Sword of the Tyrant

by Cebelius

  "Ooh, six, I think? Berhabs eh ... seven. And the one I killed to make my boint with you. So eight."

  Najaha watched as the dryad went still, and she could sense that the two were communing mentally. She could still read his flickering emotions, and right now he was intensely conflicted. She knew the hatred she felt was mostly directed at her, but such hatred could be defrayed given time and opportunity. She knew he was aware of the depth of her devotion. He would come around. What she had done to him had been done with deadly intent, but he wasn't like her. She would be accepted, as long as she demonstrated her usefulness.

  His anger flared, then died, but the simmering hatred remained. The two continued to commune silently, and Najaha schooled herself to patience. That they were discussing her fate she knew, just as she knew now was not the time for questions.

  Then the sanguine devil arrived, and Najaha hissed despite herself. At Terrence's sharp glance she dipped her head and closed her eyes to the hostility she saw there. It was so painful, seeing that, knowing it was directed at her.

  "Sorry. Habits," she said quietly.

  "It worked," the little slime said, oozing up his leg and forming into a simulacrum of a silk sash around his waist.

  "Eat up," he said. "Yes, it worked."

  "You don't seem happy about it, ooooh, your new power! You wished for this?"

  "No. In the moment I just wanted anything I could get from Najaha, so I wound up with her most powerful asset."

  The slime's voice betrayed a bit of exasperation as she said, "You don't seem happy about that either."

  He shrugged. "Can't use it. On anyone. Ever."

  After a protracted moment of silence, the slime said, "Ah. Yes, I suppose you would feel that way. You are wrong, of course, but the argument isn't worth having now in either case."

  He stood, cradling the dryad in his arms absently as he started walking.

  "Terrence?"

  He glanced back at her, frowning, then shrugged and said, "Come on if you're coming. Get dressed first."

  He didn't wait for her, but she hardly needed him to. Najaha donned her clothing, picked up the pouch in which she kept her hoard and valuables, and caught up to him before he'd gone a hundred yards.

  Her length was such that even as she slithered next to him, her head came up to his chest. It felt right, and she already knew that he fit her well.

  "I useful," she said quietly. "You know the bower that holds me. Give me only a little: a few lives now and then. I serve you well."

  "You're a demon."

  "And you human. We both outsiders, yes?"

  "I don't set out to destroy people. There's a difference."

  "I not destroy them. I consume them. I must eat, just like you. Just because love is my lure not make me any worse than say, a fisherman. The fish might even know it is bait, but takes it anyway because that what it wants. Burhabs I better than a fisherman. Fish innocent. Men not so."

  "It's not the same."

  Najaha smiled. "It same. The difference only that you draw the line at intelligence. I do not. Food is food."

  "You're in love with food."

  She shrugged, spread four of her hands in a 'what can you do?' gesture. "Yes. It extremely berverse, but feels right. Your slime, Brada? Also in love with her food. We all slaves to something. Love not the worst collar to wear. I know that now. Before ... always an endeless hole I must fill. Now, you fill it for me. I think, though difficult in short term, satisfying you easier than satisfying me."

  She glanced at him, saw him gritting his teeth, and hid her smile. She would win him over eventually.

  She had time.

  26

  GD Genius

  The next week went by without anyone trying to kill anyone else or making a scene. The men who has survived Najaha's tender mercies were still severely weakened, and their recovery was slow.

  As the demon herself put it, she had been sapping their vital physical energies. The closest she could come to a more detailed explanation was that she was drinking in the nutrients in their bodies without bothering to physically consume and digest them. She had the ability to passively drain those within twenty feet or so, or could actively feed either conventionally — by killing and eating — or through the sexual act by means beyond even her ability to explain. It was simply a function of what she was. The weak and old had died, along with the poor unfortunate who had held Najaha's book.

  Ivar had also perished. The cause of his death, unintentional though it might be, lay at Terry's feet. Yet though he knew he should feel genuine regret, all he felt was hollow inside. Ivar's was just another body on the pile. That he had been a serial killer probably also took a bit of edge off the loss. He wouldn't get a chance at redemption, but that had never been something Ivar wanted.

  Terry didn't know what kind of predator had found him, alone and bound in the middle of the clearing, but whatever it had been left little behind. The vines constraining him had been torn apart, and far more blood than anyone Ivar's size could lose and live formed a trail that led off into the trees.

  He had told Dascha of the death, of the many hidden crimes and murder the man had committed, and revealed the location of the stash of trinkets they would find if they looked. She assured him the proper steps would be taken, and he'd done his best to put the oddly charismatic yet murderous tiger-man from his mind. He had a much more pressing concern.

  To say that Najaha had been unwelcome would have been something of an understatement. Rather than force the issue, Terry had asked her to set up her time distortion trick somewhere nearby. Since then, every day, at least one of and usually several of the women who had lost men to her had come to him, demanding justice.

  He had refused, and watching those women glare hopelessly at him had torn another piece out of his already shredded heart. Had it been up to him, he'd have slaughtered Najaha and been done with it, or at the least banished her back to wherever she'd come from. His word to Prada took both those options off the table.

  His women were split on the issue of what to do with Najaha. Prada wanted to keep her, and insisted that her powers and bond gift were of paramount importance.

  Mila also, to his great surprise, came out in defense of Najaha. It was only when Terry learned the demon had agreed to teach Mila new spells that he understood her motivations. When he'd questioned her about her willingness to forgive the demon's manipulation and murder, she had told him flatly that the quest they were on was one for the sake of all Celestine, and she would use any and every tool at her disposal to succeed. She had also pointedly reminded him that she was forgiving Yuri his sins, and that Terry had less cause to hate Najaha than she had to hate her own brother.

  It had not been a pleasant conversation.

  Shy also saw Najaha's value, but like Terry distrusted her and saw no real way to bridge that gap.

  Isthil didn't trust the demon because Najaha didn't sleep, nor did she dream.

  Halla simply wanted to kill and eat her, which perhaps ironically gave the two common ground.

  Najaha saw everyone who had the capacity to love as food. It was this point of view that was fundamental to Terry's inability to trust her. When she spoke to him, she was essentially talking to her dinner. She felt as much need to be honest and keep her word as Terry might if he were talking to a porterhouse that happened to be on his plate.

  He had asked her if she could live off normal animals, and she had given him a look of vague disgust as she explained that she could do so in the same way Terry might live off insects and worms. It was food, but it was hardly something she would eat given a choice.

  Terry now comprised her primary source of nutrition. Every two days, he had sex with her and allowed her to feed off him. The strange nature of their bond was such that while his physical energies were drained, his mystic resources were restored, which — since those energies were stored in his blood rather than in a mana pool as was typical — only made the stress on his body worse. He'd run
out of Laina's milk on the fifth day and without it, despite her bond gift of radiant health, he'd caught a summer cold.

  So now he sat atop the crumbling parapet with a stuffed-up nose and a throbbing headache. His tendons were sore and his body ached, symptoms he'd not really had to deal with since Florence. It was becoming clear to him that without Laina's milk, he couldn't support Najaha's needs for very long by himself.

  He knew he could tell Mila about his cold and she'd probably be able to do something about it, not to mention the rest, but instead he sat and stewed in the physical discomfort. In some twisted way, he considered it atonement for denying the tiger kin the justice they truly did deserve.

  Movement caught his eye, and he glanced up and watched as a distant speck in the sky resolved into a figure that put a smile on his face. He stood to greet her and she landed with a powerful backdraft that dropped her neatly into his waiting arms.

  "We did it!" she cried. "I have the sword with me!"

  As he wrapped her up and squeezed, he asked, "Did everyone survive?"

  "Yes!"

  Relief washed through him and he sagged into her a bit as he murmured, "Thank God."

  "Not sure he had anything to do with it," Euryale said testily. "Your god's on Thomas' side ... at least if you listen to him."

  Euryale grinned and her snakes struck both his cheeks at once as she said, "You're the bad guy, remember?"

  Terry smiled and shrugged. "I suppose that's true. How are they?"

  "They got back to the village earlier today and are waiting for, well, these guys. Since I can fly I figured I wouldn't bother waiting and came to find out why you're all still here."

  "We ran into a complication," Terry said ruefully, and explained as simply as he could what had gone on as the two of them sat on the crenelations of the wall. As he talked, Euryale kept hold of one of his hands, and he didn't begrudge her the contact. Seeing her had lifted his spirits immensely.

  By the time he wrapped up his story, Prada and Shy joined them on the wall, though neither interrupted.

  Euryale tilted her head, her blue eyes intent as she looked at him.

  "Want me to kill her for you?" she asked.

  Terry glanced meaningfully at Prada as he said, "Unfortunately, that's not an option for me."

  Prada folded her arms pointedly. "You have not given her a chance to prove her worth."

  Terry didn't take the bait. He'd argued with her several times about this, and each knew where the other stood. Terry didn't think Najaha was worth the price.

  If he didn't feed her others would have to, and he wasn't willing to put that on anyone else. His other option was to have her eat her equivalent of insects and worms ... and while he knew she would do it, he also knew that was only because she was enchanted. Presuming he did eventually ask for her help, treating her so poorly didn't sit well with him.

  As he thought about it, Shy reached out and set a hand on his forehead, then frowned.

  "You are not well," she said quietly.

  He shrugged. "Najaha ramps up my magic and cuts down on my health. Since my magic is pretty much always beating me down anyway, it's not a great combo for me."

  "I will go find Mila."

  Shy left, and Terry watched her go, smiling faintly.

  "Hate to see her go, love to watch her ... leaf?" Prada asked with a smirk.

  Terry winced. "Punny. Very Punny."

  "Given you told that completely awful 'horny' joke back at the carnival, you're in no position to complain about my puns," Prada returned in a haughty tone.

  "So, Master? I have a question," Euryale asked.

  "Shoot."

  "This demon, Najaha, gets her energy from you when she fucks you?"

  "That's right."

  "But she usually takes energy from other people?"

  "Uh huh."

  Euryale thought for a minute, then shrugged and asked, "Want me to fuck her for you?"

  Terry blinked, his thoughts grinding to a halt at the absolutely ludicrous question.

  Prada, however, clapped her hands delightedly as she cried, "Husband! It's perfect! Euryale can't die! No matter how much energy Najaha takes from her, she'll be fine!"

  "There's a big difference between not dying and 'fine,'" Terry spat, jerking a thumb at his chest as he added, "Case in point."

  "Won't know unless we try," Euryale said. "Better me than you."

  Terry scowled incredulously at her, but she only raised her eyebrows and stared back at him as she said, "You always take everything on yourself. That's stupid, and I'm volunteering. Is she any good?"

  "Uh ..."

  He trailed off because, much as he hated to admit it, sex with Najaha was pretty good. She practically insisted on doing all the work, and she had a way of making things last that made the finish ... pretty spectacular.

  Euryale smiled as she watched his face. "She is isn't she."

  "Yeah ... I gotta admit, she's pretty good. At least, with men."

  "Well after Mila gets here, you can take me to her. Introduce us, and I'll take it from there."

  Terry frowned at her, but didn't really have a rational objection. She stared back at him as though daring him to say something, so he did.

  "Thank you."

  Euryale blinked, clearly not expecting that, then smiled as she leaned forward and kissed him.

  "You're welcome, Master," she murmured.

  Shy returned almost fifteen minutes later, but Mila wasn't with her.

  "I don't know where she is," the dryad confessed. "No one has seen her since just after the noon meal."

  "It's not important," Terry said with a shrug as he got back off the wall and stretched. "If she's not with Najaha, then I'll worry. Those two have been pretty tight the last several days."

  Najaha had set up her distortion in the woods just to the left of the gate, and as soon as Terry approached with his women in tow the demon pulled all of them into the field.

  Mila was there, and had a book in her hand. Najaha was half-coiled around her, leaning over her shoulder.

  Both were looking Terry's way. Mila's tail flickered to life and wove contentedly behind her as she saw him, while Najaha smiled, though her smile had an edge of uncertainty to it that deepened as she saw Euryale.

  "You not tell me you had a gorgon bound to you, Terrence," she said quietly.

  "There's a lot about me you don't know," he replied tersely. "Najaha, this is-"

  "Euryale. Yes. I know of her. She in the Monsoon comblex for ... many years. It, eh ... interesting, to meet you."

  "Relax demon. I'm not here to kill you," Euryale said.

  To Terry's mild surprise, Najaha visibly relaxed when she heard that, then glanced from Euryale back to him as she asked, "Then ... why you here?"

  Euryale folded her brazen claws behind her as she stepped daintily to, and then slowly around Najaha, eyeing her up and down.

  "Learning anything useful, Mila?" Terry asked.

  Mila — who'd been watching Euryale as well — blinked as her ear flicked toward Terry, then she turned and showed her teeth as she said, "Oh yes. It is difficult to master the pronunciation of these spells, but not impossible. Najaha is a veritable font of magical lore."

  "Mila very good student," Najaha said absently, though her eyes never left Euryale as she spoke.

  When Euryale stood in front of Najaha again, she put her hands on her hips and cocked her head a bit as she asked, "Do you fuck women?"

  Najaha blinked, then said, "Not as first choice, but yes. Why?"

  "Because I volunteered to be your meal for the evening," Euryale said.

  Najaha's eyes widened slightly, and she glanced up at Terry, who nodded and said, "She's immortal. You can't kill her no matter how much you take."

  "I see," Najaha drawled, uncoiling from around Mila and settling both her lower hands on the ground as she lowered herself to Euryale's level.

  "Your face strange to me, but I like it. If you sure ... we will have good times to
gether, I think."

  "She can see through the mask. That's proof enough for me," Euryale said, glancing back over her shoulder at Terry. "Will you be staying to watch, Master?"

  The sultry invitation piqued Terry's interest, but his many pains kept him from wanting much of anything at just that moment beyond a bit of healing, and sleep. He considered doing the not tonight I have a headache schtick, but Mila'd probably cure him on the spot and he really wasn't in the mood.

  "Have fun Euryale. Najaha? No enchantments. She's here voluntarily."

  "My word on that," Najaha said without looking away from the gorgon. "Thank you, Terrence. I enjoy this meal."

  Mila rose and joined them, and Terry turned away. There would be plenty of time to see what those two got up to in the future, provided Najaha's drain didn't do anything unexpected.

  As they approached the gate, Shy said, "Mila, Tee isn't well. Would you see to him, please?"

  "What? Why did he not say anything?" Mila asked, stepping in front of Terry to stop him as she looked keenly into his eyes.

  "He didn't say anything because he didn't want to keep Euryale and Najaha from doing their thing," Terry said drily.

  "And before that? Earlier today! Were you ill at lunch?" Mila asked.

  "I was fine at lunch," Terry said, though that wasn't strictly true.

  "Lies," Mila said flatly. "You cannot lie to a rakshasa."

  "Fine, I'll rephrase: it didn't occur to me to complain about feeling sick at lunch," he said, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.

  "That was foolish. You know how important you are to us."

  "I don't intend to start bitching about every headache I get. I get them all the fucking time. It's not a big deal."

  "Tee, I know this is a bit of a foreign idea to you, but take it on faith that we want to take care of you, and would if you gave us a chance," Shy said, sliding an arm over his shoulders. "You've done so much for all of us ... does it truly bother you to accept our affections?"

  Mila was already murmuring her spell, and the emerald glow from her staff cast them all in stark relief against the old stone wall. Terry's pains eased, then vanished, and he sighed as he said, "I have no problems accepting your affections. I already complain too much as it is, that's all. I'm no whiner.