by Sarah Hawke
“On the bed, dear,” Serrane said, tapping the girl’s arm and pointed with her chin. “I want to watch him fuck you.”
Tahira’s eyes widened, and Serrane swore she could hear the girl’s pulse quicken. The priestess’s lips, still glistening with spittle, curled into a girlish smile as she leapt to her feet, raced over to the bed, and laid down on her back. When she slowly spread her legs, chest heaving with anticipation, Serrane was seriously tempted to rush over and sample her quim. Human women had a unique, heady taste she had always found irresistible.
But they would have time for that later. Julian was ready to burst, and Serrane desperately needed something inside her while she waited for him to finish. Besides, she had already enjoyed a taste of the girl’s plump tits. Now it was time to return the favor.
After planting a quick kiss on the tip of Julian’s cock, Serrane stood and sauntered over to the bed. She swung her leg over Tahira and straddled the girl’s face, wondering distantly if the Eternal Priestesses learned how to pleasure one another like the Senosi. Valuri’s skills were unparalleled, but if Tahira was inexperienced, she concealed it with raw enthusiasm. Her tongue frantically lashed at Serrane’s clit, driving the ranger inexorably toward another climax.
She beckoned Julian to join them, though it wasn’t as if he needed the invitation. He was on the bed before she even saw him move, and he took hold of Tahira’s soft, smooth calves as he positioned his cock at her yearning quim. Serrane smiled and cupped his face in her hands.
“Take her,” she breathed, pulling their lips together for a kiss. “Take her hard.”
Julian clenched his jaw and groaned as he thrust his manhood inside her. Serrane had never watched him fuck another woman before, but the sight of his cock vanishing into Tahira’s thick folds didn’t make her the least bit jealous—on the contrary, it made her quim burn so hot that even the girl’s enthusiastic tongue couldn’t quench the flames.
“Oooh!” Serrane cooed as Julian began slamming deeper and harder into Tahira’s cunt. The tiny hairs on his chest had begun to stand upright, and a crackle of Aetheric energy surged throughout his entire body. Serrane could feel it even without touching him—it was like he was fucking a living lightning bolt. She felt the same spark of power surging through the girl’s tongue as she delved deeper into her folds, and Serrane threw back her head as a climax washed over her.
Seeing his lover—no, his fiancé—trapped in the throes of passion pushed Julian over the edge as well. He growled like an animal as he pushed Tahira’s legs farther apart, their slick skin slapping together over and over and over…
“Give it to her!” Serrane demanded breathlessly. “Fill her up!”
He spent with a triumphant roar, flooding the priestess’s womb with his seed. Tahira cried out at the same instant, her tongue freezing in place within Serrane’s molten quim. Shudders of ecstasy rippled back and forth through all of them like the aftershocks of a quake, and Julian practically fell off the edge of the bed from weariness.
The instant his wilting stem slipped out of Tahira, Serrane crawled over the girl to take his place between her legs. The ranger spun all the way around, head down and hips high, so she could properly feast on Tahira’s velvety folds—as well as share in Julian’s bounty.
And a copious one it was. His seed was already gushing from the girl’s quim, and Serrane made sure to lap up every drop. The excitement of tasting his offering from another woman’s cunt ignited her own yet again, and apparently Julian found the sight irresistible as well. She felt him grab her belt and pull her trousers from her slender hips, and his manhood was already hard and swollen again when he pressed the tip against her folds.
She couldn’t imagine how sodden she must have been, though a part of her was tempted to beg him to take her ass. Her bowels had been neglected for far too long…but then again, so had her quim. And something just felt right about having him spill inside his women one after the other…
“Fuck me, Julian!” Serrane practically screamed, utterly unconcerned about anyone hearing them through the walls. “Fuck me hard!”
She was so wet he thrust all the way inside her tight elven cunt with ease, and she buried herself back in Tahira’s glistening folds while he pounded into her. The girl seized up in another climax when Serrane nibbled gently at her clit, and she seemed to lose the ability to breathe entirely for seconds at a time. Meanwhile, Julian grabbed a firm hold of Serrane’s golden locks and jerked her head backward as he slammed and slammed and slammed into his fiancé…
He is going to be my husband. I am going to be the mother of his child. Oh, gods!
Serrane climaxed so hard her vision nearly blacked out, and she felt Julian’s glorious release flooding into her womb mere seconds later. Just thinking about the fact that his seed had already taken root inside her made her fingers claw into the sheets and her toes curl in delight.
“Escar’s…oh…” Julian breathed, releasing his hold on her hair and smacking her ass before a wave of exhaustion crashed over him. She felt his manhood slowly slip out of her as leaned away, spent and delirious.
Grinning impishly, Serrane climbed back up over Tahira. The priestess, still breathless, looked up in confusion until the elf straddled her face again. When Julian’s seed began to drip forth, the girl smiled and began to enjoy her own feast.
“It’s still early,” Serrane said. “We still have plenty of time to learn how to share.”
6
Stormfront
For the better part of the last century, Vorsalos had been the most important naval power on the Broken Sea. The City of Ravens commanded an armada of nearly a hundred warships, and their dread fleet had dominated the merchant trade along the coast from Vorsalos to Talisham for decades. By all rights, Vorsalos should have won the War of the Three Cities—Graygale and Ostvara had only mustered a few dozen vessels each, and Highwind had never been a naval power. Yet somehow, the Knights of the Silver Fist and their defensive magic had turned the tide of the war. A ragtag fleet of merchant vessels and galleys had managed to sink the Raven’s Pride and kill the Lord Admiral. Vorsalos had nearly torn itself apart in the chaos following his death.
The age of anarchy is nearly over. A new order rises, and the gods shall once again bring peace and harmony to the faithful.
Inquisitrix Marcella steered her wyvern higher and higher above the Reachwend until the beast nearly touched the clouds. A few thousand feet below her, the new Vorsalosian armada filled the Reachwend like a flock of waterfowl. The glint of the setting sun off the waves and sails reminded her of home, and she couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if the amazons of Nol Krovos had ever seriously assaulted the mainland. Her people may have been few in number, but they never would have made the same tactical mistakes as arrogant pirates. They could have brought order to this chaotic land themselves had they so desired.
But if they had, the moshalim cowards would have controlled everything.
Marcella ground her teeth. Her thoughts had turned to Nol Krovos quite often these past few days, and she was eager to return and finish what she had started by destroying the Fount. The Fas’Gor rebellion had probably gained considerable strength by now. The Unblooded of Nol Pratos had long been denied basic dignity by the Matriarch and the Mosh’Dalar, but all of that would change once Marcella destroyed the last Wyrm Lord and harvested the Godsoul fragment from the Eternal Priestess. Soon piety and faith, not chance, would be the sole corridor to power.
One Conduit. One Goddess. One hope for the future.
Her wyvern screeched when she kicked its flank and urged it into a dive. The evening air whistling through her mask was like ice on her skin, and a massive winter storm was gathering on the eastern horizon. Visibility was already poor and getting worse by the second; she could barely even make out the ships of her fleet from here. Her forces weren’t planning to attack until tomorrow, since it would allow her armada extra time to properly spread throughout the channel, and if anyth
ing, the brewing storm should have encouraged her to stay the course. The advantage was hers, after all, and conventional military logic held that intervening factors like weather would only benefit the weaker force.
But there were more variables at play here than the elements. Highwind’s entire defensive posture relied on two individuals: the dragon and the priestess. The sooner Marcella destroyed them, the sooner this wretched age could come to an end.
Her wyvern leveled its descent as she finally approached the fleet below. A vast array of caravels and galleys surrounded her flagship, the Queen’s Vengeance. Built just a few years after its sister ship, the Purity’s Hammer, the Vengeance was a marvel of modern engineering and artifice. Stretching two hundred feet long and another fifty wide, the mighty galleon could have easily blockaded the Reachwend all by itself…if not for the presence of a Wyrm Lord.
Marcella’s mind flashed with images of the dragon’s fiery breath annihilating the Hammer and its crew. Even now, days later, she could still feel the echo of her bound channelers dying as the flames consumed them. She hoped that the dragon’s victory would make him overconfident; much of her strategy depended upon it, in fact. If he wished to destroy the Vengeance, he would open himself up to dozens upon dozens of ballistae mounted on the rest of the fleet, not to mention the scores of wyvern riders waiting patiently for a chance to avenge their fallen comrades.
Tightening her grip on the reins, she steered her mount down onto the main deck of her flagship. One of her golden-armored Sanctori was waiting for her, as were several of her Crimson Flame channelers. The former held her spear straight as she stood at attention, while the latter dropped to a knee and lowered their heads in the presence of their Conduit. When Marcella climbed down from her saddle, even her wyvern laid completely flat against the deck in its own display of deference.
“Your honor us with your presence, my queen,” the Sanctori, Veleca, said from behind her golden helmet. “The fleet is at your command.”
Marcella strode forward and eyed her servants from behind her own mask. While her bound channelers had obviously sensed her approach, they were all still confused (and more than a little terrified) by her unprompted appearance on the front lines. They all knew that their fates were bound to hers; if she fell in battle, the Wasting Echo would destroy them even if the warriors of Highwind did not.
In the ancient world, mortals understood that no power came without a price, the voice of the Godsoul said into her mind. They pledged their bodies and their souls to the gods, and in return for their service, the gods protected their people. That is the world you must resurrect.
Marcella lifted her clawed gauntlet and bade her servants to rise. Many of her bound channelers had never touched the Aether before she had empowered them, yet they were already growing reliant upon its energies. Had circumstances been different, she likely would have rationed her power more carefully…though perhaps the Godsoul was right and this was the correct path forward. Her channelers understood their place far better than any mere soldier ever could. She was more than just their queen—she was their goddess, and they were quite literally nothing without her grace.
“Report,” Marcella demanded, bolstering her voice with the Aether to ensure that it carried across the whole ship despite the fluttering sails and the waves breaking against the hull.
“The fleet is nearly in position, mistress,” Veleca said. “The lead ships will be ready to cast anchor by daybreak, and we can begin bombardment by mid-afternoon…assuming the storm cooperates.”
Marcella cast her gaze east upriver. The deepening fog was already too thick to actually see Highwind from this distance, but she knew it wouldn’t be far now. They were only a few hours away from Hastien’s Fall, and the city would roll into view on the horizon shortly thereafter.
My Sarodihm servant waits within the walls of the Citadel. Unleash her, and she will ensure the dragon’s destruction—and your final ascension.
“I have no intention of waiting for the storm’s permission,” Marcella said. “Nor are we going to wait until tomorrow to strike.”
Veleca’s golden helmet tilted fractionally. “Mistress?”
“Jurisa and her Huntresses are already in position, and the enemy has provided us with a unique opportunity to sow chaos,” Marcella said. “We may even have a chance to destroy the dragon before he can threaten the fleet.”
Veleca shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
Marcella grinned beneath her mask, once again struck by just how much her relationship to her servants had changed in such a short period of time. Before Nol Krovos—before the Fount—the Sanctori and the Senosi had been her most trusted advisors. But since the vatari crystals tattooed into their flesh severed them from the Aether, they could never be truly bound to her will. She couldn’t communicate her desires to them in an instant, nor could she properly discipline them for their failures unless they were directly in front of her. The Senosi traitor, Valuri Sorvaal, was proof enough of that.
Once you have consumed the Aether and destroyed sorcery, your former servants will no longer serve a purpose. If you cannot control them, you cannot trust them.
“I trust them more than I will ever trust you,” Marcella spat.
Veleca took a step back and shared a confused glance with the channelers behind her. “I…I beg your pardon, mistress?”
“Never mind,” Marcella said, balling her claws into a fist and pacing across the deck. She had clearly spent too much time brooding in her throne room surrounded by the voice of the Godsoul. Her outburst had sent it into a retreat, but she could still feel its presence lurking somewhere deep inside her. It seemed to be growing more insistent by the day. The change was disturbing, to say the least.
“I do not recommend attacking before the storm clears, my queen,” Veleca said carefully. “The wind and ice will severely reduce the accuracy of our ballistae, and the wyverns will not be nearly as fast or maneuverable in a storm.”
Marcella took a deep breath and pivoted back around. “The enemy archers will be similarly impeded, and the darkness will greatly benefit our forces already hidden within the city.”
“Perhaps, but…” Veleca paused for a moment and gathered herself. “With all due respect, my queen, I am concerned about your presence here above deck. Perhaps you should go below where I can ensure your safety from—”
“I will not cower in a cabin below decks and hide from the battle,” Marcella interrupted. “Not now, not with the stakes as high as they are. In fact…” She returned to her wyvern’s side and placed her gauntlet upon his scales. “This time, I plan to join the fighting myself.”
She could feel the collective gasp of her servants even with the wind whistling in her ears. When she turned around, Veleca was frozen and speechless. The channelers behind her were stiff with dread.
“You should have more faith in your queen, Sanctori,” Marcella said. “I led our forces in battle on Nol Krovos, and I shall do so again here.”
“O-of course, mistress,” Veleca said, tipping her golden helmet. “I meant no disrespect.”
Marcella snorted and raised her voice again. “This battle will be unlike any other fought in this age,” she said, as much to the crew as to her channelers. “A Wyrm Lord had arisen, and the forces of discord are already gathering under his banner. He cannot be defeated by arrows or catapults or swords. Only my power—the power of divinity—can destroy the dragons once and for all.”
Veleca slowly nodded. “I understand, mistress. What are your orders?”
Marcella glanced out over the edge of the ship as the silhouette of Highwind finally rolled into view on the crimson horizon. “My orders are simple,” she said, smiling beneath her mask. “We attack.”
***
“Off-hand, I can’t decide what’s crazier,” Valuri commented as she peered out of the bedroom window and down the moonlit streets. “The fact that a bunch of drow exiles are going to help defend the city, or the fact that I’m ba
rely even fazed by it. Half the orc clans from the Shattered Peaks could show up at the front gate and I’d almost consider it normal at this point.”
“It is strange…and unsettling,” Kaseya commented beside her. Her eyes were locked on the throng of Serrane’s Duskwatch rangers and Solemi’s dark elf assassins congregating in the street just outside the Ranger-General’s estate. In theory, they were about to break into small squads and spread across the city. While the Knights of the Silver Fist would defend the walls, these fireteams would try to hold the streets.
Assuming the drow didn’t just loot the city blind and crawl back beneath the surface.
“I suppose war often breeds strange alliances,” Valuri muttered. “I wonder how many of them backfire in the end?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and paced over to the bed. Serrane had just set out for the Silver Fist Temple, and Jorem still wasn’t back from his “meeting” with Solemi. Under different circumstances, Valuri would have insisted on making the most of her quiet time alone with Kaseya. The amazon’s tight little cunt could always use more punishment, and Valuri’s Senosi hunger would never refuse a fresh meal.
But for the first time in as long as she could remember, the Huntress simply wasn’t in the mood. Her stomach churned every time she thought about Jorem’s “bargain” with Solemi. He was almost certainly correct that the Darkwind army was worth a small personal sacrifice, but that didn’t mean Valuri had to like it.
“What in the bloody void is taking him so long?” she muttered, crossing her legs as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “You felt him finish a while ago.”
“He is on his way,” Kaseya said, closing her eyes and touching the ruby in her collar. “I can feel the chill of the air on his skin.”
Valuri sighed. “I still can’t believe you agreed to this. You’re the one who has to feel him fucking another woman.”
“I have felt him copulate with other women many times.”
