Deep Into Destiny

by Scot C Morgan

  DEEP INTO DESTINY

  A HAREM FANTASY

  Scot C Morgan

  SWORD & SORORITY BOOK 3

  Copyright © Scot C. Morgan (2020).

  All rights reserved.

  https://scotcmorgan.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review, or for personal use of a purchased copy on the purchaser’s various devices.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover illustration by Anna Lakisova.

  https://anna-lakisova.com

  Efforts were made to make this a clean manuscript. However, type-o’s or other small errors occur. Please email the author about any errors you discover, so they can be corrected. There is a link to do so on the author’s website.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Thank you for reading

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books By Scot C Morgan

  Chapter 1

  I swung my sword at Mettin, fast and sure, but not too heavy on my feet, knowing if I made that mistake again, I'd only give him a chance to cut me a second time. We'd been going at it for several minutes, and we smelled like it. Despite my superior strength—though he was far from weak—I couldn't manage to get the upper hand. No doubt years of training and probably nearly as much experience in actual battles had honed his skills to a level beyond mine. He'd been holding back the first time we fought, or he'd been drinking then.

  I was tempted to drive my blade against his hard enough to break them both, but that would do neither of us any good. Still, one more slice in my skin and I was going to let him have it, even if that meant hurtling myself into him and pummeling his face. I was confident he couldn't match or deflect my barbarian strength in that scenario. Schwarzenegger had nothing on me.

  "You two need to stop, before you both get hurt!" Nithia's voice cracked slightly when she said 'hurt'. She had argued against me and Mettin using naked blades for the training session. Now it was all she could do to keep from hopping over the wooden perimeter railing and running into the large circle of compacted, blood-stained dirt, where Mettin routinely tested his men's steel, and where he and I now circled one another, swinging and clanging our swords.

  Before I get hurt?

  I glanced at my leg, questioning why Nithia couldn't see the long trail of blood going down it. I was sure each of the dozen or so spectators standing to either side of her had seen the wound. I'd heard the gasps and noticed with a glance a man pointing to me a few seconds after it happened.

  The training session was supposed to be private. Mettin's men—most of whom had survived the attack on Yedia by Ms. Thompson and her mentor sorcerer—were off helping to clear rubble and doing the other work needed to rebuild what had been damaged or destroyed by the sorcerer's monsters…and the uninvited dragons. The unfortunate few Yedians who had died had been sent by wooden flotilla with the current toward the icy waters of the north sea, according to the custom of their people. Probably to get his mind off such things, Mettin had offered to show me some of the fighting techniques he taught his men, and I accepted, knowing future me might be thankful for the added skills. But the clangs of swords had drawn the attention of a few passers-by, and more stopped to see what drew the others. So now, to go with the injury to my leg, the insult of embarrassment loomed, waiting to pile on if I couldn't go the distance with Mettin.

  It shouldn't have been a distraction, but the spectators, especially my three women, caused me to lose focus a few times. Alara, Nithia, and Tara were my personal cheerleaders—looking the part in all the best ways—but the rest of the crowd were just there to see the fight. From the Yedians' commentary, I knew they didn't care which one of us won. I was their reality tv, or their hockey match promising a good fight. They evidently were hoping for a few major injuries…or something else shocking to happen. People on Galderia were no different than back home, I thought.

  I wore a vest of stiff, thick, studded leather, which Mettin gave me. He had the same protection. We agreed not to go for the head or neck, and to rein it back a little, in terms of force. I felt the sting on my right thigh as my quadricep flexed with my change in stance. The legs, evidently, were fair game, to a point. He'd proven that earlier, chuckling when he made the shallow slice.

  What started as a demonstration of a few sword techniques he'd mastered over the years had turned into a full-on fight. Granted, we were going at each other for sport, holding back—at least that was my understanding—but the rules of play for Yedian guards were fit for the rough neighborhoods back on Earth, the kind I only saw in the Daredevil or Luke Cage shows. I grew up in middle-class suburbs. So…I was still adjusting. No rounds were being called. No rest breaks were given. No referee.

  But the endurance wasn't a problem for me—not with my barbarian body, which now felt fully my own. Over the many days since Alara's magic brought me to this world, I'd adapted, accepted who I'd become. And I had mad skills, to be sure. How else could I have slain Saber-Kong, and the mounted Dark Riders…and so many other foes?

  But those enemies, even Ruja's men in Pertlass, weren't nearly as skilled as Mettin, Captain of the Yedian Guard. Yeah, I thought, he must have been holding back the first time we faced each other.

  That's why I agreed to do this—to up my game. Alara had encouraged our practice session—though I doubt she meant for it to get as intense as it had. I knew it was a good idea. After all, things were bound to be more difficult when it came time to face Kurg. I knew that day was coming. Unless I figured out another way to deal with him…without having to fight him.

  I thought about it every night—at least until my women distracted me. Why would I want to risk all that, I thought. Things were good between the four of us. Why did Kurg have to be looming in the distance? Why me? In the evenings, spending time in bed with Alara, Nithia, and Tara, I entertained the idea of just settling down somewhere with them, maybe in Yedia, if we could make it work. Someone else could deal with Kurg, I thought such things in those moments when in bed, eyes closed, exhausted, with their naked bodies mingled with mine. But I hadn't voiced the thought to them…or anyone. A promise had been hoisted upon me, and I had accepted it. After all, I thought, wasn't that why Alara had taken me to her bed in the first place?

  I held my sword out a moment too long.

  Mettin, after parrying my strike, sidestepped and swung his sword at my unguarded torso. When his blade landed against the stiff hide covering my waist, I felt the impact. For a split second, it seemed as if the studded leather vest had done its job, but my relief was misguided. He finished the move with a sharp pull of his sword, drawing the steel edge back to him. Twisting his hips as he did, he used the move to drive the blade against the thick leather protecting me. Of course, as Captain of the Guard, he kept his weapon sharp. Lucky me. The metal sliced through, and the tip
of his sword split a hair-thin cut into my skin as the blade traced a final parting arc.

  I contorted as the steel split the nerves, instinctively jerking my side in the other direction.

  "Den!" Nithia had gone from concerned to panicked.

  Son of bitch. I grimaced, my hot exhale through clenched teeth visible in the cold air. I refrained from saying how much it hurt. I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. He'd made his point, no pun intended.

  Stay focused.

  I liked Mettin, even now, despite his sword giving me reason to change my mind, but the smug look on his face seemed to grow by the second.

  I sucked it up and went back at him, first hacking downward at a diagonal to make him move back. My admittedly clumsy move gave me a much-needed moment of respite from his assault. Trying to ignore the pain as my stomach muscles tightened, I stepped forward and unleashed a series of more refined slashes, knocking his sword aside with the last one. Maybe it was adrenaline or just letting loose the constraint I'd put upon my strength, but whatever the case, each swing of my sword he defended with his own seemed to shift the muscles in his arms closer to a jelly-like state.

  The smug look disappeared from his face, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  Not bad for a guy who used to have trouble with a toy sword at the renaissance festival.

  Willing myself through the sting of my fresh wound, and the one on my leg, I lunged forward and swung at his side, knowing his studded leather armor would dull the blow, at least enough. I didn't care if my sword made him bleed a little. His rules, I thought. He'd made it fair game.

  I was right about his arms. He seemed to try to get his sword over in time to block my attack, but he'd lost his edge. He moved too slowly and my sword hit unimpeded.

  His scream caught me off guard. My blade had gone through the stiff leather hide and hacked into his flesh a good inch or so, more than I intended by far. My fatigue, coupled with being pissed off a little more than I should have allowed, caused me to lose control over the intensity of my swing.

  Jolted into concern for him, I reached for Mettin unsuccessfully with my free hand as he fell to his knees and dropped his sword.

  Shit.

  Breathing heavily, the pain I'd been mostly ignoring refused to go unheeded any longer. I glanced down at my waist. A steady flow of red was spilling from my wound and cascading over the studded leather which failed to protect me. The cut was worse than I'd thought.

  What are we doing?

  I dropped my sword and put that hand over the gash, pressing to still the blood loss. "You?" I looked Mettin in the eye and nodded toward his own bloodied side.

  His hand already covering his injury beneath the now dark brown area on his leather tunic, he nodded, then smiled briefly before wincing. "I'll live. You?"

  I glanced down at my hand, the edges of which were now red, though I had managed to stop most of the leakage. I chuckled at how ridiculously carried away both of us had gotten, but when I did, the tightening of my stomach muscles made the pain worse. I quickly stopped and took a couple of breaths to ease out of it. "I'm not sure either one of us won that round, but we should probably call it a day. You wouldn't happen to have an emergency care clinic in this town, would you?"

  "Clinic?" Mettin looked confused, but his expression quickly changed and he glanced to his wound, then to mine. "Oh. You mean a healer." He struggled to get up, but made it. "You don't think this is the first time a training session has gone a little too far, do you?" He chuckled, then stopped, and I could see the pain in his face.

  I felt a strong bump against my back. Nithia's arms wrapped around me as I turned my head and saw her.

  "Den, you're hurt." She sounded almost tearful.

  "I'll be f- Ow! Ease up a little." I grabbed the wrist of her right arm and lifted it off of my hand, which I still had pressed over my torso wound.

  "Sorry," she said as she nuzzled her face against the back of my shoulder.

  "It's okay."

  Alara and Tara stepped around me from opposite sides and stood between me and Mettin. I could see from their expressions they were concerned too, but not quite as worried as Nithia.

  "You two are crazy," Tara said, shaking her head slightly. She looked to Mettin, then to me and grinned. "I like it."

  Alara glanced at her, then rolled her eyes. "Well, it's not exactly what I had in mind when you two said you were going to do some training." She reached for the wound on my side. "Does it…hurt?" She smirked.

  "You see, Mettin," I said, feigning indignation. "This is how I'm treated."

  He laughed, then stopped, giving more attention to his wound. After a moment, he said, "I can see why you wanted to do some sword training."

  "Ouch." I knew he was just giving me a hard time, but I still didn't like it. "No need to put a point on it."

  "Seriously?" Alara looked unimpressed by my wit.

  Nithia squeezed me and stretched her neck to give me a kiss on the cheek. "Ignore them, Den. I'll take care of you."

  I had a good idea what she meant. I looked at her. She smiled as she stared back at me, her eyes wide. Keeping one hand over the cut on my side, I reached around her with my other hand and gave her ass a good squeeze.

  She reacted just the way I wanted her to, letting out a small noise of surprise before pushing in against me more.

  "Before that," Mettin said, "we should get our wounds dressed."

  "Agreed." I took a step and reached to retrieve my sword from the ground, but Tara quickly beat me to it. She picked it up and took a few steps back to give herself some room to swing it.

  We all watched her as she moved it around. Her technique was horrible, but I knew that must've been due to the weight of the sword and the fact that she was goofing off. I had a hunch she could do some damage with it if necessary, despite her smaller frame.

  After Tara's brief show, we all walked to a nearby one-story building. Okay, I hobbled, holding the wound on my side. Nithia helped me.

  Mettin spoke with a young woman just inside, sending her to get supplies to dress our wounds.

  Tara and Nithia each took a seat in one of the half dozen chairs in the room, which had little in the way of decor, except a painting hanging on the back wall, opposite the entrance. Alara, Mettin, and I stood.

  I moved to take a closer look at the painting. It depicted a man in studded leather armor, much like that Mettin and I wore. The man appeared a good fifteen or twenty years older than either of us, and had a short, trimmed, grey beard. He had a sword unsheathed and at his side, with the tip touching the ground. The weapon looked nearly identical to the one Mettin carried—the standard issue for the guards of Yedia, from what I'd seen.

  Mettin stepped beside me. "That's Captain Reklas."

  I chuckled. "Oh, yeah? What happened to him?"

  Mettin turned his gaze from the painting to glare at me.

  I glanced back to Alara, but she clearly didn't think it was funny either.

  "Oh," I said. "Sorry. I didn't mean any disrespect. You see, his name…I thought you were making a… Nevermind." I looked at the painting again, and spoke enthusiastically, trying to erase my faux pas. "He looks like an impressive guy."

  Mettin nodded. "He was. He is a big part of why Yedia is the great city it is today." Mettin's brow furrowed. "Before what happened, I mean."

  Alara spoke up from behind us. "Your people seem resilient. I'm sure Yedia will fast recover."

  Mettin looked over his shoulder at her, then nodded. I saw the tension ease from his forehead and he continued, "He was a great fighter. When Yedia was little more than a desperate dream, an idea of a new settlement along this northern coast, safe from the conflicts and corruption of the rest of Galderia, he stood guard over that hope and a growing number of people seeking safety and a new home."

  A new home. Yeah.

  I nodded, letting him know I was listening and that I appreciated Captain Reklas as he was describing him. At the same time, the possibility of
Yedia becoming a new home for me and my women intrigued me.

  "That was long ago," Mettin said, looking at the painting.

  I glanced to the doorway through which the young woman sent to get medical supplies had gone, hoping she might come back soon. It wasn't that I didn't like hearing about the painting, or the history of Yedia. I did, but my side was stinging. "He formed the guard?"

  Mettin nodded, then turned to me. "Trained the man who trained me."

  "So this is his fault." I looked at my side, to signal to Mettin what I meant. I grinned. "You pulled off moves I didn't see the first time we fought."

  He chuckled. "Yes, that first time, I let my emotions get the better of me. I probably had a little too much to drink too."

  I knew it.

  We talked about sword technique for a few minutes, and he confirmed what I suspected. I had a lot to learn. I knew I had relied heavily on my superior strength in our match, but after hearing him detail why he made certain moves and where he saw weaknesses in my approach, I felt lucky we called it a day when we had.

  The young woman eventually came back with bandages and some sort of herbal poultice. She brought another woman and a boy with her. They went to Mettin first, but he insisted they take care of me beforehand. I let one of the women wipe clean my wounds, while the other opened a small tin containing a pasty herbal mixture.

  Nithia and Tara both came to stand near me while the woman cleaned my skin. I somehow kept from laughing, but it was obvious the two of them were jealous, watching the woman—who wasn't without allure—carefully wiping clean first my side, then my leg.