Message-ID: <53890asstr$1148177405@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com DomainKey-Signature: a=rsa-sha1; q=dns; c=nofws; s=beta; d=gmail.com; h=received:message-id:date:from:to:subject:mime-version:content-type; b=O+W44AfKwKNSpSFB02EwEctNdFPVdGZND1pQV8cuEFnb5YVJTOlL5PS7xw6kALmtg/4aWDw1DExZDfVapCxYQzQckx0l0PvX7daiMNSMT2N8L7OOvN9gp79u3RUdy3ZtNVsgJtoAvZ/bUdfHMQbnHCbd9uhOXkPvP80ryeeWBo8= X-Original-Message-ID: <7b909bf0605201007i2c15f720h1a7301d645b9b4c3@mail.gmail.com> From: "Lord God Pantokrator" <lordgodpantokrator@gmail.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sat, 20 May 2006 13:07:00 -0400 Subject: {ASSM} The Moons of Yothis, Part 3: A Queen of Dust (mf, mF, m-1st, f-1st, oral, reluc, fantasy) Lines: 775 Date: Sat, 20 May 2006 22:10:05 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2006/53890> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: emigabe, dennyw <1st attachment, "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, reluc, 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 Darquist (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 Darquist) and Viskel (guardian of Nooth) dead, both kingdoms had escalated their threats and bluffs. Viskar, Viskel's treacherous son, has pushed Darquist 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. 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: Respite in Tilnabar." If you have any thoughts, comments, reviews, or critiques, please send them to lordgodpantokrator@gmail.com. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ This post has been reformatted by ASSTR's Smart Text Enhancement Processor (STEP) system due to inadequate formatting. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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