(c) Copyright 2014 Green Man Walking. All Rights Reserved. This story may not be reposted, redistrubited or reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. Permission is granted to redistribute the document freely, as long as this notice is attached. The author does not condone child abuse or the breaking of the law. This story is a fantasy and any resemblance of the characters to any person, living or dead, is purely a coincidence. The author may be contacted at greenmanwalking@hotmail.com. Story Codes: Ffm, ffM, inc. In the House of the King – A Losoria Story By Green Man Walking PROLOGUE When the Liberator first broke down the Forbidden Gates and passed through them into the gardens of Neintar, in the palace grounds of the Priest King Harridralbokaim, he thought he must have stepped from the crass and cruel world of mortal men and into the divine realm of the gods. From wildness and fire into green beauty and tranquility. The city behind him echoed with the clash of bronze and fighting. The shouts of soldiers, the wail of horses in battle blended with the frightened screams of innocents trapped in the nightmare that was a city falling after siege, a cacophony of horror that was all too familiar. There was an acrid and spicy stench of smoke. Someone had started a fire, as someone almost always does, and parts of the city were burning. Inside the palace walls, the gardens were laced with small water ways, spilling from twin fountains flanking the stone palace steps, down a gentle slope to the lake shores. The walls were built straight out into the waters of Losu, and grated arches allowed a bit of the lake to flow right up to the garden path, feeding reeds and water lillies. The Priest King’s anointed guards had made a desperate last stand before the palace gates, and the Liberator’s sword was in his hand, ready for another stage of the fight. But silence reigned within the walls, excepting the sounds of birds and toads, insects and running water. The sounds of fighting were muffled and the smell of smoke seemed filtered and tinted with flowers. A terrapin, unconcerned by the affairs of men, splashed into the lake water, utterly unaware of war. Flanked by his best men, he started up the smooth stone path. A majestic lime stone archway, old and grand, lay behind the fountains, and the great teak wood doors behind it were open, emitting a smell of incense and fine things. The palace’s grand hallway was empty and silent, and as the Liberator and his warriors passed, there was no sign of the throngs of slaves and guards that Harridralbokaim surely kept around him. Perhaps, the Liberator thought, there were secret passages out of this palace, into the lake, and even now the Priest King was fleeing aboard a barge? But no. The throne room was just ahead, and it reeked of death and shit. The room was gilded and posh, like others he had entered along the Loso and the gold idol of the Mad God Ashu-Hud was the grandest such that the Liberator had ever seen. It was wrapped around the throne, so that the Priest King would have seemed to have been sitting in the deity’s golden lap. There were slaves here, cowering in terror in the corners, and the fallen bodies of anointed guards were scattered about the room. The throne itself was surrounded by eight warriors, each wielding a long, thin bronze sword and a broad oval shield. Their armor was of no make the Liberator had ever seen, nor were their weapons. But that was far from the most startling thing about them. All eight were women. Fierce looking, of olive skin and dark hair, and wide blue eyes. They stood in disciplined formation, shields nearly overlapping, swords held in a high grip that would put the point at throat level on most men. On the throne itself, sat a ninth woman, clearly of similar breed. A girl really, perhaps fifteen, and dressed in the silk and linen finery of a Losorian lady of wealth. In her hand was a knife dripping with blood and more blood was pooled around her, staining her clothing. At her feet lay the Priest King Harridralbokaim, wealthiest and most powerful of the Losorian monarchs, disbelief and horror etched upon his fat face, a smiling red gash across his throat. His crown was fallen from his head and one of it’s jewels, a cut purple amethyst, had broken from it’s setting and lay in the blood, almost it’s own statement of defeat. An era had ended, a tyranny that had endured for a thousand years had passed out of the world today. The girl looked up regally, without a hint of fear and met the Liberator’s eyes without flinching. He felt his heart catch. Her youthful beauty was striking and her confidence was magnetic. She spoke before he did, and when she did, it was in the tongue of the Loso, her voice high, yet thick and powerful for a woman’s and the Liberator was yet again impressed. “I am Ameileenorohekee, daughter of Shathar of the Enthressi and of Harridralbokaim, King of Neintar. I would speak to Hewlor Hewit, called the Liberator, Lion of the Rhor. Is he among you?” The Liberator sheathed his sword and removed his helm, setting free his wild main of curly blond hair. He looked straight back at her and answered in the same tongue. “I am he, Princess of Neintar. It looks as if you have killed your father. Why?” The girl shrugged. “Were you not on your way here to do just that?” “I was. But he was my enemy, sworn the day I vowed to overthrow the Priest Kings. Among the Rhor, raising hand to one’s sire is a serious offense in the eyes of the gods, my lady, as is usurping their titles before your time. How should I now judge you?” The girl seemed taken aback, and for the first time a hint of fear entered her eyes, quickly buried. “Correct me if I am wrong Lion, but among your people, is not vengeance for a wrong done considered a holy thing?” “It is.” “And if you would take vengeance for another of your family, would the gods look favorably upon the act?” The Liberator nodded. “It is likely they would.” “And lastly, if the wrong was done to your mother, how would your gods judge your actions?” The Liberator smiled tightly and nodded. “Then your vengeance would be blessed and no man would want to stand between you and your enemy, lest he risk the god’s wrath.” The girl smiled. “Then I claim vengeance in the name of my mother, Shathar, Princess of the Enthressi. She was held captive by my father, terrorized by him, enslaved to him, forced against her will to bear his children. Furthermore, the Seer’s decreed that the Great and Holy Ashu-Hud demanded a sacrifice of Water, in return for turning back your invasion. My father sacrificed not just my mother, but all his wives. He drowned them in the lake with his own hand. These warriors, her Maiden Guard, he had shackled in their sleep and his anointed eunuchs killed those who were awake keeping watch. Yet what good did it do him? Clearly, his mad god has no power over you and I. He is dead, by my hand and here you are.” The Liberator nodded. “Here I am, to claim his throne and cast down the statue of the god who would not help him. I accept your vengeance.” He looked thoughtful, then added, “as well as your surrender.” The girl’s eyebrows shot up. “Surrender? I have not surrendered. I am Ameileenorohekee, a Princess of the Enthressi and Queen of Neintar. This is my city, and my Maiden Guard shall fight to the last to defend my claim. And with the Priest Kings fallen, the Enthressi are freed once more from Losorian slavery. Trust me, you do not want us for an enemy. We shall bleed you all the way back to your barbarian mountains.” The Liberator laughed. “Indeed? Well, never the less, I intend to claim this city and rule over all the lands of the Loso. I will cast down the idols of Ashu-Hud where ever they are and melt them into coin to pay my soldiers. You would be wise not to sit before one, as you do now. Your eight warriors, as formidable as they may be for women, are hardly going to be able to stop me.” “Stop you? That was never my intention. I shall not have Ashu-Hud worshiped in my city. I have a different offer to make you, and then we shall tear down the idols together.” She drew herself up, her blue eyes seeming to bore into his with an exotic fire. “Hewlor Hewit, let us unite the Enthressi with the Rhor. Let us jointly hold all the lands along the Loso and what ever else we can together claim. There is a way for me to keep my city and my nation and for you to have both as well, if you will take them. What say you, Lion of Rhor? Will you take a Queen along with your city?” The Liberator laughed. “Queen of Neintar, I have taken the cities of the Loso through blood and fire. I have cast down all the Priest Kings of the river land and freed their slaves. I have made this land mine through my sword. And now, it would take me through you. The gods do thus love irony.” CHAPTER 1 On a hammock made of linen and rope, strung between two date palms alongside a garden stream, Princess Alaera was practicing kissing. The pretty twelve year old girl wore nothing but a gold dyed linen skirt that dropped to her shins. She was barefoot and her dark hair was done in three elaborate braids that wrapped around her head, and her pert, growing breasts were cupped in her partner’s hands. He was a red headed Rhor boy of an age with her, his skin tanned and freckled by the sun, his own skirt tented by his hardened cock. Her mother, the Queen of Neintar, knelt next to the pair as they sat side by side, sideways on the hammock, their bodies turned to face one another so their lips could press gently together, their tongues dancing against each other with youthful and eager passion. The Queen, was similarly dressed, her hair braided like her daughter’s, her beautiful brown breasts, the size of the yellow grapefruits that grew in the garden, were painted in silver with the holy symbol that was the name of the Goddess Maesha and she wore the same symbol about her neck on a silver chain. The Queen stroked the children’s backs, pressing them into each other as they kissed, watching closely. “Talk to him with your kiss, beloved,” the Queen said softly, “If you kiss hard, and move your tongue aggressively, he’ll know you want to be in control. If you tilt away from him and move your lips softly, it will encourage him to kiss you back. If you nibble on his lips a little, it will tell him you want him.” The girl kissed softly, teasingly, her tongue caressing his and then dodging away, urging him to chase it. He leaned into her and bent her body back, pinching her nipples. It was a little bit too hard, and she winced and flinched. “Not so hard, Lander,” the Queen admonished the boy, “you want to warm her body up gently. But Alaera, what do you do with a man who is too rough with you?” Alaera broke the kiss to look over at her mother. “Yield to him but try to guide his hands.” she said, repeating from memory what she’d been told. “Yes,” the Queen said, “but you also have to read his body and his mood. Sex is like dancing, and men like to lead. Be good at following and he’ll be like clay in your hands.” Alaera let the boy kiss her again, gasping a little as he pinched her nipples, more gently this time. “Good,” the Queen told her smiling proudly, “your body knows what to do and what it wants. But your mind has to stay in control even so. Men will want to have you in a hurry. They may be too quick and not take the time you need. You have to dance with them until you’re both ready.” Alaera broke the kiss again to looked at her mother. Lander looked disappointed, and kept his hands on her breasts. She tried not to look at the hard tent pole jutting up under his skirt, even though she found it fascinating. “Is father in too much of a hurry? Is he too rough?” The Queen laughed. “Your father takes what he wants, when he wants it. That’s how he’s King. But he knows to let me have what I want too, and to give it to me the way I want it. Women have our sex magic and men have their own. Your father wields his as well as he does a sword and spear. Often when he’s been away, or when I have, he’s in a hurry and he wants to be rough. Sometimes that can be fun too.” As the Queen was talking, Lander had started kissing Alaera again. The boys hands continued to stroke her breasts, then began to move down her sides. When they reached the rim of her skirt she caught them and she felt him grunt in frustration against her mouth as she returned them to her breasts. “Good!” The Queen laughed. “I think that’s enough. You can stop now.” Both children groaned. “But Mother. . .” Alaera started to whine. “No,” the Queen admonished, “you have another lesson to learn now. Two really. The first is to control yourself in the moment of passion, so you will and you will stop now. Good. It’s when men are as excited as he is now that your sex magic is at it’s peak. So you will control yourself. And know that the frustration you’re feeling, Lander is feeling it even stronger. That gives you power.” Alaera looked over at the boy. Lander was gritting his teeth and breathing hard. It did look like stopping was hard on him, not that she felt much different herself. “Now,” said the Queen, “that Lander is in your power, I’m going to show you how quickly that can be over. Lander come stand before me.” The boy awkwardly extricated himself from the hammock and stood before the Queen. The tent in his skirt looked even more pronounced, like a spear point sticking out vertically from his body. Alaera felt warm and wet between her legs and she couldn’t stop herself from moaning a little looking at him. The Queen leaned forward, raising the boy’s skirt, exposing his hard cock and a plump pair of balls that had only just begun to grow a little hair. The Princess moaned in frustration, leaning back in the hammock, her thighs squeezing together of their own accord, eyes riveted on the Rohr boy’s slender, pale cock. She watched as her mother bent her neck and took the boy’s cock into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down rapidly as she did. The boy’s face turned red and his breath came in quick gasps as he looked back and forth between the Princess who was writhing in the hammock in frustration and her mother who was sucking him wetly and quickly. It took the poor boy only about thirty seconds and suddenly he was gasping and pumping his hips. The Queen sucked and Alaera watched her mother swallow once, then draw her head back, the cock slipping from her mouth, wet and glistening with saliva. The Queen dropped the skirt back down and swatted the boy on the ass. “Thank you Lander. Go run off now.” Lander bowed a warriors bow, though on his shaky legs and gangly young body, it look more silly than graceful . “It was my honor to serve you my Queen,” he said, his voice cracking a little at the end. The Queen laughed again. “I’m sure it was. Now go.” The Princess watched him skip away, the wet place between her legs burning with frustration. Her mother turned to her. “Did you see how quickly that was over? A man who finishes will often be off to eat or drink or fight. Or sleep like as not. You’ll be left sitting, wet and frustrated and feeling empty inside your pussy, aching like you want to be filled. Soon, I’ll teach you how to draw a man’s pleasure out and keep him from cumming until you’re ready for him too. But now, it’s time to learn about your own body.” The Queen stood and removed her skirt, standing before her daughter naked and voluptuous. At twenty eight years, her figure was like a timing glass, her skin the color of burnished bronze and the hair between her legs was dark, but well kept. She sat back on the grass and spread her legs, revealing her pink, wet pussy to her daughter’s curious eyes. Clearly, watching the two children and sucking the boy’s cock had excited the Queen as well. She spread it open so that her daughter could see. “I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. I know that you know that when you get excited you get wet and when you touch yourself here, it feels good. This is called your clit. It’s the spot on your body where the Goddess Maesha lives. You will need to teach men to worship Her there, and first you will need to learn to worship Her there yourself.” The Queen caressed her own clit briefly, then slipped two fingers in her vagina, all the way to her hand. “Down here below it is where a man’s cock enters your body, and also where a baby comes out. When you had your first moon last week, this is where the blood came out from. When you’re feeling sexually excited, it feels good to have things inside it, but you want to be careful with it. If you put the wrong thing, or the wrong man inside you could hurt yourself or get very sick. I have some polished wooden and stone objects made in the shape of cocks. Soon, you will learn to use them.” Pulling her fingers out of herself, the Queen returned her attention to her clit, masturbating herself in slow circles. “It feels better if your fingers are wet when you do this. But fortunately, you will get very wet when you’re excited and you can use your own wetness. Go on. Take off your skirt.” The Queen watched as her daughter rose from the hammock on shaky legs and shimmied out of the linen garment. The girl’s hips were still boyish and her mound had only a trace of the dark hair that graced her mother. But the Queen could see that the girl was soaking wet from her session with Lander. When she sat back and spread her legs, exposing her barely pubescent pussy to her mother’s gaze, the Queen gasped aloud. The Princess’s little cunt lay pink and moist and open, like a lovely spring flower in full bloom. “Goddess, you’re looking beautiful,” she murmured, her hand speeding up on her clit, “Now do as I do beloved.” The girl began to copy her mother’s motions on her own body, her fingertips massaging her clit in circles, rolling the little bud, pressing hard into herself. She immediately gasped out loud. “Oh my! It’s never felt this good before mother! This is amazing!” “It’s the gift of Maesha darling,” the Queen said, her breath coming in short gasps, “It’s here for us to enjoy. I think we feel it much more strongly then men do. Goddess. I can sometimes do this five or six times in a row.” Mother and daughter watched each other’s pleasure, the garden echoing with their gasps and moans. The queen started them off slow, her finger tips gently rolling her clit, spreading her slick juices over it. Alaera watched her mother closely, doing as she did. The girl’s youthful pussy was soaking wet as it had never been before, her hand slick slick with her own juices as her rubbing fingers massaged this magickal holy spot she was so eager to learn about. “Oh mother,” the girl panted, rubbing faster, her hand almost a blur on her clit, “Oh Goddess. Who taught you this?” “Your grandmother of course. I so wish you could have known her. She taught me sex magic after my first moon, just as I’m doing with you.” The queen moaned aloud and drove two fingers into her cunt, pressing the palm of her hand hard against her clit, rubbing furiously. The princess tried penetrating herself as her mother was doing and moaned at the sensation. The queen stared at her daughter’s fingers, whimpering in pleasure. “Oh my darling baby. You’ve got your fingers up inside your pussy for the first time! That’s so beautiful. Tell mother how it feels? How do you like that?” “It feels good mother. But. . . but too. . . little. I want something bigger.” “Oh, I bet you do. When you’ve mastered this, we’ll have you try a cock inside you. Oh you will love that! I can’t wait to see that my darling. A big cock throbbing in your little pussy. Oh, here it comes. You are so beautiful darling, oh OH!” The woman screamed as her orgasm crashed over her. Just as she crested, her daughter gasped out in turn, “OH WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME!?” the girl screamed as her slender body orgasmed for the first time. She panted, her legs sticking out straight, her body shaking in ecstasy. “You’re cumming my darling. We’re cumming together! Oh yes! Yes. Ahhhh.” She sighed as her hand slowed on her clit, the last pulses of her cum boiling through her. Alaera finished as well, her own rubbing slowing. As she came down, she found her mother’s body over her own, the woman’s naked breasts pressing into her as her mother kissed her on the lips with an intensity she never had before. Alaera kissed her back, gasping for breath, filled with new and exciting feelings. “Oh mother, that was wonderful! I want to do it again!” “We can darling. We can do it as often as we want to. But you have more things to learn about men and about women and yourself.” They cuddled together, naked in the hammock the Queen’s arms around her pretty daughter, holding her close. The hammock swayed between the date palms. Small clouds drifted gently across the sky. Alaera’s eye lids felt heavy, her sweaty body warm against her mother’s the hammock’s slow rocking feeling very safe and soothing. “Mother?” Alaera asked, her hand resting on the Queen’s breast, feeling the Queen’s nipple stiff under her soft fingertips, “when father returns, will you and I do the things we did with Lander with him?” The Queen sighed. “I don’t know darling. It’s not the way of his people. He may not be. . . open to the idea.” “I want to mother. I want to do this with you and father.” “Well then,” the Queen said, kissing her daughter once more on the lips, “We’ll just have to convince him.” CHAPTER 2 On a hard rock in a barren and abandoned place, a kneeling bandit chieftain rested his head and stared back at the ravens with defeat and pain in his eyes. The big, black birds cawed, mockingly, already pecking at the disemboweled bodies of the chieftain’s men, hanging by their arms or ankles from the thorny trees. A few groans and feeble movements showed that some were still alive, though they wouldn’t be for long. The ravens gorged, and quarreled over eyeballs and bits of organ, but would glance sidelong at the chieftain, smart enough to know that soon they would have this one too. He was clad only in a loin cloth, soaked through with his own piss, his wrists and ankles bound with thick hemp ropes. A heavy yoke of oak wood, dry and cracking with splinters, lay chained across his neck, pinning him to the rock. A deep gash across his face exposed one of his cheekbones and it was clotted with dust. Given a few days, the wound would fester, but this man didn’t have even a few minutes. Hewlor Hewit the Lion, King of the Rohr and the Enthressi and the Loso, Liberator and Protector of Losoria, placed the heal of his boot on the chieftain’s temple, pressing the man’s wounded face harder into the cruel stone. Hewlor was a tall man with the physique of a warrior, his naturally pale skin, the mark of colder and more northern climates, was colored bronze by the southern sun and his thick head of golden curls marked him in this country as a northern conqueror, an invader not of the land he had claimed as his own. In spite of the heat, he wore a bronze breastplate and grieves on his arms and legs. His helmet was crafted in the likeness of a lions head, fearsome and roaring, and the rest of his armor was molded to match, imprints of claws and sinew on his arms and legs, fearsome mane coiling up across his breastplate like an extension of his golden beard. In his hand, he held the short, triangular sword of his people, though he had set his heavy wood shield aside. “Chogwa Mug-dal,” the king said steadily, speaking the trade polyglot of the Pargoans, “you are going to die today. The only thing left is for you to decide how. I can behead you. You have my word of honor as a Rohr that it will be swift and clean. Or I can use my sword to spill your guts in the dust, leaving you for the ravens to peck, as my soldiers did with your men. Which one is up to you.” “Mercy! Mercy my lord,” the bandit chieftain begged. “A wise request.” Hewlor said to him, “You seemed to me to be a practical man. Now, your men were equipped with Kemeshite swords and armor. Enough for all of them, plus spares. Where did you get them?” “From. . .from a merchant my lord. A Pargoan. Omsha Dac-ul. I swear it my lord, by the breath of the Sea Himself, I swear it.” “A Pargoan. These are new forged, unmarked by battle, not captured in a raid or stripped from the corpses of soldiers. How did this Dac-ul come by them?” “I don’t know, your merciful majesty, I don’t know.” The King frowned, then nodded. “You probably don’t. How did you pay for them? Gold? Linens? Slaves?” “I didn’t pay sire.” the bandit stammered desperate, “They were. . . they were. . .” “They were what?” “A gift!” screamed the hopeless man, “They were a gift! He only asked that I come to him first with any spoils we took from the Loso.” “A Gift! Pargoan merchants do not give gifts. Do you take me for a fool?” “NO your majesty! PLEASE! It’s the truth. I swear it by the Sea. By the Sea your majesty.” “Very well. I accept this as truth.” Hewlor raised his short sword and his voice, so that all of his war party, Rohr and Loso and Enthressi alike could hear him. “Chogwa Mug-dal, I Hewlor Hewit, King of Losoria, do find you guilty of murder, banditry, conspiracy and rape. For this, I sentence you to die by decapitation. Witness with your own eyes that this sentence is both lenient and merciful. Go to your gods, and tell them of me.” The King brought his short sword down hard and fast. The bandit chieftain screamed, a fearful sound that was cut off as the bronze cut through his neck and thick red blood erupted over the King’s hands. The body, still weighed down by the yoke, piched over and rolled from the stone to lay in the dust. Hewlor seized the head by it’s hair and held it aloft. “Witness now, that this was justice!” the King cried, “For Losoria!” The assembled war party responded, two hundred voices speaking in unison. “For Losoria!” Two hundred voices, three different nations, one Empire, all united. These men, regardless of where they came from, would die for this king without hesitation. Looking over at the pile of arms they had seized from the bandits, the King wondered how soon they might have to. The execution over, the soldiers broke their formation and began to sort through what they had taken. The bandit’s crumbling fortress stood among the thin grasses and thorn trees of the empty scrub land, fifty miles north of the Loso. It was built of sand stone blocks, quarried from the surrounding hills with some crude skill. Clearly hundreds of years old, it resembled a square yellow turtle, sticking up out of the wilderness. Hewlor wondered who had built it. Accompanied by two stern and loyal body guards, the King approached the entrance. His three lieutenants were waiting for him at the archway where once there had been a stout wooden gate, now splinters in the sand. It looked to Hewlor like someone had rammed it down, decades or centuries ago. The bandits had piled some rocks up to make a makeshift barricade, but it had proved comically ineffective against disciplined combat troops. In the meager shade cast by the arch, the three awaited their King. “What have we found?” He called to them as he approached quickly. In spite of his need to keep up appearances, the King was eager for a little shade himself. He stopped by the rocks and had a quick gulp of water from a calfskin flask at his hip. The three glanced at each other. There was one from each of the three nations and all three were trusted and beloved of the King, but even so, they liked to be diplomatic when reporting to him. The cooperation and camaraderie of these three was perhaps his greatest achievement as a monarch; That they sometimes closed ranks against him when they knew he wouldn’t like what they had to say was a sign that he had chosen them well. Almoeverhakaim spoke first, a short, stocky older man, his head was shaved in the manner of a Losorian noble and his expression made him look perpetually worried. “Expected spoils. Things from the missing Zorhan caravans. And Kemeshite weapons, just like the other four we’ve taken this season.” Hewlor grunted, disinterested, “Slaves?” Almo nodded. “Yes sire. About seventy captives.” Tolar spoke up then, his craggy face harsh with anger. “Sire most of them are Loso, probably to be sold to the Pargoans. But some others. . . ” the old man trailed off, his face dark. “What is it?” the King asked. Slavery was a forbidden practice to the Rohr, reviled by their gods, who had given men Freedom. Tolar held a special hatred for it, his wife and daughters having fallen prey to slavers many years ago. Tolar had chosen to march south with Hewlor to fight slavers and he had gotten his chance. If anything, seeing the cruelty the southern slave masters were capable of had further deepened the old man’s hatred. Zohakan picked up the report. The Enthressi as a people held no particular hatred of slavery, except that they themselves had been often subject to it under the yoke of the Priest Kings. Zohakan had been freed when Hewlor had taken Nientar and there was no love lost for slavers in his eyes. “Ten of them are gold or copper hairs from the north. Women and girls all. Probably bound for the markets in Nor. They would have been worth a great deal. “Damn them.” Hewlor muttered, “Where did they come from?” “Maybe from this Omsha Dac-ul that Chogwa Mug-dal spoke of? I suspect if anything our bandit chief was a middle man. But why ask me? You could ask them.” “I think I will. Zohakan with me. Tolar, Almo, inventory the rest of the spoils. I don’t think we brought enough oxen to haul it all back to camp. We’ll have to leave it under guard and call for some supply drivers. See to it.” The two saluted their monarch and went efficiently to work, while Zohakan led Hewlor and his two defenders into the fortress, taking a torch from a sconce near the entrance. The tunnels under the fortress clearly ran deep and Hewlor’s nose could tell the bandits had used some of them as latrines and garbage dumps. But even so, Hewlor knew they were approaching the slave vault when the smell became even more vile. There is a distinctness of intensity that signals to the nose when someone is not simply shitting in a corner, but is also living in the shit. Hewlor knew what to expect, but still he found the condition of the slave vault repulsive and deplorable. It was a comfortless stone room, naked men, women and children chained to walls, moaning. Clearly malnourished and abused, sleeping in the own excrement. Several Rohr warriors were going among them, breaking their chains and offering food and water. When Hewlor entered, cries went up among them in Loso, jubilant. “Thank the gods!” “It is the Liberator!” “Hail to the King!” “Your majesty! You came for us!” sobbed one woman at his feet, “You came. Thank you your majesty.” A young boy simply clasped Hewlor’s foot and wept. Hewlor went among them without hesitation, clasping hands and accepting thanks. He had smelled places like this before and it gratified him to break them open and cast their contents into the light of the sun. He came into the center of the room and stood among them, his powerful voice echoing throughout the chamber. “You are all free to go. In the front are soldiers of the Empire who will see that you are given water and food and sent on your way.” He held up a hand to silence their cries of gratitude, “I hear that there are captive women from the north held here. Where are they?” The throng parted for him and he saw now that behind this den of misery lay another chamber, this one smaller and barred with metal and wood. Chained within were more than a dozen pale north women, naked and dirty. Some were just girls without hint of breasts of pubic hair. They were as malnourished as the others, but it didn’t seem that they had been raped and beaten as some of the Loso clearly had. The girls would be much more valuable in Nor if they were unspoiled, Hewlor knew, and a business man like Chogwa Mug-dal would have seen to it that his men would not touch them. Hewlor peered through the bars at them. The women looked back at him, clearly frightened. Most averted their gaze from his, staring at the stony floor. “I am Hewlor Hewit, the Lion,” he said as kindly as he could, “Do any of you speak Rohr?” They blinked back, uncomprehending. “Vherenkish,” he asked, switching to the tongue of the westermen, “Does anyone speak Vherenkish?” “We do,” said a redheaded girl of about fourteen. Hewlor appraised her speculatively. She looked waifish and underfed but healthy enough. Her pubic hair was as russet as the hair on her head, and her breasts were pert, with pink nipples that reminded the King of tamarind seeds. Pleasing to the eye, if barely older than his own daughter. Then the king blinked in surprise. Chained next to her was the same girl. Same pert nipples, same russet pubic hair, same heart shaped face and sweet eyes. Twins! Godblessed. One of these girls would have been worth her weight in gold to the slavers, but together? A matching pair of nubile red headed sisters? They were priceless! He turned to Zohakan, stunned. “They are twins!” Zohakan’s dark eyebrows shot up. “What?” He stepped up next to the King, amazed. “By the Goddess, you’re right.” The King and his Enthressi lieutenant looked at each other in shock. Zohakan broke the silence first. “There is no way a nobody like Chogwa Mug-dal purchased them for resale. Where could they have come from?” The King switched back to Vherenkish, a tongue he had not spoken since leaving the north and he knew he must sound atrocious. “I am Hewlor Hewit, the King of Losoria. Where from are you?” “Sire,” the girl said solemnly, “we were taken outside Veirstard. Raiders slew our family and put our village to the torch. We were brought over the sea to Thessalie and sold at auction.” “How you come here? What names are yours given?” “Sire, I am Nanail and my sister is Nanorda.” Nanorda frowned at him and crossed her arms over her breasts, clearly less willing to trust him than her sister was. “We are Vheert. You are Rohr. The Rohr are no friends of ours.” “True,” the king said, “For a thousand years have Vheert raided Rohr and Rohr raided Vheert. But you in the South. I the only friend you has. And you as Vheert. You know that the Rohr take no slaves. In my kingdom, you will be free.” Nanail nodded. “We were sold to a Kemeshite prince. We thought he meant for us to be his, but he told us we were to be a gift. He put us on a Pargoan merchant ship and sent us to a smugglers lair along the coast. We were brought here in cage wagons, though the journy took several days.” “I not think,” the King said, “that such gift would be given to Chogwa Mug-dal.” “No sire. We are all here meant for nobles of the city of Nor. My sister and I, we were to be a gift for Moasteralinabar. The Priest King of Nor.” The King nodded, a concerned frown on his face. He turned to Zohakan. “Why, would the Kemeshites be arming bandits along our border? And why would they be gifting these girls to the Priest King of Nor?” Zohakan frowned. “Nor? The girls were going to Nor? Ill tiding sire. I told you, ten years ago, after you had consolidated your power in Losoria that you should have taken all your Rohr and the freed Loso and the Enthressi and marched on Nor. I told you they would not stand to see their brethren in the north overthrown.” “Nor is isolated in the south. Their navy may be fierce, but they cannot raise a big enough army yet to threaten Losoria. And they know my cousin Howlee sits on the throne of Rohl and he has a navy as formidable as theirs.” “And if they were allied with the Kemeshites?” “Well, that would change things.” The King turned back to the girls. “I need know everything of this Kemeshite prince you remember. His name, face, his . . . person. Anything he said about purpose. Why would Pargoans bring you here, instead of take you to Nor by sail? Do you know?” Both girls shook their heads. “Very well. You return with me to Neintar, once you dressed, and eat. We leave soon.” The King turned again to Zohakan. “See that these women are dressed and fed. I will take half the Enthressi and all the Rohr with me and return these two to camp as fast as we can. The rest will remain here to guard the spoils. I’m leaving you in command. Something’s not right.” “Not right?” “Why would the Kemeshites stash the girls here instead of sailing around us to Nor? This is practically on our doorstep. There must be something special about this place. Be careful.” “Very good sire. If I may ask, what are your thoughts about how to deal with Kemesh if it does become allied with Nor?” Hewlor frowned. “A great general of the Rohr once told me, it is easier to take land than to hold it. Ruling Losoria has taught me the wisdom of his words. One way or another, I’ve ignored Nor for too long. You were right ten years ago. We have to deal with them. If Nor is defeated, the Kemeshites will back off.” “Are you sure?” “Nothing’s ever certain in war, Zohakan. But lest I forget, you’ve never fought in one, just witnessed the aftermath. Be ready my friend. We dwell now in the quiet before the tempest.” CHAPTER 3 The soldiers clothed the girls in the same linen skirts they themselves wore and a pair of young men even gave them their own hats of woven straw to ward off the sun. They were fed dry bread and given watered ale to drink and then mounted together on a brown mare, tied behind the King’s own steed. Nanorda sat behind, her arms tight around her sister. Nanail could tell she was afraid, terrified of the soldiers and of the huge Rohr king, so out of place and unexpected in these strange and wild southlands. The king and his reduced war party set out across the desert, the Rohr riding close in around them in a protective circle, the Enthressi horse archers splitting into two groups that covered each flank, riding perhaps 100 yards off to the east and west. The king himself rode in his armor, his lion helm resplendent, his shield ready at his side. Nanail thought him handsome and glorious, like a heroic spirit from the the realm of the gods. As much as she knew Nanorda feared him, Nanail found him fascinating. Riding behind him, she couldn’t shake her sense of glory. She was free of the slavers, free of a future as a captive plaything for the last of Ashu-Hud’s Priest Kings. Her future here might be uncertain, but she couldn’t even bring herself to fear for it. Behind her, Nanorda gradually relaxed as the war party crossed the desert. The afternoon faded to evening and then to night, but the party rode on for several more hours. Nanail felt sore from the horse under her and tired and hungry. The temperature dropped rapidly with sundown and where the day had been unbearably hot, the night became painfully cold. Despite the discomfort, the glory of her rescue faded only a little. Contrastingly, Nanorda was miserable. “How long do you think they’ll make us ride?” she asked. “I don’t know, darling,” Nanail said, trying to sound as reassuring as she could, “but Rohr soldiers cannot ride forever. Sooner or later, they must stop to eat and sleep. We must be near their camp, or they would have stopped at sundown.” “And then what will become of us?” “I bet it can’t be worse then being slaves in Nor.” “But what if the soldiers want to. . .to. . .” “To what, rape us? I don’t think the Rohr king will let them.” “The Rohr king. You think he is handsome. You like him.” Nanorda’s voice was accusing. “What’s that to do with anything?” Nanail asked curtly. “You don’t know anything about him. He’s probably just as horrible as the slavers.” “You don’t know anything about him either. But I bet he’s not.” The party had been steadily climbing upwards and as they reached the crest of a low hill, Nanail smelled smoke and horses and saw the light of dozens of campfires, scattered through a wide valley with hills on both sides. Nanorda tensed again and Nanail could feel her sister’s heart beating faster. She squeezed her sister’s hand, trying again to reassure her. But Nanorda’s worries, at least for that night, were proved to be for naught. The war party was challenged by armed guards at the camp’s borders and the way was hastily cleared for them. The king rode straight for the center of the encampment without delay, stopping before a large but simple tent, it’s only embellishment a pair of embroidered yellow roaring lions, flanking the doorway. The king personally helped the girls dismount, which Nanail found terribly gallant, and ushered them inside, where they found a wooden table, covered in maps drawn on horse hide and weighed down with stones, and also upon it was brown bread and roasted meat and a clay jug. The tent was lit with candles, all burning in bronze bowls, and warmed by a fire in a large bowl in the center. There were rugs, covering the floor, and stools for sitting. A gap in the linen walls seemed to lead into a dark recess which the king pulled back, showing them that on the inside there were cushions and blankets for sleeping. He spread his hands and proclaimed “This all yours!” in his broken Vherenkish. He took the clay jug from off the table and offered it to Nanail. Then he stepped back outside the tent. The jug proved to hold red wine and the food was most welcome. Nanorda let her sister take the first few bites, but once nothing bad happened to her the girl ate like she’d never seen food before. The food was filling and the wine was heady and soon both were gone. The last thing Nanail remembered of that day was falling asleep in bedding that smelled of a king, with her exhausted sister clinging tightly beside her, her head swimming with red wine and her heart exalting in her chest. The girls slept through the night and well into the next morning. When they woke, they found a breakfast of eggs and mutton set out on the table, with fresh goat milk and dry crackers. A heavy bronze tub had been brought in as well, with a roaring lions head cast into the foot, standing upon four clawed bronze lions feet. It was filled with warm water and attended by a middle aged Loso woman weilding a horsehair brush and harsh soap made of alkaline salts and cassia oil. Though they had no common tongue, the intent was obvious, and not unwelcomed. The girls ate and bathed and the woman dressed them in fresh skirts and perfumed them, then departed, summoning four soldiers to carry away the tub. The girls were left alone until midmorning, a boring state of affairs, and one that allowed time for Nanorda to worry herself again. This time about the king, and what he would do to them when he returned. Nanail sighed, frustrated with her sister’s fretting. “Oh listen to you. Would it be so bad if the king did fancy us? At least he’s handsome and strong and not fat and old.” Nanorda frowned at her. “I’d think you almost hope the king does want us.” “Again, would that be so terrible? Perhaps we aught to invite him. We could dance for him, the way we were taught in Thessalie. We could even. . . ” her voice fell to a whisper, “do that thing that Prince Ragdel wanted us to do for the Priest King. The thing he insisted we practice for him. To make sure we did it right.” “Nanail!” Nanorda gasped, shocked. “What? You liked it when I did it for you later that night when he wasn’t there. I know you did. I bet that the king might like to watch. I’ll do it to you. It might be fun having the king watch, instead of an ugly old prince.” Nanorda sat, speechless, gaping at her sister. “What are you saying?” she finally asked, her face red as cooked lobster. “All I’m saying is it wouldn’t hurt to have the king like us. He must already like us a bit, or can’t you tell that this is his tent? He might like us even more if we please him. I’m asking would that really be so bad? We could do a lot worse than handsome kings that look like the God of War,” she giggled, “I bet he has a mighty spear under that armor.” “That you want him to stick you with. Fine. I’ll go along with this plan, but only as long as the king is kind.” “Good.” Nanail smiled, thinking of the possibilities. The girls didn’t have long to wait. The king returned mid morning, no longer in his armor, but dressed in a simple skirt, like them. Nanail’s breath caught as he strode into the tent, the sunlight shining off of his toned warrior’s physique. Along with him came an older Rohr man in fearsome armor and a dark haired Enthressi woman clad in bronze like a soldier and carrying an oval shield and a long straight sword. The girls looked at her in surprise. The king bombarded the girls with questions. About the Kemeshite prince who’d bought them, about their journey to the south, what men had accompanied them, had they seen fortresses, armies encamped? Warships on the sea? What had they been told of Moasteralinabar, the Priest King? Were they to give him any messages? Had other women been sent? Other goods? All the while, the other Rohr man translated their answers into some tongue she’d never heard and the woman wrote down strange symbols using a charcoal stick on cured horse hides. Nanail did her best to answer, although what she knew was very little and she could tell the king was disappointed with it. When he finally seemed satisfied that he knew all they could tell him, he rose. “I thank you for your answers,” he said, frowning. “I apologize, sire, that our knowledge was not greater,” Nanail said to him. “Your answers, more helpful than you know. Still. More questions then answers. You have thanks. You may ask me for a boon, if I can grant it it will be yours.” Nanail’s heart beat faster. “Sire, my sister and I request a private audience with your majesty.” She felt Nanorda’s eyes boring into the back of her head. The king’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed? Very well.” He nodded at his companions. They rose, clearly reluctantly, the woman especially eying Nanail as if she might be some sort of assassin. The king laughed and waved them both out, speaking to them in Loso, as if their concern were a big joke. “I can handle two young girls,” the king said, mirth in his eyes, “What would you have of me?” “Your majesty,” Nanail said, her heart racing, “We wish to dance for you. If it please you.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “As you will. But I am a lord of the Rohr. I am not. . . I do not. . .” he went silent, clearly searching for the word. “Oh, I don’t fear that you want to rape us,” Nanail said, “Besides, would it be rape if we invited you to us? But no, we just wish to dance. We would like you to watch.” Nanail straightened her body, as the slave woman in Thessalie had taught her and extended her right palm. Nanorda stood, pale and shaking, looking at Nanail. Oh come on! She thought silently at her twin. “Nanorda!” she said sharply, and her sister joined her, extending her left hand so the the sisters stood, side by side, palm to palm. There was no music and no drum, so it was hard to keep time, but the king didn’t seem to mind, his eyes tracking the pair intently. The dance was a synchronous and gracefully ripple of the hips, designed to show off their legs and make their breasts bounce and float. The girls performed side by side, stepping back and forth and trading places. The king watched, clearly interested, his eyes seeming to drink in their young, slender bodies. Nanail observed his mounting interest as he watched. Then she decided it was time. On one of the steps, as Nanail passed behind her sister, she whispered “By the realm of the gods, keep dancing!” Then she dropped her hands to Nanorda’s hips and removed the pin that held her twin’s skirt in place. Nanorda, pale and sweaty, took it in a stride and continued the dance steps, even as the linen fell in a pool on the floor of the tent. Nanail heard the king gasp as he took in her sister’s swaying hips and the russet colored fur on her mound. Then Nanail got a surprise. As she passed in front, her sister mimicked her action, dropping Nanail’s skirt onto the rug below. Nanail tried not to smile as she continued to dance, but she took the opportunity to rise into a quick leg lift, giving the watching king a glimpse of wet, pink lips between her legs. Again to her surprise, Nanorda did the same move. The king was breathing hard and shifting on his stool. Nanail could see the rising bulge under his skirt. She’d never felt so wet or empty between her legs in her young life. She felt it was time to move to the next stage of her plan. She dropped into the bow that ended the dance and returned to the original standing position that began it, except now she stood on the right and Nanorda on the left. The Pargoan choreographer had thought that touch delightful, since unless one had followed the dance closely it was not remotely obvious which girl was which. The king sat completely still as if mesmerized, waiting to see what the girls would do next. It was a very short wait. Nanail broke from her sisters side, stepped behind her, reached her hands around and began to fondle her sister’s tits. Nanorda gasped out loud, leaning back into Nanails body. Nanail dropped one hand to her sister’s crotch and began to stroke her clit. She found Nanorda’s cunny as wet as her own and both sisters gasped aloud at the contact. You little minx, she thought at her sister, you’re far more interested than you would ever admit. Through it all, the king sat silent, watching amazed. Nanail, breathing hard, pulled her sister back onto a stool, sat her down and spun her to face him, spreading her sister’s legs apart and reaching her hands down to hold her sister’s pussy open. The pink inner lips were flushed, wet and drooling with arousal. Nanail held them open, showing off her sister’s charms. The king stared, devouring the girls with his eyes as Nanail moved to rubbing Nanorda’s clit with her finger tips, making circles over her sister's slick vaginal lips. His mouth hung open as he watched the nubile girl being masturbated by her twin, the small, delicate fingers twirling sensuously over the sensitive flesh. Nanorda herself began to moan and gasp as her sister’s fingers rubbed against her body. When she had her sister panting, pussy flowin like a river, flexing her hips to try to grind the probing fingers harder into herself, Nanail stepped around in front of her. She dropped her head to Nanorda’s cunt and licked her tongue through it, from her pussy hole to her clit. Nanorda moaned loudly and her thighs squeezed her sister’s head. “By the gods, she’s as wet as the ocean!” Nanail said, glancing over her shoulder at the king. She knew that he was getting a great view of her round little ass and when she bent over, he’d see her pink little cunt drooling at him as well. “I think I am too, your majesty.” Nanail went back to licking. Nanorda began to moan loudly as her sister lapped eagerly at her clit, starting with slow, quick licks right under the little nub and then beginning to speed up. Suddenly, the moans changed to little squeals and Nanorda’s hands gripped her sister’s hair hard, pushing her twin’s face harder into her slit. Then the hands released her. “Wind and sea!” gasped Nanorda, “Look at that!” When Nanail glanced back again, she saw that the king had removed his skirt and was slowly stroking his long, hard cock, at least eight inches. She smiled at him and buried her face back into her sister’s pussy. As she continued to lick, she heard the king rise and move behind her. “Be gentle with my sister,” Nanorda said forcibly, “she’s not had a man in there before. Not ever.” Nanail felt something hard and warm stroke against the wetness of her pussy and realized it was the head of the kings’ cock, rubbing against her. She moaned in ecstasy as she felt it rub against her clit, as the king stroked it up and down through the furrow of her sex, collecting the copious moisture she was leaking onto the head. She felt it start to slide in, then out to stroke against her clit again, then back in, more forcibly, a little farther, then out again. “Do it!” Nanorda hissed, “She’s wanted you to since you saved us from the slavers. She’s wanted to be speared on your body so badly. Do it! Push it in her. Fuck her. Make her a woman! Oh gods! Oh Nanail, lick me! Oh gods!” The king did as she said and on the next stroke, Nanail felt him enter her, ripping through her virginity and plunging deep inside until the head bumped up against her cervix. She screamed into her sisters’ pussy in mingled pain and rapture, screamed so loud and long she though she might pass out. She felt Nanorda cumming on her tongue, clearly set off watching her sister get fucked for the first time by the King of Losoria. The first time, not, Nanail vowed to herself, the last. As Nanorda finished her orgasm and pushed herself and the chair back away, Nanail dropped her arms and pillowed her head in them, feeling the king begin a slow, grinding rythm against her ass, his balls bumping into her clit. She gave soft little moans and whimpers as the king fucked her, reveling in the feeling of his cock in her body. Nanorda walked around and pressed her body up behind the king, rubbing her little tits on his back, running her hands over the muscles of his chest and abdomen. “Fuck her good,” she whispered to him. “Fuck my sister good. She loves it. Look at her.” Nanail did love it. Each thrust of his cock inside her felt like it would split her in two with the pleasure of it. She reached one hand back and rubbed circles over her clit, gasping in wonder at the amazing new feeling of having a man inside her. The king fucked her with sold, rapid thrusts, pounding her, slapping his balls against her masturbating fingers each time he bottomed out in her pubescent vagina. Nanorda knelt beside the coupled pair, her own fingers dancing between her legs, openly masturbating as she watched her sister get fucked. Nanail turned her head to watch, seeing her darling sister mashing her fingers down hard on her drooling sex, rolling her clit under her finger tips. The king was also gazing back and forth, alternating between watching his cock spear into Nanail’s young cunt and staring at her twin’s busy fingers wildly rubbing on her own virgin pussy. Nanorda, for her part, was focused on the point where the king’s prick entered her twin’s body. Focused like her life depended on it. Her body tensed up and relaxed, her breath coming in little gasps. “Fuck my sister,” she hissed, her rubbing fingers driving after another orgasm, her girl juices drooling out of her hungry pussy onto the woven carpets. “Oh gods! That’s exactly what it would look like if you were fucking me.” None of them lasted long, the stimulation from the girl’s show had aroused all three of them to extreme heights. Nanail felt the king push his cock all the way up inside her, grinding against her ass as he pushed into her as deep as he could and she felt even wetter as his seed erupted into her. She pressed down hard on her own clit and came like a wild woman, thrashing her hips, biting her own arm so hard, she left teeth marks. At the same time, Nanorda came again, grinding against her own hand and groaning loadly. As she came down from her climax, she felt the king continue to thrust inside her, churning the cum he’d filled her with into a pinkish white froth as it mixed with her virginal blood. He breathed hard and heavy, his sharp blue eyes rolled back in his head. Finally, he pulled out and collapsed backwards, as Nanorda guided him down onto the stool he’d been sitting on earlier. “That was just what she wanted,” she said told him, “Thank you for being gentle. Maybe next time, I’ll let you fuck me.”