Heroes of Magic and Might
Chapter 21 – Ashe and dust
…
"Well, this doesn't look good."
The arrow, firmly lodged in the soft earth, was clearly a recent addition to the landscape. It was too new, lacking the erosion of time or elements that would have quickly collected in the local climate. The absence of Harry, plus the addition of several more arrows gave her a vague idea of what had happened.
The fairy tinkled something agitated, fretting openly over the arrow and the lack of Harry.
"Can you find him?" the little vampire asked.
The fairy nodded, pointing into the wood on the opposite side of the river.
"Of course," the vampire moaned, staring balefully at the narrow, shallow, running body of water. "Come on, we need to find some way across. Who knows what trouble that boy is getting into."
…Not Harry, that's for sure.
Finding his hands and feet tied to a pole bobbing through the forest, was never a way he wanted to wake up, but there he was. His would-be assassins had become his captors. Why? Who knows. Where were they taking him? Same answer.
He tried to play possum, seeing no advantage if they realized he was awake, but he wasn't much of an actor, plus the faintly glowing rings around his eyes were something of a giveaway.
It made his head ache to maintain the minor enhancement. Whatever drug they'd used to knock him out was clearly still in his system, and he fought just for a minor improvement to his abysmal eyesight. If he were going to die, he wanted to see it coming; he'd sworn he would years ago when fighting Quirrell. He would meet death face to face.
This was something death very much appreciated. Most people tended to run the other way when they saw him coming which could really get to you after a few eternities.
"Don't try anything wizard. Mistress would prefer you alive, but she'll be just as satisfied with dead if you give us any trouble."
Harry wasn't sure what trouble he could currently give them. His body felt like lead. Even if he weren't bound there was no way he could fight, and any kind of magic that could save him was totally out of the question. He didn't fancy apparating to safety, only to discover he was missing some vital parts.
Patience, that was the key. Wait for an opportunity, or for someone to save him.
And why not? He wasn't proud. He was already damseling pretty hard. So long as his savior was cute, he would love them long time.
Barely able to see he closed his eyes, saving his strength, and focused on the senses that required no enhancement to work. Scent and sound, the scent of earth, the sound of boots crunching leaves and twigs.
He perked up when they changed, organic giving way to something like man made. The earthy scent faded, and the crack and snap of twigs became a regular click, heels on stone.
Where are we, he wanted to ask, but suspected the answer would be the back of a hand across his face.
Getting clever, he opened one eye and focused all his concentration on that. It took some adjusting, and his headache only got worse, but the image clarified, and he got a good, quick look at his surroundings.
It was probably nice once, that was his first thought. Stone buildings lined long, wide, cobbled streets, leading to a massive towering structure which looked to be the center of the city. Or perhaps not city; city seemed to undersell the scale of the place. It had likely been quite the metropolis.
That time was long past. Everything around him screamed from their absent roofs, "OLD! BROKEN! RUINED!"
From the towering structure to the cobbles beneath him, everything shone with the wear of age and disrepair. Stone cracked and split, and grass grew out of every nook and cranny it could wedge itself into.
Such dilapidation left him to wonder at all the people who came out to gawk. Had they been living here the whole time? Had they watched their home fall into such a state? And perhaps more importantly, where were all the men?
Of the gray skinned white-haired people who peered from doorways and windows or merely stopped to stare as he was carried by, not a single one was without the obvious indicators of the opposite gender. And the way they stared, heated, disgusted, it was all too familiar.
"This cannot bode well for me," he mumbled under his breath, remembering, 'she'll be just as satisfied with you dead'.
He continued to watch in silence as he was hauled like a bit of meat to the big central structure. It looked little better on the inside, though someone had gone to the trouble of crudely sealing the holes with plaster.
The women carrying him spoke briefly to one who waited just inside before bringing him through a series of halls to a room opulently adorned. He'd never read the Arabian nights, but if he had this was what he would have imagined.
Silk hung in waves from the ceiling and the entire circular room was lined with massive pillows. On said pillows lay a dozen or so women in various stages of undress; at least, that's how he thought of it. Was possible this was as dressed as any of them ever got. They seemed perfectly comfortable in such a state, lying, lounging, sipping wine.
The sight of it all could have been one to arouse, if not for the claxons of his danger sense screaming in his ear. He was no safer with these harmless looking females than he had been in the forest fighting the others, he was sure.
"Lyraka, what is this you have brought into my presence?"
The question came from a standout in the crowd, the only woman properly dressed and not sprawled across a pillow but sitting in a proper chair. Though perhaps chair was underselling it; much like the headmaster's chair in the great hall of Hogwarts, it was more of a throne.
"Mother," the one who had threatened him addressed the other woman, "we found this wizard near the door. He attacked us, but we were able to capture him."
Though barely able to see, he could feel the woman eyeing him.
"Doesn't look like much of a wizard."
You wouldn't either trussed up like a trophy hog, he thought.
"Does it have a name?"
Harry held his tongue, which the back of the hand told him was not the correct response. "What's it to ya?" Neither was that, the back of the hand said so, loudly.
"You will show respect dog," his captor growled.
"I'd rather hide it," still not the right response, and the back of the hand was getting hoarse.
"So willful," the woman on the throne said with a slight titter, "or perhaps he just enjoys being beaten. How naughty."
The idea clearly didn't appeal to the one that brought him in, and she struggled against the urge to strike him again, lest it turn out he was enjoying her ministrations.
"Miserable filth," she spat.
"I've been called worse."
"Do tell," said the throne woman, handing off her wine glass and giving a thoughtful scratch to one overlong pointed ear.
He hadn't noticed till she'd drawn attention to it, but now that she had he could see all of them had ears like that.
"What are you?" he voiced the question before his brain could remind him of the likely consequences.
The back of the hand did not disappoint.
"We are the Ashe (Ah-sh)," the throne woman said, giving him a look that made his skin try to flee his body, "and you, my dear wizard, will be my 'special' guest for the evening. Prepare him."
… I am the terror, that flaps in the night
Without much ado evening came, and with it, the dark. The Ashe did not fear dark, their night vision was superior to any humans. It was not however, superior to a vampire's, a thing they did not know since none of them practiced necromancy.
Rosebud hopped from canvas tarp to canvas tarp with all the presence of a playful breeze. The owl flew overhead while the fairy rode on her shoulder, her natural illumination shadowed by the vampire's umbrella.
"Are we close?"
The fairy nodded, pointing to the large structure in the middle. Where lamps and candles could be seen through empty windows, lighting rooms.
"I don't hear screaming, yet," she observed. "Better hurry, all the same. Who knows what wretched state he might be in."
…It's smooth on my bum
It wasn't wretched really, though he was a bit chilled and still a little damp. Preparing him had involved a lot of cold water and a set of manacles on his wrists and feet that dampened his magic the same way the drug had before the rush of cold flushed most of it from his system.
He still felt leaden, but he could move, or could have if he hadn't been bound spread eagle on a very solid, if not terribly uncomfortable, bed. He'd never felt silk sheets before. He would have appreciated it more if he weren't naked and alone.
The situation didn't improve when company arrived, and he suddenly regretted complaining about being alone.
"Well, look at you. Clean up rather nicely, don't we."
The throne woman eyed him like a starving dog eyes a big, thick bone that still has a scrap of meat on it. Though most dogs did not wear so much black leather, nor carry well-oiled whips that shone in the flickering light.
"I don't suppose you'd consider letting me go?" he asked in a bout of desperate optimism.
"Let you go? Now that we're alone together," her laughter was sweet, bell like, and so fake it was impossible not to see it for mockery.
He tried to pull against the chains, but they were stretched taught, and the manacles blocking his magic prevented him from doing more than enhance his eyes so he could see her looking at him. He wished he couldn't, it was not a good look, it boded.
The whip lashed out like a rolling serpent, slapping his left pectoral with a hornet like sting. Instinctively he bit back the cry of pain.
"Now, now, no need to hold it in. It's been so long since my whip has tasted soft flesh. Give us a little scream, won't you please?"
He wouldn't. He was ready for the second strike and held it in firmly. If anything, this only seemed to please her.
"I was right. You are willful," she girlishly giggled to herself. "Oh, we are going to have such fun."
Playfully she leapt onto the bed and straddled him. Such an intimate pose was found lacking in affection because it allowed him to look her right in the eyes, and what he saw behind those pale orbs was something like madness. At least, he felt he might go mad if he kept looking, and with her so close, it was impossible to look away.
"It's been so long," she crooned, "you have no idea. Look at me, trembling like some little girl about to have her first time. Can you hear it, my heart, so loudly it beats for you. The butterflies in my belly are having a carnival."
She babbled barely coherent in her excitement, squeezing him tightly between her thighs.
"I love you!" she declared in a heated passion. "Speak soft, all the ways that I love you. All the ways the I will love you. Such love, such pain. Hurt you. Yes, all the ways I shall hurt you. You will feel my love, scream my love. Taste my love, such sweet agony."
"I don't think you're my type," Harry groaned as she rubbed herself up and down his torso with smooth leather trousers, stopping at his words as though physically struck.
"Oh!" she cried. "Such scorn. You would wound me with your words alone. OH! The pain of rejection! My heart! How it aches!"
Such theatrics, over the top as they were, seemed oddly genuine, and something else. She seemed to revel in the pain.
"Truly, you must love me," she said. "To hurt me so, it can be nothing else. Come then, let me show you my love."
Her hand lashed out, striking him across the face, then the other, and again, and again.
"Do you feel it? Do you feel my love?" she screamed, slamming both hands down on his throat and squeezing.
Her grip was solid, she was frighteningly strong. Was it always so or was her madness to blame? Bound as he was there was little he could do, but what little he could he did. Thrusting his hips, the only bit not tied down, he tried to throw her off, but it was no use.
He was stretched tight, too little space to heave, and her weight was oddly distributed. The thrusting motion did get her attention though, in the worst possible way.
"You thrust so vigorously my love. Have you finally acknowledged your love, or is it just your wanton lust?"
It didn't appear to matter; arching her back in ecstatic bliss pulled her hands away from his throat and the wind filled his pipes.
"Are you insane!"
It was a stupid question, but the lack of oxygen getting to his head had shut off several vital circuits, like the one between his mouth and his brain.
"Are not all who love at a loss for sanity?" she asked flirtatiously, pulling an odd blue pill from between her pale ashen breasts.
"What is that?"
"This?" she said, as if just noticing it. "Just a little something to enhance your performance," she smiled. It was not a pleasant smile, "This will keep you up for days. A pity the necrosis will have set in before it wears off."
Harry's eyes bulged as she shrugged carelessly and pushed the pill at him. "Open wide."
Like hell, he thought, clamping his jaw so hard it hurt.
"Are you teasing me? How naughty," she giggled, then squeezed his nose shut with the other hand. "I can't wait any longer," she purred as his face turned red. "Can't you feel it, the heat. I'm burning for you. Burning!"
He felt like he was burning as well. Red became purple, became blue; instinct warred with reason who lost ground swiftly. She leaned in, kissably close, pressing the pill against his lips.
He was doomed; either he suffocated or died of necrosis. He wasn't sure which idea appealed less.
He was saved from having to choose when something shot in through the window and slammed into his would-be lover's head.
Once again life-giving air filled his lungs as the murderous happy pill flew across the room.
The assailing object glowed brightly in the dim candle lit room, and it only took a second for him to realize what it was.
"Fairy!" and if she was here…
"Did we interrupt?"
"Rosebud."
The little vampire smirked; the owl sat nonchalant on her shoulder.
"Should we come back in half an hour?"
"No!"
Rosebud sighed, "Love them and leave them. What a typical man."
"You think you're funny but you're not," Harry growled. "Now get me out of here."
"Oh, very well. Where are the keys?"
With the one who chained him to the bed. Before he could explain that however, the rather one-sided fight between fairy and Ashe drew a loud angry yell that could not be mistaken for the throws of passion.
"Mother! Is something wrong?"
His captor, Lyraka, strode purposefully into the room. A ring of keys clinked from where they hung on her belt.
"Never mind. I found them."
Before the other elfin woman could fully assess the situation, Rosebud buried the heel of her palm in the woman's solar plexus, stealing her breath and her keys in one fell swoop.
"Gah! You fool! Stop them! Don't let them escape!"
Gasping for air, Lyraka tried to call for help but the words would barely form, coming out in pitiful wheezes as Rosebud worked the locks and set Harry loose.
Sliding off the bed he nearly fell when his legs refused to support him.
"Am I going to have to carry you out of here?" the little vampire asked.
"Maybe," said Harry, struggling to get his feet under him. "They had me drugged earlier. Feels like it hasn't totally worn off yet."
"Can you transform? It'd be much easier to carry you like that."
"I'll try."
Blocking out the screams of fairy fight and wheezing woman, Harry dug deep for focus, scraping just enough to put him in mind of squirrely things. It was a tough change, the toughest since his first days with the transformation but it worked.
Small in body and big in eyes he clambered into the vampires waiting hands.
"Fairy! Time to go."
With a last blast of angry magic, the fairy buzzed after the vampire as she vaulted out the window.
Screams of rage and lust unfulfilled were quickly joined by ringing bells and the stamp of boots, all of which came too late. By the time they'd organized a search the small group had rendezvoused with the wolf and were making good time through the darkened wood in the opposite direction from which they came.