Vashti Valant - Slave of the Goblin

“But then, what would I do for my upcoming campaign? This will be my finest hour, Akraz, and you will bask in the glow of my upcoming glory. Although two thirds of Chavana still defies me, in military terms we have but to conquer two cities in order for the whole land to fall into my fist. One, of course, is Stromhod itself. But the other is Sylvindell. Until we eliminate the staging area in the forest provided by the elves, the lords of Chavana will never surrender. The elves hide their secret citadel behind enchantments. We have never before captured one of the twelve elves entrusted with the secret passwords to unveil the spells. Thanks to you, we have two.”

“You honor me, Master.” What in the Thirteen Hells is he talking about?

“Tomorrow night will be the full moon. All of my vassals will attend to me in order to coordinate the upcoming attack on Sylvindell. A fete will be held. I want you there, to display your pet, as you did before the army.”

This command, Akraz understood all too well. It took all his willpower not to spit in Zathstragomal’s face.

“As to your reward,” continued Zathstragomal, “Look out there.”

Akraz glanced out the window. In the garden, which he had mistaken for vacant, two dozen naked young women and men splashed in the lake by a pavilion.

“Go on, take a closer look,” said Zathstragomal.

Akraz obediently went to stand in the casement window. The water sparkled on the naked bodies of the cavorting playmates. A woman on a swing thrust up her naked breasts to catch the moonlight, and lifted her legs into the air, so that from here, Akraz had a perfect view of her spread pussy. Another trio of girls held the merry-go-round with their pert buttocks facing out, while three young men spanked them as they went spinning by.

A forlorn figure sitting hunched over herself, away from the others, caught Akraz’s eye. His heart stopped, then raced. He knew the shade of that hair, the slope of those breasts, the curve of those thighs.

Laya.

“You may have the elf slave girl to keep if you wish,” Zathstragomal said from the armchair behind Akraz. “But perhaps you have tired of her and want another. Or perhaps you might want to try a boy. You may have your pick of any of those you see in the garden. I am tired of them and will want a new batch soon anyway.” He laughed unpleasantly. “You can even have a try at my daughter, if you like, though I doubt you would enjoy her embrace.”

Akraz noticed the girl in black, standing inside the pavilion. He wondered if the rumors about Strathgora were true. It was said that her father had raised her since birth upon a diet of pure poison, so that today her bloodstream flowed with it, and even the pores of her skin exuded it. Anyone who touched her bare flesh died from the contact. It was also said that she was a witch in her own right, and that her heart was even colder than her father’s. In any case, Akraz was certainly not mad enough to ask for the wizard’s own daughter.

Possibly this was another trick question, another probe to find out how much Akraz valued Laya for herself and not just for her winsome body. He had to admit that most of the girls in the garden were beautiful, but he had eyes only for Laya. It pained him to have to depend on Zathstragomal’s whims to ask to keep her.

“If you please, Master, I still find the elf slave amusing,” Akraz said. “I would keep her, if you will it.”

“Once we conquer Sylvindell, she is yours. Along with what additional elf slaves as may fall to you for your share of the booty.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“I expect you to put her through her paces tomorrow night, that our guests might share your amusement in her, Akraz.”

“Of course, Master.”

“And,” Zathstragomal leaned back in his chair, “We will have some fun with her right now. You and I and one other.”

Akraz’s hands curled into fists. There was nothing, nothing he could do to protect Laya from being used as a toy of the wizard.

Unless… Akraz suddenly knew what he must do. But would she do it? Would she tell him the location and pass words into her precious city, Sylvindell?

Laya kept her head bowed as instructed, as she followed Strathgora down the dark hall. No other guards accompanied them, and though Laya wore nothing but jewels, nipple clamps and chastity belt, she wondered at Strathgora’s confidence. Even if she knew any martial arts, the frail young woman bore no weapons, and those thick brocade skirts must hamper her. All she had changed since the garden was to remove her gloves.

As if discerning Laya’s thoughts, Strathgora smiled with weird confidence. “If you wish to try to escape, would not now be a good time? You have only a younger and less experienced woman to contend with, unarmed at that. Well,” she laughed at a private joke, “I have bare arms, of course, so I am not entirely unarmed.”

Sensing a trap, Laya ignored the challenge. Instead, she tilted her head at the wizard’s daughter. “What about you, Strathgora? Do you ever dream of escaping this place, and your place in it?”

Strathgora lifted her hand to slap Laya. The elf maid steeled herself for the blow, but a fraction of an inch from her cheek, Strathgora held her hand in check.

“If I allowed my palm to brush your check, even in a caress, never mind a slap, you would buckle over in pain, vomit, bleed from the ears and nose, soil yourself, and finally die.” Strathgora dropped her hand. “I am no different from the other poison flowers in the garden. Tears just help me to thrive.”

Strathgora pointed to the door at the end of the hall. “That is where you are to go. Take this, but do not unlock yourself without my father’s permission, or you will regret it.”

The wizard’s daughter dropped a tiny silver key into Laya’s palm. Laya walked alone down the rest of the corridor. With each step, she was keenly aware of the phalluses penetrating her fore and aft. Her nipples and clit felt stimulated by the jangling of the jeweled clamps. It was worse than being naked.

Gods of Light , she prayed silently. Please protect me .

Stepping through the door, she found herself in one of Zathstragomal’s perverse playrooms. A black throne dominated a room of other toys, including a flat black couch, chains on the wall and dangling from the ceiling, a swing of dubious purpose, a garden of stone phalluses sprouting from the floor at various heights. Whips, tongs and paddles hung from hooks. A screen partitioned off one corner of the chamber.

As was to be expected, Zathstragomal sprawled in the throne.

“Let me look at you,” he ordered Laya. “Turn around slowly with your arms behind your neck.”

She did as he commanded.

“Good, good,” he said. “You have the key? Yes? Good. Keep it for now. I have a surprise for you. A reunion of old friends. Go stand behind the screen for now.”

This surprised her, but not as much as the fact that behind the screen, she encountered Akraz. She almost blurted his name and hugged him, but he cautioned her with a finger to his mouth. He put his arms around her, but stealthily, so that no sound hinted at what they were doing behind the screen.

“Does he know you are here?” whispered Laya.

“Of course,” Akraz said bitterly, pitched so low only Laya could hear. “All part of some sick game he means to play with us. Laya, I know him. Whatever he does tonight, however painful or humiliating, is just the beginning. We have only one chance, and you must trust me. You must tell me the location and entry words to Sylvindell.”

“Here? Now?” Laya stiffened in his arms. “Why?”

“By the gods of Light, by whom I have never sworn before,” said Akraz, low and fierce. “Trust me. This once, just trust me and tell me.”