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

by Angel Black

  I sigh behind her, letting her know my presence and hopefully my disapproval of her wasted pity. I am too tired to care about sending killers to meet their maker, nor do I care about the last words of a dying man who would have given us less. “He lost that right when he did the same to the innocent.”

  “A life is still a life,” she says, standing, her head down, “and these weren’t bandits.”

  I look back at the easy death which I caused, and then back to her. She is already facing me when my gaze returns to her. “Not bandits? By the gods they are Red Cloth, covered with loot and the spoils of the innocent! Do not pretend to-”

  “Not bandits,” her blue eyes penetrate mine, and I feel chastened by her knowledge of matters like these. She steps into me, getting close and raising a finger with her eyes on cobalt fire. For what Frost lacks in magic or bloodthirsty rage, she makes up for in knowledge of this world and dare I say it, compassion. She sighs, and turns away.

  I wait for her explanation as she moves to another man, already dead. She is quiet and letting her words sink in. She has my attention, so she milks it for her little lesson as she is want to do. Do I tire of this habit, which I am sure annoys me?

  My mind does, but my heart puts up with it.

  “Greyrock militia,” she says flatly, putting the next man to rest with a song, “possibly the king’s men. Their weapons, all of them, and these horses. They, they were royal bred. Some of these men wear agate rings, marriage bands among the highborn there. Some inscribed with family names. And the skin is, was - forget it, just they were wearing them for a long time. Not stolen.”

  “Greyrock? What are they doing this far east? They are at least a week away either by the crossing north at Longbridge or the trail south headed towards Mist Valley. These men have no reason-”

  “Tell them that now that they are dead,” Frost says, her voice displeased as she gives up trying to sooth the last of the dying. They are fading away too fast, the moans and screams are silent now. Right then, my heart breaks, and I feel remorse that I displeased her.

  Me?

  How me?

  I am a mage of Magetower! An important member of the Circle of Magic, and a fourth circle initiate! Mortals turn their eyes down to me, and I, my foolish heart feels something for this bard? How so?

  My curse. My legend. My heritage as a Sister of Gundir and a cock-cursed she-man of gods’ blood. For these feelings come from the weak heart of men, where a beautiful woman can make a male fall stupid and lame for her grace.

  She walks away and I feel the sorrowful pain in my chest ring forth, my eyes on her perfectly pulled and round ass in her tight leather pants, an ass which belongs to a head which thinks I am a monster. I look at my hands in grief and pain, the same hands which flung uncaring death just moments ago. How could I do this?

  I love her.

  I wipe a stinging tear away from my eye and pull up my hood, turning from her as she walks away. I can’t do it though, I can’t let her walk away. I want her. I need her.

  How can I?

  I breathe from my teeth, my lips flared, and my face a twisted mask of agony as she slowly slips away from my good graces and out of my life. This is it, isn’t it?

  My murderous rage.

  My lack of care.

  Turning to magic first and words later.

  Like the fury of the sea god Aegir and his tidal-wave like fury and temper.

  My embrace of death and my callous mind are just the same.

  I will never change.

  How can I? I can’t. I can’t. I don’t have the time to care. With so much in my life, so much to learn in Magetower, my studies, my responsibilities as a Fourth Circle member, the required travels and meetings I must make - how can you expect me to have time to care, woman? This magic which takes so much from me, and the long hours I must keep, how do you expect me to have the energy to deal with this other than the way I know best?

  The easy way.

  But still, my heart falters, and my head feels weak.

  She keeps walking away, even from the direction of our horses. It is as if she is walking to clear her mind of me, to lump me in with the death I have wrought, and to seal me off from her life once and for all.

  Even though we just met weeks ago.

  And we got along really well.

  Considering.

  And I spent all those nights lying in my bed, stroking my cock while thinking of her, and imagining the look upon her face as I made her come. Feeling her do the same against me.

  And the time I almost invited her to my room, but I couldn’t build up the courage to, so we went off to bed separate and alone.

  She crests the hill past the carnage, and I feel my heart sink below the earth. I have lost her.

  “I’m sorry. Don’t go,” I say, my words too soft to be heard.

  But a slight turn of her head with her flowing long silver locks blowing in the wind tells me otherwise.

  I wait and she stands on the hill away from me. I am lost in her, and I feel my heart sink as I know she is thinking about walking away from all this, my madness, my magic, and my temper.

  I don’t think I could live if she does.

  I can’t-

  And she comes running back to me and I am confused. She cares not for running through the field of charred death she just avoided, the smell of burnt flesh still hanging in the air like a pall. Her eyes are wild, and my heart is confused, but racing in anticipation she has realized her feelings are the same as mine, that she loves me and forgives me for my foolish ways.

  Please, Goddess.

  She’s screaming, her eyes wide, and her supple and kissable face now a vision of fear. Fear? What did she see?

  “Orcs!” She is screaming at the top of her voice, a pitch which stings my ears with its powerful high note. “Hundreds of them!”

  Orcs? Hundreds?

  I stand disbelieving, too tired from my magic and too shocked to care because it can’t be real. Hundreds of Orcs when they live in villages and hovels of only a dozen? The long-armed and ape-like beasts couldn’t even grow much larger than that without killing each over because they fought over the prettiest bones.

  “Run!” Frost grabs my arm and pulls me back towards my horse, shaking me out of my stupor.

  “Only Orcs? I trust your ear Miss Frost, but are you certain this isn’t elk or-”

  “Orcs!” She screams, her hands gripping my arms so tight they hurt. “Led by a dragon!”

  Led?

  A dragon?

  Dragons are not drakeworms. They are larger, smarter, and they are never seen soaring above the lands of man. Dragons are as ancient as the mountains, and the ones which live in this world are as powerful as anything short of a god.

  “Dragon?” I am lost in what this means as she shoves me towards my horse. “What does a dragon want-”

  In moments, we are lost to this place of death and my foolishness, following the two who fled from us moments earlier. If they know of a way out of this valley, we shall follow them until escape is ours.

  If we escape.

  Chapter 9:

  Together

  “Were you scared?”

  My face rests in Chloe’s brown hair as we cuddle by the fire. I told her, do not try to seduce me, but the warmth of her rump rubbing against my hips has my cock on alert and semi-rigid down the crack of her ass. Since I usually do not wear the gousset covering my crotch in the rare times I sleep in my armor, I chose a simple chainmail loin instead, along with the steel faulds covering my hips. It pinches everywhere, took forever to lie in a position that did not produce agony-inducing pain, yet I did it through years of unfortunate experience.

  I wouldn’t sleep that much tonight, but at least my cock wouldn’t strangle itself to death inside a steel crotch guard.

  And it felt good pressing against the fallow folds of her dress, even with the chain and thin fabric of my shorts covering it. I have resigned myself to making love to her, just not yet. I
am patient enough to know when it comes, it shall be a moment never to forget.

  “Yes,” I say, “what scares me is if I’m not.”

  She smells divine, with jasmine and rose, and I smell of oil and sweat. I bury my face in her hair, surrendering for a small moment with her, my plate covered arm wrapping around her, my black leather glove subconsciously cupping the yellow fabric around her breast. She coos and squirms in approval, setting off a dozen small clinks and clanks from the pieces of the armor she rubs against.

  I had setup a small fire between two boulders after the two of us cleared out enough brush and debris to make a spot for us to camp. We have one horse and we lost our camping gear, so we just had a musky saddle-blanket to keep warm with.

  “Thank you,” she says, “for rescuing me.”

  “Your father called for me,” I say, staring into our small fire. The dim light from the flame keeps us in twilight, but together we feel much better. Or at least I assume she does.

  “A reward?”

  I nod so she feels it, and we lay quiet. Yes, I saved you because I got paid to.

  “Would you have otherwise?”

  I let out a soft breath from my nose, which I know she feels on the skin of her neck.

  “Truthfully? No,” I say, “no one wants to fight a drakewurm for fun.”

  “How much?” She squirms against me, her dress ruined by the oil of my armor, I know, but at least we are warm.

  “Does it matter?”

  “No.”

  We lay quiet, and she strokes the leather fingers of my glove one by one. I wonder if she has ever really been that much away from home, and if being saved by a knight in shining armor is some fantasy to her.

  Not that I don’t mind saving fair maidens from dragons, as long as the sex is good.

  I wince at my thoughts, my cock stiffening again against the inviting curve of her ass. I have got to learn how to control myself. I am the typical knight, aren’t I?

  “Do we have food? Water?”

  “No.”

  We tried to scavenge for something before we set down and it got dark, but we didn’t find a thing. She must be as parched as I, and I can tell the two of us are hungry by the rumbles of our stomachs.

  If we did not find water tomorrow, we would be in a very bad way. Perhaps I could scout the valley floor and the hills to the road, and we could hit a farm along the way in a half-day or so?

  If the mage wasn’t there.

  Mages were like that, if you were unsure of who’s side they were on, you stayed far away. For all I know, the mage could have been looking for this fair lass’ bounty as well, and whoever she was could be out looking for us right at this moment.

  She could smell our fire.

  She could be sneaking up on us right now.

  I have to trust my skills, to know the path I took could not be followed, and the lack of wind tonight would mask our fire, or send the smell in a direction away from behind us. It is not easy running away from a mage, not with the magic I know they possess.

  Still, with no food and no water, we will not survive out here for long. Hundr son of the hunt and Freja daughter of bounty give us your blessings so we may eat and find sustenance in the coming days.

  I pray to you.

  Am I one who finds faith only when times are hard? No, I believe in our lineage, and I know we descend from our gods. Do I agree with the mess they created for us, this world we find ourselves in?

  No, not all of it.

  Still, if they hear me, a daughter of their blood, may they provide - no, I really hate praying for fortune. I shall find it myself.

  I cuddle with Chloe tighter for the warmth, and she falls asleep in my arms. I rest my chin on her shoulder and stare into the fire, pops and crackles of the wood sending orange embers floating off into the night.

  The mage could have killed me, but probably didn’t for fear of hurting her bounty. She could expect chilling frost, or even soul-jolting lightning from such wizards to directly make a single target succumb.

  Have you ever been hit by lighting?

  I have seen a man hit by a lightning bolt shit himself and lie there like an invalid, his tongue nearly bitten off, and choking to death on his own blood.

  It is not pleasant.

  And if the mage were here to help?

  I have a thousand reasons why that wasn’t likely, all of them in gold. Magic takes its toll on the body, and mages were never known to casually use magic for no good reason.

  And magic is expensive.

  That simple answer was usually the truth.

  I will keep my crossbow loaded tonight.

  And the truth is out there hunting us.

  Chapter 10:

  Distant

  I rest my forehead on my knees in the small damp cave, my blue and white mage robes a soft cushion of regret for my thoughts.

  “Are you sure led?” I say, speaking into my skirt as the fire burned between us.

  She is painfully silent and I look to her for an answer.

  “Led?” I say, “and not chased? The dragon could be-”

  “Led,” Frost says, her voice as cold to me as her name. She could have added words to that, but she holds them in the tangle of her emotions. I feel so bad about what I did, even though I shouldn’t. Those were bandits all, or at least they were dressed as them, and one does not go around dressed as a bandit and waving a sword unless one does not want to attract an arrow or two.

  Or a fireball.

  Still, I feel for her, even with her stupid assumptions about how the world should work in her mind. Perhaps she is too naive about this world, having spent her life comfortable in taverns and the holds of the rich. Frost’s silly notions that one could talk and parlay with savage bandits puzzles me, so I just want to drop this but I know I can’t. I resign lost in pity, resting my forehead on my arms.

  I wish I could love her.

  I feel my cock stir at the thought of her, but I am too sad to let it grow further. I can’t get excited, not now, not with this.

  Perhaps it shall never be.

  “Why led?” I say.

  The unexpected answer comes. “I know not, Astrid of Magetower,” she says, and even when she uses my full title in anger I think it’s cute and I cannot resist her charms, “But led. The dragon was close, and the Orcs were picking up the pace close behind, lumbering and walking at first, but they started to run after that damnable moment. They must have seen the fireball.”

  “I’m sorry.” It hurts to even say something I shouldn’t, or don’t believe in. But I’m not sorry. I should tell her how stupid she is being, how silly her thoughts were. Bandits are bandits, and that is that. She twists my guts like a young boy in love, and I curse her for that. “They were dressed as-”

  “Bandits aye, but they were soldiers of the Hold of Greyrock,” she says, her rhythmic voice lost and distant, “I know not why, perhaps they were chasing those two.”

  “As bandits? Likely not.” I say. “Garl Greyrock and his son Thane rule those lands to the west, and if they were pursuing those two they would be doing it under the banner of their hold. By the laws of the Empire they have that right.”

  “They could be Thane’s men,” Frost says, “Garl’s son has been known to be quite unconventional in his dealings.”

  “But to dress as bandits and to walk the hold of Dragon’s Reach is very unconventional, even for Thane’s spoiled and wicked ways.” I say. “I would bet a fist-sized mana gem those were his father’s men. But why I know not.”

  “And a dragon, and Orcs,” she says, and I thank the Goddess she is speaking with me again, “something is not right here. The two they pursue are not as they seem.”

  I close my eyes.

  “Give me a reason why I should care?”

  An obvious question, but an answer I wish to hear from her soft lips. She stays quiet like she knows something I don’t, or she is putting a meaning to words she is puzzling over. Something I don’t know. I hat
e that uneasy feeling. I am a mage, and I should know everything.

  “You used magic. The men who sent those soldiers will figure out who came through here, and why. Your involvement will be-”

  “And I shall say self-defense,” I say, looking up at her, “bandits being bandits.”

  “Yet word will circle of your involvement, and would you rather live life with a question mark in your past, or knowing why you killed dozens of men? Men with brothers and families. Men led by someone wicked enough to send them into another hold’s lands dressed as Red Scarves.”

  She needn’t say the word revenge, but I know it hangs on her sweet lips. For all I know about the workings of the world and its magic, I know next to nothing about how people interact. I am a recluse, a social hermit of a bookworm devoted to my studies and nothing else. For all of my smarts, I am still stupid in the ways of the world. My magic will mean nothing should an angry sympathizer stab me in the back because of my ignorance.

  And she is right.

  And beautiful.

  I am blessed by the longing stare of her deep blue eyes into mine across the fire. I so wish to go over to her, to embrace her, and to kiss her. I rest my chin on my knees, taking in her beautiful lithe form, her ample and too-large breasts, and the perfect curves of the intimate spaces underneath her. Only the thinnest pair of leather pants cover her legs, and the space enough to see under her tempts my thoughts with the deepest of desires.

  And her hair, bleached white by some magic, soft, and smelling of lily and rose. How I wish I could lose myself in the snow-white of her locks, wrap myself around the smallness of her waist, and fill my palms with breasts too big for me to hold in each hand.

  And to thrust my cock into her inviting sex from behind as she gasps at the length and girth of my cock filling her body.

  That did it.

  I feel the strong member and gift of the mother-man goddess Gundir erupt within me, growing past my panties, and extending to more than a two-and-a-half fist length from my hips between my thighs. Oh, Goddess does it feel good to be aroused and at full length again. Even though it is hidden under my skirt, it is hard and proud, and it desires the soft pink flesh of this bard’s sweet cunt.