Strife & Valor: Book II of The Rorke Burningsoul Saga

by Regina Watts

  Odile playfully hushed her, saying, “Remember Lively next door now, friend…”

  “Oh,” gasped Branwen, the sight of whose orgasm had inspired Valeria’s sudden clamping and shuddering around me, “oh—yes, of course, I’m sorry—”

  “Never apologize for pleasure,” moaned Valeria, her own climax washing over her in a series of waves that left her nearly stuttering. “Ah! Oh, Burningsoul, you are hard tonight…”

  “I had to go to a brothel to find Grimalkin today…you wouldn’t believe the ladies that were there.”

  “And yet you saved all that rich, hot seed of yours for us…all the pleasures of this cock. What a good man you are, Rorke.” Laughing, Valeria pushed her streams of white hair back over her shoulder and dismounted me with a shudder, a strand of her liquid pleasure connecting us until it broke. “Go on…put it to use on pretty Branwen.”

  As if snapped from a trance by her orgasm, Branwen began to sit up while saying, “Oh! No—that’s all right, I really should go get some food for the trip—”

  Odile pushed Branwen back down, face contorted in a wicked grin. While Branwen gasped and gazed upon her with a crimson face, she tried to gently extricate herself from the dark elf’s grasp. She was quickly unsuccessful, as, given her strength, Odile had no trouble wrangling the high elf’s hand and pinning it by the forearm beneath one thick leg. Even slender Indra had no trouble subduing Branwen’s other arm, however, or holding wide her legs to display her sex for my hungry eye.

  “Don’t be shy, Branwen,” encouraged Odile. “You’ve watched him fuck all of us…but only Valeria’s gotten to see you get fucked by him.”

  “You told them about that!” Blushing furiously, Branwen bit her lip and whined, squirmed, keened with pleasure just to have her free leg touched by Valeria’s hand. The Materna, chuckling, finding only desire in Branwen’s eyes amid her faux protests, drew wide this other leg and teased the flesh of Branwen’s pretty thigh.

  “There are those, Branwen, for whom inhibitions are so powerful that their most heartfelt desire is to have their barriers broken down as if against their will. I know how it must excite you to think of me sharing stories about your body…just as it excites you to be offered for Rorke’s use. Go on, Burningsoul.”

  I must admit: with the three durrow holding her down and keeping her spread-eagle in offering to me, Branwen looked more erotic, more gorgeous, and more aroused than I’d ever seen her. A few locks of blonde hair fell across her blushing cheek, her lower lip hidden behind her topmost row of teeth as she gazed into my face. While I sat up, Valeria’s free hand gently spread Branwen’s labia to display her.

  “Come, Paladin…fill this pretty little high elf with cum for us.”

  Such a suggestion would have been impossible to resist even if I’d wanted to do such a thing, rest assured! Finding Branwen’s face shone with anticipation and hope, I knelt before the offered altar of Anroa’s passion. Weltyr’s gift to the world—that rose whose loveliness possessed the capacity to make me overlook, from the heights of passion, any flaw or wickedness in any woman, so long as her body was beautiful, and her embrace, eager.

  And Branwen certainly possessed both those qualities. With the durrow kissed and caressed us, still with Branwen’s limbs held apart, I buried myself inside of her and felt her body flood from the first penetration. She moaned, obviously humiliated to be so excited by this exhibitionism, and lowered her eyes from me. Odile, who was an expert in the use of cruelty to sweeten pleasure, caught the high elf by the hair and forced her head back to ensure that her eyes had nowhere to rest but upon us.

  We fought well as a team; it was only fitting that we should love well as a team. While Branwen squirmed beneath us, the durrow and I pleasured her from stem to stern. I plowed deeper into her tight embrace by the thrust; and while her eyelids fluttered to feel my flesh slap against hers with each complete penetration, the durrow kissed her, me, one another, all the time cajoling and caressing. Branwen particularly responded to their blandishments, each teasing admonishment from Odile and every appreciative compliment from Indra coaxing a flutter out of the sheath that squeezed my blade.

  Each thrust seemed to leave her wetter, tighter. By the time she was enjoying her second orgasm, she had once again forgotten all about poor Lively next door and screamed my name with abandon. Her body arched up to mine and I took her hard, my prick—having been covered first in Valeria’s arousal and now in lovely Branwen’s—leaving her with a far more powerful orgasm than anything she’d had from Indra’s tongue. The divine creature trembled on the bed while we all enjoyed the sight together, her breasts heaving with the panting rhythm of her breath.

  “What a nymph she is,” cried Odile with approval and delight. “A real sylph…I could look at her all day. No wonder you’ve been able to see past her bad behavior!”

  “Well,” I confessed with a wink as I withdrew to take into my arms Indra, who hurried into my embrace for a turn. “I did give her something of a spanking back in the Nightlands…”

  Tickled with wicked hilarity, all three durrow laughed in delight.

  “Did you really?” Valeria asked this of me with a twinkle in her eyes. I couldn’t help my smirk while traitorous but irresistible Branwen sputtered in embarrassment.

  “I did indeed,” I said, helping Indra out of her bustier and then her leather breeches. “How is it you think I got over her indiscretion in the first place? Not that she didn’t enjoy it…”

  “Oh, well!” Quite thrilled, Odile sat against the headboard of the bed and dragged Branwen over with little effort. I laughed, bending to kiss Indra while the elder of the two rogues pulled the high elf over her lap so her pert, white rear was exposed in the air.

  “You should have said something sooner, Rorke,” chided Odile, shifting her leg over both of Branwen’s so the high elf’s knees were pinned between the dark one’s thighs. Her hand caressed Branwen’s rump and the high elf moaned at the contact. “I love to give a naughty elf-girl a spanking…reminds me of home! You’d make such a fine slave, Branwen.”

  “Oh,” was all Branwen could say as Odile’s hand struck sharply to work. While the round cheek’s flesh bounced beneath Odile’s hand and the high elf to which it was attached squealed away, Valeria wiggled over to land a few swats of her own. I grinned and continued my caresses of Indra, making myself comfortable in her body just as Odile said, “Hey, Burningsoul—remember to save some strength for me.”

  SOOT, AGAIN

  IT’S TRUE THAT, when a man puts so much energy into the satisfaction of four exquisite, sensual women, he doesn’t have much energy left for anything else—but there would be time for me to doze in the saddle of my horse. I closed my eyes for all of two hours when our bodies were worn by the richness of our love, willing to wait to leave until the darkness was thick and easy on Valeria’s eyes.

  But that same Materna of the durrow, already given to hyper-vigilant bouts of sleeplessness due to her long history of narrowly avoiding assassination, was awake to caress my chest and face when the time was right. Her damp lips trailed over my ear, sensuality second-nature to her even in the most serious of moments. The soft whisper of her voice was a balsam carried on a sweet, damp wind, and it caressed me awake amid the warm bodies that slept around me.

  “It’s time to go, Burningsoul, my love.”

  I wished nothing more than to shut my eyes and bask forever in the cool indulgence of her whisper, but she was right. There was no more time to waste. Now that night had fallen heftily upon Skythorn, we needed to leave at once.

  Valeria tugged my hand and drew me from the bed. I blinked myself from sleep to find her already dressed. She had arranged my clothes upon a nearby chair and, with eyes perfectly accustomed to the darkness of the room, the Materna of El’ryh set about dressing me.

  There was a kindness to Valeria—a nurturing quality that, I suppose, had made her such a caring and hands-on ruler of her people. No doubt she had not truly been required, per se, to hol
d court with her subjects. She could just as easily have hired a magician or sorcerer with talents similar to the perceptive qualities of Roserpine’s Ring and permitted them to handle the matter of slave appraisal.

  Instead she had been interested in their lives as sentient beings. Instead, she had been looking for me.

  When at last I was dressed, I bent to embrace her. She paused in surprise before melting into my arms.

  “I’m glad you’ve come to the surface with me, Valeria,” I told her so softly I could barely perceive my own words. Her sensitive ears caught every last syllable and her breath hitched in her emotion. “I have to admit…I’m not looking forward to finding your ring.”

  Her face pressed against my tunic. Her head lowered a few degrees. She said nothing, but her grip around me tightened. I felt a great pain, a great fear, that I tried to push way until Branwen stirred and did it for me.

  “Oh,” she murmured with a mighty sigh, “is it time to leave?”

  Soon we were, all three of us, leaving Skythorn in the dark of night. Our horses, having no doubt taken better advantage of their rest hours than we did, seemed ready to get on the road and out of the poorly maintained rental facility. Odile had resentfully awoken just to present us with her lantern, and I was so bedraggled for want of sleep that I did not remember to ask her if she knew anything about this “Lantern of Hamsunt” before we left. However, I consoled myself. Surely she knew nothing; perhaps less than that. It had been Kyrie the wadjita who sold her the lantern, after all. Where Kyrie had gotten it remained unclear, but I had the feeling it was not, as the durrow had been told, a matter of scavenging. That spirit-thief, Al-listux, seemed to have something to do with it…but what?

  More useless wondering.

  The darkness was muddled with lamplight and torches of all kinds throughout the city, but once we were outside of it, the night sky was a deep velvet tapestry. Valeria rode our first mile with her chin craned so high that I worried she might fall backward off the horse—but, oh, her mystified smile as she admired the ocean of constellations! By Weltyr, it was a more beautiful sight than any distant nebula.

  Branwen’s countenance was much more stoic after a certain point. She had been light-hearted owing to the successful distraction of our fun time in the Mongoose’s bed, but as we drew farther from the city the happy memory faded into angst.

  “You really don’t know any reason why this woman might want your audience, Rorke?”

  I glanced over at the high elf’s question, shaking my head. “Not the slightest. If it’s desire, then I can assure you both this is a woman so beautiful she, like either of you, could lay claim to any man in all the land. I do not think looks have any bearing on it.”

  “Is it because you woke her up?”

  My hands spread nearly of their own accord. “Perhaps. I truly couldn’t say…she is a cruel woman, exceptionally cruel. If it is my love she wants, I can’t imagine giving it to her of my own free will. Not even in the confines of slavery.”

  Of course, having already seen how quickly my ire could flip over to love with Branwen, I ought not to have made this statement with quite so much confidence. Simply speaking of Gundrygia evoked the feeling of her body in my arms—ah, the soft aroma of her flesh!

  Yes, I did indeed feel as though I had been enchanted. Even then, riding toward her, I seemed in the throes of an action not of my free will. Rather, going to her was something into which I had been tricked…or, more aptly, forced. For, my first duty being to Weltyr, I had no choice but defend innocents in his name when they came to me for help. Though I did so with a warm heart, I could not shake the chilling sense of awe that gripped me when I thought of doing battle with the powerful sorceress.

  So I thought, instead, of Weltyr. Of the Scepter, out there somewhere in Hildolfr’s possession. How was I to go about the business of finding it? My Father’s world was vast beyond all measure. Those that called it small had simply lost their sense of scale amid the synchronistic meetings and connections they had observed over time. The truth was that there were nearly infinite places for a man to go…especially a man in possession of a relic as valuable as the Scepter.

  But it was not a mere thing of gold and gems. It was no mere totem or magical artifact. It was more than that, I was quite certain. Like Valeria’s ring, it held some power that I had not yet detected—that, perhaps, only a few had ever detected. I glanced down at the lantern, pondering its ability to repel lesser monsters and unintelligent animals of the surface.

  “Branwen,” I said, “do you know anything about magical relics?”

  “Hm…well, a thing or two, I guess. What do you want to know?”

  “I’ve been wondering about Valeria’s ring. And, of course, the Scepter…especially after talking to Grimakin. He claimed it inspired greed in Hildolfr—that the old man got it into his possession and was changed at once.”

  “He did seem very different once we left you behind,” Branwen confessed. “I thought it was because he regretted what we did to you. We all did, I think, but…”

  Her eyes fell away and I glanced forward, suddenly unable to look her straight-on. “Yes, well, what’s done is done. Perhaps he regretted what happened, or perhaps he was driven blind with greed by the Scepter…perhaps you all were, even before setting hand on it. What was it Grimalkin was petitioning you for when I met you two, exactly?”

  “Oh,” she said with an absent wave of her hand, “he wanted me to help him find work. Some silly nonsense about dreams promising him riches…imagine doing something like flying all the way across the world just because a dream told you to!”

  Valeria and I exchanged a glance at that.

  “I don’t know,” I said, maintaining a casual tone. “I think that prophetic dreams are more common than most would have them. I’ve had an odd one recently, myself.”

  Looking at me all the more sharply to hear such a thing, Valeria asked, “Have you?”

  I nodded. “While we were all still in the Nightlands, I had the strangest experience. There was a dream where I was viewing the hivemind of the spirit-thieves. Where it was located, I couldn’t rightly say. It looked like some kind of heinous tumor submerged in a flooded chamber. Someone opened a door to feed it.”

  I considered mentioning that the voice of the caretaker had noticeably resembled my own, but I neither wanted to alarm them nor encourage them to write it all off as a mere assemblage of the day’s stresses and the morrow’s worries. Therefore, I refrained from additional details except to say, “The hivemind urged me to be more critical of the institutions around me…though I must confess that, when I consider the source, my kneejerk reaction is to close my eyes and ears and be less critical than ever before.”

  “Have you ever had a dream like this before?” Valeria studied me closely, adding, “Or since?”

  “Not that I can recall…and I think I would recall something this vivid, this strange. No…it was the only time. I suspect it has something to do with Al-listux. Back in your palace chambers, Valeria, when your guard came to my aid, the spirit-thief was attempting to enlist me to its baleful service. It had just begun the process of zombifying me—”

  Ears perking with renewed interest, Branwen asked, “What’s that?”

  “Zombies,” answered Valeria, “are the personality-less servants of spirit-thieves. Empty vessels. Any being whose mind is invaded by spirit-thieves can become a zombie. They roam around doing the bidding of the demon who made them, completely oblivious and unconscious, generally responsible for only the most basic tasks like guarding a location or collecting brains for their masters’ suppers. Once someone has been changed by a spirit-thief, they are effectively dead…there is no bringing them back without very advanced magic, and even then they may never be quite right.”

  With a shudder, Branwen shook her head. “I’d rather be a slave in El’ryh for a thousand years than a spirit-thief’s zombie, I think.”

  “We would make it very fun for a slave as cute as yo
u,” said Valeria in a teasing tone that faded quickly back to serious concern for her appraisal of my vision. “It is very possible, yes, that this is some side effect of the spirit-thief’s assault…though, I admit I have not heard of such a thing before.”

  “Well, most who have a close enough encounter to get a tentacle in the ear don’t manage to get away. I was lucky Fiora was there to help me—I hope she isn’t in too much trouble back in the Nightlands.”

  Valeria stared grimly forward to think of the guard who submitted her armor at the Materna’s command. Shaking her head, the leader of the durrow said, “I must find that ring as soon as I can,” and did not see how the mere thought, spoken aloud, was as painful as any arrow through my heart.

  I understood her dilemma. Her duty was first and foremost to her people, for without her to act as a figurehead they may well have already begun to lose their sense of unity. Surely El’ryh as a whole was thrown into chaos to think its leader had disappeared. I hated the thought of all the people there suffering…but, selfishly, I hated even more the thought of losing Valeria.

  And Branwen, too. Now that I had spoken to Grimalkin and learned what he claimed to be the truth, I thought about prodding her on why she had really come back to me…but would it have done any good? Further—whatever reason Branwen thought she had returned to me, did that matter when the true reason was Weltyr’s will? Her behavior was selfish, yes, it was true. But the longer we journeyed together, the more she opened her heart to me. That heart would change, or not, (or already had, I hoped) in accordance with Weltyr’s designs.

  I did not question Branwen, then, lest I sour the mood or give her too much to think about. I wanted her prime for a battle and, most importantly, on my side. She had acquired a new crossbow in my absence with Gundrygia, and, when she practiced with it during our few breaks along that long trip back the way we had come, I couldn’t help but notice her aim was on something of a hot streak.