The red glow of the God Sun painted the sky an ethereal purple, giving the clouds an umber hue. Thunder Hoof, my trusty steed and companion, navigated the blossoming fields with ease. Gratuitous rain had fallen, prophesying a bountiful harvest in the God-sun autumn. Rebellion had finally begun, my constant attacks inspiring the populace to emulate my actions. Finally healed, missing Sheera, I had meandered through Longvale for weeks, finally tracking a large platoon of imperial soldiers guarding a wagon of newly-minted coin, cast in the northern city of Mountside, and a few maltreated prisoners. They were headed to the city of Valencia. If I could harry them, a small fortune would never make it to the treasury.

The new coins bore a bust of my nemesis, Empress Cintra. I had already relieved many a tax collector of their cumbersome burdens. I burned her image in my mind. Her blond hair and ample cleavage were also emulated in every brothel in the land, second only to whorish copies of myself, Kyrie the Red. My bounty had grown to five-hundred gold talons; the whores only charged a few silvers for their bounties.

The signs of the soldiers’ passage were everywhere - wagon tracks, the litter that soldiers always leave in their wake. With a bag of grain and apples hanging on the right side of my ill-fitting saddle, Splinter, my sword, glistening in the sunlight, hung on the left, my mind wandered to memories a few Great Turns ago. The saddle reminded of the day I discovered that I was an Untamed.

Almost eight turns old in the early God-sun summer, most of the girls my age had already married themselves to suitors, some of them now mothers. I had just received my sword from Fyonair the Fire-dancer. Though not yet edged, as I hadn’t earned that right, he had forged it to fit my hands, balanced it to my preferences. It shone and glistened, the Sky-steel veins seeming to pulse and undulate with the movements of my body as I swung it.

Sky-steel is not, as most city-dwellers believe, a steel unto its own. Millennia ago, great star rocks showered the lands of Soul Dancers, falling from the sky in fiery balls, with tails of dust, metal, and fire trailing them. It was soon discovered, by accident, that many of the rocks, sized from pebbles to huge mountains of ore-wielding rock, contained a rare, unknown metal that melded well with common steel. The Soul Dancers worked the strange metal, a gift from the gods, into their smithing. Sky-steel was the result, a secret held by the tribes and clans of the Soul Dancers.

Shaped into tools and weapons of beauty by the Fire-dancers, Sky-steel became legendary, rivaling our repute as lusty dancers and ferocious warriors. Lighter, stronger, and more flexible than standard steel, a decently forged sky-steel blade can shear through the mightiest of Valencian swords, penetrate the strongest armor. The veins of the alloy are beautiful, artistic, always giving each piece its own character.

Relating the dance of Fire that went into its creation, Fyonair instructed me in its care and maintenance. Keetara then tasked me with learning the dance of “Many Trees,” a dance that emulates fighting multiple foes while on horseback.

All Soul Dancers learn their disciplines through ritualized dance. Duel-dancing, the art of combat, is one of the lowest disciplines one can learn. While anyone can fight, Duel-dancing came naturally to me. Despite my affinity towards violence, some lessons, such as the dance of Many Trees, eluded me. I desired to be both a Fire-dancer and a Flesh-dancer, the two most highly regarded disciplines. Regretfully, I had no talent at the forge. Still loving Sky-steel, I pursued combat, excelling in certain aspects.

In the past two Great Turns, as the world wove through both suns, I had mastered the dance of Many Trees. On that fateful day, during my eighth turning, I clumsily sat upon another ill-fitting saddle trying to maintain balance, as my dull blade attempted to fell several imaginary foes, nothing more than posts set into the ground.

Soul Dancer saddles, lovingly and ornately created by the Hyde-dancers, have a sturdy, looped handle on the front. This allows for easy maneuvering when riding and fighting, as well as a place to hang items at the ready. Over a large trunk, the saddle between my legs, I went through the motions of the dance of Many Trees, spending the entire day trying to perfect every move.

The saddle, very much like the one on Thunder Hoof, didn’t fit me well. To stay upright, to keep from falling, which had already happened several times, I had to scoot up until the handle was clenched firmly between my thighs. With all the determination I could muster, I gripped the saddle with my legs, the hard leather handle grinding between them, my sword flailing about, learning the dance of Many Trees.

Swinging, thrusting, counter-thrusting, and guarding with the blade caused my body to shift, twist, and undulate on the handle. My own stubbornness refused to let me stop and rest until I had perfected the dance. To my amazement, my pink slit became moist, then wet, finally soaking my thighs and the saddle. The wetter I got, the harder I practiced. Soon I was moaning with abandon, realizing that an orgasm was drawing near.

Still refusing to cease practicing, I swung and swung, lost in pleasure, not even thinking about the sword. An orgasm ripped through my body, my arms fluidly following the rhythm of my passion, perfectly executing the dance of Many Trees. As my lusty masturbation subsided, I could see the marks on the poles, exactly where they needed to be.

Keetara, my trainer, was ecstatic that I had completed the dance so perfectly. With shame, I confessed to her that I hadn’t truly mastered the dance, only managed to get it correct, because I was swept up in the throes of passion.

“You’re an Untamed,” she exclaimed. “Tapping into your carnal emotions through dance. That potentially makes you one of the most powerful Duel-dancers ever. Show me.”

I did. With the help of her fingers on my soaked pussy, her tongue on my breasts, she proceeded to help me tap into my lust, my passion, my desire, and funnel them into my dances. She also gave my young-adult body several orgasms that spawned a love affair between us.

As I rode, I unsheathed Splinter and practiced the dance of Many Trees. My cuts and thrusts against several imaginary foes were much cleaner, faster, more precise than they had been, then. Splinter “whooshed” through the air, slicing it, disemboweling, and rending with the perfection only a Duel-dancer can achieve.

My hips humped against the horn of the imperial saddle, muscle memory kicking in, my dripping desire pulsing through me. Thunder Hoof chose that moment to break into a gleeful gallop, causing me to buck up and down, my engorged clit sliding against the horn, hitting it with delightful force. Sheathing my sword, both hands grabbing the saddle horn, I humped and bucked up and down on the saddle, my wetness soaking it, my pussy throbbing against the expertly placed protrusion.

The orgasm wracked me, sending jolts of pleasure into my body, moans escaping my lips. My thighs, clamped around my horse’s bulging sides as he ran down the road, were the only thing that kept me from falling. Despite the strength of my legs, I had to hold on for dear life, blubbering and moaning, until the rapture of my lust subsided.

Keetara had been correct. Since that day I had allowed my inner lust and passion to consume me during my dancing. My Duel-dancing, despite my lack of training, became astounding; my Flesh-dancing became the centerpiece of our settlement. Whenever visiting dignitaries or Soul Dancers from other clans would arrive, I would be called to entertain.

I ran through the dance of Many Trees once more, for one more orgasm in Keetara’s honor. Hoping she had made it to our homeland, unscathed, and was now whoring or fighting with glee, I fingered myself slowly in her honor, to my pleasure. I was now primed for battle.

Spying the wagon in the distance, I steered Thunder Hoof away from the main road, choosing the concealment of the scrub. Plodding lightly, I should catch up to them within the hour. Riding, sneaking, hiding, no concrete plan came to mind. Knowing they’d to stop for the night and post guards, I assumed that I could ambush the perimeter watchmen, maybe sneak into camp to cause some havoc, and slip away in the confusion.

Fate, however, had other plans. Dusk was nearing, the yellow Mortal sun having shrunk to a pebble in the sky, the God sun dipping beneath the horizon. As they ground to a halt due to some odd obstruction in the road, me searching for a good vantage point to strike, chaos erupted.

There were half a dozen soldiers on horseback, a score or so on foot, another four road atop the wagon. I didn’t see any of the blood-red baldrics designating Reavers. They looked like regular imperial troops, conscripts. The chaos came from the ambush, taking the soldiers by surprise.

Dressed in rag-tag bits of armor, they charged from the treeline. Whooping and hollering, they ambushed the left flank of the caravan, wielding long pikes cut from trees, swords, even rocks. More emerged from the right, similarly berserk, several of them carrying lit torches that they hurled to the ground in front of the soldiers. Black, inky smoke rose into the sky as flames erupted, cutting off any escape. As more battle-garbed peasants emerged from the underbrush, turning their attention to the rearguard, I decided to spring into action.

“Let’s dance, Thunder Hoof.” My equestrian companion charged towards the caravan before I had even drawn my sword. The soldiers’ attention diverted, I had danced through three of them before they realized that I was a mounted, more potent threat.

The soldiers shouted, “It’s Kyrie the Red! Danger, Kyrie’s attacking!” Those not engaged turned their attentions towards me.

Although they outnumbered the soldiers, the attackers weren’t faring well. Cutting and slashing through the armored ranks, my horse a partner in my Duel-dance, I accounted for at least a third of the Valencian troops, myself. Teaming up, three-to-one, five-to-one against the footmen, the ambushers, obviously untrained rebels, slowly gained the advantage.

Jumping from Thunder Hoof, landing deftly while skewering a surprised sergeant, I was right behind the wagon. The wagon was a barred prisoner transport, holding two prisoners inside with a third tied to the back. A long rope ran from the back of the wagon to his wrists. A foppish dandy, dressed in overly-colorful, silken finery, watched in amused amazement, his hands clenching the bars of prisoner-wagon tightly. A buxom blond woman, dressed in a full-bodice dress, sat in the center of the wagon. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I had no time for pleasantries.

Running over to the third prisoner, the man bound by the wrists and made to walk behind the wagon, I noted that he also looked familiar. His clothes were in tatters, his body bruised and bloody. Through his long dark brown hair, matted and covering his face in stringy strands, I could see that one eye was swollen shut and blackened. Still, he carried himself with pride and dignity, looking up to me, smiling as I approached.

“Hold out your hands,” I said over the din of combat. Doing as requested, he held his hands forward. My Sky-steel sword cut through the rough ropes easily, freeing him.

“Thank you, mighty Lady Kyrie.“ He added a dramatic bow and flourish to his words of gratitude. Recognition struck me.

“You are most welcome, Calvin.”

Bending to pick up the fallen sword of my most recent foe, he shook out his hair, laughing. He twirled the sword around him expertly, getting the feel of the balance. His mangled eye didn’t seem to cripple his jovial demeanor. “That’s Captain Calvin Finalsum, formerly of the Valencian palace guard.”

Before I could respond, he charged towards the nearest soldier, laying into him with a vengeance. The ebb and flow of my Duel-dance carried us apart. The battle still raged.

I was pressed to the far side of the wagon, my back against it. Three desperate, fearful soldiers made their final stand against me, but the dance of Many Trees served me well once more. The cheers erupting from the peasant-soldiers alerted me that the battle had been won. I was exhausted, breathing heavily, with a few superficial wounds on my flesh. The lusty passion of my Untamed Duel-dancing consumed me more than any battle-rage or euphoria from the victory.

The large metal padlock sealing the wagon’s door was no match for Splinter; my blade sheered through the common steel as if it were butter. I helped the gorgeous woman and her silken-clad fellow prisoner out of their mobile cell.

“Well met, Trinica. Let’s not make rescuing you a full-time occupation.” She smiled sheepishly at me and curtsied. While I have no qualms rescuing the occasional damsel in distress, I didn’t feel compelled to rescue her on a day-to-day basis.

Spying Calvin, she ran to him; they embraced in the manner that only true lovers hold each other. Had he not been covered in bruises and blood, it would have almost been romantic.

Leaning against the prisoner wagon, I watched as the rebels picked the fallen soldiers' corpses clean, replacing their cast-off weapons and makeshift spears with higher quality weaponry and armor. The multitude of locked chests were pulled from the wagon, broken open with axes and rocks to reveal thousands of newly-minted coins, each one bearing a bust of Empress Cintra on the face and a dour-looking man on the obverse.

Trinica sat atop one of the now-emptied chests, a folded cloak for a cushion, Calvin standing tall and proud on her right side. Her large breasts rose and fell slowly, her blond tresses gently swaying in the light breeze. To me, she looked almost regal. Thunder Hoof, my stalwart four-legged friend, trotted up beside me, nuzzled me affectionately, and went to snack on some clover nearby.

"I thank you for saving my life," one of the rebels, an attractive raven-haired woman, said to me. Her homespun dress was now covered with a mail shirt.

Picking up a random coin, glinting in the dusk, I studied it as I watched the woman who had thanked me traverse the few yards toward Trinica. She knelt before her, on one knee. They conversed for a few moments, the words not traveling to my ears, culminating with Trinica placing one hand on the woman's shoulder and smiling with gratitude and affection.

Another rebel, a swarthy man, all sinew and muscle, thanked me for my aid and repeated the previous woman's behavior. Flipping the coin, heads, heads, tails, I walked to my horse and scratched him behind the ear as he munched on the greenery. This also brought me within earshot of Trinica's conversations.

"I thank thee, Roland, for the timely rescue. I dub thee Captain Roland," she stated.

Trinica must be the leader of the rebellion. While I had assumed that perhaps Calvin would be the commander, as in our two encounters he had only shown bravery, it somehow seemed fitting that a buxom blond woman, with yellow Mortal-sun hair to match Cintra's, would be her rebel counterpart.

Continuing to watch the spectacle of fealty before me as each rebel, in turn, approached and knelt before Trinica, I absentmindedly began practicing the Dance of Thorns. The Dance of Thorns is nearly impossible to master; only the most adept and the quickest Duel-dancers can do it properly. It is the art of knocking Thorns, arrows and hurled spears, away from your body as they fly towards you. The dance is done by moving your hands around falling objects, such as a coin, then grasping it in your hand. As one masters that, hurled objects are thrown, then launched, at you until you can parry them out of harm's way.

Hands flailing around, over, and beneath the falling coin, I had mastered the first part. Grasping the coin, mid-plummet, Trinica had turned to kiss the cheek of one of her rescuers. Her head was in profile, matching the image of the coin. I noted, in that moment, that Trinica bore a striking resemblance to Cintra. They looked as if they could be closely related.

Another of the kneeling rebels, this one with a large, bloodied axe, was swearing his oath of fealty to the rebel queen. "And I further swear that I shan't rest until your throne is restored."

While the lust of battle had subsided, my Untamed lust, the passions that fuel my dances, still pounded through my loins. Perhaps he, and maybe the quite attractive woman in the chainmail, as well, could help to calm my inner, dripping desires.

Throne restored? Something, a thought barely born, tore at my mind. Her face, her breasts that were so lovely and ripe, that delicate turn of her nose caused my breath to catch in my throat. Holding the coin in front of me, I compared the two images. It wasn't possible, was it?

Dismissing my paranoid notions, I recalled our first encounter. Trinica had told me that she was the "great farmer's daughter." I chuckled at my idiocy. When one is hunted, with a price on their head, they tend to see foes in every shadow.

"My empress," another newly-armored rebel said to her as Calvin gently tapped him on both shoulders.

"Rise, Sir Maris," Trinica said.

I studied the coin, gripping it with such force that the edges bit into my flesh. I studied Trinica.

Our first encounter played out in my mind's eye as I watched the events unfold before me, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. When I had rescued Trinica and Calvin from the Reavers, more than a month prior, Trinica had interrupted Calvin before he could introduce her. He began with, "the great..." and she had cut him off with a stern look and some very odd facial expressions. It had bothered me at the time, but my trepidation fled from my mind when I was forced to flee from the platoon of Reavers.

Immediately, after stumbling over her own name, she questioned me about my quest to kill Cintra. If I were a mere farmer's daughter, just out for some naughty sex in the haunted forest of Darkwood, I wouldn't be very concerned with the reasons my savior was seeking vengeance. Could it be possible? The resemblance was uncanny. They both had the same hair, same face, same jowls, same nose.

Realization dawned slowly, my heart and mind not wanting to admit what was staring me in the face. To drive the epiphany home, the rebels chose that moment to make things as clear as the Azure Sea. My mind, body, and soul went through a litany of emotions, including shock, dismay, despair, regret, rage, shame, and anger.

The rebel warriors began cheering. “All hail Cintra! Cintra, Cintra, Cintra.”

Trinica was my nemesis in disguise!

“You’re Cintra,” I screamed, drawing Splinter once more. “You killed everyone I love. Blood for blood!”

The others drew their weapons, guarding her. Though I would probably die, I needed clan vengeance. I doubted I could dance through all of them, but there is no dishonor in death.

“Lower your weapons,” she cried, pushing Calvin to the side. He had interposed himself between us. “She doesn’t understand. Let her approach.”

Their ranks parted, giving me a direct path. I readied to charge; revenge would be mine. In a surprising move, however, Cintra knelt on the ground, holding her chin high, pulling the fabric of her dress down, exposing most of her succulent breasts.

“I did not order the defiling of your people,” she told me sadly. “But if it is my blood you must have, I offer it willingly.”

“You lie.”

“I do not.” She held out her cut and mangled wrists, the wounds only half-healed. “When Maelorn my uncle, a great sorcerer, killed my father Rodrick, he imprisoned me immediately following my coronation. It is he that rules under my name, wearing my face in public. It is he that killed the Soul Dancers.” Tears of sorrow fell from her eyes.

“She speaks the truth,” Calvin said to me levelly. “But if you attempt to harm my love, we’ll cross blades.”

“No need,” she told him, tears running from her eyes. “If I cannot right the wrongs of this land, I can right this single wrong.” Standing, she slowly walked towards me as I stood immobile, undecided. Gently reaching out, she took the point of my sword and placed it upon her chest.

“If my life shall satisfy your honor, then I owe you that twice over; my life is yours.”

“I am a Duel-dancer, not a murderer.” Splinter was thrust harshly back into its sheath. “My Sky-steel shall remain thirsty this day.”

Trinica, or Cintra, nodded and smiled meekly. “Come then, let us tell you about our rebellion to take back my throne and undo the evils of the land. We could use your sword.”

Abandoning the battlefield, the rebels and I faded into the wilderness. They had a makeshift, secret camp only a few miles away. Under the cover of darkness, they celebrated their victory as I was informed of the rebellion I had played a part in inspiring.

My attacks on the tax collectors had handicapped the revenue, just as I had hoped. This caused the crown to increase taxes, which hurt the populace. As expected, the grumbling began, turning into a full-scale rebellion. An envoy had been dispatched to the frontier kingdom of Valalfar, an independent, wild land to the Southeast. Mercenaries, paid in the blood money of stolen taxes, were en route, due to arrive any day.

The question of whether or not I would join them was posed. My quest, however, was one of clan honor; I would aid them as I could, but their fight was not mine. I would not join until my quest was completed. Our purposes were not at odds, so an alliance, of sorts, was struck.

The rugged campsite reminded me of my home in the Gifted Lands. Joyful, with a zest for life, these rebels, both men and women, all with a price on their heads, celebrated life. They danced to drums and whatever instruments they had; they caroused and feasted. The knowledge that death might claim them tomorrow spurned the need to live each day to its fullest.

Truce struck, sealed with a kiss upon the lips of the exiled empress, I sought knowledge of Cintra’s uncle, Maelorn. His was malevolent, a wizard, rumored to have amazing magical powers. He was also cruel, sadistic, and had little regard for anything except his lust for control and power. I needed every detail I could hear.

“I can help you with that, my sweet, mostly naked, lady,” said the foppish dandy I had recently rescued.

He wore silken finery of blue and yellow, soft doeskin boots with billowy flaps folded down, and a matching hat set at a rakish angle. His features were handsome, almost boyish. His skin looked soft, his eyes danced with self-import and mischief, light brown orbs that smiled along with his bone-white teeth. His hair was delicately oiled and combed out into long tresses, despite the dirt of being recently imprisoned. A many-stringed lute was strapped upon his back, a tiny sword, little more than a presumptuous dagger, upon his belt.

“I am known as Eldag,” he bowed with a dramatic flourish, removing his hat, his arms gesticulating with flair. His expression showed anticipation of a reaction.

“You’re welcome for the rescue,” I said evenly.

His eyes were fixated on the bottoms of my breasts, not covered, only accentuated by the chainmail top. He managed to tear his eyes away from my breasts and nipples, fixating on the patch of red hair between my legs.

“Perhaps we should talk away from the others, away from prying eyes, I mean ears,” he blushed.

“You just want to fuck me.”

His reaction was comical. “I assure you, my most-lethal lady, Kyrie, that my intentions are innocent.”

“Too bad, I’m horny.” I stood and headed away from the others. “Well come on, it won’t fuck itself.”

Eldag glanced around nervously, then followed me, a huge smile playing on his lips. “Just so you know, my most fair barbarian queen, I am well-versed in the ways of pleasure.”

I found a suitable area, a tiny break in the undergrowth, soft moss and grasses covering the ground. Laying down, my legs spread, I pulled off my Sky-steel top, caressing my breasts.

“My lady, my goddess, my sweet angel,” he cooed as he stripped out of his finery. His lute plunked to the ground with a dissonant tone.

My Untamed lust boiling over from the day's endeavors, I couldn’t wait any longer. Fingers thrusting inside me, I parted my nether lips, sloshing the liquid proof of my arousal all over my pussy.

Tripping over his legs as he shirked off his pants, his manhood stuck out, obviously aroused. It reminded me of my sword hilt, a smaller, softer, less-thick version.

“Prepare for ecstasy.” His hands held his member like a lance, a pathetic, meager lance.

Without bothering to warm me up or ignite my flesh, Eldag climbed between my legs and thrust his cock inside me. Moaning and grunting, he pistoned in and out, hard and fast. While smaller than I like, much smaller, his flesh felt good, warming my insides, causing minor tingles that began in my loins and slowly spread to my extremities.

Arching my back, my hands kneading my tits, I humped into him, moaning.

“My love,” he screamed as gushes of hotness soaked my pussy. “See? Many a young lass has become enamored with my skills.”

Without further ceremony, he kissed me lightly on the lips, his face triumphant, dressed, and strolled back towards the rebel camp.

“What about Maelorn?” I cried in disappointment.

“You were already told everything I knew. I just knew you wanted me.”

He played his lute as he strolled away, singing.

“Many a woman have I loved.

To me, they offer their velvet glove.

Once they have had me, Eldag delights.

They leave their lovers,

and seek me in the night.”

I lingered, fingering myself to orgasm. While it did help with my frustration of a less-than-legendary tryst, I was still in dire need of fleshy pleasure. Still frustrated, still in sexual heat, I returned to the camp, topless. Many a stout lad eyed me up with hunger.

“You, you, and you come with me,” I commanded.

“What for?" one of them asked.

I sighed. “My most recent lover hasn’t quenched my Untamed fires. I need cock, lots and lots of cock. What’s the matter? Not into women?”

Back in the clearing, I drank my fill of their passions. Stout hands fondled and groped me while I took a cock in my mouth, one in my dripping cunt, and one in my hand. With multiple hard cocks pounding me hard from behind, plunging into my mouth until I gagged, my body's heat ignited into the flames of passion. Six hands, playing real music on my nipples and clit, grew into a frenetic crescendo, overcome with lust and passion. Nearly insatiable, I came on three cocks, feasted on three cocks, and drank their cum, not pausing until the moon crossed the starry sky.

Rocking back and forth, my mouth moaning on one turgid shaft as my hips bucked back and forth on another, I found my pace as orgasm after orgasm crashed over me like waves upon the shore.

When I had drained them, I danced my Flesh-dance to the rhythm of the wild, its wildness consuming me. When I had them all hard for me once more, I repeated our past frenzy, my aching cunt needing to be filled until the fire in my soul was quenched.

We slept in a heap on the forest floor, my body warmed and protected by multiple arms. In the morning I strode into camp and readied Thunder Hoof. My destination was Valencia. Giving my regards to Cintra, I left, wishing her luck.

“Wait, I’m coming with you,” an annoying voice said.

I turned to see Eldag trailing me, mounted on a black mare similarly garbed in silken decoration.

“I ride alone.”

“You’ll need me. I have certain magical powers.”

“If they’re as feeble as your sexual powers, I’m better off alone.”

“A lady needs a stout warrior for protection.” He had caught up, barely managing his horse.

“Find me one, then.”

“At your service." His bow almost unhorsed him. Both Thunder Hoof and I snickered.

“Fine then, just don’t get in my way.”

Eldag smiled, adjusted his hat, and began to sing.

“Eldag and Kyrie towards danger untold.

His charms and her sword, against the mighty and bold.

His grace, his style, charming diplomacy.

Her sky-steel sword and bravery.

Brave, brave, brave lady Kyrie.”

“You know,” I said. “In harsh winters, knights have been known to eat their minstrels.”

“And?" he asked in despair.

“And there was much rejoicing. Now shut the fuck up.”