


The True Oracle

by slyc_willie



Category: Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2017-04-18 11:03:29
Chapters: 2
Publisher: literotica.com
Story URL: https://www.literotica.com/s/the-true-oracle-ch-01
Author URL:
https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=748325&page=submissions
Summary: <p>1. A knight-gunman undertakes a dangerous and enigmatic quest.</p>
<p>2. The quest unfolds and truths are revealed.</p>
Erotica Tags: Adastriana, Dark One, Divination, Dying World, Gavin Reed,
Knight-Gunman, Oracle, Prophecy, Quest, Revenge, Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Average Rating: 4.80





TABLE OF CONTENTS


The True Oracle Ch. 01

The True Oracle Ch. 02




        The True Oracle Ch. 01


_Author's note: this story was originally submitted as part of a friendly
contest between Literotica authors. I liked the premise so much I decided to
expand a little upon it. I hope you enjoy this little Fantasy/Sci-Fi tale.
Feel free to comment if you wish, but please don't forget to vote._  
  
_This is the first of a two-part installment._  
  
* * * *   
  
_Eleventh Day, Second Quadrimester, Year 3743_  
  
Aging eyes watched from the shadows of the pillared, circular room. The
Minister of Compliance of Owrn Sovereignty was a powerful man, with influence
surpassed only by the Regent. Yet the ritual the Minister was about to witness
was a sacred one, not normally intended for observation, even by such as he.
But the Minister lived in desperate times within a desperate world, and he
needed answers.  
  
The muscular stewards retreated, having supplied the three young women in the
middle of the chamber with wine and fruit. They sat upon piles of luxurious
cushions, sharing silent smiles as they fed one another grapes and slices of
peach. To the Minister, the scene was a reminder of a better time, when the
world was not as stark and deadly as it was now. A time when the Minister was
a young man, when everyone lived idyllic lives and wanted for nothing. A time
before the Blaze.  
  
A soft, airy giggle caught the Minister's attention. A grape had apparently
fallen into the bodice one of the young women wore, and another was using her
tongue to search for it. The third woman looked on with interest.  
  
The Minister could not help but admire the loveliness before him. Uniformly,
telling of their protected and privileged status, each of the women was fair-
skinned, two with long dark hair, the third a blonde. Each also sported
swirling tattoos from shoulder to wrist on each arm, permanent badges that
identified them as practitioners of zantri mysticism. The pattern of the
tattoos was different, if one bothered to look closely enough; the inked
patterns indicated the skills - both sexual and otherwise - each zantrist had
mastered.  
  
What little the women wore was quickly and efficiently divested, revealing
pure naked beauty. The blonde took the lead, trailing lips and tongue from the
fine-boned ankle of one of the brunettes, past the knee, to the stark line of
the woman's tendon which led the eye along the inside of the woman's thigh.  
  
The other brunette looked on with the glowing smile of arousal, watching the
blonde kiss her way toward a smoothly-shaved pussy now colored with the blush
of arousal. With a heavy-eyed look of desire, the blonde placed her mouth over
the sumptuous, plump lips and sucked tenderly.  
  
Emotional sighs and gasps of passion filled the air, especially once the other
brown-haired woman spread her thighs over the first brunette's face, then
pried the blonde's legs apart to dip her tongue into the sweet nectar seeping
from her sex. For many minutes, the only sounds were those of ardent, eager,
wet sucking and licking and the moans and groans of gratitude they elicited.  
  
The Minister turned his attention away, forcing himself to look out over a
city which had once been the heart of an empire but was now little more than a
last stand against the chaotic evil of the world and an ironic beacon for
beggars, panderers and thieves.  
  
_There was a time_, he thought grimly. _In which this city would inspire
millions to greatness. A time in which I could look upon the scene behind me
and hope to enjoy as more than just an observer._  
  
The first of the orgasmic cries sounded from the zantrists, quickly followed
by others. Grunts, growls, mews, whimpers, pants and moans all created a
symphony of aural erotic bliss, forcing images into the Minister's mind that
he tried in vain to block. But he could not.  
  
Finally, turning back, he looked upon the trio of women. They had formed a
circle, a triquetra of three naked bodies, legs spread wide and feet pressed
together, the women watching each other as they masturbated. The Minister
recognized the significance of the womens' positioning, and the sight of it
sparked a flame of hope within him.  
  
_Will they do it? Gods, please, yes . . . ._  
  
Breasts heaving, faces and necks glowing with rouge, fingers dancing in
furtive blurs between their thighs, the trio of zantrists seemed to be
coordinating themselves, watching each other for orgasmic cues, slowing,
speeding . . . before all three cast their heads back, crying out to the world
as they erupted together. Bodies trembled, limbs shook. The cushions beneath
their naked bodies darkened as fluid gushed and soaked into the fabric.  
  
The Minister stepped to the very edge of his allowed presence, looking upon
the women. Their sublime bodies rose and fell as they breathed, breasts
flowing back and forth, nipples stark and dark and jutting out.  
  
Abruptly, the three of them rose up, as if dragged by the invisible wires of a
puppeteer. They came together to embrace upon their knees. Their heads then
tilted back, eyes open and glowing like pale white orbs.  
  
_Yes_, thought the Minister. _This is it!_  
  
The women then spoke, with a multitude of haunting voices all uttering as one.  
  
* * * *   
  
Far to the west, in the midst of a bleak landscape alongside a dry river bed,
the city-state of Neustis Sovereignty was the furthest known bastion of
civilization thus far into the continent. At one time a great hub of trade,
with access to the world's mightiest river and the most fertile fields, now
Neustis, like the rest of the world, was dying. Even the massive tower in the
center of the city was beginning to show signs of decay.  
  
For the young-looking woman who stood before one of many steepled windows in
the tower's highest chamber, the state of the world was not her concern. She
lived a life of unparalleled privilege and luxury. At one time, she had been
known by the name given her at birth, but for more than six decades she had
been referred to by the title bestowed upon her, a title of peerless respect
and power.  
  
The True Oracle.  
  
As the woman whose voice influenced the Seven Regents, dictating everything
from trade laws to war, there should be little that would vex her. But she was
troubled. For the first time in known history, the Zantri Temple had refused
to send a delegation to Neustis. The breach in tradition was an insult to the
Oracle . . . and a deadly complication.  
  
_How dare they? They cannot do this to me! I am their Lady, their mistress,
the only voice of power left in the world. To deny me what is mine is
insufferable._  
  
Anger simmered quietly within the Oracle's thoughts. _They have to know that I
can destroy them with a word. All it would take is an order under the guise of
a divination to send the armies of the Sovereignties to their temple and drag
every one of those harlots to their knees before me._  
  
A cruel smile stretched the woman's lips. _Yes, they must know this. Yet they
defy me anyway. The audacity._  
  
"Audacity to be sure," came a dark voice from behind.  
  
Startled, the Oracle whirled about to face the black-garbed man in her private
chambers. He was insidiously handsome, with powerful, glaring eyes that could,
the Oracle knew, literally burrow into her soul.  
  
"But then, if you were to impose your will upon the Temple," he continued with
a knowing smile. "You would most assuredly not get what you want. And this
they also know."  
  
The Oracle glared at the man. "Why do you insist on popping in on me like
this?"  
  
He chuckled. "Oh, weren't you expecting me?" he asked with rhetorical sarcasm.
"You are the True Oracle, after all. Surely, you would have foreseen a visit
by the Dark One."  
  
The Oracle's eyes narrowed with a mixture of fear and contempt. "Are you
responsible for this?" she asked bitingly. "Did you tell the temple to break
from sacred tradition?"  
  
The Dark One chuckled. "Oh, I believe your sacred traditions have already been
broken, Tannamille. Broken, trampled, and ground into the dust of the world."  
  
The Oracle bristled at the use of her real name. It indicated an intimacy she
would rather not share with the vile god. "Thanks to you," she shot back.  
  
He feigned a look of exaggerated innocence. "Me? Why, I only responded to a
plea of distress, the crying of a soul desperate to offer a most delicious
bargain. How could I resist?"  
  
Tannamille looked forlorn. "Why do you take such delight in torturing me? Why
agree to my bargain in the first place, if only to take joy from seeing me in
distress?"  
  
The Dark One laughed uproariously, shaking his head. "Did you forget who I
am?"  
  
Tannamille ground her teeth, silent.  
  
The Dark One sprawled himself across a luxurious chaise covered in fine white
leather. "Have you ever had roast lamb?"  
  
The Oracle's brow furrowed. "What?"  
  
"Roast lamb," her unwanted guest continued. "You know, before all the sheep
died in the world. You are just old enough to remember the world before the
Blaze."  
  
Tannamille huffed. "What is your point?"  
  
The Dark One grinned. "You see, it takes a long time to prepare and cook roast
lamb. Hours upon hours. A full day over a bed of coals, if you want the best
results. It is a long wait, but by the time the lamb is done and is ready to
be devoured, it is truly, sublimely, delicious."  
  
He eased forward, the mirth upon his face darkening as he sneered at the
Oracle. "You are my little lamb, Tannamille," he said with grim joy. "And I am
so enjoying watching you roast. The feast that awaits me is . . ." his words
trailed off as his eyes did the same down the Oracle's body. The expression of
abject hunger he effected was chilling. "Well, I believe you understand the
gist of it, now."  
  
Tannamille trembled, swallowing thickly. She turned away from the Dark One and
looked over her dying city.  
  
_There must be a way,_ she told herself. _There must be . . . ._  
  
* * * *   
  
Upon the table lay three items: a handkerchief, a book, and a knife. Gavin
looked the objects over with casual interest. His practiced eye told him they
had been imbued, but he could not discern the individual auras. Lifting his
gaze, he stood patiently as the Minister of Compliance approached.  
  
"Knight-Gunman Reed," the stately man said, towering nearly seven feet in
height in his gold-bordered ivory robe. He had a look of extreme age about
him, despite the fact that he was merely seventy years old. "You have been
assigned a sacred duty."  
  
"Thank you, my lordship," Gavin responded with a short nod and the customary
circular motion with his right hand over his chest. "Any way I can serve the
sovereignty is an honor."  
  
"Indeed," intoned the near-skeletal man. "The objects before you will be of
great help in this assignment. Each has been potently imbued with the Reaching
Aura. The handkerchief, for instance, will heal any wound it is placed over,
and cure any malady, no matter how grievous, but only three times before it's
aura is gone. Similarly, the knife will pierce any armor and slay any foe, but
again, only thrice."  
  
Gavin arched a brow in interest. "And the book, Minister?"  
  
The man smiled thinly. "The book is your charge. You are not to open it under
any conditions. Am I clear on this?"  
  
Gavin nodded curtly. "As clear as the blood of an aquan."  
  
"Good. Your duty is to deliver the book to the True Oracle in Neustis. The
divinations of our own zantrists have given you three days to make the
journey. If you do not arrive in time, you will be expected to take your own
life."  
  
"I understand, Minister," said Gavin.  
  
* * * *   
  
Murmurs of excitement wafted through the luxurious chamber within the zantri
temple of the northernmost of all the city-states, Bellisane Sovereignty. For
the dozen or so zantrist disciples, a gathering of this sort, at this
particular time, warranted rumors that a new adept - and thus a new potential
True Oracle - was to be chosen. Would this at last be the year that the Gods
would be pleased with the temple's selection?  
  
Adastriana did not feel quite the same level of excitement as the other
sisters of the temple. Her divinations had been sporadic at best and while
thus far always correct, she had as much chance of becoming the next True
Oracle, she reasoned, as she did a knight.  
  
_Nor would I want to be the oracle_, she thought. _I can think of no more
dubious an honor than to be the voice of the Gods for a dying land_.  
  
"Chin up, sister," one of the other zantrists told her with a slight scowl.
"This could be the day."  
  
Adastriana started to respond when the golden doors at the far end of the
chamber opened, revealing half a dozen near-naked, bronze-skinned men of
utmost physical attractiveness. Adastriana smiled slyly, realizing that the
approach of these men meant not a ceremony for choosing an adept, but a rather
conventional orgy.  
  
"Oh, it is certainly a day," Adastriana, stepping past her sisters to greet
the men. She already had her eye on the one she wanted.  
  
Despite obvious disappointment among the comely disciples, the promise of
carnal fulfillment quickly had them assuaged. In pairs, they guided the men to
various pillowed areas of the chamber, while more servants arrived with
rolling carts upon which lay pitchers of water and wine.  
  
She knew him only as Lon, and very little else about him. But that suited
Adastriana just fine. She did not couple with him for love - that would wait
for later in her life, she assumed - but for his impressive gifts and skill.
Of all the temple servitors, Lon possessed, to Adastriana's eye at least, the
perfect example of manhood.  
  
He said nothing but smiled as the lovely brunette guided him toward a
collection of large, earth-toned pillows near the center of the room. His
loincloth was swiftly discarded as Adastriana slid to her knees before the
man, revealing her most favorite part of his anatomy. His cock was not the
longest nor the thickest, but it was smooth and firm and possessed a broad,
pink head. Adastriana eyed it hungrily before licking all around the bulging
dome, making it glisten.  
  
"My favorite toy," she murmured, before sliding her mouth down his length. She
moaned softly in contentment, savoring the taste of the stud's cock, the aroma
of his recently-cleaned skin, the weight of his testicles which she now
cradled in her hand.  
  
"Allow me?" queried a feminine voice from just behind, before Adastriana felt
a pair of hands settle to her shoulders. Adastriana chuckled, keeping her
mouth on Lon's cock, and only nodded. Within moments, her temple sister had
her naked, warm, skilled hands running over the brunette's nude body.  
  
"Lift up, sister," the woman said. From her voice, Adastriana knew it must be
Callista, and as Adastriana rose up on her knees, she felt the other woman
position herself beneath, face just below Adastriana's moistening sex. For a
brief moment, she slipped her mouth from Lon's cock, stroking it firmly, and
looked down between her legs.  
  
"It's been a while, Callista."  
  
The blonde-haired woman smiled up past Adastriana's small nest of carefully-
trimmed curls. "Far too long, if you ask me," she responded, before sensuously
passing her tongue across the brunette's sleek pink lips.  
  
Adastriana sighed, then took Lon back into her mouth with growing gusto,
sucking and pulling with her mouth, eager to bring the man to the first of
several orgasms that day. All around, soft sighs and moans rose from the
others. And above, in the alcoves, the temple matron watched with her servants
the writhing dance of wantonness.  
  
* * * *   
  
Adastriana reclined upon one of the lounges that ringed the chamber. Doing so
indicated she was more or less off-limits to the others in the room. There
were still those frolicking upon the pillowed floor, but after hours of heated
and sometimes frenzied sex, Adastriana decided she had had enough. Her pussy
was swollen and wet from more than just her own fluids, and her jaw was on the
verge of aching due to all the genitals she had been sucking and licking. The
flavor of both Lon and another man lingered on her tongue, as well as that of
at least three of her sisters.  
  
Body heated and sweaty, surrounded by the cloying aromas of sex, Adastriana
emitted a heavy sigh and accepted a copper goblet from one of the stewards.
She drained the water quickly, then indicated her next drink was to be wine.  
  
"Had enough, dear daughter?"  
  
Adastriana lolled her head, offering a languid smile upon the middle-aged
woman who had approached. Alone in the room, she remained fully clothed. As
the temple's matron, she referred to each of the younger women as "daughter."  
  
"For the time being," Adastriana replied.  
  
The temple matron smiled. "You are going to make your husband a very happy -
and tired - man."  
  
Adastriana rolled her eyes. "If and when I find a husband," she said, then
noticed the meaningful look upon the matron's face. Her smile faded quickly
and she sat up. "Do you mean to tell me . . .?"  
  
The matron nodded curtly. "This was not a celebration today, rather more of an
audition," she informed the now timid-looking brunette. "The third son of the
Regent of Sothari Sovereignty has reached marrying age. The Regent himself,
being here for diplomatic reasons, was very impressed with your skills this
afternoon. He has chosen you as bride to his son. It is a great honor, both
for you, and for this temple. Congratulations."  
  
Adastriana swallowed thickly, all lingering traces of arousal banished before
the heavy rush of trepidation. "So I am to be married off to a man I've never
met? Have I no choice in the matter?"  
  
The matron's eyes and face grew stoic. "It is a great honor, Adastriana," she
repeated forcefully. "So great, in fact, that a more powerful alliance between
Sothari and our own sovereignty will likely be forged. Your compliance is . .
. _requested_ by our very own lord."  
  
Adastriana inhaled deeply, forcing herself to remain calm. Her perfect world
of privilege and carnal indulgence had been abruptly shattered.  
  
"Is he at least handsome?" she managed to ask.  
  
* * * *   
  
Within the tiny spartan apartment that had been his home for seven years,
Gavin assembled his armor. Though it was composed of nine different pieces,
once fully donned the molded leather and ceramic bodysuit hugged his form like
a protective lover. Of a deep, rich bronze tone, the armor blended in quite
well with the wastelands through which he would be traveling.  
  
He tucked the handkerchief into one of the small breast pockets, while the
knife went into a sheath on the outside of his right calf. The book he placed
in the detachable leather pack that adhered to the back of the armor. There
was only one more item he needed before beginning his journey.  
  
Three large wooden boxes were affixed to the wall opposite his bed. Gavin
thought carefully before taking the middle one down and opening it. Within was
his first love, a massive revolver with a thick cylinder, grips carved from
the horn of a young convolution beast, and a barrel nearly as long as his
forearm. The weapon could hold only five rounds at a time, but he had yet to
meet a foe that could withstand more than a single well-placed shot.  
  
He slid the pistol into its holster, then attached it to the front of his belt
in cross-draw fashion. The four replacement cylinders he settled into
individual pouches that were also placed on the belt.  
  
He faced his reflection in the mirror upon the back of the apartment door and
decided he was suitable for travel. Tracing the Circle of Life over his chest
once more, Gavin Reed opened the door and headed out to meet his destiny.  
  
* * * *   
  
Of all the city-states, Owrn was perhaps the most prosperous, situated at the
edge of the sea. Most Owrnites sustained themselves through fish, crab, and
kelp, trusting the fishermen to only keep those which were not obviously
diseased. Those who could afford it were allowed to supplement their meals
with exotic fare such as imported fruit or even beef. But even in Gavin's
short lifetime, he had seen fewer and fewer such offerings over the years.
Owrn's vast market square, supposedly once bustling with strange imports from
around the world, now entertained perhaps only a few dozen stalls each day.  

"Salted roast pig, sir knight?" offered a gap-toothed merchant as Gavin rode
past. "I guarantee it is the freshest swine you'll ever get in this market."  
  
Gavin gave the man a dubious look. His eyes wandered over the slabs of pinkish
meat hanging from the wooden frame of his stall. "And when was the pig
slaughtered?"  
  
"Eh . . . just yesterday morn, I swear it."  
  
The knight's eyes narrowed coldly. "You would not lie to a knight in service
to the Ministry of Compliance, would you?"  
  
The man swallowed nervously. "Eh, of course not, good sir. What I meant was,
as far as I know the pig was slaughtered yesterday."  
  
"And you would never use food dyes to make the flesh look unnaturally pink,
would you?" Gavin asked pointedly.  
  
The meat merchant glanced back to the hanging meat for a moment before
responding. "It is a trick of the light," the man offered. "I keep the meat
moistened."  
  
"But isn't it salted?"  
  
"Repeatedly. Of course, I only offer the best."  
  
Gavin scowled. The hawkers seemed to be getting more and more desperate every
day. "I think I will be content with what I have."  
  
The merchant looked relieved. "Well, of course, your garrison keeps you well
supplied, I am sure. Have a wonderful day."  
  
Gavin looked about at the other stalls within the square. The wares displayed
were anything but choice, but for those desiring something other than fish and
kelp, the pickings were slim. They would pay what the merchants wanted for
something that, a decade before, would have been destined for the garbage
heap.  
  
With a snap of his reigns, Gavin spurred his mount toward the western gate.
The crammed three-story homes and businesses along the avenue gave way to a
large open space near the gate, within which stood a massive mechanical
construct with vaguely human proportions. It was an intimidating, if aging,
monstrosity, one of the last of its kind. Owrn was home to three of the
mechanical constructs, more than any other city in the land.  
  
"May the Gods never forsake you, knight-gunman," came the mechanized voice of
the West Colossus. Gavin gave the man within the towering metal battlesuit a
professional nod, saying nothing as he waited. His presence alone was enough
for the guardsmen to give him passage.  
  
He watched as the massive drawbridge was lowered. Swirls of orange-amber dust
rose from the ground opposite the deep, seawater moat as the immense stone
bridge settled into place. Without hesitation, Gavin spurred his steed along
the span and into the wastelands.  
  
* * * *   
  
In a time not so long ago, before the sky caught fire and the Blaze burned
away most of the world, the land outside the city had been lush and fertile,
teeming with farms and gardens that kept nearly everyone from want. But that
had been long ago, decades before Gavin had been born into a world that seemed
to die more with each passing day.  
  
He left at mid-day beneath the hazy glow of twin suns, knowing it would be
another nine hours before nightfall. The plan was simply to reach the Dying
Grotto before then; he did not want to make camp upon the dry desert plains
where blacknails and gapemaws hunted for travelers.  
  
Digging his boots into the steed's flanks, he urged the beast to the edge of
its endurance. Time was not a kind companion on this journey.  
  
* * * *   
  
The silhouette of the distant oasis of the Dying Grotto was revealed to him
just as the primary sun slid beneath the horizon. The second sun would give
him less than two more hours to reach his mark before it, too, vanished from
the world. He would reach the grotto, Gavin was certain, with little time to
spare.  
  
But as he guided his mount to the top of a crest, the unmistakable cacophony
of violence reached his ears. Gunshots, howls, and screams for mercy floated
on the dusty wind. Immediately, Gavin pulled in on the reins, then slid from
the saddle of his mount. He gave a voiceless command to the panting steed; its
superior training, he knew, would keep it in place until Gavin returned, or
issued a different command.  
  
Crouching low, Gavin slid his pistol from its holster and crept to the top of
the crest. More screams - cut brutally short - reached him before his eyes
settled upon the scene below.  
  
A simple caravan with a draft team of six horses had been ambushed by
blacknails. All but one of the horses lay dead. Several bodies of travelers
were strewn about, bleeding profusely from wounds inflicted by the hairless,
pale-skinned cannibals that had attacked them. The cursed creatures themselves
seemed to be after at least one more victim within the large caravan. They
surrounded the wagon, jumping and screeching in bloodlust frenzy.  
  
Gavin's eyes narrowed. This was not his fight, he knew, and a smart traveler
through the wastelands would take advantage of the fact that the blacknails
had found themselves enough prey to satisfy them, and thus continue on.  
  
But through one of the small windows in the caravan, his eyes saw a feminine
face masked in terror. The brief flash of youthful, fine skin and hair nearly
as dark as a starless night was enough. For a moment, even his duty-bound
heart was touched by the helplessness he read. In a single moment, he made his
decision.  
  
Standing fearlessly upon the crest, pistol held conspicuously at his side,
Gavin let his presence be known through a simple clearing of his throat.  
  
For all their degenerate human nature, the blacknails possessed acute senses,
more than adequate enough to detect the sound Gavin made above their own
dissonance. Their excited screeching stopped as the monsters looked his way.
Pale eyes capable of seeing through the dimmest light glittered in the growing
gloom. For a moment, not a move was made.  
  
Then one of them - the leader, the alpha - emitted a commanding shriek, and
the others broke off from the caravan to clamor up the hill like skeletal,
alabaster primates, snarling and sneering in anticipation of another kill.  
  
Gavin counted six of them coming his way, with the leader remaining behind.
Seven, all told. Two more than he had rounds to fire. But he knew he did not
need to kill them all.  
  
With a swift, deft move, he raised the pistol and fired. The explosion
shattered the night as a brief gout of crimson flame erupted from the barrel
of Gavin's weapon.  
  
The onrushing blacknails faltered, haltering their charge out of self-
preservation. But none of them had been hit. For a moment, the savages shared
dark chuckles, thinking their prey more sound than substance. But then they
looked back to their pack leader.  
  
Still beside the caravan, the blacknails' alpha stared at Gavin with a
confused jumble of emotions upon its vampiric face. Glimmering eyes drifted
down to the large burning hole within the center of it's chest. Legs wobbled
as strength ebbed. Falling to it's knees, the pack leader tried to voice a
command, but it no longer possessed lungs to give breath. Silently and
unceremoniously, the body pitched forward flat.  
  
Gavin stared down along the barrel of his weapon. Without a pack leader, he
knew, the others would become confused and unsure. Their confidence lay within
the strength of the alpha, which was now a corpse.  
  
"Who will die next?" Gavin asked grimly.  
  
The remaining blacknails exchanged questioning hisses and grunts, then turned
and fled. Their pale forms grew dark against the descending night as they
vanished into the desert.  
  
Holstering his pistol, Gavin snapped his fingers, indicating his steed to
follow. Descending down the slope to the caravan, he approached the small
window through which he had seen the feminine face. "Are you alright?" he
called.  
  
"Who are you?" cried an hysterical voice.  
  
"I am Gavin Reed, knight-gunman in service to the Ministry of Compliance of
Owrn Sovereignty," he replied.  
  
A few moments passed before the face appeared at the window. Much closer now,
Gavin could see that the woman beyond was quite lovely, if he could only judge
by her face. Youthful but not young, he judged her age to be close to his.  
  
Quivering eyes stared at him. "A knight?"  
  
He nodded. "You are safe," he said. "For now. But the blacknails will regroup,
once they've determined a new master for their pack, and they will return. You
need to travel far away from here. What is your destination?"  
  
"Sothari Sovereignty," the woman replied. "Is anyone else alive?"  
  
Gavin glanced around at the bodies, then back to the window. "Are you alone in
there?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then there is no one else alive."  
  
"Oh, Gods," she sputtered, face ashen.  
  
"Miss," Gavin said. "I understand you must be very emotional, but you should
be on your way. One of the horses still lives; you can ride it east to Owrn.
Mention my name and they will give you sanctuary until you are able to
continue your journey to Sothari."  
  
Her alarmed face appeared in the window. "What? Will you just leave me here?"  
  
"I am on a quest," he responded. "As it is, I have strayed too long already."  
  
"But . . . you can't just leave me!"  
  
"I assume you have food," he said calmly. "And you can gather the armaments
from your dead companions. The blacknails won't be back for another hour or
so. Enough time for you to put some distance between you and they."  
  
A small door to the caravan suddenly burst outward. The woman, clad minimally
in red-stained cloth that just barely covered her breasts, hips and groin,
leaned out. Her arms were covered in swirling black lines of ink embedded in
the skin. "I am not well-suited for traveling alone," she protested.  
  
Gavin looked the woman over. His eyes read the tattoos upon her arms and noted
her bare feet. "You are a zantrist," he commented.  
  
She nodded. "Yes, I am," she said. "So now you know why I cannot travel on my
own."  
  
Gavin puzzled a moment. Zantrists were the prize of any court, from Uban Abar
to Zhamvari and every sovereignty in between. As both supposed seers and
consorts, their talents were unparalleled. In effect, zantrists were akin to
royalty in their own right, for they claimed to have the power to see the
future and read the past. But Gavin had always dismissed such tales of the
zantrists. Only the True Oracle could divine the future with any surety.
Still, he knew the zantrists lived protected, cultured lives with no training
for survival.  
  
"I do indeed," Gavin responded at last. "And I must apologize for my
intervention. I should have let the natural course of events unfold."  
  
The woman gawked. "Do you mean you should have let me die at the hands of
those flesh-eating monsters?" she shrieked.  
  
Gavin cocked his head, addressing her unemotionally. "As horrific a death as
it would have been, it would have been quick," he said. "Far quicker than what
you will suffer out here on your own." He nodded his head and offered the
Circle of Life. "My apologies, dear lady."  
  
The woman stared after him, astonished, confused and frightened as the man who
had just been her savior turned and walked away.  
  
"If you leave me to die, I will haunt you!" she cried.  
  
Gavin scowled and turned back. "Give me no hasty threats," he growled.  
  
She stared back with pleading eyes. "I beg you. Take me with you. Do with me
as you will. I will give myself to you if that is what you want. But do not
leave me to this forsaken waste."  
  
He took the few steps between them, advancing upon the woman until he towered
over her. To her credit, she stared back, defiant in the face of his
intimidation.  
  
"I am a knight in service to the Ministry," he said carefully. "My duty
supersedes any . . . personal needs I may have. I do not wish your favors, or
your company."  
  
"Then why did you save me?" she countered.  
  
Gavin stared into the woman's eyes. Had he not been charged with his sacred
duty, he would have allowed himself to admire the loveliness of the woman
before him. But he kept to his resolve, and rather than answer her question,
turned away again. "I shall be on my way," he said.  
  
The woman followed him with her eyes as he approached the horse that awaited
him. Furtively, she glanced about, desperation making her assess what she did
and did not need to gather. Her heart palpitated in anxiety as she realized
she was being left behind.  
  
As Gavin climbed into the saddle, he heard the woman's voice calling after
him.  
  
"I'll die on my own!"  
  
Gritting his teeth, Gavin spurred his mount, continuing west. He tried not to
think of the fate of the woman he left behind.  
  
* * * *   
  
He reached the Dying Grotto not long after the second sun had dipped below the
horizon and plunged the world into star-dotted blackness. The gnarled husks of
once-thriving trees surrounded him like the skeletal arms of a dead earth-god,
reaching up from the parched floor of the desert. With the dark massive boughs
to deflect the wind that washed across the plain, the sunken vale was still
and quiet.  
  
He found a spot at the base of a massive trunk and pitched his camp. Once he
had a small fire burning in the shadow of the old dead tree, Gavin erected a
simple lean-to shelter. He drank from his waterskin, slipped a feed bag over
the muzzle of his steed, then broke open one of the ration packs from the
saddle bags. Salted fish, dry cheese and a wheat biscuit hardly made for a
sumptuous meal, but they provided what the knight needed.  
  
He could not stop his mind from wondering as to the fate of zantrist woman he
had met. The most optimistic scenario in his mind had her riding hard to Owrn,
arriving haggard, tired, but alive and untouched as the morning light spilled
across the grand city's walls. She would be accepted, nursed, fed, and
provided another guide for her trip to Sothari. Her life would continue on.  
  
But other, less forgiving scenarios plagued him. He imagined the woman being
ambushed by blacknails, or gapemaws, or any of the other murderous beasts that
hunted the wastelands at night, and being torn apart while cursing his name.  
  
He pinched the bridge of his nose and told him he had done what was right. He
had followed, as he always had, the all-consuming mantra of a knight in
service to the Ministry. Duty was first and foremost. Individual lives were
but grains of sand cast to the wind before the majesty of the True Oracle, who
alone knew the destinies of all living things. He had to trust in that simple
truth, Gavin knew.  
  
In the midst of his commiserations, he became aware that he was not alone.
Shuffles of something moving through the grotto came to his ears. He heard the
snap of a dry twig. He smelled something . . . different, but familiar.
Something both sweet and desperate.  
  
Without looking, Gavin snatched up the pistol and shifted slightly to aim it
behind him, to the direction from which the gentlest of breezes rolled. "For
my love of humanity, I should kill you now and be done with it," he said. He
let his gaze drift slowly around until he was looking upon the zantrist woman.
She had donned a heavy cloak that covered her from neck to foot and led a
horse that had been hastily laden with bulky amounts of provisions.  
  
The woman stared at him as she stopped in her tracks, both fear and
hopefulness dueling for prominence in her wide, glistening eyes. "Why would
you kill an innocent?" she asked.  
  
"To save you from a more gruesome death," he answered. "You've never seen the
wastelands before, have you?"  
  
She shook her head. "I've only heard stories."  
  
Gavin returned the pistol to it's holster. "'Stories,'" he repeated with a
mirthful tone. "And what have the glorified tales of the world outside your
sheltered temple told you?"  
  
She studied him with eyes far more mature than they should have been. "That
our world is dying," she said. "That we cling to allegiances and notions of
duty and honor that no longer hold any weight."  
  
He glared at her. "Without duty, there is no life," he intoned, invoking one
of the many mantras by which he lived.  
  
She stepped forward gingerly. "Perhaps, if you only define yourself through
service," she said, eyes wide with trepidation. "Duty is only a part of life."  
  
He turned back to his meal with a frown. "Says the temple harlot."  
  
The woman came around before him, keeping her distance. She lowered herself to
her knees on the other side of the fire, folding her legs beneath. The cloak
draped about her like a small tent. "It is true that I also belong to a life
of service," she admitted. "But there must be more than that, don't you
think?"  
  
"When I was a child, I thought so," said Gavin pointedly. "Then I matured, and
discovered we all have a place in the world."  
  
Her eyes fell to the fire, watching the flames, seeing within them ghosts of
things she had not yet experienced. "When I was young," she said. "When I was
first taken to the temple because of my gifts, I dreamed of being a princess,
or an adventurer. Life was still so simple and unspoiled then. But as I grew
came the cynicism. It was told to me, again and again, that we are not
harbingers of our own fate. We cannot change what we were meant to be."  
  
Gavin snorted. "Then you were taught well."  
  
She stared at him above the flames. "I did not believe it then, and I do not
believe it now."  
  
"Then you have not learned what you were taught," he snapped, standing
abruptly.  
  
The woman's eyes widened. "What are you doing?"  
  
He gave her an amused look. "If you must know, I need to relieve myself," he
said before stepping away from the fire.  
  
She watched him walk toward a nearby tree, then turned back to her absent
watch over the fire. She shifted beneath the cloak, finding that it scratched
her fine skin. She had become accustomed, during her years of training at the
temple, to wearing little in the way of clothing, and often nothing at all.
But the cold desert demanded more protection than her minimalist garb.  
  
"You really should have gone east," Gavin growled as he returned to the fire.
"Owrn would have taken you in and arranged for passage to Sothari once you
explained yourself."  
  
"And I would have been back on the road to servitude," she said. "I would
rather chance my life with a knight-gunman traveling the wastelands."  
  
He frowned. "Is your life truly that terrible?"  
  
"Terrible?" she repeated. "No, I suppose not 'terrible,' but it is hardly my
life, especially now that I have been promised to another."  
  
"You are to be married, then."  
  
"If I continue to Sothari, yes."  
  
"Then why delay?" Gavin asked. "In Sothari, your protected life would
continue. I am confused as to why you would not want that."  
  
Her eyes softened as she regarded him. "Do you know anything of the zantrist
life?"  
  
"I've met a few of your kind before."  
  
She laughed, a short, sharp, tittering sound. "'My kind,'" she repeated. "As
if I am of some other race." She shook her head with a rueful smile that
turned nostalgic as she spoke. "Zantrist training is not like what knights, or
surveyors, or marksmen go through. There is regimen and discipline, yes, but
there are also equal amounts of freedom. No single zantrist does everything
the same way. We are encouraged to develop our own particular skills."  
  
Gavin gave the woman a look. "Oh, I've been fortunate enough to sample some
zantrist skills now and then," he said.  
  
She smiled back cattily. "I'm sure you have sampled some small measure of a
zantrist's ways," she said. "But our sexual prowess is secondary to our true
abilities."  
  
He studied her face. "Prophecy," he said dubiously.  
  
She nodded. "Prophecy," she repeated. "But it is a double-edged blade. It
makes us valuable to others, so valuable in fact that we are treated as prize
possessions. Pampered, spoiled, but still not free."  
  
"Most in the world would willingly trade lives with you," Gavin pointed out.  
  
"Certainly, at first they would. But when everything you do is under the
watchful eye of someone else, when you are so protected from the world by
bodyguards and laws that you dare not make friends outside the temple . . .
privilege is just another word for a comfortable life of slavery. And then, of
course, we are called upon to divine the future for some gluttonous politician
who wishes to stab another in the back, or to determine if a marriage will
result in healthy children for the ruling family."  

Gavin cocked his head in interest. "So you really can read the future?"  
  
Adastriana nodded. "The future, the past . . . but the future is fluid; what
we divine is usually only the most likely outcome. But too many do not
understand that. We are not perfect."  
  
He gave her a cocky smirk. "So divine me something," he challenged.  
  
The woman frowned. "Now?"  
  
"Yes, now," Gavin said. "I have saved your life. Is that not worth a
divination?"  
  
She looked about, plainly ill at ease. "This is not what I would call the best
of circumstances," she said.  
  
He looked upon her, expectant.  
  
She met Gavin's gaze, reading the challenge in his eyes. "Alright," she said
at last, shifting beneath the voluminous cloak. She pushed herself to her
feet, then reached up and undid the clasp. The heavy fabric fell to the
ground. Her eyes remained on Gavin's. "But remember that you asked for this."  
  
The knight said nothing as he watched the beautiful woman before him reach to
the red leather top that encased her breasts. A quick turn of a clasp, a shrug
of her shoulders, and the brassier fell to the ground. Next she unfastened the
skirt and let it slide down her thighs. Stepping free from the garment, she
stood fully nude before his interested gaze.  
  
Never had Gavin seen a woman of such sublime pale beauty. Aside from the
intricate tattoos, not a mark or blemish adorned her skin that he could
discern. Her skin was nearly as pale and shimmering as mercury. The woman's
breasts hung suspended upon her chest as if invisibly supported. Her belly was
taut and smooth, with a narrow navel that seemed to point downward to a
neatly-trimmed triangle of dark hair just above smooth and silky labia.  
  
Unabashedly, the zantrist lowered herself to her knees once more, but this
time spread her legs far apart. She pushed her hips out, thrusting her sex
toward the fire and leaned back upon her hands. Firm breasts, nipples
darkening, thrust toward the dark sky above. With her head cast back, she
muttered words Gavin could not hear.  
  
He watched through the fluttering haze of the fire as the zantrist brought up
a hand and settled it to her pubic mound. Fine-boned fingers wandered back and
forth through soft dark hair, occasionally touching the thick pink shroud
between the puffy labia. As the moments ticked by, she began touching herself
in earnest.  
  
Gavin found himself enraptured by the sight. He had never before been privy to
watching a woman pleasure herself, and found the scene all at once fascinating
and supremely arousing. The zantrist woman's fingers began massaging the
enclosed button above her sex, delving down between bright pink lips as they
flared out more and more.  
  
As her self-pleasure mounted, she fell onto her back, still with her legs
curled beneath, and spread her thighs widely apart. First one, then another
finger plunged into the glistening depths of her sex. Gavin could hear the
smacking wet sounds as the woman repeatedly and rapidly stabbed into her sex
over and over.  
  
Hoarse gasps and wanton sighs rose in pitch. While the one hand was busy
jabbing away at her pussy, the other caressed blushing breasts and pinched
stiffened nipples. The woman's entire body undulated as if a boat riding a
tumultuous sea.  
  
Then, finally, she gasped and cried out with release, her body shuddering,
bucking, convulsing upon the ground. She buried the fingers within her pussy
deep, pressing her palm against her clit.  
  
Gavin's aroused gaze wandered over the woman's body as she slowly relaxed. He
shifted upon his seat, finding the armor around his groin suddenly
uncomfortable. But more than being aroused, he was curious.  
  
With a heated sigh of satisfaction, the zantrist pushed herself up. Her face,
neck and the tops of her breasts glowed with rouge. Her eyes were heavy, hair
casting strands across her face. She slid the fingers from her pussy and
brought them to her face. With a contented murmur, she sucked her own slick
essence clean. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment.  
  
"Gavin Reed," she said at last, her words strangely echoing, as if spoken by
several similar voices at once.  
  
"Yes?" he asked tentatively.  
  
She continued, still with her eyes closed, speaking in between licks and sucks
of her fingers. "Born to a dead mother, raised by a soldier father. You
followed in his boots, and surpassed him. He has not spoken to you in four and
more years. In your life, you have claimed one hundred and twenty-three lives
and known nine lovers, none of whom you loved . . . and in two days' time you
will die."  
  
As she spoke, Gavin's expression changed from aroused interest to perturbed
annoyance. The fire of fear was ignited in his heart with the final words she
spoke. In a sudden move, he leapt across the fire to land beside her, and
lifted her head.  
  
"How do you know this?" he demanded. "Who are you?"  
  
The woman's head lolled back and forth. Her eyes split open, revealing cloudy
white orbs. "She is Adastriana, the next True Oracle," she said, the multitude
of voices rising in pitch and clarity.  
  
He took his hand away and stepped back, looking down upon the nude woman
beneath him as if she ahd become something alien, something dangerous. A
battery of chaotic thoughts assaulted him. He could not believe what he had
just heard and witnessed, yet neither could he deny the truth of his own
senses.  
  
After pacing back and forth for several moments, Gavin looked upon the
zantrist. She lay in a stupor, panting as if recovering from supreme exertion.
The thought occurred to Gavin that he could end her life and bury the corpse
within the grotto and be done with it. He could continue on with his quest
alone, as had been intended.  
  
Instead, he gathered the comatose woman in his arms and carried her to the
shelter of his simplistic tent. He covered her in the cloak she had been
wearing, and set the rest of her clothing nearby.  
  
Troubled with his thoughts, he shook out another blanket and lay down beside
the fire. He did not sleep much that night.  
  
* * * *   
  
Neither Gavin nor Adastriana spoke beyond the niceties of cleaning up the camp
and getting underway. Gavin could feel a barrier between them - not that
they'd had much of a rapport previously - that kept him from asking the
zantrist about the evening before.  
  
After over an hour of riding, however, the tension finally broke as Adastriana
spurred her mount closer to his and spoke. "What was your divination?"  
  
The sudden voice startled him, and Gavin had to struggle to comprehend what
she said. He frowned upon her. "You do not remember?"  
  
She laughed softly. "I never do," she informed him. "The gift of prophecy is
sent to me. I am merely a medium."  
  
Gavin read her face, but he could see no sign of deception. She was the same
frightened woman from the previous day, though the fear was becoming lessened
now. Gavin could only assume it was due to his presence.  
  
"Well?"  
  
He shrugged his shoulders dismissively. "Nothing particularly impressive," he
said.  
  
Adastriana nodded slowly, unconvinced, but remained unwilling to push the
point. "Ah." She shifted in the saddle, hitched up the reins. "So, where are
we going?"  
  
Gavin responded with obvious irritation in his voice. "_You_ are going to
Averine," he said pointedly. "As soon as we get through the Rift. I am leaving
you there and continuing on my own."  
  
The zantrist woman let her eyes drift ahead to the horizon, where a dark
shadow lay hovering above the entrance of a deep rift in the ground. "There
are only two cities this far west," she said. "Averine being the closest. So
if you are continuing on, you must be headed to Neustis."  
  
He shot her a dark look, said nothing.  
  
"You are going to see the True Oracle, then?"  
  
Gavin gritted his teeth. "It is no concern of yours, Adastriana," he said. "I
am leaving you in Averine."  
  
His horse plodded on for several moments before Gavin realized his unwanted
companion had stopped. Pulling back on the reins, he turned in his saddle and
looked back. The pale-skinned woman sat still, almost mannequin-like, staring
back at him. Their eyes met, his dark and annoyed, hers wide and questioning.  
  
"How do you know my name?" she asked.  
  
The creases in his brow darkened. "You told me," he said. "Last night."  
  
Her eyes dipped. She fell quiet. The cloak billowed about her slender body,
tugged by the dry wind of the desert. "I don't remember that," she muttered,
her voice almost unheard.  
  
Gavin huffed, perturbed. "You should cultivate your memory," he snapped, then
slapped the reins of his steed. "Come, keep up."  
  
* * * *   
  
The Rift, as it's name implied, was a great, deep gouge in the land. The
shadow of the scar upon the world was visible on the plain for hours before
Gavin and his companion came to it. To north and south, the terrible gap
stretched to the horizon. Where they approached, simple stone buildings stood
at the edge of the chasm, with lifeless windows staring out. The bank of the
other side was nearly half a mile away, eliciting hopelessness that it could
ever be reached.  
  
Gavin slid from the saddle and drew his pistol as they approached. "Be alert,"
he barked.  
  
Adastriana looked about in consternation. "Shouldn't we go around?" she asked.  
  
"No," said Gavin, leading his horse past the stone constructions. He stopped
at the edge of the Rift, peering down. A yawning darkness stared back,
promising only death. But even in the depths of such a monstrous chasm, there
remained hope. A stony bridge had been built, some ages before, between the
walls of the Rift. It lay more than five times the height of a man beneath the
cliff's edge.  
  
Gavin turned back to the zantrist, who looked fearful and anxious upon her
horse. "Going around would take more than half a day," he said. "There's a
bridge below that spans the chasm. We'll take that. But be wary."  
  
Adastriana swallowed thickly, eyes quivering. "I've heard stories of the
Rift," she said. "About the rift trolls."  
  
Gavin nodded, leading his steed toward the largest of the buildings. A broad
archway beckoned within, revealing a large metal platform set into the ground,
with mechanical controls in the wall beside. "We'll have to watch out for
them," he said. "It's been years since anyone has crossed the bridge, so
perhaps the rift trolls are no longer around. But we shouldn't expect that."  
  
The zantrist eased from the saddle and walked her mount into the building
after Gavin. Following his lead, she made sure her horse was positioned upon
the rusted metal platform. "And if they are?"  
  
Gavin cast the woman a look. "Better arm yourself," he said. He reached to a
conspicuous lever on the wall above the platform and jerked hard upon it. The
metal platform shuddered, then groaned as it began to descend. The horses
snorted and clipped their hooves in apprehension. Adastriana wavered on unsure
feet.  
  
Amid great moaning mechanical gears and the screams of protesting metal, the
platform descended. The zantrist looked about in uncertainty as uneven stone
walls scrolled by. Her eyes finally settled upon Gavin, who remained stoic in
the corner of the elevator. His apparent calm gave her reason to quell her
fears, if only a bit. Heeding his advice, she took from her horse one of the
weapons she had salvaged from her caravan. It was blunt but impressive, and
gave her a sense of confidence as she held it.  
  
"Make sure it's loaded and ready to fire," Gavin remarked, having watched her.  
  
Adastriana looked to the weapon in frustrated confusion. Seeing the look,
Gavin rolled his eyes and snatched the shotgun from her grip, making the woman
gasp.  
  
"Have you never been trained to use a weapon?" he asked.  
  
She stared back acidly. "Where I am from, there are always those trained to
protect me."  
  
Gavin grimaced, checking the weapon. Thankfully for his companion, she had
taken one that would load itself after each shot. He clicked the small button
beside the trigger that turned off the safety, then gave the woman a look as
he handed it back.  
  
"Do not," he said firmly. "Under any circumstance, point this at me. Hold it
firmly with both hands, the stock against your side. You only have five
rounds, so if you must, make them count."  
  
Adastriana nodded as she took the weapon back. At that moment, the platform
shuddered to a stop, making the zantrist gasp in startlement. Gavin lifted the
gate. Beyond, a tunnel led to the bridge, which stretched like a long, stony
arm from some bygone giant into the darkness. The bridge was wide enough for
two horses to move side by side across its span.  
  
"Gather the reins, but not too tightly," Gavin ordered. "We'll lead the
mounts."  
  
"Why not just ride across?" Adastriana asked.  
  
He met her eyes. "Because if we're attacked, or they slip, better to lose just
them and not ourselves."  
  
She swallowed thickly. She grabbed a handful of the leather straps dangling
from her horse's bit, then held them against the stock of the shotgun. She
offered a look to the knight-gunman which she hoped conveyed her readiness.  
  
"Stay beside me," he told her stepping forward. As he approached, then set
foot upon, the bridge, he cast his gaze about. Up, down, left, right. Where he
looked, he followed with the pistol in his right hand. Winds swirled within
the Rift, tugging gently at their clothes as the two advanced across. Various
haunting moans drifted around them, like the voices of ghosts.  
  
"How did they build this?" Adastriana asked after several minutes had passed.  
  
"Geomancers," Gavin responded. "According to legend, it took half a dozen of
them a full seven days to grow this bridge."  
  
Adastriana bulged her eyes, impressed by the information. "They . . . 'grew'
it?" she asked.  
  
Gavin nodded, casting a quick look back. "That's the legend," he said. He
suddenly stopped, senses alert. A faint skittering noise reached his ears.  
  
"That's amazing," Adastriana uttered, looking down at the broad path upon
which they traveled. She tried not to think of the great chasm that waited
below, like a hungry mouth eager to devour. "I've barely heard any tales of
the geomancers-"  
  
"Quiet."  
  
Gavin's rough, commanding voice sent her into silence. She stopped walking,
standing beside him. Her eyes gave silent, quivering questions to the knight-
gunman.  
  
The man himself stood still, training his senses. Through the wind, the faint
echoing howls, the skittering noise persisted. It conjured to his mind images
of giant beetles clamoring over rocks. With a sense of dread, he realized the
sounds were coming from below.  
  
From the underside of the stony bridge.  
  
He cocked the hammer on his revolver. "They're beneath us," he said.  
  
Adastriana trembled, eyes suddenly wide with fear. "'They?'" she asked.  
  
Gavin nodded grimly. "Do as I say and don't hesitate," he told her.
"Otherwise, you will die. Do you understand?"  
  
She breathed heavily through her nostrils, heart palpitating. She looked
about, furtive, darting snaps of her eyes. She could not see what Gavin had
somehow detected, but neither did she doubt the man.  
  
"Do you understand?" he repeated, more forcefully.  
  
She bobbed her head. "Y-yes," she answered.  
  
"Good. Now, run."  
  
Adastriana's eyes widened. "What?"  
  
"RUN!"  
  
Gavin's uproarious cry filled the air, both startling and spurring the young
woman. With a gasp, she charged forward, horse in tow, running full tilt
across the bridge. Gavin watched her as she and her steed passed, but only for
a split-second before his attention flipped to the bridge behind.  
  
Hairy dark forms suddenly shot up from the darkness beneath the bridge,
howling, cackling, sneering. They flashed yellowed fangs and dark claws,
blazed amber eyes more feral than those of any wild animal. Gavin did not
hesitate as they pounced upon the bridge, letting loose with his pistol.  
  
Deafening roars shattered the air. Two of the rift trolls pitched back, their
chests exploding with gore before they flew over the edge into the unforgiving
deep. Even before they had vanished from view, Gavin was already sprinting to
catch up with his companion, knowing that his well-trained horse would keep
up.  
  
"Don't stop!" he barked, firing his pistol again as another of the rift trolls
emerged before them. The head of the monster shattered with a spray of ichor
before the body toppled back.  
  
Adastriana kept running, peripherally seeing the movements of shadows as she
did so. Her heart hammered, driven by fear, fueling her limbs beyond their
normal limits. All she wanted was to get across the bridge, to the implied
promise of safety on the other side. But salvation seemed almost too far away,
a tiny black maw at the end of an impossibly long and treacherous bridge.
Still, she had no choice but to continue. She had not braved the dangers of
the wastelands to become a meal for rift trolls.  
  
_I shall make it_, she told herself. _I must make it!_  
  
Gavin saw the clawed hand rising from beyond the edge of the bridge, but
Adastriana's cloak billowed behind her, obscuring the taloned hand from view.
In the next moment, the zantrist was crying out as she tumbled to the floor of
the bridge, slapping her hands across jagged rock in an effort to keep from
going over the edge. "Gavin!"  
  
But as the knight-gunman charged to her rescue, several more rift trolls lept
before him, sneering and snarling in premature triumph. Gavin's senses told
him more had clamored up behind, between he and the horses. His attention,
however, was upon Adastriana and the troll-like creature climbing up over the
edge, pulling her to it. Her eyes burned with fear.  
  
Gavin did not hesitate. The word was not one of which a knight-gunman was
aware. Holstering his pistol, he hurled himself toward the closest pair of
rift trolls, curling his hands around the far sides of their heads, pulling
them down toward him and locking his arms about their necks. Using their
bodies as crutches, he kicked with both feet, sending two more rift trolls
sprawling upon the bridge.  
  
Momentum carried him up, and he drew in his legs to somersault backward. He
felt the satisfying cracks as the necks pinched in his arms snapped. Landing
on his feet, he dropped the bodies to the ground and glanced back. He need not
have bothered; the pair of trollish monsters had their hands full with Gavin's
horse, which reared up, foremost hooves lashing out. The hairy little
creatures would not last long, he knew.  
  
Turning back, the two rift trolls he had kicked, along with a third, were now
coming toward him. Gavin strode toward them with purpose, mindful of
Adastriana's screams. But as a knight-gunman, he could not let her predicament
impede his skill. He remained calm and focused.  
  
The three trolls charged at once, seeking to bring the man down through
numbers and savagery. But Gavin was a quick, well-trained warrior, more than
capable of anticipating the clumsy attacks of near-mindless brutes. As the
trio of rift trolls pounced, Gavin effected a practiced stance. He curled his
fingers in, pressing hidden buttons in the palms of his gauntlets. Curved
blades sprouted from either side of his wrists.  
  
The rift trolls came to him, snarling, howling, anticipating a glorious kill.
But as their claws raked across armor, Gavin moved with swift, slicing
strikes, his blades ringing as they slashed through flesh and bone.  
  
The creatures stumbled past him, wavering as blood poured from wounds across
their necks and under their arms. Gavin ignored them, continuing on to
Adastriana. Behind him, the rift trolls pitched to the ground, twitching in
their final moments.  
  
It took only a kick to send the obscene troll upon the woman screaming into
the abyss below. Gavin knelt and helped Adastriana onto her knees. She
clutched him desperately, as a child would a protective father.  
  
"Th-they c-c-could have k-killed me," she stammered. "They c-c-could have
killed me . . . ."  

He smoothed her hair, holding her close. "Are you wounded?"  
  
She remained shuddering for a few moments before pulling back. "I . . . I
don't know," she said, then drew back the cloak to look upon her body. A group
of puncture wounds was conspicuous on her upper thigh, where the rift troll
had gripped her. She hissed at the sight.  
  
"Oh, Gods," she whimpered. "They're infectious, aren't they? The rift trolls?"  
  
Gavin nodded. He was already reaching for the uppermost pouch on his armor.
"Yes. Under normal circumstances, you would begin degenerating into a rift
troll yourself in half a day. Usually, I would either slit your throat or push
you over the side, depending on how I felt for you."  
  
His words brought a fervor of alarm to Adastriana's face.  
  
He extracted the white handkerchief, and, for the first time since they had
met, gave the zantrist woman the barest of smiles. "But I won't." He unfolded
the piece of imbued silk and settled it over Adastriana's wound. She caught
her breath and tensed as the aura-touched fabric began to do its work.  
  
"It hurts," she muttered.  
  
"Better this than the alternative," Gavin said, watching as the cloth turned
pinkish as it soaked up the blood. But then, after a few moments, the blood
seemed to dissipate, and the cloth was once more stark white. He took it away,
revealing nothing but unmarred skin.  
  
"Interesting," he commented, mostly to himself, and folded the handkerchief
before tucking it away.  
  
"Where did you get that?" Adastriana asked in amazement.  
  
"It was a gift. It supposedly heals any wound, no matter how grievous," Gavin
replied, standing. He offered a hand and helped the woman to her feet. His
eyes traveled down the bridge to the other side. "We had best continue on.
There may be more rift trolls about, but it will take them time to garner
enough courage to attack again."  
  
Adastriana stared at the man before her. "Yesterday you would likely have let
me fall into the chasm and continue on as if I was nothing to you," she said
pointedly. "But today you act as if it is your duty to protect me. What _did_
I say to you last night? What was your divination?"  
  
Gavin studied her eyes a moment, tempted to reveal what he had been told. It
was suddenly clear that, at least for the sake of the divination she had
performed the earlier evening, she truly was not privy to her own words. But
Gavin remained stoic.  
  
"Perhaps we'll discuss it later," he said. "For now, let us continue on."  
  
The zantrist began to protest, but realized it would be futile to challenge
the grim knight. With an exasperated huff, she took up the reins of her horse
and followed close as Gavin led the way across the chasm.  
  
* * * *   
  
The rest of the crossing across the Rift met with no further complications,
for which both Gavin and Adastriana were thankful. Upon reaching the far end,
they directed the horses into yet another creaking, aged elevator and rode to
the surface.  
  
A light dust storm greeted them, casting up pale yellow dust that made
visibility beyond perhaps thirty feet or so difficult. Gavin narrowed his eyes
against the caustic uplift, and with a motion to Adastriana to remain close,
led his mount out into the wastelands once more.  
  
Only a handful of steps from the shelter of the elevator building, Gavin
stopped as he noticed an obscured form standing upon the plain before them.
There was a familiar look to the man; he stood casually alert, clad in the
same bronzed leather armor which Gavin himself wore. A horse laden for travel
stood patiently nearby. Propped against the skeletal remains of a long-dead
tree was a large rifle. Even through the swirling clouds of dust, Gavin could
tell it's make. He owned one just like it.  
  
"Stay here," Gavin ordered Adastriana, without looking to her. Leaving his
steed behind, he stepped forward, stopping when the man's pale blonde hair and
features were visible.  
  
"Hail, fellow knight," the man called as he made the Circle of Life motion
across his chest and gave a quick bow. "I am Knight-Gunman Corvo, of Neustis.
The Oracle was concerned you may need assistance to arrive in time, so I was
dispatched to meet you."  
  
Gavin narrowed his gaze even more, this time with suspicion. "That is not
usual protocol," he said.  
  
Corvo approached with a chuckling smile. "No, it is not," he agreed. "And I
informed Her Greatness of that. A knight's quest is a sacred duty. But the
Oracle insisted, and as we are all honor-bound to obey Her wishes . . . well,
here I am."  
  
Gavin relaxed somewhat. "I suppose I can understand that," he said. "Another
gun cannot hurt, after all."  
  
The man strode closer and extended a hand. "I have also been instructed to
take possession of the book you carry," he said.  
  
Suspicion returned to Gavin. He regarded the man before him warily. "It is my
charge. I am not to give it up."  
  
Corvo nodded with an apologetic look. "I know. Under any other circumstance, I
would not dare to ask you to break the knight's code. But I have been
specifically instructed to do so."  
  
"By the True Oracle?" Gavin asked.  
  
"Yes. By the True Oracle."  
  
Gavin fell silent. This was not the first time the protocol of the knight's
code had been breached during his years of service. It was a rare thing, but
not unheard of. Still, Gavin could not allow himself to give in so readily.  
  
"Gavin."  
  
Adastriana's voice drifted to him from behind, faint so as not to be overheard
by the other man. Gavin turned his head only just, so that he could still see
the other knight peripherally. "Yes."  
  
"He is not to be trusted," the zantrist continued. "Do not ask me how I know
this, but I do. He has other intentions."  
  
"Is this a divination?" Gavin asked.  
  
"A feeling."  
  
_A feeling_, Gavin thought warily. _From a zantrist_. He addressed Corvo,
taking a few steps toward the man. He noticed that his fellow knight-gunman
was already standing balanced and ready, as if expecting a fight.  
  
"I cannot let you have the book, Corvo," he said. "Under the circumstances, I
would suggest you return to Neustis on your own."  
  
A malevolent smile crossed the other man's face. "Then we have arrived at an
impasse. I am to have that book, or die trying. That is my quest."  
  
The two men stared at one another as the dusty wind swirled between them.
Adastriana watched fearfully, not knowing what was to happen. She wondered
why, now that Corvo had made it plain that he was to take whatever book he and
Gavin were discussing, by any means necessary, Gavin did not simply shoot the
man. After all, Corvo appeared to be unarmed. His rifle lay conspicuously out
of reach.  
  
Gavin settled his hand upon the butt of the pistol at his waist. "If you were
of the mind, you could have taken me down from a distance with your rifle," he
said.  
  
Corvo nodded. "We may be at odds, but you are a fellow knight and I would not
do that. I had hoped I could parlay for the book, but it seems my skills at
diplomacy are lacking. So that leaves us with a situation. You could now claim
my life before I have a chance to reach you. But that would be doing me a
disservice. You are a knight as I am. We follow a code."  
  
Gavin nodded grimly and drew the pistol from his belt. "That we do," he said
carefully. He regarded the weapon as Corvo waited, teeth gritted.  
  
"Prepare yourself," Gavin said to the man, and tossed the pistol aside.  
  
As the weapon fell heavily to the dirt, the two men burst into action. Both
quiet and grim-faced, Gavin and Corvo charged, meeting one another with
flurries of blows. Hands and feet swung and kicked, countered by the practiced
moves. The air around them was filled with the sounds of impacts against
armored arms and legs, the occasional blow to the torso.  
  
The two combatants seemed evenly matched. But as Corvo jumped back after
Gavin's strike found its way to his midriff, the enemy knight pivoted with a
kick aimed for Gavin's head. But the kick was a feint, and as Gavin ducked,
Corvo spun and lashed out with his other foot, catching Gavin in the chest.  
  
Gavin grunted as he fell back, landing hard upon the ground, breath expelled
from his lungs. Dazed for a moment, he nevertheless had enough wits to
anticipate his opponent's leap. He rolled to the side just as Corvo landed
heavily where he had been, heavy booted foot crashing into the ground where
Gavin's head should have been.  
  
Gavin rolled back, striking deftly into Corvo's side with his left hand, then
following with a sweep of his right arm. Grunting with pain, the man fell
back, giving Gavin the opportunity to jump to his feet. Both men came up at
the same time, facing each other with hands raised. Blades sprang from their
wrists. The combat entered the next stage.  
  
Their strikes were more furious, more swift now. Blades sang as they slashed
across armor they could not penetrate. More impacts sounded as the two men
blocked strikes. Adastriana could not follow the movements with her eyes. She
was watching something that, to her, seemed supernatural. No one should have
been able to move as quickly and deftly as these two men. She shuddered with
anxiety, wanting the fight to end, and for Gavin to emerge the victor.  
  
But then Corvo became totally defensive, not trying to strike as he fended off
Gavin's furious strikes. The man back-stepped, blocking blow after blow,
letting Gavin advance. But then suddenly, he caught his opponent just right,
and as Gavin over-extended with a vicious swipe toward his neck, Corvo reared
back, spun about, and slashed.  
  
Adastriana's voice pierced through the howling winds. "No!"  
  
Gavin stumbled, falling to the side, reflexively clutching his neck. The
warmth of his own blood flooded down to his shoulders, across his jaw. He fell
to his left knee, feeling his strength ebb. Turned from Corvo, he lifted his
eyes and found Adastriana, offering a silent apology.  
  
_But . . . she said I would die in two days' time_, he remembered. _And it has
not yet been two days . . . ._  
  
Adastriana stared back, wanting to do something, anything. She fumbled to take
up the shotgun, wondering if she could shoot Corvo before he finished off her
knight.  
  
But Gavin raised a hand, cautioning the woman to stay out of the fight. A
sudden moment of clarity dawned across his face and through his mind. He
remembered the knife in its sheath against his right calf.  
  
As Corvo approached with the obvious intent of ending the fight, Gavin reached
for the blade, jerking it free as he spun about. With all the strength he had
left, he caught Corvo's upraised arm with one hand and stabbed deep into the
other knight's chest with the other. The knife slid easily through armor as if
it was not there, and through flesh, muscle and bone just as readily.  
  
Corvo froze, an expression of shock dominating his face. He stared at Gavin in
wonder. "So . . . we kill . . . each other . . . ."  
  
Gavin grimaced, then twisted the knife, driving it deeper, piercing the man's
heart. "Only you," he managed to grunt, before shoving the man away and
falling back.  
  
Sprawled upon the ground, Gavin gestured to Adastriana, even as he pulled at
the pocket of his armor in which was kept the handkerchief. He tried to speak,
but that required too much effort. He could not even see clearly. The darkness
was closing in.  
  
He was just able to see the zantrist's form hovering over him before he
succumbed.  
  
* * * *   
  
"Gavin!"  
  
He sat up suddenly, startling the woman. His hand reflexively went to his
neck, finding the handkerchief there. He took it away and watched as it
transformed from a blood-saturated cloth to its pristine white hue once more.
He touched his bare neck again, finding no trace of a wound.  
  
Adastriana beamed with relief. "You're alive."  
  
The knight-gunman nodded. "I am indeed," he said. "Thanks to you."  
  
"I remembered the cloth," she said, moving about on her knees before him. "If
you had not used it to heal me I would not have known about it."  
  
He breathed out. Strangely, he felt rejuvenated, as if he had not lost any
blood at all. Given such a grievous wound, even if it had been closed he would
expect to be weak for days. Yet instead, he felt as fit and hale as if he'd
had several nights' rest in a comfortable bed.  
  
He looked about, spying Corvo's body on the ground, the hilt of the knife
protruding from the chest, then the man's horse and his equipment. He rolled
to his feet and stood.  
  
"I was not out for long," he commented.  
  
"No," Adastriana confirmed. "A few minutes."  
  
Gavin stepped to the body and withdrew the knife from the dead man's chest.
_One of three kills_, he thought. "Good. We need to keep moving if we want to
make Averine before the inns close."  
  
Adastriana stood, a forlorn shadow crossing her face. "You still intend to
leave me there?"  
  
He looked to her. "For both our sakes, it would be best, wouldn't it?"  
  
She cast her eyes down. "I suppose," she agreed in a small voice.  
  
* * * *   
  
They rode in relative silence, punctuated now and then by inane casual
conversation, as the hours passed upon the stark, lifeless plains. As the hazy
glow of the sun disappeared, replaced with abject darkness, Gavin kept on
until the gently-glowing mecca of Averine appeared in the distance beyond a
set of rolling, dust-streaming hills.  
  
"We should just make it!" he called over the growing winds, and spurred the
mounts further.  
  
Indeed, just as the sentries at the gate to the city switched off the gaslight
lamps upon towering poles above the walls, Gavin and Adastriana approached.
They were allowed in, mainly due to Gavin's obvious status as a knight-gunman,
and led their mounts through the arch before the portcullis descended with a
heavy sound.  
  
"This is good," Gavin said, bearing a rare but faint smile. "Neustis is three-
quarters of a day from here; I should arrive on time."  
  
"And what of me?" Adastriana asked as she rocked back and forth upon her
plodding mount.  
  
He met her gaze with his own. "You will be safe," he said pointedly. "And able
to continue on to wherever you wish."  
  
Adastriana fell quiet, looking about at her surroundings. She did not like the
idea of having to fend for herself in such an alien environment, not when she
was used to luxury and protection. She decided, with a moment of reflection,
that she could do without the luxury, but not the protection.  
  
Especially the protection of Gavin Reed.




        The True Oracle Ch. 02


_Author's note: this story was originally submitted as part of a friendly
contest between Literotica authors. I liked the premise so much I decided to
expand a little upon it. I hope you enjoy this little Fantasy/Sci-Fi tale.
Feel free to comment if you wish, but please don't forget to vote._  
  
_This is the second of a two-part installment._  
  
* * * *   
  
_Twelfth Day, Second Quadrimester, Year 3743_  
  
Taverns and inns were customarily open well into the night, and those of the
city-state of Averine were no exception. Gavin found one close to the city
gate and gave a few coins to the valet to secure their horses. With Adastriana
close beside him, he led the way into the tavern.  
  
Eyes fell upon them. The sight of an armored knight-gunman with a comely young
woman - even one swallowed up by a cloak - beside him was enough to stir
imaginations and make those with guilty consciences squirm in their chairs.
Gavin ignored the sometimes fearful, sometimes challenging looks and stepped
directly to the bar. He was conscious of how close Adastriana stayed to him,
and he did not blame her. A woman of her qualities alone in such a place at a
late hour would be mercilessly set upon by those with cruelly carnal intent.  
  
"Good evening, knight-gunman," said the stocky man behind the counter. "I hope
this is not an official visit?"  
  
"No. Just passing through. I need a room for my companion and I, one with hot
and cold plumbing, and soap. And if I could have a menu; we are in need of
real food."  
  
The bartender relaxed with a smile and handed over a folded menu. "Of course,
good sir. I'll have your room prepared." His eyes flickered across
Adastriana's pretty face. "Eh, one bed, or two?"  
  
"Two," Gavin said quickly as he perused the fare.  
  
"I will see to it. Call on me when you have chosen your meals."  
  
Gavin turned to Adastriana as the bartender stepped away. "You do not mind
sharing a room for the night, do you?"  
  
She shook her head. "Of course not." He brow furrowed in thought. "Gavin, why
are you continuing on to Neustis when another knight, dispatched by the
Oracle, was sent to kill you?"  
  
"Because that is my mission," Gavin replied simply. "I do not have the option
of abandoning my quest. My life would be forfeit."  
  
"But if you arrive, and the Oracle demands your death, what then?"  
  
"Then at least I served my purpose in life," Gavin replied curtly. "What do
you want to eat?"  
  
Adastriana gave a frustrated sigh at the change in conversation, and told
herself she would resume it later. "Let me see the menu."  
  
* * * *   
  
Sated from their meal, Gavin and Adastriana were lead to their room on the
topmost floor of the inn. The elderly woman who escorted them was the owner's
mother, a kindly woman who assured them they would be left in privacy after
commenting on what an attractive couple they made. The zantrist blushed but
said nothing. Gavin scowled.  
  
"You may bathe first," the knight-gunman said once they were within the room
with the doors closed. He removed the holstered pistol from his belt and
tossed it onto one of the beds.  
  
Adastriana looked about the room, noting the amenities. A large open alcove
included a tub, sink, and toilet. She was grateful for at least some measure
of civilization away from her temple. "More than I expected," she commented,
unfastening the clasp of the cloak. She let the garment fall to the ground
amid a cloud of wasteland dust.  
  
"More than we need . . ." began Gavin as he unfastened his bracers. He
followed after Adastriana with his eyes, watching the way the woman casually
divested herself of her minimal clothing. Dust and grime from the wastelands
contrasted starkly with the pale, revealed skin as she slid off the rest of
her clothing. Casually nude, the woman stepped to the tub and turned on the
faucet.  
  
Having adjusted the temperature of the water as it flowed into the large
basin, Adastriana stood in profile to Gavin. He admired the shape of the
woman's firm breasts, the tautness of her buttocks, the intricate swirling
tattoos that covered her arms and shoulders. Even with the grit of travel upon
her, she was easily the loveliest woman Gavin had ever seen.  
  
He suddenly realized she had turned her head to look his way, and quickly cast
his eyes down. "My apologies," he muttered.  
  
"I am not embarrassed," she said. "You have, after all, seen me fully before."  
  
Gavin allowed himself a small, fond smile. "Yes, and it is something I will
never forget."  
  
She turned to face him, delicious and unabashed in her casual nudity. Her
nipples stiffened, growing darker. A flirtatious smile stretched one corner of
her mouth. "A cherished memory?" she asked.  
  
He looked upon her, feeling less embarrassed for doing so now that she was
obviously enjoying his attention. Even his stoic nature could not help but
give way to a sense of arousal upon seeing Adastriana's brazen beauty.
"Perhaps."  
  
She flashed her eyes. "I would be willing to give you another memory," she
said suggestively. "One even more . . . intimate."  
  
The armor over Gavin's groin was beginning to feel confining. "You do not need
to give yourself to me."  
  
She stepped closer. "I know that," she said. "I am not a 'temple harlot,' as
you would say, right now. I am my own woman. I do not offer myself out of
gratitude for having saved my life at least twice. I offer myself because I
want to."  
  
His brow furrowed. "'Because you want to,'" Gavin repeated skeptically. He
found it strange to consider that anyone would do something they were not
directed, or compelled to do in some fashion.  
  
She stopped just before him, close enough that her nipples nearly grazed his
armor. "Is that really a difficult concept to understand?" she asked in a
soft, seductive voice. "That a person - a woman - would want to be with you
out of simple desire, and nothing more?"  
  
"I . . . am not the sort of man women desire," he said awkwardly.  
  
She studied Gavin's face a moment, reading his loneliness. Her heart fluttered
amid a sudden realization that her grim knight's stoicism was not simply an
occupational requirement, but the result of a life dedicated to spurning
desires in favor of following duty.  
  
She lifted up and brushed her lips gently across his. "You are now," she
whispered.  
  
He said nothing in response. No words came to mind. He could face any number
of deadly threats and emerge the victor, but at that moment, Gavin Reed,
accomplished knight-gunman of Owrn, felt . . . vulnerable. He did not know how
to act.  
  
Thankfully, Adastriana took the moment in hand and encouraged him to divest
himself of his armor. She stepped back, watching as Gavin removed the bracers,
then the greaves, then every other piece of potent protection he wore until he
was clad only in a quilted bodysuit with a zipper down the front. The aroma of
sweat, sweet yet strong, wafted from him. He had been wearing his armor for
two full days without removing it, after all.  
  
Adastriana reached for the small tab of the zipper and pulled it down. The
cloth separated from his skin, revealing the muscled torso beneath. As she
smoothed her fingers between cotton and skin, pushing the bodysuit from his
shoulders, she observed numerous scars, burns and other marks, the result of a
life of constant conflict. Some of them looked ghastly, prompting her to
wonder how he had ever survived such wounds. Each one of them was a story, she
knew, and probably not one she would be able to hear without cringing.  
  
At last, she lowered herself to her knees, dragging Gavin's bodysuit down his
body. She smirked knowingly at the outline of his penis before it was
revealed, and licked her lips in approval at the half-swollen phallus as it
dangled before her. She helped Gavin step from the garment and settled her
hands to his thighs, gazing upon that one delicious part of his anatomy that
thoroughly identified him as male.  
  
"I have always admired the sight of this particular part of a man's body," she
remarked. "Each is like a face; no two are alike. I find the variety . . .
stimulating."  
  
Gavin grimaced, feeling uncomfortable in his nudity, despite the arousal the
woman before him elicited. He was conscious of the odor of his body, though it
did not seem to perturb the zantrist woman at all.  
  
She slid upwards until she was standing, and took his hand. "Come. Share the
bath with me."  
  
Gavin yet remained silent, but he allowed himself to be led to the tub.  
  
* * * *   
  
Never had he been so pampered. The attention Adastriana gave him was almost
embarrassing. In his life, the simple act of cleaning one's body had been
nothing more than a series of mechanical motions. But now, Adastriana tended
to him as if caring for a child. Sponges had been placed at the tub's edge,
and the zantrist used them with thoroughly sensual motions, lathering them
with soap and caressing Gavin's body. The water grew cloudy as the dirt was
washed away.  
  
Then the temptress treated Gavin to another erotic sight, one far more sultry
and arousing than the self-pleasuring display of the evening before. She sat
upon the edge of the tub, thighs casually parted, and washed herself. Skin
glistened wetly as she massaged the soap into her body. Adastriana seemed lost
to her own world as she carefully cleansed every part of her body, from her
face and neck to her feet and toes. She even lifted both legs to settle her
feet on opposite sides of the tub, fully exposing the fleshy pink heart of her
sex, as she ardently scrubbed around her labia and anus.  
  
With a final dousing rinse from the shower above the tub, Adastriana again
took Gavin's hand and led him from the tub to one of the beds. They did not
bother to dry off. Feet smacked wetly upon the bare floors, leaving prints
upon old wooden grain.  
  
She turned to face him once they reached the bed, giving a look of
uncompromising desire. Her eyes were heady, lips parted and moist. "Tell me
how you want to make love," she whispered.  
  
Gavin's eyes shifted nervously. He could not meet her gaze. "I am . . . easily
satisfied," he managed to say.  
  
She placed her hands upon his chest, feeling the muscle, the scars, the pain
beneath. "I don't want to satisfy you easily," she said. "I want to satisfy
you completely." She planted small kisses upon his chest, working up to his
neck.  
  
Gavin shuddered. He was not used to not being in control. The reversal of
roles between he and Adastriana were both aggravating and alluring. His cock
was firm and thick, brushing against her abdomen. There was a part of him that
demanded he throw her down upon the bed and have his way, as he had always
done with women. They had always given themselves so easily, but without
passion. It had been their duty, after all. But now, here was a woman
providing the passion he had never known. He was unsure of how to act.  
  
She sucked tenderly at the base of his neck, then pulled back and stared into
his eyes. Her own were soft, round, eager. She wanted to please. "Tell me."  
  
He cleared his throat nervously. "I . . . don't know. It has always been the .
. . basic way for me."  
  
"'The basic way,'" she echoed, then smiled meaningfully. "Well, there will be
nothing 'basic' about tonight, I assure you." She stepped back, then lowered
herself to the bed. Wooden posts and old springs creaked slightly as the woman
eased back, parting her legs to showcase the glistening treasure between her
thighs.  
  
"Have you ever tasted a woman?"  
  
Gavin's gaze fell between her thighs. Adastriana's pussy glowed a succulent
pink, the inner lips flaring out as she casually stroked her sex. "Tasted?" he
asked dubiously.  
  
She tittered softly. "Yes. Tasted." She tapped a fingertip upon the hooded
bulb of her clitoris. "I want you to lick me. Right here."  
  
Dutifully, Gavin lowered himself to his knees between Adastriana's splayed
thighs. The aroma of her arousal, mingled with the clean scent of the bath,
filled his senses. Tentatively, he placed his hands upon the zantrist's thighs
and leaned in. He was enraptured by the sight of the woman's sex. Never in his
life had he been so close to a woman's treasure. And never had he been so
aroused.  
  
"Go on," she urged him softly. "Taste me."  
  
He looked to her face, seeing the heavy passion coloring her features.
Something in him understood that she was genuinely aroused, and becoming
moreso as he succumbed to her desires. And that, in turn, fueled his own. So
he leaned in further, inhaling more of her succulent scent. The aroma made his
cock throb. He eyed her pussy, noting the slick wetness of her inner lips as
they shimmered between the more pale and firm outer flesh of her vulva.
Carefully, he slipped out his tongue and lapped along the soft wet flesh.  
  
"Oh, Gods . . . ." his lover moaned, lifting and spreading her legs even more.
She slipped a hand behind his head, stared down with an impassioned face. "Go
on. Do that again."  
  
Gavin smiled, like a schoolboy praised by a teacher he wished to impress. He
licked again and again, finding the flavor of Adastriana's pussy to be, all at
once, gamey, pungent, bitter, sweet, and savory. Never had he tasted anything
like it. The uniqueness spurred him on, encouraged him to delve further with
his tongue. He slipped into the heated heart of her wetness, making the woman
shudder.  
  
Adastriana groaned and rotated her hips, pushing against Gavin's mouth. She
whimpered, mewed, moaned and gasped. Falling back upon the bed, the alluring
zantrist curled up her thighs and placed both hands upon the back of Gavin's
head. She pulled his mouth firmly against her pussy.  
  
"Don't stop . . . don't stop . . . ." she panted heatedly, over and over.
Gavin didn't. Encouraged by the effect he was having upon his lover, he licked
and sucked, moaning on his own, finding a sense of accomplishment at making
his lover writhe.  
  
After only a few minutes more, Adastriana began convulsing, arching her back,
gasping and grunting like an animal in heat. She took her hands from Gavin's
head and slapped them to the tattered bedcovers, clawing handfuls of cheap
linen. She shoved her pussy against Gavin's face and cried out with her
orgasm.  
  
He clutched her thighs and kept licking, kept sucking, tasting a different
flavor now. It was much more bittersweet than what he had experienced before,
and overall, much more enticing. He lapped between her slick folds to get it
all. Pulling back, a tendril of sticky white fluid stretched from the opening
of Adastriana's vagina to his chin.  
  
The woman sat up suddenly, still panting, breasts, neck and face glowing with
primal rouge. She grinned upon him, a thankful, worshipful look, then cupped
his face and kissed him deeply. She did not seem to mind the flavor of her own
climax upon his lips; indeed, she licked all around his mouth.  
  
"Now it's your turn," she whispered hotly. "Lay on the bed. I want to taste
you."  
  
Gavin arched a brow at his lover's words, but his libido had been piqued to
the point of not questioning anything Adastriana proposed. So as the woman
made room upon the bed, Gavin lay upon the mattress, his stiff cock jutting up
with need. Adastriana cooed playfully at the sight of it, then grasped the
shaft firmly while swinging her leg over Gavin's body, positioning herself
atop him so that her slick pussy was over Gavin's face, and her own poised
above Gavin's cock.  
  
The zantrist murmured in approval as she stroked the stiff shaft beneath her
face. The head glistened wetly, due to the clear, sticky fluid that had
already begun to seep from the slit at the tip. Emitting soft moans and sighs,
she licked all around Gavin's cock, tasting the seepage. Then, slipping her
fingers to the base, she slid her mouth down the shaft, sucking the full
length of him past her tongue and into her throat. Her chin pressed against
the flat muscular plateau of his lower abdomen. For as long as she could hold
her breath, Adastriana sucked and caressed her lover's cock with all the skill
she possessed, letting her throat massage the head.  
  
Gavin groaned. The sensations his lover gave him were new and incredibly
delicious. Try as he might to continue pleasuring Adastriana's nearly
addictive sex, he could not deny the overwhelming esthesis her talented mouth
was delivering upon him. He flicked his tongue, nipped, kissed, even tried to
suck, but the ministrations of his lover were too much.  
  
Very soon, he felt the pulses of a powerful orgasm building beneath his groin.
As Adastriana pumped her mouth up and down, sucking ardently, he could
actually feel his cock swelling between her lips. The instinctual urge to
experience the rush completely overcame any thought he might have to warn his
lover.  
  
A hoarse, heated cry erupted from Gavin's lungs, just as his cock erupted in
Adastriana's mouth. Thick gushes of warm fluid saturated her tongue, her
cheeks, yet the woman responded with a muffled moan of approval, and continued
sucking to draw out every last drop. She slipped her lips up to just the tip,
swallowed, then delved back down to coax out more of Gavin's rich gift. She
found the taste primal and semi-sweet, the consistency almost as thick as
pudding; it had been a quite a while since her lover had last enjoyed a
release, she realized.  
  
He twitched and shuddered beneath her, clawing at the woman's firm buttocks.
The feel of her mouth upon him after orgasm was maddening, a strange
convergence of pleasure and pain. But Adastriana seemed to know when to stop
the delicious agony. She simply held his cock within her mouth, suckling
gently, feeling it twitch between her tongue and palate as a few last trickles
of fluid seeped across her tongue.  
  
With a soft muffled chuckle of proud satisfaction, she slid off Gavin's body,
still massaging him with her mouth. She knew all too well that men were
typically inspired by an erotic sight more than anything else, and she was
certain Gavin was no different. Indeed, as he lifted his head to look down
upon the lovely zantrist, and seeing her still ardently suckling him, he
groaned with renewed arousal. His cock twitched between Adastriana's lips,
remaining firm.  
  
She slid her mouth from him with a self-impressed smile, then moved about
until she straddled him. The heat of her sex soaked into his still-erect
shaft. "Not done?"  
  
Gavin managed a small chuckle as he regained his breath. "I was about to ask
the same."  
  
Adastriana smiled adoringly upon the man beneath her. Her gaze wandered,
again, over the multitude of scars and burns upon his body. There was even one
just above and to the right of the base of his penis, which she traced with a
finger. Yet for all that physical deformity, she found him handsome. A man who
could survive as much as he had was certainly due a good deal of respect, and
a respected man was, to Adastriana, a sexy man.  
  
She carefully lifted his cock and pressed the shaft against her pussy, gently
undulating back and forth to stimulate him. She was careful not to massage the
delicate area just beneath the crown of his penis, knowing from experience how
sensitive men were there after orgasm. "Do you like a woman to be on top?" she
asked.  
  
He lifted his hands to caress her body, her breasts. "This would be the first
time," he responded truthfully. Bidden by sexual instinct, he shifted his
hips, pushing up against her. Adastriana smiled, both in response to his
statement and to the obvious indication that he was ready for more.  
  
She leaned over him, supporting herself on one hand as the other guided the
head of his cock toward the slippery entrance of her pussy. "Do not be afraid
to take control of me," she said meaningfully, eyes blazing with lust. "I do
so like that sometimes."  
  
Gavin smoothed his hands along her lean, smooth torso, enjoying the contrast
of his battle-worn body against her younger, supple one. "I will keep that in
mind," he returned, then grunted as the woman slid down, enshrouding his
length within a cocoon of snug, pulsing, heated flesh.  

Adastriana moaned softly as she rolled her hips back and forth, moving just
that part of her body. The shifting movement of his cock inside her was
lighting up every nerve within her tunnel. She decided that he fit her
perfectly, as if his penis had somehow been crafted specifically to fit every
contour of her vagina.  
  
She settled atop him. They kissed torridly. The residual flavor of his orgasm
upon her lips did not deter Gavin; instead, he found it arousing, and began
pumping up into his lover with carnal intensity. Adastriana willingly
surrendered to his thrusts, her body quaking atop his with every erotically
forceful drive he gave.  
  
Abruptly, Gavin sat up, one arm around Adastriana as the other supported his
weight. He lifted off the mattress for a moment, his lover wrapping her legs
around his waist to keep him inside her, then turned about and lay her upon
her back. Adastriana sighed and smiled sexily, face, neck and breasts
blushing. She opened herself willingly to him. Now on top, Gavin kissed her as
she had done him, and slid back and forth inside the beautiful zantrist.
Knowing he would not achieve orgasm too soon, he did not bother to slow his
movements for his own sake. He pounded into her again and again. Adastriana
gasped, gritted her teeth, contorted her face. Her pussy sucked madly at his
shaft.  
  
Gavin pushed himself up until his weight rest on his knees, and held his
lover's legs wide. He stared at the erotic sight of his cock sinking again and
again into Adastriana's body, watching the way the pink petals of her lips
flared around his shaft. Sex for him had always been a discrete, mechanical
affair, often conducted in a harlot's room with little, if any, lighting. But
this coupling with Adastriana was undeniably the most erotic experience of his
life. He felt as if he was giving himself to a woman for the first time.  
  
She tensed and moaned after only a few minutes more, inner muscles clenching
his cock like a silk-wrapped fist. The woman gasped, convulsing slightly upon
the bed as she experienced another orgasm. Aroused even further by the sight,
Gavin nearly joined her in throes of passion. But he managed to hold back.  
  
Adastriana gave her lover a burning-eyed, fierce look of passion. "Let me turn
over," she managed to say. "Take me that way."  
  
Skin glistening from his exertions, Gavin smiled euphorically. "Whatever my
lady wishes," he said, withdrawing from Adastriana's pussy. His stiff shaft
glistened with her fluids.  
  
The zantrist doubled over, gripping Gavin's cock at the base. With a growl of
approval, she engulfed his length to the root, sucking away her own essence.
She pushed every inch of him into her mouth and throat, slipping out her
tongue to caress his testicles.  
  
"Gods," muttered Gavin, placing his hands upon her head. The sensations were
incredible. A minute, at the most, and he would be feeding the woman his seed
once more.  
  
But Adastriana slurped her mouth from him and flipped about, positioning
herself on all fours. She arched her back deeply, brazenly offering the
swollen wet sex beneath her perfect cheeks. With an intent glare over her
shoulder, she commanded, "take me. Use me."  
  
Gavin groaned, a feral sound that confirmed his complete surrender to primal
urges. He lined up his cock with the glistening, gaping entrance to
Adastriana's pussy and shoved in deeply. She responded with a hoarse cry of
abandon. Her inner walls spasmed around his cock.  
  
Gripping the woman's hips, he pounded into her again and again. The air became
filled with the sounds and aromas of their coupling. Adastriana's body
trembled with each powerful thrust, making even her firm backside ripple.  
  
Giving in to primal lust, Gavin reached for a handful of dark hair and pulled
her head back. His lover responded with another heated expulsion of breath and
shuddered once more. Pumping into her again and again, Gavin felt the
beginnings of his rush. His breathing became more labored, his movements more
urgent. Adastriana could tell he was about to erupt, and that realization
triggered her own orgasm.  
  
They climaxed together, moaning, crying, sighing, grunting. Gavin's cock
burned with the release of his seed deep within Adastriana's womb. Her
spasmodic tunnel rippled along his shaft as the woman's body heaved up and
down, milking his shaft for every drop of fluid. At the culmination of their
shared bliss, Adastriana reared back, lifting off the bed to press herself
against Gavin. His arms encircled her automatically. Only by clutching one
another did they keep from falling over.  
  
He kissed her shoulders, the back of her neck, tasting fresh, sweet sweat.
Adastriana sighed in approval, clutching the strong arms that embraced her.
Together, they began to recover, letting the heated moment cool blissfully.  
  
As her face was turned from him, Gavin did not notice that the zantrist's eyes
had become cloudy white orbs once more. But he did notice the sudden snuffing
of the lamps and the resulting plunge into darkness, and the stereophonic flow
of the voice from the woman's lips.  
  
"She needs you, Gavin Reed."  
  
The words startled him from post-coital bliss. He fell back, watching
Adastriana as she turned about on the bed. A baleful gaze spilled from the
naked woman's ghostly eyes she she looked upon him.  
  
"You must take her to Neustis, to confront the puppet and her master. All will
be revealed there."  
  
Annoyance rose in his heart. "Why? Is she truly the next True Oracle?"  
  
"She is."  
  
"I need to know more than that."  
  
The woman was silent for a long moment, unmoving. In the darkness, her entire
body looked almost ethereal. But then her lips moved once more.  
  
"Show her the book. She will know what it is."  
  
"And what of me?" asked Gavin in a slightly trembling voice. "Am I still to
die tomorrow?"  
  
Adastriana's pale eyes looked him over, an expression that might be considered
sad decorating her face if not for the unearthly pale eyes. But then the lips
curled slightly, almost as if to offer hope even though the word that next
came was anything but hopeful.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Abruptly, the woman collapsed to the bed like a marionette whose strings had
been suddenly clipped. The lights blazed once more within the room.  
  
Gavin found himself breathing heavily. He took a moment to calm himself, to
remember his years of devotional teachings. The idea that every day in which
he breathed might be his last had always been a given; he had never believed
he was afraid of death. But to be told when he was to die was frightening,
even to him.  
  
He managed to center himself, then reached for Adastriana. She lay recumbent,
angelically comatose, breasts rising and falling as breath passed between
slightly-parted lips.  
  
_If she is the next True Oracle, then her divinations are as certain as the
rise of the suns. I cannot escape my fate, I know. The day, after all, was
going to come sooner or later. What better way to die than in the service of
the next True Oracle?_  
  
An unlikely calm came over the knight, and his hard face cracked slightly with
a smile of acceptance and pride. He settled a hand upon Adastriana's naked
hip. _And I could not have asked for a better way to spend my last night
alive._  
  
"You are a strange and incredible woman, Adastriana," he whispered, before
placing a tentative kiss upon the woman's lips. He rose from the bed, turned
off the lamps, then slid back upon the mattress beside his lover. He curled up
beside her, and she shifted in her sleep to accommodate his position. But it
would be quite some time, Gavin knew, before he would follow his enigmatic
companion into dreamland.  
  
* * * *   
  
Adastriana awoke with a smile the following morning, stretching upon the bed.
She searched with her hands for the lover she hoped still lay beside her, but
found herself alone. With a tired groan of mild distraught, she opened her
eyes and pushed up.  
  
Gavin faced her as he sat upon the edge of the other bed. He was clad once
again in his armor, and the hallow look upon his face was both intimidating
and worrisome to the zantrist. In his hands he held a simple, small, leather-
bound book sealed closed with a silver clasp.  
  
Her eyes darted from his stoic face to the book and back. "Gavin?"  
  
He tossed the book onto the bed before her. "What is it?" he asked in return.  
  
Confused, Adastriana reached for the aged volume. Its surface was scarred and
worn, telling of its age. The cover sported a barely discernible rendition of
a tree with numerous branches and roots, enclosed within a circular cartouche.
As she took it up, a spark of recognition ignited in her eyes. She gasped.
"The Journal!" she exclaimed.  
  
"What is it?" he asked again, his voice more forceful.  
  
She regarded the small tome with an obvious sense of reverence. "This . . .
this book . . . It's the Journal of Insight. It contains the prophecies of all
the Oracles throughout history. How did you come to possess it?"  
  
His strong eyes studied her face. "You're certain it is that book?" Gavin
asked.  
  
She looked upon it once more and nodded firmly. "Though I have never seen it,
I know this is it. In my temple, we have engravings based on the Journal. It
is said that every divination of every True Oracle is imprinted within this
book, at the moment the divination is given. For centuries, it was used to
verify the prophecies of the True Oracle. Please, tell me, how did you find
it?"  
  
"It was given to me by the Minister of Compliance of Owrn," Gavin said. "My
charge is to take this book to the True Oracle in Neustis. I am to have it
there by midnight today."  
  
Adastriana passed her hand over the cover of the book, evidencing her sense of
awe. "It has been missing for half a century, even more," she said in a soft
voice. "Ever since the current Oracle assumed her position. Many in my temple
feared it had been destroyed."  
  
Gavin shoved himself to his feet. He was obviously agitated as he paced in the
room. "I was given a simple task," he said in a grave, aggravated voice. "To
take this book to Neustis within three days' time. If I do not deliver on
schedule, I am to take my own life."  
  
He stopped pacing and faced Adastriana directly. "Since the start of my quest,
many unusual things have happened. You're involvement is one, and that errant
knight-gunman Corvo is another. Either someone really does not want me to
deliver this book . . . or someone - or something - does."  
  
Adastriana frowned. "I do not understand."  
  
He stepped toward her with such directness it made the zantrist flinch and
pull back upon the bed. Gavin lowered himself to one knee and stared into her
eyes. "In my years of service to the Ministry of Compliance, I have done as
they commanded without question. I was content to follow my orders. I found
purpose and pride in that. I took lives, took liberties, took what I needed
when I needed it and always felt I was doing right."  
  
Adastriana's eyes quivered in response. She said nothing.  
  
"But all that has occurred in the last two days has challenged everything I
have ever known," Gavin continued. "And I want to know why. You have given me
two divinations, neither of which have been none too encouraging."  
  
She blinked. "Two?"  
  
He nodded. "I lied to you, when you asked me as to the nature of the first
divination you gave me. I said it was nothing of import. But it was."  
  
"What was it?"  
  
Gavin sighed heavily. "You said I was born to a dead mother and raised by a
soldier father. That is true. My mother died during childbirth; I never knew
her. My father was a simple infantryman, who always hoped to one day become a
knight. But he failed every trial. He raised me, trained me, so that I would
become what he could not. And in that, he succeeded. I became a knight, and at
first, he was as proud as any father could be. But as my successes grew, as I
advanced, he resented me. I was granted one of the highest honors I could
receive, that of the Order of the Knights-Gunmen, and when that happened, my
father turned his back. For more than four years, he has not spoken to me."  
  
Adastriana's face fell in vicarious sympathy. "I am sorry."  
  
He waved his hand dismissively. "I've come to terms with that," he said
sharply. "I told you that only to confirm that the first part of your first
divination was true. And because that part was true, I feel I have to believe
the second."  
  
"Which was . . .?"  
  
He settled his eyes upon her. "That I am going to die today."  
  
Adastriana caught her breath and looked upon Gavin with frightened eyes. "I
said that?"  
  
He nodded. "And you confirmed it last night, after we . . . after our . . .
time together," he said awkwardly. "But you also said something else.
Something about this book. That you would know what it is."  
  
The zantrist looked at the small, slender tome she held. "And I do," she said,
voice scarcely more than a whisper.  
  
"But that was not all," Gavin said. "Apparently, I am also supposed to take
you with me to Neustis, because, supposedly, 'all will be revealed there.'"  
  
She lifted her eyes, wearing an expression that was conflicted between
hopefulness and anxiety. "You are?"  
  
"Yes," said Gavin with a nod. He drew the large pistol from its holster and
held it at his side. His voice grew grim. "So now I am faced with a conundrum.
A knight's charge is always singular and sacred. My quest is my own. To reveal
my quest is tantamount to abandoning it. Therefore, I have two choices. The
first, and most logical, is to kill you and continue on."  
  
Adastriana's eyes flew open wide. She quivered in fear, eyes darting back and
forth from Gavin's weapon to his face.  
  
Gavin continued. "The other is to take you with me, and violate the code I
have faithfully served for all of my adult life."  
  
She watched his face, his body, the unsure trembling of the hand that held the
pistol. After a few deep breaths to quell her own fears, Adastriana spoke.  
  
"If you truly wanted to be done with me, you would have killed me already,"
she said. "You may be a machine in human form, but you are not heartless. For
the sake of last night's lovemaking, you would not be so callous and cruel
now."  
  
His eyes remained hard. "From my point of view, it would be a kindness."  
  
"But there is not only your point of view to consider, is there?" she asked
pointedly. "There are other forces in play, other . . . views."  
  
"So, what is yours?" he asked.  
  
She stared back, never wavering as she captured his eyes with her own. "I have
never believed that there is only one destiny for every soul; there are
_always_ choices," she said adamantly. "And you must understand that,
otherwise we would not be having this conversation."  
  
His eyes dipped. "There is a part of me," he said in a distant voice. "That
could kill you and still love you, to savor the memories of our time together.
It would be a way, I suppose, to lock those feelings within my heart without
ever having to worry about disappointment or betrayal afterward. Especially
more bearable, if I am, indeed, to die before this day ends."  
  
His eyes flashed back up, fierce and strong. "But that would be lying to both
myself and your memory," he growled and replaced the weapon in its holster.
"And it brings me back to the notion that someone, or something, wants me -
_us_ \- to continue. To see this through."  
  
Adastriana breathed a heavy sigh of relief now that Gavin had put his pistol
away. "Are you finished frightening me, now?"  
  
The knight's face softened somewhat. "I am finished frightening us both," he
said. "For the foreseeable future at any rate, the meaning of which,
considering your involvement, takes on different meaning."  
  
Adastriana made the effort to compose herself. "What are we to do, then?"  
  
"First, we need to get you dressed, and quickly," Gavin replied. "Guardsmen
have been searching the inns since dawn, ostensibly looking for me."  
  
She gave him a quizzical look. "So you are a zantrist, now?"  
  
He smirked. "A good listener," he corrected. "I went down to the stable just
before daybreak to tend to our mounts. Some of the stable hands tend to speak
loudly. So, come. We need to act with haste."  
  
She threw off the covers then, and searched for her clothes. Gavin watched her
with a faint smile, remembering the delights they had so recently shared.
Under any other circumstance, he would have been willing to spend another hour
or so reliving those delights. But time was not being kind to them.  
  
Within minutes, Adastriana was clothed and their gear had been gathered.
Leading the way, Gavin opened the door to the hall and started for the stairs
at the end of the corridor. But he stopped after only a few steps. Adastriana
nearly collided with him.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asked.  
  
He settled a finger to his lips, indicating silence, as he listened. Two
floors below, hard, commanding voices wafted from the tavern. They were voices
of authority.  
  
"Come," he urged his companion, heading back into the room. His eyes fell to
the two windows through which rays of the early morning sun painted the far
wall in gilded radiance. Quickly, he pushed open the one above the beds and
peered out. Serendipity was on their side as he spied the roof of the stable
shack below.  
  
"I'll jump down first," he instructed Adastriana. "Then catch you. Once on the
ground, we stay quiet and head to the stables, then ride out casually with
cloaks donned. Understood?"  
  
She nodded, then impulsively grabbed his head to plant a quick, searing kiss
upon his lips. "For luck," she said.  
  
He arched a brow. "A zantrist who believes in luck. Interesting." Before his
lover could retort, Gavin pulled himself through the window, casually dropping
the two stories to the roof of the shack below. He landed quietly, bending his
legs to both absorb the shock and to lessen the noise. Glancing upward, he
gestured to Adastriana.  
  
She stared down in trepidation, but she harbored nothing but confidence in her
protector and lover despite the tense start to their morning. Climbing onto
the window sill, she teetered in a squat within the opening, looking down upon
the man below, the man she could not help but trust . . . and even love.  
  
Behind her in the hallway she heard heavy footfalls stomping closer. Her heart
fluttered with anxiety. _Gods! They're coming!_  
  
A moment later, the door burst open before the appearance of four armed
guardsmen. They held their impressive shot-pistols at the ready, looking about
the room. But they had come too late. All that greeted them were an unmade bed
and an open window.  
  
* * * *   
  
Gavin tossed the stable hands a few extra coins to secure their silence before
he and Adastriana, long traveling cloaks obscuring them, trotted the mounts
out into the avenue before the inn. The early morning was typically busy with
laborers on their way to work and shopkeepers opening their doors. Beggars
were ubiquitous, seeking any handout they could get. But there were also
guardsmen out in force, clad in the conspicuous red and green hauberks that
marked their station. Gavin kept his eyes to the street.  
  
The city gate ahead came into view. It lay open as merchants were checked in.
Another minute of casual trotting, and their horses, Gavin knew, would bear
them to freedom.  
  
They passed a group of guardsmen who stood on the edge of the street, speaking
casually.  
  
". . . a man and a woman. The man is a knight-gunman, so take no chances.
Anyone who kills him gets to have the zantrist bitch for an hour as payment .
. . ."  
  
Gavin frowned in alarm. _They're looking for_ both _of us? How do they know
she's with me?_ In his remuneration, he turned his head to look upon the
guardsmen. A couple of them looked back, and within Gavin's hard, experienced
face, they saw something that made them suspicious.  

"You there!" cried one of the men, jogging into the street. He was quickly
joined by his fellows. "In the name of the Regent of Averine, you are
commanded to stop and dismount!"  
  
Gavin cursed under his breath and pulled back on the reins. Beside him,
Adastriana also drew her mount to a halt. She gave him a furtive, apprehensive
look.  
  
He looked back. "When I drop my cloak, you ride for the gate and do not stop.
Do not stop, do you understand?"  
  
She swallowed thickly. "Why not break for it now?"  
  
"Because I can handle being shot once or twice. Can you?"  
  
She grimaced and remained silent. Her eyes darted toward the open gate, only a
hundred yards or so away. She forced herself to nod curtly. "I am ready," she
whispered in a shaking voice.  
  
Keeping his cloak gathered around him, Gavin slipped from the saddle to the
ground. He kept his back to the guardsmen as he took several steps back,
glancing casually this way and that. Others were getting out of the way,
staring wide-eyed at the developing situation.  
  
Five guardsmen formed a semi-circle across the breadth of the street. They
held their weapons in readiness. The center guardsman spoke again. "Remove the
cloak, kneel upon the ground," he commanded. "If you make any other moves, you
will be shot."  
  
Gavin took a slow, calming breath. His senses were on high alert. He could
pinpoint the position of the man who spoke from the origin of his voice, and
from the curious gaze of the civilian onlookers, could reason where the others
stood. Years of training and experience crafted a quick, tactical map in his
mind.  
  
He lifted a hand and undid the clasp of the cloak. The heavy garment slid from
his shoulders.  
  
In a whirlwind of motion, the knight-gunman spun about, snapping up the pistol
from his belt. He fired swiftly and surely, the explosive reports of his
pistol filling the air. One by one, the guardsmen were sent flying off their
feet, fatal wounds burning through their chests. It happened so swiftly that
the last of the five guardsmen was shot before the first fell to the ground.  
  
Adastriana did not look as she spurred her mount, digging in as fiercely as
she could with her heels and slapping the reins to either side. Leaving the
violence behind, her focus for the moment was on reaching salvation through
the Averine gate. She directed her horse around carriages and wagons, ignoring
the alarmed looks she was given. As the gate neared, a pair of guardsmen
looked up with consternation.  
  
"Drop the gate! Drop the gate!" one of them yelled. The other darted for the
guard shack beside the gaping entrance to the city.  
  
_No!_ Adastriana fumbled behind her in the bags she had hastily loaded with,
among other things, weapons from the blacknail-slaughtered caravan. Her
fingers found something with a pistol grip and she jerked it free. It was
large and bulky and very unwieldy, but with as much determination and effort
as she could muster, she aimed for the guardsman running to the shack and
pulled the trigger.  
  
The weapon bucked repeatedly in her hand. Nearly invisible flame spat from the
barrel as bullet after bullet was sent in rapid succession toward the small
wooden building and the man within. Wood splintered. Glass exploded. A cry
erupted from within, but whether it was from fear or pain Adastriana did not
know.  
  
All she knew was that the gate remained opened, and a moment later, she was
riding through as if chased by the demons of the Nine Hells themselves. The
empty weapon fell from her grip to the muddy ground at the gate.  
  
Once out upon the dusty wasteland, she kept riding until the rush of
adrenaline subsided, allowing for the emergence of calmer, clearer thinking.
When she finally thought to stop and turn about, she was a good half-mile from
the walls of Averine.  
  
A broad smile of elation lit up her face as she saw Gavin riding toward her,
bent low over the undulating neck of his horse. _He made it_, she thought
thankfully. But her joy faded as she observed the company of riders close
behind her knight.  
  
"Keep going!" Gavin roared.  
  
With a frightful cry, Adastriana urged her steed around and spurred it once
more into desperate flight.  
  
* * * *   
  
The guardsmen of Averine were not paid well enough to risk going too far into
the wastelands; after a mere handful of minutes, they gave up the pursuit and
let Gavin and Adastriana flee into the deadly wilderness. Still, Gavin
insisted on riding the mounts hard for another quarter-hour, just to secure
their distance. Once he was satisfied that no one continued the pursuit, he
and his companion slid from the mounts to walk them for a while and conserve
their energy.  
  
"Something vexes me," Gavin said as they shared a casual meal of jerky and
water. "It was obvious those guardsmen were looking for us both, not just me."  
  
"Someone must have mentioned I am with you when we arrived in Averine," she
suggested.  
  
"I considered that," he said with a nod. "But I do not think that is the case.
I've been going over the encounter with Corvo yesterday. He did not seem at
all surprised you were there."  
  
". . . as if he already knew I would be," Adastriana said after a moment's
thought. She looked to Gavin worriedly. "He could not have known."  
  
"Yet I believe he did," the knight said. "Given the circumstances, there is
only one way I can think of, or rather, one person I can think of, that would
have given him that information."  
  
Adastriana inhaled deeply and let it out. "The Oracle."  
  
Gavin nodded. "What do you know of the True Oracle?"  
  
The zantrist woman was quiet for a few moment as they walked. "The True Oracle
is the voice of the world," she said at last, as if reciting a childhood
school lesson. "For ages, she has counseled kings and lords, peasants and
warriors. Until the Blaze, anyone could be seen by her and receive her
counsel, if they were of mind to accept her divination."  
  
Adastriana continued: "The True Oracle is always a woman, and, according to
tradition, is replaced every thirteen years as a new one is chosen by
providence." She suddenly smiled wryly. "The . . . selection process is quite
a ceremony, from what I hear."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
Adastriana chuckled. "You have seen how we zantrists divine the future."  
  
Gavin managed a small smile of his own. "Yes, I have."  
  
"Well, imagine that process with a hundred zantrists like myself, along with
carefully-chosen male servants, all in one room. It is an orgy the likes of
which every zantrist dreams. It goes on for days on end, with barely a break
for feasting or sleeping. In the end, a single zantrist adept is chosen by the
voice of the Gods, and it is she who is taken to Neustis to relieve the
current True Oracle and take her place."  
  
"That is . . . quite a process."  
  
Adastriana chuckled, but then her countenance darkened. "But things have
changed," she said. "The tradition is no longer honored, from what I hear."  
  
He frowned. "How so?"  
  
She drew in another breath. "The last few times a new True Oracle was
supposedly taken to Neustis, she was found lacking. There have been
accusations of false prophecy and favoritism . . . I am not an expert on these
things. I never envisioned myself becoming the next True Oracle, so I never
looked that deeply into it. But I do know that, for the last fifty and more
years, the Oracle has been the same woman. And it appears she will continue
being the Oracle, since there has been no selection process this year."  
  
The knight's brow furrowed in thought. "So it would be this year that the True
Oracle is replaced?" Gavin asked.  
  
"I believe so, yes."  
  
Gavin's eyes narrowed as he stared toward the horizon. "I think I am beginning
to see what is going on."  
  
Adastriana stared at the man as they continued, waiting for him to say more.
But when he did not, she stopped. Gavin went on for several paces before he
realized his companion was no longer leading her horse across the desert. He
stopped as well and glanced back.  
  
"There is something you're not telling me," Adastriana declared.  
  
He faced her. "You're right."  
  
"Why?"  
  
He approached her carefully. "Because you told me 'all will be revealed' when
we arrive in Neustis, as if to suggest that it will not be revealed before.
Who am I to argue with a zantrist's divination?"  
  
She huffed. "You are an aggravating man, Gavin Reed."  
  
"Yes. I know."  
  
* * * *   
  
The day wore on. The two travelers rode in silence punctuated by the
occasional comment or attempt at casual conversation. The winds of the
wasteland were stronger the further west they traveled, necessitating the
donning of scarves around their lower faces to keep them from choking on the
swirling dust.  
  
Gavin found himself becoming increasingly more alert the further they trekked.
Adastriana's prophecy that his life would come to an end some time this very
day weighed heavily upon him. It was one thing, he realized, to know one's
life was always in danger. He had come to terms with that as a knight-gunman
and thought nothing of the precarious edge he walked between life and death.
But it was another to be told one's life was fated to end on a specific day,
without being told how. As far as Gavin knew, he could accidentally slip from
his horse and gnash his head upon a rock and that would be the end of it.  
  
Every sound, every shadow in the dusty maelstrom around them had him anxious.
He found himself reaching for the butt of his pistol more than once, as if he
had somehow regressed to a first-year infantryman. He berated himself time and
again for his nervous reactions . . . but could not stop them.  
  
But the day passed, strangely enough, without incident. Not even a single
gapemaw threatened them as they followed the worn road leading to Neustis
which, to Gavin, was a mild miracle. These lands, he knew, were virtually
infested with the broad-jawed predators. But aside from occasional spor, there
was no sign of them.  
  
Mounting the crest of a high hill, Gavin reined in his steed as he looked upon
the great walls of the city before them. Adastriana also stopped, staring
ahead.  
  
"Neustis?" she asked, pulling down the scarf covering her face.  
  
The knight-gunman nodded. "Yes," he confirmed. He noticed a group of caravans
heading toward the gate. Unlike Averine, Neustis was as fortified as Owrn,
with impressive walls and steep-sloped towers that stabbed like swords into
the heavens. Even from his distance, Gavin could make out a massive,
mechanized colossus standing to either side of the gate.  
  
"If they are watching for us, simply riding in as we are will not do," Gavin
said. His attention shifted to the caravans, and an idea blossomed. "But there
may be another way in. Come."  
  
* * * *   
  
"Check every caravan," the Master of the Guard reminded his guardsmen. He
stood upon a podium as tall as the average man, watching the large covered
wagons as they arrived at the gate.  
  
"You will know the knight by his armor if you see him, and the zantrist by her
tattoos. Be swift of action; the errant knight is to be executed on sight, but
the woman must be captured alive."  
  
With these orders, the guardsmen went to task. As a colossus stepped in to
fill the entrance to the city with a heavy mechanical whir of gears and
hydraulics, the guardsmen approached the first of the five wagons as they
trundled to a stop. Unceremoniously, they demanded that every man and woman
pull back the hoods of their cloaks and reveal what they wore beneath. One
after another, everyone was inspected.  
  
Other guardsmen searched through the crates, boxes and bushels within the
wagons and checked underneath with the aid of bull's eye lanterns.  
  
"Here, now, don't go upsetting me goreberry bushes," grumbled the portly
driver of the last caravan. "Them things are hard enough to grow. I don't need
some clumsy guardsman jostling the roots."  
  
One of the guardsmen turned the blinding light of his lantern upon the round-
bellied driver. "We are looking for fugitives. If we, eh, jostle your
berries," he said with a chuckling sneer. "'Tis our right to do so."  
  
"I'll be remembering that come tomorrow morning if you visit my stall,"
responded the driver with a scowl. The young man seated beside him stayed
sheepishly quiet.  
  
The guardsman in the rear of the cart looked among the large potted plants,
moving aside heavy sacks filled with plucked berries. He kicked each one for
signs of a human form within, but found nothing.  
  
"No sign in this wagon," called the guardsman. Another piped up as he
straightened after inspecting beneath. "Nor under."  
  
"Fine," said the man with the lantern. He gestured to the driver. "In you go."  
  
The driver offered a false smile, then slapped the reins and clucked his
tongue. The cart's four horses moved forward. The towering colossus began to
move aside so the caravans could enter the city.  
  
"A moment," called the guardsman. The colossus paused. Faces from within the
wagons turned to look as the guardsman approached the portly driver once more.  
  
Gavin felt a brief flash of anxiety, wondering if this was to be the moment of
his demise. _How ironic_, he thought, _that it would occur when we are so
close_.  
  
The guardsman stepped to the side of the cart. "I rather happen to like
goreberries," he said. "What stall will you be in?"  
  
Gavin scowled in thought for a moment. "Seventy-three, if I remember
correctly," he said, knowing there were hundreds of stalls in every market. He
only hoped that his random guess did not clash with information the guard
already had.  
  
But the guardsman only winked. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, then raised
his voice. "Sorry to have troubled you all."  
  
The colossus finally stepped to the side, and the caravans rumbled into the
city.  
  
"Stay alert!" cried the Master of the Guard after the wagons had passed. "The
fugitives will be here by midnight!"  
  
Gavin allowed himself a small smirk as the wagon he drove bore him forward.
Beside him, the real driver of the cart expelled a heavy breath of relief.  
  
* * * *   
  
Many minutes later, under cover of darkness in an alley between a pair of tall
stone buildings, Gavin pulled off the cloak and unwrapped the sack around his
middle which had given the illusion of a thick belly. It fell heavily onto the
wagon's dashboard, filled as it was with the pieces of his armor. Gavin
stepped to the rear of the wagon, to one of the potted goreberry bushes. He
gripped the thick trunk of the six-foot-tall shrubbery and lifted with great
effort.  
  
Sputtering and coughing, Adastriana climbed out from her hiding place, covered
in black soil. She shuddered and slapped at her arms and legs. "There were . .
. _worms_ crawling on my skin," she complained.  
  
Gavin helped bat away most of the dirt from his lover. "If I could have fit
inside one of these pots, I would have happily taken your place with the
worms."  
  
Adastriana shivered once more. "At least we are in. I did not think that would
work."  
  
Gavin looked to the still-nervous young man who owned the cart. "We thank you
greatly for the chance you took," he said, then held out a handful of coins.
"Go find yourself a comely wench for the night."  
  
The young man beamed. "Oh, I shall, sir," he declared, snatching the coins. "I
shall indeed."  
  
"But say nothing of us to anyone," Gavin warned, fixing him a look of dire
surety. "Or I will find you later."  
  
The young man swallowed thickly. "As far as I can tell, all this has been a
strange dream, very quickly forgotten."  
  
Gavin nodded, watched as the man gripped the reigns of his horses and lured
them, along with his cart, away. "Smart man." He returned his attention to
Adastriana. "Now, let's get you cleaned up . . . before one more divination."  
  
The zantrist arched a surprised brow.  
  
* * * *   
  
As with every city-state within the land, there were more and more buildings
every year that fell into ruin and disrepair. Many such constructions became
the homes for the abject poor, but others, such as the one into which Gavin
led Adastriana, remained dark and empty.  
  
Building a small fire upon the floor of what had once been some sort of
warehouse, the knight turned his attention to his nervous-looking charge. "Are
you ready?" he asked.  
  
Adastriana looked about with an expression of distaste. There were a few
pieces of furniture here and there, tables and chairs in advanced stages of
wood rot, and little else. The walls and grime-darkened windows reflected the
pale amber flames that danced within the fire, casting distorted shadows in
all directions.  
  
She addressed her knight. "For what?" she asked.  
  
Gavin gave a small smile of self-admonishment. "So much emphasis," he said,
stepping to the closest of the tables. "Is placed upon the zantrist ability to
divine the future. I'll admit; until I met you, I never placed much stock in
that. I, like the majority of people in the sovereignties, believe that only
the True Oracle possesses such power."  
  
Adastriana frowned, confused as to where Gavin was leading with his words. "I
will be the first to admit that my divinations could not possibly compare with
those of Her Truthfulness," she said.  
  
From the pouch on his vest, Gavin withdrew the handkerchief, then stooped to
draw the bone-handled knife from the scabbard along his right calf. The first
item he placed gingerly upon the table; the second, he stabbed harshly into
the wood so that it stood up straight. His movements made Adastriana start.  
  
"Right now, I am not interested in the future," Gavin said, bracing his hands
upon the table and looking down at the items. He turned his head so that his
gaze fell meaningfully upon Adastriana. "I am more interested in the past."  
  
The zantrist was silent for a few moments as the meaning behind the knight's
words and actions sank in. Carefully, she approached the table, stepping
around so that she faced Gavin across it. Her fingertips trailed lightly
across the handkerchief, then across the flat of the impaled blade and its
handle.  
  
"As a zantrist, I can read the future," she said. She lifted her eyes to gaze
into Gavin's. "Or the past. That is what you want, isn't it?"  
  
He nodded. "Call it an inspiration," he said. "But I believe the key to
understanding what is going on lies within these items. And only someone like
you can tell me what it is."  
  
Adastriana drew in a breath and regarded the objects. "Do you want me to tell
you," she said. "Or show you?"  
  
Gavin frowned. "What do you mean?"  
  
She smiled thinly. "I can read the knife, and the silk," she said. "The nature
of my ability, however, means that I will not remember any of it. So, either
you will have to possess a very good memory, or . . . or you can share the
divination with me. But that means we must be joined."  
  
Gaving cocked his head. "'Joined,'" he repeated, unsure of what Adastriana
meant.  
  
She smiled coquettishly and stepped back, beginning to divest herself of her
clothing. Firm, naked breasts were revealed as her top fell to the floor.
"Remove your armor," she whispered coyly.  
  
Gavin's eyes widened a moment before he understood. Hastily, he began to
loosen the straps and buckles that kept his armor secure and let the pieces
fall to the ground. But even as Adastriana, the most beautiful and erotic
woman he had ever known, now stood naked before him, the circumstances kept
him from responding as he otherwise would have.  
  
But the zantrist only gave him a look as she sidled closer, brushing her nude
body against his. "I need you to relax," she said pointedly.  
  
He gritted his teeth. "I am trying."  
  
She smiled sexily, then slid down to a squat before him. "Let me do the
'trying,'" she said huskily, brushing her cheeks against his dangling penis.
Still keeping his attention, with her eyes upon his, she parted her lips and
worked Gavin's cock into her mouth, sucking gently.  

He sighed in response, settling hands to her shoulders, her head. Adastriana
moaned softly, her mouth emitting wet suckling sounds that just reached his
ears and ignited the bonfire of his libido. As his cock thickened, the
zantrist took him deep, engulfing the stiffening tube of flesh within a cocoon
of sucking, caressing warmth.  
  
"Gods," he murmured, shifting on his feet to remain standing.  
  
But then Adastriana released him and stood, her mouth wet and glistening. A
fierce look burned in her eyes as she took the knife and handkerchief from the
table, then pushed Gavin back. Her lover eased himself to the floor, fierce
erection jutting upward, then groaned as Adastriana impaled herself,
straddling his hips.  
  
She stared into Gavin's eyes, even as her own began to turn cloudy. "See what
I see," she breathed heatedly. "Know what I know."  
  
Gavin nodded, then lifted up enough so that he cradled Adastriana in his arms.
His cock pulsed and throbbed within the woman's massaging depths. His hands
roamed across her back, from buttocks to neck.  
  
"Show me."  
  
Adastriana stared back, and her eyes glossed over with the now-familiar
radiant sheen of cloudy-white hue. She tilted her head back, clutching the
handkerchief in one hand, the knife in the other, and hugged herself close
against the knight.  
  
The vision began.  
  
* * * *   
  
Images, thoughts, feelings . . . they were many and confusing, none of them
complete, and all of them assaulting him at once. Gavin felt as if he had been
drawn into a maelstrom of some kind, with wind, water, fire and earth whipping
about him, assaulting from all sides. He struggled to resist the onslaught,
holding onto Adastriana who, he realized with a start, was no longer with him.  
  
Abruptly, however, the storm vanished, replaced by a chilling calm. Gavin
found himself within a long corridor, framed by pillars on either side, the
floor gilded and inset with gleaming marble.  
  
_A palace?_ Gavin thought.  
  
He stepped forward, looking around, seeing not a soul. The realization came
upon him that his footfalls, while normally very light by practice, made no
sound whatsoever.  
  
_Well, of course_, he chastised himself. _This is a vision. It's not real._  
  
Suddenly, however, sound seemed to flood into the hall. The cadence of
numerous booted feet marching in tandem came to him, and Gavin turned about
just as two ranks of guardsmen in gleaming silver armor, rifles held against
shoulders, marched toward him. Between their ranks was a stunning young woman
with light, chestnut-colored hair and a voluptuous frame barely concealed by
red-stained leathers. Her arms sported the same basic dark swirling tattoos
Gavin had seen on every zantrist disciple.  
  
He jumped back to get out of the way on reflex, but he need not have bothered.
None of the guards looked his way, nor did the woman. After a brief moment of
reflection, Gavin chastised himself yet again.  
  
_I am not here. This is just a vision . . . one that feels like a memory._  
  
As the woman passed, Gavin could see at the woman's waist lay a very familiar-
looking blade within a sheath, and tucked into the top of her bodice, like a
petaled flower, was a silken cloth.  
  
_The knife, the handkerchief_, he realized. _But where's the book?_  
  
At the far end of the corridor, the guardsmen stopped and fanned out, standing
six abreast to either side of the massive double doors gilded impressively in
golden scrollwork. The zantrist woman took a moment to compose herself, and
Gavin found that he now stood inexplicably beside her. The woman smiled,
looking excited, proud.  
  
With nary a sound, the great doors opened inward, revealing a circular chamber
with a simple wooden throne - little more than a high-backed chair, seated
upon a three-step dais. Within the chair sat a blonde-haired woman clad in a
shimmering, transparent white robe, one leg crossed over the other.  
  
The zantrist woman smiled broadly, as if greeting a dear friend. "Your
Truthfulness," she said, effecting a deep bow. She straightened and continued:
"This is a glorious day."  
  
The blonde woman - she was older than the voluptuous brunette, yet no less
attractive - nodded with a smile. "It is indeed. Thirteen years have come and
gone. The Gods have chosen my successor."  
  
The blonde stood and descended the throne. She reached for the brunette, and
the woman clasped hands. "Welcome, Onamara."  
  
The brunette's eyes dipped. "Thank you, Lady Tannamille. I am honored to
follow in your auspicious wake."  
  
Tannamille cocked her head with a smile, looking over the younger woman's fine
form. She caressed Onamara's cheek with the backs of her fingers, which then
trailed down the strong, pale neck to the woman's abundant breasts. Onamara's
lips parted at the touch. She lifted Tannamille's other hand to kiss it.  
  
"There is, of course, the matter of the ritual," Tannamille prompted.  
  
The brunette's cheeks colored slightly. "I am ready to begin, my mistress."  
  
The blonde woman smiled, but to Gavin, it seemed the expression was tinged
with the steadily growing hint of malevolence. "I see no reason to delay," she
said, stepping back. She raised her hands and clapped twice loudly above her
head.  
  
In an instant, a hidden door to one side of the circular room opened, through
which a quartet of muscular men clad only in loincloths appeared, pushing a
broad, low bed across the floor. Upon the singular mattress sat only a pair of
pillows. Leading the bed to the floor, the men quickly retreated, leaving the
two women alone.  
  
Hand in hand, Tannamille the True Oracle and Onamara, her successor,
approached the mattress. The older woman paused a few paces away and waited
for the brunette to stop and turn. With a casual shrug, the transparent white
robe slipped from Tannamille's shoulders to the floor.  
  
Onamara smiled with approval, taking in the mature woman's firm body, her fine
skin, the trimmed thatch of dark golden curls above her sex. The blush of
arousal was plainly evident upon her face.  
  
Reaching up, Onamara undid the clasp of her top and let it slip away. The
handkerchief tucked within the brassiere fluttered like a feather to the
floor. The she eased the lower garment from her hips, sliding it and the knife
attached down her shapely, strong legs. As naked as her mistress, Onamara
stood proudly, offering herself to the woman she - indeed, all of the Seven
Sovereignties - considered a mortal goddess.  
  
"Beautiful," Tannamille whispered, before stepping forward and cupping the
brunette's face. The women kissed heatedly, sucking one another's lips,
tasting each other's breath as they sighed.  
  
The women moved to the bed, where they stood upon their knees as the kisses
became more passionate. Hands roamed; fingers teased soft flesh, leaving wakes
of awakened nerves. Nipples stiffened. Labia moistened. The great chamber
echoed softly with the murmurs of impending sexual fulfillment.  
  
Onamara lay back upon the bed, a sultry smile inviting Tannamille to position
herself on top. The blonde did so readily, straddling the younger woman's
comely face as she moved to poise herself above the brunette's eagerly spread
thighs. Onamara's pussy was slick, fleshy, and dark pink, with lips that
flared out, splaying open like the petals of an orchid. The bulbous clitoris
glistened as it peaked from beneath its fleshy shroud.  
  
"Oh, what a treat," Tannamille murmured before lowering her head to entrap her
lover's pussy in a suckling, massaging sheath of oral flesh. At the same time,
Onamara dragged her slick tongue up along the older woman's wet lips, before
pushing it as deep inside the entrance to Tannamille's sex as it could reach.  
  
Both women moaned as they devoured one another. Bodies writhed. The bed
groaned and creaked. Muffled groans and gasps permeated the air.  
  
Gavin watched with interest. He had never been privy to the love play between
two women, and had often wondered, from his limited experience, how women
could derive any amount of sexual pleasure from one another.  
  
But now he was beginning to understand. And he was humbled.  
  
The mutual oral pleasure continued for quite some time, with the wet smacking
of lips and tongues against increasingly sopping vaginal flesh filling the
air. The brunette erupted first, grunting beneath Tannamille's body, writhing
and arching her back as the older, more experienced woman voraciously devoured
her lover's sex.  
  
But then Onamara increased the stakes, and as she was still flushed and
panting from her orgasm, she gripped the blonde's firm cheeks and spread them
wide before lifting and craning her neck. With a firm jab, the brunette drove
her tongue deep into Tannamille's rectum.  
  
The blonde woman gave a primal groan, lifting up and pushing back. She shifted
her thighs and hips, giving Onamara better access to her puckered anus. Slack-
faced and close to release herself, Tannamille rocked back and forth, using
her lover's talents to bring herself closer and closer to the tilting point.  
  
Finally, with a cry, the blonde cried out, raking her nails across Onamara's
body, leaving trails of pinkish welts. She grinned with her orgasm, and sighed
heavily in satisfaction.  
  
Slowly, languidly, Tannamille drifted down from her orgasmic precipice.
Onamara lavished her anus and pussy with affectionate, caressing swipes of her
tongue.  
  
Satisfied, Tannamille turned about, swinging her legs and arms until she was
poised, face-to-face, above Onamara. The brunette smiled up at her, lips and
chin and cheeks glistening.  
  
"I am glad to have pleased you, Tannamille."  
  
The blonde leaned down and kissed her lover deeply, sucking her own flavor
from the brunette's lips and tongue. Then she lifted up, gazing down into
Onamara's liquid eyes.  
  
"There is one more thing you can do," Tannamille said.  
  
Onamara smiled, smoothing her hands along the older woman's back. "Please,
tell me," she said. "Before I take your place and you leave for your home."  
  
Tannamille said nothing. She looked upon the brunette beneath her with a smile
that became progressively more contemptuous and predatory.  
  
Too late, Onamara read the malevolence within the Oracle's face, but when she
did, she found that the supposedly dismissed male servants had inexplicably
reappeared, one at each corner of the bed, and now snatched wrist and ankle,
holding them down against the sexually soiled mattress.  
  
The young woman struggled against her constraints, becoming more alarmed and
apprehensive with each beat of her anxious heart. "What's going on?" she
cried. "What have I done?"  
  
Tannamille ran her hands down Onamara's body with an evil sneer decorating her
face. "You have done what you were supposed to do," she said. "Which is, to
deliver unto me the power that I need to remain as the True Oracle."  
  
The brunette stared back, plaintive, angry and confused all at the same time.
"What do you mean? Am I not to take your place? Is that not what the Gods
decreed?"  
  
Tannamille laughed harshly, then slapped her hands to either side of Onamara's
face. She stared into the young woman's shimmering, fearful eyes. "The Gods,
as a whole, are complacent," she said. "Except for the one I serve: Malefleas,
the Dark One, who has granted me the power to take from such as you what I
need to remain where I am. I have no wish, after all, to return to a life of
pathetic mundanity, not when I can remain here indefinitely."  
  
Onamara stared back in horror. "You . . . you serve the Dark One? But . . .
you are the True Oracle . . . ."  
  
The blonde woman grinned evilly. "Yes, I am," she said. "And I will continue
being so. You, Onamara, were not brought here to replace me, but rather . . .
to replenish me."  
  
The younger woman squirmed and began to protest, but Tannamille lowered
herself and pressed her mouth to the brunette's in what could have been seen
as a deep, soulful kiss. However, as the union continued, Onamara struggled,
kicked, moaned . . . then became progressively less animated.  
  
Her body sagged.  
  
Her eyes fluttered closed.  
  
At last, Tannamille lifted up with a great sigh. Her skin rippled like the
waters of a pond after a stone had been hurled within it, revealing the sleek,
unmarred skin of youth. For the Oracle, the clock had been turned back. She
looked as she had nearly a decade and a half before.  
  
But for the woman beneath her, nothing remained save for a corpse with glassy
eyes that stared up at nothing.  
  
As a last act of spiteful cruelty, Tannamille slapped her hand hard across the
dead brunette's face, knocking it to the side. Drops of blood danced from
Onamara's lifeless lips, sailing through the air to land upon the knife and
the handkerchief laying upon the floor.  
  
A soft, hazy glow filled the room, and Tannamille, her guards, the bed,
everything faded away, leaving only the ethereal apparition of the dead young
woman floating in the air. Gavin approached, looking down upon the poor girl.  
  
A stereophonic conglomeration of voices emanated from the air around him. "She
was Onamara, the intended True Oracle. But her story did not end here. It now
continues with you, and with Adastriana . . . ."  
  
Gavin listened with a heavy heart as the unearthly voices continued. There was
part of him that felt remorse for the dead woman, and another, stronger part
that felt a need for revenge. Within his seething heart, a single thought
blossomed.  
  
_You will not be allowed to escape your judgment, Oracle . . . ._  
  
* * * *   
  
Within the large circular hall with its gilded floors and ornate pillars, its
grandiose throne made to look like a phoenix with wings spread in flight,
Tannamille paced slowly, fidgeting. Though she looked no older than the barest
onset of middle age, her furrowed brow brought out the wrinkles of the hidden
elderly woman within.  
  
"The hour approaches, Tannamille," came the ominous voice of the Dark One.  
  
She cast a look of annoyance - tinged by fear - to her otherworldly
benefactor. The god of deception and cruelty wore the same smug smile upon his
face as he had given thirty-nine years previously, when he had first appeared
to Tannamille with a promise of keeping her station . . . at the eventual cost
of her soul. Since that fateful day, three zantrist women had been sacrificed
to him, their youth bestowed upon her each time. Had the zantrists continued
with their usual ritual every thirteen years, Tannamille could conceivably
live forever and never know the horrors the Dark One would visit upon her.  
  
But this year, the Zantri Elders had not selected a replacement, and therefore
a sacrifice, to the dark god Tannamille served. The god who now stood before
her, gloating as he anticipated taking her instead.  
  
"And has not yet arrived," she answered acidly.  
  
The Dark One snickered. "Oh, but it will," he said. "Even I cannot challenge
the march of time, as much as I would love to do so. But not in your case, of
course. I think your selfishness has been served enough."  
  
Tannamille blanched. "Are you saying it is not to happen tonight?"  
  
A chuckle rolled forth from the Dark One's lips. "How am I to know? I am no
harbinger of prophecy. Perhaps you should appeal to your god of portents," he
said condescendingly. "But . . . oh, that's right; he so rarely sends you
divinations anymore. Except when it pertains to your own doom."  
  
The Oracle shrieked in frustration, the pitch of her voice echoing in the
chamber. "Possible!" she cried. "_Possible_ doom! No divination is absolute! I
will have that zantrist harlot here before the turn of midnight, and you will
not have my soul!"  
  
"Oh, I will have it," the Dark One responded with calm surety. "Perhaps not
tonight, my little lamb, but then . . . perhaps."  
  
Tannamille seethed, trembling in fear at the possibility that, after merely
more than half a century, she might have to pay the price to which she so
willingly agreed as an impetuous and avaricious young woman. It seemed to her
too short a time to enjoy the status she had come to take for granted.  
  
"I did not come this far to not cheat you yet again," she claimed.  
  
The dark god laughed softly. "The designs of mortals are always so amusing to
me," he said, circling her as he spoke. "So sure of your strength of will, you
are. So many of you have no grasp of what it truly means to live. You bemoan
the inevitability of death and let it consume you. After so many eons, I am
still perplexed by that fact. But the truth remains."  
  
He faced her directly, and both his countenance and voice darkened. "You are
not immortal. You all die. Every . . . last . . . one of you. It is simply a
matter of circumstance, chance, and providence acting in concert. Make no
mistake, Tannamille. You will die. And it will be a delicious event when you
do."  
  
She was about to retort when the chime sounded, indicating someone at her
door. She glanced briefly to the towering portal that divided her chamber from
the hall outside. "Report!" she called.  
  
A voice filtered through disguised speakers. "We have captured the knight-
gunman. He is being brought to you now."  
  
"What of the woman?" cried the Oracle.  
  
"He claims to have knowledge of her location. He wishes to parlay for his
freedom."  
  
A wicked smile crept slowly across Tannamille's face. "Oh, what beautiful
irony," she muttered. She glanced to the Dark One. "Not even a knight-gunman
is immune to the fear of death."  
  
The man in black remained amused. "It would seem that way," he said. "But you
should certainly know by now that not everything is exactly as it seems."  
  
Tannamille huffed and stepped toward the door. "Bring him in!"  
  
* * * *   
  
Standing in readiness in the broad hall outside the Chamber of the Oracle, a
dozen figures clad in sterling armor and hefting rifles awaited the approach
of the prisoner. Though well-trained and outfitted with the ultimate gear,
even they had to admit to some level of trepidation when it came to facing a
knight-gunman.  
  
At the far end of the corridor, a door opened. The man himself appeared, clad
in his distinctive armor, wrists shackled before him. A single armored guard
marched beside him, one hand upon a rifle, the other upon the knight-gunman's
elbow. Their matched footfalls echoed within the hall.  
  
As the knight was brought closer, the waiting guards fanned out, forming a
circle which enclosed the prisoner and the guard which escorted him. Both
stopped.  
  
"Has the prisoner been searched?" asked the lieutenant of the Oracle's detail.  
  
Silently, the escorting guard held up the knight-gunman's massive pistol.  
  
The lieutenant smiled thinly. But then his eyes drifted down Gavin's armored
body, noticing the hilt of a knife within its sheath at the man's right calf.
"Why did you not take his blade?"  
  
"Because I still need it," Gavin replied, before bursting into action.  
  
With a jerk of his hands, the shackles were sundered, casting steel rings that
flew through the air. In the same moment, the knight-gunman snatched both his
pistol and the rifle from the escort while shoving the armored figure aside.
Then he began firing.  
  
The thunderous eruptions of his weapon filled the room. Five men, one after
the other, were sent hurtling back, fatal wounds driving through their chests.
Even as they still tumbled across the polished floor, Gavin tossed aside the
pistol and opened fire with the rifle.  
  
Chaos reigned. The armored guards cried out as more of them were brought down.
Gavin moved swiftly and with superhuman poise, evading the attacks of his
enemies. Bullets lanced through the air where he had been less than a
heartbeat before. He pivoted, ducked, leapt, cutting down his foes. When the
ammunition in the rifle ran out, he darted to close quarters, engaging a final
trio of the Oracle's detail with his wrist blades.  

A flurry of slashes sliced efficiently through armor, muscle and blood,
leaving the men gasping and convulsing in their death throes. As the final man
fell, clutching a neck gushing with blood, Gavin retracted the blades and
calmly stepped back. He looked to the side, where Adastriana emerged, pulling
off the helm she had worn as part of her disguise. She looked about at the
carnage. In the space of mere seconds, Gavin had reduced a dozen men to
nothing more than well-trained meat.  
  
"It frightens me, how efficient you are," she said.  
  
He gave a short, stiff nod. "Sometimes it frightens me, too," he admitted. He
held out a hand. "The time has come."  
  
Adastriana took a breath, then tentatively slid her hand into Gavin's.
Together, they faced the impressive door to the Oracle's chamber.  
  
* * * *   
  
She did not need to be the True Oracle to deduce what had occurred on the
other side of the chamber door. Tannamille sat upon her golden throne, glaring
at the portal as she anticipated the arrival of her guests. She effected a
haughty expression, conscious of the presence of the Dark One even if she
could not see him.  
  
"It seems your plan has developed a wrinkle," came the menacing voice.  
  
"A minor one," she responded arrogantly. She pressed the aura-touched ring
upon her finger, activating her personal armor. In a moment, she was
surrounded in a hazy, shimmering field which no conventional blade or bullet
could penetrate.  
  
The chamber door burst open to an imposing sight. The armored knight-gunman,
spattered with the blood of those he had slain, stepped boldly into the room,
followed by the zantrist. Tannamille had to admit the knight was impressive.
Under different circumstances, she might have made him her personal protector.  
  
Gavin stopped halfway to the True Oracle's throne. Behind him, Adastriana
pushed the door closed, then joined the knight. In contrast to Gavin, the
zantrist looked timid, fearful. The Oracle smiled hungrily upon her.  
  
She returned her attention to the knight-gunman. "So you have arrived,"
Tannamille said casually, as if greeting guests who had come calling for tea.  
  
"I have never failed a quest," Gavin declared. "I was not about to begin with
this one."  
  
Tannamille gave a wry look. "How admirable."  
  
"Of course, the real question here is, just what was my quest in the first
place?" he continued, giving the Oracle a direct look. He reached over his
shoulder and extracted from the small pack the book he had been given.
Tannamille's superior smile drained away as she recognized it.  
  
"You weren't expecting to see this, were you?" Gavin asked rhetorically. "In
fact, you thought I was only charged with bringing Adastriana to you. That is,
after all, what your divination told you, isn't it?"  
  
The Oracle narrowed her eyes in angry suspicion. "Where did you get the
Journal?"  
  
Gavin ignored her question. "This," he said, holding up the book. "Was my
quest. But so was Adastriana. I just did not know that at first. But now that
I have brought them both here, everything I have learned makes sense."  
  
"And just what have you learned?" the Oracle asked with a condescending glare.  
  
"That the gods have abandoned you," Gavin said. "And with good reason. You
have abused your power, and taken from those who came to replace you both
theirs, and their lives. For four decades, you have maintained the corruption
and the charade. You arrogantly thought you could continue forever.  
  
"You see, after the revelation that you remained the Oracle and his daughter
did not return home, the father of your first victim became suspicious. He
devoted his life to finding her, taking an influential position that would
give him the resources to find his daughter. Over the course of nearly forty
years, he discovered what had happened, and he located his daughter's three
most treasured possessions: a lady's silk handkerchief, the Journal of
Insight, and the knife her father had given her for protection. But it was not
until recently that he discovered who had killed his daughter, and why.  
  
"But just a few days ago, after all those years of careful inquiry and some
timely divinations, he learned everything. And thanks to Adastriana, all that
he learned was told to me."  
  
"It means nothing," Tannamille claimed. "You are a knight-gunman. You are
bound by honor to serve your minister, who serves your sovereignty, which
ultimately serves _me_."  
  
The knight nodded. "That is true."  
  
Tannamille sneered. "Take a knee."  
  
Gavin did not hesitate to do as he was told. Beside him, Adastriana watched,
having struggled to remain silent throughout the exchange. But now she could
hold her tongue no longer.  
  
"What are you doing?" she hissed.  
  
"I am following my duty," Gavin explained calmly, keeping his eyes on
Tannamille. "Something you will come to understand."  
  
"All men and beasts have a place in the world, Adastriana," the Oracle said.
"Especially you."  
  
The zantrist stared at the woman. "What are you talking about?"  
  
Tannamille sneered. "We will get to that in a moment." She addressed Gavin
once more and stood, stepping away from her throne. She approached until she
stood over the knight-gunman. "Give me the Journal."  
  
"I cannot do that."  
  
The woman's eyes flared. "Give me the Journal!"  
  
"You do not seem to understand how a knight's quest works, Oracle. No one, not
I, not you, not even the Dark One himself, can challenge the dictates of my
quest."  
  
"And just what, exactly, was this quest?"  
  
Gavin met the woman's eyes. "To deliver this book to the True Oracle in
Neustis."  
  
The woman's face reddened with rage. "Then give me the journal!"  
  
Gavin remained unfazed, speaking calmly. "You are not the True Oracle." He
turned his head and looked calmly upon Adastriana. "She is."  
  
With a frustrated cry, Tannamille slapped Gavin as viciously as she could.
Thanks to her armor of haze, the blow left a slash across his cheek. Gavin
only barely flinched. He did not touch the wound.  
  
The Oracle stared hard upon Adastriana, who trembled with uncertainty and
fear. "That is not to happen," Tannamille proclaimed, looking upon Gavin with
contempt. "Unless I abdicate, which I will not do, or you kill me, which you
cannot do."  
  
Gavin stared back, blood trickling down his cheek. He looked as if he was
waiting for something.  
  
The Oracle took a step back. She chuckled malevolently. "What a tragedy. To be
sent so far to exact a father's revenge, only to be undone by duty and honor.
Draw the blade your minister gave you."  
  
Again without hesitation, Gavin did so.  
  
"How wonderfully poetic it will be for you to kill yourself with that knife,
don't you think?"  
  
Adastriana's eyes bulged. "What? No! Gavin!"  
  
"Do it!" hissed the Oracle.  
  
"No! Gavin, don't do it!" Adastriana shrieked.  
  
But the knight-gunman gave his lover a strangely calm smile. "I must," he
said, turning the knife about in his hand so that the tip was pressed against
his midriff. "It is my duty." With those words, Gavin drove the blade into his
belly. He grunted with the sudden, searing pain. His face quivered.  
  
Adastriana turned away in horror. Her heart hammered. Tears flowed from her
eyes.  
  
"How delicious," commented the Oracle, watching Gavin as he swayed. She
stepped closer, gloating. "I want you to know, before you die, that your
lovely temple whore will die much more slowly than you, and that I will
continue on as the True Oracle. Your life, Gavin Reed, has been meaningless."  
  
The struggle to hold in the pain was telling upon Gavin's face. But even as
the spectre of death hovered over him, he yet remained calm. "And yours was
wasted," he responded. With the last of his strength, he jerked the blade from
his abdomen, turned it about, and stabbed with all the force he could muster
into and through the Oracle's haze armor.  
  
The bloodied knife bit deep, all the way to the woman's spine. Shock and pain
were instantly frozen upon her face. She looked down upon the impossible. No
blade ever crafted was supposedly able to penetrate her defenses. "H-how . .
.?"  
  
Gavin stared into the dying woman's quivering eyes as she dropped to her knees
before him. "Aura-touched," he spat. "By the spirit of the True Oracle you
murdered. That, I think, is poetic." He settled a hand to the woman's forehead
and shoved, sending her sprawling upon the golden floor. Then he also toppled
onto his back, his own strength finally fleeing.  
  
"Gavin!" cried Adastriana, falling beside him. "Don't die!"  
  
He smiled through bloodstained teeth. "It is my duty and my destiny," he
managed to say. He took up the book and offered it to her with a shaking hand.
"For you, True Oracle. It is finally in your hands."  
  
Gingerly, she took it, weeping upon Gavin's form as the man closed his eyes.
His bloody lips curled into a smile.  
  
A roaring howl suddenly filled the room, startling Adastriana. She looked to
the still body of the Oracle, witnessing the most terrifying and fantastic
thing she had ever witnessed. Shimmering, dark, demonic forms materialized in
the air, kneeling over the dead woman's body like blacknails preparing to
feast. But their clawed hands went through the flesh without marring it, and
from the corpse they pulled a ghostly, struggling figure of an old woman, her
face twisted in abject horror.  
  
The voice that tore from her was ghostly and ethereal, filling the air with
its terrified content. "Do not take me! Malefleas! I will do anything!
Anything!"  
  
But the demonic figures only laughed, shrill, evil, cackling sounds that
bespoke an eternity of agony to come. Amid a brilliant flash of hellfire, they
and the spirit of Tannamille were gone.  
  
"Now that sight always brings a little tear to my eye," came a deep voice.  
  
Adastriana lifted her head to behold the Dark One. He gave her a smile that
seemed unexpectedly benevolent. "I am going to have fun with that one," he
remarked casually. "As for you, True Oracle, I'll be expecting great things."  
  
Adastriana was numb, unable to speak. The presence of a living god, especially
one so nefarious, filled her with confusion and trepidation. She was unsure
how to speak or act.  
  
The Dark One stepped beside her, looking down upon Gavin's body. "A truly
noble sacrifice," he said. "Even I was touched. Of course, I can appreciate
the irony of the situation."  
  
Adastriana sniffled, looking upon Gavin's calm, still face. "What irony?" she
managed to ask, having found her voice.  
  
The Dark One leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Why, the handkerchief, of
course," he said simply.  
  
A burst of hope blossomed in Adastriana's heart. _The handkerchief! He said it
would heal any wound, no matter how grievous!_ She clawed at Gavin's armor,
finding the small breast pocket with the piece of white silk within. Clenching
it in her teeth, she searched for the straps and buckles that secured the
man's armor. In moments, her frantic movements had the chestpiece loosened
enough that she could slip her hand within. She shoved the handkerchief
inside, covering the wound, then cupped the man's face.  
  
"Gavin," she said, then again and again, looking for any sign of life within
him.  
  
"This is not the end, Gavin," she insisted. "This was not your only destiny.
Come back to me, Gavin. Come back to me!"  
  
For moments that seemed endless, she stared upon the man, until finally, he
heaved as new breath entered his body. His eyes flashed open wide. He slapped
hands to the floor.  
  
"Gavin!" Adastriana exclaimed, streaming new tears, those of delight. She
clutched him tightly, head upon his chest.  
  
Finally, she lifted up, smiling upon the man beneath her. He smiled back,
fully and deeply. "I was rather hoping you would remember the handkerchief."  
  
She rubbed tears from her face. "I had . . ." she looked around the chamber
for signs of the Dark One, but there were none. ". . . an inspiration . . . ."  
  
"Inspiration is always good," Gavin said as he sat up. He slid his hand
beneath the armor and pulled out the once more pristine handkerchief. It felt
differently now, less smooth. Onamara's aura, the knight realized, was gone.
The power she had unintentionally infused into the handkerchief and knife had
fulfilled its purpose. The revelation lightened Gavin's heart.  
  
"What happens now?" Adastriana asked.  
  
Gavin looked to her, then to the throne, then back. "I would say it is time
you sat upon your throne."  
  
The zantrist paled. "I cannot. I am not the True Oracle."  
  
He stood and took her shoulders in hand. "I am afraid you are," he said. "That
was the point of all this. To end the false oracle's reign and begin your own.
That is your destiny."  
  
Adastriana wavered on unsure feet. "I never wanted this," she insisted.  
  
He shrugged. "I never wanted to die."  
  
She sputtered an uneasy laugh. "Good point," she said, then looked to the book
she still held. "Perhaps . . . ." she trailed off, turning the silver lock
that held the Journal of Insight closed. It opened to a page inscribed with
shimmering black ink, as if the words had just been written. Adastriana's eyes
widened as she read the words.  
  
"What does it say?" Gavin asked.  
  
The woman turned away, reading the page and its words over and over. She
stepped as if by chance to the throne, then sat upon it. Finally, she lifted
her head to look upon Gavin. "It says-"  
  
But she was interrupted as the doors burst open before a flood of armored men.
They charged into the oracle's chamber but stumbled to a halt upon seeing the
body upon the ground and the two strangers.  
  
One of the men stepped forward. "The Oracle! You've killed her!"  
  
A dozen weapons and more were leveled upon Gavin. At their distance, he knew,
they would cut him down before he had the chance to engage them. After all,
the only weapons he had left were his blades.  
  
"No." The single word rolled out as if spoken by a dozen voices at once.  
  
All eyes looked to Adastriana. She sat fully upon the throne, eyes ghostly
white. The voices came from the air around her as her lips moved.  
  
"The True Oracle has been found. She is Adastriana, Harbinger of the Rebirth.
Her reign will return life to the world."  
  
* * * *   
  
Gavin looked down into the open courtyard below, watching the gathering that
surrounded Adastriana. Over the course of the preceding few days, as news of
the new True Oracle spread, envoys from all the sovereignties had begun
arriving. They doted upon her, listening to the otherworldly voices that
flowed from her lips. Adastriana spoke volumes, revealing new ways of tilling
the land, of cultivating new crops, of taming the wastelands and bringing them
back to fruition.  
  
_It may not have been the destiny you wanted, Adastriana, but you were
needed_. Gavin allowed himself a smile. He had not had a single moment alone
with her, but he had expected that. His lover was a busy and much-demanded
woman, now.  
  
At least, for the next thirteen years . . . .  
  
* * * *   
  
The Minister of Compliance knelt before the altar within his study. Upon it
lay the only picture he possessed of his long-dead daughter. Not a day in four
decades had passed that he did not look upon it and hope for justice and
salvation. Not a day had passed that saw a smile come to his lips.  
  
But there was a smile now.  
  
"It is finally done, my daughter," he whispered to her visage. "You may rest
peacefully now, and know that I will soon be with you." He made the Circle of
Life and stood.  
  
"It might have helped had I known the truth from the beginning," came a
familiar voice from behind.  
  
The Minister turned, settling a proud gaze upon Gavin Reed, his most
accomplished and trusted knight-gunman. "Had you known the truth, things would
not have turned out as they did."  
  
Gavin gave a small smile as well. "Perhaps not."  
  
"So," said the Minister. "What comes of you now? I assume you have become part
of the court of Her Truthfulness."  
  
Gavin shook his head. "Actually, no," he said. "In fact, she did not even
offer."  
  
The Minister looked surprised. "She did not?"  
  
The smile upon the knight-gunman's face grew. He was getting used to using his
facial muscles in that way. "I think I have been in service long enough," he
declared. "I have fulfilled the duties of my station; my seven years have
passed."  
  
The Minister nodded slowly in understanding. "What will you do?"  
  
"I am not sure," Gavin said with a shrug. "And I am glad for that. I figure I
will do some traveling, perhaps visit other lands. I'll need to keep myself
busy for the next thirteen years."  
  
"Thirteen -?" began the Minister in mild confusion, but he stopped himself and
smiled. "Ah, yes, of course."  
  
Gavin straightened formally and made the Circle of Life over his chest. "Gods
be with you, Minister."  
  
The elderly man returned the gesture. "Gods be with you, Gavin Reed. And,
Gavin?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"My thanks for what you have done to brighten an old man's heart."  
  
The smile returned to Gavin's face. "It was my duty."  
  
_-fin-_




End file.

