Sword of the Tyrant

by Cebelius

  The axes tumbled away and started burning the grass where they landed. Terry leaned over Ivar, looking down into the tiger-man's wide eyes as his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

  "Lungs'll start working again in a few seconds, but for now it's light's out for you."

  Terry caught Ivar's arm and used it to flip the man onto his stomach before pinning his arms to his sides and putting him out with a carotid choke.

  Once he was sure the man was out, he moved Ivar into the recovery position before glancing over at Shy. "Mind tying him up? He could wake any time and I'd rather not deal with him again."

  Shy nodded and lifted her hand. A few moments later, there were so many vines wrapped around Ivar that the only thing Terry could see of him was his muzzle.

  He hesitated a moment, then said, "He can breathe under all that, right?"

  "Relax, Tee. You asked me to hold him, not kill him."

  "What did you learn?" Mila asked.

  "I'd say, but it'll be easier to just show. Now that I know what I'm dealing with I'm pretty sure I can fix it, or break it, depending on your point of view.

  Terry slid his pack from his shoulders, then grimaced as he looked around the clearing. Given what he'd seen, they were surrounded, and it would take serious effort to cover all that ground with a spell.

  Prada examined his thoughts, then said aloud, "It would be easier to simply take us to them."

  "Yeah, maybe, but I don't want to wind up unable to escape if shit goes sideways."

  "The radius of the spell will be limited. Leaving the space should be sufficient. Surely you do not believe we would need to?" Prada asked.

  "It has nothing to do with whether we can win or not, but whether we can win without killing. We're trying to rescue those guys, remember? I'd rather run away than kill any of them."

  Another thought occurred to him, and at first he grinned, but that grin faded.

  "What?" Mila asked, tail lashing. "What was that thought?"

  "We could wait for morning and break the enchantment on all those guys at once, have them turn on whatever is doing this ... but she'd probably kill them herself if she couldn't get them back under control."

  Again frustrated, Terry glanced over at Ivar, realizing that even though he felt he knew what was going on, he still needed more information.

  He walked over to the bound man, knelt next to him, and put a finger on his muzzle.

  "Wake him."

  Prada reached into the unconscious man and jolted him awake. Ivar struggled, but only briefly before mumbling, "Okay, this is a bit humiliating."

  "You should be used to that by now. So when you were with her, could she see us? Hear us?"

  "No."

  "What's her name?"

  Ivar was silent for a long moment, then asked, "You will not hurt her?"

  "Still in love?"

  "I cannot help it."

  "Figures. I won't hurt her unless she forces me to, and I doubt she's got that kind of power."

  "She ... does, Terry. I do not know why she is hiding, but it is not out of personal weakness."

  Terry quirked a brow and glanced around. His women had all gathered to listen to them, and he turned back to Ivar and said, "Describe her."

  "Large. Very large, lower body of a serpent, but from her hips up ... beautiful. She has six arms, raven-wing hair. Eyes ... her eyes. She looked strong, and carries curved swords."

  Terry looked up again. "Okay, anyone know? I've seen snake people with two arms and four, but six? Isn't that a little ridiculous?"

  "I know what she is," Mila said quietly.

  "Well?" Halla asked, beating Terry to it.

  "She is a demon. A literal demon. They are called Liliths. Their ability to kill is second only to their power to seduce, and they kill very, very well."

  "I suppose it would be pointless to ask what the hell a demon is doing here," Terry said sourly. "Probably got here the same way Prada did."

  "A good guess," Prada put in. "Mages are famous for outreaching their grasp. I do not know much of anything about the plane demons come from, but it is a decent bet she does not want to be sent back."

  "Terry, how is she hiding from us?" Mila asked.

  "I don't know how, but she's ... ahead of us in time."

  "In the future?"

  "Technically, but not really? Hard to explain, but I'm pretty sure they're only off from us by like a second. When I fight, I can ... see a little into the future. Not enough for it to matter outside of what I'm immediately doing, but when I was fighting Ivar I could see them as shadows, all around us."

  Terry looked back down at Ivar and asked, "When you beat me, what were you supposed to do?"

  "I was to stand in the place where she brought me to her last time. She would do it again."

  "Perfect."

  He told them his idea, and when no one had anything better to offer, began his preparations.

  It took no more than a moment for Terry to go to each of his bonds and inscribe his initials along their inner forearms. Once he was done, he pulled one of the precious bottles of Laina's milk that he had left, drank it, and watched as the slices and nicks in his hand closed.

  That done, he retrieved the still blazing axes from where they lay in charred circles of ground and rolled his shoulders as he said, "Okay Prada. Do it."

  He did his best not to concentrate on the way his body seemed to flow like taffy as Prada remolded it. Growing a tail was the worst. The feeling of his spine pressing down out of his backside felt intensely ... personal.

  She could have simply covered him and shifted her own substance, but they'd only have one shot at this. They needed to get it right, down to the last detail.

  When Prada was done, Terry stood as an exact replica of Ivar.

  "You ready for this?" he asked.

  Prada took over his mouth, answering with her own voice. "I am. I am pleased you are willing to trust me so much. This is the first time we have shared a body I control. You must remember that you are an observer for the moment, Husband. Do not attempt to do anything. Simply relax. I will take good care of us."

  Prada crouched, touched Ivar, and a flood of memory that was not his own crashed through Terry.

  With nothing to do but absorb what came to him, he understood a bit more about Ivar, and shivered at what he saw. The man had never loved anyone, not even his parents. They had been no better or worse than others in the village, but something in him had been broken from the start. Something was missing, and had always been missing. He did not relate to anyone, or feel for them.

  He had spent his life going through the motions, concerned only with what was best for himself, because no one else mattered. Their joys, their sorrows, their loves and hates, their belief. All of it was just a game for Ivar, and his only purpose in life had been to play that game for whatever he personally could gain.

  Ivar was more than just an oathbreaker. He was a serial killer. He had often gone hunting on the steppe, looking for and killing tauren in ones and twos that he caught out beyond the protection of their herds, leaving the corpses to rot. He had also killed more than a few of his own kind on hunting expeditions. He had a sack of trinkets from his kills hidden away a few miles from the village.

  He had even lied about the depth of his betrayal of the caravan. He and his brother had both survived. Then he had killed his own brother, believing the tauren wanderers would wipe out the caravan for him.

  Behind it all though, there had been a deep and abiding loneliness.

  He had stayed in the village because he was already something of a favorite among the single females. Aside from the thrill of killing, sex had been the only joy worth having, and it was obtained easily and often. The lack of attachment was his preference. He wanted his reputation back because it would be convenient and he would not have to work as hard, not because it meant anything to him personally.

  Worst ... there was no Miri. There never had been. The one Ivar wanted had b
een Mila. She was one of several who had never accepted his offers, rebuffed his advances, shown no interest in him at all. Her scorn had cut what pride he had, and he had pursued her, sought her as a prize, a challenge.

  The enchantment was there as well. It flooded Ivar with feelings he had never had, feelings he did not understand, but they pleased him and so he did not resist. He accepted them whole-heartedly despite the fact he knew it was false because he knew there was nothing like that for him anywhere else.

  I was right about him, Terry thought.

  'Yes, Husband. But unlike Asturial, Ivar truly is broken. I am not sure I could fix him, even if I wanted to. He was wrong from the start. Shall I kill him?'

  Absolutely not. I don't want any part of who he is to stay with you any longer than necessary.

  A doppelgänger kept the memories of those they killed permanently, but stealing memories from the living was temporary, and they faded after a few weeks.

  Ivar was a superlative liar, a skilled hunter, an expert tracker. He was a bowyer and fletcher, and knew a great deal about surviving on his own on the steppe, the forest, and in the mountains. The skills would be useful ... but the cost for them was too high in Terry's mind, and Prada did not contest him.

  Mentally, Terry held himself still, and Prada stood tall, the axes held out from his sides as she strode toward the spot where the one true love of Ivar's life would call him back to her. Prada seemed to join him in the cheap seats then, and he was awed as he realized just how complete her disguises really were.

  22

  The Pied Viper

  Some part of Terry had expected all their preparations to fail, so he was more pleased than afraid when he felt the tingle across his fur that Ivar's memories recognized as bringing him across the veil.

  There was a fire burning in front of the cave here, and the missing tiger men were scattered around the clearing. Most of them looked to be lounging, but a few were performing menial tasks. The smell of roasting meat was strong enough to make his mouth water.

  As he took a closer look, Terry noticed that the men around him seemed a bit dull-eyed, and those that were moving did so lethargically.

  The light from the fire was sufficient for the clearing in front of the cave, and cast warring shadows in amongst the trees.

  But as the memory of Ivar looked up and smiled at his lady love, Terry realized that he and Prada would probably be needing the magical bonds he had given the others.

  Having this woman described to him had done her no justice at all.

  The object of his quest was lounging, but even so it was obvious she was truly massive, easily out-bulking Halla even at her largest. She was reclining on her own coils, and her scales were principally tan with black striping. Her upper body was dusky, and her face was angular but principally human in appearance, with dark eyes and a rich head of black hair that fell past her shoulders. Her clothing seemed comprised principally of silks in gold and green that were diaphanous and didn't at all fit the cooler weather up in the mountains. Her breasts were couched in golden cups from which beaded gems depended on fine chains, and the silks of her hips were held down by chains made of jewels and coins. She had finely tooled leather belts crossed over her hips as well, and the four curved swords sheathed there were most definitely not ornamental.

  Her middle two arms were kinked back over the coil she was leaning against, her lower arms rested on the hilts of a pair of her swords, and her upper right hand held an open book that fit neatly in her palm as she raised her upper left to brush some of the hair away from her face and said, "Welcome back. I must say, I did not exbect you to survive."

  Her voice was mellow, but the accent was one Terry wouldn't have been able to place if her clothes hadn't practically screamed Arabian. She rolled her r's and several of her words took a moment for him to understand because she dropped extra vowel sounds between consonants.

  Her fingers flexed, closing the book with a sharp snap. She offered it languidly and one of the tiger men near her took it and bowed as she straightened. Reclining, her head had been even with his. Now, as she came closer, she rose up to a height somewhere between ten and twelve feet tall.

  'How far do we carry the charade?' Prada mentally asked him.

  "The axes, served well?" the huge woman asked as Terry made the conscious effort to take control. Now that they were here, he didn't want to hide.

  "Not so much," Terry said. "I'm not Ivar."

  Prada inwardly sighed. 'I suppose that answers that question.'

  As the demon woman's eyes widened in surprise, Terry said in careful English, "By the blood I have shed, I summon the marked to me!"

  By the time he finished his spell, the woman had all four of her swords out in her upper two sets of arms, and her lower hands were coated with blazing fire.

  'Try, Husband. You promised. Also bear in mind that you do not have much mana left. A protracted fight will likely not end well.'

  Prada's thoughts were subdued, and Terry knew she recognized he might not have a choice about the fight. He inwardly reassured her he would give it a shot even as he outwardly said, "We don't have to brawl unless you force it."

  He felt profound relief as Isthil, Mila, Halla, and Shy all phased into existence around him, readying their own weapons.

  "How!?" the woman screamed.

  "My women and I are versatile. Are we talking or fighting? I prefer to talk, but as you can see, I'm ready."

  "I doubt that very much!" the woman hissed as — all around them — the tiger men took up spears, bows, hatchets, and other weapons. "These men will all die for me!"

  "Yes, they will, but only if you fight. I'd prefer to take them back with me, to where they belong."

  "They are mine!"

  "You stole them. Give them back, agree to leave them and theirs alone, and maybe I can give you something in exchange."

  The woman's arms splayed, showing the flats of her four swords as she glared down at him. Her lowest hands still burned, but she hadn't attacked, and Terry took that as a good sign.

  "What can you bossibly offer me? Who are you?"

  At his mental prompting, Prada reversed the transformation, though she was careful never to leave his mobility compromised, until he stood — albeit at seven feet tall — before her. He wore the green silk gi and pants that Laina and Euryale had gotten him what seemed like forever ago in Florence, and Prada completed his look as her usual red silk sash.

  "My name is Terrence Mack. I'm a template. What's your name?"

  "Human," she breathed, ignoring his question. "A lie."

  "Prada, pull out. Let her see you."

  She did, though she pointedly took the form of Charlie, and draped her arms over his shoulders as she looked up at the demon from just behind him.

  "I'm human, yes, though surprised you know the term. Were you ever on Earth?"

  She shook her head and the flames coating her lower hands winked out as she reversed the grip on all four of her swords in a synchronized movement that was so fast the blades whistled as she inverted them. She sheathed them without looking in a further display of both amazing dexterity and spatial awareness, her eyes glued to him. "No, but I hear stories. Hmm ..."

  Terry shook his head as he realized that the demon in front of him seemed to be getting more beautiful, and he tipped his head back and said, "Prada, you need to keep up whatever you were doing earlier."

  'Sorry, yes, Husband.' Her thoughts were clear in his mind, but his impression of the demon's beauty didn't fade.

  Her gaze was piercing, speculative. Her lower arms shifted akimbo to her hips as her middle pair folded under her breasts. Her upper right pressed to her chest as she said, "My name. Najaha. What ... brought you here, Terrence Mack?"

  Terry glanced around at the small army of tiger men surrounding him and his women and indicated them as he said, "These are my brother's people. I am here to bring them home."

  "These are mine," Najaha said, eyes narrowing as she spread all
her hands to indicate the whole clearing. "Not one was forced."

  "We both know that isn't true. I experienced the compulsion myself, and almost killed someone I love trying to get here."

  Najaha slid her lower hands suggestively down her hips as she cupped sizable breasts with her middle pair while her upper arms spread wide, "I am beautiful. That mortal minds fail for my charm is natural."

  "Maybe, but you being on Celestine in the first place is not. If you want all natural, I'll send you back where you came from."

  Najaha reared up and her lower four hands returned to her swords as she flatly declared, "I kill all of you first!"

  Terry tightened his grip on the two flaming axes, their heads lifting a bit as he said, "I doubt it."

  "You not fast. Not strong. Not bowerful. I kill you, these others fall quickly."

  "If you did manage to kill me I promise you would not survive the fallout," Terry said quietly. "Look, Najaha. Here's the deal."

  He spread his hands, indicating the men all around. "These dudes? They don't belong to you, and you can't keep them. I don't know what you're doing to them but they don't look like they're going to last much longer anyway if you keep it up. Let them go, and you and I can come to an arrangement. If you know what I am, you know I'm worth more to you than they are anyway."

  Najaha's expression turned sly as she said, "You fool, sbending time you do not have on embty threats. You think because I do not attract females, that I cannot?"

  Terry blinked, then looked around. Isthil, Halla, Mila, and even Shy were all gazing rapturously at Najaha.

  Prada's inner voice pretty much summed up his own thoughts.

  'Oh. Shit.'

  "Yeah. I am not sure why I didn't see this coming," Terry muttered ruefully as he struggled to think of a way out of eating the shit sandwich he'd ordered.

  "Here is better idea," Najaha crooned, waggling one finger in the air next to her face as she glanced up in thought before looking down at him with a wide smile as she spread her lower set of arms. "I take these men."