Inserting the tip of the Doctor’s knife through a link in the chain, she gave an experimental twist of the blade. With a sharp retort, the tip of the dagger broke off, and a low groan escaped from the satyr as he slumped in defeat. Tanys cursed silently the folly of the plan that left her bereft of her enchanted blades, standing naked in the harem baths of depraved blood wizards. She braced a foot against the edge of the onyx dais and gave the chain an angry tug. A few cushions flew wildly into the air as she stretched the chain taught, but her only reward was the sullen glare of the satyr who had obviously tried that before.
“Your chains are strongly magicked,” Misha said, “We do not have the power to break them, but our master surely could, if we can but reach him.”
The satyr lowered himself to sit, facing them, on the edge of the dais, hands on his furry knees. His hooves kicked petulantly at the water, and he wore a mournful expression on his face. Tanys’ gaze chanced to fall on the V of fur that crowned the juncture of his shaggy thighs and the Satyr’s ample male organs, lying heavily upon the stone lip of the bath between his legs. She felt her cheeks flush and hastily glanced away, taking an unconscious step backward.
After a long moment of thought, he spoke again, “As I said before, you’ll never make it… not like that.”
“What do you mean?” Tanys asked.
“There are guards between you and the spell-binders,” he said, “and there is no way to sneak past them.”
“I’ve dealt with guards before.” Tanys answered coldly.
“No doubt!” the satyr laughed melodiously, “but they will not all die quietly, and then more will come, and the masters will be prepared for your assault. Then you will die… if you are lucky.”
“How then?” Misha asked, “There must be a way in. We don’t have much time.”
“You would make a lovely pair of harem girls,” the satyr grinned.
“Fair enough,” Tanys growled, “how do we disguise ourselves?”
“I’d start with a bath!” the satyr chortled, “Your stench is burning my eyes.”
Tanys glowered at him, but realized he was right. Her long black hair had dried to a matted mess that still reeked of the foul waters of the grinding pool, her body still streaked with blood and sweat. Backing cautiously away, she laid her chipped dagger upon the floor of the shallow pool and reclined in the steaming waters to wash herself, keeping the knife within arm’s reach and the satyr in plain sight.
Misha settled in beside her, lifting warm water in her cupped hands to pour over Tanys’ hair, and scrubbing the grime from Tanys’ limbs. There had been a time when Misha’s offer to bathe her had been hotly rejected. It felt natural now, the girl’s touch on her body. Tanys wondered for a moment if Misha shared her master’s power to bewitch.
The satyr leaned back with a bored smile on his sensual lips, but his glittering eyes betrayed his interest as he watched them bathe. Tanys held his smoldering gaze, her thoughts still scattered by lingering effects of his musky scent. Strangely, his attention did not bother her, and she closed her eyes as she leaned back into the cradling arms of the southern girl, floating on her back as the water rose around her until warm waves lapped against her ears and cheeks. The warm bath drew the aching from her limbs, and even the stinging cut across her back seemed but a faint distraction now.
Misha’s deft fingers worked through Tanys’ long hair pulling out the tangles as the last foul traces of the previous battle washed away. Misha gently wiped a smudge from the corner of Tanys’ mouth, and Tanys opened her eyes again. Misha looked down at her with adoring eyes.
“You’re so beautiful,” Misha said, then leaned close and kissed her warmly on the lips.
Tanys’ eyes widened as Misha released her. Unsupported, the raven girl’s head suddenly sank beneath the surface of the pool, and she came up sputtering a curse. Misha retreated hastily with a mischievous grin, giggling as she ducked beneath the surface of the pool and swam away. Tanys almost gave chase, but then turned, hair dripping in her eyes, to glare darkly at the satyr who sat, slapping his furred haunch, and roaring with laughter.
“Now what, beast-man?” Tanys grumbled.
The satyr took a few moments to regain his composure before answering, “The old blow-hard on the wall over there will get you dry.” He indicated the carved demon face that the harem slaves had used to that end previously.
“Then what?” Tanys asked shortly, retrieving her knife and mouthing a silent vow of revenge toward the southern girl who had surfaced near the outer edge of the pool, her bright eyes and short red hair wetly slicked to the sides of her head, giving her the appearance of a playful river otter.
“Then you go through that doorway and get dressed,” he pointed toward the narrow arch through which the harem slaves had passed, “oh, but don’t forget to dust yourselves on the way through. They all do that. The guards will expect it.”
Tanys raised an eyebrow, questioning, as she pulled back her hair from her face, wringing the water out with her hands.
“You’ll see,” he said, rising to return to his bed of cushions, “just be ready for its effects. You’ll need your wits when you face the blood-lords… however you intend to do that.”
Tanys was about to ask more, but Misha had already risen from the pool and crossed the floor to the stone face, calling for her to follow. Tanys joined her as the hot breath from the stone mouth blasted over them, wicking all moisture from their skin and hair. The wind died away, and the two girls moved to pass through the narrow archway into the golden light beyond.
“One word of advice,” the satyr called after them, “The talismans they wear… the blood magicians… they are powerful wards against magic. Try to get your hands on one of those if you wish to survive.”
“Thank you!” Misha said, repeating the strange hand gesture with which she had greeted him earlier.
“I wish you luck!” he cried, “Remember me when you have that wizard of yours handy!”
Tanys nodded her thanks and followed Misha through the door. They stood now in a short passageway leading into darkness. On either side of the passage, large purplish mushrooms sprouted from the walls. Glowing golden spores occasionally fell from beneath the fleshy purple caps forming luminous drifts on the floor through which many bare footprints marked the passage of the harem slaves through the tunnel.
Misha looked quizzically at Tanys and wondered aloud, “Dust?”
Tanys shrugged and reached up under one of the mushroom caps, hoping to acquire a bit of the luminous dust. The moment she touched the fungus, it gave a startling lurch, and with a loud “Poof!” it sprayed forth a cloud of spores, covering both of them.
Tanys coughed, gagging as the spore cloud settled around them. A taste like honey filled her mouth, and she realized they were both now covered from head to toe in glowing golden dust. Misha smiled a sheepish grin, and Tanys shot her a sour look. They continued through the passageway, careful not to touch anymore of the strange mushrooms. Tanys recalled the satyr’s warning about the effects of the dust, as her vision grew slightly blurred. She paused to regain her bearings, but the hall seemed to keep moving around her. Reaching out a hand to steady herself, she touched Misha’s shoulder. The warmth of the girl’s body shot through her fingertips like lightning, spreading up her arm. She could feel Misha’s heart beat faster beneath her skin, and the girl’s breath quickened at Tanys’ touch. Misha’s eyes narrowed dreamily, her lips parting in a sigh as she regarded Tanys’ hand. Slowly, deliberately, she drew back her shoulder so that Tanys’ fingers slipped down her chest. Tanys found herself biting her lip as Misha’s breast pressed warm and full into the palm of her hand with every heave of the southern girl’s bosom. Tanys’ cheeks flushed hotly as the soft tip of Misha’s nipple brushed lightly across the crease of her palm, sending a little shiver through her body.
With great effort, Tanys mustered the will to snatch her hand away, ashamed at the growing ache in her loins. “I’m sorry,” she stammered
, “I just…”
Misha nodded fervently, but could only manage a little moan in reply. Her narrow hips shifted uncomfortably, knees together, her hands balled into fists at her side, and a pained expression on her face.
“Let’s…” Tanys continued, trying to collect her scattered thoughts, “Let’s keep moving.”
The air seemed cooler and clearer in the chamber beyond the dusting room, which contained a number of wooden racks that held various articles of clothing. Tanys and Misha froze upon realizing that they were not alone. A trio of slave girls were still getting dressed. From their tousled hair and the many fingerprints left in the spores coating their lean golden bodies, it was easy to guess that they had not proven as resistant to the aphrodisiac effects of the golden dust as Tanys and Misha had been. Still they paid no heed to the intruders, finishing their preparations with the same glassy-eyed indifference common to all the harem slaves.
Tanys and Misha quietly moved to do the same, surreptitiously watching their unwitting teachers to learn the best way to impersonate them. Tanys frowned to learn that the costume of a harem girl consisted primarily of a long piece of crimson silk, held in place by a golden chain belt, that stretched tightly between her buttocks, underneath and up in front, folding over to form a tiny skirt, barely covering her sex, and a pair of ribbon-laced sandals. Tanys clipped back her raven tresses with a golden band and groaned when Misha presented a stick of rouge she had found nearby. Tanys had seen its use in the hands of the harem girls.
“Do we have to?” Tanys whispered.
“We are slaves after all,” Misha answered in mock regret.
Tanys gritted her teeth and stood motionless as Misha thoroughly rouged her nipples and lips. The southern girl handed Tanys the rouge stick in turn, raising her pert breasts in readiness and puckering her lips as she batted her eyelashes winsomely. Tanys frowned and shook her head, grateful that the effects of the spores had begun to wear off. She quickly dabbed two splotches of red paste on Misha’s budding nipples and rubbed a crooked smear across her pouting lips. Misha rolled her eyes in frustration and finished fixing her hair while Tanys tried to find a way to conceal her knife. She settled for slipping it through the loop of a tight necklace behind her head that her long hair might conceal it. It was not the best solution as too much movement might dislodge the hidden blade, and it could not be easily drawn without the use of both hands, but it would have to do.
Disguised now, they moved quickly to follow the three harem girls out through one of several doorways leading from the dressing room. From the luminous footprints on the paneled wood floor, it seemed that all of the dusted slaves had passed that way recently. They stepped lightly down a broad, spiraling stair to emerge on a landing roughly thirty feet below the dressing room. A wide corridor, flanked by many doors, stretched off into the shadows beyond the light of the witchfire torches. Tanys was suddenly very glad she had worn the rouge.
Two ghast guardsmen loitered indolently at the base of the stair. One guardsman leaned against the corridor wall, a heavy spear untended beside him, his fingers buried in the wavy blonde hair of the slave girl kneeling before him on the floor. Soft moans and sucking noises accounted for his distraction. The other ghast leaned on the haft of his spear and looked on with a greedy leer, waiting his turn. He looked up to see the latecomers, his eyes narrowing in thought.
“You there,” he called out, and Tanys stifled a sigh of relief that his finger fell upon one of the harem girls, “I’ll be requiring your services for a few minutes.”
The indicated slave girl obediently moved to comply. “The rest of you,” he continued, “off to the kitchen! The food’ll be getting cold.”
Tanys and Misha glanced nervously at each other as they followed the two remaining blood slaves down the hallway. They soon joined several more slaves in a low-ceilinged, smokey chamber filled with the smells of roasting meat and strong drink. A stooped old ghast with a wooden leg shouted commands at the kitchen slaves, angry at the lateness of the newcomers, but unwilling to waste much time scolding the nearly mindless servants. A golden platter, heaped with half-cooked slices of beef was thrust into Tanys arms as the one-legged cook roughly shoved her back out the door. Tanys stumbled, arching her head back to hold the hidden knife securely in place, and wincing as scalding hot juices from the roast sloshed over the edge of the swaying platter and dribbled down her tummy in fiery rivulets. One glance back showed Misha casting her a worried glance as she lifted a large earthenware jug. Then the door swung closed, and Tanys stood alone in the hallway.
She had no idea which way to go as she stood there in the shadows. She looked back up the hall to the lighted landing where the two ghast warriors were even now lacing up their breeches and sending the two slave girls on their way with hearty slaps on their backsides. Tanys prayed they wouldn’t notice her standing motionless in the dark hallway, realizing the golden spores coating her skin made her glow like a firefly. She watched the men anxiously out of the corner of her eye, trying not to draw their attention as her mind raced. Suddenly another slave burst through the kitchen door, and Tanys gratefully fell into step behind him.
The young man carried a tray of what appeared to be large pickled eyeballs, though belonging to what creature Tanys could not guess. She noted that the male slaves were afforded no more modesty than the females, and chanced an admiring glance or two at his firm hindquarters as she followed him down the dimly lit hall. Another flight of broad steps carried them further down still, at last arriving at a vast, half-circle chamber before a pair of massive ironbound doors. Two enormous and grotesquely muscled warrior slaves guarded the door, their faces concealed behind hideous devil masks. Yard-long swords hung at their hips, but they moved only to swing open the doors, allowing admittance to Tanys and her glassy-eyed companion.
The pair stepped inside, and the doors closed behind them. The council chamber of the blood lords was a great, oval room with a high, domelike ceiling and raised outer ring surrounding a sunken floor in the center. Around the outer ring, a high table stretched like an oblong horseshoe, its open end toward the far end of the chamber, where an even larger set of ironbound doors stood guarded from within by two similarly monstrous blood slave swordsmen. Witchfire chandeliers filled the hall with an ominous green light.
Noisily seated all around the table, looking down upon the sunken central floor, sat two score ill-countenanced men in stained crimson robes. About their necks hung strangely wrought amulets of various designs but all carved of similar obsidian stone. The blood mages bantered and feasted on the foodstuffs piled high before them, drinking deeply from wine cups, seemingly oblivious to the slaves that served them, excepting the few whom they groped or forced beneath the table in service of a more intimate nature.
A small group of the men had descended to the lower floor and were gathered closely together in heated discourse. Seemingly frustrated, they parted to mount the short steps leading back to the upper terrace. Then Tanys’ heart leapt, for there in the center of the room where they had been gathered, a solitary figure knelt upon an iron grate that spanned a deep pit that glowed with the ruddy light of an unseen fire far below. The man’s hands were bound behind his back, and a shimmering golden matrix of glowing runes surrounded his body like a shield of flames. Carathan the sorcerer looked up at her and winked.
Chapter 12
Tanys circled the room like a ghost, stepping up to serve any mage who took notice of her from the platter of beef. Most ignored her entirely, having already eaten their fill, but some found room for a little more. She cringed as a mage ran a greasy paw up her backside, but the meat she heaped upon his scrap-laden platter proved savory enough to distract him from her body. She quickly moved away, casting another glance toward Carathan who sat, immobile, kneeling on the iron grate and seemingly unaware of her presence. She hoped that he had seen her and that it was not just a trick of her imagination.
She glimpsed Misha across the room. The southern girl served wine
from the large earthenware urn, affecting the glassy stare of a blood slave, but she risked a little nod when Tanys caught her eye. The plan was uncertain. They could only hope to watch for Carathan’s move, and, when it came, throw the balance in his favor by whatever means at their disposal. She hoped that she might find the leader of these mages and kill him quickly, hopefully throwing them into disarray at a crucial moment, but she had not yet managed to identify the man with the most power in the room.
She tried to lurk near the end of the hall farthest from the large entranceway, reasoning that the leader would probably place himself furthest from any perceived path of attack. Unfortunately, not all of the blood mages had taken their seats, and no one chair showed any sign of being more ornate or taller than its fellows. Suddenly, she realized that a nearby mage was calling to her and motioning towards her.
“You, meat girl,” he growled impatiently, “here, now!” His voice wheezed slightly, and from the look of him, getting her attention had exerted more energy than he usually spent in a month.
Tanys forced her face into a passive expression and crossed the floor to his side. She leaned far across his ample girth to shovel slabs of rare beef from her dwindling supply onto his plate. He watched with sweaty anticipation, his eyes flickering between the steaming mound of cow flesh and Tanys’ pendulous breasts that swayed dangerously close to his glistening lips. As she turned to go, he hooked a sausage-like finger in the belt of her loincloth and tugged her back toward him. Tanys fought hard to hide her revulsion and bowed her head, least he catch sight of the fire in her eyes.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” the blood mage mumbled through his greasy lips, hungry eyes darting up and down her body, “of course you are. I’d remember you.”
Tanys Defiant Page 12
