"Marpala, I wonder if this even matters anymore..." the Queen said, looking at them without blinking. "The news from the male battlefield is that Borba Glau is crushing the resistance of the united clans battle after battle. More traitors are joining him. The Barabia Sand Clan and the Campino Forest Clan are no longer defending the crown, but trying to curry favor with him, stabbing the scattered remnants in the back. Their combined ranks are almost as numerous as ours now. They are clashing in senseless fights with our loyal neighbors, chaos reigns everywhere, and the news that reaches us is irregular and invariably disturbing."

  The Counselor took off and wiped her glasses. Zharya continued from the height of her throne, adorned with skulls and weapons, occasionally tapping her spurred boot sole. She had one leg crossed over the other and leaned her hands on the armrests.

  "It is very likely that in a few weeks, an army will knock at the gates, and I will have to choose between an honorable death and joining the ranks of the concubines. And you are seeking my support in a clan dispute, wanting to legitimize revenge on Borba's wife..." She shook her head and fixed them with her burning eyes. "If I agree, and things take the turn everyone expects, my fate will be miserable. The vengeance will be cruel."

  "The Queen is entertaining us to a joke," Marpala said lightly, causing surprise and murmurs throughout the hall. "No one here believes in the victory of that steppe lackey, much less in the fears of the Strongest of the Strong."

  Dorky nodded vigorously, which caused involuntary smiles under the noses of some of the gathered Orc-women and a cryptic narrowing of the Queen's eyes. Marpala raised her hands, looking around the room and said:

  "Pride goes before a fall. These pigs have no regard for the old law. They use the help of the Kobolds. They attack neighboring tribes and prowl in foreign territory. No one will forget these transgressions. I'll say more, no one will want to recognize the authority of a tribe that has covered itself in shame!"

  "Marpala, desire has nothing to do with it. If Borba Glau defeats King Surovizga in open battle, all tribes will acknowledge his strength. Even if his women disregard the old law and have covered themselves in shame, we have no evidence that he himself is involved. And if he becomes the victor, he will simply rewrite history. Who knows, maybe the new generation of Orc children will hear a fable that Babeno, you, or I started the rebellion and treason." Zharya paused, drumming her fingers on the armrests, then concluded: "That is why I will not make this decision alone. You should know that I have been wondering what to do for a long time, so I sent for the Oracle." The Queen rose from the throne and announced in a booming voice: "Bring in the honorable Oshiya!"

  Dorky looked over his shoulder. The ranks of the gathered parted, and two serious, elderly guardswomen escorted a beautiful Orc-woman, dressed in flowing white and blue robes with streaks of gray in her long, thick hair. The Oracle wore sparkling mountain crystal earrings, a decorative necklace, and was somewhat more rounded than the warriors. Her calm walk accentuated her figure's assets and involuntarily recalled a memory of Celine—a beautiful woman from a life so distant that the boy had almost forgotten it. Oshiya walked the length of the hall, responding to respectful nods with a smile and a kindly glance, then bowed her head before the Queen. The Queen returned the gesture and sat back on the throne.

  "Speak to us, Oshiya," she encouraged her.

  The Oracle smiled and looked around. Her long finger with a well-groomed nail shot out towards Dorky.

  "I have traveled a long way. If I am to prophesy, I need energy. You know how it works. I need fluid." Dorky didn't know how it worked. He turned his wide, surprised eyes to Marpala, who shifted restlessly and said: "He is more than just a slave. The boy has the spirit of a warrior! Let's not waste his blood..."

  "You forget yourself, Counselor!" Zharya thundered, cutting her off. "If necessary, I will sacrifice a dozen like him. Loneliness is clearly robbing you of your senses, but fortunately, I remember well that matters more important than my Counselor's weakness for human youths are being weighed here!"

  "The Queen has spoken," the Oracle said emphatically, and Marpala's face plunged into impenetrable tension. "However, you do not know that there are different fluids from which to draw magic. We do not need to draw his blood. I look at those beautiful curls of his, at those big eyes, and something else comes to mind... a very good idea. Lay out some furs and skins here, right here in the center," she commanded, adjusting her hair and lightly licking her lips. The guardswomen rushed to fulfill her wish. The Queen narrowed her eyes, and a mocking smile blossomed on her lips. Marpala took off her glasses and pushed Dorky into the center of the lair that had appeared in the middle of the room.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  The boy and the older, experienced female stood opposite each other. They were roughly the same height. Her smooth, rounded face with two pointed tusks seemed to gravitate towards him from the very first moment. She sniffed, then placed her head on his shoulder. She turned it towards his neck and ears, still lightly sniffing. Meanwhile, her hands embraced his head and back. Dorky returned the hug, letting himself be embraced. He tried not to think too much and enjoy the moment. The atmosphere became sultry and hot; some of the observing Orc-women loosened the buckles on their armor, lightly shaking their heads to allow the few gusts of air to reach their necklines.

  "Music!" Oshiya demanded from over the boy's shoulder. The assembled obediently began to sing and play on large, war drums. It got even hotter. The Oracle unbuckled his belt, making out with him like a teenager. Several of the assembled could not bear it and began to pleasure themselves, alone or in interesting configurations. The Queen fidgeted on the throne, setting the rhythm by hitting the axe handle against the platform. Sweat poured down their faces. Dilated pupils wordlessly expressed a myriad of feelings—tension, eroticism, the uncertainty of the future, the celebration of the moment. Dorky stood with his hands raised above his head, swaying his hips, while Oshiya diligently gave him a blowjob, occasionally releasing his penis from her mouth and looking up with deliberately crossed eyes. He no longer counted how many days he had left. He savored the peak of his male existence, the perfect play of the deck dealt to him by fate. Oshiya was finishing their ritual with sure movements, and when ecstasy shook him, she momentarily took his penis out of her mouth, allowing him to partly ejaculate onto her face. A moment later, she was sucking him off again, loudly smacking and rolling her eyes. The boy wondered how aroused she was and if he could take her now without rest, astounding the entire court of the capital city. It seemed to be the end, but suddenly the light in the room dimmed to complete darkness, and gusts of wind, appearing from nowhere, stirred up miniature tornadoes around the assembled. Dust, small objects, and scraps of fabric swirled, and an electrifying shudder ran through the living, as Oshiya's eyes glowed with a blue light, illuminating the thick gloom of the room. Something was being released from within her, showing through her skin and fabric. Her crotch, armpits, and mouth glowed with pulsating waves of energy. Dorky tried to escape, but she stopped him with strong, smooth hands, and for a very brief moment, as she placed a gentle kiss on the tip of his glans, he felt an extraordinary stirring. A part of the magical light penetrated his member, leaving a sensation of warm, trembling power.

  The Oracle rose from her knees, rested her hands on her hips, and threw her head back. The boy's semen ran from the corners of her mouth. Suddenly, she threw both hands up, and the tornadoes full of small objects and debris flew up to the ceiling, merged into one, and, shaped by the dramatic movements of her eyeballs and hands, began to show the assembled a clear image. The story spoke directly to the viewers' consciousness, requiring no commentary or explanation: The Orc King, deceived, awaits an honorable duel on the plateau. He is impatient. The night is terrible, rainy. Something is approaching. The opponent is not alone and is not himself; a dark whisper trails behind him, and hungry, hateful spirits from the wasteland circle the unbearably slow-moving stallion. The rightful ruler does not back down, clenches his hands on the handles of two massive axes, and moves to meet them without hesitation, baring his teeth. The vision shifts to Horimar. Dozens of treacherous invaders burst into the city, throwing torches at buildings, dealing with guards, and heading towards the Great Hall. They are led by an Orc-woman dressed in purple, scattering opponents with swings of a two-handed hammer. Suddenly, someone challenges her. She turns and sees an opponent running towards her, all in black, save for a leopard skin around her hips. The vision fades, beginning to dissipate. "Babeno of the Uurb Clan, damn it," Queen Zharya said, breaking the somewhat reverent atmosphere of fear. With her words, the magical wind dispersed, and the light in the room gradually returned to normal. "No one else," the Oracle confirmed, in a tired, weakened voice. "If you seek my counsel, send the boy and the Counselor back to their camp. Let her bring the Elder to the city. Fate will ensure that she and Garba fight here. Otherwise, everything will go up in smoke." "And what about the King?" the ruler asked, but immediately regretted it. She was answered by the Oracle's empty stare. "There is nothing we can do. May the gods grant him strong arms, speed, and resistance to pain..." "But you're not predicting his death, damn it, Oshiya..." Zharya's voice broke for a moment. "The warrior's path is to fight, and death always walks somewhere within sight, smiling and watching his movements. We do not know the future; it has not been revealed to us. We do not know. You must live with this, be the Strong among the Strong." "The Strongest!" Dorky blurted out. "And now it's time for us to go. Marpala?" The Counselor, momentarily taken aback, approached him and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Queen, with your permission," she said, glancing sideways at the boy. Zharya wiped her nose with the back of her hand and slammed her axe on the ground until it shook. "You have it. Fly for my champion, without looking back and without rest, for the love of the gods. Strong ones, blow your horns. Open the gates for them, and then immediately close them. No more deliberation. We are activating full war mode. These are not drills! This is an assault on the crown, on everything dear to us. The red bitch from Krush and her cunning plan must not succeed." Soon after, the well-worn saddle was once again bouncing against Dorky's ass, and Marpala was pushing Baldwin to run so fast that the wind whistled in their ears.