0 comments/ 35504 views/ 3 favorites Demon Made Flesh Ch. 1 By: crysede Edited by Sprite_65 and bluetrain. Since it starts out looking as though it might be a BDSM story, it is only fair to warn readers looking for stories of that type, that 'A Demon Made Flesh' contains little to no BD, D/s, or SM. 'Demon' will be a plot and character-centred fantasy story, which (as of July 2002) I am expecting to post in five chapters. * * * * * Khulan stood in the centre of the room, biting her lower lip nervously as her prospective buyer circled her closely. He was pursing his thin, bloodless lips and making soft murmurs of approval and, more frequently, grunts of disapproval, as he judged her assets according to some internal standard of his own. She fervently prayed he would not buy her: malevolence seemed to ooze from his pores, filling the air, clinging to her skin like a film of grease. She cast a frightened glance at the slaver standing in the corner: it was only fear of inciting Ajai's wrath that prevented her from purposefully trying to displease the man as he examined her. Just the thought of angering him again made her shudder, the memory of the cruel bite of his whip still painfully fresh in her mind. The slave dealer was also nervous: Lord Sechen had not been at all pleased with the other two girls the dealer had procured for him, and if the lord rejected this last one as well, Ajai knew exactly who would be taking the heat from his unhappy bosses. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, but the movement did nothing to relieve his tension as he waited. Gods, could the old fool not just make up his mind and be done with it! Finally, unable to stand another moment of silently awaiting his fate, Ajai cleared his throat uneasily: "Well, my Lord? She was just purchased from her father a few weeks ago, and our best healer has confirmed that she is fertile just as your Lordship requested. Is she not a lovely young creature?" His tone was one more of pleading, than inquiry. Lord Khuyildar Sechen had the air of one who is accustomed to being pleaded with, and disdained to so much as acknowledge Ajai's existence, continuing his slow inspection of the slave before him. He finally stopped his pacing directly in front of Khulan. With one bony hand on either side of her head in a vicelike grip, he forced her chin up, compelling her green eyes to meed his icy blue stare. A closer examination of his appearance did nothing to reassure her: his white hair was pulled straight back and gathered in a leather thong behind his head, only serving to reinforce the impression that the tightly stretched skin of his face might split at any moment and peel away from the bone. She could not suppress a shudder of fear as she felt his eyes boring into her: she tried to pull out of his hands to escape his stare, her fear of Ajai momentarily forgotten in her instinctive need to get away from this man. Khuyildar released the trembling girl, who stumbled backwards, and turned to the dealer. "She'll do," he said flatly, throwing a handful of gold at the slaver. A sneer of contempt twisted his face as the man fell to floor, scrambling after the coins and greedily clutching them to his chest. With a dismissive snort of disgust he turned back to the girl. "Come here, my pretty thing." His words dripped with the cloying sweetness of decaying meat, and he enjoyed the way she shrank away from him even as she forced herself to obey. He ran a pale finger down her cheek, "You're going to be a good little pet, aren't you my dear? You're not going to make me do bad things to you like some of my naughty girls, right, pretty?" He continued to move his finger down her neck and across her right breast, digging his long nail into her nipple until she flinched in pain. "Come then, little one," he said softly, his lips curving in what might have been a friendly smile, had it held the slightest hint of warmth. "Your chariot awaits to take you to your new home." His words were not really meant as questions, but Khulan vigorously nodded her promise to be good nonetheless, not even wanting to think about what he might do to those who angered him. As she followed him out, and saw his 'chariot', she felt a deepening sense of dread. At first glance the beasts harnessed to the dark coach appeared to be horses, but she noticed that they had forked hooves and scaley, rat-like tails. Turning as one, they regarded her with glowing red eyes - eyes that marked them for what they were: demons. Her blood grew cold: she knew that only the most powerful of dark conjurors would dare to summon from the lowest level of hell, the abode of true demons. She wished fervently that her mother, the non-gifted daughter of a mage, had never taught her anything of the ways of power; she would have been much happier if she had not recognized what the presence of such creatures meant. Khuyildar could see that, upon seeing his Najasi minions, the girl understood what he must be. He was pleasantly surprised: it was far more satisfying to toy with those who understood the true nature of the evil they faced. "So, you are a clever girl as well as pretty, and know something of us and our ways," her new master noted approvingly. "That is good, you will learn quickly and not waste too much of my valuable time." He was amused by the confusion her face betrayed. "What? Did you actually think my interest in a common peasant girl was sexual?" He gave a sneering laugh, "With one word I can have a dozen succubi naked and grovelling before me, each begging me more tearfully than the last, for the honour of merely gazing upon my cock. Ah, my poor, foolish little pet," he continued, his tone both patronizing and threatening, "I know how anxious you must be to win your master's favour. Rest assured that I have a special task set aside for you, my sweet one, one which you can truly hope to excel at." That said, he opened the door of the coach and gestured for her to enter. Khulan stepped unwillingly into the red-velvet interior, and was immediately enveloped in a scent that must have been pleasingly floral once, but was now musty and stale. Taking a seat on one of the two upholstered benches, she could not suppress a shudder of revulsion at the way the plump cushions seemed to cling to her as she sank into their crimson flesh. The windows of the small coach were covered with shades, so Khulan spent the whole journey staring intently at the floor, her hands, and anything else that allowed her to avoid looking at Lord Sechen, all the while agonizing over what foul purpose he might intend her for. He, on the other hand, appeared quite content to pass the time silently watching her, like the owl might a mouse, and she could feel his cold gaze penetrating her very soul. They rumbled along the city's cobblestone streets for a time, never slowing, the noise of the wooden wheels on the pavement drowning out all other sounds expect for the occasional angry cry as someone was forced to scurry out of their way. Soon the rough stones gave way to one of the deeply rutted roads leading out of town: these main thoroughfares were dotted with villages. Khulan listened intently whenever the sounds seeping in from outside indicated that they were passing through one of these hamlets, searching for any familiar voice that would tell her she was home once more. Desperate thoughts of darting out the door and back to the farm ran through her mind as she listened: surely her father would change his mind about selling her when he found out what sort of man had purchased her. Time dragged by, and with it her hope faded as the villages became less frequent and then ceased altogether. Only the occasional slowing down to make a turn now broke the monotony of the trip and, all hope of escaping vanished, Khulan stared miserably at her tightly clutched hands in her lap. After what seemed many hours, the vehicle finally came to a halt, and Khulan breathed a sigh of relief. She eagerly took her master's proffered hand and let herself be helped to the ground, her relief at being free of the coach briefly outweighing her fear of what awaited her. The sight that met her eyes as she emerged was one of savage beauty. The giant fortress stood against a steep cliff of pure marble, and its very walls appeared to be constructed of the rock: as though a huge portion of the cliff face had been melted in an unimaginably intense heat, and then skilfully forged into the graceful towers and battlements that lay before her. The late afternoon sun glinted off the polished stone, making the whole edifice sparkle like some fairy palace; however, the illusion was lost once closer inspection revealed multitudes of skulls lining the ramparts. Most were not human, being rather of some monstrous origin, and all appeared to be grinning gleefully down upon those who approached. "Excited to see your new home?" Khuyildar inquired, a fleeting smile passing across his face as he deliberately misinterpreted her palpable relief at no longer being confined with him, "Well I shan't keep you waiting then, come along." He started off at a quick pace, forcing Khulan to break into a jog to keep up. They passed through the open portcullis of the main gate, then cut across one corner of the courtyard, ending up at a large wooden door that was reinforced with iron bars. As he muttered something under his breath the door swung open, and he swiftly issued her into the insubstantial gloom beyond. The reason she had not been able to make out any floor beyond the door became immediately obvious to Khulan, as she nearly fell headfirst down the long, twisting staircase: it was only her master's swift grasp of her arm that prevented her fall. "Steady now pet, you must control your enthusiasm: I wouldn't want you to be 'accidentally' injured." His emphasis of the word 'accidentally' left her in no doubt as to the threat underlying the seemingly considerate statement. "Won't Torolchi be pleased with you, so few slaves display such eagerness to meet their keeper." Retaining his grip on her arm, Khuyildar steered her down the stairs. They emerged into a long, damp underground tunnel, sporadically lit by the reddish glow of unnaturally bright and smokeless torches, and periodically echoing with screams or harsh snarls of unseen beasts. Khulan gave up any hope of escape as her captor led her through countless identical intersections. She knew she would never be able to retrace her steps through this labyrinth. Turning left at yet another intersection, they ascended a much shorter fight of stairs ending in a cast-iron gate. At a murmur from Khuyildar the heavy gate swung upon, its hinges shrieking in protest, and he hurried her along more tunnels, indistinguishable from the ones below except for being a good deal drier. Passing through a doorway at her master's heels, Khulan found herself in a large, open chamber, with numerous passageways leading out of it. In one corner of the room a number of men in light armour, and armed with long swords or sabres, were gathered. They appeared to be amusing themselves by tormenting a young woman they had cornered, some vigorously debating what sorts of horrors they should inflict on her, and the rest breaking out in raucous laughter at the cries with which she greeted their companions' suggestions. Beyond the guards she could see a few more women, and several men, scurrying from one passageway to another, each looking relieved to see the guards thoroughly occupied. "Torolchi!" One of the larger men spun around at the sharp command, hurriedly sheathed the dagger he had been stroking across the terrified woman's chest, and quickly came to stand before his lord, "Yes, Lord Sechen?" Khuyildar pushed Khulan in front of him, "See that this one gets settled in, would you. She is not to be injured to an extent that would threaten her health, and at some point I will order that she stop receiving the potion that prevents conception, at which time it will be up to you to assure that no one penetrates her. Beyond that, do with her as you will." Upon finishing, he turned abruptly and disappeared whence he had come. Throughout his lord's speech, Torolchi had been appreciatively eying the pretty girl's slender waist and voluptuous curves. Appearance had no importance to Lord Sechen, money, however, did. Since he procured his slaves for non-sexual purposes, mostly to use as rewards for his demons (who were likewise unconcerned with outward appearances, requiring only that they be living), he did not waste money on beauty. Although it worked out well for the lord and his demons, it was not so good for Torolchi, who had more prosaic desires when it came to women. Most of the women brought to Torolchi were unattractive, some downright hideous: he could not even remember the last time he had been with a woman whose body actually inspired real hunger in him. Looking at this girl's softly rounded hips, and the way her full breasts gently rocked with each breath, had him so aroused he could hardly see straight. He muttered something in reply to Lord Sechen, not even aware that his lord had already departed, and raised his eyes to her face. "Gods!" he swore hoarsely, even her face was beautiful: surrounded by long golden ringlets, her soft green eyes glowed behind long lashes, and her high cheek bones served to emphasize the moist, red lips he ached to feel pressed to his. Clutching her roughly by the arm, and practically dragging her in his haste, he took her down one of the passageways and into his bedchamber. Although not overly experienced in these matters, Khulan knew enough to recognize the lust burning in Torolchi's eyes as he looked at her, so her subsequent rapid removal to his bedroom came as no surprise. In fact, she went with him quite happily, considerably relieved that he appeared to be planning on enjoying her privately, rather than sharing with all the other guards as she had feared he would. She gave him her full cooperation as he pulled her to him and devoured her mouth with his own, nipping gently at his lips with her teeth and pushing her tongue into his mouth, as she pressed her own body to his. He was not an unattractive man, so she had hopes that this would not be an entirely unpleasant experience; in the back of her mind she even hoped that, if she pleased him enough, he might continue to keep her to himself. She continued to offer no resistance as his callused hands tore off the thin dress she had been wearing, his own plate mail and hauberk swiftly following, soon to be accompanied by his thick leather shirt. The roughness of his skin brought her nipples to instant hardness, and sent shivers of pleasure down her spine, as he ran his hands over her like a man desperately trying to remind himself of the shape of a woman's body. She moved her hands to his pants, and undid the laces that were stretched almost to the point of breaking by his engorged cock. Letting his now loose trousers fall, and pushing down his smallclothes, she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, stroking the crown with one thumb. Torolchi moaned in ecstasy and disbelief as he felt her tongue flick across his lips, immediately opening his mouth to grant it access and moaning again as their tongues met in a wet embrace. Not only was this woman not fighting him, she was actually responding to his touch! Her behaviour was incomprehensible, but he was far too aroused to be capable of coherently questioning her about it. In fact, as he felt her soft hands wrapping around his almost painfully aroused cock, even rational thought was beyond him. Khulan's pussy grew wet with anticipation as she felt the thick organ twitch in her hands, oozing slippery precum, while its owner groaned and dug his fingers into her back. She had been unable to pleasure herself under the watchful eyes of the slave traders, and now that relief was in sight her body burned with weeks of suppressed hunger. With something between a snarl and a groan Torolchi pressed her down on the bed and half-fell on top of her, his lips and tongue never breaking contact with hers. All other thoughts were driven aside by his need as he felt her guiding him to her opening, and he was aware only of his throbbing cock, and the warm, velvety wetness that was enveloping it. As soon as he felt the embrace of her inviting pussy, he instinctively plunged in to the hilt. She was so tight he thought he would cum on the spot and he tensed in anticipation, but after a moment the crisis passed and he was able to start thrusting at a deliciously slow pace, making every nerve in his body scream with raw, sensual pleasure. He would not be able to last for very long, it had been far too long since he had fucked like this. Khulan gasped as his swollen head slid past her slick inner lips and forced its way into her wet pussy, stretching her wide-open as the thick shaft plowed into her aching cunt. She writhed in delicious torment, moaning in pleasure, as he slowly fucked her. Having to wait for his cock to fill her set her entire body on edge, making every sensation even more intense. After just two or three of his controlled thrusts, she found herself unable to resist pushing her own hips up to meet his downward plunge, overwhelmed by her lust. The thrusting of her hips to meet his was more than he could take, and his movements became faster and faster as he lost all control over his body, his breath coming in shuddering gasps as his muscles tensed in anticipation of his rapidly approaching orgasm. Khulan cried out in surprise and pleasure as her first orgasm hit, wrapping her arms tightly around Torolchi's broad back while her body shuddered in ecstasy. As she heard his answering cry, and felt his cock pulse within her, filling her with hot jets of his semen, she was rocked by another, still more intense orgasm. Her spasming cunt muscles set off the most explosive release he had felt in years. With a guttural cry, he arched his back in ecstasy as wave after wave of intense sexual pleasure racked his body; finally collapsing on top her, completely spent. As he recovered a little he rolled over, pulling her with him so they lay side by side. After some moments he opened his eyes and regarded her, with both satisfaction and perplexity. "What in the nine hells got into you, girl? I have never had one of His Lordship's slaves behave in such a manner before." Sensing he was not a man to be toyed with, Khulan was truthful: "To be honest I acted out of the hope that you might decide keep me for your own personal use. At least," she added with what she hopped was a seductive smile, "that was my initial motivation." "I see." He said, looking at her with narrowed eyes. "So, you wish to make a deal then: my satisfaction for your protection from my men?" He continued on, not waiting for her confirmation, "Very well, but if you ever refuse me in any way, or fail to give me complete satisfaction, then our agreement is over, understood?" Khulan nodded. "Good. You will sleep here with me when I'm not on night duty. Otherwise, you sleep in your own bed. Come, I will show you to your room." With that he got up and started dressing. * * * * * After Torolchi had left her in what he euphemistically called her 'room' (it was more of a cell with a bed), Khulan sat cross-legged upon her hard bed trying to sort out her thoughts. Perhaps it would not be so horrible, perhaps it would be just like being the whore of a city dweller except for living underground. She had just about talked herself into accepting her imagined new life with Torolchi when she recalled Lord Sechen's words about having plans for her. Fear returned again as she tried to imagine what her fate might be at the dark mage's hands. Why was her fertility of such importance to her master? She knew that some moderately powerful conjurors would risk summoning a demon long enough for it to impregnate a human female, providing the mage was able to keep the fiend from dismembering the girl as it violated her - sex, as far as demons were concerned, was just a different way to enjoy reducing one's prey into bloody pulp. The demon spawn resulting from successful unions would have many of its father's dark powers, while being much easier for the mage to maintain control over. But Lord Sechen clearly had no trouble controlling real demons, so what interest could he possibly have in lesser demon-kin? But what other reason could he have for needing a fertile female? Demon Made Flesh Ch. 2 Edited by bluetrain. The primary focus in 'Demon' is on plot and character development, rather than sex ('Wrath of Khan' is the only sexually focussed story I've written) - so you'll have to put up with lots of boring plot to get to the naughty bits. Also, although this chapter can be read on its own, I recommend reading chapter one first: you'll probably find chapter two more enjoyable if you know what's already taken place. * * * * * Being the private whore of the commander of the lower guard turned out to have additional perks beyond avoiding gang rape by his men: Khulan was also given considerably more freedom than the other slaves. Quickly realizing the girl was too clever to risk her privileged position (not to mention her life) in some futile attempt to escape, Torolchi had taken to trusting her with the errands he deemed "too trivial to waste his men's time on." One of these was the weekly delivery of stacks of requisition forms and inventories (for food and other supplies), and reports (all requiring at least ten copies), to the clerk Bujir, yielding what must amount to an agonizingly detailed account of dungeon life. The clerk's office was situated half way up one of the many turrets piercing skyward above the citadel's high walls, and reaching it required ascending sixteen long flights of stairs. Khulan suspected that her assignment to this chore had rather more to do with the guards' desire to keep the stairs above them, than with the task being beneath them. For her however, the chance to escape from the underground chambers for a while made the arduous climb something she eagerly anticipated. She accessed the upper reaches through a locked wooden door, which opened to reveal a narrow stone staircase spiralling up in the dim light of a few ensconced torches. At the top of the fifty or so steep, uneven steps was a second locked door, this one a far more imposing affair of hammered steel plates held in place with heavy iron bands. Beyond lay the castle-proper, and as its exterior had suggested, the immense fortress did indeed appear to have been created from the very cliff that buttressed it. The polished marble flowed seamlessly from floor to ceiling, gleaming in the bright sunlight that streamed through vaulted windows looking out upon the lush, dark greens of the coniferous woods below. Emerging from the caverns was almost painful as her eyes, acclimatized to the perpetual gloom of the dungeon, struggled to cope with the sudden influx of light. Only after several moments would the blinding white brightness start to differentiate into shapes: the broad steps, leading to the tower, slowly taking shape in front of her. The climb was pleasurable at first: the fresh air was a welcome change from the dankness underground, and cool, smooth marble beneath her bare feet felt wonderful after the dungeon's painfully rough stone floors. However, as Khulan continued to climb the burning pain in her legs gradually obscured these pleasures, and the sheaf of papers in her arms grew steadily heavier. By the time she was mounting the last flight she had slowed down to a crawl, each step a forced agony that wrenched screams of protest from her exhausted muscles. Momentum was all that kept her body moving: when she finally came to a stop on the small landing at the top of the stairs she collapsed against the wall, and it was some time before she was able to coerce her limbs into supporting her weight again. Bujir was always in the same position when she entered his office: his gaunt frame hunched over a massive desk, peering assiduously at the papers before him, the thin wire-frame of his spectacles balanced precariously on the sharp tip of his nose. In his right hand, his thin fingers imprisoned a quill pen, their vicelike grip belying their apparent fragility. Never taking his eyes from the pages he studied, the clerk scribbled meticulous notes, in a hand so fine as to be nearly invisible, into a massive ledger; pausing his work only to dip the pen's nib into an inkwell. The only things that ever changed locations in this hellish monument to bureaucracy were the great stacks of documents standing guard upon the desk, and rising like Doric columns from the floor; giving the unsettling impression that these shifting paper bulwarks were far more animate than their fastidious keeper. Only the relentless scratching of Bujir's pen broke the stillness. The air itself seemed afraid to move, the suspended dust hanging immobile in thin shafts of sunlight filtering through the tightly-closed, moth-eaten curtains. Although Khulan trod as softly as possible, the sound of her steps always sounded impossibly loud in her ears as she approached the busy clerk, and the air currents from her passage sent the once still, airborne particles whirling chaotically about the room. Standing in front of his desk, she clutched the papers she carried nervously to her chest. Bujir's shoulders tensed with indignation as his precious silence was rudely shattered yet again. Not one of these ungrateful idiots seemed to comprehend what an incredibly important and demanding task it was to keep the place running smoothly! The one great mercy, in this otherwise intolerable state of affairs, was that Lord Sechen at least had the good sense to leave the day-to-day running of things entirely in Bujir's capable hands. It was quite bad enough to have to suffer the incompetence of these imbeciles surrounding him, without having to also contend with an employer who wouldn't keep his nose out of matters he couldn't possible hope to understand. Only after pointedly ignoring her for several long minutes did Bujir finally acknowledge the presence of this latest intruder to come barging in and unrepentantly interrupt his work. Looking up from his desk, his sallow face pinched into a scowl of displeasure, he squinted nearsightedly at Torolchi's little plaything. Intrusting such vitally important documents to a mere slave offended him to the very core, and he resentfully tolerated this arrangement only because she was, he had to admit, decidedly less prone to tromp about banging into things than those boorish oafs under Torolchi's command. "Well," he snapped, bony fingers gesturing impatiently to the documents she carried, "hand them over then, you stupid girl!" Snatching proffered papers from her hand, he eagerly scrutinized each one for errors, making sure every piece of information had been properly recorded, and the correct number of copies had been completed. Only once he was forced to admit that everything was in order, did he dismiss her with an impatient wave of his hand, not bothering to look up again as he sorted the papers into the appropriate stacks. Khulan held her breath while waiting for the clerk to finish his examination, praying that he would not find any mistakes: for which he unfailingly held her responsible, and took each error as an egregious personal insult. At his dismissal she retreated gratefully, closing the office door behind her with a sigh of relief and scurrying away, back down the stairs to where the tower met the upper stories. The floors below the turret were unoccupied in this area. Indeed, from what she had managed to get out of Torolchi before he had gotten irritated with her questions (which did not take long, Torolchi viewing verbal communication as a last resort and best avoided), other than the massive north tower, in which Lord Sechen dwelt, most of the vast fortress lay unused now: its vaulted marble halls unchanged by the passage of time, except for donning a fine shroud of dust in mourning for their long departed masters. Torolchi always sent her to Bujir in the early afternoon, just before leaving to oversee that days training exercises. Khulan soon learned that, so long as she was in his quarters in the evening when he returned from training, he was entirely uninterested in where she spent the rest of her day. As result, driven both by curiosity and by the desire for the daylight that was so absent from her subterranean abode, she got into the habit of exploring the surrounding rooms until the fading light of evening warned her it was time to return to the dungeon. Her greatest find, made just last week, was the library. At the end of a dark hall were a set of wooden doors, ornately carved with mythical beasts and scenes of fantasy, through which she had found the main level of a palatial oval room. It was a full four stories high, the three upper floors being ringed by broad balconies connected by several elegant wrought-iron staircases, which spiralled up from the floor. Most of the ceiling was taken up by a beautiful stained-glass dome, its sheer size defying creation by human craftsmen. The brightly coloured pieces of glass were arranged so that numerous smaller patterns came together to depict a great four-armed spiral, each arm arching away from the others as it swept out to the edge, dividing the window into four swirled segments. Khulan had recognized the design as a 'wheel of power,' depicting the fields of force within which mages wove their spells. However, this one was different from the three-segmented ones her mother had shown her: along with the familiar runes for body, spirit, and growth, was a symbol she only recognized because it was written as the negation of one of the others: decay. Had she been one who possessed the talent to shape the forces, it would have shocked her to see the forbidden power depicted along side the others as though it was just another force. She would have known that only those harboring dark ambitions and greed for power dared to wield this tainted force, and that it corrupted what little humanity they possessed, warping their talent, turning them into that most vile abomination: a dark mage. However, having only a slight acquaintance with the arts, she merely found the inclusion of the unfamiliar power a curious aberration. What had truly arrested her attention were the books: thousands of them, of every size and description, filling the floor to ceiling shelves that lined the walls. She had spent most of the rest of that afternoon investigating the wealth of knowledge confronting her, and was delighted to discover the books were conveniently ordered according their subject matter, which ranged from astronomy to poetry and everything in between. Although many were books of magic and arcane lore written in the runes of the ancient tongue, and others were in languages she did not even recognize, there were still an overwhelming number to choose from that were written in the common language. She had finally settled on a thick tomb, whose title proclaimed, in bold gold-leaf letters upon the cracked leather cover, World Renowned Scholar Teb Tengri Presents: LEGENDS OF THE MYSTERIOUS WESTERN LANDS. To the best of Khulan's knowledge, nothing lay to the west other than the desolate wastes of the Black Desert. Intrigued, she settled into a soft leather chair with the book in her lap, and began to read exalted tales of the kings, queens, heros and villains of these unknown places. All too soon, the retreating sun had forced her to reluctantly replace the book on its shelf, and return to the unpleasant reality of her life as a slave. She retreated dejectedly back down to the dungeon, the seven days she would have to wait before returning to the magical room seeming an eternity. Today, with the despotic clerk and his arsenal of facts and figures only a few steps behind her, Khulan's mind was already in the remote lands and ancient times spoken of in the book she was reading. She hurried down the stairs and through the halls, until reaching the Library's great doors. Pushing through this final obstacle, she took a moment to enjoy the dry, musty smell of old parchment that greeted her, before retrieving her book from the shelves on the far side of the room. From the shadows of a recessed alcove across from the doors, a dark figure watched Khulan's entrance. Blood-red pupils narrowed to thin slivers of ruby as the human female passed close by. The beast knew what she was and, more importantly, what she was for: the Master had occasionally given it such things to feast upon. A clawed hand flexed at the memories of closing around a warm neck, desperate gurgling breaths slowly choked off by tightening fingers . . . Yet it hesitated before falling upon this tempting delicacy: it knew she was prey, but it also knew that she should be dragged screaming to it by the master's guards, or cowering in a corner and whimpering in terror. She should not come strolling in voluntarily. She should not be seated comfortably in a chair reading a book. Perhaps this was some sort of trick by the Master? Cautiously, it approached the strange human from behind, the slight click of its talons upon the stone floor too faint to register in human ears. Khulan stopped reading, disturbed by a feeling that there was someone, or something, behind her. Frowning, she tried to concentrate on the story again, determined to ignore the sensation. Between the ominous threat of Lord Sechen's plans for her, and the every day dangers of reprisals from the guards (resentful of being denied her use, but unable take their anger out on their commander), there was more than enough to fear without her now succumbing to a host of imagined perils as well. The anxiety building inside her soon rendered sitting still impossible: she spun around in her chair, even while preparing to harshly chastize herself for allowing phantom imaginings to get the better of her. The planned rebuke died unspoken on her tongue - confronting her, clad in nothing but coarse leather pants, was an exceptionally large, muscular man. Or at least, she would have called it a man, were it not for the dark skin, the wickedly curved talons extending from each finger, the crimson pupils set in pitch-black eyes, and the leathery wings folded against its back. In shock, Khulan instinctively tried to anchor her thoughts in identifying the creature that stood before her, but its features were utterly incongruous. Only pureblood demons had such eyes: the eyes of bastard spawn, produced by forced matings with humans, were entirely, and without exception, black. Yet only amongst half-breed spawn could creatures even remotely humanoid in form turn up. She stared at this thing, which technically could not exist, in bewilderment, vaguely aware that some detached part of her mind was gibbering incoherently in fear. For its part, the creature gazed back at Khulan, in much the same predicament. There was still no screaming, no frantic attempts at escape, no hysterical sobbing; the female just sat there. She looked and smelled wholly human, but she continued to behave in an inexplicably bizarre fashion. "Can you speak?" Khulan asked suddenly. The question just seemed to pop into her mind, and was uttered before she had time to consider just how unsuitable a response it was, to finding oneself within easy reach of a very large, very lethal-looking demonic fiend. "Yes." It replied, its voice low and sibilant. Now she asked questions? There must be something that convinced her she was safe, a something that might prove very detrimental to its health if it followed through on the urge to rend her limb from limb. In a most undemon-like fashion, it decided to follow the dictates of reason, and leave this particular morsel untouched. As surprised as she was to hear it reply, she was far more so when it turned and started walking away. "Wait," she called after it, "what are you?" Grave doubts about her action surfaced the moment it turned around to face her once more. "A-Are you a demon, or demon spawn?" she added, more to calm herself than to clarify her question. "I'm a chimaera." Its eyes flickered, as though flames burning behind the bright pupils had been disturbed by a gust of wind. "A chi-mae-ra?" Khulan repeated the unfamiliar syllables uncertainly. "Separate creatures, made into one," it hissed, "the Master created me from a demon and a white mage." Finally this creature began to make sense to her. It was not a demon, nor was it one of the weaker demonic monstrosities that arose from demon seed. Unlike those so-called half-breeds, whose humanity was limited to the dissolute effect of their mother's mortal flesh upon their innate power, he actually was half human. This explanation seemed to have satisfied the human, but he was not content to leave matters at this: if she could have her answers so could he. "Why are you so different from the others? Are you of some importance to the Master?" Khulan was not sure what difference he meant, or exactly which others he referred to, but she knew the answer to the second question: "Yes. I don't know what it is, but Lord Sechen does have a special purpose for me." Just thinking those words, let alone speaking them, sent cold chills through her and drew her thoughts down dark corridors of unimagined horrors. "Do you have a name?" she blurted out heedlessly, anything to tear her thoughts away from Lord Sechen's plans for her, "I'm Khulan." No wonder she was not afraid: the Master would inflict endless torments upon anyone unlucky enough to interfere with his experiments. He was startled out of his thoughts by her question: a name? "No." He growled. Why would she care about names? Why should he? Why was he even bothering with this human's prattle now that he knew she was not prey? The dreary answer came all too easily. A quick extension of his awareness determined that none of the Master's minions had accidentally wandered out of their protected quarters into the deserted sections, so there was nothing better to do. In fact, there was nothing else to do at all. "Sometimes I am called Sacha," he added, somewhat reluctantly. "Was that your name when you were a mage?" "I was never a mage. There 'was' a mage, and there 'was' a demon. Now there is me." "Was that the mage's name then?" she pressed, spurred by the unconscious desire to identify him more strongly with his human side. "No." What was the mage's name anyway? It had been so long since he'd even acknowledged those memories, let alone examined them, that they were nearly impossible to find. Even when he managed to locate one, it slipped away before he managed to see more than their vague outline, or hear more than a whisper of some long forgotten voice. He growled in annoyance at even bothering to make the effort: it was not as though any of it mattered. The chimaera's eyes had lost their sharp, predatory focus, as though he was lost in thought. Watching him, Khulan wondered what thoughts such a creature would have: how would the thoughts of a demon mesh with those of human? Do demons even think? What sort of strange knowledge did he possess? With this last question, an interesting possibility occurred to her: "Sacha, do you have knowledge of maps?" "What do you mean?" There was an edge of hostility to his reply that would have silenced her had she not been so intent on pursuing her idea. "Could you recognize this land on a map?" she persisted. "Of course." He looked at her strangely, his irritation fading into curiosity over the reason for these odd questions. "I have a map here, could you show me where it is?" "You don't know?" How could she not be able to locate her own land on a map? Khulan bristled at his incredulous tone. "No one ever taught me," she countered defensively. Her fickle indignation fled as the dark chimaera began stalking toward her, and she suddenly regretted not having had the sense to let the dreadful thing leave: what had she been thinking, trying to engage it in conversation? Swallowing nervously, she fought the urge to squeeze her eyes shut so she couldn't see its approach, as though it were some childhood monster that would disappear the moment she stopped looking for it. She tried to hide her fear beneath affected ire: "And it's not as though you were born knowing how to read a map." Demon Made Flesh Ch. 2 "Actually, I was." He replied; grinning malevolently at her, revealing two rows of gleaming, needle-sharp fangs. Considering it was only the Master's interest in her that was keeping him from reducing this fragile little human to quivering ribbons of meat, he found her expression of irritation with him laughable. "So, where is this map, female?" "Khulan," she corrected him distractedly, not really aware she had spoken, as she stared with trepidation at the mouthful of teeth confronting her. His amused grin broadened: this human was too much! Could she be so ignorant of demons that she did not realize visions of her torn and gutted carcass flitted teasingly through his mind? That he could almost feel her soft organs yielding beneath his piercing-claws' embrace? Or was she just so complacent in the safety the Master interest accorded her that she thought it truly rendered him incapable of acting upon such urges? "Where is this map, 'Khulan'?" he amended, his eyes flashing, letting her name soak up his thirst for blood as he wrapped his tongue around it. Although he made no overtly threatening move or gesture, there was an underlying menace in his voice that filled her with deep foreboding; an effect only heightened by his continued, and unsettlingly toothy, grin. Acutely aware of the ominous presence beside her (he was standing so close to her that she could feel the warmth radiating from his flesh), she tried hard not to think about what this powerful beast's claws and teeth could do to her. Settling back into the chair, she replaced the heavy volume in her lap, and turned to the faded map on the inside cover. Sacha leaned closer to get a better view of the map. It was strange to look upon something so familiar, and yet so foreign: he had never so much as glanced at such a thing before, yet the age-dulled lines jumped out at him, tracing borders and roads that seemed to be ingrained within him. His eyes followed the boarder between Altan Uruk and Bindusar as it suddenly veered off course, a thick protrusion of Bindusar thrusting deeply into the other land. There was something about this part of the map, something he had once known . . . He could hear a man's animated voice describing the panic that had ensued once it became clear that Bindusar's Queen was in no condition to travel, and would be giving birth to the premature heir within hours: "Imagine," the man intoned in mock horror, his grey eyes twinkling with amusement, "the possibility of an heir born on foreign soil! You've never seen such an uproar my boy, such wailing and wringing of hands. The way those the court officials carried on, you would have sworn it was they, rather than Queen Urvasi, who were enduring the combined agony of child birth and the certain death of that child. Well, our good king could hardly resist the temptation to appear selfless while actually risking nothing: secure in the knowledge that an infant born this early had no chance, the king cheerfully granted a great swath of choice farm land over to Bindusar (on condition of the heir's survival). You can imagine how our sovereign's mood declined in the following days and weeks, as the stubborn child refused to die!" The sound of musical laughter filled the small room. As the silence stretched out into minutes, Khulan looked up hesitantly, half expecting to find his predatory gaze fixed upon her still. The creature beside her was staring at the map, with a disconnected look in his eyes again. "Sacha?" The girl's voice snapped him violently out of his reverie. Back in the present, he was disturbed by how vivid the recollection had been: the memories had never been so distinct before, not even at first. Nonplussed, he crouched by her chair and brusquely pointed out Altan Uruk on the map: "This is your land, it is called Altan Uruk." He traced the outline of the land with one finger, running his sharp talon lightly over the page so as not to tear the parchment. "The capital city, Ayil, is here, in the east. Lion's Keep, where we are now, is here, at the foot of the Lion's Teeth." He stabbed at an unmarked spot along the northern mountains. Looking at his face, she wondered again about the mage who had been gone into Sacha's creation. He must have been exceptionally good-looking: even now, fused with a demon's monstrous form, the fearful result was still strikingly attractive. Although his face was clearly demonic, the sharp features and ridged cheek bones fit quite well with his catlike eyes, and tall, sharply pointed ears. Even his almost-black skin, which she had initially found hideous, now looked quite natural against his mane of hair so black, that it appeared to be a complete absence of light rather than a colour. He was undeniably beautiful, but it was an inhuman and predatory perfection: the terrifying beauty of a sleek and powerful killer. His muscular arm rested against her chest as he indicated the places on the map, and while her eyes focussed on the map, her body was focussed on the pleasant warmth of his skin. The combined feelings of attraction and fear he inspired had a highly erotic effect upon her, the surges of adrenaline amplifying every sensation and physical response. Despite her unease at having the chimaera so close to her, her body could not help but responded to his touch: his mere nearness made her tingle with excitement. As Sacha outlined Altan Uruk on the map for her, his upper arm unintentionally rubbed against her right breast. The contact made her breath catch, and her nipples hardened into stiff peaks as a jolt of pleasure ran down her spine. She felt her breathing become faster as he leaned in to point out the location of the Keep, in the far northeast: his hard chest pressing firmly against her shoulder and his arm stretched out, just making contact with the jutting nipple of her other breast. She shivered with pleasure, the gentle intimacy of his touch arousing her far more than Torolchi's urgent, demanding hands ever had. Leaning closer to the human to show her where they were now, Sacha was suddenly very aware of a new, slightly musky aroma in her scent, of the softness of her full breasts, and of the hard nipples rubbing against his arm with the rise and fall of her chest. Along with the expected hunger for her blood, memories of strange sensations and desires flooded his mind: the feeling of his hand running across soft, silky skin; warm lips pressed against his chest; slim fingers digging into his back; an urgent female voice moaning entreaties; a rising pleasure as two bodies moved together . . . Sacha snatched his arm away, putting an end to the strange mental images, but leaving him feeling deeply disconcerted. It was quite obvious that the unrest within him was this human's fault, although he did not know how she had done it, nor even exactly what she had done. He glared angrily at Khulan, who was looking up at him with an odd mix of apprehension and something he didn't recognize, something that seemed to unsettle his thoughts even more. If only the Master didn't have plans for her, then he could sooth his agitation with screams of terror wrenched from her slender throat - as it was he would have to find something else to vent his frustrations on. Giving the human a menacing snarl, he turned and strode from the room, heading to the lower dungeons where the discarded results of the Master's experiments dwelt. Although the twisted creatures were incapable of feeling fear, at least he could immerse himself in their frenzied shrieks of agony while he slowly eviscerated them. Khulan sat in the chair as though frozen, making no move to prevent the demon-man's departure this time. Even after he had vanished through the doors she remained absolutely still. Her thoughts were a confused jumble of emotions, none of which she wanted to face. Most especially, she did not want to think about the horrifying desire she had felt for the creature: what sort of depraved beast would be aroused by a fiend from hell? Unfortunately, no amount of willpower was able to keep this horrifying question at bay, and she sobbed convulsively against her drawn-up knees, sick with fear and shame over her body's repugnant betrayal of all human decency. This horrible place must be draining the humanity from her, turning her into something as monstrous as the chimaera, perhaps even as monstrous as Lord Sechen. Waking up hours later, she felt a great deal calmer, most of her distress appearing to have flowed from her with her tears. It was not the demonic side of the chimaera she had responded to, she reasoned, it was the human side, and as such her response was entirely natural and understandable. Indeed, she could not help wondering why she had become so irrationally hysterical about the whole affair. Stretching, and finally opening her eyes, she felt icy fingers of terror tighten around her chest again: what she had sleepily taken to be the dull light of twilight was, in fact, moonlight. She had no idea how late it was: she might still have an hour before Torolchi walked expectantly into his bedroom, or he might have arrived long ago and be waiting for her in growing anger, planning the order in which various tortures were to be inflicted upon her for her disobedience. Perhaps he had already sent men out looking for her, no doubt telling them they could do what they wished to her when they found her. Panic stricken she bolted back to the stairs, the marble floors that had sparkled so beautifully in the day now glinted coldly under the pallid glow of the moon. At each doorway she expected rough hands grab her, and the voice of one of the guards to exclaim in triumph. By the time she reached the stairs her heart was hammering in her chest like a frightened rabbit's, and she fled down the steps so fast that several times she almost fell headlong. Only when she reached the bottom of the last flight, still not having encountered any signs of pursuit, did the vice of fear ease it's crushing grip of her chest. It was not that late yet, maybe Torolchi would even forgive her. At his bedroom door, gasping for breath, Khulan nearly fainted with relief to find Torolchi just arriving himself. "You were almost late," Torolchi grunted with a scowl, as he took in her panting, trembling form. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered, "please, I swear it won't happen . . ." "Undress." Torolchi commanded huskily, cutting off the girl's apology. He had entirely lost interest in her near lateness as he gazed at her heaving chest, admiring the way her full breasts pressed tightly against her thin cotton shift with each laboured breath. His hands moved to his own clothing, tossing his garments unceremoniously to the floor as he continued to watch the slave girl. Leaning against the wall, to steady her shaking legs, Khulan hastily pulled the brief dress over her head. She was well aware of her keeper's impatient nature, and determined not to cause him any further annoyance tonight. Naked, she turned to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand vigorously stroking his hard cock while his eyes devoured her like a tasty piece of meat. "Come'ere." He gestured in front of him with his free hand. As soon as she reached him, he gripped her shoulder and roughly pressed her to her knees on the cold stone floor, between his widely splayed legs. His balls tingled with excitement as her pretty face came level with his stiff cock. Tangling one hand in her silken hair, he pulled her unresisting head toward his thick member; his other hand was curled around the base of his shaft, holding his cock steady. Her body, filled with unsatisfied hunger from her encounter in the library, reacted swiftly to Torolchi's obvious arousal and the pungent scent of his lust: her cheeks flushing with arousal and a wet heat growing between her legs. Khulan stared fixedly at the engorged cock in front of her, her eyes were glazed with lust as they hungrily took in the thick shaft and broad mushroom head: she could almost feel it sliding into her heated pussy. The head flared slightly, and she unconsciously licked her lips as she saw a bead of precum forming at the tip. The sight of her pink tongue peeking out from between her full lips drew a growl of desire from Torolchi as he anticipated having her tongue and lips on his cock. Impatient to feel her against his hard flesh, he tugged her forward. He groaned under his breath as her lips met his cock-head: the sensation of her soft, satiny lips pressing against his sensitive crown was exquisite. Holding her head still, he swiped his precum across her lips, smearing it on them with the slippery tip of his cock. Khulan licked his helmet clean with fast strokes of her tongue, avidly swallowing his salty precum, then running her tongue across his slit in search of more. The taste and feel of him in her mouth made her pussy throb with need. Desperate for some relief from the burning itch within her, she moved one hand to her crotch: her fingers easily slid between her slick folds, and she moaned softly as her fingertips gently caressed her aching clit. Torolchi watched in amazement her hand slid past the wet lips of her cunt. "Bloody Hell," he swore hoarsely, his voice a mixture of awe and lust. He had never seen a woman pleasure herself before - it had never even occurred to him that women did such things - and he was startled at how much the sight aroused him. At the end of each stroke her fingers slid partially out from her clinging folds, and he could see how they glistened with her juices. "Bloody Hell," he breathed again, swallowing hard as his hand instinctively pulled her face further down on his twitching cock. Khulan wrapped her tongue around his helmet as her mouth was pulled onto the bulbous head. The second the flared ridge was forced past her lips she pressed them down tightly behind it, rubbing them against the sensitive flesh. Her fingers sink deeper and deeper into her pussy with each thrust of her hand, making her body shiver with delight. Hungry for greater stimulation, her hips starting to move of their own accord, pressing forward onto her thrusting hand. The effect her display was having on Torolchi was not lost on her, and with her other hand she spread her pussy-lips wide, giving him a clear view of her hand as she fucked herself. Gripping her head firmly in his hands, he watched her wet fingers sliding in and out of her hot cunt, as he slowly, steadily, drove his rigid shaft into her mouth. The warmth and tightness of her sucking mouth and her relentlessly rubbing tongue drew an appreciative moan from his lips. He pulled her harder against him, desperate to penetrate her hot, moist depths. He moaned again when his cock hit the back of her throat: his head rubbing against the roof of her mouth, sending every nerve in his almost painfully aroused flesh screaming with pleasure. She changed the angle of her throat so it could take the rest of his cock, and heard him gasp loudly as his cock suddenly plunged all the way in. Her nose was pressed into his crotch, and she could feel his heavy balls resting against her chin. Despite her own arousal, Khulan managed to stay focussed on the task of pleasing her master: she swallowed just as he'd taught her, the strong contractions of her muscles milking his swollen head rhythmically. Pressing fingers down on either side of her clit she forced the hood back, and ran her thumb along the reddened nub. Her body shivered with delight and her hand moved faster, plunging deeply into her cunt. Torolchi was panting for breath as he arched forward, pushing his crotch into her face. The sensation of her swallowing on his cock made his body burn with need. He dragged her head off his straining shaft, shuddering as her tongue bathed him: it felt so good! But his cock immediately ached to feel her throat again; he only managed to withdraw halfway out before he could no longer help himself, and slammed his drooling head back into her mouth with a growl of lust. His eyes were still locked on her hand, which was now dripping with her sweet juices as she fucked herself with it. As her head was pulled from his cock Khulan sucked in a deep breath, and once more rubbed the tip of her tongue on the underside of his ridge, making him gasp in pleasure. Her face was suddenly pulled hard against his crotch, his heavy balls slapping against her chin, as his thick cock plunged down her throat with one powerful thrust of his hips. She sucked hard, grinding her face into his crotch as though trying to take more of him. Her hips began moving more urgently against her hand as the pleasure built in her body, tensing as the hard nub of her clit rubbed against her thumb with each thrust. Torolchi's head rolled back in ecstasy, shuddering as the sensations coming from his cock threatened to overwhelm him. The girl's sucking mouth and gripping throat were sending jolts of almost unbearable pleasure shooting through his cock. Laying back on his bed, his straining arms pulled her head against him again and again as his hips bucked against her face, ramming his aching cock down her tightly gripping throat as he savagely fucked her mouth. Each delicious swallow of her throat around his pulsating head make his whole body jerk spasmodically. Khulan whimpered with need, aching to taste him, craving it, her own body stiffened as her hand brought her closer and closer to the edge. She writhed her tongue hungrily around his ridge and sucked on the head each time his cock withdrew; then rubbed her tongue against the thick vein on the underside of his cock as his arms shoved her face back into his crotch and his hips surged up to meet her mouth. A rivulet of hot liquid was trickling from her cunt as the movement of her fingers against its gripping walls sent waves of pleasure washing over her taut body. Her hips thrust faster and faster as she felt her urgently needed climax approaching. He clutched at her, his fists white-knuckled in her blonde hair, writhing, and moaning continuously, desperate for release. His wildly thrusting hips driving his throbbing cock into her mouth hard and fast, any semblance of control gone as his body rushed towards the building orgasmic ecstasy. Her cunt suddenly clenched down hard on her hand, and she threw her head back with a cry as her orgasm seized control of her body. Her hand moved at a frenzied pace, grinding her thumb hard against her aching clit. A flood of sweet nectar flowed from her pussy as her body shuddered helplessly in ecstasy. Torolchi sat bolt upright when he heard her cry out, so transfixed by the sight of her that he barely noticed that her mouth had slipped off his cock. Seeing the sudden flood of fluid running down her hand, pooling on the floor beneath her, was too much. With a guttural snarl he shoved her to her back, pushing her legs into the air, and rammed his cock deep into her still spasming cunt. Mad with lust, conscious only of the burning ache in his loins and the hot cum churning in his swollen balls, he fucked her like a rutting beast: grunting and pounded his hips against hers. Khulan gasped in surprise as he plowed into her, then whimpered and dug her fingernails into his back as she felt his pumping cock driving her over the brink again. His balls clenched tight, and Torolchi managed on last thrust, hilting himself in her warm depths as the cum pulsed up his twitching cock. He threw his head back with a horse cry of pleasure, and emptied his load into her hot, gripping depths. Before her first peak had even fully passed, the second climax gripped her, leaving her writhing beneath him as waves of pure ecstasy erupted within her. At the same moment, hot jets of cum erupted from his jerking cock and splashed against her pulsing cervix like liquid fire. Torolchi collapsed on top of her with a satisfied groan, gasping with exertion. Demon Made Flesh Ch. 2 Khulan panted shallowly as her orgasm subsided, the weight of Torolchi's sweaty body pressing down on her chest making it difficult to breathe. Her lungs started to burn, hungry for air, but she knew better than to move before he was ready: she forcibly reminded herself that she was just lucky his lust had intervened on her behalf earlier, overriding his anger over her late arrival, the last thing she needed was to do something else to provoke him now. To take her mind from the growing ache in her lungs, she tried to concentrate on the warm tingle between her legs left over from her climax, and the pleasant fulness of the softening cock still buried in her. However, she found her thoughts turning, instead, to her encounter in the library: remembering the way his eyes had burned into hers, and the heat of his flesh against her skin. What would it feel like to lie beneath such a creature? She was startled by a shiver of excitement at the thought. She knew full well that demons' took pleasure only in the infliction of pain and torment, any notion of finding pleasure with one was laughable. * * * * * In the airy, ornately-furnished council chambers of Ayil's Hall of Mages, Mistress Al-Alta Erdene sat at the head of the polished mahogany table, presiding over the hastily assembled early-morning meeting. There was nothing overtly authoritative about the short, pleasantly-plump woman's appearance; but her manner and bearing were unquestionably those of one accustomed to being in a position of leadership, and the easy self-confidence in her rich contralto voice commanded attention as surely as the gruff bellow of any military commander. Al-Alta cast her eyes over the hastily assembled council members, gauging the reaction to her news. As she had anticipated, their reactions ranged from grim resolve to the righteous anger of Usun. Of course, there was one predictable exception: as she glanced at the lanky, silver-haired old man seated to her right, she noted that the venerable Master Khan was gazing out at the garden through an open window. To all outward appearances, Erlik Khan was blissfully unaware of the existence of the rest of the council, let alone of the pressing concerns confronting them. Al-Alta cast glance out the window herself, immersing herself for a moment in the serine beauty of the flowers and the sweet fragrance of roses wafting in on the gentle summer breeze. Her attention was reluctantly brought back to the issue at hand by Master Usun's loud interjection: "So, that vile fiend, Sechen, stirs the fields of power and as usual we will do nothing but sit around gabbing about it like a bunch of old harpies." Usun growled, his voice shaking with unrestrained outrage, "Well I for one have had enough!" He slammed his meaty paw down on the table for emphasis, and the teacups rattled in their saucers sympathetically. "I say we attack now, before he has a chance to put his foul plans into action." His dark eyes flashed beneath bushy brows, challenging the others to defend their sloth and inaction. Mistress Ibakha rescued her tea just before Usun's fist hit, and staring frostily, at the dark-haired man, over the rim of her bone-china cup: his unseemly displays of temper never failed to ire her. The moment his initial eruption subsided, she rounded on him, confronting his heated words with the cold calculation of a striking snake: "Speaking as one of the 'old harpies', I should like to point out to the Honourable Council Member that, if we attack the keep directly, the fortress' own defences will slaughter us without our dear colleague Khuyildar Sechen having to so much as lift a finger." "Well, I didn't mean attack directly," Usun huffed indignantly, "I meant get through the defences and then attack." "I see, so you do have some way through the defences worked out then?" Ibakha inquired dryly. "Well no," he muttered petulantly into his thick beard, "not 'worked out' exactly." "If I understand you correctly then," she continued, your great plan is that instead of 'wasting our time' discussing the matter, we attack at once via some hole in the defences that you have yet to discovered?" Although somewhat deflated by her acerbic reply, Usun was by no means defeated. He quickly changed tactics: "We can attack him outside the keep." He blurted out. Then, warming to this new idea, he started to bluster again, gesticulating emphatically, "We'll surround the foul beast like hounds on a fox, cut him off from the force and . . ." Ibakha did not even bother waiting for the large man to finish this time: "We don't even know if he leaves the keep, and even if he does, how do you propose we find him, send a polite note asking him to please let us know next time he steps out? Perhaps invite him around the Hall for tea? Or are you actually so foolish as to think any of us will be able to track a mage of his power?" Seething, but unable to come up with a satisfactory rejoinder, Usun settled back into his chair and glowered balefully at the slim woman sitting across from him. At 114 years (though looking to be in her early thirties), Ibakha was more than 50 years his junior; yet the insufferable bitch persisted in speaking to him - her respected elder - as though he were nothing but a cranky child! And none of the others ever said a thing, always maintaining complete obliviousness to her insults; whereas Erdene and Sokhor fell on him like rapid dogs if he showed the slightest disrespect to that demented old fool, Khan. Usun clenched his teeth angrily as he contemplated the outrageous injustice of it all. Al-Alta Erdene watched the altercation between the young mages with well-concealed amusement. The versatile, quick-witted Ibakha had only joined the Hall last year, but Erlik had immediately seen the 'little one's worth and insisted she be included in the council. Meetings since then, though increasingly productive, had simultaneously grown more volatile as 'little one' and 'bear' spent more and more time at each other's throats. Two months ago Al-Alta had finally confided in Erlik, her fears that she would have to transfer one of the two to a different Hall just to prevent bloodshed. He had laughed uproariously at her suggestion, and it had been several minutes before he'd regained sufficient composure to inform her, with affected sobriety, that she needn't worry as the two 'mortal enemies' would be lovers before the year was out. She'd been sceptical of course, and had retorted that if Ibakha and Usun ever did become lovers, it would doubtless end with Ibakha consuming him in the manner of mating praying mantises. However, watching the two since then, Al-Alta had to admit that there was a certain spark between them that she hadn't noticed before: it was something about the intensity with which they looked at each other. Displaying his usual, unnerving ability to anticipate her thoughts, Erlik Khan abandoned his contemplation of the rose bushes for just long enough to convey to her, in an exaggerated whisper, "Look Ali, little one is practising her mantis impression again." Ibakha frowned disapprovingly at Master Khan, who merely grinned at her in the gregariously innocent manner of a large, friendly dog, then returned to his surveillance of the vegetation. She shook her head in annoyance: at least the Usun disrupted council meetings by presenting actual opinions, the idiocy of which could be pointed out to him; Khan, on the other hand, seemed to take an infantile delight in spouting utter nonsense, against which logic was gallingly ineffectual. Then there was his disgraceful attire, a simple tunic and plain brown trousers: even when attending council the man dressed like a peasant! Not to mention his inappropriate insistence on calling people by pet names, she thought, adding this to her mental list of his shortcomings - 'little one' indeed, she grumbled to herself: it made her sound like an innocent little girl. She could see the temptation in the case of burly Usun, 'the bear', but still, it was most unbecoming for a mage of Master Khan's stature to show such utter contempt for social mores. Unfortunately, that same contempt rendered any attempt to chastize him an exercise in futility. With an exasperated sigh, she turned back to Usun. "Well then, perhaps we need to discuss the situation a little more after all." Ibakha stated, correctly interpreting Usun's continued silence as being as near to an admission of defeat as she was going to get out of him. Entirely unmoved by his 'humph' of indignation, she gave the sulking Usun a flagrantly insincere smile before turning to Mistress Erdene, who appeared to have finally recovered from the sudden fit of coughing that had come upon her following Khan's comment. "Did the watcher have anything more to report, Mistress?" Al-Alta composed herself as best she could. She could sympathize with Erlik's impatience with social niceties, but it still would not do for the head of council to burst into laughter at one of the council members, particularly not at the invariably proper Ibakha. She need not have worried though, for the moment she started speaking her own sombre news drove every trace of amusement from her. "He said that before it collapsed, the pattern had the same basic symmetry as the initial weavings of a transportation spell, but that there was an additional element that he did not recognize supporting the main pattern," she paused before adding the final, and most unsettling fact, "and the pattern was much too large, extending well into all four planes." Up to that point Master Duua Sokhor had been sitting quietly, scowling morosely at the table while fiddling with the finery on his brocaded silk robes. At Mistress Erdene's words he looked up, startled: "All four?" he exclaimed incredulously, "Even a portal to the other side of the world would not require a foundation a fraction of that size! Obviously Sechen's finally gone quite mad." Al-Alta Erdene pursed her lips in a frown. The thought of madness had crossed her mind as well: to weave a base that immense for a portal was overkill on the order of extinguishing a candle by dropping a lake on top of it. After all these years of isolation, had Khuyildar Sechen just gone mad? Could it really be that simple? However appealing the idea might be to her reason, her gut told her no. "You know, I think the yellows are blooming much better this year, Duua. What do you think?" Erlik asked, nodding his head in the direction of the roses in question. Master Sokhor took a fleeting glance at the blossoming shrubbery: "Yes, I suppose they are, what's your point, Khan?" "I can remember when they were planted 40 years ago, do you remember Duua? Jebe spent hours preparing the beds for them: loosening the sod, digging in all those barrels of manure." Erlik smiled fondly as he recalled the old gardener. Jebe's son looked after things now, but Erlik felt that the boy didn't share his father's intimate understanding of the plants. "Yes, I remember," Sokhor responded impatiently. He didn't actually: the damned things could have been dumped there last week for all he knew or cared. "Those scraggly little seedlings looked ridiculous in those large beds. One might have thought him mad for planting them thus," Erlik chuckled, "but they look good now, don't they?" He indicated the lush bushes again, "It was not insanity that drove him at all, but rather his knowledge of what he was planting." "This may come as a surprise to you, my dear Khan," Sokhor snapped, finally losing patience with the other's ramblings, "but we do have slightly weightier issues confronting us than rosebushes. Would you kindly get on with it?" "I believe that what Master Khan is trying to say, Master Sokhor," Al-Alta interrupted good humouredly, "is that since Sechen possesses vast knowledge of magic, we should assume he is not preparing the foundation in order to plant a scraggly little portal." She turned inquiringly to Erlik, "The question is old man, what sort of rosebush is it?" "He's trying to open a gate again, and one that reaches deeper this time from the sound of it." Erlik Khan commented, in the same matter-of-fact tone with which he had been discussing transplanting rosebushes. Sokhor blanched and fell silent again, looking slightly ill. Al-Alta looked at Erlik sharply, "That's what he did in Lion's Keep, isn't it?" Erlik just nodded; his grey eyes wore a distant, haunted look, as they always did when the subject of the Fall of Lion's Keep came up. He never spoke about the Fall, and before this moment it was not something Al-Alta had ever pressed him about. What little she knew about that night, some two hundred years ago, had been horrible enough: four hundred and seventy-six men and women had died that night at Khuyildar Sechen's hands. Sechen's timing had been perfect, by striking during the annual meeting of the High Council he guaranteed that most of the mages of the lands, including nearly all the high-ranking ones, would be in attendance at the keep. By the time morning dawned, nearly all that was left of the once glorious Guild of Power was a hundred or so novices and initiates. Erlik was one of the few senior mages to survive, and he was the only person to make it out of the fortress alive. All the other survivors, such as herself, had been elsewhere when the attack took place. Usun looked around the table at the others, making sure that Ibakha looked as confused as he was before admitting he had no idea what the three older mages were saying. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, "Deeper into what?" "Hell." Erlik said softly. "Are you telling me he means to open a gate into hell?" Usun spluttered, "But that makes no sense! Why take the risk when he can conjure a demon anytime he wants?" "Only one of the wee beasties," Erlik replied with a wry smile, "the real baddies don't come when called - you have to go to them." There was absolute silence for several minutes following this piece of information. Then Sokhor demanded to know what Sechen would want with one of the greater demons; while Usun pounded the table and expounded vehemently on what needed to be done to someone of such vileness, and Ibakha pointed out to him the impracticality of doing any of it to Sechen. "I need to think." Erlik announced abruptly, to no one in particular, then leaped from his chair and strode grimly from the room, his face expressionless. Even for Erlik this was strange behaviour, and Al-Alta gazed worriedly after him as he walked out. She adjourned the meeting the moment she could get Usun and Ibakha to shut up long enough for to her to make the pronouncement, then hurried off in search of Erlik. * * * * * Thanks to all those who have taken the time to vote, and most especially to those who have sent me comments about what they liked and/or disliked in my stories. Last but not least, thanks for reading.