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Subject: {ASSM} RP: "DRAGON SWEAT: SCROLL II" (M+/F/F/F:  sex, swords and sorcery) By David Shaw
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"DRAGON SWEAT: SCROLL II"
(M+/F/F/F:  sex, swords and sorcery)
By

David Shaw


david@f-e-mail.com
THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READING ONLY

--------------------------------------------------

You can help a beautiful, sexy witch out of the shit, you can get your
handmaidens to wash her clean in a bath of magic love potion, but
there's always some prick of a king who wants the first fuck . . .

--------------------------------------------------

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 castle wall, was the hulking figure of the King,
waving his arms in great excitement, and beside him still stood the
dwarfish figure of his sorcerer. 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 orders came not through Hal's ears, but like some
message drifting into his mind from an already forgotten dream: "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 the dragon's tail to throw it to
the witch. Keep hold of the other end of the rope and when the witch
has got 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 phantom presence flickering around her nozzles. The
dragon was usually in a good humor, but apparently not where witches
were concerned. Not witches who handled their broomstick like a tipsy
gypsy aloft on an unbroken colt, nor yet witches who treated everything
else in the sky as unimportant flying objects. Josephine was still
deeply in the grip of sky rage.

"Please, Josephine, the King and the Chief Warlock have commanded me to
save the witch. Will 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, reluctance
showing in every movement 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 on the scummy surface.
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, boy."

"Get your men to on the other end and to be ready to haul like oxen. 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 be both the first
and last girls he'd ever fuck.

"Fria and Odin, Fria and Odin, 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 more slippery
under his feet. 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, the
bundle of twigs mostly burnt off and spattered in filth, but still
rising up into the air as lightly as a feather floating over a fire.
The broomstick stopped at knee height above the moat and swung around
like a rusty weathercock touched by a summer breeze.

Then, close to Hal, a great bubble of air burst amidst the floating
scum, close to 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 a long time. Yet even as he looked the thickly furred
tail began to disappear into the moat as if it were a plant which was
shriveling instead of growing. Strange . . .

As the tail vanished more bubbles broke on the surface of the moat like
farts from a cart horse's bum, each one releasing smells which were
even worse than those from the privy buckets Hal spent so much time
emptying. Then a head appeared in amongst the bubbles and green eyes
opened which regarded Hal in pure hatred. 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 ever intended to
live on the 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. The foul creation 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 from 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 painful 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 traveling 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 could end up pissing out of your ear for the rest of your
life. Which is an embarrassing place to have your cock put on display.
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 half grown
children. 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 hovering 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, 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 a
sacrificial 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 bum 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 curious bystander to feel. But before he
could learn more he snatched his fingers away again as a shriek of
anger came to his ears. 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 submitted and forsworn myself 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 good moods. 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 dragon 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 into 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 arse hole." 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
in frustration then threw up his hands: "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."

Hal did so, naked and frightened, and acutely aware of all the eyes
regarding his skinny frame. Not to mention the Corporal's sword point
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 the fiercest of 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
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 paper crown and a wooden sword. 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 an obedient 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 that's happened, boy. Morgana here was nigh
on drowning in our moat and I made her promise on pain of 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 squeak 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'The Shitbuckets, 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 by telling what
had happened But, like Hal himself, the monarch had more questions to
ask about his uncertain explanation.

"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 canceled by the tupping effect.
Their magic becomes -- how can I describe it?"

"Fucked up," the King suggested dryly.

The warlock bowed again: "Your Majesty has it in a nutshell. 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 from the sky, 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 Argud the Defiler 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 dog shit. 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
nobleman?"

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 boatload of Ice Land 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 with the girls so much that he'd fail, despite the dragon
sweat. Perhaps the trough water had made the sweat 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 willow branch.
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.
He spoke to Josephine.

"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 make it as hot
as you can."

A twirling pattern of interrogation lines swirled around her neck.
"Yes, Josephine, as hot as you can. Now fly -- and return quickly."

The dragon lurched forward and upwards, her wings smacking against the
air once more. The ever alert corporal noticed Hal's sad expression as
Josephine flew off.

"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?"

Not for he first time Hal realized 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 right now, but
perhaps it could be repaired and remagicked. If it could be -- oh, what
a thought!

For a second Hal dreamed of learning how to fly a broomstick. To flash
over rooftops and meadows, around trees and across lakes, overtaking
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
notion, especially for a shit smeared boy who owned nothing in the
world but a borrowed cloak. And then his high flying dreams fell back
to earth as he found that the group had reached the dragon's shed.

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 den
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 ruler who
treated his dogs far better than his women. Hal had never intended
their misfortune 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."

Hal went to the trough, splashed his fingers in it, pondered. The water
was still luke warm -- that was indeed a measure of how quickly his
life had changed course. He filled two 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 Hal had a chance to run his eyes over the magnificent shape
underneath the clinging mud. Morgana's breasts were perfection, her
unskirted legs promised delights beyond belief; Hal gulped again, and
decided that perhaps the diluted dragon sweat was still potent, even
with the merest splash of it on his hands.

"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 leering at
her body.

"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.
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.

"Aid 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 laces and straps 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 own 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. 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."

At the king's jest several of the soldiers closest to the straw pile
also dared to smile in approval. They were gaping at Morgana and when
Hal stared at the wet cloak adhering to the witch's now naked body he
understood why. There were curves and hollows and a sheer symmetry of
female promise 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 perfectly shaped dugs, setting them gently swaying. The witch
whimpered as her 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 the men 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 glances the once proud Morgana was casting towards the
crowd of watchers. Surely a witch couldn't be affected by the dragon
sweat like a normal human? 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 other now across Morgana's body and
blatantly shaking their own freshly budding teats for the audience's
appreciation. The witch began twisting her legs and hips from side to
side as the sisters scrubbed at her hidden body, her mouth half open as
she began moaning. Morgana's long fingers rose up to stroke the girl's
arms as though encouraging them to inflict more pain on her --- and
Hal's own prick reared up like a stallion sniffing a mare in heat. 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 as perfectly round as a
Tiberian groat. Morgana's legs up and even beyond her knees were bare,
showing off smooth thighs made in heaven for a man to slide his hand
along.

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

She obeyed, still walking with infinite pride, head and shoulders above
her escorts, the girls beside her holding onto the cloak, 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. 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 an affection of modesty took on a different
meaning when the spectators saw that the fingers pressed over her patch
of dark hair were gently moving as she felt herself. The witch giggled
at the open mouthed astonishment of the soldiers, lifted up both hands
and held up her Eve's pair to the spectator's eyes. Certainly Hal's
eyes felt as if they were popping out of his head as he watched her
proudly displaying a body of pure 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 lance.
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 cockhead. 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. Chelinde in turn rubbed her hands
over Hal, cleaning 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 milk
white curves and the red roses tipping them.

There was a vicious sounding twang and zip from nearby. Hal glanced
around to see that one of the soldiers had accidentally fired his cross
bow in his excitement, the bolt sticking out of the straw littered dirt
floor only a few paces from the trough. But nobody seemed to care, not
the King, not even the Corporal. In fact it seemed as if there might
soon be some more accidental discharges amongst the watchers. None of
them said or did anything as Morgana knelt down in the trough, water
slopping around her waist, and put her hand with Chelinde's on the
boy's throbbing pride. 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 himself 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 legs 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 the boy's stiffness 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. Which she most surely was. Now they all
knew why a witch's familiar was so named.

It was the King who moved first. He bellowed, unbuckled his sword belt,
threw it aside and swayed forward like a bear untimely woken from
winter's sleep. He seized Chelinde first, from behind, kneading her
damp teats in his huge fingers, squashing them up with only the stiff
tips standing proud of the royal knuckles. 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 knelt before him, wild eyed, their fingernails
tugging at his cords with the same urgency. Out from behind the
loosened restraints came a cock that seemed as thick as Hal's wrist and
almost as long as one of Corporal Clint's overlength 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 snake 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
tupping!"

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
thick veined scepter 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
sized dick against Morgana's sex. Then she squealed and dropped down
hard on top of the royal battering ram as if stopping it from trying to
escape.

Her hips jerked up and down and she leaned forward on her arms again,
with a girl on each side of her,each girl holding onto one of Morgana's
large teats, keeping the bags of flesh steady for Argud to squeeze.
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 pitch black hair and thrust his hot
flesh between her cupid bow lips again. She sucked on it 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, bald
headed, large ears, green tinged eyes which glittered like iced moss in
sunlight, a squashed nose and lips that seemed more horn than flesh.
The small though wide shouldered figure leapt over the side of the
trough, landed neatly and sprang forward.

One thing about the goblin which was definitely a prominent feature was
the prick and balls it displayed, a prick rampant 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 hard on in
front bobbing up and down as short but hard 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 erection. He slapped her ass lightly
with both palms as if to let her know she was there, guided his bulging
shaft between Morgana's quivering crescents and then forced it deeply
between them. Air spurted around Hal's wet shaft as Morgana screamed
out in passion and Argud roared in satisfaction. He was so busy sucking
and chewing on Morgana's nipples that Hal wondered if the monarch had
even noticed he was sharing his feast with uninvited guests.

Then the boy yelped with his own uncontrollable pleasure as he spurted
into Morgana's mouth, making her splutter as droplets of white fluid
rolled down the witch's chin. Chelinde put her arm across the top of
Morgana's neck and began licking the spilt 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 organ and lapped at it with her tongue. All three of the
females seemed to be mad 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 equal 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 hadn't. A group of them were standing within arm's
length of Hal, eyes and knobs bulging at what were witnessing. 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
throw 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
convenient fucking positions. The rest of the guards saw what was
happening and rushed to join the queues. 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 a long 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 East Wood 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 thrice, 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 seed into
Morgana's body. He gasped even more loudly as Hal hit him behind the
ear with the sword handle, but only once. 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
threaten Hal. 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 fire in the trough mingled with the water and turned much of
it 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 coming from
it beforehand and simply followed the gap in the steam cloud. Or at
least he would have if Morgana didn't seem to be taking so long to get
moving.

"Hurry up, you dozy 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 now slack prick 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,
jumping and being forced along by the splintered end of Morgana's
broomstick jabbing at her bum. It suddenly occurred to Hal that when he
grew up and started getting drunk at taverns he'd have at least one
good story to tell in his cups.

"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 out of the dragon's
shed: half a dozen warriors inside were now visible, their breeches
around their knees and all of them frantically jerking themselves off.

"Huh", Morgana snorted as she swung her bare legs astride the
broomstick. "I always did say 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 high sun. The King was berserker
angry, the dragon was spiraling upwards towing the naked witch on her
broomstick and an equally naked group of two girls, one boy and a
goblin ran for their lives towards Giant's Pass castle.

Will Spearshaker was still sitting by the moat, stinking, scorched and
sour at life as he watched the passersby without 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 make
him do it. 


THE END

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