The Wild Mark

The Wild Mark

Vesian V

Drums beat a thunderous march as another warband reached Bolrog's camp. From atop his throne, the warlord watched in eager anticipation as two thousand warriors in iron helms and mail marched past him. At the head of their column was their king, Nuzduk, who had only recently pledged his allegiance to Bolrog. The great prize of his winter embassy, the alliance with Nuzduk's Red Skull orcs removed the last obstacle to his dominion over the northern lands. At the word of the Red Skulls' submission the other tribes had flocked to his banner, for they knew that to remain aloof meant that they would be the target of his spring campaign.

Nuzduk halted his march before Bolrog's throne with a mighty stomp, and his warriors shouted a halt as well. The king stood before Bolrog, looking up at him with narrowed yellow eyes. Bolrog felt his guards tense up, his sons Nakham and Yurban growled in anticipation of a betrayal. Bolrog subtly raised his hand as to warn them off. There would be no betrayal here today.

Nuzduk eyed Bolrog for a long moment, then slowly went to one knee. The older orc bowed his head in submission and raised his outstretched palms toward the throne. He lowered his forehead to touch the earth before them.

"I bow to you, Bolrog, King of the Black Hand," Nuzduk intoned, his voice booming even as he faced the ground. "My warriors will follow you into battle."

Bolrog grinned. "Rise, Nuzduk, King of the Red Skulls. We will shed blood together, and grow rich together. The weaklings of the southlands will break before us, and we will take what they have for ourselves. This is my promise to you."

Nuzduk stood up. He turned to his warriors behind him, his close guard clad in mail shirts and iron helms. They looked expectantly to him for orders, and he bellowed a war cry: "To war!"

His warriors roared back, beating on their shields and drumming their spears. War drums beat faster and the whole war camp seemed to shake as Bolrog's ten thousand warriors joined in. Outside the palisade, the snowbound trees shed their cold blankets as the winds of war whipped through their boughs. From atop his throne of bone, Bolrog grinned.

Later that night, in his tent, he was joined by his warlock Bralzok.

"We are almost ready," Bolrog declared excitedly as his faithful lieutenant entered. Bralzok bared his tusks in a wolfish smile.

"Medhoc is here," the warlock reported. Bolrog stood up from his seat.

"Show him in." he turned to the rear of his tent, where his sons waited. "Bring the prisoners."

Medhoc entered, a redhaired human in a plaid tunic and trousers, covered by gilded mail. He wore golden torcs on his arm, but his scabbard hung empty by his side, his broadsword surrendered to Bolrog's guards. The king of the Wildmen eye Bolrog cautiously, wary of both the orc king before him and the warlock at his side. Bralzok seated himself across from the two kings, tracing in the dirt with a wand of bone.

"What is it that you want, orc?" Medhoc demanded in the brash tongue of the Wildmen. He crossed his arms over his chest and puffed himself up, his steely blue eyes staring out over a bushy red mustache. This was Bolrog's most precarious alliance, and also the one he had invested the most in shoring up.

"I will not let it be said that I do not aid my allies," Bolrog began, and Medhoc's suspicious stare deepened. "If my enemies are to be your enemies, then your enemies must also be mine."

Medhoc shifted on his feet, eyeing the orc up and down. "You would fight the Raich this spring?" the king of the Wildmen asked. "What of the southrons? Have you postponed your campaign into the mark?"

"No, no," Bolrog assured him. "I will not fight the Raich."

"Then what do you promise, orc?" Medhoc demanded. "I cannot send my men to aid your cause while my ancestral enemies menace my people. My oppida are strongly built, but even the strongest fortress will fall unaided."

Bolrog raised his hands. "I will not fight the Raich," he continued, "For there are none left to fight. Nakham! The prisoners!"

His son and heir appeared, leading three prisoners before him, whom he shoved to the floor. All three were naked and bound at the hands and wrists. They were similarly blonde and blue-eyed, and like Medhoc were tall and fair. The foremost among them was a man of fifty, his blonde hair fading to gray and his face worn with age and scars. He collapsed on his knees before Medhoc, and the others fell beside him. They were young, a man and a woman, looking every inch their father's children, but likewise brought low along with the rest of their people.

"Aruman," Medhoc breathed, "at last you kneel before me."

"They were no match for my warriors," Bolrog boasted, puffing out his chest. "Their hill fort was easily taken and their people either put to the sword or made slaves. They will till our fields while your people march to war. As for these, I give the honors of ending the Raich's royal bloodline to you. The girl you may have as a wife, concubine, or just a toy for your men, I care not. These are my gifts to you as your lord and ally. So," he looked Medhoc in the eye. "Will you march to war with me?"

Medhoc nodded eagerly. Bolrog grinned back and him and dismissed all but Bralzok from the tent. The warlock leaned in close.

"We are prepared, my king." Bolrog took a deep breath. He had feared his plans ruined by a late spring blizzard, but the cold seemed to be fading as fast as it had come. In just a few more days, his army would be ready to march to war. Not against the few Wildmen and orc tribes that still held out against him, for he had greater plans. He looked out of his tent to the south, where somewhere over the darkened horizon lay the land that the Aquitains called the Mark d'Ouest, and beyond it, the Kingdom of Aquitaine itself.

Soon, it would all be his.

---

The town of Neupont was the only settlement in all of the Mark d'Ouest worthy of the name. Built on the site where a group of intrepid settlers had built a stone bridge over the rushing river, it was the gateway to the green lands of the Mark. It was here, in an inn called the Gate, that Vesian and Thibault had decided to stay the night.

The inn's common room was crowded, for settlers were pouring over the mountains with the dawning of a new spring. With them had come Vesian and Thibault, led by Sir Leoric de Toron, a prior of the order, and a handful of his retainers. The Mark was a wild frontier land, always in need of additional swords to guard its borders. The knights and their squires crowded together in one corner of the inn, watching the crowd of peddlers, settlers, and woodsmen jostle together for drinks.

"Another round!" called Sir Leoric to one of the beleaguered bar maids. He raised his empty mug of ale and shook it, but the call was not recognized over the buzz of the crowd. He waited a moment to see if it would be picked up, then proclaimed "Bah!" in disappointment.

"It's just too busy," Vesian said, and Leoric nodded in agreement.

"I'll go track one down in person," Leoric decided. He stood, leaning his sheathed sword against their table. It was a magnificent sword, forged from the finest steel and decorated with a griffon head pommel. It was also enchanted, and Vesian was quite envious of his superior's weapon. Leoric went off in search of the weapon.

"You could grab it and run," Thibault teased in Vesian's ear. "In the dark, he'd never find you."

Vesian laughed. "It's been a long ride to get here," he replied. "I'd be lucky to make it a mile from Neupont before I collapsed of exhaustion."

"Well, don't say I never encouraged your ambitions." Thibault returned to his venison with a shrug, leaving Vesian to look to his own sword, hidden beneath his shield. He lifted the oaken heater painted with his family crest, an argent lion rampant on a field gules, and gripped the familiar hilt in his hand, remembering all the battles it had accompanied him through. It would not be needed tonight, however, and he stood to look around the common room. Leoric had disappeared into the crowd, despite being a tall man in the Order of the Griffon's distinctive blue surcoat. He waited impatiently for more wine until at last he stood up and went looking for the maid himself.

He pressed through the crowd, which only seemed to grow thicker as the night grew longer, and at last found a tavern maid. She was tall for a woman, willowy and olive-skinned with cool blue eyes that lit up at the sight of him.

"Excuse me," Vesian began, catching her by the shoulder. "Might we have some more drinks over there?"

She bit her lower lip and swallowed. "Of course, sir." Vesian nodded and was about to move away when she caught him by the sleeve. "Are you a real knight, sir?" Vesian laughed and nodded again. "Of the Order of the Griffon?"

Vesian pointed to the emblem on his surcoat and nodded a third time. Her eyes went wide.

"Gods be good! You're a real hero! It's not often when get heroes like you out here in the Mark!"

"I've heard the place is overrun with adventurers. Am I the only knight errant you have seen?"

"Adventurers," she scoffed, "Ruffians, prospectors, fur traders, farmers... it's been an age since we've gotten a real knight. I've have your drinks over right away. What're you drinking, sir?"

"Wine for me, ale for the other three."

She turned toward the back wall of the common room. "This way, sir. I'll show you where we keep the wine, and you can choose whichever one you like."

Without waiting, she pushed through the crowd and disappeared through a door. Vesian cocked a suspicious eyebrow, for the wench was headed away from the bar. A wry smile creeping onto his face, he pushed aside a tipsy old peddler and followed her into the back.

He entered a small back room that, from the smell, clearing adjoined the kitchen. Barrels were stacked against one wall, and another door led toward the source of the wonderful scents of roasting meat. But before him was the tavern wench, sitting on the edge of a small table, biting her lip, and pulling at the strings of her bodice.

"Sorry," she murmured, beckoning to Vesian with one finger. "There's no drinks in here, just me."

"Suddenly, I am no longer thirsty," Vesian said as he drew close to her. "But you look hot. It must be all the bodies packed into the other room where you've been working so hard."

"Indeed," she whispered back to him, opening her bodice. "All those bodies, pressed together... it heats me up so. I need to take off some clothes."

She pulled on the cord, and her bodice spilled open to reveal her lively round breasts. Vesian smiled at the sight of them, and she opened her dress all the way to her navel.

"I've always dreamed of a knight," she murmured, sliding off the table to her knees. "May I pleasure you?

"Gladly," Vesian undid his belt and drew out his cock. The wench eagerly took it in both hands and swallowed him to the base without another word. She turned her blue eyes up at him and winked flirtatiously as she drew her head back on his cock and went down again. Vesian grabbed her by the hair and held on, the small room seeming to close in around them in their moment of passion.

She pulled herself off his cock and giggled, suddenly overcome with delight, then turned a sheepish look toward him.

"Sorry," she said, blue eyes glinting in the room's candlelight, "I'm usually not such a blushing bride. I've fucked every handsome man who has walked through her for the last ten years, but never a knight of the Griffon before."

"I am honored," Vesian replied, his cock throbbing for her, "that I could turn a seasoned slut bashful. Are knights so rare here?"

"Not so rare," she said, turning her head to run her tongue down the length of his shaft. "But they rarely come through the Gate, and instead stay at the marquis' keep. Perhaps thirty of them came through just yesterday. The leader was handsome, but he turned up his nose at our humble establishment."

"Some knights feel they are above the commonfolk," Vesian lamented. "But the Order prefers a common touch."

"I prefer the common touch as well," she giggled. "Tell me of your adventures. Have you rescued a damsel?"

"A damsel? No, more than one."

"And how do they thank you?" she asked with a knowing smirk around the cock in her mouth.

"Much as you are doing now," he chuckled.

"Have you slain monsters?"

"Too many to count," Vesian sighed. She was as good a cocksucker as any courtesan, and Vesian found himself transported back to the famous pleasure palace in Bordonne, where he and Thibault had spent a tournament's prize money on a night to remember. The wench stared up at him, her eyes shining bright at the thought of his heroics.

"Have you slain a dragon?" she asked, awe in her voice.

"I have," Vesian replied, and smiled at her shocked expression.

"Amazing," she whispered, kissing the head of his cock. "You must be favored by the gods themselves."

"If I am," Vesian replied, "I pray that I remain in their favor. And if I am not, I pray that they put me there."

She stroked his cock in both hands now and took him in her mouth. Her lips wrapped themselves around him and he felt her tongue caressing the underside of his cock as he stared into her eyes.

"Stand up," he commanded, unable to bear it any longer. "I want to fuck you."

With a giddy laugh, she did so, and her dress slid down to her hips. As Vesian undressed, she struggled to pull her dress all the way down, but Vesian was the faster. He caught her by the waist and lifted her up onto the table.

"Forget the dress," he gasped, "Just lift it up and I'll fuck you through it."

She liked that. With a broad grin and a giggle, she lifted up her skirt and showed him her sex. She was trimmed but unshaven beneath her skirt, and wet already. Vesian wasted little time in shoved his length inside her.

The wench gasped with pleasure, giving way to a long, low moan as he slid in and out again. "Fuck me," she pleaded, clutching at his shoulder with one hand. Her round breasts bounced on her taut chest, and Vesian grunted with exertion as he drove into her again. She threw her arms around his shoulder and pulled herself close for a kiss, balancing her taut ass on the very edge of the table. The table rocked back against the wall as he thrust into her, and she dug her nails into the base of his neck.

She cried out and buried her face in his shoulder, moaning against him like an animal. Vesian smiled to himself and held her closer. The table beneath her clacked on the stone floor, and his eyes were drawn to a dent in the wall behind it, battered into the wood by many, many sessions of fucking men against the wall. He smiled wider.

"Fuck me, sir knight," she begged into his shoulder. "And tell me stories of vanquished foes."

Vesian's pride was swelling more than his cock as he regaled her with the tale of dragonslaying, when suddenly the door banged open. Thankfully, they were not in view of those in the common room, but could not hide themselves from Thibault, who was standing in the doorway.

"Ah," the squire muttered, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "I should have known."

The wench clung nearly naked to Vesian, her eyes suspicious and slightly afraid. He patted her shoulder.

"Do not worry, girl. This is my squire, Thibault. Thibault, this is... Apologies, girl, but I've forgotten your name."

He suppressed a laugh. It was not often that he got his cock in a woman before learning her name, but it was also not his first time.

"Theophanie," she said, her cheeks red. Thibault studied her with amusement and interest, arms crossed over his chest.

"Theophanie," Vesian grunted, slapping his hips against hers, "My squire is ever my loyal companion and without him, I could never accomplish half of the deeds that I have."

"He is being slightly modest," Thibault mused. Theophanie caught Vesian's drift and beckoned to Thibault with an outstretched hand. The squire undid his belt and moved closer, but first he slid a barrel in front of the door to the common room.

Vesian turned her around to stand on her feet between them, bent over at the hips while Vesian fucked her from behind and she sucked his squire's cock. Thibault exhaled with pleasure as she went to work on his cock, thrusting himself into her mouth in time with her own motions. Vesian reached underneath the wench and grabbed her breasts in both hands to squeeze.

Theophanie moaned between them, her cries of pleasure muffled but undiminished by Thibault's cock in her mouth. She rocked back and forth between them, her dress hanging loose around her hips to the floor. Thibault laid his hands over Vesian's, reaching for the wench's breasts as well, and Vesian retreated to hold her by the dress around her waist instead.

He was close to coming, his cock throbbing for release, and he pulled out of her. Theophanie rounded on him in a lust.

"What are you doing?" she gasped. Thibault wound his hand through her hair, holding his cock toward her mouth and waving it back and forth to catch her attention.

"I am close to finishing," Vesian gasped.

"So am I!" Theophanie cried. "Don't stop now!"

"Here," Vesian said, gently pushing her away from the table and taking her seat. "Why don't you sit on my cock and ride while Thibault fucks you in the ass?"

Her eyes lit up at the suggestion, and so did Thibault.

"I love taking two cocks at once," she murmured. "Sit!" she urged, pushing Vesian back on the table. "I want you." She climbed onto the table and straddled his cock while Thibault positioned himself behind her, his cock ready to enter her asshole.

"Thibault is eager," Vesian chuckled as he embraced Theophanie. "He will enter you before I do."

Theophanie giggled, throwing a look to the squire over her shoulder. Her skirt pooled around her waist, and Thibault had to lift it to slide his cock inside her. She settled onto both of their cocks at once, moaning as her pale blue eyes rolling back in her pretty head. Vesian's eyes rolled back as well, feeling her sex pressed tight against him by Thibault's cock in her other hole. Theophanie sagged onto him, moaning into his shoulder as he thrust into her. Her moans were so loud, and Vesian could feel her voice in his chest.

His cock slapped into her as Thibault withdrew, then withdrew as Thibault thrust. They were a practiced pair and had shared many a woman between them over the years. She threw her arms around him and kissed him, moaning against his lips. Vesian returned her kiss, then turned her head to receive Thibault's lips. She moaned again, her body smoldering between them as they fucked in a three-way knot of passion.

Vesian was close to coming again, and pushed her off.

"Get on your knees," he gasped as his cock flipped stiffly out of her sex. "I want to come on your tits."

She giggled with delight and went quickly to her knees, brushing her wild hair back from her round, lively breasts as she squeezed them together. Vesian seized his cock in both hands and held it closed while Thibault did the same, positioning himself alongside Vesian and facing Theophanie. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

"Cover me in it," she murmured, and Vesian released his grip. He came before she even finished speaking, and the first spurt of cum landed in her open mouth. Theophanie's eyes flung open, just in time to see Thibault release a huge load onto her breasts with a groan. Both men stroked their cocks vigorously, coaxing forth all the cum they could manage until their cocks were empty.

"Gods be good," Theophanie mused as she looked down at her soaked chest. "You two have been pent up on the road for a good while, haven't you?"