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Wrath of the Spider Queen
A dark erotic fantasy adventure

Published by Jade Fantasy

Copyright © 2019 Sarah Hawke

Cover Art by Enia (@eniaart)

Edited by Sean L.

Maps created with Inkarnate software

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this
novel are either fictitious or used fictitiously.

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may
not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this
book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each
recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and
purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this
author.
The Northern Reaches
 A Note to My Readers
Hello, all my wonderful lovelies!

The idea for this series—an “alternate universe” where Varassa and her
drow armies have conquered Highwind—came from conversations with
some of my fabulous supporters on Patreon. Many of them were, um,
titillated by the possibilities, and I hope you are, too!

Keep in mind that nothing in this book is officially canon! If this kind of
dark bondage fantasy isn’t your thing, I will be continuing the normal
storyline shortly with The Amazon’s Vengeance #4. But if you do think it’s
fun to imagine what fate might befall our sexy heroines if the Spider Queen
triumphed…

Read on, ussta abbilen!

-Sarah
 Content Warning
This erotic novella contains dark, explicit sexual content. Drow culture is
not pleasant! This story is a capture fantasy with copious bondage, rough
sex, and near constant threats of forced pregnancy.

If any of this offends you, then you probably shouldn’t read any further!
Consider yourself warned!

And perhaps intrigued…

 Dedication
I want to offer a special thanks to all my wonderful supporters on Patreon,
especially Joseph, Lamar, Paul, Brian, Timothy, David, Alan, Commissar
Hecht, Michael M., Michael B., Dumblindeaf, Sean, and Joe. Because of
your help, all of my books will finally have unique covers!

A triple super bonus thanks to Sean L. for all his editing suggestions!
 1
Conquest
“Our soldiers have completed their raid on the old Duskwatch
tunnels, mistress. Yet another resistance cell has been annihilated.”
Varassa Hu’nate, Matron Mother of Vel’shannar and High Priestess of
the Spider Queen, smiled as she brought yet another glass of azure wine to
her lips. “Were there any survivors?”
“Several, mistress,” Commander Sabal said, his red eyes glimmering
with pride as he knelt before her. “My men are holding the prisoners in the
Citadel dungeon. They await your—”
“Slaves.”
Sabal paused. “Mistress?”
“They are not my ‘prisoners,’ foolish male. They are my slaves.”
“Y-yes, mistress,” Sabal stuttered. “I apologize for misspeaking.”
Varassa held out her hand, and one of her acolytes immediately
rushed over to snatch the empty glass. “My mother would have punished
you for such an error, Commander. A tongue that slips, no matter how
slightly, cannot be trusted with secrets—and a tongue that cannot be trusted
with secrets serves no purpose whatsoever. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Sabal flinched ever so slightly. “Yes, mistress. I promise, it will not
happen again.”
Varassa allowed the uncomfortable silence to linger for several
seconds. She wasn’t actually going to punish him for such a trivial mistake,
of course. One of the former Matron Mother’s many failures had been her
overreliance on overt brutality rather than the much more subtle nuances of
fear. It was one of innumerable reasons Varassa had been able to overthrow
the old regime and claim control of Vel’shannar. As long as she castrated a
truly disobedient or incompetent male every now and then, the others would
serve her faithfully and without question.
Varassa smiled slyly as she glanced about her new throne room. Six
months ago, this building had been the seat of power in Highwind, but the
artificers and slaves had shaped and molded it into a stronghold worthy of
their Matron Mother. From the outside, the Black Palace looked like a giant
spider nestled at the heart of the city; from the inside, it looked almost
identical to the Spire of Sovereignty in Vel’shannar. The very thought of
living on the surface—even for a short time—was utterly repulsive, but her
ever-expanding empire needed her leadership. How the pathetic rivvin had
ever survived on their own remained a mystery.
She glanced over at the new slaves chained to the chamber’s eastern
wall. There were nine of them in total, all female and all trembling with
dread. Varassa’s acolytes had stripped and collared the rivvin before forcing
them to their knees in preparation for the Matron Mother’s judgment. Some
of them had been part of a resistance cell, while others were common
thieves. Their male accomplices had been executed on the spot, naturally,
but the females would make excellent breeding stock in the harems of her
gifted warriors like Sabal.
Assuming he told her what she wanted to hear.
“You needn’t worry yourself yet, Commander,” Varassa said
eventually. “You have served me well, and for that you shall be rewarded.”
“Thank you, Matron Mother,” Sabal said, the tension slowly draining
from his face. “I live to serve you—and through you, the Spider Queen.”
“Yes, of course you do,” Varassa drawled just enough to express the
proper contempt for his presence. “What of the Ranger-General? Did you
find her during your raid?”
Sabal nodded. “We did, Matron Mother. The highborn ranger is
alive…and unspoiled, as you demanded.”
Varassa’s smile returned. After all this time, the last prize of
Highwind was finally hers for the taking…
“Where is she now?” Varassa asked.
“General Nym wished to drag her through the streets so the rivvin
could see her broken and defeated,” Sabal said. “He planned to bring her
here next. He said you would need time to prepare a proper welcome.”
Varassa rubbed her hands together in anticipation. She had been
waiting for this day ever since she had first ordered her armies to attack
Highwind. The initial siege had ended quite quickly—the bizarre magical
cataclysm that had thrown Vel’shannar into chaos a year ago had also left
the surface world virtually defenseless. The Duskwatch, the Knights of the
Silver Fist, even the Mage’s Guild—they had all crumbled in the wake of
this “Shattering.” Vel’shannar’s victory had been swift and total.
Except for one annoying and doggedly persistent darthiir cunt.
Serrane Starwind, Highwind’s former Ranger-General, had spent the last six
months organizing a rebellion against the drow. She had never succeeded,
obviously, but she had prevented Varassa from asserting full control…until
now. At long last, the highborn bitch had finally been caught.
And Varassa was going to revel in her conquest.
“Bring her to me as soon as General Nym finishes his parade,”
Varassa said. “I will question her personally.”
“Yes, Matron Mother,” Sabal said. “Your will shall be done.”
He bowed his head, and Varassa let him linger at her feet for almost a
minute before she finally gave him permission to stand. “As a reward for
your service, you may claim any female you wish,” she said, gesturing to
the naked rivvil slaves.
Sabal glanced across the room, his red eyes lighting up as he hungrily
considered his choices. Several of the thieves whimpered when he strode up
to them, but the resistance fighters had more backbone—they averted their
eyes and clenched their teeth in a futile attempt to steel themselves for the
inevitable. They were all fresh and unbroken, though that would change
soon enough.
“This one,” Sabal said, squeezing the nipples of a buxom, dark-haired
farmgirl. A frightened sob instantly escaped her lips.
“Very well,” Varassa agreed. “You may keep her until moonrise
tomorrow, but I expect her to return undamaged.”
The commander grinned as he took the girl’s leash from the acolytes.
Tears were already streaming down her cheeks, but that would only make
Sabal want her more.
“Is she ripe?” he asked eagerly.
“Quite. Plant your seed quickly, Commander, and she shall be yours
forever.”
Sabal’s eyes lit up again, and he dragged the girl out of the chamber
so quickly she could barely keep up. Her pathetic whimpers echoed off the
walls and sent a visible ripple of terror through the remaining slaves.
Varassa chuckled softly as she finally uncrossed her long, leather-
sheathed legs. She sauntered across the chamber, her stiletto heels clicking
on the black marble floor with every step. She rarely wore her armor
indoors anymore; her silken top cradled her breasts but left her stomach and
back bare. The mere sight of her flawless gray flesh surely drove her
servants wild, as did the sleek sash dangling from her waist and between
her legs. It wasn’t as though she needed the protection of actual armor—her
magic was more powerful than the hardest adamantine breastplate.
“Leave us,” she ordered the acolytes. “And summon my Throne
Maiden.”
“Yes, Matron Mother,” the acolytes replied in near unison as they
hauled the other slaves out by their collars. Once they were gone, Varassa
finally threw back her head and laughed.
Yet again, she had been victorious. Yet again, the Spider Queen had
rewarded her loyal service.
A year ago, none of this had seemed possible. Varassa had still been
the First Daughter, and the rule of the former Matron Mother had been
absolute. But then the Shattering had befallen the Underworld, and every
drow priestess had lost their ability to channel the power of the Spider
Queen. The infighting had been instant and brutal. Many of the males had
rebelled, and some had even joined forces with the slaves. Female
sovereignty itself had been challenged, as preposterous as that seemed, and
Vel’shannar had almost fallen.
But Varassa had never lost faith. Along with General Nym, she had
rallied a large enough force to kill the Matron Mother and subdue the
uprising—at which point the Spider Queen’s power had miraculously
returned. No one understood precisely what had happened, and the Dark
Goddess had never revealed why she had only restored magic to a few of
her priestesses. Perhaps she remained weakened somehow, or perhaps she
was simply rationing her power more carefully.
Whatever the case, only one thing truly mattered: Varassa was now
the unquestioned ruler of Vel’shannar, and in time she would be the
unquestioned ruler of the surface as well. Highwind would merely be the
first of many rivvil settlements to fall. Vorsalos, Silver Falls, even
Nelu’Thalas—soon the Spider Queen’s armies would crush them all.
Varassa was still contemplating the possibilities when the illusory
wall behind her throne shimmered. The spell concealed a secret passage
known only to her most trusted advisors, and a moment later, her Throne
Maiden materialized from the deep shadows as if she were a specter rather
than a flesh-and-blood woman.
“You summoned me, Matron Mother?” she asked, head bowed.
“Yes, I did,” Varassa said. “The intelligence you gathered on the
Ranger-General’s resistance cell proved accurate. Commander Sabal just
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informed me that his men raided the Duskwatch tunnels and destroyed most
of the rebels. You have done well, my precious niskaru cunt.”
As always, Solemi beamed at the slightest praise from her mistress.
Varassa sometimes found it difficult to believe just how much this half-
elven mongrel had changed over the years. When the girl had first been
captured, she had been little more than an amusing toy, but now…now she
was something else entirely. As Throne Maiden to the Matron Mother,
Solemi wielded enormous power over all the other slaves, and if not for the
mixed blood polluting her veins, she would have made an excellent
priestess herself.
Still, Varassa had slowly grown to appreciate Solemi’s niskaru
heritage in its own way. Her pale skin and willowy limbs revealed her
darthiir corruption, while her curvaceous hips and plump breasts were a
testament to her rivvil blood. She was topless most of the time these days,
though she wore a diaphanous skirt over her ky’ostal nauvith, the magical
harness which protected her quim from all the drow males who wished to
ravage it. Her long, slender legs were sheathed in heeled black leather
boots, and her shoulder-length blond hair had turned platinum over the
years as if the Spider Queen herself were trying to give the girl a taste of
true dark elven power.
“I have already rewarded Commander Sabal for his efforts,” Varassa
said, strutting in front of the girl. “But your prize will be far more glorious:
you are going to help me tame the resistance leader herself.”
Solemi beamed again, but this time her emerald eyes glimmered
sadistically as she imagined the possibilities. She could easily be as brutal
as any drow, given the opportunity. Her quim was probably soaked already.
Varassa placed her hand on the girl’s cheek. Solemi’s eyes fluttered
shut at the slightest touch of her mistress, and she nuzzled into Varassa’s
palm with the shameless desperation of a mewling kitten.
If the prisoner weren’t already on her way, I’d fuck my niskaru right
now. I haven’t been inside her in several days. It’s hard to believe how much
I already miss her warm lips and velvet folds…
“The Ranger-General will be unlike any challenge you have faced
before,” Varassa said, clearing her throat and withdrawing her hand. “She is
strong and stubborn, and her highborn blood undoubtedly teems with
misplaced pride. She will resist…and you and I will break her.”
 “I am honored, mistress,” Solemi breathed, her hands and knees
already trembling with excitement. “You will not regret placing your faith
in me.”
“I know,” Varassa said, and meant it. “General Nym will return with
my new pet soon, and I want my chamber prepared for their arrival.”
Solemi nodded. “Everything will be ready in time, mistress, I swear
it.”
“Good.” Varassa turned and sauntered back to her throne. “The Spider
Queen has presented us a chance to break a highborn daughter of
Nelu’Thalas. It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity…and I do not intend to
squander it.”

***

Unlike the rest of the renovated Black Palace, the Matron Mother’s
new lair was an entirely new addition. The artificers had magically scooped
out a large chunk of rock and stone from beneath the original structure, and
hundreds of slaves had labored for months to properly sculpt the rooms and
passages to Varassa’s liking. In addition to the Matron’s Mother parlor and
adjoining master bedroom, there were three other chambers in total: one for
the Throne Maiden, one for General Nym, and one for whichever slave
Varassa currently found the most amusing.
If everything went as planned, Serrane Starwind would be occupying
that particular spot for some time…
Varassa grinned as she entered her parlor. The lush purple carpet
covering the floor had been spun by the driders just a few weeks earlier, as
had the blankets draped across the oversized divan. They were the perfect
complement to the master-crafted furniture she had liberated from the
nobles of Highwind, especially the oaken shelves that were now filled with
her favorite toys and torture devices. The circular walls were festooned with
paintings depicting Varassa’s conquest of Vel’shannar and of Highwind, and
the entire room was bathed in dim, purplish light cast by the single ever-
burning torch on the sconce above the divan.
However, the true centerpiece was the onyx statue of the Spider
Queen looming up against the eastern wall. This particular effigy depicted
the Dark Goddess as a full drow rather than a drider, and her overwhelming
beauty was a constant reminder of the true power behind the resurgent
Drow Empire. The crystalline scrying orb clutched between her hands
allowed Varassa to view locations all across Highwind.
Solemi had already made all the necessary preparations to welcome
their new guest. A pillory had been placed at the foot of the divan, and a
rack had been assembled next to it. Most importantly, the niskaru had laid
out several essential implements for easy access, from phalluses to whips to
gags to the pau’tharii collar which had once been used to train the Throne
Maiden herself. The collection included everything Varassa would need to
break even the strongest-willed slave.
Well, almost everything. General Nym, the most powerful male in the
Matron Mother’s service, would also play an important role. He would be
desperate to breed Varassa’s new toy as soon as possible.
“I hope the arrangements are to your liking, Matron Mother,” Solemi
said, kneeling at the foot of the divan. “I have also prepared the slave
quarters for an extended guest, should that be necessary.”
“We shall find out soon enough,” Varassa said. She leaned over the
divan and examined her toys, then slowly traced her fingertip across the
enchanted black leather of her latest whip. Her artificers assured her that it
could inflict tremendous agony without leaving a single blemish in its
wake. A tough, stubborn highborn ranger would make for a perfect test. The
Matron Mother’s quim tingled when she thought about the delicious
darthiir screams echoing off the walls…
She was on the verge of ordering Solemi to kneel and pleasure her
when the scrying orb held by the statue suddenly shimmered. Its surface
swirled with purple fog for a few moments before it revealed a vision of
General Nym and his men entering the plaza surrounding the Black Palace.
When they marched up the stairs to the adamantine gate, Varassa finally
caught her first glimpse of her new slave.
And the former Ranger-General was every bit as glorious as she had
hoped.
Serrane was tall, slender, and pale-skinned like all the so-called
highborn of Nelu’Thalas, but her supple, athletic body was a vision of
feminine power and perfection. Nym hadn’t stripped her just yet; he knew
better than to deny his mistress the opportunity. Serrane’s leather breastplate
was worn and splattered with dried blood, as were her trousers and boots.
Her long blond hair was thoroughly disheveled, but she remained defiant
despite the gag stuffed in her mouth, the shackles binding her wrists, and
the collar clasped around her neck. Her crystal blue eyes blazed with fury,
and she snarled every time Nym tugged at her leash.
“She will not be easy to break,” Solemi whispered. The niskaru girl’s
fingers had already begun massaging her quim beneath her diaphanous
skirt.
“There is no glory without a suitable challenge,” Varassa said. “We
shall revel in conquering her.”
The Matron Mother slowly uncoiled her whip and cracked it in midair
as she waited for her prize. Thankfully, Nym didn’t tarry; he left his soldiers
on the steps outside while he personally dragged the Ranger-General inside
the palace, through its labyrinthine halls, and finally down the stairs to
Varassa’s lair. He offered his mistress a crisp bow when he arrived, and he
jerked the leash forward hard enough that Serrane stumbled and almost fell
flat on her face.
“I present to you Serrane Starwind, former Ranger-General of
Highwind.” Nym said, snickering as he put his hand on the woman’s neck
and forced her to her knees. “Without her leadership, my men will be able
to find and exterminate the last of the resistance cells in a matter of days.”
“Well done, General,” Varassa said. “Very well done indeed…”
She took a step forward to examine the highborn cunt more closely.
Her sinewy limbs, flat stomach, and thick golden mane were even more
impressive in person. Varassa was tempted to shear off some of the lustrous
locks for her collection, but that, like so many other delights, would just
have to wait.
“The entire city is now aware of her defeat,” Nym said. “The holdouts
will soon lose hope, and your reign will be absolute.”
Serrane growled something into her gag, but her words were
unintelligible. Nym yanked her collar again nevertheless.
“The Matron Mother did not give you permission to speak, cunt!” he
growled.
“No, I most certainly did not,” Varassa said coolly. She allowed her
whip to drag across the carpet behind her as she slowly circled her new pet.
The highborn’s wrists were shackled tightly behind her back, and it was
tempting to bind her ankles as well. Perhaps later.
“This murderous bitch butchered an entire battalion of my troops
during the siege, and she has killed dozens more since,” Nym said.
 “The survivors are no doubt desperate for vengeance,” Varassa
mused. “I am tempted to give it to them.”
“I would prefer to punish her myself, mistress. She is a sorceress
trained by the wardens of Nelu’Thalas. Any children she bears will likely
also possess the gift.”
“You wish to breed her, then?”
“Yes,” Nym said, his red eyes glimmering with lust. “Tonight, if
possible.”
Serrane’s blue eyes widened in horror, and Varassa allowed Nym’s
threat to linger in the air for several seconds before she bade him to lift the
ranger to her feet and hold her steady despite her struggles. Varassa
chuckled and placed her gray fingers upon the other woman’s toned, pale
stomach.
“Hmm…she is quite ripe,” Varassa said. “Your seed would almost
certainly take root, so long as you plant it within the next few days.”
Nym smiled and jerked the leash again. “Then I shall begin
immediately.”
“Patience, General,” Varassa chided. “This cunt may still possess
valuable information, and I wish to give her the chance to aid our cause. A
highborn slave would make an excellent Throne Maiden, wouldn’t you
agree?”
“But she deserves punishment! We cannot allow her to—”
The general froze the instant Varassa turned her eyes upon him. His
cheek twitched, and he let out a long, slow breath.
“My apologies, mistress,” he said. “I regret my choice of words.”
“As well you should, male,” Varassa said, allowing her voice to cool
several degrees. “There is no we here, General. My will is your destiny.”
Nym bowed his head. “Of course, Matron Mother. This victory and
its spoils are yours.”
“Never forget that.”
Nym may have been her most loyal and influential servant, but he
was still a servant—and a male one, at that. His competence and
ruthlessness had earned him the right to a breeding harem, but she still
couldn’t afford to let him become overconfident. The former Matron
Mother had made that mistake with Varassa. Trust was for the foolish, after
all, and there was no such thing as a true ally in the darkness of the
Underworld.
 Still, Nym was a vastly superior male specimen. He was tall for a
drow male—even in heels, Varassa could barely meet him eye-to-eye—and
he had spent decades relentlessly forging his body into a weapon of war.
She couldn’t deny that the mere sight of his sculpted gray flesh often set fire
to her quim. She had even allowed him to spill inside her—a rare, life-
defining moment for most males under her command.
But for now, he was just going to have to wait. This prize was hers
and hers alone.
“Leave us,” Varassa said. “Continue your search for any of her
remaining accomplices and interrogate the other survivors however you see
fit. Give them to your men if you wish—whatever gets them to talk. I will
summon you if your services are required again.”
“As you command, Matron Mother,” Nym said, handing her the
leash. “Glory to the Spider Queen.”
After favoring Serrane with a final lustful look, Nym turned and left
the parlor. Varassa chuckled again the instant the door closed behind him.
“You see now what fate awaits you should choose to remain
obstinate,” she said. “The general’s harem always has room for another
cunt. If you refuse to cooperate, you will spend the next century bearing
him child after child, and your mongrel spawn will fight and die on
battlefields across the world in the Spider Queen’s name.”
The highborn snarled unintelligibly into her gag, but her muffled
protestations only made Varassa snicker. She was going to relish every
moment of this.
“I see you still haven’t learned the first lesson of the Black Palace,”
Varassa said. “No slave shall speak without permission.”
She slapped Serrane across the cheek. The woman’s pale flesh flared
an angry red, and when she snarled again, Varassa backhanded her just as
hard. This time, the highborn remained silent afterward, though the Matron
Mother still threateningly cracked her whip.
“I suggest you grow accustomed to the bitter taste of your pride,
darthiir cunt,” Varassa growled. “You will find it more palatable than the
sting of my lash.”
After glaring down at the highborn for several long, menacing
seconds, Varassa turned and beckoned Solemi from her perch at the foot of
the divan. The niskaru girl stood and approached, her eyes locked on
Serrane and every bit as lustful as Nym’s. As always, her servile disposition
belied her ruthlessness. Given the chance, she would dominate the highborn
every bit as brutally as Nym.
“My Throne Maiden here wasn’t so different from you once,” Varassa
said, gently massaging the niskaru’s plump, human-sized breasts. The girl
nibbled at her lip and sighed contentedly. “She wanted to believe that
someone would save her, but then she realized she had already been
liberated from the drudgery of her pointless life on the surface. I gave her
the greatest gift of all—total submission to the Spider Queen. For one with
such polluted blood, there is no greater glory.”
Grinning, Varassa slowly slipped out of her thigh-high boots before
pushing her panties to the floor. She allowed the highborn a good, long look
at her hairless drow quim before she took a deep breath and whispered a
prayer to the Dark Goddess. Aetheric energies instantly surged through her
entire body, and the Matron Mother carefully shaped the raw power into
one of her favorite spells. A thick gray cock sprouted from inside her quim,
instantly drawing a surprised—and frightened—gasp from Serrane.
“Behold your new master,” Varassa said, curling her fingers around
the rigid stem. “Serve it well, and you shall be rewarded.”
While the ranger recoiled at the size of the magical phallus, Solemi
was practically salivating. The niskaru girl stared at the throbbing stem as if
it were the only thing she had ever desired.
“May I prepare you, mistress?” she asked breathlessly.
“You may indeed,” Varassa said.
Her Throne Maiden didn’t waste a single second; she dropped to her
knees, crawled forward, and parted her ruby lips to inhale the tip of the
phallus. A shockwave of delight rippled throughout Varassa’s body, and her
legs become so weak she momentarily wobbled on her heels before she
could collect herself. Solemi’s skills at cock sucking remained unmatched
in the Underworld; males across Vel’shannar would give almost anything to
feel her lips and tongue on their stems.
“You see how eagerly she has embraced her role?” Varassa said,
feathering her fingers through the niskaru’s platinum hair. “If your lips are
half this skilled, you could have a valuable position in my court. If not,
well, General Nym’s soldiers aren’t nearly as selective in their tastes. I
wonder how many cocks your highborn throat could drain in a day…”
Serrane’s eyes widened when Varassa amplified the spell and
enlarged the stem. Soon it was the size of an orc male’s, though Solemi
didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Her fingers eagerly stroked the base
while she took the tip and shaft into her velvety throat. There were times
when Varassa wondered if anything could truly sate the girl’s hunger. She
even seemed to enjoy draining the minotaurs.
“Enough!” Varassa said, tugging on Solemi’s hair and pulling her
away. The Matron Mother almost spilled anyway; her cock twitched in
midair for several seconds, desperate for release. If she had been a true
male, she never would have been able to control herself. They were slaves
to their stems, and the Spider Queen’s magic allowed her chosen servants to
understand the nature of that bondage—and use it to manipulate them.
Still, Varassa couldn’t deny that cocks had their uses. Nothing else in
her vast collection possessed a greater power to discipline her slaves, and
she couldn’t deny how glorious it felt to drench one of her subjects in a
shower of seed.
“Your new master is ready, cunt,” Varassa said, stepping directly in
front of Serrane. “If you serve him well, you shall be rewarded. If you serve
him poorly, I shall simply satisfy him with a different hole.”
The Matron Mother slapped her stem against the highborn’s cheeks.
Surprised, Serrane groaned into her gag and tried to scuttle away on her
knees, but Varassa immediately jerked on the leash and held the other
woman in place.
“Open her mouth,” Varassa commanded.
Solemi crawled forward and began unfastening the leather straps
holding the gag in place. Varassa’s cock throbbed in anticipation of entering
another warm, wet sheath, and she continued smacking it against the
highborn’s forehead to humiliate the bitch as much as possible…
“Le’thos!” Serrane snarled the instant the gag fell from her mouth.
“Jukatta le—”
Her voice cut out when Solemi clutched her throat and squeezed. The
ranger’s blue eyes shot wide open as she gasped for air.
“The Matron Mother already warned you once,” the niskaru girl
snarled. “You will not speak without permission!”
Varassa snickered. Once again, she was tempted to allow her Throne
Maiden a few minutes alone to discipline their new pet. The girl’s ability to
control and dominate other females was a sight to behold. She would
happily fuck them in the ass for a week straight if that was what it took to
break them. But as amusing as that would have been to watch, Varassa
wanted—and deserved—to break this surface bitch herself.
“You will not utter a word of your filthy darthiir speech here,”
Varassa warned. “Every time you disobey, you will be punished.”
She signaled for Solemi to release her grip, and the moment she did
so, Serrane gasped for breath. She glared up at her captors through
bloodshot eyes.
“You will never get away with this, drow bitch,” the ranger snarled.
“The people of Highwind will—”
Solemi slapped her hard across the face, and she reared back to do it
again before Varassa snatched the girl’s wrist. “Enough,” the Matron
Mother said, snickering. “If she refuses to remain silent, I shall simply gag
her myself.”
Taking a step backward, Varassa whispered another prayer to the
Spider Queen. The Goddess’s power flowed through her high priestess, and
Varassa shaped it into yet another of her favorite spells. A sprawling nexus
of shimmering webs appeared on the ceiling, and she called down several
long, thick strands.
Serrane gasped in surprise when the tentacle-like tethers grabbed her
shackled wrists and unbound ankles and hoisted her up into the air. Within
seconds, she was suspended face-down several feet above the floor, and the
webs were so tight she could barely move an inch.
“Release me!” the highborn demanded. “Or I swear to the gods I will
—nnmph!”
Her protests became little more than muffled cries when the webs
curled around her chin and clamped her mouth shut. Varassa snickered
again and placed her gray fingers on the other woman’s cheek.
“Allow the Goddess to hold you in her warm, loving embrace,” the
Matron Mother sneered. “And pray that she finds you worthy enough to let
go.”
Cackling delightedly, Varassa began slapping Serrane’s cheeks with
her massive gray cock once again. The highborn closed her eyes and
clenched her teeth to endure this degradation, but it only encouraged
Varassa to slap harder. She was seriously tempted to shower the cunt’s face
with seed right here and now just to watch her squirm, but Varassa wanted
to feel the warm cradle of a highborn throat first. It had been far, far too
long since she had broken a true-blooded slave.
 “Strip her,” the Matron Mother ordered as she stopped slapping
Serrane and began stroking her cock again instead. “A slave has no use for
armor.”
As always, the Throne Maiden obeyed without question. She started
by unstrapping the ranger’s cropped breastplate, exposing the woman’s
perky highborn tits. Serrane’s trousers and boots were next, and the webs
helpfully parted to allow Solemi full access without completely releasing
their hold. Soon the darthiir’s naked, bound body was on full display…and
it was every bit as glorious as Varassa had hoped.
“Oh, General Nym definitely wouldn’t be able to last long inside
you,” the Matron Mother said as she circled Serrane, leaning down and
dragging her fingertips along the other woman’s taut belly. “No male could,
I imagine.”
Serrane squirmed helplessly, but even her athletic body was no match
for the Spider Queen’s bondage. The webs would sap her sorcerous might
as well, preventing her from channeling the Aether. The only escape was
total submission.
“I wonder, how many cocks have you already serviced?” Varassa
asked, pacing around her slave. “You have lived with the rivvin for some
time, have you not? I bet you’ve developed a taste for their stems.”
“Our spies believe she has taken a human lover,” Solemi said. She
stepped up to the highborn’s right flank and began idly twirling her fingers
through the other woman’s golden mane. “A Knight of the Silver Fist
named Julian Cassel.”
“A paladin?” Varassa exclaimed with a snort. “Yes, of course you
wouldn’t settle for anything less. My Throne Maiden also had a taste for
paladin cock once. Her old lover is still back in Vel’shannar, though I could
easily summon him. Perhaps I’ll have him breed you after Nym…”
The ranger’s futile struggles began to slowly spin her in place. When
her splayed legs moved in front of Solemi, the niskaru darted between them
and dragged a finger along the length of the highborn’s slit.
“She is wet, mistress,” the girl replied, snickering as she licked her
fingertips clean. “Perhaps she enjoys the idea of joining the general’s
harem.”
Varassa laughed. “Oh, I knew it. You darthiir are predictably pathetic.
You decry our raids to the surface, yet you secretly yearn for us to conquer
you.”
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 Serrane muttered something again, but her glistening quim betrayed
her true feelings. A part of her was already enjoying this. She was going to
make a fine Throne Maiden, indeed…
“It’s time,” Varassa said, smacking her cock across the highborn’s
face again. “Prove your worth to me as a servant or spend the rest of your
long life in a breeding harem. The choice is yours.”
Solemi ducked out from between Serrane’s legs and rushed over to
pull the webs from her lips. “Open your mouth!” the girl commanded.
“Taste the power of the Spider Queen!”
Amazingly, the highborn obeyed. She lifted her head and parted her
lips as far as she could, and Varassa wasted no time nudging the swollen tip
of her phallus inside. Serrane glanced up as the shaft began to slide past her
teeth—
And promptly bit down as hard as she could.
A true male would have shrieked in agony, but Varassa felt nothing
but pleasure. Her cock was impervious to damage; Serrane’s teeth couldn’t
penetrate the magical flesh. And even if they could, the phallus lacked any
true pain receptors.
The Matron Mother chuckled contemptuously at the highborn’s futile
rebellion. “Did you honestly believe that would work? I am not a pathetic
male—you cannot harm this stem. But I promise you this, cunt: you will
learn to respect its power.”
Varassa gestured to Solemi, and the girl leaned forward and pinched
the highborn’s nostrils shut. The look on Serrane’s face was priceless: her
crystal blue eyes gaped wide when she finally realized just how helpless she
really was. Her last petty act of defiance had failed. Surrender was her only
option.
Yet she still held out. Serrane’s face went red as her lungs begged for
air, and for a long moment, Varassa wondered if the stubborn bitch would
actually suffocate rather than submit. But then her lips suddenly opened,
and the Matron Mother plunged the full length of her cock down the
highborn’s throat. It was every bit as warm, soft, and tight as a rivvil cunt.
“Yes, there you go,” Varassa cooed. “Swallow your pride…and your
destiny.”
She held her cock in place for several more seconds before she finally
signaled for Solemi to let go. Serrane sucked in as much air as she could
through her nose even as her throat bulged with Varassa’s rigid member.
 The Matron Mother only granted the highborn a moment of reprieve
before she pushed the phallus in deeper and deeper. The highborn was
obviously more experienced than she let on; she quickly relaxed her throat
so she didn’t gag, though her helpless gurgles only spurred Varassa to push
harder. After grabbing a thick handful of blond hair, she pounded the
phallus in and out, in and out, in and out…
“Phraktos, dos phuul ji sseren,” she breathed, reveling in the glory of
her conquest. As much as she enjoyed fucking the fresh, unspoiled cunts of
her new slaves, there had always been something special about forcing her
stem down the throats of her subjects. It was the purest expression of power.
And power was the ultimate offering to the Spider Queen.
Varassa grinned as she felt a climax approaching. Solemi had already
crawled back between the highborn’s legs to feast upon her quim, and the
sight of the Throne Maiden’s glistening chin was more than enough to push
the Matron Mother over the edge. She yanked on Serrane’s hair as she
thrust one final time—
“Ultrinnan!” Varassa shouted as she pulled out at the last instant. The
magical phallus erupted, spraying Serrane’s face with a thick, viscous
volley of searing seed. She barely managed to close her blue eyes before the
Matron Mother’s bounty splattered her forehead, nose, and cheeks. By the
time the cock was spent, several gooey strands were dangling from the
highborn’s chin.
Varassa expected her slave to spit and scowl, but she couldn’t—her
body was too busy convulsing from her own climax. The highborn tried and
failed to muffle her pitiful whimpers, which made their sweet sound all the
more glorious. She may have been stubborn, but she was also clearly a slut.
Her inevitable fall would be magnificent indeed.
“Llieh,” Varassa breathed, marveling at how drained she felt after the
phallus spent. She beseeched the Spider Queen for a blessing of vigor, and a
restoring surge of energy immediately washed over her.
“May I take her now, mistress?” Solemi asked from her knees, her
lips and chin still glistening with highborn nectar.
“Patience, my pet,” Varassa said, scooping a strand of seed from
Serrane’s cheek and smearing it into her long golden locks. “She must first
learn to wear the mark of the Spider Queen with pride, just as you did. As
my bounty dries upon her flesh, she will learn to embrace her new role.”
 Solemi hungrily eyed the highborn’s pale flesh. “She is especially
willful, mistress. She may require additional discipline.”
“And she shall have it, in time,” Varassa said, opening her palm and
dispelling the phallus. Her own quim was still slick and ready. “For now,
you shall relieve me.”
The niskaru eagerly scuttled around Serrane and brought her tongue
to her mistress’s sodden slit. She was every bit as skilled at pleasuring a
quim as a cock, and Varassa gently stroked the girl’s platinum hair right in
front of the exhausted, seed-splattered slave.
“The Spider Queen has many lessons prepared for our guest,” the
Matron Mother said, smiling. “We shall begin again soon.”
 2
Humility
Serrane Starwind awakened with a start, and her eyes immediately
scoured the darkness for any signs of her captors. She couldn’t believe she
had allowed herself to fall asleep in this horrible place—she should have
forced herself to stay alert and vigilant.
I also should have forced myself not to climax like a whore when that
drow bitch shoved her cock in my mouth.
The ranger snarled in disgust—mostly at herself—as she continued
scanning the room. The Matron Mother had extinguished the magical torch
before she left, shrouding the entire room in shadow. The only source of
light was the faint, ominous violet glow of the crystalline orb clutched in
the hands of the statue on the wall. Serrane didn’t hear any breathing,
however, which probably meant she was alone. How long had she been
unconscious? Her only point of reference was that the semen covering her
face and chin had dried.
I used to play this game with Julian. He would mark his territory by
covering my whole body, and I would let it dry until morning. What would
he say if he knew that a part of me enjoyed being tied up by my enemies?
What would he think if he saw how hard I came when that drow bitch
fucked my throat?
Serrane snarled and tugged at her restraints. The leash had been
removed from her collar, but she was still suspended face-down in midair,
unable to move or rotate her head more than a few inches in any direction.
Her arms were locked behind her back and her legs were splayed open
wide, and no amount of struggling helped free them. She didn’t understand
how simple webs could be this strong. She was bound, naked, and
completely at the mercy of her captors.
And a part of me loves it.
Grimacing, the ranger forced herself to take a deep breath and reach
out to the Aether. She could still feel its power suffusing the room, but
every time she tried to shape it into a spell, the magic fizzled at her
fingertips. Somehow, the webs were sapping away her strength. Perhaps the
statue was imbuing them with power…
 After a few more failed attempts, Serrane finally gave up. Her sorcery
wouldn’t save her here, especially without her bow to focus her power. Her
only real chance was to hold out as long as possible for Julian to rescue her.
The thought of being a damsel in distress made her nauseous, but the truth
was unavoidable. He and his surviving knights were undoubtedly searching
for her already, and they wouldn’t stop until they found her.
Or died in the attempt.
Serrane’s stomach sank at the thought. After six months of bloody
struggle against the drow occupation, the resistance was no closer to
victory. In fact, things were far worse than they had ever been. The Matron
Mother’s slave armies outnumbered the resistance fighters a hundred to
one, and the dark elf priestesses seemed completely unaffected by the
Shattering. How could the Spider Queen still grant them power when all the
other gods had fallen silent? Was she responsible for this cataclysm
somehow?
The ranger was still hanging helplessly in place when she heard a
sudden thud just outside the door behind her left shoulder. The sound
repeated a second and then a third time, and Serrane swore she heard a
stifled gasp before everything went silent.
Frowning, she craned her neck to look at the door. When nothing else
happened for almost a minute, she started to wonder if she had imagined the
whole thing…but then she heard metal scraping on metal, almost like
someone was trying to pick the lock.
Her heart raced in her chest. Had the resistance found her already? It
seemed impossible—the Black Palace was the most heavily guarded
building in the entire city these days. But why else would someone be
trying to break in?
Serrane held her breath as the scraping grew louder and louder.
Eventually there was a loud click, and when the door burst open, a familiar
figure stormed into the room.
“Julian!” Serrane called out. “Oh, thank the gods…”
He rushed over to her so quickly that his movements were little more
than a blur in the darkness. His face was covered in blond stubble and
smeared with dirt, but she had never seen a more beautiful sight in her
whole life.
“Escar’s mercy,” he gasped, placing his hands around the sides of her
head and dropping to a knee in front of her. “When I heard you’d been
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 And hands and head shalt wash;
Wipe them and comb, | ere they go in the coffin,
And pray that they sleep in peace.

35. Then tenth I rede thee, | that never thou trust

The word of the race of wolves,
(If his brother thou broughtest to death,
Or his father thou didst fell;)
Often a wolf | in a son there is,
Though gold he gladly takes.

36. Battle and hate | and harm, methinks,

Full seldom fall asleep;
Wits and weapons | the warrior needs
If boldest of men he would be.

37. Then eleventh I rede thee, | that wrath thou

shun,
And treachery false with thy friends;
Not long the leader’s | life shall be,
For great are the foes he faces.

[386]

[Contents]
NOTES
[388]

Prose. The introductory prose follows without break the prose

concluding the Fafnismol, the point of division being arbitrary and not
agreed upon by all editors. Hindarfjoll: cf. Fafnismol, 42 and note.
Franks: this does not necessarily mean that Sigurth was on his way
to the Gjukungs’ home, for Sigmund had a kingdom in the land of the
Franks (cf. Fra Dautha Sinfjotla). Shields: the annotator probably
drew the notion of the shield-tower from the reference in Helreith
Brynhildar, 9. The flame-girt tower was not uncommon; cf.
Mengloth’s hall in Svipdagsmol. [389]

1. This stanza, and the two lines included in the prose after stanza 4,
and possibly stanza 5 as well, evidently come from a different poem
from stanzas 2–4. Lines 3–4 in the original are obscure, though the
general meaning is clear.

Prose (after stanza 1). In the manuscript stanza 4 stands before this
prose note and stanzas 2–3. The best arrangement of the stanzas
seems to be the one here given, following Müllenhoff’s suggestion,
but the prose note is out of place anywhere. The first sentence of it
ought to follow stanza 4 and immediately precede the next prose
note; the second sentence ought to precede stanza 5.

2. Sons of day: the spirits of light. The daughter of night (Not),

according to Snorri, was Jorth (Earth). [390]

Prose (after stanza 4). Sigrdrifa: on the error whereby this epithet,
“victory-bringer,” became a proper name cf. Fafnismol, 44 and note.
Hjalmgunnar: in Helreith Brynhildar (stanza 8) he is called a king of
the Goths, which means little; of him and his adversary, Agnar, we
know nothing beyond what is told here. The two lines quoted
apparently come from the same poem as stanza 1; the two first lines
of the stanza have been reconstructed from the prose thus:
“Hjalmgunnar was one, | the hoary king, / And triumph to him |
had Heerfather promised.” A few editions insert in this prose
passage stanzas 7–10 of Helreith Brynhildar, which may or may not
have belonged originally to this poem. [391]

5. This stanza is perhaps, but by no means surely, from the same

poem as stanza 1. Tree of battle: warrior. Runes: the earliest runes
were not letters, but simply signs supposed to possess magic power;
out of them developed the “runic alphabet.”

6. Stanzas 6–12 give a list of runes which probably had no original

connection with the Brynhild-Sigurth story. Tyr: the sword-god (cf.
Hymiskvitha, 4 and note); “tyr” is also the name of a rune which
became “T.”

7. Regius gives only lines 1–6; lines 7–8 are added from
Volsungasaga. Lies, etc.: a guest on his arrival received a draught of
ale from the hands of his host’s wife, and it was to prevent this
draught from bewitching him that the runes were recommended.
Need: the word “nauth,” meaning “need,” is also the name of the
rune which became “N.” Leek: leeks were long supposed to have the
power of counteracting poison or witchcraft. [392]

9. Sail-steeds: ships.

10. Branch-runes: runes cut in the bark of trees. Such runes were
believed to transfer sickness from the invalid to the tree. Some
editors, however, have changed “limrunar” (“branch-runes”) to
“lifrunar” (“life-runes”). [393]

11. Lines 3–6 look like an accidental addition, replacing two lines
now lost. They mean, apparently, that the man who interweaves his
speech with “speech-runes” when he pleads his case at the “Thing,”
or popular tribunal, will not unduly enrage his adversary in the
argument of the case.
12. Here the list of runes breaks off, though the manuscript indicates
no gap, and three short passages of a different type, though all
dealing with runes, follow.

13. Stanzas 13–14 appear to have come from a passage regarding

Othin’s getting of the runes similar to Hovamol, 139–146. Editors
have tried various combinations of the lines in stanzas 12–14. Hropt:
Othin; cf. Voluspo, 62. The draught, etc.: apparently the reference is
to the head of Mim, from which Othin derived his wisdom in magic
(cf. Voluspo, 47 and note); Heithdraupnir (“Light-Dropper”) and
Hoddrofnir (“Treasure-Opener”) seem to be names for Mim. [394]

14. This stanza is clearly in bad shape; perhaps, as the manuscript

indicates, a new stanza, of which most has been lost, should begin
with line 3. Brimir: a giant (cf. Voluspo, 9 and 37); why Othin should
have his sword is unknown.

15. Stanzas 15–17 constitute a wholly distinct rune-chant. Line 1 is

unusually long in the original, as here. Shield: the shield Svalin
(“Cooling”) that stands in front of the sun; cf. Grimnismol, 38. Arvak
(“Early Walter”) and Alsvith (“All-Swift”): the horses that draw the
sun’s car; cf. Grimnismol, 37. Hrungnir: the slayer of the giant
Hrungnir was Thor (cf. Harbarthsljoth, 14 and note), but the line is in
bad shape; the name may not be Hrungnir, and “killer” is a
conjectural addition. Sleipnir: Othin’s eight-legged horse; cf.
Grimnismol, 44 and note. Sledge: perhaps the one mentioned in
Grimnismol, 49.

16. Bragi: the god of poetry; cf. Grimnismol, 44 and note. [395]

17. Charms: the wearing of amulets was very common. Gungnir:

Othin’s spear, made by the dwarfs, which he occasionally lent to
heroes to whom he granted victory. Grani: Sigurth’s horse; the
Volsungasaga has “giantesses’.”

18. Stanzas 18–19, which editors have freely rearranged, apparently

come from another source than any of the rest. Shaved off: the
runes were shaved off by Othin from the wood on which they were
carved, and the shavings bearing them were put into the magic
mead. Wanes: cf. Voluspo, 21, note.

19. Lines 3, 6, and 7 look like spurious additions, but the whole
stanza is chaotic. Beech-runes: runes carved on beech-trees. [396]

20. Stanzas 20–21 are all that remains of the dialogue between
Brynhild and Sigurth from the poem to which stanzas 2–4 belong; cf.
Introductory Note. In the intervening lost stanzas Brynhild has
evidently warned Sigurth of the perils that will follow if he swears
loyalty to her; hence the choice to which she here refers. Tree, etc.:
warrior. The manuscript does not indicate the speaker of either this
or the following stanza; the Volsungasaga names Sigurth before
stanza 21.

21. It is quite possible that the original poem concluded with two
stanzas after this, paraphrased thus in the Volsungasaga: “Sigurth
said: ‘Nowhere is to be found any one wiser than thou, and this I
swear, that I shall have thee for mine, and that thou art after my
heart’s desire.’ She answered: ‘I would rather have thee though I
might choose among all men.’ And this they bound between them
with oaths.” Stanzas 22–37, which the Volsungasaga paraphrases,
may have been introduced at a relatively early time, but can hardly
have formed part of the original poem. [397]

22. With this stanza begins the list of numbered counsels, closely
resembling the Loddfafnismol (Hovamol, 111–138), here attributed to
Brynhild. That the section originally had anything to do with Brynhild
is more than improbable.

23. Wolf of his word: oath-destroyer, oath-breaker.

25. This chaotic and obscure jumble of lines has been

unsuccessfully “improved” by various editors. It is clearly an
interpolation, meaning, in substance: “It is dangerous to keep silent
too long, as men may think you a coward; but if any one taunts
[398]you falsely because of your silence, do not argue with him, but
the next morning kill him as proof that he is a liar.”

27. Probably another interpolation.

28. Silver of kinship: the passage is doubtful, but apparently it means

the “marriage-price” for which a bride was “bought.”

29. Line 1 comes at the end of the thirty-second leaf of Regius, and
whatever further was contained in that manuscript has vanished
[399]with the lost eight-leaf folio (cf. Introductory Note). The rest of
stanza 29, and stanzas 30–37, are added from later paper
manuscripts, which were undoubtedly copied from an old parchment,
though probably not from the complete Regius. The Volsungasaga
paraphrases these additional stanzas.

30. Probably an interpolation.

31. The meaning is that it is better to go forth to battle than to stay at

home and be burned to death. Many a Norse warrior met his death
in this latter way; the burning of the house in the Njalssaga is the
most famous instance.

34. Probably an interpolation. [400]

35. Lines 3–4 are probably interpolated. Race of wolves: family of a

slain foe.

36. Probably an interpolation.

37. Lines 3–4 may well have come from the old Sigurth-Brynhild
poem, like stanzas 2–4 and 20–21, being inserted here, where they
do not fit particularly well, in place of the two lines with which the
eleventh counsel originally ended. Perhaps they formed part of the
stanza of warning which evidently preceded Brynhild’s speech in
stanza 20. In the Volsungasaga they are paraphrased at the end of
Brynhild’s long speech of advice (stanzas 20–37), and are
immediately followed by the prose passage given in the note on
stanza 21. It seems likely, therefore, [401]that the paper manuscripts
have preserved all of the so-called Sigrdrifumol which was contained
in the lost section of Regius, with the possible exception of these two
concluding stanzas, and these may very well have been given only
in the form of a prose note, though it is practically certain that at one
time they existed in verse form. [402]

[Contents]
BROT AF SIGURTHARKVITHU
 Fragment of a Sigurth Lay
[Contents]

Introductory Note
The gap of eight leaves in the Codex Regius (cf. introductory note to
the Sigrdrifumol) is followed by a passage of twenty stanzas which is
evidently the end of a longer poem, the greater part of it having been
contained in the lost section of the manuscript. There is here little
question of such a compilation as made up the so-called Reginsmol,
Fafnismol, and Sigrdrifumol; the extant fragment shows every sign of
being part of a poem which, as it stood in the manuscript, was a
complete and definite unit. The end is clearly marked; the following
poem, Guthrunarkvitha I, carries a specific heading in the
manuscript, so that there is no uncertainty as to where the fragment
closes.

It seems altogether likely that the twenty stanzas thus remaining are
the end of a poem entitled Sigurtharkvitha (Lay of Sigurth), and,
more specifically, the “Long” Lay of Sigurth. The extant and complete
Sigurth lay, a relatively late work, is referred to by the annotator as
the “Short” Lay of Sigurth, which, of course, presupposes the
existence of a longer poem with the same title. As the “short” lay is
one of the longest poems in the whole collection (seventy stanzas), it
follows that the other one must have been considerably more
extensive in order to have been thus distinguished by its length. It
may be guessed, then, that not less than eighty or a hundred
stanzas, and possibly more, of the “Long” Lay of Sigurth have been
lost with the missing pages of Regius.
The narrative, from the point at which the so-called Sigrdrifumol
breaks off to that at which the Brot takes it up, is given with
considerable detail in the Volsungasaga. In this prose narrative four
stanzas are quoted, and one of them is specifically introduced with
the phrase: “as is told in the Lay of Sigurth.” It is possible, but most
unlikely, that the entire passage paraphrases this poem alone; such
an assumption would give the Lay of Sigurth not less than two
hundred and fifty stanzas (allowing about fifteen stanzas to each of
the missing pages), and moreover there are inconsistencies in the
Volsungasaga narrative suggesting that different and more or less
conflicting poems were used as sources. The chances are that the
“Long” Lay of Sigurth [403]filled approximately the latter half of the
lost section of the manuscript, the first half including poems of which
the only trace is to be found in the Volsungasaga prose paraphrase
and in two of the stanzas therein quoted.

The course of the Volsungasaga’s story from the Sigrdrifumol to the

Brot is, briefly, as follows. After leaving the Valkyrie, Sigurth comes to
the dwelling of Heimir, Brynhild’s brother-in-law, where he meets
Brynhild and they swear oaths of fidelity anew (the Volsungasaga is
no more lucid with regard to the Brynhild-Sigrdrifa confusion than
was the annotator of the poems). Then the scene shifts to the home
of the Gjukungs. Guthrun, Gjuki’s daughter, has a terrifying dream,
and visits Brynhild to have it explained, which the latter does by
foretelling pretty much everything that is going to happen; this
episode was presumably the subject of a separate poem in the lost
section of the manuscript. Guthrun returns home, and Sigurth soon
arrives, to be made enthusiastically welcome. Grimhild, mother of
Gunnar and Guthrun, gives him a magic draught which makes him
forget all about Brynhild, and shortly thereafter he marries Guthrun.

Then follows the episode of the winning of Brynhild for Gunnar (cf.
Gripisspo, 37 and note). This was certainly the subject of a poem,
possibly of the first part of the “Long” Lay of Sigurth, although it
seems more likely that the episode was dealt with in a separate
poem. The Volsungasaga quotes two stanzas describing Sigurth’s
triumphant passing through the flames after Gunnar has failed and
the two have changed forms. They run thus:

The fire raged, | the earth was rocked,

The flames leaped high | to heaven itself;
Few were the hardy | heroes would dare
To ride or leap | the raging flames.

Sigurth urged Grani | then with his sword,

The fire slackened | before the hero,
The flames sank low | for the greedy of fame,
The armor flashed | that Regin had fashioned.

After Sigurth has spent three nights with Brynhild, laying his sword
between them (cf. Gripisspo, 41 and note), he and Gunnar return
home, while Brynhild goes to the dwelling of her brother-in-law,
Heimir, and makes ready for her marriage with Gunnar, [404]directing
Heimir to care for her daughter by Sigurth, Aslaug. The wedding
takes place, to be followed soon after by the quarrel between
Guthrun and Brynhild, in which the former betrays the fact that it was
Sigurth, and not Gunnar, who rode through the flames. Brynhild
speaks with contempt of Guthrun and her whole family, and the
following stanza, which presumably belongs to the same Sigurth lay
as the Brot, is quoted at this point:

Sigurth the dragon | slew, and that

Will men recall | while the world remains;
But little boldness | thy brother had
To ride or leap | the raging flames.

Gunnar and Sigurth alike try to appease the angry Brynhild, but in
vain. After Sigurth has talked with her, his leaving her hall is
described in the following stanza, introduced by the specific phrase:
“as is said in the Lay of Sigurth”:

Forth went Sigurth, | and speech he sought not,

The friend of heroes, | his head bowed down;
Such was his grief | that asunder burst
His mail-coat all | of iron wrought.

Brynhild then tells Gunnar that she had given herself wholly to
Sigurth before she had become Gunnar’s wife (the confusion
between the two stories is commented on in the note to Gripisspo,
47), and Gunnar discusses plans of vengeance with his brother,
Hogni. It is at this point that the action of the Brot begins.

Beginning with this poem, and thence to the end of the cycle, the
German features of the narrative predominate (cf. introductory note
to Gripisspo).

[Contents]

Hogni spake:

1. “(What evil deed | has Sigurth) done,

That the hero’s life | thou fain wouldst have?”

[405]

Gunnar spake:

2. “Sigurth oaths | to me hath sworn,

Oaths hath sworn, | and all hath broken;
He betrayed me there | where truest all
His oaths, methinks, | he ought to have kept.”
Hogni spake:

3. “Thy heart hath Brynhild | whetted to hate,

Evil to work | and harm to win;
She grudges the honor | that Guthrun has,
And that joy of herself | thou still dost have.”

4. They cooked a wolf, | they cut up a snake,

They gave to Gotthorm | the greedy one’s flesh,
Before the men, | to murder minded,
Laid their hands | on the hero bold.

5. Slain was Sigurth | south of the Rhine;

From a limb a raven | called full loud: [406]
“Your blood shall redden | Atli’s blade,
And your oaths shall bind | you both in chains.”

6. Without stood Guthrun, | Gjuki’s daughter,

Hear now the speech | that first she spake:
“Where is Sigurth now, | the noble king,
That my kinsmen riding | before him come?”

7. Only this | did Hogni answer:

“Sigurth we | with our swords have slain;
The gray horse mourns | by his master dead.”

8. Then Brynhild spake, | the daughter of Buthli:

“Well shall ye joy | in weapons and lands;
Sigurth alone | of all had been lord,
If a little longer | his life had been.

9. “Right were it not | that so he should rule

O’er Gjuki’s wealth | and the race of the Goths; [407]
Five are the sons | for ruling the folk,
And greedy of fight, | that he hath fathered.”

10. Then Brynhild laughed— | and the building

echoed—
Only once, | with all her heart;
“Long shall ye joy | in lands and men,
Now ye have slain | the hero noble.”

11. Then Guthrun spake, | the daughter of Gjuki:

“Much thou speakest | in evil speech;
Accursed be Gunnar, | Sigurth’s killer,
Vengeance shall come | for his cruel heart.”

12. Early came evening, | and ale was drunk,

And among them long | and loud they talked;
They slumbered all | when their beds they sought,
But Gunnar alone | was long awake.

13. His feet were tossing, | he talked to himself,

And the slayer of hosts | began to heed
What the twain from the tree | had told him then,
The raven and eagle, | as home they rode.
[408]

14. Brynhild awoke, | the daughter of Buthli,

The warrior’s daughter, | ere dawn of day:
“Love me or hate me, | the harm is done,
And my grief cries out, | or else I die.”

15. Silent were all | who heard her speak,

And nought of the heart | of the queen they knew,
Who wept such tears | the thing to tell
That laughing once | of the men she had won.

Brynhild spake:

16. “Gunnar, I dreamed | a dream full grim:

In the hall were corpses; | cold was my bed;
And, ruler, thou | didst joyless ride,
With fetters bound | in the foemen’s throng.

17. “. . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .
Utterly now | your Niflung race
All shall die; | your oaths ye have broken.

[409]

18. “Thou hast, Gunnar, | the deed forgot,

When blood in your footprints | both ye mingled;
All to him | hast repaid with ill
Who fain had made thee | the foremost of kings.

19. “Well did he prove, | when proud he rode

To win me then | thy wife to be,
How true the host-slayer | ever had held
The oaths he had made | with the monarch young.

20. “The wound-staff then, | all wound with gold,

The hero let | between us lie;
With fire the edge | was forged full keen,
And with drops of venom | the blade was damp.”

Here it is told in this poem about the death of Sigurth,

and the story goes here that they slew him out of
doors, but some say that they slew him in the house,
on his bed [410]while he was sleeping. But German
men say that they killed him out of doors in the
forest; and so it is told in the old Guthrun lay, that
Sigurth and Gjuki’s sons had ridden to the council-
place, and that he was slain there. But in this they
are all agreed, that they deceived him in his trust of
them, and fell upon him when he was lying down and
unprepared. [402]

[Contents]
NOTES
[404]

1. The fragment begins with the last words of line 1 (probably line 3
of the stanza). A few editors ascribe this speech to Gunnar and the
next to Brynhild; one reconstruction of lines 1–2 on this probably
false assumption runs: “Why art thou, Brynhild, [405] | daughter of
Buthli, / Scheming ill | with evil counsel?” Hogni (German
Hagene): brother of Gunnar and Guthrun.

2. A few editors ascribe this speech to Brynhild. Gunnar, if the stanza

is his, has believed Brynhild’s statement regarding Sigurth’s
disloyalty to his blood-brother.

4. The Volsungasaga quotes a somewhat different version of this

stanza, in which the snake is called “wood-fish” and the third line
adds “beer and many things.” Eating snakes and the flesh of beasts
of prey was commonly supposed to induce ferocity. Gotthorm:
Grimhild’s son, half-brother to Gunnar. He it is who, not having sworn
brotherhood with Sigurth, does the killing.

5. In the manuscript this stanza stands between stanzas 11 and 12;

most editions have made the change here indicated. [406]South of
the Rhine: the definite localization of the action shows how clearly all
this part of the story was recognized in the North as of German
origin. Atli (Attila; cf. introductory note to Gripisspo): the Northern
version of the story makes him Brynhild’s brother. His marriage with
Guthrun, and his slaying of her brothers, are told in the Atli poems.
Regarding the manner of Sigurth’s death cf. concluding prose
passage and note. Stanza 13 indicates that after stanza 5 a stanza
containing the words of an eagle has been lost.

7. One line of this stanza, but it is not clear which, seems to have
been lost. The gray horse: Grani.
8. Some editions set stanzas 8 and 9 after stanza 11; Sijmons marks
them as spurious. Buthli: cf. Gripisspo, 19, note.

9. Goths: a generic term for any German race; cf. Gripisspo, [407]35
and note. Five sons: according to the Volsungasaga Sigurth had only
one son, named Sigmund, who was killed at Brynhild’s behest.
Sigurtharkvitha en skamma and Guthrunarkvitha II likewise mention
only one son. The daughter of Sigurth and Guthrun, Svanhild,
marries Jormunrek (Ermanarich).

12. The manuscript marks line 4 as the beginning of a new stanza,

and a few editions combine it with stanza 13.

13. Slayer of hosts: warrior (Gunnar). Raven and eagle: cf. note on
stanza 5. [408]

16. Mogk regards stanzas 16 and 17 as interpolated, but on not very

satisfactory grounds. On the death of Gunnar cf. Drap Niflunga.

17. No gap is indicated in the manuscript, and some editions attach

these two lines to stanza 16. Niflungs: this name (German
Nibelungen), meaning “sons of the mist,” seems to have belonged
originally to the race of supernatural beings to which the treasure
belonged in the German version. It was subsequently extended to
include the Gjukungs and their Burgundians. This question, of minor
importance in the Norse poems, has evoked an enormous amount of
learned discussion in connection with the Nibelungenlied. [409]

18. Footprints: the actual mingling of blood in one another’s

footprints was a part of the ceremony of swearing blood-
brotherhood, the oath which Gunnar and Sigurth had taken. The
fourth line refers to the fact that Sigurth had won many battles for
Gunnar.

20. Regarding the sword episode cf. Gripisspo, 41 and note. Wound-
staff: sword.
Prose. This prose passage has in the manuscript, written in red, the
phrase “Of Sigurth’s Death” as a heading; there is no break between
it and the prose introducing Guthrunarkvitha I, the heading for that
poem coming just before stanza 1. This note is of special interest as
an effort at real criticism. The annotator, troubled by the two versions
of the story of Sigurth’s death, feels it incumbent on him not only to
point the fact out, but to cite the authority of “German men” for the
form which appears [410]in this poem. The alternative version,
wherein Sigurth is slain in bed, appears in Sigurtharkvitha en
skamma, Guthrunarhvot, and Hamthesmol, and also in the
Volsungasaga, which tells how Gotthorm tried twice to kill Sigurth but
was terrified by the brightness of his eyes, and succeeded only after
the hero had fallen asleep. That the annotator was correct in citing
German authority for the slaying of Sigurth in the forest is shown by
the Nibelungenlied and the Thithrekssaga. The “old” Guthrun lay is
unquestionably Guthrunarkvitha II. [411]

[Contents]
GUTHRUNARKVITHA I