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The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 01

By: Metal_Slime



The steady ring of hammer on iron and the forge's flare under each pump of the bellows was normally a comforting sound, the resonant beat of hard work and satisfaction. That day, however, Hafred was anything but satisfied with his place in life. Apprenticed to Smith Garn, the youth was blessed with a strong arm, the promise of steady income, and a profession that made many regard him with a mix of awe and fear. It took a rare talent to work raw metal into useful tools, one which was regarded by many as just a step away from magic.

Yet Hafred felt restless. He longed for a life beyond the confines of that peaceful village, a life of adventure and riches, of honor and valor. Something like the tales old Garn told in the weary hours, when drink had loosened his tongue and memories of a time gone by bubbled up before they could be stopped.

With tongs he took the iron from the anvil, and thrust it into the cooling trough. It was a welcome break for muscles sore from the constant effort of shaping metal, and he wiped glistening perspiration from his brow with the back of one hand, not that it did much good. The hiss of steam captured the old man's attention, and gruff, steely eyes that knew nothing of approving looks turned over the curved form of the iron under the water.

"Ye making a horseshoe, or a hook? Toss it in the scrap and try again, boy."

Inwardly, Hafred groaned, and yanked the iron from the trough. Admittedly, it wasn't the best work, but what beast of burden would complain? He threw it back in the barrel, to be melted down again when time allowed, and grabbed another blank. He maintained his temper, though. Hafred had long given up on being rankled by old Garn calling him boy. At nineteen, he was man enough, and should be wed with his own homestead, but for lack of funds.

Garn clapped the young man on one shoulder. "Don't hate me, boy. It ain't the most exciting thing to craft, but it's every bit as important as a blade or cooking pot. You'll be thanking me one day." The old man then looked out of the broad, open front of the forge, and chuckled, "Ah, I see. It's sweepin' day then. No excuse, boy, so get back to work."

In that moment of silence after the old smith's words, the steady swish-swish of a broom's bristles across the back step of the Tepid Toad drifted down the dirt road toward the smithy. Sweeping day indeed. Hafred set the iron bar to the flames to heat, and began to work the bellows once more. Those years of his apprenticeship had at least rendered that task second nature, and allowed his eyes and mind to drift to the figure at that distant step, source of so much distraction.

Sweet, sweet Jenrea was the lone jewel that made life in Ingley bearable for a man with greater ambition. Yet the desire to provide and protect for her also stirred the very same ambitions. She was the sort of girl that deserved finery and a life of comfort, not the drudgery of village life. Hafred would move the world for her, if he could. He would brave the thief-scourged streets of dark Nornzal, cross the war-torn valleys of the Perdytan Reach, challenge all the heroes of the Free City of Aethwin, if she but spoke the desire for him to do so.

A year younger than he, she should also have been married and with family, but Rothal, owner of the Tepid Toad and her guardian had set the requirements to court her so high that few dared try. Hafred figured either the innkeeper knew he had a good thing or had done so to let Jenrea make her own decisions. Still, he was confident he would be able to approach her after his apprenticeship was up, with pride and confidence.

She had more than beauty going for her, although that itself would be more than enough for most men. Indeed, with her cascading raven tresses, shining blue eyes, fair skin, pink rose petal lips, and swan like neck, she was a nymph plucked from the old tales and made flesh. 

Those with baser attractions would not be disappointed either, where sweet Jenrea's features were the image of glorious innocence, her curves seemed designed to inspire naught but lust. Narrow shoulders were all the more delicate compared to the ample swells of her bust, so large but still so uplifted, just shy of seeming awkward on her slender frame. A narrow waist flared into broad hips, and though she did not generally dress to display that figure, she was of such lush proportions that she would be hard pressed to conceal it regardless.

The dress she wore that day was simple enough, home spun wool dyed a light tan. It left her arms bared, but otherwise clung to her curves in a flowing manner, drawn tight about the chest and then cinched with a loose belt at the waist, before loosening at the curve of her hips and cascading down to her ankles. Sandal clad feet peeked out from the hem from time to time as she moved.

Jenrea swayed as she swept, and hummed a little tune to herself. She seemed blissfully oblivious to the way it made that fabric outline her form, the way the light wind tousled her hair and carried the sweet notes of her voice to Hafred's ears. She turned back and forth as she worked, which allowed him to admire every angle from afar.

"Boy!"

Garn's voice snapped Hafred back to his work, and the apprentice hurriedly yanked the iron from the fire. It wasn't too hot, but nearly so. The old smith's expression was a mix of amused and irritated before he went back to his own work. Where Hafred was set to make pots and horseshoes and the things that sustained the shop on a day to day basis, Garn was just finishing grinding at the edge of a long, tapered spearhead blade. It was fine work, the youth admitted. The old man was a master of his craft.

As the young man raised his own hammer to begin another try at a horseshoe, the steady beat of hooves upon packed dirt grew louder. A glance out of the forge down the road confirmed that a rider did indeed approach. The rider was not alone. Several others rode in a mass well behind the first, through the fields and farms that made up the bulk of the village. They bore the banners of the House of Lyonne, the King's House.

Royal riders were exceedingly rare in quiet Ingley Village. A year or more might pass without so much as a royal messenger. A whole band was unheard of. Even Garn set his own work aside, then stepped out of the forge. Hafred followed at his heels, leaving hammer and unfinished iron on the bare anvil. The apprentice cast a nervous glance up to the Tepid Toad, where Jenrea had stopped her sweeping to watch as well. When she caught him looking in her direction, she offered a cheery smile, before her eyes drifted back to the fast approaching horseman.

Hafred blushed at that smile, thankful that the soot of the forge and the perpetual tan from the heat of the same would do much to disguise the reaction. He felt filthy, unprepared for nobility, much less royalty. 

The first rider was clad in armor. A long, dark cloak of black wool and a tabard of red and gold covered fine links of mail. At his side, a long sword was sheathed, and the fine decorations of pommel and guard spoke of money and land. The man had to be in his forties, with black hair just touched with gray, and a close cropped beard that was a little grayer.

The rider wheeled about, and cast his dark eyes over the gathered villagers. When he spoke, it was in a tone that carried the weight of authority. "This is the Village Ingley, is it not?"

Garn, eldest of the villagers present, bobbed his head. Hafred thought he caught a look of recognition between the two men, but it was fleeting. The old smith didn't hesitate to use the man's name, however.

"It is and you know it is, Lord Rufus. What brings you here?"

Hafred winced a bit as the rider turned his gaze upon his master, but the smile which followed soon allayed his concerns.

"Garn! You old bastard. It's been years! But I fear I come on business. We come seeking an enchantress. The crown's oracles spoke of one who lived here, who might help us with a certain matter back in the capital. Have you any knowledge of who I seek?"

More men and women had filtered out of nearby buildings as the rider spoke, but the mention of an enchantress inspired a general gasp and murmur. The very word seemed to stir fears and apprehension, though Hafred himself had never heard of such a being in the area. An enchantress was one born with magic in the blood, almost always female, capable of twisting minds and senses to her desire without any of the limitations or need for schooling that the wizards of the Arcane required.

Garn shook his head slowly, and chose his words carefully. "An enchantress? Bah, they're worse than witches. But no, old friend, I ain't heard of one near here. Now, we did have a witch nearby, but she done up and died years ago."

The words were clearly not what Rufus wished to hear. "Prince Cantrol rides with me," the statement stirred another round of murmurs and alarm from the growing crowds. "He has been tasked with finding this enchantress, and turning her to our cause."

The old smith snorted and shook his head, "Even if you could find one, those hell spawn vixens are more trouble than they're worth."

"Worth it or not, it must be done. Squire George still holds these lands, does he not?" The rider turned his gaze toward the distant manor, which rose on a hill at the edge of the forests that bordered the village meadows. The crumbling stone structure was clearly in disrepair, even from that distant observation.

"Yeah, I guess you could call it that. Keeps mostly to himself since his wife passed. He just sends his daughter down to see to the taxes from time to time."

Rufus nodded, then turned his dark eyes toward the radiant Jenrea, who still stood within the yard of the Tepid Toad. His gaze lingered upon her in surprise, but not long enough to really worry Hafred. "You there, girl. Tell your master to have his best rooms prepared. The Prince will require lodging for himself and seven men."

The raven haired beauty hesitated just a moment, then beamed a radiant smile up to the lord. "Might have to double up, if that's alright, milord?"

Another curt nod was offered in response, "See to it then." And with that, Rufus spurred his horse onward, to ride back toward the oncoming retinue.

Hafred watched Jenrea disappear back into the inn, and caught her gaze just before she disappeared through the doorframe. The shy smile she shot him sent another blush across his soot smudged skin, before he averted his gaze. He hustled to catch up to Garn, as the old man had already turned back toward the forge.

"Prince Cantrol," Hafred spoke breathlessly, "here, in Ingley."

The old man shot him a withering look. "Don't go getting no ideas, boy. Your place is here, with hammer in hand. Then maybe someday with a pretty innkeeper's daughter and a slew of children, hmm?" He of course saw straight through Hafred's fancy.

"I doubt Jenrea has any interest in me," the apprentice shot back, though his own words made him feel more dejected. "But if I could impress the Prince's guard, that would be status, a name-"

"A home far away from your girl, days spent doing nothing but polishing armor and long hours standing around looking tough, with nothing to break up the monotony. Trust me, boy, the grass ain't always greener." Even as he spoke, old Garn picked up the spearhead he had been working on, and began to polish it once more.

Not yet ready to resume his own work, Hafred leaned against one of the workbenches. A thought then dawned upon him. "You know that man. Lord Rufus, who is he?"

Garn couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Black Dog Rufus, the Prince's bodyguard. Of course, when I knew him he was just a boy coming up through the ranks of the King's Men. Had talent, that one, and wit enough to keep his head."

Hafred thought there was far more to the story than his master was letting on, but pressing the issue was unnecessary. It was enough for his ambitions that old Garn knew the Lord Rufus. "Master?" He ventured, "Could you at least introduce me to him?"

"What, Rufus? You really want to try to become one of the King's Men? It's not like the old days, boy. They aren't so hard up for people that they often look beyond noble circles."

"I can fight well enough, you know that."

Garn nodded. "Aye, I taught you that much, but well enough just ain't enough in the eyes of the King's Men."

The old smith's words earned a frown. "You don't believe I can do it."

"Now, now, boy. I didn't say you couldn't do it, but without a way to show what you're truly capable of, it's gonna be a hard road."

Hafred frowned, and stared at the spear point the old smith held in his hands. The blade was long, almost right for a short sword, and razor sharp around each edge. It was a heavy moment that hung after his master's words, and for once not interrupted by calls to return to his work.

"Do you think there is an enchantress in this village, Master?"

"I don't rightly know who it may be, but the oracle knows what's called for. There has to be one, whether we know of her, or not. I just can't rightly wrap my head around why an enchantress would be anything but bad news."

"Why's that?" Hafred only knew stories and tall tales of magic and sorcery, he had never seen it in action.

"An enchantress ain't like a wizard. Their magic flows natural, from the blood."

"I knew that much." He scoffed at his master's simple explanation.

"Well they ain't like a witch either. A witch's magic flows natural too, but it calls to nature. Fire and lightning, mending wounds or blighting crops, it's powerful stuff, but obvious. The signs of a witch are clear, and their workings can be good or ill."

Hafred nodded, though still didn't see the point of being told of what he already knew.

"An enchantress, though, her magic clouds the thoughts and eyes of men, or changes their strengths for better or worse. Women too, but men are greater fools for it. An enchantress can make a king go to war with a smile, sap a warrior's strength or pretend to be someone she's not, and few are any the wiser. It's a subtle magic, and used instinctively."

The image of Jenrea's smile flashed through the apprentice's mind, and he thought well that he would go to war for that smile. The thought of sweet Jenrea being anything but a bubbly innkeeper's daughter brought forth a bark of laughter before he could contain himself.

The old smith shook one finger in Hafred's direction, "That sort of power can go unnoticed, and it's addicting. Being able to tell others what to do, and then having it be done. It's corrupting enough when mortal men do it through politics and maneuvering. When someone can do it as a natural talent, and without the training and discipline that the wizards get, it can be a disaster."

"So you're saying an enchantress ends up being a spoiled brat, that always gets her way," For a moment, Hafred's thoughts turned to the Squire's daughter.

"More powerful than that, but that's about the attitude it engenders. Now can you see why they ain't particularly thought well of?"

It made sense, after a fashion, and the young man nodded. "I think I get it now."

Garn put the spearhead aside, and regarded Hafred with a critical eye. The silence between them grew uncomfortable, but when the younger man turned to return to his earlier work, Garn addressed him in a grave tone.

"You're thinking of trying to find this enchantress, boy? Find her all on your lonesome, and then that'd impress the Prince's retinue, right?"

Hafred nodded, just once. Was he really that transparent?

His master sighed, and shook his head. "That's more dangerous than anything else. Look, tomorrow, you come with me. I'll introduce you to Rufus, all proper. They'll need a local guide, no doubt, and you know the area well enough."

A wave of relief washed through the young man, and he turned to beam at the old smith. "Thank you, master! I won't let you down."

Garn sighed at that, "You already have, boy, you already have. But I guess if you've got your heart set on adventure, it's best that it be around men who can fish your ass out of the fire. Don't wanna end up like your old man, after all."

The mention of his father sobered Hafred instantly, and he bowed his head. Garn did have a point. What would happen to sweet Jenrea if he got himself killed pursuing his dreams? She'd end up married to some farmer, like his own mother had, wasting away in a village that hardly deserved her.

Hafred thrust the iron into the coals for the second time, and let it heat once more. As he watched the metal slowly turn a merry red, he imagined himself a brave warrior, protecting the Prince, earning honor and accolades. His eyes drifted upward to the plaque where his father's shattered sword hung. 

Perhaps he would die, like his father had, but one could find worse deaths than defending one's family and home. And if he succeeded, he could finally look Jenrea in the eye, maybe brave Rothal's stern gaze to ask permission to court her. Maybe she would turn her sweet gaze to him as more than a friend.

The young man drew the hot iron forth and placed it on the anvil, then began to send his heavy hammer crashing rhythmically upon the glowing metal. His eyes fixed upon it, paying attention to his craft. There was no steady swish of a broom to distract him this time, and the sound of riders moving toward the inn was expected, rather than a surprise.

Hafred saw a dagger in his mind's eye rather than a mere horseshoe. Or better yet, a sword. The King's Men had their own smiths, but perhaps if he couldn't make it as a warrior, he could at least forge his name among them with hammer and anvil. One day, he would show that he was more than a smith in some back woods village.

So focused was he on his work, that he failed to catch his master's studious gaze, nor when the old smith quietly slipped away, to tuck the spear head into an old chest that had never attracted Hafred's attention in all the years he had been there.

For a long time, Hafred worked that metal. Longer than it took to merely form iron into what he should be making. while his master was occupied, it felt as if invisible hands were guiding his hammer and tongs. Hafred thrust the iron into ash and coals again and again, and worked the bellows ever harder. 

Hotter. it needed to be hotter. It was as if some soft, womanly voice whispered into his ear. Hotter and harder, and then thinner. Almost as if in a trance, he hammered and worked the iron, heating it until it was almost molten, then thrusting it into coals and ash once more.

He didn't even notice when his master returned, though the old smith didn't comment at all.

It wasn't until the shadows grew long that the trance finally broke. Hafred stared down at the object he had forged. It was no horseshoe, but rather a long, tapered blade. The youth blinked in surprise, and raised his eyes from his work.

Garn walked over to inspect his work, but there, in the distance, Hafred caught sight of a familiar tan dress, and long, raven tresses that quickly turned from the rear step of the Tepid Toad to duck back inside. Had Jenrea been watching the entire time?

"Not bad, boy," Garn's grudging praise caught him off guard. "Bit long for a dagger, but it ain't no sword. And it certainly ain't no horseshoe." The last was spoken with a biting tone.

"S-sorry master," All the bluster and confidence drained from Hafred.

"No matter. Tonight you stay here, grind and polish it. I ain't got no orders for a long knife, so it's yours. Consider it a bonus, not that you deserve it for wasting my time."

Hafred bowed his head as his master turned to depart. "Yes, of course."

As Garn left Hafred alone, the young man turned the blade over and over in his hands. He certainly had never tried to make a blade of any sort before. Had he picked up how to forge it simply by watching his master work? The soft whispers he thought he had heard spurring him on came back to mind, and he glanced nervously about.


The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 01



He saw no one, but couldn't help the feeling that perhaps the enchantress of Ingley really did exist.

Alone, he let the disruption of the day slip from his mind, and instead simply dwelled on thoughts of Jenrea, on the sound of her laughter, of her sweet voice. He wondered what those soft lips would feel like against his own, how her waist would fit within his hands. He wanted to taste her, to bask in her warmth, to spend hours just laying beside her.

And so Hafred, apprentice smith, passed the dwindling hours of his last day of normalcy finishing a weapon he had seemingly accidentally made, dreaming of the woman he loved and wholly ignorant of what the fates had in store.



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 02



Her room was shrouded in darkness. Only the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the pair of narrow windows high in the wall provided any illumination. Dark draperies and furnishings seemed to drink in what light there was, leaving little for the cold stone walls of the manor to reflect. For the act she was engaged in, however, little illumination was needed.

The steady slap of flesh against flesh punctuated every creak of the bed under their rhythm. The man beneath her groaned, which earned a sneer from lips stained berry red. Dark, jade colored eyes gazed down past the plump swells of her own sweat-sheened breasts toward his broad chest, and her hands slipped forth. The feel of skin dragging under her sharp nails as she raked them along his flesh was intoxicating. The muffled cries that rose from him at the sting of those sharp points simply drove her to ride him even harder.

She hardly recalled his name. Thomas or something. It was unimportant. He was just a stable hand, a servant who knew his place, and today that place was beneath her in a more literal sense than usual. Her breasts heaved and bounced with her quick, needful movements. Muffled moans and the faint clink of the cuffs that bound him met her harsh use. She could care less about him, really, but she loved the feel of that thick cock within her. More than that was how helpless that powerful form was beneath her, between her thighs.

The young noblewoman wished he was someone else, however. The young apprentice smith, with his well built form and boyish good looks would be a true prize. She always got her way, or almost always. But a precious couple days ago, Hafred had the gall to turn her down! It had frustrated her ever since, and she'd taken it out on her own servants, either through harsher treatment, or as in this case, raw need.

"Marissa!" The woman's voice that drifted in upon her frantic coupling grated upon her, despite being as courteous as a call for attention could be expected in that household.

She was so close, she just needed a little more. Marissa's nails once more sank into flesh, this time hard enough to draw blood. She bucked her hips and clenched that hot, heated flesh about the shaft within her. Bound as he was by that ring at the base of his manhood, the poor stable hand could do little besides meet her acts, straining at the cuffs which held him to the bed.

"Come on," the spoiled redhead hissed, "You can do better than that."

His efforts redoubled, and she found herself riding that growing wave of pleasure, ever closer to her peak. Her breath came in sharp gasps, her hips bucked raggedly against the bound man below.

"Marissa! Your father demands your presence now!"

Crying out in frustration, she stopped her movements. Hands flung down to pound at the servant's chest, taking out her ire upon his helpless form. Muffled grunts were the only response her tantrum elicited. Panting still, she drew herself up and off of that still rigid shaft.

"Mariss-"

"I'll be right down! My the Dark One take you." She screeched her response out, if only to silence the repeated calls. Couldn't the woman use a servant to summon her like any civilized person? But she could hardly fault her father's lover for not knowing how to handle a noble estate properly.

With hair and curves still damp with perspiration, she threw a simple black dress on, and tugged it over her figure. It hardly came to mid thigh, all too daring to wear without additional skirts. Yet she made no move to gather any. Catching a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror by her bed, Marissa smoothed a hand along her frame. Even with those coppery curls mussed and her skin flushed, she was still the very image of desire. She could have any man in the village. Hafred was a fool to refuse her. 

As she turned toward the door, the man still bound upon the bed gave a muffled cry. Marissa turned her eyes toward Thomas, then a cruel smile crossed her features. She stepped forth toward that bed, then traced a single, long nailed finger along his hard arousal. Still slick with her juices, a single drop of his own beaded on the tip, having managed to escape the constriction of that ring.

The redhead gathered that translucent fluid on one fingertip, then watched his reaction as she sucked it from her own digit. Cheeks hollowed as red lips pursed, then she languidly traced the tip of her tongue along that long nail.

"Don't you dare move a muscle," she taunted, "And you had best still be hard when I return."

Ignoring the servant's protests, she slipped out of her chambers, and padded down the quiet corridors toward the manor's great hall. Barefoot, and with scandalously bare legs, she knew quite well that her father would guess at what she had been up to. It amused her to flaunt herself before him, fully aware of how his gaze upon her had changed since she'd grown into full womanhood. If not for Isolde, she'd have him wrapped about her finger like all the rest.

Isolde. The woman enraged her. Marissa couldn't understand what her father saw in the bitch.

The great hall itself was relatively quiet. A broad chamber with high ceiling supported by wooden beams, it had long been the seat of power over Ingley. Tapestries upon the walls did their part to trap the warmth from the grand hearth, and though their colorful depictions of victories past might have interested some, the young noblewoman found them incredibly boring.

The long tables that occupied most of the room stood empty, the wood dry and dusty. It had been many a year since Squire George had entertained guests. Like her own chambers, the great hall was ill lit. A few windows high up in the ceiling had their shutters thrown wide, to allow thin beams of light to strike down from above. Aside from this, only the hearth's flames provided any light.

A lone footman knelt by the opposite entry to the hall. Marissa was well aware of how his wanting eyes followed her smooth, pale legs as they scissored with each step. She intentionally put a further sway to her hips, to reward his gaze.

Before the hearth, two high backed chairs stood, angled toward one another so that their occupants might speak. Only one was occupied, however. George of Ingley, named Squire in his youth, was nominal ruler of Ingley village and its surroundings. His lack of ambition and generally foul disposition had stifled his ascent to higher rank. Since the loss of his wife, he had only further closed himself off from the outside world. The lone exceptions besides the servants were his daughter Marissa and his lover Isolde.

Now George was a shadow of his former self. Gray haired and weak, he appeared frail and worried most of the time. Isolde was a scold and a fuss, and the strain of living up to her demands was taking as much a toll on the old Squire as the passing of any amount of years.

For as long as she could recall, Marissa had been the center of her father's attentions, and though he had been crushed by the loss of his wife, she had been able to stir him to smile and laugh in years past. Then Isolde had come into the picture, and Marissa knew discipline and competition for the first time in equal measure. She hated the bitch, truly. 

To compound matters, she had insisted that Marissa be married off only when a suitor of suitable status be found, that would increase the Squire's holdings. Few other nobles took interest in Ingley's lands, however, and Marissa herself had long earned a reputation as a difficult and wild one. Thus, her eighteenth birthday had found her an old maid, still unwed. It suited her just fine, she could continue whatever dalliances she wished.

Fortunately, the raven haired Isolde was nowhere to be seen, despite her earlier shrill calls for Marissa. Mostly relieved, there was a certain strain of disappointment, as her current state would only infuriate the woman. Instead, only the eyes of that distant footman and her father lingered upon her.

While she appreciated the longing gaze of the footman, it was her father's that sent a secret thrill along her spine. Oh it hadn't always been so, she knew well enough that enticing her own flesh and blood was wrong, but she just didn't care anymore. If she could divert his attentions from Isolde in that way, that was just one more arrow in her quiver against the bitch. It allowed her to imagine, however unrealistically, that she might reclaim his undivided adoration some day.

As Marissa crossed toward the Squire on quiet, bare feet, she cast a sidelong glance across to the footman. Her father must have caught the look, for he waved his hand to dismiss the fellow. Heavy footsteps marked the footman's reluctant retreat, and they were left alone in the hall.

The air was thick with tension as Marissa slipped around the back of the chair facing her father. She was well aware of her father's gaze, lingering on her legs the same as the footman's had. She was well aware too at how her smooth thighs must glisten still, at how the fabric she wore clung and shifted with each movement.

Her body grew taut with excitement at the prospect of teasing the old Squire, and she took her time, sinuously slithering around that chair and into its velvety confines. As Squire George lifted his gaze, she idly wondered if he could see how tight her nipples were, against that thin fabric. A shiver ran down her spine.

Still, he said nothing, and she was forced to breach the silence first. Her tongue darted out over her painted lips as she fixed her eyes upon his, then spoke in a breathy, teasing tone, "Father? You desired my presence?"

"You are a wicked, foul wench." The Squire's grumbling tone would have stung, if that wasn't exactly the image she was going for. "But we have a task for you."

The "we" in his words made her flinch. Isolde, the bitch, had put him up to something. Marissa rolled her eyes and crossed one leg over the other, but made no move to correct her skirt where it had ridden up. No, she enjoyed the way her father's eyes drifted back down at that movement. "What would you have me do, Father?"

"Prince Cantrol arrived in our fair village this very afternoon. He's staying at the Tepid Toad."

The news was startling, to be sure. It was also troubling. "The inn? Why would he stay at that gods forsaken place rather than the manor? We've received royal visitors in the past!" Not in her lifetime, but she had read about them in the histories when she was little. A pout began to threaten, as if she had been personally slighted by the choice of a man she had never met.

"I do not know," the Squire shook his head, although he certainly looked like he had a fair idea, the way his eyes narrowed. "Still, this gives us all an opportunity. The Prince is young, and single."

Marissa arched one brow as she ventured, "So you want me to what, impress him? Fawn and flatter him like some court lady?"

"No, no. I know a wicked whore like you could never accomplish such subtleties." His eyes roamed Marissa's form pointedly, and for the first time in a long time, she felt ashamed. "You obviously have chosen your path, but you may as well put your talents to good use. Seduce him. He may grow fond of your pleasures, or he may put a child in you. The mistress of royalty or the mother of a bastard prince is still better than a lay about slut with no prospects."

His words more than stung, they burned. Marissa averted her gaze, even as she folded her hands down to tug that dress back as far to her knees as it would go. She had misread him. Whether there was lust in his gaze before or not, at that moment there was more contempt than anything. "Yes, father." She sounded as defeated as she felt. "I will do as you wish."

"Marissa?"

"Yes, father?" She dared lift her gaze to his. Her eyes encountered only a frowning, stony visage.

"Do not disappoint us."

There it was again, the plural that denoted not rank and land, but the Squire and his infernal mistress. Marissa rose without a word, and returned to her chambers. Tears threatened, but she couldn't say whether it was because of her father's words, or the idea she had somehow failed him.

Marissa wasn't in the mood to finish her enjoyment of the bound stable hand, but rather than immediately release him, she left him tied as she bathed, then dressed, simply to tease him. 

She had no doubt that she would have the Prince in her pocket in no time, but being rejected by Hafred over some unrequited crush on that damned barmaid had wounded her pride. Her own father's take on her actions had further cast doubt upon her own desirability, so she really needed this. Whether it was for her own aggrandizement or the benefit of that bitch Isolde, capturing the Prince's eye would at least prove that she was still the most beautiful woman in the village, and perhaps beyond.

Within a little over an hour, she slipped from the manor and made her way on foot to the village. The walk wasn't far, and gave her time to clear her head.

Marissa had gone with a more elegant outfit, that would perhaps give her an air of courtliness that would be hard for others within the village to match. She certainly didn't want to appear the whore her father apparently thought she was. Her coppery curls had been tied back into a single tail, forgoing fancier styles. An off-the-shoulder black and crimson dress of crushed velvet left the slender line of her neck and her collarbones revealed, while a frill dipped along the swell of her chest. The sleeves and skirts were long, but clinging. The waist drew in above the curves of her hips nicely, while a pair of black boots graced her feet. They had a three inch heel that lent her some height and drew the eye.

By the time she neared the quaint, thatch-roofed inn, the sun had long dipped below the horizon, and the merry glow of the lights within shone out through the Tepid Toad's low windows, along the dirt streets. A lone wooden shingle carved to resemble a toad sitting in a cup hung before the old wooden door, and swung gently in the growing evening breeze.

As Marissa approached the inn, she caught sight of a familiar form making his way from the smith's forge just down the road. Her breath caught, and she shrank back into the shadows. What Hafred was doing out and about that eve, she had no idea. The only thing she knew was that his presence might make it harder for her to accomplish her task.

Her eyes followed the well built smith's apprentice in his trek to the inn. He was certainly something to be admired. Tall, strong, with sharp eyes and neatly kept hair of a rich, deep brown, he would be a prize for any. And yet, he had denied her for a silly bar wench who hardly knew his name.

Inwardly, Marissa fumed a while, then began to stalk toward the door of the Tepid Toad, some moments after Hafred had entered. She had a job to do, whether she enjoyed it or not.

The common room of the Tepid Toad was busier than she had seen in a long time, and it was all because of the Prince's retinue. Prince Cantrol was a practical man, but he was royalty, so besides his bodyguard, there were several other men at arms scattered amongst nearby tables, still clad in various light mail. There were no signs of attendants or ministers, no trappings of the court. The locals, however, had come out in force. Everyone who was anyone in that meager village seemed to have packed into the inn to see the Prince and his men.

The Prince himself was immediately evident, and surprisingly young. Oh he was older by several years than her, of course, in his middling to late twenties, but still fresh faced and clean shaven. A circlet of gold rested at his brow, amidst his unkempt blond hair, and at the moment Marissa caught sight of him, he was laughing and watching someone she couldn't quite see from her vantage at the doorway.

Perhaps the task wouldn't be so bad. He certainly was easy on the eyes, and while not as tall nor as powerfully built as Hafred, Cantrol had a charm of his own.

Hafred seemed to be approaching the prince at that moment, and it was this that kept her from immediately making her move. Instead, Marissa eased herself from the door, and about the outer edge of the crowd.

It soon became clear that Hafred headed not toward the Prince himself, but rather toward the older man that wore the uniform of the Prince's bodyguard. It was then that she caught sight of old Garn, and the smith soon set to introducing Hafred properly to the dark haired warrior.

With the smith's apprentice so distracted, Marissa could put him out of her thoughts, and concentrate on the task at hand. There was little worry that he would notice what she was doing. She smoothed her hands over the fabric of her dress, ensuring it conformed to every curve, then began to stalk about the knot of people that obscured her view of the Prince.

"Um, well, if Your Highness is looking for someone, maybe Mr. Lumi can help?"

Marissa recognized that bubbly voice long before the ample curve of Jenrea's rear end came into view. The barmaid was retrieving something from behind the bar, the slender curve of the small of her back and the flare of her hip outlined by the simple tan fabric of her dress. Jenrea probably wasn't even aware of the Prince's gaze, locked on the slight sway of her hips, the curve of her ass.

"Mr. Lumi?" The Prince questioned in a gentler tone than most nobles might have. Either he had already learned Jenrea wasn't the sort to realize outsider might not know everyone in town, or the remarkable view had blunted any impatience on his part.

"Oh! He's a sage, he lives on the edge of town." Jenrea giggled and lifted her head, retrieving an older bottle, likely one of the inn's finest. With prize in hand, she wandered back over to the Prince. "Here we go, Your Highness."

The way Prince Cantrol's eyes lingered on Jenrea, the way he smiled at her, it made Marissa's blood boil. Almost as infuriating was the clueless look on Jenrea's face. She never seemed to have any idea what effect she had on men.

Intentionally or not, Jenrea had already caught the Prince's eye, and Marissa couldn't count on Hafred daring royal ire to interfere. It was up to her. She stalked forward with a confident, predatorial grace, and gave her own hips a little swish with each stride.

The Prince didn't so much as look up. Instead, his gaze followed Jenrea as she leaned over to pour him a glass of that rich, purple-red wine. The man's eyes lingered on the deep valley of her cleavage, presented just so before his gaze with her innocent task.

Marissa clenched one fist at her side, then cleared her throat as she came near. This time, the Prince and Jenrea both looked up to her.

A brilliant smile lit Jenrea's features, and she dipped her head. "Lady Marissa! How nice to see you out." Her words showed genuine affection, and it merely irritated the Squire's daughter all the more.

"And I am pleased to see you as well, Jenrea," she forced a tone of civility, before turning a smile to the Prince. Marissa offered her own deep curtsey to him, those skirts drifting to flash a hint of leather encased ankle. Her own bust, generous as it was, could hardly compare with Jenrea's, and the neckline of her gown was not the sort of low scoop that Jenrea's peasant dress offered, but she was certain her own elegance and bearing would more than make up for it. "Prince Cantrol, Your Highness. I had heard you had arrived, and my father, Squire George, sent me to discover whether we could offer you and yours proper hospitality."

When she lifted her head, however, the frown on Cantrol's lips was the last thing she wanted to see. Her brow furrowed, as she cast her mind back over her lessons in etiquette.

"You are George of Ingley's daughter, then? Marissa, was it?" The Prince glanced across to Jenrea, who merely nodded confirmation. His eyes then fell back to Marissa. "Tell your father that we will be by in the morning, to discuss my business here. He has offered us no reason in the past to believe he is capable of providing properly for an official visit, much less an impromptu one. Therefore we will maintain our quarters in the inn here."




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 02



Taken off guard, Marissa blinked rapidly, as if trying to process what had just occurred. The Prince had an edge of offense in his words, but certainly it was nothing she had done. She straightened slowly, and drew in a deep breath, back straight to present her figure in the most enticing way she could manage.

"Your Majesty, I assure you that I... that we can tend to your every need." She let her voice drop to a sultry, inviting tone that had worked so well on so many men before, and her hand lifted to rest over her heart, her long nailed fingers rested just at the edge of her neckline.

Cantrol rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you'd love that. It's not you, though, girl. Your father is little better than a scheming brigand for sending you here. Now take your message home."

She was being rejected. Before she even had a chance to show what she could do, before she could even work her wiles upon him, she had been shut down. Panic began to grip at her mind. "Please, Prince, at least let me keep you company this-"

"I said," The Prince's tone betrayed a loss of patience that proved he indeed had a temper, "be gone, back to your father."

At his tone, the bearded bodyguard broke off his conversation with Garn and Hafred, and rose. Those dark eyes fixed upon Marissa, and she cringed back.

What had gone wrong?

It was Jenrea, of all people, who came to her rescue. "Please, Your Majesty, everyone knows Squire George is a mean old man. Please don't take it out on her daughter." The innkeeper's daughter took one of Marissa's arms in her hand, and though the noble woman would have ordinarily snatched her limb back from the peasant's grasp, she was still reeling from the turn of events.

It seemed, however, that Jenrea's words had their intended effect, for he offered a smile to Jenrea that much resembled the sun peeking from a storm cloud. "Of course, Lady Jenrea, forgive me. It isn't her fault who her father may be. Still, I should like it very much if she was on her way."

Marissa had been saved from a rough escort out at the hands of the Prince's bodyguard, but she seethed inwardly at just who had done the saving.

Jenrea giggled, light and high. "Oh silly, you know I'm no Lady. It's just Jenrea." She smiled to the Prince, and it earned a blush from him.

"It is easy to forget, speaking with one as fair as you."

The innkeeper's daughter giggled, and began to lead Marissa toward the door, but then cast another smile over her shoulder to the Prince. "All is forgiven. I think my friend Hafred was speaking to your man Rufus about a position, though. Perhaps you could talk to him about it while I help Lady Marissa home? I know he could lead you to Mister Lumi too!" A bit of infectious excitement bubbled up in her tone.

The young noblewoman gawked at Jenrea's daring. She spoke with such familiarity with the prince, and yet was not rebuked for it. If anything, Prince Cantrol seemed to defer to her wishes. As if only then noticing the smith's apprentice, he turned and approached the other men.

Rufus, for his part, watched Marissa with some suspicion.

It wasn't until they were outside and out of sight that she yanked her arm back from Jenrea's grasp. On seeing the raven haired girl's face fall, she moderated her tone, speaking softly, "Thank you, Jenrea. You always seem to get your way, don't you? It must be nice."

The sweet barmaid frowned thoughtfully at those words. "I don't know? Lady Marissa, you're rich and you're beautiful. I wish I could be half the woman you are. I'm sure you just caught Prince Cantrol at a bad time." She certainly tried to be reassuring with her tone.

Rejected three times in a short week, and now pitied by a lowly commoner. It was more than she could take. She felt if she but had the power she would smite them all with a word, and not feel a hint of remorse. With a sigh, Marissa rubbed her temples, then began to stalk down the dirt street without a word.

Jenrea stood by the Tepid Toad's front door, and watched her go. She made no move to follow her, as if sensing that ill mood. Only when Marissa was some distance away did Jenrea duck back into the warm and safe interior of the inn.

Marissa was certainly not looking forward to telling her father she had failed.



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 03



If anyone had told him that very morning that the night would find him getting horses prepared for the Prince and his bodyguard, Hafred would have called them a lunatic. Under the merry glow of a lone lantern, however, he was doing just that. The stables were open to the night air, and though the moon rode high overhead, little more than shadows and darkness greeted the eye beyond the outer reaches of that lantern's yellow light.

He still wasn't certain that he liked the way the Prince seemed so taken with Jenrea, but he could hardly fault the man. Even with her looks, it was her easy smiles and friendly nature that truly lightened the heart. Between Garn's solemn introduction and the Prince's insistence, Lord Rufus the Black Dog had agreed to allow Hafred to accompany them. The fact that they needed a guide might have played its part as well.

Hafred just couldn't quite understand what the rush was. When Jenrea had suggested seeking the counsel of Sage Illuminous, he had assumed they would depart in the morning. It had only taken the Prince a few minutes to decide they would seek him that very night. The rest of the Prince's men would spend the night at the Tepid Toad, while the Prince himself, Lord Rufus, and Hafred would make their way out under the cover of darkness. It all seemed unnecessary, but Garn mentioned there was a history between Squire George and the royal family, one which likely made the Prince loathe to trust the man.

At least it was a pleasant enough night, cool and with a gentle breeze that carried the earthy scents of the forest and fields across the small village. Only a few lights here and there still drifted through the night, mostly in the hands of the night watchmen. Hafred knew them all, they were friends and fellows from his youth, or older men who wanted the excuse to spend an occasional night away from their families.

The jingle of mail drew the young man's gaze. Rufus stepped out from the rear of the inn, his armor readied, sword at his side. He strode over to where Hafred had prepared the mounts, and after a careful inspection, nodded approvingly. The younger man sighed his relief.

Rufus's demeanor was one that brooked no failure, even the slightest mistake could cost Hafred his chance at joining the King's Men.

That night, the smith's apprentice was glad for the Black Dog's readiness. Though he expected no trouble, the night was haven for beasts, bandits, and worse. Hafred wasn't one to believe tales of specters and spirits wandering the darkness, like so many of his fellow villagers. Still, the thought of whether the unnatural truly did exist out there was enough to send the subtlest of chills down his spine.

"Alright fellows, are we ready to go?" Prince Cantrol certainly sounded cheery as he approached.

The Prince had donned a shirt of mail over his own jerkin, and though it was nowhere near as heavy as Lord Rufus's, it certainly seemed well made. The material was lighter than steel, Hafred knew that much, but he couldn't quite place it. Likewise, the ornate sword at the Prince's side shone in the dim light, as the jewels on the pommel were casting their own faint glow.

Hafred felt woefully underprepared. A boiled leather chest piece was the only sort of armor he could afford, and his sole weapon was the long dagger he had finished that very night. The unproven blade was sheathed at his hip.

Hopefully, the trek to the sage's house would be uneventful.

The nobles would ride behind him, while he lead on foot. He certainly didn't mind the arrangement. He certainly wasn't a trained horseman, and at night it might be easier to miss the turns and twists in the path from up high on a mount.

"Hafred?"

Jenrea's voice certainly earned a look back toward the inn, and the sweet, buxom young woman offered a sheepish smile from where she peeked out of the back door. Hafred turned from the Prince and Rufus, missing the former's bemused smile at the scene. A few long steps closed the distance to that back step, still relatively clear from the day's sweeping.

She was as lovely as ever, and the sound of her voice calling his name still echoed in his mind. He could hardly offer more than a shy smile, as his own cheeks burned crimson. "Yes, Jenrea?"

He almost didn't notice the package she held in her hands, not until she offered it forth to him. Wrapped in a white cloth were a few bits of food. A half a loaf of bread, some cheese, some jerky. Along with it was a jug of the Tepid Toad's house ale. Without a word, she thrust it into his hands.

Her fingers were so warm against his as he hesitantly took the package. "Thank you, Jenrea."

She beamed a smile to him that near melted his heart. "In case, you know, you get hungry. I know you didn't get a chance to have dinner earlier."

Indeed, he had been so busy with the forge and whatever unknown trance had affected him, and then the whirlwind of being introduced to Rufus and those first critical impressions, he hadn't had time to think, much less eat. He dipped his head to the innkeeper's daughter, and she retreated back into the inn with a soft giggle.

"Ah, but to have the fair lady Jenrea take such troubles, you must truly be a special boy." The Prince's tone was teasing, although not mocking. It did, however, drag Hafred back down from the clouds.

"Oh! No, Your Highness, It's just.. we're friends, that's all."

Prince Cantrol laughed, then just shook his head merrily. "If you say so. I suppose that there'll be no problem if I should try to win her heart, then?"

Hafred wasn't certain whether the Prince was joking or not, but even the idea unsettled him. How could he compete with royalty, if it should come to that?

The smith's apprentice turned guide was given little time for his thoughts, however, for Lord Rufus cleared his throat, "We should be on our way."

It was a merciful distraction, and Hafred hurried on his way to lead them into the darkness of the night.

The way to the Sage's house wound past the scattered buildings that made up the core of the village, then out past the fields surrounding the settlement. The night breeze rustled through the grain to either side of them. With the moon often hidden behind the drifting clouds above, Hafred fixed the lantern he held on the path before them.

Ahead, the eaves of the woodlands surrounding the village stretched up beyond the old woodcutter's hut. The path itself began an ascent up the forested slopes, and the trio followed along. It wasn't too much longer before the few precious lights that marked the village proper faded from view amidst the trees.

How the Sage could bear making his home out amidst the trees was beyond Hafred's comprehension. If it was privacy that Illuminous was seeking, he certainly had it. Few in the village would trespass far past the fields, even those woodsmen who made their living, collecting wood for building and making charcoal. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Prince Cantrol and Rufus weren't concerned in the slightest.

A distant, echoing howl did stir a comment from Rufus, "I wish I had brought my spear. The wolves out here must be something, with so few to hunt them."

The Prince laughed an easy laugh that put Hafred somewhat at ease. "You'll get your chance, perhaps after we find this Enchantress."

The smith's apprentice shook his head, and redoubled his pace. He knew they weren't far, and soon the trees thinned, revealing a quiet little cottage surrounded by herb gardens and a rickety fence of coarse wooden planks. Although no lights shone from within, a thin stream of smoke rose from the rough stone chimney into the night sky.

Something was wrong, however, for as the three men drew near, Hafred noted just how quiet it was. Where the chirp and flitter of bugs, bats, and night birds had been a constant background presence, they had all fallen away. He raised one hand to call a halt to the others, but even as he did, he caught a movement up amidst the branches, and then another in the brush nearby.

Hafred and Rufus sprung into action at the same moment. Rufus wheeled his own mount about, and drew his sword. A few paces took him and his horse before the Prince, just as an arrow whistled out of the trees above. The clang of steel resounded through the night as the arrow grazed his armor, and ricocheted off into the bushes.

"Defend the Prince!" The Black Dog called a command out to Hafred, but the youth was already in motion, having dropped the lantern he carried and charged.

Another assailant had started a charge from the nearby undergrowth. Lean and lithe, the figure was definitely female, although between the leathers and mask she wore, it was impossible to tell who it might have been. Her own sword remained sheathed, though she had a net in her hands.

Hafred leaped and tackled her to the ground. With a low grunt, they rolled away from the Prince and Rufus. She reached for her sword, but Hafred was quicker, and pinned her arms down. He strained to keep her still so he might draw his own dagger. On the path, flames began to spread in a circle from the dropped lantern, as the spilled oil pooled out from it.

Behind them, Another figure stirred in the darkness, and a crossbow bolt streaked forth with a resounding clack of wood and cable. It missed the prince, and streaked off into the darkness beyond.

Rufus turned his horse and charged in the direction the crossbow sniper lay, while Hafred continued to struggle with the bandit he'd laid low. The archer in the trees remained, and possibly more. The smith's apprentice called over his shoulder, "Your Majesty! Make haste into the Sage's yard!"

Prince Cantrol drew his sword, which shone with its own glow. He spurred his horse onward, as another arrow descended toward him. Hafred blinked as he watched the missile deflect in mid air, as if it had struck some invisible barrier. No doubt the court wizards had gifted the Prince with protective magic before allowing him out of the capital.

The hiss of steel on leather and the squirming body beneath him reminded Hafred of his own situation. Hastily he grasped at her wrist, stopping that blade only half drawn. He lifted his own long dagger from its sheathe, and placed it at her throat. Those eyes, dark and hateful, gazed up to him from the gap between the cloth mask and her hood.

Then his world exploded in pain, as an arrow planted itself in the small of his back. The boiled leather kept it from penetrating too deeply, but it was enough to weaken Hafred's grasp. The bandit woman he'd tackled scrambled away from his grasp, and began to sprint off into the woods.

Rufus came back into view, bloodied sword drawn and in a full charge. His gaze fell to Hafred. "Where's the Prince?"

Hafred raised one hand to point toward the Sage's yard, where the Prince came to a halt. He was still astride his horse, and seemed more exposed there than before. Rufus cursed and began to ride after Prince Cantrol.

From above, the archer in the tree drew bowstring back once more, and fired after the knight. The shaft streaked downward, but Rufus crossed the threshold of the Sage's yard just as the arrow neared his back. With a spark of flame, the shaft incinerated, and the arrowhead deflected off of Rufus's cloak and the mail beneath, robbed of the mass which would have driven it further.

Hafred staggered to his feet, then glared up at the archer in the tree. Man or woman, it mattered not, whoever it was had threatened the Prince. The smith's apprentice drew his dagger up, and threw it.

Whatever had possessed him when he made that blade, it was balanced well, and his aim was true. The blade sunk deep into the archer, and with a startled cry, the figure tumbled to the ground. There was a sickening crack, and the archer moved no more.

With the Prince secured, Rufus whipped his head about, looking for any more who may come from the shadows. Hafred made his own way to the fallen archer, and clutched at his arm. It was a man, and when Hafred ripped the mask from his face, he couldn't help but curse.

He knew the fellow's face, somewhat. He'd been one of Zara Blade's men. The bandit queen must have been bored to send her fellows so close to the house of Illuminous. With a shake of his head, Hafred retrieved his dagger, then as an afterthought, collected the bandit's own short sword, bow, and arrows. Every movement was an agony, with the arrow still jutting from his back. It was through sheer adrenaline and determination that he managed to stagger into the Sage's yard, before the world went dark.

How long he lay in darkness, he did not know, but amidst the shadows and gradual sparkle of colors behind his eyes, a shape began to manifest. Vaguely female, it appeared as an angel to his thoughts, and a woman's voice called forth his name within his mind. Hafred thought it sounded like Jenrea, but he couldn't be certain.

He felt her warm arms slip about him, the softness of her body against his, lifting him as if from a dark place. Slowly, the darkness slipped away, and he felt as if she were pulling him upward into a brilliant, blinding light.

With a gasp, Hafred sat up, and his eyes shot open. Almost immediately, a sharp pain in his lower back had him descending back into the soft blankets upon which he had been laid. No heavenly visions swam about him, just the soft glow of candles throughout the room.

Shirtless, a fresh set of bandages had been bound about Hafred's torso, and he had to assume the smell of strange poultices and herbs was emanating from whatever he had been treated with. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, but certainly a bit medicinal for his taste.

The room itself was cluttered. The bed he lay in was sturdy enough, and nearby was a table, upon which a few vials were scattered amidst candles and a burner from which a single stick of incense sent a largely useless drift of scented smoke. More candles glowed from a high shelf along one wall, and beneath that were rows upon rows of books, bound and ancient, a collection that must have taken decades to assemble. Within the far wall, a curtain hung across an open doorway, leading into another chamber.

A woman's soft voice drifted from beyond that curtain, though it certainly didn't sound like Jenrea.

Hafred forced himself to sit up once more. This time the pain was bearable, the tug of stitches and the comforting pressure of those bandages did their job with the more moderate movement. He did not see his dagger, nor his leathers anywhere, so clad only in his trousers, he hoisted himself to his feet.

A woman swept through that curtain, and came up short when she saw him standing. She was pleasant to look upon, in a garish, overly done way. Her hair was a rich auburn, her eyes dark brown. She was in her late thirties to early forties, though one could hardly tell. Her curves were exaggerated in the way that whores in the Free Cities often arranged, through use of magic or potions. And it was only right that she should appear so, for it was known that in years past she had been just that, a woman of the night, in Aethwin.

Now, however, Scarlet was the wife of Sage Illuminous, plucked from that far away city to live in the rustic backwater of a distant land. Hafred had often seen her in town, picking up supplies for herself and her husband. Whatever her past, she certainly seemed to care for the Sage.

Hafred had honestly never seen the Sage personally. He had visited the house a few times to bring orders up from Garn, but it was always Scarlet who received them. Jenrea had spoken with the Sage directly, so he knew the man had to exist.

"Oh, so I see you're up then. Silly boy. I suppose you'll be wanting to join the others, then."

He could only nod, and at that moment he did hear voices chatting in the distance, though he couldn't make out what they said. Two were recognizable, at least. Lord Rufus and Prince Cantrol, and another.

"Well, let me go ahead and see to those bandages one more, make sure everything's alright before you go ruining my good work." With that, Scarlet moved to his side, and gingerly rested on the edge of the bed. With a firm touch, she turned him away, to inspect the wound.

Hafred winced, then spoke softly, "What happened? I thought we were free and clear."

The former whore laughed and shook her head. "The arrow was envenomed. Not enough to kill, but between that and the wound itself, well. Let's just say that you're lucky Lumi was home."

So that's where Jenrea got the name.

"So uhm, where are my things?" He almost felt bad asking, but had little time to regret the question, for a tightening of a new bandage sent him wincing.

Scarlet clucked her tongue, "You tried to move too swiftly. Be careful, this will hold, but it'll be a day or two before you can really risk that sort of effort without reopening it. As for your arms, just you wait. They're safe and sound in the living room."

Hafred remained quiet for the rest of the treatment, and finally her hand patted his shoulder.

"Alright there, you're all set to go. But don't go getting yourself killed out there, what would your Jenrea say?"

Her words confused him for a moment, then he blushed. Why did everyone assume? "She's not ... my Jenrea."

"Mhmm, whatever you say. Now go on, the fellows are waiting on you." She waved him on.

He stiffly rose, and joined the others. The small house had few rooms, beside the bedroom he had been settled in, there was a grand living room that served as sitting room, kitchen, and general quarters all at once. Dried herbs and meat hung from the rafters, and the glow of a fireplace lit the chamber well. More shelves with stranger things were scattered about the walls. A sturdy wooden door lead out of the house, but another one lead to a room he had no idea of. It couldn't be very large, judging from the size of the structure from the outside.

Upon a table, his armor and weapons were laid out. The leather had already been stitched where the arrow had penetrated, and it had been done by a hand that looked to have experience with repairing armor. He could only guess Lord Rufus had done it himself. As he tugged the boiled leather breastplate on, and gathered up the other weapons, he turned his gaze back about the room.

There, in a few chairs, sat three men. Rufus and Cantrol were there, of course, but also a young man that hardly looked older than himself. The new fellow was clad in simple white robes, and offered a friendly smile across to him.

"So I see dear Scarlet tended you well?" The young Sage's voice was soft and high, "I am Illuminous. You must be young Hafred, I've heard so much about you from Miss Jenrea."

The smith's apprentice laughed and shook his head. "Nothing bad I hope. Thank you, truly. I'm sorry I-"

"Oh hush, boy," This time it was Rufus that spoke up, with an uncharacteristic laugh. "Your quick thinking got the Prince into Crow's wards, and me too, apparently. If you hadn't suggested getting into the yard, that archer might've had clear shots at the rest of us all the same."

Hafred hadn't known the nature of the wards, but knew there had to be something special about the house. How else could it exist so peacefully out there, after all? Still, he looked to Rufus with some confusion. "Crow?"

"My husband's real name." Scarlet's voice chimed up from behind Hafred, and he nearly jumped. She had been near silent in her approach. With arms full of bundled fabrics, she moved to pass through toward a basket in the far corner.

"Crow used to be my father's court wizard. A real prodigy." Prince Cantrol nodded solemnly. "I remember, when I was still practicing in the yard, and this gangly, awkward boy came in, requesting an audience. He was almost turned away, but then this crow that had been following him talked! It demanded that the boy be let in, and so he was. I don't know what he said to father, but by the end of the day, he was appointed court wizard."




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 03



"Oh." Hafred seemed a little confused still, but then he frowned "But Sage Illuminous has been here for-"

"Just two years," the young Sage chimed up. "Before that, my mentor was here, the original Illuminous. When I heard he had passed on, well, I decided to come back."

The Prince laughed, "And I take it that your wife's situation had nothing to do with it?"

At those words, Scarlet scowled, her anger almost palpable. "Damn bitches can go choke." She spat the words, which earned another laugh from the Prince, and a commiserating look from Illuminous.

"Lady Scarlet, I always thought you were more worthy of the court than half of those who railed against you," Rufus spoke in a courteous tone, one which was soon answered by the Prince.

"Indeed. You and Crow will forever be welcome in father's court. and if they say anything about it, well Crow can turn them into frogs."

It was the young Sage's turn to laugh, and he just shook his head, "As much as I appreciate your words, Your Highness, we are happy here."

The Sage's wife sashayed over to stand behind her younger husband's chair, then slipped her arms about him from behind. "Indeed."

Hafred couldn't help but smile. He couldn't imagine the politics of court, but from the way even some of the older wives of the village frowned on Scarlet, he could begin to imagine some of the reactions of the highborn ladies.

"So, about that Enchantress," the Prince seemed to recall why they had originally come by.

"Oh! Indeed. Well," at this, the young wizard picked up a heavy book with tattered pages from where it rested near his chair. "I do not recall ever reading about an Enchantress living anywhere near here. You know it runs in the blood. There was, however, a witch. The Witch of the Dark Grove. I don't suppose the oracle could have meant her?"

Prince Cantrol shrugged broadly. "I don't think so. The oracle is always accurate, I do not think that an Enchantress would have been mentioned if it wasn't the proper word for what we seek."

Illuminous worried his brow, then laid the book in his lap. "Well, Witches and Enchantresses are oft at each other's throats. Different methodologies, they tend to get blamed for the worst of each others' acts. Even in the best of times they are rivals, trying to influence the same communities. If an Enchantress truly does dwell anywhere near to Ingley, she might have kept track of where and who she is."

Prince Cantrol rubbed his bare chin in thought. "The Witch of the Dark Grove? Sounds foreboding."

"A name is sometimes just a name. My mentor used to call this the House of Forbidden Secrets, and it's just a hut in the woods."

"A hut full of magic, and secrets." Rufus added, darkly.

"Some of which are forbidden," Scarlet continued, with an impish grin.

The young sage just rolled his eyes. "Well in this case, the Dark Grove isn't far away. Further off in the woods, it's near a patch of old growth trees and a place called The Broken Stone."

"I know where that is," Hafred chimed up. One didn't need to be a woodsman to know where The Broken Stone was. From the western fields, it was a visible spire of shattered rock poking up out of the surrounding trees like a bone from a compound fracture. It was an ugly thing, even from afar. "I think I can lead us there."

Rufus looked concerned, though it took a prompting look from the Prince for him to give those concerns voice, "If Hafred can lead us there, it would be well to let him recover his strength."

The Prince shook his head slowly. "I don't know whether we can wait. It's only a matter of time before Squire George learns why we are here. If he finds this Enchantress before we do, it would be hell to reclaim her."

"Is there something wrong with the Squire?" Hafred certainly was no fan of the old miser, but he couldn't understand why the Prince might consider him a threat.

"He is known for shirking his duties and withholding what is rightly due the crown. We have heard that he leaves his people well enough alone, so his reclusive nature is overlooked. However, the oracles warned that darkness now dwells within the House of Ingley, and may do much to help those enemies we now seek to defeat."

"Your Highness," Illuminous interrupted, "Just what is threatening the land?"

"When we find this Enchantress, I will tell you, my friend." Prince Cantrol reassured him, though there was a certain heaviness in his expression that Hafred had not seen before.

It was enough to make the young Sage drop his inquiries as well.

"If it's that important," Hafred finally decided, "Then I shall take you to The Broken Rock, and we can seek out this Dark Grove from there."

Rufus and Prince Cantrol regarded him squarely. "Are you sure about this?" The older man spoke.

Hafred nodded.

"Very well then. We shall leave this very night." Prince Cantrol rose after making the pronouncement, and stepped toward the door.

As Hafred and Rufus fell in behind him, Scarlet withdrew herself from her husband. 

"Wait, one moment," she dashed into that unknown room, then returned with a leather satchel.

Hafred could hardly help gawking at the way she bounced as she ran back to him. He began to envy the young Sage, just a little. Still, he was somewhat confused when she gave the satchel to him.

"Your lunch," she explained. As Hafred glanced in to confirm that the package Jenrea had given him was still there, she added, "and a few things that may help you on your way."

Besides the wrapped meal that reminded Hafred he had yet to eat, there were a few strange vials, which seemed to shine with a soft light. Magic, no doubt. Potions prepared by the Sage himself.

"They will help you, should you find yourself in a close fight again."

With a dip of his head, Hafred closed the satchel. "Thank you, Lady Scarlet." He smiled at the way the honorific made her blush, and with that said, he took his leave.

Outside, as the others mounted up, he turned his gaze upward to mark the moon's progress. He hadn't been out longer than a few hours. The night was young yet, and they had a fair hike before them.



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 04



Within the shadow bound halls of Ingley Manor, Squire George sat within his great wooden chair, stooped with age before his time. The crackle of the hearth nearby had gone from pleasant white noise in the background to a harsh and unforgiving assault on the silence he so craved. Wearily, he rested his head within one hand, feeling as if all strength had fled his body. Within that grand hall that had seen so many celebrations in ages past, he felt the weight of solitude press down upon him.

He wasn't alone there, though. No, within the shadows there, out of sight, was the woman he at once loathed and longed for. Since the day he first laid eyes upon her, she was a dangerous addiction, one he could not escape. He knew she was there without seeing her, without hearing her. Her very presence was a constant, terrible beacon to his thoughts and desires.

"She approaches." Isolde's voice was soft, alluring, but it was still the sibilant hiss of the serpent he knew her to be. "And she is alone."

George's face twisted into a scowl. He didn't know why the thought that the girl had failed angered him so. True, when his lover had suggested the idea, he thought it was a perfect fit, but now it seemed the little slut couldn't even worm her way into a man's bed.

He caught Isolde's scent long before he heard her gentle footsteps. It was pleasant, a heady mix of something flowery and something spicy that he couldn't quite place. Whatever oils she used to produce that fragrance, they were not local. Soft, slender hands took the back of the great chair he occupied, and slowly turned it, with him still seated within. The legs scraped and scratched along the old stone, but he made no move to assist her.

Soon enough, he faced out over the twisted shadows of the room, lit only by the hearth behind him. It cast his silhouette over the flagstones, and toward the grand doors. Above his was the shadow of Isolde, the stark lines of her stately figure rising like some lurking raptor above his own form.

Those old, oaken doors were flung wide, and through them stumbled Marissa. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her features bore a mingling of rage and crushing disappointment. Her own generous chest heaved with ragged breaths, straining the dark fabric of that elegant dress.

"Father, I-"

"I see the prince is not with you." He and Isolde spoke the words together, and in the same cadence, providing an odd, dual toned effect. He paused, and glanced up to his lover. A cruel smirk crossed her crimson lips, and she slipped her hand down to pat his shoulder gently. It was remarkable, how they synced up so often. Perhaps they were the soul mates that she had so often suggested.

"I shouldn't have expected you to succeed in such an important task." This time, it was he alone that spoke, and his words were heavy with reproach.

His tone seemed to strike the girl like a heavy hand, and she collapsed to her knees there on the cold stone floor before him. Sobs wracked her form. His own dark eyes drifted over her figure, he could not help but admire her appearance, at least. Those lovely coppery curls, the way her dress clung to her every curve, even when she was in disarray. In truth, some small part of him liked seeing her that way, crushed under his disapproval.

"I'm so sorry, father, but when I got there... When I got there, he was already speaking with Jenrea, you know, the innkeeper's daughter?"

Oh, George knew the girl. She reminded him of Isolde greatly, but without the sheer malice his mistress could possess at times. No, Jenrea had the beauty, but also the innocence that men so craved. He'd desired her himself, at one point, but couldn't risk demanding her. His position was more tenuous than he cared to admit at times, and both the master of the Tepid Toad and the smith Garn were old warriors of some skill, and close allies. If he tried to press either of them, they would no doubt turn against him, and he'd be facing a revolt.

Isolde left him, and though her steps earlier had been silent, now each mincing stride brought the sharp report of a tall heel upon the flagstones. The Squire let his eyes drift toward the woman who so enraptured him, taking the time to admire her from behind as she approached Marissa.

She was a dark haired beauty, her form slender enough where it mattered, but her curves ample in those places that invited a man's gaze. Her breasts were more than a handful, her waist a sinuous dip, then her hips flared and broad. They had a natural look, not the product of some wizard's touch, and she always chose her clothing carefully, to draw the eye. 

Tonight, a black silken dress tied behind the slender column of her neck, but left her arms and back free. It was thin enough to show she had nothing beneath, at least until the material gathered at the small of her back. The skirt drifted over her hips, then fell loose to the ankle, continually swinging and swaying at each step she took, each twitch of those succulent hips. From time to time, a slit along the side allowed one stocking clad leg to peek forth, and her feet were shown regardless, sheathed in those deep red stockings and crisscrossed with the straps of those stiletto heels. It was all foreign fashion, but she wore it well.

Isolde advanced from him toward Marissa, then slipped one long nailed hand down to toy with the girl's hair. The younger woman trembled under her touch, face twisted in revulsion.

George simply laughed. It was a hollow, cold sound as he watched the young lady he called daughter so disgusted by his lover's gentle touch. Her eyes lifted, and she shot a dagger's glare across to him.

"Call your bitch off, father. She makes me sick."

If Marissa intended to say anything more, it was lost in a strangled yelp. Isolde's hand fisted in those luxurious red locks, then yanked hard, twisting her head back and lifting her from the ground by her hair. The older woman snarled, her face twisted from a serene kindness to a bestial rage as swiftly as a serpent's strike.

"Watch your tongue, slut, or I'll give you to the servants as a playtoy."

The younger woman was wholly outmatched, but with a cry she struggled against his lover's grasp. George shook his head slowly, amused by the two. He cleared his throat to interrupt them, and though a look of annoyance shot across Isolde's fair face, she said nothing to him.

"Well, it's clear that you failed, Marissa, and likely embarrassed yourself and my name in the process. You will be punished. But this Jenrea, if she has so caught the Prince's attention, then we will simply have to do something about her."

Isolde raised a single brow, but the faint smirk that tugged at her lips told him he had her approval, at least.

"But first," The Squire continued, "We do have to teach my dear daughter a lesson in failure. Secure her."

"What?! No!" Marissa shrieked, and her struggles redoubled, until Isolde hissed something in her ear. Whatever she had been told, the girl's face paled, and she went very still.

George watched as his lover dragged his daughter by the hair. Not toward where he remained seated, but toward the side of the great hall. There, amidst the shadows, a structure of wood rested. He had seen Isolde have it brought up from the dungeons below earlier in the evening, but had thought nothing of it. Apparently, she had anticipated just such an occasion.

A grand wooden frame, it had iron shackles attached to it. Isolde reached down to grasp one of Marissa's hands, then forced it up toward one of the cuffs. As the cruel, unyielding metal closed about one delicate wrist, the young woman's struggles began anew.

She clawed at Isolde with her free hand, and it was all that his lover could do to press Marissa's other wrist up into the opposite cuff. He could help, certainly. He could call men at arms to do so as well, but he did neither. No, he simply watched as Isolde shackled the girl spread eagle within that frame, rather enjoying the way both women strained and struggled against one another. Neither female was unpleasant to gaze upon.

Besides, Isolde could clearly handle herself.

Soon, Marissa was clasped within that wooden frame, which Isolde then grasped and dragged away from the wall, to leave the younger woman suspended, spread before the room. There were small tears in that oh so elegant gown now, revealing glimpses of pale flesh beneath.

Isolde, by contrast, merely had a few locks of hair out of place, which were quickly tucked back behind her ears.

"Father! What are you doing?!"

Marissa's cries began to grate on him, though Isolde simply walked back along that wall. there was a small cart there, which he had mistaken for one which the kitchen servants used. Indeed, it was, but rather than food or snacks, innumerable wicked tools were laid out on the surface, and only glinted in the light when they cleared the shadows and drew closer.

"Shall I silence her, my dear?" Isolde grinned to him as she let one hand drift over the tools on the table. Long fingers traced over a suggestively shaped gag of black material, and she lifted it upward.

It was phallic, to be certain, but resembled no manhood he could even imagine. Terribly thick, he was hard pressed to picture Marissa's mouth accommodating it. He simply nodded, mutely.

The sight of the tool sent Marissa into further struggles. The frame she was bound to creaked, but held, and soon Isolde simply stepped before her. She fixed her gaze on Marissa's, meaningfully.

"If you want me to stop, tell me to."

"Stop! Stop, you bitch!" Her cries grew frantic.

Isolde merely laughed. "Not that. I mean tell me. Really tell me. Make me stop with words alone." Something in Isolde's tone was dark, and George wasn't certain what game she was at.

Marissa's continued pleas did not seem to stir his lover's sympathies, or whatever she was aiming for. Indeed, the raven haired beauty seemed disappointed as she finally placed the thick tip against Marissa's lips.

"It's a shame, isn't it?" His mistress cooed to the younger woman. "If you had magic in your blood, you could tell me to stop, and I would have had to." Her tone then grew icy, commanding Marissa, "Open your mouth, slut."

To his surprise, the younger woman complied, parting her lips and jaws wide as she could. They still stretched as Isolde forced the massive gag between them, and the older woman had to use some force to get the gag into her mouth. Marissa gurgled as her jaws creaked a bit, but she accepted the thing.

"There there, if you are having troubles with this, then maybe you need more practice. And here I thought you'd grown used to having your mouth stuffed..." His lover mocked the girl openly.

The Squire was glad that Marissa had no magic, for the glare that she fixed through tearful eyes upon Isolde would have certainly slain her and continued on to him.

Isolde leaned in, and buckled the gag in place. As she did, her body pressed in close against Marissa's. George let his greedy eyes drink in the scene, and when she caught his gaze, the older woman just giggled, then licked slowly along Marissa's neck. A tongue that the old Squire knew was quite skilled traced up along to the younger's jaw line, then down toward her chin.

Marissa mumbled and screamed into her gag, but she could do little to protest. Her limbs tightened nicely within her bonds, taut as a spring.

Finally, Isolde stepped back from Marissa, and traced her hand down along the younger woman's neck, then along the swell of one breast. She teased her long nails along toward the bodice's lacings, and with a sudden, quick rip, tore the fabric asunder. There was a certain strength in the way she did it that was unexpected, she made it look easy.

Muffled screams accompanied the spill of those large, pale breasts into the light of the distant hearth. Ragged remnants of material clung to her flesh, but failed to conceal it. Isolde grasped a rosy nipple in each hand, and sank her sharp nails into that sensitive flesh.

The younger woman bucked and screamed, though thankfully that gag was doing its job, even as it seemed to make her neck bulge. George watched in mute fascination, then licked at his lips. In truth, he wished he'd never named Marissa his daughter, if he had known she would look like that. She was much more suited to be some concubine.

Isolde stepped away from Marissa, and retrieved a long, slender knife from the cart. This brought more struggles, but the Squire's mistress simply set to work slicing the rest of Marissa's dress off. Bit by bit, her form was exposed to the Squire's eyes, those full breasts, that smooth skin, the flat of her belly, then her stocking sheathed legs. Isolde left the girl's garters and lacy underthings on. Things designed to catch the Prince's attention, now instead revealed to the Squire and his lover.

She brought the knife up to her lips, and traced her tongue along the blade, watching Marissa's eyes all the while. The younger woman trembled, blushing fiercely. Still, her nipples peaked, and the Squire noted her gaze lingered on him more and more. Could she truly be excited to be so exposed before the man she called father?

With a quick, questioning look, Isolde stepped back toward the table, and drew up a long, coiled leather whip. George simply nodded once more, "Do it."

Isolde smiled cruelly, and unwound the long leather lash. Marissa's eyes widened, but she could do little before the Squire's lover brought that whip to bear. the crack it made before striking the younger woman's flesh resounded through the chamber, and the younger woman flinched and thrashed. A red welt, just on the verge of drawing blood, traced from shoulder, along the inside of one breast, to her opposite hip.

"You're going to love this." Isolde's voice was soft, and the Squire was sure she was speaking to Marissa, rather than him, as her eyes were fixed upon the younger woman's.

Again that whip struck, except this time the muted scream which followed was punctuated in a low moan. A look of horror and shame crossed Marissa's features, and she struggled to control her breathing.

Squire George hefted himself to his feet. His strength had faltered from his peak, certainly, but it was still with an easy grace he moved toward the two women. Again that whip lashed out, most strikes aimed for Marissa's torso, a couple wrapped about to her sides. A few kissed the inner thighs of the younger woman, lighter than the rest, but the response was the same.

Here and there, blood trickled down pale flesh, rising from particularly cruel slashes of that whip. As he approached, Marissa's eyes pleaded with him. There was something beyond pain and fear there, however. There was raw lust, needing want.

George held his hand up to still Isolde's arm, then stepped toward Marissa. The younger woman's chest heaved as she drew rapid breaths through her flared nostrils. Slowly, George traced one hand along her cheek, and the woman who called him father leaned into his touch.

Those fingers traced over heated, flushed skin, down along the column of her neck, then toward one breast. One of the whip strikes had caught the edge of her nipple, and the skin was marred with red and purple in places. Still, she arched her back, to press that breast in against his hand.

Isolde's arms slipped about his waist, and her lips brushed his ear. "See? She loves it. She adores the pain." Those moist, crimson lips toyed at the shell of his ear, and he nodded.

"So it seems. What a slut my daughter is." He chuckled as Marissa flinched from his words, but then she moaned against her gag when he cradled that one breast, and squeezed firmly.

Isolde's hands stroked down his own belly, not near as tight as it once was, then began to work at his trousers. As she unbuttoned his fly, she leaned closer still, and pressed her own bosom against his broad back.

"You shouldn't reward her with your touch, this is supposed to be a punishment, after all."

Marissa glared at his lover when she made that suggestion, and the Squire laughed. He raised his hand up, then brought it down with a firm slap against the side of one heavy orb, sending it careening against the other.

Her scream was impressive, as muted as that gag kept it.

Isolde's slender hands dipped down to circle his shaft, and began to stroke it slowly. "She wants you. Feel her."

Her voice toyed with his senses, as did that exotic scent. George nodded, and that hand returned to Marissa. Over her belly, that flat, taut midriff marred with the marks of the whip, then along one hip. Those lace panties she had chosen were damaged. The whip had caught them at one hip, leaving them have ruined and dangling, revealing that neatly trimmed little copper tuft.

His eyes fixed on Marissa's, then his hand pressed between her thighs, to cup against her. She was warm and wet indeed, wanting and ready.

As the Squire's thick fingers toyed over the younger woman's sensitive folds, Isolde squeezed his length firmly, then began to descend to her knees. There were few enough reasons that she ever knelt, and all of them had to do with pleasure.

As a pair of skilled, moist lips engulfed his manhood, George gasped. His eyes never left Marissa's, and he whispered in a gentle tone, "Do you want me? Do you want your own father?"

The young noblewoman nodded, and her hips began to rock against his hand. She sought to press herself upon his probing fingers, in time with the bobbing rhythm of the raven haired woman below.

George dropped one hand to wind within Isolde's hair, but he dared not guide her too swiftly. His arousal built and built, and soon his own hips joined in, thrusting forward to meet each dip of Isolde's head. He pressed down her throat needfully.

For a moment more, Isolde remained on her knees, then drew her head back. Her hand grasped the base of his shaft, and squeezed to keep him in check. "No," She spoke the single word as almost a command, and he stood there, quivering. With a wicked little smile, his lover rose to her feet elegantly, and pushed him away from Marissa.

Slowly, theatrically, she drew her skirt upward, to expose those long, toned legs. Gathering the material about her waist, she revealed a total lack of even the most basic of smallclothes. Her mound was shaved, as he knew it would be, her flesh slick with want.

She turned to face Marissa, then gradually bent forward, spreading those legs. One hand lifted to brace herself on the very frame that kept the younger woman in place, while the other beckoned him near.

When the Squire was within her reach, she grasped his thickness once more, and guided him forward. She nodded approval when his hands found her hips, and spoke in a low, lusty tone, "I am all you will ever need."

George nodded, and smiled in return, "All I will ever need." He repeated, reassuring her, then guided himself up between her thighs. His heart pounded with renewed desire, and after positioning himself against her waiting slit, he thrust forward. It was a slow, easy penetration, and he paused only when he was sheathed within her exquisite body.

Marissa, meanwhile, had become irate once more. Watching him take his mistress was something she obviously loathed, and there was another rattling and creaking as she thrashed within those bonds. She did little but wear out a body already glistening with perspiration and tinges of blood from her whipping. The view, at least, was lovely, and he watched the younger woman bounce and strain even as Isolde began to rock back against him.

With his hands settled firmly at her hips, George began to move to her rhythm, letting her set the pace. He glided within her readily, and soon the two were entwined in full view of the younger noblewoman.

Every hard thrust by the Squire sent Isolde arching in toward Marissa, and more than once or twice, bare breasts brushed against still clothed ones. Isolde was whispering something, but George was too caught up in the feel of her, the sense of her warm body bucking roughly back against him. Even if he could hear every syllable, he wouldn't have cared.




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 04



George slid his hands up to grasp and squeeze Isolde, drawing her back hard, forcing her to take him to the root. As he began to release within her, she arched back against him, pressing her lean form against his. One of her arms slipped back to cradle the back of his head, and she turned hers to offer those crimson lips.

He caught them eagerly, and kissed his lover soundly. Ignorant of the jealous gaze the one who called him father offered, he just kept his powerful arms wrapped about Isolde, trapping her against his chest.

Only after a long moment in his embrace did she draw her lips from his, catching the lower between her teeth for a sharp tug.

"Well, my dear," Isolde breathed out against his flesh, "I think she's been punished enough, for now. I think I have another task for her."

George gazed into her eyes, and a smile crossed his features. He was still lost in the pleasures her body offered. It was easy to forget what a scold she could be, at times like that. "Of course, my beautiful one."

A cruel little smile once more played across those elegant features, before she began to extract herself from his arms. George stepped aside a pace, just to lean against the frame which still held Marissa.

Without a care about her appearance, Isolde let that skirt drift back into place along legs that still trembled slightly. She lay one long nailed hand on Marissa's chest, just between her breasts. "Well, you little whore?" Her words grew harsh, "Do you think you can redeem yourself?"

Marissa glared once more, but mumbled about her gag and nodded. It only earned a light smack to her cheek with an open palm.

Isolde laughed, then spoke in a purring tone, "Good. Let's see if you can prove yourself worthy of your father's care. So long as this Jenrea girl is out there, the Prince is a lost cause. And I suspect you have other reasons to want her dealt with, don't you?"

Marissa nodded uncertainly, but the Squire's lover spared her further prying. Instead, the raven haired temptress drew a lone vial from her cleavage. George was absolutely certain he hadn't felt anything of the sort there, and for a moment was puzzled where she had been storing it. A sharp glance from Isolde kept him from voicing his question.

"Get yourself cleaned up and dressed. I would like you to bring Jenrea here. I am sure you can convince her, but if you have any troubles, give her this." She tapped the small vial against Marissa's skin. "This, my dear, is a little something that will make her more pliable, more apt to follow your suggestions."

The gagged Marissa nodded, and Isolde rewarded her with a smile. The smile soon faded, however, and she slipped one hand up to caress Marissa's cheek. The gentle touch lasted only a moment, before those digits instead wound in Marissa's hair, and tugged those coppery curls sharply.

"Do not fail again. Do you understand?"

A strained and pained looking nod was her only answer.

George shook his head, but did not stop Isolde's handling of Marissa. Instead, he merely fastened his clothing once more, as if in a daze, then moved back to that great chair of his, and settled back into it. He watched as Isolde loosened the cuffs that had held the younger woman in that frame. The gag was the last to go, and Marissa worked her jaw with a wince after it was removed.

"Now go, slut." Isolde hissed sharply, and the younger woman darted hastily toward her quarters, clad only in the tattered remains of her earlier outfit.

When she was gone, his lover approached him once more, and deposited herself within his lap. She lay one hand at his chest, and spoke in a soft tone, "You did well, Squire."

The praise from her was rare enough, and sent a little thrill down his spine. He so wished that she would be like that more often. "Don't you worry that the villagers will hate this move?"

"You leave that to me, dear heart. Do you doubt my judgment?" A little pout quivered her lower lip, and she stared up to him with those big beautiful eyes of hers.

"W-well, it's not that."

"It better not be." She went from pout to snarl in a moment, and sank her nails painfully into his flesh. "Do not question me again."

The Squire winced despite himself, though it was more from her tone than the pain. So swiftly, she was back to her usual self. "I won't, Isolde."

She smiled softly, then graced his chin with a little kiss. "Good. I would hate for you to ruin my good mood. Things will be looking up soon, I promise you." Then, she slipped from his lap, leaving him wanting more of that touch. "I have things to do, I will see you again later, dear heart."

Although he had no reason to believe her words, they were somehow reassuring. He just sat within his lonesome hall, and watched her until she was no longer in sight.



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 05



The stitched hide walls of the Bandit Queen's tent did little to stifle the noise of the feast going on outside. They had felled a boar that very day, and with the ale they had captured earlier in the week still in ready supply, she could hardly fault her men for wanting to enjoy themselves a bit. She was just thankful that their camp was far enough into the forest that the trees swallowed up the sound. The ridge that separated their lair from the village no doubt helped in that regard as well, and also kept the curious from seeing the lights of their fires.

Zara, called The Blade or simply Zara Blade, lay back in her brass tub with a faint slosh of that steaming water. It was significantly too small for her tall, muscular frame, but the blonde woman made do with what she could steal, and nothing larger had come down any of the trade roads. Thus, even with her arms draped over the near edge, her legs sprawled over the opposite rim, letting tiny rivulets of water course over the smooth, bronzed skin of her limbs, to patter on the woven straw mat below.

As she lay back in that tub, she let her thoughts wander. At first to pleasant things, but then to the situation her band found itself in. They hadn't had a great deal of luck of late, and funds were running low. She could only maintain loyalty through strength of arm for so long before her fellows would become restless.

Ingley wasn't exactly a major hub of trade, and pickings were slim at the best of times. Zara stared upward at the peaked roof of the tent above, which was mostly dark. For the hundredth time, she considered proposing that they move camp closer to the capital. Greater prey would mean more profit, but there was the matter of better armed patrols. The last thing that they needed to do was run afoul of the King's Men.

A commotion outside interrupted Zara's thoughts, and she turned her gaze lazily to the flap of her tent. No doubt some drunken revelry had turned to a potentially deadly quarrel. Violent men plied with strong ale were prone to taking the barest of imagined slights as grounds for drawn blades. She was certain it was nothing her lieutenant couldn't handle.

With a sigh, the tall blonde hoisted herself out of the tub, letting that water course down her powerful frame. She picked up a rough rag to wipe herself down, and was still nude when the flap of her tent was disturbed. Silence had fallen outside, which she had taken as the aftermath of her lieutenant's intervention into whatever had disrupted the celebration, but as moments stretched on, it seemed something else was up.

"Lady Blade," Her lieutenant's soft, high voice drifted in, overly formal as always. "One of the men watching the wizard's house has returned."

One of the men. She had sent a proper band to watch the place, they should have been able to deal with anything they ran across. A week ago, one of her men had overheard the sage's wife ordering goods from the capital. Silks, spices, things of luxury that the young sage heaped upon his pretty bride. It was too tempting a target not to try for, despite what she knew of the wizard's home. So for the last week she'd had men watching the place, with orders to intercept the shipment. What could possibly have gone wrong?

"I'll be right out." Zara's response was gruff, and she tugged a tunic and snug pair of leggings on. It wasn't long before she stepped out beside her lieutenant.

Cordelia was her name, and where Zara was taller than most of the local men, and as strong as any of them, her lieutenant was a delicate flower of a girl, at least if one got past the blades. Ever formal, Cordelia clad herself in finely tailored black clothes when she wasn't wearing her dyed black leathers. Her shock of short red hair was kept trimmed close, and she usually wore a scarf of black silk to hide features that were too fine, too noble for a proper bandit. Her enchanted daggers were sheathed at either hip, never far from her reach. 

She was from the capital, that much Zara knew, but hadn't bothered to press for more information. The little scrapper was deadly with her blades, and had saved her life innumerable times since their meeting. Cordelia was, in Zara's estimation, the most loyal of her band without question.

Cordelia held one of Zara's own swords ready for her when the blonde bandit queen finally did exit her tent. Zara snatched it away, and belted it about her waist as she sauntered out.

The rest of her men, and the vast majority were indeed men, had fallen quiet, and stood staring at one of the bandits assigned to watch the sage's house. By coincidence, it was another of the few women in her band, a girl by the name of Kat. She looked winded, her own mask tugged down, her hood cast back to let her dark hair fall in a tangled mass past her shoulders.

"Blade," like many of her fellows, Kat preferred not to use the titles Cordelia had assigned Zara. "Bad news. The others, they're dead."

Zara tensed, her jaw set and her hands fisted. She was confused, and confusion always made her angry. "What? How? Were you done in by simple merchant guards?"

"N-no. There were three men, two on horses, one on foot. In the dark, we couldn't make them out too well. We never really had a chance to determine whether they were a threat or even the ones that we were waiting for. They noticed us, and we were forced to spring the ambush early.

"One of them was the smith's apprentice, Hafred, but the other two, they were armored and armed. One was clad in blackened mail, older and with dark, shaggy hair. The other was younger, more lightly armored, but it had to be enchanted, for I saw a shot that was dead set bounce off the very air. His sword glowed in the night as well. I heard them call him Prince, and Your Majesty."

Zara's blood ran cold for a moment, and her eyes widened. "T..the Prince? Here?"

Before she could ask more, however, Cordelia stepped forward. She demanded in a cold tone, "The older man with the Prince, describe him."

"W-well it was dark, and-"

"I said," Zara's lieutenant spoke with an uncharacteristic harshness, "Describe him."

Kat did her best to describe what she had seen of the man, and it seemed to satisfy Cordelia, who simply nodded grimly.

"Black Dog Rufus, second in command of the King's Men and personal bodyguard of Prince Cantrol. You're lucky to get away alive. He's a hero of the realm and a devastating warrior."

Zara's brows raised as she watched Cordelia's reactions to the news. "You seem to know quite a bit about him."

"Let's just say that we have a great deal of history. Lady Blade, if the Prince is in the area, it means that at least some of the King's Men will be with him. Do you think that we have been found out?"

The Bandit Queen thought, for just a moment, then shook her head. "There's no reason they should be seeking us. And if they're seeking help from the sage, their business must be more important than mere bandits." A slow smile spread across her lips, "Perhaps much, much more important." She waved Kat away, "Go rest, get any wounds tended to."

As the woman ran off to join the others, Cordelia stepped in toward Zara. Her own voice fell to a bare murmur, "I don't like that smile, Lady Blade. What are you thinking?"

"I'm wondering, my dear, whether a Prince's ransom could be held in one wagon, or two?"

Her words obviously irritated the lieutenant, for a dark cloud crossed Cordelia's features. "You can't, my Lady. I beg of you, it's too risky."

"Do you doubt my skill, Cordelia?" The blonde turned to regard the shorter woman, who just shook her head.

"N-no, that's not what I meant. It's just, I don't want to see you harmed."

"We're bandits, Cordelia. Harm and death may be around any corner. But this, this is an opportunity we can't ignore. We've been living on the pickings from an outlying farmer's hold for far too long. With the money we could get for the Prince himself, why, we could leave this all behind. Maybe even go to the Free Cities, travel the world," Her voice took on a dreamy tone.

"Rufus is no push over, my Lady, whatever he is involved in cannot be taken lightly."

Zara clapped one large hand on Cordelia's leather clad shoulder, then gave a light squeeze. "I promise you, I'll be careful. Besides, you'll be the one helping me plan. You'll just have to make sure you catch anything I missed with your usual skill."

It was obvious that her lieutenant was uncomfortable with the idea, but finally she nodded her assent.

"Good, I don't know what I'd do without you." She offered Cordelia a warm smile, which was weakly returned.

Zara turned to guide her lieutenant toward the table near to her own tent. By that time, the revelry had picked up once more, though with a slightly more somber feel. After all, they had just lost a few good men out there. 

"We need to move swiftly. We know the Prince and his bodyguard are out at the Sage's then, and with what, the smith's son? He's got a strong arm, and no doubt old Garn has taught him a thing or two about wielding a blade. Kat said they were the only three."

"Three men, by cover of night," Cordelia mused. "There is no doubt that the Prince would be traveling with a cadre of the King's Men. If they weren't with him, then they'll be stationed in Ingley somewhere."

Zara frowned faintly as she took up a tankard, and filled it from one of the nearby kegs, only to settle down at the table. Cordelia took a few scrolls from a pouch on the table, and began to spread them out. They were crude maps of Ingley Village and the surrounding terrain, used to plan their raids. Zara thrust one finger down at Ingley Manor. "The Prince will be within his rights to demand lodging for his men from the Squire."

Cordelia considered that a moment, and though she nodded, she spoke carefully, as if still settling on her thoughts. "True, but if he's traveling virtually alone, with only his bodyguard and a local guide, the Prince is likely hiding something, and there's only one person out here whom the Prince would bother hiding from."

"The Squire?" Zara's brows rose once more, as she glanced to her lieutenant.

"No one else could pose a threat to his business. If that's the case, then he won't have his men in the manor."

"Which leaves only the Tepid Toad with enough beds."

Zara nodded and steepled her fingers. "We should send a few fellows there, to see how many of the King's Men are there. Then, we just have to find a way to intercept them before they return to town."

Cordelia turned as Zara feel into thought, and waved a few of the men from the nearest table over. She sent them off to the Tepid Toad with their instructions, which earned some grumbling, but they were off soon enough.

"Cordelia," The Bandit Queen frowned as she troubled over where the Prince might be bound. "Have a few runners go to the sage's house as well. If they haven't left yet, we might be able to trail them wherever they are bound. As for the rest, you say this Rufus is a great warrior?"

"Amongst the best in Rasthuri, my Lady."

With a sigh, Zara ran her hands through her hair, before cradling her own head between her palms. "We'll need to prepare the rest of the men, then. If he's as skilled as you say, we'll need them all. We can get a sense for where they're headed, then have the men head to cut them off all together."

There was hesitancy in Cordelia's words, "I think that might work. Maybe. But what then?"

"One thing at a time," Zara shot a grin to her worried little lieutenant. "We'll get them in hand first, and see how many we have left," A grim feeling settled into the pit of her stomach, as she turned her eyes back over the bandits feasting about them. If this Rufus worried Cordelia as much as she appeared to be, it was a certainty that a number of them would not live to see the plan's completion.

Something caught Zara's eye, however. A lone figure, heavily cloaked and hooded, walked out from the eaves of the woods. There had been no alarm from the sentries, whoever it was stalked unaccompanied right in amongst the feasting bandits. Zara had no recollection of seeing anyone like that.

Cordelia followed her gaze, then rose to her own feet, one slender hand fell to a hilt of one enchanted dagger. The men grew silent once more, though it was not from concern. No, their gazes turned toward the figure with abject lust.

It was a woman, definitely, and though her features were hidden entirely, her body was not. An elegant black gown hugged her every curve, though long sleeves, high gloves, and tall boots masked any sign of flesh. She moved with an almost serpentine sway, and though the inky shadows of the woman's hood obscured any sign of her features, Zara still got the distinct impression that eyes were fixed upon her. A shiver ran down her spine.

Cordelia took a few steps forward, and planted her lean form between the woman and Zara, as if she were protecting the much more imposing Bandit Queen by her very presence. "Halt, who goes there?"

"I seek the one who calls herself The Blade." The voice which hissed from that drawn cowl was intoxicating. It was like the whisper of wind through tree branches, or the slither of a serpent through dry leaves.

Zara wanted to hear more of it, so she called forth, "I am she. What is your name?"

"My Lady, be on your guard," Cordelia's own tone grew cold once more. "It is an Enchantress."

The Bandit Queen frowned at that news, "How do you know?"

"My name is unimportant," The woman in black spoke up once more, not waiting for Cordelia's answer. She stepped forward, heeled boots carried her ever closer toward where Zara sat and Cordelia stood. The men which should have been eager to put such a bold stranger in her place instead parted before her, giving her a wide berth.

"Don't come any closer." Cordelia drew both of her blades smoothly. There was a soft hiss as the enchanted steel came into view. Each blade glowed a faint green, and dripped a sickly greenish fluid from its point, like a pair of matching serpent's fangs ready to strike.

The woman did stop, and that hooded head turned to stare at Cordelia instead. Zara felt her head clearing. The woman's voice sounded more sinister than inviting now.

"Well, well. A little puppy trying to defend her master. How quaint."

Cordelia faltered at those words, though Zara wasn't certain why. They had both certainly been called worse in their time. Still, the plucky little redhead recovered her courage in an instant.

"Why have you come here? And do not try your charms here. I know what you are, Enchantress." This time, Cordelia spat the word out accusingly.

"I told you. I wish to speak with the one called The Blade. I have a proposition." The black clad woman's hands folded before her, and she approached no further.

"As I said," Zara felt the need to take control of the situation once more. "I am her. What do you want of me?"

The Enchantress turned her shrouded gaze to Zara, and nodded once, "Tonight, a pair of young women will be traveling along the path from Ingley Village to the Squire's Manor. One is the Squire's daughter Marissa, one a silly little barmaid named Jenrea. I would like you to capture them for me. I will pay well, Zara Blade."

At the last, Zara shot a glance to Cordelia. Still, her lieutenant looked uneasy, so in usual form, the Bandit Queen barreled ahead. "Just how much will you pay, Enchantress?"

The black clad woman held up a small pouch in one hand. Where she had produced it, none could tell. Cordelia tightened her grip on her venomous blades at the sudden movement. Lazily, the Enchantress just tipped the pouch over, and a cascade of perhaps three dozen golden coins fell to the ground. They bounced and tumbled, glittering in the firelight as they came to rest in a broad circle at the woman's feet.

"Consider this a down payment. You'll receive another pouch of like amount for each of the women you capture, Jenrea, Marissa, preferably both."

Zara swallowed nervously. It certainly was no Prince's ransom, but it was enough to keep her men happy and content for months on end. She nodded slowly "Alright, we will see what we can do."

Cordelia glared across to Zara, "Lady Blade, she's an Enchantress, they are not to be trusted. They are wicked creatures, who toy with men's minds."

"And we're thugs who threaten and murder for money. But I will take your concerns into consideration," Zara spoke in what she hoped was a whisper, but feared the shadow shrouded woman would hear her anyway. "We'll keep an eye on her."

Frustrated, Cordelia just whipped her own gaze back to the Enchantress. The laugh that the mysterious woman gave voice to was chilling, to say the least. She turned and began to stalk back through the encampment, passing men and a few women who still stood enthralled. None made any attempt to stop her progress. Cordelia did advance as the other woman retreated, staring daggers at her back.

Zara rubbed her hands together as she let her gaze fall to the coins on the ground. When it rained, it certainly poured. She wasn't certain whether she could spare enough men to do that little side project, but perhaps if she saw to it personally, it could be managed.

"Oh, one other thing." Once more the Enchantress spoke. Though she was near the tree line, and her voice was hardly more than a hissing murmur, it still managed to reach Zara's ears with unnatural clarity.

"I believe that one of the girls in question is one of my kind. Her powers have simply not awakened yet."

Zara and Cordelia both stared at the woman there near the edge of the woods. The idea that either Jenrea or Marissa was some sort of supernatural being, capable of twisting minds for their own amusement was ludicrous at best. If it was true, though, it certainly put a twist in any plans they might make.

With that, the woman disappeared into the shadows amongst the trees. Cordelia practically trembled as she sheathed her blades, then spun in place. She approached Zara with long strides, her features twisted in anger.

"Why did you do that? We don't need gold enough to tangle with the likes of her!" Her tone, her approach sent another hush through the ranks of men that were still recovering from the Enchantress's presence. It was the first time that her lieutenant had spoken with her with such vehemence before the rest of them.

"What would you have me do, Cordelia? We can't hope to challenge someone like that without a plan? What would you have done if I had rejected her and she enthralled our fellows? Would you have cut your way through them all to take her out?"

The Bandit Queen's words sent a soft murmur through the bandits about them, and seemed to bring even Cordelia to a halt.

"I don't know," she finally admitted, "but I have a terrible, terrible feeling about this, Lady Blade."

"So do I, but capturing a few village girls wandering the roads at night shouldn't be that challenging. It won't detract from our main goal."

Cordelia sighed in defeat, "You still intend to go after the Prince as well? And what if one of those simple village girls turns out to have the power to twist minds?"

"That's why you and I shall be going after Jenrea and Marissa," Zara spoke with a certain finality.

"You and I? My Lady?" Cordelia was still incredulous, but the tone of challenge was gone from her.

"Indeed. You showed yourself remarkably resilient in the face of that Enchantress, though I don't know how you managed to resist her words. Would a less skilled one be more of a challenge?" The tall blonde raised a single brow, as if daring Cordelia to question her again.

The red haired lieutenant shook her head hurriedly "No, my Lady. I will be able to resist them. We can certainly capture them ourselves."

Zara laughed and nodded, "So it is settled, then. Send those men to watch the Sage's house. The rest of you, be ready to move on a moment's notice. Cordelia and I will go fetch the girls and bring them back here. We can keep them tied up while we then head out to act on wherever our scouts tell us the Prince is heading. Tonight, we'll capture a Squire's daughter and the Prince of the realm!"




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 05



After a moment's uncertainty, the men began to cheer. There was a chaotic scramble, as many half drunk bandits began to prepare for the night ahead. What had been a time of feasting had turned in but a few minutes into a night of action.

As Cordelia slipped off to go arrange the specifics, Zara cast her mind to the task ahead. She figured if either of the girls was an Enchantress in the making, it had to be Marissa. She certainly had the spoiled, irritable temperament for it. As for Jenrea, Zara had no idea why the shrouded woman would want her captured as well, but she wasn't complaining.

The Bandit Queen had seen Jenrea on her rare visits to the inn. The girl was certainly sweet to look upon, and silly as she was, Zara was looking forward to having her around. She traced her tongue over her lower lip as she imagined Jenrea bound at the foot of her cot. It certainly would be worthwhile, and perhaps she could work out a way to keep the barmaid for her own. The thought alone had her body warming in anticipation.

Zara stalked back into her tent, and began to gather up her armor. She slipped the studded leather on, and laced it up snugly, then swept up her knives, her other sword, her crossbow, her ropes and nets. She didn't want to take any chances, though she was painfully aware that she needed to capture the girls alive. The road was close enough to the village and the manor that they might risk encountering any number of patrols or village watch.

She was still deciding how much of her arsenal to bring with her when the flap to her tent opened once more. Cordelia poked her head in, and spoke softly, "My Lady, everything is ready."

The blonde turned and looked to Cordelia. She recalled how upset her lieutenant had been at her decisions that night, and troubled her. Zara certainly didn't want to offend her closest companion there. She stepped in close, then spoke in a gentle tone, "I hope that you are not angry over what I have chosen to do this night."

Cordelia shook her head hurriedly. "Oh no, Lady Blade. I am your humble servant. I will do anything that you ask of me, it is just that I am worried about what might happen to you, if my worst fears are realized."

With a smile, Zara reached up to caress her cheek. "I know, Cordelia. I am counting on you to keep me safe, as always."

The redhead closed her eyes, and leaned into Zara's touch. "I shall do my best, as always, My Lady."

A soft chuckle rose from the taller woman's chest, then she dipped her head, to capture her lieutenant's lips with her own. The smaller woman went wide eyed for a moment, then returned the kiss with a gentle whimper. Zara couldn't get over how sweet Cordelia always managed to taste.

When the kiss was finally broken, Cordelia gazed up to her with a rich blush. Her modest chest rose and fell with quickened breaths. She wet her lips with a flick of her tongue, before speaking in a soft tone, "We should really be on our way."

Zara watched Cordelia's eyes, and it took all of her effort to resist a momentary impulse to drag the smaller woman back into her tent and forget her plans for that night. Instead, the Bandit Queen dived back down for another, lingering kiss.

Cordelia melted in against her form, and those delicate hands, so skilled with her daggers, instead came up to trace along Zara's sides. As they had so often in the past, they caressed over the taller woman's powerful figure, then laid gently on her shoulders. It was with a reluctant push that her lieutenant drew back.

Breathlessly, the redhead murmured against her lips, "Let's be on our way then, My Lady. Time waits for no one."

Zara the Blade grinned, and nodded once. Her wants would have to wait for now. Without a word, the two women slipped into the darkness of the woods, leaving the rest of the bandits to follow the instructions Cordelia had left.



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 06



For over an hour, Hafred led his highborn companions through woods that would be difficult to navigate even by the light of day. The pervasive darkness of the night and the fact that he had now trod further under those trees than he had ventured in many a year did not bode well for his sense of direction. Yet there were subtle signs that he was on the right track. An old, dry streambed offered a clue where higher ground might lie, and he followed it upward, ever upward to where the trees thinned and the ground grew steep and rocky. The ridgeline from which the Broken Stone jutted forth had fewer trees than the surrounding woods, and soon the sky opened up above them, offering a clear view of the stars and moon. The Broken Stone was a dark blot, a void of blackness against an otherwise bejeweled canvas.

With less foliage, the cool night's breeze passed freely amongst the trio, tousling Hafred's hair as it carried the chirrups of night insects, and the faint squeaking and clicking of bats as they swarmed through the air on their nightly hunt. From time to time, Hafred could have sworn he saw distant fire amongst the trees, in the midst of the forest on the opposite side of the ridge from the village. When it was brought to their attention, however, neither Lord Rufus nor Prince Cantrol seemed in the slightest bit interested.

As they approached the Broken Stone, the silvery moon peeked out from a skidding cloud. The wan light it cast only made the scene before them all the more ominous. The stone loomed as a dark specter above the hilltop, easily five times the height of a man. Around its base, a blood red soil stood out stark from the surrounding grassy terrain. Nothing grew in that patch of ground, as if nature itself had rejected the unsettling chunk of glistening gray rock.

From afar, the Broken Stone appeared an uneven, jagged outcropping weathered by natural phenomena. In such close proximity, however, its true nature became clear. The ragged outline it presented to the distant eye was not due to actual breakage, but rather to the numerous figures carved in bas relief along its surface. The relentless toll of the elements had worn most of the features from the individual figures, but the general shape was that of a mass of humanoids, writhing about one another in torment or ecstasy, and stretching their arms out in pleading gestures.

Despite the bulk of the figures on the rock being human, there was a certain inhumanity about the shape of the monument as a whole, as if those tortured beings represented over its surface simply concealed some manner of creature beneath. Something which, if it were to scale with the human figures that covered it, would stand well over a hundred feet high. Here and there, the unwholesome glint of a sickly slick looking yellow stone peeked out from the gray facade, like glistening amber eyes peering out from the mass of misery.

It was an unsettling sight, a hideous tribute to some dark god from ages past, and the suffering displayed by the weathered figures spoke of the malevolence of whatever creature had inspired that alien artifact.

"By the gods, what a monstrous memorial." The Prince's whisper was breathless, but so still was the air at that point that he could be heard readily. Rufus hastened to put himself and his horse between the Stone and his lord, as if the object were some mortal threat. A thing that might come alive at any moment.

Hafred fidgeted as he stood near the edge of the red soil, a line upon the ground which he dared not cross. Of all the talk of enchantresses and witches, of all the strange things he had seen at the sage's house, this horrid structure disturbed him most. For the first time, he regretted having the idea he might take up with the King's Men. "I think," he began in a soft tone, "if anyone had known this is what the Stone truly looked like, it might have been torn down long ago."

Rufus nodded grimly, then turned his eyes away from the stone, and toward the shadowy forest which lurked further down the slopes of the hill to all sides, as if too timid to approach the stone properly. "I do not see this Grove which Crow spoke of."

It was dark indeed, and even without the shadows of night, it would be difficult to tell whether any of the surrounding forest was especially thicker than the rest. A certain sense of dread settled over the smith's apprentice. Had they come all that way for nothing?

With a heavy heart and weary sigh, Hafred shook his head. "If only we could get up higher, maybe we could spot something from above."

As soon as the words left his lips, the young man regretted them. A skulking, sidelong glance confirmed he'd earned the stares of both Rufus and Prince Cantrol. Without a word, Hafred turned his eyes back up to the dreadful stone looming above.

The arrow wound at his back gave a twinge of protest just looking up at it.

"I think that's a fine idea," Cantrol started.

"Indeed. It shows initiative, bravery, ingenuity," Rufus continued. "Good luck on your climb, Hafred. Make us proud."

Hafred's shoulders slumped with the weight of resignation. There was no way he could avoid the task the two men he was so looking to impress had set him, when they spoke so directly. He offered a numb nod to the two, before daring to cross the line of red soil surrounding the base of that terrible monument. A deep, unnatural sense of primal dread filled him as he did, though he could not place the source. For a long moment, he stood in the moon-cast shadow of the vilely carved stone, holding his breath and expecting the worst.

After all too many beats of his racing heart, Hafred realized that he hadn't burst into flames. Nothing had reached from the darkness to smite him down, the world kept turning about him. He lifted his gaze and exhaled slowly.

A last glance back confirmed that the others hadn't dared cross the boundary of the red soil circle, leaving him alone to brave whatever the Broken Stone may hold. There was a hint of pity in Lord Rufus's expression, but also a certain scrutiny. It seemed that this was to be a test as surely as anything the prince's bodyguard might have thought up himself.

Hafred turned back toward the grim stone, then made his way around the base with careful steps. Eventually, he came to a more gently sloped side, though it would still be quite a task to haul himself up the face of it. With a shift of that satchel which contained potions and a meal that his belly even then grumbled for, he cleared his arms and began his ascent.

The carved human figures littering the stone made for easy handholds, but the texture of the stone itself was unpleasant. Smooth-worn by the weather of untold centuries, and somewhat slimy to the touch, the carvings were somehow warm, as if still radiating some ghostly remnant of the heat of the day which should have been long quenched by the night's hours.

His back gave a twinge each time he lunged upward, though the pain soon faded to a dull throbbing. Up along the sloped surface of the monument he went. Hands gripped moist, slick figures, and the breeze intensified as he clambered up beyond the level of the trees which lined the ridge. Hafred thought he saw movement amongst the figures which he was so reliant on for purchase, but put such fantasies out of his mind, lest he miss a beat in his climb. Besides, the impression that those figures might actually be writhing under his grasp was less unsettling than the fact that the amber gemstone eyes staring up from beneath them were all the more evident the longer he looked at them.

Fortunately for him, he was able to put such thoughts out of his mind, at least until he got near to the top of the stone. But then, just as he was high enough that a fall would most certainly result in broken bones, disaster struck.

While Hafred was looking to the stone to pick his next handhold, one of those balefully staring eyes blinked. The action was unmistakable, something he couldn't write off as his imagination.

His cry was stifled only by a sudden terror and revulsion. He froze there against the side of the stone monument, paralyzed between fear of the very thing he had climbed and the terrible descent awaiting if he should let go. Below him, the dark haired Rufus mistook his sudden hesitation for having spotted some clue of their destination. 

The older knight called upward, "Well? Which direction is it?"

The call was enough to break the spell of terror that those upward staring, living yellow eyes had instilled within the young man. He forced his own gaze upward, and out over the surrounding canopy of trees, not expecting to see much. Fortune, however, was with him, for not far to the north he spotted a place where the trees grew ever taller and thicker, and something disturbed the foliage there. The corner of a stone wall, the edge of a tile roof, and a dip amongst the trees indicating some sort of obstruction all told of the presence of some sort of structure amongst the ancient trunks, however ruined it might be.

Hafred raised one hand, and pointed in the direction of the ruin. "T...there, I think. It's not far at all."

"Right then," Rufus called up once more, "come on back down, easy now." As if the youth needed any encouragement to abandon that hateful perch.

The smith's apprentice began his descent, shuddering whenever he caught sight of those eyes. This time, however, it was not just the shifting stare of the eyes he had to worry about, but also the visible writhing and grasping of the carvings. Tiny hands reached out toward him, little limbs twined and clutched at his fingers as he made his way down. It was as if the statue, or whatever it was, was reluctant to let him depart.

The unnatural horror of the living monument was but the capstone of a night that had been filled with magic and terror in equal measure. At any other time, Hafred would have shrieked and leapt to his doom, but with the Prince and his bodyguard watching every movement he made, pride itself kept him from screaming out at the movements under his hand. It was a tenuous thread of sanity to cling to.

Whispers and visions assaulted his senses, and though he was unsure whether the others could make them out, their presence was distracting enough that Hafred couldn't risk finding out. It took his full concentration to focus through the images, through the dozens, hundreds of hissing voices assailing his mind. Hand after hand, foot after foot he made his way down.

He couldn't understand the language they spoke, but the meaning rang clear in his mind. Champion, they called him, but he didn't understand what he was supposed to be the champion of. Some order of knights, of protectors, that much at least was clear. The images swirling within his mind were distressing and puzzling. He saw himself, in the uniform of the King's Men, sword in hand. Then again, in some unknown armor. He saw Jenrea, luxuriously clad in a crimson gown, her face cold and her skin pale. There was a vision of a lone, crumbling stone spire in a tangled wood, then darker scenes. Creatures of shadow skulked through city streets toward some great and glorious castle. Fires stained the night sky red, and then a great winged shadow reared up in the sky, blotting out stars and moon with a sinuous neck and clawed, spread wings.

It was only when Hafred's booted foot touched the ground that the images faded, and he saw too that the eyes and the animated figures had ceased their movements. He trembled like a leaf, and the prince and his knight watched him with some concern.

"Are you alright, boy?" Rufus rumbled the words out, his eyes fixed upon him with concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Hafred certainly felt like he'd seen a ghost. He was in a cold sweat, his entire body shook, and he knew he must be pale as the moon above. Still, he waved the knight's concerns off. The last thing he needed was for them to think him some superstitious bumpkin.

Though it seemed as if Rufus was going to press the matter, the prince unexpectedly saved him with a sudden call.

"Ho there, someone moves near the trees!"

Hafred and Rufus turned their gaze where Prince Cantrol pointed, but little could be seen besides shadows. However, just as he was about to give up, the youth did see a glimpse of movement. A form, hidden and shrouded in darkness, just a wisp of curved body disappearing back into the trees. It seemed a womanly form, but he couldn't be certain.

"It's gone in the direction you said the grove was," Rufus sounded grim, but at least he confirmed that Hafred hadn't been seeing things.

"Let's be on our way then." The Prince seemed more curious than resolute, his own eyes still peered off after where the figure had vanished.

Although the distance was short, the terrain drew the hike out for another half an hour, through rugged slopes and ditches, and tangled undergrowth. The trees about them grew ever taller, ever broader, until Hafred doubted that any of them could circle the base of any one trunk with both arms. Thick foliage above swallowed the moon and starlight alike, plunging them into a perpetual midnight. The deepened darkness did little to quell the terror that the Stone's unnatural qualities had left him with, and soon Hafred was jumping at every little unexpected movement amongst the trees.

And despite his paranoia, he knew that there was in fact something out there. Something shadowy that kept pace with them amongst the trees, something all three of them had seen while still at the clearing. Now, amidst the gloom, it was harder than ever to make out what was real and what was imagined, what was a threat and what might just be the trees themselves.

At some point, the Prince drew his enchanted sword, and the magical light cast by the blade peeled back the curtain of gloom somewhat. It wasn't much, perhaps half the strength of a proper torch, but compared to the pitch blackness it was a welcome boon.

Although the glow made movement through the tangled undergrowth somewhat easier, Hafred was anything but pleased. For one, it was certain that the shine marked them as targets to anything that might be lurking there in the shadows. Such a light might be seen from a great distance amongst the twilight eaves of those ancient trees. There was also the matter that the steady shine from the enchanted blade lacked the flicker and dance of proper torchlight. This made it all the more difficult to rationalize the shifting shadows that seemed to flutter at the edge of vision.

The first signs that the grove was once inhabited came in the form of a few scattered stones, remnants of a short wall that had long been toppled. But a few yards further, the towering trees began to give way to what might once have been an open yard. Now, a tangled riot of wild-grown herbs and shrubs gone to weeds competed for space amongst widely separated stepping stones. The stones themselves still formed a reasonably navigable pathway from wall to building.

The building itself loomed amongst the trees, but had obviously fallen to the inexorable claim of nature. Stone walls and wooden beams jutted here and there, though more still had tumbled under the weight of vines and fallen branches. The building stones were scorched here and there, as were many of the beams, telltale signs that the structure had suffered a fire in the distant past. Indeed, even after so many years, the faint scent of ash and charcoal hung in the air, as well as something vaguely flowery.

First Rufus, then Cantrol dismounted, and joined Hafred in his inspection of the silent property. It had clearly been abandoned for some time, and though the house itself had long fallen, enough walls remained that a search would be time consuming. Vines clung to inner and outer walls alike, and small trees and shrubs sprung up through the charred flooring visible within. Here and there, the floor itself had collapsed into a cellar below.

The three men stood in silence for a long while, before the Prince sighed a heavy sigh. "Well, this must be the place. I doubt we'll find the witch alive here."

"Perhaps she had some records that might help," Hafred offered, an idea coming to him. "If witches and enchantresses are often enemies, would it not follow that she had some way to track their kind? Or at the very least some knowledge of their movements?"

"That's... actually not a half bad idea," Rufus admitted, then nodded to the ruins, "We should split up and cover more ground" He then bowed to the Prince, "My lord, you should wait near the front here, I shall search the upper ruins and keep you in sight."

The prince nodded assent, then both men turned their eyes to the smith's apprentice.

"I guess that leaves the cellar to me?" Hafred asked, though he wasn't at all disappointed. Indeed, after his encounter with the Broken Stone, he still felt ill at ease. Perhaps putting some ground above him would help give him a sense that he could somehow avoid its distant gaze. Then again, even the thickest trees certainly hadn't helped in that regard. He knew for a fact that the top of the monument could see where they stood.

Hafred took his leave of the other two after confirming his guess, and trod around the side of the ruin, in search of some way down that didn't involve leaping into the darkness. The scattered walls of the ruined building soon obscured the light of the Prince's sword, leaving naught but a scattered reflection and the light of the stars above, freed of the interference which the thick foliage of the dense forest around them would provide. Old leaves and tangled vines crunched under each step he took, and he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

It was a sense that stalked him even as he put the remains of those stone walls between himself and that distant monument. Those eyes upon him seemed to come from the darkness itself, from the shadows amongst the eaves of the trees, or even from the ground below.

Knowing that the others were but a call away was of no help, and as he searched through the underbrush and gloom, a thought occurred to the young man. If he did find a way beneath the ruined house, it must certainly be even darker below.

The floor of the house itself had collapsed in places, and surely that must allow even the dim light of the stars in, for though such a fall would play havoc upon a human leaping down, light itself had no limitations. Hafred laughed softly, nervously, at his own earlier fear.

A gentle, tittering giggle rose from the shadows about him in answer.

Hafred whipped about so swiftly that he once more strained that still bound arrow wound, and one hand fell to the hilt of his long knife. There was naught to be seen, only the slowly fading scent of some flowery perfume lingered in the air nearby.

With a shake of his head, he pressed on, though now his senses were far more acute. He thought he heard soft footsteps, the ever present echo of his own heavier ones. And then he caught that subtle aroma of some night's flower once more. Each time he paused, but nothing tangible ever revealed itself.

At last, however, his search uncovered the stone lip of the cellar entrance. The doors had long since been broken away, whether by fire or the elements he could not be certain, and vines and weeds choked the upper steps so that the unwary might very well miss the opening. Indeed, it was only through fortune's favor that Hafred didn't go tumbling headfirst down into the depths.

The moonlight above gleamed off of the blade of his knife as he drew it forth. A few quick cuts cleared the worst of the vines from the worn, dirt-scattered steps, and Hafred began his descent. The cellar below the house was unlike any simple storage he had ever seen. Even taking into account the large beams which had fallen from above, the best guess the inexperienced youth could come up with was that the place had once been some sort of laboratory. Shattered equipment lay here and there, old tomes moldered away, heavily damaged by water which had once flooded the chamber. Indeed, it still pooled deeply here and there across the floor.




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 06



The light of the prince's glowing sword scattered down from above, and mingled with the moon and starlight shining down through the shattered ceiling to produce strange shadows. For a moment, it appeared as if they were dancing about, leaping from fallen bookshelf to tumbled wall, resting here and there on broken cabinets and upturned tables.

Amidst the faint echoes of the movements of the men above, there was something else. A soft, feminine voice that was hardly above a whisper. Someone, or something, was down there with him.

Hafred drew himself up short, and strained to listen. For a moment, he thought of calling for the others, but there was little he could tell them without a definite idea of what might be lurking amongst the shadows. Just as he thought he might be able to make out what that whisper was saying, Rufus's voice rose higher from above. The words were lost, but it was definitely a tone of surprise, if not alarm.

"Shh, worry not, dear boy," This time, the voice was clearly audible, no mere whisper. Her sultry tones were inviting, alluring. "My sister and I mean no harm."

In the darkness at the far end of the cellar-laboratory, a subtle movement caught his eye. A woman's figure stepped forth, but she was difficult to focus on. Rather than a clear image, she resembled little more than a shapely silhouette of slightly denser, darker shadows. Darkness itself cloaked her form, like a silken shroud.

"W...who are you? What are you?" Fear began to grasp at Hafred's heart, yet he stood his ground, his knife clutched in a white knuckled grasp.

"Oh dear, dear boy. We will not hurt you. I am Elthyne, a nymph of shadow." Hafred did not find the words reassuring.

She turned in place, and lifted something from the darkness behind her. It was a woven wicker baby's basket, showing signs of being singed. Carefully, she stooped and placed it in the stagnant water that covered the floor. With a gentle push, she sent it floating and bobbing toward him. He let his eyes follow the empty cradle as it drifted ever nearer.

"You are the first to visit our mistress's home since that bitch enchantress and her thrall came, all those years ago."

At the mention of an enchantress, Hafred's eyes shot up to the shadowy woman, "Your mistress? And was this enchantress from Ingley?"

"Our mistress was the Witch of Dark Grove, a few years shy of two decades past, a foul enchantress came and slew her." There was a definite sadness in Elthyne's tone, and despite the fear of facing such a supernatural creature as the shadow woman must be, Hafred felt for her sorrow.

"She was not from Ingley, though she had a man from that village with her. A brute of a man, he slew my mistress and burned her home. It was all that my sister and I could do to save the child."

Hafred's gaze drifted back down to the basket. "A child?"

The shadowy woman nodded, slowly pacing along the edge of the shallow, murky pool which separated them. "Mistress had a daughter. We were told to save her, to take her to the village, and find her a good home. We stayed here thereafter, that we might teach her the ways of her blood when she was old enough. But she never came, she never heeded the call."

The smith's apprentice furrowed his brows. Elthyne's story certainly was interesting, and there was a certain ring of truth to it. He wasn't certain how, but something deep within urged him to believe those words. Slowly, he sheathed his knife, forcing himself to relax. Something tugged at his mind, however. Of all the girls and women he knew in the village, only two fit the story of having been a foundling. One was the treacherous, spoiled brat which the squire had taken in.

The other was Jenrea.

For a moment, the thought that Jenrea might be a witch sent his heart racing, but something else, that same sense within which had urged him to believe the shadow woman seemed to disagree with the idea. It rang hollow in his mind. It couldn't be true.

"Miss," He began, with careful words, "We have come seeking clues as to where we might find an enchantress. Perhaps this one you speak of is the one we search for?"

His question was answered with a sharp hiss, then in a softer tone the shadow clad woman swiftly added, "I doubt this is the case. The enchantress I speak of was from far away, and it was a long time ago. Further, I can't imagine anyone actively seeking her out. She was a dark and twisted woman."

The smith's apprentice frowned in thought, and was just about to ask more of what the shadow woman knew, when more sounds from above caught his ear. This time, there was the clatter of a sword to the ground, then the scrape of metal buckles across steel plates. Without being able to see what was happening, he feared the worst. Hafred turned and hastily made his way back to the stairway up.

With a heavy sigh, the shadow nymph followed. When she moved, her feet barely brushed the surface of the water. It was only enough to cause faint ripples to emanate from where each delicate sole fell. The shadows were more defined when she passed through the moonlight, clinging to her shapely figure like gauzy black silk. Hafred was too distracted, too worried to really enjoy the view.

Hafred paid the woman little mind as he lurched up the worn, weathered stone steps, and crashed through the underbrush beyond. He wheeled about toward the nearest tumbled wall, and in an instant his long knife was in his hand. A sweeping slash cleared a curtain of leafy vines away, and he ducked within.

Elthyne was close on his heels, moving barefoot through the rubble and tangled plants with a preternatural silence and ease. She might as well have been Hafred's own shadow, albeit a much more shapely version, so closely did she follow him.

As he ducked under the archway, the scene before him brought him to a full stop. The Prince was nowhere to be seen, but then again he likely was waiting out front still. Instead, another nymph cloaked in shadow was draped about Lord Rufus, where he stood near a ruined wall across the gaping chasm that used to be the interior floor. Unlike the woman who had accompanied Hafred from the basement, her shadows were drawn away as if they were a veil, exposing dark, rich skin that seemed woven from shadow itself. She was, in a word, beautiful. Radiantly so.

Rufus's armor was in disarray, the straps unfastened, the plates drawn back to expose the dark leather beneath, drawn tight over the man's broad chest. He appeared to be in a daze, his expression torn between longing and suspicion. His arms grasped the woman's shoulders, though his own touch seemed gentle. Clearly, the warrior seemed more concerned with his duty than any threat she might have posed.

As Hafred watched, the other shadow nymph dipped her head, and played soft lips along Rufus's neck, down toward his chest. She spoke in an alluring, half murmured tone that still managed to be comprehensible even at the distance Hafred stood, "You don't know how lonely it is here, all alone." Her hands, dark skinned and tipped with long, tapered nails, traced down along that taut leather, and she visibly trembled as she nuzzled Lord Rufus's chest.

"She's right, in her way," Elthyne's voice startled Hafred out of his shocked stare. "It has been a long time since my sister and I have had company."

Hafred turned his head to her words, only to find her slender arms slipping about his own shoulders. Although she was still clad in those wispy shadows, he could hardly feel them. All he was really aware of was how soft her skin was, how warm she felt as she pressed luxurious curves up against his back. Almost every part of him just wanted to melt into her embrace. Almost.

There was still a nagging doubt, then the image of Jenrea played across his mind's eye, frowning with disappointment at him. It was enough to lend him the strength to pull away from the shadow nymph.

Lord Rufus apparently had no such thoughts, for he slipped his own powerful arms about Elthyne's sister, and drew her in close. The warrior tilted the other nymph's chin up, and he dipped his head to catch her lips fully with his own, in a longing, lingering kiss. The dark skinned nymph arched up against his muscular frame, and her hands settled gingerly about his waist.

"Lord Rufus!" The smith's apprentice cried out in frustration, "What are you doing?" Perhaps the knight didn't realize he was being observed. Surely the man couldn't be so pent up as to forgo their search for a woman. Although he had to admit, the two nymphs were terribly enticing. If he didn't have Jenrea in his heart and thoughts, he certainly could see himself dallying with them.

His call went unanswered. Indeed, Lord Rufus seemed more intent upon Elthyne's sister. His hands slipped down to cup her plush rear, and she lifted one slender leg to hook about his hip. With an easy lift, Rufus drew the nymph from her feet, and turned to press her against one of those crumbling, vine-covered walls.

A quick glance back to Elthyne for help merely confused Hafred more. She stared at him in a mix of mute shock and some degree of fear. He wasn't certain what he had done to cause such a reaction, and a pang of guilt shot through him. "Sorry," the youth apologized for whatever he had unknowingly done, "It's just that we have a job to do."

"One which can merit no distractions, but I think our good Rufus is a lost cause, at least until the nymph is done with him."

Hafred and Elthyne both turned about fully, as Prince Cantrol stepped through the archway behind them. He shrugged casually, and turned his gaze across to the scene opposite them.

Rufus had drawn more of that gauzy shadow away from Elthyne's sister, baring her full breasts to the moonlight. His lips closed hungrily about one nipple, while his hands gripped her hips with a firm grasp. Thick fingers dug in against soft, supple flesh. The nymph's hands were busy as well, unbuckling the knight's leggings, seeking to free him from the prison of leather and armor as best she could. Even with so much of his mail scattered about rather than worn, it was still a time consuming task.

"Once a nymph starts ensnaring a man, little he can do may stop her. Indeed, only the voice of an enchantress might overpower a nymph's wiles, or true love, whatever it might be." Prince Cantrol spoke with a calm, almost lazy tone, and leaned back against the archway through which they had all just passed.

The voice of an enchantress. For a moment, Hafred thought back to his own memory of Jenrea. But there had been no voice involved. Perhaps it was a measure of how much he cared for her, that he had been able to shrug away Elthyne so easily? The thought that what he felt for Jenrea might be the poet's 'true love' brought a blush to his cheeks.

It also explained Elthyne's reactions. Even as he toyed with the idea of Jenrea, the shadow nymph was backing away from him. After what she had told him about what that long ago enchantress had done to their mistress, he could hardly blame her. Hastily, he raised one hand.

"It is the latter, I assure you, miss." He sounded apologetic, as if he wished the nymph's charms had affected him more.

"Indeed," Cantrol added, "He's got a pretty little thing back in the village, waiting for the conquering hero's return." Although the last was spoken with a smirk, Hafred couldn't help but feel that the Prince's teasing was good natured enough.

Elthyne still seemed on edge, but she ceased her retreat. "Sthelyne won't harm him, I promise." Her voice was hardly more than a bare murmur.

Across the void, a soft, cooing cry announced the moment when Elthyne's sister, Sthelyne, finally found her prize. Slender, dark skinned hands fished the older knight's thick length free, and stroked along it with a gentle rhythm. Her hands might have been half hidden by the smooth, silken expanse of her own thigh, but their motions were unmistakable. As was the expression of pleasure creeping across Rufus's usually grim face.

As beautiful as Sthelyne might have been, Hafred was still embarrassed at the scene the two were making. Finding somewhere else to rest his gaze, however, was just as awkward. At first he turned to Elthyne, but she mistook his own glance for renewed interest, and soon her hands slipped up to his shoulders. He shrugged them away with an apologetic smile, before turning back to the Prince.

Cantrol, however, was simply paging through a little black book. Whether he had found it in the ruins or always had it on him, Hafred could not say. He seemed wholly disinterested in the amorous entanglement just those few yards away, but also unwilling to duck back out of sight.

"It's not fair that Sthelyne gets all the fun," Elthyne pouted.

Hafred glanced to Elthyne at her words, anything to keep his mind from the way Sthelyne's slender legs wrapped about Rufus's form, or the way she gasped, then moaned gently as the warrior pressed her up against that ruined wall, undoubtedly sinking deeply into her with that thrust.

"Why don't you, uhm..." The apprentice smith let his words drift off, as he turned his gaze back to the Prince, unsure of whether suggesting the nymph keep the Prince company would be taken the wrong way.

Without looking up from his book, Cantrol waved his hand dismissively. "Before I left the castle, the current court wizard laid a charm on me to keep the fae beings of the woods away. I imagine that she could not approach without permission."

"Oh." It was all Hafred could say on the matter. Magic was still a wondrous thing to him, yet the Prince treated it as just another commodity. For a while, he let his gaze drift back across the gaping chasm between them and the older knight.

By then, the two were wholly locked in the throes of passion. Rufus's powerful arms supported Sthelyne's body, her inky skin glistened in the moonlight. Her back arched, and each driving thrust caused her breasts to bounce and heave. Her full lips parted with each wanton moan, and her nails clawed up along the thin leather which still clung to Rufus's torso, only to grip at his hair. She drew his lips toward one perked, succulent nipple.

With a cough, Hafred hastily turned aside, and began to retreat through the archway. As he went, however, the Prince looked up.

"What, going to leave me here alone with a magical creature of the wild?"

As Hafred stammered over an answer that wouldn't get him into more trouble, Cantrol just laughed and waved his hand again. "She can't touch me, remember? I'll call for help if anything does happen." The rising cries and groans which echoed across the ruins had the prince adding a hasty, "Loudly, most likely, so as to be heard."

So embarrassed was the young smith by the whole exchange, that he rushed out amongst the vines, and sat down upon an old, toppled stone just outside the wall. Elthyne joined him silently, and though she laid one hand gently on his shoulder, to reassure him, she did little else.

With his head in his hands, Hafred listened to the goings on for many minutes, as it passed from a mere pleasurable interlude to what sounded like a sexual frenzy. It had been a strange enough turn of events that he'd completely forgotten to mention what Elthyne had told him, about the Witch and a daughter who might possibly be in the area.

With Lord Rufus enraptured by a fae woman, and Prince Cantrol just allowing things to go forward, Hafred wondered if they would have any luck in their search that night at all. It felt as if he were the only sane man among the three.



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 07



The night thus far had been a decidedly cruel mix of frustration, fear, and fury that had left Marissa on edge. After Isolde had so punished her and humiliated her, the young redheaded woman had not wished to stay one more second under the roof of that accursed manor. Even the squirming, pleading man still bound to her bed could do little to take her mind off of the night's events.

Indeed, the thought that she had no time to release her pent up frustrations on the stable hand only drove her fury to new heights. As she had slipped a fresh dress over her hastily stripped and cleaned form, she fixed her cruel gaze upon Thomas, watching as his muscles clenched, tugging at the bonds which had held him secure for hours now. She was impressed at his persistence, but disappointed when she saw his arousal had long since faded.

The young noble tried to make a show of dressing, though she didn't have the time as it was to make a proper job of it. Even as she rolled her new stockings up her legs one by one, and smoothed the simple, forest green dress she had tugged on over her generous curves, his manhood barely stirred. As she finished tugging the laces of her dress tight about her waist, her expression darkened.

In Thomas's eyes there was no desire, only terror.

"I will be damned," Marissa hissed as she stomped on a pair of soft soled boots, then stalked toward him, "If I will be rejected by a peon like you."

Hafred's obsession with Jenrea, the Prince's rejection, even the Squire's seeming dismissal of her feelings had her blood boiling with indignation. And now this servant, this peasant had the gall to not react to her beauty. She let out a growl of rage, then lashed out one hand toward the bound man.

"You will keep this ready for me at all times, or I will have you whipped and exiled." Her words were a sharp, venomous hiss as she gripped the man's cock.

It pulsed and grew under her hand, but rather than pleasure, a visage of pain twisted Thomas's features. His body arched up against the bonds that held him secure, as he screamed into his gag.

The stable hand's reaction had her releasing his manhood and backing off swiftly. She didn't think she'd been gripping him that hard, and while she certainly wanted to inflict pain, she knew he would be worthless to her if his body was trained to associate her with agony. She stared down at her hand, then went wide eyed. Little white-hot sparks danced from her fingertips, only to fade away as she watched.

Her jade eyes drifted to the rigid member of the stable hand. It was harder and longer than she remembered it ever being. Thicker too. He arched his hips up as if meeting some unknown lover, and whined into the gag. This time it was not in fear or agony, but rather raw desire. His eyes clouded over, and she could see little white sparks dancing here and there along his naked body, coursing over the commoner's flesh to center at the root of his shaft. The sparks soon faded, but the effects did not.

It was Marissa's turn to let a terrified squeak escape. With no idea what had happened, whether it was Thomas or something else bringing such unnatural effects into being, she did the only thing she could think of. She fled.

It was only through sheer luck that she had remembered to put the vial Isolde gave her into the pouch sewn into the waist of the dress she wore, for by the time Marissa's wits returned, she was outside. She leaned on the outer gates of her father's estate, chest heaving and out of breath. The cool night air did much to calm her racing heart, but not her fleeting mind. 

What had happened? It seemed almost like magic. 

Perhaps Thomas was some manner of warlock, but if he were, then surely he would have used his powers to take vengeance upon her long before that night. With a shake of her head, Marissa turned to step back away from the estate. For a moment, just a moment, she thought of running back to warn her father and Isolde.

Then she recalled the torment they had put her through, and decided against it. If he was a warlock bent on using his foul magic to bring the estate down, then she could only hope he took them with him. Or at least Isolde.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and made her way down the worn path toward the cluster of buildings that made up the center of the village. They wanted her to retrieve Jenrea, so she would retrieve the bubble headed bitch. It would keep her far away from any sort of magic, for at least an hour or so.

It was not yet midnight in the Village of Ingley, yet the dirt streets were already deserted, save for the distant twinkling of the lone watchman's torchlight. Marissa knew the way like the back of her hand, though, and feared no man nor bandit. None there would care to pick a fight with the Squire, certainly. She made her way past the shrub-strewn switchback where the path descended acutely, then off through the darkness toward the Tepid Toad.

So focused was she on her goal, that she did not notice the pit in the road until her foot was in it and her ankle twisted. With a shriek, Marissa pitched forward, and fell face first into the muck and grime. Pain lanced up through her ankle, and she immediately withdrew her foot from the sunken hole. As she sat up and rubbed her twisted ankle, she glared into the darkness in the direction of the hole. There was nothing but pain and rage, and no one she could immediately punish for such a thing.

For a moment, moonlight illuminated the hole. It wasn't large, just a deep rut from a wagon's wheel, which must have cut its way through during the last heavy rain. She was certain that if she wasn't so distracted by the misery everyone was heaping on her, she certainly would have noticed it.

Filthy, injured, and alone in the dark, for the first time Marissa felt uncertain. A quick pat down, however, informed her that the vial tucked away at her hip had not broken. She could still proceed with her task, however hobbled she might be. It was with some effort that she got to her feet, and every limping step was an agony, but she continued on her way. She focused all her rage and hatred and frustration together, letting it fuel her, fighting the pain with the red haze it called to mind.

As she limped along, things became easier to see. She wasn't certain whether it was because her eyes were finally adapting, or because somehow the dim shafts of light streaming from the Tepid Toad's windows were helping to illuminate things even at that great distance. It was enough, eventually, to make out a black cat she hadn't noticed before, pacing along beside her.

"Hsss, shoo!" She hissed and waved her hand, trying to frighten the thing off. It only managed to unbalance her on her one good foot, and almost send her down to the ground again.

The thing stared back to her with a strange intelligence, as if it were studying her, or judging her. It was enough to quiet her attempts to send it away. She felt as if she surely didn't wish to be found lacking by a mere cat, such would only complete her degradation that day. So she silently bore its company as she went into town.

By the time Marissa pushed her way into the common room of the Tepid Toad, things had quieted down substantially. Although some of the Prince's men still sat about drinking, there was no sign of the Prince, nor of Garn or Hafred. Fortunately, there was also no sign of that bastard knight that had been hovering about the Prince like a protective hen.

With a heavy sigh, she moved toward the bar with a heavy limp. As she passed, one of the soldiers pushed away from his table, and backed into her. With only one ankle still firm enough to make her way, Marissa began to fall face first again, this time toward an unyielding wooden floor.

She never hit the floor. Instead, something soft and warm muffled her shriek of surprise. Arms slipped about her frame to steady her, and Marissa clung to the slender shoulders of the one who had caught her. When the noblewoman lifted her eyes from that bountiful cleavage, her worst fears were confirmed.

"Are you alright, Lady Marissa?" The concern in Jenrea's voice was validated by the genuine worry in her eyes.

The squire's daughter had never wanted anyone dead more than the barmaid, right then and there. She carefully steadied herself, and forced a smile, "I'm fine, thank you."

She cringed as she apologized to a commoner.

"You look hurt, Lady Marissa. Come, let's see what we can do for you." Jenrea plucked a cloth from her apron, and began to wipe the dirt and mud from Marissa's face. Her other arm was surprisingly strong, wrapped about Marissa's frame as she helped the redhead to a seat.

Jenrea was beautiful, she was warm, she was soft, she treated Marissa more kindly than anyone else in the village, and twice that night she had saved the young noble from her own misfortune. There was no reason, save for station, that the two shouldn't be the closest of friends. Marissa couldn't explain the unreasoning hatred she felt for the dark haired barmaid. It was as if some sort of instinctual revulsion governed her every action.

Still, for the task she had been given, she could swallow her unease and put on an act.

After lowering Marissa carefully into the chair, Jenrea stooped to one knee, and began to loosen the redhead's boots. It offered a view down Jenrea's dress that many a boy in town would have killed for.

Jenrea winced as she noted how tender Marissa's ankle was. She bustled off to collect a wet towel to help cool the area and some cloth to bind it. Marissa watched her work, remaining silent all the while. Jenrea's touch, her soft humming and cooing words were soothing to her, despite the rage that had built up in her gut the whole night.

"Jenrea?" Marissa finally broke her troubled silence, "Why are you so kind to me?"

"Why wouldn't I be, Lady Marissa? Everyone deserves a bit of kindness." She beamed a smile up to the redhead that made Marissa feel just the slightest twinge of guilt. "Besides," she continued, "I hope I'm not speaking out of turn, but with your father being how he is, I don't imagine you get much kindness at home."

Marissa's first impulse was to backhand the innkeeper's daughter for her insolence, but instead she just clenched her fist at her side and bit her lower lip until she tasted copper. She wasn't certain what hurt her most, the insult to her father, or how close to the truth it was.

When she finally regained her composure, Marissa reached down to lightly touch Jenrea's hair. She was startled by just how soft and silken it felt. She had been under the impression that commoners were all as course as the brutes she entertained in her bed. That gentle touch turned to an almost caress, as she ran her fingers through the raven haired beauty's locks.

Her wonder soon turned to rage again, as the image of Isolde sprang unbidden to her mind. Perhaps that was the source of her unreasoning hatred. Jenrea reminded her, at least physically, of her father's lover.

Jenrea looked up as she finished securing Marissa's ankle. She shot another smile up to her, then spoke softly "Just try not to put much weight on it, Lady Marissa. I'll get you something to use as a crutch.

The squire's daughter smiled gently, putting on as much of an act as she could muster. "You must be so proud, having caught the Prince's eye like you did."

The barmaid's eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean? You think... Oh no, I hope I didn't lead him on. He's nice enough, but he certainly isn't anyone I would be interested in."

If she wasn't propped up in a chair, Marissa would have fallen over at those words. The naive little tramp seemed sincerely unaware that the Prince himself had been mooning over her like some lovesick schoolboy. And to make matters worse, she wasn't even interested!

Marissa's hand shook with the effort not to slap Jenrea. Not only had the girl foiled the redhead's earlier assignment, but she'd done it without meaning to. The young noble began to feel as if the room were spinning, but she kept control of her temper.

"Well, I'm certain that he will understand. Who is it that you would be interested in, if not for him?" Polite conversation was a strain, but she managed it. She had to find some way to befriend the girl, and lead her back home.

The blush that crept across Jenrea's cheeks was sickeningly adorable. She glanced here and there, as if afraid of being overheard, before she spoke as if confessing to a dear friend, "Well, Garn's apprentice Hafred has always been kind to me, and is a good, honorable man. And handsome as well. I just wish that I could catch his interest."

It was too much for Marissa. She started to her feet, only to fall back into her chair with a cry. Pain flared up once more from her ankle. The innkeeper's daughter had done such a good job soothing her pain that she'd forgotten about the injury. 

She was so distracted by the results of her own failed attempts to rise that she didn't notice the way the armrests of her seat smoldered where her hands had braced for her upward rise. The ghost of her handprints was lightly scorched into the wood there. 

"Oh no! Lady Marissa, please. Just relax, I'll help you wherever you need to go." Concern and reassurance were offered with every syllable. Jenrea carefully adjusted the wrappings about Marissa's ankle.

The squire's daughter lay her head back, and just stared at the ceiling. Nothing could ever go right for her, it seemed. "Jenrea," she spoke deliberately, she had to keep herself from snapping at the other woman. "Do you consider me a friend?"

"I don't know, Lady Marissa. I would like to, but I mean, I wouldn't wish to presume that a woman of your stature would wish to associate with someone like me." That inky hair spilled down to conceal the barmaid's features.

It was the first sensible thing Marissa had heard the girl say all day. But saying that wouldn't accomplish a thing. Instead, Marissa reached down to brush her fingers over Jenrea's cheek.

"I certainly consider you a friend," she lied through her teeth.

"Really?"

"Really," There it was again. The slight twinge of guilt. Perhaps it was the eagerness with which Jenrea seemed to accept her words. Still, it was an alien feeling, one which Marissa had never felt when manipulating others.

She was pretty certain she didn't like it.

"Would you like to see the manor?"

"I- I'd be honored, Lady Marissa, some day."

The noblewoman smiled, "How about tonight? I do need help getting back. After all," she rocked her foot back and forth, wincing at the stress to her sprained ankle, "I won't be able to get there on my own."

Doubt crept across Jenrea's features, "I don't know, Lady Marissa. It's awful late, and father doesn't like me going out and about. He says there's wolves out there, that snatch women and children away into the night."

Marissa smirked despite herself. How true such words were, though in this case she didn't feel all too lupine, with her injured ankle.

"Maybe you could stay here tonight, and I could go with you tomorrow?"

It was certainly a start, but Marissa felt that sooner was better, in that regard. She had no idea whether waiting until morning would incur Isolde's wrath. She leaned forward a bit in her seat, and asked in as kind a tone as she could, "Well, share a drink with me? And we can discuss it as friends."

Jenrea rose and beamed another smile at that. "Oh! Of course. What would you like?"

After suggesting wine, Marissa watched the barmaid bustle off. She had to admit, the girl had her good points. She toyed with thoughts of the other woman stripped down and chained to her bed, in naught but stockings.

She wondered if Jenrea's skin would take the whip well. She could take out all of the frustrations and rage that had built up within her on those lush curves. Maybe she would put Jenrea in one of Isolde's dresses, and pretend the barmaid was that hated bitch.

Then again, after the whole farce with Hafred and the Prince, Marissa was fairly sure she'd just enjoy whipping Jenrea raw just for being Jenrea. Perhaps the potion Isolde provided would offer enough control to find that all out before she was forced to deliver the other woman up.

When her unwitting rival returned with wineglasses in hand, Marissa reached to take both from her. "Pull up a seat, dear." She smiled as Jenrea turned to retrieve a nearby seat. It was just enough time to open the vial she'd palmed, and let those few drops escape down into one of the wine glasses.

She offered the glass to Jenrea with a crocodile grin.

"Thank you, Lady Marissa, I hope that you'll always be my friend." The barmaid smiled sweetly, then took a sip of her drink.

The noblewoman held her breath. She stared at Jenrea, studying her, searching out any sign that the concoction had taken effect. Jenrea certainly didn't seem to notice any taste, for after her drink, she set her glass aside and giggled. Marissa wasn't certain what that was supposed to mean. Did it work? Did it fail?

As Jenrea's tongue darted across her own lips to gather the taste of the wine, Marissa found herself staring at the other woman for other reasons. Just watching those soft, full lips was intoxicating. She felt torn between revulsion and desire. She knew that she should feel neither for the barmaid, but there was no denying it.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Finally, Marissa cleared her throat, and spoke with just a hint of authority, as if she were addressing a reticent servant, "Jenrea. I would like you to walk me home tonight." She tensed instinctively, ready for anything. All she got in return was a giggle. And then, just when she was certain that the potion had somehow failed, Jenrea nodded.

"Alright, Lady Marissa."

Relief washed over the redhead's form. Perhaps, for the first time that day, she would not fail. Marissa lifted her hand, seeking help up out of that chair. Jenrea offered that help, then began to lead her toward the door. Their unfinished glasses were set aside on one of the tables en route to the door.

The longer Marissa stayed in such close proximity with Jenrea, the more conflicted she felt. Two different, deep seated responses warred with one another in her heart. One desired Jenrea's warmth, her beauty. It wanted to protect her, to truthfully befriend her and make her happy.

The other wanted to maim her, to make her suffer. It wanted to see her destroyed. It was something beyond her usual pride, wounded as it was. No, it was as if something monstrous had been awakened, and would not stop until satiated by blood.

As they passed through the door and into the cool night air, Marissa was increasingly conscious of the woman who supported her. She was soft in all the right places. Hip bumped to hip, occasionally, with her arm draped over Jenrea's shoulders as it was, the other woman's bust would press into her side. The noblewoman curled her fingers against Jenrea's opposite shoulder, and drew her in closer as they walked.

A gentle breeze tossed the barmaid's silken hair against Marissa's own scarlet curls. Red mingled with black, and the simple, clean scent of the raven haired beauty surrounded them both, contrasting with her own expensive perfumes. It reminded the noblewoman of the fields, or the forest after a fresh rain.

The effect was almost enchanting.

As the pair stepped out of the welcoming glow of the Tepid Toad, and were swallowed by the darkness beyond, that black cat from earlier prowled up to pace beside them. Marissa found her night vision was already acute enough to see the feline, and to see the road before them, all within a few seconds of having left the light.

Jenrea, by contrast, seemed to bumble about as if night blind. Her pace slowed, especially when the moon ducked behind a cloud. She certainly didn't seem to pay heed to the cat as it shadowed them.




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 07



By the time they neared the last few buildings before the dirt road wound off toward the manor, Marissa was almost drunk with the sense of Jenrea beside her. The noblewoman's hand drifted down from her shoulder, to caress intimately along the barmaid's side, only to settle just above her hip. She wanted to touch her, to kiss her and taste her, but also to hurt her, to whip her and degrade her.

Marissa trembled with uncertainty, lust, and rage. Behind them, her footprints steamed upon the loose packed earth and gravel of the village road.

If her ankle had been in better shape, she would have spun Jenrea up against the nearest wall, ripped her dress down the front, and done such terrible, wicked things. As it was, she spoke in that same, authoritative tone she used before, "Let us rest near that house there."

"Alright, Lady Marissa," Jenrea spoke as if in a dream. She helped the limping noble toward the wood and plaster wall of a nearby house, just where it came near to the road, angled away from the sight of any who might pass along it. Of course, only the watchman on duty would come along at that hour.

It occurred to Marissa that she hadn't seen said watchman for some time, but at that moment such passing thoughts were secondary to her desire.

With the wall to brace against, there was less need to worry about her ankle. Marissa stared into Jenrea's eyes. She wavered between lust and rage. Her heart raced as she drew quick, panting breaths between parted lips. She dipped her head in toward Jenrea, who simply looked confused.

"Kiss me," The order, breathless as it was, surprised even the one who spoke it. 

For a moment, Jenrea looked conflicted. Her brow knitted, she worried her lower lip, and Marissa began to panic. What if her greed, her want, had pushed that potion to its breaking point? Would all her effort to get the silly barmaid to the manor fail because of her own inability to control herself?

But then, Jenrea blushed, and stammered, "If- if t-that is what you w-wish, Lady M-Marissa."

Marissa's heart leapt at those words of acceptance. She trembled with anticipation as Jenrea turned in toward her. Ample chest pressed to ample chest as she leaned in. Marissa braced herself against the wall with one hand, her other arm still clung to the barmaid's shoulders for support. The desire overwhelmed the rage in that moment, and her gaze fixed upon those deep jade eyes before her. The young noblewoman felt as if they could devour her very being.

Indeed, she felt her mind slipping, Marissa could no longer even pretend to be in control of her own actions. The warm play of Jenrea's breath across her own full lips urged them to part, and the hand that had so firmly clutched those slender shoulders instead descended along the barmaid's back, moving to caress her spine through the relatively thin fabric of her dress.

She felt Jenrea's hands settle about her waist, and she dared to draw her other hand away from the wall, relying on the other woman to support her. Marissa slipped her now freed hand down to the swell of those broad hips, the somewhat coarse fabric of the barmaid's skirt couldn't detract from the pleasant curve there.

All thoughts of the task the Squire and Isolde had assigned fled when Jenrea's lips touched her own. The kiss was clumsy, inexpert at best, but the feel of that soft, moist mouth against her was beyond anything she could remember. There was magic in that kiss, figuratively or literally she did not care.

Marissa moaned, submitting to the moment. Her order may have initiated it, but Jenrea's touch, her kiss, her still staring jade eyes all conspired to steal away the noblewoman's will. All that mattered was the feel of the commoner's body against hers, the taste of her lips, the scent of her.

She moved her hands down Jenrea's back, toward the firm rear that had so attracted the Prince's stare. Jenrea's own touch barely moved, only shifting when Marissa did, but the Squire's daughter barely cared. She tried to deepen the kiss, though Jenrea could only crudely mimic the act, unpracticed.

Somewhere, a cat hissed and growled. Marissa was sure that it was something she should pay attention to, but she didn't.

She just wanted to lose herself in Jenrea's embrace.

With a shuddering whimper, Marissa finally broke the kiss. Her chest heaved, each breath dragged her bust against the barmaid's. She worried, for a moment at least, that the other woman would note how taut her nipples had grown. Then she simply decided she didn't care.

If Jenrea's innocent kiss could have such an effect, she shuddered at what the woman would be like once properly trained and taught. And oh, what a delight those lessons would be.

Marissa giggled softly, drunkenly, "You have such a lovely kiss."

Jenrea blushed in return, "You are too kind, Lady Marissa."

With one hand still resting on Jenrea's exquisite rump, the noblewoman lifted her other to caress her cheek, then teased it upward to wind within her hair. With a slight tug, she pulled Jenrea's head back, and leaned to drag her lips and tongue along that delicate neck. She simply couldn't get enough of the other woman's taste.

The barmaid offered a gentle whimper at the feel of those hot lips along her smooth skin. She certainly didn't seem to have much experience in such things, and Marissa delighted in the sounds she was teasing out of the other woman. With soft, suckling kisses, she moved ever lower, toward the neckline of that simple dress. Her hand gripped and kneaded at one buttock.

Jenrea instinctively stepped ever closer. Marissa felt one knee bent, to seek to push between her own. Their skirts were hateful barriers, that cruelly kept those lithe limbs from entwining.

Marissa growled in frustration, moved to step forward, and then pain lanced up from her ankle as she put her weight on it.

For just a moment, her hatred and rage returned. The flash of emotion was confusing, but somehow felt alive, as if some force of nature were trying to rouse Marissa from euphoric dreams. Despite her desire to remain near to Jenrea, her wits began to return.

That awakening was hastened by the tramp of boots through brush and grass. With a quick shove, Marissa pushed Jenrea away from her. As the barmaid fell back with a confused squeal, the noble turned to face the two figures that had crashed through the dark toward them.

And immediately, her ankle gave way, sending her crashing down to the ground, toward the toppled barmaid. The sudden rush of the ground occupied her attention as much as the flare of pain from the now twice twisted ankle.

Her last conscious thought in that moment was whether Jenrea's lush curves would cushion her fall at all.



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 08



The tall, blonde bandit queen strode lazily toward the pile of squirming women, where they had collapsed by the house at the edge of the village. She moved at a much more leisurely pace than the slender redhead who dashed before her. Zara's eyes followed her lieutenant's progress, as the shorter woman knelt beside the fallen noble and the still conscious barmaid beneath.

"She may have bumped her head when she fainted, my Lady. But I would wager her state is more from over excitement than any concussion." At those words, Cordelia lifted Marissa's head by her hair, and checked her eyes. "She should be fine shortly."

"Stop! She's my friend!" Jenrea squeaked as she struggled to free herself from the warm tangle of supple limbs and soft fabric that was the squire's daughter.

Zara couldn't help but laugh at the poor girl's panicked words, but then, when she gazed down at the look of fear and concern on the raven haired woman's features, her heart softened. She strolled over, and crouched near to them all with a creak of her leathers. "Oh, my poor, poor sweet. She's not your friend. She was just using you." She then grinned to Cordelia, "Perhaps we should have let them finish?"

The slender lieutenant rolled her eyes, then glared down at Jenrea. "Be quiet, or we'll have to silence you," she commanded tersely as she began to bind the unconscious noblewoman's hands behind her back.

Jenrea drew in a deep breath to call out, only to find the firm, leather gloved hand of the bandit queen clasped over her mouth. Her blue eyes met Zara's, and the tall blonde just smiled reassuringly.

"Now, now, Cordelia. Be nice to our guests," she spoke to her lieutenant without taking her gaze off of the innkeeper's daughter, then she addressed Jenrea directly, "We'll take care of your friend. We have a few people skilled with medicine back at the camp. But I'm afraid you two are going to have to come with us. Now, will you be a good girl and come along?"

After a moment's hesitation, Jenrea nodded.

Zara slid her hand from the barmaid's lips cautiously, but no scream followed. She was glad, in a way. Something about the girl struck her to the core. She was too nice by far, and it made even the bandit queen's hardened heart warm.

Cordelia hauled Marissa off of Jenrea, and Zara helped the dark haired young woman to her feet. It looked like there would be no need for violence after all. At least not until Marissa awakened. Still, they had to move swiftly, for they were still well within the village bounds, and all it would take is another curious soul to wonder what the fuss was at that hour to raise the alarm.

Jenrea turned her nervous eyes up to the taller woman, and spoke with a breathless, frightened tone, "Wh- who are you?"

Zara smiled and took Jenrea's hand gently. She bowed low, and dipped her head to kiss the shorter woman's knuckles. "I am Zara Blade, Queen of the Ingley Bandits and champion of all the free." It was a flowery title which Cordelia had given her long ago, among many others, and one of the few which she felt was fitting.

Despite the silliness of the title and flowery introduction, Jenrea blinked and stared, as if in awe. "So you're royalty? Are you related to the prince?"

A bark of laughter escaped Zara before she could help it. "No, no. It's just- never mind, dear. My sweet Cordelia has a tendency to shower me with unnecessary accolades. You can call me Zara. Zara of the Blade."

Still clinging to the taller woman's arm with one hand, the barmaid managed a curtsy. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Blade. I'm Jenrea."

Zara marveled at just how polite she was, even while being taken captive. But then perhaps Jenrea didn't realize the extent of her situation. Regardless, it would make things far easier if she cooperated.

"We're ready to go, Lady Blade." Cordelia hoisted the other redhead over her shoulder, seemingly much stronger than her slender, compact frame should indicate.

Nodding to Cordelia, Zara slipped one powerful arm loosely about Jenrea's shoulders. "Have you ever had roast boar, my dear?" She began to lead the younger woman along, and Jenrea willingly went with her. The question seemed to excite the dark haired woman's curiosity, at least.

"No, not at all miss!"

"Ah, then you're in for a treat. I've no doubt we still have some back at camp." It was almost pleasant, having such a lovely young woman at her side. She glanced back to Cordelia from time to time, concerned her lieutenant might become jealous, but all she noted was the lean redhead's cagey, paranoid gaze staring off into the night.

Something was up with Cordelia, and Zara wasn't sure she wanted to know what.

It was a long but pleasant walk through the darkness, across fields and into the welcome embrace of the looming forest. Zara knew those lands like the back of her hand, and unlike the local farmers, she held no fear of the shadows amongst the trees. Indeed, she was the predator others should avoid, a tall, blonde lion amidst farm raised cattle.

Proud she might be, but when Jenrea stumbled or had difficulty, Zara found herself automatically reaching to help the barmaid over twisted roots or unseen ruts, as if beholden to her. The thought of turning the younger woman over to that twisted enchantress seemed a poorer idea with each step they took.

The squire's daughter, on the other hand, was something else. She would be more than happy to turn that brat over. As they cut through the forest and over that ridge that shielded her camp's fires from the village, Zara stole the occasional glance back at Cordelia and Marissa. Despite her own distractions, she couldn't help but catch her lieutenant's hand wandering over the noblewoman's shapely rear as they stalked onward. Her eyes narrowed.

"Don't get too comfortable with that one, Cordelia dear. We'll have to turn her over soon enough." She didn't know why she took such a biting tone with her words, yet she was greatly pleased when Cordelia's slender hand slipped back down to catch beneath one of Marissa's knees instead.

"Yes, of course my Lady."

Zara's own arm circled Jenrea's waist in a loose embrace. The barmaid was different, she reasoned. Certainly she was beautiful, and Zara would not mind dallying with her if she had a mind for it. But first and foremost she felt protective, as if the raven haired beauty needed some sort of guardian.

It was a foolish notion, yet one she could not let go.

By the time they arrived at camp, it was terribly late. Only a few men remained to stand watch, the others were no doubt out laying in wait at the sage's home. Only the central fire still burned, and that was much reduced. The men were attentive for once, though they did not actively challenge Zara, her distinct silhouette making that unnecessary.

The bandit queen was impressed. Perhaps the idea of their upcoming successes had put a spirit of pride back into the men, improving their morale and discipline.

Almost as soon as they stepped into the camp, Jenrea slipped from her side and looked here and there, taking it all in. "Wow," there was admiration in her words, "it's like you have your own little village of tents and cabins out here. This is nice. I don't think anyone in Ingley even dreams that you're out here."

Zara puffed with pride at the observation, "Yeah, picked this spot because it had ready access to what we needed, without being easy to find. Hell, we're just a stone's throw from the village itself, and yet there's not a fellow there that has even come close to finding us."

A low groan from Marissa interrupted their conversation. Cordelia laid the bound noblewoman on one of the tables, and looked her over with a gaze that Zara didn't quite like. It was enough to make her excuse herself hastily and hustle over to the two. Jenrea seemed content to find a place to sit and warm herself before the fire, while Zara paced up behind Cordelia and slipped her hands about the other woman's slender waist.

Zara was somewhat relieved when the redhead leaned back against her leather clad form. The bandit queen's inexplicable jealousy abated somewhat, and she pressed the gentlest of kisses to Cordelia's neck. "What's wrong?" She murmured against that soft skin, hardly drawing her lips back from the other woman at all.

"She's unnatural. I can't explain it. There's something going on with her. Magic, I think." The redhead's tone was one of tension and excitement. If a coiled spring had a voice, Zara was certain it would sound something like that.

"How can you tell?"

Cordelia rested one hand over her own chest, just over her heart. "The same way I could tell with the enchantress. Something inside of me. But look," She held out one hand close to Marissa's skin. At first, Zara couldn't make out what her lieutenant was talking about, but then she saw it. Tiny little white sparks danced over Marissa's form, barely visible through her clothing. It was like watching distant lightning through rain clouds, just a collection of small, muted flashes.

"I didn't think Enchantresses did that," the bandit queen noted, her voice soft with wonder.

"So you're an expert on magic, now?" Cordelia raised a brow and looked back over her shoulder to the taller woman, her own lips so close to Zara's. "My lady." She added at the end, as if that could take the sting out of her words.

Zara's lips curled into a quick smile, before she caught Cordelia's for a gentle kiss. The slender redhead returned it eagerly, then lifted one hand to caress Zara's cheek. They stood like that for a while, the bandit queen just enjoying the moment, arms wrapped about Cordelia's comparatively smaller form.

For once, it wasn't her lieutenant's sense of propriety that interrupted, but rather the stirring of Marissa there on the table. Long lashes fluttered to reveal dark jade eyes beneath, and then the squire's daughter's brows furrowed.

"What? Where am I? Who are you?" The questions rose in a banshee's wail from the curvier woman on the crude wooden table. She squirmed against the bonds Cordelia had secured, attempting to free her hands form where they were bound behind her back, and her ankles which had been tied together.

Cordelia broke the kiss, then gazed down to Marissa with a certain sense of glee. "Oh hush, you. Or I'll be forced to gag you." She leaned away from Zara and over the other redhead. Her hands came up to cup Marissa's cheeks as she gazed down to her captive.

The bandit queen frowned at how familiar Cordelia acted with the squire's daughter, but tried to shake the feeling off. Instead, her own hands drifted down that taut, leather clad form to grip and squeeze her lieutenant's tight rear. The dirty look that earned her did manage to bring a smile to her features.

Jenrea bounced up toward them, drawn by the commotion. "Miss Marissa!" She called forth, "Are you alright?"

"Do I look alright?" The squire's daughter shrieked out in a rage, only to squeal in pain as Cordelia grabbed her ears, and yanked her head back toward the tabletop.

"I said," the leaner, shorter woman hissed out, "Hush. I'm afraid that I can't let a potential spellcaster go ungagged if she's not cooperating. Who knows what vile sorceries you'll lay on my Lady Blade?"

"Spellca- What are you talking about?" Marissa managed to call in a panicked, shrill voice, before Cordelia knocked the wind from her with a quick blow to her belly.

"Don't hurt her!" Jenrea lunged forward, only to be stopped by one of Zara's powerful arms.

"Go a little easier on her, will you?" The bandit queen begrudgingly asked. "I mean, she's of no use to us if you kill her before the Enchantress arrives, right?" It was a lame explanation for her own uncharacteristic concern.

Cordelia snorted at that, "She's already setting her hooks into you, my lady." She nodded in Jenrea's direction, "Just take care of the barmaid. I'll ensure that this enchantress does nothing to further enthrall you." She yanked at Marissa's hair, bringing another shriek from her. "As for you, you spoiled bitch, I'll teach you not to try to manipulate my lo- my Lady Blade."

Zara raised both brows as Cordelia hauled the other woman off to one of the sturdier wooden shacks, usually used for storage. She couldn't understand just why her lieutenant seemed intent on causing the other redhead such pain.

Jenrea's soft whimper stole her attention again. Zara looked down to the dark haired woman, only to see those big blue eyes staring back up at her. She lifted a hand to touch the barmaid's cheek. She really was beautiful.

"Will she be alright, Miss Blade?" Jenrea's lower lip quivered, as a pout threatened.

Zara wrapped the younger woman in what she hoped was a comforting embrace, and sighed softly. "Of course she'll be alright." She pressed a gentle, almost motherly kiss to the top of Jenrea's head. "Now let's get you something to eat."

Over the course of their meal, Zara had to admit that she'd got the better deal, if she simply had to watch Jenrea. The bubbly barmaid's friendly nature soon had even the more hardened sentries still present in camp laughing and joking when they stopped by the fire. It was as if they were all taken with her. The bandit queen nearly forgot that she was supposed to be holding the young woman captive.

Marissa's cries, however, became a regular thing, screams and shouts of rage and pain drifted intermittently from the shed where she'd been taken. Zara wondered just what the woman had done to piss Cordelia off. Eventually, it grew to the point where she excused herself, and went to check in on the two. Leaving Jenrea by the fire, the tall blonde moved toward the rickety door that did so little to mute the sounds from within.

The sight which greeted her as the door crashed open was startling. The squire's daughter was bound to the thick post in the middle of the shed, her hands cuffed far above her head. Her fiery curls lay in disarray about her, doing little to cover her bare breasts. Cordelia had carefully stripped the woman to the waist, and was applying a short whip to that exposed skin. Welts raised here and there over pale flesh, but there were signs of other marks from a previous whipping, one which can't have been more than a few hours old.

More surprising was the reaction those careful, measured strikes had on the noblewoman. Cordelia lashed out to just lightly strike her flank, just enough to produce a pop and a sting, and Marissa leaned into the blow. A fierce blush covered her otherwise fair skin, and she let out a whimpered moan, before screaming out invectives after the blow had faded.

Zara's lieutenant had loosened her own leathers, though not enough to provide the same sort of view the bound redhead was. Her own features were flush with excitement, a mingling of lust and hatred visible. But what shocked the bandit queen the most of the entire scene were Cordelia's words.

"You dare deny it? I saw the way she softened when she was dealing with you. She would normally have had you whipped until your skin was rags. Admit it, you're trying to turn Zara against me!"

"I don't know what you're talking about! I have done nothing of the sort!" Marissa then cried out, as that short whip cut across the underside of one breast, sending that plump swell to collide with its mate.

Zara winced at seeing the blow, and stepped in. She felt she had to stop Cordelia before she genuinely hurt the girl. Besides, the whole situation was disturbing. She was well on her way into the ramshackle room when Marissa's shudder and moan brought her up short.

"Maybe this is the wrong tactic," Cordelia frowned and tapped the whip at her own hip. "You like the pain. You get off on it. It figures. You're every bit as twisted and treacherous as your father." With slow steps, Cordelia advanced on Marissa.

"What do you know of my father, bitch? Nothing! That's wha-" The noble's words were cut off when Cordelia gripped her hair and yanked her head back. The shorter redhead leaned in, and caught Marissa's in a devouring kiss. Marissa went wide eyed, and strained at her bonds. She than began to slacken, and seemed to return that kiss.

Zara tensed there, every muscle ready for action. Her first inclination was to dart forth, yank Cordelia back, and pummel the vixen who tempted her into a raw pulp. Something held her back, however. Jenrea's request for them not to hurt Marissa stayed her hand just long enough for rational thought to return. Instead of rushing in, she forced herself to keep her distance. Her hands clenched into white knuckled fists at her side, but she managed to keep her temper.

Cordelia broke the kiss, and stared into Marissa's eyes, but there was naught but hatred in her gaze. "You taste like deceit, sin, and magic." The words dripped with venom, especially the last. It was as if the idea of the supernatural were repugnant to her.

"You're mad," Marissa whispered back, her own expression torn between fear and lust.

"No more than you," the response was hissed, seething. "Daughter to a treacherous, scheming fool. And I don't know what spells you have about you, but I can sense it, like an electric tingle all around you. It makes me want to rip your heart out. Be thankful that my beloved Lady Blade has decided to play the enchantress's game, or I'd have already done so."

The Bandit Queen decided she'd heard enough. She had to stop this madness, to find out what had so affected her dear Cordelia. Zara cleared her throat as she stepped toward the two women. "Cordelia? Are you well?"

The leaner woman instantly straightened, and adopted a formal posture. It was as if another person had stepped into her shoes in that instant. "Of course, My Lady. I was just securing the prisoner."

Zara's gaze shifted to Marissa, and deliberately roamed the noblewoman's bared curves. "So I see. Don't you think you've gone a bit far?" She continued to close the distance, until she stood right behind her lieutenant.

"With magic, one can never be too careful, my Lady." As if to demonstrate her point, she immediately stepped back toward Marissa, and whipped a pair of handkerchiefs from somewhere amidst those dark leathers. Zara was not surprised she had them, her lieutenant seemed to always have those amenities which those of more civilized environs kept upon themselves.

The blonde woman watched as one redhead forced a wadded up kerchief into the other's mouth, and tied the gag in place. It drew angered grunts and glares from Marissa, but soon enough, Cordelia stepped back to admire her handiwork.

"There, my Lady. Now we don't have to worry about her entrancing anyone with her vile words."

Zara shook her head and slipped one hand to Cordelia's waist. She drew the shorter woman in toward her, and spoke in a gentle whisper, "The only one I want entrancing anyone here is you, my dear, dear Cordelia. Have you had your fun with this one? Can we leave her here now?"

Cordelia cocked her head and thought for a moment, before she nodded affirmatively. "Yes, My Lady. I apologize for my behavior. It's just the thought of this magic user enchanting you infuriated me."

There was definitely more to the situation than simple concern over a magic user, and Zara wanted to get to the bottom of it. In front of the prisoner just wasn't the most opportune place to do so. She tugged Cordelia along as she turned from the bound noblewoman, and lead her out of that closed in hut.

Outside, Jenrea was still settled by the fire, cheerfully chattering away with one of the older men amongst their merry band. Ordinarily a taciturn fellow, he seemed to have no problem opening up to the young innkeeper's daughter. The two could be heard trading tales of the village, with Jenrea supplying what gossip the older man had missed in his years away.

Although the bandit queen and her lieutenant could only catch snippets of the conversation as they passed, it was enough to make Zara herself a little homesick, despite having no such quaint settlement to return to. Jenrea also kept speaking of one smith's apprentice, a boy by the name of Hafred.




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 08



Zara smiled at the warmth in Jenrea's tone when she spoke of the young man. It was clear that the girl was fond of him. Even knowing that she personally was due to turn the barmaid over to that vile enchantress soon, the tall blonde still hoped Jenrea and her beau would somehow end up together again.

Cordelia must have followed her gaze and noticed the pair, for she straightened and subtly withdrew from Zara's grasp, adopting a more formal posture. She was always a stickler for appearances, and it was good to see her acting more like her usual self. Still, something had clearly been troubling her, for Zara had never seen her lieutenant act as she had with the Squire's daughter.

The tall blonde gave a light tug to the redhead's elbow, and strode toward her own tent, guiding the shorter woman along with a firm grasp. "Come along, we have things to discuss," Zara realized too late that her tone had been a bit more stern than she'd intended.

It had the desired effect, however, for Cordelia bobbed her head and accompanied the bandit queen without complaint.

Once safely ensconced within Zara's tent, the taller woman immediately turned to her lieutenant, and wrapped her long arms loosely about her. She fixed her gaze upon Cordelia's, as if daring her to protest.

"Just what was going on back there?" The blonde was careful to moderate her tone, but feared she still sounded stern. "I've not seen you like that before, you were losing your head, Cordelia."

At first, the redhead was about to protest, but finally she sighed, and her shoulders slumped. "I know, my Lady Blade. I apologize. I shall try not to allow my emotions to detract from my work again."

"That's not what I meant," Zara frowned, then lifted one hand to take Cordelia's chin in a gentle grasp. After tilting the shorter woman's head upward, she added, "I was worried about you. I am still worried about you. Please, tell me what was going on with the squire's bitch daughter. I want to help you."

Tears shone in Cordelia's bright eyes, before welling forth, As they spilled down her cheeks, the redhead took a deep, shuddering breath to steady her nerves. In all the time she'd known her lieutenant, Zara had never seen her break down like that.

"It's her father. His treachery is the reason I can never be close to mine. It infuriates me, to know that she can enjoy her family, after her father ruined mine."

Zara frowned at her companion's words, and slipped her arms about the smaller woman. As Cordelia leaned into the embrace, the bandit queen sighed, and nuzzled her hair. "My sweet, sweet Delia. You can't blame her for her father's misdeeds."

This earned a sniffle, and a tearful face buried against the leather strained taut over the blonde woman's bosom. "I know," the words were muffled, but still audible. "I just can't help myself. Every time I see the little bitch, I just want to tear her apart. I want her to suffer for everything her father did to mine, everything he did to my mother, to me..."

Zara wasn't certain about her lieutenant's family situation, beyond the idea that Cordelia's father was some sort of noble, and a scandal of some sort had forced her mother and her from court. It was all beyond her understanding. Marissa's appearance had revealed more about her lieutenant than years of service had.

She wasn't entirely certain she liked it. Things were so much easier when their relationship relied on shared greed and physical attraction.

"It's not like the old Squire offers anything in the way of a decent family," the blonde offered in a gentle murmur against the top of Cordelia's head. "And after tonight, she'll be passed off to the hands of that sorceress."

The shorter woman sighed heavily, and wrapped her arms tightly about Zara's waist. "I know, I just can't help myself." She rested her head upon the bandit queen's chest, and closed her eyes.

For a long moment, Zara just held her, before finally speaking in a soft tone, "Whatever you wish to do, I will be behind you, my dearest Delia. Just be certain of what you want. I couldn't bear to see you lose yourself to hatred."

Cordelia turned her eyes back up to Zara, and a smile gradually lit her features. This time it was her that stood on her tiptoes, and initiated the kiss. Her forwardness took Zara by surprise, but it was far from unwelcome. The bandit queen returned the kiss, deepened it. Her lips were hungry against the shorter woman's, and her hands roamed down Delia's slender back.

The redhead arched upward against Zara, pressing herself into the taller woman's more bountiful curves. Breaking the kiss, Zara pushed her lieutenant toward her bed, little more than a pile of quilts and furs in a frame. As the two shuffled along, Cordelia worked the clasps and straps of her own leathers free, letting that armor and clothing tumble piece by piece to the straw mats covering the floor.

Soon, the comparatively petite woman stood nude before the bed. It was a sight Zara never grew tired of, the way her delicate form seemed almost fragile, the pale tone of her skin, such a contrast to Zara's own golden tan. Even if she had known nothing of her lieutenant's noble blood, seeing her standing like some fine doll would have made it difficult to imagine she was of any lower station.

With trembling fingers, Cordelia sought to relieve Zara of her leathers. The Bandit Queen helped peel that taut material from her muscular form, revealing limbs crisscrossed here and there with the faint scars of a life spent in conflict. Delia leaned in and traced her soft lips over one faint, pale line. That soft touch traced along one tanned collarbone, then over the upper swell of one breast.

Zara couldn't help herself. She gripped Delia's hair and pulled her lips away from her chest, only to capture them with her own. A ravenous kiss stifled any protests the smaller woman might have made, as the amazonian frame of her commander pressed her into the soft furs splayed over that bed.

She reveled in the taste of her lieutenant, and when their lips parted, Cordelia's soft hiss of, "Please, my love," was all she needed. The taller woman gave her hips a shake to let her leather trousers cascade from their broad swells, before she pressed one bare leg between Cordelia's, looming over the redhead amidst those furs and quilts.

The sight of those beautiful eyes staring up at her, the feel of that slender form trembling under hers sent a shiver of want down the taller woman's spine. She dipped her head, and trailed her lips along the redhead's body, interspersing suckling kisses with little nips and flicks of her tongue. The taste of her skin mingled with the scent of perspiration and the subtle perfume she insisted on wearing. 

Zara teased her lips down over Delia's flat belly, then traced her tongue in a little circle over her navel. She smoothed her hands over her love's toned thighs, urging them to part. It took little effort before the redhead opened herself to Zara's ministrations. 

The larger woman spoke in a soft voice as she descended further, hardly above a whisper, "You know, if your father hadn't been forced to part from you and your mother, we would never have met." With an impish grin, she then shifted to nip at one inner thigh, producing a gasp from Cordelia. "Perhaps we should be thankful..."

Cordelia's breath caught in her throat, and she gripped firmly at Zara's golden locks. "Don't press your luck, my Lady," she hissed downward, but then hooked one elegant leg over Zara's shoulder. With a tug at that hair and tense of her calves and thigh, she guided the bandit queen's lips toward her wet, wanting folds.

The blonde's tall, lanky form curled up at the foot of that makeshift bed, and eagerly followed her lover's lead. As her tongue and lips went to work, she nuzzled her cheek against that raised thigh. Her hands slipped to Cordelia's hips, just gently cradling and drawing them up to her seeking tongue.

"I love you, my Lady," Cordelia's words were barely whispered, and near muted by the soft skin pressed to Zara's ear, the thunder of her own pulse past her ears. Yet with those words, the bandit queen offered a soft moan in response.

All thoughts of her earlier amusement with Jenrea fled from her mind, leaving only one lingering doubt. Just why had she been so eager to treat the barmaid's requests with such kindness?

Such thoughts were quickly lost amidst the bliss of warm flesh and wanton cries.



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 09



One rough hand idled upon the handle of his long bladed dagger as Hafred tramped through the dark forest. His boots tore through piles of leaves long left undisturbed as he sought to keep up with the figure before him. The shadow nymph's lithe and alluring form danced in and out of the edge of his senses as she forged ahead, senses that were already hampered by the Prince's insistence they use only the natural moonlight, such as it was. While nearly unable to see their nymphly guide most of the time, Hafred had to follow with haste, lest the whole party become lost in the woods.

He still didn't fully trust the two supernatural creatures, but after their group decided to head back to the Sage's house, the sisters had offered to lead them there through the wilds. Saving hours of travel and arriving before dawn had sounded like a good idea at the time, but after almost half an hour of literally chasing shadows, Hafred wasn't so sure anymore.

Lord "Black Dog" Rufus's dalliance with one of those very nymphs had kept them at the old ruined house longer than Hafred would have liked, though the Prince seemed unphased. Of course, the more the smith's apprentice had to watch that retreating rear end as it faded in and out of the darkness, the less Hafred could bring himself to blame the man. As set as he was on earning Jenrea's affections, even he found the two fae women tempting.

Indeed, echoes of the soft sounds which Elthyne's sister Sthelyne had made still haunted Hafred's memory. Though the crumbling walls of the ruined house had blocked any unintentional glimpse of the dark skinned nymph as she had taken her pleasures with the older knight, the ruined partitions and lack of roofing could do little to contain her cries and moans, or the sounds of her soft, silky flesh in motion.

The imaginings which those carnal noises had conjured in his mind had made him see the two women in a different light.

No, he had to remind himself, they were not mere women. They were unnatural beings of superhuman attraction, the seductive beauty of night made flesh and granted life.

At least Elthyne, seemingly the more serious and mature of the two sisters, had taken Hafred's rejection civilly, and refrained from seeking her own comfort with Rufus.

While Elthyne darted before them, leading the way, her sister cozied up behind Lord Rufus, doubled up with him on his horse. Thankfully, it seemed that even with such a lush form curled in against his back, the warrior could still focus on the task of trailing Hafred through the darkness.

A few paces further behind, Prince Cantrol brought up the rear. He never bothered to urge his own horse past a canter, always seeming so serene and aloof there. It was almost unnerving.

It seemed that of them all, only Hafred was doomed to run himself ragged on foot, for the nymph ahead of him never seemed to slow, never flagged. At least one mercy was granted by the route itself, for as they cut across the landscape direct toward Sage Illuminous's home, they managed to avoid any sight of the Broken Stone.

A shudder ran down Hafred's spine at the very thought of the abominable monument. Never again would he be able to gaze upon its distant silhouette with the same blissful ignorance he once did. Even the mere memories of the unnatural events that took place there made his flesh crawl.

Wrapped up in his thoughts, the youth didn't notice that the nymph he was following had slowed, at least not until he was upon her. Halting himself at her side, he glanced over at her troubled expression. He was about to ask just what was amiss, when she held up a hand to shush him.

Moments later, he heard what had caught her attention. The faint rustle of leaves under booted feet was a chilling indicator that someone was ahead, lurking between the small party and their destination. It seemed the Prince's foresight regarding their lighting had paid off, for while they might have stumbled about in the dark from time to time, with torches and lanterns cutting through the night, the party would have been quite visible to any ambushers, perhaps for miles out.

Hafred hesitantly drew back from Elthyne's side, and retreated toward the mounted figure of Lord Rufus and his distracting companion. As the youth neared, Rufus slowed his mount's pace, and offered a quizzical look. Before any words could be exchanged, the sharp report of a twig snapping resounded through the trees. A string of muffled curses followed, shattering any pretense that the forest was empty.

Immediately, Rufus's blade was in hand. The ringing steel was answered by the twang of bowstrings, and though the swish of the arrows cutting through the air and light foliage was readily audible, the arrows themselves were lost in darkness. It was impossible to tell by just how far they'd missed their marks.

The bodyguard's passenger, Sthelyne, shrieked in surprise, which could only serve to alert those who were hunting them.

Hafred ducked low, and drew his own long dagger. He squinted against the darkness, and spotted a broad shouldered figure rushing through the trees. It was far too large and bulky to be Elthyne, and everyone else was still mounted. Judging the form an enemy, Hafred charged forward, one arm held up, his knife held low. His hand caught one of the figure's, only to find the wooden haft of some sort of weapon gripped tightly there. He clasped his own hand about the wood shaft, and thrust his dagger upward into what he guessed was his attacker's chest. 

He could hardly see anything, yet the solid feel of flesh giving under his blade, the gasp and gurgle of surprised death all served to confirm the thrust had been successful. The looming figure slumped to the ground, and Hafred found himself in possession of an axe, judging by the weight and heft. And a sharp one, if the way the dim moonlight glinted off of the crescent edge was any indication.

A pale, flickering glow suddenly illuminated many more darkly clad bodies, as the Prince drew his enchanted blade. The slender sword cast a ghostly light, and the world was thrown into a chaos of dancing shadows. Every swing of Cantrol's blade sent the long, eerie shadows twisting and jumping, and the glow the blade shone with was tinted crimson as he sliced through a man's neck.

An arrow suddenly deflected off of an umbral filament close to Hafred's head. It was so close, in fact, that he felt the breeze from the arrow's passing as it started an end over end tumble away from him. He focused upon the wispy thread of darkness for a moment, before the lush figure of Elthyne, standing some paces removed, came to his attention. Her gaze lingered upon his as she dodged a swordsman's swing, then her eyes shifted to a clump of bushes some thirty feet away.

When Hafred followed her line of sight, the shadows peeled themselves away from the bank of foliage, revealing a rather startled looking woman in black. She sparked a certain recognition in him, for she was the very one who had given him that arrow wound earlier in the evening. It still ached, and the strain of combat wasn't making things better.

Acting on instinct, Hafred threw the axe he held, and it sailed end over end toward the sniper. She realized her doom almost too late, and although she managed to throw herself out of the way, the whirling axe still scored a deep gash across her bow arm. She dropped the weapon and gripped at her bicep, trying to stem the flow of blood.

Rufus shoved a body from the point of his sword with one heavily booted foot, while Sthelyne apparently decided to be useful for once. The shadow nymph drew her hands apart, as if firing some unseen bow. Each time she loosed the invisible string, streaks of darkness sailed outward toward onrushing foes, and struck with all the impact one could expect of a physical arrow.

Neither of the nymphs seemed at all hampered by the shadows that so limited the mortal men's vision.

"There's too many, your highness," Rufus's voice boomed over the din. "We need to press on, or we'll be overrun."

"To Crow's home!" Cantrol's answer was swift and to the point, and he spurred his horse onward. With a great leap, the Prince's mount dashed forth, leaving Rufus and Hafred behind to deal with their own problems.

Rufus cursed as the prince charged so recklessly forth. He wheeled his own mount about, just in time to deflect the axe of another bandit with an expert sweep of his sword. Three more darkly clad men swept in from the trees, to block Rufus from pursuing the Prince without dealing with them first.

As the Prince put more space between himself and the group, the glow from his magical blade faded. Soon, only the light of the moon filtering through the clouds and canopy above provided any hope of sight. Hafred could barely make out the form of one slender figure coming upon him quickly from his left flank. He stepped hastily out of the way, and his swift reaction was rewarded with the thump of a blade into the ground where he had been standing.

Of course, the shadow nymphs were unhindered, and had free rein to unleash their assault on the nearly blinded bandits. All about him, Hafred could hear agonized cries and swift movements in the dark. He couched his blade, fearful of executing a slash against any of the shapes near to him, lest he strike his own allies in the confusion.

Squinting against the darkness, Hafred found his eyes near useless. The chaotic din of the battle made him question his hearing as well, but when the all too purposeful rush of footsteps from behind him was accompanied by a scent of oiled leather and soot, he felt it could only be one of their assailants. Quickly, he twisted about and raised his long bladed dagger. Sparks struck as his blade intercepted another, and for a moment he recognized the familiar shape of the woman he'd struggled with in the previous ambush. She certainly favored one arm, but still had strength enough to challenge him.

There was little time to contemplate the coincidence, however, for suddenly the forest was lit bright as day. A searing ball of fire erupted amidst the trees, and all about them, men cried out in alarm. Hafred could see Rufus nearby, trying to calm his horse, while on the ground four men fell unconscious from the sudden burns inflicted upon them. Others lay scattered here and there, and still more turned to flee into the woods.

The leather clad woman who had attacked him stood with sword still drawn, hesitating as her fellows began to flee. Here and there, incidental fires had started from where the blast had touched upon particularly dry wood and leaves, and lit the entire area with flickers of flame. Cantrol came riding back through the trees, and at his side dashed the young sage, on foot. Crow's hands were outstretched, and still wreathed with magic fire.

The woman before him swore under her breath, and turned to flee as well, but Hafred reached out with one hand, to grab the back of her cloak. With a sharp yank, he pulled her back and off her feet. "Elthyne!" the smith's apprentice called to the only nymph he felt he could trust to do something, "Help me with this one. We can question her."

Shadowy tendrils slithered up from the ground, and from the nearby trees. Although the scattered flames seemed to play havoc with them, they moved with an intelligence despite their chaotic, leaping nature. All those dark tentacles struck like serpents, to wind about the bandit's limbs and keep her on the ground. She cried out in pain as they wrenched her wounded arm mercilessly.

"Good thinking, Hafred!" The Prince's voice called over the din, as he neared.

"My Lord," Rufus's tone was barely civil, tinged with a mix of anger and worry, "you shouldn't run off by yourself when threats remain at every side."

Cantrol sighed and turned to the older knight, "I know, I know, but I also knew we weren't far from Crow's house, and I figured if these folk were out in force, he surely must know about it."

The prince's explanation did little to mollify his bodyguard.

"Indeed," the Sage chimed in, as he moved to help secure the one captured bandit with something more substantial. "They've been waiting out here for an hour or more. That's why I was ready for when you might come near." 

After applying a quick bandage to the bandit woman's wounded arm, the young wizard looked up from his work, and tugged the ropes he had procured from somewhere on his person into tight knots about the bandit woman's limbs. "Though I hardly expected to see you arrive with nymphs..." His gaze shifted between Sthelyne, who was still on Rufus's horse, and Elthyne, who was on her way over from the shadow of a nearby tree.

"That, dear Crow, is a tale best told indoors," The Prince's response was guarded, and his gaze swept over the shadows beyond the reach of the spreading flames.

The Sage nodded, and swept his hand out in a broad arc. With that gesture, the scattered fires leapt through the air, and back into his hand. Soon, darkness fell once more, save for the steady glow of the Prince's sword. The group, now fortified by the presence of the Sage Crow Illuminous, made their way through those singed trees toward his little house. It was left to Hafred to carry the bound bandit woman slung over one shoulder, though Elthyne was right beside him, keeping watch over her squirming form.

All along their walk, Hafred couldn't help but feel disappointed in himself. Not for his performance in the battle, no, for he felt he held his own. His self recrimination centered around that doubt which had wormed its way into his heart when he saw the Prince take off. For a terrible moment, he had assumed Cantrol had left them to die.

As the diverse party made their way into the protective ward that encapsulated the Sage's house in its invisible bubble, Hafred considered the Prince. Earlier that day, Cantrol and Rufus had been alien to him. Nobles from a court far away, with whom he had no connection. Now, after a night of travels, he felt he could at least understand Rufus. A gruff man with high standards of bravery and loyalty, Rufus was still a man, and subject to the same wishes that any fellow in the village might have. He was demanding because his job required him to be. He was arrogant because his skills merited it.

The Prince, on the other hand, was a total enigma. He seemed pleasant enough, even friendly, but Hafred had the sense that the man was trained well enough in the veneer of courtly diplomacy that anything could lay behind that mask of civility. Despite those few confrontations they had run into during the night, the smith's apprentice still had no inkling of how personally skilled in battle Cantrol might be. Further, though the man clearly had magic weapons and other enchantments, Hafred couldn't help but feel as though something else demanded investigation. There was just something about the Prince that he couldn't put his finger on.

Crow's home was particularly crowded after the entire party piled into it, yet they all managed to find their own places. Once more, Cantrol and Rufus joined the young Sage in seats by the fire, while Hafred was left to guard duty. He stood to one side of the fireplace, watching over the bandit woman they'd captured, presumably to ensure she didn't cause any trouble. The young woman certainly didn't seem belligerent, but one could never tell with captives.

Crow's wife, Scarlet, had initially greeted them all with offers of drinks and refreshments. When she caught sight of the shadow nymph sisters, however, her mood darkened. She wasn't rude, but while the two supernatural beings huddled upon a bench against one wall of the humble home, Scarlet's suspicious eyes never left them, save for what was necessary to tend to the wounded bandit.

Hafred was still puzzled as to why the nymphs had stayed, but the Sage seemed curious about them. It was probably scholarly interest, for fey creatures were a rarity, doubly so for those with the patience to sit down and have a proper conversation. Not that there was much conversation involving them, for once everyone was settled, Crow asked them each what they had found at the witch's ruined home.

In truth, they had uncovered little of concrete value. The prince did draw forth a ragged, half-burned manuscript which he had recovered while Rufus was busy with the nymph Sthelyne. At the time, Hafred had just assumed it was something Cantrol had brought with him, but when the battered and charred, leather-bound collection of parchment was produced, the sage's eyes lit up.

"A witch's personal notebook. You have outdone yourselves," there was a certain sense of admiration in Crow's words. He took the volume from Prince Cantrol gingerly, then began to thumb through it.

"I'm afraid I couldn't make heads or tails of it," the prince admitted, "even with what lessons I could recall." A wry smile followed his words.

"No worries," Crow offered in return. "That's what I'm here for. I'll have this sorted out shortly."

The room fell quiet as Crow set to work translating what he could. Only the occasional, sulking sigh of a bored Sthelyne, and the bustle of Scarlet as she finally finished cleaning and re-binding the bandit woman's wounds broke the silence. Eventually, the sage's wife went about to refresh everyone's drinks.

Hafred fidgeted as something wore upon his thoughts, and when he finally placed it, he couldn't help but lean forward in his seat. "Excuse me, my lords?" Nothing had been said about the nymph's tale after all. "One of the nymphs, Miss Elthyne mentioned that the witch had a daughter. And that, uhm, she was taken into the village."

The more sedate, and in Hafred's opinion, more mature of the two nymphs, straightened at the mention of her name. "Mister Hafred is right," she spoke warily, as if afraid of being chided.

From the hawkish way that Crow's wife had been watching them all night, Hafred couldn't blame her caution.

"You see," she continued when it became clear that she wasn't going to be called to silence, "Our mistress had a daughter, and before the Enchantress who would claim her life arrived, bade us take her daughter to the Village Ingley, and give her up at the church there. We did so, hoping she would find her way back so we might teach her what she needs to know about her powers. She never did return."

Crow's brow furrowed, as he considered the fae woman's words. His gaze drifted back to the tome in his lap, and he turned the pages. He parted his lips as if he were about to say something, but remained silent. Instead, the young sage flipped through the tattered manuscript, occasionally glancing between it and the nymph.

"Mister Crow, is something-" Her words were cut off when Sage Illuminous finally spoke.

"It appears that it has all come together," he spoke gravely, as if something serious had been revealed, though whether it was the shadow nymph's story or the contents of the workbook, or something else, Hafred could not immediately guess.

It wouldn't take long before the sage enlightened them.

"Between your tale, what is written in your late mistress's journal, and what I was able to piece together from my predecessor's records, I believe that I have a grasp of the situation, and it is perhaps a precarious one, at least for Prince Cantrol's mission."

His gaze turned to the prince first, "My lord, I think we have found your Enchantress. You see, this journal seems to indicate that there was an Enchantress in the area which this witch, the nymphs' mistress, was keeping track of. It appears that she was with child at the same time the witch was, and this may have been the impetus between their clash. It was likely a matter of territory, from what I understand of the nature of enchantresses. The Enchantress probably didn't want her own daughter to slow her own ambitions down, yet also wished not to have her imperiled by a witch so close to the village she had chosen to raise the child in her stead."




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 09



The room grew quiet as the young wizard spoke, and the tension grew palpably with each revelation. "There have been two girls left orphaned at the church in recent memory, both in the same winter. One is probably the daughter of the witch, and carries the inborn magic of that line, the other is the daughter of the enchantress. One of them was taken in by the Squire of Ingley, named Marissa, and grew up in relative luxury. The other, Jenrea, was taken in by the local innkeeper."

Behind Crow, Scarlet dropped a bottle on hearing his words, while Hafred gaped in shock. If the sage was right, that meant that Jenrea, his sweet, good hearted, Jenrea had magic in her blood. Witch or Enchantress, he wasn't sure that he liked the idea of either. Yet all he could muster was a deep concern for her, as if the news of what she had been all her life was some new sentence to be borne for eternity.

It was only the faint wail and fearful gasp of the captured bandit woman that dragged Hafred back to the present. She was curled up against the wall, her head in her hands and her face pale.

"What is it, woman?" The smith's apprentice snapped. He wasn't in the mood for such theatrics, and yet he immediately regretted his tone. The bandit girl looked genuinely terrified.

"M-Miss Blade! My boss. She was sent by some woman to catch two girls outside of Ingley. The squire's daughter and some barmaid-"

Hafred leapt to his feet, and before Rufus could make a move to stop him, he had pulled the bandit woman up by the throat, and pinned her against the wall.

"What did you say?!"

"S-some woman!" The bandit began, only to be cut off by Rufus's booming voice.

"Hafred Smith! Release the prisoner and calm yourself."

At the elder knight's commanding tone, Hafred did let the bandit woman down. He wasn't certain what had come over him, only that the thought of Jenrea in danger made his blood boil. Soft arms slipped about his waist, and gently pulled him back. It was only when he glanced over his shoulder that he saw they belonged to Elthyne. The nymph's lovely features were wrought with concern.

"Forgive him, good Sir," Crow's wife spoke up in the young man's defense, "Jenrea is his sweetheart."

Rufus sighed and nodded, the anger draining from his features, "Understood, but we need information. And she may be our only lead." He then strode toward the cowering woman, who was far from the threatening cut throat she'd appeared to be earlier in the evening. Perhaps the news of what her 'boss' was out to face really had terrified her. Or perhaps it was the quiet intimidation of the knight's very presence, so much more menacing than even Hafred's rage.

"What's your name, girl?" He spoke in a softer tone, though it was far from reassuring.

"K-Kat, sir."

"Well, Kat. I'll make you a deal. If you value your boss's life, you'll accept it, for we may be the only ones who can get them out of the situation they've put themselves in. Tell us what you know about this woman who asked you to capture the two girls. Do that, and we'll let you go."

Hafred tried to protest, but was cut off by the light squeeze of Elthyne's arms about his torso. With a faint grumble, he held his tongue.

"W-well, Sir," Kat seemed to regain some of her composure. "She was dark and mysterious, and she spoke with a commanding tone. I don't know what came over us, there were dozens of us there and she just waltzed into camp, like she owned the place. None of us could stop her, or really wanted to. It was like she belonged there."

Rufus, Cantrol, and Crow exchanged meaningful glances, then the older knight continued, "Can you tell us what she looked like?"

The bandit woman chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, before speaking in a quieter tone, "Well, don't think I'm crazy for this. She was hidden and cloaked and veiled, but... well, her voice. Her voice reminded me of that woman what is always around the Squire. His new wife or whatever she is."

Rufus visibly tensed at those words, but it was the Prince who spoke next, his own voice authoritative, but so icily calm that it made Hafred shiver. "Well, Rufus, it seems that the bastard George has access to an enchantress. And probably two of them, if this Marissa girl was the enchantress's daughter. Probably came out of the woodwork to retrieve her daughter when she came of age, and hone her skills."

"Now," Crow interrupted, "there's a good chance that neither girl has come into her own powers. I certainly haven't heard of anything strange going on lately. Hafred, Scarlet, have either of you noticed Jenrea exhibiting any strange powers? Throwing bolts of lightning, setting things on fire?"

Both shook their heads. The very idea was silly, yet the young wizard was taking it all so seriously.

"C-can I go now?" The bandit woman asked, fearfully. With a distracted nod, Rufus drew a dagger, and cut her bonds. It was clear his thoughts were elsewhere, however. No sooner had the bonds been cut, than the woman was out the door and into the night.

"How are we going to find the bandit's camp?!" Hafred finally could take no more. They'd let a golden chance escape before their eyes.

"We're not going after the bandits," the prince still had that icy calm about him, though it seemed Rufus was on the verge of putting his fist through a wall.

"What? Why? They took Jenrea, and ... you said," at this he looked to Rufus, "That you would get the bandit's boss out of what trouble they'd got into. Where will you go, then?"

"It's simple enough," Cantrol turned his gaze to Hafred, and offered a light smile. "We could spend all night chasing down bandits, or we could go right to the source. If we head to Ingley Manor, this woman will bring the girls right to us, after she picks them up from the bandit camp. That way, we don't have to deal with them."

"Further," Crow added, "You can question the Squire and discover whether Marissa has exhibited any special abilities during her youth."

At those words, Rufus finally grinned. "Oh, delightful, I can't wait. I'll get all the information we need out of that bastard." The knight cracked his knuckles in anticipation.

Confused and somewhat disturbed, Hafred could do little but look amongst them. From nearby, Scarlet leaned in. She whispered into his ear, "Some years ago, The Squire was in regular contact with the King's Men. He tricked and disgraced Rufus's wife, and she left the court with Rufus's daughter. Before Rufus could recover her, she'd thrown herself into a river and drowned. His daughter was never found. Ever since, Rufus has been looking forward to getting Squire George at his mercy."

Hafred nodded mutely, though he had little understanding about what sort of court intrigue could cause such a desperate act. It certainly explained some of the enmity exhibited by the men, but his own thoughts were still on Jenrea. "I want to go after her. I'll find the bandit camp myself. Besides, what if this woman doesn't return to the Squire directly? What if she takes them elsewhere instead?"

From beside him, opposite Scarlet, Elthyne spoke up, "I know where their camp is at. Mortals can hardly conceal themselves from the eyes of nature. I can take you there."

Rufus frowned, and then looked back to the Prince. Cantrol studied Hafred with a cold scrutiny. For a moment, the smith's apprentice almost balked. It was all he could do to hold his ground, but he was bolstered by the quiet approval of Scarlet on the one side, and the comforting touch of the shadow nymph on his other.

Finally, the Prince nodded approvingly. "Certainly. It will cover our bases. Rufus and I will go to the manor. You and the nymph will go to the bandit camp. One way or another we will retrieve the girls and sort this all out. Once we've determined which one has enchantress blood, we'll have accomplished our task. Crow?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Would you mind terribly going to the Tepid Toad and rousing my men? I have a feeling I may need them at the manor, after all is said and done."

The young sage smiled, and rose to his feet. "Of course, my lord. I shall do so without fail."

"And I'll come with him," Scarlet added, moving to her husband's side.

"What about me? What will I do?" Sthelyne whined, but quickly shut up when all eyes glared at her.

"Go back to mistress's house," Elthyne offered in a diplomatic tone, "It's unguarded now, after all."

This seemed to satisfy the other nymph, and pair by pair the group left the Sage's house, heading off in different directions. The night was growing old, and the moon had long passed its zenith. Still, Hafred felt that their troubles had only just begun.

Outside, Elthyne laced her slender fingers with his, and began to lead him off through the shadows. Still, their pace offered him time to watch the others depart. As he hiked toward the treeline, the Prince and Rufus rode off on their mounts, and the Sage summoned forth two steeds from a pair of small silver statues he had on hand. Hafred realized something that no fear for his love's safety or proximity of that lovely nymph could distract him from.

He was getting really, really tired of walking everywhere.



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 10



Kinder, more leisurely days would have found Zara and Cordelia spending hours in one another's arms. In the bandit queen's tent, the outside world seemed to fade away, allowing the two to become lost in the sensations of shared pleasure. Even with the night as eventful as it was, Zara was determined to enjoy every moment she could with her precious lieutenant. Something about the day's events had her on edge, positively humming with excitement. Perhaps it was the danger involved in everything she had set in motion. Or perhaps it was merely the idea of the riches that would soon be hers if all went according to plan.

Between whatever the strange magic woman would give them for the girls, and what she could ransom the prince for, she could probably buy a manor somewhere. She could rule a little plot with her merry band, and give Cordelia the noble life that she so deserved.

It was with these thoughts in mind that Zara lavished loving kisses along Cordelia's neck as they lay upon the piled furs and quilts that served as her bed. She loved the way her lieutenant's lean body looked, sheened with the perspiration of their earlier lovemaking. She loved the way Delia smelled, the way she tasted. The way, even after being brought to peak after peak, she still offered a little moan, and dreamily toyed her fingers through Zara's golden locks.

"Mmm, still not exhausted, my Lady?" Delia's voice was a dreamy purr.

Zara responded by nipping at Cordelia's neck, before breathing out, "I thought you preferred that I keep alert, in case my plans went astray?"

Cordelia giggled softly as those teeth dragged over her tender flesh. She sat up, and turned on her side to face her leader. Her fingers traced a soft touch over the curve of one of Zara's full breasts. The teasing touch elicited a gasp from the bandit queen.

"Are you trying to exhaust me?" Zara tried to offer the redhead a coy look, but Delia just pushed her onto her back.

"Maybe I am, my Lady."

Warm lips once more grazed Zara's flesh, teasing along between those heavy breasts, down along her tightly muscled belly. The bandit queen gasped gently, and curled one hand into Cordelia's short hair. "A...again?" It was all she could manage to utter before those dextrous hands pushed her thighs to part once more.

Zara wet her own lips with a quick flick of her tongue, then gazed down along the lean frame settling between her parted legs. As Delia's tongue begin to play down along her wanting flesh, she hooked one leg over a slender shoulder, urging the petite woman onward.

Her sweet Delia's skilled lips grazed and nibbled at her already slick folds, and her breath played warm over Zara's skin. The bandit queen closed her eyes and laid her head back upon those piled quilts.

Fleeting wondering about just what had come over her lieutenant, to be so insatiable that night, soon gave way to a haze of pleasure. She ground her hips upward toward that questing bit of muscle, and raised her free hand upward. The tall blonde gripped at one of her own breasts, kneading in time with the flick and dance of Cordelia's tongue within her.

Zara licked at her own lips once more, savoring the taste of the other woman which still lingered upon them. Every tease of that expert mouth, every stroke of those teasing, masterful fingers brought her closer to yet another peak. At this rate, she actually would be too exhausted to handle an emergency.

Her lover had no intention of letting up, and as Zara's fingers tightened in her hair, Cordelia intensified her attentions, alternating between nibbling kisses and snaking tongue. Tensing once more, Zara's pleasure overwhelmed her. Still Cordelia's nimble fingers worked to draw out that orgasm, and the dazed blonde stared down along her body to those mischievous jade eyes. 

When at last she was allowed to come back down, Zara nearly collapsed back into those quilts. Her chest heaved with gradually slowing breaths. 

Cordelia kissed at her inner thigh, and nuzzled against that smooth skin. "Rest well, my Lady. I shall watch over everything."

Zara nodded, reassured, and still lingering in the haze of sensation, only the latest in that night's endeavours. Soon, she drifted off to a light doze.

In retrospect, the bandit queen really should have realized something was up. As much as they adored one another, the readiness with which Cordelia had accompanied her into her tent while so much remained undecided was uncharacteristic. With two prisoners in the camp, and so many of their fellows still out on missions, the ever conscientious lieutenant should have rebuffed her. At least until the men were back and the prisoners transferred to that strange woman.

It was only when Zara awoke from her slumber of pleasure induced exhaustion that the idea that she had been tricked dawned on her. Rather than the expected tangle of limbs, or comforting embrace, Zara found herself alone, sprawled nude across her bedding with no sign of Cordelia.

Outside of her tent, the camp was quiet. She was used to the almost constant chaos of the outlaws who followed her. It's not that they were bad men, though they all had their reasons for living beyond the reach of civilization. But they were, for the most part, as unpredictable in their jests as in their quarrels, and the one so often lead to the other.

The tall blonde swept up a tunic and her leather leggings from about the chamber, and tugged them haphazardly over her powerful figure. Still disheveled, she ducked out of the confines of her tent and into the camp proper. There was hardly a soul in sight. Her first thought was that those men who'd gone out after the Prince just hadn't returned yet, though by all rights they should have been arriving soon enough. By the moon and stars, it was closer to dawn than to midnight.

Her first concern was finding where Cordelia had wandered off to. That should have been a straightforward task, but as Zara cast her gaze about the camp, the redhead was no where to be found. A few bandits still stood watch about the perimeter, as they should, while three sat with Jenrea near the fire, chatting away. Zara was impressed with the girl's endurance, she had surely thought the raven haired beauty would be sound asleep by now. The innkeeper's daughter had been up all night through stressful situations, and unlike the bandits, Zara guessed Jenrea was unused to such things.

As Zara's long legged stride carried her with an unhurried pace toward that fire, Jenrea turned her smiling gaze up to the bandit queen. That cheer was infectious, and Zara couldn't help but smile back. The men who'd been chatting with Jenrea offered merry grins and raised their mugs in customary salute.

"Well, dear," Zara rested her hands at her hips as she regarded Jenrea, "it certainly seems that you've been enjoying yourself. I fear I must remind you that you are, in fact, a prisoner."

Jenrea's expression fell at those words, but a weak smile soon returned. "I know, Miss Zara. Your men here told me all about what happened. While I'm kind of scared, I know that you don't have much of a choice in the matter."

Those honest, forgiving words set Zara off guard. They were anything but what she expected. Zara's brows furrowed. "You aren't... angry?"

"Of course not, MIss Zara. If a strange magic woman suddenly showed up in my home, I don't think I'd refuse her demands either. But if you ever did decide to go against her, know that I'll be behind you all the way. And so will these fellows. Right?"

The last was directed to Zara's men, and the three cheered, nodding their agreement. Zara wasn't certain whether to be impressed at how readily they had taken to her, or upset at how easily they had spilled the information about their client.

Although there was nothing condescending in Jenrea's tone, a certain sense of indignation stirred within the bandit queen. In her innocent way, Jenrea seemed to be operating from the assumption that she, the great Zara Blade, was somehow forced to comply with a demand, rather than working toward some expected reward. Was that how the situation appeared to an outsider? For that matter, had her own men given the young woman that impression?

Zara frowned faintly, but nodded to Jenrea's words. "We will have to see how the exchange goes." And then, eager to change the subject, she quickly asked, "Have any of you seen Cordelia?"

"The pretty little redhead that seems so devoted to you?" Jenrea's question brought the faintest of blushes to Zara's cheeks. Fortunately, the innkeeper's daughter seemed oblivious to the reaction. "I'm afraid not, I got caught up in talking. I'm sorry," as if keeping tabs on Zara's lieutenant should have been her job.

When none of the three bandits sitting about the fire with Jenrea could help either, the amazonian blonde was hardly surprised. When she wished to move unseen, Cordelia might as well have been a ghost. As Zara turned her gaze back about the camp, Jenrea rose to her feet, and stepped quietly toward her. The raven haired beauty went near unnoticed until she grasped one of the bandit queen's hands gently. When Zara turned toward her, those beautiful eyes gazing upward captured her attention for a long moment. 

"Miss Blade?" Jenrea's question went unanswered. Indeed, it was only when she continued speaking that Zara realized she was being asked something, "Where is Lady Marissa? I'm worried about her."

Zara's fascination with the enthralling beauty of the innkeeper's daughter was swept away with the return of memories of the night's events. She recalled the holding room, Cordelia whipping the half clad noblewoman, the talks they had. Her eyes tore reluctantly from Jenrea's, and drifted back to the secure little storage hut where the prisoner was being held. She couldn't have gone back to torment the Squire's daughter more, could she?

And yet, that was the only place Zara could think of looking. The bandit queen began to stride toward the structure. So intent was she on her goal that she didn't realize Jenrea's slender hand was still holding hers, at least until the shorter woman stumbled trying to keep up. Rather than release Jenrea, Zara just moderated her own pace. If Jenrea were so concerned about that bitch Marissa, she had every right to see whatever may lay behind that sturdy door.

Indeed, in a moment of irrational jealousy, the bandit queen half hoped Cordelia would be in the midst of torturing the squire's daughter. It would serve her right, though Zara was not immediately certain why: capturing Cordelia's attentions so, or having Jenrea hold her in such high regard.

The tall blonde flung the door open with a crash. Inside, Cordelia stood, holding a long, thin switch torn from one of the local trees. A half clad Marissa was still bound to a post in the middle of the room, and bore fresh stripes from where Cordelia had struck her with a switch. About her neck, from a crude loop of twine, hung a pair of copper talismans that Zara recognized from Cordelia's collection.

They were tokens stolen from the capital city, said to be able to cleanse dark magic from the afflicted, or hinder a caster from working their own spells.

The copper tokens swung wildly on their loose tether, dangling between the swells of Marissa's pert breasts. It became clear that the squire's daughter's head wasn't hung in defeat, but rather to keep those talismans from touching her body. Every time one brushed against her pale skin, a visible spark jumped between flesh and metal, earning a spasm and pained yelp from the young redhead.

While Zara knew that magic existed, and certainly knew a bit about enchanted weapons, the actual practice and use of it was beyond her. Yet as she watched those amulets sway, swing, and then spark again, something struck her as wrong.

So many times, she had seen Cordelia handle those tokens, and she herself had touched them personally more than once. They had never been anything but inert copper. At that moment, they were definitely active. The sparks, the way they caused Marissa to squirm and cringe, it all pointed to an unnatural power.

Had her lieutenant been right all along?

It was only when the battered and bedraggled young noblewoman lifted her hateful eyes to Zara that Cordelia noticed the bandit queen's presence at the entryway. She snapped to attention and executed a bit of a salute, in turn sending the tip of the switch she still held whistling through the air.

"My Lady!" Cordelia adopted a more formal tone immediately, though as her gaze drifted to where Jenrea was barely visible behind Zara, it was clear why. Apparently not wishing to disgrace Zara any more than she already had, she continued quickly, "I believe she's the one we were warned of. Look! The medallions are reacting to her. She's definitely got some sort of magical ability."

Zara stepped cautiously into the chamber, and advanced toward Cordelia. "Delia, dear, what are you doing?" The bandit queen's anger bled away, and concern loomed large. If Marissa was some sort of magic user, poking her and tormenting her was the last thing any sane person should do.

With her attention on Cordelia, Zara hardly noticed Jenrea breaking away from the relative safety behind the tall blonde, to cross toward the bound noblewoman. Whatever the innkeeper's daughter was doing was not her concern.

No, in that moment only the tears that threatened to spill forth from Cordelia's eyes mattered. Zara cupped the redhead's cheeks, and leaned inward.

"My Lady," her lieutenant managed to hold her composure, but only barely. "I am so sorry, I just had to know for sure, whether she was magic or not. I had to find out whether she really did have her hooks in you."

"My sweet Delia." Zara kissed Cordelia's brow. "it's alright. You did well. I just wish you had told me, so I could have watched out for you."

The words of praise and forgiveness earned a sweet smile from the shorter woman, and the switch she had been holding clattered to the ground. Those hands slipped instead to rest at Zara's waist, and she stood on tiptoes to capture the tall blonde's lips.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Zara could still make out Jenrea worrying over Marissa, while the noblewoman remained terribly quiet. It was barely worth mentally registering, however. At least, so long as that kiss lingered, nothing else seemed to matter.

The bandit queen could have savored that contact forever, but the mood was broken by the sharp tongued outburst of Marissa behind them.

"Well what are you waiting for, you stupid peasant? Take them off!"

Cordelia broke the kiss at those words, and turned her attention to the bound noblewoman. The momentary puzzlement in her eyes immediately gave way to fear, and the expression wound Zara up tighter than any spring. The blonde woman was already in mid turn when Cordelia's fearful cry rang forth.

"No! Don't!"

If she was going to say anything else, it was far too late. Zara turned just in time to see Jenrea innocently tugging the cords that supported those copper mage bane tokens from about Marissa's neck.

Before either Zara or her lieutenant could react, a brilliant flare of light and wash of heat filled the room. Jenrea screamed, and Zara flung herself to cover Cordelia. Searing pain followed, for just a heartbeat, and Zara closed her eyes. The scent of wood smoke filled the air.

"Come on, you little bitch. We're getting out of here," Marissa's words were punctuated by a pained yelp from Jenrea.

Gradually, Zara realized that she wouldn't be able to hear the noblewoman's venomous words if she weren't still alive. She cracked her eyes open, and squinted against the smoke and dust. Cordelia, at least, seemed safe enough. The lean redhead's face was smudged with soot, while her skin was reddened here and there where Zara hadn't been covering her.

The door to the structure, however, was completely gone. A gaping hole had been burned through the wooden wall in its stead, and through the breach she could see Marissa tugging Jenrea along cruelly, using the latter woman's raven hair as a leash.

The bandit queen was confused. What had happened? She forced herself Slowly up to her knees, while Cordelia groaned and rubbed at her face.

As the smoke cleared, more of the burned interior came into view. Charred wood and even crisped soil beneath her seemed to show the pattern of some sort of explosion, emanating from the post where Marissa had been secured.

Any doubt that the squire's daughter had been the source of that heat and flame was put out of mind when the girl half-turned towards her, and casually flipped a small sphere of living fire in Zara's general direction.

Cursing, Zara grabbed Cordelia and rolled away, letting the unnatural fire strike the ground where they had been laying. The rough movement stirred her lieutenant awake, and Cordelia gave a sharp cry.

"What are you doing?" Jenrea's words were fearful, and tinged with pain as she stumbled along. Her hands gripped at her own hair, trying to counteract the tension of Marissa's grasp.

"What does it look like, you stupid twit? I'm getting us out of here!" The noblewoman's own words nearly seared the air, her anger manifesting as flashes of fire and sparks of electricity.

Zara hopped up to her feet, and one hand descended, to fumble at the emptiness near one hip. The sword she was accustomed to finding there was absent, and wide eyed, the bandit queen glanced back through the smoke and chaos in the direction of her own tent. She'd forgotten her weapon, having felt safe in her own camp!

She could see some of the few men that had been in camp rallying to face Marissa, but an arc of electricity suddenly lashed out from the redhead's outstretched hand. It popped and crackled through the air, and those who had run up to join the fray retreated just as quickly, all save one. When the arcing lightning coursed through his body, he fell to the ground where he once stood, twitching and smouldering.

Zara staggered out of the ruins of the makeshift prison, and fetched up a burning beam from the ground. Hefting the great length of wood in both hands, she began to charge Marissa. She lifted the beam, intending to bring it crashing down on the noblewoman's head.

Marissa turned to face her at the sound of those heavy feet, and her jade eyes widened. She lashed one hand up toward the onrushing blonde, and power danced on her fingertips.

"No!" Jenrea cried out, and the noblewoman visibly hesitated. "Don't hurt her!"

A conflicted expression twisted the redhead's face, as if she were struggling to come to a decision. With every moment she stood there, Zara's steps brought her ever closer, that fiery club ever nearer to her target.

With an enraged shriek, Marissa twisted aside, and brought Jenrea about, like some sort of shield.

It was all Zara could do to stop her swing before it brained the terrified young woman. Instead, she directed the force of her blow down to the ground, and the thick wood cracked from the effort, showering still-fiery embers in a circle.

Jenrea's relieved expression was short lived, however, for another sharp tug on her raven locks nearly sent her sprawling. She hurried to catch up to Marissa, who stalked toward the treeline. Bent over and struggling against the iron grip on her hair, she certainly couldn't see just where the other woman was taking her.

"Please stop," she near wept, "Miss Marissa, you're hurting me!"

Once again, Marissa stopped in place, and that conflicted expression crossed her features. Finally, she growled back a sharp, "No!"

Any response which the innkeeper's daughter might have made was interrupted by the sudden flight of a crossbow bolt from the treeline. It missed both Jenrea and Marissa, and thumped into the ground not far from Zara's feet.




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 10



The bandit queen herself kept her distance, uncertain of what to do. She couldn't really run off to fetch her sword, and she couldn't afford to let her guard down while that bitch was throwing fire and lightning around. The missile's arc, however, was just what she needed. As Marissa searched the trees for her new assailant, Zara dashed over to the lightning-struck man, and knelt by his side.

He was still breathing, though was in no shape to continue the fight. More importantly, however, the blade he had been carrying lay nearby. It was a short sword, of passable make, which Zara quickly swept up. Giving the weapon a few testing swings, she then lurched back to her feet.

Just within the woods, Kat could be seen reloading her crossbow. She'd been with the men who'd been tasked with capturing the Prince, Zara recalled. As the woman was alone and appeared wounded, the bandit queen could only surmise they had failed.

The night was just getting better and better.

With the powerful blonde swordswoman coming up behind her, and the crossbow wielder reloading before her, Marissa's choice was easy. She began to advance on the woods again, but was slowed by Jenrea's struggles. With a grunt, she gave another yank to that hair. "Will you just stop... fighting!" Again, the noblewoman's words nearly ignited the air.

"Release her!" Zara commanded, mere moments from closing the distance to the two. She didn't wait to hear any response, but instead leapt toward Marissa, blade held forth, angled downward.

Once more, panic touched to the redhead's eyes, and once more magic flared. This time, rather than fire or lightning, twining vines suddenly erupted from beneath Zara. They impacted the towering blonde with enough force to push her muscular bulk back, and began to bind about her limbs.

Zara found herself anchored to the ground, her sword outstretched but useless. Her rage was matched only by the confusion she saw in Marissa's eyes.

"T...that's me," the noblewoman whispered, as if she didn't realize what she had called forth. "That is me!" She stared down at her free hand in wonder, only to to notice Kat rising to her feet once more, her crossbow reloaded.

The crossbow's clack once more echoed through the air, but this time, Marissa's gaze seemed to follow the bolt. It became a streak of fire, which petered out mere inches away from the noblewoman's torso. Marissa still recoiled, and released Jenrea's hair. Her hand snapped up toward the curve of one breast, and there was a soft impact, as the searing hot metal head of the crossbow bolt landed in the ground nearby. Blood welled up from between the noble girl's fingers.

Apparently, she hadn't destroyed the entirety of the bolt.

Jenrea began to scurry away, and as she did, her voice drifted up to the bound bandit queen, "Help! Please Miss Zara! I know you can do it! You're so strong!"

Indeed, she should be strong. How could simple vines hold her, Zara Blade, at bay. Renewed strength surged through her body, and with a cry, the bandit queen began to burst the vines that bound her limbs.

Marissa, bloodied and outnumbered, began to back up toward the woods. As Zara freed herself, the noblewoman turned and rushed toward Kat. Her eyes fixed on the woman with the crossbow, and vines began to rush toward her.

Zara ran after Marissa, sword in hand, while behind her she thought she heard Cordelia's voice calling a warning. She glanced back over one shoulder, and indeed, her lieutenant was up and safe, if a bit dazed. Delia was pointing towards the woods for some reason, and Zara turned her gaze back after her prey.

What faced her was not what she expected. An agonized scream rose from Kat's throat as Marissa passed her, and Kat's form seemed to twist and grow. Marissa's flight stopped a few paces beyond the bandit, and as that crossbow tumbled to the ground, the noblewoman turned to stare at what her uncontrolled magic had wrought.

Kat's body surged upward, growing much bulkier, much taller. Thick, woody bark covered her flesh, and her hands twisted into sharp claws, tipped by what appeared to be vicious thorns. Maddened by pain and whatever dark thoughts the magic had instilled, the shape-twisted bandit fixed her eyes on her former leader.

The sight was enough to stop Zara in her tracks. She began to back up, putting herself between the creature that was once Kat and Jenrea. With a roar, the newly-minted monster began to lurch toward the two women.

Marissa cackled in the background as the beast swung at Zara. The blonde threw herself aside, narrowly avoiding being disemboweled. The creature gave another roar, and turned its eyes toward Zara.

She could still identify the vaguely feminine shape of a humanoid figure underlying the monstrosity, but there was no doubt that whatever loyalty Kat had once held for her was all gone. Zara braced herself, though she knew that battling the beast would be next to useless.

From behind the bandit queen, a pair of daggers sailed through the air. They passed over her head and struck the twisted beast, lodging deep into that woody hide. There was little change in its maddened facade.

"Grab the girl and go!" Cordelia's voice was as much a surprise as her sudden presence at Zara's side. "It won't be long before the damned sorceress comes to back the creature up. I'll try and slow it down so you can get away!"

Zara hesitated once more. There was no way that she was going to let Cordelia face the thing alone. The creature's onslaught, at any rate, gave her little choice. A claw once more descended toward her, and she braced herself, raising her sword. She caught the blow with the flat of the blade, and quickly braced the sword with palm and grip. For a moment, it looked like she had fully blocked the blow.

And then, there was the horrible snap of metal as the blade broke.

Zara sprung backward, but the passing claws still shredded her leathers. She panted as she recovered her footing, and Cordelia dashed forward. Her lieutenant had a dagger in each hand, the glowing edges showed they were those magic blades she always had on her person.

With a double swipe toward the creature's leg, the agile redhead cut deeply through that bark skin. A mingling of green and red blood welled up, and the twisted monstrosity roared.

It swung one claw down toward Cordelia, and it was clear that she would not escape in time. Throwing her broken sword aside, Zara jumped onto the beast's arm, and grappled it just at the wrist. Her weight slowed the creature's swung enough for Cordelia to roll clear, though she felt like she was clinging to a wild bull.

The maddened eyes of the beast fixed on the blonde, and a toothy maw opened wide enough to engulf her entire head. She knew she was beyond help. This was how she was going to die, broken and eaten by one of her own bandits, under the influence of dark magic.

"Hafred!" Jenrea's call confused her for a moment. Wasn't Hafred the boy that Jenrea had been talking about earlier?

The bite never came. Instead, the ground rushed up at Zara, and she was jarred loose from the creature's wrist. She rolled a distance away, then braced herself on hands and knees.

A pained howl escaped the twisted creature, then another. When she righted herself, and swept her blonde hair from before her eyes, she saw the beast on its knees. A youth, she recognized him as the smith's apprentice, stood with a long dagger in one hand, his chest heaving. The blade itself gleamed with a strange white light, and was stained with the strange ichor of the beast itself.

Cordelia was back on her feet, her own enchanted daggers buried in the monster's side. She struck again, drawing more blood, and more howls of pain.

Taking a cue from the red-headed bandit, the youth lunged forth again, and his own weapon pierced the beast's wooden flesh as easily as Cordelia's magic daggers.

With a thunderous crash, the twisted monster finally slumped to the ground, and moved no more.

Jenrea rushed up to embrace the young man, and Zara stumbled toward them. She looked about, but could not see Marissa anywhere.

"Hafred, I knew you would come," Jenrea clung to the smith's apprentice, who was blushing as red as a beet.

As Zara approached, Cordelia looked up to her wearily. "That... was no enchantress. That was a witch." She breathed those words out, just quietly enough for Zara to overhear. Zara nodded slowly, then glanced across to Hafred and Jenrea. "Looks like all our plans tonight have been scrapped, haven't they?"

Cordelia sighed and nodded. "I'm not going to tell you 'I told you so'."

This earned a sly grin from the bandit queen. "I appreciate..." She trailed off, for she saw something stirring amidst the trees. It was as if several of them were twisting and swaying, trying to uproot themselves.

"Delia dear, can witches animate trees?"

"I don't know..." Finally, her lieutenant followed her gaze. "It appears... they can."

Zara frowned, then grasped Cordelia's arm, tugging her back. "Come on, let's get out of here." When she turned about to leave, however, she saw Jenrea and Hafred just staring at the two of them.

She was fairly certain that Cordelia and her could lose Marissa and whatever she had summoned in the woods. But neither of the two youths from the village knew the area, and they would be easy pickings. Normally, the bandit queen could care less about what happened to them, but the smith's apprentice had saved her life, and when she looked into Jenrea's fearful eyes, something inside forced her hand.

Cursing under her breath, Zara reached out to snag Jenrea's arm with her other hand. "Come on, you two. We'll take you to the smuggler's bolt. You can hide there until morning."

Cordelia looked at her strangely, but as the movements in the trees intensified, Zara just shook her head. "No time to argue, let's go. Cordelia and I will lead her off into the woods and lose her afterwards."

Hafred looked grim for a moment, then nodded, "Very well then, Miss..."

"Blade. That's all you need to know. Let's move it!"

As the first of the trees began to lurch forward, ripping up its roots from the very ground, the four fled in the opposite direction, heading off into the opposite treeline.



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 11



The chaos of the bandit camp left little time for Hafred to truly realize just what he had been facing. All he knew was that Jenrea was calling for help, and the idea of her being in peril sent a surge of strength through his body. Everything - between the moment he spotted Jenrea and tore away from Elthyne's side, to the moment the twisted monstrosity lay twitching at his feet - was a blur. 

It had been a strange feeling, as if his body had been operating automatically. Part of him felt he was being guided by some outside force, and part already seemed to instinctively know the motions. Where to aim each blow, how to position his blade, what stance to use for best effect, everything had come to him as if from some half remembered dream. Or perhaps some whispered hint from an unseen entity.

Hafred knew he should be concerned, yet somehow he wasn't. Whatever had seized him during the fight seemed to have left him none the worse for wear. The deed was done, and Jenrea was safe. As the tall blonde woman lead them across the camp, he slipped one arm about the raven tressed innkeeper's daughter. When she leaned into his side, a thrill shot through him.

The four moved swiftly, though not at a dead run. The bandit queen only stopped long enough to duck into one tent, and soon came out with a sword in hand, the long blade resting at her shoulder. The rest of the camp seemed deathly silent. Even those few bandits Hafred had glimpsed during his approach were no where to be seen.

The woman who had called herself Zara lead them all into the trees, on the opposite side from where Marissa was working her foul magic. While the trunks were as thick as any he had seen during the night's trek through the wilder parts of the forest, and the canopy above blotted out the stars, the ground cover and undergrowth were as clear as those wooded lands near the village proper. The bandits had done a fair job scouring the area near their camp for fallen branches and troublesome underbrush. 

It made for surer steps and faster progress.

By necessity, Hafred released Jenrea, opting instead to take her hand in his, to help her over the roughest terrain. He needn't have worried, for she was agile enough that the uneven ground and clutching roots they encountered posed little challenge.

More troublesome was their guide. Hafred had thought trailing the shadow nymph through the darkness had been difficult, but trying to keep up with the blonde warrior woman was something else entirely. Her long legged stride and familiarity with the terrain gave her a substantial advantage, and he was certain that she only occasionally recalled the fact they were following her. Fortunately, the redheaded Cordelia was taking up the rear, and seemed far more patient with the task of escorting them through the woods.

Every time Hafred thought they had lost whatever Marissa was sending after them, a crash of wood or an unsettling, unwholesome howl echoed through the trees. Each horrible sound inspired a new surge of strength and speed.

After a fair amount of time, as the smith's apprentice began to wonder just how far they were expected to flee, the babbling of water over stone betrayed the presence of a brook of some sort. Zara dashed out before them, erupting from the tree line, and across a flat outcropping of rock. The fast flowing brook passed beneath it, wending about its base before coursing off into the trees once more.

The blonde hesitated only long enough to look back over her shoulder. When she saw Hafred and Jenrea clear the trees, she hopped off of the rock's edge, and down out of sight. There was no splash, only the whisper of rustling leaves and the crunch of shifting gravel.

Hafred dashed out to the edge of the rock, but a glance downward only revealed vine-covered stone and the brook itself, some ten feet below. Utterly confused, he stood there in bewilderment, before Jenrea squeezed his hand, and pointed to the vines.

Zara's hand emerged from behind the sheet of foliage, and parted the leafy vines like a curtain, revealing a hollow within the rock itself.

"Well? Are you coming in?"

Not nearly as confident as Zara had been in the footing offered by the wet gravel bank of the brook below, Hafred released Jenrea's hand at last, and scooted to sit on the edge. As he lowered himself clumsily into that hidden cave, he called up, "Just one moment, Miss Jenrea. I'll help you down shortly."

Fortunately, the ground inside the cave was quite stable, and Cordelia showed up but a few heartbeats afterward. She lowered Jenrea into Hafred's waiting arms, and all the while the raven haired beauty protested that she could manage it on her own.

Still, in a matter of moments, all four were safely hidden inside that concealed cave. It wasn't until he heard Zara's tall frame shuffling further within, and then the strike of steel and flint lighting a small lamp, that he got a real sense for how big the place was.

Easily as large as his own room back at Garn's smithy, the cave had a pair of cots laying next to an empty firepit. A lone exit in the rear lead into another cavern that seemed stocked with barrels and boxes. It was into that cavern that Zara lead them. Much more cluttered, it was easy to stay out of sight from the entrance of the cave, tucked behind a stack of goods.

"It's an old smuggler's hideout," Zara finally explained. "We use it now. It should be safe enough for you two to hide in, at least until morning. Cordelia and I will head out and try to lead the magic bitch as far away as we can."

She glanced across to her lieutenant for confirmation, and the redhead simply shrugged. "If that is your wish, my lady."

"It is," Zara answered before any could protest, and then her eyes fixed on Hafred, as a hawk might its prey.

"I have no idea what that girl is capable of, but then I don't think she knows herself. What I do know is that Cordelia and I know this area inside and out. We'll lead her on a merry chase. I suggest you two get some rest. It's still a couple hours before dawn. Once the sun's up, just follow the brook, if it's quiet out there. That'll take you down in sight of the village."

Hafred glanced to Jenrea for confirmation, and she just offered a gentle smile in return. He had to guess that was approval, so he nodded. "I'll do my best to lay low here. Thank you, Lady Blade, for all your help." It felt odd, referring to a bandit with such deference, especially one who had done so much to instigate the very situation they found themselves in. At least she seemed to want to set things right.

Zara started to offer a response, when Jenrea cut in, "Oh yes, Miss Blade! You've been so brave, protecting us from what Miss Marissa made." She then grew serious. "I know she tried to hurt you, and I know that she cost you at least one of your men, maybe more. But she's not a bad person. I think she's just been in a bad place."

The way the innkeeper's daughter stuck up for a woman who most likely despised her was not particularly surprising to Hafred. Part of Jenrea's charm was how she always seemed to see the best in people. He'd chalk it up to naievity if it weren't for how accurate she usually was.

If she thought something within Marissa was still worth speaking up for, then he had to keep an open mind.

Whether Zara would do so was a different matter. A momentary look of irritation crossed the blonde's face, but she finally forced a thin smile. "We'll just lead her away. It's not like we intend to kill her." 

As one, everyone turned to look at Cordelia. The redhead frowned at being the center of attention, then finally shrugged, "As you wish, my Lady."

Zara straightened, and hefted her sword to rest the blade back against her shoulder. "Then it's settled. Remember, you two stay here until dawn's light. You should be safe enough. Come on, Delia. Let's leave these two lovebirds alone."

The blonde's words brought a blush to Hafred's cheeks, though he was heartened to see Jenrea turning just as crimson.

Zara turned on a heel and lead Cordelia out, leaving the young couple alone without another word. For some time, Hafred and Jenrea sat there in silence, amidst the barrels and crates. The steady flicker of the small lamp between them was some small comfort, offering a warm glow to watch one another by.

As those minutes wore on, the pair fidgeted nervously. The uncomfortable silence grew, until it dominated the small chamber. At last, Hafred opened his mouth to speak, only to see Jenrea about to do the same. Both snapped to silence once more, though only for a moment.

"You first-" their voices ran over each other, and Jenrea dissolved into giggling.

He couldn't help but smile at the sound. Her laughter was a joyous breeze, carrying all his cares away. For the first time that night, he felt truly at ease. And yet that might not have been the best of things, for as the constant state of tension left him, exhaustion replaced it. All of the fear, the concern for her safety, the exertions of battle and the constant hiking here and there across the wilds began to catch up to him. His limbs grew leaden, and the wound which he'd suffered earlier that very night throbbed.

"I am just so very happy to see you safe, Miss Jenrea," he finally said, letting himself slump down against one of the wooden crates.

"Just Jenrea." She corrected him with a smile, then settled in beside him.

Hafred was surprised when she leaned in against his side, though hardly displeased. He hesitantly draped one arm about her. He had embraced her in the heat of the moment earlier, but in this calm and quiet, it was different. The smith's apprentice watched her as she snuggled in against his side, enjoying the warmth of her.

And then she fidgeted a bit, and patted the satchel that still hung at his side. The one which had been holding the meal she'd prepared for him earlier that night, as well as whatever Crow's wife had packed. He'd completely forgotten about it in all of the chaos.

At her frown, Hafred offered a sheepish smile. "It's been a busy night, I just haven't had time-"

His own rumbling stomach interrupted his words. All he'd had in his belly all night was the one drink he'd managed at Crow's house, and the reminder was enough to set hunger loose to join exhaustion in sapping what remaining strength he had.

"You have to eat something," Jenrea chided him, and sat up properly. She removed the satchel from his side, then began to unpack it, laying the contents out there on the lid of a shorter crate in the dim lamplight.

Hafred watched in silence as she made a simple snack of bread and cheese look like a proper meal, set out on a spread kerchief, with the small jug of ale set beside it. He smiled to himself as his eyes followed her movements, admiring the simple beauty of her acts. 

Her allure went beyond her pleasing physique. There was more to her than just her flawless skin, her shimmering hair. More than the way her simple dress clung to every exquisite curve, or the way those full breasts heaved with each breath. While her appearance certainly caught the eye, he felt the real draw was her kindness, the sweetness of her very nature.

It was evident in the way she spoke up for Marissa, even after the woman had unleashed such terrible magic. The way she always seemed to have a nice word or a friendly smile was remarkable. Even there, in the dim light of the smuggler's den, with her own exhaustion evident, she took time to make at least a halfway presentable meal for him, out of snacks she had packed herself earlier.

"Jenrea," he began with a quiet tone. Only when she looked up to him did he continue, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything. For thinking of me, for…" he couldn't finish the sentence. He doubted he would make much sense. "For simply being there," he finally settled on the words.

The smile she offered him was as the rays of dawn peeking over the horizon. "You're the one who came out to find me, silly."

Hafred forced himself to sit up straight, and one powerful hand slipped forth to lightly lay over hers, there on the kerchief she had spread on the rough surface of the crate as a makeshift tablecloth. "I will always come for you, Jenrea. The thought of you in trouble made me realize, I've never told you how I feel. I know that I'm not the richest fellow, or the smartest, but I want to take care of you."

"Hafred-" she began to interrupt, but he continued.

After all, he wasn't certain that he'd be able to muster the courage to say it if he were stopped there.

"I love you, Jenrea," his eyes lifted to hers, only to find those sapphire blues glistening with the beginning of tears. "I don't know how long I have, maybe always. You've always been there, a shining beacon. You give me strength, just knowing you're there makes the world so much better."

A blush crept over her cheeks, and she took his hand in hers. Gently, she tugged it upward, and he obliged, until her soft, warm lips brushed the back of his knuckles. He offered his own smile, before shifting that hand to caress her cheek. He marveled at how smooth her skin felt under his rough fingertips.

"Hafred, I know," she spoke after a moment. Her breath toyed over the inside of his wrist as she closed her eyes. Tears glittered at her cheeks, but a smile curled her full lips. "I've always known. You've always been there for me. As constant as anyone I could ask for."

She scooted along the side of the crate, and settled her form in against his side once more. This time, it was a more comfortable movement, as she kept her hand upon his, holding it to her cheek. He drew in her scent, and slipped his other arm about her slender form, letting her melt into his side.

When her eyes at last left his, he followed her gaze to the bread and cheese she'd laid out there so carefully. Her hand withdrew from his, and instead broke off a bit of the bread. A teasing smile crossed her lovely face as she offered the food to his lips.

He took a nibbling bite, then brushed his lips in a kiss to her fingertips as he finished the morsel. Jenrea offered a little giggle, and squirmed against his side. He wasn't certain just what she was doing, but he definitely found it endearing. As she took up a bit of cheese, he let his hand slide down along her side, to rest comfortably just at the curve of her waist.

So it continued, with her feeding him bit by bit, and he simply luxuriated in the sensation of her resting against his form, of the warmth and softness of her body. Although spending the evening in his pack hadn't helped the freshness of the cheese or the bread, it was still quite good, and filling for a body famished from hours of hiking and fighting. 

When at last he had his fill, Hafred wrapped one arm about Jenrea, and drew her to recline with him, holding her soft body against his own. She did so willingly, her head soon laid upon his chest. One of her hands just curled in against the hardened leather separating them, and a contented sigh escaped her.

Long moments passed as he held her closely, but eventually her voice drifted up, tentative at first. "It makes me happy to hear that you care about me. I think you were the only man in Ingley who really liked me for me, and not just because they wanted me, physically." 

When he tried to speak, Jenrea placed a fingertip against his lips to shush him. After a moment, she continued, "You know better than any of them, how it is to never know your parents. Mister Garn probably raised you the same way I was, with that same focus on hard work, honesty, kindness." She looked into his eyes to verify the truth of her insight.

He couldn't argue against it even if he'd wanted to. Garn had been a strict but fair man his entire life, and had taught those same virtues to Hafred since taking him in.

She finally began to draw her fingertip from Hafred's lips, and offered him a coy smile. "So you see, Hafred, we have a lot in common. With your good heart and your ability to earn an honest coin, I could hardly ask for a better man." Her smile broadened into an outright grin. "Besides, you aren't half bad looking, either."

Whatever he'd been about to interrupt her with was lost in the blush her words produced. Instead, he murmured, "You are far too kind, Jenrea. I'm just a lowly smith's apprentice."

Jenrea put her hands to his cheeks and cradled his face between her palms. "And I'm just a lowly innkeeper's daughter. You're plenty fine for me." And with those words said, she drew him into a loving, lingering kiss.

At the feel of those soft, full lips against his own, all protest fled from Hafred's mind. All that mattered was the sensation of that warm body against his, the sweet insistence of a kiss that was swiftly moving well beyond chaste, and the scrape of Jenrea's nails against his skin as her fingers dragged down toward his shoulders.

His own hands circled her waist, and he drew her closer still. His heart raced as she pressed in against his broad chest, and he could scarce believe it when her deft touch began to loosen the laces of his leathers. The stiff, boiled leather chestpiece was swiftly discarded, as was the padded tunic he wore beneath. The latter required Jenrea's lips to part from his, and allowed him a moment to catch his breath.

Jenrea's eyes fixed on his bare chest, and a blush lingered on her cheeks. Still, there was hardly time to notice before her head dipped once more, and this time her lips played over one collarbone, then along one pec. Hafred hardly thought it fair, that she should be so fully clothed while he had only his trousers and boots, and so his hands left the curve of her waist to play along her toned thighs. As his fingers stroked and teased her through the thin fabric of her dress, he gently began to work the skirt upward along her legs.

As her smooth limbs came into view, she turned hungry eyes up to his own, and then one supple leg cast over his. She shifted to straddle his seated form, and her teeth caught just near to one nipple, before her tongue washed out to soothe where she'd nipped.

Hafred wasn't sure what had come over her, but he certainly wasn't complaining. His hands slipped under the hem of her skirt, and slid up over bare thighs toward her hips. This earned a soft moan from her, and she drew her lips and tongue back up along his chest, over one shoulder, then up the side of his neck. When her lips finally neared his, it was he who initiated the kiss, capturing her mouth with his own.

For long moments, the two simply made out, enjoying the feel of one another's hands upon bared flesh, the shared warmth and the taste of each other's kisses. Hafred was certain that she wanted to go further as much as he did, but there was a good reason for the hesitancy, no matter how heated the moment.

Neither he nor she, to the best of his knowledge, had taken a lover before. While he was fairly certain about what he should do next, he was still torn about whether it was appropriate, given their location, their circumstances, and the fact that they were still unpromised.

The sensation of deft fingers stroking down along his body, then delving down the front of his pants dispelled any doubts he still harbored. Hafred broke the kiss with a surprised groan, and stared into those sapphire eyes. A mischievous expression was plastered across Jenrea's features, and her fingers sought and soon curled about his arousal.

"Jenrea," he gasped her name softly, and was answered only by the slow stroke of those soft digits along his cock.

The smith's apprentice kissed at her smiling lips, then his hands grasped at her waist. The stone floor was too unyielding, but he soon found a solution. Shifting her from where she straddled his legs, he set her aside and rose to one knee. Their eyes locked for but a heartbeat, and then he picked her up entirely as he stood. The muted twinge from the wound at his back was gladly borne, the feel of his love within his arms was more than worth any pain.




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 11



Jenrea's hands found his shoulders as he deposited her rear on the lid of a nearby crate. It was far from ideal, but still better than the cold, hard floor. Once more, their lips met, and he began to draw her dress up and off entirely. He let the fabric tumble from his grasp to pool upon the ground, then turned his gaze over her nude form, for she wore nothing beneath.

She was every bit as beautiful as he imagined. Her skin was soft, her limbs toned without being overbearing, her figure a pleasant mix of full curves and dips. Those breasts were well over a handful each, her nipples peaked, jutting out smartly toward him. Though slender, she was far from thin. Though pale, she was far from sickly.

Jenrea parted her knees as he stepped between them, exposing the dark tufts decorating her mound. She simply smiled as she stroked her hands back along his body, carefully avoiding the still present bandages.

"So," she mused as she began to guide his still unfastened pants downward. "Do you like what you see?"

"More than I can say."

Jenrea pushed his trousers down further with one of her feet, once she could no longer comfortably reach him with her hands. "Good," she near purred the word, "I would be disappointed if I failed to catch your eye, my heart."

When her hand captured his cock once more, Hafred murmured, "It looks like my eyes aren't the only thing you want to catch." 

His words earned a giggle from her, and her lean legs rose to wrap about his waist, her ankles crossed behind him. She drew him in, and he slid his hands up her body, over curves he had admired from afar for so long. Again her lips sought his skin, teasing over neck and chest.

"It is such a relief," she exhaled the words against his flesh, "to know you feel as I do."

Hafred kissed the top of her head, and stroked one hand along the nape of her neck. "Of course, Jenrea. I've loved you for so long."

She was right, though. It was as if a great weight of doubt and uncertainty had lifted in those minutes.

"Take me, Hafred. Make me yours, and yours alone."

Her words bid him continue, the way her hand guided his length and the feel of her warm, wet folds against his tip merely confirmed her want. She was more than ready for him.

He expected resistance to his first penetration, but an active life about the inn, fields, and stables had left naught but the tight grip of her body to slow his thrust. The sweet sound she made as she yielded before him was heavenly.

Hafred held her close and let her adjust to his girth. When her smooth thighs rose to cradle his hips, he started to take her with a slow, shallow rhythm. Hafred's eyes fixed upon hers, watching for signs of distress or displeasure. All that he saw was desire and devotion. Soon, her hips rolled to meet his every thrust.

Within that dimly lit, hidden chamber in the wilds, lips sought lips, hands stroked over warm flesh, and soon the steady impact of body against body joined the muted moans echoing off the stone walls. Hafred gave little thought to the risks of being discovered in their moment of pleasure. Indeed, what few coherent thoughts he could spare were devoted to making love with the woman of his dreams.

Jenrea's supple body arched into his, crushing her breasts to her lover's chest. As her peaked nipples dragged against his skin, Hafred picked up his pace, though he surely couldn't last much longer. His hands gripped her hips firmly, and as he grew more demanding, Jenrea responded in kind. Her ankles crossed behind his back, and she drew him harder against her with those toned legs.

Hafred's hot breath washed over Jenrea's lips, and the bite of her nails against his tight muscles sent him over the edge. With a groan, he drove his thick cock to the hilt within her welcoming warmth, and with a grind of his hips, the smith's apprentice began to fill his lover with his release.

This was enough to drive her own climax, for she tightened about him, her own arousal bathing his rigid shaft. Her nails scratched down along his powerful arms, leaving little welts in their wake, and her lips met his once more for a ravenous kiss.

Eagerly, he returned Jenrea's kiss, and he wrapped his arms about her perspiration-sheened form. When she finally released his mouth, both of the young lovers panted for breath, gazes locked and bodies still entwined.

"That was…" she started, but could not finish the thought before he interrupted.

"Heavenly."

The single word brought a blush to her cheeks, and she nuzzled wearily into the crook of his neck. With a heave, Hafred lifted her off of that wooden surface, and settled back on the ground amidst their discarded clothing.

"Let's rest here awhile?" she asked in a gentle tone.

Hafred simply nodded, and closed his eyes. One hand stroked her hair, and soon the two drifted off to sleep in one another's arms, oblivious to the chaos which still raged on in the forest outside.



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 12



The towering, ancient trunks conspired with the looming branches overhead to devour the sound of her quarry. For long stretches, Marissa was left with only the hiss of her own breath and the creaking and cracking of the shambling things she had instinctively called forth. The canopy above filtered out most of the stars and moonlight, so limiting her vision that it was a wonder she hadn't collided with a tree yet. Every time she was about to give up in frustration, however, she heard the distant crash of footsteps through underbrush, or the call of one woman to another.

Marissa was certain those voices belonged to the bandit woman and her lieutenant. She hadn't heard Jenrea or her boyfriend in some time, but assumed they were just keeping quiet in an attempt to lose her. They might indeed escape, but there was little chance of all of her prey slipping away, with how loud the lanky blonde was.

When the crash of a body hurtling through leaves came from just ahead, Marissa grinned at her luck. The red tressed noble grasped onto one of the woody protrusions that served to lend structure to the leafy shamblers. Hoisting herself up off the ground and onto the creature's bulk, she pointed in the direction she'd heard that crash. Marissa hardly had time to brace herself before the mound lurched off to obey her command.

She wasn't certain just what the creatures were, only that she had somehow created them in her rage. It was as if the very land had responded to her fear and anger, and provided her with the means to lash out at those who had tormented her. Now, her anger merely simmered under the surface, not enough to call forth other creations, and barely enough to keep control of the pair that remained.

The longer it took to find who she was looking for, the harder it was to maintain the emotions needed for whatever powers that had awakened within her. Marissa would settle for anyone at that moment. With any luck, she would run across the torturous bitch that was the bandit lieutenant, but that idiotic Jenrea would do in a pinch. Ending the smith's apprentice Hafred or the blonde bandit wouldn't be nearly as satisfying, but it would at least be something.

When another shout echoed from the forest ahead, Marissa urged her monstrous minions forward. They redoubled their pace, and as the leafy creatures burst from the trees, the tall blonde came into view, lazily standing atop a rocky outcropping, as if awaiting a tardy acquaintance.

There was neither concern nor fear in her bearing, and her casual demeanor aggravated Marissa. Did the woman not realize the powers at her command? The blonde bandit had to have seen what had happened to her underlings. Yet the tall blonde simply watched her and the amorphous plant creatures as they rapidly closed in.

As rage once more swelled within Marissa's chest, the crackle of power danced visibly at her fingertips. The noblewoman's fiery hair rose in a frizzy halo, as electricity built up about her. Marissa lifted one hand, intending to unleash an arc of blue lightning toward Zara. Only then did she see the narrow gorge which loomed amidst the craggy rock floor. In an instant, what had appeared a solid path was revealed as a deadly drop.

The sudden collapse of the conjured creature beneath her tore a shriek from her lips. With a resounding crack and a flash, the pent up lightning at Marissa's fingertips arched into a tree trunk far beyond the toppled stones about her. Her aim was ruined as she leapt from the back of the falling plant-monster. With a desperate grab, she managed to catch hold of the rough, sharp edged lip of the gorge, grunting as her body hit the side of the stony descent.

Her other leafy servant managed to arrest its charge before toppling over the edge, but now simply lurked on the far side of the gorge, seeming confused. With her burning rage now replaced with a pit of icy fear, Marissa found she couldn't exert control over the creature, at least not enough to urge it to save her.

The steady crunch of gravel and loose stone under heavy boots approached from above, and Marissa was helpless to do much more than dangle there, the bottom of the narrow drop easily thirty feet below her. For longer than she dared acknowledge, Marissa stared downward, past her feet and at the broken mass of plants strewn across the jagged rocks below. There was no way the remnants of her creation would be thick enough to break her fall, so she finally turned her gaze upward.

The grim-faced blonde looming confidently above appeared every bit as dangerous as the fall below. Although the shock of nearly plummeting to her death was fading, the noblewoman could no longer feel the pulse of magic within herself. Could she only wield those awesome powers while in a rage? Frozen with doubt and indecision, Marissa simply clung to the lip of the gorge and prayed her strength would hold.

"I should let you fall," Zara's tone was hushed, yet cold. "But I told Jenrea I would try not to kill you. Don't make me regret that." The bandit queen shifted fluidly to one knee, and as one hand tightened about the grip of her long sword, she offered the other to Marissa.

Zara's words sparked a faint ember of the crimson haired vixen's earlier anger. As humiliating as it would be to accept the mercy of a common bandit, at least the blonde woman was a competent warrior, and a leader of men, however ragtag her band was. But to be spared on the wish of a stupid bar wench, and one that had so stymied her own efforts these past days was something she couldn't bear contemplating.

Dark jade eyes fixed upon that tanned, corded hand. It was as strong as any man's that she had seen, and fit with Marissa's impression of the blonde as a lumbering brute of a woman. Still, she was sturdy enough to lift Marissa with ease, so the young noble risked it. She boosted herself up with one foot against the rock, and lunged upward, to grab at Zara's extended hand.

Zara caught her wrist with a startling speed, and with a firm grip and powerful tug, the blonde woman hauled Marissa back to safety. Marissa winced as she was dragged up onto the rough rocks, but was just thankful she wasn't in danger of taking a tumble. She ended up on her knees in front of the tall blonde, a position she most certainly despised, before managing to regain her feet.

As much as the battered noblewoman hated the situation she found herself in, the spark of magic which had flared within her soul before was just a faint, intermittent flicker, not enough to unleash the hell she wished upon the woman who had just saved her. Being at the mercy of a commoner did not suit her, not one bit.

Furtively, Marissa's gaze darted here and there, surveying her options. Behind her, the chasm she had nearly tumbled into separated her from her remaining creature. Before her, beyond the bandit queen, lay an expanse of broken rock, dotted here and there with the occasional twisted tree sprouting from the scattered cracks and crevices. There was perhaps thirty feet of this terrain between herself and the edge of the clearing, rough enough to slow her, to make her an easy target, should she brave a sprint for the woods.

Zara had picked her ambush site well.

Marissa's hope faded. She would have surrendered then and there, but for the voice which called out at that very moment. 

"Lady Zara? Do you have her under control?"

It was the other redhead. The hateful lieutenant who had so delighted in her misery and humiliation. Her voice did more than merely fan the embers of Marissa's rage. Hatred and anger flared as if someone had thrown grease onto the fire in her heart.

The young noble shrieked as she abandoned herself to her temper, and the very wind responded in kind. A near deafening roar accompanied the sudden, violent eruption of a whirlwind, with her at the very center.

Marissa's hair and skirt were whipped about, but the majority of the wind's power radiated outward. Zara lost her footing, and was very nearly swept off the edge of the ravine before she caught herself. 

As the swirling walls of the vortex rushed outward from Marissa, Cordelia cried out, and rushed toward them. Finally able to get her bearings, Marissa glanced over her shoulder to spot the lieutenant dashing toward the edge of the ravine which separated them.

Raising one hand, Marissa let the magics surge through her body. The power was intoxicating, she felt more alive than she'd ever felt. With a thought, she sent the remaining shambler after Cordelia. Twisted, wooden limbs mimicked Marissa's gesture, then long, leafy green vines erupted from the animated mound. They arced and reached for the copper haired lieutenant, but just as they would have bound about her lithe form, she drew those strange daggers. The glowing blades cut through the shambler's snaring vines in the same motion which carried them from their sheathes.

Still, the hesitation, the turn of her attentions kept Cordelia on the other side of the ravine, safely away from Marissa and Zara. As the newly minted sorceress turned her gaze back to Zara herself, the blonde was just recovering her feet. That vortex of wind had died down and away, dissipated without Marissa's concentration giving it form.

This time, Zara had her blade out and bared. The length of long, naked steel and the tall woman's stature and stance gave her an impressive reach. Even without martial training, Marissa knew she had to give the woman a wide berth, and so she began to scoot toward the trees.

At any other time, the thought of facing off against an armed assailant of any stripe would have given her pause. The power at her fingertips gave Marissa a new confidence, even if she hardly understood the nature of it.

In a contest between muscle and steel versus the raw elements of nature at her command, she felt she had the upper hand.

Across the gap, her shambler had engaged Cordelia, though the swift movements of the lieutenant and her cursed blades seemed more than a match for the creature. It would not delay her for long.

Marissa raised her palms toward Zara, as if her merest touch were a deadly weapon. She still wasn't certain what manner of power she could call forth, but the very threat of it seemed to put the tall blonde on guard.

Zara's powerful frame lowered into an almost crouching stance, the long blade held in both her hands. Her eyes fixed upon Marissa, a panther watching her prey. The sleek lines of her tanned frame glistened with perspiration, at least where her dark leathers didn't fully cover her.

Marissa had to admit, her opponent was a fearsome sight. If not for her absolute confidence and certainty, she would have run in terror. Zara was beautiful in her deadly potential.

A burning blush swept her cheeks as she shook her head, dispelling such thoughts. Her palms burned, as if the heat of her rage had focused into flames, yet none spilled forth. Waves of heat nonetheless radiated outward, distorting the air about her hands. Perhaps she would have to make contact for this new power to have any impact. Getting past Zara's reach and the length of her blade was a daunting prospect.

She so wished that she could figure out how she had called lightning from her hands before.

Zara's sudden lunge forward sent Marissa dancing back a few steps. Long skirts, torn and ripped from the night's efforts, swirled about her legs as she avoided the stab and sweep of the sharp steel. Another thrust and cut sent the noblewoman further back. 

Marissa wasn't skilled in a fight, no, but she understood what was happening. The bandit queen was testing her, finding out her reactions, her defenses. Her heart raced as she watched the tip of Zara's sword. It felt like she was playing with a scorpion. Perhaps she could somehow reach out and touch the blade itself?

With another lunging thrust, Marissa was forced back again. This time, she only barely managed to avoid being cut. The fabric of her dress caught on the tip of the blade, and sliced open, exposing a bit of her midriff, a hint of the curve of one hip.

She would have to try to touch the blade on the next swipe. If she could just push her hand against the flat of it, perhaps she could heat the weapon to the point Zara would have to drop it. Marissa shifted her own footing, opening her stance so she could react to the next thrust.

Her delicate foot slipped off the edge of the cracked and broken rocks about them, and plunged into a crevice. Marissa tumbled to one knee, and looked back to see her ankle disappearing into a small gap in the stone. She was lucky she hadn't broken it.

The whisper of steel through the air had the noblewoman lurching backward instinctively. Zara's blade grazed her cheek, drawing a shallow scratch across her fair skin and neatly slicing a lock of her hair away, as it cut through its swipe. As Marissa slipped backward toward her trapped foot, it disappeared further into the gap, but found no purchase. Her calf and skin scraped against the rock, leaving her foot unsupported.

With one leg trapped, there was almost nothing Marissa could do to ward off Zara's approach. The blonde casually straightened, and advanced, sword still held at the ready.

Across the gorge, Cordelia had just finished reducing Marissa's summoned guardian to a useless pile of leaves and wood. She backed up from the edge of the ravine, and sheathed her blades, before beginning a charge toward it, no doubt to jump the treacherous gap.

With a frustrated scream, Marissa balled both her hands into fists, and slammed them down painfully on the rocky ground. The cut at her cheek burned, as her own warm blood oozed down her cheek. her leg ached, bruised to the bone, and the more she struggled to free it, the more the sharp edges of stone dug into her flesh, cutting her stocking to ribbons.

When her fists impacted the ground, however, the burst of pain was followed by a sudden tremor of the ground. For just a moment, her leg was freed, and she pulled it out, losing her shoe in the process.

As she tumbled back onto the cracked stone, her eyes widened at the sight before her. Cordelia hit the ground hard, and rolled as her feet gave way beneath her, while Zara wheeled her own arms about, in a mad attempt to remain balanced on the trembling ground.

More terrifying, even to Marissa, was the craggy figure of stone rising from the rock surface between Zara and Cordelia. Its crumbling facade was only vaguely human, though it stood perhaps a head taller than a man might.

Had she summoned the thing?

Its eyes burned red for a moment, then with a crack and grind, the rock figure swung one fist out toward Zara, catching her full across the back. The blonde tumbled forward with a pained grunt, and her sword point struck sparks from the stone ground, just a few inches from where Marissa lay.

There was no sense of control of the creature, no instinctive guide to making the beast obey, as had happened when things had appeared before. Marissa raised her hands toward the rocky creature, and it merely turned those burning eyes toward her.

Whether she had called the thing forth or not, it clearly bore no loyalty toward her. With a cry, Marissa rolled to her hands and knees, then began to lurch off toward the trees, half crawling, half limping. The smash of massive stone hands against the rocky ground where she had been but moments before told of just how close she had come to doom.

Perhaps her newfound abilities were not all she had hoped. Without control, she could clearly put herself in as much danger as her enemies.

Aching and terrified, Marissa scrambled into what she hoped was the relative safety of the trees. Behind her, the grating movements of the stone man and the ringing of steel echoed, as the two bandit women focused on the beast she had unleashed. With her heart hammering in her chest, the noblewoman fled a bit deeper into the forest, until she finally braced herself against the thick trunk of a tree.

She ripped a sleeve from her dress, wadded it roughly, then held the dark fabric up against her cheek to stem the bleeding. If the cut left a scar, she'd have the blonde woman flayed alive. That is, if she survived herself. As the cries and clash of battle continued to echo through the looming trees, Marissa just leaned back against the rough bark, letting her heart and mind slow.

An intense exhaustion crept into every limb. As active as she had been that night, the sheer fatigue that threatened to overwhelm her was still surprising. Maybe using the magic she'd discovered took more of a toll on her than she had at first thought. For a moment, just a moment, she thought she might not make it out alive.

Out of the corner of her eye, a shadow seemed to dart from tree to tree. Despite her weariness, Marissa tensed, rigid against the solid wood behind her. Soon, another fleeting figure crossed the darkness.

Certain of impending doom, she forced herself onward, moving leaden limbs to trudge away from the mysterious watcher in the woods, away from the fading sounds of melee as well. As she struggled to put more ground between herself and the bandit women, a terrible crash of falling stone marked the end of the stone man she had let loose, as well as any distraction it might have provided.

With one hand held to her burning cheek, and with her strength sapped by the exhaustion of the day, her going was quite slow. Still, at first no pursuit seemed evident. Marissa cursed the ignominity of it all, but was grateful for her life. She would worry about finding her way back to the village after she was far enough from the scene.

Her flight would not be so simple, though. With each limping step, Marissa felt more hunted, and the sensation of being watched set in. She glanced over her shoulder, searching the gloom with strained eyes, but no matter how she tried, there was no sign of the bandit women. On the cusp of assuming the feeling was just a hint of paranoia, she finally caught a glimpse of a figure. It was the very same shadowy being she had seen moments before.

Even when Marissa was certain she'd seen it, she wasn't clear on just who or what she'd seen. The figure was humanoid, with the curves of a slender woman barely distinguishable between the trunks of two trees. Whoever she was, whatever she was, her body seemed made of shadow, her clothing woven of a slightly darker shade of nothingness. Her nature made it difficult for Marissa to focus upon her.

The shadowy woman took a step forward, and Marissa recoiled. "Stay back," she croaked out, her throat dry from her earlier fear and panic.

At the noblewoman's request, the shadow woman seemed to hesitate. It was only a moment's pause, before the dusky woman continued her advance, stepping out into a shaft of moonlight piercing the treetops above. The shine of that moonlight on her dark skin provided a contrast that allowed more detail to be seen. Marissa gasped softly, almost shocked by the woman's unnatural poise and beauty. Skin that was more a fragment of night given flesh, hair of inky silk, even her eyes appeared to echo the faint gleam of the night's stars.

She was certainly no human. Marissa began to stumble backward, away from her. The pained look on the shadow woman's features puzzled the wounded noblewoman for a moment, but the sound of two others approaching through the trees brought the reality of her situation back into focus.

"Mistress?" The shadow-clad woman's voice was soft and lyrical, tentative and curious.

Marissa frowned at the term. She'd never seen the strange woman in her life, and yet there was some sense of connection there. Just as she was about to answer the nymph, Zara and Cordelia burst forth from the trees, blades drawn and rage in their eyes. Marissa turned, and forced her sore and weary legs into motion. She fled again, into the trees.




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 12



She was so focused on the crash of footsteps hounding her trail that she hardly watched where she was going. Her lungs burned, her limbs ached, and she was near blind in the darkness. Marissa heard another movement from just ahead, and something large loomed from the darkness, just as a crooked root caught her foot. She fell forward, slamming into the ground hard.

Marissa didn't want to look up. She heard the first of her pursuers approach, only to stop suddenly, as if held a few paces back by some unseen force. 

"Mistress!" The shadowy nymph, for that was what she surely must be, called out to her. "Are you alri-" Her words were cut off by an all too familiar voice.

"Well, well, does a witch's little toy dare show herself before me?" Isolde's words were cold and cruel.

Marissa peeked through her hands, only to vaguely make out the heavy hooves of a horse before her. So that was the beast which had so startled her. But it was no horse she recognized. It appeared to be a proper knight's charger, perhaps from one of the King's Men in the village. Yet as she turned her eyes up along its stately, looming form, the black-clad figure astride it was none other than her father's lover.

Her eyes shone even in that dim light, and her stare was like ice. But Marissa could not have been more pleased to see her.

The bandit women burst upon the scene at that very moment, and quite literally skidded to a wary halt. Zara and Cordelia both adopted defensive stances simultaneously, as their eyes fixed upon the woman rider.

Thankfully, the shadowy nymph faded back into the forest, taking advantage of Isolde's distraction to retreat.

"Get up, you useless little tramp."

With a great deal of effort, Marissa hauled herself to her feet. She felt as if she were going to pass out. One hand rose to brace herself against the dark furred charger Isolde rode. The beast tolerated her touch, and provided a support as solid as any wall.

The bandit women remained silent still, though the red headed one glared daggers at Isolde. Still, they were much more guarded than her father's name should have merited. Marissa watched them out of the corner of her eye, wondering what could keep the two warrior women at bay so readily.

"Consorting with bandits and witch's servants, Marissa? I am so disappointed in you. It's a good thing for you that I had business out here anyway, and that the chaos out here was so loud." Isolde then turned her cold gaze to Zara. "And you, where is the other girl? I told you to catch both of them."

The tall blonde was about to speak, when Cordelia cut her off. "Go to hell," the lean little redhead snarled at Isolde with the same venom she'd shown Marissa herself.

Isolde laughed chillingly, then focused her hawkish gaze on Zara, as if she could bore a hole through the blonde with her stare alone. "Tell me."

A chill ran down Marissa's spine at her tone. There was something unwholesome about it.

"We let her go," Zara answered, before Cordelia could stop her.

The dagger wielding lieutenant shifted between Zara and Isolde. She positively spat venom, "She's gone now, so take your little witch and get gone, Enchantress."

Marissa was confused. Witch? Enchantress? Which was she supposed to be?

Isolde's response was startling. She tensed and gripped the reigns of her steed tight, until her knuckles grew pale. "Witch? What are you talking about, little pup?" Her cold gaze drifted down to Marissa. "What is she talking about, girl?"

Marissa felt every cell of her body protest as she lifted her gaze to Isolde's. She swayed unsteadily, and would have fallen if not for the sturdy flank of the horse beside her. "I... I don't know," she answered truthfully, "Perhaps it has something to do with the powers?" She didn't know what to term them. Had she found them? Unlocked them? Was it mere chance that she had discovered she had them?

"Powers?" Isolde's voice was a glacier. "What... powers? Show me."

Marissa's brow furrowed, and Cordelia began to push Zara back toward the safety of the trees. "Show you? I cannot. I don't know how-"

"Show. Me." 

This time, that terrible gaze was turned upon her. Marissa felt a wrenching in her head, as if someone were pulling a string, trying to focus her upon Isolde's request. She'd felt that sensation before, though never quite as strong as that. In the past, even the slightest push was enough to get her to comply. 

At that point, however, even though the urge to do as she was told was stronger than ever, she felt she could deny it. The same vitality that surged within her earlier seemed to bolster her will.

"No." Marissa spoke the word firmly. She wasn't even sure why she was denying the demand. She could feel it again, the power at her fingertips. After that gaze had fixed upon her, she was certain she could call forth those forces of nature once more. She just didn't want to.

If she couldn't stand up to her father's lover when she had the power of magic at her command, then when could she?

Isolde snarled, and the sharp report of the back of her hand across Marissa's cheek echoed through the woods. The younger noblewoman's head snapped to one side from the blow. It was her wounded cheek, and that warm blood once more began to run in hot rivulets down her skin.

"You shall not deny me, Marissa Ingley. Show me!"

Isolde's will bore palpably down on Marissa, and the surge of her own powers welled up from within. Marissa felt like a frog being slowly squashed between two massive forces. She could resist, but it was painful to do so. Her untrained magic didn't know how to cope with her situation.

Zara and Cordelia finally broke and ran. Their retreating backs were only in view for a moment, but that was all Marissa needed. With an agonized cry, she lifted both hands in the general direction of the bandit women.

With a sharp clap of thunder and smell of ozone, bolts of electricity connected her outstretched palms to various trees along the path of her gesture. At least a few connected with the two bandits, and both women fell spasming to the ground.

Isolde was silent for a long while, and Marissa leaned heavily against the side of her steed. Her head spun, the strength began to flee her body. Just as she began to slump to her feet, Isolde's hand snapped out and grabbed under her arm.

The laughter was faint, at first, but as Isolde dragged Marissa up to slump over the saddle before her, her laughter intensified. It was not an easy laugh, but an unhinged cackle. Her long nails raked Marissa's back as she clawed and dragged the younger woman up, until she lay there, limp but balanced.

"You're not mine... you were never mine. You were hers. All these years, and you weren't even mine?! Oh... this is rich though. So rich. I'll be able to do so much with you."

Marissa was confused. Exhausted, her vision began to go black. The last she saw as her consciousness began to fade was the whirl of trees as Isolde turned her steed back into the forest, and the smoking, still figures of the bandit queen and her lieutenant, lying amidst smouldering trees and underbrush.

For all their spite and crudeness, they were quite pretty, crumpled there together in defeat.



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 13



In the quiet, sheltered darkness of the smuggler's hideout, there was little indication of just when the morning light had finally crept over the horizon. No, it was the nagging chill of the cold ground, and the lack of the warm body he had drifted off beside that finally stirred Hafred to wakefulness. The dim, diffuse glow scattering in from the veiled, distant entrance offered just enough contrast to reveal Jenrea's absence. He bolted upright in a panic.

He didn't bother to do more than hastily tug his trousers on, before stumbling out of the dark hideaway. Hafred was halfway out of the main cave before he finally heard the soft, sweet sound of Jenrea humming, and the occasional splash of someone in the shallow stream outside. Those were not sounds of distress, and Hafred's worry subsided immediately. He slowed his pace as he came to the curtain of overhanging vines, and peered into the comparatively brilliant, sunlit world beyond.

The sun was not yet high enough to peek over the trees, but its warm glow still streamed through the forest, stretching long shadows from each trunk and branch it passed. Not twenty feet away, where the babbling brook widened into a small pond, Jenrea lay half submerged in the clear waters. 

She was nude, back turned toward him. Her simple outfit was left in a pile upon one dry, flat stone. The golden glow of the sun's merry rays shone off her fair skin, while her raven locks were soaked through, and clung along the slender curve of her back. As Hafred's eyes drifted along her body, memories of the night before returned in a rush, and his cheeks heated with a faint blush.

Her soft humming, a sweet sort of tune that she always seemed to sing to herself while working, faltered as she half turned to see who was watching. Although the pose revealed the full curve of one breast, it was her eyes that first captured his gaze. For a long moment, he stared into those deep blues, and when she smiled to him, he couldn't help but return it.

"Good morning, sleepy." Though her voice was hushed, it still carried over the babble of the water about her. She rose from that shallow pool, and stepped toward him. Water coursed in rivulets down her body, making her glisten like a jewel in the sun's slanted rays.

Finally Hafred stepped forth from the cave, and cautiously picked his way along the edge of the stream. When he was near enough, the innkeeper's daughter took his hands in hers, and drew them toward her slim waist. He took the hint readily enough, settling his hands against her damp skin, and dipped his head to capture her lips for a tender, lingering kiss.

The sweetness of her lips, the warmth of her touch dispelled what subtle fears he'd had that the night before was a dream. He held the kiss, and groaned as Jenrea's hands drifted up along his bare chest, tracing the contours of each defined muscle.

When at last their lips parted, the smith's apprentice pressed his forehead to his lover's.

"Can we stay like this forever?"

He desperately wanted to answer her with a yes, but the weight of responsibility would not be denied. Even if, somehow, they could ignore what had happened with the prince and his search, if somehow the squire's daughter had given up the hunt, they should still let Garn and Innkeeper Rothal know that they were safe. 

"Would that we could, my love, but-"

"Yes, I know. 'Tis a silly, selfish fancy, but I wish it were possible." She smiled up to him, then nipped gently at his chin. "Still, we can stay a while longer, can't we?" Jenrea punctuated her words with a slow drag of her nails along his chest.

Between her wanting gaze and her teasing touch, there was no way Hafred could refuse her request. "Perhaps just a little while," he finally relented, then slid his hands in a slow caress along the bare curves of her hips.

His assent to her whim was rewarded with a little giggle, and the scrape of her nails over the still bandage-covered contours of his abdomen, where they lingered. When Jenrea's expression turned to worry and threatened to disrupt that close moment, Hafred grasped her waist and lifted her bodily from that stream.

There was hardly any pain at all, the poultices Crow's wife had dressed his wound with appeared to have done their job well. He wouldn't be surprised if some sort of magic was at work, knowing those two.

With little effort, Hafred hoisted her onto a raised rock beside the stream. Although dry, the stone had been worn smooth by past floods, and Jenrea offered no complaint as she wriggled back upon the sun-warmed surface. Instead, her deft hands worked on relieving him of his hastily donned trousers. Once loosened, she pushed at the fabric with one foot, guiding the material down his legs.

Already rising to the occasion, Hafred dearly wished they had the time to truly savor the morning together. Still, he could certainly enjoy what precious moments they had before duty required they be on their way. Little time was wasted, between the parting of Jenrea's smooth, inviting thighs and his own shift to slide between them. His lips teased and tasted her skin, trailing from the top of one collarbone, and down the exquisite curve of one full breast.

She was soft as velvet under his hands, and her body welcomed his readily. Their lovemaking was different, out under the morning sun. There was none of the cramped confines, none of the stress and worry of discovery of the night before, none of the uncertainty of one another. Although time was not on their side, Jenrea's own movements urged a slower pace, and he was more than happy to oblige.

With her skin still damp from the stream, she still tasted as lovely as ever. His lips closed about one pert nipple, to tease that stiff peak with a suckling kiss. And then, the other was offered equal attention. As her toned legs wrapped about his waist, he plunged ever deeper within her wanting body. The slick walls clutching at his cock offered little resistance.

The soft, needful sounds she made at his penetration, and each movement thereafter, were as wonderful as the feel of her beneath him. Every musical little moan, every breathy gasp she produced stirred him to quicken his pace. The sun warmed his back as certainly as her body warmed the rest of him. When her nails once more drew welts across his shoulder blades, this time Hafred slid his own hands up to grasp her wrists, and guide them to the stone above her head.

She shot him a playful look as her wrists were pinned, and gave a token tug. Hafred simply smiled as his lips left her skin, and sought her mouth instead. His kiss stifled her moans, but the way her hips rose to meet his was ample indication of her approval.

He was close, and clearly Jenrea was as well. Neither had the experience, the will to try to prolong their joining, and that place and time was not the best to start. It was Jenrea who peaked first, crying out into his lips as she ground herself up against his firm body. The way her core worked the length of his shaft soon had him following over that ecstatic brink. He broke the kiss and stared down to her eyes, though he found them closed.

The breathless lovers slowed their pace as Hafred's spend filled her once more. He braced himself on one arm, supporting his weight above her, as she cradled his body with her legs. A contented smile lingered on Jenrea's lips, though it was a long while before her eyes opened to his.

"We must go now, mustn't we?" Though the adoring smile never left her lips, her words were pouting enough.

Hafred nodded. "We must, my love. We must tell the village what has happened, seek out the Sage, and perhaps see how the Prince fared."

Jenrea sighed, and nuzzled in against his neck, wrapping her arms about him. He slipped one arm about her, and held her for a minute, maybe more. Finally, she pushed lightly at his chest.

"Let's get ready, then." Her voice was near a whisper, her disappointment palpable.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from her, to dress and gather some things from the smuggler's hideaway.

The sun was higher in the sky by the time the two departed their sanctuary. Although he'd only hoped to fetch a bottle of wine or so from the hidden stash within the cave, a cursory search had turned up a pair of stout axes, one of which he'd turned over to Jenrea, the other he kept himself. They'd make adequate weapons, especially when paired with his knife, and appropriate tools, if they had to blaze a trail through the woods.

Not that he was looking forward to any woodland crossing. He had little clue which direction the village was at this point, and even the ominous blot that was The Broken Stone was out of view, leaving them with little in the way of recognizable landmarks. 

There was the stream, of course, and he was counting on a bit of an assumption. He hoped it was either the stream that ran through the middle of the village, or the one that ran past the outer fields, before the Squire's manor. Either way, if they followed it downstream, they should reach familiar terrain before dark. Unless, of course, it was another stream entirely, but he didn't want to think about that.

The gravel banks of the stream made for relatively easy travel, although the meandering course of the stream necessarily lengthened the hike, wherever their trek might ultimately lead.

At least the journey was a peaceful one, for the first few hours. A cool breeze rustled through the trees and followed the path the stream cut through the forest, while the occasional bird sang from the branches nearby, or darted overhead. The overhanging limbs were enough to shade them from the sun's rays, but still sparse enough that their way was brightly lit.

For a while, the two lovers made small talk as they trod along, but soon settled into the simple joy of one another's presence. It was not until noon, as Hafred's grumbling belly reminded him, that the peace was broken. Just as he was about to suggest they rest a while and fish, or at the very least try to hunt something, there was a sound from directly ahead. It was a distinct splashing and clattering of something, or someone, staggering through the shallows of the stream. 

Hafred shifted his grip on the axe he was carrying, a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Jenrea was doing the same. The fact that she was perfectly capable of seeing to her own defense brought a smile to his face, and he shifted his stance, creeping further up along the bank. Perhaps he could remain unseen just within the treeline, and get the jump on whoever lurked before them. Jenrea soon followed, as quiet as he.

The two were as ghosts, or at least he liked to think they were, and though their new path slowed their progress, he was confident they would catch up to whatever was making such a splashing racket. The timing of their approach, and a sharp curve in the stream meant that they would be quite close to their quarry whenever the duo broke from the trees.The closely spaced trunks and low branches blocked all view, until finally Hafred cut across the curve, stepping out of the trees with axe raised.

The rush of danger, the pumping of his heart, and the violence of his sudden appearance from the treeline almost ended in tragedy, for it was no enemy he faced when the source of those splashing footsteps came into view. It was not Marissa, nor one of her twisted beasts, but rather the tall, powerful figure of Zara Blade.

The blonde woman staggered and limped, favoring one leg. Her leathers were slashed in places, revealing bronzed flesh and shallow cuts and scrapes. Her hair was a tangled mess, as if some unruly wind had tossed it about. The side of her face, and the arm at that side were reddened and blistered, as if burned.

She was obviously in pain, and yet staggered onward. As Hafred cautiously approached, he finally caught sight of the limp form of Cordelia, Zara's lieutenant. She lay unresponsive in Zara's arms, in as rough shape as the taller woman. From where he stood, Hafred couldn't be sure if she was alive or not.

Zara did not seem aware of his presence, and continued to stumble forward, eyes fixed in a distant stare. It was not until Jenrea, having finally come upon the scene, called out to her that she came to a stop.

"Miss Zara!"

The blonde stood still for a moment, then slowly turned her head to look back to Jenrea, and Hafred by extension. Tears welled in her eyes, before she spoke in a voice that threatened to collapse into sobs, "I need to get her to the village, to a healer." 

Hafred took a step forward, but was pushed aside by Jenrea as she ran toward the bandit women. Her worried expression was almost as heartbreaking as that of Zara. Hafred slowed his approach, giving Jenrea time to look Cordelia over.

Jenrea fussed over the lieutenant, listening for her breathing and her heartbeat, then motioned for Zara to carry her to a dry spot on the bank. As they lay the redhead down, Jenrea shook her head. A few tears rolled down her cheeks.

"She's still alive, but I don't know that she will last until we get to Ingley. If only the Sage were here." She laid her hands against Cordelia's cheeks, as if she could somehow mend her by touch alone.

Hafred stretched as he neared. If only the Sage were present indeed. Or even the man's wife. He still couldn't believe how well he'd recovered from being shot in that brief time since they'd treated him. The shift of his weight caused his satchel to catch at the hilt of his dagger, and he reached down to right it, only to freeze in place.

The potions. The Sage's wife had given him potions. Quickly, Hafred opened his bag, and sure enough, beside the wine bottles he'd salvaged from the smuggler's hideout, there were those three strange, glowing vials he had nearly forgotten about.

"Jenrea," He hesitantly started, "You've worked with the Sage to heal folk before, have you not?"

She nodded. It was true, to a point. When folk fell ill, or were injured beyond what a basic splint or bandage could fix, the villagers would often send for the Sage's assistance. Usually it was delivered through the intermediaries of his wife Scarlet or Jenrea, administering whatever aid the Sage had sent along with them.

Hafred drew one of the potions out as her hastened his steps, and knelt near where Jenrea and Cordelia were settled. "Is this-"

He hardly got the words out before Jenrea's eyes lit up, and she snatched the bottle from his hands. "Where did you get this?! Oh! Oh this is exactly what we need! Help sit her up, hold her head."

At Jenrea's commands, Hafred and Zara propped Cordelia upright, and steadied her head. Jenrea opened the bottle, and as they supported the redhead, she carefully let the glowing liquid trickle between the bandit's lips.

"There, that's it. Swallow it down." Jenrea cooed the words to the unconscious woman, and Hafred watched in amazement as her throat worked to swallow the offered potion. It must have been instinct, yet he couldn't help but think it was in response to Jenrea's words.

Over the next minute or so, Jenrea carefully fed the rest of the enchanted liquid to Cordelia. At no time did the lean woman awaken, yet there was a visible spark about the burns which riddled her body. Her breathing grew more steady, stronger and deeper. At last, Jenrea handed the empty bottle back to Hafred.

"She should be alright, now. Let's carry her back to Ingley, let her rest on the way." She brushed her hands over her skirt, and rose to her feet.

Hafred glanced across to Zara, whose eyes shone with tears. The tall woman kept whispering "Thank you," over and over again, as she began to gather Coredelia up in her arms. It was as if she had been infused with newfound strength, and Hafred was happy to let her take charge of her companion. Instead, he merely stowed the bottle, rose and picked his axe up once more.

Jenrea was already a fair way down the bank at that point, seeming much cheered by the act of helping Cordelia. "Well, come along! We have lost time to make up for."

Shaking his head, Hafred followed with a grin, and Zara was not far behind.

With all the excitement, they had missed lunch, but Jenrea seemed insistent on pressing on toward the village. Even burdened with her unconscious lieutenant, Zara's long legged stride devoured the distance, so Hafred was left to tighten his belt about his grumbling belly, and continue onward.

Though they took a few necessary breaks, the trio made good time, and as the sun began to sink toward the trees once more, the distant towers of the Squire's Manor peeked over the woods. Although Hafred couldn't stand the Squire, and his daughter had proven both unpleasant and dangerous, the sight of those spires was still welcome. It meant that they would be at the village any moment.

As the forest opened up onto the fields surrounding the village, Cordelia began to stir. Zara seemed almost reluctant to let her down, but after a whispered exchange between the two, the blonde finally lowered her to her own feet. Although still weak, she kept up well enough as they made their way toward the cluster of buildings that served as the village center.

Hafred marveled for a moment, at how well the Sage's potion had worked. No doubt it was a stronger version of whatever Scarlet had dressed his own wound with. The effects were most striking when Cordelia and Zara were side by side. Both women had suffered similar wounds, though Zara was arguably better equipped to handle such damage. Now, Zara looked as ragged as before, while one could hardly tell Cordelia had ever been injured.

The long walk had been tiring, and it was well into late afternoon by the time the four neared the smithy and inn. Even from a distance, the cacophony of some large scale commotion was evident. Men shouted at one another, threats and orders were tossed back and forth, and the occasional clash of metal on metal, or more often wood against wood echoed through the dusty dirt streets.

A look of recognition swept across Zara's face, and she began running toward the sounds of battle, while Cordelia shook her head. The redhead shot an apologetic glance to Hafred and Jenrea.

"I'm guessing that our guys decided to take matters into their own hands."

"Your guys?" Hafred called out at the bandit woman as she ran after her boss, but received no response. He redoubled his pace, as did Jenrea.

The smith's apprentice was unprepared for what he saw when he rounded the corner into the village's main road. A few dozen ill equipped men and women were facing down the handful of King's Men who'd come into town with the prince. At the side of the soldiers were Garn and Jenrea's father Rothal. Both of the older men were in hastily donned mail, with swords and shields at the ready. The soldiers and townsfolk had retreated into the shelter of the churchyard, not far from the Tepid Toad.

The bandits had clearly suffered more than a few casualties, but the soldiers were looking wearied and worn themselves. Hafred wasn't certain, at first, why they didn't simply storm the church. It was only when one of the bandits stepped too near, and a bolt of white light lanced downward from the church's steeple, that he noticed the gray cloaked figure clinging to the peaked roof. Crow's bolt of energy slammed into the ground, sending up a shower of charred earth and a thick, acrid stench from the point of impact.

The man who'd been targeted yelped, and leaped back into the ranks of his fellows.

"Stand down! Stand down!" Zara bellowed as she ran forward toward her men, arms waving.

Her actions triggered no immediate response, at least not until they were backed up by the piercing, higher pitched cry of Cordelia, "She said stand down!" At that, the bandits immediately began to withdraw from threatening the church.

Hafred turned his gaze back up to Crow, and frowned as he saw the young sage weaving his hands in the air, as if ready to cast once more. Hafred darted forth, waving his own broad hands back and forth above his head. "Hey! It's ok!"




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 13



He was pleased to hear Jenrea join in his cry from just on his heels, and the sage ceased his own movements there atop the church.

The bandits, now under Zara's command, made no effort to stop the two as they ran past, and toward the church. Garn and Rothal stepped out of the line of soldiers. While Rothal moved to embrace Jenrea with one arm, Hafred found the eyes of grizzled old Garn fixed on him in an almost accusatory gaze.

"What's the meaning of this, boy?"

"Sir!" Hafred began, out of habit. "I went to recover Jenrea from the bandits," he guessed that Crow would have explained that much. "When I arrived, she and the bandits were all under attack by Marissa of Ingley!"

"What do ye mean, under attack? The Squire don't have that many men to command. Not that he'd send them to clear out bandits even if he did..."

"No, sir! It was just Marissa. She used some sort of magic."

Garn's eyes widened at that. "Magic? The Squire's whelp, a magic user?" He gazed back across to where Zara and Cordelia were ushering the rest of their men back from the church. "And what's the deal with her?"

"She's alright. She's their leader. Jenrea convinced her to help against Marissa, somehow." Hafred frowned, and knew his explanation sounded as weak to Garn as it did to his own ears, but he honestly couldn't explain the situation any better than he had. As Garn turned a dour gaze to him, he continued, "At any rate, she's proven herself, fighting against Marissa so Jenrea and I could get here safely. Has the Prince returned?"

Garn shook his head grimly, before exchanging a look with Rothal. The innkeep began to lead Jenrea into the church, before Garn clapped a hand on Hafred's shoulder. "Maybe ye better come inside, and start from the beginning. Sage Illuminous told us some things, but I'd rather hear yer view of things."

Hafred dipped his head in a nod, then followed the old man inside.

The interior of the little church was a welcome, restful respite from the long hours of walking which had consumed the past day. Scarlet was settled on one of the long, low benches that served as pews, mixing a familiar looking salve, no doubt to treat any of the men at arms who might have taken wounds. The buxom beauty turned her eyes up to Hafred as he entered, and offered him a soft smile, before returning to her work. The priest was nowhere to be seen, though Hafred half expected that the holy man was purposefully avoiding being anywhere near Scarlet.

By the time Hafred dropped his weary body into one of the pews, Crow could be seen descending the stairs that offered access to the steeple. It seemed the group was all set. At Garn's insistence, Hafred began the tale of the night, from the moment he'd left the village the prior night.

It was a long story, and the dour Garn and taciturn Rothal listened grimly. When he mentioned going after Jenrea, she piped up and began to tell her portion of the tale. Hafred welcomed the rest, and took a cup of tea from Scarlet when she came by to offer it. Throughout it all, Crow and Scarlet had remained quiet, even though both had heard most of the story before. When Jenrea began to describe some of the things Marissa had done, however, the young Sage began to press for more information.

"So you say she conjured forth flames from her very hands? Did she say anything beforehand? Move her hands in a certain way?"

"No sir," Hafred answered, "At least not that I could see. It was like a lash of foul temper made manifest, like her hate was reaching out to burn anything near."

Crow's eyes narrowed, and he knelt on one of the nearby benches, so he might lean close, staring as if he could see into Hafred's soul. "And of the beasts she conjured? Things... Jenrea said they were plant and animal at once? Perhaps you could give a better description?"

Hafred couldn't. He tried, but how would one explain what he had seen? There were the beasts that were obviously made of leaves and vines, but moved as if the greenery were muscle and sinew. Then there was the twisted creature that had been made of the unfortunate bandit woman. The image of the woman whose very flesh had run like warm wax, only to be remade in an image of corrupted nature was hard to even pull from memory, much less put to words.

Between Jenrea and himself, however, they managed to satisfy the Sage's curiosity. The young wizard straightened and nodded, before pacing slowly. He had already made his decision on whether to believe them, and what they might have seen. Of that, Hafred was certain. It was likely just a matter of figuring out what to do next.

He was content to let the man think.

Minutes passed, with the Sage's slow, methodical steps upon the wooden floor all that disturbed the silence. Even Garn kept his mouth shut, and just watched the Sage suspiciously. At last, Crow turned to face Hafred and Jenrea.

"This woman, Marissa, she is definitely no enchantress. If there is truth to what was uncovered at the witch's ruined house in the Dark Grove, she must be the missing daughter, an untrained witch herself. She wields the forces of nature and life as if they were an extension of her own self, likely bolstered by whatever negative spirits her unfortunate situation might have attracted. She is, in a word, dangerous. But this also means she is not who the prince was looking for."

A chill settled in the pit of Hafred's stomach, as the Sage confirmed what he had suspected deep within. He glanced across to Jenrea, who met his gaze with a worried look. He smiled, meaning to reassure her, before asking, "What do you mean?"

Crow turned his dark eyes from Hafred to Jenrea, then back. "It means that she is not the Enchantress the Prince seeks. It means that, of the two girls who ended up adopted in this very village all those years ago, Marissa of Ingley was the daughter of the Witch of Dark Grove."

"And that means..." Hafred trailed off as he looked back to Jenrea, apprehension gripping his soul.

"That means that Jenrea," Crow gestured to the dark haired woman with a sweep of one spindly hand, "bears the blood of the Enchantress that Witch warred with, at least according to your story. She is the Enchantress of Ingley, the one the Prince seeks."

The chamber fell silent for many minutes, as if all of the assembled were unwilling to follow such a somber pronouncement. Finally, Jenrea sniffled, and spoke with a hint of a sob, "B-but I don't want to be an Enchantress. They're evil."

It was Scarlet who spoke next, her voice ringing with a certain authority. "You aren't, Jenrea. Nothing about you has changed." The former whore strode toward Jenrea with a practiced confidence. "Your blood does not define you. You alone decide who you want to be. You may have been gifted with powers you don't understand, but they do not bind you to act a certain way." She approached the younger woman, and lay her hands on her shoulders. "What do you want to be, Jenrea?"

Hafred watched Jenrea with an uncertain gaze, and when Jenrea met his gaze, he quickly schooled his own expression. He didn't want to make her feel worse about the situation, after all.

"I want to be as I always was. I want to help people, to make my father proud of me," As she spoke, her voice grew less timid, more sure. Her gaze lifted to Scarlet's. "I want to marry the man I love, raise a family, and live a long, happy life."

Scarlet smiled to the younger woman, and gave her shoulders a squeeze. "Then that is what you will do, sweet Jenrea. And let no one convince you otherwise."

Nervous laughter gave way to genuine mirth after Scarlet's words, and Rothal stepped up behind his adopted daughter. "Jenrea, you always make me proud," he spoke in a soft tone, before the two embraced.

Crow cleared his throat, then, and all eyes turned to him. "I hate to be the bearer of further worry," he spoke in a more solemn tone, "But there is the matter of the Prince, and Rufus. Neither man has returned from the Squire's estate. We should have heard back from them by now."

The assembled grew silent once more, before Hafred stepped forward.

"Then I shall go get them."

"And I as well!" Jenrea stepped up beside him, with a smile that made Hafred feel a thousand feet tall.

From the doorway, a hoarse voice croaked out, "We will join you." Cordelia leaned heavily against Zara Blade's side, apparently still wearied despite the repair of her physical damage.

"Nonsense." Scarlet was quick to interject, and bustled toward the two bandits. "You still need tending to. You'll do no one any good if you just go out and die. Crow and I will tend to your wounds." She looked back to her husband for acknowledgement, before finishing, "And then you can go."

"That sounds like a plan," Garn's voice rumbled forth, and Hafred almost jumped. It was so unusual to hear the old man approving of anything. "We'll get the rest of the men in tip top shape, and follow ye all along."

"Must they go alone?" Rothal's worry over his adopted daughter was clear to all.

"She is an Enchantress," Crow stated, "There are few mortal men who can stand against her voice, even as unpracticed as she is. And Hafred will be there to protect her from those who might. The Prince might be in dire peril as we speak, and with all due respect, the rest of you aren't exactly in fighting condition at the moment. It will take all my energies and a bit of time to restore you."

Rothal did not seem pleased, but finally he bowed his head. "Very well then."

The old smith chuckled. "We'll leave it to the young ones then." Garn then clapped his hand on Hafred's shoulder, before whispering to him, "But before ye and yer lady friend head out, come to the smith with me. I got something for ye, something yer father wanted ye to have."

Hafred blinked in surprise, then nodded at his master's words. "Of course, Sir. And... I will do my best."

Garn walked Hafred, and Jenrea by extension, to the door. "Oh I know ye will, boy." He turned a merry, knowing gaze across to Jenrea. "I got no doubt about that."



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 14



She had slept almost the entire day away, yet Marissa was still weary to the very core. It didn't help that the late afternoon had found that damnable Isolde rousing her from bed, and handing her yet another task that she wasn't entirely sure could be managed. Whatever fleeting good will the discovery of Marissa's powers had earned from the woman had faded during the day's rest, if Isolde had truly ever been impressed at all. 

 Instead, Marissa found herself sitting on an old stone slab overlooking the path from the village to the manor. She was tasked with delaying whoever might come from town, at least long enough for Isolde to finish her chat with the Prince. Marissa hated the woman with a passion, but little could be done about it. Even having seen Marissa's newfound powers, Isolde was fearless, more amused than anything. She was as arrogant and confident as ever, and that fact alone made Marissa wary of testing her patience.

 One day, though, one day she would see that harpy burn.

 Things weren't entirely bad, however. The weather was clear and cool, and though the shadows grew long under the fading sun, her chosen perch offered a lovely view of the village environs with a minimum of exposure. And of course there was her companion in misery.

 The powerful figure who knelt behind her worked her shoulders and upper back with a firm touch, just as she had instructed. Marissa didn't know what influence Isolde held over the Black Dog, but he had thus far obeyed the younger noblewoman without question, just as Isolde had commanded him to.

 Rufus might have been as old as her own father, but he was still frighteningly fit, and rather handsome in a grim, brooding way. Perhaps once their business was done, she could delay returning to the manor long enough to see just how far the knight's obedience would run. Marissa's body warmed at the very thought.

 It was such a pity they had to remain vigilant.

 Truthfully, Marissa wasn't certain how they were expected to keep watch much longer. Once the sun finally disappeared below the horizon, and twilight engulfed the land below, she'd be unable to see much of anything. Throughout the afternoon, the sounds of some sort of commotion had been echoing across the landscape from the village. Perhaps a half hour prior, it had died down and given way to the lazy whisper of wind over the fields, and the chirrups and squeaks of the earliest risers among those nocturnal creatures that would soon be out in full force.

 Sulking, the noble woman leaned back into Rufus's hands, knowing he'd have to hold her to keep her from falling back entirely. She was not disappointed, his powerful hands soon grasped her shoulders, supporting her easily.

 "I don't see why we have to keep watch out here. Surely if anyone was going to come from the village, they would have by now. And why could we not watch from the comfort of the keep?"

 "I'm certain the Lady Isolde has her reasons for wanting this path watched. Besides, from the looks of it, the keep's walls are in such disrepair that a stiff wind very nearly risks leveling them." Rufus's tone was at once weary and disapproving.

 She was certain she didn't like it.

 Marissa glanced back over her shoulder at the older knight, only to find him scanning the twilight expanse before them with a hawk's eyes. She followed his gaze outward, about to chastise him for paying more attention to empty fields than to her comfort. What she saw there in the growing darkness stilled her tongue.

 There in the distance, a rider made his way along the path leading toward her father's manor. He certainly wasn't one of the King's Men, for he wasn't wearing their colors, and his mail shone even in the twilight. It was new, unmarred by the rigors of the road or battle. He had a sword at his side, and a long spear held in one hand, braced against one of the stirrups below. The rider's mount looked vaguely similar to those the King's Men had ridden, but she wasn't particularly learned in judging horseflesh.

 Marissa froze up, uncertain what she should do. Should she order Rufus to charge? Perhaps it was best if they waited until the rider was closer, so they might have the element of surprise.

 Her hesitation made the decision for her, for the stranger continued his approach. As the rider neared, she could make out a second figure on the horse behind the first, clinging to the warrior before her. It was a woman, with a long, loose dress and hair the color of night.

 The woman was Jenrea. It had to be. 

 As recognition dawned, Marissa's expression hardened. Whatever that strumpet was doing with this strange knight, it was just another example of the girl vexing her at every turn. The aristocrat's hand fisted at her side, and little arcs of electricity danced over her knuckles.

 "Kill them," she hissed, expecting Rufus to obey her whim as he had been commanded. "Slaughter both of them."

 "I cannot kill the girl."

 As that answer rumbled forth, Marissa whipped her head about to glare at the looming knight behind her. "Why not?! Lady Isolde was quite clear, you were to follow my orders."

 His dark eyes settled on hers with a steely gaze. "She also commanded I bring the woman Jenrea to her, if she should show up. And she was very insistent that the girl be brought in alive."

 The red haired witch bit her tongue to keep from screaming in rage. Stymied again! At every turn it seemed that the little barmaid would deny her what she wished, even when she wasn't around! "Fine," Marissa spat out. "But we must intercept them."

 "Might I recommend the bridge over the brook? They will likely cross there, and we'll have the advantage of surprise."

 Marissa nodded, and glanced back to where the Black Dog's steed foraged amongst the shadows. She had experienced how fast the beast was, and was glad Isolde had at least seen fit to return it to Rufus's care for this mission. They could easily get there before the brat and her escort. With one last sigh, she extracted herself from Rufus's hands and lead the way.

 They needn't have rushed. Once they arrived at the little stone bridge, she'd been left hidden at the edge of the woods, atop a small hill overlooking the crossing. Rufus forged ahead, ready to challenge the rider as soon as he reached the bridge, hidden only by the rise of that stone arch.

 After the two were in position, it was a lot of waiting, and this time, Marissa didn't even have the idle comfort provided by Rufus's physical proximity. Miserable and chilled by the night air, all she could do was huddle into her cloak and lean back against one of the twisted tree trunks. She glared at the bridge for so long that she very nearly decided the rider wasn't coming after all. How the older knight could bear all the boredom was beyond her.

 She was just about to call down to Rufus about the time they'd wasted, when she caught a movement rounding one of the outlying farmhouses. It was the rider, and that accursed barmaid. She wanted to rush down to confront them, or fling flame from afar and toast them where they stood. The idea of facing Isolde's wrath was all that stayed her hand.

 As the two began to cross the bridge, Rufus drew his sword and rode toward them slowly. Marissa leaned forward, thinking she would have to strain to hear what might transpire. She was mistaken, for both men's voices cut the silence of night.

 "Halt!" Rufus challenged, raising his own sword. "By order of the Squire of Ingley, this road is barred!"

 "Sir Rufus?" The strange rider's voice was familiar, and it was only after he continued that Marissa managed to place it. "What is going on? Is the Prince well?"

 It was that smith's apprentice, Hafred. But where had he acquired arms and armor of such quality? Now that he was closer, it was clear that they were not merely taken from one of the King's Men. They were suited to a proper knight, not just a footman.

 "That is none of your business, boy." Rufus's tone had an edge to it, "By order of the Squire of Ingley and the Lady Isolde, I command you to turn over the woman Jenrea into my custody."

 Marissa wasn't certain why the old knight would bring Isolde's name into it. If he wanted to make it an official challenge, her father's name should have been enough. He had given up their element of surprise, or most of it. She was fairly certain that neither Hafred nor Jenrea had noticed her among the trees.

 "Mister Rufus," Jenrea called in her melodic voice, "Please, tell us what has happened."

 The Black Dog grew silent, and even Marissa could feel the tug of compulsion on her mind. It was not dissimilar to when Isolde commanded her, and the effect made her hate the other young woman even more vehemently.

 In the end, Isolde's existing orders seemed to mostly withstand Jenrea's voice, for Rufus answered with grim determination, "If you truly wish to pass, you have to defeat me." And then, with more authority, "Let the woman down, boy, and come at me."

 Marissa seethed. This wasn't how the confrontation was supposed to go at all! What had happened to the idea of an ambush? Rufus should be mopping the floor with the boy and subduing Jenrea, not issuing a knightly challenge! As her anger grew, the grass about her feet began to sway and coil. The familiar tingle of power coursing through her veins split her lips into a sadistic grin. Oh she would wait, and let her energies build. Then she would settle this herself.

 Hafred lowered Jenrea to her feet atop that bridge, despite her protests. He said not a thing more, but rather raised that steel-tipped spear of his, grasping the lance firmly, if a little inexpertly. Marissa scoffed at the commoner play-acting as a knight, but otherwise remained silent.

 "Please, you don't have to do this. Mister Rufus, help us find the Prince! It's all we came out here for." 

 Jenrea's pleas did not seem to move the Black Dog. The knight simply raised his sword in hand, and calmly sat astride his charger.

 With fear in her eyes, Jenrea turned her attention to Hafred instead. "Please, don't kill him. Beat him if you can, but I don't think he is himself right now."

 Hafred seemed invigorated by her words, and smiled down to her. "I won't. I'll do my best, my love, but I won't try to kill him."

 Marissa was skeptical of the boy even posing a mild threat to Rufus, but there was something about Jenrea's words that put her on edge. The bar wench was exhibiting a voice that she'd only heard Isolde speak in, but she'd never heard the old harpy give anyone a positive word. What would happen, if such words had magic behind them as well? Could Hafred seriously expect to match the older knight?

 It seemed she would soon find out, for the young man readied his spear, and set his sights on Rufus. Marissa noted his form, and was unimpressed. Even she could see that the youth was inexperienced with mounted combat. He might've been able to hold his own on foot, but horsemanship and the knightly arts were a nobleman's purview.

 Jenrea still stood at the apex of the stone bridge, and the idea that she would soon be alone did not escape Marissa's notice. It would be the perfect time to deal with her, if only she didn't have to worry about Rufus's reaction. It was perhaps a little too likely that he had been ordered to defend the brat, if Isolde really had told him to capture the girl.

 Cowardice kept Marissa from acting on that golden opportunity. But for fear of Rufus, and more importantly fear of Isolde, she might have been rid of Jenrea once and for all.

 The sudden cry of Hafred's mount shattered that moment of tension, as he kicked it into action. From her position atop that wooded rise, the youth's charge was perfectly visible despite the dim lighting. He couched that gleaming spear under one arm, and lowered the sharp point toward Rufus. He rode low within the saddle, but visibly put his weight on the stirrups, leaning into the charge. His form was imperfect, but at least was not hopeless.

 For a moment, it appeared as if his amateur attempt would strike true. His aim was on point, and Rufus had no spear with which to threaten the charging rider in return. Furthermore, the older knight had yet to move. The Black Dog just sat astride his own horse expectantly, his gaze fixed upon that razor sharp spear point.

 When he did move, it was with a sudden violence that startled even Marissa. From a guarded stance, Rufus swept the blade of his sword up and out. At the same moment, he spurred his own steed to act. The charger leapt forth, and sparks burned in the twilight as Rufus's sword caught the spear head, just along where it was bound to the spear's shaft. With a twist, that sword blade followed the thick, wooden haft, and shoved it away from its intended course.

 The edge of that steel spearhead still grazed Rufus's mailed shoulder, but the glancing edge merely slid off the iron rings of his armor, and continued onward to open air. The knight guided his charger with his knees, leaving his free hand ready, and leather clad digits soon wrapped about the subtly flexing shaft of the outthrust spear.

 Between Rufus's strength, and the forward motion of his mount, Hafred was forced to release the weapon. Marissa was inwardly pleased when the young man nearly fell from his horse. Of course the Black Dog was the superior combatant. She had been worried for nothing. As Hafred drew his own sword, however, she knew that the fight would continue. Her gaze snapped back to Jenrea.

 The barmaid stood alone on the old stone bridge. A cool breeze stirred her dark hair and flattened her dress against her figure. She was beautiful, and Marissa hated her for it. Concern clouded Jenrea's face as she watched the two men. She was kind, good hearted, and it drove Marissa to her wits' end.

 Her loathing of the girl was irrational. Instinctual, perhaps. Marissa knew it. She accepted it, and embraced it. Jenrea had to die.

 As Hafred wheeled about to face Rufus once more, the witch broke from the trees and descended toward the tall grass near to the stream. She sprinted fast as she might, her precipitous flight took only a dozen seconds at most, and then she flung herself to the ground amongst the tall grass. Her dress was undoubtedly ruined with mud, and the sharp stones dug into her body as she lay there, listening. There was the sound of horse's hooves, the ring of steel against steel, but as far as she could make out, none had approached.

 Marissa lifted her head, but could see nothing but thick grass between her and the bridge. The stream was to her left, she could hear the water coursing through its gravelly bed, and so she crawled toward it.

 The tall grass gave way to a brief shore of mud and round pebbles, just a few precious feet away, the dark water rushed by. There was no way of telling how deep it was in that light, and Marissa honestly hadn't paid much attention to the usual water levels during her many crossings in the past. Such details had been beneath her. She could just spy Jenrea, still stood upon the bridge, absorbed in watching the smith's apprentice clash with the Black Dog.

 Marissa crawled forward through the mud and muck near the shore, half hidden amongst the grass. If it had been day, her approach would have been hopeless, but the deepening darkness obscured her amongst the shadows of reeds and grass, and the repeated clash of steel on steel distracted from the rustling of her progress. Closer and closer she crept, as her dress soaked up the water. Soon, the layered fabrics clung to her figure, chilling her to the bone.

 But her victory was ahead, and would soon be within easy reach.

 At last Marissa broke from the reeds just in time to see Hafred sweep his sword toward Rufus on one pass. For a heartbeat, Marissa couldn't believe what she saw. The boy was evading the Black Dog's defenses! His blade whistled in toward the older knight's neck.

 And then the swing stop. Hafred pulled the blow before it could connect. Marissa's confusion lasted but a few seconds. Rufus's was even shorter lived, for he struck back while Hafred was recovering. Rufus's sword caught Hafred's, locked against it, and with a twist the King's knight disarmed the commoner. That new blade was flung far, and as it tumbled, Rufus's mailed fist slammed into Hafred's side. 

 The youth grunted, and slid off the far side of his horse, to land heavily upon the ground.

 It was only when Jenrea cried out in horror, and began to descend the bridge toward Hafred's fallen body that realization dawned. The stupid girl had told Hafred not to kill Rufus. It had cost him the fight.

 The bar wench didn't have Isolde's grasp of how to use her voice, if it was indeed a similar ability. No, Isolde would have never made such a mistake. There was no mercy in Isolde's heart. As such thoughts mulled through Marissa's mind, she couldn't help but notice the similarities between Jenrea and her father's lover. Both were beautiful, almost regal, with long, dark hair, lush curves, a certain allure.

 That was why she hated Jenrea. Marissa realized she'd been blind to it the entire time. She didn't hate Jenrea because of what the girl did. Marissa hated the other girl because she reminded her so much of Isolde. 

 And in that moment when she should feel triumph at Hafred's defeat, Marissa felt only anguish. Rufus was no longer distracted, and Jenrea was quickly running out of range.

 Range. Did her abilities have a range, really? Marissa's brow knit as she followed the raven haired beauty with her eyes. She didn't want to use lightning, for fear of zapping herself. Fire might be a little difficult to aim at that range, but there was something else. Something which the chill of the water as it soaked her to the bone brought to mind.

 The noblewoman sat up in that water, clapped her hands together, then slammed them down onto the earth. With a sharp crackling, a sheet of ice spread out from her hands, across the damp ground in a narrow wedge. Jenrea didn't notice it at all, not until that slippery ice coated the ground under her feet. Shoes not meant for a wintery hazard slipped out from under her, and Jenrea fell unceremoniously to the ground. Her head hit the earth hard, and she moved no more.

 Marissa couldn't take the chance that the barmaid had survived. As impressive as the ice sheet had been, she was certain it hadn't frozen the ground solid. She had to finish the girl off. Marissa staggered to her feet, and began to concentrate once more.

 Her focus was shattered when a glowing knife blade whizzed through the air before her eyes. It was close enough that a few strands of hair fell, cut loose from her bangs. The noblewoman watched the thrown knife slow, then reverse its arc, swinging back toward her.

 She abandoned her next spell, and leaped from the shallows, onto the shore proper. As she landed, Marissa whirled about and stared at the knife, following its progress back to the hand of a lean, leather clad, redheaded bandit on the far shore, near the village side of the bridge.

 It was Cordelia. The hateful wretch that had so tormented her. She caught her enchanted blade easily on its return, and her eyes fixated on Marissa. She was a hunter, Marissa the prey.

 Heavy footsteps beat a swift course across the stone of the bridge, and a quick glance confirmed they belonged to Zara Blade. The powerful, tall blonde was in a full charge, her own armor straining over curves more generous than a woman of her athleticism had a right to possess. As the Bandit Queen charged across the expanse, Marissa turned and raced toward Jenrea, hoping to reach her before Cordelia could line up another throw.

 "Rufus!" The noblewoman's cry seized the Black Dog's attention. He must have correctly assessed the situation at a mere glance, for he left Hafred to his groaning, and spurred his mount to intercept the Bandit Queen.




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 14



A spark of glowing steel flashed in Marissa's peripheral vision, a split second's warning that allowed her to fling herself to the ground. The redheaded witch landed hard on the frosty ground beside where Jenrea still lay, and Cordelia's magic dagger whistled through the space she had just occupied. She could feel the breeze from the enchanted blade as it whipped back over her head, to return to the woman who had thrown it.

 Less than an arm's reach from Marissa lay Jenrea, the object of her rage and hatred, and yet she couldn't take the time to end her. As much as she hated to admit it, they needed her alive at that point, if only as a bargaining chip. As the Black Dog clashed swords with Zara Blade, Marissa scrambled to Jenrea, and hoisted her into a sitting position, propping the unconscious barmaid up before her. Desperate eyes scanned the darkness, searching for the lean silhouette of Cordelia.

 There, atop the bridge, the bandit lieutenant streaked through the darkness. Her dark leathers blended with the shadows, but her the way her hair glinted crimson in the dull glow of her enchanted blades betrayed her presence. Zara and Rufus fought between Marissa and Cordelia, and would hopefully shield her from the lethal reach of those daggers. Unfortunately, the tall blonde seemed to hold her own with the older knight, despite the considerable advantage he had on horseback. Her sword was longer, and she appeared able to move with more speed and power behind her blows.

 Marissa staggered to her feet, hauling the limp Jenrea up with one arm, wrapped about the woman's torso. The weight of the barmaid's ample breasts pressing against that supporting limb were just another frustrating reminder of how the other woman seemed to better her at every turn. It would ordinarily be an afterthought, but for Marissa, every spark of rage and humiliation burned with the heat of a wildfire. She could feel the power surging through her veins once more. The fingertips of her free hand buzzed with unshaped energy.

 Jade eyes fixated on Cordelia, and Marissa began to focus her hatred on the other redhead. If she couldn't kill Jenrea then and there, the bandit woman would serve to sate her bloodlust just as well. The thunder of her pulse was nearly as deafening as the clash of steel from the duel before her.

 A sadistic grin spread across the noblewoman's features as she imagined what magic she could unleash upon Cordelia.

 The redheaded lieutenant finally set foot upon the near shore, and as she circled the grim knight and her superior in brigandry, Marissa raised her free hand. The witch clutched Jenrea to her chest, as if she could draw the life from the other woman to fuel her magic. Nothing of the sort happened, but her rage did swell outward. She could feel it becoming raw power, an almost tangible energy that swept from the pit of her stomach, up through her spine, and down along her outstretched arm. A stiff breeze rose about her, visible sparks of electricity danced along her arm, toward her pointed fingers.

 Just before her spell would release, the sound of a heavy footstep directly behind her was followed by the jingling of mail. Hafred. Marissa had forgotten about the smith's apprentice! She whirled in place, Jenrea still held in one arm. The power she had conjured still crackled in her hand, unformed.

 Hafred's tall, muscular frame was but a few steps away from her. His ordinarily handsome, easygoing features were twisted with menace and anger. It was because she had threatened Jenrea, no doubt. He held his sword in a firm grip, and began to bring it about, murderously. He might have little training or skill, but at such close ranges, such things rarely mattered.

 At the same moment, the corner of her eye caught movement from the direction Cordelia had been approaching from. Marissa's exposed back must have made a tempting target for the other redhead, unguarded as it was.

 Marissa screamed, and did the only thing she could think of at such short notice. Fierce winds sprang from her fingertips, followed by the surge and whip of long, leafy tendrils as they sprouted from the earth underfoot. Those malicious vines swept Hafred from his feet, and hurtled him toward Cordelia. There was a sharp clank of an enchanted dagger intercepted in mid-air, and the armored figure of Hafred continued onward, spinning as he was flung at the lean bandit woman.

 Zara and Rufus paused in their fighting, long enough to watch that unusual missile as it streaked at the redheaded bandit woman. Cordelia dove to the rough ground, and her lean frame was all that kept a catastrophic impact from occurring. Instead, the heavy form of Hafred slammed into the marshy ground beyond her, and bounced far into the rushing, icy waters of the stream.

 That stream wasn't the deepest waterway around, but it was deep enough that a prone man, stunned from unexpected, unnatural movement and weighted down with heavy armor might have trouble regaining his feet. The water swept him along, and in a matter of moments, Hafred's floundering body was picking up speed.

 Marissa turned her gaze back to Cordelia, who was still struggling to her feet. Zara broke from Rufus and ran along the stream to try to save Hafred. Victory was theirs. Marissa drew her hands together before her, intending to finish off the redheaded lieutenant.

 Rufus swung his horse about, and with a few steps it was blocking her view of Cordelia. "Don't." His stern voice was directed not at their foe, but at her.

 Cordelia fixed a cold stare up at Rufus, and then averted her eyes. Her weapons slid back into their sheaths.

 "What?!" Marissa was incredulous. "She's all alone! Let's kill her and be done with it while the blonde bitch is fishing the smith out!"

 "No!" Rufus's voice boomed, and his eyes turned to Marissa. She flinched back, for there was no sign of that obedience which had been instilled into him. "You will not command me, brat."

 Marissa stood in stunned silence for a moment, then stammered "W-what do you mean? Isolde said..."

 "It matters not. I will not slay my own daughter." The term he used left Marissa wide eyed and sputtering, but she had no time to protest before Rufus continued, "Your dark mistresses wanted the girl Jenrea." He pointed to where the barmaid still lay, concussed by her fall to the frozen ground. She was only beginning to stir. "I will take her in, if only so I may see that the Prince is safe." 

 Rufus glanced back to Cordelia, who remained standing there, her head bowed and her gaze averted. She seemed to wilt under his hardened gaze, and wrapped her arms about herself.

 "Go," Rufus finally spoke to her. "Help your ... friend. We will meet again, and soon."

 Marissa thought she heard the other redhead murmur a "Yes father," but couldn't be sure. She was half mad with rage as it was. She felt she had to protest.

 "Look-"

 Immediately, Rufus cut her off again. "I'm returning to the keep. You can either come with me," He directed his horse to where Jenrea lay as he spoke, "or you can stay here and face the bandits and Hafred alone, whenever they pull him out."

 He dismounted, but only long enough to hoist Jenrea over his shoulder. It was plenty of time for Marissa to hurry toward his steed, though it seemed she would be denied a ride back. As he mounted again, he draped Jenrea across the horse's rump, right where she might have liked to perch behind him.

 Without a word, Rufus began to ride at a slow pace toward the keep, and it was all Marissa could do to keep up, wishing all the while that she had the courage to stay and fight. She did spare a glance back at Cordelia, who had ventured down the banks of the stream to help the blonde woman in her task.

 It seemed that some bonds were too strong for Isolde's commands to break. She would have to remember that.



The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 15



A throbbing headache and the strain of his own hacking cough drew Hafred back from the darkness which had nearly claimed him. A haze of confusion clouded his mind as his eyes cracked open, and the first sight to greet him was that of his own face, or at least the dim reflection of it in the surface of the stream below. He was slung over a tumbled stone, and a pair of strong hands supported him, keeping him from falling back into the water. He hacked and coughed some more, before struggling to sit up.

His ascent was interrupted when his back encountered something warm and soft. Fumbling behind himself with one hand, Hafred made out something round and firm, full in his hand and seemingly covered with taut leather. When he half turned, his gaze first met the frowning visage and narrowed blue eyes of Zara Blade, then descended to where his hand still lay at her breast.

Quickly, Hafred snatched his hand away, but not before the bandit snorted and mumbled about how she should have left him in the water. He turned near scarlet, and was thankful she didn't immediately deck him.

After a few minutes of awkward apologies, Hafred's head finally cleared enough to recall those last few moments of battle. He'd been thrown, somehow. Marissa had done it, she'd used her powers to toss him like a rag doll. He had been so angry, all because she was threatening the woman he loved.

"Jenrea!" The cry left his lips before he could contain himself, and he cast his gaze about, searching for any sign of her. Aside from himself, only Zara and Cordelia were present. 

Cordelia held the spear and sword that Garn had given him, and when his gaze met hers, she stepped forward to present them. "Hafred," She spoke with a sympathetic tone, "She's gone. They took her to the keep."

Hafred remembered something Rufus had said, about surrendering Jenrea. "Why?" He searched Cordelia's expression, as if she could somehow guess the Black Dog's motives. It was fruitless, she was as clueless as he. The newly minted warrior took his arms from her almost mechanically. The feel of weaponry in his hands and the weight of the coat of mail he wore were still unfamiliar, but something deep inside seemed comforted by their presence.

When the redhead finally just shrugged at his query, his heart fell, but then Zara clapped one hand at his shoulder and offered a firm squeeze.

"We'll get her back." Zara spoke with a chilling intensity. "You and the girl did a great favor for us, and we always repay a debt like that."

"Besides," Cordelia added afterward, "I have some unfinished business with Rufus. And with Squire Ingley."

Hafred nodded numbly, then rose unsteadily. His eyes lifted to the looming, crumbling walls of the Squire's keep, while his hands went through the motions of sheathing his sword. With his spear grasped firmly, he started forth toward that stronghold.

Zara's long legged gait caught up quickly. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Ingley Manor. Where else?"

The blonde cast a meaningful look to Cordelia, before addressing him once more. "You can't just march up to the front gate. Heaven knows what the Squire has set up there."

This gave Hafred pause, and he turned to regard the two women. He felt as if his entire world had been torn from him. The idea that Jenrea might be hurt demanded action from him, and yet he had to accept the wisdom of Zara's counsel. There really was no way a lone man could storm a keep's gates, no matter how ill maintained they might be.

"What would you suggest, then?" He finally murmured, trying to control his emotions. Neither despair nor rage would help him at that moment.

"There is a way," Cordelia interjected before Zara could answer. She ignored the blonde's sidelong glance, continuing, "One of the towers along the rear had partially collapsed at some point. Although the exterior wall seems impassable, there's enough of a gap amongst the tumbled stones that we can squeeze through. We were hoping to keep it unknown in case one of us ever had the need to escape the Squire's custody." She turned her eyes to Zara at the last bit. The taller woman just frowned and looked away. 

The redhead slipped her arms lazily about the larger woman, a light, reassuring hug was given before she turned her head back to Hafred.

"It's not a direct shot into the manor, we'll still have to get through the courtyard, but it'll at least get us past the gate and walls."

Hafred stared at them both for a moment, and just thought it over. Sneak in past the walls, and then go where? He had never actually seen the manor, save from afar. It wasn't much of a plan, but they didn't have much of a choice. Still, one thing bothered him. "Really, why are you helping me like this?"

"Aside from a debt for saving me on the road?" Cordelia's voice rose quickly. "Going to Ingley Manor would give me the chance to finally face Squire George." At Hafred's puzzled look, she continued, "He once served in the Royal Court with my father. He took advantage of and disgraced my mother, and the resulting scandal forced my mother to flee the court. He shattered my family, and I intend to make him pay with blood."

Hafred shivered at the redhead's words. She sounded deadly serious, he would hate to be the object of her wrath. He nodded at her, then finally answered, "Then let's do this." 

With a returned dip of her head, the lieutenant stepped past, and began to lead the way toward the trees. After only a moment's hesitation to readjust his weapons and armor, Hafred followed, using his spear as a walking staff. Zara took up the rear without a word.

Approaching the rear towers of the Squire's keep meant ascending a thickly wooded, steep and jagged slope. The night had long since fallen, and the thick foliage plunged their surroundings into darkness. Only the faint glow of one of Cordelia's enchanted daggers lit their way, hardly more than a candle light and carefully shielded from prying eyes. 

On more than one occasion, Hafred must have been in danger of losing his footing and tumbling to the unknown darkness below, for Zara quickly darted her hand to steady him several times. He hadn't even realized he was close to taking a spill. It was a long climb, and slow going, but eventually Cordelia sheathed her glowing dagger and motioned for them to halt.

Ahead of the trio, the trees abruptly thinned, and the starry night sky showed the crumbling outer walls of the Squire's keep in dark silhouette. They had always seemed so impressive, near impregnable to his young mind. Now, after the events of the past few days and knowing who lay beyond them, they were merely an inconvenient obstacle in his path. The wall itself was ill kept, and though no torches showed any guards patrolling atop them, another glow from beyond them illuminated the upper eaves of the manor house within. The old wooden rooftop peeked over the walls, and looked even more decrepit from the odd lighting.

Cordelia led them in a winding path toward the base of one round tower. It had been such a long time since the grounds had been properly maintained that the forest had encroached all the way to the stonework, albeit with shorter, sparser trees. As they neared, Hafred could see what the redhead had meant. The interior of the tower had collapsed. The stones of the outer shell showed gaps here and there where they had shifted, and debris from the collapse could be clearly seen within.

The sound of conversation drifted over the stone walls, and although Hafred couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, there were several distinct voices, all men. He frowned at the thought of facing the Squire's men. They were mostly fellows culled from the outlying farmlands, opportunists and men of ill temper, given the most basic of training and whatever arms the Squire felt he could spare. Hafred couldn't name a single one among them whom he thought was a decent fellow.

The presence of footmen within earshot necessitated the utmost silence and care, so Hafred watched Cordelia's actions intently as she warily probed around the largest gap. He wasn't sure how even her lithe form could wriggle through, much less himself and the towering Zara. Eventually, however, she began to ease herself silently between the stones. Hafred held his breath as he studied the way her slender form squirmed in amongst the debris. There was no way he could get his spear through, but the rest of his gear would probably fit. He laid the spear aside with a shake of his head. It was a shame to abandon something his master had taken such pains to prepare for him, but it was a necessity.

"She has a lovely ass, doesn't she?" Zara's whispered words just at his ear almost had him leap from his skin. "Look all you want, but remember that it all belongs to me."

Her tone was teasing, and when Hafred shot her a glare, she just let one hand rest on his shoulder. "You need to relax a bit. Go into danger as uptight as you are and you'll be an easy mark."

Her voice was low enough that he hoped she wouldn't be heard, but he had to admit that she had a point. Deciding to get things over with, Hafred stepped up, and began to follow the way he remembered Cordelia trying. He was immediately met with a problem he should have expected. His mail jingled lightly with the movement, and there was little he could do about it. Of course the women wore mostly leather, and even those metal reinforcements here and there were sewn directly to that leather backing. He would have to be quite careful lest he make too much noise.

Fortunately, Cordelia took her time getting through the tangle of rotted beams, fallen stones, and wild vines, so he could follow her along with some effort. With his larger frame, and the fact he had to keep the majority of his mail silenced with slower movements, progress was still a challenge. The sight of Cordelia's slender form before him was more distracting after Zara's words, once she had called attention to her lieutenant's figure, he could not deny how flattering those tight outfit fit her athletic frame.

The way her leather clad rear swayed and shifted before his eyes was certainly distracting, with that dark material taut over every contour. His worry over Jenrea and the need to concentrate on stealth kept him from enjoying the view more. Inwardly, he cursed Zara's teasing nature. No doubt the amazon was endlessly amused, imagining his frustrations.

Finally, Cordelia disappeared through a gap in the stonework on the far side of the tower, and he was just able to drag himself between a pair of fallen beams to follow her. As he staggered out of the ruined tower and into a narrow gap between the outer wall and the wooden side of one of the inner buildings, the slack of his mail slipped from his gasp with a startling jingle.

Hafred held his breath and went utterly still. Cordelia had obviously heard it, for she turned a worried glance back to him. Moments passed, and there was no variation in the tone of the voices emanating from around the corner. No one had noticed, it seemed.

With some effort, Zara finally cleared the last gap and joined them. She adjusted the smaller blades sheathed about her body, and then reached back into the ruined tower to drag her long sword through from where she'd left it. They were all together at last, though he was still surprised a woman of Zara's generous stature and physique had made it through. She must have been far more flexible than she looked.

Cordelia motioned for them to stay, and then crept along the edge of the wooden building, toward the corner nearest the courtyard. Zara grasped his arm and firmly tugged him back in against the wall, as if the slight shadow of the building itself could conceal them from view.

After furtively glancing about the courtyard for a time, the redhead returned, silent as a ghost. She wore a worried expression, and motioned them in close, so she might speak in a soft whisper, and yet be understood.

"There's six men in the courtyard, and the Squire himself."

Hafred was surprised. He hadn't honestly expected the Squire to take matters into his own hands. He'd only seen the fellow twice, and neither time had particularly impressed him. Still, if the noble himself was to be involved with defense of his keep, it must mean someone else was pulling his strings.

"The main doors to the manor are ajar, someone must have just passed through. They're on the near wall just around the corner as well. If Zara and I engage the Squire and his men, you should be able to slip inside."

Cordelia looked to him pointedly, which confused Hafred for a moment. Shouldn't she be seeking Zara's input? The bandit queen herself just seemed rather uninterested, and simply nodded at Cordelia's words.

"Think you can handle it, boy?" And now both women had put the decision on him.

If Rufus had brought Jenrea to the manor, that meant he was likely inside with her. Inside, and on foot, Hafred felt he might be able to hold his own against the old knight. That just left Marissa as a wild card. Hopefully in an enclosed space, her magic would be less useful. After thinking it over, he finally nodded. "Yeah."

He really had no choice in the matter. He couldn't abandon Jenrea.

A broad grin split Zara's tanned features at his answer, and she patted his shoulder. "Worry not, Cordelia and I have wanted this battle for a long time."

The redhead bobbed her head in agreement, though her own smile was far more sinister. "It's time to pay that bastard back for every miserable humiliation he has heaped upon my family."

Hafred still didn't know the exact story behind that, but it was certainly not the time. "Right... well, good luck to you two."

"Good luck to you," Zara cut in, "Go, fetch your lady friend. She has a kind heart, and deserves whatever happiness you can bring."

Her words brought a faint blush to Hafred's cheeks, and he simply nodded. Zara squeezed his shoulder, then made her way toward the opening of the courtyard, beyond the wall they hid behind. Cordelia hastened to follow, her own enchanted blades slid in silence from their scabbards.

Hafred wasn't certain what to expect, so drew his own sword and followed at a distance. If he understood correctly, they were to engage the Squire, and he would slip inside during the chaos. It was a sound plan, but not one which would allow him much time, for two could not likely hold all six of the Squire's men back by themselves. Seven, if the Squire himself intervened.

He didn't have long to worry about the strategy, for as she reached the corner, Zara immediately broke into a charge, her sword swept up and held in both hands. Cordelia was hot on her heels, and Hafred found himself suddenly alone in the shadow of the manor.

Cries of surprise and the sick, slick sound of blades sinking into flesh announced the onset of battle, and Hafred scooted up to the very corner of the manor. A quick peek revealed about what he expected. 

The Squire was the same age as Rufus and Garn, but the years had treated him less kindly. Still, in his mail and with his greatsword he might have been an imposing figure. The confusion which clouded his expression made him somewhat less impressive. His men, stout bullies, the dregs of society, looked smart in their own coats of mail, but were variously outraged and fearful from the sudden assault of the two women. 

Whether they were well trained or not, the men had clearly not expected the gleefully violent blonde or the sadistically cunning redhead they now faced, nor the ferocity of their initial assault. One of the men staggered away from Zara, his arm near severed. Her blade had cleaved straight through the mail he wore, at least far enough to deliver such a serious injury. Cordelia's progress was more single minded. She danced past one of the Squire's men and charged the nobleman himself. Her glowing blades were sheened in crimson, and it was only when the man she passed began to crumple to his knees that Hafred knew he had been slain where he stood.

Intending to draw as little attention as possible, Hafred crossed the several paces between his hiding spot and the grand doors of the manor. One great, oaken door was indeed ajar, and he shouldered past and into the manor's antechamber.

Behind him, he could hear Cordelia's challenge, "Squire George of Ingley! I have come to kill you, for what you did to my mother, Lady Laura, wife of the Black Dog Sir Rufus!"

When the Squire's men moved to intercept the two women, Hafred almost turned back to help them. His hand hesitated at the edge of that door, and it was only when he saw Zara drop one of her own assailants with a knee to the groin that he decided they could handle themselves. He would just be in the way. Reluctantly, he shut the door, and turned to the doorway leading into the great hall.

It was eerily quiet within the manor. The clash and chaos of the fight outside could barely be made out, while there was hardly a movement from within. In the distance, he guessed on the floors above, there was some muffled noise that might have been shouting, though it was hard to tell what was said, or by whom.

Warily, Hafred shoved the second doors open, into the great hall of the manor. They impacted the solid walls with a crash. Beyond three grand tables, a great fire roared in the hearth, and the place appeared deserted. There were no signs of guards or servants. Dishes and glasses had been overturned, food spilled to the floor. Only a lone figure knelt before the fire, on her knees beside a large wood-beamed frame, which she stroked with one hand.

As Hafred strode inside, sword drawn and heart racing, the woman before the hearth slowly stood. Fiery curls cascaded to mid back, and the silhouette of her curves was described clearly by the light of the fire, shining through the gauzy green dress she wore. Although she was unarmed, Hafred still tensed for battle when she turned her dark jade eyes toward him, for it was Marissa, the Squire's adopted daughter.

The hasty change of clothing was not all that was different, for one of those eyes showed signs of swelling and bruising, as if she'd been severely struck at some point before he arrived. Her gaze was not the hateful, rage filled thing he had caught glimpses of at the bridge, instead her expression was one of weary acceptance.

When her soft lips parted to speak, Hafred immediately whipped his sword point up to threaten her, though he was still across the room, far too distant to pose a real danger to her. Still, she flinched at the movement, though hesitated only a moment.

"You came after all. I thought I had killed you."

"Where is she?" Hafred demanded, in no mood for her games, "What did you do with Jenrea?"

Marissa's brow quirked in irritation. "Why? Why is it always her that people want? Why not me?" 

She began to walk toward Hafred, her pace slow and deliberate. Her swaying steps sent her translucent gown dancing about her figure in a way that, even in such a tense situation, Hafred had to admit was quite alluring. Only his devotion to Jenrea, and the ever present threat of Marissa's magic kept him from fully appreciating the sight.

"I don't know, Lady Marissa." Hafred answered as calmly as he could. His entire body tensed, his muscles wound tighter with each step she took to close the distance between them. "Please, tell me where Jenrea is."

Marissa stopped just a pace beyond the reach of his sword, and her eyes positively bored into his very soul. After several breaths of silence, she finally pointed to the stairs at the rear of the hall. "The bitch bedding my father took her. She beat me for knocking the silly girl about like I did, then took her up the stairs." Those jade eyes narrowed as she slid into position between Hafred and the steps. "And just what are you going to do about it?"




The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 15



Even with a length of sharpened steel between them, her proximity alarmed Hafred. She was close enough he could pick up the faint floral scent she wore, and while her stance was relatively relaxed, he knew that she was just one slight shift in her mercurial temper from flinging lightning and fire at him. He wanted nothing more than to be past her, and up the stairs after Jenrea, yet he couldn't bring himself to needlessly strike down a woman.

At the river, he had nearly done so, but then she had been threatening his lover's life directly. In that great hall, she was merely an obstacle.

Hafred tried to step past her, but Marissa stepped with him, and gently lay one hand upon the naked steel of the sword Garn had given him. His father's sword, reforged and made whole once more, was easily sharp enough to remove that hand. Yet all he could do was let it drop aside.

Marissa stepped past the tapered point as he lowered his blade. Her bare feet padded against the cold stone floor as she neared. The hand which had brushed his sword away instead rose to rest upon his chest, as if she could feel his heartbeat through the mail and padding.

"Hafred." She spoke his name hesitantly, as if she were unsure of her own recollection of it. "Forget her. Stay with me, here. I'm the heir to these lands. Father will no doubt be out of the picture soon enough, however this works out. I could make you a noble. I could please you in ways that Jenrea has never dreamed of." Her deep, jade eyes turned up to his imploringly.

He didn't quite get what her game was. Certainly she was attractive, and richer by far, even if her adoptive father was only a minor noble. But she was spoiled, rotten to the core and terribly temperamental. Perhaps Marissa didn't realize just what Jenrea meant to him, what drew him to her.

"I cannot." He tried to rebuke her as gently as he could. "You are certainly lovely to look at, but I love her. Truly and deeply."

"Are you certain?" Marissa breathed the words across his neck, leaning into him. She pressed the soft curves of her breasts against his mailed chest, and her hand stroked down, trapped between the fine metal rings and the warmth of her own body. Down along his abdomen her fingers traced, then those deft fingers ducked under the low hem of that chain tunic, to press in against the bulge in his leather leggings. "I could do things for you that would make you forget about anyone else. There's no need to fight, just stay with me. Together we could eliminate father, and that twisted bitch he dotes on."

Hafred inhaled sharply. The warm scent of her filled his senses, and his body couldn't help but stir at her touch, at the feel of her pressing in. The excitement of the night's battles had his blood stirring, and she seemed to know just how to stoke those fires. It was only when he heard a cry of rage echo down from the floors above, a female's voice, that he was able to pull himself together. Firmly, he lay one hand upon Marissa's shoulder, and gave her a slight push backward.

Marissa's face twisted with a sudden rage, and her hand began to curl into a claw, before rising up to thrust at his chest. As the scent of lightning tinged the air, Hafred immediately grabbed her wrist with his free hand, and yanked her fingers from his chest.

"You don't have to do this! Jenrea would count you as a friend, I know it!"

His words seemed to have the opposite of his intended effect, for her lips twisted into a fierce scowl. Brilliant arcs of light dazzled his vision as electricity leaped from her fingertips, and then searing pain raced through him. Every muscle along his left side locked tight, and his skin felt as if it were aflame. His armor sparked and heated as well, though the energy danced over the interlocking rings instead of coursing directly through his torso.

Perhaps it was that last phenomena which saved him, for he was still conscious when the current ceased. Marissa stared at him, wide eyed with the shock of his survival. He would have been within his rights to run her through, she had tried to kill him, after all. Instead, he wrenched the wrist he still held, twisting her arm. The young witch cried out in pain, spinning with his handling to relieve the pressure on her joints.

This left her with her back turned to him, her body so close to pressing against his. Half bent over from where he held her arm behind her back, Marissa's shapely rear did graze against him as she struggled in his grasp. Hafred was in far too much pain to pay her much heed. Instead, he merely growled to her, "My quarrel isn't with you, Marissa. I go to retrieve Jenrea from whoever has taken her. But if I must, I will hurt you."

The redhead's struggles stilled, and she leaned back into his body. "Isolde," she finally spoke. "Isolde is the one who took her. She is the one who commanded Rufus, she is the one who enthralled my father. She is the one who ruined my life. Tell me, will you kill her when you face her?"

He wasn't sure how to answer her. The idea that this Isolde woman would have to be confronted sooner or later had been in the back of his mind, but could he bring himself to kill her?

"If she gives me no choice. Regardless, I will be certain that her plans here are ruined, and I will see that she can torment you no more."

Marissa said nothing at first, but finally she bowed her head. "Then I shall trouble you no further."

Accepting her surrender, Hafred released her wrist, and the noblewoman immediately stepped some paces away from him. She turned to face him again, as she rubbed her wrist, but the fire was gone from her eyes. Or at least, that rage which had been directed toward him.

"I still hate her, you know," Her arrogant demeanour returned the instant she was out of danger.

"Hate who, Isolde?" The question was asked before he could stop himself, but rather than wait for her response, he hurried past, toward that sturdy stairway leading up. The last thing he wanted was to stick around until she changed her mind.

"No, Jenrea."

This earned her a glance, just as he reached the base of the steps.

"Why would you hate her? She has tried to help you at every step." His curiosity got the better of him.

A bit of a musing smile tugged at the witch's lips. "Because she's got a good heart, enough to merit a man like you."

Hafred raised both brows at her words, that so echoed those of the bandit queen, but she merely raised one hand. For a moment, he thought she had changed her mind about letting him by, but no fires leapt from her fingertips. Instead, she merely waved him onward.

"Go. You'd best hurry. Isolde will realize she's cornered any moment now. There's no telling what she'll do."

Hafred nodded, and hurried up the steep stairs as well as he could, as his muscles still screamed from Marissa's lightning. He cast one last look down to her, before vanishing into the upper floor of the manor. She looked so alone down there. Perhaps her actions, her attitudes weren't her fault. She had been raised by scum, tormented by an evil woman, and used as a pawn in some sick magical game.

Perhaps Jenrea had been right to pity her.

He hoped that one day she would find peace. But he had his own love to worry about at that moment.