Treasure Revealed

by A. S. Etaski

  I had to admit this was an excellent opportunity to make sure a rival died. If Jilrina and I somehow had been in this battle together, it would have been my high priority. I searched with my Sisters for the army’s brewers and menders, recognizable by the patch formed like a small bottle on their back. They were not all together at first, but we located them and called them to our side.

  “Very good, Sisters, I’m ready,” one younger brewer said after listening to our instructions. She pointed to a group of collected wounded three clusters away. “I’ll start there.”

  “No, you won’t,” Corpora Kiren said, stepping to stand chest-to-chest with her. She took a whiff of the cait with a familiar, leering grin. “You start with the group closest, Number Nineteen. Protect that trade agreement with the Fifteenth House. Careful that I don’t step on your heels.”

  The youth swallowed. “Y-yes, Red Sister.”

  Kiren pinched her ass on the way over, inciting a yelp, and the rest of us laughed. We followed the Corpora’s lead in the attitude, acting as their escorts and superior officer as I grasped for knowledge D’Shea had required I study. Identifying to which House each mender or brewer belonged was essential, as none could choose their own patients. Plenty attempted to try but all were stopped, and I was astonished at the frequency of the mismatches.

  Elder Rausery was right about watching the wounded.

  If they were conscious, a quick glance at them when they laid eyes on the mender told me whether it was a neutral pairing or a deadly one. The healer herself never gave it away.

  “Hey, Sister!” one of ours called. “Send me your healer, you can have mine!”

  It would become a frequent call among those in the red uniform.

  It took time for me to realize it, but my own damaged armor indicated that I had received a few injuries as well. I hadn’t felt them although I might have recalled receiving them, and the wounds themselves were already healed. This was the case for every Red Sister present; we appeared perfectly fit, and we needed none of the army’s resources whatsoever.

  I found among the wounded the same feisty cait who’d fought beside me. By chance, I stood in front of her with a mender. I watched her face and the others; they didn’t like this first choice. Some of them looked briefly afraid, vulnerable, but the youth scowled defiantly and spoke for the group.

  “Toss off a cliff, Fifth House,” she snarled, holding a bleeding gash on her thigh.

  I couldn’t help grinning, looking to the highest-ranked mender in the army—who had yet to heal anyone. “You heard her. Toss off. Send me the Fourteenth House brewer. She’s more competent.”

  It was pure pleasure watching this much-older female try so hard not to sneer at me. Instead, she sniffed at the rejection, muttering, “Gutter fringe,” as she was traded for a third time. The wounded before me all relaxed as soon as she was gone, some glancing in apparent gratitude at my scrapper, who maintained that winsome scowl.

  “Quite a reputation the Fifth must have,” I said.

  “Trudin only heals commanding Davrin, Sister,” one soldier volunteered. “The rest get a salve of her choosing, and you’re lucky if it doesn’t burn a hole to cripple you before it heals. Everyone knows it.”

  “Commanders find this amusing, I take it?”

  “They don’t have much pull to punish her properly, Red Sister. Fifth House.”

  “Right.” I looked at my fighter-cait directly. “You’re Noble, aren’t you?”

  She glanced around, realized the others would remain silent, and shrugged with a nonchalance reminiscent of when I first arrived at Court. “Barely.”

  ‘Barely’ Noble. From the Bottom Three, then.

  I studied her leg as we waited, and the replacement mender approached. The injury wasn’t life-threatening yet, but the youth wouldn’t be able to walk back to the city with her unit and it would only get worse from here. Her armor was covered with blood and black goo, and the design was common-level but reasonably made. Strands of white hair stuck to her forehead and temples and her hair had been tied in a tight bun before the fighting but was mostly undone now spreading over her shoulders. In the light, she had fierce, red eyes shaped a little like D’Shea’s, but wherein my Elder there was all calm and grace, this one was aggressive challenge and stubbornness.

  I made room for the tending female from the Fourteenth House and saw that they approved of her with unanimous, placid expressions. At last, I asked the wounded cait, “What is your name?”

  I watched her face heat up when the mender and a few soldiers chuckled, very softly. Then she cleared her throat.

  “I am Jael Aurenthietti, Red Sister.”

  She was a Noble, yes, but a Fourth Daughter and of House Aurenthin, the bottom rung of the Noble Houses at Twenty-Fourth.

  “Jael.” It felt nice on my tongue; a soft, sensual buzz through my teeth and lips before ending on a sigh as my tongue lightly touched the roof my of mouth. Jzahhl.

  “Not one to give up easily, are you?”

  She withheld whatever opinion she held of my small talk and answered. “No, Red Sister. Only the dead give up the battle, and I’m not ready to hang up my skin.”

  It was an odd twist on a common saying, but I liked it.

  Activity in the cavern was rising again, and these low-born Nobles were one of the last groups who must get to their feet. I saw they would make do with whatever leftover potions and half-used salves remained. Before too long we’d be pulling out, but I took the time to observe as much as I could of the aftermath of my first real battle.

  Logic suggested this cavern and its surrounding area would smell for spans. We had burned the three thrall masters to be safe but could not burn every dead body, or we would pollute and use up our air with results worse than the smell. I knew from simple talk that we depended on the scavengers of the Deepearth to clean up afterward, but it took time.

  Before we left it to that fate, scores of able bodies combed the battlefield for interesting objects; they investigated the bodies and checked the area for stragglers. With thralls such as these, there wasn’t much to loot, and we could only leave the enemy where they fell. We sometimes took our own dead back along with any slaves, but it depended more if there was a Davrin present who cared enough to do it. They were usually related to the dead but not always.

  “Ow,” Jael said, darting a narrow look at the mender even though she cooperated.

  “Ah, yes, my favorite of the six signs of life,” the Fourteenth smirked as she tugged a little firmer on the wrap, making the youth grimace.

  “What’s that?”

  “Complaining.”

  Jael muttered something about her Mother—either the mender’s or her own—but I didn’t catch it as I spotted Lunent Agalia signing high to me to reconvene.

  *Leave them.*

  I did without announcement, consciously resisting the urge to look back. It helped that the “Battle Buas,” as I’d overheard a few say already, were collected together with their female captain, waiting behind the reforming Red Sisters. Callitro perked up, smiling a little but managing not to show his teeth this time. Another wizard leaned over and murmured something to him, and he shrugged as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

  I must make time to visit him at the Wizard’s Tower.

  Rausery gestured that we were to leave. I assumed all was under control, and it was clear we wouldn’t be walking back with the army. We followed our Elder to the rendezvous point where we had appeared and then past it, heading deeper into the highest tunnel. Twenty-one of us, healed by the magic in our bloodstream, moved without any appreciable sound, weaving a confusing crawl through another two passages before we came upon a stone wall and a feeling familiar to me.

  A Ward. And an opening behind an illusion.

  I was correct on both counts as Rausery suspended the Ward with what appeared willpower alone, striding straight through the stone without stopping. The rest of us followed her, vi
gilant and in formation. After all the torches and glow-stones lit for the healers to do their work, it took time to adjust to a close, still, black space again.

  “Any change?” the Elder’s low voice asked, though at first, I knew not to whom.

  “Their bodies are healed and whole, Elder,” Lead Qivni answered, sounding tired and a little uncertain. “Deep in Reverie, perhaps.”

  “Not natural Reverie.”

  “No, Elder.”

  “Coma, or temporary mind-sludge?”

  “I don’t know, Elder, but there’s no reflex response.”

  Several bodies were blocking my view, and I moved to glimpse even a little of what I sensed. The three Sisters we knew had fallen were laid out within another onyx-inlay circle, Qivni and two of the other Red Sisters who had some mage ability, Dieri and Nyllel. All three looked baffled and wary, not a good sign.

  “Alright, Sisters,” Rausery said, “back to the Cloister. Maybe Varessa and Tarra can put their heads together.”

  Who?

  I did not have much time to guess as we were ordered to stay still inside the circle and wait for the Elder Sorceress to bring us back. In her time, she did. It was only when we all stood back in the Prime’s strategy room did I recall my Elder’s given name, as I hadn’t heard it since my trials.

  Varessa. Does that mean ‘Tarra’ is the—?

  “Congratulations, Red Sisters,” Prime said gruffly, looking just a little proud. “Your skills and your obedience to your Elders, to me, and the supreme communication of the Sisterhood defeated this invasion. This is why we are the best there is at what we do. There are no demons but us.”

  “No demons but us,” murmured more than a few Sisters in reverent answer, causing the Priestess to raise a white eyebrow.

  “We have three casualties, Prime,” Elder Rausery said, respectful but delaying celebration just yet. “Permission to move them to the cots as soon as possible. We need D’Shea and Lelinahdara.”

  “Casualties are inevitable in battle, Elder.”

  “I know this lesson well, Prime. They were psionic attacks. We must bring every Red Sister back from a battle, that is our law, but there may be a holdover threat undetermined.”

  The Prime’s face lost any trace of pride and became the one of which I had learned to be afraid. “Just kill them, Rausery. Destroy their bodies. Their willpower was too weak to withstand the Ornilleth. We can always recruit more.”

  “I agree with Elder Rausery, Prime,” Elder D’Shea spoke then, her voice rich, standing with poise and one palm resting on Gaelan’s shoulder. My closest Sister seemed dizzy and unfocused, kneeling with her legs under her between the Sorceress and the Priestess.

  “What’s that, Varessa?” the Prime growled.

  “I heard a voice not one of ours within the Priestess’ Weave. It was close to the time these three fell. I must try to determine who spoke to us. Perhaps it spoke to them first.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She, or ‘he.’ The voice may have been male.”

  The Prime bristled. “And?”

  “And it warned us not to touch the thought-flayer bodies after we’d poisoned them.”

  Other Sisters murmured, some nodding, all confirming their Elder’s claim. I nodded with them; I had heard it, too.

  “Davrin male?” the eldest Red Sister said with great suspicion.

  No…

  “That is to be determined.”

  As D’Shea seemed intent on speaking what the Prime didn’t want to hear, Elder Rausery chose then to break back into the discussion.

  “We’ve never tried to wake up those dropped by Ornilleth before,” our battle leader said, taking a step forward to stand before our Prime with a respectful bow. “This fight felt different. We were unified, more than we’ve ever been. I’ve never known so much of what was going on with the battlefield, with my subordinates. I think Varessa’s and Tarra’s methods are reaching a pinnacle we shouldn’t shy away from now. I want them to look at our fallen Sisters, see if we can recover them. Even three is a harsh loss to us, Prime. Recruitment and training take time.”

  My Sisters around me nodded in agreement. The Prime wanted obedience, and she would get that, but she didn’t miss the fact that nobody seemed to want to celebrate our victory just now as questions hung in the air.

  What about our three Sisters? Which of us fell? Can we get them back?

  “Move them to the cots,” the Prime commanded Rausery, then looked at the rest of us. “Restock your supplies and see to your equipment. Clean up, go to the Mess. Relax while you can, you’ll know when you’re next summoned. Get out of here.”

  We moved in roughly familiar units, although I rolled myself closer to the wall to linger for as long as I could until I determined that Gaelan wasn’t standing up to come with us. I saw when the Prime looked between Rausery and D’Shea and jerked her chin downward, dismissing them and herself officially while offering Lelinahdara a more reverent gesture on behalf of Braqth.

  “Report as soon as you have a theory, D’Shea,” our leader said, already walking toward a much smaller doorway at the back. “Or if any of those three ever wake up again.”

  “Come on, Sirana!”

  Cilyan snagged my arm again, and I caught Jaunda glancing my way curiously, gauging whether she was needed to enforce the Prime’s orders. Rather than disobey in front of her and so many others, I left with my Sisters to restock, repair, and replace, then finally visited the sluicers to clean up—

  And spread against the wall for a few who badly needed a release.

  “Take it,” she whispered, thrusting her Feldeu in hard. “That’s it, novice, squirm on my pole.”

  “Ngh!” I grunted, my cheek pressed to damp stone. I felt tits pushed to my back and the thick phallus sinking into my slit as Thena kicked my ankles wider apart.

  I wasn’t the only one penetrated under the cold water; there was a lot of grunting and fucking surrounding me, and this aroused me despite my distaste for Thena in particular. Although, I was the only cunt presumed to be available without verbally volunteering.

  Because I’m the youngest. Bottom rung.

  I could have tried to refuse her, to fight her off as Rausery and Jaunda had each taught me, but all of us beneath that cleansing water had been in the battle, and no one else had started a fight. No one had rejected another Sister after the serious threat we’d just faced.

  Thena wouldn’t be the only one, anyway. The endurance potions had worn off, and I hadn’t the strength to fight off four of them. Nor did Thena have strength left for much beyond driving fast between my legs.

  She just wants to cum.

  Jaunda watched on my other side, her own cock dripping water and being joyfully serviced by Lawret on her knees, but I caught a silent exchange between the Lead and Corpora Thena. Both our tugging exhaustion and my Lead’s hard eye were the likely reasons the Corpora and her favorites—Sisters Suna, Panagan, and Moria—merely took their turns in my cunt, relatively quick and not rough enough to injure.

  I managed to cum, crying out nice and loud to let them know that I had.

  “Yes! Ahhh, yes!”

  I thought Suna might have just finished up, or Panagan had just entered me. I knew it wasn’t with Thena; I heard her chuff in annoyance as I twitched, standing on the balls of my feet, my pelvic muscles milking another Sister’s cock, not hers. I heard Jaunda purr in approval and murmur to Lawret to suck harder. I was released with a well-ridden twat and a few hard slaps to my wet ass. After that group had left and Jaunda had pulled out of a swollen set of lips, she approached and leaned near my ear to speak.

  “Good work getting them all off, Sister. Keep being smart, choose your battles. Things’ll change.”

  I smiled a little, only sorry that both of us were too tired to go for a second round or, in my case, a fifth.

  After all that, after leaving clean and dressed and taking myself to the Mess Hall, I s
till wasn’t hungry. While sitting and attempting to eat, more of the battle returned to me in flashes, things that happened too quickly to absorb at the time. I remembered the water-weight in my head, the mental attack on me and Agalia and the others. That feeling like I was the one dragging them down, the belief that I was the rotten part in an otherwise robust body.

  Then I had heard the Tragar language, a gruff voice such as D’Shea told the Prime had been there. She and I may not have been the only ones.

  Instead of that revolting weight landing even heavier upon my back to defeat me, however, that voice instead broke the chains, freed us to think clearly once again. To fight back. To reinforce the weave of connection between the Red Sisters.

  What happened when we were all linked through that spell?

  Did I want to understand it enough to confess what had occurred between Kain and me deep in the wilderness tunnels?

  Move in and slit their throats, Rausery had said.

  ~No! Don’t!~

  I curled my fingers tighter around my fork, poking uneaten food on my plate.

  Contact with dying psions is dangerous.

  CHAPTER 2

  Given enough downtime, I might have hovered near Gaelan’s quarters, waiting for her to return. My thought was that she might need a Sister’s help if Elder D’Shea didn’t have time, and I could volunteer as the tender because maybe no one else would.

  Gaelan and I were the youngest Red Sisters and far from having earned the benefits of the Leads and Lunents, or even the Corporas. All of them would have—did have—Sisters falling over themselves to offer aftermath care, if for no other reason than status and having valuable ears to oneself for a moment.

  I didn’t have the time to volunteer, however. Barely a few marks and a magically mended uniform later, I was running errands for Corpora Cilyan and creeping around Sivaraus as if an Ornilleth invasion had never occurred, even as the Davrin on the streets talked about nothing else. There were bold, noisy spots of celebration happening at the Palace Court and various Houses, as well as the marketplace, but nothing cohesive. It was too early for the Valsharess to make an appearance and the Priestesses had yet to spin their own pronouncement of their essential role in preventing our populace from being dragged into the thought-flayer’s dungeons.