Lord Amplevine's Revenge - Part 1

Lord Amplevine has been dumped, and he sets out to put a curse on his former fiancee! Will he succeed? Probably not, honestly. He’s pretty stupid.

This is a little adventure story with some breast expansion and sex in it! It also contains lactation, an entitled manbaby getting punched in the face, and a woman who asserts her right to maintain control over what happens to her body.



-~o~-

A goblet full of red wine. That had been easy. Lord Amplevine had plenty of wine. It was the family business, after all.

A measure of serpent's venom. That had been harder. The ritual specified "enough to kill", but that was ridiculous, of course. How could he complete it if he was dead? He had consulted an apothecary, the best in the city, and purchased a vial of Lonian lyre snake's venom. It would, he was assured, cause no harm to him even if he drank a whole pint of the stuff.

A knife made of silver. Expensive, but easy. There were a hundred blacksmiths in Branturhem who could make it, and he had provided the silver himself.

And finally, the blood of the petitioner. Hmm...

The glade was still and silent, but for the hoot of a distant owl. Starlight filled it, glimmering off of the small pond in the middle, and making the glass eyes of the statue of Hrungnir gleam. He didn't like the way that those eyes seemed to follow him in the darkness, like the snake was almost alive.

But then, it was alive, wasn't it? In a way. That was the whole point.

He took a deep, quivering breath and held his hand over the goblet, which he had placed on the dais in front of the statue. He pressed the knife lightly against his palm, and for a moment he considered dumping the wine out in the pond and leaving...

But then he thought about her. He thought about how she had packed up all of her things and had them brought back to her father's manor. He thought about the way he had begged and pleaded for her to change her mind, and how she had so cruelly and callously ignored him. He thought about who would come after him. He thought about her in bed, her fat tits bouncing as she rode atop another man...

The knife slid across his hand like it was made of silk. He hardly even winced. Plump little droplets of blood glinted in the starlight, made ripples in the wine. He gently set the knife down, wrapped his hand in the bandage he had brought with him. He picked up the goblet. He drank...

It tasted sweet and bitter and coppery all at once, and he had to fight the urge to spit it out, had to fight to keep swallowing. He had to drink all of it. The ritual was very specific about this. Once he had downed it completely, he set the goblet back down next to the knife and said the words prescribed in the Stornæddersspell:

"Hrungnir! Great Hrungnir! I seek your aid! I have been wronged, and I seek revenge!"

He waited. There was a distant hoo. The statue's eyes gleamed. But nothing happened. The ritual was supposed to have summoned a servant of Hrungnir, or, if he was lucky, the Great Serpent himself. He had, of course, expected to see the snake in person, for after all, he was Lord Amplevine, master of the Royal Vineyards and the third most wealthy man in Branturhem. To not even send a servant... It was an insult. Hrungnir was mocking him.

Incensed, he threw the goblet in the pond. First that cow of a woman had insulted his honor by leaving him, and now this. It was almost too much to bear. He collected the knife (waste of money that it was, he thought that perhaps he could sell it and make back what he spent on it) and began to storm out of the clearing, but he had not even taken two steps when he heard someone speak to him.

"You know, you are supposed to drink enough poison to kill you." It was a woman, and her voice was like a dagger hidden in silk. She was sitting on the dais at the base of the statue, right where the goblet had been just a moment before. He had expected Hrungnir's servant to also be a snake, but she was not lizard-like in the least. Indeed, he would have even call her beautiful. She had curly, blonde hair and a smallish nose, and was rather voluptuous, with wide hips and a full bust covered by a plain, unadorned white dress. She seemed to be completely human, except for her eyes. They were slitted, like a snake's, and the parts of them that weren't black were red as blood. "It's part of the meaningfulness of the ritual. You must be willing to die to achieve your revenge, and then as a reward for your utter devotion the Great Serpent lets you live. But you were prepared to do it. Your dedication is important, you see."

"I am Halvar Yngvesson, Lord Amplevine, and you should count yourself lucky to be in my presence, wench. Now where is the Great Serpent?"

For the briefest of moments she seemed surprised by this. Clearly she had not expected her petitioner to be a man of such high status. It only lasted an instant though- in a blink she was wearing a polite smile. "Well! You must forgive my master's absence, Lord Amplevine, for he is a very busy deity. I assure you, however, that I can assist you in whatever you need, for Hrungnir has granted me a portion of his power. I am his eyes, ears, and hands on this mortal plane."

He scoffed. "Fine. You'll do, I suppose. You're the servant of a god, so you must already know what I want, yes?"

"Even the gods are not omnipotent, my lord." He puffed his chest out a bit when she called him that. Clearly Hrungnir was a god who taught his servants to respect their betters. "You must have attempted this ritual because you want revenge for someone who has wronged you, but you must tell me who, and what form you would like your revenge to take."

"A woman. A slut. She left me, probably already seeing another man, and I want to curse her."

Her smile grew wider. "You sound like you have already thought this out."

"I have, and I know exactly what I want the curse to do."

"You don't like to mince words, I see. That's good. Neither do I." She waved her hand, and all of a sudden there was a wand between her fingers, thin and made of a deep ebony wood. "This will be your curse's vessel. You will point it at her, and say the word 'sting'. The curse will fly from the wand and strike her."

"What? You have the power of a god! Just curse her from here!"

"I'm afraid that I don't make the rules, Lord Amplevine. This is how it must be done."

He glared at her, then he glared at the wand. "Pah! Fine!" He snatched it out of her hand.

"Tell me what you would like the effects of the curse to be. Choose your words very carefully, for I am bound to follow them to the letter."

Ah, now this part, he had been prepared for. He'd spent hours thinking about how exactly to word it so that he could get everything that he wanted. He'd even prepared a script, and it had covered two full pages of his diary before he'd had his epiphany. He'd ripped those pages out, for he didn't need them anymore. The curse that he described to the snake woman was simple, yet complex in its possibilities. It would allow him to have everything that he wanted from her, everything that he deserved, now and forever, and it only took him a few moments to describe it to her.

"A most wonderful curse, my lord," she said when he was finished. "Truly, I have delivered thousands of them, but I have never heard any so delightfully creative. Will that be all?"

"No. That is all that she deserves." He was quite proud of himself, and he swelled with pride at her compliment.

"So it shall be." She touched the tip of the wand with her finger, and it grew warm for a moment. "But my lord, I must warn you..." She leaned in close, and he suddenly found himself unable to look away from her terrible, snake-like eyes. "You only get one shot. Aim well!"

He looked at her, then he looked at the wand. "And what of my payment? There is always a price, and this was exceedingly easy."

She smiled toothily. "Your soul."

"Yes, yes, the spell mentioned that, but what does that mean, exactly?"

"It means that when you die, may that day be a long way away, your spirit will not go to Tarja's Hall, or Aaliye and Shii's Eternal Dream, or the Numinous Peace of the Eight, or the domain of any other god that you have spent your life worshiping. Instead, you will be delivered to Hrungnir. If he deems you worthy and useful you will become his servant, just as I did. If not, he will consume you, and you will spend the rest of eternity inside of his stomach."

"And I will be able to do the things that you do? Appear from nowhere, and bestow curses and whatnot?"

"If you become his servant."

"Of course I will," he scoffed. "I am Lord Amplevine. Only a fool of a god would squander the opportunity to use my unique talents. So I will get my revenge, and after a long and fruitful life with Synne utterly devoted to me I will gain the magic of a god? That is no price at all! I accept your terms, demon!"

"I am not a demon, my lord. Demons lie. I always speak only the truth." She leaned back against the statue, caressing the snake's jaw tenderly, almost sensually. "The Master has heard your words. The contract is sealed. May we meet again, Lord Amplevine." He blinked, and suddenly she was gone, without the slightest trace that she had ever been there in the first place.

Except for the wand. He smiled, tucking it away in his cloak as he left the glade. The statue's eyes gleamed in the starlight...

---

"Well, my lady, it's finally happened."

Synnøva groaned and looked down at Ædde, who was holding a tape measure around her chest. "I've reached fifty inches, haven't I?"

"Fifty exactly."

"Gods and demons, I'm twenty-four years old! Are they going to keep growing until I am an old woman?"

"I have clients whose chests didn't stop until they were well into their thirties. I admit, though, none of them ended up as big as you."

"If they keep up at this pace they will be at my waist in ten years! And they are so heavy! How much more weight will I have to carry around with me everywhere I go?"

"A good brassiere will help with that, although at your size, it will only help so much. Still, I can make one for you, and if you find that it suits you I can make more. Which of your dresses would you like for me to let out for you this time?"

Synnøva sighed and opened up her wardrobe. "The Herzog's Summer Ball is in a week, and I was planning on wearing this one," she tossed a silky white dress at Ædde, who caught it deftly on her arm. "So do it first, please. And then this one. And this one with the lace hems. And these three, you might as well let them out even more than fifty inches just in case the sorcerer can't help and I grow even more. Let's be honest, that will probably happen."

"Sorcerer, my lady?" Ædde was carefully folding the dresses up now and placing them in her bag.

"More of a consultant, really. I have given up on the hope that alchemy or medicine can help me with this problem, so I am hoping that magic will do the trick."

There was a knock at Synnøva's bedroom door. "Enter," she said. It was Bjarna, one of her father’s servant boys. Although, really, he wasn't a boy, being older than Synnøva. He opened the door, then blanched at the sight of her.

"I- I'm sorry, my lady! I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, come in, Bjarna! They're just breasts." He hesitated for a moment, then sheepishly shuffled in, gaping at her chest. She probably should have covered it with something before letting him in, but her frustration with them was so great that she was finding it difficult to care about her modesty at the moment.

"Uh. Your, er, guest is here, my lady. That is all I came to tell you."

"Speak of the sun and it shines. Take her to the parlor and tell her I will attend her in a moment."

"Yes, my lady." He gave an awkward bow, covering his crotch with his hands in a way that was clearly not meant to be as abundantly obvious as it was. She rolled her eyes. How any man could find these ridiculous things attached to her chest attractive was a mystery to her.

"Oh, and Bjarna, did my father ask you to pick up the last of my things from Halvar's manor today, or was that Viggi?"

"Both of us, my lady."

"When you're there, make sure to take back the old family sword. If Halvar tries to stop you or claim that it belongs to him, tell him that we have signed letters from Magistrate Sigrun that state that the dowry must be returned upon nullification of the marriage. Don't let him bully you, but if he becomes violent, leave. It's not worth getting hurt over."

"Yes, my lady." He bowed again, even more awkwardly than the first time. Hopefully he had heard that. She had noticed that the bigger she got, the more certain men seemed to lose their wits when staring at her chest.

Ædde and Bjarna both took their leave, Ædde with the promise that all of her dresses would be done within the week. She was expensive, but she was fast, and did the finest work in town. Synnøva squeezed herself into the least ill-fitting dress that she was left with (which Ædde had resized for her just two weeks ago, but it was already feeling tight around her chest), and made her way to the parlor.

The sorcerer that she had invited to meet with her, Astrið Issansdotir, had come at the recommendation of a friend of her father, who had said that, though she was quite young, she was supremely skilled and very knowledgeable about all aspects of magic. When Synnøva entered the parlor, she was unsurprised to discover that Astrið had pointed ears, for her surname was a giveaway to her Shalian ancestry. She was surprised to see that Astrið's skin was a bluish-purple in color. That meant that in addition to at least one of her parents being Shalian, her mother had spent at least part of her pregnancy in Felu Shala itself. It was possible that Astrið had spent part or all of her childhood there, and thus might share the typical Shalian views regarding wealth: that being wealthy was inherently immoral and that Synnøva and her family were evil because they did not spend every last penig that they owned on the welfare of the city.

"Hi!" said Astrið. "You have an amazing house!"

Hmm. Or, perhaps she didn't. Synnøva shook her hand and bade her to sit down. Astrið was tall and slim, with big, ice-blue eyes and long black hair, tied back in a loose tail. Despite her skin and pointed ears, she did not have the long, pointed canine teeth that all elves shared. One of her parents was human, then. She wore the blue robes of a member of Branturhems Storlerandhall- the University- and over them she had the white shawl that indicated that she was a Højvetare- a Master in her chosen field of study. This was despite her apparent youth. She could easily have passed for Synnøva's age or even younger.

"Your servant, the one who showed me to this room, is quite the flirt!"

Synnøva blinked. "Bjarna?" He always acted so meek around her that she could hardly imagine him being forward enough to flirt with a master sorcerer. "Goodness, I apologize. I'll have to remind him to act more professional around company."

"Oh, no need for that!" said Astrið cheerily. "He was very sweet. Timid, but charming, and not pushy at all. Anyway!" She twirled her finger around the rim of the teacup that had been brought for her while she was waiting. "You need help with a certain 'problem with your body'? Your letter was very vague."

"Yes, I..." Synnøva trailed off, because she noticed, for the first time, an amulet around Astrið's neck: a small, many-petaled flower made of silver. "You're a Knight of the Chrysanthemum?" she asked in surprise.

Astrið grinned. "I am. Go on, ask the question on your mind! Everyone does, and I don't mind answering it."

"Okay. How old are you?" Becoming a Master of the University typically took a period of intense study lasting at minimum seven years, usually more, and the training that the Knights put all of their initiates through lasted at least that long as well. Astrið had apparently completed both, but she looked scarcely older than twenty. That was, Synnøva suspected, her elven blood. Elves commonly lived to be two centuries old or more, and they retained their youthful appearances all the way up until their very last years. She didn't know if a person with one human parent and one elven parent would inherit the full span of their long lives, but apparently they did retain their youthful appearances for longer.

"I am twenty-three!"

Oh. Or, perhaps not. "You're younger than me! That's quite an accomplishment for someone your age."

"So I'm told!" She giggled girlishly. "So, your problem?"

"Oh, right. I apologize for the vagueness of my letter. It's just that the nature of my problem is a touch... Delicate. It's about, well, these." She gestured to her chest with her hands.

"They're quite nice," said Astrið with a wink that Synnøva found... confusing. "What's wrong with 'em?"

"They're too big!"

"You think so? Hmm. Well, I suppose that you want me to shrink them for you?"

"Yes, with sorcery. Is that possible?"

"Nope."

There was a moment of silence. Synnøva hadn't expected such a blunt answer. "Oh. Ah..."

Astrið waved her hand. "Allow me to save you some time, my lady. There are a lot of hedge mages and apothecaries in this city who will claim that they can use sorcery make your breasts smaller, or bigger, or make your tummy flatter, or any number of other things. They're all charlatans. Your body is made of matter. Sorcery is the manipulation of energy, not matter." She stopped herself, thinking for a moment. "Well, technically it is possible to manipulate matter with sorcery, but it's a poorly understood field, even among the best of us, and experimenting on a person's body with it is asking for trouble. Better sorcerers than me have accidentally killed themselves trying to reshape a simple chunk of copper, and the body is much more complicated than a lump of metal."

"So... There's no way at all to shrink my chest with magic?"

"Not with sorcery. With god-magic, on the other hand, it's quite possible, and if you can find a skilled devotee of the right god it would be quite easy for them, I imagine."

"I've checked with the temples of Tarja and Faira and they both said that what I wanted couldn't be done."

"Wrong gods. Tarja's a war-god, when it comes down to it, and not especially keen about letting women have control of their own bodies. Faira's more about healing, which is close, but not quite what this is. Really, none of the gods of the North fit the bill perfectly. You'll need a skilled follower of a god who isn't local, one who is interested in changing and fulfillment of the self, or perhaps love and sex. Pyll Tal, maybe, or perhaps Vela Shei. Hmm..."

"Couldn't you, I don't know... Pray to one of those gods for their magic? Surely a Master Sorcerer is skilled enough to handle any magic that they would grant you?"

"Skill is only part of it. You've got to be able to handle the magic, but your devotion to the god and the causes they champion has to be legitimate. They can tell these things, when you pray to them. The gods can't lie to us, but we can't lie to them either. No, you'll need to find somebody who has spent their whole life in the service of a god who will be favorable to what you want."

Synnøva sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Vela Shei is a Shalian god. Where is Pysh Tal worshiped?"

"Pyll Tal, and Ettatiam."

"Both are very far away. I would probably have to travel to those places to find a worshiper skilled enough to have this magic, yes?"

"Yeah, most likely. Although..." Astrið looked thoughtful for a moment. "I do know someone. A friend of a friend. She travels this way from time to time. Perhaps-"

They both jumped as the door to the parlor suddenly burst open with a crash. There was a man standing there, wearing a long, purple cloak that was all too familiar to her.

"Synnøva!"

Her eyes narrowed. "Halvar! I told you never to show your face to me again! What are you doing here?"

"Taking you back!" cried Halvar as he drew a long piece of wood from his cloak.

"With a stick? Halvar, what on earth-" She noticed the rapier hanging from his belt. "Halvar, why is your sword bloody? What have you-"

Several things happened, all in the space of a few moments. Halvar pointed the bit of wood at Synnøva and cried, "Sting!" At the exact same time, Astrið leapt from her chair and cried, "Watch out!" There was an explosion of blinding blue-white light, and Synnøva felt herself knocked to the ground. Halvar screamed. She could see nothing but blackness and stars for a few moments, and when her vision started to return to her she could just make out Halvar standing over them, frantically trying to pat out the flames that were licking at his clothes.

"Synne!" he cried. "Synne, come with me! Return to my manor!"

"Fuck off!"

He glared at her, and at Astrið, hatred and confusion in his eyes, and then he ran, trailing wisps of smoke and burnt fabric.

And then, quiet.

The fire had singed the carpet and parts of the ceiling, but luckily the house was not burning. Synnøva let out a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "What... What happened?"

"Spell," said Astrið. She was on the floor next to her. "Aimed at you, but it hit me instead. I threw some fire at him, but..." She coughed, for the room was now full of smoke, though it was quickly dissipating. "Fuck. What was he trying to do? Did you do something to piss that man off?"

"I gave him his ring back. He was my betrothed, but he-"

"My lady!" A serving girl had appeared in the door, her face pale. "Are you alright? I heard a terrible commotion, and I saw Lord Amplevine running down the hall with his cloak all aflame!"

"I'm fine, but Lord Amplevine has just assaulted myself and a Master of the University. Alert the household guard and the City Watch. Tell them to apprehend him! And send for a healer to tend to Master Astrið. She's been wounded!"

"Of course! At once, my lady!" She hurried out of the room.

"I think I'm fine, actually," said Astrið as she stood. The sleeve of her robe was singed and frayed at the end, near her wrist, but she looked perfectly unharmed. "If that was a killing curse it probably would've done it instantly, unless it's supposed to be a slow, painful death, but..." She took a deep breath, stretched and looked down at herself. "No, I feel perfectly alright. Near as I can tell, that spell didn't actually do anything at all. Curious."

"Could it be that it just didn't work?"

Astrið shook her head. "God-magic always works. And it has to have been god-magic. It's not possible to imbue an object with sorcery. Not like that, anyway. So either the spell did something to me that I just haven't noticed yet, or it's designed not to take effect until later, or it was only meant to work on you, or any other number of things." She noticed something on the floor that hadn't been there before. "What's this?"

It was a small figurine, perhaps five inches tall, made of some sort of whitish crystal, perhaps quartz or opal, depicting voluptuous woman sitting down in a meditative pose. There was writing inscribed on the base, and it glowed with an inner light that seemed to shift between all the different colors of the rainbow. "This is magical," said Astrið at once.

"Gods and demons," Synnøva muttered, and her face went pale. "He brought that... That thing with him?"

"You know what this is?"

"Halvar bought that, before I ended our betrothal." She was struck with a horrible realization. "I... Don't think that spell was meant to kill me. I think it was meant to incapacitate me, so that he could use it on me."

"This writing is Shalian... 'Great bounty be upon you.' Frustratingly vague, as is the way of the Shalian gods. Hmm..." Astrið picked the figurine up, and though Synnøva winced when she touched it, nothing happened. "This is Vela Shei's female aspect, I think. What's it do?"

"According to Halvar," said Synnøva through gritted teeth, "it would make my breasts bigger. A lot bigger."

"Really." Astrið held it up and looked at it with an expression that Synnøva couldn't quite read.

"He spent twelve sovereigns on the stupid thing, and then was amazed when I told him I didn't want to use it."

"Honestly, if it actually works it was probably worth much more than twelve sovereigns. Putting god-magic into an object is incredibly difficult, even with a god who is as generous with their power as Vela Shei. I only know of a handful of people throughout history who were able to do it. I take it that Lord Amplevine was aware that you actually want your breasts to be smaller?"

"I'm not sure he was, honestly, though I talked to him about it plenty of times. That man has a habit of only hearing what he wants to hear."

"It wouldn't have worked anyway."

"What? Why not?"

"Vela Shei's magic only works on the willing. That's part of her teachings- no person gets to decide what happens to your body but you. No spell that originates from her will violate that rule." Astrið tucked the figurine away in a pocket on her robes. "I have more questions about this, but we now have more pressing things to deal with. His sword-"

"The blood! We should..." Astrið was already hurrying out the door.

---

The blood, as it turned out, had belonged to Ulv, one of the doormen, and by the time that they found him he had lost an alarming amount of it. He had a nasty red gash in his neck, and another even worse one was on his leg.

Astrið, as it turned out, happened to know a good bit about medicine, which was a good thing, because Synnøva hadn't the slightest idea what to do when she saw Ulv lying there in a pool of his own blood. A runner was already on the way to find a healer, but the nearest one did his business five city blocks away, and Ulv was bleeding out fast. Luckily, Astrið had taken charge immediately.

"You!" she had shouted at one of the servants who had heard the commotion and followed them to the front of the house. "Go get a big pot of water and set it to boil! You, if there are bandages in this house, go get them. If not, cut up some strips of clean linen. Put them in the water then bring them here. You, bring me the strongest alcohol in this house, vodka if you have it. You, hold his neck and his leg above the level of his heart. What? Yes, you're going to get blood on you, but this man's at risk of bleeding to death! Just do it!"

Ulv was barely conscious, and he winced in pain as Astrið cleaned his wounds with the alcohol, then pressed and bound them with the bandages. "Was just followin' orders, m'lady," he muttered to Synnøva. "Wouldn't let him in, just like you told me. Didn't expect the bastard to draw his sword, beggin' your pardon. Caught me by surprise..."

"Don't apologize. He is a bastard," said Synnøva.

"Got me in the neck 'fore I even had my sword out, then my... my leg..." That was, apparently, all the strength he had left in him, for Ulv passed out at that moment. For a brief, terrifying instant Synnøva thought that he was dead, but his breath was still coming, shallow though it was.

Astrið worked methodically and quickly, and by the time she was finished the bleeding had stopped, and though Ulv was deathly pale, he was still alive. The healer arrived just as she finished, red-faced and panting from rushing over from five city blocks away. After having Ulv carried to a bed in one of the manor's many chambers and tending to him, he complimented Astrið on her quick work. "He probably would have bled to death before I arrived had you not stepped in."

Just after that, a city watchman came along with a magistrate to take depositions from Synnøva and Astrið. Synnøva recognized them both. The watchman was Captain Eadwig, who used to patrol the neighborhood back when she was a girl, and he was still Corporal Eadwig. The magistrate was Sigrun, thank the gods. She was the one who had presided over the severance of her engagement, and she was the one magistrate that Synnøva knew that she could trust. They told them about everything, including the reason that Synnøva and Astrið were meeting, and the figurine that Halvar had dropped as he fled, as well as its purpose.

"And this figurine," said Sigrun, "you still have it in your possession?"

"Yes," said Astrið, "and I shall be keeping it."

Eadwig frowned. "I'm afraid you can't do that, Master Astrið. It needs to be taken in as evidence, and possibly studied, to make sure that it does what you claim it does."

"And where will you send it to be studied?"

"To the University, to be examined by a Master." He looked at her, and he blinked as realization struck. "Ah..."

"We will need it back once your investigation has been completed, Master Astrið," said Sigrun. "And of course, we will need a different Master to verify your findings. One who is not involved with this case."

"Not a problem. This has been officially elevated to a case, rather than an incident?"

"Of course. Assaulting a noble and a Master of the University is a very serious crime. What Lord Amplevine has done could carry very severe repercussions. Of course, it will be his word against yours, but the wounds that your doorman has suffered are compelling evidence. At the very least it warrants an investigation, though with depositions from your servants I don't think that he will be able to provide a very strong defense for himself."

Synnøva pictured her former husband-to-be locked up in a dungeon, or even consigned to servitude, and was surprised to find that the thought did not distress her in the slightest. But not that surprised.

"My watchmen have spotted Lord Amplevine returning to his manor in singed, smoking clothes," said Eadwig. "I already have men on the way there to apprehend him."

"I would like to accompany them," said Astrið.

"Ah... That is not advisable, Master Astrið," said Eadwig. "From what you have told us, this is a dangerous man, and-"

"He cast a spell on me, and I need to know what it did, or if it did anything at all. I could work it out myself, given time, but it will be much faster to just ask him. He may not tell the truth, but it won't hurt to try. And anyway, I am not scared of a man with a sword. Swords are no threat to me at all."

"Master Astrið, I really must insist-"

"Is it against the law for me to accompany them?" She asked this to Sigrun, not to Eadwig.

"It would be unusual, but it is not against any law, no."

"Then that is what I will do," she said, and when Eadwig opened his mouth again she ignored him. "My lady, do you have a spare set of clothes that I could borrow? These robes are a mess." Indeed, they were covered in Ulv's blood, both on her sleeves and from her knees down, where she had been kneeling in it.

"Yes, and I will come with you. I would like to have some words with Halvar."

"My lady, that is really not advisable," said Eadwig.

"Sounds like a plan," said Astrið.

"But-"

"You are dismissed," said Synnøva to both Eadwig and the magistrate. "Carry out your duties. Astrið and I will meet your men at Lord Amplevine's manor."

Eadwig looked uncomfortable, but he and the magistrate both bowed and took their leave. They ended up following Astrið and Synnøva out of the bedroom door, because they were already on the way get a change of clothes.

"I don't think that any of my dresses will fit you, but I have a few old tunics and hose that might, if you don't mind them being loose about the chest," said Synnøva as she led Astrið through the halls.

"If that is all you have I will take it. I've no time to be picky. I still don't feel any effects from the spell he cast upon me, but if it has some sort of delayed component I would rather find out about it before it happens. Although I suspect that I was correct when I said that the spell was only meant to work on you. I doubt that he would have risked forcing his way in here and murdering a doorman for something that wasn't instantaneous."

"You don't know him," said Synnøva darkly. "Halvar does things without thinking them through. At all. Why else would have he bought that figurine when I told him so many times that I want my breasts to be smaller?"

"About that..." Astrið pulled the figurine from her pocket and held it up to light from the hallway windows that they were passing by. "Did he tell you how to activate it?"

"No, and I didn't ask. Why do you..." She stared at her. "You aren't thinking of using it?"

Astrið shrugged. "Not now, of course. But if I can figure out how to work it, I might try to convince the Watch to let me use it once this is all settled. I bet that I could, even if your former betrothed isn't willing to tell me. Vela Shei is a very amenable god, and she usually makes her magic easy to work with." She looked at the inscription on the base again. "Hmm. Probably all I'll have to do is say something like 'I accept your bounty' in Shalian or something."

The glowing, multicolored light in the figurine suddenly went out. Both women stopped in their tracks, eyes wide.

"Did you just-"

"Oh dear. Apparently Vela Shei understands Norðmol."

They both looked at Astrið's chest. A tense, quiet moment passed. "I... don't feel anything? It's possible that it's only meant to work on one person, like that wand- Hrnk!" She doubled over all of a sudden, her back against the wall and her arms wrapped around her chest. "O- Ooh! No, it's working! Where is your room?"

It was just down the hall. They rushed inside and Synnøva closed the door behind them while Astrið collapsed onto the bed. Her robes, which had been loose and billowy before, were now very, very tight in a certain place. She tore them off of herself. The band of silk that she had apparently been wearing around her chest was in tatters, and her breasts were...

"It's still going!" she gasped, and it was true. They heaved with her breath, rising with each inhalation... but then they didn't seem to fall again when she breathed back out. Both of them watched as purple skin grew and stretched, as they grew fuller, and fuller, and fuller...

When it was done, when the growing stopped, Astrið's breasts were bigger than her head. They were bigger than Synnøva's. They were, quite simply, enormous. Though they were full and plump, they still hung so low on her torso that they hid her navel with every breath she took. Her nipples had grown to match- they were each the size of the last digit of a person's thumb, and not a person with small thumbs, either. Her areolas were slightly puffy, and as big as her palm.

"Gods and demons," said Synnøva.

"Fucking hell," said Astrið. "This is a lot more than I expected."

"Yes, I think that's more than anyone would expect!"

"Gods above, look at these things!" Astrið squeezed them between her hands and bounced them up and down. "Ooh, they feel so good! And they're so heavy!"

"Yes, I can imagine! What are we going to do now?"

"I'm going to put some clothes on, we're going to go to Lord Amplevine's manor and confront him, and then he'll be tried for assault. Then we can get back to finding a solution to your problem. Nothing's changed. Now, do you have anything that will fit these? I'm bigger than you now, I think."

"Hopefully. Look there in the wardrobe. I hope that we can find someone who can fix this, now for your sake as well as mine."

"For yours, anyway." Astrið stood, stumbling a little bit as she acclimated to the new weight that she was carrying. "Oof. Heavy. I didn't think that I would get quite this big, but I can't say that I would mind if they stayed this way." She started rummaging through the clothes in the wardrobe.

"What? I think I must have misheard you."

"I could learn to like them is all I'm saying. Honestly, I think I might already like them, but it's only been a few moments, so I'll think on it for a while. In the meantime, we've got other things to worry about. Oh, here we are!" She held up a dress. Synnøva had bought it years ago from a tailor who had misread the measurements that her apprentice had taken for her to work from, and the whole thing had ended up being much too big for her, everywhere, including the chest. It was something like wearing a bedsheet when she had put it on, but Astrið was taller than her and, now, bigger around the chest.

"How could you... They're so... They're enormous! How could you possibly like them?"

"I like enormous," said Astrið as she wiggled into the dress.

"But you must have the biggest chest in the world now, at least for someone who isn't a giant!"

"You say that like it would be a bad thing."

"It would!"

"Mm, not to me. But anyway, I definitely don't. You remember the friend of a friend I mentioned who can help you with your chest? Wait until you see hers." She finished putting on the dress. It fit her perfectly except for the chest, which was, incredibly, too tight. They bulged out from the neckline (which was entirely too low for Synnøva's taste anyway), smooth, twin hills of purple, contrasting sharply with the white fabric. Astrið looked at herself in the mirror next to the wardrobe, and her eyes went wide.

"You see? They're immense!"

"They are, aren't they?" There was a little catch in Astrið's voice as she said it, a wavering, as if she was in awe of her own body. She touched them, running a finger down the crevice of her cleavage (there was a lot of it), and Synnøva actually saw her shiver. "Well! It's a bit showy, bit it covers everything that needs to be covered." She turned on her heel, then stumbled, because moving so suddenly had caused their weight to shift. They wobbled mightily, and she steadied them with her arms. "Wow... That will take a bit of getting used to. Are you ready to go?"

"Are you? Do you want to... I don't know, talk to the healer about those?"

"There's nothing that he'd be able to do about them even if I wanted him to."

"Well, I suppose that's true," said Synnøva bitterly. If it wasn't, she wouldn't have to have called Astrið here in the first place. "I will call some of my father's guards to accompany us. Halvar's never been all that skilled with that sword of his, but he was good enough to nearly kill Ulv with it, and he's impulsive enough that I wouldn't put it past him not to try assaulting me again if we should run into him on the streets somehow."

"Please, my lady, give me some credit. He caught me off-guard the first time, but that won't happen again. I can defend you better than twelve guards could." Astrið was, as she said this, pressing her hands into her breasts from below and watching them bounce with a giddy smile on her face.

"Forgive me, but you seem a bit distracted at the moment."

"You think so?" She winked at her, and all of a sudden the air around Synnøva hummed. Astrið took a pillow from her bed and threw it at her. "Catch!"

Before the pillow even came within arm's reach it changed course in mid-air, flying suddenly away from her with even more force than it had been thrown with originally. It bounced off of a bedpost and fell to the floor.

"That will repel anything that comes near you. Pillows, swords, arrows, even most spells."

Synnøva crossed her arms over her chest. "Alright. Impressive, I'll grant you, but how long can you maintain it?"

"The longest I've ever done it for was seven hours, but I think that I could do it for longer if I had to." She was already touching her own breasts again, running her fingers over the lines where they bulged out from her dress.

"And you can keep it up even while you're distracted? Because you seem very distracted right now."

"I once held it on three people at once while I had a knife to my throat." She grinned and tapped the silver chrysanthemum hanging from her neck with a finger. "The Chrysanthemum Knights don't just give these out to anyone who steps into the White Keep, my lady."

---

Silvercreek Manor and Amplevine Manor were both in the same district of the city, only a few blocks apart, in fact. The distance was short enough that it was faster to simply walk than to wait for a carriage to be prepared, so walk they did. They made for quite a sight, the two of them. Synnøva was dressed modestly- her chest was completely covered, but it was impossible to hide its size, and Astrið, still unused to her new burdens, was making a show of them with the way that she constantly stopped to adjust the way that they sat in her borrowed dress, pulling the neckline up and down every so often. This caught the attention of passers-by, which seemed to make Astrið self-conscious. She flushed, anyway, and fussed with them even more whenever she noticed someone looking. Yet even despite all of this, Synnøva noticed that whenever she passed near a bush or a tree (there were lots of them lining the streets in this part of the city), their branches, leaves, and needles were pushed away from her. Even the dust and dirt on the ground kept away from her.

She had never formally studied any sort of magic, but she had read a few books on the subject, and it was her understanding that sorcerers generally had to repeat an incantation or perform gestures of some sort in order to keep a spell going. Astrið was doing nothing of the sort. Indeed, she spent most of her time fussing with her chest, yet the spell never even wavered.

"They itch. A lot. Is that normal?"

"It is when they're sweaty, which they will be often, even on cool days, so get used to that if you're actually planning on keeping them."

"They're definitely not sweating up here." She patted the exposed tops of her breasts. "It's sort of a tingly feeling. Prickly. And it feels like it's coming from inside of them."

Synnøva looked at her. "That isn't normal."

"Lord Amplevine's spell, maybe," said Astrið with a grimace. "Perhaps it does do something, and it's finally started. Let's hurry..."

By the time that they arrived, Astrið was quite red-faced (though the spell still hadn't broken), which worried Synnøva. It wasn't that long or intense of a walk, even though they had done it quickly. The gates surrounding Amplevine Manor were closed, but standing watch was a single city watchman, rather than Halvar's personal guards. He gaped at the two of them as they approached, but especially at Astrið.

"I am Synnøva Krigsdotir, Lady Silvercreek, and this is Master Astrið Issansdotir of the University. Let us inside, please. We have business with Lord Amplevine."

"Right. Captain said you'd be coming," said the guard as he unlocked the gate. "Though he didn't mention, erm..."

"Mention what?" said Synnøva coolly.

"Er, nothing of importance, my lady. Please, enter."

As he closed the gate behind him, Astrið whispered, "Hey, he was handsome, huh?" Synnøva rolled her eyes.

The manor itself was a flood of bad memories. Synnøva had spent a year of her life here, and when she had left she vowed that she would never take a step past those awful, gaudy, mahogany doors again, yet here she was. But these were special circumstances.

Captain Eadwig was right there in the foyer, along with five armed and armored watchmen and a few members of Halvar's household staff. The guards were talking to some of them, asking questions about their master's whereabouts. He bowed stiffly at the two of them when they entered. "My lady. Master, ah..." He trailed off, staring at Astrið's chest.

"I have completed my investigation of the figurine, and I can verify that it does indeed do what Lady Silvercreek claims it does. I can have my findings confirmed by another Master if you wish, but I don't think that will be necessary, do you?" She actually grabbed one of her breasts with her hands as she said it, and Eadwig's eyebrows disappeared under the rim of his helm.

"Yes, um. The evidence that you present is very compelling. May we have the figurine back now? It is, also, evidence." He fumbled and nearly dropped it as she handed it to him, even though she put it directly in his hand. Then he coughed. "Right. Well. It appears that Lord Amplevine is not here."

"What?" said Synnøva.

"According to his servants he entered, fled to his chambers, and left again immediately. We are interrogating the staff to see if anyone knows where he may have gone off to."

"Halvar doesn't tell his servants anything. If he's run off to hide, they won't know where he went. Have you checked his bedchambers?"

"I was just about to do that personally, my lady."

"He keeps a diary there, in the drawer on the bedstand. He writes it in Shalian, and because he's a fool, he thinks that that will be enough to keep anyone from reading it. He's not careful about what he puts in it, so there might be some clue there as to where he's gone. None of his servants speak Shalian, but she does." She gestured at Astrið. "Right?"

"Hmm? What?" All of the city watchmen and nearly all of the servants were staring at Astrið's chest, and she was staring back at all of them, fidgeting oddly. "Oh. Yes. Faeza Shalam pazhëbanam."

"See, there you go." She headed off towards the master bedchamber, and Eadwig and Astrið both followed after her. She still remembered the way, of course. Up the stairs in the foyer, left, then right at the statue that Halvar had made of his father, then right again at other statue.

"He has a statue of himself?" Astrið asked, looking up at it.

"Which he keeps right outside his bedchamber, yes," said Synnøva.

"My lady, I mean no offense by this, but what on earth did you ever see in him?"

She shrugged weakly. "It was an arranged marriage." Technically true, but her father had given her a choice of half a dozen other noble bachelors at the time. Halvar had seemed like the least detestable of the bunch, but looking up now at that stony face of his (he was smug even as a statue) she couldn't remember what it was about him that had made her think that.

"How did you manage to get out of it?"

"It was that figurine. When I refused to let him use it on me, he started an argument. 'Why don't you ever do anything for me? Why can't you do this one little thing for me?' I kept telling him no, over and over again. I did a lot of things for Halvar, but that was where I drew the line. He's like a child- when he doesn't get what he wants he whines and cries at you until you give in just to shut him up, but I wasn't going to do that for him. When he realized that, he hit me."

There was a long silence. Astrið and Eadwig looked uncomfortably at each other. "Did you not call the city watch?" said Eadwig. "We would have-"

"The magistrate who showed up ruled that I had provoked him. He was charged with a misdemeanor, fined five øre, which you can probably understand is hardly even pocket change for him, and they went on their way. I decided that if Branturhem's justice system would do nothing about it, I would. I went back to my father's home, and he believed me. My engagement was broken, and I vowed that Halvar would never be allowed to touch me again." She sighed. "A week later he broke into my father's home and tried to curse me, and so here we are." She stepped into the bedroom.

The first thing that she saw was the bed, and she shivered at the sight of it. The first few nights she had been enthusiastic- for all his many, many flaws, Halvar was still physically attractive, or at least she had thought so back then. It had taken about two weeks of disappointingly brief periods of intimacy and flaccid apologies afterward before she realized that he didn't care in the slightest what she got out of these exchanges. In the year that they had been engaged he had fucked her probably a hundred times on that bed, and she could count the number of times that she had finished on one hand. They were all, she was sure, quite by accident on his part.

"Oh, my lady! I didn't expect to..." It was Bjarna. Oh, right. He had been sent to gather her things. He gaped openly at Astrið, who gave him a smile and a little wave.

"Hello. There's, uh, been an incident since the last time that you saw me."

"Yes I see!" he said, and his voice cracked. Astrið laughed.

"Bjarna, how long have you been here? Have you seen Lord Amplevine?"

"I, uh, yes. I have." He said it directly to Astrið's chest, then realized that he had said it to Astrið's chest, blushed furiously, and looked very determinedly at Synnøva's eyes. "Yes!" he repeated. "He ran in a few minutes ago. I was over there in the corner gathering your things from the closet. I waved at him, but he was in such a rush that I don't think he even saw me. He was muttering things..."

"What kinds of things? Did you hear any of it?"

Bjarna shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "Erm. Yes. He was calling you some very terrible names, my lady."

"Of course he was," she said flatly. "Did he say anything about where he was going?"

"Not as such, but, er... He was saying things about a demon, and I think that he mentioned a snake? And er... He grabbed a book from that bedstand over there, looked something up in it. Then he hid the book away and left."

"That'd be the diary," said Synnøva. She opened the drawer on the bedstand, and frowned. There was no book there.

"Did you see where he hid it?" asked Astrið.

"Er. Yes." Bjarna fidgeted nervously, but was silent.

"Well?" Synnøva tapped her foot impatiently.

"It's just... Erm..."

"Boy, if you don't tell us where that book is, I'm going to charge you with obstruction of justice," growled Captain Eadwig, and he paled.

"Easy, Captain," said Astrið. "It helps to try the carrot before you reach for the whip. How about this?" She put her hands on Bjarna's shoulders. "I'll let you touch my chest if you tell us where that book is."

Eadwig stammered. "Master Astrið! Surely you can't think that this is appropriate behavior for an official investigation!"

"It'll work though," said Synnøva. "How about it, Bjarna? I can't fathom why you're hesitant to tell us this, but if you do you'll get a feel of what are probably the biggest breasts in the world. She's bigger than me now, you know."

"My lady! Master Astrið!" Bjarna was actually visibly shivering now. "None of this is necessary! I will tell you, of course! It's just that... The place where he hid it, there were some things in there that I don't think you'll like, my lady. I wish I hadn't seen them myself, to tell the truth."

"Oh dear." Synnøva frowned. "What do you mean by that? What was in there?"

"Well, I... I don't think that Lord Amplevine is, uh... Quite right in the head. I know that I'm not supposed to say that about a man of his status, but after seeing what he... It's on the other side of the room, there. You see that painting?" He pointed. It was a landscape depicting one of the Amplevines' famous vineyards, framed in gold leaf. "If you push it to the side, there's a little catch on the wall underneath. Pull it, and, ah..."

Synnøva had already done so. There was a click, and one of the wood panels that lined the walls suddenly swung loose. The opening was about the size of a door, and the room beyond was completely dark. "Gods above..." she muttered. "I lived here for a year and I never knew about this."

"I can fetch you a candle if you'd like, but, if it suits you, my lady, I'd rather not go in there again. I took a peek after Lord Amplevine left, and... Well, perhaps you'd better see it for yourself."

"See," said Astrið to the captain. "Honey and vinegar, and all that." She snapped her fingers, and a mote of bluish light, the same color as her eyes, appeared in the air next to her. It was not a flame, nor was it an orb, or even any shape, really. It was just light, springing from no source at all. She waved her hand and it floated over into the room, illuminating it. "There are only three people in the University who can do that without it also producing heat or fire, and I was the first one to figure out how," she said proudly. "Now, you just wait here a moment. I believe you were promised a reward for this valuable information." She patted Bjarna's shoulder.

"I told you, that's not necessary," he muttered.

"No, but you still want to, right?"

He turned a brilliant red.

"We'll be right back," she said with a coquettish smile.

The three of them entered the secret room. It was small and square, perhaps ten feet to a side, and against the wall, on a shelf, was the diary. But that wasn't what Synnøva was looking at. "Gods and demons," muttered Eadwig. Astrið just let out a low whistle.

There was a portrait. It was masterfully painted, almost lifelike in its detail, and it depicted Synnøva. She was lying in repose on a sofa, dressed in nothing but a gauzy gown that she was certain that she had never actually worn. But her breasts. In the painting, they were much bigger than they were in reality. Bigger than Astrið's. They were so big that they didn't even fit on the sofa that she was laying on.

Next to it there was another painting. She was naked in this one, standing in a meadow that she had certainly never seen before. Her backside was rendered in alarming detail in this one, down to a mole placed accurately just above her left cheek. Her breasts were even bigger in this one, so ridiculously huge that their curves were visible even from behind, and they hung down to the level of her waist. The third painting was much the same, as was the fourth...

There were six in total, and in each one Synnøva's chest completely eclipsed her reality, enormous though she was. "I think," said Astrið, "that he might be a tad obsessed."

Synnøva was looking at the shelf now. There were other things on it, aside from the diary. An empty jewelrybox, clearly meant to hold a necklace. Tucked into it was a note that said 'Guaranteed effective enchantment! Your chest will double in size or your money back!" Early on in their engagement, Halvar had bought her a necklace. It was ugly and gaudy, but he'd insisted that she wear it for months. There was a glass jar with some pinkish residue on the inside, and on the outside were painted the letters 'Madame Elizabeth's Breast Enhancement Tincture'. He had told her that it was a lotion meant to make her smell good. It had smelled good, so she'd used it all. On this shelf was some sort of reminder of nearly every single gift that Halvar had given to her over the entire length of their engagement, along with containers, wrappers, and instructions which he had never allowed her to see.

"If it makes you feel any better," said Astrið, "I doubt that any of this stuff actually worked. The figurine was probably the first thing that he found that would have actually done anything."

It didn't make her feel better. She kneeled down and looked at the bottom shelf. There were some piles of neatly folded cloth there, and as she rummaged through them she started to recognize them. They were her underclothes. A few of the wraps that she used to support her breasts, and some of her loincloths.

There were stains on them. Ones that she had definitely not made herself. Astrið winced, and she heard Eadwig suck in a breath through his teeth.

Synnøva took a deep breath. She grabbed the diary. She walked out of the room. "You can make fire, can't you?"

"Yes," said Astrið.

"Burn it," she said, her voice calm and even. "Burn everything."

"But, my lady, all of this is valuable evidence," said Eadwig, but even his protests were weak, like his heart wasn't in them.

"He assaulted Astrið and I, and nearly murdered one of my doormen. This is irrelevant. That entire room is made of stone. It won't burn the house down. Make it a furnace."

Astrið looked at her. She looked at the room. She took a deep breath, then snapped her fingers. There was a fwoosh, and a blindingly bright light, and a rush of terrible heat. And then it was done, and there was nothing left in the room but ash and a few small puddles of melted metal.

Synnøva looked into the room, satisfaction evident on her face, but Eadwig was wide-eyed. "Master Astrið," he said. "Forgive me for my hesitation earlier in allowing you to accompany us while we apprehend Lord Amplevine. I see now he truly could be of no threat to you."

"You are forgiven," said Astrið cheerily. "Honestly, if he had not taken me by surprise back in Lady Silvercreek's parlor I could have apprehended him myself, but I was concerned for my lady's safety, and the spell that he cast upon me. Which, by the way, the only thing that it has done so far is make my breasts tingle and feel strange, but that could just as well be the magic from the figurine."

"Ah, er. I see." Eadwig coughed politely.

"Speaking of..." She approached Bjarna, who looked up at her nervously. She was a full head taller than him. "I'll give you one minute."

"Master Astrið, do we really have time for this?" said Synnøva. "We need you to read through this diary for us. Just let him grab a handful and be done with it."

"Picking through the diary could take a while, and single minute won't make much of a difference. Your time starts now, Bjarna! Make the best of it!" It was clear that Bjarna was hesitant to lay hands on a Master of the University in this way, even when she was so clearly inviting him to do it, so Astrið grabbed his hands and put them on her chest for him. "See? Easy! They're nice and soft and warm, huh?"

Bjarna opened his mouth, but all that came out was a noise that was somewhere halfway between a sigh and a squeak. "Fifty seconds, Bjarna! Rub them a bit, if you want." He did, and when his fingers made contact with the smooth, soft skin of her cleavage both he and Astrið shivered. "Ooh... Your hands feel nice. You can squeeze them a little, too. Yes, like that."

"Master Astrið, this really is not very appropriate..." said Eadwig weakly, but it was clear at this point that she was going to allow Bjarna all of the time that she had promised him. Synnøva just rolled her eyes and started to look through the diary. She couldn't understand the words, but she had read a book once on the Shalian writing system and she could sound out most of the letters.

"Ah, the tingling... It's becoming more intense. No, no need to stop! It feels good, honestly..."

She could make out her own name a few times. Eo talimi Synneovazh aum... Synneova vlaman en pazhëfs. Without knowing what the words around it meant that wasn't much use to her, though.

"You know what? Twenty seconds! Let's finish this off with something fun..." Astrið grabbed Bjarna's head and shoved his face into her cleavage. There was more than enough space there to accommodate it. He gave a muffled cry of surprise, but when she let go of him he stayed there.

"Oh, hello. Look at this." Synnøva held the book up to Eadwig, who was watching Astrið and Bjarna with tight lips and a furrowed brow. "He drew some charts here. This looks like a map."

"Time's up!" Astrið gently pushed Bjarna away from her by the shoulders. His hair was ruffled, and he looked dazed. Astrið, too, was a little bit red-faced, though she had mostly maintained her composure. "There now, wasn't that fun?" She patted Bjarna's shoulder. "Now, let's take a look at that diary."

"Ah... Astrið?" Synnøva pointed at the dress that she was wearing. Astrið looked down at herself. There were two very large wet spots right over her nipples. Her eyes widened in surprise, and without the slightest bit of hesitation she pulled it down, freeing her breasts.

Bjarna's eyes nearly popped right out of his head. Astrið's nipples were stiff, and... dripping. "Well!" she said. "This is a pleasant surprise!"

"Pleasant?" said Synnøva. "You must be using that word in a way I'm not familiar with."

"It feels pretty good, anyway, and I don't mind it," said Astrið. "I wonder..." She reached down and squeezed, with both hands. She gasped, so loud that it was nearly a scream, and her legs actually quaked as a dozen little jets of milk sprayed from her nipple. "Fuuucking gods above that feels incredible!"

"Uh... Why don't you, er, take a moment to deal with this, Astrið?" said Synnøva. "Eadwig and I will wait for you in the hall. I think I'm on to something here with the diary, so, you know. Do what you need to do."

Astrið's head shot around to Bjarna. He was simply watching in awe, and feebly trying to hide the tent in his pants. "Hey, do you want to-"

"Yes please," said Bjarna.

Astrið practically tackled him, nearly knocking him over as she shoved her breast in his face. The last thing that Synnøva saw as she followed Eadwig out of the room was Astrið trying to lift her own nipple up to her mouth while Bjarna sucked on the other.

---

"His drawing is very rough, but I think this is a map of the city? He drew it upside down, so that south is up, but here's Uptown, here's the castle, and here's the University."

Synnøva and Eadwig were sitting in the hall, their backs to the wall. The statue of Halvar loomed over them, and there were lots of very interesting noises coming from inside the master bedroom. "This is highly irregular, my lady." His brow had yet to unfurrow.

She shrugged. "My father once told me that sorcerers are a strange lot. I’m starting to see what he meant. Still, she saved my life, and what's happening to her is, well... Highly irregular. We shouldn't tarry too much, but I'm willing to give her a few minutes to work things out."

Eadwig opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment there was a loud, husky, feminine moan from beyond the door, and he shut it again.

"So look, here's the city, and here's the city outskirts. He's got some locations circled here. This one's labeled... Let's see. V-E-L-A SH-E-I. Vela Shei. Oh! That's that brothel on Galdavej. But what does a Shalian goddess have to do with it? It's got an X through it, anyway, so it looks like whatever he was interested in there didn't work out."

"Aah! Fuck yes! Oh, right there! Right there!"

"And here, this is the Temple of Faira. The label is... Faira. An X through that one, too. Was he shopping around for gods?"

"Oh, this can't be your first time! You're too good at it! Go on, keep... Yes! YES!"

"Okay, which of these doesn't have an X through it? Let's see... Oh, this one has three circles around it, and no X. Where is this? It's not even within the city."

There were wet, squishy noises coming through the door now. Eadwig had his armed crossed and was staring at the wall, like a pouting child. Synnøva held the diary up to him. "Look! The label says 'Hrungnir'. He did try to curse me, and Astrið said that he used god-magic to do it. Hrungnir was the god, I bet. This location is in the forest outside of the city. It'd be a good place to hide, but even if-"

"I'm almost there! Don't- don't stop!"

"-even if he's not there, we might find some clues as to-"

"Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Cu- cumming! Cumming! AAAH!"

"-some clues as to where he went." Synnøva waited a moment. Except for a few gasps and the sound of heavy breathing, the noises had stopped. She opened the door a crack and saw... Pretty much exactly what she expected. Bjarna was laying on the floor, Astrið on top of him. He was also inside of her. There was something white dripping out from where they were joined.

Astrið really had a very nice pussy, and it looked lovely all stretched out around his cock like that. That thought popped into Synnøva's head, and it took her by surprise. Well... Huh. Best to stow that one away and examine it later.

"Hey, I think I've figured out where we should look for Halvar. Clean up as fast as you can and let's go!" She closed the door again.

Astrið must have gotten dressed in record time, because a just a few moments later she appeared, straining the bustier of a completely different dress. "Ah, I feel much better now!" she said cheerfully. "Some of your old clothes were still in the closet in there. I hope you don't mind. Also, uh... That other dress is going to need a very thorough washing now. My apologies."

"I'll just have Bjarna throw it out. It doesn't fit me anyway. Bjarna, did you- oh." Synnøva had peeked her head in the door again to speak to him, and she'd expected to be at least half-dressed, but he was still laying on the floor, naked as a skylark and covered in... fluids. Lots of them.

"I wore him right out," said Astrið with a laugh. "He might need a moment before he's ready to do anything."

"But you're ready to go?"

"Energized and feeling great! My breasts don't tingle anymore, either. I think I just needed to be milked."

At the word 'milked', Eadwig shuddered. "Oh, come now!" said Astrið cheerily. "It's perfectly natural."

"My lady, Master Astrið, with all due respect, can we please just continue our search now?"

That was exactly what they did.

---

"Hrungnir! Hrungnir! Come out and face me, you great spineless coward!"

Halvar winced as he cut his hand over the goblet once again. He had no venom this time- he had used it all up the night before- but if this pathetic excuse of a god had any decency at all he would be answered anyway. When lifted the goblet to his mouth it was sweet and coppery, and in his rage he nearly choked on it. He finished off the sacrament coughing and sputtering. "Come out, snake! Face me, or send your wench again!"

"Spineless, hmm?" The voice came from behind him this time, and he jumped in surprise. The blonde woman was there again, her hair still perfect, dress still immaculate, eyes still beautiful and terrible. "Really, as a snake, the Master is nothing but spine, I think."

"The curse didn't work!" said Halvar, shaking the wand at her. "She was supposed to do what I say, but she didn't!"

"The sorcerer jumped in the way. You hit her instead of your intended target."

"What!? You saw? You were there?"

"Oh yes. I've been keeping an eye on you since our last meeting." She winked, and it infuriated him.

"Then you know what I need! Recharge it, or do whatever you need to do!"

She laughed, and he wanted so very badly to slap her. Something inside him, a part of him that he did not listen to very often, told him that it would not be a very good idea. "One shot for one soul. That was our deal. I did warn you, you know."

"Well, what if I buy another from you?"

"And what else could you possibly have to offer me, Lord Amplevine?"

"I am the third richest person in Branturhem!"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Shiny metal. We have no desire for it."

"I own the largest and most productive vineyards in all of Snøland!"

"Even the greatest wine that you mortals brew is bitter and unpleasant compared to what we have beyond. Try again."

He hesitated. He thought. "You only deal in souls, do you?"

She grinned, but there was no humor in it. "Mostly."

"I'll give you hers. Synne's. When we are dead you can have both of us."

"Her soul is not yours to give. You can only give it to us if she gives it to you first. There are rules to this. Even the gods must follow them."

"Well, when you give me another shot with the curse, and she obeys me, I will command her to give her soul to you!"

"That doesn't count. It has to be given freely, of her own will."

"But once she is obedient to me it will be of her own will! I will make it so that she wants to do it!"

She raised an eyebrow. "You really do believe that, don't you? Incredible. Still, the answer is no. You will have to convince her to do it on your own, without magic." She glanced over into the trees, where there was a distant sound of footsteps, growing louder. "Ah, and it looks like you'll have your chance right now. Make it count!"

Halvar followed her eyes towards the noises, and then when he looked back, she was gone.

They burst out from the forest: six city watchmen carrying swords and crossbows, one of them wearing a captain's insignia, Synne, and that thrice-damned elven sorcerer. Only... She hadn't had those the last time that he'd seen her. He frantically checked his pockets, but the figurine was nowhere to be found.

"You stole it," he said to her, his voice dripping with hatred. "You stole my figurine! You used it! That was meant for Synne!"

"A confession, then," said the captain, "with seven witnesses. Thank you for that, Lord Amplevine. Now, you are being charged with three crimes: Assault of a noble, assault of a Master of the University, and attempted murder of a free citizen of Branturhem. Please come with us peacefully, or we will have to use force."

Halvar reached for his sword, but before he even touched it there were five crossbows aimed right at him. They had loaded and cocked them before they had even entered the clearing, apparently. He sneered and raised his hands in the air.

"Lord Amplevine!" said the elf. "You struck me with a spell, back in Lady Silvercreek's manor. I need to know what it did. I assure you that I can figure it out on my own, given time, but this will go much better for you if you simply tell me."

Had it done anything to her? The way that he had worded the curse was very specific, but perhaps...

"It makes you obey my every word! You are loyal to me, and only to me, and you must follow all of my commands! Now, sorcerer, incinerate these six guards with your magic!"

The tips of the crossbows did not waver from him, but the guards looked nervously at the elf. She raised an eyebrow. "No, I think I'd rather not."

Shit.

When he had described the curse, he had said that Synnøva would follow his every command, and be completely obedient to him in all things, forever. He had used her name. Apparently that meant that the curse did nothing at all when it struck someone else. Halvar looked around, but he didn't see any way out of this. Was... Was this it? Was this going to end with prison, or even his own death? The thought took him for a moment, and for a moment, he felt fear...

"Once more, Lord Amplevine, come with us peacefully! Things will be much worse for you if you don't."

What were these strange thoughts inhabiting him? He was Lord Amplevine! Of course this would not be the end of him! He just had to think of something clever...

Several things happened, all in the space of a few moments. Halvar drew his sword and threw it, all in one fluid motion, at the guard captain. At the same time he kicked his legs out from under himself, landing flat on his back with a heavy thump. Five crossbow bolts flew directly over him. He watched, seeing them almost as if they were moving in slow motion, as two of them splintered into each other in mid-air. His sword...

Oh no.

Oh no.

His aim had been off. He saw it flying fast, for his throw had been powerful, right at Synne. She saw it too, and her eyes widened in shock and fear. No! He needed her! She was-

The sword changed course in mid-air. It flew away from her, then clattered to the ground right next to him.

Well, of course things had worked out. Silly to think that they wouldn't, really. Before he or his other guards could load their crossbows again or draw their swords, Halvar had rolled on the ground, grabbed the sword, and leapt back up to his feet.

Hah! He'd been a fool to doubt himself! He would make it out of this yet! Thinking quickly, he reached out to the nearest person to him. The sorcerer. He wrapped his arm tightly around her, and held the blade of his rapier up against her throat. He did this all so quickly that she hardly had any time to react. By the time that she realized what was happening she was already in his clutches.

"Let her go, Lord Amplevine!" cried the captain. His guards had their swords out now, but it was too late.

"Take another step towards me and she dies!" He started backing away, taking the sorcerer with him. She was taller than him, so he had to say it over her shoulder, but it seemed to work. The guards held their swords at the ready, but they did not approach him.

"Last chance, Amplevine," muttered the sorcerer. "Let me go, or you're really not going to like what happens next."

"Shut your mouth, wench," he said back to her, not bothering to keep his voice down. "Even you can't cast a spell in time to keep me from cutting your throat while my blade is right here." He put a little pressure on it, just to emphasize his point. "I think I'll take you with me. Get a nice feel of these fat tits of yours, since you stole them from Synne."

"She never wanted them, and you couldn't have forced them on her. The magic wouldn't let you."

"Which is why I was going to make her obedient! I would make her want them! But since you stole the magic anyway, I'll just enjoy yours..." He grabbed a handful of her chest, squeezing. It was delightfully soft.

The sorcerer took a deep breath. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"You can do nothing to me, elf!"

"You think so?"

"I know-"

The blade of his sword fell off. Right where it met the hilt, it detached from the grip, coming off in a smooth, clean line. The metal glowed red at the break. The blade slid and bounced harmlessly off of her chest before falling to the ground.

"Wha-" Her elbow met the side of his head with a crack, and he fell to the ground, stars filling his vision. How could someone so skinny hit so hard? He tried to stumble back to his feet, but... Swords. There were swords pointed at his neck. Three of them. And two more at his stomach.

"You're done, Lord Amplevine," said the captain. "Give up, and maybe, maybe this will end with prison for you, instead of execution."

For a moment, just a moment, he considered plunging his neck into their blades. After all, he would come right back, wouldn't he, after a short little foray in the afterlife to meet with Hrungnir? And with the powers of a god, he would be able to take his revenge on all of them. He could kill this captain and his men, and make Synne love him. And the elf, too. Why not? She had tits bigger than Synne's now.

But...

He was not scared. No, it couldn't be fear. But the time wasn't right. Not in front of Synne.

---

He let them shackle him. Allowed them to drag him from the forest, to cart him through the city, to the prison on the West Docks. He would, he was told, be put on trial for his crimes. After the trial, he might be sent back here, or he might be sent to the gallows, depending on how the presiding magistrate sentenced him.

He decided that he did not care how the trial went. One way or the other, he would have his revenge. He didn't know how it would come yet, but he would figure it out. He was Lord Amplevine, after all.