A Paladin's Training

CHAPTER SIX

*all characters are over the age of eighteen years*

***ARAN -- Ironshire, Ekistair***

The clashing of steel echoed throughout the basement beneath Smythe's house as dull-edged practice blades met repeatedly. Smythe circled Aran, whirling a huge, five-foot long great-sword like it weighed nothing. His footwork was impeccable, and he stepped with a precision and grace that belied his tall, wide-shouldered stature.

Smythe had chosen to use the basement rather than the yard outside to keep away from any prying eyes; Ironshire knew Smythe as a weaponsmith, and someone skilled with a blade, but that's all they knew. His true identity as one of the last surviving Paladins of Aros was a closely kept secret, so for now, combat training was done out of sight and Gift training was done well outside of town, out of view of the walls.

Aran held his somewhat smaller blade upright, circling in opposition to Smythe, waiting for an opening in the larger man's seemingly impenetrable defense. It was warm down here -- despite it being early spring -- and both men were shirtless, sweat beading in the thick jungle on Smythe's chest just as it did on Aran's somewhat less hairy one.

Aran watched his opponent warily; that big blade looked unwieldy, but with it, Smythe could strike like a viper. Aran's arms, legs and torso were stinging from the multiple thin bruises that the blunt edge of Smythe's blade had left on him. They healed much faster than they otherwise would have -- thanks to the Gift -- but that didn't stop it hurting when he received the hit.

Aran had yet to score a single blow on his mentor, who watched him intently, his dark eyes never leaving Aran's face as he continued to circle. Aran had been studying him carefully, trying to find a pattern in his movements, and three times now, Smythe had fooled him into thinking he'd settled into a routine, only to change it and catch Aran off-guard.

This was maybe the tenth time he and Smythe had sparred, and Aran counted it a point of personal pride that he bore less fresh bruises from today than in the last session. By rights, he should have been exhausted; Smythe was a far harsher tutor than Elaina had ever been. Aran almost laughed out loud when he remembered nearly running away from the Chapel in the Emerin Forest because of the intensity of his early training.

Smythe had spent the last month making Aran work so hard that the thought of going back to Elaina was a pleasant fantasy -- even if you took the sex out of it!

Whip-quick, Smythe struck again, his blade arcing forward in a sweep. Aran tried to parry, but had not been watching for Smythe's feint, and so his mentor scored him sharply beneath the arm after slapping Aran's smaller blade away.

"Where's your head at, lad?" Smythe growled, glaring. "Do that on the battlefield and you'll be dead!"

Gritting his teeth against the burning sting on his ribs, Aran reset himself. Smythe was right; he'd let his mind wander, and had missed a possible opportunity. Smythe's feint had left him very briefly open to a counter attack, but was it a mistake? Or was it deliberate?

The bigger man's blade flashed forward again -- this time with no feint -- and Aran just barely managed to push it away in time. Taking a deep breath, he calmed his mind and listened to the gentle hum of the Gift inside him. It was becoming a more consistent presence in his awareness, the warm glow lending him strength, without which he was sure his training would have disabled or even killed him. An ordinary man would only last so long training for eighteen hours a day for five weeks straight, but Aran and Smythe were no ordinary men.

Smythe said the teaching was this hard because it forced you to learn to rely on your Gift, and Aran had definitely noticed a difference in himself since starting with his mustachioed mentor. He rarely felt tired any more, despite the harsh training, and noticed that he could go longer without food and water if required, but also found that when he did eat, he could easily put down two or three times more food than he had before! Smythe said it was the Gift adjusting Aran's body to suit its power, and that though he might get hungry less often, when he did eat, he should eat well, especially when healing from injury.

Another thing Aran had noticed was the way women around town noticed him. He didn't step out often, but he occasionally caught women staring at him in the street, sometimes quite openly. He knew it would happen, eventually, as attracting the opposite sex was a natural part of being Gifted, but it would probably be some time before he got used to it. Also, now that he'd had a taste of sex -- thanks to his former mentor, Elaina, and the three women who were now Bonded to him -- the absence of women bore a gaping void that he never would have noticed were he still a virgin.

Smythe struck yet again, but this time Aran caught the feint. Instead of taking the bait, though, he pivoted to the right, and Smythe's two-handed thrust carried past Aran's left side, leaving his own left side open for a killing blow. Aran swept his blade right-to-left, which -- if they'd had sharp swords -- would open Smythe across the kidney, but with shocking speed, Smythe whipped his blade back round, holding the hilt one-handed, his other hand flat on the wide blade to support his parry.

Aran spun away from the parry and was about to launch another attack when Smythe raised his hand to halt him. "Break, lad," the towering Paladin said as he wiped his arm across his brow.

Aran nodded and lowered his sword, not feeling tired but still grateful for a rest. This had been their longest sparring session yet. They'd started just after midday, and it now had to be dark outside, though he couldn't tell; the basement was beneath the ground and there were no windows in the stone walls.

"That was good, at the end there," Smythe told him, grounding the dull point of his blade and folding both hands over the pommel. "You almost scored a hit on me. What did you do differently?"

Aran wasn't sure he knew the answer to that, but he made his best attempt. "You feinted, but you knew I knew it was a feint, and so you expected me to counter the move coming after the feint."

Smythe nodded slowly. "And?"

"And I tried to so something you wouldn't expect, move in a direction that didn't match your attack, which wasn't really your attack, was it?"

Smythe didn't smile, but Aran thought his lips may have moved just slightly. Was that approval? Hard to tell, with that thick mustache in the way. "And what is the lesson here?"

Aran was saying the words before consciously aware of it. "Find what your opponent expects you to do, and do anything but."

"Good, lad. You're learning," Smythe grunted as he hefted his sword again. "Now that we're warmed up, let's continue."

Aran smiled as he raised his own blade. The notion of a six-hour warm-up would have horrified him a year ago, but now he just set his feet and focused, feeling the Gift glowing softly inside him as he squared off with his mentor.

***

***MALOTH -- Somewhere in Palistair***

"Oh, yes, my Lord! Your big cock feels wonderful!"

Maloth gripped tightly to the ample hips of the beautiful and remarkably voluptuous Ellerion Velenar, High Matriarch of the High Elves of Laefandell. Well, she had carried those titles once, but now, she belonged to Maloth, Bound to him in body, mind and soul. The golden-haired Elf possessed an otherworldly beauty, and due to her many centuries walking the earth, her body had developed in the unique way of Elves; growing more rounded and comely as she aged. As Ellerion bounced eagerly on his cock, her magnificent breasts swung in time with her motion, the pale orbs capped by petite pink nipples. Maloth's hands slid from her waist to her chest, where he mauled the soft flesh with his black-nailed fingers, his crimson skin contrasting sharply with her fair complexion.

They were fucking in his bedchamber, a vast space all of black stone, lit by various standing lamps and torches that emitted fire the colour of amethyst, bathing the room in an eerie purple glow. Maloth needed no light to see by, but he liked the ambience it created.

"I want your seed, my Lord!" The Elven beauty cried, gyrating her hips insistently. Her arms were folded behind her head, and she pushed her prodigious chest against his grasping hands, moaning when he roughly pinched and slapped her tits. Her bald sex swallowed his crimson pole at increasingly faster speeds, and she reached yet another climax as she rode him. Her greatest pleasure was now to please Lord Maloth, and she would seek it always.

Ellerion was his second acquisition since waking from his long slumber. His first was Glinda Stonedeep, sister to King Burin Stonedeep of the Dun Arghol Dwarves, across the sea in Ekistair. Glinda had just been fucked royally, and she was now sleeping face-up on the bed beside them, her own titanic chest shifting with the movement on the mattress. Dwarves, unlike Elves, did not experience physical changes as they aged, they were simply notorious for the outrageous dimensions of their feminine assets. Short of five feet tall, Glinda had curves most women of other races would kill for, somehow appearing pleasingly plump without being fat. Add that to a striking face, long black tresses and a royal heritage, and she was extremely suitable to serve Maloth for eternity.

With a grunt, Maloth began to erupt inside the Elf's clenching cunt, his dark seed flowing into her body and providing her with the sustenance she now required to remain healthy. As his thralls, Glinda and Ellerion required his essence at least once every lunar cycle or they would take ill and eventually die. Any harm that befell Maloth's harem would also harm him, making this process not only enjoyable, but also necessary.

Ellerion was still enjoying the peak of her pleasure when he roughly shoved her off to collapse atop Ginda. The Dwarf immediately woke and began kissing the Elf, and Ellerion responded willingly. Resisting the urge to fuck them both again, Maloth rose from the bed, stretching his arms above his head. The tall mirror nearby caught his attention, and he studied himself critically. He had awoken from long years of sleep a frail husk at death's door, gaunt and malnourished, but now, since his second Binding, his seven-foot, crimson frame had filled out again, and much of his muscular form was restored. His manhood jutted proudly forth, still erect and slick from his recent copulation, and his balls hung heavily between his broad thighs. His face bore chiseled features; defined cheekbones and a strong, clean jawline. He did not care for hair on his face, and his body grew none at all, leaving his sleekly toned physique undisturbed by imperfections.

One more Binding, and he should be completely restored physically. After that, additional Bindings would continue to increase his strength and power. Maloth was a Demon of Lust, his body made to entice females, to inspire want and desire, which is how he ensnared them and bent them to his will. His sister, Shenla, was his female counterpart; a Demoness of Lust, a mistress of seduction and sexual abandon. Shenla had Bound her own thrall recently; her first, an impressive Orc warrior whom she was probably still breaking in at this very moment.

Their mother was Morgeth the Corruptor, an ancient, powerful Demoness who had razed this world for years before finally being thrown back by the Order of Aros. Maloth remembered that much, despite being merely a child when the Paladins stormed his mother's home. Before her death, Morgeth had banished Maloth and Shenla to this place, a haven she had prepared for them in a land far across the sea, and she had put them to sleep, surrounded by a magic barrier that kept the world out until they woke. For many long years they slept -- at least four centuries, by Maloth's reckoning -- and now they were awake, walking the world and slowly building their strength. Maloth and Shenla had awoken inside a stone chamber deep beneath the ground, accessed only by a lone set of stairs that led to the surface, or so Maloth had thought. Further inspection had revealed that that stone chamber had been only one room in a magnificent underground structure, almost like a buried castle. It was perfect for what they needed; Morgeth had truly provided for her children, even in death.

Strangely, Morgeth had never said much about their father except that he was a remarkable man. Maloth only had vague memories of him; a Human, of all things! He must have been extraordinary indeed for an ancient Demoness to willingly carry his child! Maloth would discover what he could about his father in due time. For now, he needed to focus on collecting information, and the best way to do that, was to use the two busty beauties on his bed.

Already, he had learned much, particularly from Ellerion. This land was called Palistair, and across the sea to the south was a much larger land called Ekistair. Palistair was home to Orcs, High Elves, Dark Elves and Giants, as well as Humans. Interestingly, there also appeared to be a cloister of Wardens of the Dead, necromancers who had served his mother when she ruled. Apparently, these races had fled here after the war, when the Seven Kingdoms of Ekistair had splintered.

Maloth had been almost disappointed to hear from Glinda that the Order of Aros had been wiped out -- he'd wanted a chance to test himself against a few of these Paladins -- but he was pleased that they were gone; it would make his intended odyssey fathoms easier.

Ellerion said that no one people in Palistair were fond of the others, and so skirmishes and raids were frequent over land and resources, or both. All-out war had not occurred because no side was willing to lose large numbers, yet any treaties or agreements that had been attempted had simply not worked. This news pleased Maloth, as division was easier to manipulate than order.

Surprisingly, it was the Humans who had the upper hand in this centuries-long stalemate; Palistair was surrounded on its east and west coasts by inhospitable mountain ranges, and its north coast was home to an uninhabitable frozen tundra. The only access to the ocean was the southern peninsula, upon which the Humans had cleverly built a fortress-city. All attempts to lay siege to the fortress by the Orcs, Dark Elves and High Elves had fallen short, probably because they had tried it individually, rather than as a united force. Ellerion's information said that the fortress-city -- Amindaer -- while grand to behold, had fallen into depravity, and was now being ruled by a bandit-king.

If Maloth ever hoped to get back to Ekistair and complete his mother's legacy, he would need to find a way to take Amindaer. It would be a long journey, but not impossible.

Ellerion was laying on Glinda, their massive chests pushed together as they kissed. The Elf had one thigh between the Dwarf's, and their hips were bucking as each woman ground her pussy against the thigh of the other. Maloth, having never gone soft, turned back the bed to watch, his long shaft twitching at the display.

"Ellerion," he said, addressing the Elf, who raised her head immediately and smiled adoringly. Glinda continued to kiss at her neck and shoulder. "What news from Laefandell?" Soon after Binding her, Maloth had had Ellerion send a letter to her people explaining that she was safe, but would not be returning home for some time, as she was 'on a journey for the benefit of the Elves.' After that, she had been sending regular letters -- under Maloth's instruction -- requesting current information from the Elves' many scouts across Palistair.

Ellerion scrambled off of Glinda and knelt on the bed, facing Maloth. Her luscious thighs were parted, her moist slit visible between them, and she thrust her chest forward, displaying herself for his pleasure while she answered. She spoke the common tongue well, in a refined, polished accent. "All is as normal with the Orcs and Dark Elves, my Lord," she replied obediently, her large, sapphire eyes drifting down to his turgid cock. "The most interesting news is that the Giants were recently raided by the Oragashi."

The Oragashi were a roaming band of notorious Ogres that occasionally harassed Human towns and villages, or in this case, a clan of Giants. No doubt the rapacious Ogres only had one intention for kidnapping two Giantesses. "Go on," Maloth ordered. Glinda rolled to the edge of the bed and hopped off, pressing herself up against Maloth's side. He allowed the Dwarf to stroke his shaft while he listened to Ellerion.

"The Oragashi captured two Giantesses in the night, making off with them before the tribe could stop them." Ellerion was now enviously watching Glinda's hand sliding along Maloth's prick. She licked her full lips as she continued. "The Giants reached out to Laefandell for aid, but the Elves of course refused."

Of all the animosities between factions in this land, the Giants and the High Elves had the most cordial, though it was far from friendly. For the Giants to reach out to Laefandell for help meant that they must be desperate indeed. "Why can't the Giants mount their own rescue?" Maloth asked, grasping a handful of Glinda's silky hair and bringing her face to his cock. "A company of Giants could easily dispatch the Ogres, surely."

"This is true, my Lord," Ellerion replied meekly, one hand straying to her pussy, where she began to delve a finger between the wet lips. "But the Oragashi appear to have a new leader, one smarter than his predecessor." Maloth's eyebrows rose at this news. "He has made it known that any attempt at pursuit will result in the death of the captives. As you know, my Lord, Giants are not known for their stealth, which is probably why they beseeched the Elves for help."

Maloth grinned. "So, the Giants are desperate, and the Elves will not help." The next move was obvious. "Send word to the Giants, Ellerion. Tell them Lord Maloth can deliver the aid they so badly require."

Ellerion opened her pretty mouth, but another voice interjected from behind Maloth; a honeyed tone that dripped with lewd promise. "I've already taken the liberty, my Lord."

Maloth turned to see Shenla standing in the archway, one hand leaning against the stone, the other on a well-curved hip. Standing there naked, she was sex personified, with skin the colour of roses and a body with similar proportions to Glinda and Ellerion, except on Shenla those curves looked perfected, as if carved by a master artisan. Her eyes were deep purple, reflecting the light as she smiled salaciously and licked her black lips. Lustrous waves of black hair fell down around a beautiful face with exquisite features.

She sauntered forward, her gaze focused on where Glinda was eagerly suckling on Maloth's cock. A pair of magnificent breasts adorned her chest, shifting hypnotically as she walked forward, the black nipples crinkled and hard, as they were most of the time. Her slim waist flared out into round hips and a lush, ripe ass, and the thighs beneath were nothing short of luscious. Her cunt was bald and smooth, the cleft calling Maloth like a siren song, but he pushed the desire away; he was not yet strong enough to fuck Shenla without harming himself.

It was a cruel twist of fate that saw Maloth only able to safely spend his seed inside women who were Bound to him. To spend his essence inside any other woman would Bind her to him for eternity, and Maloth was very selective about whom he gave that honour. To spend his essence inside Shenla would energise and nourish her, but it would also temporarily drain some of his life force, and Maloth was not yet strong enough to be able to weather that, no matter how tempting she was.