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

By

David Shaw
david@f-e-mail.com

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

Lightning can strike twice -- even in an orgy

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

"Master."

Hal didn't want to hear the voice. He didn't want anything to intrude
on whatever level of life he was now floating on. Eyes closed, a bed of
unbelievable softness underneath him, the distant but comforting sounds
of Josephine's claws scratching on the dirt floor -- and, best of all,
the utterly satisfying feeling of having had his seed thoroughly
drained out of his balls by the expert mouth of a beautiful woman.

"Master."

He was experiencing a feeling he'd never known before -- complete and
total happiness wrapped up in warm shroud of satisfaction. Or perhaps
it was a feeling of complete and total satisfaction wrapped up in a
warm shroud of happiness. Whichever it was, and wherever Hal was
between waking and sleeping, the one thing he was sure of was that he
didn't want to be disturbed.

"Master!"

There was a tone of sharpness in the witch's voice at the third word
which Hal's sense of self preservation could no longer ignore. His
eyelids parted to see the bright bars of light poking down through the
dusty rafters from chinks in the roof of the dragon shed. The sun was
no longer new born; now it was a full of shining vigor. Unlike Hal, who
was fully aware that the one certain thing the coming day did not hold
for him was any further peace and quiet. And even in his previous state
of content distant voices had been calling out to him in anguish.

"Morgana, there are things we must do."

"Of course there are, master. I let you rest so you would be ready for
the ceremony in your body, but calm in mind. Now you must collect some
of your dragon's sweat to take with you."

"It's not that simple. We must talk about something."

"What is this 'something'?"

Hal stared at the smooth lines of the witch's body under her tight
fitting leather clothes. The notion of any woman venturing out of doors
wearing such immodest attire was still incredible to him. But perhaps
no more than the idea of any woman at all calling him her master. Even
one who said the word as if she was spitting out a piece of rotten
meat.

"The prison tower. The prisoners that Agrud keeps in it. I mean, the
prisoners he used to keep in it.  No, I mean the prisoners that are
there because Agrud put them there when he was king."

Morgana's finely drawn features crinkled in vague amusement at the
boy's tongue tied awkwardness: the kind of amusement a cat enjoys with
a mouse trapped underneath its paw.

"What of them?"

"They must be released and cared for."

"Why, master?"

"Because . . ." Hal found it difficult to find words for something
which was so obvious it shouldn't require any explanation. "Because
Agrud no longer rules here and there is no need to continue his
cruelty. Let them out and let them be comforted."

Morgana shrugged her shoulders -- broad shoulders, for all the
suppleness of her body: "If you wish, master, but not today. The
ceremony must needs be held today."

Hal gritted his teeth, remembering the stench that hung around the
prison keep and trying to imagine what it must be like to exist in such
a place.

"You say you promised to obey me, you call me master. Then do as I bid
you."

The witch shook her head: "No, you do not remember all that was said.
In matters of sorcery you are my apprentice and do as I say. The
ceremony to strip Gaunt Gregory of his powers must be held today and
all other matters are subordinate to that great matter. The prisoners
will stay where they are for the present. Come, arise and to your
task."

Hal lifted his upper body to obey -- then stopped in mid movement as
another thought came into his mind. Part and parcel of his first words,
two impulses somehow linked together in his mind while he was half
asleep, and only now had the second one been snagged and dragged out as
the first was unfolded in his speech.

"No, wait, the two things are connected."

"What do you mean?"

"The ceremony with the women. Where have you planned to hold it?"

"Inside the castle tower which was Gregory's quarters," she answered.
"Why?"

Hal sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through his tangled
hair.

"Witch, think about what you want me to do. To gather together the
dozen most desirable women in the castle and treat them like camp
following whores. Can you imagine what their fathers, brothers and
husbands will do once they have any inkling about the sort of magic you
want me to help you perform? You may think yourself in no danger of
being harmed because of who and what you are, but I'm still only Hal
the shit bucket boy to these people. Turn your back on me for a minute
and without your protection I'll be at the bottom of the moat with more
knifes in me than the castle armory. If we must have this ceremony
there needs to be some discretion in the arranging of it."

The witch folded her arms with the air of a tavern mistress ready to
deal with a brain befuddled drunk: "And you have found such a pathway
to discretion, Duke Merlin?"

The tone was tinged with unconcealed sarcasm but Hal cared not, for
everything had suddenly fallen into place in his mind like the pieces
in a winning chess game.

"Yes. Or at least the path to the Devil's Arsehole."

He saw Morgana's brows furrow in puzzlement.

"It's a cave, in the forest, about a league and a half from the castle.
If you go deep into it, without getting lost in the different turns
underground, there's a place where hot mud and water come bubbling up.
 From somewhere deep in the ground. And the water and the mud are
supposed to be good cures for all ills. The mud to lie in and the
waters to drink. But it's a difficult place to get into and only the
rich and the brave dare go inside."

"Why so?"

"Because there are many false turns and because, as you go further in
and the air grows warmer, the mould on the sides of the caves gets
thicker and many poisonous spiders live in it. But the real problem is
the darkness. Or perhaps I should say the real problem is the damp air
inside the cave which puts out torches made of wood. The only way to
light your way inside the Devil's Arsehole is with a wax candle inside
a glass lantern. Things that only the rich can afford to use. And,
sometimes, even such lanterns will go out and not relight in the
dampness. Which leaves any travellers lost in the dark with only the
red eyes of thousands of spiders to show the way."

"So nobody goes there, then?" the witch asked, apparently interested.

"A few only, seeking whatever good the mud and water within might do
them, though only if they be desperate, or perhaps so ill they no
longer value their lives much anyway. Years ago three brothers began a
business by bringing out the mud in wicker back packs to sell to the
sick and elderly. The Gulburton brothers they were called and they
thought to make themselves so familiar with the all the turns and
trails of the cave that they could never get lost, even without any
torches and candles."

"And did they?"

Hal shrugged: "I think not. At any rate they all went into the Devil's
Arsehole one day and never came out again. Nobody knows what happened
to them."

Morgana chuckled: "I daresay the castle ladies would need to be driven
with whips to persuade them to venture inside such a place."

Hal tugged nervously at his fingers. He was unused to playing the
advocate, especially for his own ideas. Until  yesterday he'd never
been important enough to have ideas.

"That depends on your powers, Morgana. If you could provide them with
light enough for the journey and led the women in yourself, promising
to protect them from all harm or any danger of getting lost . . . well
then, they might come along peacefully enough. But no mention of any
ceremony, not to them or to any of their menfolk. Give the women
buckets and shoulder yokes and tell them you want mud brought from
inside the cave to help ease the pains of the released prisoners. Tell
them it is my command."

He was surprised to hear Morgana chuckle; even more surprised to see
what looked like a flicker of respect on her face.

"Well, who could believe that a lowly castle valet could be so tricky?
But why should women be used for such a job when surely the men of the
castle could carry heavier loads?"

"By Odin's sword, are you not a witch, a sorceress, a magician powerful
enough to make all tremble? Tell the silly bitches you're going to use
spells that no man must witness, tell them you don't want their
delicate eyes offended by the sight of dirty and naked inmates being
carried from the Prison Tower. Tell them whatever fancy comes to your
mind, it matters naught. You'll be believed instantly and obeyed
without question. Provided only you can find a way to light up the
caves."

The witch smiled: "That is an easy enough task I warrant, Master. Can
this cave be reached by a cart?"

"The high born ladies of the kingdom can't be seen riding in a cart,"
Hal protested. "It would humiliate them beyond all measure before the
serfs."

"The cart is only for the mud to come back in. And to carry those
buckets you speak of. The women may ride their palfries if they wish.
But is there track enough for oxen and a cart?"

"Yes, there's a good enough track. An hour's journey from the castle
should suffice."

"Then all that needs to be done is for you to travel to the cave and
wait for us to arrive. I shall summon Ymir to guide you to a place
inside the cave where I shall bring the women to you."

"Ymir? I'm to go into the Devil's Arsehole with your familiar to
protect me from the dangers within? Perhaps the Gulburtons will soon
have some company wherever they are because I'm sure Ymir hates me."

Morgana's eyes were as distant and cold as the stars on midwinter
night.

"So do I, Hal O'The Shitbuckets, never doubt it. Calling a half grown
boy my master sticks in my throat like a bundle of dry fish bones. But
we all serve the Great Ones and none of us dare disobey their commands.
Ymir will keep you safe. And forget not your vial of dragon sweat, no
matter what. That is my order to you as my apprentice in sorcery."

"Yes, witch."

"And best leave your warlock's gown here. It would be lacking in
respect to your craft to wear formal dress in such a place as you
describe to me."

"Yes, witch."

With his heart filled with apprehension Hal began his duties for this
strangest of days by laying out the dragon riding nets ready for his
journey to the cave entrance.

If there had been any clouds in the sky at dawn Hal could not remember
seeing them. And if there had been any since, they were gone now. The
sky arching over the tops of the trees was a unmarked mantle of blue.
There were traces of white visible though, along the upper flanks of
the mountains where patches of snow struggled for existence under the
sun's noonday power. From Josephine's belly net the views across the
forest and out to the mountains had been more beautiful than Hal could
ever remember.

Probably because he'd never looked at the scenery of Giant's Pass
before with any notion of one day perhaps being free to roam wherever
he wanted over it. Yesterday he had been a slave who carried shit
buckets, today he was in thrall to a witch, but perhaps soon he would
be free to soar with Josephine up to the tops of those mountains, to
breathe the crisp high air and walk with Chelinde and Caelia amongst
the glittering white patches of the fading snowline. Or better still .
. . Hal had a inspiring vision of  reaching out a hand to drop a
snowball down Mary Gorlas's ample cleavage and suddenly felt better.
Until his eyes turned again to the reeking entrance of the Devil's
Arsehole.

Oh, wonderful! The grass was green, the air was sparkling, his stomach
was full of good food, he was clean  and Josephine frolicsome. What a
day to fly to the very peaks. And where was he to go instead? Into that
foul dungeon of a cavern where so many who went in never came out. On
the other hand -- on the other hand he knew very well what would happen
to him if the men of the nobility ever suspected him of tupping their
fine ladies. Having his balls cut of and fried in front of his eyes
would be the least of their revenge.

Josephine flung up her head, the flashing red stripes along her neck
sounding a warning. Hal squinted up at the two black dots circling
overhead which had suddenly spoilt the sky's pristine perfection. Then
the high flying objects plunged together, dropping towards the clearing
beside the pile of boulders which marked the entrance to the cave. It
seemed as if they were racing towards the ground, seeing which one of
them could reach it first, Ymir the shape changer in his guise as a
hawk, his wings half folded, and Morgana astride her broom, handle up
and twigs down, her knees bent as if jumping down a hayrick instead of
dropping from half a league aloft like a plunging arrow. Josephine's
colors turned to an optimistic shade of green and Hal knew exactly what
was going on in the dragon's mind: a keen hope that both witch and
familiar would slam themselves into the grass -- or better yet, the
boulders -- with killing speed.

It didn't happen. Ymir used the falcon's shape as skillfully as any
true hatched member of the wild's most gifted fliers. Wings flung open,
the speed of the fall somehow converted into a short, steep climb, a
second where the falcon hung in the air level with the bottom branches
of the nearest tree, a flutter of wing tips and the familiar passed out
of sight by diving straight into the cave's dark entrance. It was an
impressive performance but not nearly as impressive as the witch's fall
to earth.

She was just low enough for Hal to begin taking a interested look at
her leather bound legs when a sound like a chorus of fast beaten war
drums sounded, blasts of hot air slapped against Hal's face  and a
circle of grass three paces across directly below the falling witch
turned red, flared up, then blew outwards in an expanding ring of fine
ash. Hal coughed, shut his eyes against the particles of fine dust and
wiped his eyelids with his hands. When he opened them again Morgana was
standing in the burnt circle, those lust creating legs opened wide
enough for the broom to fly out from between them and then hang level
like a patient horse waiting to be mounted again.

Hal grunted in surprise and rubbed fragments of ash between his
fingertips. He remembered how carts being eased downhill with their
brakes jammed on became hot at the wooden brake blocks and along the
edges of the restrained wheels. Had something like that happened here,
with the falling weight of Morgana's body somehow being turned  into
noise and heat so she could land safely?

Oh, the idea of his ever becoming a magician was ridiculous. Every time
he saw magic performed he gained no insight into how it was done, only
a childish desire to ask endless questions.

"So, master, you have the dragon sweat ready?"

Hal held up the glass vial she had given him, handling it with the care
such a rare piece of craftsmanship deserved, showing the clear fluid
inside to Morgana. Then he wrapped the vial up again inside a piece of
sheepskin and stowed it away in the drawbag slung around his neck.

"Your dragon had best depart now. Has she enough sense to return here
when the evening shadows are long, if you so bid her?"

"She is no dog, to be needs taught tricks," Hal answered sullenly. "She
lives and thinks as do you or I. Speaking to her with my hands is as
easy as speaking to anybody else with my tongue."

He passed on Morgana's instructions to Josephine, to be answered with
green and yellow patches of understanding, mixed with purple patches
showing indignation and unhappiness. The dragon was in just as surly a
mood as the boy at having to take orders from the witch. Hal nodded in
agreement, then shrugged his shoulders. Josephine took one final
baleful look at Morgana before she leapt into the air as spritely as a
frog off a lily pad, flapped her wings twice thrice, and then wheeled
away on their outstretched length.

"Something amiss with your girlfriend, boy?" the witch asked, a sneer
in her tone. Hal realized that there were some movements in his dragon
body language which were no secret to any human onlooker.

"Only that she regrets not having burnt your tits off while she had a
chance."

Morgana smiled more openly: "Don't be stupid, Master. You can't kill
witches that way."

"You can't?"

"Of course not. When did you ever hear anybody say the weather was as
hot as a witch's tits. Ha, ha!"

Hal looked at her slantwise: "Come to think of it, I've never heard
anybody say that a joke was as good as a witch's jokes. Now I know
why."

Morgana's very appealing lips snapped shut as tightly and quickly as a
sprung bear trap.

"Into the cave, please. As quickly as you like, Ymir is waiting."

"How am I supposed to see where I'm going?"

"Look into the hole and see the shadows being cast inside. Ymir has
taken the shape of a giant glow worm. All you have to do is to follow
him."

"A giant glow worm . . . right. You couldn't just give me a magic
lantern or something?"

"There is no need, my familiar will see you safe. Now leave, quickly,
before the women get here."

Hal took a final breath of crisp fresh air and walked boldly into the
cave. At least he hoped he looked bold: going underground with no
companion save an oversized worm was an event he hadn't anticipated and
didn't relish at all. Five heart beats later he leapt out of the cave,
skipping over the litter of fallen rocks as if the Christian Devil
himself had been waiting in the gloom to drive a red hot spear into his
backside.

"Morgana! Inside . . ." He struggled for breath. "Legs! Claws! Fria und
Odin!"

"Legs, master?"

"A dozen of them! There's a cockroach as big as a hound in there!"

Morgana shook her head in open despair at her pupil's stupidity:
"Master, didn't you know that glow worms are really beetles with shiny
patches on their backs?"

"What?"

"Glow worms are not really worms -- they are not worms." The witch
seemed to be trying to speak through clenched but perfectly white
teeth. "Glow worms are beetles. Luminous beetles. So Ymir has taken the
shape of a beetle; not a worm, nor yet a cockroach, but a beetle. A
perfectly harmless beetle. Now will you please follow him and stop
wasting our time?"

Hal swallowed a mouthful of the mountain air as if it were a lump of
stone and gripped his hands together to stop them trembling.

"Oh, sure, I'd love to. There's nothing I'd rather do than crawl into
the Devil's Arsehole with a bloody big beetle for company."

"This was all your idea, remember? And if you think to see nothing
worse than Ymir as an apprentice magician, you have much to learn,
young Hal."

The boy struggled to make light if his panic. If the witch could joke,
then so could he.

"Call me master when you're calling me an idiot."

"Yes, master."

She bit the words off as if  they were rats and she was a terrier
breaking their backs. Hal had a sudden flash of memory, of the streaks
of shit on King Agrud's royal rump as he staggered away from his castle
with smoldering stumps where his hands had been. By Loki's drawers, he
must be mad to be playing the fool with this woman!

"I'm sorry, Morgana, I was just startled, that's all. Now I know what
to expect I'll get on with it."

He crept cautiously back into the cavern entrance, back into the gloom
and towards the glowing patch where a green glow threw a ring around
the cave's interior, casting strange shadows amongst the overhead
rocks, the almost circular walls and the sandy floor. Though none of
the shadows were anywhere near as strange as the humped and glowing
wing case standing nearly as  high as Hal's knees and supported on
several pairs of hairy, many jointed  legs. Legs that were moving up
and down the gigantic beetle's body in a sort of ripple effect, as if
they were all taking turns to stamp down on the sand with impatience.

Hal cleared his throat and spoke: "Uh, sorry, Ymir, you took me by
surprise. I'm ready now, though."

The words came bouncing back at his ears from different directions,
somehow louder and much distorted in the humid air. Much more
disturbingly, tiny red eyes were beginning to appear in the surrounding
darkness like embers carried out of a bonfire on a strong wind. Ymir
scuttled forward, Hal said a rude word and had to rush forward to keep
up with the familiar.

"Slower, slower, or I'll fall over on these rocks."

If the beetle slowed, it wasn't by much. Which wasn't surprising. Ymir
was probably still bearing a grudge for being dropped into the turd
filled moat.

"Hey, Ymir, if I break a leg I won't be able to perform at this
ceremony the way that Morgana wants me to."

That line of argument seemed more successful. The beetle's pace
dropped, although the sarcasm evident in the deliberate movement of
each pair of legs was obvious. Of all the humiliating things that Hal
thought might happen to him in his life, it had never occurred to him
that one of them might be having the piss taken out of him by an
insect. Still, there were worse fates than that around: just ask the
Gulburton brothers.

Hal only hoped he wouldn't have any such chance. He kept glancing over
his shoulder, afraid that three skeletons with backpacks of rotting
wickerwork might be tiptoeing up behind him. But there was nothing
except the dwindling circle of sunlight at the cave's entrance, quickly
lost from sight as Ymir came to a junction in the passageway and turned
left. Now there was only the light cast by the beetle on the
surrounding walls and a roof which came lower and lower as they moved
onwards. Underfoot, more and bigger rocks appeared and the sand became
wetter, oozing out from underneath Hal's sandals.

Another turn, and then another, the cave growing ever smaller, the air
becoming as hot as the castle kitchen with every spit roasting, as damp
as rising fog, and smelling of exactly the kind of smell your nose
would expect to find in a place called the Devil's Arsehole.

"Oh, yes, very romantic," Hal muttered in self scorn under his breath.
"What a wonderful place this is for a lovers'  rendezvous. I chose
really well here, didn't I?"

The beetle suddenly stopped, its stag like antenna poking out over the
edge of a pool of pitch black water. It was as if a puppy had pushed
its nose into a bed of stinging nettles and didn't know which way to
turn next. Some measure of pleasure came back to the boy.

"Go on then, you clever little bastard, show me how well a beetle can
swim."

Ymir turned left, walked up the wall with a clatter of claws, hung
upside from the top of the cavern and walked forward again as easily as
he had done down on the ground.

"Fuck you, Ymir," Hal said in disgust and waded into the water.

It was like stepping into a slab of polished black marble: at least,
until the ripples from his movements began to disturb the absolutely
smooth serface of the pool. He was wet to the top of his thighs when he
came out the other side. Ymir continued to show his contempt for the
human's clumsy steps by keeping to the cave's roof as he moved on. At
least it was easier to see the way with the light above Hal's head;
what he didn't enjoy was noting how many more of those glittering red
eyes were lurking in the patches of moss growing on either side of the
cave. Fria und Odin, there were more spiders here than ants in a nest!

If walking along this pathway without a light was what the Gulburton
brothers had been willing to do to make some quick florins, they
deserved every penny of whatever they'd earned before fate foreclosed
on their borrowed luck. Hal wouldn't have come back into this cave a
second time for a backpack of gold coins, let alone one filled only
with medicinal mud.

More turns, more pools, two of them, the second up to his waist again,
another turn . . .  Hodur, god of darkness, he'd never be able to find
his way out of here on his own now. Then ahead, two or three steps
further on, there was a pile of boulders, with a trickle of water
running over the top and down the front of the lowest of them. The
rocks made a barrier right across the width of the cave and came up to
Hal's chest. The thing which immediately caught his eye was the grove
worn into the top of the rock by the gentle runnel of  water -- this
wasn't the wear of years, this was a mark left by passing centuries.

Ymir passed over the barrier of the rocks, dipping up and down as his
beetle shape crossed the gap in the roof the boulders must have dropped
out of, so long ago that perhaps giants had still walked in these
mountains when the fall had happened.

Then the familiar stopped, illuminating a rough dome shaped section of
cavern overhead. A myriad of other lights sprang up around the glowing
wing case, but not spider's eyes, not these. Blue, green, yellow, from
the size of a fist down to a tiny speckling, all different kinds of
minerals or precious stones which caught the faintest of  light and
returned each ray brightly burnished in a shiny new color. It was like
looking up into a cloudless night sky filled with a mass of many hued
stars. And it was a beautiful sight.

Hal could have stood and stared with his mouth hanging open a lot
longer than he did. He would have done so except that the beetle's legs
began dancing with impatience again.

"All right, all right, I'm coming."

He splashed into the puddle at the bottom of the rocky barrier and
found several projecting ledges where he could place his hands and
feet. One step up and Hal was looking out over a circular pool trapped
between the barrier of fallen rocks and the wall which marked the end
of the tunnel. Perhaps ten paces across and as dark as the other pools
he'd crossed, but not as smooth, because there seemed to be some kind
of disturbance in the middle of this one, where every few seconds a
bubble or two would emerge and break, sending out a hatching of ruffled
water. That must be were the spring water came up, still hot, for wisps
of vapor hung above the pool. And all around the water's edges was a
ring of mud, as black as the water itself and only distinguishable by
the lack of tiny ripples which the breaking bubbles threw out.

Obviously, the trickle of rising water had been bringing up silt since
time out of mind, silt which had settled down as the mud deposits while
the water itself had continually escaped over and down  the rocks he
was standing on. Hal leaned forward and cautiously put the tip of his
finger into the mud pressed up against the barrier. It was not cold,
not hot. He reached out further and dabbed just as cautiously at the
edge of the pool: the water was warmer, as warm as milk straight out of
a cow's teats. Overhead, the glowing beetle was hanging like a full
moon, a moon which was still quivering with impatience.

"All right, I'm still coming. Watch me!"

Hal undid his jerkin, his shirt, and took them off. Then his sandals
and breeks. Wrapping all together, he added the drawbag from around his
neck and used the cord to secure the bundle. Then he carefully eased
his naked body over the rocks and into the mud. An exploring foot found
a shallow rocky bottom on which he easily stood, his knees about on a
level with the top of the mud. Which was fine, though taking a step
forward set Hal waving his arms to keep his balance.

"Fria!" he grunted, in fear of falling over.

The beetle walked down the wall, stopping just above the mudbank on the
far side of the pool. It was clear that Ymir was showing the boy where
he was to wait for the women. A goal easier indicated than reached, at
least for somebody handicapped by a human body.

Hal struggled to keep steady on his feet as he moved forward. He felt
happier as he reached the water and the top of the pool rose up above
his waist to his chest. Now he had something to help him keep upright.
Which was fine until the water was almost level with his shoulders
while his legs were still half buried in the mud. It was impossible to
make progress through such a morass by walking.

Fortunately, he could swim, after a fashion, a few desperate strokes
with his arms as he dragged his legs free and let them trail behind
him, until he was across the pool and sprawled out on his stomach on
the mudbank at the end of the cave. Hal felt like a spawning eel trying
to crawl along a riverbank past a blocking weir. And even land bound
eels didn't have the problem of dragging a bundle with them. His scraps
of clothing were now no more than a tangle of mud plastered rags,
dirtier even than when he'd worn them whilst emptying the castle shit
pots.

Grunting with the effort Hal crawled forward on his hands and knees,
his fingers spread out wide to keep them as much as possible from
sinking into the mud under his weight. Luckily, the rocky edge at the
back of the cave was only a pace or two away and he was soon able to
haul himself onto it, though his arm and leg muscles had to work hard
to break free of the mud.

In fact a lot of it came with him, stuck to his body, and with no clean
water within reach to wash it off with. Furthermore, it wasn't the kind
of mud he was used to, the usual clumpy admixture of water and earth.
This cave mud had no lumps in it at all, it was as smooth and
consistent as a bowl of rich man's porridge, only black instead of
white. And, like the pool water, it smelt of sulphur but not strongly
enough to be an irritant. Yet, with his bare buttocks trying to find
somewhere comfortable on the stone ledge, and almost all of the rest of
his body plastered with the gooey mud, Hal was having trouble in
believing that this place was at all healthy -- except perhaps for a
boy who needed a totally secure tupping place.

And even that idea dwindled as rapidly as the overhead light when Ymir
suddenly spun around and scampered back up the tunnel roof in a rustle
of legs, leaving the pool and the surrounding walls in the dark. Dark!
What was left behind wasn't any kind of normal darkness, it was as
black as the bottom of  a filled grave, a suffocating blackness so
complete it filled Hal's eyes, his ears, even his mouth as he bellowed
out in shock.

"What the fuck! Come back here, Ymir, you little bastard!"

Nothing, no answer, no response, only the memory of a last quenched out
flicker of light as the beetle shot around a far bend of the tunnel
like a hunted hare dodging a close running hound.

"Oh shit! Oh, Fria!" Hal wailed.

It had never crossed his mind that Ymir would leave him down here in
the bottom of the Devil's Arsehole. But within a quarter of the time it
took for a snowflake to melt in a fire it occurred to him that the
witch had found an excellent way of ridding herself of an unwanted
Master. And he'd been the fool who had made it so easy for her. A mouse
who had walked up to a cat and bitten its nose would have been smarter
than Hal had been.

"Oh, fuck!"

Oh, fuck indeed.

Here was a tale indeed to take to the halls of the dead. Hal imagined
himself standing on a high stage, looking out over an audience of faces
extending to the very edge of infinity, the face of every person who
had ever lived and died, and having to explain to them the details of
his own demise.

'Well, there was this witch who had to do everything I told her to. And
she wanted me to fuck a whole lot of the best looking women in a castle
to cast some spells, and we were going to do it inside a magician's
tower where their menfolk wouldn't dare enter. But I had a better plan,
and it worked out so well I ended up dying of starvation in the bottom
of a cave without even being able to see a single ray of light, let
alone a woman.'

Odin himself would fall off his throne laughing at such a tale --
nobody had ever been such an idiot before, not even Hagar the Hungless,
who'd drunk so much ale one night he'd gone to sleep in the pig pen and
woke up at daybreak to find himself lying in a pool of bloody ice. Aye,
and with his cock at the other end of the pen being chewed between the
teeth of his biggest sow. But on a measure of stupidity Hagar's mishap
didn't even weigh in as a grain of wheat compared to the orders that
Hal had given Morgana. From now on, whenever the name of  Merlin was
mentioned amongst wizards and warlocks they would all piss themselves
laughing at the memory of the stupidest apprentice ever to don a
magician's gown. There was no way, no way at all that things could be
worse than they were.

And just as he thought so, Hal's cock hardened, stiffened and reared up
like a knight's lance being raised aloft at a joust.

"Fria, please, no. Not that, not now."

Hal's fingers tore open the top of his bag and felt inside. They found
the vial, but not the cork which should have been stoppering the end of
it. Somehow it had come loose as he'd been fighting his way across the
pool and all the dragon sweat had leaked out. Leaked out into the
sheepskin wrapping, through the sheepskin and the bag and into the
pool. Where his body had touched it as he'd floundered through the
water. Which was why he was now entering a state of raging arousal with
no means of satisfying it except the one means at hand --  his own
hand. A relief he would have to use over and over again every time he
attempted to cross the pool.

So now he couldn't even die peacefully of starvation. He couldn't even
talk in the afterlife of being tricked into death by a witch. No, what
Hal was going to have to confess to the assembled multitudes in
eternity that he was the first male ever to masturbate himself off the
mortal coil. The first case ever of a boy who beat himself to death
with his own club. He, Duke Merlin, Hal O'The Shitbuckets, was going to
be entered into Heaven's Roll as the biggest wanker of all time. In a
Valhalla full of heroes who had fallen on their swords, he was going to
be renowned as the numb nut who committed suicide by pulling on his
prick. Great!

Hal stared into the complete curtain of surrounding blackness, sighed,
and spoke to himself: "Well, if I do go blind, at least it won't matter
now."

But what he was really pissed off about was that he hadn't given Mary
Gorlas a good seeing to when he'd had the chance. Oh Odin, the sight of
her huge tits falling out of her torn dress and the feel of them in his
hands. If only he'd known he was going to die next day he'd have had
her there and then. . . Hal's fingers worked against his tightly drawn
shaft as he dreamed about what might have been. If only he could be
there in the hall again, he'd sit down on the King's own high chair
with Mary impaled on his lap, shaking her fat bum at all the assembled
aristocrats and her gigantic teats bouncing in his face . . .

Or if he'd known how to work that levitation spell properly, like
Morgana could, he'd have arranged Mary floating at waist height, face
down and  hanging onto the edge of the table as he took her from behind
with her udders swinging around underneath every which way . . . Oh
Gods! What a chance he'd missed!

Somewhere in the back of Hal's mind a voice spoke, small but clear.
Hadn't Morgana said something about him being responsible for lifting
Mary off the floor? That somehow he'd been able to expand and use the
levitation spell that Morgana had created? And hadn't she insisted that
he had the makings of being a great magician -- could there be any
truth at all in that? Or had she just been totally bullshitting him?

And what about all her words about sex and magic being connected?
Certainly, he was in no position to do any fucking right now but if
just thinking about sex was any help the dragon sweat certainly had him
in the right frame of mind. Was there any chance of maybe using magic
to help himself in this situation. And, if there was, what did he want?

That was easy, what he really wanted a female to fuck. But creating a
girl out of thin air was probably not the sort of thing he should try
for his first attempt at magic. Even if he could do it, you wouldn't
want to stick your cock into the first result, not in the dark without
any idea of what you'd actually made. Even Hagar the Hungless's sow
might be a sexy good looker in comparison.

No, light of some kind. That was what he most needed, here and now.
Wasn't what that one of the things the Christian monks used to read
from their book? Yes, that was it, that was one of their sayings, 'let
there be light'. And their god was called Jesus Christ, so maybe Hal
should pray to him as he tried to make light.

But how to do that? Especially as he couldn't stop wanking himself off
and his mind was full of pictures of a gasping, shrieking Mary Gorlas.

All right, he was tupping Mary, and she was on her back on the dining
hall in the great hall and a brilliantly strong light was shining down
into the hall -- the roof had disappeared, a summer sun was directly
overhead, not a cloud in the sky, the sun was getting bigger, getting
closer, the rays were pouring down, filling the room with a light that
was so bright, brighter than anybody had ever seen, as bright as the
rainbow bridge that led to the home of the Gods . . .

There was a kind of a popping noise and a big fat spark shot out from
the slit of Hal's straining prick, hit the tunnel roof, bounced off it,
hit the cavern wall, shot away like a falling star, hit the opposite
wall, flew off again at a crazy angle, slammed down into the pool and
disappeared in a puff of steam.

"Jesus Christ!" Hal gasped. The shock had been so complete that for
that second he'd even forgotten about Mary Gorlas's body.

He realized immediately that it was a turning point in his life. For
the first time ever, Hal had totally impressed himself by his own
abilities. After all, there he was, only an ordinary shit pot cleaner,
and it turned out that all the time he'd had some kind of a raging
thunderstorm swinging around between his legs.

What about those nights at the tavern when Karl the Head House Carl had
filled himself up with ale and proved it by bending over in front of a
candle and letting loose a fart which burst into a jet of flame? Hadn't
he impressed the shit out of everybody? By Odin, the next time he tried
it Hal would laugh, pull out his cock and jerk off a shower of sparks
to go flying around the taproom. That would leave high and mighty Karl
with his breeks and his jaw hanging down. Hal might only be a poor serf
but what was being poor when you had more lightning in your donger than
Thor had in his hammer? If that wasn't a trick that got you invited to
parties, what would? And wait until he showed Josephine, she'd go white
and orange spots with laughing at a human coming it the flame throwing
dragon!

But, impressive as it was, a single spark wasn't going to get him out
of the Devil's Arsehole. He needed something different. So what by
Fria's skirts could he do now to create a sustained light. Think of a
girl, think of fucking her, think of light. But maybe a different girl
-- or girls. Maybe two cunts were better than one . . . the riding net,
with Chelinde and Caelia.

Which one had he had first -- Caelia, that was right, jammed in between
him and the dragon's belly, with Chelinde scratching his balls as he
rammed her sister. Oh, Fria, it had been so good, as good as being a
god himself. The sky, the sun, the suns, all around the dragon, all
beaming so brightly as he fucked Caelia, all lighting up every strand
of her hair, every freckle, reflecting back from her eyes. . .

A pearl of glittering light popped out of his cock this time, an tiny
incandescent pearl which floated upwards as lightly and erratically as
a butterfly. But as small as it was, it lit up the mud ring and the
nearer part of the pool water. Overhead, the blackness became speckled
again from the minerals reflecting in the rising light.

"That must be what they call ball lightning," Hal giggled, as near his
wit's ends as any village idiot. And then the drifting bead of light
winked out like a closing eye.

"Oh, shit!"

This was no good. He needed something which would glow like a candle
long enough to crawl out of this stinking cave -- and if ever he did,
he'd be into Josephine's riding nets and away over the mountains
quicker than a fiddler's elbow playing at a wedding. But not until he'd
fucked Dairy Mary Gorlas first. Hal seized his cock even more firmly
and then found himself distracted even from the pressing need for self
release by something impossible. For he could hear voices singing --
female voices!

By the Gods, the Valkyries themselves were coming to bear him up to
Valhalla and singing a chorus of heavenly music as they arrived.

"We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig in a cave the whole day through
To dig dig dig dig dig dig dig is what we like to do."

Huh! This was the sort of song the Gods sang?

No, of course not. There was one dominating voice pitched pure and
clear above the others and Hal  was certain it was Morgana's. She was
leading the women into the cave and encouraging them to sing to keep up
their spirits. But where she'd learnt the song, the Gods alone knew --
certainly Hal had never heard anything like it sung in these parts. But
it had a nice tune to it. And Hal had spent enough time working around
high born females' apartments to know that many of them, surprisingly,
had a rather wry sense of humor. Probably a necessary survival trait
because even the worst of the aristocratic dames and damsels didn't
seem to deserve the sort of so called noblemen they had to live with.

Whatever, the approaching voices were singing along with Morgana as
lustily as the crowd following the ale cart back from the fields on the
last day of harvest gathering.

"It ain't no trick
To get mud quick
If you dig dig dig
With a shovel or a pick
In a cave (In a cave)
In a cave (In a cave)
Where we'll get what we crave."

Light was suddenly flooding the far bend of the cave and figures came
around it. Female figures, each carrying a yoke pole with wooden
buckets hanging from them. Each pole was also carrying something else
as well, halfway between each bucket rope and the shoulder yoke, and
that something was a glass lantern with a burning candle inside it. For
fuck's sake, all the effort he'd put into getting Morgana to give him
some magical means of lighting the cave and he'd never even thought to
just ask for a couple of top quality lanterns.

And what would Morgana do to him when she discovered he'd already spilt
the entire vial of dragon sweat? Even Hal's raging lust couldn't
entirely douse his fear about the answer to that question. Morgana was
likely to leave him underground and bound like Loki the fallen god,
with serpent's poison dripping into his face forever more.

And then Hal forget everything else as he saw how clear was each curved
silhouette between each pair of lanterns -- silhouettes with nothing on
to protect their naked charms from his gloating eyes. By the Gods, the
witch must have warned the gentlewomen against spoiling their fine
clothes in the mud and told them to them to strip off at the cave
entrance. And they'd done it!

"Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho
It's off to work we go."

Overhead, the colored stones above the pool began glittering again in
the approaching lights. So many women, so many lanterns that the cave
was filling up with light. And leading them, as completely naked as her
companions, was Morgana. But as desirable as her body might be, there
was something disconcerting about it this time. Perhaps because of the
tiny bubble of pure light which hung above her head and stayed in that
position, moving as she did. Even in his dragon sweat induced passion
Hal wondered if the witch had created the light in any way akin to his
own unexpected experiments.

"We dig up mudpies
By the score
A thousand shovel fulls,
Sometimes more
We don't know what we dig them for
We dig dig  . . ."

The voices trailed as Morgana stopped leading the song. The witch had
halted at the barrier of rock holding back the pool.

"Take the buckets off the yokes, ladies. Just reach out and take the
handles in your hands. And don't hesitate, no matter what happens
around you."

The woman standing behind Morgana was a sulky faced young wife called
Sirit Plunketburg. Her dark hair was piled high on top of her head and
hung down her back like a horse's tail, her tits were as perky and
pointed as brass candle snuffers, the black bush between her legs
matched her hair coloring and every hair was damp curled from the pools
she'd already waded through. But the most arousing thing about Mistress
Plunketburg was the way she screeched in alarm as she lifted the
buckets off her yoke and the ropes which had been supporting them
wrapped themselves around her wrists. Around and around, in a tangled
mass, as if each rope was trying to strangle itself , the buckets
falling with solid thumping noises to the cave floor. And when the
bucket ropes finally finished moving as well, both of Sirit's wrists
were securely tied up against the ends of the yoke pole still resting
on her shoulders.

In which matter, she had been served out exactly as all her companions
had been. All of them now had their outstretched arms lashed to their
shoulder poles. As wide eyed with fear and shock as if they'd been
suddenly goosed by the skeletons of the Gulburton brothers, and as
defenceless as orphaned lambs.

"Grrrr . . . " Hal's eyes were bulging almost as much as his cock at
the sight and sound of the women calling out for explanations.
Morgana's response was a snarl of anger.

"Be quiet, you bitches. You'll find out what's happening bye and bye."

She pointed to Plunketburg. "Step forward to these rocks, climb up them
and into the pool. Don't worry about your weight, just grab the ends of
your yoke and it will help lift you up."

By all the Gods, but the witch was right. Indeed, it was much as Hal
had already seen before, when Morgana had used her broken broomstick to
keep from drowning in the moat. Now the pole across Sirit's shoulders
seemed possessed of the same uplifting power, for as she held onto the
wooden ends the woman seemed able to step up over the pile of rocks as
if they scarcely more obstacle than a stairway.

Hal noted with great joy that the usual sneering expression on the
young wife's face had turned to one of astonishment and fear. But not
as astonished and afraid as she was going to be within seconds. And she
had no idea of all how much pleasure a certain hidden watcher gained
from watching Sirit being forced down by Morgana's remorseless hands
pressing on the wife's shoulder pole, which suddenly seemed to have
become as heavy as lead instead of lighter than air.

"Bend forward, face down and your knees on either side of the stream."

Mistress Plunketburg had no choice but to comply. She sprawled forward,
one cheek resting on the mud as she struggled to keep her nose and
mouth out of it, the thin trickle of water which ran over the rocky
barrier directly beneath her body, her knees deep in the mire on either
side of the tiny stream.

Hal's lungs felt as if they'd turned to stone and would never inhale
again as Morgana also knelt down, onto one knee, directly behind Sirit
Plunketburg. The witch dabbled her fingers in the clear water of the
stream. Then lifted them up into the light of the lanterns still
burning on the yoke.

"By the power invested in me by the Great Ones, I Morgana le Faye,
declare you a sister in this coven assembled under the auspices of
Actaeon, the horned one."

Morgana's damp fingers were up between Sirit's opened thighs, stroking
the lips of the noble born  female's sex as she cast her spell. There
was a faint spurt of mud from underneath Mistress Plunketburg's fallen
tresses as the woman made an involuntary shout out of her half buried
mouth.

"Until this coven dissolves, your duty as a sister is to think only of
men, of being pleasured by them and of pleasuring them in any way they
desire. You will think of nothing else, you will care for nothing else.
Walk into the pool and wait."

Hal felt like screeching himself as he fought like a demon to take his
hand off his cock until there should be female flesh ready to appease
it. But never in his life had he needed to struggle so hard, especially
when Sirit was lifted up by her yoke pole and then apparently pushed
forward into the water until she was up to her waist in it, black mud
still plastered on one cheek and her mouth hanging open. Whether by the
power of Morgana's incantations or by that of the dragon sweat spilt in
the pool, some kind of a strong mood had certainly been aroused in the
the woman's breast. In fact, in both her breasts, if the state of her
nipples were anything to judge by.

Probably it was fear of Morgana's likely reaction to anything which
would spoil the ceremony which enabled Hal to take his fingers away
from his shaft. Fear, and the fact that his body was no longer wet from
the pool water. And, perhaps above all, that he had to sense to close
his eyes as the rest of the women were each dealt with in the same way
by Morgana, as briskly and impersonally as a shepherd dosing a flock of
sheep. Time after time it happened, usually accompanied by feminine
cries of outrage, and Hal knew he could not have watched even one more
woman being inducted into the coven without sending a jet of spunk
shooting through the damp air.

Instead, he tried to find something else to think about and lit on the
inspired choice of the question of who was going to have to empty out
the castle shit pots now that the previous pot emptier had been
elevated to the rank of a resident magician. And since he was that
magician Hal could select anybody he liked to haul the turd receptacles
around, even one of the high class sons and squires who had made his
own life such a misery when he was the resident shit boy. The only
problem was in deciding which of the young arseholes most merited the
humiliation, and it was such an almost impossible yet pleasing puzzle
to solve that it nearly took Hal's mind off the squeals and cries
coming from the other side of the pool.

But no mortal male could hope to avert his eyes from such scenes for
long. And when Hal looked again the array of lanterns stretched across
the far side of the pool revealed a scene stranger than his eyes could
readily accept. Six naked women, standing waist deep in the black
depths of the pool, all with their faces streaked with mud and groaning
like cows with full udders waiting to be milked: an impression
compounded by a rank  of quivering tits. Small pointy ones, just right
for a handful ones, tits that hung down like overfilled saddlebags,
tits high borne and perky, big tits and a pair of monster sized tits
with Mary Gorlas standing behind them.

Just like the other women, her eyes were wide open and she was wailing
in despair, tugging in vain at the ropes at her wrist. Actions which
were perfectly understandable to Hal, knowing what mind tearing
frustration the females must be suffering because they couldn't use
their fingers to relieve the all enveloping lust whipped up by the
dragon sweat in the pool. If the witch's intention was to raise as much
excitement and frustrated desire in the coven as possible, she was
certainly going the right way about it.

Come to think of it, where was Morgana? And, come to think of it, since
the only light inside the cave was coming from the lamps the women had
brought in, where was Ymir? There was no sign of the shining beetle
now, so where . . .

Hal heard a strange chittering sound, echoed by another bouncing off
the cave walls, as if animals were calling to each other by gnashing
small sets of teeth. Two otters appeared on top of the fallen rocks,
both pure white, and both far bigger than any otters Hal had ever seen
before. They slithered down the rocks and ran across the mud without a
speck of it marring their pristine furs, then vanished into the dark
water. There was no doubt at all the creatures were Morgana and Ymir in
 more transformations.

For about a second Hal was completely puzzled, before he remembered
what Ymir had done to Morgana in Josephine's drinking trough. Could it
be  . . .

Maid Kendra Hundt, seventeen or so, betrothed to a knight from
Lyonesse, wide open blue eyes, a mass of blonde curls on her head, and
suddenly shrieking as if the pool water around her body had somehow
come to the boil. Arms dipping madly from side to side, head thrown
back, her body shuddering so violently that Kendra's neat little
plumpers were slapping against each other like applauding hands.

Hal might have been the first to realize what was happening, because
he'd seen it done before, but the white backs of the otters broke the
serface often enough for the other women to quickly realize that the
otters were positioned in front and behind Kendra. And if at first they
believed the animals were attacking the girl, they soon realized from
her rising cries of ecstasy that she was being tongued, not bitten.
Tongued very expertly in the warm water from both directions. Being
tongued and lifted to a state of passion Maid Kendra's Lyonesse lover
had never come with a giant's step of achieving for her.

As the watchers' understanding  of the situation developed a chorus of
feminine excitement and wails of envy echoed over the pool. Two of the
oldest, Rowena Aelfgar and Felice Oxhead, stepped back onto the mud
bank. Hal watched in a state of near disbelief as fat Felice dropped on
her back and spread her legs wide. Tall, slender Rowena knelt down,
bent forward from her waist, took her weight on her elbows and forearms
and crawled awkwardly over the prostrate body of Mistress Oxhead.
Within seconds Mistress Aelfgar's bottom was twitching frantically as
Felice licked her cunt and Rowena returned the favor between Felice's
thick thighs.

"Odin!"

Hal couldn't, just couldn't stop himself from putting his fingers on
his prick. His fingertips at least. Because as soon as they touched the
hot flesh sparks flew up and down the entire length from balls to head.

"Blood and fire .  .  . " His fingers were tingling as if he'd caught a
hard flung stone in them. "What the fuck?"

On the other side of the pool the otters had emerged to nip at Felice
and Rowena's toes, biting hard enough to draw blood and to force the
women to stand up and apart again. Both of them made high pitched cries
of despair.

Another pearl of light sprang out from the tip of Hal's shaft. Bigger
and even more brilliant than the first one. But this time it didn't
rise. It hung over the top of his cock in exactly the same way as the
light above Morgana's head stayed in the same place. Hal stared at his
most intimate piece of anatomy in total bewilderment. It had always
been pretty well uncontrollable, but never in this way. Then he lifted
up his eyes in response to a squeal which somehow sounded familiar.

Morgana and Ymir were both nuzzled up to Mary Gorlas, behind and in
front, and both licking her where the sensation was most felt. Mary was
jumping around as if she was a puppet with a dozen lunatics all pulling
on her strings at once. As for her outsized udders, it seemed
impossible that so much flesh could swing around so much without
something tearing loose. What the girl desperately needed was a pair of
steadying hands.

It was an idea which had an impact on Hal's mind like poking an
hedgehog with a stick. His thoughts  seemed to curl up into a tiny ball
and the brilliant bead hovering above his lap spread out into a bright
white hollow ring which completely encircled the head of his cock.

"Fur Fria's sake . . ." Hal mumbled, again completely astonished at
what was happening, let alone what was causing it

The boy was suddenly aware of how the grunting and cries inside the
smelly interior of the Devil's Arsehole had died away. It was like the
audience of a mummer's play suddenly becoming lost in a dreamworld as
the gaudily dressed actors stepped out onto the stage. Only this time
the audience was all looking at him. Six women and two otters. All
staring at the straining cock with the halo of shining light around it
which had suddenly appeared in the dark shadows on the other side of
the pool. And the first thing Hal noted about this audience was that
the eyes of the women staring at his prick were much beadier and more
animal like than those belonging to the otters.

"Huh . . . hello, ladies. Huh . . . this week hasn't turned out at all
like I expected it too. Have you noticed that as well?"

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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