Warning: The following story contains explicit violence, explicit sex, unfair racial stereotyping of goblins and ogres, bald-faced lies and innuendo, treachery, lazy misappropriation of pagan gods and goddesses, unsafe rooftop stunts, ego-driven consumption of alcohol, mass immolations, impalings, irreverence, arson, assault on religious workers, sentient-on-sentient devourings, divinely sanctioned sexual promiscuity, conscription, passive-aggressive posturing, adults playing with their food, undemocratic government, oral sex, adultery, destruction of private property, coarse language, questionable speech patterns, nudity, unwitting insults, completely incidental anal sex, looting of corpses, human-on-goblin violence, copious spattering of blood, numerous fantasy tropes, a lesbian temple orgy, self-important nobles, workplace accidents, negotiations in bad faith, falls from a fatal height, weaponized bedding, dine-and-dashing, breaking and entering, stalking, surveillance, frenemies and the sorcerous abuse of a dragon...
...though not all in the first chapter, of course.
*
Davos chose to die in front of the Temple of Aphrodite. It seemed like the best possible place.
Five minutes before that, he'd never entertained such a thought. He still expected that the soldiers manning the city's high walls could hold until dawn. For much of the night, he stood in the streets below while real soldiers up above defended the city with bows and spears. Davos hoped that his duties as a conscript would amount to only a sleepless night followed by a long day of clearing carts, wagons and other barricades from the city's streets.
Like all the other sailors and dockworkers conscripted from the waterfront, the young man wore little in the way of arms or armor. His black ponytail hung from beneath an ill-fitting leather helmet. He had his cutlass and an old crossbow that one of the regular soldiers shoved into his hands. Beyond that, all he had for his protection was his loose blue shirt and tan sailor's pants.
Some, like Davos, came along willingly. Others required coarse persuasion. A mere handful of regular soldiers waited along with them, scattered among and behind the conscripts to maintain order and ensure no one ran. Davos wondered if those soldiers had been chosen because they had the influence to secure a safer assignment, or because they were too unreliable to put on the front line.
"Do you know how to use that cutlass, Westerner?" asked the man-at-arms beside him. Baleth, if Davos remembered correctly. Davos's fellow conscripts mostly wielded cheap spears and axes better suited to craftwork than fighting; Davos at least had his weapon from the ship's stores.
He wondered how many of his comrades even knew how to use their weapons. He wondered how many had ever been in real battles. He wondered how many would stand their ground and how many would run. Clearly Baleth wondered the same thing.
"I've been in a few fights," Davos nodded. His plain-spoken accent sounded casual and even a bit lazy compared to the crisp enunciation of words in Loewen.
"Do you hail from a warship?"
"I've only served on merchant ships," Davos shook his head.
"How does that pay?"
"The pay is lousy," Davos grinned in spite of himself. "Meals are small and usually cold, living space is cramped and you're usually sore just from holding yourself upright and steady all day long, but you get to see the world, at least. It got me out of Murried."
Baleth frowned. "That's why you took to sea? You just wanted to travel?"
"Well," Davos shrugged, "it might've had to do with the girl my parents decided I had to marry."
"Hunh. Ugly one?"
"No, kind of pretty, actually," Davos said. "Her family had much more money than mine. It's not as if she was a bad catch."
Baleth's eyebrow rose. "Then why didn't you stay and marry her?"
Again, Davos shrugged. "Didn't love her."
A terrible roar split the night and fire swept across the top of the city wall. Flames consumed archers and men-at-arms crowded on the battlements, fully engulfing some and leaving others crawling away or even leaping off the platform. Davos saw the source of the flame for only a moment. It was larger than most ships he'd seen, with broad wings and a black sheen to its scales that partly reflected the flames. He saw its glowing green eyes as it passed overhead. He felt the hot wind of the air pushed forward and down as it flew past. Between the noise and the rush of wind, it seemed as if the whole world shook.
He may have heard laughter, too, carried through the night on those wings, but he wasn't sure. There were soon other things to worry about.
Survivors on the walls tried to rally, but the effort soon turned to cries of pain and panic. Dozens of smaller, humanoid black shapes came leaping over the side onto the walls. Blades flashed. More screams split the night. Too few men remained on the walls to hold back the goblins, who appeared to hardly need ladders or ropes to scale the walls from the other side.
"Bet you wish you'd married the girl now," Baleth grunted, and then called out loudly, "Hold ground! Sergeant Carstwick!" he yelled across the line to his right. It wasn't that broad a line; the city streets were no more than ten yards across. "Sergeant Carstwick, are we--Sergeant? Where are you--?"
Davos didn't need to look. He knew the fat sergeant was already running as fast as his chubby legs could carry him, and that others ran with him.
"Baleth!" Davos yelled. A sea of dark shapes and the green flames of goblin fire flooded the other end of the street. Goblin slingers hurled their fire in every direction, burning houses and shops as well as setting parts of the barricade alight. The charge came in almost the same breath.
He loosed a bolt from his crossbow. His target stepped aside just in time, as did the goblin behind him, but the third one back took the shot in the gut and collapsed. Davos only struck home because the number of targets made it hard to miss. The fires made it easy enough to see the mass of charcoal black skin, mismatched armor and hungry yellow eyes.
Others should have taken advantage of the enemy's crowded positioning to put more of them down, but too many fled. Davos didn't even look to see how lonely he was. He didn't dare.
"For the king!" Baleth yelled. "For your homes! For glory!" He stood tall to hurl his spear. Whether or not it hit anything, Davos didn't see; he focused on reloading his crossbow. When he looked up, Baleth flew backward from the barricade with three arrows and a pair of spears in him.
Davos had just enough time to shoot the first goblin to leap atop the barricade before his crossbow was no longer appropriate to the fight. The goblin's eyes bulged and its mouth full of broken, jagged teeth fell open. Davos found the sight too unsettling to consider whether its reaction was one of pain or anger. It fell to the cobblestone street beside him, dead from the bolt in its chest.
Many other goblins took its place as Davos drew his cutlass and snatched up his shield. He swung his blade, parried, slashed and dodged. He battered opponents with his shield as often as he used it to block their attacks. Soon, he had no time to look up from the melee.
Other men stood their ground along with Davos. How he stayed alive through those five minutes was beyond him, though much of the credit surely belonged to those others who refused to flee. Boasting was not in his nature; even when faced with a trio of opponents, one hammering away at his shield, another trying to get through his parrying cutlass, and the third between them looking for an opening, Davos presumed that everyone else around him had it worse.
Davos knew he was proficient. He didn't doubt his abilities. Yet he never would have predicted he'd be the last man standing out of the whole line.
More goblins streamed from the broken gate at the walls to the city and ran right past him, leaving their brethren to dispatch this last human soldier. Sooner or later, he realized, one or more would pause to pitch in. Three-on-one was impossible enough; four or more opponents would be far more than Davos could handle.
The one on his left swung further out to the side, drawing out Davos's shield. The goblin on the right lunged, forcing Davos to parry. He knew, even as his sword came up, that he was open to the center opponent now. No time to think.
Lunging in with his sword out low, the goblin, too, was exposed. Davos stepped forward to meet his middle foe, bringing his foot down hard on the goblin's knee. The step saved him from being skewered by his opponents to the sides.
Yellow eyes winced shut on the middle goblin's round, vicious face as his knee buckled. Davos brought the edge of his shield and the basket hilt of his cutlass together on either side of the enemy's head. The goblin made a quick, painful noise and collapsed.
Davos spun around, giving ground quickly, now backing toward the oncoming hordes rather than away. He had nowhere else to go. His opponents followed him, ready to exploit, but Davos did the unexpected again. He squatted down low, sweeping out with his shield to clip one across the knee. The slashing blade of the goblin to his other side passed over Davos's head. He retaliated with a slash of his own, cutting deeply into the goblin's abdomen to leave him falling in a screaming heap on the street.
The remaining foe backed off. Davos had his first chance to see how much of the city was already in flames, and how little of the guard or the army remained, and how freely the goblins looted. He realized there was nothing left of the line he fought to maintain.
He heard that terrible roar again, and the screams of burning and dying people that accompanied it.
The final goblin opponent grabbed at the small horn hanging from a leather string around his neck and blew for aid. Other goblins looked up from their looting or their burning to hiss at him, to hoot and howl and yell for his blood.
The army had been overwhelmed. Resistance crumbled. Goblins streamed into the city. Davos had only to decide whether to hide—from goblins who could see in the dark, and could hear and smell much better than any human—or to pick a place to make his final stand.
Davos ran. The few goblins to get in his way were either battered aside by his shield or fended off by his blade.
He came to a rise overlooking the walled estates and temples of a wealthier neighborhood and spotted a likely place. Davos had little love for the rich, and no personal loyalties to any residents of Loewen, but there were always the gods and their ideals.
Love seemed like a good cause to die for. He'd never really known it in his young life--he'd known love of family, and of friends, but since taking to sea, his romances were limited to weak moments in taverns with women who usually expected payment. The marriage his parents arranged had more to do with land ownership and favors owed between elders than the interests of bride or groom.
Love had eluded him, but he never gave up on his hopes. He was too young for that, and knew it.
There would be no such romances for him now. Love was for people who would live through the night. At this point, it was little better than a myth. As he heard the padded feet and huffing breath of his increasingly large mob of pursuers, though, he considered that it was a better myth to die for than the majesty of the queen or the sanctity of this city--neither of which, truth be told, were his. His ship arrived only recently, and he owed this queen no allegiance. It was a pleasant enough city, but not a city with a special place in his heart. He'd been conscripted right off the docks.
Davos set his gaze on the towering roof of the temple of Aphrodite and ran. Dying for a foreign city and for someone else's monarch seemed silly. Dying to protect symbols of love seemed at least relatively worthwhile.
* * *
Bodies and blood tarnished the broad white stones of the Plaza of the Divines. The city of Loewen was famous for the beautiful religious district, with large temples to Odin, Isis, Aphrodite and Frey facing one another in a broad, open square. Shrines to other deities could be found in the square and beyond it. Statues and carvings in marble walls depicted the successive arrivals of the gods to the world, the struggles between pantheons, the deaths of some and the ascensions of others. Loewen's market district was just as famous and larger in scale, yet such bustling activity did not make for clean tiles and ornate statuary.
Ariella, High Priestess of Aphrodite in Loewen, thought herself blessed to live and worship in such a place of beauty. That she would die here frightened her, certainly, but knowing that the dragon and the goblin horde would destroy the district and slaughter everyone within it broke her heart.
Blood stained her hands and her white robes. Some of that blood was red; more of it was black. Before she dedicated herself to the goddess twenty years ago, Ariella had been the daughter of a retired knight who refused to let his daughter be defenseless. She knew how to use a blade, and though she was not as well-practiced as the soldiers and knights who lay dead in the square, she nonetheless fought for her temple and her city.
Few of her peers and fewer of the laypeople of the city expected to see the slender, red-haired beauty tear into the goblins with a sword. Ariella cut down more than a handful of them before the two ogres showed up--and even one of those ogres now huddled against a statue, clutching at the wide gash she'd cut into its thigh.
The other ogre, unfortunately, made for more trouble than she could handle alone. The grey-skinned brute held both her long red hair and one twisted arm in his hand. Towering over Ariella at half again her height, the ogre's shaggy black hair and beaten leather clothing stunk of offal and worse. It wielded a massive club in its other hand, ready to smash either Ariella or whoever might charge in to rescue her. The odds of the latter went well beyond grim. Coming within a blade's reach of the ogre meant venturing within the reach of the much greater monster looming behind him.
The black dragon's claws dug scars in the marble stones of the plaza. Its breath had already set alight several shrines and the Temple of Frey. The bodies of dozens of men and women who died trying to fight the beast lay in a ring around it. Beyond that ring, between Ariella, the ogre and the dragon, and all the goblins crowding near the beast, stood the Prince and his Companions.
The carnage paused for a boasting match between the woefully overmatched Prince Alaric and the lunatic goblin riding the dragon's back. Ariella could have slapped both of them, were she able.
"Begone with your mob of savages and your foul beast!" bellowed Prince Alaric. He stood clad in his shining plate mail and clutching his father's sword, surrounded by his armored comrades. His long blond hair, released when he took off his helmet for the exchange, billowed in the wind. He was tall. Strong. Handsome.
Had he been born mute and with a few shreds of humility, Ariella might have taken him up on his advances. In spite of all of the fear and anguish brought on by the imminence of her death, Ariella's murmured prayers were interrupted by a single, sardonic plea: "Lady of Love, if I am to survive this night, please do not leave me indebted to this man for it. Anyone but Prince Alaric."
The goblin standing between the shoulders of the dragon cackled loudly. He held his shaking arms out wide, clutching a staff that glowed with the same eerie green light as the dragon's eyes. A similar, fainter green light shone in an arc around the goblin, protecting him from arrows and spears. It deflected sorcerous flame and lightning, too, as the burned corpse of the prince's companion wizard attested.
"Demands not yours to make!" shouted the goblin shaman. "Demands mine! For my people!" His voice was low for a goblin, well within the range of human males. "You surrender land beyond Blue River!" he snarled, waving his hand to the southwest. "No more soldiers! No more humans! You pay us tribute now. Two bags of gold, each season, for every bag we have ever paid you. And... five of your females! Each season!"
"You wretched bastard!" cried out Romis, first of the Companions. His axe shook in his hands. "You wouldn't know what to do with gold or women if you had them!"
"I know it hurt you," replied the shaman. "That enough to know."
Laughter erupted from the goblin's troops. Romis and the other Companions grimaced. Ariella did, too. The shaman's demands for territory and gold might have been bitterly acceptable--perhaps after Alaric had been battered and humiliated--but the demand for women went beyond the pale. There would be nothing for it but further bloodshed.
Ariella's eyes swept the plaza. Terrified faces peered out from behind the walls of shrines and temples. In times of strife and danger, the religious district usually offered shelter. Now it offered only front-row seats to further horror. Somewhere behind her, her acolytes waited inside the Temple of Aphrodite to defend the sacred space with their lives as she had instructed. She wished they wouldn't have to see this before they died.
"So be it," Alaric said with a deep breath. He stepped out from the line of warriors, leaving behind his helmet and his comrades. Ariella noticed the telltale white glow of magic on his shield and sword. She wondered if it was that magic or the audience that strengthened his backbone now, for in private his courage was not so great.
She knew a great deal about the royal family. She knew the emphasis his mother placed on earning one's place. She knew the crown would never pass to him without some deed to show it had been earned.
It would have been difficult, she considered, to arrange a more spectacular opportunity than this for a prince to demonstrate his mettle.
* * *
"Oh fuck oh fuck get out of my way!" Davos shrieked, broadly swinging his shield to knock the kneeling goblin out of his path. The goblin screeched as he was flung away from looting its dead victim, and then again as the mob of goblins pursuing Davos through the streets trampled him to death.
Davos ran on. He leapt left and right whenever he dared, making as difficult a target of himself as he could for the arrows, spears and other missiles flying his way. Something glanced off the side of his helmet, causing him to stumble, roll and force himself back up again, never breaking his forward momentum.
Maybe I'm doing some good here, he thought. Maybe I'm causing a distraction. Giving some cityfolk a chance to flee. Buying time for defenders to rally.
Or maybe I'm just going to die horribly in a fucking gutter.
The howls for his blood grew louder, as did the racket made by his ever-growing horde of pursuers. He couldn't imagine what made him so much more attractive than easier, slower targets. Perhaps goblins were just as attracted to crowds as humans. Everyone assumed there must be something important, otherwise there wouldn't be a crowd, so why not join in and find out?
Davos hated crowds. He hated this particular crowd most of all.
The streets ahead teemed with goblins just like the ones behind him. He came to the rear of a great temple, perhaps Frey's by the look of it, and found a smaller crowd of goblins gathered there. Debris and flame blocked the path around the temple to either side. The walls of the temple to Frey bore cracks and scars.
The biggest and nastiest-looking of the goblins up ahead unlimbered his warhammer with both hands. His compatriots stepped up. The trap looked ready to close.
Davos ran on. At least his pursuers had apparently run out of things to throw. He picked the goblin on his right and headed straight for him, figuring this was it.
His chosen foe wavered. The goblin's spear shook as he stepped back, and then Davos was on him. His sword bit deep. His shield came up to block the warhammer of the goblin's larger comrade. The expected blow was heavier than anything Davos had felt yet; his shield cracked halfway down the center, right to his arm.
Jarred badly, Davos stumbled down onto his back. He swept low with his cutlass, biting into the large goblin's ankle. Howling in pain, the goblin quickly shuffled away, giving Davos time to shed himself of his broken shield and to look for an escape.
Debris lay piled in front of the wall. Davos spotted an overturned cart beside it, and a huge crevasse in the wall, and the ledge up above it... and the oncoming mob, now heartbeats away. Nowhere to run in any direction.
Davos scrambled up, swinging his cutlass wildly to get his opponent out of his way. The goblin fell back onto the street. Davos didn't bother to finish him off. Instead, he stepped onto the large fallen blocks, and then onto the overturned cart, placing his cutlass in his teeth as he had so many times while climbing the ropes on his ship. The cart did not hold up under Davos's weight, but it gave him the boost he needed. He leapt for the crevasse in the wall.
Goblins raged and howled as he caught a handhold, and then secured another, and climbed for his life. He pushed himself further, climbing the battered wall as quickly as he could until his hands reached the ledge.
Small fires continued to burn inside the temple. No safety awaited him within. At best, the roof offered a moment's respite. Davos spared two seconds to consider what to do.
Then he looked down and saw the swarm of goblins boosting one another up onto the wall to climb after him. He remembered then how quickly they had overcome the city's defensive walls.
Too many to fight, he knew. Nothing else to do but run. Run until there is no place else for hands or feet, and then go down swinging. Davos climbed on, swinging himself over the side of the wide roof of the temple. Small patches of tile tumbled away as the temple burned. He ran across the roof, hoping it would not cave in without sparing a thought as to whether it made any difference. He pulled his sword from his teeth. As long as he had space to flee, he would flee.
The Plaza of the Divines opened out to him. Hordes of goblins gathered around a single large, black beast, whose broad tail lazily swept up toward the roof of the Temple of Frey.
Bloodthirsty calls behind him pushed Davos on. Dragon or not, he was as good as dead anyway. Better to go out doing something wild. Davos leapt off the roof, sailing through the air with his heart in his throat until he landed on the dragon's tail.
He scrambled on. The monster swayed and undulated, shifting under Davos's feet almost like a ship in a wild sea. At least, that was what he told himself. A voice inside him screamed, Loki's gaping cunt what the hell am I doing?!
He ran across the dragon's tail, then up its back, and then came headlong up to the big goblin standing on its shoulders with a glowing staff in his hands. The goblin spun around in surprise. A field of soft green light shone around him. It had protected him against arrows, and spears, and magic.
It could not deflect something as large and broad as a human body. Davos didn't even know what the glow was all about; he merely saw a goblin wielding sorcery, and took the only action he could. He tackled the goblin shaman straight off of the dragon's shoulders.
Davos held just enough of his wits to keep the goblin in front of him. He knew how to take a fall: arms out, knees loose, head tucked in.
The world went black. Roughly.
Then awareness returned. He lay on the ground, sore all over, surrounded by noise and shadow and smoke. He rushed to his feet. A goblin struggled to rise beside him, wheezing for breath. Wielding a staff.
Davos opened the goblin's throat with his cutlass.
The shaman fell back. The light from his staff died. For a moment, the world around him went completely still, and then disorientation from his fall caught up to him. Davos swayed on his feet, still trying to track his surroundings. There was a battle, wasn't there? Something scary? Shouldn't he be dead?
"Gnrruugg!" something tall and frightening bellowed. Davos saw the ogre just in time to duck the broad swing of its club. He dodged to his right, stumbled over the dead shaman, fell, and rolled out of the way of the next swing of the club.
Behind the ogre, Ariella gathered herself and looked up to the dragon. It seemed frozen in place. The green light shining from its eyes quickly dimmed. Then she heard the ogre's club crack the tiles of the plaza, and saw the stranger trying to avoid it. The priestess wasted no further time in observation. She pulled the spare dagger from her sleeve and lunged at the ogre from behind.
Davos knew his time was up. The ogre had him. Its club was halfway in swing... and then flew from its hands as it jerked upright and grunted in sudden pain. Davos blinked and saw a woman in white behind the ogre, arms outstretched as if stabbing it in the back.
The ogre struggled to overcome the pain. Its eyes opened toward the sky just in time to see the dragon's maw come down upon it. The ogre's scream was cut off by dozens of fearsome teeth.
Black blood erupted from either side of the dragon's mouth, drenching both Ariella and Davos. It spat out the grisly remains in the next instant. Clawed feet rose from the plaza's streets only to come down again, shaking the world all around everyone. Flame shot from the dragon's mouth, engulfing a broad swath of goblins.
"I will be made no one's fool!" roared the dragon with a voice that shook the plaza almost as badly as its footsteps. The dragon reared back, its tail sweeping away goblin marauders, human bodies and debris. It blew another long gout of flame, catching far more goblins than humans, but plainly indiscriminate in its rage.
Another huge foot came down on the body of the shaman, sending blood, flesh and broken wood from its staff everywhere. Human knights and men-at-arms fell back from the dragon alongside the surviving goblin hordes.
"None shall live to speak of this!" the dragon declared. Blasts of flame went left and right, sweeping the plaza. "None shall survive! All shall burn!"
"Stop!" cried a single voice.
The dragon's head stopped in mid-sweep. The flames cut out in time to spare the Temple of Aphrodite, and the lone, blood-spattered human standing before it with one hand up.
"Just... just stop for a moment," huffed the human in sailor's garb.
"Hmm?" rumbled the dragon.
"I can't let you do that," he said.
The dragon's eyes narrowed. Its snout came ominously close to the human. "You cannot?" it breathed. "And who are... you? No. Wait. You."
"...yes?" blinked Davos, who stood only through an act of pure willpower.
"Yes. I understand now. I... see. You broke the enchantment."
Davos blinked harder. He didn't remember when the battle went from having one dragon to having three, but they seemed to move in perfect synchronicity. At least now maybe they would talk. Woozy and exhausted, Davos reached out with one hand to lean on the snout of the dragon in the middle. "Whazzat mean?" he asked.
"I am in your debt."
"Oh... that's... nice?" He couldn't remember ever loaning anything to a dragon, but it seemed foolish to look this horse in its mouth. Its fire-breathing lizard mouth, or whatever it was.
"Tell you what," Davos managed. "Just don't burn the temple. Wait. Town. I mean the town," he corrected. "Just... just go home and we'll call it even."
He heard another rumble, and then something that sounded like an earthquake saying, "Agreed." He felt a massive gust of wind, followed by another, and then another. The snout wasn't there anymore for him to lean on, either. The wind abated, along with all the dust it had kicked up.
Davos's eyes fluttered open again. The world seemed to spin a bit, but at its center were several people, all looking at him strangely. There was a man in shiny plate mail, with other warriors around him, and a red-haired woman in filthy, blood-drenched robes.
"Wow," Davos said to the woman. "Without all that mess all over you, I'll bet you're really beautiful."
He tried to say more, but then the world spun again. The ground rushed up to slam him in the back. "Oww!" he moaned. "My head fell off of my helmet. Oww..."
* * *
Awakening in a bed rather than a hammock--or less--always stood out these days. Consciousness gradually returned, and so did the pain. Dull, throbbing, all-over pain seemed to fade into his mind along with the rest of physical sensation. It was punctuated by the sharper throbbing of bruises on his shoulder, his left forearm, his head... and by the burning pain of pulled muscles in his legs.
Davos moved a little, testing his muscles and the sensation of the sheets. The muscles worked. So did his skin. Apparently he had no clothes on at all. The bed felt very comfortable. It was more comfortable, perhaps, than any bed he'd ever lain in.
He felt a light breeze on his face, coming through a window off to one side. It was daytime. Of that, he was certain before he opened his eyes. When he did look, finding himself in a bedroom with grey stone walls, artwork and fine wooden furnishings, he had a single, overriding thought:
"I can't possibly pay for this room," he croaked.
"Ah. You are awake," said a gentle, male voice. Davos's eyes swept the room to find a middle-aged man in a fine jerkin and silk shirt sitting in a chair with a small book in his lap. Beside him in another chair sat a young woman in white robes and a hood. Blonde locks peeked out from underneath her hood as she rose. The older man stood as well, closing his book and leaving it on the chair.
"Where am I?" asked Davos.
"You are in the Temple of Isis in the city of Loewen, which still stands... largely thanks to you. I am Edward, Steward to Her Majesty Queen Lisanne."
Davos's eyes widened. "Steward to the queen? And you've been here waiting for me to wake up? Are you sure you don't have me mixed up with someone else?" His eyes flicked to the woman, who stepped forward with Edward but said nothing. He couldn't make out her eyes under that thin hood. The silver emblem hanging from a chain around her neck bore the symbol of Aphrodite rather than Isis.
"I know very little of who you are," Edward smiled patiently, "but there is no mistake. You have become a man of no small concern. A great many important people have awaited your recovery. The priests of Isis had a fair idea of when you would awaken. I haven't been waiting long at all."
Though he listened, Davos's eyes were mostly on the young woman. "Have you been waiting to speak with me, too?" he asked. Though he'd been through the most basic of rites administered by the acolytes, Davos had always felt a bit shy around them. The tales of drunkards, tavern rats and sailors about the priestesses of Aphrodite did little to allay that shyness, though he knew all such men were of dubious credibility. Yet the warmth and ease in his own voice surprised him. "What's your name?"
"I am Cinna, sir," she said, nodding her head in a bit of a bow. "I have waited... longer. How do you feel? Are you well?"
"I'm sore. Sore all over, really. A little confused, and thirsty, but... I think I'm well."
"I am to ask your name, sir," said Cinna, seeming to cut off Edward's next statement. "Your name, and where you are from." She didn't seem to pay any attention to the steward. Davos considered that the hood might make it hard for her to see Edward's open mouth or gesturing hand, but he abandoned that excuse quickly. Cinna's body language spoke of humility and a subtle presence, but just the same she didn't wait on the man beside her to speak, regardless of his stature and importance.
"Uh. I'm Davos. Davos of Murried. I came here as a sailor on the Jaunty Dolphin about two days ago... well. Two days before the battle. How long has it been since then?"
"Ah," nodded Edward. He opened a small parchment case hanging from his belt, drawing a scroll from within and unfurling it as he spoke. "From your garb and armament, we suspected you might be a sailor. You had the look of a foreigner in these lands. It appears our assumptions were accurate accurate.
"The sun has risen twice since the battle," Edward continued as he consulted his scroll. "And... yes. The Jaunty Dolphin set sail the morning after the battle," he frowned. "Several ships left the city as soon as they were able. I'm afraid yours was among them."
Davos let out a bit of a groan and leaned his head back onto his pillow. "I'm sorry," Edward said. "Whether your captain and crew thought you dead or simply couldn't wait, I do not know. I can assure you that no one in Loewen will mistake you for a deserter. Not after what you have done."
"What do you mean?" Davos blinked. "After what I've... wait." He blinked at the ceiling again. His eyes widened. "The battle."
"Yes," nodded Edward. "As I said, you brought the battle to a decisive halt. You slew the leader of the goblin horde. You turned the dragon against its allies and drove it off," he smiled gently. "You are quite the hero."
"I'm--what? But I--"
"Are you alone here in this city, Davos of Murried?" interrupted Cinna.
"Yes," Davos answered, glancing at Edward curiously. The steward merely shrugged and looked to the priestess for further elaboration, just as Davos did.
"What gods do you worship?" she asked.
"Um. All as are appropriate," he shrugged. "I pray to the seas most commonly. I sacrifice to Isis, Thor, Athena..."
"But not Aphrodite?" Her tone gave no indication of her feelings on the matter. The priestess maintained a perfectly neutral demeanor.
Davos glanced at Edward for only a moment, now feeling somewhat embarrassed. He didn't talk about this much. "I took Aphrodite as my patron when I came of age," he admitted quietly. "I pray to her often, and give to her shrines when I find them, though to no direct purpose. I have not asked for intercession or petitioned her temples."
"You are without a lover," noted Cinna.
Davos shook his head. He gave a bit of a frown. "Or a job, apparently."
"You've little to worry about there," assured Edward. "The Temple of Isis expects no payment for your care. I am here in part to see to your needs from here, at least for a few nights. The city is still in recovery, and the queen and king are still quite occupied with that, but when such matters have been settled, the crown looks forward to rewarding you appropriately." He smiled as a look of surprise crossed Davos's face. "I cannot say what that will be, but you will certainly see greater fortune here in Loewen than you would have expected on the Dolphin."
Feeling a bit too overwhelmed to crack a smile at that, Davos only nodded. His eyes turned back to Cinna.
"You set out to fight for the Temple of Aphrodite," she said flatly.
"I did," he nodded. Then he glanced at Edward. "I fought near a gate, but the lines broke. I had no orders to go anywhere or report to anyone if that happened."
"You've no need to explain yourself to me," Edward shrugged. "We're all well aware of the chaos of that night."
Davos frowned. "The red-haired woman. Is she alright?"
"She is fine," answered Cinna.
He let out a sigh. "That's good," he said. "She saved me from that ogre."
"Do you know who she is?" Cinna asked.
"No," Davos shrugged.
"She is Ariella, High Priestess to the Goddess Aphrodite," Cinna said. "I must go to her now. For myself," she added, only now showing any emotion as her voice softened, "you have my gratitude, Davos of Muried. For all that you have done. Thank you. I hope to speak with you more later, when I am not on the business of the temple. " With that, she gave another slight bowing nod of her head and left the room.
"She speaks truly," Edward explained as she left. "I understand she has been here since you were brought in."
"Didn't you say it's been two days?"
"Yes," he nodded sagely. Then he shrugged off that concern for more practical matters. "I'll fetch one of the acolytes to look over your wounds. If you're ready to move, we'll see to getting you settled in new lodgings."
* * *
Repairs to the rest of the temple could wait. The main doors stood secure once again and the blood and bodies had been removed for proper burial--or cremation, as was the goblin way. Ariella bore no love for her attackers, but her anger and will to do harm ended at death. She saw no reason to insult a foe beyond the grave.
She stood naked in the entrance to the inner sanctum, watching as her acolytes performed rituals of thanks and praise around the statue of Aphrodite. As with all such rites, the faithful bared their bodies to the goddess in a quiet demonstration of gratitude and joy. Ariella's beauty was second to none, possessed of flowing red hair, a slender, shapely figure and full, pert breasts. She bore a youthful glow that refused to wane as the years passed; she looked to be perhaps halfway through her twenties, though she was more than a decade older. Aphrodite granted health and beauty to her devotees, and the faithful celebrated her in turn by exercising those blessings in her honor.
Men fantasized about events within the temple. Not a season passed without some foolish man caught trying to slip inside. On the one hand, Ariella couldn't blame them; the salacious tales shared in taverns were not far from the truth. Even after all these years of service Ariella was still easily aroused by the sort of worship that occurred beyond the public eye. Even now her warm body trembled.
Yet few men carried with them the proper reverence for the goddess and her dominion. They succumbed to lust, but did not respect it. Not all men were so shallow; some other temples housed men as servants and even priests, but Ariella's temple was not so fortunate. The goddess refused to lower her standards. Ariella considered the failings of her male petitioners a shame, but devotion to Aphrodite had to be for Aphrodite, and not for her rewards.
Today marked Zenobia's first service as the honored avatar of the goddess. Now a month past her twentieth birthday, the lithe and slender brunette had completed all of the necessary services to take her place as a full priestess. Ariella could not help but smile whenever she looked at her young apprentice; shyness was not a common trait among Aphrodite's servants, but Zenobia never quite overcame hers. She pushed out of her shell and took her place among the others as an act of both faith and desire.
Ariella admired her courage. She also appreciated the special twist that Zenobia's shyness put on her sexuality. Her hesitation often increased the desire of her partners.
Zenobia reclined naked on the altar, cradled in the embrace of another nude acolyte with her arms and legs spread wide for her sisters among the faith. She had spent much of the night previous in secluded meditation. Her morning consisted of ritual bathing and grooming. For all her natural beauty, serving as the mortal intermediary for Aphrodite required special care and preparation.
Once the ceremony began, however, all the avatar had to do was lay back and accept the worship of the devoted. A proper mindset was important, but the primary role of the avatar in this ritual was to receive love and sexual pleasures for the goddess. Aphrodite welcomed her avatars to enjoy the role.
Blonde and lovely Keaswen sat behind Zenobia to offer her intimate and affectionate support as their sisters in faith saw to the pleasure of Zenobia--and, through her, the goddess. Zenobia draped her arms on the naked backs of two more women, each of them leaning in to kiss and softly knead her breasts. Zenobia's head rolled from side to side against Keaswen's shoulder as the chosen avatar sighed out her pleasures.
As the sensations on her breasts built, another priestess moved in to bring the ritual to the next level. Ariella looked on with open lust and appreciation as Merra slid on her hands and knees to prostrate herself between Zenobia's spread legs. The view of Merra's lovely ass offered up a visual pleasure that Ariella fully indulged in. Her gaze lifted from Merra's flesh to the face of their avatar. Zenobia looked down, eyes full of anticipation and her chest heaving with breath as Merra brought her kiss to the wet and hungry lips at her center.
"Oooohhh!" called out Zenobia. Neither woman at her chest slackened in their attention. Keaswen offered sweet caresses to Zenobia's neck and shoulders. Merra focused on her task at hand. Her head tilted only a little, just enough to allow her to gaze up at Zenobia as the young priestess further lost herself to ecstasy.
Outside the walls of the temple, many men spoke of the evils of such acts. Women, many of them claimed, were not to lie with women. Ariella knew better; she knew the will of her goddess. So did any who had the courage to listen. In truth, Aphrodite wanted mortals to enjoy love wherever they found it.
Zenobia sang out the first of what would be many orgasms. Her body would be stretched to its limits, subjected to the attention of each priestess and acolyte in the temple before the ritual was done. The goddess would see to her in that time, ensuring that Zenobia would know nothing but pleasure. Zenobia would never forget the experience.
Ariella never forgot any of her services as avatar. She had been blessed with the sacred duty countless times over the years, and been overwhelmed with gratitude every time. Her dreams often consisted of nothing but clear, consuming memories of such services.
Her hand drifted to the moistening flesh between her own legs as she watched. Aphrodite fully approved of that, too.
"Ariella," beckoned a soft voice. The high priestess dropped her hand back to her side, not at all out of shame but rather to end the distraction. She turned to find Cinna standing before her, still clad in her hooded robes.
"You have news," said Ariella.
The younger priestess nodded. "I do. Your rescuer from last night has awakened." Her eyes roamed Ariella's body with undisguised hunger and appreciation. Within the temple of Aphrodite, such open desire was accepted as flattery.
"He saved more than just my life," Ariella smiled.
"Indeed," conceded Cinna. "His name is Davos. As his clothing indicated, he is a sailor. His ship departed while he recovered, without warning."
"Will he stay in the city?"
"For a short time, at least," Cinna nodded. "Edward, steward to the king, has seen to his lodgings and requested that he stay until the queen and king see him."
"That is what I expected," Ariella sighed. "Regardless. You've seen him. Tell me: what do you think?" She waited for an answer, but within a heartbeat knew Cinna's intentions. "Oh, don't tease me," she urged. "Out with it."
"I believe he carries the favor of Aphrodite already," Cinna said with a quiet smile.
Despite herself, Ariella felt surprised. She had considered such a thing might happen, and even half-convinced herself that it might be likely, but to hear her suspicions confirmed... "Tell me."
"I desired him," Cinna said. "He is handsome enough in his own right, though not extraordinarily beautiful. He has a young sailor's body: tanned, fit, lean. His words were kind and respectful. He bears none of the disdain for women shown in other lands. I enjoyed his voice. But I felt lust beyond that," she admitted, nodding to herself thoughtfully. "He possesses an appeal to him that he does not consciously use." Cinna's eyes flicked over toward Zenobia, who moaned her way through another climax under Merra's relentless attention. "Should he become conscious of Aphrodite's favor, I expect he could be devastating."
"And the rest?" asked Ariella, openly intrigued.
"He seems bright, and earnest. I felt compassion and humility. I heard his story, though not many details. He thought he might die, and decided to die for a worthy cause. So he came to the temple during the battle."
Ariella gave a slow nod. "He came to defend Aphrodite."
"Yes." Cinna let it hang for a moment. "He has no wife, nor a lover." Her grin became wide as she watched Ariella's eyes.
"Ooooh please more," pleaded Zenobia. "More!"
The high priestess could not help but smile. This news inflamed her passions as much as the ritual, leaving her all the more needful. She had no reason to hold back. Rank had its privileges. "Come," Ariella said, and turned to join the ritual as Cinna disrobed behind her.
Ariella's hands slid over Merra's ass and her back, caressing her lovingly while silently instructing her to move aside. She heard a whimper from Zenobia as Merra complied, and a further wordless plea as Ariella guided both of the acolytes away from her breasts.
Zenobia's eyes fluttered open to see the high priestess loom over her on hands and knees. "Worship me," Zenobia beckoned softly.
Ariella chuckled. The younger priestess spoke with the words of the goddess, but the voice was still her own. She approved of the way Zenobia threw herself into the role. "As you wish," Ariella said before her lips closed on Zenobia's mouth in a deep, indulgent kiss.
Keaswen pulled away, guiding Zenobia onto her back as the high priestess claimed her right to make love to the avatar personally. Zenobia sighed with pleasure when Ariella's hand came between her very wet legs, stroking her labia and coating her fingers in preparation for further intimacy. Their kiss never broke; Zenobia and Ariella slid together, nude and needful, caressing one another with their whole bodies. Zenobia let out a noise of surrender as Ariella's fingers slipped inside her.
A trembling hand mirrored Ariella's efforts between the redheaded priestess's thighs. She adjusted her knees to widen the space, welcoming such touch. Ariella had made love with Zenobia several times before--indeed, she had been with all the women of the temple--and appreciated how the younger priestess improved every time.
They clung together, probed together and moaned together. Soon, Ariella lost herself to passion just as Zenobia did. Acolytes and priestesses surrounded them both, showering them with kisses and caresses. Though the two women remained fully conscious of every pleasure, they focused purely on one another.
Ariella felt an orgasm build. She broke her kiss with Zenobia. To her amazement, Zenobia hissed into her ear with a confident, sensuous voice that was not her own: "You will soon know greater pleasures in my service," the avatar warned. "Your duty will become clear. Open yourself. You may fear for your heart; put the fear aside and embrace your task."
This time, it was Ariella who moaned in surrender.
"I will be with you," said the avatar, "and you will know joy."