Mistress of the Gods (The Making of Suzanne Book 2)

by Rex Sumner

  Asmara gaped for a moment, as guards approached her warily. She whipped out her rapier.

  “Get back! You are leaving him to die, not treating his wounds correctly.”

  “Oh, but we are. As we speak, the bishop prays for his health. Go on, men, she’s just a girl. Take her away.”

  The first guard advanced, sword ready, and Asmara stepped forward, touching his blade before spiralling round and slicing into his forearm. He dropped his sword, cursing and stepped back as four more guards rushed past. The first of them tried to swat her rapier aside, missed and his mouth gaped in an ‘O’ of surprise as she spitted him, but she couldn’t drag her blade out of his torso as the others swarmed over her, one holding her arms down and another bashing her hand with his sword. She dropped her blade as blood pulsed from her wrist and they hustled her from the room.

  *

  Count Blenkinsopp pushed the door wide and walked into the room, raising his eyebrows at the sight of his wife in bed.

  “Are you sick, girl?”

  “I’m not sure, darling,” she answered, pulling the sheets up to her throat. “I was cold and bored, and there is a dinner tonight, so I thought I would take a rest.”

  He stopped beside the bed and sat down, taking her hand.

  “Good thought, perhaps I’ll join you.” He ran his hand over her hip, before pulling back the sheets to find her naked. She squeaked. “Ha! For sure I’ll join you.” He stripped with eagerness, before climbing into the bed. In moments the bed started to squeak and in the cupboard Jeremy cursed under his breath. He eased open the door a fraction and caught the Countess’ eye over the Count’s shoulder. She indicated the window with her eyes and he slipped out, breeks in one hand. The window ledge stretched perhaps a handspan and he dropped over the side, clinging for a moment and swaying so he landed on grass. Slipping on his breeks, he pulled on his soft leather stocking shoes and padded to the wall. Designed to deter thieves and intruders, he straddled it in moments and studied the street before descending, wondering where to find the lines his troops occupied. He thought he knew the way to the gates, and headed in that direction.

  Rounding a corner, not one familiar landmark appeared. He joined the crowds, taking his direction from the setting sun, and moved along, fitting in with the strollers. Glancing up a side street, a girl danced a few steps outside a door before slipping inside. An inn, with entertainment. Perfect.

  *

  Lionel gave his horse to the ostler and walked into the inn. The marshal sat at a table with Colonel Donnell and several men he didn’t know. He walked towards them and Donnell stood up.

  “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Colonel Sir Lionel Summoner. Colonels Drummond and Wallace, Majors Armstrong, Bennett, Tewkes and Willoughby.”

  Lionel nodded, forgetting the names in an instant, and took his place opposite the marshal and between a major and a colonel.

  “Now we are all here, we shall get straight to business,” said the general. “None of this nonsense of waiting till after the meal. Bring us up to date, Donnell.”

  “The king is held in his usual rooms in the Duke’s Palace, with the priests praying over his rotting body, ignoring the wound.”

  “Just the facts, Donnell, we don’t need any drama, thank you.”

  “Yes, sir, my apologies,” said Donnell with singular lack of contrition. “We don’t know the situation with guards internally, but presume the Duke’s household men are at his door. There are twenty, who guard the gates in three shifts of six with two guard captains. Guard changes at midnight, 8 am and 4 pm. Not proper soldiers, no real sword skills, just big bullies. He has a garrison nearby which can hold a hundred men, but at present there are just six, who are ex-Pathfinders allocated to training men. His forces were sent home with the defeat of the Spakka. Having said that, they live all around, so any disturbance can lead to an unknown number of armed men appearing in short order.”

  “So we need to be quiet,” said one of the majors. “No problem.”

  Colonel Donnell placed a box on the table, opened it and pushed the sides down to reveal a model of a house, the wall and garden showing in detail. This impressed Lionel, who resolved to improve his own models.

  “Drummond, you will take the Guardhouse with a section to hold the garrison. You will strike at 2 am. Wallace, your men will be in the garden and come in the windows at that time. Drummond, you will take the internal guards, Wallace the external. Any questions? Good, you men have two hours to formulate your orders and instruct your men. Lionel, I don’t expect your boys are going to be any use in the city, but we want you to guard the King’s party taking him to safety. We want to take him to Hallowsfield down the main road, so clear it first of all with your main party in front of the King and with a reserve behind. Get a patrol out to find out who is on the road and make sure you know every bit of it.”

  “Sir,” said Lionel, selecting the men for each task in his head.

  “I expect us to come out of the main gate at 2.30 am, so make sure you are in position from 2 am. Willoughby, you are detached from Colonel Wallace and your men will take and hold the gate. Liaise with Lionel. Now, Wallace, I want your biggest men with a stretcher, the king is a heavy man. Make sure… what? I said we were not to be disturbed?”

  The guard with his head in the door spoke. “Sorry sir, but I think you need to speak to this girl.” He pushed a small servant girl into the room. She was pale, breathing in fast gulps, her dress torn and dirty. Her eyes flicked to each man before settling on the marshal.

  “Sir, I work in the manor, since the princess saved me last year and got me a job. She found me again just now, and took me with her to see the king. She tried to treat his wounds and the duke came in, accused her of trying to kill the king.” She gulped, distress in her face.

  “Damnit,” said Colonel Donnell, “I really didn’t want her going there. What have they done with her?”

  “I’m not sure, sir. They fought, and the princess killed one man before they rushed her. The duke said something about the Rose room and I sneaked out before they noticed me. I didn’t know what to do, so I came here, sir.”

  “You did the right thing, girl. What is your name?”

  “Luce, sir. I’m the princess’ girl, I am.”

  You certainly are, Luce, and you may have saved her life tonight. Now, did I understand you right, you work in the manor?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you show us on this model where the rose room is? And perhaps you can tell us where the guards are?”

  Luce came up to the table, her breathing even and her eyes hard and flat. She studied the model for a moment, before indicating with her finger. “Here, sir, that’s the Rose room. Small it is, and there’ll be just the one guard on it. Watch commander sits here, he does and they patrol down here, once an hour. Lazy, they are, but they won’t sleep none.”

  Colonel Donnell’s eyes widened at this precise information. “Well done, Luce, that is most useful. Drummond, this is your area, so you will collect the princess as well. Is she injured, Luce?”

  “I dunno, sir, but her hand bled a bit. Sir, when you go down this corridor, some of the boards creak something dreadful. If you want, I can go with you, show you the way. I can be quiet, I can.”

  The colonel leaned back in his chair, studying the girl. He liked the quiet determination and the way she tilted her little chin at him.

  “Drummond, you have an extra soldier, said Marshal Roberts. “Make sure she is in the correct clothing and is fed, warm and watered. Gentlemen, you have your orders, I shall expect you here at midnight ready to move out.”

  The officers pushed back their chairs and stood, a murmur of conversation arising as they moved towards the doors. Luce inspected the model, her nose right up to it.

  “Sir, you ain’t got the other barracks marked here.”

  Colonel Drummond�
��s hand stopped on the door and silence filled the room. Without a word, the officers returned to the table and sat down. Luce glanced at them, panic in her eyes and she chewed her lip.

  “Other barracks?” Marshal Roberts put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and she flinched.

  “Yessir. This is where most of the soldiers are, sir, in these rooms down here, and there’s a building beside the manor just here, sir, which you ain’t got on your little house, sir.”

  “Luce, do you know how many men there are in those barracks?”

  “I dunno, sir, but it is a powerful lot of them. More than the other barracks holds, and they keep right quiet, they do.” Something in the girl’s eyes told Colonel Donnell that she knew exactly what she was telling them. She knew it was a trap and the king was the bait.

  “Damn,” said the marshal. “We must postpone. We don’t have the men.”

  “You can’t, sir.” Luce quivered with determination. “I helped the princess bathe his wound, sir, it’s got infected it has. He needs a herb woman something bad, he does, or he’ll lose his leg and like as not his life.”

  Fiotr

  Cara tucked her legs underneath her bottom and smiled at Susan. “Diana has asked me to speed up your lessons, so I am giving you individual instruction and you don’t need all that dreary sex stuff the other girls are learning.”

  Susan wasn’t quite sure how to take this. Having dreaded where the exercises were going, she now found herself wondering what she was missing. Cara ignored her expression and continued.

  “As you know, we are all about energy, energy that moves through us and brings us alive. A Shelagh na Gig must learn to manipulate this energy. As this happens and you develop skill, you will start to see the other beings who manipulate energy but do not manifest a physical body.”

  She paused for a sip of tea, ignoring Susan’s dropping jaw.

  “First you must become aware of your portals, the places in your body where you manipulate your energy. The first and most important is your crown portal, for here is your connection to the infinite. It is also your most vulnerable point, where energetic beings will suck out your energy if you let them, even as they reward you with good feelings.”

  She followed Susan’s dumbfounded expression with amusement, before continuing, over-riding the interruption.

  “Yes, yes, prayer and church and stuff. Your next portal is important, it is in your forehead and sometimes we call it the third eye. In you it is asleep, you cannot open it, so you must spend time swirling your energy past it. At your throat and heart you have two more, these are for your health and protection. The heart is very important for protection. Swirl your energy down through them and feel it rush into your stomach. Here is the pump of your power, here in your stomach portal, your first reserve.”

  Susan put her hand on her tummy and tried to feel for the energies she was pouring down her front to her stomach, with little success. Cara smiled.

  “The last two portals are the most important for the Shelagh na Gig. Here between your holes is your root portal and this is where you catch the energy from men. You also create energy here, deep in your womb. This is our secret, our great mystery. As the man ejaculates, he pours out energy. You must catch it, receive it, suck it into your root portal. There inside you have a receptacle which will hold more and more power as you practise. As you suck in the energy, you must clamp down and hold it. That is what your tail portal is for, here in your bottom.”

  Cara giggled at Susan’s expression. “I know, it sounds unbelievable, but it comes with practise. We harvest the energy from the men, and we can choose how we use it. Last night in the viewing ceremony, Crom would be unable to lead us in the vision without Danu giving him the power. She is a Goddess, of course, and can store huge amounts of power, which she pushes into the chosen God to power his special attributes. Most of our Gods like far-seeing these days, not much else to do.”

  She bent over a dish and selected a small pasty, chewing with a smile of pleasure.

  “So just now you were wondering if you were missing out on the sex. That’s the next session, this afternoon. We are going to spend a few hours practising circling the energies, see if you can crack your third eye open and practise closing and opening your portals. Later, we’ll get a few warriors over and see if you can harvest any energy. Don’t give them any back, mind you!”

  *

  Susan moved into line, her mind elsewhere, on the previous day’s lesson. She had viewed the prospect of sleeping with a number of warriors with complete horror, but Cara had been most strict with her. To her confusion, Cara required her to concentrate on her actions in a very precise and controlling manner, removing all emotion from the proceedings. Her task to milk energy from the warriors and store it. This all seemed very clinical, and she didn’t enjoy herself. Until the third warrior. She felt the essence, the energy, flow into her womb, and the sphincter close around it, to be carried till this moment, a warm and pleasant package.

  And the pleasure! As she had never imagined, her reward.

  “Come,” said the instructor, a tall austere Tuatha de Danann woman who never smiled and seemed to harbour a particular dislike for Susan. “Line up for inspection. I require you correct for the Dragon Ceremony, in memory of Fiotr, the Great Black Steed of Dana.”

  She fussed over them, chiding each and every girl for some trespass. Fionuir, down the line with eyes lit up at the sight of Susan, suffered for a misplaced braid, while Susan suffered the indignity of having her breasts almost exposed as the instructor adjusted her robe while complaining about her lack of hair and tutting over her breasts. Susan wore nothing under her robe.

  The students chattered like a flock of birds as she shepherded them from the room, and down the mossy path to the lake, calm and dark, mist swirling across the surface in fitful breaths. Unwilling, Susan felt her excitement begin to rise. This would be the first outdoor ceremony for her to attend, and she wondered how the religious ecstasy would materialise. She could feel Fionuir’s eyes upon her as she walked with the other Shelagh na Gig, six of them.

  They took their places besides the thrones set up on the dais, overlooking the lake.

  Arrayed in a semi-circle stood the might of the Tuatha de Danann, tall muscled men who stirred as the acolytes arrived. Dressed just in loin cloths, their bodies gleamed in the early morning sun. Susan hoped they rubbed olive oil into their torsos rather than rancid sheep fat, but suspected the latter. The acolytes, all girls, stood tall, parading their beauty to these Gods. Only Susan hunched over, hiding her breasts, to little avail as every God searched for her and undressed her from afar as she took her designated place by the thrones. Realisation dawned; everyone knew about her, the human girl with the outsize breasts. Confidence drained from her till the reservoir dipped below her anger, which ignited and she stood tall, glaring at these ridiculous men pretending to be Gods.

  A priestess went up the line, giving each girl a large chunk of nectar cake, dripping with honeyed intoxication. Susan smiled to see the Shelagh exempt, not yet ready to lose her mind to drugs and wanting to remember what happened, when a different cake was thrust into her hands by Cara, with a wink.

  The men stepped aside, revealing a large ram, proud and regal, standing on a small platform above a pile of wood. The ram chewed the cud, unmoved by the spectacle in front of him, observing the girls with an intensity Susan found unnerving.

  “Your partner for the ceremony will stand opposite you,” said the instructor in a low voice, standing in front of the Gods and smiling for the first time, a vindictive twist in her mouth. “Follow their lead and they will transport you to the ecstasy.”

  “Shit, yes,” said Fionuir while the words still percolated into meaning in Susan’s brain. To her horror, the Gods all seemed to be looking at her. Surely there were more than one God per girl. Oh, worse and worse.

  “Soo Zann, you are h
onoured by the selection of Crom himself, the War God.” She didn’t hear the choices for the other girls, as a grinning horror uncoiled himself from his stance, huge, black-haired and covered in scars. An errant part of her brain wondered how a god could receive a scar as she noted missing teeth to boot, and she recognised Crom from the far seeing ceremony in the pyramid

  Crom strode up to her while she considered which way to run, grasped her arm and forced her to stand erect. His eyes gleamed, centred on her breasts and a booming laugh of pure carnal lust burst from his great chest. Susan felt sick. She noticed the other girls appeared quite pleased with their selections, and she nibbled on her cake, managing about half before an eager Crom pulled her forward and she dropped the rest.

  He held her in front of him, arrayed in the centre, in front of the ram, which eyed the War God before pawing the platform and letting out a peculiar cry, a challenge, a sort of angry, strangled bleat. Crom bellowed back, before the sounds were lost in the sound of drums and zithers as an unnoticed orchestra started up. Crom pushed her forward, and she started to dance, falling into the steps learnt in the previous weeks. An erotic, swaying dance, she kept her eyes on the ram.

  The Goddesses appeared, walking down a path between the swaying dancers, seating themselves on the woven wooden thrones in front of the platform.

  As the dance reached a climax, the ram’s bleats increased in anger and volume while he stayed on his platform, stamping his feet in time to the music. A figure appeared beside the ram, the High Priest Lugh with his long hair flowing in the breeze. A wicked curved knife flashed sunshine in her eyes and the ram kicked his life away as his blood dripped onto the wood below, which ignited in a burst. Susan collapsed forwards, arms outstretched to the ram, feeling Crom behind her grasping her not by the waist as the dance dictated but by her breasts. Anger fought with drug-induced elation as she felt his readiness. She twisted her hips, swaying in apparent ecstasy, hearing his pleased grunt, before slamming her hard hipbone into his unsuspecting groin, managing to accomplish this in time to the music and unnoticed.