HOUR OF THE GRYPHON:
AVELIA'S TALE
Adventurotica
by
Amanda Gannon
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Adventurotica on Smashwords
Hour of the Gryphon:
Avelia's Tale
Copyright © 2011 by Amanda Gannon
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This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Hour of the Gryphon:
Avelia's Tale
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Chapter 1: The Letter
I disarmed him again, smashed his training waster out of his fist and sent it clattering onto the courtyard stones.
"Do you see? I can't go," he panted, snatching the wooden blade up. "I can't! God, Avelia, it'll kill me!"
Alaric had been my best friend since we were children and I would have given my life for his, but right now I wanted to kill him myself. Men were fighting and dying out there, some of them without leaders, without hope, and he balked at his duty to House and family. The gentleness within him that I had always treasured so deeply now seemed like cowardice. Such a peaceful soul does not belong in our House. Certainly doesn't belong in the army.
"It's war," I snapped, coming at him again. "Dying is what men do."
I was trying to help him not do that. Ever since I had come to Fort Westreach, which was farther from the front than my own home of Ironfell, I'd been training with him every day. But you can only do so much, and Alaric was not cooperative. His heart wasn't in it. We hadn't even progressed to using live steel.
Now he fell back, defending, always defending. I batted his waster aside and cracked him across the ribs, sending him to the ground. He lay there a moment, gasping for breath, then ripped off the practice helmet and threw it aside.
"You'd better learn to keep your guard up or the ravens will be picking out your eyeballs," I said. "Actually, if you were blind, you couldn't possibly be any worse at this."
"Dammit! Do you think I don't know that?" He was shaking with rage or frustration, and I immediately regretted my words. His father's body had only come down the King's Road two days before, was barely a day in its tomb. Any day we expected the letter from General Ionvar of Arkantel calling the new baron to war. This would be my last practice with Alaric. And it would, unless I'd managed to beat some sense into him with these stupid wooden swords, be the last time I ever saw him.
I offered him a hand. He took it after a moment, pulling himself to his feet with angry growl. I thought he was going to snap at me again, but then he just looked down at his sweat-stained practice armor.
"I can't do it. This . . ." he lifted the sword, dead weight. "I don't know how to use it, couldn't kill anybody."
A wind blew in over the wall, carrying the smell of the moors. Someone out there was plowing early. I could smell the turned earth. And somewhere out there my father, Avelian, the Duke of Ironfell, risked his life against the combined strength of the Duchess Irithlan Shalivar's invading army and her paid bandit lords.
I wanted to be there, but as a woman and an only child I was forbidden to fight. Alaric and I joked about it, but it wasn't really funny. Our House, Arkantel, the House of the Gryphon, was never a populous one, and it seemed to shrink with every passing day as we fought to keep Duchess Shalivar's army from claiming what we would not surrender peacefully by force.
Now, rather than allow me to take my rightful place among the soldiers, leading my people, my father wished me to preserve the family line. Stupid, since if we lost, there'd be no family lands, no rank, nothing. All we had would be wiped away.
"Do you know what I would give to go in your place?" I asked him. "Do you have even the first clue?"
"No!" he spat. "No, and I don't understand it. Why would you risk your life for this? It's folly!"
"My father is risking his life. Your father gave his life. Was their cause unworthy? Is what they fought for foolish?"
"No, that's not what I meant, I—"
I turned away, threw down my waster. It clattered to the stones and scared a few birds off a wall nearby. "Even if you don't fight, that army won't spare you. These lands will belong to Irithlan, and to every bandit lord she's paid to follow her. What do you think she's promised them? Do you think the stinking half-breed she puts in your father's place will have any use for you? Would you want him to?"
"The Emperor would never let her—"
I ripped off my gloves, threw them down. "The Emperor is weak, Alaric! Weak and young and a fool. He's been lied to his whole life. He can't see that he's destroying us. And if we don't defend what is ours, it will be taken from us at the point of a sword. Will you allow that to happen?"
"I don't want to, but I don't see how going off to get killed will help anything. I know you think I'm a coward, but—"
"Shut up. Let me get this off you." He turned obediently and I began untying his padded jerkin. "I don't understand. You said you like this. Sparring."
"I do like it, but I'm not any good at it. I enjoy riding, too. Does that make me a knight?" Alaric turned to look at me from the corner of one green eye. "In a real fight, I'd die in the first pass. They could prop my body up for the bandit knights to tilt at, I suppose, but I'm a small target." His laugh was bitter. "My sister is taller than I am. You're stronger. The lowest foot soldier has more idea of how to kill a man than I do. I'm not made for war."
I sighed, pulling the last of the practice armor off him. His body was lean, slender, long of leg and narrow-shouldered. He was beautiful, but his slender, pretty hands were not made to hold a sword. He looked so young. "No. You're not. But it is your duty."
"I never wanted this." He lowered his head, and I brushed his hair back.
"I love you, Alou," I whispered, calling him by the pet name that only I could get away with using. "I wish I could do this for you. War suits me better." I gave him a little smile. "If only you'd been born my father's daughter, and I your father's son."
"Oh, but you don't belong astride a warhorse," he snorted sarcastically, mopping at his sweaty face. "You belong astride a husband, ensuring the future of your line. Aon! That's as stupid a waste as putting me in armor."
"Yes. I am wasted. Even my fiancé is doing his duty," I said bitterly. "With any luck, he'll die a hero, and save me the trouble of marrying him." I wanted to spit. I hadn't wanted the marriage, had been glad when the baron's son I was to have married had been called to the front. I wanted to be there too, fighting, where I could do the most good.
Alaric took his rings up again, his father's signet among them. He turned it over in his fingers. "I can't use a sword, I can only ride for show, and my father's ring doesn't even fit me. Look at it!" He tossed it to me, sat on a bench to take off his fighting boots. "I have to wear it on my thumb."
"I'd string it about your neck, if I were you, or get it resized," I said, turning it over. "Don't want it flying off while you're in the middle of giving orders."
"Or giving the enemy the finger, right before they run me through."
I was trying it on when a courier in a dusty uniform came in, guided by the steward. The messenger looked at the two of us, saw the ring on my finger and addressed himself to me.
"My Lord of Westreach, a message for you from General Ionvar Arkantel."
He extended a small packet of papers, and I stared at them uncertainly for a moment, not sure whether to be amused that he'd mistaken me for Alaric, or offended that he apparently took me for a boy.
Amusement won, narrowly, and it was winning in Alaric' face as well. When we were younger, and both dirty from splashing about in mud puddles, with frogs in our pockets, it had taken tickling to tell us apart – he is, and I'm not. The resemblance persisted, evidently, under padded armor and sweat.
They were not marked confidential, so I opened the papers, perused the first page. Orders to report to the General's camp. I handed the packet to Alaric, who skimmed them with a look of growing horror on his suddenly ashen face. I played for time.
"Thank you. You'll have an answer before dinner. Rest and refresh yourself." I waved him off, and he went. I didn't dare laugh about it, because Alaric looked like sudden death, even in the sunlight.
"I'm sorry, Alou."
He wasn't listening, just looking blankly at the papers. "I have to go tomorrow. Go a thousand miles away to face enemies who want to kill me beside men who don't know me. I'm not even reporting to my father's camp. They're replacing him with an experienced man. They're sending me to General Grayshadow."
The words hung between us. The General was no laughing matter, and his soldiers were hard men, hard-used. He led in the old way, went wherever the fighting was worst.
My heart felt like it was breaking. I wasn't just going to have to sit at home and do nothing, I was going to lose my best friend, too. I wanted to hit somebody, smash something, scream my fury over the castle walls until the ravens flew away in terror. Trapped. Trapped, because I was a girl. If they'd just give me a chance, I could prove my worth, but that was never going to happen. Not as long as I was my father's daughter. There was no way to change that, no way to change what Alaric had to do. If only we'd been born the other way around.
I jumped as though someone had kicked me, then grinned. Alaric looked deeply annoyed. "Is something about this amusing to you?"
"You don't have to go!"
Alaric barked a short, humorless laugh. "Are you suggesting I run? There's a million of our soldiers between here and anywhere else. And after them, there's the Chimera banners, and a million more of them would be sure and chop off whatever our fellows had missed! I have to fight."
"No. Alaric of Westreach has to fight."
"I don't understand."
"But he needs his father's sword. And a horse. And a ring." I held my hand up. The signet on my first finger caught the light.
The first rays of understanding touched his face. I nodded.
"Mind if I borrow your name?"
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Chapter 2: The Army
I went alone down roads rutted by supply wagons and churned to mud by thousands of hooves. Four days, and then I found the army. I had never seen – or smelled – anything like it. Thousands of tents, campfires, wagons, horses . . . an ungainly sprawl that filled the bend of the Lann river. This was it. Here it was, and here I was, under an assumed name, in borrowed clothing, on a borrowed horse.
I rode up, papers in hand, feeling the cold sweat of nerves trickle down my back.
Alaric' clothing fit, but it pulled in unfamiliar places over my shoulders and my bound breasts. His belt hung at a different angle than mine would have, and his trousers buttoned the wrong way. His armor sat in a bag behind me. My boots were my old boots, though, so I had not left everything familiar behind.
A courier saw me past the pickets and into the camp. He didn't question my explanation, and nobody else looked twice at me. I knew from staying at inns along the way that my disguise would pass a cursory examination. We would see if I could fool the General.
Ionvar was the greatest of us. He is my father's half-sister's son, sort of making him my cousin, but I had only met him once. Tales of his exploits had been dinner-table fare during the few weeks my father had been away from the front during the winter, and his ruthlessness on the battlefield was legendary.
Duchess Shalivar had been wise to hire mercenary companies and bandits. The mercenaries were quite disciplined, and the bandits were desperate. Pretty much the worst enemies one would ever wish to face. Together with Shalivar's elite cavalry and a terrifyingly effective battery of archers from Sholto, they made up the army that marched under the Chimera banner, an army of many unpleasant parts merged into one terrible whole.
And she needed all that, marching against Ionvar, who had managed to lead an effective resistance against an army easily twice our size. He had outsmarted some of the most cunning and dangerous men in the Empire. He saw straight to the heart of things.
I would have to fool him.
With the help of my guide, I found Ionvar standing before rank on rank of supply wagons. It was a clear day and the afternoon sun was sharp as a sword, threw his face into high relief. He was as handsome as I remembered him. Several other officers stood with him, going over tallies. A couple looked familiar but none recognized me.
I hadn't seen Ionvar in eight years. I recalled him laughing easily at my father's table, drinking freely, speaking carelessly. War had changed him. He was around thirty now, and the passage of time had sharpened his features, worn away that youthful softness. Now his face was the face of a man used to command. It was etched under his eyes, in the hollows of his cheeks. His hair was coarse, like an animal's pelt, and dressed into a dozen beaded braids on the underside, the old warriors' way of counting victories. These combined with the heavy fur mantle along the shoulders of his cloak made him look positively bestial; a throwback to the old days of savagery and blood sacrifice. He glared at everyone from a predator's amber eyes.
It would be months before he claimed the title of King, but in that moment I felt it. I knelt and he studied me for a moment, considering. Wind stirred his mane. The beads in his war braids clicked. Then I saw that they were not beads, but human teeth. I stifled a shiver. Time had changed him much.
"Speak," he said. His voice was rougher and lower than I remembered.
"My lord, I am Alaric of Westreach, come to take up my commission. I was to report to you, Sir." I handed him my summons.
He examined the papers, then turned his gaze to me, taking in the cut of my clothing, how the armor sat on my shoulders. His eyes lingered and I wondered if he could tell. We'd be seeing a lot of each other. My disguise had to be not just good, but perfect. The other men looked me over, but if they'd been looking at me as a woman I'd have known. To them, I was just another barely-grown boy. Meat for the crows.
"Aressan's son. You're younger than I thought," Ionvar said, frowning. "And small."
"I'll grow."
He snorted. "You'd better." I was a tall girl, but for a man it was only barely average. For a man of our House, I qualified as short. I'd addressed this detail the same way I'd addressed my girlishly smooth skin. I simply hid it in plain sight, without doing a thing to disguise it. After all, what would a boy have done about being small and pretty?
I passed muster, apparently, for he nodded. "I knew your father. My condolences. Trustworthy fellow. Your grandfather’s reputation is formidable as well. But you're green, aren't you? Haven't earned your knighthood."
"No, Sir. I mean, I haven't."
"No time to properly train you, and the gentry would foam at the mouth if I sent you to camp with the line troops." He sighed. "And your father wished that I squire you, green or not, and I intend to honor that wish." His cheek furrowed in a hooked grin. "Luckily, there's an opening. My second squire was promoted last week. You will replace him. Understand?"
"Perfectly, Sir." But my head was spinning. Most noblemen entering the army were immediately given a command. It had not occurred to me that I would not automatically be put in charge of something. I'd imagined a tent of my own, maps, tables, messengers, and privacy. But squiring? The idea of being in such prolonged, close contact with anyone, let alone someone who had actually met me, even if it had been years before, quite frankly scared the piss out of me.
But what could I do? Refuse?
"I am ready to start, Sir." At least Ionvar was not the type to tolerate pranks and horsing around. That would get my secret spilled faster than anything.
He grunted his approval. "Éremon will show you where to put your kit and explain your duties to you. I expect the best from my men. Disappoint me or fail in any way and I will see you flogged so hard your sons will be born squealing for mercy." He barked for his other squire, who appeared.
If Ionvar had an opposite in the male gender, Éremon was it. He was a clean-featured honey-blonde, maybe twenty-two, only a little taller than me but much broader. His hair was just long enough to fall in his eyes most appealingly if it wasn't tied back, and a little too short to tie. And his eyes . . . brilliant blue, extraordinary. I drank the sight of him in, and he gave me a curious smile even as he gave me the once-over.
Love at first sight? Please. But, oh, he was the sort of boy every girl dreams about. He bowed to Ionvar, who explained who I was, then dismissed us both with a wave.
"Thank you, Sir," I said to my new master, and that was that.
I followed Éremon through the sea of tents to the General's tent. It wasn't hard to find. The Arkantel banner flew over it, higher than any other in the camp, a black gryphon on a blue and gold background. Next to the enormous black and gold tent was a smaller blue one. Éremon ducked under the flap and inside, and I followed him. "Here's home," he said. He was from the north of our province, near Lónan. Pretty accent, but I bet it got him in a lot of fights. We weren't keen on Northerners just now. "Get used to it as fast as you can."
I sighed, feeling stupid. This was not what I'd envisioned when I'd imagined going to war. A pang of fear plucked at my ribs, and I almost laughed out loud. The thought of riding and hacking and killing didn't scare me at all, but bedrolls and whetstones and daily chores had me as nervous as a cinchy horse.
I could do it. Anything for the privilege of fighting for my House.
I unrolled my pack and set my bedroll down as far from Éremon's as I thought I could get away with while he settled in to finish rewrapping the hilt of a sword. He explained our duties as he worked. The list seemed endless. I sighed again, and he broke off mid-sentence to give me a curious look. "Do you have any experience or training at all?"
I shook my head.
"Well. At least you don't have bad habits to unlearn. Just watch me for a day or two, see how it's done." His fingers on the leather thongs were confident and fast. "Don't ever get caught eating, sleeping, or jerking off when you're supposed to be doing something else. It's best if you can manage to learn to go without all three." He smiled again, trying to put me at ease, but those pretty blue eyes gleamed with mischief. I smiled back in spite of myself. I'd have to become friends with him, or we'd be at each other’s throats inside a week.
"Does he always give that flogging speech?"
"Mmm-hmm," he replied, yanking a lacing tight. "Means it, too. If he tells you to do something, you do it. You'll listen to me, too, since I'm senior squire now."
He was testing, just a little, but I didn't want to push back. It was too soon, and I didn't know him well. "How long have you squired?" I asked, carefully neutral.
"A year. Six months longer than he's kept most of his squires."
"Think he'll knight you soon?" With a knighthood, I would no longer be under such close scrutiny.
Éremon paused, shifted the sword clamped between his knees. "Well, I hope not!" His laugh was just a little too bright.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the last two squires he knighted, he did it posthumously."
"What?" My jaw dropped. "He said the last one was promoted."
"Doran? He was. Right before we sent him home in a winding sheet. A boy gives his life for us, the least we can do is send him back to his mother as a knight." He grinned. "Ionvar insists we earn it. And he does mad things in the heat of combat. It's not easy to keep up with him." I felt a twinge of nerve at this, but said nothing. "He's a brilliant man, the General. Brilliant, but hard."
I sighed again. It just slipped out before I could stop it.
"Oho! You were looking for an easy command, weren't you?" Éremon laughed ruefully. "Baron, are you? Well, you're not a baron now. You're his squire, and that's all you are."
"Lovely."
He drew a knife, tapped me on the leg with the hilt before cutting the thongs off the wrapping and tying them off. "Don't take it so hard. I'm a duke's brat, was even more soft and spoiled than you look when I came in. I thought this might kill me, and for a while I wished it would. But it's not so bad. We get time off, some money. He's never whipped me without reason. He doesn't get drunk and embarrass himself. And we get double rations of wine." His grin turned into something harder, sharper. "And we get to fight alongside the most incredible General this land has ever seen. That's worth it all."
I grinned back. "I'll drink to that. What about after? Girls? Camp-followers, laundresses. You know. We get double rations of that, too?"
He winced. "Don't let him catch you with them unless he's sent them to you. A camp girl approached Kevan, his other squire before Doran, impressed him so much he took her to the General's tent. She got down to business and knifed the General right here." He drew a finger along the inside of his thigh. "Almost bled him out. If Doran hadn't been right there, Ionvar'd be dead. Since then, we only get girls that have been carefully vetted, and he usually gets them before we do." I must have made a face, because he followed up hastily with "The General's seconds are better than most men's firsts. Even if he is a little . . . well. . . ."
I frowned. "Perverted?"
"He's . . . particular. Very specific tastes, you might say."
"He doesn't like boys, does he?" I asked. Because if he did, and I was going to be expected to provide that. . . .
"No." Éremon laughed, went back to tucking the thongs under, tying the loose ends off. Satisfied, he raised the sword, tested the grip. He peered down the blade at me, his words casual. "Just so you know, he's a dragon about fraternization. Not for the troops. He could give a shit about what they do. But for us. Don't ever let him catch you with a man. He thinks it makes him look bad." He rolled his eyes. "I don't understand it. Everyone does it."
"Well, yeah, I don't see a lot of women around here," I remarked. He took my wryness for sourness.
"'Course not. Women can't fight."
I flushed to the collar with anger, but he fortunately didn't see.
Can't fight? We'd see about that.
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Chapter 3: The Squire
Éremon was a sickening role model. He wasn't just perfect to look at, he did everything he was asked to do perfectly. As a friend, however, he was less than ideal. We liked one another, but I was used to Alaric, so quiet and so gentle, and with Éremon I quickly found I was likelier to find myself in a stranglehold than a hug. I got used to roughhousing fast, because Ionvar set him to sparring with me every spare minute. I learned fast and fought hard to keep him off me, fearing that he would somehow discover my secret.
Spring was late and the weather was still cold, so I had an excuse to wear an extra shirt most of the time. Luckily, there was a lot of work to keep my hands full and my clothes on until the other lads were finished bathing.
I'd been with Ionvar for three weeks when we first joined battle, a strike against the enemy’s flank. We'd caught some of their men between a steep hill and a stream, and hit them like a hammer-blow. Éremon’s horse went down before ten minutes had passed, and he vanished into the fray, dead or wounded. It was the worst moment of my life.
The General waited for nobody, nothing, thundered on like the first black edge of a storm. I stayed at his side, screaming my rage. My own horse fell screaming, and I fought desperately to survive long enough to find my way back to him. I thought we were about done for, but then the enemy fell back in a rout and the retreating tide of battle left me momentarily beached on a field of corpses. I cast about frantically. I didn't see Ionvar. Was he dead?
Someone took me by the shoulder and I almost took off his head before I realized that the gore-streaked revenant before me had Éremon's blue eyes. I shouted with joy and embraced him our bloody armor clanking. In that moment, I knew the love that brothers in battle feel. "I thought you'd been made a knight!" I said, laughing. He only shook his head.
"No promotions for me! Just some bruises!"
"We have to find the General," I said, and reluctantly let him go.
It wasn't hard. Our cavalry came charging back in, sweeping the last of the mercenary footmen away like counters off a game board. Ionvar's black charger ramped and plunged above the enemy as he cut them down. Blood tattooed his face. He roared, and they fled, and I knew then that we'd won. I had been frightened and confused, and we'd made it anyway. The tiny part of the battle trusted to me, I had handled.
After the fight, when Ionvar put his hand on my shoulder and nodded once, I felt prouder than I'd ever felt before; prouder than if he’d given a whole speech about my (mostly nonexistent) bravery. There was still blood in his hair, rubbed in gritty streaks along his jaw. I was proud to serve so frightful a master.
Afterward, nursing aches and bruises, I couldn't stop thinking about how quickly my secret would come to light if I took a serious injury. This whole idea had been stupid, but I couldn't – I didn't want to – go back now. There was nothing for it except to not get hurt.
The fear didn't damp my spirits. That night, after my first battle, I felt like I could do anything. We all did. Morale was high. The camp was full of parties. The season was just beginning, and early victories make men wild. Girls and booze got passed around. Everyone was smiling. Never one for celebrations, Ionvar tended to business in his tent, writing dispatches. Messengers came and went like pigeons at a noblewoman's windowsill. I asked for the night off and Ionvar granted it with a wave of an ink-smeared hand. I left Éremon polishing Ionvar's armor and felt a momentary flash of guilt. I belonged back there, helping him. But I needed a few minutes to just . . . unwind.
I skimmed the revels, taking in a few jokes, some food, some wine, dodging the more serious offers of companionship or a friendly fire. I wound up outside camp, alone but for a few stragglers, most of whom looked like they had a bad case of green soldier's conscience. None of them bothered me, and that was how I wanted it. I sat and drank and looked up at the endless sky, and felt pride unfurling through me like banners over a field. I'd been born in this land, to this House, for a reason. I was made for war. I might doubt my circumstances, but I never doubted that.
I drank to myself, and to my fellow squire, and to my General. And I drank to the bloody war, and also to our enemies, who were kind enough to let us kill them.
A sentry rooted me up before I could get really drunk – probably for the best – with a ragged-looking message for my master. I recognized the seal. The Baron of Westfall. Important news. Back through camp I trudged.
A small cask of wine cooled outside Ionvar's door-flap. The men outside stopped their chatting long enough to greet me and wave me in. I expected to find Ionvar inside, but it was empty. Scattered articles of clothing littered the floor. I paused before I'd gone three steps. From the back of the tent I heard a low moan of pleasure, then Éremon's voice. "Oh, goddamn, get around here and fuck me."
I blanched, then flushed as crimson as a red-hot iron. Do I need to tell you what I was imagining? A moment later I heard a very feminine gasp, followed by a woman's voice unfurling a stream of profanity that nearly singed the hair off my head. What the hell was Éremon doing fucking some girl in the General's tent?
I hesitated, then reached for the partitioning curtain. What else could I do? The message waited, I had to see if Ionvar was in there. I pulled the curtain back softly, poked my head inside with the words "My Lord" on my lips. I bit it off, though, when I saw what was going on.
Sprawled on the floor face-down was a redheaded girl, as naked as the moon. Éremon, similarly nude, had hold of her at the hips and was rutting into her with great enthusiasm. My good master was still mostly clothed, but he rested on his knees before her, a handful of her coppery hair in his fist and his thick cock in her mouth.
As embarrassing as it is to admit, I'd never seen a naked man before, not one in arousal, so naturally I stared. The General was facing a little away from me, and Éremon was oblivious to anything but the girl, so I could look all I liked. My fellow squire's smooth hips thumped into the girl's silky bottom. The lamplight curving along the line of his shoulder and ribs was delicious. Fine golden hair dusted his chest, ran down in a trail from his navel. His few scars only underscored the fine texture of his skin.
My master pulled his shirt off and threw it aside, and fucking hell, wasn't that a sight? The lamplight which had so flattered Éremon picked out the powerful and wolf-lean muscles on Ionvar's back like the lines of a sculpture, but he was flesh, and all too real. All of his skin that I could see was crisscrossed with scars, some silver, some dark, some red and new. His braids played over the smears of blood and grit still on his neck.
I caught myself wriggling at the aching warmth between my thighs, couldn't tear my eyes away. I had totally forgotten the letter. Ionvar hauled up on the girl's mane like a horse's reins and Éremon kept hold of her waist as she wriggled back and forth between them.
She was obviously enjoying the hell out of it, flushed across her cheeks, lips a vivid shade of scarlet. She had one hand between her thighs, and the other fisted in the blankets. Her breasts swayed, pink nipples hard as jewels. Ionvar pulled away from her. "Turn around," he said, and she pulled right off Éremon and did an about-face, flopped on her back with a happy squeak, her legs already spread. Her pussy was flushed red, and she was rubbing herself before Ionvar had even touched her.
He leaned forward, pressed the swollen head of his cock against her, spreading her pink little folds apart and nudging inside. I watched the whole length disappear into her as she arched in pleasure. He took his time fucking her, and she played with herself eagerly. I watched every inch of it. The angle spared me not one detail. How could she fit all that in there?
The girl's breasts bounced in time to Ionvar's thrusting. Her slender calves wrapped around him. She kept reaching up to paw at Éremon, too, fondling him as he knelt beside her, taking his cock in her fist and stroking it. I sympathized. I couldn't have decided which of them to play with, either.
The girl even seemed to enjoy it when Éremon pulled her halfway up and onto her side, pushed his slippery cock back into her mouth. His face was flushed and he was breathing hard. She pushed up on her elbow to take him in all the way, and soon Éremon arched like a drawn bow and groaned. I heard her swallowing, and when he pulled away, a thread of his spending fell across her cheek. Éremon sprawled on the rug, grinning. She licked her lips, fell back on the carpet beside him, and purred.
Ionvar thrust his hands into her fire-bright hair, arching over her like an animal. I could see the muscles in his sides shifting under the skin, and his trousers had ridden down far enough for me to see the small of his back where it swept into the curve of his ass. The channel of his spine was in deep shadow. I could have stared for a thousand years.
He wasn't going to last that long, though. His breath came rough, he growled something urgent to the girl, and she whimpered. Soon she shuddered and stiffened, and wailed. "Oh, gods!" she gasped. "Harder!" He obliged, war-braids clicking against one another in his hair. She slumped back, gasping for breath, and he snarled an oath.
The girl pulled away with a smirk, nimble as a mink. Before he could wrestle her back into position, she turned on all fours again, presented him with her backside. With a sly look at him, she pushed a finger up her back passage. I goggled, shocked.
Daddy had taught me that sex was perfectly natural, but that wasn't within the bounds of "necessary for the propagation of the House." I'd never seen anything so shameless. Judging from her wriggling and smirking, it must've felt good. I admit, I had little experience watching women, but it didn't seem to me that she was faking.
Ionvar crept up behind her as she bent to take Éremon's half-hard cock between her lips again. He stroked her backside where her smooth-skinned flanks shaded into the graceful lines of her thighs. Her pink slit was clearly visible between them, fuzzy as a peach and slippery with nectar. It surprised me when he leaned over and put his tongue there, right up into her folds. She squirmed as he tasted her, and I just gaped. He licked her, his cock hanging hard underneath him and twitching, like a stallion's. He stroked it now and then, and I felt my pussy throb.
After he'd drunk his fill of her, he trailed his tongue up and pressed it against her nether opening. He slid two fingers into her pussy all the way to the knuckle. I felt a naughty thrill at watching him. I was envious again.
The girl wriggled and uttered an impatient, lustful cry. He pulled away and pushed a finger up her ass. She moaned, dove on Éremon's pole with obvious enjoyment as Ionvar worked his fingers in her to the very bottom, teasing her front and back. Her fingers were fixed on her clit, stroking it frantically.
My pussy throbbed. I fervently wished that I could tear myself away long enough to pleasure myself. Moments later the girl shuddered in orgasm. Ionvar pushed both fingers up her ass, worked them in and out while she pushed back against him. She didn't ever take her mouth off Éremon's cock.
"I'm going to take you here," Ionvar said, cozying up to her backside, his cock brushing her flank. I blushed for her, but she wasn't ashamed at all. One silky hand stole back and squeezed Ionvar's iron-hard pole. She pulled away from Éremon enough to smirk.
"As My Lord wishes," she purred.
"Climb up," Ionvar said, "and sit on his cock." She nodded with a little quiver in her flanks, then did as he told her. I watched her settle a thigh on either side of Éremon's and lower herself onto his shaft. The head sank into her pink slit and she pushed down on it with a groan. Ionvar moved around and put his cock in her mouth, made her drool on it while she bounced. She pinched and teased her own nipples. Eventually Ionvar turned loose of her and she flopped down on Éremon, panting.
Ionvar went behind her and pressed his cock against her tight pink opening. She gasped. I watched, incredulous, as she backed up. The end sank into her slowly, stretching her. Hectic color rose in her cheeks as he slid the length of it into her ass. I couldn't tell from her gasping whether she felt pain or pleasure or some unholy mixture of both. Soon she urged him to do it harder. Éremon could do little more than lie beneath her as she writhed, but the look on his face was positively beatific.
I hoped fervently that he would sleep deep and long that night so that I could pleasure myself in the dark. If worst came to worst, I could always ask him to step out. He'd rib me about it, but as a man, he’d understand.
The girl ground against Éremon, her breasts pressing against his naked chest. I could see her shuddering. One of her little hands crept down her belly and I could tell when she found her clit: her eyes rolled back in her head. Ionvar pulled her hair and stroked her shoulders, her throat, her jouncing breasts. Sweat rolled down her sides, gooseflesh rippled on her arms and thighs. Soon she wailed, threw her head back so that Ionvar had to rear back to avoid getting his nose broken. She was completely gone, lost in her own pleasure. Ionvar grunted and ground his teeth, held steady as she spasmed and bucked. Finally, she collapsed onto Éremon, gasping.
Ionvar pulled out of her, moved aside. "Put her on her back," he said to Éremon. "Fuck her in the ass." My fellow squire didn't waste a moment. He lay the girl down and held her legs up, framing her pink lower lips between her thighs. I watched his thick shaft disappear into her nether passage. His full length clove her, forcing wetness out of her pussy in a trickle. He spread her legs and her little cleft stretched wide, now ripe rose-pink from the fucking she'd gotten. Without shame, she reached down and plunged two fingers into her depths. As Éremon slid in and out of her ass, she pleasured herself. She came again, and Éremon wouldn't be far behind. He was shuddering and sweating like a dray horse pulling uphill.
He gave a low, strangled groan and pushed all the way in, muscles taut. The girl whimpered softly. No sooner had he pulled away than Ionvar took his place, slid back up her ass and pounded into her hard. She fell forward on the blankets as Ionvar smacked into her at a full gallop. As he neared the home stretch, he growled like a wolf.
"Jerk it," she hissed, pushing him away. "I know how you love to look. Go on. Get it all over me." I couldn't believe what I'd heard her say. Ionvar pulled out of the girl and rubbed his pole up and down between her slippery cheeks. She reached back to help, wrapped her fingers around it and squeezed. My master growled, arched forward. Jets of come squirted onto the girl's backside and upper thighs. Ionvar shuddered, sighed, then ran his fingers over her sticky rump, through the mess. She turned and licked his fingers clean, and he stroked her hair gently.
Éremon lay back on the floor with a groan. The girl cleaned herself with a cloth, humming softly. Ionvar sat on a cushion nearby and had a drink of wine. I was so afraid that they would see the motion that I dared not move away. After about thirty seconds Ionvar waved a hand at his squire.
"Up, you," he said. "Éremon, you and Alaric are off until morning. Don’t let me catch you hanging around."
Éremon pulled on his pants and shirt, took his boots in one hand and saluted with the other. "Good night, Sir," I heard him say, but I was already beating a hasty retreat.
* * * * *
Chapter 4: The Secret
I was so randy that even the horses snorted at me as I fled across to our tent. The camp was quiet. The long march and the brisk but brief party had tired out most of the men. Besides, we might have to march hard any day. Everyone wanted as much sleep as possible. I slipped back into my pallet without drawing any attention.
It wasn't long before Éremon came in to root for cached booze, then left me alone in the dark. I wouldn't see him again until dawn. I stripped my pants off and stretched my legs out. The late hour and the deep night would allow me the privacy to relieve myself. I left my long shirt on and kept the blankets pulled up, just in case someone should blunder in.
The scene played itself out in my mind. I squirmed in place, picturing Éremon and Ionvar taking me at once, as they had taken the redheaded girl. What would it be like? Two at once? I had never imagined such a thing, but I could sure as hell imagine it now that I'd seen it. The blush of shame the thought brought to my cheeks didn't still the trembling in my belly. I reached down and slid a finger between my folds, found myself simmering wet. It felt so good I couldn't keep from groaning softly. Out of lingering caution, I stayed on my side, kept the covers drawn up, but I did cock my knee up with a foot on the floor to give myself more room.
I pushed a finger into myself, then another. With wet fingertips, I circled my aching button, imagining a tongue there. Éremon's, then Ionvar's. Better yet, a tongue there on my button, and a hard cock filling me below. I hungered for what I could never allow myself. I used both hands to pleasure myself, plunging two fingers into myself and feeling how liquid hot I was. My sex ached. Muscles clenched. At the lustful prompting of my tortured body I pushed a finger, slippery with my juices, up my back passage. It felt dreadful and obscene, but I tingled all over with it. I gritted my teeth and growled with pleasure. Well could I believe that it had pleased the girl to take my master's cock there.
I buried my face in my pillow and ground my teeth, closed my eyes tight. Oblivious to almost everything, I didn't hear the rustling next to me. I was climbing that long slope toward orgasm when I felt a warm body behind me. A hand took my shoulder. Another reached around my belly for my groin. Éremon's breath rushed warmly in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. I stiffened and tried to shoulder him away.
"The hell do you think you're doing?" I snapped, rolling quickly out of his grip so that my breasts were pressed into my pillow and my thighs were tight together. My hand still lay trapped beneath me. Pleasure ached within me. My heart pounded.
"You were watching us," he said, close beside me. "Why didn't you join in?" I could smell wine on him. He was just drunk enough to make him brave. Maybe a little mean.
"Why didn't you ask me?" I shot back, trying to elbow him off.
"Rather have you to myself," he said, drawing close again. I pushed him away one-handed, but he pulled me up with him and into a kiss. He kissed recklessly, as if charging into battle. I stiffened and gasped, and he slipped his tongue into my mouth. My heart pounded like a hare's. I hadn't had that much experience kissing, but he was very persuasive. Unable to help myself, I kissed him back. When I could no longer breathe, I broke it off.
"We can't do this," I said, in my firmest tone. Éremon pressed against me and I could feel his erection digging into my hip. Sweet fuck, could he really do it again? My spine tingled and I blushed, tried to push him away again and almost succeeded. "Enough," I growled, trying to sound annoyed when, in fact, I wanted to roll over and let him rut me right there. "What the hell do you want from me?"
"I should think that would be obvious," he murmured, moving his lips down to the sides of my neck under the loose collar of my shirt. He was tasting me. "I can feel your heart pounding." His hair tickled my skin as he kissed my shoulders. I shrugged his hands away before he could discover the binding across my breasts.
"I'm terribly flattered, but I don't do boys."
He leaned close. "Is that right? I served with a friend of yours last summer. Your second cousin, I think. He talked about you. How you like boys. How you two fooled around." Shock rendered me momentarily speechless.
"No," I said, affronted, both for myself and for Alaric, the real one. "I'm – I'm not – not–" I blushed again, stomach sinking. If he wanted a boy, a boy I had better be. And unless I wanted trouble with the General, I had to be the kind of boy he thought I was. "Dammit, Éremon. What do you want?"
"Make me happy and I won't tell Ionvar you were watching us."
"Would he care? You were in there, and he seemed pleased enough with that."
His hands tightened on me. He was trembling, too. "Then maybe I'll just foul something up and blame it on the new boy. He'll lash you, and I'll watch."
Suddenly, I was very angry, but also very afraid. Ionvar would believe the perfect golden-boy squire over me any day, and if it came to a flogging, my secret was out. I went limp under him, pretending defeat. "What'll it take to keep you quiet?"
He kissed me, took my hand and pressed it to the front of his pants. His cock was strainingly hard. Even through the thick fabric, I felt its warmth. My breath hitched. "Take it out," he said into my mouth. "I want to feel your tongue."
I pushed him over so that he leaned against the tent pole. Yes, he was beautiful in the lamplight. And drunk. And a bit guilty. I saw that in his eyes. But he trembled when I touched him. I'd been driving him mad and hadn't even known it. Possibly he hadn't know it until tonight. Once he came, he'd slink off and pretend nothing had happened. And I was a little eager, flattered, perhaps, that he still wanted me as a boy, even though he was being a complete bastard about it. I gave him a disgusted sneer - disgust with myself as much as with him - and reached for his belt.
"Fine. See how you like it."
I pulled his cock out. It was hard, but the skin was velvety and smooth, and very warm. I circled it with my fingers and squeezed. The loose skin glided easily over the hard flesh. It felt obscene. I stroked it, watching his face. It was easy to tell what felt good. I gave it a good squeeze and clear, sticky fluid spilled from the end. I pulled the skin tight and smeared it over the head of his cock.
"God," he growled through clenched teeth. "Suck it, please." He trembled. With a glare at him, I slipped down and licked the end. He groaned when I set my tongue to his hot flesh. The taste was agreeable – just clean skin. He'd washed, after taking his leave of the girl. I tasted the salty stuff leaking from him, which set my mouth watering. I tried to remember how the girl had managed earlier, and began licking all over it, sucking at the bottom and sides. The skin was so soft. He arched, rubbed the head over my tongue and pushed past my lips.
I flushed in shame, excited in spite of myself, leaned forward, tried to take in as much as I could. This was more or less ideal. While he was in this position, he couldn't get at my other end. He leaned against the sturdily-planted tent pole behind him. One of his hands tangled in my hair. It was more difficult than I'd thought, but I worked a little more than half of it down.
"Use your fingers at the bottom," he said, when it was apparent I could manage no more. "Jerk it."
I flashed my most disdainful stare at him again and reached up to squeeze around the base. It throbbed in my mouth. I stroked it up and down, following my lips. When I pulled back and licked the end, his breath hitched. It became a game as I tried to get as much of a reaction out of him as I could. I paused to run my tongue all over the end, exploring. Shame panted down the nape of my neck but I shoved it back. No matter what or who he thought I was, I knew the truth. That put me one up on him.
I sucked him slowly, pulled at his shaft with my fingers. Eventually, I managed more of his length than I thought I could. I stroked my mouth down on it smoothly, pressing hard with my tongue. Whenever my mouth tired, I sucked on the end and wrung at him with my fist.
Watching him try to control himself was unexpectedly delightful. His breathing was coarse, his eyes either closed or half-focused in pleasure. He took his fist out of my hair and stroked my cheek. I fondled his belly and his smoothly-muscled sides, the firm plane of his chest. Gods, he was a fine specimen, and touching him was a terrible delight.
I wanted very badly to play with myself but knew I could never get away with it. This was very likely all he wanted from me. It was common enough between men in the camp. I would be free to do whatever I liked after he finished. But I couldn't deny that it got me hot under the skin.
Éremon finally groaned and thumped his head against the pole. "Dammit," he gasped. "You're going to make me come."
"Do it, then," I said, squeezing him.
He groaned, frustrated, panted against my lips. "I want to fuck you first."
"I don't think so," I said, leaning up to kiss him with a firm hand still around his shaft. I meant to tease him to the brink and drain him dry. If I drew it out long enough, the alcohol would catch up with him and he wouldn't be able to manage again. His lips met mine for a moment then he growled and caught my arm. I tried to pull away. Just as frustrated and excited as me, he pushed me over onto my stomach and rolled atop me. I cursed all the times we had wrestled together. He had learned well.
"If I'm going to regret this in the morning, I might as well quit fucking around," he said, reaching for my waist. I squirmed from beneath him, reached out and caught the tent pole, pulled myself halfway up. He tried to pull me back and I kicked at him. I am ashamed to admit that I had to make myself do it. He growled, amused, took one of my ankles.
"Come on," he said. "I know you want to, stop squirming." The hell of it is, I did want to, and I know he knew it. I pulled up and he caught my waist, held me half up and half down. He reached around, feeling my thighs. Instinctively, I flattened myself to the floor, but this only exposed my backside. I gave a very manly snarl of anger, tried to twist away. Éremon climbed up and straddled my legs so I couldn't even kick effectively. He held me there, grabbed one arm and twisted it behind my back. I yelped in pain.
Fear and more than a little excitement thrilled through my blood. He was simply stronger than me. If I'd been a man, I could've stopped him. The fact that I didn't fight my way out of his grip no doubt made him think I didn't want to.
He dragged over the bag with our sword kits in it and pulled out the bottle of oil we used on our weapons. I couldn't turn to see what he was doing but he soon pushed a finger down the crevice of my ass and up my back passage. I writhed, snarled, tried to pry him off me with my one free hand. The tent pole bruised my shoulder and I only got a handful of hair. I tried to pull him close enough to bite. He leaned over my shoulder and kissed me. I sank my teeth into his lip and tasted blood. He twisted his finger inside me. It felt good and I hissed in frustration. He worked it in and out and when I showed no signs of discomfort, he added another, slippery with oil. I gasped at the almost-painful sensations. My aching pussy throbbed, deprived of attention.
I licked at his bloody lip. Finally I sought his tongue with my own. The end of his hard cock brushed my backside as he rubbed against me. I couldn't help quivering in frustration.
"Do you like that?" he asked, pushing his fingers farther up inside me. It took every fiber of willpower in my being not to beg him to finger my pussy instead.
"Fuck you," I spat, though he must have felt me shaking. He twisted his fingers again and I groaned, thumped my head against the tent pole. I knew what he was going to do to me, and wished desperately to be somewhere else, anywhere else. He laughed, low and mean, and kissed me again.
"Yes," he said when he pulled away. "I'm going to fuck you. And you're going to like it." He licked the side of my neck above my collar as he worked his fingers in me. I moaned, low and helplessly, and slid down the pole a little, put my free arm around it. He let go of my arm and merely leaned on my shoulder. I didn't move. He took his fingers from me, removed the hand on my shoulder. For a moment I could have risen unrestrained. I hesitated for an instant longer than I should've. I half-hoped and half-feared that he would discover my secret.
But Éremon wasn't wasting any more time exploring. His weight shifted, he grabbed my shoulder again, holding me down. I turned to look at him as I felt his cock nudge at me. His face was set, determined. He pressed the head into me, and I cried out, heart staggering in my chest. Before I could draw a breath to scream, half the rest of his cock followed it, slick with oil. I was very ready but it hurt some, and I twisted beneath him until he reached around and put a hand on my neck, leaned over to whisper in my ear.
"Shh. Shh. It'll pass." Then he pushed all the way inside, pressing his warm hips against me. I felt every inch of that thing crammed into me. It was such a peculiar feeling, having part of someone inside me. For a moment I could only lie there and pant, shocked as a bowshot deer. "Oh," he sighed, his cheek brushing mine. "Oh, you're tight." He kissed me, licked my lips, sucked my tongue. I whimpered. In one smooth motion he pulled back and thrust back in. I had no time to push him away. I could barely gasp a breath. When he did it again, I moaned.