Vaid Empire: Conquest
Chapter 108
38th of Fixuin, 20 AVE.
Kingdom of Wonakaros, Holy City of Arkos-Tul.
The festival city of Arkos-Tul lingered with ancient memories and long forgotten ghosts. As Naram sauntered down the old streets towards the great temple, she felt a cold chill despite the heat. The message in her grasp may as well have been made of ice biting at her fingers, though in truth the words had been carved into a thin slab that sat comfortably in her palm. Her thoughts lingered upon its pale deliverers as she felt the coral-like material, having been carved from a charom stem.
She could feel the gaze of her ancestors peering out at her from the empty windows of vacant buildings as she carried it forth. Only the jingling sound of the metal rings decorating her skirt broke the gentle silence of the morning, made louder by the swaying of her striped tail and svelte hips.
Ahead, she saw her first friendly face of the day. An old man brushed sand from the doorway of an empty building with intricate care. During a festival, when much of the nomadic population of Wonakaros made the long pilgrimage to the holy city to honor their ancestors, Arkos-Tul became a bustling metropolis. New buildings were constructed to house the ever-growing population, and celebrations rang through the ancient streets for many days and nights. For the remainder of the year, the city of black stone and dark domes was inhabited only by a select few of honored elders to serve as caretakers, much like the old Arkos she passed. Aside from Naram’s family and her father’s concubines, there were few others to speak to outside of guards and her assassins.
The elderly Arkos lowered himself to his creaking knees in her wake. The second daughter of The Holy Kromak deserved no lesser honor. She endured his worship with a nod, masking a sigh as she left him behind.
Alone once more, she almost felt uneasy in the eerie silence of the empty streets and buildings. Even after a lifetime among the ancient structures, it still felt unnatural for such a vast city to be so utterly lonely, as if its inhabitants had all fallen to dust in an instant. The metal claws of her polished gauntlet tapped together, banishing all misgivings in an instant. None would be foolish enough to attack the leader of The Tolkarik Assassins.
The message in her grasp was lighter than wood, yet it was a heavier burden than Naram cared for. When the great temple finally came into view ahead, she quickened her steps, seeking to serve her duty and be rid of it.
Black domes topped many of the short towers and buildings of the city, though the great temple held the largest dome of all. A grand half-sphere, the circular structure of her home loomed to welcome her.
Dark halls guarded by Arkos warriors guided Naram into the throne room of The Holy Kromak. A chamber fit for a god, silks hung from the walls, while concubines lounged among luxurious cushions littering the circular chamber. She ignored the stares of her father’s lovers, pretending not to hear the hushed whispers about the serious daughter of their holy master. Only the most beautiful of offerings had been gifted to honor The Kromak, and they relaxed without a hint of silk to conceal their perfection, displaying their dark grey skin with seductive smiles. As one concubine caressed a bare thigh, as if to drag the young woman’s attention to the treasure resting between her parted legs, Naram looked away with a scowl and darkened cheeks.
Through the haze of smoke dancing through the air that filled the ample chamber with the aroma of luxurious spices, Naram saw the throne against the far wall. Stepping forth, she knelt before her father.
A giant of a man loomed before her, sitting back in his stone seat of power. The dim light of the many candles decorating the room trickled through the haze to caress his bare chest, gleaming off the gold-plated horns of his bald head.
Naram wasn’t surprised to find her eldest sister, Saros, lounging in his lap. The first acknowledged daughter of The Holy Kromak, she hung her legs over the stone armrest, dressed in only the finest of transparent silks that seemed to shimmer in the faint light. Her long loincloth rested between her thick thighs, concealing nothing, while no hint of metal nor armor of any sort tainted her smooth skin. Naram’s bore the faint scars of her training. Saros had never touched a blade.
A powerful hand caressed his daughter’s dark hair and curved horns like a prized pet. Another offered a dark Danok fruit, found solely along the coast. Only the best for Saros. She bit down, letting black juice trickle over her pretty lips.
“Ah, Naram returns,” the deep voice of The Kromak uttered through the smoke, letting a low chuckle rumble. She saw the teeth of his sly grin. “What did our honored guests bring me, I wonder?”
His other set of hands did not rest idly. Four powerful arms each sought to savor the moment, for a concubine leaned against the throne on either side. Even as he fed Saros, one hand caressed the rump of a lover, and the other glided up the soft thigh of the second concubine until he found her damp prize.
As she heard the moan of the woman ahead, Naram tried to block out the sight to focus upon her duty. “The snow dwellers bring word from The Potentate himself, father.” Bowing her head, she offered the message with cupped hands outstretched.
His fingers left the concubine’s rump as she was permitted to retrieve the slab. Pressing herself against the side of his throne, the naked woman eyed her master’s second daughter like a hungry predator as The Kromak claimed the message. Naram leveled her gaze at the ground as she waited obediently.
A sly grin faded in an instant as he read. For a moment Naram thought she saw the true man beneath his calm expression, though the shadow of his real thoughts disappeared when he seemed to remember the eyes upon them, smirking once more.
The Holy Kromak switched to the Dril language to mask his words from the rest. “The humans cross the mountains.”
Naram grimaced. She hadn’t dared to read the words herself, though dealing with the snow dwellers made her skin crawl. They had come seeking an audience with her father, expecting him to meet them halfway as he had decades ago with The Potentate. Lacking the presence of the Dril leader, however, Naram had been sent instead. Despite her distaste, she knew of her father’s…obligations. “The weaklings of Narok won’t stop them. You know that, your holiness,” she replied in the same tongue, trying to maintain her calm.
Saros continued to savor the taste of the fruit, empty of concern and empty of thought. Only Naram had committed to learning the language her father used in private.
“King Torakeom is not so weak as my declarations would have our people believe,” Krom’s deep voice confessed. With a gesture, he summoned a concubine with a thin pipe lined with tiny vials of liquid. Taking a long moment to inhale in contemplation, letting his daughter linger in silence, he let smoke ooze from his nostrils like a mythical beast when he was done. “Yet The Potentate would agree with you. It seems his agents shall be sent to aid us.”
Dumbfounded, Naram broke her submission by jumping to her feet. “We don’t need the assistance of the snow dwellers.” Remembering her place, she blushed before straightening proudly. “Forgive me, father. The Tolkarik Assassins are more than worthy of serving you alone.”
“They have failed me once before,” he reminded her, leaning back in his throne. She had rebuilt their order from what little remained, though the stain of their failure could not be cleansed. “You will cooperate with The Agents of Shai when they arrive. You will function as one.” His sly grin returned, though it did not reach his weary eyes. “Blood shall spill upon my dunes. When it drowns Torakeom, his people, and all of Narok, I’d have us be prepared when it flows into our lands.”
Such was the command of her father, a living god, The Holy Kromak. She could offer no argument but a begrudging nod.
His attention returned to Saros, savoring the sight of his beloved pet. Naram realized she had been silently dismissed. Without another word, she bowed before removing herself from his holy presence.
Ignoring the whispering concubines once more, she swayed her deadly hips with measured strides, hoping to appear proud and strong in her father’s chamber. When she found herself alone down the length of several twisting corridors, she loosed a defeated breath as her shoulders fell. Rubbing the sides of her head in annoyance, she stumbled along.
Only the sight of Karak lifted her mood once more. Finding her younger sister’s quarters, the girl practically leapt into her arms when she entered.
“Did you see them? Did you meet the snow dwellers?” the small girl asked excitedly, reuniting. “Do they really melt in the heat? Do they only eat snow like you said?”
Naram laughed for the first time since she had departed to meet the Dril group, holding her tight. “Those were mere tales, Karak. Don’t be foolish.” She looked around, finding the room messy. There was little reason to be tidy when she received no visitors.
As the only three acknowledged children of The Holy Kromak, no doubt among many others, they received the privileges the offspring of a living god was entitled to. They shared his food, a dwelling inside the great temple, and a small portion of his worship and wealth. Hardly should one complain, even as Naram bit her lip at the sight of the lonely girl. If Saros was The Kromak’s blazing sun of pride, Naram was a small fire. If Naram was a fire, Karak was little more than cool embers fading in the shadows. She squeezed the forgotten girl. She would not forget.
Even in the grip of her excitement, Karak could see the thoughts battling behind her sister’s orange eyes. “What’s wrong? Did they scare you?”
“Nothing scares me, little one,” she chuckled, concealing an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Forget the snow dwellers. Tell me everything you’ve done while I was away instead.”
As the girl excitedly did just that, Naram endured the taste of her lie as she listened patiently. The humans were coming. Cold winds blew across the dunes. Icy whispers sought their father’s ear.
The Holy Kromak was right. Blood would surely spill upon the sands.
42nd of Fixuin, 20 AVE.
The Deep Mountains.
The snow took much. When it was gone, they marched like empty husks through dry peaks.
As the legion stumbled along in exhaustion, driven only by fervor, The God Emperor strode onwards. The desert would bleed before he was done. The weariness of his warriors would not slow him.
Long had the cold given way to harsh rain. The rain had slowed to a trickle, and now the sun beat down upon jagged and dry rocks. Insulated beneath his one-suit, Dominax cared little. The hotter the barren peaks grew, the closer they marched towards the desert.
Before his time, the weather and climate of the world had only been considered natural, for what else could any compare it to? With the strange orb embedded in the crossguard of his sword, whispering the few secrets of Dorian it wished to offer, Dominax knew differently. They ventured across a deeply unnatural world brimming with reminders of Dorian’s handiwork everywhere he gazed. There were many truths he’d share with the Arkos after he crushed the lies of their false gods.
His white cloak billowed behind as he marched with purpose. The once pristine silk was as dirty as his armor. His boots crushed the small rocks in his path, hearing the thundering march of the legion at his back.
When he glanced behind, however, he saw exhausted bodies shuffling along. Thousands struggled to maintain his relentless pace. Thousands more had been left behind as corpses.
He nearly slowed his pace. When he saw Irith among the masses behind, he blinked. There stood only an ordinary woman where he had seen her, a stranger.
The God Emperor marched, pushing onward with ghosts forever at his heels.
***
As the sun hung low in the sky, Cendra followed her father closely. She marched a mere step behind, just to his right as Clin walked at his other side.
The frequency of their ambushes had diminished the closer they progressed towards The Kingdom of Narok, and the mountain pass seemed to be less damaged. Where once they had to build bridges and clear rubble, they found that many of the gaps already had crude crossings constructed. Their endless hike was no less treacherous during the night, however, and still the arrows of exiled tribes occasionally found their tents in the darkness.
Cendra considered their changing situation, the dire state of their supplies, their progress, all in the vain attempt to avoid the gaze of her mate. If she appeared lost in thought, perhaps Clin would stop glancing over at her. He did not.
Hardly two men could march in the empty space between them, though it felt as if they were parted by a vast valley. She had watched the others among the camp. Back when the days were cold and the nights colder, she had seen how Anthara frequently wrapped Lalian and their child in her wings for warmth. Each day she saw how Vixin tended to that quiet girl of hers, Yisi. Each night she glimpsed Nafalya and Lord Hesin stalking like shadows through the tents, hearing the smallest hint of concealed chuckles as they whispered cruel words about those around them together. Their suffering forged her family closer, lovers at each other’s sides, young princes becoming brothers, yet what of her? Though she led her knights to defend against ambushes, she always found her bed empty.
A glance accidentally caught his eye, and she looked away with a scowl.
The mountain pass curved around a grand peak, bathing the legion in shadow. When they emerged into the light, they were at last met with the sight those that had fallen would never see.
There, stretching out into the distance far below, the endless sea of black sand came into view. High atop the tallest mountain chain, they peered across the many remaining miles of ridges and summits to glimpse the desert they had sought.
Cendra beheld the land of dark dunes for the first time, awestruck, seeing clusters of vivid color dotted across the sands. An alien and bizarre world stood before them, just out of reach.
Her father stepped forth to loom over the sight of all he sought to conquer. At his back, so too did Clin appear stunned by the view. Frozen in place, lips parting, the blond warrior beheld what had stood upon the other side of the mountains that had dominated the landscape of their home his entire life.
Cendra stared as if the future was whispering to her upon the wind. The black sands beckoned, demanding the fist of a conqueror.
The shadow of her father stretched across the rocks ahead as she dared to reach out at her side. It was a fragile act, fingers brushing Clin’s hand, easily swept away if he desired to. Neither looked away from the view. The gap between them lingered, yet he returned her touch, grasping her hand.
Her lips were stern, her gaze straight ahead, though she squeezed him tightly. Together they beheld their fate. She felt the warmth of his touch, hoping it would stay.
When at last his grasp loosened, she felt his fingers slip away.
***
“The land of our enemy,” Anthara said with a shake of her head. “I had always hoped I’d see the desert. If you would have told me years ago that I would spill Arkos blood at the side of humans, I would have had you whipped for speaking nonsense.”
Lalian could find little humor in the remark, though he nestled against his bondmate nonetheless. Sitting among the royals around one of the grand fires burning in the camp, the sun had long since fallen. Orange had bled across the sky, ushering in the night.
They could see nothing but a vast darkness stretching out ahead, though Anthara continued to glance over regardless, as if she could see the desert in the dark void below. With the temperature steadily rising, she had once again donned her traditional golden loincloth with pride. “How many Lanthians lay dead beneath those dunes? They raid our cities, and we attack them in return. They spill green blood, and we spill purple blood.” Her tone grew somber as she glanced down at her son, seeing Lalian The Younger resting in her arms. “I suppose those days are done now.”
“Maybe that’s worth a person’s soul,” Clin spoke up, gazing grimly into the fire. “A few bad deeds for peace. A betrayal of who you are for the greater good. Isn’t that why we serve?”
The others sat quietly, offering no reply as Anthara held her son closer.
An awkward silence lingered until they saw Salduin approaching. The big man’s heavy steps came with a swift urgency. After a bow of his bald head, he regarded Clin, Cendra, and several of the royals. “We’ve all earned the right to enjoy a night this peaceful, though unfortunately I must shatter it. Hesin’s Truthseekers brought something back from a scouting excursion.”
“Is something wrong?” Vixin asked.
He waved his meaty hand, urging her and Yisi to sit back down as the others stood to follow. “No need to concern yourself. Rest. If you’ll tend to the children, I’d be grateful.” Remembering he was in front of others, he continued. “Your majesty.”
Though Yisi offered her a skeptical look, Vixin remained as Cendra departed her side. The Lanthians, Quinla, Prince Fonax, and King Galis followed the large man through the camp.
“Routine, or other,” Clin asked quietly as he joined Salduin’s side.
“Other.” He regarded his old friend with a hard glance. “His holiness shall join us shortly.”
As they walked through the night, Clin took in the miserable sight of the camp. Rumblings of complaints were muttered among groups of exhausted legionaries. Mere months ago, the armor of their recruits had been pristine, newly forged. Now their cloaks were as dirty and ragged as the loincloths of slaves.
Long had he seen a divide forming. Men and women that had served The God Emperor during previous conquests had no stomach for complaints. They had faced death at the side of their ruler more times than they cared to count, carrying scars from the distant lands of the northern kingdoms and the horrid depths of The Lanthian Jungle. They told grim tales amongst themselves, while the new recruits formed into separate clusters. Having experienced no victories of their own beneath their ruler’s command, the once fresh legion whispered doubts in hushed voices, wondering if they’d be the next corpse to be left behind.
Clin should have been among them. He should have spent the journey uniting the veterans beneath his command with the masses of new recruits. Instead, he served his duty to lead the legion’s march behind The God Emperor each day and sequestered himself among his doubts at night. Even when he sat among the royals and his Knights, much of his mingling was with thoughts of Cilith.
They reached the tent Hesin shared with Nafalya swiftly, discovering the prizes Hesin’s women had brought. Entering, they were met by masked assassins looming before three men. Arkos men, bound and kneeling.
Blinking in surprise, Clin’s stomach sank when he noticed Hesin behind the captives with folded arms, grasping a dagger. Beside him stood Nafalya, a mirror to her master. Having given birth long ago, her body had returned to normal, and her baby had been placed in the care of slaves.
“Oh my…” Lalian muttered as the entrance was sealed, guarded by Truthseekers. “Are these men…ah…”
“Scouts of an exiled tribe,” Quinla replied, requiring only a glance as she entered. They wore little more than rags and furs stitched together. “Notice their scars?”
“Correct,” Hesin’s metallic voice came from behind his mask. Wooden posts had been driven into the ground behind the trio, connected to chains binding their arms above their heads. When one tried to rise, a Truthseeker sent him back to his knees with a swift thrust of her fist. “These savages were caught during their return from further west. They saw something.”
“Such as?” Prince Fonax asked with a charming smile towards Nafalya. He was met by nothing more than her expressionless mask.
Quinla cradled the subtle swell of her pregnancy. “Oh, they’ll never tell you. We’re outsiders. Even translated, their words would offer nothing to aid us.”
“If they’re of no use, remove them,” King Galis said with his permanent scowl. He earned a glance from Fonax, for the prince was clearly uncertain if he preferred the once quiet boy or the bitter man at his side.
Clin stepped forth. “We cannot condemn men we haven’t heard a single word from. Give them a chance.”
“Unfortunately, m…my lord, The Queen Regent is correct.” Lalian moved closer to point at the arm of one of the prisoners, only to jump back when the Arkos uttered a low hiss. Collecting himself, he gestured from a distance at the large symbol branded into the man’s wrist. “He was a criminal, branded and exiled permanently from Narok society. Such men are forever banned from engaging in any form of trade, even to feed himself, and thus their only hope is to venture into the mountains or the far northern desert to fend for themselves.”
Hesin’s single eye peered down at the bound men with distaste. “Hardly efficient. I’d rather cut their throats and be done with it. The swift, clean justice criminals deserve.”
Clin shot him a disapproving look, though Lalian continued before he could give his thoughts voice. “I…I’ve studied what few documents we have regarding them. None can survive on their own. Instead, they band together, forming the tribes we’ve faced along our journey.” Lalian gestured to the wrist of the man on the far right where the symbol had been painted instead. “Ah…and this one must have been born within the tribe itself, a descendant of exiles.”
“That one shall gladly die before he speaks to an outsider,” Quinla added. “The other two would take much to utter a word that is beneficial to anyone outside their tribe, the only beings that aided them when they were condemned by the world. You’ll find only malice and resentment, and much more in the presence of a royal.”
“Very well. No helpful words, but surely, they must offer some.” Fonax straightened proudly as he regarded Hesin. “You claim they saw something. Tell me, how do you know?”
The masked man nodded silently towards a Truthseeker. She spoke in his place. “They spat at us as we captured them, speaking of how our doom gathers ahead. Perhaps they believed we did not know their language. My understanding of their tongue is limited, though enough.”
“Doom,” Fonax said to himself in thought, as if tasting the word. “There are ways to get the information we need. This is war. Why do we delay?”
Galis nodded towards the Arkos in the center, the skinniest of the trio. Merely a young man, the branded prisoner muttered something hateful under his breath as the king focused upon him. “This one will break. I’m certain.” None were more qualified to smell the weakness of another.
“Hold a moment.” Clin held up his hand as Hesin stepped closer with his dagger, earning a scowl. “We’re intruders in these mountains. Now you’d torture a boy?”
“A man,” Nafalya finally spoke up. “Boys did not fire upon our camps. They attack, they kill, and you defend them.” She tilted her head. “Curious.”
“Lord Clin has served our father longer than you’ve drawn breath,” Cendra defended him, even as she spoke of her mate with a cold formality. “Before you dare question his loyalties, remember his victories.”
Clin thanked her with a nod, hardly able to meet her silver gaze before continuing. “They attack invaders marching through their territory. Would we not have done the same?” he countered. With Vixin out of sight, it seemed he had regained his voice for the moment.
“Once more our High Peacekeeper displays to the world that he has a heart.” The voice came from behind Hesin’s mask. “If only it extended to the legionnaires that may fall to whatever ‘doom’ gathers ahead.”
He was too lost in thought to grow angry, thinking of the dead Arkos that had fallen before him during the first ambush. Still he remembered the blood of the shattered corpse, spilling from a man that would still live if they had stayed in The Human Basin. “They don’t want us here,” he said in response. “If we truly wish to create a better world, perhaps it’d be merciful to turn back.”
A gasp was followed by a silence, as if he had uttered total madness.
Quinla was the first to speak up, choosing her words carefully. “You did not turn back when you touched the border of my kingdom. Spirexia fell, and just so, for look at us now.” She touched the swell of her belly.
“Respectfully, my lord,” Prince Fonax began as he shook his head in disgust. “I have not left thousands of my men as frozen corpses only to turn back now.”
Hesin could see the war in his old rival’s expression, doubts dueling with agony. He could berate him for cowardice before the group. He could join the others in their disgust. Instead, to even his own surprise, he kept silent. There was something in the man’s gaze, a finality he hadn’t seen in the decades they had known each other.
“What of the jungle?” Anthara continued the argument. “Your mercy stays your hand from Arkos flesh, but not that of Lanthians? What of your siege of Tempian?”
“You know that is not what I…” Clin’s voice trailed off with exhaustion, feeling the weight of his deeds upon his shoulders as the others broke into smaller debates.
“My love, I…I believe what Lord Clin wishes to say…is-” Lalian began to defend him, only for every being in the room to fall abruptly silent. Turning, he found the reason, for The God Emperor loomed in the entrance.
Only the sound of wind outside flowed through the quiet tent as they watched his slow steps, making way for his approach. He came to a stop before the prisoners, finding them frozen beneath his gaze.
“There is no stopping my purpose.” At last, the deep voice of The God Emperor shattered the silence. “We won’t turn back. We march until the world bows.”
They watched quietly as he assessed his prey, as if drinking in their souls. If their enemy held information they required, it’d be pulled from their final breath if they would not offer it willingly.
“Hesin, they are yours. Discover what they know.” With his simple command, Dominax’s cloak flowed as he turned to depart.
Only Nafalya’s voice slowed him. “Father, a moment?” She came from behind the prisoners to press close, keeping her tone low. “If you would grant me permission, I would coax all you need from them without spilling a drop of blood.”
His brow raised with curiosity, just as she had hoped. His decision was a quick one. She had already earned his trust. “You have until morning, my flower.”
The mask concealed her satisfaction. As her father departed, she stood like a statue as the others quietly followed, only to stop Quinla on her way out. “Hold. You speak their tongue the best. I’d have you stay and assist.”
Though her misgivings were clear, The Queen Regent nodded. “If that is your wish.” No doubt she was squeamish to observe what the princess had planned, though Nafalya would keep her promise. No drop of blood would be spilled tonight.
As the rest departed, and Clin and Cendra went in separate directions, Hesin whispered a question into his lover’s ear. Quinla watched the princess whisper back. Even concealed behind expressionless masks, there was much their eyes could say, and the Arkos hybrid watched as Lord Hesin pulled Nafalya close. Hands found her rump, granting her an enticing squeeze, leaving no doubt of his silent approval.
Wrapping himself in his dark cloak, no doubt concealing other signs of his approval, The Grand Master left the pair of women alone with a handful of Truthseekers. The assassins followed Nafalya’s instructions to adjust the bindings of the prisoners before they too departed.
The Arkos men sneered, though none had dared to challenge the blades of the deadly women as their chains were unfastened and refastened. Forced to stand, their wrists were now bound to the tops of the wooden posts, restraining their arms far above their heads. Metal cuffs around their ankles chained their legs in place, leaving them entirely vulnerable to Nafalya’s scheme.
Removing her mask, the princess lovingly placed it upon the bed she shared with Hesin that had been pushed far out of the way. When she returned, she met her prey with the hungry eyes of a huntress.
“What would you have me do?” Quinla questioned.
“Tell them the rules of our game.” Nafalya pulled out her dagger. Though the young man in the center winced, she used it only to cut away their ragged clothing. Despite mutters of anger, they didn’t fight as their bound bodies were revealed. “Tell them the first to give me the information I desire shall experience the pleasure of a Vaid.”
Though she blushed, Quinla complied. The man on the right hurled his reply, and she translated. “Ah. He said, forgive me for this, he said a proud warrior of his clan shall not be tempted by a loose…uh, cunt.”
Cendra would have cut his throat. Nafalya merely chuckled in amusement. “Oh, you can assure him that I’m extremely tight.” She waited for the woman to obey, watching Quinla blush before continuing. “I’ll go further. Tell them that the man who speaks shall be allowed to spill his seed inside me.”
“Princess?” she questioned, only to subtly bite her lip when she was urged to obey. The large man on the left was the one to reply. “He said it would be more respectable to spill his seed inside his sister than to breed with an outsider.”
Nafalya concealed her amusement. If only he knew the truth of her family. If only he knew that such words were not an insult to a Vaid. “If he resists, he’ll only watch as another claims the reward.”
Clothed in her revealing robes, she began to pace, swaying her hips before the nude prisoners. Her silver eyes met them seductively, teasing her captives with a smirk. The young man in the center snuck a glance, only to force himself to look away.
Taunting them with her body, she knew it’d be a simple matter to carve their skin. If she cut off their fingers, the weakest of them would break long before she was done. Still, that’d be too easy, and something Hesin could have done on his own. She needed a challenge to impress her father, something she could test her skills with. Torture was something she could perform efficiently and emotionlessly, though this was something she could savor.
Swaying her hips, she ran a hand over her flat midriff, her perfect body displaying no memory of her latest birth. Such was the superiority of a Vaid, a divine gift she’d permit one of them to taste.
The two men with scars begrudgingly tried to look away, only sneak glances. The man on the right stared with a scowl, committed to his hate.
As she moved, drawing their attention, she heard the memory of her lie.
“I’ll find you in the trees.”
Running her hands over her smooth skin, focusing upon sensing their lusts, she blocked out thoughts of that night long ago.
“Ask them what they saw,” Nafalya commanded. She traced the curves of her wide hips, seeing the twitch of their manhoods. “A few words for the sweet touch of an imperial princess.”
Quinla obeyed, though she received the same ire. “I refuse to repeat that. My princess, no doubt they see our intrusion into their territory as a great insult. Worse, we killed many Arkos men while repelling their ambushes. Deserved or not, we have certainly killed warriors they knew.”
The man with the painted wrist stared at the royals as if his mere gaze could slay them.
“They are dead men already for being captured by outsiders. Their tribe shall cast them out. We’ve doomed them, killed their companions, and marched through their territory. They want us dead.” Quinla touched the younger woman’s shoulder. “Your father shall understand if harsher methods are required.”
Nafalya brushed her hand away, more forcefully than she intended. As if to undo the act, she presented a seductive smirk as she took Quinla’s hands and guided them to her waist. “These are criminals. They’ll do what best serves them. Remind them that I’ll be the last woman they ever get a chance to experience before they perish.”
As Quinla translated, she felt the smooth skin of the princess, unable to keep her cheeks from darkening. When Nafalya guided her hands upwards, she paused just as she felt the soft mounds of her round breasts. “But your…” She bit her lip. “Your father…”
“Oh? He won’t mind.” Nafalya touched Quinla’s belly, easily sensing the child inside. “I know what you’ve done, of course. He has taken what he desired from you and will do so again. Until then, he cares little for who you explore, so long as your womb remains his.”
The hand upon her pregnancy was a taboo that made her thighs clench, feeling the supple flesh in her grasp. “Yet you’re his daughter. My son Loir, he is your…” Hardly was there a reason to be coy. If all already knew her open secret, surely the Truthseeker before her did not require false discretion. “You’re his sister by blood.”
“Then feel the perfection of the blood that shall be passed to your descendants.” Nafalya guided her hand, rubbing the hybrid woman’s finger over her nipple, permitting her to feel it harden. “Show how you savor the body that one of these savages shall be permitted to impregnate.”
Rubbing her thighs together with interest through her one-suit, the dark grey woman didn’t pull back as the princess met her lips. She tasted the daughter of her lover, basking in her familiar scent. When they parted, she couldn’t help but yearn for more.
The men watched them caress each other, unable to hide the stiffness lifting their exposed cocks. Little more than thin silk flowed down the wide hips of the princess, and when she unfastened her knife belt, the bottom of her robes fluttered to the ground.
Guiding her hand, Nafalya brought Quinla’s fingers between her smooth thighs. They ran over her groin, feeling her wet lower lips through the thin silk of her thong.
“Tell them who I am. Tell them they’ll never again have a chance to impregnate the daughter of The God Emperor himself,” Nafalya commanded after a moan. “Tell them only one shall be permitted to put their baby in the belly of their enemy’s daughter.”
Quinla obeyed, rubbing her through the fabric until her juices soaked through. The damp thong clung to the princess, concealing little of the sweet folds beneath.
Nafalya turned to display herself, running a hand down her front. Her fingers slipped beneath her thong, tasting the result of her lust. When she pulled her hand away, she held up her fingers to let the prisoners watch as her juices dripped. “Tell them how utterly fertile I am. Let them ache in the knowledge that they are certain to get me pregnant if they submit.”
Quinla translated the words, speaking of the fertile girl at her fingertips until she felt a wetness form between her own thighs. She watched the virile men squirm in their bindings, resisting, watching her hands explore Nafalya’s gorgeous body.
“Still they resist? Curious.” The memories threatened to creep forth. Nafalya banished Irith with a taste of The Queen Regent’s lips. She needed to go further.
Moving closer, guiding Quinla along at her side, Nafalya set her attention upon the prisoners. While the hybrid woman fondled her breasts, she reached out to brush their waiting cocks. “I can sense them. These two have sired children,” she explained, caressing the manhoods of the men at either side, knowing they had spilled their seed deep inside various women. Then she turned her focus to the young man in the center, hearing him gasp as she ran a finger along his shaft. “This one has never claimed a womb. Tell him it would be a shame for his bloodline to end before he dies. Remind him that my womb could birth him a legacy, a piece of him that would live on, so long as he simply speaks.”
The words seemed to make him squirm, straining in his bindings as he fought to resist. The other two shouted at him, reminding him of his place, and she could sense his desire not to fail his companions.
Always did she crave to practice her seduction. Long had she craved to use her body as the weapon it truly was. Her beauty would serve her father’s aims, and with every twitch of the weakest man’s cock, she felt herself growing wetter at the knowledge that she was close to breaking him.
The man in the center muttered words in the Arkos tongue. The other two shouted at him with hate. When Nafalya sought an explanation, Quinla granted it as she caressed the rump of the princess. “An army. That is what they saw.”
“Good boy,” she teased, rewarding him with a soft hand upon his cock. With a tug, she began to stroke him like an obedient pet. “How easily he shatters. It’s no surprise. At his age, every waking moment must be filled with thoughts of thrusting into any female he sees.”
It was the man on the left’s turn to speak, though his voice was far harsher. Quinla translated. “He curses the boy and hopes the gathering army slaughters us all.”
Nafalya chuckled in amusement. If only the man’s companions knew just how close he was to breaking as well. She sensed his boiling desire, battling against his hate. “I have two hands, but one womb.” Her royal fingers brushed the man’s cock. “Our game has simple rules. Remind them only the first shall receive my prize.”
When the hybrid spoke, the men groaned with dripping resentment. Nafalya focused upon the young man’s erection, sensing the aching need of his lusts. Turning around with a sensual grace, she rubbed her rump against his cock.
The boy nearly whimpered at the touch of her flawless ass. His manhood twitched wildly, desiring nothing more in the world than to sink deep into the fertile tightness before him. She caressed her own curves, teasing him with the perfection of her divine body.
When he opened his mouth, the man on the right shouted him down. Boiling all the same, the older Arkos clung to his loyalties, no doubt holding to the memory of those her father had cut down. The boy, however, still bore the brand of a criminal. He had not been born inside their tribe. More, only passing the age of manhood by a year or two, he hadn’t endured the lifetime of an exile she predicted the other branded man had. His hatred burned, though not nearly as bright as his lusts.
Quinla realized she was obsessing over Nafalya’s breasts. She savored the gorgeous shape of the ample orbs in her grasp. The man that had granted her Loir had sired perfection, and she ignored the taboo of fondling the sister of her son as a hand crept down between her own thighs.
The groin slit of The Queen Regent’s one-suit opened, and Nafalya chuckled at the woman’s lusts. There was no doubt why her father had claimed her as a lover.
A groan escaped the boy as his will crumbled beneath the feeling of her rear. With his cock gliding against her asscheeks, he muttered bitter words that Quinla translated. “An army from Narok gathers at the end of the mountain pass, waiting to meet us. He hopes both of our armies shall kill each other.”
“A start.” Nafalya slid down her thong, revealing the glistening lips of her royal cunny as she bent over. Permitting her prey to throb at the sight, she eased back to brush his tip against her soaking labia. When he tried to thrust his hips, she moved forward to deny him, keeping only the tip against her entrance. “I require details. He shall give me everything or earn nothing.”
The striped cock of an Arkos brushed against her labia. She chuckled, amused at feeling the first nonhuman preparing to breed her. As she leaned forward to brush her lips against Quinla’s breasts, licking her hard nipples through the skintight one-suit, she wondered if the hybrid she’d conceive tonight would look as unique and exotic as The Queen Regent.
As the boy tried to speak, the others shouted him down with curses. As if aware their resistance would soon be for nothing, the branded man on the left yelled above the others with his deeper voice. Quinla moaned at the skill of Nafalya’s tongue before translating, unaware that much of what the princess did had been taught by Vixin. “Little more than a thousand…ahh…warriors have gathered ahead.”
Nafalya peered back with a sensual smirk, wagging her finger. “He had his chance. If he wants to win our game, he must offer more.”
The man on the right roared with rage at their betrayal, and the hybrid wasn’t required to repeat his words to understand their hate. Even Quinla winced at the anger of his threats. Men branded as exiles had been sheltered by the tribe of his birth, and he’d see them both dead for betraying the memory of their fallen companions.
On the left, the other man was louder. He pushed through the anger of the other, and Quinla repeated his words. “Narok was taken off guard…ahh…by our approach. The small army ahead shall buy them time to gather another.” She savored the tongue of the princess when it returned, flicking at her sensitive buds. “He hopes humans and Arkos alike are slaughtered. He hopes you’ll survive, only to give birth to the child he wishes to…ahh…fuck into you.”
A flurry of fear came forth from the boy, as if feeling the warm folds brushing his cock drifting out of reach. In a last attempt to win his final chance to impregnate their enemy, he spilled the deepest of their secrets.
Nafalya heard his babbling, easing back to grind against his cock to keep him talking. The young man fought against the fury of the others, uttering all.
“He says there’s a tunnel that branches…ahh…from the mountain pass, a place exiled tribes have used to sneak back into the mountains after stealing from the market of Fask. It…oh Nafalya…” She shuddered in pleasure. Where her son had once suckled, his half-sister now licked as Quinla pleasured herself. “It loops behind where the army is gathering. He’ll reveal…ahh…how to strike at their back.”
Rage consumed the man on the right. The humans would win decisively with few losses. Their fallen companions would not be avenged by the bloodshed to come. The symbol painted onto his wrist meant little, betrayed by those adopted into his tribe. His chains shook as he thrashed, a dead man seeking to kill dead men. He could not break free.
Nafalya permitted the boy to explain where the natural tunnel could be found. Satisfied, pleased with her own skill, she pushed back. Inch by inch, she forced the young man’s Arkos cock to slide inside her.
A loud moan of utter bliss erupted from the bound boy’s lips, and his eyes rolled back as he experienced the exquisite tightness of her divine twat. His body trembled as she took him as deeply as he could reach, imprisoning his cock in the squeezing ecstasy of the greatest pleasure he had surely ever experienced.
She savored the dark grey cock inside her, feeling little different from a human’s manhood. Still, it was his exotic seed she truly craved, beginning to rock back and forth to milk his inexperienced erection. She would have his hybrid baby, if only to amuse herself.
The man on the left squirmed and roared, his manhood twitching in denial as the boy whimpered with every movement. A single cock deserved the reward of her womb. The others would simply have to watch.
Nafalya brushed aside Quinla’s hand. Seeking to test another of the skills she had developed with the aid of her sister, she gently glided her fingers into the hybrid’s lower lips. Remembering what she had learned, she quickly made The Queen Regent moan.
Hardly would the young man last long. His already throbbing cock was no match for the stimulation of her goddess-like loins. A mere minute of absolute bliss was all he had earned, though she relished every second and every hard slam of her rump back against his helpless groin.
She had to work fast. As if an expert playing an instrument, she manipulated Quinla’s cunny until her fingers made the hybrid drip with enjoyment. Both testing herself and seeking to reward the assistance of her father’s lover, she steadily massaged Quinla’s pleasure.
“Command him to spill his seed inside,” Nafalya demanded, though knew he had no choice. “Instruct him to breed me, to fill…ahh…my fertile womb with what I crave.”
Teasing her own breasts as she surrendered to the trained touch of the princess, Quinla could not conceal her moans as she obeyed.
Loins burning with a desire that flared each time she forced his cock deep inside her, Nafalya’s free hand fell to Quinla’s belly. She caressed her pregnant swell, knowing her sibling rested inside. The thought that her father had impregnated the beautiful woman moaning before her only increased her satisfaction, making her wet as she pleasured the vagina he had bred twice before. She wanted her belly to swell again like The Queen Regent’s, to feel a hybrid grow inside her womb.
When at last the boy could endure no more, his warmth began to spit inside her tight cunny. She pushed back hard, forcing his cock into her needy depths as her body begged to conceive. Exotic sperm poured inside her, virile and eager to get her pregnant.
The sight of the younger woman being filled was the last shove Quinla required, pushing her beyond her limit. As The God Emperor’s daughter was filled with life-giving seed, the fingers inside her hybrid twat proved too much. Her legs trembled, fighting to remain upright as she found her climax.
Basking in the aftermath, the sweet aroma of sex was at once a victory and a total defeat. Nafalya pulled his cock free, bending over further to grab her own parted ankles, as if taunting the men with her flexible body. She displayed her success, letting them watch as the young man’s sperm oozed from her pretty lower lips.
Having proven her skill and possessing the knowledge her father desired, she straightened up. Cupping her groin to keep most of her victory inside, she pulled her thong back up her legs. The wet fabric clung to her moist sex as it settled into place.
“Command the Truthseekers to release them when you’ve collected yourself,” she said as she turned from Quinla, offering little affection as if she had not just explored her most intimate area. Putting on her mask, she stepped towards the entrance with a concealed smirk. “They are of little use now.”
Dumbfounded, covering herself as if suddenly guilty, The Queen Regent merely glanced at the bound men.
Nafalya had claimed what she sought. Those in the tent no longer held any interest to her. No doubt her father would be proud of what she had learned, a thought that made her loins tingle more than the aftermath of her pounding. Perhaps Lord Clin would be pleased at her discovery of the tunnel, an advantage that would surely quicken the coming battle and minimize casualties on their side. Perhaps he’d still be reluctant. In truth, she didn’t care. So long as she had earned further trust from The God Emperor, her aims were satisfied.
Lifting the flap of the entrance, she paused only for an instant to look back. She saw the three doomed men that had been her playthings. If they didn’t kill each other the moment they were free, they’d certainly perish when their tribe shunned them, exiles once more.
“May your rest never be disturbed when you fall,” she said quietly, knowing the young man could not understand her words. She touched her belly. “Die knowing a part of you shall live on.”
Leaving them to their fates, she slipped silently from the tent. Moving among the shadows, she prepared to deliver all she had learned to her father. No doubt he’d allow her to join Hesin in the ambush through the tunnel.
The God Emperor had granted her until morning to succeed. The sun was still well below the horizon when she found his tent. Entering, feeling the warm seed resting inside her, she met her father’s smirk with a concealed one of her own.
46th of Fixuin, 20 AVE.
Kingdom of Narok, Near Eastern Border.
Carnos wanted to live, though death approached.
Nestled in the center of the army, surrounded by his fellow Arkos warriors, he should have felt secure. Instead, he felt a chill run up his spine with every thundering step of the human legion echoing off the sheer walls of the cliffs at either side.
He was younger than most, though a mere glance at those around him revealed that his fear was not isolated. Men stood nervously, awkwardly holding their spears and shields. Hardly had they been granted more than basic training before they were pulled from their home villages.
None had come unwillingly, of course. Honor and glory were things of the past, things their savage relatives to the far west cared for. In Narok, only one thing moved men. Coin. The reward had been substantial in light of the urgency, too much for Carnos to refuse. Now he stood, trying not to tremble.
There had been little time to gather an army to stand against the approaching invaders. King Torakeom had summoned his forces the moment he learned of the crossing of the humans, though it had been nearly too late.
They were little more than a thousand. In tales long told, a small number of brave men could hold back a great flood of enemies when defending a narrow pass. They could be heroes.
Each man had something to fight for. Hastily recruited, they had come from nearby villages. Hailing from Fask, Carnos knew his family would be within reach of the humans first if he fell. They’d protect their families. They’d hold back the invaders until the king could gather his true army.
Already the most skilled and experienced soldiers of the kingdom were being summoned to the true royal army, miles away outside The Capital to grant themselves as much time as possible. The full might of Narok would soon be ready to face their enemy if humans spilled onto the sands, though what of Fask? What of Carnos’s family?
The legion came into view around a curve further up the mountain pass ahead. Armored legionaries thundered towards their foe.
No longer could Carnos conceal his trembling. No longer did the others bother to mask their fear. They braced themselves, preparing for the flood of vile humans to crash into their ranks.
Carnos didn’t want to fight. None of them did, though their people and lands were worth fighting for. The humans sought to claim everything they knew, and the spears of terrified men thrust forth to stop them.
He could have stayed home, safe among his family. It was a foolish thought while knowing their home would burn if he had not. He thought of his younger brothers, his sisters, his mother. His spear would protect them. His recruitment pay would keep them fed for months. In truth, there had been only one true choice.
Yet Carnos wanted to live.
With the tales of old burning in his memory, trying to be a hero, Carnos cried out as human blades met Arkos shields.
Lighting tore through their ranks, shattering men with crackling webs, and he beheld the human God Emperor from afar. With a single glance at the man, Carnos’s bravery crumbled to ash.
Fire leapt from the fingers of Knights, burning men that had no experience defending themselves from such a threat. They fell screaming, the sound echoing off the high walls of the cliffsides.
A few brave men could hold back an army, blade against blade, yet what could ordinary beings do against abominations? Shields endured the flames, though lighting ripped them away.
He wanted to live. He was going to die.
A horrid sound erupted from behind. Glancing back with eyes wild with fear, Carnos saw bursts of electricity arcing through the air at their backs, slaughtering men at the rear. They had been betrayed.
Attacked from ahead and behind, trapped at either side by the walls of the mountain pass, there was no escape. Arkos after Arkos fell. Purple blood spilled upon white swords and armor. Carnos awaited his doom.
In another time, long ago, they would have been heroes, holding back their foes in the narrow passage. Not now. Not in this era. Not when The God Emperor’s wrath marched against them.
As a white blade raised to strike him down, Carnos thought of his family. When it swung, he closed his eyes to accept his fate.
***
The God Emperor wandered among the corpses of the battle. Humans and Arkos alike lay dead at his feet, though it was clear who the victor had been. Few of their foes still lived, crumpled to the ground with wounds that most would not survive.
Legionaries tended to injured humans. Though the royal advisors and Privictis Knights gathered around their ruler, Clin stumbled through the corpses alone. Kunir mercifully filled his mentor’s place, shouting commands.
Dominax waited for the Truthseekers to return. When Nafalya claimed her place in his shadow, unharmed, he marched forth with Cendra at his side. Together they left the bloody remains of the battle behind to seek the sun.
As the cliffsides loomed above them, they followed a final curve of the passage. Coming around, their long journey came to an end at last. The mountain pass opened to reveal the desert stretching forth ahead.
The God Emperor stepped into the sunlight alone as the others waited, beholding the vast new land now within reach. Dark dunes stood like the waves of an endless ocean, frozen in place, though ever changing with every gust of gentle wind.
Crouching, Dominax claimed a handful of black sand. He watched it pour between his fingers.
The desert was within his grasp. His hand squeezed into a fist to claim it.
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