The Saga of Tallia the Unwilling Ch. 03

Disclaimer: Everyone is over eighteen. If you are not deeply into fantasy pulp fiction, gender fluidity and pansexuality, you are in the wrong place. This chapter also features drug use as well as plenty of sex and violence. This should not be taken as encouragement to take drugs in real life. In fact, none of what Tallia does should be taken as an encouragement to action. Tallia is not a role model. So, some friendly advice -- don't charge into the maw of demon bears, consort with devil-swords or three-eyed wizards, or do drugs. Except for single malt scotch of course. Scotch rules.

BEHOLD! I, Thutmose-Neferkare, royal scribe, chief librarian and high priest of the divine Ra do return unto ye once more with the third scroll in "The Saga of Tallia the Unwilling". Alas, that I must begin this scroll by speaking unto thee, my good and faithful disciples, that I have had to put unto death some of my sub-priests for their many crimes against the gods and for, yay, being shiftless, lazy jackasses who hath greatly pissed off my most exalted self.

Why was this regrettable action necessary? They hath posted statements upon the Sacred Wall of Thoth (often going by that most despicable and deceitful of names -- anonymous) that have both besmirched the honor of myself and the accuracy of these sacred scrolls. Note well, that I have never claimed that this work is one hundred percent historically infallible. Lo, didst I not forewarn ye even before the first scroll that there art problematic claims herein? Yay, go forth and check for thine self. You will find it is so, lo, even unto the ending of the age.

But when they claimed that this work is wholly a baseless and fraudulent work of most prurient bull droppings -- they hath gone too far! Indeed, some even bespoke that these scrolls must be naught but lies because the events herein could not possibly be written down since they predate the invention of writing itself. Those people only prove themselves to be heretics who even now are being sodomized most roughly and eternally by our baboon-headed master. Yay, Oh Great Thoth, thou forgoing the use of lubricants on these varlets is most just!

Noble readers, I bid thee put these villains far from thy minds and instead focus upon enjoying this forthcoming work. I hath read the finished translation entire and found it, verily, most hot. Praise the great monkey-headed god of learning who gave unto us all that is required to scribe upon papyrus tales most righteous and raunchy.

Yay, let them be written! Yay, let us be done!

Chapter Three: Hot, Risky Threesomes

Diagoras moved slowly up the stairs of the old ruin to the high tower where his master Arion Three-Eyes had made his private sanctum. This was the very heart of Arion's lair and soon to be the center of his newborn empire, or so his master claimed. The ascension was slow and painful. Like everyone in Arion's service for any length of time, Diagoras was no longer entirely human and he walked with a painful limp and hunched back upon cloven feet. His bald and leathery head was almost scaled sported a long white beard and was dominated by a pair of goat's horns. He entered the chamber of his master and finally dared speak. He bowed and averted his eyes, not daring to meet the gaze of the wizard.

"Your most ghastly and gargantuan grandiosity, I bear news," he groveled.

The wizard did not bother to turn towards his major domo and continued his work carefully, reducing and distilling some horrid concoction in a seething alembic. Arion Three-Eyes was a tall, bald man with high cheekbones and a hawkish nose. His demeanor, his countenance and his every manner spoke of old nobility used to being obeyed. His dress was simple and yet exquisite -- he wore only a black silk robe adorned with intricately tangled serpents of vibrant green brocade that struck out from the bottom hem. That was his only visible garment save for a simple sash and the occasional glimpse of his low boots as he paced about his horrific laboratory. And of course in the center of his forehead was a single closed third eye. "I am busy, Diagoras. My research has reached a critical phase. This had better be most important. You come perilously close with each passing second to wasting my time."

Diagoras was of course nervous talking to the wizard even after all this time. Such conversations could always go terribly wrong and result in pain or, worse, transformation. But he also recognized that this particular threat was not actually a threat. This was just Arion's manner of small talk. When Arion casually threatened your life, it was his way of showing that he cared.

"Forgive me, your most awful and exquisite omnipotence. Our spies in Jiu Shan have reported a girl with golden hair who asked the village elder about you most specifically, my most ruthless and resplendent ruler."

Arion paused. "Golden hair, you say? A foreigner in Jiu Shan -- most unusual. Did she give a name?"

"Leah or Liadora -- something like that, my most loathsome and loquacious lordship."

"Liandra!" exclaimed the wizard. "A name from the old kingdom -- no doubt! That must be one of those ridiculous sluts from the Temple of Love. So, they think to hunt me, do they? Fools! The best thing I ever did was abandon their decrepit realm and its frail, foolish king."

Diagoras, the sole servant who had been with Arion long enough to recall the time before their journey to his remote and ruined fortress, did not quite remember the events of that time that way, but who was he to correct the words of his master? Regardless, contradicting Arion was not a good long term survival strategy.

"Is she still there? Is she in the village?" asked the wizard, suddenly much more interested.

"No, my most terrific and terrifying tutelary. She sailed downriver towards Denggang supposedly to hire sell-swords."

"Sell-swords? She means to murder me? IN MY OWN SANCTUM!" Arion nearly shook with rage but finally regained his composure. "A most ridiculous scheme. She'll most likely end up with a knife in her back or the sex slave of some petty bandit chieftain. Still, it does not do to underestimate your foes. Hmmm... she sailed downriver you say?"

"Yes, your most nightmarish and numinous nobility."

"Then she'll likely return the same way," considered the wizard. "And we could deal with her and increase the security of our fortress in a single swift stroke by closing off access to the headwaters of the river Deng."

Arion scowled as he considered the implications of his own proclamation. He had been working for days on reducing the venom of the rare earth tiger spider into a form suitable for making a most painful and yet potent paralyzing poison gas. Now his efforts would be ruined! It was so frustrating that his work was so often thwarted by fools. Still, it did not do to lose one's composure. He could still torture people with his wonderful and decorative collection of acupuncture needles. But he had to admit, he had been looking forward to gassing some prisoners.

"Life's little disappointments," he muttered to only himself. "Only one thing will cheer me up now, Diagoras. Let's do some demon magic!" the wizard exulted.

"A most magnificent and malignant malefaction, your multifariously majestic and merciless monstrosity!" proclaimed Diagoras, totally caught up his master's sudden burst of enthusiasm.

"Don't I know it!" cried the wizard, his mind suddenly awhirl with diabolic doings, "Fetch me three slaves and three river vipers! And I'm going to need a big portal of rock coated in ... Do we have any blood left over from that thing last Thursday?"

"Used every drop, your most sordid and splendiferous sanguinity!"

"Four slaves then," the wizard paused, "And ... guys, Diagoras. She likes guys. It's not my preference, you understand. I of course prefer to work with women sacrifices. If it was up to me, this lab would be entirely lousy with lady blood. That's what does it for me. But you know, you have to make allowances when you are sort of dating a demon queen. That's the key to any successful relationship, Diagoras, a balance between give and take..."

"Of course, I understand, your most hellacious and heterosexual highness!"

"Now do as I command or I'll have you flayed!" Diagoras bowed. Threatening to flay him and digressing about not being gay -- the master was in a particularly good mood this day.

***

A day later, the portal was prepared within the wizard's sanctum. A great ring of stone as wide as four men was mounted on the wall and adorned with unholy invocations inscribed in human blood. Was the blood really necessary, pondered Arion? The Black Scrolls did not specify it had to be human. Goat's blood was also traditional. But any want-to-be weekend warlock could splash around the farm-raised fluids of livestock. The blood of screaming slaves sacrificed on his altar of evil had a certain je ne sais quoi that really said, "This is Arion Three-Eyes at work!"

Shortly thereafter, three terrified slaves were led trembling into the presence of the wizard. By the time of their arrival, Arion had lit tall candles made of rendered human fat and began to chant the litany in praise to his demon queen. For hours, he whispered ancient obscenities in dark tongues long forgotten by any other mortal. He repeatedly invoked the true name of the mother of monsters and a deep and liquid darkness coalesced in the upper reaches of his vaulted sanctum. The blood of everyone in the chamber became chilled, save for Arion himself, who seemed to revel in this horrid conjuration. Diagoras watched in wide-eyed wonder and utter horror at the demonic splendor of the preceding. The seething shadows above them seem to clot and thicken into a foul miasma. Was it the major domo's imagination that in the gathering gloom there were inhuman eyes? The ritual had an audience now -- something not of this world.

Arion approached the three surviving slaves with a predatory smile on his face. "Come here, my lads. You are tired -- yes, most tired. Lay down here and rest." Diagoras had been sure that all of the slaves were destined to die upon that great black slab of stone at the center of the sanctum, but he always felt a pang of regret once the actual moment of the massacre arrived. That was the probably the last remnant of that shriveled, atrophied thing that Diagoras called a conscious. Arion showed no such signs of hesitancy. Indeed, over the next hours, the wizard gleefully vivisected and removed the hearts from the doomed slaves in an orgy of inhuman cruelty. He filled great vessels with their heart's blood and it turned black and corrupted as demonic energy polluted the vital fluids of the murdered.

Arion fed the black blood to the three river vipers, each imprisoned within a green glass vessel bound in loops of beaten bronze. The serpents lapped up the tainted ichor and began to swell in size until they at last burst their cages. And then, as the wizard channeled into their forms the blasphemous blessings of the demon queen, they merged into a single three-head abomination. Flesh and blood, bone and scale flowed together with unnatural ease and fused into a hideous aggregation. Diagoras watched it all dutifully and could only weep at the terrible splendor of his master's unbridled power.

"Behold, my queen, my wonders! I name thee Mussatur the most venomous, the hydra of the River Deng!" Arion proclaimed lost in this ecstasy of his blasphemous creation.

The massive, twisted and coiling beast seemed for a moment like it was beyond control, that it might go mad from the pain of its unholy birth and erupt into a frenzy of killing, starting with its so-called master. But then the wizard opened his third eye. A pale green radiance emitted from the unnatural orb and the six eyes of the newborn terror reflected the unearthly glow. The three heads of the hydra began to sway back and forth in a languid dance in unison with the pulsing illumination.

Arion never flinched or showed any sign of fear. "You serve me, child of Kamad-mae, spawn of the seven hells, abomination of Lamashtu! You answer now only to me! I am your one true master and none other!" The three heads of the great beast approached close to the wizard, each big enough to rip the wizard apart. But instead of striking, the three headed beast only bowed before him.

"Magnificent," whispered the wizard, lost in the spectacle of his awesome atrocities and brilliant blasphemies. "Soon you will be sent to a lagoon at a bend in the river Deng. There you will live, hunt and feed on the flesh of man and beast. Any ship that ventures through your domain is your prey. Attack! Destroy! Any aboard, consume! Know no mercy! Leave none alive! And when you have slain my enemies, may you hunt the children of men for centuries to come! Teach them, my most beautiful one, to tremble in terror at the majesty of your mother, Queen of the Howling Wastes, and at the power of your father -- I, Arion of the Three-Eyes!"

The wizard laughed long and loud and terrible at his own dire proclamations. He approached the beast that towered over him without fear and gave it a small cut with a sacred athame, collecting a sample of its blood in a small vial. It hissed as this prick of pain but did not strike, now most thoroughly enthralled by the Eye.

With his final act of ecstatic magic, the wizard spoke the word of opening, ripping a hole in the fabric of the world itself. The blood-marked stone portal wailed and burned with black fire. Now in its center he could see his creation's new home. With a great mental effort he telekinetically shoved the beast through that portal where it splashed into the murky water of the river Deng, almost one hundred miles distant from his fortress. Then the portal closed and collapsed, the blood runes burning out like ashen coals. The wizard's terrible work was complete.

Weary from this day long ritual, the great wizard Arion Three-Eyes closed his third eye and slumped to his knees. "Now, my child, give that bitch a proper welcome..." He coughed, hacking and shaking with sickness and exhaustion.

Diagoras looked upon his master who for a moment did not look seem a great and omnipotent wizard but instead only a tired old man. The major domo wanted nothing more than to grab a torch from its nearby sconce and bash in his master's head so at last, finally he might be free of him. But the very idea filled the mutated half-man's mind with pain and fire. No, all hail the Eye! He had now and forever pledged his very soul to the Eye! Only that outpouring of devotion caused the pain to lessen.

"This ritual has slightly wearied me, Diagoras," said the wizard, slowly and tremulously regaining his feet. "I retire to my sanctum. Send food and wine. And place four guards upon the door. After my meal, none are to disturb me, under pain of death."

"Of course, my most magnificent and macabre magnate!" Diagoras bowed, trembling with equal measures of self-loathing, hatred and sorrow. Then he did all that was commanded of him.

***

Liandra the priestess only slept a couple of hours before she was awakened wordlessly by Sang. She was still tired but mustered energy enough to untangle herself from the slumbering Amazon, dress and return to being Liander so as to not scandalize the bargemen who only knew her as a man. Besides, Denggang was a place where things were easier for those of a male persuasion. Liander dressed but also took time to change the stricken Hilarius' bandages. The priest remained pleased with his charge's progress, though the priest did not expect him to awaken today.

Liander emerged from the back of the warehouse and saw the workmen were already busy moving sacks of rice. Sang though was again sitting at the table and brewing tea. She offered a cup to Liander, who sat and began to sip. The tea awakened her and cleared her mind.

"We are going to need a boat to get back upriver," Liander said to Sang. Sang said nothing but did nod. "There is some of Tallia's coin left. See what you can do."

Sang finished her tea, collected the coin and soon went out once more into the dangerous streets of Denggang. A cute child had the audacity to try and pick Sang's pocket on the main thoroughfare of the warehouse district. She retrieved the coin as she held her long knife to the child's throat and then sent the sobbing little thief on his way with a spank of the flat of her blade. She didn't actually harm the child, of course. How could she? She saw herself, years early, mirrored in that grimy pickpocket. Of course, she had been much better at it. She never got caught.

As it turned out, what Sang could do was find Monsu Mankiller's old river raider now tethered to a dock and abandoned behind the Black Turban Tavern. The Tavern was already in the process of being claimed by a new gang, but they were wary enough that when someone who might be an agent of the warrior woman came, they were willing to let her make off with the boat without too much trouble. Besides, everyone knew that sailing a dead man's boat was bad luck.

Sang though was little troubled by such superstition and sailed the raider by herself the short distance downriver from the tavern to the rice warehouse and tied it off there. She used a bit of the coin to convince two of the bargemen to work for her instead of continuing with their brutal jobs as rice haulers for Jiu Shan. She had them fix up the boat, supply it and, to ensure there weren't too many hurt feelings, bought the rice they would need for the journey from the Jiu Shan traders at a premium. She also bought another cask of the "magic wine" to keep the foreigners happy for another night or two. And there was still enough coin left to extend her stay at the inn while Hilarius healed. After all, she felt she was owed additional compensation. She had been hired to be a guide and even volunteered to be a wizard hunter. But boat acquisition? That was another job entirely.

Even after all that, what were Liander's first words to her when she returned? "Amazing! This is a fine boat, Sang! And there's still so much coin left! I can't believe it! Well done, my friend!"

Sang immediately regretted not getting the larger room at the inn. That came with a bath and a masseuse. Clearly, she deserved it as reward for her thrift and cleverness. Of course, she said none of this. All she did was bow slightly and appropriately at Liander's compliment.

Monsu's boat proved a fine vessel for their needs. Made of wood instead of woven reeds like so many river boats, it was durable. All over the ship were evidences of past battle and boarding actions -- axes gouges, impact scuffs, arrow nicks and scimitar slashes. Still, the vessel had survived all of that and seemed ready even now to endure far worse. The craft was long and sleek and its prow rose out of the river like a great serpent, unadorned by device but still threatening. Designed for speed, this was a pirate's boat made to overtake enemies on the open river. But it was also a pirate lord's boat -- with a covered central cabin too short to stand in, but perfect for sleeping and escaping the often blistering midday sun. It was no rice hauler, but had considerable space where goods (ill-gotten likely) could be lashed. It had no below decks, but did have a single simple sail as well as a half dozen oars both port and starboard. Together they meant this craft was well fashioned to go both upriver and down at any time of year.

The greatest delay to their travels turned out to be not the boat but healing the stricken Hilarius. It took him three more evenings to wake up. Still, it was hard to call so swift recovery from his grievous wound anything but miraculous. Tallia was there when Hilarius finally awoke, sitting bedside.