The Swallow and the Demon

Avilia's back arched. A moan tried to escape her lips, but she bit it back. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction -- at least not yet.

It was difficult though. Her body was shivering under the sensations of Sligh's tongue on her button and the pleasure rod pressed against her entrance. Sparks shot along her legs, made her arse clench, made her hands clutch at the cloak that was her sheet.

Sweat was beading at her temples despite the night chill in the desert air. She felt a drop slither down and catch in her short, spiky hair. Another drop slid from one of her nipples into the shallow hollow between her small breasts. Her skin felt alive at every instant of its short journey.

Her climax was near. It battered against the wall of her will, seeking to relieve the pressure, but she held it back. She knew there was more to come.

Her resistance was rewarded when she felt Sligh press the bulbous head of the black rod inside her. Her body opened up to welcome it -- its warmth, its subtle vibrations, the eagerness of the imp that was bound to it.

Sligh's lips wrapped around her button, and as the rod slid further into her she felt her resistance break. The moan that she'd kept back escaped in a loud wail and her body exploded in white fire. Her hands left the sheet and clutched at his head, her hips ground against his face, her legs jerked and her eyelids trembled and twitched as jolt after jolt seared through her, as her body spasmed in climax until her breath ran out and she forced Sligh away and began the lurching descent from ecstasy to satisfaction.

Sligh drew the pleasure rod from her, and her body shook with a final spasm. She could picture it in her mind: shiny with the cream of her arousal that was slowly absorbed into the black wood as the imp took its reward.

She felt Sligh shift his weight and lie down beside her on the cloak. Long fingers brushed across her forehead, wiping sweat away. The warmth of his body was close, and without opening her eyes she turned to rest her head on his shoulder. "Thanks," she murmured. Her throat was hoarse.

The cool breeze glided over her body, carrying the scents of the desert and making her shiver again. Sligh reached over and pulled the cloak around them. "I'd wanted to do that all day. I didn't have much else to think about beyond pointing Zretha in the right direction. The desert becomes boring after a while."

She opened her eyes. The giant riding-lizard was a dark bulk a handful of paces away. Farflier was an irregular mound on the other side. Above, the stars filled the sky. The moon was still low on the horizon, and too old to cast much light in the blackness.

"If I'd known, I'd have landed Farflier and let you do it earlier." Their warmth was seeping into the cloak, but her face was growing numb as the last memory of the day's heat was leeched out of the air. "Now you'll have to wait until sunrise for me to return the favour. It's too cold to be naked."

He laughed, low and soft. His hips thrust against her, and she felt the hot hard bulge in his underbreeches. "I might have to get up to let this one cool down."

"You'd freeze before it does." She nibbled at his ear and reached down. "I know how stubborn the pair of you are." Rubbing him through the soft wool she added, "It's one of the things I like about you both."

He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper, then pulled her hand away. "Don't. I'll get overexcited and want to fuck you, and then we'd both freeze." He entwined his fingers with hers. "How about you tell me about that rod of yours. Where did it come from?"

"My pleasure rod?" She paused, casting her mind back. "Alright. But don't blame me if your cock gets even harder. It was quite the adventure."

"We'll think of a solution when the problem arises." He adjusted himself under the blanket. "There, that's more comfortable. Now tell me the story."

===

Two years after she came down from the Dumran Mountains, Avilia was prepared to admit she wasn't very successful as a mercenary.

Oh, she could fight, and there were always rich merchants and impoverished nobles looking for a fast, wiry warrior woman to menace reluctant debtors and eager creditors. But Avilia had a gift for picking the wrong side, or the wrong patron, or just finding herself being menaced in turn, usually by some large and brooding savage.

She knew of more than one mercenary who'd spent years carousing, scattering silver like sand, and still accumulated enough wealth to retire to an estate of their own. Yet the riches and honours that came so easily to some of her fellows slipped through her grasp time and time again.

The small purse of silver nobles sat on the table before her like a sack of boulders on her back. They held just enough to get her back to Dumran before winter came down. A handful of copper commons would have to do for today's meals and a night's lodging before the caravan left the following morning. A week's free passage, if she hired on as a guard, then she'd have to work her way further north by herself.

Smells of fish and tar came in through the open door. The inn at the sign of the Dead Duck stood on the docks, where the wide waters of the rivers Frow and Arner met and joined to become the Great Arner. The town of Gat lay in the angle of their streams, connected to the far banks by ancient stone bridges. Tolls and trade had made it prosperous, but its people were dour and miserly, and much of the place looked barely better than a slum. Only the houses of the wealthy rose up along the hills that backed the town, to enjoy the clean air and long views.

The inn was no shabbier than any other building along the riverfront, and cleaner than most. It wasn't busy, in the middle of the day, but that suited Avilia fine. Today she didn't want any company beyond her own sullen thoughts.

She'd left Dumran in high spirits, with a song on her lips and her spear on her back. Now that same spear stood leaning in the rack by the Dead Duck's door, a leather sheath covering its long, curved blade. How many Dumrani had come down from the mountains carrying the traditional weapon of their people, and carved out their reputation as mercenaries? And now she was slinking back with her tail between her legs.

A pretty maid stopped at her table, all dark hair and dark eyes, and greeted her. "Ale?"

Avilia glanced up. "Yes please, Iza. Small ale. And food."

The girl turned away, knowing what she wanted -- or what she could afford, at least. A bowl from the Pot, a large kettle with stew that stood simmering day and night, fed from scraps and leftovers. It was filling, and usually didn't taste bad.

It wasn't Iza who brought the ale, though, it was Nell. Tall and broad-shouldered, with the hint of facial hair, Nell owned the Dead Duck and ran it with a tight fist.

She waited for Avilia to hold up a copper common before setting the leather jack down on the table. "I see from your face that business is as good as ever. Why don't you give up the spear and work for me? Don't deny that you enjoy sucking cock, and you'll get paid for it too."

Avilia grimaced. "I'd get paid a pittance after your cut. And I've seen your customers. No thanks. I'll stick to sucking cocks for my own pleasure."

This wasn't the first time Nell had raised the subject. She seemed to think Avilia would be popular among her patrons.

To be fair, there were times when it seemed that whoring would earn her more than the mercenary life, even after Nell's cut. Part of her wondered whether it would be so bad, perhaps just for the winter, just to avoid the shame of returning home a failure.

But a failure was a failure, here or at home. At least in Dumran she could find a nice shepherd to settle down with, watch his flocks at night and suck his cock for fun at daybreak.

"Have it your own way." Nell turned to leave, then paused. "Woman was in here earlier looking for muscle. Female muscle. I told her you'd be here to eat, and she said she'd return."

Avilia glared up at her. "Were you going to tell me if I'd agreed to work for you?"

Nell smiled sweetly, stepping aside for Iza to put a bowl of stew on the table. The girl glanced at the two older women, then bobbed her head and darted away.

"Nobody works here who isn't desperate," Nell said. "What good would you be to me if you had any hope?" And she stalked away before Avilia could reply.

Steam drifted up from the bowl. The scent wasn't a subtle one, and the brown lumps didn't look particularly appetising, but Avilia was hungry and this was the best she'd get. Pushing down her disappointment with a resignation born of long habit, she picked up the spoon to eat.

She put it back down again after only two mouthfuls. Straight from the Pot, the lumps of fat were too hot just now. Instead she drank some more of her ale, knowing she'd need another jack after she ate. Fat and salt always seemed to be the main ingredients in a Pot bowl.

What does this woman want? she mused, running the small ale around in her mouth. One last job before she left would make his journey more bearable, if it didn't take too long. Dawn tomorrow, that's when the caravan leaves. If she missed it, she'd have to walk the entire way -- and pay for food and lodging as well.

She was just about to try the stew again when a woman walked into the Dead Duck. Even before Nell pointed her in Avilia's direction, she knew that this must be her possible patron.

The newcomer was dressed in a robe of dark blue that shimmered in the smoking light of the inn. Here and there a trace of silver gleamed in the material. Protective charms, Avilia thought. She'd never put much faith in them herself. None had ever managed to turn the blade of her spear.

A hood hid the woman's face, all except the black tresses that spilled out. They moved softly as two globes inside her robe swayed with every step that brought her closer.

When she reached the table where Avilia sat she halted and pushed the hood back. Framed by straight, shiny hair of a black that was almost blue, her face was that of a good-looking woman just reaching her middle years: a few fine lines at eye and mouth that weren't enough to diminish her natural beauty.

It was a confident face too, and free of magical artifice. The face of a woman used to wielding authority. Her eyes were a tawny green, her lips red and full. When she spoke, her accent was cultured, her voice smooth and deep, her words considered.

"The innkeep tells me you are a sword-for-hire. Is this true?"

"It is." Avilia stopped herself from pointing out that she mostly fought with a spear. "My name's Avilia."

The woman sat. The globes inside her robe bounced.

"I am called the Swallow. I need a warrior to escort me on a journey into the hills today." She studied Avilia, eyes seeming to pick out every scar that was visible on her face, her hands, her bare arms. "A woman. I will pay you in gold."

Gold? It felt like an age since she'd last held a royal.

Trying to keep any emotion from her face, she took the jack in her hands and drained the last of the small ale it held. When she set it down, she said, "Tell me more." Her voice sounded hoarse in her ears. Gold! There wasn't much she wouldn't do for gold coin.

Before the Swallow replied, she raised a hand and beckoned. Iza darted over and curtsied. Avilia never warranted a curtsy.

"Wine," the Swallow said. "The best you have." She glanced at the bowl. "Take this away, and bring some proper food. Something we can eat with our hands."

With another curtsy Iza scurried away, and the Swallow turned back to Avilia. "Do you know the ruins of Wallen Keep?" She waited for Avilia to nod before continuing. "The Lords and Ladies of Wallen ruled these parts before Gat was more than a collection of huts. They levied toll on boats passing up and down the rivers, threatening to drop fire and rocks from above on any that did not pay."

"Sound like very pleasant people." Avilia pictured the old keep in her mind. It was built on the slopes above Gat, even higher than the mansions of the wealthy, with the remains of curtain walls leading down to the rivers on either side. "I take it someone objected?"

"They thrived in lawless times, off and on for a century or more. Eventually the third Empress Taroa tired of their boldness and sent an army to clear them out."

"Her name's on one of the bridges." Avilia looked up as Iza placed a large platter on the table. Her mouth watered at the sight of the sliced pork, dried fruit, vegetable tartlets, peppered beef strips and chunks of brown bread slathered with pale curds. Another server came behind, holding a tray with a stone jug and a pair of drinking bowls.

The Swallow waved them both away and sniffed at the jug. Seemingly satisfied, she poured wine into a bowl and placed it before Avilia, then filled the other bowl for herself.

Avilia filled the silence. "So Taroa chased the bandit lords from their stronghold, and instead charged her own tolls. By water and by road, after the bridges were complete."

"That is the way of queens and kings." The Swallow sipped her wine and smiled. "Robbery becomes taxation when the robbers carry a royal seal and royal sanction."

Avilia grunted sourly and took a tartlet. The delicate flavours that rushed into her mouth helped to push down her anger. Five commons to cross into town with a weapon!

"The keep was looted, of course," the Swallow was saying. "Then, and many times after. Nevertheless, I wish to visit the ruins, and I will pay you to come with me for protection. It is not treasure that I seek, or not what most call treasure."

Avilia raised her eyebrows over the rim of her bowl. The wine tasted wonderful -- light, but rich in flavours of pear, honey and summer flowers. The Swallow was watching her lips as she drank, she noticed.

"A chart of the heavens," the other woman explained when she noticed the sceptical look on Avilia's face. "The work of the mystic Borring, when he was held captive in Wallen Keep. He wrote about it after he was released. It contains an early hypothesis that he discarded, but that I am interested in studying." She smiled, and added, "I am a scholar."

Avilia suppressed a sigh. A fucking scholar. She'd met a few, and they were worse than useless. They always thought they knew best, citing a line from some long-dead poet or an event from the life of a king nobody remembered. Or they'd forget what was happening around them, stopping to study an inscription when they were supposed to be fleeing from bandits.

"How long will this take? I need to be back in Gat by sunrise."

The Swallow smiled and patted her hand, then took a slice of the peppered beef and ate it delicately. When she was done, she replied, "No need to worry. My business will be done long before the sun comes up."

Something about her words made the hairs stand up on Avilia's neck. "Very well. But if I'm late, you pay extra."

The Swallow sipped her wine, still smiling. "You will be paid adequately. Five royals. One now, four when we return. We leave at noon." She held out her hand.

Avilia took it. "Done." Five gold royals! With only one I could last the winter here without sucking cocks for Nell. But five? Perhaps my luck is finally turning!

The Swallow seemed reluctant to let go of her hand. Her warm fingers lingered, exploring Avilia's palm. "A person's hands say much about them." Her other hand came up and touched her wrist. "Almost everything worth knowing."

For a scholar, the Swallow had something sensual about her, something that spoke of a woman who enjoyed what life had to offer. Despite herself, Avilia was intrigued by the woman.

As she opened her mouth to speak, though, the Swallow withdrew her slender fingers. "Be at the High Bar in an hour." She rose, and a purse appeared in her hand as if by sorcery, and she opened it. Gold gleamed within, and she took out a royal and placed it on the table. "I am sure that you can afford to pay for this food yourself now."

Avilia watched her leave. The shimmering material of the blue robe seemed to caress the plump arse as it swayed from side to side. She found herself wondering what might be beneath, then noticed that she was smiling to herself.

The contented feeling stayed with her while she ate. The food, though light, was tastier than anything she'd had in weeks, and the wine complemented it nicely. But best of all was the gleam of gold on the table before her.

A royal. A gold royal. I could take it and walk away, catch the caravan tomorrow and never see this scholar again.

Something about the other woman had her on edge. A straightforward trip up into the hills to study this chart, and then back down again. It seemed simple enough, but Avilia couldn't shake the feeling that the Swallow was hiding something. It was a lot of gold for something so trivial.

Even so, she knew her mind was made up. It was the allure of the woman as much as the gold, she admitted to herself. A scholar she might be, with secrets, but there was more, and Avilia found that she was eager to discover what.

As she rose, Nell came up and stood by the table, arms crossed across her chest. "Something tells me your fortunes are changing, and I won't be seeing you again." She pointedly didn't look at the gold coin.

Avilia smiled sourly. "Actually, I might be sticking around a bit longer than I planned."

The other woman looked at her, and sighed. "No, you'll be moving on. Your star is rising, I can sense it. Rising far beyond the Dead Duck." Suddenly, as if making a decision, she tugged a ring from her finger. "Here, take this. I don't trust that woman. Maybe this charm will keep you safe."

Avilia looked at her in surprise, then held out her hand and took the ring. It was a simple brass thing, with a round embossed shield carved with clumsy runes. "Thank you, I-- I don't know what to say." From nowhere a lump had appeared in her throat, and she swallowed hard against it.

"Don't say anything. Just settle up with Iza and look after yourself." And the large woman turned and left.

Avilia slipped the ring onto her thumb. Even then it was loose, but she left it anyway. Her earlier self-doubt was pushed away for the moment by Nell's gift, and by her unexpected concern.

Avilia tossed Iza a silver noble on her way out and took her spear from the rack. The girl smiled prettily and waved as Avilia strode out of the door. I hope Nell's right. I'm quite ready to leave these stinking docks behind me.

The High Bar guarded Gat on the side of the inland road. Although most of the town's traffic came by river, either up the Great Arner or down the Arner or the Frow, some travellers made their way through the hills to the town's west. The road climbed and wound, and was poorly maintained, making it ill-suited to wagons or carriages. Goatherds led their beasts along it at market time, and parties of hunters ventured up the slopes into the forest.

Inside the Bar stood tall houses on wide streets and sober squares, laid out in levels along the lower slopes. The people that Avilia met on her way up looked askance at her and the spear that she'd slung over her shoulder, although nobody bothered her. Mercenaries weren't an uncommon sight here. She'd been this way herself before, in the service of a merchant or two.

The skies opened as she went. By the time the rain let up, just as she reached the Bar, it had begun to soak through the patches in her cloak. Her boots were waterproof, though, and she didn't mind a little discomfort. Five royals. I can stand a little water for five royals.

She was grinning to herself as she walked up to the stone gatehouse and spotted the Swallow. The scholar watched her approach from beneath the arch of the gate.

"You are punctual," she said as she stepped towards Avilia. "Good. Now come. I wish to reach the Keep well before sundown."

Besides a satchel slung over her shoulder, she carried no other gear that Avilia could see. At least the boots that peeped out from under the hem of her robe seemed sturdy.

The Swallow kept them going at a steady pace, and Avilia was happy to keep up. It wasn't far to the ruins, but the days were shortening, and in the hills the sun set early. Whether or not she wanted to join the caravan in the morning, she didn't want to be stuck out there overnight. There might be worse things than herds of goats and packs of hunters.

The moon was full tonight, she recalled, and with the clouds following the Great Arner downstream there would be plenty of light. Even so, leading an obstinate scholar through the woods and over the rough ground wasn't a task she relished.

"Why a woman?" she asked. It wasn't unusual for a lady not to want a male bodyguard, but the Swallow seemed to be the type to relish male companionship.

The other woman glanced up at her. Walking at her side, her head came to Avilia's shoulder.

"I feel safer," she said after a while.

Avilia frowned. It was the obvious answer, but like before, something seemed off. It felt more like an excuse than a reason. Still, five royals was five royals, and if the Swallow wanted to give them to her instead of a man, she wasn't going to complain.

By the time they'd walked an hour from Gat the slippery stones of the road had disappeared almost entirely under a layer of mud. The going was harder here, although the road began to level out as it passed beneath the peak where the ruins of Wallen Keep stood.

Avilia glanced up. The sky was an iron-grey backdrop for black trees and crumbling walls. On the wind came the cries of rooks and the whisper of winter.

She shivered. The place had a dark name. The mothers and fathers of Gat scared their children into silence at night with tales of the Dread Baron, a demonic figure who lived in the ruins and came out at night, drawn by the sounds of weeping.

It was nonsense, of course, perhaps a leftover memory from the time of those early robber barons. Still, on days like this it seemed plausible enough. In Avilia's experience, murder and misery had a tendency to cast a long shadow down the years.

They turned off the road and followed a track up the slope between trees. It was tough going. The dirt underfoot had turned to sticky mud with the rain. The rocks that were buried in it weren't enough to provide any stability or support, just enough to give each step the potential of a twisted ankle.

The Swallow fared better than Avilia expected. Even so, she was soon gasping and pausing for breath. Her chest rose and fell under the soft material of her robe, with the strap of her satchel emphasising the shape of her breasts.

Avilia waited for her to catch up, then took her hand. "It's not going to get any easier," she said, trying to keep her gaze on those green eyes and not on the heaving breasts.

The other woman managed a smile and let Avilia pull her along. The slope became steeper, the track more slippery, the air colder and damper. Still, they laboured on. By the time the ground underfoot levelled out they were both gasping and sweating despite the chill.

Up ahead, through the stark trees, they could see the remains of a gatehouse. Creepers and moss covered most of the stone, and here and there bushes had made their home in cracks that once had been filled with mortar.

The two woman paused and gave each other a quick smile. After a deep breath, Avilia took a step forward, then another. The Swallow followed at only a slight tug of her hand.

Up close, the gatehouse revealed itself to be more of a ruin than expected. Whole sections of the walls were now piles of overgrown blocks scattered along the slope. The appearance of solidity came from the dense shrubbery and a stand of trees that formed an almost impenetrable wall.

But the arch of the gate was still passable, and they walked forward hand in hand, passing from the autumn gloom into the tunnel of blackness and then into sudden watery sunlight. The courtyard of the ruined keep was still largely open, with no trees and brush to keep out the pale light.

The unexpectedness of it brought Avilia back to the present, and she let go of the Swallow's hand and unslung her spear from her back. Her new ring turned on her thumb and tapped against the wood of the shaft as she pulled off the leather cover. "Let's see if there's anyone home," she whispered, hoping that the other woman thought she'd planned it that way.

The scholar stayed where she was as Avilia crept around the open square. The walls were in little better condition than those by the gate, and weeds and moss covered everything. A pile of rotting wood along the remains of one wall could have been stables once, but now they housed nothing but crawling insects and the stink of dead plants.

The main body of the keep was a squat tower with most of its upper storeys gone. Unlike the walls, this seemed to have been deliberate, at least in the later stages. It was too even, too regular, to blame on the haphazard hands of time and the elements.

A handful of wide, low steps led up to an open maw that had once held heavy double doors. The creepers and moss clinging to the tower's front added to the sense of some giant's face, ready to devour unwary visitors whole.

Motioning the Swallow to stay back, Avilia tiptoed her way up the steps to stand beside the dark hole. The sunlight was too weak to penetrate more than a step inside. Letting her ears adjust to the sounds of the courtyard, and the woods beyond, she closed her eyes and listened. Listened for anything irregular. Anything out of place. Anything that might be a threat.

Nothing.

That didn't mean there wasn't anything inside, of course. But Avilia hadn't seen any traces that humans had taken up residence, either inside the walls or on the walk up the track. Perhaps when winter came some bandits might be desperate enough to make this place home, but for now it was evidently too remote, and whispered too many dark rumours.

A harsh cry broke the silence, and she whipped round, spear at the ready. It was only a large black bird, though, and she sighed with relief. "Fuck off, bird."

It stared at her with shiny eyes. Its shiny feathers ruffled as a breeze passed through the trees beyond the walls, and its shiny beak parted to emit another cry. Then it launched itself into the air and disappeared from sight. Only a final cry lingered to tell of its visit.

Avilia felt the Swallow's eyes on her from the opposite side of the courtyard, and shrugged. "It's a spooky place. I'll go and look inside. Do you want to stay out here?"

"I will come with you." The other woman's voice was as calm as it had been in the tavern. "I will hold the glowstone for you."

Avilia nodded and turned to the open door, holding her spear ready and listening again. Her ears caught the Swallow's footsteps coming up the stairs, and a little later she felt the other woman's presence close behind her. Murmured words reached her ears, and she smelled something acrid on the damp air.

"What's--?" she began, then everything went black.

Black? Red? It was impossible to tell. Both, perhaps. A nothingness that was present in its very absence of everything else. An awareness of lack of thought, lack of sensation. All around her was only the black and red nothingness, and the endlessly slow crawl of time.

As suddenly as the nothingness had come over her, it left her just as suddenly. Consciousness returned, and with it understanding. Betrayed! The bitch is an enchantress!

The Swallow's face was close before hers, hair pulled back. The skin looked a little more haggard than it had before, with a few more lines by the mouth, a slight hollowness of the cheeks and eyes.

"The moon is rising. You need to be awake for this." The other woman's voice rasped in her throat. "I think you will enjoy it, though. At least the first part."

Avilia glanced beyond her at their surroundings. The first thing she noticed was flickering light, like candles, instead of the steady glow from the glowstones that most people used when travelling.

The light shone on a domed ceiling above her, and she became aware that she was lying on her back on cold damp stone. The ceiling was made of concentric rows of bricks, all slotted together as neatly as well-forged mail, with bright spots and lines traced in silver. The flickering light made them appear and vanish.

The Swallow must have noticed her looking, because she smiled. "The mystic Borring's chart of the heavens. He did an excellent job."

Avilia was about to reply, to say that she didn't give a fuck, but something itched at her mind. It took a moment, then it struck her. "That's not the heavens." Her voice was dry and cracked, and she worked her tongue and cleared her throat.

The other woman gave a low laugh. "Not the heavens of this world, no. They show... Well, it is another place. A darker place."

Avilia didn't care. She rolled onto her side and-- She didn't. Her body refused to respond. Not a finger, not a toe, nothing below the neck except the rise and fall of her chest.

Her naked chest. She managed to raise her head to glance down, over the small mounds of her breasts and her flat stomach to the dusting of curly hairs, and far away, spread out to either side, her toes.

"What's going to happen?" The air was damp and musty, despite the warmth given off by the candles. It smelled of mould and plant roots, Avilia thought. They were probably somewhere beneath the ruins of Wallen Keep.

The Swallow smiled again. "We are going to have a little pleasure. Or at least you are. Perhaps I will take my pleasure from you as well, but it is more important that you are properly aroused."

It didn't sound promising. "What for?"

"To entice a-- a visitor. Someone from that other place." She touched Avilia's hand with slender fingers. "I could do it myself, of course, but after he has slaked his lust I doubt I would be in any state to control him."

Avilia felt a knot of fear in her stomach. "A demon? You're summoning a fucking demon?" When the other woman just nodded, she spat, "With me as bait? Fucking demon bait?"

"Fucking demon is not its proper name," the Swallow replied, drawing her fingers down to Avilia's chest to pinch her nipple, "but that is certainly what it will want to do. And that is why you are here."

"Fuck you!"

The other woman gave a soft chuckle and brought her head down to kiss Avilia's neck. "No, I am going to fuck you. And then I will let the demon do the same." Another pinch of her fingers sent a shock through Avilia's body, along her spine and between her legs.

Fuck, it's been so long! And her last few fucks had been quick, desperate and disappointing.

It soon became clear that the Swallow knew what she was doing. Her fingers caressed Avilia's skin, bringing the nerve endings to life around her nipples, on the delicate skin of her breasts. Her lips and tongue traced lined below Avilia's ear and across the artery in her neck.

Avilia felt herself responding. Her body strained to meet the other woman's touch, even though she was powerless to move. Her arms were spread out to either side, hands open, and she tried to distract herself by concentrating on moving her fingers.

It was no use, though. Nothing moved, and soon the Swallow's lips traced their way from her neck to her chest, and Avilia gasped as a warm tongue flicked at her nipple, and soft lips moulded themselves around it and sucked, and the tongue flicked again, and again.

"Fuck!" she heard herself whisper. Her body was ignoring her, and she wasn't sure she didn't agree. The demon seemed a far-off threat, and just now a skilled lover was making her skin burn and her blood boil.

Pain stabbed through her, a delicious pain, as the Swallow bit down on her nipple. This time it was a loud moan that escaped Avilia's lips. If she could have moved, she would have spasmed. If she could have moved, she'd have seized the other woman's face and thrust it between her legs.

"I chose wisely, it seems." The Swallow's voice was still hoarse, but now it sounded throatier, huskier. "You enjoy the pleasures of lovemaking." Her hand slid across Avilia's stomach and over her mound so that a finger pressed against Avilia's lips.

"Fuck you," Avilia tried to growl, but it came out more like a desperate plea. "Fuck you!"

"Hmm." The finger teased up and down, gliding easily between moist lips. "That sounds like a good idea."

The Swallow rose to stand over Avilia, bare feet on either side of her body. The soft blue material of her robe, silver symbols gleaming in the candlelight, stroked Avilia's naked skin like her hands and lips had a moment earlier.

Looking down, gaze fixed on Avilia's, she unfastened the front of her robe and shrugged out of it. Underneath she was entirely naked.

Avilia stared up at her. She was hairless, and her lips stood out dark red against her pale skin. A hint of arousal glistened between them.

Beyond the curve of her belly, her breasts stood out from her chest like two globes, firm and proud, just like Avilia had wished countless times her own breasts were. The nipples were large and pink, already swollen and straining.

"What do you think, Avilia?" The Swallow brought a hand down between her legs and ran a finger along her lips. "Am I what you imagined?"

She was, and more. "Fuck off." Now Avilia's voice was almost as hoarse as the other woman's.

"You like that word. That tells me you like the act as well." She stepped away from Avilia, out of sight. For a moment there were sounds of rummaging -- her satchel, Avilia thought -- then she returned. "My little friend here will make sure you enjoy it now."

In her hand was a sleeve of grey silk that held something perhaps a foot long. She removed the sleeve and tossed it aside to reveal a black rod with a curved, bulbous end.

She squeezed it, and it seemed to come to life in some indefinable way. "The spirit inside this pleasure rod will give you what you want while you give me what I need." With that, she bent forward and placed the rounded head against Avilia's entrance.

Avilia couldn't suppress a loud moan. The rod was warm, alive, thrumming with excitement. "Fuck!"

The Swallow placed her feet on either side of Avilia again and lowered herself. "Now, lick me and I will not take the pleasure away."

Avilia licked her. In other circumstances she'd have been delighted to do it, eager in fact. The other woman had a warm, feminine scent about her despite their exertions that afternoon, and she was as smooth as a peach. No stubble to betray the work of a razor and chafe at the lips. Just pliant, responsive flesh.

Now her body made her do it. The pleasure rod sent shivers and shocks through her that her bound body couldn't release, flooding her mind until all she could think of was more pleasure, doing whatever this woman wanted of her. And if that meant sucking at her button, or exploring her entrance with her tongue, or probing her crack, then that was what Avilia would do.

It was over all too fast, though. The Swallow seized Avilia's head and pressed it against her. Grinding down, grunting, spasming, she rode closer and closer to her release until her body stiffened and she gave a choked cry.

Avilia continued to suck, frantic for her own release, frantic for something that would let her explode in pleasure. But the other woman let go of her head with a last sigh, then rose. Standing over Avilia's face, legs still wide, she looked down and smiled. "That was wonderful." She reached down and cupped herself with one hand, fingers making small movements that made her shiver. "It is almost a shame that we did not meet a year ago."

Avilia wanted to curse, to spit at her, but all she could do was utter a frustrated whimper. The pleasure rod was still nestled between her legs, sending thrills through her until they ran up and down her bloodstream, seeking some way out that her body was unable to give.

"Now," the Swallow said, vanishing from Avilia's sight once more and rummaging through her satchel, "I think it is time we finished inviting our guest. Are you ready for him?"

Avilia almost didn't care. Her mind screamed that it was a demon, that being ripped limb from limb while it raped her was probably the least that would happen. But her body's desires drowned out the screams.

The Swallow reappeared beside Avilia, still naked. Her hands were raised, and she began to chant words that twisted sound and sight. The light from the candles flickered, then seemed to drain away to one central point before where Avilia lay, a point that began to glow a sullen red.

A heat grew out of it, burning the skin but freezing the marrow. A pulsing dark spot formed in its heart that grew and licked at the air.

Seeing it, feeling its presence, brought Avilia back to her senses. A fucking demon! No matter what her body thought it needed, she wasn't going to let herself be fucked to death by some hellspawn.

Straining her limbs again, she was surprised to sense some motion. Perhaps the Swallow's sorcery was wearing off. Perhaps her power was all going into the summoning, and she didn't think Avilia would try to escape now. And even now, it was only the slightest of movements. Not enough, not nearly enough, to get up. Not enough to escape from the demon that was about to appear.

But it was enough for her to clench her fists. And that was enough to suppress the thrills running through her, and concentrate her mind on escape.

She closed her eyes and blocked her ears to the twisted sounds of the Swallow's sorcerous conjuring and strained, strained every ounce of her being against the bonds that held her. Pain in her palm helped to clear some of the fog from her head.

What pain? Why is my palm hurting?

It was a sharp, cutting pain. A hard ridge, almost like a blunt blade. Rounded, but rough.

A shield.

An embossed shield carved with clumsy runes. A gift from Nell, a charm to keep her safe. The brass ring on her thumb that had slid round again, into her palm.

Please! She squeezed her hand around it, so tight she could feel it press into the soft flesh, and suddenly it was slick, and she realised she must have cut herself and it was her blood running between her fingers and across the soft metal.

And just like that the bonds were gone. She rolled onto her side and pushed herself to her feet in one motion. Her body ached, her arms and legs trembled, her head felt like it was attached to her by only the slenderest of strings. Her hand was sore, and she forced her fingers to unclench from around the ring. Blood tickled the back of her hand. Her ears caught a soft thump as the pleasure rod slipped free and fell to the stone floor.

The circle of hellish light was larger now, almost the size of a man. The darkness at its centre had taken on a distinct shape as well: a squat, hulking humanoid, with a horned head and an oversized cock that stuck out like the prow of a boat.

The Swallow turned to face Avilia, sorcerous words faltering on her lips. She was fast, and Avilia's legs didn't want to obey her, her arms wanted to hang loose by her sides. But Avilia was a mercenary who'd been fighting for her life since she could wield a spear and her will was her strongest weapon.

"Here's your sacrifice!" she spat, and she seized the other woman by the arm and swung her towards the demon's fire.

The Swallow gave a scream and tried to swerve out of the way. Her hands reached out, clawing for Avilia's, but instead it was the demon's grasping hand that caught her.

A rumble ran through the chamber, something that was more than sound, almost a sensation. The Swallow screamed again and flailed with her free arm. Her breasts swung with her movements, her feet scrabbled for purchase on the stone flags, but the demon drew her closer without any apparent effort.

With its other hand it seized her around the waist and pulled her against it. Its swollen cock seemed to writhe with a will of its own, snaking between the screaming woman's legs as she was pulled further and further into the fire, still struggling, and the demon retreated into the dark glow, becoming smaller, its rumble fainter, its red light dimmer, until they all vanished and the chamber was left in silence.

Avilia stood, shaking and panting as the suddenness of it all overtook her. "Fuck!" she whispered. The candles waved in reply, and one guttered and died.

An ache in her hand reminded her of the ring. She glanced down. The round shield was bent and twisted, perhaps from the force of her grip, perhaps because it had indeed contained some magic and was now spent. Blood coated it, and her fingers, and made long stains along her forearm.

Deciding she didn't want to stay here, and definitely wanted to be gone by the time the last of the candles died, she looked around. Her clothes were in a pile by a stone staircase that led up. The faint light coming from above told her that the full moon had risen.

She dragged her clothes and boots on. Usually she didn't mind being naked, but the leather breeches and jerkin offered a barrier that kept away the chills and memories of what had happened.

The Swallow's satchel was still on the floor, and her blue robe with its silver tracing. The material was soft and sensuous, and another day Avilia would have taken it to wrap herself in at night. But it was tainted by evil memories, so she just kicked it at one of the candles and watched it catch fire.

Something small and grey slipped loose. The sleeve that had been around the pleasure rod, Avilia realised. Casting her eyes around, she saw the rod, almost hidden in the shadows, matt black wood against matt black stone.

Her eyes kept wandering to it while she searched the satchel. It didn't hold much, and even less of any interest to her. But there was a pouch with a handful of gold royals and a double handful of nobles.

"My fee, plus extra for the licking." Avilia smiled to herself. That was all the whoring she'd ever have to do, and she wasn't going back home to the Dumran Mountains either. Enough coin now to spend the winter comfortably. Perhaps even buy a small estate of her own, if she was careful. At least enough to stay away from sex-mad scholars and their demons.

She rose, ready to leave, and cast one last look around. Another candle had died, and the robe was smouldering more than burning. Her spear was nowhere to be seen, but likely the Swallow hadn't bothered to bring it down. Again her eye fell on the grey sleeve, and the almost invisible form of the pleasure rod.

"Ah fuck," she said, and grinned to herself. Despite the aches in her limbs, the memory of how it had felt brought a delightful shiver. A step brought her to where the black shape lay. It was still warm to the touch as she picked it up and slid it into its sleeve. "Who am I kidding? You and I are going to have some fun when we get back to town."