Date: Sun, 5 Jun 2016 21:54:42 -0600
From: Michael Offutt <kavrik@hotmail.com>
Subject: Chapter 21-The Orb of Winter-Gay Science Fiction

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				   *****

			    Chapter Twenty-One

   Skellhaundar supported himself over the stone floor with his strong
hands and rested his weight on the back of his personal guard's armored
thighs so he could look down at him missionary-style while they fucked.
Skellhaundar wanted eye-contact with his lover of the hour, so he'd pulled
the visor up on the helmet of this lucky young man. Skellhaundar stabbed at
the soldier with his erect flesh; the body resisted but the young man's
mind didn't. "I'm ready," Makidon whispered, eyes narrow slits. "Please,
fuck me." Makidon shared spit with him in a single kiss; Skellhaundar held
him pinned and continued to press down on him with his weight.
   Makidon (a big Timeron knight with silver spurs) squeezed his eyes shut
against the pain as Skellhaundar forced himself inside, splitting him
open. Makidon turned his head, clenched his gauntlets, and stifled the pain
which soon turned to pleasure. It was the first of hundreds of thrusts;
Skellhaundar's muscular back rolled in a sweaty sheen. Makidon ran his
hands through Skellhaundar's black chest hair; the Darkglory Timeron
general hadn't even bothered to strip the young man out of his armor. He
just took the pieces off that kept him from getting at those holes he
needed to use and left the rest covered in metal. This was probably better
for Makidon as he would need to return to guard duty as soon as this was
over, and all that would need to be replaced were things that covered his
genitals and anus.
   "How old are you?" Skellhaundar asked the knight.
   "Twenty-four, ser," Makidon replied. "Nnnggh...that feels so good."
   Skellhaundar used long, even strokes and had applied plenty of lube. His
well-defined glutes flexed on each push, and he set a rhythm to breed his
man without hurting him too much. This was one warrior dominating another,
and they fucked like animals: Makidon lay pinned underneath Skellhaundar,
his ankles rested on the Darkglory's shoulders and the jingle of his spurs
echoed off the bedchamber walls. Makidon's gauntlets raked across the
Timeron knight's sweaty back, the soles of his boots horizontal to the
ceiling.
   It ended with Skellhaundar's long climax inside the young man's
gut. When it was over, Skellhaundar pulled out of a slightly stretched
asshole, now dripping with his semen.
   "Talk of this to no one," Skellhaundar said, getting up from the
floor. There was no "thank you" or "goodbye kiss" or even a handshake.
   The sweaty Timeron knight guard blinked and nodded; Skellhaundar helped
him to his feet. Always a gentleman, Skellhaundar handed the young man the
codpiece he'd tossed upon a table about fifteen minutes earlier. This, and
he helped Makidon to attach the custom-fit armor piece that fastened over
his ass. It kind of amused Skellhaundar to see semen drip onto the knight's
boots, but only a little. When not at war, he believed Timeron knights
needed to present perfection to the world. This meant boots polished and
shined, capes and tabards with no wrinkles, and the utmost in hygiene.
   "Get back to duty," Skellhaundar said, handing Makidon his cloak. "Check
yourself in the mirror at the end of the hall to make sure your uniform is
in order. If I get one complaint, I'll replace you. You're a Timeron knight
now, not a slob. If you need to, find a replacement while you go and clean
up."
   "Yes, sir," Makidon said, checking his sword. As he walked toward the
door, he paused and asked, "Ser, can this happen again?"
   Skellhaundar shrugged his massive shoulders and then held the door open
for him. "Ser Makidon," he said, smoothing the knight's cape and tabard and
pushing a few stray hairs on his forehead back into place. "I needed this,
and so did you. But let's not believe this is anything but a hookup. I'm
still your superior officer, and you're not really my type. For what it's
worth, you aren't bad looking, and you've got nice brown eyes."
   "Yes, sir," Makidon said and then went to examine himself in the mirror
as the general had commanded.
   Once he was alone, Skellhaundar blew out the candle on the table and
walked over to the window, still naked, to enjoy the view of the Holy City
from across the bay. Zanda lay like a jewel on the estuary and in the
darkness, the light of the blood moon Valinas colored the white granite of
the Keep of Anghul red like the wars he remembered. Then the old veteran
sat upon the floor making sure to center himself in a particular intense
beam of moonlight and opened his mind to the Night's Daughter.
   "I have need of your counsel," Skellhaundar Romax said.
   The candle flame on the nightstand flickered in a ghostly wind.
   With sudden clarity, an immense room of black granite stone faded into
view. The room was at least two-hundred feet in length and another
hundred-feet wide (were he to count it as a perfect
rectangle). Geometrically speaking it was not a perfect room with nooks,
crannies, entrances, and exits aplenty from halls he knew all too well as
he'd lived there many years as weapons master to the Disciple of the Queen
of Demons.
   Above Skellhaundar, grandly embellished chandeliers of black iron
cradling sconces of continual flame did their best to light the chamber he
saw. But this was a place where light fled and cowered in the corners, away
from the immensity of the Shadow that strode the hall and fell downward
from the vaulted ceiling above, where the transparency of the roof allowed
one to gaze at the underbelly of a storm which flickered and seethed with
lightning and whose anger cast itself about, electrifying the weather vanes
of the high-most towers of this bleak fortress.
   Figures cloaked in black robes occupied the south end of the hall; their
small forms reassured Skellhaundar that the upper echelons of his church
continued to be dominated by women. Their frailty seemed exaggerated by the
size of the smooth fluted columns of black marble that flew upward into
obscurity. Just beyond the circle of women lay an open terrace. Its maw
stared like a twisted mouth of a stone giant looking forever into the sands
of a desert without end, an ocean of sunbaked tan stretching some two miles
below the walls of this ancient and great city.
   As if on cue, the entire chamber seethed with blue light from a bolt of
lightning that arced across the roof, illuminating a figure astride a
throne of solid gold. The figure was that of a woman, but no woman that
most men had ever laid eyes upon. She was a thing of darkness, possessed of
an unearthly smoothness to her living limb now combined with the coldness
of a stone statue. Her eyes had no color, her mouth was unmoving, and her
face was expressionless. Her mane was black smoke, curling and flowing in
the wind. But, as Skellhaundar watched, it also hovered about the shoulders
as if on some pretense it considered itself hair for just a moment, rather
than the stuff of fire and flame, soot black, and oddly radiant in the
night.
   Skellhaundar advanced until just ten paces from the throne. There he
stood in phantom form. To all that saw him, Ser Skellhaundar Romax appeared
clothed in full Darkglory regalia, tall and thick yet graceful. He was
perfectly still and ever watchful, and he waited his turn to speak while
wearing a visage that some had called a continual frown. Without fear he
gazed at the hundreds of clerics in the room. He did so with contempt, for
he was greater and more powerful than any of them. His hair going gray and
with decades of experience under his belt, Skellhaundar had little to prove
to anyone. His eyes darted about the room to see if he could pick out
whatever it was that was approaching. Then he saw it, a thing moved in the
east end of the chamber.
   Skellhaundar swallowed hard, watching.
   The thing turned out to be a creature of immense size possessed with a
long reptilian neck covered in glittering sapphire scales. Its claws
scraped the smooth stone of the hall, producing a clatter like that of
nails being driven into stone. Its wings of deep blue hue seemed to deepen
to midnight under the shadow of the flaming sconces.
   However, its eyes looked nervously to the figure on the golden throne.
   Distantly, Skellhaundar heard the ringing of a great bell which was soon
accompanied by the shodden footsteps of many armed guards. From the
northernmost hallway, lit sparsely with golden light so that the ceiling of
frescoes depicting the rise of the Queen of Demons from the shadows at the
steps of the holy mountain to which Inzilbeth's life had been spilt, walked
ten Timeron knights bearing a cage wrought of black metal.
   It was twisted into a horrible and unseemly shape.
   Skellhaundar thought that it was almost as if the cage were meant to be
a mocking parody of love, a twisted and demented thing, made ignoble by the
encasement of steel black thorns glistening with a poisonous ichor and
suspended with poles that ran through the top of the cage.
   Confined within was a beautiful female angel. She was bruised and cut by
life-stealing weapons, and her body suffered from the wounds that could
only be inflicted by weapons most vile. The woman was proud, with eyes of
gold that flashed still in this place of great evil, her raiment of gold
armor spattered and drenched with red as if she swam in the Sea of Blood
and only yet emerged to lay claim to a towel.
   The woman on the throne bent her torso forward and with long fingers
alight with liquid shadow, she spoke. "Tell us your tale, Molzenebria."
   The blue dragon bowed, "As you wish, Night's Daughter. As you well know,
I was stationed in the city of Lookfar and serve as the mount of the great
Timeron knight general, Rictus VanCleef. A few nights ago, an important
state criminal was set to be executed. The standard execution was foiled by
a pixie that could not have planned this maneuver alone. I spent much time
in trying to locate her, but I was unsuccessful. Each and every time one of
the sorcerers of the Citadel of the Black Zealots tried to use the scrying
chamber, the attempt failed."
   "Who was the prisoner that escaped?" the Night's Daughter asks.
   "He was a spy for the Church of Thieves."
   "Our most hated enemy," Night's Daughter stated flatly.
   "Yes," the dragon said, "It was important for him to die. It's possible
that the knowledge he has could find its way into the hierarchy of Tethyr's
church and alert them to our plan and alliance with the Nevrenachtur lords
who seek to eradicate the Order of Black Dragon Assassins who are the
church's most powerful single servants. He might also undermine the
credibility and possibly expose our strongest ally, the Nocturne Inquisitor
himself, who has amassed a fortune of bloody gold for the information he
has provided to our organization on the location of thieves' guilds
throughout the empire. The list this traitor to the Church of Thieves has
provided us include the names of important individuals that supply
information to the forces of Thomas. For example, how could we have guessed
that the mysterious Warder whom we have heard about for centuries was in
fact, the King of High Castle which lies off the coast of southwestern
Sulasia? The Warder's information network has long been a friend to the
imperious forces of the sun god Arioch and his city states, to the
principalities, and to the high Valion Guard. Now that we know the identity
of the Warder, fifteen of our best assassins will slay him and his family,
bringing an end to that bloodline."
   "Excellent," the Night's Daughter said dispassionately. Then she turned
and faced Skellhaundar. "Beloved," she said, "I wish you were here in
person. But now it is time for you to speak. What can I help you with?"
   Skellhaundar bowed to the Night's Daughter. "There has been an event. It
occurred in the Obelisk of Quiet here in Zanda. Two girls from the academy
of necromancy caused a shadow drake to emerge from the stone."
   The Night's Daughter thought about this for a moment. "The time is
drawing close when the one named in prophecy shall appear. Our Queen's
unjust imprisonment at the hands of her brothers and sisters is nearing an
end, and soon hell's gate will poor forth its host with Taleta at its
head. And to think, Skellhaundar, we once thought that the war to end all
wars would not happen in our generation. Isn't it glorious to be wrong?"
   "Yes...my love," he said.
   The Night's Daughter smiled. "Is there a Valion knight?"
   "There is a Valion knight. My spies within the Librarium Apocalypto
confirmed that two Nevrenachtur lords captured a Crimson Guard by the name
of Ephram Skye. They are bringing him to Zanda by dragon back to be
interrogated by the Dreaded Irtemara, who's away on business."
   The Night's Daughter scoffed. "She used a spell to transport herself to
the lands of the Mishoi most likely to consult with the Oracle of
Shanagi. Tell me, was there a woman with red hair there?"
   "I don't know," Skellhaundar said, "but I will answer that question as
soon as Cirumoghel and Mara Kano are within my grasp. The prophecy that
speaks of Taleta names a Valion whore and calls her a redhead. If there is
a woman who matches this description, what do you want me to do?"
   The Night's Daughter considered this for several moments and then said,
"I want you to do nothing. If we get involved in the events of this
prophecy, we may in fact undermine our best interest. But the Zandans may
not respect or even know our histories. If the girl proves to exist, and
she is threatened, I want you to act to make sure Kahket or any of her
cronies do not damage or hamper her in any way. Events that no one can
foresee must be allowed to transpire. Somehow, the whore gets a hold of the
Halo of Thomas and uses it to release our goddess by tossing it into the
Pool of Arcanos. For as long as I can remember, no one has ever reached the
sacred temple that lies at the center of the Dragon's Graveyard, because no
one has been able to defeat the Golden Hydra. The appearance of a shadow
drake signifies that the door to the Dragon's Graveyard is once again
linked to this world. Now the key must be found and the gateway opened."
   "Found by whom?" Skellhaundar asked.
   "I cannot see the future," the Night's Daughter admitted. "Those powers
are not within the things I can control. But if the times are right, there
will come one that emerges. He will be marked by a symbol that looks like
the head of a black dragon in front of a red moon. It will be on his ankle,
though which one I cannot say for sure."
   "Do you know what the mark means?" Skellhaundar asked.
   "It means he is perfect. The mark was made by a Tickler of Chagidiel
that now rules the Kingdom of Than Jarat far to the south beyond the
Chimaera Strait. He is the result of a bargain made before he was even
conceived. The god Chagidiel agreed to create the most beautiful boy to
ever walk the earth and place it within the womb of one deemed worthy,
saying only that this being would be instrumental in releasing our
queen. It is said that any who gaze upon even a portion of this creature's
flesh, will be driven to uncontrollable lust."
   "The prophecies have a tendency to exaggerate," Skellhaundar said. "I
doubt I could be moved to lust when there's so much abundance to be had."
   The Night's Daughter regarded him with a dispassionate face. "It is said
that the man will be loved equally by the Church of Taleta and the Church
of Tethyr, and that the fairest general will not raise a hand against him."
   "Even if that were talking about me, which it isn't by the way, I would
never hesitate to gut and kill any that followed Tethyr," Skellhaundar
said.
   "Your conviction pleases me. But if I suspect that you could betray us,
Skellhaundar, I shall have you castrated. Your position as general of the
might of Noremost and my personal guard must be absolute and unwavering in
its loyalty. Is there anything else, beloved?"
   "Yes. There's also another demon," Skellhaundar said, swallowing
hard. "Called Dr. Vampyr by Kahket, it's an Anatomica of Chagidiel, a
prince of Hell and as powerful as the Tickler you just mentioned. Right now
it serves Kahket, but this could be the one that's prophesied to overthrow
Thomas in the much talked about `Rain of Fire' that our own seers have been
promising will occur when we deal a death blow to the church of the god of
war, wolves, and winter."
   "A second Anatomica of Chagidiel?" the Night's Daughter asked, voice
trailing off. "The Queen of Demons is rewarding us. She's sending forth the
most powerful demons from Hell in expectation that they will be needed once
the vast host begins its march across the plain of bone."
   "What should I do if I identify the one with the mark from the Tickler?
Skellhaundar asked. "Do you want me to seize him?"
   The Night's Daughter shook her head. "I don't think you'll be able to,
as much as I'm convinced that you could follow my orders faithfully. So
I'll give you an easy assignment. Make friends with him, treat him with
respect, but have him followed. He has some important part to play in all
of the many events leading up to the Queen of Demons being freed from her
shackles. We must not stand in the way, but foster conditions which allow
us to achieve our goal. Just don't fall in love, Skellhaundar."
   The Timeron knight scoffed and bowed to the Night's Daughter. "An easy
enough thing to do," he said, ending the spell.
   Once inside his own body back in his bedroom, Skellhaundar stood and
looked out at the night sky of Zanda allowing the cool air to dry his
sweaty chocolate-colored skin. As he stood there, he grabbed a towel to
clean off his six inch flaccid dick.
   "Fall in love?" he asked himself under his breath. Then his thoughts
started to wander. This man so marked by the Tickler of Chagidiel would
have to be perfect indeed for me to fall in love. I desire blue eyes so
clear that they look like the sky on a sunny day. I want no fat on his body
at all. I'd want him to be strong and fast with corded muscle, sinew, and
vein, and the whole of him sheathed in smooth snowy skin. I want a blond
with hair so fine it resembles white and gold thread in the sunlight, and I
want a face untouched by age. I want him to have beautiful feet and hands,
and a cock that dwarfs my own. And there must be no taint to his skin
between his legs and between his cheeks. "What I desire doesn't exist,"
Skellhaundar declared to no one. "Fear not, Night's Daughter, for keeping
my promise will be as easy as killing my enemies with my bare hands."

				   *****

Chapter Forty-One is now available to read at
http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/discussion-board-for.html under the label
"The Orb of Winter" if you care to read ahead.

Are there any artists out there willing to draw some pics for my story? If
so, please email me.  There is an "Orb of Winter" map now in both the NEWS
section of my website and in the FORUMS of my website.

If you go to my website directly from this posting, you will want to begin
with "CHAPTER Fifteen."