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From: Lord God Pantokrator <lordgodpantokrator@gmail.com>
Reply-To: Lord God Pantokrator <lordgodpantokrator@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Moons of Yothis, Part 3: A Queen of Dust (mf, mF, m-1st, f-1st, oral, fantasy)
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Date: Tue,  5 Apr 2005 22:10:02 -0400
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This is Part 3 of an ongoing story. You can find all three parts at
Stories Online (www.storiesonline.net).

<1st attachment, "The Moons of Yothis, Part 3, A Queen of Dust.txt" begin>

The Moons of Yothis, Part 3: A Queen of Dust (mf, mF, m-1st, f-1st, oral,
fantasy)

   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."

   Miacla raised her jeweled hand and her gold ring gleamed with an
eldritch light.  She spoke words Aaron did not recognize.

   "No!" Aaron cried as light shot from the ring.  He struck Miacla's wrist
and the flash of light went wide, striking a hanging bronze shield that
burned and cracked like a soda can on an open flame.  Aaron grabbed
Miacla's arm as she spoke the words again.  This time the yellow-green
flash struck Aaron's shoulder and the boy stepped back, a monstrous and
intrusive sensation crackling across his skin.  The air rippled with heat
and Miacla smiled, then the unnatural light died away.  Aaron looked down
at his shoulder, which had sprouted small blue feathers.  He brushed them
away and they fell to the ground, leaving skin that looked a little
sunburned.

   "Impossible!" Miacla cried, then Aaron was on her, moving swiftly and
competently.  He grabbed her hand, pulled it open, and tugged the ring off
her finger, which came away easily, lubricated by the woman's own fluids.

   But Miacla was no shrinking maiden, but a deadly bandit-queen: she
wrestled with skill and wiry strength, striking Aaron's hand so the ring
bounced away.  Wenet scooped it up, but the distraction nearly proved
costly.  Miacla got a hand free and aimed a punch at Aaron's head.  But
though the woman was strong and tough, better with a sword than five
hardened killers, she was not a wrestler and Aaron was.  He sidestepped her
punch and threw her to the ground, landing hard on top of her, knocking the
woman's breath from her lungs.

   "Get her arms!" Aaron shouted.  Hurik jumped over a pale wooden chest
and pinned one arm; Wenet slid the gold ring on and after some struggle,
held the other arm.

   Lady Miacla struggled for a moment longer, but it was no use: with the
Nazhaki holding each arm and Aaron pinning her to the ground, she was
trapped.  Her golden necklaces had slid toward the back of her neck,
exposing her high round breasts but holding her head down.  Aaron loomed
over her, pinned by her long legs, which wrapped around his hips.

   "Don't do anything foolish," Miacla said.  "Hurt me and eventually my
idiot guards will realize something's wrong.  You can't get away." She
tightened her leg-grip on Aaron, who realized, to his surprise and
embarrassment, that lying on top of a beautiful woman was having a
predictable effect.

   "You have some explaining to do," Aaron said.

   "Or else what?" Miacla said.  "You'll have your way with me?" She smiled
dangerously, and her thighs tightened.  Aaron jerked forward when he felt
the erotic touch of her public hair, almost plunging in, but he willed
himself to pull back from the enticing warmth of her crotch, to master the
situation.

   "No," Aaron said, smiling cockily.  "You already want me to have my way
with you, so maybe I will.  If you don't answer my questions, I won't give
you release." He held up two fingers.

   "You...you can't!" Miacla said, desire mingling with concern on her
sharp, striking features.  "You're, what, ten years younger than I am?"

   Aaron shrugged.  He had no idea how long a Yothisan year was, though he
mused that back home, Miacla could get into a great deal of trouble for the
day's events.

   "Will you tell me what I need to know?" Aaron asked.

   "I will," Miacla said, and her thighs tensed against, pulling Aaron in.
The boy closed his eyes, savoring the feelings of penetration for the first
time in his life: first, the downy caress of public hair, then his head
pushing past her soft warm lips, then being enveloped by heat and wetness.
As he slid forward, he heard Miacla moan, smelled her aggressive, womanly
scent, and felt his hard dick throbbing in her soft, tight embrace.

   He pulled out and thrust back in, but the sensation, coupled with the
sight of Miacla's prostrate body, squirming with pleasure, nearly sent him
over the edge.  Questions!  He could ask questions to occupy himself.

   "What is that ring?" he asked.  He thrust again, slowly, carefully.  The
sensations were like nothing he could have imagined.

   "A ring of transformation," Miacla said.  "I--oh, that's nice--I stole
it from a wizard who taught me, then I ran a...ooh...away."

   "So you're a witch?" Aaron asked.  He moaned.

   "I know a few tricks," the woman said.  "Please, touch me."

   Aaron leaned back and ran his fingers over the woman's clit, eliciting a
sharp gasp.  He kept thrusting, growing more confident, and further
questions slipped from his mind.  His hands roamed from her clit to her
breasts, caressing and stroking, then back down, as he fucked Miacla's
drenched pussy.  His fingers kept working at her clit until Miacla pulled
her hand free from Wenet's grip.  The girl tried to grab her arm again, but
Miacla did nothing menacing.  Instead she slid her own hand down to her
pussy and started frigging, leaving Aaron's arms free to brace himself.

   Aaron's dick delivered long, hard strokes, and between it and her own
fingers Lady Miacla was soon moaning and shuddering.  Aaron himself was on
the brink, trying not to come too soon despite the incredible new
sensations.  Wenet and Hurik sat on either side of the woman, content to
watch the show.  Aaron breathed deeply in and out as Miacla approached her
climax, but suddenly her cunt tensed.  Miacla and Aaron both cried out with
release as the woman's pussy tightened like a fist around Aaron's dick,
almost pulling the sperm out.  His cry became a weak, ecstatic moan, and he
toppled forward, landing on Miacla's bare breasts.

   They lay like that for a time, then Aaron rolled off to look at the
woman, who smiled dreamily.

   "So," he said, "have we earned a stay here?"

   "You certainly have," Lady Miacla said.  "Let me tell the men." She
stood up, her legs wobbly, pulled on a black silk robe, and disappeared for
a moment outside the tent.  A moment later she returned and waved Wenet and
Hurik to stand.  "You have your own tent," she said.  "You can stay here
until we can spare horses to take you to Tilnabar.  Return my ring and you
may leave."

   Wenet glanced at Aaron, who nodded, then tossed the woman her ring.  She
hastily returned it to her finger.

   They bowed to her, grabbed their robes, and scurried from the tent.

   "And you," Miacla said, turning to Aaron, "source of so many mysteries
and inconveniences, I suppose I still owe you some answered questions.  She
pulled her black robe around herself and sat down on a low chair.  After
the previous orgy, her behavior seemed almost reserved, and Aaron was
suddenly reminded of his (very attractive) math teacher.  He stifled the
urge to laugh.

   "Right," he said, in what he hoped was a very serious and adult tone. 
He pulled his robe around him.  "As you know, I'm not from...around here.
Pretend for a moment that I'm from, oh, let's say a different world, and
explain everything to me from the ground up."

   So Lady Miacla did, as well as she could, over the course of several
days.  She was an educated woman, the apprentice of a powerful wizard in a
city called Dorder (since destroyed by Ptella), though she fled while young
to escape his obscene advances and had not studied the deeper mysteries.

   She started first with the world and the cosmos: Yothis was much like
Earth, basically ball-shaped, covered here and there with water and rock,
and sprinkled liberally with plants and animals.  Yothis's magic is where
the world differed from Earth.  There were, Miacla said, countless styles
of magic--summoning, necromancy, mentalism, enchantment, and her own
transmutation--though she could offer no unified system to account for them
all.  All magic she knew, Miacla explained, was divided into spells. 
Miacla herself knew five spells: one to transform someone into a bird or
reptile (of any type), one to sharpen or dull a blade, one to breathe
underwater, and two greater spells that she would not share.  Words
activated each spell, and the required words changed with the motion of the
moons, which governed magic in complex ways.  Using magic drained a person,
but no more than any other vigorous exercise: magic was limited mostly by
the increasing complexity of casting more spells.  Aaron's mind conjured
analogies with chemistry, if you had only one beaker and no way to clean it
between uses except waiting.  Her ring, Miacla explained, simplified the
"calculation on the fly" she had to do, but was not necessary.  As proof,
the woman removed her ring, picked up a common iron knife, and after twenty
seconds of chanting, turned it duller than a spoon.

   Still, Aaron quickly realized that Miacla was little better than a
mechanic: one might understand how to fix a flat tire but still have no
knowledge of deeper mechanics.  Nor, of course, could she make a tire...or
spell, in this case.  She admitted her own limited abilities, and described
archmages who could summon spectral armies, fly through the air, and scorch
whole cities with burning rain.  But even mighty summoners like the late
Zamphor relied mostly on old texts, and new discoveries were rare.
That conversation segued nicely into a discussion of Yothis's history
and politics.  The region of Darquist contained two great empires: the
harsh theocracy of Dalrac (including Ptella) and the militaristic kingdom
of Nooth (including Tilnabar).  A third kingdom had crumbled, leaving

countless city-states and baronies.

   That, in turn, led toward a discussion of local politics, which worried
Lady Miacla greatly.  With Zamphor (guardian of Dalrac) and Viskel
(guardian of Nooth) dead, both kingdoms had escalated their threats and
bluffs.  Viskar, Viskel's treacherous son, has pushed Dalrac to expand, to
"protect its land and gods." Worse, new powers were arising in the lesser
kingdoms.  Aaron learned of Uxalan, the ancient god-king of the whole
continent, whose wraith still dreamed of rule, and shuddered as Miacla
described his atrocities.

   With no other choice, Aaron became a member of Lady Miacla's band, who
struck caravans from their hidden fortress, always dreaming of a true home
(their attempts to settle had been ruthlessly thwarted by both kingdoms).
He was brought before the hard-eyed, heavy-bearded men of the bandit
village, and on Miacla's orders learned to ride a horse and fight with
knife, club, and scimitar.  These were basic lessons only, five days of
rough training so Aaron could, in time, joing the men as a scout, and
eventually a raider.  (The women studied no such thing; with the exception
of Lady Miacla, who was seen as a warrior-sorceress and an exception, women
were forbidden from battle.)

   Aaron learned quickly.  He was a natural fighter, fast and strong for
his size.  He had the spirit of a warrior, willing to be reckless when the
situation demanded it, willing to hurt if he needed to, and unlike many
bandits, he also had the mind of a fighter: an eye for distance, for
balance and for kinetics gained from a lifetime of sports.  After only a
few days he could best the average bandit in a sword duel, and wipe the
floor with most of them in the soccer-like game they played.  Both feats
impressed the bandits, though Aaron struggled with riding, an art
unfamiliar to a kid growing up in a city or suburb.

   Despite learning the basics, Aaron still felt frustrated and out of
place.  This was not his home.  He longed to find a way back to Earth, and
though he was a passable warrior with some natural talent, he was no hero
to these people.  Worse, after losing his virginity sex became nearly
impossible for several days.  Wenet went on her period, and by tradition
was isolated in a special hut for just that purpose, and Lady Miacla grew
more troubled by Aaron's youth, and refused all his advances.

   Lady Miacla grew more troubled as scouts reported back from their
journeys: Ptella had grown restless and violent.  Their soldiers swept the
plains, and from the north and south there were rumors of war: an
indigo-skinned demon (Azha?  Aaron wondered hopefully) from the north, and
Uxulan the wraith from the south.  On the fifth day no scouts returned and
the men grew fearful and anxious.  Aaron sparred with Hurik (who was a poor
fighter), ignored by the brigands, who paced back and forth, repeating the
same rumors to one-another.
Revenge for the destroyed caravan came late at night on the fifth day.
Aaron sat around a dying campfire with Hurik and another man.  It was too
dark to spar, so Aaron sharpened his curved sword as the bandits had taught
him, chatting with Hurik about Wenet.  (Her period was due to end tomorrow,

and both were excited.) Hurik suddenly stood up.

   "What?" Aaron asked.

   "Where's Alp?" Hurik asked.

   Aaron looked at a high rock outcropping where Alp, one of the
archer-guards, normally stood.  The familiar black silhouette was nowhere
to be seen.

   "And where's Tokar?" Aaron said.  He remained seated, a bit away from
the fire (he found the heat oppressive) and looked to the opposite
outcropping, which was empty.  Hurik stepped near him.

   "We should raise the--" Hurik began.  Then an arrow arced out of the
darkness to strike their companion in the chest.  He had sat closest to the
fire: other arrows, meant for Hurik and Aaron, barely missed their mark in
the darkness.  The dead man slumped into the fire, smothering it.
"Run!" Aaron yelled, and in the near-darkness he dashed toward Miacla's
tent.  Hurik stumbled along behind him.  Aaron risked a glance back and saw
soldiers with Ptella's crab banner advancing on the camp from all
directions, armed with swords, spears, and bows, some mounted, most on
foot. Someone raised the alarm and bandits ran from their tents, most
unarmored, clutching weapons near at hand.  They met the first wave of

Ptellans with a scream of rage and the clash of swords and armor.  r A
Ptellan scout jumped from a rock, armed with a scimitar and buckler.  He
aimed a cleaving bow at Aaron.  The boy raised his own sword to block, but
the impact sent him sprawling.  Still, the jump unbalanced the scout, and
Aaron was back on his feet before the man could recover.  He wore armor of
hardened leather reinforced with rings, but no helmet: Aaron aimed a
sweeping blow at the man's head, as the bandits had taught him.  His sword
rang off the bronze buckler and the man counter-attacked, quick and deadly.
Aaron pulled his sword back and caught the man's blade, which stopped an
inch from the boy's shoulder.  He reached forward with his other hand and
grabbed the lip of the buckler, pulling it aside, then lunged with his
blade.  The tip landed between two metal studs, parted leather and flesh,
and pierced the man's chest.  Aaron pulled the weapon free and the man
staggered back, dropped his sword, and clutched the wound.

   "Let's go!" Aaron shouted to Hurik, who had stared, dumbfounded, through
the whole fight.  "Go to the bleeding room," Aaron said.  "Get Wenet and
meet me at Miacla's tent."

   Hurik nodded and ran off.  Aaron dodged past the knots of fighting and
at last reached Lady Miacla's tent.  He spotted a Ptellan soldier and
struck from behind at the man's exposed left flank.  He spotted Aaron and
raised his shield, but not fast enough, and the boy's curved blade sank
into his upper arm.  The man fell to his knees and Aaron drove his own knee
into his teeth.

   Something massive loomed behind him.  Aaron turned, then jumped back as
a spear almost took him through the heart.  A mounted officer loomed over
him, his face covered by a demonic golden helmet-mask, his green cloak
flowing behind him.  The man's horse snorted and screamed as he raised his
spear again.  Aaron could only stumble back.

   Alien words echoed around the man, and a yellow-green light dazed Aaron
for a moment.  When his vision cleared, he saw that the man's horse glowed.
It shrank suddenly, becoming a tiny bird, which the falling man crushed
flat.

   The officer stood up, probably looking very surprised under his demon
mask, and pointed his spear at Miacla, who had emerged from her tent. 
Aaron realized that the spear was more like a staff, covered in arcane
designs, its head crusted with jewels.  Miacla screamed in surprise and
dove toward Aaron as the man spoke words of power.  A baleful red light
shot from the man's staff-spear, igniting Miacla's tent.  She stumbled to
her feet and spoke a few sharp words.  Energy leaped from her ring to
envelop the man, but he whispered and the light faded.

   Aaron rushed the Ptellan wizard, his sword aimed to strike his hand off,
but the staff spun around to parry.  Before Aaron could recover, the butt
end slammed into his ribs and he fell back.

   Orange flame washed over him and Aaron heard a high, grisly scream.  The
boy rolled to his feet, smoke rising all around him, but the wizard was
gone.  Aaron looked around for Miacla.  Flames spread over the roof of her
tent.  Aaron heard another scream from within and stepped toward the tent,
but a gust of yellow flame blasted from the entrance.  He stumbled away and
watched it burn.  There were no more sounds from within.

   Aaron looked around, clutching his sword in white-knuckled hands.  He
almost took Hurik's head off when he ran around a corner.  Wenet was
following him.  Somewhere in the fighting, Hurik had found a bow and
quiver.

   "We need to go," Aaron said, waving them toward Miacla's horse.  It
stood tethered with another, and it looked as if Miacla had already loaded
it up: provisions (especially water), weapons, and an assortment of other
things hung from the saddle-bags.

   Hurik turned, set an arrow on the string, and fired right past Aaron,
who turned to see a Ptellan warrior fall with an arrow in his gut.  But
more were coming.

   "Get on the horse," Aaron said.  Hurik helped Wenet onto the other
horse, then hopped on in front of her, forcing her back.  Aaron clambered
onto Miacla's steed and wheeled it around just as the first Ptellan reached
him.  The animal swung around and sent the man sprawling, but that startled
the animal, and Aaron found himself racing away from the doomed camp,
careening over rocks and past jagged boulders, until eventually he regained
control.  Hurik and Wenet rode after him.  At last, after a frantic
scramble down, they reached the base of the mountains.  Lady Miacla's camp
burned above them.

   "It's horrible," Wenet said.  Tears ran freely down her cheeks.

   "What do we do now?" Hurik asked, staring in horror at the destruction.

   "Which way is Tilnabar," Aaron asked, "and how many days will it take to
get there?"

   "It's at the end of this mountain chain," Wenet said, "to the east, less
than a week's ride."

   "Then let's go," Aaron said.  "We'll return you to your families, and
maybe I'll find the other one who came with me...Olivia...or maybe Azha."

   He looked back at the burning camp.  There Viskar, the wizard of Ptella,
stood on a high rock leaning on his staff, his green cloak whipping about
him in the wind, his golden mask gleaming in the flames.

   "Or maybe him," Aaron said coldly, and turned his horse to the east.

   ***

   You can look forward to more exciting adventures on Yothis in "The Moons
of Yothis, Part 4: Wizard Words." If you have any thoughts, comments,
reviews, or critiques, please send them to lordgodpantokrator@gmail.com.

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