The Knight and the Acolyte Book 3, Chapter 1: The Simulacrum's Orders - Sex Stories

The Knight and the Acolyte Book 3, Chapter 1: The Simulacrum's Orders

The Knight and the Acolyte

Book Three: Barbaric Splendor

Chapter One: The Simulacrum's Orders

By mypenname3000

Copyright 2016

Note: Thanks to B0b for beta reading this.

Thrak – Red Eye Tribal Lands, Larg Federation

The wind was cold. I barely felt it rippling across my scarred, red-brown skin. My greataxe lay across my lap, the twin, crescent blades glinting in the light. I stared at my wife's grave. A year and I could still hear her sweet laughter and see her lithe, human figure. Nine years she had been my wife, living in the tribal lands, adopting to our culture.

She made a better orc wife than many women of my tribe.

“The tribe is moving on,” Bruk said from behind me.

I did not answer my brother. He led the Red Eyes now. I had lost the tribes leadership when I let our rivals, the Ghost Wolves, kidnap, rape, and murder my wife. No orc who couldn't protect his woman could protect the tribe. I could have fought the change in leadership, but everything had been ash then.

It still was.

My younger brother led the tribe. He was a fine leader, I suppose. I barely paid any attention. The last year was a fog. Serisia was gone. What was the point?

“Thrak?” Bruk growled. He grabbed my shoulders and turned me. I didn't fight. His swarthy face loomed over me. His eyes were a lighter shade of red than mine, blood-red to my dark crimson. His hair was cut short and thickly curled into a woolly mass. Bone ear spreaders and a nose plug made his face even fiercer. “When will you stop weeping over that human whore?”

A snarl escaped my lips. The rage burned inside me. I grabbed my brother’s hand and threw it off. I rose, my greataxe gripped in one hand, the muscles of my body rippling. I was taller than my brother, bigger, the largest orc of the Red Eye Tribe. My brother stared at me with defiance, goading me.

Did he want me to rage?

The last time I had, thirty Ghost Wolves died—men, women, children. They had despoiled and murdered my sweet Serisia, and I had paid them back thirtyfold. I put the entire camp to death before my rage burned out.

I hated the bloodlust. Every orc boy dreamed of being a berserker, of letting the madness of battle so consume them that they lost all fear. But it wasn't only fear lost in the rage, but compassion. I hated that emptiness. There was a part of me that acutely remembered every moment of every rage and all the countless deaths I had wreaked.

“What do you want, Bruk?” I growled, fighting the darkness. “Speak, before your words give more offense.”

Bruk spat. “We move to the spring pastures. Will you help your people? Or will you continue your pathetic vigil?”

“The tribe does not need me.” Bitterness curdled my words. “You lead them. You protect them. I couldn't protect her. I can't protect the tribe!” My hands tightened on my ax. “Leave, brother, before you awaken me.”

My brother hesitated, his eyes widened. He was no berserker, but he had seen my rages. “Fine. Waste ...