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From: "Lord God Pantokrator" <lordgodpantokrator@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Moons of Yothis, Part 5: Soul of the Wild (m/f, Mff, oral, reluc, voy., fantasy)
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Date: Sat, 20 May 2006 23:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Part 5, Soul of the Wild.txt" begin>

Part 5: Soul of the Wild

   (m/f, Mff, oral, reluc, voy., fantasy)

   The rumors of war spread through Tilnabar, creeping like mist into the
small Nazhaki community there.  Aaron Connel lay in bed, wondering if this
was what it must have been like back in Earth, before each of the terrible
wars.  He had listened to the descriptions of battles and massacres, trying
to get a geography of the alien world.  "Uxalan has conquered Old Shadur,"
people said.  "Soon he'll claim all of Kei." And Aaron conjured images of
Kei, the vast desert south of the savanna where Tilnabar was, robed
soldiers on mares and camels, led by Uxalan, the mysterious wraith-god-king
of a lost empire.  He learned more about the world of Yothis.  He learned
the year: 488 as the savanna-folk reckoned it, but 2316 in Nazhaki
calculation.  He imagined those years would be remembered like 1939 or 1861
in his world.

   Now he lay on his back in Porot-tiz-Magrad's house, recovering from the
exertions of the past night, where he had fended off a demon sent by
Uxalan's allies.  He drifted into a fugue, not quite awake but not
dreaming, and recalled the strange life he had led since being summoned to
Yothis.  He thought of the wizard (wizard?  it felt silly to say) Turvis,
who had grand plans for him.  They had spoken after the fight: Turvis would
help Aaron find Olivia, an Earth-girl who had come with him, but only so he
could use them both to stop Uxalan.

   Suddenly it was morning, and Aaron felt like he had slept all of fifteen
minutes.  The electric blue light of an evening moon had been replaced by
the harsh yellow-white glare of the sun filtering through the gauzy
curtains.  He rose stiffly, washed himself in a simple basin (water was at
a premium in the dry season), and looked outside to find a bundle of
traveling equipment waiting for him.  He stepped into the men's quarters
where he saw Porot speaking with another Nazhaki.  When he saw Aaron he
nodded seriously.

   "Is all this mine?" Aaron asked.

   "It is," Porot said.  "All we can spare, because you saved my daughter's
life." The fat merchant grinned.  "And because the wizard said so.  No good
saying no to a wizard."

   Aaron smiled back and studied the pack.  A dark blue silk tunic hung
from it, trimmed with black.  Aaron stripped out of his nightclothes and
put it on, then fastened his sandals.

   "The tunic is Hurik's work," Porot said.  "He's a good lad."

   The pack was very complete.  He had a curved sword in a belt scabbard, a
knife (a real "This is a knife" knife, not some little pencil-sharpener), a
sharpening-stone he had no idea how to use, flint and tinder that he also
didn't know how to use, a full water skin, needle and thread (something
Aaron could use, though not well), a roll of clean bandages and a clay jar
of healing-salve, and a length of thin silk rope.  Food occupied most of
the backpack: bundles of bread, jerky, and dried fruit.  The food didn't
look that bad, but Aaron imagined it would get tiresome after a while.

   Finally, there was a bedroll, tightly wound, atop the backpack, and a
long white silk cape for cold nights.  Aaron nodded grimly, like a mighty
warrior pleased with his gear.

   "Good?" Porot asked.

   "Amazing," Aaron said.  "Thank you, Porot," he said.  "You've done so
much for me."

   "It is our way," Porot said.  "And you have repaid me.  The wizard said
that he will meet you beneath the old vahcha tree outside the eastern gate
around mid-morning, so I'd hurry.  I wish you luck on your...whatever the
wizard wants you to do."

   "Thanks again, Porot," Aaron said.  "If I ever find a dragon's hoard,
I'll set you and Wenet up with a nice little house with a view."

   Aaron left to the merchant's echoing laughter and walked through the
streets of Tilnabar.  They were hot, and dusty, and loud, everything that a
tranquil Earth suburb was not, and Aaron took in all the sights.  Women in
vibrant gowns pulled water from the village well, overseen by hard-eyed
soldiers.  An acrobat performed a one-man show, bouncing around on a sort
of ladder-stick to the delight of a crowd.  (He fell with a crash as Aaron
walked by, then recovered with a brazen, "And look, no injuries!!") A fat
man in a turban hawked melons from his cart; Aaron half-expected a chariot
race to crash through the little scene, sending fruit everywhere.  Two
skinny, mangy dogs passed by, then yapped and rushed one-another, biting
and growling; instantly a crowd formed, taking bets and waving silver
coins.

   The merchant district ended, replaced by quiet homes and businesses. 
The occasional cart rumbled by, throwing up dust.  A few boys threw a
rubber ball at a wall.  The wall was painted in an intricate, abstract
fresco with different targets.  Aaron kept walking and disappeared around a
corner before he could decipher the game, and in no time he passed the
gates and was out of the city.  The first of many Vahcha trees stood a few
hundred paces away, a bent, gnarled old thing.

   "Trying to sneak out?" a voice called from behind him.  Aaron turned
around and saw Wenet standing behind him, dressed in a flowing
cream-colored robe.

   "Wenet?  What are you doing here?" Aaron asked.  He smiled despite
himself; he was happy to see her again.

   "Seeing you off, of course," the girl said, walking up to him.  "You
saved me life.  I couldn't just let you go."

   "Thanks," Aaron said, grinning.  "Let's walk to the tree where I'm
supposed to meet Turvis.  Where's Hurik?" he asked as they started to walk.

   "Busy with his father making clothes," Wenet said.

   They spoke of mundane things as they walked, until at last they stood
beneath the bent old tree, which provided shade from the bright sun.

   "Where is he?" Aaron asked, looking up and down the road.  A wagon was
rolling toward them, but from the wrong direction, probably a merchant
heading toward the city.

   "He said he needed to bring that girl home, Ninyel," Wenet said.  Then
she smiled.  "Did you two..."

   "I suppose we did," Aaron said.  He fought the urge to feel embarrassed.
"We were going to do it again, but, well, with the demon and all, things
got complicated.  Did you have a good time?" Aaron winked, and Wenet
blushed at the insinuation, then nodded.

   "It got a bit wild, actually.  Since most girls don't, you know, suck
dick, I had a couple of guys around me.  It was really nice.  I was sucking
two of them, and there was another one inside me.  I only wish Hurik was
there too.  He's very nice." Aaron instantly became the Man of Steel, which
was embarrassingly noticeable under his tunic.  But Wenet paid his dick no
mind.  "Thanks for everything," she said.  "You saved my life.  You helped
my people settle in a new home.  And now you're leaving.  I'm really going
to miss you."

   Aaron felt the loss as well.  Wenet was a sweet girl, and they had been
through a lot.  He fought back the urge to cry, his old street instincts
kicking in.  But Wenet was crying freely, and when she flung his arms
around him, he felt tears sting his cheeks.

   "I'm going to miss you," Aaron said.  "You've been a great friend." He
kissed her cheek, then leaned forward again and Wenet turned her head. 
They kissed, mouth-to-mouth, first a chaste, gentle kiss, then something
more passionate until their tongues were entwined and Aaron ran his hands
through the girl's soft hair.

   "You're not leaving just yet," Wenet said, kissing Aaron's ear.

   "Is that an offer?" Aaron asked, his libido kicking into overdrive.  He
kissed her on the lips, pressing her against the old tree.

   Wenet smiled, then her expression darkened as she looked toward the
city. A man with a long staff was wandering toward the gates: Turvis.

   "Dammit," Wenet said.  "I was hoping..."

   "We still have time," Aaron said hopefully.  "I'm young; I don't last."
He winked.

   Wenet giggled.  "Then you're on," she said, and they hopped to the side
of the road where the tall grass concealed them.  Aaron dropped his
backpack and undid his belt, dropping his sword to the floor.  Wenet smiled
and was on her knees in a second, pulling the boy's penis free.  She licked
quickly, wasting no time, tonguing the knob until Aaron moaned.  He fucked
her mouth slowly, pushing as deep as he could.  His balls were already
buzzing with come when a whim struck him.

   "Wenet?" he said, or rather gasped.

   "Mmf?" she said.  She looked up at me, her large eyes shining.  Her full
breasts were visible below.

   "Would you like to make love?" Aaron said.  "I mean, I've never been
inside you, and--"

   "Mmf!" she said, and pulled herself off Aaron's dick, which slapped
against his belly.  She was smiling.  "Really?"

   "We'll need to be quick," Aaron said.  "Think you're up for it?"

   In answer, Wenet pushed him to the ground and tugged her robe open,
exposing her large, full breasts and flat belly.  Aaron raised his hard
cock, which she carefully lowered herself onto, impaling herself inch by
inch.  Aaron moaned as she enveloped him.  They lay there for a moment,
Wenet's thighs twitching around Aaron's hips, then he pulled her down on
top of her and began to fuck in earnest, thrusting hard and fast, knowing
their time was short.  Wenet moaned and cried out as Aaron thrust up into
her, his arms around her waist to hold her steady.  He slowed, pulling his
cock almost entirely out of her, then thrusting hard back in, his dick
slapping against her.  She cried out.  He did it again and again,
maintaining a slow but relentless pace while kissing her soft lips.

   Wenet rose up, sitting astride him, and drove herself down in time to
Aaron's thrusts, her eyes glassy with lust.  Aaron slid his hand down
toward where they met, and with each deepest penetration, his thumb brushed
her clit.  Her down-thrusts grew uneven, though Aaron maintained a
relentless pace, his own pleasure cresting dangerously.  He fucked hard,
needing to finish before the wizard arrived, and saw spots as Wenet grew
tight.  With one last brush of Aaron's thumb, Wenet came, her entire body
stiffening.  Aaron moved toward orgasm as well, but Wenet's tight pussy
clamped down on his dick while she came.  The boy saw stars as his cock
struggled for release, growing almost frantic, as if he couldn't breathe.
He made small whimpering noises beneath the girl, then suddenly exploded
into her, and everything went hazy.

   He rose back to full awareness with ringing ears.  Wenet lay on top of
him, kissing him softly.  There were tears on her cheeks and a smile on her
face.  "That was very nice," she said.  "Thank you."

   "And thank you," Aaron said, a bit dizzy.  He hugged her close.  "I need
to go."

   Wenet stood up and wobbled a bit while Aaron fumbled with his clothing,
his weapon, and his pack.  They hugged one last time, then stepped apart.

   "You should get back to the city," Aaron said.  He paused and kicked his
sandal against the ground, then said, "You're wonderful, Wenet.  I think
you're going to make Hurik very happy."

   "Stay safe," Wenet said.  She smiled one last time, then disappeared
into the grass, taking a looping path back toward the gate.  Aaron composed
himself, wiped away a tear, and stepped onto the road.

   Turvis waited, looking the same as ever.  He squinted at Aaron, the top
of his head shaded by his ugly, floppy hat.  He wore a robe of brightly
colored coarse silk shirt, all clashing grays and greens, and walked with a
bent stick.  He smiled idiotically and waved.

   "Hello there, sport," he said.  "Are you all set for our trip?"

   Aaron blinked.  He had been speaking Low Quist so often that the
wizard's occasional sojourns into broken English always surprised him.  If
his dialect was to be believed, Turvis had last seen Earth some time in the
1920s.  That earned him more respect in Aaron's eyes than his original
captor, Zamphor, who didn't even learn the language except for summoning,
and whose assistant spat thees and thous like were going out of style,
unaware that they already had.

   "All set," Aaron said.  He rolled the English words around in his mouth
before he said them.  "At least I think.  I have food, a weapon...I wish I
had a horse.  Actually, no, I don't; I can't ride the damn things."

   "Sorry, no horse," Turvis said.  "You'll have to make this trip on your
own."

   "What?" Aaron said.  He had just started to walk forward, but the
wizard's words brought him up short.  He turned and looked back at the man.
"Like, on my own on my own?"

   "You heard that right," Turvis said.  "I've got work to do, so I need to
go."

   "You're kidding," Aaron said.  He tried to remember a good Spanish
curse, but nothing came to mind, so he just kicked the dirt.  "I thought
you needed me to reach this 'Lord Ruby,' talk with him about saving your
sorry world from Uxalan.  Don't you think it might be smart to, I don't
know, keep an eye on me, so I don't wander off a cliff or eat some poisoned
berry or insult the wrong witch?"

   Turvis smiled, or smirked (the difference was never clear to Aaron),
then his expression grew cold and he looked out toward the horizon. 
"Believe me, my man," he said, "I'd rather stay.  But a wizard's work is
never done, and forces moves beyond your sight--"

   "Stop bullshitting me, old man," Aaron said.  "Where are you going?"

   "Fine, no bullshit," Turvis said.  "You're not the only person I'm
keeping an eye on.  There are many who can stand against Uxalan, gree and
alien both.  I need to organize them all, or as many as I can keep alive. I
can't tell you any more, though, in case you're captured and tortured for
information.  Is that what you need to know, O Demon of Order?"

   Aaron swallowed at the reference to torture.  "Yeah," he said.  "I guess
that's what I need to know.  But..." He followed Turvis's gaze out to the
eastern horizon.  "How am I going to get where I need to go?"

   Turvis reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a small carved stone. 
He tossed it to Aaron, who caught it and studied the pocketwatch-sized
object.  It was made of heavy stone and carved Celtic-like knots, centering
on a face that looked like some Mesoamerican jaguar-god, square with sharp
teeth and staring eyes.

   "Min Shu will keep you safe from predators," Turvis said.  "It's also a
compass: just walk toward where his tongue points."
"Where's it lead?" Aaron asked.  The tongue slid around when he turned

the disc with the faint scrape of stone on stone.

   "You'll find out," Turvis said.  "Remember: torture.  Oh, and take this.
Something the Nazhaki don't have much of." He tossed Aaron a leather bag
that the boy fumbled to catch, then picked up.  It held several silver
coins.  "Five pajins will buy you a place to stay," the wizard said. 
"Don't get taken for a rube." Aaron counted the coins, which came in
different sizes and denominations: he had about 100 pajins.  When he looked
up, Turvis was gone, and that was that.

   Aaron looked right and left, then set off down the road.  He passed
merchants and travelers heading into the city and studied each as they went
by.  He marveled at how familiar their accoutrements appeared.  Some items
seemed common across the worlds, like swords (curved, Aaron knew from his
sword-nut friend in school, to make them effectively sharper), armor of
metal-over-leather that guards wore, and even backpacks and clothing, which
had buckles, straps, and other predictable fastenings.  But there was the
occasional surprise.  Animals were always just a bit different from earth.
Yellow-furred things that were not cats or wolves skulked in the tall
grass, and the favored mounts in Darquist were lumpy, two-toed creatures
that were almost horses, but not quite.  And Aaron's tunic fastened in a
way that he had never seen before, folded carefully to remain in place;
only tugging it in a particular way opened it.

   Aaron traveled, admiring and fearing the world of Yothis.  By nightfall
there was a small town with a common house that cost Aaron eight pajins for
food and lodging.  He looked askance at his bag of food, then cheerfully
ate a meal of spiced boiled carrots, lizard stew, and fruit yogurt.  A
rather well-proportioned girl with long black hair served his dinner, and
though Aaron did his best to catch her eye (and check out her tanned legs
beneath her short burgundy dress), he got nowhere and went to sleep alone
and frustrated.

   The next few days passed much like the first, though the villages grew
smaller and took on a frontier quality, with rough sod walls around the
adobe buildings and surly-looking guards in long blue capes.  The road grew
narrower, then became dirt instead of stone, and finally disappeared
entirely until Aaron was left following Min Shu's stone tongue, wandering
through the tall savanna grass among the lions, silver-furred deer, and
butterfly-winged hawks.

   Things watched Aaron at night, yellow eyes peering at him from the dark,
strong claws wrapped around vahcha trees.  Min Shu held them at bay, though
one evening a starving jackal overcame its wards and attacked him, its
diseased yellow tongue lolling.  Aaron screamed and drove his curved sword
into its chest, and it expired on top of him with a sick wheeze.

   Despite his sore feet and his anxiety (for himself, for the world,
whatever), Aaron felt good.  For one thing, he had the best tan of his
life, and his hair had grown out; that coupled with the sword and sandals
made him feel like Conan (if a bit shorter and less mighty-thewed).

   After almost a week of slow, frightening travel through the savanna,
Aaron saw a cloud of dust on the horizon, a place where none of the
wildebeest or other creatures approached, despite the presence of a river
nearby.  But Min Shu's tongue pointed in that direction, so the boy
loosened his sword and approached, walking beside the clear river, keeping
an eye on the crocodiles.

   The dust parted suddenly to reveal a scene of carnage.  Broken bodies
lay in the dust, and the crocodiles ate hungrily in the river, tearing
bodies apart and staining the water crimson.  Aaron stared in sick horror
at the bodies.  Some were soldiers, wearing clothing like a bizarre cross
of Roman legionnaire and Aztec warrior: beaten bronze helmets, long spears,
and pale blue cloaks trimmed with feathers.  Others were nearly naked,
wearing only loincloths, and they clutched cruder weapons of obsidian,
their pale hair stained with blood.

   The fight was not over: several legionnaires staggered from the high
glass, their oval shields raised to protect themselves.  Aaron bit back a
scream when he saw the thing that fought the legionnaires.  At least seven
feet tall, it walked upright, but there its resemblance to humanity (or
gree) ended.  Its face was a green-gray reptilian snout with gleaming
yellow eyes, its body flexible and covered in scales, its hands great
rending claws that even as Aaron watched, reached past a shield to tear out
a man's throat.  The crocodile-on-two-legs bled dark blood from many
wounds, but he fought as if unwounded, his eyes aflame with hate.

   As Aaron watched, another man crashed through the tall yellow grass.  He
wore a stylized winged helmet and a bronze breastplate decorated in
turquoises and other precious stones, and he held a long, straight sword in
both hands.  The crocodile-man swung at him and he jumped back, then
shouted, "Azha!"

   Aaron jumped at the name: Azha, the demoness who had freed him from the
wizard Zamphor.  And then she was there, wearing a skin-tight white suit
that exposed flashes of blue skin.  She rushed the crocodile-man, who aimed
a series of terrific blows at her head.  She clambered on the
crocodile-man's knees, his thighs, standing straight as gravity redefined
itself for her.  As the mirix attacked, every flat surface on the
crocodile-man became the ground, and the great beast hissed with
frustration, trying to pull the girl off.  He failed and Azha cut him
deeply with her golden knife.

   "Take him alive," the leader shouted when Azha jumped away.  The
soldiers hurled barbed nets over the crocodile-man's head.  After that it
was all over: they tugged the monster to the ground, pinned him, and beat
him unconscious with cudgels, then went about killing the savages.  Aaron
watched in sick fascination, inching closer to Azha, who suddenly spotted
him.  The leader followed her gaze.

   "Seize him!" the man with the stylized helmet shouted, and the soldiers
were upon Aaron before he could draw his sword, pinning his arms.  "What's
this?" the leader said.  He removed his helmet.  He was young, though still
older than Aaron, with a smooth, angular face, marred by three neat scars
running horizontally along one cheek.

   "My name's Aaron," the boy said.  "I'm just a traveler."

   "A likely story," the man said.  "No one just 'travels' through the
wilds of Maja.  Are you with the wild men?  A spy of the Lion Girl, like
him?" He nodded to the unconscious crocodile-man.  "I've worked too hard to
expand Last Town to tolerate spies.  Guards, kill him."

   "Wait!" Azha said.  Recognition was plain in her molten red eyes. 
"He...might know something, Lord Kaliss."

   Lord Kaliss raised his hand and the guards stayed their blades.  "Bring
him to Last Town and cast him into the most convenient hole," the man said.
"No, make that the nastiest one." He chuckled at his own wit, then shouted
a few more orders, but Aaron paid them no mind, instead keeping his eyes on
Azha.  She was as beautiful as Aaron remembered, and little more dressed.
Her silvery hair was pulled back, and generous expanses of blue flesh were
visible beneath the white bodysuit she wore.

   Aaron tried to speak with Azha, but she disappeared to scout ahead. 
After a few minutes of travel, the tall grass became neatly trimmed, and
Aaron saw thin cows and goats grazing before a dirt-walled town.  Blue
banners fluttered in the hot breeze, and the whole place had an air of
sorrow and long suffering, like the Rust Belt towns Aaron had seen in the
Midwest.  Farmers and craftsmen there looked at Lord Kaliss with
undisguised hate, though most seemed too tired even for that, instead
slinking away at his approach.  As the boy walked, he looked for a clever
escape, and kept looking until he found himself in a dirty prison cell
sitting across from the giant crocodile monster.

   The crocodile regained consciousness and opened one golden eye, then the
other.  Aaron inched away, looking around for any sort of weapon, but there
was nothing but a bed of straw, a bucket, and stone bars thick enough to
hold a seven foot tall reptilian monster.  His sword was gone, and his bag,
and Min Shu.  The crocodile-man slid around: when not standing, nothing
human-like remained visible to Aaron's untrained eye, especially in the
near-complete blackness of the cell.

   "Are you with the Vahcha people?" the crocodile-man asked, his voice a
bass rumble so low it shook Aaron's stomach.

   The boy chose his words carefully.  "I don't know who they are," he
said. "I'm just a traveler, heading north for my own reasons.  My name is
Aaron."

   The crocodile-man nodded, and Aaron saw an old, alien intelligence
behind his eyes.  "I am called Krace, of the akhet," he said.  "The Vahcha
people are old allies of my people."

   "They were the ones that the soldiers killed?" Aaron asked, still
speaking carefully.  The crocodile-man, the akhet, could no doubt kill him
in an instant, despite his wounds.

   "I should have protected them," Krace said, shaking his great head in a
human-like gesture.  Then his eyes gleamed in the darkness.  "Why did you
not help?  Answer well, or I will eat you."

   "Well...would you get involved in a fight between two groups you knew
nothing about?" Aaron said, swallowing.

   "Good answer," Krace said.  "But I think I will still eat you, since I
am hungry." He inched forward, his jaws opened wide.

   "Hey, wait, let's be reasonable about this!" Aaron said, pushing himself
against the far wall.

   "I am being reasonable," the akhet said.  "I'm hungry, so I'm going to
eat you.  No good dying hungry."

   "Wait, wait!  I can help you get out of this," Aaron said.  His words
stopped Krace.  Aaron spoken quickly and clearly: "I have a friend here. 
The blue-skinned girl is enslaved to their leader, but if he can be
stopped, she is free." Aaron did not add that he was only guessing Azha had
not signed on of her own free will.

   "But how do we get out?" Krace said.  "These bars are too thick even for
me to bend."

   "The bars, no," Aaron said, thinking, "but what about the walls?" He
scratched at them.  "Some sort of soft stone.  I bet you could rip through
them."

   "Smart," the crocodile-man said.  "And you know of gree-made things. 
Maybe I won't eat you after all." And he set to work on the wall, chewing
and gnawing, while Aaron extolled his generosity and moderation of
appetite. Krace moved quickly, but Aaron waved for him to stop when he saw
torch-light.  One of the blue-caped soldiers approached.  He spotted the
wear on the wall and his eyes widened, but he could not cry out fast
enough: Aaron reached through the bars and pulled, slamming him against the
hard stone.  Then Krace struck, and Aaron could not watch, but somehow,
after several seconds of jaw-work, the guard was inside the cell, and in
several pieces.  Krace made short work of the organic bits while Aaron
leaned against the wall, breathing deeply.

   "We're ready to go," Krace said, and Aaron looked back at the
crocodile-man, who certainly could not smile, but tried his best
regardless, ragged bits of flesh hanging from his teeth.

   Aaron grabbed the guard's curved sword, like his own but of heavier,
cruder bronze, and they slipped out of the cell, moving carefully in the
dim torchlight.  Assuming that the dungeon was buried underground, they
headed up a flight of crooked, uneven stairs.  Above them, torchlight
leaped and danced, but they did not have time to retreat before two
soldiers saw them.  They shouted and charged, their pale blue capes
streaming out behind them.

   Aaron took one, deflecting the man's spear-thrust with his sword.  He
turned and drove his elbow into the man's face, since they only wore
conical helms that left the front exposed, and the soldier dropped with a
clatter of armor, rolling down the steps.  Aaron followed him, trying not
to trip, as the man drew a straight poignard.  The boy swung hard with his
bronze sword.  The first blow jarred the weapon out of the soldier's hands,
while the second slashed his wrist open.  He screamed and lay still.  Aaron
bit back from the urge to land the killing blow as the soldier squirmed. 
Instead he knocked him out with a swift kick.

   Krace, meanwhile, had done awful and inexplicable things to the soldier
that had attacked him.  A red smear marked where the soldier had fallen,
and several other red smears marked where Krace had pushed him around
afterward.  Blood stained most of the crocodile-man's front, and gore ran
from his long, hooked talons.

   "Um...well done," Aaron said.  The akhet bowed politely and they
continued forward, only to run into another stone door.  With one mind,
they raced back and grabbed the soldiers' keys, but none of them opened the
lock.

   "How'd they get in?" Krace asked.

   "Maybe a sergeant lets them in or something, in case, you know, they get
murdered," Aaron said.  He ran his hands over the stone bars.  "The stone's
harder up here."

   "I can't dig through it," Krace said.

   "But I think I can squirm through these bars," Aaron said.  "They're
wider, and not as jagged.  Alright," he said, turning to the akhet. 
"Extinguish that torch and stay here.  When another group comes down, slip
out behind them.  We'll meet up, um..."

   "I saw a new building being made, but no one was working at night,"
Krace said.  "We'll meet there."

   Aaron nodded and squirmed through the stone bars, then hid immediately
as another soldier, this one wearing a black sash, marched toward the door,
clutching a fistful of heavy keys.  Perhaps Krace would be out sooner than
expected, Aaron thought, as he sneaked through the castle.  It was not an
impressive building on the inside, and Aaron could not see outside: there
were no windows on the first floor.  Aaron passed a few clumsy-looking
vases, which must have passed for wealth and taste in this wild land, and
made his way upstairs.

   Moonlight flooded through the arched windows of the second floor, adding
to the candlelight from gold-plated candelabras.  Aaron moved toward the
open window, content just with escaping, but then he heard a voice in the
adjacent room.  He pressed himself against the wall and listened: it was
Azha, speaking some unfamiliar language.  Aaron peaked around the corner.
Lord Kaliss, the ruler of the pitiful border town, lay amidst pillows and
lion-skins, wearing only a white loin-cloth, his predator's body lit by
hanging braziers.  Above him lounged a beautiful girl dressed in a parody
of Tilnabar fashions: a pleated, tight-fitting shirt that revealed her
flat, tanned abdomen and stretched across her full breasts, and a checked
skirt that barely fell past mid-thigh.  Her skin looked healthy, her lips
moist and full, though her blue-green eyes shone with pain and regret.  She
brushed her shoulder-length blonde hair out of her eyes and went back to
feeding Kaliss bits of fruit.

   Azha sat across from them, dressed only in a sort of white silk net that
left nothing to the imagination.  It clung to her shoulders and full
breasts and spilled around her.  She held up a scroll and read monotonously
from it as the lord ate.  At last Kaliss waved for Azha to be silent, and
she put the scroll down.

   "Enough descriptions of battles," Kaliss said.  "I'll have battles
enough soon when I wipe out the last of the savages." The blond girl above
him flinched at the word: she was likely one of those "savages," since
captured.  "Once I find the Lion Girl, those cowards will crumble and Nooth
will reward me with a real title."

   "And what of the people?" Azha asked.

   "Who cares?" Kaliss said, rolling his eyes.  "As long as they hate the
savages, they will not hate me.  But enough talk: the Lion Girl will not be
caught tonight."

   Voices echoed up the stairs, too dim for Lord Kaliss to hear, but that
Aaron heard instantly.  He glanced down and saw soldiers walking up the
steps.

   "I don't know how," one said.  "The sergeant's scared out of his mind.
We should tell Lord Kaliss, but--"

   "He'll kill us if we interrupt him," the other one mumbled.  "And what
if Lord Viskar's arrived?  I hear he's a sorcerer!  No way am I talking to
a sorcerer; he'll steal your breath and you'll die!" Aaron stepped toward
the sound when he heard mention of Viskar, who had destroyed the bandit
camp where he had spent several days.  Lord Viskar was one of Uxalan's
sorcerer-knights, a terrible warrior with an emerald spear; Aaron had faced
him once and had survived only when Miacla, the bandit-queen, had shielded
him.  And now he was coming to Last Town.  Aaron's presence could be the
only reason.

   Aaron shuddered, and the hesitation cost him.  The conical helmets and
spear-points of the guards became visible.  The boy could not run: they
would see him dash toward the window.  Instead, gritting his teeth in fear,
he slipped into Lord Kaliss's private chamber and hid behind a pillar. 
Crouching in the shadows cast by the lamps and moons, he hid from both the
soldiers and the cruel lord.  The soldiers walked past, tip-toing so as not
to rouse Kaliss's wrath.

   There was a window nearby, only a few paces away, but Aaron could not
see how safe the drop was, and the moons shone between the pillar and the
pointed window, bright enough to reveal anything that moved there.

   As Aaron pondered what to do, Azha's head swung around and her lava-red
eyes fixed on him.  The boy started with fear, nearly biting off his
tongue, but Azha nodded, a quick, furtive motion, then returned to folding
up her scroll.  Aaron crouched in the shadows, watching the moons outside
the window.  He hesitated, trying to guess if he could make it to the
window.  As he stalled, Kaliss reached out and embraced Azha, who glanced
one last time at Aaron, then pressed herself against the young lord with
desperate hunger: real or feigned, Aaron could not tell.

   The mirix kissed Lord Kaliss, her long, graceful arms wrapping around
his bare back, caressing the muscles there.  The other girl, the pretty
blonde, slid forward and massaged the lord's side, her breath coming in
short, nervous gasps.  Her pale hair fell over her eyes as her hands moved
lower.  She removed Kaliss's white loincloth and lay it on the tiger-skin,
and both the girl went to work, stroking his cock until it stood out
straight.

   As Azha's fingers slid over Kaliss's hardening cock, moving gracefully
over the throbbing tip, Aaron felt a twinge of arousal.  The demon girl was
obviously a gifted lover, and the young lord's body reacted to her desire.
It was only when Azha glanced Aaron's way that she saw her hatred of the
man, plain as if he could see through her eyes into her soul.

   The human girl pulled her shirt off.  Her full breasts rose and fell as
she breathed.  She pushed her small, hard nipples against Kaliss' back,
kissing his neck.  The man turned around and bore her to the tiger-skins.
Without hesitation or foreplay, he aligned his cock and thrust into the
blonde girl.  Aaron heard the girl's surprised shriek, but did not see it:
as Kaliss turned, Aaron hid, cursing that now he was farther from the
window.  He peaked out from the other side of the column and watched Kaliss
fuck the blonde girl.  The lamps reflected off her pale, sweating skin as
she squirmed and cried out.

   Azha moved toward her, crawling across the animal skins, and took the
girl's head in both hands.  She struggled for a moment as Azha lowered her
lips, then froze as the mirix kissed her.  She settled and kissed back, and
Aaron watched as Azha slid her tongue into the girl's mouth. 
Simultaneously, the demon-girl's hand slid lower, across her full breasts,
down her belly to her sparse pubes.  When the tip of Azha's blue finger
touched her clit, the girl jumped, crying out amidst their kiss.  Azha's
fingers slid over the girl's clit even as Lord Kaliss thrust into her, her
actions graceful and delicate, just enough to excite, not enough to
overpower.  Soon the girl squirmed helplessly in Azha's embrace, mewing
softly as the mirix caressed her.

   The girl fell silent, biting her lip, and Aaron knew she was coming. 
She relaxed slowly and Azha kissed her again, cradling her head until it
fell back onto the skins.  Kaliss, evidently pleased with himself (though
he had done little) but not yet satisfied, reached toward Azha.  The mirix
slid carefully away, her molten eyes blazing, until the young lord faced
away from Aaron's hiding place.  With a peaceful smile, Azha kneeled down,
embracing Kaliss.  The flesh of her breasts pressed between the white mesh
she wore.  The demon girl grabbed Kaliss's dick and kneeled down, leaning
forward so she could mouth "Go!" to Aaron.

   Aaron pulled himself out of his trance as Azha impaled herself on Lord
Kaliss's cock.  He inched toward the window, moving in the shadows cast by
the hanging trinkets.  When he reached the window, he looked one last time
on Lord Kaliss's chambers.  The blonde girl lay on her back, absently
masturbating, her eyes closed, her body gleaming with sweat.  Azha rode the
young lord, her arms and legs wrapped around him.  She no longer looked at
Aaron; instead her chin rested on the crook of Kaliss's shoulder, bouncing
up and down.

   Aaron hopped out the window, landing on a broad ledge.  From there it
was an easy drop to the ground.  Aaron made his way through the pitiful
border-town.  No one was out at night, but guards patrolled regularly,
likely enforcing a curfew.  Aaron ran toward the half-finished building,
dodging guards, and stepped inside, pressing himself into the corner
between two walls.  He tested the weight of his new sword and wished
silently for a finer weapon, then looked around for Krace.  The
crocodile-man was nowhere in evidence.

   Risking discovery, Aaron made a quick circuit of the half-finished
building, but could see nothing.  At last he made his way back to the
corner where he had started, and stood miserably beside a muddy pool.  He
was thirsty, but the water (evidently from an overturned trough) was
undrinkable.

   As he watched, the mud shifted slightly.  Aaron clutched his sword, then
relaxed as Krace appeared in the mud, low to the ground like a regular
crocodile before rising to his full height of seven feet.

   "Sorry I'm late," Krace said, and his expression looked absurdly
apologetic on his monstrous face.  "The mud patches my wounds."

   "Well, we're both out," Aaron said.  "What now?  I'm supposed to be
heading north, but I have no supplies, and only this sword." He held up the
curved bronze blade.

   "The wild people are almost gone," the akhet said.  "And the Lion Girl
is in hiding.  We must find her, and find the Great Lion."

   "The Great Lion?" Aaron asked.  He wanted to take notes.

   "I hear that in lesser lands, lions grow only so large," Krace said. 
"That is even true here, of the lesser prides.  But the great lions are
like the great crocodiles: they will never stop growing.  The Great Lion is
the lion-lord, who rules the savanna.  He is like a mountain, yet none can
find him.  But the Lion Girl might know where he dwells, and with the Great
Lion, we can overthrow this wicked king of Last Town.  Then the wild people
and the town people can both live."

   "This Great Lion...it's powerful?" Aaron asked.  Though he felt genuine
concern for the people of this untamed savanna, and though he needed
Min-Shu back, thoughts of Viskar dominated his mind.  Every time he thought
of the sorcerer he was filled with a terrible, choking fear.  If the Great
Lion could kill Viskar...

   "Very powerful," the akhet said.  "And he is your only hope.  Some fear
preys on you, I think.  I can smell your fear."

   Aaron nodded.  "I'll tell you as we travel."

   They left town under the cover of darkness, the Earth boy and the
crocodile-man, and made their way across the savanna as the sun rose,
seeking the Lion Girl.

   You can look forward to more exciting adventures on Yothis in "The Moons
of Yothis, Part 7: Armies of Chaos." If you have any thoughts, comments,
reviews, or critiques, please send them to lordgodpantokrator@gmail.com.  

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