It was shortly after nightfall when they found a suitable place to camp, some distance from the city walls.
In the lee of a vast outcropping of rock that rose from the ever-shifting desert sands they pitched their tents and kindled a small fire. The fire, Vana knew, would give away their position to the city guards if they did decide to come looking for them. But there was more to fear in the desert than mere mortal men this night.
“We did pretty well,” said Jerob, who was examining the coins and jewels he had stolen from the onlookers in the temple square earlier that day. Vana said nothing; if she disapproved of his thievery she had never given any indication.
Having thus congratulated himself for a job well done, Jerob now slid his sitar out of its case of supple red leather and began to play a melody that was as strange to Vana as everything else about these lands.
As she watched him, she felt the stirrings of desire as she often did on the eve of battle, and wondered if she dared risk both their lives for a brief indulgence of passion; for it should go badly for them if Ammon-Zul chose to attack while they were so pleasantly preoccupied.
The small dark man sang softly, his slender fingers playing deftly over the strings even as the desert wind played with the curls of his jet-black hair. Her eyes sought his, but his head was bowed low over the instrument in his lap, his face obscured in shadow. The words to his song were in an ancient form of his language and thus, like most of the poetry of these lands, unintelligible to her. Still, she enjoyed the melodious sound of his voice, and the sight of him so engrossed in the melancholy of his song made her feel wistful and more than a little homesick.
How unlike the men of the steppes he was! But she often wondered how she in turn must seem to his eyes, especially when compared with the perfumed and painted, soft, submissive women of the desert cities, who had never known the thrill of battle, nor suffered through a long hard winter, nor ever even dreamed of ice and snow.
His song had ended. She reached for him then, and he laid his sitar gently aside and took her into his eager embrace. This would not be the first time they had sought the comfort of each other’s arms, and they made love unhurriedly, savouring every moment as if it might be their last.
Afterwards Vana rose and quickly dressed, and while Jerob slept, blissfully unaware of the true nature of their peril, the warrior woman sat before the fire and stared unblinkingly into its heart for what seemed like hours.
While in this meditative state, she was often able to see things happening far away, sometimes even before they happened. It was a rare talent, especially among her own people, who distrusted sorcery and shunned anyone who practiced it.
Tonight, however, she could see nothing but the ever-dancing flames. And yet she knew that a dark spirit was hovering just outside the camp, waiting for an opportunity to strike. And she also knew that it was the spirit-sending of Ammon-Zul.
She had sensed the evil wraith’s approach well before it had arrived, and having expected its coming in any case, was well prepared. Even the evening’s entertainment had added to her battle-readiness, for women, unlike men, are not diminished in power by the act of love, but quite the opposite, being on the receiving end of the transfer of mystical energy.
And as it turned out, she needed every bit of that borrowed power; for as she had earlier surmised, the High Priest of Baal-Zebub was indeed a formidable conjurer. In fact, despite her preparedness, it was taking all her strength and knowledge just to keep his dark fetch at bay as it railed outside the fading bounds of a circle of protection which none could see save those who had learned to open the eye of truth.
Within that enclosure of mystical energy Vana and Jerob were safe, for the time being. But as the wraith of Ammon-Zul gnawed tirelessly at the circle’s edges that time was all too quickly running out.
He has a demon-lord to lend him power, thought Vana, for surely that is what this Baal-Zebub truly is. Such would-be gods are far more ready to meddle in mortal affairs than the High Ones, who have more important things to worry about, like fending off the forces of Chaos which would tear the worlds asunder if given half the chance. But we shall see if Wodanas, restless wanderer that he is, will heed my call, and come to my aid tonight.
“All-father Wodanas!” she began to chant in her native tongue, her voice at first soft and tremulous, but gradually increasing in confidence until finally it rang out loud and clear: “Master of the Crossroads, Grim Lord of the Wild Hunt, I summon thee! It is I, Vana Valruna, thy faithful daughter, who call thee. Rune-master! Thou who dost roam this earth with unending wanderlust; ever vigilant guardian who watches over thy children continuously, coming to their aid in times of great need; come now to my aid, O wise one, for my need is great!”
Almost as soon as she had finished speaking this incantation, the shape of a single bind-rune appeared briefly in the heart of the flames, glowing like green fire. Though she had never seen it before she understood its meaning intuitively. It was a composite symbol made up of several different protective runes and it could only represent one thing: the World-hedge, that great barrier and enclosure of mystical energy that surrounded and protected this world in much the same way that the circle she had conjured around herself and Jerob was protecting them now.