The Third Sign

by Scott D. Muller

  Bal’kor thought about it for a while. Technically, he would still be in the Keep until he crossed the moat.

  “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…but only a couple of feet.” Bal’kor said, giving in to the lovely demoness as he released the latch. The heavy door swung in on rusted hinges that squeaked badly. The rush of cool air hit them as they stepped through the opening.

  Mica moved into the sunshine.

  “Oh! This is wonderful,” she said, taking a deep gulp of air and spinning in circles. She choked back the foul stench of the clean air and forced a smile.

  She stared at the sky; it was bright blue with only a few cotton clouds floating around and it hurt her eyes, which were not accustomed to so much light. She supposed she could get used to it again. It had been a long, long time since she was free, outside. Mica walked to the stone rail and bent over the side of the bridge, staring at the water.

  “Is it safe? I mean … there aren’t any monsters in it are there?” she said, pointing at the moat.

  “What? Oh! No. There used to be, but not anymore. We let him go when there wasn’t any reason to guard the Keep anymore.”

  “Wonderful!” She said, swinging her legs over the side and pushed off.

  Bal’kor yelled, “Wait!” But it was too late, and he heard the splash. He ran to look over the side. There she was, far below, in the cool water. Ripples circled her expanding outward, and shallow waves were lapping at the shore.

  “Come on in!” she yelled up at Bal’kor. “The water is most marvelous.”

  All Bal’kor could do was shake his head. He didn’t want to get all wet. He had just had a bath earlier this week. After a while, she tired of swimming and pulled herself out of the water. She struggled to get up on the bank, her small feet sliding in the mud. When she finally got to the top, she was shivering. She had her arms crossed in front, trying to stay warm as the water slid down her thin leggings and formed a tiny puddle at her feet.

  “Cold?” Bal’kor asked, noticing her rock-hard nipples poking through the thin material of her blouse.

  She nodded vigorously while her teeth chattered, and her lips turned blue. Bal’kor reached for her shoulder.

  “You’re real cold.” Bal’kor said, pulling his hand back. He was concerned that she would get sick, although he had no idea if demons actually did catch colds. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes.”

  Bal’kor took two steps toward the Keep before he turned around, expecting her to follow. Her hands were on her blouse, and as quick as that, it was off. Before he could say a word, she had laid it out to dry on the warm rocks. She stood up and came over to where Bal’kor was standing. She threw her arms around him.

  “Hold me c-c-c-lose, please. I’m so-o-o co-co-cold,” she chattered.

  Bal’kor held her, afraid to move. He had never held a nearly naked lady before, not even an ugly one. Slowly he worked up enough courage to wrap his arms around her and pull her close. He felt her body tremble and felt the smooth curve of her lower back. Gradually, the trembling subsided as she gathered warmth and dried off.

  After a little while, she pulled free and began to dance in the sun. “Doesn’t it feel good?” she said, twirling and skipping about.

  Bal’kor stood there staring at Mica while she danced with no top on. The cool air was making her nipples hard and Bal’kor, try as he might, was not entirely in control of himself. His mind was working overtime entertaining itself with lewd thoughts, she was so desirable.

  Bal’kor was surprised at how comfortable she was in front of him with her top off; the women of the Keep would never do that, even the older ones. They wouldn’t even be seen in their nightshirts. It just wasn’t proper! Of course, there were no young ladies at the Keep anymore, not since after Ror, but if there were, they would be chagrined.

  Mica didn’t seem to be self-conscious or bashful at all. Maybe, he thought, demons didn’t worry about these things. Well, whatever the reason, he wasn’t going to question it; he was just going to enjoy her! The last time he remembered even seeing a young female was before he came to the Keep, and then they were fully clothed.

  Memories of his mother came rushing back. He struggled to push them away, not wanting to lose this precious moment.

  She stopped spinning and turned to him, stepping closer. She threw her arms around his neck and planted a big kiss on his lips. He felt her moist lips and firm breasts as they pressed tight against his robe, her tongue tangled with his. She pulled the belt of his robe free and pressed herself against his skin.

  His hands went instinctively to her waist as he responded by returning her kiss. Passionately, they kissed for a long time. When the kiss finally ended, she didn’t pull away, she just looked up into his face.

  “That was so wonderful! I haven’t been kissed like that in an eternity. It was very beautiful,” she said, inhaling and pushing her chest out.

  “I feel so alive, it must be the air. It’s so clean here; you can smell the flowers from the meadows in the mountains across the valley,” she could feel him tremble, and she felt him stir. She knew that it was just a matter of time before she was the master. She forced the bile in her throat down after she took another deep breath of the foul air. By the gods, how did people live like this?

  She stepped away and went to one of the stone walls on either side of the bridge that crossed over the moat that isolated the Keep from the mainland. She sat down on the wall and laid back. She pulled one leg up from the road and set it bent-kneed on the short wall. The sun was striking her just so. Bal’kor just gawked; it appeared like the material of her pants had melted away. The thin material, still wet, clung to her every nook and cranny. He saw her firm muscular legs, lean thighs, well-rounded bottom, and he saw more!

  “The rock is so warm. Come here and sit by me, let’s take a nap,” she cooed, motioning for him with her hand gently tapping on the rock wall beside her. Her eyes were closed.

  He walked over to her, never taking his eyes off her glorious body. He sat down and slid very close to her. As he did so, she flipped one leg over his head, wrapped him with her silky legs, one in front, one behind, and crossed them at the ankle, giving him a squeeze. He could see her stomach trembling and her muscles ripple when she moved her legs. Moreover, she gave him a better view of…much more.

  She sat up in one quick motion and mounted his lap, planting another kiss on his lips. She teased him with her tongue and ground her hips into his as she kneaded his hair. What little willpower Bal’kor had, he lost instantly.

  His hand slid down her back and gripped her cheeks, pulling her even closer. He was hers. She was now Master. His body shook and his hands trembled. She laughed to herself at how easily he had been won! Her master would be pleased. She felt his excitement. She would stop to smell the roses; after all, nothing could happen until after this Closing ceremony he keeps talking about.

  “Let’s go into the woods,” she whispered into Bal’kor’s ear, gently nibbling on his earlobe as she slid her hand down his pants. “I have a wonderful gift I want to give you, but you cannot have it here in the open, only in private!”

  She got up and extended her hand. Bal’kor rose obediently, his mind racing with the possibilities. He followed her as they crossed the moat and began heading toward the courtyard.

  “We can’t!” Bal’kor said, yanking her back by her arm.

  “Why not,” she asked, staring down the path toward the gate.

  “We can’t get by the outer wall. The gate is always closed.”

  “That gate?” she asked, pointing to the open gate under the portcullis.

  “Er ... eh ...” he mumbled, “I guess they must leave it open during the day so that the serving staff can come in from town.

  Bal’kor was more than surprised. The gate was wide open and there wasn’t a guard to be seen. He wondered why there were no guards. Maybe they were busy with all their guests. That must have been it. He was sure he had been told that they had guards at the gates.


  Mica didn’t wait to hear his explanation and ran through the gate, pausing briefly to turn in his direction to see if he was following. Satisfied that he was, she ran down the road, across the river and entered the dark and heavily timbered forest that surrounded the Keep. Bal’kor blindly followed after her.

  Bal’kor’s bare feet sank into the pine needles that blanketed the forest floor, and small snapping sounds disrupted the silence as he walked. Birds sang and flitted from branch to branch, their weight making the branches bounce and sway. The heavy scent of free pinesap filled his nostrils, and the sun glimmered through the shadows of the towering pines while they walked down the path.

  Bal’kor had not been outside the Keep’s outer wall. He could see it from his room, but except for the courtyard, he had spent all of his time indoors. They had gone a fair distance before Bal’kor came to his senses. Realizing where he was, he trembled and was scared.

  He was far from the Keep and that which he knew. Mica sensed his tension, ran a few feet ahead, and stripped off her leggings, showing him a very firm and well-rounded bottom. She stood there in the shadows, silhouetted against the trees, legs slightly spread. She offered him a view of forbidden fruit.

  “It’s only a little farther,” she giggled, darting ahead just when he reached for her. “Then you can have me.”

  They came to a clearing surrounded by towering cliffs. Bal’kor looked at the base of the cliff and saw a cave hidden by some very dense undergrowth. She dashed across the meadow to its opening. She motioned him on, luring him with promises of delight in her womanhood, as she slid her hands slowly down across her chest, stomach and her thighs.

  “If you catch me, I’m yours!” she teased.

  It had been….so long, or had it. He was only weeks old, but it felt different, like he was a very old mage from long ago. Bal’kor followed blindly, wondering why his body yearned for something he didn’t know.

  They entered the cave, it was very dark. He felt Mica’s hand on his when they stopped walking. She reached up, pressed her entire length along his muscular frame, and kissed him. He slid his hands down the small of her back and gently cupped her buttocks helping her wrap one leg around him. She unfastened his britches and letting them fall to the floor.

  He felt his hand slide up her thigh. She allowed him there. He felt her pull his robe wide open and push it off of his shoulders. Again, he felt her press herself to him. He couldn’t bear the longing and he reached for her thighs to pull her tight. She let him taste the delight of her body. He growled with pleasure, his entire frame began to shake as he tasted her offering.

  Before he was overcome, she let go of him and gently pushed him away, giggling at the game. Bal’kor felt hot, felt his desire flare. Mica pushed him up to the stone dais that sat in the center of the room. He stood there waiting in anticipation as Mica danced for him, winding her way around the room until she saw what she was searching for. Mica stepped back, pressed her hand carefully against a rune on the wall, and said a single word that Bal’kor didn’t recognize. Instantly he felt the room spinning as mist gathered at his feet

  Mica stepped out of the cave into the clearing. She walked back toward the trail, robe in hand. She slid the robe over her shoulders. It dragged on the ground, because she was too short. She morphed into Bal’kor while she walked. The robe … was now a perfect fit. Silly Bal’kor, she thought, a demon can assume any shape it pleases, and this shape pleased her very much, for now.

  She looked at the quaint rundown inn that sat on the far side of the river and laughed to herself. She hurried across the dilapidated bridge and ran up the road. She paused at the portcullis, checking for others, before she crossed the small courtyard, pushed herself through the door and entered the Keep. Nobody had seen them leave, or … Bal’kor return.

  The Closing Ceremony

  The ceremonial opening of the Chamber of Light had been completed a few short hours ago, leaving the only three Grand Wizards spent. Three were needed to perform the ritual to break the woven lock that kept the doors closed and sealed. The lock, placed there when the last rite of closing was performed, was an insurance against meddling in the affairs of other realms. Maybe next time they should leave themselves an easier way of gaining entry into the room.

  Only three remembered the room’s last use, when Rynwaar had been closed. Ja’tar thought back on the day when the conjunction of the three moons shifted the balance of power and allowed the Warvyn to lay siege to the Havenhold. They eventually beat the demon and sent him back to the underworld, although they had lost many in the fight. The wizards had been forced to sacrifice the third moon, Paladin, in the process.

  The Warvyn, an evil half-wizard-half-demon, more beast than man, had nearly succeeded in its quest, and was only vanquished at the last moment by his father’s self-sacrifice. Ja’tar didn’t remember much of his father, he was young and his father was always very busy with managing the Keep. What little he remembered changed that day. His father returned from the battle not expecting to live, his body, battered and poisoned from the confrontation. He was never the same. Ja’tar didn’t fully understand the constant pain he lived with, nor his battles with the remains of the demon spirit that had infused his being.

  Ja’tar shuddered as he thought about his former colleagues who lost their essence when the evil breached the Void and threatened Havenhold. He saw their faces, as the evil drained their essence from their bodies. His friends wilted like cut flowers in the sun, collapsing into piles of dust before his very eyes.. Most of all, he remembered the faces of the children and the Sisters who were swept away in the evil, taken away to serve the wicked Overlord. They had been lucky that any of them survived.

  Ja’tar put these thoughts away as he woke, finding Gretchen, a Sister of the Light, fretting over him. She pushed the pillow up under his head and pulled the blanket tight to his chin. He was resting in a makeshift bed, brought down to the side room just off the dining area. He wasn’t alone, the wizards who had helped him also rested nearby. Menzzaren’s mouth was open wide and he was snoring like a bear.

  “They summoned you they did, but me thinks you need more rest,” she said, wearing a kind smile. “You are not the strong young man you were when I came here.”

  “It is, as it is! It is necessary ...” Ja’tar sighed, “... that I go now and finish this ugly business.”

  Ja’tar tried to sit. Gretchen grabbed him by the shoulder and helped him up. She knew he had to go, but she had known him too long not to be concerned for his well-being.

  “When this is over, I will be better,” he said, trying to calm her.

  He knew she could read him, and feel the anxiety he had over this most unpleasant rite. He looked into her eyes and saw compassion, and sorrow. Ja’tar was amazed. Gretchen still had a beautiful smile and warm kind eyes; even after all she had been through and all the years. Her personality shined through the wrinkles and lines, through the gray that specked her hair. She had something so precious to him. She had hope.

  She helped him to dress, not saying another word about what she knew he must do. She did not argue with him, she didn’t tell him what she thought was right. She grabbed his elbow and helped lift while he tried to stand. He knew, from the look in her eyes, from the purse of her lips, what she thought. She helped him out the door, didn’t say goodbye, or good luck. She just left him to the business he had to attend, alone.

  He finished coming down the last flight of stairs to the seventh floor and hobbled down the long hallway, numbered seventy-seven, and followed the lights to the room where there should be no room. He entered through the heavy stone doors that floated on ancient metal hinges. He was still tired, having only slept for a few hours.

  He thought that perhaps the ceremony could wait another day or two. After all, they had consumed almost two weeks getting to today, plus the time since the boys had left the Keep. What difference would one more day make, when almost a full moon had passed?

  His lone
footsteps, and the tapping of his staff echoed while he slowly hobbled, approaching the Gathering. Everyone else had already gathered and was waiting for him except for Menzzaren.

  He was old, very old. His bones creaked, his vision blurred and his hands shook. He had worn himself out and felt every single day of his almost sixteen-hundred years. However, he was very strong in the magic, a true Master in every sense of the word. He fed a controlled stream of magic into his joints, easing his pain.

  He had carried the burden of Keeper for too long, he hardly remembered the day when it was handed to him. He knew he didn’t remember the date. After all these years, there had been none to take his place, he never married, and had no son or daughter to pass the burden to, even should they have been qualified. They no longer had choices, and he knew of none who commanded the one power with his mastery. None had his heart. Maybe Dra’kor would be suitable someday.

  It had to be someone with mastery. He wondered if he would ever get his chance to step down like his Father had before him, or if he was destined to carry this torch for eternity. The gods be damned. He knew they were testing him. He could hear them whisper in his sleep. Back in the day, they talked to him, even visited him. When he turned down their offer for ascension, they were filled with anger and left. He hadn’t heard much from them since.

  What was he to do? The Guild had asked him if he would serve as the Keeper. His father had grown sickly and weak. He really wasn’t offered much of a choice. They should have understood that, but the gods, well, they can be self-centered.

  He motioned to the others as he encroached upon the pedestal of ornate gold that cradled the crystal ball, the El’batar. The orb sat under the cloth, but it wasn’t silent. He could hear its low moaning as he approached the table.