The Other Side of the Wall

She moves unseen through the fortress like a part of its own darkness, a breeze with a razor's edge. The Empress' men die without crying out; some, without knowing their death had come to them.

Few outside the Shadow Guard have ever met its leader and lived. Those who do, however, lend truth to the rumours. The warrior-queen Izara is as beautiful and as lethal as the legends say. Tall, dark-haired, with a figure as inviting as her blade is quick, she leaves few survivors, and almost none who can think of her without lust.

Her ability to make herself unseen at will, and open complex locks with the barest touch of her hand, has made it easy to infiltrate the Empress' last fortress before the rest of the army were even in sight of the gates. Now, as her two female lieutenants fade out of the shadows behind her, Izara regards the pair on the bed with amusement.

"Empress, of all the things I expected to see," she purrs,"You fucking your favourite assassin was not one of them."

She lowers her sword, judging neither Empress nor assassin to be much of a threat. Spying the discarded blades on the floor, she laughs and kicks one aside. The Empress pushes her skirts down, and sits up.

"Commander Izara," she says, with a surprising amount of dignity. "What a pleasure. I wasn't expecting you for at least another hour."

"We've been here since midnight. Do you want to know how many guards you have left?"

"I'm sure you've been very thorough," replies the redhead flatly.

"Oh, I have. And I don't mean to stop now. Ladies, secure the Empress' pet. I want to have a word with her."

Out of the corner of her eye, Izara spies the assassin move, but she is already prepared for this. Her hand moves; a blade slices through the air. Her aim is to distract, not to harm, and she does it well; a cut appears in his temple, the knife itself slamming cleanly into the headboard of the bed. It is enough to catch him off guard. Quick as a breath, Izara's lieutenants are dragging him off the bed. The Empress' expression is deliberately neutral.

"There is no need for this. We are willing to negotiate our surrender." Then, to her assassin, "Shade, don't struggle. You'll hurt yourself more. We are defeated; we need to co-operate."

"And I'm sure you will." The warrior-queen is smiling again. "Some of your men have joined our side, you know. I told them that if they complied with our orders, they might get to fuck you."

"I hardly think that's necessary."

Izara struts slowly toward the woman. "Oh, it isn't. But I'd like to watch it happen, nonetheless."

Suddenly, she lunges forward and grabs the shorter woman by the hair, pulling her forcibly closer. It's clearly quite painful. Behind her, she hears the assassin struggle briefly again, and ignores him. Her girls will take care of that for now.

"Empress," she continues. "Or—what do I call you, now your empire has crumbled?"

"I have no other name," the other woman gasps. "I never did."

"Oh yes, I forget, you're supposed to be some kind of ancient reincarnated goddess or something, aren't you?" Izara leans down, brings her face closer to the other woman's. "Well, I need to call you something. So I think I'll call you whore."

She lets go abruptly. The Empress collapses face-down on the bed for a second before composing herself. She tries to sit up, but Izara flicks her hand nonchalantly, and an unseen force slams into the redhead's chest and sends her sprawling back against the cushions. The warrior-queen raises her sword again, and climbs onto the bed beside her, tracing the tip of the blade across the Empress' pale neck.

"Alright, whore, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to get my girls to fuck you. After that, I'm going to bring in some of the men who were so happy to betray you." Slowly she advances over the redhead's prone body, keeping the knife-point trained on the Empress' throat, her long mahogany hair sweeping the woman's velvet skirts. "And after them, I'll introduce you to some of the men whose families you had killed. They're very anxious to meet you. And do you know what I'm going to do then, whore? I'm going to stand and watch. And I'm going to get off on it."

"I can't help but think you're missing out on the fun, Commander," the Empress quips, smirking despite her fear. Izara's eyes narrow. She brings her lips close to the woman's ear.

"Whore, you killed my people, and had your necromancers bring them back to taunt me. You burnt our settlements and salted the earth so nothing would grow. I'd rather cut off my sword-hand than fuck you. Then again," she said, smirking, "I fight just as well with the other."

"The forces of Light want me alive," says the redhead calmly. Izara sits up, straddling her.

"And they'll get you alive. But they didn't specify condition. Esha?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"You're first."

Izara backs off as her first lieutenant climbs onto the bed. Esha is tall and slim, with a shock of white-blonde hair and a scar on her right cheekbone that offsets the feline set of her eyes. A proper warrior's scar. Izara watches her admiringly. At her command, Esha draws a small blade.

The Empress watches her with affected calm; the veneer of bravery in the woman's eyes makes the anticipation of breaking her all the more arousing. Esha pauses to enjoy her fear for a moment more before tracing the point of this knife downwards over her neck, just hard enough to make the redhead shiver. She pauses only momentarily at the green velvet of her bodice, then rips it asunder. The Empress winces.

Her breasts are small but sensual, her skin flawlessly pale. The blush of her recent orgasm is already fading from her throat. The lieutenant traces one nipple with the edge of her blade, awaiting further commands. Izara watches them from the end of the bed.

"Pity you weren't born into the Shadow Guard, whore," she says. "You could have been one of my girls. Skin like yours is wasted on an outsider, especially one who has sold herself to evil."

"I'm flattered," manages the Empress as the white-haired woman idly trails the knife over her ribs.

"You're lying," replies the warrior-queen. "I expected nothing less from a whore. Esha, the skirt."

With a flick of the wrist, the fastenings at the side are severed, and Esha pulls the lush fabric aside, exposing the woman's full nakedness to the air.

"Touch her," Izara orders. Obeying, the lieutenant maps her skin with fingers rather than cold steel. She traces teasingly between the Empress' legs, and smiles.

"Your pet had you all ready, I see." Esha's voice is low and sensual. "He's probably disappointed he won't be the first to fuck you."

The redhead doesn't reply, only tilts her head to the side, probably trying to make eye contact with Shade. Esha grabs her by the chin, forcing the other woman's gaze back to herself. "I can show you a better time than he can, whore. Trust me."

Suddenly, she slides a finger inside her, causing the Empress to squirm in pleasure and shame. Esha withdraws, ghosting her fingers over the sensitive folds of her sex, tracing her clitoris, then massaging the delicate skin surrounding it with teasing dexterity. The Commander watches, her lips parted in interest.

Her personal guards have been chosen as much for their pleasure skills as their fighting prowess. And Esha is exceptionally good at what she does; Izara has first-hand experience, after all. She feels her nipples harden beneath her leather armour as she remembers Esha's hands on her skin, her fingers dipping into moist heat, the warm silk of her mouth and tongue.

"Touch her breasts," she commands suddenly. Esha smiles at her and lets go of the Empress' chin, trailing her fingers downward to toy with her nipples. The redhead stares resolutely up at the ceiling, obviously trying hard to disguise her reactions, but it's clear that Ezra is slowly working her way through the woman's defences. She slips a finger inside her again, then two, making the Empress' body twitch with restrained arousal.

"This is pointless," she hisses.

"I'm tired of the whore's whining," Izara says. "Esha, find some other use for her tongue."

The silver-haired woman smirks, and starts to unbuckle her own armour, but a sudden noise from the side of the bed sends Izara's senses into alert, and she spins round, dropping into a fighting stance. Blood is pouring from the neck of her other lieutenant, a tall woman with a shock of white hair. Izara realises she has underestimated Shade, but she has no time to contemplate her mistake; even as she springs toward them, her blade held ready, he has already evaded her. The second lieutenant's sword is in his hand, and it cuts through Esha quicker than Izara has ever seen a foreigner move. In that moment, she realizes who he is.

"You traitor," she hisses.

One does not become Commander of the Shadow Guard by chance. In a straight fight, she could defeat a dozen warriors—not that Izara's people were in the habit of going for a straight fight. But Shade is no ordinary warrior, and underestimating him was a grave mistake.

She will not make that mistake again.

The assassin pulls the Empress to her feet and stands between her and Izara. Izara charges at them, intending to cut Shade down with one stroke, but instead of trying to evade her or defend himself, he merely drops into a crouch and closes his eyes, pulling the Empress with him. It takes Izara only a split second to realise why, but it is a split second too long; suddenly her eyes are a mask of blinding pain and the world has dissolved into whiteness. Flash powder. Of course.

Izara's finely-honed senses mean that fighting blind is not necessarily a problem, but her instincts tell her that the effect of the flash powder is not the only issue she has to contend with; she dodges just in time to feel something slice past her shoulder. Cursing, she deflects another dart with the flat of her sword, then another, determined to catch up with the pair, but they are too quick for her, and the business of avoiding every projectile far too slow; Izara senses the sudden chill of a secret doorway opening, and knows she has lost her quarry.

Izara struggles out into the corridor as her sight returns, and allows herself, just once, to scream with rage.

This isn't over. The Empress will pay for her crimes. And this will be the last time she underestimates that man, now she knows who he is—who he once was. Next time she meets him, Izara vows, she will kill him.