WandWpart7

Warnings NC-17 slash, underage slash (a 16 year old slave boy) and possibly disturbing images. Because this is from the "bad guy's" perspective, in a manner of speaking. Or at least, a servant of the bad guys. Yeah, all fantasy needs a bad guy with evil plots, even slash fantasy. Otherwise the heroes could just relax and make out all day. Wouldn't that be boring? Another warning is it's written a little grimmer, and more in the line of traditional fantasy. Not everyone in this world is as cool as Keith.

He'd just arrived - tired, dirty and exhausted from the last "assignment". He was ready for a bath, some food. Not appreciation for his efforts, oh never that! But a bit of rest, he thought he'd earned. Some small amenities. A glass of wine if nothing else.

Damn a thousand gods. If he ignored the summons, the messenger would be punished. And then he'd still be summoned again, probably less than fifteen minutes after the first messenger's death.

A bath, or a bite - all he had time for. A small smile crooked the elegant lips beneath the faint mustache. He threw his bow to the floor, grabbed a piece of fruit from the dish the nervous boy-slave called Foam had placed on the table just minutes ago, and headed towards the throne room with his usual arrogant swagger.

He bowed deeply. "My Lady. I am always at your service." His voice was soft and light. Giving away nothing. Especially not giving away the fact that he had long ago been able to see past the illusions, to see what she really looked like. Not just physically, though that was foul enough.

Perhaps she knew how much he knew. Very possible, that she could read past the mind-guards he'd set. Less likely that she would be able to keep her mouth shut about it, if she had bothered to probe him and learn the truth of his knowledge.

But if she still wished to arm herself with the vision of a golden haired goddess - well, he would not be the one to break her fantasy. Suffice that she could not fool him anymore.

As if sensing the irritation behind his smooth façade, she smiled warmly at him. "I know you are tired, my love. I shall make this brief. We need your assistance in a matter to do with the Tribes."

"Of course. As opposed to all the others, East, South and West." Damn, he should not let his sarcasm show, but he was tired of this!

"Asher!" She glared at him; he had sense enough to lower his eyes. If he stared straight into that haggard zombie face he would be lost, his secret repulsion known. He swallowed, wondering what to say.

He snorted softly, daring to raise his eyes now. Any disgust remaining on his face, any scorn in his look, could easily be construed to be his reaction to this stupid fairy tale these idiots insisted on believing. The Eternal Warrior and Wizard, forsooth!

He shrugged. "No one knows the Wolf - well. And he's not the sort who wants friends." The corner of his mouth jerked slightly; he knew that she noticed, and fought down a wave of both pain and anger. "But I believe that he dislikes me less than he does most people."

and made a fool of myself a score of times, before finally earning the tiniest of smiles. The faintest warming of that frozen blue gaze. And I still don't know why I bothered. Why I needed to do this for him.

She leaned back into the ornate throne, studying him. There was no expression on his perfect face. He was a professional, casually inquiring as to the method of his work. He had done this before. He had destroyed former friends in a heartbeat.

Finally, she nodded. Ah, Asher. Beautiful, cynical creature that he was. Of her Darkness since his early youth, yet somehow not as fully controlled by it as she would have liked. Perhaps she had been wrong, to hold back on the knowledge he sought. It had only frustrated him, to go slowly, to learn what he scornfully referred to as "dribbles" of magic. His mind was too quick, too brilliant; she realized he could master all her power in too short a time, and it had frightened her. So she had held back purposely, sometimes misled him.

The result had not been to draw him closer to her, as she hoped. She thought he would cling, become even more her lover, to beg that power from her. She had misread him badly. And she could not deny how much it had - hurt. Mainly her pride, of course, but also something else she thought dead long ago.

Instead of becoming her slave, he had torn loose from her in a rage and sought other knowledge. The thieves' guild, for a time. A brief flirtation from there with the assassin's guild; unfortunate that he found he had no taste for murder as a constant occupation, it was a talent she could always use.

Furious at last, she sent her ruffians to drag him back - a mistake, she now admitted. Her actions had sent him truly beyond her reach; she had no power over the Deep Forest, and none of her minions could venture within it. She had thought he was lost to her forever. And then two years after his disappearance he had returned. Marginally older, a thousand years more cynical. But possessed of talents that were now vital to her.

Ironically, if he had not trained with the rangers he never would have met the lord of the Northern Tribes. Nightwolf, the Slayer. And he would not have had the knowledge - the connections - she needed. So perhaps, as always, all things happened as they were meant to happen.

"We do not ask you to betray him in any way," she now said, gently. A lie, but he didn't need to know it until her hook was fairly set. "We are concerned that the True Wizard may finally have come and joined him, infected him." She watched him closely, and his scornful laugh didn't surprise her. "If the legend of Warrior and Wizard is true, my love - "

"Asher. You will admit if these well-known legends are valid, then the Nightwolf is most likely to fill the role of True Warrior?"

He bit his lip, glanced up at her. Grudgingly admitted it. Unfortunately, she knew he had fought side by side with the Wolf, had seen him in battle. "There is no one to compare with him," he said softly. "None, who could stand against him."

His lip quirked again, ever so slightly. "The Wolf does not believe inmagic. Or those who claim to practice it." //Or perhaps he once believed in it too much, and had been disillusioned?// The thought slipped through his mind unexpectedly and he wondered what it meant.

She drew a breath, then said flatly, "If this were true, he would be of no interest to us. The Warrior, alone, cannot alter the Balance. But our sources indicate a wizard has joined him. If he is the True Wizard, we cannot tell as yet. That will be your task."

"My task." His voice was flat, uninflected. Again a cool professional, requesting information on his next bit of work. His shimmering eyes lifted, fixed upon her like pools of amber. "And this would be?

Gods! How beautiful he was, how she wished she could order him to her bed. But her hold upon her appearance was too unstable now. She would not risk that embarrassment. She would have to kill him if he saw her, and she did need him for this business. She wished, briefly, that she could return to the appearance of the male darkangel she had first seduced him with. She had no doubts it would work, she knew his tastes well - but no. Even the attempt would shatter all the illusion she held if it failed. And the greater chance was it would not work. She grew too unstable.

"Nothing awful, my pet. Discover this wizard. And find out if he is the Wolf's lover. Only then is he dangerous; power does not arise between Wizard and Warrior, unless they are lovers. And full power, only if they are Bonded. Otherwise, we are safe."

He stared at her, then burst into laughter so hearty and genuine it startled her. "You are probably then safe indeed, my Lady!" Noticing that she was taken aback and consequently displeased, he explained smoothly. "I stayed as guest with the Wolf's tribe for some weeks. I got to know his habits well." //Even if he kept his mind and heart hidden from me.// "And never have I known such a lover -- of women." //Lover? User, perhaps. Something desperate and self-mocking in that sexual frenzy of his. Not that the tribal women cared; they were honored to service their king and his visiting friend.//

"Indeed?" He sneered inwardly as she leaned forward, avid for details. The more hideous she grew, the more a whore she became. "Not even yourself, my Asher?"

"Ah." He laughed lightly, hiding his contempt with the deftness of constant practice and incredible charisma. "I have even shared women with the Wolf. And was put to utter shame. His reputation in this respect is not exaggerated."

"Indeed?" Again with the "indeed", and the bitch was practically panting for details now. Not that she would be happy if she learned the truth of the matter. Or perhaps the reality of the Wolf's joyless, mechanical couplings would excite her, merely because of the quantity of them?

//We shared women. In the aftermath of the most insane of battles, one does this in the Tribes. Me and him and a trio of battle maidens. Oh, he invited me, as his new friend and battle partner - we had fought well together, Shadow Rider and ranger. Laughing and drunk and didn't we just start licking wine off the same girl - Gal'na, her name was, a newly-fledged battle maiden, dark of hair and grey of eye. She was less than protesting our actions. Eager as the others had been, just as crazy-drunk as the two of us.

And suddenly I was wanting too. Wanting him, not Gal'na. Wanting to kiss those soft full lips, to bite the sweet silk of them and suck their bitterness into myself until all the pain I felt in him was gone. Wanting his arms hard around me. Wanting that heavy, hot shaft of flesh I had watched forcing its way into too many women that night - wanting it in my mouth, in my hand -

I laughed, tried to turn it into a half-hopeful joke. "Wolf, gods, I'm so drunk that anything beautiful arouses me." And those same gods help me you are more than beautiful--

And I did. I ran. Stumbled rather, grabbing up my clothes. Struggling drunkenly into them, out the tent into the driving rain. To my own, temporary shelter. To lie sleepless until the dawn, wondering why he had driven me away with tears in his eyes. Still wanting me.

I would've stayed forever if he'd asked me. But he didn't. He didn't even emerge from his damned tent. And I hadn't seen him since.

Hating himself, he knew that he would agree to do this for her. If only for an excuse to see that strange, tortured creature again.

"Indeed," he finally responded, the quick painful swirl of memories gone through his mind in less the three heartbeats. "In this, too, there are none who could compare with him."

He banked his thoughts sharply, lowered his head submissively. "If this so-called Wizard is there, and they are not lovers?"

Beneath the seeming angel-blue eyes, the crimson fire in the hollow sockets glimmered. "If otherwise, then kill the Wizard. He will be too dangerous to allow to live, and useless to us in any way."

"You need to feed." He smiled a bit coldly, a tall, panther-slim figure of golden eyes and tousled brown hair shot through with fires of light. "I suppose I should be grateful I'm mageborn and therefore of no use in that regard."

He had stood in the mouth of hell for years, and every now and then dared to taunt the demon within. Sometimes he was punished horribly; sometimes, the Beast was amused by his courage.

As she was now. A smile lit what remained of her face, and he closed his eyes at the sight of it and reminded himself not to gag.

"Never would I hurt you, my love." Another lie, but he smiled and bowed as if he believed it. "Now go and rest. Tomorrow morn will be soon enough for you to begin this assignment." She could be magnanimous; she had read his acceptance of the task in those marvelous amber eyes even as he casually insulted her yet again. "And Asher -- "

"I change my mind. Bring me the Wolf whether they are lovers or no. The Wizard - " She smiled, a royal master rewarding an obedient slave. "If the Wizard is pretty enough for your taste, then you may have him."

"As my lady pleases. And my thanks for her generosity." He knelt gracefully, remaining there until she touched his shoulder, her touch lingering somewhat before reluctantly pulling away. He didn't flinch. He told himself he didn't care.

After he had turned and left with that careless arrogant stride that always had charmed and amused her, she sat for a while, brooding. Then shook her head, dismissing whatever tangled thoughts had troubled her.

He went back, through the luxurious green and gilt marble halls. To his luxurious apartment, and the food and bath that awaited. His mind drifted, in the way he had taught it to long ago. He thought of nothing. He focused on - nothing. Certainly not on her changing orders, from harmless surveillance to reaping his almost-friend for her appetites in less than ten minutes. He was used to that. Her mind grew unstable as well, he supposed. But it didn't matter. Nothing had mattered for most of his life, and he was surely used to it.

The slave called Foam was still awake for him. Nervous. Hopeful. Wanting, as always, to be helpful, to serve. It had maybe been a mistake, to rescue him from the brutal clutches of the Lady's guards. At the time, it had amused him to balk their desires, to anger them and show how high he was in the Death Queen's favor. They must have treated the boy very badly before his rescue; Asher had expected some gratitude, but not absolute adoration.

Now, the young one was obsessed with pleasing him, which was sometimes an irritant. Sixteen-year-olds, male or female, were simply not to his taste. But he couldn't bring himself, for some reason, to hurt the boy or to send him away. So he had a servant he really didn't need. In truth he was more of service to the boy than otherwise, allowing the young one to wait on him when really, unlike most Easterners, he preferred doing such things for himself.

He was called Foam because the kingdom he'd been stolen from was an island, a very kingdom of the sea. Oh, they burst with originality, these fools he was allied with! Impulsively, as the boy bathed him, eyes downcast yet burning, he asked, "Little one? What's your real name?"

The boy's eyes jerked up to his face, startled, and he was caught. Really, the child was not unattractive. And those eyes. Huge. Dark blue.

Oh, the chilly smile he had worn, introducing himself. "I am Nightwolf. Some call me the Slayer." Asher had known damn well neither name was the real one. And that he would never be held a close enough friend to learn the true name of this creature of bright darkness.

The boy smiled timidly, pleased at being asked. And Asher would have known what he said, if he could hear anything but the sudden roaring in his blood, the hot pulse of madness.

He stepped from the bath a bit unsteadily. Let himself be toweled dry. But when the slave reached for the fresh clothes he had laid ready, Asher shook his head, grabbed Foam's hand, pulled him to the bed.

The boy's eyes were nearly the same as the Wolf's, except for expression. That expression of yearning, of desire and admiration. No coldness here. The opposite of rejection.

He ran his hands over the dark-haired, suddenly trembling youth. Lightly, so lightly. So gently. The silken, gaudy clothing of a sex-toy, the toy he had never used till now, came off all too easily.

"On your knees," he breathed, throwing the magic. It was not exactly what he wanted, but for Carson to fuck him would be a more involved spell, requiring so much of his mind that all feeling would be lost.

The slave went to hands and knees on the bed as instructed, with a soft whimper of anticipation. And suddenly, what was before Asher was not a slim teen-aged boy quivering with delight that his master finally wanted him. In a shimmer of magic, he saw the long powerful legs, the beautifully muscled back scattered with long ebony hair like silken water, and - oh yes. That pale gorgeous ass, the heavy soft sac hanging beneath, tightening in anticipation of his touch. He could picture the massive cock rearing up against his Warchief's belly, hard and desperate for him

Asher had never been a slave to sex. In fact, he'd laughed at those who were. Used and betrayed them ruthlessly, thinking them idiots. He had a light touch in bed when he bothered with it at all, no strong desires to speak of. Fucking was a pleasant diversion at times, but he found other things more diverting. Archery, music, reading and gambling. All much more entertaining.

It was lucky he was undressed from the bath, because he never would have made it out of his clothes. Glamour though he knew it to be, the very sight aroused him so violently he could barely breathe. He literally grabbed what he wanted, was inside it in a few gasping movements, forgetting all preparation and foreplay. Inside, oh in him, thrusting triumphantly now, oh gods, it wouldn't last long but the power of it, the sheer glory --

His hands swept the strong back, felt the silken steel muscles. The soft sounds that poured from his lover, even the first shocked cry at the urgency of his entrance, were in the dark, deep register of the Lord of the Tribes, not a young boy's whimpers of delight or pain.

He grasped the hips beneath him, digging his fingers into the smooth pale skin. He groaned, watching his hard flesh drive in and out of his warrior king. So hot inside. So beautiful.

He pulled that magnificent body hard against him, reaching up to tangle his fingers in the fall of rich midnight hair. Yes, so good. His lover shuddered, then cried out wildly. That deep, musical voice, begging him. "Please yes - oh, yes master - "

He was truly insane now, pumping in hard and fast, something building inside him that would have terrified him in his right mind. The body he ravished froze utterly then, oddly silent in release. Yet the sudden clenching around his invading shaft proved what was happening, the dreaded Nightwolf coming, surrendering, falling into pleasure because of him. Only because of him.

"So good," he was horrified to hear himself moan, aloud this time. "So good, knew you'd be so good, oh gods and demons so good - "

He came. Ecstasy so powerful, so shattering that for a few mindless seconds he thought he would never come down from it. Except for the change to the body he spasmed into, the force of his orgasm breaking his magic like the mirror it was.

He moaned again, but in disappointment this time, pulling quickly out of the slender, shivering body beneath him. "I - " Oh, damn, he could not remember what name the boy had given him! "I hurt you, little one. I'm sorry - "

The boy turned over to gaze at him raptly, even through the tears in those damnable blue eyes. "My lord I - it wasn't a bad thing. I liked it. I - I gave you pleasure?" The look was shy now, happier than he'd ever seen on the slave's usually worried face.

Asher waited until the soft breathing steadied and deepened, until he was sure the boy was far into slumber. Then he gently pulled free, moving to the more open area of the huge bed, tugging the cool sheets over his sated yet burning body.

"More pleasure than I ever imagined possible," he admitted softly to the darkness, to himself. His golden eyes were wide and far from sleep. His thoughts would not seem to return to the comfortable, aimless series of nothings he had programmed them to focus on so that he could tolerate where he was, what he had become.

Asher smiled a bit, in the darkness. The cloying scent of honeysuckle drifted in the high window, thrown open in the heat of the Eastern summer's night. Beneath it, the rot-smell of the swamp surrounding the palace. Beauty overlying corruption. So fitting.

The Lady's assertion that a different wizard had come already to the Shadow Riders he brushed off as negligently as he would have brushed a fly. Some self-taught hedge-sorcerer no doubt, some countrified buffoon he would crush like a grape if required. If the rumor were true at all. Why should the Wolf welcome an unknown magic user into a tribe so suspicious and wary of magic? Probably a bit of gossip as flimsy and untrue as most of the Lady's information turned out to be.

No. If the legend were true at all - then Asher would be the one. Or make himself the one, if he must. He would face even the wrath of his so-called Queen to do it.

He felt relaxed enough to sleep now, and as indeed he drifted down into unconsciousness, a last comforting thought came to him.

Even if things did not work out well, if he must fulfill his Lady's request and bring the Nightwolf to her after all - -

Well, he would beg most prettily then. She only needed to devour the soul, the personality of a victim to rejuvenate herself.