WARNING! This document includes material of a sexual nature. Reader discretion is advised. If this stuff is illegal where you live, please don't read it. If you are under the age of 21, please, find something else. The characters in this document engage in risky sexual behavior that could result in pregnancy, disease, or social distress. They are imaginary professionals; they don't worry about such things. Please, don't try this at home. Please don't redistribute this document without my express permission. Reposts are fine, provided this little blurb is in the front of the document. Please don't put it on your web page without my permission. Trying to make money from this is a definite no-no.

-- Demotic

Fort Armstrong was a pinkish-red mudbrick structure standing amidst a vast pinkish-red desert. Sagebrush and juniper bush dotted the plain, and water came only from deep wells or the occasional stream. These were the Badlands, an arid region that stretched across hundreds of square miles of the expansive Mountainview County. Not far to the west, rising out of rugged, rusty foothills, were the Great Western Mountains. Mammoth and imposing, still covered with snow and frost, the looked impassable.

Black wasn't deeply impressed with Fort Armstrong. It was a large structure, a simple hollow square with towers at each corner and a large mudbrick structure at its center. Around the inside of the walls were roughly-hewn stone cottages and rude wooden shacks that served as the officers' quarters and mess. Between the officers' cottages and the large central building, hundreds of tiny lean-tos, tents and make-shift huts served as winter quarters for the men of the 1st Brigade of the 5th Legion. The large central building was known as the Headquarters Building, and in addition to company, battalion and regimental headquarters, it also served as the 1st Brigade's command post and stable. The entire complex was a quarter of a mile on a side, the size of a good-sized town in the civilized parts of Airclonia, and home to close to 5,000 soldiers, women, and children.

None-the-less, Black was pleased to have a real roof over his head for the first time since leaving Louisa City. His quarters, a small mud and stone square measure ten feet across, was nestled right up against the solid wall of the fort; the back wall, was, in fact, the fort's curtain wall. He had a wooden roof that someone had sealed with canvas, and a genuine door instead of a curtain, which many of the junior officers had to make do with. Black's door wasn't terribly impressive – made up of weather-beaten, roughly beaten boards scavenged from parts unknown. The floor was bare earth, and he had an actual cot to sleep on. All in all, Black had a comfortable, if crude, room all to himself.

Black went about settling in to his new quarters, unconcerned that any future operation might take him away from his new comfort and deposit him back on stony ground somewhere far afield. He had learned not to take comfort for granted, and decided to make every use that he could out of his new shelter. So Black unpacked his meager belongings and began cleaning the dirty things, which turned out to be most everything in his pack.

A knock on his dilapidated door snapped him out of his cleaning chores.

Outside, Black found a young ensign, his face still fresh and covered with peach fuzz. The ensign snapped sharply to attention. "Colonel Greise sends his regards, sir, and invites you to dinner this evening at six."

Black accepted the invitation and dismissed the boy, then returned to cleaning and oiling his pistols, which never seemed to stay clean. Black was beginning to dislike the Badlands as much as Wallace, at least where maintenance was concerned. He was just about to clean the bore when another knock interrupted him.

"Yes?" Black asked.

The door opened, and in stepped a man that looked more at home on the frontier than in the army. He had sandy gray hair, an enormous, bushy gray beard, and a deep scar running down across the left side of his face. An eye patch covered the eye socket, which Black suspected was a ruined mess. The man, a sergeant first class by the chevrons on his arm, saluted.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir. Are you Lieutenant Black?"

"I'm Black," he replied.

"Lieutenant Jackson sends his regards, sir, and invites you to his cottage to make your acquaintance."

Black nodded, not having the foggiest idea who Lieutenant Jackson was. "This Lieutenant Jackson is your commanding officer?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what unit does he command?"

"Third Platoon of the Light Company."

Black nodded once more. "Does Lieutenant Jackson have a specified time for this meeting?"

"Any time today, although he does ask that you refrain from calling after five, as he has a dinner to attend."

Black consulted his watch. It was close to one o'clock and he had forgotten to eat. He decided to make his way over to the Officer's Mess to see if he could scrounge up something to eat. "Tell Mr. Jackson I will be by in about an hour."

"Thank you, sir." The sergeant turned to leave.

"One more thing," Black added. "Where are Mr. Jackson's quarters?"

"Third cottage from Tower Three, sir."

Black thanked the sergeant and headed over to the officer's mess. The mess was a large adobe and stone structure behind the headquarters building, and had a genuine wooden floor and a fire place. The kitchen was attached, and served meals to the officers, sergeants and enlisted men. The sergeant's mess was on the opposite side of the building, separated from the officer's mess by the kitchen, while the enlisted men were served outside the building directly from the back of the kitchen. There were actual juniper wood tables, and the chairs were either long juniper wood benches or empty crates or barrels. It wasn't the height of luxury, by any means, but it was kept clean, a warm fire was burning in the hearth, and there were a number of waitresses waiting on individual officers or small groups. Apparently lunch was dragging on for a second hour for some of them. Black just wanted something quick to eat, not a full meal. He had to meet Lieutenant Jackson later and after that check up with the sergeant on the status of the platoon.

A young teenager, her face still fresh and round with baby fat, approached him as he entered. "Good afternoon, sir. Can I get you something?"

"Just something to eat," Black told her. "And pot of coffee."

"We have pheasant stew and grouse soup on the fire now, sir."

"Stew will be fine."

"Yes, sir," she curtseyed , and hurried off to the kitchen.

Black pulled up an empty crate and sat down at the rough table. The usual mess furniture was absent, only the number of servants employed by the kitchen and the attention to cleanliness differentiated it from a sergeant's mess. And it was relatively ostentatious compared to the mess line outside.

Moments later, the young waitress returned with a pot of coffee and a ceramic mug. Black was pleased. For months, he had been drinking from the tin cup of his mess kit. China was a touch of comfort he hadn't experienced in some time. She poured him a cup of coffee and left him the pot.

Black sipped his coffee and thought of home. It was a verdant green place, Idlewood, full of trees and interspersed with fields and meadows. Rolling hills leading up to majestic mountains. Cows milked by beautiful milk maids. Black remembered one in particular...

A high pitched shriek caught his attention. He looked across the mess to the group of four officers, a major and three lieutenants – all in gold infantry jackets. The major had his arms wrapped around the waist of a beautiful brunette waitress, and she was holding the front of her bodice tightly to her chest. The men roared with laughter as she ran, sobbing, back to the kitchen.

Black frowned and poured himself another cup of coffee.

The waitress returned with a bowl of stew. Black thanked her, then asked, "Excuse me, miss..."

The girl blushed prettily. In a few more years, Black realized, she would be a beauty. "Beggin' yer pardon, sir," she said. "I'm no lady of station."

Black smiled at her, causing the girl to blush even more. "What's your name?"

"I'm Anna, sir. Anna Cornwell."

"Well, Anna, I'm Lieutenant Black," he gave her another smile. If the girl turned any more red, Black figured, she'd turn the color of a ripe apple. "Do you know who those gentlemen are?"

The color drained from her cheeks as he gestured at them. "I'm not allowed to go near them, sir. Cook's orders."

"That's okay. I just want to know who they are."

"Oh, okay." She smiled weakly. "That's Major Smith and three of his lieutenants. I don't know their names."

"Thank you, Anna," Black told her. She blushed again and left him to mull over his stew. And Black made a mental note to watch out for Major Smith.

* * *

A little over an hour later, Black found himself before the third cottage from the Third Tower, where he found a genuine cottage, albeit made of hardened mud and stone. In front of the cottage were a half-dozen folding chairs, two of which were occupied by very attractive young women. One was obviously a lady of station, in a fine green dress that matched her eyes. The other, Black presumed, was her chamber maid, a pretty blonde woman in her early twenties. The lady looked no older than her maid.

There was no lieutenant, sergeant, or enlisted man to be found.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Black said with a slight bow. "I'm looking for Mister Jackson."

"I am Misses Jackson," she said. "You must be the new lieutenant." She stood and extended her hand. It was gloved in leather.

Grant took her hand and kissed it. "Yes, ma'am. I'm Lieutenant Black."

"Ah, Mister Black," she smiled at him. The smile never reached her eyes, which seemed almost frosty cold. "Welcome to Mountainview. I trust Robert hopes you'll be his new drinking buddy."

She said the last with obvious disdain. Black, taken aback, decided to smile stupidly at her comment. "I haven't had the pleasure of his acquaintance yet, ma'am."

"Oh, you'll like him. All the lieutenants like him," she eyed him suspiciously. "Aren't you a bit old for a lieutenant?"

"There's no age restrictions on lieutenants, ma'am."

"If you're as quick with your mind as you are with your tongue, you'll go far in this army," she commented airily. "Alas, my husband," she said the last acidly, "Has no ambition to achieve higher rank. His only real goal is the next bar."

Black was feeling extremely uncomfortable with this conversation. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, I was hoping you'd know where Lieutenant Jackson is."

"Oh, he's in the house, polishing off another bottle of rum," she said caustically.

Suddenly, the door to the cottage swung open, and a tall, gangly man appeared. He had a sandy brown goatee, bloodshot eyes, and breath that stank of alcohol. He was an officer, as his uniform was draped with braids and piping, along with epaulets. His coat was unbuttoned and his shirt front was untucked. His officer's sash and rank pin were missing. Only the single brass button on the cuff of each sleeve indicated he was a second lieutenant. "There he is," declared the man happily. "You must be Lieutenant Black."

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Oh puh-leeze," said the man with the bushy goatee. "Call me Robert."

"Robert," Mrs. Jackson stood with her hands on her hips. "How can you be drunk already?"

Jackson belched. "I'm not drunk," he said defensively.

"I can come back later, if this is a bad time," Black said, backing away.

"Nonsense," Jackson proclaimed with a broad sweep of his arms. "We've just come back from a wonderful little march. Who knows how much time we have before Wallace has us off on another wild goose chase."

"Really, I can come back later. I'm sure you have a lot of work to do..."

"Maybe it's best if you go," Mrs. Jackson said, a look of shame on her face.

"No, no..." Robert said, sadly. "He just got here."

"Perhaps Mister Black was invited to the dinner tonight," she continued. "You could talk to him then."

"Ah, yes. Are you at the dinner... going to the dinner tonight," Robert said with some difficulty.

"The one with Colonel Greise?" his wife added.

Black nodded. "Yes, I will be there."

"Splendid," Robert exclaimed. "That will be wofernell.... wonderful."

* * *

Sergeant Bill Strummer looked at the three new soldiers. Next to him stood Will Pointdexter, affectionately known as Dex, leaning on his staff sergeant's halberd and chewing a wad of tobacco. Strummer had inspected their tents, their kit, and their weapons. Nothing was out of place. Finally, Strummer decided to see if they could shoot.

It was five thirty, and the sun was beginning to set. Behind them, past the open gate of the fort, soldiers were heading over to the mess to collect their dinners before settling in for the evening. All except Strummer, Pointdexter and the three new privates.

"All right," Strummer growled at them. "We're gonna see how well you can shoot. In a week's time, we're gonna have you firing three shots a minute. I don't expect that from you now, seeing as you just got out of drill instruction, but in a week, you must be able to shoot three rounds a minute. We're gonna be fighting a mess of goblins here in the not so distant future, and I wanna live through it. Let's see what you can do. Dex, you count."

They didn't have a watch between them, nor could any of them expect to afford one on the miserable pay His Imperial Majesty gave them. Not that Strummer found fault with the system: he got three square meals a day, usually had a roof over his head, and even had a pension if he reached the age of fifty-five. No, Bill Strummer had no complaints.

Pointdexter asked the men if they were ready. They were, so the sergeant told them to load and started counting aloud, slowly, to sixty.

Strummer watched as the three buck privates began loading their muskets, going through drill with practiced ease. Strummer was amazed. These young men, boys really, were loading and firing with all the skill of a senior lance corporal or sergeant. One, Harkins, was blazingly fast, almost loading four balls in the minute long drill.

When they were done, a flabbergasted Strummer looked them over. "Good work, boys," he said grudgingly. "Who taught you to fire that fast, Harkins?"

Harkins smiled broadly. "Lieutenant Black, sergeant!"

Strummer and Pointdexter exchanged looks. Pointdexter heard Strummer mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, "Hopped up sergeant."

* * *

Grant Black felt like a manor house footman in his dress uniform, with its braided lanyards, epaulets, piping, and finally it's broad, white sash. To top off all the foppery, Black tied on a silk cravat, which felt every bit as confining as the leather stocks the rank and file wore. Finally, he put on his ill-fitting but well-polished dress shoes and headed off to regimental headquarters for dinner.

Regimental headquarters for the 3rd Vergian was located adjacent to the regimental HQ for the Fifth Vergian and the massive stables that housed the horses for the officers and the cavalry. Opulent by the standards of the Badlands, the mudbrick walls were covered with imported white paneling, lit by a multitude of candles and lamps. Inside the parlor, Black was greeted by Captain Wallace, who introduced him around to five other officers who would be dining with the colonel that evening.

Real wicker chairs lined the table-clothed table, which ran the length of the front room of the headquarters. There was seating for eight at the table, but there was room enough for twice that number. Black guessed there was a small fortune in silver, china and crystal in this room, some of it displayed in a china cabinet against the wall, while their mates proudly adorned the table. It was an impressive display of wealth, and Black realized that Colonel Greise may well be a powerful man in Vergia and the Imperial capital.

Black, as the junior most officer present, was seated last, but in a startling breech of precedence, was seated near Colonel Greise and Captain Wallace. Black noticed Jackson sat much further down the table. Major Smith, who Black had seen in the mess earlier that day, sat directly across from the lieutenant. Some of the others Black had seen before; another second lieutenant and a first lieutenant who had been on the march with Wallace's company, these had been introduced as Anderson and Monroe. At the head of the table was Colonel Greise, the regiment's commanding officer. A second colonel was a rotund man dressed in a gold cavalry jacket was named Sanderson, and commanded the other part of the 5^th Brigade, the 5^th Vergian Cavalry Regiment. Lieutenant Colonel Carson, a short, thin man who looked to delicate to be a warrior commanded the first battalion of the regiment.

There was a lot of small talk about the weather, questions about the goblin attack on the supply convoy, and general boasting for several minutes before Greise tapped on his glass with a spoon and cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, welcome to my home away from home."

Servants brought out the first course and placed them before each of the men. "Before we continue with our meal, we have some business to attend to," Greise said after a slight pause. "Mr. Grant Black has been attached to Captain Wallace's light company as a second lieutenant. He will command the fourth platoon, correct, Jim?"

Wallace nodded.

"Excellent. Since we have a new member at this table, let me introduce everyone around the table."

Greise proceeded to introduce each person around the table. It was an unnecessary exercise for the others, but Black appreciated the extra round of introductions. Black wondered if this was an ordinary dinner party. If it was an ordinary dinner party, why was Wallace's entire company represented? Was it an informal debriefing of the battle on the Badlands?

No debriefing occurred, however, as they were treated to a small feast. Talk focused mostly on why the goblins had attacked the supply convoy in broad daylight and, to Black's considerable discomfort, on the new second lieutenant and his patrons back at the Imperial Court. It wasn't until the last course was taken away and the table cleared that the real purpose of the dinner was revealed.

"Ah, that was truly excellent, Dalton," Sanderson told Greise. "Good food."

"And we'll have a bit of sherry in a bit," Greise told him. At this, Black noticed Jackson perk up.

Greise rapped on the table to get everyone's attention. "I hope you all ate your fill. I must confess a certain ulterior motive for inviting you all here tonight. It seems that General Everlee has a mission for our light company. I realize you just got back from a skirmish with the Gobs, but it looks like you are needed up in the mountains."

The colonel let his words sink in. Black had watched those mountains appear over the horizon, had contemplated their majestic beauty and imposing terrain. They were the kind of topographic feature that enclosed a theater of operations, certainly not the terrain that invited military action and maneuver. Nor was the territory, as Black had learned from Wallace himself, goblin friendly. Elves controlled that particular part of the Great Western Mountains.

"It appears that war has broken out between the Points and the Gobs," Greise went on. "The Talon and Bone Gnasher Tribes have formed an alliance, and are attacking into elven territory. They've pressed deep into the mountains. According to Legion intelligence, the Talons and Bone Gnashers are quite clever mountaineers. Central Command was content to let them have at each other until the fighting spilled out onto several passes into the Grand Duchy of Westfield. These threaten to cut off all of the major passes into Icy Pass as well as the rest of the duchy. The Archduke was not pleased. Central Command was not pleased.

"The western passes were cut during the Winter of Forty-Four, when they were impassable anyway. But with the spring thaw, the Archduke wanted the passes open. He sent an entire regiment up into the mountains to deal with the problem, along with a battalion of Imperial Guardsmen. Their goal was to keep the passes clear and allow trade to continue. They were only partially successful.

"Over this past winter, several bands of the Talon Tribe cut the eastern parts of the passes. A mixed battalion of the archduke's light foot and Imperial Guardsmen were detached to deal with the problem. Up till now been able to maneuver through the lower passes, but the thaw is coming and more and more passes are opening up. We've been called upon to assist them.

"We are going to dispatch two companies into the eastern passes to reinforce them. There are two companies of Imperial Guard and two companies of Noble Auxiliaries, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Oliver Primrose. We have two responsibilities. First, the First Line Company will escort the Light Company to the eastern approaches to Manchester Pass. Once there, the First Line will seal off the approaches while the Light Company will advance to rendezvous with Primrose's battalion. What exactly Primrose plans to do with you, I'm not sure. Any questions?"

"An entire battalion in that pass? How many Gobs are there, sir?" Wallace asked.

"Plenty. Central Command didn't send any exact numbers, but they estimate close to four hundred left in the Talon Tribe. As far as intelligence knows, the rest of the Gobs and Points are farther along the pass to the west."

"What about our supply lines?" Major Smith asked. He had a gravely, nasty-sounding voice that Black immediately found distasteful.

"Colonel Sanderson's Fifth Cavalry will be riding sorties up and down your supply lines, to make sure another raid doesn't occur. You can be sure the entire weight of Fort Armstrong will be behind you on this one."

"Artillery?" Wallace asked hopefully.

"We can only assume that Primrose has artillery," Greise responded. "Central Command made no mention of artillery in their orders."

Black didn't like the sound of that.

"So basically we run up to the pass, I plug it, and Wally here shoots up the pass and hooks up with Colonel Primrose?" Smith asked.

"Correct," Greise replied. "Any further questions?"

"When do we go, sir?" Wallace asked.

"The morning after tomorrow. That'll give you a full day to make preparations. Good luck, gentlemen."

* * *

Black returned to his hovel, his mind filled with a myriad of details that needed to be dealt with before their excursion in two days. He was responsible for forty-five men; their wives, girlfriends and children. This would, of course, cause a multitude of tiny problems that would need his personal attention. Black was new to being the one in charge of dealing with those little details, but he was not new to the problems themselves.

Along the way back, Black ran into Mrs. Jackson's chambermaid. She blushed prettily and excused herself. Black was struck by how pretty she was, and found himself bowing to her. "Good evening, my lady."

She tittered prettily. "I'm sorry, sir, but I am only a lowly maid."

"Ah, but you look like a lady," he gave her his most dashing grin. "If you'd like, you can stop by tonight and share a bottle of wine I was saving for special occasions."

"Oh," she asked warily. "What kind of special occasion would that be?"

"Why, our meeting, of course. We'll be going off to fight the goblins soon, and I would very much like to enjoy the bottle before I go. There's no telling if I'll come back or not. And I can think of no better company than you to share it with."

She blushed once more. "But you are an officer, and I am but a maid."

"That makes no difference to me," Black told her. "Does it bother you?"

Black knew it probably wouldn't. A dalliance with a gentleman was a powerful lure – money, power, respect could be had if she played her cards right. Of course, she didn't realize how little money or power Black had to offer. He watched her turn the idea over in her head, and decided not to push her.

"I'm in Cabin Sixteen on the east wall," he told her. "I'll save the bottle for you."

"And if I don't come?"

"The bottle will wait."

The maid raised her eyebrow. It was a graceful gesture. "I really must return to my duties."

"Of course, my lady," Black replied. He bowed once again and returned to his quarters, a little hop in his step. He realized he didn't even know her name.

* * *

"I really shouldn't be doing this," Mrs. Jackson's maid said as she entered Black's small cabin. "My mistress would be most upset."

"She doesn't need to know, does she?"

"No, of course not," she replied.

Black sat back on his bed. He wore only a dressing gown and breeches. "Why did you come?" he asked.

"You... you intrigue me," she said. "I've heard a little about you, Mr. Black. And I didn't come here to sleep with you."

"No?" Black asked, his turn to be intrigued.

"No. Although I will have some of that wine you offered."

"It's a good wine," Black admitted, standing up and padding across the earth floor to his chest, where he pulled the bottle out from under a freshly folded shirt. "From my father's vineyards."

"Your father... he is a bachelor knight?"

"Yes. He's Bachelor of Idlewood, upriver in New Redstone." Black popped open the wine bottle. "My turn," he told her.

"Your turn? For what?" she asked.

"For a question. What's your name?"

"Jane Hershell. How come you are so old for a lieutenant?"

"Who says I'm old?"

"Not fair. You answered a question with a question."

Black chuckled. "So we are going to play it that way, hmm?"

Jane raised an eyebrow. She looked beautiful when she did that.

"Yes, I am old for a lieutenant. I started out as an enlisted man."

"But you are a man of station. Your father is a powerful man. Why did you take the Emperor's crown if you are a gentleman?"

"Hey, that's another question," Black teased her as he poured her a cup of wine. "My turn first."

She laughed, a tinkling, almost musical sound. "Fine. What's your question?"

"What are you wearing under that dress?"

Jane blushed mightly. "That is a most untoward question."

"You don't have to answer me, you just have to show me."

"My lord," she sputtered, aghast. "I cannot do that."

"Then I don't have to answer your questions."

Jane eyes opened wide, then narrowed. "Do you always try to bully women into your bed?"

"Who says I'm bullying?"

"I do."

"I most humbly apologize if you take offense."

"I do."

"I most humbly apologize, then. You still haven't answered my question."

"I don't think I need to."

"You do if you want me to answer any of your questions. And I'm guessing you came here with a great deal of curiosity about me."

Jane huffed and crossed her arms. Her breasts, nearly spilling out of her bodice, bulged. "Fine. I'm wearing a chemise."

"No petticoat?"

"That's another question. Why did you enlist instead of purchasing a commission?"

"My father couldn't afford it."

"How can that be possible? He's the Bachelor of Idlewood."

"That's another question," Black chided her, taking a gulp of wine. "Do you like games of chance, Jane?"

"It depends on the stakes, Mr. Black," she replied. "I earn little money from wages, so I hate to bet coin." She looked at him, her blue eyes dancing. "What do you have in mind?"

"Is that your question?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Each time you ask a question out of turn, you loose an article of clothing."

"I'm not a harlot you can buy, Mr. Black."

"I never said you were. Care for some more wine?"

He filled her cup when she nodded. "You even have the advantage over me."

She snorted. "Hardly."

"I'm wearing just a shirt and breeches. You have all those wonderful clothes on."

"And it's quite cold," she pointed out.

"The wine will warm you." Black had noticed a flush spreading across her breasts as they were speaking. Arousal or alcohol? He wondered.

"And what will happen when one of us is undressed?"

"Then the game is over."

"You will not take advantage of me?"

"Only if you want me to."

She took a deep breath, looked into his steel gray eyes and nodded. "All right, you have a deal. One question per turn. If you speak out of turn, you loose an article of clothing. We start now."

"Fine. Who gets the first question?"

"You had the next question," she pointed out. "But you just spent it."

"Damn."

"How come your father couldn't afford your commission?"

"Oh, he could afford it financially. How long have you been employed by the Jackson's?"

"Two years. Early you said your father couldn't afford it. Now you say he could. Which is it?"

"He couldn't afford paying a commission for a son who was considered a criminal. Do you like working for the Jacksons?"

"Most of the time. What crime did you commit?"

"I killed a man. What's your favorite color?"

"Green. Why did you kill him?"

"He attacked me. I defended myself. Did Misses Jackson send you here tonight to grill me with questions?"

"No. I came of my own accord. What did it feel like to kill him?"

"I was angry. How many lovers have you had in bed?"

"Three. How many lovers have you had?"

Black laughed. "A gentleman never tells."

"You don't have to tell names, just numbers."

"Okay. A dozen."

"You have had a lot of experience, then?"

"That almost sounds like a question."

"Shit," she said, in a most unladylike fashion. She blushed as she realized she had said it aloud, and put a hand to her mouth. Black simply laughed at her.

"Take something off," he told her.

"I'm not liking this game anymore," she replied, but unlaced her left boot and removed it. Black caught a glimpse of stockinged ankle and calve.

"Do you want to know more?"

"Yes. Do you want to make love to me?"

"Yes. Where were you educated?"

"At home. My mother is a school mistress and my father is a preacher."

"How many men have you killed?"

"Dozens," Black told her. "I try not to remember. What God does your father preach for?"

"Mercosa, of course," she replied. "Is it true you were in the Imperial Guard?"

"Yes. Do you want to sleep with me?"

"I don't know. How did you get into the Academy?"

"Sergeants of the Guard can enter the Academy for free if they are sponsored by a regimental or higher officer. Why do you work in service if you could teach?"

"Who says I want to teach?"

Black pointed a finger at her. "Gotcha."

"Damn," she said, undoing her other shoe. She held up her empty mug. "Could I have more wine?"

Black pointed his finger at her again. "That's another."

"By the Prince, you _are_ good at this game," she kicked off her shoe and removed a stocking. She had a dainty, pale foot and shapely legs. One more stocking and Black would be getting into some serious territory.

"Are you still intrigued?" Black asked.

"Yes. Are you?"

"I'm always intrigued by a beautiful woman. Do you like to be on top?"

She blushed furiously. "Sometimes." She took a moment to regain her composure. "Why do you think I want to teach?"

"Because that's what your mother did," he replied.

"How old are you?"

"Too old to be a lieutenant."

"That's not much of an answer."

"It's not much of a question," he smiled at her, his most rakish smile. "I'm twenty-eight. Would you like some more wine?"

"Yes, please. What was the Academy like?"

"The hardest four years of my life. Every minute of every day for four years is accounted for with either drill, instruction or challenges. Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"That depends. I have lots of female friends. I don't have one that I sleep with in particular. Do you like being out in the field with Mrs. Jackson?"

"Sometimes. It's exciting. She hates it, though. She only came out here because she was certain Mr. Jackson would embarrass her," she looked at for a moment. Her pupils were large and luminous. Black realized she was getting drunk. "What do you have on under those pants?" she asked coyly.

"Nothing," Black replied. "Does Mr. Jackson may it a habit of getting drunk every morning?"

"Every morning he gets the chance. Have you been in many battles?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

Black laughed. "You did it again."

Jane blushed furiously and removed her last stocking. Now both pale, dainty feet were visible; and Black had gotten another eyeful of her luscious legs. "You didn't answer my question."

"I don't have to. You asked out of turn. Did you make it a habit to get drunk with strange men?"

"No. Do you make it a habit to get drunk with young women?"

"Only ones as pretty as you."

"Your flattery will not get me out of my dress," Jane said. "I said I wasn't going to sleep with you, and I meant it."

"Do you always blush when a man compliments your beauty?" Black asked.

"Only when he is so open about it. How many battles have you been in?"

"That depends on what you mean by battles?"

"Ah-hah!" she said triumphantly. "You slipped up this time, Mister Black."

Black took off his dressing gown. He watched as a slight smile appeared on Jane Hershell's fetching lips as she took in his muscular form. A large scar bisected his left pectoral muscle.

"Where did you get that scar?" she breathed.

"Now you are out of turn, Ms. Hershell."

"Damn." She began to unlace her corset.

"Do you need a hand with that?"

"No," she replied smartly, making quick work of the laces and then pulling it up and over her head. Black noticed that even without the corset pushing up her breasts, her busom was full and round.

"Where did you get that scar?"

"An elven soldier gave it to me in Tormesh. Do you have any scars?"

"A few. Maybe you'll even get to see them. Was Nygonia as pretty as they say?"

"Tormesh was beautiful. Lots of waterfalls and glades and picturesque vistas. Artists don't do it justice. How many men have seen you naked?"

"What kind of..." she trailed off the last, realizing he had tricked her again. "You are very good at this game. Have you played before?"

"That's two," Black held up two fingers. "I believe, Ms. Hershell, you are out of clothes."

A look of slow horror spread over her face, followed seconds later by a wry grin. "You knew you'd win the whole time. You've played this game before."

"Never in my life," Black admitted. "But you have to admit it worked well."

She pouted for a second. "Well, I agreed to this game," she said, and began to pull her dress up and over her head. Black stopped her.

"That's not necessary," he told her, placing his hand on hers. A certain charge fired through his finger tips as he toughed her bare, smooth skin. It was not electricity.

"My lord is too kind," she replied, her breath quickening. "I think I've had too much to drink."

Black moved in closer. He could smell her now, and earthy, honest smell, not covered up with perfumes and colognes. "I have as well," he said, staring into her wide, blue eyes, pupils pushing her irises to tiny circles. He was just inches from her full, red lips.

"I told you I wasn't going to sleep with you," she said softly, moving closer to him, her breath hot against his face.

"Who said anything about sleeping?" Black said, gently brushing his lips against hers.

"But I'm tired," she said, gently taking his lower lip between hers. "I have to work tomorrow." Tongue glancing against his upper lip.

"I'll make sure you get plenty of rest," Black promised, his hands questing over her back, powerful arms embracing her.

"I said I wasn't going to do this," she said, her eyes rolling back in her head as Black nibbled passionately on her neck. She felt his hands on her ribs, then gently rasp across her breasts. Her voice caught in her throat, "Oh!"

He pulled away and looked into her eyes, hooded with lust. "I'm sorry, Jane, I presume too much."

She grabbed the back of his head and propelled her lips to hers, her mouth hungrily devouring him. When they finally came up for air, she panted. "You... are... a... good kisser... Mister Black..."

Black's tongue darted hotly against her neck. "I think... you can... call me Grant... now."

He swept her up in his powerful arms and deposited her gently on her back on his cot. She reached for him, pulling him too her, her hands racing across the bare skin of his back, feeling a lump of scar tissue just above his shoulder blade, her lips questing wantonly against his, tongues dueling like master swordsmen for advantage. Finally, she relented, and his tongue raced into her mouth and danced with the skill of a Skasmalodian foot master, causing her to quake and quiver with excitement. She could feel his hardness against her hip, a token of evident desire and wanting.

The time for words was over. It was all about flesh and desire and wanting now. His hands against the bare skin of her neck, her hands against the warmth of his back, searching for sensation, desperate to intensify the passion they both were feeling. His hands were at her bodice, fingers dancing inside the low neckline to find hot, hard nipples. A gasp escaped her as his fingertips glanced across her hot tits, and she involuntarily drove her hips up, desiring for something to fill her. She gripped his shoulder blades, pulled him close to her, and hissed in his ear. "I've taken Midwife's Bane." An enchanted contraceptive, a mild aphrodisiac, mixed with alcohol: a powerful drug to release many a maiden's inhibitions. Her fingers went to his belt, struggling to undo it. Frustrated by the angle and unfamiliar mechanism, she sighed in exasperation. "I need you, now," she breathed.

He sat up and undid his belt, her fingers instantly at his fly, unlacing his breeches with speed and alacrity. Moments later, she was tugging, exposing his penis, an angry purple member six inches long. She reached down to the hem of her dress and pulled upwards, baring her calves and chemise to his eyes for the first time. He pulled her chemise up, exposing her shapely, milky thighs, then her mons, wet with her excitement and need.

He slipped between her legs, his penis glancing against her clitoris, causing her to cry out in surprise and delight. Then, without fanfare, he was at her gate, slipping inside her, pushing deep into her channel until he was completely enclosed in her folds.

The both sighed in relief, the sensation so mutually soothing and calming that they both held that position for a moment, until her desire overcame her and she began to rut upwards at his penis. She drove her clitoris against his pubic bone, trying desperately for a release. Hands gripped his bare buttocks as his hands pawed at her breasts, his lip seared against her collarbone, her cries filled his small chamber with the sounds of their lust.

He met her attack with his own, slowly beginning a thrusting motion, gritting his teeth to maintain control as he looked down at her pretty face, contorted beautifully in passion, rosy pink with carnality. Despite the cold, he felt impossibly warm, felt sweat forming at the juncture of their bodies, felt her secretions like liquid fire on his engorged manhood. She meet each of his thrusts with two of her own, her desire unbridled and unquenched by the combination of alcohol and witch's brew.

Her hips driving up against him furiously caused Black to grit his teeth for control. _Make it last longer for her_, he thought. _Hold on until she comes._ Her hips began flexing faster, harder, her insides were fluttering around him wetly. Suddenly, they gripped, and spasmed, as if milking him, and Black began to pound furiously into her.

She screamed with passion as his sudden assault forced her to plateau, to come in one long, continuous wave. Her back arched; her finger nails dug into his buttocks. Black felt himself close, drove in one final, spasmodic time, felt his testicles rise and fire...

He groaned as his semen jetted out of his glans and into her, all the while grinding his pelvis into hers, causing her subsiding orgasm to hiccup into a miniature climax, her body pressing hard against his. Black collapsed atop her, his need now emptied inside her, his body slick with sweat.