I wandered west. From time to time, I would be sought out. A child lost in the jungle, a highwayman haunting a road, a beast grown hungry for the flesh of humans. Any problem solvable by a wanderer with a magical spear and a tenuous grasp of mortality. I would handle it for the price of a bit of food and a quiet place to sleep. By morning, I would be but a memory. After Pelesamatu, the thought of growing close to a place, to a people, was still a raw wound. Love, even acceptance, would only irritate it.

I crossed from Lixha into an area known as the Ocaital, a land of petty kingdoms, free cities, and remote villages that bear no greater allegiance. Though often treated as a country it is not. It is a noted absence of such, a place without law, but with order of a sort. There are always those who seek to unite the Ocaital, but none were successful for long. The people there are too accustomed to their freedom.

I thought of Ixem often, the memories coming to me whenever I tried to sleep. I longed for her warm body pressed to mine, the soft sound of her breath. Ixem was peace, and now she was forever out of my reach. As much as I tried to leave her in the past, it would take time.

One late afternoon I was in the boughs of a tree, enjoying the last of the food I'd been given as a reward for slaying an ogre, when I heard voices in the jungle. They spoke a language I could not identify, but their tone was casual. I felt no particular danger, and was content to let them pass by without ever announcing my presence.

The owners of the voices appeared through the trees below me. A strange pair they were, not the kinds to be walking in the wilds of the Ocaital. My first impulse was that they were adventurers, for no one else would be so motley.

One was a woman, Kharsoomian from the looks of her deep crimson skin. She was tall for a woman, her limbs powerful. She was in a hearty late middle age, her short hair gray, her face lined, her body covered in a wealth of scars. Her breasts, belly and thighs were laden with fat, but I bore no illusions that this might make her less dangerous as a warrior. She was dressed more modestly than most Kharsoomians, in a loincloth and a pair of sandals, a leather harness over her broad torso. She carried two blades on her belt, a longsword and shortsword, both perfectly straight in the Kharsoomian fashion. A sling hung from her belt, and she wore a waterskin over one shoulder.

Her companion was tall and lean, and though dressed for the outdoors, his costume was finely tailored. He wore a fine kilt and a vest embroidered with a complex repeating design. His earrings were gold, and more gold flashed from his wrists and fingers. He carried a slender bow upon his back, and a pair of long knives on his belt. He looked to be local, with brown skin and dark eyes. His hair was long and streaked with silver, bound in a tail with a golden broach. His face was angular and handsome, bearing the lines of middle age.

The Kharsoomian looked up at the trees, as though she knew I would be there. I can only imagine what I looked like. My hair and beard had grown long and wild. My jungle-hardened body was clothed only in a loincloth I presently wore as a kilt, and a pair of boots. A small sheath, secured to my back by a leather strap, completed my costume. Our eyes met, and I saw an easy respect. "Hail," she said in accented Huyu.

"Hail," I said.

"You are the Blackspear, are you not?"

"The Blackspear?"

"We have heard stories of an outlander wielding a spear that cuts like obsidian but does not break. He has protected roads and found lost children. He saved a village in Lixha and slew a great wyrm." Her eyes went to Ur-Anu, propped up on the branch next to me, ready to be taken up. "Yes, you are the Blackspear."

The well-dressed man said something in a language I did not know. The Kharsoomian shook her head, and kept her attention on me. "I am Anil-Isu, boldisar of Kharsoom." I did not know the term boldisar then, but I would come to know it quite well in the later parts of my exile. "This is my companion Yoro Colclatue of Lixha."

"I am Ashuz."

"Ashuz the Blackspear," Anil-Isu said. "Good. We were looking for you."

"Why?"

"We have been retained..."

"We've been hired," Yoro broke in. His Huyu had an accent I immediately understood as aristocratic, far more affected and precise than the plain way my Ixem had spoken. "A village is troubled by bandits."

"Bandits. I have dealt with bandits." In a place like the Ocaital, bandits were thick on the ground, though I noted the difference between a bandit and the agent of a local ruler often came down to who was describing them.

"Not like this," Anil-Isu said. Yoro said a few words, and I knew he was scolding her. She held a hand up. "He deserves to know. Ashuz, it is more than bandits. It is a bandit army. The leader, Texomoc, is a petty warlord who looks to unite the Ocaital under his banner and the village of Tlaican is his first target. He came to them to take all those who could fight and all of the village's crops to fuel his army. They refused and he slew twenty of them, vowing to return."

"I see. How many of them?"

"Hundreds."

"And how many of us?"

"Six," Anil-Isu said. "You will make seven."

I nodded. The feel of Ixem crept through my memory, then the cries of my hetairoi, begging me to kill them. Xeiliope calling me a coward. "This is folly," I said.

"He has some sense," Yoro said wryly.

"Ashuz, you are a warrior," Anil-Isu said. "We need warriors like you. Please."

I picked up Fate, leaping from the branch to land easily before them. "I did not say I wouldn't go," I said.

"Don't you want to ask about the pay?" Yoro asked.

"If I live, pay me then."

The Kharsoomian's face split in a smile. "I am not the only boldisar it seems," she said. "Come, Blackspear. The village is a hard half day distant."

We arrived at Tlaican as night was throwing its velvet cloak over the purring jungle. We crossed a bridge running over a narrow, but swiftly-flowing river. The bridge was wooden, with stone pillars on either bank, decorated on the tops with statues of jaguars. One look at the water, and I saw the danger. Anil-Isu followed my gaze.

"Fall in there and you will never be seen again," she said. She pointed to the north. "A league that way, this river is a hundred feet from bank to bank. Here, it's squeezed into this. The waters are so swift that to even touch them here is death."

Beyond the bridge, a winding path went through the jungle into the village itself. Built on the wetlands, the wooden buildings stood on slits over the soggy ground. The people cultivated rice in paddies and berries in bogs, clustered around the northern side of the town. The looming trees, with their wide and drooping branches lent this place a funereal air.

Lanterns were lit along the village's boardwalks. As we climbed up into the village itself, the inhabitants watched us with open curiosity. They looked much like the people of Pelesamatu, but lacked the distinctive tattoos. Their loincloths were tighter around their nethers, and many of them wore vests or short cloaks. Their jewelry was a fascinating combination of sculpted wood and amber, the most prized displaying a complete creature within.

Anil-Isu escorted me to a fat building on the south edge of town, built, I suspected, where the ground was its firmest. It was a wide hall, a place for the town to gather. Benches and tables took up one end, and on the other, an altar dedicated to the local deities. The rafters were hung with ropes of preserved food and furs, the communal stores of the town. As we came in, everyone turned to look at us. Their expressions held both hope and resentment, the knowledge that we would be needed to help them, but with the anger and shame of needing it.

Most of the people were locals. All except one group of four, who I knew instantly would be my companions in this defense. They had the bearing and distinctive appearance of adventurers.

"Our last recruit," Anil-Isu announced to the room as she brought me to the table of four. "Blackspear, meet your comrades."

"The only others as foolish as you," Yoro remarked with a grin.

Anil-Isu introduced each in turn.

First was a young woman, her features and tattoos marking her as Lixhan. She wore a cloak of feathers, a vest, and a long loincloth. Her features were fine, and her large eyes met mine only for a moment before she looked away. I would learn later that she was an alchemist, trained in the finest school of the Lixhan capital of Matchuwar. Her name was Ixtli no Xihui.

Next to her was a massive man. He stood at least a head taller than me, his arms like tree trunks. He wore a loincloth in the local style and nothing else. His features were pleasant and broad, his nose flattened from an old break that had never properly been set. I would find that while he had no real training in fighting, he was as strong as three men and eager to defend this place. He was Tzunapu.

A young man sat across from him. He was slender, shorter than me, with a soft face and softer eyes. He wore a simple loincloth with the stone symbol of the sun god Koya about his neck. I would find later that he was a priest from a town not too distant from this one, and he was well out of his depth. He was Ququmec.

The last was a woman with pale skin, long red hair, and icy blue eyes. I knew she was from Chassudor, and when she spoke it was with a Svarl accent. She had not retained the styles of her homeland of course, as the Ocaital was far too hot. She had adapted, wearing nothing but a simple loincloth and bindings for her breasts. I would learn that she was an archer, and her name was Valfrid Evarsdóttir.

"Good," said Ququmec. "Another weapon can turn the tide."

Tzunapu grasped my forearm. "Well met."

"Do you know how to use that thing?" Valfrid demanded, nodding at Ur-Anu.

"Well enough," I said.

Ixtli turned to Anil-Isu. "Will you get more?"

The boldisar shook her head. "We have no more time. We need to firm our plans and finish our defenses. Now we have one who can drill them in spearwork. Everyone, eat your fill. We have much work to do."

I ate. Tzunapu, Valfrid, and Ququmec tried to engage me in conversation, but I had no desire to forge friendships there. Soon they turned to each other. Valfrid flirted lightly with the two of them, and Ixtli was as taciturn as I. Anil-Isu and Yoro, our elders, spoke easily with the others.

When I had finished my food, I rose without a word and left the great hall. The presence of all those people had closed in around me like a vise. I needed to breathe outside air, where I could be alone and in the cool dark of night. I found a tree with boughs that would support me and settled in for a night's rest.

The seven of us gathered on the south end of town. Tzunapu messily ate a piece of fruit. Ixtli held a strange contraption of metal and rope that I would find later flung her alchemical creations. Valfrid picked her teeth with an arrow. Between us was a sketch in the dirt of the town, with different stones representing each one of us.

"There are three pathways into Tlaican," Anil-Isu said. "There is the main road in the northwest." She indicated a wide path between the paddies and the bogs and the harder-packed earth of the jungle. "There is the smaller path in the southwest." She indicated a trail through the thicker jungle that was a bit wider than a footpath. "And there is the bridge to the east." She pointed to the bridge that we had crossed on the way into town.

She picked up a piece of wood the size of her forearm and set it on the northwestern path. "Texomoc will make use of the main path for his attack. It is the only place where he can march his men in proper ranks and use his numbers advantage. He is, however, much too savvy not to use the other avenues. He will likely send small skirmishing forces to the southwest and the east, thinking to flank the main defenders or at the very least, keep us from concentrating our own forces. Thus, we will separate into three main groups."

"Seven people and three groups?" asked Ququmec. "Is that wise?"

"Nothing about this is wise," Yoro said.

"Texomoc has us in a bad position," Anil-Isu said. "But there is one way the terrain is in our favor. The southwest path is close enough to the main road that one can reinforce the other. If he should send no one up that path, those defenders can come to the main road. The opposite is also true, if that matters."

Yoro nodded at the drawing. "The same is not true for the bridge. The defender there is on their own. We'll station runners in the trees, but reinforcements in the heat of battle will feel like an eternity."

"Who gets the bridge?" Valfrid asked.

"We start with the main road," Anil-Isu said. She set her stone, a smooth river rock marked with a deep red that almost matched her skin, in the path of the piece of wood. "I anchor that position."

"And I'll be at your side," said Yoro, putting his rock, marked with green, next to hers.

She smiled at him with an affection born of a lifetime together. "As though I could stop you."

"And the southwest?" Valfrid asked.

"Tzunapu anchors the path," she said, setting his rock, marked yellow. "Tzunapu, I would be surprised if he sent more than a probe there. When you turn them back, make for the road."

"What about the bridge?" Tzunapu asked.

"I might send you there, but that'll be an order. You come right to me the instant you see it's free. As for the bridge." She picked up my rock, marked with black. "It belongs to you, Blackspear."

"Hold," Ququmec said. "They're coming from the west. How will they get to the river?"

"There are other bridges across the river," Anil-Isu said. "Out of their way, but potentially worth it if it means flanking us. Blackspear? Can you hold the bridge?"

I thought of the narrow pathway. Only one or two could get across at a time. If anyplace could be held by a single man, that would be it. "I'll turn the river red."

"When they overrun the bridge," she picked up my stone and set it in a bend I the path that went from bridge to town. "Make your way here for a second stand. When they overrun that position, here." She tapped the square that represented the town's great hall. "This is where we all go for our final stand." My stone went back to the bridge.

"What of the rest of us, Kharsoomian?" Valfrid demanded. "I need a place to spill blood."

"You will be on the rooftops here," Anil-Isu said, putting Valfrid's stone, marked blue, down. "You will have an excellent view of the main road, and a decent one of the southwest path."

"Then all I need is arrows," said the northwoman.

"Ixtli," Anil-Isu held up Ixtli's stone, marked purple, and put it behind her own. "You will provide support on the main road."

"Are you certain that's wise? I could... perhaps here, on the path."

"The main road is where they will be packed tightly enough that your concoctions will do the most damage. The ditches we will place here, here, and here, will help concentrate them even further." She held up Ququmec's rock, marked orange, and set it behind Tzunapu's. "You will be with Tzunapu at the outside, but expect to be summoned. You, I fear, will be the most needed."

"I am here to serve," said the priest.

"Should either road or path be overrun, immediately fall back to the great hall. Texomoc will be unable to bring his forces to bear and each of us will be as ten. A hundred."

"With that kind of reckoning, we have them outnumbered," Yoro remarked.

Anil-Isu smiled. "We have much work to do. Seven people can't hold back an army. Even this seven. Tzunapu, you will dig ditches. Three on the main road and one on the path. Ququmec, you will build barricades. Iztli, you will manufacture your concoctions. Valfrid, arrows. I will make spears. And you, Blackspear, you will train the locals how to hold a spear."

"They will not be worth much," I said.

"I know. We work with what we have."

Anil-Isu was a skilled planner. My respect for her only grew as she moved about the village issuing orders and offering guidance at turns. Under her watchful eye, the defenses began to take shape.

Tzunapu's work crews cut ditches across the two westward paths. Valfrid, from her perch atop the great hall, fletched arrows. She placed them in clusters, most at her primary position, but collections of others all over the village with a second store atop the great hall. Ququmec helped build barricades, and though he was ostensibly in charge, Anil-Isu took the lead here even while she fashioned spears. Between ditches and the tangles of wood and thorns, both western pathways became more barrier than road.

Yoro slipped into the jungle every other day, hunting for signs of Texomoc's approach. I was surprised that such a dandy would be our scout, but Anil-Isu seemed confident in him, and then so was I. On the days he was not scouting, he was assisting one of us, wherever he was needed.

I drilled the locals the basics of spearfighting. I taught them what I could, remembering the lessons of the amazons, the simple chains of movements that their bodies could memorize in this short time. I was momentarily amused at the idea that here, in far Tlaican, would be a group who fought like the fallen daughters of the Turquoise.

The locals spoke a different dialect of Huyu than the one spoken in Pelesamatu, but my lessons were simple enough and physical demonstrations bridged gaps in understanding. I knew from the second I started drilling them that most of them would never survive the coming battle. The best they could do would be take one of Texomoc's men with him. That would have to be good enough.

One evening after a session of training, as the smells of stewed berries and rice filled the air, Ququmec fell into step next to me as we made for the great hall. "Blackspear?" he asked. "How are they?"

"They might kill a bandit or two."

He nodded, the expression on his face fearful but it was the other side of fear, a need to face it. "With the strength of Koya, we can defeat them."

"I know nothing of Koya."

"You must have different gods where you are from. Chassudor somewhere?"

"I respect Atauchi."

"Atauchi is good. We will need faith in her as well." He swallowed. "Have you been in many battles?"

"Yes." For a moment, I saw the heaving deck of Naeri's Revenge, Heacharid corpses rising with lightning playing over their ruined bodies.

"What do you think of the Kharsoomian's plan?"

"Better than most."

"Will it work?"

"No plan does."

His eyes widened. "What? Then why have one?"

"Otherwise you're lost."

"I don't understand."

"You will on the other side of this."

"What makes a plan good?"

"Simplicity. Everything you plan has a possibility of going wrong, so you don't want too many things. You want everyone to know their task, you want an easy fallback. Defenses are all the right spots."

"That sounds like it will work."

I looked about, not wanting the villagers to hear this. None were close. "This is numbers. There are maybe a hundred people in this village, and that's including children and the aged. Maybe a quarter of that's any good in a fight. That's not to say the ones who can't fight are useless. Far from it. They can carry messages, water, bandage wounds." I shrugged.

"There is a but in your tone."

"Anil-Isu and Yoro told me there are hundreds in Texomoc's host. Does that mean two hundred? Nine hundred? I don't know. I didn't ask. Doesn't matter which one of those, because they have us badly outnumbered either way. If they want this place, they will take it."

"But we can, with our defenses, hurl them back."

"You asked if I had seen battle? I have. A war. One side, elite warriors, second to none. On the other? A numberless horde. The horde won and it was never once in doubt."

"Then why fight?"

"There is one thing I do not know about Texomoc. I don't know what he is willing to pay for this place. If he is willing to spend every life in his host? This place is his. But I do not think he is. At some point, the price is more than he is willing to spend."

"Price?"

"In blood. You asked about gods? This, for me is a harvest. The crop will be their lives."

He stared at me, murmuring a prayer under his breath.

"As you say," I said, leaving him.

I settled down into the boughs of the tree for the night, my muscles pleasantly sore from another day of work. My belly was full, one of the benefits of staying in a town like this one. My back rested comfortably against the trunk, Ur-Anu a short distance away. We had been at our preparations for nearly a week, and the rooftops had begun to sport simple rope bridges here and there.

Valfrid climbed over the wall of a nearby building, pulling herself up onto the roof. She made her way over, crossing a rope bridge with an easy catlike grace. She paused at the edge of the roof across from me. She fell into a crouch, and my gaze fell between her powerful thighs where the loincloth hung.

"You are Rhandonian," she said finally.

"You are from Svarlskell."

"One neighbor recognizes another," she mused. "Your accent put me off at first. Not quite Rhandonian, though I've never heard a Rhandonian speak Huyu until now."

"I've been away for some time."

"To become the savage Blackspear in the wilds of Uazica. Tell me, how does a Rhandonian find himself so far from home?"

"It's a long story."

"Do you prefer Rhandic?" she asked, switching to my native language.

"It...it has been a long time since I've spoken it." The words tripped clumsily from my tongue.

"I have not spoken Svarl in a long time. Haven't been there in even longer."

"Do you miss it?"

She thought it over. "Yes and no. It is beautiful there. But Thür is so much bigger than one mere corner of it."

"There is not much to see in Rhandonia."

"Svarls would disagree. We are always coming down there."

"True."

"Did you ever fight our longships?"

"No. Where I grew up...there was a wizard. I suspect your raiders looked for easier prey."

"It never pays to trouble a wizard." She sighed. "I wish we had one now."

I smirked. "Yes. I suppose that would be helpful."

She stared at me. Her eyes were as pale as ice. "You are a killer, Blackspear."

"Yes."

"Not all of them are. The priest, the alchemist, Tzunapu...they are not like we are. They do not know what it is to kill. The second they do, it will paralyze them."

"What of the Kharsoomian?"

"Anil-Isu and her man? Those two, yes. When the blood starts to spill, they will not hesitate." She broke into a smile that was at once beautiful and terrifying. "The battle takes who it wants."

"This one will have a great hunger," I said.

"Yes, I feel that too." She cocked her head, then stood. "Give me your hand." I reached, and she took my left hand, shivering as my index finger touched her palm. She helped me over to the roof, holding up my hand to inspect it. Her eyes went to the ring about that finger, a skeletal serpent coiled about the base of the digit. "Your finger is cold on this warm night."

"I suppose it is," I said.

"But only one finger," she said. "The rest of you is warm." She sat and I settled next to her on the roof. She lay back and I did the same. The sky over the jungle was clear, the night soft and velvet over us. The air was still close from the heat of the day, but not stifling.

"I miss the nights getting colder," I said.

She chuckled. "Oh yes. Burrowing beneath furs and blankets for warmth is its own kind of relief, isn't it? I miss pickled fish."

"I don't."

"Spoken like a Rhandonian. You never get it right down there."

"I didn't know there was a way to get it right."

"In my town, they do it properly. Outdoors, plenty of spices. Jellies the fish, the way it's supposed to be eaten."

"That sounds revolting."

"I would not think the Blackspear to be so picky."

"Where in Svarlskell is your home?"

"A village called Hoflastyr...have you heard of it?"

"No."

"It is not far from Steelhelm. Down the mountain, to the coast."

I grinned. "I've been to Steelhelm."

"Fond memories?"

"I spent a memorable couple nights there once."

"You must love smithies."

"Something like that."

We were silent, looking up at the night sky. She stirred once, moving closer to me. Now our shoulders and thighs touched lightly, the sweat mingling from one to the other.

"You are an archer," I said, to say something.

"You sound surprised. Svarls are the best archers on Chassudor."

"The elves might have something to say about that."

"Effete pricks. Can they hit a man in the eye from three hundred yards out, each of us on the deck of a different ship in rough seas?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know how to use a bow?"

"No, but I've some experience with shipbound archers."

"Svarls?"

"Amazons."

She turned to me, curiosity in her eyes. "The longer I speak with you, the more there is, hmm?"

"Is that why you came here? To speak with me?"

"Partly. Partly...this battle could well mean our end." She sighed. "Every battle can, but this one...I know you feel death close by."

"I do."

"Good. In the time we have left, I want..." she rolled onto her side, and her hand ran down my belly to the bulge in my loincloth. Her eyebrows rose. "Oh."

"Why me?"

"You are pleasant to look at. I like the way you watch me. And Tzunapu is far more interested in Ququmec."

"That is a good reason."

"And now that I feel what is growing beneath my hand, I think I have made the right choice."

"How would you like to begin?"

She pulled off my loincloth, and I was already growing. She gave me the most adorable lopsided grin. "Wonderful."

"Turn about," I said, pulling her haunches to me.

"Oh, this is better."

"They called it the amazon circle on Axichis."

She laughed, shuffling about to get into position. "We call it fishhooking back home," she said divesting herself of her breast binding. Though she walked about the village in next to nothing, this was the first time I truly allowed myself to appreciate her form. The muscles of her shoulders and arms were well-developed, rippling easily in the night. Her breasts were modest. I could cover them with a hand. Her torso was flat, muscles of her abdomen defined as they dipped to her pelvis. Her legs were lean and strong, each movement displaying more of her lithe musculature. Pale scars crossed her everywhere, and I would soon trace them with my tongue, luxuriating her shivers as I explored old hurts.

I stripped her loincloth off, revealing her lovely sex. Her scent was strong, marinating in the sweat of a hard day. Such aromas never troubled me. It was a miasma of femininity and one I was only too happy to bathe in. I enjoyed that there was no sense of romance with us either. After Ixem, I could not have handled such things, but Valfrid promised to be uncomplicated.

Her fingers ran over the most prominent of my scars, a sunburst on my abdomen, a wound that nearly killed me. I thought she might ask about it, but she did not, content merely to stroke the healed flesh.

Her sex was lovely, her folds on display beneath a cloud of deep coppery hair. I kissed her thigh as I felt her own lips press against the head of my staff.

"First time seeing a red fleece?" she teased.

"One of my dearest friends was so blessed," I said. "Let's see if the two of you have any other similarities."

The short answer is no, she was not like Alia at all. Valfrid's scent was strong, and her taste even stronger. I resisted the urge to dive in and feast. She too was toying with her new plaything, peppering me with curious licks and soft kisses. I matched her, keeping my explorations light, savoring her taste.

The two of us lay in our sides on that rooftop for what felt like hours. Each one of her touches was an ember of sensation. Every touch added, the embers flickering over my skin, joining, stoking a lovely blaze. When she sucked me into her mouth, it was so sudden, such a natural outgrowth of what she had been doing, I moaned in surprise. As the warm wetness closed over me, it reignited all the embers that had lain on my skin.

I took the chance to spread her wide. I remembered her interest, and thus it was the finger of my left hand that penetrated her first. She shivered, giving me her own happy moan. I traced her sex with my tongue, paying attention to her pearl as I teased with Diotenah's finger.

As though by mutual understanding, our explorations ceased. We had gone beyond teasing, each of us seeking relief. Now we were plundering, each of us spurring the other with our ardor. She took me with a hungry mouth, bringing me to the back of her throat, but no farther. The slight gagging at the end only helped, her throat quivering over the head of me. As for me, I stroked her, beckoning with my one cold finger, and sucking her into my mouth. We rocked against each other, our rhythms matching. A thrust, a grind. She gagged, I sucked.

The embers now had merged into a roaring flame. There was no fighting it now. I redoubled my efforts. And then, as she took me to the back of her throat, the bliss seized me. I moaned, feeling her swallowing. A moment later, she gave a throaty moan as the quivering crashed over her.

We lay there in our lovely obscene embrace. After a time, her breathing slowing, her lovely skin covered in sweat, she moved about, turning her back on me, and I cuddled close. In a moment, I was back in the loft of the cottage at the edge of the pepper groves. I smelled the spice then, strongly in my nose, and for a moment, I felt that if I opened my eyes, it would not be Valfrid's coppery hair but Ixem's glossy black.

I rolled onto my back, struggling free of the memory. Valfrid turned onto her belly, climbing halfway atop me. "Are you well, Blackspear?"

"Yes, sorry. A cramp."

"Oh, of course," she said, unconvinced.

I kissed her forehead. "That was lovely."

"It was." She paused, and her voice was suddenly vulnerable. "Are you comfortable?"

"Enough, yes."

"I am tired. I was thinking of sleeping."

I realized then that she had a memory too. She was thinking of her Ixem. I found myself wrapping my arms about her. "Sleep, Valfrid. We'll have each other for now."

Midday came and I settled down in the shade of one of the willow trees to eat. I watched my students resting, some of them nursing bruises from the week's lessons. I glanced over to a rooftop where Valfrid worked on her arrows. We had been together every night, sometimes engaged in loveplay, sometimes merely sleeping together. It was a comfort I didn't know I needed.

"How are they?" Anil-Isu had approached silently. I jumped, abruptly guilty that I should be looking at Valfrid. Silly, I know. Anil-Isu had no care that Valfrid and I were lovers.

"Most of them will die," I said mildly.

"You do not seem surprised."

"I've seen battles like this."

"As have I. I suspect you are here for the same reason I am."

"What is that?"

"We are boldisars." She looked to me, hunting my face for understanding she did not find. "You don't speak Kharish. A boldisar is a wandering champion." This simplistic definition eliminated a great deal of the context of the word, but in her defense, it is a complex idea, depending heavily upon Kharsoomian custom, social order, and legendarium. Wandering champion would suffice for this conversation.

"I am no champion."

"Yet you are here."

"Yoro would say I am a fool."

She smiled with a familiar affection. "Despite his noble birth, Yoro is a practical man. I was born a slave, and yet I am the one with such lofty devotions."

"You love him."

"With all my heart. You have loved too, Blackspear. I see it in your eyes."

I did not bother to deny it. "They are in my past."

"Do not be so certain."

"You believe we have a future."

"I do," she said. "Perhaps foolishly. I think that you are one of the few who truly understands what we face. Valfrid lusts for battle, Iztli is terrified, Ququmec believes he owes this to his flock but you, you seem to know."

"It is why I am not laboring under any illusions."

"Going into battle believing you are dead. Another fine Kharsoomian tradition, that. Were it not for that fishbelly complexion of yours, I would almost take you for being one of the fighting men of the Red Wastes."

"You did not answer me. You think we will survive."

"I hope we will survive. There is a difference. An important one. I will go onto the field of battle knowing that if I fight well enough I will have another day with Yoro. Most Kharsoomians would tell you that is foolish. That if you have something to live for, you let fear into your belly. This is wrong. Because I also know that to be the warrior worthy of Yoro, I will need to display my skill, my valor, everything that makes me a fighting woman of Kharsoom."

"I do not feel the hope that you speak of."

She watched me. "No, you do not. But that will frighten them. There is a reason I want you on that bridge, Blackspear, you and no other. I need a boldisar to stand there, a boldisar to hold it. A man who holds the empty promise of death in his eyes, and promises only that to those he faces."

"Then I hope I am such."

She grinned. "You see? Hope blooms in the strangest of places."

It was early one day when Yoro sprinted back into camp from the western jungle. He always left before dawn and didn't return until dusk. Not so that day. His return instantly sent waves of murmuring through the villagers, and I knew by the stone sitting where my heart should be that battle would commence soon.

Yoro stopped before Anil-Isu, gasping, "They are coming."

"When?"

"They will be here by the afternoon."

Anil-Isu pressed a bottle into his hand. "Take this across the bridge. If they are poised to attack, use it."

"No! I should be here with you."

The Kharsoomian shook her head. "No, my love. I can treat with Texomoc. I do not believe he will attack until tomorrow morning, but if he decides to get smart, we will need the warning."

Yoro lowered his voice, speaking in Anil-Isu's ear. Her gaze involuntarily flicked to me. She shook her head and touched his shoulder. Then, a kiss on his cheek. Yoro nodded, took the potion and sprinted down the path.

"Blackspear," Anli-Isu said. "I want you here, with me. Look like a mad barbarian. Good, yes, that's it."

I had not done a thing.

"Tzunapu," she called, "you will join as well. We will meet them there, ahead of our ditches." She raised her voice, addressing the village. "Our time comes near! Everyone, finish the last of your preparations. We treat with the enemy today and spill his blood tomorrow!"

The villagers redoubled their efforts, putting the final touches on the barricades, wetting down the bottoms of the trenches to give the attackers a little extra muck to trudge through, and making one final arrow or spear. I ran through the drills with my students, but there was nothing they did not already know that they would learn in the next few hours.

As the sun reached its zenith, Tzunapu and I flanked Anil-Isu on the walk to the head of the road. The defenders had turned it into a treacherous quagmire with trenches and soaked earth. A charge would now be impossible. Every inch the attackers had to fight for would exhaust them and give the defenders a fighting chance. My blood sang, but my heart beat a steady tattoo in my chest.

Tzunapu carried his weapons, merely heavy stones wrapped in slings that he used as makeshift flails. The next time I saw them, they would be soaked in blood and surrounded by men with shattered skulls. I walked with Fate in hand.

"Thank you, Blackspear," muttered the massive man. We had not spoken much in the weeks leading to this one. He seemed a pleasant enough sort, but I could not imagine him surviving the coming battle.

"For what?"

"You do not have to be here."

"Yes I do."

We waited on the path and it was not long before a group of men rounded the curve ahead, making for us. They were hard men, strong and reedy, scars looping over their bodies describing innumerable battles. They were dressed in short kilts and girded loincloths, a few with vests, each with a pad or plate of armor here and there. Their weapons were also varied, from war clubs, to spears, to hammers, to axes. All of them wore distinctive wide shallowly conical hats, ideal for keeping the rain and sun off of their heads and shoulders.

Their leader was not the tallest of them, nor the oldest, but the strength of his aura made it undeniable who was in charge. He carried a heavy, hacking blade on his belt. His entire body was covered by scars and tattoos, painting an intricate portrait of a man who had fought all his life.

"You ain't the headwoman of this village," he said in roughly accented Huyu.

"No. I've been engaged to speak on their behalf."

"Hire a red woman to kill? Yes. To slave? Of course. But to speak? No, I think you are here because you think there is some way to drive me off."

"You can leave now and no harm done," she said. "Find another village that won't put up a fight. Get everything you want. Or you can come here and spend blood on something you could have had for free."

"No," Texomoc said. "No, if I went to another village, the price would be high. Do you know why? Because I went. Every village that does not give me what I want makes the next more expensive. And more, and more after that. No, I'm afraid the price is far too high. This is the place that pays."

"Then be prepared to bleed."

He chuckled. "I bleed every day of my life. It holds no fear for me."

"We have defenders."

"That ape next to you? That barbarian there? You? No, no. You could put a hundred outlanders in that place and I would still feel nothing. One of you is no match for the least of my men, and I have more than you."

"Then there is nothing to be said."

"Don't let these people suffer for your foolish pride. Give me what I want, and this village will be under the protection of Texomoc, future king of the Ocaital. Or refuse me, and I'll slaughter the lot of you and burn this place to the ground."

"The choice is made."

Texomoc looked Anil-Isu up and down, finally nodding. "As you like. I'll be killing you myself, red woman. That's my vow."

"Many have tried."

He snorted, breaking into a grin. "Shame it's coming to this." He touched the brim of his hat, turned and walked away. His entourage watched us, backing away before turning.

"That didn't work," Tzunapu said.

"Went better than I thought it would," the Kharsoomian remarked. "Now, finish our final preparations. They'll attack at dawn."

That night the town gathered in the great hall. We ate our rice porridge quietly, the cloak of the coming battle heavy on our shoulders. It wasn't merely the unblooded among us smothered beneath this somber mood. Even Anil-Isu and Yoro were quiet. Until the arrival of the horde, death had been merely a possibility. Now it was horribly certain, and illusions have a way of burning up beneath such scrutiny.

"What is this, a funeral?" Valfrid demanded as she came to the table with her porridge. Over the past weeks I had grown to know her body well. I followed the pale scar over the big muscles of her shoulder down to her chest.

"Wait until tomorrow," Ixtli said.

"Your gloom helps no one."

"It is not gloom. It is reality."

"The Svarl is right," Anil-Isu said. "The people here look to us. Our morale is their morale. They see their deaths on our countenances."

"What happens tomorrow starts tonight," Yoro said. "We can't have them giving up before the battle is even joined."

"That is true," I said, standing.

"Where are you going, Blackspear?" Anil-Isu asked.

"To the bridge."

"They will not attack at night."

"Better to have me there in case you are wrong. Besides, you're right about the people here. They know that death walks with me. I should take him out into the night where we can wait for the killing."

My words were not entirely a lie. I could not be in that place for a second longer. Though I had trained some of them in basic spearwork, I had taken pains not to like them. Not only because they would likely not survive, but worse. If they did, I would want to stay, and this time there was no blessing that would compel me to leave. I would not find another Ixem in this place, and staying would mean stuck in the same quagmire we prepared for Texomoc's host.

"Blackspear." Valfrid followed me out.

"Yes?"

She stared at me, her blue eyes nearly colorless in the flickering light in the village. "The God of Death watches us from upon his frozen throne. He alone will judge what we do tomorrow."

"He can keep his judgment."

"He will." She paused, then stepped closer to me. "What you said in there...you were right. I can smell him upon you."

"You misunderstand. I follow no gods."

Her narrow lips made a line. The hunger in her eyes was terrifying. "I will see you in the end of this, won't I? The two of us, in the great hall together, stacking bodies high. When the God of Death holds our hearts, they will not freeze, will they?"

A frown rippled over my features. The coming blood had driven us all a little mad. It had to. Only the mad would stand against such a force. I had been so focused on the villagers that I had not noticed that even those among us I would trust, Valfrid, Yoro, Anil-Isu, even myself, we had fallen into our own pits.

"Come," I said, taking her hand. "One final tumble."

"Yes," she said. "I want to feel you inside me. One warm thing before the everlasting winter."

I walked along the path, finding the bridge waiting silently in the moonlight. I shattered the bowl that had contained my porridge on the far side of the bridge, then returned. Valfrid waited, framed by the two columns topped with their jaguar statues. She met my eyes, removing first the bindings of her breasts and then the loincloth. She stood before me nude, an avatar of war.

I removed my own meager clothing, dropping it next to us as I took her in my arms and crushed her to my lips. Our kiss was hungry, our tongues plundering one another. It was only a prelude, a forceful confrontation ahead of our bliss.

She fell to her knees, taking my staff in hand, milking me as she ran the flat of her tongue up and down me. There was no attempt to stoke, this was merely a matter of preparation. Her other hand was busy between her legs, swirling and dipping, swirling and dipping. She was wetting the both of us down like we were trenches dug for war.

She took me to the back of her throat only once, shutting her eyes as I touched her limit. She blinked away a single tear, then let go, standing up and turning about.

"Hard tonight," she murmured as she bent over, steadying herself against a tree.

"It could be no other way," I said, guiding myself to her dripping folds. I took myself in hand, running it along her slit. She pushed back, her hips chasing mine.

"Curse you and put it in me," she growled, looking over her shoulder and fixing me with her icy blue eyes.

I obeyed, sliding into her wetness in a single, easy stroke. She shut her eyes, shivering, as she furrowed her brow. I withdrew, then impaled her again, once again to the hilt. With each thrust, she pushed back on me, her body milking me as her hand had recently done.

My fingers dug into the muscles of her hips. Her sex held mine in its velvety vise, massaging the pleasure from me. One of her arms came free from the tree, caressing herself as I hammered into her again and again. There was nothing romantic about what we did. We were there only for a desperate connection on the eve of blood.

As I felt the fire rising, ready to consume me, I did not bother to resist. I rode the wave, spurring myself, going faster and faster. She kept up, her breath stuttering, a cry coming from her each time I sheathed myself completely.

The wave broke, washing me in blissful fire. I pushed myself into her with a grunt, holding her in place as I filled her womb. The first spurt hit her, and I felt her body collapse into shuddering. Her cry was torn from her throat, not happy but merely relieved.

I held her flanks, still buried in her, my thundering heart slowing. She began to move, and I pulled out, my staff softening. She turned to me. The two of us were a sight, covered in sweat, smeared with dirt. A line of pearly seed dripped down her inner thigh. Her small breasts heaved as she regarded me. She broke into a small grin.

"A good way to go into battle."

"There is none better."

She looked at me for a moment longer, and then asked the question that had been hanging between us since the beginning. "What was her name?"

"Ixem."

She was silent. Then, "Hanibaal."

The secret exchanged, we had no further need of words. We dressed in the dark of the jungle, and when we parted, we did not kiss. Even if we both survived the battle, we had come to the end of our road. I watched her disappear up the path, feeling only gratitude.

When she was gone, I climbed into a tree whose boughs overlooked the bridge, and I slept deeply. Peacefully.

I awoke before dawn, climbing down and taking my place behind one of the stone columns on the western shore. Memories of Valfrid were upon me, but I did not dwell. Better her than the longing I still felt for Ixem. At least that had become more distant.

A short while later my runners came to me, placing a jug of water nearby, and handing me a small loaf of the local rice bread. Then they retreated up the path, ready to sprint back to the village at my order. I drank of the water deeply and ate my breakfast, listening to the rush of the river, Ur-Anu cradled across my lap. The sky above was leaden. Those clouds would empty before noon in a driving, clattering rain.

A boom echoed from the west, thudding through the jungle. I frowned, resisting the urge to run over and investigate. The bridge was mine and I would not move.

That was when I heard footsteps upon the planks, crunching the shattered bits of my bowl. Now I stood and turned, stepping onto the bridge in the path of those who would cross.

The bandits stopped. There were many of them, marching two abreast, stretching back into the jungle at the other side of the river. I couldn't count them all. They were a motley band, covered in tattoos and scraps of armor, carrying war clubs, slings, spears, and axes. As with the men I saw before, they wore wide, shallowly conical hats, the closest thing to a uniform these men had.

"Boss? You want to see this," said the man in the lead in the Huyu of this place.

A huge man, a mass of scars where his right eye should be and carrying a pair of axes in his lumpy hands, shouldered his way to the front of the column. He looked me over with naked contempt. "Stand aside, barbarian."

I watched him. I did not move. Ur-Anu reached out with its ineffable magic, the threads poised and dancing like serpents, but not yet striking.

"Are you deaf or stupid?" the one-eyed man demanded. "Stand aside or die."

"I'll offer you the same terms," I said.

One Eye snorted. "You two. Kill him quick."

They grinned. These two were taller than I and broad for it. One carried a great hammer, the other a war club. They advanced past One Eye, up to the center of the bridge, to meet me on the other side.

The threads struck, finding their homes and Ur-Anu showed me their deaths. I traced each thread, feinting at war club and catching hammer in his neck. A flick of my wrist sent the blood from his throat into war club's face. His sight was only obscured for a heartbeat, but it was long enough to bury the tip of Ur-Anu in his chest. He collapsed to his knees, dead, while the other finished choking his life out. I stared at One Eye and rapped the butt of Fate against the planks of the bridge.

Thunk, thunk.

"Slings!" he ordered.

I spun about, pressing my back into the bridge column. The zip of stones filled the air. They cracked my cover, tearing into the jungle beyond.

"You three. Dig that tick out!" One Eye barked.

"Boss, the slings."

"Are keeping him in place. Now get moving, you dogs!"

Over the zip of the stones, now I heard cautious footsteps on the bridge. Ur-Anu's threads slithered out onto the bridge, ready to trace the lines of fate for each man. I stayed completely still while the stones clattered off the column at my back, my thighs burning in my crouch. The sky chose that moment to open up, soaking us in thick drops. The clatter helped mask their footsteps, but my jungle-honed senses tracked them, even as the rain tried to close my eyes.

The instant the sound ceased, I hurled myself about the corner, impaling one man in the chest. The other two made faces of comical surprise. They died with that look as well.

Thunk, thunk.

One Eye sent more of his men. I slew them. Crimson rivulets spilled from the bridge, carried by the rain soaking the planks, staining the water in streaks of crimson below. Bodies littered the wood in a crazy jumble. Soon the advancing bandits were forced to walk on their fallen friends. After each, I told One Eye to send more with the same message.

Thunk, thunk.

Because of the narrowness of the bridge, they could never engage me with more than two at a time, though One Eye would send as many as four at once. I killed one on top of another, stacking their corpses, making the bridge its own treacherous battlefield. It was lumpy with corpses and slick with gore and rainwater.

I do not remember when I suffered my wounds. I know only that they mounted. An imperfect parry here, a slight stumble there. Ur-Anu could show me the path to victory, but as fatigue and injuries mounted, walking that path became increasingly difficult. And there was that cursed rain.

Thunk, thunk.

"Hear me, dogs! He's only one man! Swamp him! Overrun him! Go!"

This time, it was a massed charge. I turned about to find them flooding over the bridge in twos. They stumbled over corpses, but momentum carried them. I leapt over the closest corpses and slipped on the slick planks on the other side. For a single heart stopping moment, I thought I would fall, but I kept my feet.

They reached me and I dropped low, slicing along the legs of the first, then giving them ground. The first two tumbled to the planks in a bright stream of gore, the men behind stumbling over their fallen comrades. I stepped forward, slaying them, then the two behind, pushed by the ones behind them. I stacked them high there. The rain battered at me, but I would not fall.

Finally, I heard One Eye yell, "Hold!"

I could no longer see the other side of the bridge beyond the awful hillock I'd made. There would need to be a message. One he could not miss.

Thunk, thunk.

"He still lives?" One Eye screamed. "He is one man!"

Thunk, thunk.

His roar was pure rage. The men who came over the wall of bodies were now fear-maddened, terrified of what was behind and knowing death awaited them with me. The battle was long that day. I fought, my limbs growing heavy, the wounds burning along my skin. I forced myself to keep fighting, killing every man that was sent. Always asking for more.

Thunk, thunk.

One Eye came over, and he died like all the rest, in a bloody tangle among his men. I do not know how long I fought, but the rain stopped, the clouds disintegrating into wisps. The sun was no longer overhead, the light a faded gold. I staggered to the west end of the bridge and sat. Blood dripped from my body. I was conscious enough to wonder at the sheer amount of it. Every movement was agony. The water in the jug was warm, but it was sweet on my lips.

Thunk, thunk.

I waited for the next charge, thinking I would stand when I heard them struggling over the dead. The only sound was the drip of blood and the rush of water below. Even the battle sounds from the village had abated. I sat down again and drank my water. My stomach growled, and I thought of a fresh bowl of rice porridge with some berries. Ur-Anu was silent. No threads intruded on me. The sky over the village was stained with smoke.

I heard footsteps coming up the path from the village. Slow, easy footsteps. A brisk walk, nothing more. Two figures emerged around the bend of the path. Ququmec and Valfrid, both covered in fresh wounds, rounded the corner. Their eyes were wondering as they beheld me.

"Blackspear?" ventured the priest.

"What is it?"

"The battle is over...we thought you were dead."

"Why?"

"Because you were supposed to retreat," Valfrid said.

"I was supposed to retreat if I was overrun. I was not overrun."

"How many did you kill?" the priest asked.

I glanced at the charnel house on the bridge. "All of them."

Valfrid laughed. "Come, Blackspear, you will be hungry."

"I will tend to your wounds," said the priest.

I stood, putting my weight on Ur-Anu. It was as though his words made me feel them. The sting was still there, but the ache was far worse, burrowing into me. "Is there porridge?"

"There should be," Ququmec said, putting one of my arms about him and bearing some of my weight. He did not do very well, but I appreciated the concern.

I walked along the path with them, and reflected only then that my runners had gone at some point during the battle. Perhaps they had more pressing business.

We came around the bend in the path. The village was a ruin. Half of the buildings were gutted and burned, fires still burning here and there. Bodies lay everywhere. Villagers, raiders. Tzunapu lay at the mouth of the southwestern path. Anil-Isu and Yoro were motionless on the main road. Texomoc lay past them at the edge of the village, covered in sword wounds and filled with arrows. Ixtli lay against one of the buildings, her eyes wide and sightless.

The living villagers moved around in a haze, some fighting the last of the fires, others sorting bodies. I wondered what they would even do with this amount of death. This place would be a haven for flies and disease.

"We are all that's left?" I asked.

"Some of the villagers made it," Valfrid said. "Our hearts burn brightly, don't they?"

Ququmec glanced at Valfrid, but he said nothing as he bore me into the great hall and set me on one of the benches. "I will heal you now, Blackspear."

I nearly protested, but I needed it. "Close the worst of them. As for the rest...I can find healing herbs tomorrow." Not for the first time did I silently thank Xogra for her tutelage.

I let him pray over me. He took the worst of the sting away, the bleeding stopping. He patted me on the shoulder and went out to continue his work. I had to admire Ququmec then. For Valfrid and me, our task was done. We had our hard day, and we had lasted it. It was up to the Ququmecs of the world to rebuild.

I sat heavily in the great hall and I ate the remnants of yesterday's porridge with a few berries sprinkled over it. The food was delicious in the way that only something eaten after death can be.

Valfrid sat with me. She had taken far fewer injuries than Ququmec or I. The benefits of being an archer, I suppose. But even she had not lasted unscathed. Her fingers were bruised, and a long cut had opened along her cheek and another along her shoulder.

I put whatever food my stomach would take and rested in the great hall. Villagers began to gather. A few of my students approached me, but I held up a hand. They had survived. It was not due to my tutelage, for many others had died. Death had taken who it wanted, and none would truly understand why one was chosen and another was not.

I went to the bough of the tree where I most often spent my nights and watched the villagers sort the dead. They had happened upon a solution. The bandits went into the river, where flopping crocodiles and dragonfish feasted on the bounty. The villagers and the four defenders were laid out with care and the first of the graves were dug on the south end of town. That was foolish. There were too many to bury, but I did not object. I would let them learn that themselves and realize that they would have to stain the sky with the smoke of their people.

I thought Valfrid might join me up there. One final night. Perhaps not loveplay, but we could talk. Perhaps she would ask about Ixem and I would learn about Hanibaal. But she did not. I slept fitfully that night. In the morning, I awoke before the dawn and made my way to the bridge. The flock of carrion birds that coated the bodies ignored me in favor of their feast. A crocodile gave a low growl from the river's edge, and I let them have this place. It would be theirs for a time.

I left the town. No, they never paid me. They would need whatever they had.

When I returned to this part of the world, those long years later, the village was abandoned, the jungle consuming the few remaining buildings. The bridge, still known and used by other towns in the area, had been renamed. They called it Red Bridge. I did not have to ask why.