How I Left the Far Northland

This work is copyright 2000-2004 by Xaltatun of Acheron (A Pseudonym). It may be posted on the Internet to any free forum. It may be reformatted to match the forum's look and feel, and the forum editor may make minor spelling and grammer corrections. Otherwise it must be posted in its entirety, including these notices. It may not be sold, or included in any compilation that is sold, or posted on any forum that requires a fee for access, without my written permission. My permission will require payment, terms to be negotiated. For purposes of this notice, sites guarded by Adult Check or similar packages are considered pay sites. Posting on any site must include this copyright notice.

Adult Content Warning - this story contains adult themes, including non-consensual bondage/slavery and forced sexual acts. If you are under the lawful age for such materials (18 in most jurisdictions) or if you would find such material offensive, please go elsewhere.

Safety Warning. This story may contain descriptions of practices that are decidedly unsafe, either in general, or if performed by someone without adequate training. There are a number of good books available on safety in the BDSM scene. Most large cities, and some not so large ones, have organized BDSM groups that will usually welcome a newcomer. I'm not going to point out which practices are safe, and which aren't. Any practice is unsafe if performed by someone with inadequate training and experience, or if performed when not paying attention. Please think before you act. Don't make yourself a candidate for a Darwin award.

Know, oh peasant, that between the fall of the fleshpots of Atlantis

and the rise of the countries of Men like hills of ants,

there was an age dreamed of only in pepperoni pizza induced nightmares,

or by bards with too much time on their hands.

There is a writing circulating about how Colon the Conqueror was driven out of the far northland by his half-brother, SemiColon. This writing, while mostly true, gives the wrong impression about the true relationship between the two brothers. Herewith, in an attempt to set the record straight, without further ado, is the true story.

Chapter 1. Twice Upon A Time

I was born to a small tribe in the far northlands, whose name has been lost to history by mutual agreement. My birth was one of those twice in a lifetime miracles, to wit: two women of the tribe gave birth at the same time. One baby boy was stillborn; the other lived. Later, the midwives couldnï¿½t remember which was which. The tribal shaman was consulted; he claimed the auguries were inconclusive. There is no truth to the rumor that the results of casting the bones was: ï¿½Who cares,ï¿½ ï¿½So what?ï¿½ ï¿½I couldnï¿½t care less,ï¿½ ï¿½So leave it alone, alrightï¿½ and ï¿½Youï¿½re tempting fate,ï¿½ in roughly that order.

The womenï¿½s council determined which woman was the babyï¿½s mother by the time-honored procedure of flipping a coin. A scurrilous rumor that the winner protested needs to be suppressed. In any case, the protest was withdrawn when they proposed to settle the dispute by flipping both of them over a spear-pit, and letting the gods decide.

The shaman refused to attempt to determine who the father was. Surprisingly enough, there were no rumors to deny.

The miracle happened again two years later, to the same two women. This time, the shaman gave it to his apprentice as a practice problem. The apprentice claimed he quit when the bones said: ï¿½What part of ï¿½leave it beï¿½ donï¿½t you understand?ï¿½ The womenï¿½s council gave the baby to the other woman. They declared the two boys to be half brothers, on the basis that they might have the same parents, and they might not, so just split the difference and go on to more interesting things.

Time passed, and the older of the two boys passed his manhood ritual, and was given the name of Colon, because, as it was said, he had the makings of a supreme asshole.

More time passed, and then I passed, and was given the same name. The menï¿½s council admitted to making a mistake with my brother; I was going to become the supreme asshole.

My brother, Colon the Elder, had spurned the village business of setting on unsuspecting villages, raping the inhabitants, stripping the joint and burning the remains. He set up in the logistics business, which is to say he had a stolen cart he used to haul spears to the next target and loot back. This earned him a fair amount of coin. Later, he began to haul stuff for other people, earning even more coin. After one of these trips he arrived back with a much bigger wagon, driving the strangest team anyone around here could remember seeing. He announced, with much pride and to a great deal of puzzlement, that he was now SemiColon because he drove an 18-hoofer. Nobody could figure out what that meant, however nobody was about to dispute with him, as his team consisted of two centaurs, four ponygirls and one troll, all of whom were heavily armed.

The troll was fearsome, but at least Iï¿½d heard of the creatures. The centaurs were odd, to say the least. Iï¿½d never heard of anything bigger than a grasshopper with six limbs. I asked the shaman how they managed to breathe. He said it should be obvious: just like everyone else. I asked which set of lungs they used. He walked away, shaking his head.

The ponygirls were even odder. They were a matched set of 5ï¿½10ï¿½ redheads, with hooves, tails and horseï¿½s ears. Also a full coat of red horsehair and a mane. The buckteeth did nothing to improve their looks. They looked like some insane wizard had tried to turn four perfectly reasonable girls into ponies and had botched the job. I couldnï¿½t tell them apart. For once, nobody told me I was being stupid. Neither could anyone else, including, as I was to find out, each other. The only thing they wore most of the time was a weapons belt except when they were hitched to the wagon. Then they wore harnesses. This had a tendency to minimize the amount of work around the village, although several of the women were heard to mutter that they couldnï¿½t tell any difference.

The shaman took a good look at them, and retired to his tent with his apprentice to ask the gods for advice. This time, the gods seem to have come through. After a psychedelic light show, the shaman and his apprentice staggered out, and declared that they had a pronouncement, direct from Grabbit and Run, the twin gods of commerce.

SemiColon was to take his wagon and team to the rubber plantations of FarAway and pick up a half load of condoms, and then he was to pick up another half load of chastity belts at the dwarvish foundries of the Iron Mountains. They were to go to underground movements in the warring cities of Uptight and Licentious. The pronouncement came complete with a map. Oh, by the way, take his half brother, Colon with him. He might need some additional protection.

I headed to my tent to get my weapons and other stuff. After a momentï¿½s thought, I packed the tent as well; I had this suspicion I wasnï¿½t coming back. When I got back, they had their harnesses on, and had harnessed the centaurs in the back position. They were working on the troll. I stopped to stare.

How, you may ask, can you possibly harness a troll to a wagon? The creatures are stupid, but not that stupid. The ponygirls had worked out a routine. One walked up, rolled her hips, and kissed him. A second dropped down and gave him a blowjob. Once he got into it, the other two just came up and put the harness on him. He never noticed. By the time he came to, he was hitched to the wagon with the bit in his mouth. The girls ducked under the shafts and hitched themselves up, and then we were off. When the troll seemed to get restive, one of them would reach forward and run her fingers down his spine. If I had to guess, Iï¿½d say we had one happy troll.

When I looked back, the villagers had finished packing the village, and were headed in the opposite direction.

ï¿½Bought them from the merchant that was running them before,ï¿½ he said, reflectively. ï¿½First time I ever got paid for buying something.ï¿½

ï¿½Ask them tonight. They make quite a story of it. Wouldnï¿½t mind hearing it again myself.ï¿½

Clip Clop, the soothing sound of ponies and horses. The afternoon wore on toward evening. I kept a good lookout, but nothing happened. It was almost funny in a way. All the dust clouds I saw were headed away from us. I suppose the sight of a troll pulling a wagon might do that to the average raiding party. Itï¿½s possible they might not have gotten close enough to notice that the centaurs were walking armories, and the ponygirls had crossbows and spare quarrels hanging from the shafts where they could get to them in a hurry.

The girls got camp set up in a defendable location. I suspected I might be able to learn a lot from them. Our village weapons master had the part about which end of the sword to hold straight, and was quite clear about using a sword to hit someone. After that, he got a little vague. Heï¿½d never been able to explain the difference between the flat, the edge and the point to my satisfaction. His philosophy seemed to be: ï¿½Just hit them until they go down. Then stomp on them until they quit wriggling.ï¿½

The story came out over several days. Iï¿½m going to tell it in one lump, just because.

Chapter 2. The Kingdoms beyond FarAway.

Weï¿½re from kingdoms so far beyond FarAway that youï¿½ve never heard of them. Even the bards donï¿½t sing about them, because youï¿½d know they were lying. So Iï¿½m just going to call them Eastheim, Westheim and Northholt. The people are pretty much like people anywhere else, but weï¿½ve got one real bad set of fairies. Actually, weï¿½ve got three sets of fairies. Theyï¿½ve got names in the fairy tongue, and youï¿½d better use them or youï¿½ll get in even more trouble, but since they arenï¿½t around here, Iï¿½m just going to call them the good fairies, the bad fairies and the fixers.

ï¿½Why canï¿½t daddy be reasonable? Nobodyï¿½s ever going to ask for my hand in marriage, and he knows it,ï¿½ snarled Princess Pulchritude.

ï¿½More to the point, he wants to know whoï¿½s going to get the kingdom when he retires,ï¿½ said her advisor, Noteworthy.

ï¿½Why not, my lady. You are the very vision of loveliness incarnate,ï¿½ said the other bard.

ï¿½Oh, shut up. I know that. So does everyone else, itï¿½s my birth blessing. Itï¿½s my birth curse thatï¿½s getting to them.ï¿½

ï¿½Iï¿½ve never really heard what it is. It canï¿½t be too awful now, can it?ï¿½ asked the second bard.

ï¿½Itï¿½s really simple. Any man who beds me dies in horrible agony after he orgasms.ï¿½ she said. The second bard blanched.

ï¿½Even though the curse also specifies he will get me pregnant, it probably isnï¿½t much compensation.ï¿½

ï¿½Her husbandï¿½s legitimate daughter will inherit,ï¿½ said the advisor. ï¿½But it canï¿½t be by a previous marriage. Iï¿½ve checked. It has to be during her marriage to him.ï¿½

ï¿½Oh, well,ï¿½ she sighed. ï¿½All that says is that we solve it. Somehow. Letï¿½s go down the list again; maybe one of them has a fatal illness that ends with a horribly painful and lingering death.ï¿½

ï¿½Father,ï¿½ snarled Prince Stud, ï¿½is being totally unreasonable. He knows perfectly well that no princess will agree to marry me. Iï¿½ve asked them all, and theyï¿½ve all rejected my suit.ï¿½

At 6ï¿½2ï¿½ with shoulders to match, the prince had a body to die for. His reputation for bedroom performance matched expectations. Maidens of gentle birth swooned when he came into the room. Others just fell in front of him with their legs spread. It was quite embarrassing, really.

ï¿½Whatï¿½s he done now?ï¿½ asked his advisor, a man named Screwy, from his ability to look around corners.

ï¿½Heï¿½s got the armorer to build a male chastity belt. Heï¿½s going to lock me into it until I get a firm proposal.ï¿½

ï¿½Thatï¿½s awful,ï¿½ said the bard, making a mental note. This could either be a ballad or an epic.

ï¿½Exactly what is the curse?ï¿½ asked the bard. ï¿½Iï¿½m not clear on the exact wording.ï¿½

ï¿½Heï¿½ll bed every woman in sight except his wife. He canï¿½t touch her.ï¿½

ï¿½I see, it gets him off the hook, and sheï¿½s no worse off than now.ï¿½ commented the bard. ï¿½It doesnï¿½t do anything about an heir, though.ï¿½

ï¿½Nobody in their right mind would expect one from them,ï¿½ said the advisor.

ï¿½Quite,ï¿½ said the bard. ï¿½Same as barren, I would think.ï¿½ Now, what rhymes with barren?

ï¿½Barren. Barren,ï¿½ mused the advisor, brightening. ï¿½Now, thereï¿½s an idea. How about appointing an Official Royal Mistress?ï¿½

ï¿½Whatï¿½s that?ï¿½ asked the Prince. ï¿½Iï¿½ve never heard of it.ï¿½

ï¿½When the Queen is barren, sometimes theyï¿½ve appointed an Official Royal Mistress. Her children are as legitimate as the Queenï¿½s.ï¿½

ï¿½Hey, I think Iï¿½ve got a couple of songs about that!ï¿½ exclaimed the bard.

ï¿½What princess in her right mind would go for number two?ï¿½ mused the Prince.

ï¿½Probably half of them, if it meant being in your bed,ï¿½ said the bard.

ï¿½Iï¿½ve already asked her twice. Got rejected twice.ï¿½ said the Prince. ï¿½Her curse is absolute hell. Almost couldnï¿½t write the letters, had a headache for days afterwards.ï¿½

The prince stuck his head outside the door. ï¿½Page! Scribe!ï¿½ he bellowed.

ï¿½You,ï¿½ he told the page. ï¿½Tell my august father that weï¿½ve got an idea that just might work.ï¿½ The page ran off.

ï¿½Write up letters to Princess Insightful and Princess Pulchritude. Insightful first. Screwy will tell you what needs saying.ï¿½ He headed off to his chambers to see who had managed to break in.

ï¿½Father,ï¿½ sighed Princess Insightful, ï¿½is still being hopeful. I really wish I could get a legitimate proposal. The only proposal Iï¿½ve ever gotten has been from Prince Stud, and we know why that wonï¿½t work. No possibility of an heir.ï¿½

ï¿½I know you would. So would I if I didnï¿½t have to marry him. Besides his curse, heï¿½s got quite a reputation for delivering.ï¿½

ï¿½Well, letï¿½s see what he has to say. Might get a chuckle out of it before saying NO again.ï¿½ She read it swiftly. ï¿½Heï¿½s actually got a brain? I donï¿½t believe it! This might actually work.ï¿½

ï¿½Scat!ï¿½ she said. ï¿½And send in a royal messenger in about a candle mark.ï¿½ Letï¿½s see, Pulchritude first, she mused as she drew parchment and ink onto her writing stand.

ï¿½A letter from Princess Insightful?ï¿½ mused Princess Pulchritude. ï¿½Whatever can she want?ï¿½ she asked her advisor.

ï¿½Humph,ï¿½ said Noteworthy, swiftly scanning the missive. ï¿½We havenï¿½t gotten a letter from Prince Stud yet, have we? I thought not. Well, Insightful doesnï¿½t play games, so there should be a messenger from him on the way. Anyway, she says that Prince Stud has proposed to marry you, and make her, that is, Insightful, the Official Royal Mistress. She thinks it might actually work, and would like your views on the matter. Oh, by the way, she hopes you are a lesbian.ï¿½

ï¿½She hopes Iï¿½m a lesbian, why that absolute cat!ï¿½ snarled the Princess.

ï¿½Now calm down, your highness,ï¿½ said Noteworthy, soothingly. ï¿½Youï¿½re hardly celibate.ï¿½

ï¿½Well, I suppose. Since the Princess is Insightful, sheï¿½s got something in mind. I just donï¿½t see it.ï¿½

ï¿½Probably has to do with Prince Studï¿½s curse. He canï¿½t bed his wife, just every other woman in sight.ï¿½

ï¿½Humph,ï¿½ said the Princess. ï¿½That puts him out of harms way, but what about me. And about an heir?ï¿½

The bard laughed. ï¿½I assume youï¿½d share her bed. Sheï¿½s got almost as much of a reputation with the ladies as the Stud.ï¿½

ï¿½So she does,ï¿½ said the Princess, with a far away look in her eyes. ï¿½That still leaves the little matter of an heir.ï¿½

ï¿½I think the children of an Official Royal Mistress are legitimate, and can inherit from all three parties. I need to check to make sure.ï¿½

ï¿½Hum. Should work that way since Insightful thinks so, but check on it anyway. Write a letter to her saying I accept in principle, but we need to work out details. And I still havenï¿½t heard yet from Prince Stud. Then tell my august father that we might have something, but it needs to be discussed in private. Bard, draft a letter to Prince Stud accepting his proposal. But hold it until the proposal arrives.ï¿½

ï¿½A letter from Princess Insightful, you say!ï¿½ exclaimed Prince Stud. ï¿½Dash it all, we havenï¿½t even sent the letter to Princess Pulchritude yet!ï¿½

ï¿½She does write her own letters,ï¿½ said the advisor. ï¿½Letï¿½s see. She accepts, and sheï¿½s written to Pulchritude. We need to work out details.ï¿½

ï¿½To the point,ï¿½ said the bard. ï¿½Awful for a song, no room for mix-ups.ï¿½

ï¿½Have the scribe put in something about my having difficulty finding words to express my true feelings, and send it to Pulchritude immediately.ï¿½

His Total Holiness, His Absolute Holiness and His Utter Holiness were unanimous about which one would officiate. They all refused. Totally, Absolutely and Utterly. The job thus fell to Her Holiness, High Priestess of the Holy Mother, Father, and all other deities currently known or still to be manifested. Princess Pulchritude had her dressmakers redesign Her Holinessï¿½ robes.

ï¿½Symbolism be hanged. She canï¿½t make up her mind which deity she represents, so the symbolism is hardly relevant. Sheï¿½s either wearing white, black, sky blue or something that complements both of our bridal parties. Unless she can come up with something that is at least in good taste.ï¿½

The wedding day dawned with a bang. Specifically, the worst lightning storm anyone had seen in memory. The evil fairies werenï¿½t happy about being thwarted, but couldnï¿½t do anything beside throw a tantrum. Those were the Rules (volume XXIX, Chapter 36 paragraphs 6 - 15 and associated precedents.)

ï¿½Do you, Prince Stud, take Princess Pulchritude to be your lawfully wedded wife, to cherish and protect, in sickness and in health, even though we all know you will never consummate the marriage?ï¿½

ï¿½Do you, Prince Stud, take Princess Insightful as your lawful Official Royal Mistress, to cherish and protect, in sickness and in health, even though we all know sheï¿½s going to run things?ï¿½

ï¿½Do you, Princess Pulchritude, take Prince Stud to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love, honor and obey, even though we all know you will never consummate the marriage?ï¿½

Do you, Princess Pulchritude, acknowledge Princess Insightful as your husbandï¿½s Official Royal Mistress and the mother of his, hers and your heirs?ï¿½

ï¿½Do you, Princess Insightful, acknowledge that you are Prince Studï¿½s Official Royal Mistress, and vow to bear an heir to him, to his wife and to yourself? Also to have no man other than your husband? And to keep all three kingdoms as if they were your most precious volume of lore?ï¿½

ï¿½Do you, Princess Insightful, acknowledge Princess Pulchritude as Prince Studï¿½s lawfully wedded wife, and honor her position before your own?ï¿½

ï¿½Then before the Holy Mother, Holy Father and all other deities currently known or still to be manifested, I pronounce you man, wife and mistress.ï¿½

A deafening clap of thunder and a bolt of lightning so brilliant that everyone was temporarily blinded followed this. When the congregation recovered, they discovered nothing had changed. The bad fairies could throw one awful snit fit when they felt like it.

Insightful refused to sit for the wedding portrait. ï¿½Tell the artist to use his imagination. He knows my height, shape and what I was wearing. He knows what the King and Queen my parents look like. As long as viewers donï¿½t blanch when they look at it, Iï¿½m happy.ï¿½

Chapter 3. The Next Happy Generation

Castle Eastheim rose from the mists as we wound our way around the mountain pass. ï¿½Well, Headstrong, there it be.ï¿½

The twin sisters rode a pair of mismatched bays that had clearly seen better days some considerable time before. The redheads were about 5ï¿½10ï¿½ and adorned with a full set of light armor, sword, bow and quiver of arrows. They may have been the most dangerous pair in Duke Abelï¿½s entourage, not least because most foes would stop to stare and drool before realizing they should be defending themselves.

ï¿½The walls and the keep are where they should be, but what are all of those buildings outside?ï¿½

ï¿½True, but daddy was most definite about our not coming back until we were prepared to act like ladies.ï¿½

ï¿½Why wait?ï¿½ asked Impetuous from beneath a set of binoculars. ï¿½It looks like that wall is climbable.ï¿½

ï¿½Let me see!ï¿½ Headstrong snatched the binoculars. ï¿½It sure looks like it, sister.ï¿½

Chapter 4. A Little Object Lesson

ï¿½Now donï¿½t you look lovely,ï¿½ the Sorceress purred. The four redheads hung rigid in the air, over a curious geometric construction gently glowing red on the floor. ï¿½Iï¿½ve been wondering who was sneaking about where they didnï¿½t belong. I should have guessed it was you; your mothers outgrew that behavior a few years ago.ï¿½

ï¿½You know, Iï¿½ve always wondered?ï¿½ she mused aloud. She cast a spell. Symbols glowed an evil black against a pattern of white and green bars. ï¿½You really are identical! Twins, I can understand, but two sets of twins with two different mothers, being identical, now thatï¿½s really unusual. A classic example of multiple inheritance.ï¿½

ï¿½Now what should I do with you?ï¿½ she mused. ï¿½Iï¿½m afraid your blessings and curse make it inconvenient to simply kill you; youï¿½re pretty much invincible.ï¿½ She stalked around them. No public delete method, oh well.

ï¿½I suppose an object lesson is in order.ï¿½ A tome with the curious title of ï¿½Object Lessons using Sorceryï¿½ floated off the shelf and opened itself in front of her. Letï¿½s see, she mused. Here it is. Her hands described a series of arcane gestures. ï¿½Abstract!ï¿½ she cried. The four dangerous beauties shimmered. Suddenly, a fifth beauty floated in the air above them. Somehow, she was both completely potential, and at the same time even more real. The four became translucent. Ahah! She exclaimed to herself. Thatï¿½s it! Keep them identical. After all, thatï¿½s what they seem to have wanted. Now where is it? A momentï¿½s study, then she made more gestures ï¿½Promote * to higher classï¿½ she intoned. The four beauties vanished. ï¿½Oh, my,ï¿½ she thought. ï¿½I never would have imagined that they would factor that well. They did work at it, though.ï¿½

Now, she thought, for some improvements. ï¿½Blessings are better than curses. Much harder to get rid of.ï¿½ Another tome floated in front of her, titled ï¿½Self-improvement through Thaumaturgy.ï¿½ Pages flipped. ï¿½Better memory. This is the one, I thought I remembered it.ï¿½ She inscribed some arcane symbols on the floor in fluorescent yellow. ï¿½Improved eyesight and hearing. Eyes of eagle, ears of bat. Just the ticket.ï¿½ More symbols, this time in baby blue. The tome closed itself.

Her fingers moved again. ï¿½Is everybody happy?ï¿½ she called into the air. There was a pregnant pause, as if the air had suddenly developed eyes and was looking at the symbols, none too fondly. Finally, the pause ended. ï¿½Guess so, nobody complained. Spell check next.ï¿½ Her fingers performed more arcane gyrations.

A disembodied voice intoned, ï¿½Such a headache theyï¿½re going to cause. Add some essence of willow bark tea.ï¿½ She searched another shelf, pulled out a brown bottle, removed two tablets and crushed them over the symbols.

ï¿½Looks good. Letï¿½s C++++.ï¿½ She raised her arms and chanted the mystic words. ï¿½Compile.ï¿½ The symbols rose off the floor and twisted themselves into even less decipherable shapes. ï¿½Link.ï¿½ They wrapped themselves around the pentagram that constrained the essence of unmanageable redheaded warrior maiden and sank inside.

ï¿½Now to finish up.ï¿½ She looked at the tome again. ï¿½Instantiate,ï¿½ she cried. Suddenly, the four redheads reappeared in the mystic enclosure. Letï¿½s see if it worked. ï¿½Debug,ï¿½ she growled. The entire assemblage glowed softly. Suddenly, a veritable cornucopia of things with six, eight or more legs scuttled, oozed, flew, crawled and slithered out of it. The aardvark in the corner came to life and began pigging out.

Now what? Oh, yes, I did want to get rid of them. A tome floated up from a shelf and opened itself in front of her. The cover said: ï¿½Janeï¿½s Mercenary Companies.ï¿½ ï¿½Letï¿½s see. Hummmn. Jirelï¿½s Free Amazons. Theyï¿½re hiring.ï¿½ She inscribed a series of arcane runes on the floor in blood red. They included several double curves with two lines through them the long way in a contrasting dull green. Another gesture. ï¿½Assign,ï¿½ she stated. The lines rose from the floor and settled into the beautyï¿½s bodies. Suddenly, they looked like they had an objective to see.

ï¿½Sorry we canï¿½t stay. Feels like a real good job,ï¿½ said Dolores, supportively.

The sorceress gazed out the window for a while. Eventually she saw four armed and armored redheads making for the horizon on borrowed war-horses. Her fingers danced again.

Insightfulï¿½s daughter replied, ï¿½Good. Iï¿½ll charge the horses off to petty cash, wouldnï¿½t want someone to think they had to bring those pests back.ï¿½

The Sorceress snapped her fingers. ï¿½Archive object.ï¿½ The redhead hanging in the air vanished, and reappeared in much smaller form in a bottle. The bottle joined others on a high shelf. Just in case she ever needed another group of four impetuous battle maidens.

Chapter 5. On the Road Again

They finished the story, and we sat there a moment in silence. Even the birds seemed to have quit their noise, and were simply listening.

All four of them turned as one, grabbed crossbows and let fly a volley of quarrels. Then they let loose with a second and third volley. The silence was broken by a chorus of screams, gurgles and death rattles, followed by the sound of the survivors beating a hasty retreat.

The girls sat still for a moment, ears swiveling. ï¿½All clear,ï¿½ Abigail announced. They bounced up and ran out into the darkness. Some more gasps and death rattles occurred, amidst sounds of bodies being stripped and loot being bagged. Thrifty girls, using the ambusherï¿½s bags for loot. There were a few whickers, snorts and other equine sounds, interspersed by the occasional thud of a pony clubbing a horse over the head to get it to cooperate. Eventually they came back with a few bags of loot and six horses.

After stowing the loot in the wagon and settling the horses for the night, Abigail continued the story.

ï¿½There are lots of stories we could tell you about the years we spent with Jirelï¿½s Amazons. Trouble is, we got way too good. With us at the core, surprise attacks werenï¿½t, and magical attacks usually left the sorcerer involved either terminated or in a 12-step recovery program somewhere. Eventually, a sorcerer got to us with a multi-thread transformation spell. That worked, mostly.

ï¿½We were escorting a couple of male prisoners to their destination, and amusing ourselves en route by training them as sex slaves. Itï¿½s the only feasible way of raping a guy without charging him up so heï¿½s dangerous. They got changed into the centaurs weï¿½ve got with us. We got changed into these ponygirl forms you see; the rest of the amazons became horses. Iï¿½m mildly surprised the spell took at all on us; that sorcerer must have been real good. We got ourselves the hell out and sold the rest of the horses for financing.

ï¿½The troll was there when we recovered from the magic blast. He wasnï¿½t one of ours: we counted the horses. We suspect that heï¿½s whatï¿½s left of the sorcerer that laid that spell; the fairies are very vicious about attempts to tamper with their curses and blessings. So is the castle Sorceress.

ï¿½Eventually, we got captured and hitched to a wagon. Our curse kicked in again, we wonï¿½t ever be able to get out of this role. Doesnï¿½t really bother us; weï¿½re not as limited as the centaurs. As long as we get plenty of action and sex, weï¿½re happy.ï¿½

Chapter 6. Adventures in Far Away

The story got us to the dusty streets of the very small town called FarAway. As a name, it was a total bust; it just wasnï¿½t that far. The girls laughed at our ignorance; FarAway was the gateway (such as it was) to the Far North: everything else was beyond it. Why hadnï¿½t they told us? First, they didnï¿½t think weï¿½d believe them. I expect they were right. More important, they wanted to get the hell out of the Far North. Just about anywhere else was more exciting.

We found this very decrepit tavern and asked around. Nobody had heard of the rubber plantations; they had no idea what a condom was. One of the girls explained, which got us our bar tab paid for the night. They hadnï¿½t heard of any cities called Uptight or Licentious. Several of them thought they had heard of Iron Mountain. The vote was 6 for someplace inhabited by dwarves, 3 for someplace where directions got mixed up, and 1 for Honest Jakeï¿½s Preowned Armor, Chariots and Swords, all offers considered seriously.

Then we settled down for some entertainment. One of the men offered to teach us this game called poker. ï¿½Youï¿½ll regret it in the morning,ï¿½ said Abigail. We decided to learn it, it sounded interesting. I still donï¿½t really know about the game, but the lesson stuck.

The expedition broke up at that point. My half-brother decided to stick around; he had this fairly well founded suspicion that if he went any further south, heï¿½d be the sucker. I suspected he was right. The centaurs stayed with him. They cut a partnership deal; they got half and contributed both muscle and some business sense (some being much better than none), SemiColon got half and contributed the wagon and acted as front man.

The troll wandered off by himself. Someone had told him of something strange called an Internet newsgroup that was home to a number of similarly surly fellows. He went off hunting, being totally innocent of any idea of what it was, what it was for, or how it worked. The last I heard he had found it, and was happily ensconced on one that dealt with fortune telling and stars. Having been a very good sorcerer, he actually knew something about the subject, which got both sides mad at him. One very happy troll.

Chapter 7. We become History

I headed south with the ponygirls. We hit Honest Jakeï¿½s first to pick up a chariot. When he found out we didnï¿½t have any coin, I found out he had a real serious laugh. He offered to trade me a chariot for the four ponygirls, I pointed out that without anything to pull it, I had no use for one. He pointed out that I could pull it, I pointed out that seemed kind of pointless with no one to ride in it. Then he offered to take two of them off my hands for the chariot. This time he got five laughs; they came as a foursome, period. Nobody broke them up. Suddenly finding himself the focus of two swords, a crossbow, a mace being twirled like a sling, and a fierce scowl got him considering what else there was to dicker about.

Eventually, he got around to mentioning that the chief armsman had some work to subcontract. We headed over there next. Abigail studied the numbers after the word REWARD on the wanted posters while the rest of them dickered with the armsmen. Abigail also checked whether they were wanted alive, or just the heads would do. I concentrated on looking mean.

We took out the top end of the wanted list in a week of hard work, leaving enough so the local baron would continue to pay the armsmen. Honest Jake came up with a chariot, cheap. One of the bards hanging around the local taverns came up with an epic when we paid his bar tab. We headed south, two ponygirls pulling the chariot, two trotting along behind as fresh replacements, and a reputation. A spell of odd jobs followed while I learned the brainless barbarian business from the girls. The trick in the brainless barbarian business is that itï¿½s all acting. The more you can make it look like your results are brute force, awkwardness, shear breathtaking stupidity and dumb luck, the better off you are. In reality, brute force is sometimes useful, and you take dumb luck when you can get it, but the rest donï¿½t work real well.

Then we got our major break. We hitched up with a traveling carnival. One of the acts was a trained wolf. It gave us a few chuckles until we found out that it was actually a werewolf, and the trainer was a minor sorcerer who controlled the changes. Then we made a deal. The Wolf and Ponygirl show was an immediate hit, especially around any place infested by bureaucrats. It beat the dog and pony shows of our competitorï¿½s paws and hoofs down.

Our next break came when we found this down on his luck priest drinking in a bar with a non-descript sorcerer. Turned out the sorcererï¿½s name was Xaltotun of Python; Iï¿½ve forgotten the priestï¿½s name. The sorcerer had quite a reputation from the distant and misty past. Heï¿½d been trying to retire to the sidelines for quite a while, but some hero took off after him every decade or so. He always managed to toast the hero, but the epics kept him in front of the public eye.

So we cooked up a scam. Something for everyone. We got this suicidal bard to write an epic detailing how this dedicated priest and heroic barbarian saved the world from this foul sorcererï¿½s plot to acquire a sorcerous gem of horrendous power so he could enslave humanity forever. We had to invent the gem, of course. No such thing can exist in reality; the more extreme an action, the more extreme the eventual reaction. But it made a great epic.

The denouement met everyoneï¿½s expectations. The priest got a rapid elevation up his hierarchy, the bard got an instant reputation, and my reputation got a big boost. The ponygirls went off with Xaltatun into obscurity. When last heard from, they were hanging out in Goth bars and ghostwriting ponygirl pornography for him, while he was earning coin by programming other peopleï¿½s computers, whatever they are.

I parlayed my reputation into the throne of Aquaregia, the most acidic of the kingdoms on the Dissolute Coast. The king business is almost as easy as the brainless barbarian business. You just have to get good advisors, and a pretty queen. You look nasty at the right times, she looks benevolent at the right times, and you let your advisors do their jobs in obscurity. Itï¿½s all motivation. All I had to remember is that I really, really didnï¿½t want the hassle of running a kingdom, and my advisors didnï¿½t want the hassle of having to explain what they were doing. It was a lot easier on me than actually running things like Insightful and Penetrating were doing back on the mainland.

As I put the finishing touches on this turkey (November, 2000), I hear that L. Sprague deCamp has just died. He took over the Conan the Barbarian story business after the original suicidal bard (Robert E. Howard, of course) committed suicide. He also wrote many other very good science fiction and fantasy stories, as well as quite a bit of hard science popularization and other works. He will be missed.

Heï¿½s not responsible (as far as I know) for the original Conan parody on which this story is loosely based. One of these days, Iï¿½m going to be able to purge that truly awful opening line from my brain. ï¿½Colon the Conqueror, driven from the far northland by his half brother, Semicolon.ï¿½

This is, obviously, a parody. Of what, Iï¿½m not entirely certain. Itï¿½s supposed to be impossible to parody a parody, so Iï¿½ve taken aim at anything moving across the langscape.

(That isnï¿½t quite the finishing touches. The last version before I started cleaning it up was in April, 2001, and Iï¿½m giving it a final edit in December, 2004.)

If you enjoyed this story, please e-mail the author and let him know. He likes to hear from his loyal fans,and it gives him some motivation to keep writing this stuff. Of course, if you're a publisher and you'd like to buy some of these stories, please let him know. The starving author in the garret makes a great story, but it sucks in real life.