Dragon Sweat: Scroll 2

Then a sword tip touched his bare flank and Corporal Clint whispered: "You'll stay here, dirty Harry."

"Harry's not in this story -- Rowling would sue us to hell and gone. My name's Hal."

"Whatever."

The King's impatient voice called out: "You said you could make her your slave, Gregory. What happened?"

The spindly legged little warlock was almost dancing with anger: "She promised to yield herself, body and soul, to whoever rescued her from the moat. But now she says it was the boy who rescued her and has pledged herself to him."

"What!" The bulging eyes swung towards a trembling Hal. "First the dragon and now the witch. The Gods are making a plaything of this shithouse emptier. But what I saw was that it was your help, Gregory, which aided the witch long enough to call forth her own magic to her aid. All the boy did was to pass her a rope and even in that he had help from the dragon and that -- that thing."

King Argud stretched out a boot towards the hunkered down toad, then jerked it back as a stream of steaming spit landed next to his toe, instantly turning a patch of green grass into brown stalks. The toad leered at him and noisily cleared its throat again.

"Threaten my familiar once more, mortal, just once more, and I will turn you inside out through your own arsehole." The witch's voice was low and sharp -- and to be believed. "Twas the rope which settled the matter and had it not reached me when it did I would surely have perished. And without the boy that rope would not have been there. So I proclaim him my rescuer and anyone who disagrees may call on the Great Ones for judgement."

The King looked at Gregory for his advice and the warlock bit his beard in frustration then threw up his hands: "Your majesty, nobody calls on the Great Ones without taking great risks. Their judgements are not to be reckoned on in advance and Morgana has -- I have heard -- some influence with them. She is now pledged to the boy and he is a pledged subject of yours. Let us be content with that. Hal, stand up."

Hal did so, naked and frightened, and acutely aware of all the eyes regarding his skinny frame. Not to mention the Corporal's sword point pricking his backside. So this was where taking young girls for dragon rides had gotten him. Then he looked at the Master-At-Arm's daughters again and suddenly relaxed a little. To blame himself for wanting them was as pointless as blaming himself for wanting food -- he had a stomach and a prick, and both made demands on him that had to be satisfied.

"Hal, tell Morgana to kneel down in front of the king."

"Morgana!" Even he had heard of a witch with that name, a witch with a reputation that made the fiercest of warriors huddle close to the fireplace on dark nights.

The warlock nodded in satisfaction: "Yes, the greatest witch of them all, Morgana le Fay. Your slave, Morgana le Fay. Now bid her kneel."

The witch still stood as proudly as ever, and her eyes fastened on Hal's with a strength of character he could never begin to match. Nor could he forget for an instant the pain he'd already felt from her magical powers and was still feeling from that damned cat's claw slash. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to try to give her any orders. Then he saw the King's face and remembered the spike in the market place. No, offending Morgana was the second last thing in the world that he wanted to do. What totally passed his understanding was why it should be expected that any witch who treated a warlock and a monarch with contempt would obey the lowest and least of all the King's subjects. But it seemed he had to try.

"Morgana! Morgana le Fay, I command you to kneel for the king."

Never before had any words of his been so attended to by so many people. Hal felt like an actor in a May Day festival, the one playing the part of a prince with a paper crown and a wooden sword. Yet though his words ended on a silly sounding squeak the witch did as she was told. Not only did she kneel, she knelt as an obedient woman should, on both knees, then demurely lowered her head until it almost touched the grass. The King laughed and clapped his hands in satisfaction, releasing a great sigh of tension amongst the soldiers as they suddenly felt much safer. Safer, but greatly puzzled. They looked at Hal's soiled and scrawny body with questions on their lips. Yet none had so much need of asking them as Hal himself.

"Sire . . . Sire Gregory."

The warlock beckoned him forward: "Give him a cloak, someone."

In an instant Hal had a fine woolen cloak to pull around himself, a cloak instantly ruined by the filth he was spreading on it. But that was a matter of little consequence right now. Gaunt Gregory looked at Hal, at the still prostrate witch, then back to the boy again. Then, incredibly, he smiled, revealing a row of rotten and yellowing stumps in lieu of teeth.

"Why, 'tis a simple thing that's happened, boy. Morgana here was nigh on drowning in our moat and I made her promise on pain of her witch's power to obey forever anyone who rescued her. I assisted her and so did you, and rather than give herself up to me she chose to yield to you. So now you will compel her to do whatever the King commands. You understand?"

Hal nodded: "Yes, sire -- I understand." But did the warlock understand? If he was telling the truth Hal could command both Josephine and Morgana. With luck he could break free with both and leave this kingdom forever. Or better yet . . .

"Boy, look around you."

The King's voice was always a surprise to those hearing it for the first time, a high pitched squeak from such a bulk. But it was a small voice never used for small talk. Hal looked. Every man-at-arms had picked up his crossbow again and each one was aimed at him alone, from soldiers so widely spread out that Josephine could never burn them down all at once.

"Boy, understand me. I can kill you whenever I wish. The witch would be delighted to be free again and she'll soon teach your dragon to behave herself. So be a loyal subject and bid Morgana to do my bidding, and all will be fair weather between us. As a token of which, I order you to kneel beside Morgana to be declared a Duke before all present."

"To be . .? " He must have misheard the King, but at least the gesture towards the ground was unmistakable. Hal knelt, and dared to do it on one knee, as the soldiers had done.

"When you arise, Hal O'TheShitbuckets, you will be Duke Merlinus. But before I raise you up I would know what happened between the witch and yourself. How came she to fall into our moat?"

Hal answered the King's question as well as he could. But, like Hal himself, the monarch had more questions to ask about his uncertain explanation.

"So, she saw you tupping one of the Master-At-Arm's little beauties in the dragon's riding net. Why should she wish to interfere with that?"

"Your Majesty, I do not know."

"I can answer that," Gaunt Gregory said. "When mortals couple they sometimes reach a level of ecstasy which is a form of primitive magic. Since magics cannot exist side by side any practicing adept who comes close to an act of mortal tupping may find his or her spells much diminished and perhaps even completely canceled by the tupping effect. Their magic becomes -- how can I describe it?"

"Fucked up," the King suggested dryly.

The warlock bowed again: "Your Majesty has it in a nutshell. Yes, I believe Morgana flew close to the dragon to examine it without having the slightest suspicion that a mortal male could be taking a mortal female in the riding net. By the time she realized her broomstick magics were being, as you say, fucked up, there was no time to flee before she must fall from the sky, so the only thing she could do was to frighten the pair into abandoning their act of passion."

King Argud chuckled: "Ha, boy, some rise by sin and some by virtue fall, but here was a great fall by a great witch because of your sinning. And were my Master-At-Arms still alive you might have smarted for your sins with his daughters." His voice paused as he looked long and carefully at the two sisters. "But a handsome pair of bolsters for any bed, I grant you, and since they wish for experience, I myself shall see they have as much as they can take."

He chuckled again and drew his sword. "Boy, have you heard anything of my plans for you and your dragon -- and for this witch?"

Hal couldn't stop himself from looking up in uncontrollable curiosity: "I know nothing of any plans, your Majesty."

"Then tonight you will learn more, because I'm going to make you an offer you'll have to peruse. For there are good reasons why I now proclaim you Duke Merlinus of this kingdom."

The tip of the sword tapped lightly on each of Hal's shoulders: "Arise, Duke Merlinus."

Hal stood up and waited for Argud the Defiler to finish off his joke by decapitating him with the huge sword. But it didn't happen. Instead the King drove the tip of the sword into the ground and rested his hands on the handle, which was still almost as high as Hal's head. The boy found himself staring at the incredibly fine stitching along the sides of the Monarch's deerskin gloves.

"Well, Duke Merlinus, you have bought the wickedest witch in the wide world with you as a dowry for your peerage, which is well to your credit. But you are still the dirtiest and vilest smelling peer that ever has stood before me. As for the mighty Morgana, she looks and smells like dogshit. Even your dragon has the stench of a midden about her. What's to be done with you all?"

Hal gulped: "There is a stream in the hills, not far away. Josephine can clean herself there, under the waterfall. I would be happy to go with there with her."

"Ho, my fine Duke, no doubt you would, but you won't. The dragon may go there and return presently. You, I have heard, have betimes bathed yourself in the drinking trough in the dragon's shed. You may do so now, and take your bitch witch with you. And we shall see if you are indeed fit to be a peer. For the two girls will wash both of you clean and afterwards you may finish your business with the one you were fucking before -- if you're man enough to do it with a squad of soldiers and a king watching you perform!"

Hal stared dumbfounded at the smile on the King's face.

"What's the matter, Duke Merlinus? Have you turned shy now you're a noble?"

Even the soldiers were giggling like schoolgirls. But they didn't know about the dragon sweat, and they didn't know that there was enough of it left in that drinking trough to set a whole village heaving and humping like a boatload of Ice Land warriors let loose in a nunnery.

Gaunt Gregory sneered at the filthy boy: "All your vigor gone already, Duke?"

Hal stood tongue tied. He could tell them, warn them -- but dragon sweat was his great secret and he wanted to keep it his own. But the alternative! Master of Morgana le Fay -- and in the grip of the storm lust that dragon sweat brewed up. Odin alone knew what he might do, and should Morgana free herself afterwards she'd send him to hell for it. But afterwards, he might not care.

"Why no, Warlock," Hal suddenly found himself answering with a grin to match the king's. "All I ask is a favor. If I start chasing your donkey after I've finished with the girls, for Odin's sake, please have me shot."

king Argud bellowed with laughter and gave Hal a slap on the shoulder which almost sent him down on his knees again. "Why, my young Duke, perhaps you'll serve my needs better than I might have hoped. Let's put you to the test and see if your tupping can match your words."

Somehow Hal found the presence of mind to look for his garments amidst the torn remains of the riding net, only to be swiftly rebuked by his monarch.

"You no longer need those rags, Duke Merlinus. The cloak will suffice until you reach the palace and then we shall outfit you better."

Merlinus -- Merlinus? Why that name? True, the shitbucket family had a Tiberian name of Merdinus, now almost as forgotten as the long gone monks who'd bestowed it. A suitable name, since merdus was Tiberian for shit. But Merlinus -- was it because he was going to be allowed to fly with Josephine again, allowed to fly like a hawk? May the Gods make it so, for this seemed to be a day on which anything might happen.

But the sight of Morgana le Fay's luscious hips swaying ahead of him was enough to make his glowing hopes fade like the sun hidden by gathering storm clouds. The likes of her were for warlocks and knights and persons of royal blood. Now he seemed to be trapped between king and witch and as sure as cats ate mice, one or t'other would have his balls spit roasted ere long. Perhaps she'd laugh at his love making attempts with the girls so much that he'd fail, despite the dragon sweat. Perhaps the trough water had made the sweat so weak by now that the power had completely gone and king, warlock, witch, soldiers and girls alike would jeer at his cock as it drooped like a willow branch. A boy's ending for all of his proud boasts of manhood, and with all the kingdom to hear and laugh about it afterwards.

He sidled over against Josephine, the corporal close behind him at every step, Clint O'The East Wood's finger never leaving the trigger of his oversized magnum bolt crossbow. Hal desperately wanted to slip his hand underneath the dragon's wing to seek for a trace of sweat but there was no chance of doing it unobserved. Hal felt a sudden and unexpected anger burning inside him at being so closely guarded. Mayhap he'd teach these soldiers another lesson in dragon power before long. He spoke to Josephine.

"My lady, go and clean yourself. When you return I may wish you to warm the water in your trough for me again. If so, you must make it as hot as you can."

A twirling pattern of interrogation lines swirled around her neck. "Yes, Josephine, as hot as you can. Now fly -- and return quickly."

The dragon lurched forward and upwards, her wings smacking against the air once more. The ever alert corporal noticed Hal's sad expression as Josephine flew off.

"What's amiss, young Duke?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders: "Why, to see my dragon fly whilst I cannot leave the ground."

Clint O'The East Wood laughed: "Duke, how can a man want to fly? Do you want a nest with eggs to sit on as well?"

Not for he first time Hal realized that he was closer to Josephine than he was to many of his own kind. Why, perhaps he was even closer to the witch as well. She might be evil incarnate but at least she was a flier too. Not that her broomstick seemed good for much right now, but perhaps it could be repaired and remagicked. If it could be -- oh, what a thought!

For a second Hal dreamed of learning how to fly a broomstick. To flash over rooftops and meadows, around trees and across lakes, overtaking gaggles of geese and flying so high that the mountains themselves crouched down beneath your feet. All the filth and cruelty and everyday battles of life left below as he explored the kingdom of the sky, a kingdom which over-arched and over-reached all earthly ones. A fine notion, especially for a shit smeared boy who owned nothing in the world but a borrowed cloak. And then his high flying dreams fell back to earth as he found that the group had reached the dragon's shed.

For some reason everybody else hung back and let Hal walk in first, even though Josephine was only a faraway dot in the sky. Yet the caution which most other people showed in approaching a dragon's den still seemed to be having its effect because only the girls walked in close behind him. Hal stepped into the sandpit and drew his toes through the still damp sand, then looked up, exchanging rueful looks with the sisters. How much had changed so quickly. Truth to tell, he was in no obvious position to complain. Dubbed a Duke, gaining a witch for a slave, praised by the King -- whatever the dangers to come, it was still far better treatment from the Gods than Caelia and Chelinde had received: orphaned, unprotected and lusted after by a ruler who treated his dogs far better than his women. Hal had never intended their misfortunate but it left a bitter taste in his mouth after the joy the girls had given him.

"What are we to do?" Chelinde asked him, looking suddenly grown up and serious.

"Why, only what we did before. But first you'd best serve as Morgana's hand maidens. There are two pieces of soap left. One for her, one for me."

"And afterwards? What we did before, Hal? With all these soldiers watching?"

"Aye, and the King too, lass -- tis a Royal Command performance."

The boy smiled and lifted his hand to chuck her under the chin, but paused as he saw the filth on his fingers and the momentarily revealed loathing in her eyes as she glanced to where the King was entering the barn.

"Be of good heart, girls. What matters who watches if we enjoy ourselves? And what I can do for you later, I promise I will."

Hal went to the trough, splashed his fingers in it, pondered. The water was still luke warm -- that was indeed a measure of how quickly his life seemed to have changed. He filled two buckets and set them down in the sandpit. Then he turned towards the witch and gulped.

For the first time since his one swift glimpse of her riding the broomstick Hal had a chance to run his eyes over the magnificent shape underneath the clinging mud. Morgana's breasts were perfection, her unskirted legs promised delights beyond belief; Hal gulped again, and decided that perhaps the diluted dragon sweat was still potent, even with the merest splash of it on his hands.

"Lie down on the straw, Morgana. On your back."

Her eyes glittering with repressed emotions, the witch obeyed.

"Take off your cloak, Chelinde. Spread it over her."

The girl's face was almost as angry as the witch's as she undid the throat cord, but she obeyed, her and her sister spreading the cloak over Morgana's body. Then Chelinde stood self-consciously, hands by her side and eyes downcast as she tried to ignore the soldiers lining each side of the barn, each of them grinning at her nakedness and with no threatening dragon around this time to distract them from studying it closely.

"Your cloak too, Caelia. Strip Morgana and then clean her with the water and the cloak, as well as you can. Mayhap some straw will help as well."

The King grinned but raised no objection at taking another look at the sisters in her raw state. Nor did he seem to mind that the girls were reaching underneath Hal's cloak to get at the witch's indecent attire. Argud was a hunter and enjoyed the thrill of a drawn out chase. His soldiers also licked their lips as they saw the swaying tits and taut bottoms of the figures kneeling at either side of the cloak to fumble with Morgana's tight fitting leathers.

"Aid them, witch," Hal ordered.

She looked at him, for a second only, and it was like being forehead to forehead with a mad bull. But her hands moved swiftly under the cloak, undoing the laces and straps which held her garments in place, then rolling from one side to another as she helped Caelia and Chelinde tug her jerkin over her arms. Hal would have liked to have kept watching but the desire to start removing the filth from his own body was even more compelling than staring at Morgana's movements underneath the cloak. So he took his cloak off, seized two handfuls of straw and began rubbing down his arms and legs.

Straw and sand and water, straw and sand and water, over and over, tickling and scraping and soothing his skin in turn as black rings of removed corruption spread around him. The King's voice boomed out in glee.

"Plenty of sand for her as well, girls, all over her tits. I want them as smooth as your arses."

At the king's jest several of the soldiers closest to the straw pile also dared to smile in approval. They were gaping at Morgana and when Hal stared at the wet cloak adhering to the witch's now naked body he understood why. There were curves and hollows and a sheer symmetry of female promise underneath the damp wool that was more magical than anything a warlock could conjure up, be he the greatest adept ever. Chelinde and Caelia put their hands beneath the cloak again to rub Morgana's perfectly shaped dugs, setting them gently swaying. The witch whimpered as her nipples were scoured and every soldier lucky enough to be able to see her instantly summoned up his blood and stiffened his sinews. In fact most of the men were already more tightly cocked than their cross bows.