Futanari Legends: The Frozen Queen (Book 1: Brenna)

by Angel Black

  Contents

  Forward

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: A Ride Taken

  Chapter 2: Eyes in Darkness

  Chapter 3: When I Live

  Chapter 4: Secrets

  Chapter 5: Last Stand

  Chapter 6: Spells and Verse

  Chapter 7: Two Paths

  Chapter 8: Truth in Death

  Chapter 9: Together

  Chapter 10: Distant

  Chapter 11: Wicked

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

  Futanari Legends: The Frozen Queen

  (Book 1: Brenna)

  by Angel Black

  Copyright © 2014 by Angel Black

  Version 1.0, December 2014

  A MMOerotica book

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Warning, this book contains explicit sexual content, and is intended for mature audiences only. All characters depicted in this book are 18 or older.

  MMOerotica, MMO-Erotica, ereaderotica, and Futanari Legends are copyright 2014, Sylvia Storm.

  Cover design by Angel Black

  Photograph by ZoomTeam/BigStock.com

  Prologue

  In death they shall find one another, and in death they shall find themselves. One shall find redemption, one shall find loss, and one shall find betrayal. Dark days come, men with wicked hearts circle about, and the beasts gather to the drums of war.

  Cursed souls struggle and the fates grow darker as a winter of death blows across the land without care, nor mercy. Numbering three, they come from places outside the world, yet they must become accustomed to it in order to survive.

  Wickedness and blood, sacrifice and innocence, pride and foolishness come home as the darkness falls. And somewhere out in the black of night a dragon floats upon the wind like the shadow of death. On black wings he glides through the night, and with razored claws he carves a path in blood across the land.

  In three, our future lies.

  In three, our fates are sealed.

  In three, the truth shall be found.

  For the Frozen Queen awaits her crown, and a dragon’s eye seeks the head upon which it shall rest.

  Chapter 1:

  A Ride Taken

  Ice winds rushed across the dying grasses of Winter, for the Valley of Dragons in the Northlands was not a fair or hospitable place. While many made this place their home, they huddled within the walls of desperate cities clinging to life on the rocky soil and short summers of these lands. Dagger-like spires of ice-covered solid gray rock surrounded these places of civilization, dangerous lands inhabited by bandits, vermin, troll-kind, or even worse, dragon spawn of the soul-eating Lindwurm.

  The breath of the ice-giant Blaer blew strong today, covering the lands with fierce north winds coming off the punishing Ice Sea. Even the clouds shot up into the sky in protest, the strong winds ripping the mist to pieces as they soared above the blade peaks of rock like dying wisps of white cotton.

  Blaer’s breath froze skin on touch, a bitter harbinger of the winter to come. Long fallow grass bent to its will, the twisted trees ached and popped as they bent, and fierce shrubs clung to life with stubborn roots as they buried themselves in the stony earth below. To live here required a conscious act of will every day to survive, every day the living did not crawl inches ahead it would slide back into the bitter frozen death and decay of a nature which did not care nor stop in its relentless assault on order and humanity.

  Life existed here, carved from thousands of years like the jagged peaks surrounding the peoples of these lands. This was the home of the Northmen, people cut from the land like hewn stone, with men with bodies like mountains and their faces covered by beards like great pine forests. The women too, beauties tempered by the north wind, used to the hard life and stubbornly independent and strong. This was not a land where the fat and the lazy ruled, and a woman could get by merely by sitting at home and raising children. The women of the North tended the fields with their babies on their backs, chopped the wood, and slaughtered the livestock for the night’s meal right alongside the men.

  For the Goddess Fredrika, fair wife of the majestic god-father Othin, was their goddess, and the people of the north descended from these gods.

  This was not a land of feudal peasants and lazy kings, this was a land where shield brothers fought for the honor of their houses, and it was also a land of mysterious magic. The magic of the way of the world, the power of the gods, and the mystic forces which shaped these people’s lives in ways not well understood. It is said only the Sages of the forbidden fortress of Magetower understood magic, or the lone hermit privy to a lost secret or two discovered in mysterious ways.

  She knew of this strange hidden magic, not terribly well, but enough to know it flowed through the jagged lands like the nourishing water underground. Magic shaped the land, caused the trees to grow, the crops to green, the rivers to run, and life to exist in this barren and windswept place.

  Like the water, she believed one could drown in such power.

  Some said magic was the way of the world, and others said it was the blood of the gods bringing life to the lands of their children. The smart folk knew the blood of pure soul-consuming evil also ran through the lands with the same magic, the blood of the Lindwurm. This wickedness, corrupted magics bled the good from the man, spawning soul-eating drakes, and tempting hearts with dark and sinister power. Cults and purveyors of dark magic were attracted to such wickedness, as corrupted as blackened sin itself.

  And she did not like this magic all that much. Nothing good ever came from ultimate power, and time and time again man proved his weakness to wielding such forces.

  And the spawn of black magic was as wicked as Hell itself.

  For her prey today was one of those hellish spawn, a young drakewurm spawned from the belly of the beast itself, a creature known by the name of Faer.

  She was a drake-hunter, not by choice or trade, but this day by necessity.

  Her horse, Jonn, took her from the well-traveled road between the city of Dragon’s Reach and the small town from which she came, the plainly-named Crossroads. This dusty and boulder-marked road cut through the Dragon Valley like a deepened scar, well-used by desperate travelers and vicious highway robbers alike. She worked a small path off the road until it faded away, leaving her in the midst of tan grass and umber-hued ghas-root plants and shrubs.

  Being in the open on any bit of a rise invited trouble, either by bandits or drakeworms, so she wisely stuck to ravines and dry gullies once filled by spring rains. With winter, these stream beds turned dry and hard, useful paths which kept her horse free from the razor-sharp briers, but the streams never stayed the same every year, so relying on them could take you anywhere if you weren’t skilled in the least bit in navigation and survival.

  Her father taught her those skills, a woodsman by trade named Margus Wellstone. The Wellstones were blood-relatives of the Stormpeaks, and the most hated man of the North, Daugr Stormpeak. For this man Daugr was a Freeman, an Iceblade rebel against the outsiders of the Holy E
mpire of the Immortal god-king Amarus. The Holy Empire by trade and blade ruled this land, Southerners from the South Sea. The Empire was all things and rich, so they came north and established ports where proud Northman cities once stood, and brought these savage lands into the Empire’s folds.

  But Daugr Stormpeak would have none of it.

  It is said the Empire mercilessly killed his family and children, took his land, and banished the man to the hellish prisons under the grand Northlands capital of Sunrise. He escaped in a daring Iceblade raid, wounded the Imperial governor Regus, and fled to the deep ice-clad forests around the northern port of Icehold, a land where Freeman sympathies and blood pacts held stronger than stone to ice on the peaks of jagged mounts.

  The Iceblades raided brutal Imperial garrisons, terrorized the Empire’s holds and forts, and spread populist rebel sympathies across the land like angry blood spilled on purest snow.

  The Empire would have none of this, and so started a civil war which spread across the frozen north like wildfire, pitting family against family and hold against hold. With open rebellion burning in the deep forests of Icehold to the north, to the uneasy peace of stalwart Imperial strongholds like Dragon’s Reach to the east. Sometimes the state of unrest in an area was like the weather, you just had to be there to know how much blood was going to be spilled that day.

  Her family was related to Daugr’s, and thus blood-bound to join the oft-futile but bloody fight. This fact also raised the suspicions of Imperial garrisons wherever she went, so she rarely used her born-name, preferring to use her first-name and title, Brenna the Hunter, or Brenna Hunter for short.

  In this suspicious and violent time, using her birth-name could be a death sentence by association.

  Thoughts of blood-oaths and wars between an Empire and the people of a stubborn land fled from her thoughts as the open maw of a hillside cave came into view. Surrounding the cave’s entrance were the decomposing bodies and bones of villager and Imperial soldier alike, allies in death but often enemies in life, and all of whom attempted to slay this beast.

  This is it.

  Inside the drake holds the fair daughter of the mayor of the Crossroads, a fair lass by the name of Chloe Chrissus. Returning her alive to the crossroads meant a reward of one-thousand gold coins with no questions asked. Only the one scaled and clawed beast inside this lair knew this fact as well, and drew the people of the land to their cruel and greedy deaths. For this beast fed on their souls, and with every soul, the vile beast grew stronger.

  And larger.

  Fools all who entered here, including herself.

  For this was the lair of the drakewurm Faer.

  Chapter 2:

  Eyes in Darkness

  Beyond the blood mixed with brackish mud laid a vast gaping maw of a cave consumed by stinging black-flies and the stench of death. The mud sucked at her hide boots inlaid with metal scales, threatening to pull them from her legs. Descending into this place felt like wading into Hell itself as her shadow crept towards the looming darkness.

  She knew she shouldn’t be here. The tingling sensation crept up her neck like a snake, with every shadow and every sound waiting to strike at her with razor sharp claws.

  This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be here.

  But the gold.

  Damn my greed. Want for no good purpose? Possibly. But this is war, and gold is safety and peace. Risk a little now to risk a lot less later.

  She stepped on a twig which sent a loud crack through the darkness and a jolt shooting from her head to her toes. The expected attack never came, but every bit of darkness jumped at her with a silent growl and a hungry maw.

  Or die now and forget about it all.

  She wrapped her leather glove around the comforting hilt of her broadsword, and slid the long blade free from the scabbard resting on her back. The metallic ring sent shivers down her spine, and it felt like an eternity passed between the point she held the hilt and the weapon was free in her hand.

  Nothing came, nor did anything jump at her before she drew her sword. Sometimes, the scariest enemies were the ones who waited, and the ones who did not care how much you prepared.

  It was out there. A drakewurm. And it knew it would kill her before half a heartbeat passed, it’s uncaring claws tearing through her steel breastplate like it was paper.

  And her fearless heart was beating itself out of her chest under her trusted and certain armor.

  As certain as death itself.

  Stupid woman. Stupid, stupid woman. Going and getting yourself captured by a drakewurm. Getting all these people killed, and me in here trying to save you.

  She stepped again, her foot finding solid stone in the darkness, and she tried to keep her wet boot from slipping on the smooth surface. The scuff of her foot sliding made her wince in anguish again, despite her best attempts she could not stay silent. Silence is life in a darkness filled by a thousand nightmare beasts.

  She stayed frozen in place, ears searching for the looming threat. All she needed was to hear a noise, to hear a growl, a maw opening, or worse yet, close enough to feel the inevitable hot breath of the dragon upon the soft flesh of her neck.

  In the darkness, nothing.

  Was the drakewurm even here?

  Something told her it was. It was here all right, somewhere down in this dark cave, waiting. Her eyes adjusted to the scant light, making out the pure gray shapes of the dank walls, twisted roots, and scattered rocks leading down away from the safety of the uncaring world above.

  So down she went, losing herself in a cocoon of nightmares and fears, moving through the darkness hopefully like a shadow itself. Though she knew it could see the heat of her flesh, and smell the scent of the living. Any sound betrayed her for miles down here, and it knew.

  It knew.

  She stepped around a rock, pushing her body close to a chilled wall. For a sword-wielder, space meant life, and the intrusion of a wall to her back limited her options. This was one less way to dodge, one huge problem for bringing a blow to speed, and a weakness her opponent could seize upon. Her father told her to a swordsman, corners were death, and a wall was one step closer to death than she liked.

  Dry roots tangled with her hair, and she feared getting too close to the stone. One misstep, one sound, or one scrape of metal to stone would kill her.

  For the longest time she sat quiet in this limited life.

  And then she heard the deep, throaty, rumbling growl shake the corner next to her body, and it sent terror reverberating through her very soul.

  It knew.

  She couldn’t control her breathing, yet she had to. She held her breath until spots appeared in her eyes, and her chest ached for air. She let out a breath slowly, and then sucked in the chill air as it burned her lungs. She forced herself to stop, think, and breathe.

  Sweat coated the insides of her gloves, and her toes gripped at the leather soles inside her boots. Her muscles tightened like steel chains. She tried to blink away the fear, pressing her cheek against the chill stone, and focusing on the empty space beyond the corner inches from her metal pauldron.

  The rasp sound of a giant creature moving like a snake filled the darkness, a thousand scales sliding along the dead stone sending a dry cacophony of scraping hisses through the air. She could hear every heavy drop of its claws against the stone, and the snapping clicks of the beast’s unholy throat.

  When it sucked air through its nostrils, she knew. It sounded like the breath of a horse, only deeper and more labored as the beast pulled the air all the way down its long neck. She could hear the hollow echo of the air being drawn down, almost like a horn-player drawing air but making no sound.

  It stopped. It was maybe feet from the looming corner near her, but it stopped. She could tell how close it was by the change in the air. A chilling warmth came over her, the air drawing still, and the sounds of scale on terrible scale coming close enough to her ear for her to just know.

  It was close.

  And
it knew.

  Chapter 3:

  When I Live

  There was no better time to die like today, so she ran straight into the face of death itself.

  She knew it expected her to stay still and be locked by fear, so she ran out into the darkness, directly across the beast’s vision, and into the darkness beyond. She wondered if she weren’t running straight off a cliff in the gloom, but the dragon’s exploding breath of flame turned a cold cavern into a hellish oven in the moments behind her.

  The black and scaled form of the drakewurm slithered and hissed in front of her as the fire died out, and she moved quickly to be somewhere else when the dragon’s maw came.

  And came it did, snapping like a giant vise inches from her arm, close enough she could feel the dagger-sized teeth snap together and the stench and rush of vile air from the beast’s maw.

  Where its head must be its neck must follow.

  She sliced her steely sword downward towards the beast’s neck, catching a cluster of scales in a depressingly ineffective blow. Several scales clattered about as her blade pulled them free, and the vile, corrupted blood spattered across the cave like hot torrents from a stuck pig. No good could come from this thing, no parlay, no mercy, no reasoning, for it was in the beast’s blood to kill, maim, and consume for the sheer pleasure of suffering.

  A glancing blow was a fatal clue to my position, so I had to move.

  Brenna knew she had to do the least obvious move, so she ducked under the second snap of the beast’s maw, rolling under its jowls with her back to the cold stone, and she came up on her feet on the other side of the angry force of death. She came so close to its throat she lamented not taking a thrust straight up to end this all, but her movement and position were all wrong to make the blow strong and true.

  Sometimes winning meant being patient enough to deliver the killing blow at the right time.