Black's Mountain Chapter Two (MF)

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


Chapter II

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 5th 
Brigade, the 5th 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.