by James Hunt
"Well, in that case. I would ask him if he fancied dark men instead." She replied and slipped past the giant in his moment of disbelief. Her answers were not the sort of philosophical debate she knew the grandmaster of combat, the leader of the Huanguard, the warrior-monk Rasj was looking for. But to engage him fully, she would have to reveal more about herself to this unknown entity than she felt was safe. Playing the dumb card was safe enough for now. As delicious as he was to look at, everything else about him was all wrong. She had had enough of dangerous men. As gifted as she was in magic, she was still only a trickster. She had trained her abilities in speed, stealth, and seeding discord, not in skill at arms. And she had been beaten by Rasj's students enough times in the training yard to know she wouldn't last in a real fight against any of them. Not even against Trent.
The Mischievous made her way outside into the courtyard and took the long way around the back of the main chapel. It gave her time to think, but it also gave her an opportunity to see if she was being watched. Again, she was disappointed to find these humans had lost interest in her. Even as strong as these Huanguard were, they were still fools by Zecairin standards. She found them dupable, entirely too trusting of their senses, and too quick to judge. She would wreak such havoc on them... but not yet. She had another agenda. She was after Helrith's secrets. And she wanted these nightmares to end. Whatever the sorcerer had done to her, she would undo it, and then she would make him regret it - one red hot stick of metal up his ass at a time.
The Monastery was full of criminal recruits forced into the ranks of acolytes – the Huanguard potentials - and the stewards – the servants to be used as fodder for the acolytes. Helrith's laboratory would obviously be guarded against theft and intrusion from such types. New recruits would be too tempted to steal his secrets if they knew what he was. But humans had no magical ability; they needed to strike a bargain with the spirit world to gain some measure of power. That was the difference between a sorcerer like Helrith, and a magic-user such as herself. Her abilities were limited to her understanding of the natural forces and how to influence them; his were limited to how much favor he had curried with his sponsor. Considering the unforgiving atmosphere of this place, his laboratory was most likely lethally trapped with guardian spirits. Trespassers were most likely disposed of; the monks didn't seem too alarmed when she had picked off a few stewards after her escape. It seemed that it wasn't uncommon for monks to suddenly go missing without a reason.
Her wanderings had brought her to the gardens behind the main chapel, and the back of Helrith's study. She walked the crop rows with purpose, but in truth had none. She looked to the crop yields, and inspected the leaves. The other stewards paid her no mind, and were likewise looking for rot, insect damage, or poor growth. Her true goal lay behind her – the window to Helrith's laboratory. Unfortunately there was no high vantage point she could use to spy, or concealing structure to hide behind. So she lay down on the ground, and pressed one long, dark ear to the soft earth. There was an old trick used to eavesdrop on others in the deep caverns of Zecair, it had grown out of practice because almost nothing of importance was said without first erecting a barrier against such intrusion. However out here in the surface lands, there was too much activity, too much surface noise, too much naïveté.
She focused on the ground to the exclusion of all other sounds until she heard only the rustle of the nearby monks as their feet shuffled along. The sounds grew to encompass every footstep on the campus. Her focus moved to the foundation stones of the building, and then the glass pane. There... an echo, a muffled murmur in the cacophony of footsteps, wheelbarrows, and thumps of the training elite in the courtyard. She focused on those muffled words, and tried to drown out all the louder sounds. She could just barely make out Helrith's voice...
"...he's too dense." The sorcerer commented in argument.
"Tobias?" Came Rasj's rebuke.
"That one will do as well." Helrith commented with a tone of finality. "We only need three, but we might as well get rid of the fat."
"I will see it done. What of Trent?" Rasj's voice was muffled worse than the sorcerer's. He was almost out of range for this trick – possibly near the door listening for eavesdroppers. The Mischievous prided herself on not being that obvious.
"Unknown. But we should not chance it. Any not already ours will rally to him when The Father passes. And as for Rad... wait, I sense something..."
The Mischievous sat upright and began to fondle a carrot leaf as if looking for something. Her ears were ringing with the jolt back into normal hearing, and it started to give her a horrible headache. Such was the price for breaking off extended sensory perception. But she couldn't risk it – sorcerers were bad news even by Zecairin standards. Her safety lasted only so long as Helrith thought she was harmless, an amnesiac, and disinterested in his workings. She threw her hood over her head to stave off some of the deafening sounds and blinding sunlight as she made her way back the way she had come. To the curious she feigned a queasy stomach, and they bought the lie easily. It was a half truth - she was feeling queasy, but it was the fear of being caught by that bastard that made her stomach turn.
Her footsteps took her back inside to the library, a quite place, a safe place. She found her next target right where she expected him. Shamus was one of Helrith's lackey stewards. A spineless coward and a lover of children, he had been spared the chopping block and conscripted by The Father many years ago. Shamus was a bookish man who hoped to take over running the library when Sebastian retired. One part sycophant and one part snake in the grass. One always punched first, and made sure it was Shamus secondly with him.
"Shamus?" she asked as she came up behind him. True to his nature he jumped in surprise. When he saw who it was he didn't seem sure he wanted to stay and listen. The Mischievous pulled back her hood and glanced over her shoulder to the two other stewards in the library. One was too involved in searching the stacks for something important, and the other was struggling to dust the upper levels on a ladder that was too short to accomplish the task. It wasn't a big room, but if she spoke too loudly they would overhear. Shamus gave her a curious look, and then followed her gaze to the other two.
"It is only Gram, and Benedrick." He scowled. "What do you want?"
"I... I need your help," she said, and gave him a pitiful look. "I accidentally dropped something in Helrith's study. I don't want to go back because this big man named Rasj is in there, and I don't want Helrith to know I have it. Can you help me?" Shamus gave her a dubious look. She glanced over her shoulder again at the other men and leaned in to him. Shamus initially took a step back but found himself up against the bookcase. The Mischievous looked at her hands and made herself seem afraid of him. "I brought something back with me from town. It's something called opium, I'm supposed to smoke it. They said it would make the evenings pass quicker. If you help me..." she glanced up at him from under her blue bangs. "I could share... in your quarters if you like." Shamus quickly looked worried about the other two monks, but neither had stirred
"Tell me where you left it and I'll collect it when I deliver his supper later," Shamus smiled sincerely. The Mischievous leaned it to his shoulder, and cupped his cock through his robes at the same time.
"I'm not an idiot," she breathed into his ear and slightly rubbed her hand up and down the growing bulge in his robes. "Just tell me how I can get in and out, and I'll make it worth your while." She stopped stroking his cock to replace her hood. She pulled it down until it covered her whole face, and when she brought it back up her appearance had changed. Shamus drew in a sharp breath and shuddered as he stared at the nubile young human girl giving him a doe-eyed plea for help. "Who knows, I might even let you see the rest of me looking like this if you help."
"You're evil," he sneered and tried to back away again. She put a hand to her face and giggled like a little girl at him. His manhood was sticking straight out from his robes. There was no way he could hide that now.
"I a
m," she breathed seductively and pulled up the side of her robe to reveal two youthful, pale skinned legs without a speck of hair on them. "Help me, and I'll help you. We can keep this just between you and me." She lowered her robe and shook her head vigorously until her normal appearance returned. Shamus covered his growing hard on and sneered angrily at her.
"You'll pay for this," he stuttered. Embarrassed, he worked his way through the bookcases to the storage closet and closed the door behind him. The Mischievous glanced around the room to see Benedrick and Gram really could care less what was going on. She quietly followed him in. "go away!" he blurted out a bit too loudly.
"I'm sorry," she tittered. "Here let me... apologize." She smiled and pressed him against the wall.
"Go away!" he almost yelled before she took a firm hold of his manhood through the robe. The squeak he gave cut off the next phrase he was about to utter.
The Mischievous knelt before his protruding problem and wrapped both hands around his member. He tried to fight her off, but when she changed into the face of the young girl from earlier, he couldn't help but stare.
"It's alright, milord. I like doing this." She smiled knowingly. "I scratch your back, you scratch mine. And because I like scratching your back, I might do it again later..." she cooed and lifted his robe. He whimpered helplessly as his enraged cock sprang out to stare at her.
"Oh, my!" she breathed, adopting the squeal of a young girl to match her disguise. "My lord's is so big!" she exclaimed. "I have only heard of these in the naughty stories my father forbids me to read." She took it in both hands and gazed upon his cock in wonderment. "My I touch it my lord?" she asked, adopting her character role. She could see the indecision, and conflict in his expression. She could see how badly he wanted her right then, but something was holding him back. It was time to go in for the kill...
"I don't know what I should do with it," she said nervously. "I am not as experienced as some of the older women in the taverns my father takes home. Can you teach me?" she pouted at him pleadingly. Shamus abruptly grabbed her head, but instead of pushing her away, he thrust his engorged member deep into the back of her throat. He was above average as humans went, but she still needed to feign discomfort, and even threw in a compulsory gag for show as he fucked her mouth. It was certainly working. Shamus was grunting and his thrusts grew more frantic. The Mischievous could tell he wouldn't be long, part of her was glad, and part wished she could take it one step further, but she had an agenda. She moaned, and groaned as his cock fucked her lips, and whimpered whenever the tip hit the back of her throat. She looked up at him with those uncertain, dole-full eyes that sought to please and held his gaze while he had his way with her mouth. The poor man had to have been pent up for quite some time by the way he desperately and frantically slid his throbbing wet cock between her lips. The Mischievous grew disappointed she wouldn't need half her arsenal of tricks to work his favor. A pity really, she hadn't had an opportunity to toy with these lesser humans in a long time and she wanted to have some real fun.
She could feel him peaking as his member throbbed against the back of her throat. So it was time spring the trap and get what she wanted from this pitiful man. She started to whimper pitifully at him, hoping to push him over, and was almost immediately rewarded. He lurched forward and started to twitch as his cock spurted his thick, salty seed down her throat. She pretended to struggle with it – choking, gagging, spitting some of it up – but eventually swallowed the bulk of it. There was a lot of it, she remarked, he had indeed been pent up for too long.
Shamus disengaged and sagged backwards to lean against the storage shelves. He was panting heavily, and almost looked ready to topple over. The Mischievous stood up and wiped remnants of his cum from her lips with a finger, her normal form returned. She caught his gaze as she licked her messy finger clean, moaning deliciously at him.
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" she smiled and rubbed his arm affectionately. "Just tell me when Helrith will be out of his room for a good long while, and I'll handle the rest. If I get caught, I get caught, and you're blameless."
"Ohhh, you're a devil." Shamus muttered, but not entirely as an insult as a half smirk crawled up the side of his face. "...fine. After mid-day supper he usually walks the grounds."
"If this works, I'll come visit tomorrow night." She winked at him as she opened the door and left. "Think about what you want me to do... or look like..." she whispered as she closed the door behind him.
Safely on the other side she exhaled exasperated and annoyed - disappointed in these men again. Benedrick looked up from his book in curiosity, but when he saw her face he quickly buried his nose back in between its pages. To his relief, the interloper left and he was left to his peace. Not long after the closet door opened again and a red faced Shamus slunk out in an embarrassed fashion. Benedrick quickly closed the book, and carried it with him as he left in a hurry. Whatever was going on, he wanted to be far away from it.
****
Trent struggled to keep the full bowl of porridge from spilling on the tray as he walked across the yard to the hot box. His legs were still half asleep from his meditation, but it was the bruised muscles in his back from The Father's punishments that made his stride awkward and unbalanced. Feeding Rad was the duty of a steward, but Trent had offered to be helpful. He needed to speak to the man; if anyone could give him advice about Zecairins, it would be Rad. He was still lost in thought when he arrived at the hotbox. It was a simple crate converted into a cage of sorts with a door on the front complete with lock. The gaps in the wooden slats allowed for air flow, and there was an opening for food in the bottom of the door. But something was missing. What was keeping it down? If this was supposed to be a prison, why wouldn't the occupant merely stand up? Then he caught a glimpse of metal behind it, iron stakes that nailed it to the building's framing timbers.
"Rad?" He said quietly. There was a person inside without a doubt, but all he could see was a shadow. But the heavy breathing and the smell of sweaty, unwashed man made it clear he was still alive. "Rad!" Trent said again.
"you smell like Zek..." came the voice inside the box. The voice was weary, and ended its sentence with a deep exhale that invited more words to follow, but none came. Trent reflexively sniffed his robes and wrinkled his nose.
"Can you talk?" Trent asked. He hadn't been expressly forbidden from talking to Rad, but he was certain it wasn't allowed. "I mean... do you need to rest?"
"yes... no..." came the weary reply. "how was she? the Zek..."
"I'm training the present you left us; The Father wants her to be a Huanguard."
"good for her... good for you...she won't make it..."
"What? Why?" Trent scowled as he slid the tray under the door. He heard Rad move to collect it and start to slowly slurp the meal without using the spoon.
"Rasj..." Rad said as way of explaining. Trent nodded as if he understood, but in truth didn't. He wanted to press it, but he thought he should let the man eat first.
"Why do they have you locked in?" Trent noticed the iron padlock. "Are you dangerous?"
"yes..."
"How?"
"I am a disruptor... " Rad finished and slid the empty bowl back under the door. Trent scratched his head in annoyance; this was almost as bad as trying to get straight answers out of The Mischievous. "I was poisoned... Never let your guard down... Not even for a woman."
"Are you contagious? Do you have what The Mischievous has?"
"No." Rad laughed, a weakly pathetic laugh that ended in a coughing fit.
"Do you know what's wrong with The Mischievous?" Trent pushed for more answers, and glanced across the courtyard to see the Zecairin in her afternoon training lessons with Master Jacob. He also saw Helrith beginning his early afternoon walk.
"yes... so does The Father... so does Helrith... so does Rasj..."
"They all know? Why won't they cure her? Is there a cure?" Rad grew silent. Trent expected Rad's usually slow to come, whimsical answer
s but this was an actual silent response. Or had the man passed out? He took a step closer and put his hand on the cage.
"Death cures all." Rad said at last. Trent's mood soured and he couldn't accept that answer right away.
"There's no other way but to kill the infected?"
"Them... or Her...." Trent didn't understand that.
"Kill them? Helrith and the others?" Trent scowled and glanced across the yard. He couldn't see Helrith. Which could be a good thing or a very bad thing.
"no..." Rad wheezed. "Kill the infected... or kill the source..." Now Trent understood. He reinterpreted Rad's answers – they were not necessarily cryptic but they were purposely brief. The man was barely lucid after all.
"Rad, who is 'Her'" he asked, almost afraid to get the answer.
"The Mother..." Rad breathed. "the source..." The Demon... Trent figured it out.
"Wait, you said The Father knew," Trent leaned in and whispered his next words in secrecy. "Does he know about Zecair? About Demons Blood?"
"I told him..." Rad said. Trent scratched his head vigorously. If The Father knew already, how fucked were they? Was he going to shut off the supply? Was Zecair going to march to war against them to reestablish supply?