The Academy Volume One

by Maxine Mansfield

  Occasionally, he glimpsed a flickering glow in the distance that looked suspiciously like angry, piercing eyes blinking back at him. Sweat ran in rivulets down his spine as he carefully placed one foot in front of the other and trudged ever upward.

  The unexpected sound of a gravelly voice breaking the silence from somewhere behind stopped him in his tracks and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

  “What the oozing, pus-filled pockets between the toes of a barefooted troll standing knee deep in a vat of melted butter marinating do ya make of that, lads? We have company. I can almost taste the venom dripping off their teeth. I’m glad I had Adan leave Miss Bunny at his castle. After what happened last year ta poor Miss Kitty, I wouldn’t want a sweet little thing like her ta get melted or eaten. Even though I’ve never heard of the scaly beasts having a taste for plastic. Now, cheese…that’s an entirely different story. I’ve been told they really like cheese.”

  The sound of a garbled gasp coming from Sherman’s direction only added to the overall tension of the moment.

  Sarco sighed deeply as he glanced toward the halfling following closely on his heels. “Nobody’s going to get eaten tonight. That is, unless Carnelian is in the mood for a midnight snack of gnome. If so, I think I’ll feed Leeky to her myself.”

  The gnome’s cackle didn’t do a thing to ease his apprehension, and for the first time since leaving Adan’s castle that morning, Sarco was glad they’d arrived well after nightfall. He knew sometimes it was better not to see what you were walking into until it was too late to turn back.

  A chill ran down his spine as an iciness deeper than the one he’d experienced high in the Alarian Mountains infused him from head to toe. His sweat turned as cold as winter rain.

  Dragons. They were now deep in the land of the scaly beasts, and Carnelian wasn’t the only dragon close by. The air literally hummed with the presence of many. Oh, yes, there were dragons here, and even though Sarco had no doubt they were being watched, he was infinitely glad he couldn’t see them.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  If ever a man longed for the night to be done and yet dreaded the coming of the dawn, Sarco Sunwalker was that man. The clouds that had earlier obscured the party’s vision were gone, and the group was now high enough in the mountains that the three moons of Albrath could be seen shining brightly. Two of the moons were already as full as full could be, and the third was but a sliver away from the same.

  Time was running out, and there was still so much to be done.

  A bone-deep weariness enveloped him, and his fear of dragons had dissipated to a nagging uneasiness during the hours of constantly trudging upwards. It had been replaced with an urgency to see this quest finished.

  Soon it would be morning, and still the cave they sought was at least a quarter turn of the hourglass away. Not once had they stopped for sustenance or rest during the long trip. Not from the moment they’d left the bailey of the barbarian kingdom of Alaria and ridden through the portal to Castle Kuropkat, nor during the long trek up this mountain they now climbed. Sarco lifted his head and gazed at the stars for a moment. There would be time for rest later. He hoped.

  He stopped suddenly. Directly before them gaped the opening to a cave. He glanced at Uthiel, who nodded. This was the one. They had arrived. It was time to fulfill the requirement of the second part of the quest.

  A familiar warmth seeped deep into the recesses of his mind and, for an instant, Sarco’s heart leapt with glee. “Lark?” his mind shouted.

  “Lark? I am not some creature called Lark, elf friend of my Lord and Master Uthiel. I am Carnelian.”

  Sarco’s mind pounded with the coursing power of the dragon’s thoughts, and he closed his eyes tightly as he rubbed his temples, trying to alleviate the pain.

  “Elf, my Lord and Master Uthiel says you have need of me. What is it? Be quick before the limitations of your mind break our bond.”

  Taking deep breaths, Sarco fought to form a response. “I have need of a Spirit Alexandrite. Will you help me obtain one, Carnelian?”

  The dragon chuckled, and the vibration rolled like a shudder throughout Sarco’s being. Chills pebbled his skin, while heat flowed in waves from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He grasped for something, anything, to hold onto and was relieved when the strong clasp from Uthiel’s hand held him upright.

  “And if I do help you,” Carnelian sighed, “what will you give me in exchange, elf friend of my Lord and Master Uthiel?”

  “I am called Sarco, and I am a wizard friend of your Lord and Master Uthiel.”

  The impact of her laughter booming in his mind buckled Sarco’s knees, and if it hadn’t been for Uthiel’s grip, he would have collapsed to the ground.

  “It is no matter what you are called, though I do think I like your bravado, Sarco the Elf. Now, what will you give me in exchange for my service?” She sniffed from somewhere deep within the cave, and Sarco’s lungs emptied of air. He struggled to reinflate them as her next words filled him with horror. “Ahh, cheese. And not just any cheese, but a pungent, full-bodied cheese, wafting this way from the essence of the halfling traveling with you. It has been ever so long since I had a truly fine aged halfling. That would be a fair exchange. Don’t you agree?”

  Sarco shook his head, the weight of it so heavy upon his neck, the effort left him panting.

  “No. Sherman is my friend. You may not have him. Ask for something else.”

  When next her voice came, it was almost a whine. “But halflings are scrumptious—a delicacy, even. I would be the envy of all to have been awarded such a prize.”

  A thought occurred to Sarco, and his own chuckle caught him by surprise. “I can’t give you the halfling. I promised him he wouldn’t be eaten, but might I interest you in a gnome?”

  The sudden shriek within his head blinded him momentarily.

  “A gnome? You offer me a gnome? I’d eat a troll before I would a gnome. They’re bitter, nasty-tasting creatures, with way too much gristle for my taste. Perhaps I won’t help you after all, Sarco the Elf.”

  Sarco bowed his head toward the cave. “Forgive me, Carnelian. I do not mean to taunt you. I was teasing. Even the gnome is a valued friend. It’s not in my power to give you what you wish. The men who travel with me, all of them, are important to me. Is there something, anything, else I can give you in return for your help?”

  He heard a low-pitched whisper in his ear, as if the dragon were standing right at his side, telling him a secret. Understanding of the price of Carnelian’s help flowed like water across synapses in his brain and straight into his heart. The weight upon his mind lightened.

  “That is truly all you wish?”

  Sarco felt the dragon’s nod within his mind. “Yes, if you don’t mind. I know it is a lot to ask, but it’s been even longer since I had that, than it has been since I last tasted halfling.”

  “Doesn’t Uthiel ever do that for you?” Sarco inquired.

  Her sigh rippled throughout him. “Oh, I could never ask such a thing of my Lord and Master Uthiel. He is the Protector of all dragons, and as such, must never appear to show favoritism.”

  “So be it, Carnelian. It would be an honor,” he whispered to her.

  The warmth slowly faded from Sarco’s mind, and he opened his eyes. With wonder, he stared at the brightening horizon and the first glimpse of the rising sun. The long night was finally over, the end to this part of the quest was right before them, and a brand new day lay ahead.

  ****

  As far as doors went, Lark thought this one was quite pretty. It was a soothing, welcoming blue-green, almost an ocean blue, inspiring trust. It was serene, inviting, magnetic even. She was drawn toward it.

  The words “High Mystic Purrell” were stenciled in the middle of the center panel in four-inch-high glittery silver letters that she found nearly hypnotizing. She blinked, and turned to look at her three sisters, then at Briar and Laycee.

  “Well, here goes.” Tentatively, Lark smiled, s
hrugged her shoulders, and turned the knob. Opening the door, she took a step inside. Mist surrounded her and swirled about her ankles. The distinct sound of breathing in the distance was her only guide forward as she and the girls ventured farther inside. “Hello? High Mystic Purrell? Are you here?”

  The mist immediately cleared, and for a moment, Lark wished it hadn’t. There, standing not more than three feet in front of her, was a man. Not just any man, but a golden-haired, bronzed-skinned, completely naked man, who had his erect phallus cradled in his hand and a grin on his face.

  “Ahh, you must be the Hammerstrike Princesses and friends. My secretary informed me you wished to seek an audience this morning. How may I be of service?”

  Lark opened her mouth to speak but didn’t get a chance to say a single word before the Mystic turned, picked up a tiny silver bell and rang it. A panel on the wall of the office opened and in walked a young, female high-elf dressed in business attire.

  From behind her, Lark heard Briar gasp, but she was so enthralled by the sight of the woman now standing before her that she didn’t even wonder why.

  The lovely woman’s long, thick hair was the color of raven’s wings. It was attractively bunched up on top of her head, and tendrils curled around the peach-blushed skin of her face and neck. Her tiny tongue flicked out and licked already moist, full, red lips. Eyes, dark brown, the shade of hot cocoa, looked out from behind wire-rimmed glasses. She appeared to be in a trance as she walked toward the Mystic, carrying a plain pad of paper and a white pen with a bright blue feather on one end.

  For a moment, Mystic Purrell looked directly at Lark and her group. “This is my secretary, Ms. Bea Hayven. She was once a boring little librarian before I rescued her from that horrible fate.” He turned his attention back to his secretary. “Bea, I have an urge.”

  A confused look came over the young woman’s face for a moment, then she smiled. A voice as sweet as honey purred, “Hmm, an urge?”

  High Mystic Purrell picked up what looked to be a blackboard pointer and tapped the woman lightly on the top of her head. “Yes, an urge.”

  In a single motion, Bea let her hair down, took off her glasses, stripped off her clothes, dropped to her knees, and took High Mystic Purrell’s cock between her moist red lips. And sucked.

  The Mystic closed his eyes for a moment as he chanted, “Suck, swish, swirl, swallow. Suck, swish, swirl, swallow. Good, my dear.”

  Lark stood in shocked silence. Her pussy ached, and her nipples hardened. Other than the few required experimental encounters when she’d been a teen, she’d never truly been attracted to another female before today. She loved Sarco with all of her heart, but her body was definitely responding—and then some—to the scene before her eyes. Tearing her attention away from the perfect lips sucking the impressive cock, Lark once more looked up at High Mystic Purrell.

  By this time, he’d turned his attention back to Lark and the group of women. “Now, how may I be of help? You must be here to learn the mysteries of the cock. It always pleases me to instruct the cockless unfortunate on the care, maintenance, and comfort of the most important appendage in Albrath.”

  Briar tugged on Lark’s sleeve and whispered, “Remember, don’t touch him or let him touch you, or you’ll be right down there beside Ms. Bea Hayven, doing all manner of despicable things.”

  For just the fraction of a second, Lark was tempted. Then she remembered just why they were here, and she swallowed back her unexpected lust.

  The mystic leaned down and picked up a small pile of paperbacks from a table close by. He reached over the top of Ms. Bea Hayven’s bobbing head and handed them one by one to Lark as he rattled off their titles, “Me, Myself, and My Magnificent Cock. The Journey of a Cock. And, my latest best seller, Great Cocks through the Ages. I’m sure whatever questions you may have, the answers can be found somewhere in these pages. I’ll even be happy to autograph them for you. And be sure to pick up a signed bookmark on your way out the door. Now, will there be anything else? I really am quite busy, as you can see.”

  Aryanna tried to speak. “We would like to—”

  A hand went up to silence the princess, and High Mystic Purrell shook his head. “Now, now, no need to be thanking me. It’s the least I can do.” He waved in dismissal. “Now, shoo, be on your way. I have much to do.”

  He glanced down as he patted his secretary on the top of her head. “Very good, Ms. Bea Hayven. Yes, suck, swish, swirl, swallow. Suck, swish, swirl, swallow.”

  The base of Lark’s neck throbbed and tension radiated upward. The whisper in her ear of, “See what I meant? Didn’t I tell you he was something?” from Briar didn’t help to soothe the anxiety. As a matter of fact, it intensified her sexual tension. Why today, of all days, and why this woman and this man? There was no love here, like she had for Sarco. This was lust, pure and simple.

  Lark cleared her throat and forced the pounding of her heart to slow. She missed Sarco so, and it was him she truly wanted, needed. With determination, she put her own desires from her mind and tried once more to make the mystic understand their plight. “Mr. Purrell, if we could but please—”

  The mystic glared. “Oh, you’re still here? Off with you, now, all of you. I have no more time for groupies and autograph seekers.”

  Lark seethed and any hint of desire faded. How dare the arrogant man label her and her friends as…as groupies. As if! She was about ready to give the mystic a piece of her mind when Laycee pushed her way through the group.

  The little gnome stood before Purrell and wagged her finger. “We don’t have time for this nonsense. Did you not see how full the three moons were last night?” Laycee walked up to the mystic, reached around the secretary’s head, and poked him in the balls with a fingertip. “My girls here have something important they need ta ask ya.”

  Lark gulped, then held her breath, waiting to see the strange man’s reaction.

  High Mystic Purrell looked down his nose at Laycee. “There is no touching of any part of the cock without invitation, tiny female-gnome-type person. I’m a very busy man, and if they,” he pointed toward Lark and her sister, “have something to ask, then simply have them ask it.”

  Lark cleared her throat and spoke as fast as she could, hoping she’d get her question out before he interrupted her again. “We don’t wish to be a bother, but do you have a copy of the Chronicles of Shak-spere, and if so, may we peek at them? It’s extremely important.”

  High Mystic Purrell scoffed, “Do you, for the space of a single grain of sand, think I would let strangers, especially cockless, female strangers, walk in off the cobblestones and look at—let alone touch—my priceless book collection?”

  Nausea threatened, and Lark felt like she’d been punched in the gut. So close, so VoT close.

  “I barely allow trusted scholars to touch my priceless set, let alone…vagina-wearing princesses.”

  Lark wanted to hit him. Not just hit him but drive her fist so far down his throat it would pop right out his vagina-less ass. She couldn’t do that though. Getting the chance to look through the Chronicles of Shak-spere was too important, and Sarco was too important for her to lose her temper now. If only the mystic ass would shut up for a moment.

  “You do see how impossible your request is, don’t you? Perhaps you could send a representative who actually has a cock, and I’ll make him an appointment for some time…next summer, at the latest.”

  Lark clenched her fist and shook it at the mystic. “My representative, who has a cock, is only God Draka knows where on a dangerous quest, and I don’t even know if he’ll come back alive.” Tears welled in Lark’s eyes and her voice shook. “Please, Professor Purrell, just a few minutes.”

  Laycee patted her hand and pleaded with the mystic. “Isn’t there something ya could do for the poor lass? Look at her. I can’t take it anymore.” She spread her arms and encompassed all the princesses. “Have ya ever seen a group of women go all PMS ninja? It’s not a pretty sight, and I’m warning ya, it
’s about ta happen.”

  The gnome governess broke down in tears, and before another breath could be taken, Lark, Aryanna, Ally, Audrey, and even Briar were crying.

  The mystic closed his eyes and tapped Ms. Bea Hayven once more. “Suck, swish…umm, swallow.” His eyes popped open. “No, no, no, that’s wrong. It’s swirl before swallow.”

  High Mystic Purrell’s secretary had stopped sucking when he’d made the mistake and now just stared up at him with a confused look on her face.

  He sighed and looked at the sobbing women. “You must stop. I can’t abide crying. It isn’t conducive to a happy cock, and if the cock isn’t happy, then no one is. If you cease this instant, I swear, I’ll allow you a few moments to glance at my copy of the Chronicles of Shak-spere. Just the time it takes for a few grains of sand to slip through the hourglass, though. I can’t be bothered with looky-loos all day.”

  Lark’s heart soared with hope as the mystic pointed to the panel in the wall the secretary had come through minutes before. “Through there, in a golden box on the center shelf of the bookcase. But be extremely careful please. Even for copies, they’re very old and delicate.” He tapped Ms. Bea Hayven on the top of her head once more. “Now, where were we, my dear? Oh, yes. Suck, swish, swirl, swallow. Suck, swish, swirl, swallow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  If ever a man was grateful he had a friend who even knew a dragon, let alone a comrade who had a personal relationship with one, Sarco was that man. At the same time, his childhood fears of the mighty creatures caused him to hesitate one last time before entering the cave.

  He turned to his companions. “I want you all to know, I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me. A man couldn’t ask for better friends. I’m not sure how safe it’ll be or how much room we’ll have to maneuver, so, Adan, you and your men might want to wait here, out of harm’s way. We understand the limitations your duty to your people puts upon you.”