When Gods Quarrel

Aranthir tightened his arms around her as he began to thrust harder and faster. He planted his feet against the short bedposts for better traction and planted kisses on her elegant neck. Ambra moaned louder, and Aranthir imagined that Serai was listening at the door. He brushed the other woman from his mind as he drove his cock deep inside Ambra. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and kissed him on the mouth, her moans collapsing into high-pitched, insistent murmuring against his lips. Aranthir pulled her tighter as he thrust, feeling his cock throb inside her. She clawed at his back and his eyes popped open, staring directly into hers. They were so blue and beautiful, he forgot where he was for a moment.

"You have the most beautiful eyes," she whispered, and Aranthir could only smile. He kissed her again and they both closed their eyes to enjoy the moment. Aranthir pressed her body against his in a crushing embrace and Ambra moaned again.

"You're going to make me come," she whispered, and the thought of it nearly made him come himself. He could feel her heart pounding, her hot breath against his skin, her fingers clawing hungrily at him, and knew she was telling the truth. He kissed her again, pushing himself up onto his toes to drive his cock deep into her with as much force as he could muster.

Ambra squealed. She bit his lip, her fingers dug into his back, and her whole body convulsed. Her blue eyes rolled back into her head and she arched her back again. Another strangled scream escaped her throat, and as it quivered, Aranthir kissed it again. Her grip on him tightened, then slackened, and she went nearly limp in the bed, her breasts heaving on her chest as she lay under him.

Aranthir let a moment pass, slowly thrusting his cock inside her to stay hard. Equally slowly, Ambra began to regain her senses. Her eyes opened, her arms snaked around him again, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and she kissed him once again.

"Don't stop," she whispered.

"I wouldn't even if I could," he whispered back. She grabbed a fistful of his short hair and bit his shoulder, her body still quivering with orgasm. Aranthir clutched her tightly and buried his face in her neck. Closing his eyes, he exulted in her scent of sweat, perfume, and lusty musk. The soft sheets beneath him made a luxurious bed, and a cool breeze through the window chilled their sweaty bodies.

Ambra pushed up against him, and he opened his eyes again. "Let me get on top," she urged, and he obliged. Gathering her up in his arms, he rolled over and nearly fell out of the narrow bed. But he caught himself and repositioned to the middle, all without pulling his cock out. Ambra brushed her hair back over her shoulder and planted her hands on his chest.

Slowly, her hips began to rise and fall atop his and Aranthir was fascinated by the sight of his cock slipping in and out of her shaven pink sex. Equally mesmerizing was the motion of her lively little breasts on her small frame that rose and fall as she bounced on his cock. Her bare skin slapped rhythmically against his and held her by the waist, staring up into her eyes. She looked down at him with awed delight in her blue eyes, running a loving hand along his face to cup her jaw. In reply, he reached up and squeezed her breasts in his hands. He bounced his hips on the bed in time with hers, each thrust up into her body make her breasts bounce in his hands and her red hair tumble about her shoulders.

He was nearly ready to come, and he quickened his pacing. Ambra leaned close in as she realized what was happening.

"Yes, Aranthir," she moaned, her hot breath on his face, "fuck me, come inside me, make a mess of me, Aranthir, please, I need your cock, I need your cum! Oh, yes! Fuck me! Don't stop, fuck me!"

He did his best. The pressure built inside his cock until he could contain it no more. His toes curled, his muscles clenched, he crushed Ambra against his body and came inside her. He shuddered, and Ambra squealed with delight again. She kissed his neck, then again, then higher as she climbed to his ear, then up his elven ears to the tip, all the while whispering "fuck me, make me come, fuck me..." Aranthir could only smile and shake his head. He kissed her neck and let his embrace slacken. Ambra giggled, then sat up. Aranthir's eyes fixed on her little breasts hanging from her chest again.

"I have heard of the prowess of elves," she whispered with another giggle. "But I did not expect them to live up to the stories." She dismounted his cock, trailing a line of hot, sticky cum between it and her wet sex. She bent her head to it and licked him clean, then dabbed at her wet orifice with a finger. She raised her sticky finger to her mouth and licked it clean as well. With a shameless smile, she collapsed beside him and kissed him again.

She laughed breathlessly beside him, her hands clutching at his chest and fingers tracing the scars upon it. Aranthir smiled and brushed an errant lock of red hair from her face. Ambra smiled shyly.

"The goddess has blessed me to bring you here, master half-elf," she whispered in the darkening room.

"And me as well," Aranthir replied. He kissed her and she squirmed beside him with delight. She pushed herself toward him on the bed, burrowing her way into his arms. She lay her head on his chest, her breathing slowing. Aranthir kissed her scalp and pulled her closer. The lay naked in silence as the twilight waned, until at last they both fell asleep.

Aranthir rose with the dawn, leaving Ambra asleep, naked and entangled in the bedsheets. He dressed, checked his weapons, and climbed to the cupola to begin his day's vigil. He studied the land around him, wondering what fresh abomination the Wild God would send at them today and whether he would see it coming. Irban and his men rose soon after the dawn and began sparring in the garden as the lordling tried to raise their spirits after the disastrous battle with the gorgon the day before. The lordling caught sight of Aranthir in the cupola and scowled.

Aranthir returned to scanning the countryside without sparing his rival a second thought. The morning dragged on uneventfully until, just before noon, a flock of birds burst forth from the trees to the south, squawking and screeching terribly as they streaked up into the sky. Aranthir snatched up his pistols and rose to his feet. For an interminable series of moments, nothing moved.

Then he detected a slight shaking in the tree branches. The shaking grew and Aranthir's elven ears detected a distant rumble of heavy footfalls on the ground. Tree trunks shook heavily now, swaying back and forth as something massive crashed through the woods. Down in the garden, Irban and his men stopped their sparring, realizing something was wrong. They looked to Aranthir in the temple cupola and their faces grew taut.

"To the gate!" Aranthir cried. He threw one leg over the railing of the cupola, intending to slide down the roof and drop directly into the garden, but stopped when he saw his foe at last burst from the trees. A hideous, serpentine head burst forth, snapping back and forth on a long, scaled neck, then another, and another, until seven such heads appeared, all connected to a massive four-footed body that matched the size of some dragons Aranthir had seen.

The hydra crashed through the vineyards below the temple, making straight for the gate. Aranthir slid down the roof and dropped into a patch of loose earth for a soft landing. Irban's men were slowly moving toward the gate, swords in hand, when he dashed past them.

"What is coming?" Irban called as Aranthir ran past.

"Hydra!" Aranthir called back. Looking over his shoulder, he saw they had stopped.

The rumble of heavy footfalls grew louder, accompanied by a terrible roar. Aranthir skidded to a halt in front of the gate, now judging his rude barricade to be only a momentary distraction to the monster that thundered toward it.

He turned to call over his shoulder to Irban's men. "Into the brush, we'll have to ambush it as it comes."

Without waiting for a reply, he dove into the bushes and concealed himself as best he could. Irban's men did the same, though without his same expertise for fieldcraft. He tried to still his breathing as he melded into the foliage. Breathe in, breathe out, he told himself. Strike quickly, sever one head, burn it, move on. Never stop moving.

This would be a hard fight.

The hydra's heads came into view, peering over the temple garden wall. The thunderous footfalls boomed up the path and into the gate, which burst open again with a great crash. Wood cracked and splintered under great clawed feet, the bronze gate clanged open, and seven sets of slitted eyes peered into the garden.

It waited in the broken portal, all seven heads searching the garden, forked tongues flicking through fanged mouths, until it slowly began to creep forward. Aranthir waited under the branches of a mulberry tree, sword in hand, and slowed his breathing to a crawl. Through the brush, he could just make out the shapes of Irban and the others lying in wait. Aranthir took a deep breath and slowly brushed a wide fern lead out of the way as the hydra neared, its big, clawed feet upending bricks on the garden path as it walked.

The hydra stopped suddenly, its heads turned in all directions and their tongues flicked out to taste the air. Aranthir knew he had been detected. He bolted forward with a battle cry to alert the others. The hydra reared back, one huge foot lifting off the ground as he charged into range. Two heads peered down at him from either side and Aranthir darted between them and slashed at the upraised foot. He struck its claw, his sword's runes flashing as he cut through the bone and drew blood. Several heads hissed at once in pained surprise.

From either side, the hydra's heads lunged for him, and Aranthir hurled himself backwards. The onrushing jaws dripped bile but bit at air, then crashed into one another. In their moment of confusion, Aranthir sprang forward again, his sword raised high, and swung down at an exposed neck. "Nystra!" he cried, to his own surprise, and the blade bit deep into the scales and sank into thick, sinewy flesh. The hydra head screamed and thrashed, but Aranthir pulled on his sword and sawed through thick cords of muscle, then its wide throat, and tore the blade free. The nearly severed neck raised up, gushing thick red blood and dangling the dead head by a thin scrap of flesh, then came crashing back down again.

Two more heads dove on Aranthir, the others circling and waiting their turn. He dodged aside from one head and battered the other away with his sword, narrowly escaping being caught in the terrible jaws. But more heads waited above him, circling like raptors preparing to strike.

From the brush came a great cry, and in rushed Irban at the head of his remaining men. The hydra recoiled in surprise again, then it hissed and snapped its jaws at the newcomers. One head shot forward for Pestta, and though the jaws snapped shut too early, the force of the onrushing head bowled the man over onto his back. Pestta cried out as a head reared over him, ready to devour him whole, only for Irban to dart in, sword poised for a deadly thrust into the head that descended on his retainer.

The hydra recoiled under attack from all sides, and Aranthir seized the opportunity to attack the head he had nearly killed. It drooped onto the ruined bricks, the light going out of the dying eyes. He spared it no mercy, however. As the other six heads swirled above, Aranthir completed the decapitation with a mighty overhead swing, then cauterized the wound with a torrent of fire from his palm. The flesh crackled and turned black, the dark red blood boiled away, and the hydra's other heads screamed in agony.

But Aranthir felt no triumph, for his sorcerous powers were now nearly tapped out. He had been too long without spice, the indigo fuel for his magical powers, and the meager strength lent to him by his ancestry was now nearly spent. Though Aranthir now had more immediate problems.

All six remaining heads turned to face him. Their slitted eyes narrowed even further. Hisses and forked tongues slithered from their mouths. Aranthir took a cautious step back.

"Irban," he called slowly, his eyes locked onto the hydra heads as he tried to discern which would be first to attack, "I've got it distracted now," he said with a slight tremor creeping into his voice, "Now would be a good time to do something."

Two heads snapped forward from either side. Aranthir sprang backwards, avoiding one, but the other slammed its jaws shut around his chest. He heard himself cry out in terror, but the fangs did not pierce his armored jack coat. However, the crushing force of the hydra's jaws pressed the wind out of him. He slammed his sword pommel down onto the hydra in the hopes of freeing himself, but it only spurred the monster to grip him tighter. It raised its head, lifting him off his feet as he kicked and thrashed in its crushing grasp. The head that had missed him before positioned itself for a finishing blow. Its jaws opened wide and, suspended helpless in the air, Aranthir realized that it was readying to tear his head off. The monster's eyes swirled in his gaze, and he felt himself go weak in the grasp of terror.

But he was saved by Irban, who exploited the creature's distraction to sneak under its snapping jaws and stab the hydra in its belly. He threw his weight into the thrust, plunging the sword up into the monster's body up to its hilt. Then he levered the sword down, cutting a long gash in the scaly flesh. The hydra screamed with all its heads, breaking its gaze with Aranthir and loosening the grip of its jaws that threatened to crush him into powder.

As the grip on Aranthir loosened, he felt his wits return to him. He reversed his grip on his sword and drove its point down into the neck that held him. He wrenched it side to side, carving a wide chasm in the creature's neck. He felt the grip of its jaws slacken even further as he cut through tendons thick like hawsers. He slipped through its jaws, the fangs slashing long gashes in the padding of his coat, and fell to the garden grass on his feet.

But his escape had come at a cost. Irban's sword was driven too deep into the monster to free himself, and now its heads came for him too as he struggled to pry it out. Too late he saw them coming, and a terrible pair of jaws snapped forward, then snapped shut around his shoulders. Aranthir heard the lordling scream, his fists beating uselessly at the hydra's head as he was lifted from the ground, legs flailing about in the air.

Aranthir charged forward at the head he had wounded. He slashed at it as it hung limply over the ground, his blade shearing straight through what muscle and ligament remained. The hanging neck gushed dark red blood into the garden and the severed head thudded to the ground. Aranthir threw up his palm, conjuring forth another fiery torrent, but this time only a small sputter crackled forth.

He tried again, to no avail. Above him, Irban's screaming grew louder, and another pair of jaws snapped shut around his legs, gripping him at both ends. The hydra's heads roared in a frenzied fury as the two heads that gripped him pulled in opposite directions. Irban thrashed about in their grip, fists still beating at the monster, until his bones cracked, he went limp, then was torn in half. Gore rained down around his men beneath him, and their will shattered.

Pestta was the first to run, and his younger companions wasted no time in following suit. Throwing aside their weapons, they fled into the depths of the garden in a blind panic.

But the hydra was not ready to let them go. Huge, clawed feet slammed into the ground as it lumbered forward, tongues flicking forward in maddened hunger. Jaws snapped shut around the legs of one of the men, wrenched him from the ground and hurled him into the air. He screamed as he rose, peaked, and then plunged into the garden again where his scream ended with a sickening thud. Aranthir felt panic rising in himself as well.

The hydra thundered after the men for only a few short steps, then stopped and turned back toward Aranthir. The head he had just severed and failed to burn hung limply, but now spurted to life. The gushing wounds closed, and the stump shuddered. The flesh boiled before his eyes, beginning to take the shape of two new heads. The other five turned and locked their terrible eyes onto him.

Aranthir ran.

He rushed toward the temple, with no thought in his mind but to take shelter within it. The thunderous footfalls of the hydra sounded close behind him. Breaking into the clearing where the broken statue of Nystra lay, his eye caught on the cupola, where Serai stood watching with amusement.

"I only see two heads slain, you have work to do!" she called with the casual air of someone watching a tournament bout. Aranthir scowled back in frustrated amazement.

"You're awfully calm about all this!"

She shrugged. "Have a little faith."

Aranthir reached the temple portico and turned around. The hydra crashed toward him, trampling the poor statue under a great clawed foot. Seven heads stared hateful fury at him, but his eyes were drawn to the still open wound in its belly. Like a bolt from the blue, a plan formed in his mind.

He bolted off the portico to one side, snatching a long, dry stalk of grass from where it grew. He threw himself over the railing and into the brush as the hydra neared, its every step making the ground shake beneath him. Aranthir dropped his sword and took his powderhorn in the other hand. He uncapped it as he ran, then shoved the dry stalk into the powderhorn's mouth.

Gods willing, this will work the way I want it to, he thought. The hydra crashed through a row of apple trees, crushing and breaking their trunks underfoot. Aranthir turned to face it. Seven pairs of eyes promised a grisly end, and he faced it with only a powderhorn in hand. He turned away from the hypnotic gazes and gaping jaws. The hydra's belly wound was closing fast. He would only get one chance.

The monster surged toward him, vengeful triumph written on all its seven faces, but Aranthir shook them off. He raised his hand to the dry stalk of grass and conjured forth his sorcery to make fire. Nothing came. He inhaled deeper, as the monster crashed over a row of rose bushes, uprooting many of them in its rush. Calling on all his ancestors, his mentors, and the gods themselves, he conjured again.

Only a small stream of sparks sprang forth, but it was enough. The dry grass caught, and his makeshift fuse was lit.

The hydra was nearly upon him, and the belly wound nearly closed. Jaws hissed and snapped, then lunged for him. Aranthir charged forward, leaving them gnashing at the air in his wake. He ran face first into the monster's body, but his hand found the wound, and stuffed the powderhorn and burning fuse through it just as it closed up.

The monster's bulk bowled him over and pressed him to the ground. A terrible weight threatened to crush him, but the hydra's furious charge carried it over him and beyond. It did its best to come to a halt, but it was already past Aranthir, who bolted to his feet and ran for the temple again. Behind him, the hydra roared and lumbered after him, then suddenly stopped. Aranthir did not dare slow down, but threw a curious look over his shoulder.

It had stopped, and all seven heads were staring at the place in its chest where the wound had been. It shifted uncomfortably on its feet, and then its heads shrieked in alarm.

There was a blast, and a geyser of blood and flesh erupted from its chest as the powderhorn blew. For ten paces in the garden, the hydra's innards were sprayed across the bricks and plants. The hydra teetered, its heads wheezed, then it crashed to one side.