“Aile wish. We believe. Worship her happy. Make Aile love.” He motioned his hands over her. “I, this, love. I declare. Make mine. Make tree never. Vestments controlled.”
The gathered elves cheered. It was gibberish, nonsense. He turned and Aile snarled, or tried. Goddess be damned, where was her Fire? A thin cock hung in the air over her, the elf women cooing at his side, staring at the pitiful member as though it were some lost gold idol, now found and glorious and magical. She’d not have let it near her for all the gold in the elflands.
He began his gibberish words again as the first of the girls began to work the cock with her hands. He held his arms wide.
“I seed intestines. Grow large. Grow love.”
The faces he made were disgusting to watch. No creature who’d known a strange hand on their cock would make such a face. Pathetic. At least, the rape held no risk of being entirely painful, as so many had.
The other girl, seemingly unable to contain her excitement cupped the elfman’s balls, squeezing them vigorously.
“Hnng.”
He winced and thin ropes of his seed loped onto Aile’s stomach. The elf backed away and turned.
“The first complete!”
More cheering. The girls came to either side of her and began to rub the sickly dribblings around on her skin, their eager, too-bright eyes peering past black masks. The feel of it made her wish to gag, but the paste on her ears would not allow it. When they had finished each of the girls stood, placing their hands together as if in prayer.
“I dines!”
More broken Drow. They leaned down to her and licked her stomach. More came, each proclaiming the same thing.
“I dines!”
She no longer worried how she would escape, nor that she would die, nor be raped. She only marveled at them as, in turn, no less than three dozen elves came and licked the dried crust of elf jism from her stomach before moving on. All of them smiling, rejoicing, and hugging one another when they had finished the baffling ritual. When all of them had done their task, they cheered, the boy waving them toward one of the fires. Music began to play as the men who put her on the table came to retrieve her. She struggled against them, but to no avail. The song the elves played was too fast, and not played quite right, but she knew it. A lullaby for children. The gown was placed back on her naked body and she was taken to her cell and shoved into it.
Her mind was awash in the poisons and she could not hope to do much when the iron bars were around her again. Still, Aile scraped the drug from behind her ears and threw it from the cell, cleaning her hands on the pad. When she was done, she only sat, eyes fixed on the far stair, ears full with bad versions of old Drow songs and her tired mind wondering what madness she had just experienced.
Part Fifteen
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Z
Socair
Socair could not remember a time she had been more miserable. Rushed away from the battle the moment Meirge had made his proclamation of Deifir’s will. She’d been confined in a room in the inn, secreted away from everyone and guarded by Meirge’s most trusted only. They brought her food and drink and a healer who spoke with her coarsely about caring for her wounds properly. There was still a hole clear through her and when she had complained to the old man about wishing to fight, he’d squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger, locking her arm and doubling her over in pain. She took the hint of it. For what it was worth, she was treated well. Meirge’s chosen had never ceased apologizing, calling her Treorai each time they came. A term that sent nerves running rampant through her stomach each time she heard it. Práta had survived, she was told, but could not come and see her. Not until Meirge allowed it. She begged them to bring her. There was so much to say.
The trebuchets had not been the end of the hippocamp push against Innecarnán and the fighting continued the next day, without her. She was told the forces fell under Meirge’s command and that the bulk of the work was done. That the horsefolk had finally sounded a retreat after midday. Losses for their side were heavier that second day. Unlike the first, it had been hours of unconventional fighting and desperate attacks. One of the guards posited that they must have been the more zealous of the horsefolk. The numbers they mounted were not of value and the evening had been spent flushing out camps and killing what they found.
She had not found a moment of sleep or rest of any kind in the room. A different inn than she’d stayed in with Práta and Nath…
Nath.
The thought of the girl’s face still made her feel pity more than rage. But more, the image put a weight on Socair’s shoulders. Her childish, stubborn wish to be a savior had robbed a people of their leader and nearly robbed her of the only love she still knew. And at the end
