Free Sword Play by Clayton Emery

ornaments for salt and iron and cloth and other provisions. Rengarth warriors did not venture far into the lowlands except for cattle and spouse raids. So as for this place, he didn’t know what to expect. For the thousandth time, he wished he had a companion, even a dog, to travel with him. Truth to tell, the brawny barbarian was a bit shy. And with everything so new …
    A twig snapped, and as quick as thought Sunbright was off his blanket and behind the log with sword poised. He readied to spring, for he reckoned that the closer he got to civilization, the more dangerous the woods would be, not less. But this clumsy visitor would probably only be the podgy Chandler.
    No, definitely not.
    A woman tiptoed into his camp. Her hair was long and tawny red, the color of the fire. She wore nothing but a simple shift, the soft cloth washed and worn so much it had taken her shape, thin enough so Sunbright could see every curve as she stood by the fire.
    Peering first at his empty bedroll, then at the darkness around her, she quavered, “Hello? Hello, is anyone here? I’m lost and need help.”
    It couldn’t be true, thought Sunbright. Her plight had “trap” smeared all over it. So he surprised himself by calling, “Where are you from?”
    “Oh!” The girl jumped, startled. She tiptoed, barefoot, to the fallen oak and peered over it. “Oh, there you are!”
    Sunbright felt foolish aiming a sword at the girl. But his childhood had been filled with horror stories of mysterious women who accosted wandering men. Silkies, they were called, or dryads, water sprites, nymphs, succubi, and other names. Invariably they cozied up to a man, then visited him with some unspeakable death: turned him inside out, changed him to a frog, drowned and ate him, planted insect eggs into his paralyzed body.
    As the girl leaned over him, the shift gaped open revealingly. She shivered. “I’m nearly frozen! I was bathing in the river, and some boys from the village stole my clothes. I had to wait until nightfall to return home, but I lost my way in the dark. Can you…” Her voice trailed off as he continued to stare at her.
    A likely story, thought Sunbright. She had to be a night hag, a harpy, a killer. He couldn’t be this lucky. He kept his sword ready, but felt himself melting under her warm green gaze. He knew he should tell her to leave, but some traitorous part of himself replied, “I’m a stranger here and don’t know the way to the village. But if you’d like to share my fire …”
    She smiled gratefully and sank down on his camp bed of boughs and blanket.
    Now what? Sunbright wondered, standing. Would she grow fangs and red eyes? Would he have to lop off her head?
    “Would you sit beside, me?” The girl looked up at him, her green eyes pleading. “I’m still cold.”
    Sunbright felt his knees turn to water. This was magic, for sure, but perhaps only normal man-woman magic. He tried to answer, but only croaked like a frog.
    “What?” she breathed. Her eyes were soft, her lips moist. “I can’t hear; you’ll have to come closer.”
    Twisting a surprisingly strong hand into his bearskin jerkin, she pulled his face downward. His legs failed, and the rest of him followed, collapsing on the camp bed next to her. She bent over him and placed her mouth on his.
    She’s not cold, the barbarian thought groggily as he gave himself up to her eager ministrations. Not cold at all.
    And this was bound to be better than dying in combat.

    Sunlight stabbed into his eyes, and Sunbright sat bolt upright on his blanket. He’d overslept.
    Rubbing his eyes, he simultaneously searched for his sword, his possessions, and the girl. The first two were where he’d dropped them, the last gone without a trace. No, there was one trace, for her delicate footprints showed in the scalped dirt around the dead campfire.
    “But that doesn’t make sense,” he wondered aloud. “Either they suck your soul or lift your purse.” But everything was here,