Chapter 7: A Brewing Storm

Shenla stole silently through the stone hallways of Amindaer’s fortress-palace, a sprawling warren of marble, granite and stone built into the mountains that bordered Palistair’s southern peninsula. It was night outside, and few of the lamps lining the hall were lit, though her eyes could see well enough even in pitch black. Lightning flashed frequently through the tall arched windows as she passed them, followed soon after by booms of thunder that shook the glass and vibrated the stone beneath her feet.

Ahead of her, two cloaked shapes moved in the same direction, one tall and hulking, the other much shorter, yet wide for his height. Barrog and Torvin had insisted on taking the lead to protect her despite the fact she could tear either of them apart with one hand if she so wished. Strangely, that thought made her queasy when once it would have made her smile with amusement.

Behind, Caeledrin and Peldin covered the rear, the two Elves from rival nations for once working together instead of fighting. At some point, they had decided they cared more for her than for their animosities. That made her feel warm inside, even when her skin crawled simultaneously at that warmth. These new feelings were growing more familiar, day by day, but she still struggled with them.

The bond between her and the four men had changed, too. Or at least, it was changing. To what, she didn’t know, but where before she had dominated their minds with her wishes, now they balked, or even argued, when she wanted something they disagreed with, usually concerning her own safety or some such nonsense. More and more, their connection was becoming less a subjugation and more a partnership that split five ways. Five that might become six, if Vegar had his way. Strangely - or perhaps not so strangely - the others seemed to listen to Barrog the most. Lately, he took the lead more often than not, crushing arguments or bending them to his decision when they’d wanted to go another way.

As for Vegar, the Noroth was bent on joining her harem and becoming her ahk’sheth, no matter how she tried to convince him otherwise. A short time ago, she would have taken him whether he wanted it or not; he was handsome, strong and smart, suited to her tastes exactly. Now, she was different.

I do not need more ahk’sheth, she reminded herself firmly as she flowed along the hall behind the men. Even changing as she was, the desire for more power was still present, just less prominent.

The high-ceilinged hall curved to the right up ahead, hiding them from whomever might come round the bend, but also obscuring their vision of whomever might be there. Sure enough, two rough-looking sorts, big men with wild beards all hung about with furs and sporting horned helmets - surely more barbarians from Marcos’ force - stood guard before a tall, arched door strapped with wide bands of iron.

Without missing a beat, Barrog and Torvin flowed forward. The Orc could hide well in shadows despite his size, and he was on the first guard before the man could utter a sound, crushing his throat with a big hand and catching his arm before he could draw the heavy hammer at his waist.

At the same time, Torvin moved his hands in a complicated fashion and whispered something in another tongue. There was a dim purple flash, and then the other guard simply dropped to the ground limp as a rag.

Shenla did not concern herself with the flash; anyone further up the hall would think it was lightning. She approached the door as Barrog and Torvin flanked it, waiting for her nod before Barrog quietly pushed it inward and slipped inside. This had to be the right room; they had searched many already, leaving a trail of dead or unconscious bodies behind them. It was only a matter of time until an alarm went up.

Her ears picked up the unmistakable sounds of sex as the door opened, and when she entered, her eyes confirmed it. It was a huge room lined with blazing lamps and so many braziers she felt sweat slick her skin almost at once. Carpets and furs and cushions were scattered about the floor, surrounding a massive bed big enough for a Giant to sleep on.

Bodies writhed, bucked and humped all around the room, an orgy in full swing. Shaggy-haired, wild-eyed men hooted and hollered and grunted as they had their way with an assortment of women from every corner of the land. Shenla saw Mor’elda, Tar’elda, Orcs and even a Dwarf. Her eyes were drawn the most to the bed, however, where a bronze-skinned man as big as Barrog knelt behind a voluptuous Giantess, her ebony skin glistening with sweat as he rammed his hips against her wide bottom.

Shenla felt her body responding to the scene before her. So much lust! So much energy in the air! Her skin seemed to crackle with it. Unconsciously, she licked her lips at the sordid display. This was where she excelled.

Heads came up at the intrusion, and the men disengaged from their fornicating, angry at being interrupted. Those that were not already standing rose to their feet hurriedly and went for their weapons, but the man on the bed halted them with a single word.

“Wait!” He ordered. The Norothi on the bed with him made to move away, but he gripped her hips tightly and pulled her backward until his hips smacked into her bottom again. She made a soft noise, but Shenla couldn’t tell if it was from pain or pleasure. He continued to thrust lazily as he studied the newcomers.

This was him. The one she had come for. Marcos.

“And just who do you claim to be?” He asked with a sneer. “Entering my chambers unannounced? The only reason you are not dead yet is because I am curious. Out with it.”

Around the room, the women scuttled back to cluster together in the far corner, their eyes wide with fear.

Her ahk’sheth said nothing, nor moved a muscle. This was the one thing she had been able to get them to agree with her on. They had been unwilling to let her come here alone, but they had seen the sense in letting her deal with Marcos.

In answer, she stepped forward and pulled back the hood of her cloak, revealing her face. She knew what effect her face alone had on men. If that wasn’t enough, well, she would drop the cloak completely and he would be clay in her hands.

His response was a booming laugh. “So, you are beautiful, are you?” Still pumping his hips, he gestured to the corner where the women huddled. “I have more beautiful women than I know what to do with. Were I you, I would speak quickly, else your friends will have their heads on spikes and you will be slapped into chains.”

“Is that so?” She replied coolly, stepping toward the bed. “You think you have known beauty, Marcos?” She let the robe hit the floor and heard the most satisfactory intake of sharp breaths from the other men in the room as her bare body came into view. “I can show you things you have never even dared dream.” She brushed him with her power, once a purely dark energy that fed on lust and carnality, now a blend of the former and something new.

The per-Noroth uttered a sudden stifled grunt as his face scrunched up. He pulled the Norothi tightly against him, and Shenla felt him climax violently. Yes, most satisfactory. It would have been a perfect moment to strike, to kill, yet she would give him a chance, first. She waited for him to finish.

With a shudder, Marcos released the Giantess. She climbed from the bed immediately and joined the other women. Some of them huddled into her as if for protection. She watched Shenla with a curious blend of fear and something else. Hope, perhaps. Shenla had heard of Marcos’ harem. The man was infamous for gathering the most beautiful women he could find and forcing them into servitude. It made her think of her brother, and that made her want to rage and weep at the same time. Rage for the monster he had become and the hurt he had caused her, and weep for the loss of the one she thought would always love and protect her.

Marcos eyed her cautiously, his head tilted to one side. He stayed where he was, kneeling on the bed, his impressive member still standing proudly before him, though he appeared not to notice. “How did you get in here?” He asked after a moment. “Are my guards dead?”

So, he was not simple-minded, then. He might take some work. “They are,” she told him. “I saw no way to get to you quickly, not without alerting the entire fortress.”

Marcos frowned at that. “You did not come here to kill me, either, else you would had tried it by now.” When Shenla nodded, he asked, “So why are you here?” Suddenly, his eyes widened. “Ah! I see now. Your skin, pretty one. There are only two beings in this land with skin such as yours, I’ll wager. You and this ‘Lord Maloth.’ Your brother, I take it?”

He smiled broadly at Shenla’s tight nod. “Sibling rivalry, ey?” A booming chuckle escaped his throat. “How ... fortuitous.” His heavy muscles rippled as he left the bed and came to stand before her, towering. Were she not deeply annoyed by how quickly he had seen the truth of her visit, she would have found him attractive. Perhaps even worthy of her harem. Again, she reminded herself that was not what she wanted anymore. Still, the temptation lurked...

“Perhaps,” he began softly, reaching a hand forward to caress her cheek with a finger. Barrog’s hand twitched toward the axe on his back, Peldin’s and Caeledrin’s toward their swords. Torvin began to lift his hands - far more dangerous than any weapon of steel - yet she forestalled them with a raised finger and let Marcos touch her uncontested. “We can be of use to one another.”

Her hair swung as she shook her head, though her smile was inviting as she looked up at him. “No, Marcos. I will be of use to you, but only if you listen.” She brushed him again with her magic, stronger this time. Her powers did not work the same as they once did. She needed to take care.

The big man shook his head, trying to dispel the fog that would be clouding his mind. Shenla continued. “My brother is at your walls with an army never before witnessed in size and strength. He has the Orcs, the Mor’elda and the Tar’elda under his command, not to mention the Amun’noroth. I fear you are not as concerned as you should be, Marcos.”

“I have Amindaer,” he replied confidently. “These walls have never been breached. I care not for the size of Maloth’s army. They will break their teeth.”

“They may stop an army,” she said, stepping closer. Another inch and his cock would be touching the undersides of her breasts. Her skin tingled at the thought, but she suppressed the urge. “But will they stop a Titan?”

Marcos blinked, then laughed. “A Titan? Taken by fancies, now, are you? They may have existed once, pretty one, but they are no more than legend, now.”

It was Shenla’s turn to laugh. “So confident you are, Barbarian King!” She brushed him again and touched a fingertip to the head of his straining member. She could feel his resolve eroding. “I have seen what comes, and believe me, you and your men will be swept away like twigs in an avalanche.”

“Then why come, bloodskin?” He growled, dark eyes flashing. “If he is so strong, why not let him obliterate us?”

“Because he has betrayed me,” she confessed quietly, only barely keeping her rage under control. Marcos must have seen something in her eyes, for he took a small step back. “And I will take from him whatever I can, no matter how small the prize. Empty the city and flee south with me. We will sail to Ekistair and build a force there. When he comes - and he surely will - we will meet him and destroy him.” She didn’t know if that was even possible; Maloth was so powerful now she doubted he could be defeated - but she would accept any small leverage she could find against him, even this Marcos.

Marcos stroked his bearded chin in thought. “And if I go to your brother? Make a pact?”

Shenla laughed again, this time investing scorn in it. “He will kill you on sight, even if you could make yourself bow to him. And if for some reason he spared you, what would the world think of the great King Marcos kneeling before another?”

He grunted sourly. He was coming around, and Shenla had not even used her body to it’s full extent, yet.

“And how do I know you will not have one of your cronies kill me when my back is turned?” He eyed Barrog, Peldin, Torvin and Caeledrin with a hard stare. Not afraid, but not discounting them, either.

Shenla moved at her full speed, flashing from where she was to behind one of Marcos’ men in an instant, the fingers of one black-nailed hand poised against his throat. The fellow made a strangled, surprised grunt, but otherwise stiffened, smart enough to stay still. “If I wanted you dead,” she crooned at Marcos over the man’s shoulder, “It would have been done already.” Everyone else in the room shifted nervously in the long silence that followed. Well, the barbarians looked nervous. Shenla’s men simply looked ready to kill.

“Very well,” the king said finally. Staring around the room, he suddenly thundered, “Everybody, out!” His warriors and the harem scrambled, not bothering to gather their clothes before exiting the room. Shenla nodded at her men to do the same. They only hesitated a moment before filing out behind the others, leaving her alone with Marcos.

“I hope,” he began once the door closed. “That our accord has more benefits than drawbacks?” He was eyeing her up and down greedily.

Adopting a sultry look, she sauntered toward him. “You will not be left wanting,” she purred as she gathered her power and pushed it into her body, altering her size. She grew until she was tall enough to look him in the eye. His greedy stare deepened as his hungry eyes roved over her enlarged form, now with the height and lush, rounded proportions of a half-Giantess.

This sort of magic drew a lot of power, but with her ahk’sheth so close, this form would be easy to maintain for the time being. Besides, she would draw additional strength from Marcos if he had half the stamina she suspected.

She seized a fistful of shaggy hair at the back of his neck and kissed him hard, her teeth clashing against his. He responded in kind, filling his hands with her hair and invading her mouth with his tongue. His broad hands mauled her body, gripping, squeezing, uncaring of her comfort. Shenla returned the sentiment, biting his lips, digging her nails into the skin of his back, shoulders and buttocks, drawing bloody furrows.

There was no tenderness in their exchange, no care. They fell to the ground, each wrestling for dominance over the other. She could have overpowered him easily, but she wanted him to enjoy this, to remember it, to want more. No man ever forgot a night with her.

She allowed him to get the upper hand and pin her face down on the fur-covered floor, his forearm across her shoulders. She lifted her hips up, inviting him into her.

With a deep growl, he thrust forward savagely. She felt no pain, only the sweet heat of sex as he penetrated her fully. He was big - perhaps the biggest she’d had - but her body was built for this, adjusting automatically to his size. He fucked her roughly, brutally, and she met his every thrust with delight, relishing in it. Since her change, sex with her ahk’sheth had become less primal over time, less carnal. Still wonderful and exciting, but more an exchange between equals. In those moments, she wanted nothing else, but the other side of her, the darker side, reared its head now, wanting to take and be taken, to fight and fuck and ravage and kill, to overpower her prey and relish

Her howls of pleasure filled the room as she demanded more and more of him. Energy was building in her centre, filling her up, delighting and empowering. Marcos roared as he erupted, pumping his seed into her body, which quickly took up the nourishment, absorbing it and energising her anew.

This was where she must take caution; the thrill of the moment, the ecstasy of the heat in her veins could take over, and her lovers would literally fuck themselves to death - unless they were bound to her - if she did not stop them.

Once, this mindless joy was near impossible to see through until her lover was dead or near to it. Now, the control was easier. While he was still recovering from his climax, she moved, flipping them over until she was atop him, straddling his hips. His hands cupped her breasts, gripping them to the point of pain, but she merely laughed in delight as she began to grind her hips with enough force to make him grunt with discomfort.

She kept him right there on the border between pleasure and pain as she rode him, but it was a struggle. The conflict inside her raged on, coldness against warmth, compassion against dominance. Part of her wanted to watch him die right there underneath her, giving his life energy away until he became dust. Another part wanted to bind him, to enslave him forever. It was the least he deserved after killing and enslaving so many himself. A third part wanted to let him go and leave him to Maloth, which would surely end his life as certainly as if she took it herself, but at least he would still be a free man at that death.

He cannot be trusted, a calm voice said in her head, penetrating the fog of lust. He will follow you to Ekistair, but he will betray you at the first opportunity. You know this.

She listened as she raked her fingernails across his hairy chest, leaving runnels of blood. He convulsed, his hips lifting her into the air as he came again, the tendons on his neck straining. He will be addicted to me, after this, she told the voice. He will not risk his access to this pleasure.

The voice went quiet, offering no response. Firming her resolve, Shenla allowed the frenzied mating to continue until she was satisfied Marcos had had enough that his mind would be filled with thoughts of her for months to come. When she finally left him lying on furs soaked with sweat and blood, she was almost vibrating with the energy she’d taken from him. He would recover by tomorrow; she had not let things go too far, nor had she scored him too deeply with her nails. Tomorrow, they would be on ships to Ekistair.

She resumed her normal size before scooping up her cloak and throwing it over her shoulders. “I will meet you at the wharf at dawn,” she announced without looking back. She didn’t wait for an answer as she pulled the door open and left. Just outside, her men waited patiently. All four of them eyeing her over carefully before turning their gazes back to the hallway. There was nobody else in sight.

She didn’t bother asking if there had been any trouble out here in the hall; she would have sensed it in them. Without a word, she started back the way they’d come in. The men took up the same positions as before, ahead and behind for a guard. After a few moments they were joined by Torvin’s Morgai, Sharik and Shariin. Strikingly attractive, the two Morgai - their slate-grey skin patterned with black angular runes and their eyes like glowing red suns - slipped around a corner up ahead and shot a questioning look at Torvin, who in turn glanced at Shenla, an eyebrow raised in question. When she shook her head, the Morgai nodded and slipped away again, vanishing as they were swallowed by shadows.

The Morgai were a contingency she had not needed in the end. They would move on to the next part of the plan. They were a fascinating creation, the Morgai, one she thought of often. Ever since seeing Maloth’s come into being she had wanted her own, and she had not been disappointed by their abilities.

Less arrogant than Maloth’s, her Morgai were more biddable, though not lacking in confidence. She had studied them extensively alongside Torvin, and between the two of them they had mapped out the limitations of these beings and decided how and where they would be most useful. It had been more than a little frustrating to discover, however, that she and Torvin had been unable to create more than two. She had hoped to build an army of them, or at least a few dozen - there were few forces in the world that could stand up to even ten Morgai, she was sure - but the limit appeared to be only two. Whether that was from herself, Torvin, or a combination of both was uncertain.

Two will have to be enough, she thought as she padded down the corridors of the fortress-palace. A particularly loud clap of thunder vibrated the stone beneath her bare feet as it chased a brilliant flash that lit the corridor brighter than midday. Up ahead, at a place where this corridor met another, Barrog was pulling open a heavy iron-strapped door. The big Orc disappeared inside, then poked his head out a second later to wave the rest of them in.

Winding stairs awaited them there, and they descended silently, down and down, ignoring the other doors they passed until they reached the bottom. The air was different, down here, somehow both musty and dank. The stone was cut differently, too, rough and unpolished. They were in a small access hall with a simple wooden door at the other end.

“Are you feeling at home, down here, Peldin?” Caeledrin asked dryly in a low voice. He and Peldin were still behind her as they followed Barrog down the hall. “It must be just like the caverns of Eredor, though somewhat more spacious, I would imagine.”

Peldin chuckled softly. “You would be surprised at the vast magnificence of our realm, Caeledrin,” he retorted. “If you were ever brave enough to visit.” There was no real sting in his words. They sounded more like two brothers having a friendly bicker than two bloodsworn enemies in a war that had lasted a thousand years, and even more before the truce.

Eredor truly was an underground wonder. Shenla knew that for true. Miles of carefully designed and structured caves and caverns deep in the earth, carved and crafted in a way that challenged even the skill of the Dwarves. The two Elves maintained their back-and-forth for a time, though they kept their voices down. This path had been cleared on the way in, but there was no need to take risks.

When they entered yet another room - this one much larger and full of old barrels and sacks, many of them rotted from long years down here beneath the fortress - a huge, shaggy-haired figure rose from where he’d been sitting against a wall. Unable to straighten to his full, fifteen-foot height, Vegar hunched slightly as he stood, careful not to hit his head. He was shirtless, as usual, his massive body looking chiselled from dark marble. Below the waist he wore the flowing white pants that Giants of his tribe favoured, loose and light and tied at the waist with a cord thick enough to serve as a stout rope. He was a fine specimen, Vegar.

When Barrog asked the Giant if there had been any problems, Vegar’s head swayed. “None,” he rumbled in his slow voice. “It was rather boring down here, really.” Shenla thought his words sounded a little slurred, and he was swaying slightly. When her eyes found the barrel lying on its side near where he’d been sitting, she sighed. She was willing to bet that barrel had been full of something strong when he’d found it, and it was now empty. Now that she thought of it, the fumes in the air were unmistakable.

Barrog sniffed the air audibly. “How drunk are you?” He demanded in a voice nearly as deep as the Noroth’s. “I have no qualms about leaving you down here, Giant.”

Behind her, Caeledrin made a disgusted noise. Any second now, he would make a disparaging comment about primitive cultures and their proclivities if she didn’t intervene.

“We cannot leave him,” Shenla said firmly. “Even if he deserves it.” She shot the Giant an irritated look and he shrugged uncomfortably, whether from embarrassment or because of the low ceiling she couldn’t tell.

“I am well enough to make it out of here,” Vegar said carefully, the way a drunk tries to pretend he is not.

“We will see,” Barrog replied in a flat voice as he pushed past Vegar and pulled open the tall door at the other end of the room. “Keep up, Noroth, or I will have you dragged all the way to the docks.”

A dark look crossed Vegar’s face, but he made no comment as he followed the Orc through into the shadowy space on the other side, bending himself at the waist to do so.

A few more passages later, the group surfaced through a small access port that came up a few hundred paces from the palace; an old, forgotten method once used to bring in supplies from a building that no longer existed. Heavy rain pelted them as soon as they cleared the hole, though Shenla hardly noticed. She was focused, determined to see the plan through. Without a word, she took the lead and headed for the main street that sloped downward toward the docks. Now they were out of the palace, the need for stealth was gone.

“What now?” Torvin asked as he came up beside her. He’d pulled up the hood of his cloak against the rain.

“Now,” she replied softly, it’s time for a drink.”

The rest of the walk was made in silence, which suited her; she had much to think on. She had been planting seeds, whispering in ears, pulling on strings since well before she had abandoned Maloth’s mad quest for dominance. Shops and taverns and inns lined the main avenue that led to the docks, the latter with light spilling through the cracks between closed shutters. Merry music dimmed by the deluge reached her ears along with raucous laughter and the clinking of mugs, or the telltale crashing and thudding of a good fight underway.

Despite the weather, a few souls occupied the streets, stumbling into or out of a building or simply lying on the sidewalk where they’d been tossed by a guard. From what Shenla knew, the carousing never stopped in the Wharf District of Amindaer, with ships coming and going at all times and sailors looking to sate their appetites for food, drink, gambling and women. Even the constant storms would not have kept the spirit of this place dampened for long.

They were almost to the end of the avenue when she turned toward a sprawling stone building sporting three stories, looming on the corner of the avenue and a side street. Tall, bronze letters ran across the front of it, naming the establishment ‘The Fiddler’s Fling.’ Massive double-doors of iron-strapped oak stood closed beneath the sign, guarded by two solid Orcs, arms folded over bare chests.

“Really? Here?” Caeledrin murmured in distaste as they approached the wide stone steps between two tall, iron lampposts, heavily shielded against the rain.

Barrog chuckled. “I’ve heard stories about this place. Could be fun.”

“I hear they have devices that pour the ale from a tap,” Torvin said in his quiet but intense voice. “And it comes out cold.” He almost sounded excited, though he rarely was about such things as ale.

“This is where we will find what we need,” she told them as she ascended the steps. The guards shifted their feet ever so slightly as Shenla’s party approached. Even with only Barrog, Peldin and Caeledrin carrying weapons, her ahk’sheth made for an intimidating sight. With Vegar bringing up the rear, even more so.

“If you’re looking for trouble,” one of the Orcs said in a hard voice. “You’ll get it. Gammon has twenty of us working, tonight, and another twenty on call.”

“Weapons in the box,” the other Orc added, jerking his head toward a long wooden crate with a hinged lid, off to one side. “They’ll be kept safe until you leave.”

Shenla felt her men stiffen at the idea of going in unarmed, but she interjected. “We are not looking for trouble,” she assured the guards as she pulled back her cowl. “And unless we are bothered, we will begin none.”

The Orcs stared at her face for a moment before blinking and resuming their hard-faced glares. “That is well,” the first one replied.

“Weapons in the box,” the other one repeated in exactly the same tone.

“Do it,” Shenla told the men. They obeyed, albeit more slowly than they needed to, unlimbering swords and knives and axes and placing them in the crate, each man eyeing the Orcs challengingly as they relinquished their weapons.

“If this sword,” Peldin began as he placed the slender blade in the box, “Is not here when I return, there will be trouble. Understand, Orc?”

It was almost laughable, dark, slender Peldin threatening Orcs two feet taller and three times as wide as himself. Laughable if you did not know what Peldin was capable of. The Orcs did not, and they chuckled at him.

“We understand just fine, little Elf,” the first one said with a toothy, tusked grin as he moved aside and pushed the heavy door open easily. Light and noise flooded out at once; the thick wood had kept much of it in, but now music and shouting and the stomping of feet on the floor assaulted their ears.

She put a soft hand on Peldin’s shoulder and leaned in close to whisper in his ear, “Not now. They are fools, and they deserve it, but now now.” The Orcs did not realise she had just saved their lives, of course. They leered at her as she passed them, as if wondering what she looked like beneath the heavy cloak. If she chose to show them, it would be to have her way with them, and she would not stop herself as she had with Marcos.

Insult my Peldin, she thought bitterly. And I will see you dead.