The Life Heroic

Prologue 2

Seventeen weeks ago

Three hours passed by turns of the hourglass without any sign of the fog's end. Three hours spent in a fog bank a hundred yards long. Only sorcery could explain it, but that made no sense; the Elves had us dead to rights. Why use magic to send us off into the unknown? Assuming it was them, of course, but who else would care about us?

Kerri and I used the lull to extract the arrows and bind her wounds. I'd been fortunate enough to take no more than a few scratches from near-misses and flying chips of wood, and while Kerri was going to spend some time healing, Elf arrows were made for elegant killing. Never barbed, they either killed outright or slid out without any resistance and didn't even tend to leave scars. An Elf would kill to destroy what they considered ugliness, but wound in a way that made more ugliness in the world? Not on your mayfly life.

All this we did in silence, knowing how sounds carried over open water. It was only when I turned the hourglass for the third time that she broke the stillness.

"Bewitched, is we, Harry?" She asked in the hushed tones of hidden panic. She was sitting in the Captain's chair, observing me at the tiller, failing miserably at looking casual. The captain, having been the single most visible target on the ship, had been turned into a virtual pincushion. I salvaged his hat before rolling him overboard with the rest; I'd always liked its jaunty parrot feather.

"Can't see what else it could be," I admitted with a shrug, not looking up from my amateurish handling of the ship. "But we ain't dead and that's a right surprise, so I'm fixin' to do whatever needs doin' to keep it up."

We didn't have much longer to wait. Kerri and I exchanged looks of utter horror at the sound of gravel scraping along the bottom of the ship. Normally, that would be a sign of nothing more than our having come ashore less gracefully than intended. When one is two days' sail from the nearest spit of land it is an altogether more sinister noise.

The fog lifted as our study ship ground to a halt, both Kerri and myself too petrified to move a muscle, staring at each other in wide-eyed terror. Light burned through the rapidly dispersing fog and when the Grasping Wretch came to a full stop and fell gracelessly onto its side, dumping us overboard, it was onto a sun-kissed beach.

Even the most gradual of shipwrecks is a dangerous thing, of course. As I was tossed overboard I was desperately fending off impacts of any loose objects that had been left on the deck and ensuring that I was not beneath the mast when it crashed down like a felled tree.

Finally, the noise ended and the wreckage settled, leaving myself and Kerri on the beach in the midst of a scatter of debris. Battered, certainly, bruised in every muscle, but alive and somehow free of our pursuers. On a tropical beach no less, which given how far north we had been, should have been several weeks' journey at the least.

Having checked that my companion was still alive, I began a more detailed inspection of our new surroundings. We were on a strip of white sand a hundred yards wide, stretching out unblemished in both directions, abutting lush jungle. The only obvious destination was a tower visible over the trees, looking to be some half-mile or so distant, with a path leading invitingly into the green tunnel of the jungle. It was made yet more obvious a destination by the following note, which formed itself from jade fire on the white sand nearby:

To the Travellers

Harold Weller, called Blacktooth, and

Kerriwether Norrwell-Ingotsford, called Knife-Hand,

Greetings, welcome, and congratulations. The answers you seek are in the tower before you, and with them, your reward.

Cordially,

Thallos Menzo'bran Zentan'elkoth

Scholar

It remains the single most polite invitation I have ever received. That the alternative was a death by exposure on a deserted beach made little enough difference. Kerri was staring in apparent horror and I recalled that she was entirely illiterate.

"It says we oughtta be off to the tower, not as there's ought else to see. An' you never told you was an Ingotsford. Ain't you rich enough not to be a pirate?"

"Arranged marriage." she answered without looking away from the burning letters. "Piracy's better. Anythin's better," she said with absolute conviction. I recalled that during our last celebration of a successful haul, each of us had gone up two our rooms with a pair of ladies of negotiable affection. Including Kerri.

"You're the expert. For now, though, got any ideas better than heading to the tower?" She shook her head. We got her uninjured arm over my shoulder and started the slog, utterly unprepared for what lay ahead but certain that it was better than what we'd escaped.

Chapter 2

Today

Potion secured (not that I had any idea why I had wanted it) I made my way back to the tavern where I had my room. There were some appreciative glances at my shirtless torso from women out for shopping, but I had a plan for the day coming to mind.

The tavern was largely deserted, only the barmaid, Lucine, and one of the serving wenches present. Lucine gave me a wink and a smile. The serving wench, a youthful woman with the pointed ears of Elven blood poking through through an unkempt mop of platinum hair, dropped the broom she'd been pushing and rounded on me in fury.

"There you are, you miserable bastard! What the hell were you thinking?!" She was shaking a raised finger at me, but given that she didn't come up much past my belly button or outweigh my arm, it was like being attacked by a raging kitten. From what I understood, Canthi was somewhere around eight times my twenty-two years, but with that Elven blood, she looked like a youthful sixteen. She was almost entirely colorless normally, skin pale to the point of pallid matching her hair, her violet eyes shining in delicate, alabaster features. Now, though, her cheeks had spots of red and a flush was visible on her neck creeping down under her thin shirt. Behind her, Lucine was making no attempt to hide her eager amusement at the confrontation.

"Hello, Canthi," I said, using the diminutive of her full name, Siricantha. "And you're screaming about?"

"You deciding that you could get that massive thing up my ass, you buffoon! I'm going to walk funny for days!" A memory stirred of walking into the kitchen, dead drunk, and finding Canthi working at preparing some pies. With a pat of butter there on the counter, and her slim ass looking so inviting as she was bent over a rolling pin, how could I resist?

I've heard it said that I walk like a cat, even drunk. She certainly hadn't heard anything before my hand had pinned her head down onto the counter as I pulled up her skirt and forced a butter-covered finger up her tiny asshole. She was apparently so shocked by it that she hadn't even resisted until my finger was replaced by my cock, not that there was much that she could do as I stretched her out and buried myself deep in her ass. She had wailed and demanded that I stop, screaming abuse in Elven, but the puddle that I left her in was from her own squirting orgasm. She never seemed to get tired of forgetting about her own demand to me on our first night together, a few months ago. No boundaries, no mercy, never stop, and given my own arrival here, I did have some issues with Elves to work out. I must have smiled at the thought.

"Well?!" She shouted and punched me in the stomach, her wrist folding at the impact. There was no pain, of course, but that wasn't the point. I wrapped one hand easily around her neck, lifting the eighty pounds of her effortlessly to eye level. My grip was loose enough that she could easily breath, but couldn't do anything about being hoisted up like a kitten by the scruff.

"That was disrespectful, Canthi," I deadpanned. "I think you should apologize for that." Her hands pulled at my fingers but my grip was stone as I carried her over to the bar.

"A flagon of ale, Lucine, if you would be so kind," I said, leaning against the bar while still holding the struggling Canthi at arm's length.

"Breakfast, hero?" Lucine asked suggestively, leaning forward and licking her lips.

"Oh, definitely," I said, looking at the way Canthi's legs flashed from under her skirt as she fought my grip, glimpses of her thighs appearing and disappearing. Lucine's belly laugh filled the tavern.

"Mila!" She called into the back as she turned to pour my drink. "A full breakfast!"

I pulled Canthi up close to me. "Now, about that apology. I'll have it from your mouth or I'll have it from your little ass... Without the butter. Clear?" She gave a pouty nod and I lowered her to the ground, though my grip remained. I opened my breeches as I sank down to a seat at the bar and pulled her to kneel before me. A flagon only requires a single hand to drink, which left one free to make sure my manhood was nestling nice and deeply into her throat.

I should explain about Lucine, the barkeep and one of my very favorite people. Formerly the captain of the most successful fishing ship the village possessed, she had retired young to run the town's tavern, but had never given up the trappings of sea life. A short woman with sparkling eyes, a wide, mobile mouth and generous curves, she was always decked out in a dozen colorful scarves and a bandanna over waves of chocolate hair, wildly mismatched earrings dangling from each sun-kissed ear. Among the other habits she'd picked up at sea was a delight in the humiliation of junior crew; I don't think there was anything that made her as happy as watching me take my enjoyment with her serving staff.

"Food'll be out momentarily, Sir. Be sure to make the little slut gag properly, she's a dreadful lazy little cunt if no one's about to keep her at her task," she said, drawing herself a pint of ale to match my own. She sat back on the stool behind the bar and rested a booted foot on to it, lifting her skirts with a rustle to tease herself to the sound of Canthi's throat being fucked.

I was perhaps halfway through the flagon when Mila appeared from the kitchen. Short, dusky and brunette, she had hips that couldn't move without a sway that conveyed itself along her sleek middle to a pair of pendulous breasts. Shy by nature, her heart-shaped face and brown eyes were set off by a perpetual blush from the low-cut top and gauzy skirt that Lucine insisted would be her employees' uniform. I had spent a few very pleasant evenings with those breasts hanging in my face to lick and suck while Canthi rode me. Always demure, she never looked at my face as she walked to Lucine's side and slid the plate in front of me, though I was not shy about enjoying the sight of her.

The moment Mila's hands were empty Lucine grasped her wrist with scarred fingers. "You can clean up later, girl, work yet to be done," she said briskly, pulling the serving wench down to replace her fingers.

We passed a peaceful quarter hour that way, discussing the weather and village happenings, Lucine occasionally shivering her way through an orgasm from Mila's service. I always enjoyed Lucine giving her girls instructions, things like "No, girl, your lips first, don't hurry to the tongue. You've time enough," and "The gods gave you fingers, little slut, use them!" By the time my plate and flagon were empty, I felt myself getting close. Knowing my host's proclivities matched my own well, I decided that we should have fun with the finish.

Giving Lucine a wink, I pushed Canthi's head down one more time, burying her nose in my pubic hair and holding there for a few heartbeats before pulling her away with what I swear was a pop from her throat. I pulled her roughly to her feet and looked at her glazed expression, drool shining on her chin and plastering her shirt to her chest.

"That was just not good enough, Canthi," I said in mocking disappointment. A firm pull was enough to tear away her gauzy skirt, then I simply lifted her by the waist and plunged her hairless little pussy onto my cock. However much she might protest, she was dripping wet, and while she might have been a fraction of my size, I knew from experience that she could stretch. Lucine gave an appreciative moan and pulled Mila in all the tighter, both hands now tangled in lush black tresses. Canthi was too far gone too move so I simply began hammering her up and down on the iron hardness of my erection.

My fucktoy had gone entirely stiff by the time I slammed her down one final time, emptying my load as she squirted a stream onto the bar and the floor before us, shaking convulsively to Lucine's clear delight. Mila's hands fluttered in silent panic as she found her face clenched between her employer's thighs, legs wrapped behind the cook's head to keep her locked in tight. "Deeper, bitch, deeper," Lucine hissed without looking away from me and ground her clit against Mila's nose with rolling hips. That and the sight of Canthi's torment was enough for a final orgasm from Lucine, setting her cleavage shaking delightfully.

I sighed in satisfaction and lifted the now-limp Elf girl off of my lap to drop her in the pool of our juices on the floor. Pausing to wipe my cock clean with her hair, I stood, gathered myself, and thanked the dreamy-looking Lucine for a lovely breakfast. She gave me a half-lidded salute and released the furiously blushing Mila to rush back into the kitchen. I made my languid way upstairs to get my gear with an extra spring in my step beyond the fun with Canthi- I'd remembered why I had wanted that lust potion.

SLH