No Demons But Us

by A. S. Etaski

  The male unit before me all wore black as well. There were traces of color here and there to signify rank in visible light. Purple and gold, the Valsharess’s colors, but the patterns forged into the helms and armor itself—the same in either visible light or Dark Sight—served better to differentiate them at a glance than any colorful decoration useless in the dark. This was both consistent and subtle compared to the multitude of ways that each Matron chose to show the pecking order among her House Guard. Each of the twenty-four Houses was different and difficult to keep straight. It wasn’t uncommon for a new Matron to change the appearance of the House Guard after her Mother died.

  “Commander Beyn,” my Lead acknowledged. “How are the buas?”

  The Commander offered a terse nod. “Passable, Red Sister. Not stupid enough to be found in a corner licking up cobwebs.”

  “Always a perk.”

  “Do you need another altar-piece, my grand?” she asked. “I caught two more cocking each other. They’re in chains. Welcome to take them both.”

  Jaunda shook her head. “Not why I’m here, but I’ll let my Elders know. Don’t kill ‘em yet.”

  Every male in front of me heard that; the collective shiver was subtle. I could only shake my head and sigh to myself. I didn’t really understand it. My Matron hadn’t been on a flute-hunt for buas mating each other since I was born, and I didn’t know if she had any time before that, although I’d witnessed that particular cruelty at Court.

  It was fine for the female Davrin to flirt and rut with each other at any time; just caits being caits, they said, and it helped establish ourselves wherever we were on the social ladder. It was entertaining for buas to perform for us, and some females liked watching two males sucking or fucking each other, as long as she was involved and gave permission.

  Whenever males thought to entertain only between themselves, out of female viewing or approval, the reaction was vindictive and violent. I wondered now if the fighter from my trials might have been from this unit if perhaps he had wanted my netherhole because of a punishment he couldn’t escape. Payback before he died.

  “Let us go to my tent, Red Sister,” Commander Beyn offered, and Jaunda nodded acceptance.

  “Stand guard outside the tent, Sister,” she instructed me as the officer gave her unit their following duties.

  I nodded. Still not a peer to the Commander in practice, even if the other female’s salute suggested it. I felt no resentment; I’d have doubted the Sisterhood’s true effectiveness if a novice with little field experience was treated higher than a Commander centuries older, and one undoubtedly in control of a whole mass of Davrin. There was status, and there was a reputation; they weren’t the same thing.

  I did as I was told, felt the sound-dampening Ward take effect behind me, and observed around the camp. The buas ignored me and worked hard on chores, keeping their eyes down and away. Perhaps they hoped I wouldn’t become bored enough to call over the first who made eye contact. Jaunda had already warned me, but I enjoyed watching them anyway. I even wished I could fuck one of them until his prick throbbed inside me. I wanted to hold him down and see his unguarded face as he grimaced and chirped in pleasure, as he writhed beneath me.

  I breathed out slowly as my middle warmed, thankfully without the ritual power behind it. It was just me thinking raunchy thoughts.

  You’re fertile, Sirana. Can’t jump on buas like that anymore.

  I’d survived my first quad-span in the Sisterhood wearing the black uniform; multiple Red Sisters had trained me, and I was stronger, faster, and had more skill in weaponry and hand-to-hand than at Court. I had it together in my mind, too, and could boast self-discipline, but even four spans later Elder D’Shea hadn’t said whether I’d ever fuck a male again. At least I didn’t yearn for a phallus in general; a large handful of Red Sisters were ready and eager to don that magic tool and bend me over to fill me up if I but winked at them.

  This was the first opportunity I’d had to think about the two male Davrin in the candle chamber with me, and my Lead had been able to tell. The fighter would be dead; I agreed with her this was likely even if there was no proof. The wizard would be alive and likely in the Wizard’s Tower, smirking over his scrolls with ink staining his fingertips.

  What will you do if you find him, Sirana?

  Elder D’Shea had asked me that while my netherhole was still sore from his use. That soreness was gone now, and I knew no one was going to help me with this, but I hadn’t been forbidden from looking, either. The question had long since changed in my mind.

  How will you find him, Sirana?

  Get invited to the Wizard’s Tower, somehow. Look and ask around.

  Then what?

  My plan needed work. I didn’t even know the extent I’d be allowed to push him, but at the least, I wanted to see the look on his face when I cornered him. I’d never met a bua who could show such disrespect to females and be allowed to leave the room.

  Maybe he’s been punished already. But who is he? What is he to the Red Sisters?

  That wizard had such spirit compared to the Noble Sons at Court; he had teased and controlled me for so long, he had wanted to win the game of wills, and he truly had thought that he could. Was that common for mage-born sons sent to the Tower? Had he needed to be born a Noble to sound so condescending and arrogant? Or was it the resentment of someone born very low and brought up to a refined cage?

  I shouldn’t be so curious, perhaps, but as Qivni had said, I couldn’t help it. I knew he was still out there in the Great Cavern somewhere, and he was exceptional compared to every cock I’d known before. He was the first bua I felt truly deserved me punching him in the nose.

  I’ll find you, wizard. In time. It’s a small world down here.

  The Palace and Sanctuary were positioned upon a rise to look down on the rest of the Sivaraus; it was both symbolism and practicality. Grand, lovely architecture of smooth stone rose up to mimic the massive stalagmites of the Underdark, built with sweat and magic, glorified with decorated balconies and molded windows. The dwellings possessed graceful curves, organic in nature despite the polished and mildly enchanted finish to the outside that made it difficult for anyone to scale up from the outside either efficiently or unnoticed.

  Within the multi-spired Palace and centered in clusters of smaller Court residence wings were spider gardens and semi-private groves, each decorated to the taste of their Mistress. I’d suspected the Sisterhood had been watching at various times from within these very walls, from viewpoints I never spotted. I’d gone looking for secret passages before, and it amazed me how little I’d found, but then I hadn’t known what to look for. I had not understood how to see past the subtle spells set to “encourage” someone to pass over a suspiciously clean wall or to ignore the slight draft at their ankles. I knew now that I should be grateful Braqth hadn’t been playful and allowed me to “find” one.

  There were several types of spells protecting the doors to hidden passages, and I had been shown one so far: the easiest, I was told, those leading to secret passages, and where I had only to stare as though seeing in my periphery and mutter a banal word for the switch to reveal itself.

  “Remember to disarm it,” Jaunda had said, almost in passing, as she demonstrated.

  Even taking time to spot the way in and get past the trap, the passageways saved us time getting from point to point, and they allowed me to see scenes I never would have as a Noble without powerful allies. Spy-slits were ubiquitous in this first network, and not at all unknown, I learned. I’d already been through it once, down the wider, straighter passages of dressed stone from the chamber of candles to the hidden, sacrificial altar.

  *Most used by the Nobles or servants of Sanctuary,* Jaunda signed.

  I hadn’t known that much but was not surprised to learn there was also a second maze the Red Sisters used. The nausea I felt passing into them, even being given the method to protect myself, left a sober taste on my to
ngue how bad it would be for the uninvited.

  *The Priestesses allow this?* I signed.

  *Most don’t know. A couple do, and trade ritual confession to the Queen and Prime for their use.*

  I crawled into the dark, and Jaunda waited for the feeling of sickness to pass.

  I gestured again. *The Sisterhood is higher than the Priesthood?*

  *Not publicly,* Jaunda answered. *We have checks to watch them. We protect the Queen, Sirana. Top mission.*

  I felt my mouth rise on one side. Not even the Valsharess fully trusted a Priestess. I could relate to that.

  We planned to explore for a while; I would become familiar with them, in time. These tunnels were small, and the smell was close and oddly sterile. There was just enough height to stand and turn around, but most martial moves would be restricted. There were intersections but no interior rooms or direct doorways except at each end: the Red Sister Cloister and the Valsharess’s Palace wing. One could easily get lost in the labyrinth long before reaching either point if they weren’t supposed to be there.

  Most of our spy-slits looked down into a room from a high vantage point. One didn’t have to glance in every time, but I had found the temptation compelling. Yet for each time I slowed us down, Jaunda would take the opportunity to molest me, churning my uniform askew. She also required me to correct it before we continued, and sometimes I needed to use the vial of mending to seal rips before she was satisfied.

  Jaunda warned me with glee in her sign language. *Run out of that cantrip potion before we exit, Sirana, and you’re walking back naked.*

  I wondered if Qivni had thought of this test.

  I looked again, more than once, trying to glance in. Magical glyphs near each slit dampened sound, so even if the Lead pinched my ass too hard and I uttered a cry, it would still be swallowed up in thick darkness. The redundancy of this disruption seemed to be the point; I couldn’t concentrate and do anything on my own, so I soon found it in me to ignore the spy-slits unless she stopped first.

  *Hold,* Jaunda gestured, leaning to peer down into a slit, squinting and then nodding satisfaction. She motioned for me to come closer. *As I’ve shown you.*

  What she’d taught me was either standing or kneeling before the spy slit with bare hands. I pulled off my gloves, tucked them at my belt, and chose to stand with my feet comfortably apart and my hands lower, covering the glyphs. The hair at my nape rose as I felt the magic slither over my hands and bond with them, connecting securely until the release word was uttered.

  I had refused to touch the glyphs the first time ordered, taking what abuse came. I wouldn’t until Jaunda had explained more and told me the release word. She’d laughed but seemed pleased with my forethought. I didn’t know much magic, but pure survival had taught me to be cautious about touching runes which sparkled in darkness.

  I knew now that those imbued carvings amplified my hearing and sight. I would be able to hear a whisper in the room below; I would be able to see as if I stood only a few paces away or if I concentrated as if peering over a shoulder. I might be able to read a missive being written or a map held at the right angle; I could study expressions in detail.

  My first glimpse into this room revealed three individuals down below, and one drew my attention first. My mouth opened in a silent gasp as my heart seized hot before the sensation spread through the rest of me.

  Kerse.

  The Sathoet with whom I’d sparred and coupled upon the glossy floor surrounded by candles. Now I understood why Jaunda had stopped at this spy-slit.

  Had she been looking for this room? Did she know in advance?

  I sought more information. There were two female Davrin in the room with him. The door was closed and probably Warded. I studied the ranking female’s face, for I did not know her. She was a Priestess and; an older one who sat dignified, her back straight, albeit in a grey, fiberstalk chair more useful for its portability than its grandeur.

  Next to her was a small table, again made of fiberstalk, round and decorated with ritual props familiar to me thanks to a blood sister hoping to become a Priestess, but the quality here was much better than Jilrina’s had been. One item already in use was the black candle with the red dots, counting each mark and providing enough light to see color. The room itself was rather small and sparse, like an interrogation room with minimum furnishing.

  The Priestess herself was ornate, wearing a fashionable headpiece of a stylized black spider which both framed her face with elegance and held her blonde-streaked hair in place. Her gown shifted colors between garnet and amethyst, cut in a classic design that I had seen before, but her silver belt was unique. The decorative end was made up of many tiny chains looped and draped around each other, expansive enough to cradle her left hip in ornate, shining metal against a dark backdrop. If that belt weren’t an heirloom or a status symbol, I’d swallow Tragar piss.

  This must be Kerse’s Mother.

  Qivni had thought I would agitate the Priestess by seducing her son the way I had. Elder D’Shea wouldn’t tell me her name but had said I might find out regardless. I’d wondered once or twice before if the Sathoet had been punished for the trade he had made with me, giving me his pet name in exchange for my cunt and giving up the fight, but I could not see anything changed about him.

  Even crouching by his Mother, Kerse was taller than her, powerful and monstrous. Same black skin, yellow eyes, and white, shaggy mane of hair that sprouted along his spine to his middle back. Still the ugly, toothy muzzle, bestial face, and intimidating talons on his large hands. Unlike the first time I’d seen him, a simple, dark green wrap circled his groin and hid his endowment. Somehow, I was sorry about that.

  I became aware of Jaunda standing very close behind me. With one hand she swept my cloak to one side and slid the other between my legs, reaching from the back to take a tight grip of my sex through my leathers. The stiff leather covering her chest pressed into my back, and her mouth was right next to my ear.

  “Still and silent,” she breathed. “Watch, no matter what. Be prepared to report to our Elder.”

  I couldn’t hand sign with my hands pressed to the glyphs, so whispered, “Yes, Lead.”

  I had figured this was her intent as soon as she touched me. Remain as I was with my hands pressed to the glyphs, watch the room and focus, even as Jaunda began massaging my crotch through the black leather. I studied the third Davrin.

  She was on her knees before the Priestess. She was young, with shorter hair, though not as cropped as Jaunda. She wore a Noble’s dress, cut to be loose and teasing around the torso, long to the floor from the waist, with slits on both sides from ankle to mid-thigh. One did not do any hard work wearing such a dress. It was a brilliant blue, and all her jewelry was gold and platinum, accenting her wealth. I was looking for an insignia or something to tell me to which House she belonged, or for her to raise her face off the floor. Perhaps I knew her.

  “Rise, Curgia,” said the Priestess in a surprisingly low voice, the deepness exceeded only by the Red Sister Prime’s hoarse rumble. “As much as I condone prostrating for the glory of Braqth, this is thinly veiled self-indulgence. You try to appeal to my vanity, not to my connection with our Goddess.”

  Curgia was indeed known to me from Court, and I’d never respected her much. She was greedy and not terribly subtle. She was the Second Daughter of House Itlaun—currently the Tenth—and the merchant had done her share of insulting my Matron of the Twelfth, even as only House Bovritz was between us and our tasks worked in similar spheres.

  The Noble now rose up straight but remained on her knees, perhaps thinking more about the grit getting into the quality fabric as her copper eyes flicked downward. From the strands of hair stuck to her temples, I guessed getting on her knees hadn’t been the first attempt to persuade the Priestess to give her whatever it was that she sought.

  “That is not true, Priestess! I ask in all earnestness. Your recommendation of House Itlaun for the nex
t Worship ball would allow us our first opportunity in four scores of turns to tithe to Braqth well beyond our normal means. We only wish a chance to prove it.”

  “In exchange for the full term of a Royal Consort.”

  Jaunda breathed out on my neck and pressed harder on my sex as she massaged me. Sensation and pleasure increased, but I paid very close attention to the conversation.

  The young cait tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “If our offering does not buy us a decade, then we would gladly accept him for only a turn if it pleases you.”

  “The Valsharess decides the terms, not me. She speaks on your offering.”

  “Yes, but She speaks through the Priesthood,” Curgia replied in a testy tone. “Is there anything I could offer in advance of the auction to persuade you to recommend us to the Queen?”

  Kerse’s Mother looked briefly offended, and I could guess why; Curgia pushed a blatant transaction that had little veiling of faith. While I did not think other Houses favored with Royal Consorts had claimed them in a procedure much different from this, some theatrics was required. I imagined the Nobles who gained one were not so clumsy in their presentation to the clergy. My opinion of those “faith auctions” might match Curgia’s, but even I knew it wasn’t a good idea to show one’s impatience and desperation to a Priestess, no matter how many marks I’d been made to stand or kneel before her.

  I wondered what I’d missed thus far, because not only did Kerse’s Mother now smile, but she relaxed her previously stiff posture. It was the same change in stance a spider takes when it knows its prey can’t leave its web and merely waits for mealtime.

  “Perhaps there is,” the Priestess said. “I require a show of faith, young Curgia. Your distinctly secular vocabulary disturbs me, but perhaps the only problem is that your merchant-bred family has gotten too used to each other, and your manners require only a bit of polish. You do have faith in your Goddess’s choices, in Her Valsharess and Her Priestesses, am I right?”