The Highwaymen of Bregan Dor

"Let's go," she urged, and the highwaymen turned from the coach and began to ride back the way they had come. "Farewell, Father! I hope you can find a new alliance without me!"

"Laila! Insolent girl! Come back here right away! This isn't a joke!"

If it isn't a joke, why am I laughing? Laila wondered as her rescuer spurred the horse into a canter.

That afternoon, Aranthir rode slowly into the town of Baergun. The lively market town lay along the fast-flowing Walska River that ran through the valley floor. The town's walls had withstood the king's cannons and the people within them looked to be carrying on life as usual. The market square was thronged with merchants and buyers alike. As Aranthir rode up, two merchants were inspecting a bolt of deep blue linen as one extolled the fertile valley soil and the quality of flax it produced.

Other merchants crowded the square as well, hawking everything from artisan's tools to trinkets and shiny baubles. One man had a small chest of alchemical concoctions ranging from medicinal to amusing. Aranthir kept the hood of his cloak raised enough to cover his head, unwilling to attract anymore attention than his panoply of weapons were already drawing. Several suspicious or curious looks were cast his way, but more attention was paid to the merchants than the mercenary. He was thankful for that. Ever since his unsettling meeting with the three-eyed sorcerer, Verinusa, as it named itself, he was on constant watch. What did it want with a ring? Where am I to find such a ring? Would it be for sale at the market? Verinusa is an old word for a merchant. Yes, but not any merchant, a traveling merchant, perhaps a peddler or a cabotage trader... The market seems as good a place as any.

Aranthir dismounted and led his horse around the market, inspecting the wares of jewelers. Baergun was a modest town, despite the merchant traffic, and nothing as expensive as what the sorcerer had described was on display. Aranthir checked the fingers of the merchants as well, but found nothing there either.

Leaning against the wall of a building on the square's outer edge, he sighed to himself. In addition to the three-eyed sorcerer's mission, he was also in search of work from a more mundane employer. Anything to bring in some coin, he thought, the winter has been most unproductive. Yet his encounter with the strange sorcerer would not leave his mind. Perhaps a drink or something, he thought. His eyes roamed around the square looking for an inn or taphouse and he smiled as they alit on one façade in particular. Or something indeed. I know just the thing to take my mind off it.

Aranthir moaned in release as he ejaculated in the girl. She spasmed in harmony with his cum, arching her naked white back on the soft feather bed. His hands clutched at her round and plump breasts, kneading them as he slowed his thrusting into her wet, pink sex. He stopped, chest heaving, and looked down to see his cum dripping out of her along the shaft of his cock. With a delighted giggle, the whore looked up to him and bit a delicate finger between her pearly teeth.

"One of Nystra's Chosen, I'd bet," she giggled. "You could fuck the tits off a nymph." She propped herself up on her elbows and looked to her dripping, shaven purse. Aranthir stepped away from the bed, his cock still hard and wet as it retreated from her. The half-elf stood back from the bed, admiring the girl in her fully naked, post-coital glory.

She was young and pretty, with pale, soft skin and long red hair that fell to her waist in waves. Her brown eyes were painted black around the edges to make them pop, as they had when she was sucking Aranthir's cock, and her pale cheeks powdered red. Her brow was dotted with beads of sweat, some dripping along her naked chest to her breasts, which were white and soft and topped with pale pink nipples in rings of flesh so pale they were almost invisible against her complexion.

When the madame of the house had brought her girls to him for inspection, Aranthir had taken noticed of this redheaded girl first. Of all the girls standing naked in the parlor, she was not merely the prettiest, but also the most eager to fuck. She found his eyes entrancing and had barely managed to introduce herself as Olora without getting lost in his eyes. And she had proven to be a bedmate worthy of Nystra herself. Aranthir had lost a bit of his senses, cumming on her face at the end of their first bout in bed and necessitating a wash of her face before he could kiss her again.

Not that Olora cared, she had licked the cum off her own face even before the servants had delivered a wash basin for her use. Aranthir stood naked in the middle of the little bedchamber and stroked his cock, wondering if he had enough time and stamina for a third time.

The madame's timekeepers had not yet appeared. Aranthir grabbed his sagging cock in his hands and held it out for her. "Here, girl. Lick it clean before I go."

Olora thrust herself forward on the bed and swallowed his cock between her thin pink lips. Her brown eyes stared up into his own as her tongue obediently cleaned his cock. From the next room came the sounds of a couple fucking. Aranthir smiled down at Olora and she back at him, her pink tongue working around his cock without interruption. She finished with his cock and lay back on the bed. Aranthir wiped the sweat from his brow and gathered up his clothes.

"I've never fucked an elf before," she said dreamily. "Would you like to go again?" she asked, laying on her stomach with her pretty face propped up on her hands. Aranthir laughed and shook his head. He sat down on the bed and began to pull his pants on.

"I've only so much coin, and no more to spend on you, my dear."

"Perhaps you could get some work. Talk to Madame Milsy, she might have some rats for you to kill."

"Rats? Dear girl, that's not really my line of work."

"Are you afraid of them?" she asked innocently. "I'm not, but some of the other girls are. Lina saw one in her room the other day, started screaming her head off while she was riding some poor bastard's cock! Madame Milsy sent in the Twins and they nearly started beating the man before Lina pointed out the rat."

Aranthir smiled and shook his head. "No, sweet girl. I'm not a traveling ratcatcher. I hunt larger vermin."

"Oh, so you're probably here to kill those highwaymen. They're all any of the men want to talk about. I had a man last Priest's Day, all he wanted to do was talk about highwaymen. Imagine! I'm standing there, naked, his cock in my hand, and he's half crying to me about some bolts of cloth that got lifted off his horse. It makes a girl feel common, it does."

"Highwaymen, hmm?" Aranthir mused as he pulled on his shirt. Assassins always say whores know the best gossip, but usually pillow talk goes the other way. "Tell me about them."

She snorted. "I just did. They've been running mad up and down the valley all winter. Korwen says they're always perfectly polite, even when they're robbing you blind! Says they're handsome too, though I'd bet a gold talent he's never even met one. If it's true though, I'd like to see 'em come in here. I could do with a handsome man every once in a while. Yourself included, in case you'd be wanting to come back? Sir elf?"

Aranthir buckled on his sword belt and stood up. He gave her an affectionate kiss to the head, and she smiled shyly. "I must be going now. Perhaps some other time when I've more coin to spend."

"Shame that is." Olora rolled over onto her back and let her head hang over the edge of the bed. Her long red hair fell to the floor like a waterfall at sunset. "I've got myself all worked up again."

"Who is the local lord of this town?" Aranthir asked, pausing at the door.

"Count Ilan Kasmarta," Olora proclaimed with mocking grandeur. Her pretty face twisted into a sneer. "A real miser. He's raised our taxes again, and ran roughshod all over the council. The burgomaster has been raising hell in the town hall all week. I heard it got ugly this morning, someone from the Brewer's Guild got his nose broke by the guard."

"The Count's guard? Is he in town?"

"He was this morning. Along with several other rich men. They've all been gathering at the burgomaster's home, no doubt raising more trouble. The town's coffers are nearly after buying off the king's men last year. If they bring another war on us, Milsy says they might start selling girls to slavers to pay."

"Well, we can't have that," replied Aranthir. "I'll go down to the burgomaster's home and see if I can take care of this problem for you."

"You'd take on all the highwaymen by yourself?" she asked, eyes full of wonder. She sat up, her red hair falling across her chest and concealing the movements of her beautiful breasts. Aranthir stepped to the bed and brushed her hair away to expose them again. Olora blushed, a curious reaction for a whore. She is just besotted, Aranthir mused. The poor girl really has never fucked an elf before.

"Aye, but that isn't my intention. In any case, I must be going. Thank you for the wonderful fuck, and perhaps I'll return when I've made some more money."

"Enough to bring a friend?" Olora asked eagerly, "the other girls would love to make you cum."

Aranthir laughed. "Perhaps. I'll be seeing you."

"Nystra keep you well!" the girl called as Aranthir stepped into the hall. The narrow hall of the house was lined with doorways to the girls' rooms and as a consequence lit only by candles in sconces along the walls, which in turn resulted in a smoky atmosphere that only made the naked girls who walked up and down the hall seem more exotically alluring.

One such woman waited at the entrance to her chamber, leaning against the doorjamb in an open robe of sheer cloth. Her long brown hair fell past her shoulders and down her back, one lock twisted around a delicate finger tipped with red-painted fingernails. Above her shaven sex was tattooed the lover's knot, a holy sign of Nystra, Goddess of Pleasure.

"Hello there, Master elf," she purred as Aranthir approached. "I heard the fucking you gave Olora. Have you any left for me?"

"I've got the cock but not the coin," replied Aranthir apologetically. "If that disappoints you so, speak with your madame."

"It does disappoint me," she replied with a practiced pout. "These tits need your deft hands upon them." She grabbed her full breasts in both hands and pressed them against her chest. Aranthir felt his heart flutter at the sight but remained outwardly calm, a skill drilled into him by many teachers.

"Some other time, perhaps." The whore opened her mouth to speak, but Aranthir continued past her and down the stairs to the ground floor.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs he was intercepted by Madame Milsy, a stately woman of perhaps fifty, who held another whore by the arm. The madame's companion was blonde and buxom, her naked body on display beneath the loose woven netting of her dress.

"Master Aranthir," the madame cooed as the girl on her arm batted her long eyelashes at him. Her eyes had been painted similarly to Olora's own. "I trust your stay was pleasant?"

"It was," replied Aranthir casually, "your girl is a champion lay. But your prices are not to my purse's liking and so I must be off to earn some more coin to pour into your pocket."

"I make no apologies for the price," Madame Milsy declared, raising both hands in defense. The girl at her side flipped her hair over her shoulder and primped for Aranthir's benefit. Despite the feel of his cock hardening again, he resisted the urge to throw more money at the madame. "This house won't keep itself up and painting these pretty faces isn't cheap."

"Of course, of course. But in any case, I must be off. I hear your town has had trouble with highwaymen?"

"Highwaymen, the king, the nobles... It's fortunate we haven't had a dragon fly in and start making demands but gods only know what will happen next."

"A dragon might be too much for me, but these highwaymen I might be able to deal with. Which way to the burgomaster's house?"

"Take the market street toward the west gate and look for the Temple of Eldrin. It's across the way. Good luck, and do be sure to sing my house's praises to whomever you meet!"

Leading the blonde girl behind her, the madame went through a set of double doors and into the parlor, where three fat merchants waited, sipping wine.

With a bemused smile and a shake of his head, Aranthir stepped through the doors of the Lady's Favor and onto the market square again. Two men, both with graying hair, sat on the front steps passing a smoking pipe between them. They had been there when Aranthir went inside and acknowledged his return with a smile and nod. Aranthir nodded in return.

"How are the girls today?" the shorter of the two asked, the words whistling through his missing teeth.

"They're waiting for you, my friend," replied Aranthir. With a smile, he turned and headed out into the street. His horse was stabled across the square, but he decided to leave it for the time being. Riding on the city streets drew enough attention and introduced the problem of ducking under handing signs and the like.

Presently, he found himself the target of attention from above.

"Goodbye, Master Aranthir!" he turned to see Olora standing naked on the brothel's front balcony, accompanied by a buxom wench, equally nude, with raven hair. They both waved to him with broad smiles and struck a pose for his viewing pleasure. Aranthir gave them a bemused smile and waved in reply. Giggling, they retreated inside with their arms interlinked.

Leaving his horse in the stable, Aranthir pulled his cloak around himself and began making his way across town to the burgomaster's house. It was now midafternoon, and the crowds had thinned relative to the midday throngs he had passed through before his brothel detour. His trip across the town was thankfully free of suspicious stares and soon enough he arrived at the Temple of Eldrin. Across from its gold-flecked marble edifice was a grand house with a small crowd outside that could only be the burgomaster's home. Settling his cloak about him, Aranthir strode up to the gate.

The gate was manned by a single, somewhat beleaguered, guard in a padded jack and an open-faced bascinet helm.

"Stay back, if you please, stay back," the guard repeated as he pushed the onlookers back from the gate. They were well to-do men and women, in puffy plumed hats and coats of thick, richly dyed wool. Golden rings and other ornaments shone on their fingers.

"What's the word?" a rotund man in a dark blue vest and black coat demanded. "Why won't the burgomaster come out and speak with us?"

"I've been here every day for three days," growled a middle-aged woman in a long green dress, "and every one of those days I've lost money on the roads. I demand to speak to the lords inside!"

"They aren't taking visitors," explained the guard in a voice think with resignation. "I am sorry."

"This gate won't save your master if he continues on like this," snapped a gray-haired woman from the back of the crowd. The guard's eyes narrowed, and his hand drifted almost imperceptibly to the rapier at his side. But a tall man next to the threatening woman took charge instead.

"He's three weeks from the election," the tall man declared, one hand on his cane and another on the thick brass chain draped about his chest, "how does he expect to win when he won't listen to us?"

At this point, a man in the crowd turned to regard the approaching Aranthir. "What do you want, half-blood?" he snapped. Aranthir replied with a casual shrug.

"I am a mercenary. You have a highwayman problem?"

"We do!" cried the tall man, "Ah, the gods have answered our prayers."

"Hold on now," the first man cautioned, "he is just one man."

"That is one more than you seem to have now, isn't it?" replied Aranthir. "But it seems the man to speak with is inside, while I am outside."

"Aye, he is," the old woman said with a clap of her withered hands. She fixed her practiced glare on the poor guardsman. "Let him in already. I'm tired of hearing your master's excuses."

"I'm afraid I cannot let an armed stranger into the house," the guardsman complained, his eyes inspecting Aranthir's form.

"Very well," the woman in the green growled, "perhaps we will go around the burgomaster and hire the half-elf ourselves. What does that say about his administration of the town?"

"He's useless!" cried the fat man. "He'll be stripped of his position and run out of town!"

"Calm down, calm down!" the guard cried, palms held forward. He sighed. "Alright, I will let the half-blood in. But you had best be the real thing, vagabond."

He lifted a heavy keyring from his belt and slowly unlocked the gate, even as the townsfolk poured more jeers and abuse at him. As soon as the gate opened, the crowd surged forward. The guard pushed back, shouting and shoving his weight against the gate to keep them out.

"The half-elf only! You all wait outside!"

"Damn you!" the crowd cried back. Aranthir held up his hands.

"Everyone, stay calm. I will meet the burgomaster and the count and report back to you. But do not sour our agreement with the guard through anger."

The crowd shuffled back from the gate guiltily and the guard let Aranthir through. No sooner had Aranthir passed the gate did he slam it back into place and lock it. With a heavy sigh, he pointed Aranthir at the house's door.

"The majordomo will greet you next. He can be a bit... difficult, I'll warn you."

Aranthir snorted. "Aren't they all."

The house's door was a solid piece of oak carved with climbing vines and even little songbirds in the woodwork. He took a brass knocker sculpted in the shape of an owl's head and rapped it against the door twice. After a length pause, the viewing slit slid open, and a pair of haughty eyes looked up at him.

"Who seeks an audience?" the majordomo asked with undisguised disdain. Aranthir wondered where the man had acquired the gall to act this way while serving as a mere burgomaster's majordomo. Petarr's staff had more decorum than this, he reminded himself. He opened his mouth to give his own name, then stopped. Might they recognize my name from the war? Will they turn me away without waiting to hear me out? Perhaps they will just try to kill me. Oh, what does it matter?

"Aranthir of Ildranon," he said at last. Even with only the man's eyes exposed, Aranthir could see him sneer.

"Please wait." The slit slammed shut again and Aranthir sighed. He looked back to the crowd at the gate and gave them a cheery wave. They seemed altogether unamused. The wait dragged on and the crowd of the town's luminaries grew increasingly restless. They began to harangue the poor guard once again until the door to the house creaked open. There stood the man with the majordomo's eyes, a short, fat little man with a thin mustache and a balding head. Head tilted back, he peered along his fat nose at Aranthir with his hands clasped behind his back. Behind him were two soldiers in the livery of the local nobleman, hands on their swords.

"Come with me," the majordomo commanded. Aranthir stifled the urge to roll his eyes. Even King Petarr exhibited more humility. Were this snide little man king, he would have the entire realm aflame with rebellion within a week. He followed the majordomo down a hall adorned with paintings and tapestries and into a glass-walled conservatory.

The glass walls and domed ceiling caught and trapped the light such that even in the early spring, it was balmy inside. The room was filled with stone planter boxes sprouting with shrubs from all over the world. Potted plants and flowering vines hung from the ceiling and from the moment the majordomo opened the door, Aranthir's nose was overwhelmed by exotic scents.