As ever when she suffered the sorceress’s touch, it seemed to go on for eternity. Like the world beyond Reegan didn’t exist. Time lost in the wonder of all the things the sorceress could do to her.
And yet, at last, Reegan rose, releasing Stella, who panted, her cheeks flaming, her head spinning from lack of oxygen, her tongue musky with the taste of her mistress’s rear.
Reegan stepped off the bed, glancing over her shoulder at the serving girl. “I’ll look forward to your result,” she said, the confident quirk of her lips sending Stella’s heart throbbing.
“Yes,” Stella gasped.
“Yes what?”
“Yes… mistress,” Stella murmured.
Reegan smirked as her body began to dissolve in green motes of light. Soon enough the sorceress was gone, only the emerald left upon the floor, still warm from the magics of her mistress.
Thief in the Night
When night fell on the palace, it never completely reached inside. Candles were lit down every hall and in every nook, as if to banish the darkness that closed in around Moskov. It was a failed effort, of course. In fact, it only heightened the gloom of the tall ceilings and empty corridors.
The palace never truly slept, but it did ease as those who celebrated during the day slumbered or napped, often cushioned by the breasts and bodies of their whores. Stella knew this too well, and so tiptoed as best she could past rooms where lanterns glowed and laughter shrilled.
The closer she drew to the chambers of the Red Mages, the more silent it became. The coldness of those hallways spurned the decadence of the nobles. All those who had tried to bring their festivities there had been driven out by the silent halls, whose depths seemed to reflect their jubilant laughter back at them, echoing it with almost mocking glee.
Now, those echoes clicked her footsteps back at Stella, as if counting down the moments to her betrayal. Her stomach twisted in knots of unease. Upon waking, without the presence of Reegan to soothe her guilt, her mind could not escape the knowledge of what she had agreed to do. She’d considered simply refusing, but Reegan’s claims of what the spell would do still coiled, poisonous in her thoughts. What if it were true? What if the Red Mages had revived some lost spellwork in order to deny the Duke his final victory?
She didn’t know. She didn’t trust Reegan, but did she trust Arven? His cryptic words returned to her. Just enough to fuel her doubts. Just enough to strengthen her unease.
And then she was before the doors to his chamber, and hesitation had no place.
She looked up at the mighty doors. Carved of wood, inlaid with iron, they seemed more secure than even the palace gates. Stella suspected they were. Inlaid with spellwork and steel, she doubted there were many who could open such a gate.
But she was one of them.
She still remembered how Arven had trusted her with a word, made solely for her, to enter the room. Often, the sorcerer would be engaged in research, so he wouldn’t notice her wanting to enter. Thus he had blessed her with an enchantment, his lips pressed to her brow and a whispered word to allow her access to his sanctum.
Again the shame of her betrayal rose and nearly choked her, but she swallowed it back. She stepped forward, easing back her hood, and pressed her forehead to the doors.
Iron creaked with a sound like rattling chains. She stepped back as the massive doors glided open. Before she dared to reconsider, she slipped through them, and inside.
The doors shut behind her, and she was alone. In the gloom of night Arven’s study was lit with the strange, ethereal glow that spilled through the dome above. Everything seemed coloured a crimson hue as she walked softly across the floor and towards the distant desk. Her heard hammered as she skirted the rings worked in the lower level of the floor, her head craning about to ensure she was alone. Arven didn’t usually work through the night, but she had known him to, and she didn’t know if she could face him, or lie directly to his face.
She reached his desk without incident and moved the papers about uncertainly. The scroll wasn’t there. Cursing beneath her breath, she opened the drawers of the desk once by one.
Her eyes flashed as she found the familiar piece of vellum. She grabbed it, taking it out clutching it to her plush breasts.
Chains rattled. The doors began to open.
Stella’s stomach dropped like it was filled with stone. She looked about frantically, then dashed around a bookcase. She pressed her back against it, crouching down as she peered between the volumes and to the opened doors.
Three red robed figures walked through. Two were familiar. One was Arven, the other the woman who had been with him at the square. But the third was unfamiliar, and sent a chill of fear trickling down Stella’s spine like ice water.
He was tall and thin. His robes seemed a darker crimson than his companions, the golden stitch wrought in patterns that made her stomach tighten with some instinctual fear. His hood was up, and in its shadow only a pale, ivory mask could be seen, and two eyes that burned like the embers of hell.
“My work is nearly complete, magister,” Arven said. “Fortunately much was already done by my predecessors, but putting it together took some time.”
“There’s a surprise,” Viana tittered, her eyes gleaming in her harlequin mask. “I’d have thought you’d be too busy with your little plaything to get the job done.”
Arven cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. “It was no issue. She has not caused me to lose any time.”
“Good,” a voice rang in Stella’s mind, causing her to gasp and quickly cover her mouth. “We have no time for such distractions.”
“Of course,” Arven said quickly. “But the pieces of the spellwork were quite complicated.”
“That was by design. It would not do for the wrong hands to have these works.”
“True enough,” Viana said as they moved around the desk.
Stella’s heart beat faster as Arven opened the drawer, then paused. “Hm.”
“What?” Viana said, leaning atop the desk, her full breasts pushed out.
“Nothing. Nothing. Merely must have put it in another drawer.”
“Sounds like your old age is making your forgetful.”
Arven fixed the teasing sorceress with a frown. “It’s no matter. I likely put it in my private room. At times I work on it there.”
“Or perhaps our guest has an idea where it is.”
Stella barely registered what the tall man had said before he raised an arm towards her hiding place and beckoned. She screamed in surprise as she was suddenly yanked forward by an invisible hand. The bookcase fell under her weight, volumes falling from their shelves in a thunderous din, but Stella had no time for that. She was pulled through the air and into the tall man’s grasp. His gloved hand grasped her collar, holding her aloft with ease, those crimson eyes fixing her with a terrible stare.
“Stella!” Arven gasped, staring at her. “Magister, please! Release her.”
“Let’s not be hasty there,” Viana said, stepping forward and snatching the scroll from Stella’s stunned grasp. “After all, it would be a real shame if she got away with this!”
Arven gaped, numbly taking the scroll from the sorceress. Stella quivered in shame as Arven slowly unrolled it and looked at the markings written on the page.
“Who is this?” the voice in Stella’s head hissed.
“Stella, magister,” Arven said, and Stella closed her eyes at the broken tone of his voice. “She… she was my lover…”
“Men,” Viana said. “Always thinking with their cocks.”
“Quiet, Viana.”
To Stella’s surprise the sorceress did stop, though her grin only made things worse.
“Arven. I am most disappointed. You were entrusted with keeping this work secret. That a maid managed to almost steal it is beyond the pale.”
“Apologies, magister,” Arven said quietly, rolling the scroll back up. “I never thought… I couldn’t believe…”
“Arven,” Stella wh
impered.
Arven lifted his head, but his eyes were cold. Gone was the man she had come to know over the past few weeks. He removed his dour mask and showed her his face. It was a burned, carved ruin of arcane symbols and self-inflicted wounds, as complex and fastidious as the man she had known, but glowing faintly with his hateful power.
“I am sorry, magister. I never thought the Duke of Ashes would be able to slip one of his agents into the palace like this.”
Stella’s eyes widened in shock. “The Duke… No! Arven, I never-“
“Quiet!” Arven snapped, the word reverberating with power.
Stella’s jaw snapped shut, her eyes wide in shock.
“No more lies, whore,” Arven said coldly, the runes on his face pulsing red. He looked back to the tall man. “Magister, let me make amends for this. I will take care of her.”
“A beginning, Arven. But only that.”
Stella couldn’t move as the tall man swung her about and shoved her forward. She stumbled, and then Arven’s hands were on her, his fingers bruising. She winced as the Red Mage propelled her forward, dragging her to the waiting doors and out.
Forced down the corridor, Stella realized the spell that held her tongue was gone. “Arven,” she gasped. “Please!”
“I trusted you,” he said, his face set, grim.
“Please! I don’t serve the Duke. I never would! I didn’t mean… I didn’t want this to happen. You have to believe me!”
He laughed bitterly, and the sound knifed into her very soul. “Do I now? I tried to, Stella. I wanted to. I loved you.”
“Arven…”
“No. No more lies!”
He blasted open a pair of doors, shattering the wood. Stella winced as he forced her out and onto the battlements of the palace tower. He pushed her forward. She hit the parapets, driving the wind from her. Before she could recover he grabbed her hair, wrenching back her head, making her cry out in pain.
“Look!”
She opened her eyes and caught her breath.
Fires burned across the plains surrounding Moskov. The smoke rose from the former outer city, coiling in the air, the flames that danced casting the world beyond the walls of the inner city like a scene from hell. Darkness surrounded the world below. Screams and howls and gibbering laughter echoed while soldiers fought off the latest attack, desperately battling the horrors scaling the walls.
“Look! This is what your kind have damned us to! This is what has become of Istanov. Look at it, whore! This is what your master would do to us all. To the world! Look at the future, Stella. Look at what it holds for humanity!”
Tears streamed down Stella’s cheeks. She shook in horror and pain and the agony of her shame. “Arven… please…”
“Never speak my name again! Let your masters show you their appreciation for your betrayal!”
Stella didn’t fight it. All resistance was gone. She didn’t even try to grab for the parapets as Arven pushed her over, and off the wall.
Her cloak fluttered around her as she fell. Down. Down. Towards the burning city beyond the reach of the walls. The wind tossed her hair and stole her breath. She closed her eyes for the impact.
That never came.
She slowed, her eyes popping open in surprise as she didn’t smash into the cobblestones. Her skin tingled with an echo of magic as, light as a feather, she touched down upon the cobblestones of the outer city. She stumbled before righting herself, standing stock still in confusion. She was alive. Spared. Perhaps Arven still cared. Still loved her enough to let her live.
But no. As she stood there, she heard the pattering of feet. The wheeze of hideous breathing. No. Arven had not killed her. A worse fate awaited her. He had not given her freedom.
He had given her to the monsters.
Panic seized her. She desperately looked in every direction before rushing off down a smoke-stained alley. She had to get away. She wasn’t sure where to, but she had to run. She had to hide. She had to… had to…
Even as she thought of what to do the ideas failed her. She heard the skittering of feet. The thump of approach. She’d been spotted. She picked up speed even though she knew it was futile. The desperation of flight instincts overriding every other. She had to run. Had to get away. Had to survive. Had to…
A shadow loomed up before her, blocking the end of the alley. Huge, covered in a hairy pelt and with the muzzle of a wolf, the wulfen grinned down at her, baring his many canines.
Stella skidded to a halt. She turned, ran back the way she came. The monster snarled behind her, pursuing, the sound of his panting thundering in her ears. Just as she reached the end of the alley he grabbed her collar. She screamed, cloak and shirt tearing in his clawed grasp. She fell from the alley and to the ground.
“Oooh. Woman!”
Stella raised her head. A dozen gertlings stood before her, the stunted monsters grinning down at her. Stella squeaked, scuttling back. A growl behind her made her fling herself to the side.
She scrambled away until she hit the wall of a burned down tavern. The gertlings moved around her. From a side street a minotaur’s horned figure stomped free to see what the commotion was, his bestial, black eyes locking immediately on the curvy girl. The wulfen towered over them. She pressed herself against the wall as if she could sink between the stones as the monsters closed in around her.
“Me want! Me fuck first!” a gertling with a single gold earring squealed.
“No! Me first!”
“I will take the slut!” the wulfen snarled.
“I first!” a minotaur bellowed.
Stella screamed as the eager hands of the stunted monsters grabbed her, tearing her already ragged shirt from her, ripping her pants. She threw up her arms to protect her face as the monsters closed in.
Emerald light flashed. The hairs on Stella’s arms lifted at a sudden crackle of power. Screams and a bellow of pain rang out.
Slowly, Stella lowered her arm.
Cloak billowing about her, Reegan stood over the smoking carcass of the wulfen. The minotaur was running, clutching the stump of an arm. The gertlings were scurrying away like startled rats. Reegan’s lips lifted in cruel delight, she sent another bolt of searing green lightning into the backs of the stunted band, blasting another gertling to ash.
“That’s right!” Reegan cried, her cloak swirling about her, the emerald in her choker flaring with a malefic light as magic whirled around her like rings of green light. “Run, cowards! This slut is mine!”
Stella remained where she was, staring in awe at the dark-haired sorceress. Only when the retreating steps of the monsters had faded did Reegan turn to her, a grin flashing on her lovely face.
“Hello, Stella. Keeping poor company, I see.”
“Reegan?” Stella whimpered.
The sorceress leaned over the cowering maid, touching a finger to Stella’s chin. “Mmm. That’s right, my dear. Surprised to see me?”
“I…I don’t understand,” Stella gasped.
“What’s so surprising? That I would save my precious Stella? Why wouldn’t I? No one licks me out with the same vigour as you. And letting such a lovely tongue and soft breasts go to the monsters would be… such a waste.”
“Reegan. I… I didn’t get… I don’t have…”
“I figured as much,” the sorceress said, taking Stella’s arm, pulling the stunned girl to her feet and against the sorceress’s firm, yet pliant frame. Her arm looped around Stella’s waist, tugging the startled maid firmly against her. “But I know you tried. And I would be a poor mistress indeed if I threw you to the wolves just because you failed me once.”
Stella’s eyes filled with tears. Her meager self control snapped and she threw her arms around the sorceress, clinging to her like she were the only anchor in a world of madness. “Reegan,” Stella sobbed. “I’m sorry. Forgive me… forgive me…”
Reegan raised a brow and awkwardly patted Stella on the head. “There, there. It’s alright, dear.” Her eyes sharpened, gl
anced down a side street where shadows grew, along with the grunting and snarling of many beasts. “Come on,” she said, gathering her cloak around herself and her lover. “Let’s continue this talk at home.”
“Home?”
“In Heimsvak, Stella. Where your family is waiting. Let’s be off,” she said, glancing at the palace, its walls lit against the flames as if it were soaked in blood. Her lips tightened. “I have tried to stop untold destruction, but I see the Red Mages are intent. Now I must turn to protecting Heimsvak. There’s nothing for mankind here.”
Stella sobbed, burying her face in Reegan’s breasts, her skin tingling as the wind swirled around them, the pair contracting into a bolt of green light that shot into the sky. A sound like thunder filled the blood soaked square, and all that remained was a scorched mark upon the stone.
< TABLE OF CONTENTS | NEXT UNCENSORED COVER >
Book Eighteen
Orgy of the End Times
By Amanda Clover and Jay Aury
@amandasmut
Cover artwork by Deilan12
Map of the Empire of Istanov
Pillaging
On wings of white stained with ash the dove flew through the skies above Moskov. It was accustomed to the smoky air. Not so long ago it spewed from chimneys and crude factories, stinking of coal and filth. Wreathing the lower districts of the city with a haze as thick as soup during the spring melts.
But no more.
The smoke that spewed from Moskov stank of blood and suffering. It spewed from windows and roofs. Breathed from the flamers that devoured eaves and roofs and lives. Whole sections of the inner city burned.
“Go,” the voice in the dove’s mind said.
The dove obeyed, winging down, flapping lower through the once elegant homes of the merchant elite and lesser nobles. Past avenues where people fled like rats in a maze, their screams of fear and confusion nearly inaudible under the crackling flames. The dove swung beneath a banner, burst into the open of a square before the walls.
The Pillaging of an Empire Page 84