Dragon Jade Chronicle: The Warlock And The Warrior

by Jamie MacFrey

  Kiera’s only reply was some unintelligible moan, carried away by the pleasure building in her.

  “Let’s give him a show,” said Largan.

  He pushed Kiera down onto the ground, so that she was braced on all fours, driving into her hard, making her shake each time he struck home. One hand held her hips in place, her ass lifted into the air for him, her legs tight together at the knees as he crouched behind her. His other hand found her hair again, pulling her head up so she looked off to where Pol was. Kiera’s skin burned, the idea of Pol seeing her this way—her breasts heaving, her moans loud and insistent, her skin speckled with sweat—pouring like lava through her mind.

  Largan groaned, his motion pausing, buried as far as he could manage inside Kiera, then he pulled out, making her shake a little at the emptiness.

  His large, strong hands gripped her, lifting her back to her feet as he rose again, then turning her around. Without even considering her weight, his hands worked under her thighs, lifting her into the air while spreading her apart.

  Kiera reached down between her legs, lifting Largan’s cock, letting the huge Canian lower her back onto him, moaning as his impressive length forced its way back inside.

  She wrapped both her arms around his neck, muffling herself in his shoulder, then biting, a little harder than she might have meant to, as Largan shifted inside her. He squatted slightly, ramming upwards, bouncing her and she clung tighter to him, letting him drive into her over and over.

  “I’m just there,” said Largan. She glanced down at his face, noticing, finally the pained expression.

  To Largan’s apparent surprise, to Kiera’s even, she wrestled out of his grasp, sliding off him and kneeling before him in the grass. His hands flew to his cock, stroking himself before her, and she reached up to fondle his balls.

  Largan groaned, his cum firing out of him, spraying across Kiera’s upper body, coating the tops of her breasts, her neck, and some getting across her chin. When he seemed done, Kiera took his cock from him, planted a small kiss on the tip and sucked the very last drops out of him.

  She lay back in the grass, her arms spread, her breasts flattening slightly on her chest, and Largan stared down at her, something akin to awe on his face.

  “Prisoners, I guess,” she said. She was too tired, too sated to worry just this minute.

  “Prisoners,” agreed Largan. He reviewed Kiera’s cum-covered body beneath his feet.

  “Vash damn, but Vel will love you,” he said.

  Chapter 4

  Sorcerer Garen, Spymaster for the Guild of Sorcerers of Tia Vashil, frowned at his own reflection in the mirror. The hair that had stayed pitch black for decades was becoming flecked with sandy grey, the color seeping out of his sideburns and the beard and mustache that framed his mouth. The lines around the edge of his mouth and eyes seemed deeper, more prominent than they had been. Garen sighed, examining the signs of aging. He wasn’t even to his one hundredth birthday and was graying. The Guild’s expansive archives listed thousands of sorcerers who had maintained their looks for almost twice as long as that, and some who had died of old age before they’d even developed a wrinkle.

  Things felt a little more slack than they had in days past, though he still looked trim in his reflection. He was not particularly looking forward to this meeting of the High Council, but he shrugged into his sheer robe and dutifully plodded the halls to the council chambers. The situation, as he saw it, was desperate, and he’d had to request the emergency meeting two weeks in advance of their regular schedule.

  The closed chambers of the High Council of the Guild of Sorcerers was not the sort of splendid, high-ceilinged grand hall with flying buttresses and marble columns that might be the province of the decision makers in the other Metropolises, like Coulain and Tia Joi, or even among the estates of Tia Vashil’s own Five Noble Families. Such rooms did exist in the Guild Rock, of course, but the Council’s meetings took place in a rather more intimate room, covered with fur rugs and fine tapestries, stocked with a single low meeting table and a small desk off to the side for the Chief Archivist to serve as secretary. And comfortable chairs, of course, properly built to sustain people who might be asked to sit in them for hours on end. When Garen arrived, he was gratified to see that the Chief Archivist, Praela, had already lit a fire.

  Waldrin, as Chair, was there ahead of him, stroking at his long mustache. He was reading through the minutes of the last meeting with Praela, though judging by the outline of his cock through his robe, he was using the opportunity mostly to observe Praela’s fine nude form first-hand. If Margase caught him at it when she arrived, there would be hell to pay, but in the meanwhile, it did not escape Garen’s notice that Praela was sneaking glances at Waldrin’s cock from time to time.

  As Praela held her position on the Council ex officio as the Chief Archivist, she was afforded no vote or voice in the decisions of the matters, and neither was she allowed to wear the robe of a councillor. Ancient traditions—the Guild was nothing if not faithful to its ancient traditions—dictated that none at the meetings were to conceal any weapon or device upon their person, so meetings were conducted in the nude. Some long ago Council, however, had conceded they would allow themselves sheer robes. Perhaps it was a nod at modesty, but Garen thought it was far more likely simply a way to distinguish the councillors from other members of the Guild meeting the High Council.

  A Sorcerer like Carista, of course, needed far more than just a robe draped over her voluptuous form to be considered modest. Like Waldrin, she was watching Praela just a little too closely, and Garen saw the little secretary was sneaking her glances whenever Waldrin wasn’t looking. Carista caught Garen’s look and fixed him with an arched brow. She did not hate him, exactly, but she did not have much use for men in general, and she had never warmed to him, though supposedly she and Tudon got along.

  “Your hair looks nice,” he said. Her curly brown hair was cut just to her shoulders; last time he’d seen her, it’d been down to her waist.

  Thank you,” she allowed. “I thought after fifteen years, it was time for a change.”

  There was laughing in the hall, two men and a woman, and at the sound of the woman’s voice Waldrin stood back quickly from Praela and settled into his chair at the head of the table, attempting to hide himself in his lap. Margase entered, her robes hanging loose, long red hair covering her breasts, arms folded across her chest, carried by the short Tudon and tall, blond, bearded Bollu. They placed her on the table, her head resting gently in front of Waldrin’s ankles, her feet by Garen’s chair, eyes closed.

  “My dearest Chair,” said white-haired Tudon, kneeling before Waldrin, his voice quaking with emotion. “We found this strange woman sick outside the chambers, and beg that she be admitted to the chamber, as was her dying wish.”

  Bollu stifled a laugh, slipping into his chair across from Garen, as Tudon took his to Waldrin’s left.

  Waldrin looked down at the freckled woman before him. He tapped her forehead.

  “What did you die of?”

  Margase opened one eye and stared up at him.

  “Pleasure,” she said, drawing the word out and instilling it with an extra dose of drama. “You inflicted a mortal wound on me last night.” She rolled over on the table, and pulled herself up to kiss Waldrin. Garen and Carista both stared at the delicious porcelain curve of her rump, as she reached down into his lap.

  “Looks like you’re getting ready to kill me again,” she said, staring down at what she felt.

  “You should take your chair, we’re almost all here,” said Waldrin, giving her a slight push.

  Margase stood up, and walked on top of the table to her seat between Garen and Tudon.

  “Help me down, Garen,” she said, reaching out a hand. He looked up at her, her open robe and slightly spread legs giving him an excellent view of her lower lips, the burning red hair just above them, and the curve of her small breasts with their large pink nipples. Garen offered his hand. She smi
led as she took her seat, and watched with interest at the growing arousal in his lap.

  Heldi arrived last, as Garen knew she would. She’d been quite angry with him when she’d left their chambers. She had not agreed with his decision, and implored him to make a different recommendation; in turn, he had vehemently disagreed with her reasoning. They’d had words, some of which had stung in that way that only two people who’d been with each other for decades could manage, that enraging exposed nature, where you watched your feelings being played like the strings on a mon-to box.

  If left to his own devices, Garen would have waited to attend this meeting when his feelings were not so raw, when he might have talked to her some more, when they might have made amends and whispered their assurances of love, but that had not been an option.

  Instead he was faced with Heldi’s glorious form, striding in without a word, without so much as a glance at him, closing the door gently behind her. Her robe hung precariously from her frame, and she very well might have lost it merely in the movement but for the sleeves. Her long black hair was braided until the back, where it was tucked up into a fan. Her sun-kissed brown skin glowed, her almond eyes dancing as she took in the room. Garen had seen that look in her eyes many times before, enough to know that he was about to walk into a trap he could neither see nor evade.

  She was not as endowed as Carista, each breast a generous handful that ended in a heavy black nipple, rather than the overflowing flood Carista possessed, nor was her posterior as round and full as Margase’s, but more than either of them, she had an incredible confidence in wearing her own skin. She held herself in a way that commanded authority.

  It was the same bearing she’d arrived at the Guild with, just two years after Garen had started his own training, having walked over three hundred leagues out of the Northern Wastes to learn how to control her magic. Nearly eighty years ago now, Garen realized. In the last election for Council Chair she’d nearly taken Waldrin’s seat from him, and the gossip was that when Waldrin’s term was up, he would decline to run again rather than lose outright to her. He’d always been a sort of proud man, and it would have pained him greatly for the Guild to prize another over him.

  “We can begin now,” said Waldrin as Heldi found her seat. He waved at Praela and the Archivist flipped open the massive tome that contained the notes of the High Council’s meetings for this year to a new page and dipped her quill in the ink pot.

  “The Guild Spymaster has called this emergency meeting on a matter of grave importance,” the Chair began. He pulled his whiskers with absentminded worry as he talked. “I will let him explain. Master Garen?”

  “Thank you, Master Waldrin,” said Garen. “The Guild’s agents abroad have reported that there was a grand conclave of the Dragon Clans a few weeks ago. At this conclave, Forg of the Earth Clan was killed.”

  “What bearing is one dead Dragon chief on the Guild?” asked Bollu. He seemed bored by the Dragon Clan, though they were the East’s greatest enemies.

  “As you might know if you paid more attention in these things, Forg was instrumental in opening trade with Coulain. We had hoped to position him and his clan to eventually eat the Sky Clan, once Korth’s children were finished murdering each other, and begin reforming the Dragon Clans. However, it appears that Korth’s successor, Olene, has put an end to that. Forg’s replacement, Alok, is apparently in her pocket.”

  “If the Dragon Clans had pockets,” said Bollu.

  “In addition,” Garen said, “A week ago we received word that all five Dragon Clans were marching east under Olene’s banner. They may be making for Coulain, as that is closest, but some of our intelligence suggests that they are heading to Tia Joi, and I strongly believe this is the most likely event.”

  “You think that five Dragon Clans will make a sneak attack on the heart of the Metropolises’ military power?” asked Margase.

  “I fear so, yes,” said Garen.

  “And what course of action are you recommending?” asked Waldrin.

  “High Council, I ask that we agree to commit all the Guild’s resources into opposing the Dragon Clans, should they make an attack on Tia Joi. We should recall all Sorcerers to the Guild, direct the Five Noble Families to raise their levies, call our allies in Coulain north, and prepare for war.”

  “I disagree,” said Heldi.

  Garen shot her a glance, but she did not return it.

  “Is there something more important than saving the citizenry of Tia Joi from the Clans?” asked Tudon. Before he’d been sent to the Guild, he’d been the brother of the Prince of Tia Joi. The current princess was his great-grandniece, once removed.

  “Masters and Mistresses,” said Heldi, “We are weak. Our magic is fading, and we are many times weaker than when I first joined the Guild. I can see it in your bodies.”

  The High Council stirred at this pronouncement.

  “We are merely older,” said Carista.

  “I’ve always had white hair,” said Tudon, grinning.

  “No, we are weaker, and if we continue on this course, the Guild is doomed. Even with the knights of Tia Joi on our side, I do not believe we can successfully oppose the Dragon Clan in our current state.”

  “And what course of action do you recommend instead?” asked Bollu.

  “We should perform another Rite of Renewal.”

  Tudon openly guffawed, until an annoyed look from Garen shut him up.

  “Those have all failed,” he said. Now Heldi looked him in the eye.

  “I believe it is not the Rite’s fault, but rather its participants. The Guild has not had a new apprentice in nearly two decades. We are all, I regret to say it, likely impotent. I would like the Guild to direct all Sorcerers and their agents to attempt to find a young warlock, who has not aged past her normal lifespan already, bring her here, and have her perform the Rite of Renewal. Or him, as the case may be.”

  “You’d bring an outsider to perform the Guild’s oldest ritual?”

  “I consulted the archives before attending this meeting. The Guild has taken such drastic action before; after the first invasion by the Dragon Clans, when the Guild had failed in its ancient duty to protect Tia Vashil, they brought Kiera the Wilder to perform the rite.”

  “There is no guarantee we could find such a warlock in time to save Tia Joi. You will be consigning them to the mercy of the Dragon Clans,” said Garen.

  “I would pay a heavy price now, to save us from paying a heavier price should we fail attempting to save Tia Joi.”

  “If what Garen says is true, this is unconscionable,” said Tudon. “I move for a vote on the matter immediately.”

  “If it please the Chair,” said Heldi, interrupting before Waldrin could rule. “Before you call a vote, I would like to gain the Favor of the Council’s Body.”

  Garen’s jaw dropped at her suggestion. The Favor was as old a tradition as could be found in the Guild, harkening back to a more primitive form of decision-making, much like the Rite of Renewal and the enforced nudity at council meetings. Anyone, councillor, Guild member, noble, even the common citizenry, could request the Favor. If they were able to bring each councillor to climax, they would be granted one request of the Council, and if the Council was able to grant it, it would be fulfilled. However, if they achieved orgasm at any point in the process before the last councillor was satisfied, the Favor would not be granted. The ritual called for a skilled and disciplined lover. And Garen had to admit that he tended to think Heldi was perfectly suited for it.

  She had come here knowing she might very well have to perform it, too. Garen had been confident of his vote counting, he knew that the Council would be inclined to fulfill its duty to the other Metropolises and rise to their aid. He had even suggested to Heldi that it would take the Favor to oppose it, confident that she would not countenance such an action.

  And yet, here they were.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Garen complained.

  “Sure we do,” said Cari
sta, placing her hand on his arm. She was openly leering at Heldi’s body, and Garen burned a little at how blatant she was being. “At least as much time for this as we do for arguing over how to best carry out your plan.”

  “With your permission,” said Heldi, and Waldrin waved a hand.

  Heldi stood, her robe dropping into her chair. She moved slowly around the table, and Garen could see her nipples were erect, her pussy slightly swollen. She found Carista’s chair, barely paying any attention to Garen, planting a soft, careful kiss on Carista’s lips, stroking her chin. Garen stared at her body, her breasts hanging down, her ass lifted up slightly as she bent to kiss Carista. He was already growing hard.

  The two women struggled with their lips for what seemed like an age, and when Heldi lifted her head away, Carista seemed a little put out. Heldi walked around her, then pulled on her chair to the right until it faced Bollu.

  “Would you mind facing us?” she asked Bollu. He waved a hand of assent, turning to face the two women. Heldi twirled one of Carista’s curls.

  “You changed your hair,” she said, before moving it away and planting a kiss on her neck. She laid a series of kisses down Carista’s chest, before pausing to weigh her tremendous breasts in her hands and play with the small nipples that capped each one.

  As she knelt in front of Carista, she pulled the other woman’s robes apart, then pushed her legs apart. Garen saw Carista was shaved clean down below. Heldi paused just at her entrance.

  “Beautiful,” she told the other woman. She placed a finger on Carista’s prominent clit, rubbing in a lazy circle. Her other hand rested on Carista’s left breast, giving it a gentle squeeze from time to time.

  “Mmm,” hummed Carista. She leaned forward, her hands stroking down Heldi’s back, a finger exploring her pussy, teasing it open for Bollu, stationed behind her, to see.

  Heldi moaned herself, taking her finger off Carista’s clit. She sucked them into her mouth. When every finger on her hand was slick and shiny with spit, she lowered it to Carista’s pussy, and with a mischievous look, plunged the index finger into her, pumping away.