by Cebelius
"Dirty ... that's so dirty!" Laina moaned, but though a part of her didn't want to, another, much more dominant part really did. With Boss' hands on her horns, she couldn't look back, couldn't pull away, and as the seconds passed her trembling got worse as she felt climax creeping up on her.
She lowed long and loudly as she came a few moments later, and the rush of her orgasm coated her inner thighs and quite a bit else besides.
Euryale's touch left her for a moment as the gorgon gasped in surprise, then what was unmistakably her tongue thrust itself into Laina's sex and began twisting wildly, taking in her taste and lapping it up as though it were the honey at the bottom of the pot.
Laina's orgasm peaked again and she collapsed on her man, legs splayed as she sobbed for breath. Euryale followed her down, hands pressing her ass-cheeks open, and didn't stop until the minotress literally begged her for a break.
Shy and Boss cooperated to turn her completely limp form, and Laina's eyes flickered open as she saw Euryale slowly straddle her belly, leaning forward. Her face was aristocratic, unlined, faintly reptilian ... but she had the most beautiful blue eyes.
The gorgon kissed her, and Laina's tongue struggled to keep up as her eyes widened in surprise at the intensity in the smaller woman. She tasted her own flavor on that supple tongue, and felt her arousal begin to build again. When the kiss finally broke, Euryale pressed her forehead to Laina's and murmured, "I've wanted you ... I just didn't know how to get you. Please don't hate Master or Shy. I asked for their he—"
Laina kissed her again to shut her up, and wrapped an arm around her to press her close.
Thanks Boss. I might not have expected this, but I gotta say ... it's nice not to be afraid of her anymore.
As she thought of him, she noticed him shifting as though to slip away. She reached out with her right, twisting fingers into the rather worse for wear green silk top he still had on and hauling him back into bed despite his yelp of surprise. She broke her kiss and turned her eyes to him without turning her head — she couldn't have anyway due to her horns — asked, "Just where do you think you're going?"
Terry grinned lopsidedly and said, "Uh ... no more for me, thanks, I'm full? I heard you should wait at least an hour after eating and ah ... yeah."
It occurred to Laina that this was the first time since his close call with the zone beasts that he'd shared a bed with more than one of his women at once. His eyes were roaming across the contents of the bed, tracing not only Laina's curves, but Shy and Euryale's as well. His arousal was obvious, but it was just as obvious that he was a bit overwhelmed.
"Boss?"
"Yeah?"
"If I have to put up with the ridiculous cluster my love-life's turned into ... what makes you think I'm gonna let YOU skip out?"
He blinked at her and his mouth opened, then closed as he seemed at a complete loss for words. His eyes started roaving again as Euryale giggled and began creeping back down Laina's body, her object rather obvious. If Laina had been any less turned on, she might have been worried or nervous. Instead she spread her thighs luxuriously as she asked, "Shy?"
"Yes, Laina?" Shy said in sultry tones, her palm smoothing over Laina's chest as she leaned up.
Laina met Shy's gaze as she felt a tongue invade her drenched sex. There was no preamble, no teasing. Euryale clearly had the minotress' next orgasm firmly in mind, and didn't want to wait. Laina murmured, "I think Euryale's going to keep me busy for a while. Mmmm, so would you do me a favor?"
Shy tilted her head, looking down into Laina's eyes with mischief in her own. "And what would that be?"
Laina glanced toward her man and said simply, "Get him."
The dryad's smile broadened as she turned abruptly predatory eyes on Boss.
"With pleasure."
34
The Seat of Devotion
Stheno strode down a corridor graven from the heart of a living glacier, its walls carved into intricate images of times and places long since gone or vanquished. She paid them no mind. She'd long since memorized each one, having spent many centuries haunting the Seat's many halls, this one in particular.
Her green snakes stirred, restless and mirroring her mood as her golden eyes flickered idly from one orb of pale blue radiance to the next as she walked the long hall. The room she strode toward was most of a mile from the bulk of the edifice known to those few who knew of it at all as the Seat of Devotion. The Dust Lord had resided here for well over a thousand years, and no army had so much as survived long enough to reach its walls, much less penetrated its inner sanctum.
Her brazen hands flexed, and she adjusted her green and gold enameled armor. Out of long habit she touched each piece to make sure it was in place.
Not as though it matters.
Lips thin with the weight of the news she bore despite the flickering hope burning in her heart, she came to the end of the long hall and stood in front of two obsidian doors, currently closed. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and reached out. When she set her hand on the door, it shuddered and opened of its own volition to reveal a room illuminated only from the light spilling in from the hall Stheno stood in. As she passed the doorway, it closed, leaving her in complete darkness. She counted slowly, steeling herself for what was to come, then whispered the necessary phrase in the words of magic her master had taught her.
A small blue-white flame sparked to life floating over her left shoulder, and illuminated the small room. It was no more than twenty feet on a side and unadorned save for a simple granite cross with the bottom twice the length of the other sides embedded in the ice of the back wall.
Below this was an ice bench six feet long by three feet wide covered by a single black fur. Upon that fur sat a naked human man with his legs folded under each other, his hands resting on his knees. He was gaunt to the point of emaciation. His once sun-bronzed face was pale from a life lived away from the light but his features were youthful and, if he would only take care of himself, could again be handsome.
His eyes were closed, but then, they were always closed. The lids did not bow out as they would on a healthy man. Rather, his were sunken, and she knew they covered only empty sockets.
"Ah, my eyes," he said, his voice rusty from disuse yet full of compassion. "You seem hesitant."
Stheno had never had a way with words, and as usual chose the shortest path. "The news I have is not good, Master."
Thomas patted the space next to him and said, "Sit, and tell me what you must. I know you would not disturb my meditation were it not a matter of some importance."
"The Arch-Locutor Gradhil is dead, Master. The dragon war body and its attendant brainiac that your death dryads blessed so recently have been destroyed. Florence remains in the sunlight."
The thin man waited a moment, then patted the space next to him again without a word.
Stheno winced, then turned, sitting quietly where she was bade. She turned her face to Thomas and closed her primary eyes as he lifted hands to explore her features. He took his time, caressing her lovingly such that it was an effort not to lean into his touch, but she knew him well. There would be no physical affection. Such attention was vanishingly rare from the man, and how could he possibly wish to satisfy her lusts after what she had just told him?
Finally, he lowered his hands and then let them hover over her lap. She put her own brazen claws out, and he rested his palms on hers as he said quietly, "This is indeed troubling news. We have not suffered a setback of this magnitude in several hundred years. What of the death seeds?"
"One of them may still be with Gradhil's body, but there is a spider swarm in the area making it impossible for any of our agents to get close enough to verify it. The other is ... lost."
"Lost?"
Several of Stheno's snakes hissed discontentedly. "It ... no one knows what happened, Master. The brainiac reached the template controlling Florence and both he and it vanished. Roughly two days later, the template was seen again, heading away from the docks
in the company of the new Viceroy. That is all our sources have been able to tell us."
"My dearest Stheno. You are my eyes. You are my ears. You are my hands, and my voice. Tell me, why have I failed to deal with this template, when I have so easily dealt with so many others?"
Stheno gritted her teeth and bowed her head over Thomas' hands as she said, "My sister Euryale has been drawn out of seclusion, Master. She serves him, as I serve you. As well, Cecaelia has chosen him as her latest champion. Given his reappearance from the water, she's responsible for the brainiac's death."
"My eyes, Euryale is but a child compared to you, and Cecaelia's favor is easily lost. Surely these cannot be the only reasons I have failed, why I have lost so much?"
The eldest of the gorgon sisters scowled and said, "Master, this one is fierce. He is brave ... and he is smart. Volai Hart was destroyed at his bidding, and the new ruler of Florence is his choice. He is beginning to walk the path you walked, once."
The path you once walked with me.
She slid off the ice bench that served her master as a bed and kissed the backs of his hands, her snakes caressing his forearms as she spoke the words she'd rehearsed in a pleading tone. "Master, please. I need you. I do not understand why providence seems to favor him."
"Providence," Thomas said, steel in his voice, "favors me. I have seen the glory of God, and His truth lights my way through this darkness forever. Be it one, two, ten, a hundred thousand years ... I will never stray from the path He has set before me. I walk it gladly, and in so doing expiate my greatest sin."
Slowly, the emaciated man rose, opening eyelids that had remained closed for over a thousand years. The wounds he revealed were ancient beyond the reckoning of mortals, and the tiny fire over Stheno's shoulder only cast them into deeper pits of shadow.
"I have heard the pleas of my most favored," he intoned. "I will answer. My eyes, my help, I will go out from here with you. It is clear to me that I must walk this cursed world again. Together, let us purge this threat to the future before it can do any more harm to the faithful and our holy cause. Our good works in this evil place must not be undone."
Stheno's breath caught in her throat as she watched her master. A halo of golden light spread across his face and body. As always when he spoke of his purpose, he literally shone. In that moment, his glory was a radiance fit to bathe in. She could do nothing in that moment but revel in his warmth and light.
When it faded, he lifted a hand, palm down, and waited.
With devotion bordering on reverence, she stood up and turned, catching that hand and laying it gently on her shoulder. As she turned her face to the doors, they opened. The Seat of Devotion was his, after all, and it obeyed his will as all right-thinking beings should.
For the first time in over a thousand years, Stheno led her master out of his seclusion. Her trepidation was replaced with a thirst she had not slaked in ages. To be with him. To walk with him in the world of mortals ... and make all the world tremble at his coming.
He gave his eyes to me, and in return I gave him myself. I swore then and reaffirm now that no other man may come between him and his chosen destiny. I am sorry, Euryale, but again I fear I must crush you, and leave you alone in the dark.
As they walked, Thomas said, "I am weak, Stheno. My body has grown frail. Once we reach the prime seat, summon those required. I must restore my health before I may travel. That done, I will renew all my bonds to ensure they are at their greatest strength for the trials to come. First and last, my eyes, will be yours."
Stheno's eyes grew misty, and she smeared away tears of joy as she whispered quietly, "Thy will be done, my beloved Master."
35
Good Laces
"Whatever happened to the dragon lady?" Terry asked.
Viceroy Albrecht Ross said, "She's been out like a spent torch since the fight with you. Phineas has her at the moment. Why, you want her?"
"Hell no. If I never see that chick again it'll be too soon. She was nothing but trouble."
Terry hesitated, then added, "She was a bitch, but she did save a whole lot of people from zone agents on the road. Will you take care of her until she wakes up?"
The lion man nodded, then spread his hands and said, "Well, T-Mack, what can I say?"
Terry stood in the throne room at the base of the dais surrounded by his women, the Kolenkos, and Marcus. All of them were arrayed for travel. Even he had been given some sturdy if visually unimpressive threads: a new pair of black-dyed dungarees that he didn't have to cuff, and a long-sleeved white blouse that he personally thought looked a bit froufrou but that his women insisted looked good on him. As usual, Prada circled his waist as a ruby red silk sash.
He still wore the boots he'd gotten the day before he'd left for Monsoon, now laced with simple twine.
He also wore a pair of black leather gloves, another gift from Laina. Under ordinary circumstances he'd never wear gloves — particularly as it was late spring and only going to get warmer — but since he was obliged to carry around the Rod of the Heart, he put up with them. Any time he actually touched the Rod directly, it made him feel like he was burning from the inside out. Given the choice between gloves, or a feeling that must be akin to the unending fires of hell ... gloves.
Definitely gloves.
Prada carried his notched but still serviceable lumbering ax in the knot of the sash, which hung at his right and gave him easy access to the weapon. Laina had taken one look at the bloody-hafted weapon and shook her head, telling him that she wanted nothing more to do with it. It had become his by default.
"You don't have to say anything, Viceroy. I'm sorry to have brought so much trouble to your city."
The lion man nodded absently from where he stood atop the now empty dais. Volai's statue and throne had been removed, and a new, smaller and much less impressive 'temporary' seat had been put in its place, but Albrecht Ross seemed to prefer to stand.
Terry got the distinct impression that the man people were already calling the Lion of Florence wouldn't be spending much time here, as he seemed distinctly uncomfortable.
The gallery all around was filled with soldiery, courtiers, and others who had come to see the template off. None of them spoke, and after a moment the Viceroy glanced to his right and made a come-hither gesture.
A small man with too-large eyes, ridiculously long ears, and an even more ridiculous coiffure of lustrous black hair stepped forward carrying a black backpack put together with bright red thread.
So THAT'S an elf ... yeah, Laina was right. This dude's barely four feet tall, if that.
"This is a bit ostentatious, I know, but packs like these are not common things. Seeing as how it once belonged to Volai, it may as well belong to you now. In it, you'll find the whole of her library. Several of my magi protested, but none of them are theurges so ..."
The Viceroy shrugged and said, "Fuck 'em. Consider this a gift from the city of Florence for fighting on her behalf."
Given the little man carrying the pack was almost the same size as the bag itself, Terry wasn't surprised when he picked it up and slung it across his shoulder that it weighed no more than a few pounds.
Huh. Guess I've got my own bullshit magic bag now.
"You've also got the Rod, which has been an artifact of this city for more generations than anyone here has bothered to count, so I'd say Florence has paid the debt Cecaelia mentioned, and you're good to get the hell out of my city."
He said it with a smile, but his eyes never left Terry's as he added drily, "Pretty please."
"I've got a stop to make first, out in town." Terry said. "Then I'll be back to head out through the crypts as planned."
Ross' eyes narrowed slightly as he said, "Whatever you need in town can be purchased on your behalf."
Terry shook his head and said, "It's not something I need to buy, it's something I need to do."
"What's that?" Ross asked.
The man sighed and looked Ross in the eye as he said, "Pay m
y respects."
The lion man frowned, clearly not liking it. Eventually though, he shrugged heavily and said, "I can't stop you, T-Mack. I'll have a guide waiting for you when you get back, and I will detach a squad to escort you through the city to make sure you don't cause any more problems."
Men and women of all kinds moved through the haze that still, a week after the riots, hung over certain parts of the city of Florence. The fires were out, the cost had been counted, and it would take days yet to burn all the bodies. But at least now, rebuilding had begun.
Terry Mack stood at the edge of a street he had come down following directions he'd gotten near Mamma Moo's what seemed like forever ago, staring at the charred remains of a building he'd only seen the inside of once. In his hands he had a bundle of pale purple flowers that Laina had gotten for him at his request. He had no way of knowing if they were the same flowers that he had seen once, long ago, at the only funeral he had ever attended. At the time he'd been only nine years old and his memory of that day was fractured by a grief that no longer stung, but could still be felt.
All I remember is the color ... but these feel right to me.
Euryale stood by him, but thus far no one bothered him. After all he had done, the citizens of Florence of their own volition now gave him space. Template or not, none dared approach the dragon slayer. The detachment of guards Ross provided probably helped with that, but they'd been left at the head of the street. Only Euryale stood with him now. She went unnoticed by most, but she had eyes on them all, and a gentle hand on his shoulder. Everyone else, including Prada, had been asked to wait for him along with the guards. The Kolenkos and Marcus had promised to meet them several miles outside of town, and had said something about a wagon. Once he finished here they would be leaving Florence for good, bound for the Eastern Steppes.
