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***

CHAPTER EIGHT — Machinations

*all characters are over the age of eighteen years*

***

***SMYTHE — Ironshire, Ekistair***

The morning of the day after Aran departed Ironshire, Smythe was on his way to visit an old friend. After all the intense training he’d put Aran through in the past three months, Smythe was in the mood for a relaxed, quiet chat, and he knew just the man to see.

“Henley!” Berrigan exclaimed with a laugh when he opened the door.

“Hello, Berrigan,” Smythe said with a grin, clasping forearms with the graying, fatherly-faced mayor of Ironshire. Smythe had lived in Ironshire for near to ten years, and Berrigan Stallen had governed with fairness and wisdom the entire time. He was so good, in fact, that the people had never bothered to elect anyone else, even though several men and women had tried unsuccessfully to gather enough popularity to challenge him. The two men had taken a liking to each other as soon as they met, and Smythe valued the man’s company.

Berrigan wore his usual red cloak of office, the pin at his throat bearing the sigil of Ironshire; a sword crossing a horseshoe, of all things. Smythe had always found the sigil strange, and he’d never been able to find out what it meant. Not even Berrigan knew.

“I’ve not seen you for months, Henley!” Berrigan chuckled. “Whatever have you been up to? Not chasing anymore pretty girls around, I hope?”

“I have no clue what you mean,” Smythe said with a serious face, though he knew his eyes gave it away. Truthfully, he hadn’t been doing any such thing — if you discounted Rayna and Bella — but it was important to keep up appearances. If Berrigan thought Smythe was busy with women, then he was less likely to ask questions about who Aran was. Ironshire was a small town, and you had to be careful with what you told to whom. Nobody in this town knew that Paladins ever existed, much less that one lived among them, and Smythe intended to keep it that way. Even Berrigan, as his closest friend, knew nothing more than that Smythe had moved here to escape family troubles in the east.

“Ha! I knew it, you old dog!” Berrigan laughed as he ushered Smythe inside his home. As mayor, Berrigan lived in the largest house in town, and the two-story brick building was well-furnished, though short of lavish; Berrigan Stallen was not a man for unnecessary luxuries. “You know, Henley, what you need is a good wife to settle down with. I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it till you listen, man!”

It was true; Berrigan said this every time Smythe visited, and Smythe bore the advice with good humour. “Perhaps if there weren’t so many pretty girls getting around, I would be able to do so, Berrigan,” Smythe said as he followed the man to his comfortable sitting room. “But enough about me. How is young Kedron?”

The two men sat in armchairs before the fireplace, which was already lit and blazing away merrily. Berrigan puffed his chest out proudly at the mention of his son’s name. “Ah, that boy, Henley! He reminds me of myself at his age. He wishes to join the guard! If his mother were still alive, there’s no way she’d allow it, but I’ve a mind to let him do it.”

Smythe grinned, remembering his own dreams at eighteen years of age. “A right boring job, that would be, ey? Town guardsmen of a sleepy place like this?”

The mayor winked conspiratorially. “A right safe job, you mean. Even a doting old father like me wouldn’t worry about him too much, were he with the guard. Still, it would be good for him to learn discipline and order; these things will serve him all through his life.”

Smythe nodded as he watched the flames in the fireplace, seeing sense in the man’s words. “He is a good lad, Berrigan, and he’s fortunate to have a father who cares for him.”

Berrigan smiled gratefully as he too stared at the fire. This was their habit, sometimes, Smythe and Berrigan; they’d spent long hours over the years just sitting and fire gazing, often without speaking. The room fell quiet very quickly, the only sound was the hiss and pop of the burning oak logs.

“How goes the town?” Smythe asked quietly. “Is all in order?”

Berrigan sighed and rolled his shoulders as if to relieve tension. “As much as it can be, Henley. It’s never an easy job, but I seem to keep people happy, so I continue to do it.”

“Aye,” Smythe agreed. “That you do, man. I’m glad it’s not me wearing the cloak, that’s for sure.”

The mayor’s eyes twinkled at that. “Perhaps you should, you know. I could pass the responsibility down to you. Maybe it will keep your mind off the fairer sex?”

Smythe couldn’t suppress a grin. “If anything could, my friend, it would surely be that.” his grin faded somewhat as he realised that these chats with Berrigan would soon be only a fond memory; Smythe never remained in the one place longer than ten years, and his time here was approaching that mark. He’d tried it once, long ago, but people eventually merter escort started to wonder why he never seemed to look any older. Ten years was about all he could get away with, to avoid suspicion. He wouldn’t say goodbye or make an issue of it; sometime in the next month or two, he would simply slip away in the night and never return.

It had been something of a lonely life, to be sure, and he missed his old master terribly, but, like Aran, Smythe had had to journey to seek his own Truth and had never found his way back east. He’d tried to reach his old mentor hundreds of times on the Plane, but had never been able to, which most probably meant that she was dead, and that saddened him terribly.

“Everything alright, Henley?” Berrigan asked, looking at Smythe quizzically.

Smythe grinned ruefully. “Good as it can be,” he replied, mimicking Berrigan’s earlier remark. He offered no more, and Berrigan nodded as if he understood and went back to studying the fire.

Smythe did the same, and for a long time the two friends sat in silence, the only sound in the room the crackling of burning wood.

***

***MALOTH — Somewhere in Palistair***

Maloth dismounted in the small clearing, dropping Shadow’s reins to let them hang freely. Shadow was a well-trained steed, and would not move unless commanded. The big black stallion dropped his head and began to nibble on the grass underfoot.

According to Mali’s information, the Oragashi Ogre camp should be close, making it best to go on foot, from here. He pulled his black cloak closer around him and raised the hood; there was a full moon tonight, and he would take no chances being seen until it was time, especially with Ogres being able to see well in the dark.

A hulking figure stood beside him, also concealing itself in a dark cloak, standing head and shoulders above Maloth’s seven feet. He had decided to bring Shenla’s Orc, Barrog, anticipating the need for additional muscle. Maloth was confident that he was strong enough to dispose of a dozen Ogres alone, yet he also believed in mitigating unnecessary risk, hence Barrog’s presence. He nodded to Barrog, then stole into the thick trees silently, the big Orc shadowing him.

It didn’t take long before Maloth’s keen hearing picked up guttural sounds; grunting and unintelligible speech floating on the light breeze along with the faint smell of wood smoke. The Ogre camp was not far, then. As he began to move closer, a big hand touched his shoulder.

He turned to see Barrog, who silently pointed off to their right at an Ogre moving through the trees. The hulking creature stopped some fifteen or so feet away, its head tilted slightly as if sniffing the air with its bulbous nose. Thankfully, Maloth and Barrog were downwind. It was a grotesque looking thing, with sickly pale skin and deformed facial features, though its body was layered with thick muscle, telling of immense strength.

Barrog caught Maloth’s eye and made a drinking motion, then indicated the Ogre, who did indeed sway from side to side as it peered into the night. Maloth watched carefully, and after a moment, the Ogre turned on the spot and leaned against a tree with one hand, the other reaching under its loincloth. The unmistakable sound of piss hitting the ground soon followed.

The Ogre had no time to utter a scream as Barrog silently rose up behind it and drew a dagger across its throat, the Orc having to reach above his own head to get to the Ogre’s jugular. It dropped to the ground clutching its neck, bare heels drumming the forest floor as it died.

The two assassins left the creature where it was and ghosted through the trees, encountering another lone Ogre — this one also drunk — which Barrog disposed of in the same manner as the other.

Maloth noted the Orc’s skill; Shenla had chosen a capable pet, indeed. As big as Barrog was, Ogres were bigger, standing maybe ten feet or more, but that hadn’t bothered the Orc thus far. If Barrog was as skilled as Maloth was beginning to think, this should be over quickly.

A short time later, they were on the border of the Ogre camp, hiding just inside the tree line surrounding the few ramshackle tents. A bonfire blazed in the centre of the camp, with some creature Maloth didn’t recognise roasting over the flames. Ogres shambled about everywhere, hulking brutes with grotesque features, some with wineskins or huge jugs in their fists, most of them well into their drink, judging by their movements. Maloth noted that only males appeared to be present; there were no sign of any females or children.

It wasn’t difficult to locate the two captive Giantesses; both of them dusky and dark-haired like Mali, they were naked, bound hand and foot and slung over the trunk of a massive fallen tree, their plump rears presented for the pleasure of any Ogre who felt so inclined.

Two such Ogres were taking full advantage, standing behind the Giantesses and drunkenly thrusting bayan escortlar into them as they lay helpless over the log. Thick, meaty Ogre hands were grasping big handfuls of their fleshy rumps, which rippled appealingly with the impact of the Ogres’ hips. In unison, the two brutes roared, jerking sporadically as they came inside their captives before pulling their massive appendages free, torrents of come flowing from down from their cunts and onto the bark of the tree trunk beneath.

The captives were about fifty feet away, their bottoms pointing not quite directly at the spot where Maloth and Barrog were hiding. Making a quick count, Maloth noted fifteen Ogres in total. He wrapped a dark-nailed hand around the hilt of his blade, preparing himself to fight. Glancing at Barrog, he signaled the Orc to circle around to the other side of the camp and wait. Barrog vanished into the trees silently, his bulky frame blending into the shadows surprisingly well.

Maloth waited, giving Barrog enough time to get into position. Another pair of Ogres stepped up behind the Giantesses, unceremoniously plunging their huge cocks into the bound women and beginning to rut furiously.

Maloth watched with a sneer. He had considered using the Ogres, bringing them to his cause, but he doubted they could be motivated by anything more complex than fear. They appeared base, primitive, and unfit to serve him. It was true his mother, Morgeth, had used the Ogres in her armies, but this war would be different, for Maloth would have legions of Dark Elves and Orcs at his side, where his mother had had only darkspawn.

Yes, under the circumstances, these Ogres were of no use to him, and if left unchecked, they could become a hindrance to his future plans. Maloth decided death for them all. With barely a whisper, he swept Bane from the scabbard at his hip, the midnight blade seeming to suck the very light from the air. It had been some time since Maloth had taken a life; he would enjoy this.

He flowed from the trees into the firelight, black death in his hands. A drunken Ogre stood with huge wineskin in hand, blinking in confusion as Maloth flowed toward it. The brute screamed as Maloth took its leg just above the knee, Bane slicing easily through the bone and tough sinew, dark blood spraying the ground. The scream cut off abruptly as Maloth pivoted, cleanly beheading the beast as it fell.

The camp was dead silent as Maloth stood over the corpse, every Ogre frozen where it stood, staring in shock. A second later, one of the hideous beasts bellowed in rage, dropping its jug of grog and picking up a club the size of a small tree. Others followed suit, and the ground shook slightly as they thundered forward.

A smile crept across Maloth’s face as he let them draw close, and at the last moment, he began to dance among them like the shadow of Death itself, Bane spinning in hands as if it were alive, limbs dropping and blood spraying wherever the midnight blade struck.

From the corner of his eye, Maloth saw first one, then another ogre cut down by a roaring Barrog, who was laying about with his huge double-bladed battle axe. The air of the camp had changed from one of rage to fear, as the last three Ogres left standing dropped their clubs and ran for the trees. Barrog made as if to give chase, but Maloth raised a hand to stall him; this fight was done, for now. The big Orc nodded, resting on his axe and breathing hard.

With a practiced flourish, Maloth flicked the blood from Bane, smoothly sheathing it before approaching the Giantesses, making sure to keep his cloak off the blood-soaked ground. They were gagged as well as bound, muffled cries coming from behind the cloth stuffed into their mouths. Their dark eyes were wide with fear.

He almost pitied them, if pity were something he were capable of. Standing before their faces, he adopted a kind look. “I am Lord Maloth,” he said in his smoothest, most reassuring tone.

The women began to calm down a little at the sound of his voice, their breath slowing as they realised he didn’t intend to harm them.

“The Ogres are dead, and I am to return you to your tribe,” he told them with certainty as he pulled the dirty cloth from their mouths and nodded to Barrog, who swiftly cut their bonds with a knife he produced from his boot.

Maloth watched them carefully as they slowly stood, stretching up to their full fourteen feet, flexing sore muscles and rubbing their wrists where the bonds had been tied. Like Mali, they were both darkly beautiful. If Maloth had to guess, one was older than the other, with slightly fuller breasts, more generous curves, and a look of wisdom in her dark eyes. Also like Mali, their nether regions were completely hairless. Other than a few scrapes and bruises, they looked unharmed.

The older one spoke first. “We owe you our gratitude, Lord Maloth,” she offered a deep bow, her heavy tits hanging beneath her. “I am called Lina, and besiktaş escort this is my daughter, Emmin.”

Emmin bowed in the same way as her mother. “Thank you, my Lord. We owe you a great debt.” Her voice was lighter than her mother’s, sweeter.

Maloth did not see the point in dallying. He responded politely. “You are most welcome, Giantesses. Now, if you please, we should return you to your tribe. They will be waiting.”

The towering beauties nodded, following Maloth from the clearing back into the woods, Barrog tailing behind. The Ogres had apparently burned the women’s clothing, and Maloth had nothing suitable to cover them with, so they remained nude, which didn’t seem to bother them.

The party briefly backtracked to where Maloth had left Shadow, the obedient stallion still waiting patiently, of course. Barrog and the Giants had no trouble keeping up with Shadow as they navigated the forest, eventually moving onto more open ground.

The moon was bright this night, though Maloth didn’t need it; he had been born with the ability to see even in pitch darkness. He guided Shadow with ease, avoiding hazardous tree roots and sudden dips in the ground; such things could break a horse’s leg. He was sure Barrog also had some form of night vision, after watching the way the Orc had silently murdered the two Ogres earlier.

Lina and Emmin, however, seemed to be having some trouble. They were walking abreast of him, one on either side, their towering heads level with his, with Maloth on horseback. Fortunately, they seemed unconcerned with their nudity, and Maloth casually admired the way their massive breasts swayed as they walked. What was unfortunate was the way the Giantesses were stumbling every so often, seemingly unable to see properly by the moonlight alone.

Maloth considered continuing on regardless, but decided he wanted them returned to their tribe hale; he would look a hero, that way, and he needed the tribe’s trust. “We shall make camp, shortly,” he announced.

Lina and Emmin gave Maloth grateful looks, Emmin’s dark eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than her mother’s.

“Barrog and I passed a suitable place near here,” Maloth told them. “Come.”

A short time later, they arrived at a well-hidden spot at the base of a small mountain, a hollowed-out basin, complete with a pool fed by a small stream that flowed down the steep rocks. The area was lower than the surrounding terrain, which should keep them out of sight from unwanted eyes. The night was warm, and they had no meat to cook, so a fire was forgone.

Lina and Emmin immediately made for the pool, expressing how desperate they were for a bath after their ordeal. Barrog moved off to circle the camp, keeping watch, while Maloth sat cross-legged on the ground to begin a meditation.

The battle had not taken much energy, but Maloth needed to preserve the strength he had, especially while travelling the physical plane. Soon enough, he would be restored to his full capacity, but until then, caution was key.

Meditating in this way helped him to harness his energy when he didn’t have access to his concubines. It also helped him to control his lust, which was becoming harder to ignore with Lina and Emmin present. That thought led him to consider the next addition to his harem, which still had much room for growth.

He had considered Mali, who was certainly attractive enough, and had a position of importance in the Hill Giants’ tribe, but until now, he had decided she would be more useful back with her people, as long as he had a string tied to her.

A smile crept across his crimson face as a plan began to form. Standing, he doffed his cloak, then the rest of his clothes, and proceeded down to the pool where the Giantesses were happily bathing. He sat himself down on a rock at the water’s edge, setting Bane down within arm’s reach, just in case. For effect, he allowed his cock to increase in size a little, so as to be more attractive to a woman of Giantess proportions.

He had chosen a seat well illuminated by moonlight so they could see him better; no need to scare them. If he was right about their eyesight, they couldn’t see him all that clearly even in the moonlight, while he could see them perfectly.

The women looked up as he approached. They were sitting chest-deep in the water, Emmin sitting in front of Lina, having her long black tresses attended to by her mother.

“How is the water?” Maloth asked them kindly.

“It’s wonderful!” Emmin exclaimed, her face alight with what Maloth thought was youthful exuberance.

“It is indeed,” Lina offered in a more reserved tone. “After those Ogres,” she shuddered. “It feels nice to be clean again.”

“Brutes, all of them,” Maloth said, a hard note in his voice. “What happened to you, I would not wish on anyone.” It was a lie, but they didn’t know that. He watched them keenly for their reactions, gauging and weighing.

“Well it really wasn’t all that bad,” said Emmin, raising her hands to splash her face. “I mean, yes, they had their way with us, but in our culture, that is how our men do it.”

Maloth’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really? They tie you up and take you like that?”

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