The Pillaging of an Empire

by Amanda Clover

  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 Moskov. They’re smoke screening us right now, working to distract us and keep us near Sallowmarsh while their main force of orcs pushes towards Moskov 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 chest. 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 Damer
a 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.

  Then they were past, and the true battle began.

  The orcs whirled about to face this new attack. Bellowing, they surged against the riders. Swords clashed; the charge of the human forces broken for the moment.

  As Damera rode past a hand clamped on her leg. She let out a scream of surprise as she was wrenched from her saddle, hitting the ground heavily. Her head spinning, she looked up and into the face of her foe.

  White paint formed the pattern of a skull. Unlike the other orcs, the one before her wore nothing but a loincloth, his scarred grey hide etched with swirling paint and savage signs, broken only by the splash of blood. His eyes were cold and dark as ice, and in his other hand he held a strange, serrated blade.

  Damera knew this creature. From the reports from the rape of Novrod, of the one who had led the orcish forces of the Duke, the menace who had raided and claimed swathes of the empire for the monster.

  Ghostheart.

  She slashed at his hand, the orc hastily releasing her. She scrambled to her feet, holding her family’s blade at the ready, the steel licking with the strange magic enchanted in the sacred jewel in its hilt.

  Ghostheart watched her, his eyes revealing nothing. He held his blade at ease, his chest rising slowly and steadily. Damera knew she faced a creature unlike the other orcs. Here was no hasty brute eager for the slaughter. Here was a killer. A murderer. A true fighter.

  Life flickered in those dark eyes. The prospect of her fall. But Damera doubted it was her death the monster sought. No. She’d heard of this orc’s hunger for women. Particularly those of the nobility. How he would take them, breed them, make them little more than brood mothers for his spawn. A fate he would only be too eager to inflict on her.

  Her hands tightened on her sword, her eyes narrowing. Death before that.

  “Yaaaa!” she cried, surging forward, swinging her blade. Ghostheart parried, his serrated dagger clanging against the burning steel of her weapon. She kept on the attack, pushing the orc back. Power thumped through her, surging through the sword and into her.

  Ghostheart duelled her with expert grace, no movement excessive. Skillful and swift despite his hulking size. Waiting for his chance to strike.

  She was panting. Her head was pounding from the heat of the battle and her exertions. Her chest continued to ache from where the imposter had slashed her with the strange blade. She felt oddly aware of her own body. The rush of her blood. The way her breasts moved against her shirt and panties clung to her quim, rubbing her whenever she moved on the attack. Hot. Feverish. What was going on with her?

  Ghostheart watched the empress, a lull in the battle suddenly giving him the opening he sought. As Damera raised her sword the orc’s arm snapped out, grabbing her wrist.

  “Ah!” Damera gasped, wincing as the orc’s grip tightened. Her arm shook, and her fingers weakened, her sword dropping from her grasp.

  The light of triumph glowed in the orc’s eyes. The kill. The victory. He grabbed her breastplate and with a contemptuous motion tore it free, leather and buckles giving way beneath his brutal strength.

  Damera hung from his grasp, her face flushed, only her shirt preserving her modesty. Her large breasts pressed against the fabric; their shape undeniable. Her legs quaked with a strange weakness. Poisoned. The blade had been poisoned.

  “B-bastard,” she gasped at the orc.

  Ghostheart didn’t reply, save to sheathe his knife in his belt, reach down and grab her breast. Damera gasped, arching, hot pleasure surging down to her core as the orc’s large hand engulfed her shapely teat. She winced at the insidious sensation that made her muscles water and her will waver.

  “Hrrr,” Ghostheart grunted, massaging her fat breast, his eyes alive with hunger for the shapely empress. The one who had denied the monster horde for so long. He suddenly pulled her close and against his muscular chest. Damera gasped, inhaling a sudden breath of his thick musk. Sweat and a primal stench that was all the orc’s own. Her head spun. She whimpered as the orc groped her breast a bit more, then abandoned it. Damera felt that pang of loss, only until the brute reached between her legs, and cupped her mons.

  “O-ooooh!” Damera moaned as the orc pressed his palm against her hot box. The orc grunted again, his dark eyes shining with pleasure as he felt the dampness of her pussy leak through her panties and pants. He ran his finger along her cunny, making her twitch and whimper.

  “M-monster,” Damera gasped, her heart hammering. “I’ll… I’ll never…”

  Just the corner of the orc’s lip lifted in amusement. Then he pushed her down to her knees, and before his cock.

  His loincloth did nothing to mask the bulge of his monstrous shaft. Nor the scent that wafted to her. Damera shook with almost feverish need, hot desire pounding through her as she was confronted with the monster’s bulge. So this was it. This was what had corrupted so many of her countrywomen. What had compelled them to offer themselves up to the brute. To take his seed and become his slaves.

  The sound of the battlefield seemed to echo in the distance, as if coming through a fog. Her awareness was consumed with the brutal orc before her. By his scent. His presence. The bulge of his cock pressing against his loincloth. What it promised her. If she would only give in. She could trace its outline. Could fairly hear the thump of his pulse as his cock grew engorged with primal lust.

  She whimpered, trying to fight it. Trying to even as her chest ached and burned, nipple tenting her thin shirt. As her pussy grew slick and fairly soaked her panties with desire. She groped for something. Anything to stop her from leaning in. From pressing her cheek against that cock. From brushing aside that loincloth. From pressing her soft lips against his inhuman shaft in adoration.

  Power surged up her hand. Her eyes flew open in shock, the lust burned away with a flash. She let out a roar of defiance and surged to her feet.

  Ghostheart’s eyes widened in surprise. He jerked backwards with all the training of his gladiator days. All his barbarous strength. He nearly made it.

  Nearly.

  Damera swung her family’s sword, the steel blazing with light so hot the blade was white. It slashed deep into Ghostheart’s side. The orc stumbled back, grabbing his wounded flank. Not a sound escaped him despite the wound, blood oozing from between his fingers. The orc looked at the injury, then back towards Damera.

  The empress panted, staggering to her feet, holding tight her sword. The gem at the pommel pulsed with power as she shakily raised it.

  The two faced each other, locked as if in a bubble of time. Some link seemed to twang between them. Some string of strange fate.

  The moment was broken by the sudden roar of an orc. Damera turned as a number of Ghostheart’s clan mates rushed to their leader’s aid. Damera cursed and whistled sharply. Her horse surged to her and she grabbed the bridle, pulling herself astride it. She shuddered as her aching pussy rested atop the saddle, pres
sing down on her tender clit. She bit her lip, her knuckles white on the reins. She gave a last glance at Ghostheart, who met her eyes with his dark ones. Then she turned aside and rode away, bugles ringing out as her surviving riders rallied about her, breaking through the monster lines and back towards the rest of the army, already disengaging and retreating from the battle.

  Ghostheart watched her go, his chest heaving beneath the blood and paint. His hand tightened on his side, and he bared his tusks in a silent growl.

  Recovery of the Ranks

  Damera rested in her tent, a damp cloth over her brow. The low murmuring of the priest at her side soothed her nearly as much as the gentle caress of their healing magic, washing waves of ease and cool relief into her wounded side. She sighed and sank deeper into the camp chair.

  The priestess gave a sigh and removed her hands. “It is done, my empress.”

  Damera took the cloth from her brow and looked down. She grimaced at the ugly scar that remained. A thin line, not much, and yet it had a strange greenish tint to it.

  “What is that?”

  The priestess fiddled, ducking her face beneath her snow-white hood. “Forgive me, my lady. Though I healed the wound, there seems to have been some spell cast on the blade. A poison. I could not completely remove it, but I believe I have lessened the taint. But it will take time to heal…”

  Damera sighed. “No matter,” she said, tugging her shirt back down over the scar. “You did well. Thank you. Now, see if the rest of the troops need your aid still.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Bowing, the priestess shuffled out of the tent, leaving the empress alone with her thoughts. Damera massaged her brow in vexation. Damn. Damn. Though the retreat from the swamp had been orderly, they had still lost the battle. And doubtless, Sallowmarsh too. They hadn’t been able to retreat back towards the city, resulting in them falling back and deeper into the forest.

  She had no doubt the monster horde had advanced on the city since, and though it pained her to think of the fate of its citizens, it would give her time to reorganize her forces and gather the survivors.