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Author's note: Hi everyone. Sorry this took so long. I had writer's block so bad it felt like a brick wall! Anyway... now it's finally up, the third part of the Conqueror's Saga! *Cheering crowds* So I'm going to skip the usual legal jargon: it's all mine, yada, yada, yada. Any use of my stuff will result in absolutely nothing.

This story is dedicated to my wonderful Shadow.

Oh, and to any artists out there: I would like to commission a drawing or something for the Conqueror's Saga. I don't have any money, but I'll happily do a writing commission in return!

Many Thanks,

Syris

XXX

Friends are a rarity

I make many enemies

I slaughter those before me

And for that I am loathed

Love is a pastime

Which I cannot afford

But I'm afraid of losing him...

'Fenrir?' His paw felt limp in both my claws. His breathing was ragged. Oh Gods, was he dying? He couldn't, he mustn't. I would not allow it! Without Fenrir I don't know where I'd be. He'd been my first follower, the most loyal, a paragon of fealty and honour. He was the closest thing I had to a friend. And now his life was flickering like a dying candle, all because of some arrogant princeling. My blood would have burned with rage, had I not been consumed my a different emotion.

Fear.

Yes, I, Xethrall, the Blood Dragon of the South, who feared no creature, was scared. The thought of losing Fenrir was... inconceivable. He'd been with me from the start and I'd always imagined he'd be with me at the end. When I ruled this momentary globe, he'd be there at my right hand side. But now...

The doctor rose from inspecting the wound. His long ears twitched as he placed one digit to his mouth in contemplation. The silence was killing me: I felt like one of the leather straps of my trebuchets. Stretched to the point of breaking.

'Well?' I snapped. 'Will he survive?'

'It's difficult to say,' the Rabbit replied. 'The bleeding has stopped and the wound has closed over, but there is a chance of infection. I can't tell with these tools.' He gestured to the surgical instruments that lined the interior of the medical caravan.

I stayed silence, breathing slow and heavy. I was no medic, but I knew that infection was bad. An arm or a leg could be amputated, but a shoulder would spell death. 'I want you to do everything in your powers to save him.'

'But my lord, there's little else I can do.'

'Do something, anything.' My voice was low. Deadly. 'Or else it's stew for the army tonight, and you'll be the main ingredient.' Upon that final threat I spun and dropped out of the caravan. After the ambush the army had paused for the rest of the day to recover. I leant against the side of the caravan and watched as the wounded we placed on canvas stretchers and taken away for triage. The air was filled with the scent of blood and the moans of those suffering. Usual that gets me up in a fractured second, but today was different.

Today it was my men. I'd fallen for a cheap trick, and it had almost worked. I was wounded and easy prey for another army. For all I knew, Dorian was keeping quiet about a larger army that was approaching. Perhaps, I thought as I made my way over to my carriage, Dorian intended to lose merely to distract me from a greater threat. I must ask him, I decided, with all the persuasion I had at my disposal.

It seemed, I noted as I reached the carriage, that my men were already employing their own brand of persuasion. It had been three hours since I'd invited all and sundry to make use of the 'Prince', but I still found a trio having their way with him. Even in the depths of my misery, the broken and abused Dorian brought a tight, sadistic smile to my muzzle. His fur, already white, was now matted with that creamy colour reserved especially for cum. The black stripes dotting his chest, back and limbs were completely lost in the crust jizm of my men. His face, however, was just the icing on the cake. It was truly the face of a shattered man, a man who had gambled all and lost all. His eyes, half closed from tiredness but kept open by pain, were bloodshot from the tears. Of humiliation or agony, I didn't know. Probably both. I was pleased to note, as per my orders, he had not been harmed.

I didn't need to ask him any more. His face gave it all away. He'd lost, his master plan had failed and now he was alone in the world. Not that it mattered whether I knew or not, the idea in my head was too good to waste. Besides, there were still a few things I was curious about.

I recognised the three fucking him. Sarreth, Melial and Fawrn, if I was correct. Good fighters: loyal, brave and bloodthirsty. Sarreth, a Bull of no small size, was rapidly humping Dorian's ass while the other two goaded him on. 'Come on Sarreth, give him a good pounding!'

'Bang that son of a bitch into next week!'

'Fill his ass!'

'Actually,' I said coolly, reaching them, 'I have a better idea. Sarreth, are you close?'

'Pretty damn close, my lord. The bastard's still tight, even after a few rounds. The cum doesn't help.' I tilted my head to the side quizzically, wondering what he meant. Looking down at Dorian's ass, I quickly realised. His hole was caked in dried cum and, as I watched Sarreth ram his meat in and out (a quite impressive cock, which I noted for later) it struck me that it must be quite a rough job. I admired Sarreth for his determination. Perhaps some sort of medal was in order.

I watched him for a moment, feeling the first, tiniest hints of arousal around my member. His length, as long as my arm but considerably thinner, shamefully battered Dorian. Sarreth's rough treatment didn't help either. He'd pull out completely, the tip of his member hovering against Dorian's quivering sphincter, before pushing right to the hilt in a fraction of a second. Dorian grunted every time the length invaded his body and I thought I could see the vaguest of bulges as Sarreth's cock seemed to penetrate as far as Dorian's stomach.

As Sarreth drew out, I acted. My hand shot forward and grabbed the base of his cock, not hard enough to cause any major pain, but certainly hard enough to make sure he didn't cum. Some pre, however, did leak out and coat the back of my claw. Thick and cloudy white, the pre of someone who hadn't come in a long time. As my fingers tightened, Sarreth hissed in a mixture of surprise and foreign pleasure. He shot me a look that, at any other time, I would have had him killed for impudence. This one time I'd humour him.

With my free hand I grabbed Dorian by his head fur and twisted his neck back to face me and Sarreth's dick. 'Alright Dorian, I have a few questions for you.'

By means of a reply, Dorian spat in my face. A single, thoroughly unpleasant globule of saliva that rolled down my right cheek until it was picked up by my tongue. 'Hmm, salty... You must have been crying a fair amount, Prince. Is it really such a horrible thing, having your tail hole stretched and your ass filled?'

'I don't cry for that. I cry for the burning shame of my failure, for the fact that I shall never avenge my father.'

'Yes, speaking of him... As I recall, when I assaulted your city I put every able bodied man to the sword. How did you manage to raise your pitiful excuse from an army?'

'I'll never tell. You'll have to kill me.'

'Don't think you're getting away that easily,' I sighed in mock pity. 'Death is always the easy escape. We are dealing in humiliation, and my offer is simple: tell me what I want to know, and you will have your precious death. Withhold information, and I shall make your life such an unbearable misery that you will have to retreat into the deepest recess of your mind to escape the shame. Understand?'

There was a pause, then the inevitable, 'yes.'

'Good. My first question still stands: who supplied you with men.'

'Gallante. Gallante gave me the force.'

I let out a gleeful laugh. Gallante had finally found the balls to take me on! I'd been waiting for an excuse to tackle the strongest nation in the North for almost two years. The bandit clans would love this: the opportunity to sack the City of Golden Spires. This was my excuse, this was the catalyst for my final victory.

'So Gallante provided you with a portion of its army. You therefore must be aware of their forces. Tell me their numbers, their deployment. Everything.'

'I don't know.'

'Liar.'

'I really don't.'

'Tell me!'

'I don't know!'

I jammed my free hand into Dorian's mouth and prised open his jaw. Releasing Sarreth's member, he grunted as a wave of pent up Bull cum burst forth. It hit my intended target: right down Dorian's as yet untouched throat. The princeling was taken by complete surprise and it was only after the first few seconds that his throat closed up and he began to cough and hack, spilling cum out all over his lower face. I took a brief moment to admire my handiwork with the critical eye of an artist. In my own, twisted way, it was art: the cloudy cream of Sarreth's cum dribbling down the side of Dorian's mouth in start contrast to his dirty grey face.

'I am rarely one to stick to his promises, but tonight I shall do just that. Your life will become a torment and every minute of every day you will beg for death. I look forward to it.'

I turned and departed. Frustration mixed with a certain delight at what little information I'd squeezed out. The battle ahead would be beautiful: a masterpiece of cold steel, warm blood and black, black rage. I had never been closer to my final goal: Gallante would fall and the other countries would be thrown into pandemonium. Without their 'all-powerful' guardian their choice would be simple: obey the new ruler of the world or face oblivion.

The thought sat well with me and, despite the horrible situation Fenrir was in, I found myself smiling grimly. My mood was ruined, however, when Dorian threw his parting shot. 'You'll never topple Gallante, never! Especially without your mongrel excuse for a commander!'

That did it. What little self control I possessed shattered into a myriad of crystal shards. Wheeling around, I threw my head back and inhaled deeply. I could feel my internal glands already producing the fiery gas and my throat burned as I released a blazing fireball. Jet black, tinged with streaks of red and purple. It struck Dorian in the side and made my three soldiers back away in fear. He howled as the liquid fire spread across his entire body and his fur turned to ash. It brought me no satisfaction, however. Not even when the fire became starved and flickered out, leaving only a charred husk, did I feel any solace. I'd developed a weakness and hated myself for that as much as I hated Dorian for realising.

XXX

Five years ago Fenrir found me. I'd been wandering as an exile from my own kingdom, expelled by my own parents, and his bandit troop had taken me in. I'd started as nothing more than a lowly grunt. My heritage had meant nothing. Merit was based on skill, ruthlessness and cunning. I displayed all three in copious amounts. Eventually I was the one giving orders. Fenrir never seemed to mind, he realised that I was a superior tactician and an unstoppable warrior. He willingly committed himself to my cause. From a ragtag team of criminals I formed the makings of my own army. We raided villages for supplies and eventually grew bold enough to capture our first town. An offer was made to the inhabitants: join or die. An amazingly simple offer when one thinks about it: life or death. At first I expected most to go down it that horrible blaze of heroic self sacrifice, but it seemed self preservation was far more dominant. My army trebled after that first attack. From there, it only increased as more and more cities fell under my sway.

Eventually my original dream was fulfilled. After two years I was strong enough to march against my own kingdom. Vengeance was swift and ugly. No compassion was called and every member of my family save one was slaughtered. The one that got away still eludes me, but he is of little concern to me.

For all my time as Conqueror, I've been helped by Fenrir. My tutor in the ways of deception and trickery, I owe his my life a thousand times over. The least I can do to repay him is make sure he sees our plan completed.

XXX

Gallante would be difficult. I had no doubt about that. I would need to be at my best. Already negotiators were signing accords with the remaining neutral bandit clans and my army was increasing in strength twofold. I'd lived my life hearing rumours of Gallante's Warrior-King, the legendary Vaulter, and I knew that it would come down to single combat. Me and him. Win or lose. Domination or destruction.

I wouldn't lose.

I spent almost every waking moment in training. I would fight for seven hours straight, without breaks, against all who dared to try me. Sometimes it would be fifteen at a time, others it would be me against one of my stronger soldiers. They all yielded in time. Only Fenrir would have been able to give me a proper challenge.

When I wasn't training I sat in the caravan with Fenrir. By whatever powers that overlook our lives he had been spared from death. His wound was healing, but he wouldn't be wielding anything in his right hand for some time. Ever the soldier, Fenrir commented that he was more than proficient with his left. That's the first time I can remember smiling truly. No mask of macabre pleasure, it was a warm, glowing beam that made me think that there might be more to my life than war. I shook off such a strange concept, but the smile Fenrir gave in return tugged something inside me.

The night before we marched to Gallante, I was training. The sun was setting on the horizon, making me think of the blood that would soon flow, when he arrived in the sparring ring. Fenrir, garbed in his comfortingly familiar black armour and battered cloak, stood just within the painted white circle with a sword in his hand.

'Your swing is still too wide,' he commented, surveying the wicker dummies arranged around me. 'Control your sword, and aim higher. The neckline makes for a far more effective kill.'

'You're one to talk,' I growled in good natured before decapitating one of the dummies. 'But perhaps you might be making some sense,' I added as I looked down on the severed sack.

'That makes a change then. I liked what you did with Dorian, by the way.'

'Did you? I thought you might like it. I would have saved you some, but I have little self control, as you are aware.'

'That's kind of you.' Fenrir shook his head. 'But he wouldn't have been my type.'

'You prefer other Canines? I've got plenty of those in my harem, you're more than welcome...'

'A kind offer, but that's not what I meant. There's no sport in fucking someone who's already broken.'

'Why, Fenrir, when did you develop such a moral compass?' I laughed, finishing off the final dummies. 'What is your type, may I ask?'

'You may, my lord.' He scratched his muzzle. 'Though I'm not really sure. I rarely get a choice. I'd like to... try Dragon.'

I was surprised. Not at the fact that Fenrir had a fancy for Dragons (after all, who wouldn't?) No, it was the shyness with which he ended his sentence that shocked me. It was so... un-Fenrir. So apart from his usual character. Then again, I'd been feeling somewhat out-of-sorts myself recently.

'Dragon, really?' I put my back to Fenrir, feigning an innocent tone. 'That's interesting...' Completely out of the blue, I spun and brought my sword down heavily. Fenrir's reaction was perfect: he moved from a relaxed posture into an overhead block with no effort. He fluidly slid my blade to the side and slashed at my chest. 'I thought you said 'aim higher'?' I laughed, stepping back and parrying.

'That's only if one wants to kill,' Fenrir replied, thrusting.

'So you're going easy on me?' I knocked aside Fenrir's sword, spun, and cut the straps across his breastplate. 'A foolish thing. Restraint is always the downfall of my victims.' I licked my lips, admiring Fenrir's lean, muscular back. I felt my member quiver at the sight. This would be our last night as mere outlaws, and I intended to make it a night to remember. 'But that's the funny thing, Fenrir,' I rumbled, dropping my sword to the ground and grabbing his nipples from behind.

'Wha... what's funny, my lord?' He instinctively gasped and arched his back. I felt his nipples get hard in a second. I squeezed the two little pebbles tighter between my claws.

'They're so restrained in battle, but as soon as I start fucking them they loose control.'

'Oh Gods...' Fenrir turned, wrapped his arms around my neck and planted his muzzle against mine. I could feel his tongue lapping against my lips, trying to prise my jaws open and I willingly let him in. With my long tongue I could quite easily wrap mine around his, which Fenrir found very pleasurable (or so I though from the aroused grunts he gave.)

Our hands began to wander: mine to fumbling with his greaves, his to removing my breastplate. We pressed our chests against each other as his hands wander lower too while mine undo his loincloth and proceed to fondle his member. My eyes were still closed in passion, but from feel alone I could tell it was a good ten inches long and almost four at the rapidly forming knot.

I surfaced for air, panting heavily. We looked at each other, and there it was: that connection. That link between the two of us made manifest. We wouldn't say it. It would be the deepest betrayal either of us could commit. Those three, little words would wound us deeper than any sword. It was there, unsaid. It didn't need to be put into words.

I kissed his muzzle again and began working down his neck, kissing and nibbling and biting as I went. Then down further, licking my way through his coarse black fur, over his tough abs to a nipple. His legs gave way and we fell to the ground in a crumpled heap of armour, flesh and sweat. It seemed as if I'd found a particularly sensitive area which, like any good tactician, I made the most of. Fenrir was practically reduced to a quivering, moaning heap beneath my ruthless chews and licks.

My claws acted as a vanguard, scouting further south to the pink mountain of Fenrir's member. One single, long lick from base to time was all it needed to start leaking pre. Fenrir did everything but melt into a horny puddle. I grinned to myself and took a leg in each paw, easing them up and apart, slinging them over my shoulders. I slowly, teasingly, eased my head down between his firm cheeks and lapped at his puckered hole. Amazingly, pleasantly so I should add, his sphincter was completely clean. Personal hygiene, such a wonderful thing, and rare in my army too. I decided to make the most of this and tucked into my tight treat. After one or two preparatory licks I launched my tongue past his barrier and wormed it in as far as its considerable length could go. I coiled and tensed my tongue around Fenrir's barrier, loosening him up for my member. For Fenrir's part he just lay there and writhed in pleasure, his own claws out and dug into the ground and his hips bucking. As I pulled my tongue out he gave out a longing groan, a groan that begged me to fill him.

I raised my back and lowered Fenrir's hips down towards my dick. The head was fully flared and the tip already glistened. With one claw I rubbed the clear liquid all over it, lubing myself up as much as possible. Holding onto Fenrir's hips, I lean forward and plant my muzzle against his. Our tongues dance as I eased the tip inside, followed by the rapidly widening head. I could feel Fenrir tense under me, his body on fire, and hear him moan into the kiss. I paused, fearful of hurting him. If there was one person in the world I didn't want to hurt, it was him. But almost as soon as I'd stopped, Fenrir grabbed my head and dragged me even deeper into the kiss, yearning for more. With a tight grin as his tongue ran over my fangs, I heaved forward, popping the entire head into him and a good half my rod. Around my veiny, ribbed meat I could feel Fenrir's insides go mad as I prodded his prostate.

I dragged myself out as far as I could, the head making Fenrir's sphincter swell slightly. I rammed forward again, hilting myself in him this time. I pressed my chest against his, sandwiching his cock between the two and rubbing it against his rough fur and my smooth scales. As I began a steady humping, the pre already in Fenrir's hole started making a wildly arousing squelching sound that drove me over the edge. I began pounding Fenrir's ass, giving in totally to my basest instincts. Breaking the kiss, I began ravaging Fenrir's neck, grazing the soft flesh with my teeth. Never enough to break the skin, but more than enough to send shivers of ecstasy all over Fenrir.

I grabbed Fenrir's back and dragged him into a sitting position while I lay down on my back. From this positive I kept hitting Fenrir's sweet spot while his dick literally dribbled with pre. With a mischievous grin, Fenrir rubbed his pre all over my chest, making it glisten in the starlight. So that's how he wanted to play?

Breaking into my most evil of grins, I coiled my tail around and wriggled it around my member. After a few seconds of squirming, I managed to get the tip in beside. With a toehold in this new territory, I easily launched my full assault and thrust even more of my tail up Fenrir's now obscenely stretched anus. With my tail curling around my member and sliding in and out, Fenrir froze above me. His muscles were locked and his back arched.

'Oh... gods... gonna... cum,' Fenrir ground as I continued my attack.

'Together.' I grabbed hold of his cock and rubbed furiously, licking my lips in expectation. I could hear the howl building at the back of Fenrir's throat as he drew near. I sped up my hump as fast as I could, my tail practically thrashing inside him.

We came at the same time, both of us throwing our heads back as we unloaded. Fenrir, like his feral ancestors before him, howled to the full moon while I unconsciously shot off a jet of fire. His cum rocketed out all over my chest and face, some landing on my tongue which I quickly downed. Inside Fenrir my balls emptied in the most intense orgasm I'd ever had, coating Fenrir's innards and my own tail with seed.

Both of us were panting and heaving as we came down from our high. My cock was still pulsing, but my sac was completely empty of seed. I'd spent four minutes emptying stream after stream of jizm into Fenrir's spasming depths. The cum was already oozing out when I began to withdraw my tail. The slowest, most gentle thing I've ever done. Fenrir was hissing as his hole shrinked around the comparatively smaller girth of my cock. We lay there for a few minutes, too tired to clean ourselves. After a while, I pulled together enough strength to clean my muzzle, lapping Fenrir's cum up with eagerness.

'Fuck,' Fenrir rumbled, planting his paws on my chest and raising himself up on shaky legs. My head came out of his ass with an audible 'pop'. Without a plug, my cum flowed freely out of the stretched hole.

'Fuck indeed,' I groaned, rolling onto my side and heaving up. 'Quite a mess we made.'

'We, my lord?' Fenrir gave me that same mischievous grin, eyed up my creamed tail. Following his line of sight, I gave it a couple of seductive flicks and brought the tip to my lips to taste. It might have been my imagination, but I was sure I saw a tremor run down Fenrir's retreating length. I smiled to myself as we dressed again, donning our armour in a dreamlike state.

As I straightened up, I looked over at Fenrir. He was doubled over and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 'Are you okay?'

'Fine, my lord,' Fenrir muttered. 'It's just...'

'What?'

'Armour is very uncomfortable when you have a raging erection.'

'Well then,' I grabbed him by his paw and led him to my carriage. 'I think we can solve that problem.'