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  In a low voice, too low for her to hear the words, Jorund mumbled something to Rex. It was a comment that was also caught by Tobin and the three men laughed together. Their shared mirth was an unkind sound.

  Amy stiffened. She was aware that this suggestion of unpleasantness had the potential to spoil the mood of the entire evening. It was the first thing that had genuinely managed to make her feel an inkling of fear.

  She held her breath.

  A sliver of moonlight broke through the black canopy of trees above them. She saw it was the full moon that the elders had predicted. Seeing the glimmer of its silver surface, Amy knew the promised magicks were going to happen this evening. Her heartbeat quickened and her breathing resumed as she understood this was a sign. Despite Jorund’s dislike for her, and despite the unkind laughter his comment had generated, the ceremony was going to be as wholly satisfying as she had hoped.

  There was no need for her to succumb to fear.

  “For fuck’s sake,” the mage snapped angrily. “Can’t you bastards show the lady some respect?” He had been behind her but, as he spoke, he stepped forward, pushing past Harald and Erik to glower at Rex, Jorund and Tobin.

  He nodded his head, urging Harald to let go of Amy’s arm. Once the spearman had stepped aside, the mage extended a hand to Amy. The sleeves of his robe covered his hands but she could feel his cool, slender fingers as they wrapped tight and unseen around hers.

  After shrugging her left arm from Erik’s grasp, Amy freely walked alongside the mage. Rather than the two of them being part of an illicit ceremonial procession, it was almost as though he was escorting her on a personal walk through the forest.

  Like all masters of magicks, the mage wore a cowled robe, the hood covering his face. From the shadows of that hood she thought she saw the glint of a reassuring smile.

  “We’re approaching consecrated ground.”

  The mage was still talking sternly to Jorund, Rex and Tobin. He spoke with the stiff tone of authority she would have expected from a parent scolding unruly brats. “You’re asking this young woman to be central to the spell I need to cast. And yet not one of you has the decency to treat her with the respect, civility or cordiality she merits. For fuck’s sake, gentlemen, what are you thinking?”

  He let the question hang in the air.

  Rex, Jorund and Tobin each exchanged uncomfortable glances.

  “Perhaps it would be easier if I cast a spell that allowed the Blackwood clansmen to vanquish us entirely?” the mage suggested. “Perhaps you all want to see your kith and kin from the ǽdre village slaughtered or enslaved?”

  Rex raised a hand for the mage to stop. He summoned Jorund and Tobin to press closer to him. Rex adjusted the golden crown that sat atop his golden curls. The yellow metal shone with a fading luster in the moonlight. He approached Amy with his features composed into a mask of contrite solemnity.

  “Forgive us, Amy,” Rex said earnestly. “We wronged you with our disparaging attitude. A lot depends on the success of tonight’s endeavor. We’re in unfamiliar territory and, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, none of us is truly comfortable around magicks. I hope you understand that we’re more than a little nervous. I’d appreciate it if you could forgive us our indecorous behavior.”

  Tobin muttered an apology.

  Jorund stepped into shadows, managing to look like a wholly unapologetic silhouette hidden in the darkness. The word “Sorry,” flat and unconvincing, came from somewhere near his lips.

  “I understand,” Amy said. She encouraged Rex and Tobin to move forward, uncomfortable with the idea of elders from the village council apologizing to her. “I know that there’s a lot at stake tonight so I don’t take upset at mere words.”

  “You’re too gracious,” Rex said. “And, come the morrow, your sacrifice will be remembered in legend.”

  She bit her tongue.

  If the magicks were successful, her sacrifice would be remembered as being secondary to the mage’s skill. No one ever praised the fatted calf for providing a satisfying banquet: credit was always given to the senior cook. But if things didn’t go to plan, then her sacrifice would be a snippet of gossip shared by the dre village survivors who would be forced into slavery by the Black-wood clan. If things didn’t go to plan, from what she understood of the magicks, there would be unnecessary sacrifice, reanimated corpses and an end to the ǽdre village and its council.

  She didn’t say as much.

  Jorund was the one who had organized this last-ditch attempt to save the village. He had identified the Blackwood clansmen as a threat to the liberty of those residing in ǽdre village. His research confirmed the Blackwood forces were unbeaten and formidable and intent on expanding. Jorund had taken advice from the village’s mage and devised a plan to summon dead Blackwood warriors to protect dre village from the threat of Blackwood forces.

  Because she was known to be of a willing disposition, Amy had been called on to be an integral part of the magicks that would call the warriors from their graves.

  Amy knew very little about magicks.

  She only knew that the mage had said she would be needed as an essential part of the spell he intended to cast to secure loyalty from an army of the undead. He had said her involvement could possibly require some intense sexual satisfaction.

  On hearing that, Amy had decided she ought to do the right thing to help her friends and family from ǽdre village. She shivered at the memory of those negotiations, keenly aware that the promise of satisfaction still held her in its thrall.

  “We’re here,” Tobin said. He spoke with a lowered voice.

  Amy glanced up from studying her footsteps. She saw they had reached a circular clearing in the forest. The light from Tobin’s lantern shone on a series of small wooden markers that stood like miniature trees identifying where fallen Blackwood warriors were buried. In the center of the clearing was a circular marble plinth.

  Unbidden, Amy thought of that raised platform as a sacrificial altar. She didn’t know why her mind should think of it in such a way. But the epithet somehow seemed perfectly apt.

  “This is it,” the mage agreed. “We’re here.”

  Like a groom leading a bride to a waiting cleric, he slowly escorted her to the marble plinth. Respectfully, the others fell back, allowing the mage to lead the way. Because she was holding his hand, Amy had no choice except to follow and she tried not to show her reluctance. But, for the first time since this adventure had begun, she detected a small snake of unease loosing its coils in her belly.

  “Drink this,” the mage said, passing her a tall brown bottle. “It will help steady your nerves.”

  Obligingly, Amy unstoppered the neck and took a swig. She recognized the exotic taste of fire wine. She took a second mouthful and held on to the bottle. The liquid seared the back of her throat. It filled her blood with a tingling rush of excitement.

  “Undress,” the mage told her simply. “Your role will begin in a moment.”

  He called for Tobin, and then went to Harald and Erik. Pulling two fresh bottles of fire wine from the pouch on his belt, he gave one each to the spearman and said, “Read the grave markers. Find the names of the most accomplished warriors. Splash a measure of this blessed fire wine on the sod above each chosen man.”

  Harald took his bottle. He saluted the mage by clenching a fist against his breast. Erik followed his colleague’s example and did the same. Together, helped by the light from Tobin’s lantern, the two men started to walk amongst the markers splashing fire wine onto the night-black soil and muttering softly when they struggled to understand the names on the markers.

  The mage glanced at Amy.

  “You’re still dressed,” he observed. He placed a solicitous hand on her elbow and bowed his head with concern. “Is something wrong?”

  She shook her head, ready to tell him that she had just been hesitating because she wasn’t sure what she should be doing.

  The mage grabbed a fistful of the robe and tore it from
her body.

  The fabric was so flimsy it didn’t even pull at her flesh. One moment she was shielded from the cool elements by the thin gauze-like fabric. The next moment she was standing unclothed in the night: the only woman surrounded by half a dozen unscrupulous men from the ǽdre village council.

  “Jorund. Rex.”

  The mage was now in charge. The authority in his tone cut through the night and carried across the burial markers. “Come here and help Amy,” he insisted.

  She fought the urge to wrap protective hands across her breasts. She was naked now. Whatever happened from this point onward was destined to happen.

  “Do you know what will be expected of you in this ceremony?” the mage asked.

  “I’ve heard a little about what’s expected.” She pushed her chest forward and fixed him with a defiant gaze. “But I wouldn’t be so bold as to say that I know the ceremony.”

  From the shadows inside his cowled hood she could see no sign of his features or expression. “It’s a simple exploitation of magicks,” the mage explained. As he spoke he spread the rent cloak across the marble plinth and motioned for Rex and Jorund to help Amy lie down.

  Rex smiled at her with good-natured approval.

  Jorund’s features were set in a mask of distaste.

  The plinth was cool beneath her buttocks. Through the flimsy remnants of the robe she could feel its icy chill against her skin. First it touched the heat of her backside. Then it stiffened her shoulders whilst she made herself as comfortable as the unyielding plinth would allow.

  “Harald and Erik are dousing blessed fire wine on the graves of those warriors we’re calling to our aid.” He spoke with the soft lull of patient understanding. “There are three things needed to summon warriors from the grave,” he went on. “Wine is one of them. A war is another.” He glanced toward Rex and Jorund who both nodded softly as though they were confirming that they had a war for the warriors to fight.

  “What’s the third thing?” Amy asked.

  “That’s where you come in,” the mage explained patiently. “To summon the dead, we also need a willing woman to satisfy the needs of the warriors we’re calling.” He paused and lowered his head. If she had been able to see his face Amy suspected she would have seen the mage frowning.

  “Are you ready to be our willing woman?”

  “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

  “Are you able to show that you’re willing?”

  “I’m laid naked on a plinth for you,” Amy pointed out. “What more can I do to show you that I’m a willing woman?”

  The mage’s head tilted to glance at Rex and Jorund. “Undress,” he snapped stiffly. “Help Amy prove that she’s the willing woman that’s needed for this sacrifice. I want to summon a large militia from the undead this evening.”

  Amy was pleased that it would be Rex first.

  If it had been Jorund first Amy thought that would have spoiled the mood.

  But it was handsome Rex, the leader of the village, and she knew from experience that he was a capable man between a woman’s thighs. She watched as he removed his golden crown and placed it solemnly on the floor beside the sacrificial altar. With the same slow deliberation he removed the scabbard from the belt at his waist and placed that and his traveling sword beside the crown. Carefully, he pulled his emblazoned tunic over his head and then stood there wearing only his dark leather boots and a plain black kilt.

  He was attractive.

  His chest was broad and barrel-shaped. His arms were large and muscular. His skin was fragranced with the balms and unctions of ceremonial preparation.

  Amy’s longing for him was sudden and inarguable.

  She was conscious of goose bumps prickling her bare arms and rippling across her thighs. The rush of greedy need for him built swiftly in her loins but she hid her desire. Instead of making her need apparent she remained motionless on the plinth, waiting for Rex to make the first move.

  Behind them the mage began to chant.

  Amy knew nothing of the language of magicks but she guessed he was calling on the Blackwood warriors and promising them wine, war and women if they climbed from their graves and came to his assistance.

  His cries became a background noise as Rex mounted the marble plinth and knelt between her parted thighs.

  He was hard. His erection pointed skyward and pulsed softly as though inflamed with need. She wanted to reach out, encircle him with her fingers and guide him into her center. But she also knew that she was only there to be a willing woman, not a wanton woman.

  “It’s been too long since we did this,” Rex murmured. He said the words in a whisper beneath the kiss he placed against her cheek.

  She pressed a kiss against his earlobe. “Your wife would probably think we should have stopped altogether.”

  He laughed uncertainly. He moved his head back and considered her eyes. She guessed it was when he saw the shine of greedy need that he decided to act. He pushed his length into her. His lips devoured her mouth with avarice. He tasted of fire wine and arousal and she wanted to drink him.

  “Amarantha,” he groaned.

  His erection was fat and solid.

  The muscles of her sex were filled and spread apart as he urged his shaft into her. She could feel him thickening with excitement and wondered if he was aroused by the idea that the others were watching him as he performed his ceremonial duty between her legs.

  She closed her eyes and imagined all the men in the graveyard swelling with arousal as they grew excited by the demonstration of her desirable nudity and the thrall of her womanly skills.

  When she opened her eyes she could see Rex grinning at her as though he had been driven insane with lust. His thrusting had increased in ferocity. His breath was a guttural pant. She knew he was on the verge of filling her with his precious seed.

  All too suddenly it was over.

  He exploded between her legs and filled her with his hot, viscous ejaculate. He groaned as the climax took him and Amy bit back a wail of disappointment. She had wanted him to take her past the pinnacle of pleasure that her body now craved. Instead, he was pulling his dwindling member from her hole and she had yet to taste the release that she needed.

  Amy swigged another mouthful of bitter fire wine as Rex slipped from between her legs and Jorund took his place.

  The most trusted advisor to their leader had also removed his sword and tunic. He had taken off his kilt to reveal a body that looked uncomfortable in nakedness. His length was not as thick as the one Rex possessed but Amy thought it looked surprisingly long.

  “Amy,” Jorund said stiffly as he brushed his lips against her cheek.

  “Chief advisor, Jorund,” she returned.

  The forced formality seemed ludicrous for two people lying naked together. It seemed even more ridiculous when she felt the tip of his shaft slip between her swollen sex lips and start to fill her.

  His erection seemed to take forever to slide inside.

  It was not what she had been expecting. Even though he did not possess the broad thickness of Rex, the lingering length of his penetration made the experience surprisingly exciting.

  Jorund took more time to enjoy his pleasure than Rex had. Whilst she suspected that Jorund was taking longer because he didn’t find her particularly attractive and was having difficulty maintaining his erection, she thought the development worked well for her own arousal.

  Jorund’s rhythmical assault on her sex was enchanting. She had always thought he was a slippery, coffer-loving, gold-worshipper. When he demonstrated his prowess as a lover she was left breathless. He plunged in and out with mechanical deliberation.

  He allowed his length to furrow deep inside, then pulled it back until it was on the brink of falling from her sex. Then, with slow urgency, he pushed himself deep into her hole and repeated the process.

  Amy was dizzy with the need for climax by the time Jorund’s shaft spat its hot, wet explosion into her depths. She felt so close to being sat
ed that she wanted to kiss him and thank him for pleasuring her to such an intensity.

  Tobin was the third man to appear between her legs.

  She accepted him with a greedy embrace and a silent prayer that he would be able to push her body to the cataclysmic rush of bliss that had so far eluded her.

  She had stopped comparing penises and performance techniques. It was now only a matter of listening to the mage’s musical chants and clenching her muscles tight around the hard and throbbing member being pushed into the depths of her sex.

  She felt the same apathy for Tobin as she felt when Harald took his place between her legs. The only difference with any of them was that the rounded head of Harald’s shaft was large enough to make her shiver with a surprised thrill of pleasure.

  “You’re doing just fine.”

  The reassurance came from the mage. He said the words as Erik pushed into her. The second spearman’s rhythm transported her to that plateau she needed to crest. But, Amy thought, the true source of her pleasure came from something more perverse than Erik’s penetration.

  Amy was the only woman in a graveyard with half a dozen lecherous men. She was dabbling in dangerous magicks and she was hearing words of comfort from one man whilst another pushed his fat length into the oily depths of her overused sex. She was taking her pleasure from the knowledge that all of them were using her and she was happy to be used by them.

  “You’re doing just fine,” the mage insisted. “I can feel that our magicks have been successful. Something is coming.”

  She nodded.

  Amy knew something was coming but she didn’t know if it was the magicks.

  She tightened her embrace around Erik and squeezed the muscles of her sex around his shaft. Her body throbbed with the need for a fulfilling release and she was determined to wring it from Erik’s cock.

  When he came, Amy’s resultant orgasm finally flushed its way from her body.

  Her climax came with a shriek into the night that was loud enough to fill the air. She pushed the spearman from her embrace, aware his shaft was pulsing and spilling precious seed as she thrust him away.