Yspaddaden - Chapter 14

 Ynwfn, Anaij.

Dastra walked through the streets of the capitol city, her mind set on only one thing. Her feet waded through the filth and trash that lined the cobbles, her hands pushed others aside, making them move out of her way, and her head was constantly in motion, and yet consistently still, as her task before her was complicated and remained perpetually difficult. She did not worry, she liked to think that was one emotion that she had driven from herself long ago. She was always solid in her thinking, never wavering from a particular task. She could do without worry. She simply let her mind cycle through all eventualities and pose possible outcomes, simultaneously thinking of ways to circumvent all possible problems and ways in which to make her task happen, make it come out the way it was supposed to. Worry? No, she did not worry. She merely analyzed.

Dastra reached her destination and walked inside. The shop owner ignored her as she headed past the front counter and into the back of the shop, stepping past the tapestry that hid the place from the rest of the clients. Another man, a tall elf, hair tinted blue, stood in her way at the end of the hallway. She approached him and he stood, barring her way through the door. Instead of stating a password or something silly like that, Dastra flung her hand out and shoved him to the side, smacking his head against the wall. He crumpled and fell to his knees, holding the blood trail unsuccessfully to the side of his head. He glanced up at her as she brushed past him, grabbing the handle to the door and pushing it open. He wouldn't bother her. Security had been rather lacking of late. She only had her lover king to blame for that.

When Dastra opened the door, five things assaulted her. The first was the smell. The air was thick with the smoke that accompanied the place. Her head immediately began to feel a bit lighter, distant. She cursed. This was not what she needed tonight! She paused inside the doorway and closed her eyes, trying to calm her mind. The second and third things began to take effect. The music was loud, raucous, rebellious.  It did not help her head to have the reverberations echo through her ears. The air around her was heavy, dank, and she could almost feel it if she wiggled her hand right.  She opened her mouth and flicked out her tongue, tasting the air. The combination of the smoke, sweat and pheromones made a very interesting, if not always unpleasant, taste. She swallowed and it stuck to the back of her throat, giving her a raspy feeling. She finally opened her eyes and took a look about. The giant room was filled with people of the most amiable sort. Elves, humans, dwarves, even a few minotaurs and centaurs swamped the place, mingling, clashing, embracing. The floor in front of her was full of people writhing, flashing, dancing to the music. The balcony above was full of couples and groups, lying on beds, writhing on the floor, propped up against the walls, each oblivious to the rest, each uncaring who noticed or witnessed their lechery. The lights spun around the room and she noticed the addition of large jars, hundreds of them, all different colours, hanging from the ceiling, with dozens of faeries flitting about in each, their glow combining to give off a dancing, mystical feel to the place.

But as she sensed everything at once, her mind also remained on her task at hand. She began to wade through the crowd, placing a hand here, a foot there, all in the effort to rid the people of her path. There was no lack of young men, human and elf both, who, when seeing her walking toward them, made up in such fine clothes and jewelry as she was, would fling themselves at her, drink and drug causing them not to hold back in their efforts to obtain her body. She waylaid each with a well placed fist to the face or knee to the groin. Her trail of bodies lying on the floor caused no one to glance twice. They simply did not care. She reached the stairs and headed upward, stepping over several couples who had stationed themselves for pleasure on the steps. All the beds and couches must be taken. She silently wished she could join with several of them, but her task was too important. Maybe after, when she was done. Perhaps that young man? He looked vigorous enough to still have life in him in a bit, after he got done with the redhead. Perhaps. Dastra peeled her eyes away from him and looked all about for the one she was there to meet.

As she reached the top of the stairs, she knew which direction she was to go. An area to her left was closed off, see-through curtains surrounding a circle of lounge couches and low tables. Several elves had stationed themselves at the entrance and she could see through the barriers at the scantily clad females lying all around, the servants bringing food, and the one man who she knew was the one she had to talk to. She headed directly toward the guards, not showing fear at all. They looked quite a bit more formidable than the pissa who had been at the front door. Don't show fear, she told herself silently. She stepped up to them, ignoring their presence, reaching for the flap of the curtain. The large elf with green hair grabbed her hand and wrenched it back, pressing it painfully against her shoulderblade.

"None are allowed in there without an invitation."

Dastra grimaced and tried not to squirm too much. Her arm sat at a very painful position, yet she did not want to give this man the pleasure of knowing that she was uncomfortable. So she smiled up at him, applying her most seductive face.

"But I do have an invitation. Let me go. He will see me, I assure you."

The man would hear nothing of the sort. He nodded to his companion to take her away. Dastra knew then that no pleading or alluring would do the trick this time. So she simply removed her arm from his grasp.

Well, maybe not so simply. She wasn't even sure the move had been witnessed by the men, she performed it so fast. In seconds her arm was free and she was twisting out of the way. As soon as the elf realised that she had escaped, he tried to grab her again, but she was much too quick. She used the curtain to her side to block his blow and wrap his arm up, applying her own fist to his face. He fell back as the second man leapt forward to the aid of his friend. She took him out with a well placed kick and swept his feet out from underneath his body. His head smacked loudly against a pole and he went still. She drew a short knife from her dress and plunged it into the mans throat for good measure. By that time though, hands grasped her waist and lifted her high, so that she could not reach the first guard with her knife. So she went limp. The weight of her was too much and he dropped her. She sprang into action at the last second, landing like a cat on her feet. She aimed the knife at his calf, but he dodged it. He was learning. Well then, time to raise the stakes. She aimed once again, this time allowing him to kick her knife out of her hands. Once they were free, she backed up a step or two, looking a bit frightened. The man smiled and advanced on her, swinging punches. She blocked them all, backing up, allowing him to gain ground. She kept her face fearful, the allusion working perfectly. The second she felt the railing of the balcony against her back, she ducked under one of his fists, grabbed his wrist, and jerked. She pulled him off balance and he hit the railing at midriff, the momentum causing him to hurtle over, falling, screaming, into the crowd. A thump, a few annoyed yells, and then nothing. Business as usual.

As she advanced on the curtain barrier once more, she noticed that the place had been emptied of slaves and the man she had come to see was standing in the middle, watching her. She pulled back the curtain and was pleased to see not a trace of fear on his face. He simply watched her as she intruded, plopping down on one of the couches and taking a handful of fruit that sat on a platter in the middle of one of the low tables. His dark eyes scanned her body and she let him look. He finally snorted in acceptance and slowly seated himself as well at an adjoining couch. He leaned toward her, his arm resting comfortably on the back of the couch. The sights, smells and sounds around them seemed to disappear in the background as they focused on each other. She gazed deep into his black pitted eyes and he scrutinized her every move. She smiled and popped a piece of the fruit into her mouth. A trickle of juice escaped her lip, dripping off her chin. She softly and deftly brushed it away. Would he speak first, or force her to?

"Dastra Verinto. Famed lover of the king. Known by all to be the wealthiest whore in Anaij."

So he knew her. Had he seen her before, or was it an educated guess? Either way, he was right and it meant her reputation was far flung indeed. That pleased her. She waited a minute more, watching to see if he would squirm under additional silence. When he did not, she finally spoke.

"Aniatgayr. Known by most as Nia. I'll admit, I don't know as much about you as you seem to know about me. May I call you Nia?"

"People usually call me master."

She ignored the jest.

"Interesting name. It means Fate of Stars in the old elvish. Nia, simply Fate. Why did you choose that name?"

He leaned forward.

"What makes you say I chose it? Why was I not born to it?"

She grinned at him.

"I have a hunch."

His stares were becoming quite disconcerting. But this time she vowed not to give him ground. She crossed her legs, allowing her dress to ride up her thigh in a very concealing manner. When he didn't even glance down at it, she began to wonder. Wasn't his kind the sort that, as the stories went, were insatiable with lust? Or did their complete control over most emotions help with concealing that? It was a conundrum she did not want to try and solve at the moment. Maybe she would have to try a more direct approach. She scooted over on the couch closer to him and laid a hand on his, brushing his wrist lightly with her fingers. He stared straight into her eyes, as if she was not effecting him at all. And she began to doubt herself, until her hand kept moving and she laid it against his chest. She could feel the rapid movement of his heart then, and she knew she was getting to him. She smiled and scooted even closer, leaning in and gently biting his ear with her teeth. His head turned slightly toward her, as if he were expecting a kiss. She instead sat up, placing her one knee on the seat next to him, and swung the other leg up and over his lap, straddling him so she faced him. She held his face in her hands then, looking down. His breathing was definitely irregular now, and she smiled in triumph. She wasn't sure if it was the smile, or the victorious chuckle that made him do it. But his eyes suddenly flashed, and he pushed upward, taking her neck in his grip, and shoving her out and down, her back connecting solidly with the low table, scattering dishes and plates everywhere, making a huge mess. She grunted in pain, but held in a cry that would have made her look weak. Her spine had slammed down on a bowl and she lay there, bent backwards, her neck on the tabletop, still enclosed within his vise grip and her legs hanging over the edge, his knee across hers, holding them in place. His other hand reached upward and gently pulled down the hem to her skirt, which had risen even further in the scuffle. Then he finally backed off, letting her go. She sat up rubbing her neck as he sat back in the position he was in before. It took her a second to gain her breath back before she could speak again.

"I take it normal negotiations wont work with one of your kind."

He grinned at her.

"Normal negotiations always work very well with my kind. But there's one thing you must learn about me, Dastra. I am not like my kind. I may look like them, I may speak like them. But I am not like them. I do not like them." He fingered the tips of his rounded ears. "You saw these. I do not wish to hide in secret, making plans that never come to fruition. My kind are slow, dim witted, scared. They believe they have power, but all they possess is what they can gather from the relics they own. Real power comes elsewhere. It comes from people. But not just any people. It's almost impossible to gain power from the powerful. No, I must have mine from the weak-minded, from the simple, the slow. Real power only comes from those who give it to you freely." He paused and looked off into the distance for a second. "But if you think about it, those people who give power, ultimately possess the power themselves. For if you give your obedience to the ones you wish, and hand them the power to rule over you, they are yours to do with what you will. Interesting isn't it? The ones you give power to are the ones you have control over. For they cannot choose who gives the power, and the powerful are powerless without the ones who give it. Fascinating." He glanced back at her. "You'll excuse me. I often become quite ruminative at times. Suffice it to say, I am not like my kind at all. But that aside, I am curious as to why you come looking for me? How do you know my name?"

Dastra stood and walked over to the curtain. She brushed it aside and peeked out at the dancers and revelers, fornicators and drunkards. It was such a strange world here. Growing up as she had, she knew of rough people. Many was the time when she had been forced to entertain and service men who were drunk or under the influence of various drugs. She had seen the darker side of the world, and the people here put them to shame. Here, there were no bounds. No rules, no laws. She had never been to the Outbound, the country of Vran, but if the stories were to be believed, she could imagine it to be much like this place here. Lawless. Uncensored. Most decent people never wanted to admit evilness in them, but these were the sort of folk who rolled in it every day. The ones who defined it. She spoke over her shoulder to Nia, hoping her words would not provoke another assault.

"Are these the people who give you your power? Are these the ones you cannot exist without? They are such contradictions. They appear to be full of life, stubborn, willful, mind of their own. But despite their unruliness, despite their practices of shunning good, they still must need people to lead them, do they not? They might not know they are following, they may be unaware of their allegiances, but all people need some sort of leader, do they not? Do they know you rule over them, and do they know they have given it to you? Or are you so good at what you do, that they are oblivious, and truly believe they live in an anarchic society? Chaos needs rules too, does it not? Are you the one that writes them?"

He had been so smooth, so silent, that Dastra had not noticed him approaching her from behind. It wasn't until his smooth hand reached around her neck that she knew where he was. She stiffened, expecting to be flung onto the floor, with possible punches this time around. But his touch was gentle, and he rubbed her neck underneath her chin seductively. His other hand went to her waist, curling around to caress her stomach. She breathed in, her chest rising and falling quickly with the short breaths that accompanied her rising libido. His touch was so soft, so gentle. He watched the crowd in front of them with her for a minute. Then his words came, gently, softly in her ear.

"You are very observant. It is a delicate matter, to allow people to give you power and at the same time to assuage them of the knowledge that they are doing it. Very delicate. I pride myself on being very intuitive. You did not come here simply to be around power. Those are the ones you kicked out earlier. No, you have some other purpose in mind for being here. Something greater. Something better. Why do you seek me? What is it you want from me?"

"It's not what I want. It's what I don't want someone else to have. I could care less about it. But I care more that someone else not have it. Call it what you will. Spite. I know my flaws. Yet I cannot let this go. I have heard tell that you are a great fighter, skilled in death. Are you also one who enjoys being challenged? I need an object sought out and brought to me, in secret. I don't care how you do it, or what it takes to find it. But I want it. Within the year, I want this to be my possession."

Nia lowered his one hand and brushed it gently against the outside of her thigh. He reached down and grabbed the hem to her skirt, lifting it and rubbing her bare leg underneath. She stood still, allowing his intrusion.

"I am not a man for hire."

"Then I shall not pay you."

Her words were meant in jest, but he seemed to become angry. He took her by the shoulders and spun her around so she faced him. She had to lift her neck to stare into his face. His steely black eyes glared down at her and she could almost feel heat emanating from them.

"I speak truth! My life is dictated by one person, me! Call me dependent on others, tell me I am ruled by the ones who give me power over them, say what you will. But do not dare presume that I will do the bidding of a woman, a whore, simply for her pleasure, for her vendetta against one I do not know nor care about! Dishonor me no more by making me a mere mercenary with your words. I will not hear of it."

Dastra listened to him speak, then reached up and stroked his cheek with her hand. The fact that he had not pushed her violently into the crowd was proof that he desired her more then he knew. He could spout all day, but she knew what men truly wanted.

"I understand, and I apologize. I did not mean to harm your reputation. To be true, the mere retrieval of this object would substantiate yourself among your people. As I said, I care not what happens to it. Keep the relic if you will. Perhaps it is not payment for a job. Perhaps it is merely one person informing the other of an opportunity that should not be missed. Perhaps, if you were to possess this thing, you would be hated by the government, possibly persecuted for it. And perhaps, the reward, with no obligations, comes before you ever are required to agree to such a quest." She traced the muscles on his chest, on his stomach, and downward, giving him no questions as to what the reward might be. "Could we be friends? I hope so. Could you think on this as a favor done for a friend? Either way, the reward is yours. The prize at the end of the quest? Mere bonus."

He wasn't looking at her anymore. His breaths had now become rapid and heavy. She smiled slightly. He closed his eyes, leaning in toward her, almost involuntarily it seemed. He whispered roughly in her ear.

"What is it you seek?"

"Have you ever heard of the Aszkastone of the minotaurs?"

No one shall ever call her powerless again.