Dar Encounters

The wind on her face, in her spiky hair, under her roc's wings. Avilia revelled in the majesty of flying, the utter joy it brought her.

Up here where the sky is pure, where no-one can drag me down! Just me and Farflier.

The giant bird beneath her seemed to sense her excitement. He gave a cry, as if challenging the world far below, then flapped his wings until he caught a current and circled higher. Avilia laughed, both at the roc's antics and for sheer pleasure.

Just that morning she'd been a prisoner in some small-town gaol, arrested by the local magistrate the night before. For highway robbery, he'd said. Someone had sworn that she'd done it, but Avilia suspected it was simply because she was an outsider and the magistrate needed a scapegoat.

Escaping hadn't been difficult. When the lone gaoler brought her a jug of water in the morning, she acted frightened and helpless, flashed a bit of skin, then kicked him where it hurt most and strolled out of her cell. No-one had thought to do anything about Farflier, and once she'd retrieved her possessions from the local inn she'd blown her silver whistle and the roc had come.

Now here they were, carried across the skies by the wind beneath the roc's wings. If Avilia had one regret, she reflected, it was that she hadn't had time to let things go further with the guard. He'd been pretty, in a naïve way, and well-built. Thinking of him conjured a heat between her legs. It had been weeks since she'd last had anything there but her hands and her pleasure-rod.

A light twitch on the reins told Farflier it was time to land. He circled, dropping closer to the ground, looking for a suitable spot. Avilia scanned the hills beneath them as well. At last she spotted a stand of large boulders at the base of a tall ridge, and guided the roc down.

In moments she'd removed saddle, harness and gear from the bird. He nuzzled at her, almost knocking her down, then gave a cry and took off again. Hunting for food or company, she thought.

Alone, she glanced around. The cliff rose up behind her, and on either side stood the rocks she'd spotted. Nothing stirred besides some clouds in the sky, and the rapidly shrinking form of Farflier.

Time for me.

She opened a saddlebag and rooted around, then withdrew a silk sleeve that peeled back to reveal a footlong rod with a curved blunt end. A smile slid across her face. She'd been captured by an enchantress once, for use in an erotic sorcerous ritual. In her escape she'd killed her tormentor, but she'd taken the rod.

Now she unbuckled her belt and stripped off her tight leather breeches. A shiver ran through her as her fingers brushed across her lower lips. It was risky to land here in unknown country, but it was even riskier to pleasure herself on the back of her roc -- quite besides the problem of reaching the right places through her clothes.

Still standing, she squeezed her hand tight around the rod until it began to hum and vibrate gently. As near as Avilia could tell, the enchantress had bound a minor spirit inside it. Whatever it was, it was delightfully warm to the touch when she ran it up and down the insides of her legs, teasing herself without quite touching her pussy.

In her mind she pictured the young guard from that morning. Fleshy lips... would he have enjoyed licking her? She thought of the sensation of hot breath, soft lips, warm tongue between her thighs. Ever so slowly she brought the rod up higher until it was pressing up against her.

She looked round and, identifying a smooth space in the patchy grass, she lay down and spread her legs. She was already moist. The exhilaration of the morning's escape and the flight across the empty wilderness added to the memory of the guard she'd tricked and the thoughts of what might have been.

The bulbous head of the rod rubbed up and down along her slit until, drawing it forward, she forced it against her entrance. A grunt escaped her lips at the sensation. If it was an imp that lived in the black wood, it seemed to enjoy its job. The feelings that swept through her went beyond physical stimulation.

The thought of the guard filled her mind. She pictured his head between her legs, imagined his tongue teasing her, felt his hands cup her arse. Then the fantasy shifted so that the young man lay on top of her and thrust his hips forward, and she slid the rod further inside her.

In and out it went, just as the guard in her imagination thrust in and out. She let go of the rod with one hand to toy with her button, feeling it hard and swollen above her gash. Her breath was coming fast, guttural moans escaped from deep in her throat, and then she felt a small knot of fire bloom inside her loins. She continued to rub, letting the flame blossom, feeling it spread through her limbs, until suddenly it exploded and her body was wracked with spasms of pleasure.

Gasping and moaning, she continued to rub herself gently and slowly drew the rod out. It was sticky, coated with her cream. As she watched, the humming vibrations stopped and it slowly turned matt again, as if the moisture was being sucked into it.

Avilia grinned to herself again.

That's one imp that really enjoys its bondage.

She pulled up her breeches and, replacing the rod in its sleeve, dug out some food from her pack. Finding a comfortable rock, she sat and looked out across the landscape, chewing slowly.

The sun was standing high in the southern sky, casting its golden light over the hills before her. Low and rolling, they were dotted here and there with boulders like the one she sat on. In between was dry grass and low scrub. It was a desolate area, devoid of civilisation.

Just as the thought crossed her mind her eyes fixed on a regularity half a league away. Probably she wouldn't have noticed it from another angle, or if the sun had been lower. As it was she couldn't be sure what she was looking at.

It appeared to be a pair of conical towers, one standing taller than the other. Between them, if she squinted, she thought the remains of a wall still stood. Her excitement grew as she discerned the outline of a wide path leading up.

A ruin, possibly unexplored! And unlooted?

Avilia hoped so. She was due some good fortune, she thought. In recent months she'd joined an army that had been disbanded before ever marching out, hired herself out as a bodyguard to a princeling who never left his palace, and made ends meet in between by waylaying travelling merchants. It was pure coincidence that the robbery she'd been arrested for wasn't actually one of hers.

Hesitating only a moment, she rose and blew her whistle. She picked up her gear while she waited for Farflier to return. The delicate saddle tailored to fit on the roc's back. A pack to strap behind the saddle, and a smaller one for her own back. A large sheath holding a spear with a razor-sharp head and a short bow with a double handful of arrows. Rested and invigorated, Avilia felt ready to face anything.

From the air the structure was immediately obvious. The towers were round, with a courtyard that had once stood between and beyond them. The path leading up had been flanked by columns of some sort. The place looked like it hadn't been touched in centuries.

Avilia guided her roc down to the lower of the two towers. They circled it a few times, then, seeing nothing to worry them, they landed. The solid stone held their combined weight with ease, and Avilia climbed down from her saddle, spear held ready.

Still nothing stirred. Carefully she examined the tower's open top. A wide stone staircase led along the inner wall, circling wider and wider as it went further down. Giving Farflier a pat on his neck, she dug in a belt pouch for a glowstone and stepped onto the stairs.

Neither she nor the roc noticed the eight-legged riding-lizard, motionless and practically invisible near the base of the hill.

***

Gazing at the carving in the stone column before him, Sligh grinned in satisfaction.

Just as it should be,

he thought to himself. The dual radiant discs confirmed that these ruins had indeed once been the Temple of the Two Suns. Fourth Empire, probably in the years of decline when the priesthoods had splintered and cult had fought cult. Few records remained from the time, but it seemed that the struggles had been even bloodier, even more bitter, than most civil wars.

His quest had begun with an ancient vellum, found by chance in the binding of a tome of ritual and instruction. Translated, the Old Empire script revealed hints about the temple's location. More importantly, from Sligh's point of view, it contained a list of treasures and tribute, the fabulous wealth gathered by the priesthood for the glory of the Two Suns.

He'd pieced together the clues and set out. Only yesterday he'd found the old road leading towards the hill, his excitement mounting as he identified the double line of columns. This morning had found him entering the ruined complex through a hole in the wall that had once been the main gate.

Now he stood inside the taller of the two wide towers, staring smugly at the symbol of the dual sun cult on a pillar just inside the high doorway. That the temple had clearly long since been plundered of its valuables did little to diminish his satisfaction. It would be nice to leave with antique riches, of course, but just now he was simply pleased with himself for finding what had so long been hidden.

Sligh moved forward cautiously, quietly. The place might appear abandoned, but it was never wise to be a fool, as the poet said. At the very least, the ruined tower might be home to wild animals -- or worse.

The light coming in through the doorway showed stairs winding up the inside wall. Far above he could see a small circle of daylight. For a moment he considered hunting for treasure on the lower levels, but then the pride in his achievement came back and he decided to inspect the reliefs that he saw carved into the wall. They marched up with the stairs, depicting scenes of sun worship.

Glowstone in hand, he slowly climbed up, deciphering the images as he went.

***

The inside of the tower was dark. Avilia had made her way down to the ground level. The place looked deserted, looted long ago, but judging by the carvings on the walls it had once been a site of some importance.

So now she stood at the centre of the tower. The great slab stones making up the floor were decorated with incomprehensible symbols. The sun was a recurring motif: mostly rising and setting, but sometimes standing high in the sky. Worshippers held their arms aloft in praise or supplication.

One side of the room was raised like a dais. Traces of what had perhaps been an altar still remained: cracked and broken stonework. Examining it more closely, she noticed a crack of darkness peeking out from underneath one of the larger slabs.

She dug her fingers underneath. As she'd suspected, it was a hole, once covered by the altar. She heaved, her soft leather boots scrabbling for purchase, then with a scraping sound the slab moved aside. She pushed again to reveal stone steps leading down.

After pausing to gather her breath, she lay down flat and held her glowstone in the dark hole. Small insects scurried away from the sudden light, but otherwise she saw nothing of note.

It was a long way down. Above and behind her the small patch of faint light became smaller. The only sounds were the scraping of leather on stone and her own quiet, regular breathing. She held her spear ready in her right hand, the glowstone in her left, sending shadows swinging this way and that with every step.

The narrow stairs finally widened and led into a low, vaulted hall. Any hopes that Avilia might have had of finding an undiscovered treasure trove were dashed when she saw the wreckage of statues and steles.

She held the glowstone high, looking around as carefully as she could. Nothing seemed to have escaped the destruction. Even the reliefs carved into the walls had been scratched and defaced. More an act of vandalism, she thought, than a deliberate attempt to erase them. Probably frustrated temple robbers who'd come too late to find any loot.

Sliding one foot in front of the other to avoid stumbling on the debris she began to make her way to the far end of the room. A pair of extra glowstones placed on broken columns cast circles of golden light, but dust, cobwebs and scurrying insects were all she found. She was about to give up and turn back when she stopped.

Her foot had passed over an irregularity in the floor, as if one slab was ever so slightly higher than those surrounding it. With a normal floor Avilia wouldn't have paid any attention, but here it was remarkable because all the other flagstones were so even.

Drawing her foot back, she laid her spear on the floor beside her and knelt down. The glowstone, held low, barely revealed what she'd expected: this one slab stood the tiniest fraction higher than the rest.

She drew her slim knife and began to pry around the edges. Midway along one of the short sides she felt an irregularity. As her fingers explored it, the stone began to pulse with a warm light, then suddenly it dissolved into nothing.

Avilia peered into the hole that was now revealed, and felt a grin spread across her face.

Treasure!

She leaned forward, reaching out to grasp the object before her, when suddenly a voice cried out behind her.

"Stop!"

***

It was the sound of scraping stone that first alerted Sligh to the presence of another. Abandoning his inspection of the staircase murals, he hurried back down to the ground level. Peering cautiously through the open doorway, he soon spotted the giant bird atop the lower tower, with its saddle and harness.

Alarmed but curious, he wondered for a moment what to do. He'd seen no sign that anyone had taken up residence in the ruined temple. The tower he'd been examining offered better shelter and protection than the shorter one, and it would be strange for someone to select the more hazardous option to live in.

That meant that the roc's rider was a visitor.

Perhaps a traveller stopping for a rest? But why are they moving blocks of stone around then?

No, improbable as it seemed, the only explanation was that someone else had found the ancient temple and was exploring it at precisely the same time as he was.

He took a small piece of parchment from a pouch and pressed it against his chest. Instantly his form began to dissolve and then disappeared, leaving only a shimmer in the air that glided across the open ground between the towers. He'd barely made it there when his body became solid once more, now without the parchment. The roc on top of the tower had noticed nothing.

It was a costly magic to use, but Sligh thought it was worthwhile. He couldn't risk being noticed by the bird, which would warn its rider at the very least and attack Sligh at worst. People who explored ruined temples tended to be suspicious of strangers, particularly ones that might steal their loot. And they usually carried weapons that they were very capable of using.

Still, the thought of leaving without investigating never crossed his mind. He'd come a long way, and while the sense of accomplishment was all very well he was reluctant to leave without some tangible reward for his efforts.

So he quietly examined the low tower, soon spying the hole in the floor and the stairs leading into the darkness. Not lighting his glowstone, he made his cautious way down, one slow step at a time. At the foot of the stairs he stopped, shrouded in darkness, and glanced through the wide archway into the chamber.

What caught his eye first was a round, shapely arse. It was clad in tight leather and was pointed right at him. Sligh took a moment to appreciate it, then peered round the rest of the room.

It was empty except for the woman -- surely a woman -- whose arse he'd been admiring. The scholar in him winced at the destruction of the carvings and reliefs, the treasure-seeker sighed at the vanishing likelihood of any riches. Unless the woman had found something, of course.

He was wondering how to proceed when the floor before the woman lit up in a sudden glow. Caution forgotten, he cried out and stepped into the room.

He had to give the woman before him credit. She froze. Which was just as well, for her sake -- perhaps even his, depending on what kind of trap she might trigger.

Swiftly he crossed to where she knelt on the stone slabs, her hands halfway into a black oblong hole where moments earlier had been stone. Her head came up slightly as he walked round to crouch down opposite her. A grim warning was plastered across on her face, coupled with wariness. "This had better be good," she growled.

"Depends how you want to die," he grinned. "Peacefully in your sleep, after a long life of leisure and pleasure? Or today, with your body and soul being ripped apart by aeons-old demon-gods?"

She glared at him. That face was quite pretty, he thought, despite the angry frown. Grey eyes that appeared dark now, high cheekbones, a mouth that hinted at wide smiles when it wasn't set in anger. Her short, spiky hair told of a woman of action, if he hadn't already guessed it from her clothes, the slim blade and deadly-looking spear on the ground beside her -- and her very presence here, of course.

"Go on," she said now. The hostility was there, but the wariness seemed to have taken over.

"Fourth Empire," he explained, looking over her head at the rounded curve of her buttocks. "Demon-binders were everywhere then. They loved to trap anything remotely secret or valuable. And here, in the Temple of the Two Suns? I'm surprised you weren't devoured when you shifted that slab upstairs."

She closed her eyes. Was that relief he saw? When she opened them again, her face was determined. "It had already been moved," she said, in grudging tones. "This one was undisturbed. Can I move?"

He put a look of concern on his face. "Well now, let me see..." He shifted his weight to lean forward. Their heads were almost touching. Her gaze had lingered on the outline in his tight leather breeches, though, and he fought not to smile.

"No, it's no good from here," he said after a moment. "I'll have to see from your side."

He rose in one swift motion, noticing her eyes following him up -- just below the waist. Moving round, he crouched down behind her and leaned forward until his body was pressing against hers. The shape of her buttocks was firm against his lower abdomen.

"Really?" she hissed. Her hands had still not moved so much as a finger's width, as far as he could tell.

"I need to see it from this angle," he breathed in her ear. "Don't move." For a few moments he lingered, shifting his body back and forth, almost rubbing himself up against her arse.

Abruptly she rose, her body catching him unexpectedly and forcing the air out of his lungs. He gave a cry and fell back, tripped over a stone and ended up on the floor.

She'd turned round and was glaring fiercely. His grin wasn't lessened by the point of the spear aimed at him.

"There was never anything there, was there?" she demanded.

"There could have been." He pushed himself up, then stopped as the sharp metal dipped closer to his chest. "But no, once I'd seen inside the hole I could tell it wasn't trapped." The grin fled from his face. "I stand by my warning, though. By all accounts, the traps those Fourth Empire priests devised were very nasty."

She seemed to hesitate, then drew the spear back. "Very well. I'll accept that you acted initially to protect me, so I'll forgive your other behaviour."

Sligh got to his feet and threw out his most charming smile. It met with an icy glare. It didn't discourage him, though. This one seemed like a tough nut to crack, but the memory of her body beneath his -- hard and soft at the same time -- convinced him that the effort would be worthwhile.