Once Upon A Crossroads

Even on faraway Faltyr, well-behaved women seldom made history.  Baebiana proved to be no exception.  In those dark days before she became a household name in the aging empire of Arpithius, raven-haired Baeb stood defiantly while the Kephale, the official that governed the fortified township read aloud the charges.  Predictably, witchcraft topped the lengthy list.

The mask of serenity on Baebiana’s faelike countenance hid her roiling inner turmoil about the storm gathering around her.  She knew the look well for she had practiced it in front of the vanity mirror often during her childhood on the family farm.  As she thought back to her not-too-distant home, Baeb regretted being unable to see her parents or her siblings one last time.

Thinking back on a young life too full of regret, Baebiana recalled her greatest regret:  sacrificing her unborn child to save the world.  Several layers of fabric and topped by a coil of sturdy hemp rope concealed the crescent moon-shaped scar on her abdomen, but Baeb could see it as clear as midday in her mind’s eye. 

Horrific, sanguine images of her desperate act flooded Baebiana’s conscious mind.  She shuddered as she recalled the only sound her child had made in this world before departing it, an inhuman keen that haunted her till this very day.

Baebiana felt her mask of passivity slip.  Sudden tears stung the corners of her wide, dark eyes.  Though grief caused her knees to buckle, the rope held her tight to the wooden stake erected at the crossroads that lay before the entrance to the high-walled castille.

“Behold!” barked an oafish man clad in the robes of a priest of the Sun Goddess, Shamash.  “The witch knows what fate awaits her in the Underworld.”

Someone from the mob shouted, “She should cry!”

“Fry, baby-killer, fry!” another screamed.

Baby-killer…if only they knew, Baebiana thought to herself bitterly.  As the bearded Kephale condemned her to die in his booming, officious tone, she reflected that she’d resigned herself to this fate when she had joined the coven.  But she would not go quietly, much less easily to it.

As the local Conservator of the Peace and his deputies set torches to pyre, Baeb called upon the powers of the Aethyr that yet availed her despite being both bound and gagged.  Inhaling deeply, she imagined her lungs to be expansive air bladders like those used in the gnomish airships of pre-Cataclysmic history.

Exhaling, Baebiana envisioned herself as the massive bellows of the emperor’s armory pumped by a score of muscular smiths.  However, she focused the entirety of her will on putting out the fire around her rather than fueling it.  Her efforts caused the pyre to dance like the flame of a candle blown by the mighty winds of a typhoon.  A collective gasp arose from the bewildered mob as the fire flared brightly and died.

Unfortunately, the citizens of the Baax legacy empire knew magic and mysticism when they witnessed it.  And most of them tolerated practitioners of magic about as much as they tolerated strong, willful women.  That is to say, not at all.  Their ire rose as swiftly as the fire around Baebiana diminished as they recognized her Aethyr-fueled tricks.  Baeb realized that she had to act quickly to free herself.

Before Baebiana could concentrate her efforts on the rope binding her to the stake, someone in the mob hurled at stone at her.  Sharp pain exploded in her brain as it impacted her skull so violently that it blinded her momentarily.  As Baeb struggled to regain her senses, a hail of stones pelted her breasts, ribs, and thighs.  Oddly, each one hurt less than the last as she ebbed toward unconsciousness, possibly even death.

“Stay your hands, citizens!” the priest of Shamash urged.  “I would not have the taint of this witch’s murder on your souls.  Let the purifying heat of Mother Sun do it for us.”

As the priest prayed in the Old Tongue, the smoke-filled air around Baebiana became as an oven.  Suddenly, the timber and tinder piled around her burst into flames.  The crowd roared anew, praising the efforts of the holy man.

Rivulets of sweat washed the blood from the gash on Baeb’s forehead into her eyes, obscuring her vision.  Shaking her aching head back and forth wildly, Baebiana fought to blink away the combination of fluids stinging her stygian orbs.

The acrid smoke from the burning pine curled up around her, stinging her nostrils.  Baeb forced herself to calm down despite the pain, knowing that she had to breathe smoothly, sparingly.  Otherwise she’d likely asphyxiate and miss the chance to be burned alive at the stake while surrounded by a howling mob.

Fear ate at Baebiana’s resolve as the winds swirling about the crossroads fed the fire, driving the flames dangerously close to her dress.  Raising her eyes to the sky, she sought calm by casting gaze away from the scene of her fiery demise.  Baeb imagined herself as smoke, rising forth into the heavens.  However, she knew that she had trod a spiraling road to the Nine Hells for too much of her life to merit the rewards of paradise.

Hope had all but fled when she cast her bloody orbs on the pale image of Misha’Kahl, defiantly showing herself despite the burning presence of her Mother, the Sun.  Baebiana marveled the rare diurnal appearance of the moon, Faltyr’s Silver Lady.  As she did so, her mind’s eye fled once again to the past.  Baeb recalled her grandmother sitting with her under the stars, teaching her how to read the phases of the moon, map the changing of the seasons, and chart people’s fortunes.

“Baebiana,” her grandmother’s voice echoed in her mind, “Misha’Kahl is the protector of all, even the unworthy.  No matter what happens in life, look to Her at your direst hour.”

So long had it been since she’d prayed to any of the gods and goddesses of Faltyr that Baebiana failed to find the words.  But even as her words remained below, her thoughts rose through the Aethyr to the heavens above.  She lamented her past actions, truly regretting her orgiastic activities with the coven and her compliance with their dark agenda, however brief.

In the end, Baebiana had chosen to believe the series of hellish, revelatory visions that prognosticated the unholy events that would surely unfold should she stay with the self-proclaimed leader of the coven and bear his demon spawn.  Had her sacrificial act saved her from damnation or merely condemned her to an eternity in the Nine Hells?  Until Baeb laid eyes upon the Moon Goddess inhabiting the sky alongside her own mother, fiery Shamash, she would have bet on the latter.

As the smoke and flames arose around Baebiana, so did the clatter of metal-shod hooves on flagstone.  The crowd parted hastily to avoid being ridden down by the incoming rider approaching the crossroads at a gallop.  Baeb peered through blood, sweat, and tears to get a better look at the horseman.

The tall, broad chainmail-clad kavallarios rode on a stout warhorse covered in intricate, expensive steel barding.  A masked chainmail coif hanging from his conical-shaped helmet obscured the lone knight’s face.  As the rider slowed to a halt at the base of the growing conflagration, Baebiana’s gaze settled on the pearlescent stone inset into the pommel of the long sword worn on the knight’s side.  Did it truly bear the symbol of Misha’Kahl or had the stoning distorted her vision?

Baebiana fought the panic rising in her chest, taking the kavallarios’s arrival as no mere coincidence.  Apparently, the townspeople held a similar opinion.  Most of them looked to be baffled by the masked cavalier’s sudden appearance.  Others hung their heads, obviously ashamed to be seen at the scene of her execution.

A stubborn, hateful few, led by boisterous old Scipio, the aggrieved party responsible for Baebiana’s current predicament, seemed angered by the intrusion of a Knight of Misha’Kahl.  Just as common folk viewed the Moon Goddess as a protector from afar, so did they view the various orders of knights dedicated to the Silver Lady living embodiments of her divine mandates.  They did not take kindly to injustices, especially those visited upon women and children.  Surely, the circumstances of her situation demanded that the knight intercede on her behalf.

“This is none of your business, sir knight,” the Kephale cautioned.  “Kindly allow us to dispense of this troublesome wench.  She’s sentenced to die, but we’ve no quarrel with you.”

“Aye!” added the priest of Shamash.  “She must die by fire to cleanse the taint upon her soul.”

The laconic knight responded by edging his steed closer to the fire.  The well-disciplined warhorse did not shy away from the nearness of the flames.  Despite their bold words, none of the citizens moved to stop its forward progression.  Finally, one of the deputy conservators made the mistake of reaching for the horse’s bridle.

The barded charger rose up on its hind legs, allowing its rider to slip nimbly from its flanks.  Turning, the kavallarios drew both sword and axe from his belt.  Whirling them about himself in a flashing display, he advanced wordlessly.  The aggressive posturing by both horse and rider drove back the mob.

Only the local Conservators of the Peace dared raise swords against the shining intercessors.  As the steel-clad warriors worked in tandem to clear a perimeter, the Head Conservator and his deputies looked for an opening in their defenses.  Baebiana watched the melee unfold around her, hoping the knight could defeat her tormentors before the flames could cook her alive.

The stockier of the two deputies rushed forward, swinging his curved blade downward in a chopping motion.  The Knight of Misha’Kahl caught the scimitar with crossed sword and axe.  A vicious kick to the knee destabilized the deputy, allowing the knight to use his control of his opponent’s blade to disarm him.  As the scimitar skipped across the flagstone, the kavallarios backhanded the muscular deputy, slapping him to the ground too.

Meanwhile, the warhorse continued to flummox the other two conservators as it lashed out with its steel-shod hooves.  The Head Conservator fell back from the onslaught of the magnificent steed.  To Baebiana, the fierce, elemental creature deserved the label of hero as its master.  Even as the flames reached the hem of her dress, she cried out to the horse in the mind speech common to all beasts, shouting words of encouragement.

The Knight of Misha’Kahl turned his attention toward the pyre.  Spying Baebiana’s impending incineration, he hurled the ax with uncanny precision, squarely striking the thick rope coiled about the stake.  Tension slackened immediately, almost pitching her face first into the flames.

Using her momentum, Baebiana leapt over them, tumbling through the fire onto the unforgiving flagstones below.  Pain shot through her tiny form, nearly stealing her consciousness.  But the sensation served as a powerful reminder.  Though bruised and burned, she still drew breath, for now anyway.

The towering knight reached down and took Baeb’s hand roughly, practically snatching her to her feet.  Pulling her close to him, the warrior spun her around, sending her in the direction of his courageous steed.

Baebiana twirled away from the knight like a poorly made child’s top.  Dizzy from a combination of blood loss and the acrid smoke from her premature pyre, Baebiana felt as if she would faint.  Stumbling at speed toward the steed, Baeb spied something that gave her cause for alarm.  The Head Conservator had managed to maneuver around the horse, closing on the lone knight from his vulnerable right flank.

Baebiana’s muffled warning came almost too late for her savior.  But it allowed the masked kavallarios enough time to get his weapon into position to intercept the incoming attack by the Head Conservator.  The knight blocked the sword swing with his own blade and then elbowed the official in the nose.

As the Head Conservator lost his balance and staggered backward, he dropped his guard.  The knight’s backswing caught the official squarely across the neck, severing his head completely.  The Knight of Misha’Kahl stopped in his tracks, obviously taken aback by the sudden, surprising end to his duel with the Head Conservator.

As the dead man’s woolly pate plopped wetly to the ground, the kavallarios took a step back from his ghastly handiwork.  Unfortunately, his humanity led to hesitation and left him vulnerable once more.  But Baebiana had his back again.

The deputy conservator charged around the raging bonfire, his sword at the ready.  As he closed on the knight, Baebiana ripped the filthy gag from her mouth and called to the flames.  They responded instantly, blazing outward, and engulfing the advancing foe.  The deputy screamed in anguish, staggering about in a spasmodic fashion before pitching over onto the flagstones.

The few remaining citizens in the vicinity fled before the onslaught unleashed by the knight, the witch, and the warhorse.  Baebiana stood at the crossroads with the masked kavallarios and his barded charger.  Humbled by the knight’s act of bravery and compassion, she did not know what to say.  A simple “thank you” did not begin to cover what this mysterious Knight of Misha’Kahl had risked to save her worthless hide.

Baebiana locked eyes with her knight-in-shining-armor across the carnage around them.  She could not help but be taken aback by the pain and anguish that she found in the stranger’s gaze.  Was it a heavy burden or some secret sin carried by the Knight of Misha’Kahl or merely a reflection of her sorry state?  At the moment, Baeb did not know nor did she have time to care.  She simply wanted to flee this land and never return.

“We have to go…now!” Baebiana pleaded.  “The others will surely send reinforcements.”

The hazel-eyed kavallarios glanced toward the town and then down at the decapitated conservator at his feet.  He shook his head dejectedly and then sheathed his crimson-stained blade.  Taking the warhorse by the reigns, the knight offered his other hand to Baeb.

Using his gauntleted hand to steady herself, Baebiana boosted herself up onto the back of the warhorse.  In a single fluid motion, the Knight of Misha’Kahl stepped into a stirrup and then swung his leg over the flank of the broad-backed mount.

As he settled into position behind her, Baebiana could feel the smooth pommel of the knight’s order sword pressing into her.  Part of her, however, wished that it had been his proverbial sword digging into her backside.  Baeb eschewed those thoughts as a natural byproduct of being rescued in such a storybook fashion, a true rarity on savage Faltyr.

Baebiana’s foggy, groggy brain contemplated whether her decidedly erotic imaginings were truly a byproduct of nature.  Or had her sexual misadventures with the coven permanently bent her caravan of thought toward these lusty deviations from the so-called norm?  As they galloped away from the conflagration at the crossroads, Baeb drifted off with wholly inappropriate thoughts about her masked savior running rampant in her mind.



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Baebiana awoke from her slumber to find herself staring up at the starry night.  The pale light from Faltyr’s lone moon illuminated the wooded glade where she lay upon a makeshift pallet.  Her head throbbed painfully as she looked around to get her bearings.  Though she could not make out much beyond the edge of the glade, the sound of flowing water betrayed the presence of a nearby stream.

A soft rustling led Baebiana’s attention to the shining silhouette of the Knight of Misha’Kahl’s armor-clad charger.  The horse seemed to be eyeing her suspiciously as it nibbled at a patch of clover on the ground.  As Baeb stood, the warhorse paused for a moment and then went back to eating.

Baebiana scanned about for the presence of the masked knight, disappointment filling her when she did not find him bedded down in the glade.  Too bad, she thought, far worse things than a stranger’s warm embrace on a chilly night.  She decided to settle for a less satisfying alternative and wrapped herself in the soft, thick cloak that served as her bedding.

Easing closer to the grazing animal, Baebiana spied the knight’s helmet and armor laid out upon a spare horse blanket.  The silvered steel gleamed in the moonlight.  No visible traces of the Head Conservator’s blood remained on the links of the chainmail hauberk.

Gently touching her fingertips to her brow, Baebiana could tell that the blood had been cleaned from her wound as well.  And, judging by the feel of the material, the knight had bound it with an expensive silk scarf.  Considerate, courageous, and wealthy, she thought.  Exactly the type of man Baeb had always desired but had never believed herself worthy to pursue, doubly so after her unholy ordeal with the coven.

Perhaps this time would be different.  Maybe the fates provided her mysterious savior as a divine reward for her ultimate sacrifice?  Could it be cosmic confirmation that her desperate act had been in the best interests of all humankind?  Could that truly be the case?

Or had she taken a fortuitous coincidence and blown it out of all sense of proportion?  Could it be a simple case of the Knight of Misha’Kahl being in the right place at the right time?  Fortune rather than Fate?  Baebiana did not pretend to know.

At the moment, Baeb merely wanted to find her savior and thank him properly.  But where had he gone?  Not far surely.  Not without his animal or his armor.  She vowed to seek him out.

Baebiana padded stealthily toward the sound of running water, watching her every step.  Responding to her conscious desires, the vines and branches snaked away from Baeb making her path much less treacherous.  The peat moss beneath her feet responded to her will as well, effectively muffling Baebiana’s footfalls.

Baebiana came to an abrupt stop as soon as she spotted the surprising sight illumed by the full moon’s light.  A lone figure stood waist deep in the shallow pool formed below the fall line of the waterway.  Alabaster skin stood in stark contrast to the straight dark hair cascading down the imposing individual’s bare broad back.  Muscular arms rippled as they labored to wash intimate areas concealed from her point-of-view.

Aching for a closer look at this person, likely her savior judging by his height and breadth, Baebiana slipped closer to the exposed shoreline.  Unable to take her eyes off of the form bathing in the moonlight, she became entangled in the one thing in her path that did not respond to her desires:  the knight’s weapon belt.  Plunging head first into the creek, she thought:  I always did know how to make a helluva entrance.

Sploosh!

Baebiana’s senses caught fire as the bone-chilling cold enveloped her as completely as the waters of the stream.  She shielded her face as best she could with her flailing arms, narrowly avoiding another blow to the head.  Pain exploded anew in her elbows and wrists as she collided with the gravelly streambed.  Alarm, anger, and embarrassment mixed explosively, propelling her to the surface more rapidly than she’d submerged.

Breaking the plane of the icy water, Baebiana could hear herself screaming a stream of obscenities at the offending stream.  But she could make no sense of her torrent of words.  Seemingly, Baeb’s mouth had detached itself from her brain and decided to work against her best interests.

First, her balance betrayed her lack of courtly grace by pitching her off the bank in a most undignified fashion.  And now her mouth betrayed her low class upbringing with slurs and curses that would make the most foul-mouthed field hands blush.

Baebiana tried to collect herself but the scene unfolding before her became too much for her frazzled, stone-addled mind to bear.  As she cleared water from her eyes, her vision focused on the nude figure before her that shined palely by Misha’Kahl’s light.  Her expectations certainly did not meet the reality of the situation.  In fact, Baeb’s mind reeled.

“Holy shit!” Baebiana exclaimed, clearly unable to control her cursing anymore than her wide-eyed reaction.  “You’re a—“

“Woman,” the curvaceous individual replied tersely, covering her pendulous breasts as best she could with her large, mannish hands.  Her wide hips slipped beneath the dark waters of the stream along with her meticulously manicured mound.

“A hot-as-hells woman at that,” Baebiana added unable to tear her gaze from the obviously self-conscious individual.

“Says you,” the other woman responded, blushing deeply.

Baebiana realized that they were sisters of a sort already.  Neither one of them saw the beauty in themselves that others saw so readily.  Admittedly, her new companion was far too tall, broad, and muscular to be considered beautiful by modern cosmopolitan or courtly standards.  However, the statuesque giantess would be a prized corn queen back home, fit to pull any plow and birth many a babe to a fat, happy husband.  Apparently, the mystery woman preferred swords to plowshares though.

“I’m Baebiana.  Thanks for saving me.  Not that I needed--“

“Spare me the bravado.  And the gratitude for that matter,” her savior responded haughtily.  “We are not men so neither of those is required to satisfy our egos.  I am Bruttia Agrippina, and though I may have spared your life for a time, I am not convinced that it is by any means saved.  Walk a fine line with me.”

“I hear ya, Brute,” Baebiana said, trying to defuse the sudden tension that had arisen between them.  “I’ll toddle along softly like a good little babe.”

The standoffish expression on Bruttia’s face evaporated as she erupted into raucous laughter.  Forgetting her nakedness, the towering woman let her exposed breasts quiver tremulously.  Baebiana drifted closer so that she could get a closer look.  She convinced herself that natural curiosity guided her rather than deviant thoughts like those she’d indulged on long, lusty nights with the members of her former coven.  But she knew that to be a lie.  One of many she’d told herself over the years.

“Maybe the elders of the Church of Shamash should revise their dogma,” Bruttia replied.  “Suffer a witch to live…but only if she’s got a good sense of humor.”

“Why did you spare me then, even if only for a little while?”

“I have need for your particular, peculiar services.”

“You’ve done so much for me already,” Baebiana said, easing closer to the half-submerged but fully nude woman.  “You’ve but to ask and it is yours.”

“I need you to talk to a horse about a man.”

Baebiana stopped in her tracks, confusion furrowing her injured brow.  Finally, she said, “Uh, isn’t that normally the other way around?”

“This is no joke.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Bruttia replied levelly.  “Ulixes, the steed that I ride, served as my father’s faithful mount most of a decadus.  And if the official report of his death is correct, this horse was the last soul to see him alive.”

“I’m not sure that I understand.”

“You don’t need to understand.  You merely need to perform the required feat of sorcery.  Then we are square.  Do you understand that?”

“How do I know you won’t kill me when I’m no longer of any use to you?”

“You don’t,” Bruttia replied, stepping within dagger’s reach of Baebiana.  Taking the smaller woman’s hand, Bruttia held it to her heart and said, “All I can do is to swear upon the only thing of value left to me in this world:  the honor bestowed upon me as the noble daughter of a late Knight of Misha’Kahl.  As the Silver Lady’s light protects us during Faltyr’s long nights, my oath shall protect you from harm…so long as you hold true to purpose.  But betray me or my quest and your life is forfeit.”

Baebiana found the woman standing before her to be a true conundrum.  One moment, Bruttia acted gruff, haughty, and aloof.  And the next she seemed grave, sincere, and intimate.  Could the grieving woman to be trusted?  Probably.  Was the wannabe knight in over her pretty head?  Most definitely, Baeb thought.

Baebiana smiled again.  Diverting her eyes from Bruttia’s intense gaze, she realized her hand rested on the taller woman’s impressive bosom.  This time Baeb blushed.

A coarse, masculine voice called from the shoreline, “Are you going to kiss her or not?”

“Yeah, we ain’t got all night,” cried another.

Baebiana wheeled around at the sound of the strange voices.  A trio of armored men emerged from the undergrowth along the banks of the stream.  Two of them carried sturdy iron maces while the third shouldered a cocked-and-loaded crossbow.

The man-with-the-crossbow said, “That’ll be enough of that.  We’re here to enforce morality not encourage corruptions of it.”

Baebiana recognized him as the other deputy Conservator of the Peace present at the crossroads.  The press of the panicked crowd fleeing the scene had prevented him from aiding either of his fellow conservators.  His gaze held the same revenge-minded gleam as that of the woman standing behind Baebiana.

Tugging at his beard, one of the mace-wielding deputies replied, “Noble Justinus, always the honorable one.”

Keeping his crossbow trained on Baebiana, Justinus said, “Stow it, Iulus!  Be productive and go inform Elder Scipio that we have caught his witch.  And her…confederate.”

“Sure you and Virgil can handle these two dangerous ladies on your own?  After all, you’ve let them escape once already.”

“Confident as I am that the next smartass thing you say will be your last, Iulus.  I am in no mood.”

Justinus’s stony gaze shifted slightly, enough for the sharp-tongued heckler to see the same gleam that had given Baebiana pause.  Iulus fell silent. 

Justinus repeated his order, more forcefully this time.  Nodding, Iulus replied without further commentary, heading back into the brush.  Though they stood on opposite sides of this conflict, Baebiana admired Justinus for having enough self-respect to silence his critics.

Throughout her short, tumultuous life, Baeb had been forced to ignore more critics than she’d ever managed to silence.  Just another entry on her growing list of regrets, she lamented.  But having secured a new lease on life, she felt obliged to do something about silencing her critics…starting now.

Baebiana called upon one of the first powers taught to her by her grandmother, a simple but effective charm that proved indispensible when dealing with the weak-minded.  Injecting her voice with a tone as sweet as honey, she said, “If your duties include policing morality and upholding decency, then I entreat you to return my companion’s tunic laying there upon the bank.”

“A reasonable request and one I shall see obeyed,” Virgil replied, reaching for the white cotton garment.

But her bewitching suggestion did not sway Justinus.  But he proved to be distracted by its results nonetheless.  Turning towards his comrade, he barked, “Don’t get near them, Virgil.  It could be a trick.”

Stopping at the edge of the stream, Virgil tossed the tunic up into the air.  As it danced through the space separating the opposing parties, it glowed for a brief moment as the bone white material caught the moonlight perfectly.  The shimmering sight drew Baebiana’s attention from her intended target.

A sudden, sharp intake of breath along the shoreline arrested Baeb’s wandering attention.  Her gaze fell on the silvery gleam from the pommel of the stiletto now buried in Virgil’s chest.  She and Justinus watched wide-eyed as Bruttia caught the tunic in with the same hand that had thrown the vicious little blade with such deadly accuracy.

Justinus recovered quicker than Baebiana, firing the crossbow leveled at her chest.  Acting as her savior once again, Bruttia jerked Baeb out of the bolt’s path, nearly wrenching the smaller woman’s arm out its socket in the process.

Despite the pain, Baebiana concentrated her efforts on disabling Justinus before he could reload his weapon.  She called out to the vegetation around him.  The flora responded instantly, snaking up his legs to his torso and arms.  The bewildered deputy Conservator struggled in vain against the vines and saplings.  Baeb’s magic held.

Bruttia strode boldly toward the entangled man.  As the bare-assed woman cleared the water, Baebiana could see the leather stiletto sheath strapped around one of Bruttia’s massive calves.  At least that answered her nagging question, Baeb thought.  Only a few places on the human body existed for one to conceal a blade of that size.

Baebiana saw Justinus flinch as Bruttia drew back one meaty fist before driving it into his exposed jaw.  His eyes rolled back in his head.  Despite his clearly unconscious state, the Aethyr-charged vegetation held him upright, his feet mere inches from the ground.  To Baebiana, Justinus looked like a discarded marionette left dangling from its strings.

Aethyr and adrenalin coursing through her veins, Baebiana watched with hungry eyes as Bruttia slipped the simple yet elegant tunic over her head, shoulders, and breasts.  The long shirt fell to the middle of her thick thighs, clinging wetly to her every curve on the statuesque woman’s body.  For a moment, Baebiana wondered if she would end up being the one bewitched.

Retrieving her weapon belt, Bruttia said, “Come on!  We don’t have long before that fool returns with an entire posse of armed men howling for your blood and mine.”

Without awaiting a reply, Bruttia slipped into the dense undergrowth and disappeared into the darkness beyond the banks of the stream.  Baebiana followed, unwilling to be left behind.

Back in the glade, Bruttia finished dressing in a hurry.  Baebiana squired for her albeit ineptly, knowing neither arms nor armor beyond cudgel or dagger.  As she struggled to fasten the undercoat that went under the chainmail shirt, Baebiana commented, “How in the Nine Hells did you get this over that massive bosom without help?”

Scowling slightly, Bruttia said, “Normally, I tie them down before armoring up and gallivanting around on horseback.”

“Where’s the binding?  I don’t see it anywhere.”

“It’s on your head.  I used it to stop the bleeding.”

Baebiana brushed her fingers to the silk scarf bound about her forehead and blushed again.  She smiled sheepishly.

As Baeb reached up to untie it, Bruttia said, “Keep it.  I have a spare in my saddlebags but there’s no time.”

Inhaling sharply, Bruttia snapped the last fastener on her undercoat.  Then she slipped on the roomy chainmail shirt that stretched from her shoulders to the top of her knees.

Baebiana picked up the weapon belt carrying Bruttia sword and dagger.  She fitted it around Bruttia, securing it tightly above her expansive hips.

“At least the armor is roomier than the padding,” she said.

“The chain hauberk belonged to my father,” Bruttia replied, looking away from Baebiana.  “He was a titan of a man, even compared to an ogre of a woman like me.”

“You loved him a lot then?”

“As much as any daughter could love her father.”

“Probably more than I loved mine.  He wasted his life in the fields only to see most of what he grew go to support greedy lords, corrupt officials, and this bloated, dying empire.”

“My father slaved away every day for the state, eventually sacrificing himself for it, if that is to be believed.  That’s how I knew he loved me.  He sacrificed so much for me.”

Baebiana’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she felt hot tears sting her eyes at the sudden realization that her father had probably labored his life away for the same selfless reason.  An epiphany too late to do her any damn good, Baebiana thought bitterly.  Though she desired nothing as much as the loving embrace of her father, Baeb knew that she might as well be dead to him because of the way she’d chosen to live her life.

Baebiana’s father had made that clear when she’d started associating with the coven in the deep woods in the lonely years after her grandmother’s death.  Although her father had never approved of his daughter being taught hedge magic and herbalism, he had limited his criticisms to constant groaning and grumbling while her grandmother yet lived.  But paranoid delusions about his own daughter embracing an immoral life and consorting with demons and spirits had driven him to cast her from his house.

Storming away with naught but the clothes on her back, Baeb had set the barn ablaze and then vowed never to return.  In her mind, she could never go home again.  Especially not after his worst fears and delusions had become her reality.

Breaking the uncomfortable silence between them, Bruttia said, “We can bemoan our tortured pasts away from here.”

Drying her eyes, Baebiana asked, “Where to now?”

“That’s up to you…and Ulixes.  Where are we going?”

Baebiana held an open palm before her as she approached Ulixes.  The barded warhorse pawed at the ground uneasily.  Generally, animals perceived Aethyr energies better than most humans though not as well as elves or other fae.  Ulixes proved to be no exception.  The horse whinnied and backed away.

Baebiana said, “You remember me, don’t you, big fella?  We touched minds at the crossroads.  You were so brave to rescue me.  If you can be brave for me now, we can help Bruttia.  Help Bruttia find out what happened to her father, your late master.”

Ulixes took a few tentative steps forward.  Snorting, he dipped his armored head slightly, allowing Baebiana to touch his muzzle, to touch his mind.  Though she did not require physical contact to converse with mind-speech, touch facilitated her ability to read the thoughts and feelings of beasts and men.

Baebiana asked, “Ulixes, where’s the last place that you saw Bruttia’s father alive?”

Images flooded her mind instantly.  From the point-of-view of the warhorse, Baebiana watched as Ulixes crested the rise overlooking bustling Themis and austere Theophania.  The twin spires on the banks of the Celestial Bridge marked the boundary for each city.  The river running betwixt the Twin Cities served as the sole water route through the mountains to the steppes of the Arpithian Vast.

Ulixes broke contact, backing away as the howls of hounds broke the stillness of the long night.  The posse returned in force by the cacophonous sound of it.  Time had almost caught them.  And if time didn’t, surely the hounds would.

Fortunately, Baebiana had enough for now.  Though she had the destination, she provided Bruttia with a vague direction…for now anyway.  Bruttia seemed honorable, but Baeb wanted to be far from their pursuers before she told the other woman too much.

“We head east, toward the coast,” Baebiana said.

Seemingly unwilling to interrogate Baebiana further at the moment, Bruttia mounted Ulixes with ease despite the layers of padding and armor.  She groaned as she settled into the saddle.

“East it is then,” Bruttia replied, nudging Ulixes forward.

The horse drew away from Baebiana slower than the hounds closed through the foggy forest beyond the moonlit glade.  Baeb looked skyward, locking eyes with Misha’Kahl in all her glory.  Big and bright, the moon shone down upon her as if in judgment.

“The Twin Cities,” Baebiana said, trying not to raise her voice too loudly.

Bruttia reigned up on Ulixes, forcing him to turn toward Baebiana in the process.  Though Bruttia didn’t verbally respond, she extended one gauntleted hand toward Baebiana.  Pulling up the hem of her dress slightly, Baeb ran toward the pair of armor-clad warriors.  Taking the hand up from Bruttia, Baebiana joined them for a midnight ride through the heartlands, a ride for their lives, guided by Misha’Kahl’s silvery light.



####



As Ulixes raced toward the coast at breakneck speeds, Baebiana vowed to kiss the feet of the statue of the Moon Goddess at the Lady’s temple when they reached Theophania.  She replayed those vivid images of the City-of-Temples and its sinister sister city, Themis, as they made their way over hill and dale to the Imperial road that would lead them to the sea.

Shamash glared down upon them hotly that next morning, forcing Ulixes from a gallop to a trot to a halt.  The foam-covered warhorse had to be exhausted.  It’d run for countless leagues, until starry night gave way to break of day.

Baebiana felt for the poor animal.  If its legs were half as sore as her ass, she could not understand how the warhorse could remain on its feet, especially bearing their combined weight.  Baeb slid from the saddle to the ground.

Bruttia followed, moving stiffly, throwing one leg over the saddle with visible effort.  She wobbled as she put foot to flagstone.  Though Bruttia towered over her, Baeb’s lower center of gravity helped her to steady her thoroughly exhausted savior.

“Looks like we could all use a rest,” Baebiana observed.

“Agreed,” Bruttia replied.  She added, “But we have to be back on the road by midday.  Those riders may not be far behind.  Whatever you did to rile them up must’ve been pretty bad.”

“I provided a service to fellow citizen, as I’m doing now.”

“Whore around and anger the wrong wife, did you?”

Baebiana snapped, “I’m no whore!  That particular service is free of charge to the right parties, thank you very much.”

Baebiana stormed off in the direction of a thick copse of trees on the top of a hill some distance from the road.  That small grove would have to suffice for cover.  It would also serve as for a perfect vantage point to spy upon the road.  Baeb tried to focus on her weary footsteps rather than her anger at the pompous, presumptuous bitch.

Bruttia caught Baebiana before she reached the hilltop.  She laid one heavy hand upon Baeb’s slender shoulder.  Baebiana wheeled around, ready to curse, fight, or even fuck this woman who’d confused her with endearing, noble acts and then followed them with hurtful, hateful accusations against her character.  Instead, Baeb looked into Bruttia’s sad, haunted eyes and saw herself there.  Baebiana’s resolve faltered.  Words failed her.

After all, Baebiana thought, who am I to judge Bruttia’s words and deeds?  Baeb considered herself to be a damned soul unworthy of the time and energy it had taken Bruttia to save her from the flames’ embrace.  And now she had damned Bruttia as well.  Her savior had murdered not one but two Conservators of the Peace.  If nothing else, Bruttia deserved to know why both of them had become wanted women.

Baebiana said, “I sold a preparation to a woman with child who did not wish to carry it to term.  Is that what you wanted to know?  I didn’t realize that she’d been knocked up by the richest, most influential old fucker in the whole town!”

Bruttia asked, “Noble Scipio?”

“I swear I’d never heard that name until they snatched me from my bed at the inn.  My first night’s sleep in a warm bed in a lunare, and it’s interrupted by a trial without jury and a public execution.  I sold a number of potions, poultices, and preparations that day, and my purse felt heavier with coin than ever.  Noble Scipio, the only citizen to complain, proclaimed me to be a witch who’d murdered his unborn child.”

“Ridiculous!” Bruttia exclaimed.  “Similar remedies to similar troubles exist in every city, town, and dale.  If they had burned you as a witch for it, the Church of Shamash might as well burn every apothecary, midwife, and wizard in the whole damn empire.  And then we’d be no better than the bloody tyrant that rules Oparre.”

“Exactly!” Baebiana cried.  “I did what I had to do.”

“As did the bearer of Scipio’s unborn heir.  Being the kept concubine of a nobleman is no sort of life for any woman.”

“Do you think her correct for following her instincts?” Baebiana asked.  “To free herself of one unwanted bastard forced upon her by another?”

“That’s between her and the gods in my opinion,” Bruttia replied.  “Every case is different.  But if there is no love, no affection, what kind of life is that for a child?  For in the absence of love and light, hatred and darkness take root in the heart of the young twisting them towards future evil.”

“So you see…so you see,” Baebiana repeated as she embraced Bruttia tightly.

Perhaps Bruttia might prove to be her savior after all.  Regardless, Baeb had found a real friend in this wannabe Knight of Misha’Kahl, someone who would accept her despite her lengthy list of past sins and transgressions.  If Bruttia could look past an act that Baebiana found repugnant but wholly natural, even necessary at times, perhaps she could find a way to look past it and forgive herself…some day.



THE END