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.