The Clan Wars Pt. 07

The steppes stretched ahead of Bann like an emerald green sea rippled with undulating hills until the grassy waves of the prairie broke upon the far distant mountains of the Shrouded Mountains. Like an island in the midst of the vast green ocean, the host had set up camp to await the arrival of their allies. The young barbarian was standing on the tallest of the hills surrounding the camp, keeping an eye to the horizon for the approach of more warbands seeking to join the host.

Gunnar Long Arm had been busy, thought Bann, as he watched a cloud of dust to the east that signalled the approach of more troops marching towards the encampment. The warhost had already been joined by a few hundred warriors from the Shield Wall troll families; Bann had never seen a troll before and was fascinated by their appearance. They were tall - an adult troll tended to be at least seven feet tall, most were eight feet or taller. Their skin was smooth and grey, like river-polished granite, except for a smattering of darker patches that checkered their upper arms and shoulders, and every troll rippled with muscles. The only hair on their bodies was a metallic shock of color on top of their heads that was either shaved, cut very short, or spiked into fantastic shapes. Their faces were humanoid but for two huge incisors on their lower jaws that matched the metallic colour of their hair and gave them a pronounced underbite and a perpetually grim expression.

They walked with a lumbering gait, each heavy footfall hinting at an immense weight and power. None of the large humanoids wore a stitch of clothing or armour, their skin supposedly being as tough as stone, and Bann had learned that they paid no heed to the northern cold because their flesh was not heated by warm blood in the same way most other species were. The male trolls strode about the camp like behemoths carved from the very mountain they called home, their exposed strange, heavy, blunt cocks swinging proudly between their legs. Their huge endowments had made them quite popular among the female warriors of the gathered races despite the stoic silence they carried themselves with. The troll women were no less imposing - there was seemingly no height difference between the sexes, nor in the weight of muscle they carried. They had a striking beauty despite the alien cast to their features and their pronounced musculature and voluptuous curves lent them a statuesque quality that amplified their imposing presence.

A flock of harpies had joined the warhost as well. They were all female, with humanoid torsos, arms, faces and upper legs, but from the knee down their legs were digitigrade and birdlike, ending in prehensile talons. Each harpy had a magnificent pair of wings sprouting from their shoulder blades and they delighted in their ability to fly, finding employ as messengers and merchants across the north. Harpies were popular visitors to almost any settlement not just because of the jobs they performed but because, thanks the the peculiarity of their biology, they could be impregnated by almost any male - another harpy hatching from the egg that was subsequently laid. Due to this unique physiology, harpies were happy to breed with anyone, as Bann had happily experienced a year ago when his village had last played host to the aerial visitors. The newly arrived feathered comrades quickly settled in and found a niche for themselves within the warhost.

Bann heard the sound of galloping hooves behind him and turned to see the centaur filly Cress running up the hill towards him. He had not been the only liaison picked by Lisbet; the young queen had introduced him to three others on the day the warhost had departed. The small group consisted of Freida, an imposing, brown furred veteran minotaur warrior from the Von Danz herd (who weren't members of the Northern Alliance but had a pact with the clans nonetheless), Jord, a lean, scarred centaur stallion with a dappled grey hide, and Cress, a cheerful, young centaur spear maiden. Jord had gone with Lisbet when she departed and Freida had travelled west to link up with her herd-warriors as they marched to join the host, leaving Cress and Bann as the Queen's designated messengers in the army.

A warrior of the Rolling Rock herd, Cress was the same age as Bann. She was good with a bow and beyond good with a spear, at least according to the ceaseless tales of boar and deer hunts she rambled on about. She had very pale white skin that contrasted sharply with the pitch black glossy coat of her lower body. Her long black hair framed her thin face and pointed chin nicely when it wasn't blowing into her eyes in the prairie breeze. Cress was a talker and happily filled their marching hours with endless chatter, gossip and tall tales and, while Bann was not the most talkative individual and certainly appreciated a little quiet time now and then, he found it difficult not to become friends with the gregarious filly.

"There you are!" exclaimed the centaur by way of greeting. "Came to tell you that Freida and her herd-warriors just got into camp. Pretty impressive looking bunch if you ask me. Big folk, them minotaurs. Should see the crossbows some of em are carrying - you'd think they'd need a cart to drag that stuff about but they're just strolling about with what's pretty much a siege weapon over their shoulders. Those bulls are huge! And the cows aren't small either. Hard to believe they grow em that big just by eating veggies! Can you imagine not eating meat? I'd waste away, I bet. And you miss out on hunting! I'll bet them bulls are hung though, vegetarian or not. Hard to say, though, cos they don't walk around naked like the stone-folk. Gotta see if I can take a peek one of these-"

"How many warriors did she bring?" interrupted Bann. It was the only way to speak with Cress. If you didn't interrupt her the young warrior tended to keep on with her stream of consciousness interminably.

"Oh, there was probably about three hundred of em, but supposedly there's another few hundred coming from the Von Bothe herd," said Cress. "Let's see, with the trolls and harpies that brings us up to about three thousand, maybe a few more. There's probably at least a thousand gobbos over there, though."

The centaur nodded her head in the direction of the approaching dust cloud and Bann knew she was right. The approaching warband hailed from the Bolenduntz tribe and goblin warbands were never small. By the time the warhost reached the Shrouded Mountains it would number at least four thousand strong, and Gunnar had mentioned he expected another few thousand warriors of the orc and goblin tribes to join them once they were far enough south. Drasich and the free cities would be facing an army of almost ten thousand warriors.

"Looks like they're still at least an hour away," said the filly, unlacing her leather jerkin. "I think I know how we can kill some time..."

That night, the camp was a sea of rowdy joviality. Bann wound his way through a maze of tents and campfires, attempting to get back to the large tent he shared with the other messengers. Cress tottered along beside him, occasionally peeling off to fill her mug from the nearest available barrel. The young barbarian had a few drinks in him already, but had held back knowing he had to write a dispatch for Queen Lisbet to update her on the status of the warhost.

He was a little worried about writing the report, not just because he wasn't really a dab hand with charcoal and paper but because the young queen had set another task for him before she left and he still had yet to produce anything worthwhile with regards to it. On the eve of her departure, Lisbet had taken Cress and Bann aside and had confided that she worried about the mysterious nature of the shaman that Gunnar Long Arm relied so much on. She had asked the two young warriors to find out as much as they could, but had placed much of the responsibility on Bann, as centaurs, their physiology being what it was, were not the most stealthy of spies. Although he had been with the warhost for almost a week, he still had found no opportunity to even see what the mysterious shaman looked like. Gunnar visited his advisor's wagon almost every night, but the wagon was always guarded by a few veteran fighters and the shaman never seemed to emerge.

Bann was mulling the problem over as he and Cress reached the liaisons' tent. Freida gave the pair a wave as they neared the small campfire outside the tent. The hazel furred minotaur cow was leaning against a large barrel beside a grey furred bull. A few sheaves of corn were roasting on the nearby flames.

"Vill you join us for a drink?" asked Freida in her accented speech.

"You guys go ahead," replied Bann. "I've got some work to do."

Dropping his shield and axe beside his bedroll in the tent, Bann left Cress and Freida by the fire and made his way towards the shaman's wagon. He could see the bulky outline of the wooden contraption from his own tent - it was a huge affair, pulled by sixteen oxen. Two stories tall, the wagon permitted the shaman to travel in some comfort. The young barbarian paused beside a tent to examine the scene before him; two burly soldiers stood near the door at the rear of the wagon while two more patrolled in circles around the perimeter. A campfire and some benches were laid out a short way from the fold-down steps that led up to the wagon's entrance, but Bann knew they were for the benefit of the guards - the shaman never seemed to emerge from within the wooden behemoth. Both floors of the wagon had many windows, but all were shuttered, although he could see the rosy glow of firelight creeping out from between the cracks where the shutters met.

Bann heard the soft thud of hooves on grass and turned to see Cress coming up behind him, a foaming flagon in one hand.

"I thought you'd be getting drunk with Freida and her friend back at the tent," said Bann.

"Yeah, it was tempting, but I can't just leave you to go be a super secret spy all by yourself," said Cress. "Besides, you'd get yourself into trouble without me around and I wouldn't want to miss out on the fun. So... What's your plan?"

"I dunno. I guess I gotta get close to the wagon and listen at a window. I'm not sure how I'll get up to a window without being seen by one of those guards, though."

"Hmmmm..." said the centaur through lips pursed in thought, "I might be able to help with that. I'll see if I can distract one of the patrolling guards for a minute. When they're busy, try and slip past before the other one comes by. You'll have to get away on your own though. I don't think I could distract them again without it looking weird."

"Alright," said Bann, sighing. "Why does this seem like a really bad idea?"

"I think it's really exciting! Ok, here I go!"

The young warrior shook his head in worry as he watched Cress trot towards one of the patrolling guards. The veteran soldier called out a challenge and in no time the chatty filly had his full attention as she began playing the role of a drunk young warrior in awe of the tough looking trooper. Seizing the opportunity, Bann casually sauntered around the gabbing pair until he was out of sight of the pre-occupied veteran and then, hunching slightly, he jogged over to the side of the tall caravan until he was crouched beside one of the ten foot wheels. With a glance back at the Cress and the guard to make sure he was in the clear, the barbarian hoisted himself up the spokes of the wheel. Bann was an adept climber thanks to a youth spent scaling the rocky slopes of the mountains surrounding Koltar and easily lifted himself until his feet were able to find purchase on a slightly protruding board that comprised part of the exterior wall of the wagon. Fingers gripping tightly to the ledge of the nearest window, the barbarian peered between the shutters.

The inside of the wagon was plush. Velvet upholstered chairs and large cushions were scattered upon a mosaic of thick fur rugs and ornate carpets. A large double bed was situated against the far wall and a number of candles flickered in various ornate candelabras and candlesticks that perched on the rich, dark wood tables and sideboards. Near the entrance, a set of stairs, ornately carved out of more of the dark wood, led upwards to the second floor. As he soaked in the luxurious display, Bann could hear a low, continuous murmuring emanating from the upper floor. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed that Cress was wandering away from the wagon and the guard she had been talking to was resuming his patrol. As silently as he could manage, the young warrior began to climb higher.

Once more, Bann's climbing experience paid off and he ably clambered upwards until he was level with the second story windows. Flattening himself against the wall, the novice spy shimmied sideways until he could grip the window frame and pull himself close enough to the shutters to peer inside. The sight that greeted him caused him to bite his lower lip to stifle a gasp.

The second floor decor was just as lush as the first floor - ornate rugs and furs blanketed the righthand half of the floor, but what really caught the young warrior's eye was the floor to ceiling mirror that hung on the wall on the lefthand wall. While the candelabras and other metal furnishings had been gilt in bronze, gold or glittering silver, the mirror was framed in a black metal, almost like wrought iron were the surface not polished and shining dully in the flickering light. Concentric circles, their edges marked with strange, rune-like symbols, had been chalked onto the bare wooden floor before the mirror and sitting in the centre of the strange markings was the nude form of a beautiful woman that Bann figured must be Gunnar's shaman.

The woman had a voluptuous body; a narrow waist complimented by ample hips and heavy round breasts. She had beautiful dusky skin - light walnut brown and smooth like polished oak but lacking the muscle definition of a trained warrior or manual labourer. Her hair was dark black and hung in long tresses past her shoulders. The mysterious woman was kneeling in the midst of the chalked circles with a brush in hand and was dipping it into a bowl in front of her. Bann watched as she withdrew the brush. Its bristles were coated with a thick black ink that the shaman began to paint slowly over the skin of her extended arm, drawing an intricate pattern of spirals and loops that she slowly traced up her arm and over her chest before switching hands and continuing the spiralling design down her other arm. The shaman then stood and began to paint the looping lines across her breasts, tracing the ink over the full, round globes and down over her stomach. As she carefully covered her skin with the black ink, the patterns seemed to shift and swirl on their own volition. When the dark skinned shaman bent over to paint the twisting design over her thighs and down her legs, Bann could swear the lines were melting and melding together before drawing apart and creating new swirling designs.

Once she finished tracing the design over her feet, the shaman straightened herself and gazed into the mirror. Stretching out her arms, the woman began twisting her fingers into bizarre arcane patterns. Bann felt the air grow heavy and a strange, metallic odour filtered into his nostrils. His ears felt like they were stuffed with wool, a heavy pressure pushing on them in a manner similar to the feeling he got when he climbed high up the mountains that cradled the Koltar valley. Despite the discomfort, however, he could not tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. The surface of the mirror flickered and shifted quickly and then grew still. He realized he was holding his breath, but found he could not exhale. The mirror flickered once more, but this time the image of the beautiful dark skinned woman contained within it began to vibrate and shimmer. The ornate patterns on her skin twirled and twisted like writhing snakes, coalescing, breaking apart and melting together once more in undulating rhythms until the woman's form was obscured entirely by an inky blackness. Then, like something rising from thick black mud, a form emerged from the dark blotch. The blackness lightened and took on a purple hue. The reflection of the shaman's face shifted and reshaped itself and an imposing pair of horns sprouted from its forehead and twisted back over its scalp. The reflected form of the shaman's body warped and bent as its breasts grew larger and the etched lines of defined musculature creased the now purple skin. Her feet melted and coalesced to form hooves, her shins morphed into a bestial, digitigrade structure and a spaded tail sprouted from behind her to languidly lash through the air. Between her legs, a huge, horse-like phallus sprouted from where the shaman's shaved mons once was. Finally, the inky blackness where the shaman's eyes should have been reflected started to glow with a dull red light like dying coals in a hearth.

"My liege," said the shaman to the demonic reflection.

"Ah, Kalliya," said Gaermeon. "You have news?"

"I do. The ranks of the host swell. We number over four thousand now. When we reach the mountains, we should be able to add another five."

"You do well, my pet," came the demon's reply. To Bann, her voice was sweet honey that pooled in his ears and trickled down his spine.

"I am pleased to bring us that much closer to our goal," said Kalliya.

"Indeed. Your reward shall be most fitting."

Bann's limbs felt heavy as the honey seeped through them. A warm ember of desire nestled into his groin as he watched the two figures talk.

"I wish that I could summon you here properly, my liege," said Kalliya, "instead of having to talk to you through this shade. I crave your touch."

"I understand, pet. Soon enough."

The sweet treacle that was the demon's voice had filled Bann's body completely now, like water into a cup. Beneath his kilt, hot blood pumped and his cock grew turgid. The fog in his head was no longer unpleasant, but a soft, warm pillow for him to rest upon.

Gaermeon continued speaking, but looked past the mage to stare directly at Bann, "It may be too dangerous for me to visit right now, but perhaps there is a small gift I can bestow upon you."

Bann pried open the shutters and lifted himself through the open window. Kalliya turned to face him.

"I'm sorry, my liege," she said as Bann stumbled slowly into the room, "I had guards posted. I don't know how..."

"Shhh. Not to worry. We have him now," said Gaermeon, "But he must not speak of my presence. It could break the glamour. Kill him or keep him, the choice is yours."

"I grow tired of this chief I must service. Some diversion could be nice," said Kalliya, her eyes travelling the length of the young barbarian's body.

"Remove your clothes," said the succubus to Bann. Like an automaton, he obeyed, peeling off his jerkin and shirt and unbuckling his kilt. He let the clothes fall to the floor and stood before the demon and her consort mage fully naked.

"Not bad," said Kalliya, "But that cock simply cannot compare to yours, my liege."

"Come to me," said Gaermeon and once more Bann's legs began to mechanically carry him forward until he was pressed against the surface of the mirror. It felt like warm butter against his skin, not hard and cold like a mirror should, and seemed to melt against him.

The succubus reached out a hand and ran it down his chest between his pecs, caressing his abs until she was running her obsidian nails along the turgid length of his erection. Despite the apparent proximity, it felt like there was a thin barrier of liquid between his skin and the touch he yearned for. The purple skinned demon murmured words in a language he could not understand as she traced the outline of his throbbing shaft. A strange tingle rippled along its length.