by Isaac Hooke
But Ziatrice did nothing.
Mauritania shrugged, stood to her full height once more. “How far you have fallen. I used to respect you, Night Elf, though I only heard of your exploits from afar. I thought you were someone to aspire to. You had power. An army that would die for you. But then you let this one Break you.” She shook her head, then turned her attention back to Malem. “Which one of them should I kill first?”
“Me,” Malem said.
She laughed again. “So funny. Ah, maybe I’ll keep them alive for a while longer. Who knows, maybe they’ll offer some quality entertainment. It’s such a bore to be surrounded by so many men. I could use a little night out with the girls.” She paused, maybe expecting some sort of response from him, but when he didn’t give one, she stood. “Well, it’s been fun.”
She approached the nearest Eldritch mage; the former king quickly arose and followed close to her side.
The Eldritch in question cringed as she grew near and bowed deeply.
“Tie them up,” she ordered. “And prepare the broken boy for transport. Nemertes will deliver him to the master this very night.”
“You haven’t Broken me,” Malem said softly.
Mauritania cocked her head, and glanced askance at him. “Say again?”
“You haven’t Broken me.” Louder.
She turned around fully. “Oh?”
Green tendrils arose from the icy surface around him, propping him up so that he was standing.
A green blur appeared in front of her body, rapidly smearing towards him. The blur halted in front of him, and she instantly materialized there, inches from his face. “The master wants you alive. He didn’t say in what condition, however.”
She gave him a kiss. He would have almost thought it passionate, and yet her eyes betrayed coldness. There was no passion there. This was perfunctory, meant to tease.
And then she bit down, hard, on his lower lip, drawing blood as she tore away from him. That blood oozed down her chin, and she licked it.
She sighed. “I would have enjoyed Breaking you. Unfortunately, I can’t trust myself not to kill you in the process. As I almost did this one.” She gestured toward King Goldenthall, who had already come to her side. Then she spun and stalked away.
The green tendrils yet held him aloft.
“You can’t Break me, Bitch,” Malem said, ignoring the throbbing pain in his lips.
Mauritania came to a halt.
“What are you doing?” Gwen hissed from where she lay below him.
The Eldritch Queen glanced askance. “What did you say?”
“Don’t—” Xaxia murmured.
“I said, you can’t Break me, Bitch,” Malem repeated. He let amusement fill his voice, as if he was mocking her and her power. Which he was.
Once more she teleported in front of him. He felt a sharp pain in his gut, and glancing down, he realized she’d stabbed him in the belly with a dagger.
“Would you like me to twist it?” she said sweetly.
He bit down on the pain, and part of his mind told him to shut up, shouted at him to do so, but he ignored it. His pride wouldn’t let him.
So he said between gritted teeth: “Go ahead. I dare you.”
And she twisted it. The excruciating pain that followed was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Mercifully, he blacked out.
When he awoke, he was lying on the rooftop. The tendrils had finally released him.
An Eldritch lurked above him, greenish-white bands of magic flowing from its hand. Malem glanced at his belly, and realized the creature was healing him. Some of those tendrils also went to his lips, relieving the pain where Mauritania had bitten him.
To his left, the Black Sword was fast making her way toward the stairs.
Nemertes remained perched atop the rooftop, watching idly, seeming bored.
He focused on Hansel. The ghrip was attacking the outer wall of the city, as ordered, and he sensed that the monster was slightly injured, but still in the game. He felt a rising determination from the bull, as if Hansel wanted to please him, or do whatever it could to save him, its master.
He reached out to the other two monsters yet bound to him, and confirmed Khaan and Ophid had dutifully remained close to the castle walls. When he’d issued his final orders, they’d killed the closest foes and hid in a series of particularly wide alleyways next to the castle walls, where they waited for further orders.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t summon them, not while Nemertes was present.
Then the break he was looking for finally came.
“It seems there is a disturbance on the city wall, my queen,” the dragon said in a distinctly female voice that sounded old as time itself. Its gaze was directed south, toward the aforementioned wall.
Mauritania waved a dismissive hand. “Leave it to the troops.”
Nemertes continued staring into the distance; the dragon leaned forward slightly, squinting. “They appear to be having some difficulty.”
“Make it quick, then,” Mauritania said. “You are to carry the prize to Vorgon within the hour.”
“Understood,” the dragon said.
Nemertes bent its legs in a deep squat and then shoved its heavy body from the wall. Those massive wings expanded, flapping loudly as the dragon plunged from view. Meanwhile Mauritania turned toward the stairs and continued on her way.
The Eldritch mage finished healing Malem and then hauled him to his feet. The rooftop surface was no longer slippery, Malem noted.
He couldn’t help a sudden grin.
“What are you smiling at?” the Eldritch asked roughly.
28
Malem ordered Khaan and Ophid to infiltrate the castle, instructing them to climb the walls of this very building.
“Hey Mauritania, you forgot something,” Malem taunted as the Eldritch mage bound him with a thick rope. He realized the others in his party had been similarly bound, probably while he was unconsciousness.
But she continued walking away with Goldenthall.
He had to stop her before she went inside. He had to keep her here, where she was vulnerable.
He heard a commotion from the courtyard below. The basilisks were encountering resistance.
Some of the Eldritch on the rooftop went to the edge and peered over the parapet. Mauritania ignored the din and continued on her way.
Malem looped his four women into the same mental conversation. Can any of you use your magic now that the dragon is gone?
No, Weyanna said. Nemertes applied some kind of debuff.
And Rathamias, too?
Yes, Ziatrice replied. We’ve all been hit with the debuff. I’m not sure how long it will last.
I warned you about the dragon… Weyanna told him.
I can’t let her leave this rooftop, Malem told them.
“Hey Mauritania,” Malem shouted as the Eldritch mage finished binding him. “I heard you were sleeping with Vorgon. How’s it feel to have your insides stretched to the breaking by a Balor? I mean, I’d heard you were a whore, but I didn’t think you’d ever lower yourself to that level. You’re the slut of the century, the—”
Before he could finish, she spun around, and that familiar green blur of teleportation spread before her, traveling across the rooftop and all the way to his position, where she materialized in front of him.
“How dare you!” Her voice was deeper, malevolent. There was nothing a woman hated more than being slut shamed in front of other women. Not even a queen was safe from such feelings. Especially a queen.
All eyes on the rooftop turned to watch.
“How dare?” Malem said, feeling emboldened now that he had an even bigger audience. “Everyone knows you’re a loose woman. I can see the stretch marks on your pussy from a mile away. Some of them are from Goldenthall and your boy toys among the Eldritch. But the biggest and widest? Vorgon all the way. Hell, you’re so loose, I could probably stuff a watermelon up there.”
As he spoke, green swirls of magic swir
led from Mauritania’s eyes, and her face suddenly became demonic. Those blunt horns on her head? They grew into a sharp, fully-formed set that would have put a bull to shame.
Malem realized he might have just made a very big mistake. One that would cost him his life.
“You will die for that.” Her voice was so deep, he couldn’t even recognize it as female any more. Nor male.
Green magic gathered before her in a maelstrom no doubt meant to rip him apart.
The nearby Eldritch looked up suddenly—
And the ordinary soldiers among them turned to stone.
Mauritania had enough presence of mind to notice. She spun. “What?”
Khaan was already leaping at her.
The Eldritch Queen instinctively teleported away. But the long green blur that extended in front of her body betrayed her destination—Malem had Ophid leap down from the other side to intercept her.
Ophid plunged the claws of its forelimb into that blur just as she appeared, so that Mauritania was impaled in the chest. She gasped in shock, and looked down, unable to fathom what had just happened. Blood poured from her mouth. She dropped the scepter. The globe of light hovering overhead flickered, and threatened to go out.
Khaan was next to him, and with a single swipe, cut through the rope that bound him. Then the basilisk leaped at a nearby mage.
Mauritania staggered slightly, but Ophid held her up with its paw. Before Malem could do anything, she straightened, her expression becoming full of hatred. The light globe shone brighter than ever.
Stronger than I thought.
She raised her arms over her head and slammed her palms together, unleashing a powerful green shockwave. The translucent sphere expanded outward rapidly, and everything in its path—the basilisks, other Eldritch, Malem—were sent hurtling backward from the sheer force of it.
Malem managed to grab onto the edge of the parapet as he flew over it; the other Eldritch and the two basilisks weren’t as lucky, and shot right off the rooftop, their limbs flailing as they plunged to their dooms.
He pulled himself over the parapet and glanced at his companions: by virtue of their seated positions, which kept them close to the rooftop surface, they had simply been pushed into the wall, and not over it. Of the enemies, only Mauritania remained. And Goldenthall, lying prostrate near the stairs. Or rather, where they used to be: Mauritania’s shockwave attack had collapsed the entrance to the stairwell, temporarily blocking access to any reinforcements.
He felt spikes of pain emanate from Khaan and Ophid—they’d just struck the ground. Their energy bundles were extremely weak: they were barely alive. He transferred some stamina from Hansel to them, but it wasn’t enough: he could expect no more help from that quarter. They needed time to heal.
Mauritania strode toward him imperially, holding her bleeding chest with one hand. Blood marred the blue sections of her dress and trickled down her bare thigh. Her mouth was set in a rictus of hate above the congealing blood on her chin.
Her emerald eyes flared with a sudden brightness.
He wrapped his will around her mind. Her injuries were enough that he was no longer stung by the touch, and was able to fully grip her. He clamped down.
She gasped and stopped her advance, the green glow in her eyes diminishing. She seemed confused, and glanced around herself uncertainly. Then her eyes focused on him once more, and hardened. The glow from them increased once more, and a green swirl of evil magic rotated into existence in front of her.
Definitely stronger than I thought.
He squeezed tighter, with almost everything he had, and the maelstrom dissipated as she was forced to abandon the magic and concentrate on fending off his mental attack. She released her chest and drew a pair of daggers from sheathes hidden inside her dress. He still had Balethorn strapped to his side, so he drew the weapon.
“Cut us free!” Ziatrice urged.
But Mauritania was upon him before he could do anything else. Those daggers were roughly equivalent to short swords, given her size relative to him, and he was forced on the defensive, parrying as he retreated before the flurry of blows.
“Get out— of my— head!” she said between swings.
It was difficult squeezing her will mentally and repelling her physical attack at the same time. One or the other was going to flag, eventually. And when that happened, his end would follow shortly.
And then the Darkness came for him. He knew because of the sudden buzzing in the back of his mind. Raw. Hungry. Like a nest of irate bees. And loud. Oh so loud.
Breaker! Ziatrice sent. Behind you!
He sidestepped Mauritania’s latest attack and dashed past her. He took a glancing blow in his upper arm from her blades and he felt the hot pain in his bicep where the weapon had penetrated his dragon scale armor. The blades must have been magical, then, to pierce that armor so easily.
He continued running; glancing over his shoulders, he saw the tentacles of Darkness reaching from the portal. They ignored Mauritania completely, making straight for him.
The arrival of the Darkness was completely unexpected, and had come at the worst of times, just as Malem had predicted it would.
He cut to the left, forcing the long smears from the portal to travel toward Mauritania, but the Darkness purposely avoided her. From the way the individual strands meticulously flowed over and around her, he could almost believe the portal was Vorgon’s creation. But that couldn’t be the case: she stood there watching the smears part around her, and seemed just as confused as he did.
Banvil didn’t want her. The Balor had decided today was the day it would take Malem. It wasn’t going to risk his power growing any stronger.
More dark hands shot out from the side of the portal, coming around from the opposite flank, and Malem was forced to flee anew.
His hold on Mauritania’s mind momentarily weakened, and the Eldritch Queen used the opportunity to teleport in front of him. She used the Darkness to her advantage and pressed the attack, trying to herd him into those hands of hell-black mist behind him.
But desperation drove him now, and gave him focus he might not have otherwise had. He forced himself forward, knowing that to delay meant death. He parried both of her blades in rapid succession, and hit her in the side with a riposte.
She gasped in pain but struck again, towering over him. He sidestepped as he parried the next two blows, and she managed to block his riposte this time, but that was only part of his intent: he kicked her in the side of the leg, extremely hard, causing her to lose her balance. He leaped behind her, and jabbed his elbow into her back, shoving her into the waiting tendrils of Darkness.
He watched with some satisfaction as black veins hungrily began to climb her flesh where the evil touched her, but then, just like that, the Darkness released her. The smears of death sped past her instead, confirming Banvil didn’t want her. She was its ally today.
Mauritania grinned and attacked anew.
He backed away before her onslaught, toward the parapet behind him. The tentacles of the Darkness matched her advance and flailed from either side of her body as if part of her, and she had become some multi-armed monster. He was forced to intermittently swat away the black appendages with Balethorn, which allowed Mauritania to break through his guard. Soon he had a series of nicks from the glancing blows he’d taken in his chest armor.
He continued retreating. If she and the Darkness pinned him against that wall, that would be his doom. So he tried to angle away, but she hammered him from the flank, forcing him back onto his previous path. She wasn’t going to let him go so easily.
The Dark’s touch had weakened her, he noted, allowing him to tighten his will into hers. But it still wasn’t enough.
He feinted to the right, and she left a momentary opening in her lower ribs. He took it, stabbing his blade home, letting the Dark tendrils around her brush his arms. Balethorn plunged deep, enough to pierce her lung. He withdrew it, bringing with it a fresh spray of gore, and pulled his a
rm from the Darkness. Dark veins on the affected areas expanded into his armor, painfully burning away the flesh underneath before dissipating.
He backed up, touching the wall behind him as Mauritania staggered and dropped one of the blades to hold her side.
That did it. Like most duels, the deciding blow often came quickly, and unexpectedly, ending the fight in one fell swoop.
He hadn’t let up the pressure he applied with his will the whole time, and it tightened around her suddenly weakened mind, penetrating through its lobes. As with Ziatrice, he suddenly sensed a sinister presence there already in her mind. Vorgon.
He summarily shoved that presence aside. As before, Vorgon yielded instantly. Likely planning to return once Malem took control, and then crush them both to its will.
But Malem wasn’t going to fall for that trick again. He’d learned from his encounters with Ziatrice and Barrowfore after her. Instead of going for the Break like he had with Ziatrice, or attempting to wrap his will around both the sinister presence and Mauritania at the same time, as he had attempted with Barrowfore, he tried something new.
Before Vorgon could worm into the mental crevices of her mind, he latched onto the Balor. With the extra strength granted him by his connection to Weyanna he was able to pull the creature free, and he flung it toward the Darkness behind him. The tendrils that sought Malem momentarily paused, sensing Vorgon’s sinister presence. But then all trace of the other Balor vanished and the Dark came for him once more.
Malem let his mind intertwine with Mauritania’s. He kept a mental watch out for Vorgon, should the Balor return. It didn’t.
He was prepared to release one of the monsters bound to him, in case Mauritania required more slots than his mental capacity was capable of, but he suddenly realized she didn’t require slots. He was able to compartmentalize her mind within his own, next to the other four women: their bond was permanent, the threads connecting them solid, rather than translucent.
That meant she was half human after all. Good. He had hoped that would be the case.
He felt his mental capacity expand. He wasn’t sure by how much, but given she was at least as powerful as Ziatrice, that meant he had no less than eight more slots, maybe ten. If the latter, that meant he had a total of thirty-six.