'Well, I'll be the one who strips down and minces in to distract them, then. You've had your fun.'
'How so? You killed him before I could! And before you come up with a jest about my loving the dead, Juskra, just leave off trying, hmm? I've heard them all before, anyway.'
'I'm not surprised, sister,' Juskra said sweetly. 'Here, hold this.'
'Am I your dressing-maid, now?'
'Oooh, now there's a calling that suits you. I-'
'Juskra,' Ambrelle interrupted severely, 'will you shut up? Just get your clothes off and get in there. Lorlarra should be in place by now, and I'll be right behind you.' The oldest of the four Aumrarr hefted her sword meaningfully, tossing her magnificent purple-black mane. 'And if you stoop to any more such sauce when we're in there, I'll feed this up your backside!'
'Sister!' Bared, the fiercest of the four Aumrarr was a mass of crisscrossing sword-scars; her forearms looked like white snakes were tangled tightly around them. Which made her mock-scandalized pose, fingertips at her throat and eyes wide, all the more ridiculous.
The three Aumrarr chuckled together, and Dauntra held out her arms to receive the last of Juskra's war- harness.
Giving her a look, the scarred Aumrarr filled those waiting arms, and then defiantly peeled off her yellowed and stained bandage, and laid that on top of the heap, too.
'Juskra,' Dauntra growled softly.
The scarred Aumrarr elegantly put out her tongue in reply.
The King of Galath muttered something darkly, under his breath, and stirred in his great chair, booted feet sliding along the polished tabletop. The fire crackled unregarded in the hearth.
'Pardon, your majesty?'
King Devaer lifted his eyes to give the knight standing over him an unfriendly look. 'I said: I want a woman.'
'But majesty…'
'I know, Glaroskur, I know. Not a wench within a day's ride of this crumbling ruin, and I don't fancy the backsides of any of you. But what's the good of being glorking King of Galath, and Lord of the rutting Falcons, too, if I can't have a woman? Go and get me a woman!'
'Majesty?'
'Go to the stables, get on a horse, take Joss and Rakaer with you, find some suitably beautiful woman, bring her back here without taking her yourselves, and bring her to me!'
'But your highn-'
'That was a royal command, Glaroskur!'
The knight regarded him unhappily, then bowed deeply, turned, and marched out.
Devaer sighed in bored exasperation, listening to his bodyguard's boots tramping into the echoing stone distances of cold and empty Galathgard. He hated and feared the touch of Arlaghaun's mind on his, that cold and utter tyranny, yet somehow it thrilled him, too.
And when the wizard who really ruled Galath needed him not, he felt so empty. Bored, listless, lying here in idleness, ready to scream and claw the walls…
The sounds of Glaroskur's boots stopped, and there came a strange but very brief wet, startled, choked-off sound.
The King of Galath frowned. 'Glaroskur?'
Silence. He swung his feet down off the table, stood up sharply, shook out his silken sleeves, and bellowed, 'Glaroskur?'
'Your majesty,' a soft woman's voice said from behind him, 'may I serve you, instead?'
Devaer whirled around, clapping his hand to his sword, and felt his jaw drop open. He couldn't help it; couldn't help staring, either.
The nude figure who stood barefoot in the doorway was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, and by the Falcon, she was an Aumrarr! Not a soft, yielding beauty; but a hard-muscled, sharp-jawed warrior, by her looks, her shapely body covered with sword-scars, a fierceness about her face… but a look of yearning, too, of yielding to him. She was kneeling to him, too, going to her knees more gracefully than any servant lass or highborn lady.
Devaer found his mouth was very dry, and his manhood was stirring urgently. He managed to swallow, and peered wildly around, thrusting a hand up into his lank black hair to adjust his crown without even realizing he was doing so. 'Y-you're alone?'
'Quite alone,' came the soft answer. 'Summoned here by magic. Not meaning to, or even knowing what he did, your knight just blundered through a gate that took him to my bedchamber, far from Galath, and in the same stroke, brought me here. So it seems, as you are deprived of his vigilance, I should… guard your body.'
Someone sniggered from the doorway behind him.
King Devaer whirled around again, sword flashing out, but was far too slow to block the two blades flying toward his throat.
Almost severed, his head lolled limply on his shoulders as his life-blood fountained in all directions, and he emptied his bowels and started the slow stagger that would end up on the floor.
Juskra got up off her knees without waiting to see if the body and the head stayed together when they hit the floor. She was too busy scowling. 'Is that all the fun you wanted me to have? He wasn't half bad looking, and I was just warming to the task.'
'I'll say. 'Guard your body,' she gasped breathlessly. Falcon, Jusk, I almost spewed!' Lorlarra jeered, clutching at her throat in mock nausea and striking a pose in the dark tatters of her armor.
'Oh, your majesty,' Ambrelle twittered in mimicry, 'just let me kneel here in my bared skin and worship you! Urrrkh!'
As the mock-vomiting of the oldest Aumrarr rang out loudly, Devaer's body fell heavily to the floor, sword clattering, and his head rolled free.
'Behold the King of Galath,' Lorlarra said grandly, as it came to a stop near her boot.
'And Lord of Falcons,' Ambrelle agreed gravely, tossing her long purple-black hair. 'Don't forget that. Fetch me that crown, Lorl; I think Arlaghaun has controlled it long enough.'
'Wait!' Juskra threw up her hand, frowning. 'What if he traces us through it?'
'Let him,' Dauntra said softly from the doorway behind her, murder in her usually impish brown eyes. 'If he comes after us, we'll be ready for him. So let him try his worst, and come within reach.' She hefted her sword. 'I believe I'll welcome that.'
Rod Everlar found himself standing on yet another grassy hilltop, turning to face a distant peak he did not recognize.
Turning because he was forced to do so. Something that dwelt in Yintaerghast-that old man in the chair? — was in his head, riding his mind. Something he might have unknowingly invited in, when picking up the first few enchanted items; it had definitely been in his mind, whispering instructions and urging him on, for his acquirings of the later ones.
And now, teleport by teleport, from hill to hill, he was being forced across Falconfar toward a definite though unknown destination.
What had that television character roared? '1 am a free man!' Well, damn it!
'I am!'
Screw this destiny shit.
'Screw it!'
Rod Everlar's shout echoed back to him off dark standing stones all around him on that particular hilltop, but they neither moved nor answered.
Dawn came slowly to Galath, and found four Aumrarr flying high and fast out of the heart of the kingdom.
Out of the dark trees below, lorn took to the air, spiraling up to meet them.
The four never slowed.
As rose-red dawn gave way to the bright sun of the morning, Juskra looked back. 'I'm glad you kept crown and head together,' the scarred Aumrarr called to Ambrelle. 'They'll come in far more useful than just the
