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From: david@f-e-mail.com (David Shaw)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 11 Apr 2003 03:40:16 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} "DRAGON SWEAT - SECOND SCROLL"(M+/F/F/F: myth; humor)
Date: Fri, 11 Apr 2003 04:10:03 -0400
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"DRAGON SWEAT - SECOND SCROLL"(M+/F/F/F: myth; humor)

By

David Shaw
david@f-e-mail.com

THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READING ONLY

Some of the palace guard fingered their weapons and looked sullen, but
there were good reasons for standing still. The first was the pile of
ash where the Master-At-Arms had stood, the second was Will
Spearshaker's cries of mingled pain and relief as the moat cooled his
hot armor. The third and fourth good reasons were the gleam in each of
the dragon's eyes as her snout swung back and forth across their ranks
in continued threat. Hal followed up his advantage.

"Two of you, get your cloaks off and give them to the girls." 

Hal's hand pointed towards Caelia and Chelinde, huddled together in
their nakedness and staring at their father's powdery remains gently
blowing away in the wind. An upsetting sight, slightly softened by the
fact that the Master-At-Arms had always been a total bastard to
everyone who'd had the misfortune of knowing him, especially his own
family. But before anybody could move a patch of air between the
soldiers and Hal clouded over as though a tiny fog patch was forming
there, no bigger than a man -- and forming into the ghostly outline of
a man's figure.

An old man, a hunched man, a man with no hair above his ears and a
white beard down to his belt, holding a long staff and wearing furs
that belonged to no animal that had ever prowled in these mountains.
Gaunt Gregory, Chief warlock to King Argud, somehow appearing to them
all as a shadow of his real self. Instinctively, every soldier glanced
at the castle, where the warlock had lived as long as any could
remember, as homebound in his tower chamber as a miller's donkey
tethered to a grinding stone.

There, on the nearest wall, was the hulking figure of the King, waving
his arms in great excitement, and beside him stood the dwarfish 
figure of his warlock. They saw the smaller man lifting his staff, as
tall as himself, and point it down towards the moat. At the same
moment the warlock's apparition also raised its staff and pointed. At
the place where both staffs were aimed was a head and flailing arms,
the arms desperately struggling to support their owner's head above
the filthy ooze of the moat. None of the witch's supernatural skills
seemed to avail her now as she fought to keep her mouth and nose out
of the squalid slime she was slowly sinking into.

Gaunt Gregory's words came not through Hal's ears, but like something
felt in the twilight time between sleeping and waking, some message
shining from snows on a mountain peak no mortal could scale: "Save
her, boy, save her! The King commands it!"

Not only was Hal made aware of the warlock's appeal, so were the
soldiers. They stared at him, then snapped to attention, as though the
fools expected Hal to start drilling them. What orders did they think
a bollock naked shitbucket emptier could give them? Yet suddenly he
was doing exactly that.

"Who's senior rank leader?"

A gray mustached veteran clapped a hand to his cross-bow. "I am, boy."

Corporal Clint O'The East Wood would have died rather than take orders
from Hal but that wasn't an option on offer. Subjects who failed both
the King and the Chief warlock in important matters suffered far worse
fates than simply ceasing to exist.

"Get that net. Use your swords to cut it apart. Tie three of the long
lengths of rope together. Then give me one end with a loop in it. I'm
going to try to walk out far enough on Josephine's tail to throw it to
the witch. Keep hold of the other end and when the witch has hold of
the loop, haul her in. You understand?"

"Aye, boy, aye."

It wasn't in the Corporal's training to throw a weapon onto the ground
but he put down his crossbow with the greatest possible speed, pulled
out his blade and went at the net as though it were a living enemy.
Hal turned to Josephine, pointed at the witch, and then at the
dragon's tail.

"Can I walk along your tail to help the woman?"

Josephine growled, then snorted, a hint of flames as insubstantial as
the warlock's ghost flickering at her nozzles. The dragon was usually
in a good humor, but apparently not where witches were concerned. Not
witches who handled their broomsticks like a tipsy gipsy aloft on an
unbroken colt, nor yet witches who treated anything on the wing as
unfortunate flying objects. Josephine was still deeply in the grip of
sky rage.

"Please, Josephine, the King and the Chief warlock have commanded me
to help the witch. Can you help me?"

A sickly shade of green appeared on her skin: Hal understood her
doubts only too well. The further he moved down her tail, the harder
it would be for Josephine to support his weight on it.

"Well, the best you can do, my lady. And quickly!"

Her colors flickered and changed on her coat of scales again, and then
she was backing her haunches over the edge of the moat, then her back
legs, reluctance showing in every moment as she came into contact with
the filth. Her tail she held as high as she could until she was half
lying on the bank and half floating in the moat, and then she let it
drop straight down on top of the partly dissolved turds floating in
the scum. Hal noted with surprise the depths and intensity of the
shades Josephine was now displaying: he couldn't imagine where a nice
young female dragon had learnt so much bad language. Then his
attention was broken by two men-at-arms running up to him with the
looped end of a rope between them. With them was Corporal Clint.

"All ready, sir."

"Get your men to on the other end and to be ready to haul like
carthorses. I need a man here at the moat's edge to put a turn of rope
around one of the dragon's back spikes if you need her help in hauling
the witch out."

"Aye, boy." Corporal Clint O'The East Wood turned and pointed to one
of the soldiers. "You, when I shout, go ahead -- make my belay."

Hal grabbed the loop and stepped onto the base of Josephine's tail.
Which was a big problem itself. The needle sharp spikes that ran down
her back extended along her tail as well, gradually getting smaller
but no blunter. Right here they were as long as dagger blades and he
had to step between them with his toes pointed inward like a pigeon's.
An uncomfortable position, rendered much more uncomfortable by the
thought that if he slipped and fell astride the dragon's tail the
spikes would instantly make sure that Caelia and Chelinde would not
only be the first girls he'd ever fucked, they'd be the last ones as
well.

"Fria and Odon, Fria and Odon, help me, please!"

He began moving. One step, two steps, three, with the slime of the
moat lapping around his ankles, the dragon's scales becoming slippery
underfoot. Exactly as they had both feared, the further along
Josephine's tail he went, the harder it was for her to keep it up
above the moat's surface.

Hal stopped to regain his swaying balance and stared slack jawed at
what was happening out in the moat. For now the warlock's mirage was
hovering directly in front of the witch, arm and staff outstretched
above her.

Somehow he seemed to be supporting her because both her arms were
raised above the mire, one pointing towards the castle and one towards
Hal. And close to the castle wall her broomstick was rising again.
Splintered and broken in the middle, the front half drooping down, its
bundle of twigs mostly burnt off, spattered in filth, but still rising
up into the air as lightly as a feather above a fireplace. The
broomstick stopped at knee height above the moat and swung around as
slowly as a rusty weathercock touched by a summer breeze.

Then, close to Hal, a great bubble of air burst amidst the floating
scum, hard by where the witch's cat was still buried, the tom's tail
marking its last resting place. Hal hoped so anyway, since it was his
fist which had sent the feline familiar tumbling down into the deep
shite, and the memory of its malevolent green eyes would haunt his
nightmares for many nights to come. Yet even as he looked the thickly
furred tail began to disappear into the moat as if it were a plant
which was shrivelling instead of growing. Perhaps it meant the final
destruction of the savage creature which had torn his flesh and nearly
done much worse to his balls.

As the tail vanished more bubbles broke on the surface of the moat
like farts from a carthorse's bum, each one releasing a tiny rainbow
of color and smells which were far worse than any privy bucket Hal had
ever emptied. Then a head appeared in amongst them and green eyes
opened which turned towards Hal in pure hatred again. Yet this wasn't
a cat which had surfaced, but a toad: a toad as big as the cat had
been, a toad of brown and yellow, with masses of red tinged warts and
spikes, an apparition so unlike anything in nature that one look was
enough to know it as a perverse parody of anything the Gods had
intended to live on earth.

Hal shivered in fear as he realized that nightmares were nothing
compared to seeing a terrible enemy resurrected. The toad came
swimming and slopping on its belly towards him, as near to being in
its own element as any creature could be in this foul bog. It stopped
about four paces from Hal and opened a mouth which seemed to be the
ugliest part of the whole swollen monstrosity. A sack of living venom
perched on a lake of poison, and a pair of emerald eyes looking at Hal
with a promise of agonizing revenge. He longed to run home. But he
could run nowhere from where he was and instead waited like a pig
penned for slaughtering as a tongue as long and red as a scarlet
tippet flicked through the air -- and stopped short of the loop of
rope in Hal's hand. Again, the same thing happened. And this time the
toad raised a webbed paw and pointed towards the witch.

Suddenly, and incredibly, Hal felt almost gratitude towards the
hideous creature. Because now he knew what it wanted him to do. Much
more importantly he knew what he might no longer have to do himself.
As well as he could he threw the loop towards the toad, watching as it
landed just short of the witch's creature. It went forward in one
quick movement before picking up the rope in its mouth as carefully as
a cat holding a kitten. Then it turned and began dragging the rope
behind it as it paddled towards the witch. Hal paid out the slack,
swaying on Josephine's trembling tail, still terrified but at least
hopeful that he need go no further into this shit filled slough.

The remains of the broomstick reached the witch first, the upright
handles on the broken front piece bent down towards her like a grazing
deer's horns. At the same instant the dim figure of Gaunt Gregory
disappeared, as if the two magics could not exist together. The witch
began to sink again, her hands shot up over her mud choked hair and
grasped the broom between the twigs and the break in the handle. Then
the broomstick bobbed up and down in her desperate grip, as though it
was floating on rippling water, but to no avail in lifting the witch
from the clinging mud. A handhold on life she had, but nothing more.
Unless her familiar could reach her with the rope. And, as big and
strong as it was, the toad seemed to be struggling to pull out the
ever increasing length of rope between it and Hal.

In desperation he hauled out yet more line from the hands of the
soldier on the bank and took another step along Josephine's tail. The
dragon groaned, a startling thing for somebody so used to her normal
silence. Nothing could show more plainly how difficult it was for her
to keep supporting him on her tail: it was as if Hal was trying to
hold aloft a horseshoe on his little finger. He felt her trembling
underfoot and the tail sink lower, so that he was up to his knees now
in filth. But the toad had reached its mistress!

Hal thanked his Gods as he saw her take one hand off the broomstick in
a hasty snatch at the rope and then lift up the dripping loop. With
one deft movement she dropped it over her head and wriggled the free
arm through it before seizing the broom again in a double handed hold.
Then she removed her other hand, pulled down the free arm and slipped
it up through the other side of the loop whilst grabbing at the broom
again. The loop was safely under her arms and now they could act!

Hal waved to the Corporal and the soldier on the bank. A twirl of rope
around one of Josephine's spikes and she was pulling on it, and so
were the soldiers, stamping their feet into the turf as though they
were trying to pull the castle walls down. The problem was that
everybody was worried about the witch, not about Hal, and even
Josephine moved so quickly he was left behind in the mire as her tail
jerked forward. He lifted his feet clear of her spikes, then toppled
sideways with a cry of despair and grabbed at the rope. It was
certainly moving, moving too quickly, piling up waves of slime and
shit into his face as he clung on to the slippery strands. The only
recourse left to him was to roll onto his back and clutch the rope
desperately to his chest, the back of his neck then taking the impact
of the crusted filth.

A brief glimpse of the witch behind showed her in much the same
situation, but at least luckier than him by being able to lift her
upper body higher because the broomstick was travelling with her,
still offering the woman as much support as it could. Not that anybody
could have recognized her as a man, woman or demon, not with the slime
plastered over her limbs, her face, and her hair -- and Hal was in no
much better condition when the Corporal's men hauled him onto the
bank. The expressions of their faces as they had to touch him showed
that: not that he had any sympathy for their fastidiousness; they
should try his privy bucket emptying job once in a while.

On the other hand he had every sympathy with the reluctance the
soldiers showed in hauling the witch out of the midden. A dislike of
scraping shit off somebody is one thing, getting up close and dirty to
an enraged witch was akin to putting a muzzle on a mad dog. Worse, in
fact, much worse. A mad dog might bite your balls off, but with a mad
witch you might end up pissing out of your ear for the rest of your
life. Which is an embarrassing place to carry your wedding tackle. But
already the King was galloping out over the drawbridge on his white
stallion and, whatever the witch might do, everybody else knew what
Argud the Defiler would certainly do if his orders weren't carried out
to the letter. So the soldiers helped the woman out onto the turf,
where she shook them off her arms as easily as if they were playful
puppies. Then she strode across the lumpy turf to Hal, the broomstick
drifting after her at waist height and two steps behind.

Like a dutiful wife following her husband in a public place, Hal
thought, a hurt wife yet silent and submissive in showing off her
injuries. But there was nothing submissive about the hot coals glowing
in the witch's eyes behind her mask of mud. And behind her and
underneath the broomstick was that revoltingly ugly toad, hopping
along in great leaps which almost reached the broomstick at their
highest points. Hal's reckoning was that in about five seconds he was
going to be transmuted into something just as revolting. Unless he was
fated to mix his ashes with the Master-At-Arm's. How odd if he should
die the way he was now, as naked as when he was born -- and never of
any more importance to the world than a coney born in a burrow and
eaten by a fox.

He looked around for the last time with mortal eyes and saw Chelinde
and Caelia now wrapped in soldier's cloaks, and each staring at him
with pity on their faces. Caelia waved at him, sadly, on this moment
of parting. Perhaps it was some consolation that the girls seemed more
upset about his fate than their father's.

So when the witch turned, plucked the broomstick from the air and then
knelt down in front of Hal, holding it in front of her as if it were
an offering to a Druid, every onlooker was stunned. Soldiers, girls,
Corporal Clint and, most of all, Hal.

"Take it, Master. Take it, as I have promised the warlock."

"What?

She lifted her face, those hot eyes fanned into blue burning coals
with anger: "Put your hand on this broomstick, you butt ugly little
fucker, or I'll skin you alive!"

Hal instantly stretched out a trembling hand and touched one of the
hand grips. It was like holding onto part of a water mill built over a
raging torrent, the fierce energy of the rushing waters below passing
through the structure for a bystander to feel. But before he could
learn more he snatched his fingers away again as a shriek of anger was
heard. Behind the King's magnificent stallion was an old donkey, the
thin legs of Gaunt Gregory astride it, his even thinner voice cawing
like a squabbling crow. Completely disregarding all the normal rules
of the court he hacked at the donkey's side with his heels and rode
past the King, limbs flailing and jerking in his haste like a
scarecrow dancing with the wind, the long staff held out over his
mount's big ears in a parody of a knight's lance.

"What, Morgana -- you break your oath given to another who has crossed
the abyss between the worlds and returned? You dare to defy the Great
Ones themselves?"

"I gave my word to you to yield my person and my powers to my rescuer.
This boy was my rescuer and I have kept my word, you jumped up little
shit of a half achieved adept. I have yielded all to him. Now go hence
and lick your own mortal master's backside!"

Nobody present had ever heard or seen the like, a witch and a warlock
squabbling like urchins over a wind fallen apple. And there wasn't one
of the watchers who didn't wish to be many safe leagues away from the
scene. But one at least had no intention of remaining a mere
spectator. King Argud swung out of his saddle, dropping as lightly as
a feather despite his huge bulk and large belly. He thrust the horse's
reins into the hand of one of the soldiers, a man who blanched with
fear as he realized that the strange events had lured him into a fatal
error of lese majesty by not acknowledging his sovereign's presence
until now. The soldier hastily dropped to his knee and bowed his head,
an example followed equally quickly by all present save the two
sorcerers, still bristling at each other.

"Come, Gregory, what's amiss here? You promised to tame this hawk for
me. Yet she sits not quietly on your gauntlet."

There had once been a court jester unwise enough to make fun of the
King's appearance by reddening his cheeks, puffing up his cheeks and
somehow bulging his eyes so they seemed twice their normal size. The
secret of how he'd managed that had died with him, in a unusual and
distinctly revolting way, and since then nobody else had taken any
gambles on finding King Argud in a good mood. Which was clever
reckoning, because he never had any. The best that could be said for
his temperament was that sometimes he managed to control his blood
lust if there seemed to be a good enough reason -- but that was never
more than a temporary deferment of his appetite for death and agony.
Even the warlock acknowledged the monarch's worldly power and presence
by awkwardly dismounting from the donkey and bowing low to the wearer
of the crown.

But not so the witch. For all the scum and shit on her, she stood like
a Queen, arms folded in open contempt of King Argud, warlock and
soldiers. Hal's eyes moved towards the now abandoned donkey which
seemed uninterested in anything but eating grass. Would he have a
chance of escaping on it if trouble erupted? Odin alone knew what this
business of the witch and her broomstick was all about but,
irregardless, Josephine had killed the Master-At-Arms as the court
official was getting ready to kill Hal for tupping his daughters. That
was enough to have Hal impaled on a spike in the market place for as
long as it took to die. Better to perish trying to run away than wait
until the King got around to passing the death sentence. Let the
magicians fight each other and then he and Josephine could flee behind
a curtain of fire none would be able to pass. Left and right Hal
glanced, awaiting his chance.

Then a sword tip touched his bare flank and Corporal Clint whispered:
"You'll stay here, dirty Harry."

"Harry's not in this story -- Rowling would sue us to hell and gone.
My name's Hal."

"Whatever."

The King's impatient voice called out: "You said you could make her
your slave, Gregory. What happened?"

The spindly legged little warlock was almost dancing with anger: "She
promised to yield herself, body and soul, to whoever rescued her from
the moat. But now she says it was the boy who rescued her and has
pledged herself to him."

"What!" The bulging eyes swung towards a trembling Hal. "First the
dragon and now the witch. The Gods are making a plaything of this
shithouse emptier. But what I saw was that it was your help, Gregory,
which aided the witch long enough to call forth her own magic to her
aid. All the boy did was to pass her a rope and even in that he had
help from the dragon and that ... that thing."

King Argud stretched out a boot towards the hunkered down toad, then
jerked it back as a stream of steaming spit landed next to his toe,
instantly turning a patch of green grass to brown stalks. The toad
leered at him and noisily cleared its throat again.

"Threaten my familiar once more, mortal, just once more, and I will
turn you inside out through your own arsehole." The witch's voice was
low and sharp -- and to be believed. "Twas the rope which settled the
matter and had it not reached me when it did I would surely have
perished. And without the boy that rope would not have been there. So
I proclaim him my rescuer and anyone who disagrees may call on the
Great Ones for judgement."

The King looked at Gregory for his advice and the warlock bit his
beard, then threw up his hands in frustration: "Your majesty, nobody
calls on the Great Ones without taking great risks. Their judgements
are not to be reckoned on in advance and Morgana has -- I have heard
-- some influence with them. She is now pledged to the boy and he is a
pledged subject of yours. Let us be content with that. Hal, stand up."

He did so, naked and frightened, and acutely aware of all the eyes
regarding his skinny frame. Not to mention the Corporal's sword point
almost pricking his backside. So this was where taking young girls for
dragon rides had gotten him. Then he looked at the Master-At-Arm's
daughters again and suddenly relaxed a little. To blame himself for
wanting them was as pointless as blaming himself for wanting food --
he had a stomach and a prick, and both made demands on him that had to
be satisfied.

"Hal, tell Morgana to kneel down in front of the King."

"Morgana!" Even he had heard of a witch with that name, a witch with a
reputation that made fierce warriors huddle close to the fireplace on
dark nights.

The warlock nodded in satisfaction: "Yes, the greatest witch of them
all, Morgana le Fay. Your slave, Morgana le Fay. Now bid her kneel."

The witch still stood as proudly as ever, and her eyes fastened on
Hal's with a strength of character he could never begin to match. Nor
could he forget for an instant the pain he'd already felt from her
magical powers and was still feeling from that damned cat's claw
slash. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to try to give
her any orders. Then he saw the King's face and remembered the spike
in the center of the market place. No, offending Morgana was the
second last thing in the world that he wanted to do. What totally
passed his understanding was why it should be expected that any witch
who treated a warlock and a monarch with contempt would obey the
lowest and least of all the King's subjects. But it seemed he had to
try.

"Morgana! Morgana le Fay, I command you to kneel for the King."

Never before had any words of his been so attended to by so many
people. Hal felt like an actor in a May Day festival, the one playing
the part of a prince with a wooden crown as a prop. Yet though his
words ended on a silly sounding squeak the witch did as she was told.
Not only did she kneel, she knelt as a woman should, on both knees,
then demurely lowered her head until it almost touched the grass. The
King laughed and clapped his hands in satisfaction, releasing a great
sigh of tension amongst the soldiers as they suddenly felt much safer.
Safer, but greatly puzzled. They looked at Hal's soiled and scrawny
body with questions on their lips. Yet none had so much need of asking
them as Hal himself.

"Sire ... Sire Gregory." 

The warlock beckoned him forward: "Give him a cloak, someone."

In an instant Hal had a fine woolen cloak to pull around himself, a
cloak instantly ruined by the filth he was spreading on it. But that
was a matter of little consequence right now. Gaunt Gregory looked at
Hal, at the still prostrate witch, then back to the boy again. Then,
incredibly, he smiled, revealing a row of rotten and yellowing stumps
in lieu of teeth.

"Why, 'tis a simple thing, boy. Morgana here was nigh on drowning here
in our moat and I made her promise on her witch's power to obey
forever anyone who rescued her. I assisted her and so did you, and
rather than give herself up to me she chose to yield to you. So now
you will compel her to do whatever the King commands. You understand?"

Hal nodded: "Yes, sire ... I understand." But did the warlock
understand? If he was telling the truth Hal could command both
Josephine and Morgana. With luck he could break free with both and
leave this kingdom forever. Or better yet ...

"Boy, look around you."

The King's voice was always a surprise to those hearing it for the
first time, a high pitched tenor from such a bulk. But it was a small
voice never used for small talk. Hal looked. Every man-at-arms had
picked up his crossbow again and each one was aimed at him alone, from
soldiers so widely spread out that Josephine could never burn them
down all at once.

"Boy, understand me. I can kill you whenever I wish. The witch would
be delighted to be free again and she'll soon teach your dragon to
behave herself. So be a loyal subject and bid Morgana to do my
bidding, and all will be fair weather between us. As a token of which,
I order you to kneel beside Morgana to be declared a Duke before all
present."

"To be ... " He must have misheard the King, but at least the gesture
towards the ground was unmistakable. Hal knelt, and dared to do it on
one knee, as the soldiers had done.

"When you arise, Hal O'TheShitbuckets, you will be Duke Merlinus. But
before I raise you up I would know what happened between the witch and
yourself. How came she to fall into our moat?"

Hal answered the King's question as well as he could. But, like Hal
himself, the monarch had more questions to ask.

"So, she saw you tupping one of the Master-At-Arm's little beauties in
the dragon's riding net. Why should she wish to interfere with that?"

"Your Majesty, I do not know."

"I can answer that," Gaunt Gregory said. "When mortals couple they
sometimes reach a level of ecstasy which is a form of primitive magic.
Since magics cannot exist side by side any practicing adept who comes
close to an act of mortal tupping may find his or her spells much
diminished and perhaps even completely cancelled by the tupping
effect. Their magic becomes ... what shall I say?"

"Fucked up," the King suggested dryly. 

The warlock bowed again: "Your Majesty has it in a nutshell. An
excellent description -- I'm surprised nobody has thought of it
before. Yes, I believe Morgana flew close to the dragon to examine it
without having the slightest suspicion that a mortal male could be
taking a mortal female in the riding net. By the time she realized her
broomstick magics were being, as you say, fucked up, there was no time
to flee before she must fall, so the only thing she could do was to
frighten the pair into abandoning their act of passion."

King Argud chuckled: "Ha, boy, some rise by sin and some by virtue
fall, but here was a great fall by a great witch because of your
sinning. And were my Master-At-Arms still alive you might have smarted
for your sins with his daughters." His voice paused as he looked long
and carefully at the two sisters. "But a handsome pair of bolsters for
any bed, I grant you, and since they wish for experience, I myself
shall see they have as much as they can take."

He chuckled again and drew his sword. "Boy, have you heard anything of
my plans for you and your dragon -- and for this witch?"

Hal couldn't stop himself from looking up in uncontrollable curiosity:
"I know nothing of any plans, your Majesty."

"Then tonight you will learn more, because I'm going to make you an
offer you'll have to peruse. For there are good reasons why I now
proclaim you Duke Merlinus of this kingdom."

The tip of the sword tapped lightly on each of Hal's shoulders:
"Arise, Duke Merlinus."

Hal stood up and waited for the King to finish off his joke by
decapitating him with the huge sword. But it didn't happen. Instead
the King drove the tip of the sword into the ground and rested his
hands on the handle, which was still almost as high as Hal's head. The
boy found himself staring at the incredibly fine stitching along the
sides of the Monarch's deerskin gloves.

"Well, Duke Merlinus, you have bought the wickedest witch in the wide
world with you as a dowry for your peerage, which is well to your
credit. But you are still the dirtiest and vilest smelling peer that
ever has stood before me. As for the mighty Morgana, she looks and
smells like dogshit. Even your dragon has the stench of a midden about
her. What's to be done with you all?"

Hal gulped: "There is a stream in the hills, not far away. Josephine
can clean herself there, under the waterfall. I would be happy to go
with there with her."

"Ho, my fine Duke, no doubt you would, but you won't. The dragon may
go there and return presently. You, I have heard, have betimes bathed
yourself in the drinking trough in the dragon's shed. You may do so
now, and take your bitch witch with you. And we shall see if you are
indeed fit to be a peer. For the two girls will wash both of you clean
and afterwards you may finish your business with the one you were
fucking before -- if you're man enough to do it with a squad of
soldiers and a King watching you perform!"

Hal stared dumbfounded at the smile on the King's face.

"What's the matter, Duke Merlinus? Have you turned shy now you're a
gentleman?"

Even the soldiers were giggling like schoolgirls. But they didn't know
about the dragon sweat, and they didn't know that there was enough of
it left in that drinking trough to set a whole village heaving and
humping like a gang of Iceland warriors let loose in a nunnery.

Gaunt Gregory sneered at the filthy boy: "All your vigor gone already,
Duke?"

Hal stood tongue tied. He could tell them, warn them -- but dragon
sweat was his great secret and he wanted to keep it his own. But the
alternative! Master of Morgana le Fay -- and in the grip of the storm
lust that dragon sweat brewed up. Odin alone knew what he might do,
and should Morgana free herself afterwards she'd send him to hell for
it. But afterwards, he might not care.

"Why no, Warlock," Hal suddenly found himself answering with a grin to
match the King's. "All I ask is a favor. If I start chasing your
donkey after I've finished with the girls, for Odin's sake, please
have me shot."

King Argud bellowed with laughter and gave Hal a slap on the shoulder
which almost sent him down on his knees again. "Why, my young Duke,
perhaps you'll serve my needs better than I might have hoped. Let's
put you to the test and see if your tupping can match your words."

Somehow Hal found the presence of mind to look for his garments amidst
the torn remains of the riding net, only to be swiftly rebuked by his
monarch.

"You no longer need those rags, Duke Merlinus. The cloak will suffice
until you reach the palace and then we shall outfit you better."

Merlinus ... Merlinus? Why that name? True, the shitbucket family had
a Tiberian name of Merdinus, now almost as forgotten as the long gone
monks who'd bestowed it. A suitable name, since merdus was Tiberian
for shit. But Merlinus -- was it because he was going to be allowed to
fly with Josephine again, allowed to fly like a hawk? May the Gods
make it so, for this seemed to be a day on which anything might
happen.

But the sight of Morgana le Fay's luscious hips swaying ahead of him
was enough to make his glowing hopes fade like the sun hidden by
gathering storm clouds. The likes of her were for warlocks and knights
and persons of royal blood. Now he seemed to be trapped between King
and witch and as sure as cats ate mice, one or t'other would have his
balls spit roasted ere long. Perhaps she'd laugh at his love making
attempts so much that he'd fail, despite the dragon sweat. Perhaps the
trough water had made it so weak by now that the power had completely
gone and King, warlock, witch, soldiers and girls alike would jeer at
his cock as it drooped like a melting candle. A boy's ending for all
of his proud boasts of manhood, and with all the kingdom to hear and
laugh about it afterwards.

He sidled over against Josephine, the corporal close behind him at
every step, Clint O'The East Wood's finger never leaving the trigger
of his oversized magnum bolt crossbow. Hal desperately wanted to slip
his hand underneath the dragon's wing to seek for a trace of sweat but
there was no chance of doing it unobserved. Hal felt a sudden and
unexpected anger burning inside him at being so closely guarded.
Mayhap he'd teach these soldiers another lesson in dragon power before
long.

"My lady, go and clean yourself. When you return I may wish you to
warm the water in your trough for me again. If so, you must do it as
hard as you can."

A twirling pattern of interrogation swirled around her neck, a
question only he knew she was asking. In return, he winked when only
she could see him: "Yes, Josephine, as hard as you can. Now fly -- and
be back soon."

The dragon lurched forward, drove down her wings in a flurry of
movement and swept upwards, her sails smacking against the air as
though applauding herself for leaving the ground behind. Hal watched
Josephine rise up into the afternoon sunlight with an aching heart.
The ever alert corporal noticed Hal's sad expression.

"What's amiss, young Duke?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders: "Why, to see my dragon fly whilst I
cannot leave the ground."

Clint O'The East Wood laughed: "Duke, how can a man want to fly? Do
you want a nest with eggs to sit on as well?"

For the very first time Hal understood that he was closer to Josephine
than he was to many of his own kind. Why, perhaps he was even closer
to the witch as well. She might be evil incarnate but at least she was
a flier too. Not that her broomstick seemed good for much just then,
but perhaps it could be repaired and remagicked. If it could be ...

For a second Hal dreamed of learning how to fly a broomstick. To flash
over rooftops and meadows, around trees and across lakes, screaming
past gaggles of geese and flying so high that the mountains themselves
crouched down beneath your feet. All the filth and cruelty and
everyday battles of life left below as he explored the kingdom of the
sky, a kingdom which over-arched and over-reached all earthly ones.  A
fine dream, especially for a shit smeared boy who owned nothing in the
world but a borrowed cloak. And then he was back at the dragon's barn
again.

For some reason everybody else hung back and let Hal walk in first,
even though Josephine was only a faraway dot in the sky. Yet the
caution which most other people showed in approaching a dragon's lair
still seemed to be having its effect because only the girls walked in
close behind him. Hal stepped into the sandpit and drew his toes
through the still damp sand, then  looked up, exchanging rueful looks
with the sisters. How much had changed so quickly. Truth to tell, he
was in no obvious position to complain. Dubbed a Duke, gaining a witch
for a slave, praised by the King -- whatever the dangers to come, it
was still far better treatment from the Gods than Caelia and Chelinde
had received: orphaned, unprotected and lusted after by a King who
treated his dogs far better than his women. Hal had never intended
their misfortunate but it left a bitter taste in his mouth after the
joy the girls had given him.

"What are we to do?" Chelinde asked him, looking suddenly grown up and
serious.

"Why, only what we did before. But first you'd best serve as Morgana's
hand maidens. There are two pieces of soap left. One for her, one for
me."

"And afterwards? What we did before, Hal? With all these soldiers
watching?"

"Aye, and the King too, lass -- tis a Royal Command performance." 

The boy smiled and lifted his hand to chuck her under the chin, but
paused as he saw the filth on his fingers and the momentarily revealed
loathing in her eyes as she glanced to where the King was entering the
barn.

"Be of good heart, girls. What matters who watches if we enjoy
ourselves? And what I can do for you later, I promise I will do."

Hal went to the trough, splashed his fingers in it, pondered. The
water was still warm -- or, at least, not cold. He filled both
drinking buckets and set them down in the sandpit. Then he turned
towards the witch and gulped.

For the first time since his one swift glimpse of her riding the
broomstick he looked as a man at the magnificent shape underneath the
clinging mud. Her breasts were pillows compared to Chelinde's
dumplings, her unskirted legs promised delights beyond belief... he
gulped again, and decided that perhaps the dragon sweat was still
potent, even at a touch.

"Lie down on the straw, Morgana. On your back."

Her eyes glittering with repressed emotions, the witch obeyed. 

"Take off your cloak, Chelinde. Spread it over her."

The girl's face was almost as angry as the witch's as she undid the
throat cord, but she obeyed, her and her sister spreading the cloak
over Morgana's body. Then Chelinde stood self-consciously, hands by
her side and eyes downcast as she tried to ignore the soldiers lining
each side of the barn, each of them grinning at her nakedness and with
no threatening dragon around this time to distract them from studying
it closely.

"Your cloak too, Caelia. Strip Morgana and then clean her with the
water and the cloak, as well as you can. Mayhap some straw will help
as well."

The King grinned but raised no objection at taking another look at the
sisters in her raw state. Nor did he seem to mind that the girls were
reaching underneath Hal's cloak to get at the witch's indecent attire.
King Argud was a hunter and enjoyed the thrill of a drawn out chase.
His soldiers also licked their lips as they saw the swaying tits and
taut bottoms of the figures kneeling at either side of the cloak to
fumble with Morgana's tight fitting leathers.

"Help them, witch," Hal ordered. 

She looked at him, for a second only, and it was like being forehead
to forehead with a mad bull. But her hands moved swiftly under the
cloak, undoing the lashings which held her garments in place, then
rolling from one side to another as she helped Caelia and Chelinde tug
her jerkin over her arms. Hal would have liked to have kept watching
but the desire to start removing the filth from his own body was even
more compelling than staring at Morgana's movements underneath the
cloak. So he took his cloak off, seized two handfuls of straw and
began rubbing down his arms and legs.

Straw and sand and water, straw and sand and water, over and over,
tickling and scraping and soothing his skin in turn as black rings of
removed corruption spread around him. Then the King's voice boomed out
in glee.

"Plenty of sand for her as well, girls, all over her tits. I want them
as smooth as your arses."

As spoke several of the soldiers closest to the straw pile also dared
to smile in approval. They looked as they were spellbound as they kept
gaping at the straw. But when Hal looked himself at the wet cloak
sticking to the now naked body below it he decided that the audience
was literally bewitched. There were curves and hollows and a sheer
symmetry of female shape underneath the damp wool that was more
magical than anything a warlock could conjure up, be he the greatest
adept ever. Chelinde and Caelia put their hands beneath the cloak
again to rub Morgana's large tits, setting them shuddering and swaying
around. The witch whimpered as he nipples were scoured and every
soldier lucky enough to be able to see her instantly summoned up his
blood and stiffened his sinews. In fact most of them were already more
tightly cocked than their cross bows.

Hal grabbed his cloak and began wiping the traces of sand and wisps of
straw from his skin. But his eyes stayed on the females, noting the
increasingly coy way that even Morgana was glancing towards her
watchers. Surely a witch couldn't be affected by the dragon sweat like
any normal chit of a girl? But there hadn't been any dragons around
since time out of mind and maybe witches knew no more about them than
anybody else. Morgana had certainly badly underestimated Josephine's
abilities in their aerial bitch fight. Maybe the sweat did work on
her. Certainly she'd had enough of the treated water splashed and
rubbed onto her body to give it every chance.

As for Caelia and Chelinde, just having their hands in the bucket
seemed to be affecting them like piglets suckling on a barrel of mead.
They were giggling at each now across Morgana's body and blatantly
shaking their plumpers for the audience. The witch began twisting her
legs and hips from side to side as the sisters scrubbed at her tits,
her mouth open as she began moaning. Morgana's long fingers rose up to
stroke the girl's arms as though encouraging them to hurt her more ...
and Hal's own prick reared up like a stallion's in chase of a mare. He
held the bundled wet cloak in front of him and rubbed it against his
straining flesh as he decided what to do.

"Morgana, stand up. Chelinde, Caelia, hold the cloak around her."

The witch put her hands down beside her and sat up, got on her knees
and stood, the sisters keeping the cloak up around the top of her
swaying breasts, the damp fabric displaying the perfect contours of
the unsupported flesh and the hard nipples, each one so big that his
thumb and forefinger would scarcely encircle it. Her legs up and even
beyond her knees were bare, showing off smooth thighs made in heaven
for a man to slide his hand between and upwards.

"Go to the drinking trough. Step into it. Then take off the cloak and
the girls will soap you. Everywhere."

She obeyed, still walking with infinite pride, head and shoulders
above her escorts, the girls behind her holding onto the cloak as if
they were train bearers, their eyes darting from one male spectator to
another. But always returning to Hal -- and the King. His Majesty was
breathing even more heavily than usual and he seemed fascinated by the
display being unfolded in front of him.

There was scarcely a ripple in the water as Morgana entered it
gracefully. Looking directly at Hal, she shrugged the cloak off her
shoulders and let the maidens catch it. Without a stitch on, she stood
before them with one hand flat by the side of her leg, the other one
between her legs. And what might have been thought a protection of
modesty took on a different meaning when the spectators saw that the
fingers pressed over her patch of dark red hair were gently moving as
she felt herself. She giggled at the open mouthed astonishment of the
soldiers, lifted up both hands and held up her breasts for the
spectator's eyes. Certainly Hal's felt as if they were popping out of
his head as he watched her proudly displaying a body of perfect
wantonness. Then Caelia and Chelinde began working their hands over
Morgana, leaving trails of suds and pure white skin behind them in
spreading patches.

Hal stumbled forward, stepped into the other end of the trough facing
the witch and threw away his cloak, letting her see his rampant prick.
Morgana smiled at him: "Shall the girls wash you now, Master?"

"One of them," he grunted. 

He was grunting because Morgana's hand had reached forward and gently
tweaked the tip of his cock. This was unbelievable, to have a woman
like this in thrall of him, doing his every bidding. Then she moved
back, holding her hands up behind her head for him to better see her
body as Caelia continued soaping it and Chelinde rubbed her hands over
Hal, soaping him quickly but thoroughly, arms, chest, back, legs and
then rubbing her slippery palm up and down his shaft. Caelia laughed
and applied her hands just as thoroughly to Morgana's pure white tits
and the red flowers tipping them.

There was a vicious sounding twang and zip from nearby, and Hal
glanced around to see that one of the soldiers had accidentally
discharged his cross bow in his excitement, the bolt sticking out of
the straw littered dirt floor two paces away. But nobody seemed to
care, not the King, not even the Corporal. Nobody said or did anything
as Morgana knelt down in the trough and put her hand with Chelinde's
on the boy's throbbing tool. Together the two woman stroked it, and
then Caelia joined them, her fingers tickling his balls. Hal called
out in pleasure, his arms around each sister's shoulders and then
something very large and fat plopped into the water between his legs
and the kneeling witch. The toad sank out of sight, down below the
foam covered water and Hal's toes curled up in readiness for a savage
bite or sting.

It never came. What did come was a string of bubbles breaking between
Morgana's opened thighs and her response, a wild cry with her eyes
rolled back in apparent pain. Hal wondered why the toad was attacking
its mistress. And then he realized what was really happening as
Morgana bent forward, pushed Chelinde's hand aside and took him deeply
into her mouth in one swift movement. There was a gasp and a stir
around the barn as everybody saw four finger's length of the boy's
cock disappear between the witch's scarlet lips and her cheeks
contract with the effort of sucking off her master. And all saw how
her body was quivering and jerking as though she was being eaten from
below.

It was the King who responded first. He bellowed, unbuckled his sword
belt, threw it aside and swayed forward like a bear untimely woken
from winter sleep. He seized Chelinde first, from behind, kneading her
plump round breasts in his huge fingers, squashing them up with only
the stiff tips standing proud of the press. Caelia instantly bent
forward to suck on her sister's nipples, sending Chelinde squirming
and pressing her bare bottom against the King's crutch. He roared
again, pushed her away and began tearing at the lacing in the front of
his breeches The girls rushed back to him, wild eyed and their
fingernails tearing at the cords with the same urgency. Out from
behind their restraints came a cock that seemed as thick as Hal's
wrist and almost as long as one of Corporal Clint's magnum sized
bolts. Caelia still went down on her knees without hesitation to
suckle on it as well as she could, her lips stretched out like an
adder's swallowing a rat. Yet the King was watching the trough, not
the girl at his feet.

"Fetch the witch out, boy, fetch her out! I'm going to give her a
royal fucking!"

It would have meant death to argue with the monarch at any time. Right
then was certainly not a good time to even think about hesitating.
Even when Hal was getting ready to empty himself over Morgana's
tongue: "Out, witch, out. The King wants you."

The King did indeed. He was already lying on his back and holding his
cock steady for one hand as Chelinde and Caelia licked the shiny red
length like cows at a salt lick. As Morgana stood up he beckoned her
to come forward. She glanced at Hal, he nodded and she obeyed,
trickles of water and foam running down her beautifully proportioned
legs before she stood astride King Argud and squatted down, her arms
behind her back on either side of his legs to take her weight as
Caelia and Chelinde rubbed the head of the King's donkey dick against
her cunt. Then she squealed and dropped down on top of it as if it
might otherwise escape.

Her hips jerked up and down and she leaned forward on her arms again,
with a girl on each side of her, and each girl holding onto one of
Morgana's large tits, keeping the bags of flesh steady for the King to
bite on. Morgana screeched again but Hal cared nothing for that in his
need to finish what he'd begun with her. He stepped close to the
writhing bodies, grabbed a tuft of Morgana's red hair and thrust his
lance into her mouth again. She sucked on as eagerly as before but Hal
hardly noticed. He was staring wide eyed at the trough as the water in
it splashed over the wooden sides and something moved inside it,
something standing up where the toad had been,

This was no toad though, nor was it a cat. It was something akin to a
child, about as high as a grown man's waist, brown skinned, a bald
head, large ears, green hued eyes which glittered like iced moss in
sunlight, a squashed nose and lips which seemed more horn than flesh.
The small though wide shouldered figure leapt over the side of the
trough, landed as neatly as a cat and sprang forward.

One thing about the goblin which was definitely a prominent feature
was the cock and balls it displayed, a cock ready for action and much
larger than a normal one, for all the goblin's smaller size. It was
more like a cock with a body attached than a body with a cock
attached. But whatever the arrangement the body moved swiftly, the
cock bobbing up and down as short but incredibly muscled legs carried
it forward to where it wanted to be. Which was behind Morgana, the
glittering eyes staring at her jerking buttocks as the goblin rubbed
some wet soap around his massive prick. He slapped her ass lightly
with both palms as if to let her know she was there, guided his
overlarge shaft between Morgana's quivering crescents and then forced
it deeply between them like a battering ram hammering at a castle
gate. Air spurted around Hal's wet shaft as Morgana screamed out in
passion and King Argud roared in satisfaction. He so busy sucking and
chewing on Morgana's tits that Hal wondered if the Monarch had noticed
that he was sharing his feast with uninvited guests.

Then the boy snorted with his own uncontrollable pleasure as he
spurted into Morgana's mouth, setting her off spluttering and gagging
as droplets of white fluid rolled down her chin. Chelinde put her arm
across the top of Morgana's neck and began licking some of the liquid
up like a kitten cleaning a platter of milk, a licking which ended
with a passionate kiss between the two females. Then Caelia put a hand
up to Hal's shrunken prick and began lapping at it with her tongue as
if to clean it thoroughly. All three of them seemed out of their minds
with lust and as soon as Morgana and Chelinde saw what Caelia was
doing for Hal they joined in enthusiastically.  The boy turned one way
and another to let each of them have fair access to him.

It was, he thought, something which ought to make an entry in the Mead
Brewer's Book of Records. One King, one goblin and one shitbucket
emptier all fucking one witch at the same time, with a couple of hand
maidens keeping things going. Not something you saw very often. The
soldiers certainly didn't want to miss any second of the spectacle. A
group of them were standing within arm's length of Hal, eyes and cocks
bulging at what was going on. Hal grabbed both of the sisters by the
hair, lifted them and pushed them towards Corporal Clint and his
comrades.

"Go on, boys, help yourselves."

It wasn't really what he wanted to do but he needed a distraction to
keep those crossbows off their aim. And it worked. Bows and swords and
belts fell to the ground as the soldiers grabbed the girls and threw
them on their backs on top of the straw pile, bedding them down in
long term fucking positions. The rest of the guard saw what was
happening and rushed to join the queue. The only thing which
distracted them at all was a sound like a giant owl hooting, a sound
coming from the goblin. Within seconds the sound was mixed with
another yell of triumph from the King and long a drawn out yelp from
Morgana. The trio of bodies collapsed in a tangle, the goblin and the
King to lie undisturbed, but not Morgana. Clint O'The Eastwood grabbed
her arm, lifted her up and then dropped her on the straw pile next to
two hairy backsides jerking up and down on top of Chelinde and Caelia.
Very quickly the Corporal's arse was on public display as well as he
fucked Morgana with all the expertise of a seasoned campaigner and
military trained rapist. The accumulated lust in the air could have
been set off by a candle flame and nobody even noticed Josephine
slithering back into the barn. The men were either fucked, fucking or
anticipating a fuck, and the females -- well, the females were
otherwise occupied. Dragon sweated out of their minds and getting
drilled from all directions

So nobody saw the dragon enter: nobody who cared, anyway. And
certainly nobody noticed Hal's nod towards the drinking trough, nor
his wink to Josephine. The dragon bowed her head, put her snout into
the water and snorted -- not once, not twice, not three, but four
times. Hal grabbed a discarded sword, reversed it with his hands
holding tightly to the scabbard, then ran around and up to the top of
the straw pile. The corporal was gasping in satisfaction as he pumped
his load into Morgana's cunt. He gasped even more loudly as Hal hit
him behind the ear with the sword handle. Then Hal grabbed at the
witch's hands to pull her out from underneath Clint O'The East Wood's
stunned body.

"Come with me -- now."

"What?"

"Come with me -- I order you."

One of the waiting soldiers stepped forward and raised his fist to
punch Hal's face. There was a kind of thumping sound, water from the
trough flew up and a bank of steam twice Hal's height rolled outwards
as all the dragon spit in the trough mingled with the liquid and
turned into hot vapor. Visibility within the barn became a few paces,
then scarcely one or two. Hal began hauling the witch in the direction
he knew the door was. He knew because he'd noted the draught
beforehand and simply followed it. Or at least he would have if
Morgana didn't seem to be taking so long to get up to speed.

"Move, you bitch!"

"Oh, Master, it's such fun ... "

"You stupid fucking woman, it's the dragon sweat in the water that's
got us so excited. It's magic, we're spell bound, and we'll both be
dead if we don't escape from the King. Run!"

Morgana's normal iron will seemed to emerge again as she began to
understand what had happened to her. Hand in hand they ran out through
the doorway, then stopped, panting. Hal had never known a day like it
for exercise. And before he could make another move he was astonished
to see the goblin come running out the steam filled door as well, the
tip of his slack knob halfway to his knees and pulling Caelia
alongside him by a long strand of her hair. But Hal's surprise at that
was nothing compared to seeing Chelinde also emerging, squealing and
jumping and being forced along by a series of hefty swipes on her
bottom by Morgana's broomstick. Seeing the brush swinging through the
air that way without a hand on it was even stranger than watching it
just floating along. But this was no time for standing around and
being curious.

"Get into the castle, quick," Hal urged Morgana. "Josephine is coming
with us. If we can get the drawbridge raised now we'll be inside and
the King and most of his soldiers will be outside. Then we'll have a
chance to parley."

Morgana shook her head: "Better to tell the dragon to burn down the
barn and have done with them all now."

"No! If they die I'm a Duke no longer. There'd be no witnesses. The
King must sign my letters patent and proclaim them. Seize the castle
and we can negotiate with him."

She nodded, still panting: "That warlock. He's not here. He could stop
you."

Hal knew she was right. And if Gaunt Gregory wasn't here he had a
bloody good idea of where he would be.

"Josephine, go to the castle. Put a fireball through an arrow slit in
the top of the tower, Burn Gaunt Gregory's chamber right out and him
with it."

"No ...No!" Morgana shook her head. "My magical supplies are destroyed
or lost. I need his. I must go now, take him by surprise. My broom
will almost support my weight, even though it's damaged. Let me ride
it and hold onto one of the dragon's claws. She can lift me to the top
of the tower and leave me there to deal with Gregory. Then the dragon
can help you in the courtyard to get the drawbridge lifted up."

"So be it. Josephine, take Morgana up to the chamber's lookout
platform."

Some of the dragon sweat tainted steam was drifting the dragon's barn:
half a dozen warriors were now visible inside, each with his breeches
around his knees and frantically jerking themselves off.

"Huh", Morgana snorted as she settled onto the broomstick. "I always
said that the military were a load of wankers."

Then a giant figure came running out of the steam with a raised sword
that glittered along its length in the afternoon sun. The King was as
mad as hell, the dragon was spiraling upwards towing the unclad witch
on her broomstick and a naked boy and two naked girls ran for their
lives towards the castle with an equally naked goblin bounding along
behind them.

Will Spearshaker was still sitting by the moat, stinking, scorched and
sour at life as he watched what was occurring, but not with any great
interest. You couldn't weave a good story out of happenings which
seemed to make no sense at all. Which was about Hal's thinking as
well, because now the moment of decision had passed he had no idea at
all why he'd hit Corporal Clint O'The East Wood and provoked the
King's anger. But he had an idea about somebody who might have cast a
spell on him.

TO BE CONTINUED 

(If you enjoyed this piece of silliness, stop by at www.f-e-mail.com
sometime and see what other strange stories are gathering dust on the
shelves!)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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