Peter David - Sir Apropos 02 - The Woad To Wuin

Book One

Fate Accompli

Chapter 1

The One Thing

It is important you understand that I do not like taking people's lives. I have done it several times but

derived no pleasure from it. Furthermore it has always been in self-defense, and, as suspect as it may

sound, it has usually come about as a result of someone inadvertently throwing themselves on some sort

of sharp implement I happened to be pointing in his, her, or its direction. I have never, however, been the

sort to start a fight when it could be avoided...or, for that matter, failed to run from it if remotely possible.

Anyone who has read my previous chronicles of my "adventures," of which this is a continuation, is

already rather painfully aware of that.

So you will understand the distress I felt when I was standing there in the middle of an otherwise

lovely glade, on a fairly crisp and yet invigorating day, staring in dismay at the hairy-footed dwarf that I

had unintentionally killed. A death which would unexpectedly thrust me--in every sense of the word--into

an escapade that was alternately the most exhilarating, and most terrifying, that I had ever experienced.

And considering what I had experienced previous to that point, that is saying some.

For those who are new to what can only in the broadest and most ironic terms be referred to as my

hero's journey, I shall tell you as simply as possible what you need to know in order to understand me.

(Indeed, I should observe that if you are interested in my life, you may very well lack sufficient brain

power to comprehend all but the most minimal of explanations.)

My name is Apropos, occasionally referred to as "Apropos of Nothing" due to my lowly birth and

lack of...well...anything, really, that could be considered valuable. Of late I was dubbed Sir Apropos, still

of Nothing, an honor which--for reasons I won't go into here--did not quite work out. Suffice to say that

one whose patrimony consists of a group of knights raping my tavern wench mother, providing me an

existence of endless betrayal and deprivation which served to give me a somewhat cynical, shall we say,

view of the world...well, one such as that does not end up living happily ever after. I was foolish enough

to briefly entertain the notion, and paid severely for that unbecoming naïveté by winding up tossed in a

dungeon barely twenty-four hours after being knighted, which was something of a record at the court of

King Runcible in the state of Isteria.

Once I managed to escape the dungeon through means literally too ludicrous to go into here, I hit the

road in the company of a rather vexing young sorceress (or "weaver," as her type is also known, short for

"magic weaver") who called herself "Sharee," which may or may not have been her true name.

I never found out whether Runcible sent his knights after me to bring me back. On the one hand, his

pride was no doubt hurt; on the other hand, he and his queen--and certainly his daughter--might have

been well-pleased to be rid of me. If they had been determined to hunt me down, it likely would not have

been all that difficult. My ears tended to stick out a bit too much, and my flaming red hair was long and

unruly. My nose was crooked from having been broken several times, and although my eyes were a

remarkably pleasing shade of gray, the rest of my hodgepodge of features invariably overwhelmed them.

Furthermore I was lame of right leg, and got about with the aid of a sizable walking staff that also served

as a formidable weapon. In short, I was easy to spot and difficult to disguise.

Sharee was less distinctive. She dressed customarily in black, with ebony hair cut short and curled

around her ears, and her rather prominent chin perpetually out thrust as if she were challenging the world

to take its best shot at her. There were times when it seemed to me that her prime reason for existence

was harassing me and taking great pleasure in the bizarre vagaries of my life. Still, in some ways she was

the truest friend I had ever encountered, if one definedfriend as "perpetual irritant."

Just in case Runcible's knights did happen to be following us, we retreated west and later north, to

take refuge in theTuckerForest. This was not done without a certain degree of trepidation on my part.

TheTuckerForestwas a nesting area for a particularly vicious group of cutthroat monstrosities called the

Harpers Bizarre, with whom I had considerable bad blood. I would far have preferred to take refuge in

the Elderwoods of my youth, but the only way to get there was either along roads too heavily traveled for

my comfort, or across the Screaming Gorge of Eternal Madness, about which the less said the better.

Besides, Sharee seemed rather confident that if difficulties arose, her weather-related magiks could

dispose of the Harpers with alacrity, and so theTuckerForestbecame our temporary haven while we

waited for the name Apropos to fade into the furthest recesses of royal memory.

Fortunately I had considerable proficiency in forestry, one of the few true talents I possessed other

than evasion, self-preservation, and rank cowardice. I had developed the forestry skills in my youth, and

they had not faded in time as I grew to young manhood. I was reaching the end of my teens when we

took up temporary refuge in theTuckerForest. We found a cave in which to reside, well hidden from

casual observation either from ground level (i.e., thieves) or from overhead (i.e., the Harpers Bizarre).

We figured we would spend a couple of days there and then work our way farther west in order to

distance ourselves more from Runcible's men. I spent time hunting, catching small game, while Sharee

preferred to alternate between meditating and acting as if she had something far better to do with her time

than remain with me.

Occasionally, though, we had mild fun together. For instance, I commented to her that I would be

interested in learning some magic. In response, she started teaching me card tricks. Not real magic at all,

and I was quite irritated with her at first. But in short order, I actually derived some genuine amusement

from it. I was a fairly quick learner, and also picked up some easy sleight-of-hand, including misdirection

and the ability to apparently pluck a card out of the air. Not much of a trick to the latter, really. Simply

keep your hand straight, hold the upper corners of the card securely on the back of your hand, between

your fingers, and then snap it quickly forward. The card seems to have come out of nowhere. As noted,

not genuine magic, but sometimes we measure the quality of life's passage by just how much of an

assortment of mindless pastimes we develop to entertain ourselves through it.

In terms of hunting, at first I stuck to small animals. But I tired quickly of a steady diet of rabbit and

squirrel. So I redesigned and reconfigured the traps for bigger bait, hoping to snag a small deer or

perhaps even a straying unicorn. Immortal or not, such creatures could still die from a quickly snapped

neck, and such were my traps intended for. Naturally I set them nowhere near the roads that occasional

travelers might use, lest an unfortunate accident occur.

Yet it happened anyway.

I was moving through the forest one day with my customary stealth. It may sound boastful or

vainglorious, but when I elect not to be detected in the woods, it is nigh unto impossible to find me. It is

one of the few instances, outside of swimming, where my lame leg does not deter me. Stealth does not

arise from speed, but from economy of motion. A high-speed marathon would leave me hopelessly

abandoned, but if you were seeking someone to move at a snail's pace for days on end, I was your man.

Approaching one of my more crafty noose traps, I suddenly heard a startled and truncated yelp from

ahead. It was definitely of a human variety of noise. It took me a moment to realize whence the sound

had come--namely from my trap--and but a moment more to grasp, with horror, the likely significance of

it.

Disdaining silence, I practically crashed through the underbrush, hoping there was time to salvage the

situation. 'Twas not to be. Instead I came upon a scene utterly dismaying...and yet also utterly fascinating

in a perverse way, and I do mean perverse.

The small pile of food which had served as bait within the snare now lay scattered about. The noose

was drawn taut, dangling about three and a half feet in the air. And suspended from the noose itself, its

feet clear of the ground by a good six inches, was the aforementioned dwarf.

It was a damned odd-looking thing. Its head was slumped to one side. It was round, with features

that looked fairly squashed, as if someone had sat on its face. Its arms were the disproportionate length

so common to its kind, but its legs were longer and less bow-shaped than one customarily saw in such

creatures. Its feet were odder still. At first I thought it was wearing hairy slippers of some sort, but then

realized that it was barefoot and simply had the most hirsute pedal extremities of any creature I'd ever

seen that didn't also possess a tail.

It also sported an extremely sizable bulge in its loins which even its loose-fitting breeches couldn't

obscure. I'd never been present at a hanging, but had heard that the victims of such incidents usually had

themselves a fairly healthy protuberance at the moment of death, which had always struck me as

somewhat puzzling. If anything could be deemed a sure killer of arousal, it was having your neck

snapped. But here was I, first-hand witness to the phenomenon, and so knew it to be true. Who would

have thought?

I still felt some measure of guilt for the passing creature's untimely demise, but there wasn't much I

could do about it after the fact. So instead I proceeded to do the most reasonable thing one could under

the circumstances: I checked him over for valuables. I didn't bother to cut him down; gruesome as his

situation was, it was easier to inspect him while he was upright. While his most noticeable bulge began to

diminish, I happily relieved him of another--a fairly decent purse hanging on his belt which I quickly

discovered was filled with gold coins the like of which I'd never seen. Still, as opposed to coins unique to

specific realms with different faces of monarchs etched in the surfaces, gold was definitely gold no matter

whose countenance adorned it.

Then I spotted something twinkling on the brush just beneath the dwarf's dangling feet, shining and

winking at me in the rays of the setting sun. I reached down and picked it up. It appeared to be some

sort of golden ring, but it was much too large for ordinary wear. I could easily fit three of my fingers into

the thing. An earring perhaps, but there was no clasp for it to fasten on. It felt rather warm, and I turned it

over and over in my hands, inspecting it carefully. It was then I noticed some sort of writing on the inside.

It was not easy to make out and, confusingly, the letters seemed to be fading along with the dissipating

warmth. But what it read was:

I didn't know to whom "them all" referred, or what the one thing might be, so really I was somewhat

ignorant of the purpose of the ring. Would that I had remained that way.

It was at that point that I heard something coming toward me through the woods. From the sound of

it, it appeared to be a group of men, at least half a dozen. They were making no attempt to move quietly;

a deaf man could have heard them coming. Unfortunately they were between me and the cave.

Without thinking, I shoved the ring in my pocket and quickly sought, and found, refuge amongst the

underbrush. As I mentioned earlier, when I am endeavoring to hide in a forest, I am almost impossible to

detect. I drew my cape around me and huddled low, unmoving in the lengthening shadows of the forest.

The men arrived in short order, and a more motley assortment one could not have imagined. The one

who seemed to be the leader was a strong, fox-faced, handsome-looking man. With him was an

astounding array of...hell, I'm not sure what they were. A couple more hairy-footed dwarfs, a few trolls,

some other freakish-looking individuals. I had absolutely no idea where they could have come from; none

of their ilk had ever passed through any of the regions in which I'd resided.

They saw at once the dangling dwarf, and oh, the moaning and caterwauling that they sent up then, I

cannot begin to tell you. In catching the names they were tossing around, it appeared that the deceased

one was called Bubo, and the tall man wasWalker. The others had an assortment of staggeringly

annoying monikers that were impossible to keep straight: Hodge and Podge, Hoi and Paloi, Hither and

Thither, Tutti and Fruitti, So On and So Forth, etc. It was rather cloying, and I could only be thankful I

wasn't traveling with the group as I would likely have beaten myself to death after two days rather than

die slowly of excessive cleverness.

The tall one calledWalkerwas standing directly in front of Bubo, obscuring him from my sight, and

then he turned and looked grimly at the others. "The ring is not here," he said.

There were gasps and lamentations and growls of "Death to the thief!" which naturally didn't sit all that

well with me.

"The body is still warm," saidWalker. "The thief cannot have gotten far." Now, I have to admit, I

bridled a bit at the word thief. Not that I wasn't one, you understand, but in this particular circumstance, it

wasn't as if the deceased had any use for his possessions anymore. I figured I was as entitled to what he

was carrying upon him as anyone else. "Spread out. Find him,"Walkercontinued.

Moving in smooth coordination, they headed out in all directions. I didn't breathe. One of the dwarfs

came within two feet of me but passed me by without noticing me hunkered down in the brush.

I waited what seemed an interminable time there, my legs getting numb, my arms feeling like lead

weights. Night had almost fallen when I finally chanced to rise, my sharp hearing convincing me that I was

alone.

Except...

In a sense, I wasn't.

I felt an extremely odd tingling in my loins. My little soldier was standing at attention, and he wasn't

little. Furthermore, I felt some sort of foreign object down there. Even though I knew I was alone, I still

glanced right and left to ensure privacy, then reached down into my breeches to see what was up.

Well...what else was up, beside the obvious.

To my utter astonishment, I discovered the ring, nestled securely at the base of my member.

Apparently I'd had a hole in my pocket, and as if it had a life of its own, the ring had worked its way

through and nestled into my loins, wrapping itself around my privates as if it were destined to be there. I

pulled on the ring in an endeavor to remove it. It wouldn't come off. I tried again and again, as forceful as

I could be while still retaining some delicacy, as I'm sure you can well imagine.

It didn't budge. Here I had been wondering how one could possibly sport such a sizable ring, and

now I had inadvertently discovered the answer. Furthermore I was so swollen that it didn't appear

capable of being removed until the tumescence went away. Which it did not seem inclined to do. And out

there, exposed in the woods, I felt rather too self-conscious to "relieve myself" of the pressure.

I was utterly mortified, but I had nowhere else to go as I headed back to the cave. Fortunately I had

my great cape with me, so I would be able to draw it around myself and hide the noticeable bulge, for I

certainly did not need Sharee laughing at my predicament. My hope was that if I simply ignored the thing,

it would go away. And certainly spending time with Sharee would increase that likelihood, for if I'd had

any remaining interest in the opposite sex after my rather disastrous history of liaisons, the weaver was

more than capable of putting it to rest.

I hoped that she might not be in the cave when I arrived, just so I had a few minutes to get myself

settled with the cape still around me. Such was not to be, however, for there she was, tending a small fire

and looking up at me expectantly. "Did you bring food?" she inquired.

"Bad luck trapping," I said, which was true enough. Hungry we might have been, but I didn't think we

were hungry enough to eat a dwarf. I settled down some feet away from her, adjusting the cape. My

loins did not seem to be calming. Instead, in Sharee's presence, there appeared to be even more

excitement than before. And I thought,Oh, my friend, are you barking up the wrong tree. If there is

anyone who is not at all interested, it is--

She was upon me in a flash.

I could not believe it. One minute she was sitting there, looking at me oddly, and the next she was on

top of me with such force that I slammed my head against the cave wall. Her hand went straight to the

place I'd been trying to keep hidden, as if she knew what was going to be there. Her eyes were wild with

a fiery light, and she was smothering me with kisses even as she started pulling both of our clothes off in

her eagerness.

Now...

I'm not stupid.

I figured out what was going on in pretty short order. I didn't for a moment think that suddenly I had

acquired so sensual, so commanding a personality that Sharee felt compelled to savage me in every

carnal way imaginable. Obviously it was the ring. The damned thing was enchanted somehow, and it was

an enchantment that no one--even a skilled weatherweaver such as Sharee--was able to resist. She was

not in her right mind. Under the circumstances, I would have been a cad, a bounder, and an utter rotter

to take advantage of the situation. And if you think that I failed to do so, then clearly you have not been

paying attention.

Truthfully, although I was not exactly resistant to the concept, I'm not sure I could have kept her off

me even had I desired to. She was unstoppable, and thanks to the ring, I was more than up to the

challenge.

And later I was up to it again. And again.

And again.

All through the night.

I lost count. By the time the morning came, my head was swimming with exhaustion, my belly

practically in pain from lack of nourishment. But my suddenly very public private was still fresh as ever,

and Sharee just as enthusiastic. I let her have her way with me again, this time so bone weary that I didn't

even move. I just lay there, splayed on the cave floor, and thought about bathing in freezing water.

Finally Sharee fell asleep, and I knew beyond question that I had to get the hell out of there.

Apparently realizing that the joy ride was over, my seemingly insatiable rod slumped a bit, but not

enough for me to pull the ring off. Quickly I dressed and bolted from the cave. I figured that Sharee

would be waiting for me when, or if, I got back.

I was ravenously hungry at that point. Perhaps Sharee could live on love, but I did not share that

capacity. I moved quickly through the woods, counting on my staff--my wooden one, not the betraying

member in my breeches--for more support than even my lame leg usually required. Animals seemed to

be giving me wide berth, however, and the few nuts and leaves I could safely eat off the trees were

hardly enough to keep me going, particularly after the evening of ardor I had spent.

I made my way to the main east/west road which ran through the upper section of theTuckerForest

and cut east. I knew there was an inn along the way. It wasn't much, but I figured that at least they'd have

some sort of minimal food there, and I could replenish myself. I also needed to distance myself from

Sharee for a time. I assuredly couldn't go back to sleeping in the cave with her; the woman obviously

would not leave me alone. Not as long as I had this Significant Other to deal with.

I felt it stirring with renewed life as I approached the inn, and drew my cape even more tightly around

myself. Fortunately enough it was a brisk morning, so no one would question why I was keeping myself

so covered up.

Once inside, I took a table toward the back, in a corner, with the intention of keeping entirely to

myself. The innkeeper, a dyspeptic-looking fellow, glanced at me suspiciously. I held up the money,

jingled it slightly, and that seemed enough to satisfy him. He moved away as the serving girl approached

me. I'll admit she was a comely thing, which is what made what happened next somewhat tolerable.

"A stein of mead," I told her, "and do you have any decent mutton?"

She looked me up and down. Even though I was covered up, I suddenly felt as if her gaze was boring

right to where I didn't want it to go. I crossed my legs, cleared my throat, and started to repeat the

question.

"Upstairs," she interrupted. "First door on the right. Now."

"But...I haven't eaten."

She brought her face toward mine, and her breath was warm and pleasant. "I'll be your

appetizer...and your main course...and your dessert..."

Oh, my gods."Miss...I...that is to say..."

"Upstairs, now," and there was iron in her voice, "or I'll take you right here."

She meant it. I could see it in her eyes, hear it in her tone, she was quite serious.

I went upstairs, to the room she indicated. There was a bed there with a lumpy mattress. Ten seconds

later she was there, and the waitress provided room service.

Five minutes later the waitress's mother burst in on us, shocked and appalled. She threw her sobbing

daughter out, slammed the door behind her, faced me, and I knew then what was coming.

I was worried that the tavern keeper was the husband, and figured that he'd be upstairs in short order

with an ax...or, worse, love in his eyes. But such was not the case; they were simply a mother and

daughter who worked at the tavern.

And they had friends.

Lots of friends.

Now I have to tell you, a situation like this had, at one time, been one of my fantasies. I grew up in a

tavern, saw whores in action. And I had always wondered what it would be like to be so in demand that

people--women, in my case--would throw themselves at me by the cartload, and even be willing to pay

me, just for the privilege of melding their bodies with mine.

Well, no one was offering me money, although I have no doubt that I could have fleeced them for all

they were worth. I likely would have, too, had any of them given me the chance to talk.

Apparently there was a village nearby, and all I can surmise from the parade of female flesh that

marched in and out of my room was that the menfolk were not doing their job. The women came to me

in all shapes, all sizes, young and old, pretty and...less so. I tried to keep a smile on my face, tell myself

that this was the price of fame. I literally, however, lost track of time. Day and night became meaningless

to me. Oh, I was fed, at least. The tavern wench kept bringing me food. At one point the innkeeper stuck

his head in, grinned, and said, "Keep at it, my lad! That's the ticket!" as if he was my best friend in the

world. I managed a meager wave and realized that he was probably charging the women admission. He

was makingmy money . It didn't seem fair, and if any part of me had been able to rise from the bed aside

from the one part of me that appeared inexhaustible, I would have done something about it.

I tried to leave, several times. They wouldn't let me. Finally they tied me to the bed. There are worse

ways to pass one's hours, but none come readily to mind.

* * *

I have no idea when Walker and his people showed up. It could have been a day later, a week later.

I was floating in a haze of exhaustion and numbness. All I knew was that there was a thumping up the

stairs, and the door burst open. For a moment I thought it was a mob of angry husbands, come either to

chop me to bits or--for all I knew--have their way with me. Then I squinted as I recognized that

improbably heroic face. I was nude from the waist down, obviously. I couldn't remember a time anymore

when I'd worn breeches. He took one look, turned to others crowding in, and said firmly, "He has the

ring."

There was certainly no use denying it. "You want it? Take it," I mumbled in exhaustion.

Walker stomped in, tossing a blanket over me. Producing a blade, he severed the bonds holding my

hands to the bedframe. "It is not ours to take. I will not ask how you came by it; the past no longer

matters. Thanks to the ring, you are now the possessor of the One Thing Which Rules Them All."

"The One Thing being..." and I pointed to my happy soldier.

"Yes." He nodded, and the others mimicked the nod. "That thing."

"And 'them all' would be...women."

"Yes," Walker said once more. "What you possess is a ring, forged in the--"

I held up my hands and rose from the bed, fumbling about for my breeches. "No. Don't tell me."

"But you should know," said Walker.

"Yes, it's a really good story," one of the dwarfs said, in a slightly whiny tone.

"I don't care!" I insisted. "It probably involves some powerful magic user somewhere, and dark

forces, and evil hordes wanting it back. Right?"

"Well...essentially, yes," Walker admitted, looking a bit uncomfortable.

"Fine. Save it. And get them out of here." I pointed at the cluster of women that was already

assembling, seeming rather distressed over the prospect of my possible departure. "All I want to know is

how to get rid of the thing."

"You must toss it," said Walker solemnly, "into the Flaming Nether Regions. Only there will it be

melted, its threat ended for all time."

I knew the Flaming Nether Regions well enough. I had once been squire to a knight, Sir Umbrage,

who hailed from thereabouts.

You may be wondering why I did not question the interest this mixed bag of meddlers might have had

in the ring. I shall make it plain: Clearly they were heroes. Bubo, previous possessor of this lovely trinket,

had probably been as much in demand as I was. Walker's people had obviously been serving to keep

women away from him...or perhaps him away from women...while they escorted him to the Flaming

Nether Regions. They were in the midst of some great quest, into which I had been unwillingly--and

unwittingly--drawn. I like neither heroes nor quests, because becoming involved with either invariably

gets people killed. I have no patience for adventures, even though I perpetually seem to find myself in the

middle of them, and the sooner I depart their vicinity, the better. Far from dauntless, I am easily daunted.

I want nothing but to make money, have some fame, fortune, and fun, and survive to die of old age in my

bed.

In short, I'm just like you. Look down your nose at me at your peril, for it is yourself you very likely

judge.

So I had no interest in what had brought them to this point in time. I simply said, "Take me there."

We set off.

There was much trouble along the way.

I could go into detail, of course. I could tell you about the dark warriors who set upon us, the flaming

black hailstones, the totally unexpected return assault of the Harpers Bizarre, who apparently were now

under the command of a great and powerful weaver, the rampaging fishlike killer creature called the

Orcuh, and much, much more. But it was not a pleasant period, just about everyone in the group was

killed, I spent the entire time with a raging tumescence in my breeches, and one of the dwarfs--Thither, I

think it was--kept eyeing me in a manner I found most disturbing. I was frankly relieved when the Orcuh

stepped on him.

So you'll pardon me if I simply say, again, that there was much trouble along the way, until finally only

an exhausted Walker and myself were left to stand on the edge of the formidable precipice overlooking

the Flaming Nether Regions.

Far, far below raged the Regions. A continuous lava flow, the origin of which no one knew, flames

licking upward with formidable intensity, and smoke billowing, making it extremely difficult to see more

than a foot or so down.

"All right," I said to Walker. "Now what?" I had my hand discreetly around the ring, trying to pull it

off, thinking that now that it had reached its inevitable destiny, the damned thing would go without a

struggle. Unfortunately I was as hard, and the ring as stubborn, as ever.

"You throw the ring in," said Walker matter-of-factly.

"Yes, well, small problem. The ring doesn't appear to be cooperating."

"That does not surprise me."

"Well, it surprises me!" I retorted, wiping sweat from my brow. "You made it sound simple! Get to

the Flaming Nether Regions, toss the ring in, we're done! How do I remove it?"

"The ring will only detach itself," said Walker, "when the bearer's heart stops."

"What?" I felt all the remaining blood in my body that wasn't elsewhere pounding in my temples. "You

mean when I die?" I now realized that, obviously, when Bubo had died, the ring had fallen through his

leggings and onto the ground where I'd found it. "You couldn't think to mention thatearlier? I'm

supposed tokill myself? That doesn't leave much of an upside forme!"

"There is...an alternative," Walker said.

"Good! Excellent! What is it?" Relief was flooding through me.

Walker produced a very sharp-looking knife. "Cut it off."

I took the knife, turning it over in my hand. Yes, indeed, very sharp. "And this will cut through the

ring?" I said doubtfully.

"No, nothing can cut through the ring."

As I said, I'm not stupid. I quickly realized where this was going. I fought down rising panic. "So my

choice, you're saying to me...is either death...or a life not worth living."

"Think of it this way," Walker said, trying to sound commiserating. "Certainly in the past days, you've

received a lifetime's worth of attention to your member. Is that not enough?"

"No! Most certainly not! And I--"

"Mine!"

The cackling, unexpected voice caught us both unawares. We turned, standing there on the edge of

the gorge, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

Bubo was approaching us, his head still at that bizarre angle from when the noose had snapped his

neck. He did not, however, appear to realize that he was deceased. His skin was the color of curdled

milk and shared some of the same aroma. His eyes were wide and solid black, his teeth rotting in his

head. As he approached, his hands were spasming, as if he was trying to clutch something with them.

"My precious! Mine!" he cried out, sounding like a screeching baby bird.

"Stay back!" Walker said to me. "He wants the ring!"

"If he can get it off me with an option other than what you've offered, he can have it!"

"No! Don't you understand? If the dark weaver who forged the ring gets it back, no woman in the

world will be safe!"

"I'll buy them all locked chastity belts! It will work out fine!" I was tugging at the stubborn ring. "Here!

Your old friend wants you back! Go! Go!"

"Undead thing," Walker said defiantly, facing the creature which had been Bubo. "You do not frighten

me." He started to pull his sword.

Bubo didn't wait. He leaped through the air as if he weighed nothing, landed squarely on Walker's

shoulders and gripped Walker's head with his feet. With a quick twist of his hips, he snapped Walker's

neck. Walker's dead body collapsed like a sack of potatoes, his sword still only half drawn.

Peter David - Sir Apropos 02 - The Woad To Wuin

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