The Knight and the Acolyte
Book Three: Barbaric Splendor
Chapter Five: The Barbarian’s Wife
By mypenname3000
Copyright 2016

Note: Thanks to B0b for beta reading this.

Thrak – Red Eye Tribal Lands, Larg Federation

“Which woman is it?” I asked my dead wife.

“I do not know,” Serisia answered as she slipped to the ground before me. “But one of them will rescue your grieving heart.”

“Never,” I answered as I stared down at her pale face framed by light-brown hair. The bone piercings adorning her ears, eyebrows, and nose made her seem more orcish than her human heritage. “I will never stop grieving you.”

Her eyes were sad as she slid her hand up my swarthy legs beneath my kilt. I groaned as her cool grip seized my cock, stroking me. I responded to her need. She was a phantasm, manifesting her presence in this world by ingesting my seed.

“You will never forget me,” she smiled, “but you deserve to be happy again. I want it. She is down there. I know it.”

“How?” I growled, anger in my voice. I didn’t want to give Serisia up. Ten years she had been mine before the Ghost Wolves stole her. She was more orc than all the females of my tribe.

“Something is happening,” she answered, her hand sliding up and down my cock. “Whispers trickle through the Astral Realm. Prophecies are being fulfilled. One of those women will change the world, and you are meant to help her.”

“Is she the one I’ll love?”

“I don’t know.” Serisia shook her head as she pushed up my kilt with her left hand, exposing my thick cock, the tip pierced by a ring of white bone. I groaned as her tongue swirled around the tip of my dick, warmer than her hand.

“Serisia,” I groaned as her tongue played with the ring, tugging on the tip of my cock. “Tell me who approaches. Describe them.” Her mouth engulfed my cock. Her hand stroked my thick shaft as she sucked.

I stared out at the approaching women. Three were humans on horseback, the fourth a naked elf, a bow gripped in her hand. She was busty and graceful, taller than a human, the height of an orc female, but she was far slimmer.

She seemed too fragile, like my Serisia had been.

Two of the women were robed, one in white of a priestess and the other in red—a Journeyman Mage of the Collegiate Tower. My eyes settled on the last woman. She was a warrior. A knight of Deute or Voizu, her red hair burning as it spilled across the shiny pauldrons of her armor. She rode a massive charger, a horse bred for war.

“One is magnificent,” I groaned, my hips thrusting my cock in and out of my wife’s hot mouth. My hand ran through her soft hair. “A warrior. Strong, proud, her sword drawn as she leads her party.”

Serisia moaned about my cock. Her hand stroked the base of my shaft faster. Her other hand gripped my thick balls, massaging them. My large hand gripped her head, sliding her mouth up and down my cock.

“She is a woman like you.”

Serisia’s blowjob grew louder, a wet, sloppy sound. Her brown eyes stared up at me, hope in them. My heart beat faster. My grip tightened on her head as I forced my cock deeper into her mouth. She didn’t fight it, letting my cock slid down her throat.

Her moans caressed my dick as she swallowed. I snarled, my balls churning, massaged by her hands. She squeezed hard, adding a splash of pain to the bliss humming around my cock. My hips drew back and slammed my dick into her throat, pressing her lips into my black pubic hair. I stared at the human warrior.

“I have never seen hair that color,” I growled. “It burns with passion.”

Her hand let go of my balls. She wrapped her arms around my waist, gripping my ass, pulling me in harder. She moaned her delight as I roughly fucked her throat. My Serisia only looked delicate. She could be fucked as hard as an orc female.

Could this knight?

My fingers tightened in Serisia’s hair. Her moans hummed around my cock. Her fingernails dug deep into my ass while my balls thwacked against her chin. They boiled. I growled and threw back my head, roaring out my pleasure for all to hear as my cum burst into Serisia’s mouth.

My wife moaned as she drank, her cool fingers becoming a little warmer. She shuddered, her eyes squeezing shut and soft mewls moaned around my cock as the spirit orgasmed. I sucked in deep breaths as I studied the knight drawing ever closer.

Her eyes were hard. I smiled.

Serisia slid her mouth off my cock and rose. She pressed against my side and leaned up to nuzzle in my ear. “The knight might be the one. I can hear life in your voice again.”

My eyebrows furrowed. “How long until you leave me?”

“I can’t stay forever.” Tears burned in her eyes. “As much as I would love to. But I will be on the other side watching you, being happy for you, and waiting for you and your new love. Remember what the shamans say, ‘Life is merely a dream we all must wake from.’ I’m already half awake. I can’t keep drowsing. But I’ll be eager for you to wake up and join me.”

She kissed my lips. I closed my eyes and held her until her body vanished. I took a deep breath. She was still around, her scent lingered in my nose. I gazed down at the approaching women as they reached the base of the hill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Journeyman Mage Faoril

“The spirit has vanished,” Xera reported.

The orc was a dark figure atop the hill. The corpses Xera had spotted lay butchered down the slopes, blood matting the thick grass, birds pecking at the corpses. I covered my nose against the stench with my left hand, the right gripping a vial of cum, ready to down it if I needed my magic.

“And the spirit really gave him a blowjob?” Sophia asked, her delicate face twisting in disgust. Like me, she held her hand over her nose. It did not help.

Xera nodded. “Now he waits for us, arms crossed. I think he killed all these orcs.”

“By himself?” Angela asked as she rode Midnight up the slope before us. The knight’s sword gripped in her hand, her knuckles white.

“Yes. I see an ax on him. And these wounds…” Xera shuddered. “These orcs were all hewn with the same weapon. They attacked the hill, firing arrows as they came up the slope, and one trail came down and killed them all.”

“Berserker,” Angela groaned. “I have heard some orcs can become consumed by battle lust and will fight with a reckless strength, not fearing wounds or death, only caring about killing.”

“Great,” Sophia muttered. “There’s our raging warrior. And he has a spirit. His lost love?”

I had heard the Lesbius Oracle’s prophecy given to Angela several times. I was: “The Grieving Mage who commands the elements.” An apt description. After failing my test to be a master mage, I had definitely grieved.

It still pained my heart how I had ruined my chance to achieve the august rank through sheer carelessness. But that was why I was on the quest. I would restore the High King’s broken sword and prove I was worthy of retesting. One day, I would wear the black robes and stand high amongst my peers.

“We might still have to fight him,” Angela cautioned. “Be on your guard.”

“I hope not,” Sophia shuddered as we rode past an orc sheared in half.

The strength to do that astounded me. This orc on the hill would have to hew through a thick torso, organs, fat, and the spinal column in a single blow. It was easy to ram a thin dagger or a pointed sword through someone, the surface area at the end of the blade was small, but a broad ax’s head…

Who was this barbarian?

As we drew closer, his features resolved. His skin was a swarthy red-brown, his shoulders thick, his body powerful. He made even the brawniest human look small. He easily towered a head or more over the tallest man I met. Thick, woolly hair covered his head and scars adorned his naked chest. A dirty kilt clad his waist and legs to his knees, and he had a large ax hanging from his belt.

But it was his face that proved his barbarism. Fierce, glowering, bone piercings thrust through his nose and eyebrows. Thick piercings had elongated his earlobes, stretching them out with tapered bone plugs. They made him hideous and terrifying.

Uncultured and barbaric.

Like all the orcs. They all lived out on the tundra, killing and hunting, not living in proper cities. They dwelt always in hide tents, forever roaming the plains following the herds. They were known as the Larg Federation, but never appeared to cooperate with each other. The ever changing tribes of orcs always warred with their neighbors.

Which was good. Orc hordes were dangerous when a particularly brutal orc united the tribes into one cohesion and turned their aggression outward on the human lands.

And we had to travel with him?

“I am Thrak of the Red Eye Tribe,” the orc growled in clear Hamiltish, the language spoken in human lands. “I have kept vigil for nine nights waiting for your arrival. Destiny and omens have decried we shall travel together.”

Destiny and omens? What superstitious dribble.

“How?” Angela asked. “Why?”

“The spirit of my dead wife has seen beyond life,” he answered.

“The woman that was, um…” Sophia trailed off, her cheeks growing red.

“Serisia.” He said the word like a prayer. It was a Thosian name. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. He shook his head and fixed his eyes on Angela. “Knight, your Quest has taken you into perilous lands.”

“And it will take me into more dangers before it is completed,” Angela answered.

“You will never survive,” he declared in a blunt rumble.

“We will be fine,” I snapped. “I am a mage of the council. I command the elements. With a thought, I could hang you in the air and leave you stuck while we continue on.”

His eyes fell on me, his jaw tightened. “You will not survive, Mage. But I can lead you through. I can guide you. It is why I have waited here.”

Angela looked down at the slope. “And the dead?”

“Enemies.”

Angela turned around and looked at Sophia. The acolyte’s face was pale. She shook her head. “I…”

“You are our leader, Angela,” Xera said. “His words are blunt but honest. We do not even know exactly where we are going.”

“It is on the peninsula,” Angela answered. “We keep heading north and we shall find it.”

“You seek holy Murathi?” Thrak’s eyes were wide, his voice full of reverence. “You go on pilgrimage.”

“I seek the piece of the High King’s sword,” Angela answered.

Thrak closed his eyes. “I will come with you. The piece was given to Larg to be protected until the High King’s heir came for it.”

“Who entrusted Larg?” I asked. “I was taught the orcs looted the piece of the king’s sword and carried it off to Murathi as a trophy.”

“The woman with hair of fire,” Thrak said, his eyes narrowing on Angela and her bright-red hair. “She gave it to Larg. So all the stories tell. It was placed in Holy Murathi.