Part 1

Lady Pembroke caught up with Dirk as he saddled his mare outside the brothel.

He turned at the sound of galloping horses to see three riders, two men in armor flanking a woman, rounding the corner by the smithy. He sighed to himself despite knowing that the appearance of a wealthy landowner was good news for his purse.

“Sir Harbourg,” the woman pronounced as she pulled up on the reins and her stallion, one of the finest pieces of horseflesh that Dirk had ever seen, reared up even as it skidded to a halt. The lady seemed to have difficulty bringing the beast under control.

“Sir Harbourg,” the lady repeated after she’d mastered her mount, her tone imperious. He looked up at her, noting how her demeanor softened when she saw his face. He smiled to himself; he had that effect on women.

“My lady?” She appeared lost in his gaze, her eyes unfocused. Amused, he repeated, “My lady?”

Shaking herself, she tried to regain her former hauteur but couldn’t keep the smile from curling her lips as she asked, “May I have a moment of your time?”

Dirk patted his mare, Lucinda, on the neck before crossing his arms. This, he realized, promised to be both fun and profitable. Raven-haired and blue-eyed, the lady was young and quite beautiful…and she clearly found him handsome. The advantage was all his: She wanted something from him and he was prepared to make her pay for it. 

“I’m busy,” he growled, his English marred by a Hessian accent. “Got a contract.”

“I understand.” Her voice was soft, silky, mellifluous. He had to work hard not to shiver at the sound. “I am prepared to pay double your usual fee if you take this contract immediately.”

He shrugged. Double his rate was excellent but, if her first offer was that high, she was probably prepared to go higher.

When he didn’t reply, the lady exhaled loudly, saying, “Fine. Triple. I’m willing pay you triple your usual rate.”

Dirk looked up and noted the lady’s fine raiment: Sueded leather riding breeches, a laced bodice covered demurely with a black cloak fringed in ermine, boots of Spanish leather. Her hair was tied back under a hat with a wide brim. Having just returned to England from Frisia, he knew that her attire was fashionable…and expensive. The armed men on either side of her were equally impressively decked out. Clearly, the lady haled from a very wealthy estate and could afford to pay him triple.

“What troubles you, my lady?”

Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “Will you accept my offer? I shan’t tell you about my problem until I know you will.”

Determined to press his advantage, Dirk didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned and pulled Lucinda’s saddle off the rack and placed it on her back. Fastening the cinches and adjusting the sword at his side, he pulled himself up and swung his boot over her back. Settled in, he guided the mare around until she was facing the lady and her men. Her steed backed up, giving him room, and he urged Lucinda into a trot through the village. He lifted his chin toward the open road and the lady and her men followed, several paces behind. The streets were muddy from the previous night’s rain and the odor of manure and human excrement was high. The lady covered her nose and even he had to breathe through his mouth. The horses picked their way carefully through the muck as geese and ducks squawked at them from the puddles. He made the little entourage follow him to the outskirts of the village before he slowed to a halt and turned around to face them.

“Had to make sure we were out of earshot. Don’t want the whores knowing my business or they’ll start charging more,” he explained and the lady grimaced with distaste. He ignored the look, though, saying, “Yeah, I’ll take your offer. Triple my rate is nine hundred gold pieces. You Ok with that?”

If she was taken aback by such a large sum, she didn’t show it. She merely shook her head, announcing, “Fine. I’ll have my clerk draw up the contract. You’ll not receive payment until the contract is fulfilled, though.”

Dirk leaned forward in the saddle. “And what exactly is the contract for, my lady?”

The woman regarded him speculatively for a moment before replying in a low voice. “A witch.”

Blinking, Dirk repeated, “A witch?”

Unexpectedly, the lady urged her steed forward and he was forced to kick Lucinda into a canter to keep up. When he pulled alongside her, she made motioned to her men and they fell back out of earshot.

“I am Lady Pembroke,” the woman explained finally, sitting primly in her saddle. She rode astride the horse, he noted, not sidesaddle. “I apologize for hunting you down on the street and not receiving you properly but I am quite beside myself and need your help desperately.”

Dirk nodded. “No problem. What’s the matter? How’d you piss off a witch?”

The lady stiffened and pursed her lips. “I,” she stated coldly, “have done nothing to her. Yet she has stolen away my betrothed along with the half the young lords in this county and the next.”

“Stolen them?” he asked, confused. “What do you mean? Did she enchant them?”

The road grew rough as they left the village and the wood closed in around them. In the distance, Dirk could hear the regular thud of axes as the woodsmen felled trees for the local baron’s hunting lodge. With the war in the Levant winding down, the nobility were returning home with purses filled with riches from the East. It was the dawn of a new age in England.

“I confess I do not know,” the lady admitted. “That is why I am hiring you. You must find her and force her to tell you where Thomas…and the rest of our men are. A half dozen other ladies have contributed funds to your contract in the hope that you will be able to locate their husbands and fiances for them as well.”

Holding up his hands, Dirk protested, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! When I agreed to take this job, I was only agreeing to help find your betrothed, not every missing lord in the county!”

“You took the contract for a witch,” Lady Pembroke pointed out. “And I believe when you force her to reveal where she has hidden away my Thomas, the rest of the missing lords will not be far behind.”

Dirk thought for a moment before conceding the point. He didn’t like it but for nine hundred crowns he could afford to be magnanimous. Moving on to other matters, he asked, “How do you know this witch stole your lord? Maybe he just ran off?”

“Thomas did not run off,” Lady Pembroke said icily. “I know my Thomas. He loves me deeply. He would not have left me without being forced.”

Skeptical, Dirk decided not to press her. In his experience, few noble marriages were sealed with love. Most of the time, it was money and power that brought the landed gentry together. He’d learned this painfully firsthand after returning to Hesse from the Crusades to find his own betrothed married to his younger brother. After his father had died, his brother had convinced the local baron that Dirk was dead and then proceeded to win the hand of his beloved Olga as well as the hearts of the local peasantry. When Dirk arrived home to claim his lands and title, those same peasants had greeted him with pitchforks and torches. He’d been forced to flee and had lived the life of a knight errant ever since, licking his wounds and saving money from taking contracts in the hope of buying an estate someday. He might be deposed but he was still a lord by birth. Nine hundred gold pieces would go a long way toward his endowment!

“Why Thomas visited her still vexes me,” Lady Pembroke was saying, holding the reins in a clenched fist. Her delicate hands, Dirk noted, were sheathed in the finest kidskin gloves. “I believe she lured him there under false pretenses. He told me that he was going to visit a friend from Beresford and I only learned later to which estate he had gone.”

Beresford? The lady’s betrothed had attended Beresford? Dirk wrinkled his brow. Only mages attended that university. Suddenly, the contract made more sense.

“Your Thomas studied the magical sciences?”

Lady Pembroke nodded. “A foolish endeavor. Childish, really. He was convinced he had the talent but I’m equally convinced the university saw a fool with more money than sense. He was never able to pull off more than a silly parlor trick or tw–” 

Before she could finish her horse bucked and she was forced to wrestle with it. Finally, after a few sharp tugs on the bridle, it settled down. Dirk had grabbed the horse’s reins and frowned as bloody foam dripped out of the corners of its mouth; there was a bit in the bridle. It bothered him to see such a fine animal treated harshly; Dirk never used a bit to control Lucinda.

“Apologies,” the lady gasped. “I love this horse but he is spirited at times.”

Dirk nodded. “He is a fine beast,” he commented, admiring the muscles and sleek coat of the chestnut. “Where’d you get him?”

Lady Pembroke’s cheeks colored. “It’s an unusual tale but one that overlaps with your contract so I shall tell it.”

“Please do.”

“When Thomas went missing, I followed his trail to the estate of Lady Windermere, our witch.”

Dirk paused. “The witch is a lady? Is there a Lord Windermere? Seems odd that she would maintain an estate on her own.”

Lady Pembroke gave him a dirty look. “There is no Lord Windermere just as there is no Lord Pembroke…as yet, anyway. I fail to see why it should be the least bit unusual for a lady to hold an estate. I do so quite freely.”

“Well, I–” Dirk started to say and thought better of it. The world was changing, he realized. The Crusades had done that. More than one estate had been left in the hands of a lady after her husband, or father, had died fighting the godless Saracens. “You didn’t answer my first question. You say the witch is a lady? I’ve never encountered a noble witch before.”

Lady Pembroke raised an elegant eyebrow. “Indeed? The witch is most assuredly a lady.” 

“Ok, but you sure we’re not talking about a sorceress?” Dirk queried, still unwilling to believe a noblewoman was practicing witchcraft. “‘Cuz I happen to have a lot of experience with sorceresses.”

“Witch, sorceress, what difference does it make?” the lady asked, making a dismissive gesture before fixing him with her stunningly limpid gaze. “And I am well aware of your, ahem, experience with sorceresses, Sir Harbourg. It is why I sought you out.” This time, his cheeks colored and he looked away. When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “As I was saying, I made an unannounced visit to the witch’s estate in search of Thomas.”

“And…?”

“And I couldn’t get past the front garden!” the lady said indignantly. “Believe me, I tried! The witch has hedge in front of her manor that is curiously planted. After I left my horse with her footman, I attempted to navigate it but was stymied. Even with a full complement of guards hacking away at the shrubbery, I could not penetrate the hedge. After several hours and the approach of nightfall, I was forced to give up.”

“Hmmm, yes, the hedge is probably an illusion,” Dirk mused. “You need a password to get through. The footman give you a password?”

“No, I didn’t ask!”

Dirk nodded. “Coulda tried burning it. That would have broken the illusion.”

“My dear Sir Harbourg,” the lady announced coldly, “I am not about to go around setting estates ablaze! That simply won’t do.”

Dirk laughed at the thought, adding drily, “Yeah, you’re probably right. Might give the peasants ideas.”

“When I returned to retrieve my horse,” the lady continued, “instead of the nag I rode in on, the daft footman brought me this beast by mistake. I thought about correcting him but my experience with the hedge had left me quite cross. Curiously, the same thing happened to the other ladies who went to the Windermere estate searching for the missing men. The lady’s footman is obviously an idiot.”

For some reason, the horse bridled again at that moment and the lady struggled to remain in the saddle as Dirk lunged for the reins. After a long fight, they managed to calm the beast. The lady’s guardsmen caught up to them just as they brought him under control.

“This fucking horse!” the lady exclaimed before giving Dirk an apologetic look and adding, “Sorry, that wasn’t proper of me.”

Amused, Dirk nodded. “No problem. Go on.”

“The beast is lovely but he threw me even before I had left the Windermere estate. I thought I’d broken my arm!” When Dirk murmured sympathetically, she continued, “I had him gelded as soon as I got back home and tossed his bollocks to the dogs. He’s been mostly quiet since then. I have no idea what’s got him so worked up today. An approaching storm, perhaps?”

As she talked, the stallion–gelding, rather–threatened to rear up again but Dirk had the reins firmly clenched in his hand and he managed to hold it down but not before more bloody froth oozed from between its lips. It hurt him to see a horse suffer like this and he vowed then that he would ask to have the horse included in his contract. He knew that he control it better than Lady Pembroke!

Realizing that the lady was waiting for him to reply, he shrugged. “Hard to say. Lucinda isn’t sensitive to changes in the weather but I have heard that some horses are. In any case, I take it that you want me to drop in on Lady Windermere and demand to know what happened to your Thomas, right?”

Lady Pembroke nodded, her eyes downcast. “Yes, somehow I suspect you might be more…persuasive than I was.”

Dirk laughed. “Does that mean you want me to threaten to kill her? I’m afraid I’m not in the business of killing sorceresses, especially not ones of noble birth.”

The lady looked up at him abruptly, her eyes wide. “What? No! Of course not! I don’t wish her dead! I simply wish to know what has become of my betrothed. Will you do this for me?”

Before Dirk could answer, the horse had wrested the reins free of his grip and took off down the road, the Lady Pembroke fighting to stay in the saddle. It took him an hour to catch up to her and calm the horse. By that point, she was more than willing to include the horse in his contract free of charge. She rode it back to town and left it in the stable at the brothel for him, saying she never wished to lay eyes on the beast again.

***

The Windermere estate was only a few miles from the village. He and Lucinda arrived just after noon, trotting into the stableyard, the cobblestones echoing beneath the mare’s shod feet. Dirk looked around but the place seemed abandoned. He called out and a sleepy stable hand stumbled into the sunshine to meet them. 

“How may I assist the lord?” the man asked in a dull voice. He appeared to be in his early twenties and was tanned quite dark. His hair was slicked back and wet, probably because he’d just dunked his head in a rain barrel after waking up, Dirk guessed. His clothing was basic but clean.

“I am here to visit Lady Windermere,” Dirk announced in a gruff voice.

The man stared at him blankly for a moment before a light went on and he asked, “Is the lady expecting the gentleman’s visit?”

Dirk thought for a moment. Do I tell the truth or lie, he wondered? Finally, he decided to tell the truth. “No, she is not but I am here on a matter of some importance. Can you show me to her?”

The man, a simpleton Dirk decided, gave him a sad smile. “I’m afraid I cannot, master. I must tend to the horses.”

Dirk sighed. “Would it be alright if I went to the manor on my own? Will she agree to see me?”

The man nodded slowly. “Oh, yes! Yes, she does enjoy it when people, especially the quality, visit. It can be lonely out here for a lady at times.”

Pleased, Dirk swung off of his horse, landing lightly on his feet. The man reached for Lucinda’s reins and she looked askance at Dirk before agreeing to be led away when he patted her neck. Sorcery may be at work on the estate, he thought, but he doubted his horse would be in danger in the stables.

“Before you go,” he called out, “would you point me in the right direction and tell me what the password is? I’ve heard that Lady Windermere’s garden requires some, well, finesse to navigate.”

The youth stopped midstride and looked back at him appraisingly. Finally, he smiled and offered, “Stay to the right at all times on the path and when you get to the front door tell the maid that you are a friend of Cecily’s.” When Dirk’s brow furrowed, he explained, “Lady Cecily Windermere is the owner of this estate.”

Dirk watched the young man as he led Lucinda away and hesitated. So far, the visit to Lady Windermere’s estate was pretty ordinary. Nothing about the place pricked his intuition, save for the highly unusual lack of defensive structures and guardsmen. Only a fool–or a very powerful sorceress–left her estate seemingly unprotected. 

He shrugged and dug around in his satchel, searching for his special spectacles. They were the most valuable thing he had brought back from the Levant, won after a siege of a Saracen fortress. While the rest of the soldiers busied themselves looting the treasury, he had stumbled upon a hidden laboratory. Once inside, he’d realized quickly that he had found the study of a practitioner of the arcane sciences. The mage had abandoned it in haste, leaving the lenses lying on his desk. Dirk had immediately recognized them for what they were: One of only three surviving pair of optics fashioned by the famous Ammar bin Ali Al Mawsili. He had picked them up with trembling hands, nearly dropping them as he held them up to his face.

No one alive knew how Al Mawsili had ground the lenses so perfectly to pierce through the veil of illusions. It was miraculous, really, because anyone who wore the spectacles would immediately see through attempts by a mage or sorcerer to obscure or distort the visual field. Armed with these glasses, Dirk had established his reputation as the foremost specialist in breaking magical barriers and illusions. He had yet to encounter an illusion had couldn’t see through.

The spectacles were unremarkable apart from their homeliness. The lenses were thick and heavy and the frames pinched his nose and made him look more than a bit ridiculous. He kept promising himself that he would have a jeweler craft a more comfortable set of frames but never seemed to have the time or the extra money to do so. He consoled himself that it didn’t matter what he looked like wearing the spectacles as long as he could see through illusions.

He donned the spectacles as he rounded the stables and stopped, amazed. He lifted them off his face and then put them back in place, squinting. The manor house was surrounded by one of the most powerful illusory fields he’d seen. Nothing was quite as it seemed. No wonder Lady Pembroke had been unable to penetrate the hedge!

Without the glasses, the manor house and surrounding gardens appeared exquisitely maintained. The hedgerow was perfectly manicured as it wound through a beautiful garden of roses, hollyhocks, and lilies. It seemed like it would be simple to find your way through the pleasant rows of fragrant lavender and rosemary on the pebbled path to the great front door of the manor. A half dozen friendly-looking gardeners were tending the plants, looking up at him with smiling faces as he approached.

With the glasses on, things were very different. The garden disappeared into an angry morass of nettle and thistle. The hedge consisted of overgrown brambles covered in long, sharp thorns. The “gardeners” were nothing more than a flock of sheep nibbling away at the odd bits of tender foliage hidden amongst the tangle. Behind it all, the manor was a crumbling edifice whose best years were long past. The marble facade was falling apart and the few remaining windows were cracked and broken. The front door was so warped that it no longer closed properly.

Dirk sighed as he regarded the illusion. Sorceresses, it seemed, were the same the world over. He had yet to meet one who didn’t resort to masking her demesne with layer upon layer of illusion. He knew from experience that the illusions warping the house and garden were nothing compared to the ones that the sorceress would use to hide her true form. No doubt, when he finally met her, our Lady Windermere would appear as a virgin in the flower of womanhood while in truth she would be a wizened old hag nearing eighty winters. Yes, sorceresses were the same everywhere: Vain, proud, vengeful, and lusty old crones who only hungered for the flesh of men. Holding the spectacles to his face, he lowered his head and began the task of finding his way through the tangled maze protecting the manor.

The footman hadn’t lied. There was a path, however slight, that wound its way through the maze. Off to his right, he spotted an opening and immediately took it. From there, it was a relatively simple matter of turning right every time he arrived at a fork in the hedge. Within a few minutes, he was standing before the front door, feeling a draft of cool air issuing through the cracks in the warped wood. He removed his spectacles and put himself together before knocking.

Even though he knew that the lady was more than likely to be an ugly old woman, he had met the occasional young sorceress. A few had been downright lovely and he’d enjoyed a dalliance or two before getting down to the dirty business of fulfilling his contracts. He dusted his boots off and smoothed his leggings and jacket. Dirk knew he was a handsome young man and made sure to hire the best amorers and tailors. His mail jacket was tapered to accentuate his narrow waist and his leggings hugged his powerful thighs like a second skin. He tied his hair back into a short ponytail and rubbed a finger over his teeth, spitting to the side. He’d made sure to shave before leaving the village. Satisfied, he smiled, knowing that he cut a fine figure. If the lady was young and beautiful, he fully intended to use his looks to his full advantage.

What’ll I meet, I wonder, he thought as he lifted his hand to knock on the door. Will the maid be a housecat or goat in disguise?

So prepared was he to be greeted by a convincing illusion that he was taken aback when a rather plain, young woman opened the door and regarded him curiously. Wearing a simple, blue homespun dress, she was out of breath and her still-wet hair was wrapped in a towel.

“My lord,” she said in a rich voice as she dipped low in a curtsy. “How may I be of service?”

“I-I-I,” Dirk stammered, almost forgetting the footman’s advice as he struggled to recover from his surprise. Finally, he took a breath and said, “I’m a friend of Cecily’s and I wish to see the Lady Windermere.”

The maid’s eyes went briefly round at this but she nonetheless opened the door, ushering him inside. “By all means, my lord. Please come inside. Who shall I tell the lady is visiting her?”

Dirk swallowed and stepped through the threshold, surprised by the apparent lack of illusion inside. The foyer was dusty and crumbling, much like the ‘real’ exterior of the manor, and light streamed through holes in the roof far above.

Clearing his throat, he said, “You may tell her that Sir Dirk of Harbourg requests her company.”

The maid curtsied again and, leading him into the main hall, bid him to wait while she went to fetch the lady. Dirk blinked and looked around. When it was in its prime several decades ago, he could tell that the manor had been rich beyond measure. Twin staircases twined down to the cracked marble of the main floor. A large candelabra hung askew from the ceiling. A cat with a half dozen kittens was lying in a pool of sunlight next to the stair. The most impressive part of the hall, however, was the statue towering before him. 

Dirk gaped at it before looking away, feeling his cheeks color.

That has to be an illusion! he thought, grabbing his spectacles and holding them up to his eyes. A moment later, though, he removed them.

It was real.

Shaking his head and feeling uncomfortable, he reluctantly turned and examined the statue. It was, he was forced to admit, one of the finest pieces of sculpture he’d ever seen, rivaling even classic Greek statuary he’d seen when his transport ship had stopped in Athens on the way to Rhodes. The man portrayed would have been almost lifelike if he weren’t so huge; the statue had to be more than twenty feet tall. Resting on a pedestal, its head nearly touched the chandelier hanging precariously from the vaulted ceiling.

He walked over to it, boots echoing on the floor, and stared upward, feeling both embarrassed and amazed. The statue was of a young man wearing a sword and guard’s helmet…and nothing else. Dirk shook his head again, looking away. The artist had rendered every part of the man’s body flawlessly…every single part. The muscles were etched vividly in precise detail, the man’s face was so expertly rendered and his eyes so alive that he shivered. 

Dirk didn’t make a habit of examining men’s bodies and it made him uncomfortable when presented with such a fine specimen. There was something so bold, so forceful about the way the statue was posed that it made him feel…well, it made him feel inadequate. The young man seemed to be proud of his nudity as he stared down at Dirk, full lips curled in an ambiguous smile. Tips of his ears feeling hot, Dirk glanced back up at it one last time and noticed something.

The statue had no testicles.

He was about to take a closer look when he heard a door open and he turned to see the maid returning. She had removed the towel from her head and tied her brown hair back. Giving him a bow, she stated, “Sir Harbourg.”

He wrinkled his brow. “Yes?” he asked. “Is the lady indisposed?”

The maid shook her head. She might be plain, Dirk realized then, but there was something attractive about her despite the fact she was large-boned and not classically curvy. Not really his type but if he were presented with her at the local brothel, he’d pay for a night with her.

“Not at all,” the maid was saying, oblivious to his appraising stare. “I am ready to receive you.”

“You’re Lady Windermere?” he asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

Lady Windermere smiled as she inclined her head. “Quite.”

“I-I-I was expecting…”

“You were expecting a sorceress and here I am.”

Dirk’s mouth was hanging open and he closed it with a snap. “You…know why I’m here?”

Another smile. The lady moved across the floor toward him, her dress leaving trails in the dust behind her. She took a seat on the pedestal of the statue, crossing her legs and gazing up at him with her wide, brown eyes. “I assume you’re here because the ladies want their men back. They have all tried and failed to approach me so I knew it would not be long before they hired you. You are Sir Harbourg, after all, the famous tamer of sorceresses…and other creatures.”

Mind still reeling, Dirk had lifted the spectacles to his nose before he realized what he was doing. A moment later, he dropped them into his satchel, more confused than ever.

“Ah,” the lady breathed. “I wondered how you navigated my maze so expertly. Those are Al Mawsili’s spectacles, are they not? Exceedingly rare devices.”

He nodded, tonguetied.

The lady laughed, a pleasantly hearty sound. “You were expecting to see a snaggle-toothed haradin?” the lady asked, amused. “I assure you I am no haradin. I have not yet reached my twenty first birthday.”

Dirk was feeling so weak that he all but collapsed on the pedestal next to her. She waited patiently while he collected his wits. Finally, he managed to croak, “Ok, you got me. I’m flummoxed. Why cast the illusion outside but not inside?”

“Ah,” the lady breathed. “An excellent and logical question, Sir Harbourg.”

“Dirk. Call me ‘Dirk’.”

Lady Windermere nodded. “Dirk. A fine name. Hessian, am I right?”

He nodded. “Yes, as if you couldn’t tell by my accent.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“So why’d you do it? Why cast an illusion at all?”

The lady looked off to the side before fixing him again with her soft gaze. “The outside illusion was necessary to lure the men to my estate. They would not have come here if they saw the place as it really is. I needed them to see what they expected to see: A wealthy manor house surrounded by the all of the customary trappings. After they were inside,” she paused and gave him a sly wink, “well, by then it was too late.”

“How’d you get ‘em to come here in the first place? Place some sort of geas on ‘em?”

Lady Windermere lifted her head. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose. Illusions can be more than visual, you know.”

Dirk nodded, still feeling odd.

“I used my magic to make them believe they were visiting the estate of an old friend.”

“Clever.” He shook his head, deciding to change the subject. Looking up at the statue, he asked, “So who is this guy? Someone you know?”

The lady followed his gaze. Her eyes softened as she gazed upon the man carved in marble. “Yes, he was my betrothed. He died, I’m afraid, rather tragically. I commissioned this statue so that I would never forget him. The artist is quite talented, is he not?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dirk mumbled, feeling uncomfortable looking at the figure. “Why is he naked? Doesn’t seem very proper.”

“My dear Dirk,” the lady said, laughing, “whatever do you mean by ‘proper’?”

Dirk flushed. “It’s just that, well, I thought ladies were supposed to be…”

Leaning forward and placing her chin in her hand, Lady Windermere challenged, “Tell me, Dirk! Tell me how ladies are supposed to be!”

“Not gonna be baited,” he grumbled, feeling awkward and regretting his decision to change the subject. If anything, he felt more off kilter now than before. Trying desperately to regain control of the conversation, he acted on sudden inspiration, asking, “What happened to his stones? Someone chop ‘em off?”

The lady’s face grew dark and she turned away but not before he saw a tear glistening in the corner of her eye. After a pause, she said in a low voice, “I…do not wish to speak of that right now.”

“Sorry.”

She looked back at him, wiping her eyes and gave him a faint smile. “It’s alright, Dirk. You meant no harm. And it does pertain to the reason behind your visit. We will get to it in good time.” She stood up and held out her hand, asking, “Join me for a stroll in the rear garden? It’s not an illusion, I assure you. The day is splendid and this old house is awfully dreary.”

He took her hand, noting the callouses. She had large hands for a woman, he realized. Hands that were used to hard work. He puzzled over this even as he noted her height. When she stood next to him, they were eye-to-eye.

The garden in back of the house was overgrown but lovely. Bees buzzed lazily in the afternoon sunshine and the day grew warm around them as they wandered the old paths. The lady turned out to be very well versed in history, especially the history of the Levant, and she peppered him with many questions about his experiences. Always loving a good audience, Dirk held forth with one fantastic tale after another as the lady listened with rapt attention. So attentive was she that he decided that she must be taken with him. Indeed, the longer he spent with her, the more charming he found her and soon realized that, even if she was no beauty, she possessed an intellect and poise that were very appealing. He couldn’t resist puffing up a bit and exaggerating his stories as he struck manly poses, thrusting out his hips and removing his jacket to expose his bare and muscular arms.

After she asked a particularly insightful question, he stopped mid sentence, asking, “My lady, how do you know so much about history? You seem more educated than an academic.”

Lady Windermere lowered her head, saying, “That is because I am educated. I attended Beresford until a year ago.”

He halted, staring at her in disbelief. “You…attended university? But how? You’re a woman!”

“You’re very perceptive, Dirk,” she commented wryly and he flushed. “But, yes, I did in fact study at Beresford. You don’t become a sorcerer without studying and Beresford is the best institution for magical learning.” She held up her hand at his next question, saying, “Let’s just say that magic is not the only way to fool people.”

“Meaning?”

She shrugged. “Meaning that people see what they expect to see. It is as simple as that.”

“You dressed as a man while you were there?”

“Yes.”

“And no one figured out what you are?”

She tossed her head. “Well, yes, they did eventually. That is why I am no longer there. Still, I managed to fool them for three years. It wasn’t until they found me and Caleb together that…”

“Caleb?”

“My betrothed,” Lady Windermere replied, eyes growing sad. “The captain of the Beresford guard. The man represented by the statue in the main hall.”

The pieces clicking into place, Dirk exhaled. “A commoner? Your betrothed was a commoner?”

“You’re treading perilously close to an old wound, Dirk,” the lady warned. “Are you sure you wish to hear of this now?”

Dirk took a step back and she gave him a fond smile before folding her skirt behind her and sitting down at a crumbling fountain filled with fetid water. A lone frog chirped by the ledge on the far side. A cloud crossed the sun and the garden grew cool.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, my lady.”

She smiled sadly at this, saying, “Ah, but I do, Dirk. It is why all of those lords have gone missing, why you are here.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I will explain: Caleb and I were discovered in, let’s just say, a compromising position. I was expelled and banished from the university and he was…” she paused and Dirk noticed her shoulders were trembling. He moved closer to her but she held up her hand. Finally, she said in a shuddering voice, “They cornered him…overpowered him…and…killed him but not before they unmanned him. That is reason, my lord Harbourg, that the statue has no stones. I had it rendered that way as a reminder to me of the brutality of men.”

Dirk was stunned into silence for a long time. Finally, he said, “That’s…tough. I’m sorry, my lady.”

She waved her hand dismissively, wiping at her eyes and pausing to blow her nose in a handkerchief. “You had nothing to do with it, Dirk. But now perhaps you see why those lords have gone missing?”

He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t. Why did you lure them here? Were they involved in the crime?”

“Yes, every missing man was present at Caleb’s torture and murder.”

“Every one? How many are we talking about?”

“Ten. Ten men,” she said emphatically. “They were my tormentors every day for the three years I attended that university.”

Dirk let out a low whistle. “How’d you manage to piss off so many guys?”

The lady raised her eyebrow. When she spoke, her voice started out calm and measured but quickly became loud and impassioned.  “Beresford, I soon discovered, for all of its reputation as a place of higher learning is also a place of jealousy and envy. It is a petty fiefdom ruled by the meanest and most repulsive of men.” She paused then to get herself under control. Her eyes were glowing with such hatred that Dirk took an inadvertent step backward. He realized then how formidable an enemy she could be and felt sorry for any man caught in her talons. A moment later, though, her manner shifted and she smiled up at him apologetically. “Let’s just say that those ten men hated me for my talent, among other things. I was a superior sorcerer and they resented me. Finding Caleb and I together–and learning of my true nature–threw them into such a frenzy that they took out all of their resentment and hatred on us. I barely escaped with my life!”

“What’d you do ‘em?” Dirk asked pointedly, propping his foot on the fountain next her and leaning in. “In revenge, I mean. After you got ‘em here. Did you kill ‘em?”

There was a long silence as the lady folded her hands in her lap and looked out over the garden. Amidst the birdsong, Dirk heard the trickling of a small brook and a breeze rustled the leaves of the linden overhead. Finally, she said, “I did not kill them. They are all alive and well.”

Dirk blinked. “Really? You’re kidding! Where are they?”

“Safe.”

“Will you release them?”

Before answering, Lady Windermere turned toward him and searched his face with her beautiful, sad eyes before looking down at his foot and letting her gaze travel slowly up his thigh. His cheeks colored and he dropped his foot. “You are a vain man, Dirk,” she said finally, “are you not?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Proud and vain,” she pronounced, raking him up and down with her eyes in a way that now struck him as wanton. He took a step backward, feeling his skin prickle.

“I’m not–”

She held up her hand, silencing him. “I wonder, would you be prepared to make an ass out of yourself in exchange for the liberation of the missing men?”

Consciously unclenching his fists, he forced his hands down to his side and took a deep breath, determined not to let the lady goad him. “You could argue I’ve already made an ass out of myself several times today,” he said, hoping that humor would diffuse the tense atmosphere.

Lady Windermere nodded, smiling. “Touche. I’ll take that as a yes, then. You see, like any good sorcerer, I never do anything for free. And I admit I’m a bit of a twisted bitch.” She smiled to herself, musing, “Life and circumstances have made me that way.”

“Huh,” Dirk growled, growing tired of the conversation. “Just get to the point.”

“There is no point, Dirk,” she answered in a cold voice and he felt a chill creep up his spine. He realized his earlier impression of her had been wrong. She was not an attractive woman at all; she was ugly through and through, a beast bent on revenge. “There has never been a point to anything,” she continued. “Life, I discovered at Beresford, is utterly pointless. Cruel. Harsh. Cold. Unforgiving.”

“I don’t–”

She cut him off again, standing up and walking slowly back toward the house. “Tell the ladies that their lords will return to them on the morrow, Dirk. Tell them that and never come back here again.”

***

Part 2

Dirk left Lucinda with the stable boy at the brothel in the village and rode his new gelding to the Pembroke estate that afternoon. Deciding to name the beast ‘Castor’ he marveled at the steed’s grace and speed. The animal seemed to fuse seamlessly with his body and they rode like the wind over the rough and furrowed roadway. Never once did the horse buck or misbehave. He was thoroughly in love with his new mount by the time he reined in at Pembroke manor.

“You’re certain of this?” Lady Pembroke queried after receiving him in her drawing room and hearing his tale. He had decided to omit the gory details about what had happened at Beresford and why the lady had abducted the men. He figured it wasn’t his place to tell her and he didn’t even know for certain if he could trust Lady Windermere’s version of events.

He nodded. “That’s what she said.”

Lady Pembroke opened her mouth to speak and then thought better of it. “Well, I guess we’ll wait and see what happens tomorrow. I shan’t get my hopes up until I see Thomas with my own eyes.”

Dirk grunted in agreement, saying, “Yeah, I’m a bit skeptical, too.”

Taking his leave of her, he mounted Castor and kicked the horse into a gallop, indulging in a wild, cross country ride back to the village. 

Despite being uncertain if Lady Windermere would be true to her word, he decided to celebrate his impending fortune with a night at the high-end brothel in the fancy part of town. Usually, he contented himself with the cheaper whores down by the docks on the river but that night he felt like indulging. He had a bad case of blue balls after spending most of the day in the company of the ladies and needed to get off.

Things did not go according to plan, though.

“You, sir, smell like a stable!” the madam pronounced, wrinkling her nose and pointing toward the door. “Get out of here and don’t come back until you’ve bathed! This is a high-class establishment with only the finest ladies on offer. I’ll not have them sullied by a man smelling of manure.”

“Why, you–” he started to protest but then thought better of it when her two, hulking guards stepped forward menacingly. Like a dog with his tail between his legs, he slunk out, surreptitiously smelling himself. I don’t smell that bad, do I? he wondered.

He ended up paying the stable boy to dump buckets of water over him as he scrubbed furiously at his arms and legs with lumpy soap. The water was freezing cold and he was in foul temper by the end as he sullenly dried himself with rags.

“How I smell now, kid?” he asked after he’d changed into a clean tunic and fresh hose.

“Like a barn,” the boy answered, dodging Dirk’s swipe and laughing. “I mean, you smell like a lovely flower, sir!”

“Piss off,” Dirk huffed, fishing a copper out of his purse and tossing it at the brat. “Go get yourself something to eat and make sure my horses are brushed and fed before you go to bed.” He stalked back upstairs to the bordello, feeling marginally revived.

The madam screwed up her face when he returned but allowed him inside. “It’ll be an extra silver piece for all of the perfume Rosy’ll need to scent the sheets when you’re done,” she grumbled.

The whore, Rosy, turned out to be a plump young woman with rouged cheeks and a beguiling smile. Pleased, he paid the madam. He had a fondness for busty women and her tits were like ripe melons. After Rosy led him inside her room, he undressed and lowering himself on top of her when she reached up and plucked at his ears.

“Ow!” he exclaimed. “Stop it!”

“‘Airy ears! Ye got ‘airy ears!”

He batted her hand away indignantly. “I do not have hairy ears! I–” He reached up and felt his ears.

They were hairy.

“What the fuck?”

“Watch the language, master!”

Dirk couldn’t understand what had happened to them. Only old men had hairy ears! But, sure enough, the tips of his ears were covered with fine hair. He plucked at them, trying to pull them out, and winced in pain.

Rosy was watching him with amusement. “Awwww, come on, Dirky, don’t worry about it. Lots o’ me clients ‘ave ‘air on their ears. I just wasn’t ‘specting it. Ye surprised me is all.” He looked at her askance as she lowered her hands down to his crotch. “I don’t care what ye ears are like so long as the rest o’ ye is workin’!”

It wasn’t.

Try as she might, nothing Rosy did could get him hard. Finally, after an exhausting hour, he sneaked out of the brothel, limp and humiliated. It was too late to find a bed in the inn so he spent the night in the stable with his horses. The day which had started out so promising had ended with him sleeping on straw. 

Sometimes, life as a knight errant just sucked.

***

He woke to a cold bucket of water dumped over him and he leapt up, sputtering.

“Abominations!” a woman was shrieking. “Get out of my stables, abominations!”

Dirk looked around bewildered and jumped when he saw a naked man standing next to him. “What the…?” he started to say, backing up. They were in Castor’s stall and the madam from the brothel was screaming imprecations as the stable boy looked on in amusement. There was no sign of Castor.

“Sir Harbourg,” the naked man was saying, “you did it! You saved me!”

“I…what?”

The big man turned to him, face radiant, as he clapped Dirk about the shoulders. “You saved me! I’m a man again!”

Head still clouded with sleep, Dirk gave him a puzzled look. Before he could stop him, the man had grabbed him around the waist and, picking him up, twirled him around triumphantly, all the while shouting, “I’m a man! I’m a man! I’m a man!”

This only served to agitate the madam further and soon her guards arrived to toss Dirk and his exuberant accoster into the street. Dirk’s armor and baggage soon followed, along with Lucinda who appeared from behind the stable in tow behind the apologetic stable boy.

“She found ye, sir,” he explained as Dirk pulled on his leggings. “I was asleep, I swear! The madam checks on the stable in the morning, she does.”

Clothed again and waking up, Dirk felt somewhat mollified. “It’s Ok, kid. Don’t worry.” He turned to the naked man, holding out Lucinda’s stable blanket. “Here, put this on and stop touching me,” he commanded.

Duly, the man took the proffered blanket and wrapped it about his waist. It was still early and the village was mostly asleep but, even so, Dirk was keenly aware of eyes on them. He stuffed his belongings into the saddle bags and, hands on his hips, turned to face the man.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.

“I am Lord Thomas of Ashbury, sir knight, and you have saved me from a life as a horse!”

Dirk’s eyes went wide with this news and he took a step backward. “You mean…?”

The man, a broad-chested youth with red hair and a prematurely receding hairline, smiled and nodded. “I was your trusty steed, sir. The one you named ‘Castor.’ And a pleasure it was, sir, to be mounted and ridden by you!”

Cheeks coloring, Dirk cast a sideways look at the stable boy and was glad to see he was busy soothing Lucinda. “That was quite a curse,” he muttered. “I’ve never seen a man turned into a horse before.”

Lord Thomas nodded. “Indeed. A curse most foul!”

“Huh, well,” Dirk murmured, “at least the lady kept her word.” Motioning toward Lucinda, he urged, “Your horse, my lord. You’re in no condition to walk. We need to take you back to Lady Pembroke so I can gather my reward.”

***

It was smiles and jubilation all around when Dirk and Lord Thomas arrived at the Pembroke estate. The lady was so happy that she threw in an extra one hundred gold pieces and Dirk rode away an hour later with a full purse slapping against his thigh. The only thing he regretted, he realized then, was losing Castor. Lord Thomas had made quite an excellent steed.

The news of the ‘return’ of the other lords spread swiftly. A rider passing him on the road told him that the missing men had turned up that morning in their ladies’ stables. It seemed the sorceress had played the same joke on all of the women, instructing her footman to send the ladies home astride their transformed lords. Thus cursed, the men had been forced to suffer life in the stables at the estate of their beloved, living a mean existence as beasts of burden. Lady Windermere, Dirk observed, had a twisted sense of revenge, made worse when he learned that many of the lordling horses had been gelded at the order of their mistresses. He remembered the statue with its missing stones and smiled darkly to himself.

***

The trouble began quietly at first and it took Dirk several days to realize that something was wrong. The stable smell followed him around no matter how much he washed. He had always been pretty clean and made sure to have his clothes and armor scrubbed regularly. He was, after all, a knight errant with a reputation to maintain. Now, however, everyone noticed his ripe odor before they noticed him. Worse, his skin was constantly red and raw from washing himself so much. He resorted to dousing himself with expensive cologne in the effort to cover up the stench but worried that it did little but make him smell like a flowery barn.

And then there was the hair.

One night, he treated himself to a room in the best inn on the way to Greenwich. He had just bathed and was preparing to shave. Staring at his reflection in little copper mirror, he stopped.

The hair on his ears was longer and there was more of it.

He reached up and felt it with his fingers. No longer fine, it felt coarse. And it was brownish gray, not all the color of the hair on his head which was dark brown. Puzzled, he swiped at it with his razor and washed it off in the bowl. It came off readily enough, he realized, and promptly shaved his other ear.

A few days later, though, the hair was back, thicker than ever and there was something else: His ears were different. They felt pointy and they were bigger. Scowling, he felt his cheeks grow red and he was convinced that people were staring at him all day. He couldn’t wait to get back to the inn that night and lock himself in his room.

When he saw his reflection, he backed away, disconcerted.

It was worse than he thought.

His ears were bigger and they stuck out from the sides of his head rather than slanting back gracefully like before. He’d always had small, elegant ears and did not like the looks of himself with these broad, ugly things catching the wind like a pair of sails on the side of his head.

He let his hair down, hoping that it would cover them, and went about his business as best he could. And, for a few days at least, he was able to forget about his troubling ears. Dirk was a busy man now that word of his success in liberating the lords had spread far and wide. Every lady, it seemed, demanded his services. Most of the time, they had business they wished to discuss but sometimes the services they were after were of the stud variety.

There was just one problem: He couldn’t get it up.

Even more than his big and hairy ears, his limp dick pricked his pride. He had never had trouble performing. Never! Quite the opposite, he was known for his incredible stamina in the bedchamber, being able to outlast even the most vigorous lover. Now, however, he was limp as a milk-soaked biscuit and nothing a lady or whore did sufficed to get him hard. It was beyond embarrassing and he soon learned to avoid any situation that might lead to a woman making an advance.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have sex. He was so horny that the mere act of riding a horse got him aroused. The jostle of Lucinda’s body under him translated into an erection that wouldn’t go away. As soon as he got near a woman, though, his libido dried up and he lost all interest.

His frustration built to such an intolerable level that he jumped at the opportunity to take a contract to kill a troll. He simply had to smash something and the rock-hard head of a troll was the perfect thing. The troll even obliged him by offering a really good fight. A little too good. After a particularly ill-timed lunge, the huge beast caught him by the collar and hauled him up in the air. His legs dangling ten feet off the ground, Dirk stared helplessly into the squinty eyes of his aggressor. He was certain that he was breathing he last breaths and part of him was almost happy. What good was life if he couldn’t get it up anyway?

“Stinky man,” the troll slobbered, ugly maw distorting with the attempt to speak. It’s breath was hideous and Dirk coughed. “You need wash.”

“Fuck you!” Dirk spat, trying and failing to hit the beast with his sword.

“No,” said the troll, shaking his head and lifting an immense and gnarled finger. “Troll no fuck stinky man.” He shook Dirk so hard that his teeth rattled. “Troll kill man.” He raised Dirk over his head and prepared to fling him against a large boulder, an act that surely would have caused his immediate demise. Dirk’s miserable life, however, was saved when the stitching in his mail shirt came loose and he tumbled to the ground. He was just barely able to dodge the troll’s foot as it slammed down on him. He rolled and, grabbing his sword, ran for cover.

He crept back to Lucinda, his shirt and his pride in tatters. He sagged down, dejected. Not only could he not get it up but even filthy trolls thought he smelled bad. Could his life get any worse?

He was contemplating his sorry state when he heard voices. Curious, he got up and followed them to their source, a couple of young men who were bathing in a nearby stream. The youths were naked and splashing each other, capering about like puppies. Dirk smiled and shook his head. Normally, he would have turned and walked away but this time he found himself crouching down in the reeds to watch their antics. There was something about the way they played that he enjoyed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that free with a good friend. He didn’t have friends, especially not friends that he could splash around in a stream with, and he envied them.

He more than envied them.

His erection was throbbing insistently when he reached down to adjust himself.

He stopped, hand frozen on his crotch.

Why was he turned on?

He shook his head, laughing ruefully. It was bitterly ironic that everything, even a pair of a naked men, could turn him on these days but an eager young woman in the flower of youth did nothing. 

It wasn’t fair.

Careful to remain out of sight, he backed and returned to Lucinda. A melancholy settled over him that he couldn’t shake and he was so lost in thought on his way back to the village that he didn’t notice the tingling sensation in his butt and crotch until he’d scratched at himself a few times. Finally, as he was sitting up in the saddle to rub the cleft of his buttocks, he realized what he was doing and sat down. He briefly wondered if he’d caught something from a whore but then realized he hadn’t slept with anyone in a month. That couldn’t be it.

Deciding he just needed to bathe when he got back to his inn, he forced himself to ignore the tingling and it subsided somewhat. It returned, though, after he’d taken a seat in the tavern and ordered his dinner. He shifted in his seat and reached down to adjust himself. His dick was half erect and he pushed it down the leg of his hose, trying to hide it. There was something different about it, however, and he had to resist the urge to feel it again. The last thing he needed was to get tossed out of the tavern for fondling himself!

Leaning forward to conceal his bulge, he wiggled uncomfortably on the chair. There was a large knot on the seat! When he moved, though, the knot moved with him.

Huh?

He was reaching back to find out what was going on back there when the barmaid dropped a plate of stew down in front of him. Startled, he glanced up and, noticing that she was quite pretty, gave her a winning smile.

Wrinkling her nose, she made a face and his smile faded. He looked down at his plate, crestfallen, and was preparing to dig in when he realized she was still standing there. When he looked up, she asked, “What’s the matter with ye ears? Ye look like an ass!” She laughed at her joke, announcing loudly to the tavern, “‘e’s got ass ears!”

Dirk frowned and reached up to feel his ears before he could stop himself.

Holy shit!

They were fucking huge!

And covered with hair!

Preoccupied with his odor and inability to get it up, he’d forgotten about his ears and now he regretted doing so. They had grown so large that, even with his hair down, they poked out.

With everyone in the tavern turning to stare and snicker at him, Dirk finally remembered Lady Windermere’s query when he’d asked her to release her captives: Would you be prepared to make an ass out of yourself in exchange for the liberation of the missing men? He’d been so taken aback by her disturbing behavior when she had asked the question that he hadn’t recognized it for what it was: A deal.

Lady Windermere had made him an offer and he, the ass that he was, had accepted it blithely.

Never make deals with sorceresses, he remembered too late. This axiom had been drilled into his head from an early age. It was something every knight errant knew and never forgot. He knew it and never forgot it.

Until now.

Wilting with humiliation, he covered his head as best he could and turned to his food. Looking down at his plate, though, he realized he’d lost his appetite. The smell of the meat made his stomach turn. Even though he normally loved beef, that night it struck him as disgusting. As he stared at it, he knew with a strange certainty that he would never eat another bite of animal flesh in his life. Stomach growling, he pushed the plate away and threw a copper on the table. He kept his head down and fled upstairs, stinging at the laughter echoing off the walls behind him. His hands were shaking badly when he reached his room and fumbled with the key before flinging the door open and slamming it behind him.

“You poor bastard,” said a voice in the darkness. “You got cursed, too.”

He jumped, instinctively reaching for his sword and grabbing air. Unfortunately, he’d left it hanging by his bed when he went down to the tavern for dinner.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt you,” the man said detaching himself from the shadows behind the door. “Quite the opposite! I’m gonna help you.”

“Lord Thomas,” Dirk stated flatly, recognizing the voice and the man finally.

“The very same,” Thomas replied, executing a bow and nearly falling over. He was, Dirk realized, very drunk. “It cost me a fortune to bribe the innkeep to let me in here.”

“I’m glad to know how much he values my safety,” Dirk commented drily and Thomas laughed, reaching behind him to light the lamp next to the bedside. In a moment, the flame flickered up and Dirk ducked his head, embarrassed by his appearance. “Why the fuck are you here anyway?” he demanded irritably.

“For this,” Thomas said, holding a small vial in an unsteady hand.

Not feeling like playing games, Dirk growled. “What is that?”

“A potion. It will turn me back into a horse. Your horse, Sir Dirk.”

Despite his foul mood, Dirk started. “What? Why?”

Lord Thomas sighed, toppling back onto Dirk’s bed. He looked terrible, Dirk realized. His eyes were hollow and bloodshot and he’d lost weight. The youth he remembered had been strong and muscular; this man was wasting away. And he stank of wine. After a long pause, he looked up at Dirk, mouth twisting into a rueful smile as he said, “God in heaven, even with the ears of an ass and smelling like a stable, you are a handsome man!” Dirk took a step back in surprise and Thomas laughed loudly, slapping his knee. “Don’t worry, Sir Dirk. It’s not the wine talking. It’s the simple truth. You are fucking handsome! Too bad I can’t do anything about it now. Shit, I want to, though!”

Heart pounding, Dirk was completely taken aback by this declaration. Part of him was repulsed and part of him…intrigued. “That’s…wrong. Not normal.”

This was met with harsh laughter. “Wrong? Not normal? Of course, it’s wrong, you daft bastard! I can’t help it. It’s part of the curse, too, you know. The part that remained after I changed back to a man. Didn’t know about that curse, did you?” He lowered his head and his mood shifted becoming sad. “Yes, it’s true. I’m cursed to crave the company of men. Now I see it all too well. I wish it hadn’t taken a curse to make me understand, though. I was an arrogant and heartless bastard, I was! Thought I was being such a man!” He looked away, patting the breast pocket of his doublet, before shaking his head and looking back at Dirk. His eyes didn’t stay on his face, though, they slowly traveled down the length of his body to land on his crotch. Dirk shifted, suddenly aware that he was still half aroused and the codpiece of his hose was protruding salaciously. The lord’s face lit up and Dirk backed away, preparing to yell.

Thomas held up his hand. “Shhh! I’ll not trouble you with my declaration of love. It’s too late now anyway. I just wanted you to know before I go back to being your steed. I want you to know that it will be a pleasure to be between your thighs again. I’ve been dreaming of those thighs every night since you brought me back to Doris’ estate.”

Dirk’s cheeks flamed crimson as he asked stupidly, “Doris?”

“Lady Pembroke,” Thomas explained with disgust. “May the bitch rot in hell! Cut my balls off, she did! Horrible woman! I didn’t see what a shrew she is until I was her horse. Her true colors came out then, they did! My mouth is still healing from that fucking bit! You would never use a bit, would you, Dirk? You’re too good to treat a horse that way.”

Dirk had to reach out and steady himself. His head was pounding and he was weak with hunger. He massaged his forehead and then regretted it when he felt his ears flick on their own volition. He could move his ears!

“But that’s in the past,” Thomas said, holding up the vial. “I’m home now. I’ve finally found my rightful master and I will serve you faithfully til the end of my days!”

God, how his head hurt! And he felt so dizzy! What the fuck was going on? His life was going to hell. Straight to hell! Somehow, he managed to croak, “Wait! Don’t do this! Why do you want to be a horse again after I broke Lady Windermere’s curse?”

“Lady Windermere!” Thomas spat. “She is no lady!”

“But–”

“Listen, master,” Thomas started to say and then paused, repeating to himself, “Master? Ah, ne’er a sweeter word was spoken. You are my master!”

“Thomas–”

Lord Ashbury held up his hand. “Master Dirk, let me tell you something. You are to forget all about Lady Windermere, you understand?”

Unable to come up with a coherent response, Dirk could only nod.

Thomas smiled darkly. “Good. Now here’s what you need to if you want to stop changing into an ass: Find Lord Windermere. And when you do, give him this.” Pulling a small, simple box out of his breast pocket, he tossed it to Dirk who grabbed at it desperately before finally catching it. The lord nodded, adding, “And, for what it’s worth, tell him I’m sorry.”

With that, he popped the cork on the vial. Dirk lunged at him but he was too late. Thomas had downed the contents before he took two steps. Dirk stared in fascinated horror as the man collapsed on the floor, writhing in apparent agony. His body immediately began to twist and contort in a disturbingly foreign manner. In only a few moments, his clothes were shredding as his torso expanded and his arms and legs grew long and spindly. His face elongated as he lay back, mouth opening in a scream that gradually became a whinny. Dirk had to look away then, falling back against the wall and slapping his hands over his huge, hairy ears.

What was happening to his life?

What in the fuck was happening?

His dream of buying land and building and estate back in Hesse, with a lovely lady and a whole bunch of happy children, was fading rapidly. When he looked up and saw the former lord transformed into a magnificent gelding, Dirk no longer knew what his future held.

Nothing good, that was for sure.

***

Dirk sneaked out of the inn with Lord Thomas, now the horse Castor again, and retrieved Lucinda from the stable. His stomach was empty and he was nearly delirious with hunger but he ignored it. He led the horses to the pasture on the edge of town and, spreading his cloak on the damp grass, tethered them nearby and lay down to try to sleep. He knew he should have stayed at the inn and gotten a proper meal and a proper night’s sleep but he was too ashamed of his appearance…and odor, and too shaken after watching Thomas’ transformation. He did not want to be around people. He never wanted anyone to see him again!

He curled up miserably, awaking after midnight to find Castor asleep beside him, his great body warm as a stove. The horse was snoring contentedly, his head lying in the crook of Dirk’s arm. Dirk wrinkled his nose, remembering the lord’s embarrassing proclamation at the inn. He didn’t move away, though. The night was too chilly!

Falling back to sleep, he dreamed of prancing around in fields of rich grass, the sun kissing his firm body as he chewed mouthful after mouthful of delicious oats. There were horses nearby and he raised his head and brayed, delighting when they whickered in reply. He was alive and happy. So happy!

When he awoke, he was naked and his mouth was filled with grass. He jumped up, spitting and sputtering, and casting about to make sure no one was nearby who might have seen him. He was looking around for his clothing when he happened to glance down at himself.

What!?

WHAT!?

He cried out, reaching to cover himself, but drawing back in alarm when he touched…it.

What the fuck had happened to his…his…his…?!

He fell down on his haunches, aghast. His manhood! His precious manhood!

Fuck fuck fuck!

Holding his head in his hands, he kept his eyes screwed shut as he gasped for air.

This is not happening! This is not happening! This is not happening!

He had just about calmed himself down and convinced himself it was all a trick of the morning light when he felt something curl up between his legs. Without thinking, he cracked an eye.

WHAT THE FUCK!!!???

His mind exploded and he leapt up, careening wildly around the field as he tried to run away from…from…from…

It was no use.

The thing was part of him.

He could feel it lifting in the air behind him, the tassel on the end tickling his back as it twitched. He skidded to a stop, feeling his…manhood (donkey-hood?) slap obscenely against his thighs. As if it wasn’t bad enough having–Ugh!–the equipment of an ass, he now had…

He had a tail.

Sir Dirk of Harbourg had the tail of an ass.

***

Part 3

He remembered Castor’s, er, Lord Thomas’ final instructions as he angrily cut a hole in the back of his leggings and pulled them up, fishing his new tail through and grimacing as he felt it swish behind him. As disconcerted as he was, though, he couldn’t help sighing a bit in relief. He’d tried shoving the tail down his leg and up his shirt but the pain was unbearable. His tail demanded to be free! He hung his head and heard Thomas’ voice in his head.

Find Lord Windermere and give him this.

His long ears slid backwards unconsciously as he pulled the little box out of his satchel and turned it over in his hand. It was about two inches square and wooden. He tried to open it but it was locked tight and he couldn’t see a mechanism to release it. Shrugging, he dropped it back inside and cinched the drawstring. 

He didn’t have a choice. He had to find Lord Windermere if he wanted to be a whole man again.

Riding was painful. Saddles weren’t meant for men with tails! Worse, he had barely been able to stuff his hideous, donkey-sized equipment into the studded codpiece of his leggings. It pinched even though he could tell that Castor was doing his best not to jostle. Just pulling it out to take a piss made Dirk want to vomit. He wouldn’t look at it, he decided. Or touch it except when he had to. He shuddered.

He was a freak.

He was turning into an ugly freak.

He had to find Lord Windermere right away!

Hiding his ears and tail beneath a cloak, he visited the local baron’s estate and asked for an audience with his clerk. The baron kept record of all titleholders in the county and he hoped the clerk would point him to the location of Lord Windermere’s estate. After bribing the guards, he was admitted into the wood-paneled office. A small fire crackled in a brazier and the clerk was warming his hands as Dirk entered. The summer had turned cold as summer was wont to do in England and Dirk was glad of the warmth.

The clerk was a middle-aged man with a prominent belly and well-trimmed beard. His clothes, Dirk noted, were finer than most lords.

“What may I do for–” the man paused to lift a handkerchief to his nose as Dirk’s scent wafted across the room, “you, sir knight?”

Dirk shifted and cursed silently as he felt his ears lift inside the hood of his cloak. He was still not used to having ears that moved on their own volition! “I am looking for the estate of a Lord Windermere. Do you know it?”

When the man hesitated, Dirk sighed and fished a silver piece out of his pocket and pushed it across the desk. “A tip,” he explained. “For your services.”

“Most generous of you, Sir–”

“Harbourg. I’m Dirk of Harbourg.”

Perking up, the man regarded him with renewed interest. He left the silver piece sitting out on the desk, though. “Ah, Sir Harbourg!” he exclaimed, “I have heard much of you of late! You have,” he paused and lowered his voice, “quite a reputation, I hear.”

For some reason, this made Dirk flush and he coughed, saying, “Er, thanks. Thanks a lot. Now, do you know where I can find Lord Windermere’s manor?”

“There is no Windermere estate in this county,” the man replied and Dirk’s shoulders fell but, before could turn and walk out, the clerk added, “I do recall hearing of a Lord Windermere in the next county over, though…” His voice trailed off and Dirk tossed another silver piece on the desk. The man smiled. “In fact, I’m sure of it. It is located just outside of the village of Crookwarren, twenty miles to the west.”

***

The Windermere estate was rich beyond measure. It was so rich that Dirk suspiciously pulled out his spectacles to observe the spreading orchards, fields, and gardens. After his last experience at a Windermere estate, he was certain that this one was likewise an illusion. The place was not cloaked in illusion, though; it really was as immense and wealthy as it appeared.

The gray manor house rose up starkly from within the confines of an elaborate and tall stone wall. Dirk regarded it curiously, feeling his skin prickle. The place might not be under a spell of illusion but there was nonetheless something sinister about it. Lucinda trailing alongside, He urged Castor into the stable courtyard before the main gate and was promptly surrounded by a detachment of guards. They drew their swords as he swung awkwardly down out of the saddle.

“State ye business, sir,” the captain growled.

Dirk looked down at the swordpoint leveled at his chest, asking, “This how you greet visitors around here?”

“It is how we greet strangers, sir. The lord don’t like strangers.”

“Huh. Well, maybe if I tell you that Sir Dirk of Harbourg is visiting, you won’t think of me as a stranger.” Dirk was used to his name being well-known; people everywhere seemed to have heard of him.

The captain’s face remained blank. “Never heard of no Dirk of Harbug.”

“Har-bourg,” Dirk corrected, annoyed. “It’s Har-bourg. Listen, just tell your lord that I’m here to see him.”

“He won’t let you in,” the man said gruffly. “He won’t let anyone in he don’t know.”

Dirk thought for moment. He hadn’t expected it to be so difficult to get an audience with the lord. After a few seconds, he brightened when he remembered something from his visit to Lady Windermere’s estate. “Tell him that I’m a friend of Cecily’s, would you? Tell him–” he stopped, mid-sentence as the guards tensed around him.

The captain’s face had gone white and he backed away from Dirk. Motioning to his men to lower their swords, he turned on his heel and disappeared through the gate, saying, “I’m off to get the lord. I’ll fetch ‘im straight away!”

Dirk crossed his arms and leaned against Castor as he waited. The horse’s chest was still heaving and his coat was slicked with sweat from the ride. Castor, Dirk had discovered quickly, really liked to be ridden hard.

The guards fell back and mumbled amongst themselves, unwilling to look at Dirk directly, but every so often he would catch them staring at him when they thought he couldn’t see. If the atmosphere of the estate had felt foreboding before Dirk entered the courtyard, it now felt positively oppressive. Dirk wondered what the story was, why was the place so damned gloomy?

He about to ask one of the guards about it when an old man (Lord Windermere, Dirk presumed) burst into the courtyard, yelling furiously and brandishing a bullwhip. Caught off guard, the man had whipped him squarely across the chest before he could dodge out of the way. Pain seared through his body as he sprang into action, drawing his sword and crouching in a defensive posture. Castor, caught by the lash of whip, reared up, slashing out with his hooves at their attacker. Lucinda bolted.

“Get the fuck off of my estate!” the man was yelling as he struck out again at Dirk. “Get the fuck out of here and never come back! You fucking abomination! You filthy miscreant!”

Dirk rolled out of the way, shouting, “Hold! Hold your whip! I just want to talk!”

Face contorted with hatred, Lord Windermere lashed out again and Dirk jumped as the whip broke the cobblestones where his feet had been a second before. The guards had assembled and advanced on Dirk, swords waving. He looked around and, realizing he was outnumbered and fighting a losing battle, lunged at Castor’s reins and pulled himself up in the saddle. In a moment, they were galloping out of the courtyard as the lord’s men pursued close behind.

***

The guards only followed them to the boundary of the estate. Even winded from a long ride, Castor was too fast for them and they fell quickly behind. When Dirk looked back, their pursuers had turned and were heading back to the manor. Lucinda was waiting for them, munching contentedly by the roadside as if nothing unusual had happened.

Chest and pride stinging, Dirk was pondering this latest turn of events when a storm blew in from the north. Soon, the sky was black and rain pelted down on them. Cursing, Dirk kicked Castor, urging him into a gallop. He needed to find shelter before the roads got muddy!

They had nearly reached Crookhaven when a falling tree limb spooked Lucinda and she took off into the woods. Hopes of a warm fire and dry clothes evaporating, Dirk pulled on the reins, steering Castor after her. Within a mile or two, they had caught up with the mare but he was, he realized, hopelessly lost. Dirk sagged in the saddle, feeling Castor shiver beneath him. Cold water was soaking through his cloak. He shifted and sneezed, rubbing his nose.

Great. Just fucking great, he thought. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse. I fucking hate my life.

Night fell and Dirk wandered the wood, freezing and half-delirious, as the storm continued to rage unabated. He fell off of his saddle once and landed in a thicket of brambles. He would stayed lying there if Castor hadn’t grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him up again. His cloak was in shreds by the time he extricated himself and he was forced to leave it and continue on without protection. Soon, his whole body was chilled. He became feverish.

He would have missed the light in the wood if Castor hadn’t changed direction, pulling against the reins. The horse, it seemed, was the only one of them thinking clearly. Dirk looked up blearily and let the horse take control. He was beyond caring what happened to him by then. He wanted to die. He just wanted to die.

Fading out of consciousness, he awoke sometime later to a voice.

“Ah, your poor bastard!” the voice was saying. “Let me help you. Here, take my hand and step down from the horse.”

Dully, he did as he was told and allowed the man to lift him out of the saddle. He fell over and would have collapsed if the man hadn’t caught him around the waist and hauled him back up. Slinging Dirk’s arm over his shoulder, he guided him and the horses into a dimly lit stable. Dirk was too out of it to notice much other than it was warm and dry inside. He did notice, however, that it smelled wonderfully of fresh hay.

There was a startled pause when they got inside and Dirk looked up to find his rescuer, a young man of about twenty, staring at him with wide eyes. Belatedly, he remembered his long ears and reached up to cover them, feeling ashamed and embarrassed.

The youth made a reassuring sound and stayed his hands, soothing, “The lady’s cursed you, too, I see. I remember you now from a month back. You’re Sir Harbourg.” Head foggy and shivering uncontrollably, Dirk’s brow furrowed for a moment before he remembered where he’d seen the boy. He was Lady Windermere’s footman. He must have wandered back to her estate! Panicked, he tried to bolt but the lad caught him by the shoulders, saying, “Stay, sir knight! Stay! The lady is long gone. ‘Tis only me and the horses left here now. You’re quite safe.” 

Uncertain, Dirk hesitated and the youth smiled. He had a nice smile, Dirk realized then, much to his confusion. He was about to say something when his nose twitched and he smelled something delicious. Mouth watering, he looked around and he spotted a sackful of carrots hanging next to one of the stalls.

The boy followed his gaze and chuckled, “Fancy a carrot, sir knight? Here, you can have as many as you like!” He paced over and grabbed the sack, handing it to Dirk who commenced crunching ravenously on the delectable morsels. He’d never tasted anything so good!

He was so busy stuffing his face that he didn’t realize the boy was undressing him until his leggings were sliding down his waist. Suddenly alarmed, he dropped the carrots and fought to pull his pants back up but the boy merely swatted his hands away.

“Tsk, tsk! You’re cold and weary, sir knight,” he admonished. “And I have just drawn a bath. I was fixing to wash myself just before you arrived.” He swept his hand back and Dirk saw a large basin filled with steaming water in the middle of the stable. “Just let me take your clothing off and you can relax while I take care of you.”

Too cold and feverish to protest, Dirk relented and let the boy strip him naked. After his clothes were off, he closed his eyes, though, refusing to look down. He couldn’t stand to see his body this way. He was a freak!

“Now there’s a good man,” the youth murmured, reaching up to scratch the top of Dirk’s head between his ears. He flicked his ears back in annoyance but then sighed when he realized it felt really good to be scratched. “You’ve come to the right place, you have!” the boy said happily. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s beasts. I will treat you right. Here, my lord, kindly step into the basin so I can wash you.”

Dirk did.

The lad took a rag and, dipping it into the water, lifted it to wipe down Dirk’s cold and sore body. He loosened Dirk’s braid and, letting his hair fall down around his shoulders, wrung the cloth over his head. Then he briefly disappeared and, returning a moment later with a small tub (“The lady’s best soap,” he said, winking.), proceeded to rub the fragrant stuff into his locks. Dirk moaned softly at his touch. After being soaked with cold rain, this was heaven!

He worked his way slowly down Dirk’s torso, making an indignant sound when he saw the angry red welt left by Lord Windermere’s whip. “Hold on a moment,” he instructed and left to return with glass vial. “This’ll heal you up like new!” he explained. “The lady left all manner of healing unguents behind.”

Dirk tensed when the youth applied the ointment but soon a miraculous warmth spread through his skin. Exhaling in contentment, he was relaxing again when he opened his eyes and saw the boy shrugging out of his tunic. He jumped, splashing water everywhere.

“Hold on, hold on,” the youth cajoled. “It took me all night to warm this water! We can share a bath together, can’t we?” Before Dirk could reply, the boy was naked and climbing into the tub with him. He stood there frozen, looking down at the lad and the boy laughed at his expression, saying, “I know the quality like to bathe private but we common folk aren’t so lucky. When I was a boy, my whole family shared the same bathwater.” Dirk grimaced at the thought and the boy laughed again. “My name’s Dillon, by the way. But you can call me ‘Dil’.”

“Dil,” Dirk pronounced, testing the name on his tongue. It was a nice name.

And Dil was a handsome lad, he realized then. Brown-haired and brown-eyed with sensitive lips and cleft chin, he was tall and broad across the shoulders, being nearly Dirk’s height. Tanned dark brown above the waist, his arms were well-muscled from working in the stables and his torso narrowed down to the slimmest hips that Dirk had ever seen on a man. His pale legs were hairy and muscular. Like Dirk, he carried not an ounce of fat on his lean frame.

He had a nice penis, too, Dirk noticed before looking abruptly away, uncertain why he cared. The sight of it was burned into his mind, though, and he kept seeing it even after he’d closed his eyes. Covered by a long, tapering foreskin, it was stout and nestled in a bushy thatch of black pubic hair.

“Here,” Dil was saying, “I’ll scrub your back if you do mine next.” 

Numbly, Dirk allowed Dil to turn him around. His mind was spinning with all sorts of new and unfamiliar thoughts. The things he wanted to do to Dil… He shook his head, feeling his ears slap against his temples. He was feverish, that was it. He was coming down with some sort of illness that was making him think strange things. Strange and unnatural things…

“Now that is a tail!” Dil exclaimed happily when he caught sight of Dirk’s ugly, new appendage. Before Dirk could stop him, Dil’s hands were fondling his tail. “What a handsome tail the master has!”

“Stop it!” he demanded, wresting his tail out of Dil’s hands and curling it defensively between his legs. “You don’t have to tease me. I already know I’m a freak.”

“I’m not teasing you and you are not a freak,” Dil said matter of factly. “You are a handsome man with a handsome tail, handsome ears, and a hands–”

“Enough!” Dirk commanded, finally snapping out of his feverish delirium. “That’s enough!” He was stepping out of the tub when Dil stopped him, putting his hands firmly on Dirk’s shoulders and pushing him down. Dirk tried to resist but found his body wouldn’t obey him. Try as he might, he couldn’t make himself leave. He knew he should, knew something wrong was going on, knew…

When he was folded down in the water on his hands and knees, Dil commenced to wipe him with the rag, pausing periodically to lather it up and dip it in the warm water. He murmured the whole time soothingly, talking nonsense mostly but it served to lull Dirk into drowsiness. Dimly, he was aware that this was probably the way Dil talked to his horses. He relaxed into the boy’s tender ministrations, closing his eyes and enjoying the simple act of being touched.

“Now we just need to clean under that tail, master,” Dil said finally, urging Dirk’s tail upward as he placed the warm rag on his butt. Dirk froze with these words, clamping his tail firmly down over the crack of his arse. Dil made a clicking sound with his tongue, saying, “Come on, Sir Dirk. You think you have something down there that I haven’t seen before? I’m a stable hand, remember?”

Dirk tried to stand up but Dil pushed him back down. Cheeks flaming, Dirk growled, “I can take care of myself! I’m a grown man!”

“That you are, master,” Dil said appreciatively. “That you are.” He laughed, tugging on his tail so insistently that Dirk finally relented.

Dil washed him so gently that Dirk exhaled softly in a low moan, something that caused the boy to chuckle to himself. He closed his eyes and sagged down, not caring that he was sticking his butt straight up in the air. Dil didn’t seem to care, either, though Dirk wondered how the boy could stand to look at him from that angle. He was about to say so when Dil startled him by easing the cloth between his legs and caressing his pendulous balls and deformed cock with the soapy rag. His eyes flew open and his ears stuck straight up but Dil only laughed, patting him on the rump and boasting, “A true prize you’ve got between your legs, Sir Dirk! A true prize!”

Dirk grimaced and was in the middle of saying, “You do this with your family, too, when you shared a bath?” when he felt something give way…down there.

Huh?

There was a pressure.

It was building.

And then…

>>Pop!<<

Mortified and cringing, his ears drooped and he clenched his butthole, realizing something was wrong. Something felt different. What was the fuck had just happened?

He didn’t have to wonder long because a moment later Dil’s finger was tracing the ring of his anus as he crowed, “And pop goes the pucker! You have an ass’s arsehole, Sir Dirk! And lovely it is!”

Mortified, Dirk cursed loudly but this only amused Dil who continued washing and wiping and laughing to himself. Dirk’s huge ears drooped down nearly to his shoulders and he hunched over, wanting to die.

Dil was quick to take advantage of Dirk’s distraction. Before he knew what was happening, he’d dropped the cloth and taken Dirk’s cock in his calloused hands, stroking him. He leaned in close, draping his body over his back and placing his cheek on the furrow of his neck. Dirk’s mind exploded but, rather than rocketing out of the tub like he knew he should, he stayed put, bracing his weight on his hands and knees and rotating his hips upward, thrusting his buttocks into Dil’s crotch while twining his tail unobtrusively around his upper leg. By then, he was quite aroused and could feel his ugly cock straining and hard in Dil’s firm grasp.

He grunted, pushing his butt back and upward, almost eagerly, and was rewarded a moment later when he felt something fat and thick and hot pressing against his most intimate part. His eyes rolled back in his head as he forced all thoughts of what he was about to do out of his head. Instead, he thrust abruptly backward while consciously working to loosen his newly protruding pucker. This time, it was Dil who was surprised and the boy bucked instinctively forward.

And it happened.

The unthinkable happened.

Never in Dirk’s life did he imagine that he would be mounted and buggered by another man.

Never!

He’d never even thought of men in that way before, never wanted to!

But that night everything changed as he surrendered his arsehole in the most wanton and lascivious manner possible and Dil fucked him.

A stable boy buggered him! Him! Sir Dirk of Harbourg!

And he loved it.

***

Dil might be young but he was an expert at fucking men. He rode Dirk with the perfect balance of ardour and tenderness, sometimes teasing him, sometimes tormenting him, and sometimes pausing to milk him and nibble his ear with such exquisite delicacy that tears came to his eyes. At some point, he realized that Castor was watching them and he raised his head to meet his horse’s gaze. Before that moment he hadn’t realized it was possible for a horse to wear an expression of envy and he turned away, embarrassed.

Dil brought his attention back with a particularly vigorous thrust and soon he was jacking Dirk, driving him onward to the most intense orgasm of his life. After over a month of not getting off, Dirk exploded, braying like an ass at the top of his lungs while spewing buckets of hot jizz into the frothy bathwater. Behind him, Dil cried out, emptying his load into Dirk’s swollen hole.

When it was over, Dil pulled out and leaned back in the tub, drawing Dirk with him until he was nestled against his chest. He was breathing hard and sweat trickled down his firm torso, sealing their skin in moist contact.

“You’re my sexy beast,” he breathed in Dirk’s ear, making it twitch. “My sexy knight. My lord. My new friend.”

“Still not sure how I feel about this,” Dirk grumbled, feeling remorse…and a very sore butthole now that the heat of passion was waning. “Not even sure why I let you do that to me. It’s not natural.” He reached down to rub his aching hole ruefully. “Men aren’t supposed to, um, you know, with each other.”

Dil kissed the back of his neck, sending a frisson of pleasure down his spine. “The lady’s curse, Dirk. That’s the second part of it. You will only crave the company of men from now on.”

Stiffening, Dirk said, “Why would she do that to me? It’s a queer fate to force on a man.”

“Indeed. A very queer fate,” Dil said, laughing at his joke before adding, “It’s one of the lady’s favorite curses. I think she does it to give men a taste of a woman’s lot in life. She wants them to know how it feels.”

Dirk pondered this until he remembered Lady Windermere’s retelling of the events in Beresford, how she had to attend undercover, pretending to be a man, and then what had happened to her once she’d been found out. It didn’t completely add up but he granted that it could make a sorceress vindictive. He shivered, asking, “Did she curse you, too?”

For some reason, Dil laughed at this. “What? No! I was born this way. I’ve always fancied men. My earliest memory is being in love with one of the stable hands.” Turning to see Dirk’s look of distaste, he cajoled, “Don’t worry, Sir Dirk. You’ll grow to like it. I promise. I know how to treat a man.”

Dirk grimaced, looking around. “Don’t see any men here. You sure you haven’t been practicing on your horses?”

“Oh, you’re a funny one, you are!” Dil exclaimed happily. “Nay, master. I haven’t ever lain with a horse or any other animal besides man, for that matter. I won’t deny, though, that seeing you like this makes we wonder.”

“You might not have to wonder long,” Dirk said glumly. “The rate I’m changing, I’ll be a full donkey in a few days!”

“Not a donkey, master, but an ass,” Dill corrected. “A donkey is half horse and half ass. You’re a complete ass.”

“Ha ha.”

“Seriously, though,” the boy continued, “I think I might be able to help. I told you already that the lady left most of her sorcerous supplies behind. There might be something that will reverse or at least slow the progression of the curse.”

Dirk leaned back into Dil’s embrace, saying, “I hope so. I really hope so. If the changes don’t stop soon, I won’t have long to track down Lord Windermere.”

“Come again?”

“Lord Windermere. I was told that I needed to find him to break the curse.”

“And who told you that?” Dil’s voice had turned noticeably chilly.

“Lord Thomas of Ashbury,” Dirk explained, nodding his head over at Castor. “Before he took a potion that transformed him back into that horse over there.”

Dil followed his gaze, eying the horse with an unreadable expression. Castor, Dirk noted, dipped his head at them. It was the horse equivalent of a bow. 

“And so it is,” the boy finally breathed. “I thought recognized him but it never occurred to me that a man would choose to be changed back into a horse. Strange thing, that.”

Dirk nodded. “Yeah, strange is right. He seems quite happy to be a horse, though. And he is a good steed. The best I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll bet,” Dil murmured. “Lord Ashbury always was more suited to being a beast of burden.”

“You knew him?”

“Aye, I knew him. Knew him well, the bastard. He was one of my lady’s worst foes while she was at Beresford.”

Castor reacted to this with what could only be described as contrition. He lowered his head and ears in a way that Dirk was by now very familiar with, being that his own ears behaved the same way when he felt ashamed of himself.

“I think he feels bad for what he did,” he commented. “He told me to tell Lord Windermere that he was sorry and to give him something.”

Dil braced under him with these words. “What?” he demanded. “What did the bastard tell you to give m–, I mean, Lord Windermere?”

“A little box,” Dirk answered, turning to see his new lover’s face contorted with hatred and…something else he didn’t recognize. “It’s in my satchel.”

“Get it.”

The boy’s voice was so cold and so commanding that Dirk looked at him askance. Dil’s face softened at his look and he smiled sadly, “I’m sorry, Dirk. I feel my lady’s pain almost as if it were my own. The things those bastards did to her…”

“She told me a little about what happened. Wasn’t pleasant,” Dirk said as he eased himself off of Dil’s body, frowning slightly at having to leave the warmth of his embrace. He padded, dripping wet, over to Castor and pulled the box out of his satchel before returning and handing it to Dil. The boy took it and, unconsciously sticking his tongue out of the corner of his (succulent) mouth, snapped it open.

“Hey, how’d you do that?” Dirk asked but the boy ignored him. He was too busy staring into the little box. Almost immediately, though, he snapped it shut again and placed it with a shaking hand down on the floor next to the tub. His face had turned ashen and his eyes were red. “What?” Dirk queried. “What’s inside?”

Dil waved the question off. “It’s…well, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s something very dear to the lady.”

“I wonder why Thomas wanted me to give it to Lord Windermere if it belongs to the lady?” When Dil remained silent, he continued, “I visited Lord Windermere’s estate today but couldn’t get him to talk to me long enough to give him the box. The bastard came at me with a whip when I told his guards that I was a friend of Cecily’s.”

“Hmpf,” Dil said. “Sounds like him. He’s a cruel, hard man. He disowned the lady after he found about her…dalliance…with the guardsman, Caleb. He couldn’t abide his daughter being with a commoner.” He looked up and, noticing that Dirk was standing before him, shivering, he opened his arms and beckoned Dirk back into the tub. He needed no further encouragement. For reasons he didn’t completely understand, the only place he wanted to be was in Dil’s arms. The boy slapped him playfully on the arse as he was sitting down on his lap and Dirk laughed. Soon, they were kissing and pressing against each other, wrestling like a pair of young boys. This play, however, quickly took a very adult turn a few minutes later.

***

In the morning, Dirk awoke feeling invigorated and happy despite his sore arsehole. Sunlight streamed through the open door and birds chirped in the trees outside. He was lying on Dil’s pallet on the floor in a cozy room off the stables. The skins were soft and sumptuous, still holding traces of his new lover’s warmth. The bed, however, was empty. He sat up to look around, expecting to see the lad tending to the horses.

He wasn’t in the stables, Dirk discovered after rising and pulling on his leggings (making sure to feed his tail through the hole in back.) He headed outside to take a piss, grimacing in distaste when he pulled his monstrous cock out of the pouch. His glad mood promptly grew dark as he regarded the ugly appendage. It looked even bigger than the day before and the dark brown blotches on the shaft were growing. He almost dropped it when he noticed the moist folds of skin around the base and it took him a while to realize what they were. When he did, he shuddered and shoved his cock back into his pants.

A sheath.

He was growing a fucking sheath!

He was so shaken that it took him several minutes to calm down. His shoulders sagged and his ears quivered as he remembered Thomas urging him to speak with Lord Windermere. The last thing he wanted was to go back to that estate and beg an audience with the evil man. There had to be another way to break the curse! Teetering on the brink of despair, he remembered something that Dil had said the night before and brightened. The Lady Windermere had left behind her potions! Maybe one of them would cure him of the curse?

It was worth a try, anyway.

He straightened up and trotted up to the manor house, finding it much easier to approach now that the illusion had dissipated. When he reached the landing, he saw the front door was ajar and he walked inside, curious.

Dil was sitting on the pedestal beneath the statue of the naked guard, holding his head in his hands. When he heard Dirk, he looked up and smiled wanly. His eyes were red; he had been crying.

“My dear sir knight,” he pronounced in a strange tone that pricked Dirk’s memory. He recognized that tone, he was sure of it. He was on the verge of remembering when the boy surprised him with the question, “Are you ready for a trip to the university at Beresford?”

“Beresford? Why Beresford?” Dirk asked, tail swishing nervously behind him.

“I believe that is where we will find my lady. The more I think on it, the more certain I am.” He stood up then and tucked the little wooden box from Lord Ashbury into his tunic. When he looked at Dirk, his gaze was burning. “It is time we track her down and put an end to this cursed business.”

***

Part 4

A few hours and one heated argument later (“You not only look like an ass,” Dil had said at one point, “but you’re as stubborn as one, too.”), the pair left the Windermere estate bound for Beresford. Dirk was grumbling as he eased into the saddle. As much as he liked being with Dil, he didn’t want the boy to join him. The trip would be long and dangerous enough, he didn’t need to worry about babysitting a stable hand, too.

He was about to complain again when he noticed something. Turning to Dil, he asked, “Hey, you do something to my saddle?”

Dil smiled. “Aye, my lord.”

Dirk shifted around, realizing with approval that his tail didn’t chafe against the hardened leather. He swished it tentatively before sitting up and examining the saddle. Dil had cut a notch in the back, a notch that was just the right size to accommodate his tail. He sat back down and sighed. It felt heavenly!

“I told you that I know how to handle beasts, my knight,” Dil said smugly. “And you’re my beast now.”

Dirk gave him a hangdog grin and prodded Castor with his heels. The horse took off at a trot with Lucinda and Dil following behind. Dil had locked up the estate as best as he could and ridden into town to sell the lady’s remaining horses from the stables. When Dirk asked him about it, he had shrugged, saying, “The lady told me I could take whatever I wanted when I left. The money from the horses will be useful.”

While they hadn’t found anything in the sorceress’ supplies that would break Dirk’s curse, Dil had scored an ointment to remove the strong stable smell that lingered on Dirk no matter how often he bathed. And the boy had found some drops that he said might slow down the progression of the curse. He wasn’t very confident but Dirk decided to give them a try and he’d taken a dose under his tongue after finishing a breakfast of oats and turnips.

The afternoon was sunny and warm as they took the old Roman road through the Ardmoor Forest. It was a week’s journey to Beresford through a part of the country that had been depopulated ten years prior by a plague. Dirk was secretly glad because he’d lost his hooded cloak that had allowed him to hide his ears and tail. When they passed a rider who gawked at him before nearly falling out of his saddle with laughter, Dirk wilted. He could feel his ears drooping as his cheeks burned in humiliation.

Dil rode up beside him, admonishing, “My lord, you are better than twenty men put together! Forget about how you look and act like the knight you are. And,” he added slyly, “give ‘em a kick in the arse if they laugh at you.”

Secretly fuming that he needed to be prodded by a lowly commoner to remind that he was Sir Dirk of Harbourg and not some simpering nobody, he straightened in the saddle. From that point forward, he decided he would not let his appearance define him. And, after a half hour, he’d forgiven Dil enough to look over and smile at him.

“Ah, now that’s better,” the boy commented, winking. “You look so regal and handsome, Sir Dirk!”

The next seven days were the happiest of Dirk’s life apart from one minor event a couple of days into the journey. The two men took a circuitous route through the forest on Dil’s urging. He had traveled to Beresford often and knew the Ardmoor well. For several days, they didn’t meet a soul, a fact that led them to commit all sorts of unchristian deeds as they explored each other’s bodies and reveled in the freedom of being alone and unwatched.

On the second day, they passed by a brook next to the narrow track that emptied into a wide, clear, and fern-shrouded pool. Dirk’s groin was bothering him (the potion, it seemed, had little effect on the rate which his manhood was growing and his breeches strained to contain it) and suggested that they stop so he could soak in the cool water for a while.

Dil cast a curious look in his direction as he nearly tumbled out of his saddle, calling out, “How now, my lord? What ails you?”

Dirk waved off the question as he walked stiffly over to the pool and pulled his leather jerkin over his head before unfastening the laces on his breeches and loosening his belt. “Nothing,” he grunted. “I’m fine. Just need to rest a bit.” 

Keeping his back modestly to the boy, he bent over and stripped out of his clothing, wincing as his enormous balls swung free of the confines of his codpiece. He cradled them in his hands, grimacing at their ugliness. The skin of his nutsac was stained almost black and dense grayish brown fur was sprouting all over. And then there was his disgustingly bloated cock with its mottled brown skin and the black sheath at its base. Disgusted, he saw that it had grown wider and thicker, nearly encasing it. He sighed as he reached into his tunic and pulled out the vial containing the potion that was supposed to be slowing the progression of the curse. 

Is it doing any good? he wondered as he dribbled some of it on his tongue.

He couldn’t tell as he looked down at his naked body, noting the fur growing on his shoulder blades and over the top of his hips. His nipples were larger and darker, poking out noticeably in the chill morning air. Recorking the bottle and shaking his head, he set it down and felt his tail swish unconsciously at a fly that had landed on his buttocks. His ear swiveled at a sound and turned to see Dil standing next to him. The boy was naked as a babe, though his handsome face wore a worried look. He tried to put an arm over Dirk’s shoulder but Dirk shrugged it off.

“Stop it!” he grumbled, not in the mood for intimacy. “Just let me soak.”

He splashed into the water and sighed as he settled down on the sandy bottom. The day was bright and clear and the sun was just beginning to stream through the trees. He didn’t care, though. All he cared about were his poor, aching balls!

Dil disappeared and Dirk could hear him whispering to the horses as he removed their saddles and harnesses. After a while, he couldn’t resist turning to watch. His breath caught a little in his chest as he took in the lad’s firm and toned body. The sight of his pert butt alone was enough to get Dirk aroused even in his dour mood. He’d never seen a man with hips that slim and a butt that shapely. And then there were his wide shoulders, corded with muscle. He shivered then, feeling his cock stand up. Dirk was still far from comfortable with his newfound lust for men but his body, it seemed, didn’t have any reservations: It saw Dil and wanted him, pure and simple.

Just then Dil turned and caught Dirk’s hungry stare. Smiling, he straightened up and stalked over to the pool, slipping in beside Dirk and was urging him onto his lap. Dirk obliged and Dil wrapped him in his big, strong arms as he positioned Dirk’s bum in the perfect position to… Dirk suddenly forgot all about his swollen equipment and the woe of the spreading curse. All that mattered was being held by Dil. He lay back against his shoulder and moaned as the boy scratched behind his ear.

“My strong knight, my lovely ass,” Dil whispered, reaching down to liberate Dirk’s tail and laughing when Dirk flicked the tassel on the surface of the water, splashing them.

From there, they got a little carried away and soon they were lying side by side on the bank of the stream, chests heaving and sweat trickling down their bodies. Dirk had forgotten all about his aching balls and was instead fixated on his aching arsehole. He reached down and touched it, whining a little as he felt the inflamed and tender skin.

“Great,” he huffed. “Now my arse and my crotch hurt! How am I supposed to ride like this?”

Dil started to laugh but stopped when he saw the look on Dirk’s face. Face softening, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me that your crotch was hurting?”

Before he could answer, Dil had jumped up to rummage through his saddlebags. Instructing Dirk to soak in the pool while he worked, he set about pulling out various bits of leather, rawhide strips, and lambswool. Brow wrinkling, Dirk did as he was told and immersed himself in the water. He was tired from their athletic bout of lovemaking and soon dozed off in the pleasant, warm sunlight.

“Ta da!” Dil announced sometime later. 

Dirk woke and cracked an eye. The boy was standing over him, holding up a curious piece of clothing.

“What’s that?”

“Your new undergarment, my lord,” Dil said, bowing low and presenting it to Dirk. “Try it on.”

Dirk received the queer piece of clothing tentatively, wrinkling his nose as he turned it over in his hands. It appeared to be nothing more than a large, leather pouch lined with lambswool and sewn onto a broad leather belt. There were two strips of sueded leather about an inch wide that attached on one end to the narrow base of the pouch and, on the other, about a foot or so apart on the bottom of the belt.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “How’s it work?”

Dil sighed in exasperation. “Stand up and try it on, you dumbass. You’ll see.”

Raising an eyebrow, Dirk lifted himself out of the pool and, back on dry land, looked at Dil askance as he held the undergarment before him.

“Here,” Dil instructed. “Hold the belt like so,” he positioned the piece so that the pouch was hanging down in front, “And step into it. The straps will go under your bum.”

Cheeks coloring, Dirk finally understood and he backed away from Dil, spreading his hands. “I…I can’t wear that. It’s not proper.”

Dil sighed through his nose. “Dirk, it’s not ‘proper’ for a man to bugger another man’s arsehole and yet that exactly what I just did to you. Now stop whining and put it on. I assure you that you will thank me.”

He thought about protesting but then surprised himself by stepping into it and pulling up. The straps in back did indeed cup his butt cheeks and the belt was snug about his hips. His cock and balls, though, were too big to fit in the pouch. He jumped up and down a couple of times, trying to get them inside but it was no use. He looked over at Dil, unconscious of the fact his lower lip was pushing out in a little pout.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Dil exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “Shove your cock inside its sheath! When was the last time you saw a jackass froing about with his cock hanging out? They only do that when they’re mating!”

“Why, you–” Dirk started to say but then Dil’s hands were on his member, easing it inside the thick and hairy sheath. Soon, the entire length was concealed and he stared down in surprise as the entirety of his manhood slipped inside the pouch. A moment later, it was nestled snug and secure and warm in the soft bed of wool. He sighed, a slow smile spreading across his face. Dil nearly doubled over in laughter at his reaction and Dirk swatted him peevishly with his tail before he realized another benefit of the undergarment: His tail was free to swish behind him even as his arse cheeks were caressed by the cool breeze.

He was pulling on his breeches when he realized something else: Dil had removed the crotch! Tossing them on the ground, he turned to confront his lover.

“Shut it!” Dil said before Dirk could say a word. “I tore out your codpiece because you don’t need it anymore. Just step into them and you’ll see.”

“You’re intent on making me the laughing stock!” Dirk grumbled but nonetheless pulled on the leggings. After he fastened his belt, he looked down at himself and grimaced. The studded leather pouch of his new underwear pushed out in an almost obscene fashion. He stared down at himself in consternation. He couldn’t go about in public like this!

Dil, however, was delighted. “See? So much more comfortable!”

It was more comfortable, Dirk admitted reluctantly. And his mail jerkin was reasonably long. Was it long enough to cover his prominent bulge? He bent over and picked it up and was about to pull it over his head when he noticed something.

Face turning red, he turned to Dil angrily. “You’ve been busy, I see.”

“Very,” Dil agreed, not put off in the slightest by his lover’s outrage.

Dirk held his jerkin out before him, feeling like he was going to explode. The boy had taken the liberty of embroidering his leather chest piece with a fanciful crest: A rampant jackass rendered in bright red thread, rearing up on its hind legs. The beast was stylized but also anatomically correct, complete with a very male appendage jutting out in front.

“That’s the Harbourg family crest, isn’t it?” Dil asked in mock innocence, barely managing to contain the laughter that threatened to spill out of him.

Dirk threw the jerkin on the ground and stomped off. It was either that or box the boy between the ears. He couldn’t understand Dil. Why would he go out of his way to torment him? They were supposed to be friends…and lovers. He squatted down in the shade of a willow copse and held his head in his hands, wishing fervently that he knew what was going on in the lad’s head.

A few minutes later, he turned at a sound behind him and looked up to see Dil holding out his jerkin. “Come on, Dirk. Get dressed,” he urged in a steely, unsympathetic tone. “You’ve spent enough time sulking.”

Dirk’s retort died on his tongue and, even though he desperately wanted to protest, he found himself standing up and pulling the shirt over his head. When it was on, Dil stepped in front of him and adjusted it, murmuring approvingly. Then he leaned back and crossed his arms as he surveyed Dirk. Finally, he seemed content and wandered back to the horses, saying over his shoulder, “Perfect. You are a most dashing knight, Sir Dirk.”

Dirk growled something unintelligible as he followed along behind the boy. Soon, they had mounted their horses and continued on their way to Beresford. This time, however, Dirk’s crotch was pain-free even if his pride was now somewhat wounded.

***

He was riding in stoic silence, still simmering, when Dil urged Lucinda forward to trot beside him. Dirk ignored him but then started in surprise at moment later when the boy unexpectedly launched himself out of his saddle and into his arms. He scrambled to hold onto the lad, tugging frantically on Castor’s reins, and only just managed to keep them both from tumbling out of the saddle. After some effort, he was able to position Dil between his legs in front of him. The boy was so slim, he realized with unwilling approval, that he fit quite well there. Quite well, indeed. The cleft of the lad’s firm arse was nestled seductively against his bulging pouch.

“You’re nothing but trouble,” he grunted as Dil leaned back into his chest.

The boy laughed. “That’s why you love me.”

Dirk pulled up on the reins and Castor halted. “Love?” he asked. “You?”

“Yes.”

“But men don’t…”

Silence. Then, Dill admitted quietly, “I do.”

Dirk paused, letting this sink in. Finally, he stammered, “Y-You love…me?”

Dil nodded, his shaggy hair tickling Dirk’s throat.

Dirk sat there for a long time, considering this, uncertain how he felt. Finally, he gently kicked his heels into Castor’s side and the horse eased forward into a cantor, apparently unphased by having to carry two riders.

***

The subsequent five days were unmarred by further disturbing antics and, after a day or so, Dirk lost himself in the bliss of being in the young man’s company. Dil was still young and unguarded enough that he couldn’t conceal his feelings for Dirk and he lavished him with attention and affection (not to mention a good amount of jovial teasing.) Dirk still struggled with himself, sometimes hating the attraction he felt for Dil and sometimes not caring. If this attraction to men was a geas laid upon him by the sorceress, then it was a most peculiar one. As the days wore on, he had trouble remembering that he had ever been attracted to women. It was very peculiar, indeed.

On their last day traversing the Ardmoor Forest, they stopped on a knoll and lay naked under the spreading limbs of a red beech. It was a warm day and the shade was welcome because both men were sweaty from the ride. Dirk propped himself on his elbow, gazing at Dil. The boy’s eyes were closed and his lips were slightly parted. He was so relaxed that he almost seemed angelic. The freckles on his nose, his long lashes, his unblemished skin…it was difficult to believe he was a stable hand. All of the servants that Dirk knew had already seemed aged before their twentieth birthday. Lady Windermere might be a twisted sorceress but at least she took good care of her servants.

Dil’s eyes fluttered opened then and he caught Dirk staring at him. “What?” he asked, voice thick. “What are you doing?” His eyes narrowed with suspicion as if Dirk might have been preparing to play a prank on him.

“You are so beautiful,” Dirk murmured before he could catch himself. He hadn’t meant to say those words and yet they had just spilled out of him. They were true, though, he realized. Dil was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.

These words had a strange effect on the boy. His face grew pale and he shoved himself onto his knees, pushing away from Dirk.

Dirk sat up, confused. “Didn’t mean to offend you,” he grumbled, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. He’d thought that Dil would be pleased with his declaration.

Dil warred with himself for a while, a host of emotions rippling over his face. There were so many that Dirk couldn’t register all of them. Mostly, though, they weren’t happy ones. When he composed himself, his expression was closed and he wouldn’t look at Dirk. A long, uncomfortable silence stretched before he choked, “It…it is I who needs to apologize. I am…not accustomed to being addressed in such a manner.”

Dirk wrinkled his brow at these words. Why is he speaking so formally? he wondered. Dil was like that, though. At times, he used plain speech and at others he spoke with a startling vocabulary. This was what yet another mystery about the lad that Dirk couldn’t figure out.

“I can’t imagine it’s the first time a man had said that to you,” Dirk stated, still aggrieved. “You are a handsome lad.”

Dil looked to the side. “No, it’s not the first time,” he admitted. “I…I would really rather not talk about it. It brings me too much pain.”

Dirk shrugged and stood up, bending over to pull on his new, supportive underwear and breeches. “Never mind,” he muttered. “Sorry I said anything.” He finished dressing and mounted Castor, not bothering to wait for Dil. They rode the rest of the day in silence.

***

They climbed a narrow trail on the moor that afternoon, leaving the Ardmoor behind. The weather turned chill and cloudy as they ascended and rain began to spatter down once they reached the rocky plateau. Dirk pulled on his leather jacket and leaned down over Castor, hugging the horse for warmth. He regretted not stopping to buy a hooded cloak before they left. Even if it didn’t hide his oversized ears, it would at least provide protection from the elements.

The trek across the moor only took a few hours but Dirk was exhausted and shivering by the time they reached the northern edge. His mood had turned darker the longer it rained and as Dil’s silence stretched. When Dil drew up sharply in front of him and he was barely able to rein in Castor before colliding with Lucinda, he had to bite off the sharp rebuke on the tip of his tongue.

Dil was frozen, his body rigid as he stared down to the valley below. Curious (and annoyed), Dirk pulled up beside him and followed his gaze.

The valley of the Beres River was shrouded in a grey mist. From this height and distance, only the spire of the old Beresford cathedral and the limbs of the ancient oak at the crossroads were visible in the setting sun. The feeble rays stained both blood red as Dirk felt a chill creep up his spine.

The oak.

Its spreading boughs were lined with carrion crows, their raucous cries audible even from that great distance. He squinted, furrowing his brow. What were those…things hanging from the branches? Were they…?

He started to say, “What–?” but Dil cut him off, holding up his hand. Dirk bristled but Dil had already urged Lucinda down the trail before he could say anything. As the boy and horse disappeared into the mist, Dirk was forced to follow or be left behind.

Darkness was descending by the time they reached the oak and Dirk nearly lost track of Dil several times. With the fog, the evening felt darker than usual and the mist dampened all sound. Long ears straining, Dirk could barely detect the soft clop of Castor’s hooves. Before long, he had lost his sense of direction. The spectral figure of the boy on his horse in front of him was the only thing keeping him on track. Dirk tried to suppress the chill of dread that competed with the damp cold seeping through his garments.

After a long time (that may have only been a few minutes), a soft light emerged from the fog. A ward, Dirk thought, his sense of alarm rising. A mage had placed a ward against spirits on the path, a very powerful one from the look of it. 

The mages from the university, he realized, were the only sorcerers powerful enough to place such a ward. And the fact that they had to resort to a ward, rather than directly addressing the unnatural phenomenon at work in that place, did not bode well. What magical being could be more powerful than the mages at the university of Beresford?

This is not good.

Dil approached the pale blue light and dismounted. Dirk pulled up beside him and was getting out of the saddle when he watched in horror as the boy crossed through the protective boundary of ward, apparently without a second thought.

“Dil, stop!” he shouted but the lad ignored him and continued walking.

What the fuck was the boy thinking? The dolt was going to get them both killed! 

Dirk growled in exasperation as he jumped off Castor, grabbing his sword and oil of argentum nitricum from his satchel. Even though he didn’t know what magical force lurked within the circle of wards, the silver oil would be enough to at least wound it. He didn’t want to dwell on his chances of destroying something that all of the mages from Beresford had been unable to deal with. He would just have to pray for luck. 

He lowered his head as he ran headlong through the mist, trying to slather the oil on his blade while avoiding tripping on a root. He exhaled sharply as he crossed the protective boundary of the ward, feeling a pulse of nausea radiate up from his stomach. It was a very powerful ward, indeed!

He met up with Dil at the trunk of the enormous oak. Wider than a barn and older than the ancient druids, the oak predated even the roads that met under its arching boughs. The town of Beresford was famous for it and its graceful, silver silhouette served as the crest for the university. Dirk remembered it from previous visits and had kissed more than one maid under its immense canopy. At those times, the tree had been a soothing presence, leaves burnished to bronze in the sunlight. Steady, sturdy, timeless, benevolent.

Now it was different.

The air was thick. Dirk gagged as he inhaled the fetid stench of decay. The crows in the branches overhead were now silent, their presence felt (and smelled – their foul excrement plopping around him from above) more than seen. And even though the evening was windless and it was not yet midsummer, the leaves overhead rattled parched and lifeless, echoing with a brittle threnody of despair. Even the air was cold, reminding Dirk more of autumn fading toward winter than the welcoming warmth of summer.

Dil drew to a halt, barely more than a shadow in the darkness. His breath was strained and his body was rigid. Dirk stalked up to him, fury from earlier in the day building to an explosive level. Just as he was reaching out to manhandle the youth back to safety behind the wards, an inhuman shriek ripped through the unnaturally still air. Instantly, the hair on the back of Dirk’s neck (and his ass ears) stood straight up. Without thinking, he shoved Dil aside and drew his sword, dropping down into a fighting stance.

His instincts were good. The shrieking wraith’s talons barely missed Dil’s shoulder. Dirk knew from experience that the deathlike touch of a wraith meant an agonizing end from which there was no escape. The thought of losing the boy in such a profane manner drove him wild with rage and he lashed out at the phantom attacker with a practiced slice. If he could strike it, the argentum nitricum coating his blade would disrupt the wraith’s connection to the physical world. Eventually, given enough cuts, it would be unable to manifest here and fade into oblivion.

The slice would have landed if he hadn’t tripped over Dil.

Dirk tumbled headlong to the ground, only barely managing to fold his body into a roll before impact. Cursing loudly at the boy to stay out of the way, he recovered, putting himself once again between the boy and their inhuman assailant.

He stared, momentarily paralyzed as the phantom revealed herself fully before him. The wraith was beyond hideous, even by wraith standards. Her spectral hair was matted and falling out in sodden masses from her decayed scalp. Pulpy teeth filled her grinning, skeletal mouth and her tongue was rotten, seething with maggots. The odor emanating off of the rags of her winding sheet was grotesque.

She lunged at Dirk and he barely managed to counter. Taking practiced aim at her decayed heart, he thrust upward at her armpit and he would have connected if Dil hadn’t surprised him by grabbing him from behind.

“Hold, Dirk!” he shouted. “Stay your blade!”

Dirk wrestled furiously but Dil had his arms pinned. All he could do was watch helplessly as the wraith lifted herself above him, brandishing her sharp claws and wailing in victory. The last thought in his head was one of bitterness. After surviving innumerable battles and several wars, he was going to die with his hands behind his back, held down by someone he’d trusted.

He was a fool.

He was more than a fool.

He was an ass.

***

Part 5

Dirk waited for the wraith’s talons to pierce his chest, lowering his head in resignation even as he fought unsuccessfully to free himself from Dil’s grip. 

The attack never came. 

The phantom’s shrill whine faded into silence and the air around them grew still. Finally, Dirk looked up and blinked in astonishment.

Dil released his arms and Dirk let them fall to his side, stunned.

“What–?”

“Shhh,” Dil breathed. “Just wait. I’ll take care of this.”

Gaping, Dirk watched the boy pick his way carefully in front of him until he was standing directly before the spectral being. Solemnly, he lowered himself to his knees and then lifted his hands upward in supplication. To Dirk’s disbelief, the wraith’s form began to shift from that of a maggot-ridden corpse to the ghostly outline of a young woman. Once the transformation was complete, the ghost was dressed in a simple white shift, her long hair tumbling down past her shoulders. Dirk swallowed as she lowered her gaze to the boy and her expression grew sad. It was then that Dirk noticed the red stain spreading through the nearly transparent fabric of her shift. It was centered just below the base of her hips.

Dil knelt there for a long time with his head bowed and his hands lifted. The specter seemed uncertain of what to do and hovered expectantly, her hollowed eyes regarding him. Finally, though, she reached out and placed her misty hand on his palm.

He stood up.

The ghost drew nearer until she was only inches from him. Dil hesitated a moment before placing two fingers on her forehead.

It was a simple yet profound gesture.

With the touch, the ghostly woman lifted her head toward the heavens and exhaled deeply in a sound of such pain and loss that Dirk’s chest clenched. Then she disappeared into a golden mist.

He blinked.

Silence.

Dirk took a step toward Dil.

The boy was standing there, his head lowered. Dirk stepped in front of him and was surprised to see tears running down his cheeks. As he stared, Dil wiped his cheeks and turned. He wouldn’t look at Dirk, though.

“Dil, what just happened?” he asked finally, tongue sticking to the top of his mouth. Belatedly, he realized his heart was pounding in his chest.

Dil was silent for a long time and Dirk got the impression he didn’t wish to talk. After a while, though, he said, “She was raped and murdered by her brother a thousand years ago. He buried her body here and told everyone she had run off with a Roman soldier.”

“What? How do you know?”

Dil shrugged. “She told me. In my mind. She is gone now, though. She is at rest.”

Dirk’s mouth was hanging open. He had to open and close it several times before he could speak. “Dil, how–?”

“The dead talk to me, Dirk,” he said quietly. “They have since I was a child. And I…I listen. It’s what they want. Someone to listen.”

“Are you–?”

Dil shook his head. “I don’t know what I am, Dirk. I’m just…different.”

Dirk realized his ears were slanted forward and he relaxed but couldn’t stop flicking them nervously. Clearly, there was far more to Dil than he’d realized. What else was the lad hiding, he wondered. If he could charm ghosts, what else was he capable of doing? He was about to ask when Dil looked over his shoulder and smiled wanly.

Dirk turned and gasped.

There was a horde of ghosts ringing them and the tree, waiting silently.

“Looks like we’ll be here for a while,” Dil remarked dryly as he put a warm hand on Dirk’s shoulder and pushed past him.

***

It was almost daylight by the time Dil met with the last ghost. Dil told him later that it was a boy who had been strangled by brigands as he watched his father being tortured at the base of the oak. Even Dirk’s jaundiced heart melted a little when the little boy wrapped his insubstantial arms around Dil’s neck and faded into oblivion. His face was sad but radiant as he waved farewell and then disappeared.

Dil tried to stand but nearly fell over. He was so fatigued that he fell asleep in Dirk’s arms as he carried him back to the horses, passing back through the protective boundary of the ward. He spread a blanket and lay Dil carefully down before tending to the horses and setting up camp, noting that, even though the ghosts were gone, the mist still shrouded the tree and the surrounding countryside. The dark feeling of despair lingered as well. The crossroads were normally a busy place but that morning not a soul was about. It felt like they were alone in all the world and it unsettled Dirk more than he wanted to admit.

His stomach was growling furiously but he didn’t have the energy to heat up a pot of mush for breakfast. He thought for a moment before sheepishly looking back at the boy to make sure he was asleep. Dil was passed out, face pale and chest barely rising. Satisfied, Dirk smiled and paced over to the horses where they were munching contentedly on a patch of grass that was outside the ring of the tree’s canopy. Strangely, the grass inside the canopy was withered and brown but beyond it was rich green. Getting down on his hands and knees, Dirk shrugged and lowered his head to graze on the succulent greens. Sighing contentedly and swishing his tail, he was ashamed to admit how good it tasted!

***

“Dil, what happened here?” Dirk asked after the boy had awakened and eaten lunch. It was well past noon.

He was silent for a moment, gazing thoughtfully over at the tree. Now that it was fully daylight, the mist was somewhat thinner but it was still difficult to see more than a few feet in any direction. A deathly silence filled the air.

“I don’t know,” he admitted finally, hanging his head. “Something bad. It takes a lot of magic to wake that many ghosts. I usually only see one or two a fortnight but last night there were several hundred. Everyone who was murdered or unjustly died here in the past ten thousand years showed up.” He shook his head, adding, “It makes sense that there would be so many, though. Oaks were sacred to the druids and folk here still believe that crossroads mark the boundary between worlds. People were sacrificed here and an ancient cemetery lies just beyond yon hillock. Death lingers here.”

“Not how I remember it,” Dirk commented. “This used to be a happy place.”

“Depends on your perspective, I guess,” Dil said, shrugging. “I’ve never found it particularly nice. The oak was beautiful, though.”

“Speaking of which,” Dirk said, standing up and stretching his legs, “what’s wrong with it?” 

He paced over to the tree and lifted an arm to touch a low-hanging branch, pulling it downward. His eyes widened when he saw the leaves and he cursed under his breath. Dil came and looked over his shoulder, brow furrowing. Each leaf had the skeletal imprint of a human hand, the bony fingers splayed across the withered lobes.

“Whoa,” Dil breathed, letting out a low whistle.

Dirk shivered. Merely touching the branch made him feel slightly ill and he let it go, the leaves rattling like bones as it snapped back.

“Is it dead?” he asked, staring up into the branches before taking a startled step backward and crossing himself. The things hanging from the branches he’d noticed the evening before from the vantage point on the moor were now visible: They were the corpses of hanged men, dangling lifeless and rotting as carrion crows picked at their flesh.

Dil followed his gaze and shook his head sadly. “Those aren’t real, Dirk. At least not in the way we think. They are memories conjured up by the cursed magic that infests this place. They’re traces from the past, the bodies of every man and woman hanged from the oak.”

Lifting his head to sniff the air, Dirk muttered, “Smells real. Stinks.” A thought struck him then and he turned to Dil, asking, “How do you know all this anyway?”

“It’s my ‘gift’ if you want to call it that,” he replied, shrugging. “Perhaps if I were born to a higher station, I would have gone to Beresford to study. It matters not, though. The lady taught me how to control it. Without her, I would have been lost.”

“She taught you a lot more than how to control it,” Dirk commented. “Must have schooled you, too. You know more than any stable hand I’ve ever known. You even know how to read.”

Dil’s gaze was unfocused as he smiled at an old memory. After a moment, he shook himself, agreeing, “Aye, my lord. She taught me many things. She believed even lowly men like me deserved an education.”

“Hmmm,” Dirk said, feeling uneasy. The more time went on, the more Dil bothered him. He wasn’t like anyone Dirk had ever met and he felt like he was missing something important.

Dil turned back to the horses, saying, “In any case, we should be going.” 

The boy had started packing up before Dirk realized his statement was an order, not a suggestion. He straightened, realizing he’d tucked his tail unconsciously between his legs. The boy had that effect on him; he felt powerless to resist him. As much as he knew this should bother him, though, his body responded in quite the opposite manner: His donkey cock was even now sliding out of its sheath. He winced as he forced it back inside, shaking his head at himself. What was wrong with him?

***

Rather than heading into town, Dil steered them into the low hills just west of Beresford. After about ten minutes, he stopped before rocky outcropping. Many such outcroppings dotted the fields around the town and this one was nondescript. Curious why the youth would choose this place to set up camp, Dirk questioned him.

“Use your optical devices,” Dil urged.

Dirk leaned back and was pulling the spectacles out of his satchel when he realized something. Turning, he demanded, “Hey! How’d you know about the optics? I never told you I had ‘em.”

Without hesitation, Dil said, “The lady told me about them. I asked her because I was curious how you made it through her hedge.”

Dirk shook his head. It was yet another example of the…unusual closeness between Dil and his mistress. Dirk had never met a lady who shared information so openly with her footman. Deciding not to pursue it, he slipped the spectacles onto his face and turned back to examine the pile of rocks.

“Holy fucking shit!” he exclaimed.

Dil nodded, amused by his reaction. “My lady found this place when she first came to Beresford. It had lain undiscovered for centuries and yet it is perfectly preserved. And very well protected. A truly wonderful magical spell has kept it untouched all this time. The mage who built it must have been one of the best. By comparison, our mages today are children dabbling in the shallowest waters of the unknown.”

Dirk was too busy staring at the edifice revealed by the special optics to listen. The rocks had disappeared and in their place was an ancient building surrounded by a low stone wall. He’d been to Rome and had visited the ruins of the old temples but had never seen anything like this. The building was a perfectly preserved Roman villa, complete with its terracotta roof and magnificent marble pillars at the entrance. He gently tapped Castor’s side with his heels and the horse ambled through a gate in the stone wall. When inside, he looked around and noted a smithy with a forge, a fine brick stable, and a wide pasture filled with lush grass that made his mouth water. There was even a trough filled with clear water for the horses. The place did not look abandoned. In fact, it looked like it was very much in use and he felt disoriented, like he’d stepped back in time a thousand years to the time when Roman power in England was at its peak.

He tucked the spectacles back into his satchel and was marveling at the villa when a thought struck him.

“Is the Lady here?” he asked suspiciously. “You said she’s in Beresford.”

“I doubt it,” Dil replied, following him through the gate.

Dirk narrowed his eyes. “How do you know?”

The boy was silent for a time and dismounted, removing Lucinda’s bridle and harness. He turned and closed the cast iron gate behind them. When he looked up at him, Dirk shivered. The boy had the most beautiful, sensitive eyes. “The lady and I are…connected. I would know if she was here.”

“She communicates with you? In your mind? Like those ghosts?” Dirk’s skin was prickling. He didn’t know if he wanted to know the answer to this question.

The boy lifted an elegant eyebrow. “In a manner, I guess. It’s different, though. I can just, well, sense her.”

Dirk’s ears moved forward. “And yet you sense she is in Beresford somewhere?”

“Yes, most definitely.”

He nodded. Part of him never wanted to see the sorceress again but another part was desperate to get her to remove the curse she’d placed on him. It was getting worse by the hour. In fact, on the short ride from the tree, he’d become increasingly aware that his breeches were growing tight. Even as he sat in the saddle, he was hesitant to dismount for fear they would split down the back. He cast a glance down at his thighs and felt his stomach clench. They were swelling! Becoming both bigger and more muscular. And then there was his butt. He flushed as he felt it pushing up and out as the leather strained to contain it. A cool breeze caressed the bare skin of the top of his arse as it spilled out over his belt. Trying his best to ease out of the saddle, he nonetheless staggered and almost fell as he clambered down. The stitching on his leggings was pulled impossibly tight and he felt it give way in back.

Dil was busy surveying the estate but turned when he heard Dirk groan. In a moment, he was by his side helping him to stand upright. Dirk noticed with a sickening sense of dread that he had to work hard to balance on two feet; it felt more natural to be on all fours.

Without saying a word, Dil loosened Dirk’s belt and tugged on his breeches. Dirk flicked his ears in annoyance, reaching to to push the boy’s hands out of the way but Dil merely moved his hands backward, tsking, “You work on the back and I’ll get the front. Once we get them off of you, I’ll rework them so they fit again.”

Cheeks burning with humiliation at having to be helped out of his pants, Dirk reluctantly admitted that he couldn’t do it alone. His breeches had become too tight! With difficulty, he slipped his fingers between the leather and his burgeoning buttocks and pushed. 

After a quarter hour, the two managed to extricate Dirk from his pants. He slumped down on his hands and knees, exhausted. He just didn’t have the strength to stand up. He hung his head, hating his life. He hated everything about himself. He was doomed to turn into a fucking ass. He was barely even human anymore!

Dil came to stand in front of him and lifted him up, unlacing his jerkin and pulling it over his head. Tossing it aside, he then tugged down Dirk’s protective cup, liberating his ugly donkey cock and floppy, hairy balls. Dirk looked down at himself and shuddered. His thighs were huge! And covered with a dusting of brownish, greyish hair. Animal hair.

And he had a rump.

A big rump. His hips were wider and there was a space between his legs all the way up to his crotch that hadn’t been there before. His swollen, protruding arsehole was fully exposed. Even clenching his cheeks wouldn’t conceal it.

He was so busy obsessing about his changes that he had forgot about Dil. When the boy jumped onto his back and squeezed his knees around Dirk’s midsection, though, he reared up, kicking his legs out behind him. 

Dil laughed, wrapping his arms around Dirk’s neck. “Whoa, boy!” he teased. “Easy! I know you like to be ridden.”

Dirk thrashed around, trying to dislodge the boy but Dil held fast. Finally, he sagged down, breathing hard and feeling sweat trickle down his neck. “You don’t have to be cruel,” he panted. “It’s bad enough turning into an ass. You don’t have treat me like one, too.”

Chuckling, Dil slapped him playfully on the rump. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said airily. “You make a good ass.” Before Dirk could utter the retort on his tongue, Dil had wandered off, saying over his shoulder, “Go on and graze, Sir Dirk. I know you’re dying to munch on fresh grass.” He giggled, adding, “I’ll get the house opened up and work on your breeches.”

Dirk grumbled, feeling acutely ashamed that the boy had caught sight of him grazing earlier. And yet…he glanced down at the lush forage and his stomach growled. In a moment, he and the horses were blissfully grazing next to each other in the pasture.

***

Dirk lost track of time and was only distantly aware that Dil had fired up the forge in the smithy. His nostrils flared at the first whiff of smoke but he went back to chewing on a particularly tasty patch of clover. Soon, the rhythmical ring of a hammer on metal echoed over the pasture and he looked up briefly to see Lucinda standing near the forge as Dil swung the hammer down on a glowing red piece of iron. A horseshoe, he realized. Apparently, the boy was skilled at blacksmithing, too. Was there anything the lad didn’t know how to do?

Thirsty, he wandered over to the trough and lowered his head into the deliciously fresh-tasting water. The sky overhead had cleared somewhat and he could see blue patches reflected on the water’s surface. The day had warmed and he felt quite comfortable being naked. Swallowing a mouthful of water, he sighed, his self-consciousness draining away. The warmth, the sun, the grass, the water, the sound of hammering…everything felt right. He felt right. Now that Dil was in his life…

Soothed and happy, Dirk lowered his face into the water and drank deeply, his tail swishing languidly behind him. He stretched, pushing his buttocks out and spreading his legs and lifting his tail, enjoying the feeling of the cool air on his tender hole. He knew he shouldn’t take so much pleasure in doing this, knew it was wrong. It was worse than wrong, it was perverted. And yet…

He didn’t care just then.

No, he didn’t care.

“Aw, now there’s a good beast,” Dil murmured, coming up behind him. Dirk felt a thrill as the boy put a calloused hand on his rump, squeezing his ample cheek. “Stay just like that,” Dil continued. “Don’t move a muscle.”

Dirk pricked his ears at this and he was about to turn when he felt a searing pain on his left buttock. His mind went white with agony and he howled as the smell of burning hair and skin filled his nostrils. He kicked out savagely with his hind legs but met only empty air. Dil had already moved aside and, through the red haze of pain that shrouded his vision, he looked up to see the boy setting a white-hot iron brand down on the edge of the water trough. In the other hand, he was holding a cloth and he knelt down quickly beside Dirk, pressing the rag over his freshly-burned skin. Dirk’s head clouded and he passed out even as he struggled to comprehend what Dil had just done to him.

***

Part 6

“You doing alright, Dirk?”

He moaned and tried to lift his head but warm hands on either side of his face held him down. He relaxed, letting his head fall and opened his eyes. Dil was gazing down at him with tenderness, his features etched with regret.

“I’m sorry, Dirk.”

His tone was sincere.

Dirk stirred, feeling into his body even as he remembered the horror of being branded. The pain was gone, though. Not even a dull throb remained and he shifted, reaching down to feel his buttock. His skin had been brutalized, scarred but, incredibly, it was healed. The boy must have applied one of the lady’s healing unguents to the rag he’d placed over the wound. He traced the design with a finger and flushed when he realized that Dil had branded him with a huge ‘W’. Hurt and confused, he searched Dil’s face, trying to comprehend why he had done this.

“You won’t understand now,” the boy explained, reading his thoughts, “but you will soon enough. I did it for your protection.”

“For my–?” He couldn’t say the word. His mind struggled to comprehend. How could this be for his protection?

Dil nodded. “You are now the lady’s beast, Dirk. Forever.”

“I…I don’t want to be her beast!” Dirk protested weakly. He was so overwhelmed that he could barely think. “I want to be a man. A knight!”

Dil closed his eyes, remaining silent. After a long time, Dirk drifted off into slumber.

***

The villa had a hypocaust, Dirk learned the next morning when he awoke lying on a pallet next to Dil in an elegantly appointed bedroom. There was a grate of sorts in the floor beside the bed and steam was rising through it. He opened his eyes and stared at it, wonderingly. The concept of central heating was completely unknown to him but he quickly discovered that he loved it. The events of the past day had not yet caught up with him and he was happy to lie there in a warm bed in a warm room with the boy’s firm body pressed against him.

“There is a hot spring under the villa and they built the place to take advantage of its heat,” Dil explained, startling Dirk. He hadn’t realized the boy was awake. “The Romans prized Beresford for these hot springs, building baths throughout the county. In fact, this place has one below that I’ll show after breakfast. It’s really nice to soak in the water.” He yawned and stretched, giving Dirk a tantalizing view of his magnificent chest. The boy had little, tender nipples and just a hint of hair between his pecs. He saw Dirk’s admiring stare and favored him with a sly smile, burrowing into the space between Dirk’s arm and side.

True to his word, Dil led him down a stone stairway behind the villa an hour later. Dirk’s legs weren’t working very well and it was hard for him to balance but Dil was by his side, letting him lean on him. There was sort of cave beneath the villa that opened into a wide grotto. Ferns hung down from the mossy rock overhead and the air smelled humid and fragrant. In the center was a massive basin whose sides and bottom were covered with an intricate mosaic. The basin was filled with deep blue, steaming water. It looked incredibly inviting and Dirk had dropped his robe and stepped in without a thought. The water felt even better than it looked and he reclined against the stone, sighing.

The mosaic tiles of the bath depicted Ulysses’ visit to the Sorceress Circe’s isle. The panels showed the progression of the witch’s curse as the hero’s men were slowly transformed into pigs. The last panel disturbed him the most and he looked away uncomfortably, feeling his ears drooping. He shifted his weight, all too aware of his unnaturally large rump and the tail nestled between his buttocks. He cleared his throat, lifting his leg out of the water and examining his foot.

“Dirk, don’t–”

It was too late. He’d seen it already.

His toes were too short and stubby. And his foot was longer. Too long. Worse, his toenails were darkening to black. He wiggled his toes and found that he could barely move them. Making an incoherent sound, he struggled to sit up but Dil held him down.

“Stay,” he commanded, rising up out of the water and bearing down on him. Soon, his mouth was covering Dirk’s and his brain exploded with desire, all thoughts of his disturbing transformation departing. Eagerly, he lay back and allowed Dil to lift his legs over his head. The boy pulled back and smiled down at him, face alive with lust and mischief as he gently teased Dirk’s swollen hole with a finger. Dirk moaned and he felt his huge cock slip out of its sheath, flopping onto his belly with a little splash. Dil looked down at it and grinned, saying, “Sexy beast. You’re my sexy beast.”

Dirk’s mind switched off as he reached out and took Dil’s manhood in his hand. The lad’s cock wasn’t long but he had girth on his side. A lot of girth. Dirk slid his foreskin backward and guided him down toward his hole but Dil resisted, saying, “Nay, Sir Knight. Not yet.” Instead, he inserted his finger inside Dirk and drove him wild, tormenting the little secret place buried deep in his chute. He flushed like a maid at the thought of it. How had he not known about this secret spot before? The mere touch of Dil’s forefinger was enough to make him lose all control and hot cum spurted out of the splayed tip of his ugly cock before he could clench it off.

When they were finished, Dil kept his finger inside Dirk, massaging him and rolling it around as he kissed him. His mouth was so soft, so warm, so sweet. Dirk couldn’t get enough of it. He never wanted to leave, never wanted to be anywhere but lying there with his lover’s pleasant weight on top of him.

“Go see Professor Amarinth when you visit the school,” Dil whispered, disturbing Dirk’s revery. “He will know how to find Lady Windermere. He can be trusted completely.”

Dirk blinked. “What? Aren’t you coming?”

The boy shook his head. “I will ride into town with you but I am not welcome at the university. I will tend to the horses and stay out of trouble while you’re busy tracking my lady down.”

Dirk lifted the corner of his mouth at this. “Uh huh. You do that. I wish you would join me, though.” He was about to say something else when he remembered his feet and how difficult it was for him to walk. Lifting his leg out of the water again, he commented, “Not sure how I’ll get there anyway. My feet are almost useless.”

“Don’t ye worry, master,” Dil said, affecting a cockney accent. “I’ve got ye covered there.”

Dirk lifted an eyebrow, commenting drily, “Don’t know if I like the sound of that.”

***

An hour later, Dirk and Dil set out for Beresford on their horses. Dirk couldn’t stop staring at his garments. The boy had refashioned both his pants and his boots to fit his changing body. The boots were cleverly worked to support his elongated foot and stubby toes while appearing very ordinary on the outside. No one who saw them would take note of their design. Likewise, Dil had sewn a strip of flexible cloth on the outside leg of his breeches before tearing out the seams in back to sew in a triangle of leather over his tail hole. The result was a pair of boots that he could walk almost normally in and a pair of breeches that fit his thighs and buttocks perfectly.

On the ride to town, he had almost forgotten his freakish looks but was reminded quite rudely again when they passed a wagon hauling firewood. The young man holding the reins burst into laughter at the sight of Dirk. He forced himself to ignore him and continued riding as if nothing had happened but inside he was burning with humiliation.

Dil didn’t say anything but he pulled in close to Dirk and placed a hand on his knee, squeezing. Dirk brightened at the boy’s touch and then wondered at himself. Why did Dil’s approval and support mean so much to him?

The mist grew denser the closer they got to Beresford. By the time they reached the town, it was difficult to see even though it was past noon. The mist hung like a pall over everything, stifling them with its oppressive weight. Definitely not natural, Dirk thought as he felt the now familiar sense of despair settle over him. He forced his attention away from it, noticing that a series of glowing wards marked the boundary into town. His stomach cramped as Castor trotted past them and Dirk frowned. The fog was not only unnatural; it was also being created by something very powerful. It must have taken all of the mages at the university to craft wards strong enough to repel the evil force.

He left Dil behind at the stables where the boy was immediately surrounded by a host of street urchins. They remembered him from when he lived in Beresford with the lady and appeared to be delighted to see him again. Even better, they were so distracted by Dil that they barely registered Dirk’s presence and he was able to sneak off undetected. Dil gave him an encouraging nod as he departed.

The mist had the benefit of hiding his appearance from the townsfolk. Anyone more than three feet away was virtually indistinguishable and Dirk felt his shoulders relax after he walked past several people without a reaction. He lifted his tail and pricked up his ears as his confidence grew. The bleak fog of despair shrouding Beresford had given him a reason to be thankful!

Guards challenged him at the entrance to the university, lowering their spears when he approached. He thrust his chest out proudly as he squared his feet and crossed his arms, demanding to be admitted.

“And who might you be?” one of the guards asked, lifting a hand to hide a smile. “Lord of the asses?”

The other guard snickered and Dirk gave him a withering look. The man immediately straightened, chagrined.

“Sir Dirk of Harbourg,” he announced. “I’m here to see Professor Amarinth.”

“Oh, so you’re one of those,” the first guard said with distaste. “Didn’t have you pegged for a dandy. A dandy ass!” he exclaimed, slapping his knee. “That’s a new one, eh?”

Dirk had unsheathed his sword and had it poised at the man’s throat before he could finish his jest. In his left hand, he held a dagger to the throat of the other guard. He’d moved so swiftly that neither guard had time to react. They stood there blinking fearfully at him as he seethed, “If you don’t fucking let through the gate right now, this dandy ass is gonna open your throat from ear to ear. You understand?”

Pressing themselves against the wall, they nodded slightly, the tips of Dirk’s blades drawing a droplet of blood with the movement. Smiling coldly, he lowered his weapons. “Good,” he said. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”

They opened the gate and let him through.

***

The fog made it difficult to see the grounds of the university but Dirk remembered it from previous trips. It was an old institution, dating back to the days of William the Conqueror. That would-be king had brought a host of mages with him when he invaded England and they had founded the university within thirty years of the Battle of Hastings. Dirk had never been fond of Norman architecture; it was too heavy and solemn for his tastes. Though he was loathe to admit it,  he found that the elegant spires and minarets of the godless Saracens were more to his liking. The Saracens might be infidels but they knew how to build.

After some searching, he located the hall where Professor Amarinth taught. He was challenged by another pair of guards at the entrance but these proved more accommodating and soon he was striding across the threshold of the hall as they swung the heavy door open before him. Lifting and swishing his tail, he felt a renewed sense of confidence. He might look like a freak but he was still the same Sir Dirk of Harbourg inside and no one fucked with Sir Harbourg! (Except for Dil, he thought sheepishly.)

The professor was in the middle of a lecture when he arrived and a prefect (hiding a smirk behind his hand) bade him to await Amarinth in his office down the hall. Dirk made his way as directed, his boots echoing off the dreary stone walls. Torches guttered in sconces and high window slits provided meager light. He shivered, glad that he had worn his leather jacket. It was colder than late autumn!

Knocking on the last door on the left, he blinked when it was opened by a tall, bearded, blond man about thirty years of age. Dirk was momentarily lost in his crystalline gaze and took a step back as he felt his neck grow hot. The man, he realized, was quite handsome.

“May I help you?” the man asked, also taking a step backward as he registered Dirk’s strange appearance. “I think you have the wrong office. Professor Cullen is the curse specialist.”

Dirk swallowed, finding his tongue stuck in the back of throat. He looked beyond the man and saw that two younger men, identical twins from the look of them, were eying him curiously from across the room. Seated on a bench, they were leaning over an enormous tome whose vellum pages were ornately illuminated with ancient writing.

“I…I,” he stammered, casting his eyes down at the floor. When he looked up, the man’s expression had shifted and there was now a spark of…something…in his eyes. Something that sent a thrill through Dirk’s spine.

“Come in,” he said, beckoning him inside. “I’m Lord Hastings. I teach magical warcraft and share an office with the professor. I was just tutoring Stefan and Karl here in Latin.”

Dirk stepped into the office, feeling tongue-tied and oddly aroused. Just being near Lord Hastings had a wanton effect on him. He stood there awkwardly, unable to stop looking down at the floor. His earlier sense of power and purpose had evaporated.

After the silence had stretched for too long, he cleared his throat, saying, “I’m Sir Dirk of Harbourg. I was sent here to meet with Professor Amarinth.”

“I see,” Lord Hastings said in pleasingly deep voice. “Might I inquire as to the nature of your visit, Sir Harbourg?”

Lord Hastings was dressed in black leather armor, Dirk noticed, momentarily distracted from answering the lord’s question. It wasn’t just any armor. He recognized it as the finest that gold could buy, complete with black chain mail. It fit his muscular form perfectly, right down to the studded codpiece that enclosed what appeared to be a very large package. Dirk’s ears slid backward as he felt his mutant cock pulse inside its sheath. It wouldn’t stay contained in his protective pouch for long, he realized with embarrassment, if he kept staring at the man’s crotch. He quickly raised his gaze to Lord Hasting’s face.

“Uh, yeah,” Dirk said awkwardly. “I’m, um, well, you know.”

Lord Hastings shook his head. When he spoke, Dirk felt a thrill ripple through him. “Actually, no, I don’t know,” he said. Unlike most men, Lord Hastings kept his hair trimmed short. It was a very manly haircut, Dirk decided before chiding himself for the thought.

The boys shifted on the bench and Dirk looked over at them, and saw that hey, like Lord Hastings, were very handsome men. Dressed alike in russet leather jerkins and breeches similar to Dirk’s, they were staring at him with wide, brown eyes. Perhaps nineteen years old, they were brown-haired and broad-shouldered, possessing the unmistakably athletic build of trained soldiers. Of the two, one of the boys (Stefan, Dirk soon learned) seemed to take more interest in him, looking down bashfully as he met Dirk’s gaze. Young lordlings and soon-to-be knights, Dirk decided as he admired their strong features, probably sent by their father to study magic at the university. He felt his cockhead slip out of its sheath and he turned away abruptly. He could not allow himself to become distracted! It was bad enough looking like an ass; he didn’t need to rut like one, too. Taking a deep breath, he forced away all the lurid thoughts circling through his mind.

Lord Hastings clicked his tongue, saying, “Please sit down, Sir Harbourg. No need to be shy. You’re among friends here.” He winked as he said the word ‘friends’ and Dirk flushed.

“Please, call me Dirk,” he muttered as Lord Hastings led him over to a chair next a brazier filled with hot coals. He welcomed the warmth and he sat down gratefully, glancing around the room. It was a large office with two immense desks, a long table covered with parchment, and fireplace in front of which the boys were studying.

“And you may call me Reggie,” Lord Hastings announced as he reclined in a chair next to Dirk, spreading his long legs and allowing Dirk an unimpeded view of his generous package. 

A little flash caught Dirk’s eye and he spotted a curious ring fashioned of rose gold on the lord’s finger. Squinting, he saw that it bore the likeness of a young lady in the flower of youth with brilliant sapphires for eyes. Hmmm, he thought, I’ve never seen a ring like that before. A lady’s ring by the look of it. Why is he wearing it? Lord Hastings became aware of his scrutiny at that moment and covered the ring with his hand.

Behind him, the boys continued to ogle Dirk. Turning to them, Lord Reggie admonished, “Come on, lads! Back to your lessons. You won’t become mages if you don’t learn Latin.” Stefan and Karl reluctantly turned their attention back to the tome but continued casting surreptitious glances in Dirk’s direction.

“So, Dirk,” Reggie continued amiably, “you fought in the Crusades, did you not?”

Dirk jumped at the question, saying, “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Ah, but you possess the air–and tanned skin–of a veteran from the Levant,” Reggie observed, propping his head on his hand and giving Dirk a knowing look. “I fought there as well, even served for fifteen years in Varangian Guard, protecting the Greek Emperors Vatatzes and Laskaris. Eventually, I grew bored with Greek court intrigue and returned home to claim my father’s estate. I didn’t stay there long, though,” he said sighing. “I missed magic and the…press of the flesh too much. I’ve taught here for more than a dozen years now.”

How old is he? Dirk wondered, doing the math in his head. Even if Reggie had been only sixteen when he left England to fight in the Levant, he would in his mid-forties by now. Yet, astonishingly, the man appeared no more than thirty. Had he cast an illusion on himself to appear younger? Dirk wished he’d thought to bring his spectacles with him.

Reggie twirled the ring on his finger and Dirk glanced at it again. Strangely, the woman’s face on the ring appeared to have aged. It was now a matronly lady with eyes of emerald. Dirk shook his head, perplexed. A magic ring? Lord Reggie was a mage; it would make sense that he would have an enchanted ring. But why would a battle mage wear jewelry meant for a lady?

Lord Reggie slid his hand out of Dirk’s view and gave him a friendly smile. God, that man is handsome, Dirk thought for the thousandth time, willing himself not to be distracted by Lord Hasting’s pleasing appearance. He could tell that he was failing miserably, though, from the amused look on Reggie’s face.

“I was just a soldier,” Dirk said, feeling his neck grow hot. His ears twitched nervously, drawing Reggie’s attention. He had to fight not to hunch his shoulders as the man studied him. With great effort, he continued speaking as if he was unaware of the lord’s scrutiny. “Didn’t get killed and never was seriously injured. My younger brother had taken over my estate by the time I returned to Hesse and I had nowhere to go.”

“A usurper!” Lord Reggie breathed. “You’re not the first lord who has had his inheritance stolen, though I am sorry for it all the same.”

“Thanks.”

Lord Reggie lowered an arm onto his muscular thigh and turned to face Dirk. “Do you mind my asking about your curse? I hate to put you on the spot but I am quite curious to learn of its origin.” Behind him, the boys swiveled attentively, listening in.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Dirk muttered but then changed his mind when he saw the disappointment on Reggie’s face. Taking a deep breath, he plunged ahead, saying, “I was an ass and made a deal with a sorceress. Didn’t realize what I was doing.”

Lord Reggie exhaled softly. “I see. And she’s making an ass out of you in return. Very clever. And mean.” 

Once again, he twirled the ring on his finger. Now the face was a crone’s and her eyes were glittering rubies. Dirk shivered, willing his mind back to the conversation despite his growing sense of unease.

“I’ll say,” he said, looking over at the fireplace glumly. 

This was a very bad idea, he thought. I shouldn’t have come here. Here I am again, trapped by another sorcerer. Just don’t make any stupid deals, Dirk! 

He was about to get up to leave when Lord Hastings declared, “It’s a strong curse from the looks of it but I’m fairly certain I can lift it. Might I…examine you? If I can see the effects of the curse up close, I might figure out how to reverse it.”

Dirk lowered his head, fighting the impulse to get up and run out of the room. The last thing he wanted was for Lord Hastings to examine him! His desire to flee must have been written clearly on his face because Reggie smiled and placed a companionable hand on his knee before standing up.

“Come on, Sir Dirk!” he cajoled. “I am a mage after all. It’s my job to lift curses. And if I can’t do it, I will brief Professor Cullen on my findings so he can develop a cure.”

“What about Professor Amarinth?” Dirk protested but Reggie waved off the question.

“He’ll be in lecture for at least another hour,” he cajoled. “You will be well on your way to a cure by the time the old coot returns!”

Still uneasy but feeling increasingly unable to resist, Dirk pushed himself to his feet as Lord Hastings brushed the parchment off the large table before them. In a moment, its surface was bare and he urged Dirk to climb up, teasing, “Giddy up, Sir Dirk!”

Dirk glowered at him but nonetheless sat down on the table, his tail slapping the oak with perturbation as he stared down at his knees. He expected the mage to send his pupils out of the room but started in consternation when the man announced, “Karl! Stefan! Up, up, up! This is your chance to learn how to lift a curse!”

The boys launched themselves off the bench eagerly and soon were standing on either side of Dirk. They were very tall lads, he noticed. Taller than him by half a head and very well built. From Bavaria by the look of them, he decided. Only Bavarian men possessed that square jaw and powerful build. He tensed as he realized he could feel the heat radiating off of their youthful bodies.

“Help Sir Dirk out of his clothes, lads,” Lord Hastings ordered, standing back to observe the proceedings. “We need to see exactly how far this curse has progressed. Every detail is important!”

The boys hesitated, giving Lord Hastings a sidelong look. They clearly were uncomfortable with the order to undress him. 

“But, Lord Hast–,” Karl started to complain, backing away from Dirk. The mage, however, would brook no resistance and held up his hand, brandishing the ring. Dirk and the boys stared at it, transfixed. To his horror, Dirk saw now that the face had changed into a grinning skull. With eyeballs of milky white opal, it stared at the three of them with malice…and glee.

Alarms going off in his head, Dirk clasped his arms protectively around his chest. Beside him, the boys’ bodies grew tight but then mysteriously relaxed. As they looked at the ring, the resistance ebbed from their gaze. One moment, they were wide-eyed with terror and the next they were devouring him with lust. One of the twins, Stefan he guessed, reached under his armpit and tickled him. Karl had unlaced Dirk’s jerkin and was tugging it over his head even as he tried to swat Stefan’s hands away. His resistance was useless. In a moment, he was sitting shirtless on the table, vulnerable and exposed.

Looking back and forth at the boys, he complained, “I don’t like this. You can break my curse without stripping me naked!”

Ignoring him, Stefan queried in a thick Bavarian accent, “Might I scratch your ears?” In response, Dirk flicked them quickly backward but not before the boy caught one in his fingers, exclaiming, “Why it feels just like an ass’s ear! I thought the curse an illusion but now I see it’s real.”

Lord Hastings nodded approvingly, obviously satisfied that the boys were under his sway. “Quite so, boy. Quite so! The sorceress cast a spell most foul upon our good knight.”

Karl reached up and scratched Dirk behind the ear, murmuring, “Good ol’ jack. You’re a good ol’ jackass, aren’t you?”

“I’m not your fucking pet!” Dirk shouted indignantly, trying to shove himself off the table. The boys grabbed him by the arms, though, and held him in place. With each passing moment, Dirk could feel the grim hand of fate squeezing him tighter. Why the fuck hadn’t he run when he had the chance?

They had pulled off his boots and were working his breeches past his ankles before he recovered enough to fight back. By then, it was too late and he was splayed out on the table wearing only his protective cup as the twins held him down by the arms and legs. 

Lord Hastings produced a coil of rope from somewhere and bent over him, apologizing, “I’ll only tie you for a few minutes, Dirk. I need you still while we examine your body.” He then set about restraining Dirk’s wrists and ankles as Dirk cursed them at the top of his lungs. He gagged a moment later, though, when Lord Reggie stuffed a rag in his mouth.

When he was immobilized, Lord Hastings mopped his brow, exclaiming, “Phew! I’ve worked up quite a sweat! Haven’t you boys?” He unfastened his jerkin and tossed it aside, his bare chest gleaming in the dim light. His torso was corded with muscle and covered with thick hair. It wasn’t just the cut of his armor, Dirk realized then. Lord Hastings really did possess the body of a god.

With only the slightest of hesitation, the boys removed their jerkins, too. They weren’t quite as muscular as Lord Hastings but they weren’t far behind, either. In spite of himself, Dirk realized there was something pleasing about their smooth, nearly hairless skin. It reminded him of Dil…

The three men leered down at him hungrily. Lord Reggie bent over and pulled off his armored leggings, leaving himself clothed only in a flimsy muslin breechcloth. Heart pounding, Dirk turned and witnessed Stefan helping Karl out of his breeches. If possible, the boy’s undergarment was even skimpier than Lord Reggie’s. Soon, all three were mostly naked, their hard bodies glistening in the orange light of the fire.

“I know what you’re thinking, boys,” Lord Reggie drawled. “But we have to start from the outside and work in. Karl, you take his right side and Stefan, his left. I will, of course, start from the bottom.”

The twins took position on either side of him as Reggie waited. When they were in place, he turned to Karl, asking, “Well, boy? Report!”

Karl knelt down and opened Dirk’s hand, spreading his fingers. He paused for a moment, meeting Dirk’s gaze and winking. Then he stuck out his tongue and slowly, carefully, tantalizingly licked the tip of his index finger. Dirk writhed, moaning loudly as his cock stiffened inside his pouch. He couldn’t understand why his body would betray him so readily. Was it the effect of Reggie’s ring?

“Today, Karl,” Reggie prompted, reaching down to knead his crotch.

“Tastes like ass, my lord,” Karl said, smirking. Stefan giggled.

“Excellent. Stefan?”

Now Stefan leaned down and positioned himself over Dirk’s left hand. As he met his eyes, Dirk could see that some of the ‘old’ Stefan remained in spite of the mage’s geas; his beautiful eyes held sorrow as well as hunger. Somehow, this only served to heighten Dirk’s torment, though, and he writhed when the boy’s tender tongue lapped at his fingertip.

“Ass,” Stefan pronounced, laughing with delight. “Definitely ass.”

Reggie nodded with approval, squatting down and hovering over Dirk’s right foot. He examined his short, widening toes with interest, and then dipped down quickly to take Dirk’s big toe in his mouth. His tongue was hot and probing as it explored every inch. Even though Dirk was furious and afraid at being tied down, his body had a mind of its own and his cock throbbed painfully in the confines of his pouch.

Using their tongues to torture him, the three proceeded to lap inch after inch of his arms and legs, working their way every upward and downward. For poor Dirk, it was worse than the time he’d been captured briefly by a rogue band of Knights Templar and spread on the rack. His whole body was thrumming with the excruciating torment of pleasure and the pressure in his pouch grew more and more intense as his mutant cock strained for release. Finally, when Stefan leaned down and licked the tip of his left nipple, he let out a strangled grunt and his cock rocketed out of the pouch, landing with a loud slap on his belly. The whole, monstrous length of it was slathered and dripping with precum. He gagged on the cloth stuffed in his mouth as he looked down to see that the wide, flat cockhead reached past his sternum.

His precious manhood was no more.

In the place of his human organ, Dirk now sported a huge, black donkey cock.

Startled silence met the appearance of his bloated cock and the three men gaped as they took in its significance. Stefan was the first to recover. Face hovering over Dirk’s nipple, he lifted his head and cast a pleading look at Lord Reggie.

Reggie closed his mouth and met the boy’s gaze. After a moment, he laughed, “Go ahead, boy. It’s all yours.”

Stefan needed no further encouragement and immediately jumped up on the table, squatting with his knees on either side of Dirk’s head. With a quick motion, he tore off his loincloth and pushed down his butt until his ripe nutsac was pressing against Dirk’s chin and his hairy, nubile arsehole was positioned directly over his…

The boy reached between his legs and ripped the rag out of Dirk’s mouth and he gasped for air. He had only a moment to catch his breath, though, before that tender little arsehole was pressing against his lips. Unable to stop himself, he licked it.

Stefan moaned.

Dirk stopped, wrestling with himself, trying to make himself stop but Stefan merely pushed down more insistently.

He gave in.

He had no choice. His body, he realized then, was not his to control. Lord Reggie and his ring had seen to that. Both he and Stefan were powerless to suppress the waves of lust pulsing through their bodies.

Dirk licked and licked, tracing his tongue over every furrow and crease of that delectable little pucker. He’d never tasted a man’s arsehole before and, fuck, he liked it! Stefan tasted earthy and his hole was fragrant. It smelled like drying grass and man’s sweat. He probed deeper, unable to get enough of its delicious flavor. He was concentrating so hard on devouring the boy’s arsehole that he was unprepared for the explosion of pleasure that erupted through his cock when Stefan grabbed it and stuck it inside his mouth.

A loud braying echoed through the chamber and Dirk only belatedly realized it was coming from him. He clapped his mouth shut, embarrassed, but Stefan still had him firmly by the cock and soon he was bellowing and braying uncontrollably as the boy worked his shaft deeper and deeper into his mouth.

He was about to explode in orgasm when Lord Reggie intervened, pulling the boy off of Dirk and admonishing, “That’ll do, Stefan. Save some of him for your brother and me, will you?”

Stefan dismounted sheepishly and Dirk saw that Karl was giving him a jealous look. Before him, Lord Reggie’s loincloth was tenting severely and a dark, wet spot perfectly outlined his fat cockhead. With a quick motion mimicking Stefan’s, he ripped it off and Dirk was treated to the sight of the biggest tool he’d ever seen on a man. At first, he thought that the huge, bobbing club rivaled his own donkey cock but a quick comparison showed him that his organ was easily a half foot longer. Still, by any measure, Lord Reggie was a gifted man.

“We can untie him now, boys. He’s not going anywhere,” Reggie said, swaggering around and proudly brandishing his naked sword. 

The boys’ jaunty cocks were much smaller, being slender and only of average length. Dirk saw that, even when fully aroused, their cockheads remained covered by foreskin. They were eying Reggie’s prominent manhood with undisguised envy. Given a choice, though, Dirk realized that he preferred Stefan and Karl to Lord Hastings. The sight of the man’s cock was enough to make him clench his arsehole in terror.

As the young lordlings busied themselves with untying Dirk’s hands and feet, Lord Reggie strode over to the mantle and grabbed a tub of tallow. He dipped his fingers inside and then slathered his shaft with globs of the stuff until it shone slick in the firelight. Dirk stared at it, quivering. He was free but somehow lacked any resolve to move. He just lay there dumbly, passive, helpless.

“Karl, you take his front and I’ll enter him from behind,” Lord Reggie commanded. “Stefan, you naughty boy, will have to make do with his mouth. Now everyone up on the table!” He handed the tub to Karl who received it with shaking hands. 

Backing away, he complained, “But, Lord Hastings, I’ve never…”

“Shut it, boy!” Reggie shouted. “And grease up your arse right now!”

Karl hung his head, abashed, and tentatively dipped his fingers into the tub. He gave Dirk’s monster cock a fearful glance before reaching back and smothering his behind with the tallow. His face had gone quite pale.

Dirk drew himself up on his hands and knees on the table, slanting his ears forward even as he raised his tail upward. He was trembling both with fear and desire. On the one hand, he felt drugged with a soporific ecstasy that steeped every cell of his body. He was open, ready, and willing in a way he’d never experienced. On the other hand, he had no wish to be buggered by a cock the size of Reggie’s and the thought of mounting the young man gave him pause. He was afraid that he would hurt the lad!

There wasn’t enough time for him to worry because soon Lord Reggie had climbed up behind him and placed his strong hands on Dirk’s hips. Karl clambered up a moment later, looking ill. He numbly bent over and hugged his knees as he presented his startlingly pink, virgin hole to Dirk. It was slick with tallow and clenched tightly shut. Dirk sighed, feeling his arousal wane.

He didn’t want to rape Karl!

His reluctance quickly disappeared, though, when Stefan crept up on the table. The boy wore a sly smile as he urged Dirk to straighten up, the kneeling Karl sandwiched between them. Dirk did and met the boy’s steady yet enticing gaze. Stefan leaned forward and placed his lips over Dirk’s, giving him the sweetest of kisses even as he reached down and lifted his twin’s chin to thrust his cock into his mouth. Karl let out a startled grunt before slurping loudly. Stefan hugged Dirk to him and they locked mouths as Karl worked his magic on his brother’s cock. Dirk’s previous hesitation vanished as Stefan’s coy magic stripped him of the last of his inhibitions. Stefan was a naughty boy, indeed!

Karl relaxed the more he sucked and soon the boy was pressing his buttocks outward, all but enticing Dirk to penetrate him.

“Be gentle with him,” Stefan urged in between kisses. 

Dirk nodded and, pushing his rump backward to mitigate some his incredible length and gently pressing his cockhead against Karl’s rosebud. The boy tensed beneath him but Stefan distracted him by taking his head in his hands and pushing him down on his cock. Dirk rotated his hips, working his way forward, forward, forward until…

Karl cried out and Dirk gasped.

He was in!

A million new and exhilarating sensations flooded through Dirk as his cock parted Karl’s buttocks and he entered the lad. Karl’s hole was so warm! Almost hot! Dirk’s eyes rolled back in his head and Stefan laughed, squeezing his arms tighter around his neck.

The three of them were locked in a carnal union so blissful that they had all but forgotten about Lord Reggie. The man had not been idle, though. Unseen by the Dirk and the two boys, he held his hand in the air as the ring began to pulse with an eldritch light. The milky eyeballs of the skull gleamed brighter and brighter until Reggie was satisfied.

Nodding, he murmured, “You three will continue as if I’m not here.”

Dirk heard these words and grew alarmed. He tried to stop kissing Stefan, tried to stop buggering Karl, but he couldn’t. His hips kept thrusting forward and his tongue kept exploring Stefan’s mouth even though all the pleasure he derived from the act was draining away. His cock remained hard and his body was hot with lust; his mind, however, was freaking out. He opened his eyes and saw Stefan was staring at him with wild eyes. He could tell the boy was trying to break away from him but was powerless to do so. Below, Karl made a strangled moan but his mouth remained locked on Stefan’s cock.

Reggie smiled broadly as he whispered in Dirk’s ear, “You see, Sir Dirk, I can lift your curse but not in the way you might think.”

Dirk couldn’t see Reggie but the malice in his voice was palpable and he tensed, fighting desperately to break away from Karl and Stefan, fighting to be free.

“Let me demonstrate on young Karl here first,” the mage continued, his tone growing harsh. “A boy on the cusp of manhood, right? So ripe, so full, so juicy! But is he?”

As Dirk pounded away at Karl’s hole and Karl whimpered, his mouth full of his brother’s cock and his arse full of Dirk’s donkey dong, Reggie moved alongside of them. Dirk couldn’t see very well because his face was plastered to Stefan’s but he could see enough.

And what he saw sent a blast of terror through his body.

Reggie cupped the back of Karl’s head in his big hand tenderly at first but then took a hank of the boy’s hair and pulled backward. Karl’s mouth was torn off of Stefan’s cock and Stefan whined in pain. Dirk saw blood droplets forming on the young man’s stiff dick where his brother’s teeth had broken the skin. Reggie merely laughed as he forced Karl to look upward at his ring.

“Watch closely, boy,” he hissed. “Watch your youth disappear forever!”

Karl’s eyes locked onto Reggie’s ring and he stared helplessly as the ring’s glow spread slowly down Lord Hasting’s arm and through his body. Soon, his whole body was limned in a nimbus of sickly green light. The light crept slowly down his hand onto Karl’s head and spread out, enveloping him. After a few moments, both his and Lord Hasting’s bodies shone with the nauseating glimmer.

At first nothing happened, Karl stared wide-eyed and pleading, powerless to move and Lord Reggie smirked down at him. Then slowly Karl’s body began to change. At first, the boy grew more muscular and his shoulders and chest widened impressively. Hair sprouted on his face and quickly grew into a lush beard before continuing to march downward. Soon, brown hair appeared on his shoulder blades and crept ever faster over him until his back was covered with it. Briefly, Karl shone with the vigor of peak manhood, his body and face chiseled to perfection. A true god.

But then…

Then his skin began to change. It grew leathery even as his midsection expanded and began to sag. Soon, excess weight appeared around his hips and build up in his belly and his torso became heavy and thick. Wrinkles spread across his face and flecks of grey appeared in his beard. His hairline receded into baldness.

Dirk couldn’t tear his eyes off of the ‘boy’ and his stomach clenched as he saw tears forming in Karl’s eyes. Soon, they were streaming down his wizened cheeks as he pleaded with his eyes for Lord Hastings to release him, to make it stop. Stefan’s view was mostly blocked but Dirk could tell that the boy was aware that something was wrong, very wrong with his brother.

Finally, after every trace of Karl’s youth had disappeared and his body had become that of a heavyset man in his mid-fifties with a greying beard and a bald pate, Lord Reggie released him, letting his head fall downward. Dirk stared at Karl, trying to recognize the youth of moments before but that Karl had disappeared and an aging man had taken his place. Karl all but collapsed, moaning piteously as he stared at his gnarled hands and his hairy, thickened skin. He looked like he’d had a very hard life even though he was not yet twenty.

Lord Reggie raised his hand. The ring was glowing brightly and his palm held an orb of white-gold light. He observed it with a satisfied smirk, saying, “Your youth will be a tasty treat for me, boy! I shall sip it later like a fine wine. Once I imbibe it, I will be another six months younger.”

Dirk inhaled sharply at this. The mage’s unnatural youth was no longer a mystery as the pieces clicked into place in his mind: Reggie’s ring stole the youth away from his victims and transferred it to the mage. So, he really isn’t as young as he appears, Dirk mused before another thought hit him and outrage briefly surpassed fear in his mind. Six months! he thought with growing fury. He stole more than thirty years of Karl’s life just to give himself a paltry six months of youth!  

Reggie, however, didn’t seem to feel any regret for perpetrating such a lopsided theft. And why should he? Dirk thought helplessly. The sorcerer had a ready supply of young men at the university. With his ring to take control of their minds, the lads didn’t stand a chance against him. He was the ultimate predator!

Oblivious to Dirk’s fury, the sorcerer continued teasing Karl, “All I need is to drain the youth from your brother, Dirk, and a few more lads, and I will be a young man of twenty summers like you once were!”

Karl whimpered, his bulky body trembling, and Reggie laughed, pacing over to a little jeweled box on the mantle and withdrawing a small vial. With a flick of his wrist, the white-gold light transformed into a glowing elixir in his palm and he carefully let it trickle into the vial, making sure that every golden drop went inside. When he was done, he placed the vial into the box and snapped the lid shut. The box glowed briefly and then disappeared entirely.

Turning, he said, “Oh, and thank you for letting me steal inches off your cock, too, boy!” 

Karl wilted further and Dirk was momentarily confused until Reggie explained, “You didn’t have much to offer but I took what you had. Your four or five inches will add perhaps another half inch to my giant size. Every little bit helps, though!” 

He sauntered slowly over to the table and crossed his muscular arms as the trio before him continued to grope and fuck each other with forced abandon. With an exaggerated gesture, he reached between Karl’s now fleshy thighs and cupped his meager package, cooing, “An old man with a tiny prick, Karl! That’s all you are now! Ha!”

Karl sobbed, gagging on Stefan’s cock, and Dirk felt his outrage curdle into hatred. All feelings of attraction he’d felt toward Lord Hastings were now completely gone. He wanted Reggie dead. If he could free himself from the mage’s spell, he would kill him without hesitation.

The hatred radiating off of him must have been palpable because the mage turned to him and winked, saying, “Don’t worry, Dirk! Your turn is next. I will steal everything from you. I have to keep Karl alive for now but I can drain you into a lifeless husk and dispose of your remains without raising any suspicion.”

Dirk’s mind went blank with terror at these words but there was nothing he could do. Reggie made a funny gesture with his wrist. Immediately, Dirk’s body redoubled its lusty thrusting. Though he tried desperately to make himself stop, his cock pushed deeper into Karl’s hole. The older man’s meaty arse cheeks had expanded and grown hairy. His buttocks had ballooned with layers of fat, jiggling in the dim light. Dirk swallowed, hating to admit that he found Karl even more attractive now. There was something about the heft and weight of his big arse that was pleasing and he loved watching it bounce as he pounded away at it.

I’m a sick fuck, he thought, lowering his ears.

But not as sick as Lord Reggie.

The lord turned back to study Karl with glinting eyes. After a while, he announced, “As much as I would love to leave you looking like this, I can’t risk it.” He lifted his hand and the ring flared briefly red. There was a disorienting pulse and Dirk closed his eyes. When he opened them, he stared down at Karl in disbelief. The older man had disappeared and the boy was back in place. He looked exactly as he had before Reggie had stolen his youth. Well, almost. Dirk studied him, trying to figure out what had changed. Outwardly, Karl appeared like the same youth but something barely perceptible was different. If Dirk looked out of the corner of his eye, he seemed clothed in a faint, hazy glow. It disappeared, though, as soon as he focused on the boy’s body.

An illusion, Dirk realized, shivering.

Lord Reggie had masked his theft of Karl’s youth with an illusion!

“And one last thing,” the evil mage stated to his captives. “None of you will breathe a word of this to anyone. Even if you try, you will be unable to do so. It’s our little secret. Forever.” He winked at them, rubbing his hands together, obviously very proud of himself.

Dirk set his jaw, hating Lord Reggie with a burning intensity. The sorcerer had robbed Karl of more than thirty years of his life then covered it up and stopped them from telling anyone! He was a villainous coward! 

“You, Dirk,” the evil man continued as he came to stand beside him, “do not have as many years to give me but you have something even more valuable.”

Dirk froze or at least tried to.

“You have the heart of an animal beating in your chest, raw and pure and unfettered. With its essence and the remnants of your youth, I shall never want for vigor and stamina again–and my cock will finally be of unrivaled size.” He laughed then, a harsh and grating sound, continuing gleefully, “My whole body will be a raging bonfire of animal lust after I have sapped you dry. But first,” he paused dramatically, holding up his ring, “I shall bugger you to within an inch of your life.”

Dirk quailed, trying unsuccessfully to shrink away from the mage. Before him, Stefan’s eyes narrowed into slits even as his tongue kept on massaging the inside of Dirk’s mouth. Dirk clamped his tail between his legs, covering his arsehole in a vain attempt to stymie the mage but this only served to amuse Reggie. 

He cursed silently. Every attempt to counter the mage was met with failure. He was a failure! He couldn’t do a thing to stop him! He was fucking doomed! His breathing became labored as this sank in…and as blind fear took over. He didn’t want to die and have his youth and health devoured by a crazed sorcerer!

He clenched as Reggie slid his hand under his tail to toy with the swollen ring of his anus. Making Dirk tremble with unwanted pleasure, he greased it with tallow and gently teased it with a forefinger. “Ah,” the mage said, exhaling. “You’re stretched out like an overused whore, Dirk. I can see that I’m not the first man to seek the pleasure of your arse.”

Dirk’s shoulders tensed at the insult but couldn’t say anything to defend himself. He wasn’t a stretched-out whore!

When he was satisfied that Dirk’s hole was properly greased, Reggie turned his attention to his protective undergarment. Somehow the strap and pouch still clung to him. His cock had slipped out of the top of the belt but his balls were nestled inside the pouch and the straps still cupped his spreading buttocks. Grinning, Reggie willed Dirk to arch his back and Dirk complied, gritting his teeth as he lifted his tail high to push out his donkey hole like a wanton beast.

“Very nice view and very clever garment,” Reggie murmured. “Yes, most appealing. But I prefer a bare ass.” He laughed at his jest as he wrestled the belt down his hips. Dirk panicked, throwing all of his will into resisting Reggie.

It didn’t work.

Nothing worked.

Lord Hastings owned him.

And he was going to drain him dead!

Reggie pulled down the garment.

Dirk grunted when he felt the belt get hung up on the raised skin of his new brand. Though healed, the skin was tender and it burned with the friction. Reggie furrowed his brow at the unexpected resistance and yanked harder. The belt gave way, exposing the brand. 

“What is that?” Reggie asked, tracing a finger over the scar. “It looks like…”

There was a confused silence as the mage puzzled over the brand.

And then…

>>ZAP!<<

Reggie drew back, almost falling off the table, and Dirk’s body spasmed as a little bolt of lightning pierced the air between his brand and Lord Reggie’s fingertip. Immediately, the mage’s hold on the trio dissolved and Dirk stopped mid-thrust as Karl let out a little whine. Stefan lifted his mouth away from Dirk’s and stared back at Lord Reggie quizzically.

Reggie was rubbing his forehead. In a daze, he murmured, “I feel strange…I feel like…I–”

Before he could finish, the door to the room flew open and in stepped a robed man who Dirk immediately guessed to be Professor Amarinth. The professor stopped with his foot poised over the threshold, a startled look on his jowly face. He quickly recovered, though, and exclaimed in a merry voice, “Why, Reggie! You know how I hate it when you leave me out of your extracurricular games! Whoever is this fine ass of a fellow?” He paused and took in the sight of the twins, frozen in the midst of their carnal antics. Karl’s mouth was still wrapped firmly around Stefan’s organ and Stefan’s arms were clinging about Dirk’s shoulders.

“Why, is that the Lords Von Hegel?” he asked, squinting. “Oh, Reggie! You’ve taught them everything you know, I see!”

***

Part 7

Lord Amarinth’s appearance shattered the spell that Reggie had cast over Dirk and the twins. Reggie sagged down on the table, holding his head in his hands and moaning while Dirk’s dick squelched out of Karl’s hole and the boy collapsed on the table. He was trembling. Stefan let his arms fall away from Dirk and his delicious lips pulled away. The pink glow in his cheeks drained away as he cast his eyes down to his brother. Uncertain what to do, Dirk sat there on his knees, stiff and silent. He felt numb and realized distantly he was in shock.

Amarinth took in the scene calmly and breezed over to them, cooing and clucking inanely. His behavior, Dirk soon realized, was carefully calculated to soothe Dirk and the boys while keeping Reggie oblivious that he was onto him.

“My dear ass,” Amarinth said as he held Dirk’s breeches out to him, “what ever has brought you to my doorstep? I can only ass-ume,” he paused to laugh as his little jest, “that you didn’t come here to meet with Reggie. The man, as you know, is a terrible lout who is continually intervening in my personal affairs. I’ve been trying for years to get the dean to give me my own office but the horrid man simply will not listen. You’d think a mage of my stature would warrant a private study!”

Dirk didn’t answer; he didn’t need to. The professor continued to prattle on like this while he stepped into his pants and fastened his belt, feeding his tail through the little hole in back. He gathered the boys’ clothes up and sorted them, handing them their breeches and jerkins. Karl was so desolate that Dirk and Stefan had to help him up and each took a leg, working his pants up inch by inch. The illusion that Reggie had cast on him was a powerful one and even affected his clothing. Dirk was amazed that his pants fit over his much larger body.

There was one part of the illusion that didn’t work, however: Karl’s penis had shrunk up to nothing. He was left with a small pair of nuts and a limp, empty foreskin. If he had a cockhead buried in there somewhere, it wasn’t apparent. Stefan stared at it for a moment before taking Karl’s head in his hands and forcing his gaze away. Dirk quickly pulled the boy’s breeches up and laced them shut.

When they were dressed, they stood there awkwardly, sullen and quiet. Dirk barely had enough energy to stand up and the boys, especially Karl, were even worse off. Instinctively, he reached out and steadied the ‘boy’ with his hand. Karl didn’t look up; he hung his head and a little sob escaped his mouth before he stifled it. Stefan took his hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing it and murmuring softly to him.

“…almost tea time, I see. Would you grant me the pleasure of your company in the garden? I’ll conjure up some treats for the boys. I think you’ll enjoy what I’ve done with the place.”

Mechanically, they followed Amarinth through a small door off the back of the office and stepped into a fog-enshrouded garden. Amarinth held up his hand and whispered an unintelligible phrase. Immediately, the door closed behind them and there was a disorienting pulse. Dirk blinked, too numb from a day’s worth of magic to do more than stare. The fog had disappeared and they were standing in a lovely garden ringed by willows. Warm sunlight drifted through the hanging boughs and there was the sound of stream trickling in the background. The professor muttered and the door disappeared, leaving them completely sealed off from the hall. Dirk’s shoulders relaxed. He didn’t know why but he instinctively knew they were safe with the professor.

Amarinth bowed and gestured toward a bench next to a raised bed of pink flowers. Dirk stalked over to it and sat down, followed closely by the twins. Karl, he noticed, walked stiffly and with difficulty. He moves like an old man, Dirk thought, as the boy lowered himself gingerly onto the bench beside him. Stefan noticed, too, and he gave Dirk an anguished look as he sat down opposite his twin. They huddled up against him and he slung an arm over each boy’s shoulders. Soon, both were shaking as tears rolled down their cheeks. Feeling overwhelmed, Dirk could only sit there and hold them. He felt like he was going to fall apart himself and it took everything he had to remain calm and composed.

The professor watched them with a funny expression on his face. He wasn’t a handsome man, Dirk realized as he examined him but there was something alluring about him. He was probably not yet forty and had shoulder length, brown hair that he pushed behind his large ears. His face was long and his cheeks were quite full, giving him a jowly air. Even though he didn’t come across as a large man, Dirk realized he was quite tall. He looked both foppish and distinguished at the same time in his black robe, something that Amarinth seemed well aware of. Dirk got the impression that Amarinth cultivated his somewhat ridiculous image. Probably serves him well, Dirk thought. Keeps people from taking him too seriously…which is a mistake. Lord Amarinth had already displayed his command of magic was impressive and he’d done so without seeming to exert any effort.

“Oh, my!” Amarinth breathed. “Such sadness! I’m afraid that I tend to have that effect on people. It explains my state of perpetual bachelordom. Here,” he pulled a satin handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Karl before taking a seat on the planter, gently pushing aside the flowers. For such a large man, he moved with an unexpectedly fluid grace. He smiled reassuringly at them before snapping his fingers. 

He’s a showman, Dirk thought as he watched the professor hold up his hands and open his palms to the boys, demonstrating that they were empty. Then he quickly flicked his wrists and mimed a look of surprise as a tray laden with sugary treats appeared out of nowhere. Bowing slightly, he offered the them to Stefan. 

Under different circumstances this little parlor trick would have been met with delight. As it was, though, Stefan merely stared at the tray for a moment before tentatively reaching out to take it from the professor. After a long pause, he selected a treat and passed the tray to Dirk and Karl. Karl shook his head and buried his face into Dirk’s side.

“Poor dear!” Amarinth said. “Perhaps some mint tea?” He reached behind himself and produced a teapot on a tray with four cups. He then proceeded to make a big show of dispensing the steaming beverage and handed them each a cup. The three received the teacups woodenly. Dirk took a sip but the boys set theirs aside.

Frowning at his apparent inability to entertain his guests, the professor sighed and leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand and asking, “Tough audience, I see. Well, no matter. Let’s get down to business then. I shan’t keep you long but I am ever so curious why you are here.”

Dirk nodded, clearing his throat. “I am Sir Dirk of Harbourg,” he said before motioning pointedly at his ears. “Lady Windermere placed this curse on me and I need to find her as soon as possible. Her footman tells me that you might know where she is.”

If this declaration surprised the professor, he didn’t show it. His eyes grew briefly distant before he zeroed in on Dirk’s face. When he spoke, his lips were curled as if he was enjoying a private joke. “Ah, Lady Windermere! Such a naughty girl. Yes, I believe I can help you. While I haven’t seen her in almost a year, I am certain that she will make an appearance very soon.”

“Really? How do you know?”

Amarinth closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Dirk noticed that they were a very striking blue. “It is almost Midsummer’s Eve, Dirk,” he announced in a prim tone. “And every year I throw a masquerade ball to mark the occasion. This year it’s even more important to celebrate the coming of summer because of the blasted fog that is smothering Beresford.”

“And what does that have to do with the lady?”

Amarinth sat up abruptly with mock indignation. “Why, everything, of course! The lady always plays the role of Titania, queen of the faeries, at my ball. This year will be no exception. Come to my ball and you will meet Lady Windermere.”

Dirk’s mouth quirked skeptically. “You sure?”

“Yes, absolutely certain. Cecily Windermere will be at my ball. And you will be there, too,” Amarinth stated firmly. “In fact, I insist that you be my guest of honor. You will be Oberon, Titania’s king.”

Dirk blinked, making a hesitant sound but Amarinth waved this off, arguing vociferously that he simply must attend. “I will help you with your costume, Sir Dirk. Everyone will absolutely adore you!” He turned to Stefan and Karl, adding, “And you boys can be Oberon’s handmaidens! You will be so lovely with faery wings!” When the twins regarded him stonily, Amarinth waved his hands, adding, “Just you wait, I shall make you such costumes that you will forget your sorrows and flit about like happy swallows in the glittering night air!”

***

Dil was asleep in the stable when Dirk found him. Sprawled out in the straw between Lucinda and Castor, he lay on his back with his mouth open, a little trail of drool dribbling out of the corner of his lips. Despite his numb mood, Dirk felt his heart soften a little at the sight. 

Stefan and Karl had followed him when he left Amarinth’s office. (“Reggie is long gone, I assure you,” Amarinth had said, watching bemused as the three men tiptoed through the room. “I doubt he will trouble you again.”) Dirk didn’t have the heart to send them away and allowed them tag along. They were so tired that they’d stumbled all the way through town and now stood behind him, falling asleep on their feet.

He leaned down and kissed Dil on the forehead, waking the boy up. Dil’s eyes fluttered open and he gave Dirk a beatific smile before he noticed the twins. Dirk started to say something but Dil held up his hand, pushing himself to his feet.

“We must leave now,” he said and set about saddling the horses.

They loaded the twins onto Castor but when Dil motioned for Dirk to climb up behind him on Lucinda, he shook his head. “No, she can’t hold both of us,” he stated flatly. When Dil objected, he kicked off his boots and handed them to the boy, pointing down at his feet. “I have hooves now, Dil. I can keep up with the horses.”

It was true. He’d barely managed to keep his feet inside his boots during the walk through town. If he hadn’t been so worn out, it would have bothered him more but, as it was, he took in his body’s changes with almost clinical curiosity. The curse seemed to have accelerated in the past several hours and his toes were completely fused together and his toenails had grown quickly into hard, black hooves. His feet had elongated as his heels pushed backward. Looking down at himself, he realized his legs below the knee were no longer human and his flexed his ankles experimentally, feeling his weight redistribute on his new feet. I’m a freak, he thought as he took a step, hearing the clop of his hoof on the cobblestone. I’m a fucking freak. He sighed and gathered Castor and Lucinda’s reins, leading the horses out of the stable.

***

His legs became more stable as they made their way out of Beresford and soon he was trotting and then cantering. Castor cast sidelong glances at him as they ran along together and he finally reached over and swatted the horse. He felt self-conscious enough, he didn’t need the horse ogling him, too.

Night was beginning to fall and the mist grew dense, befuddling their senses and making it difficult to find the way. Dirk was briefly thankful for his new hooves because they allowed him to detect when he was leaving the hardened surface of the road. Without Dil, they would have been quickly lost. The boy knew the way and, bypassing the great oak at the crossroads, led them unerringly to the sheltered villa.

As they approached the front gate (or what Dirk assumed was the gate because to his eyes it still looked like a pile of rocks), Dil turned to Karl, warning, “The illusion cast upon you will wane soon. Be prepared.”

Dirk gave Dil a sidelong glance, wondering how he’d known about Reggie’s illusion but his brain was too tired to waste time on it. Karl straightened in the saddle and stared straight ahead. Stefan swallowed uncomfortably.

Dil hadn’t lied. As soon as Castor passed through the gate, Karl fell forward in the saddle. Dirk lunged and caught him before he tumbled off and helped him gently to the ground. Karl fell forward on his hands and knees, convulsing, and they watched helplessly as his body exploded out of his clothes, shredding them. In seconds, the boy had once again disappeared and a large, hairy, greying man lay in his place. He moaned, flopping over onto his back and covering his face with his hands.

Stricken, Dirk and Stefan froze in place. Dil was the first to recover and he squatted down, tucking his arm under Karl’s armpit, and heaved him to his feet. Karl whined but allowed Dil to guide him through the marble pillars of the villa’s entrance.

“A bath and supper will do you right, master,” he murmured, clapping Karl on the shoulder. Stefan and Dirk exchanged haunted glances before following them inside.

***

Dil climbed into bed after getting the twins set up in a side bedroom off the atrium. Dirk had collapsed into slumber after devouring a heaping pile of greens from the pasture but he awoke as the boy slid in next to him. He flipped over on his back, trying to ignore the foreign weight of his new hooves, and patted his side, smiling as Dil nestled into his armpit.

“Who did that to him?” Dil asked, his voice hardening. “He’s been drained to a within an inch of his life. I doubt he has more than a year or two left. And that illusion! Christ, it’s one of the most powerful I’ve seen!”

Dirk took a deep breath, wishing desperately that he could forget the events of the day. Dil clearly wasn’t going to sleep without the answer, though, and finally he groaned, “Lord Hastings.”

The name had an instant effect on the lad and he froze next to Dirk. Lifting his head, Dirk asked, “You know him?”

Dil was silent for a long time before nodding. “Aye, I know him.”

“And?”

Dil’s mouth was clamped shut and Dirk knew him well enough by then to know that he wasn’t going to get more information out of him. Whatever Dil’s experience was with Lord Hastings, it wasn’t positive.

Dirk sighed, continuing, “I went to wait in Professor Amarinth’s study and Hastings was there with the twins. At first, he seemed normal but then I noticed his ring…”

“Ring?” Dil interrupted, sitting upright and demanding, “What ring?”

Dirk massaged his forehead and was about to respond when he remembered the second part of Reggie’s spell. Hastings had placed an enchantment on all of three, forbidding them to speak of what he’d done to them. It gave Dirk a headache and his tongue felt sluggish but he was telling Dil about it. How? Did it have something to do with the little bolt of electricity that zapped Reggie when he touched Dirk’s brand?

“Dirk, tell me about this ring,” Dil prompted again and Dirk shook his head, setting aside this mystery for the moment.

“It’s a lady’s ring,” he explained. “Very odd. Obviously enchanted.” Dil’s eyes were keenly studying Dirk’s face. He flicked his ears backward, feeling uncomfortable. “It was made of rose gold and had a woman’s face on it.”

Dil nodded, sinking back down onto the bed. When he spoke, his voice was dull. “Boudicca’s ring.”

“What?”

“The bastard stole Boudicca’s ring!”

Puzzled, Dirk asked, “Boudicca? You mean the legendary warrior queen of the Iceni from a thousand years ago? The one who massacred the Romans?”

“The very same.”

Dirk was silent as he processed this. He’d always assumed the ring was just a legend. Rumor had it that Boudicca used it to cast a protective shield over her army, one that the Romans couldn’t penetrate. Nothing he’d heard had indicated it could be used to steal the life force from a victim. He wondered if Dil was confused but decided not to press him. Instead, he asked, “How did he get his hands on it? I thought it was just a myth.”

Dil’s mood had turned somber. “Oh, it’s real enough alright. He must have gotten it from the lady.” He hung his head and cursed loudly as Dirk tried to make sense of this.

“Lady Windermere gave Hastings the ring?”

“No, she would never have done that,” Dil said shaking his head. “But Lord Hastings used to be her mentor and best friend. He…helped her after her lover Caleb was murdered. He helped her find the ring. She thought she had locked it away safely but he must have found a way around her defenses.” He shook his head sadly, adding, “This is bad, Dirk. Very bad. That ring was never meant to be worn by a man.”

Dirk nodded grimly. “Tell me about it. Everything about that ring feels wrong. It’s pure evil!”

“No, Dirk,” Dil corrected gently. “It is not evil. Lord Hastings is evil, or at least he has become so. Like I said, the ring was never meant to be worn by a man. On a man’s finger, it will go rogue, become destructive. And it will drive the wearer insane.”

“He used it to drain away Karl’s youth, Dil! You know what he plans to do with the elixir containing the boy’s life?” Dil shook his head and Dirk continued, his outrage building now that the horror of his encounter with Hastings had ebbed. “He’s going to drink it! And he said it will make him six months younger! Six months, Dil! He stole Karl’s life just to get six months of youth!”

Dil was silent for a long time. Eventually, Dirk realized that he was shaking and he turned to see a tear sliding down the boy’s cheek. Before Dirk could reach out and touch it, though, Dil had wiped it away. His face hardened into a mask of hatred as he seethed, “It is too late then. The ring has already destroyed him. We have take back that ring!”

***

Professor Amarinth appeared at the villa early the next morning. Dil and the twins were still asleep and Dirk had taken the opportunity to sneak outside to graze naked. He was snacking contentedly on clover next to Castor when the man called out to him.

“Ahoy, Dirk!” he said brightly, stepping through the gate and smiling as he took a moment to glance around appreciatively at the hidden villa. He was dressed in a hat with a ridiculously wide brim and wore what appeared to be a lady’s shawl and lace gloves. In his hand, he held a walking stick and, under his arm, he clutched a package. Dirk jerked upright, spitting grass out of his mouth and trying desperately to shove his long, shiny cock back into its sheath. He glanced down at his hooves and cringed as he saw the professor studying them with interest. Lord Amarinth was the last person he’d expected to see walk through the gate.

“You’re a most attractive ass, Dirk,” the professor commented, winking.

“Er, thanks,” Dirk mumbled, his cheeks growing rosy. He cleared his throat, casting about for his breeches. Spotting them a few yards away, he sidestepped over to them, keeping his hands firmly over his crotch. He lost his balance, though, as he tried to tug them on. His hoof got tangled and he pitched forward. He would have landed on his face if Amarinth hadn’t dropped his cane and grabbed his arm.

“Whoa, boy!” the professor said, hauling him upright. “Take your time, Sir Knight. I don’t mind the view.”

Dirk grimaced and was pulling the breeches up his thighs when he realized something: He’d forgotten that Dil had removed the crotch and he’d left his special undergarment back in the villa. His monstrous donkey cock and balls flopped through the opening and dangled in the breeze as Dirk cursed loudly.

Lord Amarinth laughed at his predicament and, taking him by the arm, steered him over to the water trough, soothing, “There, there, Dirk. Just let it all hang out.” 

He smoothed his shawl behind him before sitting down. When he patted the stone next to him, Dirk debated what to do. He was tempted to leave the professor to go inside and dress properly but then shrugged and sat down. His huge balls slapped against the stone but his monster cock at least stayed decently sheathed. He crossed his legs and folded his hands over his lap, attempting to bring an air of normalcy to a decidedly uncomfortable situation.

“How’d you know I was here?” he asked finally.

The professor was holding his cane before him, staring out at the morning sunrise. The fog had cleared from the villa grounds and the fields were washed in a pleasant golden haze. Just when Dirk was about to repeat his question, Amarinth turned and fixed him with his startlingly clear blue eyes. Smiling, he said, “I followed your trail, my dear ass. It’s easy enough if you know the right spell.”

Dirk took this in with distaste. He was getting very tired of dealing with sorcerers and could scarcely wait for his chance to meet Lady Windermere and beg her to lift the curse. When he was a normal knight again, he would leave Beresford without so much as a glance behind him.

Perhaps intuiting his thoughts, Amarinth reached over to place a cloth-wrapped package in his lap. Dirk looked over at him questioningly and the professor explained, “Your costume for the ball, Dirk. As well as the costumes for the boys.”

Dirk lifted it, saying, “Seems pretty light.”

“Indeed. King Oberon hasn’t the need to wear many clothes.”

“Uh huh. Why am I not surprised?” Dirk commented drily. “Ever since the lady’s curse took hold, it seems like all everyone wants is to get me naked.”

“Quite,” Lord Amarinth said, raising his eyebrows provocatively. Dirk looked down and grinned despite himself. The professor leaned back and clasped his legs, adding, “The ball is two days hence at my estate. I shall send a carriage to fetch you in the evening. Do be waiting!”

He would have gotten up and left then if Dirk hadn’t put a hand on his arm. The professor glanced down at it questioningly and Dirk took a deep breath, willing himself to ask the question that he’d been too tired to ask the night before.

“Lord Amarinth,” he said hurriedly, “please tell me what is wrong with Beresford.” The professor furrowed his brows and Dirk explained, “The fog, the oak, the spirits, the wards, I mean. What is going on here?”

“Ah,” Amarinth breathed as understanding dawned on him. “Yes, of course. I’m glad you asked! I was meaning to talk to you about it but the cursed fog and wraiths have been plaguing us for so long that I’ve grown quite accustomed to them, I’m afraid.” He settled down on the stone again and sighed, contemplating his words. When he spoke, his voice was distant, sad. “It all took place about this time last year. It is why your Lady Windermere was banished from the university. She violated one of the few sacred laws of sorcery and released the bane that haunts us.”

Dirk grappled with this for a moment before objecting, “But that can’t be! She said that she was expelled because they discovered she was a woman.”

“Is that what she said?” Lord Amarinth queried. “Oh, dear. I suppose she would tell you that.”

Dirk nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what she said. She said that she dressed as a man while she was here to blend in but that the other students envied and hated her for her talent. She told me that they discovered her with her lover and murdered him before her eyes. You’re saying that’s not true?”

“No,” Amarinth said, shaking his head as the wide brim of his ridiculous hat swayed back and forth. “That is all true, or at least more or less true. But that isn’t what led to her expulsion.”

Dirk’s ear slid forward. “Then what did?”

“Thanatology.”

“What?”

“Thanatology, my dear boy. Lady Cecily Windermere was banished for attempting to bring the dead back to life.”

***

Part 8

A hush seemed to settle over the pasture with the professor’s words and the hair on the back of Dirk’s neck stood up. Dirk was silent for a long time and eventually realized that the professor was watching him closely.

“Lady Windermere is a powerful mage, Dirk. The most powerful I have ever met. And she is a very proud and haughty woman. When her Caleb was murdered, she made up her mind to do what only the Jesus and the Lord God Himself have done but twice in all of human history: Raise the dead.”

For some reason, this news made Dirk’s heart pound and he shifted nervously on the stone, twitching his tail between his legs. His voice trembled a little when he asked, “I assume she tried to resurrect Caleb, right? Was she successful?”

“I know not,” the professor answered slowly. “It appears that she believed her efforts failed because she fled Beresford soon after she cast the spell. And, honestly, we didn’t wait to find out. The shear magnitude of the magic she released was enough to wake every spirit for miles around. They descended like an infernal plague on Beresford and would have killed hundreds if the mages of the university had not intervened. Between all of us, we were able to contain the magic and the spirits. But we couldn’t close the gap between the world of the dead and the living that she opened. The best we could do is erect the network of wards you encountered in your travels about town. It’s not ideal and the dead are still a constant danger but none of us possess the lady’s ability. Only she can heal the rift, Dirk, and I fear that she does not wish to do so.”

“She has no love for the university or Beresford,” Dirk observed. “Not after what those students did to Caleb.”

“That is true, Sir Knight. She will not listen to any of us but perhaps she will listen to you?”

“Me?” Dirk asked, sitting up straighter and giving the professor a perplexed stare. “Why the fuck would she listen to me?” He motioned to his long ears, tail, hooves, and huge donkey balls hanging halfway to the ground. “She obviously hates me as much as anyone else!”

Amarinth gave him a funny smile and, placing a hand on his knee, squeezed lightly before saying, “The lady has a twisted sense of humor, it’s true, but I don’t believe she hates you, at least not completely. Quite the contrary, my lad. I think she has taken quite a liking to you!”

Dirk snorted. “She has a fucking strange way of showing it! God, if I didn’t need her to remove the curse, I’d strangle her. She’s done nothing but fuck up my life!”

“Do try to resist the impulse to kill her, Dirk,” the professor chided gently. “We need her alive to heal this place. Rather than killing her, I would urge you to appeal to her better nature. If you are sincere, I believe she will listen to you.”

“Hmpf.”

“Find a pretense during the ball to lead her away from the festivities, Dirk,” Amarinth urged. “My estate is near the great oak and the crypt containing Caleb’s remains lies magically sealed underneath its roots. This is where she opened the rift between the living and dead. Take her to it and ask her to help us.”

Not waiting for Dirk’s reply, the professor got up and said his farewell before walking briskly toward the gate. Flicking a fly with his ear, Dirk watched him go glumly. He had no idea how he would ever succeed in this quest. It was impossible; the lady would never listen to him. He was doomed to live the rest of his life as an ass and Beresford would be forever haunted.

***

“What is that?” Dil asked later when he wandered into the kitchen. The boy was standing in front of the antique oven wearing only an apron, stirring a pot with a huge spoon. The twins must still be asleep, Dirk guessed. Either that or Dil was an incurable exhibitionist. A very sexy exhibitionist…

Trying to suppress the thrill he felt at seeing his lover’s pert bum and incredibly narrow waist, Dirk plopped the package on the kitchen table. He sniffed the air with relish, taking in the smell of porridge cooking on the stove. Dil made the best porridge! He paced over and cupped Dil’s bum in his hands, squeezing.

The boy laughed, asking again, “What is that?”

“It’s my costume.”

“Your costume?”

Dirk shook his head. “Yeah, Lord Amarinth stopped by this morning to drop it off. It seems he’s having a ball to celebrate Midsummer’s Eve and he says Lady Windermere will be there.”

“Oh? Really?”

Dil’s voice had developed an unmistakable edge but Dirk continued on obliviously, “Yeah, that’s what he says. He wants me to attend as the guest of honor and dress up as the king of the faeries.” He laughed, shaking his head. “What’s even more unbelievable is that he said he thinks the lady likes me. Can you believe it?” He laughed again, still not aware that the boy had grown stiff in his arms.

Dil wasn’t laughing. In fact, Dil didn’t even break a smile. Instead, he queried coolly, “Go on. What else did the professor say?”

Dirk leaned back against the tiled counter, drawing the boy against him as he slyly thrust his hips forward, allowing his still dangling donkey cock to massage Dil’s lovely bum. When Dil didn’t respond, he frowned slightly, continuing, “Well, you probably already know this but I didn’t. I guess the lady wasn’t kicked out of the university for being a woman, instead they banished her because she tried to raise Caleb from the dead. Lord Amarinth said that she was responsible for the spirits that plague Beresford and that only she can heal the rift she opened.”

“What?” Dil protested with such vehemence that it startled Dirk. “That’s not what happened at all!” 

Leaning in to kiss the lad on the ear, Dirk countered, “How do you know? Were you there?”

By now Dil had gone quite rigid and he pushed Dirk’s hands off of him and straightened up. His whole body was shaking.

Perplexed, Dirk asked, “What? What’s wrong, Dil?”

Dil wouldn’t answer. Instead, he turned and walked away, saying, “I…I have to go…do…something. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Please make sure the twins eat when they get up.”

Dirk watched him stalk out of the room, wondering what he’d said to trigger such a reaction.

***

The night of the ball arrived after a distressing couple of days during which Karl slipped into a deep depression. Nothing they did could reach him and he grew increasingly listless. Stefan was nearly inconsolable as he watched his twin slowly decline and Dirk grew exhausted trying to soothe him. 

For only the second time in Dirk’s life, he came face to face with his own innate helplessness. Between the donkey curse and Karl’s misfortune, he was confronted with problems he simply could not solve with a sword and his skill as a knight. Life had once seemed easy and carefree but, in his darker moments, Dirk felt like it was all just a thin charade. 

Had it always been this way and he’d merely been asleep to the truth about life?

The answer was yes. 

Yes, he’d been woefully asleep. He remembered back to the bloodshed, torture, and murder he’d witnessed (and sometimes perpetrated) during his time as a soldier in the Levant. The things he’d done to the Saracens…all in the name of God…made him hang his head in shame.

What had he been thinking? How could he have been so vicious? Killing was something he’d done and he’d done it well, efficiently and without remorse. But now he felt differently. Yes, now that the capriciousness and cruelty had been turned against him and against a helpless boy, he felt differently. Waking at night in the grip of guilt and remorse, he now understood all too well that people–including himself!–were capable of horrific acts against which there was no defense. And sometimes there was no way to repair the damage.

He remembered Lady Windermere’s parting words, hearing them again as if she was speaking them in his mind: “There has never been a point to anything,” she’d said. “Life, I discovered at Beresford, is utterly pointless. Cruel. Harsh. Cold. Unforgiving.” At the time, he’d thought her unnecessarily cynical but now he realized that he agreed with her.

Surprisingly, it was Dil who managed to cheer them up, even convincing Karl to attend the ball. He helped the ‘boy’ get dressed in his gossamer outfit of cobwebs and moonglow and affixed the lacey wings to his back. On Stefan, the magical material looked enticing and erotic but on Karl’s burly and hairy body, it looked pretty ridiculous. Karl hunched over despondent, his huge belly protruding luridly over his swollen thighs as the flimsy material strained to contain his bulk. Dirk had to look away but Dil was encouraging.

“Here, Karl, follow me,” the boy said. “Let’s go outside past the gate.”

The huge man lumbered outside, shoulders slumping. Once he was past the gate, though, the illusion kicked in and he appeared again as the nubile nineteen year boy he had been before Reggie stole his youth. If Dil had expected his transformation would cheer the man, though, he was disappointed; Karl looked even more miserable than before.

Putting his hands on his hips, Dil sighed. “Karl, listen to me. I cannot bring back what Reggie took from you but I can offer you the next best thing: A chance to strike. Lord Hastings will be at the ball. If you go, you can avenge yourself.”

Karl perked up at this and nodded. He refused to look down at himself to admire the costume, though, and took up position near the gate as he waited for the carriage to arrive.

“You look…incredible,” Dil breathed when Dirk stepped out of the bedroom clothed in a black leather harness complete with a matching supportive pouch similar to the one that Dil had fashioned for him. His huge bare rump hung salaciously out the back even as his tail swished in annoyance behind him. On his head, he wore a black iron crown that fit perfectly over his ass ears. His legs were now covered in dense grayish brown animal fur that was creeping ever upward. It stopped just beneath his massive buttocks, though, thus serving to draw more attention to them…and his protruding arsehole. Dirk flushed when he realized that even his tail couldn’t hide it now.

Dil laughed at his expression, urging, “Come on, Dirk! You’re Oberon, king of the faeries, and it’s Midsummer’s Eve! Tonight is your night!”

“Fuck you,” Dirk growled as he fastened his sword to his belt. “If it’s so much fun, why aren’t you coming?”

“Um, because I wasn’t invited,” Dil said, standing up on his tiptoes to tie a black velvet mask over Dirk’s eyes. “I very much doubt that Lord Amarinth wants a lowly stable boy around to sully the evening. This is an event for the gentry, Dirk.”

Just then they heard the jingling of bells as the carriage pulled up outside and Dil pushed him out of the villa, pausing briefly to fasten a black leather cape about his neck. When he was done, Dil leaned down and kissed Dirk on the lips before pulling back to give Dirk a critical once-over. Dirk cast a longing glance back at him and then resolutely squared his shoulders and set off for the waiting carriage. The night, he suspected, was not going to a fun one.

***

Even Karl cracked a smile as they neared Lord Amarinth’s estate. The evening air was warm and fragrant with flowers and the mist lifted as the moon rose over the trees. Dirk looked up from the open carriage to marvel at the stars. It felt like forever since he’d seen them. He wondered if it was illusion or if Amarinth had really succeeded in magically lifting the fog. In any case, he decided he didn’t care. Even if he had to be dressed in a ridiculous outfit, it felt good to be out for the night. He only wished Dil could be there to share it with him.

A score of carriages were converging on the fancy estate and each one was filled with lords and ladies dressed in wild costumery. Dirk stared as they passed a carriage occupied by a lord dressed as a handsome stag and his lady dressed as whimsical swan. The lord was wearing a guilded mask in the shape of a deer’s snout and the lady hid behind one covered in silken feathers.

Wait a minute, he thought, turning as the lady lowered her mask to smile at him. That’s not a lady…that’s a guy!

It was true, he quickly realized. Every couple was actually made up of two men, except that one of them was dressed as a woman. Dirk laughed, settling back on the seat as Stefan and Karl waved to the other guests. Maybe this won’t be so bad…

Their carriage was the last in line and it took a very long time for the guests ahead of them to disembark. When it was their turn to step out, a hush descended on the crowd as a herald announced, “Lord Oberon, King of the Faeries!”

All eyes turned toward him and Dirk was glad his face was covered by a mask. His cheeks flamed red as the guests took in his revealing attire, ass ears, long tail, and black hooves. A moment later, though, applause and cheers burst out and a couple of young lads dressed as faeries in the trees above showered him with silver glitter. Karl and Stefan took him by the hand and helped him out of the coach.

Faced with such unexpected adoration, Dirk’s confidence grew and he strode through the throng of guests with his shoulders back and head held high. He knew it was all a farce but part of him felt truly regal for the first time in his life. He inclined his head nobly as the masked and costumed guests knelt one by one before him.

His entourage of faery boys quickly grew to encompass a dozen or more scantily-clad young men but Stefan and Karl steadfastly maintained their positions on either side of him, his loyal escorts. The boys cavorted before him as a band started playing and soon he was surrounded by wild revelers, all in various states of undress. Dirk tried to stay above the fray but had difficulty doing so. The erotic debauchery was infectious!

Gradually, the throng made its way to a high table piled high with food in the back of the garden and Dirk looked up to see twinkling lights strung through the boughs of cypress and cedars. Squinting, he inhaled sharply when he saw that they were in fact true faeries, magical beings of starlight and moonlight dipping and swirling through the air, shedding sparks in their wake. He shook his head, feeling drunk. Was this all an illusion?

At that moment, one of the boys grabbed his tail and another leapt onto his shoulders. A third poured wine down his throat. Soon, he had quite lost himself in delightful abandon, imbibing in the many fine pleasures of the flesh as the masked young men pressed against him, their sweaty bodies undulating in time with the drunken beat of the music.

Eventually, he found himself seated in the center of the high table and he looked down bemused on the sparkling company below him. Karl and Stefan, their gauzy outfits a little worse for wear, were still standing guard behind him, taking their role as his guards very seriously. A voice he recognized called out beside him and he turned.

“Lord Amarinth?” he asked, tongue catching in his throat.

The lord was quite unrecognizable. Dressed in layer upon layer of fine silk and too many strands of freshwater pearls to count, the professor had donned an elaborate wig resembling a huge beehive, complete with bees swirling to and fro about it. Upon closer examination, Dirk realized the ‘bees’ were golden-winged faeries similar to those darting about overhead. Fresh flowers twined up the sides of the professor’s wig and a drooping lily crowned the whole confection. His face was powdered a ghostly white and his lips and cheeks were rouged. He cut such an impressive and humorous figure that Dirk had to suppress the desire to laugh.

“Hush, dear ass!” Amarinth admonished. “Tonight I am Mistress Cowslip, the dowager queen of the faeries.” 

His voice was pitched so high and sounded so imperious that Dirk finally did laugh, something that earned him a sharp rap on the knuckles from the dowager queen. He withdrew his hand and was preparing a riposte when he felt Karl’s hand tighten on his shoulder. He looked up to see the lad staring fixedly across the garden. Following his gaze, Dirk stiffened. It was Lord Reggie. The man was mostly naked, his magnificent body painted red. On his head, he wore a pair of goat horns and a ruby-colored mask hid his eyes. He was dancing with a very pretty young man. As they watched, the lord lifted his hand and they saw a familiar glint of emerald on his finger. 

Dirk growled under his breath, “It’s alright, Karl. We’ll put a stop to that monster tonight, I swear!”

He was about to say more when he happened to look to his other side and saw that the chair next to him was empty. Lady Windermere’s seat, he realized. In all of the commotion, he’d quite forgotten the reason for his attendance at the party.

“Have you seen…?” he started to ask Amarinth but the dowager held up a gloved hand, silencing him. She nodded in the direction of the front gate.

At that moment, the crowd grew silent and the music cut out as the herald’s voice rang above the crowd. “Her Royal Highness, Titania, Queen of the Faeries!”

Dirk turned, standing up a little as he strained to catch sight of his erstwhile nemesis, the woman who had brought so much pain, humiliation, and misery upon him. The woman who had destroyed his life, who had ruined his knighthood, who had…

He stared aghast as the lady emerged through the gate. Unlike everyone else, she was unmasked and wore simple garments. A collective gasp passed through the crowd as the guests recognized her and a man called out, outrage in his voice. His shout was quickly followed by another. Soon a chorus of boos greeted the lady as she strode forth. Unphased, she held her head high and kept her gaze firmly fixed on the table in front of her. Dirk collapsed in his chair as her soft brown eyes found his and he looked away, dropping his head in his hands as disbelief washing over him.

Disbelief, he realized, and something else. 

Something worse.

It was the recognition that he had been not only deceived but also that he was an enormous fool. I am an ass, he thought bitterly. I’ve always been one. I just look like one now.

Lady Windermere, of course, wasn’t a lady at all.

Lady Windermere was Dil.

***

Part 9

“My Lord Oberon,” Dil said, bowing, as he came to stand before Dirk. 

Dirk looked up, a pained expression on his face. In spite of the torrent of emotions unleashed by the revelation that the boy was really Lady Windermere, Dirk realized he looked incredibly handsome. He was tastefully dressed in sapphire hose with a matching suede doublet. A simple fillet of silver adorned his head. He’d even trimmed his unruly locks into a stylish haircut. Dil had never looked better…or worse, Dirk realized as his stomach curdled.

How could I have been so stupid? he thought furiously as his mind raced through the multitude of clues Dil had given him. In retrospect, it was glaringly obvious that Dil and the lady were the same person. But I’ve never been all that smart, I guess, Dirk thought. Otherwise, I never would have made such a stupid deal with a sorcerer. I deserve everything I’ve gotten. Shit, I deserve worse. I’m a fucking idiot. 

“For what it’s worth,” Dil was saying, “I’m sorry. I never meant for you to find out this way.”

Dirk was about to respond when a commotion broke out and Lord Amarinth stood up hastily, shouting over the din, “Silence! Silence! Queen Titania is my guest! I shall not tolerate such rude behavior!”

More than half of the attendees, it seemed, were rising up, clearly enraged by Dil’s presence. Dirk could sympathize. After all, here was the mage who had wrought devastation on Beresford in the attempt to resurrect his dead lover. Even Dirk kind of wanted to strangle the youth. 

He watched numbly as the professor tried to regain control of the party but it was rapidly devolving into chaos. When a bottle of wine went zinging through the air, narrowly missing Dil’s head, Dirk and the twins quickly shuttled the boy away from the table. A servant ushered them through a side door to the stables and Dirk barred the door behind them, glad that he’d thought to strap on his sword before he’s left the villa. They wouldn’t be safe for long, he guessed as he tore off his iron crown and mask, throwing them on the floor. He pricked his ears and heard the sound of rioting growing closer. The horses in the stalls around them laid their ears back and even Dirk had to resist an urge to gallop away.

Dil caught his fearful glance and urged, “This way. Follow me.”

The boy led them out the back of the stable to the road. The mist descended upon them and the sounds of rioting diminished as they left the lord’s estate. Soon Dirk spotted the soft glow of the wards before them. As he’d done so many times before, Dil blithely crossed the protective barrier. Dirk cringed but he and the twins followed obediently behind. His fear of crossing the ward boundary was somewhat allayed now that he knew he was with a very powerful sorcerer.

A few minutes later, Dil stopped, holding up his hand. The mist was so dense that Dirk nearly ran into him and he cursed, “Gimme more warning next time!”

Dil lifted his shoulders apologetically as he pointed. “This is the crypt where Caleb is interred,” he explained. “The one where Amarinth claims I opened the magical rift. He’s wrong, though. I didn’t open the rift; Lord Hastings did so when he stole Boudicca’s ring.” 

Not certain he believed Dil, Dirk squinted, barely able to perceive the door in front of them. He soon realized it wasn’t a door so much as a hole in the ground covered by a rusting iron grate. Dil hauled it open and led them through a wide portal and down a rough flight of stairs. The stairway was dark but the steps became illuminated by an eerie green glow as they descended. The glow steadily gained intensity even though Dirk could locate no apparent source of the light. When they entered the antechamber to the crypt, the whole room was aglow and an eldritch fire licked the stone walls. Across the room, an immense boulder blocked the entrance to the catacombs.

Stefan and Karl huddled against Dirk, shivering in the cold. Their revealing costumes offered little protection from the chill seeping through the crypt and Dirk realized that he wasn’t much better off, being nearly naked apart from his leather cape. Lifting it over their shoulders, he let them crowd against him and gradually the heat from their bodies combined to offer a modicum of comfort.

“Well, that’s new,” Dil murmured, stepping forward to examine the rock. Reaching out, he ran his hands over it, murmuring, “Well protected and sealed, I see. How did they get it down the stairs? Hmmm…oh, yes, this is the handiwork of Professor Amarinth. He always was good at placing wards.”

“Dil, wait. What’re you doing?”

Shaking himself, Dil turned. “Sorry about that! I see a good spell and get a little carried away.”

Dirk crossed his arms, leaning back on his left hoof and swishing his tail. “Aren’t you going to tell me why you lied to me all of this time? And why haven’t you broken my curse? Why, Dil?”

Dil took a step forward but froze when he saw Dirk’s expression. Sighing, he retreated, settling against the boulder. A lock of his hair slipped out of the fillet on his head, falling alluringly over his eyes before he pushed it away.

“Do you really want to know the truth, Dirk?” he asked evenly. “I mean, the real truth? It’s not very nice.”

Dirk nodded, muttering, “Try me.”

“I hate you, Dirk.”

Dirk started at this, a pained expression crossing his face as he realized that, as much as he thought he’d prepared for this moment, he wasn’t ready. How could Dil be so cruel?

Seeing his hurt, Dil’s eyes softened and he added, “And I love you. A lot.” He lowered his head, shaking it slowly. “I…am a mess. I believe I told you that when we first met. My life hasn’t been easy.”

Dirk’s ears slid backward as he pressed, “Well, fine. My life hasn’t exactly been a breeze, either. I mean, look what you’ve done to me!” He pointed to his ears before sweeping his hand down over the rest of his mutated body. “I don’t know about you but this isn’t how I was taught to love someone. If you love me, make me normal again!”

Dil was quiet for a moment before he responded, “Is that what you really want, Dirk? Do you really want to go back as you were? You won’t be attracted to me anymore. Are you ready to leave me?”

Dirk made an exasperated sound before shouting, “You’re a fucking sorcerer, Dil! You can change me back into a man and allow me to still love you!”

The corner of Dil’s mouth lifted. “So, you admit that you love me, huh?”

“I, er, I mean, well,” Dirk stammered, feeling suddenly tongue-tied.

“Too late. I heard you. You can’t take it back.” 

Dil was laughing at him, Dirk realized, and it both angered and…aroused him. In that moment he knew that he did in fact love the young man. He loved him fiercely…and he hated him, too. He hated him for torturing him and humiliating him and for lying to him. The two emotions combined into a potent mix that nearly burst into flames the next moment when he realized that he also loved and hated turning into an ass. His body responded to this dawning realization in a profane manner and he felt his cock pulse inside his cup. A moment later, his ugly, flat cockhead slipped out of its sheath. His cheeks flamed crimson.

His torment wasn’t lost on Dil who relaxed further against the boulder, crossing his arms and giving Dirk a knowing look. Letting him stew in the juices of desire, hatred, love, and lust for a while, he smirked finally, “Maybe you and I aren’t so different after all? I think we understand each other quite well.”

Dirk didn’t remember moving. All he knew is that one moment he was seething from across the room and the next he was pressed up against the lad, forcing his lips apart and kissing him passionately. Dil let out a little laugh before responding in kind. Soon, they were groping and devouring each other. They were so overcome that they didn’t hear the sound of heavy boots tramping down the stairs and didn’t pay attention to the twin’s alarmed voices until they were surrounded by soldiers.

“That’s the criminal!” a familiar voice called out. “Kill him before he kills us all!”

Dirk turned to see a posse of guards led by Lord Reggie Hastings–still wearing horns and covered with red body paint–descending upon them. As Dirk stared, Lord Hastings brandished his ring, saying, “And leave the ass for me. We have unfinished business.”

Dil looked up at their would-be assailants and sighed, “Reggie, you’re the ass. Did you forget that we’re surrounded by the most powerful wards in England right now? If you so much as let out a magical fart, this whole crypt is going to explode.”

Lord Hastings started to draw himself up indignantly but then stopped as understanding dawned on his handsome face. For a brief instant, he looked abashed but this was quickly supplanted by his usual hauteur.

Dil took advantage of his distraction to call out to the guards, “Tom, William, Frederick, Stephen! Stand down. This is not what Captain Caleb would have wanted.”

The four guards lowered their swords uncertainly even as Reggie screamed, “What? No! Don’t listen to him! He’s a monster! He tried to destroy Beresford!”

Half of the guards appeared to believe him and the other half were conflicted, by turns raising and lowering their weapons even as Lord Reggie exhorted them to attack Dil. In the confusion, a yell rang out and the twins launched themselves at Lord Hastings. They had pinned him to the ground before he could react. There was a brief scuffle during which Reggie tried to hold up his ring but Karl caught his hand in a viselike grip and squeezed. Reggie made a strangled sound and his eyes grew hard. A moment later, his ring began to glow.

“Shit!” Dil screamed. “He’s going to kill us all if he uses that ring!”

Dirk had already pulled his sword and was charging at the mage. He could tell he was already too late, though. With a sickening dread, he looked at the ring and saw the dull white eyes of the skull wake up. They seemed to stare right through him. Cursing, he lifted his sword and prepared to throw it at Reggie in a last ditch attempt to kill him. Just then, though, he heard the sound clopping hooves behind him and Lord Amarinth burst into the chamber astride Castor. The horse bore down on the supine mage and the twins drew back as the gelding lashed out with his hooves. He wasn’t fast enough, though. Reggie rolled out of the way and stood up, ring still glowing on his finger.

He smiled evilly and drew himself upright in victory. “You’ll never–” he started to say but was interrupted by Lord Amarinth.

“Reggie, dear!” the professor called out in a shrill voice as he attempted to straighten the ridiculous wig on his head, “won’t you help a lady off her horse?”

Lord Hastings rounded on him, snarling, “I’ve had enough of you, Amarinth! I’m going to–”

“Oh, well, I see you’re no gentleman,” Amarinth cut him off, huffing. “I will just have to dismount on my own then!” 

With that, he attempted to get out of the saddle but his dress caught in the stirrups and he tumbled down to the ground, clutching madly at his wig. There was a loud ripping sound followed by a shriek as Amarinth grabbed at the ropes of pearls around his neck. He was too late, though. The necklaces ripped apart and cascades of pearls scattered across the cobblestone floor. In moments, everyone in the room was scrambling for their balance as they slipped on the pearls rolling around underfoot. Dirk windmilled his arms and would have fallen if Castor hadn’t caught him by the harness on his back and hauled him upright. The horse, Dirk noticed then, had cloth wrapped around his hooves, cloth that prevented him from losing his balance. His eyes narrowed as he regarded the fallen professor, rolling theatrically on the floor. So, he thought approvingly, Amarinth planned the whole thing.

Reggie and the guards fell to the ground as Castor deposited Dirk on a clear spot before rearing up and landing his hooves squarely on the mage’s chest. Lord Hasting let out a loud woof as the air was knocked out of him and Karl grabbed a sword from a fallen guard. When Reggie opened his eyes again, the boy was holding the blade to his throat. Reggie raised his hand weakly, and Dirk felt his stomach fall as the ring began to glow once again. He was about to shout when the mage let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Dirk blinked. 

The mage’s fingers were gone, separated from his hand with one quick swipe of Karl’s sword.

The four digits went flying across the room even as blood began to gush out of Reggie’s wounded hand. Dirk didn’t think, he lunged forward and scooped up the ring finger, flicking the severed finger aside and tossing the ring to Dil.

The boy caught it deftly and called out, “Amarinth, release the wards!”

The professor stopped clucking long enough to nod and wave a hand. Immediately, Dil rolled back the boulder and darted inside. Dirk tried to follow behind him but Dil stopped him.

“I have to do this alone, Dirk,” he said, pausing long enough to give him a loving smile. “If I don’t come back, please don’t come looking for me.”

Before Dirk could protest, the boulder rolled back into place and Lord Amarinth reset the wards.

***

Part 10

Dil heard the boulder roll behind him with a heavy heart, watching Dirk’s confused face disappear behind the stone. He had promised himself that he would never fall in love again after Caleb but he hadn’t planned on Dirk. He’d despised the knight when he first met him, hating his casual superiority and confidence. Had it only been three weeks since the man had waltzed into his life?  The unquestioned way that Dirk wore his power, status, and desirability had set Dil’s teeth on edge. Dirk had reminded him of everything he hated about nearly every man he’d ever met. Placing the curse on him had been almost cathartic, as if by cursing Dirk he was getting back at all of the men who had hurt ever him.

But then…

But then the gruff knight had reappeared at his stables, cold and sodden and delirious…and humbled. And Dil had opened his arms to him. He still had no idea why he’d done so but he could not deny that love he felt for the man. Or the lust. ‘Dirk the Ass’ was everything Dil had ever wanted in a man…and more. He shivered with desire at the mere thought of him.

Let go of him, Dil, and focus! 

He turned and pushed ahead into the deathly silence of the crypt. Soon, he would have to deal with the mess that Reggie had created when he’d stolen Boudicca’s ring but first he needed to visit Caleb’s crypt…

***

Dirk slammed his fist against the boulder in frustration. He was surprised by how upset he was that Dil had left him behind. He was also painfully aware of an unfamiliar sensation in the center of his chest that he would later identify as longing. He didn’t want to admit it but it hurt to be apart from Dil. The torment was driving him crazy and he needed to distract himself.

Growling, he turned toward Amarinth, demanding, “Amarinth, tell me something.”

The mage looked up from murmuring in Castor’s ear. He had contained Lord Reggie in a circle of protective wards and dismissed the guards, assuring them that everything was under control now that Dil was determined to repair the magical rift. Surprisingly, the aged Karl–illusion gone now that Dil had the ring–was wrapping Lord Reggie’s hand with a silk bandage torn from Amarinth’s gown as Stefan stood guard over them. Reggie appeared delirious and it wasn’t clear if the man would ever regain control of his wits. Maybe Dil had been right. Maybe the ring had caused Reggie to go insane?

“Yes, my dear ass? What do you want to know?” Amarinth said, straightening his crazy wig. Just when he’d succeeded, Castor leaned in and wuffled his ear, causing the wig to flop precariously forward. The professor swatted at him.

“Why Lady Windermere and not Lord Windermere?” Dirk queried in a strained voice. “Dil is a man; he didn’t need to pretend to be a woman.”

“Ah, but you’re wrong, Dirk,” Amarinth sighed. “Quite wrong. For several reasons. Dil has a…complicated history as Lady Windermere.”

“Explain.”

Lord Amarinth was about to respond when he noticed that Dirk was shivering. He led Castor over and instructed the horse to kneel down. The horse obeyed and Amarinth motioned to Dirk, urging, “Go on, Dirk, get on. Take advantage of your horse’s warmth!”

Dirk didn’t need any encouragement and climbed on the beast’s shoulders, pressing his cold body against him, beyond caring that this meant his arse was poking up in the air. His ears and tail quivered with pleasure as he settled down. The professor was right; the horse was toasty warm!

When Amarinth was satisfied that Dirk was comfortable, he said, “Dil met Caleb on his first day in Beresford and the two fell madly in love. There was only one problem.”

“What?” Dirk asked before answering his own question. “Oh, I think I can guess.”

Amarinth nodded. “Yes, you can imagine how…unseemly…it was for a lord to take a liking to a commoner, let alone a member of the same gender. For the sake of his standing as the captain of the guard, Caleb could not afford to be seen with Dil; he had to maintain the illusion of being a ‘real’ man. They were in quite a bind until Lady Windermere came to Beresford.”

Dirk looked at him askance. “Huh?”

“Lady Windermere was Dil’s imaginary younger sister,” Amarinth explained, winking. “She was a necessary fiction, you see. Dil created her out of thin air, pretending that she had come to live with him so that he could oversee her education.”

“Ah,” Dirk said, nodding. “I get it. Very clever.”

“Yes, indeed,” Amarinth agreed, pushing his flouncy dress aside to sit down next to Castor. “And his ruse worked perfectly for a long time. He and Caleb could be seen together without raising suspicion. Oh, they raised scandal but not suspicion! The tongues of the town were flapping at the spectacle of a highborn lady spending time with a common cur, but no one ever suspected that Lady Windermere was not a lady at all. And no one questioned why they never saw Lord and Lady Windermere together at the same time.”

Dirk shook his head, saying, “Sounds great but something must’ve happened. How’d they find out that Dil was really Lady Windermere?”

Amarinth smiled sadly as he replied, “Beresford is a long way from where Dil grew up but, it turned out, not far enough. Everything was going swimmingly until Dil’s former fiance arrived in Beresford.”

Dirk clicked his tongue. “Fiance? I didn’t realize that Dil was engaged. What is her name?”

“Oh, my dear ass,” Lord Amarinth said, turning to give him a wry smile while rolling his eyes meaningfully over at Castor. “I believe you’ve already made the acquaintance of Dil’s finance. His name is–or was, rather–Lord Thomas Ashbury.”

Castor stiffened under Dirk as he exclaimed, “What? But that’s impossible! Dil couldn’t have been engaged to a man!”

“Ah,” Amarinth breathed as he placed a soothing hand on the horse’s flank, “but he was. Or I should say, she was engaged to Lord Ashbury.”

Brow furrowing, Dirk said, “Huh? I’m confused. Had Dil pretended to be a woman in order to be with Lord Ashbury, too?”

“No, Dirk,” Amarinth answered. “Dil hadn’t pretended to be a woman when his father announced his engagement to Lord Ashbury. Dil was a woman, or girl, rather. You see, Dil was born Cecily Windermere and remained so until her sixteenth year.”

***

Caleb’s crypt had been desecrated.

The lid of the sepulchre lay shattered on the floor and Caleb’s semi-mummified body had been torn apart. Pieces of him and his armor were strewn about the cold and eerily glowing crypt. It looked like he had been hacked apart with a sword.

Crying out, Dil frantically gathered up the bits and pieces of the corpse as tears fell from his eyes. God, how he’d loved the man! A year ago after his spell to revive Caleb had failed, it had broken his heart to seal him away. Dil remembered it like yesterday: Caleb’s freshly dead corpse laid out before him, clothed in his captain of the guard armor and helmet. He’d looked so handsome and regal once his muscles had relaxed after rigor mortis subsided. There had been no visible traces of the horror perpetrated on him. He’d been at peace. Finally, at peace.

If only Dil had felt that same peace.

If only the ring had worked.

He suppressed a sob as the bitterness of his failure washed over him. Why had he failed? He had everything he’d needed: The ring, the power, and the affinity. All of his life, the dead had come to him and he’d comforted them…and sometimes they had comforted him. He should have been able to resurrect Caleb, especially because he was only recently dead. Why hadn’t the ring worked? It didn’t make sense.

For the millionth time, he revisited his memories of that fateful night, wracking his brain to figure out what had gone wrong. Lord Reggie had told him about Boudicca’s ring the night of Caleb’s murder. Dil had been delirious with grief when Reggie had led him to these very catacombs, catacombs which turned out to have a history more ancient than Dil had guessed. Reggie had learned that the network of tombs beneath the crossroads predated the Roman occupation of Britain. They had been old when Boudicca was a girl and her tribe, the Iceni, considered them and the oak sacred. When she’d died, they had buried her inside and sealed off her chamber using powerful magic that even a seasoned mage like Reggie could not break. 

For Dil, however, breaking into Boudicca’s crypt had been simple.

He’d needed only to hear the suggestion that her ring could resurrect Caleb.

Reggie had told him that he’d found Boudicca’s resting place, saying that he was certain the ring was buried with the dead queen. Dil had acted without hesitation. In a thrice, he’d located the chamber, defused the protective wards, and entered, removing the ring from Boudicca’s skeletal finger. Dil hadn’t cared about breaking any laws of sorcery! Why should he? Laws had never meant anything to him, especially with Caleb cruelly murdered. Dil would have done anything to bring him back to life.

And he would do so again in a heartbeat.

If it were only possible.

He sighed, shoulders slumping with the bitterness of this old defeat, and forced his mind back to the present as he scanned the room for bits of his lover’s body, trying to figure out who would have done this to Caleb. Had it been one of the students from the school, not content with torturing and murdering the captain? Or someone else? The thought of someone desecrating the grave and hacking his lover’s body apart made his blood boil. As much as it pained him, though, he knew well by then that evil people often got away without punishment. He vowed, however, that he would seek out the perpetrator once he had returned the ring to Boudicca’s chamber and the rift was sealed.

When he was content that he had found most of Caleb’s parts, Dil gathered them in his arms and lovingly returned them to the crypt. He placed his lover’s empty rib cage together with his skeletal arms and legs and pelvis. He lifted the skull and studied it, feeling his heart ache when he realized he could still recognize Caleb in the mummified flesh clinging to the bone.

More tears.

He cradled the skull for a moment before placing it atop the rib cage inside the crypt. When Caleb’s body was reassembled, he fished around in his pocket for the ring and the little wooden box that Lord Thomas Ashbury–more lately known as the horse, Castor–had given Dirk. Popping the lid, he studied the inscription inside and felt his chest clench again as if he were reading it for the first time. 

It read:  Reggie betrayed you. I’m sorry. -TA

Reggie!

Lord Reggie had been Dil’s best friend and mentor. The mage had taken Dil under his tutelage when he first enrolled in the university and the two had shared many adventures together. Reggie had encouraged his relationship with Caleb and helped to perpetrate the fiction of his ‘sister’, Lady Windermere. He had loved Reggie like a father, like the warm and loving father he’d never had.

And Reggie, he knew now, had betrayed him in order to get his hands on the damned ring. He’d always known that the mage was obsessed with youth but hadn’t understood just how far the man would go to recapture it. Apparently, there was no end of the man’s treachery. And Caleb had paid the ultimate price.

Swallowing bile, Dile realized that, as painful as Reggie’s betrayal was, it made perfect sense. Reggie had told Lord Ashbury where to find Dil and Caleb on that night, knowing that Ashbury and his friends would try to kill them. And, of course, they had. 

The students had surprised them in a secluded spot behind Amarinth’s estate exactly one year ago. Dil and his lover had been drunk and naked, celebrating their crowning as Oberon and Titania at Midsummer’s Eve. Lord Ashbury had crept up behind and slipped a gag into Dil’s mouth before he could utter a protective spell and the others had seized Caleb. As Dil struggled, Ashbury had bound him and forced him to watch as they beat Caleb to within an inch of his life.  Then they held him down, forcing his bare rump into the air, and…

Dil shivered, struggling to force the memory away. 

For a time, he almost succeeded.

Reggie, he realized, must have been waiting in the bushes. Only after the attackers murdered Caleb, did he miraculously appear to save Dil. At the time, Dil had been grateful. He’d had no reason to believe that Reggie had betrayed them in order to trick Dil into stealing the ring. He’d only known that Reggie was his friend. A friend who had saved his life and then offered him a way to restore Caleb to the realm of the living. It was something a good friend would do.

Yeah, he thought sardonically, a good friend who would do anything to get what he wanted.

Dil scowled, his gaze falling upon the contents of Ashbury’s little box. When he’d first opened it two weeks ago, he’d stared for several seconds at the contents uncomprehendingly. Slowly, though, recognition had gripped him like a sickness and he’d needed every bit of self control not to grab Dirk’s sword and run Castor through the heart with it.

He studied the open box, gritting his teeth and feeling his simmering hatred toward Lord Thomas Ashbury reignite. If anything, he despised the man more than Reggie. Being transformed into a horse and gelded was too kind of a punishment for him! He should have murdered him when he had the chance. Dil didn’t give a fuck how sorry Ashbury was; if he had been in front of him right then, he would have killed him. Slowly and without remorse. Lord Ashbury had done everything in his power destroy Dil, to expose and humiliate and torture him–all because Dil had refused to marry him!

He would never forgive him.

Never.

Dil! Get it together! You can’t change the past. Forget about Lord Ashbury. Forget about everything!

He sighed, taking a few deep breaths. His hands were balled up into fists and he made himself relax, holding the box out in front of him. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he looked at it.

That box!

What an evil thing!

And so precious, too.

God, how the memory haunted him!

His shoulders were shaking and he stifled another sob as he looked inside.

Inside the box was the only part of Caleb’s body that Dil had not been able to recover after his murder. The part of Caleb that they had cut off in front of Dil as Lord Ashbury pinned him down and lifted his head, forcing him to watch. It was this part that Lord Ashbury had kept for a prize, holding it over his head and laughing as he gazed down triumphantly at Dil, Caleb screaming in agony before him.

Caleb’s stones.

The box held Caleb’s testicles.

Hands shaking, Dil lifted them out of the box. They were dried out and nearly weightless, still nestled in the remnants of his lover’s hairy sac. The skin had turned leathery but the testicles were still recognizable. He placed them lovingly between Caleb’s legs, under the little flap of decayed skin that had once been his penis.

Leaning over his lover’s corpse, he whispered,  “There, my love. Now you’re whole again.”

For reasons he couldn’t explain, he placed the ring atop Caleb’s rib cage. It seemed the appropriate thing to do, like he was paying homage to his lover by repeating the failed ritual of a year ago. It soothed him in some way. Made him feel closer to his departed friend and lover. Yes, Caleb felt so close that night.

Dil closed his eyes, determined to keep vigil. He needed to rest, needed to meditate on everything that had happened. There was so much to feel, so much to take in, so much to come to terms with.

Boudicca could wait for a while longer before she got her ring back.

***

“Dil was female?” Dirk asked, unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice. “How did he, I mean, how did she, uh, you know…?” He stopped, realizing how idiotic he sounded and exhaled loudly before asking, “Are you saying that his manhood is all an illusion?” Unconsciously, he rubbed his arse, muttering, “Because it sure felt real enough to me.”

Lord Amarinth regarded him with amusement. Even Castor turned and shook his head at Dirk, causing his cheeks to burn. After a while Amarinth replied, “Dil Windermere is fully male. He turned himself into a man after his father arranged his marriage to Lord Ashbury. He told me he initially did it out of protest but then decided he preferred being a man. He said he thinks he was always meant to be one.”

Dirk massaged his forehead, murmuring, “I’m so confused! How the fuck did it happen?”

“I don’t know why you find this so difficult to believe, Dirk,” Amarinth chided. “After all, Dil is even now turning you into an ass. Why shouldn’t he also be capable of changing his own gender?”

“I…I, I mean, I guess…”

“Precisely,” Amarinth teased. “Dil, as you are personally aware, is skilled in the art of transmutation. He can transform an object or an animal or a person into whatever strikes his fancy. It is an exceedingly rare talent and one that he demonstrated to the world on the eve of his sixteenth birthday when he became Lord Dillon Windermere.”

Dirk scarcely heard him. His mind was running through every interaction he’d had with Dil, putting the pieces of the puzzle together. For some reason, he was profoundly unsettled by the knowledge that Dil had once been a woman.

After struggling for a few moments, he got himself under control enough to remark, “Well, I guess that explains why his father whipped me when I told him I was a friend of Cecily’s. Old man probably wasn’t happy about his daughter becoming a son.”

“Not in the slightest,” Amarinth agreed. “He promptly disowned Dil and the boy would have been homeless if not for his mother. The good woman couldn’t see fit to stand up to her husband but she also did not wish to see her daughter, now son, live as an outcast. Over her husband’s strenuous objections, she deeded Dil her estate, the place where you first met him, I gather.”

“Hmmm, nice of her, I guess.”

“Indeed. But, even with the modest stipend she provided him, Dil struggled. Fortunately, Reggie and I learned of his predicament and sent for him. In Beresford, as I mentioned before, he found anonymity–for a time at least–and the chance to start afresh.” Lord Amarinth paused then, sighing, “If only things had gone differently! Dil would now be installed as a faculty member at the university. A sorcerer with his talents comes but once an age!”

Dirk could feel Castor trembling beneath him and remembered then that his horse had once been Lord Ashbury, Dil’s former fiance…and the man responsible for wreaking havoc on the boy’s life. Part of him wanted to kick the damned horse while another part realized that Ashbury had suffered much as a result of his harsh treatment of Dil. For one thing, he’d lost his bollocks at the hand of his betrothed. Fitting punishment, Dirk thought darkly as he reached down and patted the horse’s shoulder.

***

Dil sat completely still, meditating over Caleb’s corpse with his eyes closed. He was concentrating so intently that he didn’t notice that Boudicca’s ring had begun to glow atop Caleb’s decayed sternum. And when the bones and sinews of his lover’s torn body began to slowly knit together, he still sat there oblivious. It wasn’t until he heard his name in the softest of whispers that he cracked an eyelid.

The boy straightened and looked around, belatedly noticing the changes in Caleb’s body. When he realized that his lover’s bones were reconnecting and his flayed skin was resealing before him, he sprang up and cried out in alarm. He was reaching out to snatch the ring away when the corpse’s withered hand lifted into the air. He froze, mind roiling with fear…and with the incredulous understanding that the ring had worked this time.

He was still trying to wrap his brain around this unexpected miracle when skull turned toward him and the desiccated remnants of its eyeballs swiveled to his face. The toothy jaw opened and the rotten remnant of a tongue rasped, “Ye are so beautiful.”

Dil’s mouth fell open.

And then he laughed.

Those words! Those fucking words! He couldn’t stand it when men told him he was beautiful. It reminded him too much of his life before…the change…when men had treated him as a pretty object, a thing to be dressed up and paraded around–and sold off to cement alliances and fortunes. Unaware of how the phrase triggered him, Dirk had told Dil he was beautiful once and he’d almost turned the knight into a four-legged ass on the spot. Caleb had been very aware of this distaste and delighted in teasing him about it. He’d always loved to get Dil riled up.

“You know how much I hate it when you tell me that,” he grumbled in mock indignation as he fell to his knees and took Caleb’s bony hand in his own.

His lover smiled, or at least tried to. His lips were still too dry and broken, though, and the smile came out more as a ghastly leer. In spite of himself, Dil laughed again.

“Dil. Me beautiful Dil.”

As his shock and surprise dissipated, Dil felt his heart warm and he leaned over the stony ledge of the crypt, crying. Caleb reached up and stroked his head, running his scratchy fingers through his hair.

“Ye brought me back, ye did.”

Dil lifted his head and wiped his tears away, noting that Caleb’s body continued to heal, its grey and flaking skin becoming slowly supple as it regrew, eventually covering his bones and exposed sinew. He still looked like a nightmare but it didn’t matter. To him, Caleb would always be the most handsome man in the world.

He cleared his throat, saying, “I tried to bring you back a year ago but it didn’t work. I’m sorry, Caleb. I never wanted to leave you.”

“I know it.” The corpse’s voice was deeper and fuller now that its vocal chords were somewhat restored. The voice almost sounded normal. “Reggie gave ye the wrong ring.”

Dil started. “What?”

Caleb exhaled. It seemed to take a lot of effort for him to speak. When he spoke again, his voice had regained its usual inflection, though. “‘e swapped rings. Ye were using the wrong ring.”

“That doesn’t–” Dil’s voice broke off and he clapped his hand to his forehead as he understood.

Of course! How could he have been so stupid? The mage had stopped Dil when he exited Boudicca’s tomb, asking to examine the ring. Dil hadn’t had a chance to study the ring so he couldn’t have known that the mage handed him back a different ring. Reggie was such a bastard! He lowered his head, struggling to come to terms with this new information. Was there no one in this world he could trust? 

Throat clenching in anguish, he gasped, “How did you know?”

“I was there, m’lady,” Caleb explained as Dil gritted his teeth at the term, ‘m’lady’. Apparently, death hadn’t affected Caleb’s wicked sense of humor. “I followed ye about as a lonely ghost after those louts killed me. Tried to tell ye ‘bout Reggie did but ye were too riled up.”

Stricken with this news, Dil moaned, “Oh, God, Caleb! I’m so sorry!” Then another thought struck him and he swore loudly, exclaiming, “That’s why the rift opened and the spirits came pouring out into Beresford! When I returned the wrong ring to the crypt and Reggie left the catacombs with the real ring, it unleashed Boudicca’s curse. Shit, shit, shit! I’m such an idiot!”

Caleb laughed, a brittle sound like raspy leaves, saying, “No, no idiot. Ye are me beautiful lady.” When Dil swatted his brittle arm, Caleb laughed again, entreating, “Help me up.”

The corpse was little more than an emaciated heap of bones covered with leathery skin. As Dil watched, though, it struggled to pull itself out of the crypt. He reached in and gently took it in his arms, lifting it out. Caleb’s body was so light!

“Hold me.”

Fighting back more tears, Dil cradled Caleb against him, leaning down and kissing the top of his skull. A few scraggly hairs were beginning to regrow but mostly it was still a grey-skinned, bald pate. His lover’s body pressed against him, feeling empty, bony, and cold. Caleb’s clawlike hand drifted up his back and he shivered.

“Ye are warm. Feels so good.”

Dil sobbed at these words and clung desperately to the corpse, willing Caleb back to the realm of the living. But, while the corpse continued to coalesce into a more and more lifelike state, he could tell that Caleb was not truly alive. His body was cold. There was no heartbeat against his chest and no breath in his ear.

“The ring, it doesn’t…,” he started to say but his voice broke off. He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Caleb nodded, pressing his softening lips against his neck. “Aye, lass. Ye be not Jesus, and I be not Lazarus.”

“But–”

“Shhh, me love.” His lips found Dil’s and they kissed.

I’m kissing a corpse! Dil thought briefly before he lost himself in the extraordinary pleasure of Caleb’s touch. His lover might still be dead and cold as the grave but his mouth tasted fresh, vibrant, and so familiar. He had always loved the taste of Caleb. Hot tears continued to roll down his cheeks as their kissing became increasingly frenzied. After being apart for so long, they couldn’t get enough of each other.

The more they kissed, the more Caleb’s corpse filled out, growing bulky with muscles. Soon, he was too heavy to hold up and Dil lowered him down, setting his big feet on the floor. He couldn’t seem to stop crying.

“Ye found me bollocks,” Caleb murmured, pulling back and moving Dil’s hand slyly downward. “Thanks.”

Dil froze when his fingers touched… He felt his cheeks grow red.

“Go on now. Touch it. Still works.”

The corpse wasn’t lying. He might be dead but Caleb’s body was regaining the functions it had possessed in life. All of its functions. Dil shivered, partly out of desire and partly out of horror, when he felt the cold, hard member thrusting against his stomach.

Caleb seemed to intuit his thoughts as moved he reached down to cup Dil’s bum, squeezing his cheeks in his strong hands. “Ever been buggered by a revenant?” he asked, deep voice light. “I hear ye mages are into kinky shite.”

Dil opened his eyes, a sharp retort on his lips, but he stopped when he beheld his lover. Caleb was now fully restored to his former glory. A tall, broad-shouldered, beefy man in his prime. His deathly pale torso was covered with a liberal coating of kinky brown hair and his muscles popped beneath flawless skin. While his body might still be dead, his blue eyes were very much alive and they shone with love and hunger as he gazed down at Dil. He looked exactly like the statue that Dil had commissioned except that now he was intact in every way. Only the coldness of his flesh and his ashen complexion betrayed the fact that he was still a corpse. An animated corpse! The ring had worked…sort of.

Eyes glinting, Caleb smirked down at him. He was a head taller than Dil now that he was fully restored, a true giant of a man. Dil’s heart began to pound when his lover breathed, “Gotta be inside ye again.”

Caleb didn’t wait for Dil’s permission; he was already tearing the boy’s garments off. The silver buttons of his fine doublet sprayed across the room as he rent it open. Dil’s skintight hose followed soon after. Naked and vulnerable, he quivered as the dead man tossed the torn fragments on the ground and stepped toward him. Dil looked demurely down at the floor and Caleb drew himself up to his full height, a towering god among men. He took another step forward, fully engorged. His cock bounced up and down and his newly-restored balls swayed alluringly back and forth. Dil felt his back grow hot. Caleb moved closer and Dil took an inadvertent step backward. His submission only served to enflame Caleb’s lust and he shoved him against the crypt, bending him over and positioning himself behind. Time stood still as Dil heard his lover grunt and then spit into his hand. He tensed as he felt Caleb’s hand massage his icy saliva into the cleft of his buttocks.

“A wanton slattern, ye are!” Caleb teased behind him, thrusting a big finger into his tight hole. “Cum-hungry whore! God, how I’ve missed buggering this cunt!”

Dil convulsed, crying out in pain. He hadn’t been penetrated for over a year and his arsehole wasn’t ready. Caleb’s cold finger shoved in deeper and he forced himself to relax. A little whimper escaped his mouth as he exhaled and Caleb barked with lusty satisfaction.

“That’s it,” he grunted. “Open up. Get ready for an arse raping.”

Dil screamed in pain and ecstasy as the huge man withdrew his finger and rammed his enormous tool inside of him. When he was alive, Caleb’s manhood had dwarfed other mortals but in death his cock seemed to have only grown bigger. Dil’s eyes rolled backward as Caleb reamed his sphincter, savaging him even as he pleaded for more.

“Cock…hungry…bitch,” Caleb gasped in his ear, taking a handful of his hair in a fist and yanking backward. Dil bit his tongue and tasted blood, reveling in the abuse. He knew it was fucked up but sex with Caleb had always been a game of degradation and agony.

And he loved every second of it. 

No one had ever turned him on like Caleb. No one.

When the man exploded inside of him, Dil felt like his insides would split open and he swore he could feel his lover’s dead seed flooding into him. It was both revolting and incredible and he erupted in orgasm in the same moment, body convulsing and sweat dripping down his body to splatter on the mouldy crypt beneath him.

Afterward, Caleb eased him onto his lap, being careful to keep his still-hard cock inside of him. Dil’s whole body was shaking with the aftereffects of orgasm and he smiled when Caleb gathered up the juices running down his (much smaller) cock, lifting his fingers to Dil’s mouth. Dil’s tongue darted out to lap up his cum but Caleb pulled his hand back and slurped it down instead, making a big show of enjoying the taste.

“Mmmm,” he purred. “Manna from heaven, it is!” When Dil complained, he smiled and held his hand in front of his face. A long rope of semen was trailing down from it. Dil leaned forward, sticking out his tongue but Caleb pulled back at the last second, laughing loudly as Dil cursed him. “Me cum-hungry slut. Me lady. Me Dil.”

Dil smiled and nestled his face into the nape of Caleb’s neck as the dead man petted his head fondly. His cock was still hard inside him and the big man clenched his pelvic muscles, teasing him with little thrusts. He shivered. Caleb’s body was still cold but the warmth from his own body was seeping into him and his skin felt almost alive. He kissed the man’s neck, crying.

“Aw, Dil,” Caleb murmured, lowering his chin to kiss him on the lips. “Ye be so lovely. Missed ye, I have!”

Dil couldn’t reply, he was too overcome with tears. He’d been so bent on revenge for the past year that he hadn’t realized how tired he was of being strong and certain and directed. He was so tired. So very tired. All he wanted was to be held and comforted by Caleb. Caleb was his man, his rock, his beautiful lover. Caleb…

“Ye have to let go of me, Dil.”

“What?” Dil shouted, looking up at him in disbelief. “No!”

Caleb chuckled. “Ye always were a pain in the arse. A defiant one.”

“And you always were a…” his voice broke off and, sobbing, he pounded his fists against Caleb’s chest.

The man let him wail away at him for a while before reaching down to stop his hands, chiding, “I be dead, Dil. I cannot feel pain.”

“I don’t care!”

“Oh, but ye do. Ye care too much. Ye always have.”

“Caleb, just stay with me. Please!”

The corpse shook his head, regarding him with eyes that were filled with both love and sadness. “The dead weren’t meant to walk the earth, Dil. It be not right.”

Dil was about to respond when an otherworldly shrieking echoed down the cobwebbed hallways of the catacombs. He froze, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “What is that?” he asked, forgetting for the moment the awful prospect of losing Caleb for a second time.

Caleb bounced him one last time on his lap before gently lifting him off and standing up. His magnificent erection bobbed in front of him as he stooped to retrieve his sword and helmet from the tomb. He fastened the sword about his waist and pulled on the helmet before reaching down to grab the ring. Winking, he slipped it on his finger.

Thus decked out, he unsheathed his sword and regarded Dil with a twinkle in his eyes for a moment before answering, “That, m’lady, is Boudicca’s army of the dead come to avenge the theft of her ring.” He pushed Dil behind him as he strode purposefully toward the door. “Stay back and don’t get in me way.”

***

Dirk sat up abruptly as the horrible shrieking resonated through the crypt and he turned to Lord Amarinth, demanding, “What the fuck is that?”

Amarinth listened for a moment before sighing, “Ah, Boudicca has released her army. She must have sensed the presence of her ring and sent them to retrieve it.”

“You mean they’re going to attack Dil?”

The lord shrugged. “Most probably.”

Dirk stood up, grabbing his sword and advancing on the boulder blocking entrance to the catacombs. “Lord Amarinth,” he commanded, rotating his ears forward, “you must let me inside. Dil will be killed without protection!”

Amarinth laughed. “The boy is the most powerful sorcerer in the realm, my dear ass. He isn’t in need of protection.”

“But he’s not a battle mage, Amarinth!” Dirk implored. “You said so yourself! What good will transmutation do him? He needs a warrior to defend him! A host of warriors!” 

In silent agreement, Stefan joined him, standing next to him and brandishing a sword. The two men gazed beseechingly at the mage and Amarinth finally relented, saying, “Oh, very well! Go rescue the boy who needs no rescuing. I’ll stay back and keep an eye on Reggie.” He waved a hand and the wards dimmed around the boulder. Dirk and the boy shoved it aside in an instant. Amarinth was about to pat Castor on the rump when he saw the horse had followed them, disappearing through doorway. Shaking his head, he pushed himself up and straightened his tattered dress, musing, “I guess this means I have to go, too, doesn’t it?” 

Taking a deep breath, he followed the trio inside.

***

Part 11

Caleb met the horde of Boudicca’s undead soldiers atop the rough stairway descending into the antechamber of her crypt. He was vastly outnumbered but he had a strategic position and was a seasoned veteran who, although dead for a year, still knew how to fight. And the ring, Dil soon discovered, lent Caleb an important advantage: It healed his wounds instantly. 

At one point, a howling specter sliced off his arm with slash of its ghostly blade. Dil gasped in alarm but Caleb was unphased. Casting a wry glance over his shoulder, he winked at Dil as he caught the limb and held it back in place. It reattached in a second, apparently as good as new. Dil shook his head and went back to figuring out how he might be of use in the fight.

Battle magic had never been his strength and he didn’t know how to wield a sword, a byproduct of his youth as a girl. If he had been born a boy, he would have been trained in sword fighting from an early age. Ah, now is not the time to dwell on such things, he thought bitterly. He had to figure out how to help Caleb!

Unfortunately, he didn’t have time. 

Despite fighting valiantly, Caleb was being overwhelmed by the multitudes of warriors. They hacked at him relentlessly, piercing his body with so many wounds that the ring could not keep up. When one demon succeeded in lopping off his head, Dil knew he was too late. He watched in horror as the skull rolled across the stone floor, landing at his feet. Caleb’s dead eyes stared up at him, triggering still-fresh memories of one year ago when he’d watched Caleb killed the first time. Dil sank to his knees, too overwhelmed to do anything but stare helplessly up at his attackers.

Boudicca’s warriors, he noticed with detached interest, were all women. It took him a moment to realize this because their bodies were so desiccated and deformed from centuries of mouldering in a crypt that their gender wasn’t immediately obvious. He regarded them dimly as they poured across the threshold, a skeletal army of wraiths and nightmares clothed in ancient armor not seen in Britain for a millennium or more. He had faced many such horrors in his lifetime but somehow he knew this time was different. No amount of empathy and listening would charm these specters: They wanted his life in exchange for stealing their beloved queen’s ring. And he was powerless to defend himself. He kicked himself mentally for not studying warcraft more astutely. If Reggie had been there, he could have helped…

Reggie! he thought disgustedly. I’d rather die at the hands of a horde of angry ghosts than rely on that man again!

But it wasn’t just his lack of battle knowledge that stopped him from defending himself.

It was something else.

Dil couldn’t force himself to fight back because he was tired.

He was just too tired.

Tired of everything! 

His life, he mused as the ghostly army surrounded him, had been one long battle after another and he simply didn’t have it in him to go on. First, it had been his father and the feudal system that kept women (and peasants) locked in perpetual servitude, then had come Lord Ashbury and the students at the university, and now it was an undead army. If he somehow managed to survive this, what would he have to fight next? He sighed, feeling the weight of sorrow and fatigue pressing down on him. His eyes fell on Caleb’s face, still frozen in a rictus of anguish, and a tear slid down his cheek. With Caleb at his side again, he could have gone on fighting. But now that he’d lost him a second time, Dil’s resolve dried up.

Come on, Dil! a voice screamed inside his head. You don’t need a man by your side to determine your destiny! Get up and fight! Use your magic! Create a barrier or transform them into undead kittens. Just fucking do something!

He smiled sadly, thinking, But what if I do need a man to take care of me?  Maybe I’m not so different from my mother and the other women out there who continually stand aside and allow men to broker their lives? Maybe some things can’t be changed by changing your gender? 

Or maybe it had nothing to do with gender at all? Maybe he was just ready for everything to end? He didn’t know. God, he didn’t know! And he didn’t have time to figure it out because the warriors were closing in on him. He closed his eyes, listening to the muted sound of their armor clinking, the hiss of their undead breath, the fetid smell of the crypt trailing along behind them. He smiled at the irony of being murdered by an all-woman army. If anything, he’d expected to die at the hands of men…

Strangely, the wraiths didn’t attack immediately. Rather, they circled him with their archaic bronze swords, the blades green with corrosion, leveling them at his chest. He cradled Caleb’s head in his arms, oblivious to the blackened blood seeping down his front. As he sat there waiting, he shivered and realized he was still naked from making love. What a way to die! he thought wryly. Naked with an aching arsehole and clinging to my dead lover’s head! He stifled a laugh. Weren’t you supposed to think somber thoughts when death was imminent?

An eery silence settled across the room and he opened his eyes, meeting the gaze of his would-be murderers for the first time. He blinked, startled. Like Caleb’s corpse had before them, the proximity of the ring was causing the warriors to become more lifelike with each passing moment. As he watched, their gaunt faces filled out and their withered eyeballs slowly reconstituted, moistening and becoming more human.

No longer blind, the hatred etched on their faces gradually drained away. The warrior closest to him, a red-haired woman with streaks of grey and a nasty scar on her cheek, lowered her sword. Her hand was trembling. Soon, the warrior next to her did the same thing. The others followed suit. Dil swallowed, feeling his heart pound against his rib cage. He brushed aside a tear as the first warrior reached out to him, offering him her calloused hand.

He took it and she pulled him up.

He stood, still holding Caleb’s severed head to his chest, and gave her a wan smile.

The warrior straightened and inclined her head and was about to speak when the clattering of shod hooves echoed through the hall behind them. Dil turned and saw Castor charging into the room with Dirk and Stefan following closely behind. His breath caught in his chest at the sight of the ornery knight. Dirk looked both dashing and ridiculous with his long ass ears, trailing tail, ungainly hooves, and, of course, his sexy leather costume. The look on his face, though, pierced right through him; his anguish at seeing Dil surrounded by undead warriors was palpable.

The knight, misreading the scene before him, launched himself across the room, slashing savagely with his sword. Dil screamed for him to stop but he was too late. With the momentum behind him, Dirk couldn’t have stopped if he’d wanted to. It was too late…

A peculiar, disorienting wave pulsed through the air and Dirk froze in place, body suspended in the air. His hooves, lashing out to land a deadly kick, went still and his sword blade stopped mere inches from the nearest warrior. The knight’s eyes, apparently the only part of his body that he could move, went round with surprise. Dil smiled, recognizing the spell, and looked past his lover to a spot several yards back where Amarinth was emerging from the shadows. Stefan and Castor swiveled to stare at him.

“Sorry about that, my dear ass,” Amarinth was saying to Dirk. “Had to do it. I will release you in a moment but first I believe Queen Boudicca has some words for our beloved Lord Windermere.”

Queen Boudicca? Dil turned back to the red-haired warrior, meeting her amused gaze. “You’re Boudicca?”

He’d only seen her twice: Once when he’d stolen her ring and then again when he’d replaced with it the fake one that Reggie had given him. At the time, she’d been little more than a rotted, ancient corpse. Too late, he noted the subtle signs of her royalty. She was clothed in armor similar to the others but her breastplate was patinaed copper whereas those of her warriors were hardened leather. On her neck, she wore a thin torque of rose gold.

The woman nodded and he sank to his knees, bowing his head. “My queen,” he breathed, “I beg your pardon. I never meant to steal your ring.”

There was a pause during which Dil kept his gaze on the floor. After a while, the woman opened her mouth to speak. Her voice was full and rich but her words were completely foreign. Ancient Celtic, Dil realized, wrinkling his brow.

Reading his confusion, Boudicca sighed and began again, this time in Latin. “If I must resort to using the speech of our enemies, I fear the Iceni were unsuccessful and Rome has won.”

Dil raised his head, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he realized that more than a thousand years had passed since she had walked the earth. “They did, my queen,” he replied in broken Latin. “And then Rome lost to the Saxons who in turn lost to the Vikings and the Normans. Britain has had a chaotic history since your time.”

Boudicca was quiet as she took this in. When he met her gaze again, he realized that she was studying him. Her eyes flicked to Dirk before drifting over to Stefan and Amarinth. Dil flushed when he realized how silly they must look to her: A naked boy, a half-man/half-ass in a revealing harness, a faery youth with tattered wings, and a man wearing makeup, a wig, and an absurd dress. This time, it was her mouth that quirked as she commented, “What queer fashions–and men–have overtaken us! Perhaps it is for the better that I did not live to see the defeat of my homeland.” The warriors surrounding the queen grumbled their assent and Dil felt the color creeping down his back.

“We were at a masquerade…” he started lamely, lowering his eyes. When his gaze landed on Caleb’s contorted face, though, his words died in his throat.

The queen followed his gaze, reaching out to caress Caleb’s bloody cheek with the back of her hand. “He fought well,” she murmured. “A most heroic champion for a most heroic woman. I am sorry we killed him. We were crazed after the ring woke us from our slumber.”

Dil started to nod and then caught himself. “My queen,” he asked, voice trembling, “how did you know that I…?”

“Know what? That you were born a woman?” Boudicca queried. “Why, my fierce sorcerer, it is written into your very soul. You might have changed your gender but you will never lose your womanhood. You will always be my sister.”

For reasons that Dil couldn’t explain, these words brought tears to his eyes and he looked down, blinking furiously. When he had composed himself, he lifted his head to see that Boudicca had stepped away. She was kneeling over Caleb’s corpse. As he watched, she pulled her ring off of his finger and returned to Dil. Then she surprised him by getting down on her knee and offering it to him.

“From one sorcerer to another,” she explained in a quiet voice. “Please take it and remember me. Perhaps it will serve you better? My only wish is that the next time I awake, I find myself in a world where women do not have to enchant themselves to be the equals of men.”

***

When Lord Amarinth released Dirk from his paralyzation spell, he collapsed into Dil’s arms. The boy lifted his face and smothered his mouth with soft kisses, smoothing his long ears back as Dirk’s tail twined about his legs. Dirk lost himself in the delirious pleasure of Dil’s embrace (and tongue) for some time before he pulled back.

“You’re Ok,” he breathed, relief washing over him. “I thought I’d lost you.”

In answer, Dil sealed his mouth with another kiss, pressing his naked body fiercely against Dirk.

After a while, the youth lifted his head, entreating, “Come, Dirk. There is someone I want you to meet.” He took his hand and led him over to the top of an ancient stairway cut crudely into the bedrock of the catacombs. A headless corpse lay splayed at their feet, its severed head lying nearby.

“Who’s that?” Dirk asked before recognition dawned on him. He’d remember that body anywhere! Its form, reproduced in marble at Lady Windermere’s estate, had presaged his curse and eventual transformation into an ass. Exhaling heavily, he breathed, “Caleb.”

Dil looked up from kneeling next to the corpse and nodded. As Dirk watched, he positioned Caleb’s head back on his neck and placed Boudicca’s ring on the corpse’s hairy sternum. The ring, Dirk noticed, was different now that it was in Dil’s possession. No longer bearing the design of a woman’s face, it had transformed into a simple band of rose gold with a single emerald, sapphire, ruby, and opal embedded in it. As he watched, the ring began to glow, pulsing with a rich orange light. Soon, the corpse stirred as the head reattached itself to the body. The man’s eyelids fluttered open.

A wave of complicated emotions washed over Dirk as he watched Dil lift the man’s hand and press his lips to his fingers. The fingers moved, cupping the boy’s cheek.

“Me Dil,” the man breathed as a tremor ran through the lad’s body. Dirk’s heart clenched both with jealousy and love. He was starting to turn away when he heard the dead man ask, “Are ye ready to let me finally rest, love?”

This question was met with a little sob from Dil. The boy wiped his face, saying, “If that is what you want, Caleb.”

The man nodded, propping himself up on his elbows. “It be me fondest wish, Dil. To be held in ye arms as I drift into me final sleep.”

Dirk reached down and placed a hand on Dil’s shoulder. The boy’s body was trembling. He knelt down beside him as Caleb’s eyes slid over to him. The huge man smiled. “Shite. Dil cursed ye bad. ‘e must really love ye.” 

Before he could answer, Caleb pushed himself onto his knees and stood up. Dirk stared up at him, feeling tongue-tied and more than a little…inadequate. If anything, the sculptor had understated Caleb’s magnificence. The man was a tower of muscle. Pure masculine perfection. He flushed when he saw the giant’s cock flopping back and forth like an enormous trunk over a huge pair of balls.

How’d he get his balls back? Dirk wondered. I thought they cut ‘em off? He shook his head, resolving to ask Dil about it later. He found it difficult to do anything but gape at Caleb’s stunning body. Christ, now that’s a man!

Caleb seemed oblivious to Dirk’s awe and cast about for his helmet and sword. Locating them, he pulled on the helmet and sheathed the sword on the belt at his waist. Only then did he stoop to offer his hand to Dil. The boy took it and was about to stand when Caleb surprised Dirk by offering his other hand to him. He reached out tentatively and grasped the massive paw. Caleb’s hand was startlingly cold and rough with callouses.

The dead man winked as he lifted Dirk to his feet, saying, “It be a shame that I dinna meet ye when I was alive, ye handsome ass.”

Dirk blushed, ears sliding backward, and Dil landed a little swat on his dead lover’s bum. Caleb laughed. After a moment, he sobered, adding, “Glad that ye have this ass to look after ye, Dil. I will sleep with the angels knowing ye be loved.”

***

They lay Caleb to rest in his crypt. Dirk closed the ancient door behind him, giving Dil and his lover privacy to say their final goodbyes. Dil emerged an hour later, red-eyed and sad. He had donned the remnants of his party attire but, given its torn state, the garment was barely decent. Dirk slung an arm over the boy’s shoulders and they wandered the halls of the catacombs, making their way slowly down to Boudicca’s burial chamber. They found her seated atop a slab of granite with Lord Amarinth leaning, arms crossed and beehive wig still perched atop his head, against a plinth ornamented with the abstract Celtic motifs. They appeared to be having a spirited discussion in Latin, encircled by the queen’s honor guard of warriors. Stefan and Castor watched nearby, the boy shivering as he pressed against the horse’s flank.

“Ah, there you are, my boy!” Amarinth called out as they entered the room. Dirk quailed as the whole assemblage turned to mark their arrival, acutely aware that he and his donkey parts were the subject of scrutiny. The eery green glow illuminating the crypt had begun to dissipate and someone had lit a pair of ancient torches. The flames guttered on the walls, turning the stone black with soot. “The queen and I were having a most interesting discussion,” the mage continued. “It seems that her ring exacts an intriguing revenge upon any man who wields it. Reggie, she tells me, is even now experiencing the effects.”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” Dil said, grimacing. “Reggie can rot in hell for all I care.”

The mage nodded. “I understand. I think you will want to know something else, though: She also told me that the ring, worn by a proper sorcerer, can open a portal to the Isles of Summer.”

Dil halted midstep. “What? You’re kidding!”

Amarinth smiled before sighing, “My dear boy, when have I ever lied to you?” He held up his hand before Dil could reply, adding, “I know! I know! But this time I offer no prevarication. See for yourself. Have you tried the ring on yet?”

In reply, Dil lifted his hand and wiggled his finger. The ring twinkled merrily in the dim light.

Amarinth nodded. “Then you have but to will the portal open.” The mage raised an eyebrow before adding significantly, “And you can take whomever you please with you. May I be so bold as to suggest that you take Karl? It could help the lad…”

“What are the Isles of Summer?” Dirk interjected, confused. Mages always seemed to talk about things he’d never heard of.  “And why do you need the ring to go there?”

“The mythical Land of Faerie,” Dil explained in a hushed tone. “The elven mages caused it to split away from this world millennia ago. Mortals are almost never allowed to enter.”

While Amarinth translated their conversation for the queen, Dirk pressed, “And what’s this about taking Karl to the isles? What will happen to him?”

Dil shrugged. “I don’t know. Amarinth seems to think that Reggie’s spell will be reversed. Probably has something to do with the way time works on there. It’s said that time runs differently there.”

He was about to add something else when the queen held up her hand to speak in halting Latin. As she spoke, her guards stood up and raised their swords in the air, saluting her.

“She’s ready to go back to sleep,” Dil explained when Dirk turned to him questioningly. “She said that learning of the state of the modern world from Amarinth has given her a headache.”

“Tell me about it,” Dirk muttered, feeling like his own head was about to split open. The night had turned into the longest one of his life. He couldn’t wait to sleep!

***

“Dirk, wake up!”

He stirred and open his eyes, feeling groggy. It was still nighttime but they were no longer in the catacombs. A warm breeze brushed his skin and he flicked his ears, feeling drowsy and content with Dil’s naked body pressed against his own. Gradually, he realized he was reclining against a grassy bank and his lower body was immersed in a pool of water. The drone of crickets in the background and fireflies dancing in shadowy boughs overhead told him that they were outdoors, perhaps on the grounds of Lord Amarinth’s estate. He yawned and pulled Dil closer to him.

“I love you, Dil,” he murmured. “I love you.”

“And I love you, my dear ass,” Dil replied, laughing. It was a sound of such delight that Dirk’s heart swelled in his chest. He couldn’t imagine being any happier than he was that night. He heard a sound nearby and looked over to see the twins entwined on a blanket under a giant yew. In the dim light, he saw Stefan teasing Karl with soft kisses. Their joy was palpable.

“Karl,” he murmured, “what happened? He’s back to normal. Did you put an illusion on him to make him look younger?”

Dil laughed again, leaning in to nuzzle his neck. “No, silly. No illusion. Don’t you know where we are?”

Dirk sat up and looked around, disturbing Dil. The lad mewled in protest but Dirk ignored him. The boy’s words had caused his heart to pound. Squinting as he looked around, he realized that the place felt foreign. Different somehow. Really different. The air was fresher and cleaner. The stars were brighter. The trees were older. The water was…

“Shit!” he exclaimed. “You took us to the isles, didn’t you?” He would have gotten up if Dil hadn’t held him down.

“Yes.”

Dirk remembered what Dil had said about time and panicked. “How long have we been here? Shit, Dil! What the fuck were you thinking? I don’t want to go back to England and discover that I’ve been missing for a decade!”

“Relax,” Dil soothed in a light voice. “You’ve only been dozing for a few minutes. You fell asleep astride Castor on the way out of the crypt. I promise that I will return you very shortly. I just wanted to enjoy your company one last time…”

Given his agitated state, it took a moment for the full import of Dil’s words to sink in but, when they did, Dirk sprang out of the pool, spraying water everywhere. Stefan and Karl looked up at him, perplexed, as he whipped his tail sharply in the air. Hurt and angry, he demanded, “What the fuck, Dil? One last time? What are you saying?”

Dil regarded him with a raised eyebrow for a moment. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“Fuck you.”

“Dirk, stop being an ass.”

He crossed his arms, stomping a hoof in frustration. When Dil reached up to him, he backed away, stating, “You’re gonna stay here, aren’t you?”

Dil nodded.

With that small movement of his head, Dirk felt the world to shift beneath his hooves. Clenching teeth, he hissed, “Why, Dil? Why?”

“Because I have much to learn, Dirk, and the mages here can teach me how to properly use my gift.” He paused before adding, “Plus, I have some growing up to do…not to mention healing.”

Dirk didn’t remember doing so, but a moment later he found that he’d sunk down on his haunches and was holding his head in his hands. Dil crept over to him and, pressing his thigh against Dirk’s, hugged him.

“You can visit me, Dirk,” he cajoled. “I want you to visit me!”

“How?” Dirk groaned. “How the fuck am I supposed to visit you here? I’m not a mage!”

“Every year on Midsummer’s Eve, I will open the portal for you, Dirk. We will see each other every year!”

Hanging his head, Dirk felt his ears droop so far they flopped against his neck. “Don’t do this to me, Dil!” he begged. “Don’t leave me!”

“Hey,” Dil murmured, leaning in so that his lips were pressed against Dirk’s furry ear, “I’m not leaving you. I will always be near you. You and I are bound together. Forever. Remember the brand? It’s my tie to you.” 

When Dirk moaned pathetically in response, the boy reached over and took his chin in his hand and turned Dirk’s face toward his own. His eyes shone brightly in the starlight and his face radiated peace and contentment in a way that Dirk couldn’t remember seeing before.

The corner of his mouth lifted as he fixed Dirk with his beautiful, dark eyes, saying, “You are my strong knight, my lovely ass, my dearest love.” He pressed his lips to Dirk’s, gaze sliding over to the twins. A moment later, he pulled back, adding, “Stefan is losing someone, too, Dirk. Karl has to stay here with me.”

Dirk’s tongue stuck in his throat as he made a strangled sound in reply. He shook his head, feeling sad and alone. He loved Dil! How could he leave him now? 

Dil kissed him again, smoothing his hair back from his face, and they hugged for a long time. Finally, Dil drew away, smiling mischievously. “To make parting easier,” he said. “I’ve arranged for a little surprise when you return. Take care of Stefan, Dirk. He needs you.”

***

EPILOGUE

The oak at the crossroads was green and bursting with life again as they rode past it on the way to Lord Amarinth’s estate on Midsummer’s Eve. Dirk regarded the tree with satisfaction, savoring the swallows swooping between its massive boughs. The fog was gone, replaced by tendrils of mist. The setting sun suffused the tree with orange radiance.

Dil did that, Dirk thought proudly. My Dil did that. He felt his heart pound in his chest at the thought of seeing the lad again. I wonder how he’s changed?

Stefan rode silently next to him, lost in his own thoughts. When Dirk glanced over at him, he caught his breath as he took in the youth’s magnificent profile. Over the past year, the boy had grown into a very handsome knight! His body bulged with muscles and confidence oozed out of his pores like a fragrant cologne. No longer a wide-eyed child, his jawline had hardened and his eyes had grown flinty. Yet he still retained a warmth and humor that complemented Dirk’s taciturn nature. The boy caught his appraising look and smiled.

“You look very regal, my King Oberon,” he teased.

Dirk shifted in the saddle, feeling Castor buck under him good naturedly. He reached down and patted the beast’s shoulder. Castor was a good horse and Stefan was a good lover. He smiled to himself, feeling blessed.

Realizing that Stefan was waiting for his reply, he muttered, “Er, well, um, you look, uh, really fuckable, my Queen Titania.”

Stefan leaned forward in the saddle, his long ears slanting keenly forward as he flicked his tasseled tail proudly behind him. “I’m sorry. Fuckable? Did you just say I look fuckable?” he asked, eyes dancing with merriment. “What would Dil say to that?”

“He’d say that I was an ass,” Dirk replied, “And that you are one, too. A sexy ass.”

“Indeed,” Stefan said, urging Lucinda closer until she was side by side with Castor. When he was close enough, he reached over and squeezed Dirk’s hand even as his tail looped through Dirk’s own. They rode like that, hands and tails entwined, for several paces until Castor grew restless and broke into a cantor.

Laughing, Stefan kicked Lucinda into a gallop, thereby instigating a wild chase. The two horses vied for first place, tearing across field and forest and kicking up dust as they passed the caravan of carriages wending their way to the estate. Dirk pulled up on the reins as they neared the gates and they skidded to a halt. It was a draw; the horses had been neck and neck the whole way. He patted Castor, feeling the gelding’s chest heave beneath him and looked over at Stefan. The man was wild-eyed with glee and met Dirk’s gaze with hungry look. Dirk flushed.

Stefan was incredibly fuckable in his black leather harness and cape. Dressed identically to Dirk, the only difference in their costumes was the crowns atop their heads: Stefan’s was pale silver and Dirk’s was pure gold. The young knight’s firm, muscular body strained against the harness even as his prominent bulge strained against the studded leather cup of his undergarment. His bare rump jutted prominently behind him, the saddle causing his arse cheeks to flare out. Winking at Dirk, the boy pulled his cape aside and lifted his tail, puckering and unpuckering the protruding ring of his anus teasingly. Dirk moaned and reached down to adjust his cup, feeling his donkey cock come to life.

Unlike Dirk, Stefan had embraced his donkey-ness, strutting around like he’d been born with shiny black hooves and oddly recurved legs. He didn’t care if people stared and paid no attention to the catcalls and ribbing the two knights received everywhere they went. Curiously unburdened by modesty, he’d delighted in the huge tool dangling between his furry legs, taking every opportunity to display it to Dirk…and anyone else who cared to look. The two had engaged in torrid lovemaking sessions in the most unusual places but, given their druthers, preferred to fuck in the stall of a stable, braying out at the top of their lungs as their horses looked on. Afterward, they would munch clover contentedly together in the pasture, savoring an idyllic postcoital bliss.

“Come now, lad!” Dirk chided, shaking his head to clear it of the prurient thoughts that Stefan’s lewd behavior inspired. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later. We have a party to attend!”

Stefan frowned but duly dismounted, pausing before Dirk to offer up his hand. Dirk inclined his head before taking it and jumping down. The boy startled him by slapping him on the bum as he straightened, muttering, “Your arse is mine later tonight, my king. I’ll fight Dil for it.”

Dirk laughed and the two engaged in a brief bout of wrestling that ended with Stefan’s delicious tongue lodged in Dirk’s mouth. The boy pushed him against a nearby trellis and kissed him passionately, oblivious to the fact that they had an audience. When the herald at the front gate cleared his throat., they straightened, smoothing their capes and swishing their tails self-consciously. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the herald announced in a ringing voice, “may I present the guests of honor, King Oberon and Queen Titania!”

Dirk and Stefan squared their shoulders and walked through the wide front gate that was festooned with garlands of greenery and flowers. Wild cheering…and a passel of young men dressed provocatively in gauzy faery costumes…greeted them as they entered. Stefan squeezed his hand and was about to say something when glitter rained down from the trees above and the faery lads accosted them. 

Unrestrained debauchery followed as Dirk’s costume was ripped from his body and several dozen hungry mouths fought for possession of his member. Before he knew it, his donkey cock was liberated from its hairy sheath and he was treated to a succession of lips and tongues lapping and teasing him to a volcanic climax in which he spewed fragrant gallons of seed, drenching himself and his lovers. Even after a year as an ass, he was still amazed by the sheer volume of jizz that erupted from his cock when he orgasmed.

Panting and sticky, he glanced over and was graced with a view of Stefan from behind as he bucked wildly, treating some lucky man to the ride of his life. He didn’t have long to appreciate the scene, though. A young lad with a wreath in his hair lay down next to him and poured wine in his mouth before leaning over to kiss him. Dirk rolled on top of him and they writhed together, bodies moving in time with the beat of a drum. Music, at once carnal and sublime, wafted through the sparkling night air and Dirk sighed with contentment. Could life get any better than this?

***

After several drunken liaisons, Dirk and Stefan found themselves at the high table in the back of Lord Amarinth’s garden. Someone had gathered up the pieces of their costumes and they were more or less presentably dressed again. Stefan gave Dirk a wry look as he held his chair out for him to sit down.

“I’ll never tire of watching you fuck,” he murmured, causing Dirk’s ears flick backward and his cheeks to color.

“And I–” Dirk started to reply when he was interrupted by a shrill voice beside them.

“DIRKY!!! Oh. My. Gawd. You look fabulous!”

He swiveled to see a nearly naked youth propelling himself across the table. In a moment, the lad was wrapping his thin arms around him, murmuring delightedly. Dirk looked down at him askance before giving Stefan a questioningly look. The knight shrugged. Finally after some moments, the boy pulled away to fix him with adoring stare and Dirk’s mouth fell open.

“Reggie? Is that you?”

The boy nodded, smiling widely. Dirk had to reach out and steady himself against the table. Reggie was unrecognizable. The ‘boy’ staring up at him was barely five feet tall and looked like he couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen years old…and that was being generous. He was not just short; he was tiny with skinny arms, a narrow chest, and stick-like legs. Dirk looked down and flushed when he realized the mage wasn’t just nearly naked, he was completely naked, being adorned only in body paint and glitter. His hairless nub of a penis stuck out fully erect at all of two inches. The boy’s testicles were pea-sized lumps in his shriveled nutsac.  

There was more.

Dirk’s mind spun as he tried to reconcile this little sexed-up, prancing kitten with the man that Reggie used to be. The muscular and manly battle mage with an oversized cock, plentiful body hair, and chiseled features had completely disappeared. Reggie’s cherry-red lips were inflated into puffy pillows and his long eyelashes would have rivaled the most sultry girl’s. His torso tapered down to a narrow waist before widening into voluptuous hips. He giggled as he caught Dirk staring and spun around to shake the fullest bubble butt imaginable. 

It was beyond obscene.

In reality, everything about the transformed Reggie was obscene. His features were exaggerated to such a drastic extent that, rather than being attractive, he elicited a profane sort of revulsion in Dirk and he had to close his eyes to regain his composure. 

Dirk exchanged glances with Stefan before sputtering, “Reggie, you look–”

“Tut, tut!” a familiar voice called out, interrupting him. “Reggie, my love, don’t be a nuisance!”

Dirk looked up Lord Amarinth decked out in bejeweled gown of shimmering scarlet silk and taffeta. ‘She’ wore a high, starched collar with a lacy frill that tickled against the pendulous hoops dangling from her ears. Her wig was a towering multi-tiered cake, dripping with real frosting and more sugary ornaments than Dirk’s overwhelmed eyes could take in. In one hand, she held a fan and, in the other, a diamond-encrusted scepter.

“Queen Mother,” Dirk breathed, doing obeisance before the costumed mage. Amarinth cackled with delight, reaching down to lay her scepter across Dirk’s shoulders. Reggie clapped his hands together and Dirk noticed that he was missing the fingers on one hand, evidence of Karl’s fateful sword cut a year ago. The boy dodged over to Amarinth, gathering up the hem of her dress and wrapping it around himself.

“My king,” the dowager queen replied, inclining her head slightly so not to dislodge the precarious wig. “Ever so charmed.” She turned to Stefan who was kneeling before her, accepting his offered hand. She pulled the knight to his feet, surveying him and Dirk with approval. “A most handsome pair of asses, if I do say so myself,” she murmured. “I am so proud of you.”

Dirk and Stefan ducked their heads, allowing the dowager queen to lead them to their chairs. After they had taken their seats, she joined them, a pair of attendants minding the voluminous folds of her gown. Reggie hopped up on her lap and commenced stuffing his face with pastries as she looked on indulgently.

“Isn’t he a dear?” she asked, patting the youth on the head. “A true delight!”

Dirk shuddered at the sight of the tricked-out boy, remembering the horror he had perpetrated on Karl, Dil, and Caleb. “I don’t know how you can get down in the gutter with that filth,” he said disgustedly. “Boudicca should have killed him.”

Amarinth’s smile didn’t falter as she continued to watch Reggie fondly. “My dear ass,” she tsked, “we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” She forestalled any further protests by placing a heavily ringed hand on Dirk’s, saying, “But no matter. You didn’t come all this way to disparage my dear Reggie, did you? I believe you’re here for a much more important reason, no?” Amarinth looked beyond Dirk as she finished speaking. The queen was already turning, gaze fixed behind Dirk, raising a hand and motioning.

Dirk turned and felt his heart skip a beat as Dil detached himself from the crowd, resplendent in a tunic of forest green and wearing the broadest and happiest smile on his handsome face. Dirk staggered to his feet, hooves getting tangled in the legs of his chair as he did so. He would have fallen if Stefan hadn’t caught his arm and steadied him. Time seemed to stand still as Dirk lifted his face heavenward in silent thanks to God for returning his beloved to him. 

The sky, he noticed, was filled with stars.

***