Courage of the Empress

by Amanda Clover

  And little surprise. The Red Witch gave the moaning doppelganger a hard kiss, the plant woman yielding eagerly to the press of those red lips. The moaning puppet whimpered and clung to the Red Witch, helpless as the sorceress sent pules of power racing through the clone, pleasure sparking through the vine that connected her to the waiting bulb. The witch smirked as the walls of the bulb quivered, rippling with pleasure.

  “Enjoy that, Lycea?” the Red Witch breathed. “Does my monster slut enjoy her mistress’s touch?”

  “Oh so muuuuuch,” Lycea moaned helplessly. “Yes. Please! Nnn! F-feels so… ah… so good. Oh mistress. C-can I? Can I…”

  The Red Witch felt some vines tease against her toned legs, shyly climb along her thighs to stroke the crease of her bum and the flushed lips of her slit. The sorceress gave a low moan of pleasure. “Mmm. Always eager to serve, aren’t you, Lycea?”

  The plant woman giggled. “Oh yes mistress! So eager.”

  A hiss of breath escaped the sorceress as those clever vines slipped along the crack of her ass, their passage aided by the tingling sap of the plant woman’s essence. She gave a low moan as the second vine stroked her cunny, rubbing against her tantalizingly. In the end, Lycea was utterly a predator. Skilled at pleasure and seduction. But she had never known the delight of submission.

  Which the Red Witch had been more than happy to show her.

  “Mmmm. That’s it. Ah,” she gasped as the vines began to tenderly fuck her cunt and ass. “Ohhh good slut. My pretty flower bitch. That’s a good girl.”

  “Mmm! Thank you, mistress,” Lycea moaned, panting, her pink cheeks coloured faintly green as her glamour struggled to survive the thunderous pleasure which wracked her. “Oh goddess! Yes! Yes! Nnnnn!”

  Lycea squealed in delight, her warm nectar pumping from her pussy, soaking the witch’s hand. The sorceress moaned happily, the twin vines filling her pussy and ass swelling with the plant woman’s orgasm, hurrying her towards her own. “Ah. Ah! Haaaa!” the Red Witch gasped, her hips twitching as she came around the plant woman’s vines.

  For a moment the pair remained there, locked in the embrace of the other, weakened with post-coital bliss. The Red Witch smirked down at Lycea’s stolen face. It was just a shame that the plant woman needed a physical form to copy. Had she not, then the Red Witch might have had another thing for her to transform into. To create a copy from the witch’s memory. The shape of a slightly older man. Noble. Strong. Or a gentle maiden. One who had willingly sacrificed it all for her mistress…

  The Red Witch released the plant woman abruptly, withdrawing her fingers from the doppelganger’s cunny. Lycea stared at the witch, panting hotly, confusion written all over her face.

  “M-mistress?” the creature moaned weakly.

  “Now now,” the Red Witch said, wagging a finger at the creature. “Don’t think I’m going to spoil you. At least, not until you accomplish your mission. You still have a job to do, my pretty little flower.”

  Lycea beamed. “I know, mistress! I won’t fail you.”

  “Good girl,” the Red Witch said. Hand still dripping with the plant creature’s juices, the Red Witch swirled her fingers, and from nothingness a blade twisted into being. The steel was black as obsidian, the edge coated in a pulsing green. She pressed it into Lycea’s hand. “Use this, my pretty flower.”

  “Gladly, mistress,” Lycea purred as she took the blade. She shuddered as she touched it, feeling the raw, unholy magic pulse from the knife. She was a thing of primal magic and essence, and through such a nature, she could feel the purpose of the dark spell entwining the knife. “Oooh, mistress! You are naughty!”

  “You know it,” the Red Witch grinned. She gave the doppelganger’s breast another teasing squeeze. “And when you succeed, I promise you a treat.”

  Lycea giggled. “Mmm. The human was already delicious.”

  “And you’ll have many more soon. As well as my own personal reward.” The Red Witch touched Lycea’s chin, tickling it. “Now, let’s get you dressed, my flower. It’s time to get to work.”

  Though the disappointment was palpable Lycea obeyed. With some effort they managed to dress her in Torria’s armour. A process that became easier the longer they went about it as Lycea absorbed more of the amazon’s memories. Within the hour Lycea stepped out of the bounds of the forest, adjusting her breastplate, a smile on her lips.

  “Commander!”

  Lycea turned sharply at the beat of hooves. She straightened sharply as several riders emerged from the thick forest.

  “Commander,” Ander repeated, pulling back his hood. “Thank the gods! We feared the worst.”

  “That the orcs caught me?” she asked, then gave a short sniff of contempt. “The brutes were nothing. I lost them easily.” She glanced at the half dozen men with the soldier. “Is this all?”

  “All that escaped, commander.”

  “Then we have no time to lose,” Lycea said. “We must warn the empress! As I fled the orcs, I came upon new information she must know for the battle to come!”

  Anders stiffened in his saddle. “Yes ma’am! Here. Ride with me, my lady.”

  “Thank you,” Lycea said. She took the man’s hand, pulling herself astride the horse. The animal nickered, prancing uneasily at the presence of the monster on its back until Anders managed to get it under control again. Then he spurred the animal forth, riding hard away from the forest.

  As they departed, the Red Witch stepped out of the forest, watching them go. Her smirk was sharp, her eyes sparking with amusement.

  Soon.

  Stratagem

  Damera paced impatiently within her tent. Arms crossed behind her back, she scowled at nothing.

  Torria was late. More than late. Irritably the empress gnawed on her thumbnail, her eyes narrowed with frustration. Was the amazon dead? Gods she hoped not. She’d lost too many allies during this war. She was near the breaking point as it was. She couldn’t afford many more situations like this to develop.

  She shook her head violently, banishing the insistent worries. Fretting wouldn’t get her anywhere. If Torria was dead, so be it. She could do nothing about it now. She had to look to the future.

  With a sigh Damera collapsed into her camp chair. On a crude desk were laid out maps of the nearby area, troop dispositions, reports and the like. She poured herself a glass of wine and picked up a recent report, trying to focus on words that seemed to writhe and wriggle like snakes before her eyes. She took a sip of wine, grimacing. Bitter.

  She stared into the glass, gently swirling it, watching the crimson liquid slosh within the crystal. Despite herself, her thoughts returned to the Red Mages the day they had departed. There had been no warning. She’d been in her tent during the march to Sallowmarsh to meet the enemy.

  My empress.

  The voice had resounded in her head. She’d looked up from her table, and saw one of the red mages before her. A grand magister by the cut of his robes, his face obscured by a mask revealing nothing but a pair of burning eyes. Golden trim decorated the fabric, runic designs patterned over the blood red cloth in swirls and spirals of darkness.

  “Magister Wroth,” she’d said. “What brings you here?”

  We are departing.

  She remembered the sensation that had shot through her at those words. She’d gaped, staring at the sorcerer, unable to find the words. “Wh-what?”

  My brothers and sisters are leaving the army. We wish you luck with your efforts.

  “Hold… hold on here Wroth!” she’d gasped, bolting to her feet. “What’s the meaning of this? Explain yourself!”

  The Red Mage had cocked his head, the stillness of him unnerving her even in the present, sending a shiver of unease racing through her. There is nothing to discuss and nothing to explain. Situations have changed. We are returning to the capital.

  “To my brother?” she’d gasped incredulously, her skin crawling from the voice of the mage echoing in her thoughts. “Why? He can’t help you against t
he monsters! He’s an idiot! A fool!”

  We agree. We have informed him that we are rejoining his ranks to help defend the capital.

  “Are you mad!” she’d gasped. “If we don’t stop the monsters here, they’ll be able to march straight on to Muskov! The city guard won’t have a prayer to stop them. Not even with your magic! They’ll wash over you like a tide!”

  We are aware.

  “Then why? Stay here. Wroth, together we can best the Duke. You know it!”

  The possibilities are irrelevant to us. The situation has changed. We are pursuing our own projects.

  “I-“

  It is pointless to try and call the guards. As I said, my associates have departed. You have nothing left to offer us, empress.

  Her hands had tightened on the table, shaking with anger. With helplessness. “Then why?”

  This is a courtesy, empress. You have done very well. You have taken a hopeless situation and instilled the chance of success in your people. I have he highest hopes for you in the battle to come.

  “You abandon me. You abandon Istanov!”

  Perhaps. It is of little consequence. Farewell, empress. Best of luck in your future.

  And before her eyes, the magister had vanished, dissolving into twisting ribbons of black and red sorcery, leaving nothing in the air.

  Back in the present Damera placed her hand against her brow, taking a slow breath. She took another long drink of her wine. Gods above. She didn’t know what to do.

  A knock on the tent flap brought her back to the present. She raised her eyes, glancing at the door. “What?”

  “My empress. Torria has returned.”

  Damera bolted to her feet, hope warming her chest. “Let her in at once.”

  The tent flap was brushed open and Torria stepped inside. The amazon towered within the tight confines of the room, but on seeing Damera she at once fell to her knee, bowing her head. “My empress.”

  Damera smiled, walking around her desk to stand before the amazon. “Rise, Torria. I was starting to worry. What did you find?”

  “Dire news, my empress,” Torria said, raising her head. “But perhaps, hope as well.”

  “Hope?” Damera said. “What do you mean?

  “My empress. We ventured into the forest as you bid, but we did not go unnoticed. Before too long, we were attacked by monsters,” Torria said. “We had to break and flee. Many of my men were lost in the ambush. I was followed by some orcs. Naturally I bested them, and once I had them at my mercy, I questioned them. It seems the monster horde intends to assault Muskov. They’re smoke screening us right now, working to distract us and keep us near Sallowmarsh while their main force of orcs pushes towards Muskov to seize the city. The feint that I intercepted was actually a side force. The rearguard of the main army. The monsters I faced in the forest was a force to keep us from discovering the horde’s splitting up.”

  Damera bit her lip, tapping her finger on the table thoughtfully. Could the Red Mages have been aware of this? Perhaps that was why they had abandoned her for the capital. After all, many of their order’s most powerful sites were within the confines of the city, to say nothing of their relics. She wouldn’t be surprised if they left her to guard them better. The Red Mages only ever made allies of their own convenience. “I see…”

  “And, there’s more, my empress.”

  Damera raised her eyes sharply to the amazon. “What?”

  Torria leaned forward, her green eyes shining. “My lady, I discovered where the main horde is. They’re pulling back more slowly to try and keep us distracted, withdrawing troops from the front incrementally, spreading themselves out in order to keep up the illusion of being committed here. A full out assault will break through the lot of them!”

  “What? You’re sure of this?” Damera said sharply.

  “Absolutely,” Torria said, smirking lightly. “Orcs are cowards once they’re under the knife. My empress, we can end this war now! The Duke of Ashes doesn’t have the troops to construct another horde. This is his last gamble for the empire. If we destroy it, nothing will remain but scattered monsters, easily mopped up by our troops.”

  Damera stood sharply. She turned and walked over to the corner of her tent; a map of the empire spread out on the wall. She clasped her hands behind her back, tightening her hands into fists as she stared at the painting. Before her stood what had once been the full reach of her people’s empire, stretching across half the continent.

  But no more.

  Three quarters of the map was darkened, demonstrating how far the monster hordes had pushed. What lands now fell under the shadow of the Duke of Ashes and his creatures. Only a small wedge remained clean. Backed up against the mountains, resisting the terrible march of darkness that was the monsters.

  Dare she take this risk? Dare she abandon Sallowmarsh to fight the monsters once more? Cut so deep into the horde’s black heart it would never again threaten humanity?

  An end to this war. And end to the menace of the Duke of Ashes.

  She shuddered, glanced.

  “Inform the generals. Prepare the army to march. We are ending this war.”

  The Battle

  The drums beat low across the fields.

  The roars of monsters deafened the ears. The shouts of soldiers thundered back.

  Steel flashed and claws snapped as the two armies battled. Sallowmarsh rose in the distance. A grim tombstone city watching on as the forces of humans and monsters clashed. Regiments of soldiers stood firm against the charge of ogres and orcs. Ghouls howled as the spells of priests and priestesses scoured their unholy forms, banishing them back to the earth which had spawned them. Demons flittered through the skies along with harpies, seizing screaming soldiers and flinging them down or tearing them to pieces, driven back only by a sudden hail of arrows.

  Damera watched intently from a rise of a hill. Her personal guard surrounded her, along with messengers and her bannermen. Tension filled the air around her. She could feel it. The monster horde outnumbered her army, but it lacked the discipline of her forces. The air sparked and crackled with the unholy magics of the monsters and the banishing might of the priests. The sky was grey and grim, threatening rain every moment with guttural rumbles of thunder.

  Damera tapped the jeweled hilt of her sword uneasily. Something wasn’t right. Though the horde they faced was near the size of the one they battled at the Skull Keep, something about it gave her pause. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  “The monsters are near breaking!” Torria said eagerly from her side. “Empress! Victory is assured.”

  “Yes,” Damera mused softly. “Yes. I suppose so.” She smiled. She was overthinking it. She was afraid of her own success. “Men of Istanov!” she cried. “Ready the charge! We’ll crush these monsters and send them back to the shadows where they belong!”

  Her men roared in agreement.

  A sound which paled to the horns which wailed from the forest.

  Damera twisted in her saddle and towards the dark woods that edges the field of battle. Her eyes widened in horrified shock as she saw hulking figures emerge. Orcs. Hundreds. Thousands. The great brutes loped out of the dark, bellowing savagely, their roars thundering across the battlefield. Ranks of imperial troops, exhausted from the fight, stared in horror at the line of savage warriors pelting towards them in a mass.

  “What!” Damera gasped. “Where… Torria!” she cried, turning towards the amazon. “Torria, you said- “

  Torria lunged, a dagger flashing from her hand. The blade sliced home, scraping a long slash down the empress’s side. Damera gasped, liquid fire bursting through her chest. The shock of the strike lasted but a moment, and the next Damera grasped her sword and ripped it from its scabbard.

  “Traitor!” the empress roared, cutting down the amazon. The gem in the hilt of her blade flamed with her fury, her sword slicing deep, cleaving through steel and cloth, but not flesh. Green sap oozed from the great wound cut in the amazon’s ches
t. The plant clone laughed madly, her pink skin melting away to a vibrant green, turning to brown. The thing was still laughing as it hit the ground, flesh further darkening as the clone seemed to dissolve, flowers blooming across its body until only a plot of vibrant flowers filling fallen armor remained.

  Damera stared in horror at the thing, the truth of it all hitting her like a hammer between the eyes. She hissed, clasping a hand over her wound.

  “Empress! Are you alright?”

  She raised her head, looking about her. The orcish charge had hit the front lines of the infantry. It was buckling, holding but barely. Beneath a cavalry charge such would be enough, allowing the men to counter attack. But the orcish brutes were in their element in the close confines of combat. Cleavers and swords near as tall as a man rose and fell with devastating force, rending armour and flesh with ease.

  All across the battlefield she could see the rippling effects of the orcish charge. The monsters, relieved from the pressure of the human forces were rallying, pushing back like a black tide.

  The reality of the situation fell on Damera like a lead weight. Grimly, she firmed her shoulders.

  “Sound the retreat.”

  “My lady?”

  “Bugler. Sound the retreat.” She looked to her personal guard. “Men! We charge. We will break the monster advance. We shall not let this be a route! Our men will pull back in order. We have lost this battle. But the war shall not end this day. With me!”

  Her personal guard and cavalry reserve let out a shout. They mustered, rallying around her banner. As the notes of the bugle sounded across the battlefield, Damera brought up her sword and down, kneeing her horse into movement.

  Like an arrow her mounted troops flowed after the empress. Her heart pounded as she surged down the hill with her men, banners streaming in their wake. The monsters, disorganized at the best of times, turned hastily to meet this unexpected charge, to little avail.

  Damera struck the monster ranks, cutting through the scattered creatures. Her sword flashed, the jewel at the hilt blazing, the steel shining with crimson light as it cut through bone and horror. Shaggy heads flew from shoulders. Hulking figures fell beneath her blows.