Karlton approaching, snapped to attention and saluted.

"What happened here?" Karlton demanded, pushing past the servants and guards to stand over the body. He looked down and saw a young blonde woman of about twenty years with a deep wound in her chest and blood over her body and face.

"A murder sir. One of the Guards on the wall spotted her only minutes ago." the sergeant explained. Karlton knelt beside the girl and examined her face. He recognised her as one of Princess Aeryn's Ladies-In-Waiting, though he could not recall her name. He gently touched her skin.

"She's cold. Most likely been here all night." He looked at the wound on her chest. "Stabbed through the heart. Her death was quick and bloody." He swept his eyes over her body from head to toe. "She was bashed repeatedly before she was stabbed." His eyes stopped when they got to her thighs. Smeared across the inside was more blood, trailing from her nether parts. He stood. "She was raped as well." He looked at his companion. "Berek. Your thoughts?"

Berek nodded. "Aye, you're right. Stabbed through the heart. Right between the ribs. Mark of an experienced hand.

"Same man who killed Timin?" Karlton thought aloud.

"Could be. If no one spotted the body before now, that could mean magic was used to conceal it."

Karlton agreed. "Shaul should examine the area. He could tell us if magic was used."

An angry voice boomed across the garden. "WHAT IS THIS?" All turned to see Duke Aram and Earl Borrinal approach, escorted by two Guards. Immediately the servants scattered, lest they be caught not working. Karlton came to attention and saluted Duke Aram.

"My Lord. One of Princess Aeryns' Ladies-In-Waiting has been found raped and murdered." Karlton stepped aside so the two nobles could view the body.

Earl Borrinal, a round fop of a man, but an excellent Chamberlain, gasped. "My Gods! Lady Naomi! The daughter of Duke de Giltner! Oh Gods, this isn't good." he despaired.

Duke Aram, a powerful man, even in his late fifties with finely cut white hair and close cropped moustache, turned to Karlton. "Who did this?" he demanded, his face flushed red and his rage barely in check.

"We think the same man who murdered one of our Watch Commanders two weeks ago, My Lord."

"Find this man. Find him and bring his head before me. Do whatever it takes. There must be swift justice on this, else Duke Marks will hold the King responsible."

"Gods!" exclaimed Borrinal, "This could lead to civil war!"

"We must be quick and decisive on this." Aram ordered. "Even if you must execute some beggar, we must have a head before the week is out." he flushed, and then managed to calm himself somewhat. "Gods!" He ran his hand through his hair. "The King will most definitely not be pleased." He turned to go. "Remove the body. Prepare her for the journey back to Giltner." he ordered and left, dragging the distraught Earl Borrinal with him.

Berek looked to Karlton and saw he was deeply troubled by the Duke's order. "If we cannot find this man by the end of the week," he said, "how does 'Hugh's' head sound? He is a foreigner, and so will divert much of Duke Marks anger away from the King."

"I like it about as much as passing a spiked ball." Berek said.

"This isn't good for one's digestion, is it?" agreed Karlton.

* * * * *

Beryl squinted and saw a wagon driven by a solitary figure in the distance. That had to be their man. They had been chasing this mage for three days, driving their horses as hard as they dared, being careful not to wear them out. They had crossed the border from Midgard into the Kingdom of Elmaran only two hours earlier. A quick questioning of the Elmaran soldiers at the customs checkpoint revealed a man wearing dark robes had driven a wagon carrying a single chest across that morning. His manifest showed he was delivering an ancient artifact to a collector in Silden and so was exempt from paying any import duties.

Since then they had been pushing hard to catch up with their quarry, for if he made it to Silden, he would be able to disappear into that rabbit warren of a city and they would never find him.

"Lo! I see something." Beryl said, pointing.

"Is it our mage?" asked Dirk.

"I will see." Beryl said and quickly incanted a spell. His vision changed, sharpening so much, even minor details of a distant object were visible. Beryl saw a figure in dark robes driving the wagon. Behind him on the cargo deck of the wagon sat a simple sturdy wooden chest with an exceptionally large lock. His eyes lingered on it for a moment, and the more he watched it, the more he became certain that there was something odd about the chest. The sea of magical energy that existed in the background of reality and permeated throughout the world seemed excessively strong and dense around it, almost tangible. Whatever was in the chest held an awesome amount of power. Beryl blinked and his vision went back to normal. "It would appear to be our mage." he said, deciding not say anything about what he sensed until he knew more about it, the better to not alarm his companions unnecessarily.

Dirk looked about, getting his bearings. "We're only a few hours from Silden. I doubt we'd catch him in time. Beryl, can you slow him down?"

The young mage thought for moment. "I can try, though it will depend on whether he has protected himself from such attacks." Beryl halted his horse and screwed his eyes shut in concentration. In his mind, he saw the system of straps, poles and hinges from which the horses pulling the wagon were hitched. He extended his senses, searching for any magical traps or alarms. Upon finding none, Beryl began to quietly manipulate the mechanism, pulling at bolts and untying knots with imaginary fingers, still wary of any defences he might have missed.

After a few moments of work, Beryl was rewarded with success. The bolts worked themselves loose and the ropes became undone, and the whole mechanism fell apart, just as the mage began ascending a small rise. Suddenly freed from the weight of the wagon, the horses surged forward, pulling the mage from his seat as the wagon began to roll back down the hill. With a startled cry, the rogue mage landed face first in the dust on the road.

Beryl pulled his awareness back into his body and opened his eyes. With a whoop he kicked his horse forward into a gallop, startling everyone who had not seen the fruits of his efforts, being too far away.

"I take it you succeeded?" Dirk shouted as his horse caught up with Beryl's.

"Aye. It will take him a while to rehitch the horses, and that should be more than enough to catch him."

As they closed on the mage, they could see him struggling to reattach the horses to the wagon, his frequent frustrated kicks and beatings illuminating his inexperience. The man looked up at the sound of the approaching horses, and narrowed his eyes, somehow knowing they were responsible for his plight.

He stood and faced them, raising his arms high above his head and yelling an incantation. Suddenly the ground before the riders opened up, a huge crevice threatening to swallow them. Everyone pulled their horses to a stop, but Serena's panicked and reared, throwing her heavily to the ground. Beryl jumped to the ground and, with a wave of his hand, projected a magical barrier around them. The barrier sprung to life, forming an impenetrable hemispherical wall between them and the outside world, its purplish surface swimming and swirling like a boiling sea. Dirk and Lul raced to aid Serena, while Brecht pulled his sword and swung it impatiently, eager to rush into battle.

Beryl used his battle training to calm his nerves and examine his situation. He looked first at his opponent, the rogue mage and saw him grab the chest from the wagon. A detached part of him noted that the chest seemed to be too light for it to be full of gold, but Beryl pushed that aside for the moment. He shifted his awareness to the crevice before him, and his stretched senses went off like an alarm bell. The crevice was an illusion, it wasn't real at all! Beryl waved his fingers and incanted, casting the same spell that had dispelled the morrigans illusion weeks before. The crevice seemed to shimmer and then dissolve away, replaced by solid ground.

Seeing that his path to the mage was unimpeded, Brecht dashed forward, his sword raised to strike. The mage turned and was startled to see the large warrior barrelling toward him. He raised his hand and shouted a word, and Brecht was stopped dead in his tracks as if he'd hit an invisible wall. "Damn you magician!" Brecht roared, "You're wall isn't going to keep you from me!" he said as he began jumping and grabbing at thin air, as if trying to grasp a ledge and pull himself up.

Beryl thrust out his hand and immediately a ball of green energy leapt from it and flew at the mage, who ducked behind the wagon. The ball struck the wagon and erupted in an explosion of green flame, severely scorching the wood. Beryl, secure behind his protective shield, didn't wait for the mage's response, instead beginning to cast a spell that would raise the wagon into the air, thereby removing the mage's cover. Just as he got halfway through his spell, the ground by his feet exploded, causing Beryl to abandon his casting and duck. An earsplitting roar caused him to look up. A massive red dragon swooped down towards them. It opened its mouth and another fireball shot towards them, passing unhindered through Beryl's shield to strike the ground only metres from where Dirk and Lul where crouched over Serena.

Dirk jumped up, swallowing his fear and pulled his sword, standing ready to face the mighty beast. Lul shrugged her cloak and took to the air, drawing the dagger from her belt. Beryl looked at the dragon, and once again his mage sight told him something was wrong about it. "Hold!" he shouted. "It be an illusion! It is not real!" He stood, allowing the dragon to shoot another fireball, this one aimed directly at him. The others watched with horror as the fireball struck Beryl, but miraculously the mage seemed to not even notice it. Now believing Beryl's words about the dragon being an illusion, the spell broke and the giant lizard disappeared right before them.

Beryl turned to see the Mage had used the distraction to good effect, having grabbed the chest and haul himself upon a horse. He kicked its sides and the draught horse took off as fast as it could. Beryl gritted his teeth and shot another green ball of energy towards the fleeing mage. This one struck the ground in front of the horse, causing it rear up and throw its rider to the ground.

Just then, Brecht jumped and seemed to finally grab the ledge, though without anything there to actually support his weight, he fell back to the ground and the illusion disappeared. Quickly picking himself up, he grabbed his sword and rushed over to the fallen mage, who was trying to rise on shaky legs. Brecht lowered his shoulder and charged the mage, bowling him over. Brecht sprawled atop him, but quickly righted himself and pinned the mage down. With a mighty blow, Brecht brought his gauntleted fist down onto the mage's face, slamming his head into the ground. Before the mage could recover his senses, Brecht grabbed his sword and held it against the mans throat, but the mage was too stunned by all the blows to the senses to offer any real resistance. Beryl ran over to them and quickly cast an enchantment upon the mage that put him into a deep slumber.

Brecht jumped to his feet and put away his sword. "This can't be the mage we're looking for. He wasn't tough enough."

"He had you fooled by that imaginary wall." said Beryl as he gave the Mage a cursory examination. He then focused his attention on the chest. Now he was closer, the distortions to the field of magic energy were a lot more pronounced, and were affecting his senses. Small ripples ran across his vision, like waves radiating from the chest. A tone so high it was almost beyond hearing rang in his ears. His skin tingled and crawled, like it was covered with an army of ants, and an acrid odour filled his nostrils and left a tangy taste on his tongue.

"Imaginary or not, no wall'll stop me." said Brecht as he turned to the chest. Drawing a knife, he bent down to attempt to force it open. Beryl was so engrossed with the chest, he didn't notice what Brecht was doing until he attempted to jam the knife blade under the lid.

"No!" Beryl shouted as he slapped the knife out of Brechts hand. "The chest is magically warded! If you attempt to open it without the proper key, it will kill you."

"What are you talking, Beryl?" asked a confused Brecht.

"What's going on?" asked Dirk as he approached. He pointed at the mage and looked at Beryl quizzically.

"Sleeping spell." Beryl explained. "As for what is going on, Brecht attempted to force open the chest, but a magical trap has been placed on it. If you do not use the correct key, it will kill all who are near."

"Really?" asked Dirk as he bent down to look at the chest. "All that over some gold?"

"It is not gold." said Beryl.

"How do you know?" asked Brecht.

"There is something of power in there, which I can sense. Enough power that it is distorting the elemental forces so much I can see and feel it, rather than just sense it."

"Really?" asked Dirk.

"I don't see anything." Brecht said, looking around.

"Did you suddenly develop mage sight, Brecht?" Dirk asked rhetorically.

"You probably could if it were any more powerful." said Beryl. "I would really like to find out what is in there, though without the key or the most powerful counteraction magic, it is just too dangerous."

"So we've been lied to." said Dirk.

Beryl nodded. "I would not take it too hard. If Baron Brady had such powerful protections placed on this chest, people are likely to do more than just lie over it."

"Then we'd best get it back to the Baron, then. Let it become his problem." Said Dirk as he picked it up. "Lighter than I thought it would be." he commented. "We won't need the wagon to carry this." He said and passed it to Beryl. "You'd best hold onto it, so as we don't accidentally set off any more traps." To Brecht he said "Give me a hand to get this off the road." and put his shoulder against the wagon.

Beryl carried the chest back to their horses. He placed it down next to Serena who was drinking a herbal potion. "How are you?" he asked.

"Okay, though I've a nasty bump on my head. I'll live but." she said between sips "This potion helps with the pain."

Beryl nodded then looked at Lul, who was staring at the chest and jumping from foot to foot with excitement. "Did we get it? Is that gold? How much gold is it?"

"Settle down fairy." Beryl said. "It be not gold."

Lul was crestfallen. "What? So did we just rob an innocent traveller?"

"No. That was the rogue mage we were seeking. Baron Brady lied to us and told us it was gold that was stolen when it is something far more valuable."

"Well what is it?" demanded Lul.

"Something magical, with considerable power."

"Magical?" she asked in surprise. Beryl nodded. "Plus there be a magical trap on it, so you had best not get any ideas about trying to pick the lock."

Lul pouted. "You're no fun." she said.

"Well, if you want to try to open it, go ahead by all means. Just let me know so I can stand well away and not get killed as well." Beryl looked back to where Dirk and Brecht were working and saw they had succeeded in getting the wagon off the road and hiding it behind some bushes. They then cut the straps and reins on the draught horses and gave them a whack across the rump with the flat of their swords. The startled horses took off at a gallop for a short distance, before stopping to graze on some grass.

Dirk shrugged. "This'll have to do. We'd best get back to Vanir." as he and Brecht rejoined them.

Beryl mounted his horse and said "We should cut south east and join the road to Pater before crossing the border. We will probably have to pay some tax on the chest when we re-enter Midgard."

"We'll get a receipt from the Royal Customs and then claim it back from Brady." Dirk said as he passed the chest to Beryl. "It'll be good to get this job over with and we can finally travel to Asgar." he griped as he mounted his horse.

"What about him?" Serena asked as she mounted, pointing towards the sleeping mage.

Dirk and Beryl exchanged a look. "I think Brady would love to meet him." Dirk said.

"Though I doubt he will be too happy to meet the Baron." Beryl added. "That sleeping spell will last a few hours. When he wakes up, I can cast a stronger version that will put him back to sleep again for several days. We should be able to carry him back to Vanir without any trouble, so long as Brecht does not mind carrying him."

"Don't you worry. I'll take good care of him." Brecht grinned evilly. Beryl tossed him a length of rope, and the large warrior trotted over to the mage and bound his hands and feet. Then, slinging him over his shoulder like a child, he jogged back to his friends and tossed him over the back of his horse. Lul, displaced by the mage, despondently took a seat behind Serena as the group began their journey back to Vanir.

"We are going to have to do some creative explaining when we reach the border checkpoint." Beryl said.

"Why don't we just go around it?" asked Serena.

"Too much trouble. The local barons patrol the border looking for smugglers and outlaws. It'll be a lot easier to lie to a Royal Customs officer than to a baron or his magistrate should we be caught." Dirk explained. Serena nodded then fell silent for the rest of the days journey.

* * * * *

The carriage clattered over the cobblestones of Traitors Bridge, forcing its way through the traffic as it headed west, before turning south towards the Palace. As it neared the barbican, a soldier waved for it to stop. The driver complied and reined in his horses. "What business have you at the Palace?" asked the soldier.

"I carry Lady Anise Vanir to an appointment with Earl Borrinal." stated the driver. The soldier glanced through the window and saw an elegantly dressed noblewoman seated inside. Stepping aside he waved the carriage through, then resumed his post at the gate.

The driver drove the carriage across the bridge, through the outer bailey and into the inner bailey, pulling up in front of the steps to the keep. He jumped down, opened the door for Anise and helped her to the ground. As she stepped down, a young squire appeared, bowed and introduced himself, then led her inside the keep.

Going up several flights of stairs, he led her to Earl Borrinal's office. The squire knocked on the door, and a clerk admitted them to the outer office.

"Lady Anise. The Earl will see you now." the clerk said, showing her into a plush inner office. Behind the desk sat the round frame of Earl Borrinal. The Earl stood as Anise entered. The clerk introduced both nobles to each other, then retreated and closed the door behind him.

"Lady Anise. Please have a seat." the Earl waved to some seats before his desk. "Baron Brady informs me that you were once his fathers ward, and that you now seek a position among the Royal Staff."

"That is correct, My Lord." Anise nodded. "Because of my fathers disreputable manner and misfortune, I was made the ward of the late Baron de Lish after the death of my parents. Now that Brady is baron in Vanir, I wish to forge my own position in the kingdom. My father squandered our fortune and good name, leaving me with only my title."

"A most unfortunate situation." Borrinal said. "Allow me to extend my sympathies to you and your family."

Anise inclined her head. "You are most gracious, My Lord."

"It would appear that your fortunes are changing. We recently have had a position open up amongst Princess Aeryn's Ladies-in-Waiting. According to your reference from Baron Brady, you will suit that position very well. You must have made quite a sacrifice to The Fates for this turn of affairs." Borrinal waved his finger coyly, referring to the act of the desperate to sacrifice all they had to The Fates, the three goddess' that controlled the fates of all, for a reversal of grave misfortune.

Anise blushed and smiled politely. "If The Fates had a hand in my turn about of fortune, it was not at my request."

"If that is the case, then they must find favour in you." Borrinal said, leaning back in his chair and laughing heartily, his immense belly shaking like jelly.

Anise continued to blush and smile. "My Lord is quite amusing." she said.

"I am also unmarried." Borrinal added with a wink.

"My Lord Earl, you are a positive cad!" Anise said with feigned shock. Borrinal laughed again.

"Oh My Dear," Borrinal said, calming down, "you are quite a breathe of fresh air. I believe you will be quite comfortable as one of Princess Aeryn's Ladies-in-Waiting."

"I am glad My Lord finds me suitable." Anise said.

Borrinal was suddenly very serious. "There is, however, one more requirement before I give you the position." he said. "I must know with who your loyalties lie."

"With the King." Anise responded immediately.

"Will you swear to that?"

"If I must."

"You must. I will witness."

Anise held up her right hand and said formally "I swear allegiance and pledge my undying devotion to the King of Midgard and his rightful heirs."

"So witnessed." Borrinal said, completing the ritual. Then he smiled. "Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the Palace, Anise, Lady-in-Waiting to Princess Aeryn."

"Thank you, My Lord. I am in your debt." Anise said, bowing her head.

Borrinal waved it away. "No need for that. I have the pleasure of recruiting many of noble birth to Royal Service. Have you any questions?"

"I am curious why I was made to take an oath. I was not aware Ladies-in-Waiting were that important. Is there maybe some trouble on the horizon?" Anise asked.

"It is a tragic occurrence, but nothing that will trouble you directly, though it is of concern to all in Midgard. Your position became available when one of Princess Aeryn's Ladies-in-Waiting, Lady Naomi de Giltner, recently died."

"How unfortunate." Anise said.

"Indeed, very unfortunate. However, her father is Duke Marks de Giltner, and he is sure to demand reparations from the King. I'm sure you know how this is will look at the upcoming Assembly of Lords, particularly if the King refuses Duke Marks demands."

"Why would the King refuse his demands? Surely he knows he must make amends for the death of the Duke's daughter?"

"Aye, he knows. I'm afraid, however, that the Kings judgement on this matter may be clouded by his personnel feelings towards Duke Marks. Neither of them have ever seen eye to eye. Indeed it takes quite an effort from both of them just to remain civil in each others presence."

"Because of the Duke's claim to the throne?"

"Mostly, though I feel that even if neither of them were King, they would still dislike each other. Some people just do not mix well."

"Still, why would the King refuse his demands for reparations?"

"Mainly spite, I fear. Though I pray to the Gods every night that both men will have much more sense than to play this dangerous child's game."

"Could it be that serious?"

"I will admit that politics should be none of my concern, but Duke Marks commands a sizeable number of nobles dissatisfied with the King, and feel the crown should have gone to Prince Lionelle, Duke Marks grandfather, instead of Prince Jierdan, who was the Kings grandfather. Should this situation get too far out of control, I fear there may be an armed uprising against the King!"

"Civil war? How dreadful!"

"Indeed." Then Borrinal's expression changed. "Oh, forgive me. I should not have alarmed you like that. Most likely both men will see sense and not resort to such violent actions. You should forget I mentioned it. It is nothing for a Lady to be concerned with."

"I will do my best, though it is so worrying I fear I may not be able to." Anise said, thinking to herself she was playing the part of the distressed lady of the court extremely well.

"It is best you do. Leave these things for the men of the court to be concerned about." He looked down at his desk and saw the pile of papers that sat before him. "Oh heavens! Here I am chatting like an old lady when I have all this work before me. If you will excuse me, my dear, but I simply must busy myself now."

"Oh it is no trouble, My Lord." Anise said as she rose to her feet.

Borrinal stood as well. "I will have a squire escort you to your quarters, then show you around the Palace. I believe your luggage has already been delivered."

"Thank you My Lord. You are too kind." Anise said, curtseying.

Borrinal bowed to her, then rang a bell on his desk. A squire appeared from the outer office. "Escort the Lady Anise to her quarters, then show her the Palace."

"Yes, m'lord." the squire bowed.

"And hurry back, boy. There is much more work to be done today."

"Yes, m'lord." the squire added as he escorted Anise from the room. Borrinal sat back at his desk and tried to turn his attention to the paperwork before him, unable to shake a feeling of foreboding.