The Gauntlet Thrown - Lord Bent's Manor Vol. 2
Copyright© 2025 by Commissum
Chapter 14
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 14 - The second novel in the world of Lord Peter Bentencourt, an earth born magic user now living on the magical world of Kreven. Volume two continues after the events of the first novel, Fire and Ice. Beware, the ethics of Kreven are unlike those of Earth. Also, book one has a map of the Mirror Lake region.
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mind Control Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Magic non-anthro DomSub Spanking Group Sex Cream Pie Masturbation Oral Sex Pregnancy Squirting Hairy Size
Peter slipped into the courtyard, still trailing the slowly moving horse. Trance paused often as if surveying the carnage, giving him ample time to keep pace. Two corpses lay fallen amid copious blood halfway to the stone prison structure. There, three guards with pikes stood outside the barred gate. They were facing the gate which suggested the other troll remained inside. The absence of roaring hinted it might have calmed down.
One of the guards at the prison was a dwarf Peter suspected might be Talgot, also from icy Anodyne Keep. The dwarf still wore an Order sergeant’s uniform top, though stripped of all rank insignia. Peter wondered if, after the dragon debacle, everyone stationed at Anodyne Keep had been sacked. Sala had taken them on—perhaps as a kindness, or more likely to keep them and their knowledge of those events close.
Peter crept past one of the corpses and noticed it also wore a rank-stripped Order uniform. He lingered long enough to confirm it was Corporal Cutter, the Kreven-human corporal they’d met at Anodyne Keep. Hopefully, the man’s dismissal orders hadn’t yet navigated through the Order’s bureaucracy.
If they’d gotten delayed, there was a chance the resurrection witches might already be working to restore the corporal. And, if they later learned he was no longer in the Order, the process would be allowed to continue, since the resources and magic would have already been expended. Of course, the restored man would owe another lifetime of service to the Order, but that sure beat the alternative. Peter had heard of stranger mishaps happening in the past, and hoped this might be the case for Cutter.
The carnage hadn’t spared Sala’s manor house. Peter approached the stone steps to the main entry and saw the door had been forced from its frame when the boar troll made its escape. The death wizard Trance had warned him about was nowhere outside. If Peter had to guess, with the courtyard now largely empty of Sala’s guards and servants, the wizard had gone inside to investigate the aftermath of the troll’s escape.
Peter freshened the cloak’s invisibility effect as he crept catlike up the stone steps, weaving back and forth across the wide staircase to avoid scattered pools of blood. At the wreckage of the main door, he stood for a moment, listening to the happenings inside. He caught a distant conversation which sounded like arguing.
He managed to slip through the doorway without stepping in blood or disturbing wooden debris. Inside, he crept along the main passage, hugging one wall in case someone came along moving quickly. At the entry to the small sitting room, he paused to listen. The argument echoed from deeper within the manor, from the wing housing the Mohennial’s private study. He was about to move on when a deep gasp from the sitting room stopped him.
Peter opted to investigate before moving on and slipped quietly into the sitting room. The floor lay strewn with broken furniture; evidence the boar troll had spent some time in the room venting its rage. He found the source of the noise in the corner—an injured servant girl—lying in a pool of blood. Her arm was gone, and her attempt to stanching the bleeding with her apron had failed. As he watched, her chest ceased rising, and he realized the gasp he’d heard had been her final breath.
Elsewhere in the manor, the arguing voices abruptly fell silent. Peter crept back to the room’s entry and listened. Sure enough, heavy footsteps soon echoed toward him. It was likely the death wizard returning to his post at the manor’s entry.
Most death wizards could sense nearby magic, so Peter focused on minimizing his magical emanations as much as possible. He hoped the shadow he crouched in, combined with the wizard’s carelessness in not checking each room he passed, would conceal him even with his invisibility spell not fully active.
The death wizard stalked swiftly past the parlor without glancing inside. Peter heard the man muttering angrily to himself, confirming the wizard’s gender. He missed seeing the wizard’s face but noted the man’s towering height. Peter waited until the death wizard had exited the manor and then fully reactivated his invisibility spell. He took a few quick, full breaths to steady his thumping heart and slipped back into the main corridor.
Halfway to the Mohennial’s private study, Peter faced a second fright. As he crossed the junction of the hall leading to the dining wing, a terrified servant suddenly bolted from the kitchen. The woman was carrying a large pot of boiling water towards the main stairs. Peter dodged quickly and avoided a collision but only by inches.
Peter reached the end of the corridor and cautiously peeked around the corner into the alcove before Sala’s study. The ornate door to her study stood closed, and beside it, an older female death wizard sat in an upholstered chair. The woman was leaning forward with her chin on her hands, yet clearly still alert. Peter eased his head back around the corner and gauged the distance to the wizard as sufficient to maintain his full invisibility.
‘What now?’ Peter wondered. Should he attempt a distraction to lure the death wizard from her post? Her chair faced the hallway entry he currently hid behind, leaving no practical way to sneak close enough to slip past without her sensing his magic—or to open the door and dart inside before she could react. He’d have to resort to a more-direct assault.
Peter silently drew the quicksleep potion from his cloak’s front pocket. He clasped it in both palms, invoking the counterspell to its strengthening charm and rendering the glass fragile. The spell was tricky. While he held it in his hand, the glass stayed ordinary; once tossed, though, it turned ultra-brittle—so brittle he couldn’t even set it down without shattering it.
Peter readied himself to toss the bottle around the corner. He mentally reviewed the brief glimpse he’d gotten of the death wizard’s sitting position, then visualized the motions and angle needed to impact the bottle directly on her face, or if not, at least her upper torso. Shaking his head again at the danger he faced, he recalled how death wizards could kill in seconds with their unique magic. Even worse, they could trap his essence in his corpse, rendering resurrection spells useless. If he failed here, Peter might die a true death.
Peter flicked his hand out and around, hurling the primed bottle toward the death wizard. A crash sounded as it struck either her or the wall behind. If she had spotted the oncoming projectile and ducked, hopefully she’d turned to look. Peter drew a deep breath and held it. The now-aerosolized quicksleep potion would linger for about thirty seconds.
Peter heard the chair scrape back as the death wizard struggled to rise. He swiftly retreated from the alcove, widening the gap between himself and any potential rush. Three deep gasps followed as the death wizard fought to breathe. The potion triggered a potent sensation of breathlessness, drawing the substance deep into the target’s lungs. Moments later, a thud signaled the wizard’s collapse to the floor, confirming the potion’s success.
Peter waited nearly a full minute, staying still and silent as he listened for signs of the death wizard stirring or anyone beyond the Mohennial’s closed study door approaching. Hearing neither and certain the airborne potion had finally dissipated; he crept forward into the alcove.
The death wizard lay twisted on the floor before her chair. The potion had worked and Peter knelt beside her, confirming she was fully unconscious. Estimating her weight, he calculated she would regain consciousness in five to seven minutes.
After assessing once more the closed and possibly locked study door he had yet to negotiate, Peter realized five minutes wouldn’t suffice. From a secure pocket in his cloak, he drew one of his special glass syringes and examined the milky venom within. He hesitated briefly, but understanding the task had to be done, he carefully pried off the hardened resin cap shielding the needle’s tip
Peter then positioned the death wizard’s head to expose her neck and swiftly plunged the needle into her carotid artery. He pushed the wooden plunger, injecting a quadruple dose of plant venom into her bloodstream. The woman’s body began to spasm as the venom began to wreak havoc upon her higher brain functions. He had to smoother her body with his own to keep her tremors from becoming audible. Over the next thirty seconds, the spasms subsided, and she went limp.
Now, when the death wizard awoke from the quicksleep, she’d no longer be a functioning human. Though he hadn’t killed her outright, she was, for all intents and purposes, as good as dead. No one had ever recovered from such a venom overdose, and he doubted the Order would tend to an imbecile. Worse still, if she were killed outright and resurrected, she’d return without memories, forced to relearn everything.
Peter silently slid off the mind-ruined death wizard’s body and eased her comatose form deeper into the corner, minimizing her visibility to anyone approaching down the long corridor. He then crept to the ornate door and pressed his ear against the wood. No voices or loud noises emanated from within the study, though the door’s thickness didn’t preclude occupants being inside.
Peter drew his focus wand, bracing himself for a more aggressive confrontation. He gently turned the brass doorknob and, finding it unlocked, kept twisting until he felt the soft ‘thunk’ of the latch disconnecting from the door jamb. Praying Sala despised squeaky hinges, he eased the heavy door open an inch, pausing there to steady his pounding heart and to listen closely at the opening.
No voices emanated from within the study, but after a moment’s listening, Peter caught the sound of rapid, heavy breathing. It resembled an animal’s panting—or perhaps quick, grunting inhalations—with an odd rhythm which he soon realized might be coming from multiple sources. He eased the door open a few more inches to where he could begin to see into the study.
Peter could see just one side of the room. Two heavy side chairs were in view with one occupied by a large figure—an older man slumped as if asleep or dazed. Enough of his face showed for Peter to spot the deep scar running from eye to chin. Recognizing that scar, he identified the man as Gorath, Mohennial Sala’s seneschal, either dead or unconscious.
Peter eased the door open further until the gap was wide enough for his cloaked head. He concentrated on the spell work maintaining his invisibility and brought it to its highest state, feeling his life force ebb as the cloak drew more from his reserves. Every so slowly, he edged his head through the opening. His imagination turned traitor, conjuring an alert death wizard poised behind the door—ready to slam it shut on his neck or, worse, sever his head with an arcane blade.
But fortunately, his neck remained unchopped, and he was able to gradually see more of the room as he moved forward. Towards the center another occupant came into view standing just in front of the Mohennial’s desk. As the figure’s head came into view, Peter realized it was Sala herself.
Her face was twisted into a near grimace and her dazed, bulging eyes were fixed on someone—or something—standing just outside Peter’s view. The Mohennial was the source of noises he had heard as she was gasping in quick breaths through her open mouth. Blood streamed from her nose, staining the front of her robe with a vivid splash. As Peter advanced, he observed Sala’s arms were outstretched toward an unseen target. She seemed to be straining, clearly locked in a mental struggle with someone.
Peter slipped fully through the gap, easing the door wider to reveal the entire study. Mohennial Sala’s adversary gradually came into view. Her fingers were interlocked with the outstretched fingers of another figure still beyond sight. Judging by the size of those hands, it was likely a larger man. Then the man’s face emerged, and Peter instantly recognized Sala’s foe as Lord Thulgrim, or as he was commonly referred to by others, the Reaper!
Thulgrim, an old and formidable Mohennial like Sala, bore an even darker reputation. He too stood rigid; eyes locked on hers in a mirror of her stance. Though wary like her, he appeared more vigorous, his hawk nose unmarred by blood. The two were clearly locked in a mental duel, and their weary expressions suggested a prolonged struggle. Thulgrim seemed to be prevailing as his wore a near-feral grin, teeth clenched with effort yet reveling in his dominance.
Peter spotted a third pair of hands gripping Thulgrim’s head from behind, signaling at least four people were in the study. Seeing this figure would require fully exposing his head beyond the door so Peter mentally confirmed his invisibility field remained at peak strength. Edging forward, Peter saw an older regal looking woman he didn’t recognize.
She was clearly powerful as she wore an amulet of power—a rare Higher Order artifact—around her neck. Crafted from charged electrum, the amulet bolstered the wearer’s life force reserves. And from how the woman was holding the Reaper’s head, Peter deduced she’d linked herself to Thulgrim and was adding her augmented power to his. Sala was in an uneven mental battle against two very powerful magic uses, one of which possessed artificially augmented reserves! No wonder the Mohennial had lost mental control of her boar troll bodyguards!
Peter saw the augmented woman wasn’t mentally locked in combat like Thulgrim and Sala. She shifted from foot to foot, silently mouthing incantations. Then, to his horror, she abruptly turned toward the half-open door and frowned. His heart pounded as he froze, holding his breath. She stared right at him! For a long tense moment, neither Peter nor the frowning woman stirred further.”
Finally, after many seconds, the woman called out. “Margol! Why have you opened the door?” There was a pause as the woman listened for a response. She called out again more loudly, “Wizard Margol! What’s happening?”
Peter realized he was moments from being caught! He weighed retreating through the open doorway to flee or risking entry into the study. The woman’s power clearly enabled her to sense his magical aura, though perhaps not from her current spot across the room. If she drew closer to investigate, she’d surely detect him unless he acted first. And, her senses may have been dulled because she was currently channeling all her free energy into Thulgrim to aid his mental battle against the Mohennial.
Peter decided to risk all and eased away from the door and into the study. He sidestepped, crouching low, towards where Seneschal Gorath sat slumped in the chair. As he moved, he kept his eyes on the woman, praying he did not trip or bump into something. To his immense relief, her frowning gaze stayed locked on the doorway—she hadn’t noticed him yet!
“Margol! Report!” the woman called out even louder, her expression looking annoyed. Peter tracked her eyes which alternated between the open door and the two powerful mohennial’s battling in front of her. He knew the woman was debating between leaving Thulgrim on his own and going to investigate the door, or remaining where she was and continuing to funnel magic to the man.
Peter steeled himself for either outcome. Should she move to investigate the door, he’d need to quickly rush her before she detected his invisibility. Her magic would take a moment to recover after severing her link from the Reaper, giving him the brief window to strike.