Dogs of Law
#2 of Hellhounds, Hellwolves and Fancy Foxes
Dogs of Law
by Earbender
Brak Hammerfist winced, despite himself, as the massive oaken door crashed shut behind him, cutting off the rough laughter and obscene jests of the prison guards who had brought him here. His strong right hand brushed his waist again, seeking vainly for the battle axe that should have been there. No axe, alas. Weapons were forbidden in this contest. Even his clothes had been taken from him! Brak clenched the hand and drew himself up to his full sinewy six feet of height. No matter. It would take a powerful warrior indeed to best him in unarmed combat!
He peered forward into the darkness, warily searching for his opponent. Something out there, sure enough. He heard a soft panting, almost laughter-like, smelled a distinctive canine musk... and shuddered, blood running cold as the spectral glow of two ghostly green eyes caught his gaze.
A hellhound! No! What base treachery was this? "Yield not, and ye shall prevail," had been the contest terms, and they made sense enough in a fair fight, but no unarmed human could stand against one of them!
Whose idea was this, anyway? What madness had driven him to request trial by ordeal--in a city of sorcerers!--when a year of hard labor could have bought his freedom risk-free? Damn uppity barmaid bitch! This was all her fault. Why did she dress that way if she didn't want to be raped? And why did everyone get so upset about one simple little scream? There was just no understanding these decadent hothouse southerners. The girl had wanted him, he tried to explain; she hardly struggled at all, and everyone knows how weak-willed is the weaker sex, but no man heeded his words. No man but the magistrate, that is, and he listened only to turn those words against him. "You disparage the worth of our citizens," he had stated, soft-voiced, "and who can blame you, powerful barbarian warrior that you are? It must be frustrating to bow to the whims of weaker beings when you could so easily take what you want by force! A year on the road crew is the sentence for rape attempted but not consummated. A man of our people might accept such a fate gratefully, knowing himself lucky to get off so lightly, but how it must chaff a proud champion such as yourself! A year is such a long time, and surely you have places you would rather be. Perhaps you'd prefer to test your mettle in a trial by ordeal instead?"
"Ordeal," he had replied, hardly stopping to think. Pitiable cowardice for him to answer any other way! The magistrate smiled then, and a faint rumbling laughter-murmur suffused the court, quickly suppressed. "By the authority vested in me by His Majesty King Maurice of Valinoin and the Shoalwater Isles, so shall it be!" he intoned, and Brak was led away to a good meal and a tankard of passable small beer... and to this place.
Shit. Shitshitshit. Trust not in the honor of outlanders, Brak had been taught, and this was the proof of it. All he wanted was a job! Just a job; a simple city guard posting where he could bide his time a few years, waiting out his exile but no. No work for him in this depraved city. Damned hellhound furbacks had the grunt-guard market cornered. Why hire a human when for half the cost you could get something faster, stronger, tougher... and scary enough to stop a crime before it even starts? Right lovely irony his death would be under the teeth of one of those same loathsome creatures, but the fates choose as they will. Brak braced himself and stepped reluctantly forward. It was not a good day to die, in his opinion, but his opinion appeared to carry little--
Clack -creak... behind him the door was opening! Brak turned eagerly to face the line of lamplight streaming out from it but the line grew no broader. Door had only parted a crack. "Hey, you! Prisoner!" called a guard's voice from behind that crack. "We have a message for you. It's from the Mage Academy Headmaster himself! He says the students assigned to your case have designed a new fox-themed pelt variation in honor of Crown Prince Phillip's lovely new vixen bride. City's all abuzz with the joyous news, you know. Headmaster says their thaumaturgy appears sound, even inspired, but he can't authorize a human trial without the subject's permission. Do you grant said permission, prisoner?"
"Uh..."
"I'll take that as a yes. We wouldn't want to disappoint the good doctor now, would we? And you'll get to keep your fashionable new fur coat, most likely, when this circus is over. 'Twill make you powerful popular with the pooches, you mark my words!"
"Excuse me? I don't understand--"
"You will, soon enough. Move along now and have a pleasant ordeal!"
Door banged shut, lamplight disappeared--no more than a trace leaking out from the bottom now. Huh. What was that about? Never mind, never mind--focus on the task at hand--monster dog wants to rip your guts out. Say hello to the nice monster dog. Brak moved along then stopped, crouched low in fighting stance, wishing himself virtue's luck in this farce of an ordeal. Luck seemed a mite scarce right now but he would not yield in any case. That at least was certain!
Brak held himself ready, waiting for the hellhound's inevitable vicious-swift rush, and as he waited his eyes grew accustomed to the chamber's not-quite-total darkness. It was a large room, round, perhaps seven yards across, and faint flickering candlelight filtered down from a circular opening in the domed ceiling above. From that same opening a soft drumbeat began, and tenor chanting, while before him the hellhound's smoldering green gaze grew brighter and slowly... so slowly... a monstrous gaunt form congealed from the darker darkness beyond. The shadowy figure rose to its feet and stalked slowly forward, into the center of the room. Hellhound, oh yes. Big one! The creature yawned, luxuriously, and jagged-sharp teeth shone pale in the dimness. So many teeth!
SCHRRUP taptaptaptap SCHRRUP taptaptaptap... the drumsong hesitated then throbbed faster, sibilant and insistent, matching his pulse and pulling at his concentration in a way no simple music should do. Were they trying to hex him now? How dare they call this a fair fight? Brak's cheek began to twitch with the drum-rhythm and his breath caught short, beguiled by the backbeat. He grunted and shook his head, trying to drive the spell out from it, but ...SCHRRUP taptaptaptap SCHRRUP taptaptaptap SCHRRUP taptaptaptap SCHRRUP tap-a-tap... couldn't seem to think of anything else. Brak's face flushed hot, and sweat trickled stinging into his eyes. He wiped his brow and something felt wrong there. The contact felt soft, like cloth... or fur? And his hands! The fingers were pulling themselves strange and stiff--hard to keep in proper fists. They were skin-changing him! Blasphemy! Vile blasphemy. These depraved southerners might dabble in such magic for their convenience or obscene amusement, but not he. Banished he might be, but still in his breast beat the heart of a Grimbrow warrior! Brak snarled and charged the fell beast, determined to die with honor before the evil enchantment could be brought to completion.
The hellhound leapt sideways, thought-quick, and Brak stumbled untouched through the place where it had been. He caught his balance and twisted around, lashing out with a vicious side kick that brushed fur but caused no harm, and the creature danced clear, chuckle-growling, luring him back to the center of the room. Brak charged again and it dipped low, neck-sweeping the human's legs out from under him. Brak caught his balance before he hit the ground, bouncing back instantly to strike again, but the hellhound had slipped behind him somehow, playfully nose-bumping the human's neck when he could have severed it with a bite.
The nose-bump was gentle, for a hellhound, but still it knocked Brak off his feet. Before he could recover the hellhound had crashed down on top of him, pinning him with its weight. Brak knee-kicked, finger gouged, butted desperately with his head--but his attacks bounced harmlessly off the creature's coarse thick fur, and through it all he felt himself still changing, losing his humanity, shifting relentlessly into something just as monstrous.
Brak paused for breath and the animal licked him on the cheek then rolled off to lie on its back with belly exposed and four long legs foolishly pawing at the air. The room seemed brighter now, and Brak could see it was a male. Brak scrambled upright, more or less, but his ankles had gone crooked and hard to walk on. Raging he threw himself at the creature and it rolled smoothly away, just far enough to avoid his rush. He thrashed after it and stumbled, tripping over his own feet. They had grown wobbly and dog-toed, heels pulling up into hocks, and his hands were in no better a state. Brak writhed in mortification as a beastly tail burst out from his backside and his face pushed out in a shameful sharp-toothed muzzle. His ears had grown large and he felt them twitch, and turn, and press themselves against his head in helpless humiliation. The hellhound circled back and sniffed close--then jerked away as Brak snapped savagely, barely missing the inquisitive nose.
SCHRRUP taptaptaptap... the drumbeat grew louder, more complex, and Brak felt his neck lengthening, his shoulders shifting from strong and wide to stronger and deep, his arms pulling tight to the sides of a massive but narrow chest--while inside him he felt a crawling and twisting as his guts remade themselves in revolting new configurations. Brak tried to stand again but he couldn't do it. His hips would no longer bend that way. Damn hellhound was back--mocking his helplessness--nosing his ass end this time. Brak scrabbled around and tried to bite again but he was far to clumsy and slow. "Stop that!" he shouted, or tried to, but his words came out wrong--howling and unhuman. The hellhound backed off, ears lowered sadly, and he began to howl as well, as if in commiseration. Brak snapped his mouth shut. What was he doing? He turned away and slammed the wall with his fist--forepaw now--and it hardly even hurt. Hellhound paws are not so fragile as human fists. He snarled and bit the paw with his new teeth, and that did hurt. A lot. "Harrlghh!" he sob-howled then fell silent, panting softly and ...tap-a-tap taptaptaptap tap-a-tap taptaptaptap... tap. The drumming fell silent as well.
"Wow! That was impressive!" purred a low rumbling voice from close by his ear. "I haven't witnessed a tantrum like that since my sister Bloodsparrow was a pup!"
Brak squeak-yelped and almost bit his tongue--would have fallen over but he couldn't because he was already sprawled on his side. He scrabbled frantically at the floor stones, desperately trying to face his enemy, but--
"Easy now," the hellhound soothed, "I'm not here to bite you! Just relax and gather your wits a bit, then we can reason together like civilized adults. Deal?"
Brak didn't answer but flopped back on his side, panting, and endeavored to take stock. Honorable death had eluded him. Honorable anything was beyond him now. He was a monster now himself, and his own brothers would slay him if they knew. Brak pinched his eyes shut and willed his foul heart to stop beating, but it would not obey. At last he sighed, forlornly, sought again for his beastly new four-legged balance--slowly and carefully this time--and achieved a gangly sort of haunch-sitting posture with a little help from the hellhound. He could have done it for himself but the creature was right there, eager to lend a supporting shoulder, and Brak found it more convenient to accept the help than to refuse it. And anyway--the hellhound did smell rather nice, for a soulless unnatural abomination. Strong and musky, but nice. All the scents around him were stronger now, and far more complex, but the hellhound's new scent was surprisingly tolerable to be near. Brak didn't dislike dogs, in truth. Far from it! It was just the evil magical ones he couldn't abide. For a while he sat stiffly on his haunches, gazing straight ahead--and not at the attentive hellhound who stood earnestly tail-wagging at the edge of his vision--but then, "Nno... no fii-ghht?" he inquired at last. Brak was quick with languages but his toothy maw and long flat tongue felt so strange to him--difficult to control precisely--and the fricative-rich Valinonian dialect wasn't making things any easier. Bloody wonder he could talk at all!
"Hey, that's pretty good for a first try! You'll find your tongue quickens with a little use. I'm Gorepaw, by the way, whelped of Ruetongue by Cynsanguin. I've been selected by the court to be your adversary in this contest."
"You ssaid... nno fii-ght."
"We won't be fighting with our teeth. It's not that sort of an ordeal. What did you do anyway? Magistrate's really got it in for you!"
"Attemp-ted rrape. They ssay."
"Attempted rape and they sent you here? A decent lawyer could have got you six months probation, or at worst a year on the road crew."
"Llawyer?"
The hellhound nuzzled Brak's ear, tenderly. "You poor clueless bitch," he murmured.
Brak froze in astonishment as the touch sent a tingling shiver down his neck and to parts below, then he caught himself and jerked away. "Don't call mme bitch!" he barked.
"Sorry, didn't mean to offend. Have you looked yourself over yet? Would you like me to help?" Wag wag. "I'd really like to help!" Wag wag wag.
"Nno. Nno help! Go away."
"As you wish, comrade, but I'll be right here if you have any questions. Love the fur! I've never seen a hellhound with fur like that!" The monster dog moved off, not very far, and spied on Brak through the corner of an emerald eye as he lick-groomed his own rough pelt.
Brak reluctantly examined himself, beginning with his paws, and the fur there was not rough at all. It was a soft gray-black, not ink-black like the hellhound's, and by lanky elbow-level it had melted to rufous-red on the outside with a cream-white streak on the inside, running up to join a long cream-white throat, cream-white chest and... never mind the rest down there; he'd get to it soon enough. So, yes--where were we now? Rufous-red shoulders, flexible rufous-red back--how was it he could twist around so far?--then rufous-gray on the flanks, the rump, the impossibly fluffy tail... or most of it. Tail tip was white, and the underside, as was the fur surrounding his asshole and his... ah... his...
Brak whimper-gasped and tucked his fluffy new tail--her tail!--tight between her soft furry thighs. She had been half sprawled on her side but now she quickly righted herself, sphinx-style, and--
Hellhound was back again, looming over her, ears folded back in concern.
"I told you go a-way!"
Gorepaw was rangy-tall like she was but larger, a little, and... impressive. Not frightening-impressive, just impressive. Or captivating. Perhaps that was a better word. He seemed so powerful and magnificent, looking down at her like that! And his scent was more fascinating than ever. Was it growing stronger? She could have sworn--
"Are you alright? I heard you whimper and--"
"Get away!" Brak yelp-yipped, then, "Nno. Don't go. I didn't mean that. You can stay here but don't say anything. I need to think."
Gorepaw settled himself sphinx-style beside her, not daring to touch, and Brak's panicked pant-breathing gradually slowed. "Why are you here with me?" she asked at last.
"I'm your adversary. I'm supposed to test you."
"What's the point in that? I've already failed."
"What do you mean, failed? We haven't even started yet! If you win this contest you'll be free tomorrow--and human--strutting tall on two legs and drinking beer from a glass you hold in your own hand."
Brak pricked her ears hopefully, not even noticing the subtle movement. A way out, did he say? Could it really be true? "Exactly how are you to test me?" she demanded.
"I am to test your willpower. You've noticed now, I assume, that other change in yourself? The one between your legs?"
"Yes. I noticed. You Valinonians are real bastards. Did you know that?"
"Yes, I've heard it mentioned from time to time. Could be true. The magic has made you female--and in heat, too, in case you haven't noticed that yet--but the spell will fade with tomorrow's dawn if you can resist the urges that go with it. I'm to tempt you, of course, but if I fail you'll greet the new day in your human form, male, and the court will declare you innocent of all charges. If I succeed--"
Firm resolve hardened Brak's spine and she raised her head high in determination. "You will not succeed." she informed him.
Gorepaw flattened his ears and eyed her sidelong, lips pulled back in a shy grin of appeasement, then he stretched his neck out and dared at last to touch her--lightly chin-brushing the fur above her shoulders--and Brak fidgeted nervously but didn't move away. The touch was sending out more tingle-shivers, but nothing she couldn't handle.
"Why are you trying so hard to coach me? You should have concealed your intent. The court certainly hasn't been so kind."
"Just trying to be fair. As fair as I can be, anyway. I'm in rut myself, you know, and my mother tells me when she's in heat it's nearly impossible to resist--"
"Gorepaw, you'll just have to prepare yourself for disappointment, rut or no rut. I was raised from birth to be a warrior. On my forehead is--or was--a clan mark burned deep to the bone by my own hand. Power of will is a Grimbrow warrior's greatest strength."
Gorepaw shifted his chin-strokes tailward, toward the middle of her back, and they felt even better down there. "Yes, of course. I guess that's settled then. Probably would have blown it in any case. I've never been alone with a bitch in heat before."
"Never? Why were you chosen then?"
"I think it's a reward of some sort. Unofficial, of course; I already have my shiny purple neck ribbon. A few weeks back my partner and I encountered a band of highwaymen while on routine patrol. No time to call for backup. We won and I lived. Lungslasher's ribbon was awarded posthumously."
Death and violence, yes! Finally a subject that was comfortable to talk about. Brak rose quickly to her feet. She'd been feeling antsy, anyway, lying on her belly with a rutty-hot male so close beside her. She needed to be standing firm, with legs braced beneath her in case he--huh? What was that? Never mind. "You vanquished a whole band of outlaws by yourselves? How many were there? How were they armed? Did you catch them by surprise?"
"There were nine of them, but only four were any good. It was in the Bitterspring Highlands, just past Fairweather Ford, where we smelled human blood and found a great puddle of it soaked into the road. Too much blood for a man to survive the spilling. Dust and leaves had been kicked over the place but that was foolish of them. The bandits should have dug up every bit of the bloody dirt and thrown it in the river to hide the spoor. We found a body on the bank downstream from there, hastily buried, ginseng buyer by the scent on his hands. Trail was hot and clear and we ran on, determined to catch them before they could reach deep water and maybe escape in a boat. We should have done better but Slasher caught an arrow in her belly first thing. Lucky shot, not even aimed at her. The arrow was intended for me. She charged forward then, heedless of danger, and while the humans were busy with her I jumped their leader and took out his throat from behind, like this."
Gorepaw sprang up catlike and landed hard on her back, catching her forelegs with his own in an odd twining hook hold and mock-biting the side of her neck. Brak froze motionless as the hellhound's teeth clamped her throat in a grip that was almost painful, and quite impossible to twist away from. She began to tremble but made no other move, and an instant later he was gone, nothing left but the fragrant-musky smell of him. And his words. "... a much safer way to approach an armed human, don't you think? Why do they always assume a neck bite has to come from the front?"
"I don't... ah... I don't assume that. Didn't. Don't. You never know... ah... never know who--" Gorepaw was back again, pressing his shoulder to hers while he chin-tickled the base of her tail. That spot was the most sensitive one yet! Such a delicious feeling... Brak rumble-purred and leaned into it until--what was the matter with her tail? Damn thing was pulling itself up and sideways, as if to clear the way for--"Gorepaw! Stop that!"
Brak snapped her tail down and Gorepaw stopped his tickling, but he didn't move away. Brak didn't move either. "--never know who might be plotting to jump on you from behind. To attack you, that is."
"Good! I thought you had a brain concealed in that gorgeous fluffy head of yours! So anyway, with their leader slain and Slasher raging pain-mad and deadly among them the humans ran away, all but two. We killed those, and the wounded ones, and I ate Slasher's heart when she died, but I didn't hunt down the ones who ran. It was weak of me, I suppose, but they were so young--hardly more than children--and I didn't have the stomach to kill them for the failings of their alpha."
Gorepaw's tail had been lashing the air in eager counterpoint to his story-telling but now it drooped down sadly in memory of his fallen comrade. His body was shivering, ever so slightly, and it felt hot against her side like the fire of a steel forge. "That was... was a mistake," Brak murmured. "You should have, ah, should have--" she paused and lowered her head, distracted by peculiar new sensations coming from her hindquarters. Her haunches had gone unsteady--kind of melty-quivery--and strong muscles within them began to clench down, repeatedly and without volition, like the muscles that made her cock twitch when it was hard. When she still had a cock. Gorepaw had one, certainly! It was right there--inches from her nose--tapered pink tip already peeking from its sheath in readiness to slip its way inside her. Inside her. So strange that was even possible. Stranger still that she should be... wanting it. Aching for it like she had ached for that barmaid's cunt a day and a world ago. Damn thing was a dog cock, for ancestors' sake! One is not supposed to be attracted to things like that. Unless one is a dog oneself, of course. A female dog. Brak whimper-sighed and tore her gaze away. She was crazy-hot horny--horny enough to hump a hellhound--and the only way she could satisfy the urge was to let the hellhound hump her. That would never happen, of course, but--Brak thought again of the Gorepaw's teeth locking tight around her neck, his powerful body forcing her down, helpless and vulnerable. He was stronger, after all, so it was only natural for him to take what he--Brak pinched her eyes shut, forcing herself to concentrate on the business at hand. On talking, only talking. Nothing more than that. "--should have slain them anyway. Now they'll swear vengeance and attack you some day in return."
"Perhaps. Who can know what the future... ah... what the future may... may hold." Gorepaw's voice faded and Brak looked up to find his gaze riveted on her hind end. She twisted round to investigate and found her legs braced and tail kinked invitingly to one side--she hadn't even felt them move!--leaving her dark swollen bitch vulva on flagrant display. Damn thing was twitching, too. With her tail flipped back those muscle contractions were showing clearly for all the world to see. Or for Gorepaw to see, which was just as bad.
"Arrgghh!" Brak sat down hard on her haunches then stood again, hastily, as the cold stone floor made contact far more intimate than any Gorepaw had yet managed. When one is a bitch in full heat one has to be careful how one sits. She cringed in humiliation and sat down again, more carefully this time, gingerly balancing her weight on one hip. "I'm not doing very well, am I?" she sighed.
Gorepaw pressed his neck against hers, trying to comfort, and that just made it worse. "Don't worry about a little twitching and tail flipping," he soothed. "The spell requires a lot more than that for consummation! You can think and do what you like, so long as we don't actually--"
"Right. That's very comforting. Perhaps we shouldn't be so close to each other. You stay here and I'll take the other side of the room, over there. We can talk some more tomorrow. After breakfast."
Gorepaw made no answer and Brak settled herself as far from the hellhound as she could get, determined to sleep or feign sleep for as long as it took to end this game. She lasted an hour.
"Gorepaw?"
"Yes, comrade?"
"I need to piss."
"Not a problem. Just use that straw pile over there, by the water bucket. That's what it's for."
"Oh. Thank you, I'll do that." The straw smelled clean and dry, and Brak had almost taken some of it to use for bedding. She was glad now she had not. So hard to guess every foreign custom ahead of time! She jumped up and squatted over the straw pile, mortified by Gorepaw's watching eyes, but it was that or wet herself where she lay. Urinating as a bitch was very different from what she was used to. Much quicker, which was fine, but the necessary splay-legged tail-up posture bore far too close a resemblance to the mating presentation she had slipped into before, and she was all too aware of the erotic effects of estrus bitch urine on male dogs. Ugh. Strong! Not attractive to her, anyway. Brak darted away when she was done and Gorepaw immediately claim-marked the area himself, sniffing eagerly before and afterward. "We hellhounds are tough but we're still just big smart dogs, you know," he apologized. "Might as well admit to it."
"Yes," Brak murmured, "might as well." Gorepaw's rank piss-scent drifted back shamelessly mingled with her own, and that was interesting. No. No it wasn't. Brak ignored the distracting thick smells, or tried to, and curled herself tight on the rough stone floor. Moments later she uncurled, fidgeting, unable to settle properly. It was not a problem of comfort, really--the stones did not pain her--she just couldn't hold still. Gorepaw appeared to be having the same problem. Had he edged himself closer? Yes, definitely closer, but still far enough away. She didn't call him on it. Brak squirmed onto her back, four long legs paddle-waving distractedly. No. Not a good position. Too suggestive, and she could smell how it was wafting her heat scent in Gorepaw's direction. Was that growing stronger too? Hastily she righted herself and pressed her chin to the floor, eyes pinched tightly shut. She couldn't shut her ears though, and when Gorepaw sent a sad soft whine her way she returned it before she could stop herself. To hide the sounds she began to hum the tune of a bawdy North Clans ballad she knew, the story of a witless wolf brought low by ill-considered amour. The ballad was not a part of Brak's prudish Grimbrow heritage. She had learned it at a trade festival.
Wild-Wolf he would a wooing go... Huh? That was Gorepaw's voice! And he was singing the proper North Clans words! No one in Valinoin understood that dialect, much less spoke it. No one until now.
...Beyond the woods so green
Wild-Wolf he would a wooing go
Through lands he'd never seen.
Oh, a dipsydoodle dodoo dodum dodow dodo dodee.
Dowdedo dedodle dumdum rumtum a tot of rum for me!
Though fleet of foot and quick of tongue
No heavy purse had he.
"No matter that, I'll lure someone
To give her own to me!"
Oh, a--
"Oh leave off the refrain, will you please? It's too silly. Where did you learn those words, anyway?"
Gorepaw stood and stretched himself, edging subtly closer in the process. "My mother taught them to me," he replied. "She was born on the Blufflands so she knows lots of North Clans lore."
Brak curled her lips irritably. "Don't lie to me, Gorepaw. The bluffers would have killed your mother on sight. Did she get the song from a minstrel?" Brak's mortification was quickly turning to pained annoyance. She had told him to stay away! Why wouldn't he listen?
Gorepaw sidled closer. "No, she learned it from her tavern buddies like any other drinking song. It's a long story, but we have lots of time. You see, in those days my mother was not--"
"That's close enough, dog. Go on--back to your side of the cell!" Gorepaw pranced lightly away, tail high, and resumed singing:
Oh, a dipsydoodle dodoo dodum dodow dodo dodee
Dowdedo dedodle dumdum rumtum a tot of rum for me!
At winter's end on weary paws
He found a bitch unbound.
Alone because a witch she was
And shunned by all around.
Oh, a--
"Gorepaw..."
"Oh, a ditsy damsel won't let me sing. Oh dear, what shall I do?
Do I dawdle dumbly and dodder on or grab her tail and--"
"Gorepaw! Sing it right!"
Gorepaw smiled sweetly and flicked his tail in a vaguely obscene way, then he took up the original again, sans refrain:
He spoke her fair, he praised her proud.
He fondly stroked her fur.
That wily wolf he swore out loud
He was the wolf for her!
He danced close again, teasing, and Brak snapped her jaws in suppressed rage. She was growing far angrier than she had cause to be, while Gorepaw sensed her stormy feelings and reveled in them.
Witch-Bitch replied, "My love to earn,
Pray give me what I need.
My womb is yours in fair return
For rod and stones and seed!"
Wild-Wolf he dallied not a dot,
He howled in wild delight!
Wild-Wolf he humped her hard and hot
Then turned and tied her tight...
Gorepaw frolicked closer and she savagely slashed at him, genuinely trying to bite this time. She missed and he taunt-gamboled back again, and then again, until her control snapped and she exploded at him in a fury, leaping for his throat with intent to kill. The hellhound eluded her neatly and she chased after him, teeth clacking viciously through the place where his tail had been. He dashed onward, hugging the circle of their cell wall and leaning hard over to keep from skidding while Brak raced close behind, kicking straw and bucket aside and almost managing to catch a bite. He surged faster, claws skittering up on the wall now as his speed forced him against it, and as Brak raced after him she found herself clawing up onto the wall as well. Never in her life had she run so swiftly! Not even close. Southern traders sang misty-eyed of the magical bond between a sleek galloping stallion and his noble human master, but the North Clans horses were all short-legged and woolly-furred, and quite unenthusiastic about galloping with a heavy human on their backs.
Gorepaw was pulling ahead but it didn't matter now. Brak's anger was fading, fading, then gone--swept away by the exultation of speed. Gleefully she gave herself to it, giddy with it, forgetting her human form and running as a greyhound runs--back stretched long then curled spring-tight, then bursting forward in another bounding leap. She was gaining again, entirely on the wall now, and when Gorepaw spiraled higher she hounded him hot until the curved dome of the roof stopped them both. She edged closer, almost touching his trailing tail, and then she did touch it--bit it--but not hard.
Gorepaw yelped in surprise and darted sideways, losing his stride and tangling his legs with hers, and then both of them were falling, falling--skid-tumbling unhurt to the floor below. Brak landed on top and she pressed her advantage, mock-biting his neck and ears until Gorepaw feigned defeat and yip-warbled in pretend agony. A playful madness had taken them both, and when Gorepaw gained his feet she seized his rear and humped him wildly, like a male dog would, except that Gorepaw's tail was in the way and Brak was lacking in the necessary male dog equipment. Felt nice, though, and she kept up the movements even as Gorepaw threw her off and traded places. Her tail was already tucked aside, cursed disloyal thing, and Gorepaw had her thighs hooked tight to his before she even realized what he was up to. Brak went rigid as the hellhound's weight came down on her--pleasure-shocked--her haunches locking stiff in gleeful accommodation. She felt a touch, a gentle probing touch, carefully finding its way... soon it would find its way... and what was the harm in that? She needed that touch, burned for it, it was her right! It was... shit. It was there. Inside her now. Slipping right inside! Brak whined low and arched her back as the hellhound took her, overwhelmed by erotic sensations beyond anything she had known as a man. She tried to wiggle free but her legs would not move. Would not, could not; it didn't matter now. The hellhound thrust deeper and she pressed against him, trembling. Defeated. Too weak. "Gorepaw no," she whimpered, knowing it was too late. Far too late. Gorepaw had vanquished her and nothing she could do would change that now. He was--
He was gone.
"What--" Brak looked up and found the monster dog far across the room from her, as far away as he could get. He was lying on his side with his back turned her way.
"Gorepaw, what happened?"
"I was sent here to seduce you, not rape you," he replied, voice thick with pain.
"Never mind," she yearned to tell him. "Please come back," she ached to say, but she didn't say those things. She was a Grimbrow warrior, and chose not to answer at all.
Silence she gave the creature and silence he returned to her. Both were trained fighters accustomed to silence, and to waiting. Unmoving she watched his back, observing every breath, every twitch, every subtle change in position. It's what one did, with a dangerous enemy, and her new hellhound body did these things better than she had ever done them before. Gorepaw lay still now but it was not from relaxation. It was the rigid stillness of sheer will. Brak could feel his tension, hear it, smell it--and she knew he sensed her struggle in that same fanatic way. So she watched, and waited... and wanted. How she wanted him! A single word, that's all it would take, and how could it matter now? Gorepaw had mounted her, penetrated her, defeated her with trivial ease. What more could the spell require? Dawn would find her a hellhound still, she was sure of it, and only her cursed Grimbrow stubbornness was holding her back.
Brak was quite good at stubbornness, though, and as a hellhound her capacity for it seemed undiminished. In the morning she would give herself to him, when all hope was lost--Brak's tail wagged wistfully at the prospect despite her best efforts to hold it still--but not yet, dammit! Until that time came she would endure. She would make herself endure.
Time passed, and one by one the candles above them guttered out, leaving their cell unlit except for the lamplight streaming out from beneath their cell door. How bright it seemed now! More time passed and bantering voices from behind that door betokened a changing of the guard. A subtle waft of air brought Gorepaw's scent closer and her heart raced pounding-swift in response. Traitorous heart! How could she look her kin in the eyes with that damned dog heart still beating beneath her ribs? That would never change, she feared, whatever skin she wore tomorrow. Human she might look but they would know! Surely they would know, or guess, the secret memories she was keeping from them. If she ever managed to regain her human form, of course, and outlive her exile. Why even wish for such a thing? Her kinfolk were a sour, unkind lot, in truth. Gorepaw owned her now, as was his right, and he was much better company.
More time passed and stealthy sounds from the mage laboratory above them told of two apprentices sneaking in and listening avidly, then peevishly, then creeping off again in guilty disappointment. Brak dreamed of the lewd sounds she and Gorepaw might have been making for them, and sighed.
When their guards changed themselves for the second time Gorepaw rose to his feet and walked wordlessly to the cell door, avoiding her gaze. Soon now. Soon this would be over, one way or another. Brak stared after him spring-steel-tense, fighting the urge to follow, then squeak-whined in wonderment as new sensations welled forth from within her. A tickling warmth now--or a tingling--different from the maddening lust-heat that consumed her. This was the transformation magic! Never could she forget that feeling. She sprang to her feet and rushed eagerly to Gorepaw's side. "I'm changing back!" she whispered, quick-nuzzling his ear. "Thank you. Thank you. I never could have--"
"Yes." Gorepaw turned away, rejecting her caress, and Brak followed his movement still nuzzling. Couldn't help herself. She just had to show her feelings somehow! Gorepaw relented and she lick-kissed his ear, his neck, the elegant strong curve of his jaw. That change-tingle was growing stronger but she ignored it. Gorepaw was all she could think about, or care about. A pox on thinking! Brak nuzzled closer and slipped her head down low, beside his chest. The fierce heart inside it was hammering, racing, thundering fit to burst. "Gorepaw, will I see you again?"
"No."
The tingle had settled into her paws, rooting there. Something was happening but it was not important. Nothing was important but the wondrous wise dog by her side. Brak snapped her head up, astonished at the notion sweeping through her. How could she have been so blind? Damn stubborn clan-pride. She could have been free of its taint but now it was too late. Too late to take what was offered; too late to admit--no. It was not too late. Not if she acted fast. Brak laugh-barked madly and rounded on Gorepaw--nipping him here, there, everywhere she could reach until he lost his patience and lashed snarling back at her. She fled him gaily then, hocks high, and when he caught her she stopped still, waiting, tail kinked tight to the side.
Yielding herself to him at last.
Gorepaw froze stunned, jaws agape, and when she wiggled closer he reared up still unsure, ready to bolt at a word. Brak growled coaxing and his weight settled gently down upon her back; forelegs reached shyly forward and hesitated, trembling, then curled down and pulled firm, firmer--frantic tight! The hellhound was panting now, ragged harsh breaths blowing hot on her neck, and Brak's skin crawled burning in response as he clutched her roughly and roughly probed, searched, found his way--then grunted low and forced her open, pressed sliding up into her, not waiting, not stopping. Gorepaw thrust deep, far deeper than before, and Brak yelped shrill as her body clenched him tight in wild welcome. He thrust again and her paws left the floor for an instant, but it didn't hurt. His movements quickened and she gasped shuddering, transfixed, molding her body to match the overarching curve of his. His knot was swelling now inside her, wasting no time, and Brak's new muscles squeezed tighter, without volition, locking him in place. Gorepaw whimpered feverishly and his thrusts grew shorter, quicker, more urgent. His knot was larger now, much larger--stretching her painfully and driving the rest of him deeper inside. Filling her... differently. Touching her in a way she had never dreamed of being touched. Even the stretching pain was strangely erotic, mixed with a savage sort of craving, and then the pain was gone, or forgotten, leaving only that desperate need. Gorepaw paused for an instant, cock tip pressed tight to the entrance of her womb, then he was thrusting again, thrusting hard, each swift sliding movement stirring her powerfully, violently, irresistibly--driving her mad with the soul-melting pleasure of it. And something else was tugging at her awareness now, something stronger; strange deep vibration coyly teasing, tantalizing, unraveling the last tattered rags of her sanity. As a man she would have called it--
Brak froze quivering as the orgasm claimed her--inner passage fluttering and haunches sagging limp so that only Gorepaw's tight grip and tighter tie held her up from the stones beneath them. She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't make a sound beyond a whimper as he rutted her wildly, unstoppably... then Gorepaw was coming too, pressing rigid against her backside as his cock jerked sudden-sharp within her--and again, then strongly again--hips locked motionless but cock twitching rhythmically now as wave after wave of his fertile seed pumped out from him, pooled hot against her receptive cervix... and passed through.
Brak felt it filling her, pulse by sensuous pulse, as her mind became her own again and her willful body did not. She was twitching herself now, dance-step-locked to Gorepaw's steady breeding throb within her, and those pleasure-twitches felt delightful indeed--like the hard-clenching pleasure of coming as a man but going on, smooth-soothing now, mesmerizing. Brak closed her eyes and panted softly, savoring the sensation, head drooped low in fuddled ecstasy. The empty water bucket brushed her muzzle and she bit it, nibbling distractedly at the smooth damp wood, and--she felt a sudden tug, and her eyes snapped open. What was that? Where am I? What's happening to--oh. Yes. That.
Gorepaw was pulling at her now, stepping down and twining sinuously tail to tail, and the twisting movement was stretching her delightfully but mashing his testicles hard up against her backside. Shouldn't that be painful for him? Brak turned to look and saw him head down, toothy jaws joyfully agape, drooling. No. Not a problem.
Gorepaw caught her eye on him and she grinned slyly, then queried in her broadest Grimbrow brogue: "Mr. Goare-pawe, sire, prithee speak me sooth--d'ya suppose I've botched mine ordeal w'this spot o'frolic we've 'ad 'ere?"
Gorepaw snorted in amusement. "Alas, my fire-furred fraile," he answered in passable patois of his own, "in sooth yer futtered fair, I fear." He began to hum-howl the Wild Wolf ballad and Brak joined with him, singing Wild Wolf's part:
Wild-Wolf he blissfully bred his bitch
Then stilled, "How can this be?"
Wild-Wolf he felt a strange deep twitch,
"That bitch is inside me!"
Wild-Wolf he wailed in wild dismay,
"What now this treachery?"
Wild-Wolf he tried to pull away
But couldn't wiggle free.
She leaned away teasing, stretching their tie, and Gorepaw backed up hastily to reduce the tension. It was his turn to sing now, so he did:
Witch-Bitch replied, "I've kept my vow.
My fertile womb is thine."
Witch-Bitch he laughed, "Don't struggle now.
That knot within is mine!"
The two hot hellhounds merged in dulcet duet now, singing sad then silly:
Wild-Wolf she trembled, pleasure-swayed.
Untied she turned to flee.
The witch cried "Stay! Why now away?
What's ours I pledge to thee."
Wild-Wolf she sighed, and chose to bide.
In time more pups were bred--
To Wild-Wolf's pride, but not inside.
Borne by the witch instead!
So heed my moral with a grin:
Don't panic if you're scroooowed ...
Gorepaw raised his head and howled the ballad high, horrifically, while Brak bayed balefully low, and their stone cell echoed to the crashing finale of their song:
No fate's so grim you cannot win! Just laugh and keep it lewd-oh-a dipsydoodle dodoo dodum dodow dodo dodee dowdedo dedodle dumdum rumtum a tot of rum for me!
Wham! Wham! Wham! Their cell door shuddered suddenly as something heavy slammed hard against it. "Quiet in there!" a worried guard voice urged, "And make yourselves decent if you can. You have guests coming."
"Can they wait a few minutes?" Gorepaw begged. "We're really not very presentable right now. Kind of ah, engaged if you catch my drift."
"No, I don't think they'll be waiting. They're right--"
"Quit your dithering, guard, and open the door! A couple of fornicating hellhounds are not going to offend our delicate sensibilities."
"Yes, Your Honor."
The door opened immediately, blasting their cell with harsh bright lamplight--several lamps now, not just the single guard lamp--and both dogs pinched their eyes shut against the painful brilliance. Brak forced her lids open a crack and beheld the richly clothed magistrate advancing regally across their soiled-straw-strewn cell floor to claim the portable judicial bench even now being erected for him, a corpulent court bailiff rising red-faced from his hasty bench-erecting efforts, a birdlike court secretary fussing over a portable table of his own... and the austere, crimson-cowled figure of a high level mage. She tugged anxiously, trying to free herself, but Gorepaw's knot showed no signs of coming out any time soon. The mage strode forward and placed a fingertip across her muzzle, gently pressing it there. "Calm yourself," he murmured, "No need to fret; simply carry on as you were and pretend I'm not here." Deft fingers pulled back lips and investigated her teeth, gathered a fistful of throat fur and felt it carefully, appraising, then stroked gently over her ears, her back, the long double row of teats gracing her cream-white belly fur... and that quivering tight-filled place between her legs where Gorepaw still held sway. The fingers fondled her tail fluff then worked downward, to her feet... and stopped. "What's this?" the mage hissed, "Five toes not four?" He moved to a forepaw and inspected it carefully. "Grab my wrist!" he commanded.
Brak grabbed, and found she could do it now. Her dewclaw had grown strong and thumb-like with her partial reverse transformation, and it appeared to be stuck that way. She squeezed harder and the human winced. "You may release me now."
Brak released, and the mage rubbed his wrist absently. "Gripping paws are not part of the Valinonian hellhound design!" he grumbled. "The current specifications call for standard dog paws only. I was planning to give your team highest marks for competence, but now--" The mage paused, thoughtfully. "But wait. Were your feet like this when you first transformed, or did they change later?"
"Later, Your Worship," Brak squeak-whispered. Couldn't seem to get her throat working properly. "Gorepaw and I were--I mean, I was kind of distracted and I didn't really notice--"
"Yes yes, of course. Simple change-termination side effect; not the students' fault at all. Perfectly understandable under the circumstances." He brushed his lips by her ear and whispered, "Congratulations! Few hellhounds have the luxury of gripping paws. You'll find them convenient and most likely heritable. Gorepaw has done well. Please convey to him my felicitations and tell him I'll come by for a visit as soon as I can manage it. Can't wait to see his new puppies when they arrive!"
Puppies? Brak stared ahead dumbfounded, and her ears drooped low in chagrin. Hadn't thought much about puppies, really, in all the excitement. That is, she had thought, but hadn't really thought it through. That's the mother's problem, after all, and... Gorepaw fidgeted restlessly behind her, no doubt wishing to speak but not daring to. His own ears were keen enough and close enough to take in every word the mage had said. Surely the mage realized that as well! He was rising to his feet now, directing his gaze to the magistrate while gracing her neck with a subtle affectionate pat.
"Your Honor, I am ready now to address the court, if that is convenient to you."
"Yes, Your Worship, by all means proceed."
"Very well. It is my professional opinion that the subject before me has engaged in sexual congress with a hellhound male while under the influence of an open-matrix hellhound transformation spell, thereby mingling his living essence with her own and locking herself in her current form. Further magical changes are unlikely, and on behalf of the Mage's Guild I certify her sound and fit for sentencing by the Valinonian Court as ordained by law."
Huh? There was more? Losing her humanity was the punishment, right?
"Nice try, Your Worship, but those forepaws will not do at all. You'll need to rectify that failing before the court can accept--"
"The court requested an open matrix transformation on the pretext of a trial by divine ordeal. Open matrix transformations are notoriously unstable until finalized, and occasional side effects of this sort are only to be expected. In addition, theological analysis of this case indicates a possibility of genuine divine intervention. I suggest you so decree, and get on with things. You'll certainly get no satisfaction from disparaging the performance of my students!"
"But--"
"This transformation was provided at no charge to the Kingdom of Valinoin as a public service and training exercise. If you wish to register a complaint the Mage's Guild will consider it carefully, of course, but they will also take that complaint into account the next time complimentary services are requested of them. The Mage's Guild would be happy to provide a price quote for no-fault mitigation services, of course, if so requested by the court. I'm sure I can persuade them to offer a modest goodwill discount in recognition of--"
"No, no, that's fine, Your Worship. No disrespect intended. Please forgive my hasty speech."
"No disrespect perceived, Your Honor. Glad to be of service. Will there be anything else today?"
"Thank you but no, Your Worship, that will be all. Your services, and those of your esteemed colleagues, are as usual deeply appreciated by the Sovereign Kingdom of Valinoin and the Shoalwater Isles. Good day."
"Good day." The mage turned to go, and as his crimson cloak swirled round him he smiled a smile and winked a wink no human there saw. Gorepaw's rough tail tickled her ass as it quick-wagged happily in response. "That's my sire," he murmured proudly, but also softly so that only she could hear.
Sire? Gorepaw had a human as a sire? And a mage! What the--
"You! Dog! Ah..." The magistrate turned to his secretary for assistance.
"Gorepaw, Your Honor."
"Gorepaw. The Kingdom of Valinoin acknowledges your enthusiastic and manifestly capable services as Court Champion in this case, but those services are no longer required. You may go now."
Gorepaw tugged hard away from her, too hard, and both dogs yip-squeaked in pain. He was softening now--nervousness does have that effect on one--but not enough. "Your Honor, if you'll bear with me a bit... having a little trouble here..."
"Certainly, certainly, perfectly understandable under the circumstances. Guard! Our Court Champion is having a spot of trouble with his ardor. Fetch us some cold water and dampen it, please."
Cold water was fetched, and splashed, by a cheerfully grinning guard, and Gorepaw's valiant knot surrendered its hold at last. He growl-grumbled and pulled out with a wet plop then instantly shook himself, liberally spattering all bystanders. Brak hardly noticed the droplets--except for their deliciously steamy wet-dog-sex fragrance--and their two guards appeared unfazed, but not so the members of His Majesty's Low Court.
"Stop that!" the magistrate shouted, and Gorepaw stopped. He tucked tail and cringed away, hiding his grin from the magistrate but not from their guards, and the guards grinned back subtly, hard to spot, as guards on duty sometimes do.
"That was uncalled for!" the magistrate raged as his bailiff dabbed him dry and his secretary hissed furiously over a damp-defiled page. "Who taught you your manners, dog? Were you born in a barn?"
"Well, yes, Your Honor, I was. But it was a very nice barn! It was clean, and dry, and smelled of hay and leather and pack mules. My mother was serving time on the road crew so she didn't have any other place to go, and--do you remember my mother? Big loudmouthed North Clans man from the White Cliff Fjords? Tried his luck with the ordeal, twenty years ago, just like--"
Bang! The magistrate's gavel cut rudely through Gorepaw's strange monolog. "Silence! One more word and I'll be citing you for contempt of court."
Gorepaw cringed low again, obsequiously, but Brak could smell he didn't mean it. "Yes, Your Honor," he mumbled--Gorepaw's mother was human too? And a man? A North Clans Man! Crazy crude depraved Valinonians!--but the magistrate had already turned away from him. He was looking at Brak now.
"Brak Hammerfist," the magistrate intoned, "son of Garth Halfear of the Grimbrow clan of the New Amalgamated North Clans Confederation, through defeat in trial by ordeal you stand convicted of attempted rape on the person of one Roselyn Renee Winsome of the Fenport Road Public House. The victim acknowledges the assault but has petitioned the court for clemency on your behalf, expressing the opinion that you were ignorant of local customs and unaware of the trouble you were getting into. Based on this petition the court has agreed to consider a mitigation of your sentence..."
The magistrate's learned words yammered insignificant in her ears as Brak edged closer to her Valinonian monster dog lover, tingling to the damp touch of his fur, yearning already to feel him inside her again. "Gorepaw, what's a mitigation? Is it a good thing? Is my voice soft enough so he can't hear me?"
"Hush, my love. He'll see your lips moving."
"... however, your status as a failed contender in trial by ordeal has made you ineligible for such mitigation, and the Court of Valinoin hereby sentences you to service for a year and a day on the Valinonian Highroad Maintenance Corps in such dray and pack-bearing duties as you are fit to perform, with said duties to be fair, sustainable, and in no way punitive by intent. Your term of service is to begin forthwith, but in consideration of your current estrus condition you will be held in solitary protective custody until your season has passed. Moreover, you will be relieved of work duties for whelping and nursing as needed, with your litter to be confiscated at weaning age and placed in state custody for adoption to suitable homes. Do you have any comments or questions regarding this judgement?"
"Don't say anything!" Gorepaw whispered. "Let me do the talking, and back me up."
Brak shrugged and shook her head. "No, Your Honor."
"Very well, then. If there are no other relevant matters to discuss, this court will now adjourn." The magistrate raised his gavel and--
"Your Honor!" Gorepaw called out.
"Yes?"
"All here have seen me breeding the bitch by my side. If it please the court, I request that I be named sire of record for her get, with all humans in this room listed by name as witnesses."
"Petition granted. Will that be all?"
"No, Your Honor. I have another request, if it please the court."
"Very well, what is it?"
"As legal partner to this bitch, before witnesses, I petition the court to issue us a certificate of marriage."
The magistrate cleared his throat and looked hard at Gorepaw. "This is not necessary, you know. As Court Champion you are exempt from moral and legal obligations in this matter."
"Yes, Your Honor. I am aware of this, but I wish to proceed nonetheless."
"Brak Hammerfist, do you concur in this petition?"
Marriage? Marriage to a rutting hellhound? How dare he ask me that! How could I possibly consent to--Gorepaw cuddled closer and she breathed in his heady scent, quivered to the hopeful-anxious hammering of his heart against her side--"I... ah... I do."
"Petition granted, subject to the customary registration fees. I now pronounce you dog and wife." The magistrate raised his gavel as if to close proceedings and hesitated, eying Gorepaw warily.
"And in addition, Your Honor..."
"Yes?"
"As Brak's husband I request, on her behalf, a court certificate of death for her human self and probationary Valinonian citizenship as a lawful sapient magical construct as authorized by His Majesty King Maurice's Benign Being Emancipation Proclamation of Twelve Eighty Six."
The magistrate scowled and hesitated, then--"Do you concur in this petition, Brak Hammerfist?"
Brak pulled her lips back in a rueful grimace. So her ordeal had been fatal after all! No matter. She never had liked Brak all that much. "Yes, Your Honor. I concur," she quietly replied.
"Petition granted. Brak Hammerfist, I now pronounce you dead by failure in trial by ordeal. Your personal effects will be confiscated by the court for payment of any outstanding--"
Gorepaw had raised a forepaw in the air and was waving it frantically. He pointed at himself when the magistrate looked his way.
"Your personal effects--and debts--will be taken up by your widower Gorepaw for estate settlement as governed by appropriate statute." Sourly he eyed the two hellhounds. "Do we have a name, perhaps, for the lawful sapient magical construct I see before me?"
Gorepaw cleared his throat nervously. "Uh, New-Brak... Red-Brak... uh, Fire--"
"Fireback," his bitch breathed softly and--
"Fireback!" her mate proclaimed.
"Very well." The magistrate turned to his secretary and rapped out: "Fireback, sapient magical construct, female hellhound, age one day." He returned his attention to Gorepaw. "Now are you done?"
"No, Your Honor. I petition the court to consider that Brak, being legally dead, should no longer be required to serve--"
Bang! "Petition denied. I hereby close these--"
"Your Honor!"
"If this is another spurious claim I'm fining you fifty Valans for contempt of court," the magistrate warned.
"Yes, Your Honor. I understand, but I'm sure you'll consider this petition a fair one. As Fireback's husband I request conjugal time with her during the balance of her heat, legal custody of her pups, and visitation privileges without limit during the off-duty hours of her term of servitude."
"Petition denied. You were married to Brak Hammerfist, but Brak is dead. Would you like to marry Fireback now? You'll have to pay another registration fee, of course."
"Yes, Your Honor," Gorepaw sighed.
"Fireback, do you consent to this marriage?"
"Yes, Your Honor, I do."
The magistrate raised his gavel. "Marriage request granted. Visitation and custody requests granted." Bang! "This court is now adjourned." The magistrate swept all present with a steely gaze which lingered coldly on Gorepaw for a time, then he turned and stalked out from the room, leaving his bench and gavel for the bailiff to deal with. His two assistants bumped and bustled and gathered up their burdens and then they were gone too, leaving only the hellhounds and their two guards. Grinning guards, now that the court delegation had departed. The older one spoke first. He was the same guard who had so cheerfully dumped a bucket of cold water over Gorepaw's back, and--she sniffed the air, thoughtfully--and the same guard who had brought her here the night before.
"Weel now, and ain't this sweet! Here we are together again, one big happy furry family. May I kiss the bride?" He stepped forward with arms outstretched and Gorepaw edged quickly forward, blocking him. She took the opportunity to lick-tickle his ear and Gorepaw melted distractedly at her touch.
"Yeah, Mick... ah... it's sweet. Now if you... ah... if you don't... ah"--Gorepaw pulled reluctantly away from her touch--"if you don't amble on out of here and leave us a little private conjugal time together you'll find just how sweet a boot full of hellhound piss smells on a sunny spring morning."
"Sure, sure, anything you say, Gory... but wouldn't the brace of you fancy a wee small bite of breakfast before you go about conjugatin' too eager-like?"
Breakfast? She ceased her nuzzling. Food! She had forgotten entirely about food, but now... yes. Breakfast would be rather nice, and she could already smell it nearby. She had noticed the cooking smells before but never dreamed they were intended for her! For... Fireback. Not Brak but Fireback. Hellhound bitch. Deceased North Clans warrior and Gorepaw's well-tied bride. How the ancestors must be laughing! A thread of drool escaped her jaws despite her best efforts to keep it back, and beside her Gorepaw's belly began to rumble quietly.
"Uh, yes, thank you," her handsome hound replied. "A wee small bite of breakfast would be most welcome, at that." Mick made a small gesture and his partner disappeared, returning shortly with a covered platter smelling deliciously of garlic sausage and fried potatoes. Ostentatiously he set it down before the furry newlyweds, and fragrant steam burst forth when he raised the lid.
Fireback leaned eagerly forward, drooling again. "Do you always feed your prisoners so well?" she marveled.
The young guard smiled sweetly. He was kind of cute, in a weak fragile human sort of way. Too bad she was already--what? What was she thinking! "Nah, but we don't marry 'em every day either! Nice catch, Gorepaw!"
"Yeah! Ain't she the precious one? My dam says North Clans warriors make the best bitches."
"Well, she ought to know! 'Scuse me, gotta fetch you your beer." The young guard trotted out, and quickly returned with two large, foam-capped stoneware mugs.
"Arnie, my bosom comrade, I am forever in your debt!" Gorepaw's muzzle darted downward and began a furious lapping but Brak stood by and regarded her mug doubtfully. "Go on," the other guard laughed. What was he called again? Mick. Yes, Mick he was. Uncouth outland name! "Slip that tongue in and give it a lick! You'll get the hang of it soon enough."
Fireback's belly rumbled again, this time cramping a little. "I think I'll eat first, if it's all the same to you." She sniffed the platter delicately, savoring; garlic sausage had never smelled like this! She bit down and ate ravenously, bolting the food and burning her tongue, just a little, and--Gorepaw lifted a foam-splattered muzzle and glared at her playfully, wagging his tail to take away the sting. "Save some for me!" he whimper-whined. "I married twice so I get double portions."
"I did too!" Fireback protested, finishing exactly half of the platter's contents.
Gorepaw bustled close and gobbled his portion in less time than it takes to tell of it. "Yeah," he mumbled, mouth full, "but you croaked after your first go. Brak's dead so she doesn't get any."
"Careful, she'll haunt you! You can never tell what a fetch will... wait." she turned to Mick. "What's going to happen to all my old stuff, anyway? You know--my clothes and axe and such."
"Gorepaw will be selling them, I suppose. He has custody now, but that's joint custody with you. You won't be losing anything you're fond of; don't you worry about that."
"No, there's nothing I care about, except--Gorepaw, how are we doing for money?"
Gorepaw lowered his head, sadly. "Not so well. I was going to talk with you about it later, after we... ah... after we had a little more time together. I have some money saved but your death certificate and the two marriage licenses will take a chunk of it, and in two months we'll need to post a surety bond if we want to keep the pups. In Valinoin it's illegal for hellhounds to breed without proof of financial solvency." He turned to Mick. "I haven't seen Brak's gear yet. What do you think it's worth?"
"Not a lot, I'm afraid. No jewelry, hardly any cash, clothes badly worn--only the axe has any value. It's a nice one, though. Quality North Clans forge work. Could get you a hundred valins, I suppose, maybe more if I take it to the right buyer."
"A hundred valins?" Fireback snorted, "You can get five hundred easy for that thing--a thousand if your tongue is quick!"
"No way," Mick scoffed. "Not in this town!"
"Sure you can!" she insisted. "You just have to take it to the right buyer."
"And just whom, pray tell, would this dim-witted yet heavy-pursed buyer be?"
"The North Clans consul would be my first choice."
"Ri-ight."
"Here, let me demonstrate: Tell me please, what color are my eyes?"
"Green."
"Yes, I thought they would be. Haven't seen myself in a mirror yet. Now--pick up that lamp and adjust the wick so it's burning bright. Yes, like that. Now hold it by your ear and look at me again." Fireback crept close and stared wide-eyed into the guard's startled face, knowing her new hellhound eyes would draw in the lamplight and throw it back in a powerful, eldritch glowing blaze.
"Now try again. You're sitting by the watchfire, frightening raw recruits with the chilling tale of a horrible, horrific hellhound you defeated in desperate battle so many years ago. Relax, and let your tongue wag free."
"Er... right. We'll be wanting weird, then, and sinister, ghostly... malignant is good... and, ah... loathsome." The human edged subtly backward and Fireback edged forward, ending up nearer than she had been before. She gaped her jaws wide: wide enough and close enough to engulf his head. "And the teeth-sss?"
"Savage, sharp, and indubitably terrifying."
"No, no, no! You can't use indubitable in a horror tale! But you can work on that later, at your leisure. How's my breath?"
"Er, not too bad, really. There's the garlic sausage, of course, but that's still fresh, and that monstrous maw of yours is quite clean--hardly half a day old. Were you hoping for something more fetid?"
"Yes. Perhaps if I belch for you..." Fireback grimaced and heaved her chest as if to--
"No! Er, that's fine, don't bother demonstrating, I'll use my imagination."
Fireback giggled and licked him on the cheek, surprising them both. This human was kind of cute too! More mature, and sure of himself. The rich strong scent of recent lovemaking lingered on him even now. She dipped her head and nuzzled horselike against his chest, sniffing lower, and--
--and Gorepaw was pushing his way rudely between them, growling in irritation. "That's enough, you two!" he commanded. "Thanks for the breakfast, Mick, but it's time to be going now. Don't forget to lock the door behind you."
Mick scuttled off, not protesting at all, and his partner Arnie crept meekly along behind. "Remember now!" Fireback called after him, "Axe to North Clans consul, today. Tell him Brak's fetch has appeared before you demanding wergeld--a lot of wergeld!--and he'll be getting a visitation of his own if it's not enough. You can do that?"
"Yes, my dear," Mick laughed from the threshold, already regaining his poise. "I can do that." He turned to Gorepaw, smiling broadly. "Gorepaw, comrade, you are a true dog of law! I've never seen the magistrate so skillfully managed. Have you considered taking up the Bar? Good fortune to you, and to your biddable new bitch!" Then he was gone and Fireback winced, despite herself, as the massive oaken door crashed shut behind him.
Gorepaw shook himself and padded over to sit himself close beside her. "Wergeld?" he enquired, puzzled. "You don't really expect that plan to work, do you?"
Fireback nuzzled her hellhound's ear, tenderly. "You poor clueless pooch," she murmured, and, "Don't call me pooch!" he barked sharply in reply.
"Sorry, didn't mean to offend," she laughed. "Have you looked yourself over lately? Would you like me to help?" Wag wag. "I'd really like to help!" Wag wag wag.
"No. No more looking over. You're too mean to me." The monster dog was sniffing at her beer and Firebrak chased him off, mock growling. "Mine! Mine mine mine." She seized her mug with a rough grip and rose unsteadily to stand on hind paws alone. Wobbly, but standing tall on two legs! Taller than she had been as a human. She raised the mug proudly to her lips, spilling most of it down her neck. "Look at me!" she cried, teasing, "You said if I won the contest I'd be standing on two legs and drinking beer from a glass I hold in my own hand, and now I am! Drinking from a mug, anyway. Does this mean I won the ordeal after all?"
"Good point, but I also said you'd be male. Let me check again." Gorepaw nuzzled low and Fireback whined softly in pleasure, her mug slipping forgotten to shatter on the stones beside her. He nudged again and her tail hiked high while her forelegs dropped down, to the ground, bracing themselves.
"No," Gorepaw crooned, sniff-teasing close, close, but not... not quite... touching... "definitely not male back here, but we can order ourselves a retrial if you like. Service with a smile! That's our motto in the Canine Corps--or like the song says: No fate's so grim you cannot win! Just laugh and keep it lewd-oh--"
"--oh yes, let's do that," Fireback purred, standing ready now, trembling for him--
And they did.