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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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Dragon Sweat: Scroll II
by David Shaw (david@f-e-mail.com)

***

You can help a beautiful, sexy witch out of the shit, 
you can get your handmaidens to wash her clean in a 
bath of magic love potion, but there's always some 
prick of a king who wants the first fuck. (M/F+, 
fantasy)

*** 

Some of the palace guard fingered their weapons and 
looked sullen, but there were good reasons for standing 
still. The first was the pile of ash where the Master-
At-Arms had stood, the second was Will Spearshaker's 
cries of mingled pain and relief as the moat cooled his 
hot armor. The third and fourth good reasons were the 
gleam in each of the dragon's eyes as her snout swung 
back and forth across their ranks in continued threat. 
Hal followed up his advantage. 

"Two of you, get your cloaks off and give them to the 
girls." 

Hal's hand pointed towards Caelia and Chelinde, huddled 
together in their nakedness and staring at their 
father's powdery remains gently blowing away in the 
wind. An upsetting sight, slightly softened by the fact 
that the Master-At-Arms had always been a total bastard 
to everyone who'd had the misfortune of knowing him, 
especially his own family. But before anybody could 
move a patch of air between the soldiers and Hal 
clouded over as though a tiny fog patch was forming 
there, no bigger than a man -- and forming into the 
ghostly outline of a man's figure. 

An old man, a hunched man, a man with no hair above his 
ears and a white beard down to his belt, holding a long 
staff and wearing furs that belonged to no animal that 
had ever prowled in these mountains. Gaunt Gregory, 
chief warlock to King Argud, somehow appearing to them 
all as a shadow of his real self. Instinctively, every 
soldier glanced at the castle where the warlock had 
lived as long as any could remember, as homebound in 
his tower chamber as a miller's donkey tethered to a 
grinding stone. 

There, on the nearest castle wall, was the hulking 
figure of the King, waving his arms in great 
excitement, and beside him still stood the dwarfish 
figure of his sorcerer. They saw the smaller man 
lifting his staff, as tall as himself, and point it 
down towards the moat. At the same moment the warlock's 
apparition also raised its staff and pointed. At the 
place where both staffs were aimed was a head and 
flailing arms, the arms desperately struggling to 
support their owner's head above the filthy ooze of the 
moat. None of the witch's supernatural skills seemed to 
avail her now as she fought to keep her mouth and nose 
out of the squalid slime she was slowly sinking into. 

Gaunt Gregory's orders came not through Hal's ears, but 
like some message drifting into his mind from an 
already forgotten dream: "Save her, boy, save her! The 
King commands it!" 

Not only was Hal made aware of the warlock's appeal, so 
were the soldiers. They stared at him, then snapped to 
attention, as though the fools expected Hal to start 
drilling them. What orders did they think a bollock 
naked shitbucket emptier could give them? Yet suddenly 
he was doing exactly that. 

"Who's senior rank leader?" 

A gray mustached veteran clapped a hand to his cross-
bow. "I am, boy." 

Corporal Clint O'The East Wood would have died rather 
than take orders from Hal but that wasn't an option on 
offer. Subjects who failed both the King and the Chief 
Warlock in important matters suffered far worse fates 
than simply ceasing to exist. 

"Get that net. Use your swords to cut it apart. Tie 
three of the long lengths of rope together. Then give 
me one end with a loop in it. I'm going to try to walk 
out far enough on the dragon's tail to throw it to the 
witch. Keep hold of the other end of the rope and when 
the witch has got hold of the loop, haul her in. You 
understand?" 

"Aye, boy, aye." 

It wasn't in the Corporal's training to throw a weapon 
onto the ground but he put down his crossbow with the 
greatest possible speed, pulled out his blade and went 
at the net as though it were a living enemy. Hal turned 
to Josephine, pointed at the witch, and then at the 
dragon's tail. 

"Can I walk along your tail to help the woman?" 

Josephine growled, then snorted, a hint of flames as 
insubstantial as the warlock's phantom presence 
flickering around her nozzles. The dragon was usually 
in a good humor, but apparently not where witches were 
concerned. Not witches who handled their broomstick 
like a tipsy gypsy aloft on an unbroken colt, nor yet 
witches who treated everything else in the sky as 
unimportant flying objects. Josephine was still deeply 
in the grip of sky rage. 

"Please, Josephine, the King and the Chief Warlock have 
commanded me to save the witch. Will you help me?" 

A sickly shade of green appeared on her skin: Hal 
understood her doubts only too well. The further he 
moved down her tail, the harder it would be for 
Josephine to support his weight on it. 

"Well, the best you can do, my lady. And quickly!" 

Her colors flickered and changed on her coat of scales 
again, and then she was backing her haunches over the 
edge of the moat, reluctance showing in every movement 
as she came into contact with the filth. Her tail she 
held as high as she could until she was half lying on 
the bank and half floating in the moat, and then she 
let it drop straight down on top of the partly 
dissolved turds floating on the scummy surface. Hal 
noted with surprise the depths and intensity of the 
shades Josephine was now displaying: he couldn't 
imagine where a nice young female dragon had learnt so 
much bad language. Then his attention was broken by two 
men-at-arms running up to him with the looped end of a 
rope between them. With them was Corporal Clint. 

"All ready, boy." 

"Get your men to on the other end and to be ready to 
haul like oxen. I need a man here at the moat's edge to 
put a turn of rope around one of the dragon's back 
spikes if you need her help in hauling the witch out." 

"Aye, boy." Corporal Clint O'The East Wood turned and 
pointed to one of the soldiers. "You, when I shout, go 
ahead -- make my belay." 

Hal grabbed the loop and stepped onto the base of 
Josephine's tail. Which was a big problem itself. The 
needle sharp spikes that ran down her back extended 
along her tail as well, gradually getting smaller but 
no blunter. Right here they were as long as dagger 
blades and he had to step between them with his toes 
pointed inward like a pigeon's. An uncomfortable 
position, rendered much more uncomfortable by the 
thought that if he slipped and fell astride the 
dragon's tail the spikes would instantly make sure that 
Caelia and Chelinde would be both the first and last 
girls he'd ever fuck. 

"Fria and Odin, Fria and Odin, help me, please!" 

He began moving. One step, two steps, three, with the 
slime of the moat lapping around his ankles, the 
dragon's scales becoming more slippery under his feet. 
Exactly as they had both feared, the further along 
Josephine's tail he went the harder it was for her to 
keep it up above the moat's surface. 

Hal stopped to regain his swaying balance and stared 
slack jawed at what was happening out in the moat. For 
now the warlock's mirage was hovering directly in front 
of the witch, arm and staff outstretched above her. 

Somehow he seemed to be supporting her because both her 
arms were raised above the mire, one pointing towards 
the castle and one towards Hal. And close to the castle 
wall her broomstick was rising again. Splintered and 
broken in the middle, the front half drooping down, the 
bundle of twigs mostly burnt off and spattered in 
filth, but still rising up into the air as lightly as a 
feather floating over a fire. The broomstick stopped at 
knee height above the moat and swung around like a 
rusty weathercock touched by a summer breeze. 

Then, close to Hal, a great bubble of air burst amidst 
the floating scum, close to where the witch's cat was 
still buried, the tom's tail marking its last resting 
place. Hal hoped so anyway, since it was his fist which 
had sent the feline familiar tumbling down into the 
deep shite and the memory of its malevolent green eyes 
would haunt his nightmares for a long time. Yet even as 
he looked the thickly furred tail began to disappear 
into the moat as if it were a plant which was 
shriveling instead of growing. Strange . . . 

As the tail vanished more bubbles broke on the surface 
of the moat like farts from a cart horse's bum, each 
one releasing smells which were even worse than those 
from the privy buckets Hal spent so much time emptying. 
Then a head appeared in amongst the bubbles and green 
eyes opened which regarded Hal in pure hatred. Yet this 
wasn't a cat which had surfaced, but a toad: a toad as 
big as the cat had been, a toad of brown and yellow, 
with masses of red tinged warts and spikes, an 
apparition so unlike anything in nature that one look 
was enough to know it as a perverse parody of anything 
the Gods had ever intended to live on the earth. 

Hal shivered in fear as he realized that nightmares 
were nothing compared to seeing a terrible enemy 
resurrected. The toad came swimming and slopping on its 
belly towards him, as near to being in its own element 
as any creature could be in this foul bog. It stopped 
about four paces from Hal and opened a mouth which 
seemed to be the ugliest part of the whole swollen 
monstrosity. A sack of living venom perched on a lake 
of poison, and a pair of emerald eyes looking at Hal 
with a promise of agonizing revenge. He longed to run 
home. But he could run nowhere from where he was and 
instead waited like a pig penned for slaughtering as a 
tongue as long and red as a scarlet tippet flicked 
through the air -- and stopped short of the loop of 
rope in Hal's hand. Again, the same thing happened. And 
this time the toad raised a webbed paw and pointed 
towards the witch. 

Suddenly, and incredibly, Hal felt almost gratitude 
towards the hideous creature. Because now he knew what 
it wanted him to do. Much more importantly he knew what 
he might no longer have to do himself. As well as he 
could he threw the loop towards the toad, watching as 
it landed just short of the witch's creature. The foul 
creation went forward in one quick movement before 
picking up the rope in its mouth as carefully as a cat 
holding a kitten. Then it turned and began dragging the 
rope behind it as it paddled towards the witch. Hal 
paid out the slack, swaying on Josephine's trembling 
tail, still terrified but at least hopeful that he need 
go no further into this shit filled slough. 

The remains of the broomstick reached the witch first, 
the upright handles on the broken front piece bent down 
towards her like a grazing deer's horns. At the same 
instant the dim figure of Gaunt Gregory disappeared, as 
if the two magics could not exist together. The witch 
began to sink again, her hands shot up over her mud 
choked hair and grasped the broom between the twigs and 
the break in the handle. Then the broomstick bobbed up 
and down in her desperate grip, as though it was 
floating on rippling water, but to no avail in lifting 
the witch from the clinging mud. A handhold on life she 
had, but nothing more. Unless her familiar could reach 
her with the rope. And, as big and strong as it was, 
the toad seemed to be struggling to pull out the ever 
increasing length of rope from Hal. 

In desperation he hauled out yet more line from the 
hands of the soldier on the bank and took another step 
along Josephine's tail. The dragon groaned, a startling 
thing for somebody so used to her normal silence. 
Nothing could show more plainly how painful it was for 
her to keep supporting him on her tail: it was as if 
Hal was trying to hold aloft a horseshoe on his little 
finger. He felt her trembling underfoot and the tail 
sink lower, so that he was up to his knees now in 
filth. But the toad had reached its mistress! 

Hal thanked his Gods as he saw her take one hand off 
the broomstick in a hasty snatch at the rope and then 
lift up the dripping loop. With one deft movement she 
dropped it over her head and wriggled the free arm 
through it before seizing the broom again in a double 
handed hold. Then she removed her other hand, pulled 
down the free arm and slipped it up through the other 
side of the loop whilst grabbing at the broom again. 
The loop was safely under her arms and now they could 
act! 

Hal waved to the Corporal and the soldier on the bank. 
A twirl of rope around one of Josephine's spikes and 
she was pulling on it, and so were the soldiers, 
stamping their feet into the turf as though they were 
trying to pull the castle walls down. The problem was 
that everybody was worried about the witch, not about 
Hal, and even Josephine moved so quickly he was left 
behind in the mire as her tail jerked forward. He 
lifted his feet clear of her spikes, then toppled 
sideways with a cry of despair and grabbed at the rope. 
It was certainly moving, moving too quickly, piling up 
waves of slime and shit into his face as he clung on to 
the slippery strands. The only recourse left to him was 
to roll onto his back and clutch the rope desperately 
to his chest, the back of his neck then taking the 
impact of the crusted filth. 

A brief glimpse of the witch behind showed her in much 
the same situation, but at least luckier than him by 
being able to lift her upper body higher because the 
broomstick was traveling with her, still offering the 
woman as much support as it could. Not that anybody 
could have recognized her as a man, woman or demon, not 
with the slime plastered over her limbs, her face, and 
her hair -- and Hal was in no much better condition 
when the Corporal's men hauled him onto the bank. The 
expressions of their faces as they had to touch him 
showed that: not that he had any sympathy for their 
fastidiousness; they should try his privy bucket 
emptying job once in a while. 

On the other hand he had every sympathy with the 
reluctance the soldiers showed in hauling the witch out 
of the midden. A dislike of scraping shit off somebody 
is one thing, getting up close and dirty to an enraged 
witch was akin to putting a muzzle on a mad dog. Worse, 
in fact, much worse. A mad dog might bite your balls 
off, but with a mad witch you could end up pissing out 
of your ear for the rest of your life. Which is an 
embarrassing place to have your cock put on display. 
But already the King was galloping out over the 
drawbridge on his white stallion and, whatever the 
witch might do, everybody else knew what Argud the 
Defiler would certainly do if his orders weren't 
carried out to the letter. So the soldiers helped the 
woman out onto the turf, where she shook them off her 
arms as easily as if they were half grown children. 
Then she strode across the lumpy turf to Hal, the 
broomstick drifting after her at waist height and two 
steps behind. 

Like a dutiful wife following her husband in a public 
place, Hal thought, a hurt wife yet silent and 
submissive in showing off her injuries. But there was 
nothing submissive about the hot coals glowing in the 
witch's eyes behind her mask of mud. And behind her and 
underneath the hovering broomstick was that revoltingly 
ugly toad, hopping along in great leaps which almost 
reached the broomstick at their highest points. Hal's 
reckoning was that in about five seconds he was going 
to be transmuted into something just as revolting. 
Unless he was fated to mix his ashes with the Master-
At-Arm's. How odd if he should die the way he was now, 
as naked as when he was born -- and never of any more 
importance to the world than a coney born in a burrow 
and eaten by a fox. 

He looked around for the last time with mortal eyes and 
saw Chelinde and Caelia now wrapped in soldier's 
cloaks, staring at him with pity on their faces. Caelia 
waved at him, sadly, on this moment of parting. Perhaps 
it was some consolation that the girls seemed more 
upset about his fate than their father's. 

So when the witch turned, plucked the broomstick from 
the air and then knelt down in front of Hal, holding it 
in front of her as if it were a sacrificial offering to 
a Druid, every onlooker was stunned. Soldiers, girls, 
Corporal Clint and, most of all, Hal. 

"Take it, Master. Take it, as I have promised the 
warlock." 

"What? 

She lifted her face, those hot eyes fanned into blue 
burning coals with anger: "Put your hand on this 
broomstick, you bum ugly little fucker, or I'll skin 
you alive!" 

Hal instantly stretched out a trembling hand and 
touched one of the hand grips. It was like holding onto 
part of a water mill built over a raging torrent, the 
fierce energy of the rushing waters below passing 
through the structure for a curious bystander to feel. 
But before he could learn more he snatched his fingers 
away again as a shriek of anger came to his ears. 
Behind the King's magnificent stallion was an old 
donkey, the thin legs of Gaunt Gregory astride it, his 
even thinner voice cawing like a squabbling crow. 
Completely disregarding all the normal rules of the 
court he hacked at the donkey's side with his heels and 
rode past the king, limbs flailing and jerking in his 
haste like a scarecrow dancing with the wind, the long 
staff held out over his mount's big ears in a parody of 
a knight's lance. 

"What, Morgana -- you break your oath given to another 
who has crossed the Abyss between the worlds and 
returned? You dare to defy the Great Ones themselves?" 

"I gave my word to you to yield my person and my powers 
to my rescuer. This boy was my rescuer and I have kept 
my word, you jumped up little shit of a half achieved 
adept. I have submitted and forsworn myself to him. Now 
go hence and lick your own mortal master's backside!" 

Nobody present had ever heard or seen the like, a witch 
and a warlock squabbling like urchins over a wind 
fallen apple. And there wasn't one of the watchers who 
didn't wish to be many safe leagues away from the 
scene. But one at least had no intention of remaining a 
mere spectator. King Argud swung out of his saddle, 
dropping as lightly as a feather despite his huge bulk 
and large belly. He thrust the horse's reins into the 
hand of one of the soldiers, a man who blanched with 
fear as he realized that the strange events had lured 
him into a fatal error of lese majesty by not 
acknowledging his sovereign's presence until now. The 
soldier hastily dropped to his knee and bowed his head, 
an example followed equally quickly by all present save 
the two sorcerers, still bristling at each other. 

"Come, Gregory, what's amiss here? You promised to tame 
this hawk for me. Yet she sits not quietly on your 
gauntlet." 

There had once been a court jester unwise enough to 
make fun of the King's appearance by reddening his 
cheeks, puffing up his cheeks and somehow bulging his 
eyes so they seemed twice their normal size. The secret 
of how he'd managed that had died with him, in a 
unusual and distinctly revolting way, and since then 
nobody else had taken any gambles on finding King Argud 
in a good mood. Which was clever reckoning, because he 
never had any good moods. The best that could be said 
for his temperament was that sometimes he managed to 
control his blood lust if there seemed to be a good 
enough reason -- but that was never more than a 
temporary deferment of his appetite for death and 
agony. Even the warlock acknowledged the monarch's 
worldly power and presence by awkwardly dismounting 
from the donkey and bowing low to the wearer of the 
crown. 

But not so the witch. For all the scum and shit on her, 
she stood like a queen, arms folded in open contempt of 
King Argud, warlock and soldiers. Hal's eyes moved 
towards the now abandoned donkey which seemed 
uninterested in anything but eating grass. Would he 
have a chance of escaping on it if trouble erupted? 
Odin alone knew what this business of the witch and her 
broomstick was all about but, irregardless, Josephine 
had killed the Master-At-Arms as the court official was 
getting ready to kill Hal for tupping his daughters. 
That was enough to have Hal impaled on a spike in the 
market place for as long as it took to die. Better to 
perish trying to run away than wait until the King got 
around to passing the death sentence. Let the magicians 
fight each other and then he and Josephine could flee 
behind a curtain of dragon fire none would be able to 
pass. Left and right Hal glanced, awaiting his chance. 

Then a sword tip touched his bare flank and Corporal 
Clint whispered: "You'll stay here, dirty Harry." 

"Harry's not in this story -- Rowling would sue us to 
hell and gone. My name's Hal." 

"Whatever." 

The King's impatient voice called out: "You said you 
could make her your slave, Gregory. What happened?" 

The spindly legged little warlock was almost dancing 
with anger: "She promised to yield herself, body and 
soul, to whoever rescued her from the moat. But now she 
says it was the boy who rescued her and has pledged 
herself to him." 

"What!" The bulging eyes swung towards a trembling Hal. 
"First the dragon and now the witch. The Gods are 
making a plaything of this shithouse emptier. But what 
I saw was that it was your help, Gregory, which aided 
the witch long enough to call forth her own magic to 
her aid. All the boy did was to pass her a rope and 
even in that he had help from the dragon and that -- 
that thing." 

King Argud stretched out a boot towards the hunkered 
down toad, then jerked it back as a stream of steaming 
spit landed next to his toe, instantly turning a patch 
of green grass into brown stalks. The toad leered at 
him and noisily cleared its throat again. 

"Threaten my familiar once more, mortal, just once 
more, and I will turn you inside out through your own 
arse hole." The witch's voice was low and sharp -- and 
to be believed. "Twas the rope which settled the matter 
and had it not reached me when it did I would surely 
have perished. And without the boy that rope would not 
have been there. So I proclaim him my rescuer and 
anyone who disagrees may call on the Great Ones for 
judgement." 

The King looked at Gregory for his advice and the 
warlock bit his beard in frustration then threw up his 
hands: "Your majesty, nobody calls on the Great Ones 
without taking great risks. Their judgements are not to 
be reckoned on in advance and Morgana has -- I have 
heard -- some influence with them. She is now pledged 
to the boy and he is a pledged subject of yours. Let us 
be content with that. Hal, stand up." 

Hal did so, naked and frightened, and acutely aware of 
all the eyes regarding his skinny frame. Not to mention 
the Corporal's sword point pricking his backside. So 
this was where taking young girls for dragon rides had 
gotten him. Then he looked at the Master-At-Arm's 
daughters again and suddenly relaxed a little. To blame 
himself for wanting them was as pointless as blaming 
himself for wanting food -- he had a stomach and a 
prick, and both made demands on him that had to be 
satisfied. 

"Hal, tell Morgana to kneel down in front of the king." 

"Morgana!" Even he had heard of a witch with that name, 
a witch with a reputation that made the fiercest of 
warriors huddle close to the fireplace on dark nights. 

The warlock nodded in satisfaction: "Yes, the greatest 
witch of them all, Morgana le Fay. Your slave, Morgana 
le Fay. Now bid her kneel." 

The witch still stood as proudly as ever, and her eyes 
fastened on Hal's with a strength of character he could 
never begin to match. Nor could he forget for an 
instant the pain he'd already felt from her magical 
powers and was still feeling from that damned cat's 
claw slash. The last thing in the world he wanted to do 
was to try to give her any orders. Then he saw the 
King's face and remembered the spike in the market 
place. No, offending Morgana was the second last thing 
in the world that he wanted to do. What totally passed 
his understanding was why it should be expected that 
any witch who treated a warlock and a monarch with 
contempt would obey the lowest and least of all the 
King's subjects. But it seemed he had to try. 

"Morgana! Morgana le Fay, I command you to kneel for 
the king." 

Never before had any words of his been so attended to 
by so many people. Hal felt like an actor in a May Day 
festival, the one playing the part of a prince with a 
paper crown and a wooden sword. Yet though his words 
ended on a silly sounding squeak the witch did as she 
was told. Not only did she kneel, she knelt as an 
obedient woman should, on both knees, then demurely 
lowered her head until it almost touched the grass. The 
King laughed and clapped his hands in satisfaction, 
releasing a great sigh of tension amongst the soldiers 
as they suddenly felt much safer. Safer, but greatly 
puzzled. They looked at Hal's soiled and scrawny body 
with questions on their lips. Yet none had so much need 
of asking them as Hal himself. 

"Sire . . . Sire Gregory." 

The warlock beckoned him forward: "Give him a cloak, 
someone." 

In an instant Hal had a fine woolen cloak to pull 
around himself, a cloak instantly ruined by the filth 
he was spreading on it. But that was a matter of little 
consequence right now. Gaunt Gregory looked at Hal, at 
the still prostrate witch, then back to the boy again. 
Then, incredibly, he smiled, revealing a row of rotten 
and yellowing stumps in lieu of teeth. 

"Why, 'tis a simple thing that's happened, boy. Morgana 
here was nigh on drowning in our moat and I made her 
promise on pain of her witch's power to obey forever 
anyone who rescued her. I assisted her and so did you, 
and rather than give herself up to me she chose to 
yield to you. So now you will compel her to do whatever 
the King commands. You understand?" 

Hal nodded: "Yes, sire -- I understand." But did the 
warlock understand? If he was telling the truth Hal 
could command both Josephine and Morgana. With luck he 
could break free with both and leave this kingdom 
forever. Or better yet . . . 

"Boy, look around you." 

The King's voice was always a surprise to those hearing 
it for the first time, a high pitched squeak from such 
a bulk. But it was a small voice never used for small 
talk. Hal looked. Every man-at-arms had picked up his 
crossbow again and each one was aimed at him alone, 
from soldiers so widely spread out that Josephine could 
never burn them down all at once. 

"Boy, understand me. I can kill you whenever I wish. 
The witch would be delighted to be free again and 
she'll soon teach your dragon to behave herself. So be 
a loyal subject and bid Morgana to do my bidding, and 
all will be fair weather between us. As a token of 
which, I order you to kneel beside Morgana to be 
declared a Duke before all present." 

"To be . . ? " He must have misheard the King, but at 
least the gesture towards the ground was unmistakable. 
Hal knelt, and dared to do it on one knee, as the 
soldiers had done. 

"When you arise, Hal O'The Shitbuckets, you will be 
Duke Merlinus. But before I raise you up I would know 
what happened between the witch and yourself. How came 
she to fall into our moat?" 

Hal answered the King's question as well as he could by 
telling what had happened But, like Hal himself, the 
monarch had more questions to ask about his uncertain 
explanation. 

"So, she saw you tupping one of the Master-At-Arm's 
little beauties in the dragon's riding net. Why should 
she wish to interfere with that?" 

"Your Majesty, I do not know." 

"I can answer that," Gaunt Gregory said. "When mortals 
couple they sometimes reach a level of ecstasy which is 
a form of primitive magic. Since magics cannot exist 
side by side any practicing adept who comes close to an 
act of mortal tupping may find his or her spells much 
diminished and perhaps even completely canceled by the 
tupping effect. Their magic becomes -- how can I 
describe it?" 

"Fucked up," the King suggested dryly. 

The warlock bowed again: "Your Majesty has it in a 
nutshell. Yes, I believe Morgana flew close to the 
dragon to examine it without having the slightest 
suspicion that a mortal male could be taking a mortal 
female in the riding net. By the time she realized her 
broomstick magics were being, as you say, fucked up, 
there was no time to flee before she must fall from the 
sky, so the only thing she could do was to frighten the 
pair into abandoning their act of passion." 

King Argud chuckled: "Ha, boy, some rise by sin and 
some by virtue fall, but here was a great fall by a 
great witch because of your sinning. And were my 
Master-At-Arms still alive you might have smarted for 
your sins with his daughters." His voice paused as he 
looked long and carefully at the two sisters. "But a 
handsome pair of bolsters for any bed, I grant you, and 
since they wish for experience, I myself shall see they 
have as much as they can take." 

He chuckled again and drew his sword. "Boy, have you 
heard anything of my plans for you and your dragon -- 
and for this witch?" 

Hal couldn't stop himself from looking up in 
uncontrollable curiosity: "I know nothing of any plans, 
your Majesty." 

"Then tonight you will learn more, because I'm going to 
make you an offer you'll have to peruse. For there are 
good reasons why I now proclaim you Duke Merlinus of 
this kingdom." 

The tip of the sword tapped lightly on each of Hal's 
shoulders: "Arise, Duke Merlinus." 

Hal stood up and waited for Argud the Defiler to finish 
off his joke by decapitating him with the huge sword. 
But it didn't happen. Instead the King drove the tip of 
the sword into the ground and rested his hands on the 
handle, which was still almost as high as Hal's head. 
The boy found himself staring at the incredibly fine 
stitching along the sides of the Monarch's deerskin 
gloves. 

"Well, Duke Merlinus, you have bought the wickedest 
witch in the wide world with you as a dowry for your 
peerage, which is well to your credit. But you are 
still the dirtiest and vilest smelling peer that ever 
has stood before me. As for the mighty Morgana, she 
looks and smells like dog shit. Even your dragon has 
the stench of a midden about her. What's to be done 
with you all?" 

Hal gulped: "There is a stream in the hills, not far 
away. Josephine can clean herself there, under the 
waterfall. I would be happy to go with there with her." 

"Ho, my fine Duke, no doubt you would, but you won't. 
The dragon may go there and return presently. You, I 
have heard, have betimes bathed yourself in the 
drinking trough in the dragon's shed. You may do so 
now, and take your bitch witch with you. And we shall 
see if you are indeed fit to be a peer. For the two 
girls will wash both of you clean and afterwards you 
may finish your business with the one you were fucking 
before -- if you're man enough to do it with a squad of 
soldiers and a king watching you perform!" 

Hal stared dumbfounded at the smile on the King's face. 

"What's the matter, Duke Merlinus? Have you turned shy 
now you're a nobleman?" 

Even the soldiers were giggling like schoolgirls. But 
they didn't know about the dragon sweat, and they 
didn't know that there was enough of it left in that 
drinking trough to set a whole village heaving and 
humping like a boatload of Ice Land warriors let loose 
in a nunnery. 

Gaunt Gregory sneered at the filthy boy: "All your 
vigor gone already, Duke?" 

Hal stood tongue tied. He could tell them, warn them -- 
but dragon sweat was his great secret and he wanted to 
keep it his own. But the alternative! Master of Morgana 
le Fay -- and in the grip of the storm lust that dragon 
sweat brewed up. Odin alone knew what he might do, and 
should Morgana free herself afterwards she'd send him 
to hell for it. But afterwards, he might not care. 

"Why no, Warlock," Hal suddenly found himself answering 
with a grin to match the king's. "All I ask is a favor. 
If I start chasing your donkey after I've finished with 
the girls, for Odin's sake, please have me shot." 

king Argud bellowed with laughter and gave Hal a slap 
on the shoulder which almost sent him down on his knees 
again. "Why, my young Duke, perhaps you'll serve my 
needs better than I might have hoped. Let's put you to 
the test and see if your tupping can match your words." 

Somehow Hal found the presence of mind to look for his 
garments amidst the torn remains of the riding net, 
only to be swiftly rebuked by his monarch. 

"You no longer need those rags, Duke Merlinus. The 
cloak will suffice until you reach the palace and then 
we shall outfit you better." 

Merlinus -- Merlinus? Why that name? True, the 
Shitbucket family had a Tiberian name of Merdinus, now 
almost as forgotten as the long gone monks who'd 
bestowed it. A suitable name, since merdus was Tiberian 
for shit. But Merlinus -- was it because he was going 
to be allowed to fly with Josephine again, allowed to 
fly like a hawk? May the Gods make it so, for this 
seemed to be a day on which anything might happen. 

But the sight of Morgana le Fay's luscious hips swaying 
ahead of him was enough to make his glowing hopes fade 
like the sun hidden by gathering storm clouds. The 
likes of her were for warlocks and knights and persons 
of royal blood. Now he seemed to be trapped between 
king and witch and as sure as cats ate mice, one or 
t'other would have his balls spit roasted ere long. 
Perhaps she'd laugh at his love making attempts with 
the girls so much that he'd fail, despite the dragon 
sweat. Perhaps the trough water had made the sweat so 
weak by now that the power had completely gone and 
king, warlock, witch, soldiers and girls alike would 
jeer at his cock as it drooped like a willow branch. A 
boy's ending for all of his proud boasts of manhood, 
and with all the kingdom to hear and laugh about it 
afterwards. 

He sidled over against Josephine, the corporal close 
behind him at every step, Clint O'The East Wood's 
finger never leaving the trigger of his oversized 
magnum bolt crossbow. Hal desperately wanted to slip 
his hand underneath the dragon's wing to seek for a 
trace of sweat but there was no chance of doing it 
unobserved. Hal felt a sudden and unexpected anger 
burning inside him at being so closely guarded. Mayhap 
he'd teach these soldiers another lesson in dragon 
power before long. He spoke to Josephine. 

"My lady, go and clean yourself. When you return I may 
wish you to warm the water in your trough for me again. 
If so, you must make it as hot as you can." 

A twirling pattern of interrogation lines swirled 
around her neck. "Yes, Josephine, as hot as you can. 
Now fly -- and return quickly." 

The dragon lurched forward and upwards, her wings 
smacking against the air once more. The ever alert 
corporal noticed Hal's sad expression as Josephine flew 
off. 

"What's amiss, young Duke?" 

The boy shrugged his shoulders: "Why, to see my dragon 
fly whilst I cannot leave the ground." 

Clint O'The East Wood laughed: "Duke, how can a man 
want to fly? Do you want a nest with eggs to sit on as 
well?" 

Not for he first time Hal realized that he was closer 
to Josephine than he was to many of his own kind. Why, 
perhaps he was even closer to the witch as well. She 
might be evil incarnate but at least she was a flier 
too. Not that her broomstick seemed good for much right 
now, but perhaps it could be repaired and remagicked. 
If it could be -- oh, what a thought! 

For a second Hal dreamed of learning how to fly a 
broomstick. To flash over rooftops and meadows, around 
trees and across lakes, overtaking gaggles of geese and 
flying so high that the mountains themselves crouched 
down beneath your feet. All the filth and cruelty and 
everyday battles of life left below as he explored the 
kingdom of the sky, a kingdom which over-arched and 
over-reached all earthly ones. A fine notion, 
especially for a shit smeared boy who owned nothing in 
the world but a borrowed cloak. And then his high 
flying dreams fell back to earth as he found that the 
group had reached the dragon's shed. 

For some reason everybody else hung back and let Hal 
walk in first, even though Josephine was only a faraway 
dot in the sky. Yet the caution which most other people 
showed in approaching a dragon's den still seemed to be 
having its effect because only the girls walked in 
close behind him. Hal stepped into the sandpit and drew 
his toes through the still damp sand, then looked up, 
exchanging rueful looks with the sisters. How much had 
changed so quickly. Truth to tell, he was in no obvious 
position to complain. Dubbed a Duke, gaining a witch 
for a slave, praised by the King -- whatever the 
dangers to come, it was still far better treatment from 
the Gods than Caelia and Chelinde had received: 
orphaned, unprotected and lusted after by a ruler who 
treated his dogs far better than his women. Hal had 
never intended their misfortune but it left a bitter 
taste in his mouth after the joy the girls had given 
him. 

"What are we to do?" Chelinde asked him, looking 
suddenly grown up and serious. 

"Why, only what we did before. But first you'd best 
serve as Morgana's hand maidens. There are two pieces 
of soap left. One for her, one for me." 

"And afterwards? What we did before, Hal? With all 
these soldiers watching?" 

"Aye, and the King too, lass -- tis a Royal Command 
performance." 

The boy smiled and lifted his hand to chuck her under 
the chin, but paused as he saw the filth on his fingers 
and the momentarily revealed loathing in her eyes as 
she glanced to where the King was entering the barn. 

"Be of good heart, girls. What matters who watches if 
we enjoy ourselves? And what I can do for you later, I 
promise I will." 

Hal went to the trough, splashed his fingers in it, 
pondered. The water was still luke warm -- that was 
indeed a measure of how quickly his life had changed 
course. He filled two buckets and set them down in the 
sandpit. Then he turned towards the witch and gulped. 

For the first time since his one swift glimpse of her 
riding the broomstick Hal had a chance to run his eyes 
over the magnificent shape underneath the clinging mud. 
Morgana's breasts were perfection, her unskirted legs 
promised delights beyond belief; Hal gulped again, and 
decided that perhaps the diluted dragon sweat was still 
potent, even with the merest splash of it on his hands. 

"Lie down on the straw, Morgana. On your back." 

Her eyes glittering with repressed emotions, the witch 
obeyed. 

"Take off your cloak, Chelinde. Spread it over her." 

The girl's face was almost as angry as the witch's as 
she undid the throat cord, but she obeyed, her and her 
sister spreading the cloak over Morgana's body. Then 
Chelinde stood self-consciously, hands by her side and 
eyes downcast as she tried to ignore the soldiers 
lining each side of the barn, each of them grinning at 
her nakedness and with no threatening dragon around 
this time to distract them from leering at her body. 

"Your cloak too, Caelia. Strip Morgana and then clean 
her with the water and the cloak, as well as you can. 
Mayhap some straw will help as well." 

The King grinned but raised no objection at taking 
another look at the sisters in her raw state. Nor did 
he seem to mind that the girls were reaching underneath 
Hal's cloak to get at the witch's indecent attire. 
Argud was a hunter and enjoyed the thrill of a drawn 
out chase. His soldiers also licked their lips as they 
saw the swaying tits and taut bottoms of the figures 
kneeling at either side of the cloak to fumble with 
Morgana's tight fitting leathers. 

"Aid them, witch," Hal ordered. 

She looked at him, for a second only, and it was like 
being forehead to forehead with a mad bull. But her 
hands moved swiftly under the cloak, undoing the laces 
and straps which held her garments in place, then 
rolling from one side to another as she helped Caelia 
and Chelinde tug her jerkin over her arms. Hal would 
have liked to have kept watching but the desire to 
start removing the filth from his own body was even 
more compelling than staring at Morgana's movements 
underneath the cloak. So he took his own cloak off, 
seized two handfuls of straw and began rubbing down his 
arms and legs. 

Straw and sand and water, straw and sand and water, 
over and over, tickling and scraping and soothing his 
skin in turn as black rings of removed corruption 
spread around him. The King's voice boomed out in glee. 

"Plenty of sand for her as well, girls, all over her 
tits. I want them as smooth as your arses." 

At the king's jest several of the soldiers closest to 
the straw pile also dared to smile in approval. They 
were gaping at Morgana and when Hal stared at the wet 
cloak adhering to the witch's now naked body he 
understood why. There were curves and hollows and a 
sheer symmetry of female promise underneath the damp 
wool that was more magical than anything a warlock 
could conjure up, be he the greatest adept ever. 
Chelinde and Caelia put their hands beneath the cloak 
again to rub Morgana's perfectly shaped dugs, setting 
them gently swaying. The witch whimpered as her nipples 
were scoured and every soldier lucky enough to be able 
to see her instantly summoned up his blood and 
stiffened his sinews. In fact most of the men were 
already more tightly cocked than their cross bows. 

Hal grabbed his cloak and began wiping the traces of 
sand and wisps of straw from his skin. But his eyes 
stayed on the females, noting the increasingly coy 
glances the once proud Morgana was casting towards the 
crowd of watchers. Surely a witch couldn't be affected 
by the dragon sweat like a normal human? But there 
hadn't been any dragons around since time out of mind 
and maybe witches knew no more about them than anybody 
else. Morgana had certainly badly underestimated 
Josephine's abilities in their aerial bitch fight. 
Maybe the sweat did work on her. Certainly she'd had 
enough of the treated water splashed and rubbed onto 
her body to give it every chance. 

As for Caelia and Chelinde, just having their hands in 
the bucket seemed to be affecting them like piglets 
suckling on a barrel of mead. They were giggling at 
each other now across Morgana's body and blatantly 
shaking their own freshly budding teats for the 
audience's appreciation. The witch began twisting her 
legs and hips from side to side as the sisters scrubbed 
at her hidden body, her mouth half open as she began 
moaning. Morgana's long fingers rose up to stroke the 
girl's arms as though encouraging them to inflict more 
pain on her --- and Hal's own prick reared up like a 
stallion sniffing a mare in heat. He held the bundled 
wet cloak in front of him and rubbed it against his 
straining flesh as he decided what to do. 

"Morgana, stand up. Chelinde, Caelia, hold the cloak 
around her." 

The witch put her hands down beside her and sat up, got 
on her knees and stood, the sisters keeping the cloak 
up around the top of her swaying breasts, the damp 
fabric displaying the perfect contours of the 
unsupported flesh and the hard nipples, each as 
perfectly round as a Tiberian groat. Morgana's legs up 
and even beyond her knees were bare, showing off smooth 
thighs made in heaven for a man to slide his hand 
along. 

"Go to the drinking trough. Step into it. Then take off 
the cloak and the girls will soap you. All over." 

She obeyed, still walking with infinite pride, head and 
shoulders above her escorts, the girls beside her 
holding onto the cloak, their eyes darting from one 
male spectator to another. But always returning to Hal 
-- and the King. His Majesty was breathing even more 
heavily than usual and he seemed fascinated by the 
display being unfolded in front of him. 

There was scarcely a ripple in the water as Morgana 
entered it gracefully. Looking directly at Hal, she 
shrugged the cloak off her shoulders. Without a stitch 
on, she stood before them with one hand flat by the 
side of her leg, the other one between her legs. And 
what might have been thought an affection of modesty 
took on a different meaning when the spectators saw 
that the fingers pressed over her patch of dark hair 
were gently moving as she felt herself. The witch 
giggled at the open mouthed astonishment of the 
soldiers, lifted up both hands and held up her Eve's 
pair to the spectator's eyes. Certainly Hal's eyes felt 
as if they were popping out of his head as he watched 
her proudly displaying a body of pure wantonness. Then 
Caelia and Chelinde began working their hands over 
Morgana, leaving trails of suds and pure white skin 
behind them in spreading patches. 

Hal stumbled forward, stepped into the other end of the 
trough facing the witch and threw away his cloak, 
letting her see his rampant lance. Morgana smiled at 
him: "Shall the girls wash you now, Master?" 

"One of them," he grunted. 

He was grunting because Morgana's hand had reached 
forward and gently tweaked the tip of his cockhead. 
This was unbelievable, to have a woman like this in 
thrall of him, doing his every bidding. Then she moved 
back, holding her hands up behind her head for him to 
better see her body as Caelia continued soaping it. 
Chelinde in turn rubbed her hands over Hal, cleaning 
him quickly but thoroughly, arms, chest, back, legs and 
then rubbing her slippery palm up and down his shaft. 
Caelia laughed and applied her hands just as thoroughly 
to Morgana's milk white curves and the red roses 
tipping them. 

There was a vicious sounding twang and zip from nearby. 
Hal glanced around to see that one of the soldiers had 
accidentally fired his cross bow in his excitement, the 
bolt sticking out of the straw littered dirt floor only 
a few paces from the trough. But nobody seemed to care, 
not the King, not even the Corporal. In fact it seemed 
as if there might soon be some more accidental 
discharges amongst the watchers. None of them said or 
did anything as Morgana knelt down in the trough, water 
slopping around her waist, and put her hand with 
Chelinde's on the boy's throbbing pride. Together the 
two woman stroked it, and then Caelia joined them, her 
fingers tickling his balls. Hal called out in pleasure, 
his arms around each sister's shoulders and then 
something very large and fat plopped into the water 
between himself and the kneeling witch. The toad sank 
out of sight, down below the foam covered water and 
Hal's toes curled up in readiness for a savage bite or 
sting. 

It never came. What did come was a string of bubbles 
breaking between Morgana's opened legs and her 
response, a wild cry with her eyes rolled back in 
apparent pain. Hal wondered why the toad was attacking 
its mistress. And then he realized what was really 
happening as Morgana bent forward, pushed Chelinde's 
hand aside and took him deeply into her mouth in one 
swift movement. There was a gasp and a stir around the 
barn as everybody saw the boy's stiffness disappear 
between the witch's scarlet lips and her cheeks 
contract with the effort of sucking off her master. And 
all saw how her body was quivering and jerking as 
though she was being eaten from below. Which she most 
surely was. Now they all knew why a witch's familiar 
was so named. 

It was the King who moved first. He bellowed, unbuckled 
his sword belt, threw it aside and swayed forward like 
a bear untimely woken from winter's sleep. He seized 
Chelinde first, from behind, kneading her damp teats in 
his huge fingers, squashing them up with only the stiff 
tips standing proud of the royal knuckles. Caelia 
instantly bent forward to suck on her sister's nipples, 
sending Chelinde squirming and pressing her bare bottom 
against the King's crutch. He roared again, pushed her 
away and began tearing at the lacing in the front of 
his breeches The girls knelt before him, wild eyed, 
their fingernails tugging at his cords with the same 
urgency. Out from behind the loosened restraints came a 
cock that seemed as thick as Hal's wrist and almost as 
long as one of Corporal Clint's overlength bolts. 
Caelia still went down on her knees without hesitation 
to suckle on it as well as she could, her lips 
stretched out like an snake swallowing a rat. Yet the 
King was watching the 
trough, not the girl at his feet. 

"Fetch the witch out, boy, fetch her out! I'm going to 
give her a royal tupping!" 

It would have meant death to argue with the monarch at 
any time. Right then was certainly not a good time to 
even think about hesitating. Even when Hal was getting 
ready to empty himself over Morgana's tongue: "Out, 
witch, out. The King wants you." 

The King did indeed. He was already lying on his back 
and holding his thick veined scepter steady for one 
hand as Chelinde and Caelia licked the shiny red length 
like cows at a salt lick. As Morgana stood up he 
beckoned her to come forward. She glanced at Hal, he 
nodded and she obeyed, trickles of water and foam 
running down her beautifully proportioned legs before 
she stood astride King Argud and squatted down, her 
arms behind her back on either side of his legs to take 
her weight as Caelia and Chelinde rubbed the head of 
the king's donkey sized dick against Morgana's sex. 
Then she squealed and dropped down hard on top of the 
royal battering ram as if stopping it from trying to 
escape. 

Her hips jerked up and down and she leaned forward on 
her arms again, with a girl on each side of her,each 
girl holding onto one of Morgana's large teats, keeping 
the bags of flesh steady for Argud to squeeze. Morgana 
screeched again but Hal cared nothing for that in his 
need to finish what he'd begun with her. He stepped 
close to the writhing bodies, grabbed a tuft of 
Morgana's pitch black hair and thrust his hot flesh 
between her cupid bow lips again. She sucked on it as 
eagerly as before but Hal hardly noticed. He was 
staring wide eyed at the trough as the water in it 
splashed over the wooden sides and something moved 
inside it, something standing up where the toad had 
been, 

This was no toad though, nor was it a cat. It was 
something akin to a child, about as high as a grown 
man's waist, brown skinned, bald headed, large ears, 
green tinged eyes which glittered like iced moss in 
sunlight, a squashed nose and lips that seemed more 
horn than flesh. The small though wide shouldered 
figure leapt over the side of the trough, landed neatly 
and sprang forward. 

One thing about the goblin which was definitely a 
prominent feature was the prick and balls it displayed, 
a prick rampant for action and much larger than a 
normal one, for all the goblin's smaller size. It was 
more like a cock with a body attached than a body with 
a cock attached. But whatever the arrangement the body 
moved swiftly, the hard on in front bobbing up and down 
as short but hard muscled legs carried it forward to 
where it wanted to be. Which was behind Morgana, the 
glittering eyes staring at her jerking buttocks as the 
goblin rubbed some wet soap around his massive 
erection. He slapped her ass lightly with both palms as 
if to let her know she was there, guided his bulging 
shaft between Morgana's quivering crescents and then 
forced it deeply between them. Air spurted around Hal's 
wet shaft as Morgana screamed out in passion and Argud 
roared in satisfaction. He was so busy sucking and 
chewing on Morgana's nipples that Hal wondered if the 
monarch had even noticed he 
was sharing his feast with uninvited guests. 

Then the boy yelped with his own uncontrollable 
pleasure as he spurted into Morgana's mouth, making her 
splutter as droplets of white fluid rolled down the 
witch's chin. Chelinde put her arm across the top of 
Morgana's neck and began licking the spilt liquid up 
like a kitten cleaning a platter of milk, a licking 
which ended with a passionate kiss between the two 
females. Then Caelia put a hand up to Hal's shrunken 
organ and lapped at it with her tongue. All three of 
the females seemed to be mad with lust and as soon as 
Morgana and Chelinde saw what Caelia was doing for Hal 
they joined in enthusiastically. The boy turned one way 
and another to let each of them have equal access to 
him. 

It was, he thought, something which ought to make an 
entry in the Mead Brewer's Book of Records. One king, 
one goblin and one shitbucket emptier all fucking one 
witch at the same time, with a couple of hand maidens 
keeping things going. Not something you saw very often. 
The soldiers certainly hadn't. A group of them were 
standing within arm's length of Hal, eyes and knobs 
bulging at what were witnessing. Hal grabbed both of 
the sisters by the hair, lifted them and pushed them 
towards Corporal Clint and his comrades. 

"Go on, boys, help yourselves." 

It wasn't really what he wanted to do but he needed a 
distraction to throw those crossbows off their aim. And 
it worked. Bows and swords and belts fell to the ground 
as the soldiers grabbed the girls and threw them on 
their backs on top of the straw pile, bedding them down 
in convenient fucking positions. The rest of the guards 
saw what was happening and rushed to join the queues. 
The only thing which distracted them at all was a sound 
like a giant owl hooting, a sound coming from the 
goblin. Within seconds the sound was mixed with another 
yell of triumph from the King and a long drawn out yelp 
from Morgana. The trio of bodies collapsed in a tangle, 
the goblin and the king to lie undisturbed, but not 
Morgana. Clint O'The East Wood grabbed her arm, lifted 
her up and then dropped her on the straw pile next to 
two hairy backsides jerking up and down on top of 
Chelinde and Caelia. Very quickly the Corporal's arse 
was on public display as well as he fucked Morgana with 
all the exp
ertise of a seasoned campaigner and military trained 
rapist. The accumulated lust in the air could have been 
set off by a candle flame and nobody even noticed 
Josephine slithering back into the barn. The men were 
either fucked, fucking or anticipating a fuck, and the 
females -- well, the females were otherwise occupied. 
Dragon sweated out of their minds and getting drilled 
from all directions 

So nobody saw the dragon enter: nobody who cared, 
anyway. And certainly nobody noticed Hal's nod towards 
the drinking trough, nor his wink to Josephine. The 
dragon bowed her head, put her snout into the water and 
snorted -- not once, not twice, not thrice, but four 
times. Hal grabbed a discarded sword, reversed it with 
his hands holding tightly to the scabbard, then ran 
around and up to the top of the straw pile. The 
Corporal was gasping in satisfaction as he pumped his 
seed into Morgana's body. He gasped even more loudly as 
Hal hit him behind the ear with the sword handle, but 
only once. Then Hal grabbed at the witch's hands to 
pull her out from underneath Clint O'The East Wood's 
stunned body. 

"Come with me -- now." 

"What?" 

"Come with me -- I order you." 

One of the waiting soldiers stepped forward and raised 
his fist to threaten Hal. There was a kind of thumping 
sound, water from the trough flew up and a bank of 
steam twice Hal's height rolled outwards as all the 
dragon fire in the trough mingled with the water and 
turned much of it into hot vapor. Visibility within the 
barn became a few paces, then scarcely one or two. Hal 
began hauling the witch in the direction he knew the 
door was. He knew because he'd noted the draught coming 
from it beforehand and simply followed the gap in the 
steam cloud. Or at least he would have if Morgana 
didn't seem to be taking so long to get moving. 

"Hurry up, you dozy bitch!" 

"Oh, Master, it's such fun . . . " 

"You stupid fucking woman, it's the dragon sweat in the 
water that's got us so excited. It's magic, we're spell 
bound, and we'll both be dead if we don't escape from 
the King. Run!" 

Morgana's normal iron will seemed to emerge again as 
she began to understand what had happened to her. Hand 
in hand they ran out through the doorway, then stopped, 
panting. Hal had never known a day like it for 
exercise. And before he could make another move he was 
astonished to see the goblin come running out the steam 
filled door as well, the tip of his now slack prick 
halfway to his knees and pulling Caelia alongside him 
by a long strand of her hair. But Hal's surprise at 
that was nothing compared to seeing Chelinde also 
emerging, squealing, jumping and being forced along by 
the splintered end of Morgana's broomstick jabbing at 
her bum. It suddenly occurred to Hal that when he grew 
up and started getting drunk at taverns he'd have at 
least one good story to tell in his cups. 

"Get into the castle, quick," Hal urged Morgana. 
"Josephine is coming with us. If we can get the 
drawbridge raised now we'll be inside and the King and 
most of his soldiers will be outside. Then we'll have a 
chance to parley." 

Morgana shook her head: "Better to tell the dragon to 
burn down the barn and have done with them all now." 

"No! If they die I'm a Duke no longer. There'd be no 
witnesses. The King must sign my letters patent and 
proclaim them. Seize the castle and we can negotiate 
with him." 

She nodded, still panting: "That warlock. He's not 
here. He could stop you." 

Hal knew she was right. And if Gaunt Gregory wasn't 
here he had a bloody good idea of where he would be. 

"Josephine, go to the castle. Put a fireball through an 
arrow slit in the top of the tower, Burn Gaunt 
Gregory's chamber right out and him with it." 

"No -- no!" Morgana shook her head. "My magical 
supplies are destroyed or lost. I need his. I must go 
now, take him by surprise. My broom will almost support 
my weight, even though it's damaged. Let me ride it and 
hold onto one of the dragon's claws. She can lift me to 
the top of the tower and leave me there to deal with 
Gregory. Then the dragon can help you in the courtyard 
to get the drawbridge lifted up." 

"So be it. Josephine, take Morgana up to the chamber's 
lookout platform." 

Some of the dragon sweat tainted steam was drifting out 
of the dragon's shed: half a dozen warriors inside were 
now visible, their breeches around their knees and all 
of them frantically jerking themselves off. 

"Huh", Morgana snorted as she swung her bare legs 
astride the broomstick. "I always did say that the 
military were a load of wankers." 

Then a giant figure came running out of the steam with 
a raised sword that glittered along its length in the 
high sun. The King was berserker angry, the dragon was 
spiraling upwards towing the naked witch on her 
broomstick and an equally naked group of two girls, one 
boy and a goblin ran for their lives towards Giant's 
Pass castle. 

Will Spearshaker was still sitting by the moat, 
stinking, scorched and sour at life as he watched the 
passersby without any great interest. You couldn't 
weave a good story out of happenings which seemed to 
make no sense at all. Which was about Hal's thinking as 
well, because now the moment of decision had passed he 
had no idea at all why he'd hit Corporal Clint O'The 
East Wood and provoked the king's anger. But he had an 
idea about somebody who might have cast a spell on him 
to make him do it. 

THE END  

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 37