The Demon Queen's Tower Pt. 05

The clatter of dice was followed by the clink of gold passing from one scaly palm to another. The two guards, crouched on the floor just outside the stairs leading down to the dungeons had spent some time jacking their cocks to the sounds of fucking coming from below, but after that had quieted down, they'd taken to the second favorite pastime of guards everywhere: gambling.

"Ah, fuck ye," grunted the first devil. "Thine dice are loaded, poltroon!"

"Suck mine cock, stinkard," growled the second demon, gathering the glittering gold to him, admiring the strange faces of long-dead and half-human Atlantean kings that stared coldly up from the ancient coins. "Thou had confidence in the dice when their numbers favored thee!"

Further arguments were curtailed by the metallic groan of the ancient hinges on the heavy, iron-bound door that barred the way to the dungeons. The two guards glanced up and saw the robed and hooded figure of the Wizard, unsteady on his bony limbs, leaning half-out of the opened door. His eyes were lowered, the hood pulled low, and his long silver hair hung heavily over his face.

"Ho there, Wizard!" said the first guard. "Hast thou taken thine fill of barbarian cock already?"

"You weary more swiftly than I remember!" laughed the second guard. "In truth, you must be feeling poorly! Time was thou wouldst have tarried all day in thine work, happy as a hog at his trough!" The figure swayed a bit, but said nothing.

"Or perhaps Ormgard has sent thee off?" said the first guard.

"Aye, she's jealous of her toys!"

"Come," rasped the wizard, his voice low and hoarse, as if he were losing it to a cold. "Follow!" He beckoned with a hand, then vanished down the stairs.

"What?" grunted the first guard. "Abandon our post, held in infernal trust to the Lady Zzaral?"

"Mayhaps they have new games they would play?" said the second guard, the fiery coals of his eyes kindling brighter as he imagined the scene. "With us!"

"Aye, and we should hurry at that," said the first, getting quickly to his crooked feet, goat-legs thumping rapidly as he hustled to the door. His compatriot hurried after him.

They stumped down the stairs, the robed figure of the wizard flickering ahead of them like a restless ghost, leading them down to the dungeon. At the bottom of the stairs, beyond the hissing torches guttering in the damp air, the figure turned to face them.

"Hurry!" it croaked, then disappeared down the hall.

"Order us not, wizard," grumbled the first guard. "These stairs are murder upon mine knees!"

"Tis quiet down here," muttered the second guard as they reached the bottom of the stairs. He peered over the shoulder of the first and squinted into the darkness.

"They'll be making noise soon enough, eh?" said the first, elbowing his companion. "Come on!" They hurried down the hall, their hooves clattering noisily against the stone floor. The wizard stood just beyond the cell where they'd stowed the new barbarian. His head was still lowered, his face hidden behind the hood and the long, lank locks of his silver hair. He gestured towards the door as the guards drew near. The cell opposite was dark, the three figures dim and distant in the shadows. The guards glanced at them, then turned their attention to the barbarian's cell.

"What's this Ormgard?" laughed the first. "Thou sleeps the sleep of the well-fucked!"

"And who is that, chained and waiting for us?" asked the second, adjusting his scaly cock. As they peered through the bars, the figure turned its head, and they saw Amblach the Wizard, his nose bloody and a rough fuzz of stubble on his head where his silver hair had been roughly shorn.

"By the Devil's balls!" grunted the first guard. "What --"

His question was cut short as death erupted from the cell behind them. The three figures hadn't been chained at all; the barred door swung wide and out they leapt, eyes burning with the light of battle. Aznar, the knife gripped expertly in his hand, slammed into the guard in front of him. He yanked his head back and swiftly ripped the knife across his throat. With a gurgle and a spray of blood, he slumped to the ground, dying.

Dhurzinal and Charga were unarmed, but they had the element of surprise and the strength of desperation in their favor. They grappled the other guard, trying to pin his arms and kick his legs out from beneath him. But his infernal strength was to much -- he shook them off with a curse and a roar, and reached for his sword.

But he was too late. Aznar now had the other guard's sword, and he flew into his opponent with such snarling fury that the devil felt fear for the first time in its thousand-year life. He stumbled back, fumbling with his blade, trying clumsily to parry Aznar's savage attack. An arc of steel and death was suddenly before him, and sparks flew from their weapons as they struck at one another. The guard tripped over Charga, who had flung himself to the floor, and Aznar leapt forward with a shout of triumph. His sword descended, bright and shining, and rose black with the devil's hot blood. With a gasp of pain, the second guard died.

"A fine blow!" said Hramath, peering out from behind the screen of silver hair that was held to his forehead with candlewax.

"Well done Aznar!" said Dhurzinal, helping Charga to his feet.

"And quiet too," agreed Aznar. "Didn't even get a chance to call for help."

"They were alone in the guard room," said Hramath. "I think we've got a clear path to the front gate."

"There were guards there too," said Aznar, remembering his ascent to the Chamber of Zzaral high overhead in the fortress. "It was one thing to lure these idiots down here," he said, kicking at the corpse at his feet. "I doubt we'll be able to draw the wardens away."

"How many did you see?" asked Charga.

"Only two, but the main hall before the door is large, and they'll see us coming and be ready. It'll be a fight." He crouched and lifted the second guard's sword, holding it towards the two other muscular young men. Charga shook his head.

"I'm a student," he said, "and swordplay is not something I've studied. Better give it to Dhurzinal."

"I've some skill," said the nobleman, taking the blade. "But regardless, like you said, Aznar: better to die fighting for freedom than here in this dungeon."

"I'll keep the robe," said Hramath, "but I think I'll shed this hair, if we're done with disguises for now."

Charga and Dhurzial both took the red cloaks of the guards, and Hramath kept the black robe of the wizard. Aznar remained naked, his broad shoulders and muscular body proudly displayed. He and Dhurzial, armed with swords, lead the way up the stairs, Hramath and Charga coming behind. They paused and listened carefully at the head of the stair, but all was silent -- the guard post beyond was empty.

"Through there," said Aznar as they stepped into the room, "is the main hall. To the left, a few dozen yards away, is the great double doors that must lead outside."

"What shall we do if we make it beyond the guards and to our freedom?" asked Dhurzial. "Where even are we?"

"When I was in the tower, being led to Zzaral, I saw the country around here through the windows, and I have a pretty good idea where we're at: the mountains on the east side of the Great Amuran River. I know this country a little and can get us to safety eventually. But, as you say, if we get outside all right, we may be in for a chase. Luckily the wizard is shackled, but who knows what other horrors may lurk here?"

"We'll just have to run for it, and hope for the best," said Charga.

"It doesn't matter," said Hramath. "Just let me feel the wind on my face one last time, and I can die a happy man." Aznar clapped the withered and supernaturally aged man on the shoulder, and nodded his agreement.

The four men crept to the outer door. Cracking it open a hair, Aznar peered out into the wide, vaulted chamber before him. The far door was huge and heavy, crafted of enormous slabs of cold stone and held firmly shut by a vast beam of mountain cedar.

And the guards were as formidable as the door the protected -- huge, even by demon standards, and more heavily armored than those Aznar had just slain in the dungeons below. They bore huge spears and heavy shields in addition to the swords strapped to their sides. The fight would be brutal, he knew, and he wasn't sure they'd all survive. He was an experienced warrior, but even he'd have to be fast and lucky if he wanted to quickly kill one of the demons. If Charga and Dhurzial couldn't keep the other occupied, even for a little while, he knew he wouldn't have a chance.

"We'll charge," whispered Aznar. "I'll take the one on the right, and you three try for the one on the left. Don't get yourselves killed stupidly -- just keep him occupied while I slay mine, then together we'll gut the other one. We'll have to be fast though. Any more of them, and we're goners for sure. Move quick and stay alert!" The three men nodded, their faces drawn and hard with tension. "On my signal..." he said. He reached for the door and took a deep breath.

And the sound of gong split the quiet of the fortress, a deep brass echo that dripped down from high overhead. The men stopped, and looked around. Charga looked scared, and Dhurzial gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

"An alarm?" he asked, shivering. Aznar looked through the crack in the door, and cursed in wonder.

"Look," he hissed. "The guards by the door are leaving their post!" He stepped back, and the three leaned forwards, head over head, to peek out the door.

"They're heading for the far door!" said Hramath.

"They've been summoned to the Audience Chamber in the tower!" said Dhurzinal.

"Maybe we haven't been forgotten by the gods after all!" exclaimed Charga. The three turned to look at Aznar, who shook his head doubtfully.

"I distrust coincidence," he said, scowling, "especially in this den of devilry." He took a breath and thought. "But it's a chance. Perhaps they're changing the guards, and who knows how long this window will stay open?" He crouched to look through the door. "There they go, through the tower door -- and it's closed behind them. Fine! Let's take our chance!" He swung the door wide and leapt into the hall.

A quick scan of the room confirmed that they were alone in the great hall. Their steps rang against the tiles as they ran, barefoot, towards freedom. At any moment, Aznar expect to hear a shout of challenge and the ringing of drawn swords, but there was nothing, and they reached the door with its great cedar beam without any trouble.

"Put your backs into it," growled Aznar, heaving against the heavy wooden shaft, a foot wide and fifteen feet long, dense and hard as steel. They strained, muscles rippling, veins throbbing, but it wouldn't move, wouldn't even budge!

"Goddammit!" groaned Dhurzial. "It's too heavy!"

"There's some sorcery afoot," hissed Aznar through clenched jaw and grinding teeth, straining impossibly against the barrier. "The four of us should at least be shifting it some!"

Cold, cruel laughter rippled through the air behind them, mirthless and full of scorn. The men spun around, swords at the ready, and gazed around the empty hall.

"What is it?" asked Charga, eyes bulging. "I don't see anyone!"

"Zzaral!" spat Aznar.

"Well spotted, barbarian!" came the musical answer, the voice rich and sultry. Suddenly, in the center of the room, a gout of green flame erupted from the floor. Parting the fire like a curtain, the lithesome form of the succubus Zzaral stepped out into the room, her gorgeous face and supple green-skinned body wreathed by her thick violet hair. "You see, I am not without mercy -- I thought your clever escape attempt deserved some reward, and so I called the guards away and let you reach the outer door."

"Playing with us for your own amusement," said Charga, his features paling. "Does your cruelty know no bounds?"

"You should know the answer to that, little scholar," laughed the succubus. She stood, her hands on the rolling curve of her full hips, and smiled wickedly at them.

Aznar sprang forward, his sword held high, prepared to split her hellish skull. She merely laughed, and with a cry Aznar cast his weapon aside. Green flames had suddenly licked its blade -- had he not released it, he was certain his hand would have been reduced to a charred stump in a matter of seconds. Behind him he heard the clatter of Dhurzinal's sword, and the smaller ringing fall of the knife that Charga had born. They were unarmed -- Zzaral's powers were beyond the reach of mortal weapons. She laughed again.

"Such silly little animals you are," she said, shaking her head. "So foolish! So weak! But, now, I'm afraid it's time to go back into your cages." She clapped her hands, and troops of demons erupted from the doors around the chamber, their weapons drawn, each grinning savagely.

The three men shrank against the unmovable door, sobbing out their despair. Aznar felt only the volcanic rage of the berserker building in his heart, the furious need to rend and kill those who sought to harm him. He would not be shackled again! He would throw himself on the devils as they came to take them away. Even without a weapon --

A thought, like a sudden cloudburst in the spring, cooled his titanic fury. He heard his blood pounding in his ears, felt the warm glow of sudden inspiration spreading through his body. He laughed suddenly, long and loud. The devils stopped, unsure, and even Zzaral's imperturbable face showed a hint of confusion.

"I'm glad you're taking you're defeat so well," she said. "Perhaps you're not as stupid as I thought you were."

"Bah!" said Aznar, spitting in disgust. "I'm laughing at all this!" he waved his arms over the assembled devils. "Look at these idiots, and you hiding behind them! You think you're some great demon, some mighty infernal creature destined for rulership and dominion in Hell? Ha! You're just a petulant, spoiled little princess!" The devils nearest him growled in rage and advanced, but Zzaral waved them back, stepping though their ranks to stand before the foolish mortal who had dared to insult her.

"What ever are you talking about, puny creature?" she said, her small, exquisitely proportioned body swaying gently. She was a few feet from him -- had she been a mere human, Aznar knew his steel-trap nerves and mighty thews could have propelled him forward to snap her neck before any of her guards could intervene. But he knew her devilish body was as fast and strong as it was desirable, and that a gambit like that had no chance of success. He doubted he could ever lay a hand on her, unless she wanted him too. He smiled condescendingly at her.

"I challenge you to a duel," he said. She cocked and eyebrow.

"What do you have that can challenge me?" she laughed. "I, an immortal demon, a very principle of evil, against what? A human? Don't waste my time!"

"Hmph," grunted Aznar, crossing his powerful arms across his broad chest. "I've never heard of a demon who would refuse a challenge." He saw her eyebrow twitch in annoyance.

"And what shall we do? Arm-wrestle for your freedom?" She said, her voice dripping with contempt. "Or do you wish to try your luck with the sword again."

"I would give you the advantage by choosing a weapon you are most familiar with," he said, lowering his arms to his sides and smiling.

"And what is that?"

"Sex!"

Her laugher began as a whisper, building to a throaty chuckle that rose to pour full and wild from her beautiful throat to fill the whole room. The sound of it was terrible as the flood rising from its banks to drown the countryside, the laughter of an evil ancient beyond humanity's reckoning. Her body shook alluringly as she laughed, and her bright red eyes flashed with all the cruel humor of Hell's darkest dreams.

"You would fuck me into submission?" she said, finally mastering herself enough to speak. "You, a rutting animal, prey to the weakness of flesh and your libido, against I, who have lived for a million years and shall live a million more? Would you try to outrun the wind, or out shine the stars? That is what you propose!" She stepped in and snarled up into his face. "You are nothing to me, who have fucked emperors and heroes and left them panting on the ground, begging for my embrace even as they withered to dust!"

"I don't doubt it," said Aznar, admiring her heaving breasts and the wonderful line of her clavicles above them. "I'm sure I'll never possess the technique or skills you do. But I have my own tricks, here and there, and what I propose is this: we will fuck, here and now, and whoever comes first, loses."

"Hm," she said, circling him, her hips swaying and her emerald skin bright and clear and supple. "And what, you propose that having made me come I allow you to leave?"

"Me and the others, too," he said, nodding. "Those are my terms."

"What do I get out of it?" she said, coming to stand in front of him again.

"I admit, very little," he said, shrugging. "But if you win I will accept my fate; no more escape attempts, ever. Plus," he said, slyly. "You will prove yourself not a craven coward, which is what I and all here would think of you, should you refuse." She snorted in derision, and shook her head.

"Fool," she said, shaking her head sadly. "No mortal has ever made me come!"

"I thought you seemed a little pent up," said Aznar, nodding. She hissed in anger, and then waved the demons back against the wall.

"Stay back," she commanded imperiously. "This won't take long, I assure you." The devils sheathed their swords and, with looks both doubtful and lecherous, shuffled back. Aznar turned and nodded at his companions.

"You all too, stay by the door," he said to them.

"Be careful!" said Dhurzinal. Aznar winked at him, and then turned.

She was already practically on top of him, sliding into his arms with an easy sinuous grace, one arm circling his lean muscular waist, the other wrapping around his powerful neck, pulling herself tightly against his body. Her thighs, round and wonderfully soft, pressed against him, one leg lifted against his, pulling their bodies together. Aznar grunted in surprise, then caught her body in his own arms, holding her tightly.

"You are doomed," she said huskily, her eyes half-lidded. Her full lips parted, and he dove into them for a kiss.

They were both naked, their skin pressed hot together. She was warm, warmer than a mortal body would have been, and it was a pleasant, buzzing heat that thrilled him wherever he touched her. He ran a hand over her perfectly sculpted and toned back, the skin soft and smooth under the palm of his hand. He ran another hand down her side, following the swale of her waist to the perfect rising curve of her hips. That elicited a deep growl from him -- he had a fondness for that location on women, the rounded hip and curved thigh, perfectly shaped to fit his hot hand. He gripped her hip and she ground into him, the violet hair of her mound soft as velvet against his steel-hard cock.

Her tongue flicked across his lips, begging him to taste her ruby lips. He ran his hands through her thick hair, and she leaned her head farther back, opening her mouth wide. He plunged his own tongue deep into her mouth, felt her stroking his plunging tongue with hers, tasting him deeply. She moaned up into his kiss, her hands roaming over his muscular back. She let her touch drift over his body, feeling the supple roll of muscles as he moved further into her embrace. She shimmied her hips slightly, rubbing his hard cock against her stomach. She couldn't wait to break him.

"Your cock is so hard," she pouted up at him, breaking their kiss. She crushed her breasts against his muscular chest and stroked his powerful ass with her delicate hands. "It's so big and hot! I can't wait to feel it inside me," she purred as she heaved her hips into his, faster than before, feeling his cock twitch in response. She grinned and then, slowly, dropped to her knees, her hands sliding down his abs to grip his muscular waist. "Let me suck this magnificent cock," she moaned, running her tongue delicately along his hips. She gripped the base of his cock and pressed it against her face. She gazed up at him, her eyes heavy and smoldering. "Please?" she begged. He laughed, and nodded.