There was the unmistakable tingling of magical power coursing through his body, this one covering him entirely from the source of the potion upon his arm and hand and clothes. "What evil magic is this?" he gasped as the tingling grew even stronger! "What have you wrought?"

"Speak, Demon of the Depths!" the King stormed. "Or I shall call in the hot irons to burn you!"

"I no longer care about that!" the Dark Elf declared and laughed far too heartily.

The General, angered, slapped the Dark Elf with the back of his hand, hard.

The Dark Elf took it without even changing countenance, but Prince Feloran, ah, the Prince!

He was rocked back by the force of a blow to his own cheek. It was enough to nearly knock him over, he staggered and was caught by his own father.

"What magic is this?" the King asked.

"What happens to me, if it causes harm, happens to the Prince, that is the charm!" the Dark Elf declared with a great deal of satisfaction.

Prince Feloran understood when the others present did not. To test it, he took his knife from his belt and touched the tip to his fingertip and pricked himself on his left hand. In mid-laugh, the Dark Elf flinched and grasped his own left hand.

"The potion has bound us together!" the Prince gasped.

"What? What?"

"His evil mixture has made it so that any pain he should feel is felt by me instead!" the Prince went on. "Watch as I prick myself again." the Prince jabbed his own index finger this time, harder.

The Dark Elf gasped. The Elven race truly had little capacity for bearing pain. It illustrated the Prince's point perfectly.

"We can't beat or torment this black scoundrel at all!" the General mourned. "If we do, it will injure His Highness!"

"My son, my son!" the King was barely beginning to understand all this.

"The potion confers an immunity to pain by inflicting it upon another as you have seen. There is an antidote to this...back in my own realm." the Dark Elf went on. "If you release me now, I swear by Ardinarthe that I shall apply the antidote and end the bond again." And the Dark Elf sat back down, the master of his own fate in his own eyes.

"What shall we do, what shall we do?" the King whimpered. "I cannot let my son be injured, my Feloran, my beloved little dumpling...."

Prince Feloran hated this language from his father, for it treated him as if he were five instead of twenty-five years of age and he cut it off, "Never fear, my father. I know what to do." To the General, he said, "Take this Dark Elf and secure him safely somewhere. Confine him but do not otherwise injure him. In the morning, we shall resume our questioning of this impertinent fellow."

"Of course, of course." the General muttered.

"And don't forget to feed me as well as you are able." the Dark Elf gleefully reminded him. "If I am nauseated by anything, it is not I who will feel it."

The Prince confirmed this with a curt nod and left before the Dark Elf could think of anything else to add to increase his own discomfiture. He had not lied, he knew what he had to do. It was obvious as it could be. He was surprised the Dark Elf himself had not considered the corollary of his spell upon the Prince.

Where best to begin? He considered it, then smiled. He needed large, strong men, quite a number of them by preference, and where better to find them than among his Father's own foot soldiers? Not the common soldiers, of course, for they were lightly armed and armored. But his grandfather had created a special group, the Heavy Coursers, well-armored men who rode on the largest horses also armored, so that they were as invincible alone as a phalanx of men with interlocking shields, and could wade into the thick of battle and lay about with great slaughter wherever needed. Not the ordinary Man who could join such a group, only the largest and strongest men could bear up under the weight of armor and then wield a sword as well in combat. Their numbers were thus limited, but he could count upon the local group of some forty men to suffice for his purposes.

The Heavy Coursers had their tents a short distance away from those of the main body, for with their special rank and training went a sort of snobbish arrogance. He as the Prince of course was not submitted to such, but it also gave him a certain degree of seclusion for what he must do. He arrived just after sundown, when the fires were the greatest light around, though the rest of the world still showed in dark grays.

Four men about the fire at present, they would do for now. "Your Highness!" one of them called out at his approach and all four (who had been squatting), rose to full height.

"I come on an urgent errand." Prince Feloran told them. "Let us go to your tent and I shall instruct you."

"We hear and obey." the men said in a ragged chorus and Prince Feloran led them into the tent nearby. Whether it was theirs or anothers did not matter, after all.

"What may we do for you, Your Highness?" one asked when they were all inside.

Prince Feloran reached up and unclasped his cloak, let it fall about his ankles. Now he was clad only in a tunic and leggings, the same as any soldier of the field. "My command to you is simple, and I shall not explain it and I expect to be obeyed."

"Of course, Your Highness." a second of the men said when the first one was dumb. "Tell us and we shall obey."

"I want the four of you, and the rest of your corps, to fuck me as hard and rough as you can." Prince Feloran said, undoing the ties at his neck. This let him pull the tunic top outwards enough to pull the entire thing over his head. He dropped it at his feet and now only his legs and feet were covered with clothing, leggings and shoes. "Don't hold back at all, I need it rough. Now get yourselves to it." he said. "I'll be ready for you in just another moment."

He got off his clothes and his shoes and, now fully, nude, stretched himself out on the bed in this tent. A single bed of a size made for more than one, the Prince saw with some satisfaction. These four were a group of good friends at least, three of them would share the bed while the fourth would stand guard, sharing out the duty as the night wore on. This did not necessarily mean they were lovers, but would at least not be body-conscious among each other and may well have shared prostitutes in the past.

He looked at the four men, all of them were still fully clothed, unmoving. "Well?" He demanded. "Did you not hear me?"

"Your Highness, we.... We do not...."

"I have given you an order and I expect you to do it. And now! Move!"

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