The red God-sun painted my silvery blade with blood-like, reflective tendrils of liquid fire as the horses galloped gleefully through fallow fields, munching on clover and sweet grasses. Taking advantage of the temporary sanctuary, Splinter swinging in clean, precise arcs, I practiced my Duel-dancing, honing my sword fighting, feeling my lusty passions, my Untamed nature, welling up inside me.

My journey towards the walled fortress capitol city of Valencia had been interrupted. A veritable army of imperial troops, including cavalry, foot soldiers, archers, and an entire platoon of the murderous Reavers, ambushed us en route. With arrows flying all around us, horsed soldiers hot on our hoofs, we had barely escaped. Fleeing southward, towards the southeastern border of Longvale, we sought refuge under the protection of the fiercely independent Laird Despil Caruto, rather his young, beautiful, raven-haired wife, Leleth.

Laird Despil ruled over the area known as Cruto, the southeastern reaches of Longvale, his family’s holdings for most of known history. While a part of the Empire of Valencia, the large, quiet farming community was more akin to the neighboring kingdom of Fieldmarch. Gently rolling, fertile plains and lazy knolls slanted towards the wide, deep river known as the Grand Serpent. Crops of grains, fields of vegetables, and the occasional orchard dotted the landscape with small villages and farming communities nestled between them.

The serenity of the area was only belayed by Laird Despil’s private army, beholden only to him. Serendipity smiled upon us in our mad flight away from certain death. Eldag, my narcissistic and arrogant companion, once enjoyed patronage from Lady Leleth, she being mesmerized by his superficial charm and music. Despil, himself, was not compelled to see my head on a pike and collect the now-vast bounty for my capture. He was mesmerized by my tale of sorrow and saw honor in my quest for vengeance.

For more than a fortnight, we had enjoyed his gracious hospitality, Eldag enjoying the luxury of nobility inside the sprawling manor, me enjoying the open fields, the starry skies, and the hard cocks of the lord’s personal troops. The yellow Mortal-sun had diminished to a tiny orb in the sky, the God-sun summer dominating. Knowing that we soon needed to depart, I ran through my dances, honing my lethal skills of passion into a deadly force of Untamed fury.

Feet planted into the ox stance, ready to charge, my blade flicked out in the horizontal guard, the Kron. Dancing into a half-sword stance, off-hand holding the ricasso for leverage to ward off a power attack, my wrists flicked deftly as if parrying, sending tiny jolts of pleasure into my womb. Beat-feint, thrust, lunge, executed in blurring speed, the energy of my motions tingled my nipples and caused my lust to throb between my legs.

My blade sang as it twirled around my body, left to right, over then back, each circular swoop sending rippling pleasure through my body, centered on my engorged clit. I broke the rhythm of the dance, lashing out with a side slice, circled over, swooping under, then broke into an aggressive attack, a Vor. My breathing was coming in deep moans; my heartbeat pulsing throbs of lust into my clit, my nipples, all in perfect synchronization with my sword.

I was one with my steel, in harmony with the Untamed lust. I neither commanded nor was enslaved; I flowed with the pulsing passions of my body. My entire consciousness was a perfect beam of lethal sex, powered by pleasure, honed to lethal precision. Through my singular focus, I noted that the clouds and birds in the sky had slowed to a crawl. A bit of flowery fluff, airborne summer seeds, drifted past my field of focus, so slow that it seemed nearly immobile.

With body, mind, lust, and sword all unified, my blade shot out, rending the floating, cottony fluff mid-flight. Once, twice, thrice, a fourth time, my blade quartered it with perfection, me completing the cuts before they lost their wind and began to fall. With those actions, my lust boiled over, consumed me, the cusp of an orgasm one more sword-cut away from exploding. Time had nearly frozen around me. My sword and body had gone through several dances whereas the birds in the sky had barely flapped their wings twice. My entire body had become one huge sensual organ; pleasure was all I knew, all I felt.

“Kyrie, Kyrie. Danger! Run, flee, horse up. HELP!” Eldag’s panicked voice shot through my tranquility, destroying my focus.

Damn him. Duelist interruptus.

Immediately snapping out of my lusty trance, motion and time sped up, the world around me accelerating to normal. I had felt my Trance; I was on the cusp of discovering my power. My narcissistic, poorly-endowed companion had ruined it. Aggravated, head turning towards the direction of his distraught lamentations, I had to stifle a laugh.

Running clumsily, Eldag came to view as he ran up the gentle hill towards me. The incline was such that his head was revealed first, then his body came slowly into view. The foppish minstrel was sprinting towards me, his face a mask of guilty fright. His left hand held his colorful, feathered hat onto his head, his finely oiled curls bouncing with his gait. His ornately decorated lute was held by the neck in his right hand, which also shared the duty of holding up his silken pants, still undone, as he charged towards me.

As comical as it was, any joviality was quickly squashed as the reason for his half-dressed flight became obvious. As Eldag’s full body came into view, the bulk of Laird Despil’s private army came into view, pursuing Eldag with fury. Some of them stopping occasionally to hurl a spear or shoot an arrow in his general direction, they seemed bent on slaughtering the minstrel. My heart went out to them.

Always eloquent, Eldag ran past me. “Aaaaagh!” 

Reaching his mare, struggling with the reins as his silken blue pants dropped, mooning me, he clumsily climbed into the saddle and sped westward, nearly falling from his horse. My horse, Thunder Hoof, watched them charge away, looked towards me, then found something interesting to ponder on the ground.

Near the manor house, some distance away, I could see Laird Despil and his wife, Leleth, emerge from the manor gate. Leleth was obviously distraught, Despil dragging her by the scruff of the neck as she screamed and cried. Mentally weighing the virtues of staying right where I stood and leaving Edlag’s fate to the soldiers, I wondered what had happened.

My internal debate was decided for me as an arrow, obviously aimed at me, flew in my direction. It fell wide of its mark but tipped the scales towards following Eldag. Sighing over the fact that I’d had sex with almost half of the soldiers that were now out for blood, I whistled for my horse who trotted up to me. Jumping onto the saddle with ease, my sword, still in hand, whisked out, instinctively, as a better-aimed arrow sped toward me. Deflected with a clang, much to my surprise, my stallion took off on his own accord. 

Quickly catching up to the errant bard, we slowed to a trot and left our now-defiled sanctuary behind.

“What happened?” My tone was scathing.

“Despil came back from his hunt a day early and caught me in the midst of giving Lady Leleth heavenly delight.”

“You bedded her ladyship in his bed?”

“No,” he insisted with innocence. “It was on the table in the great hall.”

“I’m shocked…”

He interrupted. “Shocked that Leleth, like you I might add, cannot resist my charms?”

“Not at all. I’m shocked that she’d prefer your diminutive cock over her husband’s.”

“That’s quite unkind.”

“The truth often is.” 

Slowing to a leisurely pace once we were out of Eldag-caused danger, no pursuit in sight, we rode for the rest of the day, taking one of the lesser-traveled roads, little more than a dirt path, through Greenbriar wood. Greenbriar bordered a broad, shallow river, the Crystal Stream, known for its sparkling clarity. A path led to a shallow crossing, just a few days ride through the wood. Nuts, berries, and small game were plentiful there. However, bandits have been known to seek both refuge and victims in the wood from time to time.

With the price on my head having grown to over one thousand gold talons, it seemed prudent to avoid the patrolled main roads and risk an encounter with unsavory brigands. That first night, and all through the next day, we traveled without difficulty. However, something seemed off to me.

The foliage was a green tarp beneath the open sky, the red light of God-sun being the only light to penetrate. At first, game and food were plentiful, forest creatures could be heard all around. By midday, the wood had become quiet, deathly still. While birds still chirped from their perches and insects hummed and buzzed around us, evidence of animals around us had grown increasingly rare, eventually tapering off to nothing.

Camping in a small clearing a few hundred yards off the main pathway, I couldn’t help but feel as if we were being watched from someplace hidden, just out of sight. That feeling grew into the strength of a premonition, putting me ill at ease. Eldag, as usual, was oblivious to the oddness of the night. He was singing beside our small fire, exaggerating his lusty conquest.

“The lady Leleth, with charms untold,

 Breasts large like mountains, fires below.

 Her Lord away, for Eldag she burns,

 Upon the table our….

“Kyrie, what rhymes with burns?”

“Quiet.”

“That doesn’t rhyme.”

“Sssh. Do you hear that? It sounds like somebody’s approaching.” I was on my feet, Splinter drawn, before my words had even registered in his ears. I caught his eye and darted my own towards the direction of the path. 

Eldag guffawed. “Nonsense. There’s nothing and nobody around.” He meandered just outside of the firelight, right to the edge of the trees, some small, thorny shrubs near. “You see,” he turned to face me, “nothing but you, my glorious self, and the hor….”

His last words were cut short, ending in an “umph” sound as his feet were pulled out from under him. In the dimness I could barely make out his prone figure, face-down, being pulled into the underbrush by gauntleted hands. A terrified wail, reminding me of young girls when they fall and skin their knee, was heard, then some rustling and struggling in the underbrush, then nothing.

While the prospect of being rid of him had appeal, he did prove to be useful, for a time, at least that once. I let coin-fate decide. Heads it was, the shining face of my unlikely ally, Cintra, smiling up at me from the coin. I chased after him.

Even in the darkness, it was easy to track the path. Broken branches, trampled undergrowth, and drag-marks through the dirt were obvious to even my untrained eyes. Up ahead in the distance, I saw some shimmering lights, perhaps a sizable encampment. It looked like multiple small fires. Weaving between some fallen tree trunks, bounding over a small creek, I could finally make out several human-like figures mulling about. There was some sort of commotion going on.

My foolhardy charge came to an abrupt stop, just across the small creek. From out of nowhere, as if they had suddenly materialized, I was ringed by a group of armed and armored soldiers of sorts. Ornately wrought spearheads poked into me from all directions; behind them was another ring of pointy-eared archers.

“Anta lya megil,” one of them, wearing chainmail of shimmery, fine manufacture and an ornately decorated helm said to me sternly. 

I readied myself for death, for combat, feeling my passions quickly course through my being, ready to overtake me.

“Lya megil,” he repeated sternly. “Anta, anta.” His thin, curved blade, a tracery of vines and leaves upon it, pointed towards my sword, then swept to the ground. 

“No,” my head shook negatively as I readied myself. A plan began to form. Rather than meet the ring of steel, head-on, I’d duck and roll, dancing under the blades to the rear. I’d only need to fell one or two of them before I could break free. The nearby trees would offer some protection from the rain of arrows that would inevitably follow.

“Kyrie thy red,” a booming, heavily-accented, feminine voice sang out. “Rainë,” she said to the others, “ala Ohtar Valencia.”

The menacing curtain of steel around me lowered somewhat; the tension in the air melted away immediately.

The ring of soldiers parted, allowing her to approach me. Her expression was neutral. “Aelua,” she said, pointing to herself. “You are Kyrie or impostor. We shall discover. Come.”

Shrugging, sheathing Splinter, I shot the others dirty glances as I followed her. I had never seen the people of the fey, the Alfar, before. They were all fair of skin, beautiful, lithe of build, and graceful of movement. Light, flecked eyes that sparkled in the firelight, pointed ears, and short of stature, I was familiar with their look but their demeanor seemed very militaristic.

The legends told that when humankind first settled in Valencia, their shining civilization across the Azure Sea turned to dust, the Alfar were already established in the lands. Centuries of stressed relations, border skirmishes, outright war, and genocide eventually gave way to a sort of stasis, a peace of sorts. Few in number, some still believed the Alfar to be mythological. My eyes proved otherwise. The Alfar were reputed to be long-lived, living ten or more times as long as the average human, magical creatures of nature, and excellent warriors. 

I was led into the encampment. Close to two-hundred Alfar, all of them geared for battle, were secreted in the camp. They had moved with such stealth that I hadn’t noted their passage in the daylight. I was stared at without malice, without fear. While there were a few fires here and there, various sweet and herbal cooking smells in the air, there were no tents, no horses. 

At the far end, seated on an ornately woven blanket folded over a fallen log, sat the most regal-looking, most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her eyes, almond-shaped like all the Alfar, sparkled with a silvery sheen. Her hair was golden, capturing the wispy bits of moonlight that filtered through the trees. Her armor was a gilded scale-mail dress of sorts, the scales forged to resemble oak and holly leaves. She wore a gilded laurel of similar design upon her head.

Beside her stood a man or an Alfar or a thing, something I’d never heard of or seen in my entire life. Standing at least two heads taller than the largest human male, broad shoulders and thickness of body to match, his smooth skin had a grayish cast. Midnight-colored hair, tied back, matched his black, pupilless eyes. His extremely well-formed torso was covered in a mail shirt, of the same shimmering, fine weave as the others. His curved, saber-like sword matched the weaponry of the others, finely crafted and ornate, flowing and lithe. This one was oversized to match the giant of a man or Alfar. Curved tusks stuck out from his lower lips; matching barbed horns protruded from just beneath his elbows. 

The woman that had spoken to me earlier conversed with the regal-looking one, their queen, I assumed. Kneeling, tied to a stake, looking a bit haggard but none the worse for wear, I saw Eldag. He was listening, nodding as if he understood their language.

The queen addressed me. “You are either Red Kyrie or another impostor. Real Dancers of Soul are welcome, impostors must be executed.”

“Another impostor?”

She nodded serenely. “The false emperor fully knows our intentions. He has sent many false Duelists to us, hoping to undermine or thwart us. Maelorn the black does not wish us to aid the true queen. We have, however, made the oath.”

“I am not a duelist,” I corrected. Well aware that it wasn’t, perhaps, the wisest attitude to take against one’s captors, I resolved to die with dignity. “I am a Duel-dancer, an Untamed.”

Smiling coyly, she nodded once more. Her simple gesture spoke more than hundreds of human words. “We shall soon discover. Aruemondo.”

The hulking beast of an Alfar stepped forward.

“Lye nalanta fírima ní yë gûr,” she said in flowing but commanding voice.

“To the death,” Eldag exclaimed. “Kyrie, the beast is going to kill you!”

“At least I won’t hear your awful music,” I spat back.

Chuckling at my quip, the queen addressed me. “If you are a true Soul Dancer, it shall be seen. If not, then you die.”

“Dab,” she shouted to the others. They cleared away, giving myself and the giant ogre of an Alfar plenty of space. “Yesta, begin.”

“Saerwen, no, please,” a bound Eldag begged.

“It is the way,” their queen said to him. “Victory proves innocence, death proves malice.”

“Wait,” I cried. “You know her?”

“Yes,” he proudly replied. “I am a friend to the Alfar.”

“Then why are you bound?”

He merely shrugged.

“Enough,” the regal-looking Saerwen declared. “Begin. Yesta.”

The hulking Alfar grunted and spoke gruffly. “Mondo kill pretend Red Kyrie.”

“If you survive, you are the real Kyrie,” their queen, Saerwen, said without any tonality in her voice.

Not knowing what else to do, I shot a confused glance to Eldag, who returned a mirror of my confused expression. Not even having readied myself, I barely danced out of the way as the half-beast, half-Alfar, Aruemondo, attacked.

His blow was fast and powerful, his sword almost as large a grown man. Rather than retreat, I sidestepped, not allowing him to charge and put me on the defensive. My sword quickly came free, me dancing in a pirouette around his lowered blade. My passions came to my call, my thighs heating, my pulse quickening, my movements taking on the speed and urgency of lust about to explode.

Taking advantage of his massive size, I moved inside of his reach, an expertly placed cross-slash landing true across his abdomen. To my surprise, my Sky-steel blade did not cut through his mail armor. Recovering quickly, a stop-beat in quarte to ward off his massive sword, the point of Splinter quickly found the soft spot beneath his sternum. Again, my blade could not penetrate his armor.

Shrieking as a massive hand grabbed me by the neck, I was flung away by my opponent as if I were weightless. Landing with a crash, onlookers stopping my uncontrolled tumble, I danced to my feet, smacking the flat of Splinter into my palm, awaiting his next attack.

The giant elfin man attacked, came again, refused to die. At first, it took all my skill and the luck of the gods to avoid death and defeat. He was huge and powerful, with a long reach. I was faster, more precise. The onlooking Alfar, shouting in their beautiful sing-song language, faded from my mind. The possibility of death was forgotten. My focus increased; my lusty passion became overpowering.

I noted, delightfully, that he was slowing. His last flurry of blows had come at the pace of a meandering river rather than a rushing torrent. I had time to ponder every detail, debate my best response, and focus on my building orgasm. Shortly afterward, I managed to easily trap his barely moving blade, trip him, disarm, and have the point of my steel at his throat.

I stood there, shaking with lust, dripping with sweat. The fey folk, the Alfar, were chanting, “gûr, gûr.” Their leader, or queen, whoever she was, looked on, not speaking.

Rather than kill him, I traced a line with the tip of Splinter from his larynx down to the hem of his mail. Flipping up the chainmail armor, I was delighted to see that he was endowed with massive manhood in proportion to his size. Plunging my sword into the ground between his legs, I offered the pointy-eared giant a hand up.

I turned to their leader. “I refuse to kill him.”

She smiled and nodded. “She is true. Meldis. Friend to the Alfar.” Cheers erupted as she beckoned me to approach. “Forgive us, these are difficult times. I am Saerwen, of noble birth, the leader of our tribe, mercenaries, now.”

I nodded to her, refusing to bow. Soul Dancers recognize no other, be they human or Alfar, as above one another. I glanced towards my annoying companion as she followed my glance and nodded. A few quick gestures and Eldag was released. I considered asking for him to be tied up once more but was interrupted by a giant shadow of darkness coming between myself and the firelight.

“The mercenaries coming to aid Trinica, Cintra?”

“The same,” she nodded.

My gargantuan opponent was beckoning me. I approached; his aggressiveness seemed to have abated. 

“Mondo thank the Kyrie for life,” my former opponent drawled in heavily accented grunts. “Mondo owe you life.”

“Um, excuse me,” Eldag interrupted, coming over. “Queen Saerwen wants to speak to you in the clearing over yonder.” He pointed.

“Please tell her that I’ll be there shortly.” I accepted a drink from one of the others. The goblet was spun from green leaves and filled with a silvery liquid that smelled like honey and flowers. I took a quick sip, discovering that it tasted exactly as expected. 

“Kyrie important to get invite to strategy meeting,” Aruemondo said to me gently. He offered me some sort of bread, a tiny chunk of wafer. While little more than a nibble, those few crumbs of sustenance energized my body and took away all of my hunger.

“I’m sure their best warrior would be in on the planning.”

“Mondo only fight and follow orders, not give.” He shrugged. "Mondo only pawn in game of life.”

I sighed. “Fighting makes me need sex. Do you want to lay with me?”

“Mondo fuck Kyrie. Yes!” the smiling giant picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, careful to not impale me on his tusks. Carrying me away from the others, the both of us laughing, he laid me down on a bed of moss beside the small creek.

Quickly shirking out of his chainmail, his tunic coming off with it, his body was well-muscled and his cock was larger than any I’ve ever seen. On my knees, needing to wrap both hands around it to encircle it, I pumped his manhood to full life with speed and mounting passion.

Reaching between my legs, causing me to moan in delight, his index finger penetrated my already-soaked cunt, nearly filling me, it being as large as most men’s lances. Quickly thrusting completely inside me, his thumb, as broad as three of my fingers, slammed into my clit, over and over, sending me quickly over the edge.

“I’m cumming.” My entire body tensed and quivered under his manual assault. My eyes cried tears of release as my stomach pulsed with delight. Throwing my head back, screaming to the sky, the waves of horny release consumed me. My hands forgot to pump his massive cock; my mind forgot everything but pleasure; my body deflated into the damp, soft moss.

Removing his cock-like digit with a sucking plop, he gently parted my legs and crammed himself between them. My orgasmic fluids were running out of my pussy, my body instinctively humping into the massive head of his cock.

Grabbing his huge sack with both hands as he yelped in surprise, I used his jewels as a handhold to pull my body, forcefully, onto his huge, thick, engorged shaft. Momentary searing pain, as if I were to be split in twain, then a lessening of pressure, my fluids lubing our union, overwhelmed me. Sighing in delight, my insides filled to capacity, I rocked gently on his cock.

Aruemondo whispered something to me in Alfarian; I didn’t know what he said but the sounds were soothing, poetic, and set my loins into a fury. Undulating my hips, moving back and forth in a frenzy, I impaled myself on his fleshy sword.

“Fuck me as hard as you fight, fuck me.”

His huge, muscular arms snaked around me, holding me impaled as he stood. Slowly pumping my entire body up and down his giant, monster cock as I was suspended more than a yard above the ground, he pumped me, legs, body, and dripping cunt, up and down his length. Every time my body slammed into his hard flesh, my clit would be smashed against his muscles. I began screaming and moaning.

“More. Harder. Fucking use me. Make me cum. Cum for me.”

The smacking sounds of my wet, hot flesh slamming against his hardness mingled with the sounds of my cunt, pouring out my milky lust. My screams added to the clamor. His arms shook me up and down his huge cock as I lay in his arms being thrust into him again and again.

“Mondo cum in or on?” he panted out between primal growls.

“Just fuck my cunt. Fuck me harder.” Another orgasm ripped through me sending my suspended body into a flailing tantrum. My convulsions and screams must have pushed him over the edge. I felt the first eruption of his gargantuan cock tear into my insides. It was so hot that it burned, so nasty that my body erupted into another orgasm on top of the one I was having. 

Spurt after spurt shot into me, dripping out of me, squirting out of me onto the ground. He was pumping my helpless body over his cock with such speed and force that my head was bouncing back and forth. 

Then he groaned and heaved a huge sigh. “Mondo owe Kyrie more than life.” He smiled at me, his massive, beastly-handsome face showing his tusks, as he laid me down on the moss once more. He laid beside me, closed his eyes, and quickly began snoring like a warthog.

“Outlasted you in combat, outlasted you in sex.” More intense snores answered me. 

Shrugging and smiling, I washed myself off in the icy cold waters of the creek and headed towards the camp of the Alfar. Saerwen, the queen of the mercenaries that would be aiding the deposed empress, Cintra, desired my presence.