Title: Judas Unchained - Hilda and Kana: The Grave Doll of Isha - Part 2: 
Kana's Tale
Author: Judas Unchained
Keywords: FM, FF, Oral, Anal, DS, NC, Violence
Summary: The warrior women Hilda and Kana meet to tell the story of a 
departed companion. Next to speak is  Kana and she tells of the love and 
betrayal that came with possession of the treasure of the Bandit Queen.

Copyright  2015  Judas Unchained.

Email comments to judasunchained@googlemail.com

This is fantasy porn. In fact, it is double fantasy porn - it both has 
magic and is not real. Don't read if it is illegal for you do to do so.

This is a txt version of 'Judas Unchained - Hilda and Kana: The Grave Doll 
of Isha - Part 2: Kana's Tale' and lacks some of the formatting available 
in the HTML version. If possible, please read the web version here: 
http://www.asstr.org/~JudasUnchained/Original/hilda3.html

                                    ~~~                                    

   Motes of flame rose from the bonfire. It's light beat back the darkness 
and cast long shadows. Strange winds blew through the trees. Leaves 
rustled. Branches cracked. Ghosts watched and listened.

   The warrior women Hilda and Kana sat before the fire, eyes upon it, the 
heat almost too hot against their faces. In her hands Hilda held a simple 
straw doll, pinned with a lock of hair. It was a grave doll, a funeral 
offering for a departed friend. Isha… Her name hid in the howling wind and 
in the crackling of fire.

   Hilda took a gulp of alcohol from a bottle and hissed. "That stuff never
seems to go down easier, but fuck if I don't like it."

   Kana nodded.

   Hilda splashed a measure of drink onto the doll and then sloshed a 
second measure into the fire. Blue flames flickered into the sky.

   "Do you want me to tell this story?" she asked. "I don't think the 
ghouls and ghosties would mind if I tell it too much. We're meant to take 
turns, yes, but the main point is that the spirits of the dead get to know 
their new companion."

   Kana shook her head. "No, this is my story to tell. Isha, she would want
it this way, and this is her funeral." She closed her eyes and when she 
opened them, they were hard. "So, the Treasure of the Bandit Queen."

   ~ Kana's Tale - The Treasure of the Bandit Queen ~

   The East Tower of the Bandit Queen burned. Hilda swung her giant sword 
and drove an axe wielding bandit back into the flames. I faced off against 
the Bandit Queen herself, the dread Matilda. She stood in my path, mace in 
her left hand, shield in her right. For armour she wore a well-used 
breastplate, painted the crimson that was her mark. Between us stretched 
the narrow stone bridge that joined East Tower to West.

   "Come at me ya little cunt," she slurred, the old burn scar on her cheek
twisting her words. I did as bid.

   She swung her mace. With a great clang, I knocked it aside with my 
shield and struck back. My sabre darted out in the swan pattern. She got 
her shield up in time and in the next moment drove forward, trying to 
batter her way through my defences. Sloppy. Shields make fantastic 
offensive weapons but you can't leave yourself vulnerable.

   I rolled my weapon around her shield with practised ease and circled. 
For a brief moment she was vulnerable and I slashed at her side. The chest 
plate protected the front and the back plate the back but in between hung a
narrow gap of weakness. Blood dripped from the wound but it wasn't fatal.

   She let loose a roar that rattled my ears and swung to face me. Rage and
pain fuelled the blow. I took it on my shield but that was a mistake. The 
impact ran up my arm and rattled my teeth. It sent me back a staggering 
step. She converted her swing into an over hand strike and drove a second 
blow home. The clang of metal mace against metal banded shield rung out 
like a great city bell. My knees almost gave out but I kept my shield up. 
The wood cracked and groaned.

   With a grin made horrifying by her burn, she raised her mace high for a 
finishing blow. I rolled to the side, a desperate manoeuvre to be sure but 
I didn't have much choice. Her mace shattered the stone sidewall of the 
walkway. A red hot flying chip scythed across my exposed calf, leaving a 
trail of burning blood. I rose and struck in the fish pattern, two fast 
blows that made my sabre dance like a flashing fish. Clang, clang. She 
twisted at the last second and took both on her armoured breast plate. All 
I did was scratch the paint.

   She drove forward with her shield like a charging bull, and I could see 
in her eyes she wouldn't fall for the same trick twice. I met her full-on, 
shield to shield. She tried to bring her mace down in an overhand blow but 
I blocked it with my sabre. We strained there, my muscles burning as I 
tried to push her back and hers bulging as she did the same to me. I was 
taller and bigger but she had a squat power I'd seldom before seen.

   We might have stayed locked for hours, but this was not the time to 
fight according to the rules of the Seven Bronze Plates. I drove a kick up 
at her injured right side, and she twisted away - cursing and spitting. The
blow didn't quite connect but countering cost her.

   We circled slowly, trading testing blows. I watched her footwork and 
torso movement. There was weakness there, certainly, but how much was real 
and how much a trap to draw me in? The slight grimace on her lips must be 
genuine but the fractional hesitation... That could be fake.

   "Feeling tired?" I taunted. "You wouldn't last five minutes on the 
training fields of Malat. The priests of the Ardent Warrior would throw you
back in the gutter you came from." In truth, she had a certain raw skill 
and cemented that advantage through squat hard muscles. No sense in 
admitting that, though.

   She laughed at my insult, which I suppose wasn't too surprising. Bandits
aren't known for their exalted discourse. Still, it did draw a more 
substantial attack out of her.

   A bullish cast came over her face and she advanced - shield leading and 
mace held primed to strike. I danced before it, landing the occasional 
flicking strike against the shield, mostly to annoy. It certainly didn't 
achieve much else.

   There wasn't a great deal of room on the stone walkway so I moved onto 
the next stage of my plan while I still had the space I needed. I circled 
right, forcing her to turn into her injury. She twisted with me, but pain 
showed in her eyes. Good. I attacked in earnest, slashing blows in the 
tiger pattern designed to make counter-strike impossible. She sheltered 
behind her shield but I kept circling and her defence dropped further and 
further.

   This wasn't the time to give any quarter. My strikes grew faster and 
more powerful, gaining as I built up momentum. She retreated before me, and
I pushed her back, further and further until she reached the very edge of 
the walkway. The ground spilled out below, three dozen feet straight down, 
a mix of patchy grass, broken rocks and mud churned up by feet and wagon 
wheels.

   A spark in her eye gave me a split second warning, the tiny signal that 
she planned to use the last hidden reserve of her strength. Even as she 
teetered against the low wall of the walkway, she dropped her shield and 
swung two handed with her mace. Heavy steel thundered towards me. I jerked 
back and it passed an inch before my nose. A split second later I stepped 
forward and kicked Matilda square in the chest.

   She screamed as she fell and her body broke against the ground.

   "So falls the barbarian," I quoted and turned away.

   After that it was all over but the burning. With their leader dead and 
their home aflame, the bandits fled in panic. They took what they could, of
course, but the Bandit Queen's treasury was in the West Tower and we 
controlled the only door.

   "Looting time?" asked Hilda as she cleaned blood and soot off her great 
sword.

   "Let's," I said.

   We advanced carefully, even my shining sabre only a dark moon of metal 
in the weak light. We'd captured a pair of bandits in preparation for this 
raid and those wayward lambs said the Bandit Queen kept all others out of 
the West Tower, but you couldn't be too careful. This wasn't a civilised 
part of the world. Laws were guidelines at best and criminal handbooks at 
worst.

   The hallway was long and dark. Narrow arrow slit windows let in pale 
light but not nearly enough. Matilda had painted red splotches on the 
walls, seemingly at random.

   "If I was a pile of treasure," I mused aloud, "where would I be?"

   "Up," said Hilda and jabbed up with her sword. "The highest room."

   Up we went. The stair was narrow and winding. I led, a sabre being 
better at close quarters than a great sword, and Hilda kept an eye on the 
rear. We reached the top most room. The windows were larger here, perhaps 
even enough to admit a person if they somehow scaled the outer wall. Bright
light showed a somewhat opulent bed, though one well past its prime. The 
fine sheets were dyed a deep purple but were threadbare and patched in 
places. The carvings on the bed proper were worn and cracked.

   A strong room door stood off to one side, large, fashioned from oak and 
banded with iron. A stout lock lurked in one corner. If Matilda had the key
on her when she fell, we'd have a long walk to retrieve it, assuming it 
hadn't been looted by fleeing bandits.

   Hilda approached the door slowly. She set her great sword against the 
wall and tried the door. It opened with a creak.

   "Perhaps she had to leave in a hurry to fight us?" I said.

   "Maybe." Hilda frowned, hefted her sword again and settled into an 
attack position. Her exposed skin shone with grime, black soot and sweat.

   I readied my own sabre and shield. Maybe might be maybe but steel was 
always steel.

   In a single swift movement, Hilda hooked open the door with a foot and 
dashed inside. I followed close on her heals.

   The room was small and cramped. Three small chests lurked at the far end
and rolled up papers filled boxes on the walls. In the middle of it all 
knelt a naked young woman.

   She sat facing the door, back straight, eyes slightly dull. Her hands 
were laced behind her head. Her skin was a dusky brown and her hair silken 
black. Her breasts were small but topped with hard pointed nipples. 
Spiralling tattoos surrounded her eyes. The markings ran down her neck, 
along the sides of her torso and down her legs. The result was enough to 
take my breath away.

   "Who are you?" growled Hilda, sword ready to strike the intruder down.

   "I am Isha," said the woman, voice oddly high. "Where is my mistress?"

   "Mistress?" I asked. The woman, girl really, met my eyes. They seemed 
almost red.

   "Yes, Mistress Matilda."

   "Dead," said Hilda and grunted. "Probably being eaten by dogs."

   "Oh," said Isha and if any emotion hid in her voice I couldn't hear it. 
"Are you my mistresses now?"

   "You're a slave?" I asked. Slavery was normal enough, but a country 
slave who didn't run from a dead master was fairly rare.

   "I have that honour."

   "Honour?" asked Hilda.

   "It is a great honour," said Isha and for the first time a note of 
passion entered her voice. "I trained to serve within the schools of House 
Brasil and earned the title slave. My bloodline is impeccable, selected 
over many generations by the blood-smiths of Brasil. My body, mind and 
training represent the pinnacle of their art."

   Hilda stared with wide eyes and even her sword dropped a fraction. "A 
golden whore," she whispered in slight shock.

   "What?" I asked. I was clearly missing something.

   "Don't you get it?" asked Hilda. "She's from the city of the slaver 
wizards."

   Oh.

   Hilda and I left the room and gathered in a huddle, just outside of easy
hearing. Isha continued to kneel in place, seemingly immune to stiffness or
boredom. "Do you know how much she'll be worth?" said Hilda in a low 
excited whisper. "If what she said is true, she's no gutter whore. She's 
the real deal, one of the wizards' high end sluts."

   I knew about the slaver wizards, of course, even though their city, Cho,
was at the opposite end of the world from Malat. They produced slaves of 
all types unified by only two factors - their supreme quality and 
unquestioning loyalty. From its gates left warriors, whores, coin counters,
priests and more to serve the rich and powerful of the world. The greatest 
families of Malat had slaves from Cho. None served better and none were 
fairer.

   "How much do you think she'll be worth?" I said. My family was nowhere 
near great enough.

   "Fucked if I know. This is high end city-shit. No one where I came from 
could afford shit like this. Let's just say a lot."

   I looked back at Isha. If the hard stone bothered her she didn't show 
it. She sat as if her sole purpose in life was aesthetic perfection, like a
statue of blood, flesh and soul. And yet, that statue contained a youthful 
innocence combined with an exotic passion that drew the eye and quickened 
the loins. I walked back into the room. "Isha?" I said.

   She looked up.

   "Isha, I am your new mistress."

   A lamp lit behind her eyes, a smile bloomed on her face and she launched
herself at me.

   "Mistress," she cried. "Please, how can I serve you?" She kissed my boot
and I looked down at the erotic lines of her back and ass. If I placed my 
sabre along that line, her body would have perfectly matched the curve.

   I blushed slightly and pushed her away. "Stop that. Stand up and be 
attentive. Can you answer my questions?"

   She sprang to her feet and stood tall. "Yes Mistress!"

   "How did you come to be here? This tower I mean."

   "I was travelling with my master, Mistress. We were attacked by bandits.
I tried to defend him but my training in arms is limited. He died and the 
leader of the bandits became my mistress. She took me here and kept me with
her other treasures. Then she died and now you are my Mistress." Her eyes 
sparkled as she relayed her tale.

   "Other treasures indeed," muttered Hilda. "What else is here?"

   "I do not know," said Isha. She blinked, long eyelashes fluttering, and 
cocked her head as if asking how she, a mere slave, could possibly know 
such a thing.

   "Then let's find out." Hilda grinned like a shark.

   She opened the first chest by the simple method of shoving her sword 
through the lock. It broke with a metal scream and she kicked the lid up. 
Coins glittered inside, thousands of them, everything from jade strips to 
snapped square pennies. It was a small fortune drawn from a hundred cities,
tribes, leagues and counting house mints.

   The second box contained jewellery. Hilda turned out a small velvet bag 
and spilled two dozen rings into her large palm. They glittered small and 
golden. Some were set with sparkling stones, which captured what little 
light entered the room and amplified it. Others were engraved with delicate
designs such as curling vines, leaves, writing in unknown scripts and even 
battlefields. Further investigation produced a great number of other 
pieces. A jewel and finery encrusted dagger caught my eye, as much for its 
shear impracticality as the wealth it represented. It was clearly no 
service weapon, just a great name's toy. The torques, necklaces and 
bracelets were also impressive. They matched the fashions of Malat, at 
least what those fashions had been during my adolescence.

   The last chest proved the most resistant to forceful opening. Hilda beat
and swore at it for some time before it finally gave way. Apparently it was
a slut, a whore and deserved to be fucked sideways with a broad sword, 
among other things. Inside, on a bed of straw, lay twelve golden bars. Each
bar bore the mark of the Counting House of Isis Maley - the nightingale in 
flight, carrying the broken arrow.

   "Gold," I whispered, staring. Even Isha went very still, barely 
breathing.

   Twelve whole bars of gold. The gold in coin is diluted, alloyed with 
other metals to make a workable currency, and even there it's extremely 
valuable. This was beyond even that, a prince's fortune.

   "And you thought this trip wouldn't be worth it," said Hilda. She 
brought a hand down on my shoulder, about ready to dance a jig or whatever 
folk dance tribal folk favoured.

   "Is this good, Mistress?" asked Isha.

   "Yes," I said. "This is very good indeed."

   We searched the rest of the room, of course, but didn't find anything 
else of immediate value. The papers might have contained something but we 
lacked both the time and expertise to properly search them. As it was, I 
gave them only a brief search. A detailed map of the local area caught my 
eye and I shoved it into my belt. The Bandit Queen's pay book also looked 
promising so I packed it away at the bottom of the gold chest, it having 
the most room. The pay book sat next to a fancy writing set comprising 
vividly coloured inks and quills made from the feathers of fantastical 
birds. I honestly couldn't tell if it was treasure or tool. In the box it 
went anyway. We left soon after. The bandits would surely return eventually
and if not them, someone would come seeking to loot the Bandit Queen's 
fabled treasure hoard. I planned to be long gone by then, with all the 
coin, jewellery, gold and of course our unexpected treasure: Isha.

   Hilda and I lugged the three chests out of the West Tower and along the 
walkway. Fire still smouldered in the East Tower so we took the direct way 
down. Hilda unwound a set of long, strong ropes and we began the process of
shuttling everything to the ground, over the side of the stone walkway. It 
took quite a bit of effort and Isha shook badly as I lowered her into 
Hilda's waiting arms, but we completed the transfer without disaster.

   The land around the Two Towers is rough and mountainous, one of those 
places even barbarian tribes prefer not to live. Steep rock cliffs and 
mounds of earth made seeing more than a few hundred yards in a straight 
line impossible. Only the Two Towers had the height to stand above it all. 
They're ancient things, if you've never seen them, probably built as a 
great name's prison in olden days. Such a use would certainly explain their
architecture. The East Tower has a ground level door and the bandits had 
used it as barracks and general storehouse. The West Tower has only one 
door, halfway up its length and reachable by a stone walkway that joined 
the two towers. I could just spy it, propped open from our exit. The Bandit
Queen used that for herself, maintaining it as a private apartment and 
grand treasury.

   We lugged the chests over to where we'd hidden our horses, two small, 
hairy beasts, bred for hill work. They looked up as we approached and mine,
a chestnut mare, gave me the eye. I'm not one for horses. The upper 
sections of Malat are kept clear of working animals and we, unlike some of 
our neighbours, never maintained a strong cavalry. Out in the wider world 
though, a horse is useful.

   "Our ratty nags will collapse under this load," said Hilda and waved 
with her hand, taking in the horses and the treasure chests. "I'll go see 
if I can scrounge up a cart."

   "I'll play guard then." I pointed my sword at the three chests and one 
very naked slave.

   Hilda led her horse out of the hidden nook and I moved to the saddle bag
attached to mine. Inside was food, water, travel supplies and some clothes.
I pulled out a heavy weather cloak and gave it to Isha. "You must be cold."

   Isha took the cloak and held it in one hand, head cocked as if she 
didn't know what to do with it. Her fingers loosed and it fell to the 
ground in a wave of cloth.

   "Do you not like my body?" she said and shifted closer, lean powerful 
muscles moving to present her breasts and face in the best possible light. 
Her tattoos almost shone. Her eyes were dark and sensual with exotic smoky 
depths of honeyed amber.

   "Very much," I said with a small grin, "but you'll freeze your tits off 
out here." Her nipples were small and sharp in the cool mountain air.

   "My comfort is not your concern. There is much I can do for you, 
Mistress." Without braking eye contact, she dropped to all fours and 
crawled forward like a stalking cat. "Many things."

   It's times like this that I really love my skirt. Hilda wears trousers 
and while I'll admit there are some advantages, little things like this 
make me pick an armoured skirt every time.

   Isha ducked underneath and let out a hot breath against my cunt. My 
flesh prickled. My clit tingled. I shivered all over.

   "I am skilled in all the arts of pleasure," she whispered and some 
harmonic in her voice turned my cunt to melting chocolate. "There are books
written on the arts - libraries. My teachers could bring climax with a look
or gesture." She leaned forward, tongue teasing the pink inside of my cunt.
I groaned as raw desire rolled up my spine. She swept up towards my large 
clit and circled it, ringing it with tantalising pleasure. It pulsed stiff 
with blood. Her hands came up, delicate satin fingers which toyed and 
rubbed my insides.

   I normally need some slap and scream to get me going but she managed 
without any of that. Her tongue hit me just right and I reached down, 
pulling her deep. "Mmm."

   "Enjoying this?" she whispered as she worked two long fingers in and out
of me. They touched me deep inside, the kind of places only the most 
skilfully wielded cocks normally go. "I am your slave, Mistress. I am yours
to use. I exist for your pleasure." Her tongue returned to my clit, tiny 
licks that sent miniature lightning bolts into my body.

   A fire burned within me, a red-hot bonfire which grew in heat and 
intensity with her every motion. I gripped her head tightly through my 
skirt.

   "More," I moaned. "Harder. Faster."

   She redoubled her efforts and my cum drew closer and closer. The muscles
of my thighs shook and I clenched shut my eyes. She sealed those beautiful 
lips of hers over my clit and sucked hard. I came. Exploded. I rode the 
wave of sexual ecstasy like it was a century storm.

   My body shook uncontrollably and I almost crushed her head between my 
powerful thighs. It lasted for long seconds but finally my pleasure dimmed 
and I collapsed onto the ground, panting.

   Isha emerged, her face glowing and stained with my juices. "I hope I 
pleased, Mistress." She smiled, just a touch cheeky.

   "I'd say she did," said Hilda as she walked up, horse and a small cart 
behind. "Look what I found while you had your fun. The bandits took their 
horses when they ran but left this behind. Guess they thought it would slow
them down. I hear two amazing warrior women threatened to kill them all. Or
maybe they just didn't want to interrupt your little love fest."

   I didn't dignify her with an answer.

   Hilda hefted the treasure chests up and onto the back of the cart. 
Girl's got some muscles on her. Meanwhile I stripped down my horse and saw 
to hitching it to the cart.

   Even with everything loaded, there was still enough room for the three 
of us. Hilda sat up front to drive, while I sat on the coin chest in the 
back and Isha sat cross-legged on the gold. Given that she still hadn't put
on a stitch of clothing, it gave me an interesting view of her body. Her 
cunt opened like a flower, showing glistening pink depths I'd have to 
ravage at some point. Perhaps I could hire a whore and have him rape her 
for a few hours. The thought of her screaming so sweetly stirred something 
in me, but it wasn't quite the sadistic glee I normally felt at such 
prospects.

   Hilda guided the cart as best she could but the land wasn't best suited 
for wheeled travel. The map helped put us on promising routes but like most
maps, it was wrong as often as it was right. The horses managed without too
many problems but carts need reasonably flat ground and enough room to 
spread their axels. On more than one occasion circumstances forced us to 
stop, unload everything, manhandle the cart past an obstacle and then 
reload on the other side. The result was painfully slow progress, a 
crawling pace that meant we only broke the worst of the ground as the sun 
set behind us.

   As the ground opened up before us, I said, "Isha."

   She looked up, eyes inquiring.

   "If you don't wish to wear clothes, I'm going to decorate you in other 
ways."

   She smiled slightly and nodded. "As you say, Mistress."

   "Stand here."

   Isha approached and stood where I indicated, at the rough centre of the 
rolling cart. I moved her limbs into a star pattern. She was my living 
doll. Her body glowed in the last of the daylight, her skin almost aflame 
as the setting sun brought out the touch of red in her dusky brown. The 
honeyed amber of her eyes shone.

   "A pretty slave should have pretty things." I opened the chest full of 
jewellery and pulled out a collection of bracelets and torques. "Let's 
see." I tried a succession of torques against her elegant neck but none 
worked, each spoiling her graceful lines in some way. Instead I moved onto 
the bracelets. It took some experimentation but I found a combination I 
liked. Staring into her deep eyes, I slipped a copper band over each of her
wrists, delicate things engraved with plants that almost matched her 
tattoos. They glimmered reddish-gold, a perfect complement to her skin.

   "Do you like them, Mistress?" she asked. "It is my duty to be as 
appealing as possible."

   "Very much but we're not done yet." I returned to the box and withdrew a
delicate bronze anklet chain. "Raise your left leg."

   She did so and balanced on a single foot with the skill of a temple 
dancer. I slipped the chain around her left ankle and locked the catch in 
place. The links fell against her skin. The chain wasn't tight but not so 
loose that it would fall off either.

   "Very beautiful," I said. "Hilda?"

   She glanced over her shoulder and snorted. "One pretty whore you've got 
there."

   I had to frown slightly at that. Isha wasn't a whore. She was a slave 
and that was very different. She was very pretty, though.

   It was passed dark by the time we reached an auberge and my stomach 
grumbled at the prospect of rich hot food. Lamb, maybe, or goat. They 
probably wouldn't use near enough spices, but I'd learned to enjoy foreign 
food in the years since leaving my home.

   I retrieved my bad weather cloak from my pack and gave it to Isha. "Put 
it on," I told her. Games were fun and all but if a girl like her walked 
into a country roadhouse naked, she'd spend the night taking dick and 
licking cunt whether she liked it or not. She smiled as she swung it around
her shoulders and pulled it tight across her naked body.

   Hilda flipped open the coin chest and drew out a deep handful of 
randomly assorted coins, comprising everything from quarter penny pieces to
a square silver cleg. "Tonight," she said with a wide grin, "we celebrate. 
I need to relax with a good cunt pounding."

   Of course, first we needed to stash the loot. Hilda and I lugged the 
three chests across the road to a small shrine to the Prudent Father. It 
took some banging but the local provost opened up and we paid the fee to 
keep everything safe in his strong room.

   With that done, we headed back to the now empty cart and saw to the 
horses. I led them towards the auberge's stables by the reins and they 
followed placidly enough, not that I truly trusted the animals. A tricksy 
beast your average horse, full of barbarian sentiment. No wonder Hilda got 
on with them.

   The doors were shut for the night but not locked. Hilda pushed them open
and we moved inside. Moaning sounds came from the hayloft, feminine groans 
inter spaced with masculine grunts.

   "Fuck, fuck, fuck," said a voice.

   "Yes," moaned a second. "Harder."

   Hilda rolled her eyes, climbed a nearby ladder and dragged down a 
spluttering naked stable hand. His cock glistened in the little light, 
covered in cunt juices. Random pieces of straw stuck from his curly brown 
hair.

   "Right," said Hilda. "You've got a choice. A penny and you take care of 
our horses. Or a kicking and you do the same."

   His eyes went wide with fear and I stepped forward too, looming over 
him. He gulped, nodded and held out his hand. Hilda placed the penny in it,
like a priest offering benediction.

   A fat round face peered over the side of the hay loft, skin flushed with
arousal. She giggled and waved.

   The auberge named itself the Eagle's Head and appeared a typical small 
village affair, a far cry from the elegant wine houses and spirit parlours 
of Malat and other great cities. A row of large fires burnt along the far 
wall from the door and the chairs, tables and benches filled the space in 
between. A butchered pig sat on a spit over the fire and large black 
cauldrons bubbled to either side. Perhaps a dozen people inhabited the 
room, farmer types mostly, with the occasional traveller dressed in road 
hardened clothes. The proprietrix was a corpulent matron, who held and 
wielded a wooden spoon as well any king did his sceptre.

   "Food, drink and whores," laughed Hilda as she shoved coins into the 
woman's hands. "And keep them coming."

   We ate well. Hilda ripped apart great slabs of steaming pork on thick 
brown bread. I drank a meaty stew which was spiced with a local plant that 
tasted of aniseed. Isha nibbled on buttered bread and cheese, having 
refused anything more substantial.

   The drink was good too. Hilda chugged down a sluggish beer with obvious 
relish, for all that it looked only slightly more liquid than my stew. I 
partook of a spicy local spirit, which came in a shallow copper bowl. Isha 
drank tea or what passed for tea in these parts. The drink smelt heavily of
ginger and honey, and looked almost the same colour as her eyes.

   Food and drink are good but the body needs other pleasures too. Come the
end of our meal, Hilda found herself a whore. He was a tall, black haired 
man with good grooming. I didn't feel like making anyone suffer so I didn't
bother. Instead, I took Isha and we followed Hilda to our room.

   I found Hilda knelt naked on the rough wooden floor, sucking on the 
whore's long, full cock. It's a habit of hers, picked up after a miss 
adventure a few years back. She bobbed up and down, lips sealed tight even 
as her eyes projected a mixture of intense arousal and resentment. I try 
not to get off to Hilda's pain but, well, some things are beyond even my 
control and my cunt juiced more than a little.

   The whore had his hands resting lightly on her head. His eyes were 
scrunched shut. "Yes," he whispered. "Work the head. I'm almost there, 
almost, almost..." His hands tightened on Hilda's head, pressing furrows in
her dense copper stubble. His hips jerked up and he pulled her down. Hilda 
choked and sputtered and drummed her hands.

   When the last of the cum vanished down Hilda's gullet, the whore 
released her and she erupted upwards. Fury covered her face. "You fucking 
shit," she screamed. "I'm going to kill you."

   She made a lunge for her sword but I got there first. "Hilda," I said. 
"We don't have time for a dead whore."

   "Baby please," he said. "A man's got needs. I just lost control."

   Hilda looked up at me, grit her teeth and nodded. Rather than gut the 
man, she spun round and kicked him in the chest. He stumbled back and fell 
onto the bed but Hilda didn't let up. She grabbed his head by his black 
hair and gripped hard. "Listen to me," she hissed. "I own you. You do what 
I say, got it?" She slapped him hard, once with the front of her hand, then
again with the back. "Understand?"

   The shock in his eyes turned to fear and he nodded as best he could. 
"Yes!"

   Hilda threw him to one side and he almost bounced off the wooden floor. 
"Good. Now, I need my cunt pounded. Do it well and I won't cut your balls 
off."

   I watched and smiled at the abuse. Nothing like some pain and fear to 
get my cunt churning. Isha saw the look on my face and a wicked smile grew 
on her lips.

   "Do you want to hurt me, Mistress?" She cocked her head and her long 
black hair swung like silk. Her tattoos caught the light of the lamp such 
that they shone almost liquid. Slowly, sensually, she lifted the left side 
of her cloak to reveal her breast and held the small swell up to me. "I 
like to be hurt. I am trained in all the pleasures of pain." Her nipple was
a sharp hard numb. She stood there, so proud, so vulnerable, and bit her 
lip. Her white teeth dug deep into pouty flesh.

   I saw red. There was just something about Isha asking for pain, the 
utter primal lust of it.

   Using all my strength, I shoved her back onto the bed. She landed with a
thump and a huff of expelled breath. Then I was on her. I kissed her hard. 
My teeth sank into her lower lip even as my tongue forced its way into her 
mouth. She tasted sweet - of honey and ginger - and I drank her in. My left
hand attacked her cunt, two fingers forced deep. My right grabbed the 
offered breast and dug in like claws. She moaned, a deep cry of erotic 
pleasure.

   "You want pain?" I hissed into her face. Her pupils were wide, dilated 
black voids swimming in seas of amber. I found her nipple and pulled hard, 
turning her breast into a cone. "You want this?"

   "Yes," she moaned and her cunt creamed itself around my fingers.

   To our side, the whore fucked Hilda. He slammed in and out, deep 
powerful strokes that shook the bed.

   "Fucking yes!" cried Hilda and slapped the man's face. His cheek glowed 
red. "Harder."

   I fell into a rhythm with them, driving into Isha with all the force of 
animal lust. It wasn't a proper fist fuck - it takes a certain clarity of 
mind to work a hand into something as small and tight as a cunt - but it 
wasn't prissy virginal love either.

   I kissed her even harder than before, bruising her lips and drinking in 
her screams of ecstasy. At some point she started cumming but I didn't 
stop. A flush ran the length of her body and stoked the fire in her dusky 
skin. She screamed like a tortured spirit. I kept assaulting her, ravishing
her, owning her body and soul. The flesh of her cunt glowed red with blood 
and sexual arousal. She spasmed again on my fingers, skin and flesh almost 
electric with energy.

   Hilda and her whore collapsed into a sweaty pile to the side but I 
didn't stop. Instead I flipped Isha and pulled her to my breast. "Bite," I 
said as the sickly pleasure of anticipation ran through me.

   She did and her small, sharp, wicked teeth sank deep into my breast. It 
hurt, oh city founders it hurt, but that pain only fuelled the fire of my 
passion. I tried to pull her off but she stayed latched, like the jaws of a
spring trap. Her eyes showed fiery determination. She was steel tempered in
fire. Blood showed on my breast where the sharpest of her teeth broke the 
skin.

   I finally wrestled her free and she grinned up at me, teeth gleaming and
just a touch red. I pulled her down towards my cunt and she set to it with 
the fury of a storm. This wasn't the skilful artistry of our rendezvous in 
the mountains. This was pain made pleasure. She bit at my fat lips, nipped 
at my clit and stretched me with her fingers. Again and again. Teeth and 
lips and hands. The sensations hit me like a war hammer, all together and 
all too much.

   Within seconds I exploded. Blackness swallowed the edges of my vision 
and I screamed. A wave of twitches ran through my muscles, random 
stochastic motions that made it seem snakes swam under my skin. It was all 
too much, incredible, soul rending.

   When it at last passed I just lay on the bed, too drained to move. Isha 
crawled up my body and I summoned the effort to raise an arm and drag her 
close. Her body felt like a stone fresh from the boiling pot, hot and warm 
and just perfect on a cold night. We spent the night huddled together in 
sleep.

   But all good things must come to an end.

   Come the morning Hilda, Isha and I rose and got ready to leave. Hilda 
paid her whore and kicked him out. Honestly, he was lucky it was by the 
door and not through the window. We paid the auberge proprietrix for hot 
water to wash, and I enjoyed the pleasure of running a damp cloth over 
Isha's lean, powerful body. It was the body of a dancer, all lithe strength
and agility. The tattoos set off her skin perfectly. I followed one line 
from her left eye to her left ankle. She shivered at my touch.

   We left after breakfast, loaded up our cart and headed off down the 
rough dirt road.

   "Where to now?" asked Hilda as she stared at the land ahead. As she 
spoke she shifted in her seat, trying to get comfortable. She'd taken quite
the pounding the night before.

   "We'll need somewhere large to sell all this," I said. "The gold alone 
would bankrupt anything smaller than a city."

   "True. Gods' Rest's not too far."

   "Never a fan of Gods' Rest. How about Brin?"

   "Bit further."

   "But more coin counters."

   "True. Plenty of city-shit in Brin."

   Of course I had my own reasons for going to Brin. There, we could 
deposit a large chunk of our money in a counting house against future need.
Hilda would complain, of course, but I felt I could talk her around. It 
would be good to have a stable reserve. Perhaps we could even broach the 
topic of investments. I'd heard good things of the emerging spice trade 
with furthest Erkwesh.

   We rode on, headed now towards Brin, that great city build where the Too
-Fast River met the Amethyst Sea. Brin might be civilised but to get there 
we had to pass through a hilly and wild land. Unseen animals moved among 
the trees and through the undergrowth. Howls, cries, hoots and screams 
rolled out from places unseen. Despite all that, the road remained clear 
and safe. Travel was easy enough.

   We didn't reach a village that night so camped by the road. Hilda set to
making camp while I talked with Isha.

   "You said you could fight?" I asked.

   Isha nodded, eyes dark in the fading light. "I have some training, 
Mistress. With the knife."

   "Let's see." I retrieved a fairly blunt knife from our supplies and 
passed it too her. She held it like she knew the balance of such weapons. I
picked up my sabre and shield and stood ready. "Show me what you know."

   She nodded submissively, then attacked. Like a dark shadow she streaked 
forward and struck. I took the blow on my shield and knocked her back. The 
clang echoed out across the empty night.

   "Good," I said with a laugh.

   Emotionless she attacked again. The knife sliced through the air and 
again I knocked it and her aside. She spun, a dancer of shadows, and struck
a third time. This time I sidestepped, turning as I did to keep my shield 
ready. For a moment she looked like she would duck under my guard and 
strike up, but she hesitated. Instead she darted forward in a poorly 
telegraphed thrust. I knocked the blow aside with barely any effort.

   She darted back and spun. I kept my eyes on her, but in the dying light 
and heavy shadows of the trees I missed her slip from the cloak. It fell to
the ground, lifeless, and she sprung from the left. Her knife glittered 
like a lion's fang and her naked body showed everything, from the small 
swells of her breasts, to her tight stomach and beautiful cunt. I retreated
and blocked. The chain on her ankle clinked ever so slightly.

   Our practise continued like that, attack followed by defence, a strange 
mix of skilful and poor. Sometimes she struck with talent, others like a 
rank beginner. The hesitation seem to strike most hard just when she looked
set to make a particularly good move. I'd seen similar before - old 
warriors on the training fields hurt by the sword and never quite recovered
- but similar wasn't identical and I didn't see how Isha's hesitancy could 
be from that source.

   "Keep the knife," I said when our practise ended. I panted happily at a 
good workout. "And here." I fished out a whetstone and set it aside for 
her.

   Isha nodded her acquiescence but stayed where she was. She breathed 
heavily and a slight sweat made her whole body glow. Hilda has set a small 
fire, which burned brightly in the new night. The light made Isha's body 
dance with its own flames.

   "Do you expect me to need it, Mistress?" She held the knife differently,
now, like it was a living viper.

   "I hope not but life is uncertain," I said.

   We again made love that night. She moaned and writhed under me and I 
coaxed her small, powerful body to the heights of pleasure. After, she 
returned the favour.

   Come dawn, we returned to the road. Our cart rumbled on through the 
rolling countryside. Around midday, I moved carefully to the front of the 
cart and sat next to Hilda.

   "What do you think of Isha?" I said in a low voice.

   Hilda threw a look over her shoulder towards where Isha sat at the back 
of the cart, sharpening her knife with almost meditative focus.

   "A good fuck from the sounds of things. Pretty too. Probably bring in a 
lot."

   Tension gripped my guts. "Perhaps we shouldn't sell her." Hilda gave me 
an inquiring eye and I rushed on. "She'll be useful, very useful. She's 
beautiful and you know how men and women can be about that. Distracting 
guards. Getting into places. And she'll be loyal too. She's trained by the 
slaver wizards. As long as we're alive, she'll never betray us. Having 
someone that loyal in our line of work is priceless."

   Hilda let out a puff of breath. "If you've fallen for the whore, just 
say so. I've seen you look at her."

   "She's not a whore," I said, far too fast. I took a moment to centre 
myself. "She's a slave. Prostitutes are unclean, ritually I mean. It soils 
the soul to have sex with them. Isha's not a prostitute. She's a slave."

   "She's a slave worth a lot of money," said Hilda but the words lacked 
argument.

   "We have the gold," I said. "That is worth a lot of money too."

   "Fine." Hilda let out a puff of breath and shook her head. "Keep your 
plaything. She'll probably come in useful, if for nothing else than as a 
bed warmer."

   I climbed to the back of the cart and settled next to Isha. I through an
arm around her and pulled her close. She smiled at me and I smiled right 
back.

   Two days passed like that - gentle travel, good company, nightly 
training sessions and hot passionate sex. Even Hilda played her part, 
mixing up the occasional healing salve after Isha and my training left one 
of us bruised or bloody.

   Under a bright moon I kissed down Isha's naked body. Sweet smoke filled 
the air. The flickering light of the fire danced along her flawless skin 
and the black of her tattoos coiled around her like liquid shadows. She was
naked, and the beautiful curve of her throat was bare to me. I kissed it 
hard and nipped with my teeth.

   She moaned and groaned and arched her body towards the sky. Her ankle 
chain sung out like a tiny bell. I pressed her shoulders to earth with my 
callused hands and kissed my way down. The smoke and her sweat spiced her 
skin. I laid a trail of kisses between her small breasts, over her taught 
stomach, across her plump mons and to her sex. It radiated heat. The lips 
where small and shy but her clit was very, very hard.

   I took her clit in my mouth and worried it between my lips.

   "Mistress, please!" she gasped but broke off as a quiver ran through her
flesh. "I should-" Another quiver. "I should be pleasuring you!"

   The wolf smiled at the lamb. I pulled up. "It pleasures me to pleasure 
you." She was mine now and I intended to show it.

   I went back to eating out her cunt, and a tasty cunt it was. Her smell 
and flavour were intoxicating, like spiced wine. Well, not really but 
something in the flavour brought those memories to mind. As I worked, I 
took her hips in my hands and kneaded her tight ass. Taught flesh and 
muscle shifted under my fingers. I slipped down, until I had a proper grip 
to lift her slightly off the ground, the better to give her pleasure.

   On impulse, I slipped my thumbs into her soft yielding ass. A shudder 
streaked through her body and a guttural sound tore out her throat. Part of
it was shock but part was something much more primal.

   "Like that do you?" I said. I kept one thumb in place and started 
fingering her cunt with my other hand. That was the side show, though. I 
dropped my lips from her cunt to her asshole and licked her ass hard, 
forcing her supple flesh to move beneath me.

   She started moaning and twitching. Her thighs came up and crushed 
against my ears. I kept on licking and finger-banging. She didn't even 
taste half bad, and how she managed that one, I have no idea. Being clean 
when you're a temple prostitute is one thing. Those whores can wash every 
day, coat themselves in scented oils and waters, and have body slaves see 
to their every need. But we were on the road, in the middle of the 
wilderness. Some bitches have all the luck.

   She just about exploded. A flush ran the length of her body, her cunt 
tried to crush my fingers and her thighs tried her best to crush me, though
without much success. Isha's were a dancer's legs, never a warriors. All 
around the shadows in the trees shifted and moved. It was like they danced 
at her climax and of course they did. I just didn't know the significance 
until later.

   After she calmed down, we moved into something a bit more mutually 
pleasurable and tribbed for a while. We scissored our legs and I ground my 
hairless cunt against hers, until we both boiled over with pleasure again. 
After that, things got a little wild. The details aren't important but 
let's just say, Hilda was a lot less willing to heal the wounds of our love
making than our fighting practice.

   And so it went for two more days, but on the third day, things were 
different.

   The cart slowly rolled down a worn decline, leading from a raised 
plateau into a wide river valley filled with leafy green trees. Hilda 
napped in the back of the cart and I'd let Isha take the reins. She claimed
some experience with horses and certainly seemed to keep them in hand.

   And that's when everything went wrong.

   Isha started and glanced to her left, eyes wide. I looked too and saw a 
huge black shape lunge up from the undergrowth. It was a frightful shade of
living shadow, full of fearful depths.

   The horses panicked and bolted forward. Isha yanked back on the reins 
hard but the leather broke on the right rein and the horses careened left. 
I made a desperate grab for the flailing end but it flew away. Hilda jerked
awake but by then it was too late.

   The cart crashed off the road, destroyed a patch of tall ferns, careened
over a slight ledge and smashed into a great tree. The impact threw me off 
my seat and onto the ground. I hit dirt, rolled and came to rest face up. 
For long dumb seconds I stared up, up at the sky, leaves and the immense 
grey hive which sat cradled in the branches. The ringing in my ears became 
buzzing. Yellow and red taker wasps boiled forth. They were inch and a half
long flying parasites, which burrow into your brain and take control.

   "Run!" I shouted.

   I clambered to my feet and snatched up my sabre from the ground. My 
shield was nowhere in sight. The first wasp shot at me like a ballista bolt
and I sliced it out of the air. But more were coming, a swarm I couldn't 
hope to fight.

   Animals emerged from the shadows of the forest - wolves, foxes, rabbits 
and stranger shapes still hidden in deep shadow. Each bore a head wound 
caked with dark red blood. Slaves to the wasps.

   "Help!" shouted Isha. My heart beat fast. I vaulted up the side of the 
cart. Isha lay there, the gold chest trapping her foot.

   A wasp flew at her and she cut at it with her knife. It ducked back out 
of range but shot forwards again almost at once. I jumped into the way and 
smashed it aside. It slammed into the tree with a chitinous crunch and fell
to the ground, either stunned or dead; it didn't matter.

   I reached down and yanked the gold chest up. Isha slipped her foot out 
and grabbed the other side. "We must flee, Mistress!" she shouted and 
started running back towards the road.

   I'd not originally planned to take the chest but didn't have time to 
argue. The chest carried between us, we ran. Hilda guarded the way to 
safety, her great sword barely able to keep the wasps back. A wolf roared 
and leapt at her back. She turned just in time, sword rising to near take 
the beast's head off. It hit the ground, tumbled and then the wasp started 
to crawl free, an obscene birth heralded by bloody brains.

   We passed her at full sprint and she joined us, already panting. 
Desperate we scrambled up a low ledge and through a thick crop of ferns. 
The road was just ahead. The wall of ferns exploded behind us and a pair of
taker wasps burst through.

   Hilda spun and hit the lead full force. It exploded mid-air, insectoid 
innards going in all directions. Isha threw her knife and speared the 
second through the thorax. A fox leapt from the left, teeth bared to show 
bloody purple gums. I kicked it as hard as I could and it rolled away in a 
bowl of fur and fang.

   In the few seconds this bought us, we reached the road. The level 
surface provided good footing and we put it to best use. We dashed down the
hill as fast as we could. Blood beat in my ears and my limbs burnt with the
invigorating fire of combat. Finally the buzz of the hive vanished behind 
us and no strange animals moved in the undergrowth. We'd escaped.

   Hilda let out an exhausted huff of breath and dropped to the ground, 
back flat against the hard packed earth of the road. Isha and I dropped the
chest and she sat down too, legs crossed.

   "What now, Mistress?" she said, eyes wide with what I read as fear.

   "We've lost the cart, the horses, two chests and all of our supplies," I
said and sank down too, sitting on the chest.

   "Bergin's Wart," said Hilda without looking up.

   "What?" I asked.

   "You burn Bergin's Wart too drive away taker wasps."

   "Do you have any?"

   Hilda darkly laughed. "Yeah. In my pack on the cart. Doesn't even grow 
around here."

   Oh.

   "Are there other plants you could use?" asked Isha.

   "Maybe," said Hilda. "Fuckers can't stand Bergin's Wart but they don't 
like Red Spot Fungus or White Moss either. And they grow around here. The 
smoke will make them sluggish but they won't run like they would from 
Bergin's Wart."

   "Think you can find some?" I asked.

   Hilda pushed herself upright. "I'll try my best."

   While Hilda searched the forest for her herbs, Isha and I moved the 
chest off the road. We kept a careful eye out for taker wasps but none 
seemed near. That didn't mean my nerves stopped twanging, though, and I 
jumped at every shrill bird cry and cracking branch.

   "We are safe, Mistress," said Isha in a low soft voice. We set the chest
inside a hollow tree where it was hidden from three sides, and she came to 
me. Her long narrow fingers touched my arm and some of my tension 
disappeared. She stood on her tiptoes and placed her lips to mine, a chaste
kiss which somehow bared my soul.

   We stood like that for some time, until Hilda returned. "Aha!" she cried
holding up a large mushroom and a grey scraggy moss. "Look what I found."

   "The Red Fungus?" I asked.

   Hilda paused. "Well, no. Couldn't find any red. Found blue instead. 
Almost as good. And I did find White Moss."

   "So what's the plan? We need the supplies at least and I'm not leaving 
the treasure if I can help it." And there was of course my shield. I felt 
naked without it.

   "The horses will be gone," said Hilda. "Wasps in their brains by now. 
But we can probably move the cart by our self if we must. If we get it away
from the wasps, we can work out what to do from there. Bury the treasure 
maybe. Stash the cart somewhere quiet. Hike to the nearest village and 
vomit coins from our asses until someone gives us a few new horses."

   "How do the herbs work?"

   "We burn them," said Hilda. "Better dried but they'll smoke up good 
enough as is." She kicked open the chest and took out a handful of hay. In 
a few deft movements she wound it into a simple torch, shredded the herbs 
and pushed the pieces into the centre. "We'll go up wind. Light this up. 
The smoke will mess up the wasps. We go in, kill anything in our way and 
still standing, and drag the cart out."

   "What about this?" I said and kicked the chest shut. That much gold on 
open display made me nervous, even hidden as it was. It would probably be 
okay for a few hours but...

   "I can watch it, Mistress," said Isha softly. "I don't have my knife so 
I can't fight the wasps."

   I nodded. Here Isha would be safe, and I didn't like the thought of her 
facing taker wasps unarmed. In Malat, if a taker wasp hive was found inside
a building, even a small one, the whole building was burned and those 
nearby demolished. They were not to be underestimated.

   "No point in delaying this," said Hilda and hefted her great sword so it
rested against her shoulder. "Let's get a move on."

   I straitened my silver scale armour, flicked my sabre a few times to 
work out my wrist and nodded. "Let's go."

   The wild is Hilda's territory as much as the city is mine. I followed on
her heels as she led us around fallen trees, along narrow streams and down 
near invisible animal tracks. Finally she stopped and pointed ahead.

   "That's the nest tree," she said. I couldn't see the nest from where I 
crouched and couldn't see the cart either, but I trusted Hilda. "Taker 
wasps don't set guards but there will be slaved animals around here, 
hunting and gathering."

   "Let's do this."

   Hilda withdrew a flint and tinder from her leathers and made a spark. 
She blew it gently, coaxed a small flame that quickly subsided into glowing
embers, and then tipped the embers into the straw torch. It burned slowly 
and badly, an acrid black smoke that billowed and followed the wind. The 
smoke wafted toward the wasps, following twisting contrary paths. At first 
I thought nothing was happening, but then I heard it. A deep buzzing 
started, low at first but louder every second. Hilda's herbs had awoken the
taker wasps. Now I just had to hope the herbs disabled them too.

   She passed the torch to me and I held it in my right hand, my sabre 
ready in my left. "Go," she whispered and ran forward. I followed.

   We rounded the tree just as insanity descended on the hive of taker 
wasps. Dozens of black and red shapes buzzed in the air, attacking each 
other, nearby trees and even open air. They made sounds like arrows when 
they impacted bark and some even tried to burrow inside. I waved the 
smouldering torch like a magical ward and the insanity of the wasps 
redoubled when they came near.

   One crazed wasp barrelled towards me on a corkscrew path. I slashed at 
it but such was its motion that I only managed to take off a wing. That 
proved enough, and it twisted away, its crazy flight rendered doomed by my 
amputation.

   Hilda reached the cart and the horses. Both bore bloody clots in their 
mains, a sure sign that a wasp had taken up residence in each. She didn't 
waste time on sentiment. With great chops of her great sword she cut both 
beasts down and dragged the cart free of the corpses.

   I moved to join her, and we hauled the cart towards the narrow ridge 
that led to the road. It wasn't high, perhaps only half a foot, but it 
would be our greatest challenge.

   A roar stopped us in our tracks and an immense brown bear prowled into 
the clearing. It bore an old wasp wound at the side of its head but that 
wasn't all. Three more taker wasps were worming there way inside, stinger-
tails wiggling as they burrowed. Its eyes were wild, crazed by pain, wasps 
and my torch.

   I let go of the cart and moved to intercept. Hilda stayed with the cart,
cursing as she drove it forward. My torch bellowed out toxic black smoke, 
and I tried not to breathe any in. The bear swayed as the wind blew a 
particularly thick cloud straight into its face. It clawed the ground and 
roared again. Its breath stunk of death and carrion; taker wasps weren't 
known for being picky eaters.

   My heart hammered as I darted forward and shoved the burning torch into 
the bear's face. For a split second the flames licked its fur and the fumes
filled its nostrils. It slashed at me, an immense paw topped with claws the
size of daggers. I danced to the side, just in time, and returned the 
gesture with my sabre. The steel bit deep but the bear was immense and old.
Dark red blood spilled onto its fur but it showed no sign of stopping.

   Again I waved the torch in its face and again the smoke addled its mind 
- truthfully doing far more damage than my sword. It staggered towards me 
and tried to bite. I jumped back, torch staying as close to its face as I 
dared.

   "Just a moment more!" shouted Hilda. "Almost got this fucking, city-shit
thing up the ledge."

   I retreated, buying time. The three extra taker wasps were well 
ensconced now, the entry wounds just oozing holes. A tree root caught my 
foot and I tripped back, falling. The bear saw my weakness and tense to 
charge. Its left set of legs tried to power it forward but its right stayed
in place. The unbalanced motion flipped the beast, sending it rolling along
the ground. Seeing my chance I dived back to my feet and drove my sword 
into its left eye. The blade sank half its length before I pulled back. 
Against any normal beast, that would have been a death sentence but the 
bear had four taker wasps in its brain.

   Somehow it clambered to its feet, head lolling, limbs shaking.

   "Up!" shouted Hilda. "It's up."

   I threw the torch at the bear's face and ran for Hilda. The torch 
bounced and skidded away. The bear tried to follow but this time its left-
side limbs didn't work. It collapsed, twitching, just as I reached the cart
and pushed it the last few feet to freedom.

   Back on the road our task was simple. It was flat and easy travel for a 
cart. More, it was downhill. Hilda and I spent more time making sure the 
cart didn't run away from us than pushing it forward. It barely took us any
time to reach where we'd left Isha and the gold.

   There I abandoned Hilda to see to the cart and walked into the forest. 
"Isha!" I cried. "We did it. We got the cart. I had to fight a bear but it 
was nothing."

   I reached the hollow tree and looked around. The chest was there but no 
Isha.

   "Isha?" I cried as loud as I could. There was no reply.

   A queer sensation settled in my chest. I kicked the lid of the chest 
open. The gold was gone, all dozen bars. In their place lay a scroll of 
paper, held closed by two copper bracelets. I recognised the bracelets; 
they bore a pattern of curling vines and looked perfect against Isha's 
skin.

   My hands shook as I removed the bracelets and unwound the scroll. The 
outside was a page from the Bandit Queen's pay book. The inside bore an 
elegantly scribed message, written in the coloured inks found in the Bandit
Queen's stash.

   "Thanks for the gold, Mistress," it read. "I enjoyed our time together, 
but all good things must come to an end."

   It was signed, "Isha." A lock of silky black hair fell slowly to the 
ground. I fell with it.

                                    ~~~                                    

   Kana fell silent, eyes focused on the crackling bonfire. She nursed on 
the potent drink.

   "Bad business," muttered Hilda. "She tricked us, of course. Isha I mean.
She went to the Bandit Queen's tower to rob the place, but we caught her 
mid act. So she pretended to be a slave and waited until she could steal 
the gold."

   Hilda raised the grave doll and held it high. "Hear that, ghouls and 
ghosties, this one's a tricky character; I'd watch her closely. That 
business with the taker wasps? Planned from the start. She saw the signs, 
used Shadow Cant to make the monster, cut her own rein and drove the cart 
right into them. Then she pretended to be stuck under the chest and got us 
to take it with us. When we left to rescue our cart, she took the gold and 
ran for it."

   "She kept the ankle chain," said Kana, without looking up. "She kept 
that."

   "Aye," said Hilda sombrely. "I suppose she did."

   A rustling in the woods broke the melancholy silence. Branches cracked 
and an unseen man shouted, "Damn wilds!" A slashing sound followed and a 
figure stumbled into the clearing, holding a long, whippy and fairly 
impractical sword. He muttered under his breath, straightened himself, 
sheathed his sword and bowed at the waist. "Ladies."

   Hilda laid a hand on the hilt of her great sword. "Barnabas."

   He sighed. "Must you threaten me so, Hilda?"

   "What are you doing here?"

   "I was invited."

   "Invited," said Hilda, the word slow and cold. She rose to her feet in 
much the same fashion. The steel of her sword was dark in the night.

   "Now, now," said Barnabas. "No need to be hasty." He backed up and 
raised both hands in a conciliatory gesture. "See." He reached into a 
pocket and pulled out a folded square of paper. He flicked it at Hilda, who
caught it out of the air.

   "Barnabas," the note said. "If you are reading this I am dead. I'd be 
grateful if you would come to my funeral. Hilda and Kana should be 
performing the rites in the forest south of Gods' Rest. Search for the fire
and it shouldn't be hard to find. Isha."

   Hilda looked up. "She invited you?"

   "Well of course. That is what the note says."

   "She invited you," said Hilda again. "They hung her broken body from the
gates of Gods' Rest and she invited you. We saw her body. The things they 
did to her. Why!" She jabbed a finger to the north, where the looming 
shadow of the One True Mountain covered a patch of stars. At that mountains
base still hung Isha's body.

   "I truly don't know." Again he backed away, such that he almost returned
to the trees. "All I know is what the note says."

   "You knew her," said Kana in barely more than a whisper. "She worked 
with you."

   "On occasion, yes. I wouldn't say we were close, but our partnership has
proved mutually profitable on a number of instances."

   "Sit."

   "I, um." He looked at Hilda, still erect and brandishing blade.

   "Hilda," said Kana. "Let him sit."

   "Fine," she muttered. "City-shit fools. We kill men like him who come to
our funerals." Despite her protestations, she returned to her seat by the 
fire.

   Barnabas approached carefully but finally settled on an available log. 
"How does this work? I have to say, I've never engaged in funeral rights 
quite this rustic. And as I'm sure you know, I am something of an expert on
cult."

   "Barnabas the Apostate," muttered Hilda.

   "I really wish people wouldn't call me that."

   "We drink and tell stories," said Kana. "So the spirits of the dead know
their new companion."

   "Ah," he said nodding. "Alcohol is important to many rites. I brought 
this." He produced a large metal flask from under his coat and held it out.
"It is a fire berry wine from one of the towns high on the White Bear 
Mountains. It is rather strong and quite fascinating really. See, they seal
it in metal caskets and bury them in the snow over the winter. Come first 
thaw, they dig them up and check for ice around the casks. If there's ice 
that means the wine heated enough to melt the snow and that means the fire 
berry poison was burned out. Next they-"

   "Will you shut up," said Hilda. "Just give it here." She took a gulp and
swirled the liquid around her mouth. After a few seconds she spat it onto 
the fire where it whooshed up in flame. "Strong enough, 'suppose. Some for 
Isha." She splashed the doll. "And some for me." She took another gulp 
herself, then passed the bottle onto Kana. "Now, where were we?"

   "You've started?" asked Barnabas.

   She sent him a dark look. "Yes. We've told two stories. First, when we 
met Isha in Agartha and then when we met her again near the towers of the 
Bandit Queen."

   "Next would be the time in Ko," said Kana softly. "No plan, no grand 
scheme. I just saw her in the street."

   "And almost killed her as I recall," said Hilda. She sighed. "That was a
fun day."

   "Not fun. I was just so angry. I wanted to hurt her, really hurt her. 
Not like fun with a whore. I wanted to hurt her inside so it just kept on 
hurting."

   "Yeah, betrayal feels like that. I've felt it before."

   "You wanted to kill her?" said Barnabas. "I always thought you and 
her..." He petered off at Hilda's withering look.

   "I didn't kill her," said Kana. "I really wanted to. I wanted to rip her
apart. I wanted to take my sabre and just start slicing. But I just 
couldn't do it. It was the ankle chain. I saw it on her and all that rage 
turned to misery. I let her go. Untied her ropes and she escaped through 
the window. Didn't even say goodbye."

   "I just wish she'd still had some of the gold left," said Hilda with a 
rueful shake of her head, "but that girl spends money like most people piss
water. Oh, she can live on a few pennies a day, but give her a fortune and 
it will be gone in a week. It was a year until we saw her next. A whole 
year and then she just turned up one day with an offer."

   "That's how she worked," said Kana. "In and out of lives like a 
hummingbird. That time was a scam. She got too deep and needed our help to 
get out. Should I tell that story?"

   Hilda shook her head. "It would be a good story but it's not your turn. 
It's Barnabas's here."

   "Ah, well," he said and drew a handkerchief over his forehead. "I can't 
speak about most of our dealings, you understand. Our clients paid a lot of
money to make sure we never spoke."

   "I knew this was a mistake," said Hilda. "I don't know what she was 
thinking inviting you. How did she even know we'd be doing this? And here 
of all places."

   "She was good at playing with people's lives, wasn't she?" said Barnabas
with a forced chuckle. "Living pieces on the game board. There is one story
I can tell. You were both there for it, so there's no problem."

   "The Still Waters heist?" asked Hilda.

   "The very same."

   To be continued...