Dragon Jade Chronicle: The Warlock And The Warrior

by Jamie MacFrey

  Iandra was rolled onto her back, staring at him, her fingers working her clit. He grinned at her, then picked up his massive jade cleaver.

  “You won’t need to report back to my sister today,” he said, pushing apart the tent flaps and glancing out. As both Warmaster and the chief’s brother, his tent was placed as close as possible to hers. “I’ll tell her myself.”

  * * * * *

  Olene, daughter of Korth the Grim, Chief of the Sky Dragon Clan, took a small sip from her horn of fermented milk and glanced at the man in front of her chair. Young, well-built, his body smooth and shining from the oil he’d rubbed into it, yet revealing muscles made to make a partner scream with satisfaction. He stared at her, running his hand along his cock, the long, thick length standing upright from his body.

  “Piero, of all my thralls, you are my favorite,” Olene whispered at him, then smiling into her horn as she took another sip. He was. He’d proved incompetent as a warrior, and following tradition, he’d been made into a thrall. When Olene had crawled over the last corpse the siblings who’d opposed her chieftainship had left behind, she’d rewarded herself with thralls trained in the art of pleasure. Piero was one of her most prized acquisitions.

  She uncrossed her legs, revealing the folds of her lower lips to him. Where other warriors had limited jade to cover themselves with, instead jewelry bedecked her body in all forms: rings covered each finger, two necklaces overlapped each other down her chest, the thick belt around her waist. The piercings in Olene’s ears, nose, navel, nipples, and even the hood of her clit were made from dragon jade.

  Olene’s thralls were dressed little better than she was. Since they were not warriors, they were prohibited jade, but the scraps of cloth they wore left barely anything to the imagination.

  “Uli,” called Olene. The little thrall, a petite young woman who’d come crawling to Olene when she was first made chief, was quick to place the jug of fermented milk down on the table, then rush to stand at attention.

  “Yes, mistress.”

  Never breaking eye contact with Piero, Olene reached out a hand, running it across Uli’s waist until she found the knot in her waistband, undoing the thrall’s rudely made clothing and discarding it on the floor of her tent. She pressed Uli down to the floor, stretched out her horn over Piero’s crotch, pouring a short stream of milk onto his cock, before raising the horn back to her mouth.

  “Make him ready,” Olene said.

  “Yes, mistress.”

  Uli took Piero’s cock from his hands, running her fingertips over him with a slow, deliberate care. Piero groaned and Olene stretched out one foot, pressing it to the back of Uli’s head, so that she pressed closer to him.

  “With your mouth,” said Olene.

  “Yes, mistress,” said Uli.

  She began to lick at Piero’s length, Olene watching over the brim of her horn as the thrall’s tongue lapped the milk off his cock, then wrapped her mouth around his shaft, Olene watching intently as his girth stretched the pretty little thrall’s lips. Olene pressed her toes harder against Uli’s head, dictating the rate at which the thrall bobbed her head on his shaft, speeding her until his shaft ran with her saliva.

  “Enough,” said Olene. She gripped Uli by the hair on the back of her head, dragging her away. Olene stood and walked past Piero, grasping his cock as she went by, dragging him after her. She turned and lay back on the short table in her tent, spreading her legs apart, looking up at Piero.

  “Enter me,” she commanded.

  “Yes, mistress,” said Piero.

  He stepped to her, guiding his cock into her waiting pussy, and Olene hips spasmed slightly as he pushed into her. She pressed a hand against his stomach, slowing his pace, forcing him back for a moment, then letting him thrust again. This time he sunk into her to the hilt.

  “Mmmm, yes,” sighed Olene. Piero grasped her ankles, holding her steady as he began to pump into her, and Olene ran her hands along her body, stroking along her sides and up to her breasts, fondling herself and gripping the piercings until her nipples grew sensitive enough that she gasped. Two dragons were tattooed across her chest, their serpentine bodies wrapped around her arms, then over her shoulders, racing each other to her nipples, their mouths open and faces angry, one of the many decorations denoting her position as chief. Olene had also appropriated Iandra’s diving falcon tattoo, only with a talon clutching a circlet, to show her place as the raiders’ master. She traced one with an idle hand, watching Piero fuck her, sweat beginning to bead on his body as he worked.

  “Uli,” she called. The thrall appeared at her side. “Lick me while Piero works.”

  Uli bent down, running a hand across her mistress’ stomach, playing with the piercing in her navel, before letting her tongue snake out and stroke at Olene’s clit.

  “Oh, fuck,” murmured Olene. Her back began to arch. Piero’s size filled and stretched her, and the movements of Uli’s warm tongue made her gasp, especially when she manipulated the green bead of jade from the piercing, sending jolts along her body. She would not last long against this sort of pleasure, but she had not planned to.

  “Yesss,” she hissed as her body filled with warmth, her climax overtaking her. Fluid rushed out of her, spraying against Piero’s torso. Uli was taken off guard, though she ought to have known better, and Olene wrapped her fingers around the girl’s head, holding her there, making her continue with her work on her clit. She broke Piero’s hold on her ankles, wrapping them around his waist, hugging him into her, even as her orgasm gripped her.

  Within moments, she could feel herself building to another, Uli’s tongue and Piero’s cock working their magic again. This one built slower, but lasted longer, and she took a deep, hard breath that caught in her chest as it poured across her body, her pussy gripping so hard that Piero slipped out of her on the next outward stroke of his cock. Olene’s clit had grown to sensitive and she pulled Uli off her.

  “Enough,” she commanded, panting. She lay back on the table, echoing tremors still slipping through her.

  “You’re quite delighted with your savage lifestyle, aren’t you?” came a man’s voice. She looked up into a pair of eyes that were red where they should have been white. His wild hair was brown, and the full beard he sported proved he was no man of the Clans. That and the fact he had on quite a bit of clothing and wore no jade.

  “Is there anything in your cities which can compare?” she asked, reaching up a hand to stroke his face. She’d found she enjoyed the bristly feeling of a beard on her skin.

  “Plenty,” said the red-eyed man. He bent, capturing a nipple in his mouth, sucking on it until she gasped.

  “You could have joined me,” she whispered, and he released her nipple with a grin.

  “I didn’t think to until I saw you finish,” he said. He grasped Olene’s hand, pressing it against his groin, so she could feel his hardness. Olene laughed at the brashness, slipping off the table.

  “Uli, bend over here,” she told the girl. Uli pressed her chest against the table, her shapely bottom turned up. Olene stroked a finger between the folds of her pussy.

  “For you,” she offered.

  The red-eyed man shook his head.

  “No?” asked Olene. She looked at Piero, his cock still hard. “Here.”

  Piero took his place at her side, and she grasped his substantial cock, guiding it against Uli’s pussy, then pushing on him until he sank into his fellow thrall.

  “Fuck her,” Olene commanded. Piero began to pump into Uli, making her gasp and shudder.

  “Harder,” said Olene, delivering a smack of rebuke against Piero’s ass. The young man slammed his hips into Uli, making her moan aloud as his pace increased.

  Olene strode to the red-eyed man, running her hands against the silk of his clothes.

  “Does their coupling not entice you?” she asked.

  “I wanted you,” he said.

  “Then you should have joined me, beloved.”

  “I wanted yo
u to myself.”

  “You have me,” said Olene.

  “Without your creatures,” he said.

  Olene laughed at him. “Surely you cannot be jealous of thralls, beloved? It would be a like a shadowcat who fears a fly.”

  The man grabbed her, cradling her against him. She was much stronger than he was, and could have escaped easily, but there was something about the insistence of his hold, and the way he stroked along her spine before squeezing both cheeks of her ass.

  “I just want you alone,” he said.

  There was a rumbling cough, and when Olene looked up, Varomar was standing at the entrance to her tent.

  “Brother,” she said. The red-eyed man glanced up but did not relinquish his grasp.

  “What do you want?”

  “To speak to my chief,” said Varomar. Olene pressed a hand against the center of her lover’s chest, pushing him away.

  “What?”

  “The other four are here for the conclave.”

  “Good,” said Olene. She found the chief’s circlet on her table, lifting the long tail of dark black hair on the top of her head through it until it rested comfortably on her brow. Carved into the green jade was an image of Vash the Sky Dragon, attempting to devour the moon.

  “Should I come?” asked the red-eyed man.

  “No, you’ll only confuse and frighten them,” said Olene. She looked at Piero and Uli, still coupling together over the table. “Watch the thralls for a bit. Maybe you’ll be in a different mood when I get back.”

  She turned to her brother, nodding at him, then strode out of the tent.

  “He confuses and frightens me,” said Varomar, when they were out of earshot of the tent.

  “He is necessary. And useful. And handsome,” said Olene. “And nothing frightens you.”

  Varomar didn’t answer, instead rushing forward to hold open the tent to the conclave.

  The air was thick with pipe smoke, and it clung to Olene as she strode to her chair, given the place of honor as first among the chiefs. The other chiefs were already seated, their seconds standing behind them. Olene was gratified to see the men shift uncomfortably in their chairs when they saw her thighs were still wet with her cum. Olene had never quite been sure how so many men rose so high, given how easily their attentions could be turned. Yet among the five clans, only one other was led by a woman, the Sea Clan by Aren, daughter of Kael. And even Aren’s second was a man.

  “Why have you called us here?” Forg, the Earth Clan chief grunted at her, once she was settled and he could tear his eyes away from her pussy.

  “The same reason all conclaves are called. To start a war or end a war. Today is no different,” said Olene.

  “There’s been peace for twenty years,” said Aren. Of all the chiefs, she was the longest to hold her position, having been chief for almost five years, raised by popular acclaim when the previous chief of the Sea Clan had died without an heir. Olene had heard Aren had started as a thrall, until she killed her master one night, armed only with a small dagger when he had intended to cut off her hand for displeasing him. She looked at Aren’s lithe frame and the single long brown braid coiled around her neck like a snake. She sincerely doubted such a rumor was true.

  “If you attack us, it will be four against one,” said Cillen, of the River Clan. His blinked at her, his one blind eye seeming to stare off behind her.

  “Or three against two,” said Rooth, the Forest Clan chief. His clan was the weakest, with the fewest warriors and least head of cattle. “For I’ll side with her.”

  Olene shook her head.

  “I have no intention of bringing war to my fellow clans,” she said. “In fact, I need all of you, and your warriors.”

  “How many times have the Dragon Clans attempted to invade the East?” she asked, working at the dragon jade circlet wrapped around her thigh.

  “Fourteen wars, we’ve fought,” said Cillen. “And fourteen times we’ve lost.”

  “Their sorcerers are too strong,” spat Rooth. “They break the dragon jade with their magic, and their warriors hide behind their plates of steel.”

  “I want you to join me in a war against the East. We will take their cities, and make the Clans rulers of their land.”

  “Did you not hear them, girl?” spat Forg. “We cannot overcome their Guild. And my Clan will have no appetite for this. Our thralls have traded some of our jade in Coulain. If I am not careful, my warriors will grow as rich and as fat as any Easterner in his castle. Why should we fight with you?”

  “What warrior of the Clans would trade rather than take?” asked Olene.

  “A warrior who knows when not to fight is the wisest of all,” said Forg. Cillen appeared to be nodding his head.

  “What do you know of the East that we don’t, Olene?” asked Aren.

  Olene smiled and leaned back in her chain, pulling one knee up with her. One would have thought that they would be desensitized to such things, but the male chiefs stared hungrily at her lower lips. She grinned.

  “The Guild has become weak. Their magic is leaving them, and they are fewer in number now than they have ever been. Our armies will march East, first to Tia Joi, and then to Tia Vashil, and we will destroy the Guild’s fortress and use their sorcerers for the pleasure of our warriors.”

  “How do you know this?” asked Forg. “You have no ability for such things things as subterfuge.”

  “No ability?” said Olene. Anger filled her voice. She gestured at Varomar. “Korth had nineteen other children, all of them older than me. Only one remains. And you say I have no ability?”

  “And if Korth the Grim was here before me, entreating me to march East with him, I would,” said Forg. “But I will not listen to the girl that has taken his place. The Sky Clan has fallen into weakness. I think it should become the Earth Clan, and my warriors will become the Sky.”

  “The Sea comes before the Earth,” said Aren. “And I would guess you’re wrong.”

  Olene held a hand up.

  “You think you are worthy of the Sky? You think Vash would bless you at the head of the the Dragon Clans? Come here and take the clan from my hands, then, if you dare.” She lifted the chieftain's circlet off her head and held it out to Forg.

  Forg hesitated. He had not expected such an offer.

  “If I can take the circlet, you will recognize me as Chief?” he asked.

  “If you can take it. By the hells, if you can but touch it,” said Olene. “I will suck your cock and give you pleasure such as you’ve never had in your pathetic life.”

  “I will take your clan,” Forg snarled, advancing on her. “And I will make you scream my name tonight as I fill you.” He reached a hand out to seize the circlet from her.

  Varomar leapt forward, driving the heel of his palm against Forg’s nose in one clean motion as he did. The bone in Forg’s nose broke and was carried along with the cartilage back into his face. Forg stumbled backwards, his arms flailing, barely able to articulate a sound. Varomar stepped forward, seized the Earth chief’s head in one massive paw, and twisted until the man’s neck snapped. Forg’s corpse crumpled at his feet.

  Before the gathered chiefs could even rise to their feet, Varomar’s cleaver was in his hand.

  “The first to draw their weapon against my chief is the first to join this scum,” he announced.

  “You cannot commit violence in a conclave,” said Aren.

  “Except in defence of violence,” said Olene. “You saw Forg threaten violence against me.”

  “You goaded him into it.”

  “I gave only words. He chose to take an action” said Olene. She looked at Forg’s second. “What is your name?”

  “Alok, son of Hirak” answer the man.

  “Hail, Alok, son of Hirak, Chief of the Earth Dragon Clan, or so you will be with my friendship. Will you march with me against the East? Or I can offer you the same bargain I offered Forg.”

  Alok’s gaze flitted to Varomar’s cleaver.

&
nbsp; “The Earth will march with the Sky against the East.”

  “The Forest will march with the Sky against the East,” Rooth followed quick on Alok’s heels.

  “The River will march with the Sky against the East,” allowed Cillen.

  Only Aren was silent, staring at Forg’s body. All eyes settled on her, and she looked up.

  “The Sea will march with the Sky against the East,” she said. She gave Olene a wary look as the younger woman stood and placed the Chieftain’s Circle back on her head.

  “But if we lose, Olene, the Sea will eat the Sky.”

  Olene frowned. When one clan ate another, every warrior and thrall in the clan was killed, and the clan was made new out of the warriors of the clan that had eaten them.

  “Then we must not lose,” she said, rising to leave. “My Warmaster will remain to discuss the day and direction we leave. Varomar, we don’t need more dead today.”

  Her brother nodded, hanging his cleaver though its loop on his belt.

  “It is their choice, not mine,” he said, shrugging.

  * * * * *

  “Excellent news,” said Olene, pushing open the flap of her tent. “It went—”

  She paused, staring.

  Uli was huddled in a corner, crouched with her face buried in her knees. Piero—or rather Piero’s body—was lying on the table, which was spattered with blood. The red-eyed man had both hands in Piero’s stomach, his sleeves rolled up past the elbow.

  “What are you doing?” asked Olene.

  “It has been a long-standing theory of mine that the entrails of a man might allow one to scry the future,” he said. “No one has ever been able to do it, but I read once that Master Olvan had used the entrails of a goat to scry its entire life, and I thought a man who was killed, who might have been meant to live longer, would allow me to see what his life might have been, and gain some understanding of what was to happen next.

  “Unfortunately, it didn’t work,” he sighed.