When Gods Quarrel

He snapped his pistol into a firing position and let loose. The weapon roared, blasting out a geyser of its own, white smoke and orange flame. Aranthir heard the lead shot strike off the gorgon's thick scales to no effect, but the shot had served its purpose as a distraction. Before the gorgon could react, he smote it on the brow with his blade. The strike clanged off a thick skull plate, but the monster recoiled in shock. Aranthir drove onward, leaping onto its lowered head to run up its back like a ramp. Skidding to a precarious halt atop its haunches, he drove his blade downward into the wound he had opened up before.

The gorgon bucked and screamed hideously. It was all Aranthir could do to stop atop it.

"Hit it now!" he cried, and Irban ran to his aid. The lordling and his fellows crowded in around the gorgon, their blades stabbing at the gaps between its scales. The monster wailed under the assault, thrashing its horned head about to fend off its attackers. The horns slashed another man, who cried out in pain and fell away. Aranthir drove his blade deeper into the gorgon's flank and held on as the thrashing intensified.

The gorgon shrieked in agonized fury and bolted. The sword was torn from Aranthir's grasp and he tumbled heels over head to the earth, earning himself a vicious kick from the gorgon's iron hooves in the process. Stars exploded across his vision, his head spun, and he crashed into the mercifully soft dirt of the garden.

He thrust himself upward, his hands digging deep into the soft soil, and looked around. His head was pounding and his vision swimming, but his trained senses proved resilient. The gorgon had burst through the net of men once again, trampling another of Irban's ill-prepared retainers and about ten paces of garden as well. It crashed through the garden with Aranthir's sword hilt and two feet of blade sticking out of it until the blade caught itself on an orange tree.

The sudden wrenching of the blade through the gorgon's flesh brought it to another screaming halt. Black blood gushed from the wound and the monster fell to its knees, wailing pitifully.

Aranthir hauled himself to his feet and drew his poignard, but Irban was faster. The arrogant lordling bore down on the monster with his sword in hand. He seized it by the cruel horns and yanked back the head. The gorgon moaned, locking gazes with its killer, and Irban plunged his sword into the creature's neck and twisted. The monster gurgled, then shuddered and slumped to the ground.

"I did it!" Irban cried, punching the air in triumph. "I slew the monster!" Aranthir suppressed a twinge of annoyance as he lumbered forward to retrieve his sword. His side was burning, the power of the gorgon's kick little diminished by his armored jack coat. He wrenched his blade out of the gorgon's flank and wiped the thick black blood from it with a fern leaf. Irban was staring at the dead monster in wonderment, oblivious to Aranthir and his injuries.

The soldier Pestta staggered forward, holding his side where the gorgon had battered him. "We're nearly spent," he gasped. "Two fled, five dead... Gods, that was only one of them? How many will come tomorrow?"

"Yesterday it was minotaurs," Aranthir mused. "Tomorrow will be something different, I expect." He looked around the garden. There was no sign of Nia. "Priestess?" Aranthir called, sheathing his sword. "It's dead, you can come out now."

For a moment, there was nothing, and Aranthir feared she had been killed somewhere in all the mayhem. Then he heard a rustling in the brush and the priestess, her robes dirty and disheveled, cautiously stepped forth.

"It is truly dead?" she asked hesitantly.

"It is," answered a voice from the gate and they turned to see Erchasos' herald there again, seated imperiously on his shining white unicorn. Aranthir heard the others gasp is awe and stepped ahead of them to confront the herald.

"I have slain your champion," Aranthir announced. "Now does the Wild God consider this quarrel settled?"

The herald considered him a moment, amusement etched on his green face. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Irban.

"I think you'll find that I was the one who slew the beast," the lordling proclaimed. "I would thank you in the future not to steal my glory, sharp-ear."

Aranthir inhaled deeply and restrained himself. "In either case, the monster is dead. What does the god's herald say?"

"I say it was well fought. The half-elf has proven himself a worthy champion of Nystra."

"The half-elf?!" Irban cried. "What about me?!"

"Our quarrel continues on the morrow," the herald announced, pointedly ignoring Irban. "Gather what servants remain to you and we will see what a fresh dawn brings." He smiled cruelly and dug his heels into the unicorn's flanks, spurring it away down the path.

Aranthir watched it go, feeling Irban's jealous gaze on his back. Aranthir turned to Nia with an extended hand.

"It is good to see you alive and unharmed. Let me help you inside to get cleaned up."

"Thank you, Aranthir." Nia took his hand and stepped onto the path, steadying herself a moment. She straightened her hair and robes, sighed, and looked to the gorgon. "What should we do with that?" she asked in wonderment.

"Bury it," Aranthir replied. "With full rites."

"Do these creatures need the rites?" asked one of Irban's men. Aranthir shrugged.

"Perhaps not, but I'd hate for its spirit to come back to haunt us. Better to be safe. Dig a grave out by the road for the bodies. Nia, can one of your acolytes perform Kanaron's rites?"

"We know them well enough," the priestess replied. "And I doubt anyone else will be coming here until this quarrel is settled."

Aranthir helped her inside, where the acolytes and Serai waited eagerly for news. When they saw Aranthir and Nia appear at the broken statue before the main doors, they broke out in relieved cries. Aranthir saw Ambra's face foremost among the crowd, with Serai beaming over her shoulder.

"Prioress, you're alright!" they cried as they rushed down the steps. "We heard the battle and feared the worst."

"Yes, I'm alright. If only barely. Erchasos sent another beast, a gorgon, to attack us just as the lord's men arrived. Aranthir slew the beast, though many of the lord's men are dead. They need help burying the dead and tending to the wounded by the gate."

Ambra hurried down steps to him, and Aranthir passed Nia into her hands. The young acolyte seemed surprised and disappointed, her attention instead focused on him, but she took her mistress without complaint.

"Are you hurt?" she asked with concern, the question addressed to both of them, but it was Nia who answered.

"No, I am just... stunned, is all. I need a moment to rest. Come, girl, let us go in and sit down. I could use a bath."

"Of course, prioress. Aranthir, do you need aid?"

"No. I will return to help them dig the graves. Tend to your prioress, I will be back."

Ambra's eyes lingered on him as Nia gently urged her toward the temple. Aranthir watched them go with mild amusement, and Serai watched from the temple portico with great amusement.

"Won't you come and help?" Aranthir asked, and the noblewoman laughed.

"With these hands?" she said, raising a pair of soft, delicate, white hands before her. "I'm afraid I won't be of much use to you. But look forward to when the work is done, and you can sit at my feet again. I promise you won't be left wanting."

Digging and filling the graves took most of the rest of the day, and dragging the gorgon into it proved the most difficult part. The bronze-skinned monster was so heavy it required the combined efforts of all those gathered to move it. Its nostrils were still coated with the deadly green vapor and burned the hand of one temple servant who was too careless. Throughout it all, Aranthir felt his ribs throbbing where the gorgon had kicked him. He had no spice with which to heal himself and so resolved to work through the pain. As day wore on the throbbing dulled but did not diminish. At last, they stripped the bodies and laid them in the graves, at which point Nia and Tsepan came out to perform the last rites.

When the grave was filled, the sun was sinking low in the sky and Aranthir was ready to turn back to the temple for some rest. Irban had already moved his injured men into the temple, where the acolytes were tending to them. They would survive, but were of no further use in the quarrel.

All else that remained of Irban's party were the arrogant lordling, still seething with jealousy at Aranthir being credited with slaying the gorgon, his seasoned lieutenant Pestta, and two young swordsmen in brigandine and bascinet helms. The two cravens from Irban's party who had fled had not been seen since. In the quiet of the temple garden, Irban could be heard muttering that they were hiding in the brush, hoping that the monsters would overrun the temple and slaughter its residents so that they could return to the lord's manor and tell whatever exculpatory story they wanted.

Aranthir cast one final look over the countryside, hoping to see some aid headed for them, but was disappointed. He hauled the broken gate shut and barricaded it with planks brought from the storehouse. It would not hold long, but it would give them a small measure of warning against a surprise attack.

He wound his way back through the garden, rent and torn as it was by the fighting, to reach the temple door. Ambra was waiting for him on the portico with Irban beside her, plying her with sweet words that she wanted none of. When she saw Aranthir emerge from the trees, she hurried down the steps to greet him. Disgusted, Irban turned and disappeared into the temple.

"Is something wrong?" Aranthir asked as she reached him. She stopped and sputtered a moment, then shook her head. He could see lines of worry on her young face.

"No, I just... feared you had gone."

"Why would I leave now?" he asked. He touched her tenderly, running a finger down the dark worry lines below her eyes.

"That monster today... I saw it. It was more terrible than the minotaurs from yesterday. Whatever comes tomorrow, I expect it will be even worse."

"You needn't worry about that, girl. Whatever comes, I'll be ready for it. Come, let's go inside." He took her by the hand and led her back up the steps into the temple's main hall. Once again, Serai was seated before the sacred pool with a handful of acolytes gathered around. The rest were in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal. Irban and his men had taken an alcove on one wall, the lordling watching sourly from his seat as Ambra entered on Aranthir's arm.

The two younger men in his party stood in the middle of the room, gawking at the garishly painted orgy scenes on the walls and ceiling. One man pointed to a well-endowed satyr having his way with a raven-haired nymph. "Look at the size of that thing!" he gasped. "Do you suppose satyrs really have cocks like that?" his companion wondered. "I sure hope so," the first man replied. "Someday, I'd like to find one and see if I could take it."

"You'd have trouble walking for a week," Serai laughed from her seat by the pool. The two young men turned, their cheeks reddening. "Oh, I heard you," she teased. "Satyrs are insatiable creatures, and the sight of a sweet young thing like you would make them mad with lust."

The two lads stammered a wordless response, then fled to sit beside Irban. Aranthir and Ambra walked past them uncaring. She ushered him to a seat and he dropped into it, grunting as he fell.

"Are you hurt?" she asked with concern, kneeling beside him.

"Only a little," he replied, putting a hand to his injured flank.

"Let me look," she said, picking at the laces of his coat without waiting for a response. Aranthir did not protest. His coat came undone quickly enough, and he felt all the eyes in the room upon him as he undressed. Serai watched with mounting amusement, her blue eyes shining in the evening lamplight, while Irban glowered on from his alcove.

Aranthir removed his coat and shirt beneath to reveal a blossoming violet bruise on his left side. Ambra let out a breath of amazement as she gingerly touched a hand to his side.

"Is it broken?" she asked. Aranthir grimaced.

"No, just bruised."

"Consider yourself lucky," Serai laughed. "I've seen kicks like that kill a man."

"Seen?" Aranthir asked. Serai shrugged.

"Let me do something for you," Ambra whispered. She produced a cloth a dipped it in the pool. "Nystra's sacred waters will help it heal."

She touched the wet cloth to his bruise and Aranthir winced. "Sorry!" Ambra cried, and Aranthir raised a hand to placate her. The touch stung, but stinging soon turned to soothing and he allowed himself a smile. "Better?" she asked, and Aranthir nodded.

Ambra dabbed at his side again, cupped her hands and poured a handful of water from the pool onto his wound. Aranthir laid a hand on hers and they met each other's gazes by the pool. His wound was fading from his mind, and he could even see the edges of the bruise retreating just the slightest bit. It was a tender moment, though compromised by the prying eyes of all those around them. The girl suddenly became aware of their audience, and she blushed.

"Oh, go on and fuck him girl!" Serai laughed. "You are a disciple of the Lady of Love, are you not?"

Ambra blushed deeper, averting her eyes to look into the pool. Aranthir saw that the worry lines below her eyes had disappeared. He took her hand again.

"Come with me, girl." He stood up and shouldered his pack of things. Ambra looked up to him nervously and bit her lip. Behind her, Serai clapped her hands.

"Don't leave us waiting, we want a show!" Ambra jumped to her feet and shook her head, her red hair falling around her shoulders.

"A show?! No, I can't!" she cried. Serai waved her hands dismissively.

"You're not ready for that, then. A true priest of Nystra will perform before an audience so that all may enjoy the revel."

"Perhaps we should find somewhere more quiet," Aranthir suggested to Ambra. "Without an audience?"

Ambra nodded eagerly, her cheeks flushed. Aranthir smiled and pulled her toward the cells where he slept.

"Go on, enjoy yourself!" Serai called after them. "I'll be waiting for my turn!"

The silver sound of her laughter followed them down the hall to Aranthir's door, where Ambra fell on him with kisses. She ran her soft hands all over his body, even his bruise, though he did not mind. He found himself fumbling with the door as he returned her kisses. Her lips and body were hot against him, her eyes pleading, her kisses insistent.

Ambra pulled him into the room and he shut and locked the door behind them. As he turned around, she began to shed her dress, pulling her arms out of her sleeves and letting it drop below her breasts. They were lively little things, round and delicious in the twilight filtering in through the room's small window. Aranthir threw his things to the floor and pulled Ambra close for a kiss. The acolyte wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body close as their lips locked. She moaned through her lips, and he could feel her heart beating through her chest.

"Take me, master elf," she whispered through the kiss. "Take me!" She wrapped one leg around his waist, standing on her tiptoes. Aranthir held her tightly about the waist with one hand as his other grabbed her little breasts. Ambra moaned, her brow furrowed, and her mouth fell open into a wide O. She stared at him through clear blue eyes and her hands clutched at his belt. She pulled it off, unlaced his breach, and his hard cock flopped out. Her blue eyes lit up at the sight of it and she fell to her knees, taking his manhood in both soft, white hands. From her knees, she stared up at him, rosy lips framing his cock, piercing blue eyes begging for more, and below them all, her white breasts topped with pink nipples shaking slightly with her body's quivering.

Aranthir smiled down at her and she touched her lips to his cock. After so many days on the road with only himself for comfort, Aranthir exulted in the touch of a beautiful young woman. Ambra pushed her mouth onto his cockhead and down the shaft slowly, her tongue caressing him gently as her blue eyes stayed locked onto his own. Aranthir felt his heart quicken. He laid a hand on either side of her face and held her head as she sucked him.

She did so with great enthusiasm, driving her head down onto his cock and back up over and over. Her tongue worked along his shift and around his head expertly. Aranthir curled his toes and tightened his grip on her jaw as his cock slid down her throat. The priestesses of Nystra knew the ways of love well.

Ambra gagged suddenly, and pulled herself back from his cock. "Sorry, I got a little overeager," she said sheepishly, still stroking his cock in both hands. Aranthir smiled.

"Be as eager as you want. I will never complain about a beautiful girl sucking my cock that way."

She blushed. Taking a hand off his cock, she pulled at her dress which had settled around her waist. She tried to take it off while kneeling, but after pulling it at unsuccessfully she gave up and swallowed his cock again. Aranthir laid his hands on the back of her head and held her down. Her nose pressed into his stomach, her tongue deftly licked the base of his cock, then his balls, and her hands clutched at him with unrestrained desire.

She gagged again, and Aranthir released her. Rocking back on her heels, she giggled with delight. "I love your cock," she gushed, and Aranthir steadied it with one hand. He kicked off his boots and shed his trousers to his ankles. Before he could take them all the way off, Ambra dove onto his cock again. heedless to his entanglement in his clothes, she devoured his cock in her pretty little mouth, moaning and coughing around it in her lust. Aranthir wound a hand through her red hair and pulled her off him with a laugh.

"Just a moment, girl. Let me get naked and I'll fuck your cunny silly." Ambra's body convulsed with a delighted giggle, and she grasped her little breasts in her hands. She bit her lip and watched as Aranthir pulled off his trousers and cast them aside. He extended his hand.

"Up?" he asked, and she jumped to her feet. Her dress fell free to the floor, exposing her naked body in all its glory. The waning twilight did nothing to obscure her body from Aranthir's elven eyes and he stroked his wet cock as he drank in the sight. She was pale and slender, with a shaven sex and smooth stomach. Her skin was fair and clear all over, from her narrow waist to her finely toned legs and her delicate throat.

That last one he clasped in his hand, feeling his lust for carnal pleasures pound through his veins. Ambra bit her lip and moaned with anticipation, nodding her head as she wordlessly begged for a fucking. He pushed her backwards until she bumped into the bed and fell to a seat on it. She kicked off her shoes to sit completely naked on the bed, then swung her legs up onto it to lie herself down. Aranthir stood over her, looking down on her naked form as he stroked his cock in anticipation of thrusting himself inside her.

"Fuck me," she begged, "I can't wait any longer, I want your big cock inside me," she moaned, sliding her feet back and forth on the bedsheets. Her shaven pink sex beckoned to him, dripping with desire. Aranthir threw a leg over her and climbed onto the bed to lie atop her. Ambra reached between her legs and took his cock in both hands. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I need your cock."

"Then put it in," Aranthir replied, brushing her hair from her pretty face. "Don't keep me waiting." Ambra bit her lip again and guided his cock inside her. He felt the head press against her hot lips, moisten with her wetness, then slide in her. Her eyes went wide and rolled back into her head as he entered. She moaned through her lipbite and arched her back beneath him. Aranthir slipped his arms under her and clutched her tightly, thrusting slowly into her body. He felt her hard nipples press against his skin as she writhed under him.