Tears of the Sun

Chapter One.

Truly, the Gods must have grown jealous of the island nation that had blossomed from the heart of the ocean to shine as brightly as the sun itself. Sailors watched in horror as a star fell from the skies like a burning mountain, turning the night blood red. It painted a line of fire pointed directly at the gleaming marble spires. As if in greeting, a great glowing translucent dome shimmered into existence above the city and shot upwards like a bronze discus thrown by a mighty warrior.

With a roar louder than thunder, the star and the shield met in the sky. Amazingly, the plummeting star slowed in its flight and for an instant, seemed to hesitate as if it would bounce from the mystical shield and return to the heavens from whence it came. However, this bolt of the Gods proved too powerful for even the mystical might of Atlantis. In the blink of an eye, the glowing shield was gone and doom fell unimpeded once more towards the city.

Even then, the mages of Atlantis were not truly defeated. The dome shimmered into existence again, but this time, behind the screaming thunderbolt. It settled over the island, covering it like a child would cover a pebble with a bowl, an instant before the flaming mass struck the very heart of the city.

From the point of impact, a blinding white light shone forth, as if the sun had chosen to rise from the middle of the ocean. Those who were looking in that direction were rendered instantly blind. A mighty vibration shook the seas and the surrounding shores. The people near enough to witness this spectacle prepared to die, for surely such a blow to the bosom of the Earth would spread destruction to the farthest reaches of the world.

Yet even in death, Atlantis gave one last gift to the world. With the final shards of their power, the Atlanteans had sealed the fury of the falling star inside their mystical dome, turning the mighty explosion in upon itself. Such was the power unleashed upon the island that every trace of Atlantis and its inhabitants vanished; vaporised like a snowflake landing in a smith's forge. Terrible waves crashed against the shores of all the world's seas and oceans, battering the infant coastal nations of mankind mercilessly. Uncounted thousands died, smashed and drowned by the unstoppable rage of the waters.

But even such terror must end. The storms and waves faded and sun shone again. People rebuilt their lives, telling their children of the awful flood sent by the Gods to punish an arrogant world. In fearful whispers, they spoke of vanished Atlantis, careful not to attract the wrath of their Gods, who had chosen to exterminate the first great civilisation of mankind.

Chapter Two.

Foxblood paused in front of the East Gate of High Kritias, largest and most powerful city state to be found between the Middle Sea and the mountains. This was not the first time that he had seen the shining bronze gates of the city, but they still aroused awe and wonder in his heart. The two great valves were the height of ten men and each leaf as wide as six warriors lying head to toe. Their thickness was greater than the width of Foxblood's outstretched arms. No human artisan could have forged such mighty constructs or lifted them into place. Only the wizardry of lost Atlantis had made them possible. The feeling of a wooden staff prodding him in the back brought his thoughts back to the matters at hand.

'Business first, sightseeing later' muttered Janna, fidgeting impatiently under the load of their packs which she carried slung over one shoulder. Naked except for the red loincloth wrapped around her hips which marked her as a body slave, Janna's torso glistened with sweat, except for where it was dulled by the dust of the road. An impudent fly landed on her breast attracted by the salt, only to meet an untimely end as Janna snatched it from her chest, crushing it between her fingers before the insect was able to take flight.

Shaking his head at Janna's lack of artistic appreciation, Foxblood headed towards the queue of people waiting to be passed into the city by the City Guard. As he prepared to state his name and business, Foxblood gave thanks once again to the Fates that his father had returned home on the day of his birth with the dripping carcass of a fox and not that of a duck. Somehow 'Duckblood' did not seem to fit the image of a tough, merciless warrior-for-hire.

'Name?' asked the Guardsman.

'Foxblood. I come at the request of the First Lord.'

Naturally, neither the Guardsman nor Foxblood mentioned the woman who silently followed the warrior. Slaves were property. Just like a pony or an oxen, slaves had no identities other than as the chattel of their master.

'Yes Warrior Foxblood. We were told to expect your arrival. My men will guide you to your quarters, where you may refresh yourself before your audience with the First Lord.'

Two Guardsman wearing the blue cloaks of the Household Guard guided Foxblood and Janna through the envious crowd at the gate and on into the city. The presence of the Guardsmen allowed the little party to make good time through the streets and soon the packed earth beneath their feet gave way to neatly laid paving stones as they neared the Main Hall. Just like all the other official buildings of the City, the Main Hall was built of white stone with tall pointed spires and arched doorways based on Atlantean architectural styles. Combining the functions of official residence and administrative centre, the Main Hall was usually a very busy place. It was therefore immediately obvious that there was something awry. All the entrances were flanked by grim faced Guardsmen and there was little traffic entering or leaving the building.

Foxblood and Janna were escorted through a maze of lamp lit corridors into the depths of the massive edifice. Finally, they entered a corridor lined with wooden doors, each bearing a numbered plaque. The Guardsmen stopped in front of a door marked with the number thirty-five.

'This room has been assigned to you, Warrior,' said one of them in a formal tone. 'When you have refreshed yourself, please make your way to the Place of Meeting. There are Guardsmen at the end of each main corridor who can give you directions should you need them.' With a bow, the two men departed, leaving Foxblood and Janna to their own devices. Foxblood pushed open the door with a fingertip and led the way into the guest room. A sturdy wooden bar was mounted on the inside of the door so as to provide for the occupant's privacy. Janna locked the door by dropping the bar, set down her load and sighed with relief.

'That pack grows heavier each time that I see it,' she grumbled, rubbing her sore shoulders.

'We could always throw it away,' responded Foxblood, grinning.

'Oh that is most generous of you my Master' said Janna 'Especially since most of the contents belong to me'.

'Cease your grumbling slave. See what our generous hosts have provided!' said Foxblood, pointing across the room to the large wooden tub of hot water.

With a squeal of pleasure Janna ran for the tub, discarding her loincloth on the way. Like a bronzed seal, she plunged into the water. Wriggling with pleasure, she watched as Foxblood unlaced his armor, shed his leather garments and finally jumped into the large tub with a mighty splash.

Foxblood felt a slippery hand reach out to fasten on his tool.

'I see that you have not abandoned all of your weapons,' said Janna, her fingers rapidly bringing his manhood to attention.

'I need my trusty club in order to beat my disrespectful wife into submission!' cried Foxblood as he pounced on the giggling woman.

Chapter Three.

It had been three years ago back in the village of his birth that Foxblood had announced his intention to leave the village and seek a living as a mercenary warrior. His friends had not been surprised. Foxblood's father had been a famous warrior who had retired to the village after meeting and falling in love with the daughter of the blacksmith. Foxblood had grown up listening to his father's tales of war and adventure. His father had also placed a sword in his hand as soon as he was strong enough to hold the tiny blade that he had specially forged for him. Warrior skills, gathered over a hard and dangerous lifetime were lovingly passed on to Foxblood by his proud father the way a great lord would pass on his lands. By the age of fifteen there were few men alive who could face Foxblood's blade and remain living.

His mother had died of a sudden and mysterious illness when he was seventeen and his father had followed her barely a year later. For a while, Foxblood had laboured over his father's forge, the heat and back breaking work adding huge sinews and muscles to the young man's growing frame. During that time, he had met Janna.

Janna was an orphan who had been raised by the combined efforts of the village women, although she lived mostly with the Wise Woman. No one was sure of Janna's origin or even her exact race. She had wandered into the village one night when she was around three years of age, dirty and hungry with her dark red hair matted and full of twigs. The villagers had wanted to turn her away. Life was harsh and charity to outsiders was not a common trait. It was the village Wise Woman who had unexpectedly spoken out on the little girl's behalf. She had given no reasons but merely rasped 'She stays' in her harsh raven voice.

Janna had grown up tall and muscular, partly from the hard labour that was her daily routine, but also from an inborn strength and hardiness that set her apart from the people of the village as much as did her flaming red hair.

Foxblood had known of Janna for most of his life, but his parents had discouraged him from associating with the strange girl who was almost a bondslave. Later, he had been too often away from home, earning a living as a caravan guard for the regular shipments of produce and craft wares that the village sold at the Great Markets.

It was only after he had taken over his father's smithy that he had gotten to know the young woman that Janna had become. She would walk past the smithy many times a day on the way to the river and return each time bearing a large clay vessel filled with water. The two of them had much in common. They were both without family, both had at least one parent from outside of the village and both were fiercely determined to rise above their present station in life. Smiles and greetings gradually grew into chats and shared jokes. One day Foxblood offered to share his mid day meal with her. Janna had accepted. Soon she was eating with him on most days except where her errands demanded that she be elsewhere. They were a handsome couple, both taller than average, with skins that were lighter in colour than was usual. Foxblood's hair was deep black, while Janna's shone like polished copper in the sunlight. It seemed only natural when Janna started sharing Foxblood's bed.

The Wise Woman watched from the darkness within her hut, her long nimble fingers casting the bones over and over. She laughed softly, her voice surprisingly rich and sensual. 'So it begins' she murmured.

Chapter Four.

It had been two months since Janna had started sharing Foxblood's bed. They were cuddled together under the furs, enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies and the silence of the night. Foxblood noticed that Janna had been uncommonly quiet during mealtime, although she did not seem unhappy. He reached out and playfully tapped the end of her nose. 'Have you tired of my company already woman?' he asked with a smile.

Janna gave him a smile in return and shook her head, her eyes still serious.

'What then?' prompted Foxblood.

'I must tell you something about me' replied Janna softly, 'but I fear that you will think me ... strange.'

'We have grown up together and though I did not know you well during those years, I have not seen or heard anything that would make me think ill of you,' said Foxblood.

'It is what is within me that is different,' said Janna, her eyes downcast. 'From my earliest years, I have had the need in me to feel pain.'

Foxblood propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at Janna in puzzlement. 'Pain? How so?'

'I am not sure that I can explain,' replied Janna, her fingers twisting the blankets nervously. 'It is not as if I want people to kick me like they would a stray cur, nor do I enjoy being mistreated or humiliated.' She shook her head in frustration.

Foxblood reached out to stroke her hair, soothing her as he would a wild horse. Kissing her on the forehead, he said 'Softly dear Janna, softly. Do not worry yourself about the reasons if they are not clear to you, but tell me of your feelings. When do you feel this way?'

Janna sighed and lay back on her pillow, closing her eyes. 'It is when I am doing something that is important to me. It can be when I am attempting a difficult task or when we are embracing. I feel this need, this ache within me.'

'So you would not like it if I just slapped you on the head each time we met?' asked Foxblood, smiling to show that he was joking.

Janna grinned back and jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow.

Foxblood grunted in mock agony and said 'I thought that you wanted to feel pain, not inflict it!' He kissed her lips and cheek, then whispered 'Show me'. His let his kisses become more ardent, moving down to the hollow of her throat and back up to her lips, where their tongues met in a moist, slippery duel.

Foxblood felt Janna's body press against his as she straddled his leg, pressing her crotch against the hard muscles of his thigh.

Janna reached out and drew his hand to her breast, bringing the tip of her nipple into contact with his palm. Guiding his hand, she moved it slowly in small circles over her nipple. Foxblood could feel the tip of her breast stiffen and rise under his hand. She began to rhythmically grind her cunt against his leg, her curly pubic hair rasping over his skin.

Suddenly Foxblood became aware that Janna was pressing his hand harder against her breast. She placed her hand over his and began to squeeze. Following her lead, he applied a little pressure with his fingers. Janna's hand stroked the back of his in approval and then urged him on again. He squeezed harder, taking a firm grip on the soft flesh of her breast. She tapped his hand again. More pressure. Soon he knew that he was applying enough force for his grip to be painful.

The movements of Janna's hips became more urgent and Foxblood could feel a slippery moistness spreading over his thigh, changing the grinding of her intimate flesh against him into a smooth back and forth glide. She moved his hand once again so that his fingertips surrounded her nipple. Gingerly, he grasped the pink nub of flesh and began squeeze. Janna's hand stroked his forearm as if she was masturbating a giant penis, feeling the hard corded muscles writhe under his skin. Foxblood let his fingers close and relax in time with Janna's stroking and he could feel her hips adopt the same rhythm. Her whole body rocked with the force of the sensations that radiated from the tip of her breast and the steady stropping of her sex against Foxblood's iron hard thigh. Orchestrated by Janna's stroking hand, the pace grew faster and faster, their bodies rocking and bumping at a frantic rate, until finally Janna cried out in triumph. Her thighs closed with crushing force around Foxblood's leg, squeezing her cunt hard against his flesh as if she would meld their bodies together at that point of intimate contact.

Foxblood was amazed at the passion and strength that Janna had demonstrated, which was a total change from her usual gentle and almost timid style of lovemaking. He wrapped his arms around the panting woman, stroking her sweat-slick back and kissing her forehead. They lay together like that for a while, both of them savouring the intensity of what had just happened.

Janna giggled and tilted her head up to look at her lover. 'It seems that it was not merely an idle fantasy then. I have never felt like that before,' she exclaimed.

'Indeed' said Foxblood. 'Like a racehorse, you need a touch of the crop to bring your blood to a boil.'

Janna giggled again. 'At the moment I am feeling the touch of something else!' she said, glancing down between their bodies. Foxblood's shaft stood rigid and proud, thrusting firmly, as Janna had noted, towards her belly.

With a sigh of happiness Janna nimbly impaled herself on his staff. 'What was that about horses and crops?' she said, wriggling her bum.

'Ho!' cried Foxblood, smacking her buttocks with his palm.

Chapter Five

The next year brought disaster to the village. A blight struck the crops, turning the farmer's fields into barren wasteland. The summer was hotter than living man could remember, baking the land into useless dust and shrinking the river down to a stream. The villagers left, seeking a living in the cities. With nothing to trade, the remaining villagers had no need for horseshoes, sickles or tools. Foxblood's smithy grew cold with disuse. With a sigh of regret he went into the bedroom. He reached under the bed and pulled out the large wooden chest that had lain undisturbed there ever since his father had died. Brushing off the dust, he unfastened the fastenings of straps that held it closed. The thick leather hinges creaked stiffly as he opened the lid. A coarse red horse blanket shielded the contents from dirt. Foxblood lifted the blanket out of the chest with a large callused hand, dropping the faded fabric onto the floor. With both hands he reached into the depths of the chest and heaved out the bundle that lay at the bottom. Grunting with effort he placed the bundle on the bed. It settled heavily on the mattress with the sound of metal moving against metal. He undid the laces and spread the contents out over the bed. On the top lay a scabbarded sword of unusual design. The hilt was long enough to fit a two-handed grip, ending in a brass pommel in the shape of a shark's head. The grip was wrapped in a grey mottled leather that a fisherman might have recognised as sharkskin and the guard was a flattened brass oval that bore a pattern like the waves on a stormy sea. When Foxblood drew the blade out of the scabbard this too showed an unorthodox pattern. It was as long as his arm and therefore almost twice as long as a common short sword. It was double edged from the tip to about half way down. From there it was single edged with the back edge square and flat. What made it obviously different was the lightness and pale colour of the steel. The sword was a gift from his father who had found it buried in the side of a mountain.

Foxblood's father has often gone on expeditions into the hills with his secret 'tool' in order to find iron for his forge. The 'tool' consisted of a lump of strange reddish rock attached to a long piece of leather. His father had sworn that the rock magically moved whenever it was near to large pieces of iron in the ground. On one such outing his father had found what promised to be a goodly sized lump of iron. To his amazement, when he dug into the ground he had found a jagged piece of polished marble which further digging revealed to be part of a wall. Attached to it was a bronze cabinet, now much corroded. It was when his father had broken open this cabinet that the true treasure was revealed. Wrapped in what used to be soft leather was a sword. Despite the fact that it must have been lain in the ground for years, no trace of rust or corrosion marred its surface and its edge was as keen as a newly ground razor. From memories of fireside tales and legends Foxblood's father had realised that this was a relic of Atlantis, which meant that the blade was at least a hundred years old. The edges of the mighty blast that had destroyed the island nation had hurled huge chunks of stone hundreds of miles inland. The best smiths in the known world had puzzled in vain over the fragments of Atlantean metals that had survived over the long dark years after the island's destruction. No one had been able to discover the secret of their manufacture or even what the exact metals were. Atlantis had always jealously guarded the secret of these marvellous metals and no Atlantean who knew the details of their production ever left the island.

The back of the cabinet had been made of sections of a very hard, dark wood. Carved into this wood was a series of images which Foxblood's father had recognised as fighting stances which demonstrated the proper use of the sword. His father had carefully removed the sword and the wooden blocks from the cabinet and hidden them in his cart under the pieces of iron that he had found. He knew that should news of this find reach the cities, warriors and nobles from far and wide would attempt to buy or take it from him. He had already decided to gift this unique sword to his son and so it had to remain a secret for many years to come.

Foxblood stared at the sword, remembering the day that his father had presented it to him as a symbol that he had reached manhood and the long months of training that followed as he learned how to use it. With a sigh he put the sword to one side and continued unpacking. A jerkin of padded brown leather and the pieces of armour followed. Horses were rare and expensive; too expensive and too vulnerable to theft to be practical for a mercenary warrior. Anyway, it was impractical to fight from horseback and only a scout needed the ability to travel faster than the main host of an army. This dependence on one's own legs as the main means of transport meant that heavy rigid armour was too much of a burden. Only the great lords and generals who had chariots or palanquins to move them around could afford the luxury of lobster shells. Foxblood's armour consisted of a mail shirt with curved overlapping shoulder plates, vambraces and greaves. However, unlike the bronze or brass used for normal armour, this armour was made from the meteoric metals that his father had gathered piece by tiny piece from the mountains. It was as hard as iron but was not brittle, did not rust and was much lighter than its equivalent in bronze or iron. Foxblood had carefully painted and stained the metal to hide its silvery colour which would once again marked it as a treasure to be stolen or stripped from his dead body.

Just as Foxblood had finished laying out his gear, Janna came into the room. Her face was a picture of determination. 'I am going with you,' she declared.

Foxblood shook his head. 'I will announce our marriage to the village elders as is the custom; but you know that in the great cities no respectable woman would wander the countryside as I must or be found unescorted in the company of so many men. You would be branded a whore and rejected by all.'

'I know that. But you are my man and I will not leave your side,' she replied stubbornly. 'I have talked to the Wise Woman and she has reminded me that there is one kind of woman who could be at your side always.'

Foxblood frowned at this and then his eyes widened in shock as he realized the import of her words. 'No!' he exclaimed in horror.

'Yes' said Janna. 'A body slave is bound to follow her master even unto death. Is that not the perfect solution?'

'Never!'

'Yes.'

The argument went on for the rest of the day and only ended when Janna swore that she would kill herself rather than be left behind.

Once he had accepted the fact that Janna would be constantly at his side, Foxblood set about training her. He gave her one of his childhood swords which was light enough for her to handle and fired up the forge for one last job. By melting down the other swords and various tools, he scavenged enough of the special metal to fashion a light mail vest and a metal core for a wooden staff made of short sections of hollowed out hardwood which were fitted over the slim metal shaft and glued into place. As a slave Janna could carry the staff without attracting attention. Since no slave could possess a weapon, her sword and armour would have to be kept in their luggage whenever they neared a city or town.

Foxblood drilled Janna mercilessly in the use of the staff, sword and shield. He was determined that since she was to follow him into danger, she would be as ready to face it as he could make her. At the same time it gave him a chance to practise his skills with those weapons himself.

Finally, they were ready. Foxblood made his farewells to the villagers who gaped in shock as Janna appeared for the first time wearing the red loincloth of a bodyslave.

Chapter Six.

Feeling much refreshed, the couple climbed out of the tub, stepping gingerly in the slippery puddles of water that were the result of their horseplay in the bath. Dressing hurriedly, Foxblood lifted the bar and opened the door. Exiting the room the two of them walked back down to the end of the corridor, where a Guardsman stood watch. As promised, the guard directed them to the Place of Meeting. They passed large halls, open courtyards, many closed doors and a door that their noses told them led to a kitchen. Finally, they neared a set of black marble doors that were guarded by a trio of Guardsmen carrying ceremonial axes. Foxblood identified himself to one of the guards.

'Wait here. When you enter you shall address our master as First Lord. Do not ask his name nor utter it should you hear it from another,' said the Guardsman. He turned and signaled to the other two men who opened the doors just wide enough for their fellow to enter the room beyond. After a moment, the first Guardsman returned and signed for Foxblood to follow. Foxblood complied, followed silently by Janna.

As Foxblood entered the large, high ceilinged hall, he noted that it held only two occupants at the moment. One was a short middle aged man with a slightly harried look. From the rich embroidery and gold thread woven into the fabric of his robe, Foxblood guessed that this man was the First Lord. The other person was a woman, who wore a plain white dress. Around her neck she wore a silver chain on which was hung a small leather pouch. The fact that a woman was allowed to attend such a meeting was surprising, given the relatively low status enjoyed by women in most of the cities. She had an air of calm and authority which was at odds with her simple attire. However, what really drew Foxblood's attention was the woman's appearance. Tall, fair of skin and red haired, it was obvious that she was of similar stock as Janna.

Foxblood bowed to the man, and after a moment's hesitation, to the woman. He decided that the risk of making a fool of himself by bowing to some sort of servant was preferable to the risk of offending someone who might be one of his new employers. Janna merely kept her eyes lowered and followed his lead.

The man studied Foxblood for a moment, his eyes lingering on Foxblood's sword. His lips formed a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. 'Welcome Warrior Foxblood. It is good that you have arrived at last. We have need of the services of one such as you.'

Foxblood merely bowed again, content to allow the man to carry the conversation.

'I am the First Lord of this city. My companion is Mirree' said the man, nodding in the direction of the woman. He spoke her name as if it were a title.

Mirree bowed gracefully, first towards Foxblood and then amazingly, towards Janna.

Startled, Janna dropped to her knees. In some cities, slaves who embarrassed their betters often had unfortunate and fatal 'accidents'.

Mirree smiled and said 'There is no need for pretence in this chamber, little one. Rise and join us'. She pointed to the backless marble chairs that formed a circle in the middle of the room.

Foxblood and Janna's eyes met for a moment. Foxblood nodded his agreement and the four of them seated themselves.

'To business then,' said the First Lord. 'I have a job for you. I wish you to act as Mirree's bodyguard and advisor in military affairs. She is soon to undertake an important mission on behalf of the City which may possibly take her to wild and dangerous places. Carry out your duties well and you will be amply rewarded.'

Foxblood thanked the First Lord then asked, 'High Kritias is a large and powerful City, with many brave and skilled warriors. May I ask why you did not choose an escort from amongst their number instead of seeking out a mercenary such as myself?'

'Firstly, none of our Guardsmen are as familiar with the conditions and languages of the lands through which you will be required to pass, nor have they your experience with the many dangers of such a journey. Second, neither Mirree nor yourself are known as citizens of High Kritias. I would avoid the chance of starting a war with another state,' explained the First Lord.

'I am a simple warrior my Lord, not a spy. I fear that I may lack the skills that you desire,' said Foxblood doubtfully.

The First Lord made as if to reply, but Mirree interrupted him. 'My Lord, I believe that this warrior needs to know the truth if he is to aid me in my task,' she said.

The First Lord stared at Mirree for a long moment, as if weighing the problem in his mind. Finally he nodded stiffly. 'So be it. But mark me well Foxblood. What I am about to tell you must remain a secret. Should I discover that you have betrayed us in this I will see to your death personally'

'You have my oath. On my honour I shall not betray your confidences' said Foxblood solemnly.

'Very well,' replied the First Lord. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. 'What do you know about Atlantis?' he asked, staring at Foxblood's face intently.

'I know that it no longer exists,' replied Foxblood, puzzled at this sudden change in subject. He noticed the First Lord's eyes flicker towards the handle of his sword that jutted out over his right shoulder. 'My father believed that my sword was made in Atlantis, although I have no way of discovering the truth of this.'

'May I see it?' asked Mirree.

Foxblood nodded and drew his blade, handing it carefully to Mirree. The moment that the sword touched her fingers Mirree stiffened, uttering a sharp gasp that was almost a sob. She nodded her head. 'Your father was correct. This is of Atlantean origin,' she said.

'Mirree is of Atlantean blood. She is descended from one of the Priestess of Atlantis that were on the mainland when the island was destroyed,' explained the First Lord. 'There are many legends that tell of the magical powers, even sorcery and witchcraft that were supposedly practiced by the Atlanteans.'

'None of this is true,' said Mirree. 'All of the so called magic of Atlantis was based on these,' she said, undoing the bindings of the leather pouch that hung from her neck. She pulled the leather wrappings away to reveal a small crystal orb that was attached to her necklace by a circular metal band.

Foxblood examined the glittering crystal curiously. It did not seem to be anything more than a beautifully cut piece of golden tinted crystal. 'What is it?'

'They are called Tears of the Sun. They were discovered by the alchemists of Atlantis hundreds of years ago. They realised that the human mind can generate enormous power under certain circumstances' said Mirree.

'Circumstances?'

'Strong emotions or excitement. You are a warrior. Have you never experienced the feeling during combat, that time itself slowed down and a rush of strength and speed filled your sinews?' asked Mirree.

Foxblood nodded thoughtfully. 'A few times. In the midst of battle a delirium can fill your mind and body. Some of the northern barbarian tribes have learned the ability to go into this state at will, but at the cost of losing all judgement and cunning. They call it Berzark or something similar'

'This crystal gathers and magnifies that power. Those with the right skills and training can make use of the Tears to perform what appear to be miracles. The main gates of High Kritias were created through the use of such power,' said Mirree, holding up the crystal.

'Marvelous indeed,' said Foxblood. 'Why is it then that no one has ever heard of such wonders?'

Mirree sighed. 'There are certain risks and difficulties involved in the use of the Tears. Firstly, no man can safely use them. You spoke of the Berserkers of the north. That is the reason that men cannot use the Tears. It is the nature of men to channel strong emotions into aggression. When magnified by the Tears, this aggression can destroy the mightiest fortress or the greatest army.'

'Then it is the perfect weapon!' exclaimed Foxblood.

Mirree shook her head sadly. 'Imagine your northern Berserker. He charges into battle in a blind fury, wildly hacking the enemy. When such a man wields a sword his fury is limited to the reach of his arms. If such a man wielded a Tear instead, destruction would rain down upon everything around him, friend and foe alike. It is the user's mind that controls the power of the Tears. But a Berserker's mind is filled with naught but blind destruction.'

Foxblood nodded his understanding. 'How then does a woman control the power of the Tears?' he asked.

There was an uncomfortable silence and Foxblood wondered if he had asked something that he should not have. Finally, Mirree spoke. 'The Alchemists and philosophers pondered this question for a long time Foxblood. Think of the problems. Emotions generated by lust, sexual pleasure, hunger, infatuation and the like all tend to cloud the mind. More importantly, they cannot be summoned up at will and under all circumstances, unlike the rage of the Berserker. A tool that cannot be used as needed is useless. They finally realised that there was only one other source of unfailing stimulation that met all of their requirements.'

Foxblood's face blanched in horror and disgust. 'Pain,' he spat. 'They used pain.'

'Yes Warrior, they, we, used pain. It can be mild or harsh depending on the amount of power needed and it can be sustained for fairly long periods of time. It also has the additional benefit that very few of the women selected to use the Tears would employ the power lightly.'

'But what about the injuries?'

Mirree laughed. 'Do I look like a cripple to you? The power of the Tears can heal as well as kill. We always reserve a little of the power to heal ourselves at the end of a session. The mages of Atlantis thought of everything. Over the years, they even bred a special trait into the bloodline of the Guardians of the Tears like myself. Can you guess what it is?' Mirree asked, glancing at Janna who sat silently at Foxblood's side.

Mirree's glance seemed to trigger the same chain of thought in Foxblood and Janna, and they turned to look at each other.

'The Guardians naturally desire to experience pain,' guessed Foxblood. His mind was a whirling cloud of thoughts and concepts. Janna's mysterious origins, her unusual appearance and her desire to feel physical pain all pointed to one thing.

Mirree clapped her hands in congratulation. 'You are correct on both points. Yes, Guardians are bred to accept, even desire pain under the right circumstances, although we do not find pleasure in the pain itself as some people do. And yes, your companion is of my bloodline.'

Janna gasped at this revelation.

Mirree reached out and touched Janna's hand. 'We will talk of this later my dear, in private. But now we must continue with the reason that we have asked the two of you to come here.' She nodded at the First Lord.

'Travelers and merchants coming from the east have brought us disturbing tales of a great wizard. His wrath is said to be terrible, killing hundreds with a wave of his hand and turning crop lands to barren dust in seconds. There are always such tales and we would not have paid them any heed save for the fact that King Lorwig of Hetia, a city state also to the east, seems to have allied himself with this so-called wizard. He has such faith in this wizard's powers that he appears ready to start a war of conquest against several states simultaneously. He is gathering an army right now and his ambassadors have visited each of his neighbouring states, demanding their total submission on pain of destruction,' said the First Lord, the concern in his voice clear to all in the room.

Mirree continued the tale. 'I have spoken to witnesses who claim to have actually seen this wizard in action and it is my belief that he has found or stolen a Tear and has discovered its power. If this is true, he poses a terrible threat to everyone and not just King Lorwig's enemies. He will soon become an uncontrolled engine of destruction, killing or smashing everything around him.'

'Is there any protection from the power of the Tears?' asked Foxblood.

'Aside from another Tear, there only two restrictions to the power. The user's stamina, and the fact that the user must see the thing which he or she seeks to affect. This was why Atlantis was unable to deflect the falling star while it was still safely in the Heavens,' answered Mirree.

The First Lord spoke again. 'High Kritias was originally a trade colony of Atlantis, and though the Guardians often visited the city to give the people the benefit of their powers, none of the secrets of the making of the Tears or the special metals such as those used in your sword were ever allowed off the island of Atlantis. When Atlantis disappeared, the Guardians who happened to be in the city decided to find a home elsewhere. If they had stayed, word of their presence would have spread, making the conquest of High Kritias the dream of every ambitious warlord or prince in the world. Without the power of Atlantis to protect us, we would have faced destruction. While the Guardians have great powers, they are not immune to assassination or illness. The surviving Guardians had no desire to spend the rest of their days engaged in constant warfare.'

'I intend to travel to the east and seek out this "wizard". If he truly bears a Tear of the Sun, I must find a way to take it from him. You, Foxblood shall serve as my guide and protector. It is likely that the "wizard" will have his own guards watching over him. I can ward us against his power, but you will have to deal with most of the fighting. Alone, neither of us would have a chance. Together, we may be able to save the world from a madman' said Mirree, her eyes blazing with determination.

'Naturally you will be appropriately rewarded, both in gold and my gratitude," the First Lord said earnestly.

Foxblood looked at Janna, who nodded. 'So be it,' he said, sealing the compact.

Chapter Seven.

Later that day, Janna found herself in private conversation with Mirree. Janna's emotions were so mixed that she was unsure whether to laugh or to cry. Mirree spoke at length of her own childhood and about the strange urges and feelings that her heritage forced on her. As she listened to Mirree's story Janna was amazed at the similarities it bore to her own life. Yet she still found it hard to believe the she was an Atlantean.

Mirree smiled gently and said 'You still doubt.' She held up her hand to silence Janna's embarrassed denials. 'To believe too easily is as foolish as to not believe at all.' Raising her voice she called out 'Mira! Bring me the box.'

The door at the rear of the room opened and a slim young woman stepped out, bearing a small black box in her hands. She too had red hair and fair features that Janna now associated with Atlantis.

'This is my companion Mira' said Mirree, smiling fondly at the newcomer. 'As you can see, Mira is not a Guardian. Though she is of the blood, she lacks the mental strength that I detect in you. It is the ability to discipline one's thoughts that allows us to safely control the forces generated by the Tears.' Nodding at the box she said to Mira 'Let us see if we can overcome our new friend's doubts.' Turning back to Janna she unveiled once more the spherical pendant that hung between her breasts. Cupping it in her palms, she stared into the depths of the small globe. After a moment, a tiny roseate glow began to form around the crystal ball and Janna heard a very soft humming, which she realised also emanated from the crystal. Mira moved beside Janna and opened the box that she carried. Inside it was a twin to the crystal Tear in Mirree's hands.

'Take it in your hands,' said Mira. Gingerly, Janna lifted the second crystal ball from inside the box and held it cupped in her palms in imitation of Mirree.

'Each Tear must be attuned to its Guardian,' said Mirree. 'A person of the Blood can affect any Tear, but the results are uncontrolled and often dangerous.'

'Then only someone of Atlantean blood can use a Tear?' asked Janna.

'Yes,' replied Mirree 'but the Alchemists tried to safeguard the powers that they had created by changing the women who were chosen as Guardians. They were given the ability to always pass their affinity with the Tears on to their children, even if their mate was not of the Blood.'

Janna abandoned her intention to continue her questions when she felt the sphere in her hands start to vibrate in harmony with the humming of Mirree's Tear.

'To be useful, a Tear must be brought to life and linked to its Guardian,' said Mirree. 'A stolen or "wild" crystal can be used, but its power will be erratic and dangerous, like an unbroken stallion.'

Janna felt the vibration in the crystal echo through the bones of her hands and spread throughout her body, until her entire being seemed to resonate with the hum of the Tear with sensation that was almost sexual. The glow of Mirree's Tear died and the Tear in Janna's hands faded too.

'Now watch,' said Mirree. 'Look at that statue over there.' She nodded to Mira, who moved to stand behind her. Mira reached around Mirree's body, her hands cupping her mistress's breasts. Another nod, and Mira began the squeeze. Janna observed that Mira was careful to keep her movements slow and gradual, doing nothing to break Mirree's concentration. Harder and still harder, Mira's fingers crushed the soft flesh until Janna heard a soft hiss of breath from Mirree, whose eyes were locked on the marble image of a dove across the room. Mirree's Tear started to glow, the pink light strengthening until it almost seemed to take physical form. Suddenly, the mass of light detached itself from the Tear and flashed out to engulf the statue. The stone figure shimmered and swelled in the ball of light, for a moment seeming to take life. Then the glow was gone, and so was the statue. In its place, a small golden figurine of a woman stood on the table. Janna ran over and picked it up, half expecting to feel the metal burn her hand. Instead, it was cold to the touch. Janna cried out in surprise when she saw that the gold statue bore her likeness.

'A miracle!' she gasped.

'Perhaps,' said Mirree. 'But a miracle with a price. Come back here Janna and see the rest of the ritual.'

Janna came back to stand in front of Mirree. Mira's hands now unfastened the bodice of her mistress's gown, bearing her breasts. Janna groaned in sympathy when she saw the deep red bruises that marked Mirree's chest. A faint reddish glow flowed up her arms from the Tear, spreading like a morning mist across her body until she stood haloed in its glow. The bruises began to fade like spreading ripples on a pond, getting ever fainter, until at last they were gone. Mirree sighed gently and said 'It is done.' She smiled and reached out to pat Janna's cheek. 'Enough for now. We will have ample time together during our journey for met to teach you.'

'Teach me?' said Janna, rearing back in surprise.

'Of course. Did you think that I would activate a Tear for sport? The secret of their creation died with Atlantis and there are but a few unclaimed Tears left. I welcome you to the Sisterhood of Guardians,' she replied, kissing the stunned Janna on the lips.

A loud knocking on the main door caused all three women to turn in startlement as the portal swung open. A Captain of the Guard thrust his head into the room. 'Your Pardon ladies. The First Lord requires the presence of you all with utmost urgency. A messenger has come with news. The City of Markassos has fallen to Lorwig's army!'

Chapter Eight.

The smell of smoke and blood filled the air. Most of the screaming had ceased due to a lack of new victims. All the men, boys, and even male infants of Markassos had perished under the swords and spears of Lorwig's soldiers. The warriors of Markassos had been the first to perish, burned to cinders by a savage magical firestorm that had encircled them on the battlefield and then incinerated over three thousand men at arms, and as many horses and oxen. Like a nightmare, the watching citizens of the City had seen their menfolk burst into flames. The heat had been so intense that the very breath had been sucked from the lungs of the massed army, such that they were not even able to cry out as death claimed them.

King Lorwig strode into the huge tent that had served as his headquarters during the brief battle. Blood streamed down his arm and dripped from the blade of this sword onto the fine carpets that lined the floor of the tent. He had lead the slaughter in the City, not out of any sense of leadership or military necessity, but because he had enjoyed it. Tossing his fouled blade to a waiting attendant, he threw himself on his fur covered throne, laughing in rare good humour.

'Ho! Women! Come to me. The rest of you, out' he shouted, waving his hand towards the entrance. The attendants, musicians and guards hurriedly streamed from the tent, the last attendant to leave turning to drop the heavy carpet that served as a door. Lorwig's serving women and concubines ran out from behind the partition that had hidden their naked bodies from the gaze of other men, rushing to please their lord and master. Some of the serving girls brought bowls of heated water and scented oils, while others carefully unlaced Lorwig's armour and boots. Food was served on gold platters and his drinking mug, fashioned from silver, jewels and the skull of a long dead enemy, was brought to him filled with mead.

Lorwig was cruel, ruthless and thoroughly evil. However, he was also a keen student of human nature. Unlike many, he did not capriciously mistreat his servants. He made sure to reward the families of his concubines with gold, but never with rank or positions of authority, and he did not force women to his bed. This last virtue admittedly arising more from a fear of assassination than respect for maidenly virtue. There were women enough who desired a place in his household, despite the fact that he was a sadist and obtained sexual enjoyment from inflicting pain.

Despite a blocky muscular build, loose shaggy hair and a face that looked like it was carved from granite by an apprentice sculptor, Lorwig was not a barbarian. He could read and often surprised visiting dignitaries by his wit and courtly manners. He munched appreciatively on a mouthful of roast beef as he watched his favorite girl Lisa approach. She was well worth watching, with a firm muscled dancer's body and long legs. Her breasts were not overly large, but she was no danger of being mistaken for a boy, especially with her long glossy black hair swinging across her shapely buttocks.

'Congratulations on a great victory my lord,' said Lisa, smiling.

'Impudent woman!' growled Lorwig. 'Who are you to speak of victories or warfare?'

'My lord is correct, as always,' replied Lisa, unabashed. 'It is a pity that you must be too tired from the battle to properly punish me for my impudence,' she said mockingly. Lisa was well aware of her master's tastes and she skilfully played her part in the little charade that would naturally result in a 'punishment'.

'It seems that you do not yet know your place. As King it is my duty to provide proper guidance to my wayward subjects. I always have the strength for such noble tasks. Prepare yourself woman,' said Lorwig, enjoying the lusty willingness of his concubine, who pouted sexily at him. She was enormously sensual and yet had an amazing ability to accept pain and make it part of her passion. He did not love her, but she was one of the few people with whom he was comfortable and even trusted.

Showing a fearsome lack of respect for her sovereign, Lisa turned her back on him, giving Lorwig a fine view of her swaying buttocks as she glided over to the wooden chest at the end of the bed. Planting her feet slightly apart, Lisa bent over at the waist to rummage in the oaken box, her rear a blatant invitation. Finding what she sought, she made her way back, holding a black leather horse whip in both hands.

'Your sceptre, my lord. Your humble servant awaits your instruction,' said Lisa, presenting the whip to Lorwig and looking anything but humble.

Taking the whip, Lorwig snorted in amusement. 'Brazen hussy. Does the heat in your cunny burn so strongly then?'

'Did not my lord once say that questions are best answered by personal experience?'

Lorwig roared with laughter as she mocked him with his own words. 'Hah! Show me this source of evil then.'

Once again, Lisa turned her back on her king. Her hands rose straight into the air, her back perfectly erect. Slowly and with the perfect control of a great gymnast or dancer, she rose onto her toes and spread her feet wide. Dropping smoothly into a deep squat, she rocked forwards onto her knees. Her arms swung down and forward in a long sweeping arc, followed by the shining black river of her hair. Like a sinuous sea creature, her back curved down until her breasts rested on the ground leaving the full moons of her buttocks as the highest point of her body.

Her deeply bent position and the wide spread of her knees forced her nether cheeks apart, exposing the brownish triangle of skin that had the deep pucker of her anus as its centre and the plump bulge of her cunt as the base.

Lorwig paid silent homage to her artistry and at the same time enjoying the exceptional view of her most private parts. Her cunt lips were erect and spread, revealing the convoluted pit of her vaginal entrance which, Lorwig noted with amusement, gleamed wet with pearly fluids. He bent to thrust a rude finger into her sex, enjoying the feel of her smooth tight channel grasping his probing digit. Despite the great power that his position gave him, he never forgot the immense curiosity and longing that a teenage boy felt for the secret and hidden parts that girls hid beneath their clothes. The realisation that what he was doing to Lisa was but an impossible fantasy for most men never failed to bring on an intense feeling of guilty excitement; of doing something forbidden and naughty. It washed over him like a cool refreshing wave.

Drawing out his finger, Lorwig examined the glossy layer of moisture that coated it, savouring the proof of Lisa's excitement and willingness. He shifted the horsewhip to his right hand, feeling her juices soaking into the soft leather. Lorwig raised the whip to the level of his shoulder and then brought it sweeping down to smack solidly against Lisa's taut and upraised buttocks. The woman barely twitched at the impact, even though the leather had raised a hot red ridge across the smooth curve of her arse cheek. Lorwig saw the skin of her back suddenly take on an added sheen in the warm lamp light. Stroking his left hand across her down curved back, he felt the cool dampness of her sweat which had sprang out in response to the sudden shocking pain. He struck her again and again, pausing each time to savour the effect on her skin and his own growing excitement. Lisa had come to him of her own choice. No bonds or chains save those of her own determination and will held her flesh upraised and open to his whip.

After he had carefully covered Lisa's buttocks and thighs with deep crimson lines, he gave in to the urge to push her further. More than the mere infliction of pain, it was the woman's cooperation and participation in the act that thrilled.

'You have done well so far,' he said 'but I fear that your submission and repentance is false.'

'How so my master?' purred Lisa, perfectly aware of Lorwig's intentions. 'In what way have I failed?'

'Scheming woman! You still keep the portals of your fortress closed to my forces,' responded Lorwig.

'Nay my lord. It was but a foolish oversight' cried Lisa in loud and theatrical tones of regret. 'See, I do open my gates wide for you to plunder the treasures within,' she said. Lisa reached around her bruised buttocks, taking a firm grip on each cheek at the point where they joined her thighs and pulled outwards. The skin between her thighs stretched taut, laying open both the upper opening of her anus and the labia below that had so far shielded the delicate membranes of her inner sex.

Lorwig reached into the crevice with the tip of his whip, drawing the leather up and down from the base of her spine and down to the coyly peeping bud of her clitoris as if applying a coating of oils or paint with an artist's brush. Gradually, he allowed the up and down strokes to increase in speed and force until his whip was smacking Lisa's secret flesh in a steady rhythm. 'Splat, splat, splat, splat ...'.

This intense and constant stinging of her sex caused Lisa to begin to quiver and writhe, her toes and feet curling and unbending, and the firm muscles of her dancer's thighs tensing and relaxing in time to Lorwig's whip. Despite the relatively gentle blows that Lorwig had used thus far, the delicate nature of the area which he was striking made this new punishment almost as painful as the previous ones across Lisa's cheeks.

'Brace yourself to feel my wrath woman,' said Lorwig, turning to straddle Lisa's back, placing her cunt directly below him. The concubine arched her back even more, turning her sex upwards and pulling with the full force of her hands. Her cunt blossomed open, spreading the inner labia and the pink hole of her vagina taut as a drumskin. The tiny pearl of her clitoris stood out stiffly like the head of a nail awaiting the kiss of the hammer.

'Crack!' The whip landed squarely along the length of Lisa's sex, the black leather tip striking her clitoris squarely, driving it into her body. Except for a deep sobbing gasp, Lisa made not protest, her fingernails clawing deep into her flesh, drawing drops of blood.

'Crack!Crack!Crack!Crack!'Crack!'

Six times Lorwig's whip struck the concubine's tortured sex. The delicate skin tore, producing tiny ruby drops of blood along the length of each labia. Her clitoris swelled to the size of a pea, red and raw. Then, with the speed and power of a seasoned warrior, Lorwig stepped clear of Lisa's body and then reached down to flip her over onto her back.

Lisa's eyes blazed, although wet with tears. Her smile resembled a snarl as she spread her legs wide to welcome her master. Lorwig's spear slammed into her swollen cunt, its passage eased by both her juices and her blood.

Chapter Nine.

The First Lord and the four companions including Mira, assembled in a large courtyard at the rear of the Main Hall. The yard was surrounded by blank walls on all sides with only two portals, one leading into the yard from the main building and the other opening into a back alley. Flickering torches on each wall threw a confusing network of shadows across the stone floor.

The First Lord spoke. 'Markassos is only three weeks march from here. If you set out today it is likely that the wizard and Lorwig's army will be less than a week away by the time you find them. I regret that I must ask Mirree to transport you using the powers of her Tear.'

'As I have told Janna, I must see what I am to affect. Therefore, we must make our way to the hill just outside of the city. There is a mountain to the east that is easily visible from the top of the hill. I can send us there in an instant using my Tear. From that place, it is but two days march to Markassos,' explained Mirree, 'especially as we will not need to bring the food and other supplies that a trip of several weeks would require'

Foxblood stared in surprise at the leather pouch hanging from a silver chain around Janna's neck. She saw his look and whispered 'I'll tell you about it later.'

They would have made better time if the Guard had provided an escort, but the First Lord was wary of Lorwig's spies. It was midnight by the time they reached the top of the hill. Foxblood and Janna set up camp, starting a small fire for warmth. This would be the last chance for them to rest in relative safety. Mirree had warned that her use of the Tear's powers at the level required to transport them near to Markassos would most likely alert the enemy wizard of their coming, which would mean that King Lorwig's patrols would be alerted too.

They rose with the dawn and breakfasted on jouney bread and water. Janna unpacked her armour and sword. The two warriors spend a few minutes checking each other's armour, ensuring that all the straps and buckles were properly fastened. Mirree and Mira huddled together in discussion and from their gestures, he guessed that they were preparing the 'magic' which would whisk them over a hundred miles in moments. Foxblood still felt uneasy about the powers that Mirree attributed to the crystal balls that she, and now Janna, wore. It all sounded like the sorcery claimed by the village shamans, which rarely ever seemed to work.

At last, all was ready and they gathered at the peak of the hill. In the distance, the jagged form of the mountain that was their destination could just be made out in the haze.

'When I call upon the power of the Tear you must all stay perfectly still. I shall be moving a globe containing everything in the area immediately around us. If you move out of the limits of the globe as it forms you will be killed.' Everyone voiced their understanding and Foxblood shuffled nervously closer to Mirree.

Mirree pulled the drawstring of her bodice, and Mira helped tug the top half of the garment down around Mirree's waist. The Guardian stood bare breasted in the morning light, tall and proud like a marble statue of a goddess, her crystal Tear in her hands. Mira extracted two small silver clasps from a pouch, which she carefully affixed to Mirree's nipples. The jaws of the clasps fit snugly around her flesh. Janna saw that small screws at the sides of the clasps allowed them to be gradually tightened, crushing Mirree's nipples with increasing force. The Tear began to glow and Mirree focused her gaze and thoughts on the distant mountain, while ensuring that all of her companions were visible to her.

Mira began to tighten the screws and Mirree felt the familiar burning pain fill the tips of her breasts and spreading across her chest. The glow gained in strength as the pain increased, until all could plainly hear the humming song of the crystal. 'More' murmured Mirree, and Mira obediently gave the screws another twist. A tiny drop of blood formed between the jaws of one clasp, welling up like a dark red pearl. Finally, Mirree judged the power to be strong enough. 'Be still now. Do not move on your life!'

A transparent shimmering golden shaded globe formed around the party, enclosing them completely. The hum rose to a rumble in their ears, and for a moment it was if all of nature stood still. Foxblood could see a swallow frozen in the sky, its unmoving wings still supporting it in the air. There was a moment of vertigo and the feeling that something twisted as everything went black.

With a thump, the four of them fell several feet to land on solid ground once more along with the clod of turf that had capped the top of the hill. Mirree staggered on the uneven ground and both Foxblood and Mira reached out to support her. Mirree glanced around and declared 'We are arrived.' Mira quickly unfastened the clasps that still crushed Mirree's nipples and revealing the swollen, bloodied flesh. Once more Janna witnessed the miracle of healing as the wounds faded to nothingness and Mirree sighed, glad to be free of the pain. Mira helped her mistress dress while Foxblood and Janna scouted the area in which they had landed.

'There is a trail in that direction, which leads over the crest. That is the way to Markassos,' reported Foxblood.

'Can you be sure of the direction?' asked Mira.

'See for yourself' replied Foxblood. Mira walked up to the crest, stared for a moment and returned.

'What did you see?' asked Mirree.

'Markassos burns' said Mira grimly. 'The flames light the horizon and a hovering cloud of smoke blackens the skies.'

Chapter Ten.

The cries of a messenger interrupted Lorwig's play. With a last wet kiss he sent his much bruised concubine back to the women's area.

'Come' he said loudly, lacing up his clothes and pulling down the hem of his kilt.

The messenger entered and bowed. 'An urgent message from the Wizard, your majesty. He says that he has felt the use of the Power by some other wizard nearby.'

'Did he say in which direction?' asked Lorwig.

'To the west, your highness.'

'Summon the Captain of the guard!' bellowed Lorwig.

The Captain came running, sword in hand.

'Stop waving that thing around, fool!' yelled Lorwig. 'Take a troop of men out to the west. Look for strangers heading this way. It should be easy, since everyone else is running in the opposite direction. Do not approach them. Just watch them and send a messenger back to camp.'

Lorwig turned back to the original messenger. 'Tell the wizard he should prepare for battle. It must be a wizard sent by High Kritias or some other city to the west.' Lorwig was careful to always keep the wizard several miles away from his own royal person and surrounded by a group of skilled archers. He did not want the wizard to get any ideas about setting up his own royal dynasty.

Chapter Eleven.

'If you are correct, then we can expect Lorwig's men to arrive soon,' said Foxblood. 'However, since they will know that they face another 'wizard' of some sort, they will not attack until their wizard arrives. Mirree, can you sense Lorwig's wizard?'

'Yes. His has little control and even now I can feel the flow of energy from his Tear. He is about five or six miles away in that direction,' Mirree replied, pointing.

'Then we must strike first,' said Foxblood. 'You must try to get us closer to him.'

'I will try' said Mirree.

They all moved to the top of an outcropping of dark native rock. From there they had a panoramic view of the countryside all the way to Markassos and beyond. In the direction that Mirree had pointed, there was nothing but forest.

'Perhaps you were mistaken,' said Foxblood, searching the landscape for signs of enemy troops. On the main road near Markassos he saw a moving cloud of dust headed in their direction. 'Horsemen, coming this way. We have thirty minutes before they arrive. The steep climb into the highlands will slow them down'.

It was Janna who found the way. A tiny flash of light in the middle of the forest caught her attention. Shading her eyes, she suddenly realised that she was looking at a pond and a small clearing at the edge of the woods.

'We must gamble that what you see is the right spot. To stay here is to die,' said Foxblood grimly.

Mirree and Mira made their preparations. This time Mirree stripped off her clothing entirely. Foxblood watched in horrified fascination as Mira began to whip her mistress. The whip was light and did not tear the flesh, but Mirree's back and buttocks were soon covered with painful looking red stripes. Foxblood realised that the Guardian expected to need more power than before if she was to transport them to the clearing and then shield them from whatever the rogue wizard chose to throw at them.

Holding a gleaming silver rod in her hand, Mira signaled for the two warriors to come near. Once more, the strange and frightening process of magical travel took place. In the blink of an eye they were standing beside the pond.

Unfortunately, they had arrived within a few paces of the troop of archers that Lorwig had assigned to guard the wizard. A cry of fury emanated from a tent that stood on the other side of the clearing. Lorwig's wizard burst out of the shelter, a Tear blazing in his hand. A ball of flame shot out from his hands, roaring towards Mirree. An answering shield of golden light flew from the Guardian's Tear to meet the fireball in mid-air.

For a moment, all the warriors in the clearing were frozen, watching the mystical battle. Suddenly, Foxblood realised that Mirree could do nothing to protect herself against the archers. 'Janna, we have to stop the archers from loosing. Quickly!'

The two lovers charged across the short distance, Foxblood reaching over his shoulder to draw his blade, while Janna aimed the point of her staff at the lead archer as if she were a lancer on horseback. They crashed into Lorwig's soldiers, weapons swinging.

Foxblood cut down two archers in as many seconds, his blade cutting through their bows and their leather armour as if they were cloth. Twisting to one side he slashed an arrow out of the air in an amazing demonstration of swordsmanship. The archer was still gaping in amazement when Foxblood's Atlantean blade cleaved his skull in two.

Janna's staff stabbed her opponent like a spear, the first section of wooden shell peeling off as the steel core punched through the archer's leather armour to skewer his heart. Jerking the point out, Janna swing her staff backhanded to strike the temple of a second archer, knocking him flat, his neck broken. The edge of a shortsword scraped across her chainmail, wielded by a more experienced archer who had dropped his bow in favour of a blade for close-in combat. Janna's right arm was still behind her and she knew that it was too late to bring the staff around. She caught a second blow of the shortsword on the armour of her left shoulder as she dropped her staff and reached up to draw her slim sword. Catching the wrist of the archer's sword arm with her left hand, she executed a drawcut, her blade flashing out of its sheath, over and down to sever the archer's arm at the elbow. Reversing her swing, she thrust her blade into his belly to finish him off.

The seventh and last archer in the troop was too far away for either Foxblood or Janna to reach in time. He loosed an arrow that slammed into Mirree's shoulder, throwing her to the ground. Foxblood's blade took his head off of his shoulders before he could shoot a second time, but the damage was done.

Janna ran to the fallen Guardian. Mirree was still managing to block the wizard's attacks, but Janna could see that she was fading rapidly as the shock and loss of blood weakened her.

'Janna, use your Tear!' cried Mirree through gritted teeth.

Janna stared at her in horror for a moment. She did not have the faintest idea of how to use the Tear as a weapon or even a shield. Foxblood had taught her well and she knew that to hesitate in battle was to die. Janna ripped the leather covering off of her Tear. 'What do I do now?' she cried.

Mira scrambled to her side. 'Spread your legs' she yelled desperately, watching the wizard's flames pound Mirree's flickering shield. Janna's eyes widened in surprise, but she obeyed, planting her feet apart as if on the parade ground. Mira lifted the silver baton and Janna saw that it's end was rounded, with a ring of small silver spikes about an inch from the tip. She realised instantly the purpose of the instrument. 'Do it!' she cried to Mira.

The Guardian's handmaid slipped the silver baton between Janna's thighs, probed frantically for a moment, and then shoved the spiked rod deep into Janna's vagina.

Janna screamed in agony, and for a moment she thought that she would swoon from the pain. Then her warrior spirit rallied, and she focused all the pain, fear and determination that filled her soul into the crystal orb that she held. The Tear suddenly blazed with power and a rod of golden light shot out like a battering ram, striking at the mad eyed wizard. For a moment, Janna's fury matched that of the Berserker and he was forced to shield himself from her blow.

As the wizard's flames condensed into a fiery shield, Foxblood threw himself forward, rolling across the ground to spring up beside the wizard. His sword flashed, driven by all the strength of his body. The blade touched the wizard's blazing shield and the blast threw him ten feet backwards to land flat on his back, stunned.

For a second, the berserk wizard snarled in triumph. Then his flames suddenly died and his eyes glazed as he toppled over, cut in half at the waist.

Janna fell to the ground, screaming in agony. Mira cradled her in her arms, saying 'Heal yourself. Use the pain. Feel your body, find the damage. Heal yourself'. Shaking with pain, Janna reached into her own body with the power of the Tear, somehow instinctively knowing what to do. She felt torn tissues heal, cuts and bruises fade. The power faded along with the pain, and to her amazement, she was whole again.

Foxblood rose from the ground, shaking his head, just in time to see Mirree force the arrow from her shoulder and heal the deep puncture wound. Pale from the loss of blood, she stood and walked over to Janna. 'You have done well little sister' she said, kneeling to take Janna's hand in hers.

Foxblood staggered up to them holding the dead wizard's Tear and said 'Unless one of you ladies is up to magically sending us home, I suggest that we start walking before Lorwig's soldiers arrive.

Janna climbed to her feet and threw her arms around her husband, and Foxblood decided that there was still time for a kiss.

Chapter Twelve.

King Lorwig glowered at the unfortunate messenger. 'So the wizard is dead?'

'Yes sire' said the trooper, cringing.

'And the crystal lost?'

'Yes sire'

'Get out'

'Yes sire.' said the trooper, gasping in relief.

When the trooper left the tent, Lisa stepped out from behind the partition. 'We have Markassos and our army is still intact' she said.

'Indeed' replied Lorwig. 'The fool wizard is dead, but we can always find another red headed fool. And we still have these' he said, holding up a velvet lined box which held three gleaming crystal orbs.

The soldiers guarding Lorwig's tent shook their heads in pity as the sound of a whip striking female flesh came through the thick fabric, but frowned in puzzlement a moment later when husky female laughter rose to match the sound of the whip.