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The Bargain at High River

"Don't tell me that I'm making it difficult to concentrate. If you do, I win." It wasn't the hands cupping his balls that had his focus in tatters--it was the mouth wrapped teasingly around his cock that was ruining it all. Still, he tried. Arms lifted to the sides, the young otter thought of nothing but the stones hanging mid-air by his magical spell, ten feet above the muddy river basin. He couldn't let anything else enter his mind, especially not the wispy tongue that curled around his tip, nor the wet nose that pressed against his belly as its owner swallowed. No, he couldn't let that be anything more than a scant interruption, even though it felt so good; even though all he really wanted to do was wrap his hands around Ferret's ears and hump-

"You're losing it, Ralix! Hah! So much for your 'iron will'." Ferret taunted. Ralix blocked it all out of his mind and looked up at the stones. Sure enough, they were tipping. Held aloft by nothing but his whispered incantation. It was his concentration that kept gravity from reclaiming them--and now they were starting to quiver. "Mine! Mine! You're all mine, now. Fair and square, you're losing the spell."

"Not yet! They're still aloft!" Ralix cried, steadying them with his mind. He even felt his raging erection start to wane as he redoubled his efforts. That would show the cheating little sneak. The stones steadied and rejoined formation--five in an inverted 'V' with the heaviest at the apex. The otter was in control, and it only barely registered when a sneaky finger slid against his rear.

And then the rocks tumbled artlessly from the sky as the slender digit slid up into his rump. Ralix gasped, and the excitement that had drained from his erection surged back with a vengeance. The five stones landed with muted splats, sinking half an inch or more each into the soft mud of the river bank. Uncaring and unaffected by the hail of rocks, Ferret languished unashamedly against the Ralix's groin. He laughed as the stones passed through him as if he were nothing more than thin air--accurate enough for a spirit like him.

"Hah again! Can't say they're still aloft now!" The finger wiggled, and all the iron will in his body couldn't have kept Ralix from reaching down to grab Ferret's head. He'd lost now--utterly and completely. Might as well try to get what he could before Ferret tried to claim his prize. Where his fingers grasped, though, he caught only air. Ferret had disappeared, the ghostly form leaving behind just the memory of tongue on his cock, and the caress of fingers through the otter's thin fuzz. For moments, he was alone on the river bank, naked and aroused.

"Mine! Mine! Fair's fair, otter."

"No fairness to it! You never said you were going to stick-"

"Never said anything! Just said I could break your concentration. What you assumed I'd do is your own fault--and your loss." He felt fingers on his tail. Slender, ghostly fingers that were cold to the touch. Ralix hung his head in surrender. He'd lost, regardless of how he tried to justify it. Shame burned his ears, and he didn't resist when the hand turned him around. "Know what that means?"

"I'm yours?" Ralix glanced up. Ferret liked it when he acted submissive. If he was good, maybe Ferret would let him cum afterwards. It wasn't a win, but it was better than being denied--and walking back to boring home with just the memory of how close he'd come to getting off. No, that wouldn't be today. He'd almost had it. Just a few more minutes and Ferret would have had to admit it, and then he'd get to take Ferret for once.

When they'd first met, Ralix had been terrified. He could see straight through Ferret, with just dark discolorations to the air where the spirit began and ended. Even now when he looked at Ferret he had to avert his eyes. The way space bent to accomodate the being that was at once both there and not-there made him a little queasy. He didn't let his nerves show, though. He couldn't if he wanted to please Ferret--and pleasing Ferret was all that was on his mind now. However the tricky spirit wanted it, whatever he wanted to do, as long as Ralix got to cum before he was sent home.

The hand pushed him back. Ralix knew what the spirit wanted. It was always what Ferret wanted--to own, to dominate, and to control. It was that above all else, the evidence of power. Perhaps it was a spirit-thing; Ferret seemed to feed off of it. He seemed to grow stronger and more real when Ralix was his. In the early days, the otter had objected. There had been some little spark left, a hint of the spunky child that'd been so brazen as to brave the high rivers alone, but these days the submission was second-nature. Ferret pushed, and Ralix bent to his will.

He landed in the mud and Ferret knelt between his legs. For something that was a spirit, Ferret could be startlingly solid when he wanted to be. Right now, he straddled Ralix's thick tail, trapping it between his knees. Ferret was already hard. The dark outline in the air almost glimmered at his crotch, drawing attention to the rigid length that stood out proudly from his sheath. Ralix knew that he could reach out and touch it. It'd be physically solid, even if it was cool to the touch. He knew that Ferret would approve if he willingly acquiessed--acted as if he wanted to be dominated. So he did. He let his fingers slide over the ghostly length. He could close his eyes and every sense would tell him it was a real, living being, but Ferret wouldn't like that. The spirit wouldn't want to break eye-contact. After all this time, Ralix knew what the spirit wanted--to see the submission in the otter's gaze.

Ralix kept his eyes open as the ferret ground his hardness against his tail. He spread his legs, and without a hint of resistance, his fingers slid the spirit's cock down until it caught. Ferret's eyes bored into him. The spirit fed on his willing submission. On his pain as the tapered tip slid inside, and on his bliss as it slid deep and prodded all of those places inside that stole his focus and concentration, and had caused him to lose. The spirit was rough, but Ralix was used to it. Ferret was watching him. He felt that unsettling feeling of being 'fed' from as the slender length slid into his tail end. It wasn't just 'sex' for the spirit. Sometimes he even wondered if the spirit felt any of the physical sensations he was causing, or whether it was the submission--and only the submission--that fueled Ferret's appetite.

It didn't last long; it never did. Without breaking eye contact, Ferret let himself slide free. Thin jets of runny liquid splattered against Ralix's front. It seeped into his fur, and from experience he knew it'd take hours to clean out properly. Kneeling over the otter's supine form, Ferret's hand cupped Ralix's rump and two fingers slid deep.

"You have my permission now."

Ralix didn't hesitate. It only took a few frenzied thrusts into his paw to tip him over the edge with the spirit's wriggling fingers urging him on. It arrived with the normal fanfare--the buzzing in his head and the thumping in his chest--but mixed in was the embarrassment and humiliation the spirit brought with all of his pleasure. Some day, he should say no. Some day, he should refuse. Some day, he wouldn't be led by his dick, and he'd stand up for himself. Some day...

In the center of the kingdom, an old lion lay restlessly in bed. It was a lavish bed, bigger by far than any of the bed's previous inhabitants could ever have justified except through opulent wealth. It was stuffed with the softest of goose down, and lined with the sleekest of silks--imported at great expense from beyond the great forests to the east. It was dyed a rich red, chased with a rare deep blue that defied the eyes, and bordered by gold leaf. It was a bed fit for a king. It was, in fact, the bed of the king.

While these fineries surely must have brought comfort to the sleeping lion, they brought none to the younger lion perched anxiously at the bedside. He held the hand of the bed's occupant--withered and talon-like. The old lion murmured something unintelligible in his sleep that the attentive youth strained to hear. It was nothing; just another delusion brought by high fever.

"Hold on, father. The sorceress is on her way. Just hold on a few more days."

The room was otherwise silent, even though the event had no shortage of witnesses. The royal chirurgeon stood mutely by the side, all of his medical knowledge long since tapped. The royal guard stayed still as a statue at grim attention. Their job was one that demanded impeccable attention and patience, and days like this required them twofold. The king's bard stood by the bedside, torn by grief that sapped his spirit. The maids stood meekly by the fire-side, water both boiled and fresh from the well ready in case they were needed. Gathered at the door like crows were the lesser nobility, eager to say they'd been there for this moment--when prince Kaspian became king.

The young lion squeezed the clammy hand in his grip and leaned over the bed. His face was a caricature of stunned grief, though he was too well schooled to give voice to it. He bowed his head over the old king as the rattling breath--the only sound that dare be heard in the crowded room--gasped one last gulp of air, then stopped.

The walk home wasn't a long one. On the way, Ralix fetched his fishing spear and net. He hadn't used them in months, but it'd be bad to be seen leaving or returning home without them. He had three fat river trout, caught by sorcerous means rather than by hand. It was easier, and it freed up his day to be spent 'learning' from Ferret. Even though it felt somehow wrong, he'd jabbed each of the fish once with his spear. The less questions asked about how he spent his days, the better. This, at least, was enough meat for the day.

Back home, Ma was hanging up the washing. The history of his family could be read in the under-things clipped to the line. Ma and Pa, two adult-sized thongs to preserve their modesty, were followed by each of his siblings in decreasing sizes. His two older sisters--Thel and Alia--were twins and inseparable. They saw to the sheep. His brother Davi was older by a year and did all the repairs and thatching. Then came Ralix himself, just barely an adult by his family's standards. Next were Kim, Kob, and Kory, triplets two years younger still, and then Rory and Reeva, the last of whom was still technically a baby. Ma was singing to herself, a local lullaby with most of its words lost to the ravages of generations. She hummed the ones she didn't know. "Back to the river... Hmm-hmm... On the mountain-side..."

Homecoming always brought with it a certain amount of guilt. If they'd known how he'd spent his day-no. Better to not even think about it. He had fresh fish. Everyone would eat well tonight.

Ma let out an exclamation as Ralix's spear clattered against the side of their hut. "Don't you dare go inside like that! Your tail is filthy." Her nose crinkled dramatically. "And you smell like mud. Go wash off." She liberated him of his catch and shooed him down towards the lake.

By the time he returned, freshly washed and shivering from the cold lake, the sun was beginning to dip behind the mountain. Carved into its side, the sunlight twisted weirdly from five gargantuan figures, recognizable even at this distance. They were unimaginably tall, with features long lost to wind and rain. All that remained were eyes that caught and reflected the sunlight. The aquifers from the mountains wound down in little steps and falls around the statues, until they gurgled into the lake by which his house had been erected.

"Ralix! Come, the fish are done and you're making us all wait."

He hurried inside. Gathered around the table that stretched almost from wall to wall was the whole family. They chattered and chirped like starlings in a bush. Pa was carefully disecting the trout, portioning out meals in descending sizes--a slab of fish, a scoop of rice, and a handful of spicy mustard greens. It made Ralix's mouth water.

"Come on, sleepy-tail. Hurry up or I give your meal to Reeva." Pa handed him a plate, and Kim pushed Kob and Kory over to make room for him.

The first bite was delicious. Pepper seeds had been cracked, ground, and sprinkled over the fish, and a dollop of butter bought from the village had been melted as the fish browned over an open flame. It was so flaky it melted on Ralix's tongue.

"Did you see a bear today?" Rory piped up at him, his voice little more than a chirp.

Ralix smiled. "Nope."

"How about a cougar?"

"No cougar either, but..." The little otter's eyes lit up. A story! Ralix couldn't resist "But there was this mountain lion. Biggest one I've ever seen. It had claws as long as your hand, and had so many teeth that it couldn't close its mouth all the way. It was up at the high river, just waiting for me to-"

"Ralix!" Ma was glaring at him from the head of the table.

His ears fell. What'd he do wrong? "What, Ma? Just telling a story."

"You didn't go up to high river, then?" She glared accusingly at him.

He gulped. That's where he met ferret to train. "No Ma."

"Good." She swallowed a bite of fish to make room for the one waiting on her fork. "Nothing good comes from up there."

"I know, Ma." The taste died on his tongue, and he left the rest of the story untold. The mood had been ruined. He finished his meal, letting the chattering horde of siblings babble around him. Tomorrow was another day, and he had more to learn. Every day, he came home more tired than the last--but he was learning! He could move things with his mind. He could set twigs alight with just one spoken word. He could kill fish in the river without leaving a single mark. He would be a great wizard if he kept training, and when he was, Ma wouldn't be able to condemn him for communing with the spirits at the high river. Until then...

"I found a new spot to hunt. I'm going back up there tomorrow for more trout."

"It's not too far up?" Pa asked. He gave Ralix a smirk and rolled his eyes.

Ma slapped Pa's shoulder. "Don't you go making fun of me. They'll return some day, you'll see, and then all that'll stand between the world and the evil spirits will be Ma. Then I'll show you all! Hah!"

"Oh, and what can a wiggly-tail do against the evil spirits, hmm?" Pa asked, still laughing.

Ma tapped her nose. "Got ancient knowledge, I do. Handed down in the family! Maybe if these kits grow up right, I might teach it to them--but not if you keep laughing!" She lifted her snout and turned away.

Ralix helped with the dishes--between so many paws it was the work of little more than a few minutes to clear the table. He turned in early, finding his bunk nestled into the dark den at the back of their house. The noise of his siblings was quieter here, and with a whole lifetime spent getting used to the constant chirping of his family, he was asleep in just moments.

"Are you sure?" A spirit-bear towered over Ralix. Her voice was deep--so deep that without a glance at her chest Ralix would have taken her for a male. She reached down and turned the otter's muzzle this way and that, like a trader examining a nag that'd been gingered up to resemble a 'spirited racer'. She was red-tinted, where Ferret was black.

"When have I ever failed you?" The bear opened her mouth, but Ferret interrupted, "No, don't answer that. Yes, I'm sure." Ferret was visibly nervous. It was the first time Ralix had ever seen him subservient and flustered, but then again it was also the first time Ferret had ever brought company.

Another spirit--a blue tinged leopard--snorted in derision. "Not that it matters, Bear. We can make up for any deficiencies. He's only-"

"He'll do." Bear interrupted. "Are you ready, boy?"

Ralix blinked. "Ready? For what?"

The other spirits exchanged glances while Ferret looked decidedly embarrassed. "Give me a moment. I didn't expect you to be here so soon." Bear opened her mouth, but Ferret cut her off again, "Yes, the occlusion. I know, exactly on time, galactic alignment, blah blah blah. Fine. Excuse me, I haven't exactly had access to a telescope for the last few millenia."

"Ferret, what are they talking about?" Ralix was getting decidedly cold feet, and not just because he was standing in the icy mountain stream.

The spirit turned to him. It was tough to discern features on the spirit's mostly translucent face, but what Ralix could see could be described as apologetic. "It's what I've been teaching you for, otter my boy. Sorry I didn't tell you earlier. Really, I lost track of time while we were having fun. We did have fun, didn't we?"

He appeared to be waiting for a response, so Ralix nodded.

"Good. We need your help. We're trapped here, and only a wizard can free us. I know we haven't finished your training yet, but I know that you're good enough now. Please, for us it's now or never." Ferret seemed genuinely contrite.

Ralix gulped, then smiled his brightest smile. "Well, why didn't you ask earlier? Of course I'll help!" Finally he could actually use it, all this skill that Ferret had been feeding into his brain over the last months. Finally, he could do some good.

The oppressive attitude of the other spirits immediately lifted. There were smiles all around. There was a moment when the five ghostly beings surrounding him seemed to open, and he felt part of something larger than himself. It was an ersatz family. Not that his family was bad of course. He loved them, but so often he didn't feel like he wasn't one of them. He wanted to go out--go beyond--and become something. None of the rest of his family had trained to be a wizard, and he even suspected that none of his family would understand if he told them.

Here, though, here was the family they weren't. Ferret, Bear, Panther, Hawk, and Wolf--they were more wild than his family had ever been. And now he could help them--really help. All that work would finally pay off.

Ralix smiled and knew exactly what to say. "Just one thing." The smiles around him waned momentarily, and Ferret almost jumped with nerves. "This time, I win."

None of the spirits understood, but Ferret's nerves gave way to sly smirk. "You blackmailing little bitch. Guess I trained you a little too well. Okay, this time, you win."

A smile crept across Ralix's face, and he wrung his paws in anticipation. "So, when do I begin."

Ralix flinched in pain, but the spell held. The metal spikes pulled back from their interlocking net, unbarring the way forward. He felt drained, but the spirits urged him onwards, test after laborious test.

"We're almost there! Just one more!" Ferret whispered excitedly in his ear.

The 'when' had turned out to be 'now'. First, they had led him to a waterfall, where his magic had forced the water to flow backwards up-stream--a mystical door had appeared in the gap it left. Inside had been an ancient and dusty amphitheater with a gateway shut tight at the far side, ringed about with decrepit candles whose wax had all decayed. He'd been told to light all of the candles simultaneously, which had caused something in the gateway to click, and it swung open. Next had been the bottomless pit with bound air elementals gusting winds from the side--he'd banished them one-by-one. Trap after trap fell, with expert advice from the spirits.

Even though he was tired, he finally felt useful. It was a strange feeling--a good feeling--and he feasted on the smiles of the spirits as they led him onwards. As he passed each of the tests, they became more and more admiring of his skill and prowess. Even the stoic Bear deigned to smile a little when held the roof aloft in the crumbling tunnel long enough to pass. When she patted him on the back afterwards, it staggered him. The smile on her face had been worth every bit of effort he had spent.

"Focus! Don't lose it." Ralix strengthened his will. It's not like Ferret was distracting him this time. After that tongue, keeping concentration even with the deathtraps around him sprung and ready to snap was a cinch. He pranced past and struck a pose on the far side. When he let the spell slip, the trap behind him closed with a sickening crunch. Spears shot from the walls, covering every square foot in the corridor he'd just navigated.

"I told you I could!" He boasted.

"Remarkable!" Panther purred in his ear. A ghostly hand caressed his chest. "And you say Ferret taught you all this in less than a year? You're no ordinary apprentice, are you?"

Ralix shivered in excitement. He hadn't been thinking about it--it would have ruined his focus--but thoughts of 'winning' returned with a vengeance. He was so close now, his mind fixated on his reward.

The room he was in now was small, no larger than his family's hut. Unlike all the others he'd been through, there was no exit from this room save the one he'd just traversed. His mage-light bobbed and weaved, illuminating the room's corners and making the shadows dance. Only one feature stood out--a series of rings set into the floor, interlocking and intertwined with indecipherable symbols skirting their edges.

"Just one more." Ferret repeated. "This one's easy. It's the lock itself, and..."

Ralix looked around as his mentor hesitated. Ferret actually appeared embarrassed. "We don't know how to unlock it. This is beyond us. But it's supposed to be easy for anyone who's grown up here in the shadow of the mountain--so says the riddle."

So it was finally up to him. The last piece was his, and his alone. He focused on the rings. They were free to spin, turning under his paws as he pushed. Each time they passed a glyph, a small tune would play. The sound was pure and high-pitched. With the vast age of the mechanisms he'd seen so far, he half-expected the tone to be scratchy and off-key, but each note was pitch-perfect and sweet. He spun a few of the wheels, then something nagged at him.

As he passed one of the runes, the tune that played was suddenly recognizable. It was a simple ditty--one his mother had sung to him when he was little. He only half remembered it, but with each spin of the rings, more came back to him.

"Hmm mmm-mm mmm..." He hummed to himself finding the right tune on the second ring, then on the third. The fourth stymied him, but memories of Ma trying to sing the last bit sprang to mind. Her voice had always broken on the last note--it was too high for her. He'd laughed at her, and she laughed with him. He spun the ring to find it--so high that it barely registered at the top of his hearing. And then the floor rumbled.

"That's it!" Ferret squeaked as the lock slid aside. It was anticlimactic, just a hole in the floor with a few dusty relics inside. There were five little charms--a panther tooth on a necklace, a bear claw on a wristlet, a hawk feather on a leather loop, a tuft of fur in amber, and a small skull sized right for a ferret. Ralix reached down and removed them, one by one. As he did so, the spirits let out sighs, and the edges of their ghostly forms gained definition.

"Finally." Bear stretched out, and Ralix could hear joints snapping back to attention. "It feels so good to be liberated."

"And we couldn't have done it without our faithful wizard." Ferret hugged him from behind, and Ralix nearly melted. Paws wandered across his front, and the spirits turned to him with warm smiles on their faces. "You know, when I first told Bear that I'd found you, there was only one word I could use to describe you, and you've just proven me right. Would you like to know what that word was?"

Ralix let the happy smile drift to his face, leaning back against his mentor as those paws wandered everywhere he hoped they'd go. "Of course."

Ferret squeezed his sheath, and his breathy voice whispered softly in Ralix's ear, "Malleable."

The crowning of king Kaspian was a muted affair. For the populace of the capital, it was a night of celebration, but for the king it was his solemn duty. As is the way with kings, the path to his throne could only be cleared by the death of his father. In some royal families, that may not have been so troublesome--many kings forsake their familial duties for the responsibilities of their kingdom. The late king Coriolan had not. Any noble wishing to curry favor with the new king knew to dress in muted colors to the coronation.

He spoke his vows precisely and accurately, in a strong voice that carried through the cavernous throne room. The high nave spoke his blessing and placed the simple golden circlet on Kaspian's brow, where it was almost subsumed by the lion's billowing mane. There was awkward cheering--those near him trying to find a delicate balance between celebratory cheer and respectful observance of his father's recent death. Most failed. The few that succeeded were congratulated later by their less fortunate compatriots. With that, the reign of king Kaspian began.

Little changed. The kingdom was at peace. There was neither famine nor feast, neither drought nor storm. Trade with their neighbors was brisk and profitable, and historians would later write that the reign of king Coriolan and of his successor were not great, no, but they were good. None of the king's scholars were versed with the texts of the mountain-folk to the north, who wrote of a great war long ago, lost in antiquity. The texts were neither lost nor destroyed, but sat gathering dust in the royal scriptorium. In them is written the tale of five ancient and evil spirits, so powerful that they could not be destroyed. Instead they had been locked away, banished from this world. The mountain people were guardians of these locks, and only one of the mountain people could again free them.

These tales were not out of the ordinary. Every one of the many people around whom the kingdoms had formed had their folk-tales. Demons and minotaurs were said to have roamed the primordial world. Ghosts and rhakshasa and baba yagas supposedly preyed on the great grandfathers of the great grandfathers. The texts of the mountain people had not been studied because there was nothing to set them apart from the other hundred texts with tales of dragons and unicorns and pixies. In fact, there is only one distinguishing characteristic to the texts of the mountain people.

They were true.

They were laughing at him. It took long moments for the thought to register. He'd done everything they asked. He'd been useful. He should be the hero, but they were laughing at him. He tried to pull away, but Ferret's arms were rigid as steel, and claws were starting to dig painfully into his sensitive undercarriage.

"I barely had to work at it. A blowjob here, a stroking there. A finger in the right place, and you were mine. Don't you see, Ralix? It was never real. From the very first time I laid eyes on you, you were mine. We're free now, and you... Well, wizard, you're ours now." Ferret laughed in his ear. It was a painful and evil sound, stronger and more malicious than ever before.

This was going to be his triumph. He, Ralix, was going to be someone. Not just anyone, but Ralix! He'd learned so much--endured so much--that he deserved to win. As seconds ticked by, realization started to dawn. He'd been duped. He'd been taken for a fool. He'd been conned, and now they were mocking him. One by one, he looked at the spirits that surrounded him. Their auras pulsed darkly; strong with the power he'd released. How had he not seen it before? How had he been so blind? Even a little kit should have been able to sense the evil that was wafting from them like a foul breeze. He slumped in defeat, and they laughed harder. Then harder still as he tensed in surprise. Something hard pressed against his back. Ralix struggled. "No."

"Yes." Ferret whispered into his ear, and the hard length pressed against his rump. It was warm, and he felt it throb. It was alive, unlike the ghostly chill that Ferret had always had before. He squirmed, but was held immobile. He reached out for the magic he'd relied on up until now, but it was out of reach. He cried, but it only spurred Ferret on. By now he should have been used to the stretching sensation, but this time it burned as his body rebelled.

"No! No, I was supposed to win this time!" He squeezed, willing himself to resist.

Ferret pulled against his body with supernatural strength. He would not be denied. The penetration was slow, as if the awakened spirit was enjoying every moment of Ralix's defeat. "Not this time, not ever. You've lost, and now we own you!" The last descended into another evil laugh. Around him, the rest of the spirits were leering, goading Ferret on as he slid deep. He wasn't kind. Ralix's backside burned with pain as the spirit fucked him mercilessly.

The spirit took short, sharp jabs. Ralix couldn't keep himself from yelping at the end of each painful thrust. He wanted out. He wanted to go home. Ma had been right; he should have listened. Now the spirits had him, and they were free. Just like every time down on the river bank, the otter hung his head and submitted.

"What did I tell you?" Ferret exclaimed between grunts. "Anything we want, he's ours. He's the perfect tool."

"Finish it up. We've been gone from the world for too long. We have business to attend to." Bear gave an imperious frown.

Ferret let out an annoyed huff, then pushed hard at Ralix's back. The otter stumbled, falling to his knees. Just moments after he landed, he felt a wet splash on his back. "Mine. Never forget it." A second splash hit his tail, then a third dripped down his neck.

Before he could recover, a strong hand grabbed his head. Bear lifted him brutally to standing, then let him dangle from her grasp as she held him aloft. She looked at him--no, through him, as if he were just an object. "He'll do, Ferret, but remember. Ours. Not yours."

Then Ralix met her gaze, and time stopped. He could see each and every detail of the room around him, frozen in time. Spider webs on the walls stood mid-sway from the air gusting in from the recent cave-in. The spirits stood stock still, the fae-fire swirling up from their newly reformed selves caught mid-leap. Everything was still--everything was silent. Except for Bear's eyes.

Her eyes caught his. They were a swirl of an ocean tidepool, filled with hapless flotsam as it circled the pull of her irises. They were alight with the spirit's power, glowing and darkened all at once. It enticed the otter, pulled him upwards and out, until he felt as if he were floating. It was a giddy freedom, staring into her eyes and circling the spiral. He felt the weightless tug as his mind was displaced, and in its place came Bear. She rushed into his head, disappearing from the room entirely. Ralix could still feel her, though, crowded into his cranium. She expanded to fill his consciousness, and mercilessly stomped his will down. One by one, the other spirits followed, until Ralix was left alone in their prison alone, yet over-occupied. He felt them--the spirits--lifting his hand, then levering him to his feet.

"What a fine body you've given us, little otter." He could hear his own voice remark. "I think we will keep it. It will do the job admirably."

And then the spirit's will lashed out, and for the moment, he knew no more.

When Ralix returned home, the sun had already set, but his parents were waiting at the table for him. Ma was holding her tail and fretting with the tip, while Pa was whittling. The stump of wood he held was down to the size of his thumb, and was dwarfed by the pile of shavings on the table in front of him.

They both jumped when Ralix stepped in. He could see clouds lift from their heads; burdens shed from their shoulders. Hours of nervous fretting disappeared as the irrepressible otter exuberance bubbled up to the surface. They'd be angry--a little--but by the time he went to bed, they'd have forgiven him. How loving. How naive. He regarded them with an icy smirk. Their happy smiles fell when the disdain their son held for them was revealed. They fell further when it became clear that he was wearing that sly smirk and nothing else.

"Boy, where have you been? We been waiting since sundown to- Hey, I'm talking to you!" Ralix ignored his father and ducked into the back room. Wide and staring eyes reflected back at him from the dark. His siblings were silent as he ducked to burrow through belongings, both his own and theirs. He could smell their nerves. The back room usually smelled aggressively of otter, but now it was even more so. He wrinkled his nose as he searched. Undettered by Ralix's careless dismissal, his father's shout followed him, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Preparing." Ralix grabbed his brother's hunting knife--traded at great cost from merchants from the coast. He stood and grabbed his own satchel, along with a waist-belt belonging to one of his sisters.

"We need to have words, kit." Pa only called him that when he was angry. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Out! Away! There's a world out there, 'Pa', and it's mine for the taking."

His father's face was a picture of confusion--the definition of flabbergasted dismay. Each emotion flitted across his face like clouds chasing the storm. "What in the-"

"You've been up to the high waterfall, haven't you." That was Ma. Her voice was soft, but suddenly the room felt very cold. Ralix stopped rooting around in the assorted belongings.

"And what if I have?"

"What did they offer you? Wealth? Fame? Power? You'll never have it! Ralix, come back to-" Her tone was pleading. She laid a hand on Ralix's shoulder, but pulled it back as if burned.

"Offer? You poor, deluded woman. We've already given your son everything he asked for. He's already ours."

Ma gasped and fell back. The eyes around the room shrank back into the shadows as Ralix's siblings recoiled. Pa tugged at Ma's shoulders, but the little otter lady was rooted to the spot. In her eyes, a slow fire began to burn. "Back to the river." She intoned, her voice almost lilting in song.

Ralix paused again, but this time the smile dropped from his face. "You don't want to do that."

"Back to the river!" She stood framed by the the warm light of the hearth. Her hands had balled up into fists, and her tail stood straight behind her, quivering with fury.

"You know, we're not actually evil. We don't want to kill you, old hag." Ralix turned to face his mother, ears down and snarl on his face. He wasn't the tallest in his family, but he still towered over Ma. She stood her ground, undeterred.

"Liar! Killer! DEMON!" Her shout seemed to rattle the aged timbers of the hut.

A loud 'snap' echoed over her cry. It sounded as if a sturdy reed had been stretched to its limit--sudden, quick, and loud enough to hurt the ears. Neither Ma nor Ralix had moved, but moment by moment the determination drained from Ma's face and the color from her ears. She dropped to her knees, one hand to her chest. For long seconds, her labored breathing was the only sound in the hut.

"Elsie!" Pa rushed forward, and as if a dam had broken, whimpers and cries began to fill the hut. With a distant look of sadness on his face, Ralix picked up the few possessions he'd chosen, gathered them around his naked body, and strode around the crumpled form of his mother. She gasped and fell to her side, while Ralix opened the door and strode out into the night. He could still hear his father's grieving cries as he calmly strode to the lake shore.

And somewhere deep inside his mind and trapped beneath the malicious will of the spirits, Ralix was screaming.

Ruling was what Kaspian had been raised to do. He'd had tutors who taught him the history and lineages of all of the noble families. Foreign dignitaries had schooled him on his diplomatic duties and the customs of their people. Scholars of the twelve sciences had shown him how rocks could float, and displayed the three liquid vitriols that comprised alchemy, and taught respect for the magics of mind and elements. He had been a prince of the people, prim and proper at all times, knowledgeable and wise. Now that he was king, his reign was to be one of peace and prosperity, and above all, maintaining the status quo.

On the third month of his reign, when the last vestiges of a chilly spring had lifted their grasp from the capitol, the unsullied maidens of his eight baronies assembled in the courtyard, along with the available daughters of two foreign kingdoms with whom a closer regal bond would not go amiss. They were all decked in an explosion of colors, presumably chosen to highlight their pelts and accentuate their talents. Each and every one of them was at least a noble, if not a princess in their own right.

The people of the capitol loved it. It was an occasion. They had lined the streets with fanfare, and their cheers just barely hid the cries of street vendors hawking their goods. Everything was bright and exciting, all to celebrate their beloved prince--who had all of his father's kind wisdom with none of the insecurities and withering of age. It was idyllic. It was a celebration fit for a king. It was all very... Very...

Boring. Really, very boring, if Kaspian absolutely had to put words to it. Of course, he couldn't put voice to it. They had all worked so very hard for it. Plans had been made months in advance, and the ladies--well, they were all very pretty, of course. Why, he would have wedded and bedded any one of them. Theoretically, of course. Now that he was forced to choose... Did he really have to choose? Was this all there was? Ten brain-dead floozies who'd never been outside their mother's solar, and this is what he'd be shackled with for the rest of his life? He had the urge to frown, but it was his solemn duty to smile. He did so, showing those bright shiny-whites. His attendants had scrubbed him until his fur shined and his teeth gleamed and his mane curled perfectly, with the crown of his station perched precariously on top. He'd been taught to be bright and personable and lovable--so he was.

He smiled right through the ceremony where the ladies were presented to him. One by one, they dipped their heads demurely. They spoke in breezy platitudes, and he answered in empty compliments.

"You're doing well. Only someone who knows you as well as I could tell you're about to fall asleep." A voice whispered in his ear. It was stilted and foreign in pronunciation. Kaspian was too well trained to turn to face it. Deagle, his father's master bard, had been his only steady companion through the years other than his father. Where tutors and dignitaries came and went, Deagle had been there throughout. His face was long and withered, almost as decrepit as the old king had been before his passing, but where Kaspian's father had grown doddering in his old age, Deagle was still sharp as his horns.

"It's a good thing you know me, old goat. Anyone else calling me 'boy' is likely to spend an unpleasant night at the tender mercies of the royal guard." He flashed the bard his first real smile of the day. The shining light at the end of this tunnel of monotony was that Deagle would play again tonight--the first time since the old king's death. It'd be the first song played to Kaspian's ears since his father died.

His attention was waylaid by the introduction of another lady of the court, a buxom sheep from the southern highlands whose father supplied the capital with half of its dairy. King Kaspian smiled into her vacant eyes. She tittered, and he fought back the grimace of annoyance. It was a long time until Deagle's performace, and Kaspian was sure he was going to hate every second that separated him from it.

At some point in the following weeks, stories surfaced of a strange otter who passed through the towns en route to the capitol. The stories said that he was handsome, that he had so much natural charisma that crowds parted to make way for him, that canny street merchants threw goods at his feet, and that you felt a tingle as he passed, as if by simply being close to him you could feel the power that radiated from him like heat from a baker's oven.

That was what the proper people of culture said of the day the otter passed through. Those with less civilized tongues mentioned how the otter wore no clothes, yet the fact seemed to bother no one. They told stories of how people reached out to him as he passed, and how the tingle you felt by simply being near was nothing compared to the shock you got when your fingers brushed through his fur.

And then there were stories that weren't told in the streets. These were told at private tables, in the houses of pleasure, and behind closed doors. These were stories of what those who were there actually remembered, but were too cultured or too ashamed to give voice to. They were the stories that redden the ears and made the teller uncomfortable in their trews. In these stories, the otter stopped at the town well to relieve himself, then offered himself to any male who considers themselves worthy of their cocks. Sometimes the teller referred to friends who took the otter up on his offer. They made no mention of the part of the story where they mounted the otter when their friends had finished. Those stories weren't told at all, of how delightful the otter felt still slick with the remnants of their friends' enjoyment. It was the worst-kept secrets in those towns Ralix passed by: who among the town's inhabitants dropped their trousers in the public square at the brightest of afternoon and took the otter, finishing only to pull back dripping and make room for the next. Everyone knew who had debased themselves, yet no one could give it voice. It was only knowing nods when they met each other on the street--a twisted brotherhood of debauchery sprung up in Ralix's wake. The rest of his journey is recorded only in folk-tales. One farmer found the otter stealing apples from his orchard--his repayment was a wholy different kind of fruit. One porter was given a ride on Ralix in exchange for a ride on his horse-drawn cart. One ferryman, finding himself beset upon by a 'lass with manly proportions', offered a crossing of the river to his passenger for a cost paid in flesh rather than coin. Ralix spent the half-hour trip across the wide river Acreborn bent over the ferry's railing with the ferryman beneath his tail.

Inside, Ralix felt numb. The spirits would give him his senses, just long enough to feel how they were using his body. He could feel the wet slide of skin on flesh, and he knew that behind the disgust and revulsion, he loved the feeling. The spirits were giving him everything he wanted, twisted as their reward was. In the villages, he was kept just beneath the surface so he could feel what Ferret intended for him. It was submission--to everyone and everything that crossed his path. The spirits no longer needed it to feed. Instead, the path of lewd debasement was solely for his 'benefit'.

He hated it. He hated the spirits and everything they forced him to do. He hated the people who took his presence for granted, using him just as the spirits intended. But most of all, he hated how he loved the feeling of being taken, how the spirit's many and anonymous suitors touched all those places within him that made his nerves dance and his mind cloud with the unadulterated pleasure of being properly and thoroughly fucked. It sapped his will and drove him further from his own mind. He struggled to hold on to himself--to all he considered to be 'Ralix', but it was a losing battle. The spirits were strong and dominant. He was more than two weeks on the road, stopping in every town and village along the way for at least an hour's 'entertainment'. By the end, when his feet touched the cobbled span of the capitol's famed Lion's Bridge, he could barely remember his own name.

In the hall of his fathers, King Kaspian's fete was gathering momentum. With the fine ladies fobbed off on lucky noblemen (or unlucky, depending on who you asked), the king had finally sat down to enjoy the one true pleasure he had to look forward to that evening: the moment when the minstrels shuffled aside to make room for Deagle. In his travels to neighboring kingdoms during his education, Kaspian had heard other bards play. Some had been nobles before they'd picked up the lute or the harp. They had been indolent and--to Kaspian's mind--unworthy of their title. Some few others had been gifted commoners. These had at least been eager to please and passionate about their music. Though Kaspian had heard many of them play, though, none of them had been Deagle.

The ram came from a remote kingdom to the north, past the mountains, passing from hand to hand as a slave. He had finally arrived on the end of a foreign dignitary's leash in the King's court while Kaspian's father had first come to his throne. The old king Coriolan--still young and new to the throne then--had instantly been smitten with the goat's music. He had paid a princely sum, and then to the surprise of his court, freed the slave on the spot. It had been chaos in the court and gossip even years later when the newly crowned King Coriolan had begged the slave he'd bought and freed to stay in his court. Deagle had been the court's bard even since, spending every spare moment on his music in an attempt to pay back the great debt he felt he owed the King (though Coriolan refuted that debt to his death bed).

The result was that Deagle had become the best bard anywhere in the western kingdoms. Neighboring regents would visit in grand states of affair to hear the ram play. King Coriolan's 'investment' had paid itself in spades, even counting only the gold visitors lavished on him and the King.

The first few soft notes struck on Deagle's mandolin were met by shushes around the hall. No one wished to be heard interrupting Deagle's performance--but even if they had it's unlikely King Kaspian would have noticed. Within the first few bars, the music transported him to distant lands. The notes wove around his senses until he could smell in them exotic spices and see in them rare colors that defied the eyes. It was an old song--one he'd heard before--but the words were foreign. Kaspian spoke the languages of twelve different kingdoms, both near and far, but not even a single word of the song made sense. When he'd asked, Deagle had refused to teach him. "Would you enjoy the song any more? I think not." He had said, "It is beautiful in its tone and tempo--but the words are there only to sound beautiful when sung. They are nonsense meant only to match the music. No. Knowing what they mean would only detract from your love of the song, not enhance it. Imagine instead that they are speaking of something deep and meaningful only to you. That is better than knowing for sure."

Today, Kaspian imagined they spoke of a grand bazaar, bustling with people and thronged with scents--both savory and sweet--that were so strong they assaulted the senses. The music dipped, and it was the slinky dance of a harem girl, brought out by her master to amuse the patrons of the market. The sun was high, warming his pelt with a dry heat that spoke of distant oceans and much nearer sands. Note after note dropped from Deagle's fingers, matched by his high and warbling voice, speaking only to Kaspian in a language he didn't understand of alien lands and-

And with a sour snap, the music stopped. Kaspian opened his eyes. Deagle stood with the mandolin hanging limply around his shoulders, and a dumb expression of shock on his face. The room was still silent, and all eyes were on a new figure in the center of the ball room.

He was an otter, though to call him just any otter would be to him great injustice. He was to an otter what a sultry panther is to a grizzled housecat. He was all sleek curves and supple tone. He was also gloriously naked and erect. Where every other guest of the ball was decked out in noble finery, the otter wore nothing but a smile. He took a step towards the king, and the royal guard responded. Two hulking wolves stepped forward, crossing halberds in front of Kaspian. The otter's smile didn't waver. His tail slapped the marble ballroom floor. The sound echoed and magnified like a crash of thunder. The weapons crossed in front of Kaspian dropped to the floor, and the wolves left the his side.

As his royal guard walked, they tore their armor off of their bodies with shameless and reckless abandon. Clasps popped, chain clinked, and scale mail clattered as it hit the floor. By the time the two could reach out to touch the otter, they were naked.

"No. I'm not yours today. You must make do with each other." Ralix glanced at one--on his left--and smiled his sweet, sickly smile. "You, get down on all fours and lift your tail. And you," his eyes glanced to the other, "Take him roughly. This is a party, is it not? You will serve your king by entertaining his guests."

No sooner had the otter spoken than the once-stoic royal guard obeyed. There were uncivilized cat-calls and cheering from the once-decorous nobles as one wolf hilted in the other recklessly. From where Kaspian sat in his throne, he could see that every one of his guests had been taken in by the otter's charm. It was a chaos of bacchanalian abandon. Bright fabric trappings were thrown aside, replaced with the natural browns and creams and grays of fur. Ralix looked about with a satisfied smirk. The power of the five spirits licked out with tainted tendrils, stoking the lust and debauchery as the party began anew in quite a different manner than before.

Though Kaspian saw it all, he cared about none of it. His subjects debased themselves openly, rutting in corners and cheering as his royal guard tied and spurted at the center of the ball. The King paid it no heed. Instead, he had eyes only for Ralix. The otter turned back to him, and the evil spirits smiled from behind Ralix's eyes as they regarded the king. A smile was the only invitation Kaspian needed.

All pretense of decency thrown to the wind, Kaspian disrobed. He was slow--the tease of promises to a lover. The spirits swelled within Ralix as they beheld their ultimate target. This was their victory. He was their prize. King Kaspian was a warrior and a scholar. Years traveling during his education had left him lithe and sinewy, with hints of the bulk that age would bring. He was new to his crown, so it hadn't had the chance to weigh heavily on his brow and drag his features down into the hunched scowl that most monarchs develop after years under the burden of rule.

Stood tall and naked, the king descended from his dais and laid a hand on Ralix's cheek. The spirits smiled up from Ralix's vacant face and said two words, "Take me."

And Kaspian did.

With the otter by the scruff, the king strode to his throne and laid Ralix out across the armrests. The otter's tail curled and slid up between the lion's legs, eliciting an eager growl. He grabbed the otter's legs, tugging him close and spreading them wide. With the unnatural lust riding him like a demon, Kaspian was unsheathed and hard by the time he straddled the otter's tail.

It was a moment of twisted intimacy. As the be-glamored king gazed down into Ralix's eyes, the five spirits gazed back out. They shared the moment of stretching, the smooth penetration and fullness. Kaspian let out a long sigh as the otter's tight tail end slid up his length until his sheath kissed the otter's rump. It was hot, and it was twitching, and it gave the spirits exactly what they needed.

They were distracted--and when they were distracted, Ralix could feel. He could get close to the surface and experience everything his body was doing. Kaspian was gentle and caring, even under the spirits' enchantment. He felt full, but not sore or burning like some of the previous acquaintances the spirits had chosen for him. He could feel every twitch and throb, and when Kaspian started to thrust, he could feel the smooth slickness as the lion pushed in. Then, on the tug out, he could feel tiny nubs tugging at his insides, tickling in ways he'd never imagined possible.

But through the haze of the sex, he felt something else different. This wasn't just another debasement. He could feel the spirits focusing on Kaspian; every fiber of their spectral presence was intent on the king. It was a sinister attention. He beat against the walls of the prison the spirits had made for him, and cried impotently out to the thrusting lion. The only response he received was a besotted smile as Kaspian kissed him.

Only one member of the king's court could view the lustful chaos through eyes unclouded by the spirit's touch. Deagle had been raised and taught in the courts of the north, where a king must be careful of the enemies he makes. Haunts and Specters could be summoned by powerful sorcerers to topple a nation's rule, while demons could corrupt the mind and soul of the unprepared. Deagle's mind was conditioned. To the spirits, he was invisible--an empty spot where the goat stood as the court frolicked in corrupted debauchery. Deagle stood, and while his friend and student and king took the otter over the arms of his throne, Deagle tried to remember.

In every bard's studies, old and esoteric songs creep in to fill the gaps between the popular twaddle. For every mindless court reel, there were a hundred old folk songs and time-worn chants with outdated lyrics and cryptic meanings. Deagle knew many of them, and more importantly, what he knew, he also understood.

The song he chose was an old one. Its words grated on the modern tongue, full of references to people long-dead, and events long-forgotten. Within the first opening chords, the revelers stopped in their motions, as if suddenly coming to their senses. Deagle strummed, and a pair of squirrels slowly disengaged from one another with wet squelches, their noble finery ripped and hanging in tatters. Deagle's voice added to the tune, and the royal guard ceased their frenetic humping at the center of the ballroom. Slowly, they separated, punctuated by a slick 'pop' as the top wolf's knot pulled loose, leaving him hanging and dripping erratically. Note by note, the courtiers came to their senses, until all that remained moving and visible in the room was the king as he took Ralix across his throne.

The song that Deagle sang was a dissonant one, loud and angry. Even when he turned the full fury of his voice and mandolin upon the spirits and the body they inhabited, there was no outward sign that it had worked--at least at first. He continued his song, though, each and every note accompanied by his wailing baritone voice. And then, as all songs must do eventually, it came to an end. As the last few notes hung in the ballroom, Kaspian still thrust, filling the newly-arrived silence with the sound of their coupling. It was a scandalous position in which to find the king, but as his courtiers would later say (at least those who dared mention the event in the years that followed), at least he appeared regal while doing so. The lion stood confidently, hips rolling as he thrust confidently into the otter.

Deagle held his instrument to his chest. "I've given you the key, boy." He whispered, mostly to himself. "I've shown you the door to your prison, but only you can free yourself." And as the spirits fed the fires of his lust and the king roared, Deagle crossed his fingers and hoped.

Ralix. I am Ralix.

It was a wayward thought, but it was the first in what felt like a very long time that was entirely his own. He could still feel the spirits, and what they were doing with his body, but for the first time since he had freed them, the dominant voices that had commanded him were silent. He could still feel the lion thrusting into him, and see through his own eyes the king's face--pulled up in a feral snarl and framed by his dark mane. Memory flooded back, even from those times when he hadn't been witness to what his own body had been doing, when the spirits had locked him so far down in his cell that he couldn't see the light of day. He could see the ways they had used his body and twisted his mind. Worse, he could see what they meant to do.

An old tune played in his head. It was the one his Ma had sung to him when he was a pup. It was a strange song, and her voice didn't suit it well. When the song dipped, her voice chirped, and when it soared high, it cracked. Even so, he remembered the song. He could play each note over in his head, and as he sung to himself, the spirits began to lose their grip on his mind. They were at the cusp of letting go, jumping from him to the king. They were tensed and waiting, urging the king on as he thrust. Ralix could see their spell. Ferret had trained him well. It was one invocation from complete, one last act of lust from being cast.

No.

Ralix had no mouth to give it voice, but he thought it with all of his strength. When he beat at the door of his prison, he found that it swung open. He was in himself again, along with the five evil spirits that manipulated his body like a puppet. He struggled for control, but he was overpowered. Even with most of their attention focused on the king, they struck Ralix back down. He couldn't rise to the surface. He couldn't take control.

No. This is my body. I will not let you use it like this!

He rose again. He could feel the king twitching inside him with each thrust. Kaspian put a hand on his chest and pushed him down into the plush seat of the throne. The lion was close. Ralix could feel the king's thrusting halt, and the length within him throb. Here was the last piece of the spirit's spell, the last act that would let them jump from the otter--a provincial nobody--to the king himself. The leonine shaft throbbed within him again as the king rode his peak, just moments from the cliff.

I will not let you! No!

With every bit of his sense of self, Ralix battered himself against the spirits, and pushed.

When the haze lifted from Kaspian's mind, he was balls-deep in an otter he had never met. Beneath him, the squirming otter squeezed, and the king's length slid out of the hot rump with a rush. Kaspian's peak hit him like a brick. One moment, he had just returned to his own mind, and the next his head buzzed and body twitched, spraying his hot seed across the otter's front. Even though he technically had control of his body back, he still couldn't keep himself from growling as the familiar warm glow of orgasm made his knees weak. Throb after throb of runny cum painted the otter's creamy colored belly and chest, even shooting so far as to hit the underside of the otter's chin and decorate his whiskers. Kaspian felt as if he'd been backed-up for a month, and just now his release was so powerful that he had to grip the throne for balance.

Ralix looked up at him, and his eyes were clear. "Gone. They're gone. I wouldn't let them--couldn't let them take you." Tears welled, and the stained and used otter curled up on the seat of the throne. Kaspian had felt just a touch of the spirits as they bridged the gap to him, but through it he had seen. He'd seen how they'd used the otter. He'd seen how the otter had struggled to be free, and now he saw the otter alone and untainted. The spirits were gone.

No, not gone. They were no longer in the otter, but if they weren't there, then they'd have to go somewhere. Quickly, he spun. On the dais, five new figures had appeared. They were spectral and dark. Through them, he could see hints of light and the concerned faces of the nobles of his court. King Kaspian had never seen a ghost or spirit before, but he had been educated by the best. Deagle had taught him well, and he recognized the five spirits. In an instant, he knew who was to blame.

From behind the throne, he pulled his father's blade. It was a simple sword, not wholly befitting a king. It had no ornamentation. Its hilt had no filigree, and no jewels studded its pommel. Its blade wasn't runed, nor did it glow with eldrich powers. These are all the things it was not, for none of these things would have made it a better weapon. What it had was cold steel, and an expert hand to guide it.

The first spirit was a panther, black as night and wearing an expression of stunned surprise. Kaspian ran it through, and it screamed. Its death cries were felt more than heard, a screeching on the soul that left the king's nerves raw. Then it disappeared, leaving only the hint of shadow remaining where it had stood. Hawk fell next, still unmoved from where Ralix had pushed it out, and it had been forced to manifest. Wolf had just turned to run by the time Kaspian cut through his middle. Bear raised herself to her full height, but the steel blade scythed and cut through her like she was made of nothing but air.

By the time he had turned to the last of the five, Ferret had scampered from the dais and was halfway to the ballroom's entrance. Kaspian hefted his sword and threw it like a javelin. Ferret made it three more steps before the sword met him, point-first. The sword clattered to the marble floor, and only an inky stain remained of the last of the five evil spirits.

It was as if a gate had been opened. His nobles ran from the chamber, panicking and screaming. Most of them were still ill-dressed and stained, trailing strings of their juices and showing evidence of their excitement. For them, Kaspian showed little care. They would find their own ways to survive the ignominy. There was one still here in the ballroom that might not. He turned back to the throne and gathered Ralix into his arms. The royal guard had reacquired their weapons of office, and were approaching, weapons drawn, on the throne.

"No! None shall harm him." The two wolves looked unconvinced. They stood naked, still bearing the evidence of the spirits' lust, and held their halberds level at the king and his ward. Kaspian growled back at them. "Simon! Karl! We trained together. You have guarded me most of my life. Simon, when your wife died, I stood with you at your side as you laid her to earth. Karl, I pulled your tail out of the fire when they found you drunk with that shepherd boy in the larder downstairs. I know you two are my friends, but I am your king, and I swear if you don't put your weapons up this moment, I will retrieve my sword and run you both through!"

It took less than the speed of thought for the command to register, and the wolves stood straight and saluted. The took up places to the side, still naked and indecent as they protected the throne and its inhabitants.

The king cradled the otter and whispered to him. "I haven't met you before, but I know your name is Ralix. I saw what the spirits did to you-"

"What I let them do to me. I gave them the opening. It's my fault. All of it, I let it happen. Oh, mother..." Ralix covered his eyes.

"Shhh. It's over now. You'll have time to fix what you've done, but it's not all your fault. Ralix, if it hadn't been you, they would have found someone else. Someone else may not have been strong enough to push them out at the end. Ralix, I owe you my life."

"You're..." Ralix glanced up, and his eyes stuck on the regal circlet that adorned the lion's head. "You're the king. Your majesty..."

"No, not right now. Right now I'm just Kaspian. I owe you a debt, little otter. I want you to stay here until you're well. We'll see that you get the best treatment the throne can provide. We--no, I. I will make sure you're protected."

"Your ma... Kaspian, I..."

"Shh, Ralix." Kaspian turned to one of the wolves by his throne. "Simon, fetch the chirurgeon, and have the maids prepare the dignitary's suite. We have a new important guest."

History says that the rule of King Kaspian was a peaceful one, and his line continued through three sons, two of which married to neighboring kingdoms, and the first of which succeeded his father. History also talks of the bard Deagle, who was given a title and land as reward for services to the throne. Among the king's court was another specialist, a sorcerer by the name of Ralix. He arrived through 'mysterious means', and little is said of him other than acknowledging his existence and his mastery of magic.

What the histories don't tell of is the Unspoken Day, when nobles were seen fleeing the throne room naked and indecent. The royal guard never told of what happened after the nobles had fled, nor of the way the king doted upon the otter during his recovery. The wolves, whose species was recorded for accuracy but whose names were never written, never mentioned to the historians how the king would visit nightly to the dignitary's suite where the otter was recovering. Nor did they relate how, when the otter's meager possessions were relocated, they were taken to the king's own chambers. History remembers Ralix the Sorcerer, whose treatises on corrupting spirits and possession are the authority on baleful spells of control even to this day. What history doesn't remember is Ralix the King's Consort. Even King Kaspian's two wives never spoke of their disappointment--when the king would visit the queen's bedchamber for just long enough to ensure an heir, then return to his chambers and the private entertainment of his otter 'mistress'.

History may not remember as such, but there is a ballad, written by master bard Deagle, of a king and his lover. It's a sultry song, and rarely sung in 'decent' company. In the taverns and houses of ill repute, though, the minstrels sing the song of the good king and the otter he loved. Of course, as songs do, it quickly lost context. Now, when it's sung, people only think of the lewd lyrics and suggestive themes. No one can draw the connection between the song and the otherwise unremarkable reign of King Kaspian.

But Kaspian and Ralix were not concerned about history. Outside their responsibilities to country and throne, their thoughts turned instead to each other, and in that regard, King Kaspian's reign was a good one.