An Ode to Uncertainty – Chapter 22 [MF][Fantasy]

Please read chapters 1 – 21 first if you have not done so. This is not a stand-alone story. Link to other chapters in comments.

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The sun shone sharp through the bare branches of the trees as Jarl stepped out of the Matrimancy building. He put his hand on the rough stones of the railing and took a deep breath.

“By the dead, I am tired.”

Sigrid grunted. Jarl looked sideways at his bodyguard. Then up at the glowing red sphere that encapsulated the College. It was brighter today than usual. He mostly forgot about it nowadays. He had asked Master Cerdic about once, but the old man had just stared at him, then given him the day off. He hadn’t asked since. But it was brighter today, wasn’t it?

“For one night I would just want to lay in Irese’s embrace once more. How long has it been since we’ve been to see her? A month? Two?”

Sigrid just shrugged. Jarl sighed. The woman seemed even more upset with him lately than usual. And she had not let him touch her a single time since that time with Mirja. By the seventh, that memory still made him hard.

“Come. Let’s head home,” he said, his shoulders slumping.

He walked a few steps before realizing that Sigrid was not walking next to him. Turning around he saw the Sister standing at the foot of the stairs up to the venerable old building, seemingly fighting some internal battle.

“What?”

She pressed her lips together.

“You have a duel. You’re probably late already,” she said looking up at the sun.

Jarl groaned. The night had been too long and all he wanted to do was to go home and lay down for a few hours before getting up again. By the seventh, if he had been more tired, he would be dead. He squared his jaw and nodded.

*

“Well, well, he finally deigns us with his noble presence,” the Idiot leered as Jarl walked up to him.

There was a small gathering in the space between the two old buildings. Jarl counted at least two dozen young men and women who had braved the early morning to spectate the duel.

There was a reason why the cramped little area between the two big faculty buildings were so popular whenever something not quite according to college rules was to take place. Both walls to the two buildings were completely windowless. Just flush stone walls rising on each side of a narrow patch of grass and at each end low trees and bushes stopped any prying eyes.

“I was busy. College business. Some of us do contribute, not just leech,” Jarl said cracking his knuckles.

The smile disappeared from the Idiot’s lips.

“Be careful,” Sigrid said behind him.

“I will,” both Jarl and his opponent said in unison.

Jarl stared at the man, then back at Sigrid who had put on her usual stone-face.

“Shall we?” the Idiot said opening his hands.

Jarl grunted. Then he nodded. In the crowd some of the Idiot’s friends did their best to taunt him. Jarl didn’t even register their voices. He felt the power gathering in his opponent. It was strange. He had never felt it that clearly before. In an instant his fatigue was gone and all he felt was the connection of everyone around him to the flows of invisible power that ran through *everything*. Most of them were barely connected to the skein while others, his opponent included, were solidly grounded in one or more of the invisible conduits.

There was a surge of power as his opponent started channeling. The air around him became thick as syrup and pressure built around him.

*Air. He’s using air*, Jarl thought.

It was the Elemancy discipline that he had least training with, but it was the easiest to counter with earth. He steeled himself and hunched forward, attaching himself to the ground, as he had done so many times before while practicing with Master Cerdic. It always helped to be stationary whenever manipulating large masses. Wind started howling around him. His hair and clothes whipped in the sudden rush of air. Jarl grunted slightly as the air around him conspired against him, trying to push him off-balance. He couldn’t breathe, so he just held his breath.

A few moments passed and the pressure ceased. He saw droplets of sweat prickle the Idiot’s forehead. Jarl couldn’t help but smile. It had barely been an effort countering his opponent’s best efforts.

“Are you done?”

Some of the color drained from the Idiot’s face. Around them Jarl heard murmurs. All of them had seen how the evocation had taxed his opponent. The Idiot breathed heavily a few times. Jarl sighed. It was somewhat of a disappointment. Given his exhausted state, he had at least expected a fair fight. He looked up and saw one of the giant stone gargoyles looking down at them from above. Raising one hand he grasped the power with his mind. With a cracking sound the stone statue was ripped from its seating and then it was falling.

His opponent shrieked and threw himself to one side. So did most of the spectators who saw what was happening. Jarl steered the massive piece of stone sideways, towards his opponent. The Idiot continued shrieking, prone on the ground, staring up at the gargoyle that was plummeting towards him.

More shrieks came from the crowd. Jarl pulled on the anchor that he had secured in the stone and groaned slightly as some of the residual force landed on his shoulders. The leering, demonic statue ground to a halt less than a foot above his opponent. The jagged smile of the gargoyle ending up right at the Idiot’s face.

How easy it would have been to crush the man like a bug. All he had to do was to do nothing. Just let go and he would squish like a bloated tick. Jarl drew a long breath, watching the panic in the Idiot’s eyes. The crowd had gone silent. No more taunts. No more shouts.

“Enough,” the word rammed through Jarl’s mind like a searing hot metal bar.

The statue soared up. Jarl was so stunned that he let go of his control and barely managed to contain the backlash. He stumbled backwards and saw Master Cerdic gently pointing with one hand at the massive statue and gently placed it back where it had begun its journey mere moments ago. There was not a single sign that the feat strained the Master in the slightest.

“You will both appear before the council by sundown tomorrow,” the old man said, looking first at Jarl, then his opponent.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

*

“That is very likely the most stupid thing you have done since I met you,” Mirja said crossing her arms over her chest.

Jarl sighed. He walked past her and tumbled down onto the bed.

“You are aware that you will very likely be expelled, don’t you?”

Jarl closed his eyes. He did not know. But he was too tired to worry about that. He didn’t even know if being expelled might not be what he wanted right now.

*So tired.*

“Just give me one of your potions,” he said.

A moment later he felt Mirja’s presence next to him. He raised himself up on his elbow and grabbed the mug from her hand downing the contents. A smooth feeling rushed through his body and he lay back letting sleep take him.

It was one of the good dreams. He knew it as soon as he saw Sigrid entering the room. Naked, as she usually was in his fantasies. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on her slim body. She climbed on top of him and slid down his shaft. He couldn’t move but didn’t care. He just lay there letting her use him. Mirja was behind her, caressing her small breasts, kissing Sigrid’s neck as she rode him. He smiled up at the both of them.

“Wake up.”

Jarl blinked his eyes open. Sigrid stood over him, her face not at all like the serene one that had been bouncing up and down on him instants before. He sighed. At least he felt partly rested.

“You’re late.”

Jarl let her drag him out of bed and somehow, he got to the class on time. The next two bells passed almost without him noticing. Hopefully some of the teachings stuck to the insides of his skull, but he wasn’t too sure.

“What now?” he asked as he stepped out of the Elemancy building.

Sigrid looked up at him and handed him two rolls of paper. He unfurled the first. It was a note from Mistress Varja saying that the night’s activities were cancelled. It didn’t state why. Jarl felt a rush of relief. He usually only got the week-end nights of from the Mistress’ experiments. He read the second note, it was from Master Cerdic saying that he was suspended up until the ruling of the council.

“What do they say?”

“I’m suspended.”

Sigrid raised an eyebrow. Jarl turned towards her and grabbing her he lifted her up and laughed. She looked a bit flustered but didn’t protest too much.

“If I had only known that the only thing I had to do to get a day off was to challenge some twit to a duel I would have done it long ago. Come,” he said dragging Sigrid behind him down the hill.

He closed his eyes as he pushed through the red sphere. Lately it felt like stepping through a thin veil of mist, tingling slightly on his skin. Once outside the colors became clearer. He looked back up at the thing. There were ripples running over the strange surface, sometimes he thought he saw order in them, but then it was gone, and it was just noise again.

“Where are we going?” Sigrid asked.

“We, my friend, are going to celebrate.”

*

Sigrid looked skeptically down at the drink that Jarl put in her hand.

“Go ahead. Drink. That’s an order.”

Sigrid glared up at him. Even when they sat down, he was still a head taller than him. She hesitated for a moment. Then shook her head.

“I cannot. It’s not good for the−“ Sigrid shut her mouth suddenly.

They were in a run-down beer cellar on the north-east side of Parchent. Not a stone’s throw from Irese’s parlor. Jarl had never been there before, but it met all of his expectations. Smelly. Noisy. And full of vehemently drunk people just past lunchtime.

“Good for the what?” Jarl asked.

The room was spinning just the right amount and the Sister looked more lovely than ever. Sigrid shook her head and pushed the mug away.

“Whatever,” Jarl said grabbing the mug. “More for me.”

Sigrid scowled. Then her face went slack. She sank down in her seat. It took a few moments before Jarl realized that she was looking past his shoulder. He turned around and saw two men at the leaning against the bar. They were both clearly fighting men, the first as wide as the barrel that sat on the bar. The other one was tall and lithe, but if Jarl could pick, he would face the large man any day.

“Who are they?” he said turning back to Sigrid.

He blinked. She wasn’t there any longer. There was a tug on his arm and Sigrid pulled him away from his beer. He was about to protest but the look on Sigrid’s face was not one to argue with.

“Who were they?” he asked again as Sigrid pulled him down the street towards Irese’s parlor.

Sigrid didn’t say a word until he found himself in the chair in Irese’s room. The courtesan wasn’t there, but Jarl could still almost feel her presence by drawing on the scent of the room.

“That was the butcher of Rimfell,” Sigrid said through clenched teeth.

Jarl blinked. Then he walked over to the liquor cabinet and picked out a glass and a bottle.

“Rimfell? Never heard of the place,” he said pouring a generous amount into the wide glass.

“You wouldn’t. He made sure of that.”

Jarl turned around. He was intrigued. He couldn’t remember ever seeing the Sister shaken before. And she definitely was.

“Too many coincidences,” Sigrid said rubbing her temples. “Too many signs.”

Jarl blinked. Now she was just talking nonsense. And his cock was hard again. Usually too much alcohol made it go down, but not today. He sighed. He really needed to get off. He downed the contents of the glass. The liquid burned his throat just the right way, so he poured himself another.

“Mirja has been of no use”, she said, seemingly talking to herself. “She just has her head in that book or her quim on the duke’s pole. *I have to understand better*. That’s what she always says. What a load of horseshit. I have to get into that ball. Something bad will happen there. I know it.”

She shook her head. Jarl blinked. The room was spinning a little fast now. Probably best to drink some more to get it back to the right speed.

“You have to help me,” Sigrid said, looking up at him.

Jarl took another mouthful. He really didn’t understand her obsession with this wraith creature. So what if it had killed a couple of guards? One could always get more guards. And he hadn’t even been at home. If it was some kind of supernatural assassin, shouldn’t it at least know where he was? More likely it had just been a burglar. Or best case, an assassin wanting to kill Else. And he wouldn’t mind that at all. But Jarl knew an opportunity when he saw it, especially when he was inebriated.

“Tell you what. You let me have you whenever I please. Up until the ball. And I’ll get you an invitation,” he said his words slurring only a little.

Good thing he was drunk, otherwise the glare that Sigrid gave him would likely have killed him. Instead he kept his gaze steady, even letting it roam a little over her body. He was going to get stabbed now. He knew it. Sigrid took half a step towards him and he couldn’t help but flinch even though she was more than a head shorter than him.

“You are a beast,” she hissed.

Jarl beamed. This was going much better than expected. Unless he was too drunk to realize that she had already stabbed him. Best not think about that.

“The fourteenth beast of my late father’s loins,” he said nodding. “So, is that a yes?”

The look that Sigrid gave him indicated that she was contemplating a thousand ways of causing him pain and quite likely death, which she likely was. She mumbled something.

“Because I could really use some relief,” Jarl said, nodding down towards his crotch.

Sigrid’s lips whitened and her eyes narrowed.

“If you do not get me an invitation before the week is up, I am going to cut one of your balls of and hang it around my neck.”

Jarl blinked. Then nodded. Sigrid pressed her lips together.

“And you may not use my quim. Only my mouth and rear. Deal?”

Jarl nodded eagerly.

“Very well,” Sigrid said, sounding resigned. “I assume you want me to relieve you now?”

Jarl beamed. Sigrid sighed, then got down on her knees, starting to unbuckle his belt. Jarls shaft smacked her face on its own accord once she released it from its fabric prison. Jarl sighed with relief as she took him into her mouth. She kept glaring at him all the while she was pleasing him with her mouth. Somehow that made Jarl even harder. He looked at her, mesmerized as she gobbled down his whole shaft. He didn’t remember her being so proficient. Had she been practicing?

When he was close to climaxing, she suddenly stopped and stood up. He was about to protest when he realized that she was unbuckling her belt and pulling her pants off. She walked to the side of the bed and took something out of a jar. Then she lay down on her back, legs pulled back and started massaging her rear.

“You will finish in my rear,” she said matter-of-factly.

Jarl quickly downed the last of his drink and moments later Sigrid’s tight rear enveloped his achingly hard member. She was slick and he slid easily in and out of her. Biting her lip, she still glared at him as he took her. Not a drop of the lead later he roared in his climax, filling her with his seed.

*

“Acolyte Jarl, fourteenth son of Tormund the Great, Prince of the Stormpikes and the Wild Ranges,” said the woman opposite him.

Jarl still remembered his last time before the council. That time had gone well, mainly because it wasn’t actually he that had done something wrong. This time however …

His head thundered. He really shouldn’t have drunk that last bottle. Or was it two bottles? He vaguely remembered Sigrid leading him back to the Lost Princes and pushing him down onto the bed. He had made one final attempt to grab at her, but his hands had not been fully functional at that point. He did remember having her in Irese’s bed. He also had a vague memory of the courtesan coming back and having her way with him. And Sigrid. Or had he dreamt that? He must have.

Next time he woke was when Sigrid poured a glass of cold water over his face. That had been less than a bell ago.

“Acolyte Aelric, Pureborn of the College of Uncertain Arts.”

Jarl tried his best not to look sideways at his co-accused. Instead he looked around the table. He recognized everyone but two, the woman opposite him and an elderly woman two chairs down. There was Master Olgric with his serpent-like stare that seemed to be nailed to Jarl’s forehead. Next to him Master Cerdic who sighed when Jarl laid eyes on him. Mistress Lorelee who refused to meet his gaze. He hazarded a glance at her ample cleavage; he never could resist that. And Mistress Norei, who never locked eyes with anyone.

*That must be Mistress Jora*, Jarl thought looking back at the elderly woman.

Last time he had seen her she had been a young woman, but the eyes were the same.

“I am headmistress Sirka,” said the woman opposite him.

*So that is Sirka*, Jarl thought.

She was a stunning woman that seemed completely ageless. Long, perfectly straight platinum-blonde hair ran down over her shoulders and her eyes were a dark blue of the vast oceans. Jarl shivered slightly as she locked eyes with him. If his head hadn’t been aching so much, he probably would have gotten an erection just by looking at her. Probably for the best that he had drunk as much as he had.

“You are both here today to answer the accusations against you with regards to breaking the laws of the College. Are you aware of the charges against you?”

Jarl saw the Idiot nodding in the corner of his eye. He did the same. Best not to look too stupid.

“Very well. We will proceed. Acting as accuser today is Master Olgric.”

Jarl winced. The wiry old man stood up, not letting his gaze shift from Jarl. Jarl decided to look at headmistress Sirka instead. He shouldn’t have done that. A wave of energy seemed to connect the two as she held his gaze. For a moment it felt like he was falling into her. He grabbed for the table as not to fall over.

*Best look down at the table instead*, he thought finding a particularly interesting pattern in the oaken board.

Master Olgric started laying out the accusations against them. Jarl didn’t listen. He was far too occupied trying not to empty the contents of his stomach over the assembly. He caught a few stray words. Irresponsible was one that he heard more than once. Reckless. And disgrace. There was apparently a lot of disgrace.

Time passed. Jarl was uncertain if five drops had passed, or a bell. The Masters and Mistresses discussed. Him and the Idiot just sat there in silence.

“Shall we pass a verdict?”

Jarl blinked. That had been Headmistress Sirka. He should probably listen to this. Lifting his eyes, he swallowed.

“Guilty,” came the first voice.

Was that Mistress Jora?

“Guilty. Guilty. Guilty,” the words came one after the other.

“Guilty,” said Headmistress Sirka.

Jarl looked at Master Cerdic who was looking straight ahead. He was the only one that hadn’t said anything.

“Guilty,” he said finally.

Jarl sat there in stunned silence. The only satisfaction was that the Idiot was even paler than him. And he probably wasn’t even hungover.

“Very well,” Headmistress Sirka said with a heavy voice. “Considering that this the first infraction for the both of you. I will not expel you at this time. I hereby sentence you to a public whipping. Ten lashes of a leather strap. To be executed tomorrow at noon.”

Jarl blinked. Whipped? In public? That was for common criminals. He shivered. His mind cleared within a few heartbeats. What would his father say? No. He was dead. But he would still turn in his grave if he knew his son had been flogged in public. And his brother. Another shiver ran through him. Jorgrim would find out. He would disown Jarl. No. It couldn’t happen. He was vaguely aware that the council were still talking.

“I will not.”

His words sent the room into utter silence. He felt everyone’s eyes on him. The most powerful magicians in the world. All looking straight at him. It was all he could do not to vomit.

“You will not what?” came Headmistress Sirka’s voice as if wrapped in barbed wire.

Jarl swallowed. Then he met her eyes. For once in his life he had to take a stand.

“I will not be whipped,” he said shaking his head. “You will have to expel me.”

If the room had felt oppressive before it was nothing to what it felt now. Sweat trickled down Jarl’s brow. But he didn’t flinch. His eyes stared dead straight at Headmistress Sirka. She looked completely calm. At the corner of his eye, he saw Master Cerdic exchange a look with Mistress Lorelee. And he saw the Idiot smiling gleefully at him.

*I should have dropped that statue on his head*.

“Well. We can’t have that, now can we,” came his mentor’s gravelly voice.

Jarl glanced sideways at Cerdic and Lorelee. They were still looking at each other.

“Could I suggest,” Cerdic said, smiling at Sirka. “That we commute acolyte Jarl’s sentence to a private punishment. Carried out by yourself?”

The Headmistress looked at Cerdic. Then at Lorelee. Jarl felt his stomach clench. He really needed to use a restroom right about now.

“Very well. The Acolyte’s sentence is commuted to a private punishment that I see fitting.”

Jarl blinked. Private punishment? He looked at the ageless woman in front of him.

“Are we agreed?”

It took a moment for Jarl to realize that she had spoken to him.

*Private punishment? How bad can it be?*

He nodded.

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This was chapter 22 of our book An Ode to Uncertainty.

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