Dragon Sweat: Scroll 3

THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READING ONLY

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The King throws in his hands, Gaunt Gregory is defeated by Morgana le Fay and Hal O'The Shitbuckets is elevated to the rank and title of Duke Merlinus. Elevated several inches high in fact, which is why he enters the great hall like a turkey landing on an ice pond. Fortunately, he's lucky enough to make a deep impression on the biggest girl at the banquet.

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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 blow 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 spearpoint 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 hunted bear. 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 the . . . 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.