The Inquisitor Epilogue Ch 02

She stopped in her tracks as she entered her chambers once again. The chieftain had to stop short in order to keep from crashing into her. She stood amazed at the man who greeted them.

There, in the mellow torchlight of her bedchambers stood her master, the Inquisitor. Only it was the King. In her absence, he had cut his hair to nearly shoulder length. Though the cut was ragged from the blade, it hung wet and luxurious and regal against his neck. His beard that had sprung wild and untamed was nearly gone. He had shaped what remained of it crisply around his lips and chin, making a dark O around his mouth. The princess thought he must have taken considerably more time on his beard, noting his misshapen hairstyle. He wore the heavy fur robe and his shadow cast long on the floor. Silence reigned for a moment as the two men stared at each other. At last, it was the King who spoke.

"Yes, cousin... It is I."

A great bellow as the outlander chief ran to his kinsman. They embraced heartily, Tymrill's booming laugh bouncing about the stones of her chamber.

"By the Gods!" exclaimed Tymrill. "It is good to see you, cousin. So many of our kinsmen gave you up for dead so long ago."

"Not dead, you old dog!" returned the King heartily. "Though I might as well have been."

"The curse?" asked Tymrill.

"Lifted!" shouted the King, gesturing to the princess. "By my new Queen." Tymrill raised his eyebrows in surprise, and then turned to her, bowing very low and graciously.

"Long may she reign at your side." said the outlander, kinsman of the King.

As Tymrill straightened up, his eyes caught hers, and his face colored, remembering her mouth around him after the tournament.

"I have much to discuss with you, cousin..." began the King. "So much have I missed. But that will have to wait."

"I need your help... there is something I need you to do." he said, clapping a hand on Tymrill's shoulder.

"Name it, cousin!" exclaimed Tymrill.

"High above us lies remains of..." he hesitated. "Of my former Queen. To be sure, she is most likely only dust by now. But you must take pains to remove even the smallest grain of her. Nothing must remain within these walls. This you must do before the sun leaves her chambers."

"Syr'Va'ahl's plan has worked." the King continued. "She is gone, but her spells and bindings may still yet exist. I have not the strength to withstand any ambush or attack she may have lain in her defense. My limbs are still weak from their long slumber, and all of my stores are at an ebb. My magick is depleted, and I may sorely need it, if I am to regain my throne" As if to illustrate his point, he swayed on his feet, and they helped him to a chair.

"And..." added Tymrill softly. "There is the matter of your son. He may not look kindly upon your return... or the death of his beloved."

- - -

Dawn broke over the eastern mountains, an explosion of light rocketing between the craggy peaks. The light spilled over the rim and down into the valleys, marching along the lowlands and farmlands until it set the stones of the castle ablaze with golden color. Sparkles of sunlight danced upon dew covered leaves and grass. The entire land shouted with light and color; as if a great blanket of sorrow had been torn away.

As the morning sunlight crawled up the castle walls, it found an opening and shone inside. A young man growled angrily at the encroaching day. He rolled over in his bed, pulling his blankets over him. The comely lass beside him gave a complaint at being uncovered so rudely.

"Quiet,wench!" he spat from beneath the bedclothes. "Can you not see I am trying to sleep!"

She scowled and left the bed. She began to gather her clothes, wincing as she bent to retrieve her bodice. Her backside ached and her thighs and sex felt raw and hot. Her bedmate had certainly taken all he had wanted. But he had found striking her much more amusing, and had spent the small hours of the morning caning her backside with a stiff reed.

She tried to dress as quietly as she could, hoping to be away before he was awake. Alas, she had only gotten her skirtings tied 'round her before he sat up and beheld her through sleepy eyes. Her body was naked from the waist up, her round breasts moving up and down as she drew in breath. She could see he was very hard underneath the covers, his eyes roving over her bare skin. Despite herself, the morning chill stiffened her nipples as he looked upon her. A smile slid across his face, but it gave no comfort.

She tried to cover herself, but he commanded her be still. He sat up against the headboard, arms stretched out along the rail. His chest was broad, with a patch of light hair. His arms, though strong enough, did not seem fully grown to her eyes.

Like a boy who does not know his strength, thought she. Not like a man who knew how to act properly. As he looked upon her, she felt her face burn red.

His face was quite handsome, features smooth and refined. His hair chestnut, long and silky down his back. His face could not yet grow a proper beard. His jaw and chin were covered over with stubble, but seemed patchy in places.

As she saw him in the morning light, the charm that had drawn her faded. The memory of his rough touch made her regret fawning after him so. True, she had plied and pulled at him, pleading to be his consort for the night's Revel. But now in the dawn, she wished herself far away.

He left the bed, coming swiftly to her, grasping her breasts in both hands. He squeezed them hard, slipping his fingers 'round her nipples. He pinched and tugged at them, pulling her close enough to brush his stiffened cock against her skirts.

"And just where do you think you are going?" he asked lightly, his smile melting into a sort of smirk. He did not allow her time to answer. Instead, he whirled her around, his arms 'round her waist, hands crawling up to find her breasts again.

He moved her to the bed, bending her over the wooden footboard. Moving fast, he swept her skirts up, exposing her red and sore bottom. His hand flashed out, spanking her rump hard. Another and another, spank after spank as she bent over the bedboard.

He tired of spanking her bottom soon enough. But she could tell by his ragged breathing he was not finished.

"No, my Lord." she whispered. But her plea seemed to madden him further. From behind, she could feel his throbbing cock pulse against her cheeks. It seemed to move of it's own accord. She prayed him relent. She felt his hands part her buttocks, and the quivering head of his sex come to rest against her tight opening. She knew what was in store, and cried out, but he paid her no heed. She heard him spit upon his hand and felt him wet himself and her behind with it. Slowly, he slid himself into her. She cried out as his big cock stretched into her ass.

"You... touch yourself!" he commanded as he pounded her from behind. When she did not comply, he grasped her upper arm roughly and forced her hand down between her legs.

"Obey me, wench!" he cried as he slammed her with his cock. He pulled her hair and his cock grew very stiff inside of her. She felt his hot seed shoot into her and buried her face in the covers as his rhythm slowed. At last he withdrew it from her, and backed away on unsteady legs.

Tears streamed down her face as she lowered her skirts and stood. She tried to regain her pride, struggling into her bodice. She caught his cold eyes as he regarded her. Her face burned with shame at the sight of them.

He allowed her to dress, pretending to pay her no heed. She gathered the rest of her things in a quick bundle, heading for the door. But before she could be shut of him, he called out, bidding her turn and answer.

"Y..yes, my Lord?" she asked timidly, her hand brushing away a tear.

"At the chime of the ninth hour, you will bring yourself... and another to me here, in my chambers. Be sure you both have bathed." He smiled his sickeningly sweet smile at her, before his voice turned malevolent. "Do I make myself clear?"

She stared open-mouthed at him for a long moment before her shoulders sagged. Her head dropped and she could not bear to meet his eyes. At last she sighed.

"As you command, Prince Tarquinne."

She bowed slightly and hastened away. Her racking sobs could be heard echoing down the corridor.

- - -

He worked late into the morning. He gathered up all of the sumptuous blankets and bedcoverings from the Queen's huge bed. Choosing the largest, Tymrill bound the rest into a great bundle, tying the huge coverlet around it all to make a great sack.

From the floor surrounding the bed, he carefully swept all of the ash and grit that had once been the beautiful Queen. He collected all he could find into tidy piles. All about the Queen's bedchamber hung a thin cloud of tiny particles, as if someone had shaken a dusty blanket. Using the pommel of his knife, he broke out several panes of glass from a window, then several more from another across the room. A light breeze blew in, through, and carried most of the flotsam out the other side with it.

On hands and knees, the great chieftain found a tooth under the bed, and another under a pillow. He found many shards of thin glass. All these he gathered and added to the sack. He crinkled his nose as he worked. The entire chamber held a sickly sweet smell, a scent which draws carrion birds on the wing.

Every so often, he felt tiny pinpricks on any part of exposed skin. His face, his arms, even his ears began to feel itchy and hot as he worked. Deciding to leave nothing to chance, he gathered the remaining pillows, blankets and furs throughout the room, and bundled them into another sack.

From tables and dressers and cupboards throughout the chambers, he gathered things that had belonged to the Queen. Here a fine silver hairbrush with bristles of sable, from here a fine quill and ink. He tried to imagine anything the Queen might have touched often. And so he set himself to stripping the room of anything personal to the Queen. His aim was to leave nothing that might hold evil in this place. He even tore open the huge mattresses, ripping off their covers, leaving only scattered feathers behind.

It was not until he had nearly finished, and was preparing to leave that he spotted a gleam of metal winking beneath a massive, heavy wardrobe. Leaving his bundles, he got down and reached under the cupboard to fetch it. As his hand closed around it, he realized his mistake.

A deep thrum sprang up in the air. The tiny pinpricks along his skin increased a thousand fold. A multitude of hot knifes seemed to tear at his exposed flesh. The smell intensified, decay and burning and brimstone. And still the thrum in the air continued, growing louder and louder, a sound of countless locusts descending upon new crops. The great chieftain tried to regain his feet, but his big arm remained lodged underneath the thick wood of the wardrobe. He fought against it, his arm tearing against the wood, trying to break free from under it.

The thrum grew deeper and faster. He looked up and saw tiny particles swirling in the air all around him. They whipped about each other, and began to coalesce into a shape; the shape of a woman.

As he gaped in horror at the forming shape, a great creak tore his attention away. His wide eyes beheld the massive wardrobe leaning toward him, rising, tipping... falling. He bellowed and raised his other arm above him as the huge cabinet came plunging over, collapsing upon him with all its terrible weight.

All at once the sound diminished and died away completely. As a thin rivulet of blood seeped out from beneath the wreckage of the wardrobe, the last of the dust of Queen Belladonna fluttered out on the morning breeze.