Princess (25 page)

‘As you say,' Yi urged, ‘we are over half the way!'

‘With another two hundred leagues of featureless plain to cover,' Cianna responded.

‘We must be close on the lines,' Aeisla admitted. ‘The city to the south is Reites, I think, which is under dispute.'

‘If the Oreteans have not been pushed back,' Iriel added.

Aeisla shrugged. ‘We are caught. Cianna is right, and here among the trees their numbers will be less of an advantage.'

Iriel nodded. Pulling the jar of troll's sperm from the purse she had taken from Cruisack seemingly an age before, she pulled the cork free. Checking the level, she drank one quarter and passed it to Aeisla, who also drank, and Cianna. Yi took it last, stood and walked to the edge of the copse, draining the contents. She stayed put, biting her lip as she stared west, only to suddenly tense.

‘They come, Oreteans, look!'

She was pointing, and as Iriel joined her she too saw the distant plume of dust, right on the western horizon.

‘They could as well be Vendjomois,' Cianna objected.

‘No matter,' Aeisla answered her. ‘We are caught for certain if we stay. Saddle up.'

They hastened to obey, clambering onto their horses and urging the exhausted beasts west. Already the plume of dust seemed nearer, but as Iriel gathered speed she glanced back, to where a similar plume showed in the east, nearer still. Setting her teeth in grim determination, she urged her horse on, the thudding of hooves loud in her ears, their own dust kicking up behind.

Leagues passed, her eyes tightened to slits as she struggled to make out the colours of the approaching horsemen, at first uncertain, her hope rising, then certain. They were Oretean cavalry, the black, crimson and gold banner of the House Palades fluttering above them, maybe six twelves strong, riding hard towards them.

Yi screamed in joy, urging her horse forward. Iriel glanced back, to find the Vendjomois already well clear of the copses at the creek, Mailor's huge figure clear at their head. Snatching her tunic neck, she bit hard into the leather, then set her teeth as she dug her heels in. Shouts sounded from far behind them, an order to dip lances, Mailor yelling that Aeisla was his alone. An answering shout went up from ahead, the Oretean lance points came down, both lines of cavalry now at full gallop, the gap closing fast.

‘Close up!' Aeisla screamed. ‘Wheel as they break for us!'

Iriel pulled on her rein, forcing her horse in behind Yi and in front of Aeisla, the line just a hundred paces away, fifty, not breaking, but closing in, to take Cianna from her saddle, a lance driven clean through her body. Yi screamed as her horse crashed into Cianna's the lance meant for her heart raking her side, the lancer's head struck clean off to Iriel's sword cut.

All consuming rage hit her with the elixir, even as the Vendjomois cavalry thundered in behind them, the two lines crashing together, men and horses screaming, metal clashing, and she was among them, cutting about herself, her head full of angry shouting. One man went down under her blade, a second, and she was set against Palades Tavian, smashing his sword aside to drive her own hilt deep into his chest by sheer force, as something slammed into her side. She cut back, taking the head off her attacker's shoulders even as she realised his lance was through her body. Once more she cut, a wild sweep meeting empty air, and again, her stroke cutting deep into a man's neck as visions rose up around her, of girls like herself, red haired or blonde, screaming their joy, striking fists and cups on a great oak table, Kaissia, naked breasts clear and proud, hand extended, Yi laughing, Cianna clutching at a mead horn.

As the feast hall grew solid around her she turned, to find herself looking down on the battlefield, every detail stark and clear, her own body sprawled across the bloody corpse of Palades Tavian, men and horses tangled together, Aeisla stood tall on a pile of her dead, screaming defiance at a dozen Imperial guard, the huge figure of Mailor striding towards her.

Sweet mead hit Iriel's lips as Aeisla and Mailor closed, blades blurring grey around them, bright with sparks, a guard falling headless as he tried to cut in. Horns blared, the combatants broke apart, but not the two, trading cuts, neither one giving an inch, wild, furious, Aeisla's sword shattering, Mailor's driving deep into her body at the next stroke, her head locked to his neck, his blood spurting high, his eyes glazing in death as they sank down together, every one of thousands in the Feast Hall of Heroines pounding the table as Aeisla's soul coalesced among them.

Author's Note

Princess
is the fourth and final book of the
Maiden Saga.
The others are
Maiden, Captive
and
Innocent
, all of which are set in the same world and feature related characters, with Aeisla in all four books. The world of
Maiden
is not ours, neither in terms of physical characteristics nor of culture. Iriel, Aeisla, their friends and antagonists know nothing of commuting, office politics or supermarkets. They inhabit a world of beautiful girls, stalwart men and strange half-men. This is fantasy, a genre that has long been developing from the romantic myths and which many readers will instantly recognise. Such tales have always had an underlying erotic power, yet in the
Maiden Saga
this is given full, uninhibited rein.

The stories are also pastiche, as should be obvious to anyone with experience of the fantasy genre, principally of Robert E Howard's
Conan
series but also of many well known fantasy authors who had better remain nameless. Hopefully those who have recognised these moments will have been amused by them, while the rest of you won't have noticed at all.

In erotic terms, the stories pull no punches. Why should they, when not set in the real world? Reality is one thing, fantasy quite another. Nobody, after all, can realistically accuse me of promoting goblin sex.

Finally, I trust you have enjoyed reading the
Maiden Saga
as much as I have enjoyed its creation.

Aishling Morgan