Tales from the Goddess War Ch. 02: Traveler

Twyla nodded, looking away from her. "That's correct. And tur is an old highland word for tower. From the tower means that I'm a foundling. I was left beside the scullery door when I was only a few months old. The Pale College is my home, and, unfortunately, my family. I do not know what my teacher has planned next, but I'm certain it won't be further travels."

There was a deep sadness in her voice that pulled at Bemere.

"Well, my learned maestra, you're here now, seeing great swaths of the Allworld. At least this part of it."

Twyla did smile then. "That was amazing, yes."

"There is something here, a sadness, that I do not fully understand," Bemere said.

The mage shook her head. "It's not important."

"We have different interpretations of relative importance then. If the topic distresses you, we can speak of other things. But this is the first time I've seen you truly happy."

"You didn't see me in the archives then," Twyla said. "Not really, I mean. All of that knowledge in a single place! I was very happy during my visit, in spite of being sent there as a punishment."

"Punishment?"

Twyla flushed and sighed. "Maestro Johann finally decided that I had taxed his patience with my constant questions. Somehow, he had me named a full maestra daos, without the exams or trials, and then sent me off to the Brynjarl Sands. He said that it was to give him some time to study, free of my constant pestering."

Bemere went through her memories of human relationships and the Pale College. "Was he an impatient teacher?"

Twyla shook her head. "We had become something like friends, talking for hours about the history of Allworld, or geomancy, or any other number of research ideas that we pursued. Until I finally pushed him too far."

"Hmm. Princess Madeline mentioned a rumor she'd heard recently; there was some unrest among the senior mathmagicians?"

"There's no way to be sure, but that's a very common rumor," Twyla said. "Maestro Johann isn't part of the Priory, so it's not as much of a concern for us. It's odd to visit Brynjarl Sands where everything is done so efficiently, so I don't see why there has to be a big upset every time the Prior gets too old."

"That's true for most kingdoms as well," Bemere said. "And you're right, there is no need for it. Ready to move on?"

They arrived at the first wayhouse an hour before night. Here, the shelters were more conventional, although the walls and doors were thicker than normal. After the horses had been attended to, Twyla cooked her dinner, Bemere got her own food out, chanting silent blessings on stewards who understood her stomach. They ate, feeling the fatigue of the day settle on their shoulders.

"I am going to work my muscles," Bemere said. "If you would like to join me, we could discuss the valour."

After shedding her heavy scholar's robes, Twyla was ready and soon the pair were laying on the grass outside. Bemere led Twyla through several different poses, adjusting the mage's posture and limbs as they went.

"The word valour comes from old elfish and it simply indicates the fullness of a cycle of time," Bemere explained as they stretched out. "The practice is made up of five parts and we'll begin with two of the most familiar, gwiddha and kyickmur.

"Gwiddha is the contemplation that provides the opportunity to rest and compose the mind. Its closest human counterpart is sleep, but we do not completely lose consciousness."

"You never dream?" Twyla asked.

"Not the same way that you might. The idea of a nightmare is terrifying, and we won't even go into the horror that a loss of consciousness would be. So, after gwiddha there is kyickmur. That is what we are doing right now, strengthening the body and spirit."

"That's far simpler than Cejum already."

Bemere chuckled. "I know. There are fifteen mental states that the practice moves through, at the individual's own pace. However, once the valour cycle is entered, all of it must be completed, eventually. To stop, or skip, any of the fifteen states is a very wrong thing, only excusable by the death of the practitioner...."

As she spoke, Bemere kept an eye on Twyla's stretching. Under the heavy, shapeless robes, the mage wore the same style of long shirt that Bemere wore, although it was a light linen opposed the elf's cobweb-light silk. But even through the thicker shirt, she saw the bumps of Twyla's nipples, standing up in the cool early evening air. She tried to ignore the feelings the sight was stirring up, concentrating on her lecture.

When they'd finished the kyickmur, Twyla was breathing hard and there was sweat on her face.

"How can something so graceful be such hard work?" the mage asked as they got up.

"I used to think the same thing," Bemere admitted. "You are doing very well though."

They went back inside the bunkhouse and Twyla picked at her sweat-damp shirt. "This is going to be clammy if I leave it on," she decided.

Bemere picked out one of the bunks and put her bedroll on the frame. As she turned, she saw Twyla pull her linen shirt over her head, half turned away. Mouth suddenly dry, she watched the other woman roll up her shirt and toss it on top of her pack. The mage's skin was pale and smooth and as she bent down to find a replacement to wear, Bemere even caught a glimpse of her nipples. She made herself look away, not wanting to panic the mage, or, more importantly, stir up her own desires to the point where she'd do, or say, something foolish. Thankfully unaware of the scrutiny, Twyla unrolled her blankets on one of the shelf-like bunks near the hearth.

"Do we need to keep watch?" she asked.

"We're too far up for casual banditry and these doors have bars. It doesn't matter though. Remember that my sleep is very different than yours, I will know if anyone comes close."

"The large boxes are full of copies and notes from the archives, if you become bored," Twyla yawned.

"That is a kind offer, thank you. I have enough to keep me occupied while you rest."

Twyla nodded and then yawned again, hugely. "Apologies! I've been sitting idle, exercising only my mind for the last three months."

"Sleep well, maestra."

Bemere tried to submerge herself in the valour but couldn't get past the distraction provided by her own body. She'd been able to skip yesterday's milking without much problem since she'd exhausted herself with Madeline and the others the night before.

But, the gland had been slowly swelling since then, pushing the elf's mind and body into a state of desire and fierce arousal. And seeing Twyla's body hadn't helped at all. She'd thought the woman was stout but under her outer robes, she'd been revealed as breathtakingly curved, so enticingly different than Bemere's own smaller breasts and lithe frame.

It had been so hard to look away from her body, and she wanted to do so much more than looking. Her body so soft and warm that Bemere could imagine it against her lips. Or, better yet, her tongue. The maestra was sure to appreciate how good Bemere would make her feel...

With a sigh, she realized that she wouldn't get a moments peace without draining the arousal gland. As she sat up in the bunk, Bemere's overly sensitive skin sang to her of the tight breeches pressing between her legs and across her backside. She kept her eyes firmly away from where Twyla lay sleeping, and padded across the floor instead, going to her bags and retrieving the case with her necessaries. She'd use one of the other bunkhouses, there was no way she'd be able to keep quiet when the waves of pleasure started. Picking up her lantern, the elf slipped noiselessly out into the night.

The door of the furthest wayhouse was reassuringly tight in its frame. Inside, it smelled of long-ago fires, but it was free of everything else. Bemere turned her tiny lantern down to a point of light the size of a firefly and unrolled her blanket on the bare boards of bunk. Opening the leather case, she regarded the implements inside. Though they'd been carefully cleaned, her sensitive nose still caught a hint of Madeline's sex.

That last night, the princess had begged to explore herself with several different pegos. Bemere's nostrils flared, hungrily inhaling the scent. She hurriedly pulled her boots and breeches off and stretched out on the wool covered boards, only her long shirt between her maddeningly sensitive skin and the faintly scratchy fabric.

The princess had turned her self-pleasure into a performance for Bemere and Cal, along with Constance and Jera, and their spouses. Not surprising Bemere in the least, the dark-haired and plump Jera had taken charge of the taller blonde as they had watched.

And after Madeline had sated her lust, she'd languorously beckoned for Bemere to join her. That had been what the rest of them had been waiting for, and as Bemere stripped off her clothes, Jera already had Constance on her knees in front of the prince. The blonde had effortlessly taken him down her throat.

Breathing harder at the memory, Bemere slowly pulled at the ties of her silken shirt, one by one, teasing herself. She moaned quietly as the fabric rustled against her aching nipples. After she had fingered Bemere's sex, the princess had claimed Cal's cock. She'd led him to the bed where Bemere was laying sprawled out and guided his prick between the elf's legs. Then, the rest of them watched as the prince fucked Bemere with powerful thrusts. Cal was a very nice size, her cunt gripped his length perfectly. His eyes had widened, cock getting even harder as she met every thrust with her own inner caresses.

Shirt open to her waist, Bemere twisted to let the silk slide down over her sides, whimpering again as it slid over her nipples. She fumbled for the long pego, the one with the curve perfect for shoving against her yehni, the Seat of Life gland, and the source of all her exquisite tortures. She rubbed the pego against the wet lips of her sex, moaning. Her legs spread wide and Bemere's pelvis rose, searching for the prick that would give her release. The first orgasm erupted as the hardness slid into her wet heat.

The shirt had been pushed up high enough that the blanket scratched the sensitive skin of her buttocks as Bemere spread her legs even wider. The pego pushed deeper in and she whimpered as it pressed her seed of life. Taking a deep breath, the elf shoved the curved end against the engorged gland, forcing the buildup of the last two days into her body.

Her large dark eyes rolled back in her head as she cried out, muscles tight and back arched. With her other hand, Bemere fumbled for the rings that pierced her nipples, twisting until they were bright spikes of pain-pleasure against the thunderclaps of agonizing pleasure coursing through her body.

Finally, she flopped back against the blanket, gasping but also knowing that she hadn't managed to squeeze out quite all of the lust humor. Instead of a long hard push, she began thrusting the pego in and out of her sex, hammering it against the gland. The repeated shoves drove her into a haze of continual orgasms. It was only when she'd gotten too sensitive that she'd let the pego fall to the blanket. Her hands pulled at her nipples, coaxing out one more orgasm.

Then there was a scuff in the direction of the heavy door. Startled, Bemere froze for several seconds, trying to see into the heavy shadows pressing around her tiny light.

"Twyla?" she finally asked.

"Yes," the woman replied. "I heard you cry out and thought you might be hurt...."

"I really tried to stay quiet. I'm sorry," Bemere said. "My body is in a fertility cycle, so I need to occasionally sneak off and get some relief."

"Those are real? I've read...excuse me. I didn't mean to intrude on your privacy. I apologize."

"And I apologize for intruding on your rest. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Twyla stammered an apology and Bemere heard the mage thump against the door as she tried to rush out. "I'm okay," she yelped, and the door scraped shut a moment later.

Bemere grinned up at the ceiling, wondering how the woman had ever managed to sneak up on her. Then it dawned on her that it had to have been during that first screaming release. Twyla hadn't just come in, she'd been standing there for at least a few minutes. Watching.

"If I'd know that's what she liked, I wouldn't have had to leave the warm wayhouse," Bemere chuckled, sitting up. She was a little embarrassed, she hadn't paid any attention to the pleas and fucktalk that she'd been babbling and had no idea if it had included the mage's name. Still, the idea of performing for an audience was making her wet again.

"I am never traveling during this nonsense again," Bemere vowed, taking a different pego from the case and spreading her legs again.