A Paladin's Training Ch. 10

The next few weeks sped by with Aran learning more from Amina than he had from Elaina and Smythe combined. The Priestess imparted on him hundreds of years of wisdom and knowledge, and taught him far more of his Gift, and how to use it. Still more knowledge was gained from poring through the many ancient texts Amina possessed, writings from another time, another world entirely, or so it seemed to Aran.

He was deep in meditation in Amina's chamber, sitting nude with his legs tucked beneath him, palms resting on his knees, when her voice, sweet and honeyed yet laden with untold power, caressed his ears.

"It is truly beautiful, Aran, but it does not yet bear a name." Aran didn't need to open his eyes; he could sense Amina perfectly clearly, standing near the corner where he kept his few belongings. She was holding his sword before her with both hands, the blade pointed upright and her body poised in a stance Aran didn't recognise.

"Smythe said the name would come at the right time," Aran replied, keeping his eyes closed.

Amina made an approving sound. "So, the old ways are still being taught. This is good." She began flowing through different stances, her voluptuous body moving as if one with the sword.

The idea of a naked woman wielding a sword was ridiculous to imagine, yet Amina made it look elegant and natural. Her form was a little different to the form he'd learned from Smythe; where he had learned to slash and strike in fluid yet violent motion, Amina was flowing easily, graceful and subtle, making him think of a petal on the breeze, or a twig being carried down a brook.

His keen senses, which had become heavily sharpened over the last weeks, picked up the subtle shifts of the air in the chamber as she moved, the barest whisper of steel slicing through empty space, her even breaths as she glided around the room.

Aran opened his eyes, unable to stop himself drinking in the actual sight rather than just the sense of Amina's unclothed form as she moved. They had rarely dressed since he arrived; even the majority of their lessons had been conducted naked. Suffice it to say, Aran had not complained once; he would never grow weary of casting his eyes over the stunning Priestess.

Just as he was about to ask her if she could teach him something of her blade techniques, a cold chill ran through him and an icy band briefly gripped his heart before vanishing, making his breath catch in his throat.

Amina stopped dead in mid-motion, hands up behind her head, blade pointing to the ground just behind her feet.

"What was that?" She asked him slowly, relaxing her stance and turning toward him, blade held at her side in one hand. Her eyes, usually soft and kind, were now crystal augurs, drilling into him. "What did you feel, just now?"

"I don't know," Aran replied truthfully. "I just felt cold, then it was gone."

Her sapphire eyes searched his face. "Has this happened before?"

Aran shook his head. "No, not that I can remember."

She stared at him for a long moment, a thoughtful expression on her perfect face. "What you just felt was the energy that Demons wield."

"Demons? Here?" Aran leapt to his feet, preparing himself.

A raised hand from Amina forestalled him. "No, not here, else I would have sensed it. You sensed something, and I felt it in you. What did you sense?"

"I just sensed cold, like ice in my chest, something touching my heart, but only for a second."

She stepped closer to him, her face serious, her voice stern. "Focus, Aran. Follow that dark energy back to it's source. Use your training. Your life may depend on it."

Aran nodded, closing his eyes, breathing deeply as he brought his attention to where inside him he had felt the chill, even the memory of it making him want to shiver. After a moment, images began to flash in his mind, each flickering quickly before another replaced it.

Flicker. A man and woman, both with red skin, vigorously fucking each other in some sort of bath house, and other nude bodies of various races were writhing about on the black stone floor. He just had time to recognise a dusky Giantess riding an Orc, of all things, before the picture slipped away.

Flicker. The same red-skinned man and woman, this time clothed and on horseback, riding along a nondescript country road accompanied by the same Orc he'd just seen, and a beautiful raven-haired Dwarf woman.

Aran returned to the present moment, describing to Amina what he'd seen.

She listened carefully until he was done. "The red-skinned man and woman are no doubt Demons," she began. "And the other unfortunate souls most probably their thralls, bound to serve them." She paused for a moment, before continuing. "I cannot be sure, but it would seem that you can sense one, or both of these Demons because of the blood that runs through your veins, and theirs."

"Sunblade," Aran whispered, finally understanding.

"Yes, Aran. In you runs the blood of one of the most powerful men who ever lived. Yours is truly a great destiny, and alongside it towers a mountain of responsibility. Sunblade's bonding of the Demoness did not only taint Sunblade himself, it tainted every woman Sunblade had Bonded, and there were many, Paladin and otherwise. In turn, the evil spread to those that Sunblade's women had Bonded with, and so forth.

"The darkness slowly wormed it's way into the hearts of those it touched, eventually causing the downfall of the Order you saw in the Stone. Remember, Aran, the price of weakness."

Aran just stared back into Amina's sapphire eyes, allowing the weight of the truth to settle on him.

Amina added gently, "be very careful, Aran. If you can see the Demons, they can most likely see you, and who knows what else this strange connection carries. I have no knowledge of Bonds of this nature. With luck, they should not be able to sense you in my presence, as the strength of my Gift should keep them at bay, but once you leave here..."

Aran nodded, understanding; he would have to do his best to mask his Gift, for now, at least. Sadly, he realised that tugging sensation was back, and it was pulling him away from Amina. Their time together was at an end, it appeared.

He caressed her cheek with his fingers, memorising her face as best he could. She stepped forward, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him hard, pressing her body against his until he thought they might merge into one skin. He returned the kiss with fervor, hands all over her back and bottom, squeezing and caressing.

Somehow, Aran found himself on the floor, lying on his back with the stunning Priestess atop him, expertly guiding him inside her using only her hips. She began to ride him lazily, sighing in pleasure as she took all of him in. Aran cupped a heavy, pale breast in each hand, meeting her gyrating hips with his own.

The two lovers spent the next few hours entwined in lust, passion, and love. They kissed both tenderly and fiercely, they touched each other both gently and possessively, they made love slowly, then fucked like animals, each completely attuned to the momentary desires of the other.

Aran's power had increased significantly in the past weeks, and as such, he was now able to hold his own against the onslaught of Amina's desire, which, at first, she had held back so as not to overwhelm him. Both knowing that it may be their last time together, they took full advantage, and Amina made love to him with all the mind-numbing skill that came with hundreds of years of experience.

*

Eventually, hours later, the Paladin and Priestess lay exhausted, having finished up back on the rug near where their sexual foray had begun. Amina was lying face-down with Aran atop her, his cock still buried inside her, both of them breathing hard as they came down together.

Gently disengaging, he rolled off onto his back, already missing the sweet warmth of her pussy.

Propping herself up on her elbows, Amina eyed him, a lazy, satisfied grin on her face. Her golden hair was drenched in sweat, plastered to her face and shoulders in a very attractive fashion. "That was quite an experience, Aran. I haven't been fucked like that for many, many years."

Aran smiled back, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Well I haven't been fucked like that ever! Even by you! I can only hope you haven't ruined other women for me."

"I doubt it, though I am pleased you enjoyed yourself, young Paladin." Her demeanor became a little more serious. "Our time together was special, and I for one am grateful Aros saw fit to make it so. You are strong, and kind, and very capable, and I would not place the future of our Order in the hands of any other."

"Thank you, Amina," he said, genuinely grateful that he had met the Priestess. "I will do everything I can."

She nodded, holding his gaze. "I know," she said simply, before grinning again, almost girlish this time. "You can start by carrying me out to the pool so we can wash away all this sweat!"

In a flash, Aran was on his feet, easily scooping up the sweaty Priestess and tossing her over his shoulder as she squealed in delight. He marveled at how one moment she was the powerful, ancient Priestess, and in the next a young woman having fun with her lover. He would sorely miss her, he knew without a doubt.

There was a hidden door in this room that Amina had shown him some time ago, which led out into a natural outdoor bathing area with a gentle waterfall that somehow flowed out from the upper remains of the temple, down into a small verdant valley, lush with greenery, so different from the rocky, barren slopes he had traversed to get here. Wisps of steam rose from the surface of the wide pool beneath the waterfall, heated by a spring from deep within the earth.

Feeling bold, he casually tossed Amina into the clear pool before diving in after her. They emerged together, laughing as they swam in the warm water, the sweat and stickiness from their lovemaking washing away downstream.

Eventually, Aran knew it was time to leave. They left the pool and went back inside, where Aran began to pull his clothes on for the first time since arriving.

Amina stood nearby, once again holding his sword, this time leaving it sheathed.

"There are few people left in the world who remember the Paladins as a force of what is right and good," Amina told him while she watched him dress. "But they are out there, and they will do what they can to help you, if you can contact them."

Aran listened carefully as he sat to pull his boots on. "How will I find them?"

"Look for the symbol of the Gift, and it will always lead you to friends of the Order." She held out his sword, hilt first, as he stood. He took it, buckling it to his left hip as she said; "always be true to yourself, Aran, and you will ever be a light in the darkness."

Aran bowed formally, speaking the ancient farewell Amina had taught him. "High Priestess, thank you for your wisdom, your healing, and your love."

Amina bowed back in kind, her nudity doing nothing to diminish her regal bearing. "You are welcome, Paladin Aran. There is always a place here for you in the Temple of Aros." After a moment, she asked him, "in which direction is the Gift pulling you?"

"It feels like north," Aran replied after checking in on the persistent sensation in his belly.

Amina's brow creased slightly, though her beauty was marred not. "Take a care if your travels bring you near Caer'maralonia. It is not safe for one such as you to be known, there."

"Caer'maralonia? I've never heard of this place," Aran said.

"That is what it was called, long ago," Amina explained. "I don't know what name you give it now, but it was once one of the Great Cities, and it lies to the north of these mountains."

"Sounds like Maralon," Aran mused. "Nevertheless, I will take care, Amina, and I will return when I can." Ignoring the sudden urge to take the Priestess in his arms again, he turned and left, heading back through the passages of the ancient temple and off to wherever his Gift was guiding him.

***

The air had long since grown cold as Maloth and Shenla entered the lands of the fabled Wardens of the Dead, and a strange fog eddied around the hooves of their mounts, first in patches, then thickening gradually as they pressed further into these dead lands.

Once, long ago, an enormous, ancient city had stood here, its name lost to the ages and its grand structures slowly pulled down stone by stone by the ravages of weather and the inexorable onslaught of nature, as if it were being reclaimed by the land itself.

It was a land which appeared to be largely corrupted, Maloth mused as he scanned the landscape. The trees were stunted and bare, and leafless branches resembling long-fingered hands reached for them hungrily as the party passed. The soil crunched beneath the horse's hooves, gritty and inhospitable to new growth.

Shenla rode to Maloth's left on a proud-necked black mare, shadowed by Barrog on foot, who never seemed to have trouble keeping pace with horses. On Maloth's right, Glinda rode on a small brown gelding, nervously surveying their surroundings.

"This is truly a forsaken land," Glinda whispered softly, her large dark eyes wide as she looked around.

"Perhaps you could tell us something useful, Glinda," Maloth said curtly.

The comely Dwarf nodded quickly, smiling at him, always eager to please. "Yes, my Lord. According to what I've read, the Wardens of the Dead made their home near to this city's huge graveyard, giving them unfettered access to corpses for all their twisted practices." She shuddered, sending her monstrous tits swaying beneath her cloak. "I saw an old map once, which showed the graveyard to the southeast of the city. If the map was accurate, we should be approaching it soon."

No sooner had Glinda finished her sentence than a figure rose from the mist before them. Maloth pulled Shadow up short, studying the phantom in the fog. Cloaked and hooded, he could not make out a face, but the figure's size and shape was about right for a Human, or maybe an Elf.

The rest of the party stopped alongside Maloth, Barrog with a hand over his shoulder, gripping the haft of his huge axe. Maloth caught the Orc's eye and shook his head slightly, and Barrog relaxed, lowering his hand.

"You tread on sacred ground, travelers." The voice coming from the hooded figure was distinctly feminine, Maloth noted. "It is fortunate for us, however, as we are in need of fresh bodies."

At that moment, three more hooded figures rose from the mists surrounding them. Shenla and Glinda shifted in their saddles, preparing to flee, while Barrog's hand flew back up to his axe handle, this time drawing it free.

"I would strongly advise against killing us, stranger." Maloth warned. "I think perhaps we will be more valuable to your people alive. We have come to make an offer, one most generous, I think you'll find." Taking no chances, Maloth reached out with his power, wrapping tendrils of dark lust around the woman's body, inflaming her desire. His power had grown since Binding Mali, and this level of ability was a simple thing, now.

The hooded woman's breath hitched as Maloth's power took hold. "V-very well," she began, stuttering a little as her body betrayed her. "Tell us your offer, and we will deem it worthy, or you will die."

His power did not give him the ability to completely control minds, unfortunately. Complete control only came with Binding, and Binding required sex. For now, he would have to use his skills to manipulate the cracks in this woman's confidence, as she fought her body's rising desire to fuck him.

One of the other figures spoke out, this one larger, the voice deep and masculine. "No, Kreya! We were ordered to find fresh corpses!"

Shenla's pretty face turned toward the male who had spoken, a lascivious smile on her dark lips. A moment later, the man grunted, clutching the front of his robe as it began to tent, his body responding to Shenla's power.

"Silence, Torvin!" The woman -- Kreya -- sneered. "Remember who you speak to! Or do you wish to challenge my authority?"

The remaining two silent figures shifted uncomfortably, whilst Torvin's cowl swung back and forth as he tried futilely to suppress his erection with his hands.

"And what in Death's name is wrong with you?" Kreya snapped at Torvin. "Why do you stand in such a way?"

Torvin began to stammer a response, completely unnerved by his wayward loins, but Maloth stepped in, seeing the opportunity. He addressed Kreya, slowly nudging Shadow forward in a non-threatening manner. "If you please, my dear," he said in his most charming tone. "Take us in out of this cold and we will divulge to you our offer. Tell me, are you the leader of your people?" He wished heartily that he knew more of these reclusive Wardens, but he would have to work with what he had.

"No, I am not," Kreya replied. "That honour goes to Morin, Mistress of the Grave, the Queen of the Dead."

"Then I seek audience with her majesty, the Queen of the Dead," Maloth asked politely, keeping his scorn at the ridiculous titles to himself. Mistress of the Grave, indeed.

Kreya scoffed at his request. "I think not! Her Highness does not receive just any fool that wanders onto our lands! I have agreed to hear your offer, stranger, but that is where my kindness ends!"

Maloth had to respect this woman's self-control; her body had to be on fire by now, wracked with arousal, yet she remained steadfast. He bowed his head in what he hoped was deference. "Very well, I respect your wishes. May I ask, however, that we continue this conversation somewhere indoors? My companions and I are chilled to the bone."

Kreya paused for a moment, before agreeing. "Come, I know a place not far from here." She fixed her companions with a gloved finger. "Not a word! And if anyone else hears of this..." She let the threat hang in the air for a moment before turning on her heel and striding off, mist billowing around her cloak.

Maloth and his party moved after her, the three other cloaked figures shadowing them.

A short time later, Kreya stopped at a building that looked miraculously well-preserved -- compared to the surrounding rubble, anyway. The top story had collapsed, but the two lower levels were still intact. The wooden door was absent, having long since rotted away. Kreya stepped through the opening, disappearing inside. Maloth dismounted and strode in, hardly having to duck his head at all. Shenla, Glinda, and finally Barrog -- who did have to duck his head - followed him, tailed by Kreya's toadies.

The room inside was large, and mostly still intact, with only a few gaps in the stone ceiling, which was reinforced with makeshift timber uprights in the weaker places. It had been cleared of rubble, and a campfire sat in the centre of the floor, unlit but stacked with twisted lengths of fresh wood.

Kreya moved about, lighting several wall-mounted torches before turning to the group and lowering her hood, revealing a pretty, but stern, human face with delicate features. Surprisingly, her head was shaved completely smooth. Her skin was almost ghostly white, and large, pale blue eyes regarded him carefully.

Maloth found himself unable to place her age; she seemed young, maybe twenty-odd, but something told him not to trust that. The woman's thick cloak also made it impossible to tell what sort of body she was hiding.

"Ah! This is much better!" Maloth announced, affecting a cheerful tone as he unpinned his own cloak, which he had kept closed until now. Quite deliberately, he was dressed to show his impressive physique, wearing tight black breeches that did nothing to hide the prominent bulge of his manhood, and a shirt that strained over his deep chest and thickly muscled arms.