The Rivals Ch. 05: Orgy of Death

The innkeeper hurried out to greet them, assurances of Zretha's comfort spilling from his lips as he led them inside, a porter following behind with their gear.

Sligh charmed the man with his manners, admiring the complex and expressing sympathy for the lack of business. "It must be hard for you, here on the edge of the wilderness. You are a brave man."

The innkeeper beamed. "Most kind of you to say so, Goodman. But we manage out here. When the caravans come... And of course with the Election in a few days we're expecting to receive some of the overflow from the City." His eyes glowed as he spoke.

Sligh let him talk, while Avilia watched. Now that she knew his history, she recognised the easy charm and confidence of the born aristocrat. In most people, that was something she resented, but Sligh wore the manner like an easy coat, to put on when needed and discard afterwards.

His lean brown face responded to everything the innkeeper said, expressing sympathy and excitement at the appropriate moments. It was evident within moments that the innkeeper had been won over.

Is this how he charmed me? Avilia thought back on their earliest meetings. No, she decided, his approach with her had been different. Sincere? She found it hard to say. Through all his teasing and flirting, it was impossible to distinguish what was sincere from what was not.

Not that she was a stranger to flirting. Men and women had tried to charm her since she was old enough to fuck, and she'd taken what she wanted and brushed the rest off.

It was Sligh's revelation about his past, she realised. He's a Margrave. A fucking Margrave! No matter how long he'd been slumming it -- although a post as private secretary to a Duke or a Prior wasn't really slumming it, she thought sourly -- he always had a way out. There was always the possibility of reconciling with his family and living comfortably in modest wealth, as he'd called it.

What happens if he tires of this life? If he tires of me? Just at the thought of losing him now it was as if a vast abyss had opened up before her. She tried telling herself it was nonsense, that he wasn't hers to lose in the first place. And even without him life would go on.

Even so, she felt a strong urge to run. Put as much distance as possible between herself and that looming blackness, go back to life with just herself and Farflier.

It was a frightening thought, and one she ought to examine more closely soon. Just now, though, despite her fears, what she wanted was to get Sligh somewhere private and fuck his brains out.

"A room," she said, interrupting the men's conversation. "A room, a bath, food. We've been on the road for days."

The innkeeper tore his gaze away from Sligh and called to a servant before beginning to apologise. Sligh turned his eyes on Avilia. She wondered whether he could see the hunger in hers.

Suddenly a shout from outside drew the innkeeper's attention. He stepped into the courtyard and called, then turned back to Avilia and Sligh.

"My apologies, but I must attend to this. A most eminent guest -- most eminent -- is approaching." And he hurried off, leaving them standing in the entrance hall with their packs and Avilia's weapons at their feet.

It was, Avilia admitted to herself, worth having to wait. Through the gate rode a small cavalcade, horses and riders both bedecked in silk and gold. Their leader was tall, handsome and confident, dressed in the finest travel clothes she'd ever seen.

The innkeeper was fawning over him, holding his stirrup as he dismounted. "Welcome, Your Grace, we're so pleased to have you with us again. We hadn't hoped to see you, with the Election so close."

His Grace gave a condescending nod. "I've just been out for a bit of hunting, Dodel. Look after the horses and get me wine and something light to eat. I'll be heading into the city tonight."

Without a second glance he strode inside, stopping abruptly before Avilia.

For a moment she wondered what was wrong, and then she realised. While they waited for the innkeeper -- Dodel -- to return, she'd picked up her spear and started inspecting its edge. It was pointing in the direction of the newcomer. He stared at her, eyes wide but unafraid, even after she slowly leaned the weapon against the wall.

This close, his youthful caramel face was too perfect. The kind of perfection that could only be achieved with expensive artifice, and perhaps magic. The kind of perfection that left the observer with the feeling of looking at a statue.

The smile that appeared on it did nothing to dispel this illusion. "A dangerous woman! And such a beauty." He spoke with the confidence of a man whose nose had never been punched. Beside her, Avilia could feel Sligh bristling.

Before she could reply, the stranger bowed, with the manner of someone who'd never had to bow for real. "Allow me to present myself, dangerous lady. I am Prince Nemez, son of the late Archduke Nemez, and..."

He continued talking, but Avilia wasn't listening. She fought to keep her face straight, to stop herself from looking at Sligh. Nemez! They could end this whole situation here and now. Grab my spear. One jab, that's all it will take!

But then his followers were inside the inn, babbling and milling around with a fragile kind of cheerfulness. Nemez was distracted by one of the women in his party, in an unlikely hunting dress of green silk.

Avilia turned to Sligh, who shrugged. They retrieved their packs and were heading to the common room to wait for Dodel to find time for them, when Nemez called out.

"Dangerous lady, wait!"

They halted and turned.

Nemez was looking her over from head to toe and back. "I have enemies, people who might want to harm me. I am not sure who to trust. Come with me as my bodyguard." From his tone, he was accustomed to getting what he wanted.

Avilia could barely believe her ears. Perhaps it will be this simple after all. One stab... Not only that, but the gaping hole that had appeared to loom before her now seemed to retreat. Again forcing herself not to look at Sligh, Avilia smiled. "I'd be honoured, Your Grace."

===

Sligh slumped down on the wide sill by the window. Outside Nemez's cavalcade was disappearing into the distance, heading uphill towards Taridhol.

With Avilia riding beside the Prince.

Jealousy swelled up inside him. Ever since the Prince's astonishing offer downstairs, and Avilia's eager acceptance, Sligh had felt dazed. Like he'd been kicked in the gut -- no, he realised, just above the gut.

He hadn't managed to speak with her before she rode off on a borrowed horse, and she'd only looked at him once. Her glance was clearly meant to convey meaning, that she was taking the chance to get close to their target. But Sligh had seen something more. A hint of guilt, like a lover caught in a betrayal.

Rationally he understood that Avilia had simply seized the opportunity. He told himself that he'd imagined it. Even so, it was impossible to shake the feeling that she'd simply moved on to the next man. The next powerful, incredibly handsome, immensely wealthy man.

Running into Avilia that night in Arnhol had brought back memories, and sent a thrill running through him that was entirely new. Their subsequent robbery of the mausoleum had reestablished the connection they'd previously had -- the easy banter, the sexual tension, the comfortable way of working together.

After the robbery he'd been worried about her wound, even after Terena had placed her bloodmark on his chest, had threatened to send Zretha to the Arena for the Death Games. His relief when she returned, healed and concerned for his safety, had been mixed with feelings he'd never known.

The ride across the plain had been both torturous and exhilarating, and he'd been looking forward to a night at the inn. He recalled the flavour of her cream on his finger, and for an instant he hated himself for not dragging her off Zretha's back and fucking her there and then by the roadside.

Despite his anger, his jealousy, he felt himself swelling in his breeches. That hard body, those small breasts... They'd fucked once before, and explored each other's bodies a few times, and he could vividly picture her in her mind, just as he could recall her scent, her taste, her voice.

Slowly undressing, he let his mind fill with the memories and added new scenes of his own imagination. Avilia face down on the bed, while I kiss her back all the way down to her arse. She'll spread her legs to let me slide my tongue down her crack, probe at her hole...

By the time he was naked -- his eyes and mind staying carefully away from the red mark on his chest -- his cock was almost pulsing. Moving to the side room, he found the steaming bath that Dodel had promised. A row of vials held stimulating oils, and he selected one that smelled of jasmine to add to the hot water.

After the past week, his muscles welcomed the soothing heat. He deliberately made them relax one by one, until only his rigid cock was hard. The oil in the water let his hand glide smoothly along his shaft.

Outside the spring sun was swallowed by the horizon and the sky turned purple. Sligh wondered whether he should have lit a lamp, then decided the dark suited his mood for now. He closed his eyes and let his mind fill with thoughts of Avilia.

Suddenly he became aware of that sense of being watched. Pond of Reflection, he thought. The spell allowed a sorcerer to see and hear what was happening, but only at one location. That was why they'd gone unobserved while they were travelling.

Aloud, he said, "Well, there's finally something for you to see. I hope you don't mind that I'm alone, though."

The unseen eyes were intent on him as he continued to stroke his cock. He'd been right about Princess Terena: beneath her cool exterior she was easily seduced.

Even so, it was a surprise when the air in the room shimmered and a cloaked figure suddenly appeared before him in the shadows. It took all Sligh's will to remain still, hand moving rhythmically up and down his shaft. Squawking and splashing around would place his visitor in control.

For a long time neither spoke. Sligh continued to stroke his cock softly, lying back in the water with his eyes closed. Let her make the first move.

Terena broke the silence. "Where is your companion?"

Sligh took his time to answer. In my mind she's on the bed, her legs spread wide with one finger stroking her arse as I lick at her slit. At length he opened his eyes and looked at the shadowy figure. "Not here."

"I can see that!" she snapped. "Who is she, and where did she go?"

"No-one. A mercenary." Sligh kept his voice casual. The visible distance between himself and Avilia that first night would support his lie. "You'll be pleased to know that she's attached herself to your uncle. We might not even need the plan I've made."

He hoped so. It wasn't much of a plan.

Sensing that Terena was about to ask more questions, he gave another tug at his cock. The words that had been forming on her lips died away as her attention turned to what his hand was doing.

Thoughts of Avilia still filled his mind, but he kept his gaze fixed on Terena's shadowed face. He knew it wouldn't be long before he released, but he wanted to get her as bothered as he could.

When one of her hands gripped at her thigh through the material of her robe he knew she was feeling it. "Do you like to watch?" he asked.

She didn't reply, but he could hear her breathing. The fingers on her leg were rubbing up and down in short motions, as if they wanted to explore higher but she was keeping them under control.

"You like my cock, don't you?" Sligh continued. "Imagine what it would feel like. Imagine having it in your hands. Imagine sucking it." In his mind he pictured Avilia's head bobbing up and down, like when she'd sucked him off in the tomb.

Except for the small movements of her hands, the Princess stood motionless, as if afraid to move and break the spell. Sligh angled his hips and raised his cock all the way out of the water. It glistened from the oily moisture.

"Watch closely," he whispered. "Here it comes."

Recalling his brief taste of Avilia's pussy, he moved his hand faster and faster until it was a blur. His climax came suddenly, shooting along his cock and exploding from it in a squirt of white cream. He heard himself grunt and his hips dropped back into the water. Another jet of cream spurted out and shot over the rim of the tub.

Slowing his hand, he closed his eyes and squeezed his cock. More cum leaked out and dripped over his hand into the bathwater. He could hear Terena's heavy breathing, and for a moment he wondered whether she'd given in to the need to touch herself. He decided it was too much effort to open his eyes and look.

A long moment of silence followed. Then Terena spoke again. "You have two more days. On the morning of the third Nemez must be dead." Her voice was throaty. "But if you're alive after..."

Sligh opened his eyes at that. The tip of her tongue was running over her lips. "I'll be alive," he replied with more confidence than he felt. "And I look forward to making you feel alive too."

If things went wrong it might make some small difference to have a powerful sorceress lusting after him.

===

At sunset two days later the Margrave of Sui Ra entered the Imperial Palace, followed by a stocky bodyguard and two liveried servants.

The transformation from travel-stained nobody to elegant nobleman had been an easy one. A visit to a venerable banking house had yielded the necessary silver, after he'd identified himself to the satisfaction of a grim-looking merchant and his suspicious mage.

A room at a quality inn might have been difficult to find, with the city filling up for the election. But Sligh had connections, and knew of exclusive guesthouses unknown to most travellers, or even people who'd lived in Taridhol their whole life.

An easy smile and several handfuls of silver later, he'd had a small army of barbers, tailors, hatters, bootmakers, jewellers and other assorted moneymakers fitting him out in the very finest. The landlady, having expressed commiseration at Sligh's tale of being attacked by bandits, arranged for a manservant and a bodyguard to replace the loyal retainers who, he bemoaned, had died out on the plain.

Now all he had to do was find and kill Prince Nemez. The man who'd hired Avilia as his bodyguard.

Sligh knew -- or at least hoped, against his jealousy -- that she'd seize any opportunity that presented itself to do the job for him. The fact that the Palace wasn't in an uproar indicated that Nemez was still alive -- and hopefully that she hadn't been thwarted in an attempt and executed.

Worry made him quicken his pace, and soon his burly but short bodyguard was struggling to keep up with his long strides. Sligh forced himself to slow down. It wouldn't do to appear as anything other than a mildly interested nobleman from far away, no different from the dozen or others he saw wandering the halls trying not to look impressed.

He'd visited the Imperial Palace once before, a long time ago, when he attended his mother at court. It was as he remembered it: a complex of galleried corridors connecting lush courtyards and gardens. The early spring air was funnelled through the halls to create a soft breeze that carried the scents of blossoms and herbs.

The decorations were subtle. Shallow reliefs carved into walls, doors and ceilings portrayed scenes from story and legend, or simpler floral images, or even just abstract patterns. The occasional highlight in gold, silver or mother-of-pearl caught the eye and drew it to a particular feature of design or architecture.

The effect was calming, but the scale of it all hammered home the wealth and power of its makers to bring together all these ingredients to recreate Empire in this one spot.

A practised eye could identify the craftsmanship and the quality and diversity of the materials used. Different types of wood from all over the Empire, red gold from the South Reach, polished and cut gemstones from the Spice Isles. Tapestries and hangings were knotted and weaved from fine wool and silk by hands from half a dozen regions, a score of cities, countless villages.

Any other day, Sligh would have been happy to wander the halls, courtyards and gardens and simply take it all in. Today, however, he had little thought to spare. His life, and quite possibly Avilia's, depended on careful planning and swift action.

The trouble was, he admitted to himself, he had no plan. It was nearly a week since the bloodmark had been placed on his chest, and all he'd done was think about Avilia. She was a distracting presence, but as long as she was nearby he didn't mind.

Now that she was gone he found it impossible to keep her out of his thoughts, and he resented it. He swung from worry to jealousy to anger and back. The result was that he hadn't managed to plan beyond entering the Palace, and that made him angry at Avila again.

He found a major domo who instructed a servant to find him modest quarters -- modest by the standards of the Empire's nobility, large and lavish compared with Sligh's life since the University.

Leaving his servant and the stocky bodyguard behind, he went to explore, hoping that a plan would come to him. In particular he scouted for tall towers with easy access: if Avilia needed a quick escape, she could whistle for Farflier and let the roc carry her to safety.

He was approaching the front of the Palace when he became aware of voices approaching from around the corner. One of them sounded familiar. Finding a shadowed spot behind a broad column, he waited for the group to pass.

As the others turned the corner, the familiar voice became clear. Nemez. Sligh peered out, his heart pounding.

The arrogance that had been on display at the inn now covered the Prince like a cloak. Dressed in a flowing gown of golden silk over a simple tunic of grey, he marched as if borne along on the adulation of a crowd. That the crowd consisted of one man hiding in the shadows didn't seem to bother him.

He was talking to -- or at -- a shorter man with a paunch in the clothes of an important servant, who hurried along, listening and nodding as Nemez gave instructions for what seemed like a feast.

Close behind them came a tall, slim figure in a tailored white uniform trimmed with gold. She bore a short spear in her hand and a scowl that seemed to be addressed as much at the man before her as at the world in general.

His blood pounded in his ears. Forcing himself to breathe normally, he fought to keep from betraying his presence in the shadows. She's safe! he thought, and then, I have just this night to kill Nemez.

Despite his self-control he must have moved. Avilia's head came round and for the briefest of instants their eyes met. Then she looked away again, scanning the corridor ahead.

Was that the tiniest misstep? She hadn't betrayed any sign of recognition, of even knowing he was there. He recalled when they'd met unexpectedly in Duke Gharre's chambers. She hadn't shown any emotion then either.

His eyes stayed on her as she followed the Prince down along the corridor. The sight of her plump arse in those tailored breeches brought a familiar stirring to his cock. I should have seized my chance out on the plain.

He was about to step out from behind his column and follow the small group when he became aware that someone else was coming. It was a large man dressed in a servant's livery, straining to carry a large wooden box with a curious mark, one that Sligh recognised instantly.

Watching the cursing man pass, Sligh tried to calm the blood pounding in his veins. By the Skies, what's Nemez up to?