TO THE VICTOR

Salome Wilde

His entrance was so warm and welcoming that I feared I would spill my seed before I’d even begun to claim my prize. The moon shone over his exposed flesh, and I reveled in the vision of his firm ass and muscled thighs. I gritted my teeth and fought for self-control as he urged me on with low grunts and arched his massive back to meet my every thrust. All but the pleasure of our bodies united as one fled from my mind, even the risk that we might be caught, out in the open of the village square in the late hours of a cold night.

But I hasten too quickly toward my tale’s conclusion. Let me begin again…

The defeat of the tyrant Valushkin should have been my greatest triumph. His downfall was deemed impossible by all but fools and perhaps those few of my intimate acquaintance who knew the bottomless depth of my determination. His army was the mightiest ever assembled in our lands, governed by his indomitable will, his prowess as a leader and the ferocity of his troops. From such power came Valushkin’s iron rule over the kingdom, reflected in a vast, towering castle that overlooked villages and farms populated by a cowed peasantry.

I knew this world intimately, witnessed the warlord’s methods firsthand. As the bastard son of a lowly palace guard and a village whore, I was raised in the dirt and quickly learned to steal and cheat, knowing nothing would be given to me in this life unless I took it for myself. I grew to quiet strength and more than average intelligence in the shadow of Valushkin’s ruthless magnificence. Had I brawn but little brain, I would no doubt have made a meager existence as a blacksmith’s apprentice or a conscripted soldier, to have my blood spilled in my first taste of battle. But fate turned otherwise.

My keen and ambitious mind first led me to the forest, where I joined a band of local rebels. I eagerly accepted the role of errand boy, lookout and bed warmer. Passed from man to man, I learned fighting and stealth by day and honest lust by night. Within a few short years, as I grew to rough-hewn manhood, I earned the trust of my fellows and increased our numbers. My skills in strategy and a taste for combat were matched only by my generous sexual appetites. Soon, the men made me their leader, and we began together the daunting efforts of building an army strong enough to defeat Valushkin.

Knowing our numbers insufficient, I advised that we turn to the warring steppe tribes. In time, and utilizing my glib tongue and swift sword, I brought them to our shared cause against the common enemy. Together, we swept in upon Valushkin’s men on half a dozen fronts, shooting a thousand arrows from horseback at every pass. Before long, we had Valushkin’s army in confusion and disarray. Defeat came at the steps of his very castle, where I challenged him to single combat. Heart racing and blood surging, we fought. Wills and blades of equal might clashed. After an exhausting and bloody hour, the generous fates favored me. I could scarcely believe that I’d bested him, and that my efforts had succeeded against all odds. Yet, it somehow also seemed inevitable. To wild cheers and howling cries, I held my bloody sword aloft in triumph as Valushkin was taken away in chains.

Some of the tyrant’s forces fled. A few surrendered. Many, however, joined me, eager to serve a less tyrannical master. These men helped us to open the castle coffers and food stores to share all with the peasants who had been kept in poverty and mindless submission for too long. Wrongly held prisoners were released and slaves were freed. My name was heralded, and I gloried in it. My army and I had faced the greatest of challenges and won. I could not have known then that, for me, the true contest had yet to begin.

Valushkin, meanwhile, was put on public display, bound in heavy chain and staked to a post in the village square. The great and hated warlord would spend his final hours among the people whose lives he had held in his cold, merciless hands. They could watch as he froze to death or died of dehydration, left thereafter as food for the ravens.

Thoughts of this slow, ignominious death at first filled me with pleasure, drunk as I was with power. I gorged myself on food and flesh like the hero I was, and slept like a babe. On the third night, however, I found I could not rest. I was agitated and discontented, and therefore attempted to distract myself with the body of a wild, tattooed tribesman whose name I could not pronounce, then strove to drink myself into unconsciousness. My efforts, however, failed. I told myself I was merely anxious at the likelihood of dreams filled with images of death, of the slaughter of the many men who had died in my service. The truth, though, was far more selfish and more terrible. For I dreaded facing a sleeping echo of the moment Valushkin had met me at the palace gates, when I had finally faced him and beheld his enthralling, savage allure.

There was such frozen fierceness in those narrow, ice-blue eyes. A barbaric perfection burned in his bronzed, weather beaten complexion. I marveled at the curl of his lip within his bearded jaw, his visage surrounded by a wild mane of blue-black hair. He wore no crown, but needed none to manifest his might. Then came his low, snarled consent to combat: the voice of a beautiful and dangerous animal. Though I had defeated him with sword, I suddenly realized a new battle had begun—within me. Even as I relished the despot’s downfall, I knew myself awed beyond redemption by the man.

In frustration, I cursed his name aloud and heard it ring from the rafters of the great hall, bringing a rousing cheer from the men around me, who misunderstood entirely the meaning behind my cry. I grew feverish, pacing the floor like a tiger as I faced this abhorrent, inescapable truth. Finally, I retreated to a private chamber, where I donned the garb of a common guard and threw a heavy fur across my shoulders. In this way, I managed to escape the castle without notice. I then mounted a sturdy horse not my own and raced toward the village square. The mount’s thudding hoofbeats in the snow were drowned by the hammering of my heart as my breath made streaming clouds against the light of the crescent moon.

As I drew nearer, trepidation assailed me. Though all in the kingdom had been ordered that Valushkin remain unmolested, there was still the possibility that I would find him mutilated, sans toes or fingers taken for souvenirs, even castrated. I winced at the thought and hastened on.

At last, I reached my goal, to find Valushkin slumped against the stake. As I dismounted, a cold wind ripped through me. I shuddered, but the hulking form before me did not move. I wondered whether I was too late. Or perhaps he only slept. I approached him carefully, as I would an injured bear. When I was close enough to breathe in the scent of dried blood and a headier personal musk, his eyes suddenly opened and I was captured by the flash of his ice-and-steel gaze.

“Valushkin,” I hissed.

He straightened his back, eyes locked on mine.

“Are you enjoying my hospitality?” I mocked.

He merely sneered.

“Answer me,” I demanded.

I watched his chapped lips stretch into a derisive grin, his beard flecked with frost. My hands balled into fists in response and I brought my arm up to swing. The arrogant monster! But I stopped myself. The target was too easy. I was the victor, and we both knew it. I turned away, feeling foolish. What was I doing here? I hadn’t come to gloat. And if I’d come only to see the face of my terrible, beautiful enemy once more, now I had done so. I longed for wine and the comfort of a roaring fire. I strode back toward my horse, stiff with pride.

Above the crunch of the snow, I heard Valushkin’s laugh.

Spinning on my heel, I was certain I would strike the arrogant beast. Before I reached him, however, he spoke.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he announced, his voice the low rumble of thunder.

I was struck dumb by the words and the way his eyes lit as they held me once more in their power. How could I answer? I had betrayed my own weakness by seeking out my fallen enemy and taunting him purposelessly. Though I had not come for the reason he obviously suspected, there was no sensible explanation for my presence. I stood, mute and lost.

“I unlocked these chains the first night,” Valushkin continued as he held up his freed hands. “One of the villagers—curse all their selfish, ignorant souls—was kind enough to throw a chicken bone at me.”

“Then why—”

“Am I still here?” he concluded for me. “As I said, I’ve been waiting for you.”

I swallowed hard as Valushkin untangled himself from the heavy lengths of iron and came to stand before me. He did not exactly tower over me, but somehow he looked as if he had grown even more massive since our battle. At the very least, he seemed not the slightest bit weaker for his three days without food, drink or furs against the cold. I would not have been surprised had he unsheathed a hidden dagger and slain me on the spot. But this was not his plan.

A heavy arm fell across my shoulders. “Come,” he said with amusement, kicking links of chain out of his way and guiding me to sit beside him against the low stone wall that surrounded the stake. “Let us talk, man to man.”

Despite myself, I felt a thrill at my core. I tried to muster outrage or simple resistance, but failed. And still I did not speak.

“It was good to defeat me, wasn’t it, my young vanquisher?”

Certainly it was. The most important day of my life, in fact. And I could see in his countenance that his question was genuine. How many had he himself defeated with zeal, over many years? I stared at a silver scar across his brow, wondering how many more like it covered his body. “Yes,” I exhaled, hearing the arousal in my own voice too clearly.

“Yet your desire for me confuses you.”

I nodded, even as I was disconcerted by the way he so easily pulled the truth from me, like the removal of a sliver.

“Do not let it,” he advised with a grin. “There are times to think and times to act. You took my power with one sword, and now you wish to take me bodily with another.” His eyes glittered as he glanced at the hardness growing between my legs. “It is as simple as that.”

“Simple,” I echoed, both question and answer, and, before I could say more, my mighty nemesis took my broad face in his huge hands and kissed me with the force of an avalanche. I felt the calluses on his palms and the thickness of his beard against my own. His wind-cracked lips parted, giving way to a warm and generous tongue. I feasted. And when he pulled away, we were both breathless.

“There is one condition to my surrender,” Valushkin huffed.

“Afterward, you must let me tell you a story.”

Lust-addled, I agreed without understanding. Then I watched as the mountain of a man began to unfasten his leathers. It was exactly the sight I anticipated: hairy, muscular thighs and a thick thatch surrounding a huge, rigid shaft. My fingers itched to touch it, and Valushkin chuckled as I tentatively reached out.

“Go on,” he encouraged, leaning over to release my own straining member into his mighty grip.

Together, we knelt in the cold, the stars our only witnesses as we stroked each other with single-minded resolve, gazes locked to feed on the desire reflected in the other’s eyes.

“I’ve been too rarely touched by a worthy opponent,” Valushkin muttered, his voice thick.

I groaned. “I have rarely desired an opponent so greatly.”

At that, he withdrew himself from my grasp and bent before me to take my heavy meat into his mouth. Such an act was not an inclination I often gave way to, either in the giving or the receiving. But the sight of his shaggy head at my groin, accompanied by the warm wetness of his tongue, roused me further. Soon enough, I realized its purpose. With neither oil nor tallow available, Valushkin was providing what little lubrication he could for himself. Rugged and ruthless he might be, but it was his hole that would be plundered.

After a short time, he pulled off, and I held myself firmly while he turned onto his hands and knees, leathers at his ankles. It is no exaggeration to say that I had never beheld so enticing a view. And I was ready and willing to take advantage of it. As I knelt, parted his cheeks and spit generously, he craned his neck to glance back at me. Those penetrating eyes, narrowed with need, bored into me just as surely as I would bore into that waiting orifice.

“Take me,” he commanded.

I thrust home. When I began to withdraw, my foe and lover responded by tightening his muscles against me, so I had to fight to claim him fully. Our union was little different from our combat, though less bloody and far more brief than I wanted. Though I longed to give him the best shafting he had ever taken, my desire overwhelmed my ambitions. After only moments of riding him hard and fast, I reached the precipice. Balls deep, fingers clutching his brawny backside, I sprayed my seed into him with unrivaled force.

Soon thereafter, I withdrew and sat back on my heels. Valushkin hiked his leathers and came to sit beside me. He reached for the fur that had fallen from my shoulders and wrapped us both within it. I breathed heavily, as did Valushkin. Placing a hand on his cock, I found him thick but soft. Glancing beside us where he had knelt, I saw the small pool of his own release and was pleased.

“Now,” he said, roughly brushing my matted hair from my brow, “it is time I tell you the truth about the nature of victory.”

I nodded blearily, relaxed despite the cold and our vulnerable position. Were I caught with Valushkin on all fours, I might have explained it away as my due—the spoils of war. But there would be no answer for sitting in my enemy’s arms as he shared a bedtime story.

“Like you,” he began, “I was born into poverty, deprived of opportunity by circumstance. Quick of mind and great of stature, I easily assembled a band of rebels that grew, along with my reputation, as I fought for control of other groups of resisters and outlaws. Eventually, we defeated the warlord’s troops.” He paused to rub his throat before taking a clump of snow from the little wall and dissolving it in his mouth with relish. I regretted not having brought my leather flask and followed suit.

He continued. “The structure of such a tale is common, you are no doubt aware, even as the details vary. In my case, the lord against whom I campaigned was haply both loathed and loathsome—having suffered some debilitating, disfiguring ailment given to him, it was said, by his foreign-born wife. I made use of his weakness by demanding single combat, and easily bested him.”

I listened with astonishment. I had not known there were any similarities between Valushkin and me. I’d always been told he’d been a spoiled youth, willful and barbaric. I heard more than once that he had sold his soul for power to some unnamed demon, though I did not truly credit it. Before I could consider the parallels between us further, Valushkin went on in a different tone, a faraway glow now in his eyes.

“I was overjoyed to have won freedom for the land I loved. I vowed to be a beneficent ruler, just and fair. My army of rebels would stay strong and honorable, like the noble cause that had united us.”

“Yes,” I breathed, “just so.” I felt my own heart and hopes laid bare in Valushkin’s words.

He frowned and pulled away to face me, brow furrowed. “How long do you think it was before my own lieutenants became greedy and corrupt? How long until the villagers fell back into their petty squabbles? Until warrior tribes demanded a return to the lifestyle they knew, stealing crops and women as they had since time immemorial? How few years thereafter before new bands of rebels began to form in the woods, aiming to bring down the ruler that had become a despot to keep some semblance of peace in his kingdom?” He stroked my cheek, tenderly. “And how long before I faced a reflection of my younger self in you?”

I was shocked, outraged. This could not be true. It was some trickery, a calculated plot by a ruthless madman to wean both the strength from my body and the sureness from my mind. “You will not reclaim the throne, Valushkin!” I spat. I rose to my feet. “I swear my life upon it.” My heart pounded in my chest and I cursed myself for not lacking wit enough to have a sword at my side.

Valushkin looked up at me and gave a hearty and derisive laugh. “You idiot,” he replied with a snort. “I don’t want to reclaim it!” Rising beside me, he added, “Keep the rotten kingdom, O Mighty Conqueror, and may it give you as much misery as it gave me!”

Once again, Valushkin reduced me to silence. I stood, frozen to the spot, my thoughts racing. What if all he said was true? I recalled the frequent brawls among the tribesmen and the callous talk of riches and privilege among my deputies. I quickly faced the truth that it would not be long before I was as hated as Valushkin himself.

Valushkin had turned and began walking from the square.

“Where are you going?” I called after him, as loudly as I dared.

He turned back. “To exile myself—unless you have means to kill me?”

“I could summon aid,” I said, without conviction.

“So you could,” he answered, and smiled. The brightness of his eyes and his strong, white teeth were a beacon.

“My horse can carry two,” I offered.

“Indeed it can,” he agreed.

So we rode, far into the night and as far as we could get from the civilized world of soured causes and heroic tyrants, to claim together the spoils of freedom.