Jiggity Jig

First off, big thanks to everyone who helped out with the voting for J.R. Salzman's video entry for the Vail, CO trip. I think we got them up to ninth place, which doesn't get them the trip, but it did get them a nice prize. Thanks again to everyone. It doesn't amaze me anymore when people do nice things, mostly because I kind of know you all now, in a way, and I know that you're all good--no, great folks. Thanks again for the help.

In other news, I'm home. I've been home since Friday afternoon. It was a whirlwind tour of the southeastern parts of the United States. As promised, I saw a lot of Interstate 40. My favorite part of it? Altus, Arkansas, but only because it's a Latin word meaning "high, deep" and also because I didn't go to Jenks, Oklahoma.

So, I flew out Wednesday night, and the flight from Raleigh-Durham to Atlanta was fine. I had my own bank of seats with no one pressing in around me. I was behind the stewardess' station in the back of the plane, so I didn't have to look down the cabin at anyone. I was basically alone in my own little world, reading my book and staring out the window.

The flight from Atlanta to Tulsa, however, was not as pleasant. The plane was full, and it was a smaller plane, to boot. When I was lining up for my tickets, the person in line behind me was one of those people who doesn't respect personal space. She was right on my shoulder and hip and I turned to stare her down and mentally tell her to back the fuck off. She couldn't understand my mental clues.

We boarded the plane, and as I made my way down the aisle to where my seat was, she was still clinging to my backside like a fungus. I went to stow my bag in the overhead, and she pushes past me...into the seat next to mine. "I have the window," she said, in slightly accented English. Fuck you and the window seat, I fired back at her, mentally.

She sat down and promptly dialed someone on her cell phone and yammered for thirty minutes about some guy who invited her to come to Colorado and how she slept on the plan from Moscow to New York and--SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!!! Fortunately, she slept on the ride from Atlanta to Tulsa. Unfortunately, she farted the whole way there, too. I was calmly sitting in my seat, reading, when something would reach up and assault my olfactory sensors. Being that I wasn't tooting, I knew it had to be her. And then she would shift and her leg would be brushing up against mine and...well...if we were in a car, I would have reached over and opened the door and let her roll out. Unfortunately, we were in a plane, and I did not have the escape hatch seats.

I got to Tulsa with no problems, helped my mother-in-law with some stuff and talked with my wife's grandmother. Then it was to bed. The following morning, I got up and out the door and, after leaving my grandmother-in-law's house, I promptly got lost. I made the wrong turn--or didn't turn enough--or something and I was headed toward Joplin, MO instead of Meskogee, OK. I knew something was wrong because the sun wasn't in the position where I knew it should be if I was traveling south and east. I was able to cut back through some scenic Oklahoma countryside (read: flat, scrubby, brown) and find my way back to I-40. From there, it was simple: head east.

I'm terribly sorry that I didn't bring my camera with me, because I would have loved to have taken a picture of myself visiting Toad Suck Park in Arkansas. Alas, since I had no reason to, I didn't stop. I'm going to regret that for a long, long time I fear.

I was able to outrun the snowstorm that's now targeting the southeast and I was just ahead of another storm dropping from the north that hit Nashville shortly after I drove through it (no time to go to the Parthenon this time...). I made it to my wife's aunt and uncle's house and stayed the night there in Knoxville. They were calling for a good snow storm, too, so I got up early so I could find my way through the mountains (which was being forecasted to get 5 - 10 inches of snow overnight and into Friday) without incident.

And, it was largely without incident. I continued on my merry way, stopping for gas occasionally, but then I had to stop for a restroom break and I pulled off into Conover, North Carolina.

Never, ever stop in Conover, North Carolina, if you can manage it.

I swung into a BP station so that I could use the facilities. BP shit on the US last summer, so I thought I'd shit on them. Only thing was, I knew it was a mistake almost the minute I put the car into park. I went into the restroom and was surprised when vermin didn't flee before the light being turned on. I sat down, looking at a floor that I didn't want the bottom of my shoes touching, let alone my pants. I hurried along and left quickly, my entire being feeling touched by the uncleanliness of the establishment. I then caught the furious stares of some of Conover's finest citizens, envious of my upright posture, my full set of teeth, and...I don't know what else. I was just not very comfortable in that village.

After a twenty minute wait to pull back onto the road, I headed home. No further incident. I stopped off to see my wife at work and then home to see the children and try to work on cleaning up the house some more. So, I once again have wheels, which is a nice feeling, to be certain.

And, as usual, whenever I'm on long trips where I'm mostly just listening to the voices within my head, I generated another story that I want to write. I've gotten some notes written down at home that I came up with over the course of the trip and I've got a couple of lines of a prologue written. I basically started coming up with the idea on the flight from Raleigh to Atlanta and then further refined it on the flight from Atlanta to Tulsa. I had a few characters that that I had been kicking around in head for a while that fit into this story nicely.

Now I just need to finish what I'm working on now and then the three other stories that I want to refine and finish before I get to this new one. If only the house would clean itself...

Pro Glōriā Rōmae: Veniunt

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3

4. Veniunt

At the forest's edge, I looked back at the massacre upon the hill. The creatures--spirits, shades...whatever they were--had finished their grisly task and had been alerted to our flight. However, the witch's spell must not have extended beyond the trees. As I stood, watching, I drew my blade to try and frighten back the black shapes. I backed slowly under the shaded edges of the trees, holding the iron blade of my sword aloft, hoping that it would hold back the demons that chased us.

To my surprise, the spirits simply dissipated as they reached the edge of the trees. Like smoke wafting away from a campfire, the dark shapes broke apart and drifted upon the breeze. The entirety of the mass of dark shadows came hurtling toward the edge of the forest, but each fell into wispy vapors and passed away on the wind, their howls hanging in the air like the glare of the sun one sees after he stares into the sky and then closes his eyes.

Eventually, the world grew silent once more. My fellows had fled deeper into the forest, seeking the shelter promised by the trees. Transfixed, I watched the end of the battle that had raged atop the hill. Now, I stood alone.

Across the meadow, still standing in the middle of the road, the woman remained. Her eyes were no longer trained on the hilltop where the army--my army--had attempted to build their fortifications. Now, she looked at the place where my companions and I had disappeared into the trees; truth be told, though I was hidden beneath the shadows of the canopy above, I knew she was staring directly at me.

Without another word, she let her staff fall to the ground. It fell, the impact silenced by the distance. Raising her arms, the voluminous sleeves of her cloak flapped in the gentle breeze so that she looked like some tall, upright winged creature. I gasped as I watched her torso shift and change. Her form shrieked an otherworldly sound and the cloak was lifted by the wind and carried away. Where she had stood for so long, silent and still, she was now transformed into something that was a mixture of a woman and a large, black bird.

Again, the creature shrieked, and, flapping ebony wings, she flew directly toward the forest.

At last, I turned. I carried my sword clenched tightly in my fist as I stumbled and staggered across the leafy ground, the unseen fingers of low branches clawing at my face and upper torso as I fled into the depths of the woods. Roots, hidden by both the deepening shadows of the evening and the thick layer of leaves on the forest floor, conspired to trip me as the branches above raked at me. Somewhere above the canopy of the forest, I sensed more than anything the flapping of massive black wings, as if some enormous bird of prey was circling overhead preparing to swoop down and pluck me from the forest floor. Above all, I heard the screeching of that foul beast from hell, and it spurred me forward.

I do not know how long I ran, nor in what direction. I simply fled. I felt my life depended upon it. It might very well have depended on it.

Eventually--I do not know when--the shrieking stopped. I did not sense the massive wings flapping; I did not feel as if I was being hunted. Exhausted, I tried to push myself forward. I succeeded in taking a few more staggering steps before another hidden root wrapped itself around my boot and I pitched forward. My sword was jarred from my hand and spun into the leaf litter somewhere ahead of me. Face first, I collapsed onto the side of a knoll, gasping for breath, tears leaking unbidden from my eyes. I could taste the loam and the rot of the forest floor and the thick leaf litter into which I had tumbled, but I did not care. I only wanted to rest a moment before fleeing once again. I would run all the way back to civilization if I had to. I only wanted to be away from this godless land.

"Licinus?" a voice asked, timid in the darkness. For a second, I thought I had imagined it, until it called once more, a bit more assertive this time.

"Lupercus?" I asked, barely recognizing the dark mass that huddled next to a tree ahead of me.

"It is I, Lupercus," he stated. "The others are with me, as well." He stepped forward and his features resolved themselves slightly from the shadow.

I pulled back, reviled and terrorized, rolling onto my back and pushing at the soft, moist soil with the heels of my boots. For the briefest of moments, I thought that it was another creature. After allowing my head to clear, I recognized Lupercus, though his face was scratched and a bloody trail, now dried, marked his forehead, down his temple, and around his eye.

"Sorry, old friend," I apologized as he helped me to my feet, "I have seen more this day than most men see in their lives. I am a bit on edge."

Lupercus nodded silently and then bid me to follow. We stomped through the leaves and wove our way between the low branches until we came upon the other three squatting around a small clearing in the forest. Above, a circle of ruddy, gray-streaked clouds could be seen between the tops of the surrounding trees. Nothing moved, except for the clouds scudding by. The heavens grew darker as the hidden sun disappeared and night continued to fall.

None of us spoke; the others simply looked up when Lupercus and I joined them in the clearing. I knelt down next to the bough of a great oak and allowed myself to sink back against it. The bark was rough, the tree hard, but I relaxed into it. Lupercus suddenly loomed over me.

"Your sword, commander," he said. Without another word, he offered me the hilt of the weapon.

I accepted it from him, gratefully, and laid it across my lap. The iron of the blade glinted, despite the low light. I thought of the lives that I could have saved with it--the lives that I could have saved--and suddenly all the emotions that I had endured over the previous few hours welled within me and washed me away.

I felt tears upon my cheeks and I sobbed gently. As I wept, I heard the other men, as well, releasing their emotions. Glad that the darkness hid my shame, I buried my face in my hands and allowed the emotions carry me with them until darkness and sleep took me.

I woke several hours later. The darkness of the night was complete, though the clouds were beginning to break overhead. I heard something and sensed movement in the darkness. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and what I saw caused my heart to leap into my chest.

A great, shadowy creature loomed before me, different from the creatures that had attacked on the hilltop. This one was more substantial, more real. It's face--what I could see of it--was pale and sleek not disfigured as the other monsters had been on the hillside.

It was aware of me watching it, and as I began to sit up, it turned, dropping something into the leaf litter below. My eyes looked at the thing it had dropped and I gasped as the lifeless eyes of Hilarius looked back at me.

Hilarius' face was completely white, as if the blood had drained from it. His mouth opened slackly, and I noticed a splash of blood at his throat. Terrified, I looked up at the monster which stood over him, looming even larger, more menacingly now. It made a sound that was a mixture of hissing and growling, and it flashed blood-stained white teeth as it opened its twisted maw.

The creature lunged toward me, apparently unsatisfied with having feasted upon Hilarius. My fingers groped in the darkness for any sort of weapon to use to fend it off when they found the hilt of the sword that Lupercus had returned to me earlier in the day. I held the blade forward, the tip pointed at the creature's foul heart...though I do not know whether it had a heart or not.

The monster stopped and stared at me with soulless, yellow eyes and half-snarled, half-hissed once more. It held its arms aloft, much like the woman had done earlier in the day, and swept itself away in a flurry of shadow. I looked at the space where it had been moments before, but it was gone. There was no sign it had ever been there. It was as if it had not even disturbed the leaves and litter on the forest floor, either coming to the camp or slipping away.

With the creature gone, I rediscovered my courage. I moved over to where Hilarius lay--or, more aptly--where Hilarius' body was left. I touched the mass on his neck and felt the sticky circle of blood that the creature left. Hilarius was not breathing; there was no pulse beneath my touch.

I hurried to the positions of the other three men in our crude camp, rousing them from where they slept. None of the others had seen the creature, but when I showed them the wounds on Hilarius' neck and the blood, they nodded.

"We should leave," I instructed. "There is nothing else we can do for Hilarius now. I fear that the creature might return."

Lupercus nodded, but Agorix protested. "Where are we to go?" he pressed.

"We need to make our way back to the civilized world," I instructed, "We need to warn the others of the evil that is in this land." I looked to the trees, at the surrounding shadow. "I do not know if even Traianus can tame this land," I admitted. Suddenly realizing what I had said, I looked at the others. Instead of outrage, I saw sage nods of agreement.

"Let us be gone," I said, "and may the gods protect Hilarius now."

We trooped off through the forest, picking our way carefully through the night.
That was three nights ago.

We wandered, lost, through the labyrinth of trees. We would rest when possible during the day, sleeping fitfully in turns. We tried to find sustenance in the forest, and there were some fresh shoots and plants that we were able to eat. The first day, Lupercus killed a squirrel and we roasted it over a low fire. We cut the beast into quarters and devoured it. After that, game was difficult to find.
At night, we would watch the shadows carefully. Again, we would draw lots for guard duty while the others slept shallowly and without dreams. Those who remained awake would watch for any other demon of the forest and raise the alarm if something moved from out of the shadows.

It did no good.

The creature returned that night and claimed Herculius while he was on guard duty with Lupercus. Lupercus raised a cry, but it was too late. The beast already had sunk its fangs into Herculius' neck, and I awoke just in time to watch the last vestiges of life flicker in his eyes and go out.

I have seen many men die in my lifetime; watching Herculius' death will remain with me until my final days.

We fled again, pressing south, away from the monster, away from the carnage on the hilltop, away from the witch woman. Again, that night, we waited, watching for the creature. Again, it came, silent and lethal. Agorix was the victim this time. The creature swept in from the shadows, grabbed Agorix by the throat, and flung him into the darkness. We heard a small struggle, and then there was silence.

Lupercus turned to me.

"It is toying with us," he said. I agreed. I felt powerless, however.

"We need to get away," I returned. It was all I could offer. Lupercus nodded, and we were off once more.

Through the day and into the night we hurried away, though we could now feel the eyes of the creature upon us. As the gloaming began to fall across the forest, a sense of helplessness set in. Together, we found the sturdiest oak tree we could find and made our meager camp near it.

"I will take the first watch," Lupercus offered, "though I am exhausted."

"No, my friend," I offered, but Lupercus held up a silencing hand.

"If I am to die this day, I will do it on my feet," he responded. Nodding, I unsheathed my sword and handed the hilt to him.

"Take this, then," I instructed. "They fear the iron." Lupercus nodded, and I sat at the base of the tree, shaking, though the air was warm and I was covered in sweat. I leaned my head back against the rough bark of the tree's trunk and waited. I would watch, too.

But, my eyes drifted shut.

I was awakened by the clatter of my sword hitting the ground. I turned and found Lupercus in its grip, his eyes already dim and dead, blood dribbling from the creature's mouth.

"Monster!" I screamed, grabbing my sword and swinging it at the creature that held my the lifeless form of my friend in its grip. The monster retreated, and I continued swinging my blade at it in a frenzied, desperate attempt to injure it. When the monster had moved beyond the length of my wild swinging, it swept itself into the shadows once more.

With tears on my cheeks, I shouted wordless challenges into the depths of the forest. My voice echoed throughout the tree-lined hills. No sound returned, but I could feel the darkness gathering around me. My turn was next.

I fled. It was all I could do. I was not proud. I was angered to leave my friend there. I knew, though, that I had to get back to civilization. So, I ran.

Throughout the night, I staggered between the trees, shouting as my anger and frustration overwhelmed me time and again. As the dawn broke over the land, I collapsed into a heap and slept where I fell. Finally, sometime around midday, I awoke once more and pressed on. I knew the creatures of the darkness could not follow me as easily during the daylight.

However, the sun inexorably moved toward the western horizon, and I knew my time was limited. This time, however, I grabbed as many stout branches as I could find. I sat beneath the spreading canopy of another oak and sharpened the sticks into stakes. When the light of the day failed me, I pressed my back against a tree and shouted my defiance once more toward the forest. This time, a sort of malicious sentience pressed back. It was silent, but it was an acknowledgment of my challenge, and a willingness to take it up.

My name is Gaius Flavius Licinus. I am a Legate in the glorious army of Rome, serving under the command of the wise and just Emperor Traianus. If you are reading this, then I am most likely already dead. I have written these words as a warning to those who would follow. This is a diseased land, a cursed land. It cries out for the civilizing hand of Rome, and yet I do not know if Rome can civilize it.

With my back pressed to the sturdy trunk of a tree, I await my enemies. I know they lurk in the shadows; I know that they want me dead. I will fight them to the death. I will fight them to honor my fallen comrades. I will fight them to honor my fallen men. I will fight them for the glory of Rome.

Veniunt.

They are coming, and I am ready for them.

Pro Glōriā Rōmae: Striga

Chapter 1
Chapter 2

3. Striga

"Who?" I asked, "Who is coming?"

The old man would not respond with any further detail. He simply kept babbling on about some nameless group identified only with the vague "they". Frustrated with the one-eyed bastard, I turned and gazed out over the flat ground stretching between the hill and the road where the woman stood. She gazed back at our position. She made no move but stood, watching. For a long period, she simply gazed at the hilltop where the army was garrisoned behind the fortifications that we had thus far erected.

Her face was hidden by the distance and the deepening shadows of the evening, but I could see that she wore voluminous robes. A hood was pulled over her head, hiding what appeared to be dark hair and hiding her features further. Her gown was a plain, black homespun fabric bearing no marking or decoration. She carried nothing but a long, gnarled staff, though unlike the old man, I did not think that she needed it to move from one place to another.

I suddenly got the feeling that her arrival and the old man's babbling about some unknown, unnamed "they" were related. Turning, I meant to press the old man further about the identity he cunningly avoided as well as the identity of the woman on the road in front of the fortified hilltop.

The old man was not there.

"Where did he go?" I asked the two men who were supposed to guard him.
Neither of the men could answer; both of them looked about as if they could simply summon him into being with their gaze. However, no sign that the old man had been sitting by the fire moments earlier could be found. The only markings indicating that he had been there was a word scratched in the hard-packed earth near the fire's side: "Striga"

I swore lightly under my breath.

"Find him," I ordered the men. I turned to one of my commanders, Lupercus, the man who had slit the Dacian scout's throat.

"Ready the men. I do not like the feel of the air. Something is amiss." I cast my eyes to where the riderless horses were being brought through the front fortifications to a paddock that had been built inside the perimeter of the palisade, though neither palisade nor paddock had been yet completed. "An ill omen, the return of those horses without their riders."

Lupercus, ever faithful, nodded curtly without a word, but turned and began organizing men to defend the hilltop. Fires were blazing to life around the inside of the walls and torches were being lit atop them. The gloom of the approaching storm and the lowering of the hidden sun were enough to cast a late day shadow across the land. I returned to the point where I could hold my vigil on the woman.

She remained on the road, watching the fortification, her eyes hidden within the gloom of her hood and the deepening shadows of the afternoon. Behind me, I could hear the men preparing for battle. My commanders were trooping up and down the lines, barking orders, arranging the men in a manner most defensible.

Without warning, the woman raised her arms, slowly, until they were held above her head. The staff that she carried was held aloft, the head of the staff above her own head. Hushed conversations could be heard behind me as the men discussed what it was that the woman was doing. I motioned them to silence with a brief wave of my hand, but it was to little avail. The men still spoke in whispers back and forth, trying to discern what it was that the woman was doing.

The wind suddenly changed directions and carried with it brief snippets of a high, lilting voice chanting in a lyrical fashion. Any words--any pieces of words--were lost in the gusts and the distance, and I did not recognize anything that the woman was chanting. My heart pounded within my chest and I found it difficult to swallow; it was almost as if my body involuntarily tensed, preparing itself for battle.

Suddenly, she swung the staff down, the butt of the stick striking the ground and sending gouts of blue lightning in all directions. The flash was brief, but intense. After the suddenly flurry of activity, she remained motionless, her gaze still fixed on the fortified hilltop.

"We've been cursed," Lupercus offered, the words barely audible.

"Superstition," I said, halfheartedly, yet with an edge of annoyance. "The men don't need to be any further on edge. Hold your tongue until--"

From the south, there suddenly came the long, moaning sound of an immense warhorn sounding from behind the black canopy of the trees. All heads turned as one to face the forest, and half the men raised their shields as if preparing for an incoming salvo of arrows. Many of the men began waving their fingers in the air, trying to ward off hexes and curses. The woman remained on the road, always watching.

"See what you've done," I said to Lupercus. I was prepared to upbraid him further when someone shouted. It was a warning, almost wordless, and yet it was enough to draw everyone's attention toward the forest's edge.

"The forest is coming toward us!" someone else screamed. I watched as a line of dark shapes moved forward from the tree line. Rank upon rank moved, slowly but surely, away from the sheltering edges of the woods and toward the woman who stood before us. She was alone no more.

The shadows resolved themselves into shapes that were vaguely human. From the distance, it was difficult to discern their features, but they had the look of fighting men. At least, it appeared that they wore some sort of battle dress. Hundreds and hundreds of these things moved from the forest's edge, transforming themselves from amorphous shadows into the shades of dead men, spirits of ancient battles.

"Striga," I said softly, looking upon the woman who had come to stand before the hill and to summon forth this host from beyond the grave.

"Prepare for battle!" I roared, reaching to find my own weapons and shield. "To arms, men. The enemy is upon us!"

"What of the old man?" someone questioned, and I realized that I had completely forgotten about the guest-turned-prisoner who had given the warning that this woman was a harbinger of something far worse than what we had faced in the forest a few days earlier.

"Forget him!" I shouted, "The real enemy is before us! To arms! Prepare the lines! To arms!"

The orders were echoed up and down the lines. As I strapped a helmet on my head, I returned my gaze to the road before the hillside. There, hundreds of dark creatures had amassed around the woman; more continued streaming from the forest. Even if it was possible to tell where one beast ended and another began, I could not have begun to count how many of the dark forms stood before us. My heart pounded within my chest.

The woman raised her staff once more--a shining beacon of humanity amidst the shadowy horde of death surrounding her--and allowed it to crack loudly upon the road's surface. If more pyrotechnics flew from the end of the staff, I could not see them. With an otherworldly howling, the host began to move forward, their progress toward the hillside as slow and inexorable as their movement from the forest's edge.

"Prepare yourselves!" I shouted, hoping to lend the men at least a bit of courage that I, myself, suddenly was lacking. "Remember men! You are Rome's finest warriors! Nothing can stand in our way." I wish that I could have believed my own words.


Without any other warning, the host suddenly broke and began flying toward the hilltop fortifications. The creatures loped easily up the side of the hill. I drew my blade, holding it aloft to signal the men to charge, but it was almost too late. The shadowy host hit us, and wherever they went, death was quick to follow.

As they poured onto the top of the hill and around what meager fortifications we had been able to erect in the weeks we had been here, I was able to get a good look at the enemy. They were hideous. I wish I could summon words that could describe them, but they fail me, even now. What I once thought were the spirits of dead men I swiftly learned were twisted, grotesque abominations that may have, at one point, been somewhat human in shape. That, however, was where the similarities ended.

They had huge, misshapen, foul faces from which sprouted horns and knobs and antlers and any other variance of protuberance. Some had huge tusks, like boars; others simply had dagger-like teeth. Their bodies were as misshapen as their faces, but they moved at such a speed that it was difficult to tell if they all had similar bodies or not. They seemed to flow from one place to another, as if they were crafted of something that wasn't quite solid, but not yet liquid either.

Of all their features, however, it was their eyes that were the most haunting, the most frightening. Big and orb-like, they seemed to glow with an internal, ghastly light. As they would attack, they would blink, slowly and surely, and the eyes would disappear for a moment so that something of pure shadow, something crafted of pure hatred and evil, as upon you and then it was gone. Their eyes would open again, glowing afresh, and they would move on to their next target.

Worst of all, however, was how ineffective our weapons were against the putrid beasts. Our spears and javelins simply passed through them. The shields did nothing to hold them at bay. Not even the armor donned by the infantry was of any service. Within seconds, hundreds of men were dead upon the ground, they bodies rent open in innumerable, ghastly fashion. Most of them died with their features frozen in the shapes of permanent, silent screams.

As one creature came toward me, I did what I could and swung my sword at it, cleaving a large gap across its chest. Another fell victim to my blade as I fended off a sweep of a mighty arm ending in a handful of dagger-like claws. I held the sword before me, and the creatures actually shied away from it.

"Iron!" I screamed. The cold, blue blade before me was the only thing that the creatures feared. "Iron!" I yelled to the men behind me. "Use your blades! They fear iron!"

It was, I must say, too little, too late. By the time my warning was passed along the lines, we were overwhelmed. Half of the army was dead or dying. The lines were broken and men were breaking into small bands trying to fend off the enemy, or to fall to their knees and pray for a leniency that the creatures did not know.

"Licinus!" a voice called to me. It was Lupercus. In his wake, Agorix and Hilarius and another man, Herculius, trailed. "Licinus, the day is lost! We must flee or else be slaughtered like sheep!"

I simply nodded, looking upon the rout as it unfolded before me. "We must sound a retreat!"

"There is no time!" It was Agorix who spoke this time. "When the men see you fleeing, they will know not to stand and fight any longer."

Again, I nodded. While I held my blade, the creatures seemed to melt away, holding back to avoid the deadly touch of the cold, blue steel.

"Let us be gone!" I offered, though it shamed me.

"But where?"

I turned and looked to the one place that I dreaded going more than anywhere else.

"The trees will slow them. We can gather there, hide until her summoned demons have gone, and regroup." I looked to the other four men, hoping that they had a better solution.

Lupercus nodded. "Lead the way," he said, "and I will follow."

I nodded in return, and without a further word, I bolted. I wished that I had readied a horse, but there was no time now. I could hear the screams of the steeds in their paddock being slaughtered as quickly and efficiently as had my men. I dared not look back as I ran.

I could hear the unearthly howls of the creatures as they realized that we fled and the screams that they offered as they gave chase. Still, I did not dare look back. The sounds of their pursuit was enough to spur me forward, though fear tried to force me to turn from the forest's edge.

Above all, however, I heard a soft, lilting, lyrical laughter chasing us to the forest's edge and beyond.

Pro Glōriā Rōmae: Senex

Chapter 1

2. Senex

The following morning, we broke the camp and marched away from the site of the battle. The scouts had reported a wider, more open hilltop that we might use to build a camp and from which we could scout and easily defend the country for miles around. I immediately wanted to claim the place in the name of Rome and the wise and just Emperor Traianus.

The hill that the scouts found was outside of the forest. Wide and with a flat top, it overlooked a broad valley. The brown ribbon of a road ran through the valley's floor, and the vantage from the top of the hill allowed one to view the entirety of the road from where it emerged from the forest's dark edge until it curved out of sight several leagues to the north and west. In the distance, the dark, implacable faces of the mountains overlooked the entire valley like stoic, ancient gods watching the course of history pass before them.

We immediately established a camp upon the crown of the hill. As soon as camp had been established, we began to build fortifications upon the top of the hill. In addition to drawing out the attackers from the Dacian cities, we were to help establish supply lines for the assault on the capital and feeder cities by the larger force that the Emperor Traianus would be dispatching across the Danubius soon.

The men, well-trained and disciplined, immediately began breaking into companies. Some of the men dug ditches, both for defense and for foundations for a palisade that would help secure the camp and the top of the hill. Others moved down the road and into the forest where they began felling trees. Others were preparing the lumber that had been harvested and still others were firing it and moving it into position. By evening, the beginning of a crude fortification had been erected.

In the morning, I dispatched scouts to explore the wider valley. I sent a handful of messengers back to where we had crossed the Danubius to give word of our victory and to send the news that we would be securing the valley and preparing the course for the supply lines for the army. I requested another small force be dispatched to help secure the route we had already crossed so that the Dacians could not move in behind us and sever our ties with the civilized world.

I also dispatched small infantry units to ensure the security of the valley. We had not killed all of the Dacians that had attacked us two days earlier, and if they regrouped they could perhaps muster an attack against our position before we were completely fortified.

Occasionally, merchants would be seen on the roads. We would stop them, searching their wagons to ensure that they were not harboring soldiers. If they were compliant, if they did not argue or try to hinder us, we would let them go. Most of them were poor farmers moving some shriveled vegetables or fruits to some unknown market in a nearby village that we had not come across in our explorations.

However, if they argued with us...it was the final thing they ever did.

More rare than the merchants were the riders that would sometimes try to gallop past our position. Those who were not cut down with arrows were ridden down. If they fought, they were killed, but those who were subdued were brought back to the camp as prisoners. As we were not a large force, the prisoners would be questioned and then put to death, far away from the camp so that their shades would not cling to the area and haunt us.

From time to time, the infantry units or the scouts would come across small bands of soldiers that they would battle. Any surviving enemy units were captured and brought back to the camp where they were questioned and dispatched in the same way as the riders.

Every day our soldiers would range further afield from our position, scouting and mapping the area. Every day they would return with more reports of soldiers being seen further away from our encampment, but there were no details of major army units in the area. We had taken and secured the area; it was as good as Roman.

Nearly two weeks after we had claimed the hilltop and had captured the valley and secured it, a most curious thing occurred. The morning was clear and bright. I was standing atop the hill, surveying the land around and the work that had been completed on the fortifications. Everything seemed to be progressing easily and well: two wide ditches had been dug around the base of the hill to slow attacking enemies, the walls were slowly but surely being built, and the hillside itself was being staked. The archers were restocking their supply of arrows that had been spent during the battle within the woods.

That is when I spied a single figure upon the road emerging from the woods and slowly, yet surely, moving toward us. I sent three men on horseback and, within seconds, they had surrounded the figure. It seemed that they spoke briefly before turning and returning to the hill. The figure walked, albeit slowly, amongst the soldiers. They picked their way up the hillside, and I could see that the figure was a man.

As he approached, I saw that he was old. Perhaps old does not describe him. He looked as ancient as the hills that surrounded us. Snowy white hair hung around his shoulders, emerging from beneath the brim of a wide, black hat. Above his mouth was an equally wispy, equally white moustache. He walked with a slight stoop and an even slighter limp, balancing himself on a long, gnarled staff. When he smiled--which was often, as he wore a simple sort of grin on his face at all times--he revealed that he had few teeth, and those that he did have were broken and discolored. A terrible odor poured from his mouth as he neared, and it was all I could not to rear back and away from him.

More disconcerting, however, were his eyes. One of them--his right one--was milky and useless, cataracted over with an opaque covering so that iris looked little different from the rest of his eye. His left one, however, was clear and piercingly blue, the color of the sky on a cold winter's day. There was a deep, almost unsettling sentience about it that did not quit align itself with the vapid grin writ upon the man's face nor on the stooped, halting manner in which he walked and carried himself. I did not trust him for a moment, and yet, I could not bring myself to order the man's execution.

He babbled in the incomprehensible manner of barbarians, with speech that was rough and grating on the ears. I disliked it immediately upon hearing it and asked him--time and again--if he spoke a more civilized language, like Greek or Latin or, if nothing else, something that resembled the sputterings of the Germanic tribes I had faced while serving with the wise and just Traianus.

The old man offered a wide smile and then began speaking in something that resembled a crude, provincial form of Latin. He told to us that he was a journeyman, wandering from town to town in the region. He was able to describe the area around the camp in generalities rather than specifics. Though it was not valuable information from a military standpoint, it was still information that could be useful. For that reason, along with the fact that I pitied this half-blind, stooped creature well into its dotage, I allowed him to live and accepted him as, officially, a guest within the camp. In truth, I assigned two guards to him at all times, ready to slit his throat if he showed even a hint of malice or subordination.

In the evenings, before I returned to my quarters to sleep, I would sit at the fire with some of the commanders of my army. They would report on what they had found in their forays into the countryside that day--any enemy soldiers seen, any skirmishes fought, any people moving along any of the roads in the area. When my men were done, the old man--I never learned his name--would babble on, talking of local legends and stories. He would reveal more of the countryside in his simple, vulgar manner, and I often found his stories, if not captivating, at least mildly interesting. The entertainment value alone was worth what we paid him in food and shelter.

Despite the fact that I tried to speak a more true, more noble version of our native language, the old man would still click his tongue in the roof of his mouth and rock back and forth, his good eye closed, when reports of fighting came in through the patrols. I would watch the old man and he would fix me first with his senile smile followed by the piercing iciness of his blue eye. While his smile grew wider as I watched him, the joy never crept into his stare. I began to think that the man knew more than he was showing. Still, I did not have the heart to kill such a pitiful creature.

Three days after the old man was captured, I dispatched a group of scouts to the south. They were instructed to ride through the forest we had just marched through weeks earlier. None of the messengers I had dispatched back to Roman lands had returned, and I wanted to know what had happened to them and if we could be expecting reinforcements.

The day had started out well enough. The morning temperatures were cool but not cold, the skies were clear and blue. The sun shone brilliantly down upon the valley. To the west, the dark mountains continued to sit, dark and brooding, upon the horizon. On our right, the southern forest was dark and foreboding, a massive green-black sea stretching out to some indeterminate ending. The horsemen rode into the tree line; I watched as they disappeared into the forest and went back to attending to our daily tasks.

After the sun came to its zenith, low clouds scudded in from the south. They were flat and whitish gray and promised a change in the weather. I felt my mouth curl into a sneer as I watched them moving in. Most likely, it would rain during the night. Almost as if the thought summoned it, a chill began to descend in the air.

The old man sat by the fire and chuckled.

As the clouds formed into a more solid bank and overtook most of the sky, six horses suddenly appeared at the edge of the forest and walked, riderless, toward the encampment. Recognizing the beasts, I sent men to gather them. I stood and watched as they corralled the listless creatures and brought them back toward the camp. There was not a sign of the riders who had departed on the backs of those steeds.

The old man continued to chuckle, mostly to himself, as he sat by the fire. The vapid grin on his face suddenly looked less simple and more demonic.

I had turned to question why the old man was laughing when someone raised a cry of warning in the camp. I turned to see a woman on the road, alone. She emerged from the edge of the forest, which now looked dark and menacing--more menacing than earlier when the sun's light was fully upon it.

The old man laughed now. Instead of a dull, drumming chuckle, he laughed with a throaty cackle. The smile on his face, combined with his cold, glaring left eye seemed far more menacing.

"What?" I asked, ready to strike this vile creature down. "What is it that makes you laugh so, old man?"

"Veniunt," he said, his mouth open wide as he did so. "Veniunt, young soldier. They are coming."

Pro Glōriā Rōmae: Victoria

I Victoria

My name is Gaius Flavius Licinus. I am a Legate in the glorious army of Rome, serving under the command of the wise and just Emperor Traianus, Defender of the Rhinelands and Scourge of Antonius Saturninus. May he be luckier than Augustus and mightier than Caesar.

It is 854 ab urbe condita, and I am leading an expeditionary force across the Danubius river into the western portions of the Kingdom of Dacia. Our mission is a simple one: draw the Dacians away from their larger cities to enable a larger force to besiege and capture the capital. It is a good plan, a solid plan. I served with Emperor Traianus while he was securing the borders along the river Rhenus and putting down Saturninus' rebellion. I know him. I know this plan. This plan will work.

When we crossed the Danubius into Dacia, we were met with no resistance. If any eyes watched us, they were the impassive eyes of commoners, of men or women whose interest in the army would be little more than idle curiosity. Since Domitian's foolish treaty, the people living along the river are familiar with the Roman presence.

It is Domitian's folly that has brought us to this place. The peace he negotiated with the Dacians has since been flaunted by those living across the safety of the wide waters of the Danubius. While the Dacians had managed to raid and sack villages in Moesia for some years, the might of the Roman army was brought down upon them. And yet, with the full glory of Rome's majesty bearing down upon Dacia, Domitian negotiated peace and granted the Dacians sovereignty rather than taking their heads and claiming their lands in the name of Rome.

Now the people watch Roman legions moving throughout the area, training and exercising and considering us lesser beings because of one man's lapse in judgment. The people here are used to us and the people here do not fear us.

However, this is a wild place, a place of savagery and witchcraft. Even though we were not met with hostilities when we crossed the border out of Roman lands, I could feel the change in the surrounding country. Here, the land cries out, demands to be civilized. Ancient forests, filled with ancient spirits and ancient magics, stretch across rough, hilly land between high mountains looming over the country like the faces of ancient, angry gods. This land is wild. This land needs us.

Though the mountains look down upon us menacingly, they hold the key to the strength of the Roman Empire. The wise and just Traianus seeks control of not only the Dacian people, but also the mines hidden within the mountains' heights. From the back of my horse, I watched the black faces of the mountains sliding in and out of view behind the leafy canopy of the trees, and I knew that soon they would be in Roman hands.

We marched for six days, making camp every evening, building fires and letting them burn deep into the night. On the third day, a Dacian scout was captured. He spoke in the barbaric tongue of the region, and little information could be gleaned from him. We kept him as a captive, hoping that he would offer something useful amid his constant blathering. Finally, on the morning of the fifth day, I had had enough of him and ordered his throat slit as a sacrifice to the gods before the march that day.

He struggled briefly, but two of my strongest men--Agorix and Hilarius--held him while my Camp Prefect Lupercus performed the act. The man stared off into the trees defiantly as long as he could, until his body finally grew limp. Agorix and Hilarius dropped him there, and I turned my horse to stare off into the woods as defiantly as the prisoner had. If they were watching, I wanted them to see me, to see my men. I wanted them to be angry and wrathful and ready to seek vengeance upon the murderers of their friend.

On the sixth day, our scouts reported that a sizeable force of fighting men was seen a few leagues ahead of us. I dispatched more scouts to search the area, to find a suitable place where we could make our stand. By the time the sun had reached its zenith, the scouts returned, describing a ridge not far ahead of our position where we could easily camp and defend ourselves. I ordered the ranks ahead, pausing to watch as they passed. These were my men, their lives entrusted to me by the wise and just Emperor Traianus. I was going to show them my respect.

Once the camp was erected, the soldiers went about fortifying the ridge. Stakes were pounded into the ground to slow their ascent up the ridge. Rocks and boulders were harvested from the hillside so that we could roll them into the oncoming ranks of enemy soldiers. We built hasty, temporary walls along our flanks to protect them. For the better part of a day and a half, we prepared for the coming attack.

On the second day after we had established our camp--the eighth since we crossed the Danubius--the Dacians came. Despite the young canopy of leaves clinging to the branches of the trees, we watched as their numbers filled the void between the boughs of the forest below. Like the savages they were, they came forward, naked, unruly and in disorganized ranks. There were few archers and fewer horses. Clearly, this was not the army that had been trained by Roman military leaders; they were ragged, undisciplined and wild. They were a perfect reflection of their homeland.

As they occupied the forest floor below our position, they formed up into rough ranks and held crude wooden shields aloft. It was like watching a satirical reenactment of Roman tactics, and I knew that we would be easily victorious. Men bearing spears moved up through the ranks, forming a prickly front wall that would serve as extra protection, but I knew that the front ranks of this crude army would never trouble the entrenched soldiers on the hill.

Some men on horses--some of the few men in the entire army wearing any sort of armor--barked orders and the army began to move haltingly toward the stream running at the base of the ridge we occupied. As they neared the water, our archers released scores of arrows into the ranks of the soldiers below us. Immediately, screams of agony and death echoed through the forest. I commanded the arrows to continue while the men below forded the small stream. A pitiful return of arrows fell harmlessly among our fortifications. I could already see dead bodies littering the forest floor below.

Boulders and logs began falling down among the enemy as they neared the base of the hill, crushing several as they rolled toward the floor of the valley below us. Arrows claimed many men where the boulders left holes in their defense. Soon the stream was flowing red with Dacian blood.

As the front ranks of the enemy began to pick its way up the hill, the encamped soldiers began hurling their javelins among the Dacian soldiers. Again, they were forced to pick their way carefully up the hillside, more irritated by the small spears than heavily damaged. I watched as the ranks of the enemy began to break down. More than once they hesitated on their ascent. All around them, their fellows were being slain easily and readily, and I could begin to see the worry and regret taking their toll on the enemy troops.

"Infantry!" I barked, drawing my sword and holding it above my head. "Prepare for march!" More arrows whistled over my head and crashed amongst the enemy soldiers. "Spearmen, on my command!"



My soldiers, disciplined and well-trained, formed easily into ranks at the crest of the hill, their shield held in front of them to protect them from the meager assault being offered by the Dacians. Their weapons were drawn and ready. I barked an order, and they moved into a defensive position, the crest of the ridge bristling with spear tips that promised nothing but death and pain for the attackers.

The stakes pounded into the side of the hill were funneling the enemy into one column, causing them to stretch out their ranks. The arrows were falling into unprotected ranks of soldiers now, causing the hillside to be littered with wounded, dead and dying men. Blood colored the leaves of years past that lined the hill, returning them to their once crimson brilliance.

"Infantry," I shouted, dropping the sword and pointing toward the oncoming force of Dacians, "forward!"

As one, the men atop the crest of the hill moved forward carefully and precisely, moving into positions where they could hold the lines defensively and also dispatch the oncoming forces with ease.

"Archers," I shouted once, turning myself in the saddle to look upon the ranks of the army I commanded, "halt." No more missiles flew through the air, a silent signal to my soldiers that the battle was about to change.

Through the forest came a thundering, and down from the flanks of the hillside swept two ranks of cavalry. They swept around behind the Dacian force, which was busy trying to find purchase upon the hillside and to penetrate the wall of shields and spears protecting the crest of the ridge. The back ranks of the Dacians were decimated within seconds. Infantry that had been positioned with the cavalry swept in as the Dacian soldiers turned to defend against the mounted assault, crashing into the flanks of the enemy.

"Infantry!" I shouted once more, "full attack!"

The soldiers who had been holding the crest of the hill moved forward. Confusion and chaos now commanded the Dacian ranks. I watched as they were slaughtered, ultimately and completely. The glorious Roman army would know victory this day.
Within minutes, the Dacian ranks broke and began fleeing down the hillside. The archers took up their weapons once more, firing into the retreating army. Within a few minutes, the battle was over. The last few enemy soldiers had fled and I ordered my army to regroup and refortify.

Looking down upon the hillside, very few of the Roman soldiers had been killed. Our losses were minimal; our casualties were light. The wounded could easily be tended to. Already, the men were celebrating.

"Let us celebrate tonight!" I told them. "Tomorrow we will move to a better camp and begin establishing supply lines for the other legions in the area." I paused and I felt the slightest of smiles creasing my face. "But, for tonight, let us revel in our victory."

Orme

Orme was a rich man. He held vast tracts of land on the Scandinavian peninsula which was filled with elm trees. As such, he could afford many wives. When a man has many wives, he has many children. As such, Orme proved to be a very virile man, fathering several strong, healthy sons.

As each one became a man, Orme divvied his lands so that each son would also have a large plot of land to do with as he saw fit. However, when the last son came of age, Orme did not have enough land to give to his son. This son, Orme the Lesser, was forced to seek his fortune elsewhere.

During the middle of the eighth century, as it was reckoned by the Christian calendar, Scandinavian raiders, known collectively as Vikings, were spreading across the northern seas. With the madness that was gripping the mainland of Europe in the wake of the fall of the Roman Empire and the power vacuum that it left, the Vikings found the northern territories ripe and easy for the plunder. Orme the Lesser enlisted with the Vikings.

Their raids took them to the Scottish coast, and the Scots were prepared for the Viking raiders. The Scots were fierce in their fighting, and held the Vikings at bay. The Viking chief rallied his soldiers, telling them that the first man to set foot on the land would be granted rulership of what they captured. So, the invaders fought with a renewed vigor. During the battle, Orme the Lesser lost part of his leg. He tied off the wound, but was rendered ineffective for the remainder of the battle.

The rallying cry of the Viking chief proved successful, and the Scot defenders were sent running from the battlefield. As the men were moving to take the shore, Orme the Lesser took his severed leg and threw it over the heads of the men on the shore, his foot hitting the Scottish soil first. Bound by his word, the Viking Chief granted the territory to Orme the Lesser.

Orme recovered from his battle wounds and began to cultivate a wealthy life for himself. He had many people in his employment, and they began taking on the name of Orme's lands, or Orme's by, "by" being a word that means "place". It is comparable to German cities whose names end in "burgh" or English towns with the suffix "bury".

As the kingdoms to the south began to be unified under one crown, Angleland, later to be known as England, the kings from the south began to extend their influence north. By this time, Orme the Lesser was just a folk hero, a founder of what would become a proud family--so proud, in fact, that they refused to bow before the southern kings and, instead, fought them until they could no longer withstand English rule.

Admiring their bravery, the English king offered a barony to the leader of Clan Ormesby in what is now Lincolnshire. The leader of House Ormesby agreed and moved the family to Lincolnshire. There, they ruled for some time in service to the English king, until William the Conqueror brought the Normans to the shores of Great Britain. As the battles raged back and forth, the Baron of Ormesby was able to capture the daughter of a Norman noble. Seeing the powerful bargaining chip they owned, the English were thrilled.

The Ormesby, however, was thinking between his thighs and soon fell for the Norman lass, helping her escape and taking her back to the Norman camp. Ormesby then defected, swearing his allegiance to the Norman invaders. Once England was subjugated by the invaders, William the Conquerer killed the leaders of House Ormesby of Lincolnshire and installed Richard the Defector as the Baron of Ormesby and thereby granted him a knighthood. To differentiate from the original Ormesby name, Richard dropped the "e" from the middle and the family name became Ormsby. Various other spellings still exist, including Ormesby, Ormsbee, and Ormesbee.

Eventually, descendants of Orme made their way to the new world. Ignoring the traitorous and deceptive blood coursing through their veins (or not), they began to help settle the new world, a large portion of them stopping and setting down roots in northeastern Indiana. For the most part, they were farmers and rapacious hunters.

One of them, by the name of Ivan, married a woman named Emma, who preferred to be called Lucille, and they had nine children. One of those, a daughter named Betty, married a man named Davis. They had three children, all daughters. The middle daughter married a man by the name Jenks.

And he sired me.

So, when I get caught up in a Viking frame of mind, like I'm in right now, I can't help myself. It's in the blood. It is required for me to pillage and plunder.

Someone pass me the mead. Let's drink one to Orme!

Too bad Wednesday was right. This stuff does taste like piss.

Friday Morning Latin Lesson, Vol. LVIII

Fear gripped me.

I knew it was behind me somewhere, but I dared not turn to look, lest it catch me. I could sense more than hear or feel its presence, a shadowy, malignant darkness loping through the shadows behind me. It was getting closer.

What had begun as an evening walk down near the mill turned suddenly terrifying. I know not when it happened, only that, suddenly, looming ahead of me, a giant, hulking creature that was more monster than man appeared. In the wan light of the moon, I saw it unfold itself from the shadows on the bridge before me, like a flag being unfurled in the wind. Piercing red eyes caught me in their diabolic gaze, held me transfixed as my own eyes widened, my heart raced, and my stomach dropped. An overwhelming fear held me as it stood, taller than a man erect, unsheathing talon-like claws from its pumpkin-sized fists. I wanted to scream my terror, but no sound would come from a throat that had been forced closed by pure, unadulterated dread. My mouth pulled back in a silent rictus of fear and terror. Tears came unbidden to my eyes.

I was going to die. This beast would be my end. I knew this.

But I did not accept it readily.

It lunged forward, slavering jaws snapping at me as it came. Somehow, through the fear-induced stupor, I was able to throw myself aside. As I rolled in the dirt at the side of the path, I felt a rock under my ribcage. I grabbed it, and, as the beast came at me again, I heaved it. It uttered some sort of cry that was half yelp, half whimper, confirming that the missile had found its target. For a second, the beast stood at the edge of the road dazed; I took my chance to escape.

Running, I did not care in which direction, I fled the scene. I willed my legs to cover longer distances with each stride. I somehow found myself in the trees to the south of the road, the mountains in the distance disappearing as I sought some shelter in the darkness beneath the boughs. Enough moonlight filtered through the canopy that I could pick my way quickly through the glades and up and over hills.

I heard the beast howl once, a lonely, plaintive cry filled with animal desire. A second cry erased the loneliness of the beast, and told me that it meant to hunt me. It meant to kill me. The rock was only a delay of the inevitable. All this was conveyed on the single note as it rolled over the hills and through the trees.

If another heard it, I knew not. I was running for my life, too terrified to look for another, too filled with dread to call for help lest it attract my pursuant's attention.

Fear gripped me. I knew it was behind me somewhere, but I dared not turn to look, lest it catch me. I could sense more than hear or feel its presence, a shadowy, malignant darkness loping through the shadows behind me. It was getting closer.

Suddenly, a root caught my boot, and I pitched forward. Laying in the loam, I panted, trying to catch my breath. The adrenaline had drained from my body when I tumbled to the earth, and, though I tried, I could not push myself to my feet. I vainly attempted crawling away, hoping that my emotions would organize and arrange themselves, allowing me to flee once again, but it was hopeless. My legs would barely move, and my arms held no strength. I lay there, vulnerable, awaiting my fate.

The beast suddenly burst up the side of the hill. Seeing me, it instantly appeared at my feet. I rolled over onto the my back so that I could at least see my fate falling upon me. The monster stood over me, it's malicious, burning eyes boring holes into my soul. I felt my heart quail. It seemed as if all the emotion drained out of my body. Even if I could have run, I would not have had the heart.

The beast rocked its head back to howl once more when it was suddenly silenced. Another form had entered the clearing. This one was smaller, lither. A hood was pulled up over the figure's face and the rest of its body was concealed within the long, billowing folds of a cloak as black as the shadows around us. From beneath the bottom hem of the garment, I could see black leather boots, but I could not deduce the person's identity.

Forgetting me entirely, the monster lunged toward the new arrival with a fierce growl, but the person was too quick. It flowed out of the way of the beast's attack rather than dodged. When the monster came again, the figure held its ground, blocking the monster's swipes with with its forearms. The creature's deadly talons were rendered useless as the figure anticipated the monster's every move. The mysterious arrival placed a well-timed boot in the middle of the monster's chest, sending the creature sprawling. The figure grabbed a fallen branch and brought the bough down across the beast's shoulders. Again, the creature cried out.

Reaching out, it grabbed its attacker by the ankle and upended the fighter. The figure quickly regained control, but the monster was back on its feet and coming at the new arrival. For a second, the shadowy black form seemed dazed, and I tried to yell, but the monster quickly grabbed the figure by the throat and slammed it against a tree. The hood fell away and the cloak flew open, such was the force of the attack, and I could see for the first time that my defender was a woman. She was pinned against the tree, the monster's enormous, hairy paw wrapped around her throat and pressing her against the scaly wood of the trunk.

The monster roared in her face, spittle and blood flecking its lips and her cheeks. It was a cry of victory, as if this was not the first battle the two had shared, and now the beast was fully enjoying his triumph over an old adversary. The monster held its head as if it awaited a response from the woman pinned against the tree's trunk.

Her lips turned into a wry smile. "So predictable," she cooed at the beast. It might have slackened its hold just a bit at her words. "Your kind always forget to pin my arms."

In the pale light of the moon, I saw two long, thin spikes glimmer silvery as she produced them from the folds of her cloak. With a lightning quick, violent motion, she slammed the points of the blades into the monster's throat. Black blood welled from the wound, spurting in great gouts over her face and the bark of the tree. The monster dropped her, its own form falling to the ground, its great hands clawing at the silvery weapons sticking from the side of its neck. As it struggled, its lifeblood continued to run freely from the wound. The creature's wheezing, choking cries confirmed that it was, in fact dying, and a few seconds later, it slowed its movements. Finally, it shuddered its last, and then lay still and silent.

The woman stood over the monster's corpse, watching with an impassive eye as the beast bled to death. She wiped absently at the trail of blood the wound had thrown on her face. I knew then that I had been saved by the legendary Erin Oliverosetree--Lady Erin of Humphrey, Erin the Slayer, Erin of the Silver Needles, Erin Demonsbane--and I was awed by her mere presence. I struggled to push myself into a sitting position. The movement attracted her attention.

"Are you unhurt?" she asked me, her cool eyes falling on my frame for perhaps the first time. My heart rattled within my chest. I nodded dumbly. I could no more summon words to speak to her than I could have forced myself to flee from the beast after I had fallen.

"Good," she said, her words carrying a mysterious, exotic accent. "You should return to your home. There will be more of them this night." She bent and retrieved her famous--notorious!--silver needles from the beast's throat. She wiped the black blood from them on the monster's chest. "They always like to run with the full moon's light." As if to punctuate her words, another threatening howl echoed over the hills. Erin Oliverosetree's face snapped up, her attention riveted on that distant howl. "I must be off," she said, without looking to me.

"Wait," I said, finally finding my voice again. "How...how did you manage to best that thing?" I asked. I was ashamed immediately. Her prowess with slaying demons and monsters was renowned. My words were foolish.

She paused, turning to look at me with a bemused smile upon her lips. She spun her silvery needles around her palm and then slammed them into a scabbard on her hip. With a wink, she said:

Texo, ergo sum.

Find out what Erin Oliverosetree said to me that night in the hovertext!

With that, she was gone, disappearing into the shadows as quickly and quietly as she had arrived.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Sitting back, I pulled a long drag through the carved stem of my pipe. The fire of the inn's hearth warming my old bones. Letting the smoke slowly pass over my lips, I smiled.

"And that, lads, is the story of the night Erin the Slayer saved my life."

They hay and haw and call and accuse me of being a liar. I laugh and I wink at them as the party breaks apart and the men and boys go back to their individual tables, some to discuss the tale I told, some to accuse me of being soft in the head, some to discuss events happening outside the walls of the old inn.

But I know, every time I tell the tale, I am only able to due to the bravery of Erin Oliverosetree and her magnificent, silver knitting needles.

pronounced "Takes-oh, air-goh soom."