over and, deliberately giving him a view of her shapely rump, reached into the chest. “I assume you’re coming,” she called over her shoulder. “Shouldn’t you go get ready?”
Bud stared. “I’m ready!” he assured her. “I’m ready!” Then, he rolled his tongue back up and shook himself as if breaking free from a spell. “Oh, you mean armor and weapons and stuff. Sure! I’ll be right back!”
Sherri straightened as she watched him depart. She’d known him for a lot of years and trusted him with her life. It was cruel to tease him, but sometimes a woman just had to practice her skills. Even a swordswoman.
Reaching into the chest again, Sherri pulled out a gleaming bikini made of leather and chainmail. It shimmered in the fireplace glow as she held it up. Every link seemed to contain the memory of an adventure, and the gentle jangling spoke to her like an old friend.
Beer-Sheba! She had thought to give up that identity with all its weight and legend. Beer-Sheba the warrior! The pirate! The hero! Red Beer-Sheba! It had been exciting for a while, but legends had a way of wearing one down. She had changed her name to Sherri and bought a tavern. Maybe she had been a fool to think the simple life would ever be enough, because here she was, climbing into armor again at the invitation of a mere captain and the preposterous threat of rabid weasels! She couldn’t even say those stupid words aloud without laughing. What fool had concocted them?
Still, she slipped into her armor, such as it was, and pulled out doeskin boots that laced up to her knees. Next, she put on a narrow belt with a sheathed dagger, and then a weightier belt with an immense sword, no dainty blade, but a real man’s weapon, long and thick and broad. Finally, she drew from the chest a cloak of leather and fur and threw it around her shoulders. She tossed back her long red hair.
Bud dashed back into the room without announcing himself, and Sherri turned. The dwarf stopped on the bedroom threshold so suddenly that he nearly fell, but he caught himself and stared for a long moment. Then he swallowed with a noisy gulp. “You’ve still got it, Sherri,” he said.
“Beer-Sheba,” she reminded him.
He glanced past the fireplace toward the shuttered window. “Yeah, well, in this snowstorm, it’s going to be Brrrrr!-Sheba! It’s really coming down out there, but at least all the customers have gone home. Even the guards left.”
Sherri—Beer-Sheba, she reminded herself—reached into the chest one last time for a pair of metal-scaled arm-guards, which she slipped onto her forearms. Then, she gently closed the chest. “The captain is waiting in the alley,” she told the dwarf. “And the snow will make it easy to track the . . . ” She hesitated, and then laughed. She still couldn’t bring herself to say it—rabid weasels!
Bud crossed the room to stare into the fire. He wore armor, too, a chainmail shirt that reached to his knees with sleeves that extended to his wrists. He wore no blades, neither sword nor dagger. His strange religion didn’t allow edged weapons. Instead, he wore a belt from which depended a dozen fire-tempered, heavy glass beer mugs. Another follower of the faith might have opted for a mace or hammer, but those were not the choices of Bud the Wiser.
Beer-Sheba unlatched the wooden shutters. Her window looked out upon the alley behind the tavern. Leaning outward into the wild snow flurry, she spied the silhouetted form of the captain of the guard. With a hand on her sword, she threw one leg over the windowsill.
“Are we going to jump?” Bud asked with a frown.
Beer-Sheba grinned. “Do you want to live forever?”
“Well, sort of, yeah,” Bud shot back. “The tavern’s empty. We could use the door.”
“What door?” she grinned. “The captain kicked it in.” With that, she jumped outward into the darkness, her armor lightly jingling, cloak fluttering, red hair flying. With agile grace she plummeted to land like a cat on her feet in white drift. Bud followed a moment later, falling with the grace of a cow. He landed face down and rose sputtering, yet somehow with dignity intact.
Beer-Sheba gathered her cloak about herself and extended a hand to Bud. Her poor dwarf companion stood trapped shoulder-deep in snow. As she tugged and pulled him forward, a shrill scream issued from the mouth of the alley. Instinctively, she spun about, releasing Bud,