Ulric thrusted his hips hard, his large figure towering over the body underneath him, and if each thrust hurt the person beneath him, he didn't care.
Then he hissed, his muscles twitch, his thrusting increased so hard, that she couldn't suppress her voice any longer, groaning soon filled the room.
Ulric would have hated it, at the start, but each time he came close to releasing, the sounds of wailing of women just added to his pleasure.
Soon, he grunted and then released all he had inside her.
It was a moment before he opened his eyes and pulled himself from the bed. A slave hauled the woman he had just used, away, while another dashed forward to clean him.
But the fire in his belly was still raging, fueled by his men's repeated failures against the kingdom. It had started with that bastard Tormund, who allowed a young lord to taunt him and his forces into a reckless engagement. Subsequent attempts to intercept the enemy's naval reinforcements had also failed or, at best, resulted in a stalemate.
To make matters worse, the tribes from the west still hadn't responded, and the enemy kingdom seemed far more aggressive than he had anticipated, refusing to give his forces time to settle or prepare. As for their sudden boldness, he remained in the dark. His men had captured and interrogated several enemy soldiers, but even under torture, the captives knew nothing.
Ulric's frustration was a gathering storm.
When the slave, a middle-aged woman, but chosen for her looks was cleaning his body with wet cloth, he suddenly grabbed the woman's head and pushed her down, and without a word, sheathed his cock insider her mouth all the way until the tip hit her throat, and even then, Ulric pushed on.
The slave gagged, but he didn't care, and soon he was grabbed her hair and using her mouth to pleasure him.
When her teeth scrapped cock, he slapped her head before continuing.
Frustration however mounted over the pleasure, and soon after, he pulled her head out of his cock and threw her to the side.
He stood up dressing himself and wearing a cloak before he marched out of the cabin.
He needed something more to vent.
Behind him, the slaved he had just used, madness glinted in her eyes before it disappears lightning quick.
That night, one of the kingdoms ships sank, taking along a third of its soldiers on board.
---
"A secret weapon?" Adrian asked as he dismounted, Sir Clive doing the same. They led their horses toward the small campfire, where a servant scurried over to take their reins and lances.
They had just finished a mock joust, one that left Adrian on the losing side. As they settled onto a log in front of the flames, a servant brought them a waterskin.
"A secret weapon, one that His Grace paid dearly for." Sir Clive answered. He took a long draw of water and let out a satisfied sigh. Adrian raised a brow at the knight.
It was the fourth day since Adrian's arrival, and he had already participated in several skirmishes, both large and small. His injury, which he feigned didn't stop him from butchering enemies.
In fact, he had even heard gossip and word from the men about how he was getting the title of the Butcher of Laluga. A ridiculous title and one he hoped would be gone soon.
The camp had grown to over 1,400 men, they were finally on the verge of mounting a full offensive.
Adrian had also learned that Sir Clive was the son of a viscount's third wife. Lacking an inheritance or territory to manage, he had chosen the path of a knight in service to the Prince.
Clive had apparently impressed Prince Cale at a capital tourney three years prior, earning both fame and his current position.
Life-and-death situations have a way of bonding people, and the two had become quite close in a short time.
"Am I allowed to know what this weapon is?" Adrian asked.
Clive laughed. "You'll see it on the day of the attack, which shouldn't be long now. But... it involves fire."
"Fire?" Adrian was confused. Were they simply throwing bundles of burning wood? Or was it perhaps oil?
"I don't know the full details myself." Clive said, his face turning serious. "But I have heard the name in books: Ember."
"Ember..." Adrian searched his memory but found nothing. He cursed his castle's lack of a library and resolved to buy more books once this was over.
"Have you read the old stories of the Elves and Dwarves?" Clive asked.
"Only rumors and general tales."
Clive nodded, a hint of wonder in his eyes. "Nearly a century ago, the Elves of the West and the Dwarves went to war. Some say it was because the Dwarves expanded their scorched territories into Elven lands, others say the Elves stole a Dwarven treasure. The book I read didn't care for the 'why,' only the battles that followed."
Adrian noticed the surrounding servants and soldiers slowing their work to eavesdrop.
"They say the Elves wiped out an entire Dwarven town using a poison mist, a green fog of death. Anyone who inhaled it died instantly. The Dwarven King, driven mad by anger and grief, retaliated with a fire unlike any other. They say it was a red flame that symbolized his rage. It cannot be extinguished until whatever it touches is turned to ash. It was called…"
"Ember." Adrian finished, realization dawning on him.
Clive nodded. "I haven't seen it myself, of course. It was only mentioned by Sir Wymond."
Sir Wymond was the veteran knight who had arrived two days ago to lead the offensive. Adrian's first impression of the man was one of respect, Wymond was a seasoned warrior who had recently defeated Adrian's own mentor, Sir Cordell, in a spar.
According to Clive, Wymond was the bastard son of a Duke, a 'shame' to his house who had sought redemption in the Northwest wars until he caught the attention of a prince and then summoned him here.
"But wait... if Ember is Dwarven, wouldn't using it offend the Elves?" Adrian asked. He knew the Attareus royal family claimed Elven blood or at least blessed by them, which supposedly granted them their famously long lives.
Adrian privately suspected their longevity was just the result of better food and softer beds, but the political alliance should be real.
"That is why it's a dangerous weapon to use, and not just because of the heat." Clive said, lowering his voice. He shook his head.
"But we are far to the east, by the ocean. It shouldn't be a problem. No Elven kingdom has ever settled near the sea. I don't know why."
Adrian chuckled. "That is indeed something to wonder about."
Clive joined in the laughter for a moment before a servant hurried toward them. "Milord, Sir... Sir Wymond requests your presence in the command tent."
Adrian and Clive exchanged a sharp look before springing to their feet. They both knew the coming meeting would change everything.
--
Adrian found himself seated at a large, hollow square meeting table. Aside from himself and Lord Hardinge, the room was filled with knights representing the various companies of the army.
"We have word from our scouts." Sir Wymond began. He was the only one standing, leaning forward with his fists pressed against the table.
"Laluga clan has somehow managed to contact the tribes from the deep forest and gained their support. Roughly a hundred tribal warriors joined the enemy camp last night, and there could be more by morning."
Mutterings erupted among the knights, but Adrian simply listened.
"This is why we cannot wait any longer." Wymond continued, his voice cutting through the noise. "Lest they call more allies, we attack tomorrow."
The news that the assault would begin the next day cast a grim but determined mood over the room.
Everyone had known this moment was coming, so there was little surprise, only a heavy sense of reality.
"But we don't have our full strength yet." noted Sir Kenny, a new knight leading Lord Cenroy's forces. "There are still a few hundred reinforcements on the road."
"They will arrive early in the morning." Wymond countered. "We'll give them a few hours of rest, just enough to ready themselves for the attack, and they will serve as our reserve lines."
A servant entered, bringing a map and mounting it on a board for all to see. Sir Wymond began laying out the tactical plan. The others offered only brief comments or questions, it was clear Wymond had thought through every detail. When the discussion turned to how they would break a defensive enemy, Wymond finally addressed the secret weapon.
"It is Ember, the red fire purchased from the Dwarves. That is all you need to know. My men will ensure this fire guts the enemy palisades and consumes anyone who touches it. We will also use it against their ships. This will be a two-pronged assault by land and sea."
The final arrangements were made quickly. Adrian was assigned to lead a force of 300 infantry alongside his own soldiers. He would also be attached to a mounted unit led by Sir Clive, who, as the superior rider, would take point on the charge.
The naval wing, led by Lord Wyatt and Lord Sean, was tasked with breaking the enemy fleet and landing near the camp to strike the flank. Adrian and Sir Clive's job was to protect that landing zone and ensure the path remained clear.
The meeting adjourned, and the camp became a hive of activity. Some knights began moving their forces into position immediately, while others prepared for the morning.
Adrian, however, found sleep impossible. Instead, he spent the remaining hours of darkness training with Dexton. Soon enough, the sun began to rise, signaling the start of the decisive battle.