A Paladin's War Ch. 07

The Morgai were a contingency she had not needed in the end. They would move on to the next part of the plan. They were a fascinating creation, the Morgai, one she thought of often. Ever since seeing Maloth's come into being she had wanted her own, and she had not been disappointed by their abilities.

Less arrogant than Maloth's, her Morgai were more biddable, though not lacking in confidence. She had studied them extensively alongside Torvin, and between the two of them they had mapped out the limitations of these beings and decided how and where they would be most useful. It had been more than a little frustrating to discover, however, that she and Torvin had been unable to create more than two. She had hoped to build an army of them, or at least a few dozen - there were few forces in the world that could stand up to even ten Morgai, she was sure - but the limit appeared to be only two. Whether that was from herself, Torvin, or a combination of both was uncertain.

Two will have to be enough, she thought as she padded down the corridors of the fortress-palace. A particularly loud clap of thunder vibrated the stone beneath her bare feet as it chased a brilliant flash that lit the corridor brighter than midday. Up ahead, at a place where this corridor met another, Barrog was pulling open a heavy iron-strapped door. The big Orc disappeared inside, then poked his head out a second later to wave the rest of them in.

Winding stairs awaited them there, and they descended silently, down and down, ignoring the other doors they passed until they reached the bottom. The air was different, down here, somehow both musty and dank. The stone was cut differently, too, rough and unpolished. They were in a small access hall with a simple wooden door at the other end.

"Are you feeling at home, down here, Peldin?" Caeledrin asked dryly in a low voice. He and Peldin were still behind her as they followed Barrog down the hall. "It must be just like the caverns of Eredor, though somewhat more spacious, I would imagine."

Peldin chuckled softly. "You would be surprised at the vast magnificence of our realm, Caeledrin," he retorted. "If you were ever brave enough to visit." There was no real sting in his words. They sounded more like two brothers having a friendly bicker than two bloodsworn enemies in a war that had lasted a thousand years, and even more before the truce.

Eredor truly was an underground wonder. Shenla knew that for true. Miles of carefully designed and structured caves and caverns deep in the earth, carved and crafted in a way that challenged even the skill of the Dwarves. The two Elves maintained their back-and-forth for a time, though they kept their voices down. This path had been cleared on the way in, but there was no need to take risks.

When they entered yet another room - this one much larger and full of old barrels and sacks, many of them rotted from long years down here beneath the fortress - a huge, shaggy-haired figure rose from where he'd been sitting against a wall. Unable to straighten to his full, fifteen-foot height, Vegar hunched slightly as he stood, careful not to hit his head. He was shirtless, as usual, his massive body looking chiselled from dark marble. Below the waist he wore the flowing white pants that Giants of his tribe favoured, loose and light and tied at the waist with a cord thick enough to serve as a stout rope. He was a fine specimen, Vegar.

When Barrog asked the Giant if there had been any problems, Vegar's head swayed. "None," he rumbled in his slow voice. "It was rather boring down here, really." Shenla thought his words sounded a little slurred, and he was swaying slightly. When her eyes found the barrel lying on its side near where he'd been sitting, she sighed. She was willing to bet that barrel had been full of something strong when he'd found it, and it was now empty. Now that she thought of it, the fumes in the air were unmistakable.

Barrog sniffed the air audibly. "How drunk are you?" He demanded in a voice nearly as deep as the Noroth's. "I have no qualms about leaving you down here, Giant."

Behind her, Caeledrin made a disgusted noise. Any second now, he would make a disparaging comment about primitive cultures and their proclivities if she didn't intervene.

"We cannot leave him," Shenla said firmly. "Even if he deserves it." She shot the Giant an irritated look and he shrugged uncomfortably, whether from embarrassment or because of the low ceiling she couldn't tell.

"I am well enough to make it out of here," Vegar said carefully, the way a drunk tries to pretend he is not.

"We will see," Barrog replied in a flat voice as he pushed past Vegar and pulled open the tall door at the other end of the room. "Keep up, Noroth, or I will have you dragged all the way to the docks."

A dark look crossed Vegar's face, but he made no comment as he followed the Orc through into the shadowy space on the other side, bending himself at the waist to do so.

A few more passages later, the group surfaced through a small access port that came up a few hundred paces from the palace; an old, forgotten method once used to bring in supplies from a building that no longer existed. Heavy rain pelted them as soon as they cleared the hole, though Shenla hardly noticed. She was focused, determined to see the plan through. Without a word, she took the lead and headed for the main street that sloped downward toward the docks. Now they were out of the palace, the need for stealth was gone.

"What now?" Torvin asked as he came up beside her. He'd pulled up the hood of his cloak against the rain.

"Now," she replied softly, it's time for a drink."

The rest of the walk was made in silence, which suited her; she had much to think on. She had been planting seeds, whispering in ears, pulling on strings since well before she had abandoned Maloth's mad quest for dominance. Shops and taverns and inns lined the main avenue that led to the docks, the latter with light spilling through the cracks between closed shutters. Merry music dimmed by the deluge reached her ears along with raucous laughter and the clinking of mugs, or the telltale crashing and thudding of a good fight underway.

Despite the weather, a few souls occupied the streets, stumbling into or out of a building or simply lying on the sidewalk where they'd been tossed by a guard. From what Shenla knew, the carousing never stopped in the Wharf District of Amindaer, with ships coming and going at all times and sailors looking to sate their appetites for food, drink, gambling and women. Even the constant storms would not have kept the spirit of this place dampened for long.

They were almost to the end of the avenue when she turned toward a sprawling stone building sporting three stories, looming on the corner of the avenue and a side street. Tall, bronze letters ran across the front of it, naming the establishment 'The Fiddler's Fling.' Massive double-doors of iron-strapped oak stood closed beneath the sign, guarded by two solid Orcs, arms folded over bare chests.

"Really? Here?" Caeledrin murmured in distaste as they approached the wide stone steps between two tall, iron lampposts, heavily shielded against the rain.

Barrog chuckled. "I've heard stories about this place. Could be fun."

"I hear they have devices that pour the ale from a tap," Torvin said in his quiet but intense voice. "And it comes out cold." He almost sounded excited, though he rarely was about such things as ale.

"This is where we will find what we need," she told them as she ascended the steps. The guards shifted their feet ever so slightly as Shenla's party approached. Even with only Barrog, Peldin and Caeledrin carrying weapons, her ahk'sheth made for an intimidating sight. With Vegar bringing up the rear, even more so.

"If you're looking for trouble," one of the Orcs said in a hard voice. "You'll get it. Gammon has twenty of us working, tonight, and another twenty on call."

"Weapons in the box," the other Orc added, jerking his head toward a long wooden crate with a hinged lid, off to one side. "They'll be kept safe until you leave."

Shenla felt her men stiffen at the idea of going in unarmed, but she interjected. "We are not looking for trouble," she assured the guards as she pulled back her cowl. "And unless we are bothered, we will begin none."

The Orcs stared at her face for a moment before blinking and resuming their hard-faced glares. "That is well," the first one replied.

"Weapons in the box," the other one repeated in exactly the same tone.

"Do it," Shenla told the men. They obeyed, albeit more slowly than they needed to, unlimbering swords and knives and axes and placing them in the crate, each man eyeing the Orcs challengingly as they relinquished their weapons.

"If this sword," Peldin began as he placed the slender blade in the box, "Is not here when I return, there will be trouble. Understand, Orc?"

It was almost laughable, dark, slender Peldin threatening Orcs two feet taller and three times as wide as himself. Laughable if you did not know what Peldin was capable of. The Orcs did not, and they chuckled at him.

"We understand just fine, little Elf," the first one said with a toothy, tusked grin as he moved aside and pushed the heavy door open easily. Light and noise flooded out at once; the thick wood had kept much of it in, but now music and shouting and the stomping of feet on the floor assaulted their ears.

She put a soft hand on Peldin's shoulder and leaned in close to whisper in his ear, "Not now. They are fools, and they deserve it, but now now." The Orcs did not realise she had just saved their lives, of course. They leered at her as she passed them, as if wondering what she looked like beneath the heavy cloak. If she chose to show them, it would be to have her way with them, and she would not stop herself as she had with Marcos.

Insult my Peldin, she thought bitterly. And I will see you dead.

The thought almost pulled her up short just inside the doorway. She had never thought of him as 'her Peldin,' before, nor any of the others. Taking a deep breath, she led her diverse band into an enormous, high-ceilinged room where men and women of all colours and shapes and sizes sat at long benches or smaller, round tables. Dwarves and Elves, half-Giants and Orcs, and even a couple of full-blooded Giants like Vegar, though they sat on the floor for there were no chairs of a size to hold them.

Dozens of serving men and women wove their way between the tables dressed in scant wisps of pale silk that hid nothing, but rather accentuated their sexual appeal. More than a few had bits of silk missing. A heavy-chested Dwarf girl carried a tray of foamy mugs past, her pale, mountainous breasts shifting beneath a wrap of thin silk that hung from a thin chain around her neck. The silk was so short that it left most of her tits bare for all to see, but that was obviously the point. The Fiddler's Fling was a brothel as well as a tavern, and it was the most profitable in the District, now that it's foremost competitor had shut down. She had learned much in the past few days.

The Dwarf girl moved past, showing a behind as ample as her chest, and covered by another silk wrap, again too short, but Shenla found she rather liked the look. Making a mental note to acquire some of these garments, she led the way across the room, looking for a table. A suitable bench - large enough to hold them all and with enough space for Vegar to sit on the floor at one end - was being vacated at the far left side of the room, not too far from the long stone bar that ran almost the full length of the place. The four men - young Humans grinning excitedly at one another - were being led off by a couple of slim Mor'elda girls, their snow-white hair contrasting sharply with their deep ebony skin. The Elf girls were leading the men - boys, really - toward the stairs at the back of the room, which no doubt led up to the bedrooms, or wherever it was these girls did their business.

No sooner had she taken her seat along with the others than a strikingly beautiful Orc woman sidled up to the table. Long, silvery hair fell down around a fine-featured face with eyes of a blue that was startling against her jade-green skin. She wore the silk skirt around her waist, but had foregone the same around her chest, leaving her proud, round breasts bare. The men were all gazing at her hungrily, and Shenla could not blame them. She bit her own lip as she wondered what this beauty would look like beneath her, sweating and writhing and...

She pulled herself free of the grip of hot lust and ordered a round of ales, eyeing the Orc's plump yet muscular bottom as she strode away. Keeping her voice low, she turned to her companions. "Have there been responses to your messages?" She met each of their gazes in turn as she awaited their answers. She hoped for the answers she wanted, but did not dare to count on it.

"I did," Barrog rumbled, leaning forward on his elbows. The thick timber of the table creaked under his weight. He dwarfed everyone else present except for Vegar. "There are a few who are loyal to me. Morana does not hold their hearts as she did when Beshok lived."

"As did I," Torvin said, at the same time Peldin and Caeledrin chimed in similarly. Shenla felt a bubble of hope in her chest. She didn't crush it, but held it tightly, not letting go, but not allowing it to grow. Not yet. Torvin and the two Elves explained that they, too, had found some loyal followers among Maloth's armies, men and women that would do what needed to be done.

After Barrog, the others said much the same; not all their people had so readily accepted the deaths of their leaders. As for Vegar, his people had never accepted Maloth. They'd been tricked into obeying her brother - he was clever and cunning - and had not been able to find a way out of it until Shenla had spoken at length with Ossarom, their chieftain. That was why Vegar was here.

"This is glad news," she told her men as she leaned in close. They did the same, until their disparate heads were all bunched together. "Now, we must work on getting them safely away from my brother, but first..."

She barely noticed the Orc girl when the ales arrived; her mind was spinning out plans like the webs of a hundred spiders. Again, she considered taking another ahk'sheth for the extra power. Vegar was right there, watching her intently, his dark eyes deep and soulful. Should she? He had said several times he wanted it. If he asked her again, she didn't know if she could refuse.

All these thoughts coursed through the back of her mind while she planned aloud, but she did not voice them, or act on them. One thing at a time.

Later, in a room upstairs - the largest available in the building - she leaned on the wrought-iron railing of the balcony, staring southward through the rain. She could feel the land there, on the other side of the sea, calling her. The cool night air caressed her bare, rose skin, damp with the wet, though she didn't feel the chill. Behind her, Torvin stood, firmly gripping her hips as he bucked against her, taking his pleasure and giving her hers. She shuddered as she felt him reach his peak, and tingled as the ensuing rush of joyful energy flooded her, enlivening her anew.

Turning, she seized his head in her hands and kissed him deeply in thanks. He returned the sentiment gladly before moving back inside, out of the rain. Peldin appeared next, and she smiled as she turned back to the railing, presenting herself for him. She felt his desire through their bond as he positioned himself behind her and took hold of her hips as Torvin had. A sigh escaped her lips as he slipped into her body, and she lost herself in the sweet rhythm, temporarily forgetting about the south, about Maloth, and about tomorrow.

***

"Well, now, my dear. Let's take a look at you."

Sara stood obediently in front of the older woman, hands folded at her waist. She still had her heavy cloak on, but it was promptly peeled away by two younger women - both wearing flimsy white gowns - at a wave of the first woman's hand.

Tall and slim and wearing a thin silk gown that clung to a well-maintained figure, Lady Elhorn was still a beauty despite having passed her middle years. Her golden hair, piled on top of her head in an elaborate tower of curls was only lightly touched by grey at her temples, and the corners of her sapphire eyes were only faintly lined. Plump lips in an oval face curved approvingly as she regarded Sara once the robe had been removed.

"Yes, you do seem to have the body, my dear, and the face, but we will have to inspect you more thoroughly." Her accent was polished, educated. It reminded Sara of the way Amina spoke in the way each word was pronounced to its fullest. "It is much easier on you girls, this way. Far better than being picked off the street like ripe fruit." Her mouth twisted in distaste as she said it, her tone reflecting how she felt about such things.

Sara wanted to ask the illustrious Lady Elhorn - Cartuga's Matron of the Guild of Flowers - how picking girls off the street was so different from grooming them for sale to the highest bidder, but she kept her silence. This was her way in. She would not ruin it.

Hands on her shoulders spun her toward one of the tall standing mirrors that occupied the large room - some sort of dressing room, as far as Sara could tell, though she'd never seen it's like - and then moved to the back of her dress to unfasten the buttons. The girls worked efficiently, and soon she was naked, looking at her own reflection.

The room was well lit, with elegant bronze stand lamps all around, as well as a chandelier hanging from the high ceiling sporting a dozen candles all alight. How someone got up there to light them, Sara could only guess.

In the abundance of illumination, her body was spared no shadow. It had been some time since she'd looked at herself like this, and it was something of a shock to see what she'd become. A once thin and almost boyish-looking girl, she was now undeniably beautiful, a lush, ripe woman in the prime of her youth. The thought came with no sense of arrogance or even pride; it was simply the truth.

Lustrous hair fell in a russet cascade to below her pale shoulders, framing a face that was now anything but boyish. Full lips, high cheekbones and a fine, straight nose had shaped themselves since she'd learned to harness her vala. Her body had followed suit, granting her a slender, swan-like appearance, with healthy curvature in her hips, bottom and breasts. The hair between her legs had fallen out soon after her first lessons had begun; something that happened to all arohim. It was a strange thing to happen - well, not alongside everything else! - but she did not miss it.

She still resembled her old self, in a distant sort of way, but now her features were somehow amplified, as if the vala had taken what was already there and built on it.

Startling eyes of cornflower blue stared back at her as she waited for Lady Elhorn's assessment. The older woman walked behind her, eyes raking over her form critically from head to toe before moving around in front of her and doing the same.

She only just stopped herself from starting when the Matron cupped one of her breasts and squeezed it, for all the world as if she were inspecting a cow's udder for milk!

"Yes, very good," the lady murmured to herself as she did another circuit. A hand firmly groped her bottom in much the same way. Over her shoulder, the older woman met her eyes in the reflection. "What happened to your lower hair, girl? Is it a deformity, or do you shave it off? Some of them will like that, others not."

She meant the men who would be 'buying' her. "It has never grown, my Lady," she answered softly, casting her eyes down and trying to look embarrassed about it. "Is it alright?"