The Demon Queen

The canyon closed over them, and no longer could the sun reach them. Like teeth, the ceiling of curved, sharp rocks pressed together, sealing the maw of earth over their heads. The canyon became a cave, a mouth accepting them into the stomach of the beast.

Jon and several of his knights each lit a torch, and held them high. The cave looked like how he imagined the throat of a titan dragon, waves that indented against the rolling wall every few feet, like snake ribs. Beneath them, the pebbles and stones dispersed, no longer littering their path; a side effect of a ceiling, he supposed. Instead, the teeth of a cave surrounded them. He'd once heard scholars refer to them as stalagmites and stalactites, but most simply called them cave teeth. Many hung from above, and many blocked their path from below.

They couldn't leave their mounts behind, but the worsening path grew more and more dangerous to ride across. Sighing, Jon slid off his, and began to guide Puteesha through the maze of teeth poking up from the ground. There had to be a path. If the demons came through the caves, they must have been able to navigate the maze. Probably. Hopefully.

Their pace turned into a crawl. Every inch forward was pain, even with a torch held ahead to make sure there would be no deadly misstep. He tried to keep his sighs quiet; no need to have his misery rest on his knights' minds, but he was growing tired, mentally and physically. The cave was oppressive, endless darkness, and as far as he could tell, it'd started to grow larger as they went down the subtle slope. It truly did feel like they were walking into the belly of a beast. No one could do that and not feel the weight of it, not since they were leaving behind a ruined hope and ravaged dream.

Goodbye, Valley of the Blessed Sisters. Hello, Pokala's domain of death and destruction. Whatever it took to save his knights, so be it.

One of his knights slipped. Everyone froze, and Jon immediately turned around to see Eric sitting on his ass.

"You ok?" Jon said, holding up his torch closer so he could see what happened.

"Barely. By the powers, I... I slipped off."

"Slipped off? I... oh." The darkness around Eric's leg was not one cast by the cave's teeth. It was true darkness, a fall off into endless black.

The teeth-filled path they walked, had become a bridge of stone over an abyss. Their journey had just become a hundred times harder.

"Single file," he said. "Go slow, and focus on the path only. No demon could attack us on such a precarious bridge." Not a lie, but he wasn't sure it was true either. It should be true. And the courage it'd give his knights was needed, as they walked upon the tongue of Lithiana herself.

Thank Janavere that the teeth beneath their feet started to fade. But at the same time, the bridge in the chasm of darkness thinned until it was only four feet wide. If Puteesha reared, there was a good chance she'd fall, or worse, turn and knock one of his knights off with her. Slow and steady was their only option.

It was a mile of gradual, painful, sluggish progress. The teeth were still there, only short now, and that wasn't necessarily better. Easy to slip on, or trip on, especially now that they were only an inch high. Every single step was arduous, with torch down and ahead of him to find both his footing, but provide the light for Puteesha to do the same.

Only upon the end of the not-path, did the bridge begin to open its tight grip, and did the teeth under their feet begin to fade out entirely.

The stone slowly became smooth, the way metal could be if rubbed thousands upon thousands of times. Demons must have walked over it, to and fro, for hundreds of years, but he heard nor saw a one. He held up his torch high, as did the rest of his knights, and they continued along on the bottom of the chasm, the ceiling and sides so far they were beyond the light of the fire. The cave was big enough to hold any number of untold horrors, and that included sleeping dragons.

A light flickered in the distance, subtle, an amber star against the empty black. They moved closer, walking a little more casually now that the floor was no longer trying to kill them, but stayed slow all the same. No need to ride in and spook the inevitable army of darkness that awaited them. Sighing, Jon squeezed his torch tighter, and moved toward the amber dot.

"We're almost there," he said.

Samantha came up beside him, horse reins in her hand, torch held well above her. "Sure you don't want to turn around?"

"It took us five hours to cover a single mile."

"And I'm more than willing to spend another five per mile going back."

"We have no choice, Sam."

"You're trying to save us by sacrificing yourself. You think any of us want that? We'd rather die together, then live and let you die."

He grumbled, and shook his head as they kept walking. "We don't all have to die."

"Jon, come on. We've lost everything. My husband is dead. The city is destroyed and the Valley is gone. You think—"

He reached out, and grabbed the collar of her breastplate. A hard jerk brought her closer, and she stared at him as he glared at her, cutting through her bullshit with his eyes.

"You're going to live. And I might too, for all we know. Shut up, and follow." He let her go, took Puteesha's reins, and continued. No more arguments. He was done trying to convince them this was the correct decision. He was probably going to die, and they'd live; it was the only course of action left to them. Maybe Pokala would feel generous, and give them the provisions they needed to cross the Wastelands. Maybe.

With an angry groan, Samantha went quiet, and followed as commanded. The rest of his knights had heard him, and they also kept quiet as they grew closer to the distant light. With time, another light appeared, and another. The amber light in the distance painted the silhouette of a structure, something tall and wide, and it filled the colossal girth of the cave.

A castle. Jon gulped as its shape became more obvious, and stared at the unusual curve of its design. Like the cave teeth they'd passed, it looked like the enormous building was made of the cave stone, except someone had taken centuries to carve intricate shapes into it, and out of it. Spires, walls, all carved of the rock, but spikes erupted from them with the natural flow of something alive; the work of a talented, and disturbed sculptor. Massive, sprawling in its size, the castle could house thousands, tens of thousands of men and women, and it merged into the walls and roof of the cave like flesh merged with flesh.

Glowing rocks came into view. Sitting upon braziers of black metal, the rocks glowed with the same flickering as fire might, as if they were alive, or had somehow managed to capture fire within them. The metal itself looked unusual, and as the squadron grew closer to the castle, Jon realized much of the odd material was used to accent features of the stone building. There were windows, without glass but lined with metal spikes. There were doors, or rather gates, made of bars of the black metal. Many of the spikes that jutted out from the castle walls and spires were small black metal spikes, while other larger ones were carved out of the ancient stone itself.

Perhaps it was a mineral unique to the Dead Canyon, and this cave that contained it. No human had passed the gaping maw of the Dead Canyon in decades, and returned to speak of it. What journals that survived from earlier contained little information, only warnings of darkness and skittering claws in the black. With luck, his knights would be able to write their own journals, and share them with the clergy at the Green Fields.

The knights came to a standstill, as they began to look around at the cave teeth that stuck up from the ground. The teeth had suddenly begun to grow again, dozens of them, each as wide as a horse and as tall as a tower. Some of the glowing rocks were in the stone of these cave teeth, and as they flickered with their fiery light, the knights began to notice the creatures that hid within the teeths' shadows.

"Jonathan Tearmire," a voice called out, echoing in the cave, almost booming with rage, "you dare assault my home?" Despite the thickness of the voice, it had a feminine pitch to it, layered by the echoes over top the crashing thunder.

"I am not here to fight!" he called out. The cave caught his voice as well, turning it into a booming echo. Not as powerful as whoever was yelling his name, but still.

A chorus of hisses and roars rumbled up from the walls of stone. Quiet at first, but they flowed into each other, catching both the echoes, and joining the voices of their fellow monsters.

With reflex, the knights put their backs to each other, and Jonathan heard more than a few gasps, as the creatures came close enough to reveal the glow of their eyes. Amber, same as the crystals, same as fire. A couple, then dozens, then hundreds of the glowing, slitted eyes appeared in the dark, getting close enough that their unnatural glow could be seen by human eyes. They stayed perhaps fifty feet away, but they surrounded the knights with ease, more than enough of them to completely circle them, and show a wall of eyes in all directions. Thousands of demons, thousands of eyes, some hanging from the ceiling, some hovering overhead and flying by, most on foot around them, all blurs of silhouettes in the black.

"I should think not."

Her, her voice. Without the booming echoes, he could recognize it, despite the constant growls and whispers of her army. He should be able to see her, he—

She stepped out of the endless eyes, splitting her army and letting the amber lights of her castle spill down the pathway. As she did, the darkness itself began to lesson, the crystals of the castle providing more illumination; either a trick of the eye, or the demons themselves were actually lowering the amount of shadow that surrounded them. Demons could control shadows, he knew that, but seeing it in such dramatic effect, was haunting.

While his knights maintained their circle, each with a hand on their sword hilt, ready to draw, all of them turned their head to look at Pokala as she stepped out from the army of shadows and eyes. When she did, the shadows finally broke, and the cave lit with a modest amount of lighting, caused by the many amber crystals. It was more than enough for Jon's dark-adjusted eyes to see the demons, the castle, the rocks, and the demon queen that'd come to meet them.

Pokala stood before them, and Jonathan grit his teeth at the sight of her. It was frustrating that the demon queen had the curves of a tall, busty woman, with a waist far too small to be possible, considering the size of her curves. As if Janavere herself had created a woman with idealized features, but then, as if to mock the human race, made her a demon instead. A classic tale, warning of the lie of skin's beauty.

Pokala had wings, though they looked like giant black claws more than anything, with no skin membrane between them; not for flying. Her skin was red, with hues of amber not dissimilar to the color of her demon army's eyes. And that was, perhaps, the most defining feature about her: she had no eyes. Her face was a mask, a large mask of smooth black, shaped in a T. Several amber crystals sat along the top half of the strange mask, tiny, ornamental. The mask itself erupted into massive horns along its upper edge, curling back and outward like a ram's horns, though large enough to put a ram to shame.

It wasn't a mask. It was her face, a strangely beautiful mask of black, dotted with glowing amber crystals and lines. The enormous black horns matched the spikes that jutted from her shoulders, her claw wings, her knees, and her knuckles and feet. A human shape, covered head to toe with beautiful red skin, lined with dozens of black spikes.

A black corset of large scales circled her waist, and a leathery draping skirt of the same black dangled from it, split to the hip and reaching her feet. Feet was perhaps a strong word, as they were a cross between feet and hooves, with several black spikes sticking up from them. And her massive breasts had only a single black scale rising up from the corset, just high enough to cover her nipples.

The other demons were different, and far more predictable. Jon recognized demons that looked fairly human, with red skin and some black spikes, but were otherwise human looking. Succubi, and incubi, demons that had long preyed on humans and their poor defense against their own lust.

Other demons looked far more monstrous. Colossal demons stood about, some twelve feet tall, titans of muscle, with a tail that belonged more on a dragon. Some others were tiny, imps, with leathery wings they used to fly overhead. Several looked like enormous gargoyles, and while they didn't fly at the moment, Jonathan was sure they could; he'd seen it. Some looked like the minotaurs of legend, each ten feet tall, and came in both sexes, though these beasts had four arms, and two pairs of gargantuan horns, rather than one pair.

All of them had red skin, with black spikes jutting from black scales that adorned their joints and heads. All of them had eyes and mouths. Only Pokala and her oddly beautiful mask lacked such features.

He didn't know why she looked like that, compared to her servants. The chronicles described other demons that led armies, and all of them had similar faces, or lack thereof. Perhaps he could tell Michaelangelo when—

Jonathan winced, and wiped the memory of the old historian away.

"We come... seeking sanctuary," he said.

The hundreds upon hundreds of creatures that surrounded them, all went silent, every one of them ceasing their breathing, until only the breathing of the horses was heard.

"Sanctuary?" Pokala said. Her voice, sultry, seductive, was now mixed with surprise. "You cannot be serious. This is a trick."

"You think I'd bring my knights down into the bowels of Hell, for a trick? We are outnumbered, well beyond our ability to survive."

"Then this is a suicidal maneuver, some last effort to kill as many of us as you can, before your end." She spread her claw wings, and folded her arms across her chest. "I know not why you have come here, but if you truly wish to do battle, then—"

He glared at her, reached for Puteesha, and unhooked his helmet from her saddle. He tossed it down at Pokala's feet, and a moment later, his sword, and his shield with it. "It is no trick, demon. My servitude, for the safety of my knights. That is the deal I offer."

Several of the small imps squealed with delight, and scampered forward to jump up and down on his weaponry. One grabbed his helmet, and put it on, but the tiny female creature was only three feet tall, and his helmet was big enough to engulf her shoulders. Her small chuckles shattered the silence all the more.

"... why, Jonathan? Why have you come to me?"

"For sanctuary," he repeated.

The demon queen sighed, and walked toward him. Her wide hips swayed with her steps, and her breasts rippled upon the corset; doubtless she knew they did, and she probably enjoyed that they drew the eyes of human men. Not him. His eyes glared into her featureless face, and he took a step forward to meet her.

"Do not be absurd, Jonathan. Has... has your war against the Beizites gone so badly?"

Samantha marched up to join them, and she stomped her feet as she did. She also kept a hand on her sword hilt, inviting several of the more massive demons around Pokala to join their queen's side.

"Our home is gone, you worthless demon!" she said. Jon stuck out his arm to block her, and she pressed against it, staring at Pokala and her demons, teeth bared in a snarl. "It's... it's all gone. Gone! Fuck you, you fucking—"

"Samantha!" Jon stepped in front of her, and shoved her back. "Be silent."

One of the larger demons stepped out of the crowd, not far from Pokala.

"The Valley is gone?" Laughing, he slammed a foot of claws and weight against the stone, causing the cave to rumble. "Perfect. Let's—"

"Vekaal, be silent," Pokala said, with the same inflection Jon used with Samantha. It earned an eyebrow raise from Jon, and he looked between the two demons.

"Why?" Vekaal said. "Let's kill these fools, and—"

Unlike Jon, content to stop Samantha with an arm and a harsh word, Pokala seemed intent on making a point. She held out an open hand toward the enormous brute, and closed it on nothing. The air around Vekaal distorted, as if Jon was looking through water, and then, the beast fell to his knees, choking on a stifled roar.

"That is the second time, Vekaal. You have one more offense. Do you understand?" She continued to hold her hand out, and the beast struggled to breathe, as if something was crushing his insides. Something probably was.

"Y-Yes... my... queen."

With a sigh, the demoness lowered her hand. Vekaal started gasping, coughing, and unlike the masked queen, he had a normal demon face, a cross between a jackal and dragon. It was easy to see the pained, wheezing expression, and following look of submission.

Pokala could not use her magics so easily on humans, and especially not on knights of Tanderous, but that didn't mean she couldn't at all. He'd dealt with it before. She was also brutally strong, far stronger than the supple figure would suggest. Defeating her, here, in battle, surrounded by her brood, was not possible.

"You are serious, Jonathan? And your knight speaks truth? The Valley is gone?"

He turned his head to the side, unable to look the demoness in the face; or mask, or whatever it was. "The Beizites overwhelmed the valley, when we were out on patrol. It, and everyone in it, is gone. I swear it is truth, upon Janavere herself."

Again, everyone went silent. The imps at Jon's feet stared up at him, eyes wide, mouths open. Many of the demons looked to Pokala, waiting for her word. Some whispers broke the silence, demons far in the back speaking to each other. No doubt some were considering attacking Jon and his knights, and some would consider it a good time to challenge Pokala for daring to entertain humans; hopefully her easy defeat of Vekaal would prevent an immediate uprising. The last thing Jon wanted was for his knights to die, but it was a very real possibility. Come to Pokala's domain, and risk their lives, or try and survive out in the wilderness, and guarantee their deaths. Neither option was a good one.

Tension began to build. He could feel it in his muscles and bones, see it in the body language of his knights, see it in the demons and their widening smiles. The only humans that remained, for hundreds of miles, were the knights in their domain. The Valley was gone. Nothing could stop the demons if they wanted to destroy them. Except for Pokala.

"Your life for the safety of your knights, you say?" Pokala said, stepping in closer.

"... yes."

"Your life is in my hands already, brave Sir Knight."

He frowned, took a step toward her, and grit his teeth until he felt his jaw click painfully. "You can kill us, though we won't die easy. I'm offering an alternative. I... I am yours, Pokala. As long as you do not request that I harm humans or servants of Janavere, I... will do whatever you ask of me. In return, I ask for sanctuary for my Wall Knights."

"Oh my." Chuckling, she ran a claw down the inner contours of one of her breasts, before tapping the chin of her mask with it. "Sanctuary. For how long?"

"Until they decide to leave, or old age takes them."

She tapped her chin several times more, and let her army chatter. Many made suggestions, though hushed, seeking to keep their voices mixed with the crowd. Some wanted to eat them. Some wanted to cast them out. Some wanted to enslave them. Some were curious about them. Most of what the two races had seen of each other were skirmishes, border wars, and a few deaths. They didn't mingle. Curiosity was understandable, though Jon suspected most of that was simply a curiosity of how they'd taste.