Tales of Thistledown Ch. 02

The wind whistled through the rushes as we rode. It was a cold, clear winter evening, and brisk gusts buffeted us through the layers of our clothes. I had shed the gown from earlier for a riding dress of sensible wool, dyed indigo at the hems with the skirt split up the back to enable the comfortable straddling of a horse. My mantle was also wool, but of a thicker weave and trimmed with mink-fur. A pair of sheepskin boots completed the ensemble, the thick hides insulating my feet from the stinging winter air.

I sat astride a bay palfrey, Marion accompanying me to my left on his black mare. He had donned a cuirass of boiled leather over his linen tunic, and a wool-and-velvet cloak of midnight-blue shrouded him against the chill. He whistled irritatingly as we cantered along, the tuneless notes faint beneath the gale.

"Will you cut that out?" I snapped. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"Oh? Were you casting a spell of some sort?"

"No, I'm watching for signs. We're trying to track a dangerous monster, you may recall."

"Ah, yes, your cockatrice."

"Your cockatrice."

"You're the one who insisted it was out here." That much was true. We had returned to the scene of the beast's last attack and found the carnage of a wagon train, bodies of horses and men strewn across a dirt road. Some had tried to run, making it as far as the nearby brook, where the monster had evidently caught up to them. Their bodies were flung against a boulder breaking the flow, and the blood had washed away so that the only evidence of their death was a grey pallor to the skin. Yet, I had seen no tracks. Marion had dithered, suggesting we return to a nearby village and inquire of the locals, so I had taken matters into my own hands, insisting we follow the brook until we came across some trace of the animal.

We rode on for a while longer, the darkening sky casting shades of blue across the water. Marion sighed. "Thistle?"

"What?"

"I'm bored."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes! We could be at an inn right now, eating meat pies in front of a roaring fire."

"You are surely the weakest, most abject Merylian ever to walk this earth."

"Well. I do have my redeeming features."

"Like what?"

"I've been told I have impressive body heat."

I raised an eyebrow. "Body heat?"

"Yes. You may find out later, when we huddle together for warmth in the night."

"You're looking for an excuse to grope me."

"Do I need an excuse for that?" Grinning, he kicked his mare closer to me and reached a hand across the bodice of my gown.

"Stop."

"And what if I don't?"

"No, stop!" I halted my palfrey. Something had caught my attention in the dirt. I dismounted, swinging my legs over the bridle, and slid off to the cold, packed earth. There were scuff marks in the ground here, great gouges where it seemed as if the soil had been torn up by some sort of large, clawed animal.

Marion whistled. "Good find, Thistle."

I smiled, narrowing my eyes at him. "Where would you be without me, dear Marion? The tracking skills of Merylians are clearly greatly overblown."

"Clearly," he agreed. "What's that, by the way?"

My eyes followed his pointing finger. There, some ten yards behind us, was another set of gouges in the earth. Then, a bit further, another set. They stretched behind us for a while, deep indents clearly demarcating where the beast had walked through.

I scowled. "We've been following its tracks this whole time."

"Have we?"

"And you didn't see fit to tell me."

"Didn't I?"

"Let's camp here for the night," I said, sourly. I led my palfrey over to a bit of sparse grass and let it graze, hobbling it with a length of hempen rope.

"The first sensible thing you've said all day," he agreed, doing the same with his mare. I watched as he unslung a pack from his shoulder, taking out a rolled-up square of canvas and spreading it out on the ground. He then folded it once over and tucked in the edges, making a man-sized piece of bedding on the frozen dirt.

"Where's mine?"

"You didn't bring one?" he chuckled. "I guess there's nothing to do but share, then."

"Very funny. I'll take the bedroll. You can sleep on the grass, Master Survivalist."

"As the lady commands." He was infuriatingly unperturbed. "I'll go gather wood." He strolled off, leaving me alone with the bedroll. I sat down on it.

I looked on in sullen silence as he came traipsing back with large armfuls of firewood. He laid them in a pile near where I sat, separating the kindling from the timber methodically before striking a piece of flint against his dagger. I watched him struggle a while, nascent sparks jumping against the steel, then reached a hand into my gown, fingers brushing the mother-of-pearl pendant pressed against my chest, and muttered a few words. A spark, then flames began to dance across the kindling.

He grinned. "Neat trick."

"Less useless than you imagined, am I?"

"Why, yes."

"Fuck you."

"Sweet Thistle," he sighed. "They say the most fragrant roses have the sharpest thorns."

"Thistles are practically made of thorns."

"I've noticed. Do you have anything to eat?"

"No."

"I knew we should have stopped for meat pies." Pouting, he reached into his pack once more and pulled out a few strips of jerky, handing me one. I worried at it with my teeth, the rough-textured meat unexpectedly filling after the travails of the day.

I laid back against the bedroll. The sky had darkened further, and stars began to creep out, pinpricks of dim light against the shadows of dusk. The soft creaking of the forest and gentle rush of the stream filled the silence. I closed my eyes for a moment.

When I opened them, Marion's face was above mine. His dark eyes were shining in the night, lazy curls tumbling forward as he bent to kiss me. I kissed him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down to me. My tongue slipped into his mouth, and he shuddered, hands taking fistfuls of the bedroll on either side of me.

We broke apart. "You're still a bastard," I murmured, tracing his jaw with my fingers.

"Fine with me if it's fine with you."

"Come here." I kissed him again, pulling my head up to meet his. He grabbed me by the waist and flipped us over, and I pressed myself against his broad chest, kissing his neck and ears. His hands grasped at my buttocks through my skirts. I pressed my lips to his collarbone, tongue drawing patterns against the tanned skin, and began to tug at his tunic. He sat up, one arm around my waist, and helped me pull it over his head. Then, he kissed me again, hungrily, holding the back of my head. Sitting in his lap, I ran my hands over the planes of his chest, feeling the matted scars and hard muscle. He murmured my name against my lips.

I pulled back, shimmying out of his lap, and deftly unlaced his trousers, drawing his cock out. It jumped against my palm, and I giggled in delight as its hardness filled my small hand. I scooched back further, kneeling now, and looked up at him. His dark gaze met my green one, and I smiled innocently. Bending down, I kissed the tip of him, teasing it with my tongue. He groaned. I rubbed his cock against the soft skin of my cheek, my chin, my lips. Finally, I wrapped my lips fully around him.

He swore again, louder. I took him deeper into my mouth, nearly choking as I pushed my head to the base of his cock. At length, I released him, letting his cock fall from my mouth with a soft pop. He entangled his fingers in my dark, forest-brown hair and tilted my face to look at his. His eyes were half-lidded in lust, and he was breathing heavily, his thick chest heaving from the intensity. I gazed up at him, my mouth still open, spittle and precum smeared about my face. He groaned and forced me back onto his cock. I took it with vigor, bobbing my head furiously, the soft suction of my mouth taking him deeper and deeper each time. He gave a sudden hiss, animalistic, and suddenly, I could feel warm spurts of cum coating the back of my throat. I pushed my face even deeper around him, and he gave a shout of ecstasy. Finally, when it seemed like I'd milked him for all he had, I pulled my head back, smiling up at him innocently as I rubbed his cock gently on my lips.

He looked down at me with something approaching awe. "You are... really fucking good at that."

"I know." I giggled.

He sighed and took a moment to compose himself, running a hand through his tousled curls but only succeeding in tousling them further. I laughed and sat in his lap once more, combing his hair to the side with my fingers. He smiled affectionately and kissed my lips again, languorously this time, without urgency. "You're still wearing a lot of clothes."

"Help me with them?"

"Gladly." He unlaced my gown for me as I sat back against him, brushing my hair to one side as his strong hands went to work. He pulled it over my shoulders, leaving me clad from the waist up in only a thin silk chemise against the stinging night air. I shivered. He put his arms around me, and I buried my face into his neck, entwining my fingers in his soft, dark hair.

"Take it off," I whispered into his ear. He did, pulling the garment over my shoulders and neck, leaving my upper body bare against the winter winds. I stood, pushing the rest of the dress to the ground, and sat back down in his lap, fully naked. He reached a hand between my thighs, and the evidence of my arousal darkened his fingers. He grinned.

"Naughty Thistle. So eager." His words sent a shudder through me. I gasped as a rough finger entered me, then another. He slowly began moving them in and out, pumping my cunt and making me squirm in his lap.

"Marion," I moaned.

"Thistle." He bit at my earlobe.

"I want you."

"Unfortunately, I feel rather spent at the moment." His fingers continued to move slowly in me, my wet slit easily accommodating them.

"I want your tongue."

"That, my dear, can probably be arranged." He took his fingers from my wet cunt, their absence leaving me gasping with heightened arousal. Grasping me easily by the waist, he pushed me back onto the bedroll and prostrated himself between my thighs. He kissed one, then another.

"Stop teasing."

"I would never." He hesitated a moment longer, leaving me in sweet suspense, and then plunged his tongue into my cunt. I shrieked his name. His tongue plundered me, exploring my depths and tasting my juices. My hands clenched fistfuls of dark hair as his head moved between my thighs.

I came. It didn't take long. I was wound up, and he was clearly well-practiced. My thighs clamped around his neck, my body clenched, and I orgasmed in a great heaving and shuddering. My vision went dark for a moment, and when I returned, he was laying on his side next to me, tracing a small breast with his forefinger. "Better?"

"A bit."

"Good." He yawned, the cavern of his mouth stretching open. "I'm tired."

"Well, don't let me keep you from your grass. Looks comfortable over there."

He laughed and wrapped an arm around my waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of my neck. "I think I'd rather stay here. It's warmer, and the company is better."

As it turned out, he hadn't been lying about the body heat.

***

Dawn came with the chirping of magpies. The rising sun danced on the crystal waters of the brook, causing it to sparkle golden like a coin catching the light. Reeds rustled in the wind, frogs belched, squirrels chittered. Marion snored.

I kicked him. "Get up."

"It's too early," he mumbled, turning away from my foot.

I kicked him again, harder. "Another poor traveler meets his end by the cockatrice as we speak. Let's go."

"I weep for him."

"I'm sure. Avenge him."

He sat up, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "What made you into such a cruel and shrewish woman?"

"What made you into such an impotent and worthless man?"

"Impotent and worthless? That's not the tune you were singing last night."

"You're an idiot. Get up."

"If the lady insists." He sighed and stood, stretching his arms above his head. I tried not to pay attention to the way the morning sun kissed his hair and gleamed against his bare chest. Stooping, he began to gather the bedroll. I picked up my discarded dress, brushing grass stains off the wool.

"So. Which way did the beast go?"

He paused in the midst of fastening his cloak. "I'd tell you, but unfortunately I can't think on an empty stomach, and those meager strips of beef won't do for me."

"So? Unless you brought a haunch of venison with you, that's what we've got."

He grimaced. "You couldn't conjure up a roast duck or something?"

"No."

"Some oats and barley, at least?"

"No."

He pouted. "Are you sure you're even a sorceress? I haven't seen many spells from you at all, really, only when you turned my booze into mud-water."

"Quite sure."

"Waste of good liquor," he grumbled.

"I'm sure it was much better spent getting you wasted before facing a cockatrice."

"Do we really intend to fight that thing, still?"

I ground my teeth, already regretting having fucked him last night. "I intend to. You're free to run back to wherever you came from, and I'll tell the tale of how a brave Merylian warrior fled and left a woman to slay the monster he was tasked to kill."

"Ah, Thistle," he sighed. "Fair of face, cold of heart. Well, I'd say it went that way."

We saddled up our horses and followed its tracks for a while. The sun glowed faintly through the winter clouds, and our breath misted in the air. Brisk, stinging winds slapped us as we rode, and I shivered a bit, pulling my mantle more tightly about my shoulders. Marion didn't seem as bothered, holding his head high and whistling through his teeth. We followed the brook for a while, its flow whispering quietly to us beneath the gentle clomp of hooves.

After some time, the stream split from us, its rocky embankment giving way to a sheer bluff, too steep to ride alongside. I watched it coil away in the distance, lazily stretching into a deep chasm, beyond which my eyes could no longer follow it.

Marion was kneeling on the frozen earth. "Looks like it turned here. Went into the forest, maybe." He brushed two fingers in the dirt, scooping up a bit of soil, and licked it. "I can taste its presence, in fact."

"Horseshit. No you can't."

"I can. It's plain as day. You try it."

Dubiously, I knelt beside him and did the same, sucking the earth from my finger. It tasted like dirt.

"You have to eat much more, to really get a good idea." He was grinning at me.

"I can't believe I did that."

"You're learning the ways of the tracker. Anyways, I wasn't lying when I said it's not far." We mounted again as I tried to spit the aftertaste from my mouth and rode into the forest. The trees loomed in on us, tall oaks and skinny birches, bare and foreboding. Marion led his mare deftly through them, weaving in and out of their tangled branches, and I followed clumsily on my palfrey, twigs poking my face and dead leaves rustling beneath its hooves. A few hours passed, and the dappled sunlight grew brighter as noon crested upon us. We would see a rabbit or fox every so often and even hear the howl of a wolf from time to time. The day passed in relative peace.

It was getting to be afternoon when Marion halted. My stomach had been grumbling steadily, though I was not about to complain, and my thighs were sore from sitting in the saddle for so long. He held a hand above his head, indicating to me to stop, and pointed. "See that?"

I followed his finger. There, some fifty yards ahead of us, was a cave. Ivy snaked across its roof and hung down before its mouth, and twisting thickets of briar blocked the entrance menacingly, but winter-blooming flowers adorned the outside of it, snapdragon pink and white against the bare earth.

Marion looked to me. "Well? Is that the cave you scried on? The lair of the beast?"

"I suppose. If the tracks lead in."

"They do."

I wet my lips. "Alright, then. So. I have a plan."

"Let's hear it."

"I use a spell to put it to sleep and you chop its head off."

"Well, I'm fine with my end of it. Maybe I ought to go in and scout first, though."

"If you insist. Be careful."

"I will. Don't fret too much."

"I wasn't going to."

"Always nice to have a woman worried about you." He dismounted and stalked off toward the entrance, his steps carefully chosen to prevent the rustling of leaves, and disappeared inside. I waited.

A few minutes later, he came back. Absurdly, he was cleaning red off his sword with a linen cloth. "You wouldn't believe it, Thistle! The thing was already half-dead when I found it. Looked like it had eaten something bad. Are cockatrices supposed to have green stomachs? Anyways, didn't take much to finish the job."

My mouth dropped open like a fish. I closed it with some effort. "You can't possibly expect me to believe you slew it by yourself."

"I ended its life, yes. A mercy killing, let's say. Released it from its mortal tether."

"If this is some kind of jest...."

"What jest? It's dead, come see for yourself!" He beckoned me into the cave. Warily, I followed, footsteps crunching on the briar.

The cockatrice's nest was some fifty feet from the entrance. The air tasted dank and stale, and masses of tangled vines covered the path. I pushed my way through, thorns tearing at the seams of my dress. Marion was humming merrily, hacking at the thickets with his longsword as he forged a path before me.

The beast itself was lying on its side. Its great rooster head had indeed been separated, and the eyes seemed to bulge in death, beak open in a final scream. Blood still trickled from the gaping wound in the neck, and the stink of it permeated the cavern, nearly causing me to retch. The body lay a few feet away, a mass of coiled serpent strewn across the ground like a length of discarded rope. It did appear to have suffered some kind of ailment; the coloration of its scales was not the natural forest-green of summer leaves, but a sort of sickly, vivid lime, as if it had eaten nothing but unripe gooseberries for the past month. Pus leaked from the gaps between the scales, and the whole body was oddly swollen like an inflammation.

"Congratulations. You put down a sick animal." The words came out bitter.

"I forgot, you were looking to have a great battle. Shall I reattach its head for you so that you could pretend to kill it again?"

"No," I sighed. I was suddenly very tired. My stomach still moaned in hunger, and my whole body ached, the cost of spending a cold winter day in the saddle evident in my thighs and chest. "Who cares, even. Let's go."

"What, immediately? Well, I'd have thought we'd want to take a brief respite, but I suppose if we hurry we could still make it to an inn before dusk. I'm already dreaming of steak-and-ale pie and flagons of mulled wine." Marion seemed cheery despite the prospect of another long march.

"We won't be at an inn tonight."

"No? Do you mean to camp beneath the stars again?"

"No."

"I'm afraid I'm not following."

"You will." My head pounded. I reached for my pendant, the source of my power, wrapping my fingers around its burnished surface and tracing the owl engraving with a nail. I closed my eyes. The magic suffused me, dangerous and powerful, offering to consume my body, to release me from the pithy sufferings of mortality. I focused, squeezing my eyes shut, and began to channel its flow into a spell, my lips moving silently in a chant. The magic crested, threatening to shatter me like porcelain. I released it. It rushed from me as a receding wave, leaving me empty, a powerless vessel awaiting its return. I stumbled, nearly fell. Strong arms caught me.

"Are you alright? What did you just do?" Marion's voice sounded almost distant to me.

I pointed, weakly, my finger quivering from the effort. There, against the cavern's stone wall, was a dark oval, a black void carving out a space against the reality of the world.