43: Throndar

[Start from the beginning]
Throndar raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The land he was travelling through was dry and dusty, and he had not seen a cloud for days. The occasional hardy bush or thorn tree broke the monotony, but this was not a good place for living.

Not that he minded, for Throndar was a barbarian, born and raised in lands not much less harsh than this, skills and reflexes honed in a dangerous environment, to become one of the greatest warriors in his tribe. That tribe was gone now, slain by evil sorcery, and Throndar wandered the world alone, a freebooter and mercenary in search of plunder and riches.

He was a tall man, standing six feet and four inches in height, but powerfully built, with broad shoulders and bulging biceps. Like all the people of his former tribe, he wore little, especially in the warm climate of this land, with leather boots, a wide belt about his waist, a loincloth of thick fur and naught else but his sword belt and a small bag of provisions. The hot sun glistened on his bare chest, his powerful muscles well defined beneath the lightly tanned skin.

"So, when is this set, exactly? I mean, when did it happen?"

"Hush. It'll all become clear."

Throndar's attention had been caught by a wisp of smoke on the horizon. It was there again, intermittent, but undeniably real. Shading his eyes, he could make out a collection of rocks near the source of the smoke. Some of them might even be buildings, although nothing grandiose. But who would live out here, and why light a fire in the middle of the day?

There was not enough smoke, he reflected, to be the signs of destruction – a burned caravan, perhaps. No, he had stumbled across some other traveller, or a native of these desolate lands. If it was the latter, at least there might be water. But there might also be trouble, and Throndar walked towards the mysterious site cautiously, eyes and ears alert for any sign of hostility.

As he got closer he saw that what had appeared to be buildings were only ruins, simple stone structures that showed signs of recent fire damage, a few blocks of rubble lying nearby. They stood on top of a ridge, obscuring the terrain beyond from his current vantage point. Despite the fire damage, though, the smoke could not be from any great pyre; indeed, it seemed so pale and slight that he doubted now that it could even be from a camp fire. In fact… was it even smoke, or intermittent puffs of steam?

Throndar reached the top of the ridge, eyeing the ruins to make sure they were empty, and looked over into the land beyond. There was an oasis there, trees and greenery in greater profusion than he had seen in many days of travel, and, scattered amongst them, a few more ruined buildings and pools of open water. The puffs of what he was sure now were steam came from cracks in the natural rocks strewn hereabout.

He dipped his hand into one of the smaller rock pools. The water was warm, heated, perhaps, by some mysterious underground source. Which would explain the steam, but would the water be drinkable? The fact that there were trees and greenery here suggested it could not be too poisonous, but then, Throndar was not a tree.

The barbarian's keen eyes spotted a footprint in the dusty ground, and his hand reached for his sword, suddenly wary. Looking about, he could see more footprints. Some were made by crude sandals, but others looked to be bare feet, larger than those of most men, with splayed toes that the experienced tracker knew could mean only one thing.

Orcs!

He heard a footfall behind him, and whirled, drawing his sword from the scabbard in one swift movement. An orc was creeping up on him, wielding a scimitar, and dressed in patchy leather that would offer only minimal protection. It snarled, large yellowish tusks jutting from its jaws to give it a fearsome appearance, but one that held no fear for Throndar. He had faced orcs many times before, and always triumphed. He battered aside the creature's weapon with his own, slashing across its chest causing a deep gouge that made it hiss in pain. For a moment, its scimitar dipped, and the barbarian's next blow severed its arm at the elbow.

The orc let out an agonised high-pitched scream as it collapsed to the ground in a spray of blood. Suddenly, two more orcs appeared, charging towards the barbarian warrior as he readied his bloodied sword to take them on. He dodged the swipe of one scimitar as he slashed out at the other assailant, only for his blow to be parried. He ducked, spinning round to jab his sword at the first orc, receiving a satisfying grunt of pain as it bit into the creature's side.

The second orc's scimitar grazed against his leg, a minor wound, but one that could have been much worse. Turning to face it, he gave out a loud battle cry, and forced it backwards with a flurry of blows it was barely able to block. All its concentration on defending itself against Throndar's attack, the orc stumbled over an unseen rock, and that gave the human all the opportunity he needed to stab his weapon into the undefended greyish-green skin of its belly.

Turning with panther-like grace, Throndar brought his sword up and around at the injured orc now coming up behind him, the tip of his blade slashing up across its throat and bringing it down. He could already see more orcs springing up as if from nowhere, and could only assume that they must have been somewhere below ground when he arrived. His grin as he ran at them was savage, and soon steel was clashing against steel as the feral humanoids sought to take out the raging force of nature they had unleashed.

The orcs were skilled warriors, tough and resilient, but even though he was outnumbered, they were no match for Throndar's ferocity and killer instincts. Soon, there was but one orc left standing, with the others dead or dying at Throndar's feet, yet while the barbarian was bloodied, he scarcely noticed the pain from his few wounds.

The last orc, a slimmer and younger specimen than those he had already defeated, evidently saw sense and bolted. Throndar chased after it, leaping over the bodies of the fallen, and saw it vanish into an opening in the side of one of the ruined buildings. Not stopping to think, he followed it inside, eyes rapidly adjusting to the darkness as he found himself at the head of a stone stairway descending into unknown depths.

He reached the bottom of the steps, illuminated only by a glimmer of light from up above. At first he could not see the orc but then a snarling face appeared in front of him, reaching out of some hidden alcove. The space was too small for either of them to bring their swords to bear, and the creature had lunged at him with a dagger. He caught its fist before it could strike home and slammed the orc back against the cold stone of the passageway. They were face to face, the orc's breath hot against his skin, its yellow eyes staring into his, tusks slashing just inches from his skin as he met its growl with one of his own. They struggled for control of the knife, arms locked in a battle of strength, legs kicking out at one another with little effect.

Throndar was the stronger, and the orc hissed with shock as the dagger bit into its own chest. It tried to drop the weapon, but the barbarian was too quick, catching it and jabbing it between the creature's ribs, silencing it for good with a single stab to the heart. He released the orc, which slid down the wall, already dead as blood began to pool around it.

Throndar stood still, regaining his breath, coming down from the animalistic rage that had coursed through his body during the fight. Instinct had taken over, allowing him to leave a trail of carnage behind him without the distractions of more reasoned thought. Now he had time to reflect, and to wonder where he had found himself.

He was standing in a stone passageway, better built than he would expect of orcs, although whether they had had assistance or had merely commandeered it from some previous owner was unclear, and might always remain so. His eyes caught a glimmer of light from somewhere beyond, and he reflected that even orcs needed illumination to see, if not as much as humans did. There might be more down here, or they might at least have some loot taken from unwary merchant caravans, or from the previous occupants of the site, Either way, he had to explore the passage, and see where it led.

After wiping his sword clean, Throndar strode on down the darkened corridor, alert for any sign of further orcs. Soon he came to a fork, but the light came from only one direction, so that was the one he took. It rapidly became lighter, until he could see an archway ahead, the glow from beyond it steady and golden, perhaps the result of some sorcerous spell rather than true fire.

He edged closer to the arch, seeing nothing but a bare stone wall on the far side of the chamber beyond. But there was a sound, as if of someone moving out of his field of view. He raised his sword and leapt into the room, ready to strike.

He was greeted, not by an orcish yell, but by a feminine squeak of fear. The chamber was strewn with what had to be orcish bed rolls and provisions, but its only occupant was a human woman, cowering in the corner.

"Please don't hurt me!" she cried, holding her hands over her head, knees hunched up against her chest.

"You are a prisoner of the orcs?"

She nodded, stifling a sob, "they were going to kill me, I'm sure of it! Or… or worse. Please don't hurt me!"

"Fear not, fair lady," he informed her, "for I am Throndar the Mighty, and I have come to rescue you!"

"What, he actually talked like that?"

"Apparently, yes."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" she scrambled to her feet, a great look of relief upon her face.

Throndar could not help but notice that she was a well-proportioned woman, although slender and weak as civilised women often were. She had long black hair that contrasted sharply with remarkably pale skin and clear blue eyes. Considering her ordeal, her clothing was in remarkably good condition, a long black skirt slit to one side to show off a shapely leg, a tight bodice and a low-cut sleeveless top, also black, that displayed a most impressive cleavage. The orcs had not even removed the silver and emerald necklace that clasped around her neck. Perhaps they had not yet had time.

"How many orcs were there?"

"Eight, that I saw. But they might have fellows elsewhere, so we must leave quickly!"

Throndar realised that he actually had no idea how many orcs he had just killed. He hadn't exactly been counting, although he was fairly sure there had been at least six. Still, if they had any treasure, it was not here, so perhaps they should leave now, and he could decide what else to do once he had learned more.

"Very well," he said, "stay close to me, and I will deliver you from this place."

She quickly ran over to join him, and stared fearfully down the corridor that he had emerged from. There didn't seem to be any orcs there at the moment.

"Thank you, Throndar," she said, "I will be most grateful once I am free. Very grateful, indeed!" She placed a hand on his bare chest and leaned in close, as if to kiss him.

"There will be time for that…" he began, just as she threw a handful of white dust in his face. "What are you… uurgh…" Throndar felt his knees go weak as his head began to swim. He looked at the woman in confusion as the world span around him, his sword clattering from suddenly nerveless fingers. Seconds later, he slumped to the floor unconscious.

──◊──

When he came round, Throndar found himself chained to a wall. The chain was a heavy one, tightly wrapped around his chest and secured by bolts in the wall, giving him almost no opportunity to move. His hands were bound in front of him by a smaller chain, and, even had he not been disarmed, there was little he could have done to fight.

He was in a high, domed, chamber, much larger than the one he had seen previously, and he was not alone.

The first person he noticed was, of course, the woman, who was smirking at him as he shook his head to clear it of the last of the magical drug. He had, he realised, been foolish to be so easily captured – she had, after all, been in a far better state than any genuine orcish prisoner was likely to be. His eyes flicked from her to his sword, lying just a foot or so away, although it might as well have been a mile, and then to the other human standing with them.

He was a tall man, although not so tall as Throndar himself, and remarkably thin and pale. He was dressed in long black robes with a purple trim and decorated with arcane symbols that left his profession in no doubt.

"I see our prisoner awakes," said the man, "good work, Shelazzar, he shall be of most use to us tonight. Truly, the infernal forces bless our enterprise." He looked at Throndar, "know then, barbarian, that you are the prisoner of Yluk Tz'n'o Razht-Abar, the Renegade Sorceror-Deacon of Phleng!"

"Seriously?"

"Oh, be quiet. There's some important stuff about to happen."

"It as well for you, wizard, that I am bound, for I would slay you where you stand if I were free."

"And, yet, you are not free! No, you are my prisoner, and yet, with greater good fortune than you can know. For, tonight, you shall bear witness to my ultimate triumph! The ceremony is all prepared, as you can see, and tonight, the signs in the heavens shall be right for its completion, and the coming of…" he paused, dramatically, "The Presence!"

."What's that, then?"

"Oh, you shall see, Throndar the Shackled! You shall see."

Throndar glowered at the man, but there was little he could do at the moment; the chains were simply too secure. What he could see about him was certainly sign of some kind of evil ceremony. There was an altar in the middle of the room, with a wicked looking knife and a bowl of the sort that he feared might be used to collect blood. Lying next to those was a strange metallic sceptre, adorned with runes and sharp spines. All of these things were sign enough of evil intent, but the chamber also contained three orcs.

They were different from the ones he had killed, not least because these were all females. Perhaps he had killed off all the menfolk, and only their women now remained. But, in any event, they were trussed up as firmly as he was, arms and legs bound by heavy ropes and with leather gags across their mouths. All three of them looked as fierce and angry as their males had done; as well they might, under the circumstances.

Two, he noticed, were wearing short dresses of dark leather, decorated with crude tribal marks, and with necklaces of animal teeth around their necks. The other was, so far as he could tell, the youngest of the three, although her greenish skin and wild black hair clearly emphasised her non-human nature. She had clearly once been dressed as the others, but perhaps she had put up more of a fight, because her clothing was torn, her skirt missing and her upper garment hanging loose on one side to expose a saggy green breast. Her bound legs were held up tight against her body, hiding much of it from view. As she shifted slightly in position, though, Throndar realised with surprise that her hairy buttocks were bare, and she apparently wore no loincloth.

"Well, who can blame me?" asked the wizard, seeing the direction of his gaze, "A bound and helpless woman, especially one as proud and fierce as an orc? It is not an opportunity to be missed. Oh, you should have seen the expression on her face!"

Throndar caught the disgusted glance that the woman – Shelazzar – threw towards her companion, but apparently the wizard did not notice.

"But, I am told that you have slain all the other orcs at my disposal," Yluk continued, "which is a nuisance, but not as much as it might have been at this time. I could do with a new warrior, though, once this is over. I don't suppose you would consider joining me? I know something of your people, and know what oaths you would have to swear to make you honour bound to serve me, so do not think about pretending. But swear that loyalty, and you will be rewarded beyond imagining. What do you say?"

Throndar spat, "do you think I am stupid, wizard?"

"Well, the thought had occurred to me, yes."

"I will never serve one such as you!"

The sorcerer shrugged, "ah, well, it was just an idea. No harm in trying."

"The time approaches, my lord," said Shelazzar, speaking for the first time since Throndar had woken.

"It does, indeed," cried the wizard, "Let us begin!"

He raised his arms in the air, and with a gesture the light in the room began to fade – there must have been enchanted light sources somewhere out of Throndar's view – and then the domed ceiling began to ripple. The captive warrior looked up with amazement as the roof seemed to vanish, giving an unobscured view of a moonless night sky.

The sorcerer strode over towards the altar, and one of the older trussed orcish women. "Take her legs," he told Shelazzar, and together they lifted the orc onto the altar.

The green-skinned female was thrashing about, trying to kick with her legs and throw herself off the altar top, muffled sounds that might have been furious curses emanating from behind the gag, but there was nothing she could do. The wizard grabbed the knife, raising it above his head before bringing it down in a spurt of dark blood.  The other two orcs screamed in outrage, as much as they could behind the gags, but soon the victim had ceased her movements, and Yluk began gleefully carving signs into her body before rolling the bloodied and mutilated corpse off the altar top.

The second victim's screams were, if anything, louder and more prolonged than those of the first. Even Throndar, who had never really thought of orcs as more than monsters, closed his eyes to block out the horrible sight. Shelazzar looked disturbed too, he thought, although clearly determined to see the act through. But Yluk Tz'n'o was cackling with delight as he worked, revelling in the slaughter he was causing. And Throndar could do nothing to stop him.

He opened his eyes again when an orange light began to shine on them, and he felt a warmth against his skin. A disc of fiery light had appeared behind the altar, silhouetting the pair of evil humans against its glow. It grew to about a foot across, pulsing slowly, and the barbarian thought he could hear the beating of a distant heart.

"The Presence comes!" shouted the sorcerer, "the portal begins to open!" He rolled the second corpse off the altar, "let us bring the third sacrifice!"

The pair grabbed the remaining orc, who seemed to be shivering, chanting something over and over beneath the gag, her yellow eyes wide with fright, but not screaming as the others had. Throndar could see now that she was, as he had suspected, naked from the waist down, the orange light making fresh scratch marks visible around her hips and breasts.

"Oh, I wish we had more time," the sorcerer told her as they laid her down on the altar, seemingly resigned to her fate, for all that her bestial face was filled with an indescribable hatred. "Who would have dreamed that orcish pussy could be so hot?"

He laughed mockingly, raised the knife, and brought it down.

The disc of light surged, growing dramatically in size, until it was several feet across. Beyond was nothing but flame, although some shape moved about within, too obscured, or perhaps too ephemeral, to make out any details. The sound of the heartbeat was clearer now, filling the room with its steady thrum.

"You have served me well," Yluk told his female companion, "for the promise of power beyond all imagining. Soon, the Presence will be here, establishing a reign of demonic power here in the material world that will last for all eternity. Demons shall walk the wastes openly, and I shall be its high priest, its chief servant, the most powerful and feared mortal anywhere on the surface of the world! And you, I have promised you so much in return for your unstinting loyalty."

He paused, and grinned, as if remembering something. "Oh, yes, one other little requirement before the Presence physically enters the world. I almost forgot, in all the excitement. Yes, one little touch… I need some…" he raised his hands and a blast of blue-white lightning fired out, striking Shelazzar and flinging her across the room with its force. "… some betrayal!"

Laughing maniacally, the sorcerer grabbed the now-bloodied sceptre from the altar and raised it over his head. Throndar strained against the chains, but they were as fast as ever. Glancing across the room, he saw Shelazzar, lying where she had fallen, moving her head in his direction. She was not dead – but how could that help him?

The answer came a second later, as the dark-haired woman cast a spell, fingers pointing in his direction as they rapidly formed a complex gesture. With a quiet click, the bolts that held him sprung loose, and Throndar was free, already reaching for his blade.

"It comes! It comes!" yelled Yluk Tz'n'o in triumph, looking towards the portal, and not seeing what was happening behind him, "nothing can stop me now! Nothing!"

Throndar rammed his sword through the sorcerer's chest.

"Oh, for fuck's sake…" grumbled the wizard, before falling dead to the floor.

"Throw the sceptre through the portal!"

"What?" asked Throndar, confused.

"Throw it into the fire!" repeated Shelazzar, "so long as it's here, the Presence can still come through. We have to send it back where it came from, or we're all doomed."

"But you're on its side… uh, aren't you?"

"Not any more! Now throw the damn thing, you idiot!"

Throndar considered his options for a second. What she said made a sort of sense, and it certainly didn't look as if Yluk had been intending to throw the sceptre anywhere, so it wasn't as if she was tricking him into completing the ceremony on her behalf. Gambling that the sorcerer's betrayal had truly changed Shelazzar's mind, Throndar did as she said, picked up the sceptre and hurled it at the fiery portal.

There was a bang and a flash of light as the portal vanished. The sceptre, oddly enough, continued its flight through the air, clattering onto the stone flagging beyond as the room plunged into near total darkness.

"Too late!" wailed the woman, before composing herself, "well, at least it can't come through without another ceremony. It's trapped half way between its world and our own now, and that sceptre is the key to releasing it. We'll have to take it with us."

"It is a thing of evil!"

"Then give it to me. You can destroy it later if you like, but we can't leave it here."

"Can you walk? I am surprised anyone could survive the magic he threw at you."

"This bodice is enchanted with defensive magic. He didn't know that. Idiot. I should have known never to trust him. Now come on! The illusion of the open sky," she gestured upwards, "will not last much longer, and then we won't even have starlight."

Her warning was well justified. She had barely had time to pick up the sceptre before the ceiling faded, and the room became pitch dark. As it was, they stumbled around for some time before finding the exit. From then on, Shelazzar had to lead him, remembering her way through the subterranean passages as best she could – whatever magic she knew, it apparently didn't include any light spells.

Her memory was not, however, the best, and she was evidently finding the navigation difficult. He thought he felt wind one time, and turned that way, in the hope it was towards the exit, but she firmly warned him away, insisting that only a trap lay in that direction.

"It's this way, follow me."

"I can't see you."

"Follow my voice, then. If I remember rightly, it's just a… " She left out a sharp yell as she fell into something with a loud splash.

After much thrashing about, Throndar was able to grab one of her arms and pull her from the water.

"I dropped it!" she wailed, "I dropped the damn sceptre! We've got to find it."

"Forget about it," he told her firmly, still holding onto her arm, "it's pitch dark, and it's as safely hidden in that pool or whatever it is, as it will be anywhere. I suggest we leave this accursed place."

"But if anyone finds it…"

"Unlikely, even if they do know what to do with it. Now come!" he yanked her arm, pulling her away. "Which way is it? Tell me!"

──◊──

Shelazzar shivered in the cold night air, wrapping her bare arms around her legs. "Well, we are free of that place," she said, "but what do we do now?"

"In the morning, we leave," Throndar informed her, "I can easily find my way across these wastes."

"I have to walk all that way in this dress?"

"It would seem so."

She tutted, "I can see there will be a lot of walking ahead. Couldn't you have brought a horse, or something?"

"Couldn't you?" She said nothing. "Are you sure there are no more orcs around?"

"No, they are definitely all dead. You slew most of them yourself."

"Good. Then there will be no one to disturb us," he said, rising to his feet.

"Uh, no, I guess not. Why, what did you have in mind?"

"You said you would be grateful if I rescued you. I have done as you asked."

"I was saying that to get the chance to knock you out. Not that I am ungrateful, mind. We would both be dead, without each other's help."

"Then we shall celebrate your decision to abandon evil!" said Throndar, undoing his belt and casting it aside. "For I, Throndar the Mighty, am well gifted in the arts of love, as well as those of battle. What say you, dark lady?"

"What?" she said, suddenly realising his intention, "is this your normal way of wooing women?"

"I find it successful among the tribes," he replied, slightly puzzled by her reaction, "Are civilised people so different?"

"They are generally less blunt."

"Oh. Well, I am not like your dead wizard; it gives me no pleasure to take one who is unwilling. So perhaps I can change your mind?"

She rolled her eyes. "Maybe once I've at least got to know you?"

Throndar considered this possibility, but it seemed to him a rather pointless way of deferring the inevitable, the sort of ridiculous thing that civilised people tended to do. The barbarian way of life was always so much simpler.

"There is but one thing you need to know, dark lady Shelazzar," he informed her, discarding his loincloth and baring himself to her gaze. "Behold," he said, "the might of Throndar!"

"Oh, for goodness sake! Do you have to be so…" she paused, before adding, somewhat reluctantly, "although, in fairness, I have to admit that that is worth boasting about."

She sat there, still on her haunches, back against a ruined stone wall, eyes fixed on his stiffening cock. He had little experience yet with civilised women, but he doubted that they were so meek and well mannered between the furs as they were when fully dressed. He looked forward to testing the theory out.

"Oh, what the heck… have it your way," she said at last, leaning forward to grip his erection. She pressed her face into it, lapping at his balls with her tongue, then…

"THIS is part of the legend?"

"I'm a bard, I extemporise. The legend does say they made love under the moonlight, and, quite frankly, I know my audience, and I elaborate on the bits I know they like. Come on, I don't often get to tell this kind of story."

"Sorry, go right ahead. I'm listening."

Still holding his cock, Shelazzar sucked Throndar's heavy balls, popping each into her mouth in turn, gently running her tongue over the skin. The barbarian sighed and closed his eyes, letting her continue, now licking the length of his shaft, pressing lips and tongue against his exposed tip as he groaned in pleasure.

His eyes snapped open as she stood up, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder, and he pushed her hard up against the wall, pressing his lips against hers, smothering her with passionate kisses as she responded in kind, her hands now gripping onto his muscular back. He wanted to tear the dress from her body, leaving her quivering and naked in the cool night air as he ravished her… but realised in time that she didn't appear to have anything else to wear unless they went back into the stygian blackness below to fetch something.

Shelazzar was struggling with the top of her dress, pulling her arms free from the shoulders as Throndar's hand caressed her ass and thighs and rained kisses on her upturned face – he reflected that she was having to stand on tip toe just to reach him, he was so much taller than she. As soon as her arms were free, the barbarian took the opportunity to yank the top of her dress down, bunching it above her bodice as her heavy breasts burst free of their confinement.

His hand leapt from her legs to the exposed mounds, glistening white in the double moonlight, their skin so much paler than his own. He kneaded them, squeezed them, feeling every inch of their soft texture beneath his rough fingers, his gaze sometimes flicking up to watch her face as the dark sorceress panted in anticipation. His next move was to get her out of the bodice, and he struggled to find the ribbons that held it on before she gripped his hand as firmly as she could and pulled it away.

"No," she said, "that's my protection, remember? It stays on. Even now."

He shrugged, finding it odd but not overly concerned with questioning her choice. "But not your skirt?"

He grabbed at it, trying to tug it free from her hips, and this time she helped him, undoing the hidden clasp. "No, the skirt's not a problem," she confirmed, breathlessly.

It was Throndar's turn to kneel before her, and he did so, gripping her pale thighs in his hands, eyes moving up to her panties, which were as black as the rest of her clothing. He massaged the backs of her knees, noting how her legs quivered, and she leaned back harder against the wall as he did so, spreading her thighs apart to give him clearer access.

She had to move them back together again as he roughly pulled her panties down around her knees, but then managed to pull one leg free, letting the thin garment slide down around her other ankle. She was still wearing knee-length black boots, which also seemed to be tied up at the sides. He didn't know whether or not they should be considered in the same way as her bodice, but decided it didn’t really make any difference, and left them on.

Throndar cupped a hand over her groin, rubbing a thumb through the triangle of black hair that stood out so prominently against her pale, moonlit, skin. His fingers slid between her legs, rubbing her, teasing her until he began to feel the moisture forming against his skin.

He stood up and pressed himself against her, up against the wall, one hand squeezing a breast, the other easing a finger between her folds as the tip of his cock rubbed against the firm fabric of the bodice. Shelazzar gasped and let out small cries of pleasure as he continued to tease, finger jabbing in and out of her wet cunt. Her small hands grasped his buttocks, digging into the muscular flesh with her blunt fingernails as she writhed against him, lifting one leg and wrapping it around one of his, allowing his thrusting fingers greater access.

They remained like that for a short while, Throndar satisfying himself by listening to the civilised woman's whimpers of delight as his hands continued to tease her. He had known she could never resist his advances – why had she ever pretended otherwise?

Firmly, but not roughly, he pulled her raised leg away from his thigh and pushed it back down to the ground. Then he stepped away from the wall, pulling her with him. She clung to him tightly, face pressed into the crook of his shoulder, one hand caressing his bulging pectorals as the other still gripped a firm buttock. He lifted her chin up and gazed into her dark eyes.

"Now we truly begin," he told her.

"Yes, goddess…"

"Tell me what you want."

"What do you think?"

"Well, civilised women…" he shrugged again, with some awkwardness, considering how tightly she was holding him, "you hear stories…"

"Then don't be civilised."

He grinned. "I will not!"

He pulled her down to the ground, leaning over her so that his broad chest blocked out the light from the twin moons. Shelazzar gazed up at him, dark hair in disarray, ample chest heaving with anticipation, legs spread wide. Suddenly, she rolled over onto her front, bare breasts brushing against the sandy ground, pale buttocks thrust into the air. He leaned back to get a good view of the pussy he had so recently fondled, then gripped her with both hands around the waist, finding purchase against the fabric of her bodice.

The dark sorceress let out a sharp cry as, without further ceremony, he thrust his cock hard between her waiting legs. Throndar found himself echoing with his own groan of deep pleasure as her body enfolded him. Her skin was softer than any barbarian's woman, yet her cunt was tight, gripping him better than any he had previously encountered. With renewed excitement, he began to began to move in a slow rhythm, sliding in an out, watching how her pale buttocks moved in the moonlight, heaving in time to his repeated thrusts.

Shelazzar moaned as he continued his exertions, occasionally gasping breathlessly, or muttering words of quiet encouragement, but mostly lost in the rapture. Unsteadily, she raised herself on her arms, letting her breasts swing free, and he grabbed one, teasing the nipple as the pale mound swayed with their joint motion, the sorceress' hips pushing urgently back against his.

In the dusty ground next to the ruined building, under the open sky and silvery moonlight, the barbarian and his new found lover coupled enthusiastically, both their cries vanishing into the still night air. Every time she came close to a peak, Throndar slowed his motion, letting her rest, just a little, before continuing his endeavour. He was leaning over her now, face almost in her hair, pressing deeper between her legs than ever before.

"Enough…" she whimpered at last, and he had to agree.

This time, instead of slowing, he quickened his pace, powerful muscles driving him into that soft, yet oh, so tight, pussy, with all the strength he could muster. Shelazzar's moans came ever more rapidly, beating out a fierce tempo as he pounded into her, pale buttocks and thighs slamming against the barbarian's firm body.

They climaxed together, Throndar's groan of delighted pleasure almost drowning out that of his partner. He held her like that for a little while, letting her shaking body subside, savouring the feel of the cool night breeze against his skin. Then he released her, and they both rolled over onto their backs, looking up into the night sky, uncountable glittering stars spread before them in the inky blackness, both moons full, and already dipping towards the horizon.

"Can I speak now?"

"Sure. That’s the legend."

"Uh, well, I feel I should point out that you made a mistake."

"No, I did not! Bardic memory is perfect, even when extemporising."

"You just said the moons were both full. In fact you said it several times."

"So?"

"So earlier on, when they were performing the ceremony, you said it was a moonless night. It can't have been, not if the moons were both setting just a few hours later."

"Gah, magicians! Who'd have thought you'd be interested in that bit! Look, there's a perfectly good reason, I just didn't think it was worth mentioning."

"Go on."

"It's why they had to do the ceremony that particular night. It was the night of a double lunar eclipse, so, of course, when they were actually performing it, the moons were invisible, and later… what are you doing? What… what are you getting dressed for? I thought we could, you know… look, what's the matter?"

"Don't you see? Don't you pay any attention to astronomy?"

"Not really, no. I'm not the magician, remember?"

"There's a double lunar eclipse tonight. They're incredibly rare, so that's when they're going to do it!"

"Do what?"

"They're going to bring the Presence back! Tonight! We only have a few hours."