The first indication that this might be so was a burned-down cottage set back from the road. Of course there were other things that could set a cottage afire besides the flames that emanate from a beast’s mouth. The two had a strong suspicion, however, that this was the work of Gwylldahr.
The fire had to have happened recently. The smell of smoke and of charred wood still hung in the air surrounding the remains of the cottage. The pair looked around for another person whom they could ask to confirm their suspicions, but they could find none. There were chickens squawking about, no doubt the flock of the former owner or owners of the house. The owner himself or herself, however, was nowhere to be found. Might he or she or they have perished in the fire? Or been slain by the beast subsequently? There were no neighboring dwellings in the immediate vicinity, either, whose occupants might have known the cause of the fire. Still, Randour and Wynfarad felt they were on the right path. Surely Gwylldahr had passed this way.
Urging their horses to resume their gait, they continued following the road they were on, which led in the direction of Holmdemarle. For a long stretch there were woods and meadows but no dwellings, no humans. Then they came to a house with a man out front. Reining in their horses, they stopped to inquire if they were on the right track. “Good day, sir. We are hunting the beast that is threatening the countryside. Can you tell us if he has passed this way?”
Shaking his head slowly, the man replied, “Indeed he has. He killed my eldest son two days ago. A strapping lad of twenty-three. Now he’s gone.”
Practically my age. “I am sorry, sir. I regret your loss. It is our desire to dispatch the beast. I am Sir Randour, and this is my squire, friend, and companion, Wynfarad. So the beast has come this way? And continued in that direction?” He pointed up the road.
“Ah, yes, but not soon enough for my liking. Would that he had continued that way before destroying the light of my heart. My wife died of the fever three years ago. My two boys were all I had left. Now Marwin is gone. Edwin is all I have left in the world.” He quickly wiped his shirtsleeve across his face, but not before Randour saw that the man’s eyes had begun to glisten with welling tears.
Randour dismounted then, and went over to the fellow to console him. It was difficult to put an arm around the man’s shoulders because of the armor that he wore, but he took the man’s two hands in his own two and looked him in the eyes, holding his gaze steady. “May God grant you surcease from your travail,” Randour said, squeezing the man’s hands as he said it.
“Thank you,” the man said simply but with sincere appreciation in his voice.
“Fare thee well,” Randour said, dropping the man’s hands and returning to his horse. After mounting Bolt, he looked at Wynfarad and said, “Poor fellow. Well, shall we be off?”
They rode for a while, the sun warming them without scorching. Not like the beast’s breath. Randour shuddered at the prospect of immolation in the flames that the beast emitted. They didn’t talk much as they rode, but Randour still felt comforted and warmed by the presence of his lover. It was good to know Wynfarad was by his side, even when they exchanged few words or none at all.
By and by they came to a fork in the road. “Which way do we go?” he asked Wynfarad. “You come from these parts. I come from a whole other land. Guide us.”
“This road will take us north of Holmdemarle, and this road will take us south of the village. Neither one goes directly to it. Both intersect with roads that lead into Holmdemarle, however. The beast could have gone either way.”
“Perhaps we should tarry till someone comes along whom we can ask.”
“This might be a good time to have a bit to eat. The sun is getting lower in the sky. Shall we dismount and partake of our provisions?”
“A good plan indeed.”
“First let us search around, though. I seem to recall there is a spring nearby. The horses will be thirsty, and we can drink, too.”
“We have been provided with a flagon of wine, but we might do well to save that for when there is no water around. And yes, water for the horses, absolutely.”
They rode to where Wynfarad thought the spring might be but didn’t find it. A bit more searching, however, and they had better luck. Now they dismounted, let the horses drink what they wanted, and partook of the water themselves. They also splashed some on their hands and faces to rid themselves of the dust of the road.
“Let us return to the road,” Randour suggested, “so that if a traveler does come by, we can talk to him and see if he knows which road the beast took.”
Wanting to stretch their legs, they stayed afoot and guided the horses back to the fork in the road, then tethered them to a tree and sat down to eat something.
They had nearly finished their repast when a man with an oxcart approached. “Hail, fellow traveler!” Wynfarad called out. “Can you tell us if you know which is the better road to take in pursuit of the beast? We have reason to believe he passed this way, but we have arrived at this fork in the road and know not which way to go.”
“I know not either, good fellows. I am traveling from Maplevale and do not know this area well. I am sorry I cannot be of help. Excuse me, but I must be off. The sun is sinking, and I wish to arrive at my destination before nightfall.”
“Travel safely.”
“You also.” The man with the oxcart continued.
“If we don’t get an answer soon, we may have to spend the night here, or else just hazard a guess as to which road to take,” Wynfarad commented.
“We might want to spend the night here in any event.” Randour pointed toward the sun, now a molten ball of fire sliding behind a fair-weather cloud that hung low to the horizon. “Night will be on us soon enough.”
Just as they were resigning themselves to not seeing any other wayfarers that evening, along came a man on horseback. He was leading another horse, which was tethered to his saddle. “Hallooooo!” called Randour. “Good evening, good sir.”
“Good evening to you, sirs. What are you doing at the side of the road like this? Are you in need of help?”
“We are in need of information. We are chasing after the beast Gwylldahr, and we have reason to believe he has passed this way. Would you know which road we would do better to take?”
“When I came down this road this morning”—the man pointed to the north fork—“I saw three burned houses and the remains of a singed horse. That surely must be the work of Gwylldahr. I fear an encounter with him as I return. Why do you deliberately seek him out? I would advise you to go in whichever direction you think he is not!”
“We mean to dispatch him and put an end to this menace.”
“By what means? What can you do that so many others have not yet tried? Many men have tried to dispatch Gwylldahr, but none has succeeded, and most have been killed. Do you not fear death? If you do not, you are foolish indeed.”
“We do fear death like any sensible men would. Of course we do. But in the first place, if nobody takes care of this scourge, the beast will go on killing and mutilating and destroying people and livestock, houses, and other property. And in the second place, I am a knight and wish to join the Round Table, but King Arthur has made it a condition of my joining his knights that I must first prove myself by dispatching the beast.”
“You have quite the task ahead of you! As I said, many others have tried. I wish you good luck indeed, but I fear you have an insurmountable challenge confronting you. As I am told, although I did not witness it myself, others have tried various means to no avail.”
“Tell us what means were tried. You seem to know?” It came out as a question, as if Randour were not quite sure that the man indeed knew. But he did.
“I may not know everything that every man before you has tried, but I can tell you that the beast’s tough hide is all but impervious to a sword or knife, that his underbelly is no less so than any other part, and that attempting to slit his throat is of no help either. One adventurous beast-hunter even tried cutting
off Gwylldahr’s tail, thinking that might be the answer, but it was not. He is buried in Saint Swithin’s cemetery.”
“What about methods other than the use of a sword or knife?” asked Wynfarad.
“One brave and venturesome woman tried to poison the beast. She killed three of her chickens, sacrificing them for a good cause, and then poisoned the meat and left it near where the beast had last been seen. She is one of the few who tried to dispatch Gwylldahr without giving up her life in the effort. She is still alive. Unharmed, in fact. But the same can be said for Gwylldahr. There were reports that Gwylldahr was heard bellowing in agony after eating the poisoned chicken meat, but those may be just the fanciful imaginings of an overactive mind. At any rate, whether or not it is true, the fact remains that Gwylldahr remains. He is still alive, still among us, and still wreaking damage wherever he goes.”
A shudder possessed the man, rippling visibly through his body.
“Perhaps the woman simply didn’t use a strong enough poison, or enough of it?” Wynfarad suggested.
“Perhaps, but I doubt it. From all accounts, she used enough poison to kill off a whole herd of dragons. Again, that may be an exaggeration, but I take it the dose was most severe. And yet Gwylldahr lives.”
“What of other methods?” asked Randour. “What else was tried besides poison and stabbing?”
“Well, of course the various sorcerers who tried to dispatch him used more exotic methods known only to their kind. I know that one sorcerer sacrificed three goats on an altar and muttered some incantations. And then a sorcerer named Malachi—”
“My old mentor!” cut in Wynfarad.
“Oh, then you know him? Well, Malachi lives nearby—”
“Yes, in Holmdemarle. That is where we are journeying to. We have reason to believe this Gwylldahr beast may be headed in that direction.”
“That is the rumor, or should I say the supposition. It is based on fact, after all, and qualifies as more than a rumor. Well, as I was saying…” The man cast an annoyed look at Wynfarad. “As I was saying, Malachi tried a variety of approaches. He even got brave enough to approach Gwylldahr closely and sprinkle him with a poultice he had concocted, which was supposed to bring about an agonizing death. It didn’t work. Malachi escaped unharmed, but so did Gwylldahr.”
“What else has been tried?” asked Randour. “Do you know of any other attempts?”
“One enterprising huntsman thought to set Gwylldahr afire and burn him to a crisp. He set a ring of fire around the beast that slowly but unerringly encroached upon where Gwylldahr lay sleeping. The beast awakened with a mighty roar and thrashed his tail around. It almost looked as if he were trying to extinguish the flames with his tail, though I doubt that. Then the beast just simply charged through the flames and emerged unscathed outside the ring of fire. The huntsman had prudently long since departed the immediate vicinity and, like the woman with the poisoned chickens, he lived to tell the tale with not even a scratch on him to punish him for his attempted kill, but Gwylldahr survived, too, and yet lives.”
“What else has been tried?” asked Randour.
But the man looked skyward, saw the sun setting, and said, “I must be off now. It is nearly dark. I do not wish to be on these roads in darkness under even the best of circumstances, and having Gwylldahr roaming free hardly constitutes the best of circumstances. I don’t mind admitting I am terrified of the beast. Most folks around here are, and with good reason.
“I wish you well in your quest. I do wish I had more confidence in the likelihood of your succeeding, but after all these other failed attempts, I question how successful you are likely to be.”
The man took off up the north fork, the one he had pointed out as Gwylldahr’s likely path, leaving Randour and Wynfarad to puzzle over the information he had given them.
“He cannot be vanquished by sword or knife to any logical part of his body,” said Randour. “He cannot be immolated. He cannot be poisoned. Migawd, I am baffled. I am stymied. I am at a loss for what to try next.”
“And my former mentor tried everything within his scope of knowledge, so that leaves out any sorcery I might try.”
“Well, the sun is nearly down. I suggest we find a place to spend the night. It will not do us well to travel by dark. If we encounter the fearsome beast, we are at a disadvantage. Better that we shelter for the night and continue seeking the beast in the morning.”
“You are right, my friend.”
“I must protect us both, my love.”
“Yes, my friend and my love. That is what you are to me, and I am glad I am the same to you.”
“I hunger to enjoy the pleasures of your loins again and taste your randy cock.”
“Then let us get over to that copse yonder and avail ourselves of its privacy. It will hide us from the world while we partake of the pleasures of each other’s flesh.”
“I am more than ready, my friend and my love.”
The two found a small stream at which to water the horses, though they availed themselves of the flagon of wine for their own thirst. They drank only the smaller part of what was in the flagon, wanting to save some, but they sated both their thirst and their need for relaxation. It had been a day to try their nerves for sure. They had already tied up the horses after giving them their fill of water and feeding them some apples. Then, obscured from the view of any passersby, they settled down into the copse with the intention to enjoy a pleasant slumber there for the night, but only after making love with each other.
This necessitated divesting themselves of their clothes, including Randour’s armor. His crotch was sizzling, as if the breath of ten dragons were upon it, at the mere thought of lying with Wynfarad. He could feel the searing circuit when, after they had both undressed, Wynfarad’s hand made warm contact with his thigh and remained lightly resting there. His dick swelled and throbbed demandingly, and when he stole a look at Wynfarad’s crotch, he seemed to be experiencing a similar swelling.
After a couple of minutes of the two men toying with each other’s body, Wynfarad ran his hand up Randour’s thigh, then stretched his thumb up to his pulsating dick and caressingly stroked Randour’s sensitized dickhead. “Let us not teasingly tarry any longer,” he suggested in a voice choked with lust. “I wish to explore your body further, but I also wish to bring you satisfaction and have you sate my desires as well.” They arranged themselves on their sides, facing each other, and Wynfarad’s hands wandered to Randour’s perked-up nipples, stroking the little nubs until they firmed up even more.
Soon both nubbins were standing firm like little cinnamon-colored pellets. They seemed to call to Wynfarad’s teeth, for he lowered his head to Randour’s nipples and grazed his way across the planes of Randour’s chest until his teeth reached those stubby nubbins. Then he scraped at Randour’s nubs with cautiously erotic teeth, dragging the edges of those teeth across the tops of Randour’s nipples until the knight squirmed in an agony of need.
Randour’s dick was standing tall and proud, and Wynfarad wrapped his strong, muscular hand around it. Randour felt Wynfarad’s firm grasp enfold him. Then Wynfarad began jacking Randour’s dick with slow, sure strokes. His pace at first was almost languid, but gradually he speeded up. Soon he was tugging at Randour’s throbbing shaft with a moderate speed and a more demanding touch.
Wanting to return the favor, Randour reached for Wynfarad’s fleshy dick and enfolded it in his own grasp. Now they were stroking each other’s randy dicks in unison, in harmony, and in synch. Soon Randour could feel the cream begin to bubble in his swollen sac. His need could no longer be denied. “I want you to suck me,” he gasped. On and off throughout the day, as they had ridden through the countryside, he had had a mental image of him and Wynfarad lying together and, most specifically, of Wynfarad’s lips encompassing and tightly compressing his dick.
Wynfarad lowered his mouth to the area of Randour’s groin. Now his tongue began darting out of his mouth. Flick. Flick. Flick-flick- flick-flick-flick-
flick. A barrage of tantalizing strokes of his tongue landed on the tip of Randour’s dick, and then he felt the heat of Wynfarad’s mouth approaching.
But Wynfarad didn’t suck Randour right away. Rather, he held his open mouth around Randour’s quivering cock and exhaled, blowing a wealth of humid, warm air around the knight’s yearning flesh. When Randour arched upward to try to drive his rampant tool into Wynfarad’s gullet and make him close his mouth, he teasingly backed off though he continued exhaling around Randour’s dickhead.
“What are you trying to do to me? Suck it!” Randour pleaded of his lover. “Close your mouth and suck that thing. Suck it now!”
At last Wynfarad took pity and did what Randour wanted, but he did it for only a minute. He closed his lips and lightly compressed them, though he didn’t suck right away. At first he ran his lips up and down Randour’s cock, squeezing it gently in his grasp without applying any suction. Then he gradually instituted a bit of suction, just a little bit of pressure at first, then more, and then still more.
Randour sighed and relaxed into the euphoric fog that surrounded him like sweet velvet, then braced himself as a white heat pierced that fog and sent flames coursing through his veins. Wynfarad ratcheted up the suction, and now he added another fillip to the game plan, flicking his tongue at Randour’s glans each time his sucking lips dragged their way up to the tip of Randour’s dick.
The knight’s body lapsed into a series of shudders. He wasn’t coming yet, but he was so exquisitely turned on that every touch, every increase in the suction, and anything Wynfarad did to him sent his body into hyperspeed.
That was when Wynfarad let go of his dick altogether. When he did, Randour silently cried No! Wynfarad left Randour’s dick to flop down to his belly. Hard as it was, it immediately sprang up again, pointing almost straight at the sky. “Why aren’t you sucking it?” he whined.
The Emerald Knight Page 5