They raced through the forest and one by one fell by the wayside.
Still, twenty or so from the hundred-strong that left the sorceress' lair were half mile from the throne.
The prince snuck off first. That weak weaseled bespectacled teenager with boils on his face beat them past the spells guarding the map.
Barrick Gentry would not be bested by his worst pupil. Not today. The little royal rat could barely walk. How fast could he make it? The sun beat through the trees and Barrick looked up and absolutely should not have. His Armor crashed against a branch and he was again staring at the sun gasping for air on his back.
Getting back up with the armor in would cost him time.
He had to lose it. That wasn't easy either. Time. Time. He'd made incredible time. So had others. He listened. Not many but some still moving through the forest.
A scream. Dead ahead. Silence. So loud. The sound of dread.
The light seemed to evaporate with each step.
The body hung from the trees as if they grew their branches so quickly as to pierce him through the heart with a barbed hook and lift him into the one hole in the canopy of leaves and then immediately died for its crimes. Both tree and knight lifeless and gnarled.
No way the child made it through this. He was pathetic and weak. Could not wield a weapon. He was a rat...
A rat. Rats were menaces.
Barrick did not underestimate anyone. Especially himself. He would do this. A selfless act for his country to save it from this fate. To be ruled by a weakling who read books even during training.
He heard his name. Several voices.
Were they chasing him? They were cheering him. Louder now.
Barrick had time. He pulled a buckle and freed himself. He tore through the darkness and fog possessed. Braches seemed to appear but he ducked and slid and crawled. He bled. His mouth tasted of nothing but blood. His feet ached.
And then he burst into the clearing. The faeries lay everywhere in the glorious sunlight. Breasts glistening with dew. One day in his lifetime he would see this sight. He didn't breathe. They lay together. Bathed together. Tasted each other for seemingly so he would see.
Whores. He had prepared for this. To be tempted. He was there for one thing: the sword.
He'd arrived first. The child was nowhere to be seen. The water was glass. He could see the beauties in the reflection. The taste of blood overwhelmed and he waded in to gulp the water. It was warm to swim in and cool to drink. A spell?
Focus.
He rose.
Mi'lady of the Lake I wish to have the sword. I have the honor to take the oath to protect the citizens of Ooarth. I pledge this with open heart and honest intentions.
The ground shook and it rocked him back and forth with incredible ferocity.
A test?
She appeared. Holding the sword. Beautiful. The other fairies had nothing on her beauty or glow. They had been there to tempt him. This was his. The sword and the faerie. No it was two? Another beauty. Another?
Three faeries stood before him speaking a language he could not understand but it hypnotized him. The trace was delightful and overwhelmed his senses. He came. There was no buildup or warning he just orgasmed for what felt like hours.
He knew he had failed their test. Right? They were still there. He lay back and orgasmed more. He knew he had to find the real sword. He knew he had to leave. But the pleasure.
This was exactly as the legend foretold. The faerie's bestowed the kingdom and power of the sword to one they deemed worthy of fathering the next generation of faeries. He was being milked of his seed.
As the moment passed it felt like he moved from faerie to fairie emptying his seed in a state he would later be unable to describe with anything other than guttural noises.
His mouth ached but he ignored it easily and finished. The world came back. He was drained of his essence. He would never experience orgasm again for as long as he lived. That was what he would trade for the throne.
Barrick did you lick the fucking sword?
Barrick please listen you must drink this potion.
Lick the sword? He drank. It was foul. Tasted of foliage and root and blood. So much blood.
PICK THE SWORD
Of course. He focused. His vision was hazy.
He reached for the sword in the center. It shone even in the mists of his final ecstasy.
Captain, we all know who dared him to do it.
His vision faded and he fell to the ground. He was being carried.
Why the fuck would he lick the sword? It's his fucking sword in 3 hours anyway. He could lick it then. Clean it off and serve steak on it. Why would Sir Charles dare him to lick it before the ceremony?
He was on a cart.
Charles came across a supposed secret lost scroll written by Qod himself that tells of the king who will come one last time before taking the throne for 100 years by claiming the Faerie's Sword and filling her womb.
Someone was rubbing something awful on his tongue. The weirdest medicine he'd ever tasted.
So you're telling me that the next King's Hand found a phony scroll passed around by fools and it told him he could be King if he licked the sword? And he did it?! Your let him do it?
I tried to stop him. So did Sir Paul. You know Charles gets to him. You know Charles wanted the role.
And you couldn't stop him?
He licked the sword and went bonkers. He was insanely high.
Because we dip in sword in the most potent hallucinogenic oils on Oorth for the ceremony? That's how we get everyone to find harmony and peace after an election. The shared visions of prosperity and joy are entirely manufactured.
That's true?
Christ. And so what? You chased him through the woods?
We weren't going through the woods in this weather. We went around. He was superhuman. You know how fast he runs normally. He was twice as fast. Were took the shortcut and when we got there he came running out of water erect and ejaculating. We couldn't clear the beaches in time. I have no idea where he got that sword.
It wasn't one of yours? This is a disaster. The post election day of joy and freedom leading up to the ceremony at the lake is the height of the inauguration celebration. The King needs to declare at least two makeup days.
Where is the King?
The king had been there. Yes he was small and still a teenager but he'd been obsessed with civics his entire life and dedicated his mind to the pursuit of a just government.
He'd read everything about their history as a great nation of Oorth and knew one thing to be true from some of the darkest periods of history: sometimes it didn't matter if a legend was true. Sometimes if people believed a lie very loudly then others would also begin to question the truth and believe it too.
Was he telling this to Barrick? The king stood over his bed. They were friends. Wait. They are friends. The blood was gone. He remembered nothing. He been angry. His groin hurt. He felt a bandage. A large one. The inauguration! They were about to celebrate. And he licked...the sword. Fuck. Charles was an asshole.
So you read my scroll? I knew some traitor would and would try to take my throne. I knew the sword on display wasn't the real one. I know everyone voted onto the throne not born a brute ends up slain somehow eventually even if just by the voters. No one believes in the legend or they'd have done this years ago. No one knows that that lake is magical. They forgot. Hundreds of years ago and made a fun little game out of a fake ceremony. But I figured it out and you did what I needed you to do.
The King was very serious. He couldn't move.
Outside there was a ruckus.
Free King Barrick! We bow before the one who was given the sword by the Lady of the Lake.
Why couldn't he speak? He'd licked the sword. Fuck. Fuck Charles and die he screamed in his mind at the King. This miserable boy. He'd always hated him.
You hear them? It's true. You're the king. It is true.
Barrick warmed. Ok. He was the king. He needed his guard. He was vulnerable. Not Charles! He tried to speak and said nothing.
Thing is that's only true as long as you possess the sword and are alive.
His body would not respond. He tried to grab the sword. The King climbed in the bed and raised the sword over his head.
Long live the king.
Barrick's head rolled off the slab and thudded to the ground.
Charles, Paul, and John scurried into the room. The King shown with angelic light. They recognized him as a royal. Elected for 4 years but anointed for eternity of his life by the Lady of the Lake. They did not know why they knew this to be true but they believed it in their souls.
The King approached.
Charles
Charles beamed. The first word out of the new King's mouth was his name.
It was supposed to be you.
The King stabbed Charles through the heart.
You were supposed to read the scroll and lick the sword.
Charles gurgled a bloody beseeching tone that the King assumed he was begging for his life.
He was a brute and a simple man on but he was the the love of my life and you tortured him his whole life and father let you get away with it. You were always supposed to die today and I will watch you bleed out.
The King shed one tear. He walked out to address the throng and declare a new holiday.
On the beach?
Yeah, ejaculated like ten, fifteen times in about 5 minutes and then used the sword he found in the lake to filet his stones. He turned and threw them in the water as the knights grabbed him.
Wild. I kinda wanna lick it.
What?
Wouldn't that be the way to go? Fifteen?! In five minutes?!