Demon's Throne

by K D Robertson

  “So, we’re going deeper?” Grigor rumbled.

  “Yes,” Rys said. “That’s our immediate plan for the Kinadain. Preparing to go as deep in the Labyrinth as we can.”

  Grigor, Terry, and Fara nodded, although the latter’s expression remained thunderous.

  “I have an idea for establishing a nation,” Vallis said, taking control of the discussion. She stroked her chin. “Now that Compagnon’s pulling out, a lot of their land goes back to the villagers. But for how long? Many of them were driven into the ground by Compagnon. They’re poor. Lots of nobles and merchants in Tarmouth, Anceston, or even Avolar will buy the land.”

  “It’s their land,” Maria said. Fara nodded, her face troubled by Vallis’s words.

  “I know. But given the choice between starving or selling their land, they’ll sell,” Vallis said. “Or maybe they get greedy in the future and sell to an enemy. We’re flush with cash. Why don’t we give them a good price, instead of the fire-sale prices they’ll get from others? That’ll make it easier to claim that we have a right to rule the region, too. We’ll already own a ton of land.”

  Maria’s face became thoughtful. “I hadn’t thought of that. Do we really have that much money?”

  “Not on hand, but we have a secure source of income and our great lord and master Talarys backing us,” Vallis said with a wink. “I’ve been approached by some big lenders from Tarmouth with some very good deals.”

  “Vallis…” Fara warned.

  “This is different,” Vallis said. “For one thing, I had Tyrisa go over all the paperwork. None of this is tied to me personally. I’m not loading myself up with debt. The other thing is that this isn’t a normal loan.”

  “Tarmouth is backing us,” Rys said, a smirk rising to his face.

  “Yeah. I don’t know why and nobody will tell me, but some major players are pissed at Compagnon,” Vallis said. “I’ll keep an ear to the ground and let you know what’s going on.”

  “Do it then. I’m not refusing an ally,” Rys said. “Especially one with more money than Compagnon probably has.”

  After a short discussion, the meeting ended. Vallis and Grigor led Maria out of the castle. Tyrisa slipped out, but not before telling Rys that she’d drop a copy of the meeting notes on his desk. Naturally, Terry returned to the sub-levels.

  Once only Rys and Fara remained, the fox winced. She collapsed onto the sofa she had been lounging on when he entered.

  “Do you think anybody noticed?” she asked.

  “I doubt it. Is it still that bad?” He approached her and sat on the arm of the sofa.

  Her hands pulled her robe open, allowing him to see the bindings she wrapped her chest in. Actual bandages covered a bloody bruise on her right side. She winced when she touched it.

  When Fara attacked a caravan, the mage in command had injured her. Only the day after the battle had any of them realized how bad the injury was.

  “It feels like everything beneath the skin was torn apart, and is still in pieces,” she said. “I thought I was a decent healer, but I can’t do a damn thing about this.”

  “Your healing is regeneration-based. Most likely the spell that the mage hit you with counters regeneration,” Rys explained.

  “I know. You said that before,” she said. “I just… I’ve never scarred before. Up in the mountains, none of the Pride Clan foxes carried scars. It’s a sign of incompetence to be scarred. It means you were injured so badly in battle that you can’t heal it.”

  He didn’t know what the Pride Clan was, but he assumed they were another of the mystic fox clans in Pharos.

  “Can’t say I’ve heard that take before,” Rys said. “For most, they become badges of honor. Surviving an injury bad enough that magic can’t heal means that you were strong enough to overcome whatever tried to kill you.”

  Fara frowned. “Or I was weak enough to let it nearly kill me.”

  “Then become strong enough that it can’t kill you in the future,” Rys said. He sighed and flicked one of her ears. She yelped and stared up at him, her tails curling around her in panic. “If your scars aren’t a badge of honor, then they are a reminder of what you’ve overcome. Lots of things beat the shit out of me in the past. Then I got stronger, and they were the ones who cowered in terror.”

  “As if you ever cowered in terror in the first place,” Fara muttered.

  “I spent a lot of my life avoiding punishment from very powerful beings,” Rys said. “Remember: my first infernal master was one of Malusian’s generals. If she wanted to, she could have burned my mind out and turned me into a husk in an instant. Or splattered me all over the walls. Or told somebody else to murder me horribly.”

  Fara grimaced.

  Eventually, she asked, “How? How do I become more powerful?”

  “More tails. More experience. I can probably come up with other ways over time. But that means you need to stay with me and not go back to your clan. That’s your decision, not mine,” he answered.

  She smiled. “Ha. And here I make fun of you for lusting for power. It’s all I’m thinking about right now. The things I’d do to get my fifth tail right now and never have to worry about being hurt like this again…”

  Rys let her be. While he might be able to heal the wound with his infernal sorcery, the pain might be even worse than keeping the scar. Not to mention that he had no way to know how his sorcery might interact with her strange physiology.

  But, speaking of healing, he had a simpler solution to this problem. Because it had become a problem. Many infernals were being injured during the attacks. Only a few demons had been banished, plus a single Ashen, but the war had only begun.

  Why take avoidable losses when there was an alternative?

  Rys descended to the sub-levels and drew up a summoning circle. He was using the last of his summoning power from the castle’s power slate. This needed to count.

  Shadow and light signaled the success of the ritual. Eight beautiful women stood within the circle. Each had long, dark pink hair, pale skin, and wore an identical pink leotard and patterned pantyhose that matched their hair. At a glance, the women looked almost like sisters, but their faces and physiques differed in subtle ways. But every one of them were short, lithe, and modestly endowed.

  These women were Lilim, a strain of succubi that specialized in healing.

  Healing with sex, specifically. They were succubi, after all.

  Lewd grins rose on the faces of the Lilim. They tried to cross the circle and quickly found it impassable. Their chattering and cooing noises as they tried to convince Rys to strip and join them for an orgy threatened to deafen him.

  “Be quiet for five seconds,” Rys snapped, rubbing his temples. “I’m not letting you blow my brains out. At least not literally.”

  The Lilim shut up, eyes wide.

  “Right. Which one of you is the chief nurse? Or whatever you call yourselves these days? I never kept up with whatever lewd title you gave yourselves each week,” Rys said.

  Giggles erupted amongst the Lilim. One of them stepped forward, her spaded tail swishing behind her. She placed a hand on one hip and cocked her head to one side.

  “I’m Mary. I’m not actually the Chief Demonrider,” she said.

  How amazingly blunt of a title.

  “But you’re close enough?” Rys asked.

  “I’m the deputy.” She shrugged. “Amelia’s the chief, but she’s not here. I think she was busy with an important prince who insisted he see the best.”

  Rys blinked.

  “Amelia?” he asked. “As in, that Amelia?” His tone said something special about Amelia that anybody who knew her recognized.

  The eyes of every Lilim widened.

  Mary let out a whistle. “Never met a human who knew Amelia. She’s old, but I didn’t know she’d ever been to Harrium.”

  Rys felt that he’d dodged an arrow. No, not an arrow. A storm of arrows. He’d nearly summoned Amelia. That could only have ended badly, for many r
easons.

  “I’m Talarys,” he said. “I knew Amelia a while ago.”

  A hush fell over the giggling Lilim. Their wide eyes spoke volumes.

  Mary licked her lips. “Ah. That explains why you feel so odd. It’s an honor, sir.” A pause. “What you said earlier—you didn’t mean you weren’t going to let us blow you at all, right? Because we’d really like to do that.”

  Seven other heads nodded enthusiastically.

  When Rys dragged them out of the room an hour later, it was with a much emptier feeling in the bottom half of his body. The Lilim giggled and clung to him, attracting stares from the demons. Although many of them grinned knowingly.

  The sexual healing service had arrived. The downside was that the Lilim were thirsty, thirsty girls.

  Rys didn’t intend to pay too much attention to the Lilim. Like most succubi, they were man-eaters. In Hell, they got their fill by fucking infernals for “health check-ups” and other nonsense reasons. They were some of the best healing infernals there were.

  So long as the patient didn’t mind losing their dignity and sometimes their chastity. For many soldiers in the Infernal Empire, getting their cock sucked to survive a lethal wound wasn’t a story they told their grandkids.

  Or at least, Rys hoped it wasn’t.

  Regardless, he planned to keep them away from Fara. While her injury gave him the idea in the first place, he didn’t want the Lilim near her given her current state of mind.

  “I’ll organize things with them,” Grigor said when Rys introduced Mary to him. “But I’d prefer not to rely on them. We’ll need to keep them safe in the Labyrinth, given they’re non-combatants.”

  “Realistically, we’ll need a few more days to prepare,” Rys said, thinking of Fara’s wound. “But assume we’ll head into the Labyrinth any day now.”

  Grigor nodded.

  Rys tried not to dwell on the Labyrinth. Finally, the time to regain some of his lost power had arrived.

  Chapter 19

  Fara recovered after only four days. The magic in her wound eventually faded enough that her healing technique worked, and she bounced back the next day. She gave Rys a cheeky smile when he asked if the wound scarred, but he knew he’d find out first-hand one day.

  They dived into the Labyrinth the morning after Fara dueled Grigor and confirmed her return to good health.

  Orthrus led the way, bobbing along. As always, he was visible only to Rys.

  Grigor played rearguard again. But their numbers had swelled since Rys’s last visit, with the Ashen joining them. The Labyrinth responded in kind, creating larger rooms and corridors.

  “On the one hand, it’s less claustrophobic,” Fara said as she watched the demons finish off a group of fire-breathing lizards. “But these larger rooms are full of traps and surprises. False walls, monsters hiding behind pillars, and constant ambushes.”

  “Complain after some of you get hurt,” one of the Lilim said. “We’re so bored. And horny.”

  Some of the demons overheard. Rys saw an odd expression cross their faces, and the demons looked at each other.

  “The first few floors are always fairly safe,” Fara said. “It’s once we get to the fifth floor we need to be careful.”

  Rys watched as the demons nodded to each other. None of them spoke, but he knew that they had formed some sort of plan.

  When they arrived at the fifth floor, they found a crossroads again. This time, it had four paths but no undead dragons. Despite the lack of a real challenge, the demons put their plan into action.

  The demons missed their swings and took return blows from the lizards. Sometimes they took more than one, allowing the monsters to find a chink in their armor.

  “They’re getting sloppy,” Fara said.

  They were, in more ways than one. The Lilim were thrilled.

  Grigor wasn’t. He loomed over the offending demons, his axe gleaming. They stopped screwing around afterward.

  “That cannot be a healthy way to heal someone,” Fara said, her face red.

  “I thought you were fine with this sort of thing?” Rys asked as they began to descend even lower into the Labyrinth. The infernals were still more than strong enough to handle the challenge, and he needed to save his strength for real threats.

  “There’s a difference between casual nudity and watching the Lilim suck somebody’s cock in public,” Fara said. “The same goes for Vallis’s crude jokes. You become desensitized to that sort of stuff when you spend decades in the mountains with the same people, day after day. Foolish things are said and done.”

  “But not in public,” Rys said.

  “Not unless they were very drunk,” Fara said. “And nobody ever let them forget it if they did.”

  They descended rapidly. Orthrus never wavered, no matter how confusing the rooms became. Not even an entire floor full of identical rooms, each with eight exits, slowed him down.

  Until they reached the ninth floor. A vault door stood at the far end of a large chamber. The rest of the chamber was filled by a huge pool of water. A timer written in an unfamiliar language slowly ticked down as the Ashen continuously heated the water, but it constantly reset itself.

  While the demons hunted the endless supply of shark-beasts within the water, Rys poked and prodded at the runes. While he couldn’t read the runes, he recognized the magic connecting the runes to the door.

  “Fara, can your disruption techniques affect the runes?” he asked.

  She stared at him. “Those are runes?”

  “Magical runes, yes. They control the door. I’ve seen similar mechanisms in the Infernal Empire, as well as some older ruins.” He frowned. That made him think.

  “I might be able to,” Fara said. With a few swishes of her tails, she cast a spiritual technique.

  The vault door hissed, then slid open with a boom.

  Rys stepped through the door. What lay beyond it was completely different to every previous Labyrinth chamber.

  A gargantuan cylinder had been carved out of dark granite, creating a cavernous room. Descending walkways spiraled around the length of the room’s interior wall. Steel doors of varying shapes and sizes dotted the walkways.

  Rys looked over the edge of the closest walkway. The bottom was easily fifty stories down.

  Had they left the Labyrinth?

  More disturbingly, this room seemed familiar to Rys. He drew a blank when he tried to remember it, and not even Grigor recognized it, but something tugged at Rys’s memories.

  A raised platform sat at the very bottom.

  “The power conduit lies at the very bottom, beyond another door,” Orthrus explained. “Be wary. This room is a defense mechanism. Its form changes based on the people who trigger it.”

  Naturally, Orthrus provided no real advice. Rys suspected the wisp would lose no sleep if he failed.

  Reaching out magically, Rys made his first useful discovery. The walls were loaded with infernal and dwarven runes.

  “Look alive, people,” Rys said. “Unless I’m wrong, this is some sort of dwarven fortress. No other race builds stuff this massive within rock. That means it’s built to favor a bunch of stubby bastards in heavy armor who know their way around the business end of a pike.”

  “Close-quarters combat, limited maneuverability, restricted ranged and magic support, and no ability to use numbers to our advantage,” Grigor summarized.

  “Yup. But the place is also full of wards. Infernal ones, too.” Rys frowned. “Dunno why. Maybe this is based on a dwarven fortress from the Infernal Empire.”

  “There are many to use,” Grigor said. “Perhaps that is why it is familiar to you?”

  Maybe, but Rys remembered all of them. Dwarven citadels were some of the most majestic creations in existence. Digging out mountains and underground chasms required serious dedication. The dwarves did insane shit like building upside down ziggurats off cave ceilings. Then they lived in them and laughed at people who suggested it was unsafe to do so.

  �
�I can’t sense a thing,” Fara complained. “Is that normal? The walls are so full of magic that everything else is just noise.”

  “Dwarves can’t use much magic other than rune-crafting, so they rely heavily on wards that counter it,” Rys explained. “We’re going in blind, and presumably can’t rely on knocking down any walls or doors.”

  The demons formed up in formation next to both of the walkways that led down. Nobody saw anything farther down, but that didn’t mean anything. For all they knew, the wards also affected long-distance vision.

  “Taras, I need you and the Malakin to head down and search for any signs of enemies,” he ordered.

  The Malakin nodded in response. A pause. Rys glared at the devil, as if daring him to correct Rys’s pronunciation of his name.

  Without saying anything else, the Malakin vanished.

  Then the air whispered, “It’s Tarasu.”

  “That bastard,” Rys said. “Do I need to engrave his name on his head or something?”

  “I think that’d be cruel and unusual punishment,” Fara said. “It’s a vowel, Rys. Why does it matter?”

  He looked around. Nobody was paying attention to him.

  “It doesn’t. But it’s fun to mess with him,” he admitted.

  Fara stared at him for several long seconds. “You really need to get out of the castle more.”

  Nothing happened for the next few minutes. Taras didn’t communicate using mindspeak, so Rys assumed he spotted nothing too dangerous.

  But he found himself wishing he had some flying demons or devils. True succubi possessed a flying Gift, although the most use it usually got was for bedroom kinks. Most flying infernals were fairly weak, as the ability was a racial trait rather than a Gift for almost all races. And what kind of idiot asked a succubus for their flying Gift instead of one of their mental manipulation Gifts?

  Rys tried not to think about the fact he had a translation Gift from a powerful succubus. Infernals could only give one Gift to another person. If he’d thought ahead, Rys could have easily bullied Asa into giving him one of her mental manipulation Gifts.