Mistress of Death

by Jeya Jenson

  With Jai on one side and Mai on the other, Dria walked beneath the archway. In silence, the three women passed the bowed heads of the brethren, making their way to the sacred altar. A slow soft chant could be heard, more a murmur than actual raised voices. A vision in white, Dria walked in silent gravity, one-step in front of the other lest her trembling legs cause her to stumble and fall. Inexorably they came to the dais. At a certain point Mai and Jai halted, leaving her to go on, her pace was as slow as fate itself. A spasm of panic clutched at her throat with cold steely fingers that threatened to cut off her breath.

  Daring to take a quick glance from beneath her hood, Dria’s heart seized when she saw the gaunt woman awaiting her. The awful stab of recognition was so sharp that she nearly lost all strength. A crone, aged and elderly, this woman was also robed in gray. Her hood was drawn away from her face, but her hands were concealed. Visage thin, lined and worn, her frigid blue eyes met Dria’s in a long penetrating look. A knowing smirk curled up her withered mouth. Her role would be to verify Dria’s virginity, a job she obviously relished. She was robed in bright green, the color of renewal and fertility.

  Jaw set, Dria did not allow the crone’s grazing stare to cow her. She held her head high, chin firm. The chant filling the air grew longer, louder. The words rolled and reverberated around her, stretching her emotions to the point of snapping.

  Along with the crone, three others awaited her at the bottom of the steps leading up to the altar’s surface, two to the right and one positioned to the left. Two were barely clothed males. Barefoot, stripped to the waist, they wore only scanty loincloths. They were perfect male specimens, their young bodies lean, hard and muscular. Their purpose was to lead her through the sexual part of the ceremony. The last figure was also a male of a brighter plumage. This was the priest who had been chosen to take her. For the present moment, his identity was hidden by the hood drawn over his bowed head. Had her chosen mate been present, he would occupy this place. Alas, he was not.

  Their step and manner disciplined, the two, nearly naked Yn-teiytt moved from their places. One at each elbow, they led Dria up the steps. Reaching the top, they positioned her in the exact center of the pentagram. Then, with practiced hands, they unbelted and stripped her robe from her body. She stood naked, facing her master. Beneath her feet, the floor was cold white marble, its face veined with chips of crystal.

  An imposing vision to behold, Xavier D’Shagre was a weary old lion. Torn and battle scarred, he had recently moved into his sixteenth century. Crimson robes lined with fine gold braid clothed his beefy body. Completely bald, having not even eyebrows, his right eye was gone. Long ago, the eyeball had been gouged out of his head. Grotesquely thick scars marred the hollow socket and the flaccid cheek below, startlingly red against a complexion that had not felt the heat of any sun for nearly a thousand years. Trapped in a disintegrating monolith of flesh, blood and bone, he still survived to rule his cult and territories with an iron fist.

  Standing before him, Dria did not flinch at his ugliness. Instead, she could only admire the face of the being who served as the Dragon incarnate. A smile curving his lips, he clutched a gold goblet in one hand, sipping liberally from the potent wine it held. His single eye was deeply brown. The creases around his single eye spoke of a vast intolerance that he tempered with a fierce cruelty. He was not a man lightly crossed.

  Xavier is a true warrior, she thought, one who has defended our beliefs for centuries.

  Looking up at him, her face stilled to an unearthly beauty, Dria felt herself oddly alone upon the raised platform before him. Swaying as if in a trance, her vision blurred. She heard the low rhythmic chanting and felt herself oddly alone in the chamber, as though she and Xavier were the only people present. The throb of blood through her veins sounded strongly in her ears, a muffled throbbing that seemed to entwine with the mystical words filling the air. For a moment, she felt as though she were rising, expanding toward the glass window above her head, passing through it to touch the far-flung moons. Her soul fluttered in an invisible breeze, a wraith of energy shimmering as lightly as a snowflake in chilly sir. Suddenly, her senses shifted and light and sound seemed to fuse, twisting and contorting into an indescribable blending of her pulse and the hot darkness of the sorcerer’s heart. The power she was to embrace was a vast one…endless…eternal. Hers for the taking.

  Though it seemed that hours had passed, in reality only a few minutes had ticked by since her ascension to the platform. Perhaps it was the sudden silence among the ranks of acolytes that dragged her so abruptly from her brief astral travel. Her spirit slipped back into its shell of flesh, leaving her almost insensible, yet she held onto consciousness with what she was sure must be the last wisps of her strength. She stood twitching as if blasted by an intense jolt of energy. She wasn’t sure, for she felt as though she’d lost all control of her mind and body. She would have fallen had one of the men not reached out to hold her upright.

  Xavier raised his hand, extending it toward her as though he could easily reach across the void separating them. “Why come you before me?” he asked, as was the custom.

  She tried to speak, but her command of the language seemed to have deserted her. Her mouth worked soundlessly until a few words tumbled over her lips. “Why, I—” she started to stutter with astonishment. “I know not, Lord.” The feeling of helplessness only added to her terror.

  Xavier’s stern mouth held the shadow of amusement. “Perhaps you have come to ask me something,” he prodded.

  Feeling heat creep into her pale cheeks, Dria stood tautly posed. The flush of her embarrassment began to fade as she began to recall her role in the ceremony. Slowly she began to regain her self-control and dropped down onto one knee. She flung her arms wide, showing the tattoo on her left breast that marked her as one of his own. “O' Dragon,” she began to intone. “I do humbly ask thy acceptance into the loving circle.”

  The sorcerer nodded, pleased. His deep voice gave a powerful emphasis to his words. “What do you offer, O’ daughter, to prove your worth?”

  She bowed her head. “I offer body, mind and spirit, great Lord that I may serve toward your greater glory.”

  His sole eye was pensive when it met hers. “Come you to the Dragon pure?”

  Dria made the accepted gesture, then reverently touched the tattoo on her breast. “I swear purity, yours to prove.”

  Xavier gave a barely perceptible nod. His eye flicked away from hers, giving a silent order. The two men who had led her onto the platform took her arms. Guiding her down onto her back, they stretched her arms along those of the pentacle etched in the floor. A series of metal rings had been set into the stone with leather straps affixed to them. The men expertly bound her wrists, drawing the tethers tighter and tighter until they bit into the soft flesh there. She was a prisoner now, unable to escape what was about to happen to her. If she had cried out for the ritual to stop, she would be beheaded.

  The Archpriest sipped his wine, an obscene leer twisting his thick lips. “Arouse her. Make her ready to receive the Dragon’s child.”

  Stretched out on the cold stone with arms tied down at the wrists, Dria bit her bottom lip and tried not to wriggle as the two men who had led her up to the platform stretched out, one on each side of her. Her body was rigid with the sexual tension crackling in the air. Her skin rippled in anticipation, the way a sleeping cat’s does when awakened from its sleep. Experienced male hands began to caress her arms, shoulders, and breasts. Heart beating, chest rising and falling with each breath, the musky smell of their flesh tickled her nostrils. She closed her eyes, determined to welcome every sensation.

  “Oh, my,” she gasped through trembling lips when one of the men brushed the soft hollow of her throat with his lips. Still dizzied by the lingering effects of the wine, her world began to spin in slow motion. She was hardly conscious of the second man sliding a strong hand over her Venus mound to part her white thighs even as the first man kissed his way down her neck.
His mouth covered one nipple, drawing the hard tip deeply into his mouth. At the same time, thick fingers moved slowly against the folds around her clit, the small bud pulsing as he massaged it sensuously. Each time he flicked his fingers over the little button, her heart fluttered, her insides tightened, and a flash of pure heat surged through her. A flood of creamy juices spilled from her body.

  Whimpering, she squirmed with delightful agony. Her skin felt luminous, glowing and vibrant. With each beat of her heart, the blood pulsing through her veins, her passion grew heated—converging on the point of desperation. It was one thing to be caressed by a woman’s hand, quite another to be touched by a man. The instinct of a female seeking, no, needing, a male was never stronger in her than it was now. Like a child in its mother’s arms, she luxuriated in their touch, in the hard cocks pressed so intimately against her bare skin. The heated length of two shafts lay along her hip, searing her with the carnal nudges of steel encased in binding loincloths.

  A low, primordial groan rose up from her throat, creeping past her moist, parted lips. Carnal words spilled shamelessly from her lips. A fervent need was beginning to flay at her senses, plunging her into a spiraling abyss, then lifting her high on a sensual current from which she was sure she would never come down.

  Back arching, Dria twisted her wrists against the cruel restraints holding her down. The tender flesh of her wrists was rubbed raw, the leather bindings bringing a strangely sensual pain that only added to her exquisite torment. She wanted to touch the men so badly she could almost taste the oils anointing their gleaming skin. Mouth cotton-dry from her rasping breath, she ran her tongue over papery lips. If only one of the men would free his penis, feed it to her. She growled fiercely, hungry to drink a man’s juices as he released his seed into the tight, waiting depths of her mouth.

  “Please.” Her voice was a dry rasp she hardly recognized as her own. “End this torment…” Thighs quivering with tension, she lifted her hips toward the finger teasing her wet, swollen nubbin. The need to climax, to slake the desire burning in her soul, was almost an unbearable one that threatened to entirely consume her drugged senses.

  “Cease!” Xavier’s dark voice commanded. “She is ready for her testing.”

  Abruptly, the men left her, rising from their places to leave her cold and alone. Each moved to his knees on either side of her body. Strong fingers dug into her skin, grasping her legs and spreading her open. The crone who had met her at the bottom of the platform now ascended the steps. With great ceremony, she positioned herself between Dria’s open legs. Her eyes were as frosty and remote as a northern night and just as empty. Her spiteful gaze was centered on Dria’s exposed genitals.

  “Young and tender,” she murmured. Slowly and with a cruel smile, she brought one hand out from the long fold of her sleeve, revealing what she’d previously concealed.

  Dria’s eyes widened, breath hitching in her lungs at the sight. The faux phallus the crone brandished like the sword of an avenging angel was huge—larger than any human man could ever possibly be. Carved of pure white ivory, it was an exact representation of the male shaft.

  “No!”

  She tried to protest, but the single word would not entirely leave her throat, emerging only as a strangled croak. The last vestiges of her fear quickened in a protest that was wholly instinctive. She tried desperately to slam her legs shut, but the men holding her vulnerable and exposed did not let their grips slacken. She writhed in protest as the crone knelt down between her legs. Hardly conscious of the woman’s movements, Dria saw her only as a strange blur that bent over, a dark silhouetted figure in the fire-lit chamber. She sensed more than saw the cruel set of the old woman’s jaw, the intent strained line of her wrinkled maw. The crone’s hand shot out and felt the unwelcome invasion of her fingers when she spread open the silky pink folds around her vagina. With a grin, the old woman ran the fake penis slowly, teasingly around the tight little hole.

  Dria jerked as the hard tip dipped in, then retreated, spreading more of her honeyed lubrication to prepare her. With each pass, the crone slipped her instrument of testing a little bit further inside her vagina. It was torture, and she fought to relax against the building tension. A thin sheen of perspiration covered her skin. The air around her was a blistering devil, threatening to reach down and smother her with its oppressive weight. She was hardly aware that the ritual chanting had ceased. The sounds of hundreds of people breathing harshly jarred and abraded her senses. At this crucial moment, hoods were lowered, countless eyes staring up as though beseeching the grace of their Dragon god.

  “This will prove you pure, girl,” the crone warned. “May the gods help you if you are not.” Positioning the phallus, she gave it a hard thrust, driving it almost to the hilt into Dria’s waiting pussy.

  A thousand images reeled in her mind in the short second before she felt the penetration of the ivory cock rupturing her hymen. She cried out in astonishment at the searing pain ripping through her bowels, twisting through her stomach and up her spine, the pain simultaneously destroying and then rebirthing her, taking her from chaste maiden to fallen woman. Leather cords cutting into her wrists, her body twisting in sheer agony, Dria watched the crone take a piece of white linen and daub it between her legs. Examining the evidence, she lifted it toward Xavier. When he had nodded his approval, she turned and lifted it to the eyes of the eagerly waiting minions.

  The crone’s visage was one of pleasure. “She is untainted!” she crowed. “Today we may rejoice.” She turned and moved back down the stairs in preparation for the waiting priest to ascend.

  The crowd burst not into cheer, but into a new chant, lighter and more joyous than the previous one. Again, hoods were lowered and countless eyes staring up, as though beseeching of the grace of their Dragon god. Anticipation was building…

  The sound of glass shattering filled the chamber. Glowing shards rained down on her naked skin, bringing with it a dark figure. Lithe as a prowling cat, he dropped to the platform, landing neatly in a half crouch. Immediately bounding to his feet, he drew the broadsword from its sheath across his back. The wicked blade moved through the air, making nary a sound when it sliced through the soft flesh of the closest man. Eyes staring blankly, surprise still apparent in his features, his head rolled to the edge of the platform. The sword moved again, going straight through the bowels of the second man. Screaming in agony, he doubled over only to lose his own head. The leader of the Raiders was a demanding soul. A professional soldier to the core, he urged his men to spare no one.

  Dria screamed, feeling warm blood trickle onto her chilled skin. Standing above her, the warrior was a big man, taller even than the sorcerer Xavier. Firmly knit and muscular, his broad shoulders were large enough to throw down a giant. Taking his sword, he lowered it toward her neck. The cold blade weighed heavily against her flesh. A single flick and he could slash her throat with little effort. She closed her eyes and drew a sharp breath, expecting to lose her head at any moment.

  More warriors hidden among the minions cast off their robes and drew their weapons. Moving through the chamber, they began a merciless assault. Killing as many males as they could, they seemed to be concentrating on corralling the women. Mai and Jai were soon taken hostage, as were the other women they captured.

  Instantly rising, Xavier held out a single hand. An electric tension throbbed as a sphere of light began to form in front of him. The sphere glowed, growing larger, a multitude of lights coiling and flickering in its center. All within the chamber felt the magical tension deepen, felt their skin prickling with it. Lightning flickered, then flamed out from its core. A vibrant force struck one of the attackers, incinerating him instantly. Thunder snapped the air apart in a tremendous crash. A second bolt shot out, the man barely having a chance to scream before his form fell into ashes on the floor.

  Suddenly, the tide of the battle began to turn. Though untrained in physical fighting, the priests could fight on another level. Calling on their own dark p
owers, they began to feed their energies into Xavier’s orb. Growing larger and blowing brighter, several more bolts of lightening shot from its center, snaking among the robed figures to seek out the enemy. Four more bodies were blasted into ashes.

  A call from their leader brought on a quick retreat.

  Daring to open her eyes, Dria could clearly see the face of the man who had led the attack. Dropping to one knee, he cursed softly under his breath, drawing a small dirk from its sheath in his belt.

  She felt a chill as the pieces slowly came together in her mind. He’s going to kill me, she thought wildly. Writhing against her bonds, she cringed and tried to curl her body up into a ball when the tall warrior bent to cut the leather straps binding her wrists.

  Only it was not her death he had on his mind.

  Grabbing her arm, he lifted her to her feet then bent and levered her up onto his shoulder as though she was the weight of a feather. Taking the steps leading down from the platform two at a time, he plunged down into the melee, following his men as they retreated. Several of the men dragged with them trophies from the battle.

  Writhing and twisting in protest, Dria attempted to escape her abductor. Dragged down long shadowy halls, she frantically beat at his back and flailed her legs, scratched at the walls, catching hold of anything that would help free her. Her fists pounded at his granite-like back. None of her efforts deterred her captor as he dragged her into the cold night. The night mists danced playfully. Swirling amid a limitless boundary between ground and sky, the cumulus haze stretched over the land. A gossamer veil muting the senses, the mist was infused with a luminous glow. Shadow and shape were created as gentle currents of air ruffled its wispy cloak.

  A guard keeping horses at the ready met the warriors.

  Dria’s captor lowered her to the ground long enough to mount his horse. There was no saddle, only a set of reins to guide the snorting beast. She immediately set her body into motion, trying to run, to escape, but he grabbed the long rope of braid that had worked itself free, slamming her back into the horse’s heaving body. The animal whinnied and pawed the ground, eager to run.