The Nest of the Necromancer

Chapter Three: Stage & Fight

The room was full and dark and smoky. Lace sat at the table, her wooden chair creaking beneath her, elbows planted firmly together on its rickety top. She was holding her eight cards close to her eyes to prevent anyone from getting a peek at either her cards or her tits, which were bare and on display inside the packed alehouse common room.

"Daggers," she grumbled, slapping two of the cards face down on the table in front of her. The action exposed her right breast for only a brief moment, but long enough to receive whoops of approval from a half dozen men pretending to watch the game. Funny that their audience was all on that side of the table. At least she didn't have to worry too much about anyone seeing her cards.

"Hang me," cursed the man to her right, laying down his cards.

"String me up, too," said the overweight woman sitting across from Lace.

"Daggers it is," said the final player, a middle aged, well dressed merchant who seemed out of place in such a dive. He had a sneering way about him, this one, but was skilled at cards, unlike the rest. He definitely knew it, and behaved as though they were lucky to have him at such a small stakes game.

That he'd lowered himself to sit in such squalor, Lace thought, meant he was a degenerate gambler. That was good for her. She had learned his name was Moril and he was travelling to the grand city of Ulsrook on some important business. He was a good player, the best one at the table aside from herself. But since literally losing her shirt to him early on she'd built up quite a stack of coppers and even a silver harvest, most of them his.

And now she had him right where she wanted him.

She dealt herself two cards, then two to the merchant, ignoring the catcalls from her audience while she did. As she picked up her cards she noticed the door to the dark tavern open: it was Puffer, back from her recognizance.

"Daggers and scythes," the merchant grinned, his haughty face very punchable in the barbarian's estimation.

Before she could respond her friend appeared at her side. Puffer whispered, "Gods be good I was right! Trader was staying at Falbrook when Amelia rose from the ground! That's north!"

Lace nodded, but didn't respond. She was weighing her cards and whether or not she should raise her bet or believe Moril's bluff, string him on for a bit longer, let the pot grow larger still.

"That's twice then, with him being east on the night of...," Puffer hissed, her whispering voice trailing off. She cleared her throat. "Uhm... why are you topless?"

"After commissioning the new armor I didn't have much coin," Lace groused, annoyed at both being topless in the first place and of the interruption in the second. She shrugged her heavy shoulders. "Game got off to a rocky start. Cleaning up now, though."

Lace wasn't thrilled about being topless, but she wasn't much ashamed, either. She knew she had a great rack and didn't fear giving any man the wrong idea. Hells, she'd welcome it if some surly lout decided to see them as an invitation for some unwanted attention. It'd been a couple of weeks since she'd last bloodied some arsehole's nose.

Besides, it wasn't like they could see much more than a flash of flesh every now and then.

"Are you going to chat with your girlfriend or play cards?" the merchant said, voice high and snooty.

Lace glared at him. To Puffer she said, "Pull up a chair. We'll talk after the game."

As Puffer complied Lace decided to wipe the sneering grin off the merchant's lips. She slapped her cards down and said, "Daggers all."

A frown creased the merchant's face, a dark cloud passing over his countenance. "Gods damn you," he cursed. He flipped his cards over revealing not sythes, but cherries and one dagger.

Lace grinned and reached out for her winnings, exposing her heavy breasts in the process.

"Not so fast!" fumed the merchant. "Why is it every time you deal you win, hmm? I wonder."

There was a murmuring of agreement around the table. All talk nearby ceased and people began to pay attention, this time not just in the hopes of seeing Lace's beauties. She darted her blue eyes around and saw the scowls people make at outsiders when they think they're up to no good. Her eyes rested only briefly on Swing, leaning against the table next to her, reassuring her with its presence.

"I've won plenty when you've dealt," she said, voice even and calm. "What are you trying to say, merchant? You think I'm hiding daggers somewhere? You've got my shirt for Condor's sake!"

The man raised his voice. "I'm saying Condor doesn't grant brutes like you such consistent luck! I'm saying you're hiding cards somewhere on your person. And I'm guessing if you were searched right now we'd find plenty."

The men in the room seemed to like that idea, and not only because they hoped to expose a cheat. Lace felt her face began to burn. She said, her voice a low threat, "I'm not letting ya touch me with those dainty hands of yers, so forget it."

"Doesn't have to be me," Moril said with the look of a hunter who'd just seen his pretty step into his trap. "Why not one of these gentlemen behind me? A quick search in full view of everyone. What are you afraid of?"

Lace wasn't afraid of anything. But she wasn't about to let some commoner feel her up and down in front of a crowd. Anger began to rise in her at the very thought and once again her eyes rested on Swing.

"Hey, let's just leave!" Puffer whispered frantically. "Let 'em keep the coins, who cares?"

"We're broke," Lace hissed back. "And I earned them coins."

"Then let me search you!" Puffer blurted out.

The men heard that and there were a couple whoops of agreement. "Yeah, let yer little friend search ya!" cried one. "Give us a show, go on!" said another.

Moril was scowling. "We cannot trust her partner to search her proper," he said.

"Oh calm down, fancy-pants," said the fat woman next to him. "It'll be right in front of us."

Lace leaned over to Puffer and glared at her, eye to eye. "I ain't getting strip searched in front of everyone, not by you, not by anybody!" she hissed.

Puffer's pretty face was beat red for some reason and she seemed to wince as she shifted in her seat. She said, "In case you didn't notice, this merchant has half the room on his side! We try to leave with the coin and there's gonna be violence!"

Lace grinned. "Violence I can handle," she said.

"You go cutting through these people and what then? We'll never find the necromancer, for one thing. We'll have to flee to the other side of the kingdom!"

The little half-elf was right, damn her. So there were two other options aside from violence: leave broke or let her friend feel her up in front of the crowd.

Well, she wasn't going to leave broke. It wasn't just the fact that she hated being poor. Having grown up in luxury she despised sleeping in haylofts and in the mud, sure. But it was also the principle of it all: she'd earned this coin, fair and square. Had even given up her shirt for it to a man who'd been too much of an arsehole to let her buy it back. She couldn't let him win.

"Fine," she growled, loud enough for all to hear. "But then you're selling me back my top, Moril!"

The entire room, eager for a show, erupted in cheers. Moril grinned, nodding his head. "You turn up clean you can have it for free," the man said haughtily.

Lace stood, then, and instinctively cupped her breasts with her hands, hiding them from view. One of the men cried out, "Stage!"

Soon a chant was picked up. "Stage! Stage! Stage!"

There was a raised stage in the corner of the dark room, currently unoccupied. "No fuckin' way," Lace gimaced.

"Come on, let's just get it over with!" Puffer said, hopping out of her chair and wincing again when she did.

"You ok?" Lace asked.

"Yeah... fine," she said.

Lace decided not to argue. She hated everything about this but sometimes you had to do what you had to do so that you could do what you want to do.

Once they were on the stage Moril stood in front of it and raised his hands for silence. He said, "I declare this barbaric woman has been cheating us! Now she will strip naked and let her friend search her high and low. Should any cards be found on her person, her coin is forfeit as is her... freedom."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the large crowd. Lanterns were being lit, bathing her and Puffer in a warm glow. "Gods be damned," Lace murmured, hating this arrangement more by the second.

"Let's make this quick," she grumbled loud enough to be heard. And the crowd, excited beyond measure, cheered in response.

***

"I'm sorry," Puffer said, her voice a squeak. Lace didn't respond, and Puffer knew she was pissed. Hopefully it was at the merchant and the crowd and not at her.

Nervously the young half-elf knelt before the barbarian and began to unlace her boots. It was difficult given her trembling fingers, but somehow she managed. After each boot was off she stood, held them up one at a time, and shook them upside down. "No cards!" she declared.

A grumble of disappointment washed through their audience, though a couple people did cheer in response. Puffer realized coin was changing hands: they were actually betting on the outcome of this search.

Now came the hard part. Puffer's throat went dry as she stared at Lace's breaches. She'd had dreams where she'd tease Lace about "unlacing Lace", erotic fantasies that always ended with her waking up hot and damp. But those fantasies always occurred in sunlit valleys or private coves, never in a dank and dingy tavern full of witnesses.

"Go on, just do it already," Lace fumed.

Puffer nodded. She reached down and began to untie the laces. Once they were loose enough she took a deep breath and pulled down on the gray trousers, tugged them down over Lace's wide hips and thick, well muscled thighs. She knelt to push them the rest of the way down and unintentionally got her nose right close and personal with the golden curls between her friend's legs.

Her scent was intoxicating, like an autumn wind at harvesttime. Puffer's knees began to wobble and she swayed slightly. Lace noticed and caught her by the shoulders. "What's wrong?" she said, accusation in her voice. "Don't tell me nothing! Something's been wrong the last couple of days!"

Puffer blinked at her fearfully. Had she noticed the way she'd been staring at her ever since seeing her naked in the cemetery? Could she read excitement on her face even now?

"You ain't been sitting right and you keep wincing," Lace whispered. "And you been walking like you've got a stick up your arse. What's going on?"

"Hey, no conspiring!" someone cried out. Grumbles of agreement followed.

"Oh hold your britches!" Lace growled.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Puffer finally said, staring at her feet, struggling to keep her eyes off of her friend's pussy. It was so close and she just wanted examine it, to explore it some, maybe.

So close and yet so far.

Lace seemed skeptical, but nodded. Puffer quickly picked up her trousers and turned to face the crowd. She shook them out, waving them this way and that, and cried, "No cards! No cards!"

About half the people in the crowd cheered, half groused.

"Hand between her legs!" someone cried.

Puffer's throat went dry.

***

When the rage started to build within Lace the first sign was always how red everything got. And right now the golden glow of the torches and lamps was turning crimson.

Being topless at a card table had been one thing. Being topless on stage was another. Being fully nude in front of a room packed with unwashed commoners made her blood begin to boil. The thought of giving them even more of a show had her seeing red.

They had no idea how much danger they were in, Lace thought.

Puffer seemed to sense this. She gently patted Lace on her back and whispered, "It's ok, we're almost done!"

The merchant was laughing. "He's right! How do we know nothing's hidden there? For that matter, why do you insist on holding those big tits of yours, barbarian? What are you hiding?"

Before Lace could roar her reply Puffer's soft, nervous voice gently said, "Just stand still, we'll put your hands at your side, I'll be quick and we can leave!"

Lace gave her a furious look. But the cute desperation on her reddened face melted her heart a bit. Puffer was always having that effect on her, calming her down in moments like these. Not that there'd ever been a moment quite like this one, of course.

Puffer stepped behind her and placed her hands on Lace's arms, gently tugging at them. Finally Lace sighed and relented, allowing them to be moved to her sides. The crowd erupted at the sight of her tits, and Lace blushed red with shame. She felt like she was on one of the slaver's blocks in Cordinnyl, being offered as a product for sale. She felt like a whore at one of the lowliest brothels in Ulsrook, on display for the masses. It was humiliating.

Humiliation. The worst feeling in the world, the worst curse of the gods, the antithesis of pride. Lace was a proud woman from a proud family with royal blood in her veins. If these bastards knew who she really was, they'd be bowing to her and averting their eyes. Or if they knew that she didn't need that axe of hers to slaughter them all they'd be tripping over each other on their way to the exit.

But Puffer would be horrified if she went on a killing spree. The young half-elf was only a couple years her junior in age but far younger in terms of experience. Despite her harsh upbringing she still saw beauty and kindness everywhere, didn't realize that killing was part of being an adventurer. And deep down Lace would rather be humiliated than take that innocence away from her.

Suddenly she felt the half-elf's hands running down her sides. It was such an intimate touch, and so awkward coming from her friend. Lace stared straight ahead, focusing on a pinpoint in the distance, ignoring the crowd and Puffer both. When the half-elf patted her on her rear-end she barely noticed. When she turned her so her back faced the crowd, she let her. When she turned her back and then gently cupped her breasts, hefting them up to show there was nothing beneath, she tasted blood in her mouth as she bit her tongue to keep from screaming.

Then she was running her small hands through her long, golden hair, and Lace shuddered. Somehow that felt even more intimate than when she'd been lifting her breasts.

Finally Puffer cried out, "See! She's that's every inch of her and there ain't no cards! No more hiding spots! Nothing!"

"One more spot you might hide a card," the merchant grinned.

Lace knew instantly what he was referring to and she felt herself losing what little was left of her self restraint. But then a woman, the fat one from the table, yelled out, "Ain't no way she's hidden cards up her snatch, Moril! She ain't a cheat and ya'll 've had yer show."

Lace didn't waste a moment. She bent over and grabbed her trousers. "My shirt!" she growled at Moril.

The fancy dressed man shrugged. With a cocky grin he walked closer to the stage and handed it up to her. In a low, sneering voice he said, "I knew you weren't cheating, but that little show was worth the accusation. Hells, it was worth losing a few measly coin to watch you debase yourself like that."

If Puffer hadn't grabbed her from behind just then Lace would have throttled him. "Let 'im be!" she begged. "It's over!"

Soon they were pressing their way through the common room, Lace red faced and scowling, Puffer wincing with each step. Just as they were about to exit the tavern a round of applause erupted behind them.

"Come back anytime!" cried one person. "Best tits this side of Cordinnyl"

"Stay awhile, sit on my lap! I gots coin!"

"We love a show off like you 'round her, keep comin' back!"

After the door slammed shut behind them, drowning out their whoops and catcalls, Lace growled, "And we're wasting all our time trying to help these people?"

***

The men approached as Puffer and Lace neared the stables around back of the tavern. Puffer was pleading her case, saying, "There's plenty of good beds here! At the smith's, two above his shed he said, and..."

"Above a smith's shed ain't enough room for me let alone both of us," Lace groused. "And Farstone ain't so far. The horses are fresh, we can be there in an hour."

Puffer looked horrified. She was grasping for words to speak. How to explain that the thought of riding in a saddle for an hour made her want to cry, without explaining why?

And then the fates intervened and all explanations became unnecessary.

"Oi! Lookee 'ere, it's that elf girl I told ya about!"

Puffer's stomach sank. Under the long shadows of the stable against the setting sun stood four men passing around a jug of wine. It looked like they'd been playing dice in the dirt, and had been at it for some time based on the way they swayed... and by how light that jug appeared to be in the hands of the farmer.

She'd never gotten his name. He was just the Big Farmer who'd spanked her in his hovel two days ago. The one who stood nearly as tall as Lace, was broad of shoulder and had not much neck. He had a receding hairline and long bushy beard and, currently, bloodshot eyes.

His companions were smaller, skinnier, one with long greasy hair, another nearly as short as Puffer, and the fourth even fatter than that woman who'd been playing cards with Lace inside the tavern.

As one, the four of them stepped toward the two women. Fat One said, "I wanna see what an elf's arse looks like after a spanking, girl-y. Come on, just a peek ta see if it turns color of rainbows, or some shite."

They all laughed. Short One said, "Better yet, I think we all oughta get turns spanking ya, too! We's all neighbors, who's ta say ya ain't burgled our homes?"

"Pretty sure she burgled mine," said Greasy-Hair.

"I'd burgle her good," said Fat One. They all laughed again.

"What the fuck are they talking about?" Lace said, her voice low and calm.

Uh-oh, Puffer thought. She knew how pissed off Lace was right now, how close to exploding she'd been inside the tavern. For her voice to be calm was like smoke before fire for her. The boom of thunder before lightening. The impact before the pain.

"They're drunk," Puffer said quickly. "Come on, let's go to Farstone, like you said! Quick, I--"

"Ya haven't wanted to ride and ya've been wincing whenever you sit, walking 'round like ya got a stick up yer arse... did one of these maggots actually spank you?"

Puffer lowered her head in shame. "I got caught. Right before I figured out about the trader. He was going to tell the sheriff..."

"Still can, too," said the big farmer who'd started this mess. Him and his friends had spread out, encircling the two women. "In fact, I think we saw the both of yous burgling."

"Sure did," said Fat One.

"Yep, bet I can find more witnesses too," said Short Man.

"We're trying to find out what happened to Amelia, and Caitlin, and Jonsey!" Puffer whined, voice plaintive and desperate.

That seemed to stay the men for a moment. They each looked at each other. The fat one said, "Jonsey's kin. Whatta ya mean, what 'happened to her'? She got the fever and died..."

"Poison," Puffer declared, suddenly feeling hopeful this might not end with violence. "And when she was spotted leaving the cemetery, I think we know where she was going..."

"Bullocks," said Big Farmer. "She never 'left the cemetery'. Someone's been digging up our girls for their pendants and rings, that's all."

"Hey, like someone burgling the dead," said Greasy-Hair. "And here we have a couple a burglars!"

"Big coincidence," Short Man mocked.

Now the fat one grinned. "Yeah, big fuckin' coincidence."

"Way I see it," said the big farmer, his voice slurring a bit, "yous ladies 'ave two choices. Come inside the stables with us for a li'l... punishment and a little... fun, then we goes our separate ways. Or we bring ya to the sheriff right now. What's it to be?"

"I choose the third option," Lace said.

And that's when things got messy.

***

Lace grabbed the Short Man first, lunging at him with such speed he never had a chance to react. Grabbing him by the waist she hoisted him into the air, turned, and literally threw him at Fat One. He was such large target it was impossible to miss and the two went down in a violent heap.

Before she could relish the sight she heard the unmistakable sound of steel sliding against leather. Spinning to her right she grabbed Greasy-Hair's wrist, twisted it, and felt a snap as his dagger dropped from his now limp hand. The man shrieked in pain and when Lace gave him a push he fell onto his ass like a dropped sack of potatoes.

Big Farmer was next. He looked surprised by the sudden turn but not intimidated in the least. Lace smiled at him, widening her stance and gesturing him to come closer. He grinned back, reached behind himself, and pulled out a hammer that had been hanging off his belt.

Oh good, a weapon! Lace thought as her vision reddened. But as she went to grab Swing from her back she heard Puffer way off in the distance yell, "Don't kill them!"

Lace frowned. No killing? Her rage receded for a moment.

Then the man flailed with his hammer, a carpenter's hammer not forged for war, and she easily dodged it. But as she stepped into his swing she suddenly felt pain in her right temple. Growling she turned to her left and saw Fat One, still on his ass alongside Short Man, hefting another stone from the gravelly ground and readying it.

The stone clipped her shoulder this time, a dull ache that only fueled the roaring furnace in her chest. Her vision went entirely crimson.

The humiliation from earlier. The pain now. It was too much. Lace didn't just see red, she was engulfed by it.

Abandoning Swing for the sheer, carnal thrill of tearing these men apart with her bare hands, she lunged at Fat One before he could throw a third rock. She brought her knee down directly into his chest with a sickening crunch, pinning his massive weight to the gravel. He wheezed, all the air exploding from his lungs, but Lace wasn't done. She grabbed his tangled hair, hauled his head back, and slammed his face into the dirt until he stopped moving entirely.

"Lace, stop!" Puffer screamed from far away, her voice cracking with terror, "You'll kill him!"

But Big Farmer was already coming at her from behind again. The carpenter's hammer whistled through the air, catching Lace a glancing blow with its claw end, right across her shoulder, which tore into her cheap woolen shirt. She spun, snarling like a cornered beast, ripping her shirt beyond repair and freeing one of her tits in the process.

Big Farmer pressed his advantage, slamming himself forward against her. The sheer impact of the man's weight slammed her against the rough wooden wall of the stable as he tried to push him away.

The farmer was heavy, smelling of sour wine and sweat. His massive arms pinned hers as he pressed his thick body firmly against her now naked midriff. Grabbing for any purchase, his hands found the tear in her shirt and pulled, and a loud ripping sound told her that the top she'd gambled away earlier was gone for good this time.

"Thought ya was tough, whore?" he grunted, his bloodshot eyes boring into hers. He shifted his weight, pressing his crotch hard against her hip. It was a brutal, primitive assertion of dominance. "I'm gonna break ya right here, in more ways than one!"

Lace let out a feral, breathless laugh. The proximity of his brute strength sent a dark, dangerous spike of adrenaline straight to her core. She wasn't truly raging yet, but she was close, and now that her breasts were bare once more it was only a matter of time.

Her laughter turned into a roar as her bare breasts crushed against his heavy leather jerkin. The rough friction scraped her nipples, sending a jolt of perverse pleasure through her veins.

"You think you're big enough?" she hissed, her voice a low, throating vibration. Oh but she was seeing red now, and oh how wonderful it was, this feeling before the explosion of unadulterated violence.

Before Big Farmer could swing the hammer again, Lace brought her forehead forward in a brutal headbutt.

Crunch!

The farmer stumbled back, blood spurting from his broken nose. Lace didn't give him a second to recover. She lunged, wrapping her powerful, toned legs around his waist as she leapt. She used her sheer momentum to drive him to the ground. They rolled into the dirt and gravel, a chaotic jumble of limbs, sweat, and raw, violent friction.

Lace ended up on top, straddling his thick torso. Her bare chest heaved, coated in a glistening sheen of sweat and dirt, her heavy breasts swinging over his face as she pinned his wrists to the earth.

"Puff!" Lace roared, her eyes locked onto the struggling giant beneath her. "Get the horses! Now!"

***

Puffer was frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs. The sight was dizzying and horrifying and erotic: Lace, topless save for remnants of her shirt, glistening in the dying sunlight, dominating a man twice the size of anyone in the village. The raw display of muscle and skin made Puffer's core throb. A sharp ache radiated directly down into her freshly spanked, throbbing backside. But the sheer brutality of the scene snapped her out of her daze. She scrambled toward the stable doors, wincing with every step.

She had to move fast before Lace murdered someone.

***

Beneath Lace, the big farmer bucked wildly. He managed to free one hand, his thick fingers clawing upwards, and caught the meat of Lace's thigh, his nails tearing into her skin.

Lace gasped, a sharp, ragged sound that was half-pain, half-arousal from the sheer intensity of the struggle. The oncoming rage only amplified every sensation until, finally, a final switch in her brain went off.

All restraint shattered.

"Ya touched my girl," Lace growled, her voice dropping to a demonic register. "Now ya dare touch me too?!"

She threw her weight down, burying her forearm directly across his throat. The farmer choked, his eyes bulging as the air was cut off. He thrashed, his legs kicking up dust, his hands desperately tearing at Lace's bare shoulders, leaving red welts across her skin. Lace just pressed harder, leaning all her muscular weight into his windpipe. Her face was inches from his as she watched the light begin to fade from his eyes.

The farmer gave one final, violent shudder. A sickening crack echoed in the quiet evening air as his windpipe collapsed entirely under Lace's relentless pressure. His arms went limp, falling heavily into the dirt.

Lace remained straddled over him for a long, heavy moment, her chest rising and falling in ragged heaves, her heart hammering violently against her ribs. The rush of the kill, combined with her bare skin scraping against the dead man's clothes, left her trembling with a dark, residual heat.

Then she remembered in the back of her primal brain that there were other threats about. She lept to her feet, tattered in dirt, sweat, and a few splatters of the farmer's blood. She looked around, head moving to and fro, her narrowed blue eyes seeking the other men through the dimming light.

They were gone.

***

"Lace..." Puffer whispered, staring at the unmoving body of the farmer. She was trembling from head to toe. "He's... he's not breathing."

"He won't be spankin' anyone else," Lace said, a sinister, dark tone in her voice. She walked over to Puffer, her gaze intense, burning right through the half-elf. She grabbed Puffer by the waist, pulling her petite frame flush against her sweaty, bare torso. "I'm so sorry ya had to see that."

Puffer whimpered, a mixture of fear and intense arousal washing over her as she felt the heat radiating from Lace's naked chest.

"We need to move," Lace finally said.

"Yeah," Puffer said as the large woman set her back down.

"Canna be here when the law arrives," she said, taking the reigns of her large warhorse, Quake. With that she swung herself up into her saddle, entirely unbothered by her exposed breasts.

"Mount up, Puff," Lace commanded, a dark, teasing smirk finally breaking through her stoic face. "Law might be here any time. Or else, village like this, maybe not. Either way though? We canna be here 'is friends come back, or somebody else finds 'is body."

Puffer swallowed hard, looking from the dead man to the magnificent, terrifying barbarian on horseback. Biting her lip against the immediate, throbbing protest of her backside, she climbed onto her small filly, Bright Eyes.

With a sharp kick, they tore out of the courtyard, kicking up a cloud of dust as they fled into the cool, dark night, leaving the village, and the dead farmer, far behind them.

END OF CHAPTER 3