Swords with Souls
Medieval Fantasy Fiction
By Dan Watt
(Author of BARD series)
(Author of the Plagueborn series)
– Adult content –
A Gathering of Mourners
The army was traveling beside a river when she saw clusters of nightshade, wolfsbane, and cuckoo pint. She carefully collected some of each and dropped them into a hollowed-out gourd. Adding some water from the river and lots of ground up valerian root with a spot of wine, she waited until the commander was drinking with his men. He was boisterous and loud as he told his men how he had his way with all the women. As she walked by, he saw her and called her over. She was hoping he would. Now she could get close enough to discreetly pour the contents of the gourd in his drink.
Holding the gourd, she went to him. He pulled her onto his lap. She hadn’t expected that. ‘These sluts love to have sex with me, anytime, anywhere,’ he boasted as he slid one greasy hand along her left thigh and grabbed her hair with the other. Desperate now to trick him, she laughed and pretended to drink from the gourd. ‘What’s this?’ he shouted out for all his men to hear. Grabbing the gourd from her, he gulped the contents down. ‘You can fetch me more of that when we’re done,’ he had cackled, ‘once you can walk again.’ He forced her arms behind her and held them with one hand while he lifted the hem of dress with the other.
She struggled furiously as he pulled down her shift. ‘Now bend over.’ He was terribly strong, and the pain in her wrists forced her to do as he commanded. ‘Smile for the boys so they know you like it,’ he shouted. Instead, she howled a horrible cry. She felt like she was being split open. It hurt but worse than the pain was the degrading way he made her face his men while he pounded into her. She almost did smile, when he went limp and fell back. ‘Too much to drink,’ he slurred to his men and fell asleep. Embarrassed and furious she hurried away.
A few days later she was told to visit the commander. She entered a makeshift tent with only three canvas walls with a folding table in the center. On top of the table, she saw a cloth map splayed out with numerous stones set in different areas. The noble she once followed into the wood’s stared back at her with grey eyes full of depth. His long hair and beard were mostly salt and pepper. He looked too old to be leading men into battle.
‘Sergeant Cole is in a very critical state,’ he said to her in a formal voice. ‘Some of his men told how you were violated by him.’ He hesitates before drawing in a long breath. ‘You will be compensated and….’ Again, he hesitates, his expression one of awkwardness. ‘You need to be inspected for any signs of infection.’
‘I understand,’ she replied in a quiet voice.
He slid her a leather pouch. When she lifted it, she was surprised how heavy it was.
‘Keep your legs together until your present condition is determined. Dismissed,’ he told her, diverting his eyes as he did.
Later that day a familiar soldier with keen blue eyes and muscular forearms came to visit her. She and Surgeon Haelen often worked side-by-side to heal wounded soldiers. ‘Sorry for what happened to you Phoebe,’ he had said. For some reason she felt her real name would give people power over her so she had kept the name Phoebe. ‘It’s not like most men haven’t been there,’ she had replied.
She knew why Sergeant Cole was terribly ill, so she pretended to be worried as she slid off her slip and raised the hem of her dress. Interestingly enough, Haelen did not poke into her private area. While his head was under her dress and his hands held her legs apart, he said, ‘I don’t see any signs of symptoms. Everything looks healthy here.’ She laughed at that. He talked as if she was an ornate drinking cup he was inspecting to see if it were worth buying.
The next time she met Sergeant Cole was after a battle. So many soldiers were lost that day, and so many had critical wounds. The worst for her, was the noble who gave her the heavy pouch. She had never learned his name. She only heard other commanders refer to him as Lord. A young soldier, surely not much older than her came to be with him. The soldier was shorter than most. His build was thin but his hands and forearms rippled with muscle. His face was similar to Sir Ganbold’s but longer and lighter in complexion. As the Lord lay on a cot with a gouge across the right side of his head from an axe, the young soldier observed, ‘He must have partially blocked the attack or it would have been much deeper.’
‘I concur Master Sword Maker,’ Haelen said. ‘Whether he lives or dies, he must be brought back to the king.’
‘I’ll use my weapons cart,” the younger master replied.
“Madame Swan,” she hears behind her. She opens her eyes and turns her head to see Crimthann stripping. He steps into the stream. For a moment he stands there, his upper thighs and higher bare before her. She stares into his eyes. Normally, this would lead to sex but there’s something else going on here. She shivers but not in fear.
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