She leaned over, grinding her hips into Chad’s and placed her lips next to the lad’s ear and whispered, “Your queen loves you.”
She let her breasts gently touch his back and could feel the heat of his skin where the gold threaded necklace she wore parted. She slid her hand along his face and down his side as she sat erect.
A diabolical grin filled her face. She lifted the small knife and plunged it deep into his shoulder. The young lad cried out.
The dragon knife came to life, its wings flapping wildly and its teeth ripping through his flawless skin. She cut quickly, slicing the skin from his back and peeling it free, as if she was skinning a mule deer.
Her eyes were filled with lust and glowed amber. She cackled to herself while she worked, stopping every few seconds to use the goblet to collect the blood that was now flowing freely from the wound and ran in rivulets down his side. In a matter of seconds, she had peeled the slab of skin free. She tossed the knife to the side where it returned to its prior shape.
She held the newly cut skin papyrus up to the light, inspecting it. There were no tears or flaws. The demon gods would be pleased.
The lad was pale now from blood loss and his voice was fading. Yet, he still praised his queen. She rolled the skin up and wiped her hands on her legs cleaning them while she convulsed in ecstasy. It took every ounce of focus she had to force herself up. She was consumed with power and lust and was in the mood for more than writing a spell. She shakily stood up, her knees and thighs trembling. Grabbing the skin and goblet, she moved quickly to her dais, leaving the young man to die.
She knelt down a few feet away, rolled the skin out on the steps to the throne, and began chanting. She had to work quickly, before the life force fled the newly harvested skin.
She dipped her quill into the blood and carefully drew the symbols on the skin from memory, modifying them to suite her needs. She had worked on the spell for decades, refining it, perfecting it. Each symbol required a chant. She worked methodically, placing the new summoning spell on the skin. When she was done, she admired her work. She stood up, waiting for the blood to dry. The writing, red at the onset was now dark brown and soon became black.
She opened the book, held the still dripping skin close to the binding near the front of the book, and sang an ancient song that had cost her dearly to learn. Thirteen tiny four-fingered demon hands reached up, grabbed the new page, and pulled it tight into the binding. The new skin shriveled and dried, becoming like every other page in the book.
She looked down at the young lad whose eyes were staring off into the distance blankly. His death would have meaning. She grabbed the goblet and drank down the remainder of his blood, enjoying the feeling of the warm salty liquid sliding down her throat. After wiping her mouth with her bare arm, she raised her hand, and wove a spell until her hand glowed translucent from the casting. She had to shield her eyes from the bright light it emitted.
She set her hand in the center of his back and watched the spell take effect. At first her hand smoked, but soon his skin started growing in from the sides until his entire back was healed. She rolled him over and chanted. After she pried his mouth open, she pressed her lips to his and let the spell flow into his body. She fed more of the Dark Lord’s magic into the lad and felt their bodies rise up off of the floor as the evil magic took hold. She took another deep breath and exhaled it into his mouth, the purple and sickly green threads passing from her lips to his. Knowing time was of the essence, she hastily continued until she heard him gasp for breath.
She pulled her lips from his and pushed herself erect as their bodies sank back to the floor. She motioned for two servants, calling them by name and they came running, prostrating themselves as they slid to a stop at her side.
She swung her leg off of the boy. “Take Chad to the bed chambers next to my room. I will reward him tonight.”
After she finished her healing spell, she added a short sleeping spell to let the lad rest and smiled to herself as she watched the servants carry Chad off. She was not an unnecessarily cruel person, she just had unusual needs.
Lifting her hands to the sky, she spoke. “See how your queen rewards those who serve her without question. Chad lives, and tonight he will make love to a god!”
She scanned the room, watching the looks of astonishment and awe on the faces of slaves and servants alike. She nodded to herself.
The staff was already busy cleaning up the floor from the mess. The three girls, already wet from cleaning the floor after the demon left, were on all fours wiping up the remaining traces of blood. In a short time, the room appeared as if nothing had ever happened.
She went to retrieve her robe when her foot slipped on an errant drop of blood that the girls had missed, causing her to wobble as her foot slid out from under her weight. Her face turned slightly serpent-like as she turned hissing at the girls and lifted the nearest off the ground in anger using shear will of magic. Struggling to regain control, she pointed to the mess. The frightened girl turned her head to see. Her toes dangled several inches above the floor and her body shook in terror, knowing that her master would kill her for her carelessness.
“Lick it clean,” she thundered, letting the magic go, and dropping the girl to the floor.
The young girl, barely fifteen, scrambled to reach the spot on floor and licked the mess. The queen lifted her foot, and the girl looked hesitantly for a second before rushing over and licking the bottom of her foot clean.
She grabbed the girl’s chin and stared into her eyes. “Make sure that never happens again!”
“Yes, my queen. It will never happen again,” the girl replied with trembling lips, lowering her gaze and prostrating herself on the floor.
The queen’s face contorted in a cruel smile. “Good, because it is not good to make your queen angry.”
The girl quaked, her entire body shaking uncontrollably. “Yes, mum,” the girl murmured softly, crawling backwards on all fours back to the wall.
The master replaced her robe and cinched it at the waist. She grabbed the book and headed back to her chambers to reward the lad for his service. She wasn’t sure why she seemed to be losing control of her temper as of late. It was uncharacteristic of her, she prided herself with never losing control . Unusually, she was quite patient for being such a powerful god. Considering her erratic behavior as of late, she wondered if perhaps it was caused by some of the research she had been doing into the dark arts. She shrugged. It was more likely the stress she was under as her plan came to fruition. Yes, she was quite certain that was the cause. Everything would get better once her plan was in motion.
Traitor
Near midnight, the Master woke from her restless dreams. She slid out of bed, taking extreme care to not disturb the young man who had pleasured her repeatedly that evening. She grinned to herself; a little magical ‘enhancement’ goes a long ways.
She looked at his fine form laying there on the bed, knowing well that he would age prematurely and die in a few years, the cost of the magic she had used to make the demon spell she needed for her plan to succeed. For now, he appeared healthy, young, fit; but soon all of that would change. By then, he wouldn’t be here in the castle; she would have charged him with a quest in the realms and sent him on his merry way. The others would be none the wiser.
She threw her cloak around her shoulders and pulled the belt tight. She reached behind and pulled her long hair free, flipping it over her shoulder. She stepped silently to the tall armoire and let herself out of the room by opening the hidden latch that allowed access to a narrow cobweb-filled passage. The hinge rotated silently, having been well greased with tallow.
Of course, the latch was hidden by clever design, which required not only pushing a hidden panel button, but also pulling a drawer partially open. It was also protected by strong magic that killed instantly. Even the short passage was heavily warded. She could feel the strands of magic on her face as she walked the short distance between the rooms. She bare
ly hesitated in her room, stopping only to retrieve the book of Rah’tok and place it under her robe. It felt warm and alive against her skin, feeling like a long lost friend. She didn’t want to give it up.
She left her room and walked barefoot down the cold empty halls heading directly to the lower areas of the castle. She lit no light and used her memory of the halls to guide her way. She walked in the opposite direction from the used part of the castle; this was the old part of the keep, unused, forgotten, and unexplored. Her feet left scuffled prints in the thick dust accumulated over centuries of neglect and desertion.
As she descended the ancient stairs, following the curved stairs ever lower, she could smell the still lingering miasma of the dungeon. The odor was a permanent part of the stonework, and even after centuries, the smell was still overpowering. She could feel the spirits of those who died here, many still lingered, forcing her to ward herself against their calling.
She had discovered this passage during her early stay in the castle and had promptly forgotten about it for the decades that followed. Now, in her time of need, she recalled the nearly forgotten way and was using it to her advantage. She took a deep breath, savoring the smell of ... death.
She reached the agreed-upon rendezvous point, a narrow crossing between three hallways and waited. She wasn’t sure if she was early, or her contact was late, but the trip had not taken her as long as she had thought it would.
She supposed it didn’t really matter. One way or the other, she had to deliver the book, and her sources had arranged the meeting, saying that this creature was the most dependable they could have hoped for. She supposed she was lucky that some still remembered the days when wizards ruled.
She didn’t know how long she waited, but her contemplation was broken by a gruff cough. Deep in the bowels of the fortress, the Master met with a small, cloaked figure, whose face and body were hidden in the shadows. She walked toward the figure.
“What’re ye about?” came the question.
“I have a book I wish to distribute,” she said in reply.
“I don’t read much, never found much need.”
“The written word isn’t for everyone.”
“Surely ain’t for me.”
“I didn’t come for you. I think that there are others who may find this ancient tome of great interest.
A short silence followed.
“Well then, I be guessing you’re my contact. Did you bring the agreed upon coin?”
She pulled a heavy leather bag of gold riggens from her cloak. “Two hundred riggens, as previously agreed upon.”
She stepped forward to hand them over.
“Close enough.”
She pulled up short and stopped in shock, unaccustomed to being ordered around. She felt her temper rising and fought to regain control.
“It’s best if ye don’t know who I am,” he muttered.
“And why would that be?” she asked snidely, for she feared no man.
“It’s fer me own preservation, not yours! I be risking a lot to help ye here.”
“I risk plenty myself. This book is priceless.”
“I could care less about yer book; I do this for the cause.”
“And the money,” she replied tartly.
“... and the money,” came the reply.
The Master found it amusing that this elf-thing was worried about her seeing him. She already imagined she knew what he looked like; her magic had shown parts of his face in her dreams, the eyes mostly. She was amused enough to go along with his request. He knew better than to double cross her. Her reputation for swift and utterly cruel justice was well known in these parts. She could be generous, but she could also be venomous in retaliation.
“Set the book down over there,” he pointed at a rough-hewn ledge. “... along with the coin and step away.”
She walked to the ledge and removed the book from her robe. She set it and the red cloth in which it was wrapped, on the small rock outcropping. Finally, she set the coin bag on top. All as he had instructed her to do.
“Make sure you put this in the Keep where the Break ... er ... boy can find it. Only the boy—understand!”
“You have my assurances,” the man said. “I know where the boy goes and where he studies.”
“I don’t want assurances, I demand compliance. If any other finds this, you will be held accountable.”
The man grunted his acknowledgment.
She turned to leave and walked farther down the hall before casting a shroud of invisibility over herself and backtracking to the rendezvous point.
She watched while the withered old elf grabbed the coin, opened the bag and bit one of the coins. Satisfied, he set the bag on the floor and made neat stacks as he counted his money. He grumbled to himself all the while.”
“Can’t be too careful ...”
“Better not be shorting me, that’s all I can say.”
The coins clanked as he continued to stack them in groups of ten. He double-checked biting every fourth or fifth coin.
“Should have asked for more.”
“Two hundred one. Well, better for me.”
She had to roll her eyes; she knew she had slipped the extra coin into the bag. Let the greedy little elf think he was getting the upper hand.
The elf was right about one thing, he should have asked for more coin, although to most, two hundred riggens was a fortune, almost ten years of good trade wages. Little did he know that if her plan succeeded, the gold coins would be worthless. She grinned at the irony of his greed. On the other hand, she doubted that the coins would last that long and was reasonably positive that the majority would be wasted on gambling, strong mead and women.
After he finished counting, he grabbed the coins by the handful and dropped them into a leather purse that hung dangling over his shoulder, pulled the drawstring tight and closed the flap. Next, he lifted the heavy book up off the ledge, carefully placing it in a burlap bag, which he swung over his shoulder.
The elf’s hood fell back, revealing his face for a brief instant before he quickly grabbed the hook and pulled it forward and tight. He pulled a long flat blade free from his belt and held it out, peering down the long passageway in both directions. He wrapped his heavy wool coat tight about his body and walked down the draft hall in the direction of the wind.
The one known as the Master was shocked at what she had seen. She would not have thought that it was possible if she had not seen it with her own two eyes. She watched as the little man walked off into the darkness, all the while, she chuckled to herself. It was a strange world.
Collin stepped out of the hidden cave into the cold night air. He stood for a long while, checking to make sure nothing moved before he started across the field toward the tunnel he knew existed under the Keep. He exercised extreme caution when he crossed the bridge, watching his feet as he stepped across the rotted and collapsed logs that formed the broken down bridge that he knew was but an illusion. He barely noticed the glamour shift as he crossed, morphing from the dilapidated inn to that of the Keep. He turned every few strides and cast a gentle magic to hide any tracks he may have left in the nearly frozen dirt.
He pulled his cloak tight and his hood drawn down low as he moved silently, avoiding the road and sticking to the short shrub that lined the winding road. He found the hidden tunnel, pulled back the loose branches that obscured the opening, and stepped down into the stone entry that led back into the Keep. His first breath immediately filled his senses as he noticed the air become stale and dank, filled with the smell of mold and stagnant water.
It wasn’t so much an entry as it was a long forgotten escape tunnel, sealed up long ago when the Keep had become a fortress and a haven. The stone was damp from seepage and felt cool to his touch. He didn’t know how deep the stone was, or how far to either side the wall reached, but he knew it was thick enough that it had never been breached during the great battles.
He dug into his cloak and pulled out a brass key on
a string, unremarkable other than the single line of runes carved into the metal. He grasped it in a tight-fisted hand and held it in front as if brandishing a sword at an imaginary enemy. Carefully, he pushed his hand into the stone and grimaced at the strange feeling, it felt like he was sticking his hand into cold, thick mud. He pushed further, using the artifact he had found accidentally, to allow himself to walk through both the stone wall and the wards. He felt his body change and twist as he pushed his way through the thick well-mortared wall.
He felt panic set in. It became difficult to push forward, and his lungs were already burning from holding his breath. He imagined dying there, stuck in the rock, unable to struggle free as his need for air became so unbearable that he took a breath. Of what, he didn’t know. Would his lungs fill with rock, or would he just suffocate. Gritted his teeth, he pushed harder, redoubling his effort.
He remembered finding the artifact while cleaning one of the old storage rooms, under order of the Keeper. He hadn’t know what the artifact was at the time, but found it interesting nonetheless. Vaguely he remembered shoving it into his pocket. Later he accidently found out what it did, when he had tripped and fallen head first into a stone wall. To his surprise, he didn’t crack his skull open, but found himself laying half in and half out of the wall. This led him to experiment with the artifact. He eventually found that it also allowed him to circumvent all manner of wards.
It wasn’t long after these discoveries that he had been approached by the men in white. He had been taking liberties, using the artifact to escape the confines of the Keep. He hadn’t thought about it as being disobedient; so much as he yearned to explore the outdoors. After spending his entire lifetime behind the confining walls of the Keep, he yearned desperately to explore and see the world.
His clandestine journeys got longer and more risky as time passed. On one of his trips, the men in white had approached him. At first, he was thrilled for their companionship. They were new and he had few within the Keep he cared to keep company with, but as time passed, they talked more of the politics and of the choking rules of the Guild.
The Third Sign Page 42
