"But how will I know what do in a real fight, Sir Kor?" Eustace asked.
"You've had a full year of martial drill and sparring in our Order," Sir Kor replied, "even if
you
don't know what to do, your muscles and reflexes will."
"Maybe. But not all of us were born on a shield," Eustace muttered.
"I was found on a shield," Sir Kor chuckled, "And enough with the doubt Eustace, you're a squire of The Order of the People's Fist; it's unbecoming."
"Yes, Sir Kor." He studied the massive half-orc knight-errant. Sir Kor was, in fact, found on a shield at the doorstep of the Order as a bawling fresh-born years ago. On the shield was the Orcish rune "Kor,"which meant strength. The knight was close to seven feet tall with a massive build, thick black hair shorn in a severe, high and tight military cut and deep, brown eyes. A jagged scar ran from his nose across his left cheek. He wore scale mail crafted from the hide of a white dragon. Raised by the Order, he had become a powerful knight errant, sometimes called "The Wilderness Paladin" because his quests took him to daunting, remote areas where the elements were often more dangerous than the foe.
The two had been traveling on foot in the Tangled Wood for three days toward Oakdale to investigate rumors of a cult of Beelzebub. The forest was solemn this late in the year, with just a few bronze leaves clinging to boughs and the birght, cheerful birds had already moved south, draining the forest of their color and song.
The masters of the order had insisted that it was time for Kor to take a squire. Sir Kor told the masters that the boy looked capable enough but wouldn't be able to keep up with him scaling a cliff, swimming in full armor up-stream through white-water, carrying three wounded comrades -at the same time- off the field of battle under a hail of arrows, or slinging a lame donkey over his shoulders and trudging through twenty miles of waste deep snow while soothing the beast, and so on and such. As the half-orc cataloged his feats of strengths like routine chores the masters glanced sideways at each other. The knight was talking about swimming half a mile up-stream in full armor as no more a task than carrying some wood to the hearth. He continued cataloging super-human feats the squire would struggle with ("He's a healthy lad, clearly, but probably would need to take a break every mile if carrying a donkey in waste-deep snow"). The head master cleared his throat and interrupted the knight. The grizzled commander of the Order pointed out that nobody could keep up with Sir Kor—period- and that with his experience and renown, it was time to take a squire. Sir Kor yielded to duty.
"Have you thought about which house you will join, The Swords or The Shields?" Kor asked.
"I want to return to Rockville and plant roots as a Shield, Sir Kor. There is a girl there. . . " the squire blushed and looked away.
"Part of me is jealous, Eustace. Being an orphan, I guess the errancy of our order's Swords came naturally. It is good you have a community you cherish and want to protect," and the knight patted the lad on the back. "When I was. . . . ." Kor stopped speaking and froze, raising his hand. The cart track they were on curled around the side of a hill through twisted, ancient oaks. Eustace swallowed nervously as the cry of a woman came from around the curve.
Kor nodded grimly at his squire and unslung his two-handed sword, Storm-Bringer. He'd found the magical blade in a cavern under a glacier. A young White Dragon named Ice Fang had claimed the lair and was terrorizing the nearby hamlet of Frostdale. The blade was cloudy grey and when light struck it a certain way small veins of silver-blue mithril flashed like lightning against an overcast sky.
The two cautiously approached the sharp curve and peered around a stout oak. In the middle of the cart track a woman was naked on all fours. A simple linen robe, clearly ripped off, lay beside her next to a toppled wicker basket full of herbs, mushrooms and forest tubers. A man in black leather armor rutted into her from behind, holding her head down. Two sinister looking men stood above her, stroking their cocks. The woman was amazingly comely and slim. Her skin was as smooth and pale as ivory in moonlight. Silky, raven hair spilled over one side of her back and shoulder. She grunted with every thrust of the bandit and her face was contorted. Eustace had never seen a naked woman. Her breasts did not dangle like swaying teats; they were firm round orbs that stayed close to her chest and jiggled as the man rutted into her. The brigand held her head against the dirt and hoisted her rump high in the air. Her buttocks were astonishingly round and firm. Eustace realized with horror that the thug was violating her butt-hole. Punctuating the scene, a crow perched on a low limb squawking loudly and flapping its wings.
"Take that cock, bitch," the thug taunted. She only grunted in response.
Sir Kor stepped from behind the tree. Eustace followed with his shield and long sword. The lad was trembling the slightest bit and his mouth was dry and tasted of copper.
"Boss!" one of the men said.
"You lot will have to wait your turn," the leader said, turning to Kor and Eustace.
Kor knew there was no point in talking. He strode forward- a vision of martial might and determination with a sword that was clearly magical. The leader dismounted the maiden and quickly pulled up his pants while the others stowed their cocks and drew throwing axes. The woman slumped to the ground.
"Rawwrrrr!" and Kor raised his blade and charged. Eustace hesitated just a moment and then did his best battle cry and charged as well.
The two bandits let fly their throwing axes. Kor easily deflected one with Storm-Bringer but heard a meaty thunk next to him.
". . . Sir Kor?" Eustace's voice was feeble and confused. The boy turned to look at Kor, a throwing axe imbedded snuggly in the middle of his forehead, so tight only a trickle of blood seeped down to the squire's nose. His eyes were crossed upward and he held his shield and sword limply at his sides.
"NO!" and Kor closed the distance to the brigands. He swung Storm-Bringer and decapitated the first, then pivoted and impaled the other with a back thrust. Distant thunder rolled from the afternoon sky, soft and brooding, a sequence of melancholy, quiet rumbles. Every time the blade killed a foe far away thunder sounded, even in clear skies, even underground.
The leader had drawn a rapier and curved dagger. Clearly an experienced combatant, he squared off with the massive half-orc paladin. Eustace lurched forward a few steps, his eyes crossed, dragging the tip of his sword in the dirt.
The brigand feinted and landed a small slash on the paladin's thigh before darting away. The thug was slippery and fast as a mongoose. He feinted again and slashed, but Kor parried. They circled each other warily. Meanwhile, Eustace had fallen to his knees, eyes still crossed, and was pawing weakly at the axe in his forehead; his breathing was rapid, shallow and irregular.
The man came in for another slash, but Kor read his feint and with his formidable reach landed a pommel strike on the thug's head. The bandit's guard was down for just a second but that was all Kor needed. He swung a mighty blow, beaming the scoundrel's head with the side of Storm-Bringer. The foe fell to his knees.
Holding Storm-Bringer in one hand, Sir Kor lifted the man by the throat with the other, hoisting him until the thug's feet dangled two feet off the ground and danced in the air. The bandit clawed at Kor's adamantine grip uselessly. Kor saw the amulet of the cult of Beelzebub on the man's neck and he roared, "Did you know I was coming? Were you sent?!"
The thug tried to spit words. Kor roared again, "Tell me!"
"A deal. . . ." the man gasped in a strangled voice, "it was. . . " suddenly he gurgled foamy red sputum and went limp as the woman roared and stuck a knife through his back. She was holding her robe with one hand to cover herself and sobbing.
Kor tossed the man aside. He couldn't blame the woman for killing her rapist, but just wished she would have waited. The paladin turned toward Eustace. The squire had fallen on his side, his eyes open, staring into the abyss- no calmness in death, but a look of bewilderment and pain. Sir Kor closed the boy's eyes, removed the axe from the squire's head and whispered a prayer. The woman was on her knees sobbing.
Kor knelt beside her, "are you okay, miss?" but then winced at the stupidity of the question.
"My ankle," she said turning toward him, "I can barely walk."
Kor was stunned by her piercing, beautiful green eyes set in a round, symmetrical, flawless face. Her eyes were pools of liquid emerald.
"I am Kor, of the Order of the People's Fist."
"I am Marissa, a druidess. My cottage is not far from here. You're wounded!" she said gently touching his leg. The rapier had found more purchase in his flesh than he realized. "If you help me to my cottage I can treat your wound." She looked at Eustace and lost her composure, sniffling and sobbing, "Your poor squire, he died defending my honor."
"He perished with valor and duty," Kor said quietly.
The crow landed nearby, bowed and spread its wings, then hopped over to Marissa and made cooing sounds. "This is my friend, Amber," and she tried to smile as she introduced the crow to the Wilderness Paladin but her lips trembled and she stifled a sob.
Kor nodded. "We will take Eustace—my squire- with us and make his pyre tonight," he said solemnly. He planted the boy's sword where he fell, as was the Order's custom, and wrapped the fallen squire in his storm cloak while the druidess tried to wrestle her torn robe around herself. It was in tatters. She was barely over five feet tall, weighed no more than seven stone and appeared to be in her mid-twenties. The torn robe exposed one of her ample, round breasts. Its dainty nipple was slightly upturned. The ripped linen also show-cased lean, muscular thighs and toned calves.
With Kor dragging the dead squire in his cloak, the petite druidess tried to use one of his arms as a support, but after taking five minutes to walk a score of feet, Kor begged her forgiveness and she consented to be thrown over his shoulder. The tattered garment fell away and he found her soft yet firm buttock rubbing against his cheek. Its warmth and smoothness was a balm on his face. The scent of her sex reached his nose—half orcs were known to have four times the smell of humans. Her pussy's scent was floral, sweet and distracting. No matter how he tried to adjust things, the torn robe fell away. And so they proceeded, with Amber the crow circling overhead and the beautiful, soft white skin of her buttock against his face. After a couple of hours she directed him to a side path off the cart trail. Kor was relieved. Hours of her delicious rump jiggling against his head had driven him to distraction. Several times he had banished the thought of spreading her pale buttocks and penetrating her anus with his tongue. As the slanting orange rays of the autumn sunset shown through bare oaks, he saw a humble cottage in a clearing with a trickle of smoke coming from its river-rock chimney. It was made of rough-mortared logs and a thatched roof. It had a stout wooden door, several small windows and there were carefully tended plots of herbs around it.
Kor shouldered open the door and stepped into the cottage, dragging Eustace's body. It was one big room. He gently deposited the druidess on a deep, large bed covered in furs. Kor, used to taking charge, stoked the fire, tossing a couple of logs on it and unslung his backpack. He shut the door against the harsh Autumn wind and placed Storm-Bringer against the wall. There was a large hickory table. He picked up his dead squire and placed him, supine, on the table, folding the lad's hands on his chest. The crow had landed on one of the open windows and perched preening itself.
