Dragon Jade Chronicle: The Warlock And The Warrior Read online

  Sir Vallan recovered first, and snatched up his mace, while the green knight pulled himself onto all fours and rooted around in the mud for his sword. Vallan advanced on him, and raised his weapon to finish the fellow.

  “Look out!” screamed Pol, thrusting a hand forward, dropping the purse. He felt a strange numbing sensation course through his arm and the air around Sir Vallan’s mace began to shimmer and twist. There was a dull sucking sound and then Sir Vallan collapsed to the ground, screaming. Everything above the middle of his forearm—his wrist, gauntleted hand, and weapon—had disappeared, leaving him with a horrible jagged stump.

  Pol stumbled forward a little in dull shock, the purse forgotten in the mud, as people began screaming. He gaped at the wreckage of Sir Vallan, the knight writhing on the street in pain as the blood left him. Cold metal tapped him on the shoulder and he looked up and saw an angel, one of the most beautiful faces he’d ever seen, green eyes on bronze skin with full lips and high cheekbones, wreathed in green ivy, and he knew he must be dead.

  “Get up,” said the green knight, her visor flipped open. She hauled him to his feet and he realized with a disappointment he was still alive.

  “We have to get out of here.”

  * * * * *

  It was almost night by the time Pol and his savior finally stopped riding away from Lowvale. For the first hour or so, she’d taken them down the main road, but at the Quick Creek Bridge, she turned her mare off the road and took them up the stream, into the forest, until Quick Creek joined up with the Wort River. Pol had never even been this far outside of Lowvale in his entire life, and when they stopped, he could see no real reason for it, every copse of trees looking the same as every other.

  “That should keep the Guard off your scent for a while, sorcerer,” said the green knight, tying her horse to a tree. She undid her armet and her dark black hair came tumbling out of the thing. Her hair was close-cropped on the sides, but grown out long and loose on top, like the precursor to the elaborate vertical constructions Pol had seen worn by warriors of the Dragon Clans in the story books. She began pulling at the straps and buckles holding her armor together.

  “Help me with this, then,” she commanded. Pol stumbled to his feet and assisted her.

  “We’ll have to hide it,” she said. “We’ll keep to the woods, and hopefully we won’t be found.” She took a blanket and some cord from her saddlebags and tied it and the armor all in a bundle.

  “I’m Pol Burr,” said Pol, watching her. She began to pull the padded gambeson she wore under her armor off, and while Pol was not surprised to see she was in tremendous shape, he did note that she’d been given a generous helping of curves. His savior was tall, just a hair shorter than Pol himself, but able to look most men in the eye. He judged she was just a few years older than him, a few years past her mid-twenties. “Thank you for saving me.”

  The knight considered him for a moment. “I’m Kiera, Sorcerer Burr. I assume that was Guild business; I apologize if I ruined something by forcing you to show your hand.”

  “I’m not a sorcerer,” said Pol.

  “Well, I know a man with a missing hand who’d like as not disagree with that,” said Kiera. She gave him a knowing smile, as if she understood he was keeping a secret from her.

  “I don’t know how that happened,” said Pol. Kiera looked at him, judging if he was lying, or joking, or really just a fool.

  “Nothing magical like that has ever happened to you before, Pol? No miraculous coincidences, or unexplained luck?”

  “Well, once I fell out of a five story window and landed in a cart of manure that happened be passing,” said Pol. “But other than that, no.”

  Kiera wrinkled her nose at the thought.

  “Well, I guess you’re just a warlock, then,” she said. “I see I’ve really gotten myself into trouble this time. A warlock thief, then?”

  “A warlock?”

  “An untrained magical adept. Someone not associated with the Guild of Sorcerers,” explained Kiera. “Are you thick?”

  Pol had heard the term before, of course. In every story about a knight, the hero was often pitted against a horrible warlock, who’d taught themselves magic and had some twisted fortress in the woods. He’d just never thought he’d be the villain in the woods.

  “You really think I did magic back there?”

  Kiera fixed him with a look.

  “Well, I can’t do magic, and we were the only two there with a grudge against that knight, and it seems silly he’d do that to himself, so…”

  Pol was very quiet as he thought about this.

  “It’ll be dark soon,” she observed. “Do you know how to collect firewood, Pol?”

  “I can give it a try,” he said.

  As it turned out, it was not much of a try, and Kiera discarded half his collection as either too wet or too rotten, then wandered into the twilight of the forest to find some more, muttering about thieves. By the time the sun had gone down, she’d used her sword and flint to get a fire going. Dinner was salted beef from her saddlebags, and a couple of carrots for her ill-tempered horse, apparently named Blade. Pol had found a berry bush, but Kiera had warned him away from eating them unless he preferred spending his night hunched over behind a bush.

  “So what did you steal his purse for?” Kiera asked.

  “Who? Sir Vallan?”

  “Was that his name? He never gave it.”

  Pol blushed a little thinking about his red-haired reason. It must have been quite a blush, because Kiera caught his hesitation, even in the dark.

  “You don’t have to be embarrassed about stealing to eat, Pol.”

  “It wasn’t to eat,” said Pol.

  “Oh?”

  “There’s a girl I know,” explained Pol.

  “And you wanted to buy her a ring?”

  “Er, she’s not that kind of girl,” said Pol.

  “Something nice, then?”

  “I guess you could say I wanted to buy her. At least for an hour.”

  “Oh.”

  “And her rates keep going up,” said Pol.

  “I see,” said Kiera. She didn’t say anything more and another eager awkward silence descended upon them.

  “That’s some unique armor,” Pol offered, after a while. “I’ve never seen green metal before.”

  “It’s dragon jade,” said Kiera.

  Pol stared at her in shock. “What, all of it?”

  “The whole thing.”

  Pol gaped. According to the stories, when Vash the Sky Dragon sang the world into being, Kili the Mite, who made his life eating the dead skin between the scales on Vash’s underbelly, grew jealous of her powers. Kili’s magic was not as strong as Vash’s but he threw his own melody into Vash’s song, one that was discordant with hers. The earth became sown with dragon jade, a green metal harder than steel and lighter than cloth that negated magic.

  Rings of dragon jade could protect the wearer against any spell, and shields of the stuff had been known to protect the bearer against dragon fire, which, combined with its color, was how it had gotten its name. Among its few weaknesses was that too much magic would cause it to crumble into dust. Pol could not imagine what a whole suit of it could do. With it on, Kiera must be nearly invincible.

  “It’s a family heirloom,” explained Kiera.

  “It looked new, though.”

  Kiera shrugged. She laid out a bedroll and placed her sword nearby, between her and Pol.

  “Dragon jade can be worked like any other metal, provided the forge is hot enough. It belongs to the eldest child in our family. Our smith melts it down and reforges it for each new heir.”

  “Your family has its own smith?”

  “I am knight. You didn’t think I was, say, the type to cut purses, did you?”

  “You did save a cutpurse.”

  “I saved a man from being killed in the street rather than face a trial. Sir Vallan really kill your friend?”

  “Doogli. Yes. He was my d
istraction.”

  “I suppose I should take you back to Baron Harvar in Lowvale there. What’ll he do to you, do you suppose?”

  “Probably cut my hands off. And if you try, I’ll use my magic to tear your arm off.”

  Kiera just laughed at him.

  “Okay, go ahead.”

  “What?”

  “Use your magic and tear my arm off like you did with Sir Vallan.”

  “I’d... um...I’d rather not.”

  “Well, I appreciate it. I’d rather you didn’t too. And I don’t particularly want to go back to Lowvale. They’ll probably arrest me along with you.”

  “I guess they won’t want me back much either.”

  “Probably not. Anyone waiting for you back there?”

  Pol thought for a moment. Depressingly, he realized his group of friends had dwindled over the years. His only family, his mother, had died years ago, long enough away that she had gone to her grave thinking he might not become a thief.

  “Lona,” he offered.

  “Waiting for you, or the coin?”

  “A little of both, but probably the coin more.”

  “If you can’t go back home, where will you go?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Well, look. As stupid as it might be, I feel a little responsible for you. Doesn’t do me a lot of good to have saved you from being killed if you get lost in the woods and get mauled by a bear. So you’re welcome to sleep here tonight.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  Kiera laid out her bedroll, setting aside an extra blanket. When she was done, she looked over at him.

  “Oh, and just in case you get any ideas in the middle of the night, you should keep in mind that I’ve got this big fuck-off sword, I know how to use it, and it’ll be sharing my bed tonight. And I sleep lightly.”

  For emphasis, she put the sword, which Pol could see was indeed the sort of large blade that tended to make troublemakers scarce, on the ground next to her bedroll.

  “That clear?” she asked.

  “Crystal,” said Pol.

  She tossed him the blanket and then slipped into her bedroll.

  “Goodnight, Pol,” said Kiera, settling down.

  “Goodnight, Kiera.”

  Kiera rolled over, turning her back on the fire and Pol.

  “Goodnight, sword.”

  The sword, of course, said nothing, but Kiera seemed satisfied all the same, making herself comfortable as she drifted to sleep.

  Pol clambered under his blanket.

  * * * * *

  When he awoke, the sun was streaming through the trees, there was nothing but embers left in the fire, Kiera’s bedroll was empty and her sword was gone. He started for a moment, expecting to find himself at home in his bed, or possibly in Lona Harrity’s bed, but instead his back ached from where he’d failed to clear the stones from underneath the blanket Kiera had loaned him.

  A groggy Pol made his way to the stream for a drink of water. He slurped water out of his hands when a rustle made him look up.

  Kiera was turned away from him, and he admired the muscles in her back as she lifted a simple smock over her head. He caught just the slight hint of the curve of her breasts as they disappeared under the cloth, and her ample buttocks as she climbed into a pair of breeches and fastened her sword belt around her waist.

  She began to turn around and Pol focused his attention back to fetching water out of the stream in a hurry.

  Kiera squeezed the extra water out of her hair from the bath she’d just taken and considered the man squatting on the river bank, the back of his neck a deep shade of crimson.

  “I’ve been thinking, Pol,” she said, grinning a little to herself. Worse men than Pol had seen her naked. “If you don’t get some proper training, you’re liable to hurt someone with your magic.”

  “I would never hu—” Pol began to protest, but Kiera cut him off as she climbed into a pair of fine brown leather boots that came up to her knees.

  “You already have, Pol,” she said. “Anyhow, I was thinking that you should go to Tia Vashil and the Guild of Sorcerers.”

  “I don’t know how to get there from here,” said Pol.

  “That’s okay, I’ll go with you,” said Kiera. She sat on the bank and drew her knees up to her chest to rest her chin on, sighing. “I guess it’s time I went home, anyhow. I haven’t seen my family in a year. They’ll be worried.”

  “We need to get you a horse, too. Blade’s a good steed, but she won’t make great progress carrying both of us. We’ll have to go back out to the road. Do you still have the money you stole?”

  “No, I dropped it,” said Pol.

  “Well, we’ll figure something out, I guess.”

  Kiera stood up. “We’ll leave in a few minutes.”

  “No breakfast?” asked Pol.

  There was indeed no breakfast, and Pol’s only consolation was that Kiera was a pleasant enough riding partner. Their conversation was cordial and engaging, and Pol endeavored to keep it chaste, despite the sight he’d seen that morning and their close proximity. His cock, though, had a mind of its own, swelling against his pants and the curve of her body. There was not much to be helped about that, although it seemed to him that Kiera had had a bit of fun with it by gently shifting herself each time he’d begun to relax and soften, but it could’ve just been the way the horse moved.

  Once they cleared the forest, they could see a couple of buildings nearby, including a farmhouse and a barn. Kiera trotted Blade closer, but turned her off near the cow pond, making it look like they were a couple of travelers stopping to cool off. She dismounted and began going through her saddlebags.

  “What are you doing?” asked Pol.

  “Trying to find something of value to trade for a horse,” she said.

  Pol chuckled.

  “Oh, okay,” he said, sliding off Blade. “Say, why don’t you stay here for a moment?”

  “Why? What are you going to do?” asked Kiera, but Pol had already begun slinking towards the barn.

  * * * * *

  The farm seemed pretty deserted. It didn’t take much to undo the barn door latch and slip inside. There were a couple of pigs and a milk cow, and two empty stalls, and there, in a corner stall, was a rather fine horse. A saddle hung nearby, and Pol looked about for the bit and harness.

  “Hold it,” a female voice said behind him. Pol turned slowly and came face to face with a young woman. She was a full-figured girl, with a firm plumpness, the type who lived on a farm, did all the cooking, and hadn’t known lean times in a while. Her golden hair was held back by a handkerchief, and Pol could see that her corset and dress were straining to contain her. But what concerned him more was that she was aiming a crossbow at him.

  “What are you doing by Brady’s stall?” she asked.

  “Er, well, I have to borrow him,” he said. “Only, I’ve never saddled a horse before.”

  “Pa wouldn’t like a stranger borrowing without asking. He’d say that was stealing,” she said. She looked Pol up and down, pausing for a moment at the bulge in his pants left over from his ride behind Kiera. He got the unmistakable feeling she was undressing him in her mind. He grinned at her. Fair was fair, he supposed; he was doing the same.

  “Well, is your Pa here?”

  “He took the cart to town.”

  “Well, I can’t ask him, then, can I? What’s your name, miss?”

  “Why?”

  “I’d just like to know who killed me, is all. My name’s Pol Burr. I’m from Lowvale,” he said.

  His name and his home gave her a little pause. Not as easy to kill a man with a name.

  “Nella Toft,” she said.

  “You like living here, Nella?” he asked.

  “It’s alright,” said Nella. “Mama died a few years ago, and Pa’s been a bit of a mess since. He’d be more of one without me. I’m all he’s got.”

  “No brothers? No husband?”
r />   “No.”

  “Well, I bet a lot of farmboys have been trying to steal you away from him,” said Pol. He was rewarded with a smile.

  “A few,” said Nella. She bit her lip and eyed him over. “You’re from Lowvale?”

  “Yep.”

  “A city boy, then.”

  “Sure,” said Pol, smiling at the thought of someone calling Lowvale a city. But he supposed compared to two buildings a day’s ride from anywhere, Lowvale might as well have been a city.

  Nella lowered her crossbow, and passed Pol to lean on the edge of Brady’s stall.

  “He likes apples,” she said.

  “Does he? I’m more of a peach man, myself.”

  Nella fixed him with a suspicious look.

  “He’s quite pretty,” said Pol, drawing closer to her. Her chest was rising and falling a little faster now. “But not the prettiest thing here.”

  “You city boys are smoother than farmboys,” said Nella. She slid up against him. Pol grinned at her again.

  “That’s not all we’re good at,” he said. He reached down and pulled the hem of her dress up above her waist. He paused to see if he’d gone too far. Nella tensed, but didn’t cry out. She stepped her legs apart and braced herself against the stall, and Pol smiled. Farmboys cut corners, apparently.

  “Oh!” cried Nella, when he dropped to his knees and buried his face in her already moist pussy instead. Pol reached his hands up to spread her lips apart and to find her little clit, hiding under its hood just above where he was working with his tongue. He pulled Nella further back from the stall, causing her to dip forward for a better angle.

  “Oh, hells,” said Nella. “I need to move to the city.”

  Pol hummed a little in response, and was rewarded with another gasp from Nella. He took his hand off her clit, and worked a finger into the warmth of her pussy. Nella moaned, and when he placed another finger in there and buried it down to his last knuckle, she began to move her hips a little in response. Pol met her movements with his own wrist.

  It didn’t take Nella very long, between the attentions of Pol’s mouth and his fingers, to find her way around to cumming. As the warmth poured up over her body, her knees buckled, and she began to sink down. Her finger, still on the trigger of the crossbow, accidentally contracted, launching the bolt into the ground by Pol’s knees, causing them both to jump a little and then laugh in giddy excitement.