It had been an arduous journey across the vastness of the loosely associated lands, but at long last the ragged warriors had reached the Olympian height of the mountain that towered in the east, shining with the stored rays of the sun that had risen hours before. The weary young knight, bloodied and bruised yet never quite beaten, drew her sword and shouted, "Come forth, sorceress! Show your face to those who have journeyed to seek you!" The orange plume from her helmet was bright in the brilliant day, and the contrast it made with the red enamel of her armor called forth images of the desert.

Joined to her voice was the howl of the wolf who had traveled every step of the way by her side. Once, they had been rivals, but they had become battle-tested shieldmates who guarded one another's backs until a foul enchantment had stripped the fearless fighter of her human form, leaving her as the wolf she claimed as her totem.

Watching pensively from a jeweled prison was the southern sorceress whose magics had failed and been turned on her. Her soul, severed from her body, remained trapped in the opals upon the knight's shield, only able to take form again in the presence of danger. She could only watch, terrified and alone, unable to take comfort in companionship. Still, in her mind, her voice cried defiance.

The mountain shook in warning, but neither the knight nor the wolf lost her footing on the shifting ground. An eldritch voice boomed out, "Who dares challenge the First Lady, most puissant and fell sorceress of all the lands?"

The knight refused to be cowed. "Were you such, you would know us by your magic and not our words. Surely you have watched us as we approached your stronghold and did battle with your guardians. You know better than we what we do here."

"Bold words, child."

In response, the knight raised her scarlet-stained sword to the heavens. "Young I may be, but no one who has lived through the horrors I have seen can be a child still. If you deem me too bold, too daring, too unworthy of your aid, then give succor to my shieldmates who cannot speak for themselves and need you more urgently than I- or is even that little too much for you?"

"Enter- yet be wary, for you walk still on unsteady ground." The looming peak above the trio shimmered and revealed itself as a tower of slick obsidian that seemed to absorb all light; the knight found herself unable to focus her gaze upon it until a portal opened in the sheer surface and spilled light brighter than mundane means could supply onto the leaf-littered ground. Before anyone more sensible could make a move, the wolf had bounded through the gateway, forcing her companion to follow. As she passed through, the opening sealed itself behind her, and she knew fear as she had not known it since the fall of her desert city. If she had erred- if she had enraged the mighty First Lady, the punishment would fall not only upon her, but upon those she had sworn to defend. Failure of this quest would deprive the scattered survivors of their last and best hope for victory.

As if her dark thoughts had come to life, the passageway was sunk in darkness so profound that nothing, no outline, no movement, was visible; it was as silent and gloomy as a tomb. There no longer seemed to be a beginning or an end to the corridor, only infinite and eternal night. For a moment, the stalwart knight felt fear, and her steps slowed. Every doubt she had ever entertained, even for the merest fraction of a second, hit her at once. She was not worthy of the First Lady's attention, she was nothing, she was insignificant, she deserved every punishment that could be heaped upon her, she would never leave this place… she felt herself shrinking, her will wavering, her body refusing to obey her…

The opals on her shield flared into fiery life, their rainbow light reflecting off the polished walls of the passage. The beam lasted only a moment before fading back into the depthless shadows, but that moment was enough to steady the knight's world. She was not alone in this. She would never be alone so long as she had strong shieldmates and true to protect her. In them her trust would not be misplaced, and so she sheathed her blood-soaked blade, placing her empty hand upon the warm, furry back of her transformed companion. "Guide me through," she said softly.

With slow, measured strides, the knight and the wolf walked the black corridor, and without terror gripping her heart, it seemed like no distance at all to the knight before they emerged into light again. The grand cavern in which she and her companion stood could not possibly be lit by ordinary means; the torches fastened to the walls could not emit enough light to keep the shadows at bay. The First Lady's magic was strong if she could use it for such simple things, or perhaps she drew power from the amulets and treasures that lined the center aisle. Even had the knight not known the danger of crossing the First Lady, she would have made no moves towards the seemingly unguarded treasure; honor and honesty were part of the code she lived her life by, and what belonged to another was not rightly hers. But she dared not even glance at the precious things, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the throne at the end of the aisle, and the woman who inhabited it.

The First Lady appeared far gentler than her treatment of her visitors would imply; the lines around her eyes and mouth suggested long years of smiles and laughter, though her so-slightly indirect gaze gave away her sadness. Long sable tresses framed her face, and her long-fingered hands seemed made for wand or staff, or some other token of the magician's craft. A ruby and sapphire diadem adorned her brow, matching her crimson and azure gown and robe. Power crackled in the air around her, and yet it seemed contained. "So, your intent is as true as your courage, and your heart is stronger than your sword. Few trust in others so completely and honestly. I know your needs… all three of you, and the land you have sworn to protect. I cannot give you all that you seek, for I swore an oath before any of you ever drew breath that I would not bring the full force of my power to bear upon the world, for in that day the world as we know it would cease to be. But I will do all that I can within these limits for you."

The knight glowered, but she knew discretion was the better part of valor; were she to protest the little, there might be nothing at all. The First Lady continued, "Within my own demesne, my power is unbounded. One small gift I can for now give one of your companions." She raised her right hand and cast a bright bolt at the shield. The knight dropped it with an oath as the opals began to glow and the fair southerner took form- still a hazy spirit, but closer to defined than she had been in any of her previous appearances. Her tortured features relaxed, allowing her ethereal beauty to emerge once again. She inclined her head once in thanks and took her place alongside her companions to await the First Lady's verdict.

It was not long in coming. "Come forth, gallant knight," the First Lady commanded. From a pedestal next to her throne, she took an ebony and gold talisman in the shape of a hawk's head and presented it to the knight. "To you, a gift of the past. Invoke it when you have returned to your faraway land, and aid will come to your side- but only within the shelter of the land you have sworn to protect, lest you attact unwanted attention and imperil your mission."

"My thanks, First Lady," the knight said, tucking the talisman into a pouch at her belt.

The First Lady next knelt before the white wolf, who watched her with steady brown eyes that showed no trace of fear. "To you, the gift of the present. I return to you your proper form, and the power to use this one as you wish- for it does have its advantages at times." Though she showed no sign of invoking the great powers that she controlled, the change was immediately obvious as a dark-haired woman appeared where the wolf had been.

"My thanks, First Lady," she said, and her voice was rusty from long disuse, with a hint of the wolf's growl still underlying her words. "I confess that I have longed for the comfort of a soft bed and something softer to warm it, and my tongue is sore for all the words I could not say. My gratitude knows no bounds."

"Watch your glib tongue, or you'll find that there are debts beyond your ability to pay," the First Lady warned. She turned her attention to the third member of the party, who had watched the proceedings with interest. "I dare not return you to your body, not because it is not within my power, but because the raider queen has posted guards, fearing that you are only in a trance to gather your forces for a devastating blow against her. Should you stir, the next breath you draw will be your last. To you, the gift I give is that of the future. Know that when you return to your far desert land, at your time of greatest need there will be aid for you from a most unexpected source. You are the hinge on which all this turns."

"My thanks, First Lady," the southerner replied, and the music that underlay her words was vibrant with hope and excitement. "I'll not waste your gift."

"I should hope not," the First Lady replied tartly. "I have granted your wishes. Stay the night within my halls. Eat at my table and sleep safe under my roof, but be gone with tomorrow's dawn. Your land needs you- though not as much as you fear."

The trio stared at her, taken aback by the cryptic pronouncement, but before any of them could question her, she rose from her throne and disappeared into a crack in the wall that closed itself when the knight sought to follow. "I mistrust these high magics. A blade in my hand and an enemy before me, I need no more than that," she said, removing her helmet and tucking it under her arm; her youthful features were strained with weeks of worry and hard travel, and the smile that had once lived hidden around her brown eyes and full mouth was no more.

But her companion, despite everything she had experienced, still carried her smile. "Ay, and what reason have you to fear sorcery? I think it has not touched you as it has me. Speak of your loathing for unnatural ways of fighting when you have run on four legs, eaten raw meat, and been drawn to the tail of any-"

"You were more tolerable when you were speechless," the knight grumbled. "There is a time and a place for your crude jokes, and in the halls of the First Lady is neither of these. Have you already decided then that you will ever be the selfish jester, caring for nothing beyond yourself, worrying about nothing except yourself? I need no such shieldmate by my side in times such as these."

The knight's cruel words struck the lightheart to her soul, and she turned her face away. "In times such as these, indeed. It is good to know where we stand with each other. I'll not bother you further." Choosing a lonely corner of the grand hall, she invoked the gift that the First Lady had given her, and the white wolf curled up to sleep. Perhaps a small whimper escaped her; perhaps it escaped even before the transformation.

The ethereal southerner gazed upon her companions with grief clear upon her faint features. "And from this we are to build an army to sweep our land clean of its invaders," she said; her voice was soft, but her words seemed to echo from the arching roof of the cavern. She too turned, fading with her steps, and the opals on the shield glimmered fitfully before dulling again.

The dawn came abruptly; though there seemed no exposure to the sky, the first rays of the sun shone mercilessly through the cavern, awakening the travelers with blinding brilliance. The knight struggled upright, shielding her eyes, and caught sight of her companion in the corner, still unchanged from the form of the white wolf. Guilt flooded her, and she approached to kneel by the other's side. "I spoke cruelly and intemperately before. Forgive me. I should not have said what I did. You are a true friend, and I could find no better a shieldmate."

The air shimmered, and the lightheart rose from her place upon the floor. "And I do forgive you. You fear I will fail, as I did before. That I will hesitate, or not watch for danger." Her dark eyes were steady as she watched her companion, and her words were hard and sharp as steel. "I assure you, I learn from my errors. I never make the same mistake twice. So long as you allow me to cope with fear in my own way, we will have no further quarrel."

"It is settled between us," the knight said, and proffered her empty hand to the lightheart. Without hesitation, the other woman accepted it,and their friendship was healed as if it had never been broken. "No enemy will stand against us."

"If we make it back to our faraway land. The way is long, and even in this season there are only so many hours of the day. Gather what is yours- have you gold or silver to trade for a weapon? I came back to myself with nothing."

"Some in my pouch, but most is in my saddlebag- ay me! I left my steed at the foot of the mountain! Surely some bandit has made off with him by now!" The knight pounded her fist into her open palm, furious and frustrated with herself.

The lightheart offered a smile. "I doubt that greatly. This is the stronghold of the First Lady. Do you truly believe she would suffer a bandit to trespass upon her lands and live? I worry more about her fierce guardians having devoured the poor beast. No time for such thoughts, though, my friend. We must be away with the dawn, else the First Lady will be most displeased with us. Shall I help you with your armor?"

Grateful for the aid- for it had taken superhuman effort every time she had removed her armor to sleep, and more often than not she had been too weary to even try- the knight began to reconstruct her suit of enameled steel, directing her companion on the proper fit and placement of each piece. Soon they were both ready for their departure. "Our thanks again, First Lady," they called out, unsure whether the sorceress still kept eye or ear on them but not daring to risk her wrath. Together again, they followed the winding passage back to the crack in the sheer wall that had opened and first left them in this place. No dark shadows emerged this time to terrify them, no threats impeded their way. It seemd as if no time at all passed until they were in the sunlight again, but instead of the small flat plateau near the top of the mountain where they had entered, they were near the foot of the mountain. "Strange magic indeed," the lightheart murmured.

The knight was too concerned with what she saw to worry about their location. Waiting at the base of a tall oak was her roan stallion, the saddlebags bulging more than they had when she came to the First Lady's stronghold. And next to the roan was a dun-colored mare, also with full saddlebags, but also with a longbow and a quiver of silvery arrows fastened to the saddlehorn, and a longsword hanging from one side of the saddle, hidden under the saddlebags. "I see that the First Lady has one last gift for us," she called to her traveling companion. "Indeed, you are better armed than I."

"Ah, but you have the better knowledge of your weapons. It matters not; so long as we have each other's backs, then your blade is mine and my bow is yours. I swear it upon my life and honor, and you may have my life if I lead you wrong."

"Such oaths are not lightly sworn, and yet I cannot help but swear in kind," the knight replied. "Come, we must go. To horse and away! Our land cries out for the aid we bring!"

And so they rode back across the vast land, and any one of the battles they fought along the way against fell and foul enemies would be worthy of a ballad. Where they could, they destroyed evil and let good people live in peace. Whether the raider queen knew of their quest and sought to prevent them from returning to claim their land, or whether the appearance of brave warriors spurred evil on, could never be determined. The lightheart soon found that her bow and arrows were enchanted, the bow to be drawn with hardly the crook of a finger and yet drive its arrows as far as the stiffest, strongest longbow man could carve, the arrows to fly straight and true towards their target. The sword, which she gave to the knight to replace the knight's blood-encrusted and dulled blade, also carried powerful magic; its edge was always sharp, its surface always clean, no matter how many enemies it hewed down, nor were the knight's arms wearied from wielding it in battle.

Word of their prowess soon preceded them, and there were many who would join with them to help liberate their land and fight the forces of darkness. But this was not a fight for strangers, nor for innocents. They would allow none to be harmed in a fight that was not theirs. Yet some still followed, and those who could not be dissuaded were welcome allies.

After weeks and months of long and hard travel, they at last reached the border of the desert land. Forests had given way to dry scrub, and even those were beginning to become fewer in number as the land grew dry. Ahead of them lay stretches of sand broken only by rock outcroppings and a few gnarled trees; far, far away in the distance, a tiny dot barely visible against the horizon, lay the stronghold of the desert lands, the fortress that both the knight and her companion had sworn their loyalty and honor to. Even the imprisoned southerner recognized that they were truly home, and her joy caused the opals on the knight's shield to flare once into rainbow brilliance like the lights that were said to play across the skies of the far north.

Another mile or two, and they pulled into the first oasis. The knight dismounted and took the talisman of the First Lady out of her pouch, studying it intently as she turned it about in her hand. "What think you, my friend? Shall I invoke this bauble now or wait until we draw closer to our target?" she asked her companion.

The lightheart considered this, and it was peculiar indeed to see the serious expression cross her face as she fell into deep and heavy thought. "Surely it will summon attention to us that we would not want so soon into our quest. We have fought enough unnecessary battles to return to this our land. I have no appetite for more. Yet we know not what awaits us ahead. It may well be that the usurping raider queen knows of our presence from spies or the power of rumor, and has prepared her forces to meet us already, and should that be the case I would much rather surprise them with whatever power the First Lady has given you." Another thought struck her. "It could also be that what she has given you is protection that will allow you- or even us, should she have been so generous- to pass unseen by our enemies, and if this is so, then I would not want to waste it. I say use it- but did you expect no less from one as reckless and thoughtless as I?"

The knight did not smile, though if times had been less fraught with danger, her companion's jest might have been more appreciated. "Aye, I should have known better. And you are no expert in magic, either, for all the time you spent transformed. Were that there were a way to break the damned spell!" She slapped her shield with her bare hand, expressing her frustration in a painful way. "I know you can hear us, my friend, so if you can show me your yea or nay, do so, for you know more of these matters than either of us."

The opals shone, and slowly, as if the attempt agonized her, the wraith appeared, a shadow so faint against the blinding sun that she seemed invisible. "Aye, do it," she murmured, her voice hardly louder than a breath, and even that was too much effort for her, for she disappeared almost before the words had come out of her mouth, and the opals barely glittered as she was forced back to her prison.

"It is decided, then," the knight said. She hefted the talisman in her hand. "So shall it be. We have returned to our desert land at last, and now I call upon the power of this talisman gifted me by the First Lady. Show your power now!"

The wind began to blow harder until it howled in their ears and whipped the lightheart's chestnut queue of hair across her face. The desert sand swirled about them, tiny grains pounding them until they had to close their eyes or else be blinded. They huddled together protectively, listening to the echo of the sand against the knight's armor. Then, as suddenly as it had come upon them, the storm abated, and it seemed safe to open their eyes again.

What a sight there was to meet their eyes! A warrior woman hovered a hand's breadth in the air before settling to the desert sand that matched the color of her skin. The knight gasped and fell to her knees. "The Wind Rider! But the legends said you fell in battle and were lost for all time!"

"And you who travel with a vanquished companion ought to know better than others that to fall in battle is not to lose one's life," the woman replied. "Like her, I was felled by a sorcerous blow, trapped in a jeweled prison. I know not how long I was held there, only that you have released me. Have you done this deed for honorable purposes?"

"Aye, she has!" the lightheart exclaimed when it became apparent that the knight was too awestruck to speak. "A usurping bandit has taken control of our land, and we seek any ally we can to hale her from the seat she has stolen. Twice we have crossed the length of the world, to the stronghold of the First Lady and back again. You were part of the help she promised us."

"And what will you do once this self-proclaimed queen has been defeated?" the Wind Rider pressed. "Shall you claim power then and be rulers as illegitimate as she who you abhor?"

"You have insulted our honor," the lightheart snapped. "Had I a blade, I would challenge you to a formal duel here and now, all else be damned. Our land has a wise queen and a noble king, and we would return them to their rightful place. Should they have been killed- as I fear most- we would search for another of the line to claim the throne. Only if there is none other to take power would I, or my companion, dare to rule."

"A good answer, a fair one, and an honest one. You have earned my help- if you choose to look past my insult to your honor."

"For now, I can let the insult pass. But repeat the transgression-"

"Oh, will you stop it?" the knight protested, at last able to form words. "It is a custom of our land to ask such questions, for we take nothing lightly and nothing at face value. Yet you know me well enough to understand that if we are satisfied, we are as good as the steel we carry."

"Our land?"

"Have you forgotten already that I was born far, far to the north where the wind screams like a hawk circling for the kill? This is what the First Lady meant by a gift from the past! The Wind Rider is a figure of legend; I was raised on tales of her exploits. To meet her is honor enough, but to fight by her side? Warriors would die for the privilege."

"Then we shall fight together. Come the cool of the night, we shall ride to your city and reclaim it from the usurper."

So the three passed the heat of the day in the shelter of the oasis, protected from the blazing sun by wide-leafed palms and the cool breezes that the Wind Rider summoned to them. They rested there to save their strength for the long ride still ahead of them until the sun sank below the horizon, allowing them to saddle and ride. The lightheart had been concerned about this, for the Wind Rider had come with no steed, but the Wind Rider had laughed- a low, rippling chuckle- and waved her hand, drawing from the air until a swirling shape appeared beneath her, stray sand tracing an outline that looked like a horse. "Perhaps a more literal version of riding the wind, but I must stay with you, and I cannot carry others upon the high winds," she explained, sounding apologetic near the end. Two shrugs greeted her explanation.

This pattern they followed for seven days and nights, hiding from the hot sun during the day, riding as fast as they dared through the night. The trail was ill-marked, for the shifting sands forever eradicated whatever marks had been left behind. Less skillful riders would have lost their horses to a twist and break from lost footing, but the lightheart and the knight had long experience with the hazards of the desert land, and the lightheart's mare seemed strangely intelligent for a horse. "Last gift of the First Lady, I suppose," the lightheart said.

On the seventh night, as they crossed yet more of the desert's bleak expanse, the Wind Rider raised a hand to stop their progress, even as the opals flickered restlessly. "The wind blows strangely here," she said, her voice so soft it could barely be heard. "It curves around things that ought not to be there. Ambush awaits us. Take up your weapons and prepare for battle."

The knight drew her sword, and the lightheart put a silvery arrow to her bow, yet the knight worried. "If there were danger…" She stopped and glanced at the sullen fire that danced from stone to stone upon her shield. Her imprisoned companion seemed restless, and she could not make out the reason why. "We should tread carefully."

They proceeded in silence, every ear cocked for sounds that were not native to the desert night, but they received no warning until the Wind Rider held an arrow in one upraised hand. She tilted her head to the right to show where she knew their opponents were, and the three turned their horses from the trail, riding towards a rock outcropping that could have provided cover for an entire regiment. The lightheart raised her bow and prepared to fire as a head popped up over the rock, but a voice none of them knew immediately called, "HALT! STOP THIS MADNESS!"

A figure emerged from behind the shelter of the outcropping. The night cloaked her as she approached, but as she came closer, and the moon rose ever incrementally higher, the shape of her whip-thin body became visible, and the lightheart put her bow down with a cry of joy. "You yet live!" she shouted. "I feared you dead when I saw you were not in the final battle- let us join you and yours and we can exchange tales of our adventures!"

The slender warrior thought about this, but only for a moment. "Aye, we have much to tell one another, indeed. Ride with us back to the oasis and we shall share our stories. Much has changed in our desert land since the battle, but not nearly enough." Without waiting for an answer, she turned back to her troops.

"Is this woman known to you?" the Wind Rider asked quietly.

"Aye," the knight replied. "I have ridden by her side against enemies before. She is a strong fighter with a gentle heart. I too thought she had fallen before the battle that drove us-" she gestured to include the lightheart- "from our stronghold. It does my heart good to know that she yet lives and has gathered allies around her. We ought to join her. She will know what has come to pass since we left." She urged her horse forward, and the other two followed her.

Their guide awaited them on the other side of the rock, mounted on a sure-footed pony. She said no words, but set her heels to the pony's flanks and led them further from the familiar track to a secret oasis surrounded by wild bushes and pitched tents. In the light of the scattered fires around the well, the woman's deep tan became apparent, as did the strength in her wiry frame and the anguish etched upon her features. This was clearly a woman who had lived through far too much and seen even worse. "I bear good tidings!" she called, and the sentry let her and her companions pass. The warriors around the fires left off sharpening their weapons and tending their kit to see who accompanied their leader. Some of the faces were known to the knight and the lightheart, but some were strangers.

One woman, dark-haired and square-faced, jumped from her seat when she saw the knight and shrieked in rage, "WHERE IS MY KINSWOMAN?" The lilt of her voice, the accent of the far south, grated harshly with her furious words. She drew her blade and shouted again. "Answer me, false knight! My kinswoman fought by your side in the final battle! Her spells protected you and the jester by your side! Have you abandoned her to her fate?"

"HOW DARE YOU?" the knight answered, righteous anger rising in her. "Never would I abandon a companion! Your kinswoman fought spell against spell until the raider queen's pet witch rent her soul from her body. Even the First Lady dared not reverse that spell. Your kinswoman's spirit traveled with us, and remains here still, in these enchanted stones." She tapped her shield sharply, and fire gleamed from the opals. "Even in this state she has protected us, and I swear I will do all in my power to bring her back to full life."

The dark-haired southerner was not pleased by this answer, but she accepted it with little grumbling. The knight's pronouncement, however, gathered interest from all assembled, and the band's leader said, "So the rumors through the land are false, then? The people have said you abandoned the desert land to its fate and chose to try your fortunes in lands to the north, for many know that this is not your home, and it is easy to believe that a soldier who fought for a fallen city would not claim that place as their own."

"The rumors are more than false," the lightheart said as she dismounted, giving her companions reason to follow suit. "More than one spell was turned upon us. None would grant us aid- not the magician of the sunny north, not the enchantress in her icy tower, not the gods they worshipped in the south, not the mystics of the east. We had no choice but to seek the First Lady. Though the road was not easy, and she tested us sorely, she gave us great gifts. This stranger who rides with us is the Wind Rider of the far north, and she is a fell warrior indeed. As well, my steed and bow, and her sword, were given us, and she promised help at our time of greatest need. But what has happened here? I see many strangers, and many who I would have expected to be at your back are missing. What of my fair little cousin?"

"She rode out to seek alliance with the champions of the north. But when she was to return…" The leader shook her head, and the bangs that obscured her eyes hid her tears. "She sealed the alliance by blood. Yon archer-" she pointed towards one of the campfires- "brought her back to us and told us of her valor against the raider queen's outlaws, and that this was proof enough that the champions of the north found our cause worthy. Alas, they could send no other help, for they were soon beset as well, and they could only send the one."

The lightheart's face turned grim. "Blood shall be spilled for her," she swore, and her voice was near to a growl.

"It has been already," the leader replied. "The archer told us where the raider's band took their daytime rest. It took very little time to slay all but one of them. The last we only injured, then rode away before she could awaken. She awoke surrounded by the bodies of her companions, forced to either report her failure to her merciless queen or say nothing and let them be a mystery. So we have struck in these long months- a hail of arrows and a quick ride, and we weaken the usurper's hold ever more. Once, we were forced out of our own homeland; now we have closed to within three nights' ride of the stronghold we once defended."

"Excellent. Introduce us to the rest of your band; if we are to fight alongside them, I would have the honor of knowing them." The Wind Rider bowed to the rebel leader, and this seemed to mollify the proud woman so that she took the three travelers around the campfires and introduced them to those who they would fight alongside, those whose lives would be in their hands and who in turn would guard their backs. The band was small in number, but clever and quick, and they had done much to loosen the raider queen's tenuous hold on the desert land. She and her forces had withdrawn to the stronghold at the river's mouth, the fortress whose towers rose high against the clear night and called like beacons to those who had once called them home.

"What of our noble rulers, our honored queen and her wise consort?" the knight inquired of the band's leader as they walked through the camp.

"They abide in a village near to our oasis, disguised as its elders. The villagers are loyal to a woman; they will not betray our true king and queen to the bandits who serve the usurper. When the time has come and we have reclaimed the throne for its proper owners, then shall we bring them from hiding. Both of them have grumbled that they cannot ride with us and fight for their honor, but the years have weighed too heavy on them, and they lead us better by surviving and resisting the intruders. And he has given me much sage advice on waging this sort of war where we strike like lightning and then take to our steeds and fly, for he was a greater warrior in his day than we have even be told. Our queen chose him well." Something strange flickered over the leader's face, as if she had yet more she desired to say, yet she remained silent and continued to wind her way through the oasis as if nothing more had occurred.

This night and the following day they spent at the secret oasis, and then they rode towards the stronghold. As they drew closer to the river that was the lifeblood of the land, they passed small villages huddled around some bit of water that had splashed to the surface, and their people greeted the warriors with food and gifts as they passed through. The rule of the raider queen was harsh for those she had conquered, as she stripped the land of what little it had to offer to reward those who had followed her.

On the third night, as they took to their saddles, the Wind Rider said, "I misdoubt that sky. Such clouds are not normal for this place, and when I seek to grasp the high winds of the heavens, another balks me. Be wary, shieldmates, for-"

But whatever warning she had prepared to give went unheard when the heavens unleashed their fury upon the band. Rain the likes of which none born in the desert land had ever seen lashed them, driven into their faces and under their horses' hooves so that they lost their footing. To less experienced travelers, a nearby canyon beckoned with promise of shelter, and there were those among the younger fighters who swung their horses towards the false hope, but the leader of the band spoke sharply to them so that they returned to their places. "Ride through it!" the knight called to her companions. To back up her words, she spurred her horse forward, into the teeth of the storm. Though the torrential rains half-blinded her, and though the wild wind tried to drive her back, she forged onward. "Ride through it, I say! Look you, 'tis only water!"

Without the slightest hesitation, the lightheart followed her companion into the fury of the storm. "It abates but a few steps after it starts! There is nothing to fear but the shame of your own cowardice! Ride through it for the land you call your own!" And her words were stronger than the knight's, and those who had feared the storm gathered their courage to follow her, and they soon found that once they had passed through the fury of the storm, the rain firmed the sand so that their ride became smoother and faster as their horses gained better footing. Their bravery rendered the unnatural storm impotent, and as the last rider passed through it, it dissipated as if it had never been.

"The reasons may be false, but this rain will be good for the land," the leader of the band said quietly. 'Twill keep the oases on which all travel depends from running as dry as the sand that surrounds them. Already we have forced good work to be done for this land we claim as our own. Drink deep at our resting place, shieldmates; we have earned the right."

They passed the heat of the day in the oasis, tending to their mounts and their arms, and rode again as the sun began to sink towards the west, painting the sky orange, yellow, and violet to echo the colors of the desert below, the colors also echoed in the emblem of the desert land and in the formal garb of the women who defended that land. The sky darkened, but not in the gradual way of nightfall- instead, the shadows fell fast as the executioner's axe, rendering the band blind. No moon hung pale in the sky, and the stars no longer shone as beacons in the night. There was only darkness black as ink- until silver streaks crossed the sky. Beautiful they were, but they came to ground with an evil hiss, and they burned hotter than the sun's fire. "What have we done that the heavens themselves punish us?" the women of the rebel band asked, and they slowed their horses to consider this.

"Magic so powerful as to tear the stars from the sky would have defeated us long since," their leader said, but they heard the fear in her voice and were not reassured.

The lightheart reined in her horse to block the path, and her words rumbled like thunder. "What, do you quail now? You are noble women, proud and strong and fierce! Fear nothing for the sake of your land, ride forth and record your names in legends for your daughters- or ride away, to softer places where cowardice is prized and no woman holds her head high. Oh, and be sure you will be known far and wide that way as well, known as weak and soft, known only to be scorned, and all will laugh mockingly when your names are spoken."

Even the sharp edge of her tongue was not enough to spur her comrades on; deep in her soul, she felt despair that would drag her down if she dared allow it. Before her hesitation could betray her, by word or by deed, the Wind Rider held up a hand and spoke softly but commandingly. "These stars that fall from the sky leave the air still. Nothing moves without moving the air behind it. Nothing real, that is to say."

As if to deny the Wind Rider's proclamation, the silvery stars fell faster and louder, the echoing hiss of their landing near loud enough to drown out the knight as she shouted, "Then we ride forth! Follow me if you have the courage- or stay behind if you have not." She touched her heels to the flanks of her horse and galloped forward, into the celestial shower. And still the others hesitated, frozen like statues in their fear as one of the stars hurtled towards the knight.

Rainbow light flared against the featureless black of the sky, and the fair sorceress appeared, wraithlike and wreathed in shimmering fire. "Ride for your lives!" she screamed. "The raider queen's curs approach under night's cover! Stay and you'll perish! Ride through this illusion and ride for the city!" Flame flew from her fingertips to silhouette the bandits who had dared to approach while the women of the desert land stood terrified.

"Back to back!" the leader commanded. With ruthless, practiced efficiency, she gathered her fighters into a circle to take the brunt of the attack, and it seemed like mere moments before their enemies lay bleeding their lives out onto the sand. The fair southerner disappeared as the danger ran its course, but so too did the unnatural night and the purported stars that had fallen to ground. The moon was back in her place in the sky, and so were her celestial attendants, lending their cool light to the sand below. "The raider queen grows ever bolder, challenging us so in our own land," she said, spitting in disdain. "Such presumption will cost her most dearly in the end."

"Aye, we shall have the price of our victory from her hide," the lightheart swore, and there was nothing lighthearted in the rage caged within her words; the death of her young kinswoman rankled deeply, a loss that she would not soon forget. "We ride for our land… and for those who have ridden forth before." She urged her horse on, and the others followed, setting a pace as blazing as the sun of high noon. Only the certain knowledge of that deathly heat brought them to a halt at the oasis, and only the promise of mayhem to come kept them focused as they set up camp in the shade. The first day, there had been casual joking, boasts of the glory they would each earn in this quest to free their land; after this last humiliation, the women of the desert kept to themselves, focused on their fury and what they needed to fulfill their duty.

When the next night fell, no magical deception barred their path, but instead the familiar barrier of raiders bearing stolen steel. They were no match for the stalwart women who fought to reclaim the land they called theirs, and the day's heat had barely had time to fade by the time the band left the cooling bodies of their enemies behind them. The high walls of the city were so close they seemed about to fall on those who approached them, but the once-proud gates that had kept out generations of invaders hung brokenly across the entry, splintered and wrecked where the raider queen's forces had battered at them again and again until even the fire-hardened wood had no choice but to give way.

The knight ran a gauntleted hand along the jagged edge as she rode through the gap. "Someday, not so far from today, I will see these doors rehung and our defenses raised once more," she promised, her voice soft but determined, and only the wind heard her so swear.

The streets were silent as they rode through the wrecked city; the air hung far too heavy around them, the miasma of death and despair thick enough to choke, sickening enough that the Wind Rider cried when she did not retch. It seemed that the raider queen was content to withdraw behind her walls and consider those enough protection. "Foolish woman," the leader said. "If she broke those walls with her ragtag followers, others would surely follow the same example."

The central fortress of the city came within their sight, and they were close enough to dismount and leave their horses at a wrecked stable with a hostler whose eyes lit up at the familiar sight of the desert land's defenders. "Hail and well met, noble ladies, and may you drive these vermin from our proud city," he greeted them.

They answered him with solemn nods as they prepared themselves for the fight to come. This was no time to indulge in banal courtesies, and any who could not understand that most likely had not earned the manners in the first place. This was a time to make the final preparations for war, to don blades, to gather from saddlebags anything that would be useful within the fortress. The mildest of them was stony-faced and focused; the most passionate of them burned with vengeful desire that only blood could sate.

Perhaps they had unknown allies; perhaps the bandits were casual with their spoils. Whatever the reason, the kitchen door was ajar for their approach. The lightheart frowned. "All I have desired has come easily to me, I'll grant, but this strikes me as too easy, even for my charmed life," she said quietly. She handed her sword to the knight and her bow to the Wind Rider, then invoked the gift of the First Lady. The white wolf paced the halls, sniffing the air suspiciously, then snarled and pounced upon one dark corner that seemed no different from the others. Her companions followed, each seeking their share of the glory.

"Back!" the Wind Rider warned, but her words came too late for the swiftest of the warriors, who came face to face with a hideous monstrosity. It was as if some sadistic sorcerer had taken a woman's face and twisted it into something almost unrecognizable as human; it was a caricature of humanity, so ugly and foul that it became horribly and irresistibly compelling. The swift young warrior found that she could not pull her gaze from the sight, and her eyes were still wide with terror when her body stiffened, cold gray stone creeping along her sun-tanned skin until it consumed her. She fell lifeless to the ground, and as her petrified body shattered upon the floor, the white wolf howled with rage and leapt upon the gorgon, tearing its throat out with sharp teeth until its oily blood pooled around the shattered remnants of its last victim.

"The raider queen must have a powerful enchantress at her command if such creatures follow her," the leader of the band said. "A dangerous alliance indeed; we knew one had joined with her, but no such monsters came in the first attack."

The Wind Rider nodded. "Like will to like; most likely this usurping raider has sold her soul to the powers of darkness to appease her ally, and such corruption draws the darker side of magic to it as north draws the compass arrow. Would that we had a counter to such power."

"We will, should we find where they have kept her body." The knight ran a finger along the edge of one of the opals on her shield, eliciting a momentary flicker but no more. "To the throne room. I know the raider queen's ilk, and she will have taken the throne room as her own private den for her pleasures simply to spit upon what we have built."

They proceeded through the winding corridors stained with blood, past the burned and vandalized artifacts of the desert land's proud past, around arms and armor that had been left when their owners fell or fled. The lightheart returned to her human form and explained, "Though the wolf is safe from foul enchantments, I could no longer bear the stink of death that hangs about this place." Every outrage, every slight, burned like fire, and the passionate heart of the band's leader was at last moved to the tears she had waited so long to shed in memory. She turned her face away, ashamed at her weakness, but the lightheart put an arm over her shoulder and said, "There is no shame in weeping, not after all you have given to this land, not with what has been perpetrated here. You weep because you love, and that is something these vermin-" she waved a hand towards their destination- "can never understand. Let your tears flow- then let your anger follow them and let your grief guide your blade."

The leader nodded, and when she raised her head to look back upon those who had followed her faithfully through the long months of their exile, her dark eyes were clear of tears and full of fire. She split them into two groups, bidding the larger to search the castle for sleeping raiders and to show them the mercy that the raiders had shown in their invasion. "And should you find our fair sorceress, come seek us upon the instant!"

"And where will you be, my esteemed lady?" the dark-haired southerner asked challengingly.

"The gods willing, in the throne room with my heel upon the throat of the raider queen, listening to her beg for mercy as she listens to the dying gasps of her followers," the leader replied. "Go. Dawn comes soon, and they will wake."

The rebels nodded and followed her orders. Five women remained by her side: the knight, the lightheart, the Wind Rider, a tall blonde whose shield had defended her companions from many a foul blow, and a deeply tanned brunette who fought with long daggers. "We will take on the raider queen in the lair she has claimed for herself. Most likely we will be outnumbered. But I have faith in each of you to be worth more than ten of them."

"Faith we will reward," the brunette promised. Already her daggers were in her hands, and in the shadows, her face twisted with her hunger for the fight.

The blonde said nothing, but pulled a torch from the wall to light their path; since she carried no weapon, she was the only one who could. With a jerk of her head, she indicated that they should follow her, for she would take the brunt of any blow that came.

This was a path they had all come to know well, for all of them had tread it time and time again as their king and queen summoned them to entrust them with orders and honor them for their deeds. The brunette clutched her daggers. The lightheart kept a fresh arrow upon her bow. The knight's blade was unsheathed, as was the leader's. And the Wind Rider held no weapon, but the air swirled menacingly around her empty hand and blew cold as ice across the skin of those who dared walk next to her.

"And they called us ragtag," a mocking voice called from before them. The blonde jerked her torch forward with an oath to illuminate the guard upon the door of the throne room. Only her humanity kept her from being the appalling horror of a gorgon; no snakes crawled upon her head, nor was her gaze instant death to meet, yet she seemed to have been put together by a sadistic god. Crude war paint daubed her coarse features in garishly bright stripes, and her face was twisted up in a scornful smirk. She carried no weapon, but her hands were curled into hard fists, and the muscles of her arms jumped as she flexed those fists. "I look upon riffraff. No wonder we were able to claim your land so easily- you are no better than we, except that you are soft and lazy, and deserved to fall." Her voice rang with disdain as she looked upon the women of the desert.

"How dare you?" the knight demanded, her pride sorely touched. "How dare you compare outlaws to oathbound warriors? It is the foulest of insults- no, no insult could be fouler than your presence in this land, in this room, at this time or any time at all! Begone from this place at once or you'll feel the edge of my blade!"

"Bold words," the guard proclaimed, though her tone twisted them into pure sarcasm. "For of course it is the honorable route to face a foe who carries no weapon with an enchanted blade in your hands. But I have forgotten: you only give honor to those you deem worthy, because that is the true and noble thing to do." Her smirk twisted further, growing ever more cruel.

The knight's heart sank, for she knew the guard to be correct, despite the woman's own lack of honor. Her mentor would be aghast at the thought of attacking an unarmed woman. She turned to the lightheart and said, "Hold my blade for the moments it will take to fell this bandit. I will have no one say that I turned my weapons upon an unarmed foe." The lightheart made ready to protest, but the knight would have none of it. She then turned to the blonde with the torch in her hand and said, "And you I trust with my shield until such time." Once she was fully disarmed, she faced her foe and prepared to do battle.

"Ah, better," the guard confirmed. "Now come at me- if you know how, without your mighty weapons in your hands. But I think you do not. I think you are weak. I'll bring you down, oh haughty knight, and my lover and I will… dance… atop your bones before we throw your body to the dogs to devour and befoul as they please."

"You- you- you!" The knight spluttered in incoherent rage, seeing nothing but red before her eyes as she advanced upon her enemy.

The blonde swallowed a blasphemous oath as the knight's shield began to shake in her hand until the opals all at once flashed into brightness. "Be wary, shieldmate!" the wraith shrieked. "Can you not see how she lures you into a fight you cannot win? Her words are laced with poisonous magic. Listen- and see!"

From the palely glowing fingers of the sorceress, twin streams of fire lanced out and struck the raider queen's guard upon her fisted hands. Though the woman fought the spell with all her might, her hands slowly opened to reveal glistening claws at the tip of each nail, the edges shining with venom. She hissed with rage, and the sharpened points of her teeth became all too visible. The hiss soon became a caw, a shriek like a bird of prey's, and she leaped upon the knight. Only the knight's armor protected her from the blow; as it was, the guard's claws left deep gouges in the scarlet enamel, revealing the solid steel beneath.

The knight's response was swift as lightning. She seized her blade from the lightheart's waiting hands and in the same smooth motion ran its shining length through the guard's heart. The blood that welled up from the wound, and that ran off the magically protected blade, oozed like slime and was as black as decay. As she fell to the ground, it seemed as if the guard meant to speak some final imprecation, but the words were lost as her last breath rushed from her lungs.

"Thanks be for such loyal shieldmates!" the knight exclaimed. "Fair lady, I must- but she has left!" Indeed, there was no sign, such as there ever could be, of the enchanted sorceress, and the opals of her jeweled prison held no fiery life to indicate that she had been dragged back- or indeed, that she had ever been.

"Such an act could not have…" the Wind Rider started, but she shook her head. "Perhaps there is danger elsewhere in this place, and she has gone to face it there. It should matter not. We have our arms, and I have magic enough in my soul to counter whatever charlatan's tricks the raider queen has remaining to her. It takes little magic to fell monsters, so long as your aim is true and your blade is sharp. Forward then, shieldmates, and let us fight for the honor and the soul of your desert land."

Buoyed by the gallant words of the legendary Wind Rider, the leader of the band and the lightheart each grasped one of the elaborately carved doorhandles and threw open the doors to the throne room. The sight that met their horrified eyes froze them in place as surely as the gaze of the gorgon, for the noble throne room, heart of the soul of the desert land, had been transformed into a den of debauchery. The rich tapestries that depicted the greatest triumphs over their foes were stained with blood, smears of food, and other residues that had no place in the center of power. Priceless artifacts, crafted generations ago by the careful hands of masters, lay scattered and broken on the newly cracked tile of the floor, thrown carelessly aside by indifferent hands. The chosen of the raider queen were in no better condition, sprawled sleeping on the floor, passed out from too much wine, or perhaps too much other entertainment.

At the foot of the larger throne, a woman was sprawled, her wide eyes empty as she lost herself in unnatural dreams; her insensate body, darkly beautiful, was displayed between flashes of gaily colored silk for any to see. Such was the sight of her that the warriors who fought in the name of the desert land stood stunned for a moment- a mere moment, but it was enough for the raider queen's cruel, distant face to gather a satisfied smile as she exchanged a knowing look with the diminutive figure who sat ever at her right, and enough time for her to summon her greatest and most deadly warrior.

A woman emerged from between the thrones, cloaked in royal blue, and she was fair in a way mere mortals could not hope to aspire to, her features stamped with ethereal, eternal youth. A gentle smile graced that beautiful face as she held out her hands to greet the women of the desert land; her slender wrists and slim arms were banded with mystical symbols that drew the eye and would not let go. "Have you come to my mistress in war or in peace?" she inquired, and her voice was pure music, sweet as birdsong; it wrapped itself around the warriors of the desert and befogged their minds so that they could but gawk at her and say nothing.

Had the sorceress known the true nature of the danger that her shieldmates faced, she would never have thought for a moment of abandoning them; she knew full well the stature of the dark powers that the raider queen could marshal from her allies, and that mere steel and will would not be enough to counter those dark powers. But weakened as she was, she could not feel beyond the sealed and magically protected doors of the throne room, and so could not know what lay beyond. Even had the ancient rulers of the desert city not warded their doors, she would not have looked past them, caught up as she was in a pull so strong she had no choice but to search it out, for she knew it could be one thing and one thing only: herself, her physical body drawing her soul back to itself.

Yet the draw was strangely doubled, a need that came both of the mind and the heart, and a need that did not completely have the texture of her own desires. She let it control her, and she passed through empty halls and stone walls with the same indifference to reach her goal, deep in the subterranean dungeons rarely used by the beneficient rulers of the desert land. The air seemed heavier here, though she could not feel the cold and clammy miasma of misery that hung over the ominously dark and silent cells.

A single door hung open, a wedge of dim light filtering out to break the darkness, and the raised voices of angry women echoed harshly in the quiet. The sorceress drifted closer, now trebly drawn, by her needs and by her female curiosity. Two figures glared at each other across the doorway, both pale, both strong, but otherwise different. The woman masked in black, with sandy hair only just creeping from beneath the edges, had the pallid coloration of one who had not seen the sun in years. Her bare arms were corded with sinewy muscle, and her roughened hands were spotted with blood. At her belt were the implements of her cruel trade, blades and the flail.

But the other, the other was fair like a spring dawn, bright and glorious; the gloom of the dungeons could not diminish the joy and life she carried within her. Her long queue shone like gold, even in the faintest light, and in her countenance were both the priceless beauty and the matchless hardness of diamond. She stared haughtily down upon the torturer and spoke; her voice was strong with the musical accent of the south, even truer proof of her home than the mark of that warrior land on her features and in her proud bearing. "I have told you again and again that the raider queen has given to me and to me alone the responsibility of watching over the prisoner. Hard-headed you are, but I thought you no fool."

Was there a flinch behind the mask? The sorceress leaned closer, now forcing herself to stay just far enough that none would detect her presence, and listened to the casual drawl of the torturer's voice. "Ah, fair warrior of the south, we both know that you keep this duty for your own desires and your pathetic southern honor, and not by our queen's orders. Step aside. Our queen has commanded that I wrest her secrets from her by force or ensure that she does not share her secrets with any who would seek to steal our spoils."

"And this is not fulfillment of your desires? An we keep this one safe, the queen of the desert land will deliver herself and her crown to our employer with no need to fight. Then will this conquest be deemed legitimate, and then will the queen of the raiders at last be truly a queen upon a throne. I know this. She knows this. Get gone out of my sight and find another recipient of your pain and pleasure."

"Clearly one of us lies. But surely the vaunted honor of the south would force you to the truth, unless- ah, but the prisoner within is one of your countrywomen, is she not? Kin to you, perhaps? Sister? Former lover? Perhaps both?"

The warrior's hand was on her sword hilt, and she drew with lightning speed. "For all you speak of the honor of the south, you are bold to challenge it so. I have ever served loyally, as I must by the contract I have with the raider queen. Hot-headed you are, but I thought you no fool. Take your words back into silence or I shall do so for you."

"I think not," the torturer said, and her weapons were in her hands. "Only one who knows herself to be at fault speaks so defensively; only one threatened needs to hide behind a wall of words. I call you liar, I call you traitor, I call you-"

But whatever insults lay on the torturer's tongue would remain forever unspoken, for the warrior, in a fit of rage that turned her fair face redder than the rubies that had been in her pay, drove her sword between two of the torturer's ribs, striking true to the heart, such as it was. The warrior stared at the body as it fell, taken aback by the suddenness of her own action. "What have I done?" she asked herself.

The sorceress took advantage of the situation and slipped into the cell. Though she would gladly have taken a few short moments to study herself from the outside as none had the opportunity to do, she knew that her time was short. It did surprise her that her opposite number had not thought to lay magical traps over her body, but as her opposite number had taken advantage of her lapses, she would take advantage of the other's. So natural was the reunion that before she could think of what the proper spell would be, the act was already done. At last! She had grown so used to her spectral form that for a moment she felt unbearably heavy, and the world pressed in so vividly that she lay frozen, overwhelmed with sensation.

But she could not keep from shivering with the pleasure that ran through her at the shockingly gentle touch of the warrior's sword-calloused hand along the sensitive skin over her jawline, nor could she control the flickering of her eyelids and the parting of her lips. Long months had passed since she had been able to know another's touch, and she ached with loneliness that she had not before understood.

In a rush of memory sudden as a waterfall, she recalled the gift of the First Lady: help when least expected and most needed, and she knew with a certainty that eclipsed mortal knowledge that the warrior's heart and soul belonged to her, though she had never asked for them. Still, the southern lands were her home too, and she understood the delicate threads of tradition and honor that bound her people. Keeping her voice low, a murmur that could be credited to an overactive imagination if the need should arise, she said, "You saved my life. I am beholden to you."

The warrior fell silent for a moment, the silence of one who had intended to speak and thought better of it. "Ay de mi! I have betrayed my employer!" But the words came out as if spoken by rote, invested with no true emotion.

"But have you betrayed your truest self? What does a warrior of the south here as a sellsword? What honor does this bring you?"

"I sought adventure, and I am sworn to my word. I gave the raider queen my oath- my sword for her jewels and gold, and I cannot turn from that path now, though I fear I already have, for I have spilled blood for another."

"Aye. Aye, that you have." The sorceress brought herself upright, bearing herself with the same natural nobility as her warrior countrywoman. "And that is a fresher tie than that which binds you to the raider queen. Tell me true, countrywoman, would you have sworn your sword to the raider queen if she had made clear her plans of conquest when she offered her ill-gotten treasures? Is this the adventure you sought?"

"Nay!" The word echoed sharply, and the warrior continued before either of them could listen to the vehemence of that denial. "I sought adventure, not pillage- a few merchants here, a stray traveler there, nothing so permanent and cruel as this." She paused again, then continued on, courageous in word as she was in deed. "And had I known she meant such mischief to another of my countrywomen, I would not have joined her either."

"Then she has not treated fairly with you. Return to your true honor, the honor taught us as children. Will you fight by my side against these bandits?" Guilelessly, the sorceress drew in a breath to steady her rattled nerves and gather her concentration should she have to strike the warrior down.

"Aye," the warrior breathed. "Gladly."

"Then let us leave this evil place and meet my companions at the throne room. They will be glad of another to guard their backs and battle our foes. I may need your support and guidance; it has been long since I have walked upon my own two feet in this world, and I feel unsteadier than I ought to admit."

Though she still held her light sword in her good right hand, the warrior wordlessly put her free arm about the sorceress's waist and held her close so that she would not fall. Neither spoke of the comfort that the warmth of another brought in the battle-scarred halls, and the silence hung heavy as they ascended from the depths to the throne room in the heart of the palace.

Contemptuously, the warrior kicked the cooling body of the guard. The sorceress said nothing, but the barest hint of a smile curved her lips, and that faint expression was enough to double her beauty. It was gone in an eyeblink, though, as both southerners saw and heard what lay beyond the door.

The voice sweeter than any birdsong still soared to the high ceilings as the cloaked woman spoke beguilingly soft words, but the warriors of the desert land no longer stood bemused by it. They knelt instead before their sworn enemy, still as statues and uncaring that bandits closed upon them with swords drawn and hungry for blood.

The sorceress's eyes narrowed, and she let out a shriek of rage. "YOU SHALL NOT HAVE THEM!" she cried out, and her voice rolled like thunder, majestic, powerful, inescapable, and fraught with the peril of impending lightning. The bandits looked up, startled. The warriors took advantage of the break in the spell to scramble to their feet.

The cloaked woman, so beautiful in her blue, maintained her glorious smile, though it did seem forced now. Her gaze was on the warrior who stood by the sorceress's side, and when next she spoke her words seemed meant for the warrior alone. "Our enemy has ensorcelled you, friend. Be free of her spells. Our queen is fair and just; she will not punish you if you return to us now, for she understands full well the power of this woman's magic, and the insidious effect it has on the mind."

As the warrior's eyes clouded, and her beautiful face twisted with confusion, the sorceress stepped in. "You dare speak of the enchantment of the mind? Aye, and you know the perils well- as the ravening wolf warns the rabbit of the hungry bear. Begone from this place! Back to your sun-drenched isle, siren!" She thrust out her hands and incanted in an ancient tongue.

The woman gasped, taken aback as the sorceress's spell forced her back and ripped open the royal blue she wore- to reveal that it was no cloak, but a pair of wings, spreading to their full length against the wind. Her body, uncovered as her wings unfolded, was unnatural: above the waist, she still had the form of a shapely woman, but below, her legs were those of a giant bird, spindly and clawed. She cried out, and her voice had lost its musical quality, transmuted into an inhuman cry that pierced the ear and chilled the blood.

"I said begone!" The sorceress chanted again, and the siren shimmered and vanished.

The raider queen's eyes narrowed, and when she spoke her voice was choked with fury. "You dare!" she spat at the warrior who stood by the sorceress's side. "You have taken my gold and your blade is mine by your oath! How dare you?"

The warrior reached into the pouch at her belt and took out a small bag. Weighing it in her hand for a long moment, she said casually, as if discussing the weather, "I have here every coin, every jewel, every precious thing you have given me, and few they have been for the service I have given you these months." Her hesitation passed, and she hurled the bag at the raider queen. "Our deal is done. I have repaid your gold- now I shall have from you the blood I spilled for your tainted honor!"

The cry awakened the dormant fires of indignation within the women of the desert land, and they remembered how they had been betrayed and nearly brought to defeat. Weapons sheathed or discarded through the magic of the siren's call were once more brought to bear as the final battle began for the heart, soul, and power of the desert land. The brunette with her long daggers fought back to back with the shieldbearing blonde, and none dared approach the whirling steel and solid iron without knowing full well the cost of facing the two. The Wind Rider was soon enmeshed in single combat with a fighter as tall as she and far stronger; only the Wind Rider's legendary skill and the indifference of her opponent kept her from falling to the raider's blade.

So too the lightheart found herself facing a foe who had the reach of her, a broad-shouldered woman with a cruel smile and maddened eyes who swung a mace in wild circles that came near to smashing in her allies' heads as often as it endangered the lightheart. At the same time, she evaded the blows of a smaller woman who came at her again and again with sharp knives that drew blood from small cuts between the cunningly worked pieces of the lightheart's leather armor. With no time to draw her bow, nor a moment's respite to make the necessary space, she was forced to remain with her sword, and she knew that if she could not dispatch one of her foes soon, they would have her at their mercy, a mercy she knew not to exist.

The knight grappled with the raider queen, for she felt it her right and privilege to do battle with the cur who had usurped the throne of the desert land and stolen the crowns from the rightful rulers. Her blade, the magicked blade that had been a gift of the First Lady all those months ago, served her well, shining bright in the flickering torchlight as she parried the raider queen's powerful and artless thrusts, and though the half-formed spells that both shielded and imprisoned her southern companion no longer had any force, the shield was still good and strong. It seemed as if church bells rang in the room whenever the raider queen's blows fell upon the knight's shield, and the floor shook with the force of them. The knight had not expected the raider queen to be such a dangerous foe; she knew full well that no one could have gathered such a band about her, nor have gone so far as to lay claim to the desert land, as a weakling, and yet she had believed in her heart that the raider queen would fall at the first attack.

The fair southerners, warrior and sorceress allied as only seemed meet, wove their way through the fight, one clearing the way with her true steel and the other calling upon fire and wind where steel was not enough. Their foe awaited them beside the throne, the seemingly-fragile woman who stood a head shorter than any of them. The sorceress would have recognized her and her power anywhere, though, for she gave off the air of great magic, even before she raised her hands and began to chant in a deeper voice than seemed to belong to the frail body. Demons appeared, gibbering mindlessly as they prepared to assault the witch's foes, but rainbow fire from the sorceress's counterspell drove them back to their infernal dimension before they could do more than cause a commotion. Both steel and magic turned back the witch's cerulean fire, one reflecting it back at its caster, the other dissipating it harmlessly. Unnatural winds howled, and the room was bright with the flash of spell and counterspell.

"So, my fair lady, we meet in battle at last," the witch called out over the din of the battle.

"Aye, for the first and the last time!"

"As you wish." The witch's mouth curled up into a contemptuous smirk as she raised her hands again and spoke words that shook the world, that hung thick and oily like smoke from a kitchen fire, that twisted and warped in the listener's ear, that could not possibly have been devised by a human mind nor designed for a human tongue. Yet she spoke the incantation fearlessly and almost gracefully, as if she had done it a thousand times before. Her form began to waver like one of the mirages common in the relentless heat of the desert land, and she let out a weird, wailing shriek like a battle-cry as the flames of her spell rose around her- but even as the southerners dared to believe that she had erred and been consumed in her own magic, the azure fire lowered to reveal a stranger, a giantess taller and broader than even the southern warrior, and she wielded a broadsword that burned with infernal power. "As you wish," she said, and her voice was the witch's voice, unchanged despite her new form, and her mocking smirk was the same, even on a face so unlike hers. She flicked the sword at the two southerners, and flames flew off its tip with casual ease.

But the warrior had never known fear, and she strode forward to meet the challenge, her head held high and her sword held higher. She carried no shield, but instead a dagger flashed from her belt and into her off hand. Such would do her well in ordinary battle, but the sorceress feared for the warrior's life, and with her magic she wove a shield for the warrior to keep her from harm. No sooner was that incantation finished did she begin another, and the enchantments came thick and fast; she did not rest except to take a breath, for the witch's magic was still potent and still countered hers, even as the witch did battle with the warrior.

All had forgotten about the leader of the rebels, ignoring her in favor of other foes who seemed more worthy, whose defeats would be more glorious. No lofty titles were hers; she controlled no unearthly powers, nor was she known beyond the borders of her land. But with her blade, she turned the tide of the battle, for she slew one of the two who had pressed the lightheart to the very edge of her endurance, and guarded the lightheart's back as the lightheart's blade whirled through the air and sunk deep into her enemy's heart. "Now I can breathe!" the lightheart cried, her voice as hoarse again as it had been when she first reclaimed her human form by the grace of the First Lady. "My thanks."

The Wind Rider's foe was distracted by her fellow raiders' defeat. She looked away for a moment, and that moment was her undoing, for as her shield dropped, the Wind Rider's blade whistled through the newly opened space to drink of the woman's lifeblood. As the woman sighed her last breath, the Wind Rider tilted her head back so as to avoid the death agony she would otherwise experience from her foe.

Though half the fights had finished, and the victorious women of the desert land took precious moments to clean their weapons and tend their wounds, the high-vaulted throne room still resounded mightily with the clash of swords and the echo of incantations, for the raider queen and the knight still grappled on the dais, and the witch still battled the steel of the warrior and the magic of the sorceress. Four blades flashed through the air, so fast that only the light that reflected off them could be seen, thrusts parried with elegant expertise, attacks and counterattacks that anticipated one another in an elaborate and time-honored dance. The knight and the raider queen wove between, around, and occasionally atop the thrones, using them as shield and support, and each cried defiance at the other, rage twisting their faces.

The witch maintained her haughty mien as she dueled the warrior's steel with one hand and the sorceress's spells with the other, and sky blue fire shimmered over her from head to toe of her massive body as she taxed her supernatural strength to its absolute limits. For the merest moment, a crack appeared in her shields, a miniscule hole developed in the web of steel her blade had crafted in the air- only for the briefest scrap of a second, but for the warrior of the southern lands, that was enough time, more than enough time, for her true steel to strike true and lay open the witch's side. As crimson blood welled from the wound, the witch dropped her sword with a fearful clatter and laid her hands upon the open gash, muttering spells under her breath. The azure fire rose and fell around her again, and once more she was the childlike figure she had been when the battle was joined, though the hatred that burned in her eyes and was etched on her face was nothing that rightfully belonged to childhood. Begrudgingly, the terrible wound began to heal under her hands, and with her next breath she began a spell that by its sound alone was like to rend the world asunder.

She would never finish her dreadful incantation, for the sorceress's voice rose alongside, then over, hers, and the two spells together brought eerie harmony from the dreadful cacophony until the sorceress concluded her enchantment with a sharp word of command and her finger pointed at the witch. Every speck of her will and her power came through that finger and smote the witch full in the chest. Perhaps the First Lady could have thrown back the attack, but the witch had not one hundredth of the power of the First Lady; the last of her shielding failed her, and she screamed loud and long as the sorceress's curse claimed her. As she had grown smaller before, so she seemed to grow smaller still until she vanished from sight, her cries becoming fainter and fainter until they too faded away, leaving only more spots of blood on the dark-stained floor- and a single sapphire, glittering with strange light in the shadows.

"What did you…" The warrior halted her thought before she could complete it, knowing full well that this was far beyond her ken; if she dared ask, she might well incur similar wrath turned upon her, and the idea of that beautiful face turned cold with hatred froze the warrior's blood as no enemy had ever done.

"I could not bring myself to dirty my hands with her blood. She yet lives, but I have banished her to a prison I know too well. She has not the power to escape as I did, so let her enjoy her loneliness until she has repented of her ways." And the voice of the sorceress was emotionless, so neutral that it was less natural, and less terrifying, than if she had spoken in the heat of anger or the satisfaction of her revenge.

As if compelled by one mind, the women of the desert land and those who had chosen to fight alongside them turned to the raider queen. Though proud, the raider queen immediately fell to her knees before the knight and pleaded, "Spare my life, honorable lady!" She seemed so pitiful a sight that the knight's heart was truly inclined to show foolish but well-meaning mercy to her sworn enemy. Slowly, she sheathed her blade and extended a gauntleted hand to her fallen foe, and if the raider queen hesitated to accept it, such caution was to be acknowledged as common sense.

But as the raider queen dragged herself forward, groveling, she stiffened in agony and flopped back down to the carpeted surface of the dais. A dagger had appeared like a strange new flower in her back, and the good right hand of the sun-darkened brunette was empty. "She has done us wrong, shieldmate, but we must not stoop to their level," the lightheart chastised her.

The brunette shrugged and sheathed her second dagger. "Nor would I have struck such a foul blow if I knew she would not return the same. But look under the hand she extends for peace and see her true intent."

The knight followed her shieldmate's lead and knelt by the spasming hand of the raider queen. Nearly buried in the thick mat of the rich carpet, there lay a curved knife, its needle tip and wicked edge glinting with an oily sheen. "So it would have been poison, then?" she asked the raider queen, who gave no answer. "Poison, and a cruel wound likely to never heal even should I survive your venom. To think I would have treated honorably with you- I know better now, and I'll show you the mercy you would gladly have shown me."

One last stroke of the knight's enchanted sword ended the battle and ensured the defeat of the raiders, for they would be nothing but a disorganized collection of rag-tag mercenaries without a leader to keep them in line- if any of them had survived the attack of the dark-haired southerner and the fighters ordered to follow her. "Our land, free at last," the lightheart said, pride evident in her voice.

"Aye," the leader said. She turned to the blonde and the brunette. "I need one more service from you. Ride to the village and let our beloved rulers know that we have defeated their enemy, then escort them home with all ceremony and honor. Let all the land know that the crown has been given back into its rightful hands, for it will soothe their minds. The rest of us will… attempt to make this place presentable to them."

Fabric rustled against fabric, and hands went to weapons as a forgotten figure stirred from her stupor. The wanton who had dreamed away the battle in her fine silks stretched and felt herself, indifferent to the gazes upon her. Her fingers pressed against the rips in her dress, and she shrieked so high as to shatter glass. "My dress!" she wailed. Only when she threw her head back in grief did she even notice the warriors who watched her warily. "Who are you?"

"The rightful denizens of this castle. And you? Are you allied with the raiders who invaded and dared to hold this place as their own?" the leader demanded.

The wanton looked away, for the first time seeming to show some awareness of what she was. "I am… allied… with whoever will have me, my lady," she said softly. "It is the way of things."

"She knows no better," the lightheart interjected. "She had no part in the raiders' conquest. Let us find her a place to stay and let the king and queen decide her fate. Look at her- she is no danger!"

"Are you willing to shoulder such a heavy responsibility? You have spoken for her- you must answer for her, and should she prove to be a snake in the grass you'll suffer every punishment visited upon her," the knight warned, her face stern.

"Someone must- would any of you? I thought not. Come, let us find you a bed to sleep in, and some decent clothes to wear, and you look like you've not had a decent meal in the forgotten gods know how long. And dawn is near, and I've fought all night; I doubt I would care if my shieldmates left the dead where they lay in my chamber, so long as I had a clear place to sleep." Keeping up a stream of curiously normal converse, the lightheart put a companionable arm over the wanton's thin shoulders and escorted her from the room, stepping delicately around the bodies that were beginning to rot.

They waited for the return of their rulers, and did the best they could to organize the great fortress for the much welcomed day when the king and queen would once again ride through the gates to sit once more upon their thrones. No matter how humble the work, they threw themselves into it with a will: the knight put aside her armor to help scrub the floor of the throne room, the Wind Rider harnessed her limited magic to drive the stink of decay from the place, the lightheart applied herself to rebuilding what had been broken in the battle, and the leader drove herself to exhaustion in her attempts to watch over everything at once. Often one or another of them would go out into the city, or into the villages within a night's ride, to bring comfort and any necessary goods to the people there who had been ill-treated by the careless raiders.

The hard work was done and ready when a horn sounded in the cool of the morning to signal the arrival of the royal procession- but the fanfare was not as joyful as it should have been, and as the warriors dashed to the battlements, they saw black banners flowing in the wind and only one steed bracketed by the tall blonde and the tanned brunette. The leader met the knight's eyes; though these were women who knew no fear, they did not like what they saw approaching them. "We must," the knight said simply.

The sorceress said nothing, but she had been distressingly quiet through the long days, saying little but trivial banalities and spending hours looking through the south-facing windows of the castle, the fair-haired warrior by her side. She had taken the opportunity, sometime in the intervening days, to reclaim her wardrobe; for this momentous occasion, she wore her most formal robes, brilliantly hued in the sunset colors of the desert land, and she shone like the sun. The warrior wore red and gold to match her, though her tunic was the green of summer leaves.

The women who had fought for the castle came to the front gates that the knight had, as she had sworn, had built within two days of their victory. They waited in silence until the royal procession came to them and the queen dismounted. "You have done well by me, brave warriors," she said. "Would that our king had lived to see this day- but age crept up upon him and took him from us seven nights ago, ere word of your victory reached our safe haven."

"We mourn his loss," the lightheart said, and the fact that she, who had been known to feel so shallowly and heal from grief so quickly, had spoken for the band, revealed volumes. "But you are well come home, Your Majesty, you and the rightful justice only you can dispense."

The queen laughed. "I must wash the dust of the road from me before I resume my duties- if justice has waited this long, it can hold its place until high noon tomorrow, for I know you- all of you- well, and you would leave no danger under this roof." She met each gaze in turn, then swept out of the hall and to the royal chambers, flanked by her selected guards.

"Would that I had your faith," the leader of the band murmured, and the tears in her eyes were not merely from the overflowing joy she felt upon the return of the rightful queen. She did not look at the warrior who stood beside the southern sorceress, or at the lightheart who had taken in the raiders' wanton. Nor did she have any need to.

The night passed with the echoes of evil dreams, and little comfort was there to be found in companionship of a trusted friend, for it seemed as if the alliances on which the salvation of the desert land had been built were now being torn asunder, eroding the trust that had saved the fighters' lives and preserved their souls. For the first time in her life, the lightheart found that the warmth of a woman's arms could not drive away the kind of cold that came from the mind, that set itself into the bones and embedded itself in the soul, and the soft bed that she had awaited for so long was no comfort on a sleepless night.

So it was with great trepidation that the lightheart led her companion, garbed in a blue velvet gown that had come to light during the restoration of the castle, to the throne room. At the doors, their paths crossed those of the sorceress and the warrior, who both seemed paler than their norm. The lightheart looked boldly into the sorceress's eyes and found there the same concern, almost fear, that lingered in her heart, and for the first time, she felt a sense of kinship with the one shieldmate she had known yet never truly understood. The four of them entered the throne room to face the ruling of their queen.

It was passing strange to see their shieldmates arrayed against them, or at best, not standing strong beside them. All who had fought for the desert land stood there in full arms and armor, excepting the archer of the north, who had begged leave to return to her too-sunny land. And the sorceress and the lightheart dared not seek solace from their companions, for that might seal their fates, so instead each woman retreated into herself and showed none of the emotion that troubled them.

A day and a night had done the queen good: as she had declared, she had washed off the dust of the road and donned the trappings of her position. With the royal robe weighing upon her shoulders, the crown upon her head, and the scepter in her hand, she no longer seemed the kindly old woman she had been, but a distant and formidable figure; somehow,the lightheart and the sorceress were both instantly reminded of how they had first faced the First Lady, so long ago and so far away.

The queen spoke. "Step forward, warrior of the south." For all the years that rested uneasily on her, her voice was still strong and commanding. The warrior came forth, and as if compelled against her will, she threw an imploring look over her shoulder at the sorceress. But the sorceress stood silent and impassive, her face betraying nothing and by that revealing everything. She could have been no more distant and unreachable were the curse on her not broken, with her soul locked away in silence and her body still as death.

"You served the bloodstained raider who dared call herself queen of this land. Of my land."

"Aye, Your Majesty," the warrior replied, for she would not lie even to save her life.

"And you betrayed her."

"Aye, Your Majesty, for I realized that it did me no honor to serve her." The warrior paused, then continued, "If you will have me, I would stay and wield my sword for your honor. After what I have done, I know my word means little to anyone, but I will give it to you gladly."

"I have heard much of your role in the battle to reclaim this land that is not even yours," the queen said, inclining her head first towards the tall shieldbearer, then towards the brunette whose hands still hovered over the hilts of her daggers. "To hear them tell it, you were most valuable indeed. I would by far rather have such a fighter under my banner than have one come against me. I accept your service- but with a condition, for you have proven by word and deed that you are an oathbreaker. One of my loyal subjects must keep watch over you, one with the power to keep you to your word. I therefore entrust our sorceress with responsibility for you, and enjoin her to ensure that you remain true."

The sorceress gasped, taken by surprise by the queen's sentence and the understanding that it revealed. "Of course, Your Majesty," she said, and it took all her strength, all her courage, all her willpower, not to stumble over the words. "You are merciful."

"No, merely no fool." She did not smile, though the smile was in her voice. "I have given you your parole, and I deliver you now into to the hands of your warden. Go forth from my sight."

The warrior nodded quickly, and the sorceress came to her side to escort her from the throne room. The queen's attention turned to the wanton who trembled in her borrowed finery. "And you serviced the raiders however they wished?"

"Aye," she replied meekly, barely able to force the sound between her lips.

"But you did not join with them in the battle?"

"I… could not. But I would not have. I am no fighter. They… they gave me what I thought I wanted, but I have learned better now."

"Have you?" the queen asked sharply, and her searching gaze seemed to reach into the depths of the wanton's soul to see all her flaws, all her weaknesses, all the things that had driven her to seek her fortune from others- but also to see the strengths she did not understand about herself and the heart she had hidden for so many years. "Yes, you have. You know now that you are good for more than use and misuse by those who claim to want you. I am not a fool, and only a fool would punish you for coming to realize your better self. So instead I give you your freedom, whether you choose to take it in this land or no. Stay if you will, go if you will, but you have my blessing."

A few soft gasps escaped the fighters of the desert land; none of them had expected such mercy to be shown to one who had served the raiders so loyally. The wanton hesitated, her face showing the surprise that she felt even more strongly than her detractors did. "I thank you, Your Majesty. May I have time to consider my decision? I have never had so much… freedom to consider before."

"Aye, and I would not wish to see you make a decision rashly. There is room to be had here; ask if you can make yourself useful to the servants while you are here, and perhaps someone will give you the impetus you need to know your true path in life."

"You are a noble ruler indeed, Your Majesty," she said, and she departed the room with perhaps more speed than was seemly. Without a second thought, the lightheart pursued her.

"Now that I have disposed of the weightier business before me, I decree that this be a day of celebration throughout the city, and a time of rejoicing throughout the land!" The queen clapped her hands sharply together, and a great roar of approbation rose from the gathered throng.

Truly, it seemed as if all of them would have the fairytale happy ending.