Dragon Sweat: Scroll 3

The girls gave little screams, Morgana was further back down the corridor and out of sight in the gloom, leaving Hal with his arms stretched out and flapping like a fledgling getting ready to leave the nest as he fought not to lose his balance. He was lucky enough to get one hand on the wall before he hit it and then fended himself off with another violent effort, his mind still not able to work out the obvious result in advance. If he'd been brought up working on boats he'd have understood the ways of dealing with floating bodies, but he hadn't been, and didn't. But at least the course he'd sent himself skimming along put him clear of the corridor and out into the Great Hall.

The Great Hall, where setting sunlight was streaming in through arrow slits onto the flagstoned floor, the benches and tables hurriedly drawn aside to make room for the aristocratic families scurrying into the Hall to bow and kneel to Morgana and whosoever she favored, be it even a shitpot boy and a pair of chits.

Grizzled warriors wearing hastily donned leather jerkins and polished chain mail were coming together in groups, still panting wives were fluttering fingers around the curls of their hair, sullen sons were scowling darkly at having to play attendance on some accursed witch and even more darkly frowning daughters warned of the sudden need to curtsey to a boy who, yesterday, they wouldn't have deigned to pour the contents of their chamber pots over if he was on fire.

All the arrivals still gathering, still assembling in order of rank, still babbling to each other about the incredible scenes they'd just witnessed. And, at the far end of the Great Hall, a sudden yelp of fear and the sight of a boy dressed in a wizard's robe popping out of the corridor entrance as if fired from a slingshot, legs motionless, arms waving madly and skimming over the rush mats towards the crowd like a wooden ball hurled at a stand of skittles.

Nobody did anything, except stop talking though leaving their mouths agape. Even the quickest witted were left bemused by such a sight, and anyway, to avoid the onrushing figure would have needed reactions fast enough to dodge a lightning strike. Only Hal himself was able to manage the briefest of thoughts and that was about the identity of the figure looming up ahead as his inevitable area of collision. Because the Gods themselves must be laughing at what they were seeing: a spell bound boy flying as straight as an arrow towards the double target of the biggest rack of meat in Great Pass Castle.

The family group was standing directly ahead of him, as motionless in their surprise as statutes: on the left, the hulking figure of Baron Gorlas, known behind his back as 'Gormless' Gorlas: low forehead, flattened nose, eyes like pissholes in the snow, so stupid that even his hounds got bored talking to him, built on the same lines as a mountain bear and looking like one which had just been woken up from a winter's sleep.

On the right, Orla, Gorlas's wife, fittingly enough, a woman with so much bodily hair that only a bear could fancy her.

And in the middle, their surprisingly handsome daughter, Mary, aged sixteen and universally known throughout the kingdom as 'Dairy' Mary. For there was no other maiden in Giant's Pass who proudly carried so much before her, nor took greater pains in the arts of displaying her finest parts. Mary's notion of a disaster would have been to walk past a man or boy and not receive a second glance. But since she virtually always did get a second glance, and then several more long and lingering ones besides, she was usually content, especially when she could quietly torment the watcher with the sure knowledge that he was never going to see anymore of her tits than he had done already. It was a game she'd even played on Hal a time or two, as far down on the pecking order as he was. And now those two magnificent mounds of milky richness were between him and Mary with nothing to shelter them from the impending impact but a low cut dress already straining at the seams.

From Mary's point of view, of course, it was a case of having a boy throwing himself at her, which was certainly not a new experience, but it was the first time one had approached her like a swan landing on a frozen lake and then skidding across the ice. As for the fact that it was a privy cleaner wearing a magician's robe, she had no time at all to consider that as Hal's chest thumped up hard against her own, bringing a look to her face that caused a self satisfied smirk on Hal's own features whenever he recalled the happy event.

In his long life he was destined to see many marvelous things, many awe inspiring sights, but never any vision more breathtaking than the way he clung to Mary's bare elbows and looked down at her magnificent udders twitching and trembling with aftershocks like a pair of giant salmon preparing to leap up a waterfall. Considering the situation afterwards, it was always a wonder to Hal how he managed to spare enough attention to realize the danger that was approaching. Or, rather, the danger that he and Mary were approaching. In fact it was the sudden heat on his calves which made him take stock of his situation.

He'd assumed that holding onto this substantial piece of maidenhood would have been as firm an anchor as a body could need, but apparently not his body, for it was still gliding along. It took a second or so for his bemused mind to understand that whatever magic it was in him that made him float, it was now being shared by Mary, and the pair of them were drifting because her own feet were also dangling a hand's span above the rush mats. True, the thump against her tits had hurt her a lot more than it had hurt him, and the impact had slowed his previous mad rush through the air to a gentle walking pace, which was all good news: the bad news was that he still couldn't stop moving and the impact with Mary had swung him around so his back was to the way they were travelling: the really bad news was that the massive fireplace in the Great Hall had already been lit against the night's chill, a fireplace as high as a tall man's head and wide enough to roast three boars at once, nose to tail. And the really really bad news was that in about two seconds he and Mary were going to be in the flames themselves.

There was no time to think, only to act, and Hal never really understood why he did what he did -- if it was a guess, it was an inspired one, if it was simple lechery in the face of danger, well, that was to be applauded too. What he did was to let go of Mary's elbows and immediately her heels thumped down onto the flagstones. She yelped, and then prolonged the noise on a higher note as Hal jammed his fingers down the top of her dress and pulled on it as hard as he could to keep from touching her skin again. She stayed set solid on the floor, the front panel of her dress came apart on the left and right side in a popping of stitches, and Hal came to a dead stop. The bottom of the torn out section of dress was still holding together at Mary's waist and hanging down in front of him, topped off with nipples like horse chestnuts, was a exposed pair of mounds big and warm enough for a squirrel to bed down between for a winter's hibernation.

"Grrrr," Hal groaned in ecstasy and clamped a hand over each of Mary's huge teats, totally unable to resist the chance of a lifetime. At last he could die happy. And with Baron Gorlas putting hand to his sword, dying was surely the next thing on his agenda. But other things were happening as well.

For one, Morgana le Fay, the deadliest, most evil, most wicked witch in the world, was having a fit -- of laughter. She was doubled up, slapping her hands against her thighs as if doing some kind of folk dance, her eyes almost closed and mouth wide open as she fought for enough breath to laugh and keep alive as well. And, again, in years to come, that was a sight which the Wizard Merlin would remember with affection. Whatever his later troubles with Morgana, he would always recall that once at least he'd seen her helpless with mirth. Even though nobody else would ever believe it when he told them, especially not the that po-faced, pain-in-the-arse, born-again christian, King Arthur.

Another thing that was happening in the Great Hall was that Chelinde and Caelia were rushing past the red faced Baron and his whey featured wife. But neither of the girls was laughing because they could see Gorlas's grip on his sword and how an ell's length of steel blade had already been drawn from the scabbard. The only two things which were keeping the good Baron from fully drawing his weapon and splitting Hal asunder were his wife's restraining hand on his brawny arm -- that and the black robe the boy was wearing. The Baron didn't want to risk the sort of magic that had been used on the King, not even to stop his precious daughter from having her points handled in public.

Neither did Mary; she lifted up her own hands once to push Hal away, but the sight of the glittering symbols on the robe effectively deterred her from touching his body. Better to have her tits publicly fondled than to have her own hands burnt off. And then she was squealing and helplessly, trying to regain a footing on the floor as Hal spun her around, making sure he kept at least one hand on her bare flesh at all times to hold her up in the air with him. He was grinning with joy at this chance to get his revenge on all these upper class bastards who'd humiliated him so long and so often. And there they all were, all along the length of the hall, gaping at the sight of Dairy Mary swaying in front of them, Hal behind her, holding each of her elbows again and the Master-At-Arm's daughters running to serve him.

"Grab her girdle ends, girls," he ordered. "And then tow us away."

Chelinde and Caelia saw what he wanted. Mary had a girdle around her waist, a gold colored cord with two loose ends, each longer than one of Hal's arms. The sisters each caught hold of one of the girdle tassels and began pulling Hal and Mary away, towards the far end of the Great Hall. And as they moved, Hal chuckled, took one hand away from Mary's elbow and seized hold of a nipple again, with all of the noble families able to see what he was doing. Then he did the same thing with his other hand and gloated at the stricken looks on the watchers' faces, and especially the ones on the faces of all the young esquires. The privileged striplings may have used his hair as a shit house cleaning brush before today, but now he was the one with his hands on Dairy Mary's luscious measures, and he was the one who was going to make her shake them around for him in frantic excitement, even if he had to give her a double dose of dragon sweat to get her in the right mood.

What Hal wasn't expecting was to suddenly begin bouncing up in the air, Mary with him, as though they were shuttlecocks being hit with rackets. He looked down and saw they'd reached the steps of the tower stairway: as he almost touched each tread with the back of his heels, he and Mary were shooting up to the next step, bobbing along behind the girls towing them up the spiral staircase.

Before he was pulled out of sight of the Great Hall Hal put his hands underneath Mary's plumpers and waved them at Baron Gorlas and his wife. It took a little careful timing to get his hands on the upswing at the same time as Mary and he were jerked up another step, but the result was well worth the effort; by about the fifth step her pair of abundantly fleshed milk churns were going down halfway to her waist and then bouncing back up almost up to her chin. Mary screeched like a barn owl at midnight and her scarlet faced father seemed about ready to try tearing the chain mail from his chest with his bare hands.

"Good night, my lords and ladies," Hal called out above Mary's yelps: "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I've got to rush off and take a flying fuck."

It was only after ascending the stairs far enough to be beyond the view of the audience in the banqueting hall that Hal realized something had changed. His heels were no longer bumping against the steps; indeed the staircase was further below than before. An observation matched by the decreasing distance between his head and the apex of the arched roof. He was floating higher and higher. And every squirming movement of Mary's fat bum against his rampant cock seemed to be somehow pushing both of them even further into the air.

"Hal, come down!" one of the sisters called out in alarm.

Twisting around he found Caelia and Chelinde's heads lifted up to look at his own face as if he was as tall as Argud himself.

"How can I come down, you stupid bitches? I don't even know why we're going up!"

"Then I will tell you why, Master."

Morgana still wore a smile on her face, though now it was exactly the sort of smile a mere mortal might expect from a witch; the white toothed smile a ferret showed when it slithered into a nest of baby conies.

"Remember what Gregory told the King? That even mortals can make magic when they couple. Are you not yourself feeling the urge to fuck that fat wench in your hands? And can't you feel her own excitement in the movements of her body?"

"Yes . . . " Hal tried to calm down and collect his mind. "But he said that such magic cancels out other magics nearby. That was why your broomstick went down. So, this is the same situation now as then. The spell you cast on me to lift me off the floor should be failing, not getting stronger."

Morgana struck her palms together lightly, as though applauding a child which had learnt its lesson properly: "Well done, Master. But the levitation spell affecting you is no longer mine. 'Tis yours now -- it has been ever since you picked that big titted maid up."

"I picked her up?" As much as he was in awe of Morgana's learning, Hal couldn't help but smile at her suggestion. "All I've ever been able to lift up is a shite bucket. I know no magic, I've never been taught any. How could I cast a spell?"

"I didn't say you cast it, Master, I said you took it over. Before then, I think you had a talent for sorcery born in you, yet still undiscovered. Now I think your mind has been sharpened by wearing a garment bewitched with past magics. So when you seized those overfilled udders you were instantly excited enough to able to take control of the spell and widen it enough to levitate the fat cow you'd laid your hands on."

"What?"

Hal felt the cold touch of the stone floor on the soles of his bare feet before his eyes had time to look down. All they did was to confirm what he already knew, that his -- and Mary's -- weightless condition was swiftly ebbing away. Now they both stood one their toes: lightly, but on their toes.

"Duh!" His confusion was clear to all.

"Master, while we have talked, has not your cock slumped down? Have you not been distracted from what you were thinking of doing to that sweating mare?"

"Well . . . yes."

Morgana's tone was still laced with amusement but her words were true. Hal's passion and his rutting member had drooped at the first distraction, as easily as an old man falling asleep on a summer's afternoon.

Indeed, he was so tired after such a day that had passed that he felt as old as any man still living. Even with Mary Gorlas's nipples still clenched nut hard in his hands he doubted he would recover his desire to fuck her this night. What he would normally have hungered for he scarcely had any more desire for than a drowning man would want a beaker of water. Hal released his hold on the girl and felt his heels settle on the cold stone like a bird's claws on the last beat of its wings. If the levitation spell had belonged to him, briefly, he had completely lost it now in his weariness and confusion.

"Return to your family, Mary," he said. "Before your reputation is spoilt beyond repair."

"You are letting her go, Master?" Morgana asked sharply. "I can give you strength enough to fuck her all night long."

"Aye, and mayhap have her father slice my head off with his sword at dawn while I sleep. Baron Gorlas is no coward and will have his eyes full of blood already for what I've already done to his daughter. No, she goes back downstairs now."

Morgana bent her head forward in acknowledgment: "As you wish, then, Master. To bed, to sleep deeply and wake refreshed. All arranged in the blink of an eyelid."

She raised her hand, as if to cast a spell.

"No, no, not yet. I need to use a night bucket first."

Morgana wriggled the tip of her smallest finger: "No, Master, you don't."

"Of course I . . . " Hal's voice faded in amazement as he realized what she was saying was true. His bowels were empty, his bladder no longer under pressure.

"Where did it go to?" the boy asked in wonder.

There were advantages in sorcery that he'd never ever dreamt of. And all these years he'd thought Gaunt Gregory never needed a turd pail taken out of his tower because the wizard was doing his business with a long drop straight into the moat!

"Your piss and shit, Master? They can go wherever you like. How about inside Baron Gorlas's bed?"

Chelinde and Caelia laughed at the suggestion. So did Hal. But the loudest laugh -- well, the loudest squeal -- came from Mary, even as she was struggling to haul the front of her ripped dress up over her breasts. She seemed delighted with the idea of befouling her parents' bed. Odd, how Chelinde and Caelia had seemed so unaffected by their father's death and how a Baron's daughter seemed to scorn her father and mother so much. Yet he, a mere foundling, would never have dreamed of playing such a joke on his own low bred foster parents. Perhaps there was some law of nature here, that the higher ranked a family the more the members of it disliked each other.

Well, no time now to muse about such things. Gorlas could have his daughter back with her maidenhead intact, if so be Mary's present condition, but it would do the Baron good to know that a spell could strike him from anywhere at anytime. Mayhap it would persuade him to keep his sword sheathed.

"Yes, inside the Baron's bed with my shite," Hal ordered. "Leave us now, Mary."

Her well rounded figure slipped from his grasp, then took a few quick steps to the top of the staircase. The Baron's daughter stopped there, as if pausing at an opened door. Half turning, she faced Hal again and looked directly at him, giving no sign of what she was thinking. Then she was gone down the stairway in a rustle of skirts. Hal wondered if she would warn her father about examining his bed tonight before getting into it. He rather thought not.

Morgana raised her hand, fingers apart: "Sleep, Master."

Even as the irresistible darkness closed around him Hal suddenly realized that this abode of the powerful was not for him, not with the nobility being granted time to recover their wits and their courage. Morgana or no, magic or no, he knew where his best protection lay.

"The dragon hut -- let me sleep in the dragon hut. "

The corridor, Morgana's shining eyes, her hand, her fingers, they all came together as if they were petals of a closing flower . . .

THE END