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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Dragon Sweat: Scroll III
by David Shaw (david@f-e-mail.com)
***
Ever dreamed of bumping into the girl of your dreams...
three inches off the floor? (MF, fantasy)
***
Not all the guards had been left behind in the barn.
Two were at the far side of the drawbridge, gaping up
at Josephine and the intriguing shape of the naked
woman holding onto the dragon's claw. The view of the
witch's buttocks was well worth squinting into the
setting sun to see. The sort of scenery guaranteed to
make a man feel that the Gods were feasting and all was
right with the world. The guards were completely
distracted -- not to mention dumbfounded. So Hal had a
few precious seconds to give orders to Caelia and
Chelinde before they were noticed: "Run up close to the
one on the left and push him into the moat, and then
both of you run inside the castle."
The girls had to work as a team, only the two of them
together had a chance of sending a fully grown man
toppling over the edge of the drawbridge. But that left
Hal to deal with the other sentry, and bare handed at
that -- well, bare everything. All he could do was to
pick up a couple of large stones from the side of the
road and then dash onto the drawbridge behind the
sisters. Who got about halfway across before they were
noticed. Noticed by one of the two soldiers, anyway.
Hal could see the totally incredulous look on the
guard's face as he lowered his eyes from Morgana's
sunlight uplands to find himself even further into a
world gone mad -- not enough to have bare arsed witches
on broken broomsticks being towed around by dragons,
now he was being charged by two naked girls, a boy as
lean-ribbed as a skinned rabbit and... a goblin. A
goblin proudly displaying a prick so long and loose
that it was in danger of picking up splinters from the
drawbridge planks underfoot.
Fortunately the King's Guardsmen had been taught how to
deal with this sort of situation. It was the way they'd
been taught to deal with every situation that came up
on sentry duty: the soldier presented his spear and
shouted: "Halt! Who goes there? Friend or foe?"
Which, Hal thought briefly, was a fucking silly
question: who was going to yell back 'Foe'? So he
shouted "Friends."
It had been the soldier on the right side of the
drawbridge who had challenged: the one on the left was
still half lost in dreams of tying Morgana's stripped
body to a stake and then lighting her fire. A disturbed
state of mind stirred up even further by the onrushing
approach of a double pair of well developed young
bubbies swinging and swaying towards him with nothing
covering them except a scattering of freckles. The
soldier should have prepared himself to fight; he would
have, except that most men want to be friends with
every pair of self supporting tits they meet,
especially uncovered ones. And the guard paid the usual
male price for his weakness as Chelinde and Caelia
rammed their opened hands against his chest and dropped
him into the shit.
The teat fancier staggered back completely off balance,
swayed on the edge of the drawbridge, and then fell off
it into the shallow edge of the moat. Shallow or deep,
it smelt no better, but at least he was lucky enough to
be able to wade ashore by the castle wall. Not that
anybody cared about him anyway. It was his comrade, the
one with the leveled spear, who was the problem now. He
made a lunge at the girls but they were already past
him so he aimed his next thrust at Hal instead.
Hal skipped back and threw his stone as hard as he
could at the sentry's head. It wasn't a very effective
throw as the stone hit the man's helmet on the side and
glanced off without having any apparent effect on him.
In retaliation the soldier jabbed at Hal with the clear
intention of spitting the boy like a suckling pig ready
for roasting. The only thing which saved his young life
was that the sisters came back at the sentry from one
side, yelling and squealing and shaking their tits at
the soldier with their hands cupped up underneath the
tempting poonts. It was a brave and inspired thing for
the girls to do, and it distracted the man enough for
his glittering spear point to graze the side of Hal's
hip instead of piecing the boy's belly. Hal hurled the
stone in his left hand, aiming it at the guard's knees
and missing completely. The sentry recovered his
balance, went forward on one foot to lunge again -- and
a hawk with outstretched talons came stooping down out
of the sky
, apparently intent on tearing the soldier's eyes out.
The sentry flung up one arm to protect his face, Hal
grabbed the extended spear, pushed at as if he was
pinning a sheaf of hay with a pitchfork and the man
holding the blunt end was forced to take a step
backwards onto empty air. As he fell down the end of
the spear shot up fast enough to almost break Hal's
arms and to slice his nose off as well. It wasn't so
much a case of Hal letting go of the spear as leaping
away from it like a terrified animal.
"Aaaah..." Splash. Two sentries down among the
turds.
"Look out, Hal, the King!"
"Huh!"
"Run, Hal, run!"
It was a never ending nightmare. Both guards disposed
of, the entrance to the castle wide open in front of
them and King Argud was already on the drawbridge,
shouting with fury and waving the royal sword over his
head: a sword that few men would have been able to lift
off the ground with both hands. The girls fled into the
castle, Hal ran through the entrance after them, and
the goblin . . . well the goblin had disappeared from
sight, unless you counted that timely intervening hawk,
which must be his -- its -- latest transformation. Hal
wished he had the power to turn himself into something
with wings: right now he'd happily settle for becoming
a blow fly. Because there was nowhere to hide from the
mad monarch -- shit!
Stretched down the right hand side of the gateway
against the stone wall was a rope under tension. The
end of the rope was looped around a wooden becket,
thrice knotted to keep it secure, and hanging from a
hook on the wall next to the becket was a small hand
axe. Everybody who lived in the castle had seen the
Guardsmen regularly practicing their emergency
procedure with the rope and everybody knew what
happened when it was cut. Hal grabbed the axe and took
it from the hook underneath the warning notice: 'ACCESS
DENIAL! AUTHORIZED USERS ONLY! CLEAR AREA BEFORE
USING!'
No need to worry about that, there was only one thing
moving in the area, a huge demented figure only a few
steps away, glaring at Hal through blood red eyes. The
boy slashed at the rope desperately, the keen edge of
the hand axe sliced through the rope strands and a
clattering noise overhead so loud that both Hal and the
King leapt backwards as the huge iron portcullis
slammed down into the row of holes it had already worn
in the granite flagstones, this new impact sending
fresh chips of stone flying from the pointed tips at
the bottom level of the grating.
Hal was done for, utterly exhausted and utterly
uncaring about whatever might happen now. He set his
back against the wall and slid down until he was
sitting just beyond reach of the portcullis. He didn't
even move as King Argud came up, dropped his sword and
leaned forward with both of his huge hands gripping two
of the portcullis bars, puffing and gasping like a over
ridden stallion. The boy and the man stared at each
other through the iron grid as if unsure of what had
brought them to this situation. Then their ears were
rattled by a thunderclap and Hal looked to his right to
see streaks of red and gold flames shooting out of the
top of Gaunt Gregory's Dark Tower.
"W... what's happ...ening... boy?"
"Light...ing. In... Gregory's tower. 'Tis the witch...
and the warlock... fighting."
"Curse... all... sorcerers."
Chelinde and Caelia seemed to have disappeared
somewhere, probably hiding from all the evil spells
that were being thrown around the castle and Morgana's
familiar had presumably flown off to help his mistress
in her battle with Gaunt Gregory. The King and Hal kept
sucking in deep breaths until they could talk freely.
The noises from the tower continued to bounce around
the castle's interior like the clash of giants'
hammers. King Argud eyed Hal balefully.
"Boy, why did you hit Clint O' The East Wood and run
away?"
Hal answered truthfully: "I don't know. I think I was
made to do it by the witch."
King Argud seemed puzzled: "But she swore to be your
slave."
"If she is, she may do what I tell her, but I suppose
she can still do whatever I don't tell her not to."
The King's brows wrinkled in furrows as he thought this
through, but he eventually nodded: "Damn all
sorcerers," he said again. "The only way to deal with
those foul scum is to sic lawyers onto them. Rats fear
nothing but bigger rats."
The castle court yard echoed to a long drawn out howl
of anguish which fell out into a series of heart
rending sobs, and then died away altogether.
"One of them is down and out, for sure," the King said
in somber tones. "If it's the witch, all my plans to
become Emperor of Tiberia are rendered naught. And if
it's Gregory, mayhap my life and kingdom are gone too -
- unless you can still control Morgana, my Duke
Merlinus. By Rhiannon, look at these idiots coming
along half a day late!"
The King's guards had finally emerged from the mad lust
of the dragon sweat laced steam they'd inhaled. Now
they were arriving in a kind of bowlegged half rush,
some still clutching their sore cods and gallions,
others holding up their torn breeches, looking like
nothing more than a gang of sheep shearers who had just
fornicated away a season's wages in a single bout of
debauchery.
The mob of guards stopped moving instantly when the
King bellowed at them to stay at the other end of the
drawbridge. The odd thing was the way all the soldiers
seemed to avoid looking at each other, as if they were
all deeply ashamed of themselves.
"Well, boy, if you were bewitched, you were not the
only one that the bitch witch drove mad. Those knaves
were sent cunt struck by her spells -- when the girls
ran away my fighting men were so desperate to tup they
were fucking each other up the arse, turn and turn
about, like a pack of mummers and actors. Who could
have believed that any witch could have cast a spell
like that over my own bodyguards?"
Hal blinked and swallowed. Surely the old monster must
have realized that it was the steam that Josephine had
brewed up which had sent his men cock mad? Hadn't any
one of these fools realized that he and Josephine were
the ones responsible for all the mad lusting? Had
nobody else ever even heard about the irresistible cock
stiffening elixir which seeped from underneath a
dragon's wings? Well, if nobody had yet realized the
truth he had best speak of other matters.
"Your Majesty -- you said you had plans for me. Believe
me, I am your loyal subject. What is it you wish of
me?"
The King nodded and himself sat down on the other side
of the portcullis, settling his own back against the
gateway wall: "'Tis simple enough, boy. I would be
Emperor, but I rule nothing more than a small mountain
kingdom. To defeat the Imperial legions I need a pack
of dragons like the one you found. But how can I breed
dragons when I have only a female? No one knows if
there be any other dragons left in the world, and if
there are, where they might be. But perhaps your female
can find a mate for herself when no one else can. And
since she answers only your commands, I have decided to
send both of you out into the world to seek out a mate
for your pet."
"But -- but the witch, Morgana le Faye? What of her?"
"Boy, I can proclaim you a Duke easily enough, but 'tis
not so easy to make a royal ambassador out of a shit
smelling whelp without even the learning to sign his
own name. So, the witch was meant to go with you, as
protector and guide, aye, and teacher too. She has been
promised that if she finds me my dragons and makes me
the Emperor I will give her half of the Empire as a
reward. And so might all have turned out had you not
played the fool in your dragon's riding net with the
Master-At-Arm's daughters."
It was on the tip of Hal's tongue to reply that had
anybody told him what was being planned then nothing
would have gone astray anyway. He even thought of
asking what reward the King intended for Duke Merlinus
should he return to Giant's Pass with a litter of
dragonets. But caution bade him say naught of such
things. For if Morgana had been defeated in the Tower,
then Duke Merlinus would probably become Hal O'The
Shitbuckets again right quickly and revert once more to
his privy emptying chores.
At the very thought of that tears began stinging his
eyes -- and, strangely -- not only for his own fate but
for Morgana's as well. Cruel, haughty, frightening . .
. yes, she was all of those things but she'd also been
a kind of female he'd never imagined possible until
he'd seen her pride and her strength, both of mind and
body -- especially body. Whether from Asgard or Hell,
the witch had been something absolutely apart from all
normal life: she had given him a glimpse of a world
even vaster and more exciting than anything he'd ever
seen aloft with Josephine. If Gregory had killed or
imprisoned Morgana that world and her fascinating
womanhood had gone from his ken forever. All that
remained was to be left in the service of this evil
King who ruled by treachery, butchery and torture.
"Well, my young Duke, you'd best go and spy out the
land. See what's befallen in Gregory's tower, find out
who's vanquished, and who's victorious."
Hal gaped at the King in shock: for as long as his
memory had recall no one save Gregory himself had ever
gone into the Forbidden Tower. No one else, not even
the King, had ever dared to invade the warlock's
sanctuary.
"Go into the Forbidden Tower, your Majesty?" he
quavered.
Ancient rumors insisted that the Ice Landers themselves
could provide no worse punishments than a angry wizard
-- and if there was one certain fact in this world gone
mad, it was that by now Gaunt Gregory was either dead
or very, very angry. Though the stories also said that
magicians were never killed in battle, not even by
better magicians: the worse fate that could befall them
was imprisonment in some kind of sorcery sealed trap,
there to howl out their anguish until the evil day when
some foolish mortal unwittingly loosed them into the
world again.
The King growled angrily: "Of course, into the tower,
boy. Mayhap witch and warlock have both destroyed each
other like two spurred fighting cocks. Go and see
what's happened. Then bring some of the servants out of
their hiding holes and raise this portcullis again. Be
of good cheer, young Duke, my anger is past and I will
not harm you."
Hal believed the King as much as he would have believed
a cuckoo singing on mid-winter's eve. Yet it mattered
little, because if he went into that tower without
leave there would probably be little enough left him
afterwards for the King to do aught with. But if he
didn't do as he was told then it was surely the spike
in the market place for him. A thought to make
anybody's arse muscles tighten as hard as walnut
shells. Mayhap he should never have wished to be
anything else than a jakes emptier: why, in a year or
so he could have been promoted to being the night shift
shite porter.
"Yes, your Majesty, I'll go and look."
Hal glanced up at arrow slits in the corner tower and
at the wisps of greasy black smoke drifting out of
them. Then he hauled himself back on his weary legs and
trudged across the courtyard towards Gregory's
sanctuary. There were glimpses of white faces fearfully
peering around corners and from almost closed doors,
but Hal ignored them. He'd almost forgotten that he was
naked, and cared nothing about it. After the sort of
day he'd already endured having to walk through the
castle bailey in his nakedness was a trifle -- and then
there was a comforting rustle of leathery wings from
overhead as Josephine dropped into the courtyard like a
falling leaf, raising one wing and then another as she
skidded back and forth between the high walls before
landing with a clatter of claws against cobblestones.
It was as neatly done as a swallow swooping up to a
nest underneath the eaves. Hal ran towards the dragon
to put his arms around her neck: first, last and
always, she was his only friend, and the vivid flashes
of color which ran around Josephine's body showed that
his affection was returned in full measure.
Moreover, in his pleasure at being reunited with his
pet, Hal suddenly realized that he didn't have to go
into that accursed tower now. Mayhap the magicians were
too injured or weak from fighting each other to
interfere if he and Josephine should make an escape. He
tried to work out his plans as quickly as he could.
Perhaps the dragon could fly again out of this narrow
place, perhaps not, and probably not if hampered with
his weight. But that mattered for nothing because both
of them could run up the stairs which led to the
battlements. And if the Josephine's spikes stopped him
from riding on her back, he could at least cling to her
neck while she launched herself from the walls,
overflew the moat and landed him on the other side.
Then, into the forest, and he would run as never before
with Josephine circling the treetops above him -- and
it would be a brave soldier indeed who risked her
fireballs to come in pursuit
Yes, it would work, but if it were to be done, it were
best to be done quickly, with the King's entrance still
barred by the portcullis and the sorcerers still locked
in mortal combat.
"My lady, come, follow --"
There was a sound like a whip a league long cracking
its tip: white lights swirled in a circle at the base
of the Forbidden Tower, spreading outwards. And where
they spun the massive foundation stones turned to dust,
trickling down as if spilled from some giant hourglass.
Then the lights vanished in the flicker of an eyelash,
the castle was deathly quiet again and Morgana was
stepping out through the hole which had appeared in the
bottom of the Forbidden Tower.
Morgana, the winner of the duel, that was obvious,
triumph in every line of her bearing and appearance.
Her hair was neatly combed, every speck of dirt had
gone from her face, and her body was tightly wrapped in
a white robe which somehow went around her stunning
form in several different directions but still managed
to leave Morgana completely bare from her toes to the
tops of her shapely legs. A gasp echoed around the
courtyard from the onlookers: both sexes were shocked,
the women were scandalized, and every watching male
knew instantly why even a shriveled up old man like
Gregory had been unable to concentrate on his spells
with such a sight to distract him.
The only watcher who didn't care less about the
alluring display was Josephine: vivid primary colors
flared across her throat pouches, clear signs of
renewed anger to anybody who could read her body
language. Hal had never realized before how long
resentment could linger in a dragon's breast when
somebody really provoked it. Josephine was ready to
roast Morgana at the drop of a claw.
"Nay, my lady, nay, no disputation now, I beg. Give me
time to think and all will be for the best, I promise."
The colors faded, though not as quickly as they had
appeared. Still, Josephine seemed willing to be
restrained by Hal yet awhile. As for Morgana, she
walked directly towards him holding a piece of cloth in
front of her, a shimmering piece of black cloth
decorated with stars, suns and all kinds of magical
talismans. Hal's heart leapt in his mouth as he saw
that it was Gaunt Gregory's own gown of sorcery.
Something the warlock would have parted with as
willingly as a wild sow would have moved aside to let a
fox eat her litter.
Incredibly, the witch bowed like a courtier before
kneeling down on one knee in front of the boy. Her
hands proffered up the gown to him, as though she was a
squire yielding a fallen knight's shield to a newly
triumphant champion. But not yet held so high up that
it obscured his view of her magnificent breasts
fighting each other for breathing space at the top of
the tightly knotted robe.
"Master, I have rendered that miserable warlock as
helpless as an infant. If we but find time to complete
the chains on his sorcery as they should be done, he
will be bound for years beyond counting."
"Good... ah, yes... good." Hal tried to think
which of the questions beyond counting in his own head
he should ask first. "But if Gregory is defeated, why
are you still calling me master? Surely that promise
you made no longer matters?"
She lifted her head to look up at him, her eyes as
empty of emotion as a cat's: "Nay, master, I gave my
word and sealed it by an oath which would rob me of all
my powers if ever if I should break it. The only way I
can return to the freedom I had is if you release me
from that bargain. But the Great Ones must know that
you do so through no compulsion of mine, or... or I
am thrown forever into the Abyss."
"Oh." Hal felt stunned and picked his words with care:
"Then I order you to never again use your spells again
to make me do something I didn't want to."
"I understand your order, master. But I have never yet
made you do something against your own nature."
Hal scratched the back of his head: "That can't be
right. In the barn..."
An angry voice swept through the gate like a rampant
bull's bellowing, reverberating back and forth from the
castle walls: "Come here, boy, and wind this portcullis
up!" The King was clearly impatient at having to tarry
outside his own castle like a wandering tinker.
"Witch -- Morgana," Hal spoke quickly. "I must let the
King in. T'would offend him to see you kneeling for one
of his subjects but not to him. Behave towards me for
now as no more than a..."
Hal wasn't sure of what he was trying to say because he
wasn't sure how he wanted Morgana to treat him. The
brief moments of power he'd already had over her had
whetted his appetite for more of the same. But there
was only one real master in this castle and that was
the King.
"You mean, perhaps, I should behave as a dutiful and
obedient maid servant who quickly kneels for her master
when he feels the need for her mouth?" She looked
directly at Hal's nakedness and ran the tip of her
tongue around her pouting lips. It was sight enough to
make any man's -- or boy's -- toes curl.
Another bellow from the King overrode any answer Hal
could have made, even if he'd had the wit to think of
one, which he hadn't. Nor did he need to, for the
effect of her words was already plain to her and would
soon be clear to all the watchers unless he could
somehow prevent his uncovered flesh hardening further.
He quickly turned to walk towards the portcullis and
away from Morgana's temptations. But her urgently
spoken words found his ears:
"Master, I ask you, pause and consider. Why should you
obey that fat fool? Let him stay out there until his
boots turn green."
"But he's the King!"
Morgana sneered: "Only since he killed the last bandit
chief who glorified this miserable valley with the
title of a kingdom. And now he's on the outside with
his guards and you're inside his castle -- inside his
moat and his castle walls with a witch and a dragon at
your command. Why be a duke when you can be a prince?
Or perhaps something even better?"
Hal gaped at her, then around the bailey yard as if the
castle was a vision newly sprung out of the ground: the
ancient walls, the decaying towers, the faces of the
servants cautiously peering out of doorways and through
arrow slits, gaping at this bare arsed boy who dared to
keep King Argud waiting.
"A prince, you say? Or something even better than a
prince?"
Hal wondered how it was possible for him to be asleep
long enough to be dreaming such a long drawn out
fantasy. And would he be able to remember it all when
he was awake and emptying the jakes again? He hoped so,
because he'd need all the laughs he could get by then.
When he looked down at Morgana again he was so
distraught that this time the deep divide between her
udders might as well have been a rat hole for all the
interest he could spare for it.
"Master, I found yonder warlock casting a horoscope.
There are powerful matters afoot here, matters which
have roots far beyond the mortal world. The runes
Gregory were casting showed the name the King gave to
you, my Master. I think that the warlock told him to
select the title of Duke Merlinus instead of Merdinus
because he foresaw into the future to divine your
fortune and to advise the King as to your chances of
success in finding another dragon. But what should have
been a small ray of candlelight sent out into the
darkness has lit some great beacon which will blaze
like a flaming comet in the years to come. With the
wizard imprisoned I threw the stones again, but with
far greater skill than Gregory was ever capable of
doing. I have discarded the dross and kept the gold, or
so I perceive. Now I would test it with this robe."
Hal held his hands apart and shrugged his shoulders: "I
understand nothing of what you say."
Morgana's eyes flashed: "Then let me show you!"
Her hands flew up and so did the robe, spreading itself
out and then hanging in the air above Hal's head as
though pegged to an invisible washing line.
"Open this portcullis or I'll split..."
The roar of outraged royalty died in the King's throat
as Gregory's robe stayed where it was, like a hovering
eagle, with its edges fluttering gently in the breeze.
Hal stared up at it, slack jawed, listening to
Morgana's urgent words.
"Master, that garment is a symbol of powerful magic,
handed down from wizard to wizard as each is proved
worthy of the sorcerer's craft. If any ordinary mortal
dared to touch it, let alone wear it, the result would
be an agony worse than boiling lead. But the signs in
that sorcerer's horoscope show that you are one of the
chosen, one of those permitted to learn from the Great
Ones. If I have read the truth aright, raise your arms
above your head and we will see if the robe will settle
on your body without causing harm."
Hal stood motionless, struck anew with fear. Not enough
to have a King berserk with anger at him, not enough to
be made unwilling master of the most evil witch between
mountains and far distant seas, now he was being
invited to meddle with sorcery, well known as the most
dangerous thing any mortal could dare. Only the
cleverest, bravest and most cunning of mortals risked
bringing down occult curses on their heads, and only
such vainglorious idiots would run such perils for the
very heights of power and wealth. Hal had no such
vaunting ambitions: well, he had, but all he really
cared about was not having to empty shite pots anymore
and to be free to fly in the sky with Josephine. No, he
wanted no part of any wizardry, and he especially
wanted no part of anything that had belonged to Gaunt
Gregory, not for any temptation.
His gaze flickered from side to side, again seeking
escape. A row of figures had appeared on the ramparts
of the Great Tower, the tower where Argud and his most
powerful subjects lived, the high and mighty nobles who
knew and cared no more of Hal than they did of any
other peasant. And with them were their snobbish wives
who'd made his life a misery, and also, of course, the
well born sons who'd so often pushed his head down one
of the shit pots whenever they'd felt like it.
But Hal's attention was not on them but on the lace
capped high bred girls, the daughters of all those
privileged families who'd treated him as an animal --
no, even less than an animal, as something dirtier and
stupider than a dog or a hog. Unlike Caelia and
Chelinde those sneering chits up there had never
deigned to speak a fair word to him, had never even
looked in his direction except by accident and then
immediately turned their faces away from his filthy
rags with obvious disgust. But now they were looking,
by Gwal, and only the father of the Gods himself could
know what they must be thinking as they tried to
understand the incredible scene below. A beautiful and
barely dressed woman with supernatural powers kneeling
before a naked urchin of a shithouse cleaner, offering
up to him the very robe of the greatest wizard within a
month's ride. Where, they must be wondering, was Gaunt
Gregory? And how dare this boy and woman leave the King
himself ignored and unheeded at his own castle gates?
Hal suddenly knew the iron truth buried beneath the
softness of his skin: he would fry in that robe before
he'd turn coward in the sight to those fucking nobles
and their bastard bred families! His arms went up and
he stared the witch straight in the eyes, something
he'd never before dared to do.
"Give me the robe, witch."
"You are ready, Master?"
"Aye, ready."
The magicians robe swirled down to engulf him, around
his arms, down over his shoulders, unrolling down the
length of his body and beyond: Hal cursed at his own
stupidity, for the robe was piling up around his ankles
because he was so much shorter than Gregory, so all
he'd done was to make a scarecrow of himself in front
of all the watchers. And then he felt the first touch
of the forces held within the robe -- a blue radiance
surrounded him, like an instantly rising marsh mist,
the smell of lava pits was in his nostrils and he
waited for his flesh to be seared off his bones. Yet
instead of hot coals on his skin he felt something
almost as frightening, a sensation as though every ant
in the forest had suddenly crowded together on his body
to cover him in tiny claws -- and then that sensation
also vanished as the blue halo around him faded like a
doused candle. He seemed to be unharmed by what had
happened, unharmed and unchanged. Not so the robe
though, for somehow it had changed its length to fit him
perfectly, the hem of the garment now hanging at a
comfortable level halfway down Hal's thighs. Yet
strangest of all was the touch of it on him, light and
warm, as smooth and pleasant as the strokes of a girl's
loving hands.
"By Gwal and Clud!" He raised his stupefied face toward
Morgana's. "You did that?"
Morgana seemed almost as surprised as Hal himself. "No,
not I. The robe it was which yielded and molded itself
to your desires. There is much mystery here and I see
now that the Great Ones have bound our destinies for
some purpose. I have no choice but to accept you as an
acolyte in the mystic arts and help you become an
Adept, if so the Great Ones decree your fate."
"An acolyte?"
There was a roar of outrage as the King recovered from
the shock of seeing Hal wearing Gregory's robe. The
castle's ruler clenched the bars of the portcullis as
if he could shake the tons of iron grating loose from
the gateway. Morgana raised a hand and flicked it in
his direction as casually as if shaking drops of water
from her fingers. Sparks flew up and along the bars the
King was clutching, the bars glowed red hot and cooled
again as quickly as cinders dropped into a puddle, King
Argud screamed like a ravished woman and reeled
backwards, holding up blackened stumps at the ends of
his arms. Morgana didn't even glance in the direction
of the ruined monarch's agony and Hal knew yet again
the stomach curdling fear of their first meeting. This
female who could so rouse his youthful blood was more
dangerous than a pack of winter starved wolves. She
continued speaking as if nothing at all had happened.
"An acolyte, a novitiate in the magical arts. It means
that you would become my apprentice in all matters of
spells and sorcery. And in all such matters my duties
as teacher of the mysteries would overreach my promise
to obey you. No novice performs magic or casts spells
without permission of the instructing Adept. Do you
understand and accept those conditions?"
The boy felt like screaming as loudly as Argud was
doing. All he wanted to do was to get out of this
castle, to fly away with Josephine, away from rulers
and torturers and soldiers and mad magicians, and
especially away from this beautifully beguiling witch
and her bloodlust. But his chance hadn't come and now
she wanted him to bind his cringing soul to the black
arts, to dark forces no sane soul would ever willingly
interfere with. Yet, as ever, what choice did he have
but to yield to circumstances? Choice! Ever since
Morgana had appeared alongside his riding net on her
broomstick he'd had no more choice in where he was
going than a fallen leaf blown along by a gale.
But even in his fear a shining thought had suddenly
risen in his mind like a gleaming salmon seen through
dark waters. For one thing at least he knew, and that
was that anybody having any association at all with
sorcery was regarded with awesome respect by all non-
magicians. No, whilst Hal was wearing this robe nobody
would dare to scorn him as they had scorned Hal the
turd collector. Certainly nobody who had just seen what
an unleashed spell had done to King Argud.
"I understand and accept all the conditions for being
an your acolyte and will obey any command you give me
as my teacher," he said firmly.
"Then I name you as the novitiate Merlinus . . ." Her
voice broke off as the bird shaped familiar above them
screeched and stooped down low over her head. Then
Morgana nodded, as if understanding.
"So, it's no accident that Ymir has shape changed to a
hawk's form, nor that it is a merlin's. The Great Ones
send me a message that I must do as they command, and
that you shall not be called Merlinus but Merlin. So be
it, I name you my apprentice in the deepest mysteries,
to be known to all in the realms of sorcery as the
wizard Merlin, the beholden and nominated of Morgana le
Fay."
Merlin! Of all the stupid names! A wizard named after a
bird, and not even a very big one; Morgana might as
well have called him sparrow or starling. She tapped
him on both shoulders with her long fingers. Again he
felt the same hidden rush of power as when he seized
hold of the broomstick. Only this time it seemed to be
coming out from within his own body, out and into the
witch, and he swayed on his feet, eyes closed. Already
bone tired, he now felt as weary as a ford foundered
horse being pulled into deeper water by an irresistible
current.
"Yes, I understand your weariness, Master. There is
much to do but first you must rest."
Morgana beckoned impatiently with her fingers: "You
two, come hither."
Hal forced his fluttering eyes open long enough to see
the Master-At-Arm's daughters approaching, their faces
glancing apprehensively at Morgana. No, that wasn't
right, he reminded himself, they were now the Master-
At-Arm's orphans. If it had been a difficult day for
him it had been a lot worse for others -- the Master-
At-Arms for one, and for Gaunt Gregory, and certainly
for the King himself. In fact a very, very bad day for
King Argud the Defiler, now likely to be known as Ex-
King Argud the Defingered. No wonder the tower ramparts
were lined with white faces knights, shocked to the
core as their privileged world seemed ready to collapse
around their ears. For if a powerful King could be
deposed and disposed of so easily, what was their fate
to be?
Admittedly, nobody had really enjoyed being a subject
in Argud's realm, not even his nobles, but at least
he'd been a ruler who'd never left no doubt at all
about who was giving the orders. Now all was confusion
and doubt and the inheritor of power seemed to be the
midnight haired sorceress brazenly showing off her half
naked body. She had driven both ruler and wizard from
their throne and tower as easily as a dairymaid taking
a stick to a pair of laggard cows, and yet she herself
was to be seen kneeling in homage before a castle shit
house cleaner, a scrawny little rat daring to wear a
wizard's robe as if he had a right to such a thing.
Oh yes, the world was mad and Loki the ice warriors'
trickster god loose in it, but this was play acting no
watcher felt eager to take any part in, for it was
being performed on a perilous stage. Strong hands were
grasping sword hilts in instinct, but not even the
vainest or bravest liege lord felt any urge to step
forward and claim power by right of title and muscle. A
single glance downwards at the crippled Argud
staggering away over the drawbridge with long brown
stains down the back of his britches was enough to
convince even the highest born to stay hidden in the
audience until the world became sane again, and women
and boys were safe once more for the aristocratic
pleasures of fucking and kicking. What you did to which
depended on your choice of pleasure, of course.
Morgana beckoned her finger at Chelinde and Caelia:
"Your master is tired. Carry him to the royal
bedchamber: you know where it is?"
Heads nodded: "Yes, mistress," Caelia said doubtfully.
She knew very well where the royal bedchamber was,
having lived in nightly dread of being sent there for
the King's pleasure ever since she'd flowered into
maidenhood. What made her hesitate now in obeying
Morgana's orders was in wondering what the witch meant
by 'carry'. She and Chelinde could both see how tired
Hal seemed, but even as thin as he was, carrying the
boy across the courtyard and up the narrow spiraling
staircase of the inner keep was a task that seemed
beyond their joint strength.
"Take hold of him, you wenches. You'll find him no
burden."
Chelinde reached out gingerly to take Hal's hand and
gave a shriek of fright as he slid towards her at a
touch. It was a cry that Hal would have echoed save for
his tiredness, for he was as astounded as the girls. He
seemed to be sliding over the cobblestones as if he was
on one of the ice slides the castle boys fashioned in
the depths of winter. And when he looked down he could
see why, for the soles of his feet were no longer
touching the stones but floating a little above them.
Only a finger's width mayhap, but that small distance
was enough to make him as helpless in walking as a
newly born foal; he could stay upright only by putting
his arms around the girls' shoulders and letting them
walk him towards the tower as if he was as drunk as his
father on market night. And if he wasn't drunk, he was
certainly helpless; a glance over his shoulder showed
Morgana walking behind with a smile on her face --
perhaps a sardonic sneer at yet another demonstration
of her incredible powers was a more accurate description.
"Have no fears, Master, your feet will touch the ground
again. After you have slept."
"After I've slept? Why only then?"
"Because without the burden of weight on your body you
will rest better than on any feather filled mattress.
And the girls will serve as your maids-in-waiting, for
whatever help you may need."
His newly appointed servants of the bedchamber suddenly
suffered an immediate and intimately shared attack of
giggles. Hal didn't have the slightest doubt that both
of them were thinking of various experiments they could
carry out on a weightless male body entrusted to their
lustful care. Well, they could forget any such ideas
for the time being, he was too tired for any tupping.
At least that was what he thought then, especially with
his mind distracted by Caelia's and Chelinde's inept
attempts to maneuver him around the corners of the
tower's narrow corridors. It wasn't their fault, it was
simply the discovery that even though Hal was suspended
above the floor he wasn't weightless after all, and if
pushed too quickly in one direction it needed just as
much effort to stop his body as it did to start moving
it. Neither could the boy complain about their female
inability to understand cause and effect, for he did
something far more stupid than either of them when he
slipped from their grasp and went sliding towards the
wall again. He put up his arms and fended himself as
hard as he could. Which sent him flying clear of them
as if running ahead, but slowly spinning like a top and
heading down the corridor at an angle which meant an
even more violent impact about ten paces further on --
if paces entered into the calculation for somebody
whose feet weren't touching the floor.
The girls gave little screams, Morgana was further back
down the corridor and out of sight in the gloom,
leaving Hal with his arms stretched out and flapping
like a fledgling getting ready to leave the nest as he
fought not to lose his balance. He was lucky enough to
get one hand on the wall before he hit it and then
fended himself off with another violent effort, his
mind still not able to work out the obvious result in
advance. If he'd been brought up working on boats he'd
have understood the ways of dealing with floating
bodies, but he hadn't been, and didn't. But at least
the course he'd sent himself skimming along put him
clear of the corridor and out into the Great Hall.
The Great Hall, where setting sunlight was streaming in
through arrow slits onto the flag stoned floor, the
benches and tables hurriedly drawn aside to make room
for the aristocratic families scurrying into the Hall
to bow and kneel to Morgana and whosoever she favored,
be it even a shitpot boy and a pair of chits.
Grizzled warriors wearing hastily donned leather
jerkins and polished chain mail were coming together in
groups, still panting wives were fluttering fingers
around the curls of their hair, sullen sons were
scowling darkly at having to play attendance on some
accursed witch and even more darkly frowning daughters
warned of the sudden need to curtsey to a boy who,
yesterday, they wouldn't have deigned to pour the
contents of their chamber pots over if he was on fire.
All the arrivals still gathering, still assembling in
order of rank, still babbling to each other about the
incredible scenes they'd just witnessed. And, at the
far end of the Great Hall, a sudden yelp of fear and
the sight of a boy dressed in a wizard's robe popping
out of the corridor entrance as if fired from a
slingshot, legs motionless, arms waving madly and
skimming over the rush mats towards the crowd like a
wooden ball hurled at a stand of skittles.
Nobody did anything, except stop talking though leaving
their mouths agape. Even the quickest witted were left
bemused by such a sight, and anyway, to avoid the
onrushing figure would have needed reactions fast
enough to dodge a lightning strike. Only Hal himself
was able to manage the briefest of thoughts and that
was about the identity of the figure looming up ahead
as his inevitable area of collision. Because the Gods
themselves must be laughing at what they were seeing: a
spell bound boy flying as straight as an arrow towards
the double target of the biggest rack of meat in Great
Pass Castle.
The family group was standing directly ahead of him, as
motionless in their surprise as statutes: on the left,
the hulking figure of Baron Gorlas, known behind his
back as 'Gormless' Gorlas: low forehead, flattened
nose, eyes like pissholes in the snow, so stupid that
even his hounds got bored talking to him and strong
enough to lift a blacksmith's anvil over his head.
On the right, Orla, Gorlas's wife and, fittingly
enough, a woman with a figure like a sack of
horseshoes.
And in the middle, their surprisingly handsome
daughter, Mary, aged sixteen and universally known
throughout the kingdom as 'Dairy' Mary. For there was
no other maiden in Giant's Pass who proudly carried so
much before her, nor took greater pains in the arts of
displaying her finest parts. Mary's notion of a
disaster would have been to walk past a man or boy and
not receive a second glance. But since she virtually
always did get a second glance, and then several more
long and lingering ones besides, she was usually
content, especially when she could quietly torment the
watcher with the sure knowledge that he was never going
to see anymore of her huge tits than he had done
already. It was a game she'd even played on Hal a time
or two, as far down on the pecking order as he was. And
now those two magnificent mounds of milky richness were
between him and Mary with nothing to shelter them from
the impending impact but a low cut dress already
straining at the seams.
From Mary's point of view, of course, it was a case of
having a boy throwing himself at her, which was
certainly not a new experience, but it was the first
time one had approached her like a swan landing on a
frozen lake and then skidding across the ice. As for
the fact that it was a privy cleaner wearing a
magician's robe, she had no time at all to consider
that as Hal's chest thumped up hard against her own,
bringing a look to her face that caused a self
satisfied smirk on Hal's own features whenever he
recalled the happy event.
In his long life he was destined to see many marvelous
things, many awe inspiring sights, but never any vision
more breathtaking than the way he clung to Mary's bare
elbows and looked down at her magnificent udders
twitching and trembling with aftershocks like a pair of
giant salmon trying to leap up a waterfall. Considering
the situation afterwards, it was always a wonder to Hal
how he managed to spare enough attention to realize the
danger that was approaching. Or, rather, the danger
that he and Mary were approaching. In fact it was the
sudden heat on his calves which made him take stock of
his situation.
He'd assumed that holding onto this substantial piece
of maidenhood would have been as firm an anchor as a
body could need, but apparently not his body, for it
was still gliding along. It took a second or so for his
bemused mind to understand that whatever magic it was
in him that made him float, it was now being shared by
Mary, and the pair of them were drifting because her
own feet were also dangling a finger's span above the
rush mats. True, the thump against her tits had hurt
her a lot more than it had hurt him, and the impact had
slowed his previous mad rush through the air to a
gentle walking pace, which was all good news: the bad
news was that he still couldn't stop moving and the
impact with Mary had swung him around so his back was
to the way they were travelling: the really bad news
was that the massive fireplace in the Great Hall had
already been lit against the night's chill, a fireplace
as high as a tall man's head and wide enough to roast
three boars at once, nose to tail. And the really
really bad news was that in about two seconds he and
Mary were going to be in the flames themselves.
There was no time to think, only to act, and Hal never
really understood why he did what he did -- if it was a
guess, it was an inspired one, if it was simple lechery
in the face of danger, well, that was to be applauded
too. What he did was to let go of Mary's elbows and
immediately her heels thumped down onto the flagstones.
She yelped, and then prolonged the noise on a higher
note as Hal jammed his fingers down the top of her
dress and pulled on it as hard as he could to keep from
touching her skin again. She stayed set solid on the
floor, the front panel of her dress came apart on the
left and right side in a popping of stitches, bringing
Hal to a dead stop. The bottom of the torn out section
of dress was still holding together at Mary's waist and
hanging down in front of him, topped off with nipples
like horse chestnuts, were a exposed pair of mounds big
and warm enough for a squirrel to bed down between for
a winter's hibernation.
"Grrrr," Hal groaned in ecstasy and clamped a hand over
each of Mary's huge teats, totally unable to resist the
chance of a lifetime. At last he could die happy. And
with Baron Gorlas putting hand to his sword, dying was
surely the next thing on his agenda. But other things
were happening as well.
For one, Morgana le Fay, the deadliest, most evil, most
wicked witch in the world, was having a fit -- of
laughter. She was doubled up, slapping her hands
against her thighs as if doing some kind of folk dance,
her eyes almost closed and mouth wide open as she
fought for enough breath to laugh and keep alive as
well. And, again, in years to come, that was a sight
which the Wizard Merlin would remember with affection.
Whatever his later troubles with Morgana, he would
always recall that once, at least he'd seen her
helpless with mirth. Even though nobody else would ever
believe it when he told them, especially not the that
po-faced, pain-in-the-arse, born-again Christian, King
Arthur.
Another thing that was happening in the Great Hall was
that Chelinde and Caelia were rushing past the red
faced Baron and his whey featured wife. But neither of
the girls was laughing because they could see Gorlas's
grip on his sword and how an ell's length of steel
blade had already been drawn from the scabbard. The
only two things which were keeping the good Baron from
fully drawing his weapon and splitting Hal asunder were
his wife's restraining hand on his brawny arm -- that
and the black robe the boy was wearing. The Baron
didn't want to risk the sort of magic that had been
used on the King, not even to stop his precious
daughter from having her points handled in public.
Neither did Mary; she lifted up her own hands once to
push Hal away, but the sight of the glittering symbols
on the robe effectively deterred her from touching his
body. Better to have her tits publicly fondled than to
have her own hands burnt off. And then she was
squealing and helplessly, trying to regain a footing on
the floor as Hal spun her around, making sure he kept
at least one hand on her bare flesh at all times to
hold her up in the air with him. He was grinning with
joy at this chance to get his revenge on all these
upper class bastards who'd humiliated him so long and
so often. And there they all were, all along the length
of the hall, gaping at the sight of Dairy Mary swaying
in front of them, Hal behind her, holding each of her
elbows again and the Master-At-Arm's daughters running
to serve him.
"Grab her girdle ends, girls," he ordered. "And then
tow us away."
Chelinde and Caelia saw what he wanted. Mary had a
girdle around her waist, a gold colored cord with two
loose ends, each longer than one of Hal's arms. The
sisters each caught hold of one of the girdle tassels
and began pulling Hal and Mary away, towards the far
end of the Great Hall. And as they moved, Hal chuckled,
took one hand away from Mary's elbow and seized hold of
a nipple again, with all of the noble families able to
see what he was doing. Then he did the same thing with
his other hand and gloated at the stricken looks on the
watchers' faces, and especially the ones on the faces
of all the young esquires. The privileged striplings
may have used his hair as a shit house cleaning brush
before today, but now he was the one with his hands on
Dairy Mary's luscious measures, and he was the one who
was going to make her shake them around for him in
frantic excitement, even if he had to give her a double
dose of dragon sweat to get her in the right mood.
What Hal wasn't expecting was to suddenly begin
bouncing up in the air, Mary with him, as though they
were shuttlecocks being hit with rackets. He looked
down and saw they'd reached the steps of the tower
stairway: as he almost touched each tread with the back
of his heels, he and Mary were shooting up to the next
step, bobbing along behind the girls towing them up the
spiral staircase.
Before he was pulled out of sight of the Great Hall Hal
put his hands underneath Mary's plumpers and waved them
at Baron Gorlas and his wife. It took a little careful
timing to get his hands on the upswing at the same time
as Mary and he were jerked up another step, but the
result was well worth the effort; by about the fifth
step her pair of abundantly fleshed milk churns were
going down halfway to her waist and then bouncing back
up almost up to her chin. Mary screeched like a barn
owl at midnight and her scarlet faced father seemed
about ready to try tearing the chain mail from his
chest with his bare hands.
"Good night, my lords and ladies," Hal called out above
Mary's yelps: "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I've got to
rush off and take a flying fuck."
It was only after ascending the stairs far enough to be
beyond the view of the audience in the banqueting hall
that Hal realized something had changed. His heels were
no longer bumping against the steps; indeed the
staircase was further below than before. An observation
matched by the decreasing distance between his head and
the apex of the arched roof. He was floating higher and
higher. And every squirming movement of Mary's fat bum
against his rampant cock seemed to be somehow pushing
both of them even further into the air.
"Hal, come down!" one of the sisters called out in
alarm.
Twisting around he found Caelia and Chelinde's heads
lifted up to look at his own face as if he was as tall
as Argud himself.
"How can I come down, you stupid bitches? I don't even
know why we're going up!"
"Then I will tell you why, Master."
Morgana still wore a smile on her face, though now it
was exactly the sort of smile a mere mortal might
expect from a witch; the white toothed smile a ferret
showed when it slithered into a nest of baby conies.
"Remember what Gregory told the King? That even mortals
can make magic when they couple. Are you not yourself
feeling the urge to fuck that fat wench in your hands?
And can't you feel her own excitement in the movements
of her body?"
"Yes . . . " Hal tried to calm down and collect his
mind. "But he said that such magic cancels out other
magics nearby. That was why your broomstick went down.
So, this is the same situation now as then. The spell
you cast on me to lift me off the floor should be
failing, not getting stronger."
Morgana struck her palms together lightly, as though
applauding a child which had learnt its lesson
properly: "Well done, Master. But the levitation spell
affecting you is no longer mine. 'Tis yours now -- it
has been ever since you picked that big titted maid
up."
"I picked her up?" As much as he was in awe of
Morgana's learning, Hal couldn't help but smile at her
suggestion. "All I've ever been able to lift up is a
shite bucket. I know no magic, I've never been taught
any. How could I cast a spell?"
"I didn't say you cast it, Master, I said you took it
over. Before then, I think you had a talent for sorcery
born in you, yet still undiscovered. Now I think your
mind has been sharpened by wearing a garment bewitched
with past magics. So when you seized those overfilled
udders you were instantly excited enough to able to
take control of the spell and widen it enough to
levitate the fat cow you'd laid your hands on."
"What?"
Hal felt the cold touch of the stone floor on the soles
of his bare feet before his eyes had time to look down.
All they did was to confirm what he already knew, that
his -- and Mary's -- weightless condition was swiftly
ebbing away. Now they both stood one their toes:
lightly, but on their toes.
"Duh!" His confusion was clear to all.
"Master, while we have talked, has not your cock
slumped down? Have you not been distracted from what
you were thinking of doing to that sweating mare?"
"Well . . . yes."
Morgana's tone was still laced with amusement but her
words were true. Hal's passion and his rutting member
had drooped at the first distraction, as easily as an
old man falling asleep on a summer's afternoon.
Indeed, he was so tired after such a day that had
passed that he felt as old as any man still living.
Even with Mary Gorlas's nipples still clenched nut hard
in his hands he doubted he would recover his desire to
fuck her this night. What he would normally have
hungered for he scarcely had any more desire for than a
drowning man would want a beaker of water. Hal released
his hold on the girl and felt his heels settle on the
cold stone like a bird's claws on the last beat of its
wings. If the levitation spell had belonged to him,
briefly, he had completely lost it now in his weariness
and confusion.
"Return to your family, Mary," he said. "Before your
reputation is spoilt beyond repair."
"You are letting her go, Master?" Morgana asked
sharply. "I can give you strength enough to fuck her
all night long."
"Aye, and mayhap have her father slice my head off with
his sword at dawn while I sleep. Baron Gorlas is no
coward and will have his eyes full of blood already for
what I've already done to his daughter. No, she goes
back downstairs now."
Morgana bent her head forward in acknowledgment: "As
you wish, then, Master. To bed, to sleep deeply and
wake refreshed. All arranged in the blink of an
eyelid."
She raised her hand, as if to cast a spell.
"No, no, not yet. I need to use a night bucket first."
Morgana wriggled the tip of her smallest finger: "No,
Master, you don't."
"Of course I..." Hal's voice faded in amazement as
he realized what she was saying was true. His bowels
were empty, his bladder no longer under pressure.
"Where did it go to?" the boy asked in wonder.
There were advantages in sorcery that he'd never ever
dreamt of. And all these years he'd thought Gaunt
Gregory never needed a turd pail taken out of his tower
because the wizard was doing his business with a long
drop straight into the moat!
"Your piss and shit, Master? They can go wherever you
like. How about inside Baron Gorlas's bed?"
Chelinde and Caelia laughed at the suggestion. So did
Hal. But the loudest laugh -- well, the loudest squeal
-- came from Mary, even as she was struggling to haul
the front of her ripped dress up over her breasts. She
seemed delighted with the idea of befouling her
parents' bed. Odd, how Chelinde and Caelia had seemed
so unaffected by their father's death and how a Baron's
daughter seemed to scorn her father and mother so much.
Yet he, a mere foundling, would never have dreamed of
playing such a joke on his own low bred foster parents.
Perhaps there was some law of nature here, that the
higher ranked a family the more the members of it
disliked each other.
Well, no time now to muse about such things. Gorlas
could have his daughter back with her maidenhead
intact, if so be Mary's present condition, but it would
do the Baron good to know that a spell could strike him
from anywhere at anytime. Mayhap it would persuade him
to keep his sword sheathed.
"Yes, inside the Baron's bed with my shite," Hal
ordered. "Leave us now, Mary."
Her well rounded figure slipped from his grasp, then
took a few quick steps to the top of the staircase. The
Baron's daughter stopped there, as if pausing at an
opened door. Half turning, she faced Hal again and
looked directly at him, still holding up her torn dress
giving no sign of what she was thinking. Then she was
gone down the stairway in a rustle of skirts. Hal
wondered if she would warn her father about examining
his bed tonight before getting into it. He rather
thought not.
Morgana raised her hand, fingers apart: "Sleep,
Master."
Even as the irresistible darkness closed around him Hal
suddenly realized that this abode of the powerful was
not for him, not with the nobility being granted time
to recover their wits and their courage. Morgana or no,
magic or no, he knew where his best protection lay.
"The dragon hut -- let me sleep in the dragon hut."
The corridor, Morgana's shining eyes, her hand, her
fingers, they all came together as if they were petals
of a closing flower...
THE END