"His Greatness, Mong son of Immash, War Priest of the Black Grove Temple, bids the prisoners speak."
War Priest Mong was one of the most obese men I had ever seen. He sat back in a thrown cut from a black tree trunk, twisted and grown around skulls that had been wrapped in gold leaf with diamonds set in their eyes. He was bald and covered head to foot in crusty, white, body paint. Around his waist was 1a bright red sarong. By his side was a cudgel cut from mammoth bone.
To his left two, naked slave girls were writhing on a mat, kissing and groping each other. Their eyes were closed, and they moaned just loud enough to be heard but not enough to be an annoyance while masters spoke.
One was a tall brunette with silky, long hair. She had a thin gold chain hanging from several gold rings around her waist. Each ring, no bigger than a penny, had been fitted right into her skin: a permanent piercing. Her tanned legs, back, and arms were patterned with red vines and leaves. She had an ivory disc for a nose ring. There was white ash around her eyes. She got to her knees, gripped the other girl's waist, and pressed her face between the girl's breasts. She licked up and down, her tongue snaking out. It had been cut down the middle to make it forked.
The second girl was as tall and slender, but her skin was quite dark. This contrasted with her bright yellow, banded tattoos that looked like the markings of a venomous insect. She had what I can only describe as a chain loincloth: several, thin, gold chains hanging from tiny rings embedded in a row, just over her pelvis. They hung 1/4 of the way down her thighs. She had been fitted with a chain veil as well, hanging in a line from cheekbone to cheekbone. Her hair had been pulled through a diamond-encrusted tube and hung down in a high ponytail. The brunette grabbed the tube and forced the dark girl's head back. She reciprocated by slipping her fingers between the brunette's thighs, and into her vagina.
There was something strange about the way they moved their legs. Their feet didn't move except if pushed about. I noticed small scars above each girl's heels, and a curious softness where the Achilles tendon should have shown.
Before Mong danced a tall Shemite girl with the lightest hazel eyes I had ever seen. She had the white ash around her eyes, but no other body paint or tattoos. Polished shell beads had been woven into her hair. A gold chain ran from her nose ring to her left earring. Under her large, swaying breasts, was a line of tiny gold bells hanging from rings pierced directly into the flesh. As she swayed and twisted, the bells rang out. She wore bracelets and anklets of gold, with more bells fitted. I could see no locks or openings: they could not be removed.
Crawling to each of the seated men on her hands and knees was a pale girl. She shook long, wavy, dark hair out of copper-green eyes, and dragged a small, wheeled, wooden cart behind her, chained to her by her throat. She stopped at a man, rose on her knees, and offered him a bowl of wine. She waited just long enough to be sure he had ignored her, then put the bowl back in the cart and crawled to the next man.
Also to Mong's right was a slave I knew quite well. The blonde had been mounted on a wooden frame. At one end was a piece shaped like a "Y". The stalk at the bottom was 3 feet tall. The two forks of the "Y" were fitted with straps. The Y-frame was fitted to the end of a wooden bench about 4 feet long. The bench had four legs, making it quite steady.
Haley lay on the bench. Her arms had been pulled back behind her and bound under the bench slab. Leather straps bound her throat and her forehead in place. Another strap went around her belly.
Her long legs were spread and strapped against the bars of the Y-frame, in a "V." Her collar had been removed - there were blue bruises where the chisel had not been kind. A symbol of Yog had been painted on her belly in black and red ochre. Beads and polished shells had been woven into her hair. Her ash-circled eyes regarded me, terrified and pleading.
Attending Haley were two men who were putting instruments and vials out on a small wooden trestle table beside her. One began grinding a mix of leaves into a paste. The smell reminded me of hospitals, of all things. The other man opened a large vial and poured out a clear liquid into a bowl. The scent of alcohol reached me from it. He picked up and obsidian-bladed scalpel and dipped it into the liquid.
The War Priest's audience area was cordoned off by wooden poles with bright red cloth hanging between them. Tall banners hung from each of the four corner poles. They were mounted with the skulls of a sabertooth, a giant monitor lizard, an armored shark, and some sort of Hydra-headed monstrosity that I had never seen before. Guards in white, flaking body paint, and armed with iron-studded bone clubs stood with their backs to the red screens.
The dancing Shemite slave drifted to the center of the rectangular space. To her left and right, seated along the edges of the space, were Mong's officers. Fogrim and I sent among them, Akingin was at my side. Kneeling behind me, leashed and with wrists bound, was Onska.
"Go," he motioned for me to approach Mong. "Speak well, Gerard of Stone."
I nodded to Fogrim, and I stood on legs of jelly. He rose too, and we approached Mong.
Reading the room, the dancing Shemite melted to her knees and looked down at the sand. The cart-girl kept still, on her hands and knees, staring at the ground. Even the two slaves pleasuring each other stopped, smoothing aside tousled hair and smiling up at us with the easy arrogance pets of the supremely powerful.
"Thank you, great and powerful War Priest of the mighty Mazgar," I began, "for this opportunity to-"
Mong leaned towards his interpreter and said something.
"You say that you have information?" translated the interpreter.
"Yes."
"I would hear it."
"Er, we have been inside the cultist fortress. We know the numbers, their weapons, the positions they have set up inside the fortress. We have been studying and going among them - we can and have, pass freely through their ranks."
"Cthulhu take these grunting apes!" Fogrim yelled, stepping forward, his hands coming fists. "We don't need them! Don't help them!"
My heart exploded inside my chest. The interlaced slave girls squirmed back, eyes wide. The officers exchanged glances and mumbled, glaring at us. Hands went to weapons.
Mong spoke again to the interpreter.
"If the Darfuri speaks again, his tongue will be cut out," said the interpreter. "But, the strange one may continue."
"Thank you. You know, of course, that the Mi-Go command the servants of Yarth-Tanophk. But, what you may not know is that the cultists are doing a," I wondered what word would be best to use here, "a spell, to bring a whole Army of Mi-Go here-"
The interpreter held up his hand. He relayed what I said, loud and clear.
Again, there were murmurs around the room. Mong leaned forward, frowning.
"Continue," said the interpreter.
"Right now, there is just one Mi-Go in the fortress. A wizard who's creating monsters. Once the Mi-Go army arrives, there is nothing any of us will be able to do about it. They will be unstoppable, using weapons you can't even imagine. You don't have a lot of time. You have a great force here, but the cultists both outnumber you more than 6 to 1, and they have colossal fortress you wouldn't take it in a hundred years."
I waited for that to get across.
"His Greatness says not to guess at what those faithful to the great God Yog may or may not be capable of. Also, there is the rear entrance to the ruins: that gate is broken."
"It is. But there is another chokepoint, further in. The walls at the chokepoint are almost as thick as the main walls and have been repaired. Look, I'm not trying to insult anyone. But, we need to talk about facts. Your force cannot take the fortress except by surprise -- and my friend and I can get you that."
The War Priest's frowned deepened.
"Go on," said the interpreter.
"We will assist you," I gave Fogrim a hard look, "but we have conditions."
The interpreter paused for a moment, his eyes uncertain.
"What's the matter? Would you like me to repeat that?"
The interpreter turned and spoke to Mong.
Mong's eyes widened, and he burst out laughing. His officers began laughing as well. Akingin looked down and facepalmed.
Two of the guards, grim-faced, stepped up to flank the War Priest, hands on their club hilts. Fogrim and I exchanged glances: they had not permitted us to bring weapons before the War Priest, but we had hidden daggers on our persons (for whatever that might have been worth).
Mong waved the guards away. They stepped back, and he giggled out and answer.
"Your insolence greatly amuses, strange man. What are these conditions, prisoner?"
"Yours are not the only loyal worshipers to Yog who have come here to destroy the cultists. There is a force of Darfuri warriors encamped near the fortress. They are all cavalrymen, and all well-armed and experienced. You must work with them."
"No, I have my own cavalry," came the answer.
"That's too bad. The cultists are mostly Darfuri. They hate you Mazgar more than they love the Mi-Go. The sight of a Mazgar army will unify them. The sight of Darfuri warriors, however, will give them pause. So what will it be? Our help and 50 Darfuri lancers at your front, or will you try to manage without intel, before attacking a superior force inside a fortress, who need only sit back and watch you until the Mi-Go arrive and annihilate you with advanced weapons?"
There was fresh murmuring from the officers, some nodding their heads. Akingin was grinning. Mong sat back in his throne, staring at the ground deep in thought.
At last, he beckoned to the interpreter and spoke to him at length.
"Fine, we will work with the Darfuri and accept your help as spies," said the interpreter, "but all the Runa, and all the cultist priests, will be sacrificed to Yog. Any of the common cultists who recant will be spared. However, all women will be enslaved. Them, and all other available plunder, will go to my legion."
"Look, that's hardly fair. We, and these men I'm talking about, are going to fight. There should be a fair split."
"We are Raiders," came the answer. "Consider yourselves robbed in advance."
"Fine, we are in agreement."
Mong smiled at the answer and leaned forward. Some of the Mazgar officers cheered, and akin looked quite pleased with himself. He snapped at the cart-slave, and she crawled to him.
Mong beckoned.
"You may approach the War Priest that you may embrace each other as comrades, and agreement be sealed."
I looked over at Haley. The attendants had finished sterilizing their scalpels. One held up a scalpel, looked down between Haley's parted legs, and beckoned the other attendant. The other squeezed out a cloth he had tipped in the bowl of alcohol and began dabbing between Haley's thighs.
"There is one thing though," I held up my hand, "a private matter between the War Priest, and me."
Mong stared at me, confused. He looked over to the interpreter, who seemed equally surprised.
"A private matter?" The interpreter asked.
I stood less than three feet from the War Priest. Tucked into my boot, my dagger suddenly felt ten times heavier.
"Go on, translate."
He did so.
The room became quiet.
"What is it?"
"You have my woman," I pointed to Haley. "Thank you for taking care of her. But I will have her back now."
Mong stared at the interpreter and barked something back at him. The interpreter nodded and repeated himself. Mong looked at me as if I was mad.
"She is my woman now. We captured her. She is being prepared for my harem."
"That's unfortunate. I would have her return to me."
The only sound was the call of a giant vulture, far away in the night sky.
"Go now," said the interpreter.
I produced my dagger.
The room erupted; men jumped to their feet and drew their weapons. Guards rushed forward, clubs drawn. Fogrim drew his knife and stood with his back to mine.
"I can kill you faster than they can stop me!" I held the blade inches from Mong's face. He gave me the look of a man who had never been spoken to or treated such, in his entire life. I heard Ammad shouting and Akingin shouting back. The two groping slaves on the ground hugged each other and looked away.
Without taking his eyes off me, Mong spoke slowly and carefully.
"You will squander all this, our agreement, for a female?"
"The female is mine. Can you understand that? I will take her, or I will kill you."
My words were translated.
Mong looked me up and down as if reappraising me. He nodded.
"Very well, but then there must be a slave for a slave. There on the mat, you have a very pretty one. She has good, long legs like this one does. Shall we exchange gifts?"
"Yes. Let us exchange gifts, and embrace and seal agreement."
Mong got to his feet. He put large but strong, flabby arms around me, squeezing me like a long lost son. There were scattered, uncertain cheers from the officers.
"Onska," I snapped my fingers. "Come here, Slave."
The tall, naked brunette stood.
All eyes followed the swish of her legs and the movements of her behind. Leash dangling between her breasts, she came and stood by my side, head down. A tear ran down her cheek.
"Kneel before your new master." There was nothing more to say.
"Yes, Master," she sniffed and got down on her knees before Mong.
The War Priest looked down at the tall beauty. He bunched her hair and forced her head back, then held her chin with his other hand and turned her head this way and that. Her tears left marks on his body paint. He took her leash and pushed her head down. She placed her cheek against the sand and began licking his foot.
I smiled, suddenly feeling great contentedness. I felt no possessiveness whatsoever. Instead, I felt pride: pride that my slave had gone so sweetly and obediently to the man I was gifting her to. She gave good example of the complete dominance I had had over her.
She would be a good slave.
The two attendants unfastened the straps that held Haley down. They pushed her off, and she lay on her side, breathing deep. Her ash-circled eyes found mine.
One of the attendants began removing Onska's bonds. The other stepped up to me and gave me a chain and collar. The chain was quite heavy, its links as thick as my finger. The iron was dark, impure; rust dusted my hands. The collar was thick and impractically heavy. Even a strong slave would find it greatly tiring.
I snapped my fingers.
Haley got onto her hands and knees and crawled towards me. Her head down, I felt her long, blonde hair soft against my leg, dragging over my boot. I clenched my hand around her neck. Her flesh was warm, soft. I opened the heavy collar and fitted it around her throat. It was perfect: a snug fit. The mechanism locked.
She turned her head and looked up at me, her blue eyes piercing, the heavy chain links swinging under her throat. All was as it should be.
I turned to walk back to my place.
"No," said the interpreter. "The War Priest asks that you sit with him and partake of the commanders' meal."
"Of course!" I smiled.
I sat at Mong's side.
The attendants took Onska by her arms and made her lie back on the bondage bench. One lifted up her legs, and the other strapped them into position on the "Y" frame. Then, they secured her wrists and strapped her waist, throat, and forehead. She winced as they made these particularly tight.
"What are they going to do to her?" I asked.
Mong watched my interest with interest and gave his reply to the interpreter.
"She will look good crawling on his furs and in his breeding pit," said the interpreter. "And her mouth is very pretty. Did she please well with it?"
Onska stared at me.
"Very well."
Mong clapped his hands together and licked his lips, giggling. He gave his reply.
"Excellent," said the interpreter. "She will crawl for the rest of her life, and I will fork her tongue."
I retired to my yurt before they could begin their surgery. If there was more abject slavery than to be owned by a Mazgar, I could not think of it.
***
Haley knelt on a mat in the center of the yurt. She knelt with her toes pointed and feet flat with the mat on the floor. Her knees were thrust apart, the lips of her vagina hovered inches from the mat. Her back was held straight at a 60-degree angle, her palms planted between her knees.
The lamp in the corner cast flickering shadows over the black and red ocher body paint. Eyes accented with white ash looked up at me, nervous. The links of the heavy chain clinked on the ground.
"Master," she began, "there's so much to tell-"
"Silence," I held my finger to her lips.
The captive woman watched as I stripped and kicked my clothes aside. I got down and pushed her onto her back.
I watched as the tall, Siberian blonde lay back, parting her legs for me. I took hold of her ankle and thigh: her flesh was cool, soft. I pulled her to me, dragging her across the mat. I placed her leg over my shoulder, her calf pressed against the side of my neck. The other leg I pushed aside, bearing her.
"Chain, Slave."
Clutching the end of her chain in both hands, she held it up to me. I took the chain and held her wrists together. Slowly, pulling tight, I wound her chain around her wrists and arms. She winced as the links pressed into her skin. I pressed her wrapped arms against her breasts. My other hand pressed over her face.
I entered my slave.
She remained still as I used her. I pressed forward as I ejaculated. Then I made her lie on her side as she licked and kissed the shaft clean. She looked up at me, trying to read my mood.
"You can speak now, Slave."
"Thank you for saving me, Master!" She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against my testicles.
"I gave you a job. What happened?"
She told me what she had seen and learned in the black corn; the sights of a different world; of the monsters that turned to stone by day and sounded like the creature that had raided the breeding pits back at Ebugal. She also told me of Juskar's infiltration, his outpost, and the passage it guarded right into the heart of the cultist fortress.
"You have done well," I lay back, Haley pressed against my side. I stroked her magnificent buttocks with one hand and fondled her breasts with the other. How nicely they cupped in my hand!
"I am sorry, Master," she pressed her head against my shoulder and kissed my neck. "I am sorry you lost your other woman, because of me. She was quite beautiful."
"She will be more so, once fitted with gold piercings. I paid nothing for her, and you are much more valuable to me."
"I am?" She rested her chin on my chest, staring at me.
"Yes, you are much more experienced, and you betray the thoughts and feelings of other slaves to me. You are stronger; I can put you to a plow or make you pull a sled. And I can send you into an enemy camp, and you will learn critical information and escape with it. You are worth four or five girls, such as her."
She kept staring at me as if expecting me to say more.
"That is all, Master?"
"That is all," I stroked her hair. "I know what you are thinking Haley, please understand that you will never have it."
I sat up and made her crouch between my legs. I bunched her hair with one hand and cupped her chin with the other, tilting her head back to look up at me.
"You are not a partner, Haley. You are not a mate. You are one of several females I own and keep in irons," I looked directly into her eyes. "That is all you will ever be. But, do not worry," I kissed away a tear, "I will teach you to find great happiness in this. You, and many other girls."
I pushed her head down to my penis. She opened her mouth and received it. I kept my grip on her head while she served to me, her chain clacking as she moved. Warm tears dripped onto my hand under her jaw. I wiped them off her face and dried my hand in her hair.
I pulled her head away at the last moment and ejaculated on her face. She winced as my seed sprayed her eyes, nose, and lips.
"Kneel," I ordered.
She sat back on her heels, back straight, chained arms on her thighs. Her face was flushed, long hair tussled. My seed dripped down her face and onto her neck.
"You will remain kneeling all night," I wiped my penis on her belly. I peeled flecks of ochre body paint off her belly and thighs. I arranged the flecks just in front of her knees and right behind her feet.
"If I find these have moved when I awake in the morning," I stood, holding her by her jaw, "I will borrow a horsewhip and flog you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master," her eyes were unreadable.
I lay back down to try and get some sleep. Tomorrow, I was going to war.