Echoes of Spring Ch. 01

'Echoes of Spring' is a ten-part hard fantasy with the following sexual themes; MF, MFF, F and many M's, FF, cheating, coercion, prostitution, plenty of gray morality and, yes, perhaps even some romance. Just like the rest of my stories, 'Echoes' takes place in a fictional world, a map of which can be found in my Biography.

Also like my other stories, 'Echoes' starts slowly, introducing the characters and letting them interact for quite a while before anything sexual gets going. You have been warned.

Seriously.

But enough of caution. This tale begins in Moradria, a Duchy in the eastern reaches of the Empire of Man. To travel there, start in the capital of Imperia, take the eastern highway all the way to the fortress of Dun Triest, then turn north onto an unmarked dirt road, which will soon take you through the farms and forests of the Duchy. One should always be wary of robbers within the forests of Moradria, but a warm meal and a comfortable inn are always but a day's walk away...

-=-=- Lord Eric of Moradria -- 1275 D.f. -=-=-

The early summer months were Eric's favorite time to hunt. Just a pinch of rain, only a hint of dust, and his prey weren't yet dumb from the rut. The skies were now blue, the rivers yet rushed, and the forests were still green in these echoes of spring.

The only trick now was finding a stag worth shooting. Eric looked to his longbow, finding it just as ready as it had been an hour ago, back when he'd first arrived at this stream by the river.

Not that he was in any particular rush. Eric had no competition. This forest was his father's, passed down from his father, and his father's father before that. In fact, to hunt in this wood and not be Eric was to be called a poacher instead, and the antlers of a stag aren't ever worth a hand, of that anyone could agree.

But there weren't any stags here now. Perhaps he could read a book for a time? Perhaps he could skip some rocks. Perhaps he could do anything, anything at all, to not be a Lord for a while. Looking back on it, Eric should have known not to wish for anything to happen simply because he was bored. But he had, and years later he blamed that exact moment for so many things.

Because it was then, during the morn' of the Eighteenth of High Star, that Eric heard a maid's shrill cry from around the bend. So he rose to his feet, grabbing his pack and his bow, and hurried towards the noise quite swiftly.

-=-=-

He'd arrived just in time. Eric found his squealing maid with her back up against the rushing river, all while three men closed in on her with lustful gazes and roaming hands. The blonde wench gave them a nervous laugh when one of the men found the audacity to squeeze her ass, but was obviously too polite to tell them 'no'. He'd seen it all before.

Eric couldn't allow such a fate to pass, especially within his own forest. He drew his bowstring, aimed, and coughed; causing four pairs of eyes to shift to his direction, their excited visages transforming into ones of confusion and fear. None of the men harrassing the woman spoke for a second or three, so Eric took it upon himself to set the tone.

"You knaves best leave her alone, if you aren't looking for trouble," he gruffly warned the trio of men. Glances were shared, stances were widened, and Eric drew his bowstring further.

"Who... wha-?" the fattest of the men replied with a dumbstruck grin. Eric rolled his head towards the bridge about thirty yards to his right, all while keeping his weapon drawn.

"I said, you all best leave her alone. She isn't appreciative of your company, and further sloth on your part will incur my wrath."

More confused glances. The beset girl raised a finger as if to speak, but was cut off by one of her attackers; a lanky, pocked man, missing more than a few teeth from his grin.

"Who's to say wha' she can-n-can't do, eh?!" he crudely exclaimed.

Eric aimed his bow at him. "The man with the eight-stone draw, friend," he smirked. The two of them shared a glare then, the same glare that had been shared an infinite amount of times in the past, when fighting over a maid's innocence.

"C'mon... c'mon, George! This looney ain't worth our time!" the third peasant exclaimed, tugging on the pocked man's sleeve. The toothless peasant known as George spit in Eric's direction.

"Shit ain't right! Dere's t'ree of us, an' only one of-"

Eric loosed his shot, aiming just an inch high so the arrow went through the man's hat instead of his neck, taking it off his head and into the river behind him.

"Could be two of you. Could be none," Eric calmly replied, quickly nocking another arrow. The pocked man yanked his sleeve away from his compatriot, spit into the grass again, then stomped off towards the bridge, his two friends hastily joining him in his retreat.

"Yeah? Yeah?! We'll see what the constable has'ta say 'bout that," the man cowardly declared over his shoulder.

Eric held his aim on the man's back for another few seconds, but it wasn't necessary; they wouldn't be returning anytime soon. He chuckled when he finally unnocked his bow, pondering how a conversation would go between an Imperial constable and a couple of backwoods bandits.

"Um... sir?"

Right; the lass. Eric turned her way as he slung his bow over his shoulder, finally getting a good look at her.

She was far shorter than him - mayhaps a few inches over five feet - which was of no surprise given that, judging by her harsh drawl, she'd likely been raised on a peasant's diet. Her blonde, bobbed hair held but a single braid that reached her shoulder, while the rest delicately framed her comely face. She had green eyes a shade darker than the midday forest, freckles splotching her nose and some of her cheeks, and peach lips so plump that Eric had a hard time figuring they weren't tainted by sorcery.

And the rest her body, why... that was the story of legend. An alabaster white, curvaceous and terribly distracting precisely where it mattered, and thin and fit where it did not. She was practically halfway to being a fertility statue, Eric thought boorishly.

She wore a travel cloak wrapped around her naked shoulders, and a tan corset that pushed her bosom upward so half her pillowy tits were exposed to the elements. Beneath this was a red skirt that fell all the way to the ground, except on one side where it had been torn open up to her hips - likely by the hands of those bandits - which revealed the entirety of one plush, tattooed leg. Eric wondered where her dress was, seeing as what she was currently wearing couldn't possibly be her over-clothes.

He also had to speak. More than two seconds of ocular discovery was figured crude, and should be left to the commoners.

"Have no fear, my lady. Those scoundrels won't be accosting you any longer," he said so very proudly. And the lass beamed as brightly as the midday sun, just before taking Eric aback.

"But sir, they weren't accostin' me -- they were askin' how much I cost. How large a donation they'd have to give the goddess for my company."

Eric's cheeks turned beet-red once he realized what he'd done. His wandering eyes finally discerned that the tattoo on the maid's leg was that of a rose; its full red bloom resting on her upper thigh, and its thorny stem tracing a long, curling line all the way down her leg, to disappear within her calf-high boot. This meant that the maid was, in fact, no maid at all, but a whore instead; a godly whore.

"Ah. So all of that was..." he cleared his throat, twice, "right. Well, may I then extend an embarrassed and apologetic welcome to Moradria, priestess."

"'Tis... 'tis nothing to be embarrassed of, sir," the priestess giggled. "I won't ever chide a handsome man who comes to my aid, no matter how unnecessary."

She then gave Eric one of the warmest smiles he'd ever witnessed, one that was simply impossible not to catch himself, and curtseyed for him, lifting the non-slitted side of her skirt to reveal more of her smooth legs, as well as some light wrappings stained with the color of dried blood on her other calf.

"I am Erika from Limena; a humble an' grateful priestess of Fiona," she softly greeted him. Eric placed a balled fist on his heart, bowing an inch in turn.

"Fortune to us, Erika," he grinned, rising from his bow. "As I am Lord Eric; Heir to the Duchy of Moradria. I... trust you'll keep my misguided attempt at rescue away from the prying ears of others?"

Erika's eyes lit up at the mention of his noble station, though she made a quick attempt to hide her surprise. "E'ryone but my sisters of the cloth, m'lord," she giggled again, fluttering her long lashes. "No man with his head on straight pays me much of a mind, anyway."

"That's quite hard to believe," Eric smirked.

"Well believe it, m'lord," she laughed, her entire body swaying side-to-side as if the joy within her was attempting to escape into the real. She was, without question, mesmerizing; one of those rare sights in life that make you feel lighter simply by viewing them. He really didn't believe her.

Eric whistled for his mare, who promptly trotted up alongside him and tucked her neck underneath his waiting hand. "Call me Eric, please priestess. And no welcome to Moradria would be complete without an offer of assistance. Do you require anything? Food, directions, a ride mayhaps? I can take you to the city, if you don't mind riding behind me."

"I am... that is most gracious, my- Eric, but I am venturin' elsewhere," she smiled, blushed, and stumbled, when she accidentally put too much pressure on her covered leg.

"With such a limp?" Eric replied, nodding towards her leg. "I would advise otherwise, Erika. A lone woman with a stagger will draw the attention of wolves here, animal and otherwise. They grow up strong here in the north. The offspring of Isbryggan dire wolves and raiders, really."

"Coin-cidentally, that's the same breed o' animal who gifted me this," she grinned, lifting her skirt once more to reveal her bandaged leg. "But the goddess guides my steps, thankfully. The wolf decided I was no meal -- once I bopped him on the nose, o' course," she giggled.

This time, Eric didn't share in her laughter. "A loner?" he seriously asked, and Erika's grin melted away as she gazed upon him.

"Um... yes. Jus' the one," she frowned.

Shit. Eric tugged on the reins of his horse, leading her nearer to the priestess. "Well then, Erika, my offer of assistance has now turned into a command. Our wolves may be strong, sure, but they do not hunt alone. He may have been fighting the onset of rabies."

"Rabies?!" Erika cried, clutching her skirt in a sudden fear.

"Yeah. So, don't panic on me, but we have no time to waste. How long ago was the bite?" he asked gravely, extending a hand towards her.

"J-j-jus' yesternight," she wobbly answered, taking his hand after a trembling moment of contemplation. He led her towards the back of the horse and lifted her up behind the saddle, then patted the priestess' naked leg.

"More fortune to us, then. You'll be fine once we get to town, priestess, even if he was carrying. But I don't take chances."

"Okay..." she murmured wearing a heart-breaking pout.

Eric wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or not, but there was one thing he did know; that the world would be that much darker if it lost this particular ray of sunshine. He mounted his horse without delay, and brought one of Erika's hands to his waist.

"Hold onto me tightly. Come, Esponia, show me how you used to run. Ya!"

-=-=-

Eric knew his father's forest better than any other soul. Much of his youth was spent here playing knights and robbers with his friends, reading a new book under many a different tree, hunting when he aged, or just simply exploring like any other curious lad. Now that he had eighteen years, he'd practically memorized the outlying thirty miles or so.

And with those memories - and a noble's well-trained horsemanship - did he return to Moradria with all haste. Had it been nighttime he, and his trusty steed in turn, would had to have traveled with care; but, seeing as the forest still wore the morning's sun, and a woman's life was perhaps at stake, Eric rarely slowed from a canter, and oft rode at a full gallop instead.

Erika's warm embrace never left his waist, and her cheek rarely left his back. She never once complained about the speed nor lack of saddle, perhaps out of a fear of her own mortality. Only when they reached the cobblestone road of Moradria did they dismount, giving the horse a much-needed rest after the better part of two hours riding.

The destination that Eric had decided to take her was difficult to miss, seeing as it rose two stories taller than even the city walls before them. It was a sorceress's tower - one square and made of gray stone - belonging to the town mage; a woman Eric had shared several meals with in the past, as well as her bed once or twice. Eric told the priestess all of this, save his past with her between the sheets.

"She lives out here? Away from e'ryone else?" Erika asked as they made their way towards the tower.

"Mm. Isn't it similar elsewhere? The commoners distrust a woman's magic, fearing she may bring them ruin if she lives closer."

Erika winced at the truth. "I'm a commoner, and I find that thought disgusting," she huffed, taking a stumbling step away from him as they walked. Eric shrugged.

"You're a priestess. That's different."

"How so? Am I not as poor as 'em?"

"You're educated. And, no, probably not," he chuckled, skipping up the steps leading to the front door of the tower. "Judging from the tax ledgers, a commoner makes no more than twenty gold Imperials a year, no matter their occupation. Most take in far less."

"Huh. Guess I'm practically a noble, then," she cutely giggled. Eric gave his best to not roll his eyes at the notion, and rapped his knuckles against the tower's door.

They were soon greeted warmly by the sorceress known as Jenna, a healer who had moved to Moradria from the west about half-a-decade ago. Eric wasn't sure her precise age, though she portrayed herself as a woman in her early twenties; a fact that hadn't changed whatsoever since their first meeting years ago, with nary a wrinkle visible on her face. And, just like every other time he had seen her, Jenna was clothed today in a bright-green dress under a shawl of purple, colors which supposedly brought her great luck and willpower; according to the sorceress's own nonsense, anyway.

If Jenna was surprised that Eric had brought a half-naked wench to her tower, she did not show it then. Instead, she merely invited them inside, listened to their plight, then instantly sought to remedy Erika's curse.

Eric always enjoyed visiting Jenna's tower. Being a sorceress, she held many an insane plant and interesting artifact within, from Isbryggan snapping weeds to a stave that had been owned by a Dragonking over a thousand years ago, and the place always smelled richly of cinnamon.

Erika was led to a couch on the first floor of the tower and was told to then lay down. Jenna quickly went to work, placing a hand on Erika's leg whilst flipping through the pages of a black tome written in unintelligible Kinglish, the only evidence of her magical prowess being the white sparks tracing her fingers as she worked.

But curing Erika did not take all of Jenna's attentions. Instead, she casually questioned Eric every chance she got, jested about run-ins with one another from their past, and generally spoke of things that likely made Erika feel even more an outsider than was appropriate.

"How do you two know each other so well? Does she work for your family, Eric?" the priestess asked after the third or fifth in-joke.

"No, uh, we have our own Court Sorceress at the castle. I think we met on Lyrasa in seventy-two... right? Close ever since?" Eric answered unsurely, raising a brow at Jenna.

"Close indeed, but it was during the Felling of seventy-two that we met," Jenna corrected with a frown, not taking her sight or hand off of Erika's leg.

"The Felling? What's that?" Erika asked, her pouting gaze bouncing between them. Eric rolled his head towards Jenna, deciding to let her answer; he'd done his best to banish the memory from his mind.

"Oh, it was a tryin' time," Jenna murmured. "There was a bout of apraxia making it's way through the town, affecting near one in ten, and some good-for-nothings convinced the rest that I was to blame. Many came here with forks and fire, and I was besieged within my own tower."

"That's horrible!" Erika whined.

"It was. But our good Lord Eric here, why, he rode up with a couple soldiers and put himself between the mob and my tower, and he shouted... what was it, dear?"

Eric chuckled. "Death to the first knave who takes one step forward. Death to the last who runs," he poetically recited his threat to the masses, garnering chuckles from both women. "Almost had to make it a reality, too. I'd forgotten all about that."

"That's so chivalrous of ya, twin Eric," Erika warmly complimented, returning her gaze to the healer. "But why're ya still here helpin' these people if they wanted you dead?"

Jenna sighed. "Because it's the same much elsewhere, I'm afraid, outside the big cities out west... but then, if I were there I'd just be another sorceress. Here I can help people, much like our sweet Lord Eric."

Eric rolled his eyes. "So what's the prognosis, Jenna?"

"She's contracted rabies; just as you thought, but discovered early enough to ensure she will make a complete recovery," she calmly replied. "My magics are decent enough to keep it at bay, but I'll need to brew up some tonics for her to cure it entirely."

"Praise the gods," Eric exhaled. "You have my greatest thanks, Jenna. Seriously. I'm going to return with coin you know, whether you like it or not."

Jenna lifted herself to her feet, giving him a sly grin. "You can repay me with wine. Perhaps over dinner?"

"Fine," he smirked. "But nothing more than that this time. I'm married now, if you recall."

"How could I forget?" Jenna impishly moaned as she made her way towards the stairs. "All praise the resplendent Lady of Secunda, and all that. Give me a minute or twenty, if you would."

"Sure."

After a glancing smirk and a barely-audible sigh, Jenna then made her way up the stairs of her tower, leaving Eric and a frowning Erika alone for a time. He looked on the priestess in confusion; shouldn't a soul that had just been saved from a terrible death appear a bit happier?

"You're married?" she muttered but a moment later, giving him little more than a glance. "So young?"

Then it hit him. It was the same frown most every other girl had worn when they were told of his arranged marriage to the Lady Luciana of Secunda. "Yeah. But I'm not so young, Erika. I've eighteen years."

"And I've twenty-one, but would never ponder such a thing," she murmured. "Though, I s'pose that's more a case of my service to Fiona then anythin' else... and you're noble, so."

"Mm."

Eric had to change the subject. The sunbeam that Erika was should never be left to pout, especially over a circumstance that Eric had no part in making. He nodded towards her rose tattoo, which was now on prominent display as she laid on the couch, her slitted skirt just barely covering her womanhood.

"Tell me of your service, Erika. I've heard many a story of the priestesses of Fiona, but had yet to meet one before you."

"I'm... I..." she sighed, smoothing out her skirt, "what would you like to know?"

"Just wondering if the stories are true," he softly said. Erika pushed herself up to sit on one side of the couch, prompting Eric to take the other half.