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Heart of the Lion, Part One
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Heart of the Lion
by Anthony Pryor-Brown
I have several names, but my favorite is Wulf, and I
don't know what I was thinking when I joined the White
Empire army. Admittedly, things had gotten pretty hot in
Godshome, especially for a freelancer (read "thief") like
me, who made his living by relieving wealthy, decadent
nobles of expensive items that they didn't even know thaty
had, and that they never really appreciated in the first
place. I found myself beset on all sides by the legal
authorities of the imperium who, for reasons known only to
themselves, finally moved off their well-padded bureaucratic
posteriors and started cracking down on the city's "criminal
elements" that is to say, those unwilling or unable to fork
over a portion of their incomes in the form of bribes to
keep the hounds at bay. As this included yours truly, I was
forced to find employment sufficient to keep me alive long
enough to blow the White Empire, and head off for another
land more suitable to my chosen profession.
Now, in any "traditional" profession, I'd probably
stand out like a Xeshite whore in a Rexxaran church choir,
but the armed forces of the White Empire were notorious for
accepting virtually anyone into their ranks, so when I saw a
handbill carelessly posted on the wall of the Dragon's Rest,
I read it with interest.
Impeeriyul Armee Seekkin Noo Rikroots!
Jenerus Pay!
Menny Benifits!
Bee Rispected an Feered!
Joyn the Impiriul Armee Tuday!!!!
Now, besides the fact that there were a grand total of
two words correctly spelled on the entire flyer, it
interested me on several counts. The army would be a safe
haven, I rationalized, and would provide room, board and
regular pay sufficient to finance my planned exodus from the
empire. All I would have to do was bide my time for a few
weeks, then go AWOL with a pocketful of silver.
I was younger then, mind you, and somewhat naive. I
figured that, given the empire's extreme age and decadence,
the chances of actually having to fight were pretty minmal.
As usual, I was dead wrong.
As soon as I signed up and received the emperor's
copper, I realized something was up. I was billeted with a
motley collection of wastrels and professional soldiers,
issued basic equipment of fair to good quality, and actually
drilled regularly by a sadistic half-elf sergeant named
Rhalatha. She was a scarred veteran who had lost one eye in
a fight with a manticore, but had proved too mean to die.
She drove us like a demon whip-master and earned our undying
hatred in the process. I had to admit she was good, though.
She regularly beat me in sword drill, but at least went so
far as to grudgingly admit that I was less of a complete
fuck-up than the rest of my squad. I was made corporal in
short order, a position which I neither asked for nor
wanted, but which I was well advised to take.
My platoon would have made a Litharnan landsknecht
vomit. There was me, a smattering of rugged human
mercenaries and career soldiers, a couple of elven outcasts
who kept to themselves and were really, really scary, a
bunch of individuals with varying degrees of orcish ancestry
(is there any such thing as a pure-blooded orc anymore? I
doubt it), a centaur named Rose, a cyclops, two wolfen, a
throg, three nymen and a dwarf by the name of Sigurd.
Although he was a bit rough around the edges and drank like
a fish both of these being time-honored dwarven
virtures Sigurd and I got along well. He was the first to
break the bad news to me.
"Rumor has it we're shipping out soon," he said one
night over a game of Lords and Harlots. "The Emperor seems
to have gotten it into his head that he wants to conquer the
Veldt Lands."
I gaped in astonishment. I knew the emperor was a few
arrows short of a quiver, but this was beyond insanity. "The
Veldt Lands are a thousand leagues away," I said, "and full
of hostile locals who won't like White Empire armies
tromping through their back yards."
Sigurd shrugged and started loading his pipe. "Tell it
to his imperial majesty. All I know is that he's heard about
the gold mines and the rubies lying around for the picking.
He also seems to have developed a somewhat patronizing
attitude toward the Veldt Lands' inhabitants."
I grunted. I knew that there was a hell of a lot of
misinformation and smugness going around in regard to the
Veldt Landers. It's probably because their skin was black
and ours was white, which the people on our side of the
H Hequator seemed to feel made us better. The truth is, and
I've known many from the Veldt Lands, that they are every
bit as cunning, intelligent and resourceful as we are. They
can also be as violent, treacherous and cruel, mind you, but
this is simply further proof that we're all the same
regardless of our skin tone, height, mass, strength,
longevity, or relative pointiness of our ears.
With my advance intelligence in hand, I was determined
to light out of the camp as quickly as possible, with Sigurd
if possible. Unfortunately, the emperor's good subordinates
had seen to doubling the guard and keeping everyone
carefully in camp. No further opportunities arose over the
next three days, and we were soon loaded onto vast, leaky
transport ships for the long journey overseas.
I don't remember much of the trip. Both Sigurd and I
spent most of our time abysmally seasick, and when I was
healthy that pointy-eared bitch Rhalatha had me at work
oiling leather, polishing swords, and cleaning out the
bilge. During the voyage, I saw considerably more of the
inside of our worm-infested ship than of the sea.
Things went poorly from the start. Our outdated vessels
were not equal to the task of sailing the distance, and
nearly a third sank or were forced to turn back. Our
fighting force was reduced by more than a quarter before we
even arrived. We stopped at a filthy port city called Vang
several days before reaching our destination, far to the
south. It was the last outpost of civilization I remember.
Once we debarked in the hot, arid atmosphere of the
Veldt, disease struck, laying low another quarter of the
survivors. The Lands had no decent port facilities, and our
supply lines were stretched to the limits in any event,
forcing us to forage almost from the first day. The locals,
a coastal tribe called the N'jara, fled before us, leaving
their villages empty and useless. The riches of the Veldt
Lands were anything but apparent.
I did my best to command my squad. Rose the centaur was
a great source of help, lending her strong back to hauling,
and carrying anyone who fell ill. Nevertheless, our platoon
was hit particularly hard nymen and throgs seemed especially
susceptible to local illnesses, and all died within a week
of our arrival. Even Rhalatha felt the strain, collapsing
from heat exhaustion and leaving me to manage the platoon.
Again, I didn't want the job, but I scented disaster on the
wind, and realized that if I didn't keep our unit together
we'd all be dead.
Both Sigurd and I knew that it was only a matter of
time. We left those incapable of travel behind at Fort
Nathra, the stockade we'd built upon arrival, and began our
march inland. Out of a force of 30,000, we had fewer than
12,000 remaining.
Our commander, Lord Heatham, hoped for a quick campaign
against the Sholanti, the most powerful of the local tribes.
From here, he hoped to establish a stable base of supplies,
utilizing the free labor pool he anticipated obtaining from
his wealth of Sholanti prisoners. His main problem was that
the Sholanti had no intention of cooperating.
We crossed over into Sholanti territory after about
three days' march. Our army, despite its problems, was a
sight to behold. In the vanguard marched the Imperial
Knights, one of the few units without either supply or
H Hillness problems, this due to the fact that they had first
pick of the quartermaster's stores, coupled with the high
percentage of priests and healers, who tended to their own
unit only. At their head rode a high priest of Kybor,
bearing the sacred image of Saint Orlan. The knights wore
white laquered armor with plumed greathelms and shining blue
and white tabards, carried gleaming lances and rode proudly
barded white warhorses. I got a headache if I looked at them
too long.
Lesser cavalry came next mail-clad Xeshite mercenaries,
horse archers, lancers. We marched in the middle the endless
companies of infantry, equipped and led in a bewildering
variety of styles, so disparate as to give even the most
skilled commander twitching fits. Finally, the supply train
followed, a crowd of wagons and pack animals that raised a
cloud of dust which could be seen for leagues around, a fact
which was not lost on the Sholanti.
On the day we entered their lands, we also met our
first Sholanti. He was a tall, muscular specimen, a long,
leaf-bladed spear clutched in his hands, a leopard skin
cloak thrown over his shoulders. He wore a lion mask which
hid his features, and addressed us in heavily accented, but
quite intelligible Imperial common.
"Why have you come to the land of the Sholanti?" he
bellowed. "Why do you come here with spears and bows and the
weapons of war?"
Lord Heatham saw fit to answer, spurring his charger
forward and bellowing back. "We bring the lawful rule of the
White Emperor to this land! We bring the force of his
justice, and the power of his swords, and demand your
immediate submission!"
I cast a withering glance at Sigurd. "Oh, he's sure to
score some points with that one," I said.
"Respectful he isn't," Sigurd agreed. "We'll have a
fight on our hands in a day or less."
The Sholanti herald barked a brief laugh, then turned
and vanished into the yellow grass. Heatham looked
nonplussed, as if he had expected his stupid ultimatum to
actually work. Then he turned, spurred his horse back, and
urged us onward.
We marched through the day, then made camp on the low
slopes of a craggy mountain, near a broad, slow-moving green
river. Heatham was intelligent enough to have us dig in and
build a pallisade, but by the time this work was finished,
we were all so exhausted that all we could think of was
sleep. I crashed to the ground without pitching my tent and
simply curled up in the long grass. I slept like the dead,
with ants and various other insects crawling all over me
through the night.
I awakened to urgent bugle calls and lept to my feet,
diving into my breastplate and helm, and grabbing my sword.
As I cast frantically about, I saw Sigurd, in full armor,
looking grim and determined.
"The battle Lord Heatham so longs for has finally come
to pass," he said, a trifle formally, like a man carefully
selecting his dying words. When I saw the Sholanti, I
understood why.
The plains were black with them. They came on like an
inexorable tide, rank on rank of tall, dark-skinned
warriors. They carried great hide shields and spears like
the herald we'd seen. Each unit represented a different
warrior society, and wore the mask of a different animal. As
they advanced, they chanted, and pounded spears to shields
in unison, creating a rumble like oncoming thunder. On the
flanks of the infantry came the Sholanti cavalry there were
several different units, including slim riders with
elaborately laquered hair and long, iron-tipped lances,
riding tame zebras, and most interestingly to my eyes
anyway several bands of strapping woman warriors, dressed in
leopard-skin cloaks and mounted on sturdy black veldt-cats.
I didn't have long to admire them, unfortunately, for the
battle had started even before I could urge my squad to the
pallisade.
I took a quick stock of our situation. We were
fortified, behind an improvised stone and stick pallisade
and a shallow ditch. Our rear was secure, anchored against
the rounded mountain behind us. So far, so good. The problem
was that the oncoming enemy seemed every bit as determined
and professional as we were, if not moreso, and outnumbered
us by at least three times.
Heatham was clearly rattled by the size and discipline
of the Sholanti horde. He had probably expected a bunch of
jabbering savages who would flee the moment the imperial
knights charged, but it was rapidly becoming obvious to
everyone in our army that we were both outnumbered and
outmatched. In the back of my mind I could only take grim
satisfaction that these veldt-warriors, who most imperials
considered cowardly primitives who didn't even have their
own language, were about to give the White Empire a lesson
it would never forget.
Lord Heatham, astride his charger, his blue and white
plumes waving proudly in the stiff breeze, pointed toward
the enemy with his sword.
"Archers!" he cried. "Archers!" His command was
instantly transmitted down the line by trumpet, and in an
instant the air was full of arrows, arcing up from our
skirmishers and down into the oncoming Sholanti. Warriors
fell or stumbled, but the holes were instantly plugged and
the volley had about as much effect as flinging pebbles at
an oncoming ocean wave.
Our archers kept it up, however, raining volley after
volley on the Sholanti. When they got close enough, our
crossbows opened up, and several wizards chanted and cast
spells. Gaps in the earth opened up beneath the Sholanti,
swallowing up dozens. Liquid fire shot from a wizard's
finger to envelop a unit of hawk-masked warriors, who then
fled shrieking. Rocks hailed down on a shark-masked band,
recoiling them. Another unit, all in masks in the shape of
lizards' heads, fell back in terror, assailed by invisible
illusions.
The Sholanti advance faltered, their front ranks
milling in confusion. Heatham saw his chance.
"Knights forward!" he thundered. "Forward at the
charge!"
With that, we opened ranks to allow the gleaming
knights to thunder forward, all gleaming metal and waving
banners. The earth shook and dust rose up in billows as they
passed. Forward they charged, Saint Orlan's banner at their
head, against the milling vanguard of the Sholanti army.
But the Sholanti were not to be counted out. Heatham
had made two critical mistakes, possibly out of some
lingering arrogance regarding our imagined "superiority" to
the Veldtlanders. First, he had ordered the charge when the
enemy was too far away. Their horses, hot and sweaty to
begin with, bore heavy burdens of armored riders and clumsy
steel barding plates, and would be blown and exhausted by
the time they reached their targets. Second, he had sent the
knights, our best and most important unit, into battle
unsupported.
The Sholanti were quick to catch on. From their flanks,
relatively unmolested by our missile volleys and magical
attacks, the Sholanti cavalry countercharged, barreling down
on the knights' exposed flank.
Oh, gods I knew I was probably going to die in the next
hour. But what a sight, I thought... The zebras were
fastest, and bore slim, lightly armored Sholanti men with
long, wicked lances. Individually, they would be no match
for our knights, but in a body they were truly terrifying,
galloping hell-for-leather across the plains, zebras
whinnying and screaming, calling out a deep-throated war
cry: "Uuuuusuuutuuuuuuu!"
The cat-cavalry came behind, slower but more
methodical, bounding over the high grass trampled by the
zebra-riders' passage. These were even more magnificent. All
women, they were, and the sort of women that keep me up at
night, sweating and sighing. Tall, muscular, fine-boned,
armed with curved swords I was glad that I didn't have to
face them.
Yet, at any rate.
The fight in front of us was vicious and short. Heatham realized his
mistake and ordered more cavalry into the fray to keep the knights from
being wiped out, but he was too late. Unarmored but still deadly, the
zebra-riders plunged their lances into our knights. Some broke on armor,
but others hit just right and plunged through bodies, both horse and
human. The cat-riders were worse, however. The great black mounts swiped
with heavy claws and bit with saber-fanged maws, effortlessly seeking out
gaps in armor, rendering knight after knight to a bloody, twitching
corpse, then moving on to the next.
The rest of our cavalry arrived just in time to be
butchered in short order. Through the dust I could see a
handful of our riders fleeing back to the relative safety of
the pallisade, but I knew that our fate was sealed.
"Ready..." I shouted. "They'll be on us in a moment!"
But the Sholanti cavalry did not pursue. Showing
admirable restraint, they returned to station, and allowed
the infantry, which had reformed during the engagement, to
continue its advance.
This time they had their own magic. Bone and charm
covered shamans advanced, shaking rattles and pointing
feather-bedecked staves. Now we were forced to deal with
supernatural forces. Grassfires burst out in the middle of
our camp. The ground shook, throwing many of us off our
feet. Weapons softened and turned to water. A horde of
stinging scorpions swept over my squad, and half of them ran
screaming, only to fall a few feet away, black and bloated.
I scrambled up a nearby rock outcropping, shaking off a
half-dozen scorpions which had tried to crawl into my boot.
Sigurd was beside me, along with the survivors of my squad.
All looked exhausted and terrified, and we hadn't even
gotten to sword-blows yet. A tide of black scorpions surged
up the rocks after us.
I grabbed a fetish from my pouch and mumbled a counterspell, hoping
that it would work in this gods-forsaken country. I cast a hand over the
advancing tide of scorpions and was surprised to see them vanish or
scuttle away. Damn I was genuinely shocked.
"Good job, corporal!" Sigurd shouted. "I'm afraid it
won't save us for long, though!"
I drew breath and realized that he was right. The
Sholanti were only a few paces away, spears glittering, hide
shields like an impenitrible wall. In a moment they'd be
across the ditch and at the pallisade.
"Back in line!" I ordered furiously. "If we break now
we're all dead!"
Reluctantly, but with the strength of fatalism, we
returned to the pallisade.
The Sholanti were on us immediately. We fought a unit
of insect-masked warriors who came at us with almost
suicidal bravery. I killed three at the pallisade, and still
they came. As I hacked down warrior after warrior I realized
that they were sacrificing themselves, keeping us busy as
their fellows hacked at the wooden pallisade nearby. I could
do nothing, I realized as another insect-warrior impaled
himself on my sword and I pulled it free just in time to
parry a spear-thrust from yet another.
It was only a matter of time. Overborne by dozens of
screaming warriors, hacked at by innumerable spears, the
pallisade collapsed with a cracking crash, and the Sholanti
poured through the gap, their dark eyes clouded with hatred
and vengeance.
I knew what they wanted. We had come to steal from
them, to take their land, and make them slaves. This was
their land, not ours, and we were to pay the full price for
our arrogance. The Sholanti kings were determined to send
us back to the Empire, awash on a sea of our own blood.
"Every man for himself!" I bellowed. "Save yourselves
if you can! I'll see you in hell!"
"Well said, human," Sigurd bellowed back. "Let's get
the hell out of here!"
The line was breached everywhere. It had degernerated
into a furious hand to hand struggle, with each of our
soldiers facing at least five Sholanti. There was no doubt
to the outcome now. I saw Lord Heatham, beset on all sides
by spear-wielding Sholanti, belaboring about him with his
sword, and killing at least a half-dozen until he was
finally pulled from his horse and vanished under as tide of
muscled black bodies. The Sholanti spears rose and fell
in unison, and I heard their war-cry once more.
I threw down my sword and ran. Sigurd was beside me,
puffing along on bandy legs. Speed is not a dwarf's strong
suit, so I was determined to help him. He weighed a ton, but
I was able to heft him over my shoulders and run along,
albeit at reduced speed, through the carnage as Sholanti
warriors dragged down our soldiers, slit their throats or
bellies, and left them to die. Ahead, a band of Sholanti was
ripping apart tents and plundering the baggage train.
I stumbled on a rock, sending both of us sprawling.
Sigurd rolled in a tight ball and was on his feet, while I
rolled on my back, wondering if this was the end. A Sholanti
stood above me, spear poised for a downward thrust. Our
eyes met for an instant, and I saw the depths of hatred in
them.
"Kweeeeeeeeeesh-haaaa!" he cried, and thrust down.
I rolled at the last second, and the spear plunged into
the hard earth. I looked again and saw Sigurd throw himself
at the Sholanti, his axe whirling.
"Run, you bloody gods-cursed human!" he shouted back at
me, his face red and streaming with blood. "I've no chance
here. Get the hell out! Tell my clan how I died!"
I hesitated for a moment, long enough to see a second
Sholanti slam his spear into Sigurd's face. He fell without
a sound, blood geysering.
Gods...
I ran. I ran as fast and hard as I knew how. My army
was gone. My commander was gone. My friend was gone. All I
had left was my own life, and that was in considerable
peril. The lower slopes of the mountain were ahead of me,
strewn with bodies, broken weapons and fallen banners. I
stripped off my breastplate and arming coat and ran naked
but for my breeches, making for the slopes and the river
beyond. My heart hammered, and each breath burned like fire,
but I kept running, because I knew that to stop was to die.
I made the crest of the slope, pounding down toward the
rocky shores of the river. A few other stragglers ran with
me, but as I watched an elf went down with a spear in her
back, and a band of a dozen or so Sholanti appeared twenty
paces to my left. Ahead lay the river.
A shriek sounded behind me.
"Kweeeeeeeeesh-haaaaaaaaa!"
The spear buried itself in the soft riverbank beside
me. With the last vestige of my strength, I hurled myself
into the deep, green waters. Just as the cold waters
enveloped me, a heavy blow crashed down on my head, and I
slipped into darkness.
I swam up from darkness only with great difficulty. My
head felt as if a team of orcish squat-ball players had just
had a scrum on my cranium, my tongue was the size of the
White Emperor's throne room, and my body ached with the sort
of pain that makes you sorry you were ever born.
Oh, did I mention that I was alive? It didn't seem to
matter too much.
With effort I managed to wrench my eyes open, and
waited a few moments while everything came into focus. I
was lying on a low cot, in a cylindrical chamber with
plastered, whitewashed walls and a thatch roof overhead.
I was covered with a rather scratchy blanket, and
realized abruptly that I'd been relieved of all my
possessions, including my clothes. I was a strange patchwork
of red, brown and fishbelly white, where my vest and
breeches had covered me, but otherwise I seemed relatively
intact.
Beside the cot was a bowl of water and a wooden platter
containing several exotic-looking fruits and some kind of
porridge. After briefly wondering what the porridge was made
of, I decided that I didn't care if it was mashed fruit
H Hflies and termites, and devoured it with a vengeance, not
pausing to even bother tasting it.
At this point, as you might guess, I was beginning to
suspect that I would live after all, when my hopes were
suddenly shattered.
The doorway was covered in a colorful, striped blanket,
whic'h abruptly parted to reveal one of the tallest and
most muscular Sholanti spearmen I had ever seen. I met his
gaze, my heart racing. When he saw I was conscious, an
inscrutible expression flashed across his face, and he
retreated through the door.
Outside I heard shouting and footfalls. My heart was
racing. I jumped out of bed, abandoning the blanket, casting
desperately about for a weapon or something to defend myself
wth. I was in the hands of the Sholanti, the people we'd
just tried to conquer, and who had just impaled the White
Empire's collective asses on one of their broad-bladed
spears. I could only think that they'd kept me alive just so
they could polish me off in some slow and excruciating
fashion once I had returned to health. Unless I could get
out of this mess, I was as dead as a Slaerthist at a Saint
Orlan's rally. I was doomed. I was ruined.
The entrance of a second Sholanti through the curtain
ended my fatalistic reverie and brought my scrambling to a
screeching halt as I gaped, open-mouthed and dumbrounded.
She was beautiful. A statue carved of gleaming mahogany
would not have done her justice. She was my height, with a
serene, high-cheekboned face, dark brown heavy-lidded eyes
and full lips. Pale bone rings hung from her ears, and
several heavy necklaces of multi-hued trade beads lay piled
on her shoulders. Her body was a picture of lean
muscularity deep brown and smooth as glass her arms slender
but wiry, her legs like a Xeshite wrestler, her stomach flat
as a windless sea.
None of this is to suggest that she was in any way
unfeminine. Her hips flared alluringly, and her bare breasts
were ripe and rounded, projecting in a way that made me
consider becoming religious again. Beyond the
jewelry earrings, necklaces, carved anklets and silver
bracelets enough to choke a dragon, she was alluringly close
to total nudity just a hide loincloth and this I noticed
with sudden shock a leopard skin cloak. Further inspection
revealed that she carried twin curved swords, one on each
hip.
I stared for a moment, then finally made the
connection. the cloak... the swords...
"You You " I blathered, not realizing that she probably
didn't understand a word I said. "You're a cat-rider."
A smile graced her exquisite contenance.
"Good boy," she said in flawless Imperial common. "You
win a prize."
"You speak common?" My astonishment was building with
each passing moment.
"That should be obvious, paleman," she replied. "I
spent some time as a mercenary~in the barbarian lands that's
what we call your part of the world, by the way and I
learned how to speak that gibberish you call a language."
"I'm grateful," I replied. "Uhhh, can I be so bold as
to ask what I'm doing here?"
"Sit, boy," she said. "This could take a while."
I complied, grateful for every moment I remained alive
with all my major organs intact.
She planted herself before me like one of my
instructors at the Magic Academy. The main difference was
that she was much more fun to look at.
"You were in that pathetic excuse for an army we
butchered three days ago?" she asked.
I sighed. Lying would not only be stupid, it was likely
to be suicidal. "If you mean the White Empire expeditionary
force.,.under that wanker Lord Heatham, the answer is yes.
I'm sorry to say that I'm just a minor functionary. If it
had been up tome, I'd have stayed home and left you people
in peace."
She tapped her forehead, a gesture which I later found
was the Sholanti equivalent of nodding in agreement.
"As far as we know," she said, "you are the sole
survivor of that unfortunate expedition."
It came as no real suprise, but it still hit me hard.
All dead Sigurd, Rose, even the contemptible Nyreesha and
the vainglorious Lord Heatham. Damn all kings, I thought.
And damn all generals.
"What about the people we left back at our stockade?" I
asked, "Did you wipe them out, too?"
"No," she replied contemptuously. "We're not butchering
barbarians like you people. We sent them the head of your
Lord Heatham and told them to sail home and tell your
Emperor never to come back."
"It probably won't work," I said. "The Emperor and his
entire court are bugfuck crazy."
"It's of no matter. If he sends another army, we'll
kill them, too."
"That's encouraging." I took a deep breath. "Exactly
what are your plans for me, by the way?"
Her gaze took on a distinctly wicked cast. "That's a
little complicated... Excuse me, but I didn't get your
name."
"I'm usually called Wulf," I said. "I picked it myself
because it sounded so dramatic."
She bowed, an act which did amazing things to her
breasts.
"Ushandra Kalundi," she said. "Of His Majesty's Maiden
Guard."
I frowned. "Maiden guard?" I asked. "The cat-riders?"
"The same. We're his majesty's personal bodyguards. Since only men
can be king, I guess he figured we were less likely to try and overthrow
him."
"Are you maidens in the sense of..."
"In the traditional sense?" Ushandra snorted. "Hell,
no. It's just an affectation. We have to quit if we get
pregnant, but we have ways of getting around that
restriction."
I didn't bother to ask. I was more concerned about my
own skin.
"So you never did say what was going to happen to me,"
I said.
"Well..." she began, choosing her words very carefully.
"The consensus among the shamans and King Uzu's advisors is
that you have a sharpened stake hammered up your ass, be
hung from a tree for three days, then hacked apart while
you're still alive, and your separate pieces burned and
buried."
This last didn't go over very well. I stared in horror.
"I'll be damned," Ushandra said in amazement. "I didn't
think you people could get any whiter than you already
were."
"I'm full of surprises," I said. "So I'm going to be
tortured and killed horribly? Is that what you came here to
tell,me? Or did you come to ask if I had any last requests?"
"'Not really." She looked contemplative. "The fact is
that the shamans are telling the king that your army was
composed entirely of zombies, and that impaling you and
cutting you into small pieces is the only way to make you
stay dead. We've treated all your other soldiers that way."
"Yeah," I said, "but they were really dead. I'm not!
Why in the hell did those blasted witch doctors get it into
their heads that I was a zombie?"
"Isn't it obvious? You're so pale you must be dead."
"Troll crap!" I spat. "You've been to the Empire. You
know we're all this color!"
"Sure I do," she agreed, "but my opinion doesn't hold
much weight with the shamans. They seem to feel that wisdom
resides only.in those Sholanti with testicles."
I made some incoherent, frustrated noises. I was on the
verge of tears. "How the hell do we prove to them that I'm
not a zombie?"
She tilted her magnificent head back. "Ahhhhhhh,- she
breathed. "The crux of the matter. Well, my dear Wulf, there
are several ways of telling if someone's a zombie, at least
according to those rattle-shaking frauds."
"Any that I can use?"
"Well, they claim that when you throw a zombie in
water, he floats, while a living man will drown."
"Big help, cat-rider," I said bitterly. "But if that's
my choice, I'd rather drown than be buggered and
dismembered."
"There are a couple of other signs," she continued.
"The most important one, given your current dilemma is the
common notion that zombies can't... Oh, what's the word...?"
Her dark eyes fixed me like a goblin impaled on a knight's
lance. "Fuck?"
Before I go on, I should say a few words about myself.
Sometimes I honestly do not know whether I am being rewarded
or punished for the sins of a previous life. Given the
rather shall we say colorful nature of my life, one would be
justified in thinking that I actually sought out all the
exciting things that have happened to me. The truth is that
I have never gone looking for money, women, sex or
adventure it has all just happened. When life throws a deep
pit in my path I seem to unerringly move toward it and
plunge down into the darkness. This was just one more such
incident.
"Are... you... saying..." I blathered, realizing at
last, and with considerable discomfort, that I was stark
naked, and that Ushandra was nearly so.
"I am saying, my dear Wulf, that I knew you weren't a
shambling undead monstrosity, I thought you were on the
cute side, and when the elders were debating what to do with
you, I volunteered to prove that you were really alive."
"Just doing your patriotic duty, were you?"
"Oh, yes," she declared with enthusiasm, moving closer
and letting her leopard-skin cloak slid to the floor. "Now,
H Hyou'd better be able to perform, white man. Your life
depends on it, after all."
Oh, yeah, I thought. Just what every man wants to hear.
She leaned down, placing her hands on my shoulders,
breasts bobbing, dark eyes nasty and excited. "You do well,
you're free to go. We'll provide you with an escort of
warriors to the edge of our territory and send you off with
food, water and the directions to the nearest port city.
Otherwise, well... we've discussed it. Do we have a deal?"
I swallowed. "Do I have a choice?"
"That's really the beauty of my plan," Ushandra said.
"No, you don't."
"Well then," I replied, "take me, I'm yours."
"I didn't think you'd take much convincing." She leaned
forward and her soft lips embraced mine, tongue slipping
into my mouth with burning eagerness.
"I picked up a few bad habits in your part of the
world," she whispered huskily. "Want to cooperate?"
At this point I would have said yes if whe'd ask me to
dress up like a Vikan monk and beat myself with a willow
switch, so I could only nod wordlessly, and watch as she
pulled her loincloth away, leaving her completely naked
save for all those wonderful beads and bracelets, bright
colors against her dark skin.
Gods, but my mind was racing. If ever there was a man
who had to perform under pressure, it was me. As Ushandra
had noted, my life depended upon rising to the occasion this
was no time for performance anxiety.
Fortunately, my battered body still had some reserves
remaining. As Ushandra's lips sought mine once more and our
tongues thrust against each other, I felt a familiar
tightness growing between my legs, a tightness which only
grew more noitceable when her hand slipped down my thigh and
encircled my cock.
"Oh, yes," she breathed against my mouth. "You're being
a good boy."
I responded by grabbing her head and shoving my mouth
against hers once more. She moaned deeply, hands moving up
my sides, nails scoring my flesh.
"You like that?" she hissed, eyes locking with mine,
deep and wild. "You want more?"
"Yes," I replied. "Give me more."
"Tell me." Her tone was urgent, a strange combination
of a command and a plea. "Tell me what you want to do."
I grinned broadly. "You look as if you'd love to have
your cunt licked," I said. "Is that what you want?"
Dark eyes locked with mine, urgent and feral as the
jungle cat she'd ridden into battle.
"Suck me," she said. "Suck me and I'll suck you."
"Happy to oblige," I replied.
We rolled onto the cot, which creaked and swayed
ominously.
I kissed her, nibbling down her face and shoulders,
pausing to stroke and lick delicately at her heavy breasts,
feeling her nipples stiffen beneath my mouth.
"Yes," she breathed. "Bite my nipples. Bite them hard."
Ah, so she was that kind of woman. I sank my teeth into
the dark, delicate, swollen flesh and was rewarded by
Ushanta's deep intake of breath and groan of pleasure.
"Ahhhh, sweetheart..." She babbled briefly in Sholanti,
H Hforgetting herself, then continued on in common. "Oh, I
want you to lick me. I want you to lick my cunt..."
"In good time, dearest," I replied. "I'm nowhere close
yet."
She moaned again, and I felt an edge of frustration in
her voice, which was fine with me. I moved, with hands and
tongue, down the smooth expanse of her belly, noting a sheen
of sweat had started, and feeling her buck and writhe
beneath me. Between the carved ebony columns of her thighs
lay the soft swell of her mons. I stroked her softly,
feeling heat radiating from her. She writhed with almost
back-breaking intensity- Sweat shone on her breasts as they
rose and fell with her feverish breathing.
"Oh, please..." her demanding tone had given way to
mindless yearning. "Please suck it."
I slipped down, positioning myself between her thighs,
and touched my tongue to the delicate black flesh beneath
her tangled pubic thatch.
It was as if I'd just cast a lightning bolt on her. A
convulsive heave raced through her, and I felt strong hands
grab the back of my head and shove me violently against her
cunt. She spread her legs wide as I did so, and my tongue
met hot wet flesh. As her moans grew 1ouder I flicked tongue
into her cunt, then hard against the swollen prominence of
her clit. An idle notiong flashed through my mind that I'd
heard some Veldt-lands peoples cut off girls' clitorises
before they reached puberty. I was grateful that I wasn't
dealing with one of those groups, sure enough.
"Ohhhh." Her grip tightened, and she ground herself
against my face, riding my tongue. Gods, I thought, in
addition to being easy, this was proving to be damned
enjoyable.
"Make me come," she groaned. "Make me come and I'll
suck you." She went on in Sholanti some more, then switched
back again. "I'll make you come... I want to make you
come..."
Not surprisingly, this spurred me on rather well, and I
licked with renewed enthusiasm. I slipped a hand between
her grinding thighs and slid two fingers into her. Damn, but
she was tight...
My fingers only served to redouble the flames of
passion which tore through her. She was covered in sweat
now, and glancing upward, I saw her contorted face, .staring
down at me from between the heaving, bouncing mounds of
her breasts. "I'm coming..." she groaned. "I'm coming...
Now..." The explosion which I caused in Lab C at the Magic
Academy couldn't have been any 1ouder or violent. She heaved
up, her groans increasing to shrieks, then pounded down,
only to rise again, her hands still locked behind my head,
her sopping cunt clamped against my mouth. Down she came
once more, and with a sudden crack, the bed collapsed,
spilling us onto the earthen floor.
"Don't stop, darling... Sweetheart... Make me come
again..." She hadn't even slowed down, so I kept at it,
licking and thrusting fingers as hard as I could she seemed
to have an infinite capacity, and I wasn't giving up until
she told me to.
Eventually, after about her eighth orgasm, she
collapsed like a limp, sweaty rag, stroking my head and
whispering what I could only assume were endearments and
various obscenities, in both Sholanti and imperial.
"Oh, Nukali... oh, darling... Oh, you fuck me so well
with your mouth... Mana hali godo... You make me come so
well... Dena mahao... I want you... Djina kura shokali... I
want your cock in my mouth... Nula bandi bishura kai..."
Mind you, Ushandra was a warrior, and didn't know the
meaning of the word "retreat." A brief respite for her to
catch her breath and she was on me again.
"I've got a favor to return," she said, pushing me down
onto the ruin of my cot. "We've still got to prove that you
can perform all the requisite functions."
I didn't answer, not coherently anyway, but only moaned
as her lips encircled my cock in a tight ring, sliding down
with hot eagerness, enveloping me in the dark wetness of her
mouth.
She seemed almost as excited about this as she had been
about getting licked. She groaned and sighed as her head
bobbed up and down, dark and heavy lips surrounding the pale
flesh of my shaft. I obliged by thrusting up to meet her, an
act which only seemed to increase her excitement.
We continued in this manner for some minutes, until I
felt the unmistakeable signs of approaching orgasm. She,
too, seemed to sense it, for she removed her lips from my
cock, and held it in her hands, looking up at me with that
strange combination of vulnerable pleading and stern
command.
"Fuck me?" she said, half way between question and
demand. "Fuck me now?"
I didn't need much more encouragement than that, but
positioned myself as she rolled onto her back, knees bent,
thighs luxuriantly spread, tender cunt-flesh exposed and
open, pouting and damp, waiting for me to fill it.
"Fuck me now," she said. "Godo malika. Put your cock in
me."
I was pretty much beyond words by this time, and
replied with actions, rubbing the head of my cock against
her sopping lips and distended clitoris, watching her writhe
and meeting her pleading-demanding gaze with what I hoped
was calm patience. Inside, of course, I was just as eager as
she was, but I wasn't about to give in, considering how
important my performance was.
"Now," she whispered. "Now, please. I can't stand it
anymore."
I pressed on, playing with her lips and clit, my
fingers stroking her sweat-covered thighs. Finally, when it
seemed as if she would orgasm simply from anticipation, I
thrust inside her with a single stroke, feeling the tight
ring of her taunt cunt-muscles reluctantly giving way before
me.
"Ohhh...." Her voice rose to a high-pitched squeal.
"Godo malika. Shanki hutara, Wulf. Fuck me... harder..."
I thrust in again. She was still tight, and the pre-eruption energy
of her coming orgasm was almost physically tangible, like a glowing corona
around us. Her face contorted, mouth constricting into a compact "O" as
she shook her head back and forth, her voice rising in register until it
was completely inaudible.
Faster, now. I fucked her with increasing speed and
force, feeling a tremor go through her body at each stroke.
She was rigid now, hands clasping my shoulders, nails
H Hdigging into my flesh, sweat gleaming from every part of her
body, her imposing collection of beads and bracelets
clattering and tangling, surrounding her exquisite face like
the frame of a fine portrait.
"Yesssss...." she hissed at last, and I felt
contractions squeeze my cock like a fist. She was coming,
and I was suddenly concerned that she would hurt herself, so
powerful were the convulsions which wracked her body.
Of course, I wasn't going to hold out much longer, either. The small
corner of my mind not completely lust-driven harkened back to her
statement about having to quit her unit if she became pregnant, and I was
wondering what to do about matters when she decided for me.
"Come on me..." she moaned. "You've got to... Take your
cock out and come on me..."
I complied quickly, pulling out of the heaving,
convulsing depths of her cunt, and she latched onto my cock
with her hands, tugging and stroking.
"Come now," she demanded. "Come for me. Show them..."
I didn't have time to worry about that last statement,
for orgasm washed over me, racing through me like a
brushfire, and explosive contractions shot streaks of hot,
white semen across Ushandra's sweat-soaked belly, splashing
onto her heaving breasts. Still in the throes of ecstasy,
she rubbed my hot seed across her skin, then licked at her
own fingers.
"Oh, yes," she sighed. "Yes, Wulf. Mano lapano. You are
alive, Wulf. You are alive..."
"Na. Godo muhad shikari, Ushandra," said a voice from
nearby, making me jump practically out of my skin.
In the doorway stood a wizened old man, bedecked in
bones and feathers, carrying a decorated staff. Gods dammit!
One of their creepy little witch-doctors! Gods, how long had
he been there? I glared and started to speak.
"It's all right, Wulf," Ushandra cautioned, touching my
lips with what seemed to be the last of her strength. "He
had to be here. He had to witness that you were truly alive.
Now he believes me."
I stared wearily. This little interlude had sapped what
little strength I'd recovered since the battle.
"Tell him that I'm honored that he acknowledges I'm
alive," I said. "But, for the moment, I'd like to go back to
sleep."
Ushandra looked at me with tender eyes. "You're sweet,
Wulf," she said. "Nukali. That means `beloved.' I'm glad
you're going to stay alive."
"You're glad?" I replied, still staring at the shaman.
"I'm downright ecstatic." I returned my gaze to Ushandra and
felt an unexpected rush of tenderness and affection toward
her. "I'm sorry. I should be kinder. You saved my life,
Ushandra. I'm grateful. You're very beautiful and very
resourceful, and I think that I'm going to be extremely fond
of you."
I took a breath. "Nukali," I said. "Beloved. I think
you are."
She smiled. "You'll always have a beloved among the
Sholanti." She rose to her feet and picked up her few
scattered garments. "Sleep now, Nukali Wulf. Dream of me."
She swayed gracefully from the tent, none the worse for
the hard fucking we'd just had, and then she and the shaman
were gone.
I was asleep an instant later. I did dream of Ushandra,
as a matter of fact, but I dreamed of lions as well.
Lions. It turned out to be prophetic.
[END OF PART ONE]
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