LaSola of the Singing Bow Ch. 01

The woman was dressed all in white, a diaphanous veil more than a dress, which revealed at least as much as it concealed. She wore sandals of the lightest material imaginable; with only a single circle around her largest toe to keep them attached to those tiny, pale feet.

LaSola looked at the woman dispassionately. Whereas the vast majority would see only youth and beauty, another woman - especially one whose background had made her knowledgeable in such arts - saw the telltale marks of age and evil in the face that stared back at her in cynical appraisal. There were no aging marks around the eyes, yet there were many years of experience lurking behind that bright blue surface, depths of cruelty and unconcern for others that spoke of having witnessed countless atrocities and acts of debauchery. The face was also smooth and the skin unblemished. Yet the little tightness around the jaw and cheeks, the taut, downward cast to the corners of those pouting lips, gave evidence to a jaded outlook on life, a long, long life of self-indulgence that very rarely did not realize its desires. The imperious tilt to the head spoke volumes. Not only did the woman consider herself superior to all other beings, but had enjoyed countless years of having that superiority borne out in the fawning subservience of men, and in the heartless dominance over other women. Yes, the signs were subtle, but plainly to be read by any who knew where - and would bother - to look.

The woman also gained great knowledge from her inspection of LaSola. LaSola's training had taught her never to reveal that greatest of weapons, secret knowledge, unless compelled to do so. Unlike her, the woman seemed to want to boast about what she knew of LaSola.

"You will do perfectly," the woman started simply. Knowing another great weapon, silence, LaSola did not reply. The woman seemed slightly annoyed by this.

"In fact, I may enjoy our little - relationship - far more than I have enjoyed any for a long, long time."

This confirmed two of LaSola's suspicions. First, that the woman was much older than she looked. Second that her plans for LaSola, and others, who fell under her power, were not pleasant. Still, she said nothing.

The woman's face clouded a bit with anger. She liked to toy with her victims first, and this large mouse was not cooperating in the least. In fact, she seemed totally unconcerned with the veiled threat or even her current situation. Well, that would all change very quickly.

"You, of course, have no idea who I am. That is because I have kept my existence a total secret from the world, which would not approve of my...little activities." The woman said this with great smugness, as though very proud of her great accomplishments.

"My name is Miranda, and I am a great sorceress. I was once the mistress of a powerful sorcerer, Tecohlti - who, I might add, is no longer around."

At the name, LaSola's eyes did grow wide in recognition and wonder. In her land, where magic was generally accepted and used as a positive tool, the name Tecohlti was a great name, one that principally evoked awe and admiration amongst the leaders of the various Tribes. While there were some rumors of dark deeds and evil spells, for the most part people spoke of various wonders he had created, helping kings, warlords and the very wealthy to create marvelous works of architecture, engineering, landscaping, and miraculous machinery. Yet Tecohlti was also known for performing deeds of great compassion, such as bringing food to starving villages, repairing damage caused by natural catastrophes, or causing rains to fall in parched lands. This last had he done for the Tribes in the distant past.

No one had seen or heard from him in nearly a hundred summers, and it was thought he had finally passed away after what seemed like a life of immortality. Some, however, believed he had traveled to some strange place where other great mages exchanged ideas and renewed their youth and vitality.

"Ah, I see you have heard of Tecohlti," the woman smirked, clearly seeing LaSola's reaction. "Well, soon you will see how much more powerful is the sorceress Miranda."

LaSola had great reservations, but there was no denying that, if indeed the woman had learned her arts from the great Techolti, and had, as she thinly implied, had some involvement in the disappearance of that renowned wizard, she must have some significant powers. Although LaSola herself had the Talent, she had received very little training in harnessing her powers. Then, she understood she must deal much more carefully with this egomaniac than originally thought. It was not that she had thought lightly of the woman - she had learned long ago not to underestimate a foe from mere appearance - but had not taken strong magical talents into account.

Miranda looked her captive over with an even greater pleasure, now that she had seen some signs of respect in those dark, fierce eyes. Fear would not be long to follow.

She admired the aristocratic facial features, the smoldering blaze in those large dark eyes, and the wide, sensual mouth. Having seen many female bodies, Miranda knew it was rare for such a muscular body to also boast large, full breasts. The slim, firm waist and the hard, flat stomach emphasized the generous hips and the round buttocks, mostly hidden from her view. She could appreciate the strong, shapely legs, and the black curly hairs that were displayed at their fulcrum by the forced separation of the ankles, caused by the heavy irons binding them to the wall. Most of all, she was attracted to the overall size of the bronze beauty, the women of the surrounding mountain villages generally being of a fairly small stature.

"Oh, yes, you will do quite nicely," the blonde vixen repeated, hoping to goad some sort of reaction from her. Again, she was disappointed. She decided to pretend that no response had been desired.

"You see, one of the greatest secrets I learned from Tecohlti was that of eternal youth." Miranda looked hard to find some trace of astonishment, or perhaps disbelief at this pronouncement, but the regal face before her again displayed no emotion. She could not, of course, know just how familiar her captive was with Tecohlti and his powers. Miranda began to pace slowly around the bound warrior, inspecting the magnificent body with a proprietary interest. "Most neophytes know it is necessary to extract the life force from a suitable donor to gain not only long life, but the strength, the virility of the donor. The secret has three parts, really, although the second is very rarely known by any but the most powerful of sorcerers or sorceresses - or, if known, rarely used. And the third..." Miranda smirked, and seemed lost in reverie for just a moment. "Well, the third is hardly known or followed at all."

Miranda stroked the flank of the imprisoned woman, who steeled herself to show no reaction to this assault any more than she had of her captor's words.

"The obvious life essence is blood, of course. The ceremony, the tools, the way to extract and receive the blood, are all very important, yet certainly not more so than the choice of the donor. The blood is the critical life essence, which carries in it a great deal of the life force. Yet, not all. Most certainly not all."

The smirk became a licentious grin as Miranda cupped one of those large, beautiful breasts. LaSola fought the urge to spit into that grotesquely angelic face, so twisted with lust and corruption.

"The second life essence is the sexual juices of the donor. While the blood carries life, the sexual juices carry the real youth, the vitality of the donor. That is the key to remaining young looking, the skin soft and unwrinkled, the eyes bright, the body filled with energy. Tecohlti was willing to partake of the second essence most of the time, but he would not go the third step, which he spoke of with a great loathing - the fool."

LaSola was loath to believe this of the man the Tribes had practically worshipped as both a powerful mage and a savior to their villages, yet she knew it must be true. Her body suddenly stiffened as the sorceress gently reached out a tiny white hand to touch her sex. LaSola raged within as that hand stroked her pubic hairs, and a small finger delicately parted the lips of her vulva. But she knew that to struggle was useless, and LaSola would not give this malicious creature the satisfaction she sought as she fondled her in a way that could scarcely be borne.

"You see, to truly gain the entire benefit of the life essences of the donor, to fully accept the life force as it leaves the dying body after being pierced in the heart by the Knife of Angorak, the sorcerer must be in complete contact with the donor. They must be above them as their life force - what some fools call the soul - rises from their dying husk. 'Complete' contact, of course, means sexual contact," the woman breathed, pushing two fingers deeply into the virgin channel of the chained fighter, who was unreasonably furious at herself for her inability to do a thing about this ultimately personal assault.

"Obviously, due to the nature of the sexual fluids, the sorcerer gains very little value from a donor of the opposite sex. Tecohlti needed men - and I must have women."

The woman's face was less than a finger's length from that of LaSola's, although she had to look up at the face which was darker still in her current mood. She idly rubbed her fingers in the violated vagina as she stared wide eyed into the face glowering down at her, still hoping to elicit some response, either from her words or from her actions. Although LaSola's body did not respond in the least to the unwanted ministrations, her face betrayed her disgust and condemnation. This was enough for Miranda, who whirled disdainfully away from her captive as though she had attained some great victory.

As she turned away, Miranda licked her fingers sensuously, then sucked on them fully as though to savor some delectable vintage. "Um, a strong, primitive taste," she said condescendingly, "full of young, sexual vigor and a very powerful life force. Oh, yes, you will do very nicely indeed.

"Tecohlti was a fool," she again declared viciously, whirling back at LaSola as though to attack her with the violence of this thought. "I was quite happy to be his mistress, even though he was a man, and an old, boring man at that." She laughed mockingly at the slightly increased look of disgust on LaSola's face. "Oh, yes, couldn't you tell, my dear? Being forced to have sex with other women certainly did not bother me at all. Oh, no, quite the contrary." She laughed again.

"Whereas Tecohlti could not bring himself to such an 'unnatural' encounter, not even to maintain his youth and vigor, I personally have always preferred women. Oh, I was willing to do anything - and I mean anything - in order to keep him happy so that he would not discard me as he had all the others, but I never enjoyed it. Men are alright, my dear - not that you would know, of course - and I do use them occasionally, if they seem particularly attractive. But women know what other women really like, how to pleasure all of the really sensitive areas."

As she said this, Miranda once again stroked LaSola's body, as an example of her words. This went on for several minutes, with the small blonde using all of the considerable skills she had acquired over decades of decadence to elicit some evidence of arousal. The large black haired beauty tried to deny the sensations that were starting to creep into her body, no matter how much she despised this woman or the things that were being done to her breasts, her throat, her stomach and hips, and mostly to her sex. While she could control her muscles, however, she ultimately could not keep her nipples from hardening slightly, nor the sexual fluids which her tormentor sought so desperately from beginning to seep as her clitoris was tweaked and rubbed in an unmentionable way.

As these signs betrayed her will, Miranda laughed again wickedly, and stepped away from that luscious body, looking LaSola directly in the eye.

"Oh, my lusty warrior wench, how I would love to keep you around for a while as my plaything! My men told me how fiercely you fought, and I can see the spirit in you is as great as the sensual nature you battle so hard to deny - to yourself as well as to me, I am certain." Miranda reached out once more to tweak a nipple, and then stepped quickly away from her captive.

"But that is not to be, I am afraid. You see, the sexual essence is much stronger in one who has never known actual coitus, which in some way acts as a release to the pent up sexual force that begins to build from the day of one's birth. While you would be wonderful to keep around as a lover, you are much more valuable to me as a virgin. I will get to enjoy you once, but, I am afraid, once only."

Before the corrupted sorceress could tempt herself any further with the voluptuous, nude figure before her, she marched out the door. LaSola barely heard the slamming of the iron door and the thud of a heavy bar being dropped into place.

As courageous as she was, the woman born to the freedom of the desert and wed to the fierce pride of the warrior was shaken by the thought of what the angelic looking witch had threatened to do to her. Not death. That she had been trained to ignore, as the fate of a warrior, and all people eventually. Not even the rape of her body by another woman, as repugnant as that thought may have been.

It was the ultimate threat, the loss of her 'life force' to that dark creature, who would suck it into her body, would corrupt its purity as it was absorbed into that vile cesspool of the witch's own blackened life force! To lose her life was nothing. To lose her spirit - worse, to have it damned in immortal evil - that was everything! She must not allow it.

But what could she do to prevent it from such an obviously powerful sorceress? There was only one course of action she could discern. If the opportunity came, she must take her own life. While her warrior spirit rebelled at this decision, LaSola knew in her heart that it must be done. With such gloomy thoughts, LaSola drifted off into a stupor.

* * * *

LaSola became alert at the sounds outside of her cell. She did not know how long she had hung from her bonds, lost in the hopelessness of her position. Somehow, she felt that the moment of crisis may now be at hand, and prepared herself mentally to fight or die if any opportunity arose. There were a couple of muffled thuds, some grunts of pain, then the sliding and thunk of the heavy metal bar being lifted from the door. LaSola's body tensed with the automatic reaction of a fighter, preparing to launch her body into the fray in spite of her stout bonds.

The door swung open, and in stepped Crag, blood dripping from his sword. LaSola stared in pleased amazement, while Crag briefly drank in her nude form, then abruptly looked away.

"By the gods of the Skensa and Zoolus! How did you manage to get in here? And what took you so long!"

"The guards were not as diligent as they might have been," he replied, still not looking at her. "And it took me a while to find your weapons," he said, holding out her bow and quiver, her dirk tucked into his belt. "I did not see your clothing," he said apologetically.

"I'll take what you offer with my thanks," she asserted with grim amusement, "and fight all the better for being lightly encumbered. And, if you can find some means of releasing me from these bonds, you may certainly look upon me without shame, nay, with my blessings, as is needed to perform such a feat."

As though performing some terrible task, Crag observed her bonds, trying to keep his eyes from those appealing curves as much as possible. The clamps around her wrists and ankles looked too strong to break without some sort of cutting tool and to smash them would probably damage her bones. The chains also looked fairly strong, although he was certain he could pull them away from their wall anchors if he could find a stout bar to apply leverage. To break them enough so that LaSola could move freely enough to fight, however, might prove more problematic. Perhaps there would be some tools in the torture chambers he was certain existed nearby which could help free the chained woman.

Crag tested the strength of the anchors, putting his foot against the wall while exerting his massive muscles. He could feel the anchor actually beginning to yield to this raw use of strength when the door suddenly swung wide open, having only been partially closed. The mountain man swung around to see a blonde goddess enter the room, followed closely by two of the silent soldiers.

"My, you're a big one! And so strong looking. Are all of your muscles as big and exciting looking?" the woman asked, as Crag whipped out his broadsword and crouched into a fighting stance. Crag looked straight into her deep, blue eyes.

"Now, you aren't going to need that huge weapon just to subdue little me, are you?" she asked seductively, her voice taking on a constant, quietly insinuating tone which the young giant found irresistible. He tried to look at the two soldiers, to face the challenge they presented as opposed to this tiny, scantily clad female, but somehow he could not take his eyes from those bottomless wells of blueness. "You have a much better weapon to use on a helpless female, don't you? And you want to use it on me, don't you? You want to touch me all over, to taste every portion of my body, to take me over and over again, don't you?"

The woman's voice droned on and on. Crag felt as though he had drunk barrels of strong mountain mead, gradually losing all mental control, all feeling from his body, all sense of anything but that voice, which poured over his mind like a dense, warm, enveloping fog. His weapons dropped from his hands, as he stood limp and helpless in front of the enchantress.

"Chain him up against the other wall," Miranda ordered her soldiers in a much more businesslike tone. Without any resistance from the giant, the soldiers silently obeyed orders. Their task accomplished, they left the room at a wave from their mistress.

"Well, my dear, what should I do with your would-be rescuer?" Miranda asked the chained woman, who glared at her, but still made no sound. "He seemed quite familiar with your body. Might the two of you be lovers?"

Miranda laughed mockingly. "Yes, I can see it in your eyes." She looked back at the giant, who stared stonily straight ahead. "And why not? He's quite a handsome young specimen, and no doubt a virile lover. I wonder if indeed his 'weapon' is as large as his body would portend." She turned back to LaSola. "Is it my dear, and is it pleasurable in its thrusts and parries?"

LaSola bit her tongue in lieu of a sharp riposte, hating the pale bitch for her conjectures, fully as painful for only being half the truth. In her head, LaSola knew the older woman taunted her out of spite, having examined her body to discover she was still a virgin. Still, her heart, burning equally with anger at the vile vixen and with some unknown passion for the pale giant, told her that the words so mockingly spoken were in some manner nevertheless the truth.

Other than the contortions of anger brought to her captive's face, the woman saw that she would gain no further reaction from her sultry captive. "Oh, well," she sighed languidly. "I suppose I shall just have to discover for myself then, shan't I?"

She stepped casually and sensuously over to Crag's side, careful not to shield any of her actions from the black beauty. If she could not torture the maiden directly, then she certainly would vicariously.

With deliberate motions, she undid the belt at Crag's waist and lowered his buskins to the floor. She delicately removed the loincloth tied around his private parts, looking at LaSola out of the corner of her eyes as she did so.