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All Soul's Night
By Marawuti (1997)

***

This one's a charmer. marawuti has managed to combine a 
rousing good story, some really hot sex, and more than a 
generous dollop of humor. Ten points to the readers who 
find the Monty Python, Dorothy Parker, and Hannibal 
Lecter references. (MF, fantasy)

***

Word to the wise, if you ever happen to be traveling in 
rural Litharna on All-Soul's Eve, stop in a podunk 
little village with a relatively comfortable-looking 
inn, and a sexy young local woman offers you generous 
sexual favors, take my experience as an example, and 
turn the sweet little creature down.

Perhaps I should explain. My name is Wulf (or Chuma, or 
Karis, or any number of other pseudonyms), and I am what 
might generously be called a creative freelance 
contractor. What this means in real terms is that I lie, 
cheat, and steal (usually from people who deserve it, 
mind you -- I have some integrity) to make a living.

In this instance, I was in Litharna, land of gunpowder, 
loud noises, clanky machines, and religious fanatics, to 
gain a little extra income, and to pay a debt to a dead 
friend (more on that later). The way from the great port 
city of Helmsruud to Vosgraad, the capital city, passes 
through some pretty wild country, and I anticipated 
sleeping under the stars, or sampling the pleasures of 
various inns of the sort that reputable travel manuals 
tell you to avoid like a bad case of Crimson Pox. 

I'd never been here before, though I'd read the people 
were friendly, if a bit rustic, and still believed in 
zombies, werewolves, vampires, and other mythical 
beasts. Of course, unlike the authors of the various 
travel books, I have actually encountered a number of 
supposedly "mythical" creatures, and I figured that if 
the locals believe in something, I should at least give 
it some marginal level of credence.

I traveled well-armed, and took the precaution of 
purchasing a brace of pistols in Helmsruud. These were 
new weapons for me, so rare outside of Litharna as to be 
virtually unheard of (the Litharnans are nothing short 
of fanatical when it comes to keeping firearms strictly 
within their borders), and took some impromptu 
instruction in their use from a grizzled dwarf at an inn 
along the way. 

I also packed a rapier and mail-reinforced parrying 
glove, and, on a whim, picked up a heart-cutter (useful 
against demons), and a silver kris at a waterfront shop. 
I felt like a landsknecht on campaign, but any 
werewolves who attacked me would risk getting bloody in 
the process.

The rural roads of Litharna are both beautiful and 
disturbing, with vast green farmsteads and meadows 
interspersed with ancient woods filled with gnarled, 
black trees festooned with moss and lichen, and deep, 
quiet rivers which flow so slowly that they seem to move 
not at all. When you ride along these roads, you pass 
farmhouses on lots so overgrown and wild that you wonder 
if anyone actually lives in them, and if they do, what 
kind of people they must be. 

Occasionally, you encounter other travelers, who tip 
their hats or incline their heads solemnly, all the 
while looking at you as if they expect you to sprout 
wings and grow fangs at any moment. The people in the 
towns are a mixed bag -- some are friendly and 
gregarious, while others are quiet, surly, and 
suspicious. These last invariably sit on front steps, or 
lean on split rail fences, motionless save for the slow 
swivel of their heads as they watch you ride past with 
black, unreadable eyes.

It was a land of contrasts, where science fought 
superstition, and technology fought to gain ground on 
magic. These people were on the frontier, between rulers 
determined to stamp out the pagan beliefs of the past, 
and the dark, ancient powers who did not want to be 
disturbed. Needless to say, I traveled in a state of 
unease, never certain what the next bend in the road 
would reveal.

As dusk gathered around me, my horse whickered nervously 
as the wind stirred dead leaves and rushed through 
twisted branches. 

"Time to find some shelter," I told her. "Hopefully 
there's a village with an inn nearby. I don't relish 
spending the night out any more than you do."

She seemed to snort in agreement, and we set off at a 
brisk trot.

We were lucky. A good sized village lay less than a 
league beyond. To my relief, it was one of the friendly 
ones -- brightly-lit, bustling even as night fell. 
Ahead, I saw a large structure, its windows glowing 
warmly yellow. It had to be an inn; I approached it 
gratefully.

I noted a certain festive quality in the town. Buildings 
were decorated with images of what I took to be the 
local deities, the mother- goddesses and horned green 
men which I'd seen elsewhere, in the Lastlands, and back 
in Stoneburg, as well as various abstract wheel-patterns 
and wildly-capering animals. Many windows, I saw, had 
lit candles set in them, making the village a wonderland 
of twinkling lights.

I hailed a man walking down the street, a little girl 
tagging faithfully along at his heels.

"Hi," I said. "I'm from out of town. What's the occasion 
tonight?"

He frowned, looking at me as if I was a retarded orc.

"All Soul's Eve," he said, simply. "The night before we 
remember the dead."

I thanked him, and rode on, even as he stared after me, 
probably muttering to himself about how ignorant 
foreigners were.

I reached the inn, handed my horse over to a stable boy, 
and accepted a room from the slender, weasely innkeeper. 
With a deep sigh, I settled down in the common room, 
looking forward to a meal and a drink before bed.

Then, she showed up. I'd encountered attractive serving 
staff before, but this one put all the others in the 
shade.

Oh, she was lovely. Young (but not TOO young, by the 
gods...), full- bodied, bright-faced, with a graceful, 
wavy cascade of ravens-wing hair, and dark, wicked eyes 
that latched onto mine as tightly as a dwarf's fist 
around his last gold coin. I was hooked, and I certainly 
didn't mind getting reeled in. Shows how much I know...

"I'm Khaera," she said, breathily, setting down my mug 
of ale with scarcely a splash. She wore a white blouse, 
pulled down to reveal her shoulders, and the first 
voluptuous suggestion of two lovely white breasts, and a 
long dark skirt and sandals. She moved like a dancer, 
however, weaving through the crowd, trays carefully 
balanced, eyes steady. I guessed her at not more than 
twenty winters, and possibly less, but clearly old 
enough to know what she was doing.

"Wulf," I said. "Out of Stoneburg. On my way to 
Vosgraad.

Happy All Souls'."

She looked at me suspiciously.

"Oh, shouldn't I have said that?" I said, as pleasantly 
as I could. "I'm not from around here."

She smiled, and I would swear the room grew a few 
degrees brighter. "It's considered unlucky to actually 
say it, but no harm done. Besides, it's only 'eve,' not 
'night'"

I indicated an empty chair next to me. "Can you sit for 
a few minutes?"

She scanned the room with a practiced eye. "Everyone 
seems taken care of," she said, slithering down into the 
proffered seat. "Forgive me if I have to leap up and 
take an order, however."

"No problem. As I said, I'm new here. Can you tell me 
what this holiday is all about, without actually naming 
it?"

"I think I'm equal to the task." She settled luxuriantly 
in the chair, looking for all the world like a very 
sleek, very sensual cat, bedding down on someone's 
chest. "Eve is just the night before. People don't work 
-- except at inns, of course, we work all the fucking 
time -- and you get ready for the next night. That's 
when we sing hymns, and walk through the streets with 
candles and torches, and leave out food and offerings 
for the dead."

"Out of respect for their memories?"

"Hell no -- so they won't rise from their graves and 
kill us all."

"How jolly," I said. "I thought you Litharnans were all 
modernistic and didn't believe in old superstitions 
anymore."

Khaera chuckled. "That's how the king and the priests 
would like it to be. They'd love it if we gave up on all 
the old pagan holidays, and didn't do magic, and all 
used machines and guns, and clanking, smoking things to 
do all our work, and all quietly filed into church every 
Godsday and said our prayers to Kybor and asked Saint 
Orlan to protect us and deliver us, but... Well, the 
fact is we're not all like that, Wulf. Old ways die 
hard."

"I know," I replied. "I've been to Xesh."

Her eyes widened. "Really? They say they're all 
incredibly decadent there."

"You don't know the half of it. I could tell stories."

She leaned forward, face eager, chin in hands, staring 
at me with absolute devotion. "Tell me some."

"I don't know if they're fit for mixed company," I said, 
cautiously thinking of Mistress Xylara and her whips and 
dildos.

"Ohhhh, I wouldn't be too concerned," she said. "You 
probably couldn't shock me if you tried."

Hmmmm. I wasn't sure where this was going, but I was 
willing to find out. "I've met a dark elf woman who has 
rings in every part of her body," I said, quietly.

"EVERY part?" she asked, incredulous.

I nodded. "Just what you're thinking."

"How did you manage to find that out?" Her curiosity was 
building, and I noted that she was beginning to breathe 
a bit heavier.

I raised my eyebrows. "The usual way," I said, in as 
off-handed a fashion as I could manage.

"Really?" It was a taut stage whisper. "How was she?"

I shrugged. "All right, I guess. I really don't remember 
much, since she tried to kill me immediately 
afterwards."

It impressed her. "You get around, don't you?"

"It's not as romantic as it sounds, believe me."

"Oh, it's romantic enough for me," she said, voice 
dropping even further. "Wulf, I've a feeling about you."

I swallowed. "I'm... glad? to hear that?" I felt 
nervous; why, I couldn't say.

"Go up to your room, Wulf," Khaera whispered. "Wait for 
me there." She leaned forward, warm lips brushing my 
ear. "I want to come up and fuck you." With that, she 
rose, and returned to her work.

Now, my whirling brain said, logic flickering and 
fading, there is an invitation you don't get every 
day...

I finished my drink and went, unsteadily, to my room, 
casting a surreptitious backward glance across the 
crowded room. Khaera's black eyes met mine once more, 
and she gave me a saucy wink.

Well, I thought, what to expect? I'd had barmaids give 
me come-ons before, and it usually wasn't worth the 
silver they asked for. Then again, Khaera was probably 
the most attractive woman I'd seen since arriving in 
Litharna, and a little innocent recreation never hurt 
anyone.

You know, for someone who's been in as many scrapes as I 
have, and has been betrayed so often, I can be 
incredibly naive sometimes...

The soft rap on my door came a couple of hours later, as 
I lay dozing, shirt and boots off, breeches still on. I 
hadn't decided whether to believe Khaera's proposition, 
but figured if it was honest, I might need some rest.

I padded quietly to the door and opened it.

Yes, she was there, ethereal and darkly gorgeous in the 
light of a single candle which she held on a stand. She 
wore a light sleeping shift, and I could see the dark 
silhouette of her body beneath it.

"I'm here, Wulf," she hissed. "Going to invite me in?"

I stepped back silently and let her enter, light and 
quiet as a ghost.

She turned and faced me, setting the candle down on the 
nightstand. She moved closer, eyes bright, and twined 
her arms behind my head.

I took a deep breath, consciously willing my heart and 
breathing to slow, and my bestirring cock to wait a 
moment.

"No offense, Khaera," I whispered to her, "but is this 
going to cost me?"

She shook her head, black tresses quivering. "Not a 
thing, Wulf. I just want you. Now."

As I said, this isn't something that happens very often, 
and when it does I usually suspect the woman involved of 
having a hidden agenda, but I was willing to batten down 
the hatches and ride out the storm. Our lips came 
together by mutual consent, and in an instant I felt her 
long, flexible tongue caressing the inside of my mouth. 
I tried to return the favor, but she overwhelmed me.

"Take me," she whispered, kissing the sides of my mouth, 
tongue slipping sloppily out, covering my face with hot 
moisture. "I want it."

With that, I figured there was no going back (and 
besides, I was hard as a rock). I bent down, lifted her 
bodily, and carried her to the bed.

"Oh... Wulf," she gasped as I moved atop her, pushing 
her shift up, revealing the soft contours of her 
rounded, fleshy body.

"What do you want?" I asked. "Tell me."

"Everything. Whatever you want to do to me. Kiss me."

I complied, once more uniting my lips with hers, tongues 
thrusting and intertwining, her sweet spittle mingling 
with mine. I kissed my way across her cheeks and jaw 
line, up to her ears, where I nibbled, then bit at the 
fleshy part of her ear, feeling her go rigid as I did 
so.

"Yes, Wulf. Yes."

I took this as encouragement, and moved down to her 
shoulders, licking and biting, sliding my teeth across 
her warm skin, feeling it yield before me.

"Suck my nipples, Wulf. Please. I love that."

I had been on my way there in any event, so I didn't 
change my pace, letting her anticipation build as I 
kissed down her arms, lingering at the back of her 
elbow, sliding my tongue along her palms, kissing and 
lightly biting fingertips.

"Wulf... Suck me. Suck my nipples, Wulf."

"I will," I said. "You have to be patient."

A sensuous whine entered her voice, a strained longing. 
"I don't want to be patient. I've waited for someone 
like you, Wulf. I've dreamed of him. Please do what I 
want."

"I promise," I replied, once more, feeling the 
exultation of being in control, dictating the pace of 
lovemaking (I think I understand why Xylara liked it so 
much, now, the horny little vixen...). "I'll suck 
whatever you like."

With that I moved back down her arm, licking and 
squeezing her soft bicep, tongue flicking across her 
shoulder, finally moving to the pale mound of her 
breast, rising and falling with her increased 
excitement, surmounted by a stiff, pink nipple, hard and 
swollen in the slightly chill air. 

"Please..." Khaera's voice dripped with absolute, 
slavish devotion, and I couldn't bring myself to keep 
her in suspense any longer. I moved up to the thick, 
swollen pink prominence, encircled it with my mouth, and 
sucked, pausing occasionally to lick and bite lightly. 
Her breast was like a vast, whisper soft globe of flesh, 
larger than I could encompass with both hands. I wanted 
to bury myself in the warm, white flesh, lose myself 
completely...

"Ahhhhhh..." She breathed out, and I saw her fingers 
busy between her legs. I reached down and deliberately 
pulled them away, and was rewarded by a moan of 
frustration.

"Don't worry," I told her, "we'll get to that soon 
enough. Patience, remember?"

"I don't want to be patient..." It was what I wanted to 
hear.

I toyed with both nipples for a time, moving from one to 
the other, fingering and pinching one while I licked and 
sucked at the other. Beneath me, I felt Khaera's hips 
begin to rotate, and watched her smooth white thighs rub 
together slowly, but with increasing fervor.

Finally, I let one hand wander down across the gentle 
curve of her belly, hot to the touch now, and stroke at 
her thighs, moving briefly to touch her pubic thatch, 
then lower to brush the softness of her cunt. Another 
moan escaped her lips, and her legs moved apart almost 
involuntarily.

She was soaking by this time, to no surprise at all. Her 
pussy was soft and fleshy, and I felt heat radiate from 
it as she opened up for me.

"Put your finger in," she said. "Stop touching the 
outside.

Play with me. Please play with me, Wulf."

I had to admit that this was all exciting me enormously, 
and I was forced to break off for a moment while I freed 
myself of my breeches, letting my cock free from its 
uncomfortable prison. Then I renewed my attention to her 
pussy, positioning myself between her raised thighs, 
admiring the soft pinkness, surrounded by dark hair, 
glistening in the candlelight. I stroked lips and slowly 
spread them apart, revealing the naked bud of her 
clitoris, large and prominent, swollen to bursting.

"Touch it..."

I did, moistening my fingers and stroking the exposed 
prominence, listening to her voice trail off into soft, 
squealing, uncontrolled cries. At length, I slipped a 
finger between the wet lips, feeling the bare interior 
of her pussy yielding for me. Then I put in another, and 
touched her clit with my tongue, sending her into 
another paroxysm of ecstasy.

"Lick me... Please, lick it, Wulf..."

As I continued to thrust in and out of her now fully-
open cunt with two, then three fingers, I encircled her 
clit with my lips, licking, sucking, and biting lightly, 
the same way I'd dealt with her nipples.

It worked. Her groans grew deeper, fainter, and finally 
vanished altogether. She toyed with her own nipples, 
occasionally stopping to lick a finger and rub the 
moisture across her own swollen flesh. At last, I saw 
her grab a breast and bend her head forward, long pink 
tongue caressing her own nipple.

Okay, it turned me on. I like to watch women play with 
themselves (and each other, for that matter, but since 
I'm a man, you probably already know that), and the 
surge of passion I felt made me redouble my efforts on 
her. My fingers and tongue moved faster and I would 
swear the juices flowing from her cunt grew sweeter and 
hotter as I did so (then again, maybe it was just me...)

"Fuck me now," she demanded. "Put your cock in me."

"Ask nicely," I cautioned, pulling back, saliva trailing 
from my tongue to her swollen clit.

"I'm not asking," she said, firmly, "I'm telling. Fuck 
me now."

By the way, I also like a woman who knows what she 
wants. I moved up, holding my cock against her straining 
cunt.

"Want it now?" I asked. I couldn't resist a little more 
teasing, bastard that I am...

"Now!" she said in a voice I was afraid would wake up 
the inn's other occupants. "Fuck me now."

I thrust in an inch or so, feeling her go rigid once 
more.

"Fuck me," she gasped. "Make me come. Make me come and 
I'll take you in my mouth, Wulf. Do it for me."

I complied, thrusting the rest of the way in, tight box 
closing around me. It sent Khaera into another frenzy of 
passion, silence giving way to sudden contractions, and 
a babble of promises, pleas and demands.

"Take me with you, Wulf... Take me with you when you 
leave..." Her eyes pinned me once more, hard and 
determined. "I'll fuck you every night, Wulf. You can 
fuck me any way you want."

Passion had pretty much seized me and run away by this 
time, so I was willing to listen, and my logical mind 
even considered taking her up on the offer, even as she 
went on, meeting my thrusts with grinding hips, grabbing 
my buttocks and pulling me into her again and again.

"You can fuck my mouth, Wulf. You can come all over me. 
You can fuck me between my breasts..." She gasped, and 
it felt as if she was coming again. "I love that. I love 
to feel come all over my skin... I love to rub it all... 
over... me..."

Damned hot stuff, and it certainly inflamed me. Maybe, I 
thought, feeling boiling lust race through my veins, and 
wondering if I'd make it long enough to come in her 
mouth, maybe I COULD take her with me...

"I'll do anything for you, Wulf. You can fuck anyone you 
want.

You can fuck another woman and I'll watch, and I'll fuck 
her, Wulf. I've never fucked a woman before, Wulf, but 
I'd do it for you... I'd do it for you. Oh, yessss..." 
Another silent orgasm, and she collapsed into a 
sweating, fleshy puddle beneath me. "I want to go with 
you, Wulf. Please take me."

I was silent, pulling my cock free, watching her writhe 
and stare up at me from sweat- rimmed eyes, black hair 
plastered to her forehead and cheeks.

"Let me show you," she hissed with a level of lewdness 
that would do a daemon proud. "Let me show you what I'll 
do for you..." She moved suddenly atop me, hands 
encircling my wet cock, stroking.

Her lips moved along it, tongue flicking.

"Oh, I can taste myself," she said. "I can taste my come 
on your cock, Wulf. Yessss..." Then she was quiet, lips 
surrounding and engulfing me.

I've raved about the skills of the various women I've 
met in my adventures, and I won't go into the same thing 
here. Suffice to say, she knew what she was doing -- it 
made me wonder what she'd been up to in this little farm 
town all these years. Her mouth was a slippery furnace, 
wet and blood-hot, her eyes were fixed on mine, and I 
could feel her desire, and her urgent desire to make me 
come. I was already three-fourths of the way there 
simply from fucking her, and it wasn't going to take 
much to push me over the edge.

It was her eyes, more than anything else that gave me 
that final push - black, probing eyes like bottomless, 
gleaming wells of desire, longing, devouring passion... 
Damn, but these country women concealed a hell of a lot 
more desire than city gals, or else terminally horny 
from the long days their husbands spent in the fields... 
I met her gaze and felt her eyes surround and consume 
me, the same way her sucking, pliant mouth swallowed up 
my fevered cock, and then I knew I was over the 
precipice, and there was no going back.

"I want to come for you," I said, feeling the onrushing 
explosion. "I want to come in your mouth."

She released me and once more whispered, "Come, then. 
Come in my mouth." Then she swallowed me again, the 
burning black eyes seized me once more, and I felt the 
first contraction rage me. Hot come erupted from my cock 
and into her willing mouth. Her eyes widened, then 
closed hard as she sucked and swallowed, stroking my 
balls with her fingers, squeezing gently, prolonging the 
wracking convulsions that still tore at me. Eagerly, she 
continued to suck, moaning with apparent pleasure, even 
as my pumping subsided into weak aftershocks, and a tiny 
trickle of come. She let my slick, softening cock go, 
and looked up at me, eyes still hot, stabbing through me 
like twin lances.

"You come so much," she said, wiping her mouth. "I like 
that." She paused, gazing at me with a strange 
expression. "So will you take me, Wulf? I want to leave 
this place. You're the one I want to go with."

I was about to say yes, of course, when all hell broke 
loose.

The door exploded inward as if a White Empire battle 
wizard was behind it, and through it charged a gigantic 
bull of a man, face contorted, eyes wild, clutching what 
looked like an oversized pair of ragged-edged pliers, 
and bellowing like a dragon in heat.

"Mother-grabbing foreign bastard!" he roared. "Get your 
filthy hands off my wife!"

Even as I leaped to avoid him, stumbling into my 
breeches, I got the sickening feeling that I'd been had.

"Wife? I didn't know --" I squealed, ducking a ham-sized 
fist

which crashed down where my head had just been. "She 
didn't say --"

"I told her!" the human minotaur roared, even as Khaera 
screamed at him to stop. "I told her the next time she 
seduced some damned foreigner and tried to run off with 
him--"

"The NEXT time?" I demanded. "She's done this before?" 
He aimed a kick at my head, and I scrambled out of the 
way once more. Damn, he was slow, but if he ever 
connected...

"She does it ALL THE FUCKING TIME, you foreign idiot!" 
He brandished the strange device he carried. "I told her 
the last time that I'd cut the next fucking bastard's 
balls off!"

The purpose of the item suddenly became horrifyingly 
apparent, and my pure self- preservation instinct took 
over. I grabbed the rude chair which sat beside the bed 
and held it threateningly.

"Think that's gonna help you, city boy?" he snarled, 
advancing on me. "It won't do shit."

"Hey, look!" I said, glancing at a point just over his 
shoulder. "A little monkey!"

"Huh?" he said, thickly, turning around for an instant.

I let him have it, splintering the chair into 
matchsticks -- dammit, the rubes fall for that one every 
time... Gods only know why.

He went down with a thud, and I bashed him a few more 
times to make sure, then looked up, panting, at Khaera. 
She sat, pale and wide- eyed, sheets drawn modestly up 
around her.

"Is he dead?" she asked.

"I certainly hope not," I said. "In fact, I doubt it. 
His skull felt very thick."

"I'm sorry, Wulf."

I glared. "I value honesty in all my relationships, 
Khaerla. You disappoint me." I paused, and drew a 
breath. "On the other hand, I'm something of a chump. Do 
you still want to go with me?"

She looked down, fearfully, at her husband. "He'd hunt 
us to the ends of the earth."

"I seriously doubt that, love. His kind think 'the ends 
of the earth' lie just past Uncle Elmo's dairy farm."

"I have to stay," she said at last. "Gods, I want to get 
out of here, but..."

"But?"

"He... he needs me."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay," I said, firmly, gathering up 
my clothes and getting dressed, utterly disgusted. "If 
you ever get up the courage to actually leave, Khaerla, 
look me up in Stoneburg. Just ask for Wulf in any bar. 
Mind you, I may not be around, I may not be alive, and I 
may be enjoying carnal relations with another woman, not 
even of the same species, but I will help you if I can. 
I'm funny that way."

The husband moved and moaned fitfully.

"You'd better go," she said, sadly. "He has friends in 
town.

They'll kill you if they catch you."

"Or worse," I muttered, glancing down at his castrating 
tongs, and jamming stuff into my knapsack. I looked up. 
Her eyes were fearful and full of mixed emotions, and I 
wished I could say something to get her out of this 
town, but there wasn't time. "Goodbye, Khaera," I said. 
"It would have been fun."

She nodded. "Goodbye, Wulf."

Now, I was forced to ride the roads of rural Litharna on 
a windy All Souls' Eve, never certain whether Mr. 
Minotaur and his thick-necked farm boys were hot on my 
trail or not. This, I reflected, was scarcely the way 
I'd wanted to spend my visit to Litharna.

Then again, it was typical. I think the gods must be 
punishing me for something, but I've yet to discover 
exactly what it is...

The night was the sort you read about in those copper 
dreadfuls they crank out by the zillion in Litharna and 
the White Empire -- you know, dark and stormy. The wind 
howled, the trees tossed and clutched at the sky, debris 
blew into our faces as my horse and I tried to ride at 
speed and find some kind of shelter or town we could 
stay in. I didn't dare camp considering the fact that 
Mr. Bullneck and friends might be in hot pursuit, 
coupled with the possibility that I might have a tree 
fall on me during the night, so our search for 
civilization went on.

Now, I know what you're saying. You're probably saying, 
"Gee, I bet that stupid idiot takes a wrong turn in the 
darkness and wind and blowing shit."

Well, the fact is that you should be ashamed of yourself 
for thinking so little of me and my navigational skills. 
Then again, maybe not, since I DID, indeed, end up 
taking a wrong turn.

But shut the hell up anyway.

I'm not entirely sure what happened. Perhaps the trail 
forked and I didn't notice. Perhaps it forked several 
times -- who can say? The fact is that I found myself 
guiding my poor mare down a treacherous, rocky slope, 
clinging to what appeared to be the granite wall of a 
deep valley or ravine. The wind howled particularly 
loudly here, and I realized that, what with the noise, 
treacherous footing and the fact that the road was wide 
enough only for a single horse, I wouldn't be able to 
turn around until we reached the bottom.

It seemed to take an eternity to actually get to the end 
of the slope. My mare slipped a couple of times, but 
proved herself to be a real trooper, remaining 
relatively calm and undisturbed as we rode lower and 
lower.

When we at last got to the bottom, lost in windy, 
howling darkness, I actually reconsidered turning 
around, for a few hundred paces distant, I saw the 
lights of a village, flashing and twinkling behind 
tossing branches.

I paused, pulling my cloak shut against the incessant 
wind. I had definitely strayed from the main road, but 
my error might prove a blessing in disguise, for Farmer 
Biff and his Castrating Funsters were unlikely to find 
me here, and besides, I had no guarantee of finding 
anything like this nearby. I tugged at the reins, and 
guided my horse toward the lights.

To my surprise, the plucky mare, who had thus far 
remained unfazed by the terrors nature had thrown her 
way, reared and screamed, fighting my best efforts to 
urge her forward. Of course, I should have trusted her 
instincts, but I was so far gone by this time that I 
only wanted to find a place to hide, and go to sleep.

At length, I got the mare calmed down, and resumed our 
way toward the lights, though she whinnied in fear, 
tossed her head, and rolled her eyes just the same.

The village was smaller than the one I'd left, but it 
seemed to have the usual collection of thatch-roofed, 
half-timbered houses, barns, sheds, and - to my infinite 
relief -- a public house which appeared to harbor a 
couple of rooms in its upper story. Most of the glass 
windows showed All Soul's Eve candles, though at this 
hour they burned low and guttered ominously.

I dismounted outside the tavern's door, glancing up at 
the weathered sign, which flapped and squeaked in the 
wind. A skeleton holding a candle. Reassuring image, 
that.

With a silent apology to the building's inhabitants, I 
pounded heavily on the door, hoping they'd hear me over 
the rushing roar of the wind. It took several tries 
before I felt the vibration of movement from within, and 
the "thump" of bolts being pushed back.

The door opened a narrow crack, revealing a dim sliver 
of yellow light. A fearful, wide eye looked out at me 
through the opening.

"I need a room!" I yelled. "I'm sorry to disturb you so 
late, but I've lost my way, and need a place to stay 
tonight! I've got money! I'll pay!"

"Are you... alive?" quavered the voice, cutting though 
the noise of the wind.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Yes, I'm fucking alive. 
I'm not an All Soul's Eve spirit wandering the mortal 
world in search of victims, if that's what you're 
asking."

I guess the person on the other side of the door figured 
that a real ghost wouldn't be so bloody sarcastic, and 
opened the door enough to look out. He was a wizened, 
old man, with white hair and a trembling chin. He was 
dressed in a nightshirt and cap, and carried a candle.

"I need a place for my horse," I said. "She's 
exhausted."

He nodded. "Bring her around to the stables. I'll meet 
you there."

I sighed deeply once more as I led my mare around toward 
the back of the building. Safe again. For the moment, at 
least.

Shows how much I know...

* * * *

I don't remember much after stabling my horse. I vaguely 
recollect the wrinkled innkeeper leading me up the 
stairs and showing me to a ratty little room with a 
straw mattress, then leaving as I collapsed into 
virtually dreamless unconsciousness.

When I awoke at last, I had to double check to make sure 
it wasn't still night. A single, dirty window, high up 
on one wall, admitted a feeble stream of light, barely 
lighting the dusty, filthy room where I'd spent the 
night. I got up, feeling joints creak and snap, and 
hobbled down to the common room.

It was about as pleasant and welcoming as the cadaver 
room back in the Necromancy Department at the Imperial 
Academy. The little old guy who'd let me in served as 
desultory, surly barkeep, wiping down the counter with 
obsessive zeal. Several patrons sat around in the light 
shafts and whirling dust motes, hunched over tables, 
glancing up at me with unabashed suspicion, then 
returning to their mugs of Ol' Grandad's Bitter. 

Not all, however. A couple of reasonably personable-
looking rural types noted my entrance.

"Good morning," one said, in a surprisingly quiet and 
reserved fashion, gesturing with his mug. "We don't get 
many strangers here. Care to share breakfast with us?"

At that point, I was ready to kill for the company of a 
civilized human who wasn't intent on sexually mutilating 
me, so I gratefully sat down, accepting handshakes 
gratefully.

"Name's Wulf," I said. "Out of Stoneburg. On my way to 
Vosgraad."

"Karl," said the first, a burly but intelligent-looking 
man in a plain smock and trousers.

"Helgrun," said the other, taking my hand in the firm 
kind of grip that I have come to associate with manual 
laborers, farmers, and other salt-of- the-land types.

"I got in late last night," I said. "Didn't catch the 
name of your town."

"Guldensburg," said Karl. "I'm surprised you found us. 
You must have strayed from the main road."

I nodded. "Damned storm last night," I said. "Couldn't 
see for horse manure. I'm glad I found the place."

"Your alternative was falling off the cliff," observed 
Helgrun, the jolly fellow. "We find one out there every 
year or two. Damn city-bred fool thinking he can travel 
in pitch black. "Then he caught my eye and realized what 
he'd said. "No offense meant, mind you."

"None taken." I decided that it was best to avoid any 
direct mention of the previous night's adventures, in 
case Bobo the Castrator had relatives in town. "I 
misjudged how fast it gets dark in these parts."

I scanned the room once more. I saw that its occupants 
had, if anything, even less life and enthusiasm than 
they'd shown before, and was also alarmed to note a 
rather frightening apparition, sitting alone at a table 
in a shadowed alcove. She was female, but so ancient and 
wrinkled as to be nearly unrecognizable as human, her 
hair a greasy grey-white snarl, her eyes thick with 
cataracts and as expressionless as a dead fish, her 
trembling hands holding a cup of tea in a death grip, 
her toothless mouth moving silently as she muttered 
aimlessly to herself. I tore my eyes away, and returned 
to Helgrun and Karl, easily the most interesting people 
in the room.

"So why's everyone so glum?" I asked. "Isn't it supposed 
to be All --" Remembering Khaera's admonition, I stopped 
myself. "Isn't this a holiday or something?"

Karl looked nervous and lowered his voice. "All Soul's 
Night," he whispered. "It's bad luck to mention it 
openly."

"Yeah," Helgrun said. "Used to be a real festival. Day 
off of work, feasting in honor of the departed, singing 
and drinking late into the night..."

My ears pricked up. "What do you mean, 'used to be'? I 
note a distinct lack of festivity in the breakfast 
crowd."

Karl sighed. "We've been forbidden from practicing most 
of the yearly rituals."

"Forbidden? By who? It all seems perfectly harmless to 
me."

Helgrun picked up the thread (they seemed to be 
alternating, I noted; perhaps they were brothers, or 
lovers, or -- given the rustic locale -- both...). "The 
new mayor. We didn't choose him, of course; the nobles 
in Vosgraad appointed him and sent him here to oversee 
their 'modernization' program."

I made a contemplative noise. "So, I would guess that, 
in the new mayor's opinion, 'modernization' means giving 
up what he considers outdated, pagan rituals like All 
S... that is, the current holiday."

Helgrun nodded and Karl continued. "He's forbidden us 
from laying out food for the dead, saying prayers in 
public, the bonfire, the processional, and most of the 
religious services, except those certified by the 
Kyborists back in Vosgraad."

"So you people think the dead will rise up and devour 
you without the rituals?" I asked, quietly. It certainly 
explained the innkeeper's weird question of the night 
before.

Karl shrugged. "Perhaps," Helgrun said, "perhaps not. 
Most of us realize that the rituals were just old 
traditions, but there's always that nagging thought in 
the back of your head that maybe, maybe..."

"I hear you," I replied with sympathy. I'd seen enough 
in a decade and a half to make me very reluctant to 
dismiss the local practices as mere superstition. I 
suspected that a quick exit and resumption of my journey 
was in order, whether or not the castration squad was 
waiting for me on the cliffs above.

"We're not a large community," Karl said. "We mostly 
mine coal from the valley wall. We're apparently 
important enough to their imperial majesties to meddle 
in our affairs, however. Doesn't make them any more 
popular out here, I must say."

I gestured subtly at the bag of bones sipping tea in the 
corner. "Who's the hag?" I asked. "Local wise woman?"

"Don't know," said Helgrun. "I'd heard she was here to 
visit her grandson for the festival, or something."

"Looks awful, though," Karl observed, darting glances at 
her.

"How the hell did she travel in that shape?"

Given the possibility of a night of horrors ahead, I 
could tell that the crone's arrival had raised 
suspicions. Using the magical senses which had been 
imperfectly and inadequately trained during my brief 
stay at the Magic Academy, I sent a tendril of sensation 
toward the woman, searching for magical emanations or 
any sign of sorcery. To my intense relief, I found 
absolutely nothing, only the stale and thin energies of 
a very, very old woman.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about," I 
said. "I've dealt with necromancers and their friends 
before. She doesn't seem the type to me."

"Well, she sure as hell does to me," Helgrun commented.

I let the matter pass, and finally ordered eggs and ham 
when the doddering innkeeper finally acknowledged my 
existence. We shot the breeze, exchanging meaningless 
pleasantries, my companions glared with open suspicion 
when the old woman hobbled out of the common room and up 
the stairs, and we sipped our own cups of tea after the 
meal. It was then that Karl decided to shoot the onager.

"I certainly hope you're enjoying your stay, Wulf," he 
said. "If anything is going to happen tonight -- gods 
forbid -- you will probably get to share it with us."

"Huh?" The comment had come from a completely unexpected 
quarter, and riveted my attention. "What do you mean?"

"The road," Helgrun said, calmly blowing and sipping. 
"The one you came down to get there. It's the only way 
in and out of town.

There was a landslide last night --"

"And, of course, you can't clear it today," I said, "it 
being a holiday and all..."

"Correct," Karl said, brightly. "Don't worry, Wulf. 
There'll be some feasting, and we'll probably get 
together here tonight and drink our troubles away 'til 
dawn. Then, we'll troop up with picks and shovels and 
get that road clear for you."

I sighed. My rational mind told me that there was 
probably nothing to worry about, and that another day's 
delay down here in coal digger-town would probably put 
my jealous friend off the trail, but like my two 
companions, a nagging concern remained buried deep in my 
mind.

"Oh, well," I said, simply. "I was hoping to continue on 
today, but if I'm stuck here, I'm stuck here." I tend to 
be fatalistic when I have no other alternative.

My new friends rose and said their good-byes, claiming 
family commitments, then departed, leaving me to 
contemplate an uncertain and likely boring day in an 
isolated village best known for its coal products, and 
the spectre of a bloodthirsty horde of shambling undead 
creatures looming, misty and threatening, in my feverish 
imagination.

I scouted around that day, trying to find some other way 
out of town. As Karl and Helgrun had so aptly noted, 
there was none. Guldensburg lay at the bottom of a deep 
ravine, with the single precarious trail, which I had so 
fortuitously found the previous night, apparently right 
before the fatal landslide. The mines lay at the 
northern end, while the southern end was a tangled 
wilderness of stunted trees, underbrush, narrow streams, 
talus and various other debris. I surmised that the 
local cemetery, the source of considerable unease, lay 
in that direction as well, and few really wanted to tell 
me anything about it.

Well, gods damn it, I wasn't about to be frightened by a 
bunch of ignorant peasants and their bloody 
superstitions (or so I told myself). For some reason 
which I am still at a loss to explain, I threw back my 
cloak and marched south, along the single narrow trail, 
with an air of determination and damn-your-eyes 
obstinacy.

A few moments later, I began to wonder if that had been 
such a good idea. If the ancient, gnarled forests and 
their inbred inhabitants had been bad, this grim, 
lifeless wilderness was infinitely worse. Poisoned, I 
guessed, by generations of mine tailings, it was a place 
of dark unease, where the trees were either long dead 
and wasting away, or gnarled and twisted, like a man 
writhing in the grip of fever or poison. A few ugly 
birds, their feathers molting, their eyes sick and 
glassy, flitted here and there, but beyond that I felt 
as if I was the only living thing here. Some unknown 
motivation kept me going, however, if for no other 
reason than to see the place which the locals feared so 
much, and to prove to my own satisfaction that its 
occupants showed no signs of irritability.

Mind you, my desire to keep going grew less and less 
compelling the farther I went, and the later in the day 
it grew. I was well ahead of sunset, but afternoon was 
already casting slanting shadows when at last I emerged 
from the tangle and into the graveyard itself.

I gazed around in distress. Gods only knew how they 
managed to convey the corpses here through that 
nightmarish maze, or why they even wanted to. Had I been 
a corpse, I'd have risen from my grave simply to get out 
of that damned place.

They say that cemeteries are for the living, since the 
dead are generally beyond caring, despite what the 
Litharnans say about All Soul's Night. Staring back and 
forth, my unease growing deeper and less easy to ignore, 
I wondered at that. This was a place of the dead, 
clearly, and one in which the living were only barely 
tolerated.

It had obviously been here for a long time, perhaps even 
before Guldensburg's founding. Ancient stone markers lay 
scattered about, some tottering, others completely 
fallen. All were weathered almost to the point of 
illegibility, though a few still bore their markings -- 
disturbing images of skulls, grim guardian spirits, 
swords, scythes, and antique knot work of a sort that 
had all but died out since the new, forward-looking 
rulers of Litharna took charge.

There were easily hundreds of mounds here, ranging back 
as far as I could see, into shadows where tangled, 
twisted, tortured trees once more leaned and stretched 
crabbed claws toward me, and grey undergrowth lay 
thickly, obscuring the burial mounds, making me 
uncertain exactly where it all ended.

The place had a sick, poisonous feel to it, even the 
relatively recent graves which lay nearby, with freshly-
carved headstones, now bearing sharp, angular, 
geometrically perfect images of angels and saints in the 
currently popular, Kyborist style. Dark weeds sprouted 
everywhere, and clouds of gnats swirled up where I 
walked. Overhead, grey-black clouds gathered, and a 
drizzly splatter of rain began to patter down. I 
swallowed hard. This place did little to reassure me.

A flash of movement near one of the older headstones 
caught my eye. Involuntarily, my hand leapt to my sword 
hilt, and I abruptly wished I'd brought my pistols (they 
were safely hidden in my room, and their absence was now 
sorely felt). A dark grey shape moved suddenly, leaving 
a low- hanging, lichen-laden branch waving behind it.

As those who have read my other memoirs are probably 
aware, I am not an especially brave man. My favorite 
pursuits include stealing from people who can afford the 
loss, eating fine food, and making love to as many 
attractive women as will have me. My current situation 
afforded no such opportunities, but even as my heart 
hammered with fear and my breath came in short, tension-
laden gasps, I wondered what the hell I had just seen.

Fighting my better instincts, I drew my sword and 
parrying dagger, and stalked slowly forward, feeling 
stiff grass and weeds crunch beneath my heels. The air 
was deadly still, save for the off-key cawing of one of 
those diseased crow-creatures, sitting dejectedly on a 
tombstone, lamenting his lot in life.

I approached the place, both weapons trembling in my 
grip, and stepped forward, around the base of a sizeable 
burial mound.

What I saw made me recoil in shock and horror. It was 
the crone from the inn, crouching in the lee of the 
mound, staring up at me with rheumy, filmed eyes, 
toothless mouth drawn up in a ghastly grimace.

We probably scared the hell out of each other, for with 
a thin cry, she leapt up and dashed back into the 
forest, branches and undergrowth crashing behind her. I 
didn't bother pursuing, or even remaining in the area, 
but turned tail and fled myself, back toward the trail, 
back toward Guldensburg, and away from this place of 
death.

The farmers and their castrating tools seemed almost 
welcome in the face of the horrors I imagined. Something 
was up, no question --

I wasn't certain that the dead would rise and kill us 
all this night, but neither was I inclined to find out. 
Dashing through the muddy streets of Guldensburg, 
heedless of the stares I gathered in my wake, I 
determined to leave my noble horse behind, and climb out 
of this trebly-damned valley alone (I was also leaving 
my expensive and probably indispensable pistols behind, 
as well, but as noted, I wasn't being completely 
rational). Then at least it would all be behind me, and 
the only foes I was likely to face would be living, and 
would bleed if you shoved a dagger into them. I almost 
relished it...

Of course, in my agitated state, I wasn't as careful as 
I could have been. I raced up the trail, toward the 
landslide, intending to simply scramble over the thing. 
It wasn't that easy; once I reached it I discovered it 
to be a slippery, treacherous pile of rubble. I launched 
myself onto the obstruction just the same. It was muddy, 
wet, and I found myself unable to maintain any kind of 
purchase. Bull-headedly forging ahead like an ogre 
mercenary at the mess table, I kept trying to scramble 
up. Finally, a stone slipped under my foot, and I felt 
myself falling. I scrabbled for purchase, and succeeded 
only in dislodging more stones, which cascaded down with 
me in another, smaller, avalanche, sending me tumbling 
over the edge, slipping and sliding down the canyon 
wall, rocks and gravel pouring after me.

I hit bottom hard, fetching up against a twisted pine 
tree. Then a dozen stones cascaded down upon me, one hit 
my head, and I crashed into darkness, neither blissful 
nor restful.

* * * *

When I awoke, my head hurt as if a demon whip-master and 
his beast pack were chasing each other inside my skull, 
all singing dwarf love ballads with the chorus "Brace 
yourself, Helga!" After a brief moment of 
disorientation, I realized that some kind soul had 
transported me back to my room at the Skeleton-and-
Candle. I further realized, with rapidly growing dread, 
that the feeble ray of light from my dirty window was 
almost entirely absent. I'd managed to kosh myself 
around mid-afternoon; given a couple of hours of 
insensibility on my part, it was probably almost sunset.

A million horrible thoughts raced through my fevered 
mind, not helped by a sudden commotion of voices from 
the common room below. Forcibly calming myself, I 
inventoried my weapons -- dagger and rapier still there 
(my benefactors had, at least, been honest), and looking 
under my bed I found my brace of pistols safe in its 
case. I took a deep breath, and very deliberately loaded 
both pistols, ramming home cap and ball, then packed up 
a dozen more charges and stowed them in my belt pouch. 
Although I knew that the forces which controlled these 
pistols were entirely natural, and based in science 
rather than sorcery, the primitive side of me still saw 
them as something magical, which could shoot fire and 
make thunder, and drive off the creatures of the night.

Silly primitive side...

I made myself as presentable as possible, and headed for 
the stairs down. There, a crowd was engaged in what 
seemed a lively debate.

"No!" shouted a red-faced, well-dressed man with a city-
bred look about him. "I am mayor of this settlement, 
appointed by this nation's legal authorities. I have 
been charged with overseeing modernization of 
Guldensburg, and by Saint Orlan, I will do it!"

A man in rough garments, who looked as if he should be 
chewing on a stalk of wheat, protested.

"The ceremonies don't do no harm!" he shot back. "They 
keep the dead at rest, and keeps the rest of us happy! 
It's time! We gotta have the ceremonies!"

The mayor shook his head vehemently. "The authorities 
have forbidden it! Any of you who participate in any 
procession to the cemetery will be arrested for 
sedition! I have my orders!"

Another villager, somewhat less of a hayseed, with a 
look of some intelligence about him, spoke up.

"You may have your orders, mayor, but we have ours as 
well," he said, in a quiet voice, which somehow seemed 
to quiet the unrest around him. "They are orders far 
older than anything from your masters, and we will 
follow them, whatever the consequences."

"Silence, Gustal!" barked the mayor. "You've been a 
troublemaker ever since I came here! I forbid you from 
going to the cemetery!"

"Silence, yourself, city-born fool," Gustal replied. "We 
didn't want you here. We didn't ask the noblemen in 
Vosgraad to send you here, telling us to forget all the 
old ways. If you don't want us to go to the cemetery, 
'Mayor' Ulfred, then you're welcome to stop us. For my 
part, I'm going. Who's with me?"

With that, Gustal turned, and strode for the door, most 
of the room's occupants following him, despite Mayor 
Ulfred's blustering and bellowing. Outside, they shouted 
for fellow celebrants, and were joined by more, singing 
and laughing. Torches were lit, and the procession moved 
noisily out of the village. The old innkeeper shuffled 
in, barred the door, and returned to work.

As the crowd departed, leaving the room virtually empty 
save for a couple of villagers, hunched over their mugs, 
drinking in grim silence, I walked in, and sat down next 
to Ulfred, who looked for all the world like a punctured 
bladder in the process of collapse.

"It's hard to enforce the rules when you're the only one 
doing it," I said, as sympathetically as I could. 
"Still, you can't blame them. They've been doing it this 
way for generations."

Ulfred looked at me, and took in my rugged traveling 
clothes, swords and pistols.

"Not from around here, are you?" he observed.

"Neither," I said, tartly, "are you. How the hell did 
you get involved with these rubes?"

"I never wanted to," he said, voice plaintive and tired. 
"I always wanted to be a lumberjack."

"Hm." I took a glance at his somewhat pudgy physique. "I 
guess civil service is the next best thing, eh?"

Since poor Ulfred seemed the only decent company, and 
the sun had completely set, I ordered some dinner and we 
chatted for the next couple of hours. My fears of the 
day before were receding -- since the villagers had 
decided to do the proper ceremonies whether the 
authorities liked it or not, I figured that the chances 
of a massive uprising by the vengeful dead was 
considerably less likely. I even wondered what sort of 
rites they carried out in that gods-forsaken graveyard, 
and was glad I didn't have to witness them.

At length, I turned to Ulfred, who was well into his 
cups by this time, and asked, "So, assuming they do all 
the proper ceremonies and such, when do you expect the 
happy revelers to return?"

Ulfred seemed about to reply, when a knock sounded at 
the door.

"It's Gustal! Open up!" Outside, I saw the glitter of 
torches through the inn's closed shutters.

He grinned. "About now, I'd say."

The innkeeper moved painfully to the door, and raised 
the bar.

Then, all hell broke loose.

What came through the door had been Gustal once, all 
right, but now it was something else. His clothes were 
battered, torn and bloodstained, and he moved with a 
stiff, graceless shamble. Worse, the entire side of his 
face had been torn away, revealing bone, gristle, and 
dangling tendons. Half of his face was normal, if 
somewhat slack and glassy-eyed, which made the horrid 
death-rectus of his injured side even more terrifying.

His first victim was the innkeeper, who perished 
swiftly, the Gustal- thing's hands around his neck. Both 
Ulfred and I stood abruptly, staring in shocked silence. 
I was unable to move, to grab weapons, or to even cry 
out in the moments that followed, as Gustal shambled 
into the room, gurgling loudly, followed by a dozen 
others, all mutilated, in torn clothing, eyes dead and 
clouded. In a moment, they were upon the remaining 
patrons, who either stared, wide-eyed, or tried to flee, 
but were caught and dragged down by innumerable mindless 
dead creatures.

Then Ulfred screamed, a loud, high-pitched shriek of 
pure disbelief and terror, and he dashed blindly from 
the table, straight into the waiting claws of the 
Gustal-thing. His screams continued for a moment as 
Gustal's fingers, now incongruously terminating in 
curved talons, and his teeth, went to work on the 
mayor's pudgy body, sending blood and other, even less 
savory, substances flying.

I admit that it broke my reverie, and I fell back toward 
the stairs, drawing my pistols. A black-haired zombie 
lurched into me, clumsily swiping at me with its dead 
hands. I was fortunate that not all these things were as 
fast and deadly as the former Gustal, for I easily 
eluded it, and discharged both pistols at close range 
into its skull. The thing's head exploded messily, and 
the body fell, flopping and crawling feebly, still 
coming after me even without all its proper parts.

I ran for the stairs; my room had a stout bar on the 
door, and holding out against the zombies seemed 
preferable to being butchered like Ulfred.

It was Gustal who stopped me. I was bare inches from my 
door when powerful arms seized me, dragging me back, 
slamming me against the opposite wall. I fumbled for my 
rapier, managed to get it free, and turned on my 
assailant. The once-handsome man emitted a low snarl.

"Livething..." it gurgled. "Gustal... You become dead, 
too..."

I drove my rapier into Gustal's throat, but it did no 
good. He raked me with dirty claws, and his snapping, 
near-fleshless jaws sought my neck. I swung again, 
hoping to decapitate him, send him falling to the floor 
like the first zombie, but he was too quick, parrying 
with his forearm, allowing the blade to sink into his 
nerveless flesh, then charging into me, overbearing me, 
sending us both down, his clawed hands around my neck.

Once again, and not for the last time, I realized that I 
was about to die. The snarling, grinning face of the 
abomination which had once been Gustal swam above me, 
and I felt my breath squeezed from my body. The 
nightmare apparition faded in and out of darkness; I 
fought for breath and failed, chest burning, screaming 
silently for air, and knew that it was all over...

Then a voice echoed in my head, a deep booming voice of 
authority, like the sound of thunder in the mountains.

"Leave him. He is worthy. Bring him."

Gustal seemed to hear it, too, for his mutilated head 
inclined slightly, as if listening, and the pressure on 
my neck abruptly lessened. Not that his hostility was 
lessened in any way, for the zombie-creature then 
buffeted me heavily on the temple, grabbed me and 
pounded my head against the wall until the flashes of 
red and black overcame me, and I lost consciousness, for 
the second time that day.

Hell of a way to end a festival, huh?

Part of me mused that this business of waking up with 
pounding headaches after getting bashed in the head was 
likely to get old real fast. The rest of me just hurt. I 
sat up, opening my eyes, and tried to make sense of my 
surroundings.

I was a bloody mess, of course, my head bruised and cut, 
blood from a half-dozen small wounds caking up on my 
cheeks and neck. I had been divested of most of my 
clothing, with the exception of a pair of breeches. My 
clothes and possessions were nearby, however, flung into 
a dark corner of...

Where?

It resembled nothing less than a nobleman's bed chamber, 
all gilded wood, expensive paintings, ornate furniture, 
expensive rugs. I myself sat on an elaborate four-poster 
bed, silk coverlet beneath me. Everything was in shadow, 
with a few candles burning, shedding wan light through 
the room. I swallowed hard. This was not what I'd 
expected.

High, velvet curtains rose nearby, which I assumed 
concealed windows. I dragged myself painfully from the 
bed and limped toward them, pulling them aside to reveal 
tall, leaded panels, hinged to provide access to a stone 
balcony. Beyond them I saw the valley, stretching out 
beneath full moonlight -- one moon was three-quarters, 
the other half. With a sinking sense of disappointment, 
I stepped onto the balcony, feeling vertigo grab at me 
as I saw that I was at least a hundred paces from the 
ground below, at the foot of a sheer precipice. A great, 
turreted manse surrounded me, dark stone, hidden in a 
fold of the valley wall. A narrow trail led from the 
main gates down to the valley, but that was far below 
me, as well.

Steadying myself, I stepped backwards into the room. I 
hadn't seen this fortress while exploring, but then most 
of the valley had been obscured with mist, and I hadn't 
done a detailed survey of the ravine walls, in any 
event.

My mind was whirling with questions and possible escape 
routes when it suddenly became apparent that I was not 
alone in the room.

I whirled, and with growing fear, saw tendrils of white 
mist creeping in through the crack beneath the door. As 
I gaped, the tendrils grew thicker, more substantial, 
and finally wove themselves together into a tall, human 
shape. The shape solidified, became opaque, and...

Two glinting, black eyes regarded me with a mixture of 
curiosity and apparent hunger. Unable to speak, I let my 
gaze wander up and down, considering my now fully-
materialized roommate.

Oh my... Even in the jaws of death (or worse, undeath) I 
hadn't forgotten how to appreciate an attractive female. 
This one, despite her rather disturbing origin, 
certainly fit the bill. Tall, slim, an air of tangible 
haughtiness dripping from her every curve, she had a 
long, sharp- chinned face with the aforementioned black 
eyes, slightly slanted, exotic and deep, still gazing at 
me with a disturbing, if somewhat incomprehensible, 
expression. Straight, night-black hair cascaded over 
pale, bare shoulders, exposed by the long, black gown 
that clung to her like a second skin, revealing a spare, 
lithe form. As she approached me, still inspecting me 
with an appraising, emotionless stare, she seemed to 
glide across the floor, moving like a ghost...

A ghost? I wondered. Perhaps my impressions were more 
accurate than I thought. Her skin was nearly bone-white, 
but her lips were dark red, glinting in the feeble 
candlelight -- a bit too healthy and ruddy for a ghost, 
I decided, staring and still trying to decide what to 
do. She'd taken no offensive action, and her manner was 
not threatening; besides, my weapons were in the 
opposite corner, and she'd clearly be able to intercept 
me should I try to go after them.

At last I broke the heavy silence, and croaked, "Who--?"

But that's all I managed, for her eyes abruptly shifted 
from me to the tall windows behind me. I turned 
suddenly, following her gaze. When I saw what she was 
looking at, my frayed nerves pretty much snapped like a 
rotten twig.

A terrible shape was out there, descending from the 
moonlit sky, flapping great black wings, red eyes 
gleaming. It reached the balcony and abruptly changed, 
transforming into a second tall, obviously female form. 
If the first had caught my eye, the second frankly 
impaled it.

The fact that she was naked had something to do with it, 
but she'd have been a sight wearing sackcloth and ashes. 
She strode into the room with all the confidence of a 
knight in armor, despite her nudity. Fine blonde hair 
fell below her waist, and her body was strongly built, 
but at the same time aggressively feminine -- large and 
ripe, and bordering on downright plump (a type I'd 
always been fond of, by the way). Her shoulders were 
broad, bespeaking barely-restrained strength, arms 
muscular. Two large, fleshy breasts rode proudly above a 
round, smoothly white belly, aureola expansive and pink, 
nipples barely raised stigmata in their centers. Marble-
white thighs met in a shadowy tangle, moving together 
with strong, rhythmic action as she walked into the room 
-- no doubt in my mind how this one moved, unlike her 
dark-haired companion.

The dark one spoke for the first time. "Ah," she said, 
addressing the blonde woman, and I saw the flash of 
white, white teeth, gleaming like spearpoints in shadow, 
"you've come at last. Welcome, sister. We have a fine 
repast this evening."

My heart lurched at that, and suddenly everything -- the 
mist, the white skin, the great black flying shape, the 
teeth -- made sense. I was definitely not in the 
presence of Rexxaran vestals here, I realized, and 
tensed for a dash at my weapons. I was determined to 
sell my life dearly, and hoped that my silver kris 
remained in my belt pouch along with the rest of my 
possessions. I wasn't sure whether silver was effective 
against vampires (I found myself debating whether that 
was for werewolves, instead...), but it couldn't be any 
worse that what I had, which was nothing.

I never got beyond the tensing stage. The dark 
vampiress' gaze shot back to me, and I felt pinned as if 
by multiple crossbow bolts. My entire body went rigid, 
and I felt my very breath lock in my lungs. The bruises 
and abrasions from my fight with the zombies throbbed 
and protested, and I wanted to scream in agony, but 
couldn't. The bitch, I realized, could probably strangle 
me with a whim and never lay a long-nailed finger on me, 
but I suspected that she had more exotic entertainments 
in mind.

My guess was confirmed when I was lifted bodily, as if 
by a huge, unseen hand, and thrust back onto the bed. 
The pressure on chest and throat eased, but I remained 
pinned, helpless as a butterfly in a nobleman's display 
case.

"There," said the dark one. "He's yours to play with, 
now."

The blonde woman's eyes widened, and her face broke out 
in a simpering grin, revealing her own jagged fangs. 
"Really?" she asked, all a-twitter. "All mine?"

Her companion nodded, and together they approached the 
bed. My heart hammered with fear, but as usual, my basic 
male nature seemed unable to completely forget terror in 
the face of such raw beauty. I felt my cock begin to 
stiffen, despite the fact that I was probably facing a 
fate worse than death.

The first vampiress noticed this and nodded approvingly. 
"He will make a fine first addition to your herd, Eva."

Eva, the strapping blonde, moved closer, climbing up 
onto the bed, mouth open, face eager and savage, hair a 
dark golden cloud, fangs gleaming, and crawled slowly 
and sensuously toward me, large breasts hanging down 
invitingly, dragging along the silk coverlet as she 
approached.

"Patience, sister," cautioned the dark woman. "I've a 
few things to teach you this evening."

Eva drew back, with apparently great reluctance, and 
kneeled near me, still within easy reach of my 
unprotected neck. The sight of her, crouching like a 
stone statue, mass of blonde hair curving around great, 
pillowy breasts, columnar thighs united in a pale swatch 
of glittering pubic hair, sent pulsations of desire 
through me, and I felt my cock harden further.

"He is excited, Eva," said the first, apparently senior, 
vampiress. "These cattle are so very predictable and 
easy to control. He knows you intend to kill him, yet he 
wishes to rut with you nonetheless."

Eva smiled. "He is handsome, Yasmin" she said. "I would 
not mind rutting with him before I took him."

Yasmin nodded. "So you shall. You will learn that human 
blood is an exquisite intoxicant, and blood taken when a 
human is at the height of ecstasy is the finest you can 
consume. The master spared this one so that you could 
have him, and see how passion can make the blood hot and 
delectable."

I didn't like the sound of that -- many people make a 
connection between sex and death, but these vampires 
seemed to take it literally.

"Do as I say, Eva," Yasmin continued. "Take off his 
breeches."

Eva didn't need too much convincing, and dug strong 
fingers into the fabric of my leggings, claws ripping, 
and in a moment the entire garment was shredded and cast 
aside. My cock, freed from its restraint, sprang up, 
uncoiling like a serpent and hardening instantly. Eva 
grinned happily at this.

"Look, Yasmin," she said. "He's so excited. Even though 
we're going to kill him?"

"Not kill, really," Yasmin cautioned, taking up a seat 
on the other side of my recumbent, naked, and magically-
restrained body. "He'll die, yes, but he will live on as 
your first slave. You can have him whenever you want, 
and he'll be servant to your every whim. No mind of his 
own, of course, but he won't really need one. Slaves are 
such fun, Eva. You'll see."

I wanted to yell, to scream, "Fuck you, bloodsuckers -- 
I've already been a slave once and I'm not gonna do it 
again for the likes of you!" but Yasmin's magical 
bondage kept hold of me, paralysis gripping every part 
of my body except the important one.

"Now," said Yasmin, "to the real work."

In her eagerness, Eva seemed determined to finish me 
there and then, and once more crawled across me, great 
breasts grazing the feverishly hot skin of my cock. Her 
mouth opened wider, fangs shining, a tiny droplet of 
saliva dripping from her lips to my chest. I wanted to 
scream, to resist, to fight or flee, but I remained 
helpless. And besides, Yasmin seemed to want to drag 
this out a bit.

"No, no, sister," she cautioned, placing a restraining 
hand on Eva's rounded white shoulder. "You must pleasure 
him first, if you are to fully savor his essence."

Gods, said the little comedian which lives in my brain 
and makes smart-ass comments when they're least welcome, 
at least you'll die happy. My experience with the life-
sapping snake- daemoness at the Alabaster Temple came 
back to me, and I reminded the little fucker that I had 
been anything but happy in the face of death at that 
point, so why the bloody hell should I be now?

Yasmin's long, black-nailed fingers encircled my cock, 
lifting it upright and presenting it to Eva like a prize 
cucumber at the harvest fair.

"You know what to do with this, don't you?" Yasmin 
asked, an edge of sarcasm in her voice. "Back when you 
were a simple farmgirl, you played with the boys, didn't 
you?"

Eva's face narrowed into a razor-thin smile. "I did, 
Sister," she replied. "And the boys loved every moment 
of it. Like to see what I used to do?"

Yasmin nodded, and Eva positioned herself between my 
slightly-spread legs, a curvaceous monument of alabaster 
flesh and white-blonde hair, massive breasts pressing 
down, pillowed beneath her. My breath came faster, my 
heart pounded... Oh, Phaedra suck it all, I thought, I'm 
doing exactly what they want...

"First, I touched them lightly with my fingers, like 
this," Eva said, conversationally, stroking my cock. 
"Then I played with their balls, like this." Her hands 
cupped my testicles and squeezed lightly. I desperately 
wanted to moan or cry out, but my throat remained 
restricted, and I felt waves of burning energy rebound 
and chase each other back and forth inside me, building 
deep in my belly, roiling like an oncoming storm.

Eva continued squeezing my balls with increasing 
pressure with one hand, then took my cock in the other, 
holding tightly, and began to stroke. Damn, this woman 
was strong -- I wondered if she'd been the proverbial 
horny milkmaid in her mortal life, milking cocks with 
the same fervor she'd milked daddy's dairy cows; she 
certainly had the hand development for it.

"See?" Eva said. "He can't move, but you can tell it's 
driving him crazy. The boys just loved this. Some of 
them came all over me just from me touching them. I 
hated that. I wanted them to fuck me."

"They were young, Sister," Yasmin commented, settling 
into a nearby chair to watch the proceedings. "I'd 
always preferred the older mortal -- they have much 
better control."

Eva's smile widened. "I agree. Those boys... They were 
always so embarrassed when they came quickly. I licked 
it up, anyway. They liked that."

Finally, a thin groan escaped from my clenched throat, 
but it only spoke a fraction of the suppressed agony I 
felt. Damn, I was usually able to bleed off my excess 
energy by making noise - - these bitches didn't seem 
inclined to grant me that luxury. Then again, they were 
planning to kill me and make me a mindless slave, so my 
welfare probably wasn't uppermost in their minds...

"Hear that?" Yasmin said. "His pleasure is growing 
unbearable.

When he comes, his blood will be the finest you've ever 
consumed."

"Mmmm," Eva said, still stroking. "I love it. It's like 
a fat white sausage, isn't it?"

Even in my reduced state, I resented the implication, 
but I was unable to say anything about it.

"Those who survived this far," Eva went on, "got my 
tongue.

Such good boys they were."

With that, the fanged mouth slid luxuriantly open, and a 
moist red tongue emerged to run itself slowly and 
thoroughly up the underside of my cock.

"Did they come when you did that?" asked Yasmin. I 
expected to see her taking notes, but no such luck.

"Sometimes," Eva replied. "I didn't mind that as much. I 
learned to like the taste of a man's come. It can be 
quite a lovely thing, though it was an -- what's the 
word I'm looking for?"

"An acquired taste?" Yasmin suggested.

Eva nodded, making her tongue do strange things to my 
taut flesh. "That's the word."

"Your vocabulary has certainly expanded since you joined 
us, Sister."

Eva giggled. "Thanks."

Now she combined fingers and tongue, tugging with 
renewed enthusiasm at my cock (damn -- she MUST have 
learned on cow teats, I thought...) as she licked and 
briefly enveloped my cockhead with her mouth.

"After this," she said, "I sucked them for a while, then 
when they were ready, I let them fuck me. Hard."

"Mmmmm," said Yasmin, who clearly seemed to be enjoying 
the show. I saw her hand busy between her legs, and 
heard her breath come quickly. Hell, I guess we're all 
the same, whether we're alive or dead...

"Mmmmm," repeated Eva, red lips encircling my cock, 
sharp teeth grazing flesh. From the look on her face, I 
was afraid that she'd chow down there and then (and 
imagine how painful THAT would have been), but she 
restrained herself.

"Oh, I want to bite him," Eva breathed, running her lips 
up and down my cock. "I want to bite him so bad. I loved 
those boys' come so much -- I loved how it tasted... But 
you've shown me how delicious blood can be, dearest 
Yasmin..."

With that, she hauled herself up, straddling me, hands 
roughly cradling my cock, rubbing its head against 
distended, pink cunt lips.

"Ohhhhh, how it feels, Yasmin..." Her voice was drum-
tight with excitement. "How wonderful it was to fuck 
them, there in the barn... Now... Now..." And with that 
she slid down, cock held between the glistening lips of 
her pussy. Then she devoured me, letting my taut member 
move into her tight, dark depths.

"Such a cock this one has, Yasmin, such a cock..." Eva 
was lost. She leaned back, heavy breasts straining. She 
cupped them in her hands and tweaked her own nipples, 
until they turned pink and hard and swollen.

Nearby, Yasmin had hiked her gown up completely and 
slipped a single finger into her own cunt, a dark recess 
between lean thighs, and moaned gently as she did so.

"Are you going to come, Yasmin?" Eva demanded, even as 
she moved up on her knees, letting my cock move out, 
then plunged down again, enveloping me in moist warmth.

"Yessssssss," hissed the dark-haired vampire. "I'm going 
to..." Her fanged teeth clenched heavily. "I'm coming 
now..."

"Oh, so good, sister Yasmin..." Eva's voice was tight, 
too.

"Sooooo good..."

I was rapidly moving that way myself, even though I 
realized it would mean my own extinction. But Eva's 
tossing halo of blonde hair, her rich, luscious body, 
bobbing breasts, swollen nipples, and the excited 
expression of barely restrained passion, eyes half-
closed, lips parted and gleaming red, tongue out, her 
manner wild and unrestrained as an animal - it all 
conspired against me, and I knew I was about to come.

"He's coming, Eva," warned Yasmin, standing and moving 
toward me. "In a moment..."

That was my moment. My cock suddenly contracted, gushing 
hot semen into Eva, and a steady cry escaped my 
imprisoned throat.

Eva leaped from her position, and then down between my 
thighs and, in an instant of sheer agony, sank sharp 
fangs into my haunch, even as hot semen cascaded down 
upon her, running down my thighs to join with my 
streaming blood in her mouth. She moaned softly as hot 
blood surged into her mouth.

Then it was Yasmin's turn. She attacked my throat with 
equal passion, and more pain shot into me... Gods, no...

My blood spewed from me and into the mouths of the two 
vampiresses, and I felt the room spinning, darkness 
deepening... Only a moment, and it would all be over... 

The horrible sucking pressure on my neck lessened 
suddenly, and Yasmin pulled away, with the sensation of 
a jagged needle being suddenly withdrawn from my flesh. 
I abruptly realized that my paralysis was broken, and I 
took the opportunity to scream, loudly. It seemed to 
surprise Eva, who also tore her fangs from my thigh, 
with a similarly agonizing sensation.

Despite my sudden reprieve from damnation, I was unable 
to move. I remembered the sensation well, from the 
Alabaster Temple, where the snake daemoness had drained 
my life energy until I was on the brink of death. I 
lacked the strength to fight back, scramble off the bed, 
or do anything save let my scream trail off to a ragged 
wail, and lie, blood soaked and panting, on the silken 
coverlet.

Eva and Yasmin didn't seem overly concerned about me -- 
I was pretty much out of action in any event -- their 
attention was focused on the balcony outside, where yet 
a fourth member of our little drama had appeared, amid 
billowing black fabric. Gods, my fading mind thought, 
what fresh hell is this...?

What little consciousness I retained reeled in horror. 
The visitor was none other than the hideous crone from 
the graveyard... Phaedra save my sorry ass, I thought, 
was she mistress to these two? Another undead 
monstrosity come to torment me? My mind whirled red and 
black, and I realized that I didn't have long to live.

In my last moments of mortal existence, I watched as 
Yasmin reacted violently, hissing and abruptly 
transforming into a spindly, daemonic human bat, her 
eyes flaring red, monstrous mouth open, fangs poised... 
The thing which had been Yasmin launched itself at the 
intruder, while the less experienced Eva still crouched 
between my thighs, staring in perplexity.

The crone stood her ground, raised a hand, and intoned 
syllables which I recognized in the dim reaches of my 
memory as magical. The snarling vampire-thing stopped 
short, falling back, transforming once more into Yasmin, 
and suddenly one of the nearby chairs leaped up of its 
own accord, shattering into sharp fragments, which flew 
like daggers through the air, slicing into the vampire 
woman's flesh, piercing her, sending cascades of black 
blood that was not blood pouring out onto the rich 
carpet.

"Bitch..." snarled Yasmin through bloody lips, as the 
wood fragments began to grow, sprouting leaves, 
transforming into heavy, vine-like growths, surrounding 
her body, then closing down on her in an impenetrable 
mass. The black mess that passes for vampire blood oozed 
out as Yasmin's angry snarl turned into a drawn-out 
shriek of agony, then trailed into silence.

Eva screamed, hand at her mouth, looking on in 
disbelief. It was all she had time to do, for the great 
wood vines leaped with murderous intent from Yasmin's 
sundered and pierced body, and enwrapped the golden- 
haired vampiress, bearing her to the ground, silencing 
her final cries. In a moment, all that remained were 
thick writhing vines, and rich green leaves -- by far 
the healthiest things I'd seen since arriving in the 
valley.

My breath came in quick, feeble gasps. I still had 
trouble comprehending what had happened, and my 
confusion did not lessen when the crone, the hideous, 
malformed, snaggle- toothed and spare-haired harpy, 
glanced to the bed and swiftly hobbled to my side.

"You poor bastard," she whispered, in a honeyed voice 
that was completely incongruous coming from that 
emaciated old body. "Are you killed?"

"Not yet," I rasped in a feeble, cracked voice. "Help 
me..."

She looked frustrated, casting disgusted glances down at 
where the two vampire women had lain. "I didn't expect 
those bitches to be here... Good riddance, though..." 
She looked directly at me with opaque, fishy eyes. "I'm 
going to have to drop my glamour to save you. I don't 
need it anymore, anyway." She drew back, her outline 
shimmered and melted, and in the place of the horrid, 
gnarled crone stood a vision of loveliness.

She wasn't especially tall, but her curvaceousness made 
up for the deficiency. Slim, athletic, pale-skinned, 
with short blonde hair and an earnest, innocent-looking 
face complete with wide blue eyes, turned-up nose, and 
light spatter of freckles. If Eva had been a milk maid, 
this one was without doubt the farmer's daughter. She 
wore grey traveling clothes, but these did little to 
disguise the fact that she was a creature of radiant 
beauty and fierce energy. I felt as if I'd known her 
before -- and I don't know, according to the 
Recreationists, I probably had, in a previous life - - 
and saw in her the same hint of strength and power as 
I'd seen in such diverse women as Ushandra the 
warrioress, Xylara the Xeshite noblewoman, and Sarra the 
druidess. I'd loved them all, in my own way, and the 
mild but strong blue gaze of this woman stirred the same 
feelings, despite my weakened condition.

She laid hands on my chest and forehead. "Ready?" she 
asked and, without waiting for an answer, intoned 
another enchantment, blue energy flickering around her 
head and down her spine. A moment later, the energy 
coalesced in the center of her forehead, then flowed 
down her hands and into me.

The agony of my wounds lessened, my overtaxed heart 
slowed, my breath came easier. I could feel my veins 
fill with blood, and my very soul pulse with renewed 
vitality. Gods...

I looked up at her. If I'd been smitten at the sight of 
this vision, I was now completely ensnared, captivated, 
and infatuated. A beautiful woman is one thing, but a 
beautiful woman who saves your life out of the good of 
her heart...

Yeah, I was lost. It was an emotion I would come to 
curse in the following years, but at that moment it 
beat, bright and pure, in the depths of my oft-abused 
but still living romantic heart.

"Thank you..." I whispered. "I almost... I would 
have..."

She nodded. "You'd have died. You probably wouldn't even 
have had the consolation of rising as a vampire, either. 
They weren't quite finished with you."

"From where I'm lying they were," I replied, testing out 
my muscles as I rose to my feet. "I'm sorry for my 
informal attire... They shredded my breeches..."

The blonde woman threw me what remained of my clothes 
from their place in the corner, then rummaged in a 
closet and tossed me a new pair of loose trousers.

"Those," she said, "should do. I'm Livia, by the way. I 
think we've met."

"Wulf," I replied. "Yes, a couple of times, and the 
second time you scared the living crap out of me."

"The feeling was mutual. What the hell were you doing in 
the graveyard?"

"Oh, just exploring," I replied, hurriedly pulling on 
clothing.

"I might ask you the same question."

"I'm here incognito," she told me. "Then again, that's 
probably obvious. I'm here looking for something that 
was stolen from me."

I took a quick stock of my other possessions. My 
weapons, including my pistols, were intact, to my vast 
relief.

"What exactly are you looking for?" I asked. "I have 
some skill in that area. I could help. I think I owe 
you, anyway."

"Yes, you do," she said, matter-of-factly. "I think the 
master of this house is responsible for the massacre 
down in the town. He stole something from me."

I frowned. "What? Don't be cagey, Livia. I think we can 
help each other."

She rolled her eyes. "Gods. Save a man's life and he 
thinks he's your frigging husband. All right -- I think 
that the bastard who runs this place stole a wand from 
me. A magical wand. Do you know anything about magic?"

I nodded. "I'm not as stupid as I look, as hard as that 
is to believe."

"It's called the Black Wand. It can be used to raise 
skeletons, zombies, ghosts -- that sort of thing -- and 
bind them to the user. It normally only works on one at 
a time, but this son of a bitch is very powerful, and I 
think he used the energy of the villagers' ceremonies to 
aid him. My guess is that he's raised every corpse in 
the valley, and plans to create more servants from the 
surrounding towns."

Damn. Images flickered through my mind of twisted, 
ghoulish figures motivated by creatures far more 
perverse and evil than the two vampire women, crawling 
slowly but purposefully up the walls of the valley, 
lurching through the night, descending on the towns 
nearby, converting their inhabitants into more mindless 
zombies... Khaera... Gods...

"So who's this friend of yours?" I asked. "Where can we 
find him?"

"Lord Thazar," Livia told me. "And he's no friend of 
mine. He's a vampire, like those two -- I think they're 
his wives, or concubines, or girlfriends, or 
something..."

"Well they're plant food now," I said with grim 
satisfaction.

"Nice casting, by the way. Druidic?"

She raised her eyebrows, impressed in spite of herself. 
"You're right, Wulf. You're not as stupid as you look. 
All right, I accept your offer. I'm going to need help 
killing Thazar and taking that wand back in any event. I 
think he's going to be down in his vault, raising more 
dead with the wand. I suspect he has visions of 
conquering all of Litharna and turning it into his own 
private mausoleum. Vampires are like that -- 
megalomaniac assholes, every one."

I couldn't say I disagreed. Hurriedly, I attached my 
baldric and started loading my pistols.

"Those won't do any good," Livia cautioned. "Magic and a 
wooden stake are the only language a vampire 
understands."

I didn't stop, but continued, ramming powder and ball 
into the pistols. "These will at least slow them down. 
My heartcutter might hurt them. It's designed to fight 
demons, and they're a hell of a lot tougher than 
vampires."

"You might be right. I'd always wanted to test that 
theory, anyway."

"Well, I'm going to be your happy guinea pig, my dear," 
I said, standing, black heartcutter in one hand, rapier 
in the other, loaded pistols at my belt. "Now let's go 
kick some undead ass."

Unfortunately, despite her considerable intelligence, 
Livia didn't know the manse any better than I did, other 
than the fact that there was a subterranean vault where 
one could raise undead monsters. The structure had, she 
told me, been the haunt of some rich nobleman until 
about fifty years previously, when it had been abandoned 
after the nobleman in question massacred his entire 
family and ate them with a nice pasta and a full-bodied 
red wine. Typically, the locals had decided the place 
was cursed, and avoided it, leaving it open for Lord 
Thazar's occupancy.

"Why is it," I said, as we moved tentatively down a 
dusty corridor, "that vampires always seem to be 
attracted to old, run-down mansions?"

"They believe their own propaganda, I think," Livia 
replied.

"Look -- there are stairs here."

I followed her, sword ready. We made our way down a 
narrow flight of stairs which had once been richly 
carpeted. I was hoping that the other undead of the 
mansion were elsewhere, possibly crawling off to join 
the swelling ranks of Thazar's zombie army, when a 
ragged gurgling and shuffling sound from below us 
suggested that I was wrong once more. A half-dozen 
ragged things, the remnants of a number of villagers who 
had been dead at least a year, shambled up the stairs at 
us, rotting arms outreached, their empty eyesockets 
glowing yellow-green.

"Stand back!" Livia ordered in a voice sharp enough to 
make me stop short and retreat a few steps. She 
unleashed a torrent of blue-white magical energy which 
engulfed our attackers, blotting them out completely. 
When the firestorm subsided, the walls and stairs were 
scorched and smoking, and all but two of the zombies had 
been reduced to smoldering fragments.

Now it was Livia's turn to fall back, slipping past me, 
face drawn and pale, recovering the energy she'd 
expended.

"They're all yours, swordsman," she said, voice weak.

"Thanks a lot," I grunted, advancing.

My fight with Gustal had taught me that subtle 
swordsmanship meant nothing to zombies. I would have to 
hack the bastards to pieces, rather than rely on a 
single killing blow.

Fortunately for me, these were older and slower than 
Gustal, and had already been weakened by Livia's attack. 
As she stood behind me, panting, I tried to keep images 
of that pert chest rising and falling out of my mind, 
but they crept in nonetheless, even while I fought for 
my life. I hacked, taking off an arm here, a hand there. 

Finally, one fell, his leg tendons severed. I swung 
hard, my light rapier cutting into the second surviving 
zombie's neck. Its head flopped backward, still hanging 
on by a thread of rotting flesh, and its claws swiped at 
me. I hacked again, and another arm fell to the stairs, 
where it twitched and flexed, trying to crawl up after 
me. Another chop severed the head completely, and one 
final blow bisected the thing into flapping, feebly 
moving sections. I cut a few more large pieces up, then 
urged Livia down the stairs, past the still-animated and 
hostile, but largely ineffectual, body parts.

It proved to be just the beginning. Our host hadn't been 
lax in his security arrangements, and a regiment or so 
of reanimated monstrosities barred our way as we moved 
down stairs, through hallways, onto the main floor, and 
toward the ominous portal, which Livia told me led to 
the dreaded "vault." We hacked our way through all of 
them, but by the time we reached our destination, we 
were both a bloody mess, clothes shredded and filthy, 
eyes glassy, breath short.

"Are you sure," I said, panting, leaning on my rapier, 
gazing with considerable trepidation at the yawning 
opening, "that you have enough juice left to cast 
anymore? You've been going at it like a dwarf miner at a 
silver vein."

Livia heaved a deep breath and looked directly at me. 
True, she was haggard and weary- looking, her lovely 
blonde hair plastered to her face in sweaty strands, her 
clothes ripped and stained with obscene zombie-fluids. I 
doubted she had more than a spell or two left before she 
passed out.

"I've got to, Wulf," she said. "I may not be the most 
morally upstanding individual in creation, but I'm 
partially responsible for Thazar's having that wand, and 
I'm not about to be party to the disasters he's about to 
bring. Besides, that bloodsucking bastard stole my 
property, and by Phaedra, I'm not going to let him keep 
it without a fight."

I cocked an eyebrow at her. A number of strange thoughts 
whirled through my brain, and only a few of them had 
anything to do with the mission at hand.

"You know something?" I asked, mildly, trying to get 
back the breath which our running battle with the 
zombies had stolen. "I've always wondered what I'd have 
been like if I'd been born female."

She got my drift and frowned sourly. "Nice try, 
swordboy," she said. "For one thing, if you'd been born 
female, you wouldn't be anywhere near this good 
looking."

I sighed. I was once more, it seemed, falling deeply in 
love with a woman who would rather sleep with a sweaty 
orc than me. Oh well...

"Come on," I said. "Let's get this over with. At least 
we can die together."

"Don't count us out yet, Wulf," she said, as I led the 
way through the portals and toward our destiny. It 
hardly reassured me.

I suspected that the long-dead nobleman built his manse 
atop the traditional ancient shrine to dark gods, for 
the stairs were obviously very old, and the walls were 
carved with badly eroded images whose nature would 
probably have really disturbed me had I inspected them 
too closely.

"Light?" I suggested as inky blackness closed in around 
us.

"Or are you worried about attracting too much 
attention."

Livia didn't reply, but quickly cast a witchlight spell, 
surrounding us in a faint blue glow, enough so that we 
could see our way, but hopefully not enough to alert our 
foes. We'd see in a few moments, anyway.

Deep below us, I heard snatches of a deep voice, 
intoning what were obviously arcane syllables. I 
recognized one or two from my illicit reading of 
necromantic texts in the university library, and found 
myself actually quite glad that I didn't understand the 
rest -- necromancy is infamous for driving its 
practitioners mad, and I didn't relish the thought of 
joining them.

At length, with the voice growing louder and more 
unsettling, we reached the foot of the stairs, and 
cautiously moved down the short stone corridor we found 
there. Beyond, the corridor opened into a vast, vault- 
roofed chamber, dimly lit by torches, and crowded with 
rank upon rank of grinning, rotting, milling undead 
creatures, all facing the raised dais at the opposite 
end, where stood the being who could only be Lord 
Thazar, vampire monarch and necromancer supreme.

He was about what one would expect from a pretentious, 
megalomaniacal vampire noble. He wore a long, black 
tunic, secured by a silver skull-belt, and a gleaming 
silver pectoral in the form of a skeletal bird or dragon 
-- so, I thought, the silver is for wolves, after all... 
Thazar himself was a long-faced, distinguished-looking 
individual, who might have been handsome had he not been 
so preternaturally pale and drawn- looking. His eyes 
lived, however, dancing and gleaming with malign energy, 
as he continued to chant, and waved a short, black wand 
topped with a silver skull. I perceived, rather than 
saw, a tangled skein of magical force connecting him to 
the monsters in the chamber through the wand, like a 
foul puppeteer of the damned (okay, okay -- I'll try to 
tone down the metaphor...)

I wasn't entirely sure what the hell we were to do next. 
There was no way this side of hell that I could hack my 
way through the crowd of undead alone, and as I had 
noted, Livia's magical reserves were nearing exhaustion. 
Before I could suggest a quiet retreat and emigration to 
the White Empire, Livia stepped from behind me, into 
full view of the towering vampire on the platform.

As I gaped in disbelief, she spread her arms and 
shouted, with considerable volume for such a petite 
creature, "THAZAR!!!"

That stopped the chanting, and the vampire-lord's gaze 
locked inexorably onto my companion.

"So!" he shouted in a deep voice that echoed against the 
vaulted roof (why do villains always have to shout "So!" 
when things like that happen, anyway?). "I felt the 
destruction of my wives, and I wondered who could have 
accomplished such a thing. You're just in time, you 
sorcerous bitch, to witness my final triumph!"

Livia laughed. "You've been reading too many bad novels, 
Thazar," she replied. "Now, if you'd said something 
original, I might be worried!"

I stayed discreetly out of sight, hoping that Thazar 
wouldn't realize she'd had help. I loosed my 
heartcutter, hoping against hope that its effectiveness 
on demons would at least be of concern to a vampire. It 
was a thin hope, I realized...

"For a woman, you've got stones, I'll give you that," 
said Thazar in a less melodramatic tone as he leaped 
lightly down from the platform, and approached Livia, 
the undead legion giving way before him. "But now you're 
here, what are you going to do? I hold all the cards, 
little girl. I can tell that you're almost exhausted, 
and I've just finish reanimating every corpse in this 
pathetic little valley."

Livia seemed unfazed. "You have something that belongs 
to me, you bloodsucking bastard," she growled. "Give it 
back and send these corpses back to rest."

Thazar, to his credit, didn't throw back his head and 
laugh like a maniac. He only smiled. "What? And waste 
all this effort? Gods, woman -- the dead are pissed 
enough as it is, what with that pathetic holiday 
cancelled... I would have raised the dead with your 
useful little wand here, but adding those celebrants in 
the graveyard was just a pleasant diversion. There are 
dissatisfied dead all over Litharna. They'll have their 
day soon enough."

"Bastard!" spat Livia. "The dead want to be left in 
peace, not dragooned into an army for your personal 
glorification. Give up the fucking wand and we'll leave 
you in peace!"

Thazar still didn't seem to take her seriously. "You're 
in no position to give orders, bitch," he said. "The 
most you can hope for is that I take pity on you and 
recruit you as a replacement for Yasmin and Eva. Oh, and 
where is that swordsman they were playing with, anyway?"

My heart hammered, but I remained in hiding. He didn't 
know that I was still alive, and there was no sense in 
surrendering whatever small advantage we retained.

Thazar stopped about a dozen paces short of Livia. His 
gaze remained fixed on her, and so far he had apparently 
not noticed me. I wasn't sure where this was going, but 
I certainly didn't like it much. Still, Livia had proved 
herself resourceful, and...

And, I realized as she stretched out a hand, she still 
had any number of cards up her sleeve...

"Return," she said, simply, and I saw a thread of 
magical force, much like the one connecting Thazar to 
the zombies, solidify and thicken between her hand and 
the Black Wand. As Thazar stared dumbly, the thread 
snapped back, yanking the wand from his hand and into 
hers.

"I always protect my property, Thazar," she said, 
pointing the wand at the vampire lord. "You've had your 
chance, now it's my turn."

Completely disarmed by Livia's gambit, Thazar stood in 
shocked silence as a stream of white magic shot from the 
wand, caught him in the chest, and sent him flying. His 
connection with the zombies was broken as well, and one 
after the other, they collapsed to the ground.

Another blast from Livia caught Thazar as he struggled 
to stand, pounding him down again. But the vampire was 
not completely without resources. He cast, as well, 
creating a bubble of protective energy around himself. 
The blasts from the wand deflected, streaking off into 
the surrounding darkness, and he rose to his feet, 
transforming into a snarling bat-thing, racing toward 
Livia.

Now was my moment. I stepped out, and struck with my 
heartcutter. The black blade cut through Thazar's 
protective bubble, but caught and skidded off his 
vampiric flesh. His burning eyes glared furiously at me, 
and a clawed hand struck me aside. I fell heavily 
against the wall, felt pain lance through my shoulder, 
and watched helplessly as Thazar bore down on Livia, who 
sent the last of her magical reserves into a final, 
pyrotechnic strike. It pushed him back, singed his 
brown-black fur, but it didn't kill him. It was up to me 
now -- as admirable as Livia was as a sorceress and 
fighter, she was no match for an enraged vampire lord. 
If I didn't do something, we were finished.

I rose, casting my rapier and heartcutter dagger aside, 
and drew my brace of pistols, ignoring the pain in my 
shoulder as I thumbed down hammers, leveled at the 
oncoming horror, now almost entirely bat-like, its jaws 
and fangs slavering, eyes bestial and full of hatred, 
and pulled both triggers.

Thunder and lightning filled the chamber. Fire cut into 
the monster's chest, and it screamed in uncomprehending 
pain. I could almost feel its confusion -- no, no; it 
was a mortal weapon, not even enchanted, it shouldn't 
harm the flesh of the deathless ones...

No, I thought to myself, it shouldn't harm you. Not 
unless the balls were packed with fragments of wood 
taken from shattered furniture in one of your 
bedchambers, you unnatural freak...

Yes, wood -- it hurt him, drove splinters deep into 
Thazar's chest, tearing enchanted, invulnerable flesh... 
But would it kill him? Gods, if he survived...

He didn't get the chance.

Behind me, Livia held the wand and chanted softly. All 
around us, the dead once more lurched to horrific life, 
slowly and painfully rising, shambling forward, reaching 
out with ragged claws, champing with rotted teeth, 
growling and groaning...

"Your tormentor," Livia whispered. "The one who would 
deny you rest, and make you slay your loved ones. Take 
him, brothers... Take him, and return to the blessed 
arms of Phaedra, where you will find peace..."

Swords, daggers, pistols... All were useless against 
vampires, for they healed too quickly, and shrugged off 
the effects of most mortal engines. But against the 
flesh of the undead, flesh driven by hatred, and the 
desire for vengeance -- a vampire can survive for a 
while, but not when wounded and bleeding, and not 
against an endless tide of vengeful once- slaves, now-
enemies, whose feeble minds remembered their mortal 
lives, and desired final peace beyond death...

Thazar screamed for quite a long time as wave after wave 
of clawing, biting, tearing bodies rolled over him. Many 
of the zombies fell, sundered by Thazar's claws; even 
weakened and near death, he was a fearsome opponent, but 
in the end it was no use to him. The monster at last 
fell, ripped to pieces by the animated shells of those 
he would have used as slaves, and denied rest...

Livia muttered a last incantation, releasing the 
zombies, and they collapsed once more, dead now and 
forever. Then, eyes rolling up in her head, Livia 
herself fell, the Black Wand slipping from her grasp.

Oh Gods... Not again... I hastened to her side, my 
shoulder pulsating with agony, and lifted her up, 
checking for pulse and breath. No, I thought, memories 
of Sarra the elf druid still fresh in my mind, please...

She still lived, by the gods. Her pulse was weak, her 
breath shallow, but her collapse was one of exhaustion, 
not death.

Despite the pain which lanced through me, and the 
weariness which urged me to join her, to fall and sleep, 
I stowed the Black Wand at my belt, then lifted Livia 
and carried her up from the vault, from the place of 
death, and out through the main doors of Thazar's manse, 
into the grey light of dawn...

All Souls' Night had ended, and I wondered if a single 
living thing remained in the valley to appreciate it.

* * * * 

As it turned out, there remained a few isolated 
homesteads left dotted about the gorge; I located one 
after a long, laborious climb down the valley wall from 
Thazar's manse, aching and tired, and burdened by 
Livia's unconscious form. The family -- a burly miner, 
his wife, teenaged daughter and twin adult sons -- had 
spent a terrifying night behind barricaded walls, 
fighting off periodic assaults by Thazar's undead. 
Fortunately for me, they realized that I was alive and 
didn't feather me as I approached, calling out for help. 
Newly re-dead corpses littered the landscape around the 
house, some sprouting arrows, others rent by sword or 
axe blows.

After initial suspicion, the miner, Udor, and his wife, 
Franya, took us in with expressions of sympathy and 
concern.

"Where are the monsters?" Franya demanded. She was a 
strong woman, but the night had left her haggard and 
weary, dark circles under her eyes. "They stopped 
attacking just before dawn."

"All dead... again," I said. "We killed the thing that 
was responsible." I took care to keep the Black Wand 
hidden -- no telling how they'd react if they saw it. 
"It's all over."

Udor and his wife sighed with relief. Their children all 
lay sleeping about the house in various postures of 
exhaustion, and it looked as if their parents ached to 
join them.

I ate and rested as Franya saw to Livia. Within an hour, 
she had regained consciousness, and ravenously devoured 
the bread and vegetables offered by the family.

We spent the rest of the day, and the following night 
with the family; by morning Livia had recovered most of 
her strength, and looked a bit more like the bright-
faced woman who had rescued me the night before. 

We bade goodbye to Udor and his family early the 
following morning. Livia left them a small pouch of gold 
and gems, an act which made the family stare in 
astonishment -- I suspected it would leave Udor as the 
wealthiest surviving landholder in the valley.

I hastened to leave the deathly silent streets of 
Guldensburg; as I had feared, not a living thing had 
survived in the town. Neither human, dog, cat, nor horse 
remained, though when I looked down an alley, I saw 
scuttling rats. At least, I reflected, they were all 
truly dead now, and beyond the reach of Thazar and his 
ilk. All the same, we wasted no time heading up the 
trail out of the gorge, only to find the way still 
blocked by the landslide that had trapped us all down 
here.

Livia frowned. "Dammit," she muttered. "I'm not looking 
forward to this. Step back."

With that, she intoned a series of invocations, moving 
enough earth and rock to allow passage. We scrambled 
over, back down onto the road, and finally out of the 
valley. I looked back. Livia's magic would have the 
added benefit of helping the few remaining humans in the 
valley escape, as well -- I doubted anyone would want to 
continue living down there, given its cursed history...

I wasn't terribly concerned about the mad castrators, 
after the horrors we'd witnessed. In any event, we 
encountered nothing more terrifying than a startled 
deer, and reached a relatively friendly village by 
afternoon.

"Since I've done what I came here to do," Livia said, as 
we sat together at the local inn that night, "I'm 
heading for Stoneburg."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "Stoneburg? That's 
where I'm from. Why the hell haven't I met you before?"

She shook her head. "I have safe houses all over the 
place. I haven't been to the 'burg in a couple of years. 
I'm planning on staying there for a while, though. 
Perhaps we can get together some time."

"I look forward to it," I said, gazing at her and 
feeling that sinking "let's always be good friends" 
sensation that I always feel with women I don't stand a 
chance with. Gods, there was something about her... An 
intangible union of innocence and unbridled sensuality, 
a depth to her rich blue eyes that I wanted to dive into 
and explore, lose myself in...

She smiled. "I'm shipping out through Tarnstranz, north 
of here. The quickest route is through Kenth, and I 
suspect an escort would be a very good thing to have. 
Care to accompany me?"

Really. Maybe, I thought... No -- she obviously asked 
because she trusted me to be a gentleman and never make 
unwanted advances. Sometimes I truly wish I was one of 
those heartless rakes who can seduce the iciest of 
women, then leave them crying... Then again, I don't 
think I could ever live with myself.

"I'd be glad to," I replied. "I've come to enjoy your 
company.

In any event, I think I owe you for saving my life."

She waved a hand. "That debt's been repaid in full, if 
it ever was a debt. I'm asking you as a friend."

Oh, Gods, the siege engine has sprung... We're doomed to 
friendship. Never to touch, never to kiss save in the 
most chaste and fraternal manner, never to fall together 
in passion's embrace...

Oh, for Phaedra's sake, shut up...

"Then I'm with you all the way," I said. The next few 
words were among the hardest I've ever uttered. "I can 
only go as far as Tarnstranz, though. I have some very 
important business in Vosgraad before I head back home."

I'd swear she almost looked disappointed. "Well," she 
said, "then I'll have to see you when you get back to 
the 'burg."

"We'll do that," I said, trying to imagine what she 
looked like naked, while simultaneously trying to keep 
myself from doing so, and frustrating myself enormously 
in the process. Most of you probably know what I'm 
talking about... 

When we slept in separate rooms, I was pretty sure that 
she wanted to keep our relationship chaste and friendly, 
and consoled myself with self- abuse. Though it was far 
from what I wanted, at least it helped me get to sleep 
quickly...

Gods... Livia... The eternal unrequited love...

Well, lust anyway...



EPILOG -- WATERFALL

Kenth is a wild, unpopulated province of the vast 
Litharnan state; a few hardy pioneers have settled 
there, felling trees, setting up farmsteads, hunting, 
fishing, but in the main, it is an untouched wilderness 
of vast fir forests, sylvan glades, cold rushing 
streams, and craggy mountains touched with snow. It 
reminded me of the Elven Isles.

Gods know, Livia and I grew close in the days we 
traveled through Kenth. Friendly, but still thoroughly 
platonic, which is about where I expected it to remain.

Her life was about as varied and rootless as mine. She'd 
been raised by her mother, a small-time hedge sorceress 
who had had a string of boyfriends and little time for 
her. She'd left home at fourteen, discovered men soon 
thereafter, and (here, I had to bite my hand to keep 
from moaning) women only a little later. A string of 
unhappy relationships, including cohabitation with at 
least one highly abusive man, followed, until, as near 
as I could guess, Livia decided that she herself was the 
only individual she could truly rely on, and obtained 
sorcerous training at a very disreputable magical 
institute.

Things were hopping from then on. She hired herself out 
variously as security and larceny expert, salted her 
money away with the Kyborist bankers, and by the time 
she was twenty she had enough to buy a nice mansion in 
Godshome. Through all that, I noted, she continued to 
rely on herself, though got the general impression that 
her bed rarely stayed lonely for long.

"And now you're an international power broker with 
interests in a dozen countries, right?" I asked.

She laughed. Yes, it was a melodic, joyful laughter, and 
she looked like one of those untouchable, but serenely 
beautiful angels from old Kyborist murals when she did 
so. "Not really, Wulf. I'm comfortable enough, but I'm 
not what you would call wealthy."

"You're what I would call wealthy," I growled. "But then 
again, I'm the one who blows all his money on petty 
luxuries and loose women."

"Mm." It seemed to come as no surprise to her. "I'm not 
without my own petty luxuries," she said. "Or with my 
own loose..." she paused, mulling over her next choice 
of words "...companions."

I took this all in stride, and we moved on to my own 
life story. I actually told her the entire story of my 
adventures during and after the Imperial Veldt Lands 
disaster -- the invasion, the battle, my transformation 
into a lion-man, enslavement in Xesh, and my part in the 
great goblin invasion of the Elven Isles. I even told 
her about the women -- the late and lamented Sarra, the 
very much alive and perverse Nineh and Xylara, the 
supple and submissive Alrynna, the evil snake daemoness, 
the multiply-pierced and infinitely twisted dark elf 
Thae'lynn, and of course my beloved Ushandra, who 
remained at the top of my list of cherished memories...

I glanced over at her. She seemed interested, if 
relatively unimpressed -- I suspected that my sexual 
escapades were nothing compared to hers (even though she 
had been distressingly spare with details, I realized 
that she was hiding some tales that would have curled my 
hair).

"Interesting," she said. "I suspect that you've got 
quite a variety of spiritual influences. That would 
explain your wanderlust, and the fact that you took to 
being a lion-man so easily. I wonder what else we could 
turn you into --"

"Not a chance," I cut in. "I enjoy being human too 
damned much. I don't want to be a lion-man again, even 
if I was hung like a --" I bit my words off suddenly. 
"Uhhhh, you know what I mean."

She smiled what I can only described as a wickedly 
warped smile. "Don't be so sure what you want, Wulf. 
There's a lot in your future. I can tell such things."

"Really? Precognitive as well as beautiful and 
sorcerously talented. So what do you see in my future?"

"Oh, I never said I could see your future. I just know 
you have one. I'm talented that way."

"Hm. Talented." And probably talented in ways I would 
never get to find out, either. Saint Kybor's Testicles, 
this woman had begun to frustrate me...

We rode for days, through uninhabited wilderness, 
following the only major trail in the province. It was 
unspoiled land, all right -- we met no one, and were 
unmenaced by man, beast, or otherwise. It was easily one 
of the most pleasant and relaxing journeys of my life.

It happened the day we rode near a towering granite 
wedge of mountains. Rivers flowed down from the 
mountains, creating great, thundering waterfalls, and 
our trail led us past a particularly spectacular 
specimen.

There are certain places that I consider "special." Not 
necessarily magical -- magic is a tangible, measurable 
thing that can enhance and improve a place, but there 
are "special" places that have a magic of their own, 
separate and distinct from the kind that turns people 
into frogs and cuts down shambling zombies.

This, I think, was one such place. The waterfall roared 
down from on high, around a great boulder rounded and 
smoothed over the centuries, and landed in a deep, icy 
blue, almost perfectly circular pool. Trees grew nearly 
to the water's edge, stopping just short on a rocky 
ledge which surrounded the pool. The world was a study 
in blue, white, green and grey, from the blinding blue-
white canopy overhead to the stark, featureless gray of 
the stone and the rolling waves of green which 
surrounded us. I sighed, drinking in the beauty, 
listening to the rush of water, soft at this distance, 
flowing around us, and felt cool gentle moisture on my 
skin from the veil of mist surrounding the falling 
column of water.

Sudden inspiration seized Livia. She vaulted down from 
her horse and bounded over to a nearby ledge, just a few 
handspans above the chill blue water.

"Let's go swimming!" she declared, flinging arms 
overhead, bending backward, and whirling merrily. I 
blinked hard as she shed her clothes like a lithe, 
blonde selkie emerging from the waves, and stood before 
me like an image carved of pure ivory, warm and alive, 
eyes bright, white teeth bared in a broad grin.

Oh, such a sight... Everything I'd imagined and more -- 
taut, creamy pink and white, a perfect union of angles 
and curves... I felt a stirring between my own thighs, 
and struggled to ignore it.

"Well?" she demanded. "What are you waiting for?" With 
that, she dove in, a geometrically flawless arc of white 
flesh, splashing into the water, becoming instantly one 
with the element, vanishing from sight, and reappearing, 
glistening and sleek, a dozen paces distant. 

I approached, still unsure of what to do, and seated 
myself on the ledge from which she had launched herself.

"So how's the water?" I called as Livia's lithe, pale 
form dove in and out of the pool with the grace of a 
porpoise.

She surfaced, crystalline water sluicing from her face 
as she pushed her hair back and cast me an impish grin.

"Great!" she said, her melodic voice cutting like a 
knife through the roar of the waterfall. "Damned cold, 
though. Want to join me?"

I chuckled. "I'm afraid icy water isn't my favorite 
medium, my dear," I replied. "I'd love to stay and 
watch, however."

Her expression suddenly evolved from sweet and innocent 
to downright predatory, then her head and shoulders 
vanished beneath the water.

I was still wondering how to react when a geyser of 
water shot up in front of me, and Livia's lithe, naked 
body appeared, hauling herself up onto the rock with me. 
Her pink skin was white with cold now, her delicate pink 
nipples swollen, breasts bouncing lightly, blue eyes 
wide and gleaming.

"You stay and play or get out," she said, wickedly, and 
before I could respond, wound slender but strong arms 
around my neck, and fell backwards, dragging me, yelping 
helplessly, into the pool.

The cold hit me like a very large club, driving breath 
out of my body, sending me streaking to the surface, 
sputtering and gasping, dragging her along with me. I 
didn't have long, for an instant later, Livia's lips met 
mine, and I slipped under once more, still struggling 
despite the fact that my mind frantically screamed 
something like, "She wants you, you idiot! Kiss her 
back! This is your chance! The woman you've been lusting 
after finally wants your hot monkey love!!!"

Not that anything was terribly "hot" in that ice-bath, 
but I was willing to go with it. My hands were too numb 
to really feel anything, but I stroked up and down her 
back nonetheless, pulling her close, feeling her lips 
once more search out mine, and the heat of her tongue 
upon my own, in burning contrast to the cold water 
around us.

By this time, I was completely out of breath once more, 
and struggled again to the surface. I looked at her, and 
saw pale blue eyes hot with passion that could melt the 
snowpack in the mountains that soared above us, and 
bring the cold water to boiling.

With unspoken consent, we moved to the shallows, and 
onto a ledge near the thundering curtain of the 
waterfall. Icy spray misted the air, and I was so cold 
as to be completely insensate, and didn't mind terribly 
shedding my wet clothes, and pulling her naked body 
against mine.

I saw her lips move, but couldn't hear anything over the 
waterfall. I suspected I knew what she was saying; 
something along the lines of "take me now, you stupid 
ape," sentiment with which I was entirely in agreement.

Gods, but she was beautiful, more so now because of the 
wild, uncivilized place, and the feral gleam in her 
large blue eyes. Gone was the demure, pale-haired 
sorceress, replaced by a ravenous white-skinned goddess, 
delicate fingers stroking my face, my lips, my chest, 
lips moving across my body, kissing and biting lightly. 
Her body was a gentle combination of curves and angles, 
neither overly slender nor excessively fleshy. Her 
breasts were perfectly sized to her body, and 
exquisitely formed, with nipples tight and hard in the 
cold. Her stomach was slightly curved, leading with near 
architectural grace to her muscular thighs, and downy, 
almost invisible pubic hair.

In a moment, I was on my back, heedless of the rough 
stone behind me as she moved astride my chest, taking my 
hands in hers and moving them to her breasts, which I 
stroked and squeezed, watching with growing excitement 
as she leaned back, eyes half-closed, mouth open in a 
moan, exposing tiny, pearly teeth and sharp pink tongue. 
Obviously, feeling was coming back to Livia's 
extremities, and I tested the hypothesis by squeezing 
first one nipple, then the other, feeling her tense and 
shake against me.

Then she kissed me again, moving down this time to kiss 
her way down my chest, bite at my nipples, then flick 
her soft tongue along my stomach, to my thighs, and 
across the head of my surprisingly erect cock. She 
grinned up at me nastily, and encircled my tumescent 
organ with both hands, running a stiffened tongue up and 
down its underside, stroking around its head, stroking 
and sucking at my balls...

Well, I WAS pretty numb, but my blood was definitely 
flowing again. As her tongue continued its insistent 
exploration of my now completely engorged prick, I ran 
my fingers over her wet hair, face and shoulders. 
Blessed heat enwrapped my penis as she finally took it 
into her mouth and slowly, slowly -- maddeningly -- 
slipped it deeper and deeper inside. Teeth grazed my 
skin lightly, and her tongue moved wetly up and down it. 
Then, cold overwhelmed me as she slid me out, then in 
again.

I was moaning a blue streak by this time, though no one 
could hear me over the roaring waters a few feet away. 
An odd sensation swept over me -- desire mixed with deep 
affection and protectiveness for this strange sorceress 
who was both innocent and sybarite in a single body. 
When she released me, I grabbed her shoulders, looking 
deeply into her eyes, and pulled her up until she was 
entirely atop me, my erect cock sandwiched between us. I 
smothered her with a deep kiss, and she responded, 
wrapping her arms tightly around me. 

I felt the vibrations of loud cries from her throat and 
lips as I slipped one hand between her thighs, feeling 
hot waves pulsing from her soft, moist pussy. I rubbed 
swollen lips, and felt the place where her clit sprang 
erect, a hard nubbin of wet flesh. I squeezed and 
stroked, feeling her moans and a cyclic tensing of her 
body as I stroked more and more forcefully.

Gods, I wanted this woman -- more, perhaps than any 
woman I'd ever wanted before, which is saying a lot. She 
was definitely ready for me, but I wanted this to be 
special. I stood with great effort, feeling muscles and 
joints protest, and old scars ache, but I didn't care. I 
lifted her in my arms, feeling her slender but strong 
body against mine, arms twined around my neck, eyes 
still fiery and passionate. Her lips continued moving, 
and it wasn't difficult to figure out what she was 
saying.

I carried her into the steady, pounding rain of the 
waterfall, and set her down upon the smooth rock beneath 
it. Cold, stinging water pounded down on us, filling the 
world with noise and icy sensation. She moved onto hands 
and knees, shapely buttocks thrust up toward me, short 
blonde hair plastered across head and shoulders, leaning 
on her forearms, her most intimate places revealed for 
my pleasure, waiting for my touch...

I slipped a finger into her cunt, feeling heat and 
wetness, then stroked my cock against its pink, yielding 
flesh. A cry echoed from her throat, over even the roar 
of the water as I slipped my rock-hard member into her, 
feeling the walls of her cunt close around me, clamping 
down tightly, giving way only with difficulty, yielding 
before me, and finally sucking me deeply inside.

I pressed in, burying my cock inside her, feeling the 
softness of her ass cheeks against my hips, her thighs 
against mine. I held her hips and pushed off, pulling 
out, then plunging in again, again, again, again. I 
moved faster, and I felt her honey-sweet cunt grow still 
tighter, and watched her tense, convulse and writhe 
beneath me. 

She was a pale hourglass of flesh, angular shoulders 
tapering to slender waist, then flaring once more into 
the rounded softness of hips and buttocks, moving 
forward, back, forward, back, my cock buried between her 
white thighs, plunging in and out, driving her on and 
on...

I was driving on pretty well, too, and I realized that I 
wanted to come for this woman. After more long minutes 
of thrusting, hot flesh alternating with ice-cold water 
(I suppose that it was a tribute to the burning lust I 
felt for Livia that I never once worried about losing my 
erection in the cold), I felt whirling lines of 
sensation center on my cock, felt myself racing toward 
final release. She didn't stop me, and hadn't expressed 
any concern about getting pregnant (since she'd 
apparently had dozens of lovers before I burst onto the 
scene, I suspected that she had dealt with such 
eventualities), so I drove on, pushing myself toward the 
edge, felt it rush up and over me, felt that last, 
desperate moment tottering at the brink, then tumbled 
over into sensation, my body contracting, crying out in 
a voice swallowed up by the roaring waters, feeling my 
cock pour my passion deep inside Livia's own orgasm-
racked cunt...

I don't remember much after that; my next clear memory 
is of the two of us, lying together in warm sunlight on 
the dry rocks at the water's edge, dozing in each 
other's arms, not speaking, simply enjoying each other's 
presence in silence and with a closeness that went 
beyond simple words.

* * * *

Of course, it wasn't going to last, and I should have 
known it. We continued on the next morning, and despite 
my enthusiastic suggestions, there was no repeat 
performance. Livia was polite, even affectionate, but 
she had my measure, and knew that I would not press the 
issue. I remained frustrated, and wondered whether it 
would have been better had we never had our moments of 
passion beneath the waterfall.

Well, by the Gods, I wasn't going to be dismissed that 
easily. We reached Tarnstranz, a bustling port which sat 
alone along the northern coast of Kenth, and was the 
region's sole outpost of civilization, several days 
later. My last moments with Livia were spent on the 
docks, as she waited to board the sleek cruiser, 
"Skate," a ship which she had chartered for her personal 
use.

"Goodbye, Wulf," Livia said, hugging me close. She 
fitted nicely beneath my chin, and her body was warm 
against mine. "I'm sorry that I've been so difficult 
these last few days. We'll talk more back in Stoneburg."

I was sorely tempted at that moment to join her, and 
sail aboard "Skate" back to the hustle and bustle of 
Stoneburg, where I could prove to her I was a worthy 
addition to her stable of "special" friends. But duty 
called. I had made a promise, and it was a promise I 
intended to keep.

"I don't like goodbyes," I said. "I've had too damned 
many of them. I prefer 'see you later'."

"Well," she said, smiling up at me, "see you later, 
then." She kissed me, with more passion than I expected, 
lips parting slightly, and a faint trace of tongue 
touching mine, before she drew away, and hastened down 
the gangplank and onto "Skate."

I waved as the ship departed and, to my own surprise, 
watched as it dwindled on the horizon and vanished 
altogether.

I sighed and gritted my teeth. Vosgraad, I thought. 
Vosgraad next, then home to Stoneburg. Back to Livia and 
an uncertain future... Would we see each other as more 
than friends, I wondered? Or would I always be her best 
buddy, like a beloved brother in a family that didn't 
believe in incest? Would that magical moment beneath the 
waterfall be an isolated incident, a cherished memory 
separate from all else, or was it the curtain- raiser to 
greater things?

Once more, and not for the last time in my life, I had 
no idea.

Again.

END

[Wulf will be back -- he's got that errand in Vosgraad, 
after all -- as will Livia (no surprise there). Will 
they ever find true happiness, or will the little minx 
keep frustrating him? Time will tell.]

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 66