The Saga of Tallia the Unwilling Ch. 05

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 mind control, though not in a sexual way. It also features an overabundance of backstory and long rambling internal monologues. Consider yourself warned!

BEHOLD! I, Thutmose-Neferkare, royal scribe, chief librarian and high priest of the divine Ra do bid thee welcome back to the fifth scroll in "The Saga of Tallia the Unwilling". Know ye that the drought is over and that the sex is back, yay, and big time. Fear not, good readers! I shall not risk the righteous wrath of Ra by engaging in that most pernicious of practices known as spoilers. Read for thyself the hotness! But before that can unfold, I feel that there is one most calamitous issue that cannot be ignored and that we must discuss forthwith.

Now, my good readers, you know that I, the most exalted Thutmose-Neferkare, hate to bring politics into these translations. Even now, I hear thee cry from thy place of resting, lo, do we not get enough of that shit from the town criers who do yell at us day and fucking night? Cannot we haveth a damn break to read our smut in peace?! Verily, tis the truth. The twenty four hour town-crier cycle, behold, it has become most brutal. But on this matter, alas, I have no choice but to speak.

I speak, of course, about the plague of locusts that hath assaulted our noble lands. Some say the plague is the fault of the gods. That is of course blasphemy and we are even now burning those people out back behind the temple outhouses. Some say that our most grand and divine Pharaoh is the cause of this plague on our fair realm. Also burning. Some say instead it is the noble priesthood of Ra who should taketh the blame. Do you people enjoy having thy wicked bottoms roasted on the pyres of righteousness?

No, the simple and obvious truth, as much as it pains me to bespoke it, is that these locusts are in fact your fault, dear reader. Thou hast taken the gods for granted. Even the simplest of tasks, such as carving five stars upon the Sacred Wall of Thoth, many of you hath forsaken! What are the gods to do with such callous contempt? Frankly, thou should count thyselves most fortunate that it is only locusts. Ra hath come to me in sacred visions and said, "Lo, my exalted one, tell them that the frogs, boils and fire-hail are locked and fucking loaded." Seriously. Ra hath totally told me that.

Good readers, I pray thee, spare thyself this divine judgement! Unharden your hearts and relent in thy wickedness! Go forth and let thy repentances and lamentations save us from this scourge! Also, if ye be truly contrite, know that the Temple of Ra accepts repentance in the form of talents of gold, talents of silver and talents oral.

Yay, let it be written! Yay, let it be done!

Chapter Five: Daddy Issues

Arion Three-Eyes set on his throne in his sanctum, barely able to suppress a smirk, and contemplated his grand victory. He had in one stroke captured three assassins sent by the depraved Temple of Love in the far kingdom of Kourion. He had also recaptured that troublesome sidhe his patrols had caught skulking about the lower levels of his fortress. Another assassin had possibly escaped -- the wizard was half certain he had seen a shadowy figure skulking behind the pathetic band of would-be killers -- and so his minions were even now scouring his castle. Possibly he had his minions chasing a phantom, but at least it would keep those dullards on their toes. Even if they found nothing, this remained a most magnificent victory.

'Magnificent', he mused. This was nothing compared to the victories ahead! Soon the thrones of all the world would bow before his greatness! His powers were growing. He once had to dominate slaves slowly and one at a time, crafting minds like an artisan crafts pottery. But during this battle he had brought low an entire force of foes at once and implanted within the very deepest parts of their souls unquestioning obedience.

Trouble though did weigh upon him. How had a temple from the other side of the world managed to track him? This was a most worrisome question and one for which he could conjure no good answer. Their network of spies must be more extensive than he had given them credit. Or perhaps one of the smugglers in Denggang had sold him out. Those murdering, motherless bastards knew no loyalty save for gold. He actually respected that about them. They had abandoned all pretense of morality or virtue. They were the honest face of humanity.

But how would they even know about the damned temple in the first place? The very reason he had come to the so-called Rice Lands of Dao was because of its distance and remoteness. There was no trade, no language in common and the realms did not even know the other existed. And yet there was no denying -- he had a golden-tressed Kourion-born priestess locked up in his dungeon. He pondered this puzzle for a while and, making no progress, just had to let it stand unanswered. That uncertainty, more than anything else, genuinely annoyed him.

Bah! What did the method matter? There was little sense in wasting too much time in investigation. The damage was done. His enemies had clearly located his most secret of redoubts. He could abandon this fortress and relocate yet again... no, not from just one such ineffectual assassination attempt! Fleeing would be costly. And he was so close to being ready to march upon Denggang, take control of a fleet and seize the entire sprawling coast of Dao. He would at last have a kingdom under his control where he could begin to build forth his empire. He would convert thousands of pathetic rice harvesters into mighty beast-men slave soldiers. He would raise up legions from these wretched farms! Give that up over three pathetic assassins? No! He would increase security and prepare for the worst. But his plans must move forward! By the Mother of Monsters, there would be no further delays!

He traced his finger along the green glass case that held the Amazon's sword. The attack had yielded other rewards. He had recovered a strange but obviously magic weapon of unknown pedigree. The armament was adorned with Amazonian runes of obvious antiquity. The inscription upon the blade was of course nonsense about being a worthy warrior bonded in blood. Doubtless, he reasoned, some sort of quasi-religious oath of this ancient warrior-woman cult. He had scant interest in their nearly extinct dogmas and idiotic honor codes.

But the metal of the blade -- far more interesting. He would need to do a thorough alchemical analysis upon the alloy. Perhaps he could transform the blade into a weapon fit to equip a commander of his own army. Better yet -- find the secret of its construction and make a whole legion's worth! That would be truly splendid -- a thousand frenzied wolf-men slaves wielding blades of bright metal hunting his enemies down like frightened rabbits. This fine project would have to wait though.

More urgent were the prisoners... What to do about them? The priestess of course would make a fitting sacrifice to the demon queen. The goddess did so love to eat the hearts of devotees of rival gods. The wizard contemplated torturing her. "Where there is one priest, there may be more," he muttered aloud only to himself. As much fun as it would be to watch her squirm on a rack, it was again probably a waste of time. The woman was obviously a fanatic. He could sense that even from peering into her shallowest surface thoughts. He could put her deeper into thrall to penetrate her most guarded secrets, but the more complete the control, the less memory was preserved.

'Her brains would probably dribble out of her ears before she'd betray her cursed sex cult,' the wizard mused. 'No, she gets to feel the knife on my altar. The priestess dies on the next auspicious alignment. I'll make a proper ceremony of it. The demon queen will enjoy that. When was that again? Soon.' He'd need to check with the astrological charts.

The small fellow was obviously a servant. Arion would give him a thorough brain washing and make him into a beast man. He could apologize for daring to oppose the wizard by giving his life in battle for him. Such pathetic creatures were born to be slaves.

The Amazon he served though was more interesting. She had born the magic sword and very nearly resisted the eye! She had been the last to bend the knee and then only just. On one hand, she might just be an usually willful sell-sword hired by the love cultists. But there was something... Such willpower! Such intensity of purpose! She bore further investigation, certainly. The arena! The idea had such merit, he was surprised it had taken him this long to conceive it. She would make fine entertainment and, broken and pleading for her life, she might reveal much about her former masters.

Yes, but who to match her against? So many possibilities! She had defeated the hydra, but that was when she wielded her magic sword. Without it was she anything special? He must know! This was a perfect excuse to bring forth a new creation. And then he remembered what his hunters had brought him only three days ago. Yes, yes, yes! It was destiny they should meet in his arena. What a spectacle! What a show! Now, he simple could not wait.

But no, don't be hasty, mused Arion. It would not do to rush this. There was much work ahead if this was to done right.

"Diagoras!" he called, summoning his major domo.

"You call and I appear, my most pitiless and prevailing of potentates," answered Diagoras.

"I have plans to execute, my servant. We are going to have a bit of fun with our new prisoners! The arena must be prepared and I need certain supplies."

"Of course, my most cruel and capable commander," fawned Diagoras. "And have you considered what to do about Jiu Shan?"

"Jiu Shan... Jiu Shan. Ah, yes," said the wizard. He had nearly forgotten about that pathetic little rice puddle. "They clearly aided these assassins. They must be made an example of. A pity. I was hoping that Rontus could appear in my arena. But business over pleasure, eh, Diagoras? Still, I want something more striking than simply beast man raiders burning farms in the night. Something really flashy. Something that will leave a mark on the psyche of these peasants. Something that will strike fear into the hearts of every would-be conspirator for years to come. Ah, yes... the Burning Horn!"

Arion smiled. He truly was a genius. During the past years, when he had to flee from Kourion, doubts had crept into the edge of his mind. But now he had seen their finest assassins crumble and fall beneath his will. He was unstoppable and soon he would no longer be an outcast wizard hiding the middle of a rain-cursed swamp. Soon he would be the Three-Eyed King he was always destined to become. He turned to Diagoras with a gleeful and triumphant flourish.

"Now listen close, for there is much to do..."

Arion Three-Eye gave commands and Diagoras, of course, obeyed.

***

Tallia, Hilarius, Liandra and Melaerryn were led back into the dungeons of the wizard Arion Three-Eyes where they had emerged only an hour ago. They went into that hole under a massive armed guard, but in truth -- these bestial escorts were unneeded. The power of the Eye yet burned bright in the minds of the four prisoners and they walked willing into their cells. The Sons of Arion, in great multitude, watched their march and heckled and howled in victory as the defeated would-be assassins passed through the fortress courtyard and into the lower levels of the castle. It was obvious these monster men desperately wanted to wreak bloody revenge upon the captives but were restrained only by the command of their master. The four of them were being kept alive, but for what purpose, they did not know.

The prison remained as dismal and fetid as ever. The four were imprisoned within an isolated hallway that none of them had encountered before. They were kept alone in that secure wing of the dungeon. There was only one door in or out of the long passage and that was always guarded. The stone walls here were intact and solid -- there were no cracks leading into the sidhe undercroft. The light was sparse with only a single flickering torch at the far end of the hallway itself. The prisoners could just see traces of light from the guardroom beyond the door and hear the wicked chortles of their jailers.

There were only three cells in total in this short passage, two to the south and one larger one to the north. There floors were rough stone dotted here and there with dark green moss and patches of straw. Close inspection revealed all manner of tiny insects nesting in that scattered matter. Melaerryn and Liandra received the smaller individual cells and were chained by their wrists with their hands raised and their backs to the wall. This posture was uncomfortable to say the least.

Hilarius and Tallia were instead put in the larger cell. They were chained at the ankle by a short chain anchored into the wall. They were at least kept together, though they were chained to opposite walls. This arrangement gave a modicum of movement but not enough to actually get near one another. The cells were locked with crude, heavy bronze mechanisms. The three chambers were close enough to each other that the four prisoners were all in sight of one another though separated by the heavy barbed bars of bronze.

Everything was taken from them. They were all but naked. Even Tallia's cursed sword was sitting in a coffer of green sorcerous glass up in the high sanctum. The laughing wizard had assured the Amazon that the vessel would disallow the blade from returning to her side and so far he was proved right. Worse still, Arion had burrowed into each of their minds. The Eye commanded them and to disobey the Eye was now unthinkable.

A scaly scowling horror show of crocodile and man, lumbered about and threatened them with a knobbed club. "No talking," he bellowed, "or ya' get the stick!" As the door shut with a slam, they were again alone. Each of the four prisoners sat in the cells and wondered miserably what was to be their fate.

"Shit," finally spoke Hilarius in an angry, impotent whisper. The rogue was so vexed and tongue-tied that at last, after much consideration he simply added, "Shit!" once more.

Liandra began to sob quietly in her cell. "I failed you, Mother. You were stronger... You resisted the eye. I... I couldn't. I can't."

Her sobbing was loud enough to earn an unsympathetic crocodilian bellow from down the hall, "I said shut it or ya' get the stick!"

No one had anything to say after that. An hour at least of long, sorrowful silence passed until finally, Tallia dared violate the ban.

"Did anyone see what happened to Sang?" Tallia hazarded in a cautious low whisper.

Hilarius shook his head. "She was the wisest of us. She took one look and fled. I hope she got away."

"She ran towards the courtyard..." whispered Liandra, eyes still stinging with tears of regret and sorrow. "They must have been alerted by then. All those archers! She may be..."

"Running out into an open courtyard alone?" whispered Tallia. "Does that sound like Sang to you? No, if they didn't catch her quick, they won't catch her at all. She'll escape this fortress and go cross country I'd guess, back to where ever she came from. I wish her well."

"She's your friend," ventured Mela barely above a whisper. "Maybe she'll try to rescue you."

"Maybe," said Liandra with a forlorn sigh. No one believed that. Sang was far too clever to step foot into this trap of a prison. Besides, even as deadly and silent as Sang was, could she walk through stone and bronze? How could she get to them here in this hole?

Long silent hours began to melt away. The day of their defeat slowly began to fade into the night. They could see no natural light in these dungeons yet were not yet so disconnected from the cycle of the sun that they couldn't sense the oncoming dark. They were fed once -- a bland rice gruel given to them by a monstrous hunched crow-man who said nothing, only giggling at their suffering and sorrow.

Liandra and Mela were unshackled and watched at spear point as they wolfed down the unsavory gunk. The crocodile man led that detail. "Eat it quick or ya' get the stick!" They did as they were told, eager for even this brief respite from their restraint. Soon enough though their meal was over and they were returned to their chains.

Again a long silence. Hilarius even managed to sleep. It was once again Tallia who finally braved a few words.

"Mela, what did you do to that creature before the doors? Is that why they keep you chained?" asked Tallia quietly.

"Yes, they fear my magic," answered Mela. "Not that it matters now, but the wizard chains me with hammered iron because it fouls my gift."

"I saw some of your magic," whispered Tallia. "You melted that trumpet and burned that guard alive."

"I could do more than that if I were free," sighed the sidhe. "With silver, I could call up my master King Bressian and beseech him for aid to get us out of here."

"Why, pray tell," said Hilarius awakened from his nap by the whispers, "did you not mention these fantastic powers before?"

If someone shackled to a wall with their arms pulled above them can be said to shrug, then Mela managed. "I don't like involving the King of Danan if I can avoid it. His aid always has... consequences. And you seemed so confident."

Hilarius was about to shoot out a sharp verbal retort when another voice interrupted their conversation, "Anyone who is confident in victory against Lord Arion is foolish indeed. In his hundreds of years of life, he has known defeat only once..."

The guard's door creaked briefly open and then closed. Emerging from the shadows was doubtless one of the beast men, but a strange one. He seemed completely unfit to be a warrior and moved quite slowly, even painfully. He had a hunched back and cloven feet. He was horned like a goat and his skin appeared like old worn leather. He had a long beard, white as snow and little hair elsewhere. He was clad in a black robe, plain but clean and well-kept and tied by a sash of bright red fabric. He bore only a small knife at his belt and an amulet of gold graven with the sigil of an eye set with a single green orb of polished serpentine.

"He knew defeat," said Liandra, "at the hands of my mother, Cassandra."

"Ah, yes," said the stranger, coming closer to Liandra's cell, "the lady Cassandra. She still burns within my mind's eye. In all the world has there ever been a more perfect, beautiful and wise paragon of love? To see her was to have your heart break with longing. To hear her speak was to know the true poetry of passion. I treasure the memories of our time together like I treasure nothing else."

Liandra's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"Arion has branded me Diagoras, but of course that is not my name. I am now the major domo of the great Lord Arion Three-Eyes and his obedient slave."

"You grovel at the feet of that monster?" spat Tallia.

"All hail the Eye," the man-beast said barely louder than a whisper.

"All hail the Eye," answered every one of the four prisoners reflexively, in unison and much to their shame.

"We all serve the same master now," said Diagoras. "Like you I did not choose to become his slave. But unlike you, I have accepted what must be."

"I do know you!" cried Liandra. "You are the missing councilor to the king. But you died in the fire at Arion's estate. If you're alive then..."

"You are as insightful as your mother, child. Yes, they once called me Nestor of Amathus so very long ago, sometimes Nestor the Wise... That's almost funny now. I was once tutor to the children of the king and yes, a court councilor as well. I was held in high regard and the king even once before his court called me his brother..." the beast-man's voice trailed off in deepest regret.