Torturous Alliance

by Kristine Lichtlider

  “We are not allies, worm,” said Davros, spitting in the dirt at his feet.

  “Talk,” said Bruno, grabbing the man by the face once more “talk, or I shall gladly break your jaw.”

  “Very well,” said Crown, getting as comfortable as he could. “Where would you like me to start?”

  “How about your name?” said Davros “I take it you are neither old soldier or priest.”

  “Yes,” said Bruno “let's begin there. Who are you, little man, and why do you bring your treachery here?”

  “My name is not important,” said Crown “some call me Crown, some by other names, but I am perhaps best known by the rather unsubtle moniker of the Gray Death.”

  Bruno burst out laughing, as did Hector. Even Davros looked amused, though Aven's brow knitted with confusion.

  “I do not understand,” she said “why are you laughing?”

  “The Gray Death,” said Hector “is ten feet tall, and wields a sword that can cut a man's home in half, with him still inside!”

  “Aye,” said Bruno “and he has the fires of hell glowing in his eyes, which he can unleash upon those unfortunate enough to cross his path.”

  “So I have heard,” said Crown with a chuckle “as you can see, the reality has been a bit...exaggerated. But I am the Gray Death, late employed by King Drakken.”

  “Lies,” said Bruno “the King would never employ an assassin! He is an honorable man-”

  “I can believe it,” said Davros, drawing Bruno's attention. “I am one of perhaps a dozen men on the face of the Allfather's earth who know of his true plans, Bruno. Have you not wondered where all the coin he has collected has gone to?”

  “I do not question my betters,” said Bruno with a growl. Crown began laughing, almost hysterically.

  “Explain yourself, worm,” said Aven, trying out a new epithet. She found it oddly appropriate for the little man.

  “I'm sorry,” he said “it's just the irony of it all. The knight defending the honor of the very man who contracted me to kill him.”

  “Ridiculous,” said Hector “you want us to believe that not only do you do the king's bidding, but that you are to assassinate sir Bruno?”

  “I confess it is a bit odd,” said Davros, who seemed to be on Bruno's side in the interrogation “Bruno is a Cromwell by adoption, not birth, and has no claim to the throne.”

  “As well as being one of the Sun People,” said Hector.

  “Indeed,” said Crown “but his majesty has been a bit...preoccupied with fortune telling and augury of late. It seems he has reason to believe that you will overthrow him, sir Bruno.”

  “Preposterous,” said Bruno “never, have I even for a minute desired the throne!”

  “It is true, sir Bruno,” said Davros “I have seen the king's madness first hand. Do you know what he has done with all the coin he has collected? Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” said Bruno with a frown.

  “Nothing,” echoed Davros, seeming to gain momentum “it just lays about in tall piles beneath Fort Drakken, in a chamber with a high vaulted ceiling that many engineers died to build.”

  Aven's face had gone pale, and new sweat broke out on her brow despite the chill air of the cellar. No one noticed, their attention focused upon the old swords master.

  “Is it truly so?” said Bruno, a skeptical expression on his face.

  “Have you ever known me to lie, Bruno?” said Davros. “I have seen it with my own eyes, as has Lord Mannix. We were at the lands meet over two years ago, and in our drunkenness got turned around in the myriad meandering corridors within the keep. We were accosted by a brace of Templars who sent us on our way. I do not think that they knew what we had beheld, or likely our bones would lie beneath the rock still.”

  “Lord Mannix?” said Bruno. “He is involved in this as well?”

  “Of course,” said Davros with a smile “why do you think he cast me out, and broke your engagement to the Lady Katherine? He sought to protect you and his daughter from his treasonous acts, should they see the light of day.”

  “Bruno,” said Aven, drawing four pairs of eyes to her. “I know...I know what Drakken is planning, why he has amassed so much coin.”

  “Spit it out, woman,” said Davros, which drew glares from both Bruno and the maid.

  “He is trying to attract a Queen,” she said.

  “Of course,” said Crown, chuckling “he's nearing eighty years, and has no heir.”

  “No, you dolt,” said Aven, her green eyes narrowing “a Queen Dragon.”

  “Allison,” said Bruno politely “I have fought many dragons, and none of them have worn a crown or bore a scepter.”

  “Not a human queen,” said Aven “have you never dug into an anthill as a child, man, and seen that there is an ant much larger than the rest? An ant which lays eggs as often as you and I draw breath.”

  “So you're saying that Drakken wishes to generate an army of dragons,” said Hector, doubting the words even as he spoke them.

  “Precisely,” said Aven.

  “Rubbish,” said Davros “dragons are stupid beasts, who care only for slaughter and food. Gold would not attract them, any more than it would attract rodents or wolves.”

  “Queen Dragons are a different breed,” said Aven “they have thoughts in their mind as men do, and they ply them only towards the propagation of their own race. The king is a fool, who will unleash a plague unlike any other upon all of us.”

  “Bah,” said Davros “your woman prattles on long about little. How would a barmaid know anything of dragons, and their ways?”

  “Because,” said Aven, drawing herself to her full height. “I am no barmaid, swordsman.”

  Gathering her innate energies, she used them to nudge her flesh back into its natural shape.

  “Tomorph,” she said loudly, and her features flowed like water. The green eyes and face of Allison the barmaid were still there, but were sharper, more feral. Round curling horns jutted from her skull, and her legs lengthened and bent. Hector plastered himself against the back wall of the cellar, and an acrid smell filled the air as Davros relieved himself. Bruno stood, jaw slack, as he beheld the change. Only Crown was unaffected, smugly smiling at the fearful reactions of the others.

  “I am Aven of Still Hollow,” she said “I am a hunter, a warrior, and a wielder of magic. And I am faerie...somewhat.”

  Bruno nodded slowly, putting together the pieces of a puzzle he had not even known he had.

  “I knew, on some level, in some way,” he said “that you were special, no mere country maid...”

  “Sir Bruno, are you daft?” said Davros “She is faerie! Your sworn duty is to protect good folk from the likes of her!”

  “Lies,” said Aven, narrowing her eyes dangerously “at first, the Templars were our allies against the dragons. Our people's combined might was needed to end the life of the last queen, in a long forgotten age. Where do you think the secret of Heartfire came from? It is faerie magic that gives the Templars their strength.”

  Bruno stared down at his forearm, the blue designs glinting in the torchlight. He raised his gaze to Aven's unusual form, focusing on her eyes. Though she now stood a foot taller than he, and had furry shins that ended in cloven hooves, the warmth in her gaze was undiminished. He was surprised to find that his feelings were unchanged. In fact, the prospect of riding into battle with one of the fey folk had him oddly thrilled. He also wondered if her new body would be as responsive beneath the sheets...

  “Stop staring,” said Hector with a chuckle “you can make moon eyes over each other later.”

  The squire moved out from behind Davros's chair and offered his hand to her. Aven was taken aback, but still held it gently in her own.

  “A pleasure to meet the real you,” said Hector. “I understand I owe you my life.”

  “More than you know,” said Aven, glaring at Crown “that one sought to smother you while you lay helpless in his hut.”

  Hector turned a truly
monstrous gaze upon Crown, who shrank back a bit in spite of himself.

  “I have been plagued by nightmare of late,” he said “where I am drowning though I am not in water. Now I know why.”

  Hector's short bladed knife came free of its sheath, and he took a step towards Crown. Bruno interposed his arm between the two of them.

  “He deserves to die, Sir Bruno,” said Hector pleadingly.

  “Perhaps,” said the knight “but he may prove to be useful.”

  “What are you planning, knight?” said Davros suspiciously.

  “I am going to return to the capital,” he said “and see the king's madness for myself. If necessary, I will carry out the Thirteenth Duty.”

  Hector dropped the knife to the dirt floor, his jaw falling nearly as far.

  “Thirteen?” said Hector “I only know of twelve! The first is the Duty to the Allfather. The second is to the people. The third-”

  “I know the duties, squire,” said Bruno “including one which is only given to those who survive the Heartfire. The Thirteenth Duty is to...remove a monarch who has gone corrupt.”

  “Regicide,” said Davros grimly. “I can see why your order keeps it secret.”

  “It matters not,” said Crown “the Templars are fiercely loyal to Drakken, as they are one of the few who have garnered a bit of the taxes for themselves. They will not aid you, knight. Likely, you will be struck down by the king's soldiers ere you even set foot in the castle.”

  Bruno turned his gaze upon Davros. Stooping low, he scooped up Hector's knife and used it to sever the man's bonds.

  “What are you doing?” said Hector.

  “Duncan,” said Bruno “I have need of your men.”

  “You shall have them,” said Davros, rubbing his wrists “but I fear it will take an army to besiege Fort Drakken, and I have less than three hundred who have pledged to my cause. Many of them are simple folk, and not soldiers...”

  “I know where you can find an army, Bruno,” said Aven, her fingers brushing the knight's arm. His gaze fell upon her, at once loving and a bit fearful. “My folk will aid you.”

  “The farmers and craftsmen of Ravensford,” said Hector with a frown.

  “No,” she said “my other folk.”

  Oblitero rubbed his chin, nervous sweat breaking out on his face beneath the mask. A dragon queen? The implications were magnificent! Why, with a dragon queen under his spell he could create an army strong enough to conquer the North, maybe even the whole world!

  He dismissed the scrying spell with a wave of his hand, and the small pond of brackish water returned to its murky state. The time had come for him to return to his demense, and though he could have created another portal with his magic, he preferred to ride in style when time was not of the essence.

  “Shupak,” he said, waving his hands in the complicated gestures needed to harness ley line energy. A swirling portal of purple mist appeared, much larger than the ones he'd created for himself. A loud whinny erupted from the aperture, heralding the arrival of Oblitero's coach.

  The first Hell Pony made her way through the gate and into the woods, her iron shod feet shooting up lines of purple fire. Thigh high leather leggings were laced up tight, their tops just inches from the dangling weights hanging from her thick pussy lips. Her waist was tightly encircled by a leather cincher, which connected to her leather wrist cuffs by heavy chains, holding them securely behind her. Her face was covered by one of his Hell Pony masks, heavy rough and uncomfortable, though it did allow the ponies to walk on air as if it were solid ground.

  Her mouth was the only part of her face exposed, and it had a spiked pony bit shoved into place and buckled tight behind her thick mane of black hair.

  The Pony made her way into the forest, followed by the next, a slim blonde who he'd taken on a whim from her peasant father. The third and final pony was his new catch, Sabia, who stumbled a bit as she changed terrain from the smooth flagstones of his castle to the rough undergrowth.

  The Ponies pulled an ornate iron coach behind them, emblazoned with his personal sigil; An Iron mask on a field of purple fire, flanked by two naked pony girls.

  His driver tried to say 'whoa,' but it was a bit hard for the willowy lass with that heavy ball gag strapped between her teeth. Her hands were bound before her with iron manacles, with just enough slack between them to handle the reigns. She was, of course, as naked as the Hell Ponies, though she wore knee high boots and a shiny leather hat.

  Oblitero was feeling a bit anxious, so he went to the first Pony in line and disconnected her from the rest. She whimpered a bit as he dragged her by the reigns to a nearby tree stump, probably because of the ants crawling all over it.

  “Oh, they don't bite,” he said “much.”

  He shoved her forward, eliciting a squeal from her gagged mouth. Her ass was now in the air, wet pussy lips slightly parted. Obliteron was aroused, but being an elderly man his cock didn't quite get as stiff as it should have. Thus, he used a minor charm to get himself not only hard as iron, but longer than a horse.

  “Yessss,” he hissed as he thrust the head against her asshole. The Pony squirmed, but a handful of her hair controlled her well enough. He rubbed his cock against her rectum several more times before he moved down to her pussy. There would be time enough to bust her ass later.

  Oblitero thrust himself hard into her, their hips slapping together in a rhythmic tattoo that echoed through the forest. The other ponies pawed at the ground. The new one, Sabia, seemed abhorred and wished to escape, but the little blonde one whimpered and thrust her tits out, as if trying to entice him.

  “I'll be with you...momentarily….” he said between pants. He had to be careful, since he was old, not to over exert himself, but he often got carried away when fucking his ponies.

  “Soon,” he panted “I'll have an invincible dragon army to darken the skies. And then...”

  He threw his head back and grunted as he came hard inside the pony. Maybe she would get pregnant again, and he could sell the child. Of course, she would not get any time off from her duties. No maternity leave for his pets.

  “...whew. And then, I'll conquer the world. And ALL of the pretty women will be my ponygirl slaves.”

  Oblitero felt like laughing, so he did. The pony whimpered as he moved his cock to take her ass.

  Chapter 5

  Kate did a pirouette on the thick wooden block upon which she stood, allowing the skirt of her rich auburn gown to flow outwards. The fabric was simple cloth, and not silk or satin, but it felt good against her skin. A pattern of laced twine ran up the front of the gown at the waist, terminating in a liberal expanse of her cleavage. Her smooth, freckled shoulders were exposed in the garment due, though she frowned a bit at the uneven color of her skin.

  A pair of maids flanked her on either side, bearing pins, scissors and a measuring strand. One of them sprang into action as a clap was heard outside her chamber doors.

  “Lord Mannix,” she said, bowing low before the wiry man.

  “Is my daughter decent?” he said, his face wary.

  “I am, father,” said Kate, smiling as he swept into the room. His brown eyes widened at the sight of her exposed skin, and he stammered for several moments before finding his voice.

  “I thought she was decent!” he fumed.

  “She is fully clothed, lord...” said one of the maids.

  “You call that fully clothed?” said Lord Mannix. “I've seen ladies of the night who covered themselves more! You might as well dress her in a loincloth and grass headdress like one of the Sun People!”

  “Well, Father,” said Kate with a wry smile “If that's the fashion, then perhaps I should...”

  “If you wish your father to go to an early grave, then by all means...” said Mannix, his glare dismissing the serving maids.

  “Oh, don't be so harsh,” said Kate, pushing her bustline up a bit “all the maids will be wearing dresses such as this. It's a ball, for goodness sake.”

 
“All but one,” he said “you must choose another dress. I insist.”

  “You do like to protect me from myself,” said Kate carefully, still beholding her gaze in the floor length silver mirror. “Do you not?”

  Her strange tone raised the lord's eyebrow. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he chose his own words with equal aplomb.

  “You are my only child,” he said “the only piece of your mother I have left. I'd do anything to protect you.”

  “Including lying to me?” she said, turning to gaze on him directly. Her normally jovial expression was darker by several shades, and the tight line of her lips clearly indicated her mood.

  “Lying to you?” said Mannix, though he turned to fidget with the stack of gowns yet to be tried on. “What makes you think I have ever lied to you?”

  Kate sighed, stepping down off the block. She walked up behind her father and embraced him, wrapping her arms around his torso and leaning her head on his still sturdy shoulder.

  “I'm worried for you,” she said “you take the world upon your shoulders, but you are no titan, father.”

  “Spare me your heathen sayings,” said Mannix, but his voice lacked any venom. “A father's place is to worry for his daughter. A daughter's place is to grow into a refined, peaceable woman, worthy to be on the arm of any noble.”

  “Is that all there is for me?” she said. “To be the simpering, submissive wife of a wealthy man?”

  Mannix gently broke her grip, turned about to face her. He ran his palm down her smooth cheek, getting a bit of rouge on his hand. The look in his eyes spoke of love, which she had been expecting, but also of fierce pride.

  “No,” he said “I feel you have a greater destiny. Your...mannishness, and forgive me for I know not else what to call it, may be just what the kingdom needs.”

  “Then why,” said Kate “are you trying to marry me off to the king? Are the family's finances really that desperate?”

  “No!” said Lord Mannix, briefly covering his face with his hand. “No, of course not. Rather, it is my hope that your counsel will help to...mitigate some of his Majesty's more...grandiose designs.”