The Order Ch. 04

Author's note:

This is the fourth and final installment in my series The Order. It hasn't been as widely read as most of my other stories, but I wanted closure. There are elements of reluctant sex as well as fantasy/magic. All characters are over age 18.

By the way, I wrote the first story in this series almost two years ago. It was one of my first few. If you read chapter one, then this one, I think you'll see differences. I hope they're for the better.

Thanks for reading!

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Brigit rode him gleefully, red hair spilling about in the early evening light. Hungry eyes bore into her reluctant partner, assessing him, looking for any sign he would give in. The priestess was eager for his seed.

Groaning, Colm did his best to resist. Chained as he was to the altar, options were few. He could neither free himself, nor dislodge his partner. Focusing on his peril could postpone the inevitable release, but the eventuality was certain. In a matter of minutes he would succumb, yielding not just his seed, but his strength. He would be broken.

As if reading his mind, the triumphant priestess laughed aloud. "Oh, sorry man," she crowed. "Why do you fight it?" Brigit leaned forward, pressing her pillowy breasts against him. "Cum with me," she whispered sweetly. "It's time to settle your debt with The Order."

***

The satchel that Colm had stolen the night before had proven more helpful than the four men had dreamed. With Killian on guard and Colm pacing restlessly, Fyne and Grady had reviewed the contents intently. A bundle of correspondence contained clues and dates, but the finely wrought map was the real gem.

Fyne called the men together. They had assembled once again in the cramped office of the Lodge, finding room among the stacks of ledgers.

"It's like this," Fyne began. He had given Killian and Colm a few hints the day before, but now elaborated in greater detail. "When your brothers, Colm, sent you from Methle, they spoke of something known as the waning."

"That's right," he said. Colm had been given scant information before being sent on his mission.

"It's a pivotal moment for the Order," Fyne continued. "Their power, as we know, derives from their sexuality. The most beautiful, the most desirable and confident Adepts wield the greatest power."

Colm's hand wandered to his scar. He needed no reminder.

"I thought their bracelets were the key," Killian said. "But yeah, I'd fuck most of them if they promised not to burn my dick off."

"Agreed," mused Fyne, chuckling. "And the bracelets are important, but they alone don't do the trick. There's some other source of power. Something ties it all together."

"What then?" wondered Killian.

"I don't know," admitted Fyne. The elder sat up for a moment, his eyes searching the map. "But it's here."

Colm studied the detailed parchment. The spot Fyne had indicated was at the edge of a glade not two day's ride.

Fyne continued. "The waning, so we understand, is an infrequent occurrence, but critical." He rubbed his eyes. "During the last one, the power of the Order wavered, but returned stronger than ever. If that happens again..." Fyne trailed off.

"So, we go check it out? See what exactly is going on?" Colm wasn't sure where his willingness to once again put himself into danger had come from.

"I'm afraid we have little choice. Already there is talk of making all men slaves. The lodges would be outlawed, the remaining free men sold to one matriarch or another. If the Order gets any stronger that's a certainty."

Killian spoke. "Well I had planned on spending the day bathing with Matriarch Kellen's daughters, drinking wine, and counting my gold. But risking death meddling in Order affairs sounds nice, too."

***

Their plan survived less than one day.

At dawn the next day the group took a sorry-looking ferry across the stagnant river. From there they proceeded on foot, sticking to farm roads. Oak and elm trees, dusty from a rainless month, covered them with a listless shade.

"The Order left late yesterday," Grady said. "Eight or ten wagons, at least forty Adepts and priestesses mounted, and perhaps twenty of the Broken. Whatever they're up to it's big."

"There were more of them than the temple could hold." With Grady, Fyne had been monitoring the influx of the Order over the past few days. "I've seen banners from more than a few of the lesser temples. It's the Waning, for sure. Nothing else would unify them in such strength."

"What then?" Colm asked. "Destroy as many of them as we can, disrupt the ceremony?" He flinched at his own words. Since absorbing the power of four Adepts, thoughts of violence surfaced with uncomfortable frequency. Was he becoming like the Order?

Fyne raised his eyebrows. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. In any event, we're too few to cause much of a disruption. I have some other ideas. Lighting a fire upwind of their ceremony might be a start."

Morning became noon. Stopping at a ford, the four shared sandwiches prepared at the lodge. Somewhere to the north, the caravan of the Order would be making its ponderous way along a more established road. Their small party, taking a rougher but more direct route, would beat them to the site of the ceremony. If their luck held.

Their luck didn't hold.

Killian had fallen behind, huffing a bit as the group neared the top of a windswept ridge. Suddenly, he scurried to catch up with the others.

"Voices behind us," he panted. "Mounted Adepts, and at least a few Broken. Shit!"

The four elected to play it cool, moving to the side of the road deferentially. As Killian had thought, it was a party of Adepts and Priestesses on horse, accompanying a wagon pulled by a team of oxen. The beasts pulled stoically as the heavy wagon lurched over the pocked road.

Colm bowed his head with the others, performing the expected honors. The party trundled by, the Priestesses of the Order offering either disdain or disinterest. The Broken stared ahead, dull eyed.

One of the Adepts eyed Colm with more interest than the others. Fearful to raise his head, Colm nonetheless sensed as she slowed. For perhaps fifteen or twenty steps she rode even with him, before finally kicking her mount forward. With unnerving deliberation the group passed ahead and out of sight. Colm let out a ragged exhalation.

"Youth, beauty, and power," muttered Fyne. "A bad combination." He joined Colm. "It used to be that only with age and experience was authority earned. Now? What good are my years? An eighteen year-old could strike me dead with nary a reason."

Grady assented, and for a time the companions spoke of their encounters with the Order. Colm's tale was the most incredulous, but all had experiences. Killian had for a time found respectable work as a smith for one of the more powerful matriarchies. One day a priestess of the Order had offered to buy him, for what purposes Killian never learned. Upon discovering he was a free man and not for sale she had flown into a rage, threatening the matriarch. In the confusion, and before he was deemed disposable, Killian had fled.

As they crested the ridge, Grady began his own story. Swearing how handsome he had been as a youth, he told of his skills selling fabric and rugs. "It's true!" he objected as the others made disbelieving faces. "The ladies would come to my stall, making eyes at me and..."

He broke off. Before them, the priestesses, mounted and menacing, blocked the road.

Colm slowed, trying not to let his fear show. Fyne spoke.

"M'ladies," he began, "what a lovely day, truly a gift from-"

"Silence, peasant!" This from the eldest of the four, an auburn haired Priestess past her best years. She was of an age where soon the Order would release her. Such women, their beauty faded, would re-enter the matriarchy to take up positions of respect and influence.

"Him," an Adept said, pointing to Colm. "He is as Erynn described." She must be the one who had slowed to inspect him earlier.

A knot of panic swelled in Colm's gut. The others shifted nervously, but Colm now became aware of the Broken, who had flanked the small party. There would be no escape.

"Yes," said the eldest, slowly. She nudged her mare sideways, taking a long look at Colm. "Raise your head, boy!"

"Yes, the scar!" said the Adept. "This is the one!"

Killian tensed himself, ready to flee or perhaps make a desperate lunge. Fyne made a subtle calming gesture. He spoke again. "Do you seek laborers? Perhaps we can assist with your ox team. We are always pleased to offer our-"

"Enough!" shouted the eldest. She then addressed the others. "Take him. Take them all. We shall see tonight."

Panic overflowed in Colm. Frantic, he spun about, only to find the Broken pressing in. The four men were swallowed.

***

Dusk settled around the Order encampment. Lights from at least half a dozen cooking fires lit the advancing evening, sending wisps of smoke to hang low in the still warm air of the clearing.

It was, Colm was forced to admit, a beautiful setting. A clear and lively stream flowed through the camp, creating a series of pools for cooking and bathing. Willows hung delicately along the bank, each providing privacy, if sought. Here and there, clusters of Adepts giggled and relaxed while the Broken finished making camp.

Unchained but well guarded, the four companions were given a simple meal of beans and hard bread. Since being taken captive, the priestesses had paid them little heed, choosing instead to dine and confer amongst themselves in a large tent near the top of the camp. Now, the Adept who had identified him, accompanied by the same, stern elder, approached the men. They indicated Colm.

"Come with us," the elder said flatly. "We will see if you are the one who has caused us such difficulty."

Uncomfortably, but with no alternative, Colm raised himself to accompany the two women. Again, Killian stirred himself, but once more Fyne restrained him. "Now is not the time," he hissed. The three watched, miserably, as Colm was led away.

The young man was taken to the outside of the tent. Shortly, the flaps were pulled back and Colm was urged within. Inside, a circle of First and Second Princesses was assembled. Each eyed him with interest, but none as intently as did a pale Adept with red hair. She rose carefully.

Colm groaned inwardly. Erynn's attire was different from that of her peers. Whereas most of the group was dressed in lightweight riding attire of short, loose skirts and breezy tops, the ginger Adept wore a full-length gown. Recognition flashed in her eyes.

"Yes!" she practically shrieked. "This one! It was he who burned me."

The group broke into an excited buzz, half a dozen different conversations all at once. A First Princess silenced them. Her eyes bore into Colm's.

"Is this true? What happened at the stables?"

Colm could see no reason to lie. He bowed his head. "'Twas an accident," he said. "I can't control the flames, I swear!"

Again the room burst into conversation. This time it took the Princess longer to gain control. She looked to Erynn. "My Adept says otherwise. Isn't that right, Erynn?"

"He burned me!" the Adept repeated. Spittle flew from her mouth. "The bonds... he burned them first, then me." Colm realized she must be wearing the longer gown to hide her burns.

The Princesses exchanged glances, clearly having heard the tale before. Hatred mixed with curiosity marked their expressions.

"The ring," Colm tried to interject. "They were the ones who-"

"Silence!" interrupted the Princess. "We will deliberate now."

Colm was taken outside, scattering a small cluster of Adepts who had gathered, no doubt with hopes of listening in on the drama. Slowly, night was settling in. The stream gurgled gently, but brought the young man no peace.

Whatever deliberations had occurred must have been perfunctory. Scarcely had the group of Adepts resumed their furtive positions near the tent flap when the occupants burst forth, dispersing them yet again.

"Take him," the Princess commanded, and for the second time that day Colm found himself surrounded and hustled off by the Broken.

***

"Tonight!" A shrill, demanding voice rang out, followed by calls of assent.

"No, tomorrow, at the grand ceremony. Let him be a lesson!"

Colm beheld the scene, gripped equally by fear and awe. In the lowest part of the camp, an elongated, shallow pool formed, trimmed at its fringes with moss and soft grasses. On one side Colm stood, bound. To either side of him, a pair of Broken stood impassively. Beyond and behind them were gathered the Adepts, a restless, angry pack.

On the opposite side of the pool stood the leadership of the Order, First and Second Princesses, garbed in pale ceremonial robes. This second group was more orderly, but no less intent. All sought Colm's demise. Only the timing remained in question.

Torches had been driven into the ground, lining the banks of the pool. As the evening breezes picked up, reflections danced across the surface of the pool. All were lit by the flickering, impermanent light.

"Tonight!" The call was raised again. "Let us consume him, a gift to the Lady!"

"Enough!" The same Princess Colm had encountered earlier called out. "Our Queen will decide!"

As the crowd fell to a murmur, a woman emerged from a modest tent. She stepped into the torchlight. She was, thought Colm, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Colm had thought Erynn to be red of hair, but Brigit put the Adept to shame. Glossy, flame-colored tresses spilled across her shoulders, accenting an almost sheer green gown. Her pale skin told of the moon, while her full, enticing breasts and hips spoke of womanhood. The Queen of the Order was of little more than average height, but her bearing told of unquestioned power. Her eyes locked onto Colm. Unbidden, his organ stirred.

"Well," she said softly. "So you're the one." The Queen took a few graceful steps around the edge of the pool, drawing close. She dipped a toe in the water playfully before turning to him again. "I had expected someone... stronger."

A renewed murmur arose from the crowd. A few giggles. Colm said nothing.

"Oooh, the silent kind. Shall I make you talk? You'll tell me anything I like." With that, Brigit raised her arm to shoot flame into the sky, a beacon. The heat was intense.

Colm recoiled, but maintained his silence. Based on his scant experience, nothing would hold back the wrath of the Order. Words would only bring derision. And pain.

"Mmmm, I see." A touch of irritation flickered across Brigit's face, briefly marring her porcelain beauty. "You two," she said quickly, indicating nearby Adepts, "bathe him!"

The two young women scrambled to comply. A Broken hacked at Colm's bonds, pushing him roughly forward into the pool. The Adepts, carefully at first, then with greater purpose, clutched at Colm's garments.

"He's filthy!" Brigit said, with an exaggerated sneer. "You will scrub him clean for the Lady."

Still fearful, Colm stood still as the Adepts freed him from his clothes. Ruefully, he realized that the Queen might not be terribly wrong about his condition. Colm had cleaned himself thoroughly prior to his visit to the Maarsten house, but that had been three night's prior, with little more than trekking on dusty roads since.

One of the two, a tall blonde, tugged his shirt free. The other, who might have been her twin except for a more slender build, clutched at this pants. Half stumbling, Colm stepped further into the pool, naked before the assembled crowd. His organ bounced free against his leg, soft but far from shy.

"I said scrub him!" Brigit commanded.

A Second Princess brought soap. The Adepts, taking turns, wetted and soaped Colm's lean, muscled body. Attentively, the two went to work on his neck and shoulders. Foam and rivulets of chilly stream water ran across his skim. When urged, Colm raised his arms for the two to better access his sides. The Adept to his right, the slender one, trailed her fingers over his scar curiously. By the time the two reached his midsection they themselves were wet. Flimsy damp fabric clung to young bodies, highlighting their breasts and welcoming hips. The Adept with larger breasts pressed herself against Colm's back in what seemed like a lingering and unnecessary maneuver. Her hands lathered his flat stomach.

The murmur of the crowd rose as Adepts and Princesses alike pressed in for a better view. Some sneered in disapproval or offered taunts, but more than a handful could do little more than stare in curiosity and surprise. Small hushed conversations broke out.

For a deliriously sweet moment four hands held and soaped his growing cock. The Adepts discovered and tugged at the ring bound to the base of Colm's organ while also stroking and fondling him. By the time the two moved on to his legs he was achingly hard.

"Rinse," an Adept said, not unkindly. Deciding to comply before being forced to do so, Colm lowered himself into the pool. Soil and sweat floated away in the current. For a time Colm allowed himself to float as well, pushing from his mind what must come soon.

"Bring him to me!" Brigit's voice cut through the night. The Queen had moved back to the opposite bank and now rested on a padded bench which had been brought forward. Torchlight danced across her pale features. "He will be tested."

The two Broken who had guarded him earlier stumbled into the pool. With unnecessary roughness they seized Colm by the arms, practically dragging him to the Queen. He stood, water dripping from his dark locks, over his lean but tightly muscled arms and chest. His organ had softened.

"Mmmm," Brigit said, loud enough for the assembly to hear. She stroked his stomach, brushing his cock. "She said you had a ring." Again, her fingers brushed his organ, this time reaching its base. Brigit squeezed and tugged at the ring curiously. She stood, ignoring her prisoner.

"Sisters!" Brigit called out. "Once men sought to challenge us, bending and perverting the Lady's gift." She looked over her shoulder at Colm. "This one bears such a perversion. With it, he hurt Erynn. Worse, he weakened Phaedra and Mora." She took a few steps to stand closer to the pool, effectively a stage for her performance. "Three promising Adepts, damaged before they could ascend. Three innocents."

Anger rose in the crowd. All were now swept up in the passion of Brigit's speech, eyes darting between her and Colm. "Tonight, the Lady will avenge them!" The assembly cheered and hooted, eager for a spectacle.

Colm elbowed one of the Broken, loosening his grip. One hand free, he punched the other brute, sending him sprawling. He dashed to the water. Perhaps submerged he would be free of the Order's spells. Recklessly, Colm plunged ahead, bruising his feet on unseen stones but reaching the pool quickly. Once in knee-deep water, he planned to throw himself forward.

Lazily, Brigit flicked a wrist. From her bracelet, a tendril of power reached out to Colm, snaring him, pulling him back. To struggle against it was like struggling against a stone wall. He was dragged back, cursing.

A bed was brought forward, little more than a sturdy frame with a thin pallet on top. While Brigit held him in place, the bruised but expressionless Broken lashed Colm's wrists and ankles to the corners, spread for the slaughter.

"Adepts," Brigit called out. "The way of the Order establishes that only those of you chosen by the First Princesses are ready for the ceremony." Her eyes swept the ranks steadily. "Tonight, I am lifting that restriction. Any of you who so wishes may take the ceremony now, testing this wretch who has troubled us!"

Conversation once again broke out, as the angry cries were replaced by hushed whispers. The crowd stirred, but no one advanced. Brigit raised her eyebrows in surprise.