Book one of God Wars A dark fantasy trilogy I would like to say that Changer's Ring started it all, but in truth, the first God Wars story does not appear until Chapter ten. When Liz read it and the next two she asked if she could join in. When I said yes, she leaped and began writing lots of stories that took place BEFORE the ones I wrote. That left me no choice but to write a few early stories myself. In all, Liz's stories were a great addition. She took God Wars in directions and enriched it beyond what I intended. Chapter 1: Changer’s Ring While walking down a crowded boardwalk Glace shortened his stride just before he stumbled into a soft-faced young man whose hungry eyes were fastened on the figure of a half-naked woman. Catching their stare, she smiled lewdly, winked, and put on the shirt she had removed less than a minute before. Scowling, Glace watched while the woman laughed and strolled away. The young man laughed while the woman's hips swayed. Watching, Glace's unhappy scowl grew deeper. The young man momentarily removed his eyes from the woman’s hips and clapped Glace on the shoulder with a too friendly hand. “Now that’s something you don’t see everyday.” “I do,” Glace growled, shrugging the unwelcome hand off while the woman continued to deliberately sway her hips for their enjoyment. Still scowling, he turned his back on the view and walked away, took the first turn on the right, and then the second turn on his left. Half a block later, he stopped, leaned an elbow on a hitching rail, and waited. When Cass finally arrived she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. "Did you see his eyes when I flashed my boobs? Gods, what an easy mark," She giggled and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “So come on. Give. How much did we make?” “I saw the way he looked at you,” Glace complained as she kissed his nose. Pulling slightly away, her smile faded and her eyes narrowed, showing the first dangerous signs of anger. Glace shifted uncomfortably and forced his frown into a sick semblance of a smile. He had overstepped his bounds, again, and Cass was not pleased. Perfect green eyes peered from her delicate moon-shaped face while she studied him. Shoulder length hair, smelling faintly of jasmine, flowed from her aristocratic head, framing her in a shroud of brilliant red. She was exquisite, a woman beyond compare, and he had an uncontrollable mouth which might one day drive her away. “You told me to distract him,” Cass said flatly. “I didn’t tell you to strip for him,” Glace muttered. Provocative and mocking, her smile returned. She trailed the tips of her fingers across his chest, making his skin tingle to her touch, making him want to reach out, pull her tight to him, and rip off the clothes he had just chided her for not wearing. “Was I a bad girl?” Her hips swayed slightly. “Do you want to spank me?” Releasing a long sigh, Glace pulled her fingertips from his chest and allowed his tense muscles to relax. “It’s just that…sometimes…you act like a whore.” "Mmmm. Your whore." Cass wrapped her arms around his neck and molded herself against him until there was no space left for intruding air. She kissed the corner of his mouth once, and then again. “I promise. You’re the only man who can touch me. No other.” “Yeah, well.” Feeling uncomfortable, Glace reached up to unlock her fingers from around his neck. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it when they look at you. Cass, I just don’t understand why you hate wearing clothes.” "It excites me, baby. I love it when they look at me with hungry eyes and think that I'm their prey, but we know different, don't we lover. Tell me. What did we get this time?" Silently accepting the unspoken truce her change of subject offered, Glace reached into his belt pouch, pulled out a ring, and held handed it to her. “Just this and a few coppers. His purse was almost empty.” At first, her eyes fastened on the ring with disinterest, but then they suddenly lit up and she grinned. “Hey! I know that ring. Oh please tell me those are real diamonds.” “Look real to me, but I have doubts,” Glace answered, studying at the ring. Six clear stones circled a larger blue one. A snarling wolf’s head was carved into the surface of the blue stone. Not a usual design, perhaps, but not so very unusual either. No, to him the most interesting part of the ring was the band. It was made of a green metal he had never seen before and when he had held it the metal felt slick, perhaps even slimy, telling him that the band was a cheap base metal of one sort ore another, and if the band was cheap, the diamonds might be fake too. “I suppose we’ll have to take it to an honest fence before we know for sure.” “We have to take it to Mathew Changer,” Cass said. “I don’t like Mathew.” “You don’t like him because I want him to father my children. Don’t worry, lover. I told you, you’re the only man who will touch me. Still--,” she paused, “I hear that he does business at the Hell Hole now. I don’t like that place much. Tessla goes there.” “Trelsar’s Assassin was arrested a couple days ago,” Glace reminded her. “According to the professional gossipmongers, she’s supposed to hang next week.” Suddenly feeling good because Cass seemed to have forgiven him, he grinned. “By my count, this is the sixth time this year that she’s been sentenced for murder.” Cass nodded with satisfaction. “That’s all right then. Traditionally, Trelsar’s Whore doesn’t escape until after she's been in prison for two or three days. The Hole is always its most interesting after sunset, so we’ll see the moneychanger tonight.” ### Two hours after sunset, Cass by his side, Glace walked the garbage strewn streets of Yylse's underside and wished his parents had lived long enough to apprentice him to an honest trade. It wasn't that he was afraid, exactly, but walking down a dark street that was traditionally heavily populated by hellkind did not fill him with a great deal of confidence either. With gentle pressure against her arm, he guided Cass around a wyvern chewed body that was half covered by the remnants of a peddler's cart and several broken bottles. Cass didn‘t even look when they passed the body by. Completely ignoring the stench of rotting meat, she hugged up close to him and kissed the side of his neck, pausing for long enough to deliver a playfully painful nip. “You seem nervous. Have you been in the Hole before?” “Only when it was light outside,” Glace answered, looking carefully around, searching for signs that the wyvern was still in the area. It wasn't, but he did see a severed hand lying at the edge of the dirt road. Its fingers scrabbled and clawed uselessly in the dirt, even though there was no sign of the arm it had once belonged to. “Selnac told it’s more than my life is worth to go at night because that’s when the newest escapees crawl out of hell. From the looks of it, he was right." Cass cooed gently and ran a swift hand through his hair. “Don’t worry, pup. I’ll take care of you.” Reaching up to with her free hand, she unfastened several of her shirt’s buttons until it gaped open, baring her full and firm breasts to the night air. “Damn it!” Glace snapped, fighting back the urge to grab her shirt and jerk it shut. “Keep your shirt closed. This is no place to play your games.” “Ohhh, but it is,” Cass answered. "This is the perfect place." She smiled, and that smile changed her elfin features into those of a child. Radiance and allure filled her. Pale skin glistened on her aristocratic neck, inviting Glace to set his lips to her skin. Something inside him, some secret part of his nature, wanted to bite into her neck, wanted to feel skin stretch, break, wanted to experience the copper salt taste of her blood while his hands stroked her face, ran down to cup her breasts, and then gripped them so tight that they bruised. But mostly, he just wanted to pull her damn shirt closed. Almost as if she read his mind, Cass ran her delicate fingers across his chest. “Remember, puppy, you’re the only man who touches me.” Her voice softened. “But also remember that I don’t like being bound.” A young woman's body, badly torn, partially devoured, lay outside the door of the Hell Hole Tavern. Dark blood glistening on its black muzzle, a hellhound gnawed on the remnants of the corpse's thigh. Glace shuddered when its thick jaws crunched down on a thighbone, cracking it open with the same ease Glace used to bite through an apple's skin. Pausing, Cass patted the huge hell creature on its enormous head and scratched it behind its razor edged ear while is gulped its last bite down. Despite Glace's greater exposure to hellborn, she was more comfortable with them than he would ever be. “Is Mathew Changer around?” She asked. Leaving off its feast, the hound looked at them with bright red eyes and opened its mouth in a bloody grin that smelled of rotting flesh. “I don’t know. Carrid won’t let me in there any more.” “I guess we’ll just have to go in and see.” After scratching the beast one more time behind its ear, Cass pulled Glace up the steps and through the tavern’s door. From behind them, Glace heard the thighbone crack once more. He shuddered and hoped the hell hound would not still be hungry when he and Cass left. If they left. Sweat beading on his brow, Glace looked towards Cass and saw that her shirt was still mostly unfastened. She was looking for trouble, but this place was too dangerous for her games. Once they were through the doors, Glace saw that, as expected, the tavern was full. Dim, flickering torchlight illuminated packed tables covered in bottles, cards and sprawled drunks, but the light was not dim enough for his comfort. Moments after they stepped through the door, idle eyes turned slowly towards them and instantly fastened on Cass. Swallowing, Glace's hands quivered when he saw that Cass wore a huge smile.
 He shuddered. Cass’s face and half-bare torso seemed to glimmer in the erratic light. She looked strange, feral. Her red hair almost danced in the air; her dark nipples, half peeking around the edges of her open shirt, became erect and looked almost granite hard. Green eyes half slitted, Cass wrapped an arm around his waist, leaned close, and whispered. “Look at their eyes. They want me. They hunger.” She tossed her head and gave him a grin that looked almost like a snarl. “But don't worry, my sweet lover. You are my only man.” Glaring at the watching eyes, Glace fingered his belt knife and wished they were anywhere but here. Only a few faces turned away from his unspoken threat. Most of the expressions he saw were mocking because he was young and lightly armed. A large figure pushed his way through the crowd. “Cover yourself,” Carrid Brewer ordered. “Are you trying to start a riot or get your boyfriend killed?” Staring challengingly into Carrid's eyes, Cass deliberately unhooked her shirt’s last fastening and opened it wide. “Where’s Mathew?” After sputtering for a moment, Carrid pointed and then turned away. Cass grabbed Glace by the hand and pulled him through the crowd. Strangely, a way parted for them. Hardened thieves, cons, and murderers shifted to the side. Far too soon for Glace’s comfort, she stopped before a table seating only one man. Tall and dark haired, Mathew owned the only male face Glace had ever seen that was lovelier than Cass’s. That face was a mockery of the man, for though he was not yet thirty, Mathew Changer was known to be wicked and cruel, and those were only two of the many character flaws that had gained him control of a large part of Yylse’s underworld. When Mathew saw them standing at his table the left corner of his mouth turned slightly down and he sighed. “Glace, there was a time when I had hopes for you. Can't deny that you have talent, boy, but I’m no longer sure of your judgment. Why are you still hanging around with this bitch? She's going to get you killed.” Glace started forward, but Cass held him back. “I know you love me,” she said to the crime lord, “because I’m the only person in this city who is as fair as you.” "I hate you" Mathew said calmly, "because your body has made so many of my people bleed." Shrugging one shoulder, Cass reached out to lay her left hand on Glace's forearm. "That stopped more than two months ago, back before I found Glace." She held out her right hand, displaying the stolen ring. “This is what matters, Mathew. Do you recognize it? You should. You’re wearing its mate on your left hand, only Mathew, this one is real.” “Far as I know, the one I'm wearing is real,” Mathew said. Reaching out, he took the ring from her and studied it closely. “It’s a good job,” he finally admitted, “but the diamonds are fake.” “Those diamonds,” purred Cass, “come from the walkways of hell, and so does the sapphire. I suggest you study the band closely too, because you’ll never see its like again. Athos, himself, covets that metal, and when the lesser god of hell treasures something, you know it’s worth a fortune.” Her eyes glittered emerald fire. “I’m giving it to you.” With a sudden snap of his fingers, Mathew clenched his fist around the ring and leaned forward in his chair. He studied Cass with dark eyes that were suddenly hard, dangerous, and knowing. “Tell me Cass, are you trying to cover me in hell’s trappings, trying to compromise my soul? I’m not like Carrid. I don’t deal with the dead and the damned, and I don't make deals with the likes of you.” “It’s almost a gift, Mathew,” Cass whispered softly. “Nothing more than a gift--with a couple...strings...attached. Glace is getting too old for his simple cons. He needs training, and there’s nobody better for that than you.” “What else?” Mathew asked. His voice was flat; his face distrusting. “Sire my children,” she breathed. “I don’t even like you.” “And I hate you beyond compare. None of that matters. It is time for me to breed.” Skin prickling, Glace swallowed and shifted nervously because Cass's words had suddenly thrust him into an awkward position. He was young, untried, and relatively unknown. As yet, he had no reputation to maintain, but he did have one to build if he wanted to stay alive for more than another year or three, which meant that he was obligated to protest Mathew taking his woman. On the other hand, Mathew was known to be strong and quick with a blade. Unlike many of those in the hellhole, Mathew could walk out to the graveyard and point at dozens of burial markers he had caused. Still, a young con had nothing if he did not have respect. Knees trembling, Glace pulled his knife. “You are mine,” he said to Cass, wishing his voice did not sound so weak. Reaching out, eyes liquid and warm, she wrapped soft fingers around the sharp-edged blade and leaned into him so her left breast pressed against his side. “I promise you, lover, no man touches me except you.” Using the tip of her tongue, she moistened her lips and then pursed them in a slight moue. “No. Man.” And then her expression hardened. After releasing her hold on Glace's knife, she turned her eyes back towards Mathew. “Since I've only been with him a few weeks, Glace is still something of a fool. He thinks he owes something to that Brood woman who takes in all the kids, so you have to give him seven gold for the ring. That’s a steal, Mathew, and you know it. Seven gold and training. That's all I ask.” “Am I the only person who feels confused?” Glace muttered to himself. Mathew’s expression suddenly became distracted. His eyes shifted slightly to the side, narrowed, and then the Hell Hole’s din stilled. Twisting, Glace saw Tessla standing in the open doorway with her ever-present cirweed pipe stuck between her lips. A hellhound’s huge head dangled casually from one black taloned hand. “Does this belong to anybody?” She asked in a conversational voice, though her eyes glittered righteous black fire and her long, white hair danced in the still air. “That thing was a favorite of Krastos,” Carrid called out. “The demon isn’t going to be too happy with you.” “I wasn’t happy with its eating habits,” Tessla calmly replied. “Krastos is welcome to speak with me if he has a problem.” Her other hand rose into view, and Glace saw smoke rise from her soul-sucking pipe. Trembling, Cass pressed herself against Glace. “Don’t let her hurt me.” “I wonder,” said Mathew to Cass, “which of us her god wants dead.” Surreptitiously sliding the ring on his finger when he rose to his feet, Mathew scowled at Glace. “First lesson. Put your knife away. It’ll do you no good against anybody in here.” Glace stubbornly shook his head and gripped the knife tighter just as Tessla’s eyes swiveled in their direction. “Ah,” she said. “I won’t make it easy for you,” Mathew warned. His hands hovered near his waistline, but there were no weapons there that Glace could see. Somewhere in this crowd, he knew, were three or four of Mathew’s bodyguards. They might or might not help their boss against Tessla. Tessla chuckled. “Mathew. I’m not after you--yet. I’m here for the bitch.” Almost casually, she dropped the Hellhound’s head. It made a dull thud when it hit the floor. Growling low in her throat, Cass pulled away from Glace, shrugged her shoulders, and her unfastened shirt fell to the floor. Not knowing what else to do, Glace reached out an arm to block her from confronting Tessla, but Cass pushed it away with contemptuous ease. With the bitter fragrance of cirweed surrounding her and a thin, mocking, smile on her black lips, Tessla glided through the narrow corridor the Hell Hole's patrons created when they moved from between Tessla and her prey. The silence surrounding them had become so complete that Glace could hear her black leather clothing creak as she drew near. Tessla stopped six feet away from them, drew in a lungful of poisonous smoke from the pipe still jutting from between her lips, and stared at Cass. “Bitch, there have been too many deaths. Trelsar, my god, is unhappy.” She frowned. “Mathew, that was very unwise.” A small commotion sounded behind Glace. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw Mathew struggling to pull the ring from his finger. “It won’t come off,” Mathew hissed, his voice leaking tones of subdued panic. He tugged on the ring harder but it remained firmly, magically, attached. Glace looked back toward the Assassin and waved the knife he still held. “I won’t let you have her,” he warned. Daring a brief glance at Cass from the corner of his eye, he barely refrained from snapping at her when he saw that she had stripped off the rest of her clothing, but then he saw that Cass had...changed. Naked to the room, her head canted at a curious angle while she studied Tessla. Though she was still lithe and lovely, her once perfect breasts were no longer there. Instead, her chest was covered by a carpet of brown and gray fur. The stench of hot metal oozed from her. Gulping down surprised disbelief, Glace struggled to keep his attention on the two women at once. “Cass?” She looked at him, and hair oozed from the pores of her face. Black lips now stretched along the length of her muzzle. Suddenly, she grinned at Glace, and the teeth her grin displayed were needle sharp. “Sorry lover. I never felt the time was quite right to tell you.” Falling to her paws, she flexed long claws, digging deep gouges into the wooden floor. “You’re a hellhound,” Glace said nonsensically. “She’s a changer,” Tessla said, “and she murders without constraint.” “Ah well,” Cass stretched her hound’s body. “They wanted to lay their hands on me. They wanted to control me.” Her voice lowered and became a growl. “Be careful, spawn. You’ve never faced anything like me.” “Gods,” Mathew cursed in a voice rougher than his own. “I can’t get the damned thing off.” Uncomprehending, Glace jerked his head around and saw that Mathew’s once perfect face had elongated and was now covered with gray fur. Panicked, yellow eyes stared furiously out of deep-set sockets while the crime lord jerked uselessly at the ring Glace had stolen. “You would have made a wonderful sire,” Cass growled. Her lips curled back and her eyes glared at Tessla. “Do you remember me, thing? I ate your friend when you were nothing more than a spawn trapped in hell.” “Trelsar’s mercy has made me no longer spawn,” Tessla warned, “Return to hell, changer, or die.” “I could murder you,” Cass said, her eyes glinting. “I like that choice best.” When she turned her gaze to Glace thick drool dripped from her mouth. “As you love me, help me kill her.” “It hurts!” Mathew thickly cried out. Shaking, wanting to scream frustration, Glace raised his knife towards Tessla, lowered it, and raised it once more. Indecision tore at him. Biting his lip, he turned toward the crime lord and then twisted back to look at Tessla. Cass cursed him and leaped. Tessla dodged, and then Glace had no time to pay them any mind. Decision made, he turned to leap on top of Mathew’s table, beat the man’s hands apart, and stabbed down. Blood sprayed across Glace’s chest and face. Mathew cried out and staggered backwards until his shoulders struck a wall. Clenching his bleeding stub tightly in his right fist, Mathew fell to his knees just as his severed finger rolled off the table and struck the floor. Wet with Mathew's blood, Glace spun around, jumped off the table, and saw that Cass had Tessla on the ground. Her razor teeth savaged the Assassin’s upper arm and shoulder, ripping and gouging while the assassin's talons sank deep into the changer’s neck and side. Tessla’s almost alien face showed only calm indifference while meat and sinew were torn from her body. With a jerk of her head, Cass ripped a large chunk of flesh free. And then she whimpered. Cursing, Cass jerked away, tried to stand, and then fell prone to the floor. “It burns,” she gasped. Her mouth was blood froth and blistered wounds. “Dear Athos, it burns.” “Dear Athos indeed,” said Tessla, pushing herself half erect with her undamaged arm. “My veins are filled with your master’s poisons.” Blood pulsed weakly from her wounds. The bleeding slowed, stopped, and without any sign of healing, the wounds were suddenly closed. She retrieved her fallen pipe, stuck it between her black lips, and smoothly rose while drawing in a lungful of smoke. Removing the pipe with steady fingers, she nonchalantly blew out a blue cloud, and smiled. “Thank Athos for me when your soul resides in hell.” Cass coughed once, and then she released a series of coughs so violent that they twisted her up and Glace heard snapping bones. Dropping his knife like it was poison in his hand, he fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around the creature he loved. “Gods, Cass,” he whispered. “Why didn‘t you tell me? I would have understood.” Cass released a pained laugh when her muzzle pressed near his ear. “Understood the killing? Understood that your flesh smells so sweet that even now I want a taste?” She tried to draw in a deep breath. “I come from hell, human.” Again, she coughed, and the coughing was so great that Glace felt her muscles jumping beneath her skin. Pulling away, he saw that dark ichor trickled from her eyes and ears. Her mouth was a mass of bubbling puss and blood. “I would have worn the ring,” he whispered brokenly. “I would have worn it for you.” “S--sorry,” Cass gasped out between coughs. “It was my time. I had to breed--only I can’t--with a man--and the ring can’t be reversed--love--loved you too much--for that.” “Bitch,” a gravely voice growled. Steel flashed, and Glace cried out when he saw a knife hilt jutting from Cass’s side. Horrified, he dropped his lover and staggered to his feet. Mathew, a half changed thing, yellow glaring wolf’s eyes and a wolf’s face set above a man’s body, threw another knife into the changeling’s body, striking Cass with a solid, meaty thunk. Blood fell from where Mathew's ring finger had once been. “She loved me,” Glace protested. “She really loved me.” “No changeling can love,” Tessla emotionlessly observed. “At best, they are fond of their human servants, and--in the end--those servants always become just one more meal.” Her black leather clothing was torn and ripped and covered with fresh blood, but the flesh showing through its rents was smooth and whole. Not even a scar showed. “Your time was near.” Mathew dropped his unwounded hand on Glace’s shoulder. His wolf’s face appeared horrid, but something about it, some quality, drew Glace's eye. “I was wrong,” Mathew admitted. “You showed judgment and saved me from completely turning. When you are ready, come to me. I’ll see that you get the best training.” Glace violently shook his head. “You killed her. I’ll never take anything from you.” “She was already dying,” Mathew replied. “In a way, what I did was a mercy--but I won’t quibble. I wanted her death on my hands.” He grinned a wolf’s grin. “Hate me all you like, but it won’t help you. Today or tomorrow, you’ll come to me because you’re a thief, and every thief in this city eventually becomes mine. I’ll claim you, and I’ll train you to be the best this city has ever seen.” He looked at his bleeding hand. “I owe you a debt. I won’t let you escape until it’s fully paid.” Glace swallowed, fell to his knees, and cried over the dead thing on the floor. The next chapter that is posted, 0Singing the Arvid Blues, has appeared in print as a stand alone short a few different times. I must say that Harlo and Ludwig were two of my favorite characters. Chapter 4: Singing the Arvid Blues Ludwig looked at the ass end of the arvids in front of him and wished he were walking anywhere but along this caravan trail that wound itself through the foothills and up into the dark blue mountains. A stone rolled beneath his foot, making him stumble. His already abused foot protested. His other foot echoed its own complaint. It felt like a new blister was forming on each of his feet, which was surprising because he had not thought there was room for new blisters amid all the ones that already existed. One of his two arvids butted him in his shoulder, causing him to stumble one more time. “The gods curse these beasts with boils” Ludwig muttered. “May worms stop their bowels. May Athos flay the skin from their bodies and use that skin to fill their lungs. Please gods, bring death and mayhem and all the ills of the world down upon their heads so I may once again know peace and own feet that are free from pain.” Up ahead, Harlo chuckled and clicked to his charges. His swarthy, sun hardened features wore a fond grin. The arms he used to pull his arvids to order were much better developed than Ludwig’s. Then again, Ludwig reflected, everything on Harlo was better. Though they were both of medium size, and, at twenty five, the same age, Harlo’s frame was heavy with muscle where Ludwig’s body was spare. “I take it your feet are bothering you again,” Harlo said. “Bothering me. Bothering me.” Ludwig glared down at those unhappy members and gave a tug on the reins to urge his arvids to a faster pace. “My feet are the death of me. They are afflicted with pustules and sores that threaten to cast me into Athos’ realm with every step I take. My ankles twist and turn and snap. My calves are contorted knots that grow larger with each step. I’m surprised my skin hasn’t split apart to spill my flesh upon the ground so these cursed beasts can tread upon it to soften their path on the mountain trails.” He groaned. “Gods, we‘ve still twelve hours of travel before nightfall.” Ludwig cast a look of despite at the arvids following him along the narrow trail. They were huge pack beasts, half again the size of a horse. Arvids loved to travel long distances if they were allowed to proceed at their own pace. Unfortunately, neither one of his pair thought the proper pace was the one chosen by the caravan’s lead beast. His animals thought they should travel at half the speed of every other arvid, except for those times when their stomachs rumbled and they decided to stop entirely so they could grab a couple hundred mouthfuls of weeds. Worst of all, they loved attempting to go around the wrong side of one of the many trees abutting the steep trail. Of course, Ludwig reflected, a certain inconsistency of pace was not their only bad habit. His left hand beast, Perciad, had broken free the night before. She then searched him out and tried to force her way into his bedroll. The other one, Lacking, liked to alleviate her daily boredom by stomping on his right foot, and only on his right foot. Ludwig had spent the last hour walking with a deliberately staggered and mincing step to throw her timing off. His foot hurt. He was positive there were a few dozen broken bones in it. On the other hand, his other foot hurt almost as much, and that one had not been stepped on at all, so maybe Harlo was right when he said arvid hooves seldom broke the bones in feet encased by sturdy boots. Lacking lovingly tried to slop her wet tongue across his face. Ludwig cursed and jerked his head away, but the tip of her tongue still slid across his nose. He cursed again and used his already sodden sleeve to wipe at Lacking’s slobber. His nose stung. Arvid saliva was slightly acidic and Lacking was far too affectionate. Harlo laughed gently. “She loves you lad. It seems you make new conquests everywhere you go.” Ludwig glared at the self-declared priest and wished he had drawn Harlo’s complacent animals instead of his two. Not only were Harlo’s arvids well behaved, they seemed to delight in making the man’s life easier. Ludwig cursed the luck that had put him in this position. He was definitely not meant to be a caravan drover. He did not like the endless miles of walking over hills and mountains. He hated the wind and the heat. He absolutely loathed the rancid smell of arvid and the stench of his own unwashed body. “I’m not cut out for this,” he complained. “I’m for the city and the nights. I like the feel of damp night air against my skin when my hand is shaking a dice cup. I enjoy stumbling home in the early hours to have my servants open the door and lead me to my soft bed.” Raising his head, he stared proudly at Harlo. “I’m aristocrat born. It’s in my blood. This trailing, it’s beneath my station.” “You are aristocrat born,” Harlo agreed. “You are also poor born since your father had no more sense about gambling than you do. My father warned him against his ways the same as I warned you. Neither of you listened any better than the other, and now look at the two of you. He’s ten years in the grave and your lover‘s father has dumped you here. The dowry you gained from marrying the world’s most temperamental woman disappeared when she left, and you are now the lowest paid laborer in the caravan.” “Because of you,” Ludwig accused. Harlo shrugged. “Wencheck was going to cut your head off until I pointed out just how humiliated you would be if he made you a drover.” “It is humiliating,” Ludwig said. “I’m an aristocrat, not a crusty lowborn caretaker of vermin carriers.” He grimaced as loose bones grated inside his right foot. “The gods know, I’ve fallen as low as I care to fall.” Laughing again, Harlo flashed an amused smile at Ludwig, but his voice carried a touch of irritation. “I enjoy being a lowborn caretaker, but I’ll admit that the only way you can fall further is to become a priest of Nedross. Then you’d have the task of seeing to the spiritual needs of your fellows as well as being a drover. At least this way you don’t have to be woken by a bunch of smelly men who want to talk to you all hours of the night.” Cursing one more time, Ludwig stumbled over a clod of dirt. If anything, his mood grew blacker still. “I don’t know why Charle and Jorge bother you.” Jorge and Charle’s urgent whispers to Harlo had woken him too frequently these last nights. Those two gave too much weight to Harlo’s assumed authority as the priest of a made-up god. “For a priest of a God of Hope, you’ve not done much good for me over the years. If you’d done your job properly, I’d be waking up right about now. Meliandra would be standing beside the bed with her robe lying on the floor, and Cook would be starting my breakfast.” “But I’ve done my job very well,” Harlo protested. “Didn’t you want to get rid of Gertunda? Have you any doubts that she’s divorced you by now?” Clapping his hands together, he did a quick shuffle step before grabbing for the dropped reins of his dutiful charges. “Your hopes have been fulfilled. Thanks be to Nedross.” “I only wanted to be rid of the harridan. I never wanted to be destitute and exiled from my home.” “But haven’t I always told you to be careful what you wish for?” Harlo asked. “Isn’t this another example of you not listening to me?” Ludwig ignored his friend’s mocking question. Perciad chose that moment to stop for a bite of prickle weed. The resulting jerk on Ludwig’s arm threatened to dislocate his shoulder. “May you be cast into pits of boiling oil,” he muttered. “May you die a hundred thousand deaths, and may each death be more horrible than the last.” He swatted Perciad alongside her head. “Move it, or I‘ll have your lips for tonight‘s dinner.” “Smooth it out, Ludwig,” Garland called. “Smooth it out or you’ll be answering to me.” “Best be careful with him,” Harlo warned. “Our master is hard on slackers and brigands.” “Then he’ll have an easy trip of it,” Ludwig said, “for none of us are allowed to slack, and the brigands are too afraid of my blade to risk its ire.” Grinning, Harlo shook his head. “Ludwig, my friend, you spend so much time with your head up your ass that a brigand armed with a pointy stick would be safe from you. You really aren‘t that good with a blade.” “I’ve always been good enough to beat you. You‘ve a sound defense, but that‘s all you have.” Harlo‘s grin grew. “I’ll admit that I used to let you win.” He sobered. “Just remember that Garland sees laziness whenever he’s in a bad mood, and he’s always in a bad mood.” Ludwig groaned. The last thing he wanted was to be assigned extra duties just because he had charge of the most obnoxious animals in the caravan. He took a moment to glare at each of his beasts. “You will behave,” he warned them, “or I’ll carve slices off your flanks for my dinner. I’ll suck the eyes from your heads and spit them into the fire. Do you hear me? Do you?” Lacking’s tongue rolled loosely from its mouth. Drool dribbled onto the ground. Perciad mooed and farted. Harlo laughed gently. “I promise,” he said between chuckles, “that Nedross will be kind to you. You’ve fallen so far that pure chance will grant you some of your wishes. I‘ll have a talk with the old fellow.” “When you talk to him,” Ludwig said, “tell him I need two new feet.” ### “Ah gentle sirs and ladies, if you thought the last display was magic beyond your comprehension, then these next wonders shall astound you beyond your wildest dreams.” “Ain’t no ladies here thet I kin see,” Ludwig’s neighbor observed. “Far as thet goes, thar ain’t a one of us thet fit the gentle sir part neither.” Ludwig scowled at him. “You may well think not, Yezman,” he said, being careful to speak with trained haughtiness, “but you are wrong. I am more than enough gentleman for you.” “Oh get on with ya,” Yezman scoffed. “Ya been spreading that claptrap since ya joined up. I don’t believe it now no more’n I did then.” A flash of light interrupted Ludwig’s reply. Colors of blue and white and red swirled in a chaotic cloud above the magician's head. Waving his hands gently in small spirals, Califrey used delicate movements of his fingertips to direct the spinning lights. Ludwig sucked down a fast gulp of cheap ale. The brew was sour, but that was expected. He grimaced while the ale churned unhappily in his stomach. He hated ale. In fact, he hated everything about the life he now lived. With a scowl, he turned his head and spat out the brew, but the foul taste would not leave his mouth. He frowned. A man had to drink to live. He just wished his drink was halfway decent wine instead of this swill. Up on the makeshift stage, Califrey jerked his hands apart and the colors separated with them. The colors became separate triangles, and then they became spheres that tumbled and rolled through the night air. Califrey’s hands hesitated, trembled, and the lights blurred into a brown blob that fell to the ground and disappeared. Ludwig’s frown grew deeper. “Be kind,” Harlo admonished. “He does nothing but manipulate a cheap amulet,” Ludwig said gloomily. “That man is no more a mage than I am.” “He might be a lousy mage,” Harlo agreed, “but he’s an excellent entertainer, and he‘s needed. We’re a gloomy, dour lot, us drovers. There isn’t much cheer in our lives when we’re trailing. For that matter, few of us are happy when we’re not trailing. Every man here has a tale of heartache or misfortune. Problem is, you spend so much time wallowing in your own story that you fail to see the open books around you.” He gestured toward one of the laughing audience. “Jorge there, he left the graves of his three children behind him. They died because of a fire he was too lazy to bank properly. Charle killed a man, and he’s afraid that if he stops moving the man’s family will catch up to him. Garland, our own wagon master, has his story. He was a brigand before he turned twenty. He did his share of rape and murder, and then he went home to find his own sister had been raped and killed by some of his fellow brigands. It took him five years, but every one of his former friends died by his hand. He started caravanning, and worked his way up to where he is now, but he’s still hell on brigands. He won’t forgive a one of them.” Ludwig thought of his other neighbor. “What about Yezman?” he whispered so that the other man would not hear. “You best leave that man alone. Too many of his mates have been found with knives in their backs.” Yezman must have been bored because he chose that moment to jab Ludwig in his ribs. Turning his head to deliver a well deserved glare, Ludwig saw the other man giving him an evil grin. “Think ya can do better then our Califrey? Ya got one of them amulets, don‘t ya? Scowl fading, Ludwig fingered the leather cord that hung about his neck. “I have one,” he admitted. Eyes glinting amusement, Yezman rose to his feet. “The Gent,” Yezman called out to the drovers, “thinks he kin do magic better’n our Califrey. I think we ought ta' make him prove it.” Affronted by the thought the he was expected to perform like a common entertainer, Ludwig stood regally, tilted his nose, and placed his most practiced sneer upon his lips. He met Yezman’s challenging stare. “I don’t do public performances,” Ludwig said, using his most contemptuously superior tone. “It is beneath my station.” He set his hand on his sword hilt. “Lad,” Harlo sighed, “You’re an idiot.” ### “Oh Gods, I ask only that you make his bowels run like water. May rocks inhabit his shoes so they pierce his feet with his every step. I ask that the earth be blessed by the lack of his children, and I beg that his behind grows so large that it gathers nettles from the ground when he walks.” Ludwig stuck his hand into the leather sack. He pulled it back out and looked with distaste at the pale pig fat coating his fingers. Turning his head, he saw erected tents speckled across the slight slope. Men walked among those tents. Others tended to arvids staked out amid the now small trees and thick brush. He envied those men because they did not have their hands stuck in pig fat. He wiggled his grease coated fingers and scowled at the sensation. “I hate this.” “Man should never try to pull a sword on a fellow who‘s near his mates,” Harlo said. “Especially when there are so many of those mates standing by. Which one of them were you cursing?” “It was a general-purpose curse. Garland gave me this job, but Yezman started the fight.” Ludwig ran his hands over the harness lines, working fat into the leather. It was just his luck, he thought, to have so many arvids in this caravan. Their sensitive skin demanded that their harness had to be cleaned and greased every few days. Thanks were due to the seven gods and two that Garland had not visited any of the other nearby caravans. It was a sure bet one of them would have been more than willing to throw some of their harness in Ludwig’s direction. “All you have to do is relax a little,” Harlo admonished. “Forget what you were and remember what you are.” “What I am, is gentry,” Ludwig said firmly. “I’m sure His Lordship will have forgotten my small lapse with his daughter’s virtue by the time we return.” “But only because sweet Meliandra will have shared her virtue with half a dozen others by then. Hope springs eternal, lad. Mayhap Gertunda forgot to divorce you. That will allow you to get your hands back on her dowry.” “May the blessed gods see that she does not forget.” Ludwig shuddered. “The memory of her face is enough to give a man nightmares. Divorced or not, I will reclaim my just share of her dowry once His Lordship sees fit to release me from this duty. See you, Harlo, if I am not dressed in robe and slippers by this time next year.” “I’ll speak to Nedross on the matter,” Harlo promised. “After all, I’m his priest--and he is the God of Hope.” “The God of Hope for Causes Eternally Lost,” Ludwig corrected. “I was there when you invented him. We were ten at the time.” “Why so we were,” Harlo said. “I’d forgotten.” He looked at Ludwig reflectively. “We have a long history, you and I.” “You were never a good servant.” “But I was always a good friend.” Ludwig thought that statement over for a moment. “Usually,” he admitted, “but not always. You left my service.” “You forgot to pay me,” Harlo reminded him, “and I have an extreme fondness for money. Still, I did come back in time to ensure that your head stayed attached to your neck by talking his Lordship into giving you this job.” Ludwig dipped his hand back into the sack of pig fat. He scooped some of it up with his fingers, pulled his hand free. After a few moments studying the pale glistening, oily fat, he looked toward Harlo. “That,” Ludwig said, “was no favor.” ### In the dark hours of the night, Ludwig dreamed of Meliandra’s pale form, body dressed only in moonlight, leaning over him. She stroked the long fingers of one hand down her body, pausing momentarily at strategically interesting areas, and then leaned lower until her face lay against his chest. Hair gently framing her face, she wiggled lower until her lips kissed his belly, moved lower still. Her eyes, wild with promise, fastened hungrily on his. Smiling seductively, she opened her mouth wide, wider still- And then she screamed. Ludwig woke to discover that hers was only one scream among many and the form leaning over him belonged to a man. “Hurry,” Charle whispered in his right ear. “Whaa?” “Brigands,” Harlo snapped. “Hurry, your beasts are loaded.” Ludwig scowled. He drew on his shoes, crawled out of his shared tent, and rose. Multihued lightning flashed and flared and flamed in the sky. “Califrey--?” “--is one of them. We must go!” Ludwig tried to hurry. He stumbled as he was jerked erect by Charle‘s tug on his arm. After straightening his clothes and fastening his sword belt around his waist, he barked his knuckles on a tree while pulling his belt tighter. “May your roots wither and die,” he cursed. “May the worms burrow into your wood and may that wood turn soft and rot.” “No time for that,” Charle snapped. The colored lightning stopped. The screams quieted, fading one by one until only two voices remained. Nighttime winds carried the clang of crashing swords to his ears. Men began yelling. Feeling confused, Ludwig stumbled after Charle. Before long they reached a group of arvids that were already loaded. Jorge handed Ludwig the reins to Perciad and Lacking. Lacking mewed affectionately and stamped on Ludwig’s foot. Perciad stuck a tongue in his ear. “Can’t I take a different pair,” Ludwig protested. “These two will be no loss.” He brushed irritably at his ear, wiping saliva away as best he could. “They know you,” Harlo explained, “and they carry the amber.” He looked to Charle. “Hurry it up.” Grabbing the reins of his two beasts, he jogged into the dark. “I never signed on for this,” Ludwig muttered. He tugged on the reins. “Move it or I’ll cut your tails off and use them as whips.” Running footsteps sounded behind him. Shooting a look over his shoulder, Ludwig released a bitter laugh when he saw Yezman’s dark figure emerge from the trees. He dropped the reins, turned, drew his thin sword. “I should have known you’d be involved in this,” he told the man. “Ludwig,” Jorge warned, “you don’t want to make Harlo mad.” Ludwig imperiously waved him silent. “We’ll leave in just a few moments.” “Yer going nowhere, Gent,” Yezman growled. “Drop the sword.” With a wav of his thick chopper, he looked at Ludwig’s thin blade with contempt. “I have a better idea,” Ludwig said, and lunged. Yezman took a sideways swing that would have worked excellently against a stationary tree. Unfortunately for Yezman, Ludwig was not a tree. Ludwig ducked, dodged, and then ran his thin dueling blade straight through Yezman’s heart. Surprised shock spreading across his face, Yezman’s heavy weapon fell from his hand. Gently smiling, Ludwig stepped back and patiently waited for the man to fall. Yezman took a stumbling step forward, another. His knees folded, and then he was laying face forward in the grass. “Took you long enough,” Ludwig complained to the dead man. “Are you coming or not?” Charle snapped. “Harlo already left and I’m not waiting any longer.” “Coming,” Ludwig told him. He cleaned his sword on his pant leg, sheathed it, and walked to his arvids. He grabbed their cursed reins, vowing that once this trip was over he would eat nothing but roast arvid for a year. ### When morning arrived Ludwig discovered that he was surrounded by a considerable number of people and beasts. That fact did not surprise him. The previous evening’s darkness had not succeeded in smothering the talk and curses of the people he traveled with. It was the makeup of those people that he found surprising. By the sun’s growing light he saw that he walked with fifteen others, each holding the reins of two arvids. Of them all, Ludwig recognized only five. The others most likely came from some of the other caravans, which meant the brigands were far more organized than he had thought. It had taken skill, planning, and men to attack more than one target in a night. Near the front, a bone thin man popped out of the brush to speak with a grizzled fellow named Trel. Trel dropped back. “We’re being followed,” he told Harlo. “Best we can tell, there’s a fairly strong magic user back there. None of our small magics are enough to shake him from our trail.” “Califrey,” Ludwig broke in. “He has an amulet.” He thought about his statement for a moment. “I think he has an amulet.” “He should’ve given up by now.” “Garland never leaves a trail,” Harlo said unworriedly. Trel cursed. “Then we have to kill the magic user or we’ll never escape.” “Ludwig will handle Califrey,” Harlo promised. “He‘s been using amulets all his life.” “Can you stop him?” Trel demanded of Ludwig. From the expression on his face when he looked Ludwig up and down, he had his doubts. “I signed on as an arvid handler,” Ludwig answered. “I never agreed to fight in a magic duel.” Frowning, Trel looked to Harlo, back to Ludwig, and shrugged. “Just keep him occupied. Do that much and we’ll pay you double.” “Triple,” Harlo insisted. “The task is dangerous, and we‘ve no hope without him.” Trel nodded respectfully to Harlo. “As you say, he gets triple.” His humorless eyes narrowed as they fastened once more on Ludwig. “Just be sure you do your job.” Ludwig thought on his empty purse. The end of this trip would see seventeen rugdles placed in it. A man could do something with seventeen rugdles, but he could do a lot more with fifty-one. Fifty-one rugdles would give him a few nights at a decent bordello. The right woman, Ludwig reflected, might make him forget dear sweet Meliandra for a day or two. Failing that, well, any whore would serve to help him escape from his memories of Gertunda. Then again, meeting a freshly castrated boar could easily do the same. The boar would have a much better disposition than his wife had ever claimed. Would this task be all that difficult? Probably not. Califrey was a fake. He had to be. No true mage would stoop to thievery when there were so many easier ways for him to earn an easy living. By Ludwig’s reckoning, Califrey could probably do little more than make pretty lights and follow a trail. For that matter, the man’s clumsy light show proved his incompetence. “You have a deal.” ### “You’re my gal and I told you true, that I thought you nosy. You picked an ax from off the ground, and cut off my toesies. Well my love, you know it’s true, that my heart belongs to you, but my darling can’t you see, that you’re too rough for me. Yes, you’re too rough for me.” “You’re not all that good at this,” Ludwig hazarded. “True,” Harlo agreed. “Never could sing worth a lick.” “I wasn‘t talking about your singing. I’d have more confidence if you treated this seriously.” Harlo grinned. “Been in the same position more than a dozen times. I’ve reached the point where I make plans and then wait to see what happens. “Only problem is, if your plan fails we could all wind up dead.” “Wouldn’t be fun if it was predictable,” Harlo responded. “However, if you really want my plan to work, I suggest you keep your attention on your job and not on my singing.” Grunting, Ludwig looked away from his friend and peered through the covering of trees. The track they had traveled along was a thin animal trail leading up this mountain slope. As a rule, the trail they had just left was littered with boulders, jutting trees, and Arvid dung. If the thing owned a straight line, the line had done a good job of staying hidden after they followed its fork and followed it until Harlo found a good spot for an ambush. From his position high up on the slope, Ludwig could see nothing but twists and jagged turns along most of the trail’s length, but just past the fork almost thirty men climbed the start of the path. One kept far in front of the others. Califrey? Most likely, there would be other scouts out too, but they were well hidden. “Plan might work better if you shut up,” Ludwig muttered just loud enough for Harlo to hear. “It doesn‘t matter if they hear me,” Harlo responded. “Nedross has promised us success.” “Now I am worried.” The hunters were growing closer, though they were not yet near. The scout, it was Califrey, looked up, but his eyes focused nowhere near them. He was now so close that Ludwig could feel the fringes of the man’s magic, and that meant that if Califrey came any nearer he would know where they were, giving him warning enough to prepare his defenses. Ludwig sighed. “Here goes.” With a gut deep feeling of regret, he pulled on the thong tied around his neck. The thought of all those rugdles did not seem quite so appealing now that the fight was near. Tirelle, a dark amulet shaped like a naked fat woman, rose to meet his fingers. Shrugging because the decision had been made and there was no backing out now, Ludwig broke the thong and popped the amulet into his open mouth. When his saliva covered her, merged into her, Tirelle’s essence came to life. Far below, Califrey’s head instantly twisted to focus on their position. His hand rose, pointed. And then Ludwig froze. He tried to move a hand, failed. He lifted an arm, but the arm would not lift. The only part of him he was able to shift was his head. “You might want to do something about this,” Harlo calmly observed, but it was obvious that he, too, was frozen in place. “I’m trying,” Ludwig muttered past the amulet in his mouth. Fortunately, his eyes and jaws and neck could still move. Eyes narrowing, he focused all his attention on Califrey. Grimacing, he concentrated for a moment, and then he sent every erg of his amulet’s power straight at the man, smiling when Califrey staggered, hunched--but the smile faded when the magician straightened. Watching with disbelief, Ludwig’s jaw dropped open, almost causing him to drop the amulet. At a time when the man should have been chittering with fear, when he should have been running pell-mell down the trail, he straightened. “Uh-oh,” Harlo muttered just loud enough to break Ludwig’s concentration. “I suggest you try harder.” “Shut up.” Ludwig tried again. Clamping his mouth shut, he narrowed his eyes, focused his concentration, and, desperate, bit down on Tirelle. Hard. She screamed. When her thin voice resonated through his skull he wanted to release his own scream but doing so would only have once again risked him dropping the amulet. Teeth clamped tight in aural pain, he inadvertently parted his lips, allowing her scream to fall down the hillside. Tiny hands scrambled around inside his mouth. Fingernails tore at his gums and small teeth bit into his cheek. Knowing his precious life was at risk, Ludwig accepted the punishment and bit down harder, feeling metallic tasting blood trickle down his throat. Ludwig ground his teeth deep into the wood. She screamed louder. “Good lad,” Harlo called from behind Ludwig’s shoulder. “You’re getting to him.” The scream tumbled down the hillside, pushing torn grass and debris before it. Califrey’s figure staggered again, and then fell beneath the heavy weight of the amulet’s pain. Ludwig’s paralysis instantly left his limbs when Califrey’s attention wavered. He straightened, pushed his face resolutely forward, and pursed his lips so the scream’s effect was narrowed. Califrey started to rise, fell again--and then--slowly--he stood. Like a fakir climbing a rope, he pulled himself from the ground in a series of jerky movements that left him clinging desperately to a tree. Califrey focused on Ludwig. He struck. Pain like he had never known surged through Ludwig. Falling to his knees, he gasped, coughed, and then Tirelle was suddenly lying on the ground before him. Despairing, Ludwig bowed his head and fought death while Califrey’s attack continued, unabated. Sweat poured from his face. His heart stuttered, faltered. The amulet’s glittering eyes watched him with satisfaction. “See how you like it,” her tinny voice cried out. “Save me Nedross,” Harlo, gasped. “My firstborn son’s life to you, I swear.” The pain coursing through Ludwig flickered, surged, stopped. Ludwig straightened, face damp, feeling nothing but whole. Feeling--normal. “Gods,” Ludwig muttered. “Nedross is real?” “I always thought so,” Harlo said shakily, moving to stand beside Ludwig. “Then again.” He gestured with his hand. Ludwig looked down toward Califrey to see that the man’s body was a loose pile on the trail. “All I wanted was for you to distract him. They did the rest.” A pair of drovers, bows in hand were clambering up the slope. Further back, the brigands ran toward them. “It’s just as well that they did the job,” Harlo added, “for I’ve no idea which whore’s belly I planted my firstborn son in.” His eyes grew suddenly huge. Gasping, he jerked his sword free and shoved Ludwig to the side. A whisper of steel hissed above Ludwig’s head. Ludwig struck the ground, rolled, and was up again, seeing a cloaked figure thrust at Harlo. Frozen, Ludwig watched, stunned by the suddenness of the attack. The man Harlo fought moved like a master swordsman. His blade flickered so quickly that it was a flash of silver light. It struck once, paused, struck again, and blood ran down Harlo’s left arm. Cursing Nedross, Harlo stumbled back, then renewed his attack. “Could use some help here,” Harlo panted just before another wound magically appeared on his body. That strike had been so quick that Ludwig did not even see it. Face wet slick with fear, Ludwig pulled his own blade and made a clumsy lunge. The cloaked man dodged, but his dodge put him at a disadvantage. Harlo’s blade slid smoothly into the man’s chest and out his back. Without a gasp, without a curse, the man fell, taking Harlo’s sword with him. Harlo leaned down, grasped the sword’s hilt, and pulled his blade free with a quick jerk. When he stepped back sunlight captured Garland’s features and Ludwig blinked with astonishment. The two archers scrambled over the top of the slope. “Time to play decoy,” Jorge panted, “and we better get a move on. There’s a lot more of them back there than there are of us here.” Harlo placed his hand on Ludwig’s shoulder. “Let‘s go.” ### “I’ll have scented rose petals in my bath,” Ludwig said. “Servants will flock to my service and his Lordship will speak my name with respect when he passes Meliandra into my care. Gertunda will weep and wail, cursing her cold and heartless ways with every breath because her fortunes fell so low while mine rose high.” “Does he ever shut up,” Trel complained from up ahead. “Not that I ever noticed,” Charle said. “Ludwig, what the hell are you so happy about. Look around. We’re trapped deep in the mountains. We have no food, and there are a couple dozen people who want to kill us on our back trail.” “But think what it will be like when we get back home,” Ludwig protested. “The caravan has been destroyed, but we managed to save the most precious of His Lordship’s goods. Lord Wencheck is sure to be pleased with us. I‘m positive His Lordship will give his permission for me to court Meliandra.” “You were always slow,” the amulet said, her voice too thin to carry further than his own ears. “You better talk to the boy,” Jorge called back to Harlo.. “If I were you,” Harlo said, “I wouldn‘t plan on seeing Meliandra anytime soon.” Stopping his animals, Ludwig turned to look toward his friend. “Why not? His Lordship is bound to reward us. We saved his most precious goods. A rogue mage is dead. The leader of the brigands is dead.” He shook his head, remembering his astonishment at the sight of Garland‘s dead face. “Garland,” Harlo said firmly, “was not the brigand leader.” “He must have been,” Ludwig insisted, running the possible candidates through his mind. None of the others had the character or will needed to lead the brigands. “Who else could the leader be?” “Me,” Harlo answered. “But that means...” Ludwig whispered with sudden realization. Visions of Meliandra and robes and servants trickled out of his head. “Curse you Harlo. Curse you. May Athos afflict you with boils. May your bowels flow backwards and may you suffer an unending pain in your ass.” Harlo smiled fondly. “Athos has already given me that last,” he said, “though, of late, I’ve seen some signs of improvement.”