by Mike Truk
The scratch of her pubic hair, the resistance of her lips as they folded before my cock head, another adjustment, her breath hot in my ear, and then I felt a spot of wetness, hot and welcoming, and then -
I groaned as I slid in at last, pushing all the way up, sliding into that delirious, silken perfection, her pussy welcoming me and squeezing tight as she moaned, biting the side of my neck.
And I felt no need to engage in acrobatics, to pound away at her, to let loose a raging beast in the bed.
Instead, I held her close, her full body tight against mine, her face against my neck, and loved her, sliding in and out with an almost calm delight, not rushing, wanting this moment to last forever.
Then she shifted her weight, slid her thigh onto the far side of my hips, and rose to sit astride me, shaking her long dark hair from its braid. I settled back, hands on her hips, and we simply stared into each other’s eyes as our movements grew more urgent, the sensations more overwhelming.
At first, she did all the work, rising and falling, impaling herself over and over again on my cock. But soon I couldn’t hold back, began to lift my hips to meet her on each descent; soon that devolved into my pistoning into her, so that all she did was remain on her knees, legs parted wide, hands cupping her breasts through the sheer fabric, pinching her nibbles, a hand moving to cup the side of her face as she moaned, louder and louder.
I dug my fingers into the soft flesh of her hips, and with a cry came deep inside her, my whole body arching, aching, seeking to bury myself as deep as I possibly could into her cunt.
But she wasn’t quite there yet, so with a deep breath, I resumed pumping, shaking my head at the question in her eyes when she glanced down at me. I continued thrusting through my own orgasm, the tightness of her pussy keeping me hard, the slick, hot dream that was making love to her quickly making me rigid again.
Soon she was moaning, faster and faster, sweat beading her brow, her breath coming in gasps, until with a savage cry she came. Her body clenched like one large fist, her head jerking down in shock so that her braid flew about her shoulders. She hunched forward, hands on my chest, eyes screwed tightly shut, and just hung there above me, not breathing, mouth open to a silent “O,” her body twitching, her pussy spasming about my cock.
And I just drank it in. The sight of her, lost to pleasure, her face, her expression, her smell.
In that moment I realized I’d never share this moment with Yashara again. With Iris. And became supremely aware of how precarious this all was, our lives, our continued existence. That a single accident could tear Tamara away from me forever, leaving me with nothing more than these bittersweet memories of our time together.
When she finally collapsed down upon me, I held her tight. Inhaling the scent of her hair, I savored her being alive, vibrant, in my arms.
Another thought occurred to me. A memory, of the massive portrait on my father’s bedroom wall. Had he once held a woman like this, loved her, drank deep of their union? Only to watch her grow old, watch her fade, and one day die?
How many had he loved? How many before he found himself unable to love as he once had done? To give himself away to that inevitable pain, that certain loss? Did he reach a point where he no longer allowed himself to be vulnerable, to love like there was no tomorrow?
How long would it take me to reach that stage? Would I watch Tamara age, for silver to steal into her dark hair, her face to grow lined, her breasts sag, her shoulders grow bowed? Would I remain the same, youthful and handsome, as she grew wrinkled and stooped, and then one day died, carried away by disease or old age? Would I sit by her bed, holding her claw of a hand, watching her chest rise and fall, rise and fall, and then finally rise no longer?
What would I do then? Find another? And then after that, another?
Until I became what? A bitter, lonely monster? Alone in an endless hallway of memories, distorted reflections of the women I’d loved and lost?
I shuddered at the thought, and Tamara pulled back, blinking away the sweat, to frown at me. “Kellik? What is it?”
“Nothing,” I said, banishing those thoughts. I kissed her, and forced a smile. “Nothing at all.”
Chapter 7
I entered the Star Chamber alone. No escort of war trolls, without Cerys or Netherys, without Tamara or even a bodyguard. Clad in somber gray, the suit elegant but subdued, I entered that august chamber once more and stopped at its threshold, ignoring those present, allowing my memories to wash over me.
Only a few days had passed. There was no sign of the violence, of the vast upheavals that had taken place here. The blood was washed from the stone floor. Everything was set to rights. Courtiers, pages, messengers, notaries, and lawyers milled about the upper floor, unaware of where they stepped, through which ghosts they moved.
But I could see it as if the events were taking place right before my eyes. There had stood Baleric, fell blade in hand. By the railing there had stood Iris, hand outstretched. Not far away, the Paruko Dream Eaters had appeared, manifesting a portal to another realm.
And below? There had sat my father, where now the councilors and magistrates conferred, gazing up at me with scorn and amusement.
My presence was noticed by those closest; bureaucrats and civil servants hesitated, whispered to each other, and then more than one nodded to me in approval.
Word had spread of the guard’s accomplishments in the Noose. The consequent subduing of the riots.
The Count of Manticora’s star was still rising, it seemed.
I took a deep breath, and let go of those memories. The last to fade from my mind’s eye was Iris. Sweet, deadly, deranged Iris. Her image hung before me as if impregnated by a force beyond that of simple recall, and when she was finally gone I felt her loss all over again.
Moving forward, I began to descend the steps to the floor below, and my approach was noted by the councilors and magistrates.
I saw Berachul, Svanis, Magistrate Mellonis. All of them under my direct control, their minds leashed to my will on the very night I’d destroyed my father. In their eyes, I saw battles raging: resentment, fear, horror, resignation. As one they stood and began to applaud, and that set off a reaction amongst the others, who joined them, rising and turning to clap, some with more enthusiasm than others, but none refusing to do so.
I raised my hands, adopting a humble mien, and reached my seat. I could almost see Aurelius where he’d sat numerous times besides me, garrulous and amused, whispering secrets and advice into my ear.
Knowing all along who I was, and how he planned to end me.
Yavarn held the floor, and he studied me, lips pursed, as if unsure how to proceed. When I sat, the others did the same, the applause petering out, and the councilor bowed his patrician head.
“Welcome, Quartus Magistrate. Your deeds these past days have echoed across the city and reflected well on the forces of the council. We were in the midst of discussing financial matters, but that issue can be tabled for now. Would you care to address the council and relate your accomplishments?”
How things had changed. Not a week ago I’d been the council’s greatest enemy, using the powers of the magistrate’s office to block all business until they agreed to vote for my measures. Hated by all, I’d been a persona non grata, subject to assassination attempts and threats.
Now?
A hero welcomed home.
It didn’t hurt that Svanis and Berachul, formerly my greatest foes, were smiling warmly and bobbing their heads in approvement. That Mellonis, the council’s instrument of my downfall and current favorite of the people, was doing likewise.
There were conflicting signals. The weaker councilors, seeking signs of how to behave, couldn’t fail to take note and wonder if the winds of fortune hadn’t shifted without their noticing - which, of course, they had.
I descended to the floor, clasped hands with Yavarn, and then turned to regard my fellows.
The railing above that encircled the descending circular tiers
was crowded with the curious.
How the world had changed. Gone was Royal Provost Albrecht. Gone was Aurelius. Other faces were missing as well, men who’d taken the chance to flee Port Gloom once the former king troll’s leash had fallen from their necks.
Wise of them.
I linked my hands behind my back and pursed my lips, adopting a grave expression. “Good afternoon, my friends. Councilors. Magistrates. Let me begin by congratulating Royal Provost Yavarn on his ascension. With the chaos that stalks our streets, the blood that’s flowing through the halls of power, I can’t think of a steadier hand to be on the wheel as we steer the ship of government through these straits.”
Murmured ascent sounded, and Yavarn inclined his head, doing his level best not to appear pleased.
“As you well know, not three days ago Port Gloom. Out of nowhere, madness and chaos arose within the streets. Violence and rioting consumed the city south of the Snake Head, and there was grave concern that it might spread north, to the Garden District, Execution Hill, even here in the Palace District.”
The councilors muttered angrily, shook their heads.
“Royal Provost Yavarn saw the need for order and appointed me temporary commander of the guard. He wasted no time in identifying what needed to be done, and honored me with his trust.”
Yavarn inclined his head graciously.
“I mustered the Black Wolves, called Captain Drussander to mobilize the wall militia, and used my personal funds to hire Exemplars and mages to bolster our attack. A careful examination of the situation identified the Noose as the center of the unrest, so it was there that I decided to direct our efforts. The rest, as you already know, is history. I am pleased - nay, proud - to report that the guards of Port Gloom were more than up to the task! Many thought it madness to challenge the criminals in the very heart of their territory, but our brave warriors were not daunted. They knew that much rode on this operation and if the enemy wasn’t crushed, the dangers and bedlam could spread to consume the whole city!”
I had them eating out of my palm, even as I told them what they already knew. They were leaning forward, eyebrows raised, drinking in my words. Not, I realized, because they wanted to know what happened next, but because they were absorbing the version I was telling. Convincing themselves that this truly had been a battle between light and darkness, between order and chaos.
“Even as we marched into battle, even as we crossed blades with countless masked foes, I want to acknowledge the hard work that was being done here.” And I went so far as to point at the ground. “Where the greatest battle was being fought. Where heroes were rising to the occasion, answering the summons of the hour, even as our more cowardly comrades fled into the night. I want to acknowledge the bravery of the Star Chamber, the decisive manner in which you acted, the foresight in appointing a new Royal Provost, and the emergency measures that were put into place.”
Though, of course, I knew of no emergency measures that had been passed.
The councilors didn’t care. They puffed up, eyes gleaming, tugging at the lapels of their robes as they turned to nod curtly at each other, each seeing themself as a rugged hero in the eyes of their fellows.
It was laughably easy and only made more so by the sweet, tantalizing power with which I laced my words.
“Now, today, I can report back that the chaos in the Noose has been suppressed. The dead have been carted to mass graves, their stolen spoils confiscated, and the people of Port Gloom shown that we are indeed a city of order, a city ruled by law, where they defy the might of the Star Chamber at their peril! We will not condone chaos, we will not allow criminals to rule the night, and the age of such lawlessness has come to a close. For today we shall present a face of united might to the world, a new age, a new order, where the principles of government trump the cold-blooded pragmaticism of criminals and assassins.”
By the Hanged God’s filthy urethra, I had them.
“For the Noose was just the beginning. We won’t stop now while we have them on the ropes. The Black Wolves, those doughty heroes, are eager to prove themselves once more. I have a list of criminal hold outs, nexuses of evil that we shall rigorously stamp out. The men and women who once ruled Port Gloom shall hang, their empires crumble, and the Star Chamber shall once again reign supreme.
I paused, slowly scanning the crowd, knowing I had their rapt attention. “We stand at the dawn of a new era, gentlemen. A golden age of prosperity, of economic growth, of justice and law. And it gives me great honor, more honor than a modest magistrate like myself can reasonably bear, to stand here before you and to have been of service. For together we shall usher in this age, under the leadership of Royal Provost Yavarn, whose wisdom will be amplified by your own genteel learning, so that, centuries hence, the people of Port Gloom shall gaze back at this time in awe and reverence, knowing that these were days, this the moment, the fulcrum, upon which the fate of the entire shifted.”
My voice, which had risen to a stertorous cry, dropped suddenly, becoming soft, so eyes widened and old men leaned forward, eager to hear my last words.
“And you, honorable councilors and magistrates, shall be forever immortalized as the heroes of the hour. The heroes that, in Port Gloom’s greatest time of need, stepped into the light, and served her with humility, bravery, and the highest integrity. Long live the Star Chamber, long live the Royal Provost, and a salute to you all!”
The councilors leaped to their feet, each more eager than the last to thunderously applaud themselves, calling forth their support even as the bureaucrats and lawyers and notaries above stamped their feet and hollered their approval.
It was all I could do to not raise my arms in victory, to beam at them and laugh. Instead, I bowed my head, hands yet linked behind my back, and nodded gravely, as if I could not help but agree with their delight.
When the applause finally died down, Yavarn retook the floor, moving to stand beside me as he addressed the audience.
“The Star Chamber recognizes the service rendered by the honorable Count of Manticora, Quartus Magistrate, and an exemplary citizen of Port Gloom. We are, and I feel it not exaggeration to say, elevated as a body by your sacrifices and successes. Well done, sir, well done I say! Now. You yet retain the title of Commander of the Guards. Can you share with us what your next steps shall be?”
“You do me too much honor,” I said again, but moved on before Yavarn could contest the point. “The Family, as they were mockingly known, is reeling. We are the hammer, and the streets of Port Gloom the anvil. I have acquired a list of the Family’s bases, and shall strike next at the southern docks, clearing the waterfront and immediate environs of the criminal organizations that have for too long made that area synonymous with crime, squalor, and corruption.
“Make no mistake: I have exact plans drawn up, and will soon mobilize my captains so that we execute these strikes with surgical precision. Nobody wishes to see our mercantile and maritime industries disturbed; we shall move under the cover of darkness, and within two days’ time you shall hear of another swathe of the city brought once more under the aegis of law and order.”
The councilors applauded once more, but this applause was vigorous and short-lived. Their eyes gleamed with bloodlust and hunger, a desire for action executed on their behalf, which would redound to their benefit without their having to lift a finger.
“Now, good councilors, honorable magistrates, and revered Royal Provost, I have a delicate matter to put before you, but one which I am positive you shall treat with scrupulous fairness. The Noose stand empty, devoid of its thousands. It has disgorged over a hundred thousand in various currencies. May I be so bold as to propose a course of action?”
I didn’t expect cries of encouragement to follow my rhetorical question, but a half dozen councilors did just that, Svanis and Berachul amongst them.
“Pray, tender your suggestions,” said Yavarn graciously.
“The people of Port Gloom south of the Snake Head are a beleagu
ered lot. Impoverished, denied the light of education, and subject, as we all know, to the temptations of crime and vice.”
Oh, but it was too easy to speak in the language of the elite, to sell them their own biases. “We educated few must help elevate them, raise them from the muck and the mire, and turn their faces toward virtue. How better to do this than to raze the Noose to the ground, preventing history from repeating itself as new occupants fit themselves to the templates provided by those tenements, and in its place build a graceful park, a green space nowhere seen south of the river, where children can disport themselves, families take in the air, and the people of Port Gloom be given a chance to reflect on the finer aspects of life?”
Pensive frowns, uncertain glances at the Royal Provost.
“Further,” I said, not giving anyone time to object, “we could use these newfound funds to demolish the empty warehouses that line the Snake Head, many of which have fallen into ruin and disrepair. On that fertile ground we could build spacious accommodations for the thousands who have been displaced by these battles. A sign of generosity from the government of Port Gloom, that we care for their welfare, and that turning against the Family will result in prosperity for all.”
More frowns. Clearly, nobody enjoyed the idea of spending this windfall on the people of the city.
But Berachul rose to his feet, tugging on his robes and nodding vigorously as he did so. Everything about him was neat and proper, from his spotless robes to his pale, perfectly trimmed beard. “The magistrate speaks with conviction, and I find his moral argument most compelling.”
Shock registered on a dozen faces. Not a week ago Berachul had been my greatest foe, scheming to murder me and cast down my reforms. To see him speak boldly in my favor was a stunning reversal.
“Agreed,” said Svanis, rising to his feet alongside the other councilor. “This gold has been stolen from the people. Is it not right, even poetic, for it to return to them? I vote firmly in favor of the magistrate’s plan, and dare this lofty body of political luminaries to defy such common sense, such profound sympathy for those who are less fortunate than we.”