by Zadie Black
Corin came awake with a jolt. A pair of long white legs were standing next to his bedroll. He lifted his gaze to find their owner was Delmar, redheaded and fuming, in her lovely green kirtle, staring down at him with fire in her eyes.
“Not a stable boy. Squire,” he mumbled blearily.
“Did you steal my hose, you little pervert?” Delmar demanded, pointing at her bare legs.
“Wha-? No! Fuck you.” Corin rolled over in his bedroll and shut his eyes tight.
“Well they didn’t just walk off by themselves, stable boy,” fumed Delmar. She stomped one bare foot angrily. Corin lay dead still, pretending to have gone back to sleep. Delmar stood there for a minute. Finally, receiving no further response, she stormed off in a huff.
Stealthily, Corin opened his eyes and reached down under the covers. His fingers found what he was looking for. He carefully pulled out a delicate, cum-stained pair of ladies’ hose. He quickly sniffed it, inhaling a whiff. Delmar’s pussy musk, or so he imagined, still clung to the fabric. Carefully he tucked it deep into the folds of his bedding. Then he jumped up and rolled up the mat and blankets. He tucked the bedroll into the saddlebags before the lady-in-waiting could interrogate him further.
Sir Richard appeared from among the trees and ordered them to strike camp quickly. After a cold breakfast with no fire, Corin helped the knight into his armor and then up onto his warhorse. Then he offered to boost the haughty Delmar onto the mare. She sniffed at him but accepted his help. He clambered up behind her and reached around her. She flinched and raised a hand as if to strike him.
“I have to take the reins, milady,” Corin said acidly.
“Fine,” she huffed. “But if you try to grab anything you shouldn’t, or I feel anything poking me in the butt, so help me gods I shall knock you off this horse.”
“Very well, cockslut,” said Corin in a low but audible voice. Delmar stiffened but said nothing further.
In such a state they began their day’s ride.
The sun was well up in the sky, and mid-morning was approaching when Sir Richard scented smoke. Looking about, he realized then that what he had subconsciously taken to be a haze down the valley before him was, in fact, a column of white smoke. He spurred his mount forward to investigate.
Before two miles had passed, they came upon the smoking wreckage of a village. What had recently been a scenic hamlet nestled among the hills was now a charred ruin. Delmar held her nose at the horrible smell. She gagged as she looked down and realized that blackened bodies were strewn about the street like so much firewood.
Sir Richard spat. “This foul deed can only be the work of the sorcerer Mordred and his minions. They will pay for what they have done to these people.”
“Sir Richard, look!” called Corin. Sir Richard wheeled his horse around to see what had caught the squire’s attention.
On the far side of the village, Corin was standing next to a boy of about his own age lying on the ground. Though his body was unburnt, the boy’s stomach and chest were stuck full of red-feathered arrows. Blood pooled beneath him. Suddenly, the boy’s eyes fluttered open.
Sir Richard dismounted and knelt beside him. “What’s your name, lad?” he asked softly.
“John,” gasped the boy.
“Good boy, John,” said the knight. “I am Sir Richard, a knight of the King. Tell me John, who did this to you? Where are they now?”
“Men… men in black and - red. They killed my family, struck them down where they stood. Set fire to the cottages. Then they rode off…”
“Where lad?” asked Sir Richard urgently. The boy was fading fast.
“To the east. The ruined abbey… in the hills. Follow the old stone… path.”
Sir Richard held up his water flask to the boy’s lips. “Easy lad,” he said. But the boy made a gurgling sound deep in his throat. The spark of life passed out of his eyes, and he lay still.
Sir Richard gazed at the lifeless form for a long moment. Then he stood and turned to his horse. “Come,” he said to Corin, who was still staring at the body. “We will avenge him first and return to bury the bodies later. Let us ride.”
They soon found an ancient path paved with overgrown and broken flagstones. This, Sir Richard surmised, must be the ‘old stone path’ of which the dying boy had spoken. The path seemed to weave between the hills to a great stone hill standing above the others in the distance.
They urged their horses up the path. After about an hour, they reached the foot of the great hill. The path seemed to lead up it, switching back and forth across its steep slope. They began to climb steadily. Before long it grew so steep that they were forced to dismount. Sir Richard and Corin lead their horses by their bridles. Delmar walked behind them, crossing her arms over her chest and gazing around with increasing trepidation. The ground was stony, with only brambles and thorny plants clinging to it. The sky was overcast and dark. Each felt within them that this was somehow an evil place.
Finally, the path culminated in an uneven flight of stairs which climbed the final stretch to the top of the hill. Here they halted.
“I feel that atop these steps lies the culmination of our journey,” said Sir Richard. “Let us prepare ourselves and go forward with utmost caution.”
Corin tied up the horses. The knight drew the king’s magic sword from its scabbard where it hung from Starlock’s saddle. There were strange runes etched faintly upon the pale metal of the blade. The haft of the weapon appeared to be wrought of silver, and the hilt was of pearl. Sir Richard swung the blade expertly, and it sang through the air. Corin whistled in admiration.
“Is that sword truly magical?” asked Delmar.
“So they say,” said the knight. “It has lain in the king’s vaults for many a year. Long ago, one of the king’s ancestors forged it to destroy an evil witch queen whose demon army was invading these lands. It is said to be warded against evil enchantments of every sort.”
“What’s its name?” asked Delmar.
Sir Richard frowned. “I know not. Magical weapons oft have True Names which invoke their secret power. If this weapon has such a name, I have never been told it.”
Corin unsheathed a battered short sword of his own. Next to Sir Richard’s legendary weapon it looked rather pitiful, but the edge of the blade could still cut. “I am with you, Sir Richard,” the squire said manfully.
Sir Richard turned to Delmar. “Perhaps it would be best if you were to remain here, lady,” he said.
Delmar shook her fiery tresses. “I’d rather not wait on my own, sir knight.”
“Follow, then,” said Sir Richard, “but stay well back and remain aware of your surroundings.” So saying, he began to climb the weather-beaten stone steps. Corin followed close behind him. Delmar brought up the rear.
When they reached the top of the steps, they discovered that the crest of the hill was very wide and flat. From it, they had a view for miles of gently forested hills in every direction.
In the center of the hill stood the abbey of which the dying boy had spoken - but it was an utter ruin. Its mossy stone walls remained, but they stood roofless, open to the sky. There were no signs of life. Only a finely carved stone lion with paw upraised waited to greet the travelers.
Sir Richard and Corin advanced slowly toward the open threshold of the ruin, swords upraised. Delmar hung back, watching.
When they reached it and peered within, Corin exclaimed, “Why there’s no one here!” His loud exclamation echoed back at him from the ancient walls. Somewhere off in the distance, a crow cried.
The interior of the ruin was, for the most part, nothing but crumbled masonry heaped upon uneven flagstones. In the center, however, stood four stone statues arrayed around a crumbling altar. There was nothing else within the tumbledown walls.
“Shit,” said Corin, sheathing his sword. “Could it be we have come to the wrong place, Sir Richard?”
“Perhaps.” Sir Richard began pacing delibera
tely toward the altar. He did not sheathe his blade. “Even if so, I think this is not an entirely wasted trip. Some stonecutter has been quite clever with these statues.” The four statues were indeed quite marvelous. They were carved in the likeness of leering goblins, each with an engorged phallus. Delmar, who had come up to stand besides Corin, snickered at the sight.
“Look how well they have weathered the years,” said Sir Richard. “Truly, this is marvelous craftsmanship.”
Suddenly, quick as a flash, Sir Richard spun and swung his sword at the head of the nearest statue. The blade flashed as it bit into the stone – which instantly became a flesh-and-blood man dressed in red and black. The sword cleaved cleanly through his neck, and the man’s head went spinning through the air.
“It’s some sort of enchanted illusion!” Corin cried out. Sir Richard was already in motion, pirouetting fluidly towards the next statue with a sweep of his sword. The ‘statues’ were now in motion, moving about the altar as though wading through the very earth.
Sir Richard slashed the next statue, and suddenly it too became a man. That man was now clutching a bloody stump. The remaining two ‘statues’ now cast off their illusions and were also revealed as soldiers. They were armed with fell blades. They raised them and charged at Sir Richard. He blocked both their blows at once with his sword, but the force of the attack sent him stumbling back.
“Sir Richard!” cried out Corin.
“I can handle this, squire,” called the knight as he deftly parried the attacks of his foes. “Are there any more statues about?”
“No,” shouted Corin. “I mean, not unless you count the lion outside -” He spun around. Delmar was nowhere to be seen. “Fuck me, St. Magus!” he swore.
Corin raced outside, drawing his battered short sword. There, a curious sight met his eyes. Delmar was lying on the grass, naked, her clothes flung about around her. Her rose-tipped breasts heaved and fell as she struggled with a strangely mobile statue of a lion which was nuzzling at the triangle of orange thatch between her pale, slender thighs.
Corin dashed towards the statue and the girl. “Let’s hope its stony hide still yields to ordinary weapons,” he said to himself. Reaching the statue, he stabbed downward with a cry. His blade plunged into the rugged stone of the lion. The statue toppled over between Delmar’s legs, pinning her to the ground. “Milady,” said Corin. With a great heave, he tried to lift the statue off of the naked girl. As he struggled with it, it suddenly transformed from solid stone into the limp body of a man, a sword through his back. This threw Corin off his balance, and he fell face down even as the dead man’s body rolled away.
He looked up from the earth to find that his nose was not an inch from the lovely folds of Delmar’s labia. He glimpsed the soft grotto nestled within. Just above it, her pink pearl nestled beneath its hood.
“Corin!” cried Sir Richard from within the abbey.
“Corin!!” snapped Delmar.
Corin and Delmar both sprang to their feet. The girl quickly snatched up her clothing and clutched it to her chest to cover herself.
“Attend to your master!” she snapped. Corin turned and ran back toward the abbey. He dashed inside - only to find that the remaining two soldiers were dead and that Sir Richard was poking and prodding at the old stone altar.
“Come help me with this altar, squire. I have no doubt that it holds some further mystery,” said Sir Richard.
“Have you tried stabbing it with your magic sword, my lord?” asked Corin. In answer, Sir Richard swept his blade along the edge of the altar. He drew sparks, but no magical transformation followed.
“This is honest stone, lad. But that doesn’t mean that it cannot conceal secrets. Come, aid me and put your shoulder against it.”
The knight and the boy squire put their shoulders to the heavy altar block and heaved. The altar began to slide across the ground.
“Look, sir,” said Corin, “there is an opening beneath it!”
“Yes,” said the knight, “now once more - push!” Gasping and straining, the two men slid the altar aside, revealing a stone staircase that descended into darkness. A wave of heat and scented smoke seem to billow out of the hole.
“Phew,” said Corin, “it must be hot down there.”
“Yes,” said Sir Richard, “I fear that it is.” He looked up, to see Delmar approaching, fully clothed once more. “Ah, I see you are well, Lady Delmar. That is good.”
“Thanks to Corin, sir,” replied Delmar, curtsying.
“Corin,” said Sir Richard, “you must help me out of my armor. I am going down there, and narrow tunnels are no place for plate mail. In my leathers, at least, I shall have room to swing my blade.”
“I’ll come with you, sir,” said Corin, unbuckling the heavy armor.
“No, you won’t, lad. The sorcerer’s instructions were clear enough. I must go alone. If I do not, some foul deed may befall the Queen.”
“If we are not too late already,” added Delmar.
“Speak not so, lady,” said the knight. Delmar turned red but remained silent.
Removing the last piece of his armor, Sir Richard said to Corin, “I charge you to protect the Lady Delmar.” Corin nodded gravely. “If the queen should return without me, both of you must care for her and return her swiftly to the castle. Do not seek for me. The Queen’s life far outweighs my own.”
“Yes, sir,” Corin and Delmar said in unison.
Sir Richard raised his sword in salute. “I go to save the queen!”
Then he descended the stone steps into darkness.
Chapter Four: Trials and Temptations
Sir Richard of the Lance, magic sword in hand, found himself in a wide corridor hewn from the very stone of the hill. Moth-eaten tapestries hung from the walls. Torches guttered in sconces. The air was hot and humid. Sir Richard wiped his brow. Sweat was already starting to bead upon it.
Lofting a torch, he gazed down the stone-walled corridor. It seemed to split off into many smaller passageways, each leading in a different direction. He could see no clue as to which way he should proceed. A frown creased the knight’s noble brow.
Suddenly, a deep, gravelly voice boomed out. The voice had no obvious source. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
“Ah, at last you have joined us, Sir Richard,” said the voice, echoing from the stone walls. “Somewhat later than I had anticipated, to be sure. I had expected you last night at the latest.”
The knight whirled about, brandishing his sword. “Is that you, Mordred?” he shouted. “Show yourself, you cowardly dog!”
Mocking laughter boomed in the air around him. “Come now, Sir Richard. Is that how you speak to your host? Really.” The voice was full of wry amusement. “I expect we shall meet soon enough. Besides, if I faced you now, you wouldn’t get to play my little game! And that would be a great shame.”
“Name your challenge, sorcerer,” said the knight. “I will overcome it and rescue the queen. And then I will kill you.”
“A man of action, I see,” said the voice. “Very well, here is your challenge: before you lies a maze. On the other side of this maze is your beloved queen - in chains. Find her, and you can set her free. Of course,” the voice added, “you are quite tardy. I believe I promised that your queen would be returned unharmed and unspoiled if you did not tarry. Since you have been so slow, I’m afraid that now I can only guarantee that she will be… unharmed.”
“Guard!” cried the voice, “release the beast-man! Tell him that he may proceed to the cage where we have chained her royal highness, Queen Aureola. And when he finds her, he may use her in any way that he desires.” The voice began laughing horribly, growing louder and louder, until Sir Richard was forced to clap his ears to his hands to drown it out. Then, suddenly, the voice ceased.
Shaking with rage and frustration, the knight uttered the foulest curse he knew. Then, holding his sword aloft, Sir Richard charged toward the closest e
ntrance to the maze - a passageway that branched off to the left. He went dashing into it, sword held at the ready. A new passage opened to the right almost immediately, but the knight ignored it. Coming to a turn, he rounded the corner at high-speed - and just stopped himself from smacking into a wall. It was a dead end.
Whirling around, Sir Richard retraced his steps to the branching passage. This passage took him around a few bends, before ending at a T-junction. This time, he went right. He followed the passage’s twists and turns and then emerged suddenly back out into the main corridor from which he had started. The knight ground his teeth in frustration. “Curse this maze,” he growled.
From somewhere far away, yet all too near, the knight heard a loud, beastly bellow, followed by ominous, heavy footsteps. Sir Richard knew not what the ‘beast-man’ might be, but it sounded very large, and it was clearly on the move.
“I wonder,” boomed out the voice. “Will the king still want his bride after she has been violated by such a beastly creature?”
“Shut up, you son-of-a-whore,” Sir Richard yelled at the air.
Choosing the passage that seemed to lead most directly towards the sound, Sir Richard entered it and dashed along its length. Turning a corner, he halted and swore in a most un-knightly manner. The walls of the passage in front of him were covered in mirrors. He saw his own chiseled face reflected back at him endlessly. It was hard to tell where the passage ended and the walls began. Moving cautiously, but as quickly as he dared, he started down the mirrored passage. Turning a corner, he found still more mirrors. The mirrored walls now seem to enclose him completely. The perspective was dizzying. It was impossible to discern what was the maze and what was merely a taunting reflection.
Well, if he could not trust his vision, he had other senses. Sir Richard thrust his hand out, trailing his fingers along the wall as he moved forward.
Suddenly he felt a gap beneath his fingers: a new side-passage. At that same moment, he heard a woman’s scream. Sir Richard instantly recognized Queen Aureola’s voice. There was a clanking sound, as of a heavy lock being opened. The passage he had entered lead towards the noise. He charged down it - and ran smack into a mirrored wall.