The names, characters, places and events in this book are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All characters are over the age of 18. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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“The most merciful thing in the world is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.” H.P. Lovecraft

***

Listen to me and I will tell you of the old days — those days long gone, never to return, when jeweled cities still stood by the sparkling seas and the world was in harmony. Yes, I was there. When multitudes lived in the cities of stone where now only lizards bask and the screech-owl cries. I will tell you how horror and chaos came.

After returning from the pool, Ardys remained in a catatonic state for two days. Her husband, Wulmar of the Kobandoi tribe, questioned the slave-girl Gwen but the young maid knew nothing so Wulmar took a handful of picked men and set off into the foothills of the Mountains of Aloadæ in search of whatever had harmed his wife. Whoever or whatever it was, he would kill it and mount its head on a spike outside their villa. Despite their hunt and questioning the few travelers and traders on the road, they found nothing so returned empty handed.

But then, on the third, it seemed like his wife was back to ordinary. However, it seemed that her mind was wiped clean about that day by the pool. She vaguely recalled some kind of vivid dream about snakes but that was all. She wondered she must have dozed off in the sun and got heatstroke. Wulmar breathed a sigh of relief as he loved his wife very much.

That evening, after dinner, Wulmar, Ardys and some of Wulmar’s guards relaxed around the courtyard pool in the center of the villa. It was a pleasant summer evening in the last of the golden sun bringing with it the heathery scents of the well thicketed scrubland. Swifts flew high above, their screeches hinting at far distant places. The men were quietly gathered at one end talking about another expedition into the foothills. Ardys’s slave-girl, Gwen, knelt by her feet and was so glad that her mistress seemed to be her ordinary self once more.

Ardys reached for her wineglass but it was empty. Rather than wait for Gwen to refill it, Ardys leaned over to the low table and picked up the flagon. She saw that Wulmar’s drinking horn — a barbarous thing he insisted on using — was also empty so she got to her feet, her hips swaying, and crossed to her husband’s side and then knelt. Lifting the flagon, she refilled his horn. Raising his eyebrows, surprised, he drank deeply.

“As I fill you, will you fill me?” she asked.

“Yes, my love, I will.”

Some of his men tried their best to hide their grins.

Beckoning to Gwen, she rose and walked across the courtyard into the villa and upstairs into their bedchamber. Gwen helped her mistress take off her embroidered robe and brushed her auburn hair. Gwen wondered her mistress was gorgeous. Like herself, Ardys was of the local, native people who had lived in these foothills for centuries out of mind with a chestnut complexion. Ardys had full, bountiful lips with only a slightly large nose. Deep chocolate-brown eyes beneath arched brows gave her a kindly and friendly face.

Looking down as she brushed, Gwen watched Ardys’s full, rounded bosom rise and fall as she breathed, tipped with large red-brown areole and nipples. Further down to her somewhat plump belly centered by its delightful dimple of her navel. And still down, Gwen glanced at the delight of the woman’s pubic mound covered in its triangle of hair, partially concealing her slit.

Gwen loved her mistress and felt herself get a little damp down between her own legs. She wondered her owner was gorgeous and also wondered Wulmar of the Kobandoi was a very lucky man to have her. She would love to get into bed with Ardys, as they occasionally did, and use her tongue on her mistress’ moist slit. But, with a sigh, she knew that was not to be tonight.

“Thank you, Gwen, you can go now,” Ardys said as she sat on the bed and lay back, spreading her hair over the pillow.

“Yes, miss.” Gwen backed out of the bedchamber and closed the door behind her. A minute later it reopened and Wulmar stood before her gaze. She smiled and ran her tongue over her lips when she saw him. She opened her legs slightly in invitation.

Wulmar grinned in anticipation. He shrugged off his rust-colored linen tunic, dropping it onto the rug, followed an instant later by his breeches, now standing completely naked save for a runic amulet on a leather thong around his neck. Wulmar had an impressive physique. At twenty-six, he was a few years older than Ardys herself and a lifetime of hunting and weapons training had built up his muscles. He had broad shoulders, upon which his blond hair fell, tapering down to a narrow waist and strong, toned thighs from riding. A couple of scars crossing his lean chest as well as scarred hands and knuckles showed he had been in several raids and fights, taking his rightful place at the front of the shield-wall.

Looking up, a leather band held back his long blond hair from his face, showing his grey eyes and narrow nose and strong chin while his skin was tanned but still lighter than hers — all a legacy of his northern Gothic Kobandoi heritage. He had a neatly trimmed beard, a slightly darker yellow than his hair.

She smiled back but dropped her eyes down his chest to his manhood. His seven inch cock was standing to attention, proud and erect, above his heavy balls and all nestling within his nest of golden-brown hair.

“Come here, darling,” Ardys told him, spreading her legs still wider. Wulmar drained the last of the wine from his horn and came to her.

He lay on top of her body, enjoying her body heat as the day’s warmth gradually left the room. They kissed, tenderly at first as their lips sought each others and then with more and more passion. His eyes opened when Ardys pushed her tongue deep within his mouth, wrapping her own tongue around his. She had never done that before in all their year of marriage. But he returned her offering, sliding his own between her teeth.

Meanwhile, his hands grasped her full, rounded breasts stroking, playing, and kneading her globes of delight. Even with her tongue still deep within his mouth, he heard her moan with pleasure. His fingertips found her nipples and he gently but then more forcefully squeezed and teased her peaks, sending jolts of pleasure along her nerves. Blood suffused them as her nipples stiffened and darkened. At the same time, her hands gripped his buttocks, squeezing and kneading them in turn. She raised her legs.

“Fuck me — fuck me now,” she cried out.

Downstairs, clearing away the evening meal from the courtyard, Gwen looked up and frowned.

Another yell sounded from the bedchamber, “Fuck me — fuck my cunt now. Fuck me hard! Harder! Harder.” Squeals and cries echoed from upstairs.

Two of Wulmar’s men looked at each other and grinned. “Wish my woman was as dirty as that,” a man named Hrolf said.

“Aye — Wulmar has all the luck,” the other said, draining his drinking horn.

Gwen shook her head. Something was not right here. Her mistress was a young woman and Gwen knew that Ardys and Wulmar had an active sex life. But her mistress was quite a reserved woman and was aware of Wulmar’s men living in the villa as well as their servants and slaves so that she tried to keep any noises down. She did not like the idea of others knowing when they were lovemaking. So for her to be shrieking out vulgarities was just not like her. That strange incident at the pool crossed Gwen’s mind. But as there was nothing she could do, she carried on sweeping up.

Upstairs, Wulmar’s cock grew even harder when his wife demanded that he fuck her cunt. He loved his wife and enjoyed sex with her. She was a good and tender lover but this was a new side to her and one he’d never suspected. As a red-blooded Goth, he couldn’t refuse a demand like that.

Raising himself up, he saw his wife’s legs splayed in the air, her pussy open wide and soaking wet. Her clit peeked out of its hood, her sensitive little pearl now an engorged ruby red. He smiled and, shifting position slightly, speared down into her welcoming depths.

Ardys’s hips bucked and she screamed out with sheer delight. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

Slowly at first but rapidly gaining momentum, Wulmar rammed himself into her again and again and again, her tight vaginal walls gripping him and intensifying his pleasure. She locked her legs against his upper thighs, holding him in place, and increasing the forcefulness and depths of his thrusts. Her arms encircled his back and he had a momentary image of something not quite human gripping him; something like the coils of a python, but then all wondered left him as he reached his own orgasm, his back arching, shouting out in rapture and relief as what felt like an ale-horn of cum surged out, flooding into his wife’s welcoming cunt. For a blissful moment he was with the gods themselves before, spent, he collapsed onto Ardys’s bosom and let her hold him.

They rested for a while, not speaking, just recovering after the intensity of their lovemaking. Eventually, as the evening sky turned to indigo, Ardys wriggled out from under him and lay half on his chest. She looked down into her husband’s satisfied face. But she didn’t feel done — not yet.

Taking his slack cock, she ran her fingernails up and down the shaft. He raised an eye questioningly but his cock also started to rise. Her fingers moved up and down from his balls up to his own sensitive glans. Slowly at first but gradually speeding up, tickling his cock back to life, her smooth hand taking charge as he succumbed to her attentions. His cock started to throb with those delicious sensations.

She stopped. Wulmar opened his eyes and groaned.

“Not yet, darling,” she whispered.

With that, Ardys rolled over onto all fours and, resting her face and breasts on the pillow, she reached behind her with both hands and spread aside her swollen labia, fully exposing her delightfully reddened vagina in such a lewd pose. She wiggled her hips invitingly. She had never done anything like this before in their marriage bed. She glanced behind her at her startled husband.

“Fuck me. Fuck my filthy wet cunt, now,” she shouted out.

Wulmar raised his eyebrows but got up onto his knees, his raging cock sticking out before him like the prow of a longship. He kissed her vagina, inhaling the musky smell of her free-flowing juices mixed with his previous load of spunk. He kissed her pussy again and again. Looking down he noticed her rosebud asshole also gaping open. Previously she had at all times been very shy about that most private opening but tonight she was more turned on than the most sluttish slave-girl in the dock-side bordellos of Tingis.

“Ram it in, fuck me long and fuck me hard,” she screamed.

Raising himself up, Wulmar gripped her by the hips and plunged his now furiously raging shaft deep within her slick love-tunnel. Ardys gasped with pure pleasure. Her vaginal muscles gripped his shaft, pleasuring him even as she took pleasure from his passionate stabbing thrusts.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” Ardys screamed out at the top of her voice, her lusts overwhelming her feelings as his cock aroused her G-spot. Her fingers found her clit and she rubbed that swollen pearl even as his thrusts drilled deep down into her pussy.

“Breed me! Breed me! Breed me!” she yelled.

Wulmar powered into his wife with everything he possessed. All his forcefulness focused on giving his wife everything she needed. But it seemed nothing could completely satisfy her as she rammed her ass back against his cock, against his hips, getting every last part into her slickly clinging hole.

Then, his roar of triumph and overwhelming pleasure mixing with her shriek of sheer ecstatic lust filling the room, they both came at the same time as he erupted deep within her, filling her vagina and womb once again with his seed, in one shattering moment that seemed to last forever but also never long enough.

Wulmar collapsed back onto the bed, utterly drained. “No more,” he murmured. “I surrender.”

Ardys lay beside him and snuggled into his arms, seeking his warmth. “Thank you,” she whispered into his ear. “I love you.”

“So do I,” he replied before sleep overtook them both. If they dreamed, neither remembered them.

The following day, Wulmar was tired and barely acknowledged the knowing grins of his men. Even those who did not live in the villa itself had heard from their friends about Ardys and Wulmar’s activities of the night before. However, Ardys herself was so lethargic and almost catatonic so he left her in the care of Gwen. He had been surprised at the intensity, the fury, of her lovemaking as it had seemed so out of character. Just shows you can never plumb the depths of a woman’s personality, he wondered.

However, that afternoon, he was in the courtyard admiring his new falcon when the slave who managed the running of the villa, a eunuch named Jashub, approached.

“Master, there is a man in the atrium to see you,” Jashub said.

“Can’t you deal with him?” growled Wulmar.

“I think you should see him, master.”

There was something in the slave’s voice that caused Wulmar to look up from his hawk. The man was sweating with staring eyes and kept glancing over his shoulder at the corridor leading to the atrium.

“Of course. Bring refreshments, Jashub.”

Wulmar hooded the falcon and returned it to its perch before walking down the shaded corridor to the atrium at the entrance to the villa. Standing in the shadows stood a man wrapped in a voluminous black cloak so that no part of his body or face was visible in the manner of certain desert traders. As Wulmar came closer, he hesitated as the shape beneath the cloak did not seem quite human-formed having some extra protuberances where there should be no protuberances. His right hand slipped onto the handle of the seax knife he kept at all times at his waist while his left gripped his runic amulet.

“I am Wulmar, son of Sebald, son of Norveld of Ifield. I give you greetings.” His voice was firm giving no hint of his inner misgivings.

The stranger’s top part turned, maybe to face him. Where his face should have been was a mask of plain black silk that absorbed all light. “My name is unsayable in your tongue. It does not matter. I give you greetings in return. Your wife will be giving birth to a girl.”

Despite himself, Wulmar took a step backwards away from this creature that had appeared before him. He licked his lips.

“How… how do you know that?” he managed to say.

“I am a seer who knows many things. I have a gift for you to use on her behalf.”

Wulmar sketched the elder sign with his fingers. The man’s voice was a watery gargle, difficult to find out. But worse, the sound seemed to be coming from the robed man’s chest area and not from where his head should be.

The man — the creature — reached beneath its robe and handed over a heavy leather bag. Yet at no point did Wulmar see the man’s fingers, shrouded as they were beneath the voluminous sleeve. He was relieved by that. The leather felt damp and greasy, as if coming from the hide of some unwholesome beast.

“In this bag are one hundred gold coins. You will receive another hundred each year until the girl turns twenty-one. You will use this money on her behalf. However, you will name her Viridis.”

Wulmar was about to refuse. No warrior of the Kobandoi would accept this gift, no matter the value, from some unknown stranger who did not even show his — or its — face. Let alone let a stranger name his first-born.

“You are about to decline. That would be unwise,” the creature’s hateful voice gurgled. “If you do, your wife will die.”

Red fury filled Wulmar’s heart replacing the superstitious fear he had felt. Snarling he leapt forward half-drawing his seax but the creature made a certain gesture with its hidden hand and Wulmar fell like a tree-trunk onto the tiled floor. Completely unconscious. The creature touched its fingertip to Wulmar’s skull, leaving the bag near to the Goth’s head before slipping out through the entrance and vanishing down the street to where a sinister trading galley awaited.

By the time Jashub found his master, Wulmar was already sitting up. Wulmar shook his head, trying to clear his mind of those disturbing images within.

“It seems as if my wife is with child. Take this gift and use it wisely.” As he handed over the bag, Wulmar wiped his hand on his breeches, trying to rub off the foul feeling. But the distaste quickly faded as did any memory of that strange encounter.

* * *

Ten times the moon waxed and waned and ten times Ardys’s monthly courses did not flow. Summer melded into fall’s harvest with the slaves gathering in the olives and vines and pressing them into oil and wine, then short winter came with snow capping the peaks of the distant Mountains of Aloadæ, then spring brought new life, songbirds in full throat, rushing streams and with it an uprushing of the spirits.

Both Ardys and Wulmar recovered from their uncanny experiences of the summer and, although they made love many times during the first part of her pregnancy, she never again fucked with the wanton abandon of that night. One moonless night, early in the fourth month of the New Year, the local physician and midwife were summoned to her bedchamber.

Wulmar with his men gathered in the courtyard but, beneath their bravado, all were nervous as all loved Ardys. If efficient, this was worse than the waiting before a battle as, unlike before action, there was nothing they could do. It was in the hands of Ardys herself, assisted by the physician’s skill. And the gods, as without their aid, mankind’s hopes were as naught. Wulmar gripped his amulet and pledged sacrifice to his tribe’s god, Donar of the Roaring Thunder, if both his wife and unborn child were safe. Some time later, as Wulmar paced up and down, the slave-girl, Gwen, came to him. She bowed briefly.

“Master, the physician asks that you come up. Mistress is calling for you.” Without waiting for a reply, she hurried back up the stairs.

Wulmar’s face paled and a sickening dread gripped his heart. Gripping his amulet, he intoned a quick prayer to Donar and then ran up the stairs after Gwen. In the bedchamber, he saw both the physician and midwife standing by his wife who was gasping and moaning with pain while the slave stood by her head. The room was lit by candles but the shadows lurking in the corners seemed darker, more solid, as if they were waiting and watching for something bad to happen. Still holding his amulet, he waited as the others attended his wife.

There was a final scream of anguish and then he caught a glimpse of his child’s head being born. But he did not expect the following scream from the midwife or the sharp inhalation from the physician.

“What’s happening? Is it healthy?” Wulmar blurted out.

Gwen ran over to him, her eyes wide. “Please — stay there, master. Just for a few more minutes.”

He watched, feeling anguish and dread encircle his heart. This was far worse than standing at the front of the shield-wall, waiting to charge into the enemy’s ranks. Then, you had your comrades, men you trusted with your life, standing at either shoulder with raised spears in hand. Men who would watch your back as you watched theirs. Here, he was alone, helpless in the face of his wife’s agony as she went through her labor.

There was another cry from Ardys and then it seemed to be over. The physician bent as he cut the umbilical cord and Wulmar watched the midwife wrap his child up in a blanket. But why was the doctor making the elder sign over the baby and why was the midwife so reluctant to take it? What was going on? Gwen was standing in the flickering shadows by his wife’s head, mopping her forehead with a cool cloth and soothing her.