We walked long into the night. Burning torches kept us from stumbling in the dark - or worse. The stars crowded the sky like spectators in a colosseum, staring and jeering at us. We put one wary foot in front of the other, victims on a death march. We were down to just five men. I was glad the slaves at least had rested - we didn't need Commander Idiot impaling one for being too slow, or whatever other nonsense he'd come up with. I'd come all the way to Hyperborea to somehow end up stuck with an insecure, talentless, middle manager.
As the night deepened, I was soon quite glad for the torches. Strange sounds came from across the ruins, followed by what seemed to be replies. I thought I saw stars moving unlike any meteor or Landing Beast - \some disappeared altogether to reappear when I wasn't looking. At the time, I told myself it was just the exhaustion getting to me. Looking back, the exhaustion was why I'd let myself off with believing that.
Finally, the world turned from predatory black to the very darkest of grey.
The stars began fading, and the world filled with the gloom that precedes sunrise. When the East began to glow, we knew we had survived, and not just a forced march.
We stopped in the ruins of a roofless temple; shattered columns tumbled down its great steps. Whips sang out as the slaves hauled their sleds up them. Even the men helped, fatigue and isolation yielding a few, egalitarian moments.
We did not bother with tents. Bedrolls were thrown down, and slaves unharnessed. One man lay against the base of a column, a slave girl on each side (there were more slaves to masters now). Another pulled a girl between his legs and fell asleep before she even finished pleasing him. She stopped, pulled off his boots, and drew a blanket over him. She fell asleep moments later, curled against his chest.
"Tenth Man," Stikken came over to me, dark circles under his eyes. He carried a bulging, burlap sack he put down in before me. "There is something for you to do."
"What?" I raised an eyebrow at the overfilled sack.
"Over there," he pointed South. "Do you see that? A bit of green. Real green, not these gods damned, desert, razor grasses."
I tried to follow his finger, scanning the ruins till, at last, I saw it. Several trees and bushes around a small, very much intact, wood and stone cottage. Beside it was a well.
"What the hell is that doing out here?"
"You're going there. We have supplies to drop off with him; best do it now before you rest."
It was about nine hundred feet away.
"For fucks sake, I'll do it after I've had some sleep!"
Fogrim, who'd been watching the sunrise, turned and gave me a hard look.
"Fine! I'll bloody do it. Who is this 'him' who's so important?"
"His name is Megaros. Don't be making friends with, not if you want to rise in the ranks. Get going. If you sleep there I don't care. Just be back before it gets dark again."
***
The sun had fully risen and was baking away the morning mists by the time I reached the cottage. Onska walked behind me; I pulled her along by her leash chain. All she wore was the burlap sack strapped to her back. Her tall, slim body had sunned nicely, and her chestnut hair blew in the wind.
The cottage was a large, two-story structure of white stone and mortar. Thick wooden beams made its frame. Its roof was flat and rimmed with a low wall. Outside the cottage were several fruit trees and bushes. Vegetables sprouted in dark, cultivated rows. Bees buzzed around a wooden hive, and from behind, I could hear the clucking of a chicken. There was no defensive wall, not even a palisade of sharpened wooden stakes.
The cottage door opened, and a young Runa man stepped out. He wore a red priest's robe but had trimmed it to a practical length. He only had a few tattoos - my slave Ina had had more, as a low-level priestess. He smiled at me and waved.
"Greetings to you, Traveller!"
"Yeah. Are you Megaros, the priest?"
"I am! And you, good man?"
"I'm Gerard. These are for you," I pulled the sack off the slave's back.
"I have never seen one so tired as you, Gerard. Come inside; the morning meal is being prepared. I will have a bed for you, as well."
He had me at 'meal.'
Inside, it was less a domicile than a library. Shelves lined every wall, carrying leather-bound tomes, piles of yellowed scrolls, and stacks of baked tablets. Others were covered in artifacts: one had a gold cup with socketed rubies. Another had a dusty statue of a tentacled creature, cut from basalt. Leaning against a wall was a wooden totem pole with winged monsters carved into it. A clay, funerary mask with slits for the eyes and mouth, was being used as a doorstop.
"What is this place?" I sat at the wooden dining table. Pushed to one side was a pot filled with clay, a jar of water, and a wooden frame for making clay tablets. Beside them were a stylus, a half-finished tablet, and the crumbling flakes of an age-blackened scroll pinned to a wooden slab.
A petite Shang slave girl put two mugs down in front of me, one of water and the other of milk. I sipped the water - it had the mineral tang of the well and was delightfully cool. I closed my eyes and drained it in a single draught.
"This has been my home these past few years," Megaros sat across from me. A second, delicate Shang put down two mugs for him as well. "And hopefully, many more."
"These books are from the ruins?" I tugged Onska's leash chain; it clinked as she knelt at my feet. One Shang set a bowl of water in front of my woman. Onska held her hair back and lowered her head to the bowl.
"Oh no," Megaros shook his head. "Very few books and scrolls have survived in the city. Those that have they would never give me! No, these are books I have sent for. I myself have discovered some tablets in the ruins, those I keep them upstairs where I am piecing them back together."
"You have a search band?"
"I am my own searcher," he said with a cheery smile.
"It's dangerous out there."
"I have been fortunate."
"I'll say."
The Shang slaves brought us freshly baked bread rolls, jam, and boiled eggs. They were a delight after the rations of the hike. I devoured them, the slaves giggled and brought me more.
One appetite (somewhat) sated, I looked over his collared women. They were fine specimens; both had what seemed to be Egyptian-style kohl patterns but was actually black ink tattooed on their eyelids. Each also had a small tattoo just below their throats and above their cleavage. It seemed to be a black, horned frog, sitting on a bright red throne. I noticed the same tattoo under the soles of their feet. The girls were petite and slender, with small but developed breasts and wide hips. One had silky, straight, black hair that fell past her shoulder blades. She wore a grey cloth tied around her waist, knotted at the hip. The other had wavy hair that fell to the small of her back. She wore nothing at all. Both could not stop staring at me - a sure sign they had not been used in a while.
"You are kind to a random stranger, Megaros."
"Not at all. It is nice to have someone to talk to. Usually, they will leave the goods at the door and disappear without even announcing themselves."
"Why is that? I was told not to deal with you, that it would hurt my prospects - such as they are."
"It will, should it be learned we shared a meal together. I am known for, how shall I say? Dissenting opinions."
"Such as?"
"Such as that looking for Rakka the Demon Charmer's books, is pointless. There is no 'Book of Rakka' to be found. Instead, all of Aymund is his book! Instead of searching for tomes falling into dust, we should explore the great places of power in this city. Huge vaults, open pits, crumbling ziggurats. Places where such great sacrifices were held that one cannot walk the sand without hearing the cracking of skulls underneath."
"You think Rakka's notes can be found in such places?"
"I don't think the Demon Charmer left notes at all. My fellow priests are too narrow in their study. They are looking for chants, rituals, and recipes for potions. It does not occur to them that sorcerers so different from us would have practiced their arts differently - and differed in their goals. Aymund is Rakka's book: but we must also ask what sort of book?"
"Do you have a guess?"
"Yes. I think it is a book of maps."
My fatigue disappeared in an instant, and I leaned forward.
"This city's places of power are aligned with powerful stars," he continued, "and the axes of the realms of the Outer Dark."
"What's the Outer Dark?'"
He seemed surprised at me.
"Our is but one universe, Gerard. In the Outer Dark, there are other realms where beings of great power dwell. Some cross into ours when summoned. Others step between them as easily as you could walk between the rooms of this house. Rakka charmed demons: they taught him how to step between the worlds. This city's places of power are jumping-off points where one can cross worlds."
"That's quite a theory," I sipped the milk - it was thinner than cows milk and much, much sweeter. His slaves had left the room; I wondered which of the two I was drinking.
"Look at this," he pushed aside his bowl and opened a scroll on the table. It was a half-drawn map of the city ruins. "This is where we are," he pointed, "and this is where you came from."
I studied the map and frowned.
"Are you sure? We would have just come this way," I indicated. "It's shorter."
"But you didn't. Do you know why?"
"Because our leader is an idiot? Harvard case study, that one."
"The reason no one goes through there is that it crosses into the Dreamlands. Entire search bands have been lost to it, crossing over from our world in their sleep. In other parts of the ruins, strange creatures are drawn to worship. There are many weird creatures abroad at night - every evening, I hear one I haven't heard before. Many pathways here lead into the Outer Dark, and beings have noticed."
There was silence for a moment. I looked out the window and wondered what, at night, might come to it and peer inside.
"The Darfuri fear this place," I said, smearing jam on a bread roll. "Do you think there really is a curse here that preys upon them?"
"No. Aymund is a dangerous enough place without the need for curses. The Darfuri are strong but weakminded: they look for signs and curses in all things. Rakka does not punish trespassers. He is beyond caring what we do here."
"Why do you speak of him in the present tense?"
"Why not? There is no evidence that he has passed."
"The Darfuri tribes defeated him."
He laughed and put down his cup. He beckoned to a Shang who bowed and rushed off to get more wine.
"Even at their most savage, those Yoggite barbarians could never take this city," he leaned forward. "It was Rakka who destroyed it! He needed its sacrifice to open up the pathways. Think of all the people who died here, not just in battle, but the sacking that followed after! All who weren't young women fit for the collar were put to death. Runa records show it took the Darfuri days to finish the killing. This was the price Rakka paid Tsathoggua, to transform Aymund."
Tsathoggua. The slave returned with a jug of wine. As she poured it for both of us, I finally recognized the tattoo above her cleavage.
"Do you worship Tsathoggua in this house?"
His only answer was to smile and sip his wine. The slave girl stepped back and knelt, head down.
"We think of Rakka as the city's only great sorcerer," said Megaros. "But this is not correct. Aymund had a long line of Sorcerer Tyrants. Rakka was not the last; he was the culmination. He may be a god now, as strong as those he worshiped. Perhaps he is an immortal vagrant, walking in the shadows of dark towers across unnumbered worlds. Or, maybe he lives a life of study, the universe having lost all power over him but to excite his curiosity."
"What evidence do you have," I studied my reflection in the wine, "That you are correct? And you have said nothing that warrants being banished from your fellow priests."
He gave me a hard look.
"Do you not fear for your standing with the others?"
"I can honestly say no concern could be further from my mind."
"Then I will speak to your second concern, first. The Mi-Go are not gods. They spared our ancestors who fled Aymund, for their own designs. Those now come to fruition as they claim Aymund. The Arrival is not an invasion of Darfur. It is an invasion of the Outer Dark, itself. Aymund's Sorcerer Tyrants achieved something far, far beyond Mi-Go science. The Mi-Go have noticed what others have not, and now move quickly to secure it. Once they do," his face became dour, "the war between the gods will move here. There will be a second Mist Wall, and this continent and all its peoples will be trapped behind it."
The only sound for a while was the wind trickling through the leaves of the fruit trees.
"And your evidence?"
"Look around you," he gestured to the shelves of his library-cottage. "There is pot here that if you fill with water and look inside, you will see a reflection of a different man. Upstairs I have a helmet made of bones and feathers that match no beast on Hyperborea, living or extinct. In that box there," he pointed to a chest, "are disks of an unknown metal matching those in the deepest vaults of the old priest kings of Shem. No tool can scratch them, and they are etched in a language all speakers of which were hunted down and buried alive. Aymund is full of treasures that have no business being here, Gerard. Then," he cleared his throat, "There is what's not here. That is also evidence. Many search bands don't return, and others find no trace of them. There are sled tracks and footprints that vanish into the sand. And sometimes, very rarely, someone comes back. Their clothes are as ragged as their minds. They mumble like a child convinced its speaking, but all it does is babble. I have seen their surprise at this, their frustration, rage. They fall to silence and brooding, staring out of windows as if at a scene that they alone can see. After a few days, they are dead. Perhaps that is how their souls return to those worlds, resigned that they cannot explain to their fellows where they have been."
One slave cleared the table while the other poured me more wine. Megaros pulled back the wooden slab with the mounted scroll fragments, and the half-completed tablet and stylus. He wet the stylus in the pot, peered at the scroll for a few moments, and starting inscribing.
"What is it?" I leaned forward.
"It is either a fanciful story or a traveler's account," he replied. "It was found in a buried bronze pot, filled with gold coins."
"A pot of gold?" I laughed.
He raised an eyebrow at me.
"That is not unusual in times of danger. Men will bury their gold and come back for it when it is safe. If they do not… they remain in the ground, to be found by treasure hunters or ostracized scholars. The pot is very simple: only some crude lines. That level of metalworking dates to when much of this land was just jungle wilderness. Aymund was just a small outpost of wood and mud walls, paying tribute to a king of Shem."
"What does it say?"
"It tells the story of one Eskial the Merchant. He made his fortune bringing goods through the hills at night, to avoid the tax collectors on the main road. He worked with a daemon named Jakuru, who's part in his fortunes he seeks to downplay. I am translating and copying it into a tablet."
"That's good of you. Nice to see someone around here interested actually interested in the history of this place."
He smiled.
"If we do not save these stories, who will? I keep the tablets in a cellar. For every tale or record I copy, my fellows destroy a hundred others. I will not say I delight in the dangers that befall you tomb raiders, but I am grateful for the pause it may give you. Those pauses are all this city's stories have left."
"About that," I frowned, "How long have you been out here? On your own, in this cottage?"
He looked up as if trying to remember.
"Five years, I think."
"This is my third day, and I'm lucky to still be alive! You don't even have a wall around your garden! How have you managed to keep safe?"
"I cannot say. Nothing has ever come into this house; perhaps something protects me?"
"You say there are no curses, but will you speculate about charms?"
He shrugged. "The world goes on by, around this house. It is a fixed point. Perhaps I am not the first to live in it. Perhaps it will still be here after both you and I are gone."
I suddenly found something very unsettling about him.
"I should get some rest," I got up. "Thank you for your hospitality."
He nodded. Whoever or whatever he really was, he back to work on his tablet.
***
The high from the discovery of this unexpected oasis of books was wearing off. Fatigue demanded double its price. I went to bathe at the well outside the cottage, Onska walking after me on her leash. The well was small but deep - I looked down and saw the dancing reflection of light on rippling water. Ferns grew along the well's walls, rich green hiding where the deserts yellows couldn't find them. They reminded me of the Deep One well back at Red River. Shading the well was a large berry tree. Its leaves were dark green, almost black. It was cool under its protection.
"May we help you, Master?"
I turned. Standing behind me were the two Shang girls. They got down on their knees.
"Bring me rope. One long piece, two shorter ones."
One stood and rushed off. I turned to Onska and removed her leash chain.
"Bathe yourself," I commanded.
"Yes, Master," Onska peeped over the wall of the well and lowered the bucket into it. I watched as the young brunette strained, drawing it back up. She upended the water over her head - her body gleamed as it splashed down and pooled at her feet. I enjoyed the sight of her wet body, young, fit, full of energy. Such a pretty beast, this one!
The Shang slave girl returned, carrying coiled ropes in both hands. She knelt and looked down as she held it up to me. I took the ropes. She and the other Shang got up to leave.
"No," I shook my head. "Kneel."
They got back down.
I watched Onska as she bathed. She noted my gaze and smiled, turning to give me a better view. I sat on a stone block and sipped my wine. She presented herself well, stretching out and rinsing her legs and soaping her breasts excessively. For all her enticements, I remained seated.
I had other plans.
Once she was done, I tied her wrists together and threw the longer rope over a branch of the fruit tree. The first yank took up the slack. The second pulled her up to sway on to her tiptoes. The third lifted her into the air.
I tied the end of the rope while she swung slowly, back and forth. She watched me, eyes suddenly wary. Men liked to suspend girls before whipping them.
"You two," I snapped my fingers at the Shang slaves. They looked up at me, eyes wide. "Bathe me."
They peeled off my clothes and doused me with well water. One got down on one knee before me, soaping my feet and legs. She looked up at my penis, and then at me. I nodded, and she began soaping my balls and penis. The other one stood behind me, soaping my back with both hands. When they had scrubbed and doused me clean, I ordered them to douse each other.
They looked at each other and giggled. Soon, both ivory beauties were kneeling in front of me, dripping wet.
I gripped one by the hair, twirling it into a ponytail. I pulled her to me. She gripped my thigh and opened her lips. They were soft: electricity ran through me as they slid up my penis. Nose pressed to my crotch; she looked up at me with dark, intelligent eyes. Experimentally, she began stroking my penis with her tongue. Slowly, she began thrusting her head back and forth. She sped up, her mouth, making little sucking noises.
The other Shang yelped as I grabbed her by the throat. I forced her down on her hands and knees and dragged her between my legs. She kissed and licked my foot, worshiping it. I pulled her up by her throat till my testicles were in her face. She took them into her mouth, her tongue fondling and stroking them.
It is a wonderful feeling, having two beautiful girls worshiping your cock with their mouths. Ball-licking, I especially liked to command of a new girl. The problem with making her suck your cock is that once you ejaculate, your done. But foot and ball-licking can go on for hours. Slaves are easier to manage after they've spent an hour licking you - it teaches them their place.
I regarded Onska. She was glaring at the Shang, pouting. She noticed my eyes and glared at me, too.
I laughed, bent down, and kissed the long-haired Shang full on the lips, making sure Onska could see. The Shang closed her eyes and moaned, thrusting her tongue into my mouth. Her breasts pressed against my thigh. The shorter-haired Shang stopped, looking up at me like a passed-over puppy. I kissed her, too - she wrapped her arm around my leg and melted into me.
I pulled away, and both girls smiled and giggled. Then, quite insolently I felt, they kissed each other.
I pulled them apart and put the longer-haired one down on her hands and knees. I got behind her, and she raised her behind, spreading her legs apart. She looked back at me, mischief and delight in her eyes.
"Ah!" she gasped as I entered. I began thrusting - the slave closed her eyes and put her head down. Her breasts were thrown forward with each thrust. I held her by her hips, my fingers digging into her ivory skin.
She started squealing. Her expression became stricken, almost pained. I began pounding faster and harder, pulling her to me hard. She moaned out loud as the sound of her buttocks slapping against me grew. She started pawing at the ground: her orgasm was near. I stopped and pulled myself out, standing over her. She looked back at me, surprised.
I pointed to my penis, and both girls tried to lick it, kneeling shoulder to shoulder. I took both girls' hair into one hand and forced their heads back. Their hands reached up and found my penis. Warm, soft fingers gripped my shaft, they gleamed and slipped in the vagina juices.
I cupped the long-haired girl's jaw, forcing her to keep her mouth shut. I guided my penis towards her face and ejaculated. She winced as semen went into one eye, spraying over the bridge of her nose, the forehead, and her cheek.
"Face each other, Slaves."
Both beauties turned towards each other, rising up on their knees.
Gripping them by the backs of their heads, I forced their faces together. They closed their eyes as I rubbed their faces with my semen.
"Now show her," I pulled them apart.
The girls turned to face the dangling, helpless, Onska. The brunette's face turned red with rage; she even tried to pull herself up and gnaw at her rope bonds. She gave up and began swinging back and forth, like the toy put aside for later, that she was.
It is a wonderful thing, keeping graceful, beautiful, young women as toys.
"Look at them, Slave," I said. "How does that make you feel?"
She looked away to the side: looking to the side was a body language for defiance. Looking down was a sign of submission.
"You will answer, Slave, and you will not lie. If you do, I will know, and I will thrash you."
"It makes me angry, Master!"
"Why, Slave?"
"I want to pleasure you, Master! Why are you so cruel to me?"
I stepped away from the semen-faced girls and went to Onska. I put my arm around her waist and pressed her to me. Her body was warm and soft, her legs slipped around me, ankles locking behind my back.
"I am cruel to you, Pretty One," my forehead was pressed against hers, her large eyes were staring into mine, "because I like you."
I helped myself to a kiss from her; then, I licked her throat and jawline. I pushed her legs away and left her. She whined and kicked in the air, swinging back and forth.
The Shang girls regarded me. They had managed to get my semen down to their throats and collars.
"Eat it all," I picked up the two shorter lengths of rope. "Clean each other."
"Yes, Master!" The lovelies chorused. Holding each other, they began to carefully eat my seed off each other's faces. They were quite tender. I especially enjoyed watching the long-haired girl running her lips along the other girl's collar. She stuck her tongue under it to lick the other's throat. Both girls became quite aroused.
I grabbed the shorter-haired girl by her shoulders and forced her on to her back. I got down over her, pinning her against the ground. She squirmed deliciously against me.
I seized one leg and bent it, pressing her heel against the thigh. I tied them together. Then I bent the other leg and did the same. This was called a 'frogtie' in the 21st century. Hyperboreans called it 'the blooming flower.' The slave groaned and lay back, her vagina well bared for me now.
"You," I grabbed the longer haired girl. She squealed as I pulled her to kneel over the bound girl's face. Her heels were pressed against the bound girl's ribs. Her buttocks were over the prone slave's breasts.
Unbidden, the bound slave pushed her tongue into the sitting girl's vagina and got to work. The sitting girl rolled her eyes back and gasped. She reached between her thighs and clutched the bound girl's face and hair.
I got into place, sliding my penis into the prone slave's vagina. Inside, she was warm and slippery wet. The sitting slave had her back to me. She cried out as I put her in a headlock. She clutched at my arm as I pulled: arching her back and tilting her head to look up. Between the three of us, we formed a triangle.
The bound slave licked and probed the other, quite earnest. The headlocked girl started whining, eyes shut tight, and bucked against my clamping arm. With my other hand, I squeezed her nostril's shut and covered her mouth. Unable to breathe, she tugged and squirmed to break free. I didn't let up. Meanwhile, I started pounding the bound slave.
Onska watched wide-eyed and jaw dropped, horrified and envious, as I practiced breath control on the long-haired beauty. The mischievous little slut beneath her was dragging her literally kicking and screaming, to orgasm. I kept the sitting girl off-balance, varying how long and how much she could breathe.
She shuddered suddenly, trembling waves coursing through her body as she orgasmed. Her eyes become unfocused and dreamy, her body turned soft and warm as a downy blanket.
I pushed her down on the ground, got on top of her, and entered her anus. She shrieked, eyes wide. I pressed her head down to the dirt and pounded her. I came a second time, pumping her with semen.
I pulled the bound girl between the long-haired slave's legs.
"Eat," I commanded.
She put her lips to the girl's anus and started licking out my semen.
"Such a dirty little slut!" I stood.
Onska stared at the scene, her face unreadable, unable to look away, and helpless in my power.
"Onska," I stood and went to her.
"Master!" her large eyes were earnest.
I wiped myself on her thighs and calves and went inside.