Aren stood, putting down the ink and brush, then helping Kiera back to her feet.
“Olene keeps the princess her prisoner, and teases her with displays of handsome thralls coupling. This early in the day, the princess is likely to still be in her apartments in the Tower.”
“Not the cells?”
“No, she surrendered the city. She is being treated as befits a captive chief of the Dragon Clans. These tattoos should let you through fairly easily. Tell the guards you report directly to Olene. And... Tau, that’s your name, correct?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“We have our own spies. Tau, you walked too close to Kiera for a thrall. You two walk like companions, if not lovers. No warrior walks with her thrall like this. Kiera, you lead. Tau, you follow. That is how a warrior walks with a thrall.”
“Thank you, Chieftain Aren.”
“Good luck Kiera of vai Ullan and Tau of vai Keller. And now you must do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“I would appreciate it if you struck me hard in the face. It would help me convince whoever comes to find Rooth here that I played no part in it.”
“Oh,” said Kiera. “Well, then, sorry.”
“Ow,” she said, half a second later, flexing her hand as Aren lay prone at her feet. “She had a hard head.”
“And a helpful demeanor,” observed Tau. “Let’s get out of here. We need to finish the mission and find Pol, if he hasn’t gotten himself caught already.”
* * * * *
Pol glanced through a doorway. His climb up the Tower of Joi had been considerably harder than he had thought it would be, but he’d made it about the height again of the curtain wall before giving up and slipping through a balcony. Kiera had gone over the layout of the tower, so he was vaguely certain there was a floor dedicated to the royal living quarters and that, failing that, there were cells higher up, but he had not been paying close enough attention.
The room he was staring into was empty, some sort of office, perhaps. A table sat brimming with paper and parchment, a single regal chair behind it, and a far more spartan one off to the side. He entered, glancing around to see if there were some hint how close he was to the princess’ apartments. Perhaps there was a discarded tiara somewhere.
And maybe a note specifying exactly how to find what he was looking for.
Not for the first time that day, Pol cursed himself for leaving Kiera and Tau behind. They’d never have made it up the Tower, so leaving them behind had been a necessity, but he wished he was more prepared. Once he found the princess, he could leave and find them in the city and the three of them could come up with a plan.
However, even this basic strategy was complicated by the fact he wasn’t even really sure what Princess Fione vai Joi looked like, outside of that she was famous for being gorgeous. That didn’t mean much. In Pol’s opinion, forged by years of pursuing gorgeous women, “gorgeous” was a prize awarded in the eye of the beholder and people with titles and wealth frequently had a lower bar to clear to earn it than those without.
He also knew that she wouldn’t look like the Dragon Clans warriors who infested the entire city so when one strode into the room, he froze.
Naked and tattooed and adorned in dragon jade like all her kin, she had an air of confidence that suggested she was the owner of the room. She saw Pol and her eyes glimmered. A long dragon jade sword hung from a scabbard around her well-apportioned waist. She unbuckled the sword belt, placing it on the table in front of her, leaning forward. Pol’s eyes were drawn to her pendulous breasts as gravity pulled them towards the floor. She straightened, her eyes catching him staring.
“Hail, warrior,” she said, giving him the Clans’ salute. Pol returned it. “Here to report to Olene, too?”
“I... yes,” said Pol, relieved that Fate had granted him a reprieve. Of course he was here to report to Olene. Obviously.
“What’s your report about?” she asked.
Pol stared at her dumbly.
“I’m not sure I should tell you,” he said, after a moment. “Chief’s ears only.”
The woman in front of him laughed.
“You can tell one of Iandra’s raiders anything!” she chided, pointing to a small tattoo of a bird apparently falling out of the sky located just below her collarbone, above a pair of snakelike dragons that roamed her chest. “We’re the chief’s ears, her eyes, even her arm. What is your news?”
Pol paused again. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know who or what Iandra’s raiders were, he didn’t know whether the one in front of him was lying or not, and he certainly didn’t have anything to tell the chief, should she arrive in any event.
“I…” he began. His voice wobbled as he spoke, his half-practiced attempt at the Dragon Clan lilt fading as he spoke.
The warrior face fell from one of familiar ease to that of suspicion.
“You don’t have news, do you?” she asked, cutting him off.
The air hung heavy as Pol realized what the raider was asking him and she realized what his answer was going to be before he’d even though to speak. Faster than he ever could have thought possible, her sword left the clasp on the belt, as if it appeared in her hand by magic. She closed on him. Pol threw his hands up to protect himself.
Her movement stumbled, slowing as though she were suddenly wading through chest high water. The sword swung around, but slow, far too slow to kill, even to wound. Pol realized he was holding a shielding spell, cast without thinking, and that her jade was fighting it, allowing her to penetrate the magic but only slowly. He was astonished. Margase had said that a Dragon Clan warrior in full jade jewelry would be unaffected by magic unless exposed to it in either great quantity or a long duration. And here his magic was being dampened by both his jewelry and hers.
He focused harder, driving his will forward into one where the warrior was frozen completely in place by the shielding spell, the chain arm next weakening and the links beginning to split apart as he envisioned just such an outcome. His arms were numbing, the feeling washing over his body as he continued.
The sword gave away with a cracking sound, and pieces went tumbling to the floor. The jade necklaces, belts, and bangles she was wearing were crumbling apart, the piercings in her nipples, navel, ears, and clitoris following in their wake. In a moment, the both of them were completely naked, but she was frozen in place, her hand still grasping at the hilt of a sword that no longer existed.
Pol held the shielding spell, then switched to holding the warrior in place with a spell like the one he’d used to move the bust in the courtyard with Heldi. She rose into the air in front of him, not moving.
“A Sorcerer!” she gasped, as the shielding spell dropped and she was able to speak again, though Pol’s magic held her limbs firmly in place. “I yield, I yield! Please, Master Sorcerer, do not kill me like you do bad children!”
“What?” asked Pol, surprised by this last.
“Please, Master Sorcerer. Every Dragon Clan child knows that the Sorcerers’ Guild will come and take them away if they’ve been bad, to do horrible experiments on with their magic. I beg you not to kill me. I yield! I will serve as your thrall.”
“You did just try to kill me,” said Pol.
“Of course! No Sorcerer would spare the life of a warrior of the Dragon Clans! I acted only to defend myself.”
Pol let his spell go, and the warrior fell to the floor, landing in a crouch.
“This Sorcerer will,” he said.
“Thank you, thank you!” cried the warrior. She threw herself at his feet, kissing the tops of them. Her lips were warm and soft. He stared down at her.
“Um, no problem, I guess—what are you doing?” She’d turned around from him, bracing herself on all fours. He could see her the folds of her pussy pressing out from between her thighs.
“I am your thrall, Master,” she said. “I am here for your pleasure.”
“Oh, I’m not interested in that.”
> “No? Your cock would say otherwise.”
Pol glanced down at his groin. It was true, he was hard as a rock. But his heart was beating uncontrollably, and it was just as likely from the adrenaline of almost being killed as from arousal.
“I can’t control that,” he said.
“Master, you must take me as a husband takes his wife. Otherwise you have rejected my surrender. It makes me lower than a thrall, and there are none lower than thralls save the dead. I would have to throw myself from the Tower to undo my dishonor.”
“Really? Vash’s song, that’s a fucked up culture.”
“It is our way, Master. If you claim me, I will do anything you say.”
“Anything? For instance, you could take me to Princess Fione?”
“I know exactly where she is kept,” said the raider.
“What happens if the Chief or a warrior comes in?”
“I will kill them. I would die to protect my master. Any good thrall would.”
Pol still hesitated, and her smoky eyes met his, hard and determined.
“Please, Master. I desire this. I want to feel your pleasure. I want to know that I am yours.”
Pol’s heart hadn’t stopped its incessant thumping, and this did nothing to make it clamer, only beat harder.
“Fuck,” he muttered, kneeling behind her. He spat into his hand, rubbing the saliva across the head of his cock until it was firmly coated. “This might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
“You won’t regret it, Master, I promise,” said the raider.
“I’d better n—oh Vash damn it!” grunted Pol as he thrust forward. Her pussy yielded slowly as he entered into her, hugging him tightly. The world narrowed in focus from everything he was supposed to be doing—finding the princess, rendezvousing with Kiera and Tau, gathering any extra intelligence for the Guild—to the sensation of warm pleasure emanating from his groin.
His hands ran along her waist, squeezing at the soft flesh that hung around her hips as he held her body in place, watching her rock in time to his thrusts. Her back curved as her shoulders raised slightly and her head lifted, her mouth open as she gave an audible groan of satisfaction as his pace began to increase. Pol ran his right hand up her back, his thumb tracing along her spine. He lifted one knee off the floor, planting his foot next to her knee, giving him a better purchase to send his cock rushing into her on the next push. His hand cupped the nape of the warrior’s neck and she lowered herself down to her elbows, her muttered moans interrupted by her piercing gasps.
“Oh, yes, Master, yes! You feel so good. Fuck that little cunt, it’s yours now,” she cried.
Pol just growled, forgetting how to speak. She was pushing hard back against him now, each joining of their bodies echoed by a clap, applauding their efforts. She rode forward, letting him slide almost all the way out of her and he planted a firm smack across her bottom, drawing a surprised but hungry shout out of her. She pushed harder against him and he spanked her harder and faster to meet her in turn. He grabbed her waist with both hands, his body leaning over her, his forehead resting on the middle of her back, fucking her as hard and fast as he could. She raised one of her hands over her head, grasping at his hair, and he reached around to fondle one heavy breast, watching as the dragon tattoo that climbed around it slithered in and out between the gaps in his fingers.
Pol was straddling the edge, his cock aching for release. He gave the warrior’s rump another firm slap, then withdrew, starting at the angry, loud, frustrated grunt and dirty look she gave him when he did.
“Stand up,” he told her, rising to his own feet. She followed him up, then turned to face him, but he pressed a hand on her shoulder, keeping her from completing her turn.
“Stand there, face the wall,” he told her, pointing to a space close to a tapestry of some crowned man with a long beard resting on a lance. A former prince, Pol thought.
He stepped behind her, his cock slipping into the space formed by her buttocks pressing against his waist. He felt her lean back, the pressure on him increasing, her shoulders rubbing against his chest. He ran his hands up her body, stroking her stomach, weighing her tits in his hand before teasing her nipples until they’d grown hard by slipping each of his fingers over them in turn. He ran his hands across her shoulders and then down her arms, until he’d tucked her wrists in one hand behind her back. His other hand pushed his cock down until it was pushing between her thighs.
“Tell me what again what you want,” Pol said.
“Fuck me,” she commanded, her tone haughty and imperious.
“‘Fuck me’ what?” Pol asked, grinning when she grunted in annoyance.
“Fuck me, Master,” she said, her voice somehow both demure and plaintive.
Pol wasted no time, using his grasp on her arms to push her over, until her head was near the tapestry. His cock pushed forward into her, both of them groaning as he filled her. His quick pace resumed, having safely backed away from the near climax of his pleasure.
“Oh, fuck, yes,” she murmured, drawing the curse out. She was struggling with his hold, and as Pol’s thrusting grew more furious, his grip loosened and she freed herself. One arm braced herself against the tapestry, the other grasping at Pol’s waist, the nails scratching across the side of his thigh, encouraging him onwards. He pawed at her breast, then wrapped his right arm around her, his forearm buried in his cleavage, his hand around her throat, pushing her up against the wall until he could feel the fabric of the tapestry scratching against his arm.
“Vash’s holy fire, you may be a spy, Master, but you take a woman like you were born to the Clans,” she moaned.
Pol said nothing intelligible. The hand that had been digging into his thigh had transferred to her clit, and her cunt had tightened noticeably as she stroked herself along to her own pleasure. Her hand closed for a moment around his balls, giving them a gentle tug before resuming the work on herself.
Pol gave her a smack with his left hand that set her ass to rippling, and she shouted her joy again before he pressed the arm up against the wall and entwined her fingers in his own. He was pressed firmly against her, his strokes short and hard, her breasts flattened against the tapestry, the sides leaking out past her torso, the tops of her large round buttocks riding high on his waist.
“Ah, yes,” she cried. “Yes, ah, yesssss!”
Pol grunted. Her juice came flooding out of her in a firm spray. A thousand lives ago it seemed now, Lona Harrity had told him one of her friends was able to come like a man and did a fair trade demonstrating it, but he himself had never encountered a woman who could until this moment. Her hand was stroking herself so vigorously, he could feel the rapid tremors as she worked, her pleasuring literally pulsing out of her body.
Her pussy was spasming around his cock, and he could hardly help himself, thrusting into her as hard as he could, his own cum flooding her pussy just as she’d stopped squirting.
“Oh, good, good, Master,” she cheered him on as he grunted and his cock spurted again inside her. Her hands fell again to his thighs, holding him against her until he was finished making a mess of her pussy.
With a slow care, she pushed him off her. Pol leaned against the wall, catching his breath, watching as she strode over to a copper bucket where she retrieved a soaked cloth, wringing it out before rubbing it across her body and then between her legs as she squeezed Pol’s cum out of her body.
“You are prodigious, Master,” she told him.
“Call me Pol,” he panted.
“Master Pol, then. You may call me Iandra,” she said.
His heart was beating half as hard as it had been, which was still twice as fast as it should have been, but it was recovery enough.
“Uli, take me to the princess like you promised,” he said.
The warrior smiled at him, though what she found amusing he couldn’t say.
“Of course, Master Pol, follow me,” she said.
* * * * *
The bodies of tw
o Dragon Clan warriors lay at the door, both of them apparently run through with a sword. One of them was missing his weapon.
“Fuck, this is bad,” said Pol.
“More for my people than for yours,” said Iandra. She knelt, pressing her fingers against the blood on the floor, and Pol thought he might vomit.
“They’ve been killed very recently,” she said. “It’s still warm.”
“Oh, grand,” said Pol, watching as she wiped her fingers on the corpse.
He grasped the heavy iron handle on the door and pulled it open, stepping through.
A very solid arm grabbed his from the side, twisting it back until it was pinned behind his shoulders, and a blade pressed up against throat.
“Kiera?” he asked, hopefully, his eyes squeezed tight in anticipation of his death.
The blade fell away and the arm released him.
“Oh, fuck, Pol, you’re going to get yourself killed sneaking up on us,” said Kiera. “How’d you find us?”
“I didn’t,” said Pol. He looked at her, staring at the new tattoos she was sporting, including the diving bird that was on Iandra’s body. When he looked at the room, he saw they were in a fairly grand bedroom, with a raised four posted bed on a short dias. A massive tapestry, depicting a battle between the Joians and the Dragon Clans, a crowned woman in the center holding a radiant spear, leading her soldiers onwards, covered the entire wall on one side. Tau appeared from behind a wall, leading a petite young woman with platinum blonde hair, as naked as them but unadorned with jewelry. The princess, he assumed.
“A Dragon Clan warrior helped me.”
“The same one that helped us?” asked Tau.
“I dunno,” said Pol. He stepped to the side and waved.
“Iandra, come on in,” he said.
“Iandra? Iandra’s in the field,” Princess Fione began to say, then stopped when her gaze fell on the Dragon Clan woman before her.
“Olene,” she spat.
Kiera had just enough time to say, “Pol, what have you—” before Princess Fione went flying through the air, her head slamming into Olene’s gut, bearing them both to the floor with a fleshy thud, knocking the air from Olene’s lungs with a gasp.
Dragon Jade Chronicle: The Warlock And The Warrior Page 26
