The Sword and the Soul Ch. 04

Hello my lovely friends! It's been a bit since I published, for which I am eternally remorseful. This chapter contains some plot progression, a few metaphors, some imagery, and of course lengthy and depraved sex scenes. I never know what else to write in these bits, so I'll just say, check my profile for more on this story and me in general, and please let me know what you think of this story in the comments!

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The flowers and herbs that grew in the trellise by the wide window were but a miniature reflection of the lush and verdant garden that flourished in the courtyard down below. Here inside the walls of stone were certain blooms, vines, shoots, creepers, and leaves that tolerated life in a confined pot of soil, sunlight only filtering indirectly through the arched window. Outside was life unrestrained, growing fast and tall in the late summer sun, heedless of the autumn death so soon approaching.

Marilla often felt claustrophobic in the castle walls, but her plants helped somewhat. Better still was the vast aperture in her solar which allowed some of nature to encroach on the cold, lifeless stone. The chamber had been her mother's before her, and now Marilla used it as her study and office for all official business. She found that the breeze and the scent of flora wafting from below kept her spirits up during dreary meetings with tedious men.

Now, as she leaned over the stone lip, she could see movement in the garden. From the castle's second level she could view nearly the entire courtyard, except for spaces here and there obscured by trees. Three men walked together along one of the garden's twisting paths. One was her lord father, Rovish Silver, Duke Seleca. With him was Magus Brand, the court wizard, and Renton Palster, personal private secretary to the Duke.

Her mouth twisted into a sneer at the sight of Brand, his long black hair tied into a tight tail, his cream-colored robes spotless. A good night's sleep had done nothing to dull the disturbing scene she'd witnessed in Brand's tower the morning previous: Brand stroking himself to a frenzy and using his seed to fuel a ritual with Lu'Caella, the dark voice smoldering in the fires of the Other Place. Today Brand was his usual obsequious self, following half a pace behind the Duke, her father none the wiser about the wizard's clandestine assignations.

Should I tell him?, thought Marilla. No. Father would never believe it. Brand is his closest companion and most trusted advisor. Throughout the Duke's long illness, Brand's magic had been a great boon to ease pain and restore lost strength. But where the Duke saw a loyal companion, Marilla only saw disgusting servility. Her father's judgment was clouded by his malady, but even so, he was the still the Duke.

Today the Duke of Seleca looked in good health, however -- better than he had in many weeks. There was ruddy color in his cheeks, and he walked with head held high, hands clasped behind his back. Palster was jabbering on about some matter of state, wiping his brow nervously, and the Duke nodded along confidently. He stopped and bent down to sniff a rose bush, and even plucked a blossom from amongst the thorns and slipped it into the fringe of his doublet.

Perhaps his strange affliction was passing at last. But then, she had thought that before. One moment she would believe him all but cured, and then the next day he would be bedridden again, not to emerge from his dark and and silent chamber for days. He was like a wine cup with a hole in the base: he could be full to the brim, only to have everything leak away.

She swept her gaze over the gardens themselves, noting that leaves were already beginning to fall from the bushes and trees. The first hints of autumn crimson encroached on the lush green. Soon enough, her mother's garden would wither in the winter winds, sleeping beneath the snow until spring. Then all her hard work would begin again.

Caught up in this melancholy reverie, Marilla didn't hear the the hall door opening. She missed the sound of boots on stone as well, and was still leaning on her elbows over the window sill when a baritone voice spoke close beside her ear.

"What're we looking at, My Lady?"

She gasped and nearly jumped out of her skin. Mag the mercenary stood just behind her, so close that she could smell his musk, a mixture of leather, steel, and sweat. He wore a lopsided grin on his dark-whiskered face, and there was a wolfish glint in his yellow eyes. Mag's thick black hair was held back by his faded red headband, and he was geared up for battle as usual: sword on his hip, knives strapped across his chest, dull breastplate fastened on tight.

"Gods above, you frightened me," said Marilla. "You ought to announce your presence in a lady's chamber."

Mag just widened his grin, shrugged, and scratched his nose. "Yeah, but the look on your face is priceless. You know you're adorable when you're terrified?"

She let the comment pass without reply. In the silence that followed she could feel Mag's searching eyes on her. The bodice of her emerald dress was cut low enough to show generous amounts of cleavage, and Mag gazed appreciatively at the tops of her tans breasts. She knew that a proper lady should have balked at such lecherous behavior, but she and Mag had lain together twice already. Her mind raced as she remembered him straining behind her, or how she had dropped onto him from above, and how their flesh and voices had mingled as they found rapturous release together. Marilla had to admit that she was quite looking forward to a third time.

But not just now. She shook her head, clearing the lusty thoughts and tossing her braided chestnut hair to and fro.

"Your orders," she said, latching onto the nearest subject. "I have them on my desk."

Marilla brushed by him, their bodies so close she could feel his heat, and stepped over to her desk, which was positioned in front of the window so that light would shine onto her papers and books. A folded parchment lay in the center, which Marilla retrieved. Mag paced behind her, keeping the distance between them close -- intimate. Her heartbeat continued to increase, yet she managed to keep the tone of her voice even.

"You are to report to the castle's eastern gate, where you will join Lieutenant Glabber's division on their march to Abin's Lode. Once at the mine, Lieutenant Glabber will retrieve the latest shipment of silver bars and return them here to Seleca. You will remain at the mine under the command of Sergeant Sain, with standing orders to deal with any Soulkin in the vicinity. These orders are signed by the Duke and by the Captain of the Guard. Any questions?"

Mag sighed pathetically and blew his cheeks out. "Does it have to be fucking Glabber?"

"Yes, it does. He is an experienced soldier and the Captain has much faith in him."

"He's a pompous idiot who's coasting on his family's name, if you ask me."

Marilla couldn't help a wry grin.

"That's as may be. Nevertheless, you will ride north with his division to Abin's Lode. Look, Mag, you don't have to like Glabber, and as far as I'm concerned you don't have to listen to him, either, but you do have go along with this for now. We need more information about the relic Brand seeks beneath the mine, and for now he must not know what we suspect. Therefore you must pretend to be part of this official mission to protect the mine from Soulkin, and not reveal your true purpose, which is to investigate this relic and suss out Brand's allies amongst the miners and soldiers already at the Lode."

"You sound like Norn," said Mag. "I still say the best thing to do is kill the fucking wizard and be done with it."

"As to that, I agree with Norn. We must know more about Lu'Caella's plans before we reveal ourselves, or we may play right into a trap. We've already seen how even Norn the great Soul Witch can be outsmarted by our enemies. Speaking of Norn, where is she?"

Mag shrugged.

"Hell if I know. Haven't seen her since we were together yesterday. I'm sure she's close by, doing witch stuff. She said she was coming with me to the mine. What about Varak? Has he returned from the lizard clan hollow?"

Marilla shook her head. "No, he has not. But that is not unusual. It could be he has affairs to attend to there."

A dark look passed over Mag's face, and he frowned.

"Said he'd be back today," muttered the mercenary.

He seems almost hurt, thought Marilla. Like he's worried his friend abandoned him. How adorable.

"I'll dispatch a messenger to the clan hollow," said Marilla. "My father was sincere about improving relations between our two peoples. And I'll make sure the messenger inquires about Varak when he's there.

Mag nodded, mollified by her words. "Well, that's good," he said. "I guess I should be leaving, then. Gotta admit, though, I wish you were coming too."

He gave her that smoldering gaze and that crooked smile and Marilla felt herself melting. The ruggedly handsome vagabond had a hold on her, and his witch mistress as well. In the hidden catacombs beneath the garden, she had joined them in a searing trinity of potent sex-magic, what Norn called Soul Arts. Marilla felt increasingly bound to the sultry pair, and whether it was from arcane ritual or natural lust, she couldn't say. Marilla's loins were throbbing now, however, all her resolve slipping away, and she was sure about one thing: she could not allow Mag to leave without fucking her again.

"I must stay here and keep an eye on Magus Brand. But you have an hour before you need to report to the east gate. There is something Norn had from you yesterday which I was denied, and I will have it now, I think."

She was referring, of course, to how the pale, slender witch had allowed Marilla to ride Mag right up to the point of release, and then pushed Marilla aside to mount the warrior and claim his seed for herself. Norn had made the excuse that she required that seed for her Soul Arts, but Marilla could not help her jealousy, and now she would have that which ought to have been hers. The idea of Mag gushing hot and wet inside her deepest recesses made her core flutter, and she felt giddy and lightheaded.

Marilla strutted over to the window again, swaying her hips as she went, and cast a longing gaze back over her shoulder towards Mag, who gave her a dark and desirous look in return. Bending over the sill, Marilla reached down and bunched up the hem of her emerald skirt. She pulled it upwards, revealing no shift beneath, but only smooth, tan flesh. Soon she felt the cool breeze across the wetness of her sex, and gave a sigh, gooseflesh spreading across her thighs.

Mag swore softly behind her, and she heard the sound of trousers and sword belt being unbuckled, then the clattering of the scabbard against the stone. Two firm hands grabbed hold of her shapely hips, and then she felt Mag's hot and hard length poking against the cleft where her legs met. Her inner thighs were slick with wetness, and Mag easily slipped his manhood between her legs, giving a groan of satisfaction.

"Gods, your skin is so hot and soft," he said. "You want me to fuck you like this, My Lady? Bent over your window for anyone to see?"

It gave her a thrill, knowing that if Brand, Palster, or her father looked up now, they would see her leaning over the window of her solar, biting her lip in anticipation, Mag intimately close behind her. She fought back a moan.

"Quietly, Master Vagabond," she murmured. "Take me fast and deep, but quietly."

They shifted as one into position. Marilla spread her legs and angled the ample curves of her bottom into the air, stretching up onto the balls of her feet. Mag took hold of his shaft and rubbed the head across her nether lips, back to front, again and again. She bloomed for him, her petals spreading, releasing her nectar to coat his swollen crown. When he judged them both ready, Mag found her entrance and placed his cock against the aperture. He thrust forward, gently but firm, and slowly her cozy sex yielded for him.

Mag's manhood didn't feel as titanic as it had the day before, in the place of power below the garden, when it had swollen with magic to astounding proportions. But Mag was no small man, and Marilla could not help a breathy yelp escaping her mouth as he entered her. She bit her lip immediately, scanning the garden below to be sure no one had heard her. The trio of her father, Palster, and Brand were still strolling through the garden, still unaware, but easily within view of the window. Now a real fear of being caught had taken hold of her, and it made the blood in her loins thud even harder.

"Just a bit more," whispered Mag, "and I'll be all the way in."

He gave a few gentle, rocking thrusts to loosen her channel, and then gave a sudden, powerful stroke which drove his head right to the mouth of her womb. Marilla shuddered in his grasp, barely swallowing the moan of passion that threatened to burst from her throat.

"Kiss me," he murmured.

Marilla felt terrified to kiss the mercenary so openly in front of her solar window, but in the moment she felt powerless to deny him. She pushed herself up on her hands and twisted her neck to the side so that she could look back at him and see the dark clouds of lust contorting his handsome face. Mag leaned forward and hugged her around he waist, arching her body up and back towards him. He claimed her lips roughly, biting and suckling, leaving her breathless. Her sex clenched around him, and he throbbed hotly within her. Her body flexed like a yew longbow, and the angle caused his manhood to caress the front wall of her sex with excruciating pleasure.

Their desperate kiss broke, the position too tense to maintain for long, and Marilla fell forward, resuming her previous position. Now they fucked with a purpose, driving towards release. Mag dug his fingers into her hips and thrust forcefully, making the globes of her ass quiver with each impact. Marilla pushed her thighs back to meet his thrusts, biting her lower lips so hard it hurt. There would be no mistaking what they were up to, were anyone in the garden below to look up just now. The only thing more brazen would be if her tits were hanging out.

As if reading her thoughts, Mag reached beneath her and grabbed the edge of her bodice, yanking it to one side so that her left breast spilled into the air, the nipple hard and jutting forward. Marilla's eyes went wide, abject horror coursing through her, certain she would be caught but powerless to fight the torrent of pleasure building inside her core. Mag continued fucking her relentlessly, her free breast swinging lewdly with each crashing thrust, and the heat in her sex built to a fever pitch.

Her whole body tensed up, just on the precipice, yet not quite tumbling over, an endless moment of blissful anticipation. Mag gave ten frenzied and savage thrusts before driving himself to the gates of her core and erupting, unable to stop a primal grunt from escaping his lips. The sensation of Mag's seed spraying hotly into her depths sent Marilla over the edge as well. All the tension in her body released, and she quivered uncontrollably, barely hanging onto the ledge, keenly aware of how debauched the Lady of Seleca would appear to any servant or guardsman who happened to gaze at her window. The danger of being seen pushed her release to another tier of intensity, and Marilla was consumed by lust.

It was Mag who pulled them away from the window at last. Marilla had collapsed against the stone still, her sex still clenching weakly at Mag's softening invader. The vagabond dropped into the chair before her desk and pulled her into his lap. She adjusted her dress, keeping the skirt high in an attempt to prevent their combined fluids from staining it. Their lips met in warm, lethargic kisses, both of them grinning dumbly as they stared into one another's eyes.

"That was risky," said Marilla. "I can't believe you pulled my breast out like that."

"You loved it," said Mag. "I'm drenched in your juice, My Lady."

She didn't argue.

They sat like that for a very long moment, content in each others arms. It seemed as though time had frozen. But eventually, inexorably, unbidden thoughts came to Marilla's mind: of Mag's orders, of the voice in the flames, of her alliance with Norn the Soul Witch, of her father walking with a serpent in the gardens below, and of wilting roses. With barely a word said, Mag extricated himself and rebuckled his swordbelt. She watched longingly as he moved to the door, casting a final fond glance back her way. Then, orders in hand, he left.

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Clop-clop. Clop-clop. Clop-clop.

The sound of hoofbeats on the dirt road was mesmerizing. Mag sometimes went hours at a time with nothing on his mind but the staccato rhythm of horse hooves on the earth. Years of living on the road had made him comfortable in the saddle, and he found he could easily slip into a trance where all that mattered was the road in front of him, the clean, fresh air, the sun overhead, and the animal he rode.

He'd been issued a small dappled mare, which he supposed was meant as an insult. The big, dark destriers had been kept for Arnis Glabber and his hand-picked toadies. But Mag knew that a horse was only as good as its rider, and that a destrier was fine in a cavalry charge but a smaller horse was often better for long rides or quick escapes. In any case, a bad horse was better than no horse. Mag's horse was a fine animal and it would take a fool not to see that.

They were nearly halfway to Abin's Lode, but it felt like only minutes since they'd set out. Mag and his horse had bonded quickly, and together they had found that peaceful serenity that made long rides pass like a gentle breeze.

Clop-clop. Clop-clop. Clop-clop.

Of course, idiots like Arnis Glabber could find ways to intrude on his calm. Mag was riding considerably behind the rear of the column of soldiers, as far away from Glabber as he could manage. Still, that didn't stop the Lieutenant from asinine attempts to assert his authority over Mag. Glabber was still bitter over how Mag had humiliated him at the party two nights before, and now that Mag was ostensibly under his command, Glabber meant to lord it over him.

A soldier came riding back along the line, a sergeant or something based on his outfit, and fell in beside Mag. The man had an oiled mustache that pointed to either side and a determined look in his eyes. Career climber, thought Mag. Probably shit at fighting.

"Lieutenant Glabber says you're to keep pace with the rest of the column," said the man.

"Fuck off," countered Mag.

The man looked affronted and stroked his mustache obsessively, his lip twisting in a sneer.

"Your insubordinate demeanor has been noted. The Lieutenant will hear of it."

Mag watched the man ride off towards the front of the column, passing fifty other soldiers along the way. The flag of Seleca was flying at the front, a silver pick and coin across a blue field, and he knew Glabber would be there, likely to be apoplectic when he heard Mag's reply. The thought made Mag grin.

Soon enough he fell back into his hypnotic state, his breathing and heart rate slowing. He let his horse fall even further back from the column, and the mare was happy enough to be on its own. It was a damn nice day, not too hot, not too cold, and the air around them was crisp and clear.

Clop-clop. Clop-clop. Clop-clop.

The land rose in a gentle slope before them as they entered the foothills leading to the Courser Mountains. The great peaks rose in the distance to the north, but Mag knew they wouldn't be climbing any mountains today. Instead they'd be stopping at the mining site well before the real ascent began.