The Story so Far (text only) (Patreon)

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The sleepy town of Dacqoise sat at a quiet bend on the river Cirop, and by all indications, should have remained a quiet, idyllic hamlet. Its well-built buildings and pleasant weather made it a pleasing locale for its small numbers of inhabitants. Its industries were farming and dairy on the outskirts, milling, and there was a small town center of tradesmen and merchants. Although small, the town was well-known for the various exquisite pastries made with the high-quality locally produced flour and excellent dairy products provided by the surrounding countryside. Although local business kept the farmers and the bakers well-compensated for their efforts, a small mercantile class had taken up the task of exporting these pastries to any cities nearby enough to deliver them with any degree of freshness. It was agreed, that even stale, the pies and cakes of Dacqoise were often better than goods baked elsewhere.

Sadly, history rarely has respect for the humble ambitions of small people who wish to carry out their lives in peace. Sadly for Dacqoise, the Cirop was a recognized border. At the time of the events recounted here, it was a border between the small kingdom of Plouffe, to which they belonged, and the Kingdom of Anoria, a rising power, recently under the control of a pair of ambitious sorceresses, who had taken it by force. Known for their relentless all-female army, their beauty, and their cruelty, the sisters Foxglove had set their sights on their quiet but prosperous neighbor to the west, and there were few that could hope to stand in their way.  In response to aggression from Anoria, Plouffe had drafted the men of the kingdom to defend its capital, leaving small towns like Dacqoise to fend for themselves. Bereft of their menfolk, it was up to the women of Dacqoise to keep business going as usual, and hope the hostilities would stay far from their hamlet.

Fiona Foxglove of the Crystal Lake had a fearsome reputation beyond the juggernaut of her armies. An accomplished sorceress of immense power, she was also known for her vindictiveness, and her beauty. With her raven hair, and shapely body, it was reported that most anyone who saw her would fall under her spell, before she even bothered to cast a cantrip. Her sister, Selena Foxglove, was beautiful in her own right, yet was still envious of her sister’s more classical beauty. On this matter, she compensated by making a point to dress better than her sister. Certainly, Fiona wore finery fit for a countess on a Sunday outing, but the taste tended to the more practical. She would often wear trousers! Her beautiful onyx-toned hair, she wore half-shorn and brushed to one side. Still, there was no doubt of her beauty, and these outfits, though less formally feminine than her sister’s, revealed her perfect figure. This enraged Selena, whose figure was still considered near-perfect by many. She imagined how her extremely feminine attire would better display such perfection. She wore form-fitting dresses, and wore her hair in elaborate coiffures. Her makeup was carefully applied to maximize her best features, even though it wasn’t subtle.

The ripples created by Selena’s envy sometimes bubbled up to the surface. Those who witnessed disagreements between the two were rarely bold enough to speak of it, but somehow, there were rumors that the sisters weren’t always civil to one another. This problem was compounded by the fact that, though both sorceresses were very intelligent, Selena was a bit smarter, causing Fiona to have her own resentment.

No one knew for certain if the formidable sorceresses were actually sisters, although they addressed each other as such. Their background before coming to power in Anoria was difficult to illuminate, and those who were astute enough to uncover their origins had the good sense to keep their findings to themselves. It was rumored that they had both travelled from the western peninsula to the misty isles as children, to learn to control the innate magic powers that were burgeoning in them. It was not known if they travelled together (as sisters might), or found each other there (as strangers might), yet it was agreed by all that their later departure from the Misty Isles wasn’t entirely voluntary.

While the real relationship between the sorceresses remained a mystery, that was one of many. The two slept in locked quarters, sometimes in separate rooms, and sometimes not, preventing intrusion by order, fear, and powerful magical wards on the doors. If either had ever taken a lover to her bed, none remained to tell the tale. Some of their own followers held that the sorceresses were virgins, that their magical powers were enhanced by abstention from sex. Others believed them predators, seducing strangers for their pleasure, then disposing of them. Still others thought that they were one another’s lover, and that the “sister” relationship was merely a decoy, hiding their connection because there is power in understanding the relationship between people.

Almost as feared was the commander of their army, a tall, pale woman known as Rowena the Black for her raven hair and the dark plate armor she wore. Her martial prowess was said to be unmatched. Her presence on the battlefield was like death itself, terrifying her enemies and allies alike. Other knights would demure on points of honor with her just to avoid a duel. She rarely entered tournaments, but, starting with the second one she entered, it was customary for the other contestants to withdraw, as her reputation preceded her.

Two guards withdrew with a fearful salute as Rowena made her way into the tavern that had been commandeered as a base of operations for her army’s forays into Plouffe territory. Selena was standing over a hefty table, covered in scrolls and books. Laid out was a large map showing the border, with the tavern’s knife collection stabbed into it, marking points of interest. Behind her, Fiona stood with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. Her corset revealed impressive cleavage above, and a bit of pale, toned midriff below. “It’s against your interest, dearest Rowena, to keep us waiting.” 

Rowena scowled, “It won’t happen again. I was cleaning up a conflict caused by the newcomers.” At that comment, a dark-eyed woman in battle-worn armor stepped away from the shadows at the edge of the room and glared at Rowena. The cosmetics on her freckled face, and the messy bun out of which her scarlet hair spilled belied the resolve in her gaze. 

Before she deigned to speak, Selena broke the silence. “I know your distaste for working with mercenaries, Lady Rowena, but Commander Maeve’s troops have served us admirably.” Rowena’s face registered a silent protest, garnering a smile from Maeve. “And, in case you have forgotten, this army and this war belong to us, the Foxglove sisters. You are a talented knight and leader, but you’re merely one important cog in a larger war machine. Understood?”  Selena loved putting disobedient subordinates in their place, and her face seemed to become even prettier as her grin widened. “Now, to the matter at hand…the hamlet of Dacqoise…our gateway to Plouffe.”

“If I may, your majesty,” Maeve started, flattering the sorceress with a title that had never been bestowed on her, although she was a queen, in a de facto sense of the word, “why Dacqoise? There are points along the river that are even more poorly defended.”

“I’m glad you asked, and so politely,” the sorceress responded, grinning at Rowena again to demonstrate the contrast between them, “Dacqoise, though small, is the bread-basket of Plouffe. You’ve probably had its cheese and its pastries, even here in Anoria. An army, it is said, travels on its stomach. Should we take the town quickly, and quietly, we’ll capture enough supplies to last most of the campaign. Not to mention the quality of the sweets, which will be excellent for troop morale. We’ll keep the town’s farms and bakeries producing with a small force left behind, and our soldiers will eat like nobles. That’s worth fighting for, is it not?”

“I humble myself before the wisdom of your words,” the mercenary commander responded, sweetly. Rowena rolled her eyes and received an immediate look of admonition from Fiona.

“If you want that cow pasture conquered, your Majesties,” Rowena said, smiling as she one-upped Maeve’s sycophancy,  “send me with a squadron, thirty troops at most, and it will be yours within minutes. We’re better and more efficient than mercenaries, and using your own troops saves you money.”

“If you send me, your majesties, I’ll subdue the town just as quickly, but without sustaining casualties or captures, quite unlike this bumbling knight. My Crimson Horde will make short work of it, and you’ll still have the full force of you armies when the real battle against the forces of Plouffe takes place,”

“Bumbling?!” Rowena’s hand flew to her sword. The mercenary smiled, and tapped the pommel of her own blade, threateningly.  Maeve was the first person other than the sorceresses to be so insolent to Rowena in a long time. She wasn’t used to being challenged. Of course, the Mercenary had quite a reputation herself.

“Enough. Both of you,” Fiona’s voice boomed unnaturally, reminding both officers of her sorcery, both women removed their hands from their weapons, and Rowena took a step back. “I’ve heard enough of this. This is MY army and MY campaign. You’ll have to work together because I, I mean we,  deem it necessary. I’ll have no more of these childish quarrels. Understood?

Both ladies nodded, blushing a bit.

“I think I have a solution,” said a new voice, from the back of the room. The officers turned, startled that anyone was listening in. Fiona, on the other hand, smiled knowingly, as a dark-haired woman in a lavish gown and tall hennin approached the table.

“This is a small battle,” the woman continued , in a thick Italian accent, “I say we can afford to make it a wager, to settle your petty rivalry. Each of you will take a thirty of your own soldiers; whoever can capture the town—“

“And hold it,” Selena butted in, “no point in taking what you can’t hold,” “Yes, capture and hold the town for a day will earn a monetary reward from me,” the elaborately-dressed woman continued in her thick accent, different from any of the others in the room.

Fiona grinned, “and I have something for the loser, as well. Let’s just say that winning is preferable by far. Unless you shrug off your differences and work together, one of you will be humbled—both by the two of us, and her rival.”

“As I said, I’ll take the town,” Rowena said confidently. “A bunch of Plouffian hayseeds can’t stop us; I can defeat the defenders myself, the troops are only needed for the occupation of the entire town.”

“We’ll swoop in and save the day when Lady Rowena fouls up an easy conquest,” Maeve responded.

Turning to the Venetian woman, Selena smiled, “Thank you, Duchess Vittoria, for the funding and wise counsel you provide.

“What brings your interest to this conflict, if I may ask?” Rowena inquired.

The Duchess ‘ eyes flashed anger as she retorted, “We Romoli can choose whatever affairs pique our interest. We didn’t become the biggest banking house in the world through isolationism. We dislike the trade policies of the current ruling house of Plouffe, and would like to see such a prosperous, if small, kingdom, governed by one whose ambitions are more…in line with our own. Plus, their pig-whore of a queen refused to pay the massive debt her father owed us on his death, then, to add insult to injury, refused to wed her imbecile of a son to my older sister. In fact, the letter she sent was quite insulting. This dungheap of a kingdom will burn and she will suffer.” The next breath caught Vittoria as if she was unaware of her ranting. She breathed in deeply, then added, more calmly, “Not that this is any of your business.”

“Ah, a noble cause, I see,” Rowena responded. Maeve raised an eyebrow, unable to determine how much the knight intended irony.

“We thank you for the generous support, your grace, and look forward to collecting your generous reward,” Maeve said with a bow, before excusing herself from the war-council. Vittoria smiled; she had always appreciated how unabashedly mercenaries spoke her language—the language of wealth. 

Fiona bit her lip in thought. After all, this was HER campaign, HER army. She would have preferred not to need the Venetian, not to share the credit. But wars were won by gold, and Vittoria had deep pockets. They would work with her for the time being. Later? Who knew what fate would bring. “Rowena, gather your troops, the game begins. It’s time to prove with your deeds the superiority you claim with your words.”

“I will not disappoint you, my mistresses.” “You should hope not,” Selena scowled.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the river, the town of Dacqoise was blissfully ignorant to the powers conspiring against them. On a low scaffold in the town square, Corinna the échevin was hearing the complaint of a dairy farmer against a neighbor who she accused of witchcraft. Corrina had been made the local magistrate due to the fact that she had actually studied law at the royal university in the city. While the town wasn’t large enough to provide her proper judge’s robes, they appreciated her role in keeping the peace.

“This is a serious matter,” she said gravely, “no one has been prosecuted in Plouffe for witchcraft in over 200 years.” “It’s still the law, and I demand satisfaction!” shouted the irate farmer. “Please!” responded the accused, a fresh-faced young woman in a dress with red, black, and white stripes, “ I’m just a simple craftswoman. I know I’m new here, but I beg you to send word to the capital. I am known there, and many will vouch for me.” Corinna squinted and rubbed her forehead. “The charge is so grave, I think we owe her that courtesy.” “Fine, but until then, you’d better keep her locked up.” “It’s not a crime to be a mage,” a voice called out from the villagers below. 

Corinna thought for a moment. “No, indeed, it isn’t, but if the accusations about the cows are true, then the witchcraft law, though outdated, must apply. But if this is a baseless accusation, Miss Lowry, then you’ll spend a day in the stocks for wasting the court’s time again.” “Then come to my farm, and see for yourself. The cream is coming out already sour. It’s witchcraft, I tell ye,” said the farmer, a tall, thin woman in a white dress with a blue apron.

“The court will reconvene on the Lowry farm in one half hour, to contemplate the evidence. Clarabelle, escort Eleanor.”  The constable nodded, and gently took hold of the accused’s wrist. For her part, Eleanor followed without further protest. The constable was a large woman; she had been taller and heavier than all the other girls growing up. This, and her freckles had been the subject of ridicule and teasing in her youth. Now, she filled out a soldier’s mail hauberk and enforced the laws of the land. No one was laughing at her anymore, and she liked things that way.

Arriving at the farm, she brought Eleanor to where the magistrate and her accusers were looking at some of the cows. In a pen nearby, a bull bellowed. Lorraine produced a bucket, sat on her milking stool, and started milking the largest of the cows, as the magistrate watched with interest.  Within a short while, she had filled the bucket with enough milk. Dropping a ladle into it, she offered it to Corinna, who demurred, gesturing to the Clarabelle.

“That milk is sour, alright!” she said, turning her gaze on Eleanor. “Wait!” Eleanor called. Everyone stopped and looked at her. “Up her sleeve.” “You be quiet!” “Check up her sleeve.” Lorraine stepped back, but the magistrate looked her in the eye. “Put your arms out.” “I milked the cow right in front of you! How could I get something by your watchful-“ “Put your arms out. Now. Or I’ll have the constable do it for you.”

Lorraine put her arms out in front of her, and Corinna felt around her wrists and forearms. Feeling a lump on her right wrist, she reached into her sleeve, and produced a small glass vial, recently emptied of its contents. Passing it under her nose, she sniffed its contents. “vinegar.”

“Look, this isn’t what it looks like!” “Constable, please escort Lorraine back to your office.” “And Eleanor?” “We’ll keep an eye on her for a while,” said Corinna, then turning to Eleanor, “but it’s clear that this was just a setup. Why would you do this, Lorraine?” Lorraine looked down at the ground and spat, the saliva landing dangerously close to the magistrate’s shoes. Eleanor broke the awkward silence that ensued, “I think it has something to do with my questioning her about her visitors.” “Visitors?” “Yes, foreign types, shady-seeming ones, that ride across the borderlands, usually late at night. They don’t stay long.”

“You shut up!” Lorraine called out. “Are you running a brothel right here in our town?” Corinna asked. “Yes, that’s it, a brothel,” Lorraine responded venomously. Corinna raised an eyebrow as she couldn’t tell if the dairy maid intended irony. While she was contemplating, Eleanor screamed. 

“Soldiers!” “They aren’t ours,” said the constable, loosening her grasp on Lorraine to shield her eyes from the midday sun, “Someone has to warn our guards. Get back as quickly as possible! Sound the alarm.”

Before anyone else could act, Lorraine had slipped the constable’s grasp, jumped a small fence, and mounted a horse that she kept next to the cows. “I’ll ride on ahead and warn them!” she shouted as she rode away. “Wait!” shouted Clarabelle, running after her until she reached the horse. Then, turning to the others, she said, “We need to get inside the walls. Now!”

The advancing troops were gaining on them. Instead of moving at a marching pace, these were running, to make best use of the element of surprise. At least a couple dozen could be seen by now; they carried no banner with them, but an all-female army of soldiers and conquistadoras in dark armor strongly suggested to anyone listening to local rumors, that, as the crown had feared, sisters Foxglove had arrived. 

Lorraine was quite far ahead of them by now, but for some reason, she wasn’t shouting to raise the alarm. Riding directly to the gate, she dismounted. Clarabelle tried shouting to her guards, but it was useless as they were too far to hear her. To make matters worse, the dairy maid disappeared through the gate, and for some reason, Patrice, who was on watch at the gate, was abandoning her post to follow her!

“To the gate!” Corinna shouted, to no avail. The three of them would need to get there before the enemy and seal it. That’s when she heard another horse galloping, this time, behind them. Turning her head, she saw a huge black stallion, with a raven-haired rider in black armor mounted upon him. She was racing right for them!

The magistrate grabbed the tradeswoman’s arm, and tackled the Constable to the side of the road. All three landed in a pile, two of them dumbfounded to the meaning of this action, until the horse charged right by them. Clarabelle gave Corinna a thankful nod, when she realized the horse would have run them down. But now, the foot soldiers were right behind them!

“Go on ahead, Constable, close the gates and stop the attack!” Corinna ordered, “We’ll try to hold them off!” “With what?” Clarabelle responded. “Just go!” As the constable ran toward the gate, Corinna and Eleanor stood in the road, weaponless. As dozens of soldiers advanced on them, only a small bridge over a stream standing between them and the enemy. “What was your plan?” Eleanor said. “I have no idea,” the échevin responded. 

Eleanor bowed her head, closed her eyes, and seemed to be whispering to herself. “This is not the time for prayer,” the magistrate said, trying and failing to take an intimidating stance. “Stop!” she shouted at the soldiers, “Dacqoise is a sovereign territory of Plouffe, and I am its échevin! You will stop and tell me what your business is here.”

A few of the soldiers stopped for a moment to exchange glances. Then, they laughed, and kept advancing toward the two unarmed women. 

Suddenly, a bellowing bull charged down the road. Eleanor calmly watched, and Corinna turned to run. The soldiers on the bridge saw the bull headed for them, and, with nowhere to retreat, dove into the mud on either side of the low bridge to avoid being hit by it. The soldiers behind them likewise scattered, trying to steer clear of the raging beast as it ran toward them. Eleanor grabbed Corinna’s wrist and tugged, “This is our chance. Get to the gate!”

Reaching the city, Corinna ran to close the gate herself, at the same time calling to the oddly absent guards to do so. Eleanor, helping, watched the pursuing soldiers, who had dived from the low bridge to avoid the bull, extricated themselves from the mire, having to strip off their heavy gear in order to do so. Arms, weapons, waterlogged boots, and most of their clothes were left behind as they pulled their bodies from the squelchy mud. More soldiers were coming, but the bull had given them the time they needed to get inside the gate.

As the gate nearly shut, she saw the bull disintegrate into particles of light, and momentarily, there was nothing where it had been. She smiled. Finally, they  slammed it shut, and barred it.

In the meantime, Patrice, the gate guard, was panting, having run to the center of town at high speed, in full armor. “Are you sure Clarabelle ordered me to the town square? What’s going on?” “I’m sorry,” said Loraine. “For what?” the winded guard asked, visibly annoyed. The answer arrived in the form of an unexpected punch to the jaw. As she fell on the ground of the town square, she could hear the gasps of the townspeople, and as she lost consciousness, she saw Loraine taking her mace from her belt.

“What’s the meaning of this?” shouted Angelique, a local merchant, as she approached Lorraine.

Loraine waved the mace menacingly at the merchant.  “Guards! Help!” Angelique screamed, stepping back, “She’s gone crazy!” Lorraine lunged forward to keep Angelique away, but no other members of the town’s short-handed security force appeared to help.

“You should have run,” Lorraine said. “Come to think of it, I’ve never liked you…with your golden locks, your purse full of gold, your expensive garb…yeah…that’s it. Get that dress off, right now. I think it would fit me.” “You’re insane!” Angelique replied. “Just do it…or you’ll see what this mace does. Things are about to change around here.”

Angelique bit her lip, and her gaze shot around the square, looking for someone to intervene. Then, she slowly pulled the dress over her head, in shock that the dairy maid was committing crime after crime in broad daylight. 

“Ugh, I should have guessed that you weren’t wearing anything under it. Now I have to wash it. Just drop it on the ground in front of you, and back away.” Angelique did as the woman with the mace commanded, using one arm to cover her petite breasts and the other over her shaved womanhood. In all her days, she had never been exposed like this. Lorraine, still threatening with the mace, seemed to be enjoying it.

Just then the town bell, kept near the gate, rang. “We’re under attack!” came a scream from some nearby street. “Everyone! Get inside!” another voice shouted. Angelique knew any chance of rescue had probably evaporated with that bell. Or had it?

The dairy farmer was so intent on the scene in front of her that she missed Emile, the local tavern maid, who was coming up behind her as quietly as possible. Grabbing the heavy end of the mace with both hands, the heavy-set blonde tried to wrest control of the weapon. Angelique almost turned to run, but paused, seeing her chance to cover up, by getting her dress, if Emile was able to stop Lorraine. But Lorraine stomped on the dress, keeping Angelique bent over and tugging on it, as she fought against Emile.

Finally, Emile tore the mace loose, and let it clatter to the ground a few feet away. Lorraine, disarmed and concerned, now squared off with the much huskier barmaid. “I will beat your ale-guzzling lardass,” she taunted. “Think again, milk-drinker!” the heavier woman shot back. Meanwhile, Angelique was still hoping to get her dress, but both of them were now standing on it. She considered just running home, but then she looked again at Lorraine.

The dairy farmer caught the barmaid by surprise with a gut punch, and it looked like she had the upper hand. Grabbing her by the hair, she was planning on delivering a knockout punch, when something pulled her own hair so hard it yanked her head back. Emile recovered, and grabbed her arms.

Angelique stunned her with a punch, then grabbed hold of her dress. “What are you doing!?” Emile shouted “knock her out!” But Angelique pulled the dress up, and pulled it up over the dairy farmer’s head. The tavern maid had to let go as the dress came over the arms she was holding. In no time, Angelique had Lorainne’s dress off, revealing a red, lacey bra and panties. “How do YOU like it?” the merchant said, enjoying a modicum of revenge. Lorraine, however, was better-endowed than the merchant, and wearing undergarments. This made it slightly less satisfying, and Angelique planned to remedy the situation.

“We need to get out of here, we’re under attack!” Emile said, “Get Patrice, and let’s go.” But Angelique was already grabbing the stunned Lorraine’s panties and tugging them down. A flustered Emile decided she’d have to knock the dairy farmer out, and bring the other two into the tavern for safety. 

That’s when they heard the hoofbeats approaching. Fast at first, they settled into a trot. Emile moved aside as a huge black horse, bearing a rider in black armor, with a huge sword over her shoulder, made its way into the square.

The rider dismounted, and, holding her sword toward the barmaid threateningly, addressed Lorraine. “So, you are the one that opened the gates for us.” Lorraine nodded. “Traitor!” Angelique spat, but an ironclad gaze from the armored woman made her bow her head silently. Addressing Lorraine, the knight continued. “I see you’ve run into some trouble here.”

“Yes, Lady Rowena,” Lorraine said, bowing her head. Angelique, realizing the tides had turned against her, dropped Lorraine’s red lacy panties that she had still been holding. A breeze carried them away before Lorraine could recover them.

Rowena looked at Emile, the only full-clothed townsperson. “You strip her, and tie her up, then this one,” she commanded, gesturing first to Emile, then Angelique.  I’ll deal with the guard. Patrice was just starting to regain consciousness. Rowena found her discarded mace, and stood over her, with her sword in one hand and the mace in the other. A black-armored sabaton came down on Patrice’s chest. “Stay down. You have been thoroughly defeated.” Rowena said, smiling.

Lorraine took pleasure in stripping the woman who had engineered her defeat. Unlike the other townspeople in the square, Emile had a voluptuous and soft body. Like Angelique, she wasn’t wearing undergarments, instead relying on the laced-up bodice of her dress to keep things in place. Lorraine delivered a few swats to her large, round breasts, soft flanks, and large buttocks as she finished undressing her, then tied her wrists and ankles with the strong lace that kept her bodice together, leaving Emile tied up on the cobblestones.

It was not difficult to bind Angelique, who put up little resistance at this point, and soon, she was lying next to Emile. 

“Now, take her clothing and armor,” Rowena commanded, removing her foot from Patrice. In no time, Lorraine had pulled Patrice to her feet and removed her armor. “Nothing personal, dear Patrice, she taunted, as she put on the armor. “You were just in the way.” She left the denuded guard bound in the town square as Rowena gave the next orders.

“My soldiers should have already occupied this square. Take this,” Rowena said, handing the mace to Lorraine to complete the outfit. “We will make for the gate and see what’s wrong.” With supreme confidence, she patted her horse and left it behind as the two of them made for the gate.

“When the attack was announced, most of the townspeople hid inside,” Lorraine informed the knight. “I tend to have that effect on people,” Rowena conceded, smiling wickedly.

Arriving at the gate, they found Corinna and Eleanor having just closed the gate, and Clarabelle, having secured the area, headed straight for the town square.

“What are your plans here? I order you to leave our peaceful town immediately or—“

“I’ll take care of this one, “ Rowena said, smiling, “You can handle the others, I take it?”

“When we defeat them, I want custody of these three,” Lorraine said, “It’s personal.”

Clarabelle charged Rowena with a high attack. Rowena easily parried; her skills were such that her opponent posed little danger to her, and she smiled, glad to be fighting a trained warrior at least. Conquering this town had proved no challenge at all, and she was honestly bored.

Clarabelle tried and tried again, rebuffed each time by Rowena’s defenses. The knight was drawing out the fight, using it for entertainment and light exercise, and Clarabelle’s hopes sunk as the realization gradually dawned on her.

Lorraine ran toward Corinna, but the magistrate did her best to stay away from the armed dairy farmer. Iris managed to stand still long enough to cast a spell. A bull came running down the ramp. She hoped that this illusion would set her opponents to flight as it had last time. Rowena barely noticed the rampaging bull, and Lorraine looked at it for a moment, and attacked unfazed. Of course, the model for the bull had been Mortimer, the large, ornery beast from Lorraine’s farm. Knowing where she had last seen the beast, Lorraine realized it was an illusion, and now targeted Iris.

After about a dozen parries, Rowena’s expression changed. With one flick of the wrist, she disarmed Clarabelle. Keeping her blade aimed at Clarabelle as a threat, she then executed a quick series of precise cuts, aimed at the support system of her armor. Clarabelle was too terrified to move, as Rowena’s sword stripped her, one piece of armor at a time. First her belt and scabbard, then her skirt, then the chainmail. AS the armor fell away, her plump flesh popped out, as if freed from a sardine can. In a short time, she was wearing only a skimpy pair of white panties, her boots, bracers, and the blue bow in her hair. 

“You were a fool to challenge me!” Rowena declared, “But I suppose you know that now. Kneel and I’ll spare your life.”

Clarabelle complied. Iris, out of tricks, dropped to her knees and surrendered to Lorraine, and Corinna, begrudgingly, had to follow suit. “That was easy!” Lorraine gloated. “You, over here!” Rowena commanded to Clarabelle, putting her on her knees next to the other two. “You, get that gate open. I’ll “inspect” these prisoners. Lorraine nodded and headed to open the gate.

Rowena, in the meantime, smiled as she looked on the first three of her prisoners in the newly-conquered town. “What have we here?” Passing Clarabelle, she muttered, “I’ve already seen the large but ineffective guard…who are you?” Corinna didn’t answer immediately, and Rowena didn’t wait. “What a nice head of hair. It would be a shame if…” she put the blade of her sword near the magistrate’s neck. 

“….something happened to it.” Corinna gulped as the razor-sharp blade was drawn back. Instead of her throat being cut, she saw locks of her hair catch wind and blow away. Corinna’s eyes went wide, glad to still have her head but concerned. The shine of the night’s armor confirmed her fears. Rowena had bobbed her long, lovely hair above her chin. Falling out of her fancy updo, her hair frizzed out to the sides.

But the knight wasn’t finished. As the gate opened behind them and soldiers under Rowena’s command flooded through the gates, she looked down at Corinna. “That dress—you look like someone important. Well, that won’t do. You’re nobody now, and should look like nobody. With a few careful flicks of her razor-sharp blade, she sliced through the bodice ribbon, allowing the magistrate’s chest and stomach to pour out of it. Another quick slice allowed her skirt to pool at her knees.

“That’s it! Search the houses! Gather everyone in the square. Confiscate weapons, food, or useful supplies!” Rowena ordered as her troops ran by. 

“Mi’Lady?” Lorraine asked tentatively. “May I have these three, per our agreement?” “Indeed. And your payment will arrive with the Venetian.” “If it is not too much to ask, Milady, may I have a soldier assigned, to help control these three?” Rowena glanced over the town around her. “I have more than enough troops to occupy this defenseless little hamlet. Veronica! Mercedes! You’re with Lorraine here. Help her keep control of these prisoners, and generally do what she asks, within reason. And here…” she said, now to Lorraine, taking a sword from the belt of a soldier wielding a polearm, and handing it to Lorraine, “take this.” Then, to her soldiers, she shouted, “Send a messenger to the sorceresses and the Venetian. We’ve taken the town.”

The two soldiers saluted and placed themselves on either side of the group of prisoners. Both wore chainmail hauberks and had light hair. Mercedes was built heavier, and carried a cutlass. Veronica was armed with a spear, which she pointed threateningly at Eleanor. Lorraine smiled. “This here is Eleanor. Watch her, she’s a witch. But for now, I think we should search her to make certain she isn’t hiding any weapons.”

“If I had been hiding weapons don’t you think I would have put up a fight?” Eleanor pleaded. “No matter, have her strip. If she won’t, well…” Lorraine ordered, as she tore the remaining bits of Corinna’s dress off.

Threatened by Veronica, Iris stood up and began stripping. Soon, she was down to a corset, her panties, and the white leggings she had been wearing under her skirt. Still threatened by the spear, she opened the corset, and let it fall to her feet.

Unknown to the town or its occupiers, Auriane, a villager who worked as a courier between Dacquoise and the capital, was on the road when the town was occupied. From a distance, she saw that something was wrong. Coming closer, and trying her best to remain unseen, she saw the evidence of occupying forces along the walls, then ran back to her horse, riding to the capital with as much haste as she could muster. She would go to the queen herself if that’s what it took, and return with the royal army.

Back in the town, Rowena stood atop the platform in the town square, and smiled quietly to herself as she watched her troops work. Homes were being raided, inhabitants ushered out, things of value looted. “Take the finished food, but bring the ingredients to the town square!” she ordered. All was going according to plan.

Behind her, Lorraine ushered her prisoners onto the platform. With the help of Veronica and Mercedes, she ushered the three of them into the stocks, while the other soldiers drove the villagers from their houses, into the town square.

Rowena spoke to the troops one more time. “Lorraine helped me take the city with no effort, thanks to the plans we made with her. In return, I’m going to let her put on a little show for all of you.”

Lorraine smiled, standing behind the women in the stocks. “Thank you, Mi’Lady. People of Dacquoise! You know me as your neighbor.” “Traitor!” came a voice from the crowd. The soldiers walked around, looking for the source of the voice. Lorraine squinted angrily, then continued, Before you, see your échevin, the high-and-mighty magistrate who has judged everything in this town since this conflict began. Yesterday, this pig threatened me with the stocks. But after giving her some new style,” she gestured to Corinna’s close-bobbed hair, “I’ve seen her blubbery backside in front of you, on this scaffold, in the same device she wanted to lock me into.”

The soldiers cheered; they didn’t know Corinna, but seeing the chief magistrate of the town they had conquered in the stocks drove home their success. The townspeople were largely silent. Even those who thought Corinna’s leadership hadn’t benefited them knew she didn’t deserve this.

“And Clarabelle, the pig’s loyal cow,” Lorraine continued. “You were always a big girl, weren’t you. And you played at being important. Constable. Captain of this little cow-pasture’s joke of a gendarmerie. Now people can see you for what you really are.” Landing a slap on her backside, she then grabbed her hanging belly.

“Well, don’t forget about this witch! This ugly little illusionist can’t be too god at magic, or she’d do something about all this” (Lorraine gestured to Iris’ face and body). “But she made my milk go sour. She’s trying to put me out of business.”

Iris spoke up, “You were in league with the enemy this whole time! You were angry that I tried to report you!”

“Quiet, lying witch!” Lorraine shouted, gesturing to Mercedes, who started slapping Iris’ backside with the flat of her cutlass. Iris grimaced and moaned. “That will teach the little witch. Veronica?” Veronica came to Lorraine, who whispered something to her. She nodded, and climbed off of the scaffold, pushing through the crowded square, then into a building off the square.

“Well, that looks red enough,” Lorraine said, admitting Mercedes’ work, “now what about the others?”

_______________________________________

“Message for you, your grace…um, your highness,” the foot soldier said as she lingered at the tavern door. Taking the note from her, Selena nodded, and she left, clearly worried that staying too long in the tavern-turned command base could go poorly for a lowly messenger. “Well?” Fiona asked. “I’ve taken this cow pasture with little resistance. There’s no one left to put up a fight, everyone is in custody, come at your leisure. I look forward to collecting the reward on our wager, as well.”

Maeve’s face darkened. “Well, isn’t Rowena confident?” Fiona remarked, “I hope she’s assessing the situation correctly. Perhaps it’s time to find a new base of operations, further into enemy territory? “We haven’t yet encountered the Queen’s army. Perhaps caution is in order,” Selena remarked, showing the note to Vittoria.

The Venetian glanced at the words. “Fortune has smiled on us, and Rowena has come through long before the day is out. I will make my way to the town.” “We can send a detachment to guard you,” Fiona offered. “I’ll take my own bodyguard. Besides, I owe a reward to someone in Dacquoise other than Rowena, and I’ll seek her out and settle affairs. It’s important for everyone to know the Romoli ALWAYS pay their debts.” With that, Vittoria left the tavern.

“The army of Plouffe will rescue us!” Corinna said, as she felt Mercedes tug her panties down her thighs. “The Army of Plouffe?! You think they’d risk an encounter in open terrain?” Lorraine mocked. “They are probably concentrating their forces in the capital city and moving the crops and population inside.”

“You traitor! You’ll pay! You’ll--OUCH!” Corinna’s recriminations were interrupted by the flat of a sword smacking her backside. 

“And to think YOU were going to lock ME in these stocks!” Lorraine taunted. “You won’t get away with-owww!” Corinna responded. The three women writhed in the stocks, to no avail. They weren’t getting out.

But then, with a fanfare, a carriage rode into the square. The townspeople, on their knees as they were, had to be moved by the guards to make way. Veronica cursed as the elegant coach nearly sideswiped the small wagon she was pushing.

Rowena, who had been watching quietly, walked over to the carriage and helped a veiled woman out of it. Gesturing to the square full of pacified, kneeling citizens, she said, “Duchess! Welcome! You’ll see I have completed the mission as we discussed. Subduing this cow pasture was easy for seasoned troops like mine.”

Vittoria smiled, “Yes, Lady Knight, but I think you forgot that completion of that task involves HOLDING the town.” “Here’s the entire population, on their knees, watching their magistrate get stripped and spanked in the stocks. What could go wrong?” Rowena scoffed, as the two ascended the scaffold. Pushing by the knight, Vittoria walked over to Lorraine. “Yours is not the only reward I am here to grant, Rowena. I’ll fulfill our bargain, when the day is through.” Looking at Lorraine, she said, “Thank you, here it is, as promised.” She handed over a heavy purse. Lorraine opened it and looked down, examining the coins inside, before hanging it from her belt. “Thank you, Duchess Vittoria. It was a pleasure working with you. “Likewise. Now, on with whatever show you were putting on!”

Veronica came back to the stage, having pulled in a cart laden with what seemed to be baked goods. Creamy pies made up the majority of it. “I have what you asked for.” “What’s going on here?” Rowena interrupted, “this food is for the army.” Veronica saluted before responding. “It seems that our invasion has interrupted the rate of trade here. These were meant to be consumed by, um yesterday.” She handed one to Rowena, who smelled it, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Well, you seem to be correct. Proceed.” “There’s so much more where that came from,” Veronica offered. “I’m just glad that these spoiled cream tarts aren’t for me,” Rowena said, uncharacteristically light-hearted. “Oh, and…we brought this one. Found her tied up in the square,” Veronica added, as another guard shoved Patrice forward, her wrists bound. “The more the merrier,” Lorraine responded, “We’ll make room.”

Patrice’s thin form contrasted with some of the fuller-figured women on stage as Veronica untied her and led her toward the stocks. More wiry than robust, Clarabelle had doubted her when she volunteered to serve in the town guard. She had proven herself in practice combat amongst others in the town, but, like Clarabelle and so many others, she had fallen far short when confronted by Rowena the Black. “How’s this one so svelte in this town of cheesecake and sweet cream?” Vittoria asked, somewhat rhetorically.

“Mercedes? No one said you can stop.” Lorraine said, gesturing to Clarabelle. “Ah, Clarabelle. A great name for a milk cow. Perhaps I should milk you. It’s my job, after all,” she teased, as the flat of the guard’s sword reddened the chubby cheeks in front of her, making the large woman jiggle with each smack.

“Get those huge panties off her, if you have to cut them off! They’re ruining our enjoyment of the view.” Mercedes nodded as Lorraine barked orders at her. Rowena herself had instructed them to listen to her, after all.

After a little while, Lorraine pointed at Patrice. “Get the skinny one now, then we’ll move on to act two.” The side of Mercedes’ cutlass smacked against to the smallest, firmest target it had yet hit. Unlike the others, Patrice didn’t jiggle. Instead, the loud smacks connected solidly with the firm little backside, eliciting a wordless high-pitched exclamation from the guard with every hit.

Lorraine watched and smiled. Picking up one of the over-the-hill cream tarts, she passed it to Vittoria. “Would you like to do the honors?” Vittoria grimaced at the smell of the pie, but Lorraine gestured to the pilloried women, and a smile crept across the Venetian’s face. “Which one shall I start with?”

“Take your pick,” Lorraine replied. Vittoria observed the four women carefully. “This one has an intelligent, but haughty bearing.” Lorraine smiled, “Your perception is most precise. That’s the échevin of this little dunghole of a village.” Vittoria looked back for a moment, smiling, then slammed the pie into Corinna’s face.

Corinna sputtered as some of the spoiled cream went into her mouth. Vittoria smiled widely. “That was as enjoyable for me as it was disgusting for this little cow.”

“Speaking of cows, Clarabelle, I think this gross, runny cream smells a little over the hill. Let me know, as a cow, what you think.” Lorraine smacked the guard in the face with a pastry just as rotten as the one Vittoria had given Corinna, but, for some reason, it was of much runnier consistency. Its drippiness did Clarabelle no favors, as it smelled even worse.

In short order, Lorraine hit Iris with a pie, while Vittoria did the same for Patrice. 

“Well, now we just watch the bunch of your collect flies like the excrement you are, hmmm? Or are there perhaps more ways to have fun with you will you rot in the stocks?” Lorraine taunted.

“Who has the biggest and most luxurious house in the town?” Vittoria asked. “It would be this piggy, right here,” Lorraine said, pointing to Corinna. “I’ll send my servants ahead to prepare for our stay,” the Venetian replied. “But we can enjoy our victory a little while longer,” she added, gesturing to the women in the stocks.

Rowena cracked a smile. “This town is conquered. Send the villagers home. We’ll stay out here until it gets dark.” She punctuated her statement by slapping Clarabelle’s backside with her sword.

On a hill above the city, three women dismounted and took stock of the strategic situation. “I say we wait until nightfall. It won’t be THAT long now. We can get in and get the job done quietly.” Said a freckled, athletic brunette dressed in a sleeveless chainmail and holding a bow. “No offense, private, but I’m the most experienced among us,” an equally-freckled, green-armored knight with fiery red hair responded. “Every hour we wait, they might add more troops, and their grasp on the town tightens. We have to act now. And nothing about this operation is likely to be quiet. Only speed and surprise are on our side.”

“Look!” said Auriane the courier, dressed in a blue coat and beret, “they are dispersing the citizens.”

“But what does that mean?” the archer replied.

“That’s good,” the knight responded, “we can’t take the village with just the three of us. We need help from the townspeople.” 

“None of them know how to fight, Lady Helena” Auriane said, “except maybe for the ones in the stocks.”

“And that isn’t our biggest problem. I bet they have no weapons,” the archer chimed in. “Why couldn’t the queen have seen fit to send a detachment of troops to take the village back?”

“What’s your name, private?” the Knight asked. “Broussard, sir. Marjorie Broussard.” 

“Well, private Broussard, you may be a hot-shot archer, but a soldier learns not to question the decisions of her sovereign.”

“No doubt she thought she needed every soldier to defend the capital,” the courier said.

“And she might be right,” Helena responded, “but as it is, only two of us volunteered to help you save your village. We’re going to have to do it through stealth and guerilla tactics.” She nodded toward Broussard as she spoke, “She’s right. Do they have any weapons?”

Auriane frowned. “No, sir. Dacquoise, as you know, is a village of farmers, millers, and bakers.” 

“What DO they have that we could use, then, farm tools?” Broussard asked. 

“The tools would be out in the fields, and too heavy for us to bring enough to arm the populace. IT has to be something already in the town” Helena pointed out.

“Well, we have plenty of pastries, flour, honey.”

Helena interrupted, “Honey?” Auriane nodded. “So you have beehives? Perhaps that CAN help. I once had a bee inside my armor, and it was…an unpleasant experience. It would, at the very least help distract, if not disable some of the soldiers.”

“You could always blind them with those big, creamy pies they make here,” Broussard interjected.

Auriane frowned, “That’s crazy.”  “Then give us something better,” the archer responded.

A short time later, the three of them were sneaking up to the walls. “It’s here,” Auriane said, pointing to a short section of wall that was low compared to the ground around it. A small pile of dirt, branches, and leaves made it climbable. “This is a security mistake,” Helena commented. “Yes, but teenagers use it to leave the village and return without getting caught. All small villages have spots like this.” As the archer helped the knight up the wall, she added, “the guard captain should find out about these activities and put an end to them.” “Have you ever met a teenager?” the messenger responded, while Helena reached to help the private climb the wall.

Broussard looked around, her trained eye taking in the situation. “Two guards over there, three over there. They are in groups, which is bad—but at the same time, discipline is lax and they aren’t paying attention. At least they are far enough apart we ought to be able to disable the groups one at a time.”

“Then, there’s the guards you can’t see yet,” Helena added, “we need to disable each group quickly before they catch on. And we need to rally the villagers quietly. Who do we need to meet?”

“Emile the tavern-keep can rouse much of the town if you contact her,” Auriane mused, “but we also need Yvette.” “Yvette?” the archer asked. “Yes, she’s an eccentric little woman who’s always trying to invent things to make business run more efficiently. She’s a competent smith, and great if you need to fix a simple tool. The problem is when she comes up with an idea to improve it.”

Helena looked quizzically at Auriane, and gestured to continue. “She has these grandiose ideas that she calls ‘mechanics’ that she learned growing up with the gnomes. Some people think she’s half or a quarter gnomish, but that’s neither here nor there. The problem is that her inventions always end up humiliating or hurting someone. Luckily, she often falls victim to them herself, but enough others have suffered that she’s been run out of town twice.” “And she’s still here?” “She always comes back, and we need a tinker in town to repair our tools, and she’s a good one if she doesn’t try to improve them.”

“Why do we need her then?” the private asked. “Were you not listening?” Helena admonished, “her inventions always seem to humiliate or hurt people. The trick will be deploying them against the enemy, instead of ourselves.” Auriane nodded. “There’s just one problem. She’s more than eccentric, and a little skittish, being that the town has turned against her more than once. I think I can talk her into joining us, but not if I get captured.”

Helena nodded, “Then our plan is clear. I’ll find this tavernkeep, that ought to be easy enough. Private, go with Auriane and find this Yvette. Try to stay below the radar, but protect her if you can. And try not to actually hurt anyone.”

“Come again, sir?” a bewildered Broussard said. “These women are soldiers just like you. They aren’t evil—“ “But they are fighting for the Foxgloves sisters.” “Exactly. They are following orders. IT’s those who are giving the orders that are evil.” “Alright, alright, try not to hurt anyone,” the private said, rolling her eyes.”

After sneaking behind a pair of guards who were engaged in a raucous conversation about which Plouffian ale is the best, Auriane and Marjorie Broussard arrived inside Yvette’s workshop. As her eyes struggled to adjust to the relative darkness, the archer noticed that walls were hidden behind an eccentric collection of books, devices, jars, gears, and unrecognizable objects that littered the shelves. In the middle of one wall, the shelves were interrupted by a workbench desk covered in strange devices.

As Auriane looked around the room, Marjorie became intrigued by one of the objects on the desk. “Don’t touch anything!” the courier whispered. Although the stealthy archer was usually amazingly alert, she was so distracted that she was taken entirely by surprise. 

“Have at you!” said an aggressive but high-pitched female voice. As she turned to react, her whole world went white for a moment, then her eyes and nose started to sting. Her hands went up to her face as her bow clattered to the floor. “Yvette!” Auriane called out, hoping not to be loud enough to attract attention from outside the building. “Auriane?” the tiny woman replied, pulling a lever that caused a skylight to open and bathe the room in light, “Are you working with this rabble?”

“What did you do to me?” said Broussard, “I can’t see.” “Serves you right, sneaking around my workshop you Foxglove pig.”

“No, Yvette, she’s from the capital. She’s here to help.” Yvette, clad in a pair of unusual brass spectacles and a striped vest and trousers, looked guiltily between Auriane and Marjorie for a minute and then said, resignedly, “Well, in that case, it isn’t permanent. We just need to wash you down a bit.” She looked at the cream-covered archer in front of her. “Normal pie...” “Normal pie?” Broussard said in disbelief. Yvette bit her lip. “Well, I may have…added something. Let’s get you washed up,” she said, changing the subject. “What did you add?” “Don’t worry. I was cooking some months back, and I like my food spicy, so I was using cayenne pepper. It’s an imported spice. Pretty expensive, but I love the stuff. But I got it in my eye.” She produced a bucket of water, and held it out toward Broussard. “Dunk your head in here, and open your eyes…” The suspicious private, annoyed, did as she was told. “So anyway, when these dullards came charging into Dacquoise, I had to think of a way to keep them out of my workshop. So I nicked a couple dozen pies, coated them in the pepper, and built this.”

Marjorie Broussard pulled her head from the bucket, her eyes still a bit red, and looked at what Yvette was pointing to. It looked a bit like a small catapult. “You use that to launch pies?” “Not just pies. This can throw just about anything I put in it. A few quick calculations for mass and aerodynamics, and I can hit a mosquito at a hundred paces.”

“That could come in handy!” said Marjorie, still angry, and eyes still burning. “I told you we had to find her,” Auriane said. Turning to Yvette, she added, “Will you help us?” “I’m honored to help the queen’s army. You did bring the army, right?”

Marjorie shook her head, “it’s just us.” Yvette suddenly looked terrified, “Let me get this straight, the Foxglove sisters army invades the town, and the queen sends an incompetent archer defeated with cayenne pepper on a pie?”

Private Marjorie Broussard was incensed, “Why you little b-“ “What my companion means to say,” Auriane interrupted, was that the queen saw fit to send her and a knight of great renown to assist the valorous people of Dacquoise in defending themselves. I’m sure reinforcements aren’t that far away, but we need to take the first steps.”

Yvette looked incredulously at Auriane, as if deciding how big of a lie she was telling. “What’s going to happen if we do nothing?” Auriane added. Yvette’s expression softened. “I’ll do what I can to help this knight of renown and this incompetent archer.” “You little sh-“ Broussard started. “She means to say that she thanks you, the queen thanks you, and the village of Dacquoise thanks you,” Auriane interrupted again.

Yvette grinned, “Thanks of the village, hmm? Maybe they won’t run me out of town anymore?” Auriane offered a silent nod of approval, then suggested “let’s start with those two on the corner outside.” Her eyes brightening up a little now that they were no longer stinging, Marjorie grinned evilly, “Do you have any of those beehives I heard about?” Yvette thought for a minute, then smiled. “I can do better than that!”

Along the wall nearby, Veronica and Mercedes were still involved in a passionate discussion of ale. “Hah! That’s nothing next to a good ol’ Almerian Stout!” Mercedes said. “You have the taste of a gutter rat! Plouffe Brewery Brown is a superior brew any day!”

*Splaaaat!* “Owwww!” Mercedes shrieked.

“What the hell was that?” Veronica asked. “Ewwww, it’s something sticky,” Mercedes replied, putting a hand to her backside.

“Looks like a….bladder of some kind?” 

“What’s this on my butt, is it…” Mercedes dipped her finger in her mouth, “…honey.”

“That’s the only way anyone will ever describe your big, flabby ass as sweet!” Veronica laughed. “Ow! My chest! Where are these coming from?”

Mercedes picked up her saber. “Somebody’s gonna pay.”

**Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz** “Wait, what’s that?”

“Run! Bees!”

The guards ran, but the bees followed. “It’s the honey! We need to get rid of it!” Veronica gasped. “It’s all over my armor!” Mercedes protested, then she nodded. Running toward the edge of the wall terrace, she jettisoned her armor, following Veronica’s lead.

As the honey-splattered armor fell onto the rocks and scrub brush below, the bees followed. The danger passed, the two guards barely noticed their curvy bodies were exposed in only skimpy undergarments. Mercedes breathed a sigh of relief. “Quick thinking, Veronica.” Veronica shook her finger, “We’ll have to hide until we retrieve them, when Rowena finds out we threw our armor off the wall—“ “But where did that honey come from?” Mercedes interrupted, looking concerned.

“It’s funny you finally remembered to worry about that,” came a voice from behind them. The two guards turned, shocked, and raised their hands in surrender as they saw Private Broussard and Auriane the messenger step around the corner, weapons drawn and aimed at them, while an eccentric-looking woman they hadn’t seen before giggled.

“What do you want to do with these two?” Auriane said, looking to the soldier. “Oh, I have the perfect place for them,” Yvette offered without being asked, “it’s an empty closet that I can lock. But let’s tie them up first.” 

Yvette quickly disappeared back into her workshop and emerged with two lengths of rope. Mercedes and Veronica looked at each other but were forced by Broussard and Auriane to wait patiently. The inventor quickly bound their hands, then, before leading them away, decided to remove what garments they had left.

“There’s no time for that,” Broussard ordered Yvette, who paid no heed as she pulled down Mercedes’panties. “Ohhh, not a natural blonde, after all?” Veronica almost cracked a smile, until Yvette knelt next to her and tore her own undergarments down. “Natural or not, I don’t know, she’s bald down there.” “Just get them inside, fast, before we’re discovered,” Broussard ordered. Yvette popped up a finger as if she had just been reminded of something important. In very little time, the two guards were gagged with their own panties and left locked in a closet at the back of the inventor’s workshop.

____________________________________________

Meanwhile, Helena had slipped through the town and entered the tavern. 

“Well, this is quite a watering hole for such a little village,” she said, announcing her presence to the three women around the bar. 

A heavy-set blonde dressed as a tavern maid looked her up and down then responded, “This is a private gathering. Nothing that concerns you, soldier. We ask that you leave us in peace.”

“I think you misunderstand my intentions, miss…Emile, yes, you must be Emile. Auriane told me that you were in charge here.”

“Auriane? Is she alright?” “She came to the capital city asking for help for Dacqoise. The queen could not spare any troops at this time.” “Figures,” Emile responded, in a guarded tone. “But I, Helena the Green, am a knight errant, only adjunct to the court of Plouffe.” “What the hell does that mean?” a red-headed tavern maid asked, grabbing a bottle.

“It means she was free to defy the queen and come here to help us,” Emile translated, adding, “Did you bring troops?” Helena blushed a bit. “Well, not exactly.” “Not exactly?” “If you wish to be a nitpicker about it,” Helena continued, “I brought ‘troop.’ But she’s quite the archer.”

“Not to be rude, Sir Helena, it is sir, right? Dame? Whatever. We’re up against an entire army here. One knight and one archer isn’t worth jack,” Emile responded. Helena nodded, “Not without the citizens. Auriane told me that you were the one who could organize a resistance.” “A bunch of dairy farmers, millers, bakers, and shopkeepers? No thanks. We’d be slaughtered.”

“Well, it’s either fight with what we have, or live under the boot of the Foxglove sisters. I’m sure you’ve heard stories of the rampant corruption, strict punishments, and high taxes that follow them?” Helena replied, desperate.

“That’s not going to work on me. Our people are weak, vulnerable. We have no weapons, and we can’t fight.” “What do we need to do?” said the fourth woman in the room, a woman dressed in the white clothing of a baker, lightly dusted with flour.

Emile cleared her throught, “Sorry, that’s Amandine.  She owns the biggest bakery in town. Ever have those honey knots? Yeah, they’re from her shop. I’m Emile, and this is my barmaid, Sabrina.”

“We need people, and we need weapons. We also need to act fast. It may be a whole army out there, but, last I looked only a dozen or two occupied your village. They may be reinforcing as we speak.”

“Again, miss knight-errant, we have no weapons and no warriors. I already tried to fight back, and Sabrina here had to scrape me off the cobblestones of the plaza,” Emile said.

“I’m sorry you were hurt, Emile, but we really need to organize the people, right now,” came a new voice. Silhouetted in the doorway were three figures. Emile could make out Auriane in her beret, another figure was tall, carrying a bow, and the one speaking was…

“Yvette? I thought you’d be holed up in your workshop, behind traps and impenetrable locks,” Emile said. The inventor saddled up to the bar and crossed her arms. “I was. These two convinced me that we need to fight, and we’ve already had some qualified success.”

“Qualified success?” Sabrina said, “will the lot of you stop using such fancy words?”

Auriane smiled, “Yvette got two of the guards to strip themselves and hold still as she tied them up and locked them in a closet.” Amandine looked intrigued, “However did you do that?” 

“Through the magic of honeybees,” Yvette said proudly.

Emile frowned, “Well, good for you, but we can’t sue that trick on ALL of the soldiers. We don’t have enough bees.” “What DO we have?” Private Broussard chimed in. Yvette smiled, “Amandine, are your pantries full?” Amandine simply nodded. Yvette continued, “Pies. We have so many pies.”

“Pies are no use against swords, spears, or clubs,” Emile responded.

The inventor grinner, “Au contraire, pies are my new secret weapon.” A dubious expression crossed the tavern keeper’s face. Yvette produced a bag. It wasn’t a huge sack, but it seemed almost too large for her to have hidden up until now. She passed it to Amandine. The baker looked inside, causing her to sneeze, then a smile crossed her face. “I see.”

Yvette grinned at the baker’s recognition of her genius. “We HAVE to fight. Emile and Sabrina, rouse the people. Amandine and I will head to the bakery and weaponized her stock.”

Helena looked confused, “Anyone want to fill me in on what’s going on? Pies as weapons? This seems crazy.” Yvette smiled, “It WILL work, green one. Ask your friend the archer.” Helena looked to Broussard, who responded with a grimace and nod.

Emile sighed, “So be it. Knight, you’re with me. We’re going to need to show some outside force to convince some of them. Everyone meet here in an hour.” 

The participants nodded, then stealthily dispersed, some through the back door, some through the basement.

___________________________________

An hour later, several of the villagers united at the tavern, as quietly as possible. “Alright,” Helena said, standing on the bar, “We outnumber them, and we have the element of surprise. Amandine and Yvette have supplied you with what you need. Those pies will temporarily blind and distract the soldiers. Disarm and strip them. When the coast is clear, tie them up. You three—don’t let them out of the gate. We can’t have them brining reinforcements. Private Broussard, you’ll lead the gate team. Yvette, you are with me. We’re going after the commander. I’ve heard some scary stories, and I’ll need your help to take her down. The rest of you, divide up into five groups. There are four places we know guards are stationed. The fifth will comb the streets looking for stray guards, and help the other groups when necessary. Everyone understand their assignment?” There was a quiet grunt of consent from the group. “Alright, let’s move!”

At a nearby intersection, three Foxglove soldiers were conversing to pass the time on another long and uneventful watch. “I think they’re lovers, not sisters,” said Brittany, a heavy set woman, holding a spear over her shoulders. “Are you kidding me?” May said, leaning against the wall casually, her sword resting behind her back, “Do you see how much they look alike?” “Stop it” scolded Marcia, “You never know who’s listenin’.” “Have a look. Nobody’s around!” May argued. “They have maaaagic,” Marcia whispered back, “we don’t need ta see them for them ta hear us.” May’s face reddened. “That’s what they want us to think. To live in fear of them all the time, while I for one—well, hello, what have we here?”

Three townswomen were walking toward them, each holding what seemed to be a pie. Marcia stepped forward. “You’re supposed ta be indoors. No one’s allowed on the street. We’re going to have ta-“ “They have food,” Brittany interrupted. May smiled. “As my colleague here just informed you, it’s not legal to be out on the streets while this settlement is under occupation.” The women looked at each other, as if frightened. “Unless,” May continued, “you only exited your domiciles to offer us victuals.” “Wha- What?” the blonde townswoman in a grey apron asked. “If you came to bring us lunch, we don’t have to tell anyone you were outside,” Brittany translated, “give us those pies and go quickly, before we change our minds.” 

“That’s the plan,” a sassy brunette in a linen dress and corset said, as the three approached the guards. As if counting down from her signal, the three acted in unison, feigning to hand over the pie, but then simultaneously smushing it in the face of each guard. It was easy to disarm the distracted guards, who were forced to drop everything to wipe their burning eyes. In moments, the townswomen had taken control of the situation.

“What did you do to me! What’s in this?” May growled rubbing her eyes. “I suggest you quiet down,” said the brunette townswoman, waving Brittany’s spear. “Now, take off that armor and put it on the ground between you. Quickly!” ordered the blonde who had taken the sword.

Marcia nodded, and quickly pulled off her mail hauberk and the tunic underneath, leaving her breasts and torso exposed. May was more circumspect, removing her boots and pants first, but trying to keep her top on. Brittany was the slowest. Removing her boots first, she kept stalling. She really didn’t want to be exposed. “Hurry up!” said the brunette with the spear. In a short while, May was entirely nude, her large breasts hanging down. Marcia was trying to delay removing her panties, her last article of clothing.

Brittany took a deep breath and pulled off her mail. The armor had been acting as a barrier to being seen, and without it, the weight of eyes upon her made her wince. “Whoa, she’s a biiig one!” one of the blondes said, “look at that belly and those floppy boobs!” Brittany blushed. “Turn around, let us see the other side,” the sassy brunette with the spear ordered. “Selma, tied them up,” the blonde with the sword said to the blonde with the mace. Selma did as told, but tied Marcia’s hands behind her back, the other two in front. “I want to spank her with her own sword,” the other blonde laughed, and proceeded to give May a good thrashing with the flat of her blade, and then had Brittany bend over and offer up her oversized backside. After a few swings, the brunette townswoman intervened. “Tori, we’re out of time. Get them inside, we need to meet the others.”

The guards were led into Selma’s house, where they were thrown down into the dark cellar. “That should keep them until we’re done with taking back the village.”

The town square was nearly empty, aside from the pillories on the scaffold, in which Corinna, Eleanor, Clarabelle, and Patrice were locked, and the three women relaxing and enjoying occasionally tormenting them. Rowena hoisted her heavy sword onto her shoulder and smiled. “In a few hours, the sun will set, we’ll head in, have ourselves a feast from the pantries of the house, and turn in. In the morning, we will have held this town for a day.” Vittoria smiled, “Yes, yes, your reward, Lady Rowena. You’d best be careful; you’re sounding like one of those mercenaries you claim to hate so much.”

“I’ll return to my cottage, I have to prepare to move somewhere better,” Lorraine said, fondling the purse of coins Vittoria had recently handed her. “Indeed,” said Vittoria, “please join us for dinner at the echevin’s home this evening.” Lorraine made her way toward the main gain, with no idea that it was under the control of Broussard and the townspeople.

She hadn’t been gone long, when Rowena and Vittoria were interrupted by an unexpected voice from the square below: “Lady Rowena! Your aggression against the peaceful people of Dacqoise has not gone unnoticed. I am here to free them.”

“Oh, my…a challenge,” Rowena said, stepping toward the front of the scaffold. “And presented with such confidence—I have to admit the idea of a good fight makes me tingle in all the right places. Of course, my reputation precedes me, but I don’t know who you are. May I have the pleasure of my challenger’s name?”

“I am known as Helena the Green,” the knight said with a bow. “I can see why,” Rowena said, gesturing toward the verdant armor. “But it will take more than a green recruit to beat me. Are you sure you don’t want to scurry back to whatever rock you slithered out from?”

“Perhaps I should find a more suitable location while you deal with this,” Vittoria said, her voice cracking with cowardice. Rowena chuckled, “No, stay and watch me school this haughty knight like I have so many others. She needs to learn how to speak to her betters.”

Rowena leapt from the scaffold, and the duel commenced. “You have no chance, Helena the ginger. Surely you’ve heard tales of my prowess?” Rowena merely parried every attempt Helena made to attack, not even bothering to launch her own offensive. She was playing with her opponent. “I don’t know how you expect to beat me if you can’t even hit me?”

Vittoria, much comforted by her ally’s performance, started laughing, “pathetic!” Meanwhile, the women in the stocks were cheering this mysterious knight on.

“I like you, little ginger,” Rowena said, still parrying every move Helena made, “that’s why I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to humiliate you…slowly…and enjoy every minute of it.” With that, Rowena started her offensive. A masterful series of cuts to Helena’s tunic let the garment blow away, leaving her in her bracers, pants, boots, and greaves. “Now!” shouted an unsurprised, but still humiliated Helena.

That was Yvette’s cue to loose her miniature catapult. With a massive SPLAT, a golden glob exploded over Rowena’s black armor. “What’s this?” she said, looking down. Turning to Helena, she laughed. “You thought to defeat me with what, honey? That’s right, run, you little fool.” And Helena was backing away to a safer distance.

The next catapult shot landed a beehive, just feet from Rowena. A bone-shaking BZZZZZZZ came from the angry insects. In moments they were swarming around the honey splattered over her dark armor. Her attempts to wave them away with her sword only made them angrier, and, from her face, it was apparent she had received at least a few stings under the armor.

In short order, she started furiously doffing her armor. First the pauldrons, then the gorget, then her breastplate and harness. While one might have expected layers of clothes underneath, each of Rowena’s armor pieces was carefully molded to the shape of her ample body to provide not only protection, but maximum comfort and support. Her flesh practically spilled forth from the armor that had been endowing her with a much more lithe, compact shape than what was underneath. Helena felt disappointed that so few people were there to see Rowena’s chubby body being revealed, bouncing frantically as she waved her arms at the angry bees.

But Yvette wasn’t done with the knight who had arranged the occupation of her village. “Swish!” another shot of the tiny catapult, and another blob of honey, this time on her exposed pants.

Vittoria was alarmed at the change in the knight’s fortunes. She looked around for Foxglove soldiers, but none were there to protect her. She had assumed Rowena could keep her safe, but this green knight had resorted to dastardly tricks, and was defeating her. For her own safety, Vittoria thought a quick retreat was in order. 

Click-Zzzzzzip! She barely had time to process the sound, when her vision suddenly went white. Her henin and veil had been knocked loose, her eyes were burning, and her face was covered in cream. Unable to see while she descended, she fell to her hands and knees in front of the scaffold. Yvette smiled as she cranked her tiny catapult back and changed the payload. 

Cl-Splat! Vittoria’s eyes were just coming into focus when she felt something hit her backside. Putting a hand behind her to feel her dress, she ascertained what she feared. It was honey. In moments, the bees were flocking to the skirt of her gown. She’d have to get this honey off of her, and this meant jettisoning her dress. This left her in a pair of elegant white panties, a lacy garter belt, and white stockings. Now that the burning in her eyes had subsided, she again decided that this might be a good time to make a run for it.

With Rowena and Vittoria distracted by the bees, Helena made her way up the scaffold and started to free the townswomen from the stocks, one by one. “Who are you?” Corinna asked. “No time to talk now, let’s get you free!” Working her way down the line, she released Eleanor, Corinna, Clarabelle, and was about to free Patrice.  

But unbeknownst to them, Rowena had jettisoned her boots and panties, and, now wearing nothing by some lacy panties that seemed wedged uncomfortably into her ample backside, had retrieved her sword. Now the bees were ignoring her, focusing instead on the honey-smudged gear she had discarded. With sword in hand, she made her way toward the unsuspecting Helena.

“Look out!” Corinna shouted, but Yvette was already on it. SWOOSH! SPLAT! “My eyes!” Rowena was forced to drop her sword for the second time today. In fact, for the second time since she was a child. Helena turned around and pointed her own sword at her. When her eyes stopped burning from the pepper in the pie, she saw something she hadn’t seen before: she was soundly defeated. She looked to her sword, but realized she had no time to reach it. She was a prisoner, at least for now. “You cheating coward! I’ll make you pay!”

Helena smiled in response. “What was that you said about humiliating me slowly? I think the tables have turned. Ah-ah, don’t move now.” Gesturing to Clarabelle, Helena ordered, “Let’s get her in the stocks.” Clarabelle didn’t usually enjoy taking orders, especially from strangers, but this time was different. “My pleasure!” she said as she approached the defeated knight from behind. Grabbing her arm in one hand and the waist of her panties in the other, she pulled Rowena into a painful wedgie, keeping the knight nearly on her tiptoes as she walked her up the scaffold steps. Just before reaching the stocks, Clarabelle, clearly taking pleasure in torturing those who did the same to her, gave a vicious tug, and the white lacey panties tore clean off Rowena’s body, the pain of the pressure on her nethers eliciting a tiny shriek from the fearsome woman. 

Clarabelle fastened Rowena into the stocks, nude as she now was, and Helena gave her a few smacks on the backside with the flat of her sword. Handing Rowena’s sword to Corinna, she smiled. “Want a turn? I’m going to make certain we have control of the village. Corinna passed the sword to Eleanor. “Clarabelle, Patrice? We’re going to help her. It’s too bad that shrew, Vittoria got away. And the traitor, Lorraine.” 

It was then Yvette reported to the scaffold. “We’ve successfully taken back every quarter of the town, and your friend has Broussard has something that might interest you.” “Or somebodies,” as Broussard said, proudly, leading a half-nude Vittoria and a still fully-clothed Lorraine into the square. “Well, well…putting you at the gate was an inspired strategy,” Helena said, smiling, “did anyone get away?”

Broussard put away her arrow and slung her bow casually over her shoulders. “The other prisoners were taken to the basement of one of the larger bakeries, where they have locked up some of the enemy soldiers.” “I hope the locals are kind to them,” Helena said. Yvette responded with an evil grin, “I’m sure they’ll get the treatment they deserve.” “For now,” Helena continued, we have to harden our defenses against another attack. Yvette, you and I will see to that.” “I think the people of the town would like to see some justice done, let’s gather them in the square, aside from those needed to guard our makeshift prisons, and get these two in the stocks with the commander here.” “Yes,” Helena said, “but don’t kill or maim them. Be merciful.”

“Hah!” Broussard exclaimed, “What a softie. From this day forward we ought to call you Helena the Merciful!” Helena laughed, then she, Yvette and Broussard went to shore up the town’s defenses.

Clarabelle had been embarrassed by being stripped, but her anger had grown beyond that emotion. She picked up Rowena’s sword and examined it, then tested it by smacking the knight’s ample backside. 

Auriane then turned her attention to those recently-freed from the stocks, starting by giving her coat to Corinna. “The échevin shouldn’t be nude,” she said, looking at the others and shrugging. Iris scurried away, looking for clothes of her own to wear. 

“People of Dacqoise, gather around!” Auriane said, “These are the women who occupied your town, the foreigner who funded them, and the traitor who let them in! They humiliated our leaders, subjugated us, and would make us slave away producing food for the enemy army. Will we take that?” “No!” shouted a woman in the crowd. “No!” Auriane shouted back. “Do we want justice?” “Yes!” more of the audience shouted back.

But the revenge was already underway. As Clarabelle continued to wail on Rowena’s wobbling bottom with the flat of her own dark steel greatsword, Corinna grabbed the back of Vittoria’s panties and pulled them into a painful wedgie.

Patrice was garnering applause by forcing Lorraine to remove the armor she had taken from her, piece by piece, and putting it on. As the traitor was systematically stripped, the denuded town guard was able to cover up again. This continued until Lorraine was fully nude and Patrice was armored.

Locking Lorraine in the stocks, Patrice started to seriously punish the woman who stripped her, while Clarabelle continued beating Rowena with her own sword, and Corinna gave Vittoria the spanking of a lifetime.

The spanking went on and on, to the enjoyment of the townspeople who had gathered to watch. The backsides jiggled, from Rowena’s the biggest, to Vittoria’s chubby butt, to Lorraine’s small one.

After some time, the beatings reached a crescendo, and Auriane stepped forward and spoke to the crowd: “I think it’s time we see what the rest of the town thinks is appropriate for these women.” There was a massive cheer, as the townswomen ran toward the scaffold. The three wouldn’t have an easy time of it.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the river, scouts were reporting back to the tavern that served as the forward command center for the Foxglove sisters. “The town is closed, mi’lady. I think perhaps…the villagers took it back?” “Impossible,” Fiona spat, instinctively. Maeve tried to restrain a smile. “I told you that fool wouldn’t be able to take and hold even a small town like Dacqoise.” Fiona gave her an icy look “I made that fool my general. What are you saying about my choices?”

“I’m sorry, your highness. Please, just let me take a small, elite group of my mercs, and we will take it and hold it.” “My sister won’t like it,” Fiona said, biting her lip, “but she felt her spell research was more important than being in the command center. She’s not here, so I’ll allow it. But you’d better not disappoint.” 

“I never do,” Maeve said, smugly. Just then a second scout burst through the doors, bowing deeply when she saw that she was interrupting. “I’m sorry mi’l—your er, highness, but the villagers have retaken the town. From the hill above, we can see the streets empty of our soldiers and—“

“Spit it out, scout,” Fiona commanded. “I-i-it’s Lady Rowena, your highness. She’s in the stocks, naked as the day she was born. So is someone else, in very fine stockings.”

Maeve shot an urgent look at Fiona, who nodded. “Scout, this is very important,” the Mercenary captain said. “Go to my camp and get me the Bonecrusher.” “Bonecrusher, Madam?” the scout said. “Just go. They will know what I mean.”

A few minutes later, the door opened, and a woman in a red suit and cap, and a yellow vest entered the room. “Your Highness, this is Carlotta,” Maeve said, as the mercenary bowed. “So, Carlotta,” said Fiona pointedly, “I hear you are the best of the best.” “Aye, my sisters and I are. They call me the bonecrusher.” “Good, good….how are you at stealth?” Fiona continued. “Well, my sisters may be a little quieter than I, but none of us are strangers to, let’s say, covert action.”

Fiona nodded to Maeve, who continued the briefing. “Lady Rowena has lost control of Dacqoise, it’s up to the Crimson Horde to get it back and hold it. There is a high-value asset being held in the stocks in the town square.” Carlotta nodded enthusiastically, “We will get General Rowena back for you.” A flash of anger shot over Maeve’s face. “I said a high-value asset, not a fat horse’s ass.” Fiona looked angrily at Maeve, who cleared her throat, and continued. “For all I care, you can leave that fat cow out to pasture. It’s Duchess Vittoria we want you to concentrate on freeing. Once she is safely out, we want you to open the gates for us.”

“What you ask will be done in short order. Be prepared to attack when we give the signal.”

Maeve nodded, “I know. Make certain that Vittoria knows it was the Crimson Horde that saved her. Dismissed.”

Carlotta bowed again, saluted, then exited the tavern. The last thing she heard was Fiona's voice: “Like I said, Maeve. You’d better not disappoint.”

In another tavern across the river, the women of Dacqoise were toasting their success at liberating their town. In a huddle at one end, three other women were not so celebratory. “It’s only a matter of time. They WILL attack again.” Helena said. “I’ve done what I could to prepare us…I’ve set up traps all over the walls and approaches, I put Amandine in charge of organizing the citizens to find some weapons other than pies or bees.” “How did it go?” Helena asked. “Some pitchforks, broomsticks, rolling pins…not that well. Even if we had proper weapons, and troops, we’d need a lot of warning when they attack.” Helena nodded, “That’s why Broussard is on watch. She has the sharpest eyes in the Plouffian army.” “Speaking of troops,” Auriane added, “I think I’ll hurry to the capital, tell them of our success, and beg for reinforcements.” Helena nodded, “Be careful. You can invoke my name, for what it’s worth, but it might not carry as much weight as you think. Most of them thought that I was a fool for leaving the walls of the capital.”

Auriane departed, Broussard stood watch, Yvette and Helena planned and schemed, but the night passed without further event.

While stealth operations usually took place in the dark, Carlotta and Martina had decided that they were in unfamiliar territory, and wanted to be able to see where they were going. So they watched and waited, until the very-alert looking archer on watch was replaced by a town guard whose senses seemed less acute.

“OK, remember the plan,” Carlotta said. Martina nodded. “We separate, each find our own way over or under the walls. Don’t get spotted. If one of us is seen, we retreat and try to get the villagers to give chase out of the city, making the job easier for the rest of us.” “Got it, but perhaps we shouldn’t have worn such bright clothes” Gretchen said. “Pishposh,”Carlotta responded, “We’re the famous sisters of Switzerland, nothing can stop us.”

With a nod, the three went to separate parts of the wall to try to infiltrate the town. Carlotta followed the wall north of the gate, looking for weak spots. Near a patch of holly bushes, she noticed a buttress in the wall with spaces large enough that she could get her hands and feet between the stones. She stretched her shoulders quickly, then started scaling the wall.

About three quarters of the way up, she grabbed onto a stone that came loose, and lost her purchase, plummeting down the wall. Trying to muffle a scream as the leaves tore at her skin and clothing, she landed unceremoniously on her backside in a holly bush. Unable to stifle her curses, she climbed to her feet and inspected the damage to her pants. The leaves had torn several places on the legs, but much of the backside had been torn, revealing her polka-dot panties. She sighed and kept walking, looking for another way over the wall.

Carlotta, meanwhile, had walked around to the south, where she found a section of wall where walls of buildings were built into the defensive works. The walls were higher here than in some other places, but the patchwork nature of the construction looked promising for climbing. “Well,” she said, cocking an eyebrow, “this looks like the place.”

With catlike precision, Carlotta scaled the walls, balanced on a buttress, and worked her way from one section of construction to another, using the variation in building styles as a foothold. But just after she reached the top and relaxed for a second, she noticed the marbles under her feet. She tried to catch her balance, but her momentum coming up the wall had left her moving slightly forward. It was little consolation that at least she fell on the inside of the wall. 

What could have been a bone-crunching thud was instead a gurgling splat, as the mercenary plunged into a too-conveniently placed pig sty. She lifted her head from the filthy slop long enough to witness one of the sows chewing on her beret, then lost consciousness.

Meanwhile, outside, Gretchen, the youngest of the three sisters, was examining the fortifications in search of a weakness. Spying a rope hanging from the top of the wall, she approached it for a closer inspection. Who would leave such a hazard to security? Were there dissenters in the walls who wanted the Foxglove sisters to conquer the town? Was this the work of some Foxglove soldiers enabling their rescue? Or is this the place one of her sisters had climbed in and let down a rope to enable her to follow?

She found no evidence to answer any of these questions, but, as she drew near the rope, the ground became soft and muddy. Her steps became difficult as her boots sunk into the mire. She considered turning back, but found that the ground under her was sinking fast. It seemed she had found a patch of quicksand. Luckily for her, the rope was just within reach, and she was able to grab it and climb out, unfortunately having to sacrifice her sodden boots.

Much relieved, she found that the rope was firmly attached to the wall. But to her unexpected chagrin, the wall had been outfitted on either side of the rope with small hooks. She hadn’t detected these, and her climbing position kept her upper body far enough from the wall that they hadn’t been an issue. Her legs, however, were a different story. The hooks found purchase in her pant legs, and her attempts to extricate them were futile. As she climbed the wall, her pants were slipping down!

Sadly, there was no going back, due to the quicksand. And her attempts to free the garment were frustrated by the number of hooks and the variety of angles they had been placed at. Again, she’d have to sacrifice an article of clothing to the circumstances. This was not how her infiltrations had ever gone in the past, and it made her nervous as she continued up the wall in her hat, top, and white panties.

Finally reaching the ledge, she pulled herself up without difficulty. As a mercenary, she had pulled herself up more than a few ledges even at her relatively young adulthood. She cracked a slight smile knowing that that terrible quicksand and wall hook experience was behind her.

She should have been looking in front of her, however. As she planted her feet on the wall and stepped around to survey the situation before her next move, she failed to watch the stone under her feet. By the time she felt the slippery olive oil, it was too late; she was slipping off the wall!

"Gopfertelli! My eggs are scrambled!" she cursed as her fall was broken by a flagpole that was located directly below the puddle of oil. Indeed she had landed with one leg on either side of the flagpole. She was starting to understand that this couldn’t be mere coincidence.

But there was no time to think on that any more, as her battered pussy slide down the cold metal pole, which was inclined toward the wall, until her back was against the stone. Already on guard for such things, she realized that tiny hooks had pierced her shirt and vest. Maybe they would keep her from falling any further.

Then, things took a turn for the worse, if that was possible. With a creak and a groan, the metal flagpole started to come loose from the wall, first inclining away from the wall. Her shirt and vest, instead of holding her in place, came unbuttoned, and she slid on her crotch, again, out away from the wall. She nearly screamed, anticipating a long fall.

To her surprise, the fall was broken, in short order, as her backside made contact with a wide, thin plank that was inexplicably projecting from the wall just below the flagpole, the puddle of oil, and the attachment of the rope that had allowed her to escape the quicksand.

The full brunt of the impact of her fall was taken by her round backside, her cheeks flattening against the wooden plank which had just enough give that it felt like a giant paddle. In fact, to her surprise, it behaved as if it was attached to the wall using springs!

The springboard launched her a few feet into the air again…

…and dropped her again on her beleaguered behind. But this time, a mechanical click was heard, and she watched a small string that had been attached to the underside of the springboard snap. Her mind couldn’t understand the significance of it, but it was less than a second before it became apparent.

The string had been attached to a rope, which held on one side, a counterweight. As the string broke, the counterweight pulled down on the rope, which, through a pulley on the ground was connected to a lever. The lever was connected to a tiny catapult, which was loaded and carefully aimed.  All this meant for Gretchen was that in addition to being de facto spanked by the springboard, her vision was suddenly stolen from her by one of Dacquoise’s famous cream pies.

The bad girl cleared her eyes, but the springboard wasn't done with her yet. She bounced another five or six times, her backside red with screaming pain. But then, the plank shifted just as the flagpole had.

Again, she anticipated a serious fall, although she was less than half as high as she had been when the flagpole gave out. The plank, instead of breaking, angled itself down, and the splinters her glutes acquired as she slid down were painful, but the least of her worries. At the end, there seemed to have been another hook, and this broke her fall by catching on the back of her white panties, the last article of clothing she had left.

She had been left suspended from the plank by a wedgie!

The panties dug into her, both back and front as she dangled. Terrified, she swung her arms and legs to try to right her position. To what end, she was uncertain. She was still afraid to look down. The soft fabric of the panties couldn’t handle all the strain of her violent movements in addition to holding her up, so they gave out sooner, perhaps, than they would have, sparing her some time in the indignity of a hanging wedgie.

If she HAD looked down, she would have seen the ground down below, and the giant potted cactus that had been carefully placed below the plank, flagpole, oil puddle, and climbing rope. Even though she was on a stealth mission, she couldn’t help but let out a short, high-pitched squeal as her well-spanked cheeks made contact with the spiny plant. Of course, her attempts at silence were also moot, as whoever had decided to place a cactus there, presumably the person who placed the rope above the quicksand, spilled the oil, and installed the flagpole and plank, had thought enough in advance to install a bell, attached by a short piece of wood, into the cactus. It had clanged in alarm the moment her burning backside had been pierced with spiny cactus needles.

The silence broken, and her apprehension inevitable, Gretchen let out a series of expletives and threats directed at the hypothetical creator of the trap that had systematically stripped her, spanked her, hit her with a pie in the face, and landed her ass-first on a cactus.

Moments later, she was surrounded by spear-wielding townswomen. And a petite, begoggled woman in striped pants and a leather corset was starting at her, arms crossed, with a huge smile on her face.

“It worked!” she said, cheerfully, to no one in particular. “I mean, I knew it would work. The engineering was precise, as I learned from the gnomes. But what I’m surprised about was someone was actually dumb enough to climb a rope that offered such convenient access to the town. I mean, only an idiot wouldn’t know it was a trap, am I right? Of course I am!”

Gretchen, who had just undergone the slow and painful process of being extricated from the cactus by the townswomen, glared at her. “When my sisters come to my rescue, I am going to make you pay. With every fiber of your being. No one humiliates me!”

Yvette pointed and laughed. “Empirical evidence says otherwise.”

Gretchen was almost insulted that the archer and townswoman who led her away didn’t bother to tie her up. In reality, however, any threat she might have posed was mitigated by the cactus needles in her rear that made her whine with each step. She was led to the town center, where she saw her mission objective, Vittoria, in the stocks, along with Rowena and others. Seeing a powerful warrior like Rowena in this state made her shiver with fear—her enemies were more competent, perhaps, than she’d imagined. And her heart dropped as she saw Carlotta led into the town square at spearpoint moments later.  A defeated look on her face, she had her hands tied behind her back, and she was stripped to her underwear. Her face and neck were filthy for some reason, but her body was clean. The mission was lost, and they were captives—unless Martina could save them.

Outside the walls, Martina, unaware of the failures of her sisters, was examining the fortifications for a weakness to exploit. She rubbed her sore bottom, and pulled an uncomfortable holly leaf out the back of her panties. Then, her eyes fixed on the stream that ran under the walls of the village. On the gate side, there were heavy bars and no space that would allow entry, even for a child. But, walking around to the other end of the walls, she found that the stream came out from under the town in what seemed to be a kind of large drainage pipe. Looking down at it, she pinched her nose. “More like a sewer. But it’s a way in,” she muttered to herself. She took her sword and tried to pry off the gate that protected it. 

After ducking through the pipe, the tunnel opened up. To her surprise, it was high enough for her to stand in. She had no torch, so it was convenient that there was enough ambient light from the occasional holes in the tunnel’s ceiling. The disgusting slime made of various solids and liquids whose origins she didn’t want to contemplate luckily wasn’t even over the top of her leather boots. But the stench, there was no escaping that. In spite of this, she tried to keep her wits about her, and move forward stealthily.

She hadn’t been inside too long, when she heard a curious slurping noise. She stopped walking. Nope, it wasn’t her boots. Narrowing her eyes, she peeped into the darkness down the sewage-pipe-turned-corridor. She could see the environment ahead shimmering. She had no idea why. She held her weapon at the ready.

She realized too late that she should have run. As the thrust with her sword, the jiggly surface in front of her made a terrible squelching noise. It not only accepted the sword, it pulled it into itself, and did the same with Martina’s arm, then her entire body! Soon, she was swimming in the confines of some kind of cube, whose substance wasn’t quite liquid, nor was it solid!

To her surprise, her clothes started to dissolve right off of her body. She tried to get out, but the walls of the cube kept her trapped, although she could move inside it. Her pants, then her vest, then her blouse were gone, and soon it had dissolved her underwear, too. Her hands shot up to her head and she was pleased to realize that it didn’t seem to harm her hair. Yet. Her boots were taking longer to dissolve as well. 

Fumbling for her sword, she finally tried slicing her way out. She could swing it freely, until it hit the walls of the cube. Then, it cut the surface as if she was cutting a piece of leather. As she created punctures, the gelatinous substance of the cube drained out, and she was able to extricate herself from the disgusting creature. But she was covered in its slime, and worse, escaping dumped her into brown liquid on the ground that she hoped was mud. She looked down. Even her boots were gone, and she was covered in foul-smelling muck. She considered going back the way she came in. But now, she was much, much closer to the light ahead that must have indicated an opening she could emerge from.

Climbing up, Martina found herself in a sort of wooden chest. Then, she looked up and saw the round hole, and realized where she was. She had to gag to keep her lunch down. Nevertheless, this was the way out she was looking for, and she squeezed herself out through the hole into what seemed to be an upper-class home. She looked around for something to wear, but heard footsteps approaching. She slipped down some stairs, and out through a door.

Blinded by the light, Martina was nude, slimy, angry, and unsure of where she was. It was dumb luck that she hadn’t been spotted yet. As her vision came back into focus, she saw a courtyard with a scaffold. On it, she recognized her target, her sisters, and Rowena. Usually such a sign would have amused peasants throwing rotten fruit, but most of these figures seemed to have been on that scaffold a while, and the crowd had moved on to other things, leaving the prisoners guarded by a slender, ponytailed woman in town guard armor.

Sticking to the shadows as long as she could, she worked her way around behind the guard. Climbing the scaffold as silently as possible she positioned herself right behind Patrice, and hit her with the pommel of her sword, knocking her out.

Walking to the front, she said, “Lady Vittoria, I am here to rescue you. I’ll get you out of those, but can you run?” “Finally!” Rowena groaned, “I didn’t think they’d send anyone.” “I’m sorry, but my orders are to leave you right where you are, Lady Rowena.” “Let me out, or I’ll catch up with you and make you pay.”

“I’m going to follow orders,” she said, freeing Vittoria, who immediately stretched out her arms and her back after so many hours bent over in the stocks. “Let me go, too!” Lorraine said. Martina ignored the request and freed her two sisters. "We've been spotted, run!" Carlotta said.

Gretchen’s eyes narrowed. “You run, get the target to safety. I’ll take care of this!” “But sister, this place will be swarmed with guards of she can get their attention fast enough,” Carlotta objected. “At least take my sword!” Martina demanded. But Gretchen was already running to catch the person that had spotted them. The other sisters took Vittoria and made for the gate. “Serves you right! I hope they catch all of you!” Rowena shouted.

Gretchen ran with all her might toward the smaller figure, who was running to ring the alarm bell. She was uncertain if she could catch her before it was too late, but it was a risk she was willing to take. As they turned the corner, her quarry screaming for help, she could see a wellhead and bell attached to a porch behind it. A strange choice of location for the village’s alarm bell, she thought. It looked like her enemy might get to the bell before she could stop her. But then, a miracle happened. The cobblestones with which the village had been so carefully paved, had been torn up around the well from so much traffic, and the soil below was wet. As her opponent’s boots hit the mud, they dug in and tripped her up.

Yvette landed on her back at the very edge of the muddy section, and Gretchen immediately placed a foot on her throat. “You little bitch. I told you I’d get you for what you put me through. I told you NO ONE humiliates me!”

Yvette, gasping for air, landed a booted kick on her opponent’s backside, already much abused by the trap she had designed. Gretchen fell to the ground with a thud. It was now anyone’s fight.

Yvette made it to her feet faster than Gretchen, and grabbed her by the hair, pulling out her pigtails and generally making a mess of it as she fumbled to get a better hold on her. But, filled with rage as she was, Gretchen wasn’t going to collapse so easily. After a hard strike to the crotch, she pulled Yvettes’ leg until she slammed down onto her back. Gretchen climbed atop her, and started stripping her. First a boot. Then the other. Then her pants.

Down to her shirt, corset, and panties against her nude opponent, Yvette fought back and climbed to her knees. The two women struggled. One got the upper hand, then the other, as they rolled toward the muddy part of the ground. Gretchen was able to remove Yvette’s top. But the pin she attempted made her already sore backside a perfect target, and Yvette took advantage with several resounding slaps.

A knee in the crotch here, a leglock there, the two women struggled on the soft earth around the well, getting filthy in the process. Hair was pulled. Flanks were punched. Until finally, Gretchen had the inventor in a painful hold she had studied during her mercenary training. Yvette cried out for help, hoping the townspeople would come rescue her, but no one was coming.

Meanwhile, a battle was raging from the gates to the town square. The Swiss Sisters had knocked out the townswomen guarding the gates while escaping with Vittoria, leaving the gate open. Into this breach, Crimson Horde mercenaries were pouring, and as Captain Maeve had said, they were, on average, more experienced than the soldiers under Rowena’s command, who, having been stripped and humiliated by the townsfolk, were tied up under guard in the basements of some of the town’s larger houses.

Under Clara’s command, the now-armed townswomen charged to stem the flow and re-take the gates. Pies were thrown, as Yvette had taught them. But they found these opponents better trained than the others. Recovering quickly, they knocked out, stripped, and otherwise defeated the townswomen.

This was Astrid’s chance. The heavy-set woman wore a suit of full plate, and wielded a bastard sword, her equipment the closest approximation of Rowena’s she could afford. Although a mercenary, Astrid idolized the knight. Hearing that she had been captured, she fantasized about wading through the melee, sword drawn, and freeing her. 

Only one thing stood in her way—constable Clarabelle. As the two amazons clashed, Clarabelle again, and again managed to get the upper hand. Armor straps were cut, plates fell to the ground.

After only a few exchanges, Astrid had lost most of her armor. Astrid was horribly outclassed. As Clarabelle disarmed her opponent, one of the townswomen added insult to injury by hurling a well-aimed pie. Astrid was totally defeated and stood around wiping her face and trying to cover her nudity as the fight continued around her.

Trained, strong, and well-equipped, Clarabelle was holding her own against all comers. But the same couldn’t be said for the untrained townswomen, who were losing quickly. But then, the captain entered the square. Immediately, Clara moved to challenge her.

The constable was confident as the action started. She parried several times, but was unable to get past the mercenaries’ defenses. “Are you the best they have to offer? Boooring!” Maeve mocked. Clara tried not to be goaded into exchanging insults with her opponent. The blows they were exchanging were slowly stripping away her armor! First a bracer, then the straps that held her chainmail in place.

Clara was shocked and dismayed as her armor and clothing slowly clattered to the ground or blew away in the breeze. In a short time, she was standing in just her boots and panties. But she kept fighting.

With lightning speed, the Mercenary knocked the sword from her hand, kicked it away, ran behind the shocked constable, and tugged her panties up into her nethers. She pulled until the garments came clean off. Clara let out a small shriek as Maeve smacked her generous backside with the flat of her sword three times, before knocking her out with a blow from the pommel.

That’s when she saw her, across the battlefield—the green-clad knight. “Well,” said Maeve, “I DO hope YOU’RE a challenge. I wonder how this pathetic town defeated poor Rowena.” “We defeated her, and will do the same to you!” Helena responded confidently as they faced off.

To Helena’s surprise, Maeve’s sword handling was the best she had ever seen. Precise microcuts—a strap here, a seam there, and her breastplate and tunic had been removed. “Close your mouth, darling, you look like a fish out of water,” Maeve taunted, as she expertly parried every one of Helena’s responses. “Well,” Maeve mused, “Nothing to see here, from your performance OR your looks. Disappointing, like this whole disgusting little cow-town.” Helena’s arms were occupied trying to cover herself, when Maeve knocked her out. She nodded to the mercenaries that had been following her at a distance. They picked up Helena’s unconscious body and piled it on Clarabelle’s. Then, Maeve made her way to the town square and its scaffold.

As she approached Rowena, she smiled. “My, my…I heard about it, but I almost couldn’t believe it. Perhaps I should order the milkmaid here to get a bucket and milk you,” she said, gesturing to Lorraine.

“You bitch, let me out of here!” Rowena spat. “Now, now, is that any way to talk to your savior?”

Maeve walked behind her and smiled. “I’m not sure you’ve learned your lesson, yet. I’ll let you go when you are properly contrite.” With that, she started punishing Rowena’s ample backside with her bare hand. “My, look at it jiggle!”

The knight usually had a high pain tolerance, but the townspeople had already put her hindquarters through their paces over the time she was in the stocks. Each slap brought out a little whine. “Admit it!” Maeve said, “You couldn’t hold the city. I win the bet, and I’m the better warrior.” “Never!”

A few minutes later, Rowena was in tears. She simply wanted it all to stop. “Alright! I admit it. You won, I lost.” “And?” “Ow! You are the better warrior.”

With that, Maeve opened the stocks and let first Lorraine, then Rowena free. “Troops, get this farmgirl some clothes and send her on her way.” “What about my reward? From Vittoria? They took it when they captured me.” “What reward?” Maeve said, “Now take the clothes and get out of here, before I change my mind.”

Rubbing her sore behind, Rowena looked at Maeve. “Anything you want to say?” Maeve said, hand on the hilt of her sword. “Thank you for rescuing me. May I have my armor now?”

“I’ll have a security detail deliver you to the sisters as you are.” “But you can’t! The camp is full of soldiers under my command!” “You couldn’t get the job done, and this town is under my command. It will be as I say.”

A few minutes later, the mercenaries had gathered up those who had provided the greatest resistance. Some were tied and led off to the same basements the mercenaries were freeing Rowena’s soldiers from, but Clarabelle and Helena were transported to the stocks in the town square, where Maeve could gloat over their defeat.

Maeve was just starting to taunt Clarabelle when a mercenary named Eliana showed up, with a tall, nude brunette prisoner. Helena was disappointed to see that Private Broussard had been defeated. It wasn’t long before she was locked in the stocks alongside them. That’s when the floggings started. Eliana was smacking Broussard’s backside with the flat of her sword, while Maeve tanned Clarabelle’s hide.

Lady Helena did not escape the punishment, either. It wasn’t very long before her backside was red with lines where the flat of Maeve’s sword had slapped against it. She tried her best to keep her composure, and not let her enemy have power over her mind—just her body.

Unexpectedly, the spankings stopped. Clarabelle lifted her head up to see, as best as she could from her position, what the commotion was. Two mud-covered figures were walking across the square toward them, one with her hands bound behind her back. She sighed in disappointment when she realized that that figure was Yvette. "I have another!" the captor shouted as they mounted the scaffold. 

“Gretchen!” Maeve said, “Your sisters told me you ran off on your own.”

“Don’t be fooled by her size,” Gretchen replied, “This one is exceptionally nasty. She designed traps that were especially…um, painful make her hurt the way her traps hurt me, I implore you.”

“The soldiers told me she’s the one that started them using the peppered pies to blind them,” one of the mercenaries added. “We found a cache of those, still unused,” another chimed in. “Bring them here!” Eliana ordered, looking to Maeve for confirmation, “I was hit with those and I want revenge.” Maeve nodded in agreement.

Gretchen plastered the first across Yvette’s face. Maeve did the same to Clarabelle. Then Eliana followed suit with Helena and Private Broussard.

Meanwhile, Rowena sat backward astride a horse for the first time in her life. She gritted her teeth as the motion of the horse agitated her already well-spanked backside. Unsuccessfully she attempted to hold back tears. She could not be seen crying by her troops.  She had already thought of escaping. The mercenaries leading her would barely provide a challenge, even nude and unarmed as she was, but the magical sisters would be a different story. There was no escaping them. She’d have to face them.

After a few hours’ travel beyond the river through increasingly mountainous and barren terrain, a landscape that she had led her army through just the other day, they arrived at the encampment. Rocky ground, scores and scores of military tents. The tiny, steep-peaked houses of the village nearby, and the inn, unusually large for such a hamlet, that had been commandeered as the command center.

The soldiers looked up in shock as they saw their commander. She was entirely nude, her hands tied behind her back. While Rowena’s heft was widely known, and unmistakable, even in armor, the soft, flabby contours of her torso surprised them. Some dried up something or other besmirched her face and hair, and her ample backside was red as an apple. Her eyes were glassy, and the kohl she wore around them ran in streaks down her face—she had been crying. 

Everyone dropped what they were doing and watched as the mercenaries helped Rowena dismount from the horse, and approached the inn. Her pride hurt, Rowena snarled, “Hands off, you mercenary bitch. I could kill you without another thought.” The mercenary, looking down at Rowena’s tied hands, called her bluff. “Do you think the sisters wouldn’t find you?” Rowena bowed her head, resigned. She already knew she had to go through with this, as the mercenary knocked on the inn door. Rowena took a deep breath as she waited for the response.

The tension was palpable as the door creaked open. The army had rarely seen the sisters since they had occupied this camp. And they had rarely seen them in general, as they tended to travel by closed carriage. Some of the soldiers had never caught a glimpse of them.

“What’s this?” said Fiona, as she stepped out. Selena followed with a knowing grin on her face. Rowena had been hoping that this meeting would happen indoors, out of the eyes of her troops. The sorceresses, though, seemed to have other ideas. Astrid stepped aside and saluted, as did the nearby troops. Fiona waved to the army, tossed a few coins to the mercenary, and dismissed her. Under normal circumstances, Rowena would have been glad to see any mercenary go. But now the sisters focused their attention on the matter at hand—her.

“Ah, Rowena. You’ve come back to us. And your troops, who love you so much,” Fiona said in a sarcastic tone. Selena smiled at her, then waved her hand and chanted under her breath. The ropes tying Rowena’s wrists instantly fell to a loose pile on the ground, allowing her to move her sore shoulders into a natural position for the first time in hours. Rowena started to speak, but Fiona interrupted her before she could even get an entire syllable out of her mouth. “Remember when you were last at this inn? I said I had something for the loser of the contest, that winning was preferable? Well. Here you are.”

Selena took over before Fiona presented a monologue. “You said you could win with troops. And you did. But the deal was to hold the village for a day. You couldn’t hold that puny little village with its pathetic, dumpy, pastry-fattened townsfolk. What kind of precedent do you think that sets?”

“But—“ Rowena started to defend herself. “That was a rhetorical question,” Selena interrupted, “meaning it needs no answer from you. It sets a very bad precedent. What’s more, you got our patroness, Duchess Vittoria captured and tortured.” 

“It was a hard spanking, I’ll admit, but hardly tort-“ “STOP,” Fiona growled, “you aren’t making your case any better. We’ll know soon if Maeve was able to do what you couldn’t. At dawn, we’re moving the entire army to Dacqoise.” A cheer went up from the nearby army, and spread through those that were too far away to hear as the news was passed back. The assault was starting, and the first conquest ensured good food for the rest of the campaign. Rowena looked at them. She wanted to cheer with them. But she couldn’t. She bit her lip and waited to learn her fate.

“You will armor up, and travel with the army,” Selena said. Rowena nearly breathed a sigh of relief. “BUT,” Fiona added, “And that’s one BIG BUTT,” she continued, getting a chorus of hearty guffaws from the army assembled behind Rowena, whose view allowed them to appreciate the joke, “We need to do something about your failure first, but what?”

“Why, sister, I think you just answered your own question!” Selena said, instantly producing a wand as if from thin air. With a wave, Rowena started to levitate. She writhed about, but there was nothing she could do to fight it. Selena smiled as she muttered some chant that forced the knight’s arms up over her head, and caused her to spin around slowly and continuously, showing her front and then her back alternately to the assembled soldiers.

“I see where you’re going with this, and I like it,” Fiona mused. “Would you like to do the honors, then?” Selena asked chummily. “But of course!” With a chant, and the wave of her wand, blue lightning started to form in her other hand. She pointed her palm at Rowena, and, instantly, bolts of electricity engulfed the still-levitating knight’s voluptuous backside. Rowena screamed as the sparks tortured her already-sore posterior. The army watched their disgraced commander jiggling with each shock, her hair rising up and becoming messy, her cheeks as red as could be.

“Good show,” said a smiling Selena, “quite a nice job you did with your tiny little wand there. I, myself, prefer something with a  little more heft and girth,” she said, waving her notably longer and thicker wand. Fiona glared angrily at her as she waved it and cast a spell.

Rowena was becoming concerned, as she hadn’t felt the effects of the new spell, even though the magical lightning lingered, causing her the occasional shock. But Fiona could see a paddle appearing in the air, right behind the warrior woman.

Suspended in the air with her arms magically pulled up over her head, there was little Rowena could do but take the paddling. The magical paddle moved at Selena’s will, punishing both cheeks. “Look at that flab jiggle!” Fiona said, as loudly as possible. “I bet you didn’t know she looked like that under all that armor” Selena said to the surrounding soldiers. “Darathea?” Fiona called, “Capture this moment.” Darathea was the expedition artist, and also helped with planning siege machinery. She was as skilled as drafting and painting as she was at engineering. But as soon as Fiona commanded her, she had her sketchbook out. She could immortalize this moment with a painting if the sisters desired it. This possibility, of course, was a psychological punishment being added to Rowena’s physical punishment.

Rowena closed her eyes and tried in vain to imagine she was somewhere else. But each jeer, each smack of the paddle, brought her right back to reality. In her mind, the paddling seemed to last forever. But in reality, it lasted just under an hour. By that point, the soldiers, who had been amused at first, were starting to feel very uncomfortable. This, of course, is what the sorcerous sisters wanted—to make Rowena an example and a warning about the price of failure in their army. Then, Selena willed her levitation to stop, dropping the sore knight face down in the dirt. As she climbed to her hands and knees, she saw her soldiers mocking her. She would never enjoy the same respect from those troops again.

“Rest well, troops!” Fiona ordered, “Tomorrow we march!” She opened the door to the inn and turned back. “Make certain that the commander’s army is ready. Tomorrow will be a big day. But send her to us before letting her dress for the occasion. With that, the sisters went back into their headquarters.