The roiling skies were grey and dismal, only the slightest hint of sun passing through the dark clouds that stretched to all horizons. They carried with them an atmosphere of unending depression, tainting the souls of those who traveled beneath them with a deluge of... with... under a... Oh, hell with it. It was raining. Some storms can inspire dramatic scenes, which clever authors often describe using phrases such as 'angry skies above' or 'fury of the gods'. In contrast, the steady drizzle currently blotting out the sun could barely be described as mildly perturbed, and would be unlikely to inspire a single haiku. But what it did have, in abundance, was rain. It had rained since early morning and, colorful metaphors aside, the constant downpour was enough to get on anyone's nerves. "I'm cold," a sniffly voice near the back of the group complained. "I'm cold, and I'm all wet. I'm cold, I'm all wet, and my feet huuuuuurt! Naga-sama, how much longer is it going to beeeee?" "Don't ask *her*, child," came the smugly outraged response. "After all, it was the direction of our esteemed navigator - who, I might add, claimed to be so very familiar with this region - that brought us to this situation. Tell me, O Infallible White Serpent... how many times do you think we've gone in circles so far?" "Will both of you just ease up on her a bit?" This voice was clearly trying to be patient, but wasn't having too much success. "It's not her fault the road was washed out. We'll get there eventually." "You are ABSOLUTELY RIGHT!" The fourth figure, seeming totally oblivious to the complete lack of protection against the element that her outfit provided, rushed ahead of the others and posed dramatically on a handy tree stump. "If there is only ONE thing that can be relied upon one hundred percent, it is that Naga the White Serpent will always see you through! No mere inclement weather condition can possibly stand up to this combination of charm, intelligence, beauty, AND sorcerous might!" Her gloved hand lifted to her face, fingers curled slightly, as she took a deep breath. "OOOOOOOHohohohohohohooooo!" Her companions stared at her numbly, water cascading down their clothes. "If I may interrupt our glorious 'leader'," Actinaea drawled finally, sarcasm dripping from the final word, "I, for one, would rather sleep at an in than out here in the rain. If you have even the slightest idea where the nearest town is, I'm sure we'd all appreciate knowing." Naga leaned forward, her grin turning somewhat malicious. "What's that? Do these perfect ears detect the grating whine of one too-long pampered by Guild luxuries?" She straightened up and put her hands on her hips. "The life of an adventurer is filled with hardships, my underdeveloped associate, and is not for the weak or timid. Of course, if you choose to return to Singe now, I won't say a word against you." Only the unending sizzle of rain was heard as Actinaea slowly counted to ten. "It's not me that I'm asking for," she growled. "But Mariposa is unused to the rigors of travel." "Mari can handle it," Naga insisted. "I am completely confident in her. Ne, Mari-chan?" The young apprentice straightened up quickly. "H-Hai!" Actinaea snorted in disgust. Naga turned and hopped off the stump. "Now, if you're quite finished complaining, there's still some traveling yet to do today." "What there is *left* of today," the Praetor grumbled, following behind Naga as they climbed a gentle hill, winding their way around the rain-soaked trees. "It's nearly dusk." "A little darkness never hurt anyone." "No, but slipping down a hill and breaking one's arm in the darkness most definitely did. Do you know where we can find shelter for the night?" "Of course I do." "Where?" At that moment, as dictated by the Laws of Narrative, the group reached the top of the hill, and as they emerged into a brief break in the trees, they were presented with a view of the opposite side of a small valley. At the top of the other hill was a large stone building, barely larger than an average keep. A small light was visible in one of its windows. The grin on her face never changing, Naga turned to her companions and pointed at the edifice. "There." =-=-=-=-=-= Improfanfic Presents... SLAYERS GLORIOUS Started by Todd Harper Chapter Four: A Good Deed Brings High Spirits Written by Brian Stricklin =-=-=-=-=-= Upon closer inspection, the keep seemed to be a church or monastery of some sort. It was hard to tell its exact nature in the near-darkness, but there were definite religious overtones to the place. Rather than throw its doors wide to charitably accommodate travelers in need, however, the building remained solemn and silent as the group approached. In addition, the light in the window was extinguished. This did not bode well. "Oi! Open up in there!" Naga pounded on the door again, the heavy oaken surface barely moving under her assault. "You don't want to miss this rare opportunity to play host to such a guest as myself, do you?" Actinaea, leaning against the nearby wall, shook her head. "Not even inside yet, and she's already calling herself a guest..." Taking a step back, Naga looked up at the darkened windows above her. "How unsociable. Well, no matter." She lifted her arm, palm extended toward the doors, and a small ice-blue sphere of light flickered into existence at her fingertips. "I've always enjoyed making an entrance..." A sweatdrop rolled down Getehl's forehead, but was quickly washed away by the rain. "Naga-san, is it really necessary to blast our way in? This *is* a church, after all." "Oh, let her have her fun," Actinaea said with a smirk. "Everyone knows how much she enjoys mindless violence." There was a pause, then the blue light faded. "You are confusing me with *her* again, chestless crone." Naga's expression turned a trifle self-mocking. "And so was I. But if I am anything, I am a woman of refined elegance." The Praetor snickered at that, but said nothing. Naga let her hand fall to her side. "No. We'll find somewhere else to-" "Naga-samaaaa!" The three companions looked up as Mariposa trotted toward them from within the surrounding gloom. "I found something!" 'Something' turned out to be a small stable, clean and well- maintained. Though there a full eight stalls, only three were occupied at the moment, by two draft horses and an elderly mule wearing a straw hat. Mari had already lit a single lantern suspended from one of the posts separating the stalls, providing much-needed light. As the travelers entered the thatched building and gratefully shook the water from their clothes, Naga glanced around in approval. "Well done, Mari-chan. Already your adventurer's instincts are beginning to sharpen." Mari beamed happily. "Arigato, Naga-sama!" "I suppose it will have to do," Actinaea said, removing her outer cloak and draping it over a plank. "That is, if our woman of refined elegance can withstand such low accommodation." The White Serpent leaned down until she was face-to-face with the mule, who peered at her with what might or might not have been interest. It's hard to tell with mules. "It's true, the smell may prove to be a problem..." Then she straightened up and looked at the Praetor. "...But I suppose they'll just have to get used to you. Isn't that right, Marguerite?" Actinaea ignored the mule's bray as she settled down on a pile of straw. =-=-=-=-=-= By the next morning the rain had stopped, and Naga was slowly awoken by the sunbeams filtering through the stable's wall. Not willing to allow the golden, peaceful moment end, she closed her eyes again and let her mind drift. She felt better than she had done for a long time, she realized, and not just because of her night's rest in the dry. This was beyond that; she hadn't felt this kind of confidence or total assurance since the days she'd been out wandering with... her. Maybe even since before then... Traveling the land! Seeking an ancient treasure! Battling bandits and claiming their gold! This was where Naga truly belonged, not guzzling bad ale in some forsaken port somewhere. And this time, *Naga* was the leader - not even Actinaea could dispute that. Admittedly, she was still widely known as nothing more than a sidekick. It would take a while before she could counteract that. But though she was still living in *her* shadow, at least now she could see the sun peeking through. Nevertheless, it'd been a good thing that they'd found the monastery when they did... because Naga had been utterly lost, and hadn't had a clue where to find shelter for the night. "Naga-sama!" Mariposa's anxious whisper cut through the fog. "Are you awake yet?" The White Serpent opened one eye, and flinched as she discovered that one rogue sunbeam had focused on her optic nerve. "I am now. What's wrong?" Mari pointed at the stable door, where Actinaea and Getehl were carefully peeking out. "Something's going on outside!" With a frown, Naga stood up and, fastening her now-dry cape back over her shoulders, approached the door and peered out through an upper knothole. A crowd had gathered outside the front door of the church. Actually, 'mob' would have been a closer description, and 'gang' closer still. They all wore tattered leather armor, with swords and clubs tied at their waists. In addition, there was a certain sameness about them, a suggestion that they had but one role in life and were fully prepared to do it well. All this added up to just one thing. "Bandits," Naga murmured. "So why aren't we out there distributing indiscriminate justice yet?" "Well, they haven't done anything yet," Actinaea explained, still peering outside between two warped planks. "Just pounded the door and yelled a lot. For all we know, it's time for their weekly sermon - not very likely, I admit, but..." "Also, there's..." Getehl began, glancing up at Naga. As she was leaning over him to get a good view, this gave him a rather impressive view of the White Serpent's celebrated bosom from below, and it took him a moment to realign his thought process. "Bwahhh... uh, I mean, there's an awful lot of them. About three score, I'd guess. We tried to wake you up earlier..." Naga shrugged. She'd always been a sound sleeper. "Hold on... looks like something's happening." =-=-=-=-=-= Borlas was growing impatient. So were his men - the increasing restlessness among the bandits told him that if they didn't see some action soon, they'd make some of their own. He let the tension build a few seconds longer, then straightened up from his lounging position against an old cart and approached the monastery's doors. Gavoron, Borlas' second-in-command, was still there, working himself into a frenzy as he tried to diplomatically convince the inhabitants of the building to open up. "...and if you old geezers don't let us in real soon," he bellowed, waving his sword enthusiastically, "we're gonna bring this whole PLACE down on your freakin' HEADS! How do ya like *that*, huh?!" Borlas closed his eyes and sighed in annoyance. "Gavoron..." The red-headed bandit turned around. "Yeah, boss?" "Shut up." Ignoring his subordinate's glare, Borlas snapped his fingers; immediately, a younger bandit brought a lit torch to his tall, balding leader, who used the fire to light a cigar. "The way to get them out," he explained, loud enough for those inside the monastery to hear, "is to threaten something they care about. That little barn, for instance, should burn pretty well. Too bad about the horses, though..." Before those *inside* the barn could do anything about this statement, the doors had creaked open and an elderly man in light tan robes had emerged, followed by two equally wizened individuals. "You are not welcome here," the leading priest said coldly. Borlas laughed. "Well, now, that's just a shame, isn't it, boys?" As his gang joined in on the menacing chuckle, he took a deep drag on his cigar and blew a careless smoke ring. "You should've listened to my warning, old man. I won't do anything to smash up this place, but my boys... well, they can get a little frisky at times, you know?" "We have no gold for you to steal," one of the other priests said desperately. "Everything we have is given to charity. We have nothing you'd want!" A sly grin passed across the bandit king's face. "Now, now. Priests shouldn't lie - it's bad for the soul. I know that this is the Cavillian Order, and we all know what that means, don't we?" Another round of laughter and eager cheers erupted, totally masking the astonished gasp from the stable. ("Cavillian?") The third priest's gaze narrowed. "Our wares are far too civilized for ruffians such as yourselves!" Borlas shook his head. "There you go, being inhospitable again. But then, your opinion doesn't matter at the moment, does it?" He beckoned over his shoulder. "Come on, boys - we'll use that cart to-" He was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a door being kicked open. "Stop right there, cretin!" Both priest and bandit turned to see the majestically posing scantily-clad Amazon framed in the stable's doorway. Her mismatched companions looked surprised for a moment, but quickly moved into formation around her. After a moment, Borlas chuckled. "Hiring mercenaries, eh, old man? Too bad you didn't hire more of 'em." "He didn't hire us," Naga said smoothly. "And indeed, I wouldn't take a single coin to defend this holiest of places." Her companions recoiled in shock. Even Getehl had been around her long enough to realize that such generosity was quite unlike the White Serpent. "N-Naga," he stuttered, "are you feeling all right?" "Silence!" she barked. "There are things in this world more important than money." "It was all that cold, wet weather," Mariposa said despondently. "She's caught some sort of brain fever..." Ignoring her friends' comments, Naga pointed a leather-clad finger at Borlas. "You *will* not defile this sacred temple as long as I am around. I suggest that you flee now, worthless beasts, or you shall be forced to face the wrath of... Naga the White Serpent!" Silence greeted her announcement. A tumbleweed blew past. The bandit king turned his head slightly. "Specs?" A bespectacled man quickly approached and whispered in his leader's ear. Naga overhead (with much annoyance, but little surprise) the words 'inverse' and 'goldfish' in the bandits' conversation. Finally Borlas smirked at Naga. "Well, well, well. It's the sidekick herself. But none of your friends look like the infamous Bandit-Killer, do they?" For some reason, the priests looked like they were about to panic. Naga returned the smirk, with interest. "And that's fortunate for you - *she* would have already blasted you and your men all the way to Sairaag. I, on the other hand, am willing to overlook your transgressions if you leave immediately. If not, you *will* be punished. OOOOOOOOOOhohohohohohoooo!" A few of the bandits, with particularly weak constitutions or particularly keen hearing, staggered under the sonic assault. Borlas, however, was unmoved. "Heh. You wouldn't dare use your spells here." "Wouldn't I?" Naga allowed herself a small smile. "I'd be very sure of that, if I were you." The second priest clutched at Naga's cape. "No, you mustn't! It-" "Rest easy, Father - I know what I'm doing." She dislodged her garment from his grasp and looked back at Borlas. "Well?" The two locked gazes for a moment... then the bandit glanced over his shoulder. "Modor. Galb. Torgen." "What? AAAAH! I'm deaf!" "Sergei, then. Take care of them." As the three bandits approached, swords at the ready, Actinaea cupped her hands together. "I'll take care of them with one spell." "No." The Praetor blinked and looked up at Naga. "Don't do anything - you either, Mari-chan. This has to be handled carefully." Mariposa backed up nervously. "They look pretty mean, Naga-sama..." "It's all right," she said soothingly. "It's time to use our secret weapon." "We have a secret weapon?" "Of course." After a long pause, during which the bandits closed in with bloodthirsty grins, Naga shouted, "Get 'em, Getehl!" "Huh?" He turned to look at her, but Naga had already hustled Mari and Actinaea back into the stable. "Wait a minute! Since when am I the secret-" His protests were cut short - almost literally - as one of the bandits swung his sword in a vicious arc. Getehl parried the attack at the last moment, then jumped back to avoid slashes from his other two opponents. The bandits cheered on their compatriots as they closed in on the lone swordsman, blades flashing. Getehl parried and dodged with skill, but it was obvious that he'd be cut down before he could mount a successful counterattack. Therefore it came as quite a surprise when the mercenary charged his way through his enemies, smashing them aside with his shoulder. Getehl, filled once again with the unusual battle rage he'd felt earlier, glared around him with wild eyes, his sword gleaming in the morning light. As his opponents rather incautiously stood up, he sprinted back toward them, slicing into the bandits before they realized what was happening. Their armor absorbed most of the damage, but their weapons were knocked aside by his furious assault, and they wisely decided not to get back up again. Then Getehl's gaze turned to Borlas. Borlas returned the glare unflinchingly as the mercenary ran toward him. His gang was less confident, however, and moved to intercept the madman as he rushed their leader. One, two, three bandits were sent sprawling to the ground as Getehl closed in. The bandit king smirked slightly, and his hand dropped to his waist... There was a single clash of steel on steel, then silence. The berserker spirit faded from Getehl once more and he took a deep breath. Nothing hurt, except for the ache brought on by sudden overexertion, so... He turned back around with a grin... and saw Borlas calmly blowing a smoke ring. Getehl stared. "Wha-" he began, but was interrupted by a sudden clattering metallic sound. His sword, notched and battered from long use, was falling apart in his hand, sliced by several perfectly straight cuts. *Wow,* he thought, still stunned. *This guy's good.* "Not bad," Borlas admitted, dropping the cigar and crushing it under his heel. "Not good enough, though." The three women in the barn took this as their cue to emerge - Getehl quickly scrambled over to them, and Naga treated him to an imperious stare. "We'll have to trade you in for a better secret weapon, you know." "It's not my fault," he protested. "He broke my sword!" Naga ignored him and faced Borlas, who grinned at her. "Anything else up your sleeve, miss? If you had any, I mean." She smiled. "I suppose there's nothing for it. Shall we say, single combat? You and I?" Mari and Actinaea gaped in surprise - Getehl, on the other hand, was still a bit sore over his loss. Borlas' grin widened. "You're that confident, are you?" ("I liked that sword, too.") "You have *no* idea. Shall we begin?" "Don't do it, Naga-sama!" Mariposa protested. "He'll hurt you! Bad!" ("It was a really good sword.") "Sometimes, Mari-chan, being an adventurer means taking risks." She drew the longsword - a rarely used implement - hanging from her belt and leveled it at Borlas. "One must always be ready to fight for what they believe in." ("I mean, it wasn't exactly the Hikari no Ken, but hey.") Borlas drew his own sword, a massive blade, at least five feet in length and a hand's breadth across. "Let's go, then." As the bandits and companions backed away from their leaders, Borlas and Naga locked gazes in a fierce contest of wills. There was dead silence as the tension mounted... ...but, as self-confident as Borlas was, he was as an underfed meerkat before the rampaging rhinoceros of the White Serpent's ego. His nerve broke first, and with a mighty bellow he charged, sword poised to strike. Closer and closer he ran toward Naga, who didn't move a muscle as he thundered toward her. It seemed as though she was but a moment from certain death... "LY BRIEM!" The frigid blast of air darted out from Naga's extended palm, suddenly encasing Borlas in a sphere of ice, his sword mere inches from Naga's neck. The three priests gasped in shock. Well, two of them did. The second of the three screamed like a little girl. Naga surveyed her new ice-sculpture smugly, then with a mighty kick sent the globe rolling toward the bandit gang. In a panic, they fled down the sloping path, closely followed by their cryogenically-preserved leader. Before he made his escape as well, Gavoron shook his fist at the White Serpent. "We'll be back!" She allowed herself another satisfied grin, then turned around, only to be brought face-to-face with Priest #3. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!" he inquired circumspectly. "Tch, tch, tch." She raised a finger and waggled it scoldingly. "I know perfectly well what I've done, and I think you'll find that the damage is minimal, and only temporary." "It had BETTER be," he growled. Naga's companions exchanged confused glances. "Naga-sama," Mari finally ventured, "what is this place?" "This?" Naga gestured broadly, encompassing the ancient monastery with a single wave. "This, my dear child, is the Abbey of the Cavillian Order, the source of that most holy of holy waters..." =-=-=-=-=-= The bottle clinked against the glass, and a small measure of deep maroon liquid was decanted. "...Cavillian Red Wine," Naga said lovingly, her eyes sparkling to match the wine itself. "One of the finest vintages to ever grace the palate of the world." The first priest, whose name was revealed to be Father Komel, bowed in response. "We do our humble best." Actinaea crossed her arms, still seated at a wide table within the abbey. "I should have known that alcohol was at the root of all this." "Wine?" Getehl was the slightest bit outraged. "I risked my neck for *wine*?" "Spoken like someone who's never tasted this delicate, unpresuming masterpiece. Besides, the bandits would undoubtedly have put these priests to some discomfort, yes?" "I guess..." Father Komel set two more glasses down, for Actinaea and Getehl. "Please, accept our thanks. Borlas told us what he was planning a few days ago - we were hoping he would forget, or that the rain would dissuade him, but..." Mari was a bit downcast that she hadn't been included in the handout. "Ano... what about me?" The second priest, Father Aldias, wordlessly placed before her a tall glass of cold grape juice. "Awwwwwww..." Naga raised her glass and sampled it with the skill of a professional wine taster. "Mmmm... wonderful. A... '45, I believe? No, no, '46 - you started adding extra nitrates to the soil that year." There was an impressed murmur among the gathered priests. "You know our product well, Naga-san," Komel said with a faint smile. "Such things are a hobby of mine." Mariposa sipped her juice. "I still don't understand, though. Why couldn't we just blow up the bandits?" "Ah." Naga raised an index finger. "The reason this wine is so marvelous and subtle is because the grapes used by the order are particularly fragile and sensitive. So sensitive, in fact, that the use of magic in their vicinity can damage their flavor. One must be extremely careful about... ah, here he is." A young novice, previously sent down to the orchards on the other side of the hill, entered the room out of breath, a freshly-picked bunch of grapes in his hands. He carried them to the third priest, a perpetually angry individual named Father Grandel, who placed them on the table before him. "Now we'll see if you've ruined our next harvest," he said, glaring at Naga for a moment before selecting a grape and popping it into his mouth. A black-gloved hand reached in from the side and picked a grape of its own. "May I?" Without waiting for a response, Naga nipped the grape with her teeth and sampled the juice for a moment (in a manner that made the celibate priests a bit uncomfortable) before eating. The only sound in the room was that of furious mastication. Finally, Naga broke the silence. "Delicious. Truly one of your better crops, if I may say so. And... yes... just a *hint* of bitterness, which will undoubtedly go away before the harvest." "Hmph." Grandel took another grape, apparently seeking to find fault with Naga's statement. "I think even one more spell of that type would be possible without-" "Don't even think about it." He stood up. "But I suppose the harvest *might* be all right. *If* we're lucky." There was another priestly murmur. "Sugoi, Naga-sama!" Mariposa gushed. "You're so knowledgeable!" "OOOOOOhohohohohoooo! When it comes to the things she likes, the White Serpent knows all!" "Well," Actinaea said, finishing her wine, "we're glad we could help, but we must be on our way now." Naga stood up and planted her hands on her hips. "You would leave these people to face the bandits alone?" The Praetor scowled. "We don't have unlimited time to find the Bell, Naga. Maybe you enjoy the thought of standing guard over a winery for the rest of your life, but *we* have work to do!" "Is this what the Mages' Guild teaches these days?" Naga asked, eyes narrowed. "To ignore those in need? To let bandits prey upon the helpless? Is that the kind of example you want to give to your protege?" she added, pointing a finger at Mari, who strived to look as impressionable as possible. Actinaea clenched her fists. "Fine. We'll stay. But if this takes too long, Mari and I are leaving - with, or without you." "Worry not, Actinaea," Naga assured her. "Before long, we'll have driven the bandits away, even without our magic." "Easy for you to say," Getehl grumbled. "*You've* got a sword." =-=-=-=-=-= The bandit's camp was pretty much standard for its type - crude barricades, a fire pit in the center, and various huts and tents to serve as dwellings. There were rather *more* huts and tents than the average camp, since Borlas' gang was relatively large as such things go, but otherwise it was unremarkable. Except for the giant ball of ice in the fire pit, with a small but well-maintained fire beneath it. That, at least, was odd. "This SUCKS!" Gavoron was livid as he stomped around the camp, the other bandits lined up and watching him with variously angry, bored, and vacant expressions. "This shoulda been a cakewalk, but instead that... that bitch shows up and ices Borlas! We coulda been stinkin' drunk right now if it weren't for her!" There were assorted noises of agreement, despite the fact that the bandits were at least halfway to stinking drunk. "Well, I ain't gonna put up with it. We're gonna go back up there and get that booze. Ya hear me?" "But, uhhhh, Gav..." one bandit asked in a thick voice, "what about dat woman? She's got, uh, magic and stuff." Gavoron, not terribly used to cogitation himself, pondered this for a moment. "Specs?" The smallest and weakest bandit flicked through a small tome. "Well, the susceptibility to magical fluxes of the grapes that the Cavillians use is, of course, quite well documented. Undoubtedly the priests will inform their hirelings of this fact, and attempt to dissuade them of using more supernatural effects while in this vicinity." Silence. Deep silence. Specs sighed. "The priests will tell them not to use magic. We should be okay." There was a sudden chorus of "Ohhhhhh!"s. Gavoron smiled a rabid little smile. *And if we can get the booze before the bossman thaws out, then *I* can take control of this gang! I'm a genius!* Behind him, water dribbled down the surface of the ice. =-=-=-=-=-= Stage one: The frontal assault. The huge misshapen lump of rock, in seeming defiance of gravity, slowly inched uphill. Of course, if you believed *that*, you'd believe that it could talk, too. "Moou! It's too *heaaaavy!*" See? "Getehl," Mari panted, pausing for a moment in her efforts, "why are we rolling this big boulder up the path?" "Because Naga said to," he reminded her, trying to support the weight of the rock so the young girl could rest. "Since you guys can't use magic, she wants something a little more physical to use against the bandits." "Okay, but... why *us*?" He managed a faint chuckle. "Because we weren't quick enough to volunteer someone else." "Oh." The pair resumed their task. "It still... seems kinda... silly, though." "What do you... mean?" "Well... they'd have to be... pretty *dumb* to just... stand in front of..." A fierce battle cry sounded from below, and the two geological relocation engineers turned around just in time to see the bandits rounding a curve in the path. "Come on, guys!" Gavoron shouted. "This time we'll... get... them?" He trailed off as he and the other bandits stopped just a few yards below the boulder, watching it in apprehension. Noticing a tall cliff on one side of the path and a steep hill on the other, their options seemed limited. Mari looked at Getehl. Getehl looked at Mari. Then, in unspoken agreement, they each took a step to the side, letting the boulder roll free. As the loud rumbling and screams in panic faded into the distance, Getehl turned and walked back up the path. "If Naga wants that back," he said to the world in general and Mariposa in particular, "she can go get it herself." "Hai!" =-=-=-=-=-= Stage two: The tactical ambush. The hillside overlooking the grape orchards was not *quite* vertical, but it was quite close to it. However, since it was fairly well concealed with foliage, it provided ideal cover for the bandit's climb. They would later decide, in retrospect, that the battering ram they'd brought with them wasn't such a good idea. "I still don't get it," Sergei commented when they were nearly to the top. "Are you stupid or what?" Gavoron grunted as the large log was shifted up a few more inches - the ram was held vertically, the better to avoid trees and shrubs. "We climb up there, bash in their back door, and take everyone by surprise! It's brilliant!" "Yeah, but... what if they don't have a back door?" "Shut up! Look, we're almost there... just a few more fe-" *Klonk.* For some reason, the ram resisted further forward movement. As one, the bandits turned their gazes upwards, following the edge of the ram to the black high-heeled boot, up the long pale leg, past the leather unmentionables, lingering briefly on the leather *very*-mentionables, to rest finally on the viciously-grinning face of the White Serpent. The bandits all thought a word that cannot be repeated in polite company. With a high kick that would have put any can-can dancer to shame, Naga pushed the top end of the ram far enough away from the cliffside that it started to topple backwards. Since the bandits had been too stunned to let go, it rather inevitably took them with it. Naga walked away from the screams and, eventually, pained moans, dusting her hands off. =-=-=-=-=-= Stage three: the sneak attack. It was Actinaea's good fortune to be on watch at the doors of the abbey when the shrubbery arrived. It was rather sad, really, watching the bushes trot toward the building when they thought she wasn't looking. By the time they were fifty yards from the door, she'd coated the ground with lamp oil. Then she waited, torch in hand. When you're in a bad mood, sometimes you want *everyone* to feel your pain. =-=-=-=-=-= Stage four: artillery bombardment. Torr was sitting on a tree limb, sharpening his sword, when he heard the commotion below him. Curious, he peered downward, and saw the throng of severely-bandaged rogues gather at the base of the tree. "Okay, guys," Gavoron began, "this time it's foolproof! We'll get rid of 'em for sure!" He was holding what looked like a beehive, its entrance sealed with wax. "That's what you said last time," Modor growled. "Trust me. Look, all we gotta do is take this hive and chuck it in the middle of 'em! That half-nekkid bitch will get stung so many times she'll look like... uh... she'll look really stung!" Eyebrow raised, Torr casually plucked an acorn from a nearby twig and held it ready in front of his slightly-curled thumb. "What about the rest of them?" another bandit asked as their unseen watcher took careful aim. Gavoron snickered, lifting the hive high. "They'll be too busy worrying about these little guys to care about us!" *Thwip!* The acorn zipped from Torr's hand and unerringly smacked against the hive, which fell to the ground. And broke wide open. Modor glared at Gavoron. "I'm gonna kill you." A few moments later, Torr was left in peace again as the bandits fled into the forest, yelping and cursing. He started to sharpen his sword again, chuckling occasionally - he hated sitting around doing nothing, so he had to take his entertainment where he could. =-=-=-=-=-= Stage five: the oldest trick in the book. Specs sat in the middle of the campsite, keeping the fire under Borlas' prison lit and catching up on his accounting. It wasn't easy being the only literate person in a bandit gang (excluding Borlas himself, of course) - they tended to expect him to take care of all the little details while they did, well, bandit stuff. Sure, it *sounded* easy, just stealing and plundering, but if you weren't careful you'd end up with no money, food, armor, or weapons. You needed a budget. As he was calculating the gang's arrow-to-victim ratio, an odd noise reached him, as if several pieces of wood were being knocked together. He looked up to see the rest of the gang limp into camp, draped with various pieces of splintered lumber and joinery. The crown jewel, however, had to be the giant wooden horse's head, with two feet sticking out of the neck. The head drew closer with tiny steps, uncertainly but gradually. Specs opened his mouth to comment, and the head, well, turned to look at him. Gavoron's muffled voice was heard from within. "Not... ONE... word. Got it?" Specs shrugged. Sometimes, it wasn't so bad, being the one left behind. =-=-=-=-=-= Stage six: the pep talk. "Okay," Gavoron said, limping around the campsite with his arm in a sling. "I know we've had troubles so far, but THIS time, I know we can get 'em!" This was not met with the unbridled enthusiasm he'd hoped. "Are you nuts? You're gonna get us killed!" "Yeah, you and yer stupid plans!" "SHUT UP! My plans are brilliant!" "Oh, yeah? Then why's me leg broke?" "Where's my front tooth?" "Why did I get chased by a bear? A BIG bear, too." "You guys are such a bunch of LOSERS," Gavoron raged. "If it weren't for you idiots, we'd *own* that place! Well, I've had it with you! Borlas can keep you - he sucks just as bad as you do anyway!" There was a sudden silence, and Gavoron was suddenly aware that, wounded and battered as they were, the other bandits were still quite capable of inflicting massive injuries. The pause was broken by the crack of a book being slammed shut, and Specs pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. "You aren't perchance impugning Borlas, are you?" "Uh... what?" The bandits stood up - those that could, anyway - and surrounded Gavoron. "We don't like peoples who talks bad about da Boss," one of them rumbled. "Da Boss is da BOSS," another said as emphasis. "And you ain't *nothin'*." The bandits grabbed their pro-tem leader and were about to indulge in gleeful bodily harm, when a splintering sound caught their attention. The sound was repeated, then amplified, then merged with a crescendo of falling ice. Borlas emerged from his prison, none the worse for wear. As the bandits watched him apprehensively, and his second- in-command watched hopefully, Borlas reached down to the fire near his feet, picked up a burning twig, and lit his cigar. He puffed in the silence, taking in the multiple wounds suffered by his gang... then turned around and wandered to his tent. "Carry on, boys." =-=-=-=-=-= The sun touched the horizon, coating the abbey with an amber glow. Silhouetted against the panoramic view, the two groups faced off once more. Borlas hadn't brought his full gang this time. Only a handful of bandits accompanied them, including Specs and an intensely battered and bruised Gavoron. Naga and her companions watched him cautiously, waiting for him to make the first move. After standing in silence for long minutes, he began to speak. "You've decimated my bandits, Naga the White Serpent. You've turned them from a fierce, unwavering fighting team to a broken, demoralized band of invalids. Even if they recover physically, I'll never be able to restore them to what they once were." Naga said nothing; behind her, the other travelers watched the bandit king warily. Finally Borlas sighed and drew his sword. "You've left me no choice. There's only one thing I can do now." The tension mounted as he raised the sword slowly... then tossed it carelessly at Naga's feet. "You win." The White Serpent smiled slightly. "Naturally." "What?" Mariposa was shocked. "You're giving up, just like that?" The bandit glanced at her, and she backed up a step. "Not... not that I'm complaining, mind you." He shrugged. "Why not? A good leader knows when he's beaten. We'll be moving on to greener pastures - you have my word that the Cavillians are safe from us." "The word of a bandit?" Actinaea sneered. "Why am I not reassured?" "It doesn't matter to me whether you're reassured or not, my dear. My oath is binding, even if you put no stock in it." He nodded to Getehl. "The sword's yours, kid. Try not to break it." "Uh... thanks." "And one more thing..." Borlas' gaze was transferred to Gavoron, who seemed to wince. "My lieutenant here has something to tell you. Go ahead, Gav." The bandaged warrior mumbled a bit. "What was that?" He muttered a bit more, then managed a barely audible "...sorry..." "Sorry for what?" Borlas prompted. "...sorry for being stupid." "That's better. Now let's get going" The bandit king nodded to Naga, then turned and walked down the path. Getehl picked up the bandit's sword, which was just as heavy as it looked, and glanced at the White Serpent. "We're just letting him go?" "It's a mistake," Actinaea warned. "I guarantee that he'll be back up here as soon as we leave." "I dunno, Actinaea-sensei," Mari interjected. "He seemed pretty honorable to me. What do you think, Naga-sama?" The White Serpent let out a small laugh. "What do I think? I'll tell you." Suddenly she raised her hand toward Borlas' back. "LY BRIEM!" Once again, the bandit king was encased in ice, which rolled cheerfully down the hill. His followers turned to look at Naga for a moment, then made their escape as quickly as they could. Naga turned around to face her companions. "I think that allowing a bandit to leave my presence unscathed offends my moral sensibilities." "There, there," Father Komel said soothingly, trying to placate an absolutely rabid Father Grandal, "I'm sure it'll be all right. It was for a good cause, after all." Meanwhile, Father Aldias had approached the White Serpent. "We are so very grateful for your help! We don't have any money," he added, rather unwisely as it turned out, "but if there's anything at *all* we can do for you..." Her only response was a wide grin. =-=-=-=-=-= It was close to midnight, and Naga was feeling no pain. Though her alcohol tolerance was a mighty thing indeed, even *she* had her limits, and the multitude of the finest Cavillian wines at her disposal had brought her to a very happy place. She was singing, or trying to sing - the song was changing every few lines (or sometimes notes), but that didn't seem to be bothering her all that much. Her companions clustered around her, having imbibed of much less heroic amounts of wine and/or grape juice. "Take a good look, Mariposa," Actinaea said softly. "This is your all-powerful role model." Mari shook Naga's shoulder tentatively. "Naga-sama? I think you should be going to bed now." The singing stopped, and Naga peered up at the apprentice. "Mmmm? Puttin' me ta bed again? Tha's alllll right, Melly- chan... it'll jus' be our little secret, ne?" She put an uncertain finger to her lips in the traditional gesture for silence. "Ano... my name's Mari." The White Serpent frowned and tried to focus. "Tha's what I saideded." "C'mon, Naga-san." Getehl tried not to chuckle, but wasn't having too much success. "She's right - it's time for beddie- bye." "Oooohhhhhh?" She peered up at him mischievously. "You think a big, strong man like you is enough to take Naga th' White Serperent t' bed?" She stood up and leaned forward, her hands still on the table and thus bringing her breasts into extreme prominence. "Hmmmmmmm?" "Um. Naga, I don't think you're in your right mind at the moment," he said, demonstrating his grasp of the obvious. "So what say we just pretend you didn't say that, okay?" She stood up. "Just as I thought. The little boy can't handle a REAL woman." Naga threw her head back and chortled madly. Unfortunately this, when combined with her state of advanced intoxication, proved to be too much for her, and she fell to the floor with a slight 'oof!'. A few moments later, loud snoring rose from her prone form. Actinaea shook her head. "Let's leave her here - if she wakes up again, I don't think any of us will get any sleep." "You're probably right." Mari found a blanket and covered Naga with it, tucking a bit of it under her head. "Good night, Naga-sama." The only response was a grating snore as the three companions left their leader to her blissful slumber. =-=-=-=-=-= AUTHOR'S NOTES: I don't think this'll be one of my best works. I wasn't really inspired at all. The idea came to me, and I wrote it. Nothing special. Still, it's good, I hope. It'll do. In case you hadn't noticed, this chapter is patterned after the standard early-season Slayers episode - laughs, silliness, and just about zero plot development. Hope you liked it. Many thanks go to ravi, John Evans, and the Toddster himself, without whose prereading efforts this fic would have been less than what it is. Thanks also to Ardweden, even though I didn't get her comments in time. C'est la vie.