The Fall of Patterland (Chapters 21-24) (Patreon)

Chapter 21

Guard the violence in your green wand,
respect its holy power.
This land will be dancing
when god runs his pack
out to the mountain, pulling the women
free of their looms,
their minds stung wild
by Bakkhos.

-“The Bakkhai” by Euripedes


Shadows filled Ursula’s bedchamber, where William sat reading a tattered old book of limericks originally written for servants and peasants. Gathered ‘round the Cheese Wheel was one of the few books his wife let him access. Unfortunately he’d read it so many times that he had it practically memorized. With the dimming light, William realized he was simply staring at the dark page while his mind focused on what to do about Alcind. Hours had passed and day had turned to evening as William had wrestled over whether and how to get to the stableboy.

The tent was quiet and so was the camp outside. William knew Ursula was making a final push in her assault against James’ position, and the many of the soldiers and sorceresses in camp were likely out in the field this evening. The only sounds that reached his ears came from cooking pans or soft conversations in the distance. The usual shouts of soldiers, clip-clop of horses hooves, and camp-fire songs were absent. William placed his book on a nearby table and stepped to the edge of Ursula’s bedchamber. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the doorway tent flap aside and stepped out into the foyer antechamber and walked into the common area toward the door to the outside world. William peeked out through a gap in the fabric layers, noting the smothering darkness only lit by a scattering of dim oil lamps and a distant camp fire or two. The air outside was cool and close to freezing. William shivered and thought for a moment on the genius of James’ decision to hide in such a hostile geography. If this campaign was not successful in a matter of weeks, the threat of winter would certainly force Ursula’s forces back to lower altitude for another year.

Straightening, William approached the smaller door that he knew led to Helga’s private chambers. He leaned close and brushed his face against the fabric doorway. “Psst, Alcind. Are you in there?” William asked.

No sound came from behind the layers of fabric, and William gritted his teeth in frustration. He was putting his own well-being on the line for this stableboy, and the least Alcind could do would be to keep his ears and eyes open for help. A year or two ago, and William’s merest hint that he wanted something would have had a man like Alcind scrambling to obey, but now William was afraid of being caught out of his once kindly wife’s quarters without express permission.

But nostalgia is for the weak, William told himself. He needed to do his part, and so did this lowly stableboy.

“Alcind, I’m coming in. But I can’t stay long. If any of the witches should catch me in Helga’s quarters like this, I will suffer a terrible punishment for sure,” William whispered, hoping he wasn’t just talking to himself.

He pushed through the doorway into a surprisingly gloomy interior. William paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to a dim flickering greenish light. It seemed to be emanating from a misshapen crystal that was floating over silver chalice on a desk at the far end of the room. The crystal’s sickly emerald light cast long shadows over the fabric lined chamber, and these long dark patches wavered and flickered with the eerie inconsistency. Trunks and cases lay scattered about the space, some with their lids open displaying hastily packed and unpacked contents. William spotted piles of garments, jewelry, talismans, ceramic jars, and other oddities in his line of sight. Impromptu collapsible tables and shelves lined the walls, displaying weirder objects: human and inhuman skulls, opaque liquids in flasks, feathers, bones, or stones. To William’s immediate right was a large corked round-bottom flask containing the head of a billy goat floating in yellowish liquid shot through with shafts of green light from the crystal. The goat head seemed to be staring at William with vacant cloudy eyes as he moved deeper into the room.

The hairs on William’s neck were standing up. The feeling of witchcraft and sorcery hung over the room like a stench, an aura of supernatural mystery. William knew that Ursula had freed herself and her followers to indulge in ancient forbidden magics, but he had not realized just how far Helga might have already delved. William began to wonder about how much of the changes to Patterland’s weather and life were fully due to the terrible ceremonies conducted by Ylva, as he’d assumed. Helga seemed to be doing her own meddling with the web of life. There was simply too much to keep tabs on now.

William finally spotted Alcind. The small man was sprawled asleep on a small bed tucked in the back of the room. A pile of folded silken undergarments rested next to him that looked strangely oversized next to his diminutive physique. Alcind had knotted his pants tighter around his waist, and was barechested, seeming to have given up on trying to make his shirt fit his smaller upper body. William noticed that the green glow of the floating crystal bathed Alcind in its dim light, washing out most other colours and making him seem almost like another one of Helga’s many talismans and possessions, which in a way was perhaps accurate.

William poked Alcind’s foot. “Hey, stableboy.”

Alcind’s eyes opened lazily. “Hmm?” He sat up.

“Wake up. I have a plan to help you, to help us.” William whispered.

Alcind’s eyes now opened more widely as he tried to see who was in the room with him. He sat up in the bed and looked at William, blinking. “Who are you?” Alcind asked.

William scoffed. “I guess it’s hard to see me in this freakish light, and in these clothes…not to mention at this size. But you should at least recognize my face from the old silver ten-pieces, if you ever were fortunate enough to even possess such coinage.”

Alcind’s face shifted in slow comprehension. “King…William? But some said you died. Others that you betrayed the realm!”

The stableboy’s voice was far too loud and William hushed him frantically. “I am not dead, as you can see!” William whispered harshly. “I was betrayed by my wife, who was a witch. I had no idea of the depth of her designs. I regret my failures each and every day.”

“But the Queen has kept you as her husband?” Alcind asked, seeming not to comprehend or hear William’s words or the depth of his anguish.

“In a sense, if you can call my status something as high as husband,” William nodded. “But you must understand…”

“You are greatly fortunate my lord, to be married to such a powerful Lady – the Queen herself!” Alcind interrupted.

“Am I? I am held up as a trophy, and made to watch the results of my own foolish failings. But enough of this, I am here to help you. You can avoid a terrible fate, and help King James in the process. But you must listen carefully.”

Alcind’s expression shifted to confusion. “What do you mean? The Lady Helga has spared my life. I dare not go against her will, or that law of the realm, lest I end up like the traitor she seeks, Bryan.”

William sighed. “You must realize the new regime is illegal. Queen Ursula is a usurper,” he said. “And so are all her followers.”

Alcind blinked as enchanted light played across his plain face. “Usurper? Such language is very dangerous my lord. You speak ill of our Queen, and the Lady Helga.”

William stared at Alcind, his mouth open in shock. “You…you actually believe Helga is some sort of Lady? You wish to do her bidding, willingly? Are you so foolish? Do you have any idea of her plebian background, what she is capable of, what she has done to once noble peers of Patterland?”

Alcind flinched slightly at the sound of ‘Patterland’, not having heard this word for some time, least of all spoken with reverence rather than in sneering contempt. William was relieved to see that the dullard could be moved in some way. “I see you remember the old times more than you admit,” he said.

“I remember a life shoveling horse dung and working as a stable boy for arrogant lords and ladies. The only real difference now is that the ladies of the realm have become rather more…um…insistent,” Alcind replied.

William let out a blustery laugh. “That is one way to put it. Look at you, look at me! Your old masters may have been arrogant, but at least they didn’t deform you with unholy witchcraft, or seek to remake the very fabric of all that is virtuous, natural, and wholesome in the realm. Ursula, Helga, and their ilk, are determined to undo centuries of tradition, to bring back the dark murky times of the old housewives’ most disturbing tales – the stories uttered only at the autumnal equinox fires to terrify children. Believe me, I have seen it, and now you are willingly offering yourself to them,” William said, growing ever more breathless with exasperation. He realized he was ranting a bit, but it was hard not to become emotional when faced with a chance to get so many things off his chest. It made it all the worse that Alcind didn’t seem to realize the gravity of Patterland’s transformation. This only made William want to shake the man, and scream in his face, but that would be suicide.

Alcind seemed to have similar thoughts of discovery in his eyes, which darted side to side. He slowly nodded. “I…suppose they are ambitious, and seem to practice some strange magics,” Alcind acquiesced. “But who am I to go against Ladies of such power? I am but a simple stable hand. I have been a commoner all my life. You would not understand. You’re of noble blood. You’ve been educated, gone to war, had ample food your whole life. You know things I do not know, but you do not know what it is to be lowborn. No, I cannot disobey them for some grandiose notion of justice or history, especially not now that I am so small in stature. My body has come to match my rank. It is their wish.”

“But I am your King,” William growled. He could not argue with the stableboy’s logic. He did not know what it was like to been lowborn, though he was perhaps learning. “Surely that must still carry some weight, even in your limited outlook.”

Alcind shook his head sadly. “You were my king. In truth, I do still see you as a lord, but you are no longer the power in the land, in Femnoria. I have learned that much in the last year or two. I too have seen things, have seen what happened to those who foolishly tried to fight against Her Majesty’s will and designs. I do not wish for that fate. I was foolish not to report Bryan’s seditious attitudes earlier.”

William would once have found such a statement grounds for treason, and would have physically flown into a violent rage. Now he sighed and shook his head. “I see. You have no concept of what is happening here, and no sense of honour.”

“Honour is a word for highborn folk, my lord, for those who think on high things,” Alcind shrugged. He turned to lightly finger a pair of silken panties that rested on top of a folded pile to his left. They may have been white, or pink, but now looked greenish, like everything else in the room. William was distracted for a moment by the shape of the underwear, knowing the voluptuous curves of Helga would soon fill them again, knowing how close these silken fabric had been to her body.

“These new duties are already a great improvement over my life in the stables,” Alcind continued.

William was about to comment when a strange sound began to fill the room. It almost sounded like scraping ice, or thick glass being cracked by the cold. William saw Alcind’s eyes grow wide as he stared over his shoulder at something behind William.

“What is that?” William asked, worry filling his voice.

“The…the crystal. It’s changing,” Alcind replied, pointing past William at the source of the eeire green light that filled the room.

William whirled to face the levitating luminescent shard to see it fracturing slowly over the silver chalice. It was doing more than fracturing, it seemed to be slowly reassembling itself into a new shape, shard by shard. As William watched in mixed fascination and fear, he noticed that the shape was becoming something familiar.

An eye.

Not just any eye, but the eye of a cat or serpent: a green orb with a single black slit in the middle as dark as onyx. William scrambled down on his hands and knees, crawling under Helga’s large bed. He was desperate to get out of sight of this eye, of the view of this ensorcelled oculus. For once, Alcind supported his opinion completely, whispering, “Hurry, hurry! Get out of sight!”

The sound of scraping, breaking ice slowly came to a stop as the eye manifested itself in the material of the sickly-coloured crystal. William waited for several agonizing moments, listening to the sound of Alcind nervous breathing.

“I SEE YOU.” A feminine voice filled the room rich and melodic, yet pervasive. It was Helga’s voice, but more resonant and disembodied. William choked back fear as he listened in the gloom under the bed.

“L…Lady Helga?” Alcind spoke timidly.

“YES. I am in the field, but I see you have been busy, stableboy. You have obeyed my commands.”

“Yes my Lady, I washed all your undergarments in the soap and lavender oil you left. I used mountain spring water boiled over a fire.”

“GOOD. You will learn to adapt from your role in the filthy stables, and continue to adapt to MY needs."

The force of Helga’s voice, amplified and filtered through the crystal made William shake slightly. Her confidence and demanding tone was palpable. Who was he to think that Alcind would betray Helga for a shriveled has-been monarch?

“Yes Lady Helga. I am loyal to the realm, to you and your sisters,” Alcind responded.

“Put my undergarments away, and prepare yourself. I am returning to camp. I want a hot bath waiting when I return to my quarters,” Helga’s voice intoned. “Once I bathe, we will continue with the next step of your...evolution. We will put that watered down royal blood of yours to work Alcind.”

“Y…yes my Lady.” Alcind’s voice had grown quieter, almost sounding like he was in a trance. William began to suspect that hiding from the gaze of Helga’s crystal had been a wise decision for more than one reason.

“GOOD,” Helga’s voice boomed, before the sound of scraping ice and cracking glass returned. The greenish glow seeping under the sheets surrounding William’s hiding spot dimmed slowly, with the crystal slowly shifting back, or so William assumed. He waited until the sound stopped.

Alcind leapt from the bed and William heard him begin to scamper about, opening drawers, obeying Helga with a fevered devotion. William slowly crawled out from under the bed.

“You have to go my Lord,” Alcind said, racing past him with a large brassiere in his hands. “You have to get out of here before she returns.”

“Indeed,” William replied. “But I am also offering you a role in the resistance. You must help us, help yourself.”

Alcind opened a drawer placing several panties inside. “My Lord, I cannot commit to such a dangerous venture,” he answered. “I must focus on my duties.”

“But don’t you see,” William pleaded. “You are not so lowborn as you thought. Even you know your family has ancient royal roots, has the good stock blood of old Patterland, the foundation of our realm, deep inside you. If you let Helga use it for her ends, let her steal it, you will give up your only hope of something more, of brotherhood!”

“I only know that I wish to live. Besides, what would have me do, run off like that fool Bryan?” Alcind asked.

“Perhaps…or a mission, or even to refuse Helga some level of cooperation. She has said she needs your consent for what she plans,” William said.

Alcind slowed in his activities for a brief moment, seeming to consider this. “I…I don’t know my lord.”

“Think about it,” William said, as be backed out of the room, taking a cautious peek through the doorway to make sure no one would see him leave Helga’s chambers.

“I cannot promise anything my lord…please. I have given the Lady my word.”

William sighed and nodded. “Just try…and consider it,” he concluded before slipping quickly back to Ursula’s room.

It was a strange relief to be back in the familiar opulence of Ursula’s quarters. William knew that Ursula was a dark a witch or worse than Helga or any of the others, but Ursula had not devoted her living quarters to dark magics and witchcraft. It remained deceptively normal, if deeply feminine and large. William suddenly realized that Ursula was still playing an act, still hiding her true intentions and self, perhaps now for her diplomatic needs, both with enemies and with foreign forces. Visiting Helga’s quarters had provided him with this insight, this intelligence. Perhaps the risk of venturing forth had been worth it after all, despite Alcind’s cowardice.

William knew what he’d done was a risk indeed, since he could feel the tension running out of his body. If Helga or Ursula herself had returned, he would have been in deep trouble. Even now, he retained some worry. Alcind had done little to confirm he would do anything to help the resistance or James or himself. In fact, William felt a new fear that Alcind could not be trusted, that he might willingly confess to Helga that he had spoken with a ‘traitor’. William sighed. Perhaps he would have to kill Alcind. He probably should have killed him already, but he was soft, hopeful.

William looked down at his hands, hands that had killed men before in battle, hands that were much smaller and softer looking than they had once been. But they were still more than capable of bringing death to a fool like Alcind.

William glanced to the entrance to Ursula’s tent and set his jaw. It needed to be done. The stableboy was too weak, too disloyal. The hammer of justice must be brought down. It was for the good of the realm, the good of the resistance, the good of his own security.

William took a step toward the doorway when he heard voices beyond and stopped to listen.

“The Lady Helga is returning soon,” a woman’s voice came through the tent wall. “Place the food on the table here, and here. That’s it, the fruit to the left, and the meat-pies to the right. No, the wine should be there, not in the middle, foolish boys.”

William heard rustling, steps of servants scurrying about, and dishware being laid out. He would have to wait to deal with Alcind. William only hoped he would not be too late, that Alcind would not prattle to Helga of their talk. Now that William had decided to execute the stableboy, he was anxious to do it before his will slackened.

Smack!

William flinched as he heard the sound of a hand impacting skin. One of the serving boys had undoubtedly done something wrong.

“You idiot! You spilled brandy on the rug,” the female voice from before now carried anger in its flinty tone. “Do you know how expensive this is? You’re obviously far too tall for this job, far too oafish and big. Perhaps you should be replaced and sent to the bakeries instead!”

“No please Madam Jessop. It was a mistake. I am sorry,” a serving boy answered.

“See that you don’t make such a mistake again, or I’ll replace you for sure. Or send you to the sorcery students to play with.”

“I won’t do it again!” The servant replied. It was obvious he was now terrified.

“Good. And the rest of you, hurry up. Lady Helga will be back soon,” Madam Jessop commanded. William heard her clap her hands quickly as she spoke.

William went to Ursula’s large bed and held a pillow over his ears. He couldn’t bear to hear this.

James had to succeed, William thought. He had to put a stop to this, as the last true King. Patterland must not be lost completely.

“By the Gods, strike them down James,” William whispered. “You’re our only hope."

Chapter 22

If thine enemy doth encircle thee
And hold in contempt thy cause
With numbers magnificent before
Thine own, follow the Fourth Path.

To mete out blows too wee
To notice, for in breaking laws,
Too rigid for thy valorous lore,
Thou shalt come as wrath.

Thou shalt live. In life is the Path.

-Excerpt: “The Hammer of Necessity”, by Sir Richard the Dauntless

A full moon hung in the sky like some enormous mottled ivory penny. King James had never seen it so big before. Lately, the nights often seemed more alive than the days, which tended to be lackluster in some intangible way. Even when the sun was out, it seemed dimmer, less rich than the vivid stars and auroras. James suspected this change was related to the rise of the witch-queen Ursula and her cursed Sisters. Lunar cycles, tied to women’s rhythms now outshone the sun in Patterland, just as Ursula had outshone her own pathetic excuse-for-a-king husband.

James suspected that Ursula’s assault on his forces had been timed with the full moon to take advantage of just that alignment, a connection to her dark alterations of Patterland’s very nature. Her witchcraft was probably empowered by the waxing silvery light of the moon. It was something he once would have scoffed at. Everything mattered in the field of war – every advantage or disadvantage. James had the advantage of knowing the terrain intimately after years in hiding, not to mention the swiftly approaching alpine autumn. But everything else seemed to be tilting to Ursula’s favour. But King James wasn’t beaten yet. The night could be his ally as much as his enemy’s.

He pulled his cowl further over his freshly shaven face to protect it from the wind. Ava had convinced James to shave his beard and cut his hair, commenting that he seemed more confident and approachable with a clean-cut look. James acknowledged that he had been hiding behind a rougher appearance in order to feel secure in his manhood after fleeing Paterburg, after being shrunken down to less than five feet in height. But he lamented the loss of extra insulation now in the cool mountain summer night. He felt like a young soldier again in a way, standing in newly made leather and fur armour. From his hiding place behind several huge rocks, James could see down a narrow slope of scree to the valley below. Over the far ridge, moonlight revealed layers of rugged mountains stretching away into the distant south.

Just as his scouts had reported, a small group of ten female soldiers rode up the single narrow track between several scattered pines below. The trees were twisted by the wind and stunted by short growing seasons. The air up here was thin, but James and his men had long ago adjusted to life at this altitude. The lead soldier’s armor glinted in the bright moonlight as she drew her horse up beside a boulder the size of a farmhouse, lifting her right fist in signal for her subordinates to halt. James smiled grimly as one of the rear soldiers visibly wrapped her arms around herself against the chill wind, before pulling her cloak closer. He knew that this was about as warm as it ever got at night in these mountains. The coming weeks would only get worse. He longed to feel a real summer breeze on his cheeks again, to smell fresh roses in the garden, or taste the soft sea air. But at this moment, he was deeply thankful for the high alpine scarcity and bleak topography of the Western Mountains. It was the only thing keeping him alive, and the only thing keeping Ursula from absolute final control of the realm. As such, James decided to embrace these mountains, to become one with this environment. This was his land now, a little alpine kingdom – a corner of Patterland intact.

James turned to his right and nodded. A number of his men were crouched along the ridge, barely visible against the terrain in their dark wool, fur, and leather clothes. Three of the men raised taut bows at their king’s signal and released arrows into the night. In a smooth synchronized practiced release, the arrows flew in silent arcs down toward the enemy. James turned his gaze back down as one of the women clutched at her neck and fell from her horse. At the same moment, another woman shook with a spasm and let out a scream, looking down at an arrow that had slammed through her thigh. James nodded, wondering at how much damage he could do with a full regiment of archers rather than the three marksmen he had in his party. It didn’t matter. This was his reality. What-ifs were irrelevant.

The soldiers below had scattered out in a more loose formation, but were limited in how far they could spread out by the narrow terrain. It was a scene of chaos as some women tried to help the wounded and others cast their gaze around desperately trying to ascertain where the attack had come from. Their commander was shouting orders and James could just hear the tenor of her voice echoing off the rocks below. He turned and gave the signal for his archers to fire again. Three more arrows sailed downward, catching one woman attending to her wounded comrade.

Three of seven down, James thought. He pointed to the captain of the group, and the three archers tilted their bows, concentrating their fire on the lead soldier in her glinting armour. Arrows glanced off her armour as James’ men continued firing. An arrow finally slammed into the woman’s horse, causing it to rear up in pain and throw her to the ground. As the archers kept firing – both at the commanding officer and the other soldiers – several of the surviving women had ascertained where the arrows were coming from. One woman was pointing up toward the ridge where James and his men were hiding, before she went down, an arrow protruding from her eye-socket.

James’ mouth was set in a grim expression as he observed the brutal carnage below. It was strange to be so ruthless and callous in the slaughter of women. A few years ago, he would have condemned such an attack as an act of cowardice. But women now were men’s equals on the battlefield. In fact, they were more than equal, holding almost all of combat roles in Ursula’s new army, and backed by terrifyingly powerful sorceresses – witches. James had finally taken to guerilla tactics, striking Ursula’s soldiers when they were vulnerable, separated from the main column, or in situations that minimized potential losses to his own men. This wasn’t real war, it was a resistance, and so it required the appropriate tactics. When your enemy has superior odds, both in number and weaponry, you must find ways to take away their advantage. It was a lesson James had learned as a teenager before he was even crowned, when his schoolmaster had made him read the works of Sir Richard the Dauntless, and musty tomes like The Golden Knight of the Fourth Path. He’d almost forgotten those strange old books, but their lessons were proving valuable now. It was humiliating to resort to asymmetric warfare, but in war necessity outstrips pride, especially when it comes to one’s own survival.

One soldier was crouching behind the large boulder now, her companions all dead or writhing on the ground in agony. The last had fallen with an arrow in her back as she’d attempted to flee the area. The soldiers’ horses had scattered down the path, with one or two twitching in death-throws on the ground. The survivor was trapped. James used silent hand signals and his men began to cautiously move down into the valley, their shields held before them. His three archers remained in place on the ridge, maintaining James’ field advantage and keeping watch over the approach to the narrow mountain trail.

“Surrender in the name of the King!” Shouted one of James’ men, his voice ever so slightly higher than it once may have been, yet still strong enough to carry a threat.

“Lay down your arms and step toward us if you do not wish to be harmed,” James proclaimed. “We have you surrounded. Your companions have been slain.”

A murmuring moan issued from one of the splayed out female soldiers. James lifted his sword as he stepped past her, plunging the tip casually into the woman’s throat, silencing her. This was war. Ursula had started this, not him. She had driven him into the mountains like a cornered animal. There was no going back. Only slavery and death lay back in the lowlands. James preferred to live, even if it was in exile.

“Cowards!” A woman’s voice screamed. “You strike at us from hiding, and refuse to engage us in open combat? Are you afraid of women now, do you cower before us like small children, like little boys playing as brigands?”

James spat into the dark. “Your words betray your lack of combat experience,” he said, signaling for his men to continue their encirclement. “In war, there are rules only until one’s survival hangs in the balance. You and your ilk use foul witchcraft to gain an advantage, you outnumber us, and so we are forced to do what is necessary to adapt.”

A female soldier stepped slowly from behind the boulder with an angry expression. “What do you know of my combat experience, traitor?” She sneered. It was clear she did not realize she was speaking to King James, the leader of the entire resistance she fought against. “Are you and your so-called men now going to violate me, carry me off as some prize in a vein attempt to re-enact the past? Look at you. All of you barely come up to my shoulders!”

She laughed scornfully. “You don’t even have armour on. You play at soldiering. Women are the future. There is no more Patterland. There is only Femnoria.”

To James’ surprise, he noticed some of his men were actually listening to this lone captive’s brazen confidence. Their sword tips slightly drooping as she sneered at their size and cause. He spoke up quickly. “Silence, coven whore!” James boomed. “Cast your weapons aside and lay face down so that we may bind you as a prisoner of war. You are defeated. Our cause is just, and we will win in the end.”

The woman paused, then slowly pulled an elegant curved sword from its scabbard on her back. James’ men tensed before seeing the encircled soldier cast it into the lichen-covered rocks surrounding them. She pulled two daggers from her belt, and another from her boot, throwing them after the sword, slowly kneeling before James and his company, laying face down. It was clear that she was not entirely stupid.

James and his men quickly converged on the soldier, binding her wrists with solid rope, and tying a cloth into her mouth around her head as a gag. James carefully patted down the captive’s chainmail shirt and rough-hewn pants, making sure she was not concealing anything else. He discovered a small coin-purse, which he confiscated. The rest of her possessions likely remained strapped to her horse’s saddle. In searching the soldier, James was reminded of the size difference between him and this woman, who was indeed considerably taller and thicker than him or any of his men. James’ mind jumped to thoughts of Ava, and wished he could be searching her body in a very different manner, rather than working at the brutal business of warfare.

“Up!” James ordered the captive to her feet, realizing they had not learned her name. “We will call you ‘the prisoner’ for now. Perhaps with good behavior, you will earn the right to be addressed by your name.”

One of James’ men pushed the prisoner from behind, until she took two or three steps down the path into the open.

“Should we gather their mounts your majesty? They could be useful,” one of James’s men asked. The prisoner’s gaze snapped toward James and he saw he eyes widen as she realized who he was.

“Indeed,” James replied, smiling darkly up at the bound woman. He lifted his sword toward her face in silent threat. “And search the bodies. Take what we need, including fabrics. Then we will bury them under some stones as best as possible. The ground here is too rocky to do more than that, and a fire would attract attention from the enemy. We will do them the honour of some protection from scavenging animals, which is more than they deserve. For you see men, they the real traitors here.”

His men let out a quiet cheer and went to work. James stared into the dark eyes of his prisoner quietly. She was a low-ranking soldier. He could see some fear in her face amid the anger. It was deeply satisfying to James after so many months of defeat and humiliation. Every small victory was critical for morale – both for himself and his men. James knew that his supporters needed these wins to avoid falling into despair, and he had worried in recent months of desertion. In fact, a handful of men had indeed run off, possibly to foreign lands. Though perhaps some had even given themselves over to the acceptance of Ursula’s new regime. Preventing a mass retreat to the Stammelands had taken serious argument on James’ part, and the idea was still there, simmering in the background. However, James feared such a move would his signal abdication, and scatter the resistance movement beyond recovery. His pride, and his strategy, did not allow for exile.

------

Olga could not believe how effectively James’ men continued to fight in the face of such obviously unequal odds. Ursula had warned Olga that this final attack would not be as easy as expected. Even while she trusted in what the Queen said, Olga hadn’t really understood the extent of the risk at hand. The multi-year campaign to bring Patterland under the authority of the new Femnorian regime had been grinding, but filled with an unstoppable inertia. That inertia had now led the army into these mountains. This was where final victory would be achieved, before Ursula’s new female army could turn to installing tighter domestic order, and to the outside enemies of Femnoria.

But things were not panning out so simply. The mountain terrain itself was a problem, and James’ mind for warfare was no joking matter, even if he was small now and petulant like a spoiled boy. Olga wondered on occasion what might have happened if her soldiers had been made to engage a resistance led by William as well, who was known to have fought in several major campaigns in his younger years. It was good that Ursula had effectively neutralized the ex-king William, along with so many of his top generals and warriors.

Olga had sought to secure a large swath of The Western Mountains, spanning many miles and including numerous passes, glacial tongues, cirques, canyons, and valleys. It was her intent to cut off potential routes of escape and maneuver by the enemy, since the knowledge of James’ hidden base was abstract at best. The valley system was known, but not the exact location. This knowledge alone had been only gained by Ursula’s use of powerful sorcery. Olga had heard accounts of how the Queen had seized this intelligence from a spy during an interrogation held right in Femnoria’s throne room. Olga wasn’t sure how much of the story was exaggerated, but she wished she could have been there to see such a raw display of power by the Queen.

In any event, these valleys had never been mapped in detail, being inhospitable and worthless beyond the occasional mining site. Only now, was Olga beginning to see the weakness in her original strategy. With her forces so spread out, she had allowed for a situation where they could be engaged systematically on James’ terms, on ground where he had superior situational awareness. In addition, it was taking longer to secure the main route of advance, with landslides and other obstacles blocking the path of the core forces – an obvious machination by James’ cabal. Winter would not have been a problem but for the fact that no one in Ursula’s army had expected things to take this long. Food and supplies could be shipped up from the lowlands in Femnoria, but it would take a major logistical effort to do so. In short, they had not planned accordingly. Sorcery and witchcraft could only take an army so far. Olga knew that Ursula would not accept a victory if it came at the cost of the bulk of her most skilled and militant supporters.

But Olga did not want to consider the alternative: a tactical retreat to the lowlands until the next season. Her pride would not allow it. She was the head of Ursula’s armies. She was the Lady Commander of Her Majesty’s Army. Olga had smashed rebel forces in Femnoria, beaten mighty champions in single combat, and tossed knights aside like the entitled boys they were. Olga had risen from being a lowly goat-herder and peasant forager to become a 6’8” amazon warrior. It had been years since any male had dared undress her with his eyes or joke about taking her to bed. With dense wavy blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and a thick muscular curvy physique that men now trembled before, Olga was powerful and a Lady in her own right, a landed woman of influence. She would not back down before some young spoiled so-called king. Once James’ resistance was smashed, there would be no possibility of going back to the old ways. Olga’s power would become entrenched and this new reality would be the only truth.

Olga tightened her strong thighs against her big steed and patted its neck gently, as she cautiously approached the rise marking the entrance to a narrow valley. “This is where you found the bodies?” She asked.

“Yes, my lady.” A lanky woman with dark brown hair nodded from her horse, slightly ahead of Olga.

“And the scouts have secured the ridge? You’re certain?” Olga asked. “This valley is a deathtrap. Major Veysa should never have taken her unit in here at night so casually.”

“Yes. Scouts report the area is secure. They found tracks along the ridge and a burial mound of stones further up the trail. We’re not certain what exactly happened, only that the entire unit seems to have been killed or captured.”

“How many bodies are there?” Olga asked.

“Well…it’s hard to tell since they’ve been buried.”

Olga drew her horse to a halt, and the soldiers around her followed suit. “Private Gennah, you may find this a gruesome job, but you joined the army for a reason. And you should have expected that death and violence would be a part of any war. If we are to defeat the Pretender and give victory to Queen Ursula, we must be able to do what is necessary. We must be able to be stronger and more resolute than these men, these boys who think they deserve to rule simply because of their sex, their so-called right, or the lie of their ancient violation of the Sisterhood. We must be strong. Pull aside the rocks and count the dead, then rebury them. We must know if there are any of our sisters still alive, and how Major’s Veysa’s unit was defeated.”

Private Gennah lowered her eyes as she listened to Olga’s rebuke. “Yes, Lady Olga. I understand,” she said.

Olga nodded. “Good, then carry out my command.”

While her soldiers began pulling aside the stones covering the burial mound, Olga moved upwind. It was obvious that some sort of ambush had taken place, just as in a dozen other similar places in the last week. A single small defeat might be a nuisance, but over time, with enough of them, it added up. Worse, these were not faceless deaths. These women had friends and rumours of their deaths spread in the ranks quickly. Moral could be affected. James could begin to take on a shadowy legendary property when he was able to strike at her soldiers like this, like a ghost. No one had seen him in the field yet, though many of his soldiers had fallen in combat early on. But in the last week, engagements with James’ men had become few in number, even as more of her forces died walking along lone paths such as this, or transporting goods, or scouting, or any other task that took them afield from the bulk of the army.

Olga dismounted and tied her horse to a scrubby tree growing from the side of a cracked ridge of shale. She followed a faint spoor, which though hard to make out, appeared here and there between lichen-crusted rock and patches of ground berries. Looking down at a clearer print in some dry grass, Olga could not help but wonder at the size of her boot next to the almost child-sized depression in the grass. Olga crouched and examined other impressions in the area. Her thick thighs swelled with muscle under the layers of her armour skirting. None of the prints she could see carried the sharp edge of a boot. They were light and small, indicative of the size of the men who made them. These tracks could not be more than 36 hours old. But there was more information here than first met the eye.

“They’re not wearing heavy armour. They’re traveling light, maybe even in fabrics and fur,” Olga mused to herself. “These tracks are too soft, even for men so small.”

She stood back up and fingered her thick blonde braid, twisting the tip slightly in a posture reminiscent of her days watching goats graze as a girl. She thought this new information over. There was no hope of her unit catching the men who did this. They would be long gone, moving far faster than her mailed cavalry. Even her scouts were at a disadvantage under layers of leather and chain. James had completely abandoned conventional warfare tactics for stealth and guerilla combat. Fear and attrition were his goals now. Olga remembered something about such methods from a book called The Golden Knight of the Fourth Path, which she had skimmed in her early days in Ursula’s circle. She now cursed herself for not better investigating the annoyingly prideful writings of chest-thumping warriors in Patterland’s past. Helga had told her to “study their ways so you can undo them”, but Olga had decided that physical combat training would accomplish this well enough. James was playing a different game now, where he would avoid equal combat at all cost.

“Fuck,” Olga whispered to herself.

“Lady Olga!” A soldier cried as she rode up. “We’ve found prints all along the ridgeline. The enemy seems to have struck from above.”

Olga nodded. “That would be a natural decision in this place, don’t you think? Tell me soldier, what might you guess was their weapon of choice in this case?”

The soldier before her was stout, with a short-cropped head of mouse-brown hair that framed an apple-cheeked face. She thought for a moment. “Sorcery?”

Olga shook her head. “No. Remove that option from your mind. No magic. No witchcraft.”

The soldier’s horse lowered its head to nibble at some of the grass at Olga’s feet. Its rider nodded. “Well, then perhaps they used archers my lady.”

Olga nodded. “Yes, and what do archers do beside allow for striking from a distance?”

The soldier now looked lost. “I…don’t know,” she said, pushing her hair behind her ear on one side. “A surprise attack?”

“Well, yes, but archery is not required for surprise,” Olga sighed. “Arrows eliminate the need for hand-to-hand combat. Women are bigger than men now – stronger, taller, possibly even better equipped in some cases. I am two feet taller than my serving boy back at camp, and can throw him across the room like a rag-doll if I wish.”

The soldier laughed at this thought, nodding her head.

Olga’s brow furrowed. “But it doesn’t matter if an arrow punches through your neck or chest. You will die just as fast as any blow from a mace or sword,” she said.

The soldier’s laughter died. “But, we haven’t found any arrows in the area.”

Olga nodded. “True, but if the enemy has adopted the tactics I suspect, he will not be wasting anything, certainly not steel-tipped arrows.”

Private Gennah strode up to Olga. “My Lady, there are nine corpses in the burial mound. One is missing. Also, the enemy appears to have stripped their bodies of almost everything. Even the dead horses appear to have been…butchered for meat and bone.”

The stout soldier made a noise of disgust from her place atop her mount. “Monsters. Did they violate our soldiers? I wouldn’t be surprised if they can’t even respect the dignity of a horse in death.”

Private Gennah shook her head. “No Harriet, there are no signs of any violation, just incisions from arrows and wounds from swords – stabbing incisions. Their deaths were quick.”

Olga nodded. “Indeed. They were not wasting time, and the horse butchering is a new factor we must consider. James’ forces apparently consider the meat of a dead mount too valuable to be left behind. They have been in these mountains for years. If they believe they need to risk that extra time and weight to take the meat and bone from a horse, we should be far more concerned with the approach of winter.”

“It seems more like desperation if you ask me,” Private Gennah said. “Perhaps they are already starving. There are no farms up here.”

Olga turned a harsh gaze on the woman. “I did not ask you, private. You should pay careful attention to what is happening here if you wish to have a real career in the Queen’s Army. We are being provided a lesson in guerilla warfare by an enemy that has far more training and experience in the subject than we do. It is not our fault, but it is the reality we seem to be facing.”

“Yes my lady,” Private Gennah said, looking rebuked at Olga’s outburst of frustration. “But…”

“What is it?” Olga sighed.

“Can’t Ursula use her powers to undo James’ resistance forces? Look what has already been done with the High Priestess Ylva and Helga’s work. Surely Ursula cannot be stopped, and we need only strike down the remaining few who stand in our way.”

Olga flipped her braid over her shoulder and swung back atop her large steed. “Perhaps, private. But Queen Ursula is not invincible. Even she must still respect some things, such as winter, at least for now. What’s more, she does not have enough sorceresses to cover all the passes. Indeed, we are at the margins of Femnoria here, and Lady Helga tells me that some of her powers are not as strong here as they are in the heart of the realm. The enemy is a cornered beast, and he will not go down easily. Much of this fight still hinges on conventional tactics.”

Olga paused, and then spoke in a more quiet voice. “You know your death in the service of the Queen may well be the price for victory.”

Private Gennah balked at Olga’s final statement, slowly nodding her head. “I…understand. Then we must be sure to achieve victory all the sooner. If the enemy really is this heartless, this determined, I fear what they would do with another season to pursue their rebellious ways.”

“Exactly, private,” Olga nodded grimly. “We must bring this information to the Queen for her consideration. We must be realistic in our report. Deluding ourselves with certainty in victory gives the enemy the upper hand.”

Private Gennah nodded, a look of realization on her face. “Yes Lady Olga. Thank you for answering my questions.”

“Of course, young private,” said Olga. “Now, call Scout Terrah. I need to speak with her.”

Olga glanced up at a snowy peak towering over her under the mid-day sun. The mountain was shaped like some jagged arrowhead, as if mocking her impotence. In the distance, she heard one of her soldiers stifle a sobbing curse as they began to re-cover the dead. Anger bloomed hot in Olga’s chest.

“Fuck,” she said to herself again, before turning her horse toward the burial mound.

Chapter 23

The moment for action had come. After the servants had left their food in the adjoining tent foyer, William had waited at least a half hour to ensure they were truly gone. But people had come and gone intermittently, and it had been unsafe to venture forth. Eventually, William had dozed off on the bed, until awaking sometime in the early morning before the light of dawn. Groggy from sleep and the unnatural hour he’d awoken, William had stumbled around the room, used the chamber pot, and then tried to ascertain what time it was. Once William realized it was at least two hours before dawn, he opened a linen drawer in a nondescript chest stacked against the wall of Ursula’s royal pavilion – a space that had effectively become his gilded prison. Digging into the back of the drawer with his small hand, William pulled out a slender tarnished piece of metal.

“Ah, there you are,” William said, admiring a silver butter knife that had been filed down into a sharp pointed weapon. It was crude, but effective. Ursula would never have let William possess an actual dagger, much less any other formal weapon. She had dismissed any such requests from him as laughable, and had taken away his sword long ago.

William gripped the knife in his hand. It really was more of a shiv, which made him think about the reality of his new life. He was indeed a kind of prisoner or kept man now, which was bad enough considering he used to be a king. But he was royalty still, despite what his usurping wife and her harpy followers said. William often told himself ‘I am a king’ as if the mantra could crystalize into being, into consequences. He clung to these faint threads of hope when he was alone.

Turning to the doorway, William pushed his makeshift weapon up his sleeve, holding a part of the handle and keeping it flat against his inner forearm. William had no pockets or places to hide anything in the loose smock that was his only form of clothing. This was undoubtedly one reason he was made to wear the humiliating garment. William glanced out into the foyer space cautiously. Outside the tent, the sound of horses’ hooves and women’s voices had begun to fill the air.

“Not now,” William whispered.

Killing Alcind had become a goal that had given the past evening and night purpose. He wanted to it, almost as some sort of therapeutic release, as if killing the compliant stablehand would be like killing the weakness in himself. It was symbolic in a way. But now there seemed to be some sort of activity in camp. It sounded as if a number of soldiers or expedition parties had returned. William could hear distant shouts and another sound – women weeping.

William tilted his head, listening more closely now. Something had happened. Certainly, several of Ursula’s soldiers had died in this campaign. It was to be expected. But this seemed to be something new. William had never heard such emotions expressed in camp.

Suddenly the tent flap on the opposite side of the foyer from Ursula’s doorway, the portal to the outside world, snapped open. William was given a clear view into the camp, where soldiers on horseback were milling about, some carrying torches and others covered in blood. William stared in fascination at the exciting sight. It was both familiar and strange. He had been in many battles starting as early as his teens, combatting enemies mostly along Patterland’s southern border. These wars and skirmishes had sometimes resulted in night scenes like the one William saw now. This was of course different for the fact that all the soldiers and leaders out in the dark were women, with the occasional small man running out to hold the bridle of a horse, or lift water to a female soldier’s waiting hand. William watched as a large figure obscured his view, filling the doorway with feminine curves covered by dark robes and furs. He immediately stumbled back into the room at this sight.

Ursula Venomix was back.

William rushed to the linen chest and shoved his makeshift shiv into its hiding place before unceremoniously closing the lid. He tripped on his pale smock and quickly stood up before his wife pushed into their private pavilion, towering over everything. Before he could greet her, she was already speaking in a clear but angry voice.

“Your former peer has crossed the line,” Ursula declared. “His idiotic followers killed over a dozen of our scouting squads, most of them tonight. A party I came upon several hours ago reported stumbling into a series of cowardly traps. Arrows and spikes rigged to shoot from a mechanism. Other reports coming in describe hidden archers, triggered rockslides, flaming grease bombs, and stealth attacks in the dark of night. I don’t even know exactly what has happened to some of the parties further north in the more dangerous passes. Little James has resorted to sneak attacks and murder rather than face us in the open field of war!”

William blinked as he tried to absorb this news. It was rare for his wife to tell him anything about the tactical details of her campaign. She seemed to be venting in frustration, using him as a sounding board or verbal punching bag for her stress. Ursula strode into the room while she was speaking. She was standing over him with her hands in gloved fists, a look of fury on her beautiful face. Ursula’s raven-black hair was pulled back from her head in a series of braids as thick as a normal sized man’s fingers, which kept it out of her face for battle. Her bright pale blue eyes flashed with rage and she looked both pretty and fierce at the same time.

“I…I guess King James does not want to relinquish his share of kingly authority,” William said hesitantly. “It sounds as if you’ve pushed him into a corner.”

Ursula’s full soft lips twitched in a slight sneer at the name of King James. Her pale porcelain smooth skin seemed to almost glow in the dim night shadows of the tent. Gazing down at her diminutive husband, Ursula nodded. “For once, you are quite perceptive little Billy,” she said.

William swallowed down his humiliation, clinging to the good news of James’ battle success. He made sure not to allow his face to show how he truly felt.

“I’ve driven him into a corner, and you might say he’ll be more desperate and vicious in trying to save himself the more I limit his options,” Ursula continued. She put her black-gloved hand on William’s head pushing him backward a step.

William nodded, stepping back and peering upward at his imposing spouse. “Yes, you see it Ursula.”

“Your majesty!” Ursula demanded. “You will address me as your Queen, you little has-been runt.”

Ursula shoved on the top of William’s head again, forcing him backward a little more. She stepped closer, keeping with him as she drove him back deeper into the room.

“Y…yes, Your Majesty, you see things well,” William stammered. He swallowed down bitter reluctance at these words, staring at the front of Ursula’s dark robes. They covered her shapely form, but being this close, William could see where the fabric stretched or held tight over her curves and supple skin.

“Good,” Ursula said. She shoved him again, causing William to fall back another two steps, his back against the taut tent fabric, pushed into a corner of the room. Ursula moved close to him, her thick thighs and curvaceous hips cutting off all access to the rest of the bedroom. William put out his small hands and pressed them against Ursula’s hips, trying to get some space, feeling trapped and boxed in.

“I guess it’s like this, then,” Ursula continued. “Little James is pressed into a corner. He’s afraid I might finish off his little bratty resistance against my rightful authority. He’s AFRAID of me.” She stepped closer, pressing her body against William’s small form, shoving him more firmly into the corner.

William’s small pushing hands seemed to have no effect on Ursula. Her hips were solid, shaped in a magnified curving hourglass flare, wrapped in pliant softness – strength in femininity. William nodded, trying not to show his rising sense of entrapment. “Yes…Your Highness. I understand what you mean. Please, I can’t…I can’t…”

Ursula burst into laughter as William tried to push her away. “You think I am worried about James’ pathetic efforts? No…I’m angry. He’s like a kitty that bites the hand of a potential master, not knowing his place. He merely slows the inevitable. In the end, his efforts will be as useless as yours are right now.”

James grunted with effort as he tried to push his wife’s thick torso and hips back a bit, to give himself some room. Her thigh wedged against his chest crowding his limited space.

“Look at you,” Ursula said, her voice dropping in pitch and volume as she bent forward slightly to peer over her chest at William. “You won’t bite me, will you Billy? You’re not quite that stupid.”

William shook his head, nervous fear rising in his throat as Ursula loomed over him. He could smell the scents of the battlefield on her body, pressed close to him: camp smoke, leather, grass, sweat, ozone, and other aromas.

“That’s right,” Ursula continued. “Because you’ve learned your place. If only I could get you to sit down with little Jimmy and explain how things are now. Well, perhaps that opportunity will come in time.”

Her gloved hand rested on the William’s head and he felt Ursula squeeze his skull slightly. Her hips rocked slightly toward his face, causing her robes to brush William’s brow. He felt rage and hot guilt bloom up in his chest as he thought of his conversation with Alcind the day before. It had been the very opposite of what Ursula thought of William’s educative role. And yet, he trembled in fear. Ursula’s hand on his head made William remember the fate of Rutherford.

“P…please,” William whispered.

Ursula made a low-pitch humming noise, half moan, half growl. “What, Billy?” Her fingers gripped his head a bit harder.

“Don’t…don’t shrink me more,” William begged.

Ursula lifted her hand, as if surprised by his words. Then she laughed darkly. “Ohhh…are you afraid to get smaller little man? Are you thinking of the little spy who defied me?”

William said nothing, trembling before his gigantic wife, his Queen. She knew what he was thinking it seemed.

“If you don’t want to get any smaller, then you should do something for me. I’ve been in the field for days,” Ursula sighed. “I’ve had little release for my needs and emotions.”

William nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Mmm…that’s right,” Ursula said. “Your place is to agree with my will.” She gripped William’s hair in her hand and stepped back, pulling him with her toward the bed. William sighed in relief as he was freed from the corner of the tent, from the shadowed folds of Ursula’s dark robes.

“Stand there.” Ursula pointed to a spot on the floor, and William obeyed.

She sat down at the foot of the bed and began to undo the various clasps and buttons that held her robes and furs on. All thoughts of William’s mission to kill Alcind had, for the moment, fled his mind. He was transfixed on the sight of Ursula slowly removing layers of clothing. With each layer removed, she uncovered more sensual and enticing sights. Ursula slipped from her robes, letting them fall around where she sat like the open petals of some black rose. In the midst of her fallen outer garments, Ursula was seated with her legs crossed wearing a black satin brassiere and panties. William knew these garments had been imported from somewhere far overseas, from a land with skilled textile weavers and silk spinners. Ursula was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Her hair was still pulled back in thick braids for combat. Her thighs seemed stronger than he remembered, yet still smooth and soft – likely from all the riding and mountain walking in the last few months. Seated on the bed, Ursula was slightly taller than William as he stood in his simple white smock before her. He could feel himself stiffening, his member pressing up against his belly inside the loose smock.

“You are beautiful, Your Majesty,” William said.

“Yes,” Ursula smiled arrogantly. “And your crown is only helping me become more beautiful, more powerful, more of everything.”

She wouldn’t let him forget it. William hung his head in shame, remembering the fateful day he had handed his crown to Ursula. He had never expected her to seize it as permanent transference, as an act of abdication. He had only meant to allow her the authority to better manager Patterland’s affairs for a time. But she had taken his crown and remade it as her own, taken over his royal prerogative.

As William’s mind tumbled over this shameful memory, Ursula slowly opened her legs, watching her small husband sink into a state of humiliation from her words. Leaning back onto her elbows on the bed, her feet still on the floor, Ursula looked at William, her pale eyes flitting over his diminished body.

“I want you to think of Jimmy out there, fighting against my armies,” Ursula said. She lifted her heels up to the edge of the bed and spread her knees open further. Ursula’s black panty stretched tight over her pubic mound. “As you kiss me…here.” She lifted one hand and pointed between her thighs to her thinly clad crotch.

William stepped forward, his mind now torn, as he thought about James out in the mountains, fighting valiantly against Ursula’s towering soldiers and calculating witches. Yet here he was, about to please Ursula herself, the architect of James’s misery, of this entire misfortune. William thought about it all, even as he could not break his gaze, staring at Ursula’s large spectacular body, her full rounded breasts, her perfect smooth torso, and the smooth satin fabric concealing her vagina.

“That’s it, my little bedchamber boy, come closer,” Ursula cooed. As William stood before the foot of the bed, he looked at her long legs, her thick thighs parted, flexing gently as she waited. “Kiss it.”

William leaned forward against the edge of the bed, his small height eliminating the need to kneel, and rested his palms on Ursula’s inner thighs. This caused her to moan as she watched with focused pale eyes. William pressed his lips to the satin crotch of Ursula’s panties, the aroma of pussy and sweat filling his nostrils, as he kissed the strip of fabric covering her sex.

“You kiss my pussy, while your loser friend tries to stop me from gaining total power over the land. The land you used to rule as king,” Ursula said. “If only he could see you now.”

William felt boiling shame flood his heart and threaten to spill from his eyes. His notions of manhood and brotherhood warred with feelings of hot lust and underlying fear. He had betrayed his kingdom, his brothers; all men. He started to lift his lips from Ursula’s panties, feeling the pliant mound beneath yield with healthy bouncy puffiness.

“I didn’t say stop!” Ursula snapped. “Get your little face back down there. Kiss it.”

William pressed his lips against Ursula’s crotch, and kissed more, frightened of Ursula’s anger and demanding tone. He kissed her smooth inner thighs and warm mound as she moaned softly.

“Yesss…that’s it, my bedchamber boy,” Ursula sighed. She casually slid a hand down between her legs and pulled her panty to the side, revealing moist pussy lips and dark pubic fuzz. “Kiss me with passion.”

William had little choice, the thin barrier between his lips and Ursula’s pussy was quickly removed and he found himself kissing her vulva and labia with increasing desire. As he kissed and licked with his small tongue, Ursula’s knees began to slowly lift and close, her silky soft inner thighs pressing to either side of her little husband’s head. Ursula lay back on the bed and rocked her hips, humping the small face of William as he licked her. Her large perfect bottom bounced on the bed a bit as she closed her legs on William’s head, forcing his nose and mouth into her folds.

Ursula could feel William’s small hands pressing at the sides of her thighs as he tried to get her to open her legs back up. She moaned loudly and put a hand on the top of his head, grinding against William’s face as he licked her. “Ohhh, that feels so good,” Ursula moaned. “You’re a good size for this Billy. Isn’t this better than playing king?”

William licked Ursula, unable to answer her as she mocked his powerlessness, controlling his attentions by flexing her thighs and pushing on the top of his head. William began to lose track of time as Ursula repeatedly seemed to reach climax, shuddering intermittently and coating his face in a slick sheen of slick wetness. Her insatiable demand for his tongue was heightened beyond anything he’d experienced. Certainly, William had given Ursula oral before, but not like this. Her lips, swollen and ready, pressed onto his face, seeming eager as ever for more even as William’s face felt raw and used. Ursula finally sighed after a deep shuddering orgasm, opening her legs slowly, and laughing as William fell backwards to the floor of the tent. He coughed and whimpered, his face wet and shiny. Ursula’s heels slid off the edge of the bed and her feet rested on the floor again.

“Aww…have you had enough Billy?” Ursula’s voice came, unseen, from the bed. William sat on the floor, his face tingling. Ursula’s juices felt like they were seeping into his skin, into his body. The sensation was unsettling.

“I guess I won’t shrink you tonight. You did your best,” Ursula continued. “But that does give me an interesting idea, perhaps a way to fight back against James’ new tactics. Hmm…yes, perhaps you have helped me again in a way.”

William shook his head, not wanting to help Ursula in this way. But she only laughed, and he wondered if she had seen. William spoke up. “Thank you Your Majesty. I am sorry I could not continue.”

His voice came out muddled by the rawness in his tongue.

“Oh, that’s alright little bedchamber boy. Practice makes perfect,” Ursula replied. William looked up from where he was on the floor, at Ursula’s knees and calves, grateful this was not his actual height. He stood up and saw his wife lazing back on the bed, her knees hooked over the edge of the foot of the mattress. Her panties were still pushed to the side of her pussy, leaving it exposed. Ursula had pulled a pillow behind her head and she smiled at him when he stood.

“There you are!” Ursula proclaimed. “You really are small now. I sometimes forget how little you became after I took your crown.”

William’s eyes lowered.

“Mmm…yes, look at how it’s changed you, changed your demeanor. Really, explain why the fuck shouldn’t I make you even smaller?”

William’s eyes widened. “You promised!”

“Oh, I did, just for tonight. You’re very lucky, because after what your stupid peer has done, I really think you need to pay some sort of price,” Ursula sneered. Her hand slipped down between her legs and she used her middle finger to move her panty back into place. William’s eyes followed this movement before he lifted them to Ursula’s gaze and she smirked, catching him stare at her vagina.

“B…but why should I pay? I was here. I didn’t do anything,” William said. His meekness disappointed him even as the words spilled from his mouth. He thought of his speech to Alcind, the hypocrisy of his words.

“Because you never do anything. You’re weak, small. You always were, inside. Now you’re just more suitably sized to your natural disposition,” Ursula sneered. “What did you do here anyway, sit around and eat my food, masturbate to thoughts of your former glory?”

“That’s not true!” William cried, finally snapping under the insults and cutting words. Ursula’s lips parted in a smile, her expression one of mock surprise.

“I fought wars. I commanded whole armies, before you were even out of diapers probably,” William said. “I won tournaments and…”

“NO ONE CARES,” Ursula cut him off, her voice booming across the tent. “Those armies are gone. Those wars were stupid; stupid wars between little boys pretending to be important, for stupid ends. You have no idea of my age. You think I’m young? I’m older than you can even imagine.”

William swallowed nervously. “Wh…what do you mean?”

“Wh…what to you mean?” Ursula mocked his voice, rocking her head back and forth in parody. “See? You’re weak and dumb. You’re a small little man with small little dreams. A slut who visited the whorehouses often enough to be known by name.”

She sat up, rising to her feet as William stepped backward a step or two. Ursula loomed over him in her tight underwear and bra. “You never should have been king of anything,” she said. Her voice resonated with authority. “Not even a brothel.”

William shook his head, blinking back hot tears. He felt the question of her age sit in the back of his mind, even as his thoughts grew clouded with emotion. “Who are you to…”

“I am Ursula Venomix, Queen of Femnoria!” Ursula interrupted. She stepped forward, her hips, smooth belly, and crotch filling William’s vision. “I accomplish things. I build realms. I shatter kingdoms and break men. You don’t. You never do anything. You don’t even resist. You just try to get pussy. I think you were only king so you could get inside vaginas and meet yet more women. I think you fought wars just to raise your status so you could brag to ladies of the realm.”

William was shaking his head, horrified by Ursula’s words. “N…no! Stop it! That’s not true at all!” He cried out.

“Yes it is. Now you can do what you always secretly wanted. Don’t you see? The only thing you’re good for is pleasing my cunt!” Ursula boomed, her voice likely audible across much of the camp beyond.

William fell to his knees and trembled, shaking his head, trying not to cry. Ursula stood over him with her hands on her hips, relishing the sight of the broken ex-king at her feet. She shivered and closed her eyes, mouthing a barely audible mystic chant.

William felt hot tears of rage and humiliation spill from his eyes. He wiped eyes with the back of his hand, even as he smelled the smeared scent of pussy transfer from his cheeks to his hand. His eyes cast down, William noticed that Ursula’s feet seemed to be creeping toward him, expanding. Or…were they getting bigger?

William looked upward and gasped in horror as he saw Ursula begin to swell in a perceptible manner. He could not see her face from where he knelt on the floor, the undersides of her large black bra cups were obscuring his view, but even from this angle he could see her body seeming to thicken and rise.

“Oh no!” William cried out as he shuffled backward on his knees, watching Ursula’s toes spread outward, her calf muscles broaden, and her kneecaps rise higher. William struggled to his feet and gaped in shock as the seam of Ursula’s panty crotch began to pass the level of his eyes. Her huge inviting thighs were enlarging before him, each upper thigh surpassing the width of his shoulders. He had avoided shrinking, but now Ursula was growing bigger. He couldn’t decide which outcome was worse.

Ursula began to laugh. Her witchy voice cracking the air in the pavilion, as she peered down at William over her huge tits, which now spilled out over her too-small bra. Each heavy perky breast was substantially bigger than his head.

“Apparently the truth hurts!” Ursula exclaimed. “If you’re the right height for your role, I guess now I’m the more appropriate height for mine. The only opposition to me in the ruins of your laughable realm is a pathetic band of mountain bandits.”

She used her fingers to wriggle out of her overly-tight panties and let them drop to her ankles. William peered up at the pink and dark fleshy folds of Ursula’s labia, which now cleared the top of his head by several inches. She had to be nearly eight feet tall, and bigger all around too. William’s puny size paled in comparison to the Queen of Femnoria. His hope at the news of James’ small victories was fading in the light of this…perspective. Maybe Ursula was right, right about everything. James felt his ambitious wife’s hand rest on his head and he lost all sense of argument in the moment.

“Get up on your toes, slut,” she commanded. “And fulfill your role.”

William slowly lifted himself a few inches taller, standing on the balls of his feet and looking upward directly into the wet cleft of his wife’s sex. He put one hand on her inner thigh for balance. William couldn’t seem to think straight, with his will being pulled, sucked, toward one focal point: Into her. He opened his mouth and obeyed.

Ursula’s moans resonated through the entire camp.

Chapter 24

Once and former king William awoke and lifted a sticky cheek from the plush smooth inner thigh of his giantess wife. Near the crown of his head a fresh pair of dark blue shiny panties covered her tumescent mound. William was resting on the inside of his wife’s thigh as she lay sprawled across her bed, asleep. With some effort, he managed to slip off the thick curvy mass of Ursula’s pale toned leg. William immediately felt a drop in warmth, replaced the chill mountain air as he moved away from the aura of his wife’s body heat.

The weather was getting colder each morning. It was a harsh world, and for a moment William felt the urge to nuzzle back into bed with his beautiful tyrannical wife. But instead he sat up on the edge of the bed and slipped to the floor, stretching his diminutive naked body as he stood on layers of rugs and furs. William sighed, recalling the previous night’s sexual emotional rollercoaster. He closed his eyes for a moment in shame. Images of Ursula standing over him moaning in pleasure and sneering in contempt filled his mind. William opened his eyes and looked to his sleeping wife, her beautiful features peaceful in sleep: her thick black mane of hair spilling over a pillow, her large bosom rising and falling as she inhaled rhythmically in deep sleep, her wide fertile hips twisted at an angle that magnified their curves. William felt a twinge of uneasiness at how large Ursula’s head and face seemed now. Her features were considerably larger his own, scaled up so that her full lips, her closed eyes, and other normal pretty parts of her face were all magnified.

William looked away and swallowed back the growing feelings of fear in his stomach. What might the future hold with this woman as Queen? When would she be satisfied with the world she was remaking, with her own diminutive mockery of a husband?

A glimmer in the corner of William’s eye caused him to turn his gaze across the tent chamber. There, floating over a pile of cushions upon a wooden stand, was Ursula’s crown.

His crown.

William stared at the transformed object for a moment, considering how much it had been altered to fit Ursula’s essence. Once golden with a blocky masculine chunkiness, it had changed entirely. Only the core function of being a crown remained. William looked up at the spindly elegant silver circlet, now defined by a cold light that reflected from polished twisting points and diamond settings. It appeared eerie and alien, feminine and menacing, beautiful yet haunting. He marvelled in dismay at how this mystical object could change so completely to fit its owner, that it held no allegiance to any notion of ‘right’. It was like a sword or a legal title, to be wielded by whoever held it.

If only he had never handed it over to his wife. She could never have simply taken it off his head by force, not exactly. But William had not truly realized what it had meant to willingly give his wife his crown, even if it had been just a moment of weakness.

Surely the crown must retain some sense of its former owner, some essence of the true soul of Patterland within its ancient forging. He wasn’t dead or anything. He still lived, and he possessed royal blood by birth! William stared up at the floating metal and lifted his hands, standing on his tiptoes, longing to touch it. He felt a stirring to reclaim what was rightfully his. Maybe if he could hold it, could touch it, something might happen.

William moved a stool over to the side of the wooden stand and stepped up, straining until he was able to reach the crown. A strange pins-and-needles tingling washed over his hands and forearms as he pushed them near the floating circlet, amid whatever magic was keeping it aloft. Gripping the metal, William had to yank it, as if from some sort of magnet, until he was able to pull the crown free of its place.

William trembled with excitement as he held the circle of silver. It felt good to hold it again after so long, even if it felt alien in his hands now. It would be even better once he was able to change it back to its golden masculine form. William raised the crown to his head and lowered it. Even knowing it was sized for Ursula’s head, it was a shock to discover that an inch or two of space existed between the rim of the crown and his own scalp. The crown dropped over his head and sat loose on his shoulders. William felt for a moment like a small boy trying on an adult woman’s pretty tiara. He sighed in disappointment and humiliation. It was not going to be as easy as he thought.

A soft humming noise began to fill William’s ears after his sigh. He furrowed his brow. The sound seemed to be coming from the metal of the crown, like a tuning fork. The tingling sensation that had greeted his hands when he’d reached toward it earlier now returned. All around his shoulders, neck and rising up over his face was a pins-and-needles sensation that increased with the volume of the metallic hum.

“What are you doing?” Ursula’s sleepy voice came from behind him.

William quickly turned to face her. “I…I just wanted to see if it would fit still and I thought maybe…”

“You thought you could get your crown back? You thought that you could wear MY crown?” Ursula’s voice got firmer, yet remained cool, calm.

William blushed as Ursula sat up slowly in bed, letting the covers fall away from her. She placed her feet on the floor and crossed her legs. William put his hands on the crown and began to lift it, to cast it off. The humming increased in pitch.

“No, I didn’t mean to take it. It was mine and I wanted…”

“It is MY crown,” Ursula interrupted. “Leave it where it is on your shoulders. You look ridiculous.”

William dropped his hands, wincing and feeling discomfort at the tingling and humming in his ears. It felt like his head was being zapped repeatedly by static electricity.

“Look at you. You’re too small to wear MY crown, a woman’s crown,” Ursula shook her head. “And the crown knows it. It is linked to me now, not you. You’re just a commoner, a pretender.”

“No!” William finally exclaimed. “It used to be mine. It has to have some memory of me.”

“Ohhh…” Ursula nodded slowly. “Is that it? You think we can share it, that you still have some claim to the throne, to MY throne?”

William was caught, exposed in his obvious intentions. He squirmed in discomfort as the humming rose an octave.

“It may have once belonged to you, but you were too weak and stupid to use it properly. You gave it to me. You gave me your crown, your throne, your birthright. It now belongs to me. I am Queen now. I hold the birthright. The realm is MINE,” Ursula said. “Don’t you get it yet? The crown does not suit you anymore. It conforms to me, to my vision for Femnoria. For your insolence, it will take a part of you in penalty and add it to my authority. More of you will now belong to me. You did this to yourself.”

William shook his head in horror. “No! No please…”

A fresh wash of tingling spread over his body and the hum began to partially block out the sound of Ursula’s voice, so strong was its resonance. Small flashes of electric energy flickered between the crown and his neck. The circlet around his head began to open wider, expanding. William realized it was drawing power from his own form, feeding off him, causing him to get smaller as his body fed the structure and beauty of Ursula’s insidious crown. He was shrinking as the crown grew even further away from anything that would ever fit him.

“Help me!” William cried.

“Come on little prince, doesn’t my crown fit you?” Ursula asked. “I thought it was yours.”

“It’s shrinking me!”

“Good! I liked you at this size, but you seem to be unable to accept your new place. It’s only natural that further adjustments should be made.”

William grew increasingly desperate as he diminished, noting that Ursula’s knee was now level with his face, her crossed legs each thicker than his body. “Oh god, this can’t be happening,” he moaned. He’d fought so hard to keep from shrinking the previous night, all for nothing.

Finally the silver crown fell from William’s shoulders to the furs and rugs covering the floor of the tent, landing at his feet with a thud. The thin delicate ornamental spikes and spiralling shapes on the circlet rose around his shins like glittering metallic reeds. The tingling began to fade, and the oppressive humming gradually dropped away. Ursula slowly uncrossed her legs to lean forward and examine her husband, her curiosity evident.

“Well, well…” Ursula whispered, gazing at him with bright blue eyes. “Look at you now.” With a flick of her hand, the crown levitated up into the air and began to drift toward her.

William found himself staring forward between Ursula’s parted legs, at the visible triangular patch of her dark blue shiny panties, wedged between her upper thighs, now nearly eye-level with him even as she sat on the edge of the bed. Ursula knees framed his view.

Ursula lifted her hands and delicately guided her crown onto her head, where it belonged, nestled amid her thick black tresses. She smiled darkly. “I can feel your essence, a gift for me,” Ursula said

“Please…” William’s voice faded as Ursula’s head tilted back in pleasure, the crown flashing and glittering. She was absorbing what it had taken from him, and all he could do was watch in horror as her hips began to spread wider, her core thickening, as her pretty knees pushed out toward him, and her breasts swelled.

William’s gaze moved back between Ursula’s legs as her pubic mound expanded, growing with the rest of her, with his stolen size. He could see the impression of Ursula’s labia pressing into the shiny fabric, as her lower ass cheeks slid partly off the edge of the bed. William cried out in dismay as Ursula moaned. A wet spot was spreading on the front of her panties, a diamond shape that he couldn’t look away from. From his diminished perspective, the spot seemed at least the size of a poplar leaf.

Ursula’s head rolled forward as she looked down at the puny man before her, his sacrifice had added slightly to her size. He had less to give her now. Ursula could see that William was staring right at her panties, his expression a mixture of fear and desire, awe and intimidation. She opened her legs slightly further. “It was cute of you to think you could wear a crown. Look what your presumption brought you. Look at how small you are!” Ursula smiled down at William.

William’s eyes widened as Ursula’s legs parted. The sight of her wet panty crotch a reminder that his smaller size pleased her, aroused her. He saw the shape of her sex pressing against the inside of her panties, saw it bulge ever so slightly out before sucking inward subtly, then it happened again. Ursula was flexing the pelvic floor muscles in her vagina as she stared down at him. William raised his gaze to Ursula’s face and saw her ravenous smile, her sapphire eyes flicking over his diminutive form.

“I…I was just looking because…”

“I know where you were looking,” Ursula cut him off. “Does it frighten you? It’s a bit different than when we first met isn’t it? When you wanted to use me in that brothel.”

William felt heat rising into his cheeks at the memory, at the contrast to the present situation.

“And now look! Just think what your lust for pussy and power has brought you.” Ursula laughed and spread her thighs apart slightly further. “Come closer, princeling.”

William slowly took a step, then another, between Ursula’s knees. “That’s it,” she cooed. “Closer. Take a good look.”

Ursula watched her husband step between her knees, his head level with the tight crotch of her panties. His entire head was the size of an apple. Ursula shivered with deep desire as she compared William’s head to the thickness of her smooth silky thighs on either side of his body. She watched him pause several inches from her crotch. Ursula closed her eyes, flexing her vagina over and over, using one hand to pull the fabric of her panties up, taut against her sex.

William stepped closer, moving nearer to Ursula’s crotch. Her immense inner thighs curved smooth and shapely to either side, getting closer to his shoulder and head as he approached her dark blue panties at the edge of the bed. He paused, inhaling the redolent musky scent of Ursula’s sex as he stared at her underwear. He watched the pliant mound shift and flex, pushing out and in with her pelvic squeezes. William could make out the individual threads making up the shiny fabric of her underwear, soaked in a slowly spreading moist spot.

“Mmm…yes, look at how you measure up now billy-boy,” Ursula moaned. “If only the rebels out there could see their once-proud king in this moment, could see how he measures up to the ‘evil witch’.”

William hung his head in shame, and Ursula laughed. Her fingers touched his hair and stroked his small head gently, coaxing him closer to her vagina.

William tried to stand back, but her hand was insistent, and he stumbled a step closer, until his nose brushed against the slick smooth fabric of Ursula panty, his ears brushing her soft inner thighs on either side. The alluring strip of fabric covering Ursula’s crotch as wide than his head. Slowly, the smooth thighs to either side of his small head began to close, pressing against his head with silken warmth, mashing his face into Ursula’s moist mound. William put his hands up against her thighs but it only made her moan in pleasure. Ursula’s legs closed on his small head and she began to rock her hips, humping William’s head like a sex toy, rubbing his face against her panties, and squeezing her pussy and thigh muscles. William’s footing shifted as he was shoved around by his Queen’s movements, bouncing against the edge of the bed. His small head began to press Ursula’s panties into a cleft between her labia. Moist slickness slowly smeared over his face. After some time, Ursula’ opened her legs again and looked down at William over her large perky breasts.

William sucked in deep lungfuls of fresh air, his cock standing out hard from his body, betraying his sense of humiliation and arousal. The headiness of being used as some sort of sex toy combined with the fear of how easily he lined up to his wife’s wet vagina, how her vulva compared to his face, even hidden as it was behind elegant underwear.

“Well? I think you measure up nicely. You’re pleasantly…bulbous,” Ursula mused.

William didn’t like the way she was staring down at him and the slight glistening of sweat that now lay over her skin just next to her crotch further intimidated him. Her body was ready, demanding to be satisfied. William felt inadequate and small before her pressing sexual needs. “Bulbous? I’m…I’m not a penis,” he protested.

Ursula laughed once, loudly. “Oh no? You aren’t much more. You’re barely bigger than one. You’re only about 20 inches tall, and you line up soooo well. My little prince prick,” she said.

“I’m still a man!” William protested.

“Barely,” Ursula whispered, staring down at him. “You’re clinging to the scraps of manhood left. If you’re not careful…you’ll be small enough to fit.”

“Wh…what do you mean,” William asked, his voice shaking.

Ursula spread her legs apart and stroked her fingers slowly over her panties. “Are you that stupid or just frightened? I mean if you don’t watch yourself, you’ll be shrinking again. And then…then you’ll be a better pricky-boy than man. You’ll fit ME,” she said softly. “Just like my crown fits.”

“N…no, that’s not right. You can’t seriously mean…” Memories of Rutherford flashed in his mind, horrifying him as he recalled the nightmarish ritual from months ago.

William backed up a step, and then another, as Ursula began to laugh. She revelled in the fear on William’s face. “Ohhh…it’s been centuries since I’ve had a man truly inside me.” She grinned. “How appropriate if it were to be a former king.”

William backed up a another step before Ursula began to stand up. She slowly rose from her seated position on the bed, towering over his puny form. William peered upward from a level just under Ursula’s knees, standing between her ankles in shock. His perspective from far below made him re-assess his entire existence. He was small enough that she could now easily punt him across the room if she wanted. A single misstep could be disastrous or fatal for him.

“Now, get in your cage. I don’t want to have to watch you constantly and I have a war to win,” Ursula’s said. Her voice came from above, imperious, though from his place between her ankles William could not see his wife speak.

“Cage?” He turned, and sure enough, waiting in the middle of the floor, was a golden cage more suited for a large bird. It had not been there before, but William was learning to expect the unexpected as Ursula’s powers grew. She had likely conjured it up, or summoned it from some sorceress’ metaphysical non-space. William stepped tentatively toward the open door of the cage. Had Ursula made it golden to mock his former crown?

Suddenly a push on his back shoved him through the square door. The ball of Ursula’s foot smacked his upper back and her painted toes, each the size of gourds to William, flexed and splayed slightly as she prodded him into the domed cylindrical prison. There was almost no headroom, and William began to look for a place he might sit down. But the minute William was in the cage, Ursula bent down and picked it up, causing the bottom to drop out of his stomach for a moment at the shift in elevation. He fell onto his butt at the lurching rise of his confines. Ursula slammed the cage door shut and locked it from the outside with a small golden key. She hoisted the cage and hung it from one of the tent roof struts. William felt the cage swaying slowly from its place, causing the whole room to seem to rock back and forth. His wife smiled as she peered in at him, now at eye-level. Her head was nearly half as tall as his entire body. Her blue eyes gazed in at him, circles of night and ice, irises bigger than pieces on a checkers board.

Ursula peered in at the small man gripping the golden bars of the cage and watched him back away from her in fear. She felt wetness soak through her panty as she stared intently at the small form of her so-called husband. She loved seeing him like this, so small. How could he have been so stupid as to try on her crown? Men really were dumb sometimes. It was a pity James was not quite as stupid as his peer. Ursula blew a kiss at William with her pliant pouty lips and laughed as his hair moved in the force of her breath. If only his head was just a bit smaller…

William turned his gaze to the floor of the cage, feeling Ursula’s eyes wander over his naked body. Her possessive scrutiny was deeply unnerving. He felt endlessly assessed, sized up, as her gloating expression shifted to lust.

His world was much smaller now, his hopes accordingly reduced. Ursula turned and walked out of the room without a word, swishing past the fabric doorway to her quarters. Self-preservation now took precedence in the former king’s mind. William had forgotten all about his machinations or King James’ resistance. His self-pity loomed, and he swallowed down a yawning fear of Ursula Venomix’s insatiable humid sex.