Don’t worry, you’ve still got plenty of time to submit stories for Sex & Sorcery 3 – submissions don’t close until 31 December 2016. We are delighted to announce our first three acceptances:
“A Man Needs A Whore, So…” by Max Keith
Halfway up, the entire stair began to tremble; this was the problem with life in an old watchtower. Everything was falling apart, and the maintenance was ruinous. They scrambled to the nearest landing, for the trembling meant somebody was coming down from above, and with no room to pass on the narrow stairs it was usually wise for the climbers to yield to the descenders.
“Wonder who’s coming down so early.” Cashel was breathing hard already; neither the Princess nor her mage was ever on the way down so early.
But the valkrie always was. She came flying around the stairs, a long-limbed vision in a dancing chainmail chemise and that doeskin fighting kilt of hers, her long silver hair floating behind her like a pet dragon. She pulled up short as she saw the men, her almond-shaped blue eyes narrowing in her thin, pointed face. “You two.” She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Did she summon you to bring her breakfast, or to clean out her chamberpot?”
“Nice.” Drinn, as always, had eyes only for her long, cool body. “Off to kill the Prince Regent?” She made a face.
“I’ll leave you to whatever paltry errands the Princess wants to send you on,” she said with her usual haughty breeziness. “She sends those of us with more elevated skills to do her more important work.”
Also by Max Keith:
“The Ballard Of Little Bird” by Cyrano Johnson
“So be it. Bring forward the Princess of the Morning.”
A pair of Wineg women gently lead her forward from the southern edge of the glade. She is small and delicate, clad in a kilt and a shawl and is of that most numerous of the Peoples, the Baratim. Her name is Cailin, and even by the standards of a People known for uncommon grace, she is a beauty. Her olive-toned skin is smooth and unblemished, her hair a lustrous rain of dark tresses around features of fine-sculpted symmetry, her ears large and well-shaped. Her emerald eyes are the most striking of all; they are watchful, penetrating, and though he can see the fear in her, he can also see how she controls it.
To look at her, thinks Mistegish with reluctant admiration, is to see what Oga saw. In her the gods have made their will clear. Power thrums within her tiny, bird-like frame. Power greater even than his own.
The gathering is in deep silence now as he calls out: “And come forward, Prince of the Evening.” And he feels the sigh run through his People—and sees Cailin give out a little gasp despite herself—as the second party to the rite steps forth from behind him.
Also by Cyrano Johnson:
“The Manse Of Magister Revaine” by Jamie McFrey
Only the best for Magister Revaine.
It was said no one had ever seen his face. It was said that—when he had first arrived in the Yardenberg District, sent by no higher an authority than the Directorate itself—he had arrived under cover of night, inside an iron litter covered with runestones to prevent the Black Rats from seeing him. When he’d set Burnall to the sword, he’d worn a bronze mask in the shape of a bear’s head, had been covered from head to toe in purple robes, and his voice had been distorted by some spell.
No one even knew if the Magister were indeed a “he,” for that matter.
Also by Jamie McFrey:
To celebrate and to stimulate further submissions, we are making Sex & Sorcery 2 available for just $0.99 from tomorrow. Yes, for the first week of December you can pick up over 100,000 words of the finest epic fantasy erotica for less than a dollar. Get on it!