The Demon Queen's Tower Pt. 01

A Strange Meeting in Barzal Pass

Arrows hissed overhead to splinter against the cold gray stones that loomed over his furious escape. He spurred his horse hard, crouching low in the saddle and cursing his luck. A patrol, this far out from the City, and one willing to chase him this deep into Barzal Pass? He knew he should have left an offering to Ulbaz, the Laughing God of Good Fortune, before he'd tried to rob the Blue Prince's palace!

He glanced back over his shoulder and scowled. There were still six of them, sparks flashing from the hooves of their fresh horses as he drove his own tired beast forward. They had powerful bows of horn and quivers full of arrows, and they knew that their lives were forfeit unless they captured the thief. He put his head down and urged his animal on, the whole time feeling a crawling, itching sensation in the small of his back, expecting at any moment to feel the bite of an arrow.

His horse scrambled around a corner, hooves clattering against the narrow granite gash in the great mountains as they crested the Pass. The night sky bloomed suddenly overhead, stars bright and hard and merciless against the blackness. He gave a hoarse shout of triumph. They'd reached the Maze, a part of the Pass where the road zig-zagged sharply around the recalcitrant boulders and debris left behind when the gods raised the mountains.

The Maze was his only chance - behind him he heard the shouts of the guards and the thundering rhythm of their horses, just out of sight beyond the curve in the road. He reined his horse hard, ignoring its whiny of complaint as it lurched suddenly to the left. They swung around a boulder and he stood tall in the saddle. Bows twanged in the dark, but the boulder was between him and his pursuers and they were shooting blind. He leapt off the animal and gripped the rough stone. He hung there, briefly, and then aimed a kick at his horse and, freed of its burden, it bolted into the dark. As he scrambled up the surface of the rock, he heard a shout; the guards had seen the dark shape of his fleeing beast, and they were surging after it.

He clung to the top of the boulder, splayed across its surface, watching his animal vanish into the boulder field of the Maze, followed shortly thereafter by the guards. He grinned hard and then, half climbing and half scrambling, he dropped from the rock and landed in a crouch on the far side of the boulder. He listened, but the sound of horses had vanished into the distance, and he heard only the night wind and his own breathing. He turned and, still grinning, began walking.

For most others, the situation would have been bleak - horseless, in the mountains, at night, with the guards of the Blue Prince both before and behind him. But for Aznar of Korth, it was all the chance he needed.

He was tall, well over six feet, and powerfully muscled - his limbs corded and hard-edged, his shoulders broad and his waist and loins lean. His square-cut mane of black hair blew in the wind, and the powerful set of his jaw and the glint of his black, smoldering eyes told of both the implacable will and the fiery recklessness that drove him. He wore a pair of leather breeches and a simple cotton shirt, and hanging from his belt was a broad-bladed sword sheathed in simple leather. He had no other gear - he had thrown everything else expect his weapon aside in his mad dash from the Palace into the mountains. But what would have been a death sentence to lesser men was of little concern to Aznar. He knew these mountains well, and though it would be lean travelling, he knew he could reach the valley four peaks away where a friendly hill tribe was spending the early spring.

In fact, he smiled, they were very friendly. He recollected their voluptuous matriarch, tall and full-figured, as well as the velvet mouths and silken thighs of the young warriors whom Aznar had helped usher into manhood. He felt his cock hardening at the memories, and he gripped its girthy heaviness beneath his leather breeches. He had already forgotten his failure at the Blue Prince's, and was looking forward to future conquests. He squeezed his cock and growled at the pleasure he felt.

Doubtless, his erotic remembrances were why he didn't notice the strange, robed man standing in his way. Aznar blinked, and his hand flashed off his cock and towards his sword.

The strange man was thin and willowy, wrapped in a voluminous black cloak. His long flowing hair shone silver in the starlight, the wild locks kept in order by a band of gold on his broad, smooth forehead. His eyes seemed to glow of their own accord, and a smile quirked his wide mouth.

"Where did you come from?" barked Aznar. The man shook his head.

"I watched your escape in the Glass of Seeing," he said. His voice was songlike and dreamy, but his eyes sparkled with dangerous mirth. "It was a skillful ruse, the trick with the boulder. And now I see that the clever man is something else also!" The thin man laughed. "You escaped death but a few moments ago, but already you fondle yourself, seeking the indolent satisfaction of self-pleasure? Are you that bold, or merely horny?"

"Ha!" laughed Aznar. "I am Aznar, once of Korth, a free warrior and adventurer! And I stroke my cock where I please, when I please!"

"Then show me," hissed the thin man, his eyes wide, admiring the shape of Aznar's cock beneath his leather breeches. "Stroke your cock now, for me."

With a rakish grin Aznar undid his breeches, and his cock sprang forth. It was half-hard, and growing rapidly. Aznar gripped its base and shook it towards the thin man.

"What do you think of that?" he growled. He stroked it slowly once, twice, and it soon reached its full, steely eight inches.

"You bear a mighty weapon, Aznar the Bold," said the thin man, licking his lips. Aznar laughed and spat into his hand, then gripped his cock and, with slow, steady rhythm, began to fuck his hand with an easy roll of his hips.

"You are not the first to say so," he said, sliding his cock in and out of his fist, squeezing the head as he pulled back, then thrusting it forward with a grunt.

"Your body," said the thin man, reaching beneath his own robe. Aznar heard the hunger in his voice, and saw the rhythmic movement beneath his clothes. The thin man was jacking his own cock as he watched Aznar do the same. "Show me your body!" Aznar laughed again. He undid his sword belt and set the weapon aside, still sheathed but within easy reach. Then he kicked off his short leather breeches and pulled the cotton shirt over his head. Save for his boots, he stood naked, gloriously so, clad only in his rich, red-brown skin. He heard the sharp intake of his admirer's breath, and felt the piercing, hot stare of his eyes as they roamed over his impressive physique.

"Well," said Aznar, hands on his hips. "What do you think?"

"Magnificent," hissed the thin man. Aznar's legs where powerfully muscled, the calves etched in marble, his thighs thick with long, hard muscles. The narrow taper of his waist sent shivers up the thin man's spine, and the muscular v-ridge framing his hard abs pointed directly towards his marvelous cock. The broad sweep of his chest begged to be kissed, his powerful shoulders and muscular arms licked. Aznar grinned and turned, showing the taut globes of his firm ass, the hard lines of his legs, and the perfect symmetry of his rolling, muscular back. The thin man groaned and whipped his robes open, revealing his own thinly muscular and perfectly hairless body. His long-fingered hand was a blur as he stroked his cock faster. "An incredible body!" he panted. "Such strength, such power! You have fucked much, haven't you?"

"Princes and priests, queens and whores," said Aznar, turning back to face the thin man. He gripped his hefty cock and began stroking it again. "I give and take my pleasure where I will, with those whom I will."

"Yes," moaned the thin man. With his other hand he reached down to roll his hairless balls in his palm. "You are built for fucking. Your body, your cock," he groaned again. "Tell me!" he begged suddenly, his bright eyes staring hard at Aznar's cock. "Tell me who last you fucked with that mighty cock, Aznar! Tell me who last was blessed to worship you!"

"This cock was last between the lips of the King of Dramanth and his wife, Queen Larazala," groaned Aznar, remembering the scene.

"Tell me," begged the thin man, thrusting forward into his own hand.

"I was a mercenary in his army," said Aznar, "and the best swordsman by far, so he brought me in for private fencing lessons. But when we were exercising I saw the way he watched me. Like you, he couldn't get enough of my body." Aznar curled his bicep, the rocky muscle bulging as he flexed. He slapped the thick slabs of muscle on his chest and grinned.

"You seduced him with you powerful body," groaned the thin man.

"That's right," growled Aznar. "At first he could only stare, but then I made him feel me, made him feel my body. He gripped my thighs, moaned as he felt the muscles of my back and arms. He was terrified at first, but the lust was too strong and soon he couldn't get enough! He ran his hands all over my body, then his tongue, tasting every inch of my muscles."

"Yessss," hissed the thin man. "You're a man - such a man, strong and hard! That's what he wanted, to feel a man's body, a man's muscles, a man's cock!" He thrashed his head, gripping his cock harder as he spoke.

"That's right," moaned Aznar, fucking his own fist as he remembered. "I gave it to him to, made him worship my cock and my body. Then I made him bring in his young wife, the new queen!"

"Was she beautiful?" panted the thin man, hunching forward.

"Skin like ebony, graceful as a deer! She laughed to see her mighty king before me, sucking my cock! She held his head down, and I fucked his face while I kissed her, licked her neck and sucked her marvelous tits! He jacked his cock the whole time, too! I felt him come on my legs as he sucked my cock, running his hands over my thighs as he did. Then I made him beg me to fuck his wife, beg me to fuck his gorgeous queen while he watched."

"He wanted to see another man, a powerful man with a perfect body, fuck his wife," moaned the thin man.

"That he did!" laughed Aznar. "And I obliged him. I fucked her hard! Her pussy was wet, and tight, and her legs long. She wrapped them around my waist as I plowed into her. I gripped her waist, held her perfect breasts in my hands, and we kissed deeply as we fucked."

"What did he do," panted the thin man. "What did the king do as you fucked his wife? As you fucked his Queen?"

"Jacked his cock, of course!" roared Aznar. "He loved my body, loved his wife's body, how could he not get hard again watching me fuck her, hearing her moan and scream my name, begging for the last inch of my cock! He played with my balls, licked them and felt my power as I made his queen come and come again! Then they kneeled before me, and I pressed their faces together, made them kiss, and I slid my cock between their lips!" Aznar slammed his hips forward; he felt the come rising in his own balls, felt his cock throbbing with the need for release. "One pair of hands they held chastely together, like King and Queen. But with their other hands they gripped my ass as I thrust my cock between them, their tongues whipping and lashing against me as I came!" With a shout, Aznar pumped a stream of hot come out, arcing three feet to splash against the cold rocks. Another rope, and another, and another spurted from his powerful cock. The thin man gasped and moaned.

"Come, come, come," he whined, gripping his own thin cock as he pumped his come out to mingle with Aznar's on the ground between them, imagining the scene, imagining the muscular god before him being worshipped by man and wife alike. Aznar, his chest heaving, leaned back against the boulder, his cock sagging in his grip. The thin man, panting, watched him admiringly.

"Magnificent," he said, finally.

"You liked that?" grinned Aznar.

"Yes indeed," he nodded. "You'll do nicely!" With that, he waved his hand and muttered a strange series of eerie, alien words. His come, splashed out on the ground, glowed green and then burned like violet fire. Aznar gasped and reached for his sword, and then the world erupted in bright, blinding light, and he remembered no more.