The maiden stood tranquilly, her flaming red hair cascading down her back. Although still in her mid-teens, the loose, flowing white gown served to enhance the lush contours of her full figure. Her deep green eyes were strangely dull, denying the vigor one of her tender age and healthy body should have evinced.

The maiden’s bare feet did not seem to feel the coldness of the marble beneath them. She stood like a statue in front of a stone altar that looked remarkably like a bed with a very high headboard. But the likeness carved into that ‘headboard’ left no doubt this was indeed an altar to some malevolent, hideous deity.

Ringed around the maiden stood other beautiful youths, half a dozen female and nearly twice that of number males. Their comely forms were all draped in similar white gowns.

At the back of the room stood another female, clothed in but a single rich robe of pure scarlet. She was by far the most magnificent of the very attractive company. The woman was slightly below average height and weight, but unquestionably dominated the room by her physical presence. There was an unworldly gleam of ancient and terrifying knowledge behind those preturnatural blue eyes, which had a strongly disquieting affect on what otherwise might seem the face of an angel. Seemingly a few summers older than the rest, the stunning blonde had large breasts that pushed the scarlet material straight out from her body. A golden belt served to emphasize the delicate waist and the generous curve of her posterior. The perfect shape of her legs and feet were totally hidden by the robe.

There was a faint, eerie music permeating the room, although the source was a mystery. Black candles burned in numerous holders around the room, giving off a pungent, somehow distasteful odor along with an ominous shade of light. A ceremony was obviously in progress, and seemingly nearing its conclusion.

The blonde woman stared for a moment at the graven image before her. She slowly raised her arms wide as though to embrace a lover, and leaned her head backwards as if gazing through the high ceiling at an object far above. At that sign, the youths began a low chanting of an indistinguishable nature, and the maiden slowly advanced to the steps at the foot of the long altar. The chanting rose slightly in volume as the maiden mounted the steps, her eyes locked on that dreadful carved image. As she stood at the foot of the altar, the maiden unclasped the gown, which fell at her feet to reveal her naked, nubile body. Stepping to the center of the altar, the maiden turned to face the blonde, who lowered her gaze hypnotically onto those glazed green eyes. As if receiving instructions, the maiden lowered herself to lay flat on her back on the altar, her head towards the image, her legs slightly parted.

Still with her arms raised, the blonde walked to the side of the altar, eyes now locked onto those of the carved image. Stopping at the edge of the altar, she murmured some arcane words, then reached for one of the two objects sitting in a niche at the base of the headboard. It was a silver bowl, which had ancient runes engraved totally around its circumference. She placed the bowl on the altar between the legs of the maiden, and the chanting of the youths took on a much more intense tone.

The blonde deftly parted the tender flesh of the maiden to reveal her most secret place. She began stroking until the first honeyed fluids began to drip from the girl’s arousal into the bowl, which the woman encouraged with her lascivious ministrations. As soon as the flow had stopped, the woman stepped to the head of the altar and picked up the second object from the niche.

The handle and blade of a silver knife echoed the runes engraved around the bowl. Without hesitation she nicked the large aureoles of the maiden’s breasts and pressed the bowl into the flesh of those globes to catch the blood spurting from those cruel wounds. The maiden made not a sound at this savage action. When the bowl had been filled with enough female fluid and blood to satisfy that sadistic beauty, the woman mixed the two precious liquids together with the silver knife, and then raised the bowl as though in offering to the grotesque object of the cult’s worship.

Again the woman mouthed arcane and terrible words, then drank down the normally innocent contents of the bowl. Finished, she placed the bowl back into its niche and released the robe from her own body. Naked, she walked to the foot of the altar and mounted the steps to stand above the still mesmerized maiden, gazing down with a strange lust. Then she lay down fully upon the supine figure.

The woman placed the tip of the knife against the girl’s chest, directly above the strongly beating heart, and for the third time spoke awful, unknown words. For just a moment their eyes locked, a faint glimmer of recognition and terror flickering through those of the maiden. Then, with a strength seemingly impossible in one of such a small frame, the woman slowly drove the knife deep into the heart of her helpless victim and ground her own loins into those of her piteous victim.

As the life oozed out of the supine body beneath her, the woman began to shake as though seized by some unseen, powerful force. Her beautiful face was transmogrified by evil and degenerate lust. The bodies and voices of the youths surrounding her were inflamed by unnatural desires, and they began slowly converging on the gruesome scene before them. As the woman continued to shudder from some bizarre orgasm, the youths pressed themselves above and around the naked bodies. In a hideous parody of an orgy, they gradually completely hid the two figures from view.

LaSola of the Singing Bow strode into the town -- hardly more than a village -- with barely any consciousness, and no concern of how she must appear to the inhabitants. At just above twelve hands high and weighing nearly ten stone, she was a full hand taller than most men, and nearly as heavy. Her height spoke to her ancestry. Her unusual weight was not due to heavy bones, but rather to strong thews and well-exercised sinews. Nevertheless, there was no doubt in the minds of any of the onlookers that the stranger was all woman.

LaSola’s jet-black hair fell nearly to the small of her ramrod straight back. Her lovely facial features were belied by the stern visage of her large, piercing black eyes and the firm line of her full red lips, uncolored by any artifices. LaSola’s shoulders, only slightly wider than the average woman’s, were nearly square across. They bore an unstrung long bow, a heavy quiver of arrows, and a half-full rucksack with no noticeable effort. The fullness of her high, firm breasts could not be disguised by the light mail armor on her upper torso, nor the lithe comeliness of her long legs hidden by the short leather skirt around her narrow waist. A long dirk, almost the length of a short sword but with a thinner blade, hung from a wide leather belt. Sturdy sandals enclosed her feet with leather uppers laced up to the knees. She moved like a panther, effortlessly and gracefully, but with total awareness and readiness to act. For all of her feminine beauty, no observer doubted that this was a warrior.

Knowing that the headman’s dwelling would be the largest and at the center of the town, LaSola marched directly to her destination. A single guard stood in front, and LaSola stopped five paces away, showing her empty palms.

“I come in answer to the Summons,” she said simply.

The guard looked at her with some appreciation of both her beauty and her warrior manner, but obviously without any great belief that this woman could be the solution to their problem. “There is already one within who speaks with the headman and the elders,” the guard responded. “He also came in answer to the Summons.” And if anyone might be able to solve their problem, the guard thought, that man would be the one.

“Yet I have come in answer,” LaSola repeated, “and it is my right to be seen and heard.”

The guard nodded agreement. “Stay,” he commanded. “I will inform the headman.”

LaSola waited silently as the guard went inside to declare her presence. So, another had been brave enough to answer this Summons! There had been another Summons from this village three summers past. It had requested a warrior with no explanation of the problem, but with a fairly large sum offered by the three villages of this district. This second Summons was unusual in many respects. First, such problems were usually solved with the first Summons. Second, this time it was explained that youths from the villages were disappearing, more with each passing summer than in the past. Third, it was said all who had answered before had also disappeared. And fourth, the sum now offered was truly princely, a sum that must nearly beggar the three combined villages. Of all, this was the most ominous sign.

The guard returned abruptly and held open the way. “You may enter.”

LaSola nodded her thanks and stepped into the dwelling. As with most of these rustic towns, the first chamber of the headman’s dwelling was a meeting room large enough to host all of the village elders as well as any other guests to the council meetings. The actual living quarters were all at the back. LaSola looked about.

The headman did not give himself airs, other than to hold the decorated spear which was the sign of his office. He was seated in a sukh, a frame made of wood and leather covered by furs. The elders, five men and four women, were also in sukhs in a semi-circle, four on each side of the headman. Two guards, heavily armed and who looked as though they knew how to use their weapons, stood behind and on each side of the headman. In front of them, with his back to LaSola, squatted a very large, very muscular man with long, dirty golden hair. The elders stared at her with great curiosity, as rarely did a woman answer a Summons. LaSola appraised the others each in turn, from the headman down to the guards. Finally, the headman spoke. “I would think you a Shakan,” he declared.

“I am LaSola, called She of the Singing Bow,” she replied, impressed by his knowledge and perspicacity. “I am of Shaka.”

“The land of the great doom,” one of the female elders muttered.

The headman’s eyes flickered in her direction, but he did not acknowledge her words. LaSola stood as though unheeding of the comment.

“Then be welcomed, LaSola of the Singing Bow,” the headman said formally. “We have heard your praises sung even in this humble village. Receive our thanks for answering the Summons.”

The squatting man raised his head at the sound of her name, and turned to view her as he rose ... and rose. He stood at least three hands higher than LaSola, perhaps four, as tall as any man in her tribe, and was more massive than any, weighing at least fourteen stone. His shoulders were as broad and flat as a shelf, and from them hung a huge lion skin that covered his massive torso down to the top of his thighs. One bare arm displayed muscles that bulged and rippled even in relaxation. His legs brought to LaSola’s mind a huge thoroughbred horse; massively dense in the thigh, much slimmer in the calve, but with corded knots that spoke of speed and strength, with surprisingly small feet that looked rough, having perhaps never known any footwear. A wide belt of some metal unknown to LaSola encircled his waist, emphasizing its slimness. From this hung a huge broadsword on one side and a short sword on the other.

The man’s eyes were a piercing blue, and the sun’s affects could not disguise a fair skin, which contrasted sharply with LaSola’s own dusky hues. His features were sharp and angular, as though chiseled from the side of a mountain, although it must have been by a master craftsman, for they were somehow quite pleasant. They were also still young; LaSola judged him to be five, perhaps even six summers less than her own twenty-seven.

“I have heard that name,” the man said, with a voice that spoke of large boulders rubbing together, a deep and pleasant rumble, but without sophistication.

“Then you have the advantage on me, stranger.”

“I am called Crag.”

“Of course. How fitting.” LaSola turned back to the headman. “Have you journeyed to Shaka, or were you forewarned of my coming?”

“No to both. Even in our small towns, we have heard of the great warrior kingdom that lies across the Great Desert. A race of ebony giants, it is said, fierce fighters whom no invading army has ever conquered. On that knowledge, I made my venture.” He did not mention that the curse that lay on the land of Shaka was known throughout the four quarters of the land. As the female elder had let slip, however, that knowledge was obvious within this village. “We did not know, however, that those of the Tribes ever hired out as mercenaries, or even responded to a Summons.”

“Normally, we do not, only under dire circumstances. Because of certain ... events ... in my youth, I have taken a vow to protect other young people whenever the chance befalls. This Summons claims the problem is affecting the young.”

The headman raised an eyebrow, and several of the elders looked at each other. LaSola took a tight breath and steeled her shoulders.

“For the most part, that is true,” the headman nodded sadly. “Those who have not attained their majority seem to be the greatest victims of this strange affliction upon our villages. But we have spoken with this champion you see before you, and have agreed to accept his services.”

“Is the Summons then filled?” she challenged.

“Even in Shaka, you must know the strictures of a Summons. Only one can be engaged in answer until they succeed and are rewarded -- or fail. However, ours seems to be an unusual case. As you must know, we have had seven answers in the past three summers. None have returned to even shed light on the challenge they faced. The disappearance of our youth remains shrouded in mystery, and that of our would-be champions even more of an enigma. Thus have we explained to this stalwart before you, and thus shall we enlighten all who come in answer.”

LaSola stared at the giant youth with frank assessment borne of hard-won experience. He returned her look as a mountain might send back an echo to a querulous shout. Neither evaluation seemed to bear any rancor or superiority towards the other, but neither did they concede a single whit.

“Due to the nature of the problem, we have offered a change to the normal answer, subject to the decision of the first chosen champion. The challenge may be shared by one or more. In the case that the champions agree to join forces, the offer will be shared equally in the event of success. Each champion may also undertake the Summons on their own, with the successful champion taking the entire offer. As we have already agreed to accept Crag as a champion, the decision is his.”

The two warriors stared at each other for long moments. Crag broke the silence, as was his right.

“You say you wish to protect the youths. Do you not seek the offer?”

LaSola returned his gaze unflinchingly. “I have come to protect the youth, that is true. But the offer may serve to protect other youths, as there are many on this orb who do good works for the young which need gold to serve their cause. Thus had I intended to invest the rewards of this work, should I prove worthy to the task. If you know of me,” she tried to make her voice calm through her gritted teeth, “you must also know of my quest. There is information I need, objects I must obtain, that such a great sum would go far in helping me to gain.”

Crag pondered these words. “I seek the offer, as well as the good name of this deed,” he finally said, with a brutal honesty. “Yet I do believe the good heart and desire of this woman. We cannot, it seems, partner, yet I would not deny her a chance to seek her desire. Thus will I say, we shall both seek the answer, and the victor shall gain the reward.”

The headman and his elders nodded and grunted at these words, and even LaSola marveled at the generous offer of one so young and inexperienced in the world. While they could not be friends, at least they would not be enemies.

“This is well said,” the headman intoned. “And so let it be.” He looked to the famous warrior for her confirmation.

“This is well said,” LaSola attested with a slight nod of her head. “And so let it be.”

LaSola was surprised by the difficulty she had in tracking the mountain giant. In fact, it was only because his great weight left impressions in soft places in the earth, despite his careful placement and light tread, that she could trace his passage at all. There was no real need to follow the man. The headman had told them both the same information, little as it was, that anyone knew of the problem.

Young people, generally between fourteen to twenty summers, had been disappearing from the three villages at the foot of the Kredl Mountains for the past forty summers. Such was always true of isolated villages, of course, where wild beasts, young lovers eloping, accidents, and other such perils took their toll on the innocent and unlucky. But the villages had experienced more than their share. In the past ten summers the number had grown to the point where the villages had banded together under the leadership of the headman of the largest of the three villages, Tuscan, to lessen the risk. They had formed patrols, enforced curfews, brought in stored water and provisions to reduce the need to search for such, even forbade youths to travel to certain suspect areas of the mountains without armed guard. All to no avail. Even guards and patrols occasionally disappeared. Rarely had any traces of the victims been found, save for a few odd weapons.

The problem became worse with each passing summer, which had led to the first Summons, and now the second.

No, LaSola did not need to follow the young warrior to know whence he traveled: to the areas of the Kredl Mountains deemed most responsible for these strange occurrences. It was because she was vexed, with herself more than with the giant. Always priding herself on rising early to face the day’s challenges, she was mortified to learn the mountain man had left Tuscan before she had even risen. She now trailed him, so she told herself, to learn if this early departure was his norm or from a desire to best her in this answer to the Summons, and thus to gain the gold and glory for himself in spite of his fair words.

The third day was drawing to a close and still she did not feel she had made up much of the distance between them. In addition to the time she occasionally spent in regaining the trail, the mountain man was moving very quickly though the woods, certainly more at home as he got deeper into the mountains than she would ever be.

The sound of falling water came to her ears, speaking of a small waterfall in the gentle foothills. LaSola was pleased. Her water supply could be replenished with the sweet mountain dew, and she might at least soak her travel-soiled body for a few moments, if not have the luxury of actually bathing. As she approached the falls, she could hear an unknown bass sound, which a boulder might make if it could sing. She therefore came very cautiously to the edge of the woods where she could spy upon the source of this strange sound.

Lo! LaSola was startled by the scene which greeted her senses.

In a shallow of the pool at the base of the small waterfall stood the mountain giant, Crag, naked as the difference between truth and deceit. The muscles on his massive frame rippled and bulged as he rubbed at his broad back, his bulging pectorals, his hard, flat stomach, his smooth, narrow hips, and his bunched, taut buttocks. The water sparkled in the shafts of light filtering through the trees, lent various hues by the sunset. The sound she had heard emanated from the man’s lips, evidently some surprisingly gentle song sung by his hardy, stoic race.

LaSola was about to slip away quietly when she suddenly felt anger at herself. What did she have to be ashamed about? He was a warrior, the same as her, and on the same quest. If he could bathe without timidity, why should she not have the same attitude? They should be equal in all respects.

LaSola deliberately made a noise as she left her covering to enter the clearing around the pool. With an alacrity she found amazing in one of his size, the monstrous mountain man leaped from the water in a single bound, snatched his great broadsword from the rock on which it lay, and stood in a position of defense as she appeared from the trees.

“Hold, young warrior!” LaSola declared, proud of how steady her voice held. “I mean not to attack you, merely to share this pleasant bathing pool, should you deem it mete.”

Instantly recognizing the woman, Crag blushed a furious red, and lowered one hand from his sword hilt to cover his private parts.

“This pool belongs to mother mountain, not myself,” the man said with a shaken voice. LaSola was amused at this reminder of his innocent youth. “You may share or not as you wish. I was even now finishing my ablutions,” he claimed, starting to move towards his clothes, which were hung on a nearby branch.

“Nay, let me not disturb your bathing, nor deny you the pleasure of this cooling water, which opportunity may not pass again soon on this perilous quest. As a fellow warrior, I seek only to gain myself some comfort from this water. Let not my presence deter you.”

Not waiting for a reply, LaSola turned to a nearby branch and began stripping off her own clothes as though Crag were another female, or she another male. Obviously still embarrassed by the situation, but clearly aware of the challenge the woman had flung him to stand on equal footing as warriors without regard to sex, Crag hesitated for several moments. Seeing LaSola calmly stripping, with no seeming regard for his nudity, the young stalwart reluctantly laid his sword back on the rock and returned to his place in the pool. However, he was now facing in the other direction, and wishing he could move into deeper waters without fear of being thought ridiculous for his modesty.

Totally nude, LaSola placed several arrows and her bow within easy reach and waded out into pool. She too wished she could move to deeper waters. Rather, she took care to turn in any direction she pleased, splashing and rubbing at herself as though alone in the world, concentrating on removing the dust from her travels and not on the alluring male body a few short paces away.

Glancing over his shoulder, Crag noticed LaSola’s seeming indifference to him, and made somewhat bolder in observing her figure. LaSola was the first woman whom he had actually seen totally nude, as the mountain clan were very modest (perhaps from the nearly constant chill of their habitat), as well as the fact that liaisons between unmarried youths -- or even older adults -- were extremely rare.

Crag had noticed in the headman’s dwelling how tall she was, and seemingly well formed. Then, however, he had truly observed her as a potential rival in answer to the Summons. Moreover, she was a warrior whose fame had spread even as far as his small, remote mountain village, where prowess in battle was prized over every trait except devotion to family and clan.

Now he noted the distinct, almost sharp features to her aristocratic nose and cheeks, the large, lustrous dark eyes and the generous, sensual mouth. Her neck was long and slender, leading gracefully to deep hollows under her collarbones, and emphasized by the muscles that rippled across her wide, straight shoulders. Her long, slender legs were powerful and muscular, yet were amazing shapely to his eye. And when she turned in his direction, his breath caught in his throat.

Seeing his gaze, LaSola stood frozen for several beats of her loud heart, then turned sharply to march toward her clothing.

“I have finished bathing,” she announced curtly.

Crag, his spell broken, also rushed from the water to cover his nakedness. His face flushed once again, much more hotly than before, in a combination of lust, embarrassment, and shame. Fie, that he should have so betrayed the comradely trust the renowned warrior had seemingly vested upon him; that his untutored young body should so treacherously have betrayed his good intent!

Avoiding looking at the other, both hastily dressed in silence, not bothering to dry off at all. They made no evening fire, and over the dry provisions each ate LaSola mumbled only a few words, and Crag none.

As they curled up in their sleeping rolls at least ten paces from the other, sleep came hard to both.

As they ascended the lower slopes of the Kredl Mountains, LaSola and Crag were much happier in their relationship, having battled and bested a huge boar on the previous day. The pair had walked some dozen paces apart, as they physically tried to maintain the distance that had sprung between them after the incident in the pool. The squealing, snorting monster had come charging out of a thicket in a murderous rage, heading straight for Crag. As large as Crag was, the monstrous beast must have weighed a couple of stones more, with tusks more than two hands long and foam streaming from its gaping mouth.

The maddened animal closed the distance between itself and the mountain giant in an instant, barely affording Crag time to whip his broadsword from its sheath and assume a fighting stance. Yet before it could fully close upon its prey, Crag remotely heard a deep thrumming from behind him, followed by a singing sound that passed closely by his side, and beheld an arrow bury itself deeply into the heaving breast of the charging boar, followed closely by another. The beast barely broke stride, but its reckless pace did seem a trifle abated and its beady eyes wavered just slightly to seek the source of this unexpected injury.

That instant proved long enough for Crag. Like a mountain lion, he leaped a full pace to the side. It was just enough to avoid the direct path of the boar, and he swung his great sword in a flashing arc that deeply severed the throat of the monster. The sword was ripped from his hands, embedded in the flesh of the dying animal, still hurtling along in its powerful momentum. Another thrum and another arrow sang through the air, this time finding the side of the great beast. But it was merely an assurance; the boar’s front legs suddenly collapsed beneath it, and its great snout ploughed into the ground leaving a furrow several paces long before the animal fully came to a halt. It gave one final shudder of its huge body, then sagged limply to the ground.

Pleased with this efficient teamwork, the two said little as they butchered the huge hog, taking the best parts along with them to be cooked and fire-dried at their evening camp. There was still little conversation as they continued their trek, but now the distance between them was much less than before.

As they ate Crag offered, “Now I understand and appreciate the name LaSola of the Singing Bow.”

“And I can see the power and speed with which you wield that mighty sword,” LaSola returned the compliment.

That night they slept on either side of the doused fire, only a pace or so apart, but facing in opposite directions. They both tried to keep their thoughts away from the scene in the pool and the knowledge that the other alluring body lay so close by.

The following day, they were truly climbing upon the back of the lower mountain. They had wandered the foothills and lower slope without any signs whatsoever of any of the villagers or anyone else. The going became a bit more tedious to LaSola, who was not accustomed to steep slopes, but Crag did not even notice the rugged terrain. Of course, he would undoubtedly be less comfortable on the shifting sands of the deserts and marshy plains from whence LaSola had ventured.

LaSola knew their travels would grow much more difficult hence, in both the paths they trod and the dangers they would face. Somehow, having this quiet young giant at her side, with his knowledge of the mountains and the strength of a god, gave her more confidence than she had ever believed having a mere man by her side could ever produce. It was not that she doubted her own prowess in battle or abilities to face unknown challenges. She merely felt augmented by this additional force, as though she herself had somehow gained new powers, new knowledge, and new limbs with which to reach out and grasp the world. It was strange and somehow wondrous.

In the fortnight that had passed since their brief battle with the wild boar, LaSola and Crag had faced many perils together. They had encountered a band of brigands, more than a score of the murderous cutthroats. The warriors had killed most of them before the rest had fled in terror and disbelief at the power of the two giants, the pale male and the dark female, believing they must be demigods at least from their appearance and fierce skills in battle. They had faced trolls and quickmire, and even a mountain dragon; fortunately for them one of the smaller variety. The last encounter had nearly cost Crag his life, and he still ached from deep talon wounds in his side. But they had survived them all, and had grown quite close as fellow warriors, although their still smarting psyches from the pool incident would not let either admit to any desire stronger than comradeship in arms.