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Dragon Sweat: Scroll III 
by David Shaw (david@f-e-mail.com)

***

Ever dreamed of bumping into the girl of your dreams... 
three inches off the floor? (MF, fantasy)

*** 

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 again 
to make me do something I didn't want to." 

"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 thighs. 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: "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 faces 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. 

She 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, you stupid bitches? 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... 


THE END