A Paladin's Journey Ch. 05

There was a distant cast to the Priestess's eyes, and more than a touch of sadness. "He was a great man, brave and noble. When I felt him die, a part of me was destroyed. A part that has never truly healed."

Aran's heart went out to Amina. To have a Meldin die sounded bad enough, but to lose your Amatharn? Aran felt that he would be driven mad if Elaina died, their connection being what it was. He opened his mouth to say something comforting to Amina, but a strange sensation overtook him.

"What is it?" Elaina asked, searching his face.

"Something's wrong," Aran said, feeling like he was being jostled around inside his brain. "I must go." At that, he left the Plane and opened his eyes. He was back in the camp he was sharing with Smythe and Kedron, still seated on the ground.

Smythe was squatting before him, shaking his shoulder. "Aran! Aran!"

It took a moment for Aran's eyes to adjust to the darkness of night. Smythe's face was inches from his, worry in his eyes. "What is it?"

"Something's wrong with Kedron."

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***MARCOS -- King of Amindaer City, Palistair***

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"When are these fucking storms going to end?" Marcos demanded from his throne. His bass voice boomed around the throne room in tandem with the regular thunder rolling across the heavens. He addressed no one in particular, yet several of the sycophants standing in a half-circle before the dais flinched. One or more of them were usually beaten shortly after he started shouting, but at this moment, he was happy to remain seated, for the woman kneeling between his open thighs was doing marvelous things to his royal member, and he didn't want to disturb her.

Lightning flashed regularly through the cased windows in the solid stone wall, and the roaring of thunder rattled the casements. Storms had been infrequent on the island of Palistair, until recently, when tempests struck without warning and the earth was likely to shake with it.

The throne room was a vast space with a double row of columns down the middle supporting the vaulted ceiling. Torches blazed in sconces on the columns, illuminating the worn carpet that ran from the massive, arched bronze doors at the opposite end of the hall from the throne. The throne itself was a monstrosity; it had to be, for Marcos was large. There were few per'Noroth in the world, but he was one. Dark of skin and hair, he knew his almost nine-foot hulking figure was imposing, and he used it every chance he got. People called him 'The Barbarian King,' or sometimes, 'The Bandit King,' and he did nothing to dissuade them that he was worthy of the title. He certainly looked the part, usually wearing nothing but a loincloth unless he was going into battle.

The pale-green Orc bitch between his legs made a choking sound, and he casually seized a handful of her black hair and forced her back onto his cock. He liked She-Orcs, with their big tits and strong but curvaceous bodies. They made good slaves, like this one, naked and collared with a chain running from the thin links around her neck to Marcos' wrist. She was his newest acquisition; his men had picked her up a few weeks back after raiding a Gor'dur hunting party.

"We aren't sure, my King," a man said uncertainly in the small crowd.

Marcos eyed the fellow -- a balding Human garbed in once-fine clothes that now looked worn and frayed -- while his hand continued to rise up and down in time with the Orc's head. He was surprised she could take so much of him into her throat -- few women could -- but that was another advantage to Orc wenches. The man wilted under Marcos' gaze, and shrunk back to the rear of the gathering.

These people, the former elite of Amindaer, were not important to him, they were merely present to amuse him and pay him the respect he deserved. They were somewhat useful in following his orders, and they were easy to intimidate, so he kept them around.

To his left and right were his other attendants, which included several more concubines, naked and chained and obediently awaiting his pleasure. The King's Guard -- a collection of his best men -- lined the sides of the room, standing or squatting or sitting at their leisure. Marcos did not force these men to stand at attention like common soldiers; they were hard men, used to fighting and pillaging, and had proved themselves in raids and skirmishes time after time. He allowed them to take their ease when they wished, and would pit them against disciplined soldiers any day of the week. Soldiers could not fight dirty like these men could, couldn't disappear in a forest and murder an entire battalion among the trees. The King's Guard had earned their place, and so they got certain privileges, like more gold, and first pick of the women after Marcos.

To the left of the throne stood Kyra, his most prized possession. Human, she was slender and beautiful, with fair skin and raven hair. She stood only at middling height for a Human woman, but the way she held herself made her seem much taller. A woman like this should be dressed to display her grace, so Marcos always had her dress in little more than wisps of the finest, sheerest silk that showed off most of her body, and never really hid what it covered.

"What of the army on the Ergar?" Marcos barked at the crowd.

Kyra's hand touched his shoulder gently, and a pleasant tingle ran through Marcos' body, a tingle that tightened his plum-sized balls. He groaned as he began to erupt into the Orc bitch's mouth. Unable to contain the torrent, she began to swallow as fast as she could; she knew what happened when his come was allowed to spill on the ground. Marcos shoved her away when his climax abated, and she resumed her position in line. He left his cock exposed; he liked the way it made the nobles uncomfortable.

"The army on the Ergar is growing, Highness," Kyra purred. "Though it appears your walls still deter them." There was no collar for Kyra; she didn't require one. She had proven her loyalty. Kyra had been the advisor to the last king, until Marcos beheaded the fellow. Marcos didn't know why he trusted her so much, but from the very first moment he laid eyes on Kyra, he'd known she was special. She'd come to him the very first night after he'd sacked Amindaer, into his bedchamber, and professed her desire to show the new king her 'appreciation.' Marcos had had low expectations of this tiny woman, but she gave him such pleasure that night that he immediately appointed her his new 'advisor.'

He hadn't regretted the decision. Not only was she the best fuck he'd ever had, she had a sharp mind, and a complex network of spies around the city. Several times, she'd revealed plots to assassinate Marcos, and foiled them before they could be carried out.

"Good," Marcos grunted. "Although I must say I'm disappointed. I'm spoiling for a good fight!" A few of the Guard laughed at that. "Who leads this army, Kyra?"

"My sources are unsure, my King." Her hand slowly caressed his shoulder as she spoke, and he found himself hardening again. Twitching one of the chains around his wrist, he pulled a nubile Mor'Elda to him. The ebony Elf obediently knelt before him, but before she could he seized her by her narrow waist and spun her to face the nobles, then guided her down until his cock was forcing open her cunt. He would rather be fucking Kyra than these slatterns, but she only ever served him in private. Idly, Marcos wondered how he ever agreed to that, but he remembered giving her his word.

"Spies have been planted in their camp, and are sending back information readily," Kyra continued. "Their commander appears to be of no known race, though he looks Human in appearance, aside from his crimson skin."

Marcos grunted as the Elf's body adapted to his size. Marvelous creatures, Elves. You could fuck them senseless, and they would keep taking it, no matter how big your cock was.

"Interestingly," Kyra continued, sliding her fingers up to his neck, where she stroked him idly. "It appears this mysterious commander - "Lord Maloth" he calls himself -- has acquired forces from Gor'dur, Eredor and Angavar, as well as a good many Amun'Noroth."

Marcos was breathing hard from the way the Elf's pussy was swallowing his cock, and he pulled her back against his chest so he could squeeze her tits. She was still young, by Elf standards, maybe a century or so old, so she was still a little on the skinny side, but her cunt still felt good. "Your spies are wrong," he told Kyra, grunting every few words. "Orcs and Elves don't fight together, the Wardens have not left Angavar for decades, and the Giants want nothing to do with any of them." Kyra had never been wrong since he'd known her, but she must be mistaken about this, surely.

"Forgive me, great King," she said, bowing her head gracefully. "But I have received the same report from four different sources, all of them reliable. Chief Beshok has been seen in camp, as has King Berenor, and Morin Veskash."

"Cowards," Marcos growled, though he had to admit the news was troubling. "What do you suggest, Kyra?"

"Patience, for now, if my King agrees," Kyra said. "We should let them attack us, for they have the greater numbers, which will count for much less when faced with our fortifications."

"Very well, I agree." The Elf was now bouncing in his lap, her charcoal ass slapping into his pelvis. Marcos gripped her waist and used her like a hot, wet sleeve for his own pleasure. "Let it be announced!" He shouted. "Amindaer prepares for war!"

While the nobles turned pale and slunk from the room, offering bows and curtsies as hurriedly as they could, the King's Guard cheered raucously.

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END OF CHAPTER FIVE

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Thanks for reading! Please vote/comment if you are so inclined. Your feedback is important, so tell me what you're enjoying about the series, or what you think could be improved! I have LOTS more planned for this story. Cheers! - Anti.

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