Mud and Magic Ch. 12

Snarling, she tore the sheets off the bed and wound them around herself. She had just lowered herself back onto the straw-filled mattress when she heard footfalls come closer. Heavy boots, by the sound of it.

A moment later, the door opened and Faedal strode into the room. He wore more clothing than she had ever seen on him, a black doublet and breeches of the same color, with his ghastly blade at his hip. He had seen better days though. His movements appeared unfocused and lacked their usual brutal directness.

"You-" Celeste hissed. She slid across the bed, trying to get the wide piece of furniture between herself and the man who had done so many unspeakable things to her.

He didn't even acknowledge her. Instead, he yanked at the bell pull close to the bed.

Something dawned on Celeste -- he didn't even bother to lock her up. With such a diabolic necklace, he doesn't have to. Where could I go? Where am I anyway?

A servant poked his head into the room. Faedal snatched him by the neck and, in one fluid motion belying his earlier uncoordinated appearance, hip-tossed the man onto the floor, pressing his second hand onto the servant's face. Too stunned to struggle, to scream even, he just stared in horror at his master. The face of the poor man lost all color then deep lines carved themselves into his skin. The hair turned from blonde to white and the servant writhed and sputtered, trying not to choke on his own teeth which fell from wrinkled gums.

And then it was over. Where just moments ago a lively young man had been, only skin and bones remained. And even they crumbled to dust as Celeste watched in wordless terror. Faedal rose to one knee and looked deep into Celeste's eyes. They had not changed -- they still were black pools of utter darkness, seemingly devouring any light which entered them.

"We need to talk," Faedal said, fully coming to his feet.

"Oh? That would be a first," Celeste snarled. "Was that for my benefit? Another of your sick 'games?'" She thrust her chin in the direction of the servant's remains.

"Believe it or not, it wasn't. I simply needed to feed." He brushed his hair back and offered an oily smile. "Things have not exactly been in my favor since we met, Celeste."

Why am I not running? The door is right fucking there!

Faedal pulled one of the chairs close and sat down, not bothering to close the door.

He is taunting me! Her fingernails dug into her palm, hard enough to break the skin. The only way out was the door and he sat astride his chair, calmly watching her. On the other hand, he was still dressed and obviously not in a hurry to pick up where he had left off the last time.

Intrigued despite herself, Celeste did something she never thought she'd do.

"What do you want from me?" she asked. Never taking her eyes off Faedal, she snatched a chair and sat down, with the wide bed between them. Not that it would stop him.

"I hope your accommodation is to your liking," he said, crossing his arms on the backrest of his chair and resting his chin on them. "My servants are still at work renovating the last room we shared."

"You could have killed me," Celeste hissed. "Why didn't you?"

"Many reasons." He gestured towards the bell pull. "Please."

"What, do you need another snack?"

"I thought you might be hungry. Or thirsty. Go ahead."

"I'm good. Answer me."

Faedal shrugged. "As you wish. Why did I not kill you when you passed out in the elven woods?" He sat up straight and looked at his hand. "First off, I prefer my prey to be aware when I end them. If they scream, the better. So, killing you then and there would have been very dissatisfying, even with my cock wedged deep into you."

Celeste shivered. The memory of his member, lodged deep within her while he slowly drained her life away, having to witness her own body grow cold while she was still trapped inside it came back with devastating clarity. He never killed her that way. In fact, he always brought her back from the brink with yet another healing draught or the aid of one of his lackeys.

"Don't worry. Today, I only want to talk. Unless you want to resume what we did before."

"I can't believe I'm not trying to kill you right now."

"That's because despite all your trauma, all the power which had rushed to that beautiful head of yours, you are a creature of rational thought. You should be aware that your chances of overpowering me would be... outrageous." A razor-thin smile split his lips. "Also, despite the horrors I inflicted upon you, you are still curious. A fight would only make your situation worse so, despite every instinct in your body screaming at you to kill me, you remain calm. I applaud your willpower." He rose. Celeste hopped off her chair and withdrew to the furthest corner of the room. Faedal didn't chase her down. He didn't bare his cock. He simply used the bell pull then sat down again.

"Also, as it sometimes happens, I am questioning my lot in life right about now. You, of all people, may help guide me."

Celeste found herself laughing. Incredulity made sound. She laughed and laughed until breathing became difficult and tears ran down her cheeks. She crumpled into her chair. "I must... have gone utterly insane," she managed to gasp.

She swiped at her eyes, trying to clear her vision. Another servant, this time a curly-haired El-Abessini girl with chocolate-colored skin, had brought a tray with food and drink. She bowed and left the room. Faedal's eyes seemed glued on her behind which the tiny colorless tunic the servant wore left mostly bare. Celeste pitied the girl and her inevitable fate.

"What makes you think, even for one heartbeat, that I would ever do anything for you? And... help you? Are you as crazy as I seem to be?"

Faedal shook his head. "Logic, Celeste. You may see me as nothing more than a vicious monster -- and rightfully so, I might add -- but I am no mindless beast. You have been chosen by Desire, as have I been. As such, there is a common ground between us, much like this bed." He gently pushed the tray her way. "It is not poisoned or otherwise tainted. Eat. Drink."

"What, make merry?" She fought to keep another bout of hysterical laughter at bay.

Faedal shook his head. "That ship has sailed, my dear. We've had all the fun we could have together. Well, except for the final act of course." He raised his hand and looked at his splayed fingers. Celeste's gaze found the sad remains of the first servant. "You are too spoiled for my tastes. And I can't have you die now. I need you."

Celeste picked up a piece of bread, mainly as a way to keep her mind from reeling. She passed it from hand to hand before looking at Faedal again. He had barely moved, his whole attention focused on her every move. She bit into the bread and chewed. It tasted like bread. Average bread at best but bread nonetheless. Her stomach growled in response. Quickly, she wolfed down the rest of her piece and went for the pitcher. A zesty aroma tickled her nose.

"Apple juice," Faedal said. "We're not quite ready for the strong drinks, are we?"

Celeste filled a cup and sipped carefully. The liquid didn't turn into acid. It didn't burn her throat. Which does not mean he won't try to fuck me over. She took another sip then skewered him with a long glare. Faedal didn't even flinch. "Let's for one moment entertain the idea of me being willing to even listen to your... offer. Would you call it such?"

"Offer is fine," Faedal said, nodding slightly.

"So, let's entertain the notion I would listen to your offer. What can you offer me? What do you want from me? Let's cut the games and the bullshit. Tell me!"

Faedal stood up and rotated his chair so the back rest faced the door. He sat down and leveled his void-like gaze at her. "You answer a few questions. You help me find what I am looking for. You stay alive."

"That... is all? Some questions and maybe a scrying spell or two?"

"Thereabouts. You of course are aware that you'll remain my guest until our deal is concluded."

"You mean you keep me collared up? What is this thing to begin with?"

"A handy trinket I had made for a lady mage friend of mine. Too bad she is out of my reach right now. The velvet has been treated with powdered Disjunction stone and the clasp reacts to the wearer's thoughts, eviscerating their hands and arms the moment they plan to undo the clasp. Or ponder undoing it."

"You seemed immune to every spell I threw at you. Why the collar?"

"Because I don't want you to teleport away the first chance you get."

"You are aware that this thing will prevent me from doing one half of your supposed bargain, right?" Celeste tugged at the front of the collar. That's why everything feels so... surreal. I've read treatises about the effects of prolonged exposure to Disjunction fields.

"I hope by the time this comes off we will have reached an understanding."

"And if not?"

"Then reason has to make way for other forms of persuasion." Faedal leaned forward in his chair, his gaze intense beyond belief. "Now, the first question. Afterwards I will leave you in peace for the rest of the day."

How bad can it be? "Ask away then."

"What did you ask of Desire? And what did you receive? No paraphrasing, the exact words. I'm sure your disappointment at not being able to kill me with a snap of your fingers clearly etched them into your mind."

"Isn't it obvious? I wished for power. Enough to solve all my problems. Enough to erase you from my world."

"And you specifically wished for that?" Faedal asked. His whole posture was that of a predator ready to pounce.

Celeste retreated from the bed -- after refilling her cup with juice.

"It's a bit... blurry," Celeste admitted. "I'm not sure what exactly I said."

"But you remember her proclamation, didn't you?" A hint of impatience crept into Faedal's voice.

"Yes. 'I have given you all the spellcasting power you'll ever need. In return I have only taken what won't be missed.'"

"Do you know what she meant?"

Celeste shook her head. "That night was... chaos. And from what I can tell, I am still whole."

"As you might have noticed, our Mistress has a way with words. All the spellcasting power in the world is worth shit against me."

"Why is that?"

Faedal stood up and walked towards the arrow slit. "Long ago," he began, then stopped, chuckling softly. "Nah. No boring life stories. Let's just say that the life of the paladin was not meant for me. Too many constraints. Instead of results mattering the most, I was shackled by codes of conduct. Declarations of honor. Approved equipment lists. And like clockwork, instead of smiting the unjust and delivering justice to the wicked, I was bested time and time again by spell-slingers. What good is faith as a shield when the opposition can ignite the air around you? What good are hammer and armor when your enemy can hurt you from halfway across the continent? When Desire came to me, she didn't offer me legions of pussies and asses to amuse myself with. She offered freedom. What good is serving the god of Law and Justice if we get slaughtered by fireballs while adhering to some arbitrary set of rules? In her embrace, I have..." Faedal fell silent. "And of course she fucked me over."

Celeste perked up. "You are not truly impervious to magic?"

He laughed bitterly. "Unless you decide to renew your vows to Mercy, I won't have anything to fear from you."

Celeste stared at him, mouth agape. "Did you... did you just reveal your weakness to me?"

Faedal sighed. "It is only a weakness if your opponent is able to exploit it. I harbor the idea that you won't rat me out anytime soon. Or do you have a cleric somewhere I can't see them?"

Smug bastard! "I guess your magic immunity is only one of many gifts Desire has bestowed upon you."

"What gave it away? My eyes? The lavish tattoo disfiguring my body?"

Celeste gritted her teeth. The memory came unbidden. Faedal had bent her over the foot of the bed and was violating her with abandon, his cock a painful piston in her screaming pussy while he had only the gods knew shoved up her ass. And all the while he was asking her to praise the 'Champion of Desire.' The more she screamed and pleaded for him to stop, the harder he fucked her until he erupted in a seemingly never-ending cascade of foul seed.

Celeste locked eyes with him, trying not to flinch. "How is it, being Desire's Champion?"

"You tell me," he said, raising a finger and pointing at her breasts. "We are equals, you and me."

* * * *

Carver paced his quarters. Sleep was hard to come by all of a sudden and for someone who prided himself on discipline and structure, such an anomaly was unacceptable. Why this disruption to his normal rhythm? He quietly went through the day's events.

Of course. Faedal didn't feed. He stopped at a window and peered into the Outer Courtyard of his fortress. Or rather, since we are no longer connected, none of the life force he undoubtedly had gathered has reached me. He sighed. Desire's gifts always came with a price. She had promised him the means to rule -- in exchange for most of the earthly pleasures he took for granted most of his life. He needed only two hours of rest a day. His mental faculties were beyond most ordinary men and Desire's caress had gifted him with more magical power than even the God-King himself used to wield. Counting the years like an elf didn't hurt either. His rule would be long and glorious, once he finally got rid of all the detractors, the roadblocks, the constant setbacks.

"No rule without sacrifice. Yours, and your subjects." Through careful experimentation he had learned that once a week, he needed to... feed. Since normal food and drink didn't nourish him any more, he had to subsist on a more metaphysical diet -- the suffering of others. Joining forces with Faedal had been the perfect solution to his problem. The fallen paladin's desire for unspoiled flesh was a never-ending source of nourishment, with fulfilling meals far more often than the required minimum. And Carver never needed to sully his own hands. In fact, Faedal indulged so often, there was enough energy left to fuel near permanent spells of strength, speed and endurance.

A cozy arrangement as long as the tether was in place, Carver thought. Maybe outright cutting him loose was a bit hasty. I should talk to Matron Dree'vex and seal our bargain somehow.

He used his wash basin and a quick scrying spell to locate his esteemed guest. She was in the guest wing, taking a bath while watching two of her soldiers pleasure each other orally. They writhed on the floor in what looked like a mixture between a wrestling match and a fight for their lives.

I'll never get used to dark elven depravity, Carver thought. While he watched, one of the bloated, eight-legged monstrosities entered the spacious room. Matron Dree'vex raised her hands and clapped. Both men shot to their feet, their gleaming erections pointing at the bathtub. Smiling gleefully, the naked dark elf leaned in and gingerly touched both members with just a fingertip. One of the men convulsed and came, shooting ropes of glittering seed into the bathwater. Matron Dree'vex smiled and beckoned the Rememberance over. It carefully set its legs until it stood in arm's reach. Both males turned an ashen shade of gray as the bathing dark elf reached up and began to caress the body of the Remembrance, where the emaciated torso of a former female priestess turned into a bloated, hairy spider body. The area was covered with stringy gray fur and Matron Dree'vex used her hand, generously dampened by the bath water, to brush the fur apart. The Remembrance swayed gently on its eight legs, grinding that particular area against the caressing hand. A horizontal slit appeared. Matron Dree'vex probed it with two fingers, causing the Remembrance to rear up onto its four hind legs. It nearly took a chunk out of the ceiling with its claws.

The males by now had retreated to the other end of the room, stopped only by the massive wall at their backs. Despite their apparent panic, they still sported sizable erections.

It does not require a genius intellect to know why, Carver thought. Despite himself, he couldn't tear his gaze from the scrying bowl. There were three goblets strewn about by the tub.

Matron Dree'vex removed her hand from the Remembrance's... opening and pointed at the male who had shot his seed into the bathtub. In an explosion of movement, the Remembrance leaped across the room and pounced, tossing the other male aside like a rag doll. In a feat of dark elven dexterity, he managed to break his fall and landed on his feet, making a break for the door which opened at just that moment. Shedding her flimsy excuse for a mage's robe as she went, Marissa entered the room. A quick gesture froze the male in place as she walked towards the bathtub, bending low and hungrily kissing the leering dark elven matriarch.

Across the room, the Remembrance pinned the other male to the wall. She bent low and picked up her victim, pressing his frantically struggling body against hers until his member found her slit. The dark elf/spider hybrid bent down and sank elongated fangs into the male's neck, causing him to suddenly cinch the monster's waist with his legs and piston into it. The frontal pair of legs came up, topped with scythe-like chitin claws and hovered just above the frantically thrusting male's skull. The Remembrance's head lolled from side to side in a grimace of incomprehension and animalistic lust. The forelegs, poised to strike, began to shiver like training lances mounted to ever-tightening springs.

Carver canceled the spell. He had seen enough. There was little doubt regarding the fate of those males. He hoped he could reach the frantically kissing and groping females before two meals were squandered.

* * * *

There were no dreams this time, no scheming goddess to tempt him. No moaning dead either. Rhys woke the next morning fully rested for what felt like the first time in ages. His eyes fluttered open.

He was alone in the nest. Rhys sat up and looked around. The rest of the room was empty as well. Melodious birdsong filled the warm morning air but there was no Elven princess in sight.

Elara emerged from the passage leading towards the spring, wringing out her hair as she went. She seemed to have recovered somewhat. Gone were the lines carved into her face, the look of utter exhaustion, but there was a new sadness in her eyes.

"Good morning," Rhys said, struggling out of the nest.

"The same to you," Elara said. She reached into a hollow tree trunk and pulled out a towel which she wound around her head. "And... thank you."

"It's the least I could do," he said, adjusting his loincloth. "You found some respite?"

"I'm not even sure I have fully grasped the situation yet," Elara said quietly.

Rhys pulled her into a gentle embrace. "If you need to talk or don't want to be alone at night, see me."

The elven princess looked into his eyes, a shadow of a smile tugging at her lips. "What will your lovers say if I show up uninvited?" Her hands cupped Rhys' behind.

"I think they will understand," Rhys assured her. "Also, didn't I just invite you?"

"Hmmm, good point." She rested her head against his shoulder, her curvy body a warm sensation all over his. "Now what?"

"Don't be mad at me for not pursuing this particular invitation much further," Rhys muttered, stepping out of her embrace. "I'm craving a bath and a shave. And then I need to write a letter, I think."

* * * *

Dear Mirrin,

I wish there were other reasons for me to pick up ink and quill for the first time. Since you left us at the Tower, life has taken a tumble. When I woke up this morning I dearly wished I've only had a bad dream but the pile of rocks next to the balcony doors, the empty chamber and the door leaning opposite the Common Room leave little doubt that the events of the past two weeks are all too real.