The Storm River was quite deep here, but the Thief was not concerned with that yet. He would need to cross eventually it was true, but there was a point along the way that would take him closer to the cave where the Warlock was rumored to be. It was a matter of finding some suitable trees to make into a raft. The wooded terrain ahead held promise; one must always be on ones guard of course. Beasts and dishonest men often lurked in such places.

The wood was dark and cold, not the cool of a shady glade but a cold like winter winds...then he heard a sound. It was like someone drawing a breath, but they were drawing it out of someone else’s lungs. There was a deep shadow here, deeper than the shadows of the trees. He raised the axe knowing full well that he had no weapons suitable to combat this foe.

“Come to me little creature.” It whispered.

The shape was slim and sultry, but dark and cold.

“So lonely, so lonely for so long...” It glided over to the Thief. It had a pleasant form but the fear gripped him. A conflict of two basic, primal urges was upon him.

The veiled shape revealed its sultry, feminine lines; it was more solid now, shapely, and comely. His heart raced as he became aware that the predator/prey relationship he was so fond of was now reversed...but another urge that was in opposition to this feeling was just as strong. It reached its smooth hand for his face, his feet wanted to run, his hands desired to touch.

Its eyes locked with his, the apparition was solid now, beautiful. It was a thing of flesh; it seemed to pulse with life. Its every move invited him to join with it, but the primal part of his psyche screamed from his animal brain to flee...they touched.

It began as an ecstasy, heart racing, body aching...then the thing’s eyes darkened, sunk away and he felt his heart miss its rhythm. A weakness over came him, the lust that had gripped him left because he had no power to sustain it. The figure laughed a deep, throaty laugh. The Thief wept and the instinct for preservation found its opening and he let his feet take him as fast as they could. Tripping over roots and stones, the branches slapping his face awakened his senses. Behind him the hollow, taunting laugh of something that had just taken what it wanted...he knew that sound, he had made it many times before.

Drained, panting, shaking he left that cursed wood and the unworldly thing that dwelt there. The sun renewed his courage but he would not go in that wood again. That thing had mastered him and he would not tolerate that again. At the top of a small hillock he looked about, more to affirm that he did live rather than to see any wonders. It was his keenly tuned gift for observation that allowed him to see the thing before he had wandered directly into it.

Coiled around a pile of stone that had once been a building of some sort was a dragon, basking in the sun. Of more interest was the gleaming thing that he glimpsed through an opening in the rocks. These lands were once home to a vast empire and battle grounds, tombs and ruins dotted the landscape. The wars that raged and the tyranny of the ancient wizard that used the Crown of Command to force others to his will have left it fallow for centuries. No mundane weapon would still shine as new like this bright blade did. It must be some powerful weapon of the ancients. The Dragon was its guardian, not by choice of course, but because such things have an aura of power those creatures are drawn to.

How to capture that weapon? To gain the Crown was the driving goal. Its power would command the world to provide him all of the things he sought. Power. Wealth. Women. That sword would aid him. He wandered and thought. As he made camp he was no closer to his answer when a shadow fell across him.

He turned to see a familiar face...the young lummox...he almost said it aloud. He could see on the lads face that this would not be a happy reunion.