THE CRYSTAL THRONE by Bert McKenzie Copyright 2010
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any real person alive or dead is coincidental and unintentional.
CHAPTER XVI
Robin headed directly for the corridor Ellenia had shown him so very long ago. With Mortan in tow, he marched down the twists and turns of the narrow stone tunnel. After a short time they came to the base of the winding stairs. Robin began to mount them rapidly. "I cannot climb these, my lord," Mortan whined from the corridor below. "My poor leg will not permit me. Will you not go on without me?" To his surprise Robin turned and came back down the few steps he had already taken. Again reaching the ground, he offered Mortan his hand. The old man willingly reached for it, expecting him to bid farewell, or some other such custom. To his complete surprise, Robin gripped his wrist firmly, grabbed his waist and in one swift move swung the old elf into the air, landing him in piggyback fashion on his shoulders. "Whaaa, put me down!" shrieked the startled old man.
"Gladly when we arrive at our destination." Robin stooped to retrieve the walking staff from where the old man had dropped it in his surprise, and then quickly began to climb the twisting staircase. In a matter of minutes they came up to the top, ending at a solid wall. "Know you any opening charms?" Robin asked his unhappy passenger.
"A few," the old man confessed in surprise.
"Then speak them."
"Now?"
"Now!" Robin commanded. The old man mumbled and muttered under his breath. In a short time he must have hit upon the right charm because the invisible door of rock swung widely open. Robin pushed back the fabric of the hanging tapestry and stepped out into the corridor outside the royal chambers. He gently lowered his unwilling partner to the stone floor.
"Where are we and what are we about here?" the old man complained.
"We are attempting to find clothing more suitable to my station," Robin said as he walked over to the large oak door and pulled it open. The two stepped into the room. It was almost as Robin had remembered it, except that it looked slightly more occupied. There was something about the arrangement of furniture that seemed to indicate that people had been using this place.
Stepping a bit more cautiously, Robin crossed the room and entered the inner chambers. Here the occupation was even more evident. Personal effects were lying about on the table next to the reclining platform. Articles of clothing were carelessly strewn about on the chairs. Robin stepped over to the armoire and opened it. Inside, the royal wardrobe was pretty much still intact. However, a number of blue tunics and other items that did not belong were now hanging sandwiched in amongst his father's clothes. Quickly choosing the most regal looking tunic and cape, Robin pulled them out and rapidly doffed his own green jerkin. With the help of Mortan he was soon dressed again as a king.
"Can we leave now?" the old man whined again. "Someone may come. I know not who is living here."
"I know," Robin answered him. "It is Bailor."
"Bailor!?" the hold man cried in fear. "Then let us make haste from here."
"Yes," Robin agreed. "Let us make haste." They retraced their steps back to the hallway, and Mortan headed for the tapestry. He was three steps from it when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Turning in fright he saw it was only Robin.
"Come," the old man urged. "Let us be gone before we are apprehended."
"Not that way," Robin said.
"What mean you?" the merchant questioned.
"That is not the way to the royal armory."
"Oh, no," the older man cried as he was dragged toward the main stairs by a firm grip on his arm.
As they crested the hill overlooking the first internment camp, Rowana and Melcot slowed their mounts to a walk. "What course of action shall we next take?" Melcot pondered aloud.
"I can again try my feminine wiles," Rowana suggested.
"That may have worked once before, but sooner or later you are going to get caught," he told her.
"We shall see," she smiled back at him as she urged her horse forward toward the entrance to the camp.
"Rowana," he called after her.
"Wait for me and be prepared," she called back.
"Be prepared for what," he wondered aloud as he dismounted and led his horse to a sheltering outcrop of rock. He sat down to wait and see what would develop but he had already made up his mind that he wasn't going to wait long. Just as Melcot was beginning to lose patience and had decided to go after the headstrong girl, he heard the pounding of hoof beats heading in his direction. He pulled his mount further into the shadows of the overhanging rock and waited. Rowana rounded the crest of the rise and would have ridden right past his hiding place had he not stepped out and waved to her. She quickly reined her horse to a stop beside him.
"You know how you said I should not try that?" she asked, out of breath.
"Yes," he replied.
"You were right," she admitted and wheeled her mount to dash off again. As he stood in shocked surprise, watching her flee he heard the sound of more horses coming from the same direction. He jumped back in time to avoid detection as two blue guards raced by. Quickly mounting his own horse, he dashed off in pursuit of the trio.
As the foursome entered a narrow ravine, one of the guards happened to glance over his shoulder. "It is a trap," he shouted to his companion and then turned his horse to head back towards Melcot. The second guard continued his pursuit of Rowana. Melcot drew the sword he had picked up from the guard he left back at the wagon, and charged forward to battle. The two met, swords lifted to strike, and the metal rang like a bell with the impact. The blade of Melcot's sword snapped at the hilt and flew off, leaving him defenseless. The blue guard smiled wickedly as he came forward, raising his sword to strike the death blow. Reaching back, Melcot grabbed the small dagger he had hidden under his tunic, and deftly threw it. The guard's smile turned to a look of stunned surprise as the blade caught him in the chest. He froze in place for a moment, and then fell backward off of the horse.
Getting a flash of inspiration, Melcot quickly dismounted and leapt to the side of the dead body. He withdrew his dagger and began stripping off the guard's clothes. He took off his own red tunic and pulled the guard's blue one over his head. Quickly tying the lashes and fastening on the dagger and sword, he climbed up onto the guard's horse and headed in the direction taken by Rowana and the other. As he turned a curve in the ravine, he saw the other man heading back toward him. He drew the guard's sword from his side and prepared again for battle. As the other guard rode closer, he also drew his sword. Melcot realized he had been found out. There was no avoiding a fight now. The two headed directly for each other at a gallop. Just as they were closing in, Melcot realize that the other guard was female. He brought his horse to a hasty stop. Rowana slowed her mount and trotted up beside him. "The guard never had such a warrior, my lady," he remarked, observing how the blue tunic fit her trim body and accentuated her firm breasts.
"I shall take that as a compliment, my lord," she smiled back and returned her sword to its scabbard.
"But how were you . . ." he began.
"Those feminine charms . . . and a very large rock," she answered quickly. "But you are injured," she said with alarm.
Melcot glanced down to see the dark blood stains on his chest. "The injury belonged to the former occupant of this tunic," he told her with a smile.
She sat back with relief. As she looked at her partner, an idea came to her. "If I believed you were injured, might not some of the guards around the camp?" she asked him. "Slump down like it takes an effort to stay on your mount. But keep your hand on your sword." She reached over, taking the lead rope of his horse and the two headed back in the direction of the camp.
Rood tried to concentrate on anything but sex. He thought of his friends in the dungeon, of Ellenia's death, of Robin being banished to who know's where. But nothing helped. The woman was using her mouth to excite him, causing an erection despite his wishes to the contrary. As he became fully aroused, she slowly raised up and kissed him on the lips, while continuing to stimulate his phallus with her hands. "There, you see, you can rise to the occasion when you wish to," she cooed.
She reached into the folds of her garment and withdrew a small cloth pouch. Pulling the drawstring top open she dipped inside and drew out a handful of what looked like fine sand. The tiny grains glistened and scintillated in her palm. As she spoke, she reached down and continued to stroke his manhood with her free hand. "This is the dust of forever," she whispered softly. "When you achieve orgasm we will use this to prolong the moment." She began working her ministrations on his body with renewed vigor, causing his breath to come in ragged gasps. Try as he might to think of something else, his body was rapidly reaching the point of no return. Finally, he all but lost consciousness as his entire frame convulsed in protest against the chains holding him. Just as he began to climax, Melusine stood and holding her hand before her lips, blew the sparkling powder into his face.
Rood gasped as his lungs sucked the fine powder deeply into his body. Everything seemed to slow and fade as he felt his mind being pulled back in a detached way. The intense pleasure of his orgasm faded into the background as well. He could still see and hear, but his body seemed to be locked in an odd form of paralysis, frozen in the moment of his pleasure, head tilted back, mouth open in a soundless moan, and hips thrust forward. "You shall stay like this for a very long time," the woman was saying, but he really didn't care. "When the effect has had time to cure a bit, I will return," she told him, raising the knife blade up so his frozen eyes could see the glint of the metal. "I will return with this, and take my trophy. It will be preserved forever in its present state. A lasting testimony to your former virility."
The woman turned and left. Rood hung in the center of the empty room, suspended from the binding chains like an insect trapped in a spider's web, his body paralyzed in a moment of lustful release. And yet, his mind remained detached and aloof. It registered the intent Melusine had conveyed, but there was no concern. He mentally relaxed into the euphoric state induced by the strange magic dust.
Finding the armory was not a difficult task. But getting inside might well prove to be one. Two extremely large and muscular men, dressed in the palace white stood on either side of the door. "Recognize you those two?" Robin wind whispered to his companion.
"No," the old man whispered back. "They may dress as palace guards, but they are not. I know all the staff. They must belong to Bailor."
Robin stepped back and allowed the material of the tapestry to fall gently back in place, covering their hiding spot. "We must have a diversion so that I can get inside," he said.
"This is ridiculous. We will be killed," the old man complained. Robin looked down at him and he lapsed into silence. After a moment he spoke again. "I want no part of this, but if I have no choice . . ." He slipped out from behind the fabric and hobbled down the hall toward the two guards before Robin could react.
The men jumped instantly to alert. "Why are you in this corridor, old father. It is forbidden," one of the two challenged.
"I am from the merchant guild," the old man replied meekly. "I was seeking the great lord Bailor, but lost my way in this maze you call a tower."
"Go back the way you came, old one," the guard replied.
"I am tired and lost. Leave me rest a bit," Mortan complained in the whining voice Robin had come to know so well in the past few hours.
The two large men exchanged glances as if uncertain of what to do. Then the one who had spoken came forward. "You cannot rest here, old father," he said as he reached out to urge Mortan on his way.
The old man raised his staff and hit the guard on the shoulder. "You respect your elders. If I want to rest, then rest I shall," he shrieked. The other guard came forward to help his comrade deal with the feisty old man. It took the both of them to restrain him and attempt to carry him out of the forbidden corridor.
Robin quietly slipped from behind the tapestry and into the now unguarded armory. He quickly chose a small dagger and a short sword, strapping the scabbards around his waist. The shrieks and fussing of the old man could still be heard down the hall. He turned and headed in the opposite direction, seeking an alternate way back to the king's chambers. He knew that was where he would eventually find his enemy.
Darkness was falling on the camp as Melcot and Rowana approached. Two guards looked up as they saw their comrades riding in. "Where is the girl you went chasing, Forell?" one of them asked good-naturedly.
"He is wounded," Rowana called, trying to force her voice into a deeper register. Melcot leaned back, showing the blood stains on the chest of his tunic. The two guards came forward to help and Melcot relaxed, as if fainting. They caught him as he fell from the horse and placed him on the ground. As one of the two began to examine him, the guard suddenly realized this was not the man that left their camp. At the same instant, Melcot grabbed the man by the throat and they began to roll about in the dirt. Melcot tightened his grip, shutting off his opponent's air. They both struggled, the guard growing weaker and weaker until he finally relaxed into death. Melcot quickly jumped up and turned to the other man.
He lay face down in the dirt, Rowana standing behind him with her dagger drawn. "When they spoke of the fairer sex, they had not you in mind," Melcot smiled at her.
"I treated this one very fairly," she protested. "Now let us see how many more we may have to deal with before we can release the camp." They picked up the additional weapons and headed towards the main living quarters.
At sunrise the drawbridge was lowered to admit a small company of the blue guard. They were apparently returning to the castle to make reports on the various internment camps. As soon as they crossed the old wooden bridge, it was again lifted, isolating the structure. Once inside the company split into two groups, one galloping toward the blue tower, and the other heading for the red one. A smaller band of five dismounted and headed for the gate house.
"We are here to report an uprising in the camps, my lord," a tall golden skinned guard said as he approached the gate house.
"An uprising?" the man at the door said.
"Yes, my lord. A revolution is taking place and they seem determined to lay siege to the palace. We must remain vigilant. You may need reinforcement."
The man at the door turned and the six entered the narrow opening leading into an enclosed courtyard just beside the main surrounding wall. "Stand watch," the new arrival ordered two of his men as they took up stations to relieve the guards at the gate machinery. "Let us go view the canyon," he said to the others.
The three newcomers, the door guard and the two men who had stood at the gate machinery all filed into the narrow corridor and up the spiral stairs to the battlements overlooking the gate. At the top they encountered another guard who's duty it was to remain as a lookout and send the orders that raised or lowered the gate to the men below. The seven of them all looked across the chasm to the entrance canyon beyond. At first nothing was visible. "I see no one," the lookout grumbled.
"Look closer," the newcomer said. "See you not the movement in the corridor of light? The red and green tunics blend in well with the tower reflections."
"Yes. I think I see something," one of the men said, leaning out and straining his eyes.
"I see nothing," the lookout persisted.
"See you not that?" the new arrival asked excitedly, jumping to the top of the wall.
"What? Where?" the man asked climbing up beside him.
"There," the taller guard said as he slapped the lookout on the back. The man staggered forward and plunged over the sheer drop, screaming as he fell. The others all raced forward to see what had happened. With lightning movements, the newcomer's men grabbed and shoved, and two of the guards went flying over the precipice to follow their comrade. The one remaining man quickly jumped to the wall and began to struggle with the tall golden skinned guard. Each was trying to force the other over the edge. Finally, with a violent push, they both toppled over the side, as the new guard's men made a grab.
Four guards had plunged to their deaths from the high battlements overlooking the chasm. One man still dangled over the pit, held only by the tenuous grip of a friend on the back of his blue tunic. "Melcot, give me your hand," the other man said, leaning over the edge and reaching out. The dangling man was just able to grip his arm as the fabric gave way with a rending sound. The two pulled and Melcot slowly clambered back over the edge of the wall.
The three quickly descended the stairs and began lowering the bridge. It creaked and clanked down and into place, and was almost immediately covered by a streaming mass of red and green clothed men. The recent inhabitants of the internment camps were returning to the castle at last.