Date: Fri, 13 Nov 2015 21:48:17 -0500
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: A Mercenary's Life

                        A MERCENARY'S LIFE
                      By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
                  WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
     Bren stood panting heavily when the battle was done. The enemy was
fleeing, but the order had come not to pursue them, just stand where they
were, hold their ground. That suited Bren just fine, he didn't know if he
could have stood for much longer, much less chase a running foe. He looked
around, other peasants were falling down where they were, exhausted beyond
all measure, they lay among the wounded and dying until it was near
impossible to tell which were which. But Bren could still stand, and the
reason for that was beside him, the mercenary warrior Cuthet. He owed his
life to this mercenary, of that there was no doubt. But why him?
     Whatever his reason, Cuthet had picked Bren out from among the other
peasants the night before, while he'd been practicing at combat with the
rake. His father had taken the family's only weapon, a small spear, his
elder brother had seized the metal-bladed scythe, leaving Bren to select
only between the hoe and the rake, unless he chose to go and cut a long,
straight stick and use it as a stave. He'd taken the rake, as the hoe's
handle was old and he feared it would break, but was now debating the
wisdom of his choice as his friend Pell had been fending his strikes off
handily and landing several of his own with the stave Bren had
scorned. Then the heavy hand of Cuthet had come on his shoulder and he had
turned to look up several inches into the large, friendly blue eyes.
     "You're coming off the worse in this engagement, I see." Cuthet
said. "Your rake is hardly a fearsome weapon to wield."
     "I fear that is true." mourned Bren. "But with the battle on the
morrow, what else can I do but the best I can?"
     "Come with me. I have something you can use instead."
     Bren eagerly followed the huge warrior. Cuthet was several inches
taller than Bren's own five foot seven, with straight black hair that hung
down to a few inches above his shoulders. His body was well-fed and
powerfully muscled, brawny with copious black hair on his bare forearms and
peering out of the neck of his shirt.
     Back at Cuthet's tent, Bren saw the mercenary's possessions and gazed
upon them in undisguised envy. Unlike Bren who wore only the cotton and
woolen clothing that were all he had, Cuthet was outfitted with all a
warrior needed to keep his body safe while he fought, a helmet, a sword, a
shield, a breastplate, even thigh and shin guards. And Cuthet reached into
this wealth and pulled out a dagger, but a dagger that was nearly a foot
long, with a large handle. "Here." He said, handing the dagger to
Bren. "This will save your life. And stand behind and to one side of me
when the battle begins, you can dart out from behind me and lash at the foe
and then retire behind me when the combat becomes too fierce."
     Bren gazed gratefully at this, his mentor.
     "You'll need to practice with that." Cuthet told him as he scooped up
his own sword and shield. "Come, let's to the nearest fire and we'll give
you the feel for this dagger of yours."
     He and Bren fought for a half hour, and Bren found his body learning
the way of this smaller blade quickly. Soon he even fetched a slight wound
on Cuthet's forearm and while Cuthet winced at the strike, he grinned and
said, "And now you're worthy to serve as my battle partner. I'll knock them
down and you finish them off, eh?"
     "Of a certainty." Bren agreed.
     "Then let's have dinner and then to bed." Cuthet told him. "The battle
will come all too early in the morning, you will see."
     Bren shared the food and determined that if Cuthet offered him only a
spot beside him in Cuthet's own bedroll, he would get into it and let what
happen, happen. His very life was in this man's hand, and he deserved
whatever recompense Cuthet would request of him.
     But Cuthet gave him a blanket and he was left to make his own bedding
of it, near Cuthet but not with him, next to the now-dying fire.
     Horns had awakened him the next morning, a hasty breakfast of bread,
and it was off to the battle.
     Now the battle was done. Bren and Cuthet had brought down more than a
dozen of the enemy soldiers, seven were serfs of one of the lords and
little opposition. Cuthet would cut the man heavily and the man would fall
and Bren could dart around and give the fellow serf a quick death. But once
these shock troops had been spent, the lord's own guards had faced them,
and it was dicier. Bren had to actually fight one of the soldiers while
Cuthet dealt with two more, but then Cuthet turned to the one Bren was
dodging desperately and cut him down. Bren then was able to finish him off
and actually helped distract the other soldiers enough to let Cuthet
complete the job.
     So now he felt a true warrior, as he limped wearily back to the tent
with Cuthet. "We had a good battle, didn't we, Bren?" Cuthet said, laying a
hearty backslap to Bren. Bren would have fallen had that hand not
immediately come up and encircled his shoulders.
     "Yes, we did." Bren agreed. "My Lord will be pleased."
     "I hope enough to finish paying me what he owes, at least." Cuthet
agreed, laughing. "Lords have been known to develop amnesia about such
things when the battle is done."
     "I shall remind him as needed." Bren said. "For I owe you my life
today, I am certain."
     "We saved each other's lives, you mean." Cuthet told him and the arm
around Bren's shoulders drew him closer. "Come back to my fire and we shall
celebrate our victory there together."
     Bren joined Cuthet and his fellow mercenaries about the fire. They
welcomed him as one of their own, and the food (real meat, not gruel and
turnips) and ale flowed freely. Bren ate and drank and felt like a man, a
real man, for the first time in his life. The life of a serf is sorely
circumscribed and joyless, it is existence and nothing more. The Lord had
denied him the right to marry, only his elder brother would be given that
right some day. For him was only the labor in the fields and a place at his
brother's table and having to be gracious and grateful for every bite he
took despite his work in the fields. But here...tonight...he felt like a
free man, and knew it for the heady mixture it was!
     He was woozy when Cuthet, wearing now only a pair of black trousers
and white loose shirt showing a thick mat of black chest hair between his
ample breasts, stood over him and reach out both his hands to Bren. Bren
reached for them, missed, and Cuthet laughed, caught Bren's flailing hands
and lifted him to his feet. "Come back to my tent." Cuthet said softly to
him.
     Bren happily went with him. The tent was ample sized, and now he saw
the bedroll of Cuthet was laid out along one side, his possessions shoved
over to the other.
     He happily laid down on the bedroll as Cuthet guided him there. He lay
there, grinning foolishly, as Cuthet, smiling amiably, manhandled Bren's
clothing off of him until he was naked as he had been on the day of his
birth. Cuthet then stood and, standing on first one foot then the other,
levered off his boots. His shirt was next, baring the broad, hairy chest
and showing the massive pectorals, the huge shelf of his breasts, the rows
of abdominal muscles below it. Then Cuthet's hands went to his trousers and
he undid them and slid them down his waist, Bren seeing with bemusement
that he wore no undergarments beneath it. Well, that hadn't been what he'd
been wearing in the battle anyway. He'd dressed for the victory party and
now was undressing, for Bren.
     Cuthet's manhood was revealed as a large pale arc of flesh in the mass
of his pubic hair, nestled like a swan in the reeds, head tucked down. Poor
little swan! Bren smiled and sat up as Cuthet approached him, and he
grasped the long flap of dong in one greedy hand.
     Cuthet gasped and crouched down, and as he did, his cock grew and
stiffened in Bren's grip. Bren feasted his eyes upon the growing organ as
Cuthet moved from a squat into a kneeling position, and now he was right up
next to Bren, his knees on the bedroll, and Bren only had to move his head
several inches in order to capture that man-meat in his lips and suck the
now-turgid prick into his mouth.
     Cuthet let out a large sigh and threw his head back, his hair tossing
carelessly away from his lust-softened face. As Bren moved back and forth
upon the warrior's thick, uncut dong, Cuthet lowered his face again and,
his lips parted and eyes liquid soft and nostrils flaring, he looked down
at Bren and then one powerful arm reached out and found Bren's erect cock,
grasped the slender but long prong, and the battle-calloused fingers
stroked him in grateful redress for Bren's ministrations.
     Bren grunted as he slurped on the majestic dong and Cuthet's groans
soon overcame the valiant battle-hero, and he bent over and one knee lifted
and the other pivoted, and he was soon on top of Bren's body, his knees on
either side of Bren's head and Cuthet's own face was at Bren's tall organ,
and Cuthet's warm mouth enclosed and engulfed Bren's manhood, and as Bren
felt the heat of Cuthet's saliva washing over him, he groaned and his own
actions sped up on Cuthet's own glory.
     Cuthet became a demon on Bren's organ, he was grunting in deep, animal
sounds as he moved in strong, potent motions that wrung every ounce of
pleasure out of Bren's body, and Bren plied every ounce of his
peasant-farmer energy into milking Cuthet's prong.
     Cuthet's moans increased and he pounded his face at Bren's rod as he
built in his climax. And when his energetic thrusts of his face onto and
off of Bren was at its height, Cuthet gave out a single, guttural roar and
he ejaculated heavily down into Bren's mouth.
     Bren grunted, choked, and began to gulp at the hot white feast of
Cuthet's orgasm, and then he thrust his own crotch up into Cuthet's moaning
mouth and he sprayed his own love-juices up into Cuthet's own body. And
Cuthet gripped and blew his breaths noisily out of his nostrils only, as he
caught and held Bren's joy-fluid until his own climax released him, then he
gave a hard sucking gulp and swallowed the copious spunk that filled his
mouth to the brim.
     As the two men sucked the last dregs of their male nectar from each
other's cocks, there was only the sound of their panting breaths within the
tent. The sounds from outside had diminished. From a further distance, Bren
could hear the men celebrating still, the action had merely moved away from
them. That pleased him well enough.
     "You did very well in the battle." Cuthet told him as he moved around
and settled down beside Bren. Bren happily snuggled into the warm arms that
encircled him.
     "I never thought I'd want a war to continue, but if it would let us
stay together, I would wish it."
     "So would I, because it would mean I would continue to get paid."
Cuthet agreed. "But the Lord paid us for this one battle. I am told it
means that the two Lords agreed to let the one day's combat decide the
issue, whatever it was that caused them to fight...."
     "They battled over the rights to a piece of land between their two
fiefdoms." Bren supplied.
     "Yes." Cuthet said after a pace. "So men lie dead and I gain a few
gold pieces in my pouch, all for the piece of land. And now I must leave
and find another place where my skills will be put to use."
     "And I must return to the land, for the harvest will be ready very
soon." Bren mourned.
     "Could you not come with me instead?" Cuthet asked him.
     "Would that I could." Bren said. "But my Lord would require recompense
for the loss of one of his serfs. The Lord would want twenty pieces of gold
to set me free. I had hoped when younger to raise the money for myself and
buy my freedom, but I cannot see that day ever coming to me."
     "Then give me this night." Cuthet said.
     "Aye, and gladly." Bren agreed.
     They slept, then roused to love, and slept and roused to love
again. Bren gave his manly virginity to Cuthet's passionate embrace, and
accepted Cuthet's own more experienced anus at their next embrace. Dawn
came slowly but inexorably, and with it came the time for them to part.
     Bren went with the other serfs to stand in a line, for the Lord had
promised to reward them all if they carried the battle for him. He heard
the grumbles at their bounty, for the Lord was paying the serfs each a mere
twelve coppers for their blood and scars. And how many families would no
longer have a man at their tables because of this battle and no coppers
either. Still, his brother and father had both survived, and Bren cheered
up at this much of a prospect, a widowed farmwife would need a husband to
tend her fields, he may yet get permission to marry.
     And then his turn at the end of the line came up and the Lord looked
up at Bren. "Ah, young Bren, son of Sech, are you not?"
     "I am." Bren replied.
     "For you, I give you...your freedom."
     "My freedom?" Bren answered numbly.
     "Not by my hand, but another has paid your serf's fee. So I grant you
your freedom and may you travel and fare well in this world without a fief
of your own."
     "But who paid...?" And Bren saw Cuthet stepping up to
him. "Ah. Yes. Thank you, my Lord, and I accept my freedom with gratitude."
     And Bren walked away with Cuthet and when out of earshot of the
others, asked, "How did you raise the fee? Did the Lord pay you that much
for the battle?"
     "Not by half." Cuthet said ruefully. "But my troop all chipped in, and
we raised the sum. We hope you will join us on our travels."
     "Of a certainty I will." Bren said eagerly. "But why did your friends
pay from their own pockets for this, if I may ask?"
     "Of course you may." Cuthet said. "Where do you think mercenaries come
from? We scout every battle for some likely young lad to add to our ranks,
it is an investment in our troop's future to keep up our battle
strength. So when we find one, everyone contributes to buy his freedom. A
mercenary lives a hard life, but your days will be filled with adventure if
you choose to join us."
     "And my nights will no longer be lonely, I hope." Bren added.
     "Of a certainty, nor will mine from now on." Cuthet agreed.
     "Then a mercenary's life is the one for me." And together, Bren and
Cuthet walked off into their future.
                             THE END
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