Legends of Belariath

Zophiel

Of Human Treachery

Chapter One - Routine

A month had passed since Zophiel's first eventful day in the city of Coral Bay. It was a good month for him, more or less, and he had begun to feel rather comfortable in the city the more familiar he became with it. Talia, the innocent young inn wench he had taken on his first day, had proven to be a very eager recipient of his sexual attentions, and he had made contact with the thieves' guild in the city. His only complaint, really, had been his work as an apprentice jeweler under the female elven artisan, Amaranth. She had yet to correct her imperious attitude toward him, and the private humiliations he endured under her had begun to test his patience. But that was soon to end, as he had planned his robbery of her store out to the smallest detail, and had decided that in another week, he would strike, and his revenge would be thorough indeed. He intended to steal all of her valuables, but before that he would make his way into her dwelling above the store and repay her more intimately for all that she had done to him. Such things demanded retribution.

This particular day was radiant and warm, the sun streaming through the slats of the shutters covering Zophiel's windows. He was awakened, as usual, by a light knock on his door. He drew aside the blanket covering him, and rolled to his feet. Not bothering to pull breeches on, he walked over to the door and unlocked it, then padded over to seat himself at the small table in his room. Talia opened the door and entered, carrying his morning meal on a tray. She paused to push the door closed behind her, then walked over to set the tray before Zophiel. He smiled up at her and nodded his thanks, then smirked when he noticed a little glob of something at the corner of her mouth.

"Missed a bit," he remarked, bringing a hand up to pantomime wiping something away on his own mouth. Talia knew instantly what he meant and blushed, her mahogany flesh tinging with red at her cheeks and across the tops of her breasts. She brought a hand up and self-consciously pushed the little bit of another patron's seed into her mouth, suckling the tip of that finger clean before murmuring an apology and dropping her gaze. He motioned for her to take her place, and she crawled under the table to brush her cheeks against his knees, coaxing his thighs to part accommodatingly as she knelt between his feet.

"Sir, may I ask a question?" she whispered timidly, looking up at him and resting her chin on the seat between his thighs. He picked at the fruit, thin cakes, and bits of cheese, eating lightly of the offered food as he left her in wondering silence for several moments. Finally, he grunted his assent, not exactly the paragon of good cheer in the morning. Talia exhaled a soft sigh, warm breath caressing the insides of his thighs and tickling against his semi-turgid morning erection. With that, she asked, "The man who... you know... he called me a whore before dismissing me. I'm not a whore though, am I? I thought I was just giving the patrons good service."

Zophiel leaned back, arching a brow down at her. "How much did he tip you?"

"Ten coins," she replied, her gaze roaming down from his face, drifting across his chest, lower past his abdomen, to settle along his shaft. She licked her lips unconsciously, then smiled up at him, torn between her need for reassurance from this man who has stolen her innocence and her need for the very instrument of said theft. While it was true that she had slowly begun to offer her 'special service' to an increasing number of clients in the month since Zophiel had introduced her to carnal pleasures, she felt little nags from time to time. And the patron earlier this morning had been so demeaning in his tone; she finally just had to know... was she becoming a whore?

Zophiel raised his brows, considering the sum as he chewed on a small apple chunk lightly coated in caramel. After swallowing and washing the food down with a sip of juice, he replied, "Ten coins for what, five minutes of your time? What does it matter what the fool thinks of you; you're all the richer for it regardless." Zophiel's answer offered little in the way of reassurance, but the man had a point. She smiled up at him, and then nibbled at her bottom lip as she stared up at him, her hunger for him growing and hedging out all other doubts about her actions over the past month. She wanted him, and in that moment, she didn't care about much beyond that.

He chuckled, seeing the hint of need evident in the servant's eyes, and nodded to her. She knew that meant he was finished eating, and she could now enjoy herself. She shifted slightly to get more comfortable, then brought her hands to his groin. The slender fingers of one hand wrapped around the base of his cock as her other hand moved to caress his balls adoringly. He leaned back, sifting his fingers through her hair, and Talia angled the throbbing flesh toward her mouth, both of them moaning when her lips closed around the head.

***

Fed, sated, and dressed, Zophiel left the Cockatrice Inn and made his way to the jewelry shop where he worked. Talia's oral ministrations had become part of his routine, due as much to the pleasure of the act itself as to the utility of walking into Amaranth's shop with a flaccid and relatively unresponsive penis. It gave her less leverage, at least for a few minutes, but the elf merely compensated by practically ignoring him until mid-day. And since Zophiel had done a sufficient job of convincing her he had come to accept and enjoy his place of servitude under her, she felt it was a suitable punishment. Of course, Zophiel enjoyed every moment of the reprieve, wishing for perhaps the first time in his life that he were a morning person so he could better enjoy that time.

Apparently, the morning was just a bit too lovely, as Amaranth awoke early and in good spirits. For her, to be in good spirits meant to be in the mood for fun. Unfortunately for Zophiel, her fun was usually had at his expense. He enters the shop unaware that this day would be different from any other, and went about his work as usual, first cleaning the store and then going about setting the shop up for the day. Less than an hour into his work, Zophiel caught a scent, faint but unmistakable: the disarming soothing sweetness of apple blossoms mingled with the intoxicating allure of fresh roses. It was a unique blend of aromas, perhaps awkward in most circumstances, but in the right blend of concentrations, hypnotic and irresistible. He looked up, just in time to notice her at the door, turning the lock as she leaned back against it. He blinks and leans back, surprised at seeing her materialize without warning, standing where she had not been a moment ago. Suddenly, with a snap of her fingers, the curtains fell into place, plunging the room into the dim light shed by the candles placed around the shop and shutting them off from the street beyond the now-obscured picture windows. Zophiel swallowed and straightened from his stoop over the jewelry he had been polishing, wondering if perhaps she had learned of his plot.

He looked upon her in silence, gaze roaming over the cruel elf's luscious figure as she stood, shoulders squared against the door. Her breasts strained against the thin, translucent fabric of a light robe fashioned from spider silk, the dusky rose hue of her nipples just barely visible through it. The robe is tied closed at her hips, and the front remains open down to the knot, exposing her generous cleavage and hinting at the smooth, flat plane of her abdomen. Only the tassels of the robe's rope belt obscure any hint of her sex, though Zophiel knows it well enough from the countless times he had been made to 'worship' it, as she liked to phrase the act. The bottom of the robe bears slits up the sides, all the way to her hips, and both legs are exposed, the wispy fabric gathered between her long and slim legs. Adorning her feet are heeled slippers, highlighting the arch of Amaranth's small feet while covering her toes with thin, polished leather. The heel of the sandals hugs tightly around the backs of her feet, thin cords buckling around delicate ankles. Hardly dressed for a conflict, he concludes, which leaves only one thing: Amaranth wanted to play.

"Hello, pet. Thank you for warming my seat," she greeted him in her native tongue, voice heavy, sultry with desire. Zophiel, taking the cue and playing the part of the submissive apprentice that she had come to expect from him, slid from the stool to stand beside it. He remained still, knowing she would soon be telling him to disrobe. He took pleasure in forcing her to command him to undertake every action she wanted, a small spite on his part that incidentally happened to keep a collar from around his throat. By failing to take any initiative, he correspondingly prevented her from thinking he might be good to keep in any sort of permanent capacity. He had originally hoped to bore her with the tedium after a week, but he had forgotten about elven patience.

She pushed her shoulders off of the door, sauntering toward him slowly, hips rolling. The robe fell open further, and only the knot of the rope belt dangling just over her smooth, hairless mound obscured Amaranth's luscious pussy. Her breasts came into view more fully, but the thin silk caught at her nipples, revealing just a hint of areolae. Zophiel noticed as she crossed over to him that she kept a hand behind her back, doubtlessly to keep something hidden from his sight. "Time to play," she whispered when she came close, and he took the cue, knowing what that command meant. He kicked off his boots and peeled away his clothing, stripping completely before kneeling in front of the stool she had indicated would be her seat. While Zophiel's shirt was pulled over his head, Amaranth seized the opportunity and seated herself, leaning back against the work table. She set the object down behind her, knowing that from his position on his knees, there was no chance that he could see it.

Zophiel knew what was coming and hated this part. Though the syllables that rolled from the elf's full lips were unintelligible to him, he knew the effect they would produce, and felt it quickly enough as his manhood began to swell and lengthen, within seconds jutting up proudly and throbbing with want. Amaranth reveled in this power she held over the human and took every opportunity to remind him of the control she had over his body. Or at least, that part of his body with which she seemed to concern herself the most. The effect she could elicit from him was not nearly as bad as the distraction that always accompanies an erection. It was nearly impossible to maintain his focus, to keep up the charade, and during that time when she had him nude and turgid, he came disturbingly, terrifying close to genuinely submitting to her. Fortunately for him, that sensation passed when she chose to release him from her control, and he could focus once again on his real goals.

The light, familiar pressure of polished leather sliding under his scrotum brought Zophiel back to the present, and he raised his dark eyes to regard his apparent domitor as she rested her elbows back against the table, smirking lasciviously down at him. She kept the foot under his balls in place and raised the other, dragging the pointed toe of her slipper up his side, then pressed the sole to his shoulder and arched a brow imperiously. "Pet, these have grown tiresome. Remove my slippers." She wore those particular slippers rarely, usually with the sole intention of having someone else take them off for her. Feet had not held any particularly erotic significance to Zophiel prior to his time with her, but after thirty days of experiencing teasing, torturing, degradation, and at long last much-needed release from the elf's small and finely-sculpted feet, the mere sight of them was usually enough to distract him and, if he were not careful, lead him to arousal without the need for her spell to elicit his cock to swell. Doubtlessly, Amaranth had orchestrated this and knew exactly how effectively her methods were beginning to condition him.

His hands rose up, gaze fixed between her thighs, catching just the faintest hints of her glistening pink as the two dangling ends of the rope belt shifted about in front of her sex. He slid one hand around her ankle, the other coming to rest over the top of her foot, pads of those fingers kneadingly caressing the arch of her foot. He unbuckled the strap securing her slipper to her ankle, and then slowly turned his head to kiss her ankle as he drew the thin leather strap away. The shoe was removed completely, set aside as he lifted her foot. Closing his eyes, he placed a reverent kiss to her instep and then lowered that foot slowly, only for Amaranth to replace her covered foot with the bare one, wriggling her toes against his sac as she lifted the heeled foot to Zophiel's mouth. He licked the pristine, smooth leather covering her toes, eyes rolling up to hers. That slipper was removed and placed beside its twin, and she wasted no time in trapping his turgid length between the smooth soles of her bare feet. It was maddening, and despite himself, he moaned with the rhythmic stroking of her feet.

Amaranth reached behind her, shifting about slightly as she brought into view a slim little dildo fashioned of ivory. She slid it down her belly, then flicked the ends of rope from between her thighs, revealing to Zophiel's gaze the slickness of her slit. She smirked down at him when the hunger flashed across his face, and when the little dildo pressed against her folds, it began to vibrate. She moaned from the sensation of thrumming ivory against her clit and teasing her inner petals, her feet squeezing more firmly around the human's cock. After several minutes of teasing herself and tormenting him, she pulled the dildo from her sex. It ceased its vibrations as she brought it to his lips, and he eagerly flicked out his tongue, licking the ivory toy clean of her fluids. She slid it back and forth along his tongue, pressing it between his lips.

The little ivory cock was brought back to her pussy, coated once more with her juices. This time when she withdrew it, however, she did not bring it to Zophiel's lips. Her feet pulled away from his aching length, knowing he was moments from orgasm. "Rise." He stood, his eyes lowered, darting from one leg to the other as he watched them both wrap around his hips. She gripped his throbbing dick with her free hand and guided its flared head to her ready entrance, other hand reaching around to slide the still-vibrating little toy down between the cheeks of his backside. It rubbed wetly, humming as it teased his puckered hole. He shuffled forward to escape the toy, parting her folds around the head of his cock as it plunged into her. The dildo pressed against his anus again, and again he pushed forward, burrowing deeper into her hungry depths. She taunted him this way, until his hips were flush against her, her slim legs clenched around his waist tightly, and the entirety of the human's arousal was buried completely within her sheath, her walls squeezing against the invading flesh.

She moaned loudly, wantonly, and pressed the dildo into him, easing just an inch past the resistance of his anal rim, her pussy clenching and spasming around his cock as the thrill of violating him in this new way pushed her to climax. Zophiel gasped, the thrumming stimulation against his prostate and the surprise of experiencing what he thought was only an empty, teasing threat plunged him beyond his own restraint, his seed flooding her depths as he quivered and exhaled a ragged groan.

Once she caught her breath, Amaranth withdrew the toy and simply pushed Zophiel away, expelling his flaccid member as he stumbled back dazedly to slam against the wall. She slid from the stool, bent to pick up her slippers, and walked into the back room. A moment later, Zophiel heard the quiet creak of the steps as Amaranth ascended to her private quarters. Regaining his senses, the human cleaned both himself and his work stool, then dressed and went about his gem cutting once more. He knew she'd be downstairs once she was more publicly presentable, ready to begin business for the day. As he resumed cutting the stone he had been in the process of working on, he weighed out whether he should just kill her, or abduct her and sell her into slavery. One way or another, that elf bitch would pay, but the exact means by which he would have his revenge remained uncertain.

Chapter 2 - Hunters

Yasmina stood proudly on the deck of the ship she had commissioned as it put in at Coral Bay, the setting sun at her back. She imagined how she might look from the dock, backlit by the low-hanging orange orb, radiant and golden and powerful. She grinned, finding the idea very pleasing indeed, the picture painted in her head casting her as a goddess-made-flesh.

"Outta the way, girl!" came an abrupt shout just behind her, startling the woman from her reverie as a large man shouldered past her while carrying her luggage off the ship. She turned a withering glare to the man, a soldier in her uncle's employ. There was plenty of room for the oaf to maneuver on the deck, but she knew his reasons. None of the half-dozen men assigned to bring the heretic into custody so he could be delivered back to Islasoros for justice were thrilled at the prospect of her company. They dared not touch her, much less allow any harm come to her, for that would surely earn the Hierophant's wrath, a thing that guaranteed not only their slow and agonizing deaths, but those of their loved ones while they watched and waited for the final mercy themselves. It proved more than enough to deter them from venting their frustrations or sating their lusts in her, though over the course of the past half-dozen days at sea with the infuriating young woman, each of them had been sorely tempted. She flaunted herself before them, knowing she was just out of reach, and commanded them about imperiously, secure in her understanding that not a one of them doubted she would relate every detail of their journey to her uncle. And so, while she was not in command of the group, she held a great deal of sway as the proxy to the Hierophant.

And as if matters weren't bad enough for these six soldiers, Yasmina's presence was pivotal to the successful completion of their objective. She knew the heretic, indeed was to marry him so that their households could unite. Few, in all the islands of Islasoros and certainly none within the man's own de la Espada family knew Zophiel nearly as well as she, his former lover. Well, one of his former lovers anyway. That small bit of knowledge gnawed at her, stabbed her pride mercilessly every time she thought of it. Had it been some proper concubine, a human girl, she could understand. But he had sullied himself with an elf, of all things!

Ask an Islasoran what he or she thinks of elves and far more often than not, the response will be far from flattering. They generally regarded elves as disgusting and vile creatures by the folk of the archipelago, though only a precious few of the most influential and educated among them could supply any sort of real reason for this sentiment. Yasmina was not one of those, but her uncle was. He hated the elves with a holy fervor, and that was good enough for her.

Yasmina owed Zophiel a debt of shame for having rutted in that elf wench she snared in a web of lies, lies that had ultimately proven all too true. The elf had been made to suffer already, but Zophiel had only suffered insofar as he had been forced into exile from the paradise that was their homeland. As it had turned out, he was intimately connected to the faction of heretics and dissenters, liberators of elves justly captured and bound to service under the boots of their rightful human masters, which had so plagued the Celestial Order of which her uncle was the spiritual and temporal leader. They had orders, and very strict ones at that, to bring him back alive so that he could stand trial and the rulers of the nation could have him publicly executed for his crimes against the people and sins against their single faith. That did not, however, mean he couldn't be made to suffer considerably in the interim. And she would make him suffer. Of that, she had not the least doubt.

***

It had taken far longer than Yasmina would have liked for the hunting party to unload its cargo and secure lodgings at the first sufficient inn they found, but finally they were settled in and had descended from their quarters to partake of a few glasses of mead in the common room of the Cockatrice. They had arrived at the inn a bit late for meal time, but the kitchen staff did an adequate job of sating the seven hunters' hunger. Bellies full, they lazily sipped their drinks and looked around, a couple giving their attention to the bard playing at the hearth, one dozing already, and the other three men teasing the passing bar wenches. Yasmina, meanwhile, watched them all with a hint of disdain in her expression. As far as she was concerned, these mainlanders were barely civilized, hardly a one among them capable of accomplishing half as much as any of her own people.

One mainlander in particular, a bar wench known as Talia, would prove Yasmina's assumption to be hollow and born of ignorance. She flirted with one of the soldiers, the least attractive of the three particularly amorous foreigners recently arrived. She knew by the Islasoran coin they flashed about that they had come from the same chain of islands as her mentor-in-lust, and this piqued her interest greatly. She kept her knowledge of Zophiel to herself, as it was not her place to offer information or opinions, but rather to provide entertainment. She was quick in discovering that not all Islasoran men were as charming as the first she had the pleasure of meeting, but she hid this well, choosing instead to flatter the one before her and whisper honeyed words into his ear. It wasn't long before he was leading her, in his weaving half-drunken way, up to his bedchamber. Common men, she had come to discover, were often easily manipulated.

Talia had learned that she could save herself a considerable amount of time by simply not wearing anything beneath the relatively scant clothing required by the inn's management as a means of ensuring an appropriately bawdy atmosphere. Her mark had sprawled on the bed and she crawled up atop him, rubbing her breasts against his torso, both of them still clothed, and straddling his hips. She ground herself against him, using the friction to tease herself to arousal while driving him wild with hunger for her. She reveled in the power she held over men once she had them alone, her ability to make them think of only one thing: her body.

The man pawed at her, kissed her clumsily, and dutifully swelled to erection beneath his breeches. Talia had them open and his organ freed in short order, glad to find that he was at least a man of some generous proportion. She gave it an encouraging squeeze as she poised herself over him, slowly descending her excited folds onto his throbbing shaft. Once that was accomplished, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her down to continue his fumbling kiss, his hips thrusting up against hers.

The door of the chamber opened, heralding the entrance of the other two Islasorans who were pursuing a bit of fun with the wenches downstairs. Judging by the lack of feminine giggling, it seemed they were returning to their room, apparently luckless. The two stopped when they noticed the inn girl riding their comrade, then glanced to each other upon realizing that she was the one they had all wanted most badly. The two men grinned wickedly, closing and locking the door behind them before proceeding to the bed the two had chosen. One crawled onto the mattress behind her, untying his breeches with one hand as he went, while the other moved to the side of the bed to pull her head back sharply and turn it toward him.

Talia's eyes widened with the added shifting about on the mattress, followed so closely by the yank of her head. She looked up to one of the other soldiers just as the one behind her rubbed the head of his dick into the cleft of her ass. She whimpered, not sure if she could accommodate the stranger there. The surprised whimper was rewarded with a fleshy slap against her cheek, followed by a silken rubbing along her lips. She opened her mouth reflexively, knowing that tactile sensation very well. Her lips clamped around the head of his cock, and she began to suckle him encouragingly, wanting to finish him quickly.

Mercifully, the man behind her spat into his hands and rubbed the saliva against his cock. It was far from much, but it was better than nothing. He angled the head of his prick, coated thickly with his spit, against her hole and pushed forward. Talia groaned around the meat in her mouth while the man under her continued shoving up against her, plunging his thick member into her moist folds. Finally, her little rim yielded and stretched to accommodate the invading rod stabbing at her anus. The men pushed their hips forward with no rhythm or concern for anything but their own pleasure, Talia pinned between the two with her head held in place by the man claiming her mouth. The one under her held her wrists firmly, punishingly, and she felt the very tips of her fingers begin to go numb. Her anus tore, and she felt her warm red fluid trickling out along the hard length pummeling into her ass, offering a slight easing of the friction as it smeared across her assailant's manhood.

The men finished quickly enough, though the few minutes of their clumsy crashing against her lasted far longer than Talia wanted. She sputtered thick gobs of white jism from her lips when that cock withdrew, then uttered a tortured cry of anguish when the one behind her pulled back as well, leaving his seed to trickle out of the ravaged hole. The one under her simply passed out under her, still embedded, his seed trickling from her sore slit. After lying a moment, stunned by the events that had transpired, Talia shakily rose from the one under her, the only one of the three she was ready for, and slowly made her way from the room to the sound of the three snoring men.

Chapter 3 - Improvisation

"Some foreigners came to the inn last night, Sir. Carrying Islasoran coin." Talia remarked to Zophiel as she set his breakfast out before him. He paused in the midst of reaching for the glass of juice already on the table, brow furrowing as he considered her words.

"Did they bear any particular markings? Did you catch a name, anything?" This bode ill for him, as he had not really expected them to carry their search to the mainland so soon. Had he underestimated the Celestial Order? Who did they interrogate who knew of Zophiel's whereabouts? As the questions flooded through his mind, he finally grabbed the glass and took a sip.

Talia chewed her bottom lip, stepping back worriedly as she struggled to recall any important details. She should have known to take a more keen interest in those foreigners, she chided herself silently. Shaking her head to dispel the recriminations, she replied softly. "There were seven of them, Sir, six men and a woman. The woman was fairly tall. Um, pretty too. She had long, dark hair and skin like yours. Hazel eyes, I remember the eyes. She stared at me a lot, especially when I went upstairs with one of the men." Her voice dropped considerably, becoming shaky as she thought on the previous night, how her intended interlude with the one turned into her rough use at the hands of three of those men.

"And no name? What did they talk about?" He pressed, either not noticing or not caring about the troubled, quavering tone coming to Talia's voice. His brow furrowed, intuition telling him this was no coincidence, that something was amiss. He just needed something to confirm that. If they were searching for him, then he would have to change his plans a great deal, but there was no sense abandoning anything just yet.

She pursed her lips and frowned thoughtfully, a bit upset by his lack of concern but also more than a little grateful to have something else on her mind than what happened in the foreigners' bedchamber. "They mentioned someone, called him 'the Hierophant'. I heard one of them say 'heretic', and after that the group got quiet for a little bit."

Zophiel nodded slowly, not surprised by the additional information. He restrained his upset, instead choosing to shrug at the news she delivered. He would have to do something quickly, but what? He waved Talia away dismissively, turning to his meal and picking at it as he thought on the unfolding dilemma before him. It seemed that Amaranth would escape the fate he intended for her, and that had upset him even more than the fact that his pursuers had closed on him so quickly. He simply couldn't leave Coral Bay without making the elf suffer, but he knew that to linger would doubtlessly result in his capture.

A light rapping upon his door startled him from his ponderings. A moment later, the door swung inward, and Talia slipped into the room, closing the door quickly behind her. She flushed when she caught Zophiel's glare, his breakfast knife poised in his hand ready to throw. He saw her gaze fixed on his hand, then turned to regard it curiously. He shrugged at his own paranoia, finding it entirely appropriate given the circumstances, set it down slowly, and arched his brows curiously. After regarding her for a moment and allowing his irritation to fade, he then went back to picking at his meal as he waited for her to explain herself.

"Are you finished with your plates, Sir? The Islasorans were asking after someone matching your description. The innkeeper told me to come and see if you were about," Talia spoke quickly as she pushed away from the door and walked toward him, hands already reaching out to take up his plate. Meanwhile, Zophiel pushed away from the table and went to his things, dressing quickly. His hands shook just a bit, nervous energy coursing through him with the delivery of this news. He paused and collected himself with a steadying breath, then continued dressing. It wouldn't do to panic. Survivors never panic.

He turned to face Talia, lips pursing and brow furrowing thoughtfully for a moment before he spoke. "You know the elf jeweler, Amaranth? She has a shop two blocks south and one west of here. You will inform him that I seem to have left already, but you will tell him of this jeweler, and mention that you've discovered through our conversations that I am employed there. I'm sure they'll come inquiring after me there. Now go." He nodded curtly toward the door, then turned to his window and opened it, as their presence downstairs left him with no other suitable means of egress.

Once escaped from his room and standing in the alley, Zophiel made his way generally eastward, toward the most heavily-trafficked gate leading out of the walled city-state of Coral Bay. Unfortunately, hunted as he was within the city, using the open streets was out of the question. Zophiel was therefore forced to stick to the alleys, winding and labyrinthine paths that in some places were only wide enough for one man to walk comfortably, but in others were wide enough to drive a carriage through. It was time-consuming and frustrating, as dead-ends and pathways completely choked with refuse and other detritus forced him to double back or change course several times. It was, to say the least, a circuitous route, but he felt that his plan, however hastily thrown together, would have him well out of the city before the Hierophant's lackeys could return to the inn and plan their next move. He was rather counting on both his pursuers and Amaranth to behave as their prejudices dictated, but he felt that was hardly putting too much faith in them.

***

Talia executed her errand perfectly, having become rather skilled in the art of deception after having successfully hidden her many activities during her employment within the inn from 'polite society' - namely, her family. The innkeeper, in turn, dutifully delivered the information to Yasmina and her companions.

Yasmina went up to her room to retrieve her dagger, and while she did so, the six men took the opportunity to discuss their situation. Arriving at the unanimous decision that they will be much more effective without the meddling woman's distractions, they all rose from their seats, five of them moving toward the door. The sixth turned to the stairs, only to see Talia already descending.

"Where are they going?!" she asked, outrage clear in her tone as she glared at the soldier standing in her way.

"The captain decided it best not to risk injury to you in the apprehension of this heretic. The Hierophant was very clear that you were not to be harmed," he replied in his most stern tone, one that invited no further discussion. The six men chosen for this mission were chosen for their experience and competence, and despite Talia's privileged position in the group, she had spent enough time in the company of her uncle's men to understand that the subject was effectively closed for discussion.

With a heavy sigh of resignation, Talia turned toward the stairs again, calling over her shoulder to the soldier, "Have a girl come draw me a bath. If I must wait, I may as well be comfortable." Of course, as soon as she got up to her room, she locked the door and escaped out the window, not terribly unlike her former lover had done earlier that morning. She knew Zophiel better than the grunts sent to apprehend him, and would have been surprised indeed to discover him actually at his place of employment. No, it seemed much more likely that the wench at the inn had somehow tipped him off to their presence, and he had taken flight shortly thereafter. If her suspicion was accurate, then he had only a short lead on her, and she was confident she could close upon him swiftly. She had plenty of coin, and the streets were full of urchins. It would most likely prove to be an expensive venture, but the pleasure she would take in bringing the heretic to his knees before her would be well worth it, she assured herself.

There were two likely exits by which Zophiel would most likely try to escape, Yasmina reasoned: the north gate and the east gate. If he knew the Celestial Order had descended upon him, he would avoid any seagoing route, which likewise made the north gate risky. It led to another port city, at which more of her uncle's men would be arriving in a matter of days if the plans held up. That left her prey only one real option. Still, she felt it best to confirm this, and inquired of a few urchins. After depleting half of her resources and wasting nearly an hour on shifty or uninformative waifs, she had finally heard two reports that agreed to her satisfaction. A man fitting Zophiel's description had been seen darting from alley to alley, heading generally eastward. As soon as she had that confirmation, Yasmina struck boldly in that direction, hoping to find and tail him at the bottle neck of the gate itself. From there, she would follow him and subdue him somehow. The plan was simple, but she surmised that he had no more time to prepare his escape than she did the pursuit.

Chapter 4 - Confrontation

The five Islasoran soldiers paused outside the jewelry shop, noticing that loathsome Elvish scrawl on a sign hanging over the door. They could not read Elvish, but they could recognize it easily enough. The captain, glanced back to his men, motioning for two of them to flank the building and come in through the rear while he and the other two entered quickly through the open front door. The captain strode toward the whorishly-clad elf seated behind the counter, while his two companions closed the door and drew the curtains across the large front window of the store.

Amaranth lifted her attention from the garnet cabochon she was polishing, setting the stone and rabbit's foot down on the counter as she slid from her stool to stand and glare imperiously at the humans who dared act so familiarly in her place of business. "Excuse me! You will show yourselves out. Now." Her tone was commanding, countenance as terrible to behold as she was beautiful. Having intended another bit of play with her apprentice this morning, she wore her translucent robe and heeled sandals, with only a slightly more opaque sash twisting about her breasts and winding down to wrap around her hips to keep her modest, in a manner of speaking. And yet, despite her rather scant attire, there was a commanding presence about her.

The captain blinked, taken aback by the elf's words. He fell back a step from his approach and opened his mouth to stammer an apology, but was cut off by the sound of splintering wood as the back door was kicked in. All eyes turned, however hesitantly in Amaranth's case, toward the doorway leading into the store room in the back. Only a moment later, the other two soldiers stepped into the room, and the tides seemed to turn against the jeweler as the reinforcements bolstered the flagging resolve of those three men already in the room. "Men," was all the captain needed to say. As one force, the five men closed on her, four subordinates knowing their leader's mind well enough to understand that this elf bitch must pay for her insolence before their interrogation could continue. In either event, it was obvious Zophiel was nowhere to be seen, so they would most likely have to subdue her just the same.

Amaranth reacted quickly, conjuring a stunning blast of air that launched at her nearest assailant. It hit him solidly in the chest, sending him staggering back. The captain lunged across the counter to grab at Amaranth, but she hopped nimbly aside as one of the man's meaty hands grazed harmlessly against her side. Her attention was diverted from him, however, as one of the humans darted at her from behind the counter. Flicking her hand in his direction and uttering a quick chant, Amaranth met the man's rush with a mere slap as her rebuke. The slap, however, brought him to his knees, shuddering and moaning as one of his hands reached down to his own breeches as his codpiece suddenly became far too stifling.

Seeing that they had clearly underestimated the elf and her witchery, the other three men pulled out cudgels. And moved in more cautiously, all moving together so that to attack one meant she would surely expose herself to the other two. The men were well-accustomed to fighting in concert, Amaranth was quickly discovering. Backed against the wall behind the counter, she glanced quickly, toward the abandoned doorway leading into the back room. She cast quickly, opening a portal in front of her, the spell also conjuring its terminus in that archway. The men saw her conjuring more of her foul magics and converged on her at once. Just before she stepped into that portal, however, the captain intercepted her with a swift crack of the cudgel across the side of her head.

Fortunately for Amaranth, her unnatural, undeniable allure forced the man to unconsciously check his swing, and so the blow merely dazed her, sending her staggering to the side as the portal closed abruptly. While she shook her head in an attempt to clear the fugue settling over her mind, the humans closed in on her, hands grabbing all over her and hauling the slender, shapely elf to her feet. The other two had begun to recover by this time, and the captain sent one about the task of searching the upper floor while the other was charged with securing the broken-in back door. He himself stepped away from their captive, watching as his two remaining cohorts ripped the flimsy clothing off of her. They tugged the sash free and pulled her arms behind her back, using the strong silk to bind them tightly, wrapping the broad fabric around her forearms so snugly that her elbows nearly touched, continuing all the way down to bind her hands together before weaving the slack through one of the loops and tying a firm knot.

Amaranth began to recover her senses just in time to hear the human return from his inspection of the upper rooms, calling out to his companions, "Seems this slut keeps a few toys at hand. Thought we could make use of some of these." He deposited several of her favorites on the counter: a wicked clit clamp enchanted with burning heat, her riding crop, her muffle with a dildo protruding from it to stuff into victims' mouths and further their humiliation, and finally, her yard-long spreader bar. The men chuckled, one lifting the spreader bar while the other examined the dildo muffle curiously.

"Bind her legs. I have something for her mouth," their leader ordered, withdrawing from a pouch at his side a leather strap interrupted in the middle with a leather-covered metal ring, easily thick enough for most men to slide their cocks through. Amaranth lifted a leg to try to kick at the filthy human who attempted to bind her legs to the spreader bar, but that only led another to move to her other side, his large hands closing over her slender ankles painfully. Held in place, bent over her own counter, the elf could do nothing but accept her fate as her legs were strapped to the spreader, forcing her ankles a full yard apart. But then she looked up toward the captain as he approached with the ring gag and tried to shake her head vigorously. There were simply too many of them, she quickly realized, as another pair of hands gripped her head firmly. The captain pinched her nose and simply waited for her to draw in a gasping breath before he forced the gag in place and expertly secured it around her head. The elf's luscious lips were distended around the gag, her mouth just a bit on the small side for the cruel implement. She whimpered, feeling her drool roll down the corner of her mouth as she was unable to swallow effectively. Her tongue worked against the ring, trying to alleviate the pressure it inflicted if nothing else, but to no avail. Truly, it was hopeless, but the thing that truly worried at her was the reason for this invasion. Who were these people? What did they want, or was this their ultimate intention?

She expected the assault, guessed rather correctly that they would reek of human sweat, but was not quite prepared for their brutality. One of the men behind her wedged the head of his cock against her folds, spitting down at the joining of flesh to offer meager and rather degrading lubrication. The captain freed his cock from his breeches and stuffed it through the ring of that gag he had forced on her. She pushed her tongue against the invading flesh, but soon the thick meat in her mouth had her tongue effectively pinned under it. He grabbed her head and simply shoved himself inside her, the human behind her similarly grabbing her hips and stabbing his dick further into her sheath. She clenched her eyes shut and tried incredibly hard to imagine this were a more pleasant scenario, knowing that she could get this over with much faster by sating their lust and simply having done with it.

The two men continued for several minutes, rhythmless in the pursuit of their ecstasy. Amaranth clenched her throat tightly, unable to completely suppress the urge to gag around the fat member shoving ever deeper. She gave a sharp, muffled cry of surprise when she felt the wiry curls of his pubic hair against her nose, the domed head of his cock crammed down into her throat. The one behind slapped his hips against her ass cheeks, and she winced when his thick organ hit against her furthest reaches, punching against her cervix mercilessly. A little tear formed from the pain, fueled by panic as she struggled to breathe around the girth stuffed into her throat. Fortunately, soon after that one agonizing moment of the full, dual impalement, both men ejaculated into her. The one in her pussy climaxed first, flooding her depths with his thick seed; following it came the captain's, which caused her to sputter and gurgle, gobs of it sliding wetly down her chin along with her saliva.

That mercy, however, was merely to be a short-lived reprieve. Two men replaced them, another dick, though fortunately not quite so thick, thrust into her mouth. The one behind her only teased her sex, and she dared feel a moment of relief, as it seemed to have been lubricated already. But then the head of his cock moved up to that pink, puckered little rim of her anus, and her terror amplified threefold. With a gurgling cry around the manhood ravaging her mouth, she groaned out the excruciating torment of feeling her anus forced wide around that invading cock, the little ring of muscles burning and flesh of her canal stretching uncomfortably wide. Though the sheath of her cunt ached and throbbed from the rough, barely-lubricated reaming it had endured, at least it was a sensation that was not entirely foreign to her. This, though, was far worse. Amaranth felt her skin stretch to its limits, even beyond, a shudder coursing down her spine as the tearing lanced fresh, piercingly sharp agony along her tunnel. Neither of the men using her had the stamina of the first two, and so that round of torture ended more quickly than the last. She coughed up more semen after that one had finished, the pearly fluid rolling thickly down her chin. The man behind her smirked as he pulled his spent shaft out of her, laughing as she winced and cried out raggedly from the pain of the sudden withdrawal.

There was one man left, this she knew. She opened her eyes, only to gargle out a surprised cry as she saw him stroking his dick just in front of her face. Her eyes widened with horror as it had just dawned on her what he intended to do, and as she clenched her eyes shut again, she felt his jism streak across her delicately-featured face. She dropped her cheek to the counter, faint sobs wracking her slender frame.

And then, quite suddenly, a swish through the air preceded the sudden impression of a searing line of white-hot pain across Amaranth's reddened backside. She howled and writhed, trying to escape the pain, but things only worsened when she felt her own clamp applied to her clit, the enchanted tool instantly growing warmer and warmer, until she felt as though someone had ignited a bonfire on that sensitive little nub. The captain stepped forward and removed the gag, using her silky, lustrous hair to clean the ring off as she cried harder, hips squirming helplessly to try to dislodge the firmly-placed clamp.

"We've come looking for a man named Zophiel, but he is clearly not here. You will tell us everything you know about this man, for we understand he works for you," the captain spoke casually, his voice coming from behind her. She paled when she realized he was the one administering those lashes with her riding crop. This man was no amateur, she knew already. Before she could answer, still working her mouth to try to articulate words, the crop sailed once more through the air to slap harshly against her ass.

***

When Yasmina saw the eastern gate ahead, she smirked and looked about to gain the best vantage. Her best hope of apprehending Zophiel was to follow him out of town and waylay him there. But she wasn't about to leave the safety of the city on a suspicion, and so she would wait awhile and watch for him. Finding a shadowed alcove from which to observe the people milling about, she settled in to wait.

A short wait it would prove to be, as well. Zophiel finally came to the gate and stepped into the crowd from the last in a long and puzzling series of alleys used to make his escape. At this point, he felt confident that nobody had followed him, and he strode boldly through the gate, passing with several others on their way out of the walled city-state. Ironically, it was only now, when the man was so confident that he had evaded pursuit, that he had picked up a tail.

The crowd dissipated after the bottleneck of the gate, people left to move at their own pace. An hour out of the city, Zophiel had finally begun to relax and consider what very little he knew of the surrounding area. There were farmsteads a mere day's walk from Coral Bay, and he decided to head for one of those and steal a suitable riding horse under cover of night. From there, he could think of no place to go but further inland. Perhaps he could find some small backwater village and lay low, use the skills he had picked up in his time with Amaranth to put a little more coin in his pouch. He had no intention of staying in such a place long, but with no other alternative, it seemed a good enough plan until he could come up with something he found more suitable.

A blast of energy clipped him in the shoulder, sending him rolling to the dirt in a graceless tumble. Zophiel cursed, both from the pain of the electric bolt and at his own carelessness, then pushed himself to his feet with one hand as he drew his stiletto with the other. He rose, a bit shaken from the blow still, and turned to glare at the woman running toward him, conjuring another blast to hurl at him. His eyes widened with surprise as he found himself looking on his former lover. "You!" he shouted, the shock turning to outrage when he realized that she was the woman with those six Islasoran soldiers sent to apprehend him.

"Elf lover!" she snarled at him, incensed with righteous indignation as she hurled the conjured bolt of energy at him. Ready this time, he managed to dodge to the side as the blast exploded against a tree trunk behind him. Really, Yasmina intended to subdue him and drag him back to town after humiliating and cowing him, but the very sight of the man brought a flood of memories back to her, and she became consumed with rage. The pain, the anger she had suppressed since discovering of Zophiel's trysts with an elf servant overwhelmed her, and she wanted nothing more in that moment than to destroy him completely.

The feeling was entirely mutual. Zophiel didn't need nearly as much a reason to want blood, and the very sight of her, betrayal made flesh, inspired a murderous fury within him. He met her charge, launching himself at her stiletto-first, and slashed a grazing cut across Yasmina's abdomen as she tried to twist away. Her blouse showed a long horizontal cut, stained just a bit with red. She cried out and drew her own knife, lunging at him with considerable less balance and skill, but with the greater of their mutual hatred burning within her breast.

The fight was fast, and they had both drawn blood, but ultimately Zophiel was the more skilled combatant. While she had nicked him with her blade, the wounds were barely more than scratches. Yasmina likewise had suffered no grievous injuries, but had the misfortune of slamming her head against a rock as they both tumbled to the ground. The blow knocked her mind into fuzzy blackness, the last thing she saw before the oblivion of unconsciousness engulfed her was his sneering face.

Once Zophiel had caught his breath and ensured that the wounds she inflicted were indeed shallow and not threatening to his continued good health, he sheathed his stiletto and picked up her own dagger, using it to cut her clothing off and into broad strips. Yasmina needed to suffer, both for her betrayal and for robbing him of his opportunity to seek revenge against Amaranth for the humiliation he had endured under her. Carefully, so as not to rouse her, Zophiel picked Yasmina up and carried her over to the tree her errant energy bolt struck several moments ago.

It didn't take long to prepare, and soon he had Yasmina's arms bound around the broad trunk of the tree, her breasts mashed against the rough, scratching, unyielding bark. He knotted a few strips together and used them to bind her knees similarly around the tree, the cloth weaving between the calf and thigh of one leg, then winding around the trunk to similarly tie the other leg. Thus she was pressed rather viciously against the tree's bark, kneeling, legs spread wide, entirely vulnerable.

Finally, Yasmina stirred to consciousness, groggily becoming aware of her surroundings. She felt a breeze tickle across her inner thighs and tried to close them, only to scrape against the bark. Her eyes flew open and she tried to speak, and then she discovered the slightly damp silk in her mouth. She tried to look around, but one cheek was pressed to the tree, really only allowing her to look further into the copse of trees by the roadside. She struggled, wincing as the bark dug and scraped at her sensitive nipples. Finally, whimpering with fright, she slumped and settled into place.

"Hello, lover," Zophiel whispered into Yasmina's ear, speaking in their native tongue. While there was a time when that gave her a delighted little shiver, this time it inspired only a shudder of revulsion, a sensation magnified when she felt the familiar press of his turgid cock against her slit. The fight had made her damp, and the grinding roughness against her nipples inspired a bit more of pleasure, so long as she kept from thrashing too much. Still, she tried to squirm away from that dick, wanting no part of it. But Zophiel was relentless, and with one hand he grabbed her hip and pulled it back toward him, forcing her torso even harder against the trunk in the process. He thrust forward, moaning hotly as he buried his length into the fellow Islasoran's tight sheath.

Yasmina moaned against the muffle of her own panties, rocking her hips back just slightly when she felt the fleshy girth split her nether lips around it. While she hated him unequivocally, her body remembered the pleasure it had received from that manhood. Her eyes drifted closed as she tried not to dwell on what had preceded that moment, or what may well come after, choosing instead to try to enjoy herself while she had the chance. Having learned the truth of the heretical man she once thought she would marry, she harbored no foolish hope that she would be freed after he took her in this way.

Zophiel smirked, both hands now gripping her hips and tugging her back roughly as he slammed into her, hips undulating fluidly as his thick member slid back and forth in the heated depths of her increasingly slick tunnel. He leaned over and whispered huskily, voice deep with lust and shaky with the exertion of his mercilessly savage pounding, "You never could refuse this cock, slut."

She snarled furiously, her hatred of the man only building even as he so masterfully and punishingly stoked the flame of her lust. The cocky bastard! Her growl melted to a groan, the plunging head mashing so deliciously up against her cervix every time his hips slapped lewdly against her ass and he filled her completely. And to further exacerbate the conflict of emotions within her, the unyielding bark against which she was so viciously pressed had begun to heighten her arousal even more as it scratched her breasts and twisted the pert nipples capping those hemispheres as they flattened against the tree.

Unfortunately for her, Zophiel was very well-acquainted with her body and knew when she was approaching climax. The little twitches of her cunt's muscles gave it away every time, as it was beginning to now. He had no intention of giving her any satisfaction, and so he quickly withdrew his throbbing organ between the pulsing clenches of her searing, drooling pussy. He slid the underside of his aching dick up against the cleft of her ass cheeks, pressing between them and gripping the fleshy mounds as he began rocking his hips, using her backside to stroke his cock to a potent orgasm that splashed all across her back and spattered across her rear.

Yasmina let out a long, low moan of pained disappointment, crying out her dismay as she felt his climax across her flesh. She knew there would be no release now, neither from her state of arousal, nor her state of bondage. She felt his body withdraw from hers and heard him situate himself more properly. Then, with each step resounding condemningly in her ears, she heard him walk away.

Epilogue - Slavers

The soldier left to stand watch over Yasmina bolted quickly from the inn as soon as the wench told him that the mistress' door was locked. He searched for her, having no choice but to run from block to block, looking around frantically and hoping. Finally, he resigned himself to his fate and instead headed in the direction of the jewelry shop the other hunters went to investigate.

He arrived in the middle of the interrogation, unfortunately for him after most of the fun had already been had. He rapped on the door, and after verifying his identity, his comrades allowed him to enter.

"Captain, Yasmina's run off," he stated simply, unwilling to drag out his torment any further. The captain glared at him, lips drawing into a thin, angry line, and then looked over his men. Shaking his head, he sighed heavily and pointed to two of them.

"You two, continue here. The rest of us will search for her," he ordered, and his men instantly obeyed. The four of them exited the shop, leaving the other two to watch over their rather entertaining captive. The captain sent his men off in different directions, ordering them to meet him back at the town square in an hour's time.

After the others had left, the captain pulled out his coin purse and sought out the urchins. Common folk tended to discount them as useless beggars, but those better educated in the ways of the city understood well just how much these observant little buggers learned in the course of a day on the street. It took a while, but he had lucked upon one of the very same wastrels that had provided information to Yasmina. So, the bitch had gone off to hunt Zophiel herself and doubtlessly further humiliate him and his men.

At the appointed time, the three soldiers met their captain in the town square. The four of them discussed the situation, going over several possibilities. Finally, they concluded that the east gate was the most likely means by which the heretic would try to flee the city, and therefore Yasmina was probably to be found in that direction.

They came upon her, bound and cum-stained, sobbing and sniffling to herself as she futilely tried to strain her bonds loose. The captain paused, holding a hand to the side to halt his men when they moved toward Yasmina. He stared at her and thought long and hard. Though raping the elf sated a bit of his frustration, this pretentious little brat of a woman had been teasing his men mercilessly, to say nothing of him. If they sought revenge, there would be no returning to Islasoros. However, he and his men did have in their possession two very beautiful women, albeit a little willful. Ah, but they could be broken, he knew. He had done so with tougher men than those two while training recruits to serve under the Hierophant, and he would break these two as well.

"Men, how would you like to change careers? I'm sure we could sell the elf and this little slut for quite a sum." The men snickered and nodded their agreement. The freedom -and gratification- of capturing, using, breaking, and subsequently selling whatever women were foolish enough to fall into their clutches sounded quite appealing indeed.

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