Author's Note:
If you haven't read the first one, go and do so, now.
I mean it.
Really.
Done that?
Right.
This contains non-consenting mind control and sex. Quite a lot of it.
If you're not happy with that, move on.
If you are: read on.
#
Queen of the Dead Fortress 2: Lord and Master
#
Nathaniel stood in morning sunlight on the topmost tower of the fortress Graskan, his chest bare above a luxuriant, intricately embroidered silk sarong.
He stretched his arms to the sides, feeling his new warrior's muscles, that he had gifted to himself with his thoughts, pull and settle with a feeling of power that made him laugh out loud. How could anyone's muscles give true power compared to he, who was master of the fortress Graskan?
Nathaniel stretched out his mind, dipping into the fortress beneath him. He could sense every servant, old or new. Every corpse had been reanimated successfully, including those skeletons damaged by the desperate heroes Nathaniel had arrived with. The ancient servants spoke their ancient tongue, dead now but intelligible to him, who was their master. He could sense too the two mighty-thewed heroes E'layor and G'mor, and the warrior-tactician Borrum, who had treated him with such contempt on the mission to find the fortress but now served him with true and unbreakable loyalty.
And he could sense ... he had to close his eyes to luxuriate in how well could sense Avisha. The former thief-assassin, once Borrum's lover and now his personal bodyguard, was standing behind him. He turned around to gloat over her properly.
In place of the form-fitting black silk and suede clothes she had once worn from neck to wrists and ankles, with soft leather boots and gloves, she now wore no clothes at all.
Leather straps festooned her body to hold her multiple knives and short swords to her hips, thighs and across her belly and back, but there was not one scrap of fabric about her person. Even her boots had been replaced by leather soles held on by more leather straps. Nathaniel had made sure that straps crossed between, and accentuated, her firm and high breasts. It amused him to make her display herself even more than nudity already was.
Every strap was gleaming black, which contrasted nicely with Avisha's milky white skin and reminded Nathaniel entertainingly of her previous garb. There was a silver chain connecting rings through each nipple. Inserting the rings had not made her so much as flinch.
Nathaniel fucked her at least once a day. It amused him tremendously to have her as his submissive bedslave after the long days she had spent in open hostility, and the nights she had noisily fucked Borrum in their tent.
Her eyes were hard, lifeless, but not dead. Taking her will had taken some of her initiative as well, reducing her effectiveness as a thief and even as a protector, but her abilities to fight were only improved by removing all of her self-interest.
He reached up to cup her breast, enjoying the feel of the firm round flesh in his hand. She did not react.
He reached down. She was dry. With a thought from him, she was wet enough for him to push a finger inside her. She still did not react. He laughed. If he wanted a reaction, he merely had to think and she would be collapsing, helpless with lust. But this was as amusing as still having her chained in the dungeons.
With his finger still inside her, he sent his mind out again. The fortress Graskan still had no new servants who were loyal of their own volition, but all the reanimated warriors and servants were there because they knew the benefits of serving a mage, and the dancing girls had all willingly accepted their positions as bedslaves in return for physical perfection, eternal youth and the delights of elevated lusts.
Nathaniel was confident that, in time, more would come to realise that willingly serving a mage was preferable to losing their self and serving anyway.
He withdrew his finger from Avisha, then licked it idly. The magic constantly coursing through him gave him a near-permanent erection, almost as effectively as the silver slave ring that Elconcelj, before he had realised her ruse, had placed about his cock and balls. But now it was because he was Master.
He turned his attention to Elconcelj, who was kneeling submissively with back straight and shoulders back to accentuate her breasts.
He stepped forward, parting his sarong. She opened her mouth obediently, carmine lips stretching to accept a cock appropriate to his station. She took him easily into her throat. He usually had her use her hands to give him as much pleasure as she could, but it sometimes pleased him to simply use her as a receptacle. She no longer had any capacity to scheme against him, but demeaning her like this still gave him a gloating feeling of triumph.
He received less physical pleasure when using her like this, but it did mean that he could stand here and fuck her mouth for quite some time before ejaculating into her.
Later, he strolled through his domain, Avisha pacing silently behind him and Elconcelj walking docilely in front with a fine silver chain leading from his wrist to the filigreed silver collar about her neck. He had added his robe, but left it open across his muscled torso.
He, alone of everyone in the fortress, carried no weapon, not even that most useful of tools, a small knife. What need had he of weapons? He could destroy everyone with a thought, and there was nothing he needed tools for that he could not do with his mind.
Even the maids they passed, cleaning the floors on hands and knees, with perfect, available, nubile bodies and the ever-present hope of being noticed and taken as a personal bedslave by their master, carried sturdy knives at their hips. He had once taken one of these maids - he had no idea which one - against a tapestry, holding her knife against her throat and wondering if her fear would become stronger than her loyalty. It had not.
He descended far into the fortress, to the bedrock from which it grew. To the troll breeding pits. The unrecognisable, misshapen figures they had passed on their journey to the fortress had indeed been dormant trolls, most of which had since woken up. They could only move during daylight hours, when the sun did not interfere with the flow of magic, but they were getting progressively stronger and would soon be active at all hours. Those dormant in the fortress itself were already that strong.
The massive troll guards on the doors, each one easily dwarfing all three humans, bowed as low as their structure allowed.
"MY LORD." Their voices were formed by air blowing through flexible stone pipes. They were frequently indecipherable to human ears, and sometimes screamed, but were equally as often surprisingly beautiful.
Inside the pits, living rock grew slowly, tended by trolls who shaped it until it gained sentience and stepped free from the walls to join the growing ranks of Nathaniel's army. None of the buds were as yet recognisable, but Nathaniel knew they would be ready to harvest within five years. He was content to wait. No army could breach the walls of the fortress Graskan while he was resident, so he would wait until he could send his armies out to pillage and to bring back tribute and fresh slaves and servants.
In upper levels, the orcs were bred. Orc mothers screamed as they gave birth, the first generation already ready after three months. Each orc baby already showed that it would be stronger, meaner, and more intelligent than its parents. The dumb things that had attacked the human party heading towards the fortress had, when Nathaniel was enthroned, crawled terrified up to its walls, driven by ancestral memories they did not understand. They served Nathaniel now, through fear or compulsion.
The generation currently being born would know true loyalty.
In the fortress' massive courtyard, a couple of wagons, crewed by reanimated servants and escorted by reanimated warriors, had returned carrying food bought from (now terrified) farmers in the closest villages. Common folk where, as Nathaniel knew, better at keeping the important oral histories than learned folk where. Even if the histories were inaccurate, the essential truths were preserved. The most important essential truth here was: Fear the mage, and bend the knee. Nathaniel had not even bothered to give these servants knowledge of the current tongue. They had not needed it.
He returned to his throne room, strolling leisurely through the fortress Graskan, revelling in the hive of activity around him as the ravages of time were prepared and the army rebuilt.
He had barely sat upon his throne when a commotion in the main courtyard drew his immediate attention.
Borrum lead the party into the throne room, G'mor and E'layor following them with drawn blades.
Six warriors, dressed identically in garments similar to the old armour of the fortresses, escorted five women - all young, all beautiful, all wrapped demurely in travelling capes of good quality.
Nathaniel's eyebrows rose. There was no fear or anger here. There was ... excitement? He sat up straighter, casting his eyes over them to spot the leader. It was not, as he had assumed, one of the warriors, all of whom bent their knees and their heads to him.
The tallest of the women stepped forwards, her eyes bright, her hair gleaming black and her face set in an expression Nathaniel was startled to recognise as adoration.
"My Lord!"
Nathaniel was too surprised to respond.
"My Lord, my name is Talienal. We received word of your mission to the fortress Graskan, but barely dreamed to hope you would succeed!"
Nathaniel had to work hard to hide his disbelief. He waved a hand. "Continue."
Talienal bowed her head humbly. "My family served the fortress Graskan and its lords for three centuries before the mage wars. We were sent into safety so we could preserve memories and documents for the day when an heir to the lords of old would arise again."
She looked up, eyes shining. "We began our journey as soon as we knew that an heir had been enthroned!"
Nathaniel didn't try to stop himself from laughing out loud.
He let his eyes roam over the party. The warriors looked strong and capable, with armour and weapons in good condition but clearly not just for show. They all knelt with their heads bowed, in two rows flanking the women.
