Heroes, Chapter 13

Preface: Greetings, all! This is the thirteenth chapter of the tale that began with “Heroes – Chapter 1,” and is the third story is a series that began with “What You Don’t Know,” also located on this site, although it features a mostly-different cast of characters.

As always, my standard disclaimer: The monster girls featured in this tale, and many elements of the setting, are based off of the works of Kenkou Cross, and as such this work is intended to be a tribute to his creativity. The characters, however, are my own. Pray neither sue nor steal; I have very little to take, but I love that which is mine.

Chapter 13 – Supernatural Aid

     The song was soft and sweet, and it made it impossible to stir from his peaceful sleep.  It was wordless, he was pretty sure, and rolled in highs and lows that swept him along and kept him from waking enough to think, to remember.  If that gentle music would just continue, he felt like he could nap forever, warm and comfortable and relaxed.

     But the song lapsed, and George Lambton finally managed to open his eyes, his mind struggling to decipher where he was.

     It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room he found himself in.  It was small and cramped, with irregular walls meandering diagonally – a cave, actually, with a low ceiling.  Stalactites and stalagmites were haphazardly scattered throughout the space, though there were a few clearings, like around the area he found himself in.  In particular, he noticed that he was tied down to something like a bed, draped unevenly in furs and lumpy from its assortment of mats, as if it had been assembled by someone with the vaguest idea of what a bed was supposed to be without the necessary practical experience with the real thing.  From his position, despite the ropes binding him down, he could crane his neck enough to see a few mismatched chairs a small distance away, and in another direction what looked to be a dining area with a small table.       

     With a vague idea of where he had ended up, George’s next objective was to find where the singing had come from.  He knew that he wasn’t alone, which limited his options on trying to escape.  However, the last thing he remembered was his confrontation with the bat-winged woman outside Callie’s nest, and with that memory came a hazy feeling that the singing had been there, too, and not coming from the woman who had challenged him.  So, two assailants, and at least one close by.  He heard footsteps nearing his position, so he closed his eyes to feign sleeping as his hands surreptitiously tested the ropes that bound him.  Now, he just needed to-

      George’s breath whooshed out of his lungs when the soft form slammed into him, and his eyes shot open as he saw stars dancing across his vision.  When he could breathe once more, he glanced downward to see the busty woman sitting atop him, leaning back from where she had pounced onto his lap and chest.  She held herself above his chest with her arms planted on either side of his shoulders, her long sleeves making him feel trapped with nowhere to look but up at her.  She beamed a smile at him as she wiggled atop his lap, settling herself in comfortably.

     One first glance, that brilliant smile, complete with a pair of elongated fangs, was the most obvious detail about her, with her eyes hidden behind her long pink bangs.  Her skin was dark, much like the woman he had seen outside Callie’s cave, and that was what made him glance to the side.  Sure enough, what he had taken for sleeves were wings, colored nearly the same as her hair, with thin leathery membranes between the elongated bones of her lower fingers.  Other than that, a large pair of deeply-concave rodentlike ears sat atop her head, emerging from the hair that covered her face and streamed far down her back.  She wore decidedly little, a thin top wrapped around her chest but barely reaching her stomach or covering much of her impressive bosom, and below a short skirt that was riding up from the way she sat atop him.  Beyond the difference in color, this woman was a bit chubbier than the lean fighter that had confronted him earlier, and her giddy demeanor suggested that such softness was more than skin deep.

     “Good morning!” she chirped, leaning close to him.  As she did, the hair of her bangs parted enough for him to see one deeply-blue eye staring at him through that curtain. “I’m Dessie!  Nice to meet you!” Her smile sparkling, she swayed a bit atop George’s lap as she waited for his response.

     “Ah… George.  George Lambton,” he replied warily. “I’m-”

     “George.  George!” she cheered, sitting back and bouncing a bit atop him in a way that was becoming distressingly attention-grabbing as she clapped together the hands at the peaks of her wings. “That’s a nice name!  George.” He could tell from the tilt of her head that she looked him over from her seat. “You look strong, George.  Are you a hunter?  Ohhh, ohhh, a caravan guard?” One clawed hand descended to grasp his upper arm, gently squeezing the bicep there. “You feel really strong…”

     George frowned at the question, but wouldn’t steer away from honesty. “I am a Purifier-Errant of the Holy Orders.”

     “Oh!” Dessie sat back, her ears upright, and she stared at him with wide eyes through her veil of hair. “A monster hunter!  Those are super scary.  Leuka’s fought them before, and still has lots of scars from it.”  The pink-haired bat woman tilted her head as if confused. “But…” She leaned forward suddenly, surprising George as she angled her face towards the valley between his head and outstretched arm, her nose nuzzling against the flesh of his neck in a way that made him squirm, just like the plump softness that was mashed against his chest.  She inhaled deeply, and again, letting out the breath in a rush that tickled his skin. “You smell… tasty,” she purred, her voice suddenly throatier, and before he could wonder at her words she leaned in even closer, her lips brushing the sensitive skin at the base of his shoulder.  He tensed instinctively, thinking of stories he had heard of bats that drank blood and the sharp fangs in Dessie’s smile, but instead of a piercing pain he felt the gentle tug of sucking kisses, a feeling that caused an entirely different sort of alarm. “Mmm… salty, but warm,” Dessie breathed, not pulling away, and George shifted underneath her as his cheeks glowed crimson.  She adjusted herself as well, leaning back to look at him with a sloppy grin and still-flaring nostrils as she drank in his scent. “Leuka’s going to be busy for a bit, so maybe we could get to know each other a little better,” she suggested, her voice betraying her lust-dazed lack of inhibition, “Just a little snuggling and smooching.  I’m sure she won’t mind…”

     George’s throat tightened, and, despite several portions of his body offering eager dissent, he shook his head. “We can’t,” he blurted. “I-I’m on a mission, and I don’t even know you, and I don’t do this kind of thing-”

     Above him, Dessie’s lips pursed in a heavy pout. “Am… am I not good enough?” Through her bangs, George could see her blue eyes had grown large and liquid. “I know I’m clumsy and slow and chubby, but… but I’ll try really hard!  You’ll see!  And everyone likes my singing, and I’ll sing for you every night, and-” She stopped, looking away, and she gathered her arms close to her chest, covering herself with the membrane of her wings. “Is it because I’m not pretty enough?  Leuka says I am, but she’s my sister and she always protects me, always, even when it’s really my fault…” 

     George paused, staring in shock up at the trembling bat girl that still sat astride him, his own overtaxed brain trying to catch up with this change of pace.  When he responded, it was perhaps not the same rational part of his brain that had denied Dessie that offered his reply to her sudden self-reproach.  Instead, the likely culprit was the part of him that had raised a vertical assent to her notion of introductory activities, the part of him that had kept returning his eyes to a level just south of her face. “No, it’s not that, I promise!  You’re really pretty, I swear.  It’s just that-”                       

     “Really?” Dessie squeaked, leaning back until their faces were almost touching, her eyes wide and trembling with excitement, even with the veil of dampness that had yet to turn into tears. “Do you really think so?  Because all my other sisters and aunts and cousins thought I was useless and slow, but Leuka always says I’m pretty.  And if you think so, then it has to be true!” Her smile spread practically from ear to ear, and despite his own valiant effort at control being bolstered by his confusion, George felt his heart speed up within his chest as he noticed how close their faces were once more. “Thank you!  Thank you!”

     And then she kissed him – full, passionately, on the lips.

     George blinked at that sensation, his eyes wide.  Those lids, though, sank down as the soft press continued, a new feeling spreading heat through his body as his passive role in the kiss became that of a participant.  The soft sounds coming from Dessie encouraged him, and – though for a moment an image of Callie flashed through his mind – he didn’t resist as she lowered her body to press against him, grinding together in rolling motions that sent sweet electricity racing-

    “A-hem.”

     With a squeak, Dessie sat up off of George, her eyes wide enough to be seen through her hair.  Haltingly, she turned her head in jerks to glance behind her, where another woman was standing, claws on her hips as she glowered at the liplocked duo.  This newcomer, the violet-furred lean bat woman from earlier, raised an eyebrow at the other, and Dessie replied with a sheepish chuckle. “Sorry, Leuka,” Dessie tried, “I was just talking to him, and-”

     “And you fell into his lap and onto his lips?” came the harsher reply, but just as swiftly as the iron-edged storm had swelled, it dissipated.  The other woman, Leuka from what Dessie had said, shook her head in exasperation. “Actually, I would believe it if you said it, considering how clumsy you are,” she muttered, looking away and beginning to walk towards the chairs. “Let him out of those ropes, will you?”

     “Of course, sister!” Dessie answered, thrusting herself off of George and standing at the side of the pile of furs as she began to saw at one of the ropes binding their prisoner with her claws. “But I didn’t fall.  I just wanted to… you know…” Dessie blushed, and looked back to George, whose attention was torn between her and the more sinister, slim figure of her sister.

     “Oh, I know,” Leuka purred, glancing back towards George with a smile that was sharp enough to cut meat. “But we’ll get to the fun and games soon.  We need to keep our ears up to make sure his little lizard friend doesn’t see through the camouflage I just finished putting in front of our cave entrances, and she’s more likely to do it if we’re making a racket in here.” Her eyes, blood red and gleaming, wandered over George with ungentle implication. “We’ll all be singing soon, though, I promise.” Dessie’s chuckling at his side made George’s blood run cold, even as the rope snapped and he found he could move his arm once more.

     As the pink-haired bat woman moved to free the rest of his limbs, George stared at Leuka, who made her way towards a large wooden box that sat near the chairs.  She bent over, her own skirt riding high as she faced her rear in his direction, and she levered open the box.  Pulling a dark bottle from it, she straightened, brushing moist ice from the sides before catching the cork at the top with one of her claws. After a couple of rough tugs, the cork popped free, and the darker sister dropped it to the stone floor as she put the mouth of the bottle to her lips and upended it.  From across the room George could see her throat working, a thin trickle of dark liquid escaping her lips and trickling down the side of her neck, and when Leuka lowered the mostly-depleted bottle it was with an explosive gasp, before she began gulping in air just as intently. “Care for a drink, cutie?” she offered, pointing the bottle in George’s direction.  When he glanced away sullenly, she shrugged with indifference and plopped into the chair, soon lifting the bottle to her lips once more.

     Once George was finally free of the ropes that had held him to the makeshift bed, he stood, testing and swinging his limbs to try to free them of the numbness of how they had been held, and soon wincing as pins and needles began jabbing at each in turn.  Still, grimacing, he walked away from the bed, glancing around the cave for signs of an easy exit.  To his dismay, he didn’t want for options: the cavern seemed to branch off in all directions, but he knew many of those would be abrupt dead ends, and he would be lucky to have a single chance for flight and couldn’t risk wasting it blindly.  Instead, he approached the seated bat woman, who crossed her legs as she watched him come, offering a dark smile as she nursed the last dregs of the bottle. “So.  Leuka, right?” he demanded, his eyes narrowed.

    “Yep.  Make sure to learn it – that way you know what name to moan later,” she affirmed, her tongue chasing the flavor of her drink around the perimeter of her lips.

     “He’s George!” interjected Dessie from behind him, and he glanced to see her standing at his side, offering him a brilliant smile and weaving side-to-side as she stood in place. “He’s nice.”

     “Oh, he looks it,” Leuka agreed, her eyes doing ample exploring, indifferent to his discomfort. “Nice and firm.”

     “I’m a Purifier-Errant.  You know what that means.”

     Leuka finally met his eyes, her own crimson pair narrowing. “Bullshit.”

    Outraged, George felt his muscles tense as the room brightened. “I am.  I’m on a mission-” “Kill her.  Kill them both.” 

     “I’ve fought all kinds of Order jerks before.  I know them when I smell them.  They smell…” Leuka’s face soured, and she looked like she had bitten into something rotten.  But then her eyes cut back towards George. “But you don’t.  Maybe just a little bit, but you smell like… sweet meat, and sweat, and…” Her chest heaved and her cheeks darkened, and she stared at him with naked lust. “You smell good, and I bet you’ll taste better.”

     “He does,” giggled Dessie from behind George, and he felt the blood rising to his own cheeks despite his anger.

     “I can’t stay here.  I was given a task, a quest I have to fulfill.  I’ve promised, and I keep my word.” George declared, raising his chin as he arrived to stand in front of the violet bat woman’s chair.

     “Oh, a quest, huh?  Some kind of knight, are we, Sir Boytoy?” Leuka laughed, and then drained the rest of her bottle.  When she lowered it again, she offered him a bladed smile as she tossed the empty glass to the side. “We’ll make you forget all about that business.  By tomorrow morning, the only thing that will matter to you is which one of us you want to put it in next.” Her eyes darted below his waist, and then back to his face, full of dark mirth.

     “Is this how you monsters are?” George demanded, feeling anger wash away the other emotions that had troubled him. “Taking whatever you want from people, no matter what they say about it?”

     Leuka’s eyes went wide, and she stood from her chair, barely an arm’s span from him.  She was shorter than him, but that did nothing to affect the defiant confidence in her crimson gaze. “Are you really one to talk?  You say you’re a Purifier.  We know what that means.  Monster killer.  Hunter.  How many women have ended up on the wrong side of that bow, hmm?”

     George blanched, and his insubordinate gaze shifted to the side. “I’ve never killed- a monster,” he mumbled, for an instant taken back to the pyre at Videre.

     “How long do you think you can keep that up?” Leuka stepped closer now, practically chest-to-chest with him, or as close as she could come vertically. “You worry about what we do to men, but what about what your kind of men do to us?  Look, we’re just trying to stay alive here.  Where do you think we’re going to get babies from, if not from luckless bastards like you?  It’s the same as the merchants we raid – we’re doing what we have to, just to survive.  And we’re making sacrifices, too – Dessie and I are going to share you.  That’s fair, right?  Hell, we would’ve shared you with the whole colony, if they hadn’t kicked us out.”

     “Kicked me out,” mumbled a soft voice behind George.

     Distracted for the moment, Leuka leaned to the side to stare at her sister. “We’ve talked about this, Dessie.  They would’ve gotten rid of me too, in time.  I’m just too much trouble.”

     “But at least you could fight,” muttered Dessie in a small voice, and George glanced back to find her clasping her claws in front of her once more, her face downturned. “They needed you.  I’m just clumsy and get hurt when I fly into things.”

     “Just ‘cause of those jugs you have – and hey, they’re about to come in handy,” Leuka reassured her. “Ain’t that right, mister knight?” When George looked to her, the leaner sister showed him her fangs in a mocking grin. “Bet you like them, hunh?  Big and soft and squishy… you’ll love playing with them while we take our turns with what you have to offer.”

     George backed away, not looking in the direction of the pink-haired bat woman’s chest.  He took a deep breath, forcing himself to face the doubts that had been hounding him since the morning that Lyra had come to speak to him. “Look, I… I understand.  Sort of.  I’m starting to see that monsters like you two, like some of the other wild ones I’ve met, aren’t as dangerous as I was taught.  That you’re just trying to survive, like normal people.” He ignored the violet-haired bat woman’s arched eyebrow at the notion they weren’t normal. “I know other monsters are the problem – and I need to tell that to the members of my Order, when I get back.” He nodded to himself, assuring himself that this was something he could do. “If I can convince the others that-”

     “You can’t.” George paused, looking into the crimson eyes of the bat woman standing just in front of him. “See, that’s the thing.  You’re cute, but you’re not that bright; the ‘others’ you are talking about already know all of that.  I’ve heard it from your hunter brothers.  They know monsters won’t kill, and they use that to their advantage.  They know monsters don’t want them as mates, too.  So, you going back to reveal this big secret?  It won’t have the effect you’re expecting.” Leuka stepped even closer, looking up at George’s face as she stood chest-to-chest with him. “If we let you go back, one of two things happens.  Either they make you into something like them, or they don’t – they just kill you.” Leuka’s grin showed the razor points of her fangs, but George didn’t see, his mind captured by a memory of his dream the previous night, the sight of himself blinded and speaking words in another man’s voice. “So, if those are your options… isn’t this better?” George shivered, coming back to his present peril, as he felt a soft pressure on his back.  He was sandwiched between the sisters, and Dessie cooed in his ear as Leuka licked her lips, her gaze meandering over his chest. “Instead, you get to stay here, make a home and a life with us.  And lots and lots of werebat babies.” Leuka’s clawed hand trailed over his stomach as she reached out to him, letting that rugged nail scrape over his shirt as it wandered southward. 

     George was paralyzed by indecision, and not just from the teasing trail of Leuka’s claw as it neared his waistband.  His heart was troubled by her words just as much as her touch, and even as he fought to rally, to deny everything she had said, he found his efforts hollow.  The truth was, so far he hadn’t seen a single monster that was like what he had been told to expect, even counting the icy woman in the snowfields – and so how was he to know the difference?  How could he trust what he had been told?

     But his gaze, flashing around the room as he wrestled with his thoughts, fell upon a crumpled sack leaning against one of the stone walls of the cave, and the bow and quiver leaning against it.  His gear!

     “I’m sorry,” George growled, sidestepping away from the pair of monster women. “But my future is my own to decide, and I won’t be swayed from my quest.” He let himself circle around Leuka, putting himself more in line for a sprint to where his gear rested, wondering how he could get away from them long enough to make a break for it.

     Leuka smiled at him, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t think that we’re asking.” She tensed, but he moved first, shoving out against her, pushing her back to collide with her sister, who stumbled even more and nearly pitched over.  His sprint was swift enough that he had taken up his bow and quiver by the time both of the women had regained their feet, but his hasty glance in their direction showed that neither of them were in a rush to reach him. “Oh, Dessie,” Leuka called, her voice a mocking singsong, “I think our boytoy is a little too stimulated.  How about we let him take a little nap?” And at her sister’s side, Dessie grinned broadly, and opened her mouth to begin to sing. 

     George ran, but the sound caught him before he could even make it to one of the offshoots leading away from the main chamber.  Once more, the lilting song wrapped him up in the soft blanket of memories, deadening his muscles midstep.  He fought to keep moving, but barely managed to catch himself as he pitched forward, his nerveless feet betraying him so that he sprawled upon the floor.  Even then, his elbows wavered, threatening to send him slumping face-down, and the room dimmed as his eyelids were captured by inexorable gravity.  He tried blinking, shaking his head, but everything he did was in slow motion, and the only sound he could perceive was that sweet song, which caressed its way into his ears and wrapped his mind in cloying comfort.

     It almost felt like someone else’s back that one of the women was leaning over, someone else’s ear that she was whispering into. “We could have done this the easy way – but that’s okay.  I think I prefer this, anyways.”  She – Leuka? – he couldn’t remember, couldn’t think – reached under him from his side, and he felt clawed fingers grasping the lower parts of his shirt. “I’d tell you that I will be gentle, but that would be a lie,” she gloated, and though he tried to retort, his numb lips could only mumble incoherently.

     And then, with a panicked squawk, the song ended.

    Even without the enchanting music, it still took too long for George’s mind to clear.  The presence at his side was gone, but he gradually became aware of a cacophony of angry voices somewhere behind him.  He finally managed to glance in that direction, and to his shock he found that Leuka was circling another woman, her wings raised and spread wide as she aimed lightning-fast kicks at her opponent’s stomach.  The other woman hung back warily, her eyes narrowed and her own green wings extended as her tail tensed behind her – Callie.  It was Callie that had interrupted the singing!  She was fighting Leuka, probably having tracked them down to free George- “Or to claim you?”  

     “Back off, you stupid lizard!” snarled Leuka, her clawed feet whirling out in a kick that looked capable of disemboweling someone.

     “No!  He’s my knight!” roared Callie, and her tail arced around, nearly sweeping her rival from her feet.

     George scrabbled at the stony ground, fighting to reclaim his footing as he lurched towards the pack slumped against the wall.  He quickly threw it on, and then looped his quiver over his shoulder, before taking up his bow.  With practiced, thoughtless ease, he drew an arrow forth and fitted it to the string, turning back to face where the wyvern still dueled with the violet-haired werebat.  He could see Dessie sprawled across the ground beyond them, her expression dazed and unfocused, which meant he was safe from her song for the moment.  Instead, he raised his bow, the tip flaring with golden light, and aimed it into the melee, hesitating as he realized it would be impossible to fire without risking wounding Callie as well.  Even if he did, he ran the risk of seriously hurting Leuka, or even killing her… “They sought to steal your future.  It’s only fair to take theirs.”      

     George shook his head, lowering his bow and letting his shoulders slump.  A moment later, as soon as he had replaced the arrow in its seat and looped the bow over his arm, he turned away from the battle.  They were fighting over him, he knew, but he was a danger to them all.

     And so he ran away, as fast as he could.

     He was deep within the twisting passages when the shouts and cries of battle fell into silence, and a tensing in his gut warned him that the former foes had likely joined forces to hunt him down.  Still he raced on, dodging earthy spires from above and below, letting instinct guide him through the narrow clefts and past shadowed jags.  He had to loop back several times, but never far, following a path that wove faintly downward until, at last, he came to a definite dead end – but one made of hastily-heaped stones, likely the camouflage that Leuka had mentioned.  Callie hadn’t found entrance here, but that was no reason it wouldn’t serve him as an exit, especially with snarls and shouts echoing off the walls behind him.  With a muted grunt of his own, he kicked at the loosely-stacked scree, sending the piles tumbling and spreading, rolling downhill into the light of day, which flooded in as if it had been dammed by the stones.

     It was only the work of a minute more to widen the passage enough for him to emerge into the open, chill air.  He didn’t have long to get his bearings or to let his dark-acclimated eyes adjust to the glare of mid-day, but a quick search showed him a path leading down the steep slope before him.  He could tell he was further up the mountain than Callie’s new-old nest, both from the intense chill of the air and his glimpse downward that showed the precipitous steepness of the surrounding cliffs.  The narrow path he was on wound back and forth as it wove down the mountain, but what mattered to George at the moment was escape, and he vaulted down the places he could, careful not to go too far or too fast and risk plummeting down the mountainside.

     He glanced behind him, afraid he would see his pursuers, but he found no signs that they were near the mouth of the exit he had discovered.  Instead, he was forced to return his attention to the path before him, careful to avoid any calamitous missteps that would see him cartwheeling into oblivion.  There was nowhere to hide up here, barely any scrub or outcroppings, and so his only means of getting away was his haste.

     But, tragically, that haste kept him from noticing the shadow flowing over him.  In his rush, he took it for a cloud shrouding the noontime sun, but had he paid attention to the sky when he emerged, he would have noticed how sparse the shreds of white in the heavens were.  Even as the shadow deepened, he ran on, loping along a path that ran perpendicular to the slope now, circling around part of the mountain and away from the viewpoint of the cave.  He was beginning to feel like he had escaped, and that he could finally get away from the monsters, and all they represented, and get back to his-

     And then the massive green claw grasped him, clutching him from knee to neck and yanking him from the path and out over the fatal space of emptiness, beyond the comprehensible comfort of the ground and into the hostile lawlessness of the air.  George’s eyes widened as he stared down at the earth below, already the foothills beyond the mountain, and while he was wrapped in the tight scaly clutches of his kidnapper, his stomach seemed to have sprang free, only to plummet all that impossible distance to the blurry ground so far below.  His mouth opened and closed like that of a netted fish, fighting to suck in breathable air in the midst of all that rushed past him, and darkness crept in at the edges of his vision as the whole world began to tilt to one side- 

     And then he knew no more. 

 

******

 

     For the third time that day, George Lambton awoke on an unfamiliar bed.  Fortunately, this time he was not tied down, and the mattress below was considerably more comfortable than the last, though the air around him was much colder.  Less fortunately, he was still groggy and not entirely certain of what had happened or how he had gotten here, and his head pounded like a blacksmith at his anvil.  

     And even more unfortunately, he was not alone.

     The tall woman loomed over him, even though he was pretty certain was laying atop several stacked mattresses.  For half an instant, he confused her for Callie, though the differences were easily apparent.  This new woman was not only bigger in all regards, and quite tanned, but she also lacked the wing-arms that the wyvern had, instead sporting a pair of normal arms that ended in bulky, scaly claws, and a pair of smaller green wings that looked to emerge from her lower back.  The woman’s scales were more of a slate green than Callie’s darker shade, and covered more of her form, though the woman’s heroically-proportioned bosom was largely bared.  Twin brown horns arced back from her head amid her purple hair, darker in hue than Leuka’s fur had been, and her yellow, vertically-slitted eyes examined George from within a face decorated with gleaming green scales.

     For a long moment, George stared at the woman, and she stared back, in wordless appraisal, neither of them moving an inch.

      Then she smiled. “Welcome, my Treasure.  This is our home.”

     George’s face fell.  He had been kidnapped by another monster, of some kind.  Twice in one day – it had to be a record.

     “Come on, let me show you around,” the woman commanded, and reached down to pull him from the bed.  She clutched to his shoulder, and lifted him effortlessly, setting him down on the ground with exaggerated caution.  Sure enough, she was as tall as he had predicted, leaving him at eye-level with her astonishing assets, each of which were nearly the size of the head currently gaping at them.  She seemed to notice his amazement, and her grin displayed an array of pearly-white fangs. “For later,” she chided him, and she rumbled a giggle at his blush. “See our lair for now.” And, without waiting to see if he followed, she turned and walked away, leaving him to notice the thick green tail that trailed behind her, and the tanned cheeks that the swaying tail drew attention towards.

     Not trusting his voice for now, George mutely followed, still trying to figure out what was happening.  He mirrored her path away from the cavern-roofed room that had featured the bedding, which he saw now was festooned with a variety of sheets and a wealth of pillows, and moved into a narrow gap that opened into a forked path that terminated immediately in separate rooms.  The first caught his attention immediately: much of the wide chamber was open to the sky, gleaming blue above with a thin stone roof covering half of the room, with that further half becoming a basin that was filled to the brim with steaming water.  It reminded him of a smaller version of the pools he had visited with Callie the previous day, complete with a sloping floor.  Part of the similarity was the fact that, despite the chill in the air in the open chamber, steam rose from the water, occasionally torn away by a gust of icy wind.  “Bath chamber – deep enough to spread out in, and warmed by fire rocks,” the woman proclaimed proudly. “Must stay clean!” George glanced at her, noticing that her speech pattern was clipped – not childish like Callie’s, but still somehow stilted, as if she wasn’t used to speaking this much. “Over here is larder.  I like rich foods.  Picky.” At this, she turned, giving him a searching inspection. “Do you cook?” 

    “Not much more than what I can do in the field over a campfire,” George admitted, but the woman just shrugged.

     “We can figure it out.  Maybe I can learn!” At this, she paused, and pulled from a wall beside the chamber she was guiding him towards a large white garment. “See?” She held it up to herself, and to his wonder he realized that it was an appropriately-large apron, although he was pretty sure it had begun life as part of a tarp or tent.  Crude stitchwork held on the straps, and it looked like the same novice tailor had tried valiantly to embroider a lumpy heart onto the part that would cover her stomach.  He offered her a wan smile at the garment, and – incongruously, considering her size and fearsome claws – she held the apron to her chest and swayed side to side in a strange facsimile of girlish glee.  She hung the garment back on the stone outcropping that had held it previously, and resumed her path towards the chamber she had called her larder as George followed helplessly behind.  He could almost swear she was skipping.     

    To reach that room, they both had to duck under a low wall that nearly sealed off the space.  Even as he approached it, George could feel a greater chill than what already filled each of the rooms, and once they had slipped inside he quickly discovered the cause.  Massive chunks of ice, nearly the same size as the opening into the room, lined the walls, while the center was taken up by hanging carcasses of deer and mountain goats.  The bloodless slabs of meat had been gutted and skinned, and George thought he could see the telltale marks of claws shaped like his captor’s on the bodies. “Plenty of good meat – no need to hunt for a while,” the scaled woman proclaimed proudly.  She glanced to George with a smirk, and her tongue traced her lips. “We’ll have lots of free time.”

     George swallowed, able now to predict where this would lead. “Look, miss, I don’t-”

     “Venturi.”

     “Hunh?”

     She offered him a brilliant grin, placing her claws on her hips and throwing her head back. “Venturi.”

     “Ah.  Well, Miss Venturi-”

     “So formal.” She stepped closer, and George swallowed as she loomed over him, her yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness. “Still, respectful.  Good manners.  You will make a good mate.”

     “Look, I-”

     “Come.  Saved the best for last!” Without pausing to hear his protest, she turned and ducked back under the separating wall.  Still fighting to reclaim his mental footing, George followed once more.  This woman – Venturi – wasn’t what had taken him from the path below.  Only one creature could have grasped him like that, and the open-air chambers of this place would be big enough to hold it.  Plus, the cold, thin air, the way the bathing chamber had been open to the heavens above without a hint of shadow… he was likely near or at the mountain’s peak.  This was Callie’s old nest, the one the dragon had taken from her.  He was in the dragon’s lair.  

     And that meant that Venturi was a servant of the dragon.

     His heart in his throat, George followed the scaled woman into another section of the cavern.  This one was completely covered by stone above, and the air was thick with the scent of animal spoor, a pastoral odor that nearly staggered George and felt entirely out of place.  Venturi also frowned, and glanced at him. “Temporary solution, but important.  You’ll see!” As George stepped into the room, the first thing that drew his eye was the pile: an eclectic collection of valuables, ranging from small heaps of coins and lumps of gold, to rough stones that looked like uncut gems, to paintings and silverware and other shiny objects.  None of the items felt like they belonged together: the paintings included artful landscapes and mythical battles as well as a portrait of an overweight, cross-looking nobleman, while the silverwrought items were in a variety of styles, and even the coins appeared to be a mix of modern and ancient currency.  Still, Venturi stood near it with the grin of a conquering tyrant, impressive chest thrust outward as she preened. “This is hoard,” she proclaimed. “Greatest collection of valuables in the land.”

     “I… see,” George lied, looking over the heap and nearly managing to act impressed.  He was distracted in this effort, however, by the nearby lowing call of another creature.  In a nook off the side of the room, fenced in by boards that it looked over dispassionately, stood the source of the room’s lingering earthy odor.  Large bovine eyes regarded George calmly as the animal chewed listlessly, likely of the scattering of dried grasses spread near the wooden gate that kept it corralled.  A bell hung from the animal’s neck, and even in the dim light George thought he could make out the name engraved onto it, ‘Bessie.’

     “Second-newest treasure,” Venturi boasted, beaming a grin at the unimpressed cow. “I take her down the mountain to graze each day.” Pausing, the woman turned to look at George. “Can you milk?  For some reason, she won’t let me try.”

     George glanced down at the monster woman’s terrifying claws. “I can’t imagine why,” he deflected, looking at the cow, which surprisingly betrayed no signs of anxiety. “And I’ve never had to milk a cow before, but I’m sure I could-”

     “Wonderful!” Venturi cheered, coming closer to him with arms spread wide.  Before he had a chance to resist, she swooped him up in her arms, squeezing him into the cleft between her breasts and aggressively cuddling him, leaving him feeling rather like a ragdoll.  Her clutch was even stronger than he would have imagined, and it left him breathless and red-faced as she let him drop to the ground.  She leaned closer to him, her sharp smile spread ear to ear. “You are best Treasure for sure.” He stood stone-still as she reached up, brushing the backside of one of her claws against his cheek. “And so handsome.  Strong.” Once more, her tongue emerged to dampen her lips, and her nostrils flared as she hovered close to him. “Maybe need bath, though.”

     George’s eyes narrowed.  Was this another case of a monster smelling his connection to the Orders?

     “-You smell like bat.”

     George’s mind flashed back to when Dessie had laid atop him, and he blushed.  The crimson glow only deepened as Venturi scooped him up in her arms, this time perpendicular to her own body, with one arm supporting his legs and the other his back.  She paid no mind to his affronted protests or squirming attempts to free himself, carrying him back along the path they had taken.    Moments later, and they were back in the broad chamber that featured the steaming pool, and with a broad grin Venturi finally deposited him back to the ground.

     “Time for bath,” she proclaimed, her yellow eyes practically glowing as she looked him over. “And then…”

     George didn’t have to ponder long to deduce what she intended.  He backed away from her, his voice unnaturally high and fast as he fought to dissuade her from indulging the hunger in her gaze. “Look, can we at least talk about this?  I’ve just met you, you don’t know anything about me, I have a quest-”

     “I know you look tasty,” Venturi rebutted, and reached out with her claws to take hold of the sides of his pants. “And I know I want to see more.”

     The ensuing battle for control of his britches ended in a pyrrhic victory for George, as he managed to keep his pants mostly up, at least to his upper thighs, but her claws left their mark on the fabric, tearing through the pockets they had hooked onto.  After the loud ripping, George was momentarily distracted by the sound of breaking glass, but, even having flayed away the sides of his pants, Venturi was unwilling to surrender just yet.  She backed him towards the water, until his feet splashed into the warm pool, and she eyed him with predatory eagerness as she came.  To George’s swelling panic, his attire wasn’t her only concern, and, as she marched him into the water, the sparse scaled garments covering her most vulnerable places disappeared without any fanfare.  George’s flustered anxiety grew exponentially at this, as he found it impossible not to inspect what wonders had been unveiled, and he soon discovered that he was being bayed by two hounds: the rapacious monster woman intent on removing his trousers and his own desires, which were surprisingly game for discovering what would happen if she did.

     It was as he frantically searched for a way out that he caught a glimpse of what could be his salvation.  Slumped against a wall just beyond the pool was a familiar satchel, quiver, and bow.  This open space must have been where the dragon had dropped him off, letting Venturi take him to the bed, and so his gear had been left behind near the passage leading to that chamber.  He didn’t have time to make a concrete plan, so he tried to circle around the scaly woman, his feet slowed by the density of the water. “Look, let me just say one thing,” he attempted, hoping to distract her for long enough to reach the weapon. “I came here to the mountain on a quest.  I’m a knight, and I owe a debt to the lord of New Haven-”

     Venturi snorted. “Fat town only good for raiding.”

     Slowly sloshing his way towards the edge of the pool, George frowned at the scaled woman. “I promised him that I would confront the dragon that has been attacking his town, and make sure it never bothers them again.”

     Across from him, Venturi paused, her eyes narrowing. “They sent you here to…?” Her smile twisted, a cold smirk, and she chuckled. “Hmm.  Old-fashioned.  Respectable.  Virgin sacrifice.”

     A different sort of redness flooded George’s face. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” he snarled, glancing behind him.  He had managed to circle around to put his back towards his gear, and now he started to edge away from Venturi in his efforts to reach his bow. “I need to face the dragon that lives here, your master.  Bring it forth, and I will battle it for the sake of my mission.  I won’t commit to anything else until that is done.”

     Venturi, who had been slowly stalking towards him, paused in her progress. “You think dragon is…?  My silly Treasure.  If dragon is what you want to see…”

     And, as she flexed, and grew, and grew, George finally realized his mistake.

     Cold, primal panic flooded his guts as he looked up at the colossal beast that now filled most of the pool, raising the level of the water until it covered his knees.  Massive wings blocked out the heavens and the long neck craned skyward, while the tail curled in waves through the water like a submerged serpent.  The titanic claws were the same ones that had grabbed him earlier, and now he could recognize the slate green color of their scales.  Likewise, brown horns curled back from the arrow-pointed skull, and the huge yellow eyes with vertical slits were the same ones that had been drinking him up since he had awoken on the bed in the other chamber.  This beast had four legs, unlike Callie’s two, and it possessed an elongated grace that was almost put to lie by the intimidating sheer bulk of it all.  When it opened its jaws, studded with fangs that looked capable of shredding through houses, the beast unleashed a roar that seemed to shake the skies themselves, making choppy waves in the pool and echoing off the stone of the mountain peak.  George had to fight to keep from sprawling to his knees in sheer, bowel-compromising terror, and once more he realized why John Foster had been so confident that he would be unable to slay such a beast alone.

     And yet…

     Even as George fought with the unthinking fear that was gulping down his reason, as well as the cognitive dissonance of equating this goliath with the woman who had just carried him to the bath, his body answered the call to action.  He flailed through the water, dashing heedlessly towards the toppled sack, and, more importantly, the quiver and bow laying on the stone at its side.  It was muscle memory, not thought, that saw him turn and nock one of the sharp-tipped arrows.  He aimed up, but his mind was still locked as he realized that he had no idea where to aim the shot.  Where could he possibly shoot that such a titan would even feel it, let alone suffer for it?  

     His aim lowered as he remembered his teachings back in the Capital.  Drawings of beasts shaped like this, where their hearts would be, the softness of the scales on the underbelly – he could do this.  Even as the beast lowered its maw towards him, as he began to remember the stories of dragonfire and the tortured suffering of those it touched, he knew that he could pierce this hide, could kill this creature.  Faith in his own power filled him, and he drew the arrow back, the tip trained on the beast’s heart through its flesh.

     But why would he shoot?  This wasn’t one of those drawings, or one of the fantasies he had conjured on his way to the mountain… this was Venturi.

     “Do it!  Kill it!  Finish your quest.  Become all you were meant to be.”

     He thought of the sounds Callie had made when he drew the arrow he had shot out of her wing.  He thought of the way Venturi had hugged him, the glee on her face.  He thought of the apron, with its misshapen heart.

     “Purifier.  Exemplar.  Hero.”

     Disregarding his doubt, golden light flared at the tip of the arrow, a new sun born in the shade of the dragon’s wings, and George’s body prepared to loose the killing shot.

     “Embrace the truth of the world as it is-!”                   

     With a scowl, and concentrated effort, George forced the bow down, and the golden light died with a bursting flash of anguished protest.  It felt like wrestling himself to the ground, like a battle within his chest, but he shoved away the searing compulsion with determination borne of disgust.  With a grunt, he dropped the bow at his feet, glaring down at the dull arrow’s tip with contempt and fury that he couldn’t quite understand.  At the same time, he felt a relief that loosened a tenseness in his shoulders that he hadn’t been aware of, wasn’t even sure how long it had been there.  He felt oddly free, and a golden flicker in the air before him shimmered and died. 

     The massive draconic head that approached him brought him back to his present situation with a jolt.  He looked at the dragon’s face with a sinking heart, drawing away as much as he could, but there was only the stone wall behind him, no opportunities for cover or escape.  The yellow eyes locked onto him, and the long, thin tongue flicked out, tasting the air near him as the dragon’s cavernous nostrils flared.  George swallowed, spreading his arms wide to show he was again unarmed, hoping that she would realize that he no longer had means to harm her.  

     “Here I am!” boomed the voice from the towering figure, the sound knocking George off his feet and against the wall as he slid to the ground. “I am Aventurine the Auspicious, mighty green dragon of the northern ranges!  Wealthlord!  Grand Feaster!  Queen of the Shapely Tail!”

     George gaped up at the dragon, somewhat vicariously embarrassed at the boasts she had chosen for herself.  Still, as he watched, she shrank down once more, her scales and body retreating into the core of its form, and as her transformation reversed he kept watching even as her feminine features re-emerged, until he realized that she had once more left off the scales that covered her most vital assets.  Only when the ripples of the pool stilled did he risk another glance, only to discover that she was approaching him again, hips swaying as she drew nearly back to arm’s reach, with a self-satisfied grin on her lips. “Do you see?  I am mighty, and a worthy mate.”

     No words could make their way to George’s lips as she reached him, and once again she extended her arm to pluck him up, standing him on his feet with a single hand.  His chest heaved as he sucked in air, his body still screaming at him to fight or run, but the color in Venturi’s cheeks showed she was indulging in an entirely different primal instinct. “Now you see Venturi’s true shape,” she purred, the sound a base rumble that George felt in his bones. “Now she wants to see yours.” And, despite his incoherent protests and flailing hands, her claws prepared to shuck him of his scant protection in her determination to eat him alive.  George howled as his pants dropped to his knees, and he was only partially inside his shirt when salvation arrived.

     “Enough!  Release this man immediately, or face our wrath!” boomed a voice from somewhere above, and both George and Venturi turned to see the interrupting newcomers, their faces displaying mismatched expressions of relief and annoyance.

     To George’s wonder, standing on the other end of the flat stone shelf that was the sloping roof of the bathing chamber was a handful of familiar figures.  Standing at their fore was a man half-dressed in robes, the sunlight gleaming off his glasses and his zigzag staff at his side.  Beside him was a small coterie of women, each marked by their monstrous heritage: the pale woman in a black hood, the dog-girl in a martial artist’s ready stance, and another brown-haired woman with glasses and a flimsy gown.  The heroic party stood ready at that high point, their eyes focused on the dragon, and George wanted to cheer in enthusiasm for his rescuers.

     Venturi snorted disdainfully. “Watch if you want.  Don’t care.” And she whirled on George, eyes wide as she prepared to finish peeling away his refuge.

     “Back, beast!” bellowed the sage with the staff, and a shimmering blue barrier appeared between George and the amorous dragon.  She stared at it in outrage, before whirling back to face the quartet.

     “Simon!” George called, relief thick in his voice. “How did you get here?”

     “You destroyed the crystal, the one I gave you.  I was able to make us a portal up here thanks to that,” the young priest explained, blanching as the dragon glowered at him.  At his sides, the trio of girls also looked less than excited about being in front of an angry behemoth, whatever form she took presently. “I thought you were in mortal danger!”

     “Ohhh,” George mused, remembering the sound he had heard the first time Venturi had tried to strip him.  The crystal must have fallen from his pocket onto the ground and shattered. “Not exactly, but… great timing!”

     “Treasure is mine!” Venturi bellowed, extending a knife-like talon towards George. “I’ll leave town alone!  Fair trade!”

     “Well,” Sarah commented from Simon’s side, “she’s right.  Sounds pretty fair to me.” The lich didn’t acknowledge the shocked expression on her lover’s face.

     “We have to save him!” Simon insisted, looking to Gina for support.  To his dismay, the kobold, who remembered well being chased through the woods of Videre with George’s arrows slicing after her, merely shrugged, before offering the dragon a thumb’s up.

     “Simon,” George called, noticing something about his friend. “Why are you half-dressed?  And who is… is that Mary Kramer?”

     “Hi George!” Mary waved, leaning out slightly from Simon’s shadow while still trying to cover herself. “We’re together now!” she proclaimed with a brilliant smile on her face, and she pressed herself against Simon’s back as her arms slid around his stomach.

     “I see,” muttered George, noticing the horns curling up from Mary’s head, but decided to save that conversation for a later, safer date. He also noticed the woman’s bedhead, and the universal level of dishevelment and undress amongst his rescuers. “Simon… were you in the middle of-?”

     “Like you’re one to talk!” Simon protested vehemently, tightening his robes over his bare chest with his free hand. “You’re the one with his-!” And he stopped, grunting and falling to one knee, as the dragon slammed her fist into his barrier, making the arcane wall shimmer and fade to a faint glow.

     “Can you teleport us out of here?” George asked, his voice quavering more than he had meant for it to, as Venturi turned her attention once more in his direction. “…Please?”

     “Umm, I’m not sure how to get you up here, so give me just a moment,” Simon yelled back, looking to the others for a brief conference.  George, fresh out of moments, watched as Venturi pulled her fist back once more, ready to tear through the flimsy arcane shell to get back to her eager stripping of her mate-to-be, indifferent to the prospective audience.

     She did, however, pause at the sound of a loud ‘splash’ from just beside her, and with a wrathful scowl, she roared down at the sodden pink lump in the center of the ripples. “What now?!” she howled, flames curling up from the sides of her mouth.

     All present, including the dragon, knight, and the party on the stone roof, watched as the pink mound of fur burst out of the water with a sucking gasp of air.  Venturi stepped back, her eyes narrowed, fighting to understand what she was looking at, but the sodden form offered her a brilliant, guileless smile. “Hi!” the drowned-looking woman chirruped, her eyes hidden behind a curtain of wet pink bangs, standing up as water streamed down her webbed wings. “I’m Dessie!”

     And then she began to sing.

    Nothing in the past several minutes had made much sense to George, but as the song wrapped him up and sent him careening back towards sleep once more, he decided it didn’t really matter.  A pleasant shadow blocked out the sun, but it wavered, and then slumped to the ground as well, and as he drifted away he thought he could hear snoring, deep and resonant – but that didn’t matter either.  It was fine, because suddenly he was flying, drifting through the skies, bobbing up and down, and he clutched to the warm, smooth, scaly skin of his blanket with a grin.

     It smelled like Callie, and that helped him fall into a peaceful, contented sleep. 

 

******

 

      Back on the stone lip overlooking the shallow pool, Simon glanced at his lovers, before watching the winged shape carry George away.  At the least, the dragon was still asleep, and though the lilting song made them drowsy, the four of them were far enough away from its source to avoid the worst of its effects.  They had watched as the wyvern had swooped down to grasp George, who was still only vaguely dressed, and as the second bat-winged woman had darted down to grab the bag, bow, and quiver before taking off after the smaller lizard.

     “Sorry,” Simon expressed, glancing at each in turn. “I thought he was going to die.”

     “He’s fine,” opined Sarah, a sharp smirk on her lips. “Let them fight over him.  Whoever wins, we win, right?”

     Simon frowned at that. “Well, that would really depend on what George wants-”

     “Oh, he can take care of himself for that,” Sarah pooh-poohed him, before motioning back towards the portal that had brought them to the peak of the mountain. “This magic won’t last long, and none of us are dressed to hike down from here.”

     “But…” Simon argued, looking with concern in the direction of his friend.  Still, despite the peril his celibacy had been in, George had looked physically fine, even face-to-face with a dragon, whom he had already escaped.

     “It is cold up here,” Mary commented, shivering in her nightgown and pressing as much of her body as she could against Simon’s back. “And I don’t want to be here when that dragon wakes up…”

     And, his cheeks growing pale at the notion, Simon let his lovers drag him back into the portal, leaving behind only his best wishes for his friend’s well-being.                             

 

******

 

     “Wake up, stupid knight!”

     George groaned, and rolled over on the stone.  He looked up to see Callie scowling down at him, still in her big-form, but it didn’t make sense that she would be there.  He had just been in the dragon’s lair, with Venturi, who had nearly ripped his pants completely off- oh, that would explain why his legs were so cold.

     Staggering as he pushed himself to his feet, George fumbled to take hold of his clothing once more.  He slipped his shirt back over the arm that had been denuded, and then reached down to grasp the waist of his pants.  It was then, as he squatted to do so, that his vision cleared enough for him to make sense of what he was seeing.  Within arm’s reach, Leuka also squatted, her eyes locked as she intently studied what had been revealed by Venturi’s eager efforts.

     “You know,” the bat-woman commented blandly, even as the tip of her tongue wet her lips, “it’s really cold all the way up here, and that is still worth fighting a dragon for.”

     George didn’t reply, yanking his pants upwards and adjusting them as quickly as he could.  He didn’t meet the werebat’s teasing grin as she stood, drawing close to him. “Don’t worry,” she whispered into his ear, sending a different sort of shiver down his spine, “I got a great look at the other side on the way here, too.”

     “No time!” Callie growled, her eyes staring daggers at the swaggering werebat.  Leuka shrugged, letting George turn to face the wyvern.  When he did, he could see the worry on Callie’s face, even in her current shape. “Dragon will come back soon.  Will take you back!”

     “We just have to get somewhere to hide,” Leuka offered, shrugging her wings. “Somewhere too small for someone like her to squeeze into, or at least fight in.  I could recommend a cozy set of caves-”

     “No,” George cut her off.  He glanced between the two women, his jaw locked in a determined frown.  He took a deep breath before pressing on. “I came here to convince her to leave New Haven alone, and without me, she’ll take her anger out on the town.”

    Callie’s eyes narrowed dangerously as she stared at him. “Not giving you back to fat, dumb, nest-taking dragon.”

     “That’s not what I’m saying,” George countered, and he met her eyes. “I want to beat her.  To make her give up – on the town, and your nest.”

     Beside him, Leuka howled a laugh. “Looks like that was going well for you so far.  Maybe I picked the wrong side in all of this.”

     Shaking his head, George noticed something on Callie’s back.  It was a leather contraption, fitted along her spine with straps and metal rings, and at its peak was a seat with a curved horn at the front.  He nodded slowly, knowing the presence of the saddle meant that Callie had convinced the werebats not only to help rescue him, but also to help her put on her mother’s saddle in case he had to ride her to safety.  She had shared with him what that would mean, and she had still been willing to do it to save him from the dragon.

     “Look,” George sighed, and met Callie’s gaze, seeing the hesitation there. “I made a lot of promises.  To John, to you.  But it all comes down to beating her, and I know I can do it.” His teeth grinded together as he fought down his own uncertainty. “At the least… with your help, I can.” He looked between the pair, a thin smile on his lips and challenge in his blue eyes. “Will you fly out with me for one more fight, and help me teach her why she has to be a good dragon, or else?”

     The two monster women shared a frowning gaze as they considered his words. “This is crazy,” Leuka growled, starting to turn away.

     “Fat dragon will take all the good loot as long as she’s here,” Callie replied, her tone diplomatic.  When Leuka glanced towards her, the reptilian yellow eyes darted to George and back. “You’ll have to fight her sometime.”

     Leuka rolled her own crimson eyes at that.  Still, with a sigh, she shook her head in defeat. “Fine.  But you better believe I expect a rich reward for all of this.”

     Callie looked back to George, and he offered her a smile, reaching out to touch her side.  He had the vaguest hints of a plan in mind, but he knew there wasn’t time for much more – Dessie wouldn’t be able to keep singing for long, and then Venturi would start hunting for them.  It was all or nothing now, but, just like when he had set out on horseback from New Haven, the air tasted crisp and clean in George’s lungs, and his heart was free of the shadows that had hounded it for as long as he could remember.  He stooped to pick up his bow and quiver, and made for Callie’s side as she lowered herself toward the ground.

     It was time to be a hero.

 

Continued in “Heroes, Chapter 14”

---

Author’s Note: Yet another chapter down, and on time.  I had worried about this one – it is considerably longer than the next, as I have it planned – but I still managed to work it out in time.  I have thanks to offer in that regard, later in this note, but for now, know that I expect the next chapter to be on time as well.  I might get a little distracted soon, as the local faire is in town and will afford me a chance to do the research I need for “…Rival,” but expect this story’s second act to wrap up within a couple of weeks from now.

Of course, we shall see how things go for the final act.  It is less a problem of too few notes – an issue I faced with some previous chapters in this tale – and more one of too many.  I fear, by the time this work is done, it will be 20 chapters, simply because of the demands of how many characters need their happy endings (for now, seeing as how they will return for book 5).  This chapter, at least, had ample notes to pull from.

One other relief about this chapter is that it marks the last time I have to deal with the whole ‘hidden text’ thing I’ve been doing in George’s chapters.  It may crop up again, but for the rest of this book (and the next) there won’t be any reason to highlight suspicious empty spots.  It’s been a useful tool – I look forward to later revealing exactly what was going on there, and the meaning of the one new title I slipped in this time. 

 I’ll not overstay my welcome.  Thank you, all, for reading.  Special thanks go out to soreslaw, who binged my works and provided a new perspective on many things – that ended up giving me a good push to finish this – but also to the others of you who have offered your thoughts.  I appreciate you coming with me so far, as God knows I can’t keep a story from getting to be huge… but, as you are still here, thank you.

The next chapter is going to be a fun one!  But, before I return to smashing the keys once more, maybe I can squeeze in a little sleep…

~Wynn Pendragon    

1096 Views