The Rogue Knight

Vesian I

The aftermath of a battle was usually somber. However, on this day, Vesian found himself quite giddy. The battle had been quick. They had spied the orcish warband from afar while remaining hidden themselves, despite all their knightly splendor and heraldry. Aided by a woodsman, they had taken the orcs unaware and ridden them down as they panicked.

From his seat on a wooden fence, Vesian surveyed the carnage while running a hand through his fair hair. The orcs lay in heaps along the shaded road. Knights and the local peasants moved among the bodies, looting, and finishing off any wounded orcs left behind. Vesian laid his sword across his lap and breathed deep. The air was thick with the scent of blood and death, but beneath it he detected the scent of victory. The raiders would despoil the kingdom's wealth no more. Whatever remained of the warband was crawling its way home through the undergrowth even as knights roamed far from the battlefield in pursuit.

His superior, Sir Leoric de Toron, approached, leading a band of knights underneath his banner.

"Fine work today, Vesian," he cheered from the saddle. Vesian returned his greeting with a salute. "The Duke's men are pursuing the rest of the marauders, and he has released us from our contract."

"Well then," Vesian replied, "I have other affairs to see to." He rose from the fence and summoned his squire.

"We are heading north," Leoric went on, "the Comte de Montgrise claims to have seen griffons nesting near his keep. Will you join us?"

"I'm afraid not," Vesian replied, "I will return to Chateau Valeur and see to the recent happenings along the Verge."

"Good luck to you then," Sir Leoric spurred his horse and he and his knights went off down the road.

"The horses are ready," said Thibault, appearing at his master's side with the stallions in tow.

"A loyal squire as always," Vesian said, taking the reins from his squire. He swung into the saddle of a tall, white-haired courser named Zephyr.

"What is this trouble in the Verge?" Thibault inquired as he mounted own horse, a palfrey named Rascal. Behind him trailed their packhorse, Gotila, named for his former master he had born to the Temple of Kanaron.

"Nothing much. But I wish to avoid seeing the Comte after the ugliness at the tournament."

"Ah, that's who her uncle was," said Thibault as realization came to him at last. "Your discretion is wise. His temper is infamous."

"As is his swordarm. But come, there is a little inn to the south of here where we can spend the night before we head south again. Then who knows where we'll go? Perhaps to court?"

"Or to the Grotto Under the Hill again?"

"Or wherever the wind takes us!"

The sun was nearly set by the time they reached the Crooked Bough Inn. The old inn was slate roofed with glass windows, a stately building out of place in the far-flung reaches of the kingdom. Warm lights shone out its windows and from the lantern by the door. As Vesian and Thibault entered the palisaded courtyard, an old man in a bright green tunic stopped casting hay into the stable stalls and looked up at them.

"Good evening, sirs. Are you staying the night?"

"We are, sirrah." Vesian dismounted and handed the reins to Thibault. The squire then led their three horses to the stable and handed them over to the old man.

"It's two copper bits for each of them," the man told them, and Thibault handed over the money.

"Thank you, sirs. I'll have them watered and fed and ready to ride soon as the sun's up."

Inside, the room was lit by the warm glow of wrought iron chandelier studded with dozens of candles. The tables were sparsely occupied by humble merchants, the occasional pilgrim, and four sergeants. Vesian recognized the four of them as men who had ridden with the army earlier in the day. Two serving wenches attended their table, pouring wine. Both were pale and slender, one red-headed and the other blonde. The sergeants were making advances on them as they served. One man claimed he had a cock to put a stallion to shame and another grabbed a handful of the blonde girl's plump ass. She yelped and clutched her pitcher of ale to her bosom, some of the froth splashing out onto her bodice.

When the wenches saw Vesian enter, resplendent in his mail and surcoat, they quickly excused themselves from the boorish sergeants' table. The redheaded girl retreated into the kitchen while her companion crossed to the table that Vesian chose, even before he sat down. The sergeants called after them in disappointment as the wenches scurried away.

The blonde girl smiled sweetly at Vesian as he sat down, her eyes drawn to his blue surcoat emblazoned with a golden griffon on a white escutcheon and her little mouth crooked into a shy, anxious smile.

"How may I serve you, sir?" she asked, her voice high and sweet. She blushed as Vesian met her eyes. He removed his sword belt and leaned the scabbard against the table.

"A room for the night, and dinner for the both of us. We've already paid your stablehand."

"Of course, sir," the girl held out her hand and Vesian gave her the money for the room and board. She retreated to the kitchen, where the dour old innkeeper glowered at them from beneath his bushy eyebrows. She and the redheaded girl reemerged, the redhead was carrying a pair of pewter goblets filled with dark red wine while her blonde companion carrying two bowls of stew. They set the food and drinks down in front of their patrons and smiled.

"Good health to you, sirs," the redheaded girl bubbled. Vesian took a spoon from her apron for himself and another for Thibault.

"Thank you, girl," Vesian said as he dug into the stew. The wenches hovered anxiously over them, reluctant to leave.

"Those ruffians are looking at us," Thibault said quietly. Vesian slipped a look their way and found that his squire was right. The four men leaned forward over their table, flagons in front of them as they exchanged gruff looks and low voices. Vesian paid them no mind.

"They fought well today," Vesian replied.

"Did you fight in the battle today?" the blonde girl asked, taking a seat unprompted.

Vesian nodded, his spoon in his mouth.

"What was it like? Were the orcs as hideous as they say?" the redhead bubbled, taking a seat next to her companion and leaned so far forward she nearly pushed the blonde off the bench,

"It was exhilarating," Vesian replied, "the thrill of victory is unmatched by any other sensation."

"Is it?" the blonde girl asked, leaning in so that Vesian could see down her bodice. "How many other sensations have you experienced, sir knight?"

Vesian cracked a smile. "Quite a few of them, my dear. Are there any in particular you think I should experience?"

"We could show you a few things," the redheaded added, reaching across to put her hand on his.

"Well, that sounds intriguing. But let us finish eating first. It's been a hard day."

The blonde girl sat back, her lips in a pout. Vesian laughed.

"Once I've eaten, I'll have all night for war stories and... other pursuits." He reached out to pull her bodice down just an inch. She giggled and playfully slapped his hand away.

"I'm Juliette," the blonde said, bowing her head in deference. "This is Melisende. We're happy to be at your service, sir."

"I am Vesian de Surrac, a knight errant of the Order of the Griffon. This is my loyal squire Thibault."

Thibault grunted and nodded at them, still shoveling stew into his mouth.

"What is the life of a knight errant like?" Melisende wondered aloud. "It sounds wonderful, roaming from place to place without a care in the world."

"It can be," Vesian admitted, "Though there is often great danger in the life."

"It sounds so exciting," Juliette gasped, "Things around here are always so dull." Her pout returned.

Vesian finished his stew and launched into a tale of the army's exploits earlier in the day. Juliette and Melisende leaned in, enraptured, as he made a few changes for the benefit of the story. In his retelling, he moved himself and Thibault from the middle of the riding column to the forefront and took credit for the woodsman's shortcut for himself. Between himself and his squire, Vesian claimed they had slain forty of the orcs, who numbered not the thousand or so corpses that lay on the road, but instead a more impressive ten thousand.

Juliette, eyes wide in awe, ran her hand down his arm as his tale neared its end. But they were interrupted by the rowdy sergeants. Their leader, a broad-shouldered man with a thick black mustache, loomed over Thibault's back. Vesian looked up annoyed, only to see the sergeant returning his expression.

"We're waiting on our drinks over here, wench," the sergeant snapped. "What are we paying you for anyway?"

"Calm down and take a seat, sirrah," Vesian replied, "I was regaling these fine women with the tale of our victory earlier today."

"Yes, I heard," the sergeant growled, "Just like a knight, to come in and claim all the glory when we've done all the work."

Vesian's good cheer vanished.

"You think to claim my glory?" he shot back.

"Aye, the glory and these wenches. We were here nearly an hour before you rode in. I don't like having my women stolen any more than my credit."

Vesian stood up and stepped away from the table, into reach of his sword leaning against the table.

"Your glory? Was it your banner that flew over the column? I think not. These are clearly not your women either."

"Aye," Juliette squeaked, "these four have been harassing us since they walked in the door."

The sergeant stepped close to Vesian. Though the knight was uncommonly tall, he still found himself standing eye-to-eye with the big commoner.

"I don't see any other knights here, sir. Perhaps you and your squire ought to leave the women to us."

"You mean to threaten me? With only four of you? Thibault, perhaps you can sit this one out. Leave these ruffians to me."

"Oh, no you don't," Thibault replied, standing up himself, "I'd never leave you alone in a fight."

"Lads," the sergeant barked, and his companions stood up from their table, hefting their blades as they approached. "Last chance to leave, sir knight," the leader growled.

The girls scurried away to the kitchen.

"Go on then," Vesian urged to the sergeants, "Strike a knight of the Order. See what happens."

The sergeant wavered for a moment and then went for his dagger. Vesian was quicker, and in one motion drew his sword and slammed the pommel into the man's jaw, sending him staggering backwards. The other three came one, their battered old swords swinging and thrusting. But they were no match for Vesian's longsword of castle steel, forged by a master swordsmith and cared for like a prize stallion. Vesian parried two sword blows in one motion and returned a strike that caught in the man's gambeson.

As he struggled to get his sword free, the lead sergeant recovered and slashed down at his wrist. But before the blow landed, Thibault lunged for the man, dagger in hand. The squire plunged the dagger into the man's side, carrying him to the floor. The two of them tangled together on the floor, the sergeant crying out in pain as the other inn patrons fled in fear.

Vesian tore his sword point free and slashed his blade in a wide arc, pushing the other three sergeants back from Thibault. As their leader cried out in pain again, one sergeant darted past Vesian's blade and stabbed Thibault in the back. The squire roared in pain, but did not release his grip on his own dagger. Vesian brought his sword down on the man's back and slashed a bloody arc through his tunic.

The man fell to the floor, insensate in pain and Vesian raised his blade again.

"That's enough of this," he declared, "All four of you, out. Now. Or I will slay your friend where he lies on the floor."

The remaining sergeants wavered, their eyes going from their wounded leader to their unconscious friend. Thibault, clutched at his wound with his spare hand.

"I yield," the leader hissed through gritted teeth. "Let us go our separate ways."

"Indeed," Vesian replied. "Get out of the inn. Spend your night in the stable or the woods, I do not care. But I will not share a roof with men who tried to kill me and mine."

Thibault slowly rose from the floor and withdrew his dagger. The leader cried out again as the blew withdrew from his wound, but his men were there quickly to staunch the bleeding. The two uninjured men then helped their companions from the room, pausing at the door to shoot looks of hatred as Vesian.

Juliette and Melisende reemerged in the aftermath to bring water and bandages to Thibault. The other patrons slowly returned to their seats, but soon after drifted off to bed. Vesian and his squire sat at their table, tending to his wound with the aid of the serving wenches.

"There," Melisende pronounced, "That should serve you until you find a priest or healer."

Thibault grunted in discomfort and took a long draw on a bottle of wine Juliette had brought out. The wenches turned their attention to Vesian.

"We should thank you for driving those ruffians away, sir. Perhaps we could hear more of your war stories in your room?"

"That sounds wonderful," Vesian replied. The three of them helped Thibault up the stairs to their room, which overlooked the palisaded courtyard. As the women settled Thibault onto a bed, Vesian looked out the window for any sign of the sergeants but saw none. Turning back to the bed, he saw that Thibault had stripped off his shirt. The women, however, were approaching Vesian.

"Do you have any battle scars to show off?" Juliette asked, running her hands over his mailed chest. "

"Let me show you," he said, pulling his surcoat over his head. His mail fell clinking to the floor as the girls drew close. Cooing with delight, Juliette ran her hand over his bared chest, her fingertips touching each scar on his chest. Vesian pulled on the strings of her kirtle and her bodice fell open, exposing a pair of small, pale breasts crowned with rosy pink nipples. Giggling, she kissed her way down his chest until she reached his breeches. As she did, Melisende leaned in to steal a kiss for herself.

As Juliette undid his belt, Vesian's gaze went to his wounded squire, lying all alone on the bed. The girls clearly preferred the tall and handsome Vesian to his short and stocky squire.

"Do not neglect my good squire," he whispered into Melisende's ear. She bit her lip as she looked into his eyes before reluctantly going from his to Thibault on the bed. As she did, Vesian's hard cock flopped out of his breeches and into Juliette's waiting hands. Smiling impishly, she wrapped her soft lips around it.

On the bed, Melisende had stripped for Thibault, revealing a lithe body and a round little ass. Thibault unlaced his breeches to free his cock, trying to stifle a wince as he disturbed his wound in the process. Stroking his cock with one hand, he slipped two fingers of the other inside Melisende's and began to play with her sex. Vesian wound his fingers through Juliette's blonde hair as she sucked his cock. Melisende gently removed Thibault's hand from her sex and began to suck his cock herself.

Looking into Juliette's pretty green eyes as she pleasured him, Vesian caressed her white shoulders and fondled her little breasts. She giggled around his cock and plunged it into her mouth as far as she could take it. When at last both he and Thibault were hard, Vesian stood up and positioned Juliette on the bed. He lay her on her back, with Melisende beside her and their arms interlinked. He set their hips at the edge of the beds so that he might stand on the floor while fucking them. Then he and Thibault each slid their cocks into a girl and began to thrust.

The girls embraced each other and kissed as the thrusting increased in pace. Vesian grabbed one of Juliette's bouncing breast in one hand and he squeezed it tight. Thibault kept up with him, fucking Melisende lustily. The bed scraped against the floor under the force of his thrusts. Juliette squealed in delight as Vesian slid his thumb inside her.

He and his squire fucked the girls eagerly, the little room filling with their delighted screams as they did. Juliette pleaded with them to fuck her harder, to spank her, and to kiss her soft little mouth. All of these things they did with enthusiasm.

When he feared he was about to cum, Vesian stood up from Juliette and put a hand on Thibault's shoulder. Without a word, Thibault switched places with him, sliding his cock into Juliette as Vesian mounted Melisende.

The girls showed none of their previous preference for Vesian, now happily drunk on lust for any man who presented himself. Juliette wound her fingers through Thibault's hair even as Vesian wrapped his powerful hands around her friend's neck. Melisende threw her head back and cried out in delight as he did, her blue eyes rolling back into her head.

"Oh, I'm going to cum!" Thibault gasped. Juliette, hands clutching the sheets, giggled in delight.

"Cum on my face!" she cried, opening her pretty mouth and extending her tongue. Thibault did as asked, pulling his cock out of her just as he spurted his first. He launched long white ropes of sticky seed onto her face, where they dripped into her eyes and mouth.

Sensing Vesian was close as well, Melisende grabbed him close to her and bit at his ear. He continued fucking her until he finished, spurting his cum into her until she overflowed and dripped it onto the bed beneath them.

Tired and spent, Vesian and Thibault fell into bed next to the serving wenches and soon afterwards drifted off to sleep.

Vesian rose before the dawn to find that Melisende had already left. Juliette was dressing herself before the window, her body silhouetted by the early morning light. When she saw he was awake, she came to the bed and leaned in for a kiss.

"Good morning, sir knight."

"Good morning, wench," he replied. "I regret that I must leave you now, but I'll be thinking of you on the road."

"Whenever you're in the area again, please do stop by."

"Of course," he promised.

He dressed and ate his breakfast along with Thibault. The sun rose over the woods and fields as they collected their horses at the stable. In good time, they bid goodbye to the girls and rode southeast towards the Argent River. They had not gone far when Vesian noticed his squire looking pale.

"Thibault, are you alright?"

"I am, sir. I fear that wound from last night is wearing a bit harder on me than I expected."

"You don't look alright. Come, there is a witch who lives near here. She can dress and treat your wound better than a pair of tavern wenches. It won't be far, just hold on."

Steering Zephyr near to Thibault's own steed, he guided his squire down the road until they turned into a small wood. The boughs hung low over their heads, scraping against Vesian's coif as he passed beneath them. The lances stowed on the packhorse twice got caught on the low-hanging branches. The trees closed in around them until they had to dismount. The light grew dim, though they were barely two hours past dawn. At last, they came to a hovel of timber and plaster with a thatched roof.

Vesian peered ahead, the scent of firewood in his nostrils. He looked back to Thibault. The squire was pallid and out of breath.

"Wait here, I will see what's ahead," Vesian commanded. Before the weary squire could respond, he headed for the hovel in a low crouch. The approach to the door was overgrown with all manner of herbs and other strange plants that somehow thrived in the dim light of the woods. The door itself stood ajar, as if the witch was expecting them.

Vesian crept to the threshold and peered in. The main room was empty, though a cook fire burned in the hearth. The floor was worn and wooden, partly covered by a threadbare rug. From the ceiling timbers hung censers and flowerpots and a small thrush chirped as it hopped through the rafters. Vesian pushed the door open and stepped inside.