A Paladin's Journey Ch. 06

"Yes!" the girl repeated in between sobs. "I don't know how far, just east! Please don't hurt me any more!"

"Rohim!" Berrigan barked.

"Yes, my Lord!" Came Rohim's answer from behind Berrigan, where he was stationed beside the door.

"Bring maps."

"Yes, my Lord," Rohim said before exiting the room.

Berrigan moved to the girl's head and seized a handful of her dark hair, pulling her head up. He bent to put his face close to hers. "You will give me your absolute best guess at where he is before we leave, slut," he began softly. "Or I will dig your parents from that pigsty you call a home and make you watch as I cleanse their filthy souls by fire."

The girl's eyes widened in fear, and she nodded as much as she was able.

*

An hour later, Berrigan was riding at the head of a small mounted party, twenty strong, with Rohim at his side. The cobbled streets were empty and quiet save for the passing of Berrigan's group. Yes, Ironshire was now suitably cowed. "Send a pigeon to Maralon," he instructed the younger man. "Tell Eames that Ironshire is now a Herald town. All resistance has been quelled."

"As you wish, my Lord," Rohim said. "And what of our current pursuit?" His dark eyes flicked to the cage mounted on a wagonbed being pulled along on Berrigan's other side. The girl was in the cage, naked and huddled in the centre, sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest.

"Say nothing," Berrigan ordered. "I will report on this when there's more to report. Besides, Eames would only get involved and complicate matters. Send small groups of runners -- two or three men maximum -- across the Sorral Plain and order any Heralds you find to report to Rostin. It's a small village southeast of here that should make an excellent staging point. In fact, all Heralds not already stationed in Ironshire or Maralon are to attend Rostin post haste."

"As you say, Lord Stallen." With a salute, fist to chest, Rohim peeled away to carry out the task.

When the party reached the gates, they were already opened, word having been sent ahead earlier. "We ride!" Berrigan announced without turning around. He resisted the urge to whip his horse to a gallop, merely booting the steed to a trot. No point in wearing out the mounts, and the cart could only travel so fast. It didn't matter how long it took; with the girl in hand, he could find Kedron anywhere in the world.

***

***ELAINA FAIRBORN -- Rivership to Ildernass on the Emerindrelle, Ekistair***

Elaina stood at the bow of Vorondil -- it meant 'Loyal Friend' in Elvish -- watching the forested riverbanks fly past under the bright morning sun. The arrival of the ship had been most welcome in the early hours of this morning. At the speed she was currently sailing, they would reach Ildernass by tomorrow evening, taking four or five days off their journey.

"It warms my heart to see you on my ship again, Elaina Eruchen," a deep Elvish voice said from behind her. Elaina smiled as she turned to see Durien, his silver hair shining in the sunlight and his clear blue eyes sparkling in a way that only an Elf's could. He had been working, and his lithe, shirtless body looked mouth-watering. Elvish sailors worked without shirts, including the women, and Induin and Liaren had wasted no time baring their pert breasts the moment they'd come aboard.

"Durien!" She cried happily as she threw her arms around him. He was the captain of Vorondil, and had been aboard last time she'd sailed. She and Durien - and several others -- had enjoyed Elaina's time on board very much. "I was hoping to see you." She offered him a brief but firm kiss, which he took.

"I understand your mission is one of great importance," he said when the kiss ended, looking down at her seriously. He was a few inches taller than Elaina. She found herself wondering how old he was; Elves grew more physically impressive with age, so Durien could very well be more than three hundred years old.

"It is," Elaina confirmed, stepping away from him and turning back to the bow, placing her hands on the rail. "We need the Eryn'elda, Durien. We are in a fight that is too big to win without help, but fight we must."

Durien's hand came to rest on her shoulder, and his lilting voice was comforting. "The Eryn'elda long remember the Arohim, Elaina. I have faith that the Lord and Lady will grant you the bows you need."

"I hope so, Durien," she whispered as she looked down at the churning waters of the Emerindrelle. "I hope so."

"I was going to suggest we retire to my quarters, Vanimelda, but you seem preoccupied."

Elaina turned to study him, leaning back against the rail and squinting slightly against the morning light. The sight of his bare chest and stomach, lean and well-muscled, certainly was appealing, but she would feel guilty enjoying herself with Durien while Aran and Smythe were going through Aros knew what. "I want to, Meldonya, but I worry for my Amatharn. I fear my heart would not be with you, even if my body were."

Durien's perfect eyebrows rose slightly at the term. "Amatharn? I've not heard that word in many centuries. It has complex meaning."

He didn't say more, but Elaina could tell he was curious. "It is a word I only learned recently," she explained. "It seems fate has seen fit to tie me to a man in ways neither of us understand. Fortunately, I love him, and he loves me, so there is that." She could feel Aran, as always, like a presence just behind her, warm and comforting. He was many miles to the northeast, and he was tired, but determined. For the hundredth time, she wished she could be with him.

The tall Elf's handsome face split into a pulse-quickening smile. Elaina was starting to regret her earlier decision; her body was warming up quite readily being so close to Durien. "You are Graced, Elaina. Such is the life of one born to walk the earth for long years in service of your god. I count myself lucky to be in your presence, even for such brief moments."

"Your words are almost enough to change my mind," she laughed.

"Elaina!" A voice came from the rigging above. Elaina and Durien looked up to see Liaren up there working thirty feet above the deck, her bare upper body shining in the sunlight from light sheen of sweat. The Elf stopped what she was doing and perched on a taut line, looking down at her. "Are you going to fuck him or not? Because I'm nearly done here and I could use some attention right about now!"

Elaina chuckled. "He's all yours!"

"Thanks!" Liaren said happily as she rose from her squat and stood with her arms together above her head before leaping up into the air, flipping forward and somersaulting before her feet alighted on the wooden deck. She stood before them grinning widely.

Elaina didn't know whether to be impressed or cross. "Please try not to break your neck, sister, if you can avoid it," she said wryly. She really did think of the Elvish twins as her little sisters sometimes. They had a girlish quality to them, and they were young for Elves, despite the fact they were fifty years Elaina's senior. The fact that they were also Aran's Meldin made her feel close to them, too.

"Worry not, Elaina!" Liaren said, taking up a playfully proud pose with her chin high and her chest thrust forward. Durien eyed her appreciatively. "We Eryn'elda are like cats! We always land on our feet."

Elaina shook her head in amused disapproval.

"Well, Captain?" Liaren asked Durien, her emerald eyes lidding with desire as she raked them across his torso. "Shall we?"

"Despite the fact that I feel somewhat like a piece of meat being passed around," Durien began with a smile. "I accept your offer, Liaren."

At that, the two moved off to the stairs that led to the cabins below, leaving Elaina to her thoughts. 'Hurry!' she silently urged the Vorondil. She didn't know why, but she had the growing feeling that time was short.

***

***MALOTH -- Ergar Plain War Camp, Palistair***

Word spread through the camp quickly, as Maloth had ensured it would; a small force of Tar'elda had infiltrated the camp and assassinated Morin, Berenor and Beshok before being killed themselves by the Morgai. Of course, that's not how it actually happened, but the only ones who knew that were Maloth, Shenla and the Morgai.

Once word got out, the camp had erupted into a vengeful frenzy, with the Orcs, the Dark Elves and the Wardens demanding an immediate march to Laefandell to level the city of the High Elves. How easy it was to blame murder on a common enemy. All it had taken was to leave the corpses of the rulers and their bodyguards near the bodies of the 'assassins.' Scouts had found the glade early this morning, and the alarm had been raised moments later.

Now, Maloth was in his tent, allowing his women to dress him, for he had an appearance to make. Ebony-skinned Adelain knelt at his feet, her heavy black tits hanging down as she fitted his boots on, often staring up at him adoringly as she worked. The piercings through her nipples glinted in the lamplight. The one between her legs was invisible to him at present.

Maloth's back rested against Mali, who was sitting behind him on the bed, her monumental russet breasts resting on his shoulders. Her thick thighs were on either side of him, making for comfortable armrests. Her large hand was gently stroking his crimson cock, while her other hand caressed his chest.

It was just Mali and Adelain attending him, for now; the rest of his harem were amusing themselves on the fur-carpeted tent floor nearby. Maloth studied Kreya as the tattooed young Warden lay back on the rugs and welcomed Morana into her slim arms. The former Chieftess of the Gor'dur Orcs crawled over the smaller Warden's body before pressing herself down and kissing her hotly. Both women were naked, the way Maloth kept them most of the time, now. Did Kreya feel anything at her mother's death? If she did, she had shown no sign.

A flash of light penetrated the thick canvas walls, followed almost immediately by a resounding crack of thunder. Soon after, spots of rain began to patter on the roof. Maloth smiled to himself. He was the storm, and the storm was him. He was sure of it, now. The storms had increased in frequency and strength with every new Binding, and while they ravaged the land, they never damaged Maloth's camp, nor his followers. It was too much to be coincidence. The sky was almost always dark, now, and it suited him just fine.

The heavy flap at the tent's entrance jerked aside violently to allow Shenla through, followed by Barrog, Torvin and Peldin, all three men bare-chested, but booted and wearing breeches. As for Shenla, she stalked in wearing nothing but knee-high boots, her beautiful face dark enough to put the storm clouds overhead to shame. Her rose skin glistened in the lamplight, wet from the rain.

Maloth's cock twitched involuntarily as he raked hungry eyes over her while she deftly navigated the bodies on the floor, barely sparing them a glance. Her thralls took up positions along the tent walls as she stopped behind where Adelain was kneeling at Maloth's feet and folded her arms beneath her breasts, looking down at him intently, her eyes glittering. What could have gotten her into such a state?

"We have a problem, brother," she said seriously, her dark eyes for once devoid of the promise of ecstasy, which she certainly could provide if she chose.

A warm, wet sensation brought Maloth's attention down to his shaft, which Mali had released and was now pressed snugly between Adelain's tits. The talented Mor'elda skillfully massaged him with her soft black pillows while taking his cockhead into her mouth. "What is it, Shenla? I don't think I've ever seen you this upset."

"I just tried to Bind Beshok," she hissed quietly, so as to not be heard outside the tent. "And nothing happened!"

Maloth's gaze shot up to his sister, his eyes hard. "That was not the plan, Shenla," he growled warningly, keeping his own voice low. His increasingly keen mind spun out the differing possibilities of keeping Beshok alive and Soulbound to Shenla, and no alarms sounded. After a moment, he asked, "What do you mean 'nothing happened?'" His hand found Adelain's snow-white hair, his fingers tangling in the silky tresses as he began to guide her movements. Adelain moaned appreciatively at the touch.

Shenla began pacing back and forth. "I know it wasn't the plan, but I thought he would be more useful as my thrall than lying dead in a forest." She stopped and faced him, her expression softening. "I am sorry I went against the plan, brother, but it was a last moment decision, and I had no time to tell you first."

Maloth waved his free hand dismissively. "It is of little import. This time." He pinned her with a firm stare. "Next time, you come to me first, is that understood?" Shenla nodded agreement. "Now, tell me what happened. The news that you could not Bind Beshok concerns me, and I would like to know more."

Shenla resumed her furious pacing, the sight of her marvelous body moving back and forth enhancing Maloth's pleasure as Adelain continued her work. "Everything felt normal," she began. "Until I actually tried to capture his soul. I could feel it there, calling to me, but it was as if his soul were the moon, for all the chance I had of reaching it." She reached a hand out and grasped at the air as if reaching for something far away. "What do you think it could be?"

Again, Maloth's mind spun like a loom weaving a dozen carpets at once. What was it that really gave he and Shenla their power? Their mother's blood, yes, as well as their father's, whomever he was. The desire, the hunger, to only attach himself to the elite, the best this land had to offer, in beauty and skill and influence.

Shenla possessed the same drive, though to a lesser extent; her intended outcome was to support her brother, not to challenge him, so she chose her souls accordingly, hence the likes of Barrog, Torvin and Peldin, whom were alternating their stares between their mistress and the antics of Maloth's women. They were strong and smart, good fighters, perfect for Shenla's needs. Was it possible that Beshok was simply unsuitable for her, so her powers failed her through some unconscious intention? Was Maloth the only one with the power to Bind monarchs and rulers?

He ran his eyes over his thralls, then Shenla's. Was there a pattern here he wasn't seeing? Yes, each of them were of a different race, but surely it couldn't be as simple as-

Suddenly the answer hit him like a bolt to the chest. It really was that simple. Catching Shenla's gaze, he nodded towards his harem on the floor, and indicated Mali behind him and Adelain at his feet. Then he gestured to Shenla's men. "What do you see, sister?"

She studied the women for a moment, looking at each of them in turn with her head cocked. Kreya and Morana writhing on the rugs nearby. Glinda and Ellerion in an almost identical position next to them. Adelain and Mali serving their master.

After a short moment, Shenla's big eyes widened. "They are all different," she whispered. "Is it possible we are restricted to just one soul from each people? What does that mean for us?"

It was a valid question, but first this 'limitation' needed to be explored. "We will delve into this problem soon," he told her. "But now, I need to address the army."

*

A short time later, Maloth was standing atop a small rise that overlooked the camp. Masses of Orcs and Mor'elda spread out below, clearly divided into two separate armies, the soldiers of one black as midnight, the other varying shades of green. The Mor'tirith occupied a much smaller area in the middle, swathed in their heavy black cloaks, though their Risen dead easily matched either of the other armies in numbers.

Behind Maloth and down the rise a little way, where the waiting soldiers could not see, a small gathering stood. Shenla was there, as were her three thralls. Maloth's harem was also present; all of them naked and collared except for Morana, Adelain and Kreya, whom were to play a special role in the next few minutes.

The assembled forces all watched him expectantly. Their leaders were dead, and they wanted vengeance, but more than that, they needed a purpose, whether they knew it or not. "A great tragedy has befallen us!" Maloth bellowed so that all could hear him. "As you have no doubt heard, Queen Morin, Chief Beshok and King Berenor have been assassinated."

Angry shouts rose from the ranks, and more than a few weapons were shaken in the air. "I considered all three my friends," Maloth lied. "And their passing both saddens and angers me. Vengeance will be ours, however, for the assassins were killed by my Morgai before they could escape, and they were irrefutably identified by one of their own!" That was the cue for Ellerion to step up to the rise. She stood proudly before the watching troops, unashamed at her nudity.

"I am Ellerion Velenar, Queen of the Tar'elda!" the beautiful Elf announced. "It is true, the assassins were Tar'elda, though they were not sent by me. My loyalties are no longer to my home, but to Lord Maloth, now and forever." In demonstration, she turned and knelt at Maloth's feet, her hands on her knees and her head bent forward submissively.

A few approving grunts and murmurs rose from the crowd, and some coarse jokes and laughter, mostly from the Orc ranks. The Mor'elda and the Mor'tirith were more reserved with their opinions. No one race on Palistair got along with another; it was easy to breed hate here.

Maloth resumed his speech. "So, you see how I know this to be true: The High Elves knew about our alliance and attacked out of fear and treachery, and I will not let it go unanswered!"

Cheers rose from the three armies, but one brawny Orc stepped forward and turned to his fellows. "Quiet, fools!" he roared, silencing them. "Are you so quick to follow a stranger? Our Chief is dead for his trust in this Demon! We should return to Gor'dur before we share Beshok's fate!"

Maloth studied the Orcs as they listened to this upstart. Whoever this Orc was, his words were being heard. There were nods of agreement from too many listeners for Maloth's liking. Fortunately, Morana stepped up onto the rise and began to speak, her beautiful face hard, her voice harder. "Those are a coward's words, Raegok!" She boomed. Raegok turned in surprise to see his Chieftess staring down at him from above. "You question their loyalty, but do you dare question mine?"

Raegok opened his mouth to answer, then snapped it shut. Most satisfactory. Morana continued, addressing all of her people. As per Maloth's command, she was dressed in the Orcish manner, in soft leather boots that came to her knees and a short fur skirt that left much of her emerald thighs bare. She wore nothing else, as was the custom for the Chieftess, leaving her magnificent bosom bare. "My mate is dead," she said quietly, though her words carried well enough. "But a new Chief will be chosen, and I do not plan to let the Tar'elda go unpunished for this crime." Her voice grew louder as she spoke, until she finished with a shout. "I go to avenge my mate, and your Chief! Do the Gor'dur stand with me?"

The Orcs erupted into ululating cries and cheers, shaking spears in the air. Morana looked at Maloth, a small smile on her full lips. He nodded to her, letting her know he was pleased with her work. As rehearsed, Barrog stepped up beside Morana, showing himself to the Orcs below. Morana spoke again, her voice certain and strong. "I will be taking Barrog as my new mate, and I offer him up as the new Chief of the Gor'dur. Are there any who wish to challenge?"

Maloth saw a few frowns, but none spoke up. Not so long ago, the entire Gor'dur clan had watched Barrog defeat their strongest warrior without breaking a sweat. It was clear none of them wanted to face him.