Her flight from the deceased Duke Acaster’s tent is simple — she merely marches out the front flap, clad in pilfered (surprisingly comfortable) riding leathers (which accentuate her curves, Vaylin will be glad to see), and nods to the two guards. “The Duke wants me to bring my report to Thornton — he hopes the peasants there will understand we have a common foe, worth uniting against. He commands I am given your swiftest steed to see this through.”
Both guards aren’t entirely sure about that, but know that if they go inside to check and these were the Duke’s instructions, then objurgation would be getting off lightly — very fond of the lash, Duke Acaster is (was). Kara seals it with a steely, “And he instructs that his conference is not to be further disturbed,” which sounds so much like something he’d say that they pack her off to the quartermaster, who’s just as easily browbeaten into furnishing Kara with a horse.
Though she had her sights set on Acaster’s destrier, she knows better than to push the lie that far, and settles for a swift, tan palfrey with a shaggy mane and firm hooves. It carries her out of the camp to her little hidey-hole (where she collects her things and sets her pony free to make it own choices), and then beyond, striking north with haste. Bred for the terrain, the palfrey — which she names Pounce — picks over the pockmarked ground without losing even a dot of speed.
On Pounce, Kara laughs, the freedom of horseback and isolation bringing joy to her twisted heart. Having all her followers is wonderful, of course, and her cock aches for Lily, for Jaika, for Maynier — even (especially, though she wouldn’t admit it) for Elsa; yet still, out here she needn’t worry about managing people. She just has to follow her finely-tuned instincts, let the wind throw her hair back, and thunder off to destiny.
Destiny, as it turns out, is a day’s ride (long enough for the potion to wear off, but Kara’s already explained who she really is), on the other side of the Dukedom of Eagleclaw. Kara notes with approval that Vaylin’s camp is not the ramshackle affair that Acaster’s was, but an organised, fortified position atop a gentle hill. Closer inspection reveals the acclivity is dotted with gnarled stumps and fat rocks, hell for a cavalry charge.
Now here’s an ally with some sense. She spurs Pounce onward, approaching the camp like a visiting dignitary. “I am Kara, of Meadowbrook. Lady Redbor has sent for me, and I answer her summons,” she declares, voice lofty and ever-so-impressed with herself.
“Yes,” comes the reply, ice-cold and ever-so-unimpressed with Kara. The voice’s owner is a head shorter than her, but her tough, battle-scarred face, shining through her mane of shiny blonde hair, betrays a woman with no reason to fear. Armoured and important, she stands at the top of the hill, soldiers behind her. “I will take you to my Lady. But I warn you: any treachery will be answered swiftly, and without mercy.”
“I would never dream of betraying the Lady. I want to make her the premier power in this festering boil you all call home.”
The armoured woman frowns, gestures for a few more troops to come up — anyone this reflexively combative needs a close guard — and then nods. “Approach, Kara of Meadowbrook. I am Helena of Redfen, Master-at-Arms for the Lady Redbor.”
“And a little cutie,” Kara teases, slinging off Pounce and letting some pitiful squire rein him up. “Maybe Vaylin will throw you in to secure our alliance.” Gods, girl, you’re pent up. Should never have sent Jaika away.
“This way.”
“What, not even a smile?”
Helena leads her to a simple, austere tent, a rounded command pavilion in the centre of the camp. She gestures for Kara to enter, and she does, swaggering and smiling.
“Oh, Vaylin,” she calls, “I’m here for-”
Something’s wrong.
Of course something’s wrong — the fucking tent’s empty. The command table’s there, complete with the communication gems, but Lady Redbor isn’t in sight, and neither is anyone else. Helena’s strong arms close around Kara’s from behind, pull them back. “Hey!” Kara shouts, only for more hands to seize her. “You’ll-” but the threat is never heard, because something heavy collides with her head, and Kara collapses in Helena’s iron grip.
She comes to in a dungeon with something horribly uncomfortably around her neck. Heavy, studded iron, pinching into the flesh. Her wrists and ankles are shackled tight. Kara’s first instinct is to burn her way out, but her magic doesn’t come — like she could never cast at all.
The air is thick with death. The fetid smell tells Kara that dozens of captives have been forgotten down here, over the years, and if she could go to the far wall and peek out the iron bars, she’d likely see skeletons chained up in the other cells, flesh long since nibbled away by rats, clothes devoured by moths, even the last bits of meat clinging to the ancient bones digested by ant colonies or cockroaches.
“Hello?” she calls, not quite sure about her next steps, but certain that, whatever they are, a lot of people are going to be very sorry they thought they could fuck with Kara… Huh. Should sort out a last name, or at least a title. Kara the Conqueror? Kara the Terrible? Kara, Noblesbane. Oooh, maybe that.
Shocked back to the matter at hand by the jingling of keys, Kara snaps her head up and sees the Lady Redbor on the other side of the bars, hard face half obscured by dancing shadows, flickering torch in hand. “Hello.”
“And here I thought we were friends, Vaylin.”
“Nobility don’t need friends, and neither do you. They need allies, and so do you. I never lied to you — you are beautiful, and I desire you. It would bring me great pleasure to take you into my bed. And yet, alas, it must be on my terms. On yours and you would carry forward with the mistaken impression that we are equals; my host eclipses yours in number, and you command undisciplined goblins who will break at the first charge.” It’s almost refreshing, the lack of pretence, all denuded before her without the obscuring canopy of etiquette or negotiation. Maybe Kara won’t kill Redbor; just teach her a lesson. “Now,” Vaylin says, “I want to set you free.” With a clunk, the cage unlocks. Vaylin steps in, crouches before Kara, and runs a hand down her cheek.
The noble’s fine tunic obscures a knotted, lean body, greyhound-built. “Listen,” she says. “You did me a great service removing Acaster. You would do me an even greater service if I executed you before the walls of Thornton — many in the fortress-town hunger for your head, and I would become the obvious choice to take the Dukedom. This is what all my advisors tell me to do…” A surprisingly practised hand unlaces Kara’s breeches. “But you may be of use in other ways. Tell me, your goblins — are they prepared to massacre Acaster’s host?”
Kara grins as her cock slips free. There’s a moment of surprise on Vaylin’s face, but — like any good leader — she’s adaptable, and it twists to a broad smile. “Don’t I wish,” the warlord says, as Vaylin’s hand works her shaft. “I don’t have the cavalry. Takes a day to teach a goblin to ride, they’re real naturals at it, but the mounts themselves… Slow going, acquiring anything down south.”
“Yes. You are doomed, trying to scrabble together a freehold at the fringe of civilisation. Unless you have my help.”
“Sweet, sweet Vaylin, I walked into this camp intending to help you — changed my mind when I woke up here, but I daresay you’ve won me back. Give me more than a hand and I’m definitely all yours.”
“Later, perhaps. There is much I must attend to… Tell me of the orc.”
“M-” Kara wishes she could keep her voice steady, but Vaylin’s hand is too expert. “Maynier? How do you know of her?”
“My scouts have seen her, skulking about in the woods. She surveys our camp.”
“That’s Maynier for you. Dedicated, but not very subtle.” What the hell is she doing here? She’s meant to be drilling the armies! Of course, it’s touching… And I could use the rescue.
“She has not yet realised we moved you to the fort’s dungeon, I think. We may have to bring you up and give her a chance to see — make some show of it. It suits me for her to free you.”
“My Lady, I don’t mean to be bold, or rude, or anything else that might make you stop doing exactly what you’re doing right now, but… this doesn’t make any fucking sense to me. Y-you’re, fuck, Vaylin…”
“Try to focus.”
“I want to help, even after you shoved me down here. You wanted to show me you’re stronger? Message received, sweetling, but it’s nothing I didn’t already know. Just free me-me-me- yourself.”
“It’s not so simple,” the Lady replies, unlacing her own trousers, resplendent, soft silk. “A woman in my position must be careful. She must be ten times as zealous and conservative as any man, for all the extra scrutiny. The courtiers will move against me at any sign of deviance. In truth… I brought you here to be alone.” She lowers herself onto Kara’s length, which the Beast-kin sees as a mistake, except it doesn’t break her concentration or cause so much as a stammer, so clearly it wasn’t. “You are beautiful. I told you it was no lie. But I cannot ally with you openly, not when you lead a deranged cult of goblins and lay with women as a man does.”
“It’s nothing like a man does,” Kara grunts, already beyond impressed with this woman, who still seems entirely in charge despite the cock in her. “The women get to cum.”
Vaylin actually giggles, the first sign of appreciation beyond the purely-physical. “The distinction is lost on my courtiers, and on my soldiers. There is but one way… my position must be dominant, overwhelming, with no room for challenge. You will help me get there… secretly.”
“What- what would you ha-have me do?”
“I will arrange your escape. You will go to Lord Gibbet’s host, camped outside Gorfort. Slay Gibbet, steal back south, and gather your men. Destroy Acaster’s host, outside Blackburrow, before a competent officer among them fixes their squalid camp into something defensible. Do all this, and Gibbet’s rash son will march to meet you — publicly, I will warn him to wait until our hosts are joined, but privately, I will ensure I am delayed longer than he can bear. Crush him, and then you and I shall meet to negotiate — with you, at last, in a position of undeniable strength…”
It’s as good a plan as Kara could’ve put together herself. Not like to win her any friends, but then, she doesn’t need friends, does she? And any woman who can formulate a plan like that while riding her is a woman worth knowing. “Deal.”
“As a sign of your agreement…” Vaylin leans close, hips bouncing faster, “spill within me.”
And Kara does — you never want to let an ally down.