by Bonnie Bliss
“Oh, really? Maybe you’d like me to put you over this table while everyone watches me claim you as mine.”
“You wouldn’t. I’d never talk to you again, ever.”
“Oh, I would. You have a lot to learn about me.” He slipped his hand between her thighs. Her body trembled and she gave a slight shift as a warm finger found her clit. “I’d hitch up your dress and slide my long, hard cock in your cunt all the way up to my balls and fuck you until you stopped screaming. I’ll pound you, sweat on you, growl at you until I fill you with my seed. All while sweet elf Eridor watches and runs off in a huff. I’m your man, Sorscha Dubdétach, promised to you and you are mine. No one but me touches you.”
Tethur kissed her neck as the others started to eat. Cassandra gave him a wry grin.
His finger slipped inside Sorscha, taunting her tender spot. She picked up a glass of drink, holding it over her lips. Her hold trembled, her drink spilling over the top as Tethur brought her to orgasm. He looked at her, watched her grit her teeth as she came, dribbling her sweet, warm, wet juices over his hand.
“You bastard.” Her drink splashed as she hit him on the shoulder.
“Now that we know who belongs to whom, let’s eat. You have a long journey ahead of you, gentlemen. Eat and drink well; it will sustain you on your trip,” Eridus said.
Tethur held her tight on his lap and fed her while eating. He totally lost himself in her and she in him until the feast was over.
Chapter Thirteen
Left in darkness once more. Only a slither of light shone through the crack in the door and warmed the pillar. On waking, every pain that can live inside flesh and bone named itself in his body and screamed. Every muscle pulled at him and his skin fought the cold in which the darkness, like a shroud around his naked body, tortured him. It bit him, it licked at his mind, urging him to break, but he would not relent to the evil.
Moving his foot, on which the chain of pain attached itself to the shackle at his ankle, the heavy links rattled and hurt his ears. The great metal loops ran along the ground and morphed inside the pillar of obsidian which acted like a mirror. The circular pillar supported the main tower above; it was alive. He could feel the power within, reaching out, desperate to touch him, to feel, to hold, yet it could not.
The cold pricked at his eyes like sharp pins. No choice; he had to close them a while. He had heard nothing in days, not from her. The tears had stopped a day ago and they formed crusts down his cheeks.
Curling himself into a ball, he tried to gain some warmth to his shattered form. His ribs poked into his chest and ached as if his breath burned. His skin resembled cracked wood and he feared touching himself.
Why did she torture him so?
If it wasn’t the whip or the red-hot iron, it was the torrid lovemaking and her taunts. It made him shiver. She had many lovers, and all of them savored torturing him after satisfying the Queen. It was all he knew, all he remembered.
Time passed so slowly in this dark prison. The thoughts of loneliness had long surpassed the beautiful memories he had used to stay sane. Her face, he could not remember her face. His eyes ached as the tears built and begged to be set free.
No, I am not weak, no tears. Someone somewhere will come and set us free.
The belief he held was all he had left
Please. All the power you have, all you gave me, hear my voice. My thoughts are yours, my hope, my fears, every little grace I possess, oh force of light. Give me something to strive for.
With his mind growing tired, each thought a struggle against the cold, he hugged the thick, unforgiving floor. The darkness held him tight, caressed him, and cherished him like a long-lost son.
Only sleep befriended him, treated him like any form of normality, but sleep was hard to come by. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he laid his head on his thin, boney hands. They were no longer comfortable. He swallowed, the harsh taste of acid rising from his stomach to his throat.
Lay still, it will fade. Slee, and rest. No one is coming, we are lost to the dark Queen─forever.
The whisper of a sound caught his attention. Distant.
He disappeared into his haven again, a place where he kept everything intact, where he no longer resembled a corpse on a marble floor, desperately clinging to life, unable to think or breathe. In his haven he was his handsome self, tall, well fed and compos mentis. Here he was happy with her. Together they read and went for long walks in the forest, looking for herbs and ingredients for their concoctions. They laughed and enjoyed one another’s company. They shared in stories and lived life to the full. And the husband, he loved him as his own, like a brother. Oh, what adventures they had, what stories they could tell.
The sound came again, close by, a haunting sound which faded once more.
Taunt me not. Demons wanted his mind. He could feel them.
‘Brother.’ It couldn’t be. The sound once more. This time he recognized its tone, its resonance. His ankle moved as the chain slithered like a snake across hot sand. ‘I am still here, Mal. Don’t give up, I am here. They will come, he will, our savior, husband and brother. Hold on to that thought.’
Yes, they promised, but it was so long ago.
‘They will come, my brother. The war has begun, our task is yet to come, we must endure. Meet me in the haven.’
Peace slipped through his flesh, his mind returned to the garden and she stood at the gate. He would never tire of that smile, those eyes like stars in the night sky. She, his sister, held out her hand. The warmth passed through him as he held her, fingers wrapped in one another’s. She kissed his cheek and led him out of the gate, down the path bordered by sweet pea and to the forest. Out of sight, out of mind as he fell into a deep, restful sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
“Will you keep still, woman? This will protect you.” Tethur fastened Sorscha’s tunic, made of thick leather and strapped at the back with buckles. Her pants were the same but thinner, giving her greater movement.
“I can’t breathe. What will you do if I fall down unconscious, you big bad bear, eh?”
“I’ll unbutton your pants at the front and finger your cunt.”
“Oh, well, I guess that would work.” She punched his chest. “Be honest with me. Are we going to make it?”
Óengus piped up. “You made it this far. None of us doubted him then, and we don’t doubt him now. You should trust in us, Princess.”
“Princess, me, the geek, a bloody Princess. I’m going to be in denial for years.”
“We don’t have years; you’ll grow up very quickly in this realm.” Tethur finished and lifted her by the waist, sitting her on his horse.
“And for your information─Óengus is it?” He nodded. “I trust him with my life.”
“Good, because we need you as much as you need us.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you possess a power the evil Queen wants. If we deny her, you will grow and she will fade. It’s in our interest as well as our loyalty to get you home. Beyond those mountains there is never-ending darkness. She lives there with her creatures of doom and destruction. She wants all of this land to be in darkness.”
“And if she got her way?” Sorscha looked at Óengus.
“She will cross the wall and start a war on earth.” Tethur patted her leg. “But we won’t let her. Not gonna happen! Take this.” He handed her a twin scabbard attached to a belt. The blade grips rested at each hip as he fastened it on.
“I won’t use them.”
“I hope you don’t have to, little one.”
“That fucking bird needs taking care of; it will tell the orcs we are coming,” Domnall suggested.
Ryken walked to Tethur and looked up. “He’s right. Diarmait, still think you can get it from here?”
“One way to find out.” Before the spy in the sky had time to react, an arrow pierced its belly and it fell like a rock, landing fifty or so feet from the group. Tethur went to it, picking it up by its scrawny nec
k. It still lived, its eyes twitching from side to side. It opened its beak, with hundreds of tiny sharp serrated teeth lining the edges, and hissed at him. Carrying it back, he handed it to Ryken.
“Can you use it for anything?”
“A stew.”
Tethur smirked.
Now resting at the edge of the ice field, he scoured the landscape. Muirch flew overhead, planning their route. The great black bird descended and landed like a delicate flower on the frosty earth. It bounced and jumped before coming to land on Ryken’s shoulder.
“Do you have to work out in order to carry that bulk on your shoulder, Ryken?”Domnall said.
“Better a raven than a six-foot-tall naked Celt,” Diarmait suggested.
The bird seemed to whisper in the warlock’s ear as Tethur watched.
“Well?”
“Some three thousand orcs are gathered on the other side of the plain, ready and waiting for us. The forest too is riddled with them. We have to go that way; it’s the quicker route.”
“Just orcs?” Tethur asked.
“Of course not, that would be too easy. They know we are coming.”
“So we can meet them head on or charge them. Any wolves hereabouts?” Óengus asked the bird.
Muirch squawked aloud.
“Well, let me call and see if they will help.” He put his hands to his mouth, tilted his head back and howled for all his worth. Nothing came back as they all waited.
“Guess not. Sorscha, whatever happens, hold on to me. If you wish you can close your eyes. I wouldn’t blame you.” Tethur climbed on the horse in front of her, feeling her arms wrap around his waist. “Fly high, Muirch. Watch the way.”
The raven flapped its wings and rose quickly.
“What now?” Sorscha whispered in his ear.
Tethur gripped her clasped hands.
“We ride and we ride hard.”
The horses knew. They snorted and with the words echoing on the breeze, they ran. The six of them rode like the wind itself, covering ground at a great pace. The horses were like ghosts, their hooves barely touching the ground. Hard and fast they went. Tethur felt Sorscha hold him tightly as the trees in the distance seemingly appeared from nowhere. Out of the dense woodland came the orcs. These ugly beasts outnumbered them five hundred to one and moved quickly, cutting them off. To the side they came, from behind too, surrounding them.
The Celts halted their stride at Tethur’s raised hand. The orcs ran, a hundred feet out, closing, threatening with their array of misshapen weapons, forged from the pits of darkness.
Ryken jumped down as the others circled him and Tethur, protecting Sorscha from impending doom.
Raising his palms, Ryken’s fingers formed cup shapes. As his fingers rose, he spoke ancient words. Stones of all sizes appeared, from pebbles to boulders lifted from the earth and from its very crust. With each movement, stone after stone mimicked his hands. The orcs still ran, yet the flying rocks intimidated them.
Ryken’s voice had a deep tone; it carried and commanded. As he twisted both hands, the stones began to spin and fly in the same direction. They flew at head height in huge circles. The smaller ones hit with great ferocity, piercing helmets, shattering eyes and cutting flesh. The larger stones and boulders moved slower, yet crushed and hit, killing and maiming the oncoming orcs. Thousands of them were rendered useless even before they got close. Those that managed to get through ran on. The Celts jumped from their horses. Only Tethur stayed mounted, both his swords at the ready.
“Use your dagger, Sorscha, if they get close.”
The others cut down three and four orcs at a time as if they were wheat stalks, paying no mind to insult or injury. Tethur watched, waiting, but no orc came close and no orc lived.
“Is that it? Ryken, you bastard, you spoilt my fun. It is a good job we are in a hurry or I’d be pissed big time,” Óengus roared.
“You’re welcome.”
Óengus rewarded him with a huge, toothy grin.
“Mount up. There are more in the forest. Be on your guard.” Ryken mounted his horse.
They rode on. The forest edge was on them in no time, the dark canopy holding unknown dangers. Behind them came the sound of thunder and hundreds of pounding feet at their backs. Tethur looked to see what hunted them now.
Wolves in their hundreds pounded the plain.
“Looks like your call wasn’t in vain after all, Óengus.”
“What, you doubted me, bear?” Óengus laughed out loud.
“Watch the trees. Stay close.”
The horses ran into the forest, jumping and twisting over the unforgiving earth. The tree trunks gave them no quarter; dodging them was an art form. Ancient mounds rose up and they went high, hooves like a drum beat. Orcs jumped from the trees. Celtish swords cut them down, wolves pounced and bit, breaking arms, severing heads and killing the enemy. Clearings offered short respite; orcs were vulnerable and fell easier under the charging horses. Back into the trees, daylight appeared to fade as thick trunks hugged each other, offering narrow paths. These horses knew how to move, running hard until the sky and the branches offered more light.
The orcs still came. Among them was a tree demon, a huge, hulking form. His skin was made of crackled wood, eyes blazing red and sharp horns like thorns. Trolls too thundered, knocking down the smaller trees.
Tethur rode on. Sorscha held on for dear life.
The wolves fought for their alpha, Óengus, but were no match for the trolls. Larger orcs appeared at the back, riding hard, cutting down anything in their path. They sat on the backs of great hulking boar-type creatures with curved tusks and long, thick black fur. The wolves left the chase at Óengus’s call. They had served them well. Now the riders were at the mercy of their enemy, six riders, five horses and one raven.
Running through another clearing a loud rumble rocked the earth behind them: a tremor, some form of earthquake. Tethur looked back. The tree demon was on the ground, head pinned by a huge panther. It cried out as its neck was cracked. The panther turned and pounced on a troll, its whipping form taking out several orcs before the troll fell dead.
Out of nowhere came a woman, running after the other troll. She was dressed head to toe in black. A hood covered her face. With true grace of movement she spun, jumping over the twelve-foot monster, her blades severing its head. It explained a lot.
The horses sped on as Tethur looked forward, pushing his steed.
*****
Marok went through the wall. Osmaldis followed him, coming out to the devastation of dead bodies. He could hear the sounds of war far in the distance.
Walking slowly amongst the dead, Osmaldis shook his head.
“I need better orcs, Marok. These are no better than turds in the wet. Look at them. Five bloody Celts did this.”
Marok said nothing. Out from the wall came the shuraqui, six and seven-foot-tall orcs, stockily built, made for war and built to kill. Even Osmaldis doubted their ability after seeing this mess.
“Well, what the hell are you standing around for? Get after them.”
Marok started running, the shuraqui at his heels, five hundred of them. They were out of sight in minutes, lost to the trees.
Osmaldis reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a drawstring pouch. “Today is your lucky day, you adorable shits.” He tipped some powder onto his palm and blew. It spread like a mist over the battlefield, floating further on the breeze until all the dead were engulfed in it.
“Rise in the name of the dark Queen. Dubheasa calls you from the regions of death, calls you for servitude in life and in death. Come! Rise!”
The ground shook as body after body rose up. Dead orcs, heads cut, chests open wide, and dripping in blood, all stood and started to march. Osmaldis walked to the front, looked to his side and paced himself as the dead followed him.
*****
The light faded and the darkness crept in. The riders moved on. To stop would be to fight. All the while they were hounded and hunted. Screa
ms followed behind them, fires and horrid dreams threatened them. Light returned and more skirmishes. Dead orcs were left in their wake. They rode on through beautiful plains and heather lands, rocky outcrops and farm land. Malandria’s borders offered hope.
“How much longer, Tethur?” Sorscha whispered.
“We’ve covered a lot of ground. Do you see the mountains?”
“Yes.”
“The castle is at the base, not far. Maybe another hour and then you can rest.”
Her arms held on but he could feel her getting weaker. On they went. The land became greener and lush, with ancient oaks and sycamore. The sun shone and mist hung at the mountain tops. The enemy was behind and seemed to halt as the castle came into view.
“We are home, Sorscha, Princess of the Earth.” Ryken said.
Tethur felt her chin come to rest on his shoulder.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Chapter Fifteen
She blinked.
Why wouldn’t she?
The reality that shone back at her, built into the majesty of the surrounding mountains, was a castle. Huge, majestic, glowing from its humble landscape, it felt warm, inviting. As it was she could barely contain the urge to run to her new found home. Her weak muscles and light-headedness seemed to fade under the engulfing shadows of the castle. Tethur marched them forward. The battle-pressed men were all looking eager to get inside. The movements increased. Half the men dismounted and nearly jogged up to the fortress that stood over them, welcoming them into its loving safety.
Sorscha breathed in the world around her. The fragrance that was Tethur nudged at her senses and mixed with nature. Even after a long journey and heavy battle, he smelled like that amazing spice and man. She buried her nose in the curve of his neck. He looked back at her, a smile on his lips. That mischief in his eyes made her nuzzle closer and giggle.
She could feel her heart thudding against her ribcage. The ache gave her comfort.
This is it. This is when I meet my real parents.
The huge stones that created the hulking mass wrapped her in a state of euphoric comfort she hadn’t felt in so long. The structure was bright and inviting. The welcoming spill of light that filtered through the parapets made the smile on her face ache. The walls were tall, the outer gate swung open and they ventured in. Two further walls with equally high gates opened to them as the ones behind were closed. The castle had a small town within its final inner wall. Shops lined streets, houses behind them with small gardens lined the main thoroughfare which led to the lake surrounding the castle itself. The townspeople were busy and curious about the warriors and—the Princess?
