Demon King (27 page)

High in the heavens a tiny light was born. It grew brighter, larger, and became a swirl of colors, spreading from horizon to horizon. The colors massed to one side and a huge image formed, a bearded face, an old man, who gazed down, not angry, not pleased.

“Umar,” someone exclaimed, and the apparition
was
him, creator of the universe. A great hand appeared, and on it sat a world. The world began spinning, and the hand set it in the void.

Another god appeared, this one black-bearded, long-haired, and this was Irisu, the Preserver. He moved behind the world and held his hands protectively over it.

We looked at that world and saw everything on it, great and small, near and far. We could see mountains, seas, rivers, plains, and the animals and men peopling them. Only the Emperor Tenedos would have had the skill — and the temerity — to duplicate before the gods their own work.

Umar’s visage faded, was gone. Now there was only our world and Irisu. But there was something wrong, a rot, a fungus spreading, and I knew our world was aging, dying. I heard a harsh wind whistle, although there was nothing around me but the soft breeze bringing the Time of Dews and the New Year.

From nowhere came a horse, a pale, spectral horse. Its saddle and bridle were red leather, red like spilled blood. On the horse was a woman, naked to the waist and wearing a necklace of skulls. She had four arms, one holding a sword, another a knife, the third a spear, and the last the tiny torn corpse of a man. Her hair was wild, uncombed, and her face was the glaring countenance of chaos.

It was Saionji, Goddess of Death, the Destroyer, the Creator, the god Tenedos worshiped over all else, the god few had the courage to even acknowledge above a whisper.

Now there were screams from both men and women, and people began praying as terror seized them. But the terror lasted for but an instant as Saionji’s horse turned, and she swept her spear toward Irisu, and he fell back. She cut at the world, our world, with her sword, and as she did, the rot, the sickness, fell away. Lights grew around the world, and all was wonderful, all was living, growing. Then Saionji was gone, and an instant later there was nothing.

There was just the quiet flow of the river, the gentle breeze, and the star-filled sky. There were a few cheers, but not many.

This was too great an illusion to applaud. If, I thought, it had been an illusion at all.

• • •

The sentry peered at me, and I remembered to whisper the counterspell. He saluted hastily. “Sorry, Tribune, but it’s dark, and I must be tired, and — ”

I waved aside his apologies, and the three of us entered the Imperial Palace. The emperor’s party had been going on for some time. We heard music from the main audience chamber. Two drunks were snoring happily in the long hall, one lying in the arms of a sculptured demon towering above us.

There should have been at least two guards outside the chamber, but there were none. I noted the slightly open door of the nearby guardroom, asked the women to excuse me for a moment, and ever the proper soldier, went to see what the problem was and to do some minor ripping and tearing.

Fortunately, I pushed the door open a bit before beginning my tirade. There was a woman stretched across a table, wearing only the top half of a costume. One guard, pants around his ankles, moved between her legs, which were wrapped around his waist, and two others waited their turn. A fourth guard was also half-naked, buttocks toward me, his cock buried in the woman’s mouth. He pulled it free for a moment, teased her with its head, and I recognized the emperor’s sister, Leh, a smile on her lips.

I closed the door very quietly. It was of little real concern if this inner guard post went unmanned, after all. And even First Tribunes are vulnerable to the calumny of sisters interrupted at their pleasures.

Amiel asked what I’d seen, but I just shook my head, and we went into the main chamber. It was packed with the lords and ladies of Numantia. The human debris was more pronounced here. The orchestra still played perfectly, and some dancers maneuvered skillfully around the sprawled bodies of those fallen on the field of drink. Others had found different pastimes in the alcoves around the huge room.

“A little sloppy,” Marán said, but she didn’t seem disturbed.

Neither was I, the potion making me view everything calmly, contentedly. I saw the emperor, holding forth to a throng near the tall bay window he used to proclaim great announcements onto the palace grounds. His face was flushed, in drink or triumph at the success of his illusion, and his voice was louder than usual. Beside him, wearing only a wisp of silk, was a tiny blond woman. I knew her, fortunately not well. She was the Lady Illetsk, widow of Lord Mahal, one of the Rule of Ten murdered by the Tovieti during the madness nine years ago. She’d been a shopkeeper’s daughter when Lord Mahal married her, and was admired for her extreme patriotism — and other talents.

I’d met her before her husband’s death, when I was a newly promoted captain of the lower half. I’d been invited to an unfamiliar house, which turned out to be Mahal’s, and encountered my hostess at the entrance. Her perfect body was naked, she was inebriated, and she greeted me with a childlike smile and asked if I’d like to come between her tits. A bit shocked, I’d made a hasty departure.

After a sedate period of mourning, she’d continued her sociable ways in various arrangements with various sexes.

Oh well. Festival was supposed to be a time of abandon, which was evidently Tenedos’s thought when he chose his companion for the evening. The emperor’s eyes swept the room, and fixed on the three of us. I could see him frown, then his magic pierced Sinait’s spell, and he recognized me.

I bowed, Amiel and Marán just behind me, and he acknowledged us with a nod, then turned his attention to Lady Illetsk. “Shall we join them?” I asked.

Amiel shook her head. “I don’t think so, unless you really want to. How do sailors put it? A stern chase is a long one. We’d have to do some massive drinking to catch up with them, at least from appearances.”

“And I, for one, don’t feel like drinking,” Marán said. “I feel absolutely perfect as I am. Let’s go find another party.”

“Or make our own,” Amiel suggested.

Marán laughed. “We could do that,” she said. “Where? Back at the house?”

“That sounds wonderful … No, wait,” Amiel said. “I know another place. I just found it, and it’s close to hand. Come on.”

• • •

Amiel led us out the back, past sentries into the Imperial Gardens. They were mostly deserted, since it had grown a bit cool. Marán shivered and started to don her cloak.

“It’ll be warm where we’re going,” Amiel promised.

We walked along a winding path through the sprawling grounds. Exotic trees, plants just coming into season, rose around us.

“Let’s see,” Amiel murmured. “From this white stone it’s … here.” She turned from the path into what looked like a solid patch of brush. But it was an archway of boughs, somewhat. “I wonder if the gardeners even know this is still here,” she said. “I found it two weeks ago, when I dropped a bracelet and, when I bent to pick it up, saw through the gap in the shrubbery.”

We followed her down the tunnel of boughs. It came to an end, opening into a perfect natural grotto. Stone steps led down to a glade. We went down them, and our feet sank deep into the moss. There were huge stones set here and there. A tiny stream purled from a fountain carved out of the solid rock near one side, and ran along one face, pooling from time to time, then vanishing underground.

It should have been dark and chilly, but light shimmered across the moss from a gas jet somewhere behind this garden. Out of the wind, the glade was no more than comfortably cool. It was a tiny world out of time.

“Isn’t this perfect?” Amiel said. “We have comfort, we have water if we thirst, we have light, we even have music.” The palace orchestra’s music came faintly. I spread the cloaks on the ground, and we sat together, silent, enjoying the night, enjoying each other. Amiel put her head on my shoulder, and it was warm, comfortable. Marán snuggled close to her friend. We sat in contented silence for a time, feeling the potion soothe our minds, our bodies.

“I want to dance,” Amiel announced. She rose gracefully, without using her hands, and moved into the center of the glade. I’d noted her dancer’s body before, and she in fact had studied the art before marriage.

She faced us, bowed, and ran her hands up her body, then extended them out, offering herself. She began to move slowly, attuning herself to the distant music.

Her body became the music, a shimmering light purple icon, swaying, turning.

Marán breathed a little faster.

Amiel’s hands went to her chest and moved slowly down the line of buttons. She tossed the dress away and continued dancing, sinuously, gracefully, naked but for her sandals.

My cock was painfully hard. Marán ran the tip of a fingernail the length of it. She smiled at me, eyes half-closed, then turned back to her friend’s dancing.

Amiel beckoned, and Marán got up and stepped toward her, graceful as a young deer. They moved as one, never touching, only turning, eyes intent on each other.

My pulse was pounding, and I felt as if I, too, was the music, the dance.

Amiel touched Marán, and she stopped dancing. She stood motionless, eyes closed, waiting. Amiel ran her fingers down my wife’s sides, then up, fingers caressing Marán’s face. I remember few more beautiful sights. Amiel’s fingers went to the clasp at Marán’s side, and her dress fell away.

Amiel stood motionless, her arms out. Marán came very close, and they kissed long, deeply. Marán kissed down Amiel’s neck, to her breasts, teasing Amiel’s nipples with her teeth.

Marán knelt, lips and tongue moving across the other woman’s stomach, then touching her sex. Marán cupped Amiel’s buttocks, kneading them, her finger slipping between them, then she ran her tongue between Amiel’s legs.

Amiel moaned, throatily, and her legs melted, became liquid, and she flowed to the moss, legs opening.

“Damastes,” Marán whispered, but her voice was as clear as if she were beside me. “Damastes, my darling. Take off your clothes, my love.”

I obeyed her, fingers moving surely over clasps, buttons.

“Now, my lover, my life. Come here. Come to us. Make love to us, as we’ve talked of and dreamed about.”

Very slowly I went across the moss to them.

Amiel came to her knees. She gently caressed my balls, took my cock in one hand, then leaned forward and kissed its tip. Her tongue darted across my foreskin, then ran down to its base.

I knelt, kissed her lips, and slid my tongue into her mouth, moving it about as her tongue met mine. A thought touched me — how strange:
This is the first woman I’ve kissed besides my wife in more than nine years.
She made a deep sound in her throat, and her arms came around me. I laid her down on the moss, kissed her lips again, then the softness of her throat.

Marán lay down on Amiel’s other side. “I’ve dreamed of this,” she said once more, then lifted herself on her elbows and kissed me. Her tongue swirled in my mouth, then was gone. She kissed Amiel as I had, kissed her throat as I had done, then her lips moved down again, over the flatness of her friend’s stomach, across her smooth sex.

Amiel moaned, and her legs parted. Marán unstrapped Amiel’s sandals, moved between the woman’s legs, and parted Amiel’s sex with her fingers. Her tongue moved up and down, then slipped into Amiel. Amiel lifted her legs around Marán’s back and pulled her close as her hands went around my head, twined in my hair.

I kissed her long, deeply, her kisses becoming more frantic as her body responded to Marán’s tongue and she began twisting. Her mouth was wet, open, gasping. I got up, touched the head of my cock to her eyelids, then moved it in and out of her mouth.

“Now,” Marán gasped. “Now, my husband. Come love her.” She stood, holding Amiel’s legs far apart, lifting them by the ankles until her buttocks were off the ground.

I slipped between her legs, and looked for a moment at the beautiful woman, her head moving back and forth on the pillow of her hair. Her eyes opened, held mine. I drove hard into Amiel. She shrieked, and her hands pulled at me.

I took myself almost out of her, then hard in, again, and again, and I felt her body pulse against me, trying to turn, trying to twist, but Marán held her firmly. Her hands clawed at the moss. I jolted, spasmed inside Amiel, and a moment later she came, whimpering.

Marán released her friend’s legs, letting them drop to the ground. I collapsed limply across Amiel, still draining into her.

Marán lay beside us, dark eyes serious as she looked us up and down. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love
you
,” I said.

“And I love Amiel.”

“Then I must learn to do the same,” I said.

“Oh, Damastes, I hope so,” she said.

“Now,” she said. “Come love me as I loved her.”

Amiel protested wordlessly as I slid out of her. Marán’s legs parted and my tongue entered her wet softness. I tongued her clitoris as I put two fingers in her sex, another in her anus, and gently moved them in unison. Marán rolled under me, but I moved with her until I was lying on my back, and she lay atop me, rhythmically pushing her pelvis against me and crying aloud.

• • •

Amiel told me to look in the pocket of her cloak, and take out the tiny vial there. I unstoppered it, and the rich scent of strawberries filled the glade. The oil also tasted like strawberries.

Marán lay beside her friend, limp from our love-making. I poured a bit of oil on my palm and began rubbing it on Marán’s ankles, then up her legs and on her inner thighs.

The vial never emptied, and I guessed Amiel must have had a spell cast to make it bottomless. For a second the always-watchful soldier part of me wondered if it were possible for that incantation to be used on soldier’s canteens. I sneered, and let my fingers rule as they slid easily in and out of Marán’s body. Her breathing quickened once more.