by Jay Aury
Auria shrugged. It would be a surprise to know someone in Vassara didn’t have a contract on their heads. Really, she thought, lounging in the chair, it was flattering. Someone took enough of an interest in her to want her that dead meant she’d made an impact. A smile fluttered on her dark lips, her eyes lidding in amusement. Ah. To be important enough to be the target of true assassins. She shivered with the thrill of it.
But Felix was a target as well. She frowned a little. That could be trouble. The man was so naïve in so many ways. Why, he didn’t even have someone to taste his food and water for him. Poisoning him would be simplicity in itself, if poisoning hadn’t passed out of fashion thirty years ago. No. No one would be caught dead being poisoned anymore. These days anyone who was anyone were killed by dancing slave girls in sheer silks with a blade secreted somewhere on their tantalizing bodies. There was something to be said for the art of it, after all. Anyone could club someone over the head and kill them in an alley. But assassination! Ah. That took class.
“Good to know,” Auria said. “And that… other matter I had you look into before I left?”
“Hm? Oh! Yes. Yes. Of course. Of course. Yes. Let’s see… Ah! Here.” The old elf pulled out a parchment near as dry as him. He squinted through his glasses. “Hm! Yes. Here we are. Yes. Your brother has indeed been collecting some quite substantial payments. All very hushed. Quite quiet. Been making deals with a number of ships. Lucrative ones. Quite so. Quite. A few captains, barrels loaded during the night. Reinforced with cold steel. Funneled the profits back into gladiators for the Games. Quite subtle. Tidy indeed.”
Auria smiled, her eyes blazing with satisfaction. She had him. She had the little shit. If she could get some of that mana she’d have the proof too! She rose in a swirl of her filmy silks. “Excellent. Thank you, Lithrin. You’ve been most helpful.” She leaned forward and gave the stunted man a kiss on his bald head. Lithrin blinked owlishly up at her as she departed. Passing Agor, she stepped outside where the palanquin and escort waiting for her.
Minus one.
She froze, looked at the guards who at that moment found something about their shoes in need of their immediate attention. Only Davina kept her head up, though even she flinched when Auria spoke with voice like a whip.
“Where is Felix?”
Duels
Felix’s old mentor, Dorin the Ironhanded, had a theory about armour. “Armour be a lot like a woman, laddie. Any will do in a pinch, but ya need tha right fit to do anything worthwhile with it!”
Felix hadn’t exactly known what he meant until later. Much later. In fact, had he known how much later, Dorin probably would have broken a rib laughing.
Felix sighed at the memory of the old dwarf as he examined the armour in the stall. He missed Dorin, Claudia, and even Trign, the friggin’ loon. He’d traveled far with them, fought many battles against the horrors come to menace the Twin Kingdoms. He missed them, but at the same time, didn’t dwell too much on it. They were gone, he was here, and he had to accept that. Felix was intensely practical in that respect. He’d buried many friends over the years, fighting against Tiberius and the Black Circle, along with the innumerable horrors that sorcerer had dragged from nameless pits.
A war now over. But then, there was always another war. Felix had been thinking about that when Auria had entered the building, leaving him outside. He hadn’t replaced his clothes he’d taken from the bandit. Washed, yes, but after Solita they hadn’t passed another sign of civilization before reaching Vassara. He’d quizzed captain Davina on where to find a blacksmith’s shop. She’d pointed him towards the merchant district with a smile. Or what passed for one in the twilit city.
Felix quite quickly had realized he was out of place among the streets. Most of the populace were the plum skinned elves like Auria, slim and elegant as a dagger. But there were a few others. Mostly fair young men and women, a very few paler elves, and a few more brutish creatures. All had been wearing a curious looking collar, some leashed to the hand of a barely clad elf. It had been an uncomfortable scene to pass through, and Felix had been glad when he found the blacksmith.
Of course, now that he was here, he was finding a fairly obvious issue. He eyed the armour before him, all of them delicately elaborate as those worn by Auria’s house guards, all clearly built for a far slimmer build than his. Felix grumbled. Well, what did he expect, really? He lifted one piece, expression puzzled at why anyone would so brazenly want to draw attention to their codpiece. His thumb found a button, and with a click the codpiece snapped open.
“Ah! A connoisseur I see.”
Felix jumped, spinning about to find a slim elf in a workman’s smock. The elves’ eyes were gleaming in a faintly manic look and his teeth were inlaid with jewels. The dazzling smile made the rune knight squint as the elf grinned.
“What?” Felix gaped.
“Oh don’t be shy good sir! Let me guess. Your mistress bid you fetch her a set so the two of you could do battle in the bedroom eh? Eh?”
Felix edged away from the rapid winking of the elf’s eye and the twinkling of his teeth. “Er, no. Not exactly.”
“Ah, I see! She wants to use the straps eh? Maybe a little something pressing against the rear gate to get the body purring so sweetly hm?”
Felix’s mind tried frantically to translate what he was beginning to suspect was a deeply foreign tongue. “I… I don’t think so.” He looked again at the leather straps and curly steel that composed much of the armor. “Do you have anything more… practical?”
“Ah! Say no more. Say no more. I know exactly what you mean.”
By the man’s twitching wink Felix had some doubts of that. Nevertheless, he followed the elf into the shop. A small forge burned in the far corner, and despite his misgivings, the sight of the man’s array of tools did much to renew his confidence. Which made it all the worse when they stepped through the back and he saw what lay within.
Racks hung from the ceiling, displaying what could only be devices of torture for whoever was unlucky enough to wear them. Collars and leashes, leather straps and the like all drooped down like a gaoler’s fetish collection. Felix’s jaw dropped when he caught a glimpse of a wall loaded with what looked like various size and specie’s of glass cocks.
“Very nice. Very nice, isn’t it?” the elf said eagerly. “Oh yes! Any idiot can make a sword. But can a man make a sword that can fuck you too? No! No they cannot! A blacksmith confines himself to weapons of war. But pleasure bounds across all lines! Pain and pleasure, mingling together in perfection of physical restraint!”
Felix took a step inside, staring in stunned wonder at it all. He couldn’t begin to guess half of the purposes. He took down a whip that appeared to have been lined with gems, the dozen or so slim tendrils growing from the handle thicker than a whip should be.
“Ah! An excellent choice,” the shopkeeper crowed. “You see, your mistress is to take this, and instill some mana within it. Then, when they are under her command, she can penetrate you a dozen different ways, all the while binding you with others.”
Felix dropped the whip like it was red hot. “What! My mis… I mean, Auria wouldn’t… That’s not...”
“Oh!” The man said, stepping nearer, his eyes fairly blazing. “I see! So you’re in need of… those. Eh?”
“Those?” Felix said helplessly.
“Yes!” the elf said, his grin edging into manic. “Yes! Those! Something only a man such I could create. A tool of such euphoric pleasure it’s mastery is necessary not to kill your partner! A device no simple blacksmith with their puny hammer could create. But a device requiring only the most skilled smutsmith.”
“Whatsmith?”
“Yes! Oh you are a lucky man. I promise you! Wait here! I will fetch it at once!”
“Wait-“ Felix tried, but the elf had already vanished through another door. Felix let his hand drop, exhaling weakly. He looked around the shop, his expression growing tight with unease. Everything around him was just so
… suggestive… It made him increasingly uncomfortable just being in the same room with them. He glanced back at the room the smutsmith had vanished through. Would it be rude to leave? Felix bit his lip, but on second thought, didn’t think he could face what the man might try and offer him next. He crossed the room and yanked open the door.
The elf in the dark cloak on the other side who had been reaching for the doorknob stared at him. In an instant Felix took in the elf, and the dozen or so others filling the rest of the shop, and promptly slammed the door.
“Hell,” Felix said, stepping quickly back. A second later the door burst open. Felix reached out, grabbing a mass of leather that could generously be called ‘clothing’ and yanked it down. The elf covered his face as Felix whipped him with the mass of buckles and leather. The second elf rammed into the first, sending both to the floor. Felix stepped back, drawing his sword as he swung again the mass of buckles at the third to come through. This elf managed to grab it in return, arm twisted in the leather straps. Felix yanked, denser center of gravity and stronger arm pulling the startled assassin into Felix’s knee. The elf grunted, falling to floor, and with a click his dented codpiece snapped open.
Felix stared for a second, and nearly missed the sleek sword coming for his head. He evaded it, barely. The elf swung about, advancing, blade a silver glitter in his hand. Felix grabbed another rack and shoved it into the path of the next stroke. The elf cursed as his arm became tangled in a mass of leather and buckles.
Before Felix could finish the assassin the two on the floor had regained their feet, charging him with swords and daggers drawn. The sleek weapons drove Felix back as the pair of assassins tried to flank him. Felix struck the far wall, expertly parrying both men’s blades as they came down. The rune on his blade flashed, blasting the two swords off his own, staggering the pair. Felix reached back, hand closing on something hard. He brought it about, smashing the carved balls of a horse’s crystal cock into the first assasin’s head. The elf went down, his companion staring in shock, which allowed Felix to run the man through.
The rune knight spun as several more elves in flowing black pushed through the door. “Alright,” Felix growled. “Come on then.”
The elves stared at him, then drew a number of thin crossbows. Before he could move a dozen thin silver darts flicked through the air, thudding into the thin leather and cloth that garbed his chest, arm, and neck.
Felix looked down at the darts in shock. A sudden weight seemed to pull at his arms and legs. “Ah,” he managed, legs buckling beneath him, sending him to his knees. “See… thish ish why… armour… fit… womansh…”
Felix collapsed to the floor. Hooded figures closed around him as his vision darkened. An irritated voice echoed through his growing unconsciousness.
“Why didn’t we do that sooner?” the voice demanded.
And then he knew no more.
Trial by Steel
Tiberius came outside in a foul mood. He’d been woken up early by Socretha and informed another clan was arriving. They had to come before noon of course. Bloody savages. Didn’t they understand the idea of a proper rest?
Of course, he had other issues. He rubbed his shadowed eyes tiredly. Working with Damera had been exhausting. But fruitful, even with the sex notwithstanding. Certainly better than the last time he had worked with one of the snake goddesses avatars. That one had turned into a serpent halfway through the fucking, dislocated her jaw, and tried to eat him. And of course – of fucking course! – the thing’s blood had been acidic. The stains its death had left took a dozen slaves weeks of scrubbing to get out, not to mention the smell, and he’d had to throw away the entire bed.
Shame. He’d really liked that bed…
Tiberius shook himself, the fanged skull atop his head rattling slightly with the motion. His black robes rippling with proper dramatic flair, he walked out onto the raised platform overlooking Fulgrim’s courtyard, where but a few short weeks ago, the demonic ruler of the keep had done so to greet Tiberius himself.
Tiberius smiled at the sight of his growing horde filling the square. Many sported the spiralling dark tattoos they had printed themselves with in some sort of expression of affiliation with him. Idiotic, but flattering. Of course, his markings had been clawed into his skin by dark gods and the seers of the Black Ring. A rather painful experience, but a potent one.
Socretha stood waiting. She smiled at his arrival, the powerful orcess straightening with his presence. She held her sword before her and struck its tip to the stone, silencing the waiting horde.
Stepping up to the broken rail, Tiberius watched the newcomers file in. One of his black eyebrows quirked up as he beheld their leader. A massive bull of an orc with sandy flesh like the barren rocks of the badlands. Disks of steel clanged across his body like some grating one man percussion band, and behind him followed a group of bulky orcs with sharp jagged warpaint. Savages, Tiberius thought with approval. He could use a few more of those…
A goblin in fluttery rags like some demented jester hurried out from behind the massive leader of the band. “Me Nivi! Speaker for mighty Durgith! Leader of Rockrender tribe! Me speak for chief to mighty sorcerer Tiberius!”
“Bully for you,” Tiberius barked. “Now swear allegiance to me or I’ll rip off your balls.”
The goblin’s eyes flicked from the dark robed human to the orcess beside him. Nivi bowed. Or, rather, cringed. “Durgith would be glad to join mighty horde to conquer Southlands and plunder humans and other soft, small races. But Durgith not willing to follow female!”
Tiberius’s arched brow grew higher still. “Oh?” he said, resting a hand on the rail. The stone sizzled and smoked under his touch. “Do you think she’s not worthy to lead you?”
“Mighty Tiberius the Terrible,” Nivi began.
“The fuck did you call me?” Tiberius snapped.
Nivi started, small eyes flicking up to the sorcerer. “Er… You. You Tiberius. The Terrible. It name.”
“That is not my title,” Tiberius growled.
Nivi shrank yet further into his rags. “Erm…” He rallied. “Mighty Tiberius. Durgith not want to be lead by weak one. He knows he strongest among orcs. He will follow mighty sorcerer. But he not willing to follow weak orcess. He think he should lead armies for you!”
“Does he now?”
“Then is he prepared to prove it?” Socretha barked.
“Yes! Is he…” Tiberius paused. He looked at Socretha in surprise. The orcess had thrown back her head, eyes blazing with challenge. He stepped nearer her and lowered his voice. “What did you say?”
Socretha didn’t pull her gaze from the towering ogrespawn. “Any can challenge my right to lead, Master. I must prove myself worthy to lead horde.”
“To the death?”
“Yes.”
Tiberius moved his lips. “Hm. Alright. But you’d better win.”
Socretha scoffed and gave him a confident look. “Do not worry, Master. I don’t lose.”
Tiberius shrugged and stepped back as Socretha lifted her sword and brought it down, pointing it at the towering Durgith. “I! Socretha Bladebreaker, of Iron Tooth tribe, champion of Tiberius, accept Durgith’s challenge. We settle in Trial by Steel!”
A great roar of excitement raced through the assembled orcs. Durgith’s reputation was well known, and the chance to see the sorcerer’s champion in battle excited many. At once the courtyard was cleared, orcs scrambling onto the walls and crowding the steps leading into the keep, though none dared the upper tier where Tiberius stood.
The sorcerer crossed his arms imperiously, watching as the orcs parted to let Socretha pass. The female was powerful. Built by the savage demands of her homeland, muscular and full figured, her piecemeal armour showed that to its fullest extent. She moved with an unwavering confidence in her own ability as she stepped into the ring made by the crowd.
Durgith watched her. His goblin minion scrambled away and the massive ogrespawn reached over his back and pulled
out a tree.
Tiberius’s eyebrows quirked. It was a small tree, true. But it was still obviously little more than a tree with the limbs yanked off, creating a positively immense club. Bits of steel had been pounded into the top, creating jagged, threatening looking spikes. Crude the tool may be, but Tiberius had little doubt in the right hands, it would be deadly.
And Durgith had very large hands.
The watching orcs began to beat the heads of their weapons on the ground. The thudding sound spread out, the very keep seeming to thrum to the steady thump. The horde’s eyes were riveted to the two as Socretha held out her sword and lowered herself into a wary crouch.
Durgith opened his mouth, revealing his crooked, blackened teeth. He lifted his own weapon and raised a great bellow.
Even Tiberius was shocked by the speed of the brute. With a jerk of his massive arms he swung his massive mace at the smaller orc. Socretha ducked, the club stirring her dark hair as it passed over her. She dashed forward, only to jump aside as Durgith followed up his swing by bringing up his mace and then down.
The impact shook the castle to its foundations, the beat of the watching crowd momentarily broken. A great howl of excitement went up from the horde.
Socretha danced back as the ogrespawn came on. Tiberius grimaced. Durgith’s long arms and massive mace gave the looming ogrespawn a commanding reach. Even as he watched Socretha only just dodged a second blow, but they had grown near the edge of the ring. The next swing of the mace caught two watching orcs, smashing the startled warriors and sending them flying through the air and right over the walls.
Neither combatant paid much attention to it. If anything, the deaths inflamed the crowd more to judge by their sudden cheer. Socretha darted under Durgith’s swing. She rose, blade coming up and slashing at the ogrespawn’s side. The blade nicked across his hide before ricocheting off one of the metal plates. Durgith grunted, and swiped at her with his free hand.