Timeros A Clash Of Gods Ch 03

House of Dianna, Mountain Of The Daemon's

Once the gates had closed behind them, Cazadora let out a long sigh and her whole body sagged, her hands went immediately to her engorged stomach. "I thought that fool would never leave," she said through gritted teeth she reached out and two of her personal priestess' took her weight on either side. "Get me to my chambers, quickly." The other priestesses that had come to bid and pray for the safe journey of Lucan and of their own sister Amberlee looked on with worry and concern. Cazadora was the strongest of them and now she looked pained, tired and weak. Cazadora lifted her head looking at her daughters the look was enough to get them moving, some went to prayer others continued their teachings or chores none dared look back at Cazadora.

A young priestess scurried by and Cazadora called out to her, "You! Olivia," Cazadora swallowed hard as a contraction erupted inside her, "Find Alotta. Tell her to come to my chambers immediately." The young girl nodded her eyes wide with fear she spared one glance at Cazadora's swollen stomach then rushed off.

Olivia knew where to find the Mistress of Acolytes at this hour and headed straight to the church that lay at the furthest end of their home. It's dome roof appearing as she rounded the last corner walking between the ash tree's that lined the white gravelled pathway to the churches huge double doors. Olivia rested her hand on one door the wood cold and rough beneath her young fingers. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open, the light from outside chasing the gloom from inside away.

Olivia stepped in leaving the door open enough so that she could see most of the way into the church. The huge granite statue of Dianna stood sentient at the very end illuminated by a hundred candles that Olivia helped light every morning before sunrise. It took her awhile to notice the single figure kneeling before the statue. Olivia opened her mouth to call then quickly closed it, with a moment more of hesitation she walked quickly down the aisle to the Mistress of Acolytes.

Alotta Breen had spent half her life as a priestess of Dianna, knelt before a huge granite statue of the All Mother Dianna her eyes glazed as she drifted in her thoughts and prayers. At the age of fifteen she had been tossed out of her village, her back still bore the scars of the whip her own father had taken to her when he had found her with the other girl, both of them naked. She had wandered for days between villages and towns, never able to stay in one place for long. Like many women in the Venta lands Alotta had been taught the sword, bow and spear at an early age. Her father had vaunted her ease at picking up the weapons to all that would listen. Alotta had been deadly by the age of ten killing two men in a skirmish during the summer famine.

Things had turned very sour when she had been caught stealing food from the market in an unnamed mud village. Hanging was the punishment. She was only spared when a Priestess from Dianna had wandered into the village. Her Jailer at the time had taken pity on her and released her in the middle of the night into the care of the priestess.

Alotta looked up at the huge Statue, heavy breasts swollen and topped with thick nipples sat above a swollen belly, the world yet unborn in this statue. Alotta could hear the footsteps getting closer as the bright light of outside pushed into the candle lit murk. She closed her eyes and began to whisper prayer for what was to come. "Mistress?" a small voice called out. Alotta opened her eyes, finishing the prayer to Dianna before standing.

"What is it Olivia?" She asked turning from the statue. As her eyes adjusted to the new brightness she started to note the young girl before her, perhaps a year older than when Alotta had joined. Her robe threaded with red at the neck and at the sleeves, marking her as an Acolyte just hiding the blooming body beneath. It was the look on Olivia's face that made Alotta clench her jaw. Even though Alotta knew why the girl had been sent the reality seemed so much worse. The girl opened her mouth to speak but Alotta held up one slender hand and stopped her, "Where is Mother?" she simply asked.

Alotta walked quickly through halls and corridors. Her sisters parting before her some nodded or bowed quickly at Cazadora's second, the Mistress of Acolytes as she moved with swiftness down corridors heading towards her goal. Alotta's dark umber, lithe muscular form looking darker still beneath the gossamer thin robe moved with grace and purpose her muscles tensed as if for battle.

Cazadora's bed had been stripped ready for this moment but Alotta walked into the room without knocking and found Cazadora naked on the floor legs spread knees she took long ragged breaths controlling the contractions that shook her body. The two priestesses that had managed to get Cazadora to her chambers busied themselves, one was between her legs the other, looking pale and scared absently rubbed a cloth across Cazadora's brow. Cazadora managed a smile of relief at the sight of Alotta who quickly knelt and without ceremony pushed the other priestess aside taking hold of the warm cloth from the priestess and continued to wipe gently at Cazadora's forehead.

Cazadora let out a harsh moan, lifting herself up off the ground pushing down with her stomach, legs spread wide. "I warned you Mother, this was a foolish risk." Alotta said, sparing a look towards the swollen belly.

"So you have said many times," Cazadora's voice rasped out from between gritted teeth as Fluids and blood spread across the stone work into the cracks and grooves. With each push the child came closer. The older priestess' who was well travelled and had witnessed as well as helped out at birth's across the land on her travels knelt between her legs, her own look of horror impossible to hide. The head had crowned dark hair and fluid. With another push the head popped free, its features changing under a surging wave of skin and muscle. The Priestess reached out with shaking hands that gently, and with trepidation helped the baby along. "How is he?" Cazadora asked her discomfort for the moment forgotten.

"He is strong looking." Alotta replied, taking the baby from the older priestess and scolding her with a withering look and handing the baby over to the younger priestess. "That was dangerous High Priestess. Incantations like this should never be performed." Alotta spoke to Cazadora but could not take her eyes off the baby. Already he looked larger than a moment ago and growing still. Its cries were a mix of hunger and agony, the pain through sudden growth, its features shifting as it cried, the faint sound of muscle's stretching beneath its skin as the unnatural growth continued relentlessly Alotta shuddered at the sight.

"Our needs are too great. We need this little insurance to make sure the task is done." Already Cazadora was righting herself she dismissed Alotta's reaction, Cazadora had prepared herself for what she was birthing, knew what changes would be taking place before their very eyes, she could not expect Alotta to have done the same. She grabbed a clean towel and threw it at the elderly Priestess who still knelt before her "Clean me up and be quick."

Cazadora rose on unsteady feet reaching out and finding the shoulder of Alotta, she turned to the young priestess holding her child. "Feed him and look after him well, then begin his training when he is ready." She took a fresh robe from Alotta and slipped it on fastening it as she painfully moved the couple of steps to the young priestess. Already the child was the size of a six month old. "He looks just like his father. I do hope Lucan will be happy when the time comes to meeting his son."

Dracon Castle, Dolan

The feast hall seemed emptier than usual though Queen Oundle had reason to expect that many of King Balestre's men were across in Timeros in the east or further west smoothing out the land wars that had broken out between three lords and as such were unable to attend the feast.

Queen Oundle caught the sight of her husband and King lower his empty flagon onto the table and immediately she picked up the jug containing more ale and filled it, as she did she looked at her husband and smiled. His own smile was beaming and to her shock he grabbed her hand as she placed the jug back down and kissed her palm gently, something he had not done since they first met an hour before their wedding. Oundle was more surprised as she felt her face flush.

King Balestre laughed and a few heads at the tables below them turned and smiled rising their own cups in his direction. "I do not make you blush enough my Queen," he said leaning in and kissing her on her dusky cheek, "even with beautiful skin this dark I can still see you blushing."

This is how it had been since Rosen's leaving almost two week ago. Shows of affection, gifts even love ballads sung by minstrels had quickly become common place, it was more attention than she had ever received from Balestre. One night she had dared to ask him, he had laughed and replied "Timeros is ours, one less enemy for me to spend time with," He had grabbed her then pulling her close one hand quickly finding the underside of one breast, "which means more time with you." He had been passionate if not a little rough with his bedding of her that night he had ploughed deep and sowed his seed twice.

She had started to believe that Rosen had been mistaken it was understandable really. They had been stupid, even lax in keeping the affair private. A scare perhaps was enough to waken them both up to the truth, the truth that the affair could no longer continue and that they must leave. Death would always be around the corner Balestre would not suffer such an insult but until that day they would have each other.

"My King," A voice said bringing Oundle out of her daydream. King Balestre's Viceroy a man of sixty years, bald but with a grey beard that reached the centre of his chest bowed stiffly at Balestre's side. "Lord Markos has arrived and bids his greetings to you and the Queen." King Balestre looked up at the guests just sitting down at an empty table right in front of his own raised table.

A man with a portly belly, dressed in red and blue arraignments and a black sable cloak sat directly opposite the king. Two women accompanied him, one clearly his wife, black hair tied in a bum and lines of age crossing her face, her ample frame barely contained in a turquoise dress. The other woman was younger, fair faced with black hair that curled naturally cascading over her shoulders in a dress of pale pink. The rest of the retinue was made up of eight men, bodyguards and important Council to Lord Markos.

Balestre stood and offered his flagon towards Markos, "I bid you welcome to my home Lord Markos."

Markos in turn lifted his own flagon, "Gratefully accepted and may the wise words of Barthan guide your house." And with that Lord Markos and his men were safe from attack in the court of King Balestre.

Viceroy Alba waited until the king had seated before speaking again, "There is the matter of your other guest," Balestre waved an irritated hand at Alba without looking at him shooing him off, Alba nodded clearly embarrassed and quickly walked off.

Oundle wondered at what other guest her husband had been expecting, certainly she found the presence of Lord Markos a surprise, there was no love lost between Balestre and Markos. Though the land war to the west had Markos' mark all over it, perhaps, she thought her husband was attempting to quell the uprising with a swift offer to Markos, one that would end the war or end Markos.

On the walk to their bedroom Oundle had to swat at the hands of her husband numerous times, his drunken groping was embarrassing especially with the Kings own guards a few steps behind. Balestre reached again one hand grabbing a breast and squeezing hard enough to cause Oundle to gasp, "Enough," The king laughed and slapped her rear far harder than mere jesting.

At the bedroom door Oundle faltered, the king was in one of those moods she could tell, he would want her again tonight, he was a drunk enough that it would last no longer than a few thrusts but something just seemed...off. Balestre took hold of Oundle's upper arm, the grip soft at first became frightening tight, "bedtime my queen," Balestre said his face red and a wide smile that turned her blood cold. He pushed one double door open and dragged her in before she could protest. He pushed her further into the dim lit room and spun on his heels, he pointed to the two guards who remained outside "No one leaves or enters." And pushed the door closed.

Balestre blocked the door way, his hands at his side, fists clenching and unclenching. Oundle looked about the room, the light was so poor should could not make out the furthest walls but she sensed that someone else was near. Balestre stepped slowly across the room, his deathly smile now gone, "When we first met I was so nervous," he said approaching, "I was even more nervous after I saw you," he reached up one hand as he stopped in front of her, Oundle flinched but his hand simply stroked her long black hair. "That was so many years ago how we have grown and changed."

Oundle nodded, "You have grown more handsome and wiser." She tried to sound strong but her voice waivered she reached out her own hand placing it on Balestre's chest.

He laughed loudly, Oundle tried to smile but her lips and cheeks refused to work. "Not that much wiser it seems." The punch came out of nowhere, one moment he was stroking her hair the next his hand had curled into a fist and had connected with the side of her face sending her sprawling to the floor.

From out of one dark corner a figure approached. The man was in tatters, his clothes nothing more than rags, his white hair dirty and wild. His skin was just as dirty and hung loosely with lack of food. The beggar stood over the queen, his eyes gleaming and his hands rubbing one over the other he looked over at the king, "what are you waiting for fool?" The King spat.

The beggar was on his knees next to Oundle, she gagged at his stench a mix of shit and piss. His hands were on her, in her hair, over her face then groping at her body pulling at the cloth over her breasts, then ripping at the dress. She pleaded with him to stop her hands reaching up and clawing at his dirty, slobbering face. But her words and her resistance were cut short as he delivered a firm punch to her nose. Her vision blurred and black flowers erupted in her vision. Her dress spilled open and her undergarments were torn painfully from her.

Oundle bit her lip as the beggars filthy mouth closed over one breast, his tongue rough against her nipple that hardened at the unwanted attention. She yelped as his remaining teeth bit her nipple she grabbed his head with her hands, still weak from the punch. The beggar had more strength than she realised as he reared up her finger nails clawing skin from his scalp and ears before he delivered a stinging slap to her face.

All the while Balestre stood over them silently watching, his face revealing nothing of what he felt. Death was what he first wanted for both Rosen and Oundle, they had come close to the axe man's blade and it had only been a sudden revelation as he prayed to Barthan that stayed the execution. Death by execution was too quick to easy. He wanted them to hurt to be begging Balestre for death when the time came.

Oundle cried out as the beggars hard cock thrust painfully into her dry hole. Her hands clawed at his chest and face, he paid no attention and continued to thrust into her his mouth slobbering over her breasts and face. With a whimper and a final push she felt the beggars cock pulse inside her a warm spot filling her up. He pulled himself fee standing on wobbly feet, his cock drooping and dripping mess. The King stepped forward as the beggar stood back, "This is all you are good for now, a beggars whore." He said smiling sadly looking down upon her ravaged body. He reached into his own garments and pulled his cock free, it pulsed with life and stood rigid. He gripped it and worked himself pumping back and forth for a few moments before his hips bucked and his cum spattered over Oundle's face and lips. "You should thank me for that. Not every day a whore gets the taste of a king."

Mountain of the Daemon's

It was spring so the mountain passages were far easier to traverse had it been winter there would have been a long, arduous journey with frozen nights spent on the mountain side. As it was the horses were able to make light work and by the second day just as the sun had begun it's decent in the sky they had reached the foothills, another day's ride and they would be at the green fringed edges of winter's Forest.

Wood was sparse and the fire they made was barely enough to warm Lucan's fingertips. Though his mood had improved the further down the mountain they travelled Amberlee had tried to engage him in conversation a few times but his replies had been swift at best at worse a nod or a grunt. He watched the girl on the other side of the fire she had a cloth in one hand and in the other her long bow, she worked the curved wood gently with the cloth then onto the string holding the bow closer to her face as she inspected it. "You look after your weapon well." Lucan said his voice seemed loud in the open space.

Amberlee looked up from her work, her eyes lingered on Lucan for a moment then lowered them, "All it takes is a tiny piece of grit or fibre to get in the string and it could throw out my aim or worse," She lowered the bow to her lap, "snap when I least expect it."

Lucan nodded in agreement though he had never held a bow in his adult life he had been around the archers in his battalion and many of them cared for their bows as much as they cared for their children and wives. "Are you good then?" he asked feeling a little embarrassed that he had not really spoken to the girl on the ride down and now was expecting her to give him a full conversation.

Amberlee gave a small crooked smile, "Have I killed anyone you mean?" Lucan nodded once, "Yes I have and more than one. Poachers mainly, thieves too they tend to see a young girl and expect me to scream and beg for their mercy. In the end they are usually begging me for mercy." A tiny lie Lucan thought, he could see it in the way her mouth tightened as she spoke. She killed quickly no chance for the doomed to talk their way out of it. He shivered, perhaps because of the cold, perhaps because he could feel an icy patch between his shoulders where Amberlee's arrow would land if he tried to run. "And how about you, how many have you killed?" she asked in return.

"More than I have fingers and toes," Lucan replied taking a bite of hard cheese. "As a Crusader we are there to keep the peace, not everyone feels the same."

"Collecting taxes, burning libraries is that keeping the peace?" Amberlee's words though spoken softly were hard as rock.

Lucan remained quiet, his appetite forgotten for a moment he moved the cheese about his mouth then spit out the hard tasteless lump. "When you bow to the king and the steel touches both your shoulders you become a Crusader in name," He placed one hand on his chest above his heart, "Many of us became Crusaders here, but that was a long time ago. Some forgot this, others merely no longer cared, they had the title they could do what they wanted and with a new king on the throne one that wishes war at every turn and people subjugated to his will and beliefs they will follow his command willingly."

"What happened at Brannen Fields?" Amberlee asked bluntly.

For a moment Lucan saw the hulking form of the giant approaching as the morning sun rose. "We fought, we lost." Lucan threw the cheese wedge into the fire. He could tell the response was not enough for Amberlee. He sighed, "King Balestre's army crossed into Timeros, apparently not happy that we had begun small raids into Dolan. We had come to expect a simple fight. I had heard the generals even got drunk the night before as they planned maneuverers, 'home in time for supper' one of my men heard that as they stood guard at the tent that night.