NIGHTSEED 8
By Heck

Comments to heck@heckster.co.uk

CHAPTER EIGHT

  "It's resting, now, Lord".
  The wiccan woman crouched low over her scrying bowl, the message in the 
swirling patterns clear to her practiced eye. Behind her, pacing up and down in the 
dim light, V'Daa made a small tutting noise.
  "It would be, wouldn't it", he said with a sigh. "It's full daylight. How close is 
it?"
  "Five, maybe six days".
  The man rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Not long now. And what 
about the other three?"
  Amillie made complicated passes over the bowl, and peered into the roiling 
depths. "They are not far behind", she said. "They have picked up it's trail".
  "And what about our, er, welcoming party?" He gave a little mad giggle at his 
own weak joke.
  "They should be coming upon them just about now".

  The green lane wound gently between the trees, the mossy ground muffling the 
sound of the horses' hooves. Brenhya rode several yards ahead of her companions, 
while Lon chatted happily, regaling the dwarf with tales of his early life as an 
apprentice wizard. Brannagh's face wore a stoic expression as, unusually for him, 
he politely pretended to be interested while watching the broad back of the warrior 
riding in front.
  "You's bin quiet fer a long times", he called forward to Brenhya, almost in 
desperation. "Sump'n on yer minds?"
  Reining Maakar to a halt, Brenhya turned in her saddle. Her face was thoughtful 
as she spoke.       "Something's not right", she said. "Listen".
  They all stopped and listened intently. "I can't hear anything", Lon announced 
after a minute.
  "My point exactly", the woman said. "Nature is never absolutely quiet. It's 
midmorning; there should be birdsong, at least".
  "Wouldn' we bein' 'ere shuts 'em up?"
  "No. This is a well travelled lane. They'd be used to people riding up and down 
here. We're nothing unusual". She stood in her stirrups and peered around, hand 
going to the pommel of her broadsword.. "There's something else...."
  She was cut off in mid-sentence as twelve horsemen burst from the cover of the 
woods, red cloaks flapping as they bore down on the travellers. Instinct 
galvanising her to instant action, her sword was in her hand as she wheeled to face 
the attackers. Maakar surged forward to meet the advance, ears laid back and 
nostrils flaring. They met the charge full on, Brenhya's sword whirling in her 
strong hand and Maakar's hooves and teeth flashing.
  Slightly less swift to react, Brannagh produced a shiny steel axe from his 
saddlebag and rode into the affray, hacking at the legs of the attackers. The small 
stature of the dwarf and his pony gave him an advantage, in that he could inflict 
damage that would effectively remove his opponents from the battle while staying 
safely out of their reach.
  Unarmed, Lon did his best to stay out of the way, riding Opal to the side of the 
road, desperately trying to remember some magic that might be of assistance to his 
friends. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending upon your point of view, an 
accidental collision with one of the riders threw him from his saddle and left him 
stunned on the ground.
  Brenhya's long arm slashed out sideways, and the wicked serrated blade of her 
heavy broadsword bit deep. It severed the arm of one of the riders, jets of bright 
crimson hosing from the stump as he screamed in shock. On the return, her fist 
drove the pommel of her weapon into the face of another man, who fell from his 
mount, clutching at his gushing nose. Simultaneously, her muscled leg lashed out 
to catch the rider to her left full in the ribs. The power of her kick all but stove in 
his chest, and he reined in with a look of pure agony on his face.   
  Brannagh swung his axe. With a noise like chopping wood, the steel blade 
lodged deep in the thigh of the rider with the broken nose. Instinctively, he swung 
his sword at the dwarf's head, opening a deep gash in his scalp. Adrenalin 
coursing through his veins, Brannagh hardly noticed the blow, and pulled his axe 
free with such violence that the rider toppled from his horse, taking the dwarf with 
him. The two rolled in the dust for a moment, until the disproportionate strength 
in Brannagh's small body gave him the upper hand. Straddling the man's chest, a 
berserker gleam in his eye, he raised his axe high and brought it down between his 
victim's eyes, cleaving his head like a ripe cantaloupe.
  The great bay mare, head down and eyes rolling, continued her charge into the 
midst of the attackers. Looking for her next opponent, Brenhya threw herself 
backward as a viciously swung sword passed through the air where her head had 
been an instant before. She rolled over the galloping rump of her mare, to land 
neatly on her feet in the midst of the throng. The man who had caused her hasty 
dismount bore down on her with sword raised. At the last second, she stepped 
aside, grabbing the reins as he passed. Such was the power of her grip and the 
strength of her finely tuned warrior's body, that the horse found its head yanked 
sharply downwards and to one side. At full gallop, the only thing that could 
happen was that the animal executed a twisting somersault, landing heavily on its 
back, crushing its rider beneath it.
  None the worse for its acrobatics, Brenhya was pleased to note that the horse got 
up and shook itself before ambling off to join its riderless companions. The rider, 
however, would never get up again.
  With an ear-splitting yell, Brenhya vaulted onto a passing horse, to land right 
behind its rider. Before her could register her presence, her strong hand cupped his 
chin and jerked his head round to an impossible angle. Neck broken, he fell 
lifelessly to the ground, and Brenhya found herself with a mount once more.
  The nasty blade of her sword found another throat, and another man fell to pump 
out his life on the grass as she heeled her new horse forward. Another powerful 
slash opened the belly of a further horsemen, and he watched with incredulity as 
his own intestines draped themselves in glutinous ropy garlands over the withers 
of his horse.
  A movement caught her eye, and she turned to face the challenge. A sword was 
flashing down toward her face.
  Given her superb athleticism and lightning reflexes, it is possible that she may 
have avoided the blow. But that will never be known, because at that instant a 
small round shield inserted itself between her and the blade, deflecting it from its 
target. The owner of the shield, a dark haired man who seemed to have appeared 
from nowhere, dispatched the attacker with a sword of his own.
  Brenhya spared him a quick glance. "Thanks', she said, and turned to face 
another foe.
  "You're welcome".
  At the edge of the affray, in the way of a certain type of leader everywhere, a man 
sat on his horse, directing some of his men, watching the battle, but taking no 
active part in it. Although he was dressed identically to the others, Brenhya had 
singled him out as the leader almost from the start. Climbing to her feet aboard her 
cantering horse, disregarding a man who was charging toward her, she launched 
herself into the air, executing a perfect somersault over the head of her assailant, 
to land astride the leader's horse, facing him, almost in his lap.
  The shock and disbelief had only just begun to register on his coarse features, 
when Brenhya's forehead, driven by the immense power of her neck and 
shoulders, smashed into his face. A cheek bone was broken and an eye was pushed 
almost out of its socket by the force of the blow. The man was mercifully spared 
any pain this would have caused, however, because he was totally knocked out 
and slumped forward against the warrior's ample chest. She gave a shrug, and he 
fell from the horse. Sadly for him, his limp unconscious body executed a perfect 
vertical roll, and he landed squarely underneath the horse. The skittish animal 
shied and kicked out; its sharp hoof cracked his skull wide, exposing grey matter 
to the light of day. Brenhya gave a little annoyed grunt; she had deliberately only 
knocked him cold, in the hope of being able to talk to him later.
 The remaining three horsemen, with the demise of their leader, now decided that 
discretion was the better part of valour. They wheeled their horses and galloped 
off down the grassy lane.
  Stumpy legs a blur, Brannagh gave chase, yelling dwarvish curses that would 
have made Brenhya's hair curl, had she been able to understand them. His strong 
little arm hurled his axe, and the weapon spun through the air to strike squarely in 
the centre of the back of the rearmost rider. It was at the extreme limit of its range 
and much of the force of the throw had dissipated, but the blade was sharp enough 
to shave with and it split the man's spine like a bamboo cane.
  "Yus!", Brannagh whooped. "Gots yer, yer bastards!"
  Sucking in a deep breath, that swelled her magnificent chest and caused a 
reciprocal intake of breath in the only two conscious males present, Brenhya 
quelled the adrenalin rush that had fuelled her body throughout the battle. Quickly 
checking herself over, she found she remained unmarked and jumped from the 
horse to turn her attention elsewhere. Scanning the scene she saw that, of the 
bodies that lay scattered about, only two were still alive, and one not for long. To 
her rear, Lon was picking himself up from the grass, shaking his head.
  "We won, then?", he said, stretching his back with hands pressed against his 
loins. 
  "Woss mean, 'we'", the dwarf retorted acidly.
  Brenhya paid no heed to their bickering. Her eyes were locked on those of 
another.
  At the far side of the battleground, seemingly relaxed as he sat casually astride 
his big black stallion, hands crossed comfortably on the saddle-horn, the stranger 
looked back at her with similar intensity. The air between them almost crackled 
with the energy that passed between.
  On his feet, Brenhya calculated, he would be as tall as she. Well muscled and 
handsome in a swarthy, rogueish way, dressed in leather pants and shirt under a 
chain mail jerkin, he was long-limbed and rangy with tousled black hair that hung 
carelessly over one eye. At his back, the small shield with which he had probably 
saved Brenhya's life hung next to a big, two-handed sword. He put his heels to his 
stallion and walked him over to where she stood.
  Brenhya felt definite butterflies in her belly as he approached. She had felt like 
this before, but not when she had only just seen a man and had exchanged only 
four words with him. As he reined in the big black, their eyes remained locked on 
each other, neither moving or offering to speak.
  A long minute later, her attention was distracted by a pointed clearing of the 
throat by Lon.
  "Ahem. Ahem! Who is this, Brenhya?"
  "Hmm? Oh! I don't know". She looked up at the stranger expectantly as he 
swung himself down.
  "Of course". He spoke with a gravelly but mellow voice, holding out a hand. 
"My name is Chthord. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance ...er?"
  "Brenhya. You, too". She took his large, calloused hand in her own equally large 
but not quite so calloused one. A shock of electricity ran through her at the 
contact, and she could see in his eyes that he felt the same.
  Eyes that bored deep into hers at the same level. It was something of a novelty 
for her; she was used to looking down into the eyes of most of the men she met. 
To look into Chthord's eyes at the same height was, she found, at once unusual 
and pleasurable. She liked it.
  "And we", Lon interjected, putting his face between the two so they could not 
help but notice him. "We are Lon, and Brannagh".
  Chthord reluctantly dragged his gaze from the woman to acknowledge the 
greeting. "Pleased to meet you". He gestured toward the bodies strewn about. "Not 
that it's any of my business, but what was all that about?"
  "They just sprang out at us, from the trees. Right out of the blue". The would-be 
wizard spread his skinny arms to encompass the scene. "Of course", he went on, 
"we would have handled them on our own. But your help was very welcome".
  Brenhya's lips curled in a smile, and Brannagh snorted and turned his back.
  "He exaggerates", the warrior said. "You probably saved my neck, as it happens. 
Thank you".
  The stranger raised her hand, still held in his grasp, to his lips and kissed it. "The 
pleasure was all mine".
  He was rewarded by a dazzling smile that lit up Brenhya's lovely face. 
"Brannagh", she said, her eyes regaining and holding contact with the man's. "It 
must be close to midday. Would you break out some bread and cheese, and make 
some tea? I'm sure our new friend would like to join us".
  "O' courses. Least us c'n do's. An' I's sure us has a spare apples, if'n you'd likes 
it, Ker-thord?"
  "That's be great", the man replied automatically.
  "I suppose I'd better talk to one of these fellows", Brenhya said. "See what he 
can tell us".
  "Mmm. You'd better".
  "I'd better do it now".
  "Yes. Yes, you had".
  "Chthord?"
  "Mmm?"
  "My hand?"
  "Your hand? Oh! Yes. Your hand. Of course". He let go her hand, and ran his 
fingers through his hair, clearly embarrassed at acting like a lovestruck teenager. 
As she turned away, she caught sight of Brannagh's face, caked with blood that 
still oozed from the deep cut in his beetling forehead.
  "What happened to your head? Are you OK?" The dwarf grunted and waved her 
away. She bent over him and examined his wound more closely. "That's a deep 
gash", she observed. "It needs seeing to".
  "Don't fusses. 'S only a scratches". 
  She placed a hand on his shoulder and grinned at him. "Good job it was only 
your head, instead of something important".
  "Hmph! Cheeky young heifers!"
  Lon, who had been hanging in the background feeling intensely put out by the 
obvious chemistry between the woman he worshipped and the newcomer, now 
stepped forward. "Leave him to me. I'll see to him".
  Brannagh jumped up and moved quickly away. "Buggers off! Yer ain't doin' no 
magics on I!"
  "Don't be silly. I'm just going to clean it and stitch you up. Come here".
  Dragging his feet, the dwarf sat on a tussock to submit to Lon's ministrations. A 
moaning sound from one of the two surviving riders distracted him, and he 
grabbed up his axe and rushed at the prone form. He was jerked off his feet by 
Brenhya's strong hand.
  "Hold on", she said. The horseman was lying at the roadside, a fine jet of arterial 
blood spraying from a gash in his leg, caused by Brannagh's axe, as he struggled 
to regain his feet. "He's no threat. There's no need to kill him". She walked over 
to the man, taking both his wrists in her large hand while she quickly bound them 
with a leather thong. "Lon, can you stop the bleeding?"
  "I'll need something to use as a tourniquet", the youth remarked, wandering over. 
"And if you can heat up the blade of your knife, to cauterise the bleeding points, 
that'll help:.
  Brenhya took a large kerchief from her saddlebag, handed it to Lon, and took the 
elegant, slim bladed stiletto from inside her left wristguard. She crouched close to 
the fire Brannagh had started, and made to insert it in the glowing embers.
  "That's far too good a blade to spoil in a fire", Chthord said, laying a hand on her 
arm. "Here. Use this instead". He handed her a large hunting knife that was 
probably once a fine weapon, but was now worn and pitted from years of use. She 
smiled her thanks.
  The wounded horseman winced as Lon, using a short stick, twisted the 
tourniquet tight around his thigh. He took the man's hand and placed it on the 
stick. "Hold that", he said. "And keep it still, or you'll finish bleeding to death".
  Eyes wide, the man nodded agreement. At Lon's direction, Brenhya held down 
the leg and handed the knife to her friend, its blade now glowing bright red. The 
young wizard applied it to the bleeding artery, black smoke curling upwards and 
the stench of burning flesh tickling their nostrils. The patient screamed at the 
intense, sharp pain, but was unable to tear his leg from Brenhya's powerful grasp, 
and in seconds the ordeal was over. Lon stitched the edges of the wound together, 
fastened a rag over it, and stood back to admire his handiwork.
  "All done?", Brenhya asked.
  "Yes. He'll be a bit weak for a day or so, but he'll live".
  "Will it be OK to move him?"
  "Yes. I don't see why not".
  The warrior woman needed no second telling. In an easy, fluid movement, she 
hoisted the man over her shoulder and climbed up a nearby tree. Lon began to 
protest, but she silenced him with a look. He turned his face away, finding 
himself, as previously, slightly disturbed by her capacity for cold, efficient 
violence when necessary.
  About ten feet from the ground, she found a broken branch that could have been 
made for what she had in mind; jutting about two feet from the trunk, and angled 
slightly upwards. One-handed, [to the amazement of Chthord, watching below] 
she hung the hapless fellow from the branch with the back of his cloak. Only his 
arms, still bound together and inside his sleeves, prevented him from falling.
  "Whoa!", he cried. "What're you doing?"
  "Just you hang around here for a minute", Brenhya smiled. She dropped lightly 
to the ground. Chthord grinned, and shook his head in admiration of her strength 
and athleticism.
  "All right", Brenhya called up to the man, swaying gently on the improvised 
hook. "Tell us who sent you, where you came from, what's going on, and where 
we can find our friend".
  He shook his head, as best he could from his awkward position. "Never! You 
cannot be allowed to interfere with our holy purpose!"
  Brenhya shrugged. "OK. Come on, every one. Get back on your horses". She 
turned her back on the man and started to walk away. As one, Lon and Brannagh 
followed. Chthord looked up at the man, spread his hands, grinned, and trotted to 
catch up.
  "Hey!", the captive exclaimed.  The four continued to walk. "Hey! Hey, hey, 
hey! Where're you going?"
  The tall woman turned and regarded him with hands on hips. "Getting on". She 
said, conversationally. "If you're not going to tell us what we want to know, 
there's no sense in wasting time".
  The horseman looked confused. This was not what he had expected at all. "But 
you're supposed to interrogate me! You're supposed to force me to tell you! This 
isn't right!"
  "That's what they told you, is it? Well, sorry to disappoint you, but it's not my 
style". She turned away again. "This is not a well travelled road", she called back 
over her shoulder. "Someone may be along in a day or so. Otherwise, they may 
not".
  "You said you didn't need to kill me!"
  "I'm not. Just leaving you up in the air".
  "But I'll starve!", he shouted to her retreating back.
  "No, you won't", she replied as she swung herself up into her saddle. "You'll die 
of thirst long before that. Always assuming the wolves don't get to you first. Or 
the crows don't peck your eyes out". She touched her heels to the flanks of the big 
bay. "Get on, Maakar. Of course", she added as the horse moved off, exaggerating 
somewhat to play on the man's fear. "You may get free before all that. There's 
always a chance that the thongs will cut through your wrists".
  The party had not gone ten yards when the man's voice reached them again. "All 
right! All right!", he called, fear in his words. "I'll tell you. Let me down".
  Brenhya turned Maakar and rode up to the tree, staring up at her victim. "Tell 
me", she said, "and I'll consider it".
  Once he began talking, it seemed that the floodgates had been opened. He told 
them all about V'Daa, and the citadel; he spoke of his master's plans, as much as 
he knew, and even gave them directions. When he told her about the Dragonkind, 
Lon looked at Brannagh and smiled smugly.
  Throughout, Brenhya frowned as she took in his words. Finally, he ran down like 
a clockwork mouse.
  "That's all I know", he told her. "If there's any more, I don't know it".
  Wordlessly, Brenhya stood in her stirrups, reached up with her sharp knife, and 
cut his bonds. He slithered out of his cloak, and slumped to the ground. The 
warrior woman pointed down the lane the way they had come.
  "There's a hamlet down that way. If you keep moving, you'll get there by dark".

  The four rode hard for about two hours, putting distance between themselves and 
the scene of the attack. A few tens of yards off the lane, they found a clearing 
where they built a small, smokeless fire and Lon, at last, attended to Brannagh's 
wound, the dwarf muttering curses all the while.
 While the water was boiling for tea, Brenhya got to her feet. "I'm going for a 
walk", she announced, looking pointedly at Chthord.
  "I think I'll join you". He came to her side with a wolfish grin. She grinned back, 
and wheeled to wander off into the trees, the tall man just a pace behind.
  Lon, still stitching Brannagh's brow, watched them go with a grim expression. 
The dwarf spoke with more compassion in his voice than was usual.
  "What d'yer 'spect?", he said quietly. "Yer knows they's no ways 'er's ever 
gonna go wi' you. 'T were obvus 's soon 's they meets, they two wuz gonna gits 
together, so's no use yer gittin' yer bowels in a uproar. Ow! An' watches it wi' 
that needles, yer bloody gonniel!"
  Within a few yards, Brenhya and Chthord were screened by the trees. They 
wandered along, neither speaking, weaving their way between the trunks. Brenhya 
felt strangely nervous and shy around this man, not like herself at all. She cast 
what she hoped were unobtrusive glances at him, for once appraising him not as a 
potential enemy or comrade in arms, but as a woman sizing up a man in the way 
women have sized up men forever.
  He was good to look at, she thought. As tall as she, he was loose-limbed and 
walked with an athletic, easy gait. Fairly long and unruly black hair hung over the 
collar of his black leather shirt, and his face, clean but unshaven, was handsome in 
a buccaneering kind of way. Without having sight of his body, her trained eye 
could tell that it would be hard and muscled, and there was a musky, male smell 
about him that she found almost intoxicating.
  For his part, Chthord thought this woman was the most splendid creature he had 
ever seen. He had no problem assessing her physical condition, as her warrior's 
garb left her arms, legs and belly completely bare. He had met and consorted with 
a great many women in his thirty-odd years, but had never come across a body like 
Brenhya's. Her unique combination of awesome strength and muscularity was 
evident in the way she carried herself, and this, together with her shocking beauty 
and undeniable femininity, set off by her glorious mane of chestnut hair, excited 
him enormously.
  A fallen tree, mossgrown but dry and intact, lay on a loamy bank. Tall ferns grew 
up around it and sunlight shafting through the canopy of leaves cast dappled light 
upon it, lending an atmosphere of enchantment to the scene. Chthord sat own on 
the prostrate forest giant, and broke the silence.
  "You and your companions", he said. "You have the air of people with a 
purpose. On a quest, or something".
  Brenhya wandered over to stand before him. "We are", she agreed. "A friend of 
ours has been held captive, and he's in great danger. We hope to rescue him". 
  "What was all that about a dragon the fellow you hung in the tree was going on 
about?" He gave her a lopsided smile. "And by the way, I like your interrogation 
style".
  "Thank you", she smiled back. "The Dragonkind, it's called. Some kind of 
daemon. I don't know much about that sort of thing. You'd have to ask Lon; he's 
our resident 'expert' on all things mystical. But from what I understand, this 
V'Daa intends to use its power to his own ends. And that can't be good. For our 
friend, or for the world in general".
  Chthord took both her hands in his. "It sounds like you're going to be up against 
it", he told her. "I'd offer you my help. But by the look of you, you can manage 
quite well without. Besides", he sighed, "I have to go my own way. My father is 
dying. I must go home".
  Brenhya laid a sympathetic hand on his swarthy cheek. "I'm so sorry to hear that. 
I know the importance of a father. But thank you for thinking of offering to help, 
anyway". She was pensive, for a moment. "I suppose this means we'll never see 
each other again".
  "Don't you believe it". Chthord ran his hand up and down her forearms, 
delighted by the smooth hardness under his fingers. "Don't think for a minute that, 
having once met you, I won't make sure that I find you again. As soon as my, er, 
business at home is taken care of, I'm coming looking".
  The warrior woman leant forward until her face was fractions of an inch from 
his. "That's nice to know", she breathed, her voice husky with emotion. "But, just 
in case..."
  Her lips brushed against his. It was the lightest of touches, but they both sprang 
back as if stung, the crackle of energy between them almost audible in its 
intensity. Chthord rose to his feet, and each stared deep into the eyes of the other 
for a second before being drawn together by a charismatic magnetism that each 
held for the other. Their mouths hungrily sought each other with urgent, devouring 
kisses, tongues probing and sliding, hands desperately exploring.
  Brenhya's hands found his belt buckle and unfastened it, as Chthord released the 
buckle on her pauldron, letting the hard leather garment fall to the ground. He ran 
his hands over her exposed shoulders, marveling at the firmness of the muscles 
there. Brenhya pushed at the waistband of his pants, while he did the same with 
her short leather skirt.
  "Hold on", she panted, mouth still in contact with his. "Let's do this properly". 
She pulled away, stroking his cheek, and removed her own clothing until she 
stood naked except for her thronged sandals and brass headband.
  In the act of removing his own garments, Chthord was struck motionless by the 
sight of her magnificent body. Lightly covered by a sheen of sweat and glistening 
in the sunlight, it was a superb spectacle of feminine pulchritude. His eyes feasted 
on her, taking in every detail, the very sight of her filling him with need.
  The splendid crown of shining tawny hair rippled as she shook her head, a 
lascivious grin on her gorgeous face. She moved panther-like toward him, every 
muscle playing under the flawless golden skin. Each shapely, full bellied muscle 
shouted of strength and agility, her tall body lithe and womanly but full of power. 
Her superb breasts stood proud and high, the warm but brisk breeze bringing her 
berry-sized nipples into splendid relief.
  His clothing fell disregarded as he disrobed and moved to meet her. She was 
pleased by the sight of his nakedness, as she knew she would be. Well muscled 
and athletic, he moved with purpose and confidence. By now fully erect, his penis 
was large, strong, and thick in girth.
  The two came together, and matched each other perfectly; knee to knee, belly to 
belly, chest to chest, and eye to eye. Their hands explored each other, hers running 
over his strong back, his finding her perfect breasts and running through her 
glossy hair. Their mouths hungrily sought each other, lips crushed together and 
tongues wrestling.
  Brenhya was delighted to be mouth to mouth with a man who, for once, was her 
equal in height. He was also sufficiently robust that she did not feel inhibited, and 
could give her awesome strength full rein.
  For his part, Chthord felt that all his birthdays had come at once. He had never, 
never come across such a woman as this, matching him in height and surpassing 
him in power. He found her strength to be a tremendous stimulant, increasing his 
lust and spurring him on. His hand rested on her bicep, and she flexed the muscle, 
filling his hand with steel-hard roundness and sending further waves of excitement 
through his manly body.
  Brenhya hugged the man with all her strength, at last able to give in to her 
passion with a man that would not be injured by her power. Even so, his breath 
exploded from him with a whoosh as her arms constricted his chest with pythonic 
strength. Previously only suspected, he now knew that she was stronger than him.
  Releasing him, she drew him down to the fern-carpeted ground, positioning 
herself beneath him. Neither of them was the dominant partner, here, and she 
found she liked that.
  He lay full length atop her, the densely muscled body below him easily able to 
bear his weight. His mouth found a nipple, nuzzling and sucking at its fullness, as 
his other hand reached between her legs to find the moistness at her groin.
  Her head arched back as his finger found the little hard bud of her clitoris, and a 
low moan escaped her lips. Her own hands ran over his back and down his sides, 
familiarising themselves with every inch of his masculinity.
  He slipped a thick finger deep inside her, withdrawing it slowly and raising it to 
his mouth to taste the salty-sweet flavour. She pulled his head down and kissed 
him long and deep, the taste of her still in his mouth and adding to her arousal. 
The tremendous muscles of her thighs tensed and relaxed, setting up alternating 
pressures on his tumescent phallus and almost causing him to come before he had 
penetrated.
  Her knees came up and her thighs parted. He naturally fell between her legs and 
his manhood came into contact with her warm pudenda. The scent of her fecundity 
reached his nostrils. He breathed it in deeply, savouring the musky aroma.
  He was breathing heavily, by now, and she was only slightly less breathless. 
Their bodies, finely tuned and conditioned as they were, writhed and slid against 
each other, lubricated by a film of moisture as their sweat intermingled.
  The large purple head of his proud penis pushed at the lips of her vulva, rubbing 
against the pink flesh of her labia and the pulsating clitoris inside. She spread her 
legs wider to welcome him, and he slid deep inside her dark, moist tunnel. The 
muscles lining her vaginal walls clutched firmly at his shaft, sending tremors of 
pleasure through them both.
  Still manipulating her nipple and keeping his mouth on hers, he began to move in 
and out with long, slow movements. But in their doubly heightened state, neither 
had the patience for slow lovemaking. Brenhya began to thrust upwards to meet 
his downstroke in perfect synchronisation, her vaginal muscles tightening about 
his phallus on each withdrawal and causing him to shudder with pleasure. Her 
strong movements caused her belly muscles to ripple against him, urging him to 
greater efforts, propelling him faster and faster, harder and harder, penetrating to 
his full, impressive length on each stroke.
  His breath was hard and fast as he felt his orgasm building. He began to let out 
short groans, and plunged harder and even deeper.
  Brenhya was not quite ready. Her strong hands went to his pumping buttocks and 
clamped down, preventing his motion, while her vaginal and belly muscles 
gripped tight around his penis to stop his climax. "Hold on", she panted. "Just a 
second".
  He clenched his teeth, a tight little moan issuing as he fought back his orgasm. 
Presently, he relaxed as the urgency left him for the moment.
  Knowing she could control him in this way was stimulating for Brenhya. Her 
terrific muscle control had enabled her to ensure that he would not come until she 
was ready. 
  Still fully erect, he tried to restart the copulation. She relaxed to allow him to do 
so, and he began slow, deep thrusts, his hands playing across her superb 
musculature.
  It was not long before the urgency came upon him again, and this time Brenhya 
was ready for him. His drives became harder, deeper, stronger, faster, and her 
reciprocating thrust matched his exactly, each upward push of her pelvis lifting his 
knees clear of the grass as her back arched to meet him.
  Brenhya gave little moans in time with their thrusting as her own climax 
approached. Chthord's face was stretched in a rictus of ecstasy as the deep feeling 
welled up inside him. Their hips slammed against one another with perfect timing 
as the dual orgasm swelled. Waves of ecstatic pleasure washed across them both 
as, in complete synchronicity, they both came together.
  Chthord threw his head back and let out a long, animal snarl as his semen spurted 
again and again deep within her. The hot fluid triggered her own orgasm, and 
Brenhya shouted her joy in time with the spasms of delight.
  "Grraaaaaaaaagh!"
  "Oh! Oh! Ooh! Oooh! Ooooh! Oooooooooooooooooooooh!"
  Both tried to relax as the waves subsided, but the little popping orgasms that 
continued for some minutes made them jerk spasmodically.
  Finally, the twin climax ceased, and the two were able to relax, panting. Chthord 
lay sprawled along her long body, and Brenhya luxuriated in the warm feel of his 
weight upon her.
  At length, when their respiration had returned to normal, Chthord rolled off her 
and lay totally spent on the soft grassy sward. Hands behind head, he lay staring 
up into the canopy of leaves.
  "That", he breathed, "was the best ever". He raised himself on an elbow and 
gazed into her smiling face. "I never met a woman like you, Brenhya".
  She looked back into his eyes, totally without guile. "That's because there are no 
women like me", she explained. There was no conceit in her reply, merely a 
statement of fact.
  "If I didn't have a duty to go to my father", he said. "If there were any way I 
could, I would stay with you".
  "To help in our quest?", she grinned.
  "Well, yes. That, and..."
  Brenhya gave a throaty chuckle. "It would be good". She planted a soft kiss on 
his forehead, rose to her feet and began to pick up her garments. "But your duty to 
your family must come first. It's time we got back to the others".
	12