Caught in Darness

He returned to the mistress's room. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dark, but as they did he could detect movement in the middle of the room. The elf woman's slender form slowly took shape against the blackness, outlined by the faint light that came in through the front door. She was working the chains in the middle of the room. One was around her neck and the other in her hands. He knew what she was up to before the rest of the details were visible.

"I didn't come here to watch you die." He growled at her. His tone carried a warning. "But I did come here for you." He approached her slowly but steadily. Her hands paused but only for a moment.

"I freed your honor guard, and let myself get caught so I could find you. They keep me alive to learn how I slipped past their spells and guards. The same way I intend to get us out." She stopped her work and searched his eyes in the dark. She shared the same heat vision as the under elves, his temperature was cool, and the blood on his hands was unmistakable.

"Who did you kill?" she inquired.

"One of her captives, and two of her guards. I gave her something to think about. It will change how this game is played. And it will get worse for you, but you must survive it. Survive it, and I promise to return you home."

"Why should I take the word of a human?" her hands were ready to yank. The chain would pull her neck up and she would strangle. The lock mechanism on the pulley above only allowed for one-way rotation. He paused in his approach and tilted his head back towards the door as if listening for something.

"Because I only look human." he barely whispered. There was a stillness between them before he lunged at her. His hands had her wrists and squeezed them hard. Her delicate bones grinded against themselves and she screamed in agony against his grip. The pain made her wilt with a moan. The chain came off easily enough from around her neck. "you belong to me now." He growled in her ear, and bit the tip of it sharply. It was the same erogenous zone he worked during their lovemaking and it sent a shiver down her neck. The spasm came back in a flurry of anger as her hand slapped him across his cheek. "good..." he hissed through clenched teeth. "I like it when they fight back."

His meaty hand wrapped around her throat as the other held her wrist. He walked her back to the cage as she beat and slapped him with her free hand as much as she could on any part she could reach. Her flails were useless against his muscular torso. With a grunt she was dumped unceremoniously onto the bedding of her cell. Her eyes bore into his face with hatred and betrayal. "Such energy for someone so wounded." He chided her with a smirk as he knelt to one knee and ran a hand along the scar across her belly. It had healed remarkably fast – it could have only been the doing of the mistress's magic. The elf woman pulled her legs to her chest and scooted backwards away from him until her back was against the bars. The stark stench of death and bile floated into the room. He glanced over his shoulder but could not see Her in the shadows. However the lady below him had no trouble seeing their captor, so he followed her gaze and stared at the blackness wherever she did. Now is the time. It was his turn in the game.

"Where I come from, we have one high law." He spoke to the darkness towards where he guessed She stood with that chain in her hand ready to strike. "You kill it, you keep it. The strongest are the richest." Silence rewarded him, but soon he felt hot breath on the small of his back. The man did not turn but spoke to the room. "I killed two of your guards. I claim their service." Her voice chuckled in the dark, it was a humoring laugh, yet there was no derision in it.

"You have many surprises." She whispered an inch from his left ear. He turned slowly towards her and could feel her breath on his chest. Zecair women were infamous for their seductive abilities. It was how they controlled their mates, those that fell in disfavor found themselves in a deadly lovers embrace. But one could never tell those embraces from the lustful ones. She taunted him with her advances, trying to break his resolve. That was the point of the first test with her lust elixir. To prove he could be seduced. If he could not be controlled, he would be killed. But if he gave up too much control, he would be easily compromised by another female, and she would kill him before that. That was their game. She had to break him, and he had to prove he could only be broken by her. Then he would win, by succumbing to her will and hers alone.

"I have many more surprises." He taunted her. His demeanor was too bold, it taunted to the point of insolence. "Let me serve, and I may show you them."

"Why?" She whispered behind him, her fingertips trailed across his back sensually. He spun on her in an instant and grabbed her hand. Before she could protest he pulled her close to him and bit her ear like he had the elf woman's. His mistress twitched and he felt the bite of her chain across his chest. The wound bled instantly and he staggered back. It struck him again across the arm, then the shoulder, then the back. His advance one her was heresy, and now he had to repent. He knelt to avoid the strikes he could, and defended against the others. But in the darkness he could not see them coming. Soon the floor was red with his blood from a dozen long cuts into his meaty flesh. "I can hurt worse than death." She growled huskily into his ear.

"I can kill better than your soldiers." He groaned against the pain. The act made the cuts sting and he lurched forward clutching his ruined skin. When the moment ended he chuckled lightly.

"You need me."

"I need, not."

"You let your soldiers be killed by a human." That was his rub.

"What is it you want?" her question was a trap. She was playing along.

"Just her." He lifted a bleeding arm towards the cage. "She owes me."

"Why would I take you? Humans do not survive here." Her voice held boredom in it. She was sitting in her chair at the desk where she wrote her findings on. He could feel her gaze on him, measuring him, trying to determine how far to let this play out. He knew he was pushing it too far too soon, but he had to take control or there was no chance. A brief silence filled the room.

"Why did you use me on your captive?" He said at last. "Humans do not survive here. If you used one as a bodyguard, it would be foolish. Your enemies would think you were weak and desperate. They would strike against you." He had been order to rape that captive as an insult, she was barely conscious and there was no way her mind could have responded to anything he did to her body. Humans were lowly regarded he found, and he knew she was using this disregard as a weapon, now he would us that against her.

"How do you kill, what can not be killed?" she asked him. The deadly flirtation was gone from her voice, her words were stern and angry. He had her now.

"You kill what they value." He stated honestly. The room went silent. His pieces had been played, it was all out in the open now. She did not respond, as the silence grew he could not tell if she was still in the room. "You can hurt worse than death. I understand this. Yet, I can kill more than the body. I can kill the pride. I can kill the honor."

"I CAN hurt worse than death." She repeated in a mellow tone. "I will kill what you value." The door suddenly closed, and the blackness filled the room.

****

Lies within lies within lies. Too hard to unravel, too easy to get lost. He thought.

He brooded as he was escorted back to his cell. His body had been ravaged. Bruised, cut, bleed – battered. Flanking him were his escort, two elite soldiers of the training grounds. Armed to the teeth with knives and blades, with two jagged metal spears aimed at his backside should he slow down. The weapons were similar to the ones that gave him his marks, but those had been wielded by trainees; Trainees that no longer breathed.

They arrived at the door to his cell. The round stone slab rolled inside the wall and he was shoved inside with those barbed metal points. The door closed behind him taking away the faint glow of the wall sconces. Inside there was no light, only the sound of her breathing, and of those few moments when she moved or spoke.

"How many did you kill today?" She asked in the deep accent of her people. His cellmate was Cutharin, a far relative to humans. Cutharins had mottled –grey-green skin, a protruding jaw that sported canines twice the size of men, it also gave their speech a deep echoed affect.

"Only five." He lied. By the end of the day it would be nine from the wounds he inflicted. He walked straight to his straw mat on the floor and laid down to rest. His groans betrayed his condition, and he could hear her moving towards him. They had shared this black cell for six days. It had been that long since the Mistress took him from the cage with the elf maiden and brought him here. Each day he was woken up, dragged from the cell, and made to fight new soldiers. Each day he killed a handful, but still they made him do it again the next day. Each day he was returned to his cell, and she came to him to nurse his wounds. He had been commanded to do all this by the Mistress, and he had chosen to serve her. He wasn't sure what would be the fate of the elf maiden, but any chance he had lay in earning the Mistress's trust. This was her first command, so he followed it.

His cellmate's lips were very sensual as she kissed his skin. Her nose could smell the blood on him, and always led her lips to his wounds. Cutharin tongues were forked at the tip and their saliva had a minty-vapor smell that numbed nerves. She licked his wounds just as she had each night before. Cleaning the blood from his skin and numbing the pain. Her technique was unnecessarily sensual for medical treatment, but he had yet to tell her to stop.

As she moved from one wound on his arm to one at his side, her motherly breasts dragged across his skin. Her skin was leathery to the touch, but just as bare. For her own reasons, she nursed him each night, until he slept, and on the morrow he was taken out to fight again.

"This one will take some time." She spoke softly as her tongue worked the remains of cut across his shoulder and collarbone. It was three days old, but still she licked it as if it were fresh. Her saliva reopened the wound and cleaned it fresh again. The flesh was red and puffy, but soon after her treatments the swelling lessened. Her body pressed against his as she repositioned. He felt the sharp points of her nipples pushing into his ribs. Her hands were gentle as she held his flesh apart, even gentler as she reached between his legs and stroked his cock under the remnants of his pants. His hands instinctively grabbed hers and wrestled her free.

"My mistress commanded me." She explained with her mouth now inches from his ear as she took his earlobe in between her large teeth and pulled. The enlarged canines bit into the skin and drew blood, but the vapor of her breath had already numbed the skin. It was a seductive display, but ended nevertheless in his firm grasp pushing her back.

"She did not command me." He said firmly and shrugged her off. She took those hands of his that had so firmly pushed her away, and placed them on her large breasts. They were leathery to the touch, and she made him massage them with her one hands. It was something that gave her incredible joy, as she moaned and hissed in pleasure. She brought one nipple to her own mouth and bit the sharp nub. She whimpered from the act, but not a milky substance flowed down her breast onto their hands.

"Drink, it will give you courage tomorrow." She hissed huskily and leaned forward to place her breast in his mouth. Yet again, those denying hands pushed her way. The man growled and rolled over to put his back to her. She recoiled into the blackness of the cell.

"This is to be our last night together." She explained. "She commanded me to tend your wounds, and take you within seven days. Tomorrow she comes."

"I am sorry." Was all he said. An uncomfortable silence grew between them. And soon slumber followed. It was a long time before she moved; she waited until she was sure he was asleep. Her body crept across the room to him and she hovered her head over his body. Her tongue slowly slid out and caressed down his bare thigh. The numbing venom of her saliva dribbled down his leg to his crotch. She shifted her weight and brought her face to his cock. That forked tongue slowly slid out and bathed the topside of his girth with her spit. He never stirred.

Emboldened by his slumber, she reached up and cradled his member in her fingers, wrapping them around his meat slowly and gently. That wet muscle snaked down and around his length, coating it well with her saliva. The numbing power had a mixed effect – it would cease all pain sensations, but the reflexes would still react. The slickness of it made her fingers glide up and down easily. It didn't take long for his flesh to react, the soft thick member started to harden and thicken in her grip. Once soft delicate caresses now town to firm deliberate strokes as she took to her task. Her mouth opened and she took his cock into her mouth, enveloping his flesh with her thick wet lips. Slick fingers worked up and down his shaft as her lips held him firmly in her mouth. Her movements quickened as more of her saliva coated his hard cock.

If he wouldn't give it willingly, she would take it - No one disobeys the mistress. His breathing grew heavy, and the rest of his body started to react and tense. It wouldn't be long now. She would have him, and her proof, and she could fulfill her duty to her Mistress. His body arched, and she grabbed his cock firmly as her fingers pumped away. Her tongue flicked the underside he his bulging head, expecting to taste his seed as it erupted from his twitching manhood. His body jerked, he shot upright, and two strong hands grabbed her head and jerked it sharply to one side.

Her vertebrae cracked loudly as it shattered.

When the guards came to escort him out, they didn't seem to care about the body that had gone cold. They herded him down the hallways as usual, but the path they took was different from the last few days. The corridor ended at a open door and beyond was a study with shelves of books, chairs, and a table piled with both. A thin frail, male hobbled around looking for books. He hid his face under a curtain of wispy red hair that hung from his head. The guards said not a word as they shoved him through the door and closed it behind him.

"You will stay. You will learn." The male said. There was only the faint flicker of candlelight in the room.

"I am Boil." He said with a scratchy voice. As he turned to face the human, he turned his body into the light. He was missing one arm, and the other was malformed from birth. It worked well enough at picking up things with his two gnarled fingers but had no strength. His hair hid his face as he perpetually looked to the ground as he spoke.

"I have no name." The human replied. He stood straight and watched the male Zecair as he moved about.

"We all have names." Boil started. "Some are given, some are taken. Some are branded."

"Then I am "Human"."

"We shall call you, Mule." Boil hobbled over to the desk and began to pick off the books one by one and drop them on the floor. "I am to teach you the Zecair language. Just as I taught Her, The Majestic, yours."

"Her, The Majestic?" Mule repeated.

"Her taken name. She rules all within these walls."

"All?"

"Within these walls."

"Meaning..." the Human started. "Outside these walls she rules none."

"Part of our language, is learning what has not been said. This will serve you well." Boil said as he finally uncovered the book he wanted. He lifted it and shuffled over to the human and dropped it to the floor. "This will serve you too. It has all our words, yours and ours. Read it now. And speak your first sentence to me." The man sat and read the first few pages. He flipped back and forth looking for at the words.

"Sarssah juil meyu unkh ou hamarlly ka?" Mule said. "Zecair haoutra de." Boil stopped in his tracks at the human's unlikely prowess at their language. He almost dared to lift his head in curiosity but instead inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"You learn fast, human. That will serve you as well." Boil said. "To answer your question, Boil was given, my own taken. Because I failed. So I live now to serve." The man flipped through more pages.

"Yal kooh. Sarssah immon, desaralllial ka?" he spoke casually as he flipped through the pages lazily.

"Yal koohN." Boil corrected. "Ka is only used for personal inquisitive. For general inquisitives it is not needed...You will stay here until we can speak our language without that book." Boil pulled a chair under him and sat down. His threadbare grey robe bunched up at the waist, so he stood briefly to smooth it out with his malformed hand. The man sat down on the floor and closed the book. He placed it at his feet, crossed his arms and stared at Boil intently.

"It is odd that you are so eager to learn." Boil said quietly in Zecair. "Tell me how you came to speak our language so well?" The man looked around the room as he deliberated on his answer.

"Would not any visitor to a strange land first wish to learn the language?" Mule responded casually in their native language. The polite formality of his words caused boil to lift his head up slowly. One good eye stared out blankly, behind it was the soul of a being broken and enslaved. Mule did not look at him, but kept his eyes anywhere Boil's was not.

"There is more I can still teach you." The Zecairin said cautiously. "Knowledge is what kept me alive when all others wanted me dead. Including myself. It is by her divine grace, The Majestic saw some use in me. Here, I live to serve."

"I would be grateful of all you can teach me." Mule replied solemnly and bowed his head in respect.

"I was commanded to teach you our language, and some of our ways. But I see the opportunity to serve throughout, by arming you with more..."

Uncounted days passed in the small little room. Their meals were brought to them, much like they were when he was in the cell. There was a duct in the corner that took their waste away, but there was no where to sleep. Boil's hunched back had come about from falling asleep bent over the table and a book. But the human preferred the floor, with his head in his hands. Each day began with Boil lighting another candle in the darkness and beginning a conversation; from the most irrelevant idle chatter to ancient history of the Zecair people. Boil was patient teacher, but even he had to work to keep pace with his eager student.

"Names are a source of pride in our people." Boil began one lecture in his native language. "We are given a name at birth, but it is taken away when we come of age. We must then earn another before our next name day, or one is given to us."

"Did you name me Mule?"

"Yes. It will only last in here. Another will be given by one more suitable." Boil cleared his throat. "Power comes from the name, for no two can have the same name. One can take a name by killing its owner, or by embarrassing them in defeat until they submit to one's rule. Assassinations are all too common. As are duels in front of many witnesses. But they all serve one purpose, to defend one's name. To defend one's power."

The door opened, cutting off Boil's speech. The glow of the Mistress's spell basked the room in bright orange light. Both males shrunk from its bright glow. She stood before them in a sheer white gown that draped from one shoulder down across her body to the hip. It barely covered one breast, but that deadly chain of hers wrapped around her waist and criss-crossed over the fabric to other shoulder. It dared the looker to fixate on her parted breasts. The elite guards that escorted him down the halls now flanked her on each side, and each of them wore armor of bright red chain. Purple capes adorned their shoulders and gave both males a formal appeal.