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Message-ID: <43763asstr$1060085402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
Reply-To: anon584c@nyx.net
Subject: {ASSM} new "The Price and the Cost" (M+f magic nc) {Pendragon} [1/1] <*>
Date: Tue,  5 Aug 2003 08:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to 
read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do 
something else.

    This material is Copyright, 2003, Uther Pendragon.  All 
rights reserved.  I specifically grant the right for all 
reproduction necessary for normal Usenet propagation.  I 
specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping ONE 
electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice 
is included.  Reposting requires previous permission.

     Most of my other stories can be found at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www

    If you have any comments or requests, please E-mail them to 
me at anon584c@nyx.net.  

     If you save erotic stories and you prefer that other 
household members not be exposed to them, I recommend that you 
use a file zipped with the PKZip option -spassword.  (Where the 
password that you choose would, presumably, not be "password.")  
This still leaves the titles of the files and the fact that they 
are encrypted open to anybody.

    All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as 
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination 
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly 
coincidental.


                     #  #  #  #  #  #  #  #

                     The Price and the Cost
                         Uther Pendragon
                        anon584c@nyx.net


"Every piece of magic," the young witch said, "has a cost and a 
price.  The price you can raise from your peasantry, the cost you 
must bear yourself.  And no, Your Majesty, I don't know what the 
cost is of returning your youth to you."

"The price is high enough," the old queen replied.

"And the cost will also be high.  Not your life, but that is the 
extent of your guarantee.  As for the price, most goes to pay for 
the ingredients of the potions.  Turning you into a young woman 
isn't a matter of waving a wand.  For my living, I ask less than 
your brute soldiers wrest from a single village in a year."

"It is a high price."

"So it is.  Turn it down."

"No.  My youth once again is worth it.  Worth far more than a 
score of villages.  The soldiers will just have to be more 
persuasive this coming harvest time."  She smiled at the witch's 
wince.  

The dread sisters can put a lot of knowledge into a peasant girl 
in a decade, she thought, but the result is still a peasant girl.  
She ruled a rich land.  Only soldiers could keep it from being 
conquered.  Soldiers required pay, as well as certain other 
inducements.  And almost none of the peasant women who were among 
the other inducements came from villages which had paid their 
full taxes.  The peasants were too self-centered to see the 
necessity.  Oh, well, that was one of the limitations which made 
them peasants.

The ingredients were already at hand.  The wisewoman guested and 
prepared the chamber two days and one night.  Then the queen 
fasted and bathed.  She entered the room alone and in a plain 
shift.  The scents were already dizzying before the witch began 
anointing her, and those smells were worse.  She could remember 
drinking several concoctions, standing still while the witch 
danced around her, herself spinning until she dropped to the 
floor, giants coming out of the floor and gnomes out of the 
ceiling.  Which images were true and which were drug-induced she 
couldn't say.

When she awoke, she ached in every bone.  She was still dizzy, 
hungrier than she could remember ever being, and thirstier than 
hungry.  She was also slender and smooth-skinned.  The best she 
could estimate from what she could see without a mirror, she was 
about 14.  Her breasts were slight and her mound dusted with some 
light fuzz.  The shift from the night before, the only clothing 
in the room, draped over her and fell below the middle of her 
calves.

All her clothing would have to be replaced, but that was minor 
compared to the new body.  She'd put the servants on the job 
today.  Thinking that, she called for a servant.  At least, she 
tried to call.

She could hear nothing.  "Every piece of magic," she recalled, 
"has a cost and a price."  Quickly she pushed over a chair.  The 
crash was loud in her ears.  She wasn't deaf, she was dumb.  She 
would roast that witch over a slow fire, but that was for later.  
Now she had youth, and she was going to enjoy it.  She nearly 
skipped out the door and strode toward the great hall.  

"Stop there, girly," the huge soldier said, "where do you think 
you're going?"  She tried to speak, remembered she couldn't, and 
pointed instead.  "Well, you aren't.  Come with me to the 
sergeant of the guard."  He grabbed her arm and hauled her with 
him.  He headed towards the barracks used by the soldiers on 
castle-guard duty.

She didn't know what would happen to a young girl hauled into 
that barracks who couldn't explain herself and couldn't complain.  
But, as she trotted to keep this soldier from pulling her off her 
feet, she began to imagine.


The End
The Price and the Cost
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2003/08/05

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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