Queen of Dragons Sorceress Seduction A blue and gold banner emblazoned with a clawing white lion snapped in the wind above the War Duke’s head. From the height of the ridge, his golden eyes watched the carnage of the battle that had shifted from the ridge to the valley below. His great black war-horse shuddered under him, excited by the scent of blood and death. The massive stallion pawed the bloodied earth, jingling his bit, his armored sides heaving. The horses of his accompanying troops shied nervously under their armored riders as they stood arrayed about him to either side. The War Duke’s eyes were drawn to the opposite ridge of the blood-drenched valley, where a woman battled ferociously atop a screaming fire-red stallion. Even in her crimson armor with its fanged dragon helmet, there was no mistaking the feminine curves. She lashed out at her attackers with uncanny speed and deadly accuracy. The War Duke pushed his helmet visor up to get a clearer view of the woman. She looked like a red dragon in female form, the gilded scales of her armor glittering in the dying sunlight, her scarlet cloak flying about her like wings. Her sword flashed with the unmistakable glint of blue steel. The hilt was set with a stone that caught the dying sun's light and blazed crimson. No one could stand against her. Obviously an artist had made that scaled suit of steel for her alone. It hugged her curves and moved as easily as flesh. The War Duke whistled as he sat atop his restless stallion. “My god, she’s magnificent!” “Where in the seven Hells did the Boar find her?” one of the captains exclaimed. The War Duke narrowed his eyes. “I can’t tell what family she comes from, her shield is too smeared with blood to see what’s on it. She has to come from good family, though, I think that’s a ruby in her sword. Nothing else would glow that bright in sunlight.” “God in heaven! She just cut that soldier in half!” said another. “That’s not a woman. That’s a she-demon conjured from the pits of hell,” said a grizzled older captain. “Look at her, she fights with more than the strength of a man.” “I heard that the woman is supposed to be a sorceress called the Wyvrn, a fell creature born of magic, both woman and dragon,” remarked one of the war duke's lieutenants. “Her armor is made from the enchanted skin of a dragon.” “I heard that she was conjured by a powerful Sorcerer during the Age of Legends.” One of the War Duke’s younger captains nudged his stallion closer. “I also heard tell that the Boar struck a deal with a devil for her.” “A sorceress wearing a dragon’s skin for armor?” He laughed. “The Wyvrn is a creature of myth.” The War Duke smiled grimly. “This woman is just a formidable warrior in a clever suit of steel.” The War Duke looked about at his doubtful Captains. “I will hear no more talk of sorceresses.” The armored roan the woman rode trumpeted a challenge, then reared on his hind legs, pawing the smoke-tainted air with bladed steel-shod hooves. The woman moved in perfect time with her infuriated mount. Her sword struck like lightning at the tide of men surging all around her. The roan suddenly spun in a circle, hooves slashing and teeth snapping. Horses bucked fighting their riders, trying to get away from her inhuman fury and her demonic stallion. The War Duke felt a stirring in his breeches at the sight of her dancer’s grace and exquisite control over her screaming mount. His mind filled with images of himself wrapped in her powerful thighs, battling to ride her to submission. “When we win this battle, I want the woman brought to me if she still lives,” the War Duke ordered his men. They rolled their eyes, but saluted their obedience. Smoke shifted across the battlefield, obscuring the War Duke’s view of the sword-woman. He snapped his visor down over his face and shouted to his troops. As one unit, they charged down the embankment to join the battle, trumpets blazing and the flying hooves of their mounts a deadly thunder. *** The War Duke awoke to a pounding headache. He groaned as torchlight speared into his eyes. Shifting away from the glare of the torch, he suddenly realized that it was full dark, and his wrists were tightly chained behind him. Lying on his side, he still wore his armor, though his helmet was nowhere to be seen. With great difficulty, from the sheer weight of his steel plate, he sat up against the wall. With a groan, he shook his head to clear his long black hair from his face. The back of his head throbbed in time with his heart. In shock, he looked about him at the milling troops and realized that the red and gold banners of the Boar surrounded him. Walls of mortared stone rose all around him, surrounding him. He was within a castle somewhere. He squinted in the uncertain torchlight, looking for a door, an escape, anything. “Bring the prisoner,” he heard someone call. Two fully armored, burly men-at-arms lifted him by the elbows and pushed him to his feet. His steps hampered by chains, the War Duke’s spurs jangled on the stone floor as he was shoved forward. “Where are you taking me?” he shouted. “What happened? Where are my men?” In stoic silence, more armored soldiers came forward. He struggled against his captors, swearing in three languages, his questions ignored by the guards. He took some measure of pride in that they had to use four men to hold him, even chained. He was pulled and forced down a long, narrow stone-walled corridor, then shoved hard to his knees. His grieves squealed sharply on the floor. Mailed hands held him down by the plates across his shoulders. The sound of steel-shod boots swiftly approaching came from the corridor before him. He could hear the voice of the Boar growling to his dukes about the morrow’s battle. A group of fully armored knights, still spattered with gore from the recent battle, stopped ten paces before him. The crowd parted, and suddenly the dragon-helmeted woman was standing before him in all her scaled glory. At her throat, a huge ruby seemed to glow with uncanny fire. He had thought her armor red. He smelled the strong taint of copper and crimson dripping from her entire suit. The red was blood smeared across her as thickly as paint. Her body flowed like silk and water. Her armor was so exquisitely crafted that the scales shifted, flexing with each step as she moved, expanding and contracting with each breath. He watched as she turned to the man next to her and said something softly. Suddenly, he could see her back. Her arms and spine were ridged with razor-honed overlapping spikes. Her gauntlets were tipped with sharp claws and armed with daggered spurs to the elbow. The artistry of the armor was perfect in every detail, and gilded with silver even on the tiniest edge. The fanged helm appeared to be joined to her suit seamlessly. There was nothing to show how the helm was attached to her shoulders, or how it was to be removed. Her magnificent body looked naked but for the carnage-spattered scales that covered her completely. The vee of her woman’s flesh was delicately outlined by her armor, and at eye level. The War Duke felt the blood pound to his manhood as he gazed at her. “Yes,” she said, her voice hissing from within her dragon helm. “This is the one.” Her horned dragon helm turned ruby eyes to the Boar standing a pace away. “He is mine, you agreed.” She wasn’t asking a question. The War Duke could not believe his ears. Hers? He was her prisoner? “I agreed, witch. Him, you can have with my blessing.” The Boar let out a filthy laugh. He looked directly into the War Duke’s eyes. “You poor bastard. You should see what happened to her last one.” “Where are my men?” the War Duke snarled. “Without you, they’ll fall to my troops at dawn. If I were you, I’d be more worried about her tender mercies.” He laughed again then strode away with his knights. So, the War Duke thought, they have me but not my army. If I can escape... “I must be prepared for the battle before me,” the woman said to the War Duke, interrupting his thoughts. He could feel an odd tingling in his head as she spoke to him. The helm parted seemingly by itself at her throat, and she pulled it from her head. Hair the color of blood fell in a scarlet cloak to her hips. Her face was that of an angel, with wide-set onyx eyes and full lips made for kisses. The white line of a scar slashed across her cheek. Rather than marring her perfection, it added incredible character. “You are not like the others,” she continued. No longer distorted by her helm, she spoke in a voice that seemed to reach inside and stroke him from within. He was enchanted. She cocked her head to one side as she gazed at him, eyes narrowed. “I have no time for little mysteries or for niceties. I have need of your strength.” Looking into her black eyes, he though he saw the crackling of distant lightning deep within. There was power and a touch of sadness. For him? Handing her helm to one of the waiting guards, she gestured, ordering them to strip him of his armor. The War Duke had no idea what was going to happen, but he wasn’t going to willingly submit to anything. They unchained his wrists, then held him down arms spread wide as they unbuckled, then peeled the separate pieces of his steel armor from him. Even on his knees, he fought them ev...
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