Chapter Thirty-Three: Liberators

If we'd been defeated at Mount Savryn, it would have spelled defeat for Autumnal. As powerful as their magic was, the fae realms were woefully unprepared for anything like real warfare. It would have taken them months to assemble a real army, during which time the King in the South would have brought in more men, dug in fortifications, and probably built himself some real artillery. Whether or not I'd appreciated it at the time, that was the battle that saved Autumnal from complete collapse - and probably the one that saved the rest of the fae realms, too. After all, if we'd been annihilated and the Princess of the Vernal and the Prince of the Estival were in enemy hands and under threat of true death, how much of a fight would Estival and Vernal really be able to amass?

Fortunately, we didn't need to concern ourselves with that, because we'd obliterated the enemy forces at the fortress, captured hundreds of prisoners to work in labor gangs rebuilding our defenses, and proceeded with most of our force toward Harvesthall to liberate the capital of the realm.

Calivar, the captains, and I refined our tactics - now that we had a lot of captured rifles and a decent number of bullets to use with them, that gave us a lot of flexibility. We encountered a few towns with decent defenses, a hundred enemy soldiers or more with fortifications and encampments - units serving as a bulwark to either stop or slow our advance. For these, we developed a technique that Calivar dubbed 'lightning warfare', where Captain Vittoro would find the strongest concentration of enemy defenses with flying scouts and feint attacks, and then I would approach (under heavy guard) near enough to land a big bloody lightning strike (sometimes two) right on top of them, and (if possible) with some bit of high ground nearby.

While the enemy was regrouping and trying to figure out just what the hell had happened, our flying riflemen would position themselves in two spots: on the high ground near the strike and somewhere else nearby where they couldn't easily be seen. There they would pick off the scrambling, panicked enemy until they surrendered (ideal), died (not ideal), or regrouped (least ideal)… and, if they regrouped, our riflemen would simply fly back to our army and I'd rest a bit until Vittoro found me a new target to blast.

The great thing about this approach was that it was great against both Earth weapons and the armaments of Alfheim. Unfortunately, it was a little heavy-handed and got a lot of people killed.

"We should release a few soldiers with each victory," Calivar mused. "They'll run back to their officers and lords and tell them what destruction and terror we've unleashed."

"They'll also give away our tactics," Captain Artoro observed.

"Then we find the stupidest and most-traumatized man." Calivar shrugged. "The observations of a foolish man are worth less than no observation at all."

Our strategy clearly worked. Every day, it seemed like we were marching victorious into another town or holding. Sometimes, the lord, lady, or mayor was imprisoned on site, in which case we'd free them and usually get ourselves (the officers and a random raffle of enlisted men) invited to the mansion, manor, castle, or palace to feast. Other times, the VIP in charge was nowhere to be found, so we housed ourselves in the nicest place and feasted like royalty (which some of us actually were). On a few occasions, we altered our paths to avoid fortresses or strongholds if their defenses looked too formidable, leaving only scouting squads behind to warn us if the enemy left the fortress to march on us - we'd worry about laying siege to entrenched foes after we liberated Harvesthall. We spent most of our days on the march and liberating Autumnal and most of our nights feasting and engaged in debauchery.

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I was delighted to have my Calivar back, at least as delighted as Meliswe (who was pretty tickled, herself). While I was resigned to being a furious force of magical destruction at the head of our combined army, I was far happier as the object of his desire in the bedroom than as a source of terror on the battlefield. And, most nights, I got the chance.

I'd retire to whatever bedroom suite Calivar had managed to finagle (he did most of our finagling) and he, Meliswe, and I would get up to whatever our hearts so desired. And, many nights, that was quite a bit. I'd be worked up and stressed from my time on the campaign. I'd never been the sort to be stressed outside of the heat of battle, but now I was… maybe it was an artifact from Laeanna's body, but I think it's more likely that I'd just never had this magnitude of command before.

With my husband, I was the joint commander of our forces, and I felt the responsibility like a great weighting stone - especially when we lost people, which happened on occasion. We fared pretty well, but a half-dozen deaths and serious injuries weren't unusual if we encountered resistance or an attempted ambush. So I'd come in stressed, but Meliswe almost always managed to have a hot bath drawn up for me. So it was our last night outside of Harvesthall when we stayed in the lord's suite at Alder Fields.

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose, willing my headache to go away, smoke and sweat and soil still stinging in my nostrils. Then I looked up, felt the faint flutter of humid warmth, and spotted Meliswe relaxing, nude in the hot tub, her emerald eyes fixed on me, her plush lips parted in desire as she got up to Gaia-knows-what beneath the steamy surface. I was so distracted that I scarcely noticed Calivar sidling up behind me until he kissed my neck and began to undress me, gently unbuckling and untying the reinforced and alchemically-treated gown that served as my field armor, pushing the fabric away from my slim shoulders, his strong fingers sliding along my back as he removed the garment. As my gown slid to the floor with a little flump, he lifted me, his hot breath nuzzling into my neck, strong arms cradling me against his warmth as he plodded to the tub and slowly lowered me in before pulling away.

"No," I moaned. I wanted to kiss him, to absorb into his strength, and he was still sweaty from a day on the road - but he'd bathed yesterday and his accumulated smell wasn't yet sour and stinky (and fae aren't quite as oily or sweaty as humans). It was manly, the spicy musk of hard work, and I desired it.

But Meliswe was there to draw me away from him. I groaned at her touch, at the soft surety of her fingers as she wrapped around my torso, fingertips lingering at my lower back as she pulled me into a kiss. And, just like that, my worries of the day were forgotten. I sank into Meliswe, my breasts pressing right above hers as I slid onto her lap, and she had to crane her neck up to keep kissing me, her hands slipping down to my backside and caressing my pert rump. And… something else… was slipping between my parted legs, caressing the inside of my thighs, flowing against my heated, needy nethers, both soft and insistent. At first, I thought it was Calivar but, no, he'd seated himself beside the tub, fully erect in nothing but a loincloth, a dazed smile on his face as he watched his beautiful wives 'bathe' (I use the term loosely) one another. He was a lucky man and he knew it.

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"What is that?" I whispered, shuddering as the thing swirled about my sensitive nub like a soft, supremely talented tongue.

"Oh… that?" Meliswe giggled. It swirled and prodded, a gentle, even friction moving along my whole womanhood, enough to make my grip go loose and my eyes roll back. Fortunately, Meliswe still had a firm hold on my backside, her fingers pushing into my cheeks, keeping my whole crotch spread and exposed for whatever antics she was up to. "Did I mention I caught an enemy mage? And I took his grimkey… which just so happened to be housing a pelagine?"

A pelagine is, of course, the aquatic equivalent of a zephrylite, a minor demon of the water realms (wherever those are) with modest power and intellect, but far better control over water than any mortal mage. And, just as zephrylites can be repurposed for all sorts of interesting sexual antics, pelagine can do likewise if you've got a big tub of water handy. The conventional wisdom is that these minor daemons are barely aware, let alone cognizant or resentful of their servitude, but I suspect that the've got a little bit of mischief to them and know when they're up to debauchery because they always seem a bit more responsive and a bit faster to recover when you've enthralled them to serve as agents of pleasure, as Meliswe did that evening.

Mind you, Meliswe is a competent and attentive lover, and I couldn't ask for more in a man than what Calivar brings to the table. But, human or fae, man or woman, the flesh knows what it wants and a lover with clever demons at her beck can extract far more pleasure than mere sexual congress ever could, no matter how creative. Within five minutes, not only was my stress from the day all but forgotten, I couldn't focus on anything beyond the raw pleasure throbbing across my body, from the tender flesh inside my thighs, up through the pulsing blossom of my womanhood, my breasts, my back, even my tight derriere, which wasn't quite as virginal as it once was. I don't think I managed much to reciprocate, and I lay happy and gurgling like a babe in our bed for half an hour afterward as my brain attempted to reconnect with my blissed-out body.

"Do you think she'll mind if we continue without her?" Meliswe asked. I tried to give her my leave, but all that emerged from my lips was a happy sigh.

"I'm sure she'll introduce herself into the mix if she feels the need," Calivar said.

They commenced with pleasuring one another right next to me on the bed, and I didn't mind one bit. And, when I finally summoned the willpower to move and think normally, I propped myself up on my side and watched, rubbing my smooth legs together and stroking my sated and sensitive nethers with a finger still wrinkly from the water, a devious gleam in my eye as I imagined what I might do to either of them when I used the pelagine. And I would be using it. And soon.

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The capital of Autumnal was built around the Goldlands River in a great, gentle valley, and we could already see its steepled houses and soaring spires through the great gold and russet oaks a day out. We thought to march on it immediately, but our scouts told us of the Fortress at Rosevale, currently besieged by the enemy. Avoiding fortresses occupied by the enemy was one thing (a smart thing), but if they were besieging somebody, that meant they were out in the open and there were autumnal forces or VIPs who we could liberate.

We arrived at the fortress just in time, too, because the enemy forces had managed to get sappers up to the base of the fortress to plant some big bloody explosives and they could detonate the thing whenever they wanted - apparently, they were appealing to the forces holed up in the fortress one last time, attempting to secure surrender before resorting detonating the charge and bringing half of the fortress tumbling down. At the very least, they'd breach a huge section of wall, from which they could storm in and put the place to the sword or gun. The fortress walls shone proud and golden in the afternoon sun, two thousand years old and likely to stand for two thousand more, if they weren't destroyed in the next few minutes... which was exactly the enemy's plan.

I put an end to that plan by dropping a flaming meteor right on top of the company responsible for the explosives, since I was worried that a lightning bolt might accidentally discharge the explosives along the fortress wall. It was probably overkill, but I have to admit - nothing puts the fear of Gaia into your enemy quite like a hundred tons of flaming meteor. To our great fortune, the besieging army was the main force that had taken Harvesthall and they'd left the captured city with a minimal occupation force. Apparently, the target in Rosevale was valuable enough for them to throw a lot of resources at, and it had cost them. Realizing their mistake, the whole western flank of their force retreated to reinforce the city and Vittoro's cavalry sped off to intercept them, many of our troops now carrying rifles to flank and gun down the retreating enemy. Captain Artoro led the remaining troops to sweep around the eastern side of the besieging encampment while our flying riflemen took to the skies to secure the fortress walls.

"We'll steer clear of the north wall - if they manage to blow their charges, it'll annihilate anybody within a stone's throw," Calivar said.

"Most of them are camped out on the other side, anyway," I observed. "We'll fly over there and you can help me drop some lightning to soften the bastards up for Artoro."

We flew over the fortress walls, arrows zipping past us and defenders taking flight to intercept for a few harrowing seconds before the fort's occupants realized we were allies and not invaders. Within the fortress were about five hundred troops, about a quarter of them fae and fae-kin, which meant they were pretty serious VIPs. As we set up shop on the southern battlements, our riflemen opening fire on the panicking troops below, a fae officer buzzed up to us from the fortress drill yard.

"Captain Calwenis of the Queen's Royal Guard," he stated. "I'd like to tell her majesty who's helping her hold this fortress…"

Calivar paused his shooting long enough to shake the captain's hand. "Nobody is helping to hold this fort, as it won't be under siege anymore in a few short minutes. But you may thank your allies in Estival and Vernal for that boon. Prince Calivar of the Estival at your service, Lord Calwenis."

A lightning bolt tore out of the sky, smashing right into the second and third waves charging at Artoro's men below. We'd found that making a big hole in advancing enemy ranks right behind their front lines let our infantry surge into a wedge formation with their shield line intact, minimizing our losses. I took a moment to compose myself after the expenditure of mana before sheathing my spellsword and turning my attention to the captain.

"Princess Leanna of the Vernal," I said. "I think that should do it, unless the bastards are determined to die for their king."

The captain bowed to us, somewhere between awe and mild embarrassment, certainly more deeply than decorum required. "I'll inform Queen Presimiwe of your arrival and tell her the siege is lifted."

Within the half hour, Captain Artoro had the survivors rounded up, their weapons seized and their officers shackled and separated to prevent them from conspiring on what to tell us and how much. Captain Vittoro's cavalry was still at large, though his scouts had already returned to inform us of fifty enemy killed and two hundred captured from their flank charge in the forest.

Presimiwe's men gathered in the drill yard, forming up their ranks, though the queen took her sweet time in emerging. When her trumpeters announced her, an honor guard of six soldiers marched out, followed by four haggard-looking ladies of the court, and finally the queen, resplendent in her gown of All-Autumn, the shimmering samite of her regalia shivering with every red, yellow, and orange hue imaginable. But the queen looked tired, her eyes both shocked and weary, and her posture lacked some of the impossible confidence characteristic in fae monarchs.

"The Queen of the Autumnal!" her steward boomed, and we all bowed or curtsied.

Uncharacteristically, the queen responded with a curtsy of her own. "Thank you, dear friends, for arriving in our hour of need."