Page 5

Alaric

T his battle isn’t going how I expected it to at all. I hate to admit it, even to myself, but I may have walked into a trap.

“Let’s see how strong your magic is, Warrior. Let’s see you escape my Shadows.”

The soft, purring voice seems to echo from all around me. I look for her—for the Sorceress Sylvanna, the NightBorn witch I have been sent to conquer…but I can’t see her anywhere.

The ruined and crumbling temple of the Old Gods, overgrown with vines that glow softly in the moonlight, has disappeared. All around me I see nothing but roiling black shadows tinged with poison green threads. Still, I stand my ground. I am the bearer of the Celestial Fire—I fear no one!

The glowing golden sigil at the center of my armor pulses, reinforcing my conviction. Where Purity and Righteousness raise their banners, Evil and Corruption cannot prevail.

This is what I have been taught all my life—from my earliest days at the Citadel of the GodKing and I believe it with my whole heart.

“I wield no magic, Witch,” I tell her, speaking into the shadows as I take a firmer grip on the hilt of my sword.

The sharp nubs inside my gloves dig into my skin—the pain urging the Holy Fire within me to burn more brightly.

“Come—show yourself that I may strike your wicked head from your body!” I call to her.

A soft, teasing laugh echoes in my ears—it seems to come from all directions at once.

“But you see, I’m quite attached to my head, noble Paladin. I do not care to lose it,” she murmurs. “However, since I am quite curious about you, I will show myself…but first a few precautions.”

Suddenly, two coils of shadow detach themselves from the roiling mass around me and curl themselves around my forearms.

I shrug my shoulders, meaning to twitch the shadows away. But they remain…and grow more firm. In short order, it feels as though two strong hands are holding me just where the shadows are.

Irritated, I change my grip on the hilt of my sword and twist one arm to be free of them…or try to. I find that my hand is pinned to my side—I can’t lift it.

Then, slowly but surely, the shadows binding my other arm began to twist it. I can feel myself losing my grip on the hilt of my sword…

Fuck! Desperately, I squeeze the hilt tighter, digging the sharp nubs inside my glove deeply into my palm, willing the Celestial Fire to rise within me.

As the familiar pain shoots down my arm I feel the burning pressure start to build.

In just a moment, it will explode out of me, scorching and incinerating everything in a two-meter-wide radius all around—including the wicked Sorceress, Sylvanna.

But then the shadows curl around my fingers, prying them open and my sword drops from my hand. I hear a clang! proving that there is still stone beneath my feet, though the shadows obscure it. Then the bright silver blade is lost to me.

Only now do I begin to feel the first tendrils of panic creeping into my soul like a dark infection—a foul pestilence which I abhor. But I am not without resources. Though I have lost my sword, I still wear my thorned vambraces.

I press my forearm against my body, feeling the sharp metal hooks dig into my flesh and again the Celestial Fire begins to rise within me…

“No, no—I see what you’re doing, my naughty knight. We can’t have that .”

The voice now has a reproving tone to it—as though I am a disobedient child instead of a Paladin in the service of His Most Holy Majesty, the GodKing. The shadows pry at my arm, bringing it away from my body. I find myself unable to resist them.

“Now, just to be certain…” she says, her voice echoing from all around me. And then the shadows begin to strip me of my armor!

I watch with indignation and unease as, piece by silver-plated, gold-etched piece, my protection is removed. And with my armor, go my talismans—the pieces of equipment I use to help me raise the Celestial Fire.

Gone are my thorned vambraces, then my flensing chain.

The shadows strip me of my grieving blade and a moment later, my spiked pauldrons clatter to the ground.

The crown of nails I wear beneath my helmet is taken along with the helm itself as it leaves my head.

They even strip me of my pain beads—the holy rosary spiked with thorns—and the Shard of Martyrdom I wear strapped to my thigh at all times.

Before I know it, I am practically bare—wearing only my chain mail shirt and linen tunic. But apparently the sorceress still isn’t satisfied because the shadows strip me further until I really am bare—standing naked before her, wherever she is.

“Release me! In the name of the GodKing, I command you!” I shout, enraged.

The shadows have parted my legs, curling around my thighs and calves to hold them open.

They are deceptively soft—the texture of silk.

Yet hard as stone when I attempt to break free.

I struggle in vain—they will not move. They could rip me apart but the Sorceress Sylvanna seems content to simply hold my nude body in place for her pleasure.

“Your GodKing means nothing to me.”

Finally, the voice has a direction. I hear it in my left ear—she must be right behind me!

A shiver crawls down my spine—the evil is so near but I cannot fight it!

I’ve never felt so helpless in my life—not even as a lad when The Sisters of Correction tied me to the whipping post and beat me for insolence.

In fact, that is what the shadow bindings remind me of.

The shame of being stripped and flogged before everyone.

Feeling the eyes of the priestess on my naked body as she counted out the lashes.

She would always add extra because for some reason, feeling her eyes on me while knowing I was helpless and in her power would cause my shaft to rise…

It is rising now, against my will. I curse the loss of my metal cod-piece.

The sharp needles on the inside of it are always enough to stop any unwanted engorgement.

The smith thought me mad for asking for such a thing, but I assured him it was only to help raise the Celestial Fire.

I didn’t tell him that I wear it to bed as well as to battle, to keep the dreams at bay.

“Well, well…aren’t you a fine, strapping specimen of manhood. But so many scars! Do you pay for your magic with pain, then?”

The voice comes from in front of me this time and a face swims into view. My breath catches in my throat. Why…she’s beautiful . How can the face of evil be so lovely?

Wide, dark eyes that glow with red Hell-fire contemplate me.

Her skin is pale as parchment with just a hint of a violet undertone and her nose it tiny and delicate—adorable.

Silky black hair spills down her bare shoulders and over the tops of her breasts, barely held in check by the black and gold gown she wears.

It encases full curves—fuller than most, which makes her even more beautiful, at least in my eyes. I have always admired curvy women.

“This…this must be some enchantment,” I stammer at last. “The Sorceress Sylvanna is meant to be old and ugly—a withered crone.”

“Is that what they told you?” She arches a perfect eyebrow at me. “Perhaps you are thinking of my mother, who has been dead these many years. I myself am scarcely a year or two older than you, my Paladin.”

Her lush, ruby red lips part as she smiles at me and now I see the evil. Two fangs curve from her upper teeth—needle sharp and ready to draw blood.

This is the corruption of the NightBorn—the High Born among them are cursed with the thirst for blood. Well, just let her try to bite me! She’ll get a harsh surprise the moment her lips touch my skin.

“I can hear what you’re thinking, you know.”

She taps the side of her head and I see that she’s wearing a deep green stone at her temple. It pulses with unholy light.

“The Jewel of Knowing,” she says, as though I asked. “It allows me to hear the thoughts and see the memories of certain, self-righteous people who think they’re better than my kind, simply because they’re DayBorn.”

“We are better—for we have not succumbed to your wicked ways. We do not practice magic, nor have we given in to the lusts and temptations of the flesh as you NightBorn have done,” I growl.

“Are you quite sure about that?” She looks pointedly down at my cock, which is so hard it fucking hurts. By the Old Gods, what is wrong with me? I feel my cheeks growing hot with shame. I don’t know why I’m hard—why being restrained and taunted like this causes my body to react.

“ You’re doing this to me,” I accuse her. She must be. “It’s your evil magic that causes my body to…to do what it’s doing.”

She raises her eyebrows delicately.

“You think I’m doing this? Perhaps you believe I cast a lust spell on you?”

“You must have!” I say, glaring at her. “There’s no other reason I should be hard when you’re holding me against my will.”

The gem at her temple pulses with evil green light.

“But what about the Sisters of Correction?” she murmurs, giving me a knowing look. “What about the way your shaft got so hard when they lashed you? The way you went out of your way to disobey…to earn more punishments. Especially from Sister Beatrice…”

Her words bring up a shameful memory and suddenly I am plunged into the past.

Sister Beatrice with her long brown hair and stern green eyes. She was younger than the other priestesses and her plain white robes draped over her full curves enticingly. I could see the way her big breasts jiggled when she walked. Her hips were wide and her thighs were deliciously thick.

She was so stern with me…forcing me to kneel and kiss her feet when I was bad. Sometimes she even bid me kiss between her thighs. Through her robes, I could smell her sweet, feminine scent, calling to me, though I knew it was a call I could never answer.