Meet Saber

"I'm calling you out, Forrest."

Saber Forrest, nursing a drink at the bar, ignored the voice from the doorway. Good scotch was rare in these parts, and he meant to savor every drop.

"What's wrong with you, Forrest? Too much a gentleman to pull a weapon these days? Too dainty to dirty your hands with iron? Or too cowardly to meet your maker?" The voice was getting closer.

Saber didn't like that. He tipped up his glass and swallowed the remains of the elderly scotch, regretting its passing with such little ceremony. He didn't look at the troublemaker now standing at his side, but spoke low. "Leave me alone, and we'll forget you were so rash."

"Rash, am I? Rash? My whole life I hear what a great weapons master you are, Mister Saber Forrest. I practice and study, enter competition after competition, and win them all. I'm as good as you ever were and it's time for me to get my due. I'm calling you out now and there's nothing rash about it."

Saber looked up, grinned. "I don't recognize you, sir. Would you be so kind as to introduce yourself? It's the polite thing to do in these situations."

The man next to him hesitated. "Walter...Walter Diggins."

Saber had honestly never heard of him. "You've won...competitions? And that makes you my equal and gives you the right to call me out to do battle?"

"Yes, that's how it is."

"Do you get choice of weapon, or do I?"

"Since I challenged you, you choose weapons or we can go free-for-all. Your choice." The man seemed suddenly unsure. "I can't believe you don't know the rules."

Saber motioned to the bartender. "Another excellent scotch, please. And something for my friend here."

"Vodka, straight up."

The drinks were delivered quickly, and Diggins tossed his vodka down quickly. Saber still chose to savor the scotch. Single malt. Rare, expensive, and old. Very old. He pitied Diggins, who would probably never learn the subtleties of malt. Impetuous youth. He sighed with a thousand unthought regrets. "Now, tell me about those rules of yours."

"One on one, challenger chooses the time, the challenged one chooses the weapon. Survivor wins or if there's no fatality, the one still standing or able to claim victory wins. You really don't know? Another vodka, please."

The bartender obliged quickly.

Saber grinned again as Diggins swallowed the vodka down. Hangover bait. He didn't envy Diggins the morning after, but perhaps Diggins would not be alive to suffer a morning after. Interesting thought. "So what if I just handed you victory right here and now? You can take my place as the weapons master to beat, and I'll just finish off my scotch and find a bed to fall into."

Diggins frowned. "I don't think there's a rule about that."

Saber clapped him on the back, almost knocking him down. "Then it's settled. Barkeep, a round for the house to celebrate Mr. Diggins' victory. Shall we call in the press? There must be a scribe around here somewhere. Do you have to report your win to someone, or is this a personal victory to be kept under your hat? No, of course not. We have to let it be known that MelHiggins has won the day."

"Uh, that's Walter Diggins."

"Are you quite sure? How unusual. I'd change it if I were you. A hero deserves a hero's name. You could be Saber, no, actually that's Sabreman Forrest, but I already am. And no one would know you'd beaten me. I suppose Melvin wouldn't be too terribly heroic. Ted? Theodore. No. Artemis? I do like that. Terran goddess of the hunt. Don't suppose that would work. Well, think on it." Saber's mood improved tremendously. He'd given the young man his fondest wish and a piece of advice. He wondered if the fellow would like to engage in some arms practice. Saber felt that he was probably out of shape, himself, and practice might come in handy.

Diggins was surrounded by well-wishers, eager to collect a free drink and to congratulate the latest winner in the weapons master competition. He didn't know quite what to make of it all, but the vodka was buzzing in his head and he was sure that, once the alcoholic fog had dissipated some, he'd be able to figure it all out.

Saber tossed some coins at the bartender, who caught them handily, and took himself off to his room upstairs.

It wasn't sunlight streaming through the windows that woke him. In fact, there was no sunlight to be seen. Saber had fallen into bed early in the afternoon and slept until sunset. It was the smell of cooking coming from the restaurant next door, meats roasting in particular, and Saber's mouth watered even as he slept. Hunger did the trick and his eyes popped open. As always, it took him a split second to establish his own whereabouts. Hotel room. Good. Alone. Good. Sometimes it was good to wake up alone. No having to compliment the lady on her beauty and passion, though Saber never really found that a chore. He adored ladies of every variety, thought them all lovely and brought out passions in each that might never have before existed.

They, however, tended to fall in love and he didn't, and there was no way around that. Someday, he'd find the one and cleave to her only, but until then...

He retrieved the dagger from under his pillow. It was the one weapon he kept to hand, no matter the circumstances. He placed it in the small sheathe on his right ankle. His other weapons, he had checked at the desk the day before. In the hotel's safe, they were no temptation to housekeepers and handyjacks that might enter his room.

Saber washed and dressed. He usually wore black and silver, his signature colors, and tonight was no exception. Black hair curled and flowed over his shoulders, clad in black leather. Black pants and boots, both designed for ease of motion and facility in combat, finished the outfit. A silver earring and belt buckle were his only decoration. He left his room and walked downstairs to the hotel lobby.

Three ladies had left their cards at the desk for him, invitations for one thing or another. He smiled as he looked at the names inscribed there. All so lovely, so passionate. He wished for just an instant that he could fall in love with each of them, then discretely tore the cards into tiny shreds and discarded them in the trash can.

The headwaiter at the restaurant next door welcomed him profusely. "Mr. Forrest. A pleasure to have you with us again. Dining alone? Very good, sir. We shall see to every comfort. Table in the corner or where you can be seen?"

Saber chose a table in the open. He was in no mood to hide, and perhaps he'd be discovered by a friend who also needed a dining companion. Failing that, perhaps there would be a lady or two to observe. But the food was tonight's only attraction. He ate largely of steak and vegetables, and regretfully refused dessert. He would be practicing this night and didn't want to be weighed down. Finishing, he walked back to the hotel and retrieved his bag from the hotel safe. Its weight comforted him as he made the long walk to thesalle in which he practiced weapons and combat.

A familiar voice stopped him cold, until he recognized it and welcomed it. That nice young Wiggins fellow. Chet, wasn't it?

"Mr. Forrest!"

"Ah... Good to see you again. I trust you've had a good day."

"Thanks to you, yes. It's not every day that a challenger wins without so much as kicking a clod of dirt about, but I appreciate it. I do." Young Diggins was a wholly different man, now that he had what he had sought.

"Did you change your name yet?" Saber tried to remember. Hal Figby?

"No, sir. I'm still Walter, Walter Diggins."

"Pity. Well, young fellow, you took the title this morning. Are you ready to see if you deserve it?"

"I thought, perhaps, you didn't fight anymore, sir."

"No. I just don't kill anymore, unless it's necessary. I still fight."

"Oh. Then I guess it's still your choice of weapons, sir."

Saber put down his bag, then removed his boots. "Bare hand, barefoot, no weapons. To first blood. Agree?"

Diggins agreed, and soon stood barefoot next to Forrest.

Saber tied his hair back with a thong, then removed his shirt.

Diggins stepped back, then walked around Saber. "Oh," he said, respectfully.

"Problem, young fella?" Saber looked down, didn't see anything unusual, and waited.

"No." Diggins removed his own shirt. He was finely built, muscular and toned. A fine example of a well-trained, well-molded young fighter.

Saber, on the other hand, was heavier in the body, and much more muscular. And adorning his own body were the healed scars and bruises from hundreds of battles.

"I suppose I'll look like that someday," Diggins laughed nervously.

"If you live so long. Do it." The sudden order barked out, and Saber went on the attack.

His arms and legs twisted and bent, he tumbled and rose gracefully to his feet. As Diggins tried vainly to catch and throw him, to do damage to that huge body, to at the very least pull him to the ground, Saber inflicted misery and humiliation on the young man. He didn't aim to break bones or pull joints from their sockets, to damage internal organs or tear the man's head off, but there was no doubt in Diggins' mind that his opponent was capable of just that and so much more.

Finally, Saber stood over Diggins and offered a hand, to help in rising to his feet. Diggins accepted gracefully. There was blood running from a cut over his eye. Saber had carefully aimed for just that spot and slashed with his bare hand just hard enough to inflict that cut. The fight was to first blood, and the boy had obviously had enough.

"Next time you call me out, we'll use swords." Saber wiped his brow and grinned. He had managed to work up a sweat, which after all, was the intent of an exercise session. "I'm better with a sword."

Diggins's eyes grew very thoughtful. "Oh, good," he managed to say.

"Then again, I could use someone to practice swords with. Why don't you cool down a little and we'll do some blade work."

"Practice, only?" Diggins suddenly wanted to nail that point down very firmly.

"Of course. I told you I don't kill anymore. Unnecessarily," he added, then grimaced. He hated when he added it on like that, but some of the young ones seemed to need to hear it.

While Diggins watched from the floor, Saber stepped through a sword kata that demanded his concentration and complete focus, as he fought an invisible opponent. He finished and bowed to the opponent, then began another. As he worked, he noticed Diggins joining him in the exercise.

The two men stepped in unison, swinging their swords and engaging in phantom battle. Once done, the two bowed to each other respectfully.

"Ready for real?" Saber smiled.

"For practice."

Dawn was making an appearance when Saber and Walter left the salle together, brothers in arms. Saber was feeling very good, and he owed a lot of that to Walter's unflagging willingness to be humiliated in the cause of learning from the weapons master.

"Mr. Forrest?"

"Saber. You proved yourself, young man."

"Your title is your own again. I'll inform the commissioners." Walter bowed slightly and walked away.

Commissioners? Saber wondered. He'd been at this game so long, he tended to forget that some people had formalized the whole thing into an elaborate ceremony of points won and prizes awarded. Walter wasn't bad at the game, but it was hard for a student to beat a battle-hardened old veteran of countless battles, countless wars. Very hard, indeed, when that veteran had marched through centuries of combat protected by, not only his own prowess, but the blessing of the battle goddess.

She had no name, but men called to her in the extremity of battle. Her blessing could turn the tides of war, but only according to her own perverse purpose, and sometimes even she wondered what that purpose might be. Her favorites knew her to be a gentle soul, and she rewarded that knowledge; however, she was no fool and favorites could lose her blessing without knowing it. Saber had been fighting as her champion for centuries past the reckoning of either.

She never told him, but the true reason she favored him was his way with women. Not his prowess as sexual swordsman, though he had certainly earned a reputation in that regard. Not his never-failing politeness. Good manners could be developed by any clod with an eye for advancement. Saber just out-and-out adored women, the goddess among them. He had not a romantic bone in his body. He loved women, wanted women, and lusted after them. But he had no delusions about them. He would partner with them in battle, or fight them into the ground.

Circumstance, luck, and history made many decisions for him; but he considered the trappings of romance to be delusional and refused to accept them. The battle goddess took delight in his refusal, and had been waiting for centuries to see Saber Forrest in the throes of romance.

He was walking alone down the street toward his hotel, and thinking of a drink. Perhaps, the barkeeper had another bottle of excellent scotch for him. Perhaps, some fine sour mash bourbon instead. Lock away the tools of the trade and have a tall one.

"Mr. Forrest."

Another one, and so soon, too. Saber paused mid-stride and turned. "You want me?" he asked politely.

"Saber Forrest?"

"So I'm called. And you are?"

"My apologies, sir. I am Perche, and I'd like to buy you a drink."

"I'll take the drink, but why? Have we met?"

"No, I think not."

Saber looked at the man now standing beside him. He was a dandy, all dressed in black and silver. Had long black hair curling down past his shoulders. Wait a minute.

Perhaps sensing Saber's discomfort, Perche looked down at himself. "My apologies again, sir. We seem to keep the same tailor in business, though I assure you my appearance is not an intentional reflection of your own."

"Well, at least you don't talk like me. You talk like a dandy."

"My friend Andrea tells me that my idiom will correct itself and I'll sound normal eventually. It's this little amulet. Quite handy, actually, but slow to respond to colloquial usage."

"Right." Saber turned and began walking toward his hotel.

Perche stood still and took the amulet in his hand. He spoke quite fiercely at the thing for a number of minutes, then hurried to follow a very bemused Saber. "That should do it. Like I said, I'd like to buy you a drink and explain why I'm bothering you on a public street."

"Okay."

They entered the hotel's bar. Saber signaled the barkeeper and they took a booth. Anyone who saw them might have taken them for brothers, but while Saber was muscled quite heavily for a man, there was a massiveness about Perche that went beyond muscle and bone. He just seemed heavy. And he had black fingernails. Not grime, either. They were black, well-groomed and black.

Saber supposed that to be Perche's own business and didn't comment.

The bartender approached. "What'll it be, gentlemen?"

"Scotch, that excellent single-malt if you've still got some."

"And for you, sir?" the bartender asked Perche.

Perche never hesitated. "I would like black coffee. Lots and lots of black coffee. You have coffee?"

"I can put a pot on."

"Never mind. Do you have vodka?"

"Of course."

"Then a large glass of vodka. Straight from the bottle. Not cold. No ice. You understand?"

"You want a big glass of warm vodka."

"Make it a bottle. A bottle of vodka and a glass."

The bartender looked doubtful. "Saber, do you think you can haul this behemoth out of here once he collapses?"

Saber looked at the man and shrugged. "I'll manage."

"Vodka and scotch." The bartender left.

"Okay, now tell me." Saber was really looking forward to the scotch.

"My lady Chyranndra tells me there's going to be a dust-up around here later today. It's up to us to keep it peaceable."

"I ain't the sheriff, and neither are you." Saber picked up his newly-arrived scotch and sipped.

"Since when does that matter?" Perche picked up the bottle of vodka and poured the tall glass full to the top. "We fight for truth and justice." He tipped the glass to his lips and all the vodka poured down his throat. Perche shivered and poured the glass full again.

"You a soldier?" Perche did not look like a soldier, or even a fighting man. There was nothing soft about him, but he was missing the requisite look of menace.

Perche poured his second glass of vodka down his throat before he answered. "No, I'm a dragon lord, on vacation here with my mate and my best friend. But you won't believe that, so I'll just pretend to be a guy passing through."

Saber sipped his scotch. "That so?"

"What?"

"You're a dragon lord."

"That is so. But you're not actually supposed to know that."

"Why not?"

"Because you carry a big sword and my kind are not fond of men with big swords. Or lances. Or crossbows. Should I go on?"

"I have a secret for you, dragon lord." Saber leaned forward and spoke very low.

"Yes?" Perche didn't expect it to be much of a secret. They hardly knew each other.

"You ain't a dragon."

Ah. "Oh, that's what you say now. But wait until you see me revealed in all my magnificent glory, shooting flame, turning and wheeling high in the sky, riding thermals and fighting ... Someone should be taking this down." Perche looked around the bar room. "Andrea!"

A red-haired woman turned away from the bar and walked over to their booth.

Perche made room on his side and she sat down. Saber's senses went on woman-alert. She was quite lovely, all pale and slender, with all that fiery hair curling down her backside. He could sense the passion that must most certainly lay hidden beneath her surface.

He was interrupted in his thoughts by Andrea's hand being offered for a firm shake. "I'm Andrea, Perche's friend. Depending on what he's told you, believe it all or none of it. But Chyranndra thinks you should join us on a little raid North of town. In fact, she's sure of it."

"Do I see Chyranndra here?" Saber looked around the room.

"No, but she'll be around shortly. She's still scoping out the landscape. You will come with us, won't you?" Andrea picked up Perche's glass of vodka and sipped a bit. "Needs ice."

"A raid?"

"Stars, didn't Perche tell you anything? No, I suppose he was going on about being a dragon lord, which he is, but don't let that bother you. He's harmless."

"A raid?"

"Yes, north of town. There's an encampment of slavers there, holding about three hundred women until they can set up an auction. We're going to bust up the plan."

"Slavers? Here? Impossible. It's illegal. There haven't been slaves in these parts for..." Saber was going to say "hundreds of years", but he knew it was a lie. Slavery had never died out, but had gone underground; and slaves held in secret were worse off than those held openly. "You're sure?"

"We got the straight scoop from Questours Interdimensional. Names and faces, too. I also hear from an anonymous source that you might be interested in taking a hand. True?"

One battle was like another, Saber supposed, but some were more worthwhile in the doing. His own dear sister back in the mists of his past had been taken, and one of his many regrets was that he had been unable to retrieve her before she had been killed, leading a rebellion against the slavers. "True. North of town? Who is involved?"

Andrea named several town leaders and a couple of merchants. Saber knew them all, and suddenly hated them all. If it were true.

"Who do you trust?" Andrea interrupted his thoughts.

"Trust?" Saber didn't think in terms of trusting people. He trusted his arm and his blades.

"You're not sure if we're telling the truth or having you on. Who do you trust to tell you the truth?"

"Show me the encampment and I'll make up my own mind."

To his amazement, Andrea reached toward him and laid fingers on his temples. She probed gently, and Saber felt a presence join with his mind. A soft call. Chyranndra...let him see. And another presence joined them. Sight fell away to sight and he could suddenly see tents and guards, rude huts in an encampment in a valley north of where the town stood. Men, only men.

"Where are the women held?" he asked.

No answer, but focus shifted to a sturdy wooden pavilion in the center of the encampment, guarded on all sides. He saw a young blonde girl being dragged through the door, and he could see her mouth moving in a silent scream that sight could not relay.

"I'll join you," he said grimly, and sight dropped away.

"Good."

Perche looked at Andrea. "Do we need anyone else?"

"No one else on the list."

"You have any friends, Forrest? Like to join in the fight? Rescue a few women in distress?"

Saber didn't have a lot of friends. He knew everyone and everyone knew him, but friends were a different matter. "Fellow by the name of Wiggins called me out yesterday. He seems the type to battle for pleasure."

"Find him and bring him." Perche emptied his glass of vodka, and left, walking without so much as a stagger to show him under the influence.

Andrea poured what was left of the bottle into the glass and sat looking at Saber. "You two look so much alike it's just amazing."

Saber just sat. "Is this some sort of scam? Is the battle goddess testing me? I'm just an old soldier, and I don't get involved with dragon lords and far seers."

"Well, consider it your lucky day. And add mage to that list of folks you don't get involved with. Andrea, Watcher Adept of the Larger Magestry. I'm not from around here, but we keep an eye on you."

"And you do that how?" It had been a long night full of practice battles and young Tiggins was no novice at the fighting game. Saber was beginning to feel fatigue. He called for another scotch.

"Much the same way I showed you the compound where all those women are being held." She reached across the table and put her hands on his arms. "Suspend disbelief for a while, Saber. Join with us. Fight the good fight. Free the women. Have a good time."

"I do not battle for fun." Not entirely true. It was fun, but an old veteran like himself wasn't supposed to enjoy it so much, much less admit it.

"Well, then do it for justice and truth. It's just the right thing to do."

It was, and Saber couldn't argue with that. He didn't want to argue anyway. Andrea was so lovely, and he could sense her passion under all that matter-of-fact battle talk. She might be nice to compliment some morning soon. He knew without thinking that compliments would be due. His eyes went smokey with desire.

Andrea smiled. "What a nice compliment, Saber. I appreciate the thought, but I'm faithful to my Steev. He's away a lot, but he's my one and only."

Saber's eyes cleared. "Why are you in my mind, mage-woman?"

Andrea frowned. "I apologize. I read people all the time anymore, and it's just not polite in a social situation. I'm sorry. May I touch you once more?"

He nodded warily.

She reached out and gently laid fingertips on his forehead. He felt the slight pressure, then release as she withdrew. "You read people pretty well yourself, Mr. Forrest."

It was a gift from the battle goddess, the ability to judge an opponent's intent. He nodded again.

"But I locked the door and gave you the key. If you want to reach out and touch me, you can. Just yell Andy mentally, and I'll be aware of it. On the other hand, I can no longer read you without that call. Your mind is safe. From me, anyway." She smiled, and the Saber's world felt good.

But he had to grumble anyway. It was the warrior way. "That was not necessary, mage-woman. I am not afraid of you."

"That is true, but I do not want to go surfing where I'm not wanted. You're a very private man, Saber Forrest. Reading you is almost like raping you. I won't do it."

"I thank you, Andrea."

"And I thank you. It's much nicer to be called Andrea or Andy than mage-woman, even if I am. My formal title is Watcher or Adept...or just plain mage."

He nodded his understanding.

They met at dawn the next day, mostly because Saber and Walter Diggins needed food and sleep after their long night of battle the night before. Walter was easy to find in the small town, and even easier to convince of the righteousness of the coming battle. It seemed that slavery was a very lively institution for one that had been outlawed so long ago. Everyone knew a woman who had been stolen away, never to be seen again, never to be heard of again except by incredible chance.

The two warriors prepared battle armor, and sharpened the weapons they would carry.

Saber hummed an ancient battle hymn to the goddess, hoping it would please her. If things went against them, it never hurt to have a recent brownie point on one's permanent record. Finally, they dressed and walked together to the meeting place.

Andrea was there, dressed in black robes with showers of gold stars embroidered upon the silk. In Perche's place stood an enormous black dragon, and the dragon greeted Saber solemnly, then broke into a toothy dragon grin. "Told you I'm a dragon lord."

"I did believe you, Lord Perche. I have heard of the dragon lords before this. I am pleased to join with you in this battle." Saber bowed respectfully.

"Actually, it's just Perche," the black behemoth whispered in embarrassment. "The title is just for formal occasions and the womenfolk will tease me to death and beyond if they think I'm putting on airs for you."

"I understand, Perche. And this is Walter Pidgeon..." Saber tried to introduce his new companion.

"But I go by Walter Diggins. Mr. Forrest is more a warrior than a diplomat." The younger soldier bowed respectfully.

"Welcome, Walter. It should be a glorious battle."

A lovely Oriental woman joined them. With olive skin and black satin hair cascading down her back, she was enough to set Saber's every impulse aflame. She held out her hand. "I am Chyranndra, Saber. Perche's mate and the mother of his many children."

"I am honored, madame."

"Just Chyranndra or Chy, if you'd rather. I'm glad you're both well armed. There are forty men I've counted, guarding the compound and the women. The women are all shackled to keep them from escaping, so part of our problem will be protecting them from guards who have been ordered to keep them from escaping at any cost.

"Perche will provide the first diversion, flaming the hills around the compound. That should eliminate a good third to a half of the men. At the very least it should bring them to the walls to check out the fire. We can deal with them one at a time, while Andrea sneaks past to the pavilion to shield the women and release their shackles. We'd rather not kill all the guards. It would be nice to put them on trial for slave trading, perhaps smoke out some of their backers in the cities and towns."

Saber was accepting her words, then was startled to notice that Chyranndra's clothing had disappeared, melted away, and she was changing into a dragon as she spoke. Her olive skin deepened in hue, her lovely arms became massively muscled and soon supported wings with quite an impressive span. Her eyes went reptilian and her skin took on scales, thick and smooth.

She kept talking. "I will be flying the women out of the compound to safety. Three hundred is quite a number, so I'll be very busy. Andy, do the honors, please."

The mage stepped forward. "I'll be joining us in a sight meld. You'll be aware of where each of us is, and can assist if necessary. It'll be five against forty or more...and we want as many as possible of them to survive to be put on trial. Join hands."

Saber took Chyranndra's hand on one side and Andrea's on the other, and followed Andrea's chant into relaxation. Then he looked up as ordered by her quiet voice, and almost fell to his knees. He was seeing out of five pairs of eyes, though his own sight predominated. "When you fight, you will push the others's vision out of your direct line of sight. It will happen automatically. In moments between engagement, you'll become aware of the surroundings of all the others as you are now. Try not to throw up. The nausea will subside."

Walter was gagging helplessly. "Close your eyes, Walter," the mage suggested calmly. "Then open them and look straight out."

"This is not good, Andrea," Walter gasped, his eyes squinched tightly closed.

"I know, I know. The first time it happened to me, I was on my knees begging for it to end. Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. Now open them just a bit, then all the way. You're doing fine."

"Is this necessary?" Saber wondered out loud, controlling his own shameful impulse to throw up.

"Maybe not, but it will be a great help. Trust me." Andrea grinned. "Oh, I forgot, you don't trust anyone."

"Stay out of my mind, mage!" Saber said angrily.

"I locked the door, Saber. Couldn't get in there if I tried, unless you made an invitation first. Even then, I'm not sure you'd unlock the door."

Perche leaped into the air, his mammoth wings struggling to gain altitude, then flying easily as the air currents supported his great weight. He flew about a half mile away from the compound, and the group could see flame appear on the ground beneath him.

He flamed in a pattern that would force the fire toward the compound, and depend on the distance to keep the inhabitants safe for a time.

"Gotta go!" Andrea dashed toward the compound and easily climbed the wall, then jumped to the ground inside. A visual shield shimmered in the cool light of just past dawn, diverting the eyes of any observers past and around her. She disappeared inside the pavilion.

"Our cue." Saber and Walter began the climb over the compound walls, as Chyranndra rose in flight toward the pavilion.

Andrea entered the pavilion and saw, much as she expected, hundreds of women lying in chains on the floor, sleeping. She took a few moments and cast a spell of protection over the lot of them. They were safe for the moment. Two guards finally took notice of her appearance.

"Back to your place, woman!"

Andrea played along. This was her vacation, after all. "Where would that be?"

Apparently unused to any form of rebellion, they started for her. She assured herself that the women lying about were completely protected by her shields, and stood there waiting for them.

One took a whip from his belt, shaking its length as he walked, and Andrea took an immediately dislike to him. "Don't you think you should put that down?" she asked innocently.

"Insolent slut," he replied. He reached her side, and raised the whip.

Andrea reached out, and just barely touched his head at the temple.

The whip fell out of his hand to the floor and he stared at it dumbfounded.

"Now you be nice," she said quietly.

His partner came up behind her and grabbed her by the arm. Andrea twisted, brought her knee up and took him down for the count. He lay on the floor clutching himself and gasping.

Whipless, the first man tried the same maneuver. Andrea kicked him in the knee, very hard, but not quite hard enough to crack the bone. Then she grabbed his hand and started talking. "I am on vacation, you jackass." She emphasized her displeasure by twisting his arm behind him and yanking up. He gasped.

"I had to pay a year's credits for this little jaunt, and I had to promise not to use Adept skills on the quest. So for all practical purposes," she yanked bit more and he went to his knees, "you are really screwed, but not as screwed as you'd be if I could just reach out and put you all to sleep, one-two-three. But where's the fun in that anyway?"

To his credit, if not showing a single sign of true intelligence, he went for her one-handed and swept her off her feet. She went down with a crash, and he tried to pin her to the floor. She struggled, biting and clawing, and he drew back a hand to slap her.

Fun was fun, but this was getting ridiculous. She reached for him with her one free hand, grabbed, and twisted. Hard. He fainted. Andrea took a moment, then lurched out from under him. He was a pretty big fellow, but he rolled onto the floor and lay there quietly.

The women had all awakened during the struggle and were watching with interest. Andrea got to her feet and made an announcement. "Rescue is here, ladies. I'm going to unlock those shackles and my friend will be flying you out of here momentarily."

Chyranndra walked in, her massive draconic weight bending the wooden floor beneath her. She looked pleasant enough for a dragon on a mission, but her expression was not especially peaceful. "I suggest that you just unlock them, Andrea, and we can both escort them out on foot. The guys are having a rough time of it out there and could use some help."

Andrea could see the sense in that, so she quickly walked from woman to woman, touching the locks momentarily as she paused. The sound of chains dropping was noisy enough to concern her. More guards would probably be coming in to see what was going on. The women were gathering their few possessions and making ready to leave.

"Okay, Chy, you lead if you would. I'll bring up the rear and deal with the bad guys."

Chyranndra took a moment to change into human form, and Andrea fetched a sword for her from the virtual pocket she always kept handy for occasions such as this. Chy took the sword and yelled, "Follow me."

Andrea made sure there were no stragglers hanging back and followed. As they left the building, sight showed why Chyranndra had been concerned about the odds against the men. Saber was fighting like a man possessed; and his friend Wendell...no, Walter was at his back. Both men were pulling their sword strokes and aiming to put their opponents out of commission rather than killing them. Perche was overhead, torching the now-empty buildings.

Andrea shed her mage robes, sacrificing style for convenience, and picked and chose her targets. A touch from her now made a man go limp. She wasn't playing any more, and the women were in some danger until all the guards were under control.

She saw Chyranndra blow through three men, who tried to block the gate out of the compound, as if they weren't there. All that draconic mass was still there; it just wasn't visible. Andrea rather felt for the men, but not over much.

Then she was surprised to see several of the women take on men, hand-to-hand. And she chided herself for being surprised. Anyone can be taken prisoner if caught unawares, even fully trained warriors. She considered the battle to be almost over.

And so it was.

The guards were gathered into a single location, and tied together to be marched into town. Saber was speaking with each guard individually, and he wasn't liking what he was hearing at all. The men were eager to cooperate, but they didn't know much. Not very educated, as a group, and not curious as to who was paying the bills. The side benefits of being guard to a group of helpless women on their way to slavery were good enough to keep them satisfied. They did know a few names, though.

After he had spoken to each one, he walked over to Andrea. "It won't do much good to take these fellows to trial. If your sources are right, the town will turn a blind eye to this. I used to like this place. Real friendly. But the city council is up to their eyebrows and so is the fellow that rides circuit judge duty."

Andrea shrugged. "Well then, let's just turn them over to the women. I think that's fair, don't you?"

Saber looked shocked. "There won't be enough left to bury."

"You'd rather just let them go on their way?"

"No, of course not."

"You have a better idea?"

"No."

"Then, perhaps, the women could elect a representative jury and a judge. We know the guards are guilty as hell, but maybe some of them weren't as awful as others."

"True. Put it to them and let them decide."

Actually, a few of the men were released. Two were tied down and castrated by four very angry women. One was killed outright by one of the female warriors. And the rest were stripped of their weapons and delivered far from civilization by a very helpful Perche, who spent the time airborne by describing what would happen if the dragon lords ever took a hand in their punishment. His descriptions were mostly taken from a very fertile and violent imagination, having to do with fire and blades, teeth and toenails, and other implements of destruction. If the men weren't impressed by Perche's tales, they were at the very least aware that one very hard shake would loose them from his back and let them fall until they struck the rocks below.

The women traveled in groups a-foot to their homes. They were armed and wary of strangers, and the warriors among them were offering self-defense instruction along the way. One or two decided to join the warriors and never bothered returning home.

Andrea took the opportunity offered by Perche's absence to get to know the warrior better. She liked him immediately, and his attraction to her was never in doubt. They spent the next few days talking and drinking, talking and walking, talking and eating. Saber had a long history, but his solitary lifestyle had given him few opportunities to tell it. His initial advances toward getting Andrea to his room in the hotel were met with polite refusals and finally he settled down to telling his tales.

For her part, Andrea was interested in his relationship with the battle goddess. She had a rather unusual relationship with a blood demon, herself, and was always on the lookout for interference from the supernatural.

"She doesn't have a name," Andrea repeated.

"No. She just is." Of that, Saber was certain.

"And you've walked with her in her demesne?"

"More than walked. She's a lady with taste." Saber could hardly hide his smirk.

Andrea wasn't impressed. The blood demon had taken more than a fancy to her, and she had both suffered and delighted in the attraction. "And she's with you wherever you go?"

"She watches.."

"Oh." As a member of the Watchers of the Larger Magestry, Andrea was very familiar with that concept. Another Magestry of Watchers on another world, another dimension? "And she lends a hand when you need it."

"She expects you to fight your own battles, but yes, she's been known to lift her hand in my favor."

"Could I meet her?" Goddess or no, Andrea was no shrinking violet.

Saber frowned. "I don't like to call on her except in need."

"Can't cry wolf, eh?" Andrea dropped that line of thought immediately. "I don't know her name, but I could call on her?"

"All warriors are in her charge."

"I'm not exactly a warrior."

"You saved a world." Andrea had told a tale or two of her own in their short acquaintance. She had faced down a wild mage on the world Euphron and saved it from the mage's best intentions. She had engaged in battle arcane with other sorcerers. She had engaged in a battle of wits with the blood demon, and emerged victorious.

"I'm not sure that counts."

"It counts." He reached for her hand and raised it to his temple. "You may touch my mind to discover how you may call to the Lady."

"Thank you, Saber." She closed her eyes and began to wander. She avoided the places where passion lay, moved adroitly past his innermost secrets, trying to respect his privacy. A path was made plain to her, one well-worn and smooth. At its terminus was a shining sphere. Saber's mind linked to the sphere smoothly. He was right. There was no name to call, only a feeling and a certainty, and trust. Andrea felt warmed.

Andrea could feel a warm laugh. **Friends? Many women wish to befriend the warrior, mage. He wishes something else.**

<I love another.> Andrea opened her mind to allow the goddess to see her truth.

**Then you would be truly a friend.**

Without warning, Saber joined the conversation, startling Andrea completely. ~Talking about me behind my back, eh?~

The goddess laughed heartily.**You heard the whole thing, warrior. Do you wish to go with this woman to her world? You know she has no intentions of warming your bed.**

Andrea felt a delighted giggle as she broke out of the goddess-induced trance. "I do like your battle goddess, Saber. She's good people."

"She is," Saber agreed. "And she likes you."

"What's not to like? So, you've decided to come with me and my gang when we leave this world?"

"There is work for a warrior there?"

"You can be a warrior or anything you set your mind to, Saber. We can set you up in business or set you on a tropical island so you can watch the waves flow in off the ocean. And then there's plenty of warrior-type work, too. Pick a side, kick ass, and take names. Or I'm sure that Questours Interdimensional would have a place for you ... interdimensional butt-kicker, and I might get a fee for recruiting you." Andrea looked slightly embarrassed. "That's not a consideration, Saber. I just like to have a leg up on Questours when negotiating things."

"I think I might go along, then."

"Good. Perche and Chyranndra will be pleased."

"Where is Chyranndra, anyway?"

"She's riding the wind over those women we sent home. If they run into trouble, she'll call and we can meet her in a trice."

As a matter of fact, Chyranndra was watching a pitched battle with some amusement.

Below her were the women who hadn't yet been delivered home by the traveling group. They were laughing and talking, and being followed stealthily by three men armed with swords. The women decided to rest their tired feet under a tree next to a stream and dropped to the ground, seemingly unaware of their danger.

One of the men approached the women while his fellows took positions on the road at both ends of the group. He decided to attempt charm.

"Ladies," he said, "this is a robbery. I want all your money and jewelry and no one will be harmed."

One of the warriors in the group of women strode up to him casually. "No money, no jewelry. Nothing of interest to the likes of you," she said. "Take it on the road back that way," she pointed in the direction from which they had walked, "and none of you will be subjected to our rites of human sacrifice."

Two more women walked up, nodding their heads. The smaller one reached out and felt the robber's arm. "He'd make a nice flame. Some fat there, not much muscle. Sascha, what do you think?"

Her companion stepped behind him and pinched his rear. He jumped in alarm and raised his sword threateningly. The sounds of fourteen swords being pulled from their sheathes rang out.

The warrior said calmly, "Not a chance, fellow. Do the right thing or these women will each take a piece of you. And if there's anything left, we'll roast you over a slow fire."

The man looked around at the women advancing upon his position, then at his partners in crime, stealthily beating a retreat without him. "I'll go quietly," he decided.

"Argna, Ph'lessha, fetch his friends."

Two women warriors took out running, swords drawn. They ran down his friends and quickly disarmed them. The men were walked back to join the group. "We're keeping your weapons and allowing you to leave," the lead warrior said when they stood before her.

"Aw, Dartha, we could just stake them out to the ground to teach 'em a lesson," the warrior Argna protested.

"Bloody 'em first," Ph'lessha added

"Wild animals would take care of their remains." The smaller Sascha said, smiling. She had a dagger in one hand, fingering its blade.

"Maybe Chyranndra would take 'em up high and drop them on the rocks," Nilda said. She waved to the dragon overhead.

Chyranndra accepted the invitation and spiraled down to land near the group. She advanced heavily, wings spread, and looking massively intimidating. "Problem, my friends?"

Dartha spoke up. "I think these swine need to be taken someplace for their own protection. Maybe to where some other pigs were being herded. They seem much of the same species."

Her companions murmured a bit, and then agreed en masse.

The dragon reared up and spoke from her truly impressive height. "I guess you fellows have a choice. I can take you far from here and leave you, or I can just leave you. Let me tell you that the last threats I heard any of them make were actually carried out before my eyes, and I almost lost my lunch."

"I'll accept your offer, dragon," the lead robber said. "Take me away."

Shortly, the three bandits were seated on Chyranndra's broad back, strapped into place, and hands tied behind them. The dragon bade the women farewell, and jumped into the sky.