Author Archives: Ther Renard

Ayla PT 2: Ready For Her Worst

Ayla shook her head curtly and pulled the hood high over her face so that it was hidden in shadow. “I don’t want your help, Ariadne.”

The goddess bristled with irritation and a trail of cold frost appeared on the ground between them. “I’m not asking if I can help you. I am telling you that this rampage is at an end. So far nobody has been harmed, but that is more a matter of luck than any caution on your part.”

“You cannot stop me.”

“As I said, I will not stop you. I will not contain you. I lack the long term interest and perhaps, the sensitivity. I am not a redeemer. I know myself well enough.” Ariadne curled her fingers in the air and mist rose from her fingertips. “I know you well enough too. I have known you from the beginning, and I have seen this descent coming. You will not be allowed to inflict the pain you carry on the world about you, Ayla.”
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Ayla PT 1: Reckoning

Ayla was burning. Had been burning for a very long time, but now the flames were made visible, roiling on her flesh of her palms as she strode through dusky woods. Behind her the remains of a smoldering village glowed like a hot coal on the horizon.

She was wrapped in a heavy gray cloak, hood up, head down as she waded through the ashy wood. She did not look like the famous witch who had once been known for endless acts of good and mercy. She looked like a tall specter of anger and flame, moving through a world which was slowly charring around her.

All was not well with Ayla. And all was not well with Lesbia.
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The Warrior’s Heart

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Famous Last Words

Clippety clop… clip, clip, clop.. squeeeaaakkk… clippety clop….

Princess Nive watched the world go by to the backdrop of the sounds of her carriage. There was a soft smile on her face as she saw the lands in which she had always lived slide by for what was likely the last time. Her life was about to begin anew with a marriage to a far-off prince, and though she was not excited about the prince, the prospect of travel was very exciting. Nive had been born in a small kingdom at the corner of a great continent. In her father’s castle she had been protected from the world at large, but unable to fully experience it either. She was only three hours into the journey, and already she was seeing landscapes she had never seen before rising in the distance, mountains and planes and forests all of which she could not wait to see as they passed on by.

The horses were making good time through these enchanting new lands until she heard a shout from the riders ahead, and then she felt her carriage slow amid a bunch of shouting, then speed up again rather sharply, fast enough that she found herself thrown back against the cushioned seats. After emitting a little scream, she stuck her head out the window and demanded to know what was happening.

“There’s somebody in the road ahead,” her guard said from his perch atop the carriage. “We’re going to go through her. It looks like it could be an ambush.”

“Her? There is a her on the road?”

“Yes, your majesty. An armed woman.”

“An armed woman?” Nive’s curiosity was aroused. “I think we should stop.”

“We cannot stop.”

“She’s just a woman! How dangerous could she possibly be?”

Chapter One

“Why are you sulking?” The toe of a dusty boot met the rump of the prisoner with relative gentleness, a nudge more than a kick.

Furious violet tinged blue eyes blazed up at the warrior in response to the stimulation of the captive’s half-covered posterior. That morning, several maidservants had painstakingly dressed Princess Nive in her best finery before she was conducted to her carriage. She was no longer wearing any of it. Upon capture she had been stripped of everything. The warrior had cut away her gown while she screamed in rage and taken every ring, necklace and jewel on her person. Now she sat in the corner of a strange room clothed in a short linen tunic and bound securely with leather straps at her ankles and wrists.

The princess was a stocky young woman with thick thighs, a powerful waist and dainty arms. Her hair was pale blonde, almost white, curling around her shoulders. She was pretty, but in that moment her face was screwed up with fierce rage which made her very unpretty.

“Die,” she hissed, flashing white teeth at her captor.

The warrior Kira laughed, a hearty, genuinely amused sound. She stood tall and broad, defying the passing of ages against all reason. Unlike her scantily clad captive, she wore full leather, her long powerful legs clad in black leggings, her upper body in a form fitting vest and matching gauntlets. Her black hair was plaited and wound around her head, her dark almond eyes focused with undeniable pleasure on her pale captive who spat so angrily and yet was so very helpless.

“This is an honor, you know,” she said with a slow smile. “Tell me your name.”

“I will tell you my name when you draw your last breath.”

“I have been attempting to draw my last breath for the better part of five hundred years,” Kira said, crouching down to inspect her prize more closely. She ran her fingers through the young woman’s blonde curls, gazed at the light dash of freckles which danced across her otherwise pale nose and cheeks. She was very pretty, appealing in a functional, furious sort of way.

“You’re a liar.”

“I so very wish I was, my dear. Now, tell me your name.”

“You know my name,” the prisoner growled.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Those eyes narrowed at her again. “Nive,” the prisoner said. “Princess Nive.”

“Well, Nive,” Kira said. “I have plans for you. If you can be a good girl, I might even untie you at some point.”

“You killed my escort,” Nive replied, a flush of emotion bringing color to her face.

“They killed themselves,” Kira replied, her dark eyes growing cold. “I told them to stand aside.”

“You killed them,” Nive repeated. “And I will kill you.”

“We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” Kira said calmly. “You’ll soon see that I have done you a significant favor.”

“You have done me no favor at all! I was to be married.”

“Marriage is highly overrated,” Kira said, rising smoothly to a standing position. She glanced out of the window, noting the setting of the sun. The country inn where she and her captive were staying was remote, but she was expecting a guest very soon.

Nive shuffled around to glare at her. “You are a thief and a murderer,” she said. “My father will have you hunted down. You will hang for this, if you are lucky. I think you will not be lucky. I will ask for your innards to be bared to the sky, feasted upon by birds…”

Kira cast a casual glance over at the bristling young woman. “You have a vicious mind,” she noted. “You would be wasted on marriage.”

Nive let out a string of curses which threatened to turn the air blue, her anger very much getting the better of her until Kira took hold of her, picked her up around the waist, and tossed her onto the bed face down. She flipped Nive’s tunic up to reveal a pleasantly fleshy rear upon which she laid no fewer than a dozen hard slaps of her palm.

“You will speak respectfully to me,” she said in pleasant, conversational tones while beneath her, Nive squirmed and cursed. “If you do not, I will have my way with your rear and any other part of you I find appealing.”

She emphasized her point by slapping Nive’s bottom again and sliding her hand low to cup the fine blonde down between her prisoner’s thighs. Nive let out a surprised squeak and became immediately still.

“Ah,” Kira purred. “Like that, do you”

“No,” Nive growled into the blankets. “Never!”

Kira pressed her hand more firmly against the young woman’s mound. There was a distinct line of moisture against her palm which told her everything she needed to know about her reluctant captive’s disposition.

Nive lay very still, her breath coming in short little excited gasps. She was subdued for the moment at least and Kira slid her palm away, noting that it took a moment for Nive to close her thighs.

“In my experience, never is always right around the corner,” she said, laying another swat to Nive’s bottom. “Sit up, if you can, I think our visitor has arrived.”


As well as being rather frightened, Nive was also thoroughly annoyed. Having her journey waylaid and her escort killed was galling and disrespectful. She hadn’t known any of the men, of course. The escort was a gift from the prince of Iskendar, but still. It was not pleasant seeing their demise, nor did she feel comfortable in the presence of the woman who caused it.

It was all completely maddening, she thought as she scrambled upright, her rear stinging from the application of the warrior’s palm. Merciful treatment, she supposed given what the woman was capable of.

Still, being captured was part of the lot of being a princess. Nive had been briefed on the possibility by the Iskendari envoy before her departure. There was every chance that this warrior with the hard hand and skilful fingers would be captured and bought to justice in very short order. All Nive had to do was what came naturally to her: behave in a manner befitting royalty.

The short tunic was nothing like her fine clothes had been, but she was determined to look graceful regardless. Even bound, it was possible to take up a modest position by kneeling on the bed. It did lead to her spanked bottom pressing against the backs of her calves, but that was better than being raw and exposed.

Just as Nive settled herself, steps outside the door heralded the arrival of the warrior’s visitor. The handle turned, the door opened and Nive’s breath caught in her throat. A very tall, very voluptuous blonde woman entered the room. She was wearing robes of green silk which put Nive’s previous clothing to shame.

The newcomer had an aura of majesty and refinement about her which made Nive’s eyes widen as she beheld what must surely have been a queen. When the great woman turned toward her and cast a wide, intelligent and above all, kind gaze on her, Nive almost forgot that she was captured and bound.

“Hello, Nive,” the woman said in richly accented tones which Nive had heard on the tongues of some of the oldest courtiers. “My name is Ayla. I apologize for the method of your capture. Unfortunately it could not have been avoided.”

“I am sure it could not,” Nive said. She attempted a curtsey but owing to her bound limbs, succeeded only in tipping herself onto her face.

She felt the warrior on one side and the royal lady on the other, two sets of hands helping her to right herself. At the warrior, she scowled. To the royal lady, she smiled.

“They always prefer you,” the warrior snorted.

“That is because you frighten young ladies, Kira. All these years and you have not learned to temper your approach with a little softness.”

“She is frightful in many ways,” Nive agreed. “It does not bear repeating what she did to my escort. Or what she has done to my person. A brute to the core.” She shot a triumphant look at the warrior named Kira. A full report to what surely must be the warrior’s employer would soon see her in trouble.

Ayla’s beautiful features assumed an expression of amusement as she looked between Nive and Kira. “I will grant you,” she said. “There does seem to be something of a pattern with these young summoners.”

“If you would just have me untied,” Nive said. “It’s most unnecessary. I am of royal blood you see, and…”

“Actually, you’re a distant near descendant of a peasant,” Kira cut in abruptly.

Nive drew herself up haughtily. “I will have you horse whipped when you are arrested,” she threatened grimly. “You are an insupportable wretch who does not know her place.”

The warrior’s dark eyes narrowed, the muscles in her not inconsiderable arms twitched and Nive felt her bottom flush hot beneath her tunic. Perhaps she was speaking a little too rashly. Or perhaps it was the hot rash on her rear which compelled her to speak a little less. Either way she fell silent under Kira’s hard stare. For approximately three seconds.

“She stole my clothes, you know,” Nive said, her grievances not close to being at an end. “And my jewels.”

“That is because a young lady in finery is rather distinctive,” Ayla explained. “We prefer to operate more discreetly, you understand.”

“I am never discreet. I am a princess!” Nive declared proudly.

“You’re much more than that,” Ayla replied. “But we have time to discuss all that later. For now, we must move.”

“Yes, because my father’s men are coming for you, and the forces of Iskendar too, I bet. There will be hundreds looking for you, dozens of patrols, each armed to the teeth.” Nive directed a smug gaze at Kira. “I will enjoy watching you be captured.”

Kira did not answer. She took a length of leather and advanced upon the pretty princess. Nive stood, or rather, knelt her ground, refusing to show fear. She no doubt thought she was being brave, but her stillness played into Kira’s plans perfectly. As she drew closer, Kira stretched the leather out between her fists and pressed it toward Nive’s mouth.

“What… mmpphh!” The would-be princess was neatly and swiftly gagged by the warrior, who knotted the leather behind Nive’s head, leaving Nive staring daggers.

“Do you have the carriage?”

“It is waiting outside,” Ayla confirmed.

“Good. I am almost certain trackers will be here in a matter of hours.”

“Mnngmhph mhff nnng!” What Nive said was lost to posterity, but both Ayla and Kira could more or less guess at the gist of it.

Kira grabbed Nive and hauled the squirming princess over her shoulder. Kicking and squealing muffled threats, Nive was carried out of the little roadside inn, her feminine frame quite helpless in Kira’s muscular grasp.

The Warrior’s Captive, PT 9: Witches and Canes

Giggling from inside the carriage bought a temporary halt to Ayla and Kira’s serious conversation.

“Is Hope equal to the task of guarding the princess?” Ayla mused aloud.

“As long as the carriage keeps moving at a decent speed, yes,” Kira replied. “I doubt the blonde will risk the jump.”

A fresh burst of laughter from the interior made Kira’s stern demeanor crack slightly. “I barely remember what it was like to be that young, that happy. One’s wounded, one’s been kidnapped and yet neither of them care. The young feel no sorrow.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Ayla said. “Besides, you are not as old as you think you are. You’re still a sapling my by reckoning.”

“Well nobody is as old as you,” Kira said, her lips twisting into a broader, teasing smile. Her dark eyes danced with amusement. “I’m not sure how you get around without a cane.”

“I use my cane for things besides walking,” Ayla said, her tone suggestive of trouble for the warrior if her teasing were to continue. Continue reading

The Warrior’s Captive, PT 8: Responsibilities And Silly Princesses

“Kira, we should speak of this matter,” Ayla interjected gently, distracting Kira and her ire. “Let Hope drive. You and I will converse in the carriage.”

“With the princess listening to every word? No,” Kira refused adamantly. “You want to put a scout in charge of our fate, with two armies bearing down on us? I think not. I will keep the reins. You may ride up front with me. Hope will ride with the princess. Hope, ensure that she does not escape.”

Hope seemed eager enough to escape Kira and her rapidly multiplying punishments and quickly disappeared into the interior of the carriage. Ayla hiked up her skirts and Kira assisted her up onto the driver’s seat. Continue reading

The Warrior’s Captive, PT 7: Exponential Trouble

After easing the princess out of her cleavage, Ayla turned her attention to the reason for the sudden halt. There was no obvious sound from the exterior of the carriage, but that didn’t mean all was well. She waited for long moments, but eventually curiosity required her to put her head out of one of the shuttered windows. She saw nothing. Nothing at all.


Hope leaned down from the driver’s seat. “Kira’s having a turn, I think.”

Frowning with concern, Ayla disembarked the carriage. Hope’s assessment seemed accurate at first glance. Kira was staring at the road in front of them with a fixated expression.
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The Warrior’s Captive, PT 6: A Queen Like Ayla

Once Hope had departed the interior of the carriage, Ayla reached out and removed the gag from Nive’s mouth.

“I don’t think this is necessary,” she said kindly. “Once more, I must say how sorry I am you’ve been through such a traumatic experience. If it were possible to have conducted affairs more gently, we would have done so.”

Nive squirmed around to a seated position and gave Ayla her best expression of princessly refinement. “How much ransom will you be asking for?”

“No ransom,” Ayla replied. “We are not interested in returning to your father, or Iskendar for that matter.”

Nive frowned. “What use have you for a princess?”

“Fairly little,” Ayla confessed. “None, in fact.”
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