House of Lust (63 page)

The remaining merc knew he had to act fast or he was just as dead.  His dagger and sword whirled, his arms weaving up and down, the blades blurs in the air.  Vosgaris slashed hard, the steel smashing into the merc’s sword.  The blades locked.  The dagger of the merc scythed towards Vosgaris’ guts in an upwards blow, but it was held fast, the point a mere handspan’s width away, by Vosgaris’ free hand.

The two men trembled together, straining at each other.  They locked eyes, neither prepared to look away.  Determination and intent met one another.  Vosgaris leaned right, then left, turning.  The merc went over his left hip and crashed into a delicate three-legged table, smashing it to pieces.

Evas and his advisor remained still, shocked at the brutality being unleashed before them.

Getting up the merc growled and came at Vosgaris, sword blurring, dagger thrusting.  Vosgaris retreated across the room, knocking aside the sword every time it came close to him.  Then suddenly both had daggers in their hands and both struck hard. 

The merc’s sword hack was intended to cut through the commander’s neck but it was slapped aside by Vosgaris’ sword.  The merc though had anticipated this and his dagger swept in from the left, aimed at Vosgaris’ ribs.  The commander bent and twisted back, his own dagger swinging back behind him.  As the point of his enemy’s dagger scored across his ribs in a painful burning path, Vosgaris sent his own blade up into the man’s stomach.  Not looking to see if the man would survive or not, his sword came back in a return and slashed down from the junction of the neck and shoulder, going across the chest and ending at the left hip.

Vosgaris stepped away, wiping his sword even as the merc sank to his knees.  As the man crashed face-first into the ground, the commander came up to Evas, his dagger still glistening.  “Now you disrespectful turd, you will come with me to Kastan City, even if I have to put you on a leash!”

The governor’s mouth worked soundlessly.  Vosgaris grabbed him by the throat, dragging him over his desk and across the rug, over the corpse of the first man.  “I care not, Governor, if everyone sees you being dragged like this.  Up to you.  On your feet, now!”

Evas stumbled to his feet, gibbering in fear.  Vosgaris slapped him to shut him up.  He pointed to the two dead men, and then at the advisor.  “Clear this mess up.  I want a clean office when I get back.”

Evas was pushed out of the room, Vosgaris snapping at him to get a move on.  His hand went to his ribs and came away sticky with blood.  He grimaced.  “Who is your best healer?”

Evas stared at the rip in the commander’s tunic and the red stain spreading across it.  “Ah, Cherisse.  Quite competent.  Is it serious?”

“Unfortunately for you, no.  It stings, that’s all.  I want this cleaned up before we go.  I’ll survive, so don’t get all hopeful.  You’re in deep trouble, so behave or I might just drop you off the ship halfway across the channel.”

Cherisse was as Evas said, quite adept, and bound his wound after cleaning it.  Vosgaris looked at her; brunette, slim but shapely.  He guessed she was in her mid twenties.  She had a plain face but quite intense blue eyes that spoke of intelligence and humour.  Vosgaris sat silently while she treated him, Evas guarded by two of the commander’s men in the background.  Finally she finished, dropping the last of the bloodied swabs into the bowl of cold water.  “There you go, Commander, you should be fine now.”

“Thank you Cherisse.  You’re quite good.  You’ll have to tell me how you came to be a healer.”

“Yes, sir; that would be nice.”

They smiled at one another and Vosgaris heaved himself up, wincing at the biting ache that shot through him briefly.  “I shall return in a few days.  I’ll send for you.”  He gave her a look that told her in no uncertain terms he was expecting more than just talk.  She looked down demurely.

The crossing was uneventful, if rough.  The seas were racing ahead of a stiff icy wind and the passengers stayed off the deck.  Evas was marched through the streets with Vosgaris leading and the two guards close to the disgraced governor, one holding him by the arm.  In their wake came both Demtro and Clora, hand-in-hand, there thanks to Vosgaris keeping his promise to the woman.

The palace had an air of menace to Extonos and he trembled as he passed into its depths.  Demtro and Clora were shown up the stairs by a servant to the room reserved for them.  Meanwhile Vosgaris met Lalaas in the imperial ante chamber.  They embraced and then Vosgaris indicated Evas.  “The empress so wishes to see this individual.”

“So I understand.  She is waiting.  Follow me.”  He led the group along a long corridor.  Guards watched as they passed, Evas’ heart sinking lower and lower.  He half listened to the conversation between the two officers.  “Amne is doing very well; Elas is pleased as a feline with cream that they have a son.  I think he finally has all he wants.  Its amazing the reaction he had, you know.  Practically worships his wife now.”

“Makes three of us then,” Vosgaris smiled.

Lalaas nodded and lightly punched his friend on the arm.  “So what happened to you?  Want to talk about it?” Lalaas pointed at the half-hearted repair to his tunic and the bloodstains marking the edges.

“I’ll tell you later after we deal with him.”  The way the commander spoke gave Evas little comfort.

The audience chamber was another cold, foreboding room, and Evas was manhandled forward by the two guards and thrown face down before Isbel, Vosgaris standing over him to one side.  Vosgaris bowed deeply and received permission to stand easy.  He looked at her and they exchanged a deep meaningful look before she looked down at Evas, grovelling at the bottom step.  “You miserable man; you were given responsibility by us.  You were given position and respect.  You were given every opportunity to be a man of substance, respect and part of the return to Kastanian greatness, but you have thrown all that away.  What have you to say for yourself?”

“Your highness,” his voice was muffled by the lowest step.  “I have always worked hard to carry out your wishes, but it was the efforts of those around me who prevented me from carrying them out!”

“One of whom I understand, if your latest message is to be believed, is the man standing next to you.  Commander Vosgaris, have you thwarted my commands at any time?”

Vosgaris stood straight and looked Isbel in the eye.  “No ma’am, I have always carried out you wishes, and would continue to do so, whatever you ask of me.”  He gave her a meaningful look and Isbel’s lips twitched momentarily.

She then looked down at the miserable man before her.  “Ex-Governor Extonos, you are henceforth stripped of your position and all powers.  Your lies and deceit will no longer hide your disobedience from us.  Under your misrule Niake has become the one place in all Kastania where thieves and brigands feel safe, where criminals enjoy protection.  You will remain here under guard until the emperor decides what to do with you.  In the meantime, Commander Vosgaris, you are to temporarily assume the role of Governor of Niake and Bathenia.  You are to clear Niake of the nest of slitherers that the ex-governor has permitted to flourish there.”

“I shall do so ma’am.”

Later, Vosgaris was led by Lalaas to Amne’s chamber.  The new prince, Kontas, was asleep, being rocked gently by Amne’s handmaiden.  Amne herself was in good form and pleased to see Vosgaris.  She stood and embraced him.  Then she stepped back and rubbed her stomach.  “Yes, I know,” she said with a sigh, “this will have to come off.  One consequence of pregnancy.  You men don’t know how lucky you are.”

“Very lucky to be in your presence, ma’am,” Vosgaris bowed with a wide smile.

“Oh, stop that!  Your smooth talking impresses me no end!”  Amne chuckled.  “Now stop it or I’ll be sick.  I see you’ve been in the wars – again.  Becoming a habit, isn’t it?”

Vosgaris brought both up to date.  Then he nodded over to the sleeping child.  “Congratulations anyway, ma’am.  I hear your husband is beside himself with joy.”

“Yes, a son is what he always wanted,” she replied.  “The family name continuing and all that, blah blah blah,” she waved a careless hand.  “I only care that the child is healthy and safe, whether it be a girl or boy.  Well, Elas and I are enjoying our best ever relationship.  I feel happy and settled and so want to lose weight!” she ended in a loud voice.  “I’m going to exercise every day.  Mother has told me what she does and I’m jealous of her for the first time I can recall.  Agh!”

Lalaas squeezed her hand.  “I’ll help.  I’ll get an exercise regimen worked out and I can promise you’ll sweat like the best of my new recruits.”

“Oh?” Amne curved her neck coyly.  “Going to give me orders, are you?”

“If you like,” Lalaas said with a straight face.  He raised one eyebrow and Amne slapped his upper arm. 

Vosgaris chuckled.  “After all our trials and discomforts, I think things are looking up for all of us.  I’m finally finding some peace in my heart, too.”

“That’s so good to hear, Vos.  I was so worried about you, wasn’t I, Lalaas?”

The palace guard captain nodded.  “Bent my ear every day for news of you.”

“Well, I care very much for him, as you know,” Amne mouthed a kiss at the commander.

Vosgaris leaned forward.  “I want us all to keep in contact with each other, no matter what happens or where we go.  I don’t want to lose your friendships.”

They all put their hands together and promised.

Vosgaris went to see Isbel.  The empress had spent some time with Demtro and an overawed Clora, and was grateful for the relative calm.  She dismissed her handmaidens and stood, the commander a mere pace from her.  “I wanted to see you in person, alone,” she said.  “You do know don’t you, that we cannot – carry on – with our relationship.  I have to remain with Astiras.  I feel very guilty about what happened.  I don’t regret it, don’t misunderstand me, Vos, it was wonderful, and I want you.  But please understand, I must remain with him.”

Vosgaris nodded heavily.  “Yes ma’am, Isbel,” he added quickly seeing she was going to correct him.  “Know though that I shall always be your willing servant.  I will wait for you, but in the meantime there’s this little cute individual that has caught my eye over in Niake.”

“Oh?” Isbel smiled.  She felt both disappointment and relief.  She told herself it was for the best, which she knew was the right thing.  “Anyone I know?”

Vosgaris shook his head.  “A healer.  She can help heal me when I get back later,” he grinned rakishly.  “I promised to see her on my return and she’s accepted.”

“Well I hope it goes well for you, Vos.  Don’t forget your new responsibilities, though, I am putting my faith in you.”

Vosgaris nodded.  “I won’t let you down.”  He took her by the upper arms.  “As a last token of my affection, ma’am,” he leaned forward and kissed her deeply, longingly, lovingly.  Isbel sighed and slid her arms round him and floated in a world of pure exhilaration, before they broke apart.

She took a couple of deep breaths.  “I shall take that as a given,” she said finally, looking up.  “You can say so much in words, but nothing says so much as something like that.”

Vosgaris bowed, a smile on his face.  “I understand you’ve made Amne jealous; she wants a figure like yours.”

“Oh?” she looked at herself.  “It’s a losing battle, I can tell you!  Anyway, what is she moaning about?  She’s got a fantastic figure!”

“Uh, she doesn’t like the extra padding around her tummy.”

“Oh, goodness, isn’t she ever satisfied?”

“No she isn’t,” Vosgaris chuckled.  “And I love her for however she is.  Go show her how you keep your body in such fantastic shape – she’ll appreciate it I know.”

“Not in the same way as you do, Vos,” Isbel said with a wicked smile.  “But yes, I will; I have found a new friendship with her, and she’s such a different person these days.  I much prefer her the way she is now.”

“She’s not that much changed – perhaps a little more mature and capable of seeing sense over emotion, but she is still the Amne we love.”

Isbel nodded.  “I will keep writing.  You will have to write plenty you know, and don’t forget, Demtro is in my pocket.”

“And I’m in your heart,” Vosgaris grinned.  “As you are in mine.”

Isbel pushed him towards the door.  “I know, now be gone, you rogue.”

Vosgaris spent another day at the palace, enjoying the company of people he had known for a long time and had come to love, then returned with Demtro and Clora to Niake and his new responsibility.  He sighed as the Bathenian shore approached.  Maybe Charisse could ease the pain of being away from Isbel.  He could only try and find out the best way possible.  He nodded to himself, a smile playing over his lips.  It would certainly be an enjoyable way to discover that.

Metila straightened from the softly moaning Amal.  “She’s not far off her Time,
Lakhani
.  You must be prepared.”

Argan looked at the sweating figure of his friend.  He felt apprehensive, scared, even.  He looked at the diminutive Bragalese witch.  “What must I do?  Are you going to help?”

Metila stepped up to him and looked him over very carefully.  Argan was aware of strange scents coming from Amal, and saw that her skin, too, was glistening.  Sweat?  Something else?  Something different coated her, an atmosphere of the unknown – an aura of excitement and things he had no knowledge of.  “You will need to have strength, and courage.  She will be like a wild animal, nothing like the girl you have known.  Remember what I have told you before.”

His heart skipped a beat and the apprehension increased.  He stole another look at the girl, weakly moving on the bed.  She was sweating profusely now, he could see.  The small cloth items covering her were stuck to her body, giving them a transparent look.  He could see her breasts through them, and that secret part in between her legs.  “Will she be in pain?”

“No,” Metila shook her long locks, moving to the door.  “But tonight, she may inflict upon you a lot of pain.  Tomorrow she will be a woman, no longer a girl.  She will have all the adult emotions of my race, and the sexual abilities, too.  She will want to exercise them, be warned, but unlike tonight, she will be in control of them.”

Argan shook slightly.  This was something he had no experience of; his only preparation had been from the words of Metila, which could never properly prepare him.  Metila opened the door, and Kerrin was framed in the doorway, his first concern the prince.  When he saw that Argan was standing unharmed, he looked across at Amal and his eyes widened in surprise.

Metila curtly beckoned him in.  “Go remove all breakable furnishings.  Now!”

She used Kastanian when speaking to him, unlike the Bragalese to Argan and Amal.

Kerrin looked at Argan for confirmation and he nodded.  Metila vanished into the corridor.  “What’s going on, ‘Gan?” the bodyguard asked.

“Poor Amal,” Argan nodded over to the moaning girl.  “She is close to her Growing Through.  I must attend her.  You may hear lots of things from this room but you are not to enter.  It won’t be permitted.”

“Are you alright?  It’s not something I’m happy with!”

“I’ll be fine.  Metila is going to get something for me to help, so she said.”  Argan stood over Amal, looking as she writhed in her unconscious state.  He felt helpless, watching as she apparently suffered.  He couldn’t help notice that her nipples were hard and engorged, pushing through the flimsy fabric.  There was also a smell emanating from her, something….. pleasurable.  He moved away, unsettled by the upwelling of a delicious feeling inside him.

Kerrin lifted a few small chairs and tables out into the corridor.  By the time Metila returned, carrying a tray and a few bottles, cups and dishes in them, only the bed remained in the room.  The window was shuttered.  Two candles flickered in wall brackets.  Metila regarded Kerrin.  “You go.  Not return until he commands.”

Kerrin gave Metila a long look, one not designed to give her any comfort, then he stiffly turned on his heel and slammed the door shut. 

Metila sneered as she put the tray down on the floor.  “He’s a fool,” she said, switching to her native language.  “He’s too worried about you,
Lakhani
.”

“He’s only doing his duty, and he’s a close friend, Metila.”

She waved the reply aside.  “You must listen to me now; this is very important.  When she wakes, she will desire to couple with the first male she sees – and that will be you.  You must be prepared to be physically attacked – she does not wish to harm you, just to copulate.  She will wish to do it for a long, long time.”

“How?  I’ve never – done anything like this before.”

Metila poured half the contents of one bottle into a cup, then picked up a pile of leaves and began shredding them, dropping them into the cup.  “You will drink this potion.  It will do two things to you; one, it will give you endurance.  You will feel terrible in the morning, but that is normal.  You will recover.  The second is that it will give your organ down there life for many watches.  It will not go soft.  That is what she will want – a constant hardness to satisfy her needs.”

Argan took the cup and looked at it suspiciously. 

“Drink it in one go,” Metila advised, picking up the tray.  She stood while Argan obediently followed her advice.  He grimaced.  It was bitter.

He put the cup on the tray and she moved to the door.  “What now?”

“Now you must remove your clothing – all of it.  You will soon feel the effects of the potion.  You will be outside yourself – and it will be loud and violent.  You will be scratched, bitten and battered about – be warned.  Good coupling!” she said and left, closing the door behind her.

Alone now with Amal, Argan turned around and looked at his friend.  She was gasping in her sleep, mouth open, head back, her chest lifting up.  He slowly unfastened his jacket and dropped it to the floor, kicking it under the bed.  His other garments followed, lastly his loin undergarment, somewhat reluctantly.  Now he was naked and aware of a glow spreading through his body, and a tingling of his skin.  His organ began to tingle, just as Metila had promised, and he watched in fascination as it hardened and swelled.  Now the room was getting hot and sweat began breaking out over his body.

There was a feeling of strength flowing through his veins and he flexed his arms.  By the gods!  If an army had this potion in battle, they would be hard to defeat!

Amal cried out and thrashed from side to side, and Argan knelt by her side.  The scent from her body filled his senses and he touched her, slowly moving his hands to the two small pieces of cloth on her body.  Without hesitation, he pulled them off, knowing she had to be naked too.  Her body was fully revealed to him now and he knew suddenly he had to couple with her.  She was so desirable.  This was not what he felt towards Velka.  Velka he liked, and he knew she was going to be his wife in the future, but Amal was something much more compelling.

Her eyes snapped open.

Argan stood up and stepped back in alarm.  Her eyes were wide but her pupils tiny, like some wild creature.  Her mouth opened and her teeth bared, and a hissing snarl came from her mouth.  She rolled off the bed in one fluid movement, surprising Argan.  Her hands were like claws, reaching out for him.

“Amal,” he said in a tight voice.

All he got back was a growl and she was on him, knocking him to the rug and she was atop him.  He was stunned by her strength.  Her legs gripped his thighs and one hand was at his throat, fingers round it.  She hissed at him, and he remained still in fear, wondering what in the name of Kastan was going to happen next.  Her other hand closed around his hardness and she screamed in pleasure, then moved her hips and suddenly he was inside her, deep, feeling the smooth warm wetness about it.

Amal threw her head back and began riding him violently, bouncing like a woman possessed.  The wetness emanating from her made her movements noisy, with liquid sucking sounds filling the room.

Argan felt his blood racing around his body – the contents of Metila’s potion were now gripping him fiercely, and he wanted this girl more than anything he had wanted in his entire life.  He wanted to make love to her over and over.  Part of his mind wondered what was happening to him, and a thought popped, unbidden, into his head.  Lust.  That was what he was feeling.  Lust.

He suddenly broke her grip round his throat, swept her arms aside and took hold of her shoulders and twisted violently, throwing her over onto her back.  She screamed in rage and dismay, then her face transformed into joy as Argan plunged repeatedly into her.  Her legs clamped around his back and her nails raked his back cruelly.  Out of her mind, she bit into his shoulder, making inarticulate noises.  Argan didn’t mind – or notice that much – as he was fully under the effects of what he had taken.  He was indestructible, full of power.  The demands of his body drove him on, matching Amal’s lust.

The room shook to their violent love making.

____

Argan’s awakening was slow and painful.  His arms, back, chest – everything!! – hurt.  He gradually became aware of the darkness in the room and remembered the candles.  They must have gone out.  His eyes were heavy and sticky.  His head pounded.  Was this how one felt after being trampled by a herd of angry fantors?

A crack of light showed around the shutters, and he guessed it was day outside.  Day?  He could remember some of last night, like some dream, full of female anatomy and a driving madness within.  There was none of that now.  Shards of pain shot through his body as he tried to move, and he gasped with the agony of it.  He realised he was curled round the sleeping form of Amal, the naked Bragalese girl was resting her head on his right arm, eyes shut, her face peaceful.  She was breathing evenly and deeply.  His eyes roamed over her form, the lithe, olive-skinned girl – woman now, he supposed – coated in blood.

Blood!  He sucked in his breath and examined her closely, but there seemed no wound on her.  No, it was his blood, dried and caked on her.  There were a couple of deep bite marks on his shoulders and that was where a lot of the blood had come from, by the look of things.  They both ached badly, and he knew he would have to move carefully.  From the stinging sensations down his back, he expected that there would be more blood there.

He moved, and her eyes flickered open.  The eyes, a deep brown, looked at him for a moment, then a sleepy smile spread across her face.  “
Lakhani
,” she whispered, “you were – wonderful!” The last was breathed out with emphasis.

“I can’t remember that much,” Argan admitted, groaning as he tried to get up onto his knees.

“I can – but like it was a dream.  I was possessed, just like I was told I would be.”   

Argan examined his wounds, on his knees.  “Agh, I’m a mess.”

She flicked a lock of long hair away from her face.  “You will survive – you are
Lakhani
, after all,” she said.  “I am exhausted.  I need to sleep more.”

Argan nodded, then picked her up and placed her on the bed and slipped the blankets over her.  “I will have to get these seen to,” he said, feeling tired himself.  “You can rest here until you’re able to get up.”

“I am yours,
Lakhani
,” she said softly, looking at him with those brown eyes, eyes that Argan had a sudden compulsion to dive into and swim in.  “Forever.”

“I am Velka’s betrothed,” he said, a touch of regret in his voice.

“Yes – you are to marry her.  I am yours though.  You are my bonded master.  I will want you many times, even though you are to be married.”

Argan didn’t know what to say.  To have an extra marital affair was not something Kastanian society looked up to, and the recent experience with the trouble his parents had had made him reluctant to say what he really wanted to.

“You are not married yet,” Amal said, mumbling.  “I will have you again soon.”  Then she was asleep. 

Argan sighed, half-smiled, then bent and kissed her forehead.  “Soon, Amal,” he whispered, then gasped as he got to his feet again.  Gods!  He was sixteen, not sixty.  He slipped on his leggings he found under the bed, and tied them.  At least he was half decent.  He went to the door, rubbing his eyes, and opened it.

Outside, one guard and a tired-looking Kerrin were waiting.  Kerrin looked shocked at the state of Argan, fully revealed now in the daylight-filled corridor.  “By the gods, you look terrible, ‘Gan!”

“I feel terrible,” he admitted.  “But I’m alright, and so’s Amal.  She’s sleeping.”

“What – what did she do to you?”

Argan examined his bloodied form.  Blood was still welling up from his shoulder wounds.  He touched the first one and hissed, withdrawing his hand swiftly.  “Go fetch Metila, and then go get some sleep yourself, ‘Rin.  You look as bad as I feel.”

Kerrin shook his head.  “My place is to guard you.”

“I’m commanding you, you empty-head.  You’re not fit to guard anyone in your condition.  Go.”

Kerrin nodded and stumbled off.  Argan told the guard to allow entry to Metila and nobody else unless he gave permission.  He went back and sat on the floor against a wall, making sure he gently pushed his back against it.  His body throbbed and pounded.  What did he remember?  Wanting Amal, yes, being consumed with lust.  He was surprised that he knew what to do – but then perhaps instinct had guided him.  Neither of them had been intimate with anyone before, and yet they had apparently done it without much in the way of mistakes.

His loins ached.  Gods – he hoped they wouldn’t drop off.  He cradled them experimentally and decided that was a bad move.  Had he been kicked there by a squadron of equines?  Amal must have been at it most of the night.

The door opened and Metila appeared, smiling at him.  As he went to get up she shook her head, shut the door, and made for the shutters.  “You stay there,
Lakhani
.  I shall let a little light in,” and she opened the shutters a touch, just giving enough light to see most of the room.  She looked over at Amal.  “She shall sleep for some time yet.  I shall care for her until she is able to return to her duties.”