by Jay Aury
“Because he is weak human,” the orc said sharply. “He wants to lead clans, but he is smaller than even females.”
Durgith made a sound. It might have been a belch, but Nivi translated with, “Durgith hear this. But Durgith also hear he kill Morgoroth.”
Borgrin glowered. “He use magic to kill Morgoroth. Treachery spell. He does not have strength to lead orcs. He does not have orcish strength! Look!” Borgrin said, gesturing to the flame swept valley under the dark walls of the keep. “He has gathered many clans. And he promises to lead us to glory! To plunder southlands.”
Durgith snorted.
“Durgith think that good,” Nivi said.
“There are many clans. More gathered than any before being forced behind Dragon’s Teeth. But he human who leads,” Borgrin said, and his lips curled back, exposing fangs. “But, if he dead, then orcs lead clans to conquer.”
Durgith bowed his head.
“Durgith listening,” Nivi said.
Borgrin held out a fist before him. “If Tiberius dead, then Durgith lead orcs! He is biggest and strongest among clans now that Morgoroth dead. He can lead all horde over Dragon’s Teeth and plunder southlands.”
“Sorcerer is magic,” Nivi reminded them. He dodged Durgith’s hand as the ogrespawn idly swatted at the goblin.
Borgrin smiled grimly. He reached behind him and pulled out a cruel steel knife. “Not even fountain witch can survive dagger in back.” He pointed the knife at the slumped Durgith. “You come to clans. Orc leads warbands. Socretha. Female and warrior. She proud, but she cannot beat Durgith. You challenge to battle for leading armies. While all watching, we kill sorcerer!”
Durgith rumbled in what might have been a snore. The orcs exchanged an uncertain glance.
“Durgith accept,” Nivi said, rubbing his tiny hands in glee. “Durgith kill sorcerer’s bitch. Then become master of horde.”
Borgrin nodded, his tusked mouth twisted in a sneer. After all, he thought, running his thumb along the blade of his dagger, if a sorcerer could die to a dagger in the back, a Durgith could too.
Choosing
Daylight peeked through the dull haze of the magma rivers, illuminating the courtyard of Fulgrim’s keep. By the hazy glow, Socretha took in the assembled slaves critically. Troubled.
With the flat of her sword she had beaten a number of orcs awake from their drunken stupor and urged them out to collect the loveliest of the slaves. They had stock enough to choose from. The caliphate had been generous in that respect when Morgoroth ruled, selling his tribe into mercenary work for the slaver lords of Hassia. But now that they were before her, Socretha was unsure. Soft. Slender. Hair of flame or gold. Curvy flesh ranging from pale to purple. Wild elves. Humans. Dark elves, all bedecked in loveliest gold and sheerest silks.
Weak. All of them, weak. What could Tiberius see in such things? She stopped before one. A young human woman with plump breasts and shapely hips. The orc snorted and the girl cringed. Couldn’t even wield an axe that one! What good were such women? They couldn’t fight. They couldn’t ride a worg. The best thing they could do is pop out weakling broods from their plump thighs.
She moved on. Luan heeled her, the worg taking in the slaves with her fathomless gold eyes. Socretha idly scratched the worg’s head. She didn’t have near enough time with her these days. The worg absolutely refused to have anything to do with Tiberius, something of a challenge for Socretha as her master’s champion.
Socretha shook her head. She would never understand men. How could they desire a creature who couldn’t even crack a man’s spine over their knee? She bemoaned the state of affairs among males once more. Degenerates! That’s what they were. Sickening, really.
She walked out before the assembled slaves and took them in all at once. She had no idea what she was doing. And, some part of her was furious too. To think that Tiberius would look to such women for pleasure. The niggling thoughts plucked at her mind. Was she not good enough? She couldn’t see how she wasn’t. She was the strongest female among all the tribes. Possibly the strongest orc. So what did these mewling, soft bodied women have to offer she didn’t? Self-consciously she hefted her firm breasts and flexed a muscles arm. No. No. She was a pinnacle of femininity. Any man would be delighted to have a woman who could gut a cave troll and lift her own weight in steel.
“Chief?”
“Hm?” She looked back at the hulking orcs who had spoken. “What you want?”
“You been standing there a while. You okay?”
Socretha snapped back to the present. “Yes! Fine. Socretha is fine.” She looked back at the slaves, scanned them. Her eyes fixed on one. A slim, pretty human with lush hips and the largest breasts. Yes. Men liked large breasts and such wide hips would ensure a healthy brood, if weak. She pointed at the red head. “You! You come with me.”
She turned as an orcish guard detached the selected woman from the rest, dragging the stumbling, sobbing human after the orcess. Yes. Such a woman would please a man. Glancing about to make sure no one was watching, she again thoughtfully groped her own firm bosom.
Family Talk
She left Felix snoring on the bed. Wrapping a plush robe about her, Auria made her way to the balcony. Her mother was there already, gazing out across the Lake of Song. She stared at the Fount, the rippling mass of blue and violet magic pouring into the sky, turning it an eternal twilight lit with stars of crystallized magic.
“Come, Auria. Join me.”
Auria did, wincing a little. It was hard to keep up with her mother in the bed. Even four times her age, the elder elf had lost none of her eerie beauty that had made men fight for her merest glance of attention. Oh but she could be cruel too. Few knew as well as Auria. Nimeria Dalamas had raised her family to one of the strongest in all Vassara. The high magistrix of the fount, one of the greatest sorcerers of their age, Nimeria had high expectations, and her favour hard to gain, and harder still to keep.
The delicate fluted glass sat on the table between them. Her mother poured her some of the shining wine, the globes of her breasts slipping a little through her robes as she bent forward. Auria accepted the glass, and turned to look over the silent, sparkling city.
“What will you do, my daughter?”
“Find the one who stole the Arcris,” she said at once.
“Hm.” Her mother sipped her shining wine. “I thought you dealt with him?”
She’s testing me, Auria knew. Testing me as the lady of the Fount tested all her children. All hundred some. Nimeria had lived a long time. Centuries. Time enough to sire a brood. Time enough to thin them too. But Auria was equal to the task. “A mere bandit lord couldn’t have stolen the Arcris from under our noses. Someone helped him. I believe delivered it. Personally, mother.”
Nimeria smiled idly. “Oh?”
“Yes. The bandit had access to a warpstone. A forgotten one. He used it to escape. He’d been using one of the old towers to filter magic into physical form. But he hadn’t nearly enough there for what he must have collected. He must have been shipping it somewhere.”
“Clever girl,” her mother said, smiling wanly.
Auria felt a tingle of filial pleasure. “Thank you, mother.”
“I too had my suspicions. When you left, some suspected you of the theft.”
“You could have disabused them of that,” Auria said smugly.
“Hmm. I could have,” her mother agreed with a swirl of her drink. “What have you learned?”
Auria thought back to the scorpion clasp she had hidden in her bedding. “Little. I intend to look into it.”
“With your human?”
“Able help,” Auria said warmly.
“Humans are, often. And so… energetic.” Her mother smiled with fond memories and let her robe slip open a little more. It was no secret the matriarch had slept with humans. Orcs too. Ogres, some said even demons from beyond. There wasn’t a race who walked the world she hadn’t tasted. Of either sex. Some women collected drapes or crystal
statues. Her mother collected lovers.
Auria laughed softly. “He is. And very useful.”
“So I felt. Wherever did you find him?”
“Naked in the woods.”
That gave her mother pause. “In the Dusk Wood? How strange…”
“Humans go there.”
“Generally dressed, if at all. They do not like our deep forests. Small surprise.” She sipped her drink again, humming at the richness of the mana tinted wine. She sighed, swirling her drink thoughtfully. “I have felt… something of late. A strangeness in the flows of the world’s magic. It may be nothing. And yet…” she pursed her sensuous lips. “Perhaps he is telling the truth?”
“He does not strike me as the type to lie.”
Nimeria laughed throatily. “Oh my lovely daughter. All men lie. Everyone does.”
Auria had to give her mother that. “He is mine. I intend to keep him as my guardian.”
“Oh!” Her mother gasped, eyes shining in delight. “Oh, won’t your suitors be displeased.”
“I’ll take them in hand.”
“And sheets.”
“Of course.”
Her mother laughed again. She touched Auria’s chin and tilted her face towards her. “You always were the most willful of my children. Keep it up, Auria, and you will be rewarded greatly. But you knew that.”
Auria smiled back, her fingers tightening on the glass she held. Her mother’s smile widened, and lazily she rose. Her open robe fluttering about her shapely form, Nimeria stepped over the balcony’s rail. Not even a gesture was needed to send her floating, light as a feather, to grounds below. Auria watched her depart, eyes lingering on the twilit city. A city of intrigues and enemies. Magic and daggers and murders. Everyone beneath the curtain of the Fount she must consider her foe, waiting to climb over her corpse for a higher station.
A snore from the bed had her turn back. Felix’s tanned skin seemed to shine in the blue-black glow of the fount as he rolled over. She smiled a little. She would dearly like to think he wasn’t. Faith was a strange thing for her. Faith in a man even stranger. She finished her drink and put it down, then strode across the room. She shrugged off her gown, and slipped under the blanket, naked. She took him in her arms, pulling him against her. He stirred at her touch, cracking open his eyes.
“My lady?”
“Shh,” she said, kissing him deeply. She felt his hardness and hummed in enjoyment, rolling over him and taking him inside of her; the glow of the Fount shimmering across them like the ripples of black water. As Felix began to thrust into her tender cunt, she moaned and rocked back against him, gasping as the sweet pleasure of their coupling settled on her once more.
Thoughtful Schemes
Allithan opened the door and passed inside. The noble shed his cloak, tossing it to the waiting slavegirl. He took a seat, resting his chin in his palm grimly.
His chair was raised in a private box and looked out onto a wide, dark space lit with the dull glow of arcane globes hovering in the air. Under their pale light the stands which ringed the arena were cast in gloom, the dark elves seated to watch near invisible to each other and the sand strewn ring below. Two combatants, an orc and a wild elf, were facing off. The orc had strength, but the pale, sleek elf agility, dodging about the orc’s brutal blows with uncanny ease. Already near a dozen wounds bled freely on the orc’s frame, the elf untouched.
“Master,” the slave said, dipping into a bow. She was a pretty thing. Her only garments were a binding collar around her neck and twin strips of cloth stretched from it, just covering her nipples, while a girdle round her hips suspended a long ribbon of silk. Allithan took her in with interest, admiring her pale flesh. Her human frame was curvier than any elf’s, with wide hips and plush breasts.
“Master,” she repeated. “Can I be of service?”
Allithan sighed, easing back and parting his legs. “I feel the stress of matters acutely these days. I could use some relief.”
The girl smiled prettily and bowed again. “Of course, my lord.” She slipped down to her knees and opened the front of his pants, freeing the hard shaft of his cock. Allithan sighed, easing back as she began to bob, her hot mouth and plump lips skilled as they hungrily engulfed his shaft.
“Mmm,” he groaned. “Your lips are exactly what I need after a long day.”
She hummed in acknowledgement, her tongue sliding around his length. He gasped and grabbed her hair, grip tight as she serviced him.
“Yes. Deeper, whore. Fuck…”
She did as bid. He felt himself growing closer as she worked on him. His hand tightened, his eyes riveted to the blood sport on the floor below. The orc suddenly gained the upper hand, his axe crashing into the elf, sending the skilled warrior tumbling for all his ability. “Ah!” Allithan breathed as the orc pounded towards his fallen foe. “F-fuck!” He bucked, burying himself deep between her lips. He roared as he came, the sound echoed by the crowd as the killing blow fell, his slave swallowing his seed dutifully.
“Ah,” Allithan sighed, pushing her off his cock and sending her sprawling. “Good slut,” he said.
She smiled, eyes empty. “Thank you master,” she said.
“Now get out.”
She stood and scuttled away. With a sigh Allithan eased back in his chair. The crowd roared as the orc paraded before them, brandishing his bloody axe in triumph. The dark elf smiled in amusement as other slaves dragged the elf’s corpse off the floor. It felt good to have a woman know where her place was. Not like Auria. Accursed bitch. Or captain Davina. Bitch. She’d cornered him after he’d left the council chamber and had the gall – the fount damned gall! – to threaten him to leave Auria be. He growled deeply, flexing his hands.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Allithan bolted to his feet, whirling about. The curtains parted, a checkered cloak and mask seeming to form out of the darkness.
“Wraith! Don’t do that!”
“My apologies,” the masked man said, cutting a small bow. “I didn’t wish to disturb you.”
Flushing in annoyance, the elf shoved his cock back into his pants. He glared at his opposite, the bandit king’s checkered cloak gathered closer around him, the mask with its two slits inscrutable as ever. Even that damned, cocked hat infuriated Allithan. By rights the man shouldn’t even be allowed to speak to an elf of Allithan’s stature.
But needs must. Swallowing his distaste for the man, the elf flicked his slim fingers. “Whatever. You saved me the trouble of finding you anyway. What the hells happened? You were supposed to keep the Arcris away from here and supply me with the mana.”
“I assure you,” the masked man said drily, drawing his arm from his robe. “It did not leave my hand willingly.”
Allithan’s eyebrows shot up at the sight. Though one of the masked man’s hands was garbed in the familiar black glove, the other was a translucent blue thing, bleeding wisps of magic like steam.
“By the Fountain’s glow!”
“Quite,” Wraith said, wispy fingers curling slowly into a fist.
Allithan shook his head, refusing to show he was impressed. “Doesn’t really matter though, does it?” he growled, settling back in his chair with a scowl. “The bitch Auria found it and brought it back. And she’s one step higher in my mother’s esteem. And where does that leave us?”
“In danger.”
Allithan blinked. Looked up. “Say again?”
“Your sister has found the artifact. Be under no illusions. She will look for the one who stole it.”
“You did.”
“And you assisted me. She will suspect I had help.”
Allithan scoffed. “I can take her,” he said, whirling with a gesture a coil of magic in the air. “I’m twice the magus she is.”
“Perhaps,” the masked man said. “But I would beware her companion.”
“The human?”
“Yes. Do not underestimate him, my lord. He has… unusual sorceries…”
Allithan scowl
ed. “Doesn’t matter,” he said dismissively. “She’s back, and Vassara is my city. I’ll see her dead long before she comes anywhere close to finding the truth.”
“Then I will take my leave,” the masked man said, cutting a bow.
“Where to?”
“I have preparations of my own to make.”
Allithan scowled, watching the masked man slip away into the passage behind the curtain. He grunted, settling deeper in his chair. How he loathed relying on the man. But needs must, he supposed irritably. He grabbed a rope and tugged it. From a side passage, his assistant, Drogr, slid into the room.
“My master?” the drab elf asked with a shallow bow.
“Get me the Night Blades.”
To Make a Queen
Life had not taken the direction Damera had expected.
She sat on the floor of the keep’s main hall, cowering before the sorcerer who had seized control of the tribes. Her hands knotted before her, she leaned a little away from that burning gaze, feeling those red eyes run over her critically. She knew little about the one they called Tiberius. The orcs were never circumspect when speaking around their pleasure slaves, but the only things her masters seemed to have was praise for the sorcerer. Almost worship.
And now she was in front of him.
Terror didn’t do it justice. Tiberius seemed to fill the room, the glow of his scars and the shadows of his robe drew all her attention towards him as he lounged atop Morgoroth’s old throne. How well Damera knew that chair. She had once been a favorite of the massive orc. She shivered at the memory of Morgoroth withering, his essence drawn into Tiberius’s hand, reducing the powerful brute to a mummy of desiccated flesh and bone. She recalled the last time Tiberius had requested a girl. No one had seen her again. But they’d heard the screams. No. She had thought things couldn’t get much worse than being turned into a pleasure slave for orcs.
Evidently she hadn’t been pessimistic enough.