Tender Mercies Book II 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Tender Mercies Book II takes place across a plethora of worlds, some my own creation, others not. It brings back some old characters, introduces some new ones both from other stories and completely new, and unites some of them in ways I never thought would happen. Like most of my work, until it is finished, it is a work in progress and as such very subject to feedback, suggestions, criticisms, and glowing praise. Send anything you would like to my way at jhalstead@attbi.com, I can't promise much, but I can guarantee that I will respond to everything sent my way.
All he ever asked for in life was for help in trying to prove that money alone could not make him happy. Thus far, he had failed miserably to prove that simple truth. It was a common myth middle and lower class people told each other and themselves, though deep down nearly all of them yearned for it. It had taken Jason many years of hard work to accomplish it, but now that he had enough to live his lifestyle quite comfortably, he had no intentions of ever losing it.
Originally a computer geek with an athletic side and a passion for motorcycles, he had turned his knowledge of computer lore towards programming. Designing systems able to outperform those in place, Jason's software package acquired first a single state contract, then others followed as soon as they were able to do so. The purpose of the software was running the lottery games for the states that were his customers. Now, some 7 years into it, Gamers, Inc. possessed 39 state lottery contracts and was looked at very favorably by the remaining 11 when their current contracts ran out. Even other countries around the world had expressed interest, a fact which caused more then a few ulcers to the managing staff of the other big fish in the international lottery pond.
At the age of 34, Mr. Williams could have retired if he chose. He chose instead to continue working, an ethic he instilled into himself less then 10 years past, but one that had served him well. It was this work ethic applied in other areas that kept him in top shape, regularly playing tennis and hockey, as well as lifting weights and eating healthy. Perhaps his greatest accomplishment, were any to ask him, was that he had managed to remain single throughout his life, in spite of a couple of close run-ins with ring-crazy women.
Speaking of crazy women, he glanced over at the one lying beside him. After a particularly fulfilling bout of totally raunchy and obscene sexual acts, they had collapsed on the bed. Jason thought that the girl had dozed off, but he was not sure. His own mind had wandered, going over everything from the upcoming roller hockey game his team was supposed to play in a few days to the board meeting he had planned early next week at work. Now he took a chance to admire the woman laying beside him.
Her blond hair was tussled by their lovemaking, though it was just a bit too short to fall to her shoulders. Her eyes were closed and her mouth opened a slight bit as she breathed regularly. Taller then most women at 5 and a half feet, her green eyes had pierced him earlier that night with an intensity that had surprised him. He guessed her at being in her early to mid 20's by appearances, but after having spent some time with her, he suspected she was older then he had first guessed. Nonetheless, her skin was soft and smooth and nicely rounded. Being a reasonably charming and attractive man himself when he put his mind to it, Jason had dated better looking women, but there was something about this one that attracted him to her. 'C' cup breasts and a waist that was perhaps 30 inches, he had to remind himself to keep this one at a distance. As much as he felt himself drawn to her, he felt something was strange about her other then her accent (which he was unable to place). He had learned years ago to trust his instinct.
It was years ago indeed that a great many things had changed for him. He had met first two men that had claimed to come from another world. One a mountain of a man named Garrick who possessed the strength and ability to do things that Jason was reasonably certain were impossible. The other was a very tall black man by the name of Kelnozz, who was no slouch when it came to muscle tone either. Both seemed largely ignorant of technology, and to back up their stories they wielded medieval weapons with a proficiency that Jason was certain no one else on the Earth could match. Garrick had claimed to be a former God of the world they insisted they had come from and Kelnozz a dark elf.
Jason had gone with them on their mission, being their transportation and guide to America. They had quickly learned the English language and had even taught him a bit of theirs, though both claimed skill in many languages native to their world, Viconia. More importantly, they had taught Jason some great lessons about being a warrior. Not merely a sword or gun wielding soldier, but a person who did whatever was necessary to succeed in life. Being a warrior had only a little to do with being armed and taking the life of another. Instead it had to do with having the desire and the ability to fight for what was necessary.
In what seemed a short time they had accomplished their goal, which was to capture an ungodly beautiful woman that had come from their world to Earth in an effort to raise an army of followers and conquer not only the Earth, but also to return and rule Viconia. As part of the terms of her capture, she had been forced to release her followers from the magical thralldom in which she held many of them. Magic, on Earth. Had Jason not seen it with his own eyes and felt its effects he would never believed it.
But triumph they had. In addition to the occasional training sessions Garrick or Kelnozz gave Jason, they also gave him Alesha's sword. The sword was priceless in and of itself. The crosspiece was made of ornately carved ivory and trimmed with a metal that Kelnozz had told him was mithril. Having no idea what mithril was beyond that in popular Tolkien fiction, Jason just shrugged and accepted the explanation. The blade was black, though not merely a fire tempered black iron, but made from some metal that he had never seen before. It shined brightly whenever lit hit it, yet when you stared into the blade it seemed as if you were looking into a void. A fuller ran along the length of it, adding rigidity and allowing it to be withdrawn from a body with greater ease. The final thing of interest about the shortsword was the leather hide that was wrapped about the ivory hilt. Jason had never seen it's like before, and Kelnozz had assured him it was griffin hide. He had accepted it as well as anything he had encountered then, for the thought of a giant beast with the body of a lion and the wings and head of an eagle were no stranger then anything else he had seen at the time.
Kelnozz had also claimed it was a very powerful magical weapon, and that he should take care with it. Other then going through katas with the sword, Jason had never found any use for it, save as a beautiful decoration piece. According to his one time companions, many beings were trapped within the sword, including a powerful demon that Jason had seen them banish. Sometimes he caught himself daydreaming, wondering if any of that had really happened or if he was really crazy and had dreamed it up. He knew such was not the case deep down in his bones, but that did not stop him from wondering.
Picturing Alesha, the self appointed high priestess of the cult they had put an end to, Jason felt himself growing aroused again. The woman possessed a dark beauty that was so intense he felt as though he would cut himself upon her. Well toned but not overly muscular, she had nonetheless impressed upon him in the very short time he had seen her that her strength was not to be underestimated. Of course, her strength was the least of her weapons. Trained to a level of expertise with the sword he now owned by Kelnozz himself before she had been seduced by evil forces and coerced into abandoning the dark elf, she was almost as deadly with a blade as Kelnozz or Garrick. But even worse was her magic. She possessed incredible powers, seemingly able to shape the forces of nature and magic around her as she wished. Smiling ruefully, Jason imagined her most dangerous weapon of all was her simple beauty, able to enslave men by their hormones with a simple smile or flash of her skin.
Jason rolled over then looked back at the woman sharing his bed that night. Yes, definitely a keeper for a sportsman that wanted to keep what he caught. Jason regretted having to tell the girl in the morning that a relationship between them was not to be. The things she had done in bed that night had truly blown him away, both literally and figuratively. He had never known anyone more skilled, though he suspected Alesha might have given her a run for her money. Another thing that he found strangely unique and captivating about her was her name, Yamara.
Jason's eyes trailed down her body in the dim light let in by the large windows that made up one of the walls in his bedroom. He had run into her at a popular nightclub. At first he had dismissed how quickly they had hooked up as mere coincidence and perhaps his own charisma, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to him like she was the aggressor. In the few hours he had known her, he had yet to see her with the benefit of a full light. Still, he suspected perhaps that was for the best. Dim lighting and beer goggles, both helped men and women alike in their nocturnal pursuits of companionship.
Not as voluptuous as he would have preferred, she was nonetheless endowed correctly and all the places that it mattered. Jason's hand reached out and gently slid along the curve of her thigh and along her trim belly. She woke instantly, her eyes focusing on him with an uncanny alertness. His hand stopped and he was about to withdraw it when she smiled faintly at him and glanced down to see his hardness. Her smile grew then and she rolled towards him onto her side.
Jason opened his mouth to say something but she stopped him from talking by placing her fingers over his lips. Her piercing green eyes bored into his, a twinkle of amusement in them. She slid down the bed then, pulling her fingers away from his mouth and lightly scraping her nails across his chest. All to soon and not soon enough she arrived at her destination. Jason felt her hot breath blowing lightly across his manhood, teasing him to greater heights. Then her soft lips brushed against him, just rubbing along his length lightly. Jason groaned. He did not know what it was about this woman, it had been years since he had been as active in a single night as what she had coaxed out of him, yet here she was again driving him to a pleasant distraction.
Her lips sank lower, kissing lightly now along the base of his shaft and then the fleshy pouch below that housed his sensitive and overworked balls. He sucked in his breath as her mouth opened and her tongue began to lightly lick him. A little suction from her mouth and Jason found himself clenching the sheets with his hands. He wanted desperately to drive himself into her mouth, but even more he wanted her to continue the delightful torture.
Yamara licked all the way up to the tip of his cock then, a string of pre-cum attaching her lips to him when she pulled away. She dropped her head back to him and swirled her tongue around his head, agonizing Jason further. Then, in a moment of rapture for him, she sunk his titanium phallus into her mouth until the tip of it bumped against the back of her throat. Fighting the natural urge, she swallowed repeatedly to further stimulate him. Jason groaned and felt his hips unconsciously buck up at her. She looked up at him and smiled around the raging cock in her mouth, with over an inch and a half of him still not covered by her hot lips.
Then just as suddenly, she pulled away from him. Jason gasped at the cool air and looked down at her. She had retreated further down, licking at his sack again. She forced his legs apart and lay between them, worshipping his crotch with her tongue. Then Yamara sank down even further, her tongue licking a teasing trail behind his sack towards his ass. Jason's breath caught in his throat as she flicked her tongue against his rectum, spiking his already aching libido into overdrive. He moaned lightly and noticed that his muscles in his body had been clenched tightly enough that he had begun to shake lightly.
Yamara's hand lightly slipped up and down his shaft, milking the pre-cum out of it while her tongue continued to tease his asshole in a way that Jason could never remember any other girl doing. Sure, he had seen it in porno's and read about it, but he never expected to meet a woman willing to actually have a go at it. He had done it once or twice to ex-girlfriends himself, and they certainly seemed to enjoy it, but they favor had never been returned nor did he really think much of anything about it.
Then it was over. She slipped back up and greedily sucked his cock into her mouth. Jason tried to form words but only managed to grunt on his first try. Before he could try any more one of her hands found its way up to his mouth and two of her fingers slipped inside, distracting him with its unspoken request. A prisoner in his own bed, he went along and focused what few still functioning brain cells he had on devoting proper attention to her fingers. Down below Yamara continued to sink her head up and down on his penis, bottoming out on every plunge with his cock grounding out against the back of her throat.
Yamara stopped pistoning her head then and Jason realized that his hips had been thrusting up at her mouth in time. One of her hands, the one not in his mouth, wrapped around the base of his cock and actually encouraged his behavior. He doubled his efforts, driving his cock into her mouth in an effort to sate the incredible lust he was feeling. For all intents and purposes the rest of the world had ceased to exist, all that mattered was Jason fucking Yamara's mouth.
He was almost there then. He could feel the gripping sensation down in his balls and knew that with a little bit more effort he would succeed. A tiny part of consciousness remained that told him to warn her of his impending explosion, but when her hand slipped away from his cock and began to fondle his balls the last resistance he had to animalistic behavior left him. Just to be safe, her fingers slipped out of his mouth and her hand cupped itself over his mouth to prevent him from speaking anything more then a mumble - not that he had the presence of mind to do that anyhow!
Jason's loins clenched and unclenched, driving orgasmic shivers through him as the process began. He grunted behind Yamara's hand as his semen rushed through his cock and into her mouth with powerful splashes. His hips continued to thrust into her mouth and his cock continued to bottom out against the back of her throat on each thrust throughout, but the tight seal she maintained around him prevented any of his seed from escaping.
Jason felt certain that he had never cummed so much or so hard in his life, and the slightly swelled look on Yamara's cheeks seemed to confirm the fact. He finally collapsed back on the bed, his muscles exhausted and spent. Yamara continued to suckle at his cock, sending oversensitive shivers through him. She swirled his sperm around his cock, refusing to relinquish her seal. Jason would have chuckled if he had the strength to do so.
Then the strength came to him. All of a sudden something seemed out of place. The light in the rim, dim as it was, seemed to dim further. A quick glance down at Yamara and Jason saw that she had noticed something as well. Nothing had changed, but yet something had. Her eyes darted around and her head pulled up off of his still hard cock, not spilling a drop in spite of the distraction. Jason rolled off the bed then, reaching under it and pulling out a pistol he kept for just such an emergency. Yamara rolled the other way, dropping into a low crouch and narrowing her eyes as she searched for the unseen threat they both sensed.
They did not have to wait. Between one blink of the eyes and the next three people appeared at the far end of the room. Dressed in black clothing, they looked around the room and the one in the middle focused his gaze on the sword mounted on the wall above the head of the bed.
"What the fuck do you want?" Jason asked. Yamara remained motionless, blending into the shadows so well Jason forgot for a moment she was even there.
The man smiled darkly. "You have something that belongs to us, we'd like it back." The two men to either side moved out a bit, taking up flanking positions on the bed. None of them had any visible weapons, but the long black coats they wore could have easily hidden any sort of firearm.
"See this?" Jason asked, holding his pistol up to get their attention. "I'm not entirely sure how you got in here, but if you want to avoid a trip to the hospital or morgue, you'll leave the same way by the time I count to three."
The man chuckled softly and the his two flunkies just grinned as if Jason had told a good joke.
"One!" Jason said, somehow reminded of his childhood where his parents had threatened a spanking had he not done what they wished by a three count. Unlike his parents, he had no intention of delaying the time from 2 to 3 by adding in two and a half, two and three quarters, etc..
"Two!" Their grins did not diminish any.
Jason opened his mouth and let loose the final number, squeezing the trigger that he had sighted in on the apparent leader of the would be thieves. "Three!"
The gun flew out of his hands then, crashing into one of the tempered windows and causing it to shatter into thousands of tiny pieces. He scowled and understood what had been bothering him. He glanced at Yamara and had to take a moment before he found her. She blended into the shadows beside the bed and the wall so well he had began to wonder if he had been abandoned.
"I've dealt with your kind before," Jason spat out, standing up. "I helped banish your queen, in fact, you're no match for me!"
The leader of the thugs grinned and his eyes flashed red for a brief moment. If he was hoping to distract or frighten Jason he was disappointed. Jason leapt onto the bed and grabbed the sword on the wall. He triggered a hidden button that released the catches on the mount, allowing him to wield the extremely well balanced weapon in front of him. Turning back around he saw that he was alone in the room. More then just saw, he felt that they were alone again.
"Yamara!" Jason said, wondering if she was a part of it too.
"I'm here," she said, moving away from the now open window where the pane of glass had shattered. Jason looked at her through narrowed eyes, had she not drawn attention to herself, he might not have seen her at all. He prided himself on being an observant and perceptive person and to not be able to see someone in the same room as him bothered him immensely.
"Are you all right?" He asked, moving closer to her, the sword still in his hand. It fit his grip well, warming to his touch. He had always marveled at how natural the shortsword felt in his hand and now was no exception.
Yamara nodded, her arms coming up to fold across her chest in a deliberate move to try and conceal her nudity. Too deliberate, Jason thought. "Who were those people?" She asked.
"I was thinking of asking you the same question," He replied. Jason came around the king sized bed and gently grabbed her arm. He pulled her over and sat her on the bed, watching her closely all the while. She went along willingly enough, but something about her attitude just did not sit right with him.
"What's this about a queen you helped banish?" She asked him when he glanced at the broken window before speaking to her again.
Jason stuck his head out the window, looking down at the ground seven stories below. He owned the penthouse apartment in the building. Owned the entire building, actually, a few upper level management people lived in apartments in the building, as well as a few other people who just rented. None of the non-employees knew that he owned it, of course.
Somehow three men had managed to not only break into a fairly secure building, but they had also gotten past the human guards stationed on the ground floor, the stairwell, the elevator, or the roof. Not to mention they had then somehow managed to send his favorite pistol flying seven stories to a metal crunching grave below.
"Dammit, I really liked that gun. Expensive getting all those modifications done to a Glock 23." He muttered quietly before turning back to Yamara. "Well dear, this queen was a self styled queen. More of a high priestess really. But you see, I have a feeling you already know this and I'm preaching to the choir."
Her mouth opened to protest but he waved her silent. "Here I was thinking what a great person you were and how I was sorely tempted to break my no commitment rule and try to turn this into something other then a night of incredible sex. Rest assured love, that's not a concern I have anymore. Now my concern is what you know that I need to know and whether or not you should even walk out of here."
Yamara dropped her hands to her sides in indignation. Then she realized she was naked and her hands and arms once again tried to cover herself, though this time she was even more modest, one hand dropping in her lap while the other clutched at both breasts in an attempt to conceal them.
"That's a good act, Yamara," Jason admitted grudgingly. "But you're not blushing at your nudity. That and your eyes have yet to leave mine, it's quite disconcerting really. A guy could get lost in those beautiful eyes of yours, as I'm sure you well know. In spite of this assault, I can't help but still find you damned desirable." His body betrayed him and confirmed his words by causing his cock to throb partially to life at the sight of her trying demurely to cover herself.
"Lights - full!" Jason cried out, stepping away from the window. The computer controlled systems he had programmed himself and installed in his penthouse kicked on, lighting up all the recessed lighting in the place. Yamara blinked hurriedly, trying to adjust her eyes to the new lighting. Her gaze shifted away from Jason then, and he found himself thinking a little more clearly as she tried to recover.
Jason stood next to her and stared down at her, forgotten sword hanging from his fist at his left side. "Tell me Yamara, what should I do with you?"
She looked back up at him, squinting a little in the light but otherwise recovering quickly. Jason looked at her face and noticed for the first time some odd faint patterns on her skin. He leaned closer to her and took her chin gently in his hand. He studied her skin for a bit then raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"You've got an even tougher job convincing me now then before. You've been ridden hard and put away wet I think, and more then once. Lots of old wounds and scars, but they're really hard to notice. That's either damned impressive medical work or there's a lot more to you the meets the eye."
She looked up at him silently. Then her eyes glanced down at his cock, which was behaving itself rather nicely at the moment. As she glanced at it she licked her lips subconsciously. Jason narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but he could not help the thrill of excitement that caused his manhood to pulse upwards.
"Stop that!" He demanded pulling her head back up towards his. Yamara's hands fell back to her sides and she looked up at him expectantly. There was a new look deep in her eyes this time though, and it was one of annoyance.
Jason sat on the bed beside her and sighed. "All right, out with it, what's your story?"
"Aren't you worried they might come back?" Yamara asked, her voice no longer as sexy as it had been up until then.
"Ha! Nice try! You get me worried about that and then offer a 'safe' place to take me too, then we get jumped there and they get this sword back. I don't think so toots, I'm not going anywhere with you without a lot of confirmable explaining from you."
The look of annoyance passed her eyes and made its way onto her face this time. "I don't know this place very well at all, so anyplace 'safe' you want to go is entirely up to you. Just seems stupid to me to stick around in a place where the security has already been breached."
Jason eyed her suspiciously then glanced away at the sword still in his hand. She was on his right and the sword in his left hand. He raised it up and looked at its blade, wondering if he really was staring into infinity within the blade or if it was merely an illusion.
"Why do they want that sword?" Yamara asked after a moment. Jason started, realizing he had started to zone out.
"Magic," he muttered, half expecting her to scoff and half expecting her to jump at the confirmation and try to wrestle it from him. "It belonged to Alesha, their high priestess. She supposedly captured a lot of souls in it, souls which are still trapped in it, including a powerful demon that she made serve her."
She nodded, accepting what he said without any complaint or derision.
"Ten years ago we - that is Kelnozz, Garrick, and I - found her group of followers and did our best to put an end to it. Unfortunately, I guess we didn't get all of them. Kelnozz defeated Alesha while Garrick took care of the crowd of blood hungry worshippers, I helped wherever I could, mostly against Alesha, though I did have a nasty encounter with the demon I mentioned. I've been keeping my eyes and ears open and I guess their nasty little sex and death cult has sprung back up down in Florida. It's not growing as fast or as powerfully as it did before at least, so apparently Alesha is still under parole," Jason explained, remembering parts of the fight where Garrick was outnumbered 40 to 1 and still managed to hold his own against the crowd. His injuries from the fight against Alesha and Talifernon the demon ached in spite of the many years during which they had healed.
"Were you there then or did they recruit you since then?" Jason asked snidely. He figured she would have not even been a teenager back then, but depravity knew no limits.
Yamara frowned. "No, ten years ago I was being trained by a different group of evil men, sorry to disappoint you."
"Ah ha!" Jason said. "So you admit to coming her with a nasty purpose in mind then!"
Yamara sighed. This seemed like a simple assignment in the beginning. Find this Jason Williams and get into his penthouse so she could steal the sword. She had opted to use her feminine wiles to get there and had found that the men on Earth were a far cry better in bed from the ones on the worlds she had visited, or at least Jason was. In fact, he had even tasted good to her, something that she had never encountered on any world! She had planned on giving him nothing but good treatment for all the pleasure she had received, but now he was pushing things the wrong way and getting on her nerves.
"Look, I have had nothing to do with these cultists you're talking about. I've only seen about 22 summers, so that would put me pretty young to be a full fledged raving zealot, don't you think?" She spat out, looking directly into his eyes.
Jason grunted and glanced at his alarm clock. 4:30 on a Saturday morning. 22 summers was an awfully odd way to tell your age. There was definitely something odd about her. "Explain the scars."
Yamara's gaze dropped for a moment, then she looked back up. "Like I said, I was trained by evil men. You make a mistake they punish you."
"Then why are they only visible if I look really close?" Jason asked. "I have plenty of scars and their fairly obvious. There's the surgery marks in my leg from a bad jump over Iraq, there's the bullet hole in my right calf, there's the shrapnel mark on my chest and above my left temple, there's the knife cut on my arm, there's countless childhood incidents - one involving a chain saw… they all show up pretty clearly, don't you think?"
"As much as they feel pain helps instruct, injury hinders. They always had me ready for another lesson the very next day," Yamara said, clearly not wanting to discuss it.
"So you've been trained, eh? Trained to do what and by whom? Lots of evil men in the world, babe. Most of them, in fact."
"Lots of things. It's not important really. Look Jason, I'm sorry about what's happening to you, you clearly don't trust me anymore and I assure you that I was genuinely interested in you. Things are not working out as I had hoped they would though, so it's up to you as to what you want to do. Either let me go or figure something out, perhaps it's not to late. Like I said, I'm far from helpless, if you want my help, perhaps we can figure something out if the offer interests me enough."
Jason chuckled. "That's a good one. I try to be open minded but it's the middle of the night and in spite of how great the night started, it's taken a turn for the worse. Really down the shitter, in fact. What say I just decide you're against me and I would be better off ramming this pig-sticker in your gut?"
Jason stood up and faced Yamara directly, his sword held threateningly between them so that with a thrust he could make good on his threat. Yamara glanced at the blade and then again at his manhood briefly before looking up at his face. Her expression was extremely calm. So calm it unnerved him a little.
"You could try, but you would not do it," she said.
"And why is that? Hon, from where I'm standing, aside from the fact that you're a great lay, I have known nothing but trouble since meeting you!" Jason said.
"I misspoke myself. You could try but you would not be able to do it."
Jason laughed sharply. "I'd happily fuck the brains out of you the rest of my life, my dear, but I'd just as happily simplify my life and not have to worry about you sneaking up on me."
"Then try," Yamara looked almost bored. Almost. He could tell that her stance had changed ever so slightly. She was poised now, in spite of looking casual. Jason was a veteran of more then just the campaign with Kelnozz and Garrick, he had also served for six years as a United States Air Force para-rescue trooper, which was one of the more secretive special forces branches out there. Para-rescue was used for recovery instead of surgical strikes though, but they still saw plenty of classified action.
Jason was debating doing that very thing when that tickle on the back of his neck kicked in again. He looked over and there were all three of the bad guys that had shown up earlier, once again standing a few feet away from the foot of the bed. He turned and dropped into a crouch to center his balance.
"Enough of this shit, if you fuckers want this, come and get it!" Jason roared, charging at the three of them. He aimed for the man on the left, who was the closest to him. His only thought as he charged was that maybe he should have put some pants on.
Jason averted to the right and engaged the man in the middle a second before the guy on his left would have met him. This threw the man on his left off, allowing him to slip past him and lunge at the leader. The leader parried the blade to the side with a saber that he pulled out from somewhere within his coat. The man on his right drew a wicked looking dagger and moved to try and get behind Jason then, being careful of the king sized bed.
"Lights - off!" Jason cried out, dodging a thrust from the saber and trying to get his back to a wall. The room was plunged in darkness then, giving Jason what he thought was the advantage of knowing where everything was. He heard a grunt and more glass breaking, then felt something tug at his right arm above the elbow. He slid away from it to his left and lashed out with his sword, feeling it bite into something. The hiss of pain he was rewarded with let him know that he had scored a hit.
A few moments later his back bumped into a wall, not the one made of windows fortunately. Everyone's eyes had adjust by now so the temporary advantage of darkness was now gone. Only two of the attackers remained and another pain of glass was broken out. The leader faced off against Jason, but Yamara had managed to get captured by the remaining thief. Or perhaps they had planned it that way.
"Give us the sword and we let the bitch go," The leader snarled at him, his left hand across his body holding onto his hip where a slowly spreading dark stain could be seen. Jason grinned at his discomfort and ignored the blood running down his own right arm.
"Kill the bitch, I don't care. I think she works for you anyhow," He responded, calling their bluff.
Turned out it was not a bluff. The man holding Yamara acted on his own initiative and tried to plunge the dagger into her chest. She twisted and lashed out though, causing his attack to partially miss. The point of his dagger grated along her bottom rib then slipped off, plunging into her belly. She whipped around quickly, the dagger coming out of her wound before he could do any more damage with it. He foot came up and around in what Jason recognized as a roundhouse kick. The man stumbled backwards, spitting out teeth. In his defense he had kept the dagger up in front of him and managed to cause a deep cut in Yamara's calf. Another half step backwards and he shook his head and spat out a stream of bloody spittle. Yamara advanced, ignoring her injuries. She kicked low, striking the top of his front foot and drawing a grunt of pain from him. He tried to draw his leg back but that unbalanced him and Yamara reached out with her hands and grabbed his dagger wielding arm. Her foot slipped behind his back leg as he tried to retreat and she deftly tripped him to the floor, falling on top of him and keeping the dagger held between them.
"Oops," Jason muttered, distracted by the ruckus the two were causing. The leader capitalized on this, lunging forward with his saber and very nearly emasculating Jason. Jason jumped back and twisted his hips, drawing only a slight scratch on one thigh from the attack. He landed off balance and tried to cover it up by lashing out with his sword. The attempt failed simply due to bad luck. The cultist's rapier, which had been coming in for a lunge at Jason's chest, was foiled by the nearly blind swipe. However, the same swipe foiled it by putting the back of Jason's wrist in the way of the saber. Cut nearly to the bone, the shortsword dropped from Jason's suddenly numbed fingers.
Jumping at the chance to recover the artifact for their religion, the cultist dropped his saber and grabbed up the shortsword. He grinned happily and was met by Jason's right fist crashing into his nose. Stumbling backwards, he tripped on the bed and lay there for a second while blood gushed from his broken nose. He rolled off the far side of the bed and regained his feet rather clumsily. Yamara stood up over the dying cultist that had stabbed her, her legs a little shaky. She held the dagger in her hand and glared at the leader of the invaders.
Jason grabbed up the dropped saber in his right hand. It felt awkward there since he was so badly out of practice, but he had taught himself to use a weapon in either hand years ago. He stalked forward towards the cultist, intent on extracting vengeance for the attack on his penthouse and person.
"Drop the sword or die!" Yamara hissed. Clearly the shock of her wound had worn off and the pain had set in. Jason had noticed the stinging in his own arm from his earlier wound and was concerned about the numbness wearing off on the wound in his wrist.
"No way, he dies regardless, dropping the sword just makes it a little less painful for him," Jason growled.
The cultists eyes widened a little as he came to fully understand his predicament. He began muttering something then under his breath. Jason was clueless as to what he was doing, but Yamara seemed to have a good idea. She threw her commandeered dagger as he finished his spell. The dagger bit into the cultist a fraction of a second before he disappeared with a slight pop as air rushed in to fill the vacuum of space that he had just occupied.
"Shit!" Jason grunted. He let the saber dip down and looked over at Yamara. She was holding the hole in her belly and slowly sank down to sit on the bed and look at him.
His training took over then. Never forgotten, the para-rescue trooper in him came to the fore. He quickly walked over to her and pulled her hand away from the wound. Glancing at it while blood seeped out he gritted his teeth and cursed. "Sorry about that, guess I was wrong." He muttered.
She chuckled weakly. "Nice to know a man can admit to being wrong."
Jason felt like an ass, to put it mildly. Not only had he lost the sword to the cultists, but on top of that, he had damn near gotten Yamara killed. For that matter, she was not far from it still. He put her hand back over the wound and said to her gently, "Keep pressure on this, we've got to get to a hospital right away!"
Then he remembered the window. "Shit, cops probably already on their way." His brain fired off several ideas rapidly, each of which he rejected. Then he began to become aware of his own wrist. The cut was bad but not life threatening. He still had almost full control of his hand too, so any damage to his tendons was minimal as well. He gripped it tightly with his right hand while he tried to brainstorm a way out of this.
"My purse," Yamara whispered, her voice quiet with controlled pain. "Get me my purse."
Having no better idea, Jason left the bedroom to find where Yamara had left her purse. It was with her clothes in the living room. He grabbed it up and returned to the bedroom, dumping it's contents out on the bed beside her. She reached for a small flask with a hand covered in blood, either hers or the cultists, he was not sure.
Jason pulled the cork stopper out of the flask, wondering at the odd shape and size of it. To small to hold a pint of liquor, it was also cylindrical instead of curved. She took a few swallows of the contents then offered it to Jason. Her eyes were closed and Jason decided that the cops be damned, she needed a hospital. He took the flask from her and put the cork back in before tossing it on the bed.
"Phone - 911!" Jason called out to the computer. Immediately they heard a dial tone and then some ringing over the hidden speakers in the penthouse.
"Drink," Yamara said, her voice still quiet. Jason looked at her and saw that she had picked up the flask and offered it to him again. He frowned and popped the cork back out. He took a sip, knowing that alcohol would hardly be beneficial to either of them at this point. He shrugged and drained what little remained in a single swallow.
It tasted like cool refreshing water with a hint of a fruity taste to it. As he liquid went down his throat it soothed and relaxed him. The feeling spread more slowly as time passed, but by the time the emergency operator had come on the phone Jason had noticed that the wound on his arm had clotted and the gash in his wrist had begun to clot and heal up some as well. He looked at Yamara's belly and saw that some of the skin over her rib looked a little pink at the edges, the color of healing flesh. The bleeding had slowed some as well, but by no means stopped. A hospital was still necessary for her survival, but at least now he thought that she would probably make it there.
Jason had an air cast over his wrist - the damage had been a little more substantial then he had first thought - and a bandage over the 15 stitches on his arm. He walked down the hall at the hospital pondering the latest events. Two of the three invaders to his penthouse had been slain by Yamara and himself, although he had to admit that Yamara had actually scored the kills. The police had found nobody. Neither on the street below nor in his apartment. Blood yes, lots of blood, and not all of it Yamara's or his. That alone seemed to be what had saved them, though the detective in charge was still not cutting Jason any slack.
More appropriately, Yamara was being cut no slack. She had no proof of citizenship. No drivers license. Not even a birth certificate. Fortunately, she had been injured seriously enough to be unable to answer any questions yet. Jason had informed the hospital that any bills her care racked up should be charged to his account, and he had stopped in at least twice daily to check on her. Her strange accent would not help matters when the time came for the police to talk to her. Jason hoped to get to her first, for in the back of his mind he had began to have a sneaking suspicion.
He entered her room after showing his identification to the policeman stationed outside of her room. He sat down next to her bed and looked at her. Her eyes were open, a sign he took to be a good one since she had seemed to steadily worsen since being admitted to the hospital. Open yes, but focused no. They held a glazed look and beads of sweat broke out open her forehead as her body struggled to fight. Jason knew the doctors were mystified by this, though they were hesitant to admit it to him. Her wound was serious yes, but it was clean and her symptoms seemed to be those of someone suffering from a major infection.
"Yamara, what's wrong with you, why aren't you getting any better?" Jason asked softly, staring into her eyes. She twitched a little at his voice and blinked a few times in an attempt to focus on him.
Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she was able to make any sound. Then finally she gasped out in a ragged whisper, "poison!"
Jason leaned back, shocked at the word. She tried to say more, causing him to lean back in quickly. "Must… leave."
The three words had exhausted her. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed. Jason ground his teeth in frustration and looked at the machinery around her bed. Everything looked right, from the IV drip to the monitoring equipment. He had seen far worse set ups in his time in the military, yet he had never seen anything like this. Then again, he had to remind himself, he had only been certified as a paramedic, not a doctor, and even that was years ago.
After a few more minutes of pondering, Jason decided on a course of action. Resolved, he got up and walked out of the room. He nodded to the cop outside the room and kept going, reaching for his cellular phone the moment he got out of the hospital.
"Cowboy," He said into it after a few minutes of pleasantries with his friend from his time in the Air Force, "I need a favor."
At 19:00:00 hours that very night, or 7:00 PM to the average person, Jason did his best to look nondescript in the stolen nurses uniform. He pushed a seemingly peaceful and borderline unconscious man in a wheelchair down the hallway. The man wore a hospital gown and looked the part of a critically ill patient with the IV tubes going into his arm and waxy pallor of his skin.
Moments before reaching the police officer - a different one then the one that had been posted earlier today Jason noted - the man in the wheelchair broke into action. With a manic cry of glee, he burst out of the chair and tore the IV tubes out of his arm. Turning to Jason, who appeared stunned by the sudden movement, he leapt at him. He landed, fist leading the way into Jason's face. Jason fell back and stumbled to the floor, blood already flowing down over his face.
The man, stopped and looked around then, crouched low with his eyes wide an his breath coming quickly. The cop was slow to react and only now was he reaching for his pistol. The former false patient growled at him and took off running back the way Jason had brought him. In a true defender of the public fashion, the officer took off after him. A few other nurses and orderlies trailed along, intending to aid in whatever way they could.
Jason slowly picked himself up, shaking his head and fighting the urge to sneeze the blood out of his nose. A nurse came over to help him but he just waved her away. "I'll be alright. Get that crazy son of a bitch!"
She nodded and took off after the rest of the crowd, leaving only a few stunned onlookers only now coming to their senses from the sudden events. Jason pinched his nose shut to try and stop the bleeding and grabbed onto the wheel chair with his other hand to steady himself. He moved over to the closest door and moved through it, pulling the wheelchair behind. It just happened to be Yamara's room.
He moved quickly then, stopping only long enough to step into the bathroom and glance in the mirror to see how much of a mess his blood nose had made on him. Sure enough, his shirt had several dark splotches on it. At least his nose had already stopped bleeding so he did not risk much more in the way of a mess.
Jason returned to the bed and quickly checked Yamara out. Her leg was bandaged and not a concern to him, but her belly wound did bother him. He pulled the sheets away from her and saw how securely bandaged it was. The bandage appeared fairly fresh, so he left it on without checking it. He grabbed a couple of cotton swabs out of a drawer and carefully removed the IV. Then he turned off all of the monitors, hoping nobody at the nurses station noticed right away, given the recent excitement that surely had them talking. Besides that, the nurses station was down the hall a ways at a junction, hopefully they would not notice. Jason pulled the sensors off of Yamara next and removed the catheter from her, wincing as he did so. He had a few unpleasant memories of catheters and did not envy her in the least.
Fortunately for Yamara, she was oblivious to the world. He picked her up from the bed and put her in the wheelchair, using padded Velcro straps to secure her in it. He made certain that her hospital gown covered her from any indecency and slipped back in the bathroom long enough to wash his blood from his face and neck. That accomplished, he returned to Yamara and pushed her out of her room and headed down the hall towards the elevator.
He heard a commotion from another wing and new that Cowboy was still leading his pursuers on a merry chase. Or not so merry, Jason thought to himself, remembering his very sore nose. He made it to an elevator without incident and punched the button for the bottom floor, hoping the rest of his hastily planned rescue attempt went as well.
Yamara moaned softly in the elevator. Jason cursed, hoping she would not gain consciousness. His hopes were answer after a few tense seconds as her breathing returned to a deep, regular pattern. It seemed almost healthy to him, healthier then it had been in her hospital room.
When the elevator doors opened Jason half expected to see a squad of cops waiting for him. He breathed a sigh of relief to see that there was none. He pushed Yamara out of the elevator and headed towards the emergency section of the hospital. He could not help but smirk to himself at the irony of what he was doing. He pushed her through the busy emergency ward and headed towards the ambulances. Nobody stopped him. After all, where else would you find a paramedic with blood splattered clothing if not the emergency section?
Trouble reared it's head when Jason was transferring Yamara from her wheelchair to the stretcher in the ambulance. He had just began to secure her to it with the straps when somebody came up behind the vehicle and looked in.
"What the hell are you doing? This is my bus, buddy!" the man said.
Jason turned and looked at him. He hopped out of the vehicle and looked at the markings on the back of it while sneaking a quick glance around to see who else had a line of sight to them. "Shit!" Jason exclaimed. "I don't believe this! I'm supposed to do a transfer and I grabbed the wrong ambulance. Sorry about that."
The man laughed good naturedly and clapped Jason on the shoulder. "No problem, my man. Here, lemme help you just swap stretchers with the one you're supposed to be in."
Jason thanked the EMT and they managed to quickly switch Yamara to another ambulance. Jason was amazed at how smoothly he still did things, considering it had been years since he had been in the trauma business. Then again, this was a painfully calm situation here, nobody was shooting at him and nothing was exploding nearby. In a few more moments, Jason was away, driving his stolen ambulance down the streets. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small circuit board with a button on it. He pushed the button and grinned as somewhere back in the hospital a detonator set off a tiny flame that ignited a couple of particularly foul smelling and smoky chemicals. He turned on the scanner in his commandeered vehicle and was satisfied to hear that all emergency traffic was being redirected to other hospitals due to the fire alarm going off.
That was also Cowboy's signal to get out of dodge. He gave up on the cat and mouse game he was playing in the hospital, which was good because he was running out of places to run. He abandoned all pretense at being a madman and increased his speed, heading directly for a stairwell. In a flash he was through the door and heading up the stairs. He ran until he reached the roof and burst out onto it, noticing the fading light as the sun had begun to set. Grinning at the adventure, he stripped off his hospital gown and slipped on the jeans and black Harley - Davidson t-shirt arranged beside the door. A few more seconds and he had a decent pair of socks and his combat boots on, then he was off at a run again, covering the distance to the edge of the roof where he could drop down onto another of the multi-tiered roofs of the hospital. A few more such trips and he managed to land on the blacktop parking lot, all signs of pursuit lost. He ambled over to where his hog was parked and, with a contemptuous roar of exhaust, road out into the night.
*****
"You son of a bitch, you damn near broke my nose!" Jason said, scowling at a hurt looking Cowboy. For his part, the look was genuine, since Jason had just leveled a punch into his jaw that sent him stumbling back a few steps.
"You wanted it to look real," Cowboy said, massaging the side of his face where the blow had landed. "I think you knocked a tooth loose."
"Serves you right." Jason said, smiling in spite of himself. Cowboy chuckled and glanced over at the brown van parked nearby. Jason had abandoned the ambulance a few blocks away from the hospital and switched to the van in the hopes of making any pursuit, real or imagined, that much more difficult.
"This ain't like you Jay, going all out for a chick like this," Cowboy muttered, heading towards it as his curiosity got the better of him.
"Naw, I owed her. Sorta. I think," Jason said, wondering whether he really did or not. "I'm not to sure about much with her, to be honest, but I do know that I nearly got her killed and I owed her for that."
Cowboy chuckled. "You're always letting broads get you in trouble man, when you gonna learn?"
"You should talk Bill," Jason responded, clapping him on the back and walking towards the van with him. "Remember that waitress in Thailand?" That brought a gale of laughter from both of them. The joke had been on Cowboy, who had been bound and determined to land her in bed that night. Only to find out later that she had been more then just a little waitress… she had been a lot of man too, in all the wrong places!
"Okay," he admitted after they stopped laughing. "But at least I never broke any laws for one!"
"Wrong, my friend," Jason pointed out. "97 in Saudi, we damn near had to scrub the entire mission, remember?"
"I didn't know she was one of the Sheiks wives!" The laughed some more and came to a stop beside the van.
"Okay Cowboy, you may hear some shit over the next couple of days that are way weirder then anything any of us ever came up with. You're the only one of the old boys that I trust to keep your cool here, so just hang in tough and it'll all work out, okay?"
Bill Williams smirked. "Sure thing Jay, try your best. Keep in mind, I'm a biker and you see some pretty weird shit when you're a biker."
Jason nodded, he had ridden with Bill a few times over the years himself and he had to admit, Cowboy had a way for finding some pretty wild times, biker or no. He shrugged and opened up the door on the side of the van. The inside lit up with the sickly yellow light from the dome fixture. Yamara was sleeping peacefully on the cot inside, in spite of her ghastly appearance thanks to the poor yellow lighting.
"Kinda cute, but you've done better," Cowboy said, checking her out.
"She cleans up nice," Jason grunted, stepping inside and moving around to the other side. Cowboy slipped in and shut the door behind him.
Jason rummaged around in the dark and pulled out a penlight. Turning it on so he could see, he opened one of Yamara's eyelids and flashed the light in it. Almost before it had happened her hand gripped his wrist tightly, twisting it painfully and redirecting the light of the flashlight towards the ceiling.
"Shit!" Cowboy said, surprised at how quickly she had moved. "I thought this bitch was almost dead?"
"Yamara!" Jason hissed, ignoring his friend. "It's me, Jason. We rescued you from the hospital."
The grip loosened slowly, and then she let go. In the reflected light from the penlight, Jason saw Yamara looking at Bill and appraising him carefully. "That's Bill, Yamara. He helped me get you out of there."
"Call me Cowboy, ma'am," Bill said, offering his hand. When she did not take it he just shrugged and pulled it back. "Kind of a cold fish for owing us a lot of thanks."
Yamara glanced back at Jason then. He expected her to be frightened and was surprised at what he saw in that brief glance. Suffice to say, fear was not it.
She opened her mouth to speak but only coughed dryly. Jason rummaged around the side of the van for a moment then brought her a bottle of water. He unscrewed the top and raised it to her mouth. She sipped from it carefully, nourishing the water as though she were afraid to spill any. Jason and Bill both noted that she seemed to have a respect for it unknown to most people save for those native to dry and arid climates.
"Take me to the inn named Donnie's Place," she finally said in a thick and dry whisper.
"I got something that'll help that throat of yours," Bill said.
"Jesus Cowboy!" Jason snapped, immediately assuming he was acting true to form.
He held up a small packet of cough drops then and fixed him with a hurt expression. Jason had the good grace to blush a bit and smile. "Sorry about that. You might want to try one, Yamara, they are very soothing."
Yamara just shook her head and continued to drink the water slowly, pausing long enough to make sure it settled. Jason nodded towards the front and Cowboy threaded his way between the seats to hop in the drivers seat. "One first rate dive, coming up!" He said cheerily. Bill always did enjoy hotels that offered both nightly and hourly rates.
*****
Settled into the motel, Yamara's color had already begun to return to her. She moved a little stiffly, but was surprisingly limber. After some repeated urgings, Jason convinced her to let him check her wounds, which he was amazed to see well on their way to a healthy recovery. When he pressed for some sort of explanation for her remarkable healing, he was met with a stony silence. She was still weak from whatever had poisoned her, but even while weak she was a great deal stronger then she looked, and therefore not a person either of the ex-special forces men intended to underestimate.
After sitting about a bit uncomfortably for some time in silence, Bill broke out a deck of cards and offered a friendly game of poker. Yamara's eyes narrowed briefly before she shook her head and glanced away. Jason shook his head as well and stared after Yamara.
"Cowboy, go take a walk, would ya?" He finally said, wondering if Bill's absence would make Yamara a bit more talkative.
Bill scowled but hopped to his feet and snapped off a clumsy mocking salute Jason's way. He pulled a pack of Reds out of his leather jacket and sucked one into his mouth, lighting it with his Zippo on his way out the door. With the door shut, Jason turned back to face Yamara, who was studying the windows along the back wall of the single room lodging.
"Tell me a story, Yamara," Jason said, "and make it a good one because it's been a lousy week so far."
She glanced back at him and seemed briefly troubled. Then her eyes adopted a cold emotionless stare that he had glimpsed in her a few times before. He was about to give up and follow Bill outside when she closed her eyes and nodded her head. "I think I'm only 23 years old," she said, her voice soft and quite, a betrayal to the hard nature Jason had glimpsed within her.
"Only 23 and I feel so old..."
I relived those final moments in the capitol of Elendar. My sword plunging into Brina's belly to get to James and his own blade slashing mercilessly across Brina's throat. As much as I tried to stem their intrusion into my consciousness, I could not. No matter how cold or hard hearted I tried to be, I had let Brina in to deeply to rid myself of her memory like a duck shaking water off of its back.
Stumbling through the sewers, imagine my surprise to find the very same entrance I had used to enter the sewers when I confronted James was now sealed off by a combination cave in of mud and sewage. Thus I was forced to escaped from Elendar into a great system of caverns beneath the mighty kingdom. The things I heard and occasionally caught glimpses of in the eerie glow of the lichens and fungus caused me to squirm and shudder in ways I had forgotten since my earliest years. If King Avercrombie knew how close monsters lay to his realm, I doubt he would sleep as lightly as he seemed to. Hope seemed lost to me for I had run out of what meager ration of food I had managed to secure haphazardly on my flight from the palace. My fate seemed to be no less cruel the Brina's, and equal parts my own fault.
Then, when I had nearly decided to charge the next fearsome dweller of the deep I happened across, I heard from far ahead the sound of water falling. A great amount of it, no less. Approaching carefully lest I disturb the lair of whatever creature secured such a pool, I was greeted by increasing light. To my great surprise the distant thunder had become a veritable roar. Rounding a bend in the passage I beheld a great cavern with a recessed wall on the far side. Down this wall fell the great river that fed the noise that had drawn me there. The light was so bright it hurt my eyes there, though surely it was quite feeble by normal standards and my eyes merely adjusted to the dark. At the zenith of the falls a beam of sunlight plunged into the water, fragmenting and scattering across the cavern.
The rainbow created by the mist and the light was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. For a moment my heart was lifted, and thoughts of my tragedy left me. Then I noticed how difficult my path lay, for the wall was slick and several feet away from the hole in the ceiling of the chamber through which the water and light fell. Nonetheless, already buoyed, my spirits refused to leave me again. Falling back on my stubborn streak of pride, I pushed off at once.
It took me hours and no small amount of pain and blood loss to make my way up the 40 foot ascension to the ceiling, and perhaps another hour there to secure a way to escape the dank and slimy caverns below. I was blinded by the sunlight, even though it was nearly dusk by the time I emerged. The waterfall continued on above me, falling off of a cliff and into the depths to go whence I knew not where.
Around me was a small glade within a forest of mighty trees. A deer far off looked at me with its ears flattened for a moment before it took off, running deeper into the great oak and beech trees. Exhausted, I collapsed onto the ground and slept, unmindful of my safety.
I dreamt then, and they were dreams of terrible things. I saw James, grinning in death with a bloody hole in his throat. He sat upon a dark throne made of cruelly forged iron, and beside him sitting upon the floor dressed like a concubine was Brina. Her skin was pale and bloodless, but at least her wounds were healed. James' gaze was filled with hatred, while Brina's was far more accusing.
I awoke then, covered in a cold sweat. Breathing hard, I looked around quickly, wondering if somehow Brina and James had come back from the dead and were stalking me. Instead I saw a host of animals. Wolves, bears, deer, squirrels and rabbits, owls, hawks, and sparrows, and countless other species were gathered about the clearing, all watching me. I stood up slowly, making no threatening moves. My stomach grumbled loudly as I glanced at all of the wild game around me, reminding me that I had not eaten for a couple of days.
A man came out then from the trees, though I would have sworn he had not been there a moment before. He walked through the animals without concern, his face unseen within the hooded cowls of the brown robe that cloaked him. He came up to me and reached up to pull the hood back on his robe. He had a rugged countenance, with a flowing black beard and mustache. His equally black hair was long as well, though it seemed tended and not wild. His eyes were the most entrancing part of him, for they were a dark blue and pierced me as they looked at me. I felt lost for a moment as I met his gaze, then my inner self reared up and I forced myself to return his gaze with a strength bordering on belligerence.
"You are not of this world," He finally said to me. His tone was not judging but still somehow decisive.
"Who are you?" I asked, trying to steer the encounter my way instead of his.
"Humans once called me Andryth. The elves call me Quikwind. Names matter little to me, call me what you wish."
"What is this place, Andryth?" I asked, wondering if perhaps things were finally beginning to go my way.
"This is the Irewood, one of the few truly old forests that still remember in the lands this far north. Only the Great Forest to the south has trees as old and with memories as sharp as those here. I watch over these woods and protect them and all who live here from harm." He turned away and began to walk away then, as though he had said enough.
"Wait!" I called out, stepping after him. "Can you tell me no more?"
He continued to walk as he spoke. "What more is there to know? You are unnatural to this place, this world. There is no place for you here. You must leave. Harm no thing under my care and you may leave as you wish."
The animals parted to allow us to pass, though they closed up ranks behind us and followed closely, as though they were an honor guard.
"How do I get out of here then?" I asked, bristling at his calm surliness.
"You will be guided."
I opened my mouth to say more but stopped in my tracks when I realized that he had just walked into the trunk of an oak tree. Instead of bouncing off, as I or anyone else I know would do, he had literally walked into it, as though the tree had sucked him inside of it. I turned about to look around, testing my eyes. All of the animals that had been trailing us were gone as well. I swooned for a moment, questioning my sanity and wondering if perhaps my hunger had caused me to imagine things. Then I saw the tracks on the ground from all of the myriad creatures that had been behind me. I felt a little bitter, though still miserably hungry and lost.
"Where are you, oh promised guide?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm and bitterness. No answer was forthcoming.
I glanced about then and guess by the level of light that it was nearing dusk. I set about then to arrange a camp for myself. The temperature was pleasant but growing cooler. In the dead of night I suspected that it would be downright chilly where I was, and with only my fur lined cloak to protect myself over my leathers, I did not look forward to it. I had flint and steel with me though, so there was hope for a fire at least. I carried no axe for the chopping of wood, and my sword and dagger, while finely tuned for hewing flesh, were of little use against wood. Thus I set forth to gather fallen wood where it lay, thinking as I did so that perhaps this suited me better anyhow, as I was causing no harm to any of the trees here and thus not invoking the wrath of the druid, Andryth.
As a small boon, in my wandering I found a patch of ripe blueberries on a rocky hillside as the last of the suns rays slipped beneath the top edges of the forest. Feasting on them as though it was the finest meal I had eaten in days (it was), I began to feel a little better about my chances. When the spark caught in the deadwood and I had a warm and merry blaze to keep myself company throughout the night, I resolved to push ahead for a better tomorrow, regardless of my past misfortunes.
I had cared for Brina deeply. More deeply then I should have. The extent of that care I was uncertain of, however. Was it a camaraderie or a partnership or more of a sisterly bond. Or was it more still, that of a lover and mate? The last thought frightened me, for I refused to accept the possibility of even wanting a mate, be it of any gender or race. "Perhaps," I mused quietly to myself that night, "I am better off with Brina dead, as much by my own hand as any."
I slept soon then, convinced that the forest was safe. With the fire banked it kept me warm enough throughout the chilliest part of the night and was reduced to lukewarm embers by morning. My greatest surprise came from my new companion.
Standing over me stood a magnificent specimen of masculinity. Heavily muscled and gleaming in the early morning dew, I came to discover his name was Darion in the time that followed. Where his ridged and powerful looking stomach muscles ended fur began. The fur was a dark gray in color, and began the half of his physique I had seldom studied much, for I was only slightly familiar with the riding and tending of horses. He was a centaur, and apparently, my guide.
Darion spoke little to me throughout the next two days, only when he felt he must. Clearly he disliked me, though for what cause I had no idea. Perhaps centaurs possessed the ability to see a persons past, or perhaps that was merely a thought given to me by my latent guilt. Regardless, he shared his seemingly endless supply of nuts and berries that he carried in a pouch, and cool and clear water from a skin. The only other things he carried were a curved dagger near his waste, a bow across his back, and a quiver of flight arrows for the bow.
I thanked Darion when we reached the southern edge of the Irewood. I had been on my best behavior, doing my best to respect both the forest and my guide. Regardless he remained aloof. I considered asking him for a final meal before I left, but thought better of it for he clearly wished to be elsewhere.
I wandered south then, away from the forest and towards what I suspected was Elendar's southern border. Along the way my diet improved as I managed to snare a few rabbits and once even spirited away a farmers stray chicken. It took me a few weeks since I was avoiding any of the villages and cities along the way, but I was finally successful at reaching the border. However a great wall was in my way, patrolled by Elendarian guardsmen.
Hoping I had reached the southern borders ere news of my transgressions, I walked boldly through the gate. There I showed my SET badge to a sergeant and was offered all manner of courtesy. I secured a horse and some spare equipment, including some iron rations and water, and was on the road again without resting that very day. I found it both relieving and disconcerting that no word of James had reached the border keep as yet.
*****
"I have a question," Jason said, interrupting Yamara's tale. If he was surprised at her detailed account of herself (he was), he hid it well. He had accepted everything up until then fairly well, but a few things that had been nagging at him finally had to be answered.
Yamara's eyes lost the distant look they had adopted as she made herself recount the events that she believed were relevant to her current situation. She had started a couple of times and stopped, only to start a little further back. This time she was convinced she had gotten it. She was concerned about revealing to much of herself but then realized that if Jason ended up showing the least sign of treachery to her, she could simply kill him and not have to worry about it. Until then though, she needed his help on his strange world to find Alesha's sword.
"Who is this Brina you keep mentioning? James as well, but it seems like Brina is a much sorer subject for you."
Yamara sighed deeply. "Brina was a girl I met on another world. It was a desert planet. When I found a portal off of that world I brought Brina with me. She was… she was my apprentice and my friend." Yamara forced herself to keep from going to far back in her memories and addressed the second question. "James was a horses ass if ever I met one. A con man of great proportions, I'll never know how he rose to such a high position. He was in charge of the Elendarian Intelligence Agency and the Special Elendarian Task force, two closely related organizations devoted to rooting out any threat to the Kingdom of Elendar and eliminating it before it reached its greatest potential. He wanted Brina any way he could get her and went out of his way to dispose of me to get to her. Brina was a naïve girl and did not see things as clearly as she should have if I had been more attentive to her training."
Jason nodded, thinking he understood more that she left unsaid and perhaps figuring some small part of it out.
"You're taking this talk of different worlds pretty well," Yamara observed, noting that he did not seem the least bit concerned about the ideas she presented being alien to his native way of thinking. She herself had a hard time accepting exposure to a new world her first time, but had quickly adapted. She considered such an ability a mark of worth for a person to possess.
Jason smirked. "I have a story too. Let's get back to yours, there will be time for the 'you show me yours and I'll show you mine' game later."
Yamara nodded, he had her at a disadvantage and she thought she knew the best way out of her situation. She cast herself back down memory lane and took up her tale again. Outside Cowboy lit another cigarette and braced himself squarely before attacking the soda machine against the side of a building, finally rocking it enough to get out the Mountain Dew he had nearly lost his $1.00 on.
*****
I came finally through trial and mishap to a port town by the name of Peltarch. It was one of the largest port towns south of Elendar for many leagues, and was a den of thievery and marketeering. I got away from there as quickly as I could, but not before I stumbled across a bar fight scene started by a man named Thorrik. I recognized him as a former sergeant of Elendar, then a SET agent. Of course, few people outside of Elendar knew of the existence of SET. To the scum of Peltarch, Thorrik was merely a thorn in their side. By the time I left the city, I began to notice wanted posters with his picture and description on them, offering upwards of a kings ransom of 20,000 gold for his capture, alive or dead. Seems he had made a mission out of his life to tweak the noses of Peltarch's nobles every chance he had.
Leaving Peltarch I made my way further to the south, where I heard of great ruins and a frontier type of living. I figured there I had a chance to earn a new way of life and escape the rut of my old one. Honest I might never be, but that did not mean I had to be a murderer and a thief. Well, at least not without a good reason.
I found what I sought in a small hamlet named Barovia. Far to the south, on the hottest of days it reminded me of a morning or evening on Brina's home world. That of course set me to remembering more of Brina, so I tried not to think about that. I still had dreams and nightmares about her and James as well. Sometimes they seemed so real that I felt as though they were searching for me or chasing after me. I suspected that it might be more then simply the work of a guilty conscience, but then thought better of it, for before I had never cared for anyone that I had killed, either directly or indirectly.
It was after a few months in Barovia, when I had begun to become accepted by the locals, when I had an opportunity to prove myself. Two boys had disappeared out hunting for food for their family while their father was busy tending the farm. The townsfolk were organizing search parties for them, though I personally held little hope for their survival. They had been missing for nearly two days by that time.
I set out on my own, explaining how I worked best alone with nobody else foiling up any tracks or getting in the way. This was accepted readily enough, for in Barovia I was just another trapper / furrier making her living as best she could. Nobody asked about a persons background in Barovia, for it seemed nearly everyone had one.
I got to the farm ahead of the rest of the townsfolk and tracked the boys out into the sparse woods nearby. From there I encountered other tracks. Tracks that I had trouble identifying, but finally decided they were humanoid, if a bit slurred and confused. Other tracks appeared to be that of wolves. I figured it to be a hunting party of men out with pet wolves, though I suppose orcs were more likely to accompany wolves the size of the ones the tracks indicated.
I followed immediately. I knew in my gut the children were already slain, but until I found signs of their demise, I had to proceed. The tracks led to the south, with the children's signs disappearing altogether. No doubt they were being carried. In no time the forest was left behind and the dry wasteland of the salt flats lay ahead of me. Tracking across a salt flat is all but impossible even for a trained and experienced ranger, let alone someone barely proficient in the skill. Nonetheless, I felt I knew where they were bound, for directly ahead in the distance I could just barely make out the shadow of the ruins of a once mighty city.
Daylight was fading by now. I had been on the chase for nearly five hours and had perhaps two left ere dusk. A chill crept down my spine for some unknown reason, but I felt my duty to these people I had chosen to try and make my own. I pushed forward then thankful for the mountains to the west that would block the sunlight bearing down on me. In hindsight, sunlight might have been more preferable to the darkness that overcame me nearly 15 minutes before I reached the ruins.
Once in the ruins there was dust and sand enough to allow me to find the tracks of the mysterious kidnappers again. The tracks led me to the boys… by way of an ambush. The ruins were quite large and resembled buildings the type of which I had never seen before. It was rather thoroughly dark by then, with not even a faint bit of twilight from the sun in the west. The moon was risen roughly a third of the way, however, and it was waning from full two nights past.
Realizing that gave me the only warning I would have. I made the connection finally. A full moon two nights past, the same night the boys had disappeared. Tracks of both men and wolves. I was hunting were-beasts, though by now the hunter had become the hunted.
A musky animal smell wafted by my nose then, followed closely by the faint sound of claws scratching on stone. I spun around and ducked low just in time to avoid the snapping jaws of a wolf as it sailed over me. Well, partially over me, his hind quarters crashed into my shoulder and sent me stumbling to the side.
A growl from that direction had me skittering away, finally getting my sword and dirk in hand to defend myself. A wolf approached from that direction then, walking slowly and crouched, ready to spring. It snarled at me, spittle bubbling and drooling from it's mouth. I glanced around and saw a full five wolves surrounding me, each with a cruelly intelligent look in their eyes.
I have heard that chance favors the prepared mind. I was not prepared and they were, so I was determined to even the field a bit. I ran towards one, slashing out with my sword. The wolf sprang away, giving me an opening in the circle of teeth surrounding me. The other wolves yipped and came after me, but not in time to catch me before I leapt up to the top of a small dais where once a statue had apparently stood. I had gained a four foot height advantage on them, not nearly enough to thwart them, but enough to give me an advantage of height.
They circled around me, occasionally darting towards me then backing away when they found my blades ready and waiting. A few times I was nearly taken by well timed attacks, but I always managed to fight them off. Several wolves now sported wounds from my magical swords which seemed to cause them a surprising amount of pain. The ones that were wounded regarded me warily, while the others simply approached me more carefully.
I killed them all, of course, otherwise I would not be able to tell this story. It was slow and fraught with peril though, and only after I luckily dispatched the first one with a thrown dagger did the others come close enough to allow me to meet out my brand of justice. Seeing one of their number down and me with only my shortsword, they all charged at me, nearly tripping over each other in their rush to get to me. I unsheathed the dagger given to me by King Avercrombie and noticed it fairly thrummed with power in my hand. It had not done that before, so I had no choice but to guess that it's magic enabled increased power when wielded against shape changers.
With the wolves dead or dying, I noticed how their bodies seemed to shimmer and contort, some more then others. When a few minutes had passed and I had caught my breath, all five of my slain enemies had partially reverted back to a humanoid form, some more then others. It was a rather unsettling sight, and I moved on quickly, checking myself carefully for wounds. I found only a few gouges from claws and one scrape and bruise from where I had landed on the dais a little less then gracefully. I knew from my studies with the Zhentrim that lycanthropism, the magical disease that infects men and causes them to change into animals at night, is transferred both via genetics in a more true and powerful form and also through the bite of an infected creature.
My cloak had some tears in it as well, but I was ready to go on and fight another day. Or at least another fight, since I was sure there were more of the werewolves around. I gathered my tossed dagger and returned the gift dagger to its concealed sheath in the small of my back.
I trekked on, trying to make sense of the tracks of the creatures. I followed them as best I could over the rubble of the ruins, ending up finally at what was a large building. It reeked of the musky scent of an animals den. I felt the dagger in the small of back radiating its magical energy as I got closer, warning me. I approached it carefully and was allowed to continue breathing because of that caution. The wolf defending the entrance of the lair missed me only by inches as I fell backwards. It landed on my chest though, and its claws dug painfully into my left arm and right breast. The wolves hind legs alternated tearing at my thighs and belly, raising welts under the tough leather armor that continued to protect me but risked a good shredding with each new assault. The wolves jaws and fetid breath snapped in my face, trying to go for my throat. Only my right arm grasping tightly about the wolves throat kept it from succeeding.
My sword and dagger had fallen somewhere nearby, making them unavailable to me. My left arm, pinned to the ground just below the shoulder by the wolves paw, was mobile enough to slip behind my back and once again draw the dagger from the King. I tried slashing at the wolf with it, but was unable to get enough leverage or distance with my arm to connect with the wolves furry torso. A great lance of fiery pain entered my body then, one of the wolf's hind legs had managed to hook just above my leather breeches and yank them down my leg part way, leaving four bloody furrows on my upper thigh.
I kicked upwards with my other leg, catching the wolf in the belly and genitals. I was pleased to note that the same assault works on males regardless of race or whether they go on two or four legs. The wolf yipped and backed off a bit, giving me enough of a chance to yank my arm out from under its paw and drive my dagger deep into its chest. The wolf staggered away, whimpering softly as its lifeblood bubbled out the ragged hole in its chest.
I sat there, breathing heavily and straining to listen for any signs of additional pursuit. I found my discarded weapons and regained my feet, yanking my torn and bloody pants back into proper place and favoring my wounded leg. Inside the lair I found another wolf standing guard over what appeared to be a pile of fabric or clothing or something. It was too dark in the building for me to be sure of what it was.
The wolf charged at me. I ducked under its lunge and laid its side open with my sword. It howled in pain and tried to scamper away. I followed it mercilessly, hacking into its head as it snapped at me. I turned towards whatever it was guarding as it lay quivering on the floor in death spasms.
It was indeed piles of clothing and equipment. Pots, pans, a few boxes and sacks, all manner of mundane gear that people would use for whatever utilitarian living purpose could be imagined. There was even some coins and weapons, the former I gathered up quickly while the latter I judged to be nothing out of the ordinary.
From there I studied the room more carefully. In the back, hidden in the shadows, was a passage leading deeper into the strange ruined building. I approached it slowly, ever mindful of the skill with which these creatures seemed able to hide themselves and launch a surprise attack with.
The passage went further then I needed to, for an open doorway on my right led into a room with some rubble piled off on my left side as I entered and some makeshift bedrolls scattered about the rest of it. It was in there that I found the two boys from Barovia. They were being cared for by a naked woman, not exactly the idea guardian. She sniffed wildly as I approached them, and then stood up to face me. She growled deep in her throat and bared her teeth at me. I could tell that she was one of the were wolves by the animalistic behavior, if not the thrumming power radiating from the dagger nestled against my back.
When she rushed towards me I noticed her face beginning to elongate and her fingers turning into wicked looking claws. She got in one swing with her fist / paw (which I slipped to the side of) before I retaliated, plunging my sword into her chest and driving my dagger into her mouth. I yanked my weapons free and let her slide to the floor, her body contorting itself into her death pose.
The boys were sleeping, though fitfully. They looked to be in fine shape, which surprised me greatly. I figured them for dinner for the pack of werewolves. I knelt next to them ready to wake them and have them follow me when I felt the dagger hum its warning. I spun around quickly, prepared for another surprise attack. Nothing was sneaking up on me though.
I turned back to the children, my stomach clenching. I pulled the dagger out and held it close to the boy. It glowed dimly in my hand and I could feel it vibrating with an inner wrath. I cursed softly. I held it near the other boy and achieved the same result. I examined the children more closely then, checking for wounds. Sure enough, on each of the calves was a mostly healed bite mark. They were not there for a meal, but to increase the pack.
To the best of my knowledge, there is no cure once the disease has set. Wolvesbane and other herbs are supposed to be able to fight it, but in that case, it was too late. I studied both children, one roughly 12 years old and the other 9. My hand quivered slightly as I clenched the dagger in fingers gone white. I glanced around one more time then spat out a muffled curse at whatever Gods were making my life as difficult as they were.
I stood up once the deed was done, blood dripping off the dagger. Turning towards the door I saw the first of the group of villagers that had reached the ruins staring in open mouthed shock at me. Two more stood behind him and others were in the hallway trying to get a look.
I opened my mouth to explain, realizing what the seen might look like to them. Any of my words were lost in the screaming that began. Roars of outrage and challenge assailed me as the posse surged forward. I was going to throw down my dagger and explain myself but I realized I would have no chance. The father of the children was in the lead, his great sword drawn and a murderous fury in his eyes.
I turned and ran, heading towards the rubble strewn side of the room. Above the fallen rubble was a small hole opening to another room. I jumped up and caught it with my hand then pulled myself through. Dropping into the next room, I found a window that led outside. I was outside and slipping quietly away from the building before any of them saw me leave. Then the inevitable happened. One of the guards left outside the werewolves lair spotted me and called out, thinking that I was still a friend and not a foe.
What choice did I have? I ran. The ruins were dark, the moon behind a cloud at the time. A faint wind had sprung up, just enough to add an extra bit of chill to the night. Heat still radiated off of the ground, but the earth had nearly given up what it had absorbed during the day already.
I slipped between ruined buildings, taking the toughest courses possible and knowing that I could navigate them far easier then my pursuers. This worked well for me until I came to a dead end. What had once been a doorway into a building had fallen into such a state of disrepair that the open doorway was filled from within by fallen rubble. I looked back behind me to see if I had time enough to slip back out and into another passage. My hopes were dashed as they began to round the corner. I turned back and my vision swam before me for a moment.
*****
"Ah ha! I knew it!" Jason burst in. "I knew the tavern had to come in at some point or other."
Yamara looked at him with understanding. "You've been there too?"
Jason chuckled and glanced away briefly. "No," he admitted, "but that's part of my story. I just suspected you had something to do with that place." Jason thought for a moment before he put a few more things together in his mind. "It helps to explain a few other things to me as well," he muttered.
"So what happened next?" Jason asked, pressing her to continue before he could get to distracted.
"Well, I had little choice. With the armed and enraged people from Barovia behind me, I had to go through the doorway and try to escape. It worked, for none of the townsfolk followed me." Yamara stopped, debating what next to say. Finally she continued. "There, in the tavern, I met Alesha."
Jason snapped his fingers. "Now we come full circle. Tell me of Alesha and your dealings with her."
I met several people in the Tavern of the Broken Axe. Most of them human or of some recognizable demi-human race. First off was a human rogue named Sanger. He seemed harmless enough, though he desperately wanted people to believe otherwise. A nice enough man I suppose, but there just was something missing from our interaction.
Then there was Alystin. A dark elf in every sense of the word. A thief and potentially so much more, I do believe. Very good at what she does, or so she claims. Nonetheless, her behavior certainly did not convey professionalism as much as it did sensuality and a deadly beauty.
Jashin was another dark elf woman, though she was a necromancer. There seemed some sort of relationship betwixt Jashin and Alystin, but what it was I never found out. I have seen a few drow in my time now, including those two, and it seems as though the entire race is quite pulchritudinous.
It would take me hours or days to even describe all the people I met there, even though most have little or no bearing on my tale such as Jucinda or Tarna or Molly or the drunken troll or the card playing ogre. That brings me to the most important one though, Alesha.
What can I say about her? She was beautiful in a way that no other human I have ever seen can be. Powerful as well, and in so many ways. Even with her powers handicapped, she was able to alter and reshape the fabric of reality around her.
She mentioned being a semi-permanent resident of The Tavern and proved a good companion to share some time and conversation with, in between the other activities of The Tavern. Indeed, she seemed the only one unwilling to give in and sate her more carnal desires that often arose in such a place. During our talks we shared much, often I did so without meaning to tell her as much as I did. I shared with her even more then I have told in this telling, and I would like to say she did the same, though I am, as always, unsure of the feelings and beliefs of others.
In the end we seduced one another I think. She was desperately trying to avoid doing anything that might cause her to fall back into any of her bad habits, and I was searching for someone to help me forget Brina. For a time it turned out that we did a great job for each other. Even now thinking of Alesha's soft lips, firm breasts and shapely thighs, let alone the talents of her fingers and tongue, sends a tingle of excitement through me.
Soon, The Tavern was not enough for us. I knew by then of Alesha's imprisonment within The Tavern. She believed that she could escape, but to do so, she would need to reclaim her sword.
She wove a compelling tale of what had happened to her. Corruption by dark Gods and demonic influences. She told me of her repentance and how her time in the Tavern free from any outside influence had caused her to see more clearly what had happened to her and allowed her to seek to amend her ways. She had claimed that all she wanted was to begin anew, away from all that had been ruined before. She claimed that she knew of the harm she had caused and knew there was no way to right the wrongs she had committed, she had only a chance at beginning fresh in another place.
She told me of her brother and what had happened on this world, Earth. How she had hid him from Kelnozz and Garryk and how she had instructed him to seek out her sword and with it quest to gain her freedom.
*****
"That explains it," Jason muttered, leaning back. He had felt himself remember Alesha all to well when Yamara had described her, and found that it sent shivers down his spine and blood to his groin. He adjusted himself to a more comfortable position before continuing. "Those assholes that broke into my apartment must have been her lackeys."
"Not hers, her brothers," Yamara insisted. Then, under her breath she muttered, "I think."
If Jason heard the latter comment, he ignored it. "Whoever's they may be, they have the sword and if what Kelnozz told me is true, that's a bad thing. I've seen a lot of weird shit since they came into my life, and apparently that's only a fraction of the weird shit out there where you guys all come from. I guess that sword has a few souls trapped in it. A powerful demon among others. I should have trouble believing it, but somehow it just seems my sort of luck lately."
"Talifernon."
"Huh?" Jason said, not understanding the word Yamara had spoken.
"The demons name is Talifernon. He was Alesha's familiar," she explained.
"What's a familiar?" Jason asked.
Before Yamara could answer the door opened and Bill walked back in. A half smoked lit cigarette hung out of his mouth and he looked in innocently. "Hey kids, mind if I come back in? Starting to rain out there and dammit, I'm bored."
Yamara looked questioningly at Jason. She was willing to follow his lead apparently. He nodded and motioned for Cowboy to take a seat. "It's a long story, Cowboy, so hang tight and I'll catch you up when she's done."
"A familiar is a wizards pet. They share some kind of special bond that enables them to share powers with each other, in a limited fashion. I don't really know how any of it works. But, while the bond is in effect it is very stressful and even often painful to a wizard if their familiar is slain or banished. In Alesha's case, Talifernon was an exceptionally powerful familiar. Most familiars are common creatures such as cats, birds, even frogs and the like. Some rare powerful wizards have lesser demons such as imps or magical creatures like pseudo-dragons. That Alesha had a major demon such as Talifernon as a familiar is a testimony to her great power while she was at her peak."
"What the hell-" Cowboy began, stopping halfway in his descent to a chair.
"Oh, I forgot to mention something," Jason said with a smirk. "You're probably not going to believe a damn word of this either. Just smile and pretend we're not crazy for a little while longer."
Bill stared at him for a long minute then just shrugged and chuckled. "Whatever you say, Jay, it's your show." He sank into the chair and stabbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the end table next to him.
Jason smiled weakly and turned back to Yamara. "So why you?"
She glanced at Bill and sat up on the bed a little straighter. Hiding any discomfort, she swung her legs off the edge and faced Jason directly. "I came here to steal the sword from you and return it to Alesha."
Bill chuckled and reached into his pocket to fish out his pack of cigarettes. "Gotta give her points for honesty!"
Jason ignored his friend and stared back into Yamara's unsettling eyes. "It might not have been as easy as you think," he said matter-of-factly. "If anybody who does not know the proper release on it tried to take it, it would have set off some alarms and brought the buildings guards running, not to mention me."
"I'm not your average thief," Yamara replied with a faint smile.
"I gathered that," Jason said darkly. He glanced at Cowboy and scowled when he saw the shit eating grin on his face.
*****
Yamara had been showing some signs of weariness so Jason had suggested she get some more sleep. Bill and he had outside and stood under the narrow dry walkway that the overhanging roof protected from the drizzle outside. Once there Jason told Bill as much of the story as he could remember and piece together, which took considerably longer and was more thorough then he had intended.
"I haven't had one of these in years," Jason muttered as Bill held out his Zippo to light the cigarette he had given him.
"Just like falling off a bike, you never forget!" Bill said, grinning.
Jason scowled but puffed until the end glowed red. He took a few experimental drags on it and was surprised to feel that while it had been years, his lungs had not forgotten. "Tastes like shit," He growled.
Cowboy laughed.
"Any suggestions?" Jason asked, getting back to the heart of the matter.
"Sure, we ditch the bitch and head for the border. You still got that riceburner don't ya?"
"It's a custom Honda Valkyrie putting out more torque and horses then your fat boy does!" Jason protested.
"Still a riceburner," Bill said, grinning. Jason scowled at him and flicked the mostly unsmoked cigarette away. Technically he was right, it was a Japanese bike, even if it was a badass cruiser.
"You ever see that dyna glide I picked up a couple of years ago?" Jason said, thinking back to his small motorcycle collection he had built over the years.
"You bought a Harley? Thought you were never going to come over to the dark side?" Bill said, genuinely surprised.
"Yeah well, they've got a sound you just can't beat and I love a loud bike. Besides, with the fuel injection and rubber engine mounts, it doesn't shake my fillings out like your hog."
Bill shrugged. He enjoyed his ride, and so did most of the women that rode with him, but not everybody was perfect. "Okay, so we go grab that bike and head for Mexico. I know this place along the gulf coast not to far south from Texas that's a great place to lay low for a while."
Jason chuckled. "That'd probably be more fun then we deserve. Last time we went to a bar in Mexico we got arrested, remember?"
"Not my fault you can't handle real tequila," Bill said, glancing at the slowly brightening horizon.
"And it's not my fault you had to try and score with the owners 14 year old daughter!" Jason countered.
"She looked 18 to me."
Both men laughed and stayed silent a moment while they remembered the 'good' old days. "Getting old, bro," Bill finally said.
Jason grunted something that was a cross between an agreement and an expletive.
"She's cute enough I guess," Bill admitted at last. "And she's got that really weird accent that I can't place… that kinda helps her story out some. The marks on her skin I noticed can be explained away as scars that have faded a lot, but man, you're talking about 20 or more years of fading, and she ain't more then 20 or 21 or I'm a nun."
"Well sister, she told me she was 23."
Jason received a rude gesture involving a certain finger for that remark, but Bill continued nonplussed. "She's healing fast, that's for sure. What is it about her that's got you hooked though? You've had better looking women and women with more reasonable stories."
"Guess I'm a sucker for a hard luck case," Jason joked. That earned him a sarcastic laugh from his friend who knew him better then that. "Okay, I don't really know why I'm throwing my lot in with her. There's just something about her. She's different and I think she's genuine. More honest then any other women I've ever known."
"Thought she told you she's been a thief, a spy, an assassin, and who knows what else?"
"Well, there is that," Jason admitted with a sheepish grin. "But in some sick and twisted way that lends credence to her honesty."
Bill shook his head and looked away. "I think you're thinking with your dick man."
Jason briefly remembered the one night he had spent with Yamara and smiled wistfully. "Could be, Cowboy."
"You really gotta get that sword back?"
"Yeah, I do. I gave them my word and if that wasn't enough, then these are not the types of guys you want to piss off."
Bill cursed and spit. "Well I'm not saying I believe a goddamn thing that either of you have told me tonight, but you know me. I'll be damned if I'm gonna let any of us stick their necks out on their own."
Jason smiled and clapped him on the back. "Thanks Cowboy, I owe ya."
"You owe me more then you'll ever be able to pay, Jay. Remember that time in Saudi?"
"What are you talking about? That was me pulling your ass out before her husband, the sheik, caught you!" Jason said.
Bill grinned. "Yeah, you should have distracted him instead of getting me out. She had one helluva set of great titties!"
Both men laughed some more. Finally they calmed down and returned to thinking about the situation. "Any idea where these jokers hang out?" Bill asked.
"Not yet, but I'll find out." Jason promised.
"We gonna need any more help on this?"
"Sure could use Lurch." Jason said quietly.
"Yeah," Bill agreed softly. "Damn shame about that kidney transplant not working for him."
An unspoken moment of silence passed between them at the memory of their teammate and friend. "I think the three of us can handle it."
Bill nodded and then clapped him on the shoulder. "Go get some sacktime Jay, I'll stand watch."
Within the mountains known as The Periphery few civilized settlements exist. By and large huts and tribes of orcs, ogres, light elves, and other foul natured creatures were the norm. A few human and demi-human cities existed after the slaying of Ancaruin and defeat of Alesha's armies, but as time progressed and the hardships of living in a land ruled only by the savagery of it's indigenous inhabitants became apparent, they retreated to the outer lands once again. Once a great city of evil, Mezarbolle had been besieged by the alliance of dark elves, dwarves, and men. Capturing the city and rebuilding it, it had been named Caradrin, dwarvish for Halls of Light. A task force was set to guard the city and ensure its survival. A noble gesture but with the hearts of the goodly soldiers yearning for home, a gesture doomed to failure.
Inside of a year Caradrin was broken, betrayed from the very ground it was built upon by light elves forcing their land drake pets and steeds to tunnel up from caverns below. Mezarbolle returned. With its return also returned a powerful wizard named Narellin Kinslayer to lead them.
Narellin had been Ancaruin's chosen representative and leader of the armies once Alesha had disappeared. His agenda had always served himself first, of course, and with self preservation always foremost on his mind, he had been able to escape the defeat that Ancaruin and the majority of his army had suffered.
Now, some 60 years later things had progressed to the point where few things happened within the Lost Lands that Narellin was not aware of due to his network of patrols, spies, and magical means.
One of those very patrols had an up and coming wizard amongst its ranks by the name of Darakor. Darakor Kinslayer, the only surviving child of Narellin Kinslayer himself. Darakor had once had a younger sister, but surviving and growing up in Mezarbolle was ofttimes only accomplished by the most powerful of children.
In the slow and dangerous times that passed the coffers of any successful band of patrolling light elves grew full. Darakor's band more so then most, for Narellin had managed to arrange for only the most proficient of companions for him - both to help ensure his survival from whatever they might encounter and to challenge him at every opportunity to make him constantly aware of the nature of his race. Their names began to be feared as they occasionally raided beyond even the Periphery.
Then one day they encountered a single traveler. A single dark elf, walking apparently carelessly through lands where his kind were slain on sight. His nonchalance took all of them off guard, though they would not admit it. Darakor, unlike his brethren felt the need to learn. He approached him while his companions set themselves up in concealment to ambush their hated enemy.
"Halt, dark one!" He cried out, magically floating down from a tree. "Surrender yourself to us and perhaps we will kill you quickly!" It was not what he had wanted to ask. He had almost said instead, "Why?"
The trespasser looked at him, the fire in his eyes striking through to his heart in such a way that he knew he would never be the same again. "Why?" Was all he asked, though the emotions in his voice were so many and so varied that Darakor felt small and petty. He could sense a sadness in him, a loneliness, and a feeling as though a great weight rested upon him.
Darakor opened his mouth to respond when one of his companions stepped beside him from concealment behind the bole of a nearby tree and said, "There is no why! You are our enemy and you will die!"
From the trees two bows twanged with released arrows. A second flight followed before the first had reached their target. The dark elf moved with a speed, skill, and fluidity that to left Darakor amazed.
A long sword appeared in each hand almost magically. Thinking back on it, Darakor realized that the dark elf had indeed drawn them from their sheaths, but the speed with which he did it was unnatural. While this happened, he also stepped sideways and avoided the first two arrows, arrows that should have pierced his heart. The second pair of arrows would have missed also, but to prove his point, his swords flicked out and shattered them in mid air.
The elf beside Darakor charged forward, katana raised for a killing stroke. The black skinned elf looked at him, then dropped to one knee and plunged his sword backwards. Darakor's remaining companion's invisibility spell faded as the grip on his dagger relaxed. He fell to the ground, sliding off the impaling blade.
All of this happened so quickly Darakor was stunned. He finally gained some sense and tried to summon some spells to mind, but found he could not. He stood there in shock, certain he was witnessing his doom.
The light elf that had pronounced doom on the trespasser reached him and tried to deliver the killing stroke with his katana, but had it blocked by one of the dark elf's swords, then beaten out of his hand with the other sword. None of the patrols members had ever seen a finer swordsman then the suddenly disarmed elf they traveled with before that moment. Now Darakor knew he had seen the finest swordsman he would ever see, regardless of how long he lived. His final comrade drew his companion sword but by the time it had cleared the sheath, his head was on its way to the ground.
Darakor suddenly realized that he was the only one left. He fell to his knees. The dark elf walked to him then, twin swords hanging loosely at his sides. He stopped about a yard away from the kneeling light elf, silently appraising his. Darakor finally looked up into his eyes and saw the powerful fire burning within. He knew then that what they had encountered that day was no mere mortal man.
"Before you kill me, there is one thing I must know," Darakor felt himself speaking but was unsure of where the words came from. "Why?"
The dark elf tilted his head back and actually laughed at that point. There was sadness and bitterness in it, but no ill will. Using hindsight, Darakor would remain amazed for ages that there was little hatred for him or his race, after the pain light elves had caused him throughout his life. He stopped laughing finally and looked at Darakor again, tears in his eyes.
"I asked you why because I want to know why it is that your entire race can be so evil? Why is it that they can turn from us, your dark skinned kin, and hold such hatred when all we ever offered was kindness and love? Why is it you can kill your cousins gleefully? Why did your kin slay my family when I was not even a score of years old? Why did your race stand beside the source of corruption and evil that was Ancaruin and strike down so many of my friends and loved companions?
He stopped a moment to stare into the surrendered young wizard's eyes, penetrating them and giving him a sense of overwhelming age and power. "Why didn't you join your companions and attack me? Your spells may have made the difference. You might have made it possible to overcome me. Why didn't you do that?"
Darakor thought quickly as to what answer he could come up with that might spare his life. Grasping desperately, he opened my mouth but stopped when he was again caught up in his gaze. The words that came out of his mouth then came from somewhere he did not know of. "I knew that there was more. I knew that you were special. I knew that my companions would die, and I knew that I had to learn whatever I could from you. I've never seen anyone as skilled with blades as you are. In my youth I practiced long in the arts of the warrior, but magic turned out to be my calling. Seeing your own art at work twisted my heart and made me wish to renew my interest in it. In the scant 5 minutes I have known you, you have made wish to change everything that is my life around, and I don't know why, I just know that it is true."
The dark elf stared into him, searching for truths and whatever else he do not know. How long they remained there neither truly knew, it might have been hours, it might have been days. At long last he sheathed one sword then held the other one at Darakor's throat.
"Wait," he gasped, prepared to feel the bite of steel.
"Are you a coward at the end, in spite of what you have said?" He asked out of curiosity instead of disgust.
"No, I accept whatever must happen. But first, I beg you to tell me who you are?"
The dark elf smirked and lowered his sword. "I am Kelnozz Risingmoon."
Darakor's jaw did not drop, but it should have. His vision failed him as his mind struggled to come to terms with the person standing in front of him. Finally, he was able to speak. "You are a God!"
He shook his head and chuckled bitterly. "No, I am not. My companions chose to ascend, but I chose to remain."
To say that Darakor's head was swimming would be an understatement of epic proportions. "But, you were one of the heroes that slew Ancaruin!"
"And I seek him still," he said enigmatically. He sheathed his other sword and turned his back on me.
Darakor remained kneeling, watching him walk away. Was this it? Was his life to be spared? He did not understand what was happening. After a moment of hesitation, he leapt to my feet and followed after him. Darakor opened my mouth to say something but Kelnozz beat me to it.
"Why? Why do you wish to come with me? Isn't it enough that I have let you live? I don't have time to nurse a light elf who just realized he's not the Gods' chosen one."
"I want to learn!" Darakor said quickly. "I want you to teach me of the things you have done, the things you have seen! I want to train and practice with weapons and warfare so that I can not be afraid to do what is the right thing. So that I do not need to rely on others and to be afraid that I will be defeated when I try to be just. You have somehow opened up my entire life and laid it bare before my eyes! I have seen the things I have done wrong and I wish to make amends! I ask you to please help me begin the long atonement I have ahead of me."
Kelnozz was quiet after that, but he continued to walk. Not knowing what else to do, Darakor fell back a few steps but stayed with him. He continued to walk until he stopped to rest that night, with the light elven straggler sitting at the edge of his camp, watching. Finally Kelnozz spoke again.
"If you truly wish to learn from me, you must first abandon your magic. What I teach has nothing to do with sorcery, it is purely mundane skill and skill alone. I can not make you unlearn what you already know, but know that if you choose to follow me, you must never use your magic," Kelnozz said, still staring at the logs he had gathered for a campfire.
Darakor nodded, wondering how he would be able to do what he asked. He realized that he would have to find a way, and if worse came to worse, he would always have the knowledge in the back of my head. Like Kelnozz had said, Darakor knew that he could not truly forget what he had learned. "I will do that."
"Then start a fire for us, it grows cold."
The light elf looked at the fire and moved closer. He opened his mouth to speak an arcane word out of habit, but stopped himself just in time. Kelnozz had made a good point in asking that simple task. Darakor looked at him sheepishly and said, "Do you have some flint and steel?"
He nodded towards a tinderbox sitting next to him. Darakor moved over to pick it up then looked at the collection of logs. "We're going to need some kindling, those logs are to big to catch."
"What have you got on you?" He asked me, staring pointedly at my backpack.
My eyes squinted in thought. All Darakor carried in my backpack was standard travelling fair, a blanket, some rations, some scrolls, and my spellbook. Sighing, he took his backpack off and opened it up. He pulled out all of his blank scrolls and made is if to put them under the logs. Kelnozz stared emotionlessly, observing.
Once the scrolls had been placed under the logs, the would-be-warrior examined the job and realized that not enough heat would be generated to ignite the logs. Irritated by how simple this could have been, he turned to Kelnozz. He looked at Darakor a moment, unfazed by the conflicting emotions playing across the young elf's face. Then his gaze shifted. Darakor followed it and felt his throat dry out quickly. They were looking at his spell book.
Darakor did not dare to glance back at him. Instead he closed my eyes and took several deep centering breaths. When he had calmed myself, he knelt down and placed his hand on the book. Faint power thrummed from within it at the touch of its author and owner. Steeling himself, he lifted it and carried it to the barren campfire. Knowing the powers contained within, Darakor merely placed it on top of the pile of wood and stepped back. Every muscle in his body fighting with him for the years of study and research he was about to allow to be destroyed.
"That should work," Kelnozz said, his voice cutting through the night and bringing Darakor back to the present.
"It will not burn," Darakor explained, my voice small and scared. "It is protected from all but the most powerful of magical fires."
Kelnozz nodded behind him, unseen. The son of one of Kelnozz's greatest foes breath caught in his throat when Kelnozz stepped in front of him. Darakor stood there watching as the dark elf knelt at the edge of the pit, flint and steel in hand. With one strike a spark hit the papers from his scrolls and caught. Kelnozz stepped away from the pit and turned to watch.
Darakor stared as the scroll burned brighter. The flames spread to the other scrolls that had been placed in the fire and licked at the thick logs. As Darakor thought, the flames were not hot enough to ignite the logs. Then one flame licked at the edge of the spellbook. It took all of the light elf's power and control to not rush forward and try to rescue it.
From the single flame that touched it, a new fire began. What should have been impossible was happening. In a few short seconds the spellbook combusted. It burned brightly and hot, lighting up the surrounding forest for several dozen feet. With a magical explosion, the book burst open and flames soared into the sky. Darakor could barely feel the heat on his face, so removed was he from what was happening. Then he felt Kelnozz pulling him back.
They continued to watch as Darakor's life's work went up in flames. The twisting and torturing of his soul could not be described with mere words. Suffice to say that in the one single act, Darakor believed that he had allowed who he was to be completely destroyed and his past forever sundered.
That was the undoing of the light elf that he had grown up to be. Kelnozz taught him anew how to exist and survive. He taught his young squire the way of a warrior. Darakor learned how to wield not just one long sword, but two, just as Kelnozz did. He learned how to watch his foes and how to outmaneuver them.
*****
One day in their wanderings throughout the Outer World in a town named Reballge they encountered the after effects of a duel. A dwarf lay slain in the street, surrounded by a few people. Another dwarf came running up demanding to know what happened. An large human wielding a beautiful long sword had killed him, or so the story went. Darakor silently observed, feeling as though something important was happening. He was unable to say anything, or even pull the hood away from his face. Darakor was a light elf, and in the Outer World, that meant death on sight.
"Did the sword seem pure and unflawed?" Kelnozz asked suddenly.
A nearby priest of the God of War, Nordan, nodded to him.
"Did it have a ruby dragon set within it's crosspiece?"
Again, the priest nodded. "You know this man?" He asked.
"No, I know the blade."
Kelnozz left the group with a confused Darakor following after.
"What is the significance of this blade?" The student asked him. Darakor had long since learned by then that there were thousands of things Kelnozz knew that he might never understand. Events and deeds done long before his birth. Times of power and epic struggles that went untold when few survived to tell the tales. Darakor had long since learned to not doubt, for Kelnozz had never lied to him and if it was something he needed to know, he would know in time. This bothered Darakor a bit though, for his thirst for knowledge was as unquenchable as ever.
Kelnozz was quiet for a few moments as he considered what to tell his student. "The blade is newly forged, but the spirit of it is older then this world. It is a weapon of incredible power, and is wholly evil. It and other objects similar to it are the goals of my questing."
Darakor had always noticed that, though it seemed they traveled at random, there did seem to be a method to their wanderings. Now he had a further glimpse into it. Naturally he yearned to learn more, but Darakor knew he would only find out when the dark elf was ready to tell him.
Kromlin bent over, carefully sifting through the mounds of treasure. He pocketed a few finely cut rubies. Looking back over his shoulder he saw that his remaining companion was busy inspecting the dead dragons body. Kromlin's hand struck something hard. Looking down he saw that it was a finely crafted and bejeweled sword hilt. He drew the sword out of the treasure very slowly. It was a beautifully wrought sword. A four foot long sword such as this should have taken even the mightiest warrior two hands to wield. However, Kromlin could swing it around like a kitchen knife.
"Kromlin! Get yerself over here!" The burly fighter shouted.
"Coming Martak," Kromlin replied as he slid his new found weapon into its sheath and buckled it on his weapons belt.
>"Wha's dat?" Martak asked.
"Just a magicked blade." He responded.
"Powerful?"
"No. Just a little lighter than it should be and it looks good."
Martak grunted and quickly lost interest.
Kromlin suddenly had an unstoppable urge to hack at the dragons body. He drew his sword out and plunged it into the dragons corpse in a blur of motion.
"Wha' the 'ell ye doin'!" Martak screamed at him.
Kromlin withdrew the blade in disgust. "I do not know what came over me. I guess it was anger at how our wizard friend died at this beasts claws."
Once again Martak grunted and returned to searching for anything valuable.
Kromlin stared down at the blade in horror. Never before had he done something as vile or unnecessary. Desecrating the dead, beast or not, was not something a noble warrior did. Two final
thing disturbed him; the blade was warm in his hands and it had no blood on it.
*****
After finding a few more valuables and a suit of chain mail to replace his dragon ruined armor, Kromlin left. He and Martak buried their wizard friend, Dunagol, just outside of the dragons cave.
They then marched back to the town that had petitioned them to slay the dragon. After a day of walking they stopped and made camp. Knowing that Martak was not much of a conversationalist,
Kromlin sat down on a stump to take first watch. He found himself wondering how long it would take Martak to die from a sword thrust.
After another half a day of walking they made it back to Valingden. It was a small town of mostly peasants who until just recently were under the terror of a pillaging dragon.
>"It's dead!" Martak shouted in triumph.
The townspeople looked up from their various chores at him in astonishment. Recognizing the dragon hunters they flocked to them while the cry went through town.
A sudden fit of anger overtook Kromlin, these insolent peasants dared to attempt to surround him and touch him. In a flash of motion he drew his word and held it above him.
The townspeople near him fell down to the ground to kneel before him as understanding of what he was about to do flooded through him. To cover up he said, "Now that I have your attention, Martak and I lost our wizard to the drake. Has any of you the skill of a magi?"
A man in the back of the growing throng of people said nervously, "I know a few small tricks my lord. Brombar is my name."
"Well Brombar, show us what you can do."
The man concentrated for a moment then raised his hand and said a single word. A pencil thin beam of red light shot out from his index finger and struck a nearby shed. The small wooden building burst into flame and then exploded. All that remained was a crater where it once stood.
"Impressive Brombar. What would that do to a human?" Kromlin asked.
In response Brombar once again cast the spell. This time he pointed at a peasant that was running up to join the crowd.
The man screamed as his stomach and internal organs were disintegrated by the red beam. Then he was incinerated in an intense explosion.
The crowd cheered at the man's magical skills. No one seemed to notice or care about the child that ran out to find where his father had gone, scorching his feet on the blackened ground.
"Well done Brombar. As you may know, my name is Kromlin and this is Martak. Would you care to join us in our adventuring life?" Kromlin asked, already knowing the man's answer.
"My lord, I would follow you wherever you commanded!"
"Loyal, isn't he." Kromlin said to Martak.
Martak merely grunted while staring at Kromlin's sword with greed.
Kromlin, living up the moment, did not notice the strange look in Martak's eyes. "We shall leave this noble village tomorrow," Kromlin said, once again addressing the town's folk. "But first we must have a place to rest tonight."
Cries of protest went up. First because Kromlin was going to leave, then because they all wanted to play host to him. Fights broke out over the last reason.
Kromlin smiled and let them decide amongst themselves. It was nice to have slaves.
*****
Kromlin smiled to himself. It had been a while since he had slept without the worry of a threat of some sort. This peasant, he had forgotten his name, had managed to impress Kromlin enough that he chose to stay at the peasants home for the night.
Martak and he shared a small room. Martak was sitting on his bed running a whetstone over his double edged battle axe.
Secretly Kromlin hoped that Brombar was a bit more talkative than Martak. He would find that out tomorrow, he told himself.
Martak watched out of the corner of his eye while Kromlin lay down on his bed to go to sleep. He waited for Kromlin's breathing to become even and regular before he acted.
Slowly Martak stood up and walked over beside Kromlin. With a shaking hand he reached down and touched Kromlin's sword. He could not help his sharp intake of breath as he wrenched his hand back from the sword. His fingers had been badly burned.
Kromlin's eyes snapped open. He reached down and unsheathed the sword without a word. Martak was going to try to talk his way out of the situation but the murderous glare in Kromlin's eyes told him that no excuse would be good enough.
Martak parried the sword with the axes edge and swung the end of the haft up in to Kromlin's face, breaking his nose. Kromlin acted as if he did not know he had been wounded. Kromlin lifted his sword and swung downwards, meaning to cleave Martak's skull in twain. The sword, acting of its own volition, drew back as Martak's axe swept by and missed the parry. Then it plunged forward, thrusting itself deeply into Martak's chest.
Martak stared down at the sword, at first in astonishment that the blade had lodged itself in his chest, then in intense pain. The sword first turned pink, then blood red. Finally, after a few minutes, Martak's bloodless corpse fell down.
"What have I done!" Kromlin said quietly in anguish. He tried to hurl the blade away from him as far as possible but his fingers would not let go of it.
Somebody timidly knocked at the door.
"Go away!" Kromlin shouted.
The door opened slowly, squeaking as rusty hinges will. The peasants wife looked in.
"Is there a problem my lord? Perhaps..." She started to say but screamed in horror when she saw Martak's corpse.
A new anger seized Kromlin. He swung the sword and the woman's head rolled down beside Martak. Her body stood there, not realizing that it was dead. Then it too joined the ever growing pile.
Kromlin looked at what he had done in anguish. He fled out of the house and ran out into the night, the sword still in his hand. He did not know how far he ran, nor did he care. Every time he looked back he saw either Martak's or the peasant woman's face. All he knew was that he had to get away from there.
He glanced back on final time, this time seeing the face of the man that Brombar had blown up. It did not matter, however, because his feet were no longer on the ground.
He looked down and noticed that he had stepped off of the edge of a thirty or so foot high cliff. A broken leg or two should have been all that would happen to Kromlin. As the ground rushed to meet him the sword twisted in his hand. When Kromlin hit the ground the impact forced the sword into his side and up through his chest.
With its latest master dead the sword waited, as it always did, for its next victim.
Nearly a week had passed in which Jason had managed to secure a leave of absence for himself from his business (Bill had just up and quit the job he had, this promised to be more fun). Jason made some calls and talked to people, as well as doing plenty of research on his own. By the time 5 days had passed from when they had gotten Yamara out of the hospital, he had a pretty good idea of where the stolen sword had ended up.
"Florida, eh? Makes sense I guess, since that's where you said they were at before."
Jason nodded, he had not expected any real surprises. He looked at Yamara then, who showed signs of being completely recovered from her injuries. "We gonna have any problems with this?"
"What do you mean?" She asked, showing no signs of understanding.
"He means," Bill said, leaning towards her and smiling leering, "are you going to be good and helpful, or are you going to try and sneak away with this thing on your own?"
She returned his smile with a cold one of her own. "For the time being I plan to work with you two. After… well, I guess we will just have to wait and see."
She glanced at Jason defiantly. He just sighed and stood up. "Okay, I suppose that will have to be good enough. Cowboy, let's go see what your boys have for us."
During their weak of near convalescence Jason and Cowboy got to know Yamara a little bit better. She, on the other hand, got to know the two of them much better. Ever a skilled spy (though not presently an active one), she listened well and asked questions in clever ways that disguised her true meaning. Even though she had no real reason, yet, to distrust them or to try and get away on her own she wanted to be ready in case the time came.
She found Bill to be gruff and obnoxious most of the time, but he used that façade to hide a sometimes gentle nature underneath. From the stories the two told she doubted he had much chance to explore that more gentle nature though.
Jason she still found surprisingly appealing. He almost seemed noble at times, in a way very unlike the nobility she had grown up despising. This of course irritated her and made her seek all the more for faults within him. She refused to ponder the possibility that he truly was what he seemed. She had made that mistake once before. It had cost her considerable pain to get back to her normal way of life. Pain that sometimes still bothered her.
They headed out of the latest motel they had stayed in the next morning, piling into a rusty old F-250 that Jason had paid cash for two days earlier. He threw the manual transmission into gear and roared out of the parking lot, heading south towards Florida, by way of a stop in Tennessee. Some of the bikers Cowboy had rode with lived in a remote shack high up in the Appalachian mountains of Tennessee's backcountry. The ran a tidy little profit selling homegrown drugs, booze, and guns.
Starting out in Ohio, they did not reach Tennessee until an hour or so before dusk that day. Having been on Earth for several months, she still found her breath taken away by how quickly things could move. In particular vehicles. She lacked understanding of how they worked, something about a hybrid engine involving electricity and fuel cell technology. She just considered it magic and tried not to think about it.
Bill's contacts turned out to be glad to see him. They remembered Jason faintly from one time he had gone riding with Bill to the yearly bike rally in Sturgis. They were most interested in Yamara though. She was dressed plainly, wearing a Cincinnati Bengal's baseball cap, faded jeans and a large red Hooter's t-shirt. She disdained bras, having come from a society that had no such thing save the corsets and girdles of nobility and serving wenches, and found the underwear of modern women to be quite invasive and uncomfortable. But her lack of undergarments did not show in the drab outfit she wore and her own average chest size did not boast of her ever having worked at a Hooter's restaurant. In spite of all that, she seemed to stand out to the backwater gunrunners.
Everything went fine with the deal though, up until one of the bikers tried to cop a feel. As soon as his hand brushed against her ass she had his hand in hers and he was on his knees, grunting in pain. Everyone else stopped and turned to see what was going on, stunned. She glared angrily at him while he looked up at her pleadingly. She had his wrist locked in her strong grip and his thumb folded in on itself, which she steadily applied pressure too.
"Jesus Christ, I'm sorry!" He said after a long moment of trying to ignore the pain of the hold. He finally snapped and begged for mercy.
"Yamara, let him go," Bill growled, afraid that things were about to turn ugly.
She ignored him and continued to hold the would-be lecher down for another long moment. Then she pushed down and everyone present heard the snap his thumb made. He howled in agony and fell completely to the ground, cradling his now released hand.
Jason wanted to chuckle, but he suspected the timing might not have been good. The other three bikers stood motionless, poised for action. Nobody knew what to do until one of them finally started laughing.
"You stupid shit, Randy! I told you something like that was gonna happen someday!" He said to the wounded man on the ground.
The tensions eased at that point and everybody else laughed a little to further relieve themselves. Everybody except Randy and Yamara. He started to get up off the ground and muttered under his breath, "I'm gonna show that fucking bitch!"
He never made it to his feet. Yamara's foot shot out and connected with his face, mashing his nose flat and driving him onto his back, unconscious. She dropped low after the attack and looked at everyone else, ready to defend herself.
That just sent the bikers into even stronger gales of laughter. Jason felt himself laughing pretty good too, the biker had deserved it. Well… maybe. Jason was just glad that it was not him on the receiving end!
Bill chuckled lightly and proceeded to try and move things along quickly so that they could get past the situation. The only further notice of it he took was to send an angry glance at Yamara, which she caught and let fall on an impassive face.
They finished up and left before Randy had woken back up. The other bikers assured Bill that it was no big deal, Randy had that coming from years of abuse. None of them mentioned that they were all just as glad as Jason was that it had been Randy and not them that had tried to be cute with her.
Still angry over it, Bill drove them silently through the night while Jason was in the back of the extended cab truck, going over the guns they had bought and making sure everything was in order.
Modified M-4s shortened assault rifles, capable of automatic fire. Only two of them, but only he and Cowboy knew how to handle a gun. In spite of it, he had made sure that they each acquire a pistol. For him it was a Desert Eagle .50 caliber. Cowboy's was a good old fashioned Colt .45. I had chosen a Glock 17 9 millimeter pistol for Yamara. It was a big gun for a small hand, but she had demonstrated her strength enough for me.
Body armor for all in the form of flak jackets as well. A few kilos of C-4 for us to play with, and Yamara had a special request. She asked for a short sword, which everybody sort of blinked stupidly at. Then one of the bikers, he gave his name as Big John, grinned and produced a giant bowie knife that had a blade nearly two feet long. It looked more like a machete to me. Yamara took it from him and weighed it in her hand carefully. After a few minutes she nodded and took the sheath for it from a rather surprised John.
"You really should not have done that," Bill said quietly after stewing over the matter for several miles.
Jason groaned inwardly. He was afraid Bill was going to push the incident. Yamara merely sat up front, ignoring him and running a whetstone over her new knife.
"Aren't ya gonna say anything?" He asked after it became apparent that she had no rebuttal.
She stopped sharpening the already razor keen knife and looked at him coldly. "No one touches me without my permission."
"Jesus Yamara, he wasn't going to rape you, it was a harmless little grab-ass!" Bill exploded. "You damn near cost us the meet, and for that matter, our lives! Were outnumbered and outgunned there!"
Bill took a few breaths and calmed down before continuing. "Look, all I'm saying is that you should have taken it easy on him, I plan on living to a ripe old age and dying in my sleep, okay?"
Her frozen gaze never left his. "I took it easy on him. On my world he would be dead."
Bill's eyes widened slightly and then he looked away and shook his head. "Thanks Jay," was all he said.
Jason looked back and forth between the two of them. Too many days together, it was starting to wear on all three of them.
"Cowboy, pull into the next motel, I think we could all use a night off," He said after a few uncomfortably quiet moments had passed. "We'll head down to the everglades tomorrow and recon the place in the evening. Then hit it the following day."
Bill grunted agreement and continued to drive. They just passed the southern Tennessee state line when they found a suitable motel to pull in to. Cheap rates and cheaper quality, but they were going for anonymity.
As soon as their gear was stowed, Bill left, heading out into the humid night for some time by himself. Jason was still going over their gear and Yamara watched him wordlessly. He glanced up at her and smiled weakly.
"Ever seen one of these?" He asked, holding up the pistol he had bought for her. She shook her head.
"It's a Glock 17 pistol. It holds 16 bullets in the clip," he showed her the 3 empty magazines they had for it. "Semi-automatic weapon, that means you pull this slide back to chamber a round, then point it at your target and pull the trigger as many times as you need to."
Yamara watched him go through the motions of firing the gun. She showed no sign of understanding the point to it. Jason ejected the clip he had put in it and handed it to her and said, "Here, you try it."
She picked up a clip and slipped it into place. It clicked home and she grabbed the slide exactly as Jason had done and cocked it back. Had there been any bullets in the clip it would have been loaded. She pointed it at him and tried to pull the trigger, which was locked both because the safety was on and because there had been no round to chamber, the slide had not closed.
"Okay, um, here, let me put a bullet in the clip so you can try it again, but don't point it at me and don't pull the trigger this time, okay?"
Yamara nodded, handing the pistol to him.
Jason breathed a sigh of relief as soon as it was no longer pointed at him. He took it and ejected the clip and slipped a bullet into it. Then he double checked to make sure the safety was on before handing it back to her. "From the beginning this time."
Yamara repeated the exercise, slamming the barely loaded clip in and racking in the bullet this time. She pointed it in a two handed grip fashion towards an imaginary person standing near the door this time, and lightly placed her finger over the trigger.
"What will it do?" She asked, not seeming to be very impressed.
"Well, it's loud, first of all. When it goes off try not to be surprised but it will sound like thunder," Jason said, making the gun sound worse then it would actually be. It took a big gun to sound like thunder, but to someone using one their first time, it might seem like it.
"Then it's going to kick some. By kick I mean recoil. It will feel like it's trying to jump in your hands every time you pull the trigger, just be calm and make sure you keep it pointed at whatever you are aiming at."
"Like a crossbow," Yamara said matter-of-factly.
"Um, sorta," Jason nodded, "only it'll kick more."
"What else?" She asked, turning to face him but keeping the gun from pointing at him.
"That button there," Jason pointed the safety out to her. "That's the safety, with it pushed in like that, you can not pull the trigger and shoot it. When you flip it over like this, that red line you can see now means it is ready to fire, just pulling the trigger will make it shoot."
Yamara flipped the safety off and aimed at her imaginary target again. Her finger brushed over the trigger and Jason winced, afraid she was going to shoot. She took her finger off and put the safety back on though, to his great relief. "Very much like a crossbow. Loads different and shoots much smaller bolts, but not so different."
Jason thought about explaining the major difference between the two weapons, but opted against it, since it would have taken hours and involved a history of firearms. So instead he nodded and accepted it back from her.
"Here, try this on," he handed her the smallest flak vest of the three he had bought. She slipped it on over her shirt and after some fumbling around, secured the buckles on it making it fit up against her snugly.
"Strange armor," she said, tapping on the front of it where the Kevlar plate inside was located.
"Um, yeah, maybe, but these will stop most small caliber bullets so you it might just save your ass."
She shrugged and took it back off, tossing it on the table where he had gotten it. "At least it's black," she said.
Jason nodded and finished stowing away their gear back in the duffel bags they had gotten them in. He finished and looked at Yamara, trying to figure out something to say. Finally he sighed and came out with it.
"Take it easy on Bill, okay? He's a good guy, but you really scared him back there."
Yamara looked at him for a long moment, her face impossible to read. "He worries to much," she finally said.
Jason laughed, relieved that things might not be too bad. "Yeah, he does. Man had a few ulcers back when we were on active duty. He had command of a mission one time when the Lieutenant got killed and the sergeant got hurt bad enough to be knocked unconscious. It was a bad mission from the get-go, and some more of his guys never made it back. He blames himself for it, even though he did a damn good job. Never forgave himself, so he tries to overcompensate ever since. That's the real reason why Cowboy got out when his time was up, he was afraid to be a part of the team anymore."
"What happened to the sergeant?" Yamara asked, suspecting there was a story there based on the way that Jason had said the word.
"He got out okay. Messed him up pretty good though, broken ribs, head injury, torn spleen and some liver damage, plus a broken leg. Spent a few weeks in the hospital healing up before he eventually got discharged for medical reasons."
"That explains the scars and the limp," Yamara said, her voice betraying the tiniest hint of understanding as she walked over to where Jason was sitting on the edge of one of the beds in the room.
"Yeah, I guess it does," he admitted. He had been that sergeant. Grenade went off only a couple of feet away from him, with only the lieutenant between him. The officer had absorbed most of the shrapnel and some of the force from the blast, but it had still done quite a number on him.
"I like to think I did a lot more damage to my liver before and after in the bars though," Jason said with a grin. He rarely talked about the past, it did no good to dwell on it.
"I'm not sure about Alesha now, but I - we will get that sword away from those people," she said, her tone convincing.
"Well, Alesha was nothing but bad news when I knew her, briefly. We'll just have to wait and see what happens after we get it back, okay? So until then can we all play together and be friends?"
Yamara let a smile through briefly then nodded. "Sure thing, friends it is. Even with Bill. Just make sure he doesn't try to fondle me, only a special few get to do that."
Jason laughed. "Not a problem! Say, would you really have killed him?"
Yamara gave him a look that suggested he not ask questions he did not want answers too. Regardless, she voiced it aloud. "You and Bill have killed men for your realm and for your cause, but you always do it from afar, like an archer with these guns you are so proud of. In spite of that death still makes you squirm, it bothers you to think you could be so close to it. Have you ever killed a man or a woman with your hands? Twisted a knife inside their stomach and watched the light go out of their eyes?"
As she spoke her tone got more powerful and sank into Jason, reminding him of a scuffle he had once had with an Iraqi soldier when his unit had dropped into a prison camp in Iraq to rescue some captured pilots. He had been supposed to silence the guard quietly, and had done so but only after several minutes of tough combat in which his own life had been at stake. They had wrestled in the cold desert night with a drawn knife between them. Only when he had finally managed to crush the Iraqi's testicles with his knee had he managed to gain enough power over the knife to slide it into the man's throat and kill him. Jason remembered staring in horrified fascination into the mans eyes as the panic overtook him and he realized he was seconds from dying. Then the light fled as he went into shock and passed out. The blood stopped pumping out of the gash in his throat mere seconds later. His terror had caused his heart to give up even before his brain would have died from the lack of blood and oxygen.
Jason shuddered briefly and nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly, "I have done that, pretty much. It's a terrible thing to take away the life of a person. You are taking away everything they have ever had and everything they ever will. Their family, their friends… there's no coming back from where you send them. It's something that will rest on my soul forever, a stain."
She nodded thoughtfully and said quietly, almost rhetorically, "Can you imagine doing that to someone you care about?"
Jason's eyes widened as he tried to understand what Yamara was saying. He tried to grasp the concept but had trouble with it. He knew how he felt from having killed the enemy, he could not imagine what it would be like to kill a friend. "No, I can't imagine it."
Yamara smiled weakly. He had been honest, not disbelieving or reproachful. "You feel this way but yet you still go on to do this? You will be forced to kill tomorrow or the day after, or perhaps the day after that. Peace is not for us on this adventure. Bill wants to die while sleeping as an old man, that can only happen if he takes the lives of others. If all of us take the lives of others. You can accept this?"
Jason nodded. "I can take the lives of others because there are more important things out there then life. My own life I would forfeit if I knew it would guarantee that we could retrieve this blade from these people and keep it safe from them. I saw what they were doing before, and if keeping this weapon from them in some way keeps them from gaining some of that power back, then it is worth my life and Bill's life and your life to do so."
Jason paused thoughtfully then pushed on before Yamara could say anything more. "Bill and I, we were young and stupid. We didn't fight for our country we fought for ourselves because we had no sense of the greater unit. The greater good. You can only do that so long before you realize that there are a lot of shitty places out there, and it's because of people like me and Bill that were spilling our own blood that we were allowed to live the decent lives that we lived. It was because of people like us that other people were able to throw protests and piss and moan about how unjust and cruel it was for us to be bombing helpless third world women and children. Women and children that could pick up and fire an AK-47 just as well as the man next to them. Those people hate people like me, but they should love us, because without us they would be slaves of a tyrannical government."
"And how do you feel about those people?" She asked, her tone curious.
"I think they're full of shit and clueless, to be honest, but that's their god-given right as Americans. And I fought to maintain their ignorance. Deep down I like to think they wanted me to and that they are thankful, but they have to pretend otherwise in order to satisfy the social circle they are involved in. It's not popular to hate commies, anymore." Jason paused and looked at Yamara deeply. "You get any one of them backed into a corner and confronted by someone who wanted them dead and I bet you any money that 99 out of 100 would realize that violence does solve some things. They would fight tooth and nail for their own right to live. For themselves or for their children, brother, sister, mother, father, or good old Aunt Sally."
"And that 1 person out of 100?" Yamara asked, silently wondering who Aunt Sally was.
"That punk is already dead, he shit his pants and died of fright as soon as he found out that he couldn't say 'time out!' or 'hey, that isn't fair!' or offer to buy somebody off. His son is crying because mommy and sissy have been raped and killed, or killed then raped, and the family dog just got cooked for dinner. When it comes down to it, violence solves everything. It's the fear of it and the things that can happen when men and women reduce themselves to that level that keeps civilization civil."
Jason took a few deep breaths to calm himself and looked away from her. He had let himself get carried away there, and partly because she goaded him into it. He looked back at her and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I'll get off my soapbox now."
Yamara just shook her head. "No, you're right. I come from a barbaric civilization compared to yours, but maybe it's not so different."
"So who's is better?" Jason asked, staring intently at Yamara. The debate had caused her to drop her guard ever so briefly, and now that he was paying attention to it, he found the hidden creature within her thoroughly captivating. He likened her to a scared little girl trying to figure things out.
"I don't know, in mine people who do evil things admit at least to being evil. In yours they know that there are better ways to do things," she said thoughtfully.
Jason chuckled. "Yes, we may know it, but knowing and doing are two separate things."
They both laughed at that and continued to compare the Earth of 2112 with the lands that Yamara had come from and lived in for hours on end. Bill eventually returned and found the two of them still chatting. They quieted down then for a while, and Yamara forced a confrontation between her and Bill to resolve things. Her guardedness returned, but she was a little more open about it, at least towards Jason. In him she sensed a faintly kindred spirit. Perhaps not in shared lifestyles or events, but at least in ideals. Or perhaps it was merely that he was someone she had actually opened up to in some small way.
Regardless of her own internal turmoil, Yamara talked and Bill listened to her explain her behavior. He even sheepishly admitted a small apology of his own. Things were mildly uncomfortable for a little while longer, but they returned to normal rapidly.
With only a few hours until dawn they finally went to sleep. It was nearly noon before they were ready to be on the road again, though they felt quite recharged in spite of the short night. New possibilities and responsibilities awaited them. Florida loomed on the near horizon both as beacon of hope and a grim storm cloud of despair.