A Paladin's Training Ch. 16

Knowing he was beaten, the mean-eyed watchman dropped his sword, meeting Aran's eyes defiantly.

"How many women?" Aran asked quietly.

The fellow clenched his jaw, but said nothing, offering only stony silence.

"HOW MANY!" Aran roared, boring into the man's eyes with his own.

"Aran!" Sylvia's voice penetrated his rage, and he turned to see her pointing toward the campfire, where the men were scrambling to their feet.

Aran looked down into the man's eyes again, and saw the answer to his question. Aran did feel sorrow this time, as he took the fellow's head with a twist of his wrists. Not sorrow for him, but for the women he had preyed upon.

As the body hit the ground, Aran turned to Sara. "Go," he said. "I'll catch up."

For a moment, Sara looked as if she might argue, but seeing the look on his face, thought better of it. She and Sylvia were running from the camp hand in hand as Aran strode forward to meet the advancing watchmen.

*

Seven men against one. Had any of them been any good, Aran might have been injured, or worse, but instead, he stood unharmed. Vendrick had been the best of the lot, but he had not been trained in the ancient way as Aran had.

The tip of Aran's blade was against fat Tevin's throat, the rotund Herald kneeling in the dirt and blubbering that he would do whatever Aran wanted in exchange for his life.

Aran was considering what to do with the man. "Who is your leader?" He snapped. "Who controls the Heralds?"

Tevin stammered the answer. "C-Commander Eames! Rodric Eames!"

Aran had never heard the name. "How did the Heralds enlist the City Watch? Why did the Council allow this?"

"Because Eames was chasing down two women who murdered Heralds in Maralon," Tevin replied quickly.

"And does the Council know," Aran began levelly, "that the Heralds are also using the extra manpower from the Watch to expand their influence in the region?"

Tevin attempted to assure Aran that no such thing was happening, but Aran had heard it from the man's own mouth during his brief captivity. He interrupted the pudgy fellow's stammering by pressing the point of his sword a shade harder. "Were you aware," he asked quietly, "that two of your watchmen were about to rape my friend tonight while you slept?"

Tevin's beady eyes widened at that. Aran continued. "If I were Rodric Eames, I would be very concerned if it came to light that the Heralds were enlisting the help of rapists."

Tevin swallowed nervously, the sword-point shifting with the motion.

"Go," Aran said, withdrawing his blade from the man's throat. "I never want to see you again, and if you value your life, consider renouncing the Heralds, for their lies will one day be uncovered, and the world will know the truth."

Muttering thanks, Tevin scrambled to his feet and waddled to the closest horse, not stopping to look at the corpses littering the campsite.

Once Tevin was gone, Aran went back to look at the corpse of the assassin that had tried to murder Sara. The dismembered head did indeed belong to the thin, big-nosed Herald that had been present when Aran and Sara were apprehended earlier.

Squatting, he picked up the severed hand, the fingers still curled around the knife. It was an ornate thing, with an ivory handle and a slightly curved blade. Aran hissed as he touched a finger to the flat of the blade and a searing heat burned his skin. If that's what a touch did, what would have happened to Sara if that knife had gone into her? He shuddered to think.

Suddenly, a thought came to him. Still holding the hand, he pressed the knife up against big-nose's face, but there was no burning, nor was there when he tried it against Gav, who was lying on his back, pale and breathing shallowly, still bleeding out through his stump of a leg.

So, this blade only burned him, and not the other two men. Was it somehow only harmful to Gifted? He'd never heard of such a thing, but a more pressing question nagged at him; why had he or Sara not sensed the assassin? The only reason Sara was alive is because Aran had physically seen the man moving. With the Gift, one could sense everything in a certain radius, so why not this man?

Gav's ragged breathing brought him back to the present moment. Grimacing, he stood, raising his sword. Rapist or no, there was no point making the fellow suffer.

A moment later, Gav was dead, and Aran had removed the knife from the severed hand and wrapped it in a piece of Gav's cloak. He would show it to Amina when next he saw her.

Seeing no reason to dally, he left the camp, but not before gathering up seven of the nine remaining horses. Taking a shine to a proud-looking black stallion, he started in the direction Sara and Sylvia had gone, leading the other six horses behind him.

***

Sara's thoughts bothered her as she ran through the night hand in hand with Sylvia. The poor half-elf was having trouble running due to her rough treatment at the hands of the Heralds, but she was a determined thing, and pushed on regardless

Sara was delighted that she'd found Aran and Sylvia and been able to help them escape, but she'd lost her focus in a critical moment and almost gotten herself killed. How could she not have sensed the man with the knife, after all the training and practice she'd had?

If it weren't for Aran, she'd be dead from a knife in the back, she was certain of this. In fact, if Aran had never found her in Maralon to begin with, the Heralds probably would have discovered that she was Gifted, eventually.

She owed Aran a great deal; he really was an amazing man, loving, strong and brave.

It seemed like so long ago that she was living on the streets, not knowing where her next meal was coming from, offering her body to strangers when she was desperate enough. In reality, it had not even been two months since she'd met Aran and her life had changed greatly for the better.

Now, she had friends, people she should be protecting with her Gift, and she would be no good to them if she got herself killed for carelessness. She would redouble her efforts at mastering this Gift, and make sure she never let Aran down again.

She was brought from her thoughts by a tug on her hand as Sylvia fell to the ground. Sara had been so deep in thought she'd forgotten to keep the pace steady.

"I'll be alright," Sylvia said confidently, though she remained lying on her back on the grass. "I just need a minute."

"You sure you're right, Syl?" Sara asked gently. Even in the dim moonlight, the rips in the knees of her breeches were glinting with fresh blood.

The pretty half-elf nodded, looking up at Sara from the ground. "Sit with me?"

"Sure," Sara said with a smile as she lay down. Clouds scudded across the night sky, illuminated by the crescent moon halfway to it's zenith.

"I can't wait to have a bath," Sylvia said with a sigh. "I feel as though I'll never be clean again."

"I know what you mean," Sara agreed with a chuckle. "I'm pretty sure those guards smelled me coming tonight, long before I got there."

Sylvia giggled at that, then her face became serious as she studied the clouds. "Those two men Aran killed, they were going to hurt me, weren't they?"

While she didn't know for sure, in the brief time Sara had aligned with the watchmen, she had felt into their hearts and seen their true nature. She thought about lying to Sylvia, to protect her from the truth, but saw little point in that. "I believe they were the sort of men who would," she said gently.

Sylvia's head turned to regard Sara, her eyes liquid pools in the moonlight. "You saved me. If you hadn't come -"

"Then Aran would have done it himself," Sara interrupted softly. "He didn't want to reveal himself to the Heralds, but would have to save you. He was on the brink of doing it when I arrived, you know."

Sylvia smiled at that. "The two of you make me feel so safe, like nothing can ever happen to me when you're around. I just wanted to say thank you for being there."

Sara opened her mouth to respond, but her words were swallowed by Sylvia's lips enveloping her own.

"I'm sorry!" Sylvia cried in a flustered voice as she broke the kiss. "I know I'm not supposed to do that, because you're training and all, but I couldn't help it!"

Sara responded by seizing two handfuls of the cute half-elf's golden hair and pulling her back down for another kiss.

Passion mounted quickly, and the two women moaned into each other's mouths as their lips and tongues danced together. Sara had been without sexual contact since her training had begun almost two months ago, and her body was aching with the need to be touched, kissed, fucked.

"No," she said with a ragged breath, pushing Sylvia away gently. "I cannot do this, not yet, though I want to so badly. My training is too important."

At that moment, the sound of trotting hooves floated across the plain from the direction they'd come from.

Sylvia glanced at Sara nervously before getting up to a crouch, ready to flee.

Sara smiled to herself as she stood to her full height and calmly brushed the grass off her simple linen dress. There was no need to run this time.

"Sara!" Sylvia hissed. "What are you doing?"

In answer, Sara held her hand out to her friend. "Come, Syl. Aran has found us."

***

Barrog descended the many hundreds of stairs that led into Maloth and Shenla's home, the pitch darkness no bother to his orc eyes. Behind him was Peldin, a dark elf that had become one of Shenla's toys, as Barrog had. Also present was Torvin, the Warden of the Dead that was the lastest addition to Shenla's harem. Torvin was short, but well-muscled for a human, and beneath his black robe his pale skin was covered with strange runes that Barrog didn't understand. Torvin had left his undead minion outside along with two of his fellow Wardens and their coterie of Risen.

A stray thought of Shenla, with that red skin, those big tits and that round ass, had Barrog stiffening in his trousers. She had that effect on him, as she did many men, he knew. Barrog cared not that he was bound to Shenla and no longer a free orc, as he once was. In his old life, he'd been a Kritar -- a Captain -- leading orc warriors in battle and on raids. It had been a good life, but a hard one.

With Shenla, he had it better; he had a position of power, and there was pussy aplenty. He rarely went a full day without fucking someone, be it elf or dwarf or human, or even one of these Risen that were getting about.

Barrog wasn't picky; a fuck was a fuck. None of them could hold a torch to Shenla, though. Being inside her was a thousand times sweeter than any other female bar none.

As for Shenla's brother, Maloth, Barrog had no great love for him, but as he was Shenla's kin, Barrog did as he commanded. There was no mistake; Maloth was a dangerous foe. Barrog had seen the red demon fight, many months ago against a band of ogres, and his skill with that black blade had been impressive.

The stairs finally ended, and the three of them entered the main hall, a huge stone chamber lined with black stone pillars supporting towering ceilings. Torches emitting those strange flames -- purple today, though they changed colours randomly -- hung about the walls and on the pillars, giving the place an otherworldly glow. A large archway sat in the centre of each wall, leading off to different wings of this strange underground castle.

"Now to find them," Peldin murmured in his deep voice. He didn't have the musical lilt in his accent that surface-dwelling elves possessed; it was a rather harsh, downturned inflection that made him sound like he was angry or disappointed all the time.

"You two check in the bedchambers," Barrog said to Peldin and Torvin as he walked off towards the archway on the left. "I'll look in the bath house." Barrog secretly hoped to find the women in the bath and maybe join them for a quick fuck before they headed back to the army. The cocoa-skinned giantess, Mali, and the pale elf, Ellerion, both round-hipped, big-chested and beautiful, made for an appealing thought.

Sadly, the women were not in the bath, so Barrog went back to the main hall and used the middle archway, which led to the bedchambers. He expected the sounds of moaning and sex to be echoing through the black corridors, but strangely, there was only silence.

Entering the large room that Maloth kept for his harem, Barrog saw Peldin and Torvin kneeling beside the huge bed, upon which lay Mali and Ellerion. They were naked and on their backs, sound asleep.

Moving closer, Barrog sensed that something wasn't right. Torvin looked up as he approached. "They are not well, Barrog, I think."

Peldin looked the women over with a grimace. "They have been too long without the demon's essence. They need it soon, or they will die."

"How do you know this?" Barrog inquired sharply.

"I overheard Maloth and Shenla one day," Peldin explained. "And he was saying that the lunar cycle was almost up, and he would need to 'feed' his pets."

So Maloth's women couldn't survive without him? What did that mean for Barrog? Did Shenla work in the same way? Would Barrog die if he went too long without fucking her? "How long do they have?" He asked the dark-elf, who shrugged in answer.

"Impossible to tell," Torvin offered. "I don't believe the Binding has ever been studied. I think it's best we get them to Maloth as fast as we can."

"Then let's be about it," Barrog said quickly. "I don't want to be the one to tell Maloth that two of his pets are dead because we were too slow!"

Hurriedly, they wrapped the women in blankets and carried them through the castle to the stairs leading to the surface, where they began the long ascent. They must have been unwell indeed, for they remained asleep despite being hauled around.

Barrog and Peldin were the tallest, so they carried the giantess, while Torvin bore Ellerion, who was smaller and much more manageable than the fourteen-foot, four-hundred pound Mali.

Peldin was stronger than Barrog thought, easily keeping up despite being shorter and skinnier than he, while Torvin maintained his pace behind. Barrog found himself wondering how they were to transport Mali -- they couldn't exactly sling her over a horse, and carrying her on foot would take days they may not have -- but his concerns were allayed when they reached the surface and the two Wardens standing guard quickly had their minions relieve them of their burdens.

In short order, they were away, riding back to the army as fast as they could without leaving the undead behind. Night had fallen, which was a good thing; easier to travel in the dark where there was less chance of being seen. The Risen seemed to bear the weight of the women easily, and ran without tiring, though Barrog wondered how they would fare over the two-day ride back to the camp.

"They won't fatigue," Torvin explained when he saw Barrog looking over at the pale-grey creatures. There were ten of them in all -- eleven counting the chesty one that belonged to Torvin -- and they were all human -- or had been, once. They were a mix of men and women, all of them physically pleasing to behold and dressed in very little. Nine of them ran in a cluster with Mali supported above them, while the tenth had Ellerion slung over his shoulder.

Indeed, Torvin appeared to be telling the truth; it had been over an hour and the Risen showed no signs of slowing.

"Peldin!" Torvin yelled to the dark elf, who was riding at the head of the small band.

Slowing his chestnut gelding, Peldin cocked a white eyebrow at the human.

"Scout ahead a mile or so, and report back every hour," Torvin ordered. "I want to know if there's anything ahead of us we should know about."

With a nod, Peldin booted his horse and galloped off, clumps of dirt and grass flying in his wake.

The dark elf followed his orders obediently, his dark figure appearing from the southwest every time Barrog found himself wondering if the hour was up.

The sun rose and fell again as they rode, and their luck seemed to be in, for they reached Maloth's camp with no obstruction. Strangely, the army had not moved since last Barrog had seen it.

Torvin slowed the party to a walk as they approached the mass of tents, not wanting to alarm the sentries; the Wardens and Risen that patrolled the perimeter.

Before they got any closer than about a hundred yards, a mounted figure came charging from the camp right at them, yanking the horse to a skidding halt before them.

Barrog felt her before he saw her. It was Shenla, dressed in one of her cock-hardening outfits. This time, it was a barely opaque dress that clung to her well-rounded figure, molding every extravagant curve.

For once, Shenla's beautiful face, with it's full, dark lips and high cheekbones offered no sultry glances. Her glittering black eyes held no light of seduction, instead burning with urgency and impatience. "About time!" She snapped, wheeling her horse around. "Bring them quickly!"

Wordlessly, they obeyed, rushing into the camp as fast as the Risen could carry the still-sleeping women. There were stares aplenty as they headed for Maloth's tent, but Barrog ignored them. Whatever Shenla wanted, he would give to her.

Outside the largest tent in the camp, Shenla reigned in and dismounted, nimbly leaping from the saddle in a manner that belied her buxom body. "Quickly! Bring them inside!" She urged before disappearing inside the tent.

With Peldin's help, Barrog took the giantess from the Risen and stepped through after Shenla to see a naked Maloth lying on the thick furs that were spread across the tent floor. As far as Barrog could tell, the fellow appeared to be sleeping peacefully, but Shenla knelt at his head with a concerned look on her face. Off to one side were Maloth's other two pets, the Warden Kreya, pale and slender, and Glinda, the pretty dwarf with the massive tits. Barrog had enjoyed both these women more than once, and hoped to do so again.

At Shenla's direction, they lay Mali down next to Maloth, and Torvin did the same with Ellerion on the other side. Shenla also had them remove the blankets that were covering the women.

It made for a strange sight, Barrog thought as he looked down upon the three sleeping beings. A five-foot tall elf, golden-haired and pale, lying next to a seven-foot tall demon with crimson skin, who in turn lay beside a dusky giantess twice his height who took up a large portion of the tent floor.

Shenla continued to watch Maloth's face, obviously waiting for something. A few moments later, his eyes opened wide and his cock sprang from limp to fully erect in seconds. Saying nothing, he rolled to his right and climbed atop the still-sleeping Ellerion, opening her thighs with his knee before burying himself in the pretty pink slit between her legs.

The elf remained asleep as Maloth thrust vigorously into her. Her tits - the largest Barrog had ever seen on an elf -- shook back and forth in time with the motion of Maloth's hips.

After a short time, Maloth groaned, and his body spasmed as he spilled himself inside Ellerion. Pulling free of the elf's pussy, which now dripped dark demon seed onto the furs beneath, Maloth rolled the opposite direction and slid himself over Mali's lush, dark body. With Shenla's help, he got her thighs open wide before he inserted his crimson pole into the giantess and gave her the same vigorous fucking he'd just given the elf.

If Ellerion's tits were big, then Mali's were enormous. Her huge orbs rocked and wobbled as Maloth assaulted her cunt for long minutes.

During this time, Ellerion came awake with a yawn, stretching her voluptuous body languidly before sitting up and looking around. Her clear sapphire eyes passed over Barrog, Torvin and Peldin, then Glinda and Kreya and Shenla before focusing on Maloth who was still pumping away atop Mali.