Chapter 17
“More wine!” The mirth-filled voice of a demanding woman called out from the nearby campfire. Bryan quickly grasped a full flagon and stepped from the shadows into flickering orange light. He noticed a blonde woman holding out a cup in expectation. She was still in armour, her flaxen yellow-blonde hair braided yet messy from a day of riding.
Bryan stepped to the woman’s side and poured dark red wine into her cup. She took a long sip and smacked him on the bottom, causing him to almost drop the flagon in his hands as he stumbled forward. Some wine sloshed from the container onto his toes nonetheless. “Good boy,” the soldier said, causing the other women seated at the fire to giggle and snicker.
A hand holding a cup pushed at his left shoulder and Bryan turned to a woman with chocolate coloured hair and bright green eyes. Her breasts were barely contained in her tight leather armoured top. “I’ll take some of that as well, boy,” she said.
“What’s your name, serving boy?” asked the blonde.
Bryan hated it when he was noticed. It was better to remain ignored, like furniture or one of the horses, rather than get noticed – especially by the towering cocky cavalry that made up the elite of Ursula’s new army. Most of these women had been bequeathed titles and lands. They were a similar class to the knights of fallen Patterland, but worse. Ursula and her inner circle had picked the most faithful, bitchy, and aggressive women to make up the upper ranks. Many of the women took special delight in the new order, and the humiliation of men provided them with entertainment after a day’s march or battle. They were dominant, arrogant, and dangerous.
“My name is Bryan, my lady.”
The blonde snorted. “I’m no lady, little Bryan. You may call me Mistress Daciana.”
“Yes Mistress Daciana,” Bryan said, nodding. He’d been through a great deal in the last several months, and had learned the cost of disobedience. His diminutive size meant that any of these women could easy control him, even without sorcery. He preferred to repress the memories of what had happened to him after his capture several months ago in the northwest hill country. It had been sordid. He would never be the same again. But Bryan still held out hope of escape. It was the one thing that kept him going.
“Oh good, and I’m Mistress Vanda!” Said the woman with the chocolate coloured hair and green eyes.
“Yes Mistress Vanda,” Bryan said.
“Mmm…he’s been well trained,” Mistress Daciana mused. She smiled wide and took another sip from her cup. Her muscular tanned legs were spread slightly under the shadow of mail chausses and a leather cuisse, forming a sort of skirt over her lap.
“A good size too,” Mistress Vanda added as another soldier stood up and walked past Bryan slowly, smirking down at him. “He’s not quite up to Teagan’s tits, look.”
“True,” Mistress Daciana said. “Mind you, I killed an outrider the other day who wasn’t even up to my ribcage. It was almost too easy, except that the little bastard was quick on his feet. The smaller the better, that’s what I always say.”
“Except down between their legs!” Mistress Vanda laughed.
“It’s their tongues that matter,” Mistress Daciana replied, as she joined the other soldiers in laughter. “Isn’t that right little Bryan?”
Bryan gritted his teeth, but felt the women’s eyes on him. “Yes Mistress Daciana,” he said.
“Good. Now go fetch us another flagon,” she said, staring at him as he walked away. Bryan quickly moved to one of the large barrels of wine that rested on carriage flatbeds parked at the edge of camp, and began to fill a fresh flagon. The supply train for the army had been kept well stocked with all the essentials, even as it had moved further westward and into the higher elevations abutting the jagged mountains that formed Femnoria’s western border. Ursula’s army was kept strong and even jovial. A significant number of male servants, slaves, and kept-men formed the bulk of the baggage train. Bryan had been forced into the service of Olga’s soldiers, and then later merged into the general slave retinue of the army sent to attack King James. He served the very women who sought to undo his King. It was a perverse twist of fate.
Each day they crept closer to the location of King James’ mountain base. This evening, they had paused to camp in a narrow alpine valley. The slopes of the valley were covered in pines, spruce, and other hardy trees. But even now, Bryan could see the dull glow of mushrooms and other strange plants beneath the boughs of the trees. The very land was changing with Ursula’s all-encompassing rule. She had to be stopped.
“Where’s that wine, Bry-Bry?” Mistress Daciana called.
“You better hurry. She sounds a little drunk,” whispered a man named Alcind. He was brushing down a horse diligently, standing on a stool to reach the horse’s back.
“I know, I know,” Bryan sighed. “We have to find a way to escape.”
“Shh!” Alcind looked at him sharply. “Careful what you say!”
Bryan looked at the man in disappointment, but then ran toward the fire with the fresh flagon he’d procured.
“Ahh, there you are. Top us all up, serving boy,” said Mistress Vanda.
Bryan poured some wine into her cup and began to work his way around the fire, serving each woman in turn. As moved around the circle, he was poked, squeezed, patted, and groped by various women.
“Ooo…he’s a lithe one. You’re no farm boy are you?” asked a shorthaired brunette, as she felt his bicep.
“No, he’s a serving boy,” said another woman. “Doesn’t really matter what he did before the Queen’s coronation.”
“I’m only curious.”
Mistress Daciana laughed and pulled Bryan toward her by the wrist. He stumbled over to where she sat, and then topped up her cup with dark red wine. “He’s mine for tonight. I saw him first,” declared Mistress Daciana.
“Aww…but he’s kind of pretty,” Mistress Vanda said.
“Well, maybe you can borrow him later,” the blonde soldier mused. Bryan could feel her stroking his lower back and he knew better than to try to pull away. He’d made that mistake with other soldiers before. Bryan wondered briefly if this was what it had been like for women in the old order, in Patterland.
Mistress Daciana leaned close to his ear. Her breath was sweet and moist with wine. “Go to my tent, take off your clothes, and wait for me,” she whispered.
Bryan lowered his eyes and was hurried on his way with a strong push from Mistress Daciana. He followed the blonde soldier’s pointing finger to a blue tent nearby, pushing back the flap and stepping inside. The interior of her tent was far nicer than any of the slave tents or exposed bedding set ups that he’d been forced to use during the march. It had been an easy adaptation since he was used to sleeping under the stars in his old life as a scout and spy. Bryan walked across a rough woollen carpet that had been thrown down over the bare ground and sat down on a collapsible bed stuffed with straw and feathers. He listened to the chattering cavalry women outside the tent while he removed his trousers and shirt. The air was cool here near the high western mountains and goose bumps spread across Bryan’s pale skin. He shivered and kicked off his shoes, then sat on the edge of the bed in his underwear.
Even now here in the tent, several small red and purple-capped mushrooms had sprouted up in the space between the carpet and the tent wall. They’d grown up in the few hours since camp had been pitched. Each mushroom was perhaps only three inches tall, with a cap the size of a walnut or smaller. But Bryan noticed them because they gave off a faint glow in the interior gloom of the tent. A small clay oil-lamp was suspended from the roof of the tent on a bronze chain, but it was unlit. The only other illumination was the firelight glow coming from between the slightly open tent flap. The canvas walls of the tent were mostly opaque. Bryan stared at the odd fungi and wondered what connection they had to the rise of Ursula and the recent curses that had swept the land. What was their role? He felt the urge to sketch the mushrooms and write notes back to his superiors, but that was no longer his job. Still, it was a hard habit to break.
Bryan stood up and walked over to the strange fungi. He crouched down and looked closer. A soft glow matching the colour of each mushroom’s cap seemed to come from their gills, like tiny living lamps. The glow was faint, but it stood out in the darkness. Bryan noticed that the bigger mushrooms seemed to have a brighter glow, and that little spores of light danced in the air around each cap. He was nervous to touch such organisms, so obviously tainted or perhaps even created by some dark magic.
Suddenly the tent flap snapped open and Mistress Daciana ducked as she entered. “What are you doing?” She asked.
Bryan stood up, not quite coming up to the undersides of the blonde soldier’s breasts, which were easily noticeable in their armoured cups. “Nothing, Mistress Daciana. I was just waiting for you,” he said.
She smiled down at him and her eyes moved over his body. “Good. Now help me out of my armour.”
Bryan reached up as Mistress Daciana turned and showed up where the clasps and buckles were that held her armour in place. He began to loosen and undo these spots as she pulled off her chainmail and leather, stripping down to a simple cloth under layer. Mistress Daciana shoved Bryan toward her bed as she pulled the last bit of clothing off her body to become naked. “Get in the bed, boy,” she ordered.
Bryan stumbled back, falling onto the bed and scooting to the side as the towering cavalry woman lowered to her knees on the blankets. Mistress Daciana laughed as she pushed him down onto his back and straddled his slim frame. “Oh yes, you’re so cute,” she said, as she rested her heavy weight on his hips and squeezed her legs against his torso.
Reaching down, Mistress Daciana tugged at Bryan’s underwear, ripping it at the seams until his member emerged, slightly stiff in response to her touch. He couldn’t help it. His body responded despite his feelings of helplessness and humiliation. The spells over Femnoria had changed the way men interacted with the world, not only via their stature but also in their sensory perceptions and reactions. Mistress Daciana put her hands on Bryan’s shoulders and leaned forward, pushing his down into the bed as she slid up higher on his body. Bryan squirmed a little and his small feet kicked into the soft bedding. “Come on boy, I’ve had a long day on the saddle. I need a little release before bed,” she said.
The fit cavalry woman spread her legs and slid closer, pushing her sex near Bryan’s face. Mistress Daciana’s heavy weight pushed down on his chest and Bryan was forced to stare into her flaxen-blonde pubic mound as it mashed against his chin. Her butt cheeks pressed down on his chest and she squeezed her thighs against his head. Bryan could feel the surprisingly soft skin of Mistress Daciana’s strong inner thighs pressing against his ears and cheeks as she rubbed her sex against his chin. “Eat me, slave boy!” she ordered.
Bryan had no choice. He began to lick Mistress Daciana’s slit. The scent of leather, sweat, and pussy invaded his nostrils as he licked against her folds. She relaxed her thighs slightly so he could move his head, but it wasn’t much of a shift. Then he felt her shift her hips, pushing her pussy right over his mouth, covering it. Bryan struggled and kicked to no avail as he felt Mistress Daciana’s wet lips mash down on his mouth, spreading out and forcing him to lick inside of her. She shuddered and moaned above him, rubbing herself on his face and using him for pleasure. “Get your tongue in there, little slave!” She gasped.
Bryan grasped at Mistress Daciana’s thighs and hips, squirming as she bucked against his face, mashing her pussy against his nose and mouth. He couldn’t stop her. She was too big and strong for him. In fact, she seemed to enjoy his struggles, moaning and laughing breathily as he pulled weakly at her thighs. After a while, her hips and ass suddenly slammed his head into the bedding as her pussy began to pulse against his mouth. She was orgasming on his face, Bryan realized in dismay. Juices flowed out of Mistress Daciana’s pussy and ran over Bryan’s lips and into his mouth. He was forced to swallow down a sweaty gush of feminine cum as she shuddered in pleasure over and over.
After a while, Mistress Daciana rolled off of Bryan and sprawled out on the bed as he gasped for fresh air and wiped his sticky face with the back of his hand. She sighed and laughed a little. “That’s better. Was it a little much for you slave boy?” she said, pulling him against her naked body.
Bryan was humiliated. Suddenly bringing wine to soldiers seemed like a wonderfully honourable job in comparison. He felt ashamed at how hard his member was against Mistress Daciana’s warm body. “I just, wasn’t expecting…”
“You’ll get better,” she said, cutting him off. “But now I need to sleep. If you’re not beside me when I wake up, I’ll pass you around the entire cavalry troop as their new whore boy. Stay with me and I’ll protect you.”
Bryan swallowed in horror at the thought. “Y…yes Mistress Daciana,” he said.
“Good little slave Bryan,” she said, smiling. Then Mistress Daciana rolled against him, pulling blankets over their naked bodies. “Sleep now.”
He listened as her breath settled into a steady rhythm of sleep. Bryan lay in the dark, feeling the swell of her perky large breasts against his slim arm. There had to be a way out of this camp, a way back to the king. Every time he got close to thinking up an escape he’d been moved to a new job or owner. This was only the latest complication, to be used as a camp whore by a towering horny cavalry woman. But Bryan was worn out from a day of travel and hard work. It had been many months since he’d slept in anything resembling a real bed. Before he realized it, he’d fallen asleep.
Chapter 18
Bryan woke up the next day feeling sore and sticky. He washed his face quickly with ice cold water out of a basin before helping Mistress Daciana put on her armour. As her chosen slave boy, he was kept close. She had him ride on her saddle in front of her while the army was on the march, his back pressing into her torso and chest as he bounced in the seat. If she was directed out on a scouting mission, he was left in her tent and performed the duties of a personal camp servant or aide. Often Mistress Vanda would keep an eye on him if Mistress Daciana were away. The two women were friends and Vanda considered Bryan to be important property to guard and train. Sometimes he could feel her eyes on him while he went about his tasks, and Mistress Vanda frequently made little comments about his size and physical attributes.
Ursula’s army moved higher into the mountains, growing ever closer to King James’ hidden base. Frequent skirmishes broke up the march. The king’s men repeatedly attempted to ambush them with rigged rockslides, booby traps, and archery attacks. Several women were killed in each attempt, but their numbers were too great for the army to be seriously affected. Still, Bryan had to hide his amusement when two arrogant cavalry women had a section of the trail crumble beneath their horses on a high pass. The two women slid and tumbled down the steep face of the mountain, their screams mixing with that of their horses. The loss of the path delayed the army for days while slave men were brought in to repair the road with the assistance of sorceresses.
Mistress Daciana took out her anger at the loss of her sisters-in-arms on Bryan. The night of their plummeting death, Daciana raged with hatred at King James’ resistance. She vowed to avenge their deaths, stomping around the campfire and riling up her comrades with invective-laced words. It didn’t help that she had learned that Bryan had had some sort of role in James’ movement before his capture. Mistress Daciana used James as a prop, a stand-in for their enemy, shoving him around and shouting at him in front of the other women.
“You really think this kind of thing will stop us, these kinds of cowardly guerrilla attacks? It’s pathetic!” Mistress Daciana snarled, shoving Bryan back a few steps. “Without your size, you men can’t even face us in open combat. Your play-kings never deserved to rule over this realm. You were always imposters. Queen Ursula just restored the natural order of things.”
Several cavalry women nodded and shouted in agreement. Bryan swallowed nervously, controlling his anger and fear. Mistress Daciana strode toward him, looking down at him with a sneer. “You know, I think you’re too big for a man. If men weren’t so big, they wouldn’t be able to murder my sisters,” she said.
Mistress Vanda nodded in agreement. “I think they should be smaller, definitely. We can start with this one. He barely seems disturbed at the losses we took today,” she declared.
“That’s because he was a little traitor for his so-called king. He’s probably happy at what happened,” Mistress Daciana said.
Bryan shook his head, desperately lying. “No Mistress Daciana, I am sorry at your losses. I know my place.”
“Do you?” asked Mistress Vanda. She stared at him with smouldering dark eyes. “I think your place is to be more compliant, more awe-filled at our presence. Do you know how many men would kill to touch us, even before the rise of the Queen?”
Bryan lowered his eyes shyly, not sure what to say.
Mistress Daciana laughed bitchily. “You’re right Vanda,” she said, leaning down to stare at the small man before her. “He is way too big for a man. He needs to be better aware of his place, his role.”
“But Ursula hasn’t added any new blessings to the land,” said another soldier sitting several paces away. “How would we change him?”
“There has to be a way. We’ve all seen smaller men in camp. I mean, look at that loser William that the Queen keeps around. He barely comes up to her crotch,” said Mistress Vanda, causing all the women present to laugh.
“To be fair, the Queen is fucking tall,” Mistress Daciana said.
“Mmm…true. But I bet if we made him eat some of those weird mushrooms growing around the camp, something funny would happen. At least, that’s the rumour going around camp,” Mistress Vanda said. “One of the sorceresses told me it’s part of a plan to remake the very land to suit us better.”
Mistress Daciana’s eyes lit up. “Oh really? That sounds like a good idea, as long as he doesn’t die. He’s pretty good with his tongue.”
The women laughed again, but Bryan noticed that Mistress Daciana was still very angry, and eager to vent her frustration on him, to make an example or symbol of him.
“Go pick some of the new glowy mushrooms, slave,” Mistress Daciana commanded him, crossing her arms and looking down to make eye contact. “I think I saw some growing beside the nearby wood pile.”
Bryan hesitated and then slowly moved toward the woodpile, where several good-sized fungal clumps grew on its east side. Their crowns were shaped with no uniformity, ranging in size from a large apple to a small walnut. He cautiously reached out his hand and plucked the largest mushroom, which was glowing a soft bluish purple hue. It did not dim even after Bryan pulled the pliant stem-flesh from the soil. As he held the strange fungus, he could feel a peculiar tingling in his hand. Everything in Bryan’s mind was screaming for him to drop the mushroom, to run, to get away. But he knew this would be the worst time to try and escape. He was being watched, waited for. If he ran now, he would barely make it past a few tents before being caught and receiving a brutal punishment.
Bryan obediently walked back to Mistress Daciana, slipping past a number of seated cavalry women who reached out to touch him on the shoulder or bottom as he passed. He walked up to the towering blonde soldier, whose smile widened as she saw what he held. “Oh you got a big one,” she exclaimed. “We’ll really find out what they do now. You better hope they’re not poisonous.”
“Maybe he can just have a little nibble first,” said Mistress Vanda.
Mistress Daciana’s lip curled as she stared down at Bryan. “Eat it slave. Take a fucking bite. Now.”
Bryan lifted the large mushroom to his mouth, and hesitantly took a small bite out of the cap. The texture was slippery and slimy, like a slug. It tasted weirdly fishy and earthy. Bryan gagged as he felt the fungus in his mouth.
“Swallow,” Mistress Daciana said, watching him intently.
Bryan closed his eyes and forced himself to swallow down the revolting mouthful. He could feel it slide down his throat. All the women were now watching him, staring at him in expectation as the campfire lit their faces with a deep orange glow.
Bryan felt sick. He could feel the fungus in his stomach, viscous and alien, something not meant to be ingested. He shuddered and noticed Mistress Daciana’s lips twitch in a smirk.
“How do you feel, stupid little male?” She asked.
“Not good,” he put a hand on his stomach.
“Good. You shouldn’t feel all healthy after two of my sisters died to your pathetic pretender king’s cowardly trap today. You should feel terrible.”
As Bryan looked up at Mistress Daciana and his vision swam, the urge to vomit washed over him and he bent over suddenly, dry heaving. Nothing came out.
“Oh yes, it’s working,” said Mistress Vanda. “Look Daciana, he’s getting smaller!”
Bryan was busy coping with his sick feelings, but Mistress Vanda’s words frightened him. Not again. He hadn’t shrunk since the horrible time of his capture. He couldn’t get smaller. He was already such a small man! He lifted his head to look around and noticed that everything around him was shifting, expanding, stretching…the distortion mixed with the vile sensations in his stomach.
The world was becoming less hospitable to him, more imposing. Even as he watched, he could feel his sense of insecurity deepen. Mistress Daciana seemed to rise gradually taller, bigger, and thicker before him. Her large armoured bust-line rose higher as he shrunk. Bryan turned his head and noticed a cluster of women sitting and standing around them, staring. They all looked bigger now.
Mistress Daciana began to laugh. “Perfect!” she crowed. “Look at you. You’re barely up to my ribcage. It’s better, but not enough. Take another bite. Now!”
Bryan shook his head, daring to defy the amazonian woman. Mistress Daciana stepped forward and grabbed the mushroom. She shoved the cap against his mouth roughly, holding the back of his head with her other hand. “Eat it, whore boy!”
Bryan gagged at the slimy surface of the smelly fungus, the bluish purple glow mottling his vision. He choked and tried to get away, but Mistress Daciana ground the unnatural mushroom into his mouth forcing a big piece to slide toward the back of his tongue. He coughed and gagged and felt the revolting vegetative blob slide down his throat.
A whole new wave of nausea swept over Bryan as Mistress Daciana straightened and looked down at him in anger. “You dare refuse my command? This is why you need to be smaller. You still think you can order things, decide things, just like that upstart James,” she said.
As Mistress Daciana talked, Bryan could feel himself shrinking again. He cried out in shock, as everything seemed to grow around him: the horses, the tents, the rocks and trees. He was getting smaller even as he was berated. Mistress Daciana’s hips seemed to be rising closer and closer to the level of his shoulders. The women around him all seemed so big, beyond being just strong and tall.
“Look how little he’s getting,” said Mistress Vanda. She stood up and put her hand on his head, her thumb curling around over his ear and temple. “Haha, his head fits right into my hand now!”
Mistress Daciana stepped closer. Bryan barely came up to her navel-level as she put her hands on her hips and looked down at him. “Good. This is much better,” she declared. “I doubt he could do much damage. Mind you, if he were a bit smaller I’d be even happier.”
Bryan’s eyes widened and he tried to back away, but Mistress Vanda’s hand moved down to his neck and held him in place. “I think you’re right Daciana, just a bit smaller.”
Daciana held out the mushroom, which was now significantly larger in comparison to Bryan. She broke off a small part of the cap and shoved it into his mouth with two fingers. Mistress Vanda held his nose shut and the two women easily forced him to swallow the slimy piece of fungus. Bryan squirmed and struggled, but he couldn’t get away. He was just too small.
And he was getting more diminutive by the minute. He could feel Mistress Vanda’s hand on his neck expanding as he shrunk again. He noticed the grass around his feet even seemed taller, more like giant ornamental grass than an average meadow. The women around him looked thicker, more imposing and powerful, and they peered down at him in haughty approval a his diminishing stature. This was a woman’s world, a woman’s realm. Femnoria was no longer a place amenable to men, but shaped by witches for the most disturbing of purposes. As he shrunk, Mistress Daciana’s mail chausses and a leather cuisse rose before him, a skirting of armour over her tanned muscular thighs. She began to laugh bitchily, tossing the remainder of the mushroom away dismissively.
“Perfect,” said Mistress Daciana. “I’d like to see a puny man like you stand up to me in battle. Now, go get us some wine, slave. You don’t get to slack off just because you’re a bit smaller.”
Bryan felt Mistress Vanda slowly relax her grip on him, and he moved toward the wagons parked nearby. As he walked past several sitting cavalry women, he was horrified to realize they were still taller than him despite being seated. Their thighs were thicker than his torso. One woman sporting a long black-haired braid stuck her leg out and blocked his path, laughing as he bumped into her knee and inner thigh. Her leg barely moved as he ran into it and Bryan felt a burst of frustration and fear.
“Phoebe, let him go. I want some wine,” said Mistress Vanda, laughing.
Phoebe snickered and pulled her leg back, letting Bryan pass. But as he walked on, she whispered, “I would have made you even smaller.”
Bryan’s swallowed back his nervous intimidation. He still felt lingering nausea from the mushroom in his stomach, as he moved to the wine supply and worked to fill up a large jug. It was hard work to lift the jug. The weight of the dark red wine was now a struggle for him to carry and he had to use two hands just to hoist the full container back to the campfire. He had to set it down at least once to get a better grip and give his arms a break. The women were all seated when Bryan returned, chatting and lounging in comfort. Their body language portrayed a high level of confidence and athleticism.
“Here he comes,” said Mistress Daciana. Bryan could feel their eyes on him as he moved toward her, carrying the jug.
“Look, he can barely carry the jug of wine,” Mistress Vanda pointed out, smirking.
“Pathetic,” said Mistress Daciana. “A little loss of size and he is almost useless. It makes you think, doesn’t it?”
As he again passed the soldier named Phoebe, she openly stared at him with a hungry expression and Bryan noticed her knees part slightly. This caused him to step further away and take a path around her to get to Mistress Daciana.
“It really does,” said Mistress Vanda. “Mmm, fill us up slave.” A number of women held out empty cups and Bryan began to work his way around the fire, pouring wine for each soldier. He filled up Mistress Daciana and Mistress Vanda’s cups first, and then moved on to the others. As he stepped up to Phoebe, she held her cup in her lap, close to her belly. He stretched out with the jug, but it was too heavy. Bryan was forced to come closer and Phoebe parted her knees as he approached, making just enough room for his slender waist. He stood between her legs and poured wine into Phoebe’s cup as she watched him with the slightest smirk.
“Haha, fuck Phoebe, your thighs are thicker than he is,” said Mistress Daciana, who had noticed his awkward position.
Phoebe nodded. “It’s awesome,” she said. “I could crush him right here if I wanted.”
Bryan backed out from between her legs and moved on to the next woman, trying not to show his nervousness. As the women drank, he was forced to refill the jug several times. Then, as he was on his way back to the wagon yet again, he was suddenly launched into the air. He dropped the jug in shock as his feet left the ground. Mistress Vanda laughed hysterically, her hands under his arms as she spun around, holding him high. “Look! You can pick him up so easily! Imagine if all of James’ soldiers were this size,” she said.
The women laughed hard, their mirth mixing with the intoxicating feel of the wine. Mistress Vanda held him out from her and looked at him, her chocolate coloured hair falling slightly in her face. “This is so great,” she said. Then she plunked him down unceremoniously at her feet, and went back to her seat. “Pick up that jug and get back to work.”
Bryan walked to the dropped jug, feeling a bit dizzy. He picked it up and moved toward the wine supply. None of the women were paying attention. Most were lost in conversation and a couple had nodded off. Bryan looked around. He suddenly felt an opportunity. Most of the camp was asleep. At his new size, he would be hard to notice, and they might never expect him to run. Plus, he felt a strong incentive. Who knew if they would shrink him further? The woman named Phoebe seemed to want to see him get even smaller.
Bryan walked around the side of the wagon, making sure to look like he was trying to find a different barrel. He set the jug down and took a deep breath. Then he moved quickly between some boxes and a pile of lances. It was a dark night, and he swallowed back his shock at how huge everything seemed now. Each lance seemed like as thick as the trunk of a decent sized tree to Bryan. Turning back to take a final cautious look, he started to run.
Chapter 19
Kate Orme was engaged in one of those rapid mental excursions that were forever sweeping her from the straight path of the actual into uncharted regions of conjecture. Her survey of life had always been marked by the tendency to seek out ultimate relations, to extend her researches to the limit of her imaginative experience. But hitherto she had been like some young captive brought up in a windowless palace whose painted walls she takes for the actual world. Now the palace had been shaken to its base, and through a cleft in the walls she looked out upon life. For the first moment all was indistinguishable blackness; then she began to detect vague shapes and confused gestures in the depths. There were people below there, men…
-“Sanctuary” by Edith Wharton
Once a powerful monarch of a large realm, William now found himself sinking ever further into servitude, into the nameless obscurity of commoner status. He was still present at the centre of power, attached as he was to the Queen of Femnoria. His official ‘status’ was to be her consort, but in reality he wasn’t even afforded the honour that such a position would normally have entailed. He was frequently restricted in his movement by Ursula’s explicit order. She seemed to relish keeping him ignorant of current events and limiting his interaction with the world beyond their domestic quarters, be they a castle chamber or a royally festooned tent pavilion.
This was partly how he found himself sitting on top of a lavish bed in a huge tent, perking his ears in an attempt to hear pieces of conversation that might filter through the silken dividing wall on the far side of the room. The pavilion was so large it was divided into separate rooms, with some areas devoted to the queen’s living quarters and others for meeting supplicants and members of her inner circle. William was largely limited to the royal living quarters, only occasionally permitted to emerge into the daylight. As such, he had little idea of where the army was beyond his basic knowledge of the queen’s objectives. He had been a king for decades before Ursula’s terrible rise, and he retained experience from years of rule, training, and even warfare. William was fairly certain he could deduce much of what was occurring and where the army was, but it was maddening to be kept in the dark both figurative and literally.
Worst of all, was the ever-present awareness of his role in betraying his people, of his ongoing impotence and weakness in the face of Ursula’s limitless ambition. It wasn’t that William didn’t want to stop her, but it was more that his wife’s powers as a witch had grown so tremendously since the fateful day she’d fist ascended to the throne, since he’d foolishly handed over his crown to her trust. Some men might have killed themselves in shame, and that thought hovered in William’s thoughts. Was he too much a coward even to off himself? He told himself he still served a small purpose in the resistance, conveying messages to King James’ resistance, a very dangerous risk. But deeper than that, William knew he was still entranced by Ursula. She had a grip on him, physically, mentally, and sexually. Often, just when he thought he’d had enough and would end things one way or another, Ursula would invade his presence and he would lose all clarity of thought in the thrall of her sensual beauty and dark seductive aura. He was betrayed by his own libido over and over. Sorcery and witchcraft certainly played a factor in William’s bondage, but not the only factor.
William dropped from the bed to the carpeted floor of the tent, digging his toes into the deep soft material. He wore his simple white smock, as always, and remained naked underneath. The high mountain air was chilly and it took effort for William to extract himself from Ursula’s large warm blankets. His smaller size didn’t help in staying warm, but was another obstacle to his independence in general. Worse, William had come to realize his reduced size was no longer unique. All of the men in his former realm were now smaller than they once were. While William was especially reduced, he was no longer alone in this reality. His loss of size was more than a mere humiliation; it represented a dramatic shift in power and perception. William found many things that had once been an afterthought now represented an obstacle, such as the weight of objects, the height of windows, the size of horses, and of course the relative size of women. Now Ursula and her followers towered over even normal sized men.
As William made his way to the closed tent flap, which served as a doorway, he decided to be thankful he was at least not as small as Rutherford. He shivered involuntarily at the memory of that awful week of Rutherford’s capture. He’d had enough nightmares of the devoted agent’s steamy desperate terrifying end. He didn’t need more. Shaking his head, William cleared his mind and tried to focus on what he was doing. He felt goosebumps run across his skin at the ambient temperature. William quietly approached the sliver of an opening along the wall of the tent, hoping to hear or see something in the adjacent foyer. He stepped carefully to the slit in the fabric and peeked with one eye into the dimly lit antechamber.
Dark red fabric lined the interior of the adjacent room, and it took a moment for William’s eyes to adjust to the low lighting. The space was illuminated by a single flame flickering on a brass lamp in the centre of a small wooden table. A woman stood with her back to William, and he found himself eye-level with the shapely curves of her hips. William could distinguish the curve of the woman’s round buttocks within her long yet tightly clinging robes. A mass of red hair cascaded down her back. William stepped back from the tent flap for a moment, suppressing a wave of worry and fear.
Helga.
He’d seen Helga do terrible things. William still remembered the night he had watched, helpless, as Helga had absorbed Zeridda. The promising young court magus had struggled, but was unable to stop Helga from consuming his power and his entire essence with in her. It had been one of the most disturbing things William had seen, yet sadly had only been the beginning. Now Helga stood confidently near the heart of power, towering over William and any other man she might encounter in Femnoria. She was one of Ursula’s closest lieutenants, and she’d eagerly embraced the power offered to her, being more than willing to support a total revolution to transform Patterland into Femnoria. Ursula’s insidious designs meshed with Helga’s, and as the power of the Witch Queen grew, so did the power of her sister witches – chief among them being the ambitious redhead now standing before William in the adjoining tent chamber.
Pressing his eye close to the tent flap opening once more, William watched as two other robed women entered from an opening to the right. One was wearing a white robe, and another was in black. Helga was wearing robes of pale green, embroidered in floral designs.
“Jasmynth, it is good to see you again, and you as well Patricia,” said Helga.
William counted himself lucky, for once, that he was so small. Helga’s backside obscured his view of the two young sorceresses, but it also ensured that they would not spot him watching and eavesdropping.
“Lady Helga, we bring good news,” said Jasmynth, pulling back the cowl of her black robe to reveal long blond hair and glittering grey eyes. “The Queen has encountered some of the enemy’s men along the north-east ridge. She has pressed to engage them in combat this very night.
“Excellent,” Helga said, her voice breathy with approval. “Once we have removed James and added his power to the crown, there will be nothing to stop the complete transformation of the realm. Femnoria will be secure and powerful, and you will both become very powerful Ladies of importance.”
William’s heart sank to hear this report, even as Jasmynth smiled. Patricia lowered her white cowl to reveal a smile on her arrogant full lips. She was blonde just like Jasmynth, and perhaps even more beautiful despite her haughty expression. Patricia’s hair was wavier and her eyes were a light shade of turquoise. Despite only catching shifting glimpses of their faces, William wondered how such beautiful women could act this way. He had been with many women, and never suspected such a change could be possible in his land. Was it the witchcraft? The very air of the realm had changed, as it had continued to transform into Femnoria, bending and shaping itself to fit Ursula’s sinister vision.
“One wonders at how stubborn the pretender king’s men have been. They’ve all been reduced in stature, as our grip on the realm has grown, and yet they have not surrendered and have been more than willing to face us in battle at times,” Patricia mused. She laughed, as if the idea of battling such men was funny in itself.
Even her laugh was seductive, despite her arrogance. William could not get a clear glimpse of the two witches’ bodies in full, but their voices and what he had seen was making him aroused. He hated how easily he was betrayed by his own desires. These women pursued the destruction of Patterland; they delighted in the destruction of his followers and peers! William hated himself for bringing such ruin to the land, and even more for continuing to be kept like some trophy pet. He’d been largely shielded from the events of the campaign, but this small glimpse into the latest events was deeply worrying. What would happen if Ursula defeated James? William shuddered at the very idea, not wanting to consider it.
“It just shows you how foolish the old order was, the men who sought total power at any cost, selfishly hording it for themselves for centuries,” Helga declared. “It was a kingdom built on ancient crimes against Ursula and the ways of Vulvism. Now they petulantly try to stop nature from taking its course, to stop balance from being restored. The so-called King James would do well to kneel to Ursula and accept his place at her feet. William certainly did, and he’s been treated well enough.”
Jasmynth ran a hand down along her hip, feeling her soft dark black robe. “He’s her pet, isn’t he?” She purred.
“Oh yes,” Helga nodded. “A proper place for him too. He is lucky she lets him stay at her side as an example.”
Patricia laughed again. But William felt his face red with humiliation to hear this. He knew it was true. Ursula had called him such things herself, but it didn’t help to hear him discussed like this. Little did they know of his small act of espionage, his one way to resist. It seemed pathetic now, but it was all William had to cling to in the face of such hopeless odds.
“Shall we observe some of the battle?” Helga asked the other two witches. She flicked her wrist and chanted some arcane words. William felt the unmistakable tingle of sorcery in the air as a light began to glow above the table in the middle of the room. He watched, transfixed, as the light expanded in a purple cloud to reveal a moving image. It was as though a hazy window into another place had materialized in thin air. William could see figures moving: horses and people. It was the actual battle, projected into the air like a shadowplay. William moved to angle his view slightly, as the witches peered into the supernatural vision before them.
“Look, there’s Ursula!” Jasmynth said.
William saw she was right. Ursula was unmistakable, striding tall and confident along a rock-strewn ridge in a flowing black dress, with opulent furs layered over her shoulders. Her long black hair was blowing in the wind as her eyes glowed an amber hue. Energy twisted from her fingers as she raked down two diminutive archers behind a tree. The tree exploded into blue flames with the splash of the spell’s impact, and the archers twisted in burning death. One ran around for a bit before plunging himself off a nearby cliff. No sound came across the mysterious moving image, but the scene spoke for itself. William swallowed back hot emotion as he saw Ursula’s rage and power so unbridled. He knew she was doing things like this. It was war after all. But to see it was another thing. William felt sick to his stomach at his own complicity, his own weakness.
Patricia licked her upper lip at the sight. “She has such power. I want to learn spells like that,” she said.
“Soon, just keep studying and training, and you will,” Helga smiled. “Look, an armored knight is in her path.”
Jasmynth laughed. “Amazing, they even forged small armour for him. He has full plate mail despite being well under five feet high!”
William watched hopefully as the man stepped into Ursula’s path, drawing a large sword, at least in relative size to his body. William could see that a hazy magical shield was blocking the energy of Ursula’s spells. The armour must have been enchanted somehow. Ursula strode closer and closer to the knight, not seeming concerned, but more and more angry. William silently hoped she would be harshly punished for her hubris. But as Ursula got closer to her opponent, the size difference between them became more starkly obvious. She loomed over the small knight as he swung his sword threateningly at her mid-section, staying just out of range of his strikes.
Ursula’s body moved, snake-like with flexibility, shifting to the side. Her hand suddenly whipped out and grasped the small knight’s wrist, gripping the armour and twisting it, crumping it under her large grip, until his sword fell to the ground. She then hoisted the small knight into the air, lifting him by the arm until his plated boots were kicking the air in futile desperation. It was a terrible scene: This mighty knight, surely once a powerful warrior in the service of his king, now dangled like a boy from the grip of a towering raven-haired witch. Ursula shook the small man and laughed, her hip-hugging dark dress blowing in the mountain winds.
“Yesss,” Helga exclaimed. “Look at that. So much for pitiful prideful knights, they can’t stop us anymore, even with their flashy armour.”
William watched, transfixed by the terrible sight, both compelled to keep watching but disturbed by the power he witnessed. Ursula wound up and threw the small knight down the side of the ridge, sending him tumbling like a ragdoll down into a rocky gorge. As he fell she flung jagged bolts of energy at him, likely cooking him in his armour. No sound could be heard through the haze of the magical seer’s light, but William could see that Ursula was laughing and he could only imagine her voice booming across the landscape in victory. The image slowly faded away, as the spell came to a close, and the space above the table returned to normal.
“Oh yes, that was amazing,” whispered Jasmynth. Patricia nodded, her mouth open as she took deep breaths of excitement. “The Queen dispatched him so…easily - a knight of Patterland, thrown aside like some petulant child, like a toy.”
“Indeed,” Helga said. “She has little patience now for games. Her final victory draws near. James is close. We will soon reach his fortress and force his surrender.”
William backed away from the tent flap, swallowing hot rage and sorrow. Had he been sheltered so long that he couldn’t deal with war anymore? No, this was different. His impotence was eating him alive. He had to stand up to Ursula. He had to get help to James, but how?
William climbed into Ursula’s large bed and pulled the covers over himself. He stared up at the fabric ceiling and tried to think. But even as he tried to focus, he continued to hear the three witches in the adjoining chamber laugh and talk. Then, he heard a quiet male voice, and their laughter turned more mirthful, more scornful.
William closed his eyes. He didn’t want to know what Helga and her lieutenants were doing, but Femnoria was growing ever more impossible to ignore. Slowly, he sat up in the bed and looked back to the tent flap. The adjoining room was now more brightly illuminated and a warm glow was visible between the slim gaps in the fabric. What was going on?
William didn’t really want to know, but he sighed and shifted toward the edge of the bed again.
Chapter 20
“What do you mean he ran away? Did you see him leave stableboy?” Helga’s voice carried through the layers of fabric separating the two chambers, as William listened carefully, standing near the tent wall.
“Well…um…Lady Helga. I didn’t see him go, but I know he wasn’t very happy. I tried to tell him to behave better,” the man replied. William could see that Helga, Jasmynth, and Patricia, were standing around him in a tight circle. Jasmynth and Patricia had their arms crossed, emphasizing their ample bosoms, while Helga had her hands on her hips. In the middle of the three sorceresses stood a man in his 30s with a shaggy mop of brown hair. He was wearing simple grey and brown wool garb and barely came up to the chests of Patricia and Jasmynth in height. Helga’s curving bustline was higher than the man’s head as she peered down at him in displeasure.
“Oh did you stableboy? You expect us to believe you told this captured agent of the enemy that he should be better behaved?” Helga asked. She cocked her curvaceous hip to one side and used the opposite hand to point down at the man. William could see that Helga’s nails were painted a rich shade of navy blue. “The agent known as Bryan was captured spying in the service of the pretender king James. By not stopping him from escaping, by perhaps even keeping knowledge of his escape to yourself, you are complicit in his crimes. You are a colluder.”
“N…no!” The man cried out, fear on his face. He shook his head vehemently. “I tried to make him be more respectful to the cavalry core. I tried to tell him to obey the Queen’s chosen!”
“He smells like horse,” Patricia said, wrinkling her pretty nose as she ignored his words.
“What’s your name stableboy?” Jasmynth asked, her cool grey eyes moving over the man’s desperate expression.
“Alcind, my Lady,” he replied.
Patricia choked back a scornful laugh. “You mean like Alcind, the fifth king of Patterland, otherwise known as the One-Eyed Warrior?”
Alcind nodded.
“A rather noble name for someone so low born, unless you have royal blood in you,” Helga said, a smirk playing across her naturally pink lips.
“My father always said our family descended from Alcind’s seventh son,” Alcind answered. William could tell the man was happy that conversation seemed to have shifted from accusation to inquisition.
“Right,” Patricia laughed. “And I descend from tenth cousin of the high queen of the sea!”
All three women laughed airily as Alcind swallowed and smiled, looking up from face to beautiful face.
“Do you know why the escape of James’ agent is so vexing to us Alcind?” Helga asked.
Alcind looked confused. “Because he is a traitor?”
Patricia rolled her eyes. Helga nodded. “Well, that’s obvious, but what’s more is that we’re in the middle of a FUCKING WAR!” Her sudden shout into Alcind’s face caused him to flinch back in shocked, bumping into Jasmynth. William jumped in shock himself, and felt deep sympathy with Alcind in his startled intimidation. Jasmynth shoved the stableboy away from her, back into the open space between the women.
“If he is allowed to reunite with James,” Helga continued. “He could give him valuable intelligence. It would be a serious strategic loss, and make the Queen look bad. Don’t you think that’s a problem? Don’t you see why you should have kept better watch over your fellow servant boy? Your Queen is out fighting for Femnoria, while you and your pathetic kind try to undermine her wonderful work from within.”
Alcind looked guilty. William realized the man might even believe, or mostly believe, Helga’s words. Alcind was actually nodding, trying to explain what had happened.
“Yes. I had no idea of his past. I just knew he was a serving boy like me. Please, Lady Helga. I will do anything I can to help you find him, to help the Queen. I never meant to hurt the war effort,” Alcind babbled. William felt a bit sick. His pity for the man was souring over his obvious spinelessness. This Alcind fellow was fawning for approval, yet wasn’t he just another version of William’s own complicity? Was he any better than Alcind? No…no he was better. He wasn’t this pathetic, this desperate to please.
Jasmynth sighed. “You know, if he really does have royal blood, then he might be able to help us in a way.”
The three women looked at each other and Patricia’s pretty lips curled up in a smile that made William worried. He clutched at the fabric of the tent, careful to stay quiet and hidden as he watched the scene before him, powerless to stop the impromptu trial of this stableboy. It was like watching three languid cats play with a small, frightened mouse.
“Yes, I suppose he could,” Helga mused. “In fact, he might fit a purpose I have been thinking about a lot lately.”
She bent down slightly, putting her hands on her knees and bringing her face down to Alcind’s level. “Would you like to prove that you support the Queen’s cause? Because I’m really not sure we can believe your story little man, not after your peer ran away so brazenly.”
Alcind nodded quickly. Too quickly, thought William. “Yes Lady Helga. I’ll do anything. I would never lie to you. I’ll show you I am loyal to Her Majesty’s government. I’m not like that traitor Bryan.”
William swallowed back his rising dislike of Alcind. He saw Jasmynth smile subtly as she watched the small stableboy grovel for Helga’s approval.
“Good,” Helga purred. “For this we will need your willing consent. I need you to want it. You must do this of your own volition.”
Alcind nodded, looking up at the women.
“The first step,” Helga said. “Will be for you to get smaller. This will only work once you are smaller than you are now.”
William gripped the expensive tent fabric in one hand, biting his lip to keep quiet. The fool. He wouldn’t agree to this, would he? Had Patterland changed so much? William tried to will Alcind to come to his senses.
Alcind seemed to hesitate, proving he wasn’t completely brain-dead. “Smaller? But, I’m already smaller than I used to be in the old times my Lady.”
Patricia scoffed. “You’re not that small. You’re almost up to Jasmynth’s shoulders, which is far too big for a man of Femnoria, especially a stableboy,” she proclaimed.
Jasmynth nodded in agreement. “Yes, you really should be more willing to adapt yourself to our needs, to prove the loyalty you claim to harbour in your heart. If being a bit smaller will enable you to help us, to help Lady Helga, then why would you hesitate?” Jasmynth’s tone was pressing and insistent.
“Think of this as a kind of test of your willingness,” Helga said. “Show that you wish to help me with your faded royal heritage by first giving up a bit of your size to us.”
Patricia seemed to perk up a bit. “Oh Helga, you’ll share this?”
Helga nodded. “This part at least, not…the rest. The eventual linkage I plan is only possible with one sorceress.”
Jasmynth and Patricia nodded in understanding, as William racked his brain, trying to figure out what the three witches had in mind for Alcind.
“Well stableboy? Are you going to obey, or are you just another cowardly traitor to Femnoria?” Helga asked.
Alcind nodded quickly. William was angry, yet knew many men would choose similarly in this new regime. What grated him was the man’s fawning desire to please. Alcind did not even seem angry, just a bit worried about his own personal safety and the opinion of the women in authority who ruled his small existence. “I will do it. I meant what I said to you my Ladies,” said Alcind. “I guess…I can get a bit shorter.”
“That’s the spirit,” Helga said. She smiled slightly and placed her hands gently on Alcind’s shoulders, facing him. Helga’s chest curved out just above the small man’s eyeline and William noticed how he stared up at her enticing bust. Jasmynth and Patricia stepped closer behind the stableboy and placed one hand each on Helga’s hands, linking the four of them in a sort of ‘Y’ shape.
William wanted to step in, remembering Zeridda’s fate. But at least Zeridda has resisted! Alcind was willingly agreeing to the machinations of these power-hungry witches, letting them alter his body out of some desire to serve them, to serve Ursula’s cause. William wanted to scream at the absurdity of it all. His kingdom was in tatters and these women were stitching those tatters into a disturbing new tapestry, a new reality. What did they plan to do with the faint regal material they had identified in this stableboy? William had to know. He couldn’t look away.
Helga had begun to chant softly in the gloom of the tent. Soon, Jasmynth and Patricia joined her, matching her words in an eerie multi-voiced recitation. The words they used were ancient, unknown to William. Ursula had forbidden him from reading books written in the old tongues she had revived. She refused to let him read much at all in fact. His ear detected the weird cadences and whispery undertones of witchy incantations so common in the new Femnorian experience. In the dim light of the tent room beyond, William noticed a faint glow had begun to emanate from the layered hands of the women, like a sort of tracer of cool hued light where one would expect veins to run beneath their skin.
Alcind made a small noise of discomfort, or was it fear? But Helga only chanted more intensely. William tilted his head to look at her face better, taking a momentary risk out of curiosity. Ursula had shrunken men before his eyes with relative almost casual ease, showing her tremendous royal power. But these sorceresses were working much harder to affect the same change. Their lesser powers were relatively weaker than Ursula’s, for now. Perhaps it also had something to do with Alcind’s thin royal heritage.
Then he saw it. Alcind shuddered and moaned softly, but not in pleasure. His head was sinking in height gradually. William watched as the man’s brown mop of hair got lower in comparison to the three women around him. The veins of light along their hands were now brighter and running up their arms under their robes. Similar glowing veins had appeared creeping up Alcind’s neck from under his collar. A subtle pulse in the light, perhaps matching his own heartbeat, seemed to flow from Alcind into the arms of Helga, Jasmynth, and Patricia. It was a surreal, almost grotesque sight.
Helga arched her back slightly, never breaking her chant, and William could see her seem to suddenly swell. Moments later the same thing happened to the other two women, as they each began to swell up, growing slightly taller but also thicker and more voluptuous, filling out their robes more, and stretching the fine fabric in some spots. Alcind gasped, looking up at Helga. He was shaking his head, as if he was trying to back out of the ritual, but it was too late. Helga now towered over him completely, her comparatively huge breasts looming well above the small man’s head. Alcind’s eyelevel appeared to be only a bit higher than the likely location of Helga’s navel. Jasmynth and Patricia also loomed over him, their well-defined busts rising gradually past the level of his forehead as they expanded in thickness and form.
William silently stared in horror as Alcind squirmed against the hands of the three women. The stableboy’s mouth was opening and closing like some sort of fish struggling for oxygen, as he continued to diminish and shrink. The three witches pulled more and more of his size from Alcind, seizing it for themselves in an orgy of dark magical hunger. His clothes were growing visibly looser on his winnowing frame. Slowly the chanting began to fade until the room was quiet, except for the sound of Alcind’s whimpering moans. The glow was fading quickly from the arms of the women, less quickly from Alcind’s neck and face. In fact, luminescent veins had crept across almost his entire body, from what William could see. Their glow was reluctantly fading, but the residual light made him look inhuman, pulsing like some sort of lamp from within, as the women returned to a more normal complexion.
Most disturbing, was that Alcind was not just shorter; he was smaller, slimmer, and weaker looking. The stableboy had been rendered positively diminutive by the ritual he had consented to. The top of his head came up to the widest part of Helga’s hips, where her robe now stretched over her voluptuous curves. Jasmynth and Patricia’s nearly equal hourglass forms loomed behind, their hips level with Alcind’s narrow shoulders. The three women lifted their hands from his body. The very small stableboy teetered on his feet, looking like he might faint and William stared agog at the twisted sight before him. Helga was nearly Ursula’s size now, and William knew he would now have to face her in the near future at her new size. She would likely relish that encounter.
“So much better,” purred Helga, her sensual voice seeming to fill the space in the tent more fully.
Patricia laughed, arrogant undertones now fully expressed, her mouth wide open in unrestrained mirth.
“I feel so powerful,” Jasmynth sighed. “It was so hard to stop. I wanted more and more of him.”
“Mmm, yes. I know what you mean Jasmynth, but self-control is important. I have a much better future use in mind for him,” Helga replied.
Patricia bent over slightly, peering down at the disoriented stableboy. “Look at him. He’s so small and cute now. This is so much better,” she said.
Patricia snapped her fingers in front of Alcind’s face. “Pay attention, stableboy. Snap out of it.”
Helga reached out and gripped Alcind’s loose tunic, shaking him around gently and causing his pants to fall down to his ankles. The stableboy blinked and snapped out of his reverie, stumbling into Patricia’s pelvis and thighs. Alcind’s eyes were wide in shock as he stepped back quickly, trying to pull up his pants. He was visibly intimidated by the new reality that faced him. His head was turning quickly, as he looked from woman to woman. Helga left Alcind little time to process his new size. She stepped forward and put her hand on the back of his neck, wrapping her elegant fingers almost completely around it.
“You have done well, stableboy. You have pleased us with this first sign of loyalty,” Helga said. Alcind tried to turn his head to look back at Helga, but she tightened her fingers, holding his neck and head in position, controlling him. Helga’s expression shifted to one of ecstasy at this sensation, this new power over Alcind.
“You will find I have marked you,” she continued. “With an enchanted tattoo. It symbolizes our new connection, and your place as mine.” Helga emphasized the word ‘mine’ by shaking Alcind slightly by the neck. This caused his pants to drop again, but he was unable to bend down and pick them back up. Jasmynth snickered.
“Now, go to my chambers and wait for me. It is in the pavilion attached to the royal tents,” Helga commanded. Her free hand lifted and she pointed to a small entrance flap to the left of the common area. “I have war duties to attend to, but tonight we will proceed with the next steps of your new life in my service. Until then, I want you to wash my undergarments. You can find the materials you will need to do so outside my tent in a small carriage. If you do a poor job or damage them, I will make you far, far smaller than this. Do you understand Alcind?”
The stableboy tried to nod his head, which was enough to Helga, who smiled and then released her grip on his neck.
Alcind stepped forward tentatively like a young colt, slim and small, peering up in awe at the women around him. His mouth opened shyly.
“Don’t talk,” Jasmynth pre-empted him. “Just obey.”
That seemed to settle it, and William watched as the small man did as he was told, and pulled up his overly large pants, before slipping through the doors Helga had indicated. William realized that Alcind was actually smaller than he was himself now, by an inch or two, not that it was any consolation.
“Now, we need to prepare our initiates for the assault on James’ fortress,” Helga said. Her tone had suddenly shifted into one of business. “It would be unwise to underestimate his defenses. We know that James has had a great deal of time to dig in, and he has some experienced magi and warriors in his services. Just because they are smaller, does not mean they cannot construct lethal sorcery. While they may be dangerous to us, they could be very deadly to any of the younger sorceresses from the university.”
Jasmynth was visibly interested. “Ah, I have been wondering about that. As amazing as what just occurred was, I am very keen to understand what we may face in the coming days. I feel more confident than ever now to take these challenges on.”
Helga nodded, but Patricia still seemed rather distracted, and William noticed that her turquoise eyes were lingering on the doorway Alcind had taken out of the room.
Helga seemed to have seen this as well. “Come, why don’t we discuss this over food. We can visit the dining tents used by the younger sorceresses, and get to know some of them a bit better,” she said, stepping toward the exit.
Jasmynth pushed several tent layers to the side, exposing bright light from the outside world. William squinted at the sudden invasion of natural light and fresh air. One part of him longed to run for this exit, while another felt a strange fear of the scary world that now existed beyond, the world Ursula and her Sisters were hammering and coaxing into a new shape.
As the women stepped outside, William realized he was being given an opportunity. It was a dangerous one, but an opportunity never the less. It was now very rare that William was allowed to be in the presence of other men, and never alone. If he could speak to Alcind, perhaps the man could be spared a disturbing fate, or even used to help the resistance in some way. William stepped back from the tent flap into the safety of Ursula’s private chambers. For once, he ignored his own chilly discomfort, his mind racing with the possibilities. Was it worth risking his safety to do this?
William knew his sanity depended on trying something, anything. But he had to be very careful.