Part 3: A Queen of Dust

Aaron Connel, expatriate from Earth, regained consciousness, a miserable and painful process. One sense seemed to flare to life at a time, introduced by a sharp, stabbing pain in one bit or another. First his sense of touch returned with a jolt of soreness: he was lying on something soft, his head cradled. Then his nostrils burned and he smelled blood, smoke, and sweat. He heard sounds: men groaning, weeping. At last he opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a tent of some kind of animal-skin, on a comfortable cot. Purple sky was visible through patches in the ceiling. Bandages had been wound about his head, which felt like it had been taken off and reattached by drunk medical students.

As the boy lay, he recounted who he was and what he had happened. He was Aaron Connel, and he knew that the past month or so had not been a dream. He was on the planet Yothis, and had joined a caravan after escaping the wizard Zamphor, who had summoned him. There he had worked to seduce Wenet, the daughter of a downtrodden merchant. He had been traveling toward Tilnabar to find Olivia, his friend from Earth, and the mysterious demon Azha, when raiders had attacked the caravan. His last memory was of tumbling down a flight of stairs.

Aaron sat up and watched the room spin a little. He was in an infirmary, or what passed for one in the sorcerous, alien world that had trapped him. Men lay all around him, all injured. They were the raiders from the attack, Aaron realized. They seemed all to be of the same type, with bronze skin, heavy brows, and thick beards.

Women in severe black gowns walked between the cots. One of them stood over the man next to him, who groaned from a long wound across his biceps. The woman carefully changed his bindings, which was a messy, bloody process. Aaron shivered and looked away, drawing the woman's attention. She disappeared out of the tent. A moment later two men in biege leather with metal rings appeared. They looked like the wounded men: long straight hair, bronze skin, and heavy beards. Dark eyes, peering from beneath conical iron and bronze helmets, fell immediately upon Aaron. In a moment they both stood over his cot.

"Can you stand?" one said.

"What?" Aaron said. The man's accent was strange. The Low Quist pidgin tongue he had learned served as a common ground for communication, but it usually took a moment to understand individuals.

"Can you stand?" the man repeated.

In response, Aaron sat up completely. He was naked beneath the covers, but after a few weeks of nakedness in Zamphor's summoning circle, traditional modesty no longer concerned the boy. He swung first one leg, then another, over the edge of the cot, then stood on shaky legs, slowly regaining his balance.

"Where am I?" Aaron asked. "Is this a..." He did not know the word for "infirmiry" or "hospital."

"Walk," the soldier said, pointing toward the tent flap. Aaron, not knowing what to do, stepped outside.

It was night and the moons gleamed in the sky, which rarely seemed darker than sunset on Earth. He was in a camp: other tents spread out along three tiers on the side of an ugly brown mountain. These were the raiders that had destroyed the caravan. Aaron considered flight, but they were too many, and sentries on high rocks held bows. The guards led the boy across the way to another tent. Inside a tub stood, surrounded by crude brass fixtures like anxient plumbing. A few gears turned lazily.

"Get in," the guard said. "Lady Miacla will not tolerate filth in her presence."

Not seeing any choice, Aaron climbed in and washed himself off. The water was cool and clean, and there was even soap. Aaron washed and carefully removed his bandage. Only a faint bump remained. When he finished he climbed out and gears turned, siphoning the water away. The other guard handed Aaron a plain linen robe and sandals and led him to yet another tent. This one was larger than the infirmiry, with an embroidered door-flap, and two men stood guard outside it. The High Poombah, Aaron concluded, likely resided within.

The guard behind him shoved him inside. Aaron staggered through the flap and recovered his balance. He looked around. This tent bore the mark of plundered luxury, with statues and vases heaped carelessly about, silks and furs adorning the walls with no attention paid to clashing styles. Silver slashes opened in the walls and ceiling, letting moonlight spill into the room to assist the many candles.

A woman sat on a mound of pillows--lounged, really, in an attitude of predatory comfort. Her bronze skin glowed where the candle-light touched it. She wore more gold than cloth: gleaming earrings, magnificent ankle-hoops, and jeweled necklaces. Black cloth covered her breasts and crotch. When she moved, Aaron saw smooth muscles on her thighs and arms. Cool black eyes studied him.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Aaron."

"You are a demon," the woman said, her voice husky.

"Of course not," Aaron said, lying automatically. Who knew what horrible fate the truth would get him? "I'm like you. I'm from away west."

"You can't fool me, boy," the woman said. She slid forward until the candlelight reflected her face, which was sharp and striking, with razor cheekbones and full red lips. "I caught the last one to come through here. She wasn't like you, but she told me what had happened to Zamphor."

"The last..." Aaron sighed. "What happened to her?"

"Azha the mirix?" the woman said. Aaron jumped at the name. "Turned to mist and flew away. Good riddance. But you are made of heavier stuff, I think. You're not going anywhere."

"Look," Aaron said, "holding up both hands. I don't want trouble. I'm looking for a friend of mine, someone like me. The last I heard she was in Tilnabar, so that's where I was going when you..."

"When my fellows dealt with the Ptellan filth," the woman said, her voice cold. "I am Lady Miacla, and the Ptella dogs took my land, took something from everyone who serves with me. They deserved their deaths."

"Deaths!" Aaron cried. He glanced around at the room. Axes, hooked swords, and stranger weapons lay scattered about. A long dagger sat on a desk covered in gold coins and ledgers, between himself and Miacla, a tempting weapon. "How could you kill them? How could you kill the Nazhaki? They were good people!"

"The Nazhaki?" Miacla said, and the edge in her voice faded. "They are still alive," she said after a moment's hesitation. "We have no quarrel with them, and we did not take the caravan leader's bait." She spat the word. "They have probably reached Tilnabar by now, and may the Thirty go with them."

Aaron relaxed.

"But you were not with the Nazhaki," the woman said. "And we slaughtered those Ptellan butchers, all who stood against us."

"But... but there were Nazhaki on those wagons!"

"And they are alive," Lady Miacla said. She clapped her wrist-bangles together, and the ringing summoned two guards. One held Hurik, the other, Wenet. The guards released them and they stumbled forward. Both wore simple gowns. Wenet's collar-length hair framed two large, frightened eyes, while Hurik looked around, more curious than frightened. He pulled his forest green robe tight around him.

"Lady Miacla," one guard said to introduce them, then they both disappeared.

"You are Nazhaki," Lady Miacla told them, "but we found you in the wagon of those filthy Ptellans." She rose and stepped forward. Hurik boggled as he saw the beautiful, long-legged woman, then squeaked in fear when she raised her fist. A golden ring on her middle finger glowed with an unnatural yellow-green light. Aaron, sensing some unusual power in the ring, stepped back.

"We weren't with them," Wenet squeaked. "We went to make them turn around. My father is Porot-tiz-Magrad, and I am Wenet-tip-Shomam! My family is honorable!"

"I can't believe you, little girl," Miacla said. "Perhaps you have sold out your people. And besides, I have no use for foolish Nazhaki youths in my camp. I'm afraid you'll just have to leave. Good luck!"

"Wait," Aaron said. "You can't just send them away to die! She must have some useful skill! Hurik is a tailor. You can't..."

Lady Miacla raised a delicate eyebrow. The light from her ring faded, leaving Aaron to wonder exactly what the hell the thing was.

"Hm," the bandit queen mused. "So few like... you," she said to Wenet. "The men here are harsh and savage, the women, little better. Tell me, little Nazhaki, can you dance?"

"I... I must not!" Wenet said.

"You must," Miacla said, her voice cold. "I have need for amusement these nights, and a girl who knows the Dance of Winds would please me."

"Not that dance!" Wenet cried. "It is sacred, a woman's rite before our gods!"

"It is a magnificent dance," Miacla said. "Either dance or walk." She glanced to Hurik and asked, "boy, can you play the lute?"

"I... yes," he said. Nervously, he sat down next to a guitar-like instrument that rested across his lap and plucked a few experimental strings, then began to play in earnest.

Wenet hesitated, then began a gentle, swaying dance, her hands over her head, her eyes closed, her hips moving back and forth, as if entranced by the strange music. Aaron stared in fascination as the dance moved faster, grew more intense and passionate, as Wenet's now-bare feet danced over the furs. He sat down to hide a growing erection. As Wenet moved faster, she started to falter, desperately struggling to hold her robe shut.

"Take it off," Lady Miacla said.

Wenet opened her eyes, pleading silently, but the woman sat, a smile of faint amusement on her face. The girl opened her robe, then tossed it to the ground as she span. Aaron leaned forward, his dick now painfully hard, trying to forget that his life was probably on the line. Wenet's body shone with sweat as she spun, her olive body slim and graceful, her large breasts swinging freely. Only the lightest tuft of hair hid her most intricate regions as her dance continued, growing more intense and passionate.

The music strummed to a climax with Wenet on her knees, her back arched, legs back, her arms caressing the air, then the music stopped and Wenet remained on her knees, gasping for breath, her black hair plastered to her forehead.

"Magnificent," Lady Miacla said. She obviously meant it: her lips were red with desire, her pupils like great black pools. She gestured toward Aaron. "Now you, make love to her for me."

"What?!" Aaron cried. "I can't! She's..." He trailed off, looking at Wenet, kneeling only a few paces from him, sweating, eyeing him with eager fascination, then back to the deadly warrior-woman.

Aaron moved toward the girl, sat next to her, and pulled Wenet close. "Play, boy," he heard Miacla say, and hesitant music started up to compliment their growing intimacy. Aaron kissed Wenet, tasting her tart lips, running his tongue along her teeth. Her had never made love, but he had made out with enough girls, and in moments Wenet was moaning and tugging at his robe, which came loose, revealing Aaron's throbbing cock. Aaron caressed the girl's full breasts, tugging on her hard nipples, his lips moving up and down her throat. He turned her around, always keeping their flesh together. He would make love to her from behind, both of them facing Miacla, who would receive an incredible show. His cock slid between her butt cheeks, moving lower.

The music faltered, hitting a few off-key notes. Aaron, shaking off his lust, looked at Hurik. Tears stained his face and his hands trembled over his lap-guitar. Miacla hungrily watched Aaron's coupling with Wenet.

"I can't do this," Aaron said, pulling away from Wenet.

Miacla looked at Aaron's hard, rather well-proportioned dick. "Oh," she said, "I kind of doubt that."

"Hear me out," the boy said. "Hurik really loves her. They should be together for her first time."

"First time?" Miacla said. She smiled and looked to Hurik. "Is this true, boy?"

"It is, madame," Hurik said.

Miacla waved Hurik toward the girl. They embraced and kissed.

"Now," Lady Miacla said, "make love."

The two kissed awkwardly and Wenet pulled Hurik's robe off, revealing his half-hard penis. Glancing nervously at Miacla, he aligned himself (Aaron had explained to him the basics of sex during the caravan journey), but had no luck.

"It... it won't go," Hurik said, his voice slightly frantic. Lady Miacla's presence was obviously scaring both of them.

"You both need to be ready," Aaron said, "especially since she's a virgin. Hurik, remember what I showed you. Just--" And he reached out, gently stroking Wenet's round breasts until the nipples hardened again. Hurik followed his example, running his hands along her ribs and the sides of her breasts.

"Have you done this before?" Hurik whispered.

"Fucked? No, " Aaron confessed. "But I've read a lot of books."

"Books?" Lady Miacla asked. She had inched closer and now lounged near Wenet's head, watching the display in fascination.

Aaron looked at the woman, whose eyes were glazed with lust. His hard-on returned with a vengeance, pressing against Wenet's arm. "Books," he said. "On sex. Don't you have them?"

"Like Legends of the Pearl Room? Those are banned from Ptella." The woman, who had previously called for people to fornicate in front of her, colored slightly. "I know little of the arts they teach, save rumor."

"Sex must not be very good up here," Aaron said.

"Man climbs on, man comes, man goes to sleep," Miacla said. "But you... you know deeper secrets?"

Aaron smiled, his ego swelling as much as more concrete areas, and ran his fingers lower on Wenet's sweat-slick body, playing with her navel before parting her legs.

"Hurik needs to be ready too," Aaron told a moaning Wenet. "Take his dick in your hand. Make it hard."

Wenet reached out and took her boyfriend's dick, stroking it as Aaron instructed her until it rose. In the mean time, Aaron's hand completed its journey to Wenet's soft pubic hair. He had never touched a girl there before, and spent a moment just savoring the warmth and wetness. Then he slid down further, eliciting a moan from the Nazhaki girl, and found her hot, slick gash. He slid a finger along it, getting a feel for things, forced to work blind because Hurik was in the way. At last he found what he was looking for: a tiny nub, just where Aaron had been led to believe, which he gently stroked.

The reaction was immediate. Wenet squealed with delight, her arms flailing. One hand found Aaron's shoulder and slid along his chest. A shiver ran through her entire body as Aaron moved his finger around.

"By the Thirty," Lady Miacla whispered, watching the girl writhe. She had begun to pleasure herself in earnest, three fingers hidden beneath her black silk loincloth, her jewelry jangling in a steady rhythm.

"What are you doing?" Hurik asked, awed and amazed. Wenet's hand had fallen away from his cock, and he stroked it.

"Put a finger in her," Aaron said.

Hurik carefully slid his fingers along the insides of Wenet's legs, eliciting another gasp from the girl, then put his finger against the girl's cunt and pushed. Wenet squealed and Hurik shivered in excitement.

"It's so hot," he said. Whatever instinct humans have was similar in the inhabitants of Yothis, and the boy started to move his finger in and out.

Wenet thrashed around beneath them, and Aaron held her down, caressing her breasts, still diddling her clit. Suddenly the girl fell very silent and all her muscles tensed. At once she relaxed, seeming to melt into the furs, with a drawn out "Ohhhhhhh yesssssss!" Fluid pumped from her pussy, sliding across Aaron's fingers. He stopped diddling her, having read that it might result in overstimulation.

The girl looked around, her eyes glazed, her breasts and cheeks red from her orgasm.

"I think you can fuck her now," Aaron said. He smiled, though his whole body trembled. His cock bobbed, and he desperately wished he could be in Hurik's position.

"I should turn her on again," Hurik said, his thumb sliding over the girl's slit. Wenet almost jumped out of her skin, yelping with shock, and Hurik pulled away.

"Hurik," Aaron said, "you're a tailor. Don't touch her most sensitive bit with your calloused tailor thumb!" They both smiled, then Hurik grew serious as he aligned his cock. Aaron held the scared girl's hand, then (figuring what the hell), wrapped it around his dick. She started to stroke, smiling up at both of them, as Hurik slid inside. The girl's face went through contortions of pain, pleasure, pain, and finally a satisfied fullness, moaning along with Hurik as the boy's dick slid up to the balls. Above her head, Lady Miacla masturbated wetly.

Hurik slid in and out, his whole body tense, taking it slow to avoid blowing his load. Aaron watched the girl's tits bounce as Hurik found a steady pace. Unable to resist any more, he moved his dick toward the girl's face. A drop of precum fell from the tip of his cock and landed on her lips. She licked it away. Screwing up his courage and with memories of Azha dancing in his head, Aaron moved his cock head toward Wenet's lips. The girl licked the tip, then opened as Aaron slid his dick an inch into her mouth. She started to suck, and Aaron moaned.

"By the Six," Lady Miacla whispered. She watched the boy with a mixture of loathing and fascination.

"She's good," Aaron said, dizzy as Wenet ran her tongue over the bottom of his cock head.

"You must be from far away," the woman said. "Only slaves of slaves would do such a thing here."

"She doesn't seem to object," Aaron said. He looked down at Wenet, whose eyes were closed, moaning in time to Hurik's thrusts, then back to Lady Miacla. She had removed her belt and plunged her fingers freely and openly into her pussy. Fluid ran onto the cushions as she approached her orgasm. The woman cried out in pleasure and her whole body, her legs twitching.

Watching Miacla's orgasm, Aaron suddenly lost control. He willed himself to pull out; the first sticky rope landed across Wenet's cheek, some dripping into her mouth. Aaron squeazed his eyes shut, saw lines, as his orgasm reached its most intense peak. He fell back on the soft furs and felt his semen leaving him in slow gushes, then opened his eyes.

Hurik fucked wildly, moments from orgasm. Wenet gasped and twisted about, semen glistening on her full breasts. Aaron's head lay near one of Miacla's long, strong brown thighs. The woman watched the sweaty deflowering, one finger brushing her cunt, which Aaron saw was dark red, framed by neatly trimmed hair. Her smell was intoxicating and unfamiliar, like leather, sweat, and spice.

Hurik screamed and came, and the couple collapsed together, hugging and kissing. At last, after several minutes, they looked up at Lady Miacla.

"Very impressive," the woman said. She looked at Aaron. "You know things that few know, demon." Then her dark eyes fell upon the post-coital couple. "And the girl can dance beautifully. Sadly," she said, "I have no need for a tailor, nor another boy, less beautiful than my demon. However, I would like a rain bird."