In the spring, the Hegres river valley is an enchanting place to be. The waters turn sparkling blue, wildflowers bloom in bright hues. The woods are teeming with birds and furry creatures. A stroll through the trees is an invigorating way to commune with nature.
From his vantage, Zaden was observing a much different scenery. His squad of soldiers was scattered around him, taking a moment's rest. Weary from battle; they were now occupied with the task of aiding survivors. The broad banks of the river he surveyed were strewn with bodies of men and beasts, weapons, and wreckage. It was a scene of carnage; total destruction had been wreaked. The two days of mayhem had turned the river into a wretched mortuary.
"Hail fellow, may I trouble you?" an exhausted warrior approached, holding onto a lad, who was clutching his chest. "My squire has taken a spear wound. He may not live."
The lad collapsed as Zaden helped him onto the ground and checked the damage. "That's a nasty one, but I will do my best."
He reached into a pouch for some balm, which he applied to the wound. The youth groaned as he felt his injury become burning hot, then numb. "There. It should hold him together until you can get better attention."
The warrior was relieved, "I cannot thank you enough, my good man. I saw from your armour that you are a cleric. My deepest gratitude for your assistance. Good tidings be with you. The Queen's Way!"
"The Queen's Way," Zaden and his men murmured as they bade farewell.
~ Several days later ~
The sounds of celebration swirled around the town. A vast, open courtyard was filled with people rejoicing at the country's fortunate triumph in battle. The feast was in full swing. Everyone was stuffing their faces, lubricated by rivers of ale, mead and cider. Bands of minstrels serenaded the crowd, joined by lusty, enthusiastic singing, which got louder and more tuneless as the revellers became intoxicated. Masses of dancers were swaying along to the music, some more unsteadily than others.
Leaning back in his chair, Zaden could feel his head getting hazy as the ale wrapped him in its sweet embrace. He just wanted to lose himself for a while. Forget about the cares of the world. He wished the burdensome news, that he was dealing with, would disappear. His mind clouded, then arrived at a simpler time, a faint childhood memory of swimming in the sea with other children with a hot sun in the sky with the warm, azure waters breaking on a sparkling, sandy beach. It was a large expedition of people: children, adults, servants. A joyous gathering, much like the present occasion.
The undermanned Seleurian forces had achieved an important victory in their war with the Domicrucian empire. For many years, the Domicrucians had campaigned to subjugate the smaller realm of Seleuria. This time, they had amassed a mighty invasion. Their aim was to take the capital of Starnasse. They had brought their strongest legions with large supply caravans of provisions, ready to lay siege. Meeting little resistance, there had been a slow advance through the wooded borderlands, but at the Hegres river, they had met their demise.
Heavy rains had filled the river to overflow its banks and made the terrain muddy and treacherous. The armoured legions struggled to cross the high, fast-flowing waters. The Seleurian forces had observed them and waited until half of the invaders had made it over before launching their assault. Fatigued and disorganised after the crossing, they were totally unprepared as the swifter, lighter-armoured Seleurian ranks swept down the bank upon them. Their archers began by raining arrows from the cover of the forest.
Then, footmen attacked, assisted by hordes of barbarian units, along with any neighbouring allies who could be summoned. Massed charges from tribesmen riding on fearsome mounts further added to the chaos. Seeing the slaughter taking place on the opposite bank, the rest of the Domicrucians had unwisely attempted to cross the river to aid them. Some were swept away in their haste, whilst the ones who made it across lost their footing in the mud and added to the casualties. A remnant was forced to retreat and scattered into the forest. The annihilation had been so utter on the Domicrucian army that it precipitated the decline of their empire.
Zaden was lost in his reverie when he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. "You look so consumed. Do you prefer your own company?" Peering through his haze, he saw a spirited, young woman smiling down at him. She was dressed in an emerald-green evening robe. Adorned with a bronze circlet, her long, chestnut hair flowed freely behind her. As if arriving in answer to his concerns, she was a sight to gladden a man's heart.
"Milady Iyara, it's good to see you. I am relieved that you have come through the battle unscathed. Pardon my condition; our artisans make a fine drink."
Lady Iyara Danican was the third daughter of Duke Halios, one of the Queen's most influential governors. Whilst her sisters were only interested in marrying a suitable member of the nobility and going to parties, Iyara was driven to be a fighter and a leader. Her efforts were fueled by a consuming desire to vanquish the infernal Domicrucian menace. At twenty-one, she was a regional commander in the Queen's Army, assisting the defence of a large swathe of borderland. She had a great sense of duty to her people, which was rare for one brought up in such privilege. Perhaps, she saw the same heart for service in the young monk. A desire to better the lives of all the citizens of the land.
Indeed, Iyara had noticed him. He was from the Xanadi, an order of fighting clerics and paladins, who were important support to the army. They had occasionally crossed paths lately as they were serving in the same region. He was not noticeably tall nor stout, nor could he claim of battlefield prowess in slaying many foes. Nevertheless, she was drawn to his calm, steady manner. It was a relief from the company of the shallow noblemen she was used to. He had a deep, inner strength that drew and inspired the fighters around him. In a time of war, this was what the country needed; valiant men whose deeds spoke loudly.
With the dreadful tribulations of war over, Iyara wanted to relax and enjoy the revelry. She had not had fun in a long time. Swept up in the gaiety of the moment and several goblets of wine, she made her opening gambit.
"Are you not dancing?"
Zaden was given pause, "If milady desires, it shall be granted."
He rose, bowed stiffly and took her hand. They joined the circle dance, which already had a large number stepping to the beat of the drums and loud singing. Zaden's feet were heavy, unfamiliar with the moves. She was nearly as tall as him but moved with considerable grace. Many of the dancers were tipsy and sang raucously. Some just shouted bawdy words instead, laughing at their own humour. The buoyant spirit of the crowd revived his mood.
When they stopped to catch their breath and take a drink, Iyara beamed, "Now that was a joyful tune. Have you done this before?"
"I wasn't so bad, was I? Indeed, I was getting better at it towards the end," Zaden offered hopefully.
"You did not trip over. I will grant you that much. Although I see I will have to coach you on how to avoid treading on my feet."
"Apologies, milady. As you see, the only dancing I know is whilst holding a staff and fending off brigands."
"A good thing for you. I have heard tell of some of your exploits. You are as capable with a weapon in your hand as you are with the healing arts. By the way, you really don't need to be so formal with me."
Zaden saw his chance, "May I take this opportunity to request your attention to an urgent matter. I have received news which I greatly wish to share with you."
"What is this concern? Tell it to me."
"It is unwise to speak of it here. Besides, I have something to show you. We should go to my lodging. It's a short walk from here."
Iyara smiled to her herself, "That sounds practical. Lead the way."
They left the town square and walked by quiet dwellings, passing only the odd reveller staggering home. There was a warm breeze as Iyara looked up at the night sky. The moon appeared big and yellow, seemingly bestowing benevolence on those who gazed upon it. The wine had given her a heady glow and the thought came to her that she had never been with a cleric before. If there were one she might like to bed, it was this one. She drew close to him, feeling his taut arm. He muttered tersely, "My place is just over there."
Presently, they reached his cabin. It was sparsely furnished, but once he got the fire going it was more homely. They took a seat on a large, comfortable bear-skin rug. The glow of the flames in the dark, still room had the effect of making Iyara feel frisky as she contemplated the handsome monk next to her.
Zaden cleared his throat and began, "I have had this important business to discuss. So I thought..."
Iyara interjected, "Suddenly, I feel so hot in here. I am going to have to take this off."
She stood and removed her gown so that he could see her better. In her underclothes her tight, toned figure was breathtaking. A laced bodice loosely constrained her jutting cleavage. Her lithe body was primed for both love and war.
She sat down on the rug and took the wide-eyed monk in her steady gaze.
"You know, your clothes may be making you uncomfortable. Let me loosen them for you," she declared, reaching over for his belt and unbuckling it. Shrugging off his protestations, her hand slid inside his robe and fished around his drawers to extract what she was looking for. She had a hold of his manhood. Her hand ran along it lightly, feeling it grow to size under her slow pumping motion. She liked the way the head was covered, a cowl of skin clothing the bulbous bell shape. Indeed, it resembled a hooded monk. "You have been praying in solitude long enough; it's time for communion," she smiled to herself, as she leaned over to take him into her mouth.
Iyara was wonderfully surprised by the thickness of the shaft. It seemed to be nearly as wide as her arm and tapered into the tip. She had only seen such thickness once before, but it was long ago and, in her aroused state, her brain was having trouble placing it. Being highborn, she had been tutored in many refined arts, including the making of courtly love. She knew how to please a man, having practised with several young nobles and warriors. However, they had been largely vain, self-absorbed wastrels; good only for wenching and boozing. She longed for a man of substance.
Her hand pulled down and unclothed the bald head, which contrasted with the mane of thick, wavy hair cascading upon Zaden's shoulders. He inhaled sharply as her tongue tickled his tip, causing it to dance to her teasing. Then came steady pleasure with her lips closing on the head and repeatedly running over it. Her mouth felt like a warm glove as it moved down to the base of his shaft and then back up gradually, the tongue firmly massaging the underside. It was like the plumpest, fresh sausage. Tasting it and thinking of where else it could go was making her wet.
The unrelenting movement of her mouth along the organ brought the desired effect. It was starting to build towards an unavoidable conclusion. He knew it as the heat increased inexorably within his pelvis. It felt so good.
Zaden sensed his training attempt to assert itself. He had yet to undertake his final trials, but he was a man of the cloth and had a duty. To consort with women was frowned upon in the order. Nevertheless, he had a little experience with fleshly delights. The Xanadi were expected to maintain a high level of honour. Their standing in society also came with a certain amount of admiration from the ladies. The attention was always there, and some monks resisted better than others.
Being with a woman was intoxicating. One who knew her way so well around a man's body. Deep down, he knew there was even greater danger in this dalliance. "Iyara, we shouldn't. It's not right. I have to tell you something..."
That was as far as he got, as Iyara shoved a few fingers in his mouth. All he could do was suck upon them as the heat rose. He leaned back on the rug and closed his eyes. His erection felt enormous in her mouth. As the head began to twitch, her tongue slowly comforted it. Following her tutoring, she well knew what was about to happen. She took hold of his sac in one hand and gently squeezed the balls to heighten his sensory overload. She could feel the tension mounting. Her tongue feathered the tip of his organ until it peaked. He gasped as his engorged vessels began to release. His seed came in spurts, a creamy elixir that ran down her throat. Some of it trickled on her chin and down onto her breast.
"You taste like coconut milk," she murmured as she moved to kiss him. Her kisses were deep and wanton, her tongue playing with his. He stroked her long, silky tresses before his hands trailed down her back to feel her firm, ripe behind. Cautiously, they explored each other's bodies.
