The Mage's Passion

by Reed James

  An arrow tugged at my sleeve, ripping my robe before burying in the grass behind me. I stared in horror at the torn sleeve. My arm throbbed. A bloody crease marred my skin. My heart hammered. I had almost been hit by an arrow.

  Angela and Thrak were already charging the hill, Angela's sword raised high, her kite shield held up before her to block arrows. Thrak was fearless, wielding his greataxe in both hands as he barreled through the grass in the wake of Angela's charger. Xera fired her arrows, and the first orcs fell dead.

  But others drew back for another volley.

  I slipped off my horse. I needed the vial of cum I dropped. Sophia moaned nearby as arrows hissed down around us. My horse screamed and took off running, an arrow embedded in her flank. I knelt on the ground, another arrow slamming in the grass by my face, the bone shaft quivering.

  I grabbed the vial and downed the salty cum. It was still warm, my magic preserving the man's seed. My body absorbed it, fueling my magic. Power tingled through me. The five elements were at my command.

  Air swirled around me, forming a dome over Sophia, Xera, and myself, catching the third flight of arrows and whipping them away before they hit us. Xera fired another arrow. I opened my wind shield to let her arrow fly. It soared and killed an orc archer. A heartbeat later, Angela made it to the top of the hill and crashed into the enemy, Thrak on her heels.

  I moved to Sophia.

  “Don't move,” I told her as her bloody hands tried to pull the arrow out. “Don't do that.”

  “It hurts,” Sophia moaned, her body thrashing. Her white robes absorbed the blood.

  “I know,” I said, my stomach clenching.

  “I need to pull it out,” she gasped. “Then I can heal myself.”

  “How?”

  Her left hand clutched a vial. She had a healing potion. Normally, it was a mistake to pull out an arrow. It would help to stop the bleeding until a surgeon or a priest could get to the wounded person. But Sophia was a priest.

  I sent out my magic along the arrow, a mixture of earth and life. The arrow head was barbed. It had twisted inside of her. It wouldn't pull out cleanly. If she tried, the arrowhead would remain lodged in her gut.

  So I molded the flint tip. It shrank and became smooth, then I ripped the arrow from her gut. More blood poured out. Sophia shuddered.

  “Drink the potion,” I told her.

  My screen of wind swirling overhead was attacked. Raw, untrained gusts struck into my dome of air. I gasped, stumbling back as the magic disrupted my shield. Arrows fell among us as I fought to restore it. The Orc shaman knew magic.

  She was untrained, unrefined, but she had power.

  “Pater's cock,” I cursed as I struggled to put my shield back in place before we were hit with more arrows.

  ~ * ~

  Knight-Errant Angela

  There were a lot more orcs on the far side of the hill then I expected.

  I had cut through three archers when I reached the crest and gasped. They scrambled up the hill, their swarthy bodies covered in the cloaks of shaggy wolves. They howled in their guttural languages, brandishing crude, iron weapons, many rusted and pitted with age, scrounged from battlefields hundreds or more years old.

  I caught the first sword on my shield then stabbed with my sword, punching through the orc's swarthy chest. He growled and gurgled as he fell back. My sword slashed at the large brutes as they swarmed up at us.

  Thrak appeared at my side. “They do not learn,” he snarled as his ax swung. “They always make me fight.”

  Thrak's loathing of battle almost drew my attention to him. But I couldn't be distracted. Not when I was fighting for my life. Midnight, my charger, bit and kicked as the orc weapons crashed off my mount's steel barding in loud, dull rings.

  My sword cut while Thrak's ax cleaved. He moved with all the skill he displayed when we sparred two nights past, hacking orc limbs and torsos. Every movement was smooth, deliberate. We separated as we cleaved through the enemy.

  I was thankful of Gewin's blessing in my body, guiding my sword and shield.

  “Do they want me to exterminate their tribe?” Thrak demanded, his swarthy body splashed in blood. I knew it wasn't his.

  At the bottom of the hill was a large orc, his face shadowed by the pelt of a wolf's muzzle, the beast's teeth still attached. He held a thick hammer, the end made of stone lashed to a stout pole. He was important. A leader.

  If I could kill him, maybe I would rout the others. Orcs fought with passion, not discipline.

  I charged down the hill, cutting through the orcs and leaving a swath of dead. My sword pointed at the orc. I shouted loudly, issuing my challenge as barreled down the hill, Midnight's hooves trampling orcs and breaking bones.

  I vaulted off my horse and landed before the chieftain.

  “Cunt,” he spat. “I will fuck you, cunt.”

  I stabbed my sword at his filthy kilt, aiming for his cock. His hammer swept my blade aside. “You can't fuck me if I cut it off first.”

  I slashed and lunged again, every blow aimed at his cock.

  Anger welled in the orc's eyes. He bellowed loudly, the hood of his wolf pelt falling away to reveal a scarred face. His pupils widened, swallowing his irises until only black showed. Spittle flew from his mouth as he bellowed and swung his sword in a mighty blow.

  “Pater's cock,” I groaned as I staggered back, barely blocking his swing with my shield. My arm ached. The orc was raging.

  ~ * ~

  Acolyte Sophia

  The healing magic of the potion made of breast milk surged through me. The pain in my stomach was washed away by the warmth. I smiled and shuddered, a mini-orgasm rolling through me as I stared up at the sky.

  Then I heard Faoril shouting.

  Air whipped around us, the grass bending. I stood up and gasped as a wall of air struck me and sent me tumbling along the ground. Above, the air rippled and danced while Faoril stood beneath it, her arms outstretched, her teeth clenched.

  “What's going on?” I gasped.

  “They have a mage,” Faoril gasped. “Their orc shaman's strong. She's hammering my attacks.”

  I stood up again and gasped as a whirling vortex of air swept before me, ripping up the grass and tossing it in the air. Blades rained down from the sky like green-gold snow. Faoril staggered back as wind exploded before her.

  “Stay down,” Xera shouted, rushing up to me and pushing me off my feet.

  I nodded eagerly as another wind staggered the elf, whipping her green hair back. Xera spun around, searching the hills. Thrak was atop the nearby hill, killing the archers who shot me. I couldn't see Angela at all.

  “She's burning through my energy,” Faoril gasped, shoving her hand into her robe to produce another vial of cum.

  A wind ripped it out of her hand. The glass shattered at my feet, the disgusting, white seed almost touching my shoes. Faoril cursed and pulled out another vial, quickly downing it before the enemy mage could send another wind ripping through the plains.

  “She's taken cum of creatures of air to enhance her magic,” Faoril gasped. “Unless she is this powerful. Xera, you have to find her.”

  Xera nodded, then spun around, her eyes searching. I huddled at her feet, gasping as another vortex rushed towards us. Faoril did something, and the wind burst ten paces away, flattening all the grass before the vortex. A strong wing whipped at my hair and robe.

  “There,” Xera shouted and knocked her arrow. She fired.

  The wind caught her arrow, spun it around, and sent it hurtling back at Xera. The elf dived to the side. I squeaked as the arrow embedded in the ground an inch from my hand. Xera came up from her dive, an arrow knocked and firing at the orc lurking in the brush.

  Xera had to dodge her arrow returned by magic.

  “Can you do anything?” Xera asked.

  Faoril grunted as she pushed out her hands. Winds crashed together before us, rippling the air and tearing up the ground. I gasped in fright as a massive vortex swirled, r
ipping up grass and dirt, filling the air with debris that hurtled at us.

  “I'm trying,” Faoril growled.

  Chapter Twenty: Orcish Passion

  Thrak

  Angela's screams rose over the din of battle. The knight was at the base of the hill, fighting Raketh, the chief of the Ghost Wolves—a berserker.

  My heart clenched. Angela was a valiant warrior, but none could fight a berserker. Raketh battered her shield. She staggered back, her arm sagging. She dropped her sword and huddled behind her shield, using both arms to block the brutal blows of his massive stone hammer.

  An angry snarl escaped my lips. I had known Angela's body. I had sparred with her. She was part of my new tribe. Spittle spat from my mouth as I roared a challenge. It echoed across the slopes. The nearest Ghost Wolves faltered before me.

  I seized the anger. The world became red.

  My ax whipped before me as the anger compelled me to charge down the slope. My emotions ruled. The most primal rage burned through me. My rage craved blood. It wanted to feast on the Ghost Wolves.

  They were hewn by my mighty blows. My ax cut through bodies with ease. Skin, sinew, and bone fell like chafe before my weapon. The rage bellowed out of me as I raced down the hill. Raketh answered, raising his hammer while Angela retreated up the slope, clutching her shield arm.

  My rage snarled at the weak woman.

  Raketh and I crashed together, our weapons swinging. There was no defending. We attacked to kill. We both swung our mighty weapons. My ax hissed through the air while my anger bellowed. Raketh roared in answer, trying to frighten me.

  Nothing could scare rage. A berserker was beyond weak emotions like fear, terror, pity, remorse, guilt, or grief.

  Only the small awareness in the back of my mind watched in horror as the blunted end of the hammer raced for my chest with the force to break ribs and pulverize organs. My rage didn't care. It wanted the kill.

  My ax severed through Raketh's left arm and cut deep into the orc's side. Rage was immune to a lot, but not that sudden burst of pain my ax created. Raketh's body was hewn almost in two. His strength faltered, the force of his hammer's blow against my chest mitigated.

  Ribs cracked as Raketh's weapon landed, but they didn't cave in. My rage ignored the pain as Raketh fell dead at my feet.

  I grabbed his hammer in my other hand and turned. There were Ghost Wolves still left alive. I bellowed as I surged into them, cutting and battering. They all had to die. Everything had to die. My rage savored their dying screams as my ax rose and fell, hacking and hewing.

  And then there was only one left, standing on the hill, clutching her arm and watching in stunned horror—Angela.

  My rage bellowed. It had not fed enough. There was never enough violence to satiate my rage.

  I charged up the hill. I had raged to save Angela, and now it would kill her.

  ~ * ~

  Xerathalasia

  “Give me cover,” I called to Faoril. “Make a wall of debris to hide me. I'll stalk the shaman and fell her.”

  “Okay,” Faoril nodded, her pale face strained.

  Sophia whimpered on her side as the ground rumbled before us. Dirt and rocks exploded into the air where the winds clashed. The brown grit was whipped into the sky, clouding the winds.

  The shaman vanished from my sight.

  “Hurry,” groaned Faoril. “How can she have so much power? Who could have trained her?”

  I did not care right now. I dashed low, skirting the edge of the cloud. Rocks hurtled out, thrown by the enemy shaman. Sophia screamed in fright as the rocks thudded to the ground. I dived behind a patch of thick grass so far untouched and crawled on my belly.

  The whispers of the orc's magic grew louder as Faoril's grew softer. The orc's words spoke to the wind, commanding it to attack us. I slithered on my belly, not caring that my naked breasts dragged along the ground.

  The haze of dust in the sky lessened as I skirted forward. I was an elvish hunter. None could detect me when I stalked.

  The orc's magic pounded at my ears. I was drawing closer. I changed the angle of my crawl while I pulled my knife from my belt. The air howled behind me and the earth continued to rumble as I slowed my pace.

  The scent of the orc woman, thick with wet clay, led me closer. Her breathing was rapid. Through breaks in the grass, I spotted the orc, her face festooned in bone piercings, stretching out her ears and studding her lips. Her breasts were naked, her fat, black nipples pierced by thick slivers of bone. She held a staff topped with an orc's skull.

  I crawled to the side, moving slowly. I was so close now. If she wasn't focused on her duel with Faoril, she might have spotted me at this distance. I wasn't wearing any camouflage body paint. My pale-greenish skin would stand out against the golden-green of the grass.

  I made it behind her. I came up in a crouch. My body tense.

  I sprang, clapping a hand over her mouth as I thrust my dagger into the small of her back, aiming for her kidneys. She stiffened as I stabbed over and over, plunging in and ripping out my dagger, my hand growing sticky with blood.

  Wind struck me, throwing me back. I tumbled on the ground as the orc spun around. She stumbled as she tried to focus on me. She snarled something in her harsh language. The wind struck me again. I screamed as I was thrown and crashed hard into the grass.

  I rose in a crouch. She should be dead after all those stabs. She wasn't. I was in trouble. I couldn't fight her magic. I braced for the next attack to throw me.

  The orc shaman collapsed onto the ground, gurgling as she died.

  I groaned, my body aching, and limped towards Faoril and Sophia. On the hilltop, Angela screamed as Thrak appeared before her, swinging a mighty ax and a stone hammer at her. Angela raised her shield and caught the blow.

  The force threw her back, and she tumbled down the hill.

  Sophia screamed in fear.

  ~ * ~

  Journeyman Mage Faoril

  Exhaustion weighed me down as I let out a sigh of relief. Xera had killed the shaman. The wind stopped howling.

  How had she been so strong? Not even a master mage could have that strength. Who had taught a primitive orc such magic? It wasn't skilled or subtle, but that hardly mattered when she had such strength and the willingness to throw around her power, crashing it like a battering ram upon a castle's gate.

  “Angela!” screamed Sophia.

  I turned to the hill. Angela tumbled down it. I blinked in shock. Thrak stood atop the hill, wielding his ax and a stone hammer. He bellowed in rage. My heart contracted in absolute shock at the terrible sight.

  Sophia rushed forward, her robes flapping about her legs as she reached the battered Angela, pulling the wounded knight's head into her lap. Thrak bellowed again, his eyes sweeping across the valley.

  He wanted to kill us.

  I groaned and gathered my magic, raising a wall of earth before him. I staggered at the effort, my magic burning through the cum I had swallowed. Thrak crashed into the wall. The earthen rampart shook and cracked. He was attacking it, struggling to batter through it.

  “You'll have to fuck him,” Serisia said, rising from the earth beside me.

  “What?” I said, a strange excitement rushing through me as I remembered how hard Thrak fucked Angela two nights past.

  “It's the only way to end the berserk,” Serisia said. “He's consumed by his most primal emotions—rage and lust. Rage can never be satiated, but lust can.”

  “I'll just bind him with air,” I said.

  “It won't stop his rage. He'll die.” Tears shone in the ghost eyes. “Please. You have to do it. No one else can. Angela is battered, Sophia is sworn to Saphique, and Xera is injured.”

  Xera limped towards us, somehow hurt by the shaman.

  “There has to be another way,” I said, fighting the rising excitement in my nethers.

  “There is not.” Serisia touched my hand. “He won't hurt you. You are strong enough to take it, and you will find such pleasure i
n his power. I always did.”

  I swallowed. The wall cracked. He was getting closer to breaking through.

  “Every woman yearns for a strong male to take her hard,” Serisia purred. “I know I did. I've soothed his rages before. I remember every one of those times. I was so helpless beneath his strength. So aroused as he took me. I came over and over.”

  The spirit’s words whispered to my desires. Thrak was so strong. I hadn't had a real man in days, just Sophia's magical dildo.

  Sophia undid her robe, baring her breasts. She shoved a hand beneath her thighs to masturbate. It was part of her ritual to enchant her breast milk with healing properties to aid Angela. The pair were defenseless. My hands reached for the knot on my robe. I couldn't believe I was doing this. It was so stupid. The orc was dangerous.

  He should die.

  My robe slipped off my shoulders. Naked, I raced towards Angela and Sophia. The acolyte nursed the knight as I raced by naked, ignoring Xera's cries. I stood before Angela and Sophia, facing the earthen wall as it crumbled.

  Thrak burst out, his eyes pure black. He snarled as he raced down the slope at me. Fear seized me. This was so stupid, I could wrap him up in air and hang him in the sky. We could leave him behind to die.

  “Mmm, aren't you a big one,” I purred, rubbing at my hard nipples and undulating my body.

  I felt so stupid. I was going to die. Why did I listen to that spirit?

  Why did I want to save this stupid barbarian?

  His eyes fell on my flesh. A loud snarl growled from his lips. He kept barreling down at me. I swallowed, wanting to flee before his strength. It was too late now. He was on me. I reached out to the air and—

  Serisia touched my hand. “He won't hurt you.”

  Thrak threw down his weapons as he bellowed in pure, primal passion. I gasped as his strong arms seized me and slung me over his shoulder. His hands were rough on my thighs as they held me. My nipples rubbed into his broad back. I gasped as he leaped over Angela and Sophia, carrying me off.

  Serisia smiled as she watched him bear me away.

  He ran so fast, leaving everyone behind while his strong hands clutched my legs. It was so possessive. I shouldn't like this. I shouldn't find this...enjoyable. It was stupid. I enjoyed men, but not being manhandled by one.