Dragon Jade Chronicle: The Warlock And The Warrior

by Jamie MacFrey

Pol chuckled to himself, falling back to his task, staring along her body at her, a grin smeared across his face along with her juices. She would’ve hit him, but she really didn’t want him to stop again.

  “Coulain’s army is marching up the coast, they’ll be here in a few days. The Guard has pressed most of the able bodies in the city into service. They’re not going to be hardened Clan warriors, by any account, but they’ll firm out the numbers, and we’ll have the Guild on our side.”

  She paused, waiting for him to ruin it. Her pleasure was storming back in, like water slipping past a broken dam. But Pol seemed oblivious to her, lapping happily between her legs, sucking her clit into his mouth so he could lash it with the tip of her tongue.

  “Ohhhh, hells and dragon’s bells,” she moaned.

  Pol’s eyes flashed up at her, his grin turning from mockery into satisfaction, or as much as it could, given how much of his lips were wrapped around her pussy.

  Her thighs squeezed around his head and she pulled on his hair, her shoulders rising slightly off the bed as she strained to drive her clit deeper into his mouth.

  “Oh, there. There,” she instructed him, his tongue finding a particularly engaging way of manipulating her clit. “Just like that.”

  The hand on her breast flicked her nipple harder and harder, but Pol’s tongue kept a steady pace. She could feel the flush coming on through her body, the world resolving into the orange-red as her eyes shut tight, her blood pumping in her ears.

  “Oh fuck!” she screamed. She shuddered, once, a full body wave that rippled across her, starting at her waist and echoing up her chest to her shoulders. Her body convulsed again, and her thighs gripped Pol tight, riding successive waves of pleasure as they raced along her body.

  “Oh, Vash, that’s—” she tried, as Pol’s tongue became more and more unbearable on her clit, but he wasn’t stopping. Instead, he wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking on it and flicking the tip with his tongue. The hand that had been groping her tit removed itself, and fingers probed at her pussy softly until they grew slick enough with her own juices to slip inside her.

  Keira gasped again as her eyes squeezed shut and her world shifted into a burst of red as another orgasm gripped her. Her hands squeezed her own breasts, twisting the nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, sending an electric current down her spine as she came into Pol’s mouth, her ankles crossing on his back, pushing him in tight against the bed.

  Finally, she’d had enough, lifting her leg over Pol’s head to nudge him away with her thigh, then rolling onto her side. Pol climbed into the bed with her, pressing tight against her body, his hand strolling up her side until it found her breast and gripped her. He propped himself up on his elbow and she turned her head over her shoulder to kiss him, long and hard, his chin wet against hers, a smattering of stubble scratching through her juices, the tang of her pussy on his tongue.

  “Heldi’s set the whole Guild to drilling. Tudron’s been made Master of War. Apparently he has a mind for it. He certainly barks like he’s an old hand at fighting.”

  “He’s a vai Joi, isn’t he?” asked Kiera. “He looks very much like Princess Fione.”

  “Yeah, some nephew?”

  “I think I’d heard once that he was being groomed to be the old prince’s marshal before they discovered he was a warlock. If it’s the same Sorcerer I’m thinking of.”

  Kiera pushed away from Pol, then crawled around until she was laying over his hips, Pol rolling onto his back to accommodate her.

  “It must be hard.”

  “It is,” she said, grasping his cock.

  “I meant, for someone like Tudron. I barely had to give up anything to join the Guil—ahh!”

  He grunted as Kiera began to pump her fist along his cock. He stared at the back of her head, the dark hair as long as he’d seen it, wishing he could see through the other side, where he could feel her tongue reach out and stroke his cock from base to tip, making him gasp.

  “They’re taking my name tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll just be Sorcerer Pol.”

  Kiera turned to stare at him, her hand still working his cock.

  “Will you miss it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Pol Burr was never much.”

  “I’ll miss him.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Is there a ceremony? How do they take your name?”

  “Not that I know of. I think they just say, ‘now you’re just Sorcerer Pol,’ or something. There’s a chain of office they give you that Mistress Margase says no one wears.”

  “She stayed on?”

  “Heldi talked her into it. Or Waldrin did. It was all the gossip for a while.”

  “Hmm.”

  Kiera licked at Pol’s cock again, teasing the head with the tip of her tongue for a moment before enveloping him in the warm wet embrace of her mouth. He groaned, lowering his shoulders back down to the bed, shaking slightly as Kiera’s tongue explored his cock while she gently increased the suction.

  A bell began ringing. Kiera perked up, releasing Pol’s cock from her mouth, staring off at the direction of the sound.

  “It’s just the midday bell,” said Pol.

  “No, it’s not, it’s too soon,” said Kiera. “It’s an alarm bell.”

  “The Guard has been on edge since the attacks. They’ll ring it for anything.”

  “Pol, if that’s the Dragon Clan attacking, what do you think is going to happen if they catch us in here with me still sucking your cock?”

  “I’d die happy?”

  “Help me get dressed. And I need to find my armor.”

  * * * * *

  The stairs to the observation platform in the massive wall of Tia Vashil were narrow and tall, and yet Kiera, dressed from head to toe in dragon jade plate, scampered up them easily, barely out of breath at the top, while Pol gasped for air.

  “I thought you climbed buildings for fun,” said Kiera.

  “I get to use my arms,” managed Pol.

  “Lady Kiera,” saluted a Guard, a man with a greying beard and bit of white cord over his blue lamellar.

  “Captain,” acknowledged Kiera. “What’s the word?”

  “Dragon Clan, milady,” said the captain. Kiera shot Pol a look. He handed her the field glasses. “Five riders were reported on the road from the west. We’ve just spotted them now.”

  Kiera glanced through, while Pol strained to see a small cloud of dust being kicked up along the road. On the stair, Mistress Heldi, Master Tudron, and then Tau and Princess Fione climbed up onto the platform, crowding it slightly.

  “Here before us, Lady Kiera,” observed Heldi. “What do you see?”

  “Oh, you know, just Dragon Clan,” said Pol, before Kiera or the Captain could answer.

  “I know one of them,” said Kiera, handing the field glasses to Heldi.

  Tudron looked at her. “The one from the report you and Tau gave?”

  “Yes.”

  “The one you had sex with?” asked Pol.

  “Yes, Pol.”

  “Lady Kiera,” said Tudron, sharply. “I believe you were ordered not to share the specifics of your mission with others.”

  “Sorcerer Pol was on the mission with us, Master Tudron,” said Kiera.

  “Yeah, I didn’t see you volunteering to almost die in Tia Joi,” said Pol.

  “You didn’t volunteer, you ran away from the Guild and joined your friends when you had been ordered not to go, Acolyte Pol,” sneered Tudron.

  “Be that as it may—”

  “One of them is approaching,” said Heldi, waving the others to silence. The riders had pulled up just out of crossbow range, except for one who was approaching unarmed.

  “It’s a parlay,” said Kiera.

  “The Clans parlay?”

  “Not well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s a very aggressive sort of truce.”

  The rider came within earshot and the captain called out to him. />
  “Hold there or my archers will shoot.”

  The rider halted, a massive man with a mess of dragon jade necklaces, riding bareback on his horse. One arm was covered in jade chainmail to the shoulder, and tattoos covered both his other arm and his legs like sleeves.

  “Let your archers fire. Errah, son of Feli, fears not even death!”

  There was a moment as the people on the observation deck traded confused looks, then everyone looked at Kiera.

  “He wants us to kill him?”

  “No,” said Kiera. “He wants us to know he’s not scared of us.”

  “Well, he’ll be a brave corpse, at least,” muttered Tau.

  “What cause do you have to speak to the people of Tia Vashil, Errah? Our walls are high, our people strong, our magic powerful. We do not fear the Clans!” Kiera shouted down.

  Errah laughed.

  “You boast like you were born to the Clans, Vashili! My chieftain, Aren of the Sea Clan, daughter of Kael, says she will parlay with the Princess of Tia Joi, who has selfishly left her people and cowers behind your walls! If you do not agree to this parlay, we will tear down your walls, break your people, and crush your magic with our jade.”

  “We should shoot him,” said Fione.

  Kiera ignored her.

  “The Dragon Clans have used trickery and deceit before, Errah. They have wounded our Exarch and Guild Chair and attacked the princess. How can we know this is not one more trick?”

  “My chief is a warrior of honor!” shouted Errah. “But to soothe your feelings, she would speak to a warrior from your ranks of her choosing beneath your gates. She will come alone, unarmed, and wearing no jade. Your warrior may arm and clothe herself however she would choose.”

  “Your chief knows a specific warrior from our side?”

  “She would speak to Kiera, daughter of Ked, of the Ullan Clan. This warrior is known to my chief. This warrior owes my chief a life-debt.”

  “Tell your chief I’ll speak with her.”

  Errah nodded, then wheeled his horse around, riding hard back to the other four Clan warriors. The five conferred for a moment, then one broke from them and began to ride back to the gates.

  “Here comes Aren,” said Kiera. She unbuckled her sword belt and handed it to Tau. “Hold this for me.”

  “A life-debt?” asked Pol.

  “She killed for me. I owe her a life in turn or something of equal value.”

  “They’re bloodthirsty bastards, aren’t they? Killing’s part of their culture.”

  Kiera shook her head.

  “Sort of. But it’s more complicated. The warriors fight for the clan and their chief, so the clan and the chief owes them for that fighting—thralls, a finer tent, more jade, that sort of thing. But a warrior who kills for another warrior, not out of duty to the clan at large, or a chief who kills for a warrior or another chief, is owed a personal debt. Aren killed the Forest Clan chief to protect me and Tau. We both owe her, according to Clan law.”

  “She had her own reasons, surely,” observed Tudron.

  “Sure, but the effect is the same. A life was taken, our lives were preserved, a life is owed.”

  A call came up from below the walls.

  “Tell Kiera vai Ullan that Aren of the Sea Clan is here to speak with her!”

  Heldi nodded at Kiera.

  “Better go down and see what she wants.”

  * * * * *

  The phalanx of armed Vashili Guard, their short half axes at their sides showing they were part of the Guard’s elite unit, halted as though they’d all been frozen by a spell in the middle of the Clan encampment.

  A massive bonfire burned in the center of the camp, the tents around it tall and grand. In front of the fire stood the peculiar Clan chief who’d spoken with Kiera before the walls, a slender woman with light brown hair and a sharp face. Dragon tattoos danced across her chest, fish ran down one of her thighs and when she turned, Fione could see an eagle forever trying to cross from one of her shoulder blades to the next. Her extensive collection of jade jewelry gleamed in the light.

  Around her was gathered a small troop of warriors, including the one called Errah who’d shown so much indifference to being shot. He grinned at the Guard, a scornful eye taking in their heavy lamellar armor, so blue they faded into the evening sky.

  Jin, already dismounted, reached his hand up and Fione took it, dismounting softly from her horse. Her betrothed was dressed in a fine jacket and breeches, soft skin boots, the gryphon badge of the House vai Ullan on his chest. At her request, the Guild had produced a chain of office marking him as her consort, and she thought Jin looked quite fine wearing the heavy esses culminating in the diamond pendant of Tia Joi.

  Fione had intended to make herself look as regal as possible, a plain thick band of gold set in her hair, which had been set up, her long curls folded in on themselves at the back. She had toyed briefly with the idea of bringing a fine dress in among the savages, but instead opted for breeches and boots herself, paired with a slim blouse under a jacket made of dyed red leather.

  Then, of course, she’d looked at Aren’s nakedness and selecting a garment had seemed rather foolish.

  The chief waited patiently, not making a move to receive the princess. Instead, she and Jin were forced to make their way to her before the fire, the eyes of the Dragon Clan warriors all around on them, as they had been since Fione had encountered the first sentries.

  “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess,” said Aren. To Fione’s great shock, and apparently to the shock of Aren’s warriors, judging by their faces, the chief bent, clasping Fione’s hand and kissing it as a supplicant would.

  “Our horses need tending,” said Fione, as sharply as she could muster. Aren’s apparent acquiescence seemed to her to be a feint, a ploy meant to draw them into a false sense of security. She would not allow the Dragon Clan to win one more victory over her.

  If Aren was annoyed by the command, she didn’t show it. She turned to a warrior next to her.

  “Juron, make sure the thralls give their horses food and water.”

  Juron saluted her, marching away to tend to the task.

  “And this is your consort, Jin vai Ullan?” asked Aren, gazing at the man. He smiled at her, but for once it seemed to be nerves, rather than the heady unearned confidence he usually possessed. To their detriment, Fione felt.

  “He brings a sword to a feast, chieftain,” muttered Errah.

  “So he does,” said Aren.

  “Is there a problem?” asked Fione.

  “This dinner is in your honor, princess,” Aren said, her tone somewhere near to scolding. “And I can assure you, all the food at my table is dead by the time it gets there. Yet your consort is armed for war.”

  “So are the Guard. So are your warriors.”

  “But when we sit down to eat in my tent, princess, it will be just us three. No battle. No weapons.”

  “And what if I don’t feel safe?”

  “Look around you, princess. You’ve marched into the heart of my clan. Fifty Vashili soldiers in their fancy armor will not save you from the full might of the Sea Clan. Your consort has a sword. He doesn’t need it. If I wanted him, or you, dead, he could have a hundred swords and it wouldn’t save you.”

  “You don’t know what I can do with this sword,” offered Jin. Apparently Aren’s taunt had offended him, reigniting his bravado.

  “Draw it and try to kill me.”

  “What?”

  “If you’re so talented with that little knife, you pull it from your scabbard and try to kill me with it.” Aren reached a hand out, and Errah put a sword into it.

  “I’m not sure if that’s such a wise…”

  “You come to the Clan armed, you should be prepared to use it. Fight me.”

  “It doesn’t seem quite fair. You’re naked.”

  “A true warrior fights with only their skill and Vash’s blessing to protect them. Besides, how fine are your clothes that they will p
rotect you against sword point?”

  Jin sighed.

  “As you wish. I’m just observing that this isn’t a blunted blade. I sharpened it myself, in fact.”

  Aren merely smiled at him. Jin raised his free arm, pointing his sword out towards Aren, his feet planting themselves in a firm stance.

  Aren did nothing. Her sword, hardly more than a fancy jade club, if anyone was honest about it, rested, point down, in her hand along her leg.

  Jin had had a good dueling master as a child, the sort of man who batted away a 12 year old’s feeble blows and laughed at their attempt, and inspired a certain sort of rage that could be channeled and taught to. Jin often wondered where the old fart was now, and hoped someone had made him eat his own sword.

  But, he had to admit that he’d learned to recognize quite quickly when and where he was about to get badly beaten, and his brain was screaming at him that this was going to be one of those moments. Still, if one was going to lose, better to hurry into it, rather than drawing it out.

  He lunged at Aren, his sword flying towards her chest.

  She was fast, maybe faster than Kiera, and Jin had once seen Kiera fight two men at once on a bet and walk away without a scratch. Her sword swung around in an arc, slicing down on his blade, pinning the more flexible metal of his saber into the dirt. He tried to withdraw, but she crossed her free hand over her sword hand, grabbing Jin’s wrist and keeping him from moving it. She dropped her sword, pulled his wrist up until his arm bent at the elbow, then struck him just on the underside of the elbow, where his funny bone was, a short sharp blow that led with her knuckles.

  Jin’s arm shuddered and lost sensation, and his sword tumbled out of his hand as it numbed. He tried to grab Aren with his left hand and push her away, but she grabbed that wrist as well. For a moment, they grappled, Jin discovering that the Sea Clan chief was basically made of iron, her eyes flashing with delight as he began to realize he was outmatched.

  Her leg wrapped around his ankle, throwing him backwards. She fell down with him, pinning his arms over his head, her legs tucked tight against his. She was leaning over him, her svelte figure stretched tight as she made sure his arms couldn’t move, her chest inches from his face.