Dragonlord Ch. 03

Should you need it, here is a link to Chapter 1.

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The sound of metal on metal rings out as swords clash, their wielders blocking and attacking in turn. Recent rainfall has turned the ground of the barracks yard muddy; their footwork leaves deep prints and grooves. Yet, none of them have so much as slipped. There's a coordinated ease to their movements, pairs of castle guards practicing swordplay with dulled weapons. The cacophony is a balm to Audra's unsettled heart.

She and Delle watch from atop a nearby wall, leaning against the railing of the covered walkway. The air is damp; a drizzling rain comes and goes. Audra can feel her hair frizzing, even in the confines of the long braid down her back.

Morning lessons had been cancelled, and they had decided to take a stroll. Arm-in-arm, they had wandered throughout the castle--past the delectable smells of the kitchens, where luncheon preparation was underway; past a stairwell that Delle pointed out as leading to a network of caves within the mountain, where many dragons make their lairs; past the flight terrace, where dragons launch to and land from the sky. Audra nearly threw up when she looked over the edge and into swirling mists of nothing that obscured the valley below. When they'd come upon the barracks and the beginnings of the guardsmen's drills, they had lingered to watch.

The training exercises remind her of her older brother, Eamon, when they were young. Before his accident. He had only learned the basics before the use of his legs had been taken from him. Every morning, and every evening, he had practiced stances in the courtyard, waving a wooden sword in a circle. The movements hadn't made sense to her then, but when she could escape her governess, she had loved to watch, and imitate him to the best of her ability. Sometimes, her brother would notice her activities, and had gently corrected her form or showed her something new. He had even lashed two sticks together to create the facsimile of a practice weapon for her. She'd kept it hidden under one of the rosebushes below her bedchamber window.

One unlucky evening, their father had come upon them play-fighting. He'd broken the blade of her stick-sword on his knee and had them both whipped. Audra, because swordplay was not an appropriate activity for girls, and Eamon, for indulging her.

Still, the memory of swinging that stick with all of her might, and of her brother's praise when she got a maneuver right, fills her chest with bittersweet warmth.

The pairs of guards have now combined into groups, and are fighting three-on-one. They all look alike in their helmets and breastplates, but Audra's gaze is drawn to one group, as someone, a bit smaller than the others, fends off a coordinated attack by his trio of opponents. He disarms one and feigns a lethal strike to another's unprotected flank, but the third retreats out of range. The defeated guards stalk off to the side and wait for the training exercise to end. One removes his helmet and runs a gauntleted hand through his sweat-slick hair.

Audra keeps her eyes on that smaller guard, as he resets his stance and squares off against the remaining attacker. Maybe it's odd, but she feels a growing kinship with him, a desire to root for him. The two exchange a couple of glancing blows, sussing each other out, testing for weakness.

Then, the enemy guard charges and slashes with his sword. Audra gasps as the smaller guard blocks the blow. But he's unable to fully deflect it and is now locked in a contest of strength, blade pressing against blade. She can almost see his arm shaking with the effort of holding his opponent at bay. He's forced a few steps backward.

Audra leans further out over the railing. Her heart is pounding. She feels an urge to holler in support, but she doesn't want to risk distracting him and causing him to slip.

Just when it seems like Audra's champion will have to yield, his off-hand drops to his belt. A dagger flashes, then disappears between the two men. The attacking guard visibly stiffens as the defending guard presumably threatens them with the hidden dagger, and drops their attack.

The vicarious victory has Audra breathing heavily and she hops down from the railing, scarcely recalling that she'd climbed up in the first place. Delle, standing next to her, seems startled by the sudden movement. She had been staring off at the other end of the yard.

"Do you think," Audra starts, a bit breathless, an idea forming even as she speaks."Do you think they'd let me try? Swinging a sword?"

"What?" Delle gives her a strange look. "Maybe... though, I don't understand why you would want to. What good is a sword if you have magic?"

"What good is magic if you can't use it," Audra counters, glumly.

"Fair point, I guess."

In the past few days, Delle has tried to tutor her, going so far as to place her hand under Audra's and levitate her accursed stone for her, as if there might be something between Delle's palm and the stone for Audra to feel and replicate. No such luck. At the very least, the exercise had proved that the stone is not, in fact, impervious to magic as Audra had briefly wondered.

"I just... I need to... I don't know, hit something."

She clenches and unclenches her fists, like she might be able to find a better grip on what she's feeling, on what she needs. A sword fight won't solve anything, but it seems like her best and only option for releasing her pent-up frustration, with magic and with Raithor.

There's a staircase built into the wall not far from where they stand, that leads into the yard. Audra begins the descent, then looks up at Delle.

"Are you coming?"

Her friend hesitates, eyeing the sodden ground; she picks at her skirt before sighing and following Audra down. Their steps squelch in the mud as they make their way toward the guard captain, marked by the black sash over his breastplate. His helmet is under his arm, as he watches the drills.

He does a double-take upon seeing them, his eyes darting to the clasps on their shoulders, like badges of office. His mustache twitches before he inclines his head in greeting.

"Syphons. To what do I owe the pleasure?" His voice is gruff, straining against courtesy.

Audra draws herself up, putting every ounce of her upbringing into her tone, as she says, "I would like to join this training."

The captain frowns; his gaze darts between them. "The High Syphon didn't say anything about this. We don't generally pit swords against your kind. It's not exactly a fair fight, is it?"

"No magic. I want a sword."

The captain gives her a once-over, doubtlessly wondering why someone like her would be making this request. His scrutiny makes Audra feel suddenly foolish. The sound of her father snapping her stick-sword plays in her mind.

"And I suppose you'll be wanting a sword, as well?" the captain asks, looking behind Audra.

"Oh, no. No, thank you." Delle's hands are bunched in her skirt, lifting it slightly to keep it from being soiled by mud. She raises one to ward off the very idea of wielding a blade. "I'm just here for, um, support." She offers Audra a small smile.

"Fine, then." Then, he turns away, and shouts loudly, "Cadin! Get over here!"

Someone jogs toward them from across the yard. Audra's eyes widen as they get closer and she recognizes him as the smaller guard she had been watching, her champion. From up high, they had all looked like men, but when the newcomer removes their helmet, Audra meets the eyes of a woman with cropped, dark hair, curly with sweat. She can't help but gape at her.

"Captain," Cadin says, before dipping her head in acknowledgement of each of them. When she notices Audra staring, she gives her a wink. "How can I be of service?"

After fetching a second practice sword from the barracks, Cadin leads the women to an unoccupied space in the yard, near one of the lichen-covered walls, and somewhat secluded from the rest of the training.

"Let's start with your grip," Cadin says. She takes the scabbard of the weapon she'd retrieved and holds it out to Audra. "Draw the sword."

A grin breaks on Audra's face as she wraps her fingers around the hilt. She tugs, but it's heavier than she expected. The blade only shifts a few inches before she lets go and it settles back in place. Cadin chuckles lightly and Audra's smile turns sheepish. "Hold it tighter. And pull with your whole body. Try again."

This time, Audra succeeds at freeing the sword from its scabbard. However, she has to grab it with two hands to keep the blade upright. Cadin chuckles again, but not in a way that makes Audra self-conscious.

"Widen your stance." The guardswoman nudges Audra's calf with her boot. "Bend your knees. No, less... less. Good." Then, Cadin grips Audra's wrist and aligns her gauntlet under her forearm. "Let go with your other hand. I'll support the weight."

"No, I can do it."

Cadin backs away. Audra releases her non-dominant hand. The full weight of the sword threatens to drop her right arm, but she grits her teeth and manages to keep it aloft.

"Now, aim the tip towards your opponent's throat." Cadin retreats a few steps toward the wall before pointing a finger at her own neck to give Audra a target. The blade moves slowly into position. "This, is middle-guard."

Cadin takes Audra through basic stances and offers some context to each. Low-guard appears deceptively open, but is good for defense. High-guard is useful for quick--if weak--hits. And rear-guard allows for a powerful strike, though it leaves the wielder vulnerable. Once her form is satisfactory, Cadin has her run through the sequence again.

And again.

Before long, Audra's arm muscles are burning and her brow is soaked with sweat. The hem of her dress is caked in mud. But she can't stop smiling, high with exertion. If her brother could only see her now. The thought almost makes her laugh.

However, that pleasant feeling plummets into a knot of dread, when Audra looks up to see a servant approaching, the same one that comes for her, every few days, around this time. Middle-aged. Portly. Dressed in mud-splattered livery. It isn't his fault, but she has come to mislike him very much.

He picks his way across the sodden yard, and nearly gets bowled over by two sparring guards. When he reaches her, he takes a moment to catch his breath. With lessons having been cancelled, Audra wonders if he's been searching all over the castle for her.

Once he's composed himself somewhat, he says, "Lord Raithor has summoned you." He pulls a handkerchief and dabs at his ruddy cheeks before continuing, "I am to escort you to him."

She sighs, and looks to her friends, who have drawn close enough to hear the servant's proclamation. Delle's gaze is sympathetic. Cadin is scowling.

Audra doesn't want to go. For so many reasons.

The word waits on her tongue, hot and metallic. It's a reckless word, one that almost certainly has consequences. But, at the thought of being bent over Raithor's desk yet again, of his distance and disregard, she can't bring herself to acquiesce, either.

"Syphon? If you would follow me," the servant prompts, breaking the expectant silence.

Maybe it's the memories with her brother, or admiration for Cadin's tenacity against her opponents, or just the weight of the practice sword in her hand that makes her feel bold enough to say it.

"No."

"W-what," he stammers, stunned.

"No." Repeating the word gives her a thrill. "I will not. In fact," she draws herself up and persists, "you may tell the Dragonlord that I am otherwise occupied."

"Oh, he will not be pleased to hear that." The servant twists his handkerchief in his hands. "Not pleased at all." His plaintive tone stirs up some small amount of pity in Audra.

"If that isn't to his liking," she adds, "then he may take it up with me, himself."

The servant pats his face with his handkerchief once more, then tucks it into his sleeve before hastily bowing and departing to deliver her refusal to Raithor.

"Audra," Delle says, once the servant is out of earshot. She bears an expression of tentative concern. "Are you sure about this? We aren't supposed to... erm, say no. Not unless we're unwell or in danger of burning out."

She offers her friend a tight smile and a shrug. "I just did."

"Well, damn." Cadin claps her gauntleted hand on Audra's shoulder, eliciting a slight wince. "You have a pair of balls on you."

"Thanks." Audra laughs nervously at the guardswoman's pride.

"This calls for some sparring, I think." She raps her weapon against Audra's lowered blade, baiting her to raise it. "Don't worry. I'll go easy on you."

They square off, and Cadin takes the attacking position. For each strike, she calls out her target, allowing Audra ample time to block. If Cadin is softening her blows, Audra wouldn't know it. Each meeting of their blades is a clanging vibration up her arm. It takes everything she has just to keep her grip on the sword.

After a time, the women switch roles. Cadin defends herself almost effortlessly. When she feigns a yawn, Audra laughs and charges again. Once more, Cadin holds her back. But then, a glance over Audra's shoulder drains her face of color. Her sword-arm goes slack and she hurriedly steps back. Audra almost stumbles from the sudden retreat. She's about to protest, when she realizes, the entire yard has gone eerily silent.

She turns around, keeping her sword up, angling it toward whatever has Cadin blanching.

The tip of the dull steel stops a mere inch from Raithor's chest. He stands before her, clad in black-leather armor that accentuates his muscular frame.

Audra hears Delle gasp from beyond him, but she can't look away from the dark eyes that bore into hers. Her heart hammers against her breastbone, a frightened bird trying to escape its cage. She has forgotten, amidst her resentment toward him, just how intimidating he is.

And yet, there's a stirring between her legs, a sudden awareness of that aching, empty space inside her that he might fill. An unbidden desire that makes her thighs press together.

The dragonlord looks down, regarding the weapon pointed at him. Audra can't discern his expression, though, she assumes that he is less than pleased.

Even so, her grip tightens on the hilt.

A rational person would've already lowered the blade and apologized; they might've thrown themselves into the mud and begged for their life.

But pointing her sword at him feels like reclaiming something, a scrap of control, of power, from the last fortnight. Futile as it might be, she doesn't want to blink first.

Then, Raithor nudges the blade to the side with a finger. The steel turns to sand at his touch, leaving her defenseless. The casual, but powerful use of magic makes her mouth go dry. Audra finally drops her arm and lets the now-ruined weapon fall from her grip.

He advances on her with predatory focus. For every step he takes, she takes one back, until she's pressed against the damp stone wall and there's nowhere left to go. He places his palms on either side of her, in a menacing embrace. It's difficult to take a full breath with his presence bearing down on her.

One of his legs wedges between hers, his erection against her thigh. Raithor leans close and inhales deeply, as if scenting her, tasting her sweat and arousal on the air. Audra's pulse stutters.

"You refused my summons," he admonishes, softly.

The tone of his voice makes her flesh pebble. Unexpected in its gentleness. The calm before the storm.

Audra swallows hard. His undivided attention is a heady thing, a far cry from the dispassionate coupling in his study. The wall is cold at her back, but his body is warm and enticing. She fights an urge to lean into him.

"I was--"

"Otherwise occupied," he finishes for her. "So, I was told." He trails a finger along her jaw then grips her chin, tilting it up, so that she's forced to meet his fathomless eyes. "I should take you now, as punishment for your insolence. Here, against this wall for everyone to see."

Her cunt clenches at the notion, similar to many of her fantasies.

Does that excite you, Syphon? Raithor purrs into her mind.

A flush spreads over her face, even as arousal pools between her hips.

"Audra," she whispers back, clinging to the crumbling refuge of her defiance. "Call me by my name."

Raithor tilts her head to the side, cradling her cheek in his palm, and leans in to press his open mouth to her bared neck, tracing her skittering pulse with his tongue. The wet heat of his kiss has her bones slowly melting, muscles relaxing, body sagging against him.

Will you refuse me now, Audra?

Her breath hitches, as he gathers her skirt with his other hand, bunching it at her waist. Cool air caresses the tops of her thighs, her bare cunt. Though Raithor stands directly in front of her, blocking anyone from being able to see her naked flesh, the sudden exposure makes her shiver. Two of his fingers slip inside her. He chuckles darkly when he finds her slick.

Her hips buck into his hand, as he gently pumps her, searching for more depth and friction. Glancing past his shoulder, she sees Delle and Cadin looking pointedly at the ground, giving her as much privacy as they can. Most of the guards do the same, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. A few return her stare with lewd interest.

It's too intense to meet their eyes, so Audra hides her face in Raithor's hand, burying whimpers against his palm.

Tell me to stop.

"S-stop." The word comes out like a gasp, with little force of intent.

Raithor starts to withdraw, but Audra drops a hand to catch his wrist, preventing him from doing so.

Don't.

He grins against her neck, then curls his fingers inside her, pressing into a spot that draws a low moan from her lips. An answering growl rumbles from his chest, pleased by her reaction. Then, he massages that inner place with a relentless pressure. Audra clutches desperately at his leathers, even as her cunt clenches around the maddening crook of his fingers. Pleasure mounts within her, winding tight in her belly, beckoned by Raithor's touch.

But before it can peak, he shifts, pulling away slightly. The hand that had been cradling her face goes to the laces of his pants, freeing his erection. The other slides from her cunt to her thigh before gripping it and lifting her leg, opening her entrance to him. He slides his cock against her wet slit, teasing her with almost-thrusts.

Tell me that you don't want this.

Raithor's voice is husky in her mind, thick with lust, yet taunting. Daring her to lie.

And she no longer has it in her to deny him. Or herself.

"I... I... want this."

He groans, like the frayed rope of his control is finally snapping, then he thrusts for real, spearing deep with a stroke that becomes many.

There's something different about Raithor now. Something primal. His bruising grip on her thigh holding her open; the frenzied tempo of his movements--he's done being careful or considerate. Instead, he's acting on instinct and unleashed fury. This is the dragon, who had claimed her in the caves, not the male from the study.

If Audra had known that a little defiance would bring out this version of him, she might've done it earlier.

She glances down, between them, to where Raithor's cock plunges back into her cunt. Only to withdraw once more, covered with the sheen of her arousal. The sight coupled with the sensation is almost enough to undo her.

Her head tilts back with a moan, and Raithor reclaims her exposed throat, sucking harshly in the soft spot near her collarbone. She slides her fingers into his hair, holding him to her, willing him to leave a mark.

But she still wants more.

Harder. Deeper.

As if granting her unspoken wish, Raithor grips her other thigh, and lifts her so that she's pinned between his broad chest and the wall, supported and spread by his strong hands. His hips crash into hers, the blunt head of his cock ramming against her womb. She can scarcely breathe past her moans, high-pitched and gasping; they echo in the barracks yard. Tears prick at her eyes.

Just as the savage pleasure threatens to overwhelm her, Raithor stiffens. He bites down as he comes, breaking skin.

They stay like that for a time, Raithor pinning her to the wall, his cock softening inside of her, the tingling sensation of syphoned magic fading. They're both breathing heavily. When Audra draws back to meet Raithor's eyes, they seem less intense, softer somehow. But it doesn't last long, as they harden once more. Raithor leans in so that his bloodied lips hover at her ear.

"When I call, you come."

In one brutal movement, he withdraws from her body and sets her on her feet before stepping away. He crosses the muddy yard without looking back.

Delle and Cadin rush in, talking over each other, asking whether she's all right. But Audra barely hears them, so dazed and languid from the sexual encounter. She can only watch Raithor's retreating form and wonder exactly whom she's tethered herself to.