The Pillaging of an Empire

by Amanda Clover

  A howl went up from the host. The sound shuddered into Selina where she hung. She stared, horror struck as fangs gnashed and claws crashed. As ten thousand eyes burned with the vision of humanity’s fall.

  “You can’t!” Selina screamed as if in defiance of the monstrous howls. “You can’t unleash these monsters!” Selina gasped. “Your people-“

  He grabbed her, his fingers digging into her cheeks, his eyes terrible in their power. “Don’t you dare speak of them!” the Duke of Ashes snarled. “My people are dead!

  “Look!” he shouted, gesturing over the ruins of the old city, their broken buildings lit by torches. “Look at my people’s city! Look at what’s left of them! My humanity? All that live conspired by deed or by silence to exterminate my blood. You think I want to belong to those men? Those soldiers who rode through these streets, cutting down men, women, children? You think I want to call them my brothers?

  “They called us monsters!” the Duke of Ashes cried, his cloak flapping out about him like shadowed wings. “Then fine! Let me be the monster. Let me bring the creatures that haunt their nightmares. Let me be all that they claimed my people were. These are my people!” he cried, gesturing at the hordes gathered in the dark. “And I will lead them against those who sought to enslave them. To conquer them. I will send them across this empire in a red tide of blood and flame!”

  Selina stared in horror. “You’re mad!”

  The Duke of Ashes laughed. “As if you are in any position to moralize with me. You’re nothing but a hired killer. A mercenary working for the highest bidder, slaughtering beasts and monsters while men engage in their bloody crimes. Where were you when my people were hung on these very stones, screaming and crying as they were used as target practice? Where were you when the Red Witch’s husbands and maid were slaughtered by bandits? Where were you when Ghostheart was driven into the slave ring and forced to fight for the amusement of his ‘masters’?”

  Selina’s mouth opened. Trembled. The Duke of Ashes looked down at her with contempt, and she could only bow her head.

  Cold metal touched her chin. The Duke lifted her head with the silver eye atop his cane. His voice was soft now, yet it stabbed her the deeper for his quiet tones. “You’re nothing but a murderer. Same as any. Your order hunts down monsters? Well. I think it high time you repaid them. Maybe I’ll give you to the gertlings. Or the orcs. Or maybe the bullmen. Their numbers do need swelling.” He smirked, his hand resting on her toned stomach, his touch like fire. “Your womb will be used for a purpose. To bring forth once more a world of monsters!”

  A roar went up from the savage throng. Ghostheart stood out, proud, his arm around his curvy slave, she leaning against him with adoration in her dark eyes. The red witch laughed, eyes mad and pitiless, crackling with power. Selina trembled.

  “Wait!”

  Silence fell with stunned suddenness. The Duke of Ashes paused. He looked down slowly. Selina followed his eyes and gasped as Girki crept into the firelight.

  “Master,” the gertling cried, bowing at his feet. “Please! Spare Silver-hair!”

  “What’s this?” the Duke said coldly. “Another beaten slave?”

  “No,” the gertling cried, raising his head. “Master. Please! She save me from slaver. She be good to Girki. Please! She not hate monster. Please! Spare Silve-hair!”

  The monstrous host howled at this claim. Gibbered and snarled with anger at the interruption, surging against the stones like they were a barrier holding them back. Girki trembled where he kneeled, looking up at the dark figure before him alone, knowing fate lay in the hands of the man.

  The Duke of Ashes stared thoughtfully at the gertling, tapping the tip of his cane against his chin. He tilted his head towards Selina, his eyes dark and intent.

  “…Very well.”

  The Duke of Ashes raised his cane, magic snapping off the tip. Selina gasped as the shackles around her wrist opened, dropping her to the ground. She tumbled to the hard stones. Pain shot up her knees and palms. Again that cold touch, the silver eye atop the cane tilting back her head, following the dark wood to the Duke of Ashes hand and to his pale face.

  “Mercy for those who see the truth,” intoned the Duke of Ashes. “I will set you free, huntress. You spared this goblin the fate of a slave. I suppose there must be something for that. So go. Return to your island and your mistress of the hunt. Tell them what you’ve seen here.” His eyes flared in terrible madness and he raised his voice to be heard by the gathered horde. “Tell them what they will soon know. For all their vaunted claims and efforts. For all the blood they’ve spilled, they’ve failed. The monsters of the world rise again. And humanity will feel their wrath.

  “Go,” he said, flicking his cane from her chin, pointing to a gap between the stones. “Go, and know that you owe your life to a monster.”

  Selina stared at the gap among the stones, the monsters beyond slowly parting. She pulled herself to her feet, wincing in pain. Naked, unarmed, she stared at the gap. A gentle hand took hers. She looked down at Girki, the gertling staring up at her. He tugged her, and blankly, she followed.

  Despair chilled her. Failure sapped her strength. She didn’t raise her head as she entered the ranks of the monstrous throng. She winced at the sound of teeth snapping, claws scraping. The muttering of hate and vengeance from among the bestial crowd as she walked through their ranks. Though they hated her, they knew that to touch her would be to defy the Duke of Ashes.

  Girki drew her past them all and into the cold woods. Her horse nickered among the trees. The sight of it gave her a drop of courage. She slowly climbed into the saddle, wincing as her naked mons pressed against the chilled leather, her hands finding the reins. She looked down at Girki. “Thank you.”

  “You go now,” the gertling said softly. “You ride hard. Monsters go after. Master says will not, but some do. They hate Silver-hair.”

  “Come with me.”

  The gertling looked back to the standing stones, the bonfire burning within like a torch clutched in a palm of rock. He shook his head. “Me monster. Me stay. My place with them.”

  Selina’s heart clenched. She nodded, not able to find the strength to argue. To dissuade. Not after what she’d seen. Not after what she’d heard. “Goodbye, Girki.”

  “Bye, Silver-hair.”

  Selina heeled her horse. With joy the horse pounded away from the broken city of ruins and the hosts gathered in their shadows, bleeding out of the night and gathering in their throngs at the standing stones. Selina kept her eyes forward as long as she could, but as she crested a hill, she dared a glance back.

  The dark city lay below her, the standing stones rising from their edge and out of the dark forest. The moon shone silver in the sky. The bonfire threw its crimson glow against it, the dancing flames illuminating a figure standing in its midst, facing the horde.

  “Tonight! The age of man ends!” the Duke of Ashes cried to the things of the dark. “Tonight begins the age of the monster!”

  The creatures attending him screamed with joy into the night. Selina shuddered, her very soul quailing at the sound. She turned and rode hard. Rode for the west, the wind against her back carrying the bite of winter’s chill, and the sounds of dark things coming into the day.

  < TABLE OF CONTENTS | NEXT UNCENSORED COVER >

  Book Four

  Bondage of the Demons

  By Amanda Clover and Jay Aury

  @amandasmut

  Cover artwork by Deilan12

  Map of the Empire of Istanov

  Pleasure at the Inn

  On a corner table, Tania Maga’s glasses gleamed like silver moons. Her robes lay pooled on the floor, mingled with cast off armour and underclothes. A single candle burned across the tavern’s quiet room, its flame fluttering and dancing as if to some private song.

  The slap of flesh echoed through the room. Tania’s long brown hair bounced with every roll of her curvy hips. She gasped, arched, full, generous breasts swaying in the light. S
weat gleamed on her body as her hungry pussy swallowed her lover’s cock. “Yes! Yes! Fuuuuck!” Tania moaned.

  Beneath her, Lorik grunted, hands tight on her soft hips, his cock ramming into her with every thrust of his hips. The Rose Knight’s broad frame was licked with pale scars that puckered with every flex of his chest as he drove his cock into her. Her own skin was flawless as marble and soft as cream. She was soft to his hardness, yielding to his every thrust. The inn’s cheap bed creaked and groaned beneath their rutting. She keened, crying out.

  “Yes! Yes! Oh fuck. Lorik. Lorik! I’m… I’m… nnnnaaaa!”

  She screamed as she came, her pussy tightening, squeezing his cock. Lorik cried out, tensing as he came inside her in a sudden flood of his seed. Each pulse of his cock sent another ripple of pleasure through her body.

  Tania remained, poised above him, her body shuddering with the tightness of her orgasm. Then, wilting as Lorik’s cock softened within her, she fell onto his chest with a gasp.

  For a moment they laid together, her spread atop him, their gasping breaths mingling. Finally she rolled off him and nestled against his side, kissing his cheek.

  “Mmm. Not bad, Lorik,” she murmured.

  Lorik laughed breathlessly. “Is that all?”

  “Why?” she asked, eyes sparking in the dark. Lazily she reached over and picked up her round glasses, perching them back on her face. “Expecting some effervescent praise of your masculine prowess?”

  He snorted. “Come here.”

  She squealed as he rolled atop her, silencing her gasp with a hungry kiss. One she returned with interest. His hand caught hers, fingers intertwining, with passion. She felt his cock against her mons, hardening once more. She broke the kiss, eyes sparking. “Mmm. About ready to go again?”

  He shook his head. “What would the high father say if he knew what you were about?”

  Her lips curved in a cupid’s bow of innocent desire. “Lorik. Oreth the Maker doesn’t deny his priestesses the pleasures of flesh. After all, he birthed both the gods of virtue and vice. If anything,” she moaned, stretching leisurely, baring more of her curvy flesh for his inspection. “I’m being honest to his teachings.”

  Lorik shook his head. “I doubt the high father would like that talk.”

  She shrugged lazily. “He doesn’t know everything.”

  “Oh? And you do?”

  “Why else would I be put with your mission?”

  Lorik grimaced a little. She sighed, rolled her eyes. “Oh stop. It’s probably nothing. Ever since that Duke of Ashes rumour started, there’s been all kinds of stories coming from the peasant holdings. If you read your histories, you’d know monsters periodically rise up across the lands.” She sniffed. “It’s all academic and tied to the phases of the moons and planets. The Red Mages hardly know everything.”

  “Still…”

  “These rural places are always filled with cults,” she continued lazily. “Offshoots who end up tricked into praying to some boggart or a wulfen masquerading as a wild god. The villager who saw that ritual in Milshire probably just saw some rural cult. There’s dozens of them in east Istanov.”

  His doubt seemed to calcify. “Reports spoke directly of demon worshippers.”

  She laughed. “How many know how to summon a real demon? It’s probably some witch who figured out how to summon an imp and is using it to threaten the villagers? Besides,” she hummed. “That’s why you have me along. I know over a hundred catechisms for banishments. I wrote my thesis on the infernal realms. I can handle anything some bumpkins dragged out of hell’s sewers.”

  He sighed. “You’re probably right. Still.”

  Tania rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m right. Now come on,” she murmured, eyes flashing as she rolled her hips, rubbing his cock against her cum-slicked pink gash. “I feel you’ve got another round in you.”

  A smile broke through his guarded reserve. “Alright. Oh, but before I forget…” He rolled off of her and the bed, rising. Tania rolled onto her side, watching his hard form pick his way across the room and towards his cast off clothes to dig through a pouch. Interest puckered her lips as returned to her a moment later. “Give me your hand.”

  Bemused, she obeyed. Her eyes widened as a golden loop was gently pressed onto her finger. “Oh,” she breathed, drawing back her hand, raising it over her head to admire the gleam of the golden band.

  “A little something,” he said, straddling her once more. “To remember me by when we ride off.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Tania breathed. She glanced back to him, recovering some of her haughty mirth, though tenderness warmed her eyes. She reached out, pulling him down. “Here. Let me show you my gratitude.”

  Lorik hummed as he stretched over her, his lips meeting hers in a hungry kiss. His muscular body found its familiar place between her soft, creamy thighs. Her legs wrapped around his waist, drawing his cock into her once more. She moaned into his lips as he began to thrust, a lock of brown hair flicking before her eyes. She arched beneath him with a hot pang of pleasure. She knew too well they wouldn’t get many chances like this once they were on the road. And she intended to make the best of their chance now.

  Her eye again caught the gleam of gold, and she smiled once more.

  The Village

  The forests of Istanov were far from comfortable in the best of times.

  Yet as they rode through the silent woods, Tania felt another chill. A different one. She clutched her horse’s reins tightly. Even through her furred coat, through even the white and red robe she wore beneath, she felt the air rub against her, oily and foul. She reached up and touched her medallion of Oreth’s Hammer that hung around her neck. She winced, the amulet warm and softly glowing.

  Not a good sign.

  She rode in the midst of the Rose Knights, their cloaks forming a scarlet barrier between her and the looming trees. The road was dirt, cold and dry, puffing beneath the hooves of the horses as they ventured on. She glanced to the side as Lorik nudged his horse closer to her. She caught his eye and mustered up a confident smile, straightening her back to show him she wasn’t afraid.

  But she was uneasy. A feeling shared among the men, judging by their nervous glances at the dark trees. It was an unease that grew more pronounced as they rounded the bend and the village came into sight.

  Silence hung heavy in the town. They passed a sign with Milshire etched deep in the wood. The buildings rose around them, slanting roofs shielding windows that looked out blindly on the single street running straight through their midst. The riders followed along the road, catching the movements of their reflections in the silent windows. Hooves clicked and reins jangled. Leather creaked as the Rose Knights in their red cloaks looked about themselves.

  “Swords out,” Captain Starrik shouted from the front, his voice echoing among the homes.

  Steel hissed on leather as swords were drawn, flashing in the pale sunlight.

  They rode towards the village’s town hall, rising with its peaked roof over the rest of the village.

  “I don’t like this,” Lorik murmured.

  Tania laughed softly, but it sounded tinny to her ears and she swallowed it.

  They rounded the street, fanned out before the town hall, and stopped. Someone swore, another gasped.

  Tania stared in unblinking horror.

  A corpse hung across the main entrance of the town hall. Black chains suspended him above the doors, arms outspread, an expression of horror on his face. Dark sockets looked out from his face. His black robe marking him as a priest of Norv fluttered in tattered rags around him. Nails had been hammered through his chest and into the stone behind him, his blood forming a brown streak down the wall.

  “By the gods,” Lorik breathed.

  Tania frowned deeply. Her stomach roiled but she fought back the taste of bile.

  “Dismount!” Starrik commanded.

  As one the knights slipped from their steeds. Tania did as well, her robes fluttering around her.
“Lorik! Priestess! Here.”

  Tania glided forward, her fur trimmed cloak rustling as she joined the captain at the base of the town hall’s steps. Sword in hand, the captain ventured forward, Tania close along with Lorik. The rest of the knights fanned out in accompaniment.

  “Take the door.”

  Lorik hurled his shoulder into the heavy portal. With a bang the doors swung open.

  Death wafted out.

  Tania gagged, pulling her sleeve to her mouth and wincing at the stench. Starrik paled but the old captain lowered the visor of his helm and pushed inside, Tania and the rest of the knights close on his heel.

  It was oppressively dark within. Tania murmured a spell, a glow emanating from her holy idol and illuminating the room. She almost wished she hadn’t summoned the light. The receiving area of the town hall had been daubed in crude designs and paints which littered the walls and scrawled across the floors in a mad tangle that hurt the eyes to look on.

  “Forward,” Starrik said grimly, his greaves thudding on the floor and through the silence. Tania followed to the end of the room and the second set of doors. Captain Starrik shoved these open as well.

  Tania stepped in after him and stopped, staring.

  The room where the town once met had become a charnel house. Hooks hung from the ceiling from long black chains. The windows were boarded up; the walls, floors and ceiling wrapped in the cruel paint that seemed burned into the walls. The vile symbols trailed down, gathering in the center of the room to form three elaborate designs, the wood beneath each warped and darkened. A podium where the mayor once spoke to the town stood, empty. It formed a dark pillar in the middle of the room, a book lying open on its surface.

  Here lay the villagers. Most were garbed in black robes. A few were not. Blood pooled on the floor in sticky puddles. The stench of death, blood, and the raw scent of brimstone thickened the stagnant air. Clouds of bloated barn flies swarmed the bodies.