Captive

by Aishling Morgan

  ‘Careful?’ Aisla echoed. ‘Sulitea, to be a witch you must first be accepted as an apprentice, then study for years. They are also detached, strange, not like normal people. You can not simply read a book.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Sulitea answered. ‘The warlock, for example, gives exact instructions for the summoning of certain demons and sprites. Indeed, that was what he was working on when the notes end.’

  ‘Rather abruptly,’ Aisla pointed out.

  For the next two weeks they continued to raid settlements along the coast, but with no real success. As Jairoth had already found, the inhabitants were too wary of sea born raiders to the caught. Sharp lookouts were maintained, and at the first sight of a hostile ship the entire population would flee into the steep, forested mountains. Nothing of real value would be left, only items too heavy to carry, which were likewise too heavy to be worth storing in the hold of the Dog. Aisla joined each raid, secretly taking a sip of troll sperm before hand, while her habit of biting her harness before going in became a standing joke among the men.

  Each morning she would take a taste of troll sperm and a lick of her harness, which was never enough to reproduce the fierce strength and boundless confidence of a full dose, but which was sufficient to keep her feeling alert and aggressive. She found her body changing as well, her muscles growing hard and taut, her pubic mound increasingly hairy and her clitoris larger. When her cycle came it was mild and painless.

  Her attitude also changed. The pleasure of sex with the men did not lessen, and she would indulge herself freely at each carousal. Rather it was her pleasure in Sulitea that changed, becoming ever more dominant and proprietorial, until her enjoyment of watching her friend entertain the men became tinged with jealousy.

  Nor did she trouble to make herself feminine clothes, although what little loot they had taken included a bale of patterned cotton, tiny blue flowers on white. This she used to make Sulitea a dress to replace the rugs and furs that covered her chest and the absurd pantalettes, much to the disappointment of the crew. Aisla contented herself with her harness and a short woollen tunic that left her arms and legs completely free. It also meant that she only had to bend marginally to show her bottom, which led to several rough and hurried sexual encounters.

  Sulitea, meanwhile, became ever more obsessed with the workbook, to the discomfort of the men and also Aisla. To keep order Jairoth banned her from attempting magic while on the Dog, but declined to throw the book into the sea when Sulitea explained that it contained worthwhile information on the healing of wounds. Aisla alone knew that her friend was not merely studying harmless charms but attempting to learn how to summon, yet kept the secret out of loyalty and a conviction that Sulitea was unlikely to succeed.

  By the time they reached the mountainous peninsula that marked the end of the Aprayan mainland, Aisla had run out of troll sperm. Determined to restock, she suggested a hunting trip to make a change from their diet of fish, kale and looted foodstuffs. Jairoth seized on the idea immediately and had the men draw lots to accompany him. Aisla was obliged to take her turn, but won.

  The land ended in two spurs of a great mountain, enclosing a bay in which the Dog rode at anchor. Trees started immediately behind the rocky shore and rose in a great sweep to the summit. Jairoth ordered the band, instructing them to climb high onto the mountainside as silently as possible and then descend, beating the foliage as they went. What game they flushed would then be trapped between the headlands of the bay on the open shore, where they stood a better chance of a kill than in the dense forest. He finished his instructions with a joke, saying that they had better not climb too high in case they accidentally flushed a troll. Aisla smiled to herself at the joke, sure that any trolls in the vicinity would be otherwise engaged.

  They climbed for well over an hour, pushing up first through a dense undergrowth between massive oaks and coffinwoods, then through more open woodland and at last to open rocky ground between cedars and giant sequacia. Jairoth ordered the line to spread out, but Aisla doubled back as soon as the others were out of sight, continuing to climb until she reached the top of the mountain. The summit was a broken area of jagged pinnacles and deep chasms, richly grown with vegetation, rowan, black sequacia, gall oak. Aisla sniffed the air, seeking the scent of troll musk.

  Something was evident, and with a mixture of trepidation and enthusiasm she began to search. The scent became stronger as she pushed down among the trees, yet it was somehow strange, and as she reached the edge of a large pond she realised why. A troll sat by the pool, but not a male, as was evident from the pair of solid breasts and the rounded shape of the hips. Aisla backed carefully, not knowing if a female troll might see her as a rival or a threat, but certain she would not be thought of as a mate.

  The troll looked up, right into her eyes, then rose. Aisla moved back more swiftly, only to stop and turn at a sound. Behind her two troll cubs stood beside a gall oak, no taller than her but perhaps twice her weight. With no way to escape, Aisla slowly put down her axe and got into a crouch, praying that the submissive posture would defuse any aggression from the female. She was trembling with fear, then more so as the female caught her by her hair and pulled her in. The cubs crowded close as the female sat on a rounded boulder.

  Aisla was taken about the waist and held down firmly, bottom towards the cubs. For one moment she thought the mother troll was going to spank her, a concept that seemed ludicrous even in her terror. Then her legs had been pulled apart and her harness twitched to one side, exposing her sex to the cubs. She heard one grunt, then something touched her vagina, the fat, round head of a cock. Despite herself she moaned as she filled, then the cub’s hands had taken her hips and she was being fucked, still held by the mother troll as she taught her cub what to do with a human girl. It was easier to take than the great male who had caught her in the mountains, but she was still quickly breathless.

  The cub came in no time, filling her vagina with sperm, only to be replaced by his sibling before she had properly got her breath back. Again she was fucked firmly and quickly, the cub coming deep in her after no more than a few dozen pushes. Her fear increased once more as he pulled out, but the female simply dumped her to the ground and ambled off, the cubs following.

  Aisla got up, shaking hard but triumphant as she walked back to the open moutainside, only to remember that the troll cubs had shown no anger at the invasion of their territory and so could hardly be considered enraged. It also seemed unlikely that their sperm would have the same power as that of a full grown bull male. Furthermore, now that the danger had passed, the experience of being so casually used was beginning to have its effect on her. Intent on a test, she licked up a little sperm as she transferred it to a vial, then took a chew on her harness. The effect came, but weakly, with neither the rage nor the absolute confidence she had known before. Clearly she needed to seek out a more virile troll. Somewhere, she reasoned, must be the father of the cubs, yet for all she knew he might live on the next mountain.

  Glancing down towards the bay, she could find no sign of the Aeg, save those few visible on the deck of the distant Dog. Movement caught her eye, not on the shore, but closer, among the trees, something was moving, something large. A lump of expectation rose in her throat as she started down the slope. Her target was hard to see, a dark bulk among a tangle of rowan. Yet it was upright and too big to be a man, and from the movement appeared to be eating, suggesting a troll browsing on leaves.

  Aisla trotted forward, scared yet eager to have her tuppenny filled with huge troll cock. Immediately outside the copse she stopped, leant her axe against a convenient rock and took off her harness to go naked but for her boots. Sinking down to her knees, she put her bottom towards the copse and gave a whistle. The response was immediate, the foliage pushed aside to reveal no troll, but a colossal black ogre, his mouth stained red from the blood of the deer carcass he had been devouring.

  For one dr
eadful moment Aisla could do nothing but stare in open mouthed horror, and then it was too late, the ogre was on her. Massive hands clutched at her waist, dragging her in despite her kicking legs and flailing fists. The fleshy mass of its genitals squashed against her naked sex. The beast paused, then began to rub, rutting in her wet sex and she knew she was to be eaten and raped at the same time even as her fingers scrabbled desperately for the axe. She was lifted, the ogre sniffing her and growling even as its penis hardened between her thighs, the axe came with her and she struck back, missing as the massive cock went hard between her buttocks.

  Twice it pushed, the hot, thick shaft rubbing in the sweaty crease of her bottom. Again she struck, but weakly, unable to aim at its head or guts. Its tongue licked out, tasting her skin. She struck at its leg, only to hit with the flat of the blade in her panic. The ogre bellowed in pain and rage. Aisla screamed as its jaws opened around her head at the same instant a great gout of sperm erupted over her bottom and up her back.

  Again she cut, a last, desperate effort. She felt the blade bite into the leathery flesh as her head was engulfed in its jaws. It screamed, a blast of sound full against her ears. The teeth closed on her neck and the tongue smothered her face, filling her with the ghastly certainty of coming death. Her body hit the ground, her head still in its mouth as she dropped the axe and caught the awful jaws, wrenching at them with all her strength as her body slipped in the slimy mess of sperm between them. Its weight crushed her to the ground, but to her amazement the jaws yielded, opening under the pressure of her arms until she could pull her head clear.

  Aisla squirmed out from beneath the suddenly limp ogre. Snatching the thick saliva from her face, she opened her eyes as she started to run, only to stop as she realised that the ogre was dead. Staggering back and sitting down hard on the ground, she fought her terror and a strong desire to be sick, panting and shivering until at last she regained control of herself. Pulling the axe from beneath the horrid body, she saw the glyph glowing a brilliant blue and found herself mumbling a prayer, to Sulitea.

  With the ogre’s head fixed to the prow of the Dog, Aisla’s reputation grew to awe. Only Sulitea knew the truth, the men imagining that Aisla had actually defeated a full grown ogre face to face. The sperm she had scraped from her back and between her buttocks also proved highly effective, providing her with all the confidence and ferocity the men had come to expect, if with less duration than the troll sperm had provided.

  Unfortunately the Merim Islands proved no more fruitful raiding ground than the Aprayan coast, but for different reasons. Again and again the Dog would stealthily approach one of the rocky islands, only to find nothing but blackened ruins. There was no sign whatever of the inhabitants, nor their livestock, and whatever valuables the pirates might have hoarded had been taken. What remained had been smashed or burnt, the small stony fields salted. Aisla explained to an increasingly frustrated Jairoth about the Hai hero Arrasir’s expedition against the Merim pirates, which was presumably the cause of the carnage.

  ‘He is dead then, this Arrasir?’ Jairoth demanded. ‘A good thing…’

  ‘No,’ Aisla answered, ‘or at least I suppose not. The Hai give hero as a title to their greatest living warriors rather than those slain in combat.’

  ‘Let me catch up with him and he will be a hero in the true sense,’ Jairoth snarled. ‘Does he have no sense of honour? Salting the fields! He leaves nothing for others, only uninhabitable rocks where there had been villages and land, albeit poor. And what of the villagers? I raid but I slay only those who raise arms against me!’

  ‘There were no graves, nor pyres,’ Aisla pointed out. ‘Doubtless the villagers have been taken to the Glass Coast.’

  ‘There is a great arena in Zihai,’ Sulitea put in. ‘The men will go there, to die for the entertainment of the people and to the glory of Arrasir and King Mogath. Younger, more attractive women will also go into the arena, for a somewhat different display, which they will survive. They will then be taken as wives, second and third wives by the warriors who fought with Arrasir, and others, as will the remaining women. The children, I imagine, go with their mothers.’

  ‘Second and third wives?’ Jairoth demanded. ‘What is this?’

  ‘It is the Hai way,’ Sulitea explained.

  ‘Decadence! Perversion!’ Jairoth snarled. ‘You are learned, Sulitea, as befits your upbringing, but I would rather be a peasant than defile myself with such knowledge!’

  He smashed his fist down on the table, making the plates and cups they had been using dance as others who had been listening growled agreement. As she listened to him an idea occurred to Aisla, to be rejected and then return with greater force, spurred by the wine she had drunk and her morning dose of ogre sperm.

  ‘Certainly they are decadent,’ she remarked, ‘but also rich. I know of a great storehouse in the city of Jihai. It is filled with priceless velvets and silks, many in colours impossible to our artisans. It is only one of many, and in Aegerion such goods will fetch as much as you care to ask. More in Ateron, where so few merchants ever come. The Princess Talithea would bury you in gold for a bolt of pure black Jihai velvet. Take a shipload as a gift and she would have Prince Kavisterion give you an estate.’

  ‘She would?’ Jairoth replied.

  ‘Beyond doubt,’ Aisla answered.

  ‘Where is this Jihai?’ Jairoth demanded.

  The Dog slipped silently through a low mist, moving on muffled oars with the sail lowered, the ghastly ogre’s head seeming to peer through the white fog with the warriors close behind. Ahead, the piled boulders of one of the Jihai breakwaters became visible as a low black line, then the squat bulk of a fort. Aisla bit hard on one of her harness straps, chewing the sour leather to activate the ogre sperm in her belly. The man to her side gave a grin at her eagerness, quite ignorant of what she was doing. Beyond the man Jairoth gave a muttered command, which was passed back. The oars backwatered, bringing the Dog alongside the breakwater with a gentle bump.

  Aisla swung herself up and over the gunwale, landing silently on a flat-topped boulder. Jairoth was already down, two others beside them. They climbed the breakwater in a series of jumps, locating the winch that worked the boom. It was unguarded, and with all four of them straining at the handle it began to turn with a groan. Out in the mist the Dog was a dark grey shadow, sliding along the face of the breakwater and around, into the harbour mouth. Keeping level with the boat, they moved down the breakwater, reaching the quay at the same time.

  Jairoth clapped Aisla on the back, favouring her with a triumphant grin and then walking boldly forward, striding out of the thinning mist to where a handful of Hai fishermen and sailors had began to gather on the quay. The nearest looked up, his mouth dropping open in horror at the sight of them. Another screamed and they fled, all together, running into the city and yelling that the Aeg were on them.

  ‘Lead us to this storehouse,’ Jairoth said, then turned to the Aeg who were swarming onto the quay. ‘Follow Aisla and cut down any who oppose us!’

  Aisla ran, her strength and confidence flaring as she went and the inhabitants of Jihai scattered in terror. She laughed as she remembered how different she had felt before, when Grathor had led her up the same street, and with the same destination in mind.

  What few people had been abroad fled at the sight of them, leaving the streets empty. They reached Madame Yasma’s establishment without exchanging a single blow, and Jairoth’s great axe shattered the door at the first stroke. Inside Aisla swarmed up the stairs and into the storeroom, laughing in glee at the display of wealth before her. Sulitea came behind her and they began to loot, selecting the richest and most expensive materials, then those in colours favoured by Talithea or hard to come by in Aegmund.

  As she worked she could hear noise building outside, terrified screams and the urgent clang of bells. She ignored it, snatching at bolt after bolt and hurl
ing them down the stairs until Jairoth finally called out that they had more than could possibly be carried. They rushed from the building, Aisla laughing at the thought of Madame Yasma’s face when she discovered her loss. Outside the street was no longer deserted, with soldiers pouring down the hill, loyal troops with the plain crossed swords of the King on their jerkins. Jairoth gave a bellow at the sight and dropped his burden, signalling others to follow. All responded, leaving a pile of priceless cloth spilt on the street. The soldiers faltered at the sight, then began to give back as the Aeg rushed on them, Aisla included.

  Sulitea’s yells for them to get back to the boat were ignored, Jairoth felling the leader of the soldiers with his first blow. Two more went down, one under Aisla’s axe and the remainder fled. The Aeg gave chase, all order lost in the mad whirl of battle. More soldiers were coming from the fort, archers among them, but unable to find targets among the wild melee in the street. Another figure had stepped out, a robed man carrying a great hammer, his face set into a hard sneer. He began to chant and weave the hammer.

  Aisla thought to recognise the movements of an evocation. Snatching at the shoulder of the man to her side she yelled for help. He responded and another with him, crashing forward in a whirl of metal to drive the Hai back. Aisla darted into the gap, struck one man aside and parried as the Gannite’s hammer lashed out at her head. The hammer shaft caught on her blade and split. Seeing that his assailant was a woman the priest gave a choking cry of rage, abruptly silenced as Aisla let the blade twist on air and struck it back handed across his neck. He died instantly, the glyph on her axe pulsing rich blue.

  Without losing momentum she turned, swinging the axe to clear her way, only to be forced to draw her stroke to avoid hitting Jairoth. Seeing the priest dead, some of the Hai began to break, others yelling in anger and pressing towards Aisla. Confusion reigned, half the Hai in flight, the others making a furious assault on the Aeg, only to find themselves unable to get inside their reach. A Hai knight yelled for his squadron to rally, only to find the castle portcullis falling behind him. A moment later and he had fallen to Jairoth’s blade. The remaining Hai scattered and Jairoth was calling them back to the Dog.