While the remainder of his men chased the warriors of the Tuatha de Danaan, who were now in full retreat before them, Etan dropped back a few paces and surveyed his surroundings. Almost immediately his gaze fell on a small green-cloaked figure near the rear of the enemy column. Recognizing her, he grinned. It was Fodla, the second of the three queens that had intercepted them on their first trip to Tara.
Running past some of the other Milesian warriors, he picked a course that would allow him to head her off, possibly split her away from her fighters. She didn't seem aware of him; it didn't seem as if it would be hard to do.
Then, abruptly, she stopped. Etan's momentum carried him on beyond her a short distance before he managed to stop himself and turn around.
One small foot crossed in front of the other, she stood smiling at him. Her dark hair was tied in two very long braids down her back, her face broad, her eyes immense and dark, her nose tiny and her lips full. "It was me you were seeking, warrior?" she asked in a soft but musical voice.
His sword bared, his body naked like most of the Milesian chiefs, he advanced on her. "It is our custom," he informed her in a cold voice, "to seek out the kings and queens of our enemies - and to slay them!"
She cocked her head, retained her smile. "Your customs differ from ours," she responded, "in many ways. But, in truth, I am one of those queens." For an instant she just watched him as he stalked toward her. "So was Banba, and true it is, she has been slain. It is your wish, then, to slay me as well?"
Etan stopped, momentarily confused by her bluntness. But it only took him an instant to regain his composure. He said nothing, but he took another step toward her with his sword lifted, answering her question.
Fodla nodded. "As I thought." Just as Banba had done, she swiftly stripped off her cloak and tunic, leaving herself naked. "Now you can see," she said, kneeling in front of him, running her hands up over her small but firm breasts, lifting and presenting them. "You may fight these warriors if you wish," she went on. "And if you wish to take my head, it is here for the taking!" She tilted her head to one side, exposing her smooth and rather long neck. "I will not fight you, champion, and I will not fly from you."
He stared at her, letting his eyes roam down over her body, gazing for a long time at the lovely breasts she seemed to be offering him. She didn't move, even when he drew his sword back further, ready for a swing that would tear her head from her shoulders.
But even as he held the weapon at the ready, he saw Fodla look down toward his crotch, where he was already beginning to respond to her. Her calm and lovely features broke into an engaging smile. "No, warrior," she said. "Not yet. You will have your time to give me my death; if you wish it, come to me first, let me offer you the friendship of my thighs!"
He lowered the sword. "Even though I must then take your life?" he asked her. "It is no gentle death I will be giving you, Queen of my enemies!"
She stretched out her hands to him. "I do not expect it," she murmured. "Come, champion!"
He needed no further encouragement. Laying his sword aside but drawing his dagger and holding it in his right hand, he stepped up to her. She glanced at the weapon and shook her head, but she reached up to touch his broad chest as he fondled her breasts with his free hand.
"You are strong," she said admiringly, sinking to her knees in front of him. "Your people are strong. It is well, it is well..."
He started to say something in return, but her head came forward, her full lips wrapping themselves around his hard erection. While he watched her, she moved her tongue delicately around the glans; Etan groaned in pleasure. For several minutes she mouthed his penis vigorously; just when he was sure he could stand no more she stopped, looking up at him with an innocent and childlike smile.
Still holding the knife, he sat down on the ground. In an instant she stepped astride him and bent her knees, reaching down to pull herself open with her tiny hands. Slowly and delicately, her eyelids fluttering, she sank down on him, impaling herself on his erection.
"Oh, warrior," she moaned, moving her hips from side to side. "Good this, warrior, champion!"
Pulling her to himself, he moved her up and down on his lap. She was less than half his size, a doll-like figure atop his thighs. He did not last long; mere minutes after she'd coupled with him he was grunting in orgasm. She held him tightly while he sprayed his fluid into her, released him reluctantly when he slipped himself out of her.
Still holding her on his lap, he looked hard into her eyes. "I must go now," he told her, his voice soft, "and rejoin the battle. But before I do, Queen, I must give you your death."
Her smile was unaffected. "As you have said," she agreed. She kissed him lightly, then again lifted and presented her delicate breasts, glancing down at them as she did. "Attack these warriors if you must," she murmured. "They await you."
He shook his head, but he lifted the knife. "I must," he told her. "And I would not be true to the Sons of Mil if it was a gentle death I gave you!"
"You must do as you see fit, champion." She glanced down again; by then he'd touched the point of his dagger to her right breast. "I wonder how it will feel to be dead," she mused, watching the blade. It was resting against her nipple, just below the erect tip.
He looked away from her for a second, but then wrapped his free arm around the small of her back, drew her closer to himself. She smiled and tipped her face up as if to kiss him again.
But instead of giving her the kiss, he shoved the knife into her breast. She gasped, and her eyes flew wide open as it slipped between her ribs, burying itself deeply. After a moment she looked down at her chest, at the blade that remained hidden in her body, at the blood that was by now flowing from the wound.
"Understand," he told her, his voice quiet but tinged with something like regret. "I must do this. It is our way."
She kept looking at the knife for quite a while before she said anything. "I do understand," she replied finally. "I do. I do not fault you, warrior."
He gave her a puzzled look as he started drawing the blade out. She groaned as it came free, wrapping her slim arms around his neck, holding him tightly. For a moment he held her too, looking down at her. The pain in her eyes was obvious; the blood flowed steadily from her breast, washing down over his body, pooling under them. For a few seconds he looked as if he doubted his decision.
But then his face hardened. Grabbing her trailing braids, he pulled her backwards, forcing her to arch her body. Once she was in position he brought the knife down overhand, driving it deeply into her left breast, well above the nipple this time. Her body stiffened, bending back into an even more extreme bow.
"Ah, warrior," she moaned, "it is so, the death you are giving me is not gentle indeed!"
He didn't answer; he ground the knife in a little deeper, then pulled it out and watched with apparent satisfaction as fresh blood spurted from the new wound.
Releasing her hair, he pulled her back up. "Your pain is great?" he asked her.
Her eyes met his. "Not great," she answered. "If it is my pain you demand, then you must hide your hot blade in my body yet again, warrior!"
He sighed. "In truth I must," he told her, looking confused again. "Yet if you would but tell me..."
"I will not lie, champion," she said, cutting him off. "I will not go to my death with a lie upon my lips!" She managed a wan little smile. "A kiss is better, in truth...!"
Etan closed his own eyes for a long moment. When he finally opened them again, he pulled her back to himself and pressed his lips against hers.
And, as he was kissing her, he pressed the knife against her soft belly. He knew she could feel the point touching her, but she kissed him even harder. Holding her tightly, he ran the blade deeply into her.
Groaning once more, she moved her mouth away. "Ah, warrior," she sighed, laying her head on his shoulder. "Ah, I can feel your hot iron, deep inside me...!"
Etan was grinding his teeth by now, but he only withdrew the knife partially; then, forcing it upward, he drove it deep again. More of her blood spilled out, flowing over his thighs. With an expression of determination, he repeated the action twice more, opening an eight-inch rip in the middle of her abdomen. Each time the knife went into her she stiffened and trembled as if she was having another orgasm.
"I feel great pain, champion," she murmured into his ear after he'd shoved the knife back in yet again. "Great pain. And I feel I will not see this green land much longer."
He looked deep into her eyes again. "I will take your head, then. Now." She nodded an acknowledement, and again he grabbed her braids with his left hand. In spite of her weakness and pain, she tipped her head over, exposing the left side of her slender neck. He touched it with the knife and looked into her eyes; now she seemed to be urging him on. With a surgeon's skill, he pushed it into her neck, watching carefully as it sank in. She choked and her eyes widened again as her blood shot out; when the blade grated through her windpipe they rolled back in her head. As her body began twitching and jerking, Etan ripped the blade out and forward, opening her throat completely. Blood gushing over his hands, he put the knife back in the gaping wound and sliced at the bone and remaining tissue until her head came free in his hand and her mutilated and headless body toppled off his lap.
Slowly, while her body twitched around on the ground, he rose to his feet. It was at that moment that he saw Caicer, running across the battlefield toward them.