Sapphire's Place - Bek D. Corbin's " Foxglove "

"All Role Playing Gamers dream of stepping into the shoes of their characters. But when Simon Brewer finds himself really living the life of his favorite character, the saucy thief Foxglove, he discovers that Dungeons are no fun in real life, and Dragons are hazardous to your health!" FOXGLOVE

or,
Reflections in a Gorgon's Eye
A Transgendered Fantasy

This story is dedicated every Gamer who had a really great game ruined by the unwanted intrusion of crass reality.

Edited by Steve Zink

CHAPTER 16

So, Who Here Has Seen The Movie, 'Fort Apache'?

The five 'man' scouting party crept through the darkness like so many shadows. They were tracking the horse of the person who had poured salt into a strategic well. This had cost the Army several days as they had to arrange for water for several thousand 'men' and animals. He was headed in the general direction of the great bridge at Jarrow Bend. If he succeeded in torching that, then the Army would have to cross the Jarrow River at the Marshall's ford. And you couldn't ask for a better opportunity for an ambush than when half your forces were on one side.

There was a light ahead. The head elf gestured two of his scouts ahead. A few minutes later, they came back. In sign language, they told their chief that there was a camp consisting of a single fire and tent, with a WarHorse, a lighter riding horse and two mules on a line. Heavy horse, light horse, pack mules; it was the man they'd been following. He gestured two scouts to circle around to the back side of the tent. He had his best archer nock an arrow dipped in a particularly nasty poison. He and his lieutenant silently drew their swords, and stole toward the tent. He gingerly lifted the flap of the tent-

"Well, it's about time! I've been waiting here all night!" Foxglove jeered from inside.

The Dark Elf chief ducked aside to let his archer deal with the woman. Nothing happened. The Elf spun around, to see his archer clawing at his throat and being dragged to the ground. Then there was the sound of a muffled scream from where his rear guards should have been, and a sound of growling.

As he was getting the idea that he'd been ambushed, Foxglove lunged forward as she unsheathed her blade and went for his lieutenant. The lieutenant barely managed to parry the blade, but he did give his chief an opportunity to bolt for the woods. Foxglove managed to slash the lieutenant's leg. "Kit! Finish him off! J'Mira! How are you?"

From the darkness behind the tent, the ranger called, "Fine! Go get him!"

Kitsune was already whaling away at the lieutenant with her naginata, so Foxglove went for the line of horses. The 'light horse' was actually Horndog, the Unicorn. Foxglove was no sooner on his back, than he was off like a summer's breeze. She almost hated polluting the sheer exhilaration of riding him with the crass necessity of killing the Dark Elf. The Dark Elf was fast and quiet as a shadow, but Horndog overtook him as if he were standing still. A single bladestroke against the back of the head, and he was as dead as Elvis.

Foxglove hurriedly dismounted and rummaged through his clothes. She found Scintilla dazed, hiding among the tools hidden in his sash. "Scin! Are you all right?"

The tiny familiar gave out a woozy moan and murmured, "Next... time... you... hide in... the Elf's... clothes!" Then she passed out completely.

Foxglove chuckled, and stashed the Imp under her shirt. Then she went through the serious business of looting the body. Unfortunately, the Dark Elf scout didn't have any maps or other strategic information. But his bow was an Elven bow, and much better than the one that she'd been using. Also, he had a near full quiver of arrows. They were excellent quality, elven made arrows, and in Foxglove's opinion, arrows are like paperclips: good to have on hand, and you're always running out of them at the worst times. He was carrying a blowgun with several darts, and a selection of phials that went with it. She doubted that they were perfume samples.

The rest was good quality, but nothing worth lugging around. Then she noticed his boots. They were of the same cut and material as her own magical boots, which were, come to think of it, Dark Elven Boots. She carefully tugged them off and then slung the looted body over Horndog's back. Horndog didn't like it, so Foxglove comforted him with a slice of dried fruit.

When she got back to the camp, J'Mira and Kitsune were fixing some dinner. The bodies of the other four Dark Elves were lined up. Foxglove dumped the Chief's body next to his crew. She handed the Dark Elven boots to J'Mira, and explained what they were. The ranger was torn between wearing a pair of really nice boots, or going barefoot, which she was rather used to. Kitsune turned to Foxglove. "So, how many scouting parties does this make?"

"Three of them, not counting that foraging party that we jumped yesterday morning. So, how do you think we oughta leave these guys for the others to find?"

Kitsune grinned. "Sneak 'em into their camp, and leave 'em in the Grand High Poobah's chair. Really give 'em something to think about!"

J'Mira shook her head. "Nah. Nice idea, but too much risk for too little gain. I say we do the 'Strange Fruit' bit."

"Strange Fruit?"

"Y'know, like the Billie Holliday song. Leave 'em hanging from a tree for their forward guard to find."

As they lugged the bodies to where the advance patrols of the oncoming Army of Darkness would find them, Foxglove looked up at the night sky. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Aside from the obvious - being trapped in an impossible world in a body that she kludged together on a computer. But there was something that she wasn't getting, something that was right there, but still slipped out of her grasp. She knew that she wasn't playing a computer game - so what was it? She had a feeling that it was terribly important, and yet there was nothing coming apart.

The 'Fox Sisters' managed to get to their hidden base camp without leaving any tracks, and got a few hours sleep. When Foxglove woke up, the sun was well up in the sky. She looked over at J'Mira and Kitsune, who were eating a cold breakfast. "Hey, guys - I think that we've pushed our luck as far as it will go with harassing the Army's forward scouts. If we keep at it, they're gonna nail us but good."

J'Mira choked down the dried venison that she'd been chewing on. "Y'think that Theocles and Justin-"

"And Avon!" Foxglove teased.

"Damn straight, 'And Avon'! If Justin were doin' the right thing by you, you'd be itchin' for it, too! Anyway, d'you think they got to Seth-Barrak safely?"

Foxglove thought about it for a minute and said, "Why guess? We can see for ourselves!" With that, she pulled out her hand mirror and gave it a quick polish. She gazed in it intently and focused on seeing Avon. She had a difficult moment when it showed her Justin, doing his morning sword practice, instead of Avon. She slapped her upstart unconscious down and forced the 'eye' to search for the Bard. Then it showed Avon talking intently to a stocky middle aged man wearing an elaborately embroidered cloak, doublet and hose. Just as she tried to 'tune in' and listen in on what they were saying, the stocky man waved Avon away irritatedly and stalked off.

Foxglove took advantage of the opening. "Pssst! Avon!" The Bard looked around, baffled. "We're not really there, Avon. It's a magic thing. Get alone and we can talk."

Still casting searching looks around him, Avon briskly strode off to a small apartment. When he was sure that he was alone, he called out, "Foxglove?"

"Still here, Avon."

"Where are you?"

"About two and a half day's ride south by southwest of Seth Barrak. So far, we've managed to slow them down by at least a week. How are you guys doing? Did you manage to get there in one piece? What's happening? Is that fool sword getting Justin into trouble?"

"Well, in order, things could be better. We got here, but we had a few problems getting past the frontier guard. It seems that they've been having problems with a neighboring tribe of elves since the far side of forever, and the sight of Avalyn and the Dark Elf got their backs up. We hadda kill several men that we probably could really use when that Army shows up. Theocles managed to smooth things over with the local prince and prelate. We've been trying to talk sense into the local 'quality' since then. Handing over that Dark Elf noble woman has done wonders for getting them to listen to us. Even so, most of the local nobles want the Empire to send in troops to do the heavy work, so that their own armed retainers can make the most of the aftermath. As for Justin, the local Prince made him lock up that keyless wonder of his in the castle vault, so he's actually been acting sane for the past few days."

"How about Hargrim? He hasn't started any minor wars while you weren't looking, has he?"

"T'tell the truth, ol' Weirdbeard has been doing some real good, talking to the Dwarfish envoy down from the hills. You and I may think that Hargrim acts like a spoiled nine-year-old, but apparently he acts like the Dwarfish idea of a Legendary Hero. The Chief Envoy has sent to the local King-Under-The-Mountain for troops and artillery to help the Great Dwarven Hero defend Seth-Barrak from the Army of Darkness. Believe me, I am dreading putting all this nonsense down in song."

"Yeah, well, we all have our crosses to bear. So, you have a better idea of the overall idea of what's going on, on a strategic level. We've done all we reasonably can out here in the field. Should we head for Seth-Barrak, or is there someplace closer where we can do something?"

"Hmmm... Strategy isn't my long suit - contact me again at High Noon. I'll talk to Theocles and Justin, and see what they think."

"Okay, sounds good." Foxglove looked over to her right. "But before you go, I think there's someone who wants to talk to you." With that, she handed the looking glass over to J'Mira, and sat through ten minutes of mushy lovey-dovey baby talk. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore, and wrestled the mirror back. "Get your own phone!"

As they broke camp, the wolves came trotting up and communed for a while with J'Mira. The ranger turned to her 'sisters'. "Bad news, guys - Huey and Angela say that they've scented something strange ranging around our back-trail."

"More Dark Elves, looking for a little payback?"

"No, they say it smells like wolf, but it also smells like human."

Kitsune quirked the corner of her mouth. "Can you say, 'Werewolf'?"

A bleak thought crossed Foxglove's mind. "I wonder if they're Universal Movies® werewolves, European traditional werewolves, or World of Darkness® 'Garou©'?"

All three let out a completely unaffected shiver at the last possibility.

Kitsune asked, "So, how far back are they? Are they on our trail? How many of them are there?"

J'Mira shrugged. "A day's run, two days tracking. And I'd say that they're definitely on our trail. Numbers? Kit, Huey and Angela are wolves. Smart wolves, clever wolves," she knelt down and pulled at Huey's ears, "loyal wolves, and beautiful wolves - but still wolves. They know loner, they know a couple, they know 'several', they know a pack, and they know a really big pack. Exact numbers? Not in their mindset. They say 'several'."

"I know exactly how many werewolves there are," Foxglove offered. She reached into the quiver of arrows that she'd taken from the Dark Elf chief, and pulled out the six arrows that had white feathers instead of dark red ones. The arrows had heads that gleamed of unpolished silver. "Six of them. And I'll bet that at least one of the phials that I took from him is full of Essence of Aconite - or Wolfsbane, if you must. Aren't these Evil types trusting? Come to think of it-" She rummaged around in her pouch. She pulled out the darts to the blowgun. Half of them gleamed silver.

Kitsune raised an eyebrow skeptically. "And what makes you think it's one arrow per werewolf? He could have brought along extras."

"Silver - expensive; Evil yoyo - cheap."

Since Foxglove had her enchanted silver sword, she shared out the arrows to J'Mira and the darts with the Aconite phials to Kitsune. Even so forearmed, none of them was that anxious to run into the lycanthrope scouts. So, the heavy horse and mules that they had 'commandeered' from that last homestead went one way dragging Foxglove's sleeping bag, and the 'Fox Sisters' went another. Between J'Mira's woodcraft, Kitsune's Zen and Horndog's unicorn hooves, only the drag left a trail that could be followed.

When High Noon rolled around, Foxglove trotted out her mirror and tried to find Avon. He was waiting in his apartment with Theocles, Justin and Dr. Zohar. They were intently pouring over a map. As Foxglove focused on the map, Zohar seemed to sense something. "Who's there?" he demanded in a guarded voice.

"It's just me, guys. So, what's the plan?"

Theocles pointed at the map. "Right now, our foremost problem is getting the local nobles to realize the scope of the threat. They seem to think that it's just an oversized raiding party, and that the Army will just tear the place up a bit, be stopped by the City Walls of Seth-Barrak and give up when the Empire sends reinforcements."

Foxglove chewed on this for a while. "Well, technically, they're right, Brother. What the War Horseman wants is the Doom sword. Once he gets that, he'll probably pull his forces out before the Empire can respond."

"True, but that's what the Horseman wants; what about his troops? They aren't doing this for the love of Evil, y'know. The Horseman promised them blood, pillage and slaves. And the primary source of all those things in this area is the city of Seth-Barrak. He'll probably try to finesse them into going wherever the sword Doom is, telling them that getting into the city will be that much easier with it."

"Okay, y'got me there. So, have you had any luck finding out where this sword is?"

Theocles sighed, and shook his head. "No. The whereabouts of the sword Doom is a highly guarded Church secret, known only to the prelate and the Prior of the Archives."

Avon added a point. "But, the War Horseman wouldn't be bringing in this huge force if he didn't have a good idea of where it was."

"So, we have to arrange for a least a few of the nobles of the surrounding estates to commit their forces to an all-out defense of Seth-Barrak," Justin pointed out, "otherwise, they'll either withhold their forces to defend their own estates, or settle for harassing the sieging force."

Foxglove sighed. "And with the way that encampment was set up, any attempts at harassing it would be suicide missions. Well, you're the ones with the maps - what's the most logical, at least semi-fortified place for the Army to hit before they get to the river?"

Zohar pointed to a spot on the map. "There's a walled village called Flournoy on a tributary of the river on your side of the Jarrow. It has a couple of mills, a granary, a couple of warehouses, a slaughterhouse and a tannery."

"How can you tell that from a map?"

"I can't - we also managed to get ahold of the Tax Collector's notes."

"Oh. Good man. Well, you're right, that sounds like a primo target for the Army. We'll meet you there. Bring a couple of the nobles or their lieutenants and a line of soldiers along with you. Make sure you bring the real skeptics."

"You're going to try a holding action at Flournoy?"

"Just us, the villagers, and a handful of local troops? Not a chance! But if we put up enough of a fight, the Nobles will get an idea of what we're facing. Nothing motivates the rich and powerful like getting the shit scared out of them!"

*****

The 'Fox Sisters' headed toward Flournoy. The rolling wooded hills gave way to lower, cultivated hills and finally, a flood plain. Their speed improved when beaten path became trodden road. As they traveled, they passed several groups of peasants from the outlying farms. It seemed that the word of the oncoming army had spread, and they were seeking what they thought was the safety of the walls of Flournoy. Of course, wherever there are refugees, there are scumbags looking to make a quick buck off their pain. Except for the group that had a third-rank sorcerer with them, they were so easily taken care of that it hardly warrants mentioning. And at least they got a couple of Healing Potions off the sorcerer's body.

It was well past sundown when they got to the village of Flournoy. The village was enclosed by fieldstone walls about ten feet high, with what looked like hastily improvised timber extensions on top adding another six feet or so. The city gates, which had also been reinforced rather quickly, were well locked. "Ho, the Gate!"

A few minutes later, "Ho, yourself! What d'you want?"

"What do you think we want at this hour of night? We want IN!"

"And what makes you think that we're going to open up these gates for the likes of you?"

"Hey, there are wolves out here!"

"Don't be ridiculous! There aren't any wolves around here!"

"Hey, there are wolves around here, all right! I should know, I just spent an hour pulling ticks offa one of 'em!"

"Oh, please! Now, why don't you just run along and-" The guard was interrupted by a woman at his elbow.

"Y'know, she's right, there are wolves out there. And not just the ones she likes. You'd better let her in."

"Who are you?"

"We're the ones you just let in," said the woman on the other side of him.

"I didn't let you in!"

"Of course you did! You were on duty, and there's no way anybody could get past you, but we're right here, so you must have let us in! That's logic." She turned to the ladder.

"Hey! Where are you going?"

"To let my friend in, silly!"

"You can't do that!"

"Why not? She's with us, and you trust us."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Well, if you don't trust us, why did you let us in, in the first place?"

"I didn't let you in!"

"We already covered this, didn't we? Either you let us in, or you're too incompetent to hold down this job - which is it?"

"Aaahhh... Shouldn't we go down and let your friend in?"

They spent a while helping J'Mira squeeze the unicorn through the narrow door set in the larger gate door. When Horndog was finally inside, Foxglove turned to the sentry and said, "I've always wanted to say this - Take me to your leader!"

The more than slightly boggled sentry led them to high peaked three story half-timbered house set on the central square of the village. He pounded on the door until a sleepy looking woman opened the door, and then went off, muttering something about the Captain of the Watch. Once the sentry was gone, Foxglove smiled at the woman. "Are you the Lady of the house?"

"Lady? No mum, I'm the housekeep. Herself is still abed wi' Hisself."

"Well then, wake up both of Themselves. We have important things to discuss, and it won't wait for sunrise."

The housekeep staggered up the narrow staircase, and the 'Fox Sisters' made themselves comfortable. After a few minutes, there was a muted bellowing upstairs, followed a bit later by a clumping sound coming down the stairs. A stocky man well into his middle age wearing a nightshirt and a sour expression came down the stairs, a broadsword clenched in his hand.

Foxglove smiled winsomely at him. "I assume that you are the Mayor or headman, or Selectman or whatever they call the community leader of this fair hamlet?"

"I know who I am, who the bloody hell are you, and what are you doing in my house at this hour of the night?"

Foxglove stood and sketched a bow dramatically. "Ah, Introductions! I am Foxglove, Sorceress at Large, currently attached to the service of the Patriarch of the Holy Church. I am here with a reconnaissance mission to investigate the doings of the Thaumaturge of the Dark Tower in the outlands."

The 'mayor' grumbled something about it being well past time that either the Empire or the Church got off the stick about that. Then he peered at Foxglove, Kitsune and J'Mira. "You don't look like any church reconnaissance mission t'me."

"How many church reconnaissance missions have you seen?"

"Well - none, but still..."

"I know, I know - there should be at least one clergyman, and probably a Church Paladin with us, right?" The mayor grunted assent. "Well, there are six more of us who rode on past to Seth-Barrak. I assure you that there is a clergyman and a paladin among them. Now, the reason that we are here is that while we were riding out toward the Thaumaturge's tower, we ran into a great thumping Army going in the opposite direction, namely in the general direction of Seth-Barrak."

At the mention of the army, the mayor's face drained of all color. "Y'mean that it's almost here?"

"No."

The mayor relaxed almost to the point of fainting. "Oh, good. Then it will probably pass us by."

"Ah, sorry, but the whole reason that we're here in the first place, is that our best guess is that it is headed right this way, on its way to Seth-Barrak."

"Why would they stop here?"

"You have a granary, warehouses of food and supplies, and a slaughter-house. That's a lot of food, and it's a very big army. If the general leading that army is half as sharp as he's shown himself to be, he knows about your food reserves. He will send at least a detachment to get them. That is, if he doesn't decide that a walled town on a strategic position on the river might not either make for a good redoubt to fall back to if things get hard, or a potential gathering point for his enemies that he won't want on his flank when he tries to cross the river. For either of those two possibilities, he sends his entire army and either captures this town or smashes it flat."

The mayor went red in the face again. "You're lying! D'you think that you're the first batch of good-for-nothings to come along and try to weasel something out of us, using this preposterous story of a marauding army? Probably nothing more than a large band of roving orks! You probably just went along, scaring the peasants into leaving their homesteads with this yarn, and you've been looting the empty houses, haven't you?"

Kitsune raised both eyebrows. "Y'know, Foxy, if things don't go well, and we're stuck here, that might not make for a bad way to scrounge a living!"

The sword twitched in the mayor's hand. "HAH! I knew it! You admit it! This is nothing but an elaborate hoax!"

Foxglove snagged the sword from his hand with her chain in a fluid movement. "Listen up, pal, you've had refugees straggling through here for weeks, trying to get to Seth-Barrak. And unless I miss my guess, you've been doing a fair business in taking advantage of them, buying their less-totable valuables for cheap. Pity, 'cause your gonna need the gelt yourself. There is an army of over two thousand assorted creeps heading this way. Hey, don't believe me, there's a contingent of soldiers from Seth-Barrak coming to head them off. Ask them, if you absolutely have to. But, they won't be here for a couple of days, and you don't really have those days to waste fucking around. You have to get the word out to as many people in the outlying farms to bring in their harvests and get them here, pronto!"

J'Mira was about to try to reason with the mayor, when the door opened, and a large burly man in a ringmail hauberk hulked in. "You! What do you think you're doing?"

"I think I'm trying to talk to the mental equivalent of a brick wall."

"Why did you sneak past the gate?"

"What are you talking about? Your Sentry let us is."

"I did not!"

"We discussed this before - now, do you really want to go over it again, in front of your Boss?"

The guy in the hauberk cut them off. "Once again, who are you?"

"How can you ask 'once again', if you haven't asked a first time? As I told your boss here, we're part of a Church intelligence-gathering mission to the Outlands. On our way, we encountered an Army of various demi-humans headed in the general direction of Seth-Barrak. We think that this army will pass through this town on its way to Seth-Barrak, in order to steal your stores of food and supplies."

The hauberk-guy grimaced into his steel wool beard. "Y'don't look-"

"Yeah, yeah, we don't look like any church reconnaissance party that you ever saw. We've heard it before. Look, Pal, if we were here to rip you off, would we let the gate sentry know that we were here, then let him toddle off to find you, and then come and wake up the fucking mayor?"

The captain of the watch - which was what Foxglove had him pegged as - chewed on that for a while. "And what would your name and business be?"

"I am Foxglove, Sorceress at Large, currently attached to the service of the Patriarch of the Holy Church. My companions are Kitsune, a mystic from the Easterlands, and J'Mira, a ranger-woman from the Southerlands."

The captain folded his arms across his chest, a look of scornful amusement on his face. "Oh, you're a sorceress, are you? In the pay of the Patriarch hisself, now? Well, excuse ME, y'Worship, if I don't get down and kiss th' hem o' yer gown! Oh! Y'aint wearin' one, is you?"

With a 'you asked for it, asshole' look on her face, Foxglove raised a hand and conjured up an illusory flame. The guardsmen jumped back and made a sign against Evil. The captain, hand on his sword hilt, assumed a fighting pose and snarled, "What do you want here, Witch?"

"We just went over that! We need you to send messengers out to all the outlying farms, to let them know that they have to come here for protection from the fucking Army that I've been going hoarse trying to tell you about!"

The mayor lost his temper. "Enough of this nonesuch! Brugen, take these whores off somewhere and make sure that they don't ruin the rest of my night's sleep! I'm going to bed!"

The guardsmen circled around the three women. Brugen, the watch-captain, told the gate sentry, "Go wake the Priest. We may need him to hold the Witch."

As they were herded out the door, Foxglove whispered aside to Kitsune, "Why are these guys having such a hard time believing that we might be telling the truth? They've been having refugees coming through for weeks!"

Kitsune assumed her 'Zen Koan' stance. "The woods are full of terrors - if I close my eyes, I won't see the monsters and I'll be safe."

Seeing that the three women weren't offering them any resistance, one of the guardsmen sneered, "Here now! Why don't you hand over those piddling little girls' weapons? You have real men to protect you now!"

Kitsune, J'Mira and Foxglove all stopped in their tracks, turned as one, and gave the loudmouth a concerted 'Say What?' glare.

The idiot didn't have the sense to quit. He imperiously snapped his fingers.

Foxglove shouted, "CLOUD OF CONCEALMENT!" and a dense fog obscured the Village Square. J'Mira whipped her staff across the backs of the knees of the two guards covering her, bringing them down. Kitsune snapped out her naginata blade, and coursed through the ranks of the guards, who suddenly found their leather and cuirboili armor falling off. Foxglove was a vapor in the fog, moving from one guard to another, taking weapons from sheaths and tossing them up on the roofs.

The guard captain tried to make certain of his fighting area and snarled, "Thyssel, you nitwit! I should have cut your tongue out when you insulted that Dwarf merchant two moons ago!"

Then a small, reddish demonic figure popped up into his face and went "BOOGA-BOOGA!" The guard captain lost it.

As the guards were de-armored and disarmed, the 'Fox Sisters' made sure not to actually injure them. They were only making a point, that they weren't to be dismissed.

Then a stentorian voice cried out, "What nonsense is this?" Then the voice rattled off a litany in the language that Theocles used when casting his clerical 'spells'. The 'cloud of concealment' wafted into nothingness, revealing a man in his prime years, what would be his thirties on Earth, but could be his late teens or early twenties here. He was wearing a cassock and had a small golden 'Holy Symbol' hanging around his neck. He held up a larger wooden Holy Symbol in his right hand. He looked peremptorily at the guards and the three women. "Would someone kindly mind telling me why I was turned out of my bed at this filthy hour?"

Loudmouth pointed at Foxglove and yelled, "Father, they broke in here and are trying to open the gates to brigands!"

Foxglove sheathed her sword and approached the cleric. "Father, you must know that this man is a moron. We are-", and she filled in her mission brief.

The cleric, Father Anhaas, looked at both of them. Then he raised his wooden Holy Symbol and rattled something else off. Briefly, a golden halo appeared over Foxglove's head, and Thyssel's face turned a bright crimson red. Then Anhaas turned to the watch captain. "Brugen, wake up the mayor. We have a major problem on our hands."

As the watch captain went to the door and started pounding on it, Father Anhaas gestured Thyssel closer. When the guardsman was right next to him, the cleric smacked him on top of his head with the Holy Symbol. "That's for lying."

Before they could do or say anything else, J'Mira held up her hand. "Did you hear that?"

Everyone stood stock still, and listened with all their might. As from afar, they heard a voice shouting, "J'Mira! Kitsune! Foxglove!" Foxglove warmed up a GLOWING LIGHT spell, and they all looked around. Then J'Mira pointed up into the sky. They saw a small point of light that was travelling toward them. As they strained their ears, they heard the voices calling again.

The women started calling to the light. As they shouted, the guardsmen looked to the cleric for a cue. He shrugged non-committaly. The light grew larger, and the voices clearer. Finally, they could make out a lantern being carried by a man on a flying carpet. Then they were close enough that J'Mira could hear the man clearly and recognize his voice. "AVON! Avon, we're over here!"

The carpet touched down, and Avon and Doctor Zohar stepped off. The carpet was laden with packets, which Zohar immediately started tending to. After a long tight hug of reunion with J'Mira, accompanied by kisses and tender 'missed you's, Avon presented Father Anhaas with two parchment documents.

As the cleric pursued the two parchments, the mayor came bustling out of his house, followed by the watch captain. He did not look any happier for any few minutes of sleep that he might have gotten. "Anhaas! What do you think you are doing? These trulls should be in the lockup, not strolling around and yelling, waking everybody up! And who are these two good-for-nothings?"

Anhaas looked up from the parchments. "I think that I am offering all good aid to a Patriarchal Investigatory Mission, as this letter from the Bishop of Barrak instructs me to do. And I'm also reading a similar letter to you, from the Prince of Barrak to do the same."

"Don't be a fool! They're obviously forgeries!"

The cleric did to the parchments more or less what he did to Foxglove and the guardsman. Golden haloes appeared around the documents. "My Arts tell me that these letters are real, and that these women are telling the truth. According to the letter from the Prince, we can expect a troop of soldiers to arrive in a few days to defend this town from an oncoming army. Until those soldiers arrive, we are all under the direct command of one Doctor Zohar."

The sorcerer perked up his head at the sound of his name. "That would be me." Kitsune, Foxglove and J'Mira shot him venomous glances. "Oh, come on now, ladies! You can hardly ask the Prince to assign that kind of authority to someone he's never met! My carpet will only hold two people safely, and Avon insisted on coming with me. And if you were in charge, would you give Avon direct command of a Girl Scout Troop?"

Then Foxglove noticed the staff in Zohar's hand. "What's that?"

"It's a sorcerer's staff. While it isn't my Dragon-Staff, it will allow me to do more complex things with the fire from the Drakylon's Pearl than just blast things with it."

"Hmmm... That's nice. Where'd you get it?"

Avon poked Zohar in the ribs. Zohar rolled his eyes and sighed. "I traded several of the magical gewgaws that you lifted from that Dark Elf sorceress."

"What? You had no right to do that! I stole them, I had first claim!"

"Oh, it's all right, Foxglove - I had Doctor Xenophones, the Prince's Court Wizard check them out. All they did was refine illusions! Not really any good at all!" Foxglove let out a shriek of frustration.

They were put up in rooms over the local drinking hole. Zohar got a room all to himself, as did Avon. Foxglove, J'Mira and Kitsune were expected to share a room together. Or at least that was the innkeeper's notion. Kitsune went into Zohar's room as soon as the innkeep was down the stairs. J'Mira and Avon hovered at his door. "So, Avon, were there a lot of lovely young courtly ladies making goo-goo eyes at you?"

"Oh, heavens, yes. Scads of lovely young ladies in waiting, all in the finest gowns, all wanting to hear tales of high adventure and romance. And you know something, J'Mira?"

"What?" J'Mira responded coldly.

"It gets very tiresome, being simpered at, after you've known the love of a real woman."

J'Mira squeaked, and melted onto Avon's chest. Without any further ado, they went into Avon's room.

Foxglove watched this with disgust, and retired to her room alone. Well, not completely alone. Foxglove glared at Scintilla. The Imp looked back at her patroness. "What?"

CHAPTER 17

Knock, Knock

Two days later, Foxglove was out on Horndog, looking for any signs of the Army's forward scouts. She looked to the Northeast, and saw a small column of dust. She turned Horndog in that general direction and they almost flew toward the dust cloud. From the safety of a copse of trees, Foxglove checked out the riders. They were riding three abreast in columns about twenty long. She could make out five distinct pennons that they were flying, but didn't know what the colors meant. Lacking a pair of binoculars, she pulled out her mirror to get a closer look. The first figures were warriors in some kind of livery. Then she moved the 'eye' around and recognized Theocles, then Justin, and then Mornsong on that ridiculous reindeer. But she couldn't find Hargrim. That could be good, it could be bad.

She got back on Horndog, and they wafted like a zephyr down to meet the head of the column. The column stopped, and Foxglove pulled up a few yards away from them to be recognized. She nodded to her companions. "Hello, Justin. Brother. Mornsong. Where's the Spud?"

Justin jerked a thumb toward the back of the column. "Bringing up the rear, on that fool frog of his." He turned to the other men at the head of the column. "Nobles and Gentles, this is Lady Foxglove, one of our party. Foxglove, this is Breshak, Sergeant of the Prince's Guards; Olmer, Captain of the Bishop's guard; Lord Jassen of House AuDalles, Lord Henrak of House Angraff, and Lord Wengrel of House Ressellowe." As they were named, each worthy nodded his head. The two Guard leaders looked like competent enough fighting men. The three lordlings had the look of second or third sons- close enough to the Lord of the House to trust, junior enough to be expendable.

Theocles asked, "So, what's happening at Flournoy?"

"Well, so far, no sign of any forward scouts. J'Mira says that since the Dark Elves gave up, the Army has been using werewolves as their scouts."

One of the lordlings, Wengrel, leaned forward and asked, "Why would Dark Elves give up?"

Foxglove grinned ferally, and pulled the Dark Elf bow from its saddle-sheath. Unstrung, the bow was as long as Foxglove was tall, and the intricate construction of dark woods and horn was unmistakable. "Well, when they find fifteen of their brothers impaled on stakes in the middle of the road, your average Darkling starts asking themselves if this was really such a good idea. Anyway, J'Mira says that neither of her wolves smells Were on the wind, so we have at least five days before the main body comes knocking at the gate. Right now, we're having all the local farmers bring in their non-dray or milking livestock and we're shearing, slaughtering and smoking them for easy transport to Seth-Barrak."

Mornsong pulled the dustcloth from across her face and asked, "What about the crops?"

"Classic Murphy's Law situation - it's too early in the growing season to harvest them properly, but it's late enough to provide base for an Unclean stew."

Avalyn smiled. "I may be able to help with that."

One of the guard captains, Olmer, asked, "What of the people in Flournoy?"

"Well, most of them are scared, but are managing to keep their britches unsoiled. The mayor is a petty bureaucrat, who keeps bitching about how this is going to bankrupt the village. But, most of the village watch were reasonable enough, once they wrapped their heads around the fact that we weren't kidding, and the village priest, Anhaas, is pretty sharp. Kitsune is keeping the men - and some of the women - who aren't busy processing the meat occupied drilling them with staves."

Lord Henrak leaned forward. "You're training peasants in the use of arms?"

"Not really. She's just showing them a few basic staff moves, to keep their minds off the fact that there's a huge army of freaking monsters headed their way. Once the Army shows up, most of them will have the good sense to stay out of your way."

Foxglove wheeled Horndog around. "Flournoy is a few leagues in that direction. If you put a move on, you should be able to get there in a little over an hour. I'm going to check to see how J'Mira's doing in the west wood."

Wengrel held up a hand. "Hold, girl. That's man's work. You just guide us to Flournoy, and we'll take it from there."

Foxglove favored Wengrel with a sweet smile that Justin knew better than to trust. "I'll tell you what, my lord. I'll race you to Flournoy. If I beat you to the village gate, you have to do whatever I want, for a week."

The lordling smirked at her. And if I win?"

Foxglove gave him a fulminating pout. "IF you win, then I'll do everything that You want - for a month!"

Urged on by his followers, Wengrel lightened his steed and readied to start. Theocles gave the go signal, and they were both off like shots. Wengrel's mount was a prime example of horseflesh, expertly trained and lovingly kept. But Horndog was a Unicorn, with or without the horn on his brow. While Wengrel's horse thundered along the ground, Horndog just breezed along. Foxglove exulted in the opportunity to give Horndog his head and lose herself in the joy of riding a Unicorn.

When Wengrel arrived at the walls of Flournoy, Foxglove was leaning against the gate, holding a mop. As he dismounted, she handed him the mop. "Here - they've been having problems keeping the slaughtering area clean from the beasts' feces as they kill them. Go clean it up."

*****

When the rest of the column reached the village, they found much of the Town Square occupied by a large wooden building under construction. Theocles found Kitsune. "What is that thing that they're building in the square?"

"It's Zohar's idea. He says that it will help get the people and stores of Flournoy to Seth-Barrak. There's a medieval technology sawmill here as well as the flourmills, so there was lumber enough to spare, and he is in charge. For now."

"How will it save anyone? It looks like a cross between a barn and a silo."

"Zohar won't say. He claims that it will only cause more problems than it will solve, if he lets everyone know too soon. <pfeh!> Wizards!"

*****

Lady Mornsong was indeed able to help, as regards the crops. She and Avon - along with a crew of workmen and some guards - went to each of the farmsteads. Avon played a special air on his harp as Avalyn danced among the fields, sprinkling the crops with water from her Chalice of Purity. The two Power Items combined to coax the plants into instantaneous ripeness. Then Avon would change his tune, and set the workmen to dancing a dance that somehow ended up with the entire crop harvested in about an hour. This way, in three days, they managed to gather an autumn harvest in early summer.

*****

Every plan has its hitches, and this one was no exception. The specific fly in this particular ointment was Guirnir, a large landholder with seven sons and six daughters and a hundred servants, who apparently thought that he was Ben Cartwright from Bonanza. Guirnir told the guardsman who came to bring them back to Flournoy that he could hold off any marauding band of orcs by himself in his greathouse, and didn't see the need to upset his planting schedule.

The mayor was all in favor of letting Guirnir stew in his own juices, since that worthy hadn't paid any taxes in more years than anyone cared to admit, and had enough people behind him to scare off the meanest tax collector that ever crawled out of a grave. But, it was generally agreed that having him would be a huge benefit to Flournoy's defense effort. So it was agreed that a larger, more prestigious party should be sent to his holding to get him to bring his people - and food - into town.

A hastily convened meeting decided that the party should consist of Avon (the adventurer's premier diplomat), Theocles (representing the authority of the Holy Church), Lord Henrak (to whose father Guirnir owed loyalty - at least, in theory), J'Mira (who knew the lay of the land), and Meschak, one of the town watchmen (because every expedition needs a redshirt).

Guirnir's greathouse was situated on a high hill, and only needed a couple of towers and a stone wall to make a proper castle. As they approached, Huey and Angela raised their noses, and snorted. J'Mira stopped and communed with them for a while. Then she turned to the rest. "They say that something wrong is coming."

Henrak snorted derisively, but Theocles was familiar enough with J'Mira's animals to take her seriously. "Do they say what, or how close?"

"Hard to say. Mixed scents, shifting winds." She looked to the west, as the sun was touching the highest mountaintops. "But somebody's going to be having a hard night tonight. And it might be us."

They went up the well-beaten trail to the stockade, and Henrak pounded on the gate. There was a terse exchange, and the gate opened. A tall, rough-hewn man in his early prime, one of Guirnir's sons by the deference paid him, walked up. He looked them over. Turning to Henrak, he said, "So. Lord Henrak of the Noble house of Angraff. What brings you to our humble stead?"

"There's trouble coming. BIG trouble. We've had refugees coming into Seth-Barrak for weeks, all running from this huge Orc war party. The priest here says that they've got Dark Elves, goblins and other trash running with them. Also says that they have their own sorcerers and shamans and such. Can't say about the rest, but the company the priest was traveling with managed to take a Dark Elf sorceress. And you know about Dark Elves - where there's one, there's another."

"Yeah. That's what that idjit Thyssel said when they sent him up here a few days ago. Though, he didn't say about the sorcerers. So, what's t'do wi' us?"

"We think that this band will be raiding through Flournoy, on it's route to Seth-Barrak. We're making a stand at Flournoy, to spare the estates b'tween there and the city. We have sixty men at arms, the village watch, and the priest's traveling company to defend Flournoy. They may raid your stead as well. We want you to move your people and livestock over to Flournoy and help defend it."

Guirnir's son mulled that over for a bit. "As Himself told Thyssel, we can protect our own. But we can talk to Himself about sparin' some of the boys t'help out down in town." With that, he turned on his heels and ambled over to the house. Despite the lack of formal invitation, Theocles and the others followed.

The inside of the greathouse was a backwoods version of baronial splendor, which is to say that there were actual floorboards instead of a dirt floor. A huge fieldstone fireplace and a large upholstered chair dominated the common room. Guirnir's son said something to a woman in homespun, who hurried up a staircase. Several minutes later, a large man came trundling down the stairs, followed by a pretty fair-haired girl, who looked to be just out of her teens. The man stalked over to the chair, planted himself in it, and imperiously stuck both hands out to the sides. A serving woman put a large golden drinking horn into his right hand, and another filled it from an earthen jug. Avon had thought that the young girl was Guirnir's favorite daughter. That impression faded when she slipped under Guirnir's left arm with ease born of much practice. She must be his wife, Avon thought to himself; wife number four or five, from the looks of the sons that were gathering at their father's side. Childbearing must be hard on women in these parts.

If Guirnir's sons were rough-hewn, then Guirnir himself was the granite mountain from which they were hewn. He was tall, thick and powerfully built, with the kind of physique that you don't get doing reps in a gym with someone to spot you. No, you got Guirnir's build hauling logs up a mountainside or rocks off of a field. His face was broad and tanned, his beard was as grizzled as the longish hair that was starting to recede a bit, and there were several scars crossing his face. Just looking at him, J'Mira got the impression that the last thing Guirnir had given to him was milk from his mother's breast. Everything else, he had built, earned or taken. He had probably started with a small holding - how he got that holding, J'Mira didn't even want to guess - and built it up by absorbing his less durable neighbors. He definitely had all the signs of a man who knew what 'hardscrabble' means, from personal experience. But now, he had food and drink whenever he wanted it, a succession of nubile young wives, tall sturdy sons to back him up, nobody to tell him what to do, a big place to live, enough danger to keep things from getting boring, and people who jumped when he said, "Boo!" Indeed, Guirnir was living a redneck's idea of the good life.

Guirnir took a long swig from the horn and gave his wife a squeeze. Then he gave his visitors a long hard looking over. "So. My Lord Henrak. What can this simple peasant do for the House of Angraff?"

Henrak cleared his throat and told the yeoman more or less what he'd told the man's son. Guirnir's eyes took them all in as the lordling ran through his recitation. When Henrak finished, Guirnir pointed a thick finger at Theocles. "You. Priest. Did you see this 'Army'?"

"I haven't seen the entire body of the army, but my companions and I dealt with a single foraging detachment, and barely escaped with our lives!"

"Hrrmmpphh." He moved the finger toward Avon. "You. What do you have to do with all this?"

"Well, Goodsir, I am Avon Galliard, a Bard of the Imperial Court, and-"

"Enough. I never heard nuthin' but drivel drip from the mouth of a poet." He moved his eyes over to J'Mira. "I never seen your like before. What are you?"

She calmly glared back at him, refusing to be intimidated in the least. "I am J'Mira."

"What's a Jimmirrah?"

"J'Mira isn't a what, it's a who. I am J'Mira, a hunting woman of the Free True People of the M'Jadji, from what you would call the Southerlands. I have come to this land of people with the skins - and smell - of dead fish upon a vision of a wise woman, though I'm starting to think that she just had some bad berries that morning."

"Hrrmmpphh. What are you doin' wearing Elf boots and carryin' a Dark Elf bow?"

"That is a long story."

"Maybe, so it better be a good story, well told."

J'Mira squatted into a story-telling posture and began telling of her adventures, tactfully omitting their discovery that they weren't in a computer game, and Hargrim's destruction of that temple. At about the point where she was relating their encounter with the vampires at the farmstead, Avon began softly accompanying her on his harp. Guirnir broke out roaring with laughter when J'Mira described Mornsong running away from the Unicorn, and Foxglove playing matador with it. She took them all along with her as she recalled the events of encounters with the Army, including their daring penetration of the bivouac. Guirnir regained his good humor upon hearing her description of how she and her 'sisters' handled Flournoy's night watch.

The master - if not Lord - of the manor gestured one of the girls to give J'Mira a drink after she finished her tale. J'Mira drained the horn in a single swallow, tossed the horn back to the girl, and let out an echoing belch. Then she fixed Guirnir with a lupine eye, as if defying him to challenge her word.

Guirnir gave her an approving look, and a longer appreciative leer at her long, lithe body in her skintight leathers. "So. Very interesting. But what's it t'me?"

J'Mira shrugged her eyebrows. "The oncoming Army is using very sophisticated tactics. Including very thorough foraging techniques. They realize that by taking all the food in the region, they not only feed their own troops, but they weaken the entire region to the next wave of invasion. They'll want to seize the food stores at Flournoy as a preliminary step to taking Seth-Barrak. Before taking Flournoy, they'll strip every farm in the area of everything edible, including this place. Indeed, since we've beaten them to the punch, they'll especially come here, because it's the only place with large stores of food that doesn't have a ten-foot stone wall around it."

"Hrmmpphh... Tell you what - if you send that Elf-witch you talked about to do her little dance trick to hurry up the crops, maybe I kin see t' maybe sendin' two or three o' my sons and another ten er' twenny o' my hands."

Henrak tried to take back control of the situation. "Yeoman Guirnir-"

Avon elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up. In a whisper, Avon told him, "Offer him a title."

"What?"

"Nothing big, a knighthood or something."

Henrak cleared his throat. "Yeoman Guirnir, your service to the House of Angraff has been commendable, even laudable. My father has often said that your service should be more clearly recognized and rewarded, but we lack a specific act that tradition maintains is necessary for Knighthood. If you provide your entire household to the defense of Flournoy, then none could naysay your worthiness."

"Your word on that, my noble lord of Angraff?" Guirnir's tone of voice told what he thought of 'noble' whelps and the value of their word.

"His word, witnessed and sealed by the authority of the Holy Church," Theocles added.

Guirnir's eyes began to sparkle. "Nah, it's too much for a hoary-handed old sodbuster the likes a'me. Now, my oldest, Virgarth - that's another thing. He could go t'court an' hob wi' the nobs. But that would mean that it would have t' be a hereditary Knighthood, now wouldn't it?"

Henrak nodded brusquely. Guirnir leaned back, stroking his beard as if in thought. Avon nudged Henrak again. "Offer him an office."

"Like what?"

"Ah - how about Tax Collector?"

"But he hasn't paid any taxes in the Gods alone know how long!"

"Exactly. Nobody can make him pay them, because he's too strong way out here. But, if he's collecting them, then he has to produce some cash. And since he has more clout out here than the Mayor down in Flournoy, you'll probably see more money coming in than before, even after he takes his cut off the top. And if he gets too greedy, then you can declare him Outlaw, and hunt him down with the Prince's own troops. And since everybody hates the Tax Collector, especially when they get out of hand, his neighbors will help you hunt him down! M'lord, even if he doesn't contribute any men, making him Tax Collector for this region would be a wise move."

Henrack spoke up again. "Sir Guirnir, my father Brastren, Lord of Angraff, has been very displeased with the performance of the mayor of Flournoy as regards his collection of taxes. As a spurred knight, liege-vassal to my father, you would be most advantageously situated to take over the duties of Tax Collection for this area." Guirnir's eyes gleamed with greed. "Of course, you would have to be a spurred knight first-"

Guirnir grinned and leaned forward. "Now, let's talk about Rents-"

Before Guirnir could further maneuver his family even further up the social ladder, there was a shout from the gate. "HO! Wounded Woman here! Wesnard, go get Auntie Shella!"

Then J'Mira heard both Huey and Angela begin growling loudly.

"Oh, shit." She ran to the door. The compound gate was opening, and two of the hands were carrying a young woman in between them. "Not again!" She turned around and yelled, "Theocles! Undead!"

The 'wounded' woman looked up at the sound of J'Mira's cry, and then lifted her two 'saviors' up by their throats. She snapped their necks with mere flips of her wrists and tossed them aside like garbage.

J'Mira began to string her Dark Elven bow. "Theocles! Turn her, drive her out, before she can invite any more vampires into the compound!"

As the cleric hurried out the door, his Holy Symbol was already glowing with divine light. A couple of Guirnir's men jumped the vampiress, breaking off her attempt to call in the other leeches. Not that it did anyone any good. Before the one man who was trying to shut the gate could shut the bar, the gates flew open. Three bestial semi-human forms snarled at the humans in the compound.

Huey and Angela snarled back in feral defiance as J'Mira got her bow strung and notched a silver arrow. One of the Werewolves jumped one of the men struggling with the vampiress, and tore his arm off. Another Were was loping straight at the greathouse on all fours. J'Mira dropped it with silver arrow smack in the center of its chest. Behind the lycanthropes, more darkling shapes came pouring in the open door.

Guirnir charged over to the fireplace and tore a silvery looking sword hung over it from its brace. "Virgarth! Rouse the men! Wenhallen, get all the women to the safe room! Priest! Don't bother trying to turn the leech, it's too damned late! Bless the men's weapons, that'll be a better use of your time. Henrak, what are you doing, just standing there? To Arms, man! To Arms!" With that, the master of the stead charged out into the night, to defend what was his.

The vampiress was bending over the last of the two men who'd jumped her, and was drinking deeply from his neck. Guirnir took her head off with a single swipe of his sword. As the head bounced along the ground, it tried to mouth something, but it kept getting kicked about by men and women and less wholesome beings running about the compound.

J'Mira put another silver tipped arrow into a second Were, but it didn't hit heart's blood. The Man-Beast howled, and tried to pull the barb that felt like it was burning acid in its chest. That was a mistake on its part, for it left itself open as Guirnir swung his sword into its good arm, almost taking it off at the biceps.

By this time, Guirnir's men were piling out of the greathouse with freshly blessed weapons. The last lycanthrope in the compound pulled off the farmhand whose innards it had been scrambling, and snarled at them as they charged at it. J'Mira's arrow beat them by only a few paces, landing in its eye with a juicy thump. The men took advantage of the Were's agony to finish it off.

Guirnir's men had finally managed to take control of the chaos in the compound. The women and children were out of their way, and the men had formed into three protective clusters. Four men risked their lives charging out of the clusters to get the gates shut again. Two of them were pulled out of the gates doing it, but they cut the goblins already within the gates off from any reinforcements. The fighting clusters positioned themselves so that they could isolate the goblins and cut them to ribbons effectively.

Guirnir yelled from his cluster over to the cluster that J'Mira was in, "HA! So, Hunter-gal, is this the dreadful army that you were so worked up about?"

J'Mira yelled back, "Not even a fraction, hardly! I don't even think that this is all of whatever the Army sent to take this place! I think this was just a first jab, just to see what we were made of!"

Guirnir started with a dismissive retort, and then thought better of it. "Why not? That's what I'd do in their place! Gyrval, take some men and make sure of the women! They might be trying to get all our women and children in one place, so they can take them as hostages!"

Gyrval nodded briskly, quickly chose five men, and ran into the greathouse.

Guirnir ordered torches up on the stockade wall, and told some of the younger men to fetch the armor. Then he looked over at J'Mira. "Well, you say that you've fought these things a'fore - what'll they do next?"

"Hard to say. They opened with their 'let me in' ploy, so there are probably more vampires out there. If there are, Theocles can get rid of them without too many hassles. The problem is, they may know who we are somehow, and are taking that into consideration. But we have an advantage."

"What's that?"

"We know they won't try to burn us out - they want food for the living members of their forces, and they want living prisoners for the undead ones."

"Oh, I feel so safe now," Guirnir rejoined sourly.

Then something came lobbing over the stockade, to bounce a few feet away from the feet of Guirnir's oldest son, Virgarth. It was a human head. "Oschen. He was one of them that they pulled through the gate," Virgarth said, trying to keep his dinner down.

Then there was a thunderous pounding at the gate. There were three resounding blows on the gate, and then a voice like a crypt door being opened entoned,

"A Home, a pile of blood and bones,

and hearts as murderous stones,

and rags and hags and cowardly wretches

that cower in their fetid hutches.

Enough! The cleansing shall begin,

Who among you shall let me in?"

As the doggerel ceased, the severed head of Oschen opened its eyes and said, "I shall. Come in, you are once welcomed."

Oschen's still living comrades squashed his traitorous noggin before it could do any more damage. But then three more echoing knocks came, and the voice recited,

"A Fort, a trap for cowards and fools,

living under witlings' rules,

and scraping away futile days

to hide from Fate's own ways.

Enough! The cleansing shall begin,

Who among you shall let me in?"

Again, something flew over the stockade wall, and a disembodied head bounced on the ground. Even before it stopped bouncing, the head began to talk: "I shall. Come in, you are twice welcomed."

Yet again, whatever it was outside hammered on the gates three times, and again the voice spoke:

"Your World, a gutter of human waste

tottering to ruin in unseemly haste,

children of a drunkard and a whore,

beginning and ending ever in sin.

Enough! I will stand no more,

Who among you shall let me in?"

Everyone looked around and readied, but there was no sign of a head coming over the wall. There was a sound at their feet. "I shall, my lord! Come in and rule! You are three times welcomed!" The vampiress' head laughed, until a mattock squashed it like a gourd.

The thick hardwood bar across the gate splintered, and the gates blew open. Standing at the gate was one of the tall draped skeletal beings that J'Mira and her 'sisters' had impersonated. In its hand it held a wicked looking trident, and behind it was four columns of various darklings, each with it's own standard. Damn, J'Mira thought to herself, we never did get around to asking Zohar what the hell a 'Dyrghul' was.

Even without knowing what it was, Theocles saw his duty. He stepped forward, his Holy Symbol held high and glowing with divine fire. "Back, Unthing!" From there, he basically went on to tell them that they weren't invited to this party, and to get going before he called their parents.

A sense of a bemused grin came from the folds of the hood. "Now, is that any way to talk to guests, especially after we were invited in, so nice?" It snapped its fingers and pointed at Theocles. "A thousand gold to the one that brings me the priestling's head."

Guirnir gave a loud battle cry and charged at the Dyrghul, with most of his men close behind. J'Mira managed to get over to Theocles. She pulled an untipped arrow from her quiver. "Theocles, put your nastiest Undead kicking Blessing on this arrow - I'm going to spike that unbreathing bastard!"

Guirnir and his men met the Dyrghul at the gate in a full charge. Guirnir leaped, sword poised for a downward stroke. With unbelievable speed and deftness, the Dyrghul brought its trident up and skewered Guirnir square in his chest, even as his sword cleaved the Undead's skull. As Guirnir squirmed like a fish on a gig, the Dyrghul brought him closer, as if examining what it had caught. Strange fumes came from Guirnir's eyes, nose and mouth and the Dyrghul inhaled them. Guirnir's sword fell from the fiend's head, apparently having done no harm at all. Finally, the Dyrghul sneered, "Too Small," and pitched Guirnir's drained husk over its shoulder.

Virgarth looked on with horror as his father dropped like a discarded doll. It was as if someone had stood on tiptoe and blew out the Sun like a candle. The rest of Guirnir's men looked to him for their cue; he was Guirnir's eldest son and right hand - he should know what to do. But nothing was coming.

J'Mira, blessed arrow nocked, shouted, "Clear me a path!" The leaderless men were all too happy to clear the way between the mysterious brown woman and the horrid thing that had just eaten their leader. J'Mira drew the bow and put all her concentration into aiming the arrow straight into the Undead's chest. If she pierced what passed for its heart, she might put it down. When she was sure of the shot, she let fly. The arrow flew straight into the center of the Dyrghul's chest, and hit with a solid thud. The Dyrghul reached up, yanked it out and looked at it. Then it regarded J'Mira mockingly. "Was that supposed to hurt, brown girl?"

J'Mira stood there stunned into stillness, as the Dyrghul advanced on her.

"J'Mira!" Avon dashed out from the protection of the circle of armsmen, and threw a splash of Holy Water in the Dyrghul's face. The Dyrghul reacted with a roar of pain and backed away, clutching at its hidden visage. Theocles took this as a Sign from Heaven, and advanced on his own, pummeling the unliving wretch with his Holy Symbol. The Holy Symbol burned with a holy light, and left smoking marks where it hit the Dyrghul. Unfortunately, the other darklings weren't the sort that could just be dismissed with a Holy Symbol. Avon grabbed Guirnir's eldest - now heir and successor - Virgarth by the collar. "He's dead, Man! Deal with it! If you don't want everyone else you love rotting in the hell that is that thing's gullet with him, Snap Out Of It! Get your men together and pull Brother Theocles away from those freaks!" Then he turned to another of Guirnir's sons. "You! Get five men and torch the barn and silo! Set the livestock free! These things have the compound, but we don't have to let them enjoy it! Let them eat Ashes! J'Mira, go get the women and children and get them out of here! Get them to Flournoy!"

"Avon, I won't leave you!"

"I don't want to leave you either, Love. But someone has to get those people to safety, and you're the best bet they have of getting to Flournoy in this darkness! And somebody has to keep these men together, while you get away."

J'Mira saw his point. She didn't want to see his point. She wanted him to be wrong, or to be missing something. She wanted him by her side. But she did see his point, damn it all. She pulled him to her and kissed him deeply. After all, it might be the last time.

Then she turned and ran into the house. She looked around. Then, thinking, she turned to her wolves. "Huey! Angela! Women! Kids! Find!"

They snuffled around a bit, and then scratched at the side of the staircase. J'Mira, passionately wishing that Foxglove or Kitsune were here to deal with it, felt around and found the catch to open the trap door. Indeed, there was a crude stair going down. Cautiously, with one hatchet out, she went down the case. As she turned the corner at the bottom of the stair, she just managed to block a swordblow. She disarmed the swordsman with a twist of the hatchet.

"Be Still! You know me, Gyrval Guirnirson. Gyrval, I wish that I didn't have to be the one to tell you this - your father's dead, and the darklings are pretty much in control of the compound. Your brother Virgarth is torching the barn and the silo; I assume that he'll start on the main house soon, if he can. This place isn't safe anymore. We have to get these women and children to Flournoy."

"In this dark?" quailed one of the women. "The darklings will eat us alive out there!"

"Not necessarily. I can get you there in the dark, and Virgarth, Theocles, Avon and the other men will keep them as busy as possible. We can get there, but only if you move fast, move quick and move now!" She looked around at the pale frightened faces in the cramped cellar. "Guirnir wouldn't build a place that he couldn't get out of. Is there some kind of secret passage or hidden door or something around here?"

Gyrval shook his head sadly. "No. Father didn't believe in such nonsense. He'd have known that it would weaken the soundness of the defenses to have such a frippery."

One of the boys, a tow headed six-year-old in short pants, came forward. "But there is! There's a secret way out! A secret only we know!" He indicated his playmates.

One of the women nodded. "The two loose boards by the south corner? Yes, it could work. And we wouldn't have to worry about putting the boards back right - not now." Trust the women of the stead to know all about the little boy's 'secrets'.

J'Mira waved them up the stairs. "Okay, we have a plan! Up the stairs, double file, quiet as mice now!" They went, two by two, up the stairs, through the kitchen, out the back and in groups over to the shadowed corner at the south. As they traveled, fires were burning everywhere, and there were the sounds of fighting, and pain, and dying. And there was darkling laughter in the joy of those sounds. There were brief silhouettes of men briefly seen hurrying to one critical task after another.

Gyrval pulled two long boards from along the bottom, and after a quick check of the other side, pushed a stout woman of about forty through. She acted as a 'catcher', helping the others to the outside. As the thirty or so people dribbled through the hole, J'Mira anxiously watched for some sign that they were being seen. As the last ten were making their way through the gap, J'Mira managed to spot Avon. She frantically waved to him, and managed to catch his eye. He silently motioned around the corner, and Theocles, Henrak, Virgarth and five other men came padding her way.

Sizing up the situation, Virgarth turned to Henrak. "My lord, this stead is my home. I will stay here, holding this filth off as long as I can. My brother Gyrval is the next eldest, and he is now head of our family. I want your word that you will take him, and the rest of our men, women and child-folk in as your servants, to keep them safe and well. Will you give me your word?"

Henrak grimly nodded. "If my father will not accept your brother's service, Sir Virgarth, then I will take them as my own men and women. Not as my servants, but as my liegemen. I will return here and restore your family and home. By all the Gods that ever were, I swear it!"

Virgarth leaned down to the hole and passed Gyrval a sword. "Gyrval, you are the Eldest now. This is Father's sword. Remember. I go to be with Father." With that, Virgarth snatched the sword from Henrak's belt and charged off into the darkness and fury.

*****

The rest managed to squeeze through the gap and get into the woods. Not that the woods were safe. Once again damning that she didn't have Kitsune or Foxglove to back her up, J'Mira tried to get the Steadsfolk through the underbrush with a minimum of noise. Fortunately, these were backwoods folk, not cityfolk, and you actually had to listen for them.

CHAPTER 18

The Showdown at Melhand Bend

They were about a quarter mile away from the Stead, and J'Mira was wishing that those damn blades of grass wouldn't make so much damned noise growing while she was listening! The fury back at the Stead was lessening, but the sky was still bright with the light of the fires. She wondered if the Dyrghul would try to follow them. Of course it would - it needed to bring back food for the Army. The stored grain, produce and livestock of the Stead would have been either destroyed or ruined in the fire. So, the only food the Dyrghul could bring back to its master would be Long Pork - human flesh. And they were the nearest source of that. Then she heard her name right next to her ear.

"Avon. Shush!"

"It's not Avon, 'Mira - it's me, Foxglove!"

J'Mira reflexively looked around, and saw nothing.

"The mirror, J'Mira, the mirror. I'm still back at Flournoy. We saw the fire near Guirnir's Stead. What happened?"

"Damned vampire pulled that old 'let me in, I'm hurt' gag. Then the unliving bitch let a goddamn Dyrghul and it's cronies in. Guirnir and most of his people are dead - or worse. We had to torch the place to keep the food out of their hands. We've got twelve women, fifteen kids, and eleven of his men with us, and we're on foot. You got any magic tricks that'll get us all back to Flournoy safely?"

"Sorry, honey, no can do. BUT, ask whoever knows this place the best for a spot where we can send a column of armed men on horseback to guard you the rest of the way here." J'Mira asked, and a rendezvous was arranged for three hours later at a place called Melhand Bend.

Two hours later, at Melhand Bend, the refugees arrived, hungry, faded, and foot-tired. Several of the women had had the presence of mind - or survival reflex - to grab packets of food while they were going through the greathouse's kitchen. They took the risk of building a small fire to warm the food. The first focusing effects of the horror were wearing off, and the kids were starting to see things in the shadows that weren't there. The reassuring effect of the fire was worth the risk of being seen. Even so, J'Mira built a windbreak for the fire, more to hide the light than to protect it from the wind.

A few hours later, the column still hadn't shown up. The Steaders were growing fretful, the children were getting logy from lack of sleep, and J'Mira could tell that midnight was creeping up on them. Midnight in the deep dark woods, with Undead running around. Not a good place to be.

Huey and Angela let J'Mira know that something was out there. With a silent gesture, J'Mira alerted Avon and Theocles. J'Mira nocked an arrow, and sensed around in the dark. She had a sense of something, but couldn't get a handle on it.

Then Huey and Angela were up, growling and snarling. Everyone looked in the direction in which the wolves were glaring. Darkness pooled and took form. The form strode forth from the shadows like a king. The Dyrghul sneered. "Well, how considerate - the food even makes the fire to cook itself on. I gathered a bit of a taste for roasted pork back there. Nice to have a little more."

From behind them, a voice said, "Learn to do without, Unthing. These good people are not for you."

They looked behind them. On the opposite side of the clearing stood - no, floated - a glorious, golden, glowing angelic figure with six golden wings, wearing glittering chainmail. The Angel carried two golden longswords, and two golden greatswords floated in the air.

The Dyrghul almost laughed. "And what are You supposed to be?"

"I am Mardos, the Champion. I am the Light from which your Darkness cannot help but retreat."

"I've never heard of you or your like. You can't be anything that I have to worry about."

"You of the Darkness make a point of ignoring everything that is not within your darkness. We are here in the Light, where you never look. Retreat, Unthing - it is your nature."

"Well, you may be something new under the sun, but we aren't under the Sun right now, you are in the Night, which is my realm. I wonder what you'll taste like?"

"I taste like the Sun. Come, Unthing, try and bite the Sun."

"Do you think that I am some petty blood-drinker, to shrivel and die in the first rays of morning's light? I stand unafraid, under the noonday sun! I spit on the paltry power of the ever-dying Sun, which always falls to the power of Night!" Ignoring the huddling mortals, the Dyrghul threw it's trident at Mardos. The trident stopped an inch in front of Mardos' chest, dropped, and burst into flames.

"You've had your chance to run, Unthing - now feel the unfettered power of the Sun!" Mardos crossed his(?) swords, and a being of pure light emerged. It had the body of a lion, wings of an eagle and the head of a pharaoh. With a roar, it sprang at the Dyrghul and clawed at it with fore and hind claws. Where its claws raked, the Dyrghul's flesh bled undead ooze. The Dyrghul tried to pull the Sunbeast off of it, but couldn't find any purchase points. Finally, it managed to claw the Sunbeast apart.

Twitching with pain, the Dyrghul sneered, "Well, is THAT the 'unfettered power of the Sun'? No wonder this world is dying. Feel the icy grip of the Night!" The Dyrghul pointed both sleeves at Mardos, and a swarm of bewinged black scorpions gushed forth.

As the scorpion swept up at him(?), Mardos swept the noisome hoard, whirled it around and sent it back as shining chains of light. The chains wrapped around the Dyrghul, and sank into the ground. "Now, sneering mockery of Life, your twisted farce comes teetering to its end." Mardos gestured with both longswords, and the two floating greatswords flew at the Dyrghul. The greatswords chopped the Dyrghul's body apart, starting with the arms, then the legs, and then they lopped the head off.

The Dyrghul's cloak began twitching on the dismembered body. It pulled itself away from the pieces, and began flapping like a freeform bat. It rose up into the air. "No, Unthing, that trick doesn't work this time." Mardos crossed his(?) swords again, and another glorious being of pure light emerged. This one was a great silvery owl, which beat its wings and flew after the batlike cloak. It pounced on it, forced it to the ground and began to tear the cloak apart.

Once that was accomplished, Mardos strode forward, placed his(?) foot on the disembodied head of the Dyrghul, and after it smoldered for a while, crushed it.

Theocles came forward tentatively. "Mardos? Do you serve the Gods of the Holy Church?"

Mardos smiled at Theocles. "Chill Out, Theocles!" Mardos swept a hand over his(?) form, which disappeared, leaving the familiar form of Foxglove. "It's only me!"

Avon was the first to snap out of the shock. "HOLD ON! There is no way that you're that powerful! It has to be a trick!"

From above, another familiar voice said, "Well, of course it's a trick, Avon!" Doctor Zohar floated down on his flying carpet. "But you have to admit it's a first rate trick."

J'Mira ran over to Foxglove and gave her a fierce hug. "Okay, I won't even try to deny it - that was SLICK! How did you do it?"

Yet another familiar voice came from behind where the Dyrghul had been. "Hey, it's not like she did it all by herself!" Kitsune came out of the shadows, wearing her 'ninjette' blacks.

From behind a large tree, Justin walked out, unwrapping himself out from Foxglove's borrowed Cloak of Mists. "Foxglove, I want you to know that I don't approve of striking an opponent from behind. If you hadn't wrangled that promise from me beforehand, I never would have gone along with this!"

Mornsong appeared from out of the bole of a tree. "Now, now, Justin - there's no way that you could ever call that thing an honorable opponent. It was magical vermin, and we swatted it down the best way we could. Oh, speaking of which, Brother Theocles? I think that it would be best if you did some kind of Blessing on the shreds of that thing, and then planted it under a pound of salt."

Gyrval stepped forward hesitantly. "Lady J'Mira, who are these people? What happened to the Great Lord Mardos, who saved us?"

J'Mira made the proper introductions. Foxglove smiled smugly. "Very well, Sir Gyrval, just so that you'll understand what really happened-" Kitsune rolled her eyes heavenward, "-first of all, there was no 'Great Lord Mardos'. He was just an illusion. You see, when I contacted J'Mira magically, she mentioned that a Dyrghul was involved. So, I finally got around to asking our resident loremaster, Doctor Zohar over there, what a Dyrghul was. According to him, a Dyrghul is less a creature than it is a creation, a necromantic construct. You see, the Dyrghul wasn't the body, it was the cloak that it seemed to be wearing. You see, a necromancer creates these cloaks, which he sets on a living person. The cloaks are connected to the necromancer, and they feed on the person's life force, giving it to the necromancer to use as he sees fit. The person eventually dies, and becomes a kind of undead 'mount' that the Dyrghul cloak rides. The Dyrghul acts as the necromancer's eyes, ears and representative, going out to handle things while the necromancer stays safe in his keep. Now, one of the most dangerous things about these Dyrghuls is that they can magically shift their magical attacks and defenses around, drawing on the power of the other Dyrghuls when they get weak. Also, even if you do manage to kill one of them, the other Dyrghuls will know exactly how you did it, and be on guard against that ploy in the future.

"So, what we needed to do when we ran into the Dyrghul was have it think that it was being hit by one kind of attack, when it was actually being attacked by several different kinds of attacks. I created the illusion of 'the Great Lord Mardos' to give the Dyrghul something that it would think was a Divine being, with divine magics. While the Dyrghul and 'Lord Mardos' were exchanging barbs, Kitsune here was quietly spreading a circle of salt around it, so that it wouldn't be able to either draw on the magical powers of its 'brothers', or escape. When it threw those attacks at 'Mardos', I simply dodged them, and created an illusion that they'd failed. I think that you'll find its trident buried in the underbrush over there somewhere. Ah, no, you go get it, Theocles - I don't want anyone who doesn't have your protections touching that thing! The 'Sunbeasts' were just illusions, backed up by Dr. Zohar's Drakylon firebursts. The 'chains' were Mornsong's bramblesnares, and the 'Swords of Light' were Justin and his Blessed sword. You see, it had biased its protections against Divine Magic, so it was vulnerable to the things we threw at it."

One of the older Steadswomen came forward. "That's all very interesting, My Lady, but where are the soldiers? We must get these children to safety!"

"Ah, oh - right. Well, Lord Jassen is a couple of hundred yards that way, with a company of soldiers and a couple of wagons. We should be able to get you to Flournoy safely in a few hours. Of course, once you're there, you're only as safe as the rest of us."