by Clayton Wood
He felt…good.
Dominus heard footsteps behind him, and saw Camilla entering the bathroom in the mirror’s reflection. She was dressed in a mixture of leather and chain-mail armor, a uniform that offered a reasonable combination of protection and mobility…while somehow still managing to showcase her remarkable figure. She smiled, stepping right up behind him and wrapping her arms around him, her hands on his chest.
“You look dashing,” she murmured.
“And you look ravaging,” he replied. This earned him a smile, and she let go of him, standing to one side and gazing at him silently. He allowed this, surprised at how calm he was feeling. After their marathon of sex the previous day, he’d expected to spend a great many days kicking himself for what he’d allowed to happen. To think that he’d been shocked by sodomy; what they’d done after that had only been more and more egregious, a descent into the most depraved acts he’d ever imagined…and more than a few he would never have imagined.
But despite their offenses, tomorrow had come. He had eaten breakfast, gotten dressed, and engaged in the normal doings of a civilized man.
And now he felt absolutely fine.
He glanced at Camilla in the mirror, watching her watch him as he tested his longsword, pulling it free from its scabbard, then placing it back in its sheathe. It made him think of what they’d done the day – and night – before. How she’d dominated him, controlling his pleasure and forcing him to give her what she wanted. How she’d broken him down bit-by-bit, destroying his every imaginable inhibition. It made his groin stir just to think of it.
He’d liked it.
He took a deep breath in, turning to face Camilla, who continued to watch him silently, a mysterious smile on her lips. To allow her to dominate him…to allow anyone to dominate him…would have been unthinkable in the past. Even now, he would never allow such a thing outside of the bedroom.
But he knew full well that things that were forbidden were the most desired…and nothing was more forbidden to a powerful man that to lose control. To be controlled.
“And what are you thinking?” Camilla inquired, breaking the silence.
“I could ask the same of you.”
“Answer and I will,” she retorted.
“I was strategizing about how to deal with Zagamar,” he lied. She smirked, stepping behind him and wrapping an arm around his waist, putting her hand on his crotch.
“I didn’t realize Zagamar affected you this way,” she teased.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I was contemplating our…evening together.”
“Which part?”
“All of it,” he admitted.
“And?”
“I hope you understand that I won’t be controlled so easily outside of the bedroom,” he warned. She laughed.
“Oh Dominus,” she replied, letting go of him. “The bedroom is the one place where anything goes. Where we can be vulnerable…both of us. Equals.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You’re saying we’re not equals?” he retorted. She gave a little smile.
“I’d dare say you might have even been my superior, back when you were Duke Dominus of Wexford,” she replied. “But now?”
“I gave up my title for immortality,” he reminded her.
“Granted,” she conceded. “You are the first man I’ve ever been with who was my equal,” she admitted. “I find it…refreshing.”
“Our alliance works in both our favors,” Dominus noted.
“I agree,” Camilla replied. “But if we’re going to have an alliance, I have one more…stipulation.”
“Such as?”
“Well, seeing as you’re the only man who can satisfy my prodigious appetites, I would demand you do so regularly,” she proposed.
Dominus hesitated, then nodded. The Ironclad’s power had given him the ability to recover rapidly from being…spent, allowing him to copulate again and again for hours on end. And without any of the usual discomfort such an attempt would bring.
“And I would also demand that you allow me my…outside dalliances,” she continued. “I’m not one to be owned by one man…or woman.”
“Fine.”
“Is it?” she pressed. “Most men would get jealous.”
“I’m not most men,” he reminded her.
“That you’re not,” she agreed. “Now, about your transportation to the Deadlands. Come with me.”
* * *
Camilla led Dominus to the roof of the mansion, where he found a large winged mount standing. It was hybrid between a horse and a bird, equipped with a fine-looking saddle. Other, smaller winged creatures also stood on the roof a ways away from the winged steed, some of them half-bird, half-man. Camilla led Dominus to the winged horse, gesturing for him to mount it.
“This will take you to the Deadlands,” she explained. “It already knows the route. Just snap the reins and it will start flying.”
“These other creatures, are they scouts?” he asked. Camilla nodded.
“They’re how I keep tabs on the Kingdom, and my other allies and enemies. From high up they’re indistinguishable from birds, and they have remarkable sight.”
“Clever.”
And it was clever. Camilla was clearly operating on a much more sophisticated level than he’d imagined. And her use of wild artifacts and hybrid creatures – unacceptable in the Kingdom – was clearly a strength, not a weakness. She was changing his perspective…just as King Tykus had urged him to do.
Nature wasn’t the enemy…and man was a part of nature. He’d built up walls around himself to keep nature out, and Tykus had started the process of breaking those walls down.
“Are you ready?” Camilla inquired.
“I am,” he replied. “How will I get back?”
“Your steed will fly away after you land,” she answered. “I can’t risk it waiting for you and being found by any scouting parties from the Kingdom. But my scouts will be on the lookout for you. Come to the Fringe a kilometer west of the King’s Road and they’ll summon the steed for you.”
“Thank you,” he stated, giving her a rare smile. It felt awkward on his lips. She smiled back.
“You’re welcome.”
“What will you do while I’m gone?” he inquired.
“I’ll coordinate with the Kingdom of the Deep,” she answered. “They have considerable resources to combat Zagamar, and a great desire to do so. Hobbomock is their arch-enemy, the devil that threatens to end the world. They’ll be our greatest ally.”
Dominus nodded, mounting the winged horse. Camilla showed him a special belt system to hold him tight to the harness, and he buckled it, tightening the straps. Then he waved.
“Until we meet again,” he stated.
And then he snapped the reins, and the horse bolted, running straight for the edge of the roof!
Dominus gripped the reins tightly as the horse leapt off the roof, spreading its wings wide. His stomach lurched as they fell toward the river twenty meters below, and he clung to the horse desperately, resisting the urge to cry out.
And then the horse beat its wings, their descent stopping, and it soared upward into the air!
The wind whipped through Dominus’s hair as they picked up speed, angling away from the river and back toward the forest he’d been ambushed in the other day. They flew over it with remarkable speed, faster than Dominus had ever imagined being able to go. His whole body tingled as they flew further and further upward, the vast expanse of the world spreading out before them.
Endless forest broken by mountains and rivers, Nature in all its majesty.
It was glorious.
Dominus laughed then, feeling giddy as the horse continued to climb higher. He devoured the scenery, seeing the world as he had never seen it, feeling the wind in his hair, the sun on his skin. The horse beneath him, its muscles working as it brought them higher.
He felt alive. Connected.
And then the horse slowed its ascent, gliding quickly forwar
d. Ahead, Dominus saw something beyond the forest. A hint of yellow, and then of blue beyond. The Deadlands, and then the ocean. From here, the Kingdom of Tykus was not even visible, a speck in a vast, beautiful world.
And for the first time since he’d left Tykus, venturing out into the world as a new man, he understood what the great king had been trying to teach him.
Chapter 24
Zac stepped through the ruins of Eastbrook, a large town at the banks of the serpentine river that cut through the sprawling lands far north of the Kingdom of the Deep, his boots crunching on broken glass strewn across one of its cobblestone streets. He saw a cluster of small bodies on the ground ahead, near a stone fountain in the center of the town.
His jawline rippled.
“Barbaric,” he heard one of his generals mutter. General Roden, a veteran of Zac’s army. His highest-ranking general, ten years Zac’s senior. But the man was deferential, as were all the others. They understood Zac’s abilities. Abilities they had been given a small taste of.
Abilities that had made them better.
Zac said nothing, walking up to the bodies and kneeling before them. They were children, some no older than two. Covered in blood. Some with their throats slit, others with caved-in skulls.
He sighed.
“To think that they’d rather kill their own children than have them join us,” General Roden muttered, shaking his head.
“They didn’t love them,” Zac muttered, rising to his feet. It was always the same. People desperately spending their lives trying to absorb the wills of their leaders. The aristocrats, the rich. The powerful. Caring nothing for being themselves…until someone like Zac showed up. Someone who threatened to make them different than their peers.
To the parents of these children, being different was clearly a fate worse than death.
He felt a familiar anger rise within him. For he knew damn well that, if these same parents had been offered artifacts carrying the wills of their own elites, they would have gladly used them to change their children. To rob them of their souls.
“Being different is a crime, Roden,” Zac stated, turning away from the bodies. He gazed at what remained of the town. One in a long line of towns and cities that had sent their men to kill him. The rulers of the surrounding lands had learned of the presence of a true Legend. Rulers that more often than not only pretended at being Legends, or were copies of Legends that had lived long before.
A true Legend was a threat. They could not let him live, much less create a kingdom of his own…or conquer one of theirs.
“Indeed, sire,” Roden agreed.
Soldiers searched the rubble, taking whatever valuables they could find. An army was expensive to run, even for a Legend.
“You know how I feel about that term,” Zac grumbled.
“What, sire?” Roden inquired. Zac nodded. “You’re worthy of it,” Roden insisted. “And your men want you to take up the mantle of kinghood.”
“That’s what all the other Legends did,” Zac retorted. “You see what happens.”
“You’re different,” the general pressed.
“That’s right,” Zac agreed. “I am.”
“What are you going to do?” Roden inquired. Zac sighed, watching the soldiers. Many had given up searching the town, and were forming a circle around him. Giving him wide berth, as was their right. Those who wanted his will were welcome to it, and those who did not would never be forced to submit to it.
“I’m going to live forever,” he answered. Roden smiled.
“Of course,” he agreed. “You’re a Legend.”
“No,” Zac countered. “Not as a copy, Roden. I’m going to find a way to live forever. As a true Legend. And I’ll spend my life taking down anyone who does this,” he added, gesturing at the bodies of the children on the street, “…to their own people.”
“Sire?”
“Making them think that being different is worse than death.”
The soldiers began to chant then, raising their swords in the air, surrounding Roden and Zac. Began to chant the name Zac had given himself, years after he’d started building his army. A name that sent fear into the hearts of those who opposed him.
Za-ga-mar!
He stared at them, his loyal men. Each there because they wanted to be. Men from villages and towns all over the land. Poor men. The dispossessed. The discarded. The “others.”
Za-ga-mar!
A chill ran down his spine as they called his name over and over, the power he held at once intoxicating and terrifying. A power he had to handle with great care, lest it corrupt him as it had corrupted so many others.
Two soldiers stepped forward, holding young women before them. They were quite beautiful, their hands tied behind their backs, their clothes torn.
“I’d say you deserve a little relaxation, sire,” Roden stated, gesturing at the women. Zac hesitated, eyeing the women. They were terrified, their eyes wide, their mouths gagged.
Za-ga-mar!
“Come on sire,” Roden pressed. “Live a little before you die.”
“Bring them to my tent,” Zac decided.
The women were taken away, and Zac watched them go, taking a deep breath in, then letting it out. He would relax this evening. The women would be forced to see to it. And with the repeated gift of his essence, they would turn around. They would gain his perspective, and fear him no more.
No one ever did, after seeing things from his point of view. After realizing the truth.
Za-ga-mar! Za-ga-mar!
He raised a fist into the air, and his soldiers cheered.
* * *
The wind howled in Hunter’s ears as he turned gradually leftward, soaring well over a hundred feet above the forest. He looked down, spotting the all-too-familiar path leading up to the hilltop ahead. Sukri and Vi were standing there, watching him as he flew back toward them.
Hunter grabbed an arrow from the quiver at his waist, then nocked it, pulling his bowstring all the way back. At the same time, he rotated his wings backward a little, slowing his flight as he approached the hilltop.
He aimed…then fired.
His arrow shot forward smoothly toward a circle Vi’d painted on a tree trunk to her right…and missed by a few inches, ricocheting off the side of the trunk and burying itself into the grass. Hunter cursed, swinging his legs forward and beating his wings, slowing rapidly and dropping gently to the hilltop beside Vi and Sukri. He retrieved his arrow, putting it back in his quiver and returning to the two women, shaking his head.
“Damn,” he muttered.
“You were close,” Sukri said. “You’re getting better.”
“She’s right,” Vi agreed. “You’re getting there Hunter.”
Hunter nodded, still feeling disappointed. He’d made that flight at least a few dozen times, and that’d been the closest he’d gotten to hitting that target. The first few attempts had been a disaster; he’d almost fallen out of the sky when he’d tried to focus on using the bow, all the while forgetting to keep his wings out. It’d been like driving a stick-shift for the first time, forgetting about his feet when focusing on the wheel, and vice-versa.
He was getting better.
“Go on,” Vi prompted. “Gotta hit it if you want to go home.”
Hunter sighed, breaking into a sprint and leaping off the hill. With a few beats of his wings, the ground dropped quickly below, and he continued his ascent, feeling for pockets of air that felt right. He couldn’t explain why exactly, but when his wings felt full of air, he knew to beat them. Doing so launched him higher and higher, until he was once again over a hundred feet above the downward-sloping path. He glided then, picking up speed rapidly, enjoying the feeling of the wind ruffling his clothes, the utter freedom of being in the air. Away from everything and everyone.
Free.
He waited, then did a U-turn, dipping down and aiming toward the hilltop in the distance. Again he grabbed an arrow, nocking it and pulling his bowstring back as he appr
oached the target.
Remember your breathing.
Hunter took a deep breath in, then let it out, holding his breath and aiming. He paused, then fired.
The arrow flew true, slamming right into the center of the target!
“Yeah!” Hunter shouted, slowing quickly to land on the hilltop.
“Nice shot Hunter,” Vi congratulated, walking up to him and patting him on the shoulder. “You done good kiddo.”
“It was a nice shot,” Sukri agreed.
“All right guys,” Vi stated. “That’s it for today. I’m going to go talk to Neesha.”
“What should we do?” Hunter asked.
“Anything you want,” she answered. “Great work, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
Vi waved, then walked back down the slope, following the path back to the Ironclad lair. Hunter watched her go, realizing he could reach the bottom in a fraction of the time she could. He stretched his wings out, suddenly glad that he’d taken the plunge, letting Pukwa and that woman convince him to get his wings. As terrified as he’d been of changing, now he couldn’t imagine ever going back to the way he was before.
“Damn wrappings,” Sukri muttered, scratching at her chest. “Itch like a mother.”
“It’s not the wrappings,” Hunter countered. “It’s the new tissue changing and growing. Felt the same thing in my chest and back when my wings were coming in.”
“Really?” she asked. She stopped scratching, the blood draining from her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered. “I wish I never did it. This whole cat thing. Maybe I should just rip these off.”
“I think it’s a little too late for that,” Hunter replied apologetically. “If you’re itching, the change is already happening. It might not end well if you stop it part-way.”