The Royal Line Pt. 04

Chapter Four: Rue

A bone-tipped arrow zipped down from the earthen ramparts that defended the little village, passing close enough that the wind of it ruffled Lady Rue's short black hair. Rue did not did not flinch and urged her mount on to greater speed. The shaggy pony's striped legs ate up the icy ground between her and the low wall. Icicles like daggers hung from the gaps where the sod blocks that made up the village's defenses did not quite align. Rue slung her shield over her back and stood in the saddle. Another arrow hissed by to burry itself in the frost and gravel. The wall loomed up, seeming suddenly much higher. Rue leapt from the back of her galloping horse and made a grab for the wall's top. Her gloved fingers scrabbled in a layer of dirty snow for a terrifying half-heartbeat. Then she found a hold. With a grunt of effort, Rue heaved herself up onto the rampart.

At once, an iceman leapt upon her, a stone dagger clutched in his fist. Rue tried to brace herself against the impact, but her assailant had nearly a foot of height on her. Her feet skidded in more snow, trammeled to slush by the icemen's sealskin boots, and they went down in tangle of limbs. The iceman's dagger rent her tabard and raised sparks from the mail beneath, but mere flint was no match for Rivenlands' steel.

Unable to reach her own blades, Rue settled for clapping both her hands hard over her attacker's ears. The noise and pain momentarily stunned the iceman, long enough for Rue to ram a foot up under his ribcage. She kicked out with all the power of her wiry frame. The iceman fairly flew backwards. Rue stood and drew her longsword in a single fluid motion. Before her attacker could recover himself, she lunged across the intervening space and stabbed him through the belly.

Rue felt, rather than heard, another iceman approaching from behind. She snapped out a back kick and was reward with a cry of pain and a crunch of breaking bone. She spun on her heel to find the man on the ground, clutching his knee, which was bent back on itself. Rue cut the downed man's throat and stepped swiftly over his body. With the same brutal efficiency, she fought her way to the wooden gates. Captain Verence was waiting for her there; his battle-axe was a crescent of blood.

"My lady," Verence said, saluting smartly.

"Let's get this door open, Captain," Rue shouted over the din.

"Right you are, my lady," said Verence. Together they lifted the heavy wooden bolt and shoved the gate wide. More soldiers on shaggy ponies, wearing the Greyleon colors under the furs they'd bundled on for warmth, poured through the gap. Hammered now from both sides, the icemen defending the walls did not last long.

A solider passed Rue the reins of a fresh pony and she scrambled up, keeping her sword drawn and unslinging her shield. The uncaring stars blazed down from velvet blackness of the sky. They seemed brighter, here at the roof of the world, and the silver lioness of Rue's personal device gleamed in their cold light. It was a device to command respect, for its bearer was not only Lady Rue, Knight of the Realm, but also Princess Rue of House Greyleon. Soldiers rallied to it, and Rue led them into the heart of village, cutting down fleeing defenders as they rode.

Most of the icemen dwelt in round hide tents with beams of whalebone, nearly as solid as cottages. In the town center however, the local chief had a wooden long house, a luxury in a land with little timber. The icemen were not truly a nation, but a shifting collection of chiefdoms that inhabited the desolate and fjord-riddled island of Selkik. During the summer the Fanged Strait sundered the island from the Rivenland's northern fiefdoms, but in winter the strait was covered with a layer of ice thick enough for horses and sledges to cross. And so, every winter, the Rivenlanders would raid the icemen.

The iceman chief stood upon the steps of his long house, calling out commands in the guttural tongue of his people. He was an old man, his leathery skin wizened like a winter apple, but he carried himself erect. A flaming torch guttered and spat in his left hand and he carried a club edged with shark's teeth in his right. He had arrayed his remaining warriors in a semicircle, two men deep, with himself at the center and cluster of archers at his back.

"Shields!" Rue bellowed in a voice of command, and there was rattle of bone arrowheads thudding against oak and steel. Had the icemen been trained warriors instead of a rabble of seal hunters and fishermen they might have though to shoot the horses out from under the Rivenlanders. But now it was too late.

Rue's forces collide with the ring of warriors, nimble ponies dodging between waving spears. Her sword rose and fell, cutting through furs and boiled leather like wet parchment.

"Greyleon!" she cried as she rested a harpoon from a dying iceman. "Greyleon reigns!"

She flung the stolen spear along with her war cry at the iceman chief. The barbed point struck him in the chest and he toppled, his limp body extinguishing the torch as he fell.

A howl went up from those icemen still living and they fled pell-mell into the night. Some of the soldiers were sent to hunt them down, while the rest got down to the real business of the evening: looting.

Besides the shaggy ponies, Rue's company had brought sledges drawn reindeer and huge mountain dogs and they quickly loaded these sledges with the spoils of war. Bales of furs: otter and mink, beaver and bear, seal and snow fox. Whale ivory and walrus ivory. Barrels of fat and oil. Fistfuls of snowflake obsidian from the volcano on the north side of the island. The great spiraling horns of the narwhal, each one worth a king's ransom. These were the riches of icemen.

Rue prowled among her soldiers, keeping an eye on them. Some would doubtless slip off to father half-Rivenlander children on screaming ice women. It was a part of war Rue had learned to accept. Soldiers were not knights, bound by a code of honor, and the prospect of a hot cunt waiting for them made the men more willing to trek across miles of ice to attack barbarian villages in the dark. The main thing was to make sure none of her troops were holding back plunder from their commander.

Rue paused, her path having lead her back to the steps of the longhouse. With a booted toe, she flipped the body of the iceman chief over. The corpse had cooled quickly in the achingly cold air; a trickle of blood that had spilled from his mouth was already frozen solid. Rue just glimpsed the cord of cured leather that circled the dead man's neck, barley visible above his fur-lined collar. Rue reached down, undid the necklace's catch, and pulled it free. It was bulkier than she'd expected, a thick chain of ivory beads cunningly carved into the shapes of sea birds. The ivory had rosy color to it, giving the impression that the birds were flying out of some unseen sunrise. Rue raised her eyebrows, recognizing the hue of mammoth ivory.

"An heirloom then," she murmured to herself. "An old one. And worth far more than its weight in gold."

She had just finished fastening the pink ivory necklace about her own throat, when she heard a noise from inside the longhouse. Rue frowned, her hand moving swiftly to the hilt of her sword. The longhouse had been the first building to emptied of its wealth. No one had remained inside. She glanced back over her shoulder. Some yards away, Captain Verence was overseeing the loading of the antepenultimate sledge. The wise thing to do would have been to summon a squad of soldiers before going to investigate the strange noise. But Rue had not become the most feared lady knight in the Rivenlands by being wise.

She stepped quietly into the longhouse, her hand still resting on her sword hilt, and looked around. A fire pit in the middle of the floor still smoldered redly, giving her enough light to see by. The low tables had been overturned, along with the chief carven chair. Animal hide flaps had been used to partition the verges of the hall into rooms for the chief's household. The more valuable hides had been torn down and taken off to the sledges, but a few remained. It was from behind one of these that the noise issued.

It was, Rue realized as she drew near, sobbing. These were not the keening cries of agony or heartbreak, but the low, wretched sounds of despair. Rue swept aside the deerskin hanging with the flat of her blade.

A young ice woman huddled against the far wall. She stared up at Rue, her canted eyes wide and fearful. Her face was round and lovely as the moon, even marred by the tear tracks that gleamed across her apple cheeks. She was naked, which was not altogether surprising. The icemen had no concept of nightclothes and generally slept bundled in furs. Indeed the ice woman had a white wolf's skin drawn about her, though it did little to conceal her tender body. Her skin was the color of maple sugar and while she was certainly not fat, there was a softness to her curves that doubtless helped to keep her warm. Her eyes were the same deep, seal brown as the hair that hung down in two ridiculously long braids, coiling on the rough floor.

Rue realized that she was staring with her mouth open. Slowly, she knelt down and laid aside her sword. Her eyes were on a level with the ice woman's. God's hooves, Rue thought, she can't yet be twenty.

She reached a gloved hand out towards the girl, palm up. She movements were slow and deliberate, the way she did when she had to deal with skittish horses.

"Hello," Rue said softly. "Hello there. It's all right. I won't hurt you. Do you speak any Common?"

The ice girl just watched Rue, those canted eyes wary.

"I guess not then," Rue decided. "I wonder how we missed you when we searched this place. You must be clever hider. It's too bad they don't teach their girls to hunt here. A lass that could slip under Verence's nose could be practically on the deer's back before it noticed she was there."

The words weren't important, but the low, soothing tone seemed to be having its effect. The girl's breathing was more relaxed, the lines of her face softer.

"What are you, I wonder?" said Rue, her eyes roving across the girl's face and form, lingering on the swell of her more than ample breasts. "The chief's daughter? His concubine? Well, you're mine now whatever you are."

Rue beckoned with her outstretched hand. The ice girl still hesitated. Rue sighed inwardly. She pointed to herself with her other hand and spoke clearly.

"Rue."

Then she pointed at the ice girl and raised her eyebrows in a wordless question.

"Nuveya," the girl replied. Her voice was throaty and sweet. The sound of its tugged Rue's lips into a smile.

"Come with Nuveya," said Rue, beckoning again. Nuveya reached out slowly and took her hand. Rue stood, hauling the ice girl to her feet. They were of a height and Rue had the sudden urge to kiss her captive on her wide, rose petal lips. Since this was Rue, she yielded to the urge at once.

Nuveya started in surprise as Rue's lips brushed hers, but the lady knight's hand that was not gripping hers had already slid around to the back of Nuveya's head. The gloved fingers were gently as they stroked her seal brown hair, but their strength forbade any attempt to pull away. Instead, Nuveya leaned into the kiss, opening to Rue's hot, hungry mouth. Their tongues brushed and something like an electric shock went through Nuveya. She felt her nipples go suddenly hard, for reasons that had nothing to do with cold draft for the open longhouse door.

Then Rue broke the kiss. Her deep blue eyes were blazing and she was panting like bitch in heat. She picked up her naked sword and dragged Nuveya out of the longhouse. The ice girl shivered violently as the arctic cold struck her. The expanses of bare skin not covered by her wolf pelt broke into instant gooseflesh. She shook even more agitatedly as Rue led her past the corpse of the dead chieftain, but Rue did not slow. She brought Nuveya over to where her stocky horse waited and hoisted the girl up into the saddle. She mounted behind her and pulled a long oilskin cloak out of one the saddlebags. She wrapped this about the shivering Nuveya and nudged the girl into tucking her toes into the bellyband of the pony's warm saddle blanket. She had no desire for her captive to lose a toe to frostbite. Finally, she took the horse's reins in one hand, throwing her other arm about Nuveya's waist and nudged to animal into a canter.

Many of the soldiers stared in slack-jawed wonder as Rue took her place at the head of the column leaving the village. Even Captain Verence raised a startled eyebrow. He said nothing however, merely passed his commander a freshly warmed ember pot, which she set on Nuveya's lap. Rue was glad of the little pot's heat as the laden war party left the gash-shaped valley that had sheltered the icemen's village from the elements if not from raiders. Out on the sea ice, the wind was twice as cutting. Nuveya trembled and snuggled back against Rue, who radiated heat even through the layers of mail and fur. They rode through the remainder of the night, passing under shadows of frozen waves, black in the waning moonlight, until their mounts' hooves crunched on the familiar gravel of the Rivenlands once more.

A pale sunrise kissed the dark spires of the sentinel pines, as Rue's company crossed the drawbridge into Fort Gaunt. Once the stronghold of House Gaunt, until the sweating sickness carried the last on that noble line to their graves, the crumbling castle now did service as a border fort, charged with protecting the kingdom's northern edge with only a skeleton garrison.

Blood and Bile, Rue's two wooly mastiffs frisked about her as she dismounted in the courtyard, barking excitedly. Rue ignored them and helped Nuveya down from the saddle. The ice girl's numb legs would not take her weight and she fell against Rue, clutching at the lady knight's chest for support. Rue steadied her, but did not bother to removed the hand that gripped her right breast.

Raising her voice, she called, "Captain Verence, ensure that the goods are safely stowed and every man is fed. If aught urgent should befall, I shall be in the hot springs below the keep."

Captain Verence saluted. "It shall be as you command, my lady," he assured her, silently and correctly concluding that anything short of the outbreak of a new international war would not be deemed sufficiently urgent for the messenger to escape a flogging.

Seeing how Nuveya's legs still wobbled, Rue scooped the girl up in her wiry arms. She carried her carefully down the uneven flagstone steps that plunged down from the cellar of the fort's central tower. The air grew warmer and heavier as they descended. The light of a whale oil lamp showed moss, as green as springtime, growing on the damp walls. At last, they came out into a cavernous room full of round pools edged in pottery tiles. Rue chose the hottest pool she dared, and after stripping off Nuveya's cloak and wolf pelt, dropped her right into the steaming water.

The girl, who had been close to dozing, came suddenly alive, splashing and squeaking in alarm. Rue laughed aloud, the sound ringing off the cavern walls, as she began to undress herself. The frost crusting her neckline and boot tops was already turning to water. Rue continued to watch with a smile as Nuveya's expression changed from one of panic to one of relief as the chill melted from her bones. She ceased to splash, keeping herself afloat with slow, graceful strokes, and smiled gratefully up at the now topless Rue.

"Qaĝaasakung," she told Rue, fervently, as the lady knight shucked off several layers of woolen socks.

"I'm going to take it that means 'thank you' and not 'come here so I can drown you, Rivenlander scum,'" Rue told her, fumbling with buttons of her trousers with fingers that tingled with newfound warmth. The buttons came free and Rue slid out of trousers and loincloth in one easy motion before dropping into the pool. She let out a long sigh and her eyes flutter closed as the water, full of the heat of the earth's heart, caressed her body.

Nuveya watched her captor. For an instant, it occurred to her to attack, to seize and strangle, now while Rue's eyes were closed, her sword lying yards away under a pile of clothes. Nuveya was strong swimmer. Perhaps she could drown the Rivenlander.

And then what? She was in the heart of a an enemy fortress. There would be no escape for her if she killed their commander. If she was lucky, they might do no more than execute her, but she doubted it.

But as she studied Rue, Nuveya found it hard to keep her mind on these dark thoughts. Rue, who Nuveya guessed to be twenty-three or four, was unquestionably a warrior. Muscles of steel ripple under her ivory skin and fine, silvery scars crisscrossed its surface, like rivers on a map. Yet for all that, she was still Queen Callipygia's daughter. Her curving hips flared out below a narrow waist and toning the muscles of her shapely legs had only served to increase the size a naturally superb rump. One could easily balance a brace of brimming tankards on Rue's buttocks with no fear of the drink spilling. Nor had nature neglected her upper slopes. There were no sweet melons growing in Nuveya's native land, else the prodigious size and mouth-watering roundness of Rue's breasts, now gratefully freed from her tight breast band, would doubtless have reminded her of them. She had an up-tipped nose and deep blue eyes set over a plump, cherubic mouth. Combined with the boyish shortness of her jet-black hair and the stubborn tilt to her chin, the whole served to give Rue a look that was equal parts mischief and granite determination.

Rue opened her eyes and saw Nuveya watching her. The ice girl blushed, making her cheeks appear still rosier and looked down, her hands moving instinctively to cover her submerged nakedness. Rue reached out and caught the hand that she would have placed over her breast, gently but firmly moving it to rest on Rue's own instead. Nuveya could feel the stiffness of the lady knight's nipple under her fingers, hard as an acorn cap despite the luxuriant heat of the pool. Still, she stood like a statute, a savage's fertility icon perhaps, not meeting Rue's eyes. Because her gaze was thus down cast, Nuveya did not she Rue lean into kiss her, had no warning until those cherub's lips met hers, entreating and demanding. Had she had some warning, it is possible she would have pulled away. Not likely perhaps, but possible.

Rue kissed Nuveya and Nuveya kissed her back, tongues darting back and forth from one mouth to another like courting finches. Nuveya squeezed down on the breast she held, kneading and stroking. Rue gasped in pleasure and Nuveya took the opportunity to shove her tongue deeper into Rue's open mouth. Rue seized Nuveya and pulled her in close so that their four tremendous breasts were crushed together. Nuveya writhed against her captor, rubbing bosom against bosom and sending waves of pleasure coursing up from her own rock-hard nipples. From he moans Rue was making, the ice girl guessed that she felt the same. She could feel the moans through their locked lips and the gentle vibration sent heat rushing to her already tingling loins.

Rue had a hand on Nuveya's rump, her finger sunk in soft, yielding flesh. Her other hand scrabbled at those ridiculously long braids. Seal brown hair fanned out through the steaming water, enveloping them both. Nuveya was running a hand through Rue's short-cropped hair, marveling at its velvety softness. Her other hand found the coarser hairs about her captor's loins, but she was not deterred.

Rue yelped, an undignified noise for the fearless leader of a knightly host, as she felt her captive slide three wriggling fingers into her slick cunt. Nuveya only chuckled and redoubled her efforts. Her laughter was the tinkle of bright droplets as the fall from thawing icicles in the northern spring. Rue growled in the back of her throat and lifted Nuveya—the warm water made it easier—bringing her fat breasts within reach of the princess' hungry mouth.