Message-ID: <40523asstr$1043010604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
X-Original-Message-ID: <20030119154452.35486.qmail@web13406.mail.yahoo.com>
From: Iago <iago_72@yahoo.com>
X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sun, 19 Jan 2003 07:44:52 -0800 (PST)
Subject: {ASSM} NEW: 'In Darkness Bound' (MC, F/F, M/F, NC) by Tabico and Iago
Date: Sun, 19 Jan 2003 16:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2003/40523>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, dennyw
__________________________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now.
http://mailplus.yahoo.com
<1st attachment, "indarknessbound_final.txt" begin>
'In Darkness Bound'
by Tabico and Iago
(mc, f/f, m/f, nc)
DISCLAIMER: This material is for adults only; it contains
explicit sexual imagery and non-consensual relationships. If you
are offended by this type of material or you are under legal age
in your area, do NOT continue.
COPYRIGHT:
Copyright (c) 2003 Tabico (xxxtmallory@republic.org)
Copyright (c) 2003 Iago (xxxiago_72@yahoo.com)
(to contact via e-mail, please remove the 'xxx' in the address)
All rights reserved; this story is not to be reproduced in any
form for profit without the express written permission of the
authors. This story may be freely circulated only in its entirety
and with this notice attached.
SYNOPSIS: As darkness falls across the land of Nahor, a
warrior-witch leads her company on a desperate mission.
INTRO COMMENTS:
_Tabico:_ I went to see 'The Two Towers', and it mingled with the
dark eroticism of Iago's beautiful 'Where Shadows Lie' (which, if
you haven't, you should read first) in my mind to produce this.
Probably the story that most demanded to be written of all I've
done - it wouldn't leave me alone until I got it down on paper.
Thanks to Iago for only letting me play in his sandbox, but
making the story a great deal *better*...
_Iago:_ Many thanks to Tabico for coming to me with a fantastic
idea, and for giving me an opportunity to collaborate (not to
mention revisit one of my favorite creations). I had a great time
working on it... hope you will enjoy the final result!
------ 'In Darkness Bound' ------
In the small hours of the night the company rode their
foam-flecked horses into the hamlet of Orolan. Wet blackness had
engulfed them since midday, rain lashing from the dark storm
clouds overhead.
Orolan appeared abandoned, the windows in the cluster of
half-timber houses and wooden outbuildings dark and empty. Behind
the patter of the rain, the normal sounds of a village at night
were entirely absent.
Had the darkness reached even here, to the very edge of the
kingdom?
Feolani needed to know. The company could not continue this
night, lest the horses drop dead beneath them. But neither would
they simply take what they needed if the inhabitants were still
here, not fled but cowering in their cellars.
The company drew to a halt as Feolani dismounted. Her boots sank
an inch into the mud of the village square. She took off her
helmet, and the rain quickly matted her blonde hair to her skull,
rivulets streaming down her forehead and cheeks.
She began to cast.
The Nahoi'i - the warrior-witches - had been the spine of Nahor's
army since the days of the First Kings. They patrolled all
corners of the great valley that held the kingdom. No invader, be
they human brigand or dark creature of Sauriann, could escape
their sight; in battle they blazed with power, throwing down all
who opposed them. A Nahorite company-at-arms was worth thrice its
number of foes when led by one of the warrior-witches.
Tonight her company had ten.
In normal times, ten Nahoi'i would be leading an army, not a
force of rangers barely twice their number. But times were not
normal.
Not at all.
Feolani brought her hand down abruptly, and Truesight illuminated
her world. Eyes glowing in the darkness, she gazed around the
village. The houses were empty, even the cellars, but they had
not been so for long. She could see the trails the inhabitants
had made in the air as their bodies passed, trails which lead
to...
"Meldahir," she said, the glow in her eyes fading, "they have
fled to a cave behind the moot-hall. I shall speak to them. Have
the company stable their horses in the inn, and that farm behind
it." She handed her reins up to him.
There was no need for Meldahir to answer, and he turned his horse
to direct some of the company towards the small inn and others to
the farm Feolani had indicated. Their thirty horses would fill
both structures, but the space should be sufficient.
Feolani stalked through the rain. Orolan's moot-hall was merely
that, a large building with one room that could fit all the
inhabitants. Behind it, the slope that the town sat on became
steep and jagged; Orolan was the last habitation of man before
the high mountains truly began.
She rounded the hall and saw the thick wooden door in the
hillside, behind which the townspeople huddled. Stopping at the
door, she drew herself erect and pounded on the wood.
Silence answered her.
"Open in the name of the King!" Feolani shouted. "We mean you no
harm!"
She waited, water dripping through her eyebrows and causing her
to blink.
Again she pounded on the door.
Then came the sound of bars being withdrawn, and the door swung
tentatively inward.
"Who comes under the name of the King?" came a man's voice from
the candlelit interior.
"I am Feolani of the Nahoi'i. My company is passing through on
our way into the mountains. We need stables for our horses and a
place to rest until dawn."
The door opened fully. A man stood in the entrance before her.
Though his hair was white, he was as yet unshrunken by age, and
his voice contained authority underneath his relief.
"The Nahoi'i!" he exclaimed. "You and yours are welcome in our
village, Swordmaiden. We had taken shelter when we heard riders
coming." He looked at her feet. "Times are uncertain, and we
feared..."
"You did rightly," Feolani said. "Caution is warranted in these
dark days." Looking past him, she could see over a hundred women,
children, and old men. Of course, those who could fight had
already been mustered. "But tonight, at least, your town shall
sleep safe. Return to your homes."
She stood aside as the villagers emerged. There was not a one who
did not cast an awestruck glance at her, and among their whispers
the word 'Nahoi'i' came again and again.
Feolani prayed that she would live up to their hopes, but the
times were dark indeed.
----
The horses were stabled, the warriors had found dry flooring on
which to lay their bedrolls, and the last few reverent villagers
had gone to their homes.
Feolani sat with Meldahir and Tuhul, the village headman. The
fire in the room's hearth had burned to embers, the room lit red
and orange by the occasional flame from the crumbled logs.
Feolani was finally dry. She stretched, and watched the hissing
cinders.
"Swordmaiden," the elder said at last, "how desperate is our
plight?"
Slowly Feolani leaned back against the wall, and exhaled.
"We are tumbling into the abyss," she replied. "Our army was
shattered on Dalagar Field. The things they fought there were..."
she stared at the wall, picturing the handful of survivors being
brought into the castle. "Terrible. The Dark Queen has fearsome
servants indeed."
"And the King?"
The King's face appeared before Feolani's eyes, torment in his
eyes as he ordered her to choose from the palace guard and flee
to the High Keep, to hold it at all costs. To keep the gate open,
that his people might flee. How he had aged since the dark times
had washed across his lands.
"I cannot say. There are those who say that his daughter, the
princess Irulan, has gone over to the service of the dark. This I
do not know, but if the capital has not fallen by now, it can
only be days. And the King would not leave it."
"Then there is no hope?" the old man said, and for the first time
age quavered in his voice.
"There is always hope," Meldahir replied bluntly. "We go to
secure Karak. Other bands of..." he hesitated, "survivors... are
leaving these lands. If we can hold the High Keep, we can control
the pass into the horse lands. And our people can escape."
"Escape? Should we flee with you?"
"No," Feolani replied. "We cannot take you. I am sorry, Tuhul,
but your people would slow us greatly. We must reach the High
Keep before the minions of the Dark Queen can take it. It would
take only a handful of them to keep us out."
"And a handful of us to keep them out," Meldahir pointed out.
"Aye, that too."
"Karak," the villager said. "A dark place. It has sat unused
since before the time of my grandfathers."
"Dark but empty," Feolani said. "The Nahoi'i have kept it so. And
now we must take it and hold it, that our people may flee."
Tuhul considered. "The horse lands are empty. Where could we
live? What would we eat? My people cannot feed their children on
grass."
"We must cross down to the sea," Meldahir said. "The lands our
ancestors came from still lie there. As the High Keep ages ago
kept the forest dwellers of the valley from crossing into their
land, so shall it do again."
"If we reach it in time," Feolani said. "And that means I must
get some sleep."
She stretched out along the bench as the village elder crept
quietly out of the room. Across from her, Meldahir did the same.
The fire popped gently in the hearth.
Sleep came quickly.
----
She dreamt of her sister.
Nerial was in her bed, asleep. Somehow Feolani knew that it was a
before-time, before Nerial went off to fight at the Field of
Dalagar, before the ruined survivors returned to tell of the
disaster that befell the army of Nahor.
There was whispering in the room, though in her dream Feolani
knew it but could hear nothing.
Her sister began to shift in her sleep. Her mouth came open, and
her breathing quickened. A flush rose in her cheeks, and her hips
began to move, twisting slowly this way and that. Her mouth
formed soft words of silent protest.
The dream shifted, sliding forward in time, and now Nerial was
nude, her muscled body writhing slowly above the kicked-off
sheets. Her stomach undulated with her soft panting, the thin
line of an old wound a pale streak on taut skin. Between her
legs, the dim light of the room glinted off dampening lips.
Although the dream remained silent, Feolani knew that the
whispering had become soft chanting, staying just above the
rising moans of her sister. Moans that were shifting from protest
to pleasure.
The room was still there, but in her dream Feolani could only see
her sister. Nerial's movements had taken a rhythm, her hips
rising and back arching in a slow wave. Her hands rose to either
side of her head, as though they were being pinned to her pillow.
Her mouth was open wide, and though Feolani could not hear them,
she saw the soft cries of lust in the rapid clenching of her
sister's throat.
Feolani's vision moved in, as Nerial's phantom lover drew her
closer and closer to climax. Her sister's head thrashed to one
side, then to the other, her moans becoming cries of delight, her
eyes still tightly closed. Feolani's view drew closer and closer
to her sister's face, the mouth open wide and panting, spittle
daubing the lips.
Then, as she came, Nerial's eyes flew open.
They were solid, shining, black.
----
Feolani woke with a start.
It was still dark outside, but she could feel the nearness of
dawn in the air. All her muscles complained as she rolled forward
to a sitting position.
Meldahir was already gone. Rubbing her eyes, Feolani stood,
pulled on her boots, and walked outside.
The village was quiet save for the stomping of horses and the
jingle of tack. The company was already preparing to go. Tired
horses were being given salt and water, and saddles and reins
were already being fitted.
Nodding a greeting at her troops, Feolani went to fetch her own
mount from the inn's stable.
They were on the road in ten minutes.
None of the villagers had emerged to see them off, but it was
early yet. The company was miles away when the first rays of dawn
rose from the horizon. Her riders hunched over their mounts in
the morning's chill. Few said anything.
They were within days of the High Keep, but if they pushed the
horses any harder they would collapse, so the company rode
stolidly along the dwindling track into the mountains. The High
Keep sat amongst eternal snow and ice, a day past the last trees,
and the track now climbed sharply into the mountains. Shortly
their breath was misting in front of their faces.
The company proceeded, two abreast, along the winding path.
Feolani, having yet again checked her column, pulled her mount
into the space alongside Junia's. They rode in silence, but there
was emotion in the air. Though Junia tried to hide them, The
Nahoi'i captain could not fail to notice the young warrior's
stolen glances.
Admiration was not something Feolani looked for; she'd seen too
many fools cultivating such false rewards, hiding behind their
rank and building on the distinction of past military successes,
victories that had more to do with luck than skill. No, the
respect of her warriors was important to Feolani only as it
bolstered their morale and their quick obedience to her orders.
However... she was honest enough to admit that she felt unusually
flattered by Junia's boundless admiration for her. The young
woman's skills as a Nahoi'i were unquestioned, and many a times
during these dark days had she proven her strength and resolve.
Fatigue, even after days of riding, had not diminished herardor.
Or beauty.
Feolani smiled to herself, her eyes glancing to the dreary
landscape of rockface beyond the trees. Had she ever been so
young? Although her tired muscles still ached for relief, she was
soothed by the memory of younger, happier days, when she'd been
the one to look at her commanders with silent reverence. She too,
had found inspiration and strength in their calm resolve.
Now *she* led a company of Nahoi'i. Perhaps the very last
remnants of her order. And the youngest among them now looked to
her for an ideal.
How the world changed in the light of Dark times.
She nudged her horse towards the front of the column.
---
Towards evening, the party reached a bridge across a deep ravine.
The path had long since dwindled to single-track, barely kept
open by deer and those who hunted them. Then, suddenly, the
forest opened before them, and a stone bridge wide enough for ten
men to ride abreast crossed a chasm an arrowflight across, whose
bottom never felt the rays of the sun.
Even now, untended for hundreds of years, the weathered stonework
resisted Nature's efforts to break it. As they crossed, Feolani
wondered at the race of men who had the power to build such a
structure.
The same men that built the High Keep Karak.
Meldahir returned from scouting and informed her that the way was
clear for at least another ten leagues. Feolani looked at the
sun, orange on the horizon, and the horses, panting and lathered.
Her muscles, sensing her indecision, spoke to her of their pain.
She thought of Dunlan, city of columns, burning. They could make
several leagues before full dark.
She waved the company onward.
----
They camped in a grove of tall pine. None of the Nahoi'i had
sensed the presence of the twisted once-men who were called Orcs,
but a darkness oppressed them all and hampered their vision.
Watches were doubled through the night.
A stone column rose near the edge of the grove, and it was there
that Feolani unfurled her bedroll. As she lay down, she wondered
who had made the column, and what ancient structure, now
shattered and deep under the fallen needles, it had been partof.
Was Nahor, too, to fall and pass from memory?
She looked for Junia, smiled when she saw the young woman already
asleep against a gnarled trunk. Behind her, Leiowyn stood on the
other side of the tree, in the dark, watchful. Feolani examined
the watch-pattern and nodded in satisfaction.
Meldahir and came to her as she prepared to sleep. Behind him
stood Horadrir, head of the first watch.
"Captain," said Meldahir in a low voice, "we should reach Karak
by nightfall tomorrow."
"Aye, so we should."
He snapped a small twig and twirled it in his fingers. "What do
you think we will find there?"
"Nothing, I hope. Strong walls and a stone gate."
Horadrir spoke softly over Meldahir's shoulder. "Do you think the
beast-men have reached there before us?"
There was an edge of fear in the young man's voice. It was
something she'd never heard from Meldahir, whose confidence in
her ability to lead them to safety seemed boundless. She had
chosen him only by reputation, but he had shown himself to be a
dependable and incredibly competent officer even on this darkest
of missions. He also allowed for nothing but success, and she
couldn't help smiling as he shot his subordinate a furious glance
for bothering their commander with defeatist nonsense.
She looked up at the stars, twinkling between the dark branches
of the trees. "No," she said at last. "I do not think so. The
bridges in the Shath'ir pass crumbled to ruin ages ago, and not
even her strongest beast-servants could survive a crossing of the
Morian peaks. As for the route through the Underdark of
Kard'dir..." Feolani chuckled humorlessly. "There are far worse
things than beast-men and trolls in those pits. No, our path
alone leads to the High Keep. The enemy will have to cross the
entire kingdom to get here, and we have ridden fast."
"But..." Horadrir's voice trailed off. Meldahir glowered at him.
"But?" she finally asked.
"What of those who serve them? What about..."
Feolani sighed. "The Dark Queen's corruption tainted many,
Horadrir. But there were none at the High Keep for her to seduce.
Our mounts are exhausted, but they did not fail us. None of Her
slaves have gotten there before us."
The young man nodded, relieved, and Meldahir snapped his fingers.
"Enough talk, ranger. Take the first watch South of the camp with
Lohan and Balhund. I'll join up with you shortly."
Horadrir saluted and faded in the dark.
"Forgive his impertinence," Meldahir whispered. "He's a young
recruit, and hasn't seen much in the ways of war and hardship.
He'll be dependable if we encounter... trouble."
He fell silent, but his meaning was obvious to Feolani. *In
battle, the inexperienced grow up very quickly... If at all.*
Her spirits lifted, knowing he'd never voice such thoughts aloud.
Even in the darkest hour, Nahoran honor and loyalty were not gone
from the world. In his own way, Meldahir was as blind to her
faults as Junia. She smiled.
"Come. Rest for the night and take the morning watch instead.
Hirian can stand in your place-"
Meldahir shook his head, and she thought she glimpsed a slight
smile on his lips. "Your burdens are heavy enough without worries
of the watch, captain. Let me take care of it. You get some
sleep." He nodded a farewell, and strode into the trees.
She watched him go, and settled in her bedroll with a sigh.
It took her some time to fall asleep.
----
Again she dreamt of Nerial.
Her sister was in the line of battle, her cohort surrounding her
with drawn swords. The sky was dark, black smoke blurring the sky
and turning the noonday sun into a blood-red ember. The ominous
light glinted off Nerial's armor, wreathing her in scarlet.
Across the field, a line of black advanced. Pikes turned the
horizon into a field of deadly spines.
The warriors held their ground. Though badly outnumbered, their
ranks did not waver. The pride of Nahor had fought these
creatures before.
The metal tread of the orcs shook the ground as they broke into a
run. The pikes lowered.
As one, the warriors of Nahor swung up their swords.
From behind them, arrows suddenly streaked the sky with hissing
blurs. The front ranks of the beast-men boiled as orcs fell and
were clambered over by those who came after.
Nerial stood like a statue, sword poised.
The beast-things were almost upon them, twisted armor bolted over
twisted flesh. Upon their helmets they each bore the Black Eye of
Sauriann.
With a crash like a hundred ocean waves, the armies engulfed each
other.
To Feolani's dreaming eyes, the armies washed over each other,
blurring and blending in a tempest of black armor and silver
swords, bestial screams and clattering metal. She lost sight of
Nerial as her raven's-eye view swept the field. Here and there
warped monstrosities, trolls from the underdark and worse things,
clashed with warrior-witches whose swords crackled withbalefire.
The army of Nahor was obviously shrinking.
At first Feolani didn't understand it, for wherever she looked
the warriors in their silver armor had the upper hand, striking
down a dozen orcs for each of their number that shuddered to the
ground. But with each passing moment, the army of light grew
smaller.
She looked for Nerial.
Her dreaming vision was drawn across the field, to where light
flickered as a Nahoi'i fought with a champion of the dark, bright
blue-white power flaring around her and being matched by the
blood-red glow of her enemy. But even as dream-Feolani reached
the battle, it was over. The dark champion pulled its sword from
the crumpled body of the Swordmaiden.
Feolani felt fear, then, as the champion seemed to sense her
presence, and looked up. It tore off its helmet.
It was Nerial.
Her eyes were once again liquid black orbs, the object of her
attention obvious only because Feolani could feel Nerial's gaze
burning upon her. But her eyes weren't the worst of it.
On her forehead was painted a dark sigil.
An eye.
Nerial smiled at her.
----
Feolani woke to screams and pouring rain.
She shot to her feet and snatched her sword from its scabbard.
The blade flashed, a streak of lethal silver, its markings
glowing with power as she mouthed the spell which made it burn
with eldritch fire. A cold fog shrouded the clearing, but the
sounds of battle and pain echoed sharply.
A beast-thing loomed out of the fog at her. It raised a crude ax,
but held its swing at the last moment, hesitating out of doubt or
fear. Feolani's blade wasted no time, cleaving it down through
the shoulder to its heart. Black blood gurgled from its mouth as
it fell. She shoved her boot into its chest and yanked her sword
free, already seeking another target.
But the sounds of battle had ceased. In the woods, she could hear
the thrashing retreat of the once-men.
"Company to me," Feolani cried. "to me!"
Her warriors materialized out of the fog. Leiowyn, Junia, Hirian.
Others.
Too few, Feolani realized with a sudden shock. Far too few. Where
were the rangers?
Meldahir appeared with a pair of horses, and despite herself she
felt a flood of relief that he wasn't among those who hadn't
answered her call.
"Feolani," he said. "Thank the Good you live! I've secured our
flank, but it won't hold for long if they return in any number."
His features were grimly set, but he remained calm. Horadrir
stood beside him like a frightened child, throwing fearful
glances towards the mist. The young ranger's armor was blotted
with gore.
"Where did they come from? We have had no sign for days! No
mounts can stand the presence of beast-men, so how-"
Feolani cut him off with a chop of her hand and locked eyes with
Meldahir. "Take Junia and Redewyn and scout the woods. I'll see
to the mounts. Find where the orcs came from, and where they
went. We must know if they are in front of us."
He saluted, gestured at the two Nahoi'i, and disappeared into the
fog.
Horadrir fought to keep his sword arm steady as Feolani marched
forth, beckoning him to follow. "Come along. In this fog, they're
as blind as we are."
Under her breath, Feolani added "But please, Gods, don't let them
be in front of us."
----
They could not stop to honor the dead because the same enemy that
had slain them proved to be very near at hand. Meldahir confirmed
the word of his scouts - more than a hundred orcs were close
behind.
And the duty they bore to their kingdom was weightier than their
responsibility to the fallen.
So they rode, and behind them the dead lay where they had fallen,
beast-men and humans alike.
Half the company. They had lost half the company. None of the
Nahoi'i, but now there were only a half dozen of the rangers to
back them up. Ten women and six men, to hold Karak against the
armies of the dark. With their pursuers close behind them.
The horses stumbled up and down the treacherous slopes. That
morning they left the trees behind, and the icy wind chilled
their armor until it tore at their flesh. And behind them, never
more than a rise away, followed the orcs.
At least they weren't in front of them.
They rode without stopping through the day, and as darkness fell
the horses began to stumble. One after another, they lurched
under the weight of fatigue and refused to get up. Rather than
leave them to the orcs, Feolani ordered them loose, and driven
off the path.
As the sun touched the horizon the company dismounted for the
last time. The last horses, freed of their human burdens, would
have to survive if they could. Feolani and her followers trudged
onward.
Their armor weighed upon them like frozen death, but to remove it
was to expose oneself to the arrows of the pursuing orcs. So
upward they struggled, painfully slowly, with the unburdened orcs
dogging them, never more than a ridge away. At any moment they
might be overrun.
For some reason, the orcs held off.
The wind picked up, battering any torches out within moments of
being lit. The sky, clouded, was black as pitch. Ice rimed the
rocks, limned their armor and hair. In darkness, they staggered
up the thousandth rocky hill.
At the top, they found a gate.
Feolani blinked at it. Her mind felt as numbed as her body.
It was the High Keep. The gate stood open.
"Inside," Meldahir shouted. "Inside! The orcs come!"
They staggered inside, from wind-whipped blackness into stony
dead space. Junia's spell-chant echoed dully across the shadows,
punctuated by the heavy breathing of the others. A pulsing sphere
of light coalesced high above, shedding a pale radiance all
around. Quickly, the others found the edges of the huge stone
gates and put their backs into closing them.
Arrows whistled in among them, and Junia cried out. But the doors
were closing now, and the sudden battlecalls of the orcs were cut
off as the huge stone slabs met each other with a cthonian echo.
Feolani looked around.
The room they were in was cavernous, huge stone blocks piled atop
each other reaching towards a dimly lit ceiling fifty feet above.
The spell-light illuminated the vast space only dimly.
Stone stairs climbed either wall, disappearing into openings in
the ceiling. At the far end of the hall, a hundred feet away, a
second immense gate stood open to the howling darkness. Snow
drifted in.
Junia grunted as she pushed the arrow through her arm.
----
The orcs could not reach them. True to its reputation, the High
Keep was impregnable to anything short of an army.
Feolani stood on the battlements. On either side, the mountains
that Karak huddled between stretched their unscalable cliffs to
broken ice-shrouded peaks far above. The rock faces were sheer
for three leagues on either side of the keep.
The wind tore at her, and Feolani shivered. She listened to its
deep howling inside the dark recesses of the Keep, and knew there
would be little comfort within.
Above the great passage, the hundred rooms of the keep had proven
empty. Not a stick of furniture, not a scrap of cloth, not a
cobweb. Empty stone halls and bare stone walls were all that
their hurried exploration had found.
Not a thing to burn for light and warmth.
Most huddled together, shielding themselves from the biting cold
in a small room atop one of the stairs. Once, it must have been a
guardroom. Elaborate blazons held a silent vigil above, sculpted
in the weathered stone as a silent testament to the forgotten
orders who once guarded the Keep.
Feolani silently glided in. Her fifteen survivors slept.
Junia, alone near one of the entrances, shivered against the cold
floor as she tried to sleep. The arrow had not been poisoned, but
her bedroll had been lost in the night.
*Ever the watchful one*, Feolani thought with a sad smile.
Junia's naked blade lay next to her, pulled from its scabbard and
ready to strike. The draft was much stronger along her side of
the room, but she'd be the first to meet any threat that crept in
upon the company.
Feolani stretched out next to her, then slid close, folding a
protective arm over the injured woman.
Junia stirred from her fitful sleep, and smiled.
"Hush," Feolani whispered, before Junia could beseech her to go
and lie more comfortably with the others.
Feolani wrapped them both in her cloak. Without a word, they
pressed closer together, cheeks brushing gently, sharing the
warmth of each other's breath.
Their lips met briefly. Feolani did not resist the kiss, soothed
by its languid passion, its warmth lingering long after Junia
rested her head against her shoulder and slid back into exhausted
sleep.
For long moments, Feolani considered the young Nahoi'i cradled in
her arms. Far too young to have her world collapse about her. Far
too young to die without ever having loved. The tears she hadn't
shed since Dunlan glistened in her eyes, but Feolani fought them
back.
Slowly, the rhythm of Junia's steady breathing drew her thoughts
back to the here, and now.
Then she too slept.
----
Again, she dreamt of Nerial.
The dream became vision.
Feolani drifted forward, a ghost without form. Around her soared
the tall arches of the King's Hall, its white marble columns
painted in blood and cut by shadows from flickering candleflame.
The lavish tapestries she'd admired in happier days still hung
proudly high above the Throne, but the stone likeness of Nahor's
ancient rulers had been tipped from their alcoves and shattered
into ruin. Blood stained the floor in long crimson streaks across
the Hall's entrances, but there were no bodies to account for the
violence.
The chilling scene was uncannily lifelike, as though unfolding
before her waking eyes. She remained helpless while the faint
echo of resounding clashes was followed by inhuman screams, as
beast-men pillaged the wings of the palace.
Feolani looked down upon a line of Nahoi'i Swordmaidens, standing
at attention in a semi-circle, facing the rising steps of the
royal dais. All held bloodied weapons in hand, but none appeared
disturbed by the distant pandemonium. In the wavering light, the
gleaming silver of their armor took on a disturbing quality, and
the Nahoi'i holy symbols etched upon shoulder guards and
breastplates seemed altered into strange shapes, as if warped and
molded by the flicker of shadows.
Then, one by one, the Nahoi'i fell to their knees, and Feolani's
dream vision carried her forward, revealing the King's daughter
standing idly behind the semi-circle. The Royal crown rested atop
her head, its jeweled splendor lost on Feolani as she glimpsed
beneath it the horror of black, soulless eyes.
The woman she once knew as Princess Irulan was wrapped in a thin
shroud of dark silk, befitting only the most shameless of whores.
It flowed over her shoulders like a flimsy veil, parting from her
neck and stretching outwards, caressing its way around her fair
breasts, stretching taut as it slipped along the curved
undersides. Her nipples stood rigid, flushed with arousal,
basking in the hungry stares of the spellbound Swordmaidens. She
held a dagger, running a finger along its bloodied edge while she
rewarded each of the kneeling females with a condescending look.
Her other hand stroked the tight leather band pulled across her
delicate neck like a riding harness, fastened a single golden
hoop. Her lips parted.
"The King is dead. His army is decimated.
"The realm of Nahor is no more."
The stabbing knife slipped from her fingers and struck the floor
with a sharp clang, discarded with careless ease. The Princess
took slow steps forward, her bare feet brushing against the
stone. Her sensual stride drew moaning sighs from her servants as
soft ripples traced the shape of her naked hips.
"The Dark Queen rules us all. we live only to serve Her Will."
Feolani fought to cry out, but her ghostly presence had no voice
of its own. In desperation, she tried to catch a glimpse of the
Ring on Irulan's finger, knowing its power was enough to save the
Princess from the Dark Queen's corruption. Alas, it was no use,
and she watched in growing panic as her battle-sisters lowered
their heads in unison and repeated the oath in a single whisper.
"The Dark Queen rules us all. we live only to serve Her Will."
A voice rose above the chorus, and Feolani felt a sharp pain as
she recognized it. As if to answer her fears, Irulan motioned the
Nahoi'i leader forward.
Nerial crawled forward, obeying the summons on hands and knees,
like a pleasure slave. Blasphemous marks were etched all over her
armor, proclaiming her allegiance to the forces of the dark. It
was impossible to believe.
"you have served Her well," said Irulan, as Feolani's sister
groveled at her feet. "None of the Dark Queen's newly awakened
slaves have distinguished themselves as you have. you were truly
born to shine Her wicked Glory across this world."
She reached down and gently lifted the Swordmaiden's chin, her
fingertips lingering a moment while she pondered where to guide
her sweet mouth.
"How many Nahoran soldiers have been captured?"
"Nearly three thousand," came Nerial's eager reply.
Irulan nodded. "Have the shamans begun their work?"
"As we speak. By sunrise, their spell of corruption will be cast,
and the human soldiers will be reborn as beast-slaves. Our ranks
will swell back to full strength."
The touch of evil in Nerial's smile was chilling. These had once
been her brothers. Her comrades-in-arms. Now, they were all
condemned to a fate worse than death, stripped of their minds and
souls, their bodies twisted into degenerate abominations.
"And the females?"
"Those serving among the King's troops were taken away and jailed
in the Dungeon Keep, along with the noblewomen and
maidservants... as you commanded."
"Excellent," Irulan hissed. "We'll begin their enslavement as
soon as the rest of the Nahoi'i are dealt with.
"Bring your captured sisters to me, Swordmaiden. They have fought
their last battle in the King's name, and soon will remember only
a life of devotion in the Dark Queen's service. It is time for
Her to instill new purpose and meaning to your defunct order."
Nerial moaned at the thought, enflamed by lust at the betrayal
she was about to commit, but Feolani could only muster a silent
scream as the nightmare faded from her eyes.
----
She watched another dawn from the battlements, the pale light
creeping up the granite crags opposite. In the light of day, the
High Keep seemed truly impregnable. The road they had climbed on
that night ran along a spine of rock that soared hundreds of feet
above ravines on either side. No other road, no other path, cut
through the mountains for a thousand leagues. A sole climber
might pass through the rocky peaks between Nahor and the horse
lands elsewhere, but an army would have to come through here.
The orcs had disappeared. Fled. They must have known they could
never open the doors from without, and scaling the walls was
beyond them. Feolani's little band were the lords of the Keep.
The cold and empty Keep.
Four days had passed, and four frozen nights. It was the fifth
day, and the last day they had of rations.
Three days ago, Meldahir had led his rangers on an expedition to
see what lay in the lands beyond the open door. They had not come
back.
If they did not return today, Feolani had resolved to follow
them. Even Nahoi'i needed food.
In the keep, the morning passed. The Swordmaidens waited.
Feolani climbed the highest tower and looked out over Nahor, the
dark green forests washing the roots of the mountains, and the
plains stretching beyond them.
A black cloud lay over the whole of the land. Where she expected
to see a distant glitter marking Dunlan, red fires glowed.
She descended from the tower and did not return.
Noontime passed.
Exploring the Keep further, the company had discovered doors into
the mountains on either side. The one to the South was crafted of
stone and barred with iron, firmly closed against the granite of
the walls beyond.
Even the rangers could sense the magics laid upon it, and to the
Nahoi'i the wards glowed like hot wire.
The one to the North was open.
Feolani stared down the tunnel. Dust lay upon the floor as far as
the light shone, two hundred paces straight into the stone.
At the end of the light lay a rusted fragment of armor.
It was not an escape passage.
The afternoon passed.
As the sun dipped towards the sea, Feolani was again on the
battlements, watching the shadows race up the snowy peaks. Then
she heard voices raised in laughter.
It was a sound she had not heard for some time.
She descended and entered the great passage to the smell of
smoke, and meat.
A log was burning, the entire length of some tree that had died
on the slopes of the mountain. Near it, a series of huge,
crudely-hewn wooden wheels gave hint as to how the expedition had
brought the massive trunk back with them.
Three deer turned on spits over the far end of the log.
"Feolani," called Meldahir, "Come and warm yourself by our fire!
The horse lands have given us gifts!"
Smiling, she hurried down the stairs.
----
In Feolani's dream, Nerial was tapping at a door.
It opened. Standing inside was Brynn, Princess Irulan's most
trusted servant.
She was entirely naked, her eyes as liquid black as Nerial's.
The Swordmaiden drifted past her, not speaking, undressing as she
went. She seemed to tower over the frail, dainty Brynn, but the
latter carried herself with confident poise, watching with an
appreciative smile as the Swordmaiden stripped off her armor,
letting it clatter to the floor.
Across the room, a massive block of marble served as improvised
altar. The shallow ceiling stooped above, curving in a half-moon
of chipped rock, painted over with dozens of dark, runic symbols.
Torches were secured along the wall, illuminating the crypt.
Behind the altar stood three of Sauriann's defilers, evil
priestesses shrouded in robes of black. More of the strange runes
were stitched along the satin hems of their cloth, and the heavy
cowls were pulled forward, obscuring their faces. Only their pale
hands were visible, joined in silent prayer while eerie voices
rose from unseen mouths, reciting the chant of blasphemous
becoming.
Feolani flinched as she heard the unholy mantra. It was said that
no servant of the Light could withstand its power... but surely
in this hour of need, her sister would find the strength to tear
herself away from the darkness. She'd always been the strongest,
a shining example to all Nahoi'i, a woman burning with resolve,
ever willing to stand and face Evil without fear or mercy. Not
even the lure of Sauriann's blasphemous pleasures could
extinguish Nerial's True calling...
Nerial pulled her sword and held it up, while Brynn stood
transfixed. At last, the lies of these black dreams were
unraveling.
Hope rose in Feolani's heart.
And died in a hollow ring as steel fell upon the stone floor.
Nerial undid of the remaining straps and pulled off her
breastplate. Her tunic, boots and breeches followed in short
order. At last she stood, breathing shallowly, as though relieved
and excited to have shed the remnants of her past. Her body
quivered in anticipation, the petals of her sex flushed with dew
underneath her shaved mons, her body swaying as the defiler
mantra began to entice her in earnest.
Without a word, she hoisted herself on the altar and laid still
upon it, resting her arms on either side as though preparing for
a deep sleep. Her swirling black eyes fluttered briefly, as if
she struggled to stay awake.
Brynn approached, lowering her mouth next to the Swordmaiden's
ear.
"Ah, my beloved Nerial. It is so pleasing that you came over to
Her service. So many of your sisters did. She has such great use
for slaves such as you."
Nerial closed her eyes and arched against the stone, moaning
softly while dark pleasure coursed through her. The mere reminder
of her thralldom seemed enough to unleash its flood, and her
mouth twisted in a smile of undying gratefulness.
Brynn's hand caressed Nerial's naked breasts, tugging the hard
nipples briefly and eliciting a tiny gasp from the slave, before
slipping down her midriff in search of moist places. Without a
word from the Princess' servant, the chanting of the defilers
intensified; Nerial trembled upon the altar, utterly - eagerly -
helpless against the Evil power claiming her soul.
"The time has come for you to embrace the Her Glory completely,
and vanquish all that remains of your former existence. You will
be the first of many, for She has chosen you to lead Her new
army... one unlike anything Middle-Urth has ever seen..."
Nerial's eyes drifted shut as another swell of pleasure tongued
her sex. She spread her legs slowly and yielded to Brynn's
slender fingers, mouthing dark oaths of loyalty to Sauriann as
they played over her slick petals.
She spiralled down in deep trance, abandoning the common tongue
in her delirium, speaking the corrupted language of Shadows. Her
cries began in earnest as the rush of climax carried her
perilously close to the abyss, but they could not completely
drown out the rising chant of the defilers. She rocked back and
forth, thrusting her hips against Brynn's touch, wishing only to
be consumed in sinful bliss.
One of the black-robed priestesses broke from the other two and
approached the altar. She reached for the branding iron resting
against its side and held it up reverently with one hand,
uttering the incantation for bane-fire in soft whispers.
The scorched metal of Sauriann's slave-sigil was instantly
enveloped in greenish flames.
Brynn's fingertips began to spiral around the tip of Nerial's
flower, releasing torrents of ecstasy.
"Pain no longer exists for you, slave. It is irrelevant. It has
no hold over you. Only the pleasure of Obedience exists. Every
command, every Whim of the Dark Queen must be followed. To do so
fills your soul with endless rapture..."
Brynn withdrew her hand from Nerial's sex, as the priestess
leaned over with the blazing tool. Nerial continued to writhe her
sweaty hips back and forth, as if the Dark Queen's own fingers
were reaching from nothingness, to entrance her into eternal
obedience. The iron drew near, and Nerial widened her legs.
She hissed as the hot iron pressed into her mons, and even in her
dream Feolani could smell the burning flesh.
Her inhuman eyes snapped wide open, orbs of blackness reflecting
the green flame.
"The Nahoi'i are no more, and never shall be again. You and all
your sisters are reborn - the Sauri'i, forever slaves of our Dark
Mistress."
The defiler withdrew the iron, and the mark sizzled upon Nerial's
skin. The chanting subsided, replaced with sounds of heavy
breathing. There was no cry of pleasure from Nerial, only a sight
whistling past her lips as Brynn stroked her tousled hair, a
smile of pure evil touching her lips.
"Yeeeeessss," she whispered, as if waking from a long sleep. "i
am slave. i am Sauri'i. my life is the Dark Queen's Will."
Brynn leaned close and rewarded the newly-branded slave with a
brazen kiss.
"You shall hunt down those of the Nahoi'i who resisted our
Queen's call. Slay the humans that are traveling under their
protection. Enslave the rest of your battle sisters. Bring them
to me, that the Dark Queen may bring dark enlightenment to all."
Nerial made to answer, but Feolani stirred from sleep before she
could hear it.
----
Feolani was alone.
After Meldahir's welcome discovery of a treeline not far from the
Keep, she had taken this morning to see the land they were
holding open for herself. What she found pleased her - the road
from Karak into the horse country was gentle in comparison to the
road they had taken to get there, and the air milder. After only
a few mountain ridges, the land became a plateau, sloping gently
away for as far as the eye could see, a grassland dotted with
tree-filled hollows.
Easy country to flee across.
Feolani returned to the Keep to find her company agitated and
eager for her return. A large group had been spotted coming from
Nahor towards them - and their attempts at scrying had been
blocked, though whether by the approaching host or by the
darkness that had settled on Nahor, none could say.
They would discover the identity of the newcomers only when they
reached the gates.
As Feolani watched this new host draw nearer, she could not help
but fear that the way into the horse lands they had bought at
such cost might already be blocked. Even were this new force
unable to take the Keep - and against fifteen defenders, even
such defenders as she had, sufficient arrows and rope might be
all that was required - they could sit on the pass before the
keep and prevent all crossing.
As they crested that last high pass, easily three hundred strong,
it became obvious that they were men. A fact that would have been
reassuring in times past - but these were darker days. All eyes
watched as the figures clambered up the last hill, towards the
gate.
A leader came forward, and called out in a strong woman's voice.
"Hail, the Keep! We come with refugees, to pass into the lands
beyond! Open the gates!"
The company, seeing the truth of the words as the threadbare
women and children reached the top, hurried to unbar the stone
portal, and throw it open.
Feolani did not join them.
She stood on the battlements, staring down at the leader of the
refugee band.
It was Nerial.
----
They stood by the cistern, the cold water drawn from the deep
still rippling from the barrel that one of Nerial's soldiers had
filled and then borne away.
They were alone now.
The refugees were settled in the great passage, resting from
their harrowing journey around fires made of Meldahir's wooden
wheels. Nerial's small company of soldiers were with them,
talking with Feolani's company in tones that held the unfamiliar
sound of hope.
But Feolani's heart was oppressed.
"Nerial..." Feolani stared at her sister, now here in the
so-solid flesh. "I've had the most terrible dreams."
Her sister smiled a crooked smile. "Not *so* terrible, surely?"
"Nerial, I dreamt that you... that you..."
"That I what?"
Her voice was a whisper. "That you gave in."
"Gave in?"
"To *Sauriann*. The Dark Queen. In my dreams I saw you embrace
her darkness and become her servant. And it was so..." Feolani
flushed, and looked away. "So... wanton..."
"Hm," Nerial muttered, turning to peer into the shallow cistern.
The water that fed it by some ancient art flowed from a small
hole in the back, and kept the water always at the same height.
Nerial dangled her fingers in it.
"These are dark days, my sister," she said. "It is not surprising
that you have been oppressed by dreams. In *my* dreams I have
seen you." Nerial glanced over her shoulder at Feolani's look of
surprise. "And you have done... terrible things."
Feolani swallowed.
"But we are together now," Nerial continued, turning back to the
well, "and these dreams need trouble us no more."
"Yes," Feolani agreed, eagerly, shrugging off the dark
imaginings. "Together we can hold Karak against the armies of the
dark, and let our people flee west to freedom."
"Ah, but my sister," Nerial replied slowly.
"I have not come to free these people."
She turned from the pool, and her eyes were glittering black.
"i have come to bar the gates."
Feolani gasped, and Nerial's mouth curled in a wicked smile, her
eyes oily pools.
"None may escape my Mistress' will. None shall."
Feolani, mouth open in terror, staggered backwards.
Nerial's sudden look of concern was belied by her shining black
eyes. "Ah, my sister. Don't you like what you see? i am my
Mistress' creature now. Now, and for ever. She has re-made me. i
am Sauri'i. i am nothing other than the embodiment of Her will.
And She has bid me take this Keep and hold it against those who
would escape Her grasp." Nerial stepped closer. "And She has sent
you to help me."
"N...no..." Feolani stammered, raising a hand to keep her
once-sister at bay. "I'll stop you."
Nerial laughed her old familiar laugh, a musical sound that had
no place with her shadow-twisted voice. But when she spoke again,
the old tone was back, light and joyful - but coming from under
black eyes.
"Stop me? Oh, my sister, you shan't stop me. You laid all the
groundwork. No, you will join me, you will help me to enslave
this rabble i found and we shall use them to bar the gates
against any not yet bound to our Mistress' will. Stop me? No,
sister, you shan't stop me. You don't *want* to stop me. On the
contrary. All you have to do is REMEMBER..."
The word rang like a church bell. Feolani staggered and dropped
to her knees, as memory washed over her...
----
She saw herself leaving the house of the village headman, a cruel
smile on her lips, and behind her the children writhed and
gibbered in their beds as their bodies warped and twisted. She
saw the former headman, eyes glittering with malice in his melted
face, listening attentively as she gave him his instructions...
She saw herself in the woods, on all fours, naked, mud spattering
her slick white arms and thighs. Around her the crowd of days-old
orcs jeered and leered at her nudity. Behind her knelt the orc
who had once been Tuhul. He was fucking her, pounding her cunt
and ass. And between her grunts of pleasure she was telling them
where her company was camped, and which ones to slay...
She saw herself returning to camp, stopping in the mist to bandy
idle words with the sentry and then stabbing him in the gut...
She saw herself curled around the injured Junia, offering her
warmth while whispering blasphemous spells into her ear, until
Junia's eyes snapped open to reveal liquid black.
She saw the look of surprise on Junia's face slowly alter to one
of evil pleasure, as the young woman turned in Feolani's arms to
offer up her mouth, which Feolani began to suck...
She saw herself squatting over the edge of the well, breeches
pulled to her ankles, knees wide apart while she fingered herself
and stifled cries of pleasure as black, honeyed sweetness
sprinkled forth from her sex with her climax... a taste of the
Dark Queen's corruption that would quickly fade in the water, and
enthrall those who drank it...
She saw herself, weeks before, standing over her own sister's
bed, muttering the words that would bind Nerial's mind and soul
forever. Leering at her sleeping sister writhing in orgasm as her
will was forever chained. Clambering naked into bed with her, as
she woke to devotion and slavery...
And she saw the Eye, the Unlit Eye of her Mistress, that had
seized her while she tried to use her pitiful abilities to see
what was coming out of the East. The Eye that stared into her as
she stared into It, pouring its evil into her even as it snuffed
out her good. The Eye, the beautiful, black Eye, that took her
and bent her so perfectly to the Dark Queen's will. That remade
Feolani so easily into so purely Her creature.
she remembered it all.
And she loved it.
----
Feolani looked up at her sister and her mouth twisted in
pleasure.
"we shall brand them here," Nerial said. "Bring them down, one by
one, and we shall make them hers."
"Yessss," Feolani said, rising to her feet.
They kissed, tongues probing, bodies pressing together in joyous
thralldom. The night of lust they had shared those weeks ago in
Nahor bloomed anew in Feolani's mind, and she knew in her
sister's mind it was the same.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs behind her. Then the rasp of a
sword being drawn.
"Back away from her, creature," Junia said, body in a battle
crouch as she stepped off the bottom step.
Nerial smiled, and took a step away.
Then Feolani turned, and Junia gasped.
"No...." she whispered, seeing the evil glistening between
Feolani's lashes.
"Yess," Feolani replied, smiling wickedly. "i belong to the Dark
Queen. i always have. Just like you. Don't you... Remember?"
Junia tensed, then went slack. Her entire body shivered.
Then the blackness welled up at the bottom of her eyes, and
washed up over them, filling them.
She smiled back.
"my captain," she said, sheathing her sword.
"Bring the Nahoi'i down," Nerial said. "It is time they put on
the shackles of their Queen."
"So many of them are already Hers," Feolani hissed joyously.
"They merely need to be awakened." She looked at her sister with
lust. "As you awakened me." Drawing close, she licked Nerial's
face.
"Bring them," Nerial instructed Junia, as she felt Feolani
pulling at her clothes. "Bring them here."
Junia smiled, and ascended the stairs. As she went, the blackness
drained from her eyes.
But not her heart.
----
Meldahir reined in his horse. Beside him, his rangers and the
Nahoi'i Redewyn followed suit. Ahead of them loomed the imposing
bulk of the High Keep.
They had left once the refugees were settled - there was an
ancient outbuilding, spotted on his first foray, that he had
wanted more eldritch eyes to see. So Feolani had given him
Redewyn, he had taken a pair of rangers, and the four had ridden
to investigate.
It had taken a day to reach the building, a tower of barely a
dozen rooms, and once there they found no more than birds and the
winter nest of bears. Redewyn had shrugged, and reported no
magic, fell or otherwise.
He still didn't like it. But then, he didn't like the Keep,
either. Something evil had once possessed it, and though it
seemed long gone, its presence still plucked at the edges of his
awareness. Perhaps this little excursion was just another way for
him to avoid its echoing halls.
"Something the matter?" Redewyn asked.
He looked at the towering battlements, and sighed. "No, I guess
not."
With barely a motion, he set his horse forward again. Eager to
warm their hands over a proper fire again, the others followed.
----
Feolani lowered her upraised legs, her hands still gripping the
edge of the cistern, although Horadrir's furious thrusting had
tempered somewhat. With a nudge of her foot on his shoulder, she
easily flopped him on his back. He collapsed in a naked heap, his
hips still twitching against the cold stone, a throaty rasp
rising up from inside him like an animal's death-cry.
His throbbing member, glistening with her juices, remained
stiffly erect
as it slipped out of her sex. His eyes rolled up in his head
while the rest of
his body began to jerk violently. Her eyes washed black and she
ran a tongue
over smiling lips. A chant bubbled forth from her throat.
"Kodarth... Sal'Hammdar... K'tonashan... *Sauriann...*"
The sound of her whispers were like quick stabs. He shuddered,
even as she
completed the dark ritual with the final incantation that would
warp his flesh
and make him part of Sauriann's mindless horde. At once, his skin
took on a
greenish pallor, rippling into hard scales. His eyes became
sickly yellow orbs,
bulging from their orbits, twisting his face into a beastly
shape. The cries of
his becoming reverberated inside the Keep's empty halls. They did
not sound
human at all.
"You were right to worry after all, Horadrir. Those who serve the
Dark Queen
*did* reach the High Keep first."
Her sinister laughter filled the hall, of such pure evil it
seemed the very
stones shivered with fear.
"But then, I was right too."
She turned away from him, and he scampered up the stairs to join
his kind.
"Very good," said Nerial, watching from the dark. "So passes the
last of the
rangers." Feolani hissed her delight, lowered a hand to her juicy
petals, then raised it to her lips. She'd savored Horadrir's
mindless fucking as long as it lasted, but the knowledge that
she'd betrayed his youthful innocence to her Queen tasted
sweeter.
"The Dark Queen's Will be done." Her voice quivered as pleasure
washed over
her. "Always."
Others rose from the shadows, moaning their assent as they joined
Nerial's
side. Junia. Leiowyn. Hirian. The others.
All of them rapturously enthralled.
Nerial drifted to her side. Reached out. Caressed her slick
breasts in languid
circles while planting soft kisses in her ear.
"Worry not, my sister... there is yet one more duty we must
perform in the name
of our Dark Queen..."
The memory of Horadrir was already fading from Feolani's mind,
but the
suggestion from her sister was enough to bring a slight smile to
her lips. It
bloomed as they shared a brazen kiss, and stretched into elation
as Nerial's
tongue slipped down her flesh, tasting the heat of her sweat,
flicking her
navel before pressing down along the curve of her mons.
Feolani hissed, but the sharp pain was a glorious reminder of the
Power that owned her now. Nerial's lips were gentle and soft, and
she moaned between her
sister's legs as her licks traced the singed pattern of
Sauriann's sigil with
reverence. She'd been the one to brand it into Feolani's eager
flesh. All the more proper that she be the one kneeling before it
now, giving thanks to the Dark Queen for the chance to complete
her sister's passing from the Nahoi'i, and bind her forever to
Her dark Will.
The others looked lasciviously on, their black eyes spellbound by
Nerial's worship. They too were marked by Her symbol, burned
flesh above glistening slits, and though a few twitched and
yearned to join the sisters, they remained obediently still,
hands limp at their sides, waiting for command.
Nerial's tongue finally slipped from her Queen's symbol to
Feolani's nether lips, tasting the sweetness and corruption
flowing from her sex. Feolani's head fell back as she began
riding her sister's mouth, impaling herself on Nerial's questing
tongue.
"Yes, my sister... the time has come...
"Bring forth the last of the Nahoi'i."
Junia and Hirian stiffened the instant the command was spoken.
They quickly
withdrew into the shadows, and for a time, Feolani's panting was
the only sound
heard, until the shuffle of footsteps echoed back from the
Eastern Hall, where
the last of the prisoners were being held.
The once-Nahoi'i reemerged into the light, carrying the bound
Redewyn with
little effort. They lowered her gently onto the floor, mindful of
her
struggling. She'd been stripped of her armor and clothing, and a
gag had been
secured over her mouth to prevent her from casting. Leather cuffs
bound wrists and ankles.
Fear and hatred mingled in the young warrior's eyes at the sight
of the two
females locked in incestuous embrace, their bodies marked with
the blasphemous
sigil of the Enemy. Her jaws tightened around the gag, and her
muffled cries
did not sound anything like spell-chant.
Feolani smiled triumphantly, as Nerial pulled back, her tongue
slipping out of her sister's pussy. Both of them, bodies flushed
with sexual heat, turned their heads and looked down at their
former battle-sister.
"Behold. The last of Nahor's Pride. She resists now, but soon
will be reborn into Her service... as we have been."
Redewyn tried to roll over and kick one of her captors, her fiery
red mane
flashing angrily in the desperate effort. She managed to get one
of her legs
free, but both Junia and Hirian held fast. They grappled her
leather restraints
and pulled, Junia stretching her bound wrists far above her head,
Hirian securing her ankles tightly together. Redewyn arched her
back, trying to get some kind of leverage, but it was no use. She
glared up at her captors.
The other Sauri'i had formed a half-circle around the fettered
prisoner. Feolani cocked her head.
With one voice, the Dark Queen's slaves began to chant. Like soft
music, their voices mingled in smoky harmony - but the words were
pure Shadow. As though moved by a single impulse, Junia and
Hirian's mouths mirrored the others' in blasphemous appeals.
Redewyn twisted, and tried not to listen to the words burrowing
into her ears.
Nerial crawled over to her, like a tiger taking lazy strides
towards cornered
prey. She stretched out along her side and cupped Redewyn's left
breast, ignoring her flinch as she pressed a finger against the
tip of her nipple. It responded at once to her touch, and
stiffened into marble as she continued to tease it in circles.
Redewyn moaned through the gag.
"Ah... I see you are eager to join your sisters. No doubt you
envied the
others as they were taken from their cells, only to return as
loyal servants of Sauriann."
This time, the fury in Redewyn's glance was focused into a clear
answer.
*That is a lie!*
Feolani drifted to Nerial's side, towering above them like one of
the giant
statues guarding the fluvial entrance to the Wilderlands. "Of
course she is
eager... surely her dreams have been filled with the chant of
becoming. No one
can resist it."
She began to stoke her sex, smiling in amusement while playing
fingers over wet
lips. It was clear she was teasing herself for her captive's
pleasure, rather
than her own, and softened by the chanting, Redewyn's eyes
widened in dark fascination, before she managed to find the
strength to tear herself away from the sight.
Nerial's hand lowered to Redewyn's pussy, and indulged in play of
their own.
The young Nahoi'i struggled only briefly, and a moan of anguish
escaped her
gag.
"Yeeeessss... she is growing ready. Her cleft already drips with
yearning and
submission."
Feolani nodded and stepped over Redewyn's prone body, her ankles
brushing
against the young woman's shoulders, her legs spreading high
above her face. In
the meantime, Nerial reached over and gestured to Hirian, before
loosening the
leather bindings that tied the captive's legs together. She
circled her prey,
still crawling on her knees, watching with a smile as trembling
thighs opened
up to reveal glistening nether lips.
She began to nuzzle Redewyn's pussy. Around them, the enthralled
Sauri'i droned on, though Redewyn no longer noticed.
Junia increased her own tender whispers, leaning forward, breasts
brushing Redewyn's crossed arms while she mouthed the dark
incantations into her battle-sister's ear. Hirian joined her,
tending to the other ear, matching Junia's speech word for word.
Power lent their words a dark echo, and each syllable seemed to
stick in Redewyn's brain. They had learned the defiler's chant
well - her mind was quickly filling with the Joy and Truth of
enslavement.
The Nahoi'i's resistance faded like Spring snow in the sun. The
heady scent of
Feolani's arousal, inches from her face, draped over her, making
her head swim, making her body squirm treacherously as a
practiced tongue snaked its way into her sex.
"Remove her gag, that she may taste of sweet corruption,"
whispered Feolani.
Hirian obeyed, untying the knot that kept the sash tightly
secured. Stiffness became pain as Redewyn was free to move her
jaw once again. Her lips were pale and trembling as she spoke.
"Gods... uuugh... what... is... happening... to me?"
"Yield to the Dark Queen," Junia urged softly.
"Surrender your body, your mind and your soul to Her," echoed
Hirian.
"Noooo..."
"Yes," Feolani, "become one of Her servants... become one of
*us*..."
"Must... resist..." came Redewyn's feeble reply.
"There is no resistance. There is only obedience."
Feolani lowered herself with care as she spoke, juicing at the
thrill of her words, and the heat of Redewyn's rapid breathing on
her sex.
"Give yourself to Sauriann."
"Nn...ooooh..."
A droplet from Feolani's glistening lips fell into Redewyn's open
mouth. The Nahoi'i, struggling now only in her mind, appeared to
not notice, her mind clouded by the power of the chant and the
sensation of the tongue licking inside her.
"You belong to Sauriann."
"I.... belonggg...."
Her ears were caressed by soft lips, whispering blasphemies. In
perfect unison, Junia and Hirian instructed their former sister
to submit, to obey. To surrender. And above the pussy that was
becoming the center of Redewyn's world, Feolani's voice pushed
through the last of her resistance.
"You will obey, Redewyn."
"I... will... obey..."
"You give yourself to Sauriann."
"I give myself..." the tongue inside her twitched, and Redewyn
gasped her submission, "to Sauriann."
Feolani lowered herself further, until her enflamed lips just
touched those of the panting slave below her. Her juices quickly
connected them.
"Forever," she instructed.
"Forever," Redewyn hissed through dampening lips.
"Now. Pleasure me, as you would pleasure Her. Give yourself
entirely to Her."
"Yeeeesssss... I give myself... entirely... to Herrrr..."
Redewyn shivered as the blackness engulfed her, rushing forth
into the deepest recesses of her soul like the flood from a
broken dam. She opened wide for Feolani's cleft as it pressed
down and danced all over her tongue. She pushed her mouth hard
against it, driven to near-madness by the bliss of servicing her
seductress, tasting, sucking like the most wanton of sluts.
Sauriann owned her now, and her heart thundered as she felt the
changes... like black wires binding her arms and legs, fettering
her mind with eternal chains. She stared wide-eyed as whirlpools
of evil drowned her eyes in blackness, her love of the Evil Queen
rising like a dark Sun, her will draining away, being replaced by
absolute yearning and obedience.
She jerked and came hard in Nerial's waiting mouth. The cresting
pleasure carried her deep into the abyss, her cries joining those
of Junia and Hirian as they, too, shuddered on their knees and
climaxed with the joy of their sister's enslavement. She was
still crying out in pleasure as the tongue filling her sex
slipped out and began to sear her skin with short licks, branding
the shape of Sauriann's sigil into Redewyn's waiting flesh.
Burning and binding her with the power of the darkest, most
potent magics.
Marking her as a slave, now and forever.
When she was finished, Nerial sat back on her haunches, breath
misting from her leering mouth. Redewyn's sweat-slick mons now
bore in charred flesh the mark that would own her until the end
of time.
*Her will be done,* thought Redewyn, joyfully kissing Feolani's
eager slit.
The Nahoi'i were no more.
----
Meldahir collapsed into a bower of fallen leaves. Weakly, he
plucked at the arrow in his side, then broke it off at the skin.
He hadn't the strength to pull it.
They thought he was dead, and that was his only salvation.
They...
He fought back the tears as he remembered the black joy in
Junia's face as she pulled her bowstring and shot him. The glee
with which Hirian, and Leiowyn, and all the other Nahoi'i turned
on them and cut them down even as they stood amazed.
And Feolani.
Her eyes... her eyes had been glistening, liquid black as she
turned to face him. Even as he blocked the swords of two of the
'refugees', their faces snarling and twisted, he could see her
eyes upon him. Those eyes he had... loved. Now purest evil,
loving only the Dark Queen whose thrall she had become. She had
sneered at him, and his heart broke asunder.
Then the arrow struck, and he fell from the wall.
Lying under the huddled oaks, his first thought was to return to
Nahor. Find a way around the High Keep, through the mountains.
Rescue those who must be trapped under Sauriann's rule.
He felt the arrowhead scratch at his guts, and knew that was
folly.
It would take more than his share of luck just to reach the sea.
Wincing, he rose to his feet. Using his teeth, he bound up the
arm broken in the fall with a ragged strip cut from his cloak.
They were not looking for him now, but if he remained where they
could find him, death would be the kindest fate he could hope
for.
On will alone, he set out across the plains.
------ END 'In Darkness Bound' ------
<1st attachment end>
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format. The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+