Prelude:
This story is set in medieval times in a fantasy world that does not exist. Any resemblance to people real or imagined is purely coincidental. If any characters in this story actually did exist, and they were involved in the sexual scenes described, they would be eighteen years of age or older.
Now that the disclaimer is done with, I hope you enjoy the story. Please feel free to let your imagination go wild, as usual, this is a story to stimulate your imagination, as well as your pleasure zones.
Unlike most of my previous stories, this one has many chapters. I have already completed several and if the response is good enough to the first chapter, I will add several more shortly.
I normally don't do well with multi chapter stories, but this one has captured my imagination and the fingers have moved quickly across the keyboard. I have, of course been forced to retrace my steps several times as the story develops within my mind, but feel I am far enough in to at least release the first few words.
Enjoy, and let me know if you would like to see where the twisted tale leads!
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Chapter 1
Ian pulled the hood of his robe down close around his face, trying to block as much of the icy wind as possible. Behind him, Ayra's horse snorted, voicing its complaint of the freezing cold. Ayra herself remained silent, wrapped in her furs as she sat atop the animal, seemingly oblivious to the storm. Ian plowed forward, his feet crunching through the frozen snow, breaking a trail. He was nearly exhausted, and knew he had to find some sort of shelter soon.
Shielding his eyes with his fur covered hand, Ian tried peering into the distance, hoping to spot some sign of civilization. Hell, he would settle for a shallow cave at this point. He licked his lips, the salty taste of salty blood oozing from his cracked lips helping to keep him in the here and now. He jerked on the reigns, dragging the horse forward, the poor creature fighting every step. Ian's voice was little more than a raw whisper as he tried crying words of encouragement to the beast.
Glancing behind them, Ian could see their tracks, slowly filling as the icy snow continued blowing. His fingers had long since lost all feeling, and he knew frostbite would probably set in if it hadn't already. He trudged forward another hundred yards cursing at the gods. Ian knew if he didn't find shelter soon, they would be nothing but a meal for the wolves.
Slowly a shadowy shape appeared ahead, coalescing out of the blinding snow. It grew bigger with each step, its darkness more welcoming than intimidating. The wind seemed to lessen as Ian trudged forward, until he was standing before a massive stone wall. The wooden gate was burnt and half missing. Above it, the keystone still bore the coat of arms of Edan, a sword encircled by a thorny crown.
"It's one of the guard posts." Ian muttered, his words more a hoarse whisper.
Edan meant little to Ian, a fallen kingdom from the past filled with stories of better times. He had never experience such times, his had been a life of hard work and struggle growing up. Even now, fate had intervened, dealing his life a burdensome blow. Just coming into adulthood, he should have been seeing the world, experiencing what it had to offer, and of course, dipping his dick in a myriad of young women.
The death of his father seven months ago had put an end to that dream. Ian glanced back at the bundle of furs sitting astride the horse. His mother was a strong woman, yet as winter took hold, even she had to admit defeat. Pregnant, and ready to give birth in a month, she had finally accepted that their only choice was to seek shelter at her husband's brother's hold.
The mass of furs atop the horse shifted and Ayra peered out, her pale skin declaring she was in need of shelter as much as Ian was. She nodded, her lips forming into a slight smile as she struggled to climb down.
"Stay up there until we are inside." Ian croaked, his throat feeling like it was going to crack, just trying to speak.
She nodded and settled back into the saddle, as Ian pushed the charred remnants of the gate aside and led the horse through. The signs of fire continued as he coaxed the horse through the gate and into the inner courtyard. He was no warrior, but it didn't take one to know what had happened here. The main building was in shambles, half collapsed, the charred timbers sticking up like frozen claws grasping at the frigid wind.
Ian's hand went to the sword on his hip, hoping that they were long gone. He knew he was no warrior and was just as likely to hurt himself as he was to hurt any attacker. Still, the feel of the hilt in his hand gave him comfort.
Ian waited, listening as best he could. The wind was howling, picking up speed and he could feel it sneaking through the layers of furs. After several seconds passed without any sign of movement he relaxed, his hand still resting on the sword but no longer gripping it so tightly. If there was anyone hiding out there, they were probably frozen anyway.
Ian scanned the courtyard, looking for some sort of shelter. The wind let up briefly, and he spotted a small stone building tucked in the corner alongside the main building. It looked intact, even the roof was undamaged, or at least appeared intact under a heavy blanket of snow.
The horse seemed to see it at the same time and actually moved forward without Ian having to tug and shout encouragement, though he doubt his shouts were little more than raspy croaks. Ian's hopes soared as he neared the building and saw the door was still intact. As he reached the door, Ian dropped the reigns, and pressed his hands against the stout wood. It creaked, and opened slowly, the latch hanging bent and twisted.
Ian glanced back at the horse and saw Ayra looking at him, her eyes speaking the same desperation he felt. He held up his hand briefly, and then pulled his sword, the screech of steel making his teeth rattle. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, ready to do battle if necessary. The hut was a single room, its contents hidden in darkness. Ian croaked out a warning, half expecting to be set upon by demons of the night, but nothing stirred.
Ian heard footsteps behind him and spun around as Ayra stepped through the door, leading the horse. She stared wide eyed at him for a moment then they both burst into fits of laughter, the sound seeming to add a bit of warmth to the empty building.
Ayra stepped to the side, and fumbled with the packs, pulling out the small metal box. Inside were one of their most precious possessions, strike sticks; small wooden sticks with a compound on them that ignited easily. In moments she was holding up the lantern, its flickering light slowly growing until it filled the room.
"The must have been the smithy." Ian said, recognizing the huge anvil and the stone fire pit.
"They always kept a bin of coal inside." Ayra said, walking past him and peering beside the fire pit.
Even wrapped in furs, her condition was obvious, her belly swollen to the point he thought she might burst. She put the lantern on the anvil, and walked into the shadows, pausing only long enough to gesture for Ian to close the door. He nudged the horse aside and shoved the door closed, pinning it shut with the remnants of the latch.
