Dragon Sweat - Scroll III

Scroll III

Not all the guards had been left behind in the barn. Two were at the far side of the drawbridge, gaping up at Josephine and the intriguing shape of the naked woman holding onto the dragon's claw. The view of the witch's buttocks was well worth squinting into the setting sun to see. The sort of scenery guaranteed to make a man feel that the Gods were feasting and all was right with the world. The guards were completely distracted -- not to mention dumbfounded. So Hal had a few precious seconds to give orders to Caelia and Chelinde before they were noticed: "Run up close to the one on the left and push him into the moat, and then both of you run inside the castle." 

The girls had to work as a team, only the two of them together had a chance of sending a fully grown man toppling over the edge of the drawbridge. But that left Hal to deal with the other sentry, and bare handed at that -- well, bare everything. All he could do was to pick up a couple of large stones from the side of the road and then dash onto the drawbridge behind the sisters. Who got about halfway across before they were noticed. Noticed by one of the two soldiers, anyway. Hal could see the totally incredulous look on the guard's face as he lowered his eyes from Morgana's sunlight uplands to find himself even further into a world gone mad -- not enough to have bare arsed witches on broken broomsticks being towed around by dragons, now he was being charged by two naked girls, a boy as lean-ribbed as a skinned rabbit and . . . a goblin. A goblin proudly displaying a prick so long and loose that it was in danger of picking up splinters from the drawbridge planks underfoot. 

Fortunately the King's Guardsmen had been taught how to deal with this sort of situation. It was the way they'd been taught to deal with every situation that came up on sentry duty: the soldier presented his spear and shouted: "Halt! Who goes there? Friend or foe?" 

Which, Hal thought briefly, was a fucking silly question: who was going to yell back 'Foe'? So he shouted "Friends." 

It had been the soldier on the right side of the drawbridge who had challenged: the one on the left was still half lost in dreams of tying Morgana's stripped body to a stake and then lighting her fire. A disturbed state of mind stirred up even further by the onrushing approach of a double pair of well developed young bubbies swinging and swaying towards him with nothing covering them except a scattering of freckles. The soldier should have prepared himself to fight; he would have, except that most men want to be friends with every pair of self supporting tits they meet, especially uncovered ones. And the guard paid the usual male price for his weakness as Chelinde and Caelia rammed their opened hands against his chest and dropped him into the shit. 

The teat fancier staggered back completely off balance, swayed on the edge of the drawbridge, and then fell off it into the shallow edge of the moat. Shallow or deep, it smelt no better, but at least he was lucky enough to be able to wade ashore by the castle wall. Not that anybody cared about him anyway. It was his comrade, the one with the leveled spear, who was the problem now. He made a lunge at the girls but they were already past him so he aimed his next thrust at Hal instead. 

Hal skipped back and threw his stone as hard as he could at the sentry's head. It wasn't a very effective throw as the stone hit the man's helmet on the side and glanced off without having any apparent effect on him. In retaliation the soldier jabbed at Hal with the clear intention of spitting the boy like a suckling pig ready for roasting. The only thing which saved his young life was that the sisters came back at the sentry from one side, yelling and squealing and shaking their tits at the soldier with their hands cupped up underneath the tempting poonts. It was a brave and inspired thing for the girls to do, and it distracted the man enough for his glittering spear point to graze the side of Hal's hip instead of piecing the boy's belly. Hal hurled the stone in his left hand, aiming it at the guard's knees and missing completely. The sentry recovered his balance, went forward on one foot to lunge again -- and a hawk with outstretched talons came stooping down out of the sky, apparently intent on tearing the soldier's eyes out. 

The sentry flung up one arm to protect his face, Hal grabbed the extended spear, pushed at as if he was pinning a sheaf of hay with a pitchfork and the man holding the blunt end was forced to take a step backwards onto empty air. As he fell down the end of the spear shot up fast enough to almost break Hal's arms and to slice his nose off as well. It wasn't so much a case of Hal letting go of the spear as leaping away from it like a terrified animal. 

"Aaaah . . ." Splash. Two sentries down among the turds. 

"Look out, Hal, the King!" 

"Huh!" 

"Run, Hal, run!" 

It was a never ending nightmare. Both guards disposed of, the entrance to the castle wide open in front of them and King Argud was already on the drawbridge, shouting with fury and waving the royal sword over his head: a sword that few men would have been able to lift off the ground with both hands. The girls fled into the castle, Hal ran through the entrance after them, and the goblin . . . well the goblin had disappeared from sight, unless you counted that timely intervening hawk, which must be his -- its -- latest transformation. Hal wished he had the power to turn himself into something with wings: right now he'd happily settle for becoming a blow fly. Because there was nowhere to hide from the mad monarch -- shit! 

Stretched down the right hand side of the gateway against the stone wall was a rope under tension. The end of the rope was looped around a wooden becket, thrice knotted to keep it secure, and hanging from a hook on the wall next to the becket was a small hand axe. Everybody who lived in the castle had seen the Guardsmen regularly practicing their emergency procedure with the rope and everybody knew what happened when it was cut. Hal grabbed the axe and took it from the hook underneath the warning notice: 'ACCESS DENIAL! AUTHORIZED USERS ONLY! CLEAR AREA BEFORE USING!' 

No need to worry about that, there was only one thing moving in the area, a huge demented figure only a few steps away, glaring at Hal through blood red eyes. The boy slashed at the rope desperately, the keen edge of the hand axe sliced through the rope strands and a clattering noise overhead so loud that both Hal and the King leapt backwards as the huge iron portcullis slammed down into the row of holes it had already worn in the granite flagstones, this new impact sending fresh chips of stone flying from the pointed tips at the bottom level of the grating. 

Hal was done for, utterly exhausted and utterly uncaring about whatever might happen now. He set his back against the wall and slid down until he was sitting just beyond reach of the portcullis. He didn't even move as King Argud came up, dropped his sword and leaned forward with both of his huge hands gripping two of the portcullis bars, puffing and gasping like a over ridden stallion.

The boy and the man stared at each other through the iron grid as if unsure of what had brought them to this situation. Then their ears were rattled by a thunderclap and Hal looked to his right to see streaks of red and gold flames shooting out of the top of Gaunt Gregory's Dark Tower. 

"W . . . what's happ . . .ening, . . . boy?" 

"Light . . . ing. In . . . Gregory's tower. 'Tis the witch . . . and the warlock . . . fighting." 

"Curse . . . all . . . sorcerers." 

Chelinde and Caelia seemed to have disappeared somewhere, probably hiding from all the evil spells that were being thrown around the castle and Morgana's familiar had presumably flown off to help his mistress in her battle with Gaunt Gregory. The King and Hal kept sucking in deep breaths until they could talk freely. The noises from the tower continued to bounce around the castle's interior like the clash of giants' hammers. King Argud eyed Hal balefully. 

"Boy, why did you hit Clint O' The East Wood and run away?" 

Hal answered truthfully: "I don't know. I think I was made to do it by the witch." 

King Argud seemed puzzled: "But she swore to be your slave." 

"If she is, she may do what I tell her, but I suppose she can still do whatever I don't tell her not to." 

The King's brows wrinkled in furrows as he thought this through, but he eventually nodded: "Damn all sorcerers," he said again. "The only way to deal with those foul scum is to sic lawyers onto them. Rats fear nothing but bigger rats." 

The castle court yard echoed to a long drawn out howl of anguish which fell out into a series of heart rending sobs, and then died away altogether. 

"One of them is down and out, for sure," the King said in somber tones. "If it's the witch, all my plans to become Emperor of Tiberia are rendered naught. And if it's Gregory, mayhap my life and kingdom are gone too -- unless you can still control Morgana, my Duke Merlinus. By Rhiannon, look at these idiots coming along half a day late!" 

The King's guards had finally emerged from the mad lust of the dragon sweat laced steam they'd inhaled. Now they were arriving in a kind of bowlegged half rush, some still clutching their sore cods and gallions, others holding up their torn breeches, looking like nothing more than a gang of sheep shearers who had just fornicated away a season's wages in a single bout of debauchery. 

The mob of guards stopped moving instantly when the King bellowed at them to stay at the other end of the drawbridge. The odd thing was the way all the soldiers seemed to avoid looking at each other, as if they were all deeply ashamed of themselves. 

"Well, boy, if you were bewitched, you were not the only one that the bitch witch drove mad. Those knaves were sent cunt struck by her spells -- when the girls ran away my fighting men were so desperate to tup they were fucking each other up the arse, turn and turn about, like a pack of mummers and actors. Who could have believed that any witch could have cast a spell like that over my own bodyguards?" 

Hal blinked and swallowed. Surely the old monster must have realized that it was the steam that Josephine had brewed up which had sent his men cock mad? Hadn't any one of these fools realized that he and Josephine were the ones responsible for all the mad lusting? Had nobody else ever even heard about the irresistible cock stiffening elixir which seeped from underneath a dragon's wings? Well, if nobody had yet realized the truth he had best speak of other matters. 

"Your Majesty -- you said you had plans for me. Believe me, I am your loyal subject. What is it you wish of me?" 

The King nodded and himself sat down on the other side of the portcullis, settling his own back against the gateway wall: "'Tis simple enough, boy. I would be Emperor, but I rule nothing more than a small mountain kingdom. To defeat the Imperial legions I need a pack of dragons like the one you found. But how can I breed dragons when I have only a female? No one knows if there be any other dragons left in the world, and if there are, where they might be. But perhaps your female can find a mate for herself when no one else can. And since she answers only your commands, I have decided to send both of you out into the world to seek out a mate for your pet." 

"But -- but the witch, Morgana le Faye? What of her?" 

"Boy, I can proclaim you a Duke easily enough, but 'tis not so easy to make a royal ambassador out of a shit smelling whelp without even the learning to sign his own name. So, the witch was meant to go with you, as protector and guide, aye, and teacher too. She has been promised that if she finds me my dragons and makes me the Emperor I will give her half of the Empire as a reward. And so might all have turned out had you not played the fool in your dragon's riding net with the Master-At-Arm's daughters." 

It was on the tip of Hal's tongue to reply that had anybody told him what was being planned then nothing would have gone astray anyway. He even thought of asking what reward the King intended for Duke Merlinus should he return to Giant's Pass with a litter of dragonets. But caution bade him say naught of such things. For if Morgana had been defeated in the Tower, then Duke Merlinus would probably become Hal O'The Shitbuckets again right quickly and revert once more to his privy emptying chores. 

At the very thought of that tears began stinging his eyes -- and, strangely -- not only for his own fate but for Morgana's as well. Cruel, haughty, frightening . . . yes, she was all of those things but she'd also been a kind of female he'd never imagined possible until he'd seen her pride and her strength, both of mind and body -- especially body. Whether from Asgard or Hell, the witch had been something absolutely apart from all normal life: she had given him a glimpse of a world even vaster and more exciting than anything he'd ever seen aloft with Josephine. If Gregory had killed or imprisoned Morgana that world and her fascinating womanhood had gone from his ken forever. All that remained was to be left in the service of this evil King who ruled by treachery, butchery and torture. 

"Well, my young Duke, you'd best go and spy out the land. See what's befallen in Gregory's tower, find out who's vanquished, and who's victorious." 

Hal gaped at the King in shock: for as long as his memory had recall no one save Gregory himself had ever gone into the Forbidden Tower. No one else, not even the King, had ever dared to invade the warlock's sanctuary. 

"Go into the Forbidden Tower, your Majesty?" he quavered. 

Ancient rumors insisted that the Ice Landers themselves could provide no worse punishments than a angry wizard -- and if there was one certain fact in this world gone mad, it was that by now Gaunt Gregory was either dead or very, very angry. Though the stories also said that magicians were never killed in battle, not even by better magicians: the worse fate that could befall them was imprisonment in some kind of sorcery sealed trap, there to howl out their anguish until the evil day when some foolish mortal unwittingly loosed them into the world again. 

The King growled angrily: "Of course, into the tower, boy. Mayhap witch and warlock have both destroyed each other like two spurred fighting cocks. Go and see what's happened. Then bring some of the servants out of their hiding holes and raise this portcullis again. Be of good cheer, young Duke, my anger is past and I will not harm you." 

Hal believed the King as much as he would have believed a cuckoo singing on mid-winter's eve. Yet it mattered little, because if he went into that tower without leave there would probably be little enough left him afterwards for the King to do aught with. But if he didn't do as he was told then it was surely the spike in the market place for him. A thought to make anybody's arse muscles tighten as hard as walnut shells. Mayhap he should never have wished to be anything else than a jakes emptier: why, in a year or so he could have been promoted to being the night shift shite porter. 

"Yes, your Majesty, I'll go and look." 

Hal glanced up at arrow slits in the corner tower and at the wisps of greasy black smoke drifting out of them. Then he hauled himself back on his weary legs and trudged across the courtyard towards Gregory's sanctuary. There were glimpses of white faces fearfully peering around corners and from almost closed doors, but Hal ignored them. He'd almost forgotten that he was naked, and cared nothing about it. After the sort of day he'd already endured having to walk through the castle bailey in his nakedness was a trifle -- and then there was a comforting rustle of leathery wings from overhead as Josephine dropped into the courtyard like a falling leaf, raising one wing and then another as she skidded back and forth between the high walls before landing with a clatter of claws against cobblestones. It was as neatly done as a swallow swooping up to a nest underneath the eaves. Hal ran towards the dragon to put his arms around her neck: first, last and always, she was his only friend, and the vivid flashes of color which ran around Josephine's body showed that his affection was returned in full measure. 

Moreover, in his pleasure at being reunited with his pet, Hal suddenly realized that he didn't have to go into that accursed tower now. Mayhap the magicians were too injured or weak from fighting each other to interfere if he and Josephine should make an escape. He tried to work out his plans as quickly as he could. Perhaps the dragon could fly again out of this narrow place, perhaps not, and probably not if hampered with his weight. But that mattered for nothing because both of them could run up the stairs which led to the battlements. And if the Josephine's spikes stopped him from riding on her back, he could at least cling to her neck while she launched herself from the walls, overflew the moat and landed him on the other side. Then, into the forest, and he would run as never before with Josephine circling the treetops above him -- and it would be a brave soldier indeed who risked her fireballs to come in pursuit 

Yes, it would work, but if it were to be done, it were best to be done quickly, with the King's entrance still barred by the portcullis and the sorcerers still locked in mortal combat. 

"My lady, come, follow -- " 

There was a sound like a whip a league long cracking its tip: white lights swirled in a circle at the base of the Forbidden Tower, spreading outwards. And where they spun the massive foundation stones turned to dust, trickling down as if spilled from some giant hourglass. Then the lights vanished in the flicker of an eyelash, the castle was deathly quiet again and Morgana was stepping out through the hole which had appeared in the bottom of the Forbidden Tower. 

Morgana, the winner of the duel, that was obvious, triumph in every line of her bearing and appearance. Her hair was neatly combed, every speck of dirt had gone from her face, and her body was tightly wrapped in a white robe which somehow went around her stunning form in several different directions but still managed to leave Morgana completely bare from her toes to the tops of her shapely legs. A gasp echoed around the courtyard from the onlookers: both sexes were shocked, the women were scandalized, and every watching male knew instantly why even a shriveled up old man like Gregory had been unable to concentrate on his spells with such a sight to distract him. 

The only watcher who didn't care less about the alluring display was Josephine: vivid primary colors flared across her throat pouches, clear signs of renewed anger to anybody who could read her body language. Hal had never realized before how long resentment could linger in a dragon's breast when somebody really provoked it. Josephine was ready to roast Morgana at the drop of a claw. 

"Nay, my lady, nay, no disputation now, I beg. Give me time to think and all will be for the best, I promise." 

The colors faded, though not as quickly as they had appeared. Still, Josephine seemed willing to be restrained by Hal yet awhile. As for Morgana, she walked directly towards him holding a piece of cloth in front of her, a shimmering piece of black cloth decorated with stars, suns and all kinds of magical talismans. Hal's heart leapt in his mouth as he saw that it was Gaunt Gregory's own gown of sorcery. Something the warlock would have parted with as willingly as a wild sow would have moved aside to let a fox eat her litter. 

Incredibly, the witch bowed like a courtier before kneeling down on one knee in front of the boy. Her hands proffered up the gown to him, as though she was a squire yielding a fallen knight's shield to a newly triumphant champion. But not yet held so high up that it obscured his view of her magnificent breasts fighting each other for breathing space at the top of the tightly knotted robe. 

"Master, I have rendered that miserable warlock as helpless as an infant. If we but find time to complete the chains on his sorcery as they should be done, he will be bound for years beyond counting." 

"Good . . . ah, yes . . . good." Hal tried to think which of the questions beyond counting in his own head he should ask first. "But if Gregory is defeated, why are you still calling me master? Surely that promise you made no longer matters?" 

She lifted her head to look up at him, her eyes as empty of emotion as a cat's: "Nay, master, I gave my word and sealed it by an oath which would rob me of all my powers if ever if I should break it. The only way I can return to the freedom I had is if you release me from that bargain. But the Great Ones must know that you do so through no compulsion of mine, or . . . or I am thrown forever into the Abyss." 

"Oh." Hal felt stunned and picked his words with care: "Then I order you to never again use your spells to make me do something I didn't want to do." 

"I understand your order, master. But I have never yet made you do something against your own nature." 

Hal scratched the back of his head: "That can't be right. In the barn . . ." 

An angry voice swept through the gate like a rampant bull's bellowing, reverberating back and forth from the castle walls: "Come here, boy, and wind this portcullis up!" The King was clearly impatient at having to tarry outside his own castle like a wandering tinker. 

"Witch -- Morgana," Hal spoke quickly. "I must let the King in. T'would offend him to see you kneeling for one of his subjects but not to him. Behave towards me for now as no more than a . . . " 

Hal wasn't sure of what he was trying to say because he wasn't sure how he wanted Morgana to treat him. The brief moments of power he'd already had over her had whetted his appetite for more of the same. But there was only one real master in this castle and that was the King. 

"You mean, perhaps, I should behave as a dutiful and obedient maid servant who quickly kneels for her master when he feels the need for her mouth?" She looked directly at Hal's nakedness and ran the tip of her tongue around her pouting lips. It was sight enough to make any man's -- or boy's -- toes curl. 

Another bellow from the King overrode any answer Hal could have made, even if he'd had the wit to think of one, which he hadn't. Nor did he need to, for the effect of her words was already plain to her and would soon be clear to all the watchers unless he could somehow prevent his uncovered flesh hardening further. He quickly turned to walk towards the portcullis and away from Morgana's temptations. But her urgently spoken words found his ears: 

"Master, I ask you, pause and consider. Why should you obey that fat fool? Let him stay out there until his boots turn green." 

"But he's the King!" 

Morgana sneered: "Only since he killed the last bandit chief who glorified this miserable valley with the title of a kingdom. And now he's on the outside with his guards and you're inside his castle -- inside his moat and his castle walls with a witch and a dragon at your command. Why be a duke when you can be a prince? Or perhaps something even better?" 

Hal gaped at her, then around the bailey yard as if the castle was a vision newly sprung out of the ground: the ancient walls, the decaying towers, the faces of the servants cautiously peering out of doorways and through arrow slits, gaping at this bare arsed boy who dared to keep King Argud waiting. 

"A prince, you say? Or something even better than a prince?" 

Hal wondered how it was possible for him to be asleep long enough to be dreaming such a long drawn out fantasy. And would he be able to remember it all when he was awake and emptying the jakes again? He hoped so, because he'd need all the laughs he could get by then. When he looked down at Morgana again he was so distraught that this time the deep divide between her udders might as well have been a rat hole for all the interest he could spare for it. 

"Master, I found yonder warlock casting a horoscope. There are powerful matters afoot here, matters which have roots far beyond the mortal world. The runes Gregory were casting showed the name the King gave to you, my Master. I think that the warlock told him to select the title of Duke Merlinus instead of Merdinus because he foresaw into the future to divine your fortune and to advise the King as to your chances of success in finding another dragon. But what should have been a small ray of candlelight sent out into the darkness has lit some great beacon which will blaze like a flaming comet in the years to come. With the wizard imprisoned I threw the stones again, but with far greater skill than Gregory was ever capable of doing. I have discarded the dross and kept the gold, or so I perceive. Now I would test it with this robe." 

Hal held his hands apart and shrugged his shoulders: "I understand nothing of what you say." 

Morgana's eyes flashed: "Then let me show you!" 

Her hands flew up and so did the robe, spreading itself out and then hanging in the air above Hal's head as though pegged to an invisible washing line. 

"Open this portcullis or I'll split . . ." 

The roar of outraged royalty died in the King's throat as Gregory's robe stayed where it was, like a hovering eagle, with its edges fluttering gently in the breeze. Hal stared up at it, slack jawed, listening to Morgana's urgent words. 

"Master, that garment is a symbol of powerful magic, handed down from wizard to wizard as each is proved worthy of the sorcerer's craft. If any ordinary mortal dared to touch it, let alone wear it, the result would be an agony worse than boiling lead. But the signs in that sorcerer's horoscope show that you are one of the chosen, one of those permitted to learn from the Great Ones. If I have read the truth aright, raise your arms above your head and we will see if the robe will settle on your body without causing harm." 

Hal stood motionless, struck anew with fear. Not enough to have a King berserk with anger at him, not enough to be made unwilling master of the most evil witch between mountains and far distant seas, now he was being invited to meddle with sorcery, well known as the most dangerous thing any mortal could dare. Only the cleverest, bravest and most cunning of mortals risked bringing down occult curses on their heads, and only such vainglorious idiots would run such perils for the very heights of power and wealth. Hal had no such vaunting ambitions: well, he had, but all he really cared about was not having to empty shite pots anymore and to be free to fly in the sky with Josephine. No, he wanted no part of any wizardry, and he especially wanted no part of anything that had belonged to Gaunt Gregory, not for any temptation. 

His gaze flickered from side to side, again seeking escape. A row of figures had appeared on the ramparts of the Great Tower, the tower where Argud and his most powerful subjects lived, the high and mighty nobles who knew and cared no more of Hal than they did of any other peasant. And with them were their snobbish wives who'd made his life a misery, and also, of course, the well born sons who'd so often pushed his head down one of the shit pots whenever they'd felt like it. 

But Hal's attention was not on them but on the lace capped high bred girls, the daughters of all those privileged families who'd treated him as an animal -- no, even less than an animal, as something dirtier and stupider than a dog or a hog. Unlike Caelia and Chelinde those sneering chits up there had never deigned to speak a fair word to him, had never even looked in his direction except by accident and then immediately turned their faces away from his filthy rags with obvious disgust. But now they were looking, by Gwal, and only the father of the Gods himself could know what they must be thinking as they tried to understand the incredible scene below. A beautiful and barely dressed woman with supernatural powers kneeling before a naked urchin of a shithouse cleaner, offering up to him the very robe of the greatest wizard within a month's ride. Where, they must be wondering, was Gaunt Gregory? And how dare this boy and woman leave the King himself ignored and unheeded at his  own castle gates? 

Hal suddenly knew the iron truth buried beneath the softness of his skin: he would fry in that robe before he'd turn coward in the sight to those fucking nobles and their bastard bred families! His arms went up and he stared the witch straight in the eyes, something he'd never before dared to do. 

"Give me the robe, witch." 

"You are ready, Master?" 

"Aye, ready." 

The magicians robe swirled down to engulf him, around his arms, down over his shoulders, unrolling down the length of his body and beyond: Hal cursed at his own stupidity, for the robe was piling up around his ankles because he was so much shorter than Gregory, so all he'd done was to make a scarecrow of himself in front of all the watchers. And then he felt the first touch of the forces held within the robe -- a blue radiance surrounded him, like an instantly rising marsh mist, the smell of lava pits was in his nostrils and he waited for his flesh to be seared off his bones. Yet instead of hot coals on his skin he felt something almost as frightening, a sensation as though every ant in the forest had suddenly crowded together on his body to cover him in tiny claws -- and then that sensation also vanished as the blue halo around him faded like a doused candle. He seemed to be unharmed by what had happened, unharmed and unchanged. Not so the robe though, for somehow it had changed its length to fit him perfectly, the hem of the garment now hanging at a comfortable level halfway down Hal's calves. Yet strangest of all was the touch of it on him, light and warm, as smooth and pleasant as the strokes of a girl's loving hands. 

"By Gwal and Clud!" He raised his stupefied face toward Morgana's. "You did that?" 

Morgana seemed almost as surprised as Hal himself. "No, not I. The robe it was which yielded and molded itself to your desires. There is much mystery here and I see now that the Great Ones have bound our destinies for some purpose. I have no choice but to accept you as an acolyte in the mystic arts and help you become an Adept, if so the Great Ones decree your fate." 

"An acolyte?" 

There was a roar of outrage as the King recovered from the shock of seeing Hal wearing Gregory's robe. The castle's ruler clenched the bars of the portcullis as if he could shake the tons of iron grating loose from the gateway.

Morgana raised a hand and flicked it in his direction as casually as if shaking drops of water from her fingers. Sparks flew up and along the bars the King was clutching, the bars glowed red hot and cooled again as quickly as cinders dropped into a puddle, King Argud screamed like a ravished woman and reeled backwards, holding up blackened stumps at the ends of his arms. Morgana didn't even glance in the direction of the ruined monarch's agony and Hal knew yet again the stomach curdling fear of their first meeting. This female who could so rouse his youthful blood was more dangerous than a pack of winter starved wolves.

She continued speaking as if nothing at all had happened. "An acolyte, a novitiate in the magical arts. It means that you would become my apprentice in all matters of spells and sorcery. And in all such matters my duties as teacher of the mysteries would overreach my promise to obey you. No novice performs magic or casts spells without permission of the instructing Adept. Do you understand and accept those conditions?" 

The boy felt like screaming as loudly as Argud was doing. All he wanted to do was to get out of this castle, to fly away with Josephine, away from rulers and torturers and soldiers and mad magicians, and especially away from this beautifully beguiling witch and her bloodlust. But his chance hadn't come and now she wanted him to bind his cringing soul to the black arts, to dark forces no sane soul would ever willingly interfere with. Yet, as ever, what choice did he have but to yield to circumstances? Choice! Ever since Morgana had appeared alongside his riding net on her broomstick he'd had no more choice in where he was going than a fallen leaf blown along by a gale. 

But even in his fear a shining thought had suddenly risen in his mind like a gleaming salmon seen through dark waters. For one thing at least he knew, and that was that anybody having any association at all with sorcery was regarded with awesome respect by all non-magicians. No, whilst Hal was wearing this robe nobody would dare to scorn him as they had scorned Hal the turd collector. Certainly nobody who had just seen what an unleashed spell had done to King Argud. 

"I understand and accept all the conditions for being an your acolyte and will obey any command you give me as my teacher," he said firmly. 

"Then I name you as the novitiate Merlinus . . ." Her voice broke off as the bird shaped familiar above them screeched and stooped down low over her head. Then Morgana nodded, as if understanding. 

"So, it's no accident that Ymir has shape changed to a hawk's form, nor that it is a merlin's. The Great Ones send me a message that I must do as they command, and that you shall not be called Merlinus but Merlin. So be it, I name you my apprentice in the deepest mysteries, to be known to all in the realms of sorcery as the wizard Merlin, the beholden and nominated of Morgana le Fay." 

Merlin! Of all the stupid names! A wizard named after a bird, and not even a very big one; Morgana might as well have called him sparrow or starling. She tapped him on both shoulders with her long fingers. Again he felt the same hidden rush of power as when he seized hold of the broomstick. Only this time it seemed to be coming out from within his own body, out and into the witch, and he swayed on his feet, eyes closed. Already bone tired, he now felt as weary as a ford foundered horse being pulled into deeper water by an irresistible current. 

"Yes, I understand your weariness, Master. There is much to do but first you must rest." 

Morgana beckoned impatiently with her fingers at someone behind him: "You two, come hither." 

Hal forced his fluttering eyes open long enough to see the Master-At-Arm's daughters approaching, their faces glancing apprehensively at Morgana. No, that wasn't right, he reminded himself, they were now the Master-At-Arm's orphans. If it had been a difficult day for him it had been a lot worse for others -- the Master-At-Arms for one, and for Gaunt Gregory, and certainly for the King himself. In fact a very, very bad day for King Argud the Defiler, now likely to be known as Ex-King Argud the Defingered. No wonder the tower ramparts were lined with white faced knights, shocked to the core as their privileged world seemed ready to collapse around their ears. For if a powerful King could be deposed and disposed of so easily, what was their fate to be? 

Admittedly, nobody had really enjoyed being a subject in Argud's realm, not even his nobles, but at least he'd been a ruler who'd never left no doubt at all about who was giving the orders. Now all was confusion and doubt and the inheritor of power seemed to be the midnight haired sorceress brazenly showing off her half naked body. She had driven both ruler and wizard from their throne and tower as easily as a dairymaid taking a stick to a pair of laggard cows, and yet she herself was to be seen kneeling in homage before a castle shit house cleaner, a scrawny little rat daring to wear a wizard's robe as if he had a right to such a thing. 

Oh yes, the world was mad and Loki the ice warriors' trickster god loose in it, but this was play acting no watcher felt eager to take any part in, for it was being performed on a perilous stage. Strong hands were grasping sword hilts in instinct, but not even the vainest or bravest liege lord felt any urge to step forward and claim power by right of title and muscle. A single glance downwards at the crippled Argud staggering away over the drawbridge with long brown stains down the back of his britches was enough to convince even the highest born to stay hidden in the audience until the world became sane again, and women and boys were safe once more for the aristocratic pleasures of fucking and kicking. What you did to which depended on your choice of pleasure, of course. 

Morgana beckoned her finger at Chelinde and Caelia: "Your master is tired. Carry him to the royal bedchamber: you know where it is?" 

Heads nodded: "Yes, mistress," Caelia said doubtfully. 

Caelia knew very well where the royal bedchamber was, having lived in nightly dread of being sent there for the King's pleasure ever since she'd flowered into maidenhood. What made her hesitate now in obeying Morgana's orders was in wondering what the witch meant by 'carry'. She and Chelinde could both see how tired Hal seemed, but even as thin as he was, carrying the boy across the courtyard and up the narrow spiraling staircase of the inner keep was a task that seemed beyond their joint strength. 

"Take hold of him, you wenches. You'll find him no burden." 

Chelinde reached out gingerly to take Hal's hand and gave a shriek of fright as he slid towards her at a touch. It was a cry that Hal would have echoed save for his tiredness, for he was as astounded as the girls. He seemed to be sliding over the cobblestones as if he was on one of the ice slides the castle boys fashioned in the depths of winter. And when he looked down he could see why, for the soles of his feet were no longer touching the stones but floating a little above them. Only a finger's width mayhap, but that small distance was enough to make him as helpless in walking as a newly born foal; he could stay upright only by putting his arms around the girls' shoulders and letting them walk him towards the tower as if he was as drunk as his father on market night.

And if he wasn't drunk, he was certainly helpless; a glance over his shoulder showed Morgana walking behind with a smile on her face -- perhaps a sardonic sneer at yet another demonstration of her incredible powers was a more accurate description. 

"Have no fears, Master, your feet will touch the ground again. After you have slept." 

"After I've slept? Why only then?" 

"Because without the burden of weight on your body you will rest better than on any feather filled mattress. And the girls will serve as your maids-in-waiting, for whatever help you may need." 

His newly appointed servants of the bedchamber suddenly suffered an immediate and intimately shared attack of giggles. Hal didn't have the slightest doubt that both of them were thinking of various experiments they could carry out on a weightless male body entrusted to their lustful care. Well, they could forget any such ideas for the time being, he was too tired for any tupping. 

At least that was what he thought then, especially with his mind distracted by Caelia's and Chelinde's inept attempts to maneuver him around the corners of the tower's narrow corridors. It wasn't their fault, it was simply the discovery that even though Hal was suspended above the floor he wasn't weightless after all, and if pushed too quickly in one direction it needed just as much effort to stop his body as it did to start moving it. Neither could the boy complain about their female inability to understand cause and effect, for he did something far more stupid than either of them when he slipped from their grasp and went sliding towards the wall again. He put up his arms and fended himself as hard as he could. Which sent him flying clear of them as if running ahead, but slowly spinning like a top and heading down the corridor at an angle which meant an even more violent impact about ten paces further on -- if paces entered into the calculation for somebody whose feet weren't touching the floor. 

The girls gave little screams, Morgana was further back down the corridor and out of sight in the gloom, leaving Hal with his arms stretched out and flapping like a fledgling getting ready to leave the nest as he fought not to lose his balance. He was lucky enough to get one hand on the wall before he hit it and then fended himself off with another violent effort, his mind still not able to work out the obvious result in advance. If he'd been brought up working on boats he'd have understood the ways of dealing with floating bodies, but he hadn't been, and didn't. But at least the course he'd sent himself skimming along put him clear of the corridor and out into the Great Hall. 

The Great Hall, where setting sunlight was streaming in through arrow slits onto the flag stoned floor, the benches and tables hurriedly drawn aside to make room for the aristocratic families scurrying into the Hall to bow and kneel to Morgana and whosoever she favored, be it even a shitpot boy and a pair of chits. 

Grizzled warriors wearing hastily donned leather jerkins and polished chain mail were coming together in groups, still panting wives were fluttering fingers around the curls of their hair, sullen sons were scowling darkly at having to play attendance on some accursed witch and even more darkly frowning daughters warned of the sudden need to curtsey to a boy who, yesterday, they wouldn't have deigned to pour the contents of their chamber pots over if he was on fire. 

All the arrivals still gathering, still assembling in order of rank, still babbling to each other about the incredible scenes they'd just witnessed. And, at the far end of the Great Hall, a sudden yelp of fear and the sight of a boy dressed in a wizard's robe popping out of the corridor entrance as if fired from a slingshot, legs motionless, arms waving madly and skimming over the rush mats towards the crowd like a wooden ball hurled at a stand of skittles. 

Nobody did anything, except stop talking though leaving their mouths agape. Even the quickest witted were left bemused by such a sight, and anyway, to avoid the onrushing figure would have needed reactions fast enough to dodge a lightning strike. Only Hal himself was able to manage the briefest of thoughts and that was about the identity of the figure looming up ahead as his inevitable area of collision. Because the Gods themselves must be laughing at what they were seeing: a spell bound boy flying as straight as an arrow towards the double target of the biggest rack of meat in Great Pass Castle. 

The family group was standing directly ahead of him, as motionless in their surprise as statutes: on the left, the hulking figure of Baron Gorlas, known behind his back as 'Gormless' Gorlas: low forehead, flattened nose, eyes like pissholes in the snow, so stupid that even his hounds got bored talking to him and strong enough to lift a blacksmith's anvil over his head. 

On the right, Orla, Gorlas's wife and, fittingly enough, a woman with a figure like a sack of horseshoes. 

And in the middle, their surprisingly handsome daughter, Mary, aged sixteen and universally known throughout the kingdom as 'Dairy' Mary. For there was no other maiden in Giant's Pass who proudly carried so much before her, nor took greater pains in the arts of displaying her finest parts. Mary's notion of a disaster would have been to walk past a man or boy and not receive a second glance. But since she virtually always did get a second glance, and then several more long and lingering ones besides, she was usually content, especially when she could quietly torment the watcher with the sure knowledge that he was never going to see anymore of her huge tits than he had done already. It was a game she'd even played on Hal a time or two, as far down on the pecking order as he was. And now those two magnificent mounds of milky richness were between him and Mary with nothing to shelter them from the impending impact but a low cut dress already straining at the seams. 

From Mary's point of view, of course, it was a case of having a boy throwing himself at her, which was certainly not a new experience, but it was the first time one had approached her like a swan landing on a frozen lake and then skidding across the ice. As for the fact that it was a privy cleaner wearing a magician's robe, she had no time at all to consider that as Hal's chest thumped up hard against her own, bringing a look to her face that caused a self satisfied smirk on Hal's own features whenever he recalled the happy event. 

In his long life he was destined to see many marvelous things, many awe inspiring sights, but never any vision more breathtaking than the way he clung to Mary's bare elbows and looked down at her magnificent udders twitching and trembling with aftershocks like a pair of giant salmon trying to leap up a waterfall. Considering the situation afterwards, it was always a wonder to Hal how he managed to spare enough attention to realize the danger that was approaching. Or, rather, the danger that he and Mary were approaching. In fact it was the sudden heat on his calves which made him take stock of his situation. 

He'd assumed that holding onto this substantial piece of maidenhood would have been as firm an anchor as a body could need, but apparently not his body, for it was still gliding along. It took a second or so for his bemused mind to understand that whatever magic it was in him that made him float, it was now being shared by Mary, and the pair of them were drifting because her own feet were also dangling a finger's span above the rush mats. True, the thump against her tits had hurt her a lot more than it had hurt him, and the impact had slowed his previous mad rush through the air to a gentle walking pace, which was all good news: the bad news was that he still couldn't stop moving and the impact with Mary had swung him around so his back was to the way they were travelling: the really bad news was that the massive fireplace in the Great Hall had already been lit against the night's chill, a fireplace as high as a tall man's head and wide enough to roast three boars at once, nose to tail. And the really really bad news was that in about two seconds he and Mary were going to be in the flames themselves. 

There was no time to think, only to act, and Hal never really understood why he did what he did -- if it was a guess, it was an inspired one, if it was simple lechery in the face of danger, well, that was to be applauded too. What he did was to let go of Mary's elbows and immediately her heels thumped down onto the flagstones. She yelped, and then prolonged the noise on a higher note as Hal jammed his fingers down the top of her dress and pulled on it as hard as he could to keep from touching her skin again. She stayed set solid on the floor, the front panel of her dress came apart on the left and right side in a popping of stitches, bringing Hal to a dead stop. The bottom of the torn out section of dress was still holding together at Mary's waist and hanging down in front of him, topped off with nipples like horse chestnuts, were a exposed pair of mounds big and warm enough for a squirrel to bed down between for a winter's hibernation. 

"Grrrr," Hal groaned in ecstasy and clamped a hand over each of Mary's huge teats, totally unable to resist the chance of a lifetime. At last he could die happy. And with Baron Gorlas putting hand to his sword, dying was surely the next thing on his agenda. But other things were happening as well. 

For one, Morgana le Fay, the deadliest, most evil, most wicked witch in the world, was having a fit -- of laughter. She was doubled up, slapping her hands against her thighs as if doing some kind of folk dance, her eyes almost closed and mouth wide open as she fought for enough breath to laugh and keep alive as well. And, again, in years to come, that was a sight which the Wizard Merlin would remember with affection. Whatever his later troubles with Morgana, he would always recall that once, at least he'd seen her helpless with mirth. Even though nobody else would ever believe it when he told them, especially not the that po-faced, pain-in-the-arse, born-again Christian, King Arthur. 

Another thing that was happening in the Great Hall was that Chelinde and Caelia were rushing past the red faced Baron and his whey featured wife. But neither of the girls was laughing because they could see Gorlas's grip on his sword and how an ell's length of steel blade had already been drawn from the scabbard. The only two things which were keeping the good Baron from fully drawing his weapon and splitting Hal asunder were his wife's restraining hand on his brawny arm -- that and the black robe the boy was wearing. The Baron didn't want to risk the sort of magic that had been used on the King, not even to stop his precious daughter from having her points handled in public. 

Neither did Mary; she lifted up her own hands once to push Hal away, but the sight of the glittering symbols on the robe effectively deterred her from touching his body. Better to have her tits publicly fondled than to have her own hands burnt off. And then she was squealing and helplessly, trying to regain a footing on the floor as Hal spun her around, making sure he kept at least one hand on her bare flesh at all times to hold her up in the air with him. He was grinning with joy at this chance to get his revenge on all these upper class bastards who'd humiliated him so long and so often. And there they all were, all along the length of the hall, gaping at the sight of Dairy Mary swaying in front of them, Hal behind her, holding each of her elbows again and the Master-At-Arm's daughters running to serve him. 

"Grab her girdle ends, girls," he ordered. "And then tow us away." 

Chelinde and Caelia saw what he wanted. Mary had a girdle around her waist, a gold colored cord with two loose ends, each longer than one of Hal's arms. The sisters each caught hold of one of the girdle tassels and began pulling Hal and Mary away, towards the far end of the Great Hall. And as they moved, Hal chuckled, took one hand away from Mary's elbow and seized hold of a nipple again, with all of the noble families able to see what he was doing. Then he did the same thing with his other hand and gloated at the stricken looks on the watchers' faces, and especially the ones on the faces of all the young esquires. The privileged striplings may have used his hair as a shit house cleaning brush before today, but now he was the one with his hands on Dairy Mary's luscious measures, and he was the one who was going to make her shake them around for him in frantic excitement, even if he had to give her a double dose of dragon sweat to get her in the right mood. 

What Hal wasn't expecting was to suddenly begin bouncing up in the air, Mary with him, as though they were shuttlecocks being hit with rackets. He looked down and saw they'd reached the steps of the tower stairway: as he almost touched each tread with the back of his heels, he and Mary were shooting up to the next step, bobbing along behind the girls towing them up the spiral staircase. 

Before he was pulled out of sight of the Great Hall Hal put his hands underneath Mary's plumpers and waved them at Baron Gorlas and his wife. It took a little careful timing to get his hands on the upswing at the same time as Mary and he were jerked up another step, but the result was well worth the effort; by about the fifth step her pair of abundantly fleshed milk churns were going down halfway to her waist and then bouncing back up almost up to her chin. Mary screeched like a barn owl at midnight and her scarlet faced father seemed about ready to try tearing the chain mail from his chest with his bare hands. 

"Good night, my lords and ladies," Hal called out above Mary's yelps: "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I've got to rush off and take a flying fuck." 

It was only after ascending the stairs far enough to be beyond the view of the audience in the banqueting hall that Hal realized something had changed. His heels were no longer bumping against the steps; indeed the staircase was further below than before. An observation matched by the decreasing distance between his head and the apex of the arched roof. He was floating higher and higher. And every squirming movement of Mary's fat bum against his rampant cock seemed to be somehow pushing both of them even further into the air. 

"Hal, come down!" one of the sisters called out in alarm. 

Twisting around he found Caelia and Chelinde's heads lifted up to look at his own face as if he was as tall as Argud himself. 

"How can I come down? I don't even know why we're going up!" 

"Then I will tell you why, Master." Morgana still wore a smile on her face, though now it was exactly the sort of smile a mere mortal might expect from a witch; the white toothed smile a ferret showed when it slithered into a nest of baby conies. 

"Remember what Gregory told the King? That even mortals can make magic when they couple. Are you not yourself feeling the urge to fuck that fat wench in your hands? And can't you feel her own excitement in the movements of her body?" 

"Yes . . . " Hal tried to calm down and collect his mind. "But he said that such magic cancels out other magics nearby. That was why your broomstick went down. So, this is the same situation now as then. The spell you cast on me to lift me off the floor should be failing, not getting stronger." 

Morgana struck her palms together lightly, as though applauding a child which had learnt its lesson properly: "Well done, Master. But the levitation spell affecting you is no longer mine. 'Tis yours now -- it has been ever since you picked that big titted maid up." 

"I picked her up?" As much as he was in awe of Morgana's learning, Hal couldn't help but smile at her suggestion. "All I've ever been able to lift up is a shite bucket. I know no magic, I've never been taught any. How could I cast a spell?" 

"I didn't say you cast it, Master, I said you took it over. Before then, I think you had a talent for sorcery born in you, yet still undiscovered. Now I think your mind has been sharpened by wearing a garment bewitched with past magics. So when you seized those overfilled udders you were instantly excited enough to able to take control of the spell and widen it enough to levitate the fat cow you'd laid your hands on." 

"What?" 

Hal felt the cold touch of the stone floor on the soles of his bare feet before his eyes had time to look down. All they did was to confirm what he already knew, that his -- and Mary's -- weightless condition was swiftly ebbing away. Now they both stood one their toes: lightly, but on their toes. 

"Duh!" His confusion was clear to all. 

"Master, while we have talked, has not your cock slumped down? Have you not been distracted from what you were thinking of doing to that sweating mare?" 

"Well . . . yes." 

Morgana's tone was still laced with amusement but her words were true. Hal's passion and his rutting member had drooped at the first distraction, as easily as an old man falling asleep on a summer's afternoon. 

Indeed, he was so tired after such a day that had passed that he felt as old as any man still living. Even with Mary Gorlas's nipples still clenched nut-hard in his hands he doubted he would recover his desire to fuck her this night. What he would normally have hungered for he scarcely had any more desire for than a drowning man would want a beaker of water.

Hal released his hold on the girl and felt his heels settle on the cold stone like a bird's claws on the last beat of its wings. If the levitation spell had belonged to him, briefly, he had completely lost it now in his weariness and confusion. 

"Return to your family, Mary," he said. "Before your reputation is spoilt beyond repair." 

"You are letting her go, Master?" Morgana asked sharply. "I can give you strength enough to fuck her all night long." 

"Aye, and mayhap have her father slice my head off with his sword at dawn while I sleep. Baron Gorlas is no coward and will have his eyes full of blood already for what I've already done to his daughter. No, she goes back downstairs now." 

Morgana bent her head forward in acknowledgment: "As you wish, then, Master. To bed, to sleep deeply and wake refreshed. All arranged in the blink of an eyelid." 

She raised her hand, as if to cast a spell. 

"No, no, not yet. I need to use a night bucket first." 

Morgana wriggled the tip of her smallest finger: "No, Master, you don't." 

"Of course I . . . " Hal's voice faded in amazement as he realized what she was saying was true. His bowels were empty, his bladder no longer under pressure. 

"Where did it go to?" the boy asked in wonder. 

There were advantages in sorcery that he'd never ever dreamt of. And all these years he'd thought Gaunt Gregory never needed a turd pail taken out of his tower because the wizard was doing his business with a long drop straight into the moat! 

"Your piss and shit, Master? They can go wherever you like. How about inside Baron Gorlas's bed?" 

Chelinde and Caelia laughed at the suggestion. So did Hal. But the loudest laugh -- well, the loudest squeal -- came from Mary, even as she was struggling to haul the front of her ripped dress up over her breasts. She seemed delighted with the idea of befouling her parents' bed. Odd, how Chelinde and Caelia had seemed so unaffected by their father's death and how a Baron's daughter seemed to scorn her father and mother so much. Yet he, a mere foundling, would never have dreamed of playing such a joke on his own low bred foster parents. Perhaps there was some law of nature here, that the higher ranked a family the more the members of it disliked each other. 

Well, no time now to muse about such things. Gorlas could have his daughter back with her maidenhead intact, if so be Mary's present condition, but it would do the Baron good to know that a spell could strike him from anywhere at anytime. Mayhap it would persuade him to keep his sword sheathed. 

"Yes, inside the Baron's bed with my shite," Hal ordered. "Leave us now, Mary." 

Her well rounded figure slipped from his grasp, then took a few quick steps to the top of the staircase. The Baron's daughter stopped there, as if pausing at an opened door. Half turning, she faced Hal again and looked directly at him, still holding up her torn dress giving no sign of what she was thinking. Then she was gone down the stairway in a rustle of skirts. Hal wondered if she would warn her father about examining his bed tonight before getting into it. He rather thought not. 

Morgana raised her hand, fingers apart: "Sleep, Master." 

Even as the irresistible darkness closed around him Hal suddenly realized that this abode of the powerful was not for him, not with the nobility being granted time to recover their wits and their courage. Morgana or no, magic or no, he knew where his best protection lay. 

"The dragon hut -- let me sleep in the dragon hut. " 

The corridor, Morgana's shining eyes, her hand, her fingers, they all came together as if they were petals of a closing flower . . . 

Continued in Scroll IV

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