Places To Be, People To Kill

DRUSILLA by Ed Gorman

In twenty-five years of full-time writing, Ed Gorman has published more than thirty novels and six collections of short stories. Kirkus Review called him “one of the most original [talents] around.” Late this year his collected stories, The Long Silence After, will be published in two volumes.

NOT EVEN THE heavy pelts Aarak wore could keep the wind from whipping through him, nor the snow from soaking him. At this point in his three-day trip, Lord William’s warrior wasn’t even sure he was heading in the right direction. His horse had stumbled in the thigh-high snow and broken a foreleg. Aarak had had to put him down with the tenderness that most warriors felt for their mounts.

Moonless nights. Screaming winds. Crude lean-tos built with frozen hands for a few hours’ rest. He ate whatever dead things he could find in the snow. One morning he came upon a frozen man in a small cave, but after resting there a few hours, he kept on going. He was not religious, something Lord William constantly criticized him for, but even he would not partake of human flesh, as some warriors were known to do.

Demons in his dreams. The demons that guarded the amulet that William’s brother Lord Stephen wore on a bloodstained chain around his neck. In the dreams, the demons ripped Aarak’s flesh the way vultures did the flesh of a corpse. He writhed with pain, cried out against the unending indignity, flailed fists in the snow-stabbed air. And then woke to the wind-screams. So cold in the middle of the moonless night that his golden stream of piss froze before it reached the snow.

Lord William was paying him well for this journey. No assassin in the realm had ever been paid so much. Aarak had assumed that killing Lord Stephen would be the difficult part of the task. He hadn’t counted on the hellish blizzard.

The village was a typical one. A tall, stone castle overlooking the walled village proper, carts, horses, people constantly going in and out of the guarded gates. Villagers never strayed too far because there were still raiding parties to contend with, fierce warriors who valued above all young girls who could be sold at high prices in the cities of England.

Aarak saw all this from the back of a rumbling wagon filled with reeking, bloody animal carcasses. The stench was only partially alleviated by the chill but not freezing wind. Aarak couldn’t remember when or how he’d gotten in the wagon, but he was thankful he had. And thankful that the blizzard hadn’t reached this far. Yes, it was cold here, and both the plains and the hills were winter-gray with death. But there was only a dusting of snow, and even that was mitigated by the merry streams of smoke curling upwards into the air. Chimneys, fireplaces, warmth.

“I thank you, my friend,” Aarak said, pulling himself from beneath the reeking pile of carcasses. The wagon had slowed so much that Aarak was able to jump off and walk beside the driver.

“You’re a lucky one,” said the man driving the wagon. He wore a double set of tunics over a set of heavy woolen clothes that fit his ample form tightly, and on his head was a squirrel-skin hat. At his side was an ax so huge it looked fit for slaying giants. “When I found you, you were near dead. All you could say was ‘Lord Stephen.’ Another piece of luck for you. Lord Stephen is the lord of my own village here.”

Inside the walls of the village, on battlement walkways, sword-wielding guards watched the wagon that brought Aarak to the long main street off which ran several much narrower side streets. Aarak was strong enough to gather himself and jump down to the ground. Shops of every description crowded this section of the village. Thatched-roof houses stretched in all directions on the off-streets.

Aarak quickly joined the crowd moving toward the northernmost part of the village. He had the coins necessary to making himself presentable. A barber could clean him up and, with his medical skills, help Aarak stand up to the cough the elements had inflicted on him.

Two hours later he wore the familiar sleeved tunic of the village. The woolen clothing underneath was footed so that all but his neck and head were covered. He was shaved and clean as well. He ate a spare meal of rye bread, gruel, and ale. He felt sorry for the peasants of this place. As Lord William’s official assassin, he was allowed to eat in the manor house, where the meals consisted of lamb, bacon, beef, cheese, and bread made from milled flour. Nobody at Lord William’s table ever drank ale. Expensive wines were always at hand.

Dusk came early, just after four, though the merchants and the craftsmen would work until the curfew bell that rang at eight o’clock in the evening. He left the village-making sure to talk to the guards on his way out, leaving them with a good impression of him-and walked to the Norman castle resting above it.

In the deepening shadows, Aarak saw that this was one of the newest types of castles. Built of stone because it could be made taller, less inclined than the wooden ones to be gutted by fire, and sturdy enough to repel most kinds of attacks. Melancholy lute music came from a lighted window in one of the towers, and laughter could be heard from somewhere within the lower regions.

The bridge was down over the moat, and it was from this opening that three horses charged from the castle and stormed directly toward him. Weapons were drawn. Shouts covered the sweet music and the guttural laughter. The three soldiers swept down on Aarak like hungry beasts.

He knew not to run or to offer any resistance. One soldier stayed in the saddle as the other two jumped to the ground and came at him, one with his sword, the other with his club.

“I am a peaceful man,” Aarak said, the wind chilling him suddenly.

“That is not what the castle’s seer says of you,” said the one with the club. “He believes you mean to do the lord great harm.”

And with that, he swung the club so that it connected perfectly with the left side of Aarak’s skull. Aarak’s last thought was that he could not remember ever being knocked out with such precision or speed. He slumped to the ground.

The seer, as seers often were, was blind. Or at least pretended to be. Even indoors, he kept the cowl of his silken gown tight against his bald scalp as he leaned over the cot, where Aarak was just now coming to.

“They should not have clubbed you so hard,” said the seer, a scrawny man of great age who smelled of herbs and bad wine.

After feeling Aarak’s face-apparently searching for his mouth-the seer began pouring wine into where he thought Aarak’s mouth was. He missed by several inches. The red wine ran down the assassin’s jaw and neck.

“Does that taste good?” the old one said.

“Let me lick some off the floor and I’ll tell you.”

“The floor?”

“Yes, unfortunately you didn’t get any in my mouth.”

The seer laughed. “Being blind does have its limitations, I’m afraid.”

Aarak sat up and eased himself off the cot, placing his feet on the floor. His head pounded. He seized the wine bottle from the seer’s frail hand and took a swig that would have caused a normal man to vomit. He handed the bottle back and looked around the small room. Aarak enjoyed reading, but was not in any sense educated. But he recognized the symbols drawn on the wall. Druidic. This was the part of England where the Druids had once prospered. The symbols, heavily black, took on a menacing sheen in the jittery light of the three candles that lit the room.

The seer used his long, narrow cane to find a wooden stool. He sat down and said, “There is no use trying to deceive me. Your name is Aarak and you are here to steal Lord Stephen’s amulet. You know that the castle wizard showed him how to trap Drusilla inside the amulet so she could never flee back to your lord again.”

Aarak thought of telling the old man how much humiliation and agony his own lord had suffered the two times Drusilla had left him for his brother. But then he decided against it. The humiliation and the agony for Stephen had to be just as deep. No lord could look strong and masculine to the people of his village if he could not control his woman. And Drusilla had gone back and forth, unable to make up her mind between the two brothers.

Until Lord Stephen’s wizard found a way of magically trapping her inside the amulet. True, Stephen could never set her free, could never allow her to come to full and sumptuous size. She would flee him if he freed her even for a few moments. It was the possession of her that mattered to the brothers. There were many maids they could have in their villages. But there was only one Drusilla, so far beyond everyday beauty as to be ethereal, an erotic phantom on a starry night who could bring a man carnal pleasures that almost cost him his sanity.

No wonder both brothers wanted her with such longing. To possess her was to possess the loveliest woman who had ever graced the countryside. Lord William expected Stephen to be killed and the amulet to be his.

“I can hear by your silence,” the old seer said, “that I am speaking the truth. That when I told my lord that an assassin would attempt to kill him and reclaim his amulet, I was right.” For the first time, malice shone in the dark, ruined eyes of the old man. “But I am not finished telling you about your own reason for coming here.”

“The money. I’ll be rich.”

But the old man shook his cowled head. “Not the money, no, my killing man. The woman herself is what brought you here. You guarded her for more than a year. Your lord wanted to make sure that she never sneaked out of the castle when he was away. He was afraid that she had other lovers in the countryside. He even had you sleep outside the door to her chambers so escape was impossible.”

“I was only doing my duty.”

“Your duty? Did that also include being as smitten with her as the two lords are? Did that also include sneaking into the baths to watch her bathe naked? And making all these foolish plans in your head to kidnap her and run away with her, even though you knew that she found you repellent?”

“That’s a lie!” Aarak whirled on the seer, his enormous hands already fitting themselves to the size of the seer’s scrawny neck.

“You think I didn’t foresee this moment,” the seer said, backing up. “I am weary, so I don’t care if you kill me or not. But let me tell you, you will be a fool to steal the amulet. You won’t be able to resist her any more than the brothers did. And this time she is prepared-”

The attack came on so suddenly that for the first few minutes it looked like bad playacting. The old man clutched his chest and fell back against the wall. Only when his skull cracked the stone did Aarak realize that the old man was not putting on a show. Aarak had seen his share of heart attacks on his killing missions-people so afraid of the death he brought that they denied him the satisfaction of his profession by dying of a heart attack instead.

By the time Aarak got the old man laid straight out on the floor, he recognized that he was already too late. The seer had passed over, taking his secrets with him.

No time to waste. Aarak ripped the blind man’s dagger from its scabbard. He would have to collect better weapons than this on his way to find Lord Stephen.

He blew out the candles, crept to the door, opened it, and peeked out. A heavyset guard stood a few feet away, leaning against the wall as he looked over something directly beneath the hall sconce. A spear leaned against the wall near him, only a quick grab away. Fortunately, he was facing away from the assassin.

Many years ago, Aarak had been in an army where the leader regularly timed his soldiers on their abilities to perform deadly tasks quickly. Among all the freelance killers, Aarak had been the quickest at jumping a slave from behind and then giving his neck so violent a wrench that the slave was dead before he could even fall over.

Aarak hoped his timing was just as good now as it had been then. He estimated that he would need to take two quick steps toward the guard and then fling himself on the man’s back. The two steps would be the danger. The guard would have time, if he heard Aarak, to raise the alarm.

Aarak’s timing held. He took his two steps and launched himself on the guard before the man could even turn around. He had apparently been engrossed in whatever he was holding in his hand. Aarak had no trouble seizing the man’s head and twisting with such fury that blood shot from the man’s mouth and nostrils before the crack of neck bones could be heard.

Aarak dragged the dead guard into the seer’s chambers and stripped him of his weapons. Now a sword and a small ax filled Aarak’s hands as he began working his way to the lord’s chambers, one floor above.

Two more guards had to be murdered before Aarak was able to creep inside the heavily fortified door that led inside the lord’s chambers. His forearms and hands were soaked with blood. He liked the stench of it. He even put his tongue on a particularly thick splash of it. He believed in the warriors’ tales that the blood of others only made you fiercer. And he wanted to be especially fierce with Lord Stephen.

Seven winding stone steps led to the lord’s chambers. Torches lit the way. The stench of the burning oil filled Aarak’s nostrils. He despised that smell. Better blood than oil any day.

Another door, huge and wooden, confronted him. Was it locked? And if it was, what could he do about it? And even if it wasn’t locked, what would happen when he sneaked inside the chambers? Would guards be waiting for him there? Or knife-toothed dogs, starved for flesh of any kind? Or Lord Stephen himself, waiting with his weapon?

The door was not locked. It yielded to him with the ease of a prostitute.

He passed beneath the arched doorway, locking the door behind him, the bloody sword he’d taken from one of the guards he’d killed held tightly in his barbarian hand.

Darkness. The scent of incense and tobacco smoke. The heady odor of good whiskey. Only slowly did his eyes trace the outlines of the spare chamber. An enormous pile of cleaned animal pelts dressed up as a bed sprawled in the center of the room. A large wooden table took up much of the north wall, with the remains of a meal, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine on it. Books, scrolls, and clothing were piled sloppily on another table. And the darkened fireplace, big enough for a man to stand in, performed the function of a wind tunnel-eerie, ghoulish windcries chased each other up the stone chimney.

Aarak had just spied a second door sunken into the wall itself when it opened and out stepped Lord Stephen himself. He wore the military clothes of his realm, with a broadsword in a scabbard on his belt.

Aarak had no trouble seeing the lord because just to Stephen’s right walked what appeared to be a short troll-like being so ugly of face that Aarak felt his stomach knot. The little creature wore the pointed hat and comic green suit of the leprechaun. But it was the twisted stubby features and absurd little gray goatee and bulging, angry eyes that held Aarak’s attention. He couldn’t recall ever seeing a being of any kind this repellent. There was even an odor wafting from the ugly little man that was as angry as his eyes.

“Stay where you are, assassin. Or I will curse you dead,” the little man growled.

“I didn’t know leprechauns knew magic.”

“He’s assured me he does,” said Lord Stephen. “He said he can protect me against any kind of intruder-including one sent by my brother.”

“I just want the amulet. I don’t care about killing you.”

Lord Stephen smirked. He looked eerily like his brother. “Lord William isn’t strong enough to keep her inside the amulet. And if she ever escapes, she has the strength and will to be rid of both of us. She feels we have defiled her youth. So all I can do is keep her-” He raised a large metal amulet the color of silver, jagged sun rays bursting from the center of the piece. In the center, Aarak saw the beautiful Drusilla pounding against the glass of the amulet. She was shrieking something, but no sound was coming from the jewelry. And-she was completely naked. Aarak felt his mouth go dry with lust and his nervous system begin to crackle and burn. She had always had this effect on him.

Lord Stephen laughed. “You can barely restrain yourself, can you, Aarak? And I don’t blame you. I’m tempted to let her out, too. How long can any sane man gaze upon a woman so beautiful and not want to make love to her? But I know what she’s up to. That’s why I’ve forbidden the amulet to carry any sounds she makes. At night when I was trying to sleep next to my wife, I kept the amulet on my table, and Drusilla would whisper the carnal things she wanted to do with me if I’d only let her out of the amulet. But I can’t. All I think about is making love to her. But if I do-she’ll be gone from me forever.”

“So you’re as much in a prison as she is.”

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose. Yes, both of us prisoners. So you see, I’m doing my brother a favor by keeping her here within the amulet. That way she won’t break his heart as she has broken mine.”

“She’s already broken his heart. Many times over.”

Lord Stephen drew and flourished his broadsword. “She won’t be going with you, if that’s why you’re here. I have Fitzpatrick here to defend me. I bought him yesterday at a marketplace that had nothing but magical people for sale.”

“He may be a good pickpocket, perhaps a good arsonist because he can climb in and out of tight places, and maybe even a good burglar for the same reason. But he’s not magic, Lord Stephen. No matter what he tells you, he’s not magical.”

Lord Stephen’s face flushed with rage and his burning gaze fell to the twisted face of the tiny man. “Is this true? You can’t cast a spell that will protect me from him?”

But he was foolish to let his rage distract him. It made him reckless. For a moment, he forgot that the man standing in front of him was an assassin. And so it was that Aarak made his move. He quickly ripped the seer’s stiletto from his belt and flung it with such precision that it pierced the exact center of Lord Stephen’s right eye. And then, leaping to the man, Aarak swept the broadsword from his hand and cleanly cleaved the man’s head from his neck. The head went flying across the room to smash against a wall and then fall to the floor.

Aarak scowled at the little man. “I thought you could protect him with one of your magical spells.”

The ugly little man shrugged. “I didn’t have time to summon my powers.”

“I’ll have to remember that the next time somebody runs a blade through me.” He shook his head at the little man’s bold lie.

He then walked over, knelt down on one knee and snapped the amulet from the chain around Lord Stephen’s stump of a neck. Blood still pulsed from the raw wound.

“You and your master haven’t thought this through,” Fitzpatrick said.

Aarak stood up, stared down at the naked woman screaming inside the window of the amulet. Her sexuality was diminished somewhat by her rage. But only somewhat.

“Neither you nor your master will be able to set her free unless you know the proper words.”

“Lord William has many wizards in his realm. One of them will be able to figure this out.”

Now it was Fitzpatrick’s turn to smirk. “You are an arrogant man, Aarak. Not even you and all your self-confidence can free her. Only I now know the words.”

“You only worked for him one day.”

“Yes, but he kept the words in his book on magic and the supernatural. I tore the page out unbeknownst to him. I memorized them and then burned the page. Lord Stephen, I’m sorry to say, was not in danger of becoming a genius. Wine would have made him forget the words-so he would have had to depend on me.”

Aarak was forced to look at the little man in a different way. Comic as the twitchy little bastard was, his eyes now gleamed with a smug knowledge that Aarak desperately needed.

“I wouldn’t set her free anyway,” Aarak said. “You heard Lord Stephen. She’d just run away.”

“Those words were for your ears only. He wanted to dissuade you from killing him. She simply wants to enjoy life. And she can hardly do that while trapped in this amulet. I know you want to free her-I can see it in your eyes. Were I in your position, I would do the same.”

Aarak brought the point of the broadsword over so that it rested under the leprechaun’s chin. “You seem to forget that I have the medallion, not you. But you can write those words down for me.”

The hideous man shook his head. “If I do, you’ll kill me.”

Aarak’s grin was mirthless. “If you don’t, I’ll cut off one of your fingers every minute until you change your mind.”

“Swear that you will let me live if I do as you ask, and I’ll show you a secret way out of the castle.”

Aarak raised an eyebrow. The little man was cleverer than he looked. “You have my word that you will live if you give me the words to control the amulet and show me a way out of here.”

The little man sprang to the small table, sweeping clothes and papers aside, and found an inkpot and quill. He scratched down a few words, sanded the ink and paper, then rolled it up. “Here you go.” He handed the small scroll to Aarak and cocked his head. “It’s a long way back. Why don’t you take this food, too? After all-” He nodded in the direction of Lord Stephen’s body. “He won’t need it anymore.”

“Why are you being so helpful all of a sudden?”

“Like Stephen said-he did buy me. But you’ve just given me my freedom. Why shouldn’t I help you?”

Aarak thrust the broadsword into his belt and examined the bread carefully, smelling it and taking a small nibble. It seemed fine. The bottle of wine was still sealed, so he grabbed it as well, shoving the bread and wine into a sack. “Now show me the way out of here.”

The little man went to the second door and opened it. “This way.”

Aarak, his blade at the ugly man’s back, followed him down a narrow, winding staircase. They came to a narrow passageway that led to what appeared to be a blank wall.

“This is your way out?” Aarak advanced on the little man, sword poised to run him through.

“Wait! Look.” The little man pushed on a rock, and a section of wall swung open, tall enough for a man to crawl through. “As I said, Stephen wasn’t a genius, showing this to me.”

“Thanks.” Aarak shoved the little man out of the way with a boot to his back. The wee one went back to being comic again, doing two perfect somersaults and finally slamming up against the stone wall. He cursed Aarak in a language Aarak had never heard before. And it was probably just as well. Aarak was sure that Fitzpatrick was damning him most profanely as he left.

The night held no mercy. The amulet burned against Aarak’s chest, thumping back and forth on the crude leather necklace he’d fashioned. With his cape thrown around his shoulders, at least the amulet was safe and warm.

Hungry wolves cried even louder than the witch winds that swept the acid, stinging snow across the midnight lands. He knew he needed to stop soon, and he knew where that would be-or hoped he remembered, anyway-that cave where the frozen man was, a cave deep enough to hide a man from the blizzard that had befallen this realm like a curse fulfilled.

He needed to find it quickly, but he had two problems. The lashing snow had rendered him virtually blind, and the moonless white hills and glens and crevices all looked the same by now. The second problem was his exhaustion. He had been riding for almost five hours. Which would give out first-his stolen steed or himself? Early on, the snow on the ground had been but a few inches deep. By now it reached the top of the struggling horse’s flanks. It couldn’t go much longer.

Fitzpatrick had left the castle not long after Aarak. He had no trouble following the assassin, especially since the depth of the snow would slow a horse to a crawl, but the top layer of the snow had hardened into an icy crust that the leprechaun could run on top of with ease.

Fitzpatrick wondered if the man were daft. How much further could he go on? Didn’t he know that he could die out here? Had possession of the amulet cost him his good sense?

Of course, the leprechaun could say the same thing about himself. Though he’d been exposed to Drusilla for barely twenty-four hours, he was already in her thrall. What kind of common sense had led him into this vengeful night to do battle with a gigantic killer in order to possess a woman trapped inside an amulet?

He could die out here just as easily as Aarak could.

He thought of something ironic: what if both of them died out here in this savage night? Who would possess the amulet? Would it ever be found?

The cave ran long and narrow into a hillside. A ragged corner of it provided a barrier against the endless wind. Aarak was so exhausted he forgot all about the amulet for the time being. He needed rest. His horse had died some time back and he’d had to force himself forward through the whipping winds and freezing snow to find shelter.

He made a small fire, his numb fingers clumsy and awkward as they struck flint and steel. Somebody else-maybe the frozen man-had sought shelter here not too long ago and had been cordial enough to leave wood behind. Even without the wind battering him, his body still felt ice-cold. He huddled close to the fire, gnawing on the loaf of bread he’d stolen from the castle, and washing it down with wine, wishing he’d had the time to carve a haunch from the dead horse. The bones of dead animals were strewn across the cave floor, as were feces from a half dozen species.

As the fire began to warm him a little, his thoughts returned to the amulet. He took the sunburst from around his neck and stared at the woman inside. Drusilla wore a white dress and sat near a summer stream, watching the swans swim by. He knew this to be some other dimension. Not only had the wizard imprisoned her in an amulet, he’d also imprisoned her in another realm.

When she became aware of him, she angled her elegant head so that their eyes could meet. Her gaze jolted him. All his love and all his passion grabbed him, literally shook him to his core, so that he had to clutch the amulet to keep it from falling into the fire.

I knew we would be together someday, Aarak. I’ve prayed for it every night. You not only loved me, you protected me.

He remembered that from time to time she’d been able to communicate with him through mindthoughts. She’d always told him that mindthoughts were the purest form of expression, that speech was often vile and vulgar.

I want to be with you the rest of my life, Aarak. I want you to be my protector again.

Is that all I’ll be? Your protector?

A shy laugh. You know better than that. This time we will be lovers, too. The kind of lover I’ve never had before. A man who respects me as well as loves me.

Ridiculous glee such as the kind he hadn’t felt since being a boy filled his heart. A rhapsody in equal parts love and lust. This time she would be his in every sense. Protector and lover, she’d promised. Protector and lover.

I’m assuming you got the release words for this amulet when you killed Lord Stephen.

Of course I did-I made the leprechaun write them down for me.

Then release me from this prison, and we can be together again.

By now Aarak had forgotten about his mission for Lord William, forgotten his duty, forgotten everything but the face and the body of the woman who now captivated his every thought. He fumbled for the scroll and unrolled it-

There were two lines of text there, and Aarak read them to himself, sounding them out to be sure he pronounced them correctly. Then, with a flourish, he spoke the words out loud, his breath pluming in the cold air of the cave.

Nothing happened.

Aarak said the words again, louder this time. Still Drusilla remained in her prison. I don’t know why it isn’t working. Then the truth hit Aarak, and his face tightened. The rhapsody was no more. He saw in her face his own disappointment. That little leprechaun bastard tricked me!

The leprechaun? You let a leprechaun outwit you? Where is your pride?

He’d forgotten that she didn’t take bad news well. Not at all. He knew that some might say that she behaved like a spoiled child at moments like these. But when one is in love as Aarak was in love, even objectionable traits can seem endearing. Love deludes just like wine.

I’m going to find him, I promise you that. All I need is some rest and then we’ll go after him. He can’t be that hard to find. Maybe he’s even at the castle. Aarak pried the cork out of the wine bottle and took a long swallow.

You know he wants me, don’t you?

That’s pretty obvious.

Just imagine those grubby little hands pawing my white pure skin-

Let’s not talk of such things, m’lady. Let me rest a bit, and then we will hunt him down. Together.

Fitzpatrick spent an hour just inside the cave entrance. He saw the firelight flicker on the walls and smelled the pleasant smoke wafting out.

He also heard Aarak settling in back there. When silence came, Fitzpatrick would make his move. His small hand held a knife so sharp the blade could cleave thick leather. A human throat would be much easier to cut.

For the first time in many lonely years, Aarak did not sleep alone. He filled his hands with the amulet and held it close to his heart as he drifted peacefully to sleep knowing that one fine day he and his true love would ride golden steeds into the palaces of the mighty, and all men would envy Aarak not only as a great warrior, but as the only man worthy of such a beauty.

Thus wrapped inside the warmth and tenderness of such thoughts, he fell asleep, snoring soon after, snoring that was a joke to those who’d had to sleep anywhere near him on his travels.

Fitzpatrick himself fell asleep, though only in a shallow way. The sound, whatever in holy hell it was, raised him a good three inches off the ground. His pinched little face showed pure terror as he tried to recognize the noise that seemed to come from the rough stone walls themselves.

And then he smiled. It was Aarak. Snoring. Good Lord, had anyone but the giants of myth snored with such incredible force? The damned cave might collapse under such a sonic assault.

Now was the time to make his move. The drugged wine the assassin had taken had been intended for Stephen, so that Fitzpatrick could steal the amulet and leave the castle, but the big oaf had changed everything. However, the leprechaun would soon have Drusilla to himself, and the human would be as dead as his former master.

He crawled into the cave, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. The fire burned warmer as he got closer and the sounds Aarak made caused the little man to stop a few times and cover his ears in pain.

When he reached the rear of the cave, he found Aarak spread out on the floor, sound asleep, the empty wine bottle lying beside him. And the fire crackling merrily.

Now he had to move fast.

In three steps he was at Aarak’s side, sweeping down with his blade to cut the man’s throat and make the amulet his own.

But the amulet was not around Aarak’s neck.

Panic.

What would Aarak have done with it?

And then he saw it clasped in the enormous hands of the assassin.

Only when he reached for the amulet did the little man realize how deep Aarak’s sleep was. He didn’t even stir as Fitzpatrick eased the amulet from the massive hands. The snoring, so close to the little man’s ears, threatened to deafen him forever. And Aarak had the habit of seasoning his snoring with spittle.

But the little man had what he wanted. The amulet.

No time to waste.

He took the real paper from his pocket and read the wizard’s words that would open the amulet and bring the woman to full and beautiful life.

And then there she stood, every inch a woman.

“I thank you for that,” Drusilla said, smiling at him with such warmth and tenderness that Fitzpatrick felt like his heart would burst. “You know the real meaning of chivalry.”

“And I hope you know the real meaning of gratitude,” said Fitzpatrick as he stood before her and winked. “My kind of gratitude.”

“I would hope so, too,” she said.

He was so completely into his fantasy, that he didn’t notice her slipping his knife from his hand. Bringing the blade up to his throat.

Opening a deep and bloody gash across that throat until it was too late. He was instantly spitting blood from the mouth below his nose and the new mouth across his throat. Fitzpatrick’s last vision before he fell forever into darkness was of Drusilla, bloody blade in hand, and a look of absolute hatred on her face.

Even before he opened his eyes, Aarak knew that something was wrong. The air, the smells, the very texture of existence felt-wrong.

Some other realm.

“You slept for a very long time,” said the radiant Drusilla. She peered down at him as if she was a giantess and he was some kind of tiny animal in a cage.

It took till this very moment to realize that he was in fact in a cage-the cage of the amulet. She had hexed him into the realm she had recently inhabited.

“I thought I was going to be your protector and your lover,” Aarak said, knowing that the whine in his voice pleased neither of them. Few things are more unmanly than large men whining.

“Well, you are,” she said. “Whenever we wish to spend the night together, I will hex my way into the amulet and we will spend nights you will never forget, Aarak. Never.”

“But I won’t be free.”

“You said that I was the only thing you wanted.”

“Yes, but-”

“Then count your blessings. Think of all the men who would give up everything to have what you have. When the storm dies, I want to go to Winiver Castle. There is a prince there who should now be king. I’ll seduce him out of his fortune and then we’ll be off.”

“Seduce him? But you said we would be lovers.”

“We will be, silly. But that doesn’t mean I won’t sleep with other people now and then when necessary. After all, you certainly don’t have any fortune.”

She tapped her nail on the glass circle of the amulet. “Now you get some sleep, you grumpy old bear. And when dawn comes, we’ll be off. We’ll find some riders and take their horses-or rather you will.”

“You’re going to let me out of here to do battle?”

“Well, of course. How else will you be my protector?”

“But what if I don’t want to come back inside?”

“Oh,” she said sweetly, touching the glass of the amulet in a way that made him almost feel her fingers on his thigh. He gasped with anticipated pleasure. “I think you’ll want to come back inside.” And then she kissed him gently on the cheek.

His smile did not come immediately, but when it did he looked like a small boy who’d been granted the finest gift in the land. He’d wanted nothing more than to be beside her the rest of his life. It had taken a moment to realize that that was exactly what she’d given him. Herself. And in a way nobody else could ever have.