House of Lust

by Tony Roberts

  Hendros cut his opponent down but Arkanin received a blow to the ribs, cutting through his light leather padding. As Arkanin went down, Hendros came across and ran the ruffian through the back. Now only Klimat remained, and he was holding a bloodied shoulder. He grimaced and came again, but pain and his injury interfered with his timing. His blow slammed into the floorboards and Vosgaris sent his pommel up into the man’s chin, laying him out.

  The harsh breathing of the survivors was the only sound now to be heard. “Go see if he’s alright,” Vosgaris motioned to Arkanin, sitting against a beam, his face screwed up in pain. Hendros bent to examine his comrade while Vosgaris stepped up to the prone Klimat. “Well, my friend, it’s my turn to entertain you at my abode.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Vosgaris waited for Thetos and Metila to go to the dungeon beneath the governor’s residence. Klimat had been there for two days now, and Vosgaris was getting jumpy, for the emperor would be arriving on the morrow and everything hinged on Klimat telling them who it was he was working for. Klimat had stubbornly refused to talk, and Thetos had oddly refrained from using pain to extract information from him.

  Vosgaris wasn’t exactly keen to do so but he saw no other way. Thetos had smiled and held up a finger. “Ah, young Captain,” he had said, “there are ways to torture someone without touching them.” He had looked at Metila who had smiled back, but her expression sent chills down Vosgaris’ back.

  Now, Thetos had decided it was time. Metila had spent most of the day in her room, chanting, rustling about, the door to her room shut. Vosgaris had checked that Arkanin was comfortable, and he was on the mend after Metila had briefly tended him. When Vosgaris has asked why she hadn’t cured him completely, she had scornfully replied she was not a wet-nurse to children; she had stopped his bleeding and now, she had said, nature should take its course.

  Thetos had passed a few instructions to the gaolers beneath the residence, and he had been assured that the prisoner was fully prepared. Vosgaris was now pacing up and down Thetos’ room, glancing every so often at Metila’s door. “What in the name of Kastan is she doing, Governor?”

  “What do we men know of women?” Thetos replied. “I don’t ask and even if I got a reply, I’d doubt I’d understand it.” He chuckled. “She’ll be out in a moment, you’ll see.”

  “The emperor is arriving tomorrow, Governor – he’s going to have my innards stretched across the Storma if I haven’t got a name for him!”

  “Stop fussing, Captain – Metila will do her best to get the information from our guest.”

  Vosgaris made a disgusted noise and threw himself into an empty chair. He tapped his fingers on his knee and kept on switching his attention from an unconcerned Thetos to the door to Metila’s room. Suddenly the door opened and both men stood up. Metila glided into the room, there was no other way to describe it. She was dressed in the darkest black outfit possible, a long cloak fastened at the throat, and on her head a skull cap of the same colour. Her eyes were lined with black and her lips were black. Her skin, though, seemed to glow, but Vosgaris wasn’t sure whether that was due to the lighting or from something she had put on.

  He gaped. Thetos merely raised an eyebrow; living with the witch he’d become used to seeing some really weird and outlandish things, although he himself had to admit she was looking fairly special this evening.

  The woman came up to them and looked up. “I ready. Need tray in there carried. You,” she pointed to Vosgaris who saw that her nails were long and curled and again, black, “carry them carefully. No drop, no spill.”

  Vosgaris nodded, swallowing. There was something – frightening – about her. He saw a tray on a small chair and picked it up, staring at the cups, bowls and bottles of some kind of liquid. Potions? His mind briefly went to the drug she had given him, but he thought it odd that she would do that to torture someone.

  No, it would be something else. He followed the two out of the main room, Thetos holding Metila’s hand high. He had the sudden realisation that Thetos was not the one in charge; she was. That diminutive, pseudo-slave was the chief. He puffed his cheeks out. He certainly didn’t wish to upset the witch – no doubt she’d do something to him in no time that would have him writhing in agony or jabbering like a fool. He felt a pang of fear – maybe she was really powerful like the legends said? No, if she was, she would have done something really awful by now.

  The corridor to the right ended in the entrance to the servants’ wing, but just on the corner there was a guarded door, the entrance to the dungeons. They were allowed entry by the guard and passed through the normally locked stout iron-banded wooden door. A flight of stone stairs led down and they descended, their path lit by flickering torches set in iron brackets in the walls.

  Down they went, then along a straight passageway with a floor of straw. It smelt damp, so the straw would soak up the moisture. To the left and right were cell doors, and guards stood on duty, making sure nothing untoward happened. The gaoler greeted them and assured them that the prisoner was ready in the room at the end.

  Thetos warned all to stay out of the room on pain of death. All bowed and remained where they were. The door at the end was ajar, and Thetos pushed it open, allowing Metila to enter the room first.

  Vosgaris came in last and Thetos indicated he was to put the tray down on a small side table by the door. The captain did so, then shut the door and stood by it, looking at the tableau in front of him.

  It was a torture chamber, no doubt about that. In the centre was a large wooden table with iron manacles on it, and firmly held in this on his back, wrists and ankles pinned, was Klimat. “Well hello, Klimat,” Thetos said, walking up to him, scratching his cheek with his large hook. “How do you like our hospitality?”

  “Go to the pit of fire,” Klimat growled. He was looking at Metila as he spoke, for he’d never seen her before, although he knew who she was. She smiled briefly and circled him, looking him over. “What is this?” Klimat demanded. “What is she doing?”

  “Oh, making sure you’re comfy, no doubt. I have no idea what she’s going to do to you, but as you know, we want to know who you’re working for and why. You know why we want to know, too, I’ll wager, so let’s save time and effort and you tell us now.”

  “Not a chance, Governor. I’d be slaughtered. You’ll have to waste your time.”

  Metila drew in a deep breath and nodded. “I ready. Make sure no entry,” she pointed to Vosgaris. “What you see here you never tell anyone, yes?”

  “S-Sure,” Vosgaris said, a tremor in his voice. This was getting really scary. “I promise.”

  “And you, too,” she said to Thetos.

  “You know I wouldn’t,” Thetos said, stroking her face. Metila smiled, a brief expression that made Vosgaris’ heart skip, then her coldness descended again.

  “So, begin!” she said and spun round. Even though she was small in stature, the height of the table meant that Klimat could see from her stomach upwards, and now she theatrically undid the throat clasp and the cloak fell to the ground, revealing her naked save for a small – and inevitably black – loin cover. Vosgaris couldn’t help but let his eyes rove over her lithe figure. Oh by the gods, I’d have her right now, he thought to himself.

  Metila stepped up to Klimat, and mounted the table, moving sensually onto the prisoner. His eyes bulged, following in the main her pert, jiggling breasts. She noted his attention and straddled him, her thighs either side of his ribs. “You want?” she purred, rubbing her breasts. “You wish love?”

  “Governor – she’s a whore,” Klimat said, tearing his eyes off her. “You stupid man, thinking I’ll tell all just for a hump!”

  Metila laughed softly. “No hump. You tell soon.” She clicked her fingers authoritatively. Thetos nodded to Vosgaris. “The tray.”

  Vosgaris lifted the tray and brought it over to her. Metila studied the contents, then picked up a cup and a bottle, and placed them by the side of Klimat. Everyone watched, fascinat
ed, as she poured some of the contents of the bottle into the cup. She smiled at Klimat again and put the bottle down, then selected another bottle. She carefully allowed two drops of this to fall into the cup, then put the second bottle down. Now she reached for a bowl and picked out a few crushed seeds, dropping them into the cup.

  Smoke began rising in wisps, and she put the cup down. “Stand back,” she commanded Vosgaris who did so with alacrity. He watched as she repeated the process with a second cup and placed this on the other side of Klimat. Smoke was rising more rapidly now, not thickly, but with a smell that Vosgaris found vaguely discomforting. He stepped right back to the door, Thetos next to him. They exchanged looks, then resumed their fascinated vigil.

  Metila now selected the last of the cups. Into this she placed the contents of a second bowl, crushed and shredded dried leaves, then added some of the liquid from bottle one. She mixed it, sniffed it, then smiled again. “Drink,” she commanded him.

  “Go to the abyss, whore,” Klimat gasped, trying not to inhale the smoke. He had a bad idea that if he did something horrid would happen.

  “No, you will,” she said, then slid further up so that her knees were either side of his head, and she clamped it. Klimat struggled but her legs were stronger than they looked. He spat at her; the spittle landed on her cheek and oozed down to her chin. Slowly, smiling, she wiped it off and made a curious symbol on his forehead with it. Now she grabbed his nose and squeezed it hard, clamping it.

  Klimat shook and gritted his teeth, keeping his lips firmly shut. Metila kept as still as she could, waiting, the cup poised. After a few moments, during which Klimat’s face went redder and redder, and his eyes bulged even more, he finally couldn’t hold out and sucked in air. Instantly the cup’s contents went into his mouth and her hand slammed over his lips, trapping the liquid. Klimat struggled and shook but she was blocking his air, and he swallowed.

  She removed her hands and he spat out what was left, glaring up at her in hatred. She smiled in triumph. “You talk soon.”

  “What did she give him?” Vosgaris said in a hushed tone.

  “Don’t ask me, I’m just a pretty face around here,” Thetos said.

  Vosgaris stared at him for a moment, then shook his head in bafflement and went back to being an onlooker.

  The smoke spiralled up to the low stone ceiling, and remained above them like a haze. Metila took a small draught herself, then indicated that the tray could be removed. Vosgaris hurried forward, grabbed the tray and beat a hasty retreat.

  Klimat’s heart was beating furiously; he didn’t like the fact this woman was astride him; he’d heard rumours of her, and was beginning to understand that they were right. She scared the life out of him. She had slid back so that his head was free. He looked at the Governor. “Nothing’s working – she’s a fraud!”

  Thetos shrugged and folded his arms. “Lovely night for a chat, don’t you think?”

  “You’re mad,” Klimat muttered. He looked up at Metila, sitting there watching him intently. “What are you looking at?”

  Her mouth opened to reveal a series of jagged, evil teeth. A deep hiss came from her and a forked tongue flicked in and out. Klimat screamed in terror. Metila’s hands raised up and her nails grew longer, curling into talons. Her eyes grew red and the pupils shrank, and the room began to shake. Klimat gibbered. This was a demon from the pit of fire. Even as he thought that, the ground all round the table fell away, tumbling down, down, down, to be replaced by a glowing pit.

  “Now, mortal,” Metila’s hissing voice came to him, “you will be taken down to the pit and devoured every day for eternity!”

  Klimat screamed. “Noooo!!!”

  “Then tell me and you not go down – look into pit.”

  Klimat twisted his head. Rising up from the flames deep below were dark shapes – demons. They were cackling with evil laughter and telling him they were coming for him. “I’ll tell!” He began babbling, shouting out everything he knew. His voice rose as the dark, slit-eyed demons came closer. “Stop them!”

  Metila raised a hand and the demons halted, fury emanating from them. “You said he was ours!” one accused her.

  “No! He not for you, unless I say!” She turned to Klimat. “More!”

  Klimat stuttered out the rest of what he knew, then burst into tears. Metila pointed to the demons. “Go! Return to pit!”

  “Nooooooo,” the demons defied her and began circling. Metila hissed, her eyes slits themselves, and sent a burst of energy at them, forcing the unwilling shapes down, screaming in rage, deeper and deeper back out of sight. She clapped her hands and the pit vanished, and she sank onto her hands, head bowed.

  Thetos and Vosgaris stepped forward, concerned. Metila was soaked in sweat, shaking with effort. Thetos picked her up gently and cradled her. She looked at him through sweat-filmed eyes. “I did well.”

  “You did fantastically, my love,” and he kissed her on the forehead. She smiled and closed her eyes. “I sleep.”

  Thetos nodded and looked at Vosgaris. “Remember, not a word to anyone, or you won’t be worrying about the emperor stretching your innards all over Makenia, I’ll do it myself.”

  “I’m not going to say anything, Governor! Not a single word.”

  “Good. Arrange for that poor bastard to be taken to the mines. Best he’s well away from here by the morning – if he’s got a mind left.”

  “What did she do….oh, you don’t know either, sir.”

  “No I don’t and I don’t ever want to know. Whatever it was – it scared the piss out of him – look,” he nodded to a huge damp area around Klimat’s loins.

  “But – all she did was sit across him and order him to talk – he was terrified. I saw nothing that could possibly do that! It must have been the potion.”

  “Perhaps, but Metila won’t ever say,” Thetos said, looking at the sleeping woman in his arms. “She’s so beautiful. It’d kill me if she ever went.”

  “Governor – she has some kind of hold over everyone.”

  “Mmm,” the governor nodded. “And she’s so misunderstood, because nobody has ever met anyone like her. Go, Captain, get that man out of here and away. Then get to sleep. We have to receive the emperor in the morning – and you have your name.”

  “That I do – thanks to Metila,” he said, looking at the gently breathing woman, the eye liner running down her cheeks through the sweat. Thetos took her out of the room, leaving Vosgaris to call the guards in to untie the prisoner and take him to the sulphur mines of Makenia. If he was lucky he would die a quick death.

  The next morning everyone was up early. Town criers were announcing the imminent visit of the emperor and people began running from all corners of the settlement to the town square. The militia were already there, lined up, spears ready, forming a corridor through which the emperor and his entourage would come.

  Vosgaris sat in Thetos’ room, his eyes gritty. He hadn’t slept much through the night, and was wondering what it had been that had terrified Klimat so. He and Thetos had seen nothing, but the prisoner had suddenly begun screaming and babbling out everything. The captain had never seen anything like it. Thetos had merely shrugged – Metila was just as enigmatic to him now as when they had first met.

  “Why not tell the people before now that the emperor was coming? I mean, nobody has prepared anything!”

  Thetos grunted. “Think about it Captain. If I had then it would have been likely our little rodents would have scampered into their little holes and we would then never have found out what we have. By leaving it to the last moment I think we’ve achieved quite a coup. No noble will now go from the city, now the emperor is known to be coming here, so if any do then it’s a deliberate insult and punishable.”

  “Ah, and so is here ready for the plucking?”

  “Like a fowl,” Thetos nodded, a toothy smile spreading across his face.

  “What of Metila?”

  “Exhausted. She won’t surface for most of the day. Doing
what she does takes it out of her. I don’t know how she manages to handle that energy.”

  Vosgaris grunted. “I still worry the emperor is going to be displeased with her about the news. People won’t take too kindly to the fact he’s been unfaithful, and Metila may get a lot of unwanted attention.”

  “We can handle it. She’s a tough one, if you’ve noticed. Anyway, let’s get ready with our finest ceremonial garb,” he heaved himself out of his chair. “Ah, you’ve not got an alternative, have you?”

  Vosgaris shook his head. “I’ll wait for him here.”

  “As you please.” Thetos called for an assistant to help dress him, and Vosgaris wandered back to his room. He packed his few belongings and then visited Hendros and Arkanin. Arkanin was still too unwell to travel and Hendros was reluctant to leave his friend behind, but Vosgaris pointed out he was in good hands.

  It was not long after that the entourage entered Turslenka, via the Eprosian Gate. Astiras was in the lead, waving to the cheering crowd, and by his side, only slightly behind, came Argan, much to everyone’s surprise and delight. He, too, waved, imitating his father. Behind them came Kerrin and Panat, both on equineback, then the two wagons containing the equipment and non-riders. Amal and Mr. Sen sat in the first, the young Bragalese girl wide-eyed at the scene. She had never been away from Bragal, and this was a huge new adventure for her.

  Thetos met the imperial party on the steps of the residence, and after a brief greeting and an even quicker imperial review of the militiamen, they filed into the building.

  Vosgaris stood, nervously awaiting the arrival of his master. Astiras came stamping into the room, his eyes appraising the smartly stood captain. “Ah, here you are, Captain. The Governor tells me you have news. You look terrible.”

  “Thank you, sire. We know who is behind the spreading of the affair and why.”