Chapter 0 - Dragonslayer

Dragonslayer
Vesian II
 
              Deep within the ancient forest stood a ruined stone keep. Perched atop a hillock in what was once a clearing, the crumbling structure had long been home to only crows and the occasional fieldmouse. Recently, new denizens had moved in, disturbing the long-held quiet that reigned beneath the green canopy. Day and night, great bonfires burned in the overgrown stone husk, both to welcome and see off raiding parties that ventured from the forest. The fires burned with sorcerous fury, casting long, dancing shadows across the cracked walls that echoed with bestial cries and war chants. 
              But in the noontime sun that pierced the branches of centuries-old oaks, the keep stood unnervingly quiet. The forest sounded only with the songs of birds, carried on a light summertime breeze. 
              Softly clinking with each step, a pair of mailed feet climbed the twisting stone steps to the keep’s front door. They bore a veteran knight, nearly forty and scarred with many a battle. Sir Bertrand de Guyse held an arming sword with a jeweled pommel in one hand and with the other he brushed away the choking vines and thorns that still shrouded the stairway. He stopped on a landing and looked to the open gateway at the keep’s gatehouse. 
              There was no door in the portal, though the rusted remains of a portcullis still hung above the threshold. From beneath the raised visor of his houndskull bascinet, Bertrand could see through the arrowslits above the door. Nothing moved within the gatehouse halls. Steeling himself, Sir Bertrand crept closer. 
              A flutter of wings drew his attention and his gaze snapped to a pair of crows that noisily alit atop an old, rotting beam over the gate. The two birds squawked between themselves as they fixed their yellow eyes on the knight. Bertrand considered them carefully. Shaking his head, he unslung a shield from over his shoulder. It was a thick piece of oak, rimmed in iron and painted with a white boar’s head on green; the symbol of Duke Conon de Niys, lord of these lands. Bertrand raised the shield before him and began to climb the last steps to the gatehouse door.
              Looking to the ceiling for murderholes, Bertrand grew uneasy. There was no sign of the raiders he had been warned of. They are hiding, like the cravens they are, he told himself. But he had a mission to complete. He passed through the darkened gatehouse and stepped into a courtyard. It was as overgrown as everything else here, with both vines and tufts of grass pushing their way up through cracked flagstones. A burnt out firepit sat in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by animal bones and other refuse. Behind the firepit was an old well, its roof removed and replaced with a long, thick chain of iron that rose from the well’s depths and climbed over an oaken beam to a winch on the parapet above. Bertrand looked to the well with concern and crept closer. 
              He was five paces from it when suddenly, everything sprang into motion. From the sides of the courtyard, four orcs burst from the shadows. They were tall and broad-shouldered, hulking slabs of muscle clad in rude furs and hides. Each of the brutes hefted a crude but fearsome iron saber in its hand, snarling through their yellow tusks as they closed in. 
              At the same time, the iron chain in the well began to clatter and the winch spun at the behest of an unseen hand. From the well’s depths rose a cage, built as if for a great bird. Bertrand stopped as the cage rose into view, for within was the maiden daughter of his master, Lady Alienor. The poor young woman was naked, her beautiful long blonde hair flowing loose over her bare shoulders as she clutched at the cage’s bars for balance. At the sight of Sir Bertrand, she cried out in desperation and fear.
              “Sir Bertrand! Thank the gods you came!”
              “Fear not, my lady,” Sir Bertrand began, but before he could finish, the orcs were upon him. He fended off one blow with his shield, and batted aside another with his blade. The sight of the maiden had left him off-guard, and he took a blow to the helmet in the rush. His head rang and his vision spun, but Bertrand was an old hand. He regained his senses and struck back, forcing his foes onto the defensive for a moment while he recovered.
Ducking beneath another blow, he retreated two steps to put all the orcs in front of him. The brutes were both strong and brave, but favored an aggressive attack over teamwork. They came at him all at once, running into each other as they did. Bertrand kept his shield raised, striking with the sword’s point from behind it. His sword lashed out twice from the cover of his shield, each time surprising the orcs and drawing blood. He backed away as the orcs came on, leaving their wounded brethren to stagger behind them. 
              Bertrand darted aside from one stroke, but caught it on his shoulder all the same. The blade cut through his surcoat and screeched across his mail. He would be sore for a time, but no worse for the wear. His attacker, however, would regret his reckless stroke. Bertrand spun on his heel and plunged his blade into the hip of the orc who had struck him. The brute howled in pain and fell to one knee. He turned his ugly, one-eyed head to stare hatefully at the knight, who merely turned to the last remaining orc and stabbed at the brute’s leg. 
              The orc darted back, his eyes drawn to the arming sword such that he was slow to react when Bertrand struck him in the face with the ironbound rim of his shield. The orc’s head snapped back, his free hand going to a nose that was surely broken. But it was the least of his worries, for Bertrand’s swordpoint quickly found the orc’s throat and tore it out. The orc on one knee fell to his backside and began to scrabble away.
              His two injured compatriots froze in fear for a moment, their eyes going from their dead companion to their wounded companion, then to Bertrand and back to the dead orc. Bertrand did not give them time to think. He rushed forward and struck. One orc tried to run and fell on his wounded leg. The other offered a limp defense before he was spitted on the knight’s blade. His fallen companion tried his best to crawl away but received a mortal blow for his trouble. 
              The last orc stopped scrabbling, his back to the courtyard’s wall. He clutched his wounded leg and sneered at Bertrand as he approached.
              “There’s more of us,” he promised as Bertrand loomed over him.
              “Good,” Bertrand replied, “A mere four deaths will not slake the duke’s thirst for orcish blood.”
              Before the orc could reply, Bertrand stabbed him through the heart and twisted the blade. Satisfied for the moment, he turned toward Alienor.
              With the orcs now dead, Alienor bolted up in the cage, her bare feet splayed across the bars as she leaned against the walls and caused the whole cage to tilt forward.
              “Quickly!” she cried, “before she comes back!”
              Bertrand gulped as she stood up. Her naked body was on full display, and the knight who had watched her a court for many years could not tear his eyes away. She had always been a beauty, moving gracefully about the court in gowns of brocade often trimmed with fur. Bertrand had long envied whichever man would call her wife, harboring dreams that it would be him. When she had disappeared and the duke had sent forth his knights, Bertrand had dared to believed that his time had come. Now, with her standing before him nude and pleading, he let his mind wander. 
              Despite his years at court, he had never before been blessed to see her naked. Her young body, only recently a woman, was pale and supple, with narrow hips and small breasts. She was smudged with dirt in many places, but her tear-streaked face had never been more beautiful to Bertrand. He took a step forward, but his eyes were drawn to between her legs, where he sensed her shaven sex calling to him.
              “Please, sir, we must go quickly. There is no time to search for a key to my cage, you must break the lock.”
              Bertrand swallowed his lust and met her pretty blue eyes, which were wide with fright. He looked to the wide mouth of the well. If he bashed open the cage and it tipped her into the depths of the well to die, he would never forgive himself. 
              “Hold on, my lady, there must be a safer way to get you out of here.”
              “No, no,” she pleaded, “she will be back any moment!”
              “She?” Bertrand inquired, “who is she?”
              “Who indeed,” replied a voice from above. Alienor whirled around in panic and Bertrand’s eyes followed hers to the parapet. There stood a woman, clad in a cloak of deep red wool that showed only her beautiful, pale face and her raven hair flowing from beneath her hood. One bare white arm extended from her cloak to clutch a tall staff of gnarled wood. Bertrand’s eyes narrowed in recognition.
              “Yvaine… You did this?” he demanded.
              “Indeed,” the sorceress replied. “Your lord denied me what was rightfully mine, so I took what was his. And now I offer a trade.”
              “You steal his daughter and now offer to trade?! I ought to hew your head from your shoulders and deliver the two of you to His Grace.”
              “Think a moment before you do anything rash,” the sorceress replied coldly. “I have more than enough orcs for the duke to slaughter, and they are the least of my minions.”
              “Kill me if you wish, sorceress. His Grace commands the loyalty of a hundred knights, most more skilled at seeking than I. The Lady Alienor will be brought home, and you will die.”
              “Damned fool you are,” Yvaine spat from the parapet. “I want my chalice, and the duke can have his precious girl back. Otherwise it’s the cold ground for you, and perhaps I’ll keep her around to entertain my orcs. They’ve been asking me to let her out of the cage anyway.”
              Bertrand felt his blood boil. Images of the dear, innocent Lady Alienor being passed naked around a camp of the ugly green brutes flashed through his mind. Clutching his sword in his hand, he ran toward a stone staircase that led to the parapet. Yvaine screamed with fury.
              “All I desire is my chalice, but if you want to die for him, so be it!” 
              But her words fell on deaf ears, but Bertrand charged up the stairs, taking them two at a time, with only thoughts of bloody justice in his head. The sorceress threw back her head and began to intone the dread words of sorcery. Black tendrils curled around her bare arm, stretching out toward the top of the stairs where they formed a thicket of thorny vines made of shadow. 
              Bertrand jumped up the last three steps in one bound. With two hands, he brought his sword down on the black vines in a mighty blow. Three of the vines cut, but as his sword slashed lower, it became entangled in more vines and soon enough he was caught fast. He tugged at the blade, sliding it partway loose as it cut through more of the vines, but to his fury, he saw those he had already cut drawing together and then reforming themselves before his very eyes. From the courtyard below, he heard poor Lady Alienor cry out in wordless fear for him.
              Yvaine cried out once more in the forgotten tongues of ancient sorcerers, and a ray of sickly green fire sprang from her hand. Bertrand dropped low before it left her palm, and the ray carved a slice through the stone behind him. But Yvaine walked it lower, slashing through her own vines as it descended toward Bertrand’s helmeted head. Bertrand slid backwards on the stairs, scrabbling himself to keep out of reach of her deadly new spell. The demise of the black vines was little comfort to him as he saw the green ray cut through the old stones in its quest to cleave him in two.
              But the spell sputtered, and Yvaine lost control of it. It flickered and scattered, and the sorceress dismissed it before it could rage out of control. As she struggled to regain control of her magic, Bertrand seized his moment. He surged up the steps, tearing through the dying vines even as their thorns bit at his surcoat, and bore down on the sorceress.
              She looked to him in restrained fear, her staff thrust out in a feeble effort to ward off his blade. Again, she called out in the ancient tongues, but this time no spell was conjured forth. Bertrand knocked aside the staff and slammed her to the stone walk with his shield. The sorceress spilled from her cloak and Bertrand saw that beneath it she was naked except for a wide belt of gold and gems. Her bare white legs folded underneath her as she tried to rise, but Bertrand knocked her down once again. Below, he heard Alienor cry out in delight. The sorceress looked up to him with hateful fury on her face. Bertrand raised his sword for the killing blow.
              “Won’t the duke be pleased to see your face again,” he sneered. But no sooner than the words left his mouth did he stop, for through the trees around him came the roar of a great wind. Bertrand looked to the source of the sound, then to Yvaine again.
              “What spell is this?” he demanded, and the sorceress smiled a wolf’s smile.
              “No spell,” answered she, “but I told you I had more allies than orcs.”
              Bertrand felt his heart stop. There had been rumors, of course, but there were always rumors. Peasants told tale of a red sorceress who delved the ancient secrets, searching for lost bits of lore in old ruins and caverns. They claimed she had found something long lost, a song forgotten by the ages, and mastered it for herself.
              “I found it in the Lost Country,” she said, as if she could read his thoughts, “engraved in a bronze tablet buried under a statue of the Wyrmfather. It took me years to decipher the script, and more to learn the words, but in the end, I learned to sing the dragonsong. Now, behold! Khythrix, spawn of Srash the Winged Dread!”
              Bertrand’s arms had long since fallen limp with defeat and dread, his sword clattering uselessly to the stone below. The trees outside the keep cracked and wavered in the wind. The air turned hot around Bertrand and the rushing wind caused him to squint against it. From just beyond the trees came a terrifying roar that shook him to his bones and made his knees go weak. He felt something drip down his face and realized that he was crying. Me, a knight and veteran of a hundred battles, he thought. 
              There was a another, stronger gust of wind that staggered him on his weak knees, and then the tree canopy was torn aside by a great pair of scaly claws. Through the opening, Bertrand saw the terrible form of the dragon. A hundred feet from wingtip to wingtip, and as long from head to tail, the massive form of Khythrix loomed in the sudden sunlight, casting a deadly shadow over the keep. Alienor screamed from somewhere down below, but Bertrand could no longer think of her, of the future he imagined where the duke rewarded his daring rescue by providing him with her hand. All he could think of was the serpentine face of the dragon and its malevolent yellow eyes. 
              The dragon’s long neck lashed out, its maw opening to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth, and tore Bertrand from the parapet with a roar of triumph. Down he went through the dragon’s gullet.
 
              Not ten leagues from the ruined keep, on the road that wound its way over the placid fields and through the villages of Duke Conon’s fief, a young knight and his squire were making their way north. The knight tall and muscular, with ruddy cheeks and fair hair. His look was boyish, with an easy smile always on his face and green eyes that darted to and fro across the idyllic landscape. The knight wore a blue surcoat over mail with a shield slung over his back, emblazoned with a white lion rampant on red. Between his knees trotted a tall courser clad in mail barding and a deep blue caparison, with tack of oiled black leather. 
              Behind him, on a black horse, rode a shorter man. Black-haired like his steed, stocky, and slightly older than his knight, the squire led a sumpter horse laden with many saddlebags. He wore a jack coat and an iron skullcap, though his legs were covered only in quilted cloth leggings. Both men carried swords at their hips, and the squire also carried his master’s lance, an eleven-foot shaft of ash wood topped with lancehead a foot long.
              Both men were in good spirits, moving easily down the road in the mid-morning sun. The road ran through villages, fields, and small woods for miles, and by midday they came to a wooden bridge over a small creek. Beside the bridge were three wagons laden with sundry goods bound for village markets. A half dozen merchants were gathered around the last wagon, removing its broken wheel. As Vesian approached, one of the men cried out in pain and stepped away.
              “Are you alright?” asked a man in a long green coat of wool.
              “I’ve afraid I’ve hurt myself,” the injured man wailed, falling to his rump in the middle of the road as he clutched his back. “Damn! We should have unloaded the wagons first!”
              Vesian pulled his horse to a halt, hiding a half-smile as he did. He dismounted and approached the merchants with his reins in one hand.
              “Pardon me, sirrah,” he called out. “Perhaps I can be of assistance?”
              The merchants turned to him as he approached, their eyes drawn to his armor and the crest of the Order of the Griffon on his surcoat. 
              “Well, isn’t that a gift from above!” cried the man in the coat. “A knight errant, just when we need one! I would greatly appreciate your help, sir! We broke a wheel coming over this bridge and are having just the worst time trying to fix it.”
              “Two more helping hands ought to do the job,” Vesian said, waving to Thibault to join him. somewhat grumpily, the squire dismounted and moved up next to him. He handed the horses’ reins to the injured merchant, who sheepishly seated himself on an upturned crate, out of the way. Vesian and Thibault took their places at the wagon and heaved when called. The wagon went up, and a young woman darted in and propped it up with a stout barrel, allowing the others to remove the wheel.
              “I thank you, sir,” the merchant in the green coat said. “It’s past noon, and all this has gotten me a little hungry. Would you care to share our midday meal with us before you go on?”
              “I suppose I will,” Vesian replied. “We are in no hurry. Isn’t that right, Thibault?”
              “Not anymore, sir,” the squire replied. The merchants eagerly abandoned the wagon repairs to break out their food instead. As they climbed into the wagons to retrieve their rations, Vesian was left standing alone in the road. The young woman appeared at Vesian’s side, holding a loaf of bread in one hand and twirling her long chestnut hair with the other.
              “How fortunate we are to meet a knight just in our time of need,” she said, flashing her pretty blue eyes at him. “I often find myself wishing I had a handsome knight with me.”
              “Oh?” Vesian replied, taking the bread she offered. The woman drew closer to him, putting a delicate hand on his mailed arm. “When might you need a handsome knight?”
              “On cold nights,” she replied huskily, “Or hot nights. Sometimes during the day, while this wagon bumps its way up and down the roads. All this traveling is terribly boring, and I could use a bit of enjoyment.”
              Vesian put his hand on hers. “I do enjoy myself quite often.”
              “And others?” she asked, her voice low and insistent. 
              “I do enjoy others from time to time. Perhaps in a field, or under a wagon?”
              She smiled coyly and bit her lower lip, but suddenly a fat merchant in a dark red vest and a coat of deep blue broke into their conversation and gave Vesian a hearty slap on the shoulder.
              “I see you’ve met my daughter, sir! Well, my dear Aurengarde will talk your ear off if you let her. Come, join us!” He pulled them both to the makeshift benches the merchants had arranged beyond the wagons and seated them down. “I am Jaspert, and these are the members of my company. We winter in Bordonne, and travel all around the kingdom during the warmer months. That’s Berenger with the pulled back, you’ve already met my daughter and Anglebert in the blue, the others are Gilbert, Hugues, and Thietmar.”
              “Pleased to meet you,” the other merchants chorused.
              “Pleased to meet you as well,” Vesian replied, even as Aurengarge surreptitiously caressed his back beyond her father’s notice. “I am Vesian de Surrac and this is my squire Thibault d’Agney.”
              “Have you come to these lands on the duke’s request?” Jaspert asked, oblivious to his daughter’s lusty looks at Vesian. He could only wonder how regular an occurrence this way for her. But the merchant’s question distracted him, even as the woman’s hand found its way down his back to his swordbelt. 
              “What request is that?”
              “You’ve not heard? Oh, foolish me! The duke’s daughter, the lovely Lady Alienor, has been abducted by orcs!”
              “Orcs?!” Vesian blurted, pushing away Aurengarde’s insistent hand.
              “Aye, so the tale goes. Lifted her right out of her carriage and fled into the forest.”
              “Well, I cannot be sitting around like this when a lady is in the clutches of such a group of beasts.”
              “Wait, sir!” cried both Aurengarde and her father, but the merchant continued over his daughter. “There is more. Folk tell that the orcs serve a sorceress, wicked and vain in equal measure. She lairs in a ruined keep in the forest, daring the duke’s best knights to come and rescue the maiden. So far, none have succeeded.”
              “That is no matter,” said Vesian as he pulled Thibault to his feet. “We have a duty to rescue her regardless of the danger. Come, Thibault!”
              “We had only just sat down,” the squire complained, but Vesian was having none of it.
              “We can eat in the saddle.” He took the reins back from the injured Berenger and vaulted into the saddle. “Point me to where I might find this sorceress’ keep,” he called back to Jaspert.
              “Follow the road north to the priory at Waisnon. The priests there will tell you the way. Good luck, sir!”
              Aurengarde rushed to them before they could ride off. She pressed a loaf of bread into Vesian’s hand. “Do eat something before you go off to fight the sorceress,” she begged, “and if you’re ever in Bordonne during the winter, we live off the harbor near the Cloth Market.”
              Vesian smiled down at her. “Fear not, you will see me again. And perhaps I will see more of you next time.”
She smiled wide, but before she could respond, Vesian kicked his horse into a trot and rode off over the bridge with Thibault in tow.
              “A sorceress?” Thibault called over Vesian’s shoulder as they trotted away. “Aren’t you a little too eager to face a sorceress?”
              “Why should I not be eager? We’ve faced worse before.”
              “Have we?” Thibault asked with honest skepticism. 
              “Well, witches. And what is a sorceress but a witch writ large?”
              “What is the Great Boar of Luys but a pig writ large?” Thibault asked dryly. “and how many knights were ever gored to death by a common pig?”
              “A maiden is held prisoner by orcs, Thibault. We cannot sit idly by. Not while we call ourselves knights.”
              “I don’t call myself a knight,” his squire reminded him. “But if you want to rush off and face a sorceress, I can hardly call myself a friend if I let you do it alone.”
              “That’s the spirit! Come on, I know the priory they were speaking of.”
 
              “Thank you, Brother Jauffre!” Vesian called the following morning as they road away from the priory. “I will follow your directions and return to you soon enough!”
              The elderly brother waved goodbye to them as they rode away, leaving their sumpter horse in his care. The priory sat a mile from the edge of the forest, which loomed larger and darker with every step they took. As the forest drew nearer, the fields gave way to wooded pastures for sheep and goats before merging into the forest altogether. The boughs closed in about them and soon enough the road began to fade away. In short order, they were alone beneath the trees.
              Thibault looked around uneasily. 
              “You’re sure the prior’s directions are enough?” he asked, one hand one his sword’s hilt.
              “Follow the road until it ends, then head north until we reach the fallen oak by the pond. Turn northwest and continue until we reach the bare hill, and the keep will be visible from the top. What more do we need?”
              “This forest is vast,” Thibault complained. As the horses shifted from a trot to a walk in the forest’s encroaching undergrowth, he looked from the forest floor to its leafy canopy with grim suspicion. “We could easily get lost in here. I’m not even sure which way is north.”
              “The moss,” Vesian said, pointing to a stand of mighty oaks where moss grew up one side, “it always grows on the north side.” 
              “Did you learn that from the witch you were fucking?” Thibault asked. 
              “From Sir Grifo the Bear. He’s now the castellan of Chateau Herstale, but he was my banneret when I was first knighted. We spent nearly a year in the forests hunting orcs.”
              “Well, at that time I was still squiring for an old man who had trouble putting his breeches on, so I find myself a mite unsure out here in the forest.”
              “Stick close to me and watch your step. We will be alright. It’s not the Dalamari Forest, after all.”
              “And thank the gods for that,” Thibault grumbled. He swatted a long hanging branch out of his face and glowered at it as he rode past. “I’ve no interest in dancing eternally for the amusement of some fae lord.”
              “This forest has you rattled, it seems. Are you afraid we’ll find a basilisk in here?”
              “I’m afraid we’ll find a sorceress in here. I know the vows you’ve sworn, but must you be so eager to rush off into unknown danger? We could have had a good meal with those merchants yesterday. We might have even been able to sneak that girl away into the woods for a bit of fun. But you had to go running off to save this damsel instead. All for a duke who is a notorious miser.”
              “He wouldn’t dare refuse the Order’s reward. The duke is happy enough to cross men, but the gods are another matter.”
              Thibault grunted in indifference. “I’d be happy to be cheated of a reward as it means we will have made it out of here alive.” He cast suspicious looks at a fallen tree, its roots stretching in the air like a great many-fingered hand. Vesian laughed.
              “It’s merely a forest. But do keep up your guard, it can’t hurt.”
              They rode on in silence, Vesian cheerful and Thibault gloomy, until they reached a pond where a tall, thick-trunked oak had fallen across it. A family of water fowl had made their nest in the middle of the pond, weaving sticks and grass together to create a comfortable platform at the end of a gnarled branch. As Vesian passed into the clearing around the pond with Thibault in tow, a deer looked up from drinking and bolted off into the forest.
              “There’s our fallen oak,” Vesian declared. “Now we turn northwest and look for a bald hill.” He looked back toward his surly squire. “Cheer up, nothing to be seen but ducks and deer.”
              Thibault looked up through the hole in the tree cover over the pond, as if he expected something to swoop down on them at any instance.
              “The most dangerous things in the forest will be hiding themselves,” he grumbled.
              “No, the second most dangerous things in the forest will be hiding themselves,” Vesian corrected with a scholarly point of his finger toward the sky. “The most dangerous things have nothing to hide from.”
              The thought did little to cheer up Thibault, who guided his horse around the pond and followed Vesian off to the northwest. In another hour or so they reached the bald hilltop. Vesian found a place near the base to tie up their horses and, after feeding from the saddlebags, he and Thibault donned plain brown traveler’s cloaks and crept up to the top of the hill.
              The top was rocky and devoid of trees, though a number of thorny bushes and brown shrubs meant it was not fully bald. Vesian knelt down behind the largest of the bushes and looked across the green forest canopy. 
The tops of the trees rose and fell, undulating like the surface of the sea. In one place in particular, they rose high like a great green bubble in the surface. The bubble had been pierced, opening a great rent through which they could see the crumbling ruins of an old keep.
              “See?” Vesian said to Thibault over his shoulder. “Right where the brother said it would be. There’s nothing to worry about.”
              Thibault grunted in indifference, but Vesian saw the squire’s unease fade a little. The man was more at home in the fields than the forest. Clearly, the forest was wearing on him.
              “There looks to be a good path toward the keep along that stream,” Vesian said, pointing to a gap in the trees where they could see a stream they had crossed earlier that ran toward the keep. “Keep to the stream bed and out of sight.”
              “Hmm,” Thibault scratched his chin nervously. “That stream would make a good path for orc raiding parties. Parties who might come by this hill and spot our horses.”
              “All the more reason to do this quickly. Orc raiders prefer to travel in the dark, we’re not likely to encounter them now. It’s nearly midday. And those in the keep will likely be half-asleep and off guard.”
              “And the sentries?”
              “Orcs hate sentry duty. They turn quickly to distractions like games, fistfights, and tormenting their prisoners. Which includes that fair young maiden they captured.”
              Thibault sighed. He checked his sword and dagger again, having left the lance with the horses. 
              “Very well. If we die, we die, but there’s no sense waiting around for it.”
              “There’s the man I know. Come on,” Vesian said, turning to head back down the hill. “Leave the horses and we’ll get a closer look. With a little luck, we can be on our way back to the priory in a few hours.”
 
              Unseen eyes watched the knight and his squire approach. From high in the crumbling keep, in what was once the master bedroom, Yvaine the sorceress stood over her scrying bowl. A wide, shallow bowl of crystal, its enchantment turned the still surface of the water in it into a window through which the sorceress could spy on distant areas. Her rich red cloak wrapped around her, she watched their passage through the forest intently. 
              The knight is handsome, she thought to herself, feeling the soft velvet with her fingers. But not one of the duke’s men. Who else have I ensnared in this scheme? Has the duke already run out of knights? I’ve barely begun.
              She placed one hand on either side of the bowl and leaned closer to the water, her cloak falling open to expose her naked body underneath to the cool forest air. The crest on the knight’s surcoat caught her eye. Order of the Griffon, a knight errant. What does that change? She lifted a hand to tap her chin in thought. A knight with no personal connection to the duke might be more amenable to delivering her message. She idly twisted a silver ring on her finger, studying the pair of them. They were more careful than the others, who had to a man come charging in, blades drawn. 
              She was prepared for that now. But her mind went to the ways that she might use this newest arrival. The Order of the Griffon was a formidable bunch, far more suited to fighting her magic than the duke’s men, who trained for war. Yvaine smiled to herself as a plan formed in her mind.
              Her thoughts were disturbed by a shadow falling across the pool, and Yvaine’s eyes flicked to the doorway. There loomed the hulking figure of an orc, naked except for a swordbelt of rough leather from which hung a crude iron saber. In his right hand the orc held his thick green cock, stroking it in his broad, rough hands. He stepped forward into her room.
              The dull green flesh was not to her liking, and his tusk made kisses uncomfortable, but the orc and his fellows had a raw musculature to them that set her heart pounding. Their big hands and thick cocks made her weak and even now, with the two intruders bearing down on her, she felt her body growing warm and wet for the orc. 
Out of the side of her eye she watched him approach, stroking his cock. Yvaine bit her lip, but fought her lust back down inside of her. The orc sidled up behind her, brushing aside her cloak to put his big, strong hands on her hips. She felt his hard cock against her bare legs and his hot breath against her neck.
              “Mistress,” he rumbled, his deep voice causing her whole body to tingle. He spoke the Aquitan tongue crudely, with an oafish mouth best suited to his own people’s bestial tongue, but Yvaine understood him all the same. “We await you in the bed below. Unless you want me here, now.” He slid his hands up her body to grope at her big breasts. Yvaine felt her nipples stand up and she quivered under his calloused hands, feeling the strength in them. As much as she longer for him to throw her down on the rude bed and fuck her until he burst, she could not ignore the approaching knight and his squire.
              “Not now, Ughaz,” Yvaine commanded. She planted a hand on his chest, which was at the height of her head, and pushed the brute away with one delicate hand. “We’re about to have visitors. Prepare your warband. These two look like they will be interesting.”
              The orc snarled and turned his eyes to the pool. 
              “They are near?” he growled, letting go of his cock. Yvaine’s eyes went to it swinging between his legs and she bit her lower lip again. 
              “Very. We must be prepared. Go and get ready for battle, and we will take care of this,” she grabbed his cock between two hands and gave it a stroke, “afterwards.”
              Ughaz smiled, showing his sharp teeth. 
 
              Using first the stream bed and then a thicket of berry bushes, Vesian and Thibault drew closer to the keep. Vesian donned his helm, but kept the visor raised so he could watch the battlements for any sentries. Even as he drew within bowshot of the keep, he spotted no activity on the walls.
              “Still no one there?” Thibault whispered from behind.
              “Nothing. Just an ornery looking crow.”
              “Damn. Feels like an ambush.”
              Vesian nodded to himself. Slowly, he drew his sword from its scabbard. They had reached the base of hillock where the keep stood. All around the base of the hill, the ground was covered by thick foliage, leaving only a single path through them to the keep’s front gate. 
              “There must be another way in,’ Vesian mused. Keeps always had sally ports so that the defenders might sneak out to attack a besieger, or else bring in needed supplies unnoticed. Surely, this one was no different. However, finding their way to the sally port in all this undergrowth would be a difficult task. 
              They crept around the base of the hill but found no other path through the thicket. Vesian could not even spot where the sally port might be. With a heavy sigh, Vesian resigned them to a frontal assault. He unslung his shield and Thibault did the same.
              With a deep breath, Vesian and Thibault nodded and begun the attack. Swiftly but quietly, they hurried up the timeworn steps to the front gate. The keep loomed over them silently, gray and foreboding in its dilapidated state. Rotting beams jutted out over the edge of the parapet, some looking like they were bound to fall away at any moment. 
              Vesian reached the open gate and looked over his shoulder to Thibault. The squire was three steps behind him, visor lowered and shield raised. He gave Vesian a nod of approval, but Vesian could see through his visor and tell he was anxious. Without another word, he slipped through the gate and into the gatehouse beyond. 
              The ruined gatehouse was dark despite the midday sun high above, leaving Vesian squinting into the shadows. Somewhere above, a crow squawked, and Vesian saw a shadow move.
              “Orcs!” he cried, and three of the big, hulking brutes leapt from the shadows, iron swords in their hands and dulled mail shirts on their broad chests. Vesian raised his shield just in time to catch the first blow, and it glanced off the shield and away, but hard enough to set his arm ringing. Vesian responded with a thrust at the orc’s bare foot that sent the brute leaping back, but his companions were next to attack.
              Vesian found himself pushed into a corner, outmuscled by the taller and broader orcs. Vesian realized he was in danger of being surrounded and attacked from all sides. His savior was Thibault, who appeared in the gatehouse doorway and drove back an attacking orc, slashing his sword in a wide arc. One of the orcs was driven back, relieving Vesian’s threatened flank. However, the other stepped forward and blocked Thibault’s advance, driving him back to the narrow straits of the gatehouse portal. Vesian seized the opportunity and darted forward, his shield held ready to block but also to cloak the movement of his sword. The blade darted forth like a viper and caught the orc in his hand, riding up his mail sleeve to carve a long furrow in his sword arm. 
              With an agonized cry, the wounded orc drew back. Its companions were confounded for a moment, and Thibault used that moment to step through the narrow gate again. He feinted a shield blow, then thrust his sword into the face of an orc. The orc retreated from it quicky, but exposed his wounded companion to Vesian’s strike. 
              Vesian’s blade struck home, tearing through the already wounded orc’s knee and calf muscle. The orc howled and fell, his companions suddenly struck with fear. They wavered in their resolve for a moment, and Vesian pressed the attack. He swung his shield rim into the orc’s chest, and the raider blocked it with his arm, only to take Vesian’s swordpoint in the thigh. He howled with pain, but before Vesian could further injure him, the other orc seized his companion by the collar and hauled him through the opposite portal of the gatehouse and into the courtyard beyond. 
              Stopping only to quickly finish off the fallen orc, Vesian and Thibault followed them, shields raised and visors lowered. The light of the sun streaming through the tree branches lit up the courtyard and, at its center, the cage that held the damsel, hanging over the open pit of the keep’s well.
              She was pale and beautiful, despite the tears streaking her face and the accumulated dirt on her skin. She cried out when she saw Vesian, reaching one white arm through the bars toward him.
              “Look out! There are more orcs in here, and the sorceress lies in wait!” 
              Vesian forged ahead regardless, bearing down on the injured orc. The brute stumbled in his fellow’s grasp as they made their way toward the covered arcade below the outer wall, making for the door of a chamber set into the wall. 
              As Vesian reached them, the uninjured orc threw his fellow forward to safety and whirled to face Vesian. The wounded orc scrambled away to the safety of the darkened chamber, while behind him, steel clashed. 
              The orc positioned himself between two pillars supporting the wall, neatly preventing Thibault from executing a flanking maneuver. His blade rang against Vesian’s sword and, despite being nearly a foot taller than Vesian, the orc gave ground. He backed toward the door where his companion had vanished, the ringing of swords echoing off the stone wall.
              Thibault fell in behind Vesian as the orc retreated into the darkened side chamber, descending a short flight of stairs. The orc struck at Vesian’s feet, nearly knocking him from the stairs, but Vesian hopped over the strikes with agility. The orc roared something in his bestial native tongue and a lower, hoarser growl answered him from the darkened depths of the chamber.
              Vesian stepped in something at the bottom of the steps. He did not know what it was, but suddenly everything seemed wrong. From the darkness, something lashed out at him. Many somethings. He felt vines wrap around his sword arm, pricking him with their thorns. They wrenched his arm, thorns digging into his wrist and with a cry, he dropped his sword. More vines ripped their way up from the earth and out from the walls, immobilizing him completely.
              “Thibault!” he cried, but from the courtyard above came the sounds battle once again. Vesian was torn from his feet, hurtling up to the ceiling of the chamber. There, he was buffeted about by all manner of unseen obstructions until he was slammed into a solid roof. 
              The vines released him, and he fell to the floor. Immediately, he scrambled to his feet and looked about. The room he was now in was at the top of a narrow watchtower, being no bigger than the priests’ cells at the priory. Arrowslits looked out over the forest, permitting light to stream in from outside. The room was bare stone covered in dust and dirt everywhere, with no scene of the hole in the floor that had brought him here, and a single wooden door banded with worn iron. He went for the dagger at his belt, only to find that it was gone. 
              Vesian scrambled to the arrowslit overlooking the courtyard. It had several blocks of stone missing, either lost to time or carried off by some enterprising builder, affording him a good vantage of the courtyard. Some thirty feet below him, Thibault was making a cautious retreat toward the keep’s gate as five orcs pressed in around him. The squire kept his shield high, fending off blows with both iron and oak. Upon reaching the gate, he turned and fled at such a speed that the orcs could not hope to keep up. In her cage just below his window, the damsel clutched at the bars, her head slumping in despair as he long blonde hair fell down her naked back.
              Vesian slumped against the wall. Thibault was safe, to be sure, but he was in dire straits himself. Looking to the door, he settled his mail and surcoat about him and made for the portal.
              The door was old and worn but settled into its place solidly. The iron ring was missing, and Vesian dug his fingertips into the door jamb to pull it open. The oak screeched on the stone floor, but it moved barely an inch. Below, he heard the orcs bellow in victory.
              Planting his feet, Vesian gave the door as mighty a pull as he could. To his surprise, it flung open with a horrible shriek on the stones that he knew would be heard from below. 
              He bolted through the open door --- or started to. He was stopped by a writhing mass of thorny black vines across the doorway. He reached through the vines, hoping to grab on and tear them apart with his hands, but stopped as a figure appeared on the other side. Dressed in a dark red cloak, the figure approached him and passed through the vines as if they were mere shadows. 
              Vesian saw that the figure was a woman, wrapped in a red cloak and holding a staff of gnarled wood in one hand. Her feet were bare, the only parts of her other than her face and the arm holding her staff that he could see outside of her cloak. She was beautiful, with long raven hair flowing from under her hood and dark brown eyes that danced along Vesian’s body. He took a step back as she entered.
              “And who might my latest catch be?" she purred in a voice like silk. Vesian made no reply, his mind running through the possibilities. Alone and unarmed, his mind went to Thibault and the kidnapped girl. 
“I am Sir Vesian de Surrac.” 
              “Sir Vesian de Surrac,” she repeated, “of the Order of the Griffon, no doubt. Pleased to meet you,” she said somewhat mockingly, “I am Yvaine, daughter of the Moon and Stars. You are not here on behalf of the duke?”
              “Nay. I came of my own accord when I heard that a lady had been abducted by orcs. Do what you will with me, but let the girl leave in the company of my squire to return home.”
              The sorceress smiled tauntingly at him. “Leave? No, I think not. Your squire has run off, and my orcs are not interested in giving chase. He can return to the duke if he wishes, but if he tries to free my prisoner again, he will die. As for you…” she smiled at him as her hidden hand moved underneath her cloak. “You will have to wait. Do not try to leave.”
              “What is your quarrel with the duke?” Vesian demanded as the sorceress turned to leave.
              “We will speak of it later. Now I must entertain my orcs, or else they will get restless.” She turned and left, passing easily through the vines again. The door swung shut behind her, as if acting on its own accord, and Vesian moved to the window. He watched her descend the steps from the wall to the courtyard, where ten orcs had gathered around the entrance to what might once have been a granary for the keep. The orcs were excited, beating their chests as Yvaine approached them. One orc doffed his mail shirt and climbed out of his crude leggings to stand naked but for his boots, his fat green cock in one hand. 
              Yvaine smiled knowingly as she alit in the courtyard. The other orcs began undressing, and two disappeared into the abandoned granary. 
              “We have done well, mistress?” asked one orc, the one Vesian had fought and left uninjured. 
              “You have, my minions,” Yvaine replied. She let her cloak fall open, and Vesian saw that she was naked underneath. She was full-bodied and incredibly beautiful, with voluptuous breasts and a plump ass ripe for spanking. Vesian felt himself getting hot, but it was the orcs who were truly eager. Those who were not yet naked threw off their clothes and began to crowd around her. One of them went to pick her up, but Yvaine stopped him.
              “Bring the bedding out here,” she commanded. “Let our prisoners watch. Perhaps they will like to join some time.” She looked to the damsel in her cage, but the girl only buried her head in her hands and let out a little sob.
              “Someday soon,” one orc growled, stroking his cock as he looked at the girl. Yvaine reached up to touch his chin.
              “Am I not enough for you?” she teased.
              “For me, yes. But there are ten of us.”
              “There used to be more, and I was enough for all of you then. Come, see if I am still enough for you.” Yvaine shed her cloak, leaving her naked except for a wide gilded belt and a necklace set with rubies. The orcs pulled her in close, groping and pawing at her with animalistic lust. 
              The bedding had been assembled, and the orcs gleefully threw her down upon in. Kneeling in a makeshift bed of furs and old cloth, Yvaine opened her mouth and held out her hands. Immediately, they were filled with orcs’ cocks. The tall, muscular brutes crowded in close, one roughly fucking the sorceress’ pretty mouth while his companions clutched and grabbed at her naked body. One orc crouched behind her, squeezing her big breasts in his hands as he kissed her neck. Surrounded by ten musclebound orcs, the shortest of which was more than a head taller than her, Yvaine looked like a lamb in a wolf den. Yet she showed no signs of concern. To the contrary, she was delighted.
              Vesian watched from his window with great interest, one hand sliding up his mail shirt and into his pants to stroke his cock as he watched. Down below, the orcs jostled amongst each other, each trying to get his cock into her hand or mouth. Yvaine squatted over an orc’s face as he pressed his mouth to her dripping sex, jerking two cocks in her hands as she vigorously sucked on another. The orc with his cock in her mouth wound his hands through her hair and pulled it like a horse’s reins. She momentarily released the other cocks to work the one in her mouth with two hands. 
              The orcs deprived of her touch quickly grew restless, one grabbing her hand to tear it away and place it back on his cock. Yvaine moaned, loudly enough for Vesian to hear it clearly in his tower, as the orc beneath her buried his tongue deep inside her sex. She withdrew her head from the cock she sucked, looking down to the orc between her legs.
              “Fuck me,” she ordered, and the orc was quick to obey. He slid forward, siting her wet sex over his cock, and lowered her hips down onto it. Yvaine mounted the orc’s cock with an ecstatic moan and began to bounce her curvaceous hips up and down, even as she sucked and stroked three other cocks. One orc left the line of those waiting for her hands and mouth and crouched down behind her to enter her ass. He slowly plunged his thick green cock into her and was rewarded with a muffled scream of delight.
              Gripping her by the hips, the orc began to thrust vigorously into Yvaine, the slaps of his green flesh against her white flesh echoing around the courtyard. In his tower, Vesian drew his cock out and clutched it with both hands. He bit his lip as he stroked it, leaning out of the window for a better look at the naked sorceress and her many lovers.
Below Vesian, the captive girl crouched in her cage, hiding her face beneath her long, flowing blonde hair and her delicate hands. Vesian could tell she was scandalized by the scene below her, and also all too aware of the lascivious looks some of the naked orcs were casting her way while stroking their cocks.
              The orcs grew rougher. The orc beneath Yvaine grabbed her breasts between two massive, rough hands and squeezed them. Another leaned in and slapped her bouncing white ass hard enough to leave a red handprint. The slapping of flesh on flesh, Yvaine’s muffled screams of delight, and the orcs’ rutting growls grew more savage. With a mighty roar, the orc in her ass came. Even from his high vantage, Vesian could see the orc’s cum drip out of her and onto the cock of the orc beneath her. 
              Sated, the orc dismounted, slapped her ass, and half-crawled, half-staggered away. He was immediately replaced by another orc. This one was rougher still, wrapping his thick green hands around Yvaine’s throat as he fucked her. The sorceress had no complaints, pulling the cock from her mouth briefly to plead for more. No sooner had she put her mouth back on the cock than the orc pulled out of her and unleashed his load on her face.
              Laughing and licking it up, Yvaine called to the next orc.
              “Don’t be shy, minions. Who’s next?”
              Three orcs jostled for the privilege, two trying to ascend from her hands and another leaving the waiting pack. The newcomer won, thrusting his cock into her waiting mouth with one hand as he seized her head with the other and held her close. The orcs denied her hands or mouth knelt beside her to reach in and grab or slap her fleshy parts. One fought the orc beneath her for a chance as sucking her breasts and lost. 
              The orc underneath her came at last, and Yvaine called a halt to the action so that he might be replaced. She rolled off him onto her back and dismissed him with a lusty slap to his toned backside. Another orc lay down next to her and reached over to pick her up. He lifted her onto his hips and grabbed his cock with his free hand. Yvaine lay back against his chest and kissed the orc as he slid his cock into her ass. 
              Another came from the crowd and knelt before her, shoving his cock roughly into her sex. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up.
              “Look at it,” he commanded with a ferocious growl. “Look at me while I fuck you.”
              He thrust into her violently, her big breasts bouncing with each blow. However, it was not long before her attention was pulled away by another orc who turned her head to the side and made her suck his cock. She embraced it with two hands, all the while bouncing as the two orcs between her legs fucked her savagely. 
              They did not last overlong before coming. With groans of pleasure, they pulled out and came on her breasts and in her hair. Vesian had seen some women greatly displeased with this, but the sorceress merely laughed as the cum fell in her hair. She slid off the spent orc beneath her and welcomed two more in their places.
              They all fucked her roughly until they came, slapping and pawing at her curvaceous body. She squealed under their touch and giggled as they came, eagerly lapping it up as it flew into her mouth and dripped down her face.
              In time, all her orcs were spent and they gathered up their things to stagger off to the barracks, leaving Yvaine all alone in the courtyard. In her cage, the captive girl remained with her head buried in her hands and her legs pulled up close to her chest, trying to shut out the raucous fucking below.
              Yvaine looked to Vesian in the tower and smiled wolfishly. With a pleased giggle, she wiped the cum from her face with one finger and slowly licked it clean, staring at him all the while. Vesian felt his heart still pounding. With another laugh, Yvaine snatched up her cloak and climbed the stairs to the keep. The door boomed shut behind her and all in the castle was still.
 
              With the courtyard empty, a quiet calm fell over the keep. Vesian could hear the orcs in their barracks laughing and snarling, occasionally accompanied by the sound of dice or fisticuffs. On the parapets, crows cawed and fluttered away, and from deep in the forest came a stag’s call. But Vesian was alone in his tower and perhaps three arm lengths away from him, nearly at the same level, the trapped girl hung in her cage, weeping and sniffling quietly. 
              “Girl,” Vesian hissed, “hey there.” The girl stirred slowly, lifting her head to meet his eyes. Her own eyes were red and puffy, her dusty face streaked by tears. Vesian tried to give her a comforting smile. “Worry not, girl. My squire is still out there, and I’ll think of something if he doesn’t.”
              “No, you won’t,” she sobbed, “My father keeps sending knights and she keeps killing them. You’ll be next and then I’ll be alone again until the next one comes to die.”
              “Why did she take you?”
              “My father fell ill and summoned a sorceress to heal him. She brought an enchanted chalice with her, which she used to cure his sickness. But when she finished, my father seized the chalice and cast her out. She thrice went to the castle and demanded it be returned to her, but each time he refused. So, she had her orcs capture me, and offers to exchange me for it. Five of my father’s knights have already met their deaths, I fear you will be the next.”
              “Listen, girl. What’s your name?”
              “Alienor,” she sobbed. 
              “Alienor, I am Sir Vesian de Surrac, a knight of the Order of the Griffon. I implore you, you mustn’t lose hope. Do you pray?”
              “Every night and day, sir. I used to pray for a savior, but now I pray that no more knights will die trying to save me.”
              “You may have a savior yet. My squire Thibault is a resourceful man.”
              “What can two men do against her and her magic? Her orcs? Her dragon?”
              “Her what now?” 
              “She has a dragon,” Alienor said with a shudder. She pulled her legs in close, curling up into a ball in her cage. “A huge, terrifying beast with scales of iron and fire hot enough to melt steel. It will eat you up, sir.”
              Vesian stepped back from the window. A dragon. We are well and truly dead. But Vesian thought back to all the tales of dragonslayers he had read. Other knights had found the strength and cunning to kill them. Now he just had to do the same. And, if he did, he would enter their legendary company. The first problem will be getting it to land, Vesian thought. Actually, he thought to himself after a moment, the first problem will be getting out of here.
He stepped to the window again and looked to Alienor, hanging in her cage. “Lady Alienor, I promise you that I will set you free and return you to your father. Do you hear me?”
              She looked up to him and stifled a sob. “Do you? I fear you cannot deliver on that promise.”
              “I swear it, on my honor as a knight. If I fail you, may my name be known forever as a knight without honor.”
              She seemed to take heart from that. Alienor sat up and rubbed some of the dirt from her face. Looking at Vesian now, became more aware of her nakedness, and covered her little breasts with one arm.
              “You flatter me to put your honor on the line as it were, sir,” said Alienor, her cheeks flushing red as her other hand moved between her legs to cover her shaven sex. “I should hate for your name to be so remembered, Sir Vesian.”
              “I will pray to all the gods to give me the strength to save you.”
              “And I will pray to them for the same.”
              Vesian settled down by the window and carried on talking to the girl. It raised her spirits to have someone to speak with. She stopped her crying and did up her hair as best she could. As the afternoon wore on into evening, she leaned against the bars without care for her naked state, affording Vesian good looks at her bare body. She was slender and fair-skinned, with little breasts and an ample ass on her. Her pale blue eyes danced in the waning sun as Vesian told her tales of past foes defeated, orcs chief among them. 
 
              It was well after dark when there was once again movement in the keep. Alienor had drifted off to a relieved sleep and Vesian was at the outer wall, studying the dark forest for any sign of Thibault when he heard the door to Yvaine’s chamber open. He moved to the courtyard window as she began to walk around the parapet, wrapped in her cloak with her long hair blowing in the gentle nighttime breeze. She had cleaned herself up from the afternoon’s debauchery. She stopped to look out into the forest for a moment before continuing on toward the door to Vesian’s cell. 
              The door swung open again and Yvaine stepped through the vines into his cell. Vesian stood with his hands at his side, unsure of what was to come. Yvaine said nothing, her eyes wandering over him as she smiled knowingly to herself.
              “What do you want, sorceress?”
              “A few questions,” she said. She conjured forth a throne of vines and seated herself on it, her legs crossed in front of her. Vesian saw with mild amazement that the dirt on her bare feet fell away as she sat, leaving them as clean as if she had just stepped from a bath. “Why have you come?” she asked mildly.
              “I told you before. I heard that orcs had captured a maiden and I cannot let that stand. You said we would speak of your quarrel with the duke.”
              “And I suppose we shall. He cheated me. Took something of mine that I want back.”
              “Your chalice,” Vesian said.
              “Indeed, my chalice, which I acquired at great cost to myself in the Lost Country. I healed him, and the ungrateful lout stole my things. So I stole what is most precious to him.”
              “A girl is not a chalice. You have no quarrel with Lady Alienor, sorceress. Let her go.”
              “Not without my chalice. I am willing to let you leave, Sir Vesian. But you must bring me the chalice in exchange.”
              “I cannot guarantee that. The duke will not surrender the chalice to you as you hold his daughter captive, why should he surrender it to me?”
              “The Order has much carry with the nobility. They will listen to the knights errant more than a wandering sorceress. But if he refuses you, he will pay the price.”
              Yvaine stood up and walked to the window. She let her cloak fall open, revealing her magnificent nude form to Vesian. He was so close, he thought to reach out and touch her. Yvaine took know notice of him, looking instead at Alienor sleeping with her face pressed against the bars of her cage. “If you do not return forthwith with my chalice, I will hand dear little Alienor to the orcs and let them act out all the desires they have been nursing during her captivity. If the girl is lucky, she won’t last the night.” 
              She turned back to Vesian, her cloak blowing in the breeze. His lusting eyes drank in her naked body before him and he felt himself growing hot under the collar. Whether he grew hot from her nakedness or her threats, he liked to think he did not know, but his hardening cock pressed against his trousers and he averted his eyes from the sorceress’ nudity in answer. 
              “Do you find my terms amenable?’ she asked. Vesian could only shake his head.
              “I cannot take on this impossible task unless you agree to free the girl. If you can assure me that no harm will come to her, I will do your bidding. But I will not give you an excuse to throw her to the wolves like this.”
              Yvaine’s face darkened and she stood up from her throne of vines. “Perhaps you need some further encouragement.” Her hand went to her throat and, in one swift motion, she unfastened her cloak, letting it drop to the floor. She then unbuckled her belt and threw it down atop the cloak. Vesian swallowed hard as she stepped closer. The sorceress cupped her big breasts with one hand and ran the other along her naked flank. Putting one foot in front of the other, she approached him in a slithering gait, pushing one breast up to her lowered mouth as she licked it with a long red tongue.
              “Do I not please you?” she whispered huskily. “Do you feel desire for me, Sir Vesian de Surrac?” She pressed her body against him, pinning him between herself and the stone wall. Vesian grimaced, his cock straining against his trousers.
              “After this afternoon, you are still hungry for cock?” he asked as she touched his face tenderly. Yvaine smiled.
              “Orcs are so wonderfully thick and rough, but I have long craved a handsome man. Orc tusks are so troublesome for kissing. I haven’t had a man, a real man, without tusks, since I spent the night in the duke’s castle. But I find you most enticing, Sir Vesian. Perhaps we could come to an agreement after all?”
              Vesian knew she was trying to manipulate him. But her breath was hot on his neck, her soft touch working its way down his mailed chest to his belt. Her naked body shone in the moonlight and he could not resist.
              Without a word, he pulled his mail and surcoat over his head and began to undress. Yvaine watched with visible amusement, already sliding a finger into her sex as she impatiently waited. In short order, Vesian stood before her naked, one hand on his hard cock. Yvaine smiled as she pulled his discarded clothes into a pile before him and knelt down. 
              Vesian felt wrong as he held his cock out for her. He was no stranger to the temptations of women, but in this case he felt he was doing wrong. But he could not stop himself. The sorceress was too beautiful and watching her in the rough hands of the orcs had inflamed his desire. Yvaine took his cock in her hand and stroked it gently.
              “You are warming to my offer, I can feel it,” she whispered, then took it in her mouth. Her touch was warm and soft, and Vesian had to fight hard against the urge to come right away. He reached down and grabbed two handfuls of her hair. Pulling it into a long tail, he held it above her head as she sucked his cock. Vesian leaned back against the cold stone wall, one hand on Yvaine’s head and the other holding her hair. 
              She worked her tongue expertly around his cock, stroking it with both hands as she did. Vesian caressed her bare shoulders and reached down to squeeze her buxom chest. He felt his cock pulsing with desire as she sucked, and he desired more from her.
              “Stand up and turn around,” he commanded suddenly. “I want to fuck you.”
              Yvaine did as commanded, and Vesian guided her toward the window, where she braced herself against the crumbling stones overlooking the courtyard and Alienor’s cage. She leaned in close and kissed him, her kiss heady with the scent of spice and exotic perfumes. Putting his hands on Yvaine’s hips, he slid his cock inside her. She was wet and warm, welcoming his cock inside her with a soft moan. Vesian gathered up her hair again and began to thrust into her, one hand reaching around to clutch at her big breasts as he did. 
              His heart pounding and his breathing heavy, Vesian began to fuck faster. Yvaine’s scent and sex were intoxicating. He had never had a woman like her before. His hips worked against hers, the slapping of flesh against flesh sounding off the walls of his towertop cell. Letting go of her hair, Vesian slid a hand between Yvaine’s legs and began to play with her sex. She moaned loudly, craning her head back to look into his eyes. 
              In her cage, Alienor stirred. She looked up to the window and her mouth dropped open at the sight of them fucking. Yvaine laughed at her.
              “Do you envy me, dear girl? Do you desire a man for yourself? Perhaps I should send some of my orcs your way so that you are not left out?”
              Vesian grabbed the sorceress by her long raven hair and wrenched her head back to meet his gaze. He looked to Alienor, who had pressed herself up against the far wall of her cage again, covering her naked self as best she could. Her pretty blue eyes were averted, staring down at the well far beneath her. Vesian turned to regard Yvaine, who returned his look with a mocking smile.
              “You are bargaining with me,” he said, staring into her eyes as they danced with amusement, “leave the lady out of it.”
              “Do you fear for her safety? Delicate as she is, the orcs are not likely to break her. I’ve had them enough times to know.”
              “The girl does not want your orcs. Threaten her no more.”
              Yvaine smiled at him and kissed his lips. “Or else what? Are you going to punish me, sir knight?”
Vesian pushed her down against the stones and fucked her furiously. Her ample ass bounced with each thrust and she cried out in pleasure. He looked guiltily to Alienor, but the girl mercifully kept her eyes averted. Frustrated at his own weakness, wrapped Yvaine’s long hair around her neck and pulled it tight.
              The sorceress’ eyes popped open, and she looked up to him with a crooked smile. 
              “Don’t stop,” she hissed, “Fuck me, handsome knight. Punish me like you want to, come on my face. I am yours, if you’re man enough to take me.”
              Vesian unleashed all his lust upon her, hammering against her wet sex so hard he feared he might push her out the window and into the courtyard. All the while, she cried out and taunted him, begging for more.
At last, Vesian’s stamina began to fade, but he still did not come.
              “Stop,” Yvaine commanded, and touched a white hand to his chest. She stood up and pulled his cock from inside her. “Sit,” she commanded, and an exhausted Vesian obeyed. He leaned himself against the wall, facing away from Alienor, whose wounded countenance he could not bear to see anymore. Yvaine sat down in his lap and mounted his cock, draping her arms around his shoulders and staring over them at Alienor in her cage.
              Yvaine planted her bare feet on the floor and bounced herself on his cock, her ample chest rising and fall as she did. Vesian buried his face in her big breasts as he held her by the hips. He squeezed her close, the rising and falling of her hips on his cock setting him pulsing with desire again. Yvaine tilted his head away from her breasts to give him a full, passionate kiss on his lips. Hers tasted sweet and fiery, burning with lustful desire. Vesian broke from the kiss as his cock reached a climax, clenching his buttocks and curling his toes.
              “Oh, Nystra’s Tits, I’m gonna come!” he cried.
              She deftly dismounted and crouched before him on all fours, pinching his cock closed with one hand. Meeting his eyes with her eye, she aimed his cock at her face and released it. Vesian could hold on no longer. He spurted his cum into her beautiful, mocking face and convulsed with the ecstatic release. One foot scrabbled against the floor, carving a path through the dust. His whole body spasmed and he came on her again.
              The sticky white cum dripped down Yvaine’s face and onto her waiting tongue. She smacked her lips together and wiped away stubborn strands with her finger. All of it went into her mouth, where she swallowed hard and opened again to show Vesian it was all gone. She beamed delightedly and Vesian could only give her a weak smile in return. 
              “Well, that was wonderful,” she said, sitting back. “We will see if that changes your disposition. Good night, Sir Vesian, and I will come again tomorrow. If you accept my offer, perhaps you will too.”
              She gathered up her cloak and belt and left, passing easily through the vines and shutting the door behind her with unseen hands. Vesian sat against the wall, panting as his cock went limp.
              As Yvaine retreated, Vesian turned to Alienor. The girl had her head on her knees, her hair falling over her naked legs like a shroud.
              “Alienor, dear,” he began, but could not find the words to continue.
              “Don’t,” she pleaded, her lithe body convulsing with a sob. “She’s seduced you, made you her creature. I know you won’t save me now.”
              “Don’t be a fool, girl. She worked her wiles on me, but I am not hers to command. I will still find a way to help you. Do not forget my vow.”
              Alienor lifted her head and parted her hair with two hands to stare sadly at him.
              “A man does not fuck a woman like you fucked her and then cast her aside lightly. I am young, but not that young.”
              “I am afraid you are that young still, my dear. I have loved and left many a woman, she is little different. I am still committed to your cause.”
              Alienor sniffled again. “We will see. Good night, and I will see you tomorrow, Sir Vesian.”
 
              Vesian awoke the following morning before dawn. The courtyard below was still and silent. Alienor was asleep in her cage, and nothing moved in the orcs’ barracks. Vesian dressed himself in the dark and peered out the arrowslits into the forest. From somewhere far off, he heard a cardinal sing the first notes of the dawn chorus. Somewhere beyond the trees, he knew the horizon was beginning to glow red. 
              There was a sudden noise, like a squirrel’s chattering. He turned to see Thibault peering through the arrowslit, his face darkened but unmistakable in the early morning darkness.
              “Thibault!” he gasped as he rushed to the loophole. “How in the name of the gods did you make it here?”
              “It was not easy,” the squire whispered back. “The orcs did not give chase long, but I had to make sure. I doubled back and lost the scent in the stream, then cut and crawled my way through the thicket. Come now, it’s time to leave.”
              “I am afraid it will be more difficult than that. The sorceress has barred the door with magical vines.”
              “What about that window there?”
              “It opens to the courtyard, and a long drop to the earth.”
              “I brought a rope. If I can climb around to the parapet, I can throw it to you and haul you up to the parapet where we can climb back down.”
              “I’ve lost my shield and weapons below, and there’s the lady to think about as well.”
              “Well, can you break her out of the cage?”
              “Unfortunately, I’ve left my lockpicks on the horse,” Vesian replied with a laugh. “I’ve not a clue what I could do.”
              “Perhaps you could ask the sorceress for the key,” Thibault replied with equal insincerity. 
              “I could perhaps sneak into her chamber while she is still asleep, but we must move quickly.”
              “Very well, I’ll climb to the parapet and throw you the rope when you get out the window.”
              Vesian crossed the tower chamber to the window and began to climb out the window. It was a narrow aperture, and the stones around it were held in by hold and decaying mortar. He could likely widen the hole with a bit of effort, but the noise would be sure to awake Yvaine and her orcs. 
              Instead, he wormed his way through the hole, shoulders first, until he was almost entirely out, with one leg straddling the wall. Thibault stood on the parapet, against the rounded edge of the tower, a coil of rope in his hands. 
Vesian paused a moment, looking to Alienor in her cage. It hung from a freshly cut beam that jutted from the top of the tower where Vesian was imprisoned. If he climbed to the roof, he could perhaps haul her cage up to him, but how to open it? The girl was sleeping peacefully inside, wrapped in her long hair as a meager defense against the cold. 
Thibault swung the rope as if to throw it, and Vesian abandoned the cage. He caught Thibault’s rope and wound it quickly around himself. With it as safety, he climbed his way around the tower to the parapet, picking his way from stone to stone. Alighting on the parapet, he and Thibault tied the rope and set it for a hasty escape. 
              His rope set, Vesian crept down the steps into the courtyard and then into the chamber below the tower where he had dropped his sword. The darkness was even more oppressive in the early hours of the morning than it had been at midday. He paused on each step, straining to hear the sounds of any orcs asleep in the chamber. 
              With one hand on the wall to guide him, Vesian slowly made his way down. With every step he was aware that the orcs might awake and cut off his escape. And that was doubly true of the sorceress. Does she even sleep? Vesian wondered. The mind of a sorceress was alien to him. 
              His foot touched down on something that flexed beneath his weight, and he heard the scrape of steel on stone as it moved beneath him. Vesian dropped to the floor and fumbled about for the sword. As his mailed hand closed in around the familiar hilt, he smiled in the darkness. 
              His shield was not far away and soon enough he was rearmed but for his dagger. Sword in hand, he climbed his way back to the courtyard.
              The sky was beginning to lighten. Vesian looked to Alienor in her cage, then to Thibault on the parapet. Thibault beckoned to him, but Vesian shook his head and pointed to the cage.
Something in the orcs’ barracks grunted.
              Vesian froze. He turned to Thibault, his eyes wide. In the door frame of the barracks, a shadowy figure began to emerge. Thibault drew his blade.
              Vesian looked helplessly to Alienor, then to Thibault again, then rushed the barracks door.
              He caught the orc unaware, and the brute’s eyes popped open in surprise as Vesian closed, swordpoint snapping forward. The blade caught the orc in his throat, biting red and deep into him. But as the orc fell, he roared in pain. 
              Vesian’s charge carried him forward, and he fell atop the dying orc, halfway through the barracks door. He looked up and, illuminated in the soft glow of the barracks hearth, saw four more orcs staring down at him. 
“Hello again,” he managed before they seized their swords from where they lay and came charging at him. Vesian scrambled to his feet in time to deflect the first blow with his shield. His riposte caught another orc in the stomach, briefly ensnaring the sword point in the rings of his mail. Vesian backed into the courtyard, holding the orcs at the doorway.
              Thibault came hurrying down the steps. 
              “The rope’s no good now, out the gate!” he cried as he ran. Vesian deflected another swordblow and grimaced. He misliked the thought of leaving Alienor in the sorceress’ clutches, but at any moment she would emerge from her keep. 
              He threw his shoulder into his shield and his shield into the chest of an orc in the doorway. The brute tumbled backwards with a roar of frustration, and Vesian took off running after his squire. They passed easily through the gatehouse and then, with more difficulty, down the steep and narrow path choked with thorny vines that led down the hillock. Thibault led the way on account of his head start, but Vesian closed the gap with longer strides and defter footwork on the treacherous stone steps. 
              By the time they had reached the base of the hillock, the orcs behind them were roaring with unbridled bloodlust. They clashed their swords against each other and beat their chests. The rattling of their mail links was audible even from the bottom of the steps, and Vesian felt his heart leap into his throat.
              “Into the woods, we’ll head for the horses!” he cried, and Thibault needed no encouragement to keep running. 
              The orcs burst from the gatehouse in a mad rush, their battle cries disturbing the crows that nested on the battlements, who took off cawing angrily. 
              Suddenly a wind rushed through the trees and it carried Yvaine’s voice.
              “You defy me, Sir Vesian?” she cried, her voice raw with fury. “Very well. Have it as you like it!”
Her voice then boomed from the keep behind them, tearing through the trees and the sky with the force of a thousand trumpets.
              “KYTHRIX, SPAWN OF SRASH! YOUR HUNT BEGINS!”
              “Run faster!” Vesian cried. He overtook Thibault, but the squire grabbed his shoulder.
              “What does she mean ‘spawn of Srash?!”
              “That’s her dragon!”
              “She has a dragon?!”
              “That’s why I said run faster!”
              “Is there still nothing to worry about?!”
              “Am I remembering wrong, or did we leave the bows on the sumpter horse?”
              “Damn it all!” Thibault cried as he crashed through the boughs of a fallen oak. Behind them, the forest shook with a great wind, pine needles and oak leaves blowing from their branches. Tall pines wavered before the dragon’s onslaught. The beating of its enormous wings swept up the leafy carpet of the forest floor into a terrible whirlwind that assailed Vesian and Thibault as they tried to escape it. Stung in the face by dry leaves and feeling the rising heat in the air, Vesian closed the last strides to the bald hill in a blind panic. 
              The air stank of sulfur. Sweat ran down his neck in rivulets. His heart beat so fast he feared it would burst. He surged up the hill as fast as his legs would carry him, but as he neared the top, a great shadow fell over him. Turning, he beheld Kythrix.
              The dragon was immense, its broad black wings blocking out the sun behind him. Terrible yellow eyes full of malice stared down at him as the dragon drew its wings back. Two massive, clawed feet dug deep into the earth as it crashed down, its forelimbs snapping forward to crush Vesian in its claws. Vesian was caught, and though the claws were defeated by his mail, the crush of the claws threatened to end him. Somewhere behind the dragon, he heard the orcs roaring in triumph. 
              The dragon lifted him up in its claw, even as Vesian futilely slashed and stabbed at the scaly talons that held him. Khythrix merely sneered at him in amusement. 
              Far below, Thibault cried with fury as he entered the battle. He leapt onto the dragon’s foot and stabbed at it in a frenzy. The dragon’s iron hard scales defeated each blow. Khythrix tilted his head down to look with further amusement at the squire’s futile attacks. Its lips curled back into a sneer. 
              Straining against the crushing grip of the dragon’s talons, Vesian saw that the dragon had brought its head close to him. With a mighty roar, he hurled his sword into the dragon’s eye and struck home. 
              The dragon roared in agony, throwing its forefeet into the air. Thibault was flung away, but the crushing vicegrip on Vesian was loosed as well. He tumbled from the dragon’s grasp and crashed to the earth. His helmeted head struck something hard and set the steel ringing about his ears. He staggered to his feet in time to see Thibault bowled over by the strike of a massive claw. Favoring his left, the squire scrambled to his feet. 
              “Free the horses and get out of here!” Vesian cried, and Thibault quickly disappeared over the crest of the hill toward the horses. The dragon closed in around him and its terrible head struck out like a viper. Vesian dove to the side as the onrushing jaws just missed his foot, which was nearly snapped off. 
              Vesian rose to his feet and saw that the dragon had encircled him with its two claws, leaving no escape that did not pass through its reach. He was caught. He felt its enraged glare upon him, smelled the sulfur in its breath, felt the heat on his skin. Where his sword has fallen, he could not tell, but the dragon’s injured eye stared a burning hate down at him. Vesian crouched on one knee, looking up at the terrible scaled head and into its hypnotic yellow eyes, one bleeding ever so slightly. Kythrix smiled a predator’s smile, baring long and razor-sharp teeth. The dragon reared its head back for a viper’s strike and Vesian awaited his head.
              “Catch!” Thibault cried, and Vesian turned to see his lance flying toward him. He caught it in his hand and spun, thrusting the lance forward as the dragon rushed down on him. The lancehead plunged into the dragon’s onrushing jaws and Vesian felt the lance flex in his hands as it struck home. The dragon’s whole body jolted in shock, and it spasmed terribly. The head continued down, crashing to either side of Vesian and throwing up clods of dirt as it did. Then, like a teetering henge, it tilted to one side and fell over, knocking Vesian down with it.
              He fell into the dragon’s jaw and straight away found himself covered in hot, sticky dragon’s bile. It matted his surcoat and burned his flesh where it found it bare. His helmet felt like an oven bolted to his head and he frantically tore it off and threw it away. Scrabbling backwards on his hands and knees, Vesian found himself outside the dragon’s jaws on the side of the hill. He looked around in shock.
              Thibault stood between their horses at the crest of the hill, staring in amazement.
              “By the gods, I think you killed it,” he murmured.
              “Arvoran be praised,” Vesian muttered, wiping away dragon bile from his surcoat. The color was ruined, and the wool had been burned through in some places, but he was alive and mostly unharmed. His ribs ached and his head spun, he was alive. He could only laugh in relief.
              Thibault walked past him and tore the lance from the roof of Kythrix’s mouth. “Still intact,” he said softly, “you could kill another dragon with it still!”
              Vesian looked up from the corpse and saw the pursuing orcs at the base of the hill. Their mouths hung open with horror, looking from the lance in the dragon’s neck to Vesian and back. When Vesian raised his sword, they took off running in every direction.
              “No one at Chateau Valeur will believe this,” Thibault murmured as he ran a hand down the dragon’s massive skull. “We should take a trophy to be sure. Perhaps a claw or a scale?”
              “Whatever you like,” Vesian replied, “but do it quickly. We must free Lady Alienor while we can.”
              Thibault drew a broad-bladed knife from the saddlebags and began to carve a scale from the dragon’s face. Vesian took the moment to drain a waterskin he retrieved from his horse’s saddlebags. Seating himself on a rock, he looked over the massive corpse with amazement. It was hard to believe he had slain such a monstrosity. The ballads will sing of this, he mused. Somewhere in the brush nearby, he spotted his sword and retrieved it with a relieved sigh.
              “Come on, Thibault.” Vesian stood up and put the waterskin away. “There is still a damsel in captivity.”
Thibault grumbled to himself as he was forced to be satisfied with a few small scales, but soon enough they were mounted again and riding toward the keep. 
 
              The keep was still and quiet as they dismounted near the base of the hillock. No crows watched from the battlements and there was no sign of orcs within. Vesian drew his sword as Thibault tied up the horses. With Vesian in the lead, they made their way back up the narrow steps, through the gatehouse and into the courtyard.
Yvaine and a single orc stood on the parapet before the door to her chamber. She held the staff in one hand and prodded the orc in his mailed chest with the other, snapping orders at him in a voice of flame. Alienor huddled in her cage, head in her hands again as her whole body convulsed in sobs. A crow cawed from above, and Yvaine turned to stare down at her unwelcome visitors. Her eyes struck Vesian as no less hateful than those of the dragon.
              “I’m back for the girl,” Vesian called. Yvaine’s face twisted in fury, but at the sound of Vesian’s voice, Alienor stopped her crying.
              “Sir Vesian, you’re alive!” she cried, leaping to her feet with tears still streaming down her white face. 
              “So you are,” Yvaine snarled from the parapet. “Ughaz, kill the knight and the girl is yours.”
              “As you command, mistress,” the orc growled. Gripping his sword in two hands, he leapt from the parapet to the roof of a building below, then down into the courtyard.
              “Thibault, deal with this brute,” Vesian commanded, his eyes locked on Yvaine. “I will slay the sorceress.”
              “Come then, die at my hand and known that the girl and your squire will follow you!” Yvaine evoked a bolt of black lightning from her staff, aimed at Vesian, but he darted aside as it sprang forth and cracked the stone behind him.
              “I’ve slain your dragon, Yvaine!” Vesian shouted as he rushed toward the steps. Behind him, Thibault and Ughaz the orc clashed. “Do you expect to kill me where your lizard failed?”
              “Spare me your bravado, knight!” she cried back. Another bolt of black lightning streaked forth, and Vesian rolled beneath it unharmed, though the hairs on his neck stood up straight as it passed overhead. “I have roamed the Lost Country and slain champions of the Shadow People! You are nothing before me!”
              Vesian took the steps two at a time as he hurtled toward the top of the wall. The stones in the wall shook and vines burst forth, cracking the stones as they emerged. They wrapped around Vesian’s swordarm again, but Vesian tore his arm free again. He kept moving up the stairs as they snarled around him, cutting at them with his blade even as he watched Yvaine for another bolt of black lightning. 
              She instead called forth more vines to immobilize him. They wormed their way out from the steps beneath him as well, snaking around his legs where they snared their thorns in his mail. Vesian thrust his sword between the vines and his legs, then tore his sword free, slashing apart the vines in the process. 
              Yvaine roared in fury as his renewed charge carried him onto the parapet. She conjured a dark cloud between them, radiating caustic smoke. Vesian charged through undeterred, though the smoke burned at his eyes and throat. Masked by the smoke, Yvaine conjured a great black hound to defend her and it rushed at Vesian, jaws snapping and eyes full of infernal hunger.
              He threw up his shield just in time to forestall its attack, his eyes watering from the smoke. The hound’s terrible teeth carved furrows into the shield and its weight nearly bowled him over, but Vesian brought his sword down on the beast’s neck and it went limp with a pitiful yelp.
              Yvaine’s expression of hate began to give way to one of fear. From beneath her red cloak, she produced a burning whip which she spun around her head, her cloak billowing aside to show her nude body once again. Vesian raised his shield as the whip snapped forward, striking against his reliable defender, where it snapped and hissed against the wood. Blade at the ready, Vesian closed in on a retreating Yvaine.
              Down below, Thibault cut Ughaz’s leg from beneath him and the wounded orc howled from one knee, flailing about with his sword in a desperate attempt to keep Thibault away. But the squire circled his injured foe expertly, patiently awaiting his chance to deliver the finishing blow. 
              Yvaine’s whip cracked again, and Vesian darted aside. She pointed her staff at him and loosed her lightning again. Vesian took it on his shield and it blasted the wood apart, pieces of the iron rim sailing away to skip and spark off the stone of the tower beside him.
              But Yvaine had spent her last bolt, and Vesian rushed forward. He batted aside her staff with a two-handed blow and seized her by the throat. Yvaine stared hatred at him, her mind clearly trying to conjure some new defense. But Vesian tightened his grip and plunged his sword into her bare belly.
              Her eyes leapt open in shocked agony, and her jaw dropped. She gasped, as much in pain as in surprise. Vesian stared hard into her eyes as her resistance slackened and she went limp. He stepped toward the edge of the wall with her still in his grasp, then heaved her over.
              He turned to Thibault just in time to see the squire plunge his sword into the orc’s neck and twist. Vesian smiled grimly as the brute slumped to the courtyard floor.
              “Is she dead?” Alienor called from her cage.
              “Aye,” Vesian answered somberly. “She is.”
              “She keeps a key to the cage,” Alienor called desperately, “in her chambers. Please, get it quickly and set me free!”
              Vesian slowly left the wall and went into Yvaine’s quarters. They were oddly sparse, though a richly colored tapestry hung along one wall and the middle of the room was dominated by a tall throne of polished oak and her scrying bowl. Beneath the bowl’s table were a smattering of effects, but the one that stood out most to Vesian was a heavy brass key. He took it and left the rest.
              Thibault climbed the wall to the winch and lowered the cage until Vesian could stand on the rim of the well and open the door. Alienor jumped right into his arms, wrapping her naked white legs and arms around him as she buried her pretty face in his neck.
              “Thank you, Sir Vesian! You have saved me, and I will ensure that you are justly rewarded for your heroism.”
              “I vowed to do as much, my lady,” he said softly to her as he stepped down from the well. “It is my pleasure to serve.”
              She clung to him a while longer, and Thibault descended the steps again to harrumph loudly behind her. Alienor lifted her head and looked shyly to him. Suddenly aware of herself again, she released Vesian and stood on the ground with her own two feet for the first time since her capture. No sooner had she touched the ground than she became aware of her nakedness again. Her cheeks turned red and she covered herself with her hands, eyes downcast in embarrassment.
              Vesian only laughed.
              “No shame in your state, my dear. Let us get you out of here and back to your father. But first, we can wash off some of the dirt in the stream nearby.”
 
              With Thibault tending to the horses and Vesian standing watch should any orcs return, Alienor waded into the water up to her knees to wash herself. Vesian perched himself on a rock where he enjoyed a good vantage over the forest. He thought the orcs unlikely to return, as an orc band rarely survived the death of its leader, but lone marauders seeking a naked damsel were not out of the question.
              From his perch he found himself stealing looks at Alienor. The lady had a delightfully round ass that looked even finer with the dirt washed away by cold water. She stood in the stream as she poured water over herself from cupped hands, letting it run in cold rivulets down her naked chest and drip away between her legs, where her pink sex looked most delicious to him. Once again, Vesian felt his cock hardening beneath his mail. 
              Leaning unconsciously forward as he ogled, he slipped on his rocky perch and caught his balance, but the sudden motion caught Alienor’s attention and drew her gaze. She instinctively covered her little breasts, but then a shy smile came to her young face. 
              “Sir Vesian,” she called, covering herself with her arms as she stood wet and naked in the stream, her bare skin breaking out in gooseflesh. “Would you help wash me?”
              “Well, my lady, I feel I would be best served keeping watch. The orcs may return and…”
              “You don’t seem to be very good at keeping watch,” she replied with a blushing smile. “Except in my direction.”
              Vesian blushed himself. She was right. He hopped down from his rock and began to remove his chausses and breeches. He hiked his surcoat and mail shirt up above his belt to keep them dry, doffed his mail gloves, and waded into the stream. The water was cold and clear, allowing him to see the muddy bottom of the stream where his feet turned up the earth as he walked. Alienor turned to face him, her breasts covered but her shaven sex bare for him to see. His lusting eyes were drawn to it as he strode toward her, pushing his way through the cold water of the stream. 
              Alienor lifted her chin and looked to him with what must have been her most commanding gaze. “Water,” she commanded, and Vesian cupped his hands in the stream and raised them over her little blonde head. He parted his hands slightly and a spout of water fell from his hand onto her bare chest, where it coursed over her hands and fell into the stream in drops. Alienor shivered but smiled all the same. 
              “Is that to your liking, my lady?” Vesian asked quietly. She nodded and let her hands fall. Beneath them, her nipples were pale and pink, reddening quickly in the cold. Alienor looked to him with her beautiful green eyes and smiled. She leaned in close, her hands going to his own. She pressed her lips to his and kissed him warmly. Vesian returned her kiss with equal warmth. 
              She withdrew after a moment.
              “It’s so cold standing her in the river, Sir Vesian. Might I warm you up?”
              Vesian brushed a strand of wet, golden hair from her face. “What did you have in mind? Lady Alienor?”
              Without a word, she sank to her knees in the stream and pulled down his breeches. Vesian cast furtive looks about them, but did not stop her. She drew his hard cock from his breeches with a giggle and a smile, and into her mouth it went. 
              Alienor looked up at him with her pretty green eyes, tapping his cock against her red tongue with one hand as the other reached down between her legs. Alienor swallowed his cock to the base, a feat that Vesian did not see from every woman he lay with. Even while playing with herself with one hand, she did not neglect to use the other on his cock. 
              Her pretty little head bobbed up and down on his cock while he stood in the stream, cold water flowing around them as birds sang overhead. Vesian felt as if he had passed between worlds, into the legendary gardens of Nystra, Goddess of Pleasure. Was this a mortal damsel sucking his cock, he wondered, or one of Nystra’s nymphs, divine beings blessed with knowledge of the arts of pleasure that mortals like he could only dream of.
              It matters little, he decided. But he greatly desired to be inside her. He stroked her blonde hair and looked down at the top of her head. As if she sensed him, she turned to look up at him, her mouth open wide with his cock laying across her face, and she gave him a wide, open-mouthed smile, and a laugh.
              “Come,” Vesian said, “Lay with me on the grass.” Offering her a hand, he helped her up from the stream and brushed the mud from her knees, which were turning as red as her sex. Like a debutante at court, she allowed herself to be led out of the stream by one dainty hand, smiling and blushing all the way.
              Vesian lay her on her back in the wet grass along the stream. Her white skin looked whiter against the lush green of the grass. Meeting her eager eyes, Vesian slid his cock into her. Alienor moaned softly and wrapped her legs around his waist. She craned her neck up and Vesian, kneeling in the grass with his hands planted in front of him for balance, met her lips for a kiss. Alienor wrapped her arms around his neck and would not let go, which only excited him more and made him fuck harder.
              Her little breasts bounced with each thrust and Vesian grabbed them with one hand. Alienor’s flesh was soft and warm to the touch and her breasts were no different. He squeezed gently and was rewarded with a delighted moan. Her embrace and the touch of her lips could not distract him from the mesmerizing sight of her little tits bouncing as he fucked her.
              Thibault emerged from the brush suddenly and stopped at the sight of them together. Alienor blushed at the discovery and covered her face, but Vesian continued fucking her without pause. Thibault approached and stood over them with a bemused expression on his face.
              “My Lady, is this ruffian taking advantage of you?” he asked with a smile.
              “Please, squire,” she replied, peeking through her fingers at him, “Stop my mouth lest I cry out for rescue from this rogue!”
              Thibault needed no further encouragement. He knelt down for a kiss even as he removed his clothes. Alienor wound her fingers through his hair as they embraced, but one hand searched eagerly for his cock. She pulled it to her when she found it, and swallowed it with glee. Vesian beamed at his friend as they knelt with Alienor in the grass, fucking her mouth and sex at once.
              Thibault reached down to play with her breasts, eliciting an amused giggle as he pinched her nipples between two fingers. Vesian lifted her legs up and settled over his shoulder, thrusting his throbbing cock into her until the clapping of their flesh together sounded through the trees.
              “Lady Alienor, let Thibault enjoy you as I have,” Vesian suggested as he felt his cock building to climax.
              “I would be honored to have him inside me,” Alienor said when she stopped sucking long enough to speak. Vesian and Thibault switched quickly, as Thibault slid his cock into the damsel while she sucked his master’s cock in the grass. Even the respite he gained by switching positions could not contain his cum for long and soon enough Vesian spurted his load across her pretty face. Alienor tried to swallow it, but to no avail. 
              Thibault was no long behind. He crouched forward, gathering Alienor’s hips up in his arms as he fucked forcefully until, with a mighty groan, he unleashed himself into her wet sex. Alienor quivered with pleasure as he did, her toes curling, and blushed when it was all over.
              “I apologize, my lady,” Vesian said as he squeezed his cock empty, “but we appear to have undone all your efforts in the bath.”
              “You are no handmaid, that is certain,” Alienor replied with a giggle. She dabbed with a delicate white finger at a strand of cum that lay across her brow and smiled. “I shall have to get back into the water and try again!”
With a shared laugh, the three of them dashed back into the stream, where they washed the cum from Alienor’s hair and face. Vesian and Thibault splashed and kissed her in the stream until the sun grew high overhead and Vesian knew it was time to leave. He dressed, then carried Alienor from the stream to the horses and settled her into the saddle for the ride out of the forest.
              “Come away now, girl. We will take you back to your father. But I will tell you one thing, his grace will not be keeping his stolen chalice. He must surrender his ill-gotten gains to the Order for safe keeping.”